Didn't Run Far Enough

Chapter 12

Castiel is not meeting with Dean tonight.

He's kinda curious about what Dean wants to show him, though...

It's not worth it. He probably just wants to have sex again or something. Or maybe it's just another fruitless attempt at getting him to come back. There's no point in egging it on.

But he was so casual about it. His flippant "come or not; I don't care" attitude almost makes it sound like he'd be doing Castiel a favor if he came, not the other way around. It's intriguing in the worst way and he can't help but wonder...

He shouldn't. He really, really shouldn't. He went 13 years without seeing Dean, and those 13 years were great. It was calm, quiet, safe. Getting mixed up in gang shit — any gang shit — is a surefire way to fuck up every good thing he's built for himself.

He's not going.

That is final.

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Okay, it's 9:30 at night and the curiosity is killing him. He's gonna go.

He slips on some somewhat-presentable clothes. He'd draw as much attention to himself in a trench coat as he would in pajamas, so he opts for a happy medium: jeans, a tee shirt, and a comfortable gray hoodie. It's probably close to what most people wear around there at this hour. No one should bat an eye at him.

He grabs his keys and heads out the door, but he pauses when he reaches his car. He has absolutely no idea what he's getting himself into. He should really prepare for the worst.

He runs back inside and grabs his holster, sliding his gun inside. He carefully covers it with his hoodie. It's probably best that no one see that he's armed. That's just asking for trouble.

Now he can leave. It's long past dark and the streets are mostly empty. The air is so still that it almost feels wrong to turn on the radio so he drives in silence, feelings of dread and anticipation mixing inside of him.

Arrives right on time, and he's careful to make sure his car is locked and all his valuables are hidden before he makes his way to the office building.

The first floor of the building is eerily silent, and he puts a hand on his gun instinctively. This time as he climbs the stairs, he does it in the dark. He'd rather no one see him before he can see them.

There's a shape on the second floor, only visible by the moonlight streaming through the window. CastieI rests his finger on the trigger.

Dean steps out of the shadows and turns on what appears to be a camping lamp. "I was wondering if you were gonna come."

"Thought you said third floor," Castiel remarks.

"Oh, no, I did," Dean says. He pulls a walkie-talkie from his waistband. "Clear?"

"Clear," a voice responds. It almost sounds like Benny, but it's hard to tell.

Dean clips the walkie-talkie back on his jeans. "Okay, now we can go upstairs."

CastieI raises an eyebrow. "What was that about?"

"Wanted to make sure you didn't bring any friends," Dean says with a shrug. "Don't need any other cops jumping in."

CastieI scoffs. "So, what, you have Benny staking the place out?"

Dean shrugs. "I like you; I don't trust you." He jerks his head at him. "And I fail to see the problem with bringing a walkie-talkie to a gunfight."