The Bodyguard (is the Omega)

2.

Sam Winchester needed his assistance. That much was evident to Castiel. In a life of service and secrecy, it was hard to come by a friend like Sam. Someone who kept reliably in touch, who paged and called and drove out to meet with Castiel every so often. It reminded Castiel of a time when he still had something of a social circle, the FBI days. What Castiel doesn't advertise to someone even as familiar and trustworthy as Sam, was his time in the Secret Service. His last deployment had left a sour taste in his mouth and he had gone on extended leave to take up freelance work. Castiel thought that Sam probably knew about his CIA role, but it wasn't polite to talk about classified matters even with buddies. So whilst this engagement that Sam was proposing was not something Castiel would usually get involved with, he read the desperation in Sam's eyes and truth be told the way Sam cared about his family was moving. Maybe it was the right time for a different sort of challenge.

True to Sam's word, that evening, the courier arrived with an official looking contract. It stipulated a 12 month agreement period and an instant termination clause which allowed Castiel to call off the arrangement. The payment in exchange was more than generous. Enclosed in the envelope was a cheque and business class ticket for a flight to L.A. scheduled in a week. Castiel wondered at the speed at which all the paperwork was done. Sam had long since given up his criminal law career to support his brother's itinerant lifestyle and myriad of legal needs. Sam, according to their last catchup, did all the contract negotiations and managed the legal aspects of Dean's career. The thought occurred to Castiel that Dean must be somewhat of a popular artist to have all these trappings of wealth. He wondered at times if Sam was happy being in Dean's shadow, working corporate law of all things. A far cry from the idealistic young analyst Castiel had known.

It didn't take long for Castiel to get his house in order for his possible long term absence. Castiel made the necessary arrangements for his bees, there was a local family a few miles away who could come by to check on the hive. The greenhouse ran on a fully automated watering system. On the way out of the door, Castiel threw all the correspondence that piled up over the course of his last assignment into the garbage. If it had been important, he would have already seen to it. All in all the time it took for him to wrap up his downtime life was pitifully brief. Already he was feeling that tug in his chest, the wheels turning in his head, he was switching on and thinking about his new assignment. Castiel enjoyed his work, the careful laying of the snare, the guarding of the bait and with any luck the eventual hunt. He just hoped the whole thing was not some exaggerated, unfounded Hollywood anxiety triggered by too much money and too much imagination. Such follies were tiresome even if they paid well.

Castiel exchanged the business class fare for an earlier red eye that same evening. The rest of the money he used to hire a car and drove himself through California. The Hollywood hills were leafy and lush even in the midst of winter, to Castiel's surprise Dean lived deep in the forested areas, surrounded by miles of woods and hills. He knew Sam wasn't expecting him to get there till the next week. An unexpectedly early arrival was part of Castiel's plan.

Castiel turned off the highway and used the street directory to locate the turnoff to the private road. There was minimal traffic once he got onto the path. A beat up old chevy was swerving a little as it sped past, the driver white knuckled and honking at him. Castiel moved his car a little closer to the kerb, his foot gently tapping on the breaks. The other car swerved through a ditch, throwing up mud onto Castiel's rental. A hand emerged giving Castiel the middle finger, obscuring the driver's face, the number plate was too dirty for Castiel to make out in his rearview mirror. Castiel memorised the make and model of the car automatically, filing it away mentally. Then he kept driving.

To Castiel's dismay, Dean's home was more ranch than Hollywood mansion. There were acres of uncleared native vegetation, with visible tracks made by livestock running through them. Too many hiding places, too many trails into and out of the area. The main compound itself was at least gated, surrounded by high stone fencing that screened the buildings from view. The 10 feet high fences looked daunting but the decorative stones afforded many footholds. Castiel drove around the fence line once, shaking his head as he noted the number of overgrown orange trees that bowed over the perimeter. He parked his car under the shade of a rambling old tree and climbed it. With a single pull of his arms, he was up in the branches. This brought the main house directly into view. Not unused to grand showcase homes, Castiel took in the vividly blue ponds leading down to an Olympic sized pool. The interior garden was fussily landscaped, with trimmed topiary and marble fountains. So basically the occupants had no privacy from Castiel's point of view. There was a young man sitting by the pool, playing with a motorised toy boat. The little ship went round and round in circles desolately. It was cool even for the West Coast, but the pool was luxuriously heated, white mist rising from the ambient waters. There was a man swimming in the pool. From this distance it was hard to see much except for a general impression of broadness and tallness as to his stature. He was doing breaststroke, which brought his torso above the water line at regular intervals. Castiel frowned, cursing himself for not having the foresight to have brought his binoculars out of the car but unable to tear himself away for long enough to go and get them. He fancied he could see the suggestion of freckles on that broad back but he knew logically that even with his keen omega eyesight it was probably his imagination. Was that Dean? Castiel couldn't tell from this far away. He scented the air careuflly. All Castiel could smell was chlorine and the faint whiff of suntan lotion.

Castiel sat in the fork of the tree and plucked a nearby orange absentmindedly. He watched the man complete his lap, while peeling the orange carefully with his nails so as not to let the juices run. Castiel ate the fruit piece by piece, devouring each sweet tart bite with an awakening hunger that he was not accustomed to.