Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean took a sip from his water bottle. He’d set up an hour ago and now he was just waiting for his target to make an appearance. Lifting the stock of his M40 so the butt rested squarely against his shoulder, he peered through the scope into an apartment in the high rise across from him. Still no sign of Walker. Just the formulaic living room with its off-white paint job, the only sign that someone lived there the drab brown couch and chairs. It wouldn’t be long now, he thought as he checked his watch for the hundredth time.

The waiting had always been the hardest part of the job. Even when it was only a couple of hours. The quiet left too much time for Dean to think. He didn’t want to think. Thinking usually led to feeling, and he didn’t want any of that. The time ticked slowly by.

At least now he could sit comfortably in a chair, rifle propped up by its bipod on the table instead of the endless discomfort of the desert heat in Afghanistan. Good times. He smirked to himself, sitting back and taking another drink. There were lots of pros and cons to being a freelancer, but the comfort level was high on Dean’s list of up-checks. Not to mention the fact that no one ever shot back at him in Boston. Well… almost never. And the money wasn’t bad, either.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and Dean pulled it out and answered it since there didn’t seem to be too much else going on. He could use the distraction.

“Hey, Jo,” he said with a smile.

“ Hey, how’s it going?”  

“It’s going. Just waiting for the opportunity to arise.” Dean kept his eyes trained on the window across the street as he spoke.

“ Hey, listen, a job came through the Network. Might be something big. ” She sounded excited, and more than a little apprehensive.

“Good. You gonna take it?” It was clear she was leading up to something and Jo normally wasn’t the type to beat around the bush, so her hesitation seemed out of place.

“ It’s for you, Dean. He asked for you by name.”

Dean sat up straight in his chair. “What? He asked for Dean Winchester? Who the hell was it?”

“ Don’t be an idiot. Not your real name. He asked for The Hunter. A Russian going by the name Novak. ”

He relaxed tremendously. Of course, they hadn’t asked for him by his real name. Why had he even thought that? Hell, Sam was the only person outside of the Network that knew what he did for a living. “Russian, huh? Any idea who he wants to pop?”

“ No. He just wants to set up a meeting.”

“Fine. Thursday at the usual spot.”

“ I’ll send the message.”

“Okay. Talk soon.” Dean ended the call and tucked his phone into his pocket without another thought. Dean was very good at what he did, and jobs were not hard to come by. Still, it wasn’t very often someone requested him by name. The Network was huge, and there was plenty of talent to choose from. He shook it off and went back to watching for his target.

Even without the rifle, Dean could see movement through the high window. He leaned forward to use the scope for a closer look. A tall black man walked through the parlor, dropping a pile of envelopes on the coffee table before he was out of sight again. He settled into his position, counting as he slowed his breathing and waited for Walker to appear in front of the window again. 

In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.

The target was back in the living room, and Dean lined up his shot, zeroing in on the center of the man’s chest. In, two, three, four. His finger dropped from its resting position on the side of the guard to the trigger. Hold, two, three, four. He tightened his finger, preparing to squeeze off the well-aimed shot. Out, two… The target turned, and Dean saw a little girl run into his arms. Fuck. They parted and Dean had a clear shot again, but he sighed and released the trigger, sitting back. He might be a cold-blooded assassin, but there was no way he’d do that to a kid. Watching your father die, especially like that, would be traumatic in the extreme.

“Gordon Walker lives to die another day,” Dean muttered to himself. He sighed again as he broke the rifle down and packed the pieces carefully away into the case. The clasps snapped shut, and he carried the whole thing by its handle and headed out the door.

It was unpleasant being called from his home this late at night to deal with business problems, so Castiel was already unhappy when he parked his car behind the Cafe St. Petersburg. He checked the magazine for his GSH18 before sliding back into place and tucking the pistol into his waistband. Running a hand through his already disheveled hair, Castiel sighed and got out of the car. His tan trench coat flapped out behind him as he entered the kitchen through the back door of the restaurant, he ignored the busy work of the dishwashers and cooks as they went about their night. There was shouting back and forth in English and Russian, and people occasionally carrying food out of the kitchen or trays full of empty dishes and cups back in.

Castiel narrowly avoided the cooler door as an employee he didn’t recognize swung it open and exited the walk-in without even looking. The door shut on its own, and he moved past it and through the swinging panels that led to the dining area. Down a small corridor to the right, past the bathrooms and around a corner, he came upon a large man in a relatively plain black suit. It was one of the Obshchak’s security specialists. The man stood next to a locked door, not allowing entrance to anyone that didn’t belong.

“Dobryi vecher, Gospodin Novak,” he said, stepping aside.

“Good evening,” Castiel responded, preferring to speak English even if it was with the accent left from his childhood in Eastern Europe. He pushed through the door, revealing only a dimly lit stairwell leading down to the basement. Festive noise and music floated up from the basement as he took the steps two at a time into the hidden casino. People sat around card tables, gambling their money away, drinks flowed freely, and Castiel’s Angels dotted the room, working the rich men, and women, out of whatever cash they didn’t spend at the tables.

It was good to see that his little club was doing well, but often that was what brought troublemakers to his door. That certainly appeared to be the case that night. Castiel let himself through another door that led into a small room, mostly bare except the monitors mounted on one wall. They displayed the casino from different angles, intending to keep the patrons and workers safe, as well as ensure everyone’s money stayed where it belonged. Two more of Mikhail’s security operatives stood near the far wall of the room, watching over a person that was tied to a metal chair just in front of them.

The man—Castiel couldn’t help but think of him as a boy, though their age difference couldn’t have been much—had already been roughed up, judging by the swelling around his eye and an open cut on his cheek. His blond hair somehow still seemed perfectly placed. 

“Gentlemen.” Castiel nodded to the men standing guard. He crouched in front of the disheveled, bloodied prisoner and looked at the fear reflected in his pale blue eyes. “So, I hear you like to touch things that do not belong to you.” The kid shook his head but didn’t speak. “Tell me your name, boy.”

“Brady. It's Tyson Brady,” he replied, voice shaking. He was clearly terrified, and Castiel wished for a moment that this young man had been cheating at cards, or even stealing money. Things might end differently, then.

“Tell me, Brady, did my Angel do that to your face?” He reached up, tracing the slash on his prisoner’s cheek. He nodded. “And why did she cut you?”

“Because I…” Brady seemed to be having some difficulty getting the words out.

“Because you… what, Mr. Brady?” Castiel grabbed him by the chin, forcing the captive to look him in the eye. “I already know the answer, so you might as well admit to it. Confession is good for the soul.”

“I tried to force myself on her.” Brady did not appear to feel relieved by the confession. It made nothing easier for Castiel as he rose, towering over the fool who had thought to take advantage of one of his Angels. He reached into his coat, pulling his pistol from his waistband with one hand. 

“Perhaps God will forgive you,” Castiel said as he pointed the gun at Brady’s forehead, “but I will not.” There was a loud crack as he pulled the trigger, but he was unconcerned it would cause any disturbance to the casino on the other side of the door. The room was very well soundproofed and for exactly this reason. 

“Clean up this mess.” Castiel sighed, wishing there was some way to avoid this kind of violence.

Chapter Text

Castiel sat uncomfortably in the booth furthest from the door. He was decidedly unimpressed by the restaurant his contact had chosen. The tacky plaid tablecloth and the neon signs plastered on the wall made his eyes ache, and he didn’t understand how people could bring their families to this place. Still, no one who might recognize him would be caught dead in Chelsea, let alone in The Brown Jug. And despite the decor, the pizza was delicious. He thumbed through the contacts on his cell phone and pressed send to call his brother. It rang once, twice, and then a moment of silence.

“ Belyy dom slushayet. ” 

“Again, with this ridiculous greeting, Gabriel,” Castiel responded, rolling his eyes although he knew his brother wouldn’t be able to see it. “The White House does not care about our conversations.”

“You don’t know that, bratiška. The White House is interested in many things.” Though he and his brother had come to the United States at the same time, Gabriel had managed to shake the heavy Slavic accent in a way Castiel didn’t think he ever would.

“This is not why I called you. I am checking in before my meeting.” While the White House might not be listening, they didn’t know who else might be. As always, he would have to be careful to use his words wisely on the phone.

“ Has our friend arrived yet?” Gabriel’s voice was serious now, no signs of his previous playful tones.

“No. I arrived early. I wanted to check the place out before he got here.” 

“ That’s smart. Call me when it’s over. Let me know how it goes.”

“Da. I will call you tonight.” Castiel ended the call and tucked his smartphone back into his pocket. The waitress came by again and refilled his glass— if he could call the tall plastic tumbler that— of water without being prompted. He smiled and nodded his thanks, keeping his eyes focused on the door. His contact should be arriving any minute now.

Moments passed, and only one person entered the restaurant: a tall man with sandy brown hair, spiked up a bit. He wore a green and gray flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up just past his elbows over a pair of dark blue jeans. Castiel was sure it wasn’t his contact. The man was far too casual, he smiled too easily as he greeted the bartender like they were old friends. He watched the man’s eyes survey the dining room and quickly settle on him. The bartender looked over at Castiel as well and his lips moved in response to something the man had said. Perhaps this was his contact after all. His thought was confirmed the man confidently strode toward the booth where he sat.

He slid in opposite of Castiel without preamble and smiled. “You must be Mr. Novak.” It was immediately clear that he was from the greater Boston area by the way he missed the ‘R’ at the end of mister, though his accent wasn’t as pronounced as most. Castiel found himself immediately drawn to the confidence in those bright green eyes.

“Zdravstvuite,” Castiel said, “you must be the one they call The Hunter.” He reached across the table, offering his hand to shake. His new contact took it firmly in his large, warm hand and shook once with a smirk.

“I hear people call me that on occasion, but my name is Dean. Dean Winchester.” His eyes were sharp and intelligent as the examined Castiel. “So, we talking terms?”

“You like to get straight to business, Mr. Winchester.” Castiel smiled, just a slight quirk of the corners of his lips. “To shorten a very long story, the current Pakhan, Alistair, needs to be displaced. This is not something I can do alone. I need your help.”

“I’m in.” Dean’s green eyes seemed suddenly darker, his face determined and grim. Castiel was surprised at the immediacy of his response. They hadn’t even talked about payment yet. What had made him agree so easily?

“Are you certain? We haven’t even gone into the details yet.” He was watching The Hunter carefully, trying to gauge his judgment.

“Okay, give me the details. I doubt I’ll change my mind.” Dean flagged down the waitress and ordered a slice of meat lovers pizza and a Sam Adams. 

While he waited for his food, Castiel began talking about his plans. “Alistair must go. He cares too much for violence, and not enough for the family.”

“Let me guess, you want to take his place?” Dean asked, taking a drink of his beer. He leaned back and stretched one arm across the top of the bench’s back. Castiel did not let the way the man’s shirt stretched tightly across his well-muscled chest draw too much of his attention from the topic of conversation. “You think you’re better suited?”

“I think that with me in command, the Russians can run this city. And that ultimately is my goal. For one thing, I believe there would be less unnecessary violence.” Castiel waited as the waitress set Dean’s pizza down in front of him, taking in the man’s flirtatious smile along with the waitress’s all too eager response. The Hunter appeared to be the kind of man who always got what he was after. It was good, that was exactly the sort of man Castiel would need for this.

“I can get behind that.” Dean took a bite from his slice of pizza and groaned his satisfaction. Castiel raised an eyebrow at the noise and cocked his head slightly to one side. “God, this pizza is so damn good.” He looked at Castiel and seemed to compose himself slightly, putting the slice back on the plate. “Uh... sorry. So, you want me to take out the boss.”

“Eventually, yes. Other… steps will have to be taken first. I would not be the successor if the Pakhan were to vacate now. First I must gain his favor.” Castiel took a small slip of paper out of his pocket and slid it across the table. He waited silently as Dean wiped the grease from his fingers before retrieving it and opening it to see the list of names Castiel had written hours before the meeting. He whistled low as he read.

“Mr. Novak, there are some big names on this list.” Dean was looking at him with raised eyebrows, but he showed no indications of backing out. “You’ve pretty much got the whole damn town covered.”

“I have a few allies, in the family and elsewhere. They will take their places when the time is right.” Dean just nodded, polishing off his dinner. Castiel didn’t say any more. He had to keep the plan as compartmentalized as possible. A protective measure, if one person became compromised, he could still finish it.

“Okay. I’m in. We gonna talk numbers now?”

“Whatever you ask, I can pay.” Castiel waited as Dean seemed to mull over this proposition. He raised his eyebrows and nodded once, tilting his head to the side.

“For names like this? Normally I’d say Seventy-five K a head,” Dean said. It was a hefty price, given how many names were on the list, but Gabriel would help him and Castiel hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was willing to pay. The confident smirk Dean had worn when he first sat down returned to his face now. “But I like you, Mr. Novak. In fact, I think I’ll give you the friends and family discount. Fifty Thousand each.”

“You have yourself a deal,” Castiel replied, reaching across the table to shake The Hunter’s hand once again. “And please, call me Castiel.” He stood and smiled down at his latest partner as he retrieved his trench coat and put it on again.

“Only if you call me Dean.” 

Chapter Text

Dean found himself looking through the list of names written in neat, blue block letters. Castiel Novak had neat handwriting, assuming he was actually the one that wrote it. Sitting on his bed, his eyes drifted up to the framed picture on his nightstand. He remembered the day the photo was taken. He’d only been back from his last tour for a couple of months at the time, and he and Lisa had decided to take Ben out to Carter Park. Lisa had packed up a picnic basket and Dean spent most of the day on the diamond, tossing a baseball lightly into their son’s waiting glove.

When he’d snapped the picture of Lisa with Ben wrapped up in her arms on the checkered picnic blanket, Dean couldn’t have imagined it would be the last time he would ever play catch with his little boy. Or the last time he’d get to kiss his wife. It was the only reason he’d agreed to do this. Alistair Sorokin was on that list. He’d finally get to snuff the life out of the man who’d ruined everything for him. The Pakhan, as Castiel had called him, was the reason Dean would never be able to hold his son again.

His thoughts were torn away from visions of his dead wife and son by the dinging of a cell phone. Dean opened the bottom door of the bedside table, digging through burner phones until he found the one that was making the noise. He flipped it open and smiled when he read the text message.

Thanks to his friends in the Network, Dean was able to find a weakness he was sure he could use to take out both of the Esposito brothers if he played his cards right. He had already set the beginnings of his plan in motion with the help of Charlie and Bela. Judging from the text he’d just read; he was well on his way to bagging his first target. 

He typed a quick reply before pulling his usual phone out and dialing the number Castiel had given him. As it rang, he thought back to their meeting a week ago. The man had looked so uncomfortable sitting in Dean’s favorite booth and wearing what had looked to be a very expensive three-piece suit. His eyes were so blue, Dean had noticed them from across the room.

“ Da. ” The voice on the other end of the line was deep and gravelly.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, shortening his mouthful of a name habitually, “plan’s in motion.”

“ This is sooner than I expected, ” the man said stoically, the Slavic accent thickening his words. He spoke the way he looked: seriously, powerfully. And Dean had to admit it was damn attractive. “ That is good.”

“We’ll meet at the same place for dinner in three days.” Dean rarely met with clients outside of The Brown Jug. It was a Network place. Nowhere in the world was safer for him than that little pizza joint. His latest client had been right to feel uncomfortable there, although he probably didn’t know it.

“ Yes. I will see you then.”

Dean disconnected the call, dropping the phone onto his bed and picking up the burner again. 
Tomorrow. 1 AM. Parkman Bandstand. He read the text again before closing the flip phone and tossing it back into the bottom drawer of his nightstand. He laid back against his pillows and counted his breaths, trying to still his mind. It was going to be a long day and he needed to sleep.

The drive to West Roxbury wasn’t a long one and Dean soon found his black Impala parked outside a quaint looking white mobile home. The car barely fit in the driveway behind the yellow Gremlin. He couldn’t count how many times he’d tried to talk Charlie into a better car, but she loved the hideous thing. God only knew why. He walked up the little dirt path, past the well cared for flower beds, to knock on the door.

“It’s open!” Charlie’s voice came from somewhere inside the little trailer. Dean turned the knob and walked in. The inside was as quaint as the outside, complete with the flowery wallpaper and false wood paneling that seemed to come standard in mobile homes. Charlie was standing by her small dining room table, sipping a small glass of orange juice and looking down at the day’s edition of the Globe. Probably the business section, if Dean knew her as well as he thought he did.

“Mornin’, Sunshine!” Dean greeted, walking over to her fridge to pour himself a glass of orange juice. He settled into a chair next to her and smiled. “What d’ya got for me?”

“I got the full access to the entire Boston electrical grid for one. Specifically, I’ve got what you need. Diverting power to the transformers in the Commons will not be a problem.” She pushed aside the business section— ha, he’d been right— and sat next to him.

“Well, you never know when you’re gonna need that spark in your life.” Dean smirked as Charlie rolled her eyes. “What, too much? Should I pull the plug?”

“Ha. Do you want my help or not?”

“Alright, I’m sorry. I’ll stop.” Downing the last of her juice, she beckoned for Dean to follow her. The first time Dean had been invited into the back room, he’d expected to see something stereotypical, out of a movie. Something like fifteen monitors mounted on one wall, old newspapers spread around, and piles of crushed Monster cans and candy wrappers. Instead, there was a simple corner desk with three monitors on it and a workbench against another wall. No old newspapers, no trash, but it was heavy on nerd decor. A photo of Charlie and her mom standing next to the Enterprise in a glass case hung on the wall. The shelves were covered in Funko Pop dolls from various shows and movies, and a large model of the Millennium Falcon had a shelf all to itself.

Dean listened carefully as Charlie walked him through everything he would need to know to execute his plan successfully. It didn’t take as long as he’d been expecting, and he ended up hanging out and shooting the shit with her for an hour or so before heading back toward his Beacon Hill home.

Everything was in place as Dean waited in the shadow of the tree line behind Parkman Bandstand. The target would be arriving soon, and Dean approached the deserted pavilion, doing his final visual once-over, going through his mental checklist and making sure everything was in place. The plywood had been unexpected, something park maintenance was doing with the bandstand, Dean assumed, but it wouldn’t interfere with the plan. He leaned against one of the columns, eyes darting around as he searched for the younger Esposito brother’s arrival.

It wasn’t long until he saw the shadow of a figure approaching him. The area around Parkman Bandstand was open to allow people to gather and watch the shows that played there. It gave Dean the advantage. The target was forced to approach completely exposed, permitting Dean to make sure he was, in fact, as alone as he had promised to be. At this late hour, the only light came from the tall lamps placed at long intervals along the concrete paths that converged on the pavilion. 

Raphael Esposito, even alone as he was, struck an imposing figure in the scarce light. The man cast a long shadow as he swaggered confidently to a stop a few feet in front of the pavilion. He looked up at Dean, who was still leaning against the pillar, using his body to hide the thick wires he held. He didn’t move to meet the target—Raphael would have to come to him.

“I hear you have something I might be interested in.” Raphael hadn’t moved from his spot below Dean.  The man clearly wasn’t stupid. He was trying to gain some modicum of control over the situation, but Dean wasn’t going to let that happen. He turned and let the light hit his face as he smirked at the target.

“I may but as long as you stay where you are, you’ll never know.”  They appeared to be at an impasse, at least for a moment, both refusing to move. But Dean was nothing if not stubbornly sure of himself. Raphael would climb those steps. He had no doubt in his mind. He was right of course, the information he’d promised was more than the power-hungry man could resist. 

The target made his way quickly up the steps and into the center of the pavilion and Dean wasted no time on words.  Stepping into his victim’s personal space, he knocked the man slightly off balance. Raphael was visibly surprised, and he took advantage of that to wrap one of the wires around the man’s forearm, barely managing to knot it at the wrist before his opponent recovered. 

They were close enough together that Dean couldn’t avoid the punch that Raphael threw. It landed squarely in his ribs and he groaned at the ache that spread through him, but he didn’t stop moving. He took hold of the free arm and hooked his ankle behind the leg of the man, knocking him to the plywood with a loud thunk . He leaned in, holding his victim down with one knee and wrapping the other wire around the wrist he had just captured.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The man finally asked as Dean rolled off of him. The wires weren’t so tight that Raphael couldn’t move, but they did keep him from standing or even sitting up too much.

“This may come as a shock to you,” Dean said, pausing to laugh at his own joke, “but you’ve pissed a lot of people off.” He pulled out a long-distance walkie-talkie as he spoke. “One of them hired me to kill you.”

He ignored the struggling man and jumped down from the pavilion as he depressed the talk button. “Orion to Athena, start her up.” He could feel the heat of the electricity traveling through the wires and into his victim's body. Far more than any human body could handle. Sparks were flying and his body was arched off the floor of the pavilion as the current coursed through it, but he’d never had the chance to scream as his muscles locked up. There was smoke rising from the younger Esposito brother, who was probably already dead at that point. Dean ducked away just a little as the plywood covering the concrete burst into flames. “Kill it, Athena.”

The body collapsed against the pavilion floor and Dean waited a few moments for the body to cool before going to add the finishing touches. This kill would make a statement.

Chapter Text

Dean was already sitting in the back booth at The Brown Jug when Castiel arrived. He was talking to a pretty blonde girl, the one who had been their waitress last time. Considering how comfortable the man had been in the restaurant when they first met, Castiel assumed he was a regular. He probably knew her. Castiel stood near the door and watched him for a moment. Dean looked relaxed in a way he hadn’t at their first meeting. It was more real this time. Dean was like a creature in his natural habitat, and Castiel had to admit that it looked good on the man.

He made his way to the table, feeling more comfortable himself than he had the first time he’d come to the restaurant. He slid in across from The Hunter and found there was already a glass of water sitting on the table for him. Castiel smiled at Dean and sipped gratefully.

“You sent quite a message with that,” he said. It had been all over the news. Someone as notable as Raphael Esposito always got plenty of press coverage. Especially if their body was found covered in electrical burns in a very public place.

“That was my intention. Figured if you’re trying to gain favor it should probably make a statement.” Dean drank from a pint glass that was only half full of beer. 

“Yes. Well, it does appear to be getting a significant amount of attention. The wings burned onto the concrete were beautiful, almost like a signature. Was it intentional?”

“No, not at all. I saw it on the news, though. Must have had something to do with the way the plywood burned. But if you like it, I can make it your signature.” Dean smiled genuinely at Cas. He tried to ignore the way his heart beat faster at the flirtatious grin. It was ridiculous given the gravity of their current topic of conversation. “So, how are things looking on your end?”

“Nothing has changed at this time. One piece falling from the board is not enough to make a difference.” Castiel paused, regarding Dean thoughtfully. The man projected a nearly perfect image of contentment, even happiness, but it was hard to miss the pain in his eyes. Wondering what had caused the anguish he saw, Castiel found himself surprised again by his own emotions. He barely knew Dean Winchester, but it distressed him to know that The Hunter hid some unknown ache. He was sure Dean didn’t want him to see it and being no good with words of comfort anyway, he simply said, “You seem like a very capable man, Dean. I have faith in you.”

The smile faded a little, turning into an expression of muted sadness. “I will do my best to make sure your faith hasn’t been misplaced.” Unsure of what else there was to say, Castiel just nodded and slid a thick yellow envelope across the table. Their fingers brushed momentarily as Dean took it, and Castiel quickly pulled his hand away, wondering why it felt like his heart had taken up residence in his throat.

“I should go. You will call when it is time for us to meet again, yes?”

Dean nodded in response as Castiel rose and donned the tan trench again. Hopefully, The Hunter would call him sooner rather than later. He found himself enjoying the company, and if he chose to be entirely honest, the restaurant. But that was, perhaps, because Dean seemed so at home there. Regardless, Castiel was looking forward to coming to this place again.

Dean had wanted to go after the elder Esposito brother immediately, but it had proven much more challenging to get Lucifer alone than it had been with Raphael. So, he gave Bela more time to work her magic and moved on to what he hoped would be an easier target.

Abaddon Sands could be found at Sullivan’s Pub in Southie most nights, drinking some poor unsuspecting asshole under the table. She might have been American by birth, but she could drink as much whiskey as any pure-blooded Irishman in Dublin. Probably more. She had a reputation for being cruel, impulsive, and confident. Not that her confidence was unwarranted. Besides clawing her way to the top of the most brutal gang in Southie, the Knights of Hell, Abaddon had also managed to retain the highest seat on the Irish Council. She more or less ran the show for the sloppy, unstructured mess that was most commonly referred to as the Irish Mob. The only people who were in any position to oppose her were Rowena and Fergus Macleod, and Dean assumed that Castiel had to have at least one of them in his pocket to make a move this big.

Abaddon’s cockiness would make it easier for Dean to get to her. She didn’t have bodyguards or security. She was a capable woman, and she knew it. She was in no way concerned that someone might get the better of her on the streets, so she traveled alone. Unless she was dragging some poor unsuspecting fool home with her. That night? Abaddon was the unsuspecting fool. He made sure she thought he’d had a lot more to drink than the three shots he’d done with her in the last half hour while he’d turned on the Winchester charm.

At that very moment, Dean was trying his best not to let his revulsion show as she gripped his chin tightly, almost painfully, and bruised his lips with a rough kiss. Fortunately, she was drunk, and he was a decent actor. 

“You give a girl all sorts of nasty ideas,” Abaddon said, licking her red lips and snaking a hand into his hair to tug at it roughly, “why don’t we take this back to my place?”

“Hell yeah, s’your place nearby?” Dean intentionally slurred the words and stumbled a little as he stood to follow her out onto Main Street. They didn’t talk much on the short trek to the apartment building she lived in. Dean made sure to stumble occasionally and throw a stupidly drunken smile at Abaddon whenever she looked his way. She practically dragged him along until they reached the door of her building, and when they finally made it inside, she spun Dean and pinned him to the wall with a hand on his throat in an impressive display of strength.

“Wait here,” she ordered, “I’m gonna grab some more whiskey.” Abaddon was out of sight almost immediately after she released him, giving Dean the opportunity to pull on his gloves. The low light glinted off the smooth steel of the blade he slid from the custom-made sheath in his boot. He heard a cabinet door slam shut and he slowly made his way toward the sound. Abaddon was facing away from Dean when he found himself in the doorway to the kitchen.

He was on her in two steps, one gloved hand over her mouth and the other driving the knife into the left side of her abdomen. Abaddon screaming was muffled, and she struggled against him, kicking wildly and biting down hard on Dean’s hand, but he held her tight and dragged her backward toward the closest wall. When his back was against it, he gripped her tighter and yanked the dagger across her stomach, ripping her open.

Blood poured from her, pooling rapidly at their feet as her struggling died down. She wasn’t dead yet, but she would be soon enough. Dean lowered Abaddon’s body to the floor, stepping out from behind her and letting her fall against the wall. Her breathing was ragged, and she clutched at the open wound with one hand, staring up at him with hatred in her eyes.

“Who the hell are you?” she rasped. Dean smiled viciously as he pulled the knife out of her gut, wiping the blood from the blade on the arm of her shirt.

“Does it matter?”

“You’re gonna regret this.” Those were the last words Abaddon Sands ever said. Her open eyes stared at Dean long after the rise and fall of her chest stopped. Another one bites the dust. Dean rearranged the corpse so that she was sitting almost straight against the wall. He dipped one of his gloved hands into the puddle of blood and smeared some on the wall, swiping out, away from his shoulders. It took a few handfuls of the vital fluid to get what he wanted on both sides of her. When he stepped back, Dean looked at his handiwork. 

The wings he’d made were large, the red a stark contrast to the white paint. Blood rolled slowly down the drywall, creating an effect that almost resembled ruined feathers. It wasn’t quite the same as the accidental signature left on the bandstand, but it was close enough. He’d be willing to bet money that the police and anyone else who found out about this would suspect that one person had been responsible for both deaths.

That was exactly what Dean wanted. These wings? They were Castiel’s signature now. He pretended it wasn’t just because he remembered that the somber, awkward Russian had liked them. Castiel just needed to be recognized as the killer by his commander. And the sooner he could move up the food chain, the faster Dean could kill Alistair.

Chapter Text

Castiel sat in the chilly office at Alistair’s home in Newton alongside one of the other Brigadiers. Once a month they met like this. The Pakhan liked to keep track of how things looked on the street since he was generally so far removed from it. He simply gave orders and kept the family in line. And basked in the fruits of their labors. These meetings were always an uncomfortable affair for Castiel. It was often difficult for him to keep his distaste for Alistair to himself. He had Anastasia at least. She shared many of his views on the way the Pakhan did things, and she would be ready to follow Castiel when the time came. Unfortunately, the Obshchak was present for this meeting as well. Mikhail was blindly loyal to their boss, with a similar penchant for excessive violence. He would be trouble.

Beyond the perfunctory pleasantries, the three of them waited in silence for Alistair to come in. Castiel and Anna shared a couch on one side of the room, while Mikhail paced the floor in front of the chair opposite them. They pretended not to notice the absence of Zakhariya and Uriel. The office was lavish, full of priceless artifacts from all over the world. It would be intimidating for any that might decide to approach the Pakhan there. It had little effect on the Brigadiers or the Obshchak, however, as they were very familiar with their surroundings.

Castiel rose immediately when the door opened, swinging wide to let Alistair through. He breezed past them, the way a hurricane might be said to breeze past a coastal city. Everything about the man exuded power; he was an interminable destructive force of nature which could only end in death. He settled into the chair behind his desk and looked over his clasped hands at them.

“Where is Yuri?” The Pakhan’s thin, nasal voice was grating, like sandpaper against Castiel’s eardrums.

“Uriel had urgent business to attend to,” Mikhail answered, lowering himself into the chair he’d paced in front of moments before. “He will come in for his report later.”

“Very well.” Alistair’s eyes darted between the three of them, finally coming to rest on Castiel, who was sitting on the couch again. “Novak, I heard you had to deal with a problem at the cafe.”

“Da, Pakhan. A young local who was unable to keep his hands to himself.” The scene flashed through Castiel’s mind; the loud pop of the pistol, the way the boy’s head had snapped back at then hung. It was an unpleasant memory, but he’d been given no choice. “The situation was resolved very quickly, with no effect on the business.”

“I have absolute faith in you, Castiel. Do you have anything else to report?” The lazy drawl of his southern upbringing was still evident despite the many years Alistair had lived in Newton. Castiel found himself wondering if that was where he’d gotten his name as well. Alistair wasn’t the Pakhan’s real name, but no one knew what that was.

“The boy was not the only problem I have solved since our last meeting.” Glancing around the room, Castiel realized that Mikhail and Anna were watching his in rapt attention. He swallowed thickly, thinking of exactly what he meant to say next. “The Cosa Nostra underboss violated the terms of our Soglasheniye, as did Abaddon Sands. I made examples of them, Pakhan. To remind others of their place.”

“Wait, that was you?” Mikhail asked, raising a brow and staring at Castiel incredulously. He didn’t respond, just mimicked the raised eyebrow and glared back at the Obshchak. “I thought you didn’t like violence.”

“I don’t. But I do understand that it is sometimes necessary. Peace belongs to the man who holds the bigger stick, or so I have been told.” It was unsurprising that Mikhail doubted him. He simply needed to keep his nerves under control and be sure he gave nothing away. 

“Well, sounds like little Cassie is trying to make something of himself,” Alistair said, seeming to take Castiel at his word. He bristled at the nickname but hid it well enough that only Anastasia seemed to notice. Fortunately, though she looked at him with concern in her eyes, she kept her observations to herself. I was neither the time nor the place. “What about you, Anna?”

“I have a deal with the Italians in two days. We will be purchasing a large shipment of cocaine for distribution. I expect to make at least double what we spend.” As always, she kept her reports short and to the point. Castiel knew it was because she wanted to spend as little time as possible in the office. He didn’t disagree with her.

“Do you need additional security?” Mikhail asked as he did anytime one of them had affairs to attend to with other crime syndicates. 

“I can handle myself, thank you,” Anastasia replied coolly, “and I trust that my men can do the same.”

Mikhail shrugged nonchalantly and turned toward Alistair. “I have nothing to add, Pakhan.”

Castiel was far beyond ready to leave. Besides the simple desire to be out of Alistair’s presence, he was expecting a call from Dean soon.

“Very well, if there is nothing else, you may go.” Alistair leaned back in his chair and waved a hand dismissively. Castiel rose, not too quickly, and made his way out of the office. He was several paces down the corridor when he noticed that Anastasia was on his heels.

“Was that really you?” she asked quietly, not wanting to draw attention to their conversation. Castiel nodded. It was a necessary lie. He couldn’t let her know too much. “So, the plan is in motion then.”

“It was good to see you, Anna,” he said, turning to embrace her as they reached the door of the Pakhan’s home. “We will speak again soon.”

He was pulling into his driveway when his phone buzzed in his pocket. A small smile crept across Castiel’s face as he pulled it out. He was just eager to hear news of how the plan was progressing. At least that was what he told himself as he looked down at the name appearing across the screen. He tapped the green button to answer it.

“Alo, Dean,” he said, sounding almost cheerful even to his own ears.

“ Cas, how’ve you been?” Dean’s voice was velvety smooth, as usual, and Castiel could hear the hint of a smile through the speaker.

“I am well. I see you kept the wings.” He opened the driver door and stepped out of the car, heading for his front door.

“ You needed a signature and you said you liked them.” 

Castiel pictured Dean shrugging on the other end of the phone, the smirk on his face. He wanted to see the man again soon. It was absurd how much he found himself looking forward to their pizza meals and their short phone calls. “When will we be meeting again, Hunter?”

“ Three days. Same time at the usual spot.” Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him, but he was sure there was an undertone of excitement to Dean’s words.

“One day when our business is complete, you should let me take you to a nicer place,” Castiel said. The words had come before he’d had the chance to stop them and his heart skipped a beat.

“ Hey,” Dean chuckled, “ you don’t like the Jug? ”

It was clear the man was amused. “I like it. It just is not the sort of place where I normally find myself.”

“ Maybe you should find yourself there more often.”   It was a flirtation, Castiel was sure. Perhaps Dean was having similar feelings. “ Listen, I’m hitting the next target in two days. It's impossible to get this broad alone, so I’m recruiting a friend. It might get a little hairy.”

“Two days?”

“ Yeah, she’s gonna have a couple bodyguards. She’s doing some kind of deal. I’m not a hundred percent on all the details, but it shouldn’t be too much of a problem. Deals like this, people usually take two or three guys for backup. We can handle it.” He spoke with the kind of confidence only gained through experience. Castiel’s concern was not for Dean. It was for Anna. It was highly probable that her deal and the deal Dean was referring to were the same.

“Dean, you must be very careful. Do not harm the buyer.” It was a command, not a suggestion.

“ I’m a damn good shot, Cas. I don’t hit anything I don’t intend to.”

“I hope you are certain of that.” There was a moment of pregnant silence between them and Castiel was the one that finally broke it. “I must go.”

“ Yeah, alright. See you in a few days. ”

Castiel faltered as he ended the call. Was he making a mistake?

Chapter Text

Dean was set up with his sniper rifle atop one of the indoor storage units. It was a tight squeeze between it and the ceiling, but he made it work and still managed to have a decent view of the whole open area he was certain the deal would go down in.

“ Artemis to Orion. I’m in place .” Jo’s voice crackled through Dean’s earpiece. He could just barely see the top of her blonde head on a storage unit across the expansive space from him.

“Copy. Now we wait.” Always with the waiting. His thoughts drifted to Castiel. Dean was certain that Russian had asked him out on a date. He had most certainly been flirting with Cas during their last phone call. He was a client and not Dean’s usual type. The man was far too serious, but he was hot as hell. Dean wouldn’t pretend he hadn’t noticed the way his shirt pulled tight across his chest when he rolled his shoulders, or the way corner of his lips had quirked up when Dean had praised the pizza during their first meeting. And Cas’s motivation for hiring him was intriguing, to say the least.

“ So, thinking about Zeus? ” Jo asked over the radio. How she could manage to be that perceptive without even being able to see him, Dean would never know.

“I think he asked me out,” he told her.

“ Wait, you’re not actually considering it, are you? ” Dean could almost see the shocked look on her face.

“I don’t know, maybe I am.” It was a deflection. He was definitely considering a date with the attractive man that had a rich, deep voice and intense blue eyes. In fact, Dean was pretty sure he’d already decided to go to that nice dinner Castiel had offered.

“ Orion, you can’t fuck a client. It's unprofessional,” Jo said, never one to mince words.

“I never said I’d fuck him, Artemis. Besides, if we go out, it won’t be until after the contract has been executed. So, he won’t be a client anymore.”

“ I worry about you, that’s all. I don’t want you to jump into something you’re going to regret.”

“I appreciate it, but it's been six years since Lisa and Ben. And when this is done, I’ll have had my revenge.” Dean was actively checking the points of entry as they spoke but there hadn’t been any activity as of yet.

“ I know. Hell, I’ve been telling you to get back in the saddle for how long? Just be careful is all.” 

“We gonna hug and braid each other’s hair now?” Dean replied, being a sarcastic ass instead of admitting that he was grateful Jo cared. Like usual.

“ I don’t know, man, I’d kick your ass in a pillow fight.” She cut her laughter short after a moment. “ Movement at entry three.”

“Copy.” Dean couldn’t see entry point three from his position, so he turned his rifle until his line of sight was as close as it could get, just in front of the corner of the last storage unit in his row. Whoever came around that corner, Dean would see. 

It only took a moment for a woman of about average height to round the corner. She had red hair that was tied back in a braid which hung to her waist. Her movements were graceful, and she radiated power as she spoke a command in Russian to the two men that followed her. They fanned out with their pistols drawn. She must be the buyer that Castiel had warned him not to harm. Maybe she was one of his allies.

“That has to be Leda,” Dean said quietly.

“Copy.”

Dean watched as Leda’s men did what looked a standard security sweep and he was thankful that he was hidden by shadows. He had no idea if Castiel had warned her of the ambush. They maintained silence until her men returned to her side. “Zeus would prefer that Leda remain intact,” Dean reminded Jo.

“As long as she doesn’t get in the way,” Jo responded.

Before he had a chance to say anything else on the matter, the door opposite him opened and a short woman with long dark hair hanging loosely around her shoulders strode in with two men flanking her. “Target plus two, entry one.”

“Copy that, target acquired.”

“On my signal.” Dean followed Ruby with the rifle, watching her through the scope as she and her team approached the buyer. The tension between the two groups was palpable and even from a distance it was clear the women did not get along.

“Let’s get this over with,” Ruby said, snapping her fingers. One of her lackeys approached and handed her a key. She stepped over to the closest storage unit and unlocked the padlock on the door before taking a step back. One of Leda’s men stepped forward, grabbing the handle and sending the door upward revealing several wooden cases that Dean assumed were full of narcotics. The other guard took one of the crates out and set it on the floor, producing a pry bar to open the lid.

Dean watched through the scope of his rifle as the protective lining was removed from the box to reveal large, plastic-wrapped packages of white powder. Heroine, maybe, or cocaine.

“One hundred kilos of pure Colombian,” Ruby said, removing one of the packages and holding it out to the buyer, “as we agreed.”

Leda nodded to the man on her right, who took the single kilo and cut into it with a knife before holding the tip out to his partner. He dumped the powder that was collected on it into the offered test tube, swirling it gently until the liquid turned a bright shade of blue. It was definitely cocaine. The man handed replaced the packet in the crate and returned to his spot just behind Leda.

The redhead leaned down, retrieving a black briefcase from the floor next to her feet and moving to place it on top of the product. She popped the clasps on each side of the handle and lifted the top to reveal stacks of neatly banded hundred-dollar bills. “Two million in untraceable bills.”

Ruby leaned over and looked into the case, picking up a stack to examine it more closely. Not that it would matter because the Russians were masters at counterfeiting and Dean doubted she’d be able to tell the difference. She nodded and looked at Leda with a simpering smile. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

She jerked her head toward the door, indicating to her bodyguards that it was time to go. Shit. Dean had hoped that Leda would leave first so they could make quick, clean work of his target without endangering her.

“ Orion, it's now or never ,” Jo said softly through the earpiece.

“Go time,” he replied. “Do you have a clean line on the target?”

“ Negative.”

Dean didn’t have a clean shot on Ruby either, her bodyguards were very effective at their jobs. Leda appeared to be heading toward the door she’d entered through, leaving her men behind to move the heavy crate. It was a small favor and he might be able to use it to his advantage. He steadied himself, counting as he took a slow breath in and lined the sniper rifle up for a shot on the closest bodyguard. Breathing out just as slowly, he squeezed the trigger. The shot rang and echoed through the building. If Dean hadn’t taken the shot himself, even he wouldn’t have been able to figure out where it came from. The bodyguard closest to him crumpled to the floor. He must have been wearing some kind of body armor because the bullet didn’t seem to come out the other side.

Everyone below him was scrambling now, drawing their guns and finding cover. He heard another loud shot, presumably Jo firing from her own perch. Another body dropped to the floor, Ruby’s second bodyguard.

“Do you have eyes on the target, Artemis?” Dean swiveled his rifle around but couldn’t see Ruby anywhere. The Russians had their guns drawn but hadn’t fired a shot, apparently also unable to locate anyone but the two men that were already dead.

“Negative, Orion. Eyes on the exits, ” came the reply. 

Heeding her words, Dean moved the barrel of his rifle fluidly, gazing through the scope at all of the exits within his view. Nothing, not even a shadow. How had she disappeared so thoroughly, so quickly? It didn’t matter, he just had to be patient and locate her. He heard movement near entrance point three and swiveled to face it just as two shots popped from a handgun, neatly dispatching both of the Russian bodyguards.

“Shit,” Dean cursed under his breath as Ruby came into view, holding the pistol in front of her. Cas was not going to be happy about that but there was nothing he could do about it now. She was backstepping toward the door when it opened and Leda burst through it. “Shit!” Everything happened in the blink of an eye.

Ruby twisted quickly, disarming the redhead behind her and losing her own weapon in the process. Both handguns skittered across the floor and out of reach. The two women seemed to struggle for dominance, trading blows, until Ruby managed to twist Leda’s arm up behind her, making her cry out. Rather than go for one of the guns on the floor, the brunette produced a knife from inside her jacket and held it to Leda’s throat.

“Fuck."   Jo’s voice was soft but somehow managed to heavily reflect the frustration Dean was feeling at that moment.

“You must think I’m stupid!” Ruby called out, holding her captive tightly against her body. “I know what a pistol sounds like and that shot didn’t come from one of these bodyguards.”

Dean didn’t respond, he just waited for his opportunity, counted his breaths and watched her. He could still do this, take out the target without hurting Leda. It hadn’t been bragging when he’d told Castiel that he didn’t miss.

“Just come out! Don’t make me cut up Anastasia’s pretty little face!” As if to show she was serious, Ruby dragged the tip of the knife down the redhead’s cheek, blood welling in its wake.

Dean’s finger tightened on the trigger. Cas was definitely not going to be happy about that. Ruby walked Anastasia forward a step and turned ever so slightly, revealing just a bit of her forehead. He breathed out, steadying his aim carefully and squeezed the trigger. It was almost as though time slowed down as he watched the bullet fly through the air. It scraped across Leda’s shoulder, tearing her shirt, and then embedded itself into Ruby’s skull, whipping her head back and sending her body careening to the floor. The knife clattered uselessly away, and the redhead fell to her knees.

It took her a moment to recover and she stood shakily.

“Take your gun and leave!” Dean shouted. “I’m not here for you.”

Leda hastily retrieved her pistol and the briefcase full of money before running out the door.

Chapter Text

Castiel was not an unreasonable man. He understood that sometimes things did not go according to plan. But two of Anna’s trusted men were dead and he’d almost had to bury her alongside them. He was angry and he would tell Dean so as soon as he arrived at their usual meeting place. He glanced up at the television behind the bar as he waited. The news was showing a photograph of Ruby Gallo, with the Ribbon at the bottom stating that she’d been found dead in the early morning hours of that day.

“Excuse me, miss.” Castiel waved down Jo, the pretty blonde waitress that regularly served them. He suspected she was more than just a waitress but kept that to himself. “Can you turn the volume up, please?”

“Sure thing, honey.” She walked back over to the bar and picked up the remote control, making the television loud enough for Cas to hear the reporter.

“... third known member of organized crime families to be found dead. Police believe this is all the work of one killer because of the wings that appear at each crime scene like a signature. Anyone with information…”

Castiel wasn’t listening anymore. Dean had at least gotten the job done, though according to Anna it had been a very close shot. A bell jingled as the door to the Jug swung open, catching Cas’s attention. It was Dean, looking as attractive as always, if far less casual than Castiel was used to seeing. He was moving quickly, none of the nonchalant swagger that was usually evident in his gait.

“Cas,” he said when he reached the table and slid into the booth across from Cas, eyes full of concern and guilt, “I’m so sorry. It wasn’t supposed to go down that way. I was lucky enough to get a shot that got her out of there alive.”

Castiel sighed, looking down at his hands on the table and finding it was very difficult to hold onto his anger in the face of Dean’s sincerity. “I understand,” he said, finally, looking up into the wide, bright green eyes that had been making appearances in his thoughts for days now. “She is alive and that is good enough.”

Dean appeared to relax considerably, his shoulders dropping as he leaned back against the booth. They stared at each other for a long moment, neither speaking, and Castiel found that he was getting lost in Dean’s eyes. He blinked, tearing his gaze away. This was not the time. There was still work to be done. 

“So, do we want to talk business?” Dean asked, seeming to have sensed the change in mood. Cas simply nodded. “Right, so, I am still working on an angle to get to Lucifer. It may be time to switch lanes here, take out a target within the family.”

“I will defer to your judgment on that, Dean,” Cas responded. “It would appear that I am already in the good graces of the Pakhan. We can proceed however you think is best.”

“If you’re sure,” Dean started, turning to smile up at Jo as she brought their usual slices to the table. “I think the Sovietnik is the next on the list. I just need a when and where.”

“It will be difficult to find him on his own,” Castiel said, squinting at Dean and nodding thoughtfully as he thought about it.

“I don’t need him on his own.” Dean leaned forward, setting his pizza back down on the table. “This isn’t like the other targets. Those I wanted alone so I could make sure the boss man thought you were the one doing the killing. We don’t want that with Zach.” He stopped to take a drink of his beer and Castiel didn’t bother pretending he wasn’t watching the way Dean’s lips wrapped around the mouth of the bottle.

His eyes flicked up to Dean’s and he saw a twinkle in them. Cas had definitely been caught staring. He smiled softly and gestured for Dean to continue.

“We need somewhere public. Actually, if you could be there when it happens, that would be best.” Dean returned his smile and Castiel tried to suppress the butterflies he felt. “That way there’s no reason for Alistair to suspect you. He’ll probably chalk it up to some kind of retaliation from the other families.”

“Very well. There is a very exclusive gala that he and I have both been invited to attend. I will give you the information.” Castiel reached into his coat and pulled a pen out of the inside pocket, setting the necessary details out on a napkin that hadn’t yet been covered in grease and pushing it across the table to Dean.

“Does this mean I get to see how good you look all dressed up?” Dean asked with a crooked grin. Castiel returned the smile and said nothing, eating the last of his pizza instead. Conversation came far too easily with Dean and when the time came for them to part ways, Cas did not want to leave. There was nothing to be done about it, however, and eventually, the door to The Brown Jug was closing behind him as he stepped out onto the sidewalk alone.

 Mikhail sat at the large oak desk in the center of his home office, surrounded by paperwork. He’d never thought there would be so much paper pushing in his line of work but there he sat doing exactly that. His mind was focused elsewhere. It was part of his job to know about everything that happened in Boston, whether it be related to the criminal enterprises of the family or not. Of course, he’d heard about Ruby Gallo being found with the same signature wings as Abaddon Sands and Raphael Esposito. Castiel claimed to be responsible for the deaths but something wasn’t sitting right with Mikhail.

Castiel abhorred violence and bloodshed, and on the rare occasion he deemed it necessary, his kills were always quick and clean. The killing of Abaddon and Raphael had been nothing short of showy. They weren’t his style. Mikhail supposed it was possible that Castiel had done something out of his norm to make an example of these people, but he’d learned a long time ago to trust his own instincts above the words of others.

He knew Castiel was loyal to the family and had no doubt that he had their best interests in mind. Perhaps he’d simply taken credit for someone else’s work to move up in the ranks. Mikhail shook his head; he couldn’t begrudge him that. Castiel was extremely effective at his job and certainly deserved recognition for that. The amount of money that came in through his casino was outrageous and because of him, the Russians managed to have the only prostitutes in the city that actually wanted to continue their employment. He couldn’t put his finger on what was so bothersome about the whole situation and it would continue to pull at the back of his mind until he figured it out.

Whatever was happening, it bore further investigation.

Chapter Text

Dean had tried to convince Bela that it would be better if he picked her up and they arrived at the party together, but she had declined. So he stood on the corner of Congress and D Street and waited for her to arrive. They’d walk to the Seaport Hotel from there. He tugged at the collar of his shirt and wished for the hundredth time that he didn’t have to wear a damn penguin suit for this. Tuxedos weren’t really his style and he’d have been much more comfortable in a pair of jeans and a soft flannel. At least it was only for a couple of hours.

His attention was caught by a sleek black car pulling up to the curb next to him. The driver stepped out and walked around the car, opening the back door to let Bela step out. She was as gorgeous as always in a long, slinky black cocktail dress and ridiculously high heels. Dean wasn’t sure how she could even function in shoes like that, but he’d seen her run in them and she could certainly keep up. She smiled when she looked over and saw him standing there.

“Hello, Dean,” she said. Her accented voice was smooth and confident, and she carried herself like a woman of wealth, which Dean supposed she was. “You clean up nicely.”

“So I’ve been told.” Dean held his arm out as she approached him, reaching out to delicately place her hand there so he could escort her to the gala. “How are things going with Lucifer?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Bela asked, feigning surprise. “He’s had a nasty bathtub accident.”

Dean stopped and looked at her, grimacing. “Can’t believe you stole my target.”

“Hello? I’m a thief, you idiot.” Her grin was wide and proud under her sparkling green eyes. God, she was infuriating. Now he was going to have to give up the money for that kill.

“Bela, what the hell? We’ve talked about this.” 

“And yet, here we are.” She laughed, patting his arm condescendingly as he scowled at her. “We should have angry sex after this is over.”

Dean rolled his eyes and turned to start walking toward the hotel again. There had been a time when he would have been interested in her offer but now he had someone else on his mind. Someone tall and dark-haired with bright blue eyes and an entirely different accent. He wasn’t even sure what it was about Castiel that he found so enthralling. It was just Cas that was captivating. Not something he could spend too much time thinking about while there was still work to be done.

The bouncer at the door didn’t even bat an eyelash when Dean handed him the fake invitation Charlie had made for them. They made their way confidently through the lobby, Dean taking in the layout and points of exit at a glance. They arrived fashionably late to the gala, and managed to snag a completely empty elevator for the ride up to the Lighthouse Ballroom.

“Stick to the plan,” Dean said, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out two identical bottles. They were small, plastic, and held about ten ounces of pure hydrofluoric acid. “We’ll have to move quickly…”

“Yes, yes, I’m quite aware of how it works,” Bela interrupted with a dismissive wave. “The recap is unnecessary.” The elevator doors opened and they stepped out into the crowded ballroom.

The room was packed with very, very rich people all dressed in their finest. The staff was almost as elegant, the only difference being they were completely uniform in their tuxedos. Even the women wore the slacks and tailcoat. People flitted around under the warm light cast by the lantern-style light fixtures that hung from the ceiling and tinted everything a lovely shade of purple. Soft classical music flowed through the air, accompanying the conversation and laughter that filled the ballroom. The view of the downtown skyline through the windows was spectacular and for a moment, Dean wished he wasn’t there on business. He pushed the thought from his mind, taking a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter as he and Bela scanned the crowd looking for the target.

There were a lot of familiar face, which was not a surprise given their line of work. They were often employed by well-known political figures and businessmen, both legitimate and illegitimate. Exactly the sort of people who be attending a charity gala for… whatever the hell they were raising money for that night. Dean hadn’t bothered to check because it wasn’t really important. He’d yet to spot Zakhariya in the crowd. “Any sign of him?”

Bela sipped at her own champagne and shook her head. “We’ll have a better chance if we mingle.” Dean nodded in response and held his arm out again. She took it and they started to make their way through the assembled millionaires, working around the large, circular tables that were set up throughout the space. Partygoers approached them and Dean let Bela do most of the talking. He watched as she smiled brilliantly, laughed at all the right jokes, and talked like she actually gave a damn about baby sea turtles. She could sell a glass of water to a drowning man when she laid on the charm.

They’d been at the party for about twenty minutes when Bela said, “the bar, nine o’clock.” 

Dean turned his head, casually and with a smile, to see the target seated on a stool, leaning up against the wooden bar, and talking to a very familiar man. Castiel was ridiculously handsome in a tux, his hair neatly styled for once, and one hand tucked casually into the pocket of his slacks. He was busy examining the five o’clock shadow on Cas’ jaw when Bela elbowed him, reminding him that he was currently staring at the wrong man. Blushing slightly, he cleared his throat and ignored his partner’s chuckle as he refocused his attention where on Zakhariya.

The older man was balding and what little hair he retained was white and he seemed to have a permanently attached impish smile on his face. He was bigger than Castiel, the inches of difference noticeable even when they were seated. His tuxedo was probably the same quality as the one Cas wore but his shoulders were just a bit too wide for his jacket. Even if he had developed a gut, Dean still wouldn’t want to run into him alone in a dark alley. He’d never seen a man who looked so stereotypically like a mobster.

“Let’s do this,” Dean said. Bela nodded and traded her empty champagne flute for a new one and headed toward the bar. He let her get a few steps ahead of him before following. When they were a couple of yards away from the bar, she downed the glass and her steps started to falter. Dean moved quickly to catch up with her and put his arm around her waist. “Honey, I think you’ve had enough champagne.” His eyes were on Bela but he could still see Zakhariya and Cas at the bar and it was clear he’d said it loud enough to catch the target’s attention. 

“I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough champagne.” Bela slurred her words convincingly and pushed herself away from Dean. He let her go and she took a few steps before stumbling and falling right into Zakhariya. The man cursed in Russian, standing up as Bela pretended to struggle with catching her balance.

“Sir, I am so sorry about my wife,” Dean said, rushing over to help her stand. She pushed away from him again and moved to lean against the bar behind Zakhariya. Perfect positioning. “She’s a little in her cups.” 

Zakhariya took a step toward him and Dean was reminded that he wouldn’t want to fight this guy alone. Sure, he could win but it would hurt like hell. “You need to control your woman,” Zakhariya said, poking at Dean’s chest with one finger.

Dean raised his hands in a placatory gesture and said, “you’re right, man. I know, but you know how women get sometimes.” He smiled and shrugged, keeping one eye on the target and the other on Bela who was pouring the contents of her bottle into the glass containing Zakhariya’s drink. There was a noticeable difference in the amount of liquid in the glass but Dean hoped that in his anger it would go unnoticed. “Let me make it up to you. You finish your drink and I’ll buy you a new one. Whatever you want. Top Shelf, that sound like a deal?”

Zakhariya appeared to consider the offer for a moment and Dean wished he’d hurry the hell up. The acid would already be eating away at the glass. Another half a second and the man nodded, turning back to the bar and downing his drink in one great swallow. Dean breathed a sigh of relief and waved down the bartender. “Get this man another of whatever he was drinking, please.”

Dean walked over to Bela and pulled her against him by the waist. She leaned into, putting a hand on his chest to steady herself as he turned. “Come on, you lush.” He nodded at Zakhariya with one more apologetic smile and guided Bela to a table across the room. They took their seats and waited.

“That went well,” Bela said quietly. “We make quite the team, you know? Perhaps we should do this more often.”

“You’re good at what you do, Bela, and we work well together when it's necessary. But I really do prefer to work alone as often as possible.” Dean didn’t mention that he wasn’t really a fan of the way she operated but he was sure she knew.

“Fair enough, I suppose.” They didn’t talk much more while they waited. Dean stared at Cas mostly while twenty-five minutes ticked by. Zakhariya and Castiel were leaving the bar and heading toward a table when it happened. The older man cried out in pain and doubled over, clutching at his stomach. Heads all around the room turned toward him as he vomited bright red all over the carpet and collapsed to his knees.

“Someone get a doctor,” Castiel called out as blood continued to pour from Zakhariya’s mouth and nose at an alarming rate, pooling around as he gasped for breath. Hydrofluoric acid didn’t work this quickly with accidental exposure. The amount he’d ingested was enough to kill him in less than an hour. It wasn’t long before his body started convulsing because his organs were shutting down. Forty-five minutes after he’d downed his drink, he was dead in a room full of witnesses and an expanding puddle of his own vital fluids.

“Time to go,” Bela said, standing and quickly melting into the crowd. Dean followed her but by the time he made it to the elevator, she was already gone.

Chapter Text

It had been a very long time since Castiel had felt this nervous. The assassination of Zakhariya had been very, very public with many witnesses. And while Cas thought that Dean and Bela had handled it well, there was still a high chance that they could be connected to the death. Fortunately, there didn’t seem to be any way that Castiel could be connected to Dean. After all, the assassin hadn’t even acknowledged Cas’ presence. It was for the best, he knew, but it would be a lie to say that he wasn’t at all disappointed by their lack of interaction at the gala. He certainly couldn’t deny that Dean had been ridiculously attractive in his tuxedo or that jealousy had sparked through Castiel when he saw Dean with his arm around that woman he’d been working with.

Castiel certainly hoped that was all it was. His toe tapped against the floor as he waited for Alistair, sitting in the same spot on the couch that he always did. This time he was here alone. It only served to make him more anxious as he examined the book-laden shelves in the office. Wrapping his tan trench just a bit tighter around himself to counteract the far too cold air-conditioning, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back. He had to at least pretend he wasn’t apprehensive about this meeting as Alistair and Mikhail might pop through the door at any moment. If there was no reason for them to connect him to this, he couldn’t allow himself to create any suspicion. It would be far too dangerous for him and Dean, not to mention his other allies.

The door swung open, revealing the gaunt, pale visage of the Pakhan as he walked in, Mikhail trailing just behind him. Neither of them appeared to acknowledge Castiel’s presence in any way but he knew they knew he was there, so he simply sat quietly and waited. Alistair crossed the room and took his seat on the other side of the desk. He didn’t have the sour expression Castiel had expected. His face was, in fact, completely unreadable. Mikhail, standing behind the desk to the left of the Pakhan, on the other hand was stoic but clearly unhappy.

“Castiel,” Alistair said, his nasal pitch as grating as ever, “you were there when Zakhariya died?”

“Da.” Castiel shifted in his seat, leaning forward over his legs and trying to hide his worry. “One moment everything was fine. We were at the bar drinking and the next he was coughing up blood.”

“He was poisoned,” Michael interjected. “He ingested hydrofluoric acid. We were hoping that you would be able to tell us exactly what happened. If there was anything out of the ordinary, it will help me find out who killed him.”

“Yes, of course. There wasn’t anything that seemed odd to me,” he lied, looking down at his shiny leather shoes and rubbing his brow with one finger. “As I said, we spent most of the evening sitting at the bar. We had several drinks. A drunk woman stumbled into him and then he kept drinking. Then we got up to return to our table for the speeches and he collapsed on the way.” 

“This drunk woman, did she do anything else?” Mikhail took a step forward and leaned over the desk, resting his weight on one hand that was splayed across the wood. 

Castiel sighed. He’d gone over the story with Dean, knowing that these questions would be asked of him, but he was still cautious as to how much detail he was to divulge. “I am not sure, she fell into Zakhariya and her husband pulled her off of him and offered to buy him a new drink. Then they left.”

Mikhail stared at him with hard eyes, almost like he wanted to say something else. Whatever it was, he apparently decided to keep it to himself. “I will investigate the incident further.”

Of course, he would. It was his job. Castiel had no doubt he would do his due diligence to find Zakhariya’s killer. He just hoped that Dean was smarter than Mikhail. “I hope you are able to find who has done this to our family,” Castiel said in a resolute, angry tone he hoped made his statement sound true.

“Zakhariya’s death has left a sizable hole in the family business,” Alistair said, a wicked, crooked smile crossing his lips. “I’d like you to fill it, Castiel.” 

“You want me to be the Sovietnik?” Cas asked, managing to act as though he was surprised. “Who will take over the casino? More importantly, who will look after my Angels?”

“For now, until you find a suitable replacement, you will still run the casino. I am confident that you can handle both.” It was not a question or suggestion; it was an order. The Pakhan had said his final piece. Fortunately, it put Castiel exactly where he wanted to be.

Having nothing else to discuss, Castiel took it for the dismissal it was and stood, saying his most respectful goodbyes and letting himself out the door and the house. He got in his car and drove, waiting until he was a healthy distance from Alistair’s home before pulling out his cell phone and dialing.

“ To what do I owe the pleasure, comrade?” asked the deep, Irish-accented voice on the other end of the phone. 

“I am checking in. Everything is going as planned on my end,” Castiel said simply. He and Crowley didn’t always get along but Castiel was certain that Crowley was the best choice to bring some semblance of organization to the mess that fell under the category of Irish mafia. That alone would eliminate significant bloodshed in the streets of Boston. “Are you in place?”

“With Abaddon out of the way, things are already running more smoothly. The huddled masses are falling in line quite easily with Mother’s help.”

“Very well. I will contact you again when it is time.” Castiel didn’t wait for a response, he simply hung up the phone and dialed the next number.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite unicorn, ” Meg answered, practically purring. “Finally want to follow up on that kiss?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. One time he’d kissed the woman and she hadn’t left him alone about it since. There was a time when he might have said yes to her offers of a good time but things had changed since he met Dean. “I am calling to see how things are progressing on your side.”

“With Lucifer gone things have gotten a little chaotic but who doesn’t like a little chaos every now and then?” She chuckled darkly and Cas could hear someone else in the background. “There’ve been a few power bids but I have everything under control.”

“Good. We should be ready to move forward soon,” Castiel replied. “I will call you when it’s time.”

“ You feel free to call me anytime you like, baby, my door is always open for you.”

He bit back a sigh as he hung up the phone. Meg was nothing short of a handful but she was trustworthy. Despite the fact that everything seemed to be going exactly as Castiel had planned, he couldn’t help the feeling in his gut that something was going to go terribly wrong.

Zakhariya’s death served only to confirm Mikhail’s suspicions that something wasn’t quite right. What he couldn’t figure out was why? In their line of work, people died under suspicious circumstances all the time and despite being absolutely certain that Zakhariya’s death was somehow connected to the others, he couldn’t find anything that indicated he was right. Sitting at his desk, he rubbed a tired hand across his furrowed brow and returned his attention to the surveillance he’d gotten from the hotel.

The images were surprisingly clear, if taken from further away than he’d have liked. The woman in the black dress stumbled, holding what was probably an empty champagne flute in her hand, and fell right into Zakhariya. A man came up behind her, pulling her back and settling her against the bar as Zakhariya stood. The angle wasn’t quite right but Mikhail could still see that Zakhariya pushed or poked the man. That wasn’t what caught his attention, though. The woman, who only moments ago had appeared to be very intoxicated, was doing something with the drink that had been left behind on the bar. That had to be it. Those two people had poisoned his companion.

He reversed the footage, keeping his eyes on the woman and following her and her “husband” all the way back to the elevator. The time lapse was less than half an hour. Zakhariya had definitely been targeted. Mikhail watched the couple from the moment they walked into the Lighthouse Ballroom, through the confrontation with Zakhariya and until they disappeared into the crowd several times. The woman must have been familiar with the placement of the security cameras in the ballroom. The man with her had managed to keep his face hidden for most of his time at the gala as well but there was a moment when they’d been sitting at the table, probably waiting for the poison to take effect.

Mikhail took a screenshot and printed it. Being careful to keep his fingers from smudging the still wet ink, he examined the clear profile of the man responsible for Zakhariya’s death.

Chapter Text

Being the Obshchak carried a lot of weight in the streets of Boston, so when Mikhail put out the still photograph of the man he was now hunting it hadn’t taken long for him to get the information he needed. Of course, no one seemed to be aware that Dean Winchester was an assassin but that didn’t matter. He had a name to go with the face and with that it would be easy enough to find him and make him pay for what he’d done.

First, Mikhail had to inform the Pakhan of this development. He knocked on the door to Alistair’s office and waited for a response. It took a few moments before heard a voice on the other side tell him to enter. He turned the knob and let the door swing open, revealing a man with shoulder length blond hair lounging on one of the couches. The Derzhatel Obscaka turned to look at him with honey eyes and a wide grin.

“Mikhail, haven’t seen you in a while,” Gabriel said, shifting to sit up a little straighter in his seat.

“Yeah, it’s good to see you, too, Gabriel. I have business with the Pakhan.” Mikhail was irritated, but not surprised, to see that the bookie didn’t move an inch as he approached the desk to speak with Alistair. It wasn’t as if it mattered, Mikhail could still share his discovery. It was just that Gabriel got under his skin, he never seemed to take Mikhail seriously and that pissed him off to no end. Instead of addressing it, he decided that it wasn’t worth his time.

“Well, what is it?” Alistair asked impatiently. The grimace on his face and his hard eyes told Mikhail that he was irritated that his meeting had been interrupted. 

“I’ve found the man who killed Zakhariya,” Mikhail said, handing over the manila file that he’d had tucked under his arm when he walked in. “His name is Dean Winchester. No one seems to know much else about him but video footage places him as the ‘husband’ of the woman who put the hydrofluoric acid in Zakhariya’s drink.”

Alistair thumbed through the file. “Go get him. I want the woman as well.” The calm with which he spoke would be enough to make another man’s blood run cold, but Mikhail was made of stronger stock. He simply took him file back, keeping his own face blank.

“Yes, Pakhan.” Mikhail already had everything in place. Dean Winchester would be in his possession within twenty-four hours.

Despite the fact that he’d met Castiel at the Jug to talk business, Dean found himself sitting in the booth across from the Russian for several hours, long after they’d talked about the plans for the final three targets. The more time he spent with Cas, the more he liked him and he’d be lying if he said that deep gravel and thick Russian accent didn’t do things to him. And when he laughed, Dean thought his heart might explode with joy. He hadn’t felt this way about someone since… well, it had been a while.

In fact, this was generally the happiest Dean had been since Lisa and Ben died. He was spending his time with a very handsome man, who seemed to have a mutual interest and attraction. And every day, he was one step closer to ending Alistair. Every day he grew closer to avenging his wife and son. Hell, he might retire when that was done.

He pushed those thoughts from his mind and enjoyed the wide gummy smile on Castiel’s face as he told him the story about Sam pushing him out of a tree. “No seriously, stop laughing. I broke my arm!” 

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have stolen your brother’s girlfriend,” Castiel admonished, wagging a finger at him.

“What, Becky? Nah, not a chance, she was so far gone on him.” Dean chuckled, shaking his head and reaching for his beer. “It was cute, really. They were fourteen and the puppy love. They were disgustingly cute.” He smiled sadly, thinking, not for the first time, about how he’d never get to see his own son go through that with his first girlfriend.

“You love your brother very much.”

“Sammy? Yeah, I practically raised that kid.” Dean took a swig of his beer and smiled softly as he picked at the label. “Hell, sometimes I wonder how he turned out so damn well.”

“I can see why he turned out as he did,” Castiel replied, covering one of Dean’s hands with his own. His skin was soft, warm against Dean’s. He should’ve pulled away, they still had business to take care of, but he didn’t. “You are a good man, Dean Winchester. You care deeply for people, do anything to protect them.”

Dean nodded, chugging the rest of the beer to avoid having to respond. Good men didn’t murder people for a living. Even if they deserved it. “Well, I don’t know about you but I’m about ready to call it a night,” he said, placing the empty bottle on the table. “I’ll see you again in a few days, Cas.”

“I look forward to it.” The Russian smiled as Dean stood and put his leather jacket on. He turned and made for the exit, looking over his shoulder toward the booth one last time as he opened the door and the bell dinged over his head. Castiel still sat there, smiling as Jo cleaned what Dean had left on the table. There was definitely something there and Dean looked forward to concluding their business soon so he could pursue it.

When he made it home, Dean barely took the time to strip down to his boxers before he fell into his bed. He was exhausted. The number of beers— Dean had lost count— that he drank at The Jug probably didn’t help. But it didn’t matter, he had no plans for the night. Besides, when he woke he would be one day closer to taking out the man that ruined his life. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Dean’s eyes shot open, heart pounding, as soon as he felt the cold metal press against his temple. Above him hovered a face he knew from the research he’d done for Castiel’s hitlist. He didn’t bother to try and sit up or pull the handgun from beneath his pillow. If he did, he’d be dead before he had the chance to pull the trigger. The Archangel did not fuck around. 

Neither of them spoke as two other men hauled Dean out of his bed, still wearing nothing but his boxers. Mikhail smiled coldly and then the world went black as the butt of the gun in the Archangel’s hand cracked across Dean’s temple.

“Alo,” Castiel said into the phone, smiling as he thought of his lengthy conversation with Dean earlier. He was laying in bed, propped up by several pillows, and reading a novel when it rang.

“ Radi vsego svyatogo —” Gabriel sounded nearly frantic on the other end of the line and Castiel’s smile faltered “— why don’t you ever answer your phone, Bratiška? I’ve been calling for hours. ”

“The ringer was turned off until just now. I did not see the missed calls from you.” Castiel let the book fall shut on his lap. Something was very wrong or his brother would not be calling him like this. “Are you okay?”

“ What? Yeah, I’m fine. It’s not me. It’s Dean. ”

Castiel was out of bed in a flash, holding the phone to his ear as he crossed his bedroom to his closet. “What is it?”

“ Mikhail found him. One of the surveillance cameras in the Lighthouse room caught his face. Alistair ordered Mikhail to pick him up. ”

Chapter Text

Icy water splashed across Dean’s skin, jarring him into consciousness with a gasp. He blinked against the sharp pain of the bright light in his face, shaking his head and wincing at the ache in his temple. It took him a moment to come around and realize he was well and truly fucked. Still in his boxers, Dean was tied tightly to a hard metal chair. Rope wound around his chest, and each of his forearms and calves. He tested the binding, flexing his muscles and pulling just a bit, but the ties didn’t budge. There was no way he was getting out of them.

Not that it would matter if he did. Dean was not alone in the room. With the light shining directly at him, it was hard to tell how many people were in there. He could see the shadowy movements of at least four but there was no way to know if there were more. Even if there weren’t, without any weapons he’d have a hard time against four men on his own. Especially if they were armed. This was not good.

“Welcome back, Mr. Winchester!” Dean couldn’t see the man that spoke and he didn’t recognize the voice. “My boss has some questions for you but I would like to talk to you first.” He paused as if he expected a response but Dean remained silent. The man didn’t so much come into view as block the light but even shadowed, his face was still recognizable. The Archangel, Mikhail Ivanov. The very same man that snatched him from his bed. “If you talk to me now, things will be much less painful for you.”

Dean looked him in the eye as best he could and smirked. “Winchester, Dean. Senior Chief Petty Officer. United States Navy. 268-59-35.” He knew it would piss the Archangel off but what did it matter? Unless someone figured out he was here and saved his ass, Dean wasn’t making it out of the room breathing. He may as well make them miserable on his way out.

“Very funny, Mr. Winchester.” Ivanov leaned down until his nose was almost touching Dean’s. “I know who you are. What I want to know is who hired you.”

“Your mother,” Dean replied evenly, maintaining eye contact. “We had a good time, too. Hell, I thought I was gonna give the poor woman a heart attack.”

“Do you think that’s cute?” Mikhail asked. His tone was even, the only sign of his irritation was the narrowing of his eyes as he spoke.

“I think I’m adorable,” Dean said, smile widening to show all of his teeth. 

Mikhail moved much more quickly than Dean expected, straightening and hitting with a backhand so hard his head snapped to the side and he felt his teeth shake. That was going to leave a mark. 

Dean groaned, flexing his jaw as he turned back to face Mikhail. “When I get out of here, I’m going to kill you.” It was an empty threat. Everyone in the room knew Dean wasn’t getting out of that chair. 

Mikhail laughed, looking around at the other shadowy men in the room. Turning back to Dean, he said, “Perhaps I will leave you to the Pakhan after all.”

“That’s for the best. Don’t you think, Obshchak?” asked a thin, nasal voice from somewhere behind Dean. “Let me ask the questions.”

Alistair. He was finally going to be face to face with the man that destroyed his family— his life— and Dean was stuck tied to fucking chair. Not how he pictured this happening.

Castiel burst through the door of The Brown Jug, nearly mowing down a patron as he made a beeline for the bar. The man shouted something at him but he gave no apology. There was no time for that. His plans were in danger. More importantly, Dean was in danger. “Jo?” He yelled when he didn’t see the petite blonde behind the bar.

She came through two swinging doors that presumably led to the kitchen. “Cas, what’s going on? Dean left—”

“He’s in trouble. We have to help him.” 

“Dean can take care of himself, Castiel. Just because you’re sweet on him doesn’t mean you need to be overprotective.” Jo smiled sweetly at him and Cas resisted the urge to throttle her. He knew Dean could take care of himself. But this? Anyone in his position would be in deep shit, as Dean would say.

“No. This trouble is too much for him to handle.” Castiel locked eyes with her, hoping Jo would see how serious he was. “The Archangel found him. He needs us.” 

Jo’s expression changed as soon as the moniker escaped him. Her eyes became hard steel as she turned away from him and came out from behind the bar. “Alright, sorry to disturb your evening but we’re closing up early. Family emergency.”

The patrons groaned and grumbled their protests as they stood and slowly started making their way out of the restaurant. Jo shooed them out as patiently as she could manage before slamming the door and locking it. She turned her hard eyes on Cas. It was an impressive look on her, all cunning and business instead of the usually pretty flirting he was used to seeing.

“I’m going to call Charlie and you’re going to tell me everything.” She stalked toward the kitchen again and called back to him, “I swear to God if Dean doesn’t make it out of this, I will end you.”

Dean cried out and gasped for air as his already cracked ribs buckled further under the impact of a large fist. Alistair knew Dean wasn’t going to answer his questions by now but instead of just killing him, he dragged it out. Of course, he never laid his own hands on Dean. He was the boss; it was beneath him to do the dirty work. Instead, Mikhail was the one doing the beating. The light wasn’t shining in his face anymore and Dean could see his assailant clearly in his white button down. He had the sleeves rolled up just below his elbows and blood spattered his shirt. Dean’s blood.

“So, since you won’t tell me who hired you, why don’t we just start at the beginning?” Alistair sat back in his own chair, beady eyes never leaving Dean. “Why did you kill Zakhariya?”

“Well.” Dean spit the blood that was pooling in his mouth onto the floor.  “I was on my way to this gay gypsy bar mitzvah for the disabled, when I suddenly thought, ‘the Russian Mob is a bit rubbish. I think I’ll kill the Sovietnik.’” He groaned when his smart mouth earned him a punch to the gut. 

“Dean, I don’t understand why you’re making this so hard on yourself,” Alistair said, shaking his head. “I mean, I’m gonna kill you either way but it doesn’t have to be so painful. The sooner you give me the answers I want, the sooner you can see your wife again. Your little boy, too.”

It was the first time the asshole managed to get under his skin. “Fuck you, you sick son of a bitch.” Dean should have expected Alistair to know about Lisa and Ben. If they’d found him, it wouldn’t have been too hard to dig up some background information.

“Ah, well.” Alistair sighed, waving a hand at one of the men behind him. “You are beginning to bore me. So, I’m going to get what a want another way and when I have, I’ll kill you.” He took a syringe from one of the men. It was smallish and metallic, like the needles they use for novocaine at a dentist’s office. 

Dean wasn’t foolish enough to think that’s what it was.

“Sodium Pentathol,” Alistair explained as he unceremoniously jabbed the needle into Dean’s bound arm. Compared to the pain in his side, it was a dull sting. “Truth Serum. In about, oh, half an hour, you’ll tell answer whatever questions I ask you.”

Dean wondered vaguely if he should explain to Alistair that it didn’t really work that way but thought better of it as the needle was withdrawn. The room was silent. No one asked him another question. No one laid a finger on him. Dean smirked and started singing at the top of his lungs.

“ We come from the land of the ice and snow…”

Chapter Text

Castiel had always been resourceful, but the speed with which the women of the Network were able to not only locate Dean but provide Cas with the equipment and support necessary to stage a rescue was astounding. Now he was parking his car a block away from the abandoned warehouse Charlie had pinpointed as the location where Mikhail was holding Dean. Stepping out of the car, he closed the door quietly and checked the two handguns Jo had provided him with. He knew they were both loaded but it would never do for him not to be absolutely certain.

Bela, who was quite possibly the most resourceful woman Castiel had ever met, had called in favors from several high-ranking political figures and gotten Charlie access to government satellites. An infrared sweep of the building had revealed twelve hostiles inside and two guarding the main entrance of the warehouse. Jo tagged along to take care of them. She had already set up on another building with her sniper rifle. Castiel’s tan trench coat was heavy with extra magazines and a pair of night vision goggles rested atop his head. He was ready. All he could do now was hope he wasn’t too late to save Dean.

Keeping to the shadows, Castiel made his way along the wall of the building nearest his destination and waited for Jo’s signal. He breathed deeply, refusing to let his emotions get the better of him or cloud his judgment. That was not something that could happen here. One wrong move and it would be over for him. And for Dean. “I am in place,” he said quietly, depressing the button that would allow his compatriots to hear him. He pulled the night vision goggles down over his eyes and everything was bathed in shades of green.

“Loud and clear. ” Jo’s voice was strong and steady. Only a moment passed and Castiel heard a shot ring out. Near the door to the warehouse, a body dropped. Another shot, a second body. Then, the entire block went dark. Charlie had cut the power. It was time. “Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

It was no longer necessary to hide himself and Castiel wasted no time making his way to the door and quietly opening it. Guns raised, he stepped into the blackness of the warehouse, relying on the goggles to see. He was quick and efficient with his weapons, squeezing the trigger in quick succession, taking out a man to his left with two shots to the chest before turning his head to the other side. Three more men stumbled into view, firing blindly in what they hoped was the direction Castiel was shooting from. Unfortunately for them, he was no longer in that spot.

Two shots to the chest for each hostile and they crumpled to the floor, clearing his path as he made his way further into the warehouse. In the night vision view, it was impossible to identify any of the men he killed but Castiel couldn’t find it in himself to care. Some part of him knew that any of these men could be a friend, a family member. None of that mattered if they were responsible for holding Dean hostage. Even under orders.

He was climbing stairs now, letting the spent magazines fall from the guns in his hands before quickly inserting new ones. At the top of the steps, there was a single room. When the warehouse had been in use, it was probably the manager’s office. Through the large window, he could see that Dean was inside. He appeared to be restrained in a chair, head lolling slightly to one side. There were three other men and Castiel knew that one of them must be Mikhail. Four of the original twelve count were left unaccounted for but that would be a problem for later.

Taking a deep breath, Castiel burst through the door with his guns raised.

The flash of a gun firing was nearly blinding in the dark room. Dean didn’t speak. He was too tired. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open. Between the pain of the beating he’d received from the Archangel and the sodium pentothal in his system, he was damn near nonfunctional. He couldn’t concentrate or think straight and his mind was fuzzy enough that he couldn’t even be sure that what he was seeing was real. It didn’t help that all he could see were the shadows of people in the room in the brief light of muzzle flashes.

“Turn on the lights,” a thickly accented voice that Dean would recognize anywhere said. What was Cas doing there? His body shook and when the lights came back on, it was painful and blinding. It took what seemed like forever for his eyes to focus.

Bodies littered the floor. The bodies of the men that had laughed as Mikhail pounded Dean with his fists. He laughed to himself. Served them right. It was just too bad he couldn’t kill them all himself. He looked up and Mikhail stood in front of him, facing away with the chrome barrel of a large caliber handgun pointing at his face. On the other end of the gun was Castiel. Like some kind of avenging angel. God, he was hot. The fury burning behind his blue eyes as they bored into Mikhail was intense and Dean found that he couldn’t look away.

“You?” the Archangel asked, accusation in his tone. 

The corner of Castiel’s mouth twitched up into a smirk. “Me. Where is the Pakhan?”

“You may as well shoot me, Castiel. He was gone as soon as the gunfire started and I sure as hell am not going to tell you where he went.” Mikhail drew up to his full height and he was nearly as tall as Dean’s rescuer.

“Suit yourself,” Castiel growled and pulled the trigger. 

Mikhail’s head snapped back and blood splattered across Dean’s face as the bullet blew a hole in his skull. Dean shook his head, trying to clear the fog from his mind. It didn’t work. He focused on Castiel instead.

Cas rushed over to him, quickly and silently cutting the ties that kept him bound to the chair. 

Dean felt like he was moving in slow motion, dragging his hand through water as he reached to rub away the marks left by the ropes. He leaned forward, all but collapsing into his rescuer. “You came for me.” Dean could hear the way his words slurred and his subsequent giggle was followed by a bout of coughing that made his ribs ache even more.

“Of course, I came for you, Zvezdochka,” he replied softly, pulling Dean into his arms. “Now, we must go.” He lifted Dean easily as he stood and started carrying him out of the little room where he’d been kept.

Dean wasn’t cold but he shivered in Castiel’s arms. Looking up at his rescuer’s face, Dean couldn’t help but smile. “Your eyes are so blue. Like an ocean.”

Cas smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling ever so slightly and Dean felt a rush of warmth in his core. “Okay, we have to get out of here now,” Cas said, cradling Dean closer to his chest.

“I haven’t felt this way about someone since Lisa,” Dean mumbled. He nuzzled into Cas, breathing him in. His heavy eyelids fell shut; he didn’t have the energy to keep them open anymore. Wrapped up in the heat of Cas’s arms, Dean drifted slowly into the comfort of sleep.

Chapter Text

Dean blinked the grogginess away as he woke, his whole body aching. The room he was in was completely unfamiliar. Where the hell was he? What had happened to him? The last thing he remembered was being taken from his own bedroom in the middle of the night. The walls around him were beige and unadorned, save for a large painting that hung above him on the wall behind the bed. Below the thin sheet that covered him, Dean wore only a pair of boxers. He tried to sit up but immediately laid back again and groaned when pain shot through his tightly bandaged ribs. 

Despite the fact that he was nearly naked in a completely unknown place with no knowledge of how he’d been injured, Dean felt that he was safe there. Even so, he wouldn’t become complacent. Not that he’d be able to do much about it if someone came in and tried to kill him right that second. As if on cue, the knob turned and the door swung open. Dean tensed, hissing at the sharp pain it caused, until an unruly mop of dark, curly hair appeared.

Castiel’s blue eyes turned to him as the door closed behind him. “You’re awake,” he said with a warm smile. “I was beginning to worry.”

“What the hell happened, Cas?” Dean asked as the man sat gingerly next to him on the bed. He looked different, somehow softer. Maybe it was because this was the first time Dean had ever seen him not wearing a suit. He still wore his usual button down and slacks, but the top two buttons of the shirt were undone, revealing the curls of hair on his chest, and the sleeves were rolled up past his elbows. Dean had definitely never seen Castiel without sharp, shiny dress shoes on his feet. Now, seeing his wiggling toes covered only by black socks indicated such a high level of comfort that Dean could only assume they were inside Cas’s home.

“Mikhail took you, beat you, drugged you.” Castiel shook his head, eyes downcast like he was afraid to make eye contact again. “It’s my fault. I should never have gotten you involved in this. I should never have risked—”

“Stop, Cas,” Dean said softly, resting a hand on the other man’s forearm. “I knew the risks when I took the job. I could have said no. I’m glad I didn’t.”

Castiel looked over at him, uncertainty in his gaze, and Dean smiled reassuringly. “I am glad to have met you, Dean. I— my life can only be better with you in it. I do not want to lose you now.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I can’t even sit up properly.” Dean regretted the words almost immediately when he watched the shadow of guilt cross Cas’s features. “Do you want to know why I took the job, even knowing what the risks would be?”

Castiel gazed thoughtfully down at him for a moment and then nodded solemnly.

“I want to kill Alistair. Preferably with my bare hands.” Dean gestured for Cas to come closer and waited as he moved up on the bed until his back just barely brushed against Dean’s torso. “I was married. Had a kid. Ben. He was… amazing. Smart, funny. Sweetest kid I’ve ever known. I had only been back from my last tour in Afghanistan for a few months when it happened.” Dean took as deep a breath as he could comfortably, closing his eyes and trying to will away the tears that were already blurring his vision. It never got any easier to talk about. “They were crossing the street when the car hit them. I— I never even got to say goodbye.” A painful sob escaped him. Cas’s hand was suddenly in his hair, soothing him silently. His hands were fisted in the sheets as he took a moment to gather his voice again. “When the police caught the man who was driving, they found out he was driving away from the scene of a shootout. A hit that was ordered by Alistair.”

“Dean, I…”

“He killed my family, Cas.” Dean opened his eyes, looking up at him earnestly through the watery haze. Castiel brushed the tears from his cheek with the pad of his thumb. 

“I’m so sorry.”

It was the first time Dean had spoken about Ben and Lisa in years. He sobbed uncontrollably as the bed dipped under Cas’s weight and then he was wrapped up in strong arms, being held. Soft comforts whispered in his ears as he soaked his companion’s shirt with his sorrow. When had his budding attraction to the Russian become so deep that Dean would allow himself to be this vulnerable with him?

They lay there like that long after the tears stopped flowing. Castiel’s fingers threaded through Dean’s hair. He would never admit it out loud but it felt so good to be in the arms of a man he cared for, and who cared for him. He wanted to stay like that forever. Looking up, Dean could see that Cas was watching him with worried eyes.

“You will get your chance, Zvezdochka,” he said quietly. “I promise you.”

In that moment, it didn’t matter if Dean ever got to have his vengeance on Alistair. Castiel was here and now, right next to him. Their bodies were pressed together and their limbs tangled and it was beautiful, perfect. Everything Dean wanted. There was no hesitation when he tilted his head to capture Cas’s soft lips with his own. His hand slid up Cas’s chest to tangle in his hair, angling his head to deepen the kiss, to taste as much of Cas as he could. 

Dean groaned as Cas’s grip tightened on his hips, fingertips digging into the flesh, and Cas took his parted lips as an invitation to delve into Dean’s mouth with his tongue. His expert exploration was slow, almost lazy but Dean could already feel his cock chubbing up. He fumbled at the buttons of Cas’s shirt, wanting—needing—to feel the Russian’s skin against his own. The pain in his ribs flared suddenly as he adjusted his position and he grimaced, breaking the breathtaking kiss.

“Lay on your back, Kotyonok,” Castiel ordered, his voice impossibly deeper than it had been before. He pushed lightly against Dean’s shoulder and Dean let himself roll onto his back without any protest, grateful that the pressure against his ribs was released.

Dean kept his eyes on Cas as the Russian rose from the bed, undoing the remaining buttons on his shirt and letting it fall off of his broad shoulders, the muscles there rippling as he moved. His hands dropped to his waist as he unbuttoned his slacks and pushed them down and Dean watched everything inch of Castiel’s thickly muscled legs as they were exposed. He couldn’t help imagining Cas beneath him with those legs wrapped around him, squeezing him tightly as he fucked him slowly.

The loose white boxers Cas wore did nothing to hide the thickness of his already hard length, the head peeking through the hole as he climbed back onto the bed and over Dean, careful not to put any pressure on his wounded chest. Hovering over Dean, Castiel looked down at him with lust-blown eyes and bent to capture his lips again.

Dean’s fingers traced lines of desire into Castiel’s skin and he swallowed his lover’s pleased moan when the pad of his thumb brushed over the taut nub of a sensitive nipple. Dean silently promised to further explore each and every inch of Cas’s body when he was well again. Anything that gave him the gift of the sweet, pleased noises the man made. He tilted his head as Cas’s mouth traveled downward, leaving a wet trail of kisses down his throat before sucking at his collarbone. 

Dean was gasping, the beat of his heart painful against his sore ribs as Castiel continued his steady exploration of Dean’s exposed flesh. His cock was hard and aching, desperate for attention as Cas nipped and licked at the part of his hip that was bare above the waistband of his boxers.

“So beautiful,” Cas said against his skin. Dean’s hips jerked upward, seeking the relief of friction and he cried out at the pain in his chest. Castiel stopped, looking up at him with those painfully intense blue eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Be still, Zvezdochka, or I will stop.”

Dean groaned and willed his body to obey. The last thing he wanted was for Castiel to cease his slow, relentless onslaught.  His eyes fell shut as plush lips and a warm, wet tongue assaulted his skin again. He felt the drag of his waistband across the taut skin of his dick as Cas slowly pulled his boxers down. His fingers trailed fire on Dean’s legs in the wake of the flimsy fabric that was now being removed from Dean’s ankles. Without warning, Dean’s cock was fully enveloped in the wet heat of Cas’s mouth, making his toes curl as he cried out in surprised ecstasy. 

“Cas. Fuck.” Dean’s hands grasped at his lover’s hair and he opened his eyes, looking down to see Cas’s nose pressed against his belly as he swallowed Dean whole. He shook with the effort to remain still as the vibration of Cas’s lascivious moan sent lightning bolts of need through him. Dean was entranced by the hunger he saw in the Russian’s eyes and the wanton sounds as Castiel slowly drove Dean higher, pulling back so nearly his entire shaft was exposed before taking his cock so deeply Dean could feel Cas’s throat tighten, squeezing the head as he swallowed around it.

Again and again, Castiel took him until Dean was a keening, begging mess beneath him. “Cas, please,” Dean gasped. “Fuck, ‘M gonna come if you don’t stop.” It only served to make Cas redouble his efforts and Dean was so close but he wanted to wait. “Wanna come on your cock, Cas. Please.”

Cas pulled off of Dean with a low growl and a salacious pop and climbed over Dean reaching for the bedside table and yanking the drawer open and digging in it until he pulled his hand back with a small bottle of lube. “Open for me,” he demanded, pushing against Dean’s inner thigh until his legs were spread to expose his hole.

Dean could see the Russian was as far gone as he was. He fumbled with the cap of the bottle as he sat back on his heels, his dick thick and long and leaking precome as he finally flipped it open and squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his fingers.

Cas wasted no time pressing a finger against Dean’s rim, pushing the digit past the resistance and spreading the lube, stretching him in a way that made him gasp for breath. Dean saw stars when Cas brushed against his prostate.

“Cas,” Dean whined. “Need you. Please. Need to feel you inside me. Now. ”

“So impatient, my Kotyonok,” Cas observed darkly, removing his finger and squeezing the bottle onto his hand again. Dean licked his lips, watching as his lover stroked his length, covering himself in lube. Cas caught his bottom lip between his teeth, moaning and said, “I could spend the rest of my life indulging your every desire, Dean.”

“You talk too much,” Dean grumbled impatiently, eliciting a low, lusty chuckle.

Castiel smirked as he leaned over Dean, capturing his lips and invading his mouth with his exploratory tongue. Dean’s arms wrapped around his shoulders and he ignored the bite of pain in his ribs in favor of the delicious burn of his rim stretching around Cas’s cock as he slowly, surely buried himself to the hilt. 

Cas pulled out and thrust into Dean again, resting his forehead against Dean’s and speaking in tantalizing Russian phrases that Dean didn’t understand. But it didn’t matter what he was saying because Dean was crying out his pleasure with every stroke of Cas’s cock and the deep gravel and thickness of the Russian words that fell from his lover’s lips only brought him closer.

“Dean, my zvezdochka, ya lyublyu tibya,” Cas groaned, reaching between them to wrap a hand around Dean’s shaft and stroke, his thrusts becoming erratic as he neared his own release. “Come for me, kotyonok.”

No sooner had the command passed through Castiel’s lips than Dean was chanting his name like a mantra as his orgasm tore through him and he spilled over Cas’s hand and his own stomach. Cas’s cock pulsed inside Dean as he came with a low groan and Dean’s name on his lips.

His arms shook as he held himself above Dean, panting as sweat dripped from his face. Dean winced as Castiel pulled out and rolled to one side. He smiled lazily and said, “We’re going to have to change that bandage before we can sleep.”

Dean laughed, looking down at the mess Cas made of him. “Worth it.” 

Eventually, Castiel got up and disappeared, coming back moments later with a washrag to clean up with and a fresh bandage. Once he finished rewrapping Dean’s chest, he lay back down next to him. “I meant what I said, Dean.”

“I know,” Dean replied softly, carefully rolling onto his side to rest his head against Castiel’s chest. He smiled sleepily.

Chapter Text

Castiel stood in his kitchen waiting for the coffee to finish brewing when Dean came out of the bedroom. Now that he’d had a few days to heal, he was moving much better, though Castiel could tell his ribs were still sore. The bandages that he’d used to wrap Dean’s chest were gone now and the dark purple and black of the bruise spanning most of his chest and side was clearly visible. Castiel attempted not to let the guilt he felt get the better of him. He knew Dean’s injuries could have been far worse and it was fortunate the man was unable to remember the beating itself.

“Good morning, Mr. Novak,” Dean said with a crooked grin, coming up behind Castiel and wrapping his arms around him.

“One day when you are well again, I will show exactly how much I enjoy it when you call me that,” Castiel replied.

“Is that a promise, Sir ?” 

Castiel chuckled darkly but didn’t say anything further. He simply poured coffee into the two plain white mugs that sat on the counter in front of him and then held one out for Dean to take. In only a few days this had become their routine. Every morning, Castiel woke first and Dean eventually made his way out to the kitchen when he could smell either the brewing coffee or whatever was being cooked for breakfast. Castiel had found that Dean responded most positively to the smell of bacon.

His heart filled warmly every time he turned on saw Dean sitting at his table, shirtless with sleepy green eyes. How could he have known when he sought out the Hunter, the most skilled assassin in New England, that things would turn out this way? Castiel’s plans remained largely unchanged but just having Dean in his life made it exponentially more fulfilling. When he finally sat in the seat of power, Castiel would make Dean his right hand and together, they would bring changes to the way the underground of the city was run.

Sipping at his coffee, Castiel saw Dean wince as he lifted himself from the chair again and crossed the room to deliver a tender kiss to Castiel’s temple. He left the room and Castiel smiled as he watched Dean go. He set the mug back down on the counter when he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. Without looking to see who was calling, he swiped across the screen to answer. “Allo.”

“ Castiel, you sly little traitor, ” Alistair said on the other end of the line and Castiel’s blood ran cold. This was not happening. “ I have something of yours.” In the background, there was the harsh sound of skin impacting skin and then a familiar voice crying out. “ Speak up so he can hear you, ” Alistair said.

“ Don’t listen to him, Bratiška.” Gabriel’s voice was ragged, pained. What had Alistair done? “ Just leave me. ”

There wasn’t a universe in which Castiel would leave his brother in the cruel hands of the Pakhan. “What do you want?”

“We’re having a little party on the fortieth floor of the Pru and you’re invited. Alone. Unarmed. And don’t tell Dean where you’re going.” The phone slipped from Castiel’s trembling fingers, clattering noisily against the marble countertop.

He didn’t even bother grabbing his coat on the way out the door.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean said as he came back into the kitchen, pulling a fresh t-shirt over his head and wincing at the twinge of pain in his side. When his head popped through the hole, he expected to see Castiel still standing at the counter, probably pouring himself another cup of Joe. But he wasn’t there. Of course, it was Castiel’s house. It wasn’t as though he was bound to the kitchen but something filled Dean with dread as he approached the counter where he knew Cas had been standing only moments before.

His phone lay face up on the marble, hairline cracks dancing across the screen. Castiel was an extremely careful man; Dean couldn’t imagine that he’d simply dropped the phone. Something was wrong. Pressing the home button with one finger, he swiped his finger and prayed he wouldn’t have to come up with a passcode. Fortunately, as soon as the screen lit up, Dean saw that there was still an active call. He tapped on the number, pulling up the details, and inhaled sharply.

Alistair.

Dean could hear Alistair’s nasal voice in the background, though he couldn’t make out what he was saying. The only thing he could make out was a man’s pained screams. He silently prayed that Castiel had one of those apps on his phone that could record a conversation as he hit the home button again and quickly scrolled through what little was there outside of the regular system apps. He thanked his lucky stars when he found one. He quickly hit the record button before running back to the bedroom to change his pants and grab his phone.

When he got back to the phone, the call had been disconnected but he gotten about 20 seconds of audio. Hopefully it would be enough for Charlie to figure out where the hell the call had come from. 

Dean had never driven so fast in his life. He made the fifteen-minute trip from Newton to West Roxbury in half that time driving the expensive Mercedes he’d found sitting in Castiel’s driveway. He knew Charlie was home, so he didn’t bother knocking. Opening the door, he called her name as he made his way quickly into her office.

“Dean, what ar—”

“Alistair’s got Cas,” he interrupted, tossing the phone at her. She caught it easily, still open to the recording app. “I only got about 20 seconds of audio on the call, is that enough?”

“To figure out where he is? Yeah, I can work with that.” She plugged the phone into her computer and started working on it.

“How the hell did he find out?” Dean asked, straining to remember anything about the night he’d been taken from his bed by Alistair’s henchmen. Had he told him? The whole goddamned night was a blank spot in his mind, and right now it was pissing him off.

“Given the limited number of people who knew, I think it’s probably a pretty easy guess, Dean,” Charlie said without looking up at him. With that she pulled on a large pair of studio headphones and as far as Dean could tell, everything outside of them was drowned out.

“Bela.” He pulled out his phone and dialed her number.

“Hello, Dean.” she said, unnervingly calm.

“The time I see you, I’m gonna kill you,” he growled.

“ I had no choice, Dean. Alistair made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. ” The lack of remorse in her voice made him fume even more. “ Besides, I’m a long way away from Boston now. And we both know how difficult I can be to find.”

“If you ever step foot in this town again, I will rip your goddamned lungs out!”

“This call was made from the Pru, Dean,” Charlie said.

Dean turned and looked at her, hanging up the phone immediately. He could deal with Bela later. “The Pru is like fifty stories, can you narrow it down?”

“Fifty-two actually,” she said, typing away. She was quiet for a moment, lines creasing her forehead as she furrowed her brow in concentration. “Most of the building is occupied by a law firm, Ropes & Gray. Ha, got it. They’re renovating some of their offices so it’s basically empty. The fortieth floor.”

Bending down to plant a kiss on the top of her head, Dean said, “You’re the best, Charlie.” Walking over to the picture of her and her mother, he removed the frame from the wood paneling behind it and set it gently on Charlie’s desk. The panel itself came out of the wall easily, revealing a small cache of assorted weapons. Dean grabbed twin handguns, extra magazines and a suppressor, as well as thigh holsters to go with them.

Strapping them to himself, he looked back at Charlie. “Just in case I don’t come back…” He bent down and pulled a small envelope out of his boot. “Make sure you get this to Sam.”

Charlie took it and nodded solemnly. This wasn’t the first time they’d done this dance. There was always a chance Dean would get caught or killed on a job. He hugged Charlie tightly and then went back out to the car and tore out of the driveway toward Prudential tower.

The fact that he managed to make it there without getting pulled over was nothing short of a miracle. Dean had to wonder if Alistair was insane or just that ballsy. It was the middle of the day and even on a Saturday, the parking lot of the Pru was packed. The good news was that meant the son of a bitch was probably alone, or only had a man or two with him. Still, Dean was pretty sure this wasn’t going to be easy.

He through the tan trench coat he’d grabbed on the way out of Castiel’s house. It was the only thing long enough to cover the weapons he’d strapped on at Charlie’s and he was pretty certain Cas was going to want it back after Dean got him out of whatever the hell he’d walked into. Dean smiled pleasantly at the people he passed as he made his way through the doors of the Pru and to the elevator. He managed to step into an empty elevator and ride it all the way up to the fortieth floor. His guns were in his hands before the sliding doors split to reveal and empty corridor with multiple doors leading off into offices.

Listening for any sign of where Alistair might be with Cas, Dean stepped silently out of the elevator with his guns raised and stealthily made his way down the hall, clearing each room on the way. He was halfway back when he heard Cas’s voice. The man was saying something in his native tongue and Dean didn’t know what it was, but he didn’t need to. The fear laced through Cas’s words carried very clearly and it spurred Dean forward. Stealth went for a forty story drop right out the fucking window.

Dean was running down the hallway now and then skidding to a stop when it opened into a large open space. The tall glass windows that formed the outside wall of the building were only a few yards away and in the middle of the room, Castiel stood with his back to Dean and his hands raised in front of him. Behind him there was a rolling desk chair with a blond man tied to it. Dean didn’t recognize the prisoner but whoever it was must have been important to Cas.

Raising his guns, Dean stepped further into the room. “Alistair!” he shouted. “Let them go!”

Alistair did not, of course, let anyone go. Instead, he reached out and grabbed Cas by a wrist, impossibly fast, and spun him so he was facing Dean. There was a glint of silver as Alistair put a knife to his throat. “If you’d like your plaything to live, I suggest you drop the guns.”

It wasn’t an unexpected demand but Dean was planning on doing no such thing. If Alistair had thought Dean would comply then he hadn’t done enough research. He stood, gun raised and trained on Alistair. Waiting. He watched Alistair’s grip on Castiel tighten, just slightly shifting the position of their bodies and he smiled, catching the frightened eye of his lover. “Sorry about this, Cas,” he said, and pulled the trigger.

Castiel cried out as the bullet ripped the skin and muscle of his shoulder, going straight through and burying itself in Alistair’s chest. The impact made Cas stumble but he managed to keep his feet as Alistair’s grip on him loosened. The knife fell from his loose fingers and clattered to the floor as he looked down at the growing stain on his shirt. Stumbling back, he fell to the floor and clutched at the wound.

Cas was ignoring his own wound entirely to rush over to the bruised and bloodied blond in the rolling chair, and at that moment, Dean only had eyes for Alistair. He stalked over to the bleeding man, crouching in front of him and hauling him up with a rough hand on the back of his neck. With a cruel, satisfied smirk, Dean said, “I have been waiting for this day for a very long time. I should let you bleed out right here on the floor but I never leave a job unfinished.”

Alistair was trying to speak but could only gasp for air and cough up the blood that was flooding his pierced lung. He grabbed a fistful of Dean’s shirt as he opened his mouth and a stream of red leaked from it to cover his face.

In all the years that Dean had spent behind a gun, he’d never enjoyed watching the light go out of a person’s eyes as their life slipped away. As much as he wanted it to be, this was no different. Taking Alistair’s head between his hands, he said, “This is for my son.” Dean twisted Alistair’s head violently and the sickening pop of his neck being broken filled the room. Dropping the man’s limp body, Dean sat back on his heels and tried to catch his breath. He just needed a moment.

“Dean,” Castiel said, his voice laced with pain. “Come here and help me with Gabriel.”

Dean shook himself. He could deal with the fact that Alistair was finally dead later. Now, he stood and crossed the room, hauling Gabriel up out of the chair and supporting him with an arm around his waist. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

They made for the elevator and Castiel looked over at him with a wry grin. “I can’t believe you shot me, Dean. You could have killed me.”

Dean grinned, a bit giddy from the adrenaline. “I told you, Cas, I’m a damn good shot.”

Chapter Text

Castiel was probably the only man Dean had ever known that had an actual conference room in his own damn house. It made sense, though, given his line of work. He couldn’t exactly call one of the hotels in Boston and rent out a business conference room. Castiel sat at the head of the table with Dean standing just behind and to his right. Down the sides of the long table were several people, all of whom Dean was now on a first name basis with. These were the people that had been secretly allied with Castiel from the beginning.

The redheaded Russian girl from the drug deal, Anna. The blond man from the Pru, who was still showing some of the bruising from the beating he’d gotten from Alistair, was Castiel’s brother Gabriel. The others that Dean had known only by reputation until recently. Magari De Luca, whom Castiel affectionately referred to as Meg; and Crowley and Rowena Macleod, two Scots that had somehow ended up at the head of the Irish mafia. Castiel counted all of them among his friends and so Dean did, too. But he would always keep a sharp eye on Meg and Crowley. They both struck him as the type that were concerned about their own power before anything else.

Dean saw the way Cas winced and grimaced with pain every time he moved. It had only been a week since he’d put Alistair down for good and Castiel’s shoulder was still healing. He didn’t like the fact that Cas was in pain but he didn’t regret taking that shot for a second. If he’d complied with Alistair’s demands, Cas wouldn’t have made it out of the Pru alive. Hell, it was a miracle they made it out without getting arrested. The looks they got on the way out were not pleasant. But it didn’t matter.

They were here now. Alive and together. And Castiel’s plan had turned out in the end, even if they’d hit a few unexpected bumps in the road. Dean rested a hand on his lover’s good shoulder and squeezed lightly until Cas looked up at him. “You doing okay?”

Castiel smiled softly up at him, reaching up to cover Dean’s hand with his own. “Yes, Zvezdochka. As long as you are with me, I am well.”

“Well, then,” Gabriel said, suddenly and with a wide smile. “Everyone is here. And you have the floor, Pakhan .”

Dean smiled as he looked out across the table. Everything was changing for him.

And Castiel looked damned good in a crown.

Chapter Text