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Apparitions and Their Untimely Returns	By : shallowshadows Category: Supernatural > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 969 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
A/N: I'm so sorry about the sudden hiatus. I put both my fics aside so I could focus on other things for a while. As mentioned within Ah! My Angel's notes, I was intending to get this chapter up before this past Monday. Unfortunately, writer's block hit me hard and I couldn't manage to stay focused enough to write. Humble apologies.
From now on, if you want news, updates, notes, and so on about my stories, you can check my fanworks Tumblr ShallowShadows. I hope this will help keep those curious informed regarding any late chapters, disappearances, and so on.
Updates every two weeks on Mondays. I'm not sure of the chapter count because I always write more than I expect to from my outlines.

Apparitions and Their Untimely Returns

Chapter 3 Troublemaker

"We're not going to say it again, if you know anything, you'd better tell us now. Last chance," Dean says, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, and chin held high. He loves it when his intimidation tactics work. They've resulted in driving out some of the best clues and information he's ever gotten during cases.
Except, well, this isn't one of those times.
"I honestly don't know anything," the man is uttering, voice low and quiet. "I didn't even know they were related." He doesn't seem like he's lying, seem being the key word there. They've met plenty of good liars before.
Dean gives his best poker face and leans forward. "Ever hear of what they did to people that lied in certain countries long ago? They'd cut your tongue out—"
Sam sighs and smacks Dean across the back of the head, though it's more a gentle annoyed tap than an injury-inducing one. Still, Dean exaggerates an "Ow" and shoots Sam a dirty look. Moot point on his part, however, being that Sam doesn't even glance at him.
"I'm really sorry about him. You see, Dean here gets a little over-excited when it comes to questioning and doesn't know when to quit. Kind of like a dog when it gets to play fetch." Low blow, Sam. Low blow.
The man they've been questioning for the past half hour simply shrugs. "Uh, it's fine, I guess, but I really don't know anything, detectives."
"Sure you don't, you little—"
"All right, we'll be on our way then," Sam interjects before Dean can finish his attempt at an insult. "Here's our card. Contact us if you think of anything. Even small things or something stupid can be helpful. You never know."
The man nods, hesitantly taking the card. He steps backward into his apartment and completely ignores Dean while giving Sam a tip of the chin and small wave. A click of the door later and the two cops are left alone.
On their way out of the building, Dean is complaining about how badly that went with a slowly-losing-patience Sam tagging along, his blood-pressure quickly rising. Of course it went bad. Why wouldn't it have with the way it was handled?
They've done this so many times that Sam can't even keep count anymore. Dean gets carried away during questioning, Sam has to apologize, and then they leave empty-handed with a peeved-off person who isn't likely to contact them even in the event of gaining or remembering information. It's a bad habit Dean simply can't ditch and Sam loathes it.
"Sammy, how come everyone always loves you?"
The miraculous silence that was blissfully filling the air after they'd gotten into Dean's car is quickly trashed. Well, that was a nice five minutes, at least.
Sam rolls his eyes. "Because I'm polite, like we should be. You don't just go 'bad cop' on everyone, Dean. You know that."
The mocking tone and voice Dean repeats Sam's words in earns him a glare as harsh as an Albany thunderstorm in July. Dean simply turns up the music with a smirk and Sam turns away with a small grumble.
"So it's been a week," Dean finally says after singing along to "Wanted Dead or Alive" for the third time today.
"So it has," Sam responds, elbow leaning against the door and fist pressing into a cheek. He's got that sourpuss look Dean can see out of the corner of his eye which doesn't in the least surprise him.
That's usually Sam's "Leave me alone" face Dean has grown so "fond" of. It's often a result of Dean's constant teasing, so he can't blame Sam for it. After all, Dean would get annoyed himself if the shoe were on the other foot. But this? This is kind of an important conversation, so it's time to buckle down and cease his temptation to crack some jokes.
Dean keeps his eyes on the road—because hey, you can never trust New York drivers—but does reach a hand over to turn down the music. He knows his car so well by now he can find most controls with his eyes elsewhere. Perhaps that's one benefit of being in his "baby" so much for work and otherwise.
"A week and no new leads, Sammy. We've been pretty hardcore about all of this too. All-nighters and Starbucks runs."
Sam's gaze remains focused outside of the window, but he does let loose a frustrated sigh. "So what can we do? We've got other smaller cases we've been working on. Why not just throw in the towel?"
"You're telling me you're suddenly the type who just 'gives up'?"
"Okay, you got me there." The eyebrow Dean raises is met with a smirk reflected in the passenger door window. "What next then?"
That's probably the biggest problem—Dean has no idea. They've run into dead ends before during cases, but those are usually solved when a lead pops up conveniently. Mafia cases, on the other hand, aren't usually so eager to be solved.
Dean bites his bottom lip. "No clue. But I'm craving the stereotypical cop favorite drink of choice and some power food right about now. Want anything?"
When Dean pulls the Impala towards a McDonald's, Sam can't help the over-exaggerated eye roll he makes. While he isn't by any means a vegetarian—he does eat home-cooked burgers here and there—he loathes what many people consider a quick drive-through lunch. Mystery faux meats aren't exactly appetizers in Sam's mind.
"Dude, no, thank you. Do you even know what's in that stuff?"
"Don't know, don't care. Tastes good and that's all I care about."
"And that is exactly why I worry someday you're going to die by femme fatale laced wine."
Dean laughs which makes Sam shake his head. Perhaps though, their poor luck is taking a turn for the better when Dean's obnoxious ringtone fills the air.
"Yeah, hey, Bobby? You're on speaker. We're in the car."
"Boys," Bobby starts, voice a hush, "I've got something really, really interesting you'll want to know about your big case."
Their attention is instantly locked-in. When Bobby's voice is quiet and focused that's usually a sign he knows something he probably shouldn't. That and he's likely somewhere more public.
Dean pulls over into the parking lot while ignoring his growling stomach for the more important matters at hand. "And that is?"
"Well, Jody, our beloved former sheriff? She was actually in charge of quite a few cases involving people owing the Volkov's money."
"What? Why didn't she say anything to us back at the station?" Sam inquires, brows furrowed. They'd talked to her at least ten times this week and it was never brought up.
Bobby sighs. "That's one of the issues. She couldn't."
"What do you mean she couldn't?" Dean is quick to interject before Sam can get a word in edgewise.
Bobby doesn't respond at first, the sound of other people coming over the phone. They assume he truly is out in a more public place, so he can't help his secrecy. What Bobby is doing out there and why he decided to call them now rather than later at his place is beyond them.
When Bobby does decide it's safe to continue, the words that come through the other end of the phone send both Dean and Sam into a skeeved out state.
"She's being tailed at the station. Remember our old friend Crowley?"
Sam speaks over Dean this time. "What in the hell is that sleaze doing trailing Jody?"
"She knows things he doesn't want her knowing," Bobby answers matter-of-factly.
"Like what?" Dean dares to ask, though the look he's getting from Sam makes him realize they probably don't want to know. But hey, whatever's beneficial to their case, right?
"Jody has a hunch he's in bed with your buddies the Volkov's."
It feels like all of the air is forcefully sucked out of their lungs suddenly. It's like gravity has increased tenfold and now it's crashing all around them, and the air is too thick, lacking enough oxygen for them to properly breathe.
Crowley? That bastard Crowley is involved with the mafia? They've always known he was a corrupt cop ever since he'd gotten both Rufus and Bobby fired way back when, but mafia? They didn't think even he'd stoop so low. Perhaps they'd still foolishly held onto hope he could change given time. After all, he'd had so many resources available to him.
That's the funny thing Sam and Dean have had reinforced through-out their careers—people rarely change. It's enough to destroy even the most optimistic, faith-in-humanity-based person's entire moral certainty.
"Boys? Boys, look, I have to go. I'm in the middle of something myself. A little PI-case Rufus and Garth dragged me into. Just find Jody at the address I send you and she'll elaborate further. Good luck."
Both Winchesters scramble to tell Bobby to wait, to hold up, to not hang up the dang phone—all variations of such—but they're cut off. Well, that went well. Now they know one of their own is involved in all of this. Great! As if the trust wasn't already bad enough around the station with all of the newbies messing up constantly.
Given their new information, there's really only one thing they can do. They have to talk to Jody. If it's true she's dealt with cases involving these guys before she'll be able to help. Finally their dead end is a lead.
And while that would typically be a really awesome thing they'd be high-fiving over, their worry has increased ten-fold instead. Now they know Crowley is likely in bed with the Volkov's which raises the risk of not only this case but everyone's safety at the station. If Crowley overhears anything, even the smallest of evidence, he could get someone hurt or worse. Kevin definitely comes to mind and the Winchester's more protective side kicks in.
"All right, so lucky you, Sammy, we're skipping McD's today. Bobby just sent me Jody's address. Can't keep her waitin'—"
The snarky comment Dean is expecting in return doesn't come. Instead, his ears are graced with Sam's piano-based ringtone. Eyebrows raised, Sam picks it up and answers despite the "Unknown" with Dean already driving to Jody's whereabouts.
"Is this Sam Winchester? Did I call the right number?"
Dean recognizes that voice, its familiar scratchiness and deep tone impossible to mistake, and he snatches the phone from Sam's hand as he halts the car to a stop. Sam, taken off guard, goes forward and almost hits his head. An angry glare directs its way towards Dean who's switching the gear into park.
"Dean, what the hell? Jody, remember? Also, thanks for almost knocking me out cold, you jerk."
"Why the hell is Castiel Volkov calling you?"
The tension flooding the air is thick enough to cut with a butter knife. Sam is taken aback by the look he's receiving when his eyes meet Dean's. Shouldn't he be the rightfully pissed off one given Dean's sudden slam of the breaks?
"Sam left his number at the front desk. There was a note specifying to call if my bosses had a problem with his little interview of me during my work hours."
Dean doesn't know why, but he feels this awful clenching at the pit of his gut. It's harsh and burning, much like anger but a little worse. He doesn't dare put a word on it though, not with the bewilderment forming along Sam's features.
"I did not call you, Dean, so I would appreciate it if you could take me off speaker and return Sam's phone to him."
"Why are you calling? He said your bosses could call, not you. What do you even want? A lapdance?"
Oh, boy. His open-mouth-insert-foot issue has gotten him into trouble before. But this time Dean is certain he's opened up what's more like a can of worms than small quick-fix problem.
"Excuse me?" Castiel's clearly pissed. Well, he sounded angry before, but now he just sounds furious.
Sam seems to be on par at the very least. His features have gone dark and he practically rips the phone out of Dean's hands. Sam makes sure to shoot him one of his "Don't even try" looks before switching the speaker off.
"I'm sorry, Cas. Dean's being weird. He hasn't eaten and he's been known to be touchier when—"
"Would you care to explain to me why I am being threatened with eviction if I do not leave my apartment willingly?"
"Wait, what?"
Castiel is definitely making attempts to keep patient. He takes a deep breath, voice shaky from emotion. "My roommate said you two came by. You told him my relatives are in the mafia. You told him my brother is."
Oh, shit. Oh, holy hell in a hand basket. That slimy little roommate of Castiel's must have panicked after Dean and Sam left. That or he got spiteful because of the detectives' nagging for any hint of information he could know. Why in the world had the two not even considered Castiel getting backlash for it?
Sam switches the phone back to speaker hesitantly. He knows Dean heard that anyway in the silence of the music-less car because he's covering his lips with a clenched fist and leaning back against his seat, eyes focused on Sam.
"What would possess you two to screw me over this badly?"
Castiel's voice is quickly showing emotions beyond anger, emotions that make you want to curl up under a blanket with a box of tissues. It's effectively punching both detectives in the guts.
"You didn't mention your brother was in the mob," Dean murmurs against his fist. Pitiful excuse, but it's all he's got.
"So you make me homeless?" Castiel's exasperated voice overpowers any attempt Dean makes to continue speaking. "That was your brilliant plan of revenge?"
"Cas. Castiel." Sam's turn. He's the one good with this kind of thing anyway. "We didn't want you kicked out of your apartment. We weren't thinking about that. We just wanted answers."
"Well, I hope it was worth it! Screw you both and your stupid case! Yeah, I said screw you both! Come and arrest me for contempt of cop, I dare you!" The raised tone of voice is so loud it's reached the point of yelling, practically blowing out Sam's speaker.
The guy has every right to be angry. They're not even going to bother telling him to calm down. Heck, they're especially not going to do anything as drastic as arresting him for being upset. It is their fault, after all, for what happened to him.
So what do they do? What's the best game plan here? A silent exchange of looks and they're both simply letting him rant for now while they think. The insertion of random Russian is probably just out of frustration. Both Winchester's doubt he even realizes.
And perhaps that was their best choice, allowing him to let it out. After a full five minutes, Castiel's tone shifts into something utterly broken. It sounds like he's teetering on the edge of sobbing and Sam ends up giving Dean one of those puppy-eyed expressions he's so good at.
"Where am I supposed to live now? I told you I'm distant from my relatives, even my siblings and parents, and I hardly have friends," Castiel quietly utters into the phone.
Dean bites his bottom lip. Sam sighs and leans back against his seat. They're both having this conversation with their eyes that they've grown so accustomed to. Dean shakes his head, but Sam just raises his brows and tightens the line of skin that forms his lips.
"We'll find you a new apartment," Sam finally says and Dean belts himself in the face with a hand. Classic facepalm.
"Really? It's New York," Castiel remarks, doubt coating his voice.
"You have my word. And Dean's." Sam ignores the way Dean is holding his hands in the air, palms up, fingers curled. He also ignores the gaping expression being directed his way. "Until then, you're welcome to stay with us."
Dean's jaw looks like it's about to fall off, but Sam ignores him again. This prompts an epic big bro meltdown as Dean "collapses" against his steering wheel, arms draped over it and face shoved into them.
Castiel, on the other hand, seems a little more at ease. "You're—really? Is that a promise?"
"It's a promise." Sam smiles, making sure it's obvious in his tone as well, and Dean groans like he's being put in the timeout corner.
"What was that?"
"Oh, uh, Dean's hungry, remember? We've gotta get going. But don't worry. I promise we'll take care of you. We're the ones at fault here after all."
"Mnn, okay. Your reputation at least backs you up as a man of your word. But don't think I'm letting you two off the hook so easily. You both owe me beyond this."
A chill rides up Dean's spine. What if they really can't find this guy a place he likes and he ends up becoming more than a guest? The thought of a stranger living with them, no matter how interesting Dean finds him to be, is not a comfortable one. And also, what exactly did he mean by they owe him? God, Dean hates those words when used seriously.
Sam hangs up with a sigh, but Dean groans yet again. "Why did you do that?"
Sam rolls his eyes. "Uh, duh. We screwed him over, Dean. We've gotta make it right. We're cops. Y'know, the good guys?"
"Sometimes I hate being the good guys."
"Oh, shut up."
x
It takes an immense amount of patience for Castiel not to take out his frustrations on his job. He'd been re-shelving books when his roommate had sent him a text about eviction or peaceful leave and he barely managed to ask his superior calmly if he could take another call outside.
Even with Sam's offer, Castiel feels like crap. Sure, he wasn't a fan of his living arrangements anyway—his roommate could be a giant ass almost daily—but that's not the point. The point is that he hadn't the chance to look for another place yet. The major point is that he hasn't paid his rent this month. His roommate can throw him out legally through the court.
Rather than let things get so messy, Castiel prefers peace. Immediately after his phone call to Sam, he types up a message to his roommate that he'll be getting his stuff sometime this week. After all, he needs at least a few days to find a temporary living arrangement.
Frustration is barely the word for his feelings. Castiel's a mess of emotions and anger is certainly doing its damnedest to take over. So when a hand drapes over his shoulder, fingers one-by-one folding down onto it and clenching, he isn't surprised by his own reaction.
"What the hell do you want?" he snaps, whipping around to glare at whoever dares to bother him right now.
"My peculiar little bird, I am offended. I spend the time coming to see you and you yell at me? In your precious library of all places?"
Castiel takes a moment to look around, catching the eyes of library patrons. Some look surprised, some aggravated, while others, the sweet little old ladies who adore him, even appear frightened. His chest clenches tight at making such a disturbance.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, quietly returning to his work. "You shouldn't sneak-up on me like that."
"What's wrong, Castiel? I am rarely graced with your temper." Luke steps around so he's standing between Castiel and the bookcase, making it virtually impossible to continue his re-shelving.
A tighter frown promptly plants itself across Castiel's lips. "Nothing. Now please move, brother. I'm working." He's silently pleading for Luke to get the hint and leave, however unlikely that is.
"Hmm, have you at least considered my invitation?" The elder Volkov asks, eyes staring deep into Castiel's own.
Castiel has to look away, discomfort creeping up his spine. When Luke stares like that it always goes deep into another part of him he usually shields from the world, and every single time it leaves the younger Volkov feeling vulnerable. Something about Luke has always given him the creeps, brother or not.
But Castiel, ever the stubborn one, refuses to make this obvious. So while he's making a strong attempt to mask his discomfort, Luke's prying eyes have already unraveled the other more apparent issues.
"This doesn't happen to involve those Winchester boys, does it? Your poor mood, I mean," Luke says out of the blue and Castiel is barely able to keep himself from gasping. Damn Luke's ability to see right through him.
"I just have my hands a little full at this time," Castiel responds softly, unable to look his brother in the eyes or risk giving him the answer he's prying for.
A soft chuckle slips past Luke's lips. There's that knowing, mocking tone to it Castiel's all too familiar with, which signifies any attempt to fib will fail.
"Castiel, please. I can already tell my assumption is accurate and there's no point in tapping into your creative side to come up with some story. You're a terrible liar, little bird."
"I'm getting evicted if I don't leave my apartment peacefully. My roommate found out about our family's darker side."
It's hardly a surprise to him Luke's yet again able to get the truth out of him. Intimidation tactics Luke's perfected aren't even a necessity when he's this good at reading his other siblings, including Gabriel and Anna.
Rather than the annoyed or angry look Castiel's expecting, Luke's features seem sympathetic. "Oh." One moment he's standing, the next he's holding Castiel tightly against his own body in a warm embrace.
Castiel's more surprised at himself than the actual gesture when he melts into it, chin and cheek pressing against his brother's shoulder. Being that he's asocial by nature, he wasn't expecting to so desperately crave such affectionate support from another human being, but he is and it feels so good, soothing even.
But then, this is a pattern all too familiar to Castiel. Ever since he was little, he can remember caving in when Luke took advantage of his times of vulnerability. He would be the shining light at the end of the tunnel whenever Castiel's life took a turn for the worst, always there to help him, always there to comfort him. And damn was he good at comfort. Castiel always, always falls for it even though he knows better by now.
There was, and always will be, a price. Always.
Unlike Anna's, and even Gabriel's, more genuine gestures, Luke's always come with a price Castiel finds himself paying up one way or another. A gala, a press conference, a date with somebody's daughter—these typically less dangerous things are the usual requests. But with his luck, there are often times where those become excessively beyond dangerous and he's left thanking his lucky stars for the heartbeat still drumming in his chest.
"Until you find new living quarters, you are free to stay in a hotel of your choosing and I will cover the bill," Luke finally says after some moments of silence.
Even with all of this in mind, Castiel caves. Anything is better than having to stay with those Winchester's. Okay, perhaps that's not true. Perhaps Castiel's just harboring a bit of a grudge. But really, who can blame him when those two detectives still have a place to sleep at night while his only options are bothering one of his few friends or accepting his brother's offer?
"I—thank you. I'll pay you back."
"Coming to the gala I planned for is the only payback I need."
Castiel can feel the smirk against his neck and he sighs. Hook, line, and sinker. "I need more time after what happened. I'll call you."
Luke pulls back with his hands lingering over Castiel's shoulders. His eyes have a soft sort of twinkle to them and the grin Castiel felt is still plastered across his features. "I'll be expecting that call, baby brother," he simply says before letting go.
x
Guilt. It's that emotion that wraps around your insides and tugs until you want to surrender. Just when you think you've mastered dealing with it, you realize you haven't and it's back to feeling like crap again.
That's exactly how the Winchester's have been feeling since their phone call with a certain Volkov. They've had other minor jobs to handle while working their big case, so they're plenty busy. However, nothing serves as a big enough distraction. They keep finding themselves with their minds wandering back to the horrible emotion tugging at their guts.
It's around three o'clock after they've spoken to Jody that Dean finally can't take it anymore.
"Sam. Hey, Sam. Have you found any places Cas might be interested in?" he calls over the table to his clearly very absorbed in the TV brother. "Sam!"
"Huh? Oh, uh, sorry."
There's a good reason Sam's mind is focused on the little LED hanging down behind the counter. Despite the café's loud chatter, the TV's programming is clear thanks to the writing scrolling across the screen.
It's a breaking news report on another underground group that met with serious blows as detectives in Philadelphia essentially handed their asses to them. Not only was a big drug smuggling operation trashed, but several of the heads are now in police custody. Several dangerous, intelligent heads that have been on the run for years.
"Anybody we know? Acquaintances, maybe? Head in the game, man. I do not want a stranger crashing in our place, especially a guy with his connections."
"Dean, do you think it's weird what happened down in Phillie?" Sam asks, voice low and careful. "The big drug bust and several huge mafia names going down?"
The taken aback expression on Dean's face seizes Sam's line of vision when he focuses his eyes on the older Winchester. Leave it to the news to toss them a potentially interesting lead.
Dean flicks his eyes over to the TV, then back at Sam. He intentionally lowers the volume of his own voice too. "It is kind of interesting that lately cops are having an easier time taking down organized crime overall."
"Devil's advocate here, we do have better tech and training these days."
"Yeah, but what you said. It is weird." Dean snatches a napkin from the container, quickly scribbling something down onto it. "Think about it."
Sam peers down at the table as Dean turns the napkin around to be in Sam's readable view. "Luke Volkov? Castiel's brother? Why would you think it's got to do with him?"
"Remember how Cas was pissed that I told his roomie big bro Lucy is mafia?" Sam nods and Dean blows a loud gust of wind through his pursed lips. "Yeah. I was kind of being spiteful. I've been doing research on Cas' mafia relatives and I mayyy have been a liiittle ticked off upon discovering it wasn't just extended family of his in the mob."
The eyebrow on Sam's forehead couldn't go any higher. He stares at Dean silently for a moment before smacking a hand against his face and dragging it down ever so slowly. "Did you ever come to think that he's not close with his siblings either?"
"Well, I was mad. I mean, he kind of lied to us! What was I supposed to do?"
A simple deadpan is directed his way. "You could've, y'know, talked to Castiel about it first. Like I'd do. Like any mature, level-headed person might do."
"And risk being lied to again by angel-face?"
"He didn't technically lie. It was exclusion of information," Sam corrects.
"Lying by exclusion, Sammy," Dean retorts, leaning in. "Oldest trick in the book. Satan's probably got an iron grip on him. Mafia siblings can be pretty intense. You know that."
"Pretty sure Castiel wouldn't like you calling him Satan, Dean."
"Hey, I'm not the one who named him Lucifer."
For the first time all day, the Winchester's have found a suitable distraction from their distraction. It couldn't have come at a better time either. It's halfway through the day and now they can actually be productive instead of dwelling on their guilt over Castiel's living situation.
Dean swipes through his cell phone until he's found the files he's looking for. He jabs in a password and then places the phone in front of Sam. "Ever since big baddie Volkov came into power, other crime organizations have been going down left and right. Check out the dates."
Sam scans the files quickly. The more he reads, the more his face shifts into a furrow and tight frown. "You're right. There's been a significant increase since Volkov gained further status," he comments quietly after some moments, eyeing a passerby to make sure no one overhears them.
"Am I good or what? Competition takedown. Rule number one of any business—you wipe out those who are a threat to your own business' success."
There's a two word description for when people go through what Dean's going through right now—ego trip—but Sam keeps the thought to himself. Instead, he skims over the files some more. Sure, Dean has a point, but that doesn't explain certain anomalies.
One of those anomalies being how Luke Volkov came into power so damn quickly. That alone has Sam puzzled, and he's sure Dean is the same. Before this year, all of Dean's research points to Luke being a smalltime Mafioso. So why now is he power-tripping all the way to the top of the ladder?
"Dean, did you happen to come across anything regarding his power-trip?"
Dean raises a brow. "What, how he went from bottom of the food-chain to top? No. Then again, it's underground. They're good at hiding things. Maybe someone on the inside will figure that detail out." His tone shifts to a warning. "Or, y'know, the big boys."
Right. This type of detail was how they got into so much trouble the last times. Instead of solving the small case presented before them, they ventured too far. Trying to figure out Luke Volkov's sudden power and even, dare they think, take him down, could be detrimental to their health and safety.
Sam slides Dean's phone back to him across the table. "All right, so next we find Cas and give him a head's up?"
Dean chokes on the coffee he takes a sip of. "Are you nuts?" An all-too wide-eyed look takes over the older Winchester's face. Tip Castiel off? Oh, Sam means the guy who still wants to strangle them both for making him homeless? Big bad Mafioso Luke's little brother? Sure, no problem.
"Come on, Dean. He deserves to know," Sam says, giving Dean one of his tailored puppy faces.
"Wrong. Bad idea. Are you forgetting what it means to be a cop? Play it safe." Dean shoves his phone into his pocket. As he leans back into the seat, he crosses his arms. "What if he's really not as distant from Luke as he'd like us to believe? Or hell, say he's telling the truth. What if he tips Luke off about us out of spite over what we did to him? Keeping Cas out of the know as much as possible is our safest and best option. For his sake and ours."
While Sam doesn't like that answer, he can't deny Dean has a point. Perhaps he's developing a bit of a soft spot for Castiel, but Sam realizes he's being a little reckless. No point in arguing.
"So then, what now? Should we see if we can get anything else out of him? You said it yourself. Those two could be closer than we believe."
Dean bites his bottom lip. They certainly shouldn't go the blabbermouth route and tell Cas everything, they've established that. But to try to talk to him to see if they can get anything useful, and, maybe, apologize in person wouldn't be such a bad idea.
That's why when they're out of the café and hitting the road to the Brighton Beach Library semi-spontaneously, neither is complaining.
Most of the car ride is spent in silence, at least regarding a conversation between the two Winchester's. Dean cranks the music and taps his fingers against the steering wheel. Sam picks up where he left off reading the files from Dean's phone. Even New York's infamous traffic isn't bothering them like it usually does.
By the time they reach the library, they've each respectively gotten into a better mood. It's odd, considering what they've discovered. And yet, neither can deny the little flicker of butterflies gracing their stomachs or the ease encasing their once weary hearts.
"Well, shit." Dean's voice is the first to speak up as he lowers the music.
Sam doesn't look at him, still flipping through the files, but he does question the reaction. "What? No parking?"
"No, there is. Just." A sharp intake of breath follows his initial words. "Dude, am I the only one feeling like it's prom night?"
This time Sam lowers the phone and turns to look at Dean with furrowed brows. "You're serious?"
"No, I'm just saying things to make you look at me like that." Dean rolls his eyes. There are times when he wishes Sam wouldn't be so, well, Sam, and this is one of them. "It's damn weird. I got all giddy on our way over here. It's not like we're going to see an old friend. Cas is a stranger and pissed at us."
Sam opens his mouth to speak but chooses not to right away. He wants to deny he had a similar feeling prop-up on the way over here, wants to tell Dean he's just being ridiculous, but that'd make him a hypocrite and liar. He really, really doesn't want to give Dean the satisfaction of calling him out on that.
"All right, I admit. I may be feeling a little similar."
"You bitch! You made me feel like I was going crazy for a moment there."
"Hey, I didn't want to just agree with you without thinking it over briefly. It's probably just relief over getting more leads."
"Bullshit." Dean practically rips the key out of the ignition. "You and I both know what that feels like. This is fucking hot chick one night stand giddy."
Classic bitch-face gets directed Dean's way and the older Winchester laughs. "Don't you fucking deny it. You've had man-crushes before."
"What about you and the Dr. Sexy 'nightmares,' as you called them? You didn't sound like you were having a nightmare when Charlie woke you up—"
The suit jacket that meets Sam's face is enough to switch his train of thought from harassing his older brother to grumbling in annoyance. He drags the article of clothing off his face in time to catch Dean hopping out of the car. His eyes watch the way Dean's scurrying off to avoid the conversation and Sam sighs heavily.
They can never have these conversations without Dean's discomfort with his sexuality causing him to act like a child.
But say it's true. Say they've both developed some ridiculous crush on the Volkov's youngest child. What does it matter? It's not like either of them would actually go after him. Dean's only ever had strong enough urges for women and the same goes for Sam. Their guy crushes never lasted. That wouldn't suddenly change, right?
Sam manages to catch up to Dean at the front desk, thankful the other man was courteous enough to wait for him before speaking with the women there. Sometimes Dean would jump the gun and Sam never liked that.
Maybe it's just that they've had an iffy week, but the women seem, well, angry. The two Winchester's exchange glances before Dean clears his throat.
"Hey there, ladies. We're lookin' for Cas—uh, Castiel. Castiel Volkov. He here?"
There are three of them. Two are shifting through books and tending to other patrons. The one who's not simply flicks her eyes up once to look at each man then turns away. Weird considering the last few times they squealed like fangirls.
"Let me try," Sam whispers before stepping up closer to the desk. "Excuse us. We visit here on a regular basis. We're the Winchester's, detectives Sam and Dean. We're looking to speak with Castiel Volkov. Is he working today?"
The other women don't even bother gracing the two with a glance, but the one who'd turned away twists back to them.
"He's working, like the rest of us. If you have a question in regards to finding something in the library, we'll be happy to help," the woman says with a flat tone, eyes fixed on them in a slightly narrowed way. "Otherwise, you're on your own."
With that she walks off towards a cart full of books, leaving the Winchester's with their eyebrows up and lips parted.
"That went well," Dean murmurs as they walk further into the library.
"I guess they heard about what happened with Castiel." Sam starts to head in the opposite direction of Dean, eyes weary. "You try that end. I'll focus on this one."
Well, they kind of put this on themselves, now didn't they? Castiel's co-workers may have been Winchester fangirls, but they also adored Castiel apparently. He's the one who works side by side with them every day. Neither of the men can blame them for being angry.
So now their quick little trip has become a game of Marco Polo or Hide-and-Seek. Knowing Castiel, he's not likely to approach them eagerly if he notices them. Thus, both Dean and Sam are prepared to put on their annoying cop personas. They do want to at the very least apologize.
Dean figures he's swept over every last inch of his half of the library after what feels like an hour. Either Castiel doesn't want to be found or he's not around here. Maybe Sam's gotten luckier with his half.
A frustrated groan moves past Dean's lips as he slumps onto a nice leather chair, letting his body sink into the soft cushions.
"You should be quieter; there are people in need of quiet here." Holy shit. No way.
Dean looks up to find narrowed blue eyes staring down at him. There's a certain paleness to the other man's face that Dean knows is likely stress or anxiety and it doesn't help him feel any less guilty.
"Cas," he breathes, jumping back to his feet.
"Don't," the other man snaps, stepping back. "You're no longer allowed to call me that."
"Oh, come on. You can't stay mad at us forever." Dean's pissed off so many of his girlfriends and clients that he's used to playing the forgiveness card. That doesn't mean he's good at it.
"Well, I can, but I won't. Not for your benefit though. It's simply not good for my health. Kind of like being homeless because of a couple of lousy detectives."
Dean sighs. All right, he totally deserved that. He's not even going to argue it in the least. In fact, he makes a mental pledge right then to let Castiel get it all out in person too if need be, even if it results in Dean getting hammered with insults. He can take it. His thick skin comes in handy with being a cop and in situations like this.
"Cas, wait." Dean catches the other man's wrist when he starts to walk off. "We're—I'm sorry."
Castiel doesn't say a word instead pulling his wrist from Dean's grip. He then walks over to a cart of books and starts to push it along to another row of shelves. He's heard of how forgiving people say the youngest Volkov son is, but perhaps that's why Castiel is giving Dean the cold shoulder. Perhaps he's been taken advantage of one too many times for his kindness.
Dean's seen what happens to Sam over the years. Kindness isn't a weakness, but people take it as one. Sam's given people chance after chance and they just shit all over him, something Dean never stood for. So really, he can't blame Castiel's mental wall shooting up to guard him the way Dean had done for Sam.
That's the thing though. While Sam is the kind and empathetic brother, Dean is the stubborn one.
"Cas, come on. Just let me explain," he finds himself blurting, following after Castiel without care for the dirty looks he's receiving from a couple of the other workers.
Castiel keeps pushing the cart along, eyes focused ahead—which is exactly why Dean slips around and in front. Castiel practically plows him over, but Dean's torso-heavy strength comes in handy in successfully stopping him.
"Cas, come on, man. Sam and I don't have it out to get you." A disgruntled sigh through purely the nostrils comes from the man across from him and Dean gives an uneasy smile. "I made a mistake. I shouldn't have told your roomie who your brother is. But I was mad, okay? You didn't exactly inform us of that."
The wide-eyed, furrowed brow look directing Dean's way is a precursor to the hard shove Castiel gives the cart. Taken off guard, Dean curses when his shoed toe gets run over. Well, strength or not, if you're unfocused, shit happens.
"Fuck. Don't be so aggressive. I'm just trying to apologize. And—and that really hurt."
Perhaps finally giving up, or if Dean didn't know any better a little out of guilt for running his foot over, Castiel slams his hands down onto the cart handle and storms off in the opposite direction. Dean quickly follows after him and ignores the stares they're both getting from patrons around the building.
Dean figures Castiel is beyond pissed if he's taking a sort of fit, but Dean's not going to give up. He and Sam spent a good portion of their day in guilt and searching for a new place for the guy to live in. They're not the horrible people Castiel now likely believes they are.
Dean is going to prove him wrong.
By the time his hand is clasping Castiel's, fingers pressing into the Volkov's palm, the two are by the little room Sam and Dean typically reserve. Castiel's body screeches to a halt and then he whips mostly around with a scowl.
"Can you not take a hint?" he finally snaps.
The detective sighs and squeezes his hand gently, causing a more confused expression to distort Castiel's features.
"Look," Dean starts, rubbing his free hand along the back of his neck, "we came here to apologize. We spent all day trying to make it up to you by searching for a new apartment, like we promised. We get it. We're lousy detectives. Especially me. I'm a selfish, pig-headed bastard. But for fuck's sake, can't you just let us make it up to you?"
Out of all of the times Dean has screwed someone over, he's never felt so sincerely guilty. He's almost certain part of his discomfort of potentially having a stranger live with him is because of that guilt. If it weren't for them, Castiel would be fine. If it weren't for Dean, Castiel would be fine.
It's Dean's fault, not Sam's, and yet Sam was the one quick to try and make it up to Castiel right away. He was the one who said they'd look for a new apartment for Cas. He was the one who swore they'd let Cas crash with them in the meantime. It's finally sinking in and Dean's feeling the brunt of it as he grips Cas' hand tightly. Damn, he's a shitty person.
Perhaps this is what everyone meant when they spoke of Castiel's kindness. His features are unreadable momentarily as he scans over Dean's, eyes eventually flicking down toward their hands. Then, as if reading into Dean's sincere guilt, Castiel pulls his hand from Dean's grip and completely turns to face him.
Castiel's lips part but close just as quickly, a moment of silence passing. It's as if he is contemplating what to say fully, thoughts lost on the hopeful yet guilty look in Dean's eyes.

A small sigh finally breaks the silence. "Fine," the older man begins, crossing his arms. "You want to make it up to me so badly? An apartment is something I can find on my own. I hated living there anyway, so it's a blessing in disguise."
There's a cooling through-out his veins that's calming Dean down some, though he's not sure if he should trust it. After all, Castiel's words are screaming "but" and Dean's just waiting for the punchline.
"What you both can do, however—" Castiel's arms slip down and one hand digs around in his pocket. He retrieves a piece of paper he then holds out to Dean. Here it comes. "—is protect me."
"Huh? From what? And what is this?"
"My brother is throwing a gala for my birthday," Castiel clarifies while Dean's eyes scan the fancy paper ticket. This thing reeks VIP with its fancy gold etching and thick cardstock.
"So you want me to protect you from streamers and eating too much cake? Nausea's a bitch, I'm sure."
"No, assbutt. I want you and Sam to protect me from my brother's poor career choice."
"Excuse me?"
Castiel rolls his eyes. "My brother Luke, remember? The one you got me kicked out of my apartment over." Oh, sure. Rub that bit in again, why don't ya?
Dean wonders briefly what he's getting himself into, but presses further. "I thought you didn't have much to do with your mafia relatives."
"I don't. He's always hounding me though. For this event, he insisted I come. Appearance is everything to him and he wants it to look like we're tender, loving siblings for his friends."
"Huh."
Something shifts in Castiel's expression the moment he continues explaining. It's a little broken, vulnerable, and Dean's full attention is caught with ease. "Thing is, last time I went to one of his little events, I ended up in a luxury hospital wing then stuck at home for a while and even longer in a PTSD treatment program."
Dean's mouth drops open in a small gape and Castiel shrugs. "My physical and psycho therapists were at least quite good," he adds, as if to lighten his words.
"Shit," Dean manages, shoulders slumping and hands shoving into his pockets, "that bad?"
"That doesn't even begin to describe its level of bad." A swift motion of fingers is gently rolling up the bottom of his shirt as Castiel turns his back towards Dean. Dean's eyes trace a long narrow scar straight up the older man's spine, stopping just below his shoulder blades. "Ugly, isn't it?"
Dean doesn't know what to say. He's speechless at seeing the aftermath that resembles what he and Sam could've gone through. During their mob encounters, both were beaten and bruised, and needless to say mentally fucked, but that scar on Castiel's back? That is a surgery scar no doubt. Spinal surgery. Ugh. He shudders to think what caused Castiel to need that. A fall? A knife? A bullet?
"I wouldn't say ugly. Maybe severe, but certainly not ugly." Perhaps Sam's sympathetic capabilities have rubbed off on him over the years after all.
"I appreciate your sensitivity, but I know how it looks. My physician advises me to check on it despite how much time has passed. I have a lot of mirrors in my possession for that reason."
The deep frown across Castiel's features shows in his voice before Dean can even see his face. He tucks his shirt in and turns back around, eyes seemingly unable to focus on Dean for too long. Credit to Castiel, that was pretty personal to share with a stranger. Dean is expecting some level of discomfort.
"So."
"So?"
"If you and Sam truly want to make things up to me, protect me."
Dean's been in the business long enough to know when he hears fear. The shaky, soft manner Castiel says the last two words of that sentence smash straight through his guilt so hard it physically hurts. Evidently, it also brings up a very valid question Dean can't help asking.
"Couldn't you just, I dunno, say 'no'?"
The frown across Castiel's lips grows deeper and he shakes his head. "You clearly don't know my brother very well despite the excessive amount of research you've likely done on him, detective."
Castiel takes the ticket from Dean and grips the other man's hand, exchanging the ticket with something else from his pocket instead. When Dean feels the tickle of a pen tip meeting his palm, he glances at Castiel in confusion.
"What's—?"
"Date and time. Don't be late."
Whelp. It looks like he's been volunteered without getting a chance to say his two cents. Dean's not complaining though; he sees this as an opportunity. Both Winchester's have been meeting a lot of deadends and coming face to face directly with the source can help change that. They just have to remember where to draw the line is all. Castiel's scar is a painful reminder of that.
"Hey, uh, Cas?" Dean glances from the scribbled "invite" on his hand to sapphire blues.
"Hmm?"
"You're not doing this solely because you're still pissed at Sam and me and holding a grudge, right?"
A wicked gleam flashes through the Volkov's eyes and the corners of his lips curl into a smirk. While it's not exactly the kind of smile Dean is fond of, he's glad to see it regardless. It's at least better than the deep self-conscious frown Castiel was previously sporting.
"I did mention this was to make it up to me, didn't I?"
Dean manages a half-chuckle, disbelief shrouding his tone. To think he fell for this so damn easily. Fucking guilt. "You are one clever albeit spiteful bastard."
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Apparitions and Their Untimely Returns