Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The ancient Greek-styled party was a blast as far as Dean could tell. At least it would be if the guests hadn’t him running around like a maniac. Joining the party as a waiter required more of his attention than he had called for. After all, there were more serious matters to take care of than Champagne.

Champagne of all things. Dean had never gotten his head around how much of that stuff could be drunk by the rich and famous, especially at an event like this, but after having to serve them all night, his bewilderment knew no bounds.

Granted, the stuff was acceptable from time to time, notably if the need arose for a job, but unlike others of his kind, Dean didn’t understand the hype around the bubbly dishwater. He preferred a cold beer and his trusted friends Jack and Jim over Champagne or a Martini at any time.

Thankfully, his cover job was almost over, and Dean prepared himself for the critical part of the night. While he wound himself through the crowd partying on the patio, he fake-grinned at a big guy wrapped in a fancy bedsheet who grabbed the two last full glasses of his tray.

The guy didn’t even acknowledge Dean’s presence as he handed one glass to his far too young blonde escort. Without a word, he downed his own glass in one go and put it back on the tray, using Dean as his personal high table.

Though Dean wouldn’t complain. It was his cover to serve and his job to stay in the dark after all. Given the nature of his mission, blending in was his main goal. Still, the goddamn arrogance of the high and mighty had him gritting his teeth in fury. Assholes, all of them.

Nonetheless, he grinned at another group of guests when someone invited the whole party to step inside. That was his signal. Dean’s pulse shot up as the arranged time for his meeting was quickly approaching. He left the empty tray on a baluster and sneaked down the stairs into the garden.

Someone was already waiting for him on the lawn. Dean hoped it was Creaser. If not—

He gulped. Crouching at the end of the steps, he rolled his neck until his weary bones snapped into place. Carefully, he listened into the night. Though except for muffled noises from the ongoing party, everything was silent. Maybe too silent if anyone asked him.

Dean’s instincts kicked in. Holding his breath, he watched the person in the garden move. They stepped into a brighter spot and revealed a man in a toga. As the light fell on their face, Dean allowed himself to breathe and straighten himself when he recognised his contact.

“They’ve spotted me,” Creaser greeted Dean and hurriedly handed him a package. “Get this to headquarters.”

Dean waited for further instructions, but before Creaser could say anything else, glass shattered. A shot fired, Creaser went down, and Dean ran, leaving the lifeless body of his contact behind. He couldn’t pay him another thought when two sets of steps started to follow him close behind. Dean could almost feel their breath as he rushed up the stairs. Which certainly wasn’t how he had planned for his night to end.

Another bullet almost got him, but he dashed around a corner and climbed over a gate, landing hard on the other side. His pursuers were right behind him, but at least they didn’t dare fire another shot out in the open. For now.

However, if he wanted to live to see another day, Dean needed to turn tail asap. No time to think. All he could do was run as fast as he could, making sure the package was tightly clutched to his chest.

***

“Dad!” Claire shouted, and Castiel took a deep breath as he walked down the stairs.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he counted to five and reminded himself that it was just another morning; the same old routine as every day and with it the same chaos that awaited him downstairs.

He smiled at his family when he finally entered the kitchen. As usual, his mom was already preparing the dish of the day as presented to her by her favourite cooking show. Staring at the TV, she hung on the hosts lips to jot down every single ingredient, not even letting herself be bothered by the rush around her.

Patiently, Castiel took an apple and put it in Jack’s breakfast bag while handing his daughter a sandwich and her water bottle.

Of course, Claire would later complain that her friends were always allowed to drink soda at school, but Castiel stayed adamant. He liked his children’s teeth intact and their bodies healthy.

Unlike his sister, Jack beamed at him, proudly showing off his tooth gaps when Castiel handed his youngest the provisions for the day. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Dad, you’re going to be late,” Claire reminded him.

“I know,” Castiel replied, kissing her head and taking the cup of coffee his daughter offered to him.

“Why can’t Daphne take herself to the train station?” Jack asked, obviously more prying than bothered.

Claire rolled her eyes. “Because they are in love, stupid.”

“She’s going to Baltimore to visit her family,” Castiel cut her short.

Taking a sip from his cup, it was hard not to sigh. What wouldn't he give to enjoy the cup in peace, though there wasn’t even enough time for more than a few sips of his favourite drink of the day. Although, ‘essential’ probably explained the steaming coffee running down his throat a lot better.

“And she doesn’t want to leave her car in the rain,” he added as an afterthought.

Even his mother spared a look from the TV and counter. “It isn’t raining, dear.”

“Well, not yet,” Castiel agreed. “Though Daphne says there is a 35 percent chance. She’s supposed to know those things. That’s why the weather bureau is paying her after all.” He turned around to grab his umbrella. “Where are my keys?”

“Is that all you’re wearing outside?” his mother asked back and squinted at him.

Castiel sighed, but still looked down at his body. The pajamas were the best he had. “Mother, I’m just going to the station. I’ll be back in no time.” As if to prove his point, he pulled his long trench coat tighter around his body. No one would be any the wiser what he was wearing underneath. Besides, it was no one’s business to care about his choice of clothes.

With a frowny smile at his family, Castiel grabbed his car keys from Jack who dangled them in front of him. “Thanks, love.”

He was finally ready to leave when Claire spoke up again. “How much do they pay Daphne? After all, the weather is important.”

“Probably not enough,” his mother replied, and Castiel agreed silently until she soured his mood. “But still plenty that it’s nice when you get married.”

Castiel stopped in his tracks. Of course, Becky Rosen would talk about marriage.

“Mother, we’re not even engaged. Kelly and I haven't been divorced for a year,” he reminded her.

Becky nodded. “Take all the time you need, dear,” she reassured him. “There’s no pressure here.”

Absolutely no pressure indeed. Three pairs of eyes watched him expectantly when Castiel glanced at the clock and flinched.

It was high time. He didn’t want to let Daphne wait. Whatever his mother hoped for, it wouldn’t happen. Not anytime soon at least. They hadn’t been dating for that long. Definitely not long enough to talk about marriage, or even think about it. Still, Castiel hoped to have found something with her that would give his children the mother he couldn’t be for them.

Even though their mother was still around, Kelly’s job in the State Department required most of her time. Between meetings and all her work trips abroad, Castiel and the kids barely saw her. In hindsight, it was no wonder that their marriage hadn’t worked out in the end.

Moreover, Castiel still felt guilty for leading Kelly on for years, even though he had always been honest with her about his sexual preferences. She had known when they tied the knot. And still, she had said yes. Their deep friendship had been the foundation for their marriage. It had been almost perfect. Even though Kelly had never been able to meet his deepest desires, their friendship with benefits had resulted in two beautiful kids.

Castiel would have been happy with their arrangement if Kelly hadn’t met someone who could give her what he had never been able to give her: sexual desire. A divorce had been the logical decision. It had  been only fair to let her go. Castiel sometimes wondered about the impact on their kids, but Jack and Claire seemed fine. After all, with Kelly being abroad more often than not, not much had changed for them after the divorce.

Except for Daphne. Unlike Kelly, she was still in the dark, and Castiel debated with himself if he would ever be able to tell her about himself, or if he ended up deeper in the closet than ever before.

Would it be so bad? Fact was, he liked her. It was nice to have someone to talk to again other than his mother and his children. Yet, each time he pictured a life with her, his mind came up blank. He had been lucky once, especially since he couldn’t have the one thing he wanted. Not with two children in his care and the world around them being as it was. He couldn’t risk his life and the ones of his kids for something that wasn’t possible.

In the end, Daphne was the best he could get right now. It wasn’t fair towards her, but Castiel was content with what they had. Besides, he liked her, quite a lot actually. Enough, to drive her to the train station in his pajamas.

***

“Bye-bye,” Castiel said as he hugged his girlfriend to bid her farewell.

“See you soon, Castiel.” Smiling, she hugged him back and pressed her lips on his cheek before boarding the railroad car.

Soon, the train started rolling, and Castiel waved until the train was out of sight. Lost in thought about their relationship and his tremendous secret, he slowly made his way back to his car when someone turned him around.

“Excuse me!” Castiel exclaimed, startled.

“Just walk with me,” the stranger mumbled, and Castiel forgot how to breathe when he laid eyes on the man in question.

A few inches taller than Castiel and more beautiful than Castiel ever had beheld anyone, the man grinned at him. His green eyes twinkled despite the haunted look on his face.

“I’m in trouble,” he said and quickly looked over his shoulder while sweat dropped from his forehead.

His clothes had certainly seen better times. Yet, it wasn’t the look of someone living on the street. Castiel had seen a lot, but never a homeless man wearing a black and white three-piece suit, accompanied by a bowtie.

The stranger had slung his arm around Castiel in a way that was highly inappropriate for a public space. As much as Castiel wanted it, men didn’t walk together like that. At least not him. Never him.

Castiel pulled back, yet unable to take his eyes from the man. “I’ve got to go,” he burst out and jumped back, putting half a yard between them.

Yet, the stranger didn’t give up. “No, no, no. Please,” he protested. The begging sounded so genuine that Castiel stopped in his tracks.

“I’m in trouble,” the stranger repeated, and Castiel watched him intently as the other man held onto his forearms.

Panting, the man stared at Castiel. “Please,” he stated anew and started to walk, guiding Castiel back into the direction he was coming from.

“Just… Please, take this,” the guy said breathlessly. “Please.” Once again, he glanced back over his shoulder before he stopped in front of a train. “Get on there. It’s important. A matter of life and death.”

Castiel gulped as the man pressed a package in his hands. “Life and death?” he asked.

The little nod was enough of an answer. The man gripped his shoulder. “Hand this package to the man in the red hat.”

“But—” Castiel tried to object when the stranger interrupted him.

“No questions,” he said, leaving no room for arguments. “Just get on the train. Find the man in the red hat and hand him the package.”

“Train. Man with the red hat,” Castiel parroted and nodded before staring at the man again. “Is this for real?”

The stranger’s eyes hardened. “Hand him the package and get off at the next stop.” He sighed and swayed. To catch himself, he steadied himself on Castiel’s other shoulder as well. “Please,” he whispered while his eyes constantly scanned their surroundings before focusing on Castiel for a plea. “And then forget any of this has ever happened. You’ve never seen me.”

“But—” Castiel tried anew.

“Geez! Just do it,” the stranger urged, looking over his shoulder once again, and froze. “Go,” he ordered, more or less pushing Castiel away.

Castiel tried to see what the man was looking at. Too late, he noticed two men coming their way. While the stranger fled, Castiel stared at the package in his hands. He felt petrified when a knot of people pushed him towards the train. Although Castiel tried to keep an eye on the mysterious stranger and his pursuers, he lost him and with the people herding him into the car, there was not much Castiel could do against boarding.

Only when his fellow travellers had disbanded in search of their seats, Castiel turned around to have a final look through the open door. The train was already moving, and he had given up hope to see the stranger again when he spotted him.

The man was fleeing from the two henchmen chasing him. While Castiel wondered if his assessment of the situation was right and the dangerous looking men were indeed the bad ones in the scenario playing out in front of him, they caught up with their quarry. Yet, their methods left little to no doubt that he was right.

Castiel winced when the stranger was violently pushed into a luggage cart and went down. Stunned, he stared at the scene where the thugs approached and pulled the man up. Just when they started to work him over, the train took a turn and the scene vanished from Castiel’s sight.

Alarmed, he left the door and stared at the mysterious package that had brought the handsome stranger so much trouble. Who was he? And what was so special about that package that someone risked his life for it?

“Train. Man in the red hat,” Castiel reminded himself. Still focusing on the package, he walked into the car. As he looked up, his heart sank and he stared disbelievingly at the passengers.

Now would be the right time to curse his day. His family had been right. It would have been wise to let Daphne drive her own car to the station. Castiel, however, shouldn’t have left his bed at all. At least, he shouldn’t have been allowed to step out of his house. After all, anything would have been better than his current situation.

Maybe he should have tried his hand at gambling. The odds couldn’t have been worse than this. After all, how high was the probability for him to stumble into an entire train full of men wearing fezzes? Red fezzes, to be precise.

Faced by twenty or thirty men in red hats, Castiel was lost when a voice arose behind him.

“Tickets. Tickets, please.”

Castiel gasped, still unable to pull his eyes away from the multitude of red hats.

The conductor harrumphed. “Sir, your ticket, please,” he urged and Castiel had to face the truth.

“I don’t have a ticket,” he exclaimed sheepishly. “I’m not a passenger.”

“You’re on a train,” the conductor noted and frowned, but Castiel rambled on.

“My girlfriend is going to see her family in Baltimore. She didn’t want to leave the car because of the rain. So, I brought her to the station, and I— In fact, I should be on my way home. In my car—”

The conductor sighed. “Alright. You can pay me the fare.”

“No!” Castiel protested loudly. “I don’t want to buy a ticket. I’m not even supposed to be here. Look, I’m still in my pajamas. Do you think I’m willingly travelling in my pjs?”

The entire railroad car fell silent and Castiel closed his eyes to take a deep breath.

“Where are we even going?” he asked, calmer.

Someone chuckled, but the conductor gaped at him. “Sir, you are travelling on this train. This is the New England flier, bound for Philadelphia, New York, and Boston. Where did you expect to be?”

Castiel gulped. “Uh… Home?”

***

Lost in thought, Dean brushed the back of his hand along his nose. It came back with bloody red streaks and his suit didn’t look any better.

Blood splatters had coloured the white jacket while his pants were ripped in several places. Not to mention the mud he was covered in from head to toe.

In fact, he didn’t feel any better himself. Geez, he was used to getting roughed up a little bit, or even a little bit more, but the last couple of hours had left their mark on his body. Everything was aching, and all he wanted was a hot shower and his bed, but of course, he had no such luck.

After his mission had gone awry, it was time to eat crow and face Rufus.

Dean righted his jacket and bowtie as he approached the Georgetown portal that would lead him headquarters. A lady on the sidewalk gave him side-eye at his roughed-up state, but he grinned at her.

“You should see the other one,” Dean said and wiggled his brows.

She tutted in horror and quickly crossed the street. Dean just hoped she wasn’t working for the other side. You could never know in this town. These days, everyone could be your enemy. And in his current state, he stood out in this neighbourhood like a pink elephant.

Then again, secret entrances never were as secret as the agency wanted to make them. Besides, someone would take care of it if the need arose.

Right now, Dean couldn’t care less. It wasn’t his problem. Gritting his teeth, he limped towards the front door and let himself into the impressive town house.

With a glance at the camera that greeted him, he walked right into the closet. Dean would never not laugh at the irony of it. However, this closet brought him right towards his destination. All he had to do was press a few buttons, and the closet started to move. As the elevator went down, Dean leant back, granting himself a short moment of rest, until the doors pinged and demanded his attention.

He sighed and pushed himself through the coats hanging on the rack to leave the closet on the other side. Dean huffed. Story of his life. Sometimes he wondered if it was a curse or a blessing to have the entire range to choose from. He could go stealthy with any girl that caught his eye, but after he had his encounter with the stunning stranger at the station, any woman sounded bleak. Actually, anyone who wasn’t tall-dark-and-handsome had lost its appeal all of a sudden.

Lost in thought, Dean walked down the corridor when someone stopped right in front of him. Startled, he looked up.

“My aren’t we a mess?” Rufus greeted him. “You’ve seen better times, Squirrel.”

“Well, thanks.” Dean rolled his eyes at his boss. “I’m fine. Peachy.”

“I can see that.”

With a huff, Rufus let him to a golf cart that would take them to the other side of the vast underground facility. Unfortunately, there was no way for Dean to evade his boss’ questions any longer while he was sitting right next to him.

“So, the package,” Rufus immediately put the main issue on the table. “Word is, you lost it.”

“How—” Dean clapped his mouth shut when Rufus lifted an eyebrow, and Dean’s tired mind caught up with him. “Yeah, you know things.”

“Exactly,” Rufus grumbled and dodged an oncoming cart. “That’s my job.”

“It’s our job, sir,” Dean reminded him as he held onto the handles to keep himself upright.

Rufus slowed down and glared at him. “Is it now?”

Dean scratched the back of his head. “Don’t I get some brownie points for making a miraculous escape? I got out. And it wasn’t a cakewalk. Ain’t that something, Rufus?”

“Straighten your badge,” was all Dean got as an answer.

As the cart stopped, Pamela was already waiting for them. “On your way to the principal’s office?” she greeted them and grinned at Dean. “Well, good luck. He doesn’t seem happy.”

“Then it’s good you’re coming with us, Miss Barnes,” Rufus grouched.

“Me?” Pam protested while pointing at herself.

Dean chuckled, but Rufus’ glare shut him up before their boss turned back to Pam. “That’s one of the joys of being my assistant. You’re helping take the flak.”

“Squirrel! I see you’re alive. Well done.” Crowley welcomed him as they walked through the door in the office. “But where’s my package?”

Dean flinched internally, but did his best not to show it. Instead, he followed Rufus’ lead and slumped down in an armchair. He had a hard time not to sigh and close his eyes as his weary bones got to rest for the first time in hours. Though, Crowley wouldn’t have him any of it.

His boss’ boss leant back in his big leather chair and crossed his arms, looking like a king on his throne.

“You know, the package that contains highly sensitive information,” Crowley went on. “The one you misplaced? Does it ring a bell or did the thugs manage to turn your brain into mush for good?”

“I didn’t misplace it,” Dean protested and straightened up in his seat when the principal scrutinised him.

Yet, Crowley stuck to his guns. “So, where is it? What was in it?”

Dean couldn’t help the smirk creeping on his face. The whole package turned into a goddamn Macguffin. No one seemed to know anything about it. “Uh… I don’t know, Sir. I’m not sure, that is.”

Crowley huffed and Rufus got up to lean on the glass wall that separated them from the open office space. Dean could feel him glowering at his back.

Trapped between his two bosses, Dean fidgeted with a torn part of his sleeve as he started to rehash the events of the night. “You know, Martin Creaser contacted me.”

“That’s our operative in Georgetown,” Pam chimed in.

Grateful that she seemed to be on his side and had his back, Dean corrected her anyway. “He was.”

When no one took the bait, Dean continued. “Martin said someone was about to slip him a package of information at that fancy theme party, and I needed to be there to take it. He couldn’t leave without blowing his cover. So, I went in as a waiter and met him at the arranged time.”

Crowley nodded. “So?”

Dean huffed. “All hell broke loose. All I could do was grab the package and run while bullets whizzed through the air. They got him. He went down—”

“Dead?” Rufus asked.

“Guess so.” Dean shrugged. “Hell, there was nothing I could do for him. Two thugs were on my heels and I had a hard time dodging them. Took me hours to shake them.”

“In which you lost my package,” Crowley reminded him.

“I didn’t lose—”

“And you didn’t even look at it,” the principal cut him off.

“Told you, Sir, there was no time,” Dean defended himself. “I’m not sure about the exact information it contains, but it’s supposed to be the key to our mole.”

“Mole, Squirrel?” Crowley blustered and jumped out of his comfy chair. “It’s a damn milling machine! You can’t even fart here without the other side getting to know about it. Any time we make a move they are at least one step ahead of us. Our missions get sabotaged, our agents murdered. Even missions called on short notice have been compromised. Give them less than 24 hours and we’re toast.”

Dean stared into the void while his boss tore him apart. There was nothing else he could do. He was the last one Crowley needed to tell that he had fucked up on the big scale. The entire agency was at stake, and he had lost the key that finally might get them to the heart of the matter. Because of him, people would die.

However, Crowley only seemed to have gotten started. “We already lost four of our agents in the last two weeks alone. Five if you add Creaser. Right now, we’re all rats in a trap. They know and they’re getting the word out to their people asap. So, tell me, Squirrel, how do they do it?”

“Excuse me, Fergus, but that’s my job, not yours,” Rufus contradicted him. “After all, it’s my department.”

“Exactly,” Crowley stated as he stopped walking around to stand beside Rufus. “Yet, if your guys and girls” —he was probably looking at Pam right now— “come up empty handed, then Internal Affairs takes over. And I assure you they’ll find the weak link.”

Dean could feel the principal’s gaze on his neck. He took a deep breath and licked his lips. “Uh… It would be nice if you didn’t look at me when you say ‘weak link’.”

Crowley huffed, but Rufus wouldn’t put up with their boss. “Fergus, we haven’t been sitting idle. We already confirmed that the Russians aren’t using any of the known communication services in the entire D.C. area.”

“Wonderful.” Crowley threw his arms in the air. “Then how are they communicating? Smoke signals?”

Dean bit his tongue since he didn’t trust his loose mouth. He was already too deep into this. If he caught Crowley even more on his wrong foot, Dean better prepared himself to pack before being sent to who knew where.

“Fact is, we got a clue to this leak and we lost it,” Crowley hissed, walking around Dean’s chair to glare at him. “But you’re telling me our squirrel can’t remember where he hit the nut.”

He was about to lean down, holding onto the arm rests when the door opened.

“Sir,” Dean protested at the same time Mildred walked in.

“Mr. Winchester?” she said. “They’ve located Lee Chambers.”

Dean’s mood lit up and he grinned at his boss. “Looks like the nut has just been found after all.”

Though Crowley didn’t share his excitement. The frown on his forehead deepened as he turned his attention to the intruder. “What is it, Miss Baker?”

Mildred paused a little too long, and Dean’s heart dropped to his stomach. The seconds ticked by as he waited for the other shoe to drop.

“He’s in the morgue, Sir.”

It was a punch in the gut. Breathing became impossible as exhaustion crept into Dean’s bones and the world around him started to spin.

Worse, Crowley’s gaze found Dean’s, and Dean shrunk as he noticed the red-hot anger burning in his boss’ eyes.

“That’s your nut, Squirrel?” Crowley growled coldly. “Congrats. We just got another dead agent.”

“Sir, I—” Dean spoke up, but Crowley shut him up.

“Just pray he didn’t lose your precious nut and we can still crack it, or I’ll get yours.”

Dean swallowed. Did this goddamn day never end?

***

“A package?” The lanky coroner shook his head before his gaze returned to the body before him. “There wasn’t a package.”

“Damn, then they got it,” Rufus grumbled.

“He didn’t say anything about a package,” the coroner clarified.

Crowley stared at him. “You talked to him, Doctor? Before he…”

Dr. Fitzgerald nodded. Dean would never understand how a man like him had ended up in his trade, spending all his time with the dead. He had never met anyone more cheerful than Garth. To think he was wasting all that merriness on corpses was a shame.

Then again, it somehow soothed Dean that Garth would be the one waiting for him when he finally bit the bullet. Given how his friends and colleagues died like flies at the moment, it wouldn’t be long until he ended up on the same table Lee’s body was currently laid out.

“Yes, I did. Chambers was still alive when we found him. But” —Garth sighed— “it was too late. We couldn’t do anything for him.”

Damn, sometimes Dean forgot that Garth was not only their coroner. He was the guy that patched them up when it wasn’t too late.

Garth’s eyes fell on Dean. “You look battered. Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Dean said gruffly and shrugged. “It’s just a scratch.”

All too aware that it took more than a brawl for Dean to ask for his services; Garth nodded. “Lee told me he was supposed to meet you. But you never showed.”

“What?” Dean blinked disbelievingly at Garth. “Goddammit! He didn’t give Lee the package?”

“He?” Crowley exclaimed and focused on Dean. “That was your job,” he added, a lot more subdued, but no less threatening. “What did you do, Squirrel?”

Dean shook his head, trying to understand. “I was so sure… I saw him get into the train.”

Pam was the first to pick up the meaning. “Of course. Munich.”

“Yep.” Dean grinned, even though he didn’t feel like it, especially when he dared a glance at the principal.

Crowley’s face had turned red and was still getting redder. “Do I get this— You handed classified documents to a stranger? I have never heard of such stupidity. You’ve violated every—”

“Calm down, Fergus,” Rufus grouched. “You know very well that ain’t true. When Dean pulled it off the last time, you congratulated him for his ingenuity.”

“And right so,” Pam chimed in. “It’s the same ploy he came up with when he salvaged Dr. Redfield’s formula.”

“That’s why you’re so fond of him,” Rufus reminded their boss. “It shows.”

“Nonsense,” Crowley grumbled, but his anger subsided.

Pamela smirked. “Squirrel’s methods might be unconventional, but he always delivers.”

When Crowley huffed, but didn’t object, Dean allowed himself to relax.

“I owe you a drink,” he mumbled.

Pam winked at him. “Make it a dinner,” she deadpanned.

“Stop it,” Crowley cried out. He glared at Dean with such an intensity that Dean wanted to be swallowed by the ground. “I don’t care about the past. If he always delivers, where’s my damn package? Where’s this guy? And why wasn’t I told about Munich?”

“Plausible deniability,” Rufus stated, matter-of-fact. “And don’t tell me you didn’t know already. You’re the boss.”

“That’s not the point,” Crowley grouched, but Rufus ignored him.

“Dean, who is this mystery man?” he asked, a lot calmer than Crowley.

Dean grimaced and scratched the back of his head. If he only knew. He had no idea who the man was. It had been a matter of seconds to pick him out of the crowd. But the blue-striped pajamas sticking out under the beige trench coat and the glorious bedhead had made it easy.

It was time for the unadorned truth. “I… Dammit, I don’t know.”

He smiled at his bosses, even though he felt none of it. Yet, life had taught him that it was his best weapon when it came to defusing unwelcomed situations.

Crowley, however, would have none of it. “You’re kidding, right?” He invaded Dean’s personal space, not taking his eyes of him when he came even closer. “You don’t know?”

Dean gulped and bit his bottom lip.

When Crowley took another step forward, Rufus harrumphed.

“Fergus,” he said sharply, and Crowley stopped.

Who in their right mind wouldn’t? Crowley might be their boss, but if Dean had to choose, he would happily pick a fight with the principal if it meant he was able to steer clear of Rufus Turner. No one dared mess with him, and Dean Winchester wouldn’t certainly be the one to try.

However, those problems were for another day. There was something else to take care of first. Pam was right, Dean always delivered, and he wouldn’t stop now.

There was a package to find, and a man.

Dean’s tongue flicked over his lips when he remembered the impossible blue eyes of the gorgeous stranger. He had no idea why he had picked a guy of all things.

Especially that guy.

Dean gulped when goosebumps erupted on his skin.

As much as he tried, he couldn’t fool himself. There had been plenty of people on the crowded platform, many of them women. Walking arm in arm with any of them would have been a lot less conspicuous. And yet, Dean’s choice had fallen on the man stealing his breath from the first moment he spotted him. A stranger that now was in big trouble himself.

“Whoever he is,” Dean concluded, “if he still has the package, he ain’t safe anymore.”

Chapter Text

Castiel leaned on his kitchen table and stared at the little package. Looking all innocent, it seemed to mock him. He hadn’t dared open the plain brown paper to reveal what was underneath, yet whatever was hidden inside, he knew it meant bad business. Keeping it at home seemed like a gamble that he was doomed to lose.

But what else could he do? The man in the red hat had never appeared and claimed it, and after the ordeal with the conductor and the subsequent trip back to his car, Castiel was just glad that he was home on time before his kids returned from school.

Though there wasn’t enough time left to prepare a proper meal for two hungry mouths. And he couldn’t expect his kids to eat the dishes his mother cooked each morning while watching her show. As much as he loved her, it was bad enough that he had had to endure her meals during his entire childhood. They might be delectable, but far from child-friendly.

Instead, Castiel decided to leave the package be for the time being, and pick Jack and Claire up from school. After all, sometimes it was necessary to let healthy food be healthy food and enjoy the perks of a drive in.

Claire’s friend Alex tagged along and all three kids were over the moon when Castiel handed fries and burgers to the rear bench seat. Too distracted by their chatter and screeches, he didn’t pay attention to his tray outside the window until he turned back to get his own meal. Castiel startled and a cry left his lips as a stranger was staring at him.

The stranger.

The suit was gone, replaced with a pirate costume, the trademark of the waiters working for the diner, but Castiel would never forget those green eyes.

“You,” Castiel said, unable to look away.

His gaze was caught by a black shadow peeping out under the eye patch that came with the job. A cut covered the man’s exposed eyebrow, but Castiel was captivated by his grin.

“Yep.”

The single syllable pulled Castiel out of his trance. He panicked. Starting the car, he put it in reverse and floored the accelerator to leave the diner’s parking lot. His fries and soda scattered through the air, but the stranger clutched the tray and wouldn’t let go. As he all but dangled next to the car, Castiel had mercy, and stopped.

“Thank fuck,” the stranger breathed out, gasping for air.

Castiel glared at him. Slowly, he lifted an eyebrow. “Language,” he reminded the other man, even though it sounded as if the kids didn’t pay them any mind at all.

“Shit, sorry.” The stranger grimaced. “I ain’t around a lot of kids,” he said and scratched the back of his head.

“It shows,” Castiel deadpanned. “So, you escaped.”

Although it wasn’t a question, the other man nodded. “It’s part of the job. It happens.” He shrugged before his face hardened. “Talking about that. Where’s my package?”

“Home,” Castiel answered without a second thought.

The stranger’s eyes grew wide. “You left it at home? Alone?”

“Of course.” Castiel frowned. “What else should I do? Do you expect me to hire a babysitter?” He paused. “Though, you’re in luck. My mother should be home by now.”

The other man folded up his eye patch and gaped at him. “Your mother?”

“What’s wrong with my mother?” Castiel asked, despite probably being the world’s leading expert on Becky Rosen. And there were several things he could name right away, even though none of those were crucial at the moment.

“How did you find me?” was the more important question right now, and, thankfully, Castiel remembered to pose it.

“We have our ways,” the stranger noted with a cocky grin.

Castiel pressed his right foot down and the car bounced.

“I don’t like it,” he clarified as it stopped again. “You shouldn’t know I was coming here because I didn’t know I was going here.”

Which meant, Castiel needed to get as far away from that stranger as possible. He wasn’t safe, especially not with Jack and Claire around in the backseat.

Once again, the stranger latched onto the tray, but unlike before, Castiel didn’t stop. Though, it didn’t stop the stranger.

Instead, he jumped on the hood and held on to it. “Take my card,” he cried out as he stuck it behind the windshield wiper before Castiel made a sharp turn and shook him off.

The kids cheered Castiel on and screamed in ecstasy when the stranger fell off. In a way, it was the most exhilarating and fun thing Castiel had done in a long time, and he burst out into laughter when he finally left the parking lot.

“That was awesome!” Claire shouted.

“Amazing,” Jack agreed and kicked his feet against Castiel’s backrest.

Though Castiel couldn’t fault him. His heartbeat raced as he drove down the road and vanished into traffic, finally allowing himself to breathe.

“Mr. Kline, who was that?” Alex asked, full of wonder.

“Can we do this again, Dad?” Claire leaned forward until Castiel felt a face next to his and her breath on his skin. “Please, Daddy.”

Yet, Castiel had finally regained some control over himself.

“No,” he grouched and focused on the street, afraid the stranger that had handed him the mysterious package, that waited for him on his kitchen table, would jump out from behind any car each time he stopped at a traffic light.

The kids kept screeching, and chattered loudly, still too hyped after their narrow escape from the stranger in the pirate dress, and Castiel only allowed himself to relax when he reached his house. While Claire, Jack, and Alex stormed up the stairs and vanished in their rooms, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

Resting felt wrong, though. Castiel was too shaken by the events of the day to forget them anytime soon, even for a minute.

This still wasn’t over. The package awaited him on the kitchen table, mocking him; a constant reminder that there was something important he needed to take care of.

At least, he hoped it was still there.

“Thank God,” Castiel breathed out as he laid his eyes on the non-descript package again.

It seemed untouched, and safe. Whatever it was, it must be very valuable for certain parties. For a moment, Castiel feared it might contain something dangerous, but then the handsome stranger wouldn’t have handed it to him, right? Or would he?

After all, Castiel had no idea who that man was, or what he wanted from him.

What if it was a bomb? Or another kind of weapon? It could be a virus, or—

Castiel shook his head. He was becoming irrational. If it was, would the stranger have come back? How had he even found him?

Lost in thought, he rotated the little paper card the stranger had left behind between his fingers. All it held was a single phone number.

Before Castiel could question himself, he had picked up his phone and walked over towards the window, trailing the cord behind him. Without his consent, his fingers dialled the number. The sound of the dial rotating echoed in his head when the call went through.

“Who’s calling?” a lady of an answering service asked when the call was interrupted from another line.

“Hi.”

Castiel gulped as the stranger’s voice reached his ear.

“I knew you would be curious about all this,” the stranger greeted him.

“How do you—”

“Lucky guess.”

The stranger’s chuckles didn’t help Castiel’s mood. “I’m not curious,” Castiel protested. “I called” —he took a deep breath— “to tell you to leave me alone.”

“I fear that ain’t possible, Mr. Kline,” the stranger replied, and Castiel could easily visualise his cheeky smile. “You have something that’s important to a lot of people.”

“I don’t care,” Castiel snapped. “Can you imagine standing in a full train when you realise you're still wearing your pajamas?”

“I liked them,” the stranger noted, obviously amused, and Castiel rolled his eyes.

Yet, even if the stranger noticed his reaction over the line, he ignored Castiel.

“However, that ain’t the point,” the other man stated. “Have you noticed anything strange today?”

“The whole car was full of men in red hats,” Castiel noted dryly.

For the first time, the stranger seemed to lose his calm. “What?”

“Fezzes. An entire party was wearing fezzes.”

“Son of a—” The stranger exclaimed before stopping himself. “Anything else that seemed out of the ordinary?”

Castiel laughed. “You mean, aside from strangers handing me mystery parcels at the train station, or a man in a pirate costume clinging to my hood?”

“Mr. Kline,” the stranger said sternly, and Castiel gulped. “It’s possible that you’re being watched. Have you noticed any strange cars?”

“Watched?” Castiel echoed, alarmed. Whatever playful banter had been going on between them vanished into thin air, and he remembered that he wanted to have nothing to do with that man.

“Look, I’ve put you through a lot of trouble. I don’t want you to be hurt,” the stranger continued, and Castiel caught himself smiling.

He didn’t know that man. Castiel should be terrified of him. But the stranger cared for him, didn’t he?

“Mr. Kline, we have to meet. Today. Five o’clock.”

“Wait. What?” Castiel asked, taken aback.

When his mind finally caught up with the events, the stranger had told him the address and immediately hung up on him afterwards. All Castiel could do was stare at the telephone receiver in his hand.

It seemed that he had a date.

***

“I can’t find it,” Jack announced loudly while staring into the fridge.

Castiel sighed and adjusted his tie. It remained a mystery to him how anyone managed to wear it straight. He never got it right, but then again, he was anything but straight either.

He grinned as he blindly grasped into the fridge to get the final chocolate bar for his son. Jack had been waiting so patiently for his nougat since the weekend that Castiel didn’t want to have him hold out any longer.

His son beamed as he was finally handed his candy. “Thank you, Dad!”

“You shouldn’t have them wait so long for a treat,” his mother barged in. “You’re too hard on them.”

Castiel ignored her. It was better that way. Besides, she was already watching her favourite show again and busied herself with stuffing and tying a duck. Thankfully, they had a big freezer. Otherwise, no one would ever have been able to eat all the dishes Becky prepared.

Some days, he wondered if a mediocre chef had taken residence in his kitchen. Not that his mother was a bad cook, far from it, but, as much as she tried, she wasn’t the best either. Yet, Castiel didn’t need an award-winning chef. He was happy with what she gave them. Her hobby had his back, and fed his family on more days than not which he couldn’t be more thankful for.

If he was hard on his children, it was only because he knew his mother wasn’t. Thanks to Becky Rosen, Jack probably had already gotten his share of sweets for the week without Castiel’s knowledge. However, Castiel wouldn’t interfere. Everyone had their little secrets.

“Daphne will be calling at six,” his mother reminded him. “What shall I tell her where you are? Because it looks like you’re going out.”

“You look very pretty,” Jack agreed. He crooked his head and squinted. “Your hair is different, but your tie looks funny.”

Castiel sighed and tried to righten the stubborn piece of cloth around his neck, though he knew it would be another fruitless attempt. At least, he had succeeded in taming his hair.

“Thank you,” Castiel said to his son before turning to his mother, “I’ll be back by six. And, if I’m not, I’ll still be in my club.”

“Since when are you going to a club?” his mother asked disbelievingly, when Mrs. Butters talked again on the TV.

“… and you begin with breast side down.”

“It’s her again,” Castiel stated, hoping to divert his mother’s attention back to her favourite program.

“Yes, it’s the 4:30 show,” she explained enthusiastically. “Emissary Cuisine is on twice a day. Though, if it bothers you, Mrs. Butters is offering private lessons. You could send me—”

“No,” Castiel replied and leant down to kiss the top of Jack’s head as a goodbye. “This is totally fine.”

“You really look great, Dad.” Jack beamed at him and Castiel smiled back at his son.

“Thanks, love,” he said and grabbed his car keys. “Don’t forget your homework. And no TV before you’ve finished it.”

“Grandma Becky never tells us to do our homework,” Jack protested. “She always—”

“No, no, no,” Castiel’s mother interrupted him. “That’s not true,” she said, trying to convince him otherwise, but her face spoke volumes.

Secrets.

“Goodbye,” Castiel pressed and left the room to get to his appointment, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wished it were an actual date. Maybe in another timeline. Or another reality. But certainly not in his universe.

He needed to keep a low profile. What he wanted he simply couldn’t have.

Another secret.

After all, everyone had them.

***

Dean bit his bottom lip and stared at his watch as he paced around the gallery to evade the crowd and too many of his acquaintances. His nerves were already all over the place. It was only five-o-three, but the time slowly ticked forward and Castiel was nowhere to be seen.

This had to work. Otherwise, Crowley wouldn’t let it go. If Dean fucked this up again—

He didn’t want to think about it. Instead, he focused on the job at hand. There was a man coming to meet him. A gorgeous man. With eyes so blue and deep and…

“Goddammit, Dean. It’s not a date,” he hissed, luckily keeping it under his breath. But he obviously needed the reminder.

Dean had done this hundreds of times. Well, not exactly this, but something like it. He had met with people all around the world. Why did this meeting feel so special all of a sudden?

There was absolutely nothing special to it. Dean would meet with his contact, retrieve the package, and bring it back to headquarters. Case closed.

That goddamn package. It seemed so innocuous, but people had died for it. Dean needed to finally put an end to it. He would be the one to do it. And if he needed to deal with a breathtaking civilian whose pig-headedness had steered him and his family into grave danger, it was nothing but a little hiccup.

If Mr. Kline had simply  done as planned, everything would be fine; peachy even. Especially if he hadn’t fled from him. Yet, of course, that goddamn man had to complicate everything. Driving away when Dean had tried to talk to him like an adult— mid sentence!

A ruckus downstairs got Dean’s attention.

“Don’t take my coat… Oh… Of course. I’m so sorry… I didn’t—” someone apologised and Dean chuckled until his eyes fell on the culprit.

In his too big suit, obviously from off the rack, Mr. Kline stood out from everyone else, especially the usual crowd. Dean couldn’t take his eyes off him. As he walked down the open winding stairs, he stopped to stare before finally greeting his rendezvous. “Mr. Kline.”

It took Mr. Kline a moment to spot him, but when he did, his eyes widened. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth before he gaped open-mouthed at Dean.

Unable to keep his own smile at bay at the sight, Dean elegantly walked down to meet him. A shiver ran down his spine, even though he knew perfectly well which effect he had on others. With his tailored black suit, most ladies couldn’t resist him for long. Men rarely were as bold as Mr. Kline, though, and Dean assumed it might be due to his U-turn from tattered waiter and silly fast-food pirate to a man of society.

Whatever it was, Dean’s smile was the most genuine he had granted anyone in quite a while. That man… He certainly was different.

Taking a deep breath, Dean licked his lips as he jogged down the last steps.

“Hello again, Mister, uh…” Mr. Kline blinked.

Dean grinned. “It’s Winchester. But, please, call me Dean.”

Mr. Kline nodded and fidgeted with his sleeve. “Yes.”

“Great,” Dean beamed, forgetting himself for a moment before remembering the actual cause for their meeting.

Whatever he wanted to see in Mr. Kline, Dean knew was that the guy was living with his mother and two kids. So there definitely had to be a Mrs. Kline around somewhere.

As much as Dean wished there wasn’t, this was neither the time nor the place to make a fool of himself. The agency and especially Rufus might tolerate a lot coming from him, but his proficiency would only carry him to a certain point. If he walked past that—

Dean huffed. There was a certain line he knew that would be the reddest of red.

Thankfully, his spectrum was wide and he could still stick to women, even though none of them had spiked his interest in such a way as did the man currently standing far too close to him.

Dean cleared his throat. “I, uh, thought this would be a nice change of scenery from our previous encounters.”

“It’s…” For the first time, Mr. Kline looked around, slowly taking in their surroundings.

Even Dean couldn’t deny that the man stood out like a fish out of water. And yet, he wanted to have no one else by his side.

“You could have told me it’s a costume ball,” Mr. Kline noted dryly as they walked into the main hall of the club that hosted these kinds of events regularly.

“It’s a ball, you’ll like it,” Dean stated nonchalantly and grinned. “We’re among friends, so it’s safe to talk.”

Mr. Kline stopped in his tracks, but Dean only caught up after yet another step.

As he turned around, Mr. Kline was staring at him in disbelief. “These are your friends?”

Dean couldn’t help but smile broadly. “Damn right.”

***

Castiel shivered. Goosebumps covered his skin as he moved side by side the mysterious Mr. Winchester — Dean — between the other guests.

He couldn’t help but look everywhere. Jack would love the place. The costumes were impressive. There was an elephant, and a princess. Even Claire would find something for herself. Definitely the knight. She would be so excited by the armour and want to run around in it all day.

Though neither of them was with him. Castiel was on his own, and he liked it a lot more than he had anticipated.

The thrill was breathtaking; revitalising even. He couldn’t even remember anything as exciting as this throughout his whole life. The presence of Dean next to him felt like a burning mark on his side. That suit. Those eyes.

For the first time in ages, Castiel could pretend that he didn’t need to pretend. Still, he had to close his eyes to prevent himself from staring at the freckles peppering Dean’s face. That man was fascinating, and more beautiful than anyone Castiel had ever laid eyes on. Someone he had never even dared dream off.

Dean moved smoothly through the crowd. People greeted him and, smiling, he picked two glasses from a tray a waiter offered them. Handing one to Castiel, he nibbed at his own.

“Would you care for some pâté as well?” Dean asked, but Castiel shook his head.

“I’m not hungry.” If he ate now, Castiel feared his stomach would revolt. There was only so much he could take in.

Even though he had been living in D.C. for his entire life, Castiel had never been part of such a lavish gathering. Not even back in the day when he had accompanied Kelly to some of her events at work.

Dean, however, seemed to have no such notion. These were his friends, and despite their previous meetings, this was the environment he thrived in.

Castiel focused on his companion. He gulped, but, weirdly enough, Dean’s presence calmed him. It shouldn’t. Actually, it was insane. Instead of following him around, Castiel should keep his distance from the stranger that had jumbled his entire day. All he had was a name. Apart from that, he knew nothing about him.

As they slowly moved through the guests, a pretty blonde greeted Dean far too intimately. Her caress of Dean’s face had something stirring deep inside Castiel.

Jealousy.

It was such a foreign feeling that Castiel couldn’t place it at first, but once he realised what it was, it only hid harder. He couldn’t shake it off. Even more so, he wanted to embrace it. He wanted—

He wanted a life he wasn’t allowed to live.

Smiling feebly, Castiel straightened up. As much as he hated it, he had to accept that he couldn’t have it. He had come to that understanding a long time ago.

Besides, there were other people in his life that needed his care and attention. And one of them expected his presence in just a short while.

“Excuse me,” Castiel interrupted whatever was going on between Dean and that woman. “I’m expecting a very important phone call at si—”

His voice died when Dean focused his attention on him. Heat rushed down Castiel’s back, and the smirk on Dean’s face took the remaining wind out of Castiel’s sails. As much as Castiel wanted to defy him, it was impossible to resist Dean’s charm.

Unfortunately, Castiel was not the only one captured by it. Another woman stepped into Dean’s space.

“Hi, Dean,” she greeted him and Dean beamed at her.

The brunette alien with silver antennas and a tantalising violet dress joined them before Castiel was able to finally mention the elephant in the room.

Which wasn’t the elephant who was currently dancing with a Greek goddess just a few yards from them.

However, Dean seemed to have other things on his mind than a little package that had started it all.

“Bela.” He grinned.

Bela wiggled her eyebrows. “Wanna dance?”

Castiel expected him to agree, but Dean shook his head. “Not today. Sorry.”

“That’s a shame.” Bela sighed. “And you darling?” she asked, turning her attention to Castiel and tugging on his lapel.

“Uh, I like you to meet Castiel Kline,” Dean chimed in. With a nod towards his acquaintance he added, “Bela Talbot.”

“What a marvellous costume you have there,” Bela went on. “Is that an accounting clerk? Or a houseman? Whatever it is, it’s unique.”

Castiel caught the snide remark, but kept still, despite his urge to be swallowed by the ground. Instead, he attempted a smile. A light touch to his back soothed him and immediately lifted his spirits. Dean’s caress ignited a hope Castiel shouldn’t have allowed himself to feel.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed while stepping even closer to Castiel despite focusing on Bela. “Would you excuse us? We have business to take care of.”

Bela watched them closely. “I can see that,” she replied no less enigmatically. Yet, before Castiel could ponder about it, Dean was steering him towards another room.

“Don’t listen to her,” Dean whispered as they walked along the dancing floor.

Castiel’s eyes drifted over the swaying couples when he felt Dean’s gaze on him. He swallowed. What would he give to be asked for a dance by his mysterious companion instead? Dean’s arm around his back, with their bodies pressed close together — just another pair in a sea of rhythmically moving bodies.

The vivid daydream was still playing on Castiel’s mind’s eye when Dean cleared his throat.

Startled, Castiel stared at him before noticing the little table for two next to them. “I’m sorry,” he said and quickly sat down on the offered chair.

Dean joined him, yet, for a moment, neither of them said a word. Their surroundings blurred as Castiel found himself lost in Dean’s eyes, and Dean didn’t seem to fare any better.

Seconds ticked by while the party went on around them.

“How did you find me?” Castiel finally blurted out.

Dean smirked. “We have our ways,” he said nonchalantly.

“We?” Castiel asked, alarmed. Confused, he squinted at Dean. “I always thought only Nazis and spies would do that.”

Licking his lips, Dean grimaced and scratched the back of his head. “Well,” he said and paused for a long time. “I ain’t a Nazi.”

Castiel gaped at him. “You’re a—”

Shaking his head, Dean pressed his finger over Castiel’s mouth and drowned his next word. “We don’t call it that either.”

“You’re a…” Castiel repeated, completely dumbfounded.

He blinked helplessly at Dean and tilted his head in order to understand.

Dean grinned. “Yep.”

“Thank, God,” Castiel exclaimed and breathed out relieved. “I thought you were a gangster.”

A deep frown covered Dean’s brows until he suddenly started to laugh. “A gangster? Me? A gangster!” Chuckling, he gasped for air. “And you’ve come here anyway?”

Castiel glowered at him. “What else should I do? You were involving my children.”

“Yeah, sorry. I get it, super daddy,” Dean hissed and raised his hands in defence. However, the smile on his face even grew wider. “You’d do anything for them, wouldn’t you?”

“You wouldn’t want to test me,” Castiel warned him.

Dean burst into laughter. All of the sudden, he was sitting right next to Castiel and clapped his back. “You’re one of a kind.”

“Is that good?” Castiel asked and squinted confused at his new acquaintance. Dean suddenly seemed far too close all of a sudden.

The spy stilled. His hand lingered on Castiel’s back and Castiel felt his fingers burning on his back. Goosebumps erupted and his heart pounded in a way it hadn’t done in a long time, if ever.

Enchanted, Castiel’s gaze followed the movement of Dean’s tongue when Dean licked over his lips. Their eyes met, yet Dean cleared his throat and the spell was broken.

Still, he wiggled his eyebrows and smiled broadly. “We’ll see,” Dean said cryptically. “But first… You understand you can’t talk about this with anyone,” he reminded Castiel. “Not your children, not your mother, not your—”

“Daphne. Yes, I understand,” Castiel confirmed. “I wouldn’t dare. Although, thanks to you, they’re already in danger,” he added sternly.

“Yeah.” With a grimace, Dean leaned back and scratched the back of his head. “Sorry.”

Castiel didn’t expect to miss Dean’s gentle touch and closeness at once, and very profoundly. Once again, he lost himself in Dean’s eyes as they lit up; Dean’s attention focused entirely on him.

“But this thing is critical to a lot of people,” Dean said, staring at Castiel. “It’s crucial.”

“I understand.” Castiel nodded, but Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Do you?”

“I am here,” Castiel noted, point-blank.

Dean huffed and lifted a hand to wave to a waiter who brought another glass of champagne. He downed it in one go.

“Not usually my stuff, but” —he shrugged— “it does the job.”

Castiel squinted at him. “You’re nervous.”

“Told you it’s crucial. It’s, uh, a matter of national security. And you’re the key.”

“Me? I’m not…” Castiel was taken aback and shook his head.

“Nah, you ain’t the key, but you’re the key to the key.” Dean’s eyes trailed over him. “To stop the mole.”

“Mole?” Castiel’s eyes grew wide. He had a mole in his yard that had destroyed some of his flower beds during the summer, but he couldn’t see why it would impact national security.

“See if we stop the mole, we stop the murders,” Dean went on.

His casualness wouldn’t fit his words, and while cheerful music played around them, Castiel’s stomach churned. “Murders?” He swallowed.

“Don’t worry.” Dean grinned. “We’re gonna stop them. As long as you've brought a little gift for me.”

Castiel felt as if he had lost Dean at some point during their conversation. “A gift?”

“Yay high, brown, wrapped in packing tape? Does that ring a bell?”

It did ring a bell, but Dean’s smile started to wane as Castiel didn’t answer.

“You didn’t…” The colour slowly drained from Dean’s face while the spy gaped at him in shock. His mouth moved on its own, but no further words came out.

“I told you I had no idea what to expect,” Castiel defended himself. “I thought you were—”

“A gangster. Yeah, I got that.” Dean breathed out sharply, and Castiel winced. “So, it’s in your car?”

New hope coloured Dean’s voice, but Castiel lowered his eyes and shook his head. “I left it at home,” he explained as if the lack of a package wasn’t an answer enough.

Dean groaned. When Castiel glanced up, Dean massaged his temples. “Then what did you think this date was for?”

“Date?” Castiel echoed while he felt hot all over. Too late he realised his mind had latched onto the wrong part of Dean’s sentence.

Caught, Castiel gulped.

Dean’s reaction was difficult to read. Although he seemed dumbfounded, his eyes flickered, and he obviously tried to hide a smile.

“It was my insurance,” Castiel explained regretfully. “I had no idea what you would do. I figured you wouldn’t kill me if I—”

“Goddammit,” Dean grumbled, and jumped from his chair. Agitated, he threw his hands in the air and walked towards a door.

Castiel followed him, and, as they stepped through yet another door, found himself inside a parking garage. Thankful that they had left the party behind them because Dean’s mood had turned to the worse.

“Goddammit!”

He started to make a scene. Not that Castiel could blame him. Not really. The package seemed to be vital for him. Still, despite his regrets of complicating the situation, Castiel had done what had been necessary. He had to think of his family. This life — Dean’s life — was a world he didn’t belong in. How could Dean expect him to—

“You’re…” Dean groaned in frustration. “Most people would be happy to get rid of something like that.”

It only heightened Castiel’s irritation. “Most people wouldn’t have called you back, or met you, or…”

Castiel took a deep breath as his anger grew, and, all but shouting, he added, “Most people wouldn’t have stepped on a train, in their jammies, because some” —he waved his arms— “inscrutable stranger handed them a mysterious package on the platform. Besides, you could have given me a little heads-up about the party. Look at me. I was hideously underdressed.”

Dean stopped, and stared at Castiel from a few yards away, seeming as if he took in Castiel’s attire for the first time.

“Would you mind not yelling at me?” Castiel snapped even louder, and Dean rolled his eyes. The little motion stole Castiel’s thunder, and, a lot more calmly, he added, “Why are we in the garage?”

“You think…” Dean gasped, obviously taken aback. “You think I let those valets park my car?” he asked, sounding as if Castiel had insulted him.

Confused, Castiel frowned, but Dean’s agitation only intensified.

“A car that happens to be a classic 1967 Chevy Impala? A ’67 Impala that…” Dean took a deep breath and his voice trailed off as the anger obviously simmered down.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, but this is… Geez, it’s very, very important to me, and I’m under a lot of pressure.”

Castiel nodded. “I understand that your car—”

“Goddammit,” Dean cried out. “It’s not about the car. She’s… It’s… This package is of national importance,” he explained breathlessly. “And getting it back—”

“Is crucial. Don’t worry. We will,” Castiel reassured him, when a thought hit him. He started to chuckle at the memory. In hindsight, it was so ridiculous.

Dean stared at him baffled. “What?”

“Nothing,” Castiel said, still laughing. “It’s nothing.”

“What is it?” Dean’s posture turned serious when he straightened his back, and stepped closer.

From this near, Castiel noticed the freckles on his skin while the green of his eyes flickered in a stray ray of sunlight.

Castiel snickered. “I almost did a very dumb thing with your package.”

Dean’s eyes grew wide and he stared at him in horror. “What did you do?”

Waving his hand, Castiel shook his head. “No. You’d just laugh.”

“Castiel,” Dean pushed, but his words were cut short when tires screeched and a car appeared right behind them.

The engine roared as the car accelerated, and Dean pulled Castiel behind a parked sedan at the very last moment. They stumbled, but Dean managed to stop their fall at the very last moment, though their faces ended up only inches apart.

Crouched next to each other, Dean licked his lips and watched Castiel intently when a door creaked. Alarmed, they glanced over the hood of the sedan. It was just in time to watch two goons jumping out of the car.

Castiel froze as they started to run towards them, but, all of a sudden, a hand grabbed his and tugged.

“Trust me,” Dean whispered.

Keeping their heads down, Dean slowly guided Castiel through the garage until Dean stopped.

“There,” the spy murmured and pointed towards two trash collectors.

“What—” Castiel started, but Dean was already dragging him along to one of their trash carts.

It seemed like a mixture of a snow mobile and a golf cart. Dean took the helm and waved Castiel to sit down on the flatbed in the back that usually held the trash bins. He ignited the engine, when someone shouted behind them.

A shot whizzed through the air. Castiel almost fell out of his seat when Dean stepped on the accelerator.

“Hold tight,” Dean shouted.

Castiel urged his driver on as they raced down the ramp. “Faster,” he shouted.

“What the hell do you think I’m doing?” Dean grouched, but managed to speed the little carrier on.

“Careful,” Castiel warned as the cart lurched and almost tipped over in one of the turns. He clutched Dean’s shoulders before sliding his hands down and fastening his arms around Dean’s waist.

Dean protested, but Castiel only held on tighter. A second set of tires screeched and he could hear their pursuer gaining on them.

“Look out,” Castiel shouted, yet it was too late.

The cart shook when the car hit them from behind, once, twice, and again. It was just a matter of time. They wouldn’t make it, they would—

They shot down the last ramp, left the garage, and drove right into traffic.

“Shit,” Dean yelled and swung the cart over.

Castiel shrieked when a black limousine appeared in his field of vision. They narrowly evaded it, but the limousine fishtailed. It crashed into a hydrant as their cart came to a halt.

Water was everywhere. Cars honked, people shouted, but slowly, Castiel realised that it was over. He might be drenched and freezing, but he was alive and their pursuers were nowhere to be seen.

Staring at his hands in wonder, it took him a moment to notice the hand resting on his shoulder. Dean must have gotten up and he was grinning at him, even though his tuxedo dripped and he looked as soppy as Castiel felt himself.

“Come on,” Dean said and offered his hand. “Let’s get you home.”

“Now?” Castiel blinked. “What about…”

Dean shook his head. “Too many bystanders.”

“They didn’t seem to have any such notions this morning when they roughed you up on the platform,” Castiel noted and frowned at the spy.

Dean gulped and bit his bottom lip, smiling ruefully. “You saw?”

Before he could stop himself, Castiel reached out and touched Dean’s slightly swollen lip. Whatever Dean had done to conceal his cuts and bruises, the water had washed it away and left the unmistakable evidence of the beating.

“It was hard to miss,” Castiel said, yet he barely paid attention to his words.

Drawn in by the black eye, his gaze found Dean’s. Castiel couldn’t look away, especially Dean stared back with the same wonder that captivated Castiel.

“Sir?” someone said, and the spell was broken.

Chapter Text

Dean still tried to wrap his mind around what had happened and how the hell he had ended up hiding in the shrubbery underneath the Kline’s kitchen window of all places.

Somehow Mr. Kline—

Dean huffed and rolled his eyes at himself. Why the hell did he not use the guy’s first name? Then again, Castiel was a mouthful. Not that Dean would complain about a mouth full of Castiel. All but sighing, he closed his eyes and let his tongue flick over his lips, when he finally caught himself.

He grimaced and reluctantly reined himself in. It was neither the time, nor the place to think about anything else than his job. He was a goddamn professional, for fuck’s sake. Which meant, he had to act like one, and not lose his mind over a random guy. A guy who was not only a divorced dad, but who was in a relationship with someone called Daphne.

Even without a matter of national security at hand and the other side being hard on their heels, Dean must be out of his freaking mind to consider anything but a fleeting acquaintance with Mr. Kline.

After their narrow escape in the parking garage, the guy had decided that his monstrosity of a station wagon would be safer for them than the Impala. In a way, Dean couldn’t even contradict him, especially in their current state. It would have been a pain in the ass to have to drive his baby in his completely drenched state. He shuddered when he thought about the water stains it would have left on the seats. Besides, the faster he got his hands on the package again the faster this nightmare was over.

Night was already falling, and while Dean listened to Mr. Kline arguing with his mother inside the house, water kept dripping down his face. It ran down his neck and down his back, and whenever he moved, his tux squeaked. He shivered and suppressed a sneeze when a cold draft caught his ankles.

The voices turned louder. Castiel’s mother obviously wasn’t happy with her son coming home soaking wet. She seemed intent to completely ignore the fact that it was Castiel’s home and she was living with him, and not the other way round.

Dean wondered if the shudder running down his back came from the freezing cold or the idea of having to live under a roof with his dad again. Not that it would be possible. John Winchester had bitten the dust years ago, but even if he was alive, it wouldn’t have ended well. Time had passed, and Dean had changed.

His dad, his family — all of it seemed a lifetime ago; another part of him he had left behind.

Dean had found another family, most often as dysfunctional as his old, but a family nonetheless. He preferred a telling-off by Crowley or Rufus to one by his dad any day. As long as he did his job, he was fine. And he delivered, always.

People might call him a reckless lone wolf with no ties, though most of them had no idea that his brother was living, thriving even, on the West Coast. It was for the best. Sammy didn’t need him, not since he had left for California to escape the family, to escape Dean. In hindsight, his desertion of the family had shaped Dean’s future. Without his little brother, Dean had been forced to focus on himself for the first time in his life. There was no one left.

Their mom had died when Sam was still so young that he couldn’t even remember her. And still, her death had left a mark on him as well. Though, it wasn’t comparable with how much it had fucked up their dad. John Winchester might have been still alive when Sam had run off, but he had barely lived. In a way, he had abandoned Dean and his brother a long time before that day.

For years, Sam had been the closest person in Dean’s life, and then, from one day to the other, he had been gone. Dean still missed his brother, but he rarely called Sam. Being separated by an entire country did that to you. They had grown too far apart.

Besides, given Dean’s job, it wasn’t safe, but his brother always stayed somewhere on his mind nonetheless. After all, Dean had the means to keep himself updated about Sammy’s life and the little family he had built for himself.

Dean smiled regretfully. Who would have thought Dean was an uncle?

A sudden longing bubbled inside him. Tears pricked his eyes and he felt miserable; actually, a lot more miserable than crouching in shrubbery and being soaked to the bone called for. Not even nightfall tipped the scales on that.

Dean had withstood so much more than freezing his ass off. Although he wouldn’t call the day that lay behind him all sunshine, far from it, there had been far worse days in his life. Many of them.

“Psst,” someone hissed, pulling him out of his melancholy.

Before Dean could look up, a paper towel dangled in front of him. Castiel pushed more of the paper through the window, obviously unspooling it from a roll, until his mother’s voice sounded through the air and the paper abruptly stopped coming.

Dean didn’t care. He welcomed what was offered to him and quickly started to dry himself off. Though after the night and day that lay behind him, his weary mind immediately drifted off again instead of following the discussion inside.

Castiel said something about a club, a marine life society to save the cockles or something, but Dean was too focused on getting himself dry to pay it any consideration.

He startled when Castiel addressed him again. “Get off the Michaelmas daisies,” Mr. Kline whispered, while he somehow managed to talk to his mother at the same time.

“Since when are cockles an endangered species?” Becky asked. “I had no idea—”

“Me neither,” Castiel replied. His voice trailed off, as if he was walking away from the window.

Once again, Dean shut his mind off. He brushed the damp paper towel over his still dripping hair, and tried to evade the pricking branches of the shrubs. It would be wonderful to lean back, or to otherwise relieve his burning thighs and aching knees, but he couldn’t leave. He needed the goddamn package that was just behind the wall.

What was taking Castiel so damn long? All he needed to do was pick up the stupid thing, pass it through the open window, and deliver it to Dean. Case closed.

Instead, he bickered with his mother about marine life while the cold finally got to Dean. His nose tickled. He could feel it coming, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Just when the voices inside died down, he sneezed.

Like an explosion, the sound was carried through the sudden silence.

“Gesundheit,” Becky answered.

Dean held his breath, but Castiel’s mother didn’t seem to be bothered by someone sneezing in her flower bed. Unperturbed, she continued whatever she was doing. There wasn’t even evidence of sounds that indicated she had moved to have a look out of the window.

He just started to relax again, when Castiel returned.

“Mother, where is it?” Mr. Kline didn’t sound happy at all, and Dean’s heart dropped.

This couldn’t mean what he believed it meant. Dean just couldn’t have so much bad luck on one day.

“Where’s what, honey?” Becky asked casually, and Dean wondered if she was simply oblivious, or if she worked for the other side.

“The package,” Castiel pressed. “The one I left on the dining room table.”

“Oh, the little parcel?” Becky beamed and seemed to nod. “I mailed it. Oh, and you missed your call.”

Dean’s heartbeat stopped. Even suffering from a heart-attack suddenly didn’t sound that bad of an idea. Better than having to face Crowley, and especially a furious Rufus of all people.

Dean was toast. His career was over. Maybe he could still hope for a job in Europe, though he feared he might end up with an undercover assignment in Antarctica, or whatever place in the back of beyond his bosses might choose for him where he would be posted for the rest of his life.

Endless seconds ticked by. The blood rushed in Dean’s ears, until Castiel's voice cut through.

“You did what?” Mr. Kline said in the sharp voice only a pissed-off parent was able to pull off.

It put Dean’s teeth on edge, even though he didn’t need any reminder of how bad his goddamn situation was.

“If you didn’t want it to be mailed, you shouldn’t have wrapped and addressed it,” Becky argued cheerfully. “It was no easy task to get it to the post office without a car. But I did it anyway. For you, honey. Because I know if you send anything to your aunt Naomi it must be very important.”

Becky stormed off, and Castiel appeared at the window.

“Uh,” he said, “I told you about the very stupid thing I almost did. It’s—”

“Don’t,” Dean heard himself sigh as he stared into the kitchen, finding Castiel staring right back at him. “Just, don’t.”

Mr. Kline grimaced. “You would have laughed,” he insisted sheepishly.

Dean doubted it. Very slowly, he shook his head. He didn’t need further explanation.

In the end, it boiled down to two simple facts: The package was gone — again — and he was so fucked.

***

“You’re a nitwit, Winchester. And no, I ain’t calling the postmaster to open a random post office in the middle of the night just for you to walk in and ransack civilians’ mail,” Rufus bellowed through the phone.

“But,” Dean protested, even though he knew it was futile.

“Do you have the slightest idea whose limousine you wrecked on that ridiculous adventure of yours?” Rufus huffed. “A joyriding gigolo.”

“Goddammit, I was working. Those guys—” Dean frowned. “Wait. Did you say gigolo? You know I was with Mr. Kline?”

Rufus grumbled. “Spare me the details. It won’t help. You pissed off too many people from a place very high up. It’s over. You’re off this case, Squirrel. You got your chance, now let the professionals do their job before you mess it up even further.”

Dean didn’t want to believe his ears. All of the sudden, his throat felt like sandpaper. “I’m suspended?”

He felt even more whipped than the pathetic figure he already depicted After all, he couldn’t think of many things more humbling than standing in the middle of a shrubbery, wearing a wrecked tuxedo that was completely drenched, and talking on the phone that had been handed to him through the kitchen window of a house with a white picket fence.

Not to mention that the house was the home of a nerve-racking, although unfairly gorgeous man who liked playing housewife.

“Even I can’t help you with this, Dean. You’re out,” Rufus added gruffly.

“Please,” Dean started to beg, but the click in the line was unmistakably. He was cut off. Fired.

***

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Castiel asked for the umpteenth time.

He tried to concentrate, but with Dean crouching in front of the post office’s backdoor, it was nearly impossible. Even wearing Castiel’s clothes, Dean smelled so good. It would be so easy to just close the final inches and—

Castiel shook his head in order to clear it, but the fascination remained. That man was mesmerising, and he couldn’t get enough of him, even though he would probably be the death of him.

“Don’t worry,” Dean answered cheerfully.

“But I do. You’re suspended!” Castiel all but shrieked.

“Nothing but a temporary setback,” Dean said and turned around. Wiggling his brows, he grinned. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not ‘fine’,” Castiel protested and highlighted his words with his fingers. “We’re breaking and entering. In a post office.”

“Exactly,” Dean agreed and pushed the door open when the lock clicked. “Come on. Let’s go in.”

Castiel stumbled through the doorway as he was pushed inside.

“Go on,” Dean encouraged him, but Castiel shook his head until a hand was on his back and gently guided him through a corridor.

“Breathe,” Dean whispered into his ear.

Castiel shuddered as the spy’s breath tickled his skin. For a short moment, he wanted to stop and lean back, caught by strong hands that wandered—

“Try that one,” Dean said and gestured towards a door.

Nodding, Castiel opened it, and gaped while his heart sank to his boots. Hundreds of packages were piled up right in front of him. How were they supposed to find the one that mattered?

“It’s like a needle in a haystack.”

“Nah, it’s worse,” Dean mumbled. “At least then we could use a magnet.”

Despite looking ahead of a sleepless night, Castiel chuckled, and Dean easily joined in.

The spy nudged him. “Alright, let’s find your aunt’s package.”

***

“This is stupid,” Mr. Kline complained. “We’ve already been looking for three hours.”

“Don’t blame me,” Dean grouched. His fuse was already cut pretty short after being suspended and having to spend a second sleepless night in a row. “You’re the one who addressed it. I thought—”

“How was I to know that my mother would post it? She usually ignores my chores,” Castiel grumbled under his breath as he turned around to glare at Dean. “What do you expect? There are hundreds and hundreds of packages, probably thousands. And you want us to find this one specific one? Besides, it wasn’t me who wrapped it.”

Dean sighed, too tired to keep it civil. “You want to play the blame game? Fine. What the hell gave you the goddamn impression that it was a good idea to send it away, anyway?”

“I just wanted to get rid of it,” Castiel replied heatedly. “Someone was stalking me.”

The simplicity of his answer took Dean off guard. “By sending it to your aunt?”

“I don’t like her,” Castiel deadpanned, and Dean couldn’t help but laugh.

Geez, the guy certainly was one of a kind, but he grew on him against all odds. Still, it was hard to keep his own frustration at bay. After all, thanks to Mr. Kline’s brilliant ideas, Dean was now suspended, and the goddamn package had dropped off the face of the Earth.

“They must have been here before us,” Dean voiced his biggest fear. It was foolish to hope otherwise. He just wanted to go home, rejoice in a hot shower and a glass of booze or two, and sleep for the rest of the day. After all, there was nothing else he could do.

“Who?” Castiel tilted his head and squinted at him.

“Who?” Dean rolled his eyes. Irritation replaced his blues, and he glared at his unintentional companion. “You’re still asking who?”

“Of course. You’re not telling me anything, Mister Spy,” Castiel snapped.

“Son of a bitch! Keep your voice down,” Dean hissed as he noticed something outside the door.

“Why?” Castiel asked, aggravated. “We’ve been talking for the last three hours. We’re alone.”

Dean froze as he heard a door creak. Steps sounded outside and Castiel’s eyes widened in shock. Yet, before they could even think of hiding, a flashlight flared up.

It hit them right in the faces and blinded them, catching them red-handed.

***

Castiel couldn’t stop staring everywhere. One moment, they had been driven into an ordinary looking underground garage, and, the next, he was standing in a brightly-lit secret government agency. He could only see a little part of it, but judging by the endless straight corridors, this place was huge.

They had been accompanied by two of Dean’s colleagues before being separated. Castiel had to stay behind in one of the corridors while Dean was facing his boss. He could hear them shouting inside the office. It didn’t seem to look good for Dean, even though the package would surely be found eventually. Becky had mailed it at the post office, so it couldn’t take long until it was retrieved.

Castiel’s involvement in the matter should have been over the moment he had been caught breaking and entering a government facility with a suspended spy. However, he was sitting on a white bench in a completely white corridor. Behind him, a wall of glass separated him from a wide office space that led to several smaller ones.

The shouting from one of the smaller offices got louder, and Castiel couldn’t keep calm in his seat. Agitated, he jumped up and started to walk around. This was partly his fault. After all, he had addressed the package, even though he hadn’t mailed it. Instead, he should have brought it to the party and handed it to Dean.

Yet, he hadn’t and evoked a perfect storm.

“Squirrel will be fine,” the woman that had been sitting next to him noted nonchalantly. Her long, dark hair flowed over her back as she looked up from the files on her knees. “He’s been through worse. Believe me, I was there.”

Castiel tilted his head and frowned. “Squirrel?”

The woman sighed and stared at him as if the answer was obvious. Seconds ticked by, and finally it dawned on him.

“Oh, I understand. You mean Dean,” Castiel concluded. “Do you two get out in the field a lot? Or is this more, uh, tapping phones, and…”

“Listen,” she huffed, “I don’t know what you did to end up here, but do I look like a little housewife?”

Castiel shook his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I don’t get out a lot.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed.” She returned her attention to the papers she was reading. Though, instead of continuing her work, she seemed to decide against it and looked up again. Her gaze trailed over Castiel. “What did you say you do?”

“I, uh…” All of the sudden, Castiel felt scrutinised, and inferior. Staying home and taking care of his kids had never been something he was ashamed of. Ever since Claire was born, he had stayed at home to take care of their children while Kelly had never given up her job.

At the thought of Jack and Claire, a smile broke free on his face. “I’m a father,” he finally announced with pride.

Castiel loved his children, and he wouldn’t trade them for anything else. Not money, nor fame, and least of all a job where he barely saw them.

“Actually,” the woman said, “being a professional and all, I’ve decided I could learn some skills that could be fun. So, I’m going back to school.”

Castiel stopped moving and watched her. He couldn’t follow her train of thought that led her from being a father to going back to school, but his curiosity was piqued. “You are?”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “I’m learning how to cook.”

“Oh.” Castiel blinked, taken aback. Cooking. That might be the missing link, even though being a dad included a lot more skills than that. Still, he humoured her. “That’s good.”

The woman hummed in acknowledgement and continued scanning over her papers before focusing on him again. “Have you ever heard of Mrs. Butters? Being a stay-at-home-dad and all, you might have seen her. She’s big on the TV. At least that’s what I heard. There’s not much leisure time here. But her private lessons are a lot more fruitful anyway. You wouldn’t know what stories she has to tell. Some people in the government won’t even boil an egg without her. Though I’m afraid, you’re not cleared to know the names. You understand?” She winked at him.

Unable to keep his calm, Castiel turned his back to her and rolled his eyes. In need of help to boil an egg. That figured. No wonder it took this agency so long to recover a tiny package.

***

It took the remainder of the night, but, eventually, Castiel was allowed to breathe fresh air again. After Dean had emerged from his boss’ office, he indicated for Castiel to follow him and together they had snuck out and resurfaced to the world as Castiel knew it.

When he took in their surroundings, Castiel gasped. “This is—”

“The Pool. Yeah. We’re halfway between Washington Monument and Lincoln Memorial.”

“I can see that,” Castiel noted.

Silently, they strolled along the water until they were walking up the steps of the Lincoln Memorial with the sun rising behind him.

Dean stopped, and Castiel knew what it meant.

“So, this is goodbye?” he asked, and Dean nodded.

A sad smile covered his face. “Yeah.” Dean scratched the back of his head. “Looks like it. Dude, I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

“It’s okay,” Castiel heard himself reassure him.

“You have a life to get back to,” Dean reminded him. “Take care of your kids, and your mother, and…”

Castiel should be grateful about it, but he couldn’t let go. Not like this. “What about you? Do you have another life to get back to?”

“Me?” Dean asked, his eyes growing wide as if no one had ever asked him the question. “Nah.”

Castiel stared at him. “So, no Mrs. Squirrel? No little ones? No one? No girlfriend or…” He left his next words unsaid, though the void was heavy with meaning. It was as much as he could risk.

Dean’s eyes widened. While his tongue wetted his lips, a tiny blush appeared on his cheeks and he swallowed. Hesitating for a moment, he glanced at Castiel, a flicker of hope in his eyes, when he shook his head. “Stop it. I’m… That ain’t none of your business.”

“I see,” Castiel noted calmly. He hadn’t expected any other response. “It’s you against the world. I understand.”

“Do you?” Dean’s eyes trailed over him.

“How?” Frustration rose inside Castiel. “You’re not very chatty. Do you have at least somewhere to go on Thanksgiving? You know…”

“Cas, stop,” Dean begged. “This is my job. It’s just me and I’m… I’m usually pretty good at it. James Bond, Dirty Harry… That’s what I do. There’s no need for anyone.”

Castiel wondered who Dean tried to convince more, Castiel or himself.

“What about the woman?” he asked.

Dean seemed confused. “What woman?”

“The one with the cooking course,” Castiel clarified. “My sentinel.”

“Pamela?” Dean laughed. “Yeah, Pam’s great, but she ain’t a partner.” Once again, his eyes focused on Castiel. “Did you see me working together with anyone?”

“No. I did not,” Castiel agreed, deadpan, “because we were too busy working together.”

Dean gaped. His mouth opened and closed several times until he found his voice again. “No… you’re not. You’re not my partner. You were an emergency,” he snapped.

Castiel winced and stepped back. “That’s how you see me? An emergency?”

“Damn right,” Dean hissed. “Because a partner is someone you trust with your life. Someone who laughs at your jokes, knows you better than you know yourself, and, one goddamn day, takes a bullet for you. In the head, and…”

Dean’s voice died. Helplessly, he blinked at Castiel. Silence settled between them. Castiel noticed Dean’s heavy breathing, and the grief in his eyes.

He tried to find the right words, but before getting there, Dean turned around and walked away.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said to his back, almost whispering. “It must have been hard for you to lose him… them. It sounds like you lost a dear friend.”

Dean shrugged, and glanced back at Castiel. A big grin covered his face, though it didn’t reach his eyes as he extended his hand. “Goodbye, Cas.”

Closing the distance between them, Castiel took Dean’s hand in his. He resisted the urge to move his thumb over Dean’s, but held on. “So, this is it. We won’t see each other again?”

“Damn right,” Dean said, not letting go of Castiel’s hand either.

Castiel nodded while still staring at him. “Goodbye, Dean. What are you going to do?”

Dean’s smile widened and finally reached his eyes. “What I do best. Get back on this case, save the day, and spend the rest of it getting drunk.”

He wiggled his brows, and Castiel couldn’t help but smile.

“Goodbye, and thanks, Cas.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel said while their hands still lingered.

Eventually, Dean pulled back, and slowly walked away.

Castiel’s gaze followed him. “Goodbye,” he murmured when Dean reached the edge of the steps that led back down to the pool.

One last time, the spy lifted his hand in a wave before walking out of Castiel’s life.

“Goodbye,” Castiel murmured when a sudden sadness settled inside him.

Chapter Text

Between walking and taking the subway, Castiel finally managed to get home. He had never abandoned his kids for the night without notice, and he felt miserable. At least, he was still on time to see them off to school. Claire gave him side-eyes, but Jack was delighted when Castiel opened the door.

“Good morning, dear. I won’t ask you where you have been all night,” his mother greeted him, far too cheerful for his liking.

Castiel sighed. “Thank you, mother. How courteous of you.”

Becky huffed and turned her attention back to Mrs. Butters who was talking about some buttery pheasant.

“Dad! Dad,” Claire called him from behind while pulling on his coat.

“What is it, love?” Castiel asked and turned around, even though he was fighting to keep his eyes open.

She looked like serious business. “There’s something Jack has to tell you.”

“Can it wait?” Castiel looked at his daughter while trying to suppress a yawn.

“I guess.” Claire shrugged. “But it’s important,” she pointed out as if the guilty look on her brother’s face wasn’t enough of an answer already.

Whatever it was, it had to wait, though. Castiel couldn’t handle anything right in his current state. After being up for more than a day, he doubted he would be able to follow the simplest of topics, least of all a matter his kids deemed of utmost importance.

Besides, it was high time for school anyway, and he guided his kids outside. Jack still seemed pretty shaken, but Castiel hugged him tightly and kissed the top of his head.

“It’s fine,” he whispered. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“Really?”

Castiel nodded, even though he had no idea what was the matter. Yet, nothing could make himself be angry at his son for long.

Jack sighed in relief and a big smile replaced the gloomy look on his face. “See you later,” he said and ran after his sister to catch the bus.

Smiling, Castiel walked back inside. He forewent his mother and headed right to his bedroom. His mother was an adult who didn’t need his supervision and as long as the kids were at school, he was allowed to catch at least a few hours of sleep.

He didn’t even bother to change before he fell down on his bed and closed his eyes. And if he dreamt of a handsome spy, no one needed to know about it. It was only the icing on the cake.

***

“Alright, Jack, spill,” Castiel said several hours later and sat down on his couch, facing his son.

Jack shook his head. Tears filled his eyes, and Castiel wanted to hug him.

Instead, he sighed. “I won’t bite you.”

“You’d bite me?” Jack asked, somehow more excited than terrified, and gaped at him.

“Silly,” Claire joined in. “It’s just a saying. It means Dad won’t be angry. At least, he’ll try.”

Though, despite her sisterly banter, he put her arm around her brother.

“Hey, I heard that,” Castiel quipped before facing his son. “It’s fine, Jack. No one will be eaten today. Just tell me.”

Jack stared to the floor and wiggled on his feet. “I… I opened the present.”

Castiel frowned. “What present?”

“The music box,” Jack said sheepishly. “But I swear I didn’t break it.” Tears dropped from his eyes. “It didn’t work before I shook it.”

Castiel felt as if he was still missing some vital part. There wasn’t a music box. He had never seen—

Claire caught on to his confusion and came to his help. “The present on the dining room table. Like Christmas,” she explained, and finally it all made sense.

“You opened the package?” Castiel asked while his heartbeat accelerated.

Jack nodded and sniffed. “I didn’t mean to. And I didn’t mean to read the card, but it fell out when I turned it.”

Castiel stared at his son before getting up. Smiling, he opened his arms.

Jack didn’t need a further invitation, and Castiel welcomed his son in a hug. Gently, he brushed his fingers through Jack’s hair to soothe him, while Jack snuggled against him.

“Tell me everything.”

***

If someone had asked him, the things Dean wished for were definitely not the things he got. After the last several days he had, all he wanted was a bottle of Jim, a hot shower, and his bed.

Yet, no one seemed keen on granting him his wish. Not Rufus who had wanted him back on the case after Mackey had been found with a bullet through his head in the morning, and certainly not the mysterious caller on his answering service.

As he walked down the National Mall, his hand closed around the gun in his pocket as he pulled his coat closer around him. This was stupid. He must be out of his fucking mind, but it was his job, and he would go to a meeting near the Pool, even if it smelled like a goddamn trap.

“Psst!” someone hissed behind a shrubbery. “Psst!”

Dean felt the adrenaline flood his system. His heartbeat accelerated and his chest pressed against the shoulder holster he carried under his coat. While he listened in on the mysterious stranger, he mentally went through his arsenal: his guns, the knife in his waistband, and the one hidden in his boot pressing against his ankle. There were more, but all of it only helped if he didn’t drop dead beforehand.

“Psst. Here,” the stranger called under his breath, and Dean finally turned around.

“You?” he asked, amazed. He knew the voice sounded somehow familiar. “What the hell?”

“Did you find it?” Cas greeted him, and Dean knew at once what he meant.

“Nah. Not yet.”

“Maybe I can help you,” Cas offered with a smile that lifted Dean’s spirits.

He should be angry, furious even, but, damn, it was good to see Cas again. It hadn’t even been a day since they had parted, but despite the tickle of annoyance he felt each time he faced Mr. Kline, a weird kind of happiness filled Dean.

“You think so?” he teased Cas and lifted an eyebrow.

“Yes, I do, because Jack — my son,” Cas explained, “he opened the package before my mother—”

“He did what?” Dean all but shouted.

“Psst,” Cas hissed. “Shouldn’t you be a little more careful? After all, this is an infamous meeting place for your kind, isn’t it?”

“My kind?” Dean asked, and laughed. “Only for those of us who wear trench coats,” he noted drily and let his eyes trail down Cas’ body. He had never seen someone more dressed like a picture book government agent than that guy. Dean wondered if Cas was even aware of it. Maybe he knew, though Dean didn’t think it would change anything. He felt oddly amused and winked at him. “You sure know the hot spots.”

Castiel didn’t seem to share his cheerfulness. Instead, Mr. Kline glared at him. “Do you want to know what was inside or not? Because Jack remembered the message.”

Dean tried to follow his story, but Castiel had already lost him. “He what?”

A smile flickered over Cas’ face, and Dean wished he was the reason for it. Though, as always, his wishes weren’t granted.

“He must have gotten it from me.” Castiel couldn’t hide the pride in his voice, and maybe he didn’t even want to. After all, the boy was his kid, and Cas seemed to do everything for his children.

In a way, Dean envied them for their dad, but pulled himself together to follow his explanations.

“He easily memorises any kind of texts,” Castiel went on, “even those that don’t make sense at all. Oh, and there was a music box.”

“A music box?” Dean gulped while a shudder ran down his spine. It triggered all his alarms. “Is he sure it was a music box and not a—”

Unsure on how to proceed without scaring the loving father of the kid too much, Dean licked his lips.

Slowly, the truth seemed to dawn on Castiel. His eyes grew wide and Dean felt as if he could hear the gears moving inside the guy’s head. Without a second thought, he sprinted up the stairs to the little platform Castiel was standing on, and laid his hand on Cas’ arm.

“Nothing happened,” Dean reassured him. “Jack’s fine. So is your mom. You all are fine, Cas.”

Castiel nodded. “And maybe it was a music box after all,” he argued.

“Maybe it was,” Dean agreed. Damn, he wanted to pull the man into his arms, and tell him that everything was okay. Yet, first, it never was, and, second, Dean was the worst guy for that job. The more distance lay between them, the safer Cas would be.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said nonetheless, and the tiny smile on his face shook all the walls Dean had erected inside himself so meticulously throughout his life.

“You’re welcome. So, what did it say?” Dean asked, unable to contain his curiosity any longer. That damn package had already stolen two nights of sleep, and been the cause for the deaths of several fine agents. If they got the key, they hopefully could stop the senseless murders of already far too many of his colleagues. Besides, he could be next on the list.

“Duck à Glenwood Fang, Flapjack Preserve, Pigeon Pie Stash,” Castiel said and looked at him expectantly.

Dean blinked. “What?”

Confused, he stared at Castiel, hoping against all hope to get a hint of him. Maybe, he was just messing with him.

Cas frowned. “Duck à Glenwood Fang, Flapjack Preserve, Pigeon Pie Stash,” he repeated slowly, obviously waiting for Dean to react.

“You okay?” Dean asked and chuckled.

The frown on Castiel’s face widened. “Doesn’t it make sense to you?”

“Nope,” Dean said. “Not in the slightest.”

“Damn.” Cas sighed, and Dean wondered if it was the first time he heard the guy curse. The excitement on Cas’ face washed away, leaving nothing but frustration. “I thought you’d know what it meant.”

“Sorry, man.” Dean shrugged. “I can run it through our code breakers and hope to get something, but, otherwise, no idea.”

Pigeon Pie Stash.

What kind of a ridiculous name was that?

Castiel’s shoulders slumped. “That’s a shame.”

“You better get home,” Dean suggested and patted Castiel’s shoulder. “Go back to your kids, your life.”

Castiel sighed. “I was trying to help you keep your job.”

Something warm bubbled inside Dean at the confession. “Don’t worry.” He smiled. “Rufus called. I’ve got my job. There was another murder. The new assignment’s tomorrow.”

“That’s great,” Castiel congratulated him, but there was a sudden sadness in his eyes when he tried to smile.

“Yeah, it’s awesome,” Dean agreed and beamed at him.

Castiel’s gaze lingered. “You still look tired. Did you get some sleep at all?”

“Nah, not much.” Dean grimaced. “Took a nap, that’s all.”

“Dean.” Castiel glowered at him.

Just the single syllable of his name carried so much.

“Promise me to be careful,” Cas added.

Dean grinned. “Always.”

Castiel lifted his eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything else before shaking Dean’s hand.

Once again, their hands lingered until Castiel pulled back. “Goodbye Dean.”

“Goodbye Cas.”

A weird feeling of regret remained as Castiel eventually walked away while Cas’ final words echoed in Dean’s head.

“Stay safe!”

***

The voice of the instructor filled the living room while Castiel vacuumed the floor. He had found out that doing chores gave him the perfect opportunity to combine it with his daily workout.

Usually, it wouldn’t have been his preferred method of exercise, but between the kids, his volunteering as a Scouter, and his tasks at home, it was the best he could get. Moreover, with the current popularity of aerobics, it wasn’t difficult to find a channel that aired a programme whenever he needed it. And if there wasn’t he would use one of his recordings.

Not that he needed it in the morning while the kids were at school. Sometimes it seemed there was little else on the TV during this time of day. Even Mrs. Butters had already aired her newest episode.

As the instructor continued with the training, Castiel moved the vacuum over the rug and repeated the words Jack had found in the package. Dean might have his job back and had no need for Castiel any longer, but the words wouldn’t leave his mind. It was a puzzle that asked to be solved.

“One,” the instructor counted and Castiel lunged while pushing his vacuum forward.

“Duck,” he mumbled at the lowest position.

“Two.”

“Glenwood Fang.”

“Three… Four… Five…”

“Flapjack… Preserve… Pigeon…”

“Six… Seven…”

“Pie… Stash.”

Castiel frowned. “Pie,” he repeated. “Flapjack. Duck.”

He stopped the vacuum and stared at the TV before rushing towards the kitchen.

Just a moment later, the countertop was strewn with his mother’s recipes. Books, magazines, and her sacred collection of handwritten index cards.

“Flapjack. Flapjack Preserve,” Castiel mumbled as he skimmed through the cards, when he finally found what he was looking for. “Oh.”

Smiling, he lifted the card in front of his eyes before carefully putting it down on an open book. Once again, he flicked through the cards until he got the right one.

“Duck à Glenwood Fang,” he all but shouted.

Yet, he almost jumped when his mother suddenly spoke behind him. “What are you doing, dear?”

“Mother!” Castiel hissed, and let out a deep breath.

“Son,” Becky replied and glared at him. “Are you looking for something specific?”

“Pigeon Pie Stash,” he answered automatically. “I already found Duck à Glenwood Fang and Flapjack Preserve.” He turned around. “Why aren’t they in any of your books?”

Becky beamed at him. “You won’t find them anywhere. Mrs. Butters only shares them on her show.”

“Mrs. Butters,” Castiel echoed, exhilarated. “Mother, did you already watch today’s show?”

“Of course not, honey. It’s Tuesday. You know I had my book club breakfast today.”

Castiel nodded, even though he had completely forgotten about his mother’s schedule. “Of course. That’s a shame.”

“But” —Becky smiled and hurried through the room— “if the machine worked, it’s recorded.”

Castiel’s heartbeat accelerated while his mother started the VCR. The screen flickered, the announcer talked about the host sending live from her Virginia kitchen, and then Mrs. Butters appeared.

“Good morning. Welcome from my home. Today we’re going to need the oven. So, preheat those lovelies at exactly 400 degrees. Once you’re ready, we’ll be baking for exactly one hour. Now, you’ll ask yourself, ‘What will we bake today?’. I’ll tell you. I call it—”

While his mother giggled in excitement, Castiel stared at the screen and mumbled, “Pigeon Pie Stash,” at the same time Mrs. Butters spoke the words for anyone to hear.

His heart skipped a beat. He had solved it. He solved the puzzle and got a new one.

What was so special about those recipes? And what had Mrs. Butters to do with it?

“Oh!” Becky cooed. “That looks amazing. Don’t you think so, dear?”

However, Castiel didn’t pay her his mind as he was already rewinding the tape and started it anew.

Once again, he waited for Mrs. Butters to talk and listened carefully. 400 degrees. One hour.

Castiel frowned.

“Exactly 400 degrees. Exactly one hour.”

Those numbers had to mean something. Dean would know. Leaving the show running for his mother, he left her wordlessly, and rushed upstairs to make a call. Yet, the answering service told him that Dean wasn’t available. Even though Castiel asked them to try again, he couldn’t reach him.

Castiel left a message when his sight fell on the clock on the wall. It was already 3 pm.

3 pm. Which… 0300.

“Oh!” he said as everything came together.

400 degrees. 0400. 4 pm. Exactly 4 pm. Didn’t Dean say he had a new assignment today? What if—

Castiel had to warn him. He had to. As he called again, he stopped himself and put the receiver back on the phone. This wasn’t any of his business. Dean needed to know about Castiel’s findings, but he was a professional. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Like the other men who had been killed. Professionals.

Anxiously, Castiel checked the time again, and tried to call Dean once more. Yet, as it was to be expected only one minute after his last call, the answering service still couldn’t help him.

Maybe the agency had already solved the puzzle. After all, they had professional codebreakers for it while Castiel was just a nobody.

Yet, if not—

Without being able to reach Dean, Castiel made a decision. It would certainly take some organising, but it was doable even within a short amount of time. He must be out of his mind, yet he couldn’t sit idly by while something shady was going on in a Virginian farmhouse.

His mother was still watching the show in the living room when he returned to the kitchen and leafed through one of the magazines featuring Mrs. Butters. Castiel quickly found what he was looking for, and sneaked out of the door.

***

Dean groaned and tried to move, but it was to no use. His wrists were tied behind his back, same as his feet. Worse, everything hurt.

The dull throbbing in his head made him dizzy, but as he slowly came to himself, he remembered. Or, rather, he didn’t.

He had arrived at the place Rufus had sent him to. His new assignment. Yet, after he had walked through the door… Had it been open? Or did he pick the lock to get in?

His memories were hazy. Besides, did it matter? Fact was, he had entered the apartment, and after that, his mind went blank.

Judging by the numbing pain in his head, someone had knocked him out. Dean barely dared open his right eye because the dim light made his head explode.

They had known he would be there and had been waiting for him. Dean groaned and pressed his temple on the cool ground he was lying on to lull the pain. When it slowly calmed down, he checked his surroundings.

Someone had obviously gotten the better of him. They might have bound him, but Dean still had his wits, and he wasn’t dead — which was a big plus on his side. He just needed to find a way to get out before it was too late.

While moving his legs and body inch by inch, he slowly managed to turn around from the wall he was staring at, and get a proper view of the room.

“Son of a bitch,” he mumbled and coughed. His throat was dry and every word felt like he had swallowed sandpaper.

Disbelievingly, he stared into the room. Maybe it was the countless crates that were stacked everywhere or the slightly musty smell, Dean had no idea, but his instincts told him he was trapped in a cellar. Even though he had no actual evidence, he didn’t even question his assumption.

As he tried to loosen his ties, a door creaked, and he froze for a moment, just to intensify his efforts when steps sounded on concrete.

Someone laughed. “That won’t help you,” his captor sneered.

Dean tried to get a better look at him, but when he turned to face him, a hard kick hit him in the stomach. Tears shot to his eyes as his world erupted in pain.

The man before him blurred. Retching, Dean doubled over and the laughter deepened. Another kick almost knocked him out and he coughed until he was once again alone.

When the agony eventually subsided into a dull pain, Dean could taste blood in his mouth. That couldn’t be good, even though a first assessment of his body told him he had been lucky. Despite the fucked-up circumstances and his aching bones, he seemed to be fine.

***

Castiel’s uneasiness grew. He still couldn’t reach Dean. It didn’t matter how many messages he left Dean didn’t pick them up from his answering service, despite assuring Castiel he would do so every two hours without fail.

Two endless hours that had long passed.

“And Mr. Winchester didn’t call you back?” he asked the woman at the other end of the line for the thousandth time that afternoon although he already knew her answer.

“Are you sure?” Castiel sighed and nodded. “I understand. I’m sorry… No, Jack, put the rope underneath…”

“Dad,” Jack said with an attitude only an eight-year-old could display. Ignoring Castiel’s advice, he finished the hitch knot around Jamie’s wrists. “You’ll never get this right. See. It’s easy.”

With one little pull at the end of the rope, the knot opened again, and Jack beamed at Castiel.

“Yes. I see,” Castiel said, even though his focus lay on the sounds from the receiver that was squeezed between his ear and shoulder, instead of on the book he was holding in one hand and the knot he tried to tie with the other around one of the boys’ wrists.

However, it was a lost cause. Between the cord of the TV station’s phone winding around him each time he moved and a pack of cub scouts romping around the lounge, he would never succeed.

“Sir,” the station secretary interrupted Castiel’s fruitless attempts at everything. “Here is all the data we have on the broadcast dates for Mrs. Butters’ recipes. Do you need anything else, or is this sufficient for your project?”

The man — Mr. Jones, if Castiel remembered correctly — breathed heavily as he presented the thick folder he had brought with him.

Castiel’s eyes turned wide as he took it from him, but he smiled. “Thank you. That’s exactly what we were looking for. The boys are going to love it. It will help to get them their badges so much faster.”

Mr. Jones mumbled, “Wonderful”, and quickly disappeared in the area of the studio that wasn’t overrun with scouts.

Castiel couldn’t blame him. He should wield his authority over the boys, but there were more important things he had to take care of first. While he sank down on one of the couches in the foyer, he was already skimming over the entries in the long list.

What had Dean said about the murders? When did they happen?

Moving his index finger, Castiel looked for the dishes that were burned on his mind.

“Duck à Glenwood Fang,” he mumbled. “Ah, there you are.”

The date only confirmed his suspicions, as did Flapjack Preserve. Each dish matched exactly one of the murders. And if he was right, Dean was in grave danger.

Another call and several minutes later, Castiel had herded the kids together and finally steered them out of the building where his mother was already waiting for them.

“Thank you, mother,” he greeted her. “Something came up, and I have to go.”

“Don’t worry, darling,” Becky reassured him. “I’ll take the boys home… Yes, all of them,” she added when Castiel opened his mouth to contradict her. “I know how to deal with them. I raised you, remember?”

“Yes, I remember. I was there,” Castiel replied matter-of-factly, but his mother already scurried behind the kids.

“Oh, and don’t forget” —Becky turned around— “Daphne is coming for dinner.”

“Don’t worry, mother,” Castiel reassured her, even though his mind was already somewhere else. “There’s plenty of time.”

“That’s what you said last night,” Becky reminded him, but Castiel really didn’t want to argue with her. Not now. Not when Dean might be in danger, and there was no one else to help.

“It’s an emergency, mother,” he pressed, eager to get away. “At my club.”

“Your club?” Becky frowned. “The one about the cockles?”

“Exactly. It’s very urgent, mother.” Castiel felt that he was slowly losing his temper.

“But—”

“Not now, mother. Later,” Castiel shut her up and took a calming breath, aware that a pack of cubs was watching them. “Please, just take the kids home. I’ll be back in no time.”

Becky sighed. “I hope so, darling. I hope so. Daphne—”

Yet, Castiel was already on his way to his car. His mother could wait, and so could Daphne. There was something else to take care of.

Someone else.

***

It had taken some efforts at persuasion, but, in the end, the staff at the TV station had been very obliging, especially when the boys finally quieted down at Castiel’s command.

Castiel had already deduced the vague area where Mrs. Butter’s farmhouse must be located, based on the information he had gotten from the show, but with the actual address, it was far easier to find.

His mother followed the programme so meticulously that it was impossible to escape it, even as a bystander. Which was why Castiel would have been able to pinpoint its approximate location on a map, but her address led him right to her.

He stopped the car about 200 yards from the drive, and walked the rest of the way. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Only a delivery service worker or employee of the estate was working in the drive. Castiel wasn’t able to tell for sure as he approached him.

The man was so busy with a box of oranges and other fruit that he didn’t notice Castiel until he was standing right in front of him.

“Hello,” Castiel said, suddenly aware that he was still wearing his Scouter uniform. “Would you like some cub scout cookies? We still have a few packages left. How about some vanilla and chocolate sandwich cremes? They really are delicious.”

The man stared at him. “No,” he grumbled and passed Castiel on his way to his delivery truck. “We already bought some,” he added and turned his back to Castiel.

Seeing his chance, Castiel tipped the box with oranges over.

“I’m sorry,” he said and, as he leaned down to pick one up, ‘accidentally’ knocked a crate of apples over as well. Several melons followed the other fruits that slowly rolled down the driveway.

The man cursed and tried to salvage what was possible. Castiel used the distraction to enter the house through the bulkhead door and sneaked down the basement stairwell.

As he turned around a corner, Castiel allowed himself to breathe.

“Hey, cub scout, are you down there?” the man called after him and hurried down the stairs. “You’re trespassing.”

Castiel quickly hid behind some of the crates that were stacked in countless rows, and stayed down.

Shaking his head, the man sighed. With one last look, he muttered under his breath and turned around. As his steps retreated, Castiel rested his head against one of the wooden boxes and closed his eyes.

“Close call,” he mumbled to himself when he heard the man shouting for him outside.

Though it was giving Castiel only a short moment of respite. If the man couldn’t find him outside, he would certainly come back to look for him. Which meant, Castiel had to be quick. Carefully, he stole deeper into a dimly lit corridor, when a door creaked.

Startled, Castiel jumped into a corner, only to find himself standing right behind an opening door.

“I’ll be back, Winchester,” a gruff voice said and laughed as a man stepped through the opening. “And don’t think you can talk such bullshit for long. I know there isn’t an Operation Demon Trap.”

“Your loss, Mikey,” Dean answered cheekily, and Castiel stifled a cry.

As he pressed his hand over his mouth, his heartbeat raced. Sweat covered his forehead. He had been right. Mrs. Butters was the centre of a conspiracy, and Castiel had stumbled right into it.

They had already managed to seize Dean. Despite the danger they were in, relief flooded through Castiel. At least, Dean was alive and Castiel wasn’t too late. There still was time to save him.

“How do you know there ain’t a demon trap, after all? There could be,” Dean went on casually. “And if there is, you’ll be happy that you didn’t gank me right away.”

The thug huffed. “Let’s see if you’re still laughing in twenty minutes.”

“That a promise?” Dean asked, and, even though Castiel couldn’t see him, he could easily picture the grin on Dean’s face and the wiggling of his eyebrows.

“Twenty minutes,” the thug warned.

Instinctively, Castiel backed away further. It wasn’t a moment too soon. The thug closed the door with a thump, and Castiel pressed himself into a nook behind him, hoping it would shield him from the man’s view.

When the coast was clear, Castiel listened intently in case anyone else was around. Just when he was about to step out, his hiding place started to move all of the sudden. Terrified, Castiel watched the storage room disappear from his view while the floor of the nook lifted itself. He had stepped into a freight elevator and was going up.

As it stopped, Mrs. Butters was standing right in front of him. Castiel quickly hid, yet after the first shock, he took in the scene playing out before him.

It felt as if he already knew the place, even though he had never seen the kitchen from this angle. He had noticed the two doors with the portholes before, even though he had always assumed there was just a storage room hidden behind.

Thankfully, Mrs. Butter didn’t pay the elevator any notice. She had turned her back to it and was talking to a second person Castiel couldn’t make out from his hideout.

The conversation suddenly moved away from cooking, and Castiel froze. He had heard that second voice before. He just couldn’t remember—

Mrs. Butters stepped aside and Castiel gasped.

Pamela.

The spy’s voice slurred before she slumped headwards to the counter. Mrs. Butters was immediately by her side and called for someone else.

Another woman rushed into the kitchen, and, together, the two women placed Pamela in a chair. Immediately, Mrs. Butters started to interrogate her.

“Pamela, tell me about the New Mexico codes. Who’s carrying them? And when will they be changed?”

Pamela blinked, but nodded. “Tomorrow,” she answered sleepily as she drifted in and out.

“Get that down,” Mrs. Butters ordered her accomplice before turning her attention back on Pamela. “When?” she asked sharply and slapped Pamela across the face. “And who?”

“3 pm,” Pamela mumbled. “Cesar Cuevas.”

“300 degrees,” Mrs. Butters translated as he kept interrogating Pamela. “Does he work alone?”

Castiel watched in awe and horror. He had been right about the time. The cooking show was such an easy and sly method to transfer coded messages in real time.

After another slap, Pamela shook her head. “No. Works with Jesse.”

“Let it simmer for two hours,” Mrs. Butters translated, and Castiel realised there was so much more information they managed to communicate through the show.

Even though she tried Pamela to answer more questions, whatever they had injected her finally got to her and she didn’t respond anymore.

Mrs. Butters huffed when her tool didn’t work any longer. She let Pamela’s head thump on the counter and turned to the door.

“What shall we do about her?” her accomplice asked when her boss was already halfway out of the room.

The cook laughed. “Nothing. She won’t remember. She never does.”

Her laughter still rang in the air long after the women had vacated the room, yet Castiel didn’t dare follow them. Instead, he pressed a button inside the elevator and hoped that no one was waiting for him downstairs.

Yet, the coast seemed clear when Castiel arrived. Carefully, he left his hideout. He had planned to free Dean and escape with him, but as he found the door to Dean’s cell wide open, Castiel knew he was too late.

They had taken Dean. His twenty minutes must be up, and—

Castiel didn’t want to think about it. Though they couldn’t have been gone for long. Maybe, there was still time. There had to be. Otherwise…

Forgoing all precaution, Castiel ran towards the stairs that had led him inside and peered through the hatch. There were voices coming from the front of the mansion, but otherwise no one was in sight. As he sneaked to the delivery van in the driveway, Castiel caught sight of Dean on the lawn, and his heartbeat shot up.

Even bruised and battered, Dean looked beautiful. He seemed to be conscious and able to walk by himself, but two thugs dragged him between them while Mrs. Butters followed behind and pointed a gun at Dean’s back.

For a moment, Castiel stopped and gaped at Dean, until he remembered what was at stake. Alarmed, he ducked down behind the van.

Thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed him. Yet, when he glanced through the windows, Dean turned around and his eyes widened in amazement. He started to smile and said something to the cook that Castiel couldn’t distinguish from the distance.

Whatever it was, Mrs. Butters didn’t seem happy about it. Glowering at him, she kicked Dean’s heels. Dean stumbled and the thugs violently pulled him back up.

They all stopped when a loud noise drowned everything else and a chopper appeared from behind the treeline. The entire group ducked when it landed right in front of them.

Only when the rotors slowed down, Mrs. Butters looked up and greeted the pilot who jumped out and opened the sliding door where he grabbed a large box from the hold. He waved to the thugs to help him. One of them grabbed a second box, and, leaving Dean with the other thugs behind, Mrs. Butters guided both men towards the house.

Castiel feared the worst. Time was running out. Quickly, he considered his options. Pamela wouldn’t be of any help, and Dean was being herded at gunpoint to the chopper. With his wrists tight behind his back, it didn’t seem as if he had the means to fight back on his own.

There was only one thing Castiel could do to stop the chopper from leaving with Dean. He took a moment to slow the bad guys down before leaving his cover. His heart beat in his throat as he rushed over the lawn and stepped behind Dean.

The thug hadn’t noticed him so far, and when he was occupied with opening the door, Castiel acted.

“Freeze!” he shouted, and Dean beamed at him.

Castiel watched in awe when Dean used the moment of distraction. He attacked the thug and knocked him out with his shoulder as if it was nothing.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean greeted him. “Awesome timing.”

Due to the noise of the rotors, Castiel could barely hear him, but seeing his lips was enough. Though just seeing them would never be enough, some part of Castiel’s brain chimed in.

Before Castiel could delve into it, Dean turned his back to him. “Dude, get me out of these,” he yelled over his shoulder while wiggling his bound wrists. “We gotta get out of here.”

Somewhere, Castiel heard people shout, and when he risked a glance to the house, several men were running towards them. It seemed they had alerted everyone on the ground.

Castiel finally focused on the task at hand, and his heart plummeted. “I can’t.”

“What the hell,” Dean cried out. “Goddammit, that’s just a knot. What’s taking you so long?”

“It’s my archenemy.” Castiel groaned, “I never can get it to open for me.”

“Goddammit! It’s a knot!” Dean protested. “Just cut it.”

Castiel nodded. He reached into his pocket, but came empty handed. Desperation settled inside him when his other pockets lead to the same result. “I lost my knife,” Castiel confessed.

“Son of a—”

A shot rang out.

“Someone is shooting at us,” Castiel cried out, and Dean rolled his eyes.

“Get in,” he ordered.

“There?” Castiel gaped at his companion. “In the helicopter?”

“Of course.” Exasperation appeared on Dean’s face. “Hurry!”

Castiel didn’t need to be told twice. He could hear the voices coming nearer. A bullet narrowly missed his leg, and he ran.

When he closed the door, and Dean somehow managed to do the same on his side, Castiel stared at him. The men were closing in, and they were trapped.

“What will we do?” he asked.

“Easy.” Dean grinned. “You’re gonna fly.”

Chapter Text

“How?” Cas stared at the levers and buttons before him as if he had never seen anything like it. And probably, he never had.

Though there was no time for him to go through the theory. Either they took off, or they were toast.

“Feet on the pedals,” Dean shouted over the noise. “Right hand on the stick. Left on the throttle. Go!”

Dean didn’t like being completely dependent on a guy in a boy scout uniform, but Cas was his only hope. They needed to get out of this, and the faster the better.

Whatever Cas did, it worked. The chopper slowly lifted, and Dean allowed himself to breathe.

Bullets sizzled right and left, but they quickly gained height, until they didn’t.

“Goddammit,” Dean screamed. “Don’t throttle. Higher. Higher.”

Castiel squinted. “I’m trying,” he grumbled.

“Accelerate… No not like that,” Dean said and the helicopter dropped several yards. “Let me take over the pedals.”

Castiel nodded relieved. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. I like your way of thinking.”

“Concentrate. Left… Not there.” Dean closed his eyes, but ripped them open when a tree appeared right in front of them. “Son of a bitch!” Somehow the chopper lifted at the last possible moment, and they evaded their fate by a hair. “Geez!” Dean breathed out. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“You and me both,” Cas deadpanned as he missed the mansion’s roof for mere inches.

“We have to leave,” Dean reminded him when they flew another circle.

“Yes, I’m trying, but this thing doesn’t seem to like me,” Cas bitched.

Despite the tense situation, Dean laughed. “Do you say that about your car as well?”

“Constantly,” Cas answered with a concentrated frown on his face.

It was the hottest thing Dean had witnessed in a while, and he would have loved to watch Mr. Kline fly for hours if it weren’t a matter of life and death.

“You’re doing good,” Dean reassured him nonetheless. He had no idea whether it was to soothe Cas or to distract himself from the sudden urge to kiss the frown away.

Castiel’s frown deepened. “We’re going to crash… I’m going to crash this thing.”

“Nah, we’re fine. We haven’t crashed yet, and we won’t later,” Dean answered and looked out of the window. Once again, they spun over the estate, but it allowed him to check on their enemies. Several people were running to the car, but jumped out just a few moments later.

“I punctured their tires,” Castiel explained casually.

“How? Does that mean— You have a knife?” Dean stared at his unlikely pilot.

“I had,” Castiel answered while pulling at the stick and levers. “But I must have left it in one of the tires.”

“Why?” Dean squeaked because his goddamn voice betrayed him.

“He was about to push you into the helicopter. I couldn’t allow it,” Castiel said heatedly and moved his arms, causing the helicopter to pirouette.

“Stop that,” Dean snapped.

Castiel glared at him.

“Watch out!” Dean cried out, and Cas pulled them up at the last minute before they collided with a tree.

“I’m sorry that I tried to save you,” Castiel bitched. “I called your number countless times, but you didn’t answer.”

“Because I was abducted, goddammit!” Dean grouched.

“I noticed,” Cas deadpanned, and Dean couldn’t decide if he wanted to strangle or kiss the guy.

Probably both. If they ever managed to get out of that thing, he might even try both at the same time.

They were finally flying more stable. Cas slowly seemed to get a hang on it. They got some distance between the chopper and the mansion, and Dean allowed himself to take a breath.

Of course, he almost choked on it when a bullet hit the door. Alarmed, he looked outside, only to find a car chasing them.

“Faster,” he urged Castiel on.

Once again, Mr. Kline risked a sideway-glance to glower at him, but this time, he seemed eager to keep the chopper under control. “I’m aware, Dean.”

Still, it wasn’t enough and the helicopter started to spin anew while losing height.

“Dude!” Dean warned as the car rushed towards them. “Turn.”

Whatever Cas did, it worked, and the car shot past them. The driver lost control and the car catapulted over a small ridge where it landed abruptly.

“Awesome!” Dean cheered, and the little smile on Cas’ face suddenly meant the world to him. “Sorry about your car, though,” he added rather sheepishly.

“My car?” Cas asked, alarmed, and Dean witnessed understanding slowly dawning on his face. “No,” Cas whispered.

Dean shrugged. “Figure they took the first car they could find.”

“My car,” Castiel said, and the helicopter did another sharp turn.

“Goddammit, Cas! Eyes on the road.”

“What road?” Cas cried out, and Dean shook his head and closed his eyes in defeat.

“Just… land this thing, alright?”

“Land? I can’t even fly,” Cas stated, panicked.

Dean burst into laughter and patted Cas’ thigh.

“You’re doing pretty well, man, all things considered,” he soothed his pilot. “You’ll earn your wings if you bring us down safely.”

“All things considered,” Cas echoed deadpan, and Dean lost it. “This isn’t funny, Dean.”

“Nah, you’re right. It ain’t. It’s hilarious.” Dean gasped for air until he finally got himself under control. “Just slowly push the stick and set us down.”

The helicopter lurched, and shot down. Dean groaned as they hit the ground, but Castiel immediately pulled the thing up again.

The next time they made contact with the ground it went a lot smoother. Even though they hobbled over the rocks and bushes, the chopper stayed still.

“Turn that switch,” Dean ordered, and Castiel killed the engines.

The rotors stopped and the sudden silence felt wrong, but they had made it. They had actually made it.

Dean’s pulse raced. Adrenaline rushed through his system, and he felt elated. Smiling, he turned to his companion, only to find that Cas was already staring at him.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas greeted him like the big dork he was.

Though Dean couldn’t care less. “Heya, Cas,” he said and licked his lips.

Castiel’s eyes followed the motion, and Dean’s heart pounded in his ears. Cas lifted his hand as if to touch him when someone opened the door.

“Hey guys,” Pam said and stopped. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” Dean grumbled and straightened his back. “How did you find us?”

“She was already at the mansion,” Cas explained, though he didn’t seem bothered about it.

Dean didn’t understand why it wasn’t a big deal to him. “You!” He gaped at the woman he had called a friend for years. “You…” It couldn’t be. Pam couldn’t… She wouldn’t— “No,” he whispered. “Not you. You’re—”

“She’s the mole,” Castiel went on, unperturbed, and the look on Pam’s face mirrored exactly how Dean felt.

“I’m not,” Pam protested, and despite all evidence, Dean believed her.

“And yet, she isn’t,” Castiel said, only confusing them even more.

“What?” Dean and Pam asked at once.

“They drugged and interrogated her. It’s a long story,” Castiel said. “But shouldn’t we leave? Are we still in danger? Or do you plan to arrest the bad guys?”

Dean gaped, and swallowed eventually. Turning to Pam, he nodded towards his shackles. “Care to help a guy out? Mr. Kline here obviously considers knots his archenemy.”

“This specific hitch never opens for me,” Cas defended himself. “Ask Jack, or Claire.”

“His kids,” Dean clarified when Pam frowned.

She nodded. “Scouts?”

“I have no idea how you could have guessed that,” Dean quipped and grinned. “I bet he’s a chip off the old block,” he teased Cas a bit more.

Mr. Kline crossed his arms. “I’ve never been a Scout,” he protested. “I’m a Scouter.”

“Ain’t that the same?” Dean asked, but immediately forgot about it when Pam finally managed to free him.

Before Dean realised what was happening, Cas had taken his right hand in his and started to massage his wrist.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t free you earlier,” Cas apologised, and Dean forgot that he should be angry about it.

Instead, he closed his eyes, and bit his tongue to stifle a sigh that was all too similar to a moan. Damn, it felt so fucking good.

Without another word, Dean offered his left hand as well, and Castiel continued working on it, until Pam cleared her throat.

“I’ll pretend I’ve never seen anything,” she said. “Take your time. You’ll find me at the mansion. Doing our job.”

Opening his left eye, Dean caught her grinning at him.

“Nice pick, Winchester,” she whispered into Dean’s ear, and walked away.

“Stop it,” Dean grumbled, and Castiel stalled. “Not you,” Dean said, and chuckled. “I was talking to Pam.”

“Oh.” Cas nodded.

His eyes lit up, and yet, he still didn’t continue. He even tried to pull his hands back, but Dean caught them. He must be out of his fucking mind, but that goddamn dork in his scout uniform with the stupid tie was stealing his breath.

“Cas,” Dean whispered while holding Cas’ hands tight.

He feared he might have misread the signals, when confusion appeared on Cas’ face, but his expressions softened and a tiny smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

With the adrenaline from their narrow escape still high in his system, Dean bit his bottom lip as his gaze trailed over Cas’ mouth.

While Cas’ thumb brushed over the back of Dean’s hand, time seemed to have slowed down. Dean could hear his heart beat as his blood rushed through him. Each breath breached the sudden silence and his entire focus lay on the gentle touch of Cas’ fingers.

Their eyes met. Dean saw his yearning mirrored in the deep blue ocean that seemed to watch him intently.

“We shouldn’t,” Dean mumbled.

Cas nodded in agreement, but they gravitated towards each other nonetheless. It was impossible to resist the pull, and Dean had no intention to resist at all, even though there were countless reasons why he should fight it.

“Dean,” Cas said, and the longing it carried finally did Dean in.

His hand shot to Cas’ face, cupping his jaw, while their foreheads bumped together. Dean banged his nose against Cas’, but after the initial jumble everything fell into order. Their lips touched in the gentlest way, and Dean hummed.

Cas’ little chuckle was the cherry on the pie, and Dean pulled back.

“Fuck,” he murmured.

“That’s not… I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Cas said, and Dean froze. “At least, not now,” the damn asshole clarified, deadpan.

Dean hated how he relaxed immediately. Of course, Cas picked it up.

“Dean,” he said. “I want… But… I never… My kids…”

“Shh,” Dean whispered and pulled him close, savouring the moment. “It’s okay. I… Fuck, I don’t know what we’re doing. This isn’t—”

“Standard agency protocol?”

Dean burst into laughter. “Yeah. Geez, you’re—”

“One of a kind?” Cas asked and Dean felt the tilt of his head against his.

Although he didn’t want to leave, Dean pulled back. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

“And then?”

Cas sounded so damn vulnerable that Dean hated himself for having to burst their little bubble of happiness. Fuck, he was fucking crazy about that guy. He must be out of his mind, but he couldn’t let him walk out of his life and never see him again.

Dean grinned. “We’re making it up as we go.”

“Yes,” Cas said, and Dean wanted to kiss him again, especially when a broad smile lit up his entire face. “I like that.”

Hesitantly, they entangled themselves and Dean stretched his weary body. Everything hurt and it would take quite a while to heal from his ordeal, but as his joints cracked, he sighed in relief.

“Thanks, dude.”

“Anytime, Dean,” Cas replied, and Dean’s heart thudded with excitement.

Once again, their eyes met, and seconds ticked by, until Dean shook his head with a sigh.

“Gonna need to help Pam out there,” he grumbled.

“I understand. I… Oh!” Cas’ eyes widened. “Daphne.”

Fuck! “Your girlfriend.” Dean was such a fucking idiot.

“No. You don’t understand, Dean,” Cas cried out and lowered his eyes. “She’s just… She’s coming to dinner,” he whispered. “And I’m late.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Dean brushed him off and finally got out of the helicopter.

“No, you don’t,” Cas snapped, anger flaring up in his eyes. “I don’t even know why I… Dean, I don’t have a job. I have kids, and my mother, and my ex-wife… Daphne, she is…” He shrugged which affected his whole body.

Geez, Cas looked so fucking beaten all of a sudden.

Dean rounded the helicopter and, after a quick scan of the perimeter, leaned in. His hand was back, perfectly cupping Cas’ jaw as if it was made for it, and he brushed his thumb over Cas’ stubble.

“Your beard.”

“I’m sorry, I hadn’t time to shave today,” Cas apologised out of the blue, and Dean fell just a little more for him.

“Goddammit. You haven’t been around a lot, have you?” Dean asked, chuckling. “She’s your cover.”

“Oh!” Cas’ eyes widened in shock. “Yes, I think so. Though I shouldn’t—”

“Bullshit!” Dean grinned, suddenly feeling more lightheaded than a moment before. “Let’s get your car on the road and save your date.”

“You don’t mind?” Cas asked, and Dean heard the astonishment in his words.

“Why should I? Going undercover is my job, remember?”

Cas smiled, and Dean bathed in his warmth. Damn, how could he ever recover from this?

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean chuckled. “Anytime, Cas,” he said and nudged him.

***

Thankfully, his car wasn’t wrecked, and Castiel could drive home in it. And it was high time. Daphne was set to arrive in five minutes.

As he rushed into the kitchen, Claire, Jack, and his mother were talking, but Castiel had no time to greet them. Still, it hurt him to see that his kids had already changed into their pajamas, while he had been away. He had missed so much of their day.

However, instead of wallowing in self-doubt, he walked over to the fridge, took out the casserole he had already prepared in hindsight after he got up in the morning, and pushed it into the oven.

With just a few moves, Castiel set the table, and was lighting the candles when the doorbell rang.

Claire lifted an eyebrow and crossed her arms while his mother shook her head. Jack, however, smiled and ran to the door.

“Right on time, as always,” Jack greeted their visitor when he opened the door, yet even his enthusiasm sounded more attenuated than usual.

Claire huffed, and left the room, and for the first time, Castiel realised what he was doing to his family. Still, he attempted a smile as Daphne walked into the room. He got this, even though his mind would be with someone else for the whole evening.

“Hello Castiel,” Daphne said. “Did you have a nice day?”

“You know me. Nothing exciting ever happens to me,” Castiel answered, and, for the first time around Daphne, he smiled.

***

“Good job, Squirrel,” Rufus greeted Dean when he and Pam finally walked back into the office.

It was part of his job to report in, but Dean wanted nothing more than to go home.

“You truly found yourself a guardian angel.” Rufus grinned. “That man seems capable of the job. Don’t you think, Pam?”

Pam grinned. “Oh, he’s perfect. Squirrel will love him.”

“Rufus, what—” Dean started, but his boss interrupted him right away.

“It seems we finally found you a partner, Dean.” Rufus grinned. “He’s inconspicuous, keen, and comes with a set of unique abilities. Besides, we always can make good use of civilians.”

“No,” Dean said and shook his head as his suspicions were confirmed. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit!” Crossing his arms, Rufus left no room to argue. “After Mrs. Butters wreaked havoc, we can’t risk losing any more good men. Deal with it, Winchester.”

“You’re serious,” Dean murmured.

“I’m damn serious.” Rufus glared at him when a grin appeared on his face. Dean expected the worst, and his boss didn’t let him down. “Oh, and Squirrel, you tell him.”

Dean gulped. He knew that the decision was final. Rufus was an unrelenting bastard, and he was the best there was. Even Crowley caved to him. So, no chance for Dean to bring him around.

“But first, get some sleep. You look like shit,” Rufus added, and grinned, turning to Pam. “Both of you. Have a good night.”

“Good night, Dean,” Pam said when they walked together out of the door. “And sweet dreams.” She wiggled her brows.

“Shuddup,” Dean grumbled. He could feel heat shooting to his face and turned around.

“He seems like a really good guy.”

“Too good for this world,” Dean heard himself say, and the grin on Pam’s face died away.

***

Dean tossed and turned the whole night while two urges fought inside him. He wanted to get to know Cas, learn about him, about everything he liked and loved. He wanted to see the tiny smile widen and feel his lips against his. He wanted—

He wanted him to stay away as far as possible from him, and never step into Dean’s life again.

However, that train had left. If Dean didn’t talk to him, Rufus would find a way. And then, one day, Cas would be there, partnered with Dean.

He would get on Dean’s nerves from the very first moment, even though he would make his day better by simply being there.

Dean groaned. He was fucked.

***

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said behind him, and Dean’s mood lifted immediately.

Smiling, he turned around. “Hey Cas.”

“You, uh, wanted to talk to me?” Castiel frowned, completely oblivious about the reason for their meeting.

Damn. How was any guy allowed to look so good a stupid trench coat?

“Yeah.” Dean scratched the back of his head. “Rufus, uh, he sent me. You’re looking for a job, right?”

Cas’ eyes lit up. “He wants me as a secretary?”

“Uh, no.” Dean chuckled. “He wants you, uh… to work with me.”

Castiel blinked. “With you?”

The astonishment on his face had Dean’s pulse racing.

“As partners,” Dean clarified.

“Partners?” Cas shook his head. “That’s not… Dean, I’m not a spy. I—”

His eyes searched Dean’s, obviously looking for an out, and Dean’s mood worsened.

“Dammit, I know,” Dean grumbled. “It ain’t my decision.”

Cas’ shoulders slumped. The light in his eyes died, and he sighed. “So, you don’t want me.”

“Goddammit, that’s not—” Dean licked his lips. “You have no idea how fucking much I want you.”

Cas tilted his head while the corners of his mouth shot up.

“Shuddup!” Dean grumbled.

“I haven’t said anything,” Cas noted, and Dean couldn’t take it any longer.

Pushing Cas into a narrow alley, he crowded him.

“This doesn’t seem very professional to me,” Cas deadpanned, but gripped Dean’s lapels nonetheless.

“I don’t care,” Dean mumbled against his lips.

“So, partners?” Cas asked as they pulled back to breathe.

Dean felt stripped bare under his gaze. “Yeah.”

“In secret?”

“Yep. You’re a spy now, Cas,” Dean quipped, even though he got the hidden meaning underneath.

Cas frowned. “That’s all I am to you?”

Licking his lips, Dean slowly shook his head.

“It’s risky,” Cas noted, but trailed his fingers over Dean’s face.

“Yeah,” Dean said huskily.

“You really want to do this?”

Dean froze. How was he supposed to answer?

Cas sighed. “I understand.”

“No, you don’t,” Dean snapped. “You have no fucking clue. I… This… Fuck! Told you, I’ve never… I’m not good with partners.”

“Neither am I,” Cas said. It was so matter-of-factly that Dean was caught on the wrong foot. “But I want this. The last two days… It was exciting.”

Dean huffed and evaded his gaze. “That’s one way to call it.”

Gently, Cas lifted up his chin. “Dean.”

It was all it took. “Goddammit, Mr. Kline. You’re driving me crazy.”

Cas laughed.

It was the sweetest sound Dean had heard in a long time, and he pulled him back in.

“Partners,” Dean said as he allowed himself a moment to breathe.

The smile on Cas’ face had butterflies stir inside him.

“Partners,” Cas agreed and nodded. “Yes, I like that. A lot.”