Chapter Text
Normally, Castiel drifted off to sleep soon after Dean did, but he just studied him right now.
He eyed the smooth slope of his muscled back, the lower dimples barely visible over the blanket wrapped around his legs. Dean's hair was still a mess from Cas' hands, finger bruises pressed into his arms, his broad shoulders.
Castiel gently ran a hand down his side. He'd been rougher than usual, the stress of the FBI descending on the city, the tightening noose around his neck, it was finally catching up to him.
Not that Dean seemed to mind, groaning loudly and canting his hips back to meet Cas' thrusts.
Cas smiled softly when Dean mumbled something incomprehensible, catching sight of kiss-swollen lips, slightly parted against the pillow.
In honesty, he'd been asleep for a while. Cas was just stalling, staying in the warmth and comfort of their bed. Enjoying this while they still had it, before Cas had to do something he didn't want to.
But he'd left the body long enough, and the more time he waited, the more danger that someone would stumble on it.
So carefully, Cas shifted his weight off the bed, watching his partner the whole time. Dean was a light sleeper, and it wouldn't be the first time he'd shot awake, one hand going to the gun under his pillow.
The one Cas had finally convinced him to stow in the nightstand instead.
But still, nothing. Dean's back rose and fell in undisturbed motions. The wine might've had something to do with it.
Cas picked his shirt off the floor, tugging it over himself. His belt clanked as he pulled his pants back on, but Dean didn't stir.
The FBI agents were still haunting the parking lot, but Cas used the back entrance and got into his second car. This late past midnight, the drive back to the cabin was quiet and peaceful and Cas' brain went into autopilot.
How was he getting out of this mess?
They already suspected someone in the department. Already suspected the marina where he docked his boat, knew that he worked on some of those missing person cases. So what was it? Cas mused, turning into the park. A week? A month?
He had the right background, and if there were any more mistakes... Cas parked the car and breathed out, loosening his grip on the wheel.
Focus, he chided himself. One thing at a time. This body had to disappear, and then he could make a second attempt on corrupting some of that evidence. He'd already planted enough seeds for a potential fall guy, but he didn't want to use it. Not this time.
Maybe it wasn't too late to repair that. Wasn't too late to just... get on a plane and leave the country.
Cas got out, hissing slightly at the cold. The body parts were already in their bags, and normally the process was a lot neater but Cas nearly gagged. Decomposition had definitely started to set in.
He carried them down to the dock, marvelling again at how the human body could be... managed. Neatly packed away into what, four? Five bags?
Cas dropped off the bags onto the dock first, scanning the water. Dark and still, fog curling off it.
He couldn't have asked for a nicer night for body disposal. Cas smiled tightly at the thought, throwing the first two bags into his boat. He bent down for the third, disgusted again at the slight scent.
Jesus, he'd have to scrub the boat down again, top to bottom. Especially since Claire wanted to try fishing again soon.
"Fuck." Cas said under his breath when the fourth bag split open, an arm tumbling onto the dock.
“Freeze, you son of a bitch.”
Castiel's blood ran cold at that voice. At Dean's voice.
He turned slowly, and Dean stepped onto the dock, gun in hand.
"How did you find me?" Castiel asked.
"That's what you-- Jesus Christ-- GPS tap on your boat." Dean said, slightly pale as he stared at the bag of parts. "Jesus-- you're the Bay Harbour Butcher."
“I always hated that name.” Castiel mused. He hadn't brought anyone else. It wasn't the cops or the Feds that figured him out. Just Dean.
"Jesus Christ, man." Dean's gun didn't waver from his face.
“You already said that,” Cas said softly, wondering if he could explain this somehow, spin this.
“Everyone told me I was crazy to—” Dean didn’t finish that, eyes pained and wide. “Sam thought it was just another time I tried to self-sabotage, blow up my own life. I always knew there was something with you, but this shit?"
The words were harsh but Cas could catch the tremor to his mouth. "What can I say? You were right about me the first time." He replied. It had taken months to work past Dean's mistrust and defenses. "I never held it against you, I don't now."
“Shut the fuck up,” Dean said. And Cas could guess what he must be thinking. He'd ignored it all, let himself ignore the signs--
Something loud and metallic went skittering across the dock, stopping next to Cas. Handcuffs.
“Let’s get this over with. Put them on,” Dean ordered. Cas stared down at them. He had a narrow window here. Goddamn it, he'd left his knife back in the cabin.
“Cas, you’re done. Give it up.” Dean pleaded, the gun wavering just once before he adjusted his grip.
“Would you, in my position?” Cas asked, gauging the distance to the cabin door.
“I wouldn’t be in your position.” Dean snapped. “Because I would never have done this to you.”
Oh baby. The worst part of this was how loyal he was.
"You sure about that?" Cas asked. "You might want to check with the station."
Dean frowned. He cocked the gun.
“Hey,” Cas said, raising his hands a little. “You shoot me, who will prove your innocence?”
Dean angled the gun lower. "Maybe I'll just kneecap you."
He was serious enough. Cas hummed, crouching down to pick up the cuffs. He clicked them onto both wrists and stood up.
Dean swallowed and Cas caught it. He'd never once flinched in front of a suspect or a gun.
"Alright, nice and slow." Dean said, trying to walk backward off a dock while keeping his eyes on Cas. "Hey slow down." He said sharply.
Cas knew he wouldn’t shoot. He couldn’t do it. So Cas surged forward, shoving the gun upward with both hands.
Dean struggled immediately, and Cas elbowed him across the face as he pushed the gun off to the side instead.
Then the other way to wrestle it away and the gun went off.
Cas gritted his teeth as pain sliced across his thigh, shoving Dean hard enough that they both tumbled off the dock.
The water was cold, but it cleared Cas' mind of pain.
Dean surfaced first, and Cas wound his cuffs over his neck, strangling him.
Water splashed, over Cas' hair, his eyes as Dean frantically tried getting away, one hand reaching back desperately at Cas.
But it was no good, Cas held the chain as tight as he dared, waiting until Dean finally passed out.
Cas spat out the water, swearing under his breath as he dragged Dean onto the dock. Blood dotted it, seeping out of his pants and Cas hissed through his teeth.
He scraped a hand over his face, controlling his breathing long enough to drag Dean into the cabin, into the chain-link cage in the corner.
Cas opened his shirt, searching him for any other weapons. Just the two usual knives, that Cas pocketed.
"I normally treat my lovers better than this." Cas said, locking it shut. "Might've brought you here under better circumstances."
Then he groaned out, stumbling through the cabin toward the first aid kit stashed on the shelf.
Cas fumbled open his belt and trousers for the second time tonight, kicking them off and opening up the first aid kit.
There was a slight sound when Dean came to, hand clawing at the cage, making it rattle as he hauled himself up. "Cas?" He demanded, voice hoarse.
Cas didn't look at him, examining the wound on his leg.
"Is it deep? I hope it's fucking deep." Dean coughed, leaning against the chain link.
Cas tilted his head back against the chair, shooting Dean a look. "It's a graze wound." He gritted his teeth as his finger brushed along the edge of it. "Minor tissue abrasion. No haemorrhage along the bullet track. Thanks for your concern, sweetheart, but I think I’m gonna live.”
“Am I?” Dean asked.
“That’s a good question.” Cas used his thumb to twist open the dark bottle.
“If you’re not going to let me go Cas, then kill me now,” Dean growled. “Just get it over with.”
I don't want to.
Castiel groaned as he poured hydrogen peroxide into the cut. Fucking hell-- "I'd advise you not to tempt me right now." He sucked air in through his teeth, padding and wrapping the wound with gauze.
His frustration with this fucking mess boiled over as he did it.
“Why couldn’t you just leave me to do my work in peace?” Cas asked. “Why’d you have to go and ruin everything, we were fine, we were happy-–”
“The fuck we were.” Dean snapped. “You’re a killer, I catch killers.”
“So do I.” Cas reminded him, meeting his eye as he screwed the bottle shut, starting to set the first aid kit back together. “I caught you.”
Dean scoffed. “I’m not a killer.”
Cas chuckled. “You are. That’s why you’ve always known what I am. That’s why you have more officer-related shootings than anybody else."
Dean shook his head. And Cas continued, a little viciously pleased to see how much it hurt. "Only I don’t fuck with you when you shoot somebody, why couldn’t you pay me the same professional courtesy?”
“There’s nothing professional about what you do.” Dean snapped. “I kill when I have to–- on the job.”
Cas smirked. “Oh, so it’s okay to take a life as long as you get a paycheque for it?”
“I get paid to uphold the law.” Dean ground out. And Cas knew he didn't really think in those terms, this was just another attempt of Dean's to get out of this conversation.
“Is that the problem? Well, my code requires a higher standard of proof than the city's laws. And at zero cost for the taxpayer, if you ask me, I’m a bargain.” Cas tugged up his pants, put his shoes back on.
“That’s enough bullshit Cas,” Dean said, his fingers wound through the chain, eyes bright. “Let’s get this over with. Either kill me, or set me free. What’s it going to be?”
Cas would almost give anything to go back a few hours. To fix that look in his eyes.
“I actually think you’d like it if I killed you,” Cas murmured, tilting his head. “Just so you wouldn’t have to deal with this.”
Dean stared at him, strangely fragile. “You got to choose.”
Ishim always taught him that some people deserved to die. But Cas couldn’t make himself believe Dean was one of them. Quite the opposite really.
“No, I need to go home,” Cas said, suddenly too tired for this. “Someplace you should’ve stayed." He scoffed, straightening his jacket. "Really, you should be happy that you’re here right now.”
“How’d you figure that?” Dean asked, voice bitter.
"By tomorrow, the FBI will think you're responsible for my crimes," Cas said. "In a few hours, I’ll be needing their protection. From you.”
Dean hit out at the chain and Cas turned away from him.
“You’re not going to let them arrest me,” Dean said.
Cas raised an eyebrow, turning around. “I’m charmed by how much you think I care about you.”
Dean eyes hardened. "No, I know too much." He ground out. "You're not an impulsive killer, you're meticulous, you plan. So what is it Cas, what are you gonna do with me?"
Cas couldn't keep him locked away forever, but he did need to figure out food and water. All that wine, and now the fight. Dean would be getting dehydrated soon, if he wasn't already.
Dean growled, punching the chain again. “Don’t fucking ignore me. You’re just going to leave me here?”
“Yes, because I need to think about it.” Cas said, clicking his tongue at his watch. "You don't have any idea how many things you've messed up. Claire has school soon, and she'll be upset she didn't get to see you."
Dean said nothing.
“Sleep well,” Cas said and left.