[Fic] Sin with a Grin - Chapter 8/18
Title: Sin with a Grin
Author: Stolen Childe
Disclaimer: Supernatural and all associated characters belong to Kripke and Co. I make absolutely no claims on any of them.
Author's Notes: Hello! Just wanted to let everyone know that there will not be a chapter update next week as this is the last chapter for Arc I but there will be an Interlude posted next week. Regular posting schedule will resume Tuesday, May 1st. Please see Master Post for Notes, Cover Art and Further Information.
A huge thank you to my beta dapperscript who basically made this chapter readable. Thank you!
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It had been nearly a week since the fateful confession to Dean’s parents. A week since Dean had begun his series of gruelling tests. A week since Sam announced that he was going to be married. A week since Dean’s parents had left, and a week since - much to Castiel’s dismay - Dean and Castiel had managed to spend any significant time together.
Castiel sighed, blinking into the early morning light, alone in bed as usual, and figured that if he was going to make it into work, he had better go now.
When Castiel stepped under the scorching spray of the water in the shower, feeling it seep into gradually tensing muscles, something bizarre settled over him. A strange thrumming anxiety built in his stomach and squeezed up through his lungs and chest until it settled, chokingly, in his throat. Castiel shook himself, hair that was growing just a bit too long sending a cascade of water droplets around the shower, pinging against frosted glass and ceramic tile. Inexplicably, Castiel shuddered and nudged the cooler water closer to hot until the shower spray began turning his skin angry red with hot pinpricks.
If Dean had been home right then, he’d have been yelling at Cas through the shower door, perhaps going so far as to bang on the glass, and telling him to hurry up or he’d be late. Telling him to get his selfish ass out of the shower because: “So help me, God, if I have to shower in cold water again, you and the couch are gonna be real good buddies later tonight.”
But no, Dean wasn’t home to bitch and nag about the water, because those gentle moments of domestic bliss would not occur for another eight months. When school was out and Castiel could selfishly have Dean all to himself again, and not wake up in a cold, lonely bed. When he’d come home after a long day to eat burned, breaded chicken and blackened potatoes, with corn that was put on so long that half of it popped, and see Dean’s shamed blushes at his ineptitude with standard kitchen appliances. Or the fonder occasions where he could sink his teeth into savoury barbeque, licking every drop of sauce from sticky fingers, and see Dean’s eyes dance and light up at witnessing Castiel’s pleasure in the meal.
But the wants and wish-I-could-haves were neither here nor there, because Dean was off at work, followed by his final examination before he commenced his mission, and wouldn’t be home until late that night. Castiel should have been at work twenty minutes ago, but he found little desire to rush through the morning.
When the water finally started to go cold, Castiel turned it off, dried, and dressed quickly. He grabbed toast for breakfast, just with butter, and slid the knot of his tie up firmly before grabbing his overcoat and exiting the house. He knew, somehow, that the tie would find itself loosened again and hang sloppily and awkwardly like a dead thing against his chest within the hour, but he had tried at least.
A firm believer of ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’ Castiel indulged with a stop at their favourite little coffee place and picked up a cappuccino for himself and a latte for Sam. It was the least Castiel could do, considering he had to abandon him that afternoon. On a sudden whim, and thinking it was never any harm to brown-nose, especially when arriving nearly an hour late to work, Castiel grabbed Ellen that frosted lemon cake she liked so much. He caught sight of himself briefly in the glass, and oh, look at that, the tie was already a sloppy mess against the sharp contrast of his crisp, white dress shirt. Castiel chuckled, before finally driving his SUV onto the familiar path to the Federal Building.
It wasn’t until Castiel crossed the threshold of the Federal Building and went through his usual routine that he felt the frisson of anxiety jolt through him once again. Castiel found himself coming up with all sorts of excuses for it. He passed it off as hardly seeing Dean lately. That led him to change his mind, and conclude with certainty that it was him empathising with Dean about this being his last day with his kids before heading off to the Academy, where he would be spending the next several weeks to months. Then he changed his mind, and thought perhaps his anxiety was also because he had to break in a new partner today, a kid that was so green that Castiel felt as if he would have to take the fresh agent for a good vault around the building before even thinking of releasing the agent into the public.
None of these thoughts put his mind at ease, and the anxiety remained. For Castiel - with all his logic - would never in a million years think that it was some sort of sixth sense informing him that within a manner of hours, he would be sprawled out across a dirty, greasy alley in the industrial district, in the wake of a shuddering bomb blast.
“I hate the fact that you’re stuck here,” Castiel said, dropping the coffee he had picked up in front of Sam. The younger agent flashed him a wide, winning smile that was all gratitude and teeth. Castiel would never cease to admire the power a Winchester smile had over a person, and found himself grinning in response.
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Sam said after a blissful sip that actually had him closing his eyes at the taste. “Being a desk jockey sucks way more ass than I ever want to think about. Oh well, at least I can get my geek on,” Sam finished with a shrug. Though if anyone ever told Dean he had phrased it that way, Sam would deny it vehemently to his last breath.
“It’s especially horrid now, when I have to show that kid the ropes while chasing down that lead your little girlfriend gave us,” Castiel griped, settling into the visitor’s chair on the other side of Sam’s large black desk.
Sam shuddered and wrinkled his nose. “Ah… Cas man, ew. Every time I have to talk to Ruby, I feel violated… It’s like she’s trying to trick me into something and eye-fuck me all at once. Way too disturbing, on way too many levels. I don’t even like brunettes.”
“No, that’s not it, you only like Jessicas,” Castiel teased.
“One Jessica… and man, you know she’s intelligent, incredible and gorgeous, what’s not to like?” Sam grinned, big and foolish, and Castiel could only chuckle warmly at the love he saw in those green eyes.
“And your bride-to-be, and the mother of your child,” Castiel smirked.
Sam coughed. “Ah… er… huh?”
“You’re cute when you play dumb, Sam,” Castiel said. He let it drop, though, and stood with a stretch. “I suppose I should go do some actual work now. Enjoy your coffee, I’ll check in when I’m on the road, let you know of any updates. Wish me luck with the fawn.”
“She’s a good kid, Castiel,” Sam shrugged. “Young and idealistic, but her heart’s in the right place.” Castiel just nodded and waved absently over his shoulder.
Castiel wandered out of the bull-pen and down the hall to his office. When he reached it, he saw a young blonde hovering at the entrance. Her eyes were wide and starry, her hair pulled back into a professional bun at the nape of her neck, and she was dressed in a standard black suit and white blouse.
“Good morning, Rachel,” Castiel said gently.
“Good morning, Agent L’Ange,” she said, taking a faltering step toward him, before flushing and taking a faltering step back.
“Please, call me Castiel,” he insisted.
If anything, her blush seemed to deepen and she nodded stiffly.
He entered his office and bustled around at his desk for a moment before looking up and quirking a brow. Castiel had been around Winchesters for far too long and forgot polite people still existed in the world.
“Come in, Rachel,” Castiel said with a gentle smile. “I’m sorry, I would have said it earlier, but my usual partner generally comes in, permission or no. Please, sit down.”
“Thank you, Sir,” she said quietly, all thoughts of calling him Castiel apparently ignored.
Castiel chuckled to himself and sat down on the desk, flipping through the file he had there before handing it over to the young woman. It made Castiel a little uncomfortable to see her sitting in Sam’s chair, but he had to deal with it now. It was only temporary, but Castiel had never really been good with change. Dean was not the only one with quirks in this relationship.
“That’s everything we’ve managed to pull together on Brady. All in all, not exactly an honourable fellow, but he has a surprising amount of information at his disposal. Ruby assured us that if we go investigate the provided location, we should receive some excellent intel. Oddly enough, the two always use the same meeting place: the storehouse for Niveus Industries at the harbour. Brady is apparently the acting CEO of the company at this time, despite his youth.”
Rachel frowned, “Is that not a pharmaceutical company?”
“Yes, they primarily deal in vaccinations, but according to Ruby, they also use the laboratories to concoct various narcotics that Crowley then distributes. All under the guise of an upstanding enterprise, of course,” Castiel nodded. “Their latest venture is something akin to phenylcyclohexyl-piperidine when used in both small and large doses. That is, you gain the staggering, stuttering gait that low doses of PCP often elicit, combined with hallucinations, violent outbursts, apparent invincibility, and strength that is so often associated with PCP in a higher dose… It’s been coined the Zombie drug by traffickers and dealers. Now, the drug itself is more a matter for the Narcotics Division of the Boston PD, but we are interested in any information we can get on Crowley, which means we’re going to this meeting. I understand this may be a bit of a nerve-wracking mission to begin with, but you do have to start somewhere, after all.”
Rachel nodded, once and firm. Without wavering, she said, “I’m ready.”
Castiel tried for a reassuring smile, which only succeeded in making Rachel begin to blush and fidget once again.
“All right then, may I recommend field gear? I’ll meet you at my vehicle in about ten minutes. I’ve parked out front today,” Castiel said. It was technically visitor parking out front, but Castiel knew he wasn’t going to be very long in the office, and most of his fellow agents tended to indulge him for one reason or another, regardless.
Rachel nodded again and stood. “Yes Sir.”
When she disappeared from view, Castiel just shook his head at her blind obedience and opened the small closet he had behind his desk. He shrugged out of his trench coat and suit jacket, slinging his tie around the hanger, before tucking both items away and toeing off his dress shoes. His well-worn black combat boots were shined and waiting in the closet, and he sat to lace them up before letting his pants settle over them. Vest, vinyl FBI field jacket - into the pocket of which he tucked his badge - and he was ready.
He checked both his weapons one last time before slipping out of his office. He waved to Andy and Nancy on his way out and nodded to Sam, who gave him an energetic thumbs-up.
xx
Rachel was quiet on the way over, reading and re-reading the file on Brady she had opened on her lap. Castiel kept on giving her sidelong glances as he smoothly navigated the Suburban around the streets of Boston. He always thought the vehicles were a bit pretentious, but if the Bureau kept paying for the gas, he wouldn’t complain about driving it.
Castiel kept on waiting for Rachel to open her mouth and fire off question after question about this, that, and the other, like Sam had done when he had sat in that very seat for the first time, files open on his lap. Rachel remained studiously quiet, not even hemming quietly to herself, as Castiel knew he would at times. It was almost eerie how she carried herself, and Castiel was not at all accustomed to being spooked by anything… Period. Well, except for snakes…
Sam had known him from before; they hadn’t been strangers when they were partnered up, and Castiel supposed that was partly why Sam felt so comfortable about rambling on about the case. He was also naturally curious; all Winchesters were naturally curious, but Sam especially. Dean had told him that when Sam was five years old, he’d constantly sounded like he was writing a newspaper article, firing out Who, What, When, Where, Why, and How whenever he could. Castiel allowed himself a small, fond smile at the mental-picture of an irritated nine-year-old Dean, constantly keeping his temper with his brother in check as he dragged the small boy around behind him wherever he went. That finally elicited some response from Rachel, but only slightly. With a brief, curious flash of her eyes, she returned her attention to the task at hand.
Castiel sighed and ran a hand through his hair (a borrowed Winchester gesture); he had never been much of a conversationalist, preferring for others to lead the discussion, but he assumed it was up to him this time. “Do you have any questions, Rachel? About the case?”
“No Sir, I’ve had a copy of the file since early this week,” Rachel remarked.
And she was still going over it? Even Castiel had to baulk at that one.
Usually, he gave files the cursory glance that he needed to give them, and let them join the increasingly overfilled drawer of files in his desk. Mind you, with his experience, he tended to pick up patterns and key points faster than most. It came from spending a good four years of your life constantly ducking bombs and gunfire while on the move from insurgents in the Middle East. You needed to be fast or you were killed. Plain and simple.
Castiel felt a twist in his chest, as he always did, when he thought of his time away. Thoughts of his murdered and killed brothers-in-arms flashing through his mind, with the unwitting guilt that he had survived and not them. Some of them were just children, really, starting out with new wives or husbands and babies, or not even as far as that. Boys and girls fresh out of school, ready and eager to make a difference in a land a world away, and war they didn’t fully understand: Patriotism at his best and worst. Castiel, in comparison, was old; he’d seen his life and had nothing to go back to.
But that was then, before Dean. Castiel wasn’t sure if he would go back if he were asked to accompany the select few men who - at this point - were mostly being sent over for training missions, though the danger was no less real. He wasn’t sure if he could, were asked back, now that he had something waiting for him, too.
“Sir? Was that not our turn-off?” Rachel asked hesitantly.
Castiel slammed on the breaks, the squeal of abused rubber making him wince in the otherwise silent car. He waved off a few angry horns he heard behind him and pulled a U-turn that he probably really shouldn’t have pulled, considering he was a Law Enforcement Agent of the Federal Government.
Rachel didn’t say anything, but her quirked eyebrow spoke volumes. Castiel found himself warming up to her a little.
As Castiel pulled down the road - which was really little more than a strip of asphalt and potholes - he gathered his thoughts back to the mission at hand. He studiously chose to ignore the nagging sinking twinge in his gut, thinking there was really no rationale for it to be there. No one knew they were coming, they would in all likelihood slip in, observe without engaging, and slip out again. Simple and easy reconnaissance, which was something that Castiel was extremely familiar with. All he had to worry about was his green partner keeping her head down and her mouth shut, and he’d be fine. It wasn’t the first time he had broken in a new agent, and it probably wouldn’t be his last. There was absolutely no cause for his infuriating ‘spidey sense,’ as Dean affectionately termed it, to flare up.
“Gear and weapons check,” Castiel ordered after he pulled his overlarge SUV up into the smallest nook he could find to stash it in, and hopped out.
Rachel dutifully obeyed, checking her standard Glock and then her backup, which was the smallest the Bureau provided (the cost for the second weapon coming out of the agent’s own pocket, of course), and also a long, deadly looking blade that Castiel knew was not at all standard issue (and was surprised, because Rachel seemed so straight laced even by Castiel’s high standards), and he was rather impressed. He raised a brow at her to indicate this, and she blushed once more in response before tucking the blade back into the sheath down the side of her boot. She checked her vest again and her communicator, the clear plastic cord disappearing into strands of hair that had tumbled from her bun, and nodded at Castiel.
Castiel tucked his own communicator up in his ear, resisting the urge to scratch at the initial tickling irritation that the rubbery plastic sliding along his neck caused, and nodded to the doors on the south side of the building.
Ruby had assured them that Brady and his Boss always entered by the north side, and that the sound of breakers on the wood of the south side would disguise the light tread of their feet on what would undoubtedly be dirty concrete. It wasn’t long after this that Castiel wondered if Ruby had ever learned to read a compass, because just after he and Rachel had crossed the threshold (after Castiel made quick work on the lock that he assured Rachel had been opened already, to which Rachel blinked in response - hey, former-vandal boyfriends had their perks after all), they heard the not-at-all disguised sound of feet clomping towards them, and several men’s voices ringing in the salty air… from the south.
Castiel grit his teeth and grabbed Rachel’s arm, ushering her deeper into the warehouse than they intended to go, crouching and hiding behind a skid of several medium-sized crates wrapped in thick, white plastic. The voices moved off, however, and Castiel let out a breath that he hadn’t been aware he had been holding. Rachel sat, vacant and wide-eyed beside him, her chest heaving with each rapid breath.
“Rachel,” Castiel snapped firmly but quietly, grabbing her delicate chin in his pistol-calloused hand.
She flinched, and then came back to herself, letting out one long, shaky breath and nodding once.
A few moments later - which really seemed like hours- they heard the loud, screeching grind of large metal bay doors sliding against rusty tracks from directly in front of them. Castiel flatted himself further against the crate and held his breath again. He didn’t risk a peek over the crates to see why Brady had decided the shipping entrance would be a good change of pace for the day.
A man hollered out a hollow, echoing greeting, and a door from somewhere down the floor opened and shut. A moment later, men’s voices were rumbling good naturedly together, and the unmistakable sound of a truck backing up alerted Castiel to the fact that, clandestine meeting or no clandestine meeting, Niveus still received deliveries, apparently.
Rachel seemed like she was about to say something, but Castiel held up a firm, hushing hand, and Rachel closed her mouth. Castiel very suddenly did not at all appreciate the niggling, churning feelings in his chest and stomach, and was about ready to evacuate the premises before any more unexpected arrivals. Though, given the situation, he assumed the expected arrivals were still spades more dangerous than the unexpected ones.
Castiel was about ready to send a quick text to their back-up team to let Ellen know that they were aborting, when the large bay doors clattered shut and a bolt slid in place with finality. Another far off metallic bang of a door echoed down the length of the building and everything got very, very quiet.
Castiel waited a beat, then two, before chancing a glance over the crates that were their pithy shelter at the moment, and eased up further when all was clear. The truck from earlier had delivered a fair-sized skid, identical to the one they crouched behind, but something about it didn’t sit quite right with Castiel. It was ominous somehow, and being the intrepid - and admittedly at times, moronic - FBI agent that he was, Castiel decided to investigate.
“Stay here,” he hissed at Rachel.
Castiel crept out onto the floor, which was when the agent noticed that all along the stretch of the building, there were skid after skid of evenly placed crates. Too evenly placed to be entirely random, and the building seemed deathly silent. Then the barely-discernible beep and whir of a tiny electronic device caught his sensitive ears, and his eyes widened the same moment the skid at the furthest end of the building exploded in a fiery, orange-red cloud.
“Fuck!” Castiel snarled. “Rachel! Run! Now!”
Castiel knew he had a better advantage over the young woman; he was out in the open floor and his stretch to the doors they had entered was clear of debris and crates. Rachel had to navigate around several stacked skids before she could be in the clear as well.
Castiel waited impatiently, mentally counting down the seconds they had left as the other crate blew only ten beats after the first. They had roughly twenty seconds to get out of the building, and Castiel could only assume the first crowd of men that had herded them inside had locked their exit on their way past.
He weighed the merits of waiting for her to be clear, or running to the door to kick it, blow it, and pick it open so it would be ready for when she was free. After sparing her a brief glance, he was at the exit in several long strides.
… Fourteen seconds…
The door, as expected, was locked, and the bolt reinforced. His Glock probably had the kick necessary to break through the poorly-reinforced metal, but the shrapnel that would result could have dire backlash.
….Ten seconds…
And on cue, the second-to-last skid blew behind him, and Rachel’s cry of fear - and perhaps pain - at the concussive force made Castiel wince. He spared her another brief glace to verify that, yes, she was still standing and moving, before turning his attention back to the lock.
…Seven seconds…
Thrust, twist, wiggle, press, click!
Rachel was at his back then, swaying and woozy but still standing, and Castiel pushed the door open just as his mental timer cheerily informed him that they had three seconds to get the hell out of dodge. Then, very suddenly, the world went up in heat and flame just as he crossed the threshold behind Rachel.
He tackled her down, the blast a scorching burn of hot air through the nylon of his jacket and the Kevlar of his vest as they skidded to a stop at the edge of the abrupt drop-off into the churning bay. Castiel’s head slammed down with force on the wood, and he heard a strange crunching sound as he rolled.
The last thought that drifted through Castiel’s mind before the blackness took him was the strangeness of Rachel’s eyes, staring blankly up at the sky, reflecting the blue in their murky depths.
End Arc I
Previous | Master Post | Interlude
Author: Stolen Childe
Disclaimer: Supernatural and all associated characters belong to Kripke and Co. I make absolutely no claims on any of them.
Author's Notes: Hello! Just wanted to let everyone know that there will not be a chapter update next week as this is the last chapter for Arc I but there will be an Interlude posted next week. Regular posting schedule will resume Tuesday, May 1st. Please see Master Post for Notes, Cover Art and Further Information.
A huge thank you to my beta dapperscript who basically made this chapter readable. Thank you!
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
It had been nearly a week since the fateful confession to Dean’s parents. A week since Dean had begun his series of gruelling tests. A week since Sam announced that he was going to be married. A week since Dean’s parents had left, and a week since - much to Castiel’s dismay - Dean and Castiel had managed to spend any significant time together.
Castiel sighed, blinking into the early morning light, alone in bed as usual, and figured that if he was going to make it into work, he had better go now.
When Castiel stepped under the scorching spray of the water in the shower, feeling it seep into gradually tensing muscles, something bizarre settled over him. A strange thrumming anxiety built in his stomach and squeezed up through his lungs and chest until it settled, chokingly, in his throat. Castiel shook himself, hair that was growing just a bit too long sending a cascade of water droplets around the shower, pinging against frosted glass and ceramic tile. Inexplicably, Castiel shuddered and nudged the cooler water closer to hot until the shower spray began turning his skin angry red with hot pinpricks.
If Dean had been home right then, he’d have been yelling at Cas through the shower door, perhaps going so far as to bang on the glass, and telling him to hurry up or he’d be late. Telling him to get his selfish ass out of the shower because: “So help me, God, if I have to shower in cold water again, you and the couch are gonna be real good buddies later tonight.”
But no, Dean wasn’t home to bitch and nag about the water, because those gentle moments of domestic bliss would not occur for another eight months. When school was out and Castiel could selfishly have Dean all to himself again, and not wake up in a cold, lonely bed. When he’d come home after a long day to eat burned, breaded chicken and blackened potatoes, with corn that was put on so long that half of it popped, and see Dean’s shamed blushes at his ineptitude with standard kitchen appliances. Or the fonder occasions where he could sink his teeth into savoury barbeque, licking every drop of sauce from sticky fingers, and see Dean’s eyes dance and light up at witnessing Castiel’s pleasure in the meal.
But the wants and wish-I-could-haves were neither here nor there, because Dean was off at work, followed by his final examination before he commenced his mission, and wouldn’t be home until late that night. Castiel should have been at work twenty minutes ago, but he found little desire to rush through the morning.
When the water finally started to go cold, Castiel turned it off, dried, and dressed quickly. He grabbed toast for breakfast, just with butter, and slid the knot of his tie up firmly before grabbing his overcoat and exiting the house. He knew, somehow, that the tie would find itself loosened again and hang sloppily and awkwardly like a dead thing against his chest within the hour, but he had tried at least.
A firm believer of ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’ Castiel indulged with a stop at their favourite little coffee place and picked up a cappuccino for himself and a latte for Sam. It was the least Castiel could do, considering he had to abandon him that afternoon. On a sudden whim, and thinking it was never any harm to brown-nose, especially when arriving nearly an hour late to work, Castiel grabbed Ellen that frosted lemon cake she liked so much. He caught sight of himself briefly in the glass, and oh, look at that, the tie was already a sloppy mess against the sharp contrast of his crisp, white dress shirt. Castiel chuckled, before finally driving his SUV onto the familiar path to the Federal Building.
It wasn’t until Castiel crossed the threshold of the Federal Building and went through his usual routine that he felt the frisson of anxiety jolt through him once again. Castiel found himself coming up with all sorts of excuses for it. He passed it off as hardly seeing Dean lately. That led him to change his mind, and conclude with certainty that it was him empathising with Dean about this being his last day with his kids before heading off to the Academy, where he would be spending the next several weeks to months. Then he changed his mind, and thought perhaps his anxiety was also because he had to break in a new partner today, a kid that was so green that Castiel felt as if he would have to take the fresh agent for a good vault around the building before even thinking of releasing the agent into the public.
None of these thoughts put his mind at ease, and the anxiety remained. For Castiel - with all his logic - would never in a million years think that it was some sort of sixth sense informing him that within a manner of hours, he would be sprawled out across a dirty, greasy alley in the industrial district, in the wake of a shuddering bomb blast.
“I hate the fact that you’re stuck here,” Castiel said, dropping the coffee he had picked up in front of Sam. The younger agent flashed him a wide, winning smile that was all gratitude and teeth. Castiel would never cease to admire the power a Winchester smile had over a person, and found himself grinning in response.
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Sam said after a blissful sip that actually had him closing his eyes at the taste. “Being a desk jockey sucks way more ass than I ever want to think about. Oh well, at least I can get my geek on,” Sam finished with a shrug. Though if anyone ever told Dean he had phrased it that way, Sam would deny it vehemently to his last breath.
“It’s especially horrid now, when I have to show that kid the ropes while chasing down that lead your little girlfriend gave us,” Castiel griped, settling into the visitor’s chair on the other side of Sam’s large black desk.
Sam shuddered and wrinkled his nose. “Ah… Cas man, ew. Every time I have to talk to Ruby, I feel violated… It’s like she’s trying to trick me into something and eye-fuck me all at once. Way too disturbing, on way too many levels. I don’t even like brunettes.”
“No, that’s not it, you only like Jessicas,” Castiel teased.
“One Jessica… and man, you know she’s intelligent, incredible and gorgeous, what’s not to like?” Sam grinned, big and foolish, and Castiel could only chuckle warmly at the love he saw in those green eyes.
“And your bride-to-be, and the mother of your child,” Castiel smirked.
Sam coughed. “Ah… er… huh?”
“You’re cute when you play dumb, Sam,” Castiel said. He let it drop, though, and stood with a stretch. “I suppose I should go do some actual work now. Enjoy your coffee, I’ll check in when I’m on the road, let you know of any updates. Wish me luck with the fawn.”
“She’s a good kid, Castiel,” Sam shrugged. “Young and idealistic, but her heart’s in the right place.” Castiel just nodded and waved absently over his shoulder.
Castiel wandered out of the bull-pen and down the hall to his office. When he reached it, he saw a young blonde hovering at the entrance. Her eyes were wide and starry, her hair pulled back into a professional bun at the nape of her neck, and she was dressed in a standard black suit and white blouse.
“Good morning, Rachel,” Castiel said gently.
“Good morning, Agent L’Ange,” she said, taking a faltering step toward him, before flushing and taking a faltering step back.
“Please, call me Castiel,” he insisted.
If anything, her blush seemed to deepen and she nodded stiffly.
He entered his office and bustled around at his desk for a moment before looking up and quirking a brow. Castiel had been around Winchesters for far too long and forgot polite people still existed in the world.
“Come in, Rachel,” Castiel said with a gentle smile. “I’m sorry, I would have said it earlier, but my usual partner generally comes in, permission or no. Please, sit down.”
“Thank you, Sir,” she said quietly, all thoughts of calling him Castiel apparently ignored.
Castiel chuckled to himself and sat down on the desk, flipping through the file he had there before handing it over to the young woman. It made Castiel a little uncomfortable to see her sitting in Sam’s chair, but he had to deal with it now. It was only temporary, but Castiel had never really been good with change. Dean was not the only one with quirks in this relationship.
“That’s everything we’ve managed to pull together on Brady. All in all, not exactly an honourable fellow, but he has a surprising amount of information at his disposal. Ruby assured us that if we go investigate the provided location, we should receive some excellent intel. Oddly enough, the two always use the same meeting place: the storehouse for Niveus Industries at the harbour. Brady is apparently the acting CEO of the company at this time, despite his youth.”
Rachel frowned, “Is that not a pharmaceutical company?”
“Yes, they primarily deal in vaccinations, but according to Ruby, they also use the laboratories to concoct various narcotics that Crowley then distributes. All under the guise of an upstanding enterprise, of course,” Castiel nodded. “Their latest venture is something akin to phenylcyclohexyl-piperidine when used in both small and large doses. That is, you gain the staggering, stuttering gait that low doses of PCP often elicit, combined with hallucinations, violent outbursts, apparent invincibility, and strength that is so often associated with PCP in a higher dose… It’s been coined the Zombie drug by traffickers and dealers. Now, the drug itself is more a matter for the Narcotics Division of the Boston PD, but we are interested in any information we can get on Crowley, which means we’re going to this meeting. I understand this may be a bit of a nerve-wracking mission to begin with, but you do have to start somewhere, after all.”
Rachel nodded, once and firm. Without wavering, she said, “I’m ready.”
Castiel tried for a reassuring smile, which only succeeded in making Rachel begin to blush and fidget once again.
“All right then, may I recommend field gear? I’ll meet you at my vehicle in about ten minutes. I’ve parked out front today,” Castiel said. It was technically visitor parking out front, but Castiel knew he wasn’t going to be very long in the office, and most of his fellow agents tended to indulge him for one reason or another, regardless.
Rachel nodded again and stood. “Yes Sir.”
When she disappeared from view, Castiel just shook his head at her blind obedience and opened the small closet he had behind his desk. He shrugged out of his trench coat and suit jacket, slinging his tie around the hanger, before tucking both items away and toeing off his dress shoes. His well-worn black combat boots were shined and waiting in the closet, and he sat to lace them up before letting his pants settle over them. Vest, vinyl FBI field jacket - into the pocket of which he tucked his badge - and he was ready.
He checked both his weapons one last time before slipping out of his office. He waved to Andy and Nancy on his way out and nodded to Sam, who gave him an energetic thumbs-up.
xx
Rachel was quiet on the way over, reading and re-reading the file on Brady she had opened on her lap. Castiel kept on giving her sidelong glances as he smoothly navigated the Suburban around the streets of Boston. He always thought the vehicles were a bit pretentious, but if the Bureau kept paying for the gas, he wouldn’t complain about driving it.
Castiel kept on waiting for Rachel to open her mouth and fire off question after question about this, that, and the other, like Sam had done when he had sat in that very seat for the first time, files open on his lap. Rachel remained studiously quiet, not even hemming quietly to herself, as Castiel knew he would at times. It was almost eerie how she carried herself, and Castiel was not at all accustomed to being spooked by anything… Period. Well, except for snakes…
Sam had known him from before; they hadn’t been strangers when they were partnered up, and Castiel supposed that was partly why Sam felt so comfortable about rambling on about the case. He was also naturally curious; all Winchesters were naturally curious, but Sam especially. Dean had told him that when Sam was five years old, he’d constantly sounded like he was writing a newspaper article, firing out Who, What, When, Where, Why, and How whenever he could. Castiel allowed himself a small, fond smile at the mental-picture of an irritated nine-year-old Dean, constantly keeping his temper with his brother in check as he dragged the small boy around behind him wherever he went. That finally elicited some response from Rachel, but only slightly. With a brief, curious flash of her eyes, she returned her attention to the task at hand.
Castiel sighed and ran a hand through his hair (a borrowed Winchester gesture); he had never been much of a conversationalist, preferring for others to lead the discussion, but he assumed it was up to him this time. “Do you have any questions, Rachel? About the case?”
“No Sir, I’ve had a copy of the file since early this week,” Rachel remarked.
And she was still going over it? Even Castiel had to baulk at that one.
Usually, he gave files the cursory glance that he needed to give them, and let them join the increasingly overfilled drawer of files in his desk. Mind you, with his experience, he tended to pick up patterns and key points faster than most. It came from spending a good four years of your life constantly ducking bombs and gunfire while on the move from insurgents in the Middle East. You needed to be fast or you were killed. Plain and simple.
Castiel felt a twist in his chest, as he always did, when he thought of his time away. Thoughts of his murdered and killed brothers-in-arms flashing through his mind, with the unwitting guilt that he had survived and not them. Some of them were just children, really, starting out with new wives or husbands and babies, or not even as far as that. Boys and girls fresh out of school, ready and eager to make a difference in a land a world away, and war they didn’t fully understand: Patriotism at his best and worst. Castiel, in comparison, was old; he’d seen his life and had nothing to go back to.
But that was then, before Dean. Castiel wasn’t sure if he would go back if he were asked to accompany the select few men who - at this point - were mostly being sent over for training missions, though the danger was no less real. He wasn’t sure if he could, were asked back, now that he had something waiting for him, too.
“Sir? Was that not our turn-off?” Rachel asked hesitantly.
Castiel slammed on the breaks, the squeal of abused rubber making him wince in the otherwise silent car. He waved off a few angry horns he heard behind him and pulled a U-turn that he probably really shouldn’t have pulled, considering he was a Law Enforcement Agent of the Federal Government.
Rachel didn’t say anything, but her quirked eyebrow spoke volumes. Castiel found himself warming up to her a little.
As Castiel pulled down the road - which was really little more than a strip of asphalt and potholes - he gathered his thoughts back to the mission at hand. He studiously chose to ignore the nagging sinking twinge in his gut, thinking there was really no rationale for it to be there. No one knew they were coming, they would in all likelihood slip in, observe without engaging, and slip out again. Simple and easy reconnaissance, which was something that Castiel was extremely familiar with. All he had to worry about was his green partner keeping her head down and her mouth shut, and he’d be fine. It wasn’t the first time he had broken in a new agent, and it probably wouldn’t be his last. There was absolutely no cause for his infuriating ‘spidey sense,’ as Dean affectionately termed it, to flare up.
“Gear and weapons check,” Castiel ordered after he pulled his overlarge SUV up into the smallest nook he could find to stash it in, and hopped out.
Rachel dutifully obeyed, checking her standard Glock and then her backup, which was the smallest the Bureau provided (the cost for the second weapon coming out of the agent’s own pocket, of course), and also a long, deadly looking blade that Castiel knew was not at all standard issue (and was surprised, because Rachel seemed so straight laced even by Castiel’s high standards), and he was rather impressed. He raised a brow at her to indicate this, and she blushed once more in response before tucking the blade back into the sheath down the side of her boot. She checked her vest again and her communicator, the clear plastic cord disappearing into strands of hair that had tumbled from her bun, and nodded at Castiel.
Castiel tucked his own communicator up in his ear, resisting the urge to scratch at the initial tickling irritation that the rubbery plastic sliding along his neck caused, and nodded to the doors on the south side of the building.
Ruby had assured them that Brady and his Boss always entered by the north side, and that the sound of breakers on the wood of the south side would disguise the light tread of their feet on what would undoubtedly be dirty concrete. It wasn’t long after this that Castiel wondered if Ruby had ever learned to read a compass, because just after he and Rachel had crossed the threshold (after Castiel made quick work on the lock that he assured Rachel had been opened already, to which Rachel blinked in response - hey, former-vandal boyfriends had their perks after all), they heard the not-at-all disguised sound of feet clomping towards them, and several men’s voices ringing in the salty air… from the south.
Castiel grit his teeth and grabbed Rachel’s arm, ushering her deeper into the warehouse than they intended to go, crouching and hiding behind a skid of several medium-sized crates wrapped in thick, white plastic. The voices moved off, however, and Castiel let out a breath that he hadn’t been aware he had been holding. Rachel sat, vacant and wide-eyed beside him, her chest heaving with each rapid breath.
“Rachel,” Castiel snapped firmly but quietly, grabbing her delicate chin in his pistol-calloused hand.
She flinched, and then came back to herself, letting out one long, shaky breath and nodding once.
A few moments later - which really seemed like hours- they heard the loud, screeching grind of large metal bay doors sliding against rusty tracks from directly in front of them. Castiel flatted himself further against the crate and held his breath again. He didn’t risk a peek over the crates to see why Brady had decided the shipping entrance would be a good change of pace for the day.
A man hollered out a hollow, echoing greeting, and a door from somewhere down the floor opened and shut. A moment later, men’s voices were rumbling good naturedly together, and the unmistakable sound of a truck backing up alerted Castiel to the fact that, clandestine meeting or no clandestine meeting, Niveus still received deliveries, apparently.
Rachel seemed like she was about to say something, but Castiel held up a firm, hushing hand, and Rachel closed her mouth. Castiel very suddenly did not at all appreciate the niggling, churning feelings in his chest and stomach, and was about ready to evacuate the premises before any more unexpected arrivals. Though, given the situation, he assumed the expected arrivals were still spades more dangerous than the unexpected ones.
Castiel was about ready to send a quick text to their back-up team to let Ellen know that they were aborting, when the large bay doors clattered shut and a bolt slid in place with finality. Another far off metallic bang of a door echoed down the length of the building and everything got very, very quiet.
Castiel waited a beat, then two, before chancing a glance over the crates that were their pithy shelter at the moment, and eased up further when all was clear. The truck from earlier had delivered a fair-sized skid, identical to the one they crouched behind, but something about it didn’t sit quite right with Castiel. It was ominous somehow, and being the intrepid - and admittedly at times, moronic - FBI agent that he was, Castiel decided to investigate.
“Stay here,” he hissed at Rachel.
Castiel crept out onto the floor, which was when the agent noticed that all along the stretch of the building, there were skid after skid of evenly placed crates. Too evenly placed to be entirely random, and the building seemed deathly silent. Then the barely-discernible beep and whir of a tiny electronic device caught his sensitive ears, and his eyes widened the same moment the skid at the furthest end of the building exploded in a fiery, orange-red cloud.
“Fuck!” Castiel snarled. “Rachel! Run! Now!”
Castiel knew he had a better advantage over the young woman; he was out in the open floor and his stretch to the doors they had entered was clear of debris and crates. Rachel had to navigate around several stacked skids before she could be in the clear as well.
Castiel waited impatiently, mentally counting down the seconds they had left as the other crate blew only ten beats after the first. They had roughly twenty seconds to get out of the building, and Castiel could only assume the first crowd of men that had herded them inside had locked their exit on their way past.
He weighed the merits of waiting for her to be clear, or running to the door to kick it, blow it, and pick it open so it would be ready for when she was free. After sparing her a brief glance, he was at the exit in several long strides.
… Fourteen seconds…
The door, as expected, was locked, and the bolt reinforced. His Glock probably had the kick necessary to break through the poorly-reinforced metal, but the shrapnel that would result could have dire backlash.
….Ten seconds…
And on cue, the second-to-last skid blew behind him, and Rachel’s cry of fear - and perhaps pain - at the concussive force made Castiel wince. He spared her another brief glace to verify that, yes, she was still standing and moving, before turning his attention back to the lock.
…Seven seconds…
Thrust, twist, wiggle, press, click!
Rachel was at his back then, swaying and woozy but still standing, and Castiel pushed the door open just as his mental timer cheerily informed him that they had three seconds to get the hell out of dodge. Then, very suddenly, the world went up in heat and flame just as he crossed the threshold behind Rachel.
He tackled her down, the blast a scorching burn of hot air through the nylon of his jacket and the Kevlar of his vest as they skidded to a stop at the edge of the abrupt drop-off into the churning bay. Castiel’s head slammed down with force on the wood, and he heard a strange crunching sound as he rolled.
The last thought that drifted through Castiel’s mind before the blackness took him was the strangeness of Rachel’s eyes, staring blankly up at the sky, reflecting the blue in their murky depths.
End Arc I
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