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Castiel watches the altimeter slowly creeping to twenty-eight thousand feet, the engine noise a constant background thrum that his headphones have no chance of canceling out. When the needle reaches its target he eases the throttle back so the plane levels out. His eyes flick over the instruments with a competence born of familiarity as he checks fuel quantity and radio settings yet again, by the book. He looks out of the windows on either side of the cockpit to check the engines just to be sure because this is an old plane and he likes to see the props going around for himself. Everything looks good. He’d be surprised if it didn’t - the Air Force looks after its planes and this one may be retired but it shows evidence of the care and attention give it by its previous owner.
He sets the autopilot, such as it is, before undoing his seatbelt and easing himself out of his seat. The cockpit in this old tub is cramped with a low enough ceiling that at six-foot he has to duck to pass through into the hold, where he pauses, eying his single passenger warily.
“We’re at cruising altitude,” Cas says, shoving his hands into his pockets.
The large, muscled man with the bulbous eyes perched in the corner looking bored simply stares at Cas and nods to acknowledge the information. He hasn’t said a word since he came on board. His hands lay flat on his thighs and his back is ramrod straight. He’s got eyes only for Cas now, but when he’d first stepped into the cavernous hold, packed solid with cargo, he’d spent time checking out everything that he could see of the plane, efficiently and cautious.
It’s obvious to Cas that the man is military, just like the others, and definitely not a business man personally escorting machine parts to a good US customer as the flight manifest claims. Cas isn’t a fool but he’s been taken for one. He probably wouldn’t have noticed all the other things he’s been smuggling in and out of South America if his brothers hadn’t started smuggling people too. He should probably feel insulted that Michael and Raphael thought he either wouldn’t notice, or wouldn’t care if he did.
He rubs his chin with his fingers, scraping at two-day old stubble. His limbs are heavy with disappointment as he steps further into the hold. His brothers had been helpful and patient after his final tour in Afghanistan had put him in a coma in the hospital for four months. They’d even paid for private treatment, and given him a job flying for their import/export business when the Air Force invalided him out. He’d wanted so much for them to be honest, not just because they were family, but because he didn’t have any one else, not after Dean found someone new after his own return to civilian life.
“There’s water in that cooler,” Cas says, pointing to a spot on his right where a well-used, red cooler is wedged. The man nods again. Cas fiddles with a piece of lint he’s found in his pocket. He wonders how far he can push it.
“I’m going to check the cargo didn’t move during take-off,” he says. He turns to survey the crates in the hold, then flicks his eyes back to the man in the corner. “Which one of these is yours, again?” he asks. He doesn’t know why he asks but he’s always been contrary. It’s usually his downfall and it would probably pay him to remember that once in a while. As it is the man’s eyes narrow and his lips squeeze together into a thin, tight line. He doesn’t answer.
Cas eases around the nearest crate and tugs at the webbing strap before checking where it’s clipped to the cleat bolted into the floor. “I guess they do all look alike,” he murmurs just loud enough to be heard, trying to keep his eyes on his task and away from his passenger though he can’t help but notice the way he’s scrutinized even more heavily than before as he moves around the cargo.
Cas finishes his inspection of the hold. He gives the man one last glance before heading back to the cockpit, grabbing a bottle of water from the cooler on the way. The man watches him the whole way. Cas can’t see it, but he can feel it by the way the little hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He’s not doing this again, he’s not smuggling people in to America to get up to god-knows-what, notwithstanding what he owes Michael and Raphael. It’s just not who he is. He knows that for his own peace of mind he has to do what’s right for him.
***
The bar is out of the way and quiet and there’s only one other customer to be seen when Cas opens the door and eases reluctantly into the dingy interior. It manages to feel like night even though the sun’s shining bright outside. Presumably it’s so that people don’t feel guilty about drinking in the middle of the afternoon. It’s obviously not working.
The other customer isn’t the one Cas is here to see and doesn’t even look up from morosely staring into his drink when Cas walks past him to reach the bar.
Cas slides onto a bar stool and the bartender stops reading her book to come over and take his order. She’s not the chatty kind which suits Cas fine and she pours him the orange juice he asks for without comment, before going back to her reading.
Cas swivels on his stool so that he can watch the door to the street which is why the voice that speaks suddenly to his left five minutes later makes him jump.
“Miss me?”
Cas turns quickly, sloshing a little of his orange juice onto the floor.
“Gabriel,” he huffs. He’s not going to give his brother the satisfaction of asking how he got in without coming through the only visible entrance to the bar.
Gabriel sits down on the stool next to Cas and interrupts the bartender. “So how are you, Cas?”
Cas wraps his hand tighter around his glass and stares briefly at the ice floating on the surface before taking a deep breath. “I’m in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble? Can you get in more trouble than being dead?”
Cas’s shoulders tense and he looks up at Gabriel with a hard expression. “That’s a low blow. Michael and Raphael told you that. It’s not as if I was in a position to correct them.”
“Yeah, well I’m still mad at you.“
“I was in a coma,” Cas objects.
“Yadda yadda blah blah coma.” Gabriel peers at him thoughtfully.
“So I’m guessing you finally worked out what the family business is, am I right?”
Cas stares at his brother. He carefully puts his drink down on the bar. “You know?”
“Know what? About the smuggling? Oh c’mon Cas, please. They’re my family too.”
Cas licks his lips and swallows hard. “That’s why you left,” he says stating a fact. He looks anywhere but at Gabriel. “I’m not like you. I don’t see deceit everywhere I look.”
“And just look where it’s got you. Look, I’m sorry, but it’s gonna be hella hard to get out if that’s what you want me to help you with, you know what I mean?”
Sighing heavily, Castiel nods. “Yes, I’m starting to understand that, which is why I don’t want out. I’m going to shut them down.”
Gabriel scrambles off his stool. “Oh, no way am I helping with that. I value my skin too much, thanks anyway.” His eyes shift this way and that, and he stands on the balls of his feet as if ready for flight. “I can’t.” He jabs a finger at Cas and Cas leans back away from the angry gesture. “You’re the only one who knows how to get in touch with me. I’m not exactly popular. If they find me… ” Gabriel doesn’t finish the sentence, just shudders.
“They won’t. I promise,” Castiel says hurriedly. “I don’t need much - a name, that’s all. Gabriel - if there was anyone else who could, or would, help me, I wouldn’t ask.” Castiel stares pleadingly at his brother for what seems like an age. Cautiously, Gabriel settles and sits back down.
“Okay, so say I believe you, what name?”
“A trustworthy police officer who’s not too bothered about rules and is going to help rather than hinder, preferably at a Kansas airport, preferably Lawrence.”
“Wow, not asking much are you? Why Lawrence?”
Castiel shrugs uncomfortably. “I realize there might not be an exact fit, but I have to fly into Lawrence the day after tomorrow to pick up a legitimate cargo. Then deliver to Lawrance a package from Venezuala a few days later that I’m sure is illegal. I can use the first trip to make arrangements to have the package apprehended on the second.” He tilts his head. “That kind of opportunity doesn’t come up often, and to be honest, I don’t want to do this anymore. The sooner this is done the better.”
Gabriel meets Castiel’s gaze, then after a moment, nods. “Okay, but Cas I gotta be honest. It’s going to be tough, especially an honest cop in Kansas.”
“I don’t pick the destinations… oh, I see that was a joke.”
Gabriel shakes his head and grins. He stands up. “I’m going to assume you’re picking up the tab,” he says, before turning and walking out. Castiel watches him go, out through the street door this time, then after ten minutes, because now he doesn’t trust anyone, he puts twenty dollars on the counter and follows.
***
Cas lands the plane at Lawrence airport two days later, skin tingling in nervous anticipation.
Distracted, his hands move automatically over the controls. He’s been to Lawrence many times before and he follows the taxi instructions that the disembodied voice in the control tower gives him with only half his mind on the route to the other side of the hangars.
Dean Winchester isn’t the name Cas thought he’d hear.
“It’s what you asked for,” Gabriel had said when he’d called to pass on the contact sounding much too pleased with himself. “One police officer, not too bothered by rules, willing to turn up to Lawrence airport, Kansas.”
Cas had shivered involuntarily even though that evening had been warm. He’d swallowed the lump in his throat before trusting himself to speak. “There must be someone else.”
“Nope,” Gabriel said. He’d sounded indifferent to Cas’s plight.
Cas had fumbled the pen he’d been holding ready to write down whatever name Gabriel gave him. It dropped to the table with a clatter. It’s still there now. “Gabriel… I can’t.”
But Cas’s arguments had held no sway with his brother and as he cuts the throttle completely and turns off the engine the beat of his heart is loud enough in his chest to drown out the slowing of the props, and he has to lick his lips to get saliva into his suddenly dry mouth.
Officially he’s here to pick up cargo, so he wipes his slightly sweaty palms on the front of his cargo pants and clambers out of the plane.
The truck with the pallets in is already waiting and it pulls up as soon as he gets out. The truck driver is a cheerfully chatty man that Castiel has seen once or twice before and he clucks sympathetically when Cas makes some excuse about a stomach bug and hurries away across the tarmac. There’s only two crates to load so Cas doesn’t feel too guilty about leaving the man to do it on his own.
Cas has no idea what Gabriel told Dean to get him here but when he walks into the small offices, presumably temporary if the paper ‘Police’ sign taped to the door is anything to go by, it’s obvious that the last thing he’s expecting is Cas.
Dean’s perched on a chair with his feet on the desk, reading something that’s resting on his thighs when Cas walks in, slow and guarded, heart beating a staccato rhythm way too fast in his chest.
Dean doesn’t notice him straight away and Cas stares for a length of time that’s probably bordering on creepy before he clears his throat. “Hello Dean.”
Dean leaps out of his seat, a tangle of arms and legs, and backs away until he’s stopped by a low table with a photocopier and phone on it. He stares at Cas without blinking and his mouth opens and closes a few times but no sound comes out.
All Cas can think is that Dean’s eyes are just as beautiful a shade of green as he remembers them.
“You’re dead,” Dean stutters, finally remembering to blink.
“No,” Cas says. “Who told you - ?“ but of course he knows. Dean’s eyes narrow. A flush appears high on his cheekbones and his fingers twitch by his side. Castiel sees the attack coming but too late.
Dean punches Castiel in the chest sending him stumbling backwards. Cas grunts as the air’s forced out of his lungs and he hits the wall hard. He sags a little before Dean’s angrily grabbing the collar of his shirt, and pushing into Cas’s space, crowding him against the brick.
“I thought you were dead,” Dean yells. He smells the same. A hint of leather, a hint of cheap aftershave, a hint of sweat. Cas wants to reach out and lick him just to see if he tastes the same.
“My brothers told you that - they lied,” Cas says, taking deep breaths against Dean’s weight on his chest as Dean leans closer.
“There’s a grave,” Dean says, hissing his words so that Cas feels saliva sprayed against his cheek.
“What?” Cas asks, head jerking back in shock.
“I went to your fucking grave, and I fucking mourned you.” Dean drops his hands from Cas’s clothes and stares at Cas. As Cas watches, meets Dean’s gaze and stares back, all the anger seeps away from Dean’s face and Dean just looked tired.
“What the hell happened, man? If you’re not dead why didn’t you come and find me?”
Cas shakes himself down. Takes a breath. “I was injured getting you out. Spent four months in hospital. After that, well I heard you’d found someone else,” Cas says quietly.
Dean looks at him incredulously. “Who told you I’d found someone else?”
Cas grunts with sudden realization. Seething, he replies, “Michael, my eldest brother.”
Dean grimaces. “Are we starting to see a pattern here? Why would they do that?”
Cas looks at Dean and he knows that if Dean had been around when he got out of the hospital he wouldn’t have ended up working for his brothers, or certainly not for so long. Everyone he might have turned to was told he was dead, and Cas was told Dean found someone else so that Cas wouldn’t go looking for him.
“I would say they didn’t want me to have any distractions,” he says with heat, thumping the wall behind him angrily.
“There’s no-one else Cas, and there never was. I crawled into the bottle and didn’t come out for six months when I found out you didn’t make it - when I thought you didn’t make it.” Dean takes a step away and turns his back on Cas. “Man this is all kinds of messed up.”
Cas reaches out his arm and rests his hand on Dean’s shoulder, squeezing once.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Dean says quietly, then he turns and steps in close taking Cas by surprise as he wraps his hand around Cas’s upper arm and kisses him. A lingering peck, not much more. “For old times sake,” Dean says stepping back again.
He tastes the same. Cas grabs Dean’s wrist and pulls him into his chest, slings his other arm around the back of Dean’s head with haphazard abandon and presses his lips to Dean’s. Dean’s enthusiasm for the kiss is instantaneous, his arms circling around Cas as their mouths mold around each other, their heads finding the right angle as if they’d never been apart. Stubble catches on stubble. It’s sore and it’s glorious.
“Holy hell,” Dean says breathlessly when finally they stop, pulling apart reluctantly.
“This place… are we under surveillance?” Cas asks, his hand stroking up and down the length of Dean’s arm before taking his wrist again. Dean’s pulse flutters wildly under Cas’s thumb.
“Crap - yeah,” Dean says, looking up to one corner of the room. Castiel follows his gaze and spots the small camera. Dean takes a step back but Cas doesn’t let go of his wrist. “Tape, not direct feed thank God.”
Cas thinks fast. He crosses to the window to gaze over the tarmac. The truck that brought the cargo is just pulling away. “My plane - it’s on the tarmac. I don’t have to leave for a few hours.”
Dean grabs Cas’s forearm and drags him towards the door. “Come on, man, what are you waiting for?” Cas lets himself be pulled to the door.
They clamber into the plane one at a time, Cas leading Dean. Cas feels Dean’s fingertips pressed into his back as Dean urges Cas forward and Cas’s heartbeat quickens noticeably, pounding in his ears, as he stumbles through the door.
He rests his hands on the nearest crate, leaning forward so his arms support his body’s weight and he takes a deep breath. He can’t believe this is happening. The smell of new plywood and old oil permeates the hold, but it’s Dean’s scent that pervades his senses. Everything is Dean. Every thought, every sound, every smell, every taste. All Dean.
“Cas?” Dean’s voice is husky and rough, questioning and uncertain. His fingers touch tentatively on the bare skin at the back of Cas’s neck and Cas gasps, draws in a breath and holds it, waiting, listening.
“Cas,” Dean murmurs, less a question now. His hand wraps fully around the back of Cas’s neck, caressing the skin and Dean’s fingers slide up into Cas’s hair, longer now than the last time he and Dean had done this, in a humid hut waiting for a battle they thought they’d win.
Dean steps closer and leans in, pressing his chest against Cas’s back, moving his hand from the back of Cas’s neck he wraps his whole arm around Cas’s shoulders from behind, pulling him close. Cas stands up and grips Dean’s arm with both hands where it sits across his throat. Dean’s sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and the soft warmth of his skin hits Cas hard. This is real.
“Dean,” he breathes, little more than a whisper.
Dean kisses his neck, tickling brushes of lips against Cas’s hyper-sensitive skin. Dean widens his mouth and the kisses get wetter, Dean’s breath making the skin damp and hot, then moving on so the damp skin is chilled by the cooler gusts from the still open door. The tip of Dean’s tongue caresses the goosebumps that have covered Cas from top to toe and sends shivers cascading down his spine. He drops his head back onto Dean’s shoulder and Dean teases at Cas’s earlobe before drawing it into his mouth and suckling gently with a subtle scrape of teeth.
Cas moans quietly, closing his eyes and focusing on Dean and nothing but Dean.
Dean wraps his other arm around Cas’s waist and pulls him in even closer. Cas can feel Dean’s erection hard against his ass just before Dean turns him around, twisting to make sure he keeps hold of Cas’s hands like some slow-motion dance, and watching him silently while slowly stepping Cas backwards so he’s leaning against the crate.
“I’ve missed you,” Dean says.
Cas stares at Dean, gulping once, twice. The edge of the crate behind him pushes into his backside. He swallows and his voice when he speaks is shaky. “I’ve missed you too.”
Dean keeps staring at him, then smiles, lifting one of Cas’s hands to his mouth, he kisses the heel of Cas’s hand. “Good.”
Then he surges forward, taking Cas’s face in both hands and kissing forcefully, and hungrily. Instinctively, Cas opens his mouth to Dean’s insistent pressure and meets Dean’s tongue with his own.
Their hands roam everywhere, stroking and teasing, as they peel away each other’s clothes, cotton and polyester slide off shoulders and drop to the floor silently, pants are undone and kicked off, boots hit the metal hull with a dull clang. When they’re both naked, they slow down, hands slithering over bare skin, goosebumps, sweat, lingering over known scars and new ones, flicking at the hard nubs of each other’s nipples, tight and sensitive with arousal.
Dean takes Cas’s wrist and pulls him down to lie on their discarded clothing. “Don’t want you to get splinters in that sweet ass of yours,” he says with a grin.
Dean and Cas face each other on the floor, legs entwined, hips close, chests and faces apart so they can look at each other. Dean’s hands skim up and down the hard planes of Cas’s chest, down to his belly, over his arm. No-one has every touched Cas with the reverence that Dean touches him. Cas pushes his face into the hollow of Dean’s throat, licking at the beads of sweat that are forming there, wrapping his arms around Dean’s back and scraping his fingernails lightly up and down Dean’s spine.
Their hips roll together, cocks sliding against each other. Dean reaches for Cas’s chin and tilts his head up to kiss him.
They’ve never been loud through necessity and it seems old habits die hard. Cas whimpers low and quiet into Dean’s mouth as Dean thrusts his tongue in and out of Cas’s mouth, over his palette, under his tongue, over his bottom lip. Cas sucks on Dean’s lip and tongue when he can reach them. His hand slides down to Dean’s ass and taking a firm grasp he pulls Dean to him trapping their hard, hot, wet cocks between them.
Dean gasps as Cas rocks his hips up, pushing his mouth hard to Cas’s to smother the noise.
Dean puts a hand on Cas’s shoulder and pushes him down onto his back. It’s not the most comfortable place Cas has made love, but it’s not the most uncomfortable either. Cas sinks his head back to the floor and shuts his eyes as Dean works his way down Cas’s neck, his chest, his hips with his hands and mouth.
Dean spends an inordinately long time on Cas’s hips sucking in bruises while Cas clings desperately to the clothes under him bunching his hands into fists. Cas arches his back, lifting his pelvis up to meet Dean’s mouth and to remind him of his cock achingly hard and waiting for Dean’s attention. The wet tip, slick with pre-cum, nudges Dean on the cheek and Dean hums his appreciation, turning his head briefly to lap at it, the end of his tongue teasing into the slit.
Cas jerks in response, his mouth opens wide as he drags in desperate breaths. Cas pleads pathetically, moaning Dean’s name. He reaches up with one hand and pushes at Dean’s head, threading fingers through the short strands and gripping hard.
“Lift your knees and open your legs,” Dean says, almost a demand, his voice gravel deep.
Cas looks down along the line of his skin shining with sweat and pink with arousal to where Dean looks up at him, wrecked, face strained and flushed.
“I don’t have any - “
“I know… I don’t want to … I just - “ Dean slips one of his fingers into his mouth, brings it out coated in a thick sheen of saliva. “ - I just want to… I need to feel inside you Cas. I want to feel you tight and hot around my finger while I suck you off. I want to remember you. All of you.”
With his heartbeat suddenly racing, Cas nods jerkily and raises his knees letting them fall apart. Dean strokes the inside of Cas’s thigh, slightly rough hands smoothing over the soft, dark hairs slipping down further to fondle Cas’s balls. The sound of Dean’s breath almost drowns out the sound of Cas’s own. Dean takes his own cock in hand pumping slowly.
Cas drops his head back to the floor with a thud as Dean slides his hand past Cas’s balls and slides a wet finger tip into the cleft of his ass to rest against his anus. The next thing he feels is Dean’s tongue on his cock, licking around the head, suckling and teasing. It’s not enough but Cas knows there’s more to come. He forces himself to lie still, gritting his teeth against the want to buck up to meet Dean’s mouth.
Then there’s a push at his hole, a small intrusion, familiar but not. It’s been too long and he’s as tight as he was for his first time. That was Dean too.
He’s distracted from the discomfort of Dean’s finger by Dean’s lips wrapping around the head of his cock, tight, soft warmth. He shuts his mouth tight against the groan that begs to escape, then as he opens it to gasp a breation, Dean moves his finger and his mouth, sinks lower on Cas’s cock in one quick motion and eases his finger into Cas’s ass up to the second knuckle. It still burns a little but it’s a nice burn and the slipping, sucking heat of Dean’s mouth is more than making up for it.
Dean eases his finger in and out, moves his mouth up and down with increasing urgency. Cas can’t hear the slip-slap of Dean’s hand on his own cock any more only the slurp of Dean’s mouth and the sound of him breathing through his nose. Dean thrusts his finger in further in a regular rhythm, and pleasure, front and back, is all Cas feels, a building heat in his gut and back. Dean presses at his prostate and a gargled, “Dean,” is all Cas manages to get out as warning, just enough time for Dean to pull off as Cas’s cock as it jerks hard with his release. Dean’s hand on him, stroking him through his orgasm, makes him moan quietly and when he opens his eyes, Dean’s staring at him.
“You’re fucking beautiful when you come, Cas.”
Considering Dean’s still got his hand wrapped loosely around Cas’s softening cock, and his finger up Cas’s ass, it’s a little embarrassing that it’s Dean’s words that make Cas blush.
Dean is still hard but under Cas’s scrutiny he moves the hand on Cas’s cock to his own and grips it tight, tugging fast and furious. He moves his other finger inside Cas again too, pushing in and out in a way that has Cas gasping despite the fact his cock has no interest in another round just yet. Dean doesn’t stop staring and Cas looks right back, at Dean’s face, at his chest, at his cock head popping in and out of his fist as he jerks himself off. Cas clenches his ass around Dean’s finger and Dean’s eyes and mouth open wide in lustful surprise. Cas licks his lips and pushes back on Dean’s finger, lifting his ass up and down, fucking himself on Dean’s finger until Dean exhales in a huge, ecstatic sigh and hot cum hits Cas’s belly in spurts then drips as Dean gasps his way through his release.
Dean finally drops his head and closes his eyes as he squeezes the last drops of cum from his cock. Cas watches, watches Dean’s chest move in and out as he takes deep fast breaths, watches the trickle of sweat down Dean’s sternum, watches the small secret smile on Dean’s face. Then Dean looks up and realizes he’s being watched. Sheepishly, he takes his finger out of Cas’s ass.
Cas rummages around behind his head and eventually finds a sock amongst their clothes. He throws it to Dean and rolling onto his side, stretching his long limbs out, more relaxed than he’s felt in a long time, he watches Dean wipe his finger, his cock, then Cas’s belly and cock. Dean throws the sock to one side and stretches out beside Cas. His hand settles on Cas’s hip, fingers spread. Cas rests his hand on Dean’s shoulder, on an old scar there.
He sighs heavily. “Much as I enjoyed this, this isn’t what I came for,” he says.
Dean just nods. “I figured it wasn’t a booty call from what Gabriel said.”
“What did Gabriel tell you?” Castiel asks, stroking his hand slowly up and down Dean’s arm.
“Nothing really. Only that someone he knew wanted to hand over a smuggling operation. That’s all I know. I’m assuming the someone is you.”
“Yes.” Cas pauses, gathering his thoughts. “Gabriel’s my brother,” he says, “and I should probably start from the beginning.”
***
Cas puts on the landing lights, cuts the speed, sets the flaps at twenty degrees. He wipes the nervous sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. So far, so good.
The plane drops towards the airport and he watches the dials of the instruments with more intensity than usual. Anything to distract him from what’s going to happen when he lands, and then afterward, when Michael and Raphael find out what he’s done.
His passenger, a wiry man in a black suit, with the most unnerving smile Cas has ever seen, like he knows something no-one else knows and it’s not a good something, has stayed quietly in the hold the whole trip. Cas hasn’t seen him or heard him since they took off from Venezuela, choosing to stay in the cockpit out of the way in case he gave anything away. Even now, so close to the end of all this, and on the final approach, he feels sick and jumpy, and he knows it must show. He was always at his best on the front line where things are more black and white. He’s not much good at shades of gray.
He looks out of the front window. He can see Lawrence airport where Dean’s waiting, with his partner Sam, to arrest the passenger and impound the plane. He radios in his approach to the control tower and the dull monotone of the air traffic controller crackles back an acknowledgment.
Knowing Dean’s waiting for him settles him, gives him a sense of purpose he didn’t have before. He doesn’t know where they go after this but there’s something there at least to try for.
His hand hovers over the flaps eager to be down and to have this over with. When he can’t wait any longer, he drops the speed again and sets the flaps to forty degrees.
A noise behind him makes him jump and years of training and experience have him reaching for a weapon that on this civilian plane isn’t there. His hand balls into a fist around nothing but air. He looks sideways and the wiry man is dropping into the co-pilot’s seat. The man does up the seatbelt, eyes down briefly while he finds the buckle, then he looks up and meets Cas’s gaze and the smile that so unnerved Cas hours earlier is back.
“You look worried,” the man says. He crosses his arms calmly across his chest and turns to look out of the window at the approaching airport. “I think it’s time to put the undercarriage down, don’t you?”
Cas turns quickly to look out of the window and check the altimeter. Shit. He lowers the landing gear and checks his airspeed. He radios in to confirm his final approach to the tower, checks the parking brake is off. It’s automatic, he’s done it thousands of times before but the person next to him is throwing him off, radiating confidence and superiority and Cas wants to know why.
“Your brother Raphael asked me to have a little chat with you.”
Cas stills in his seat. He stops breathing, listens to the exaggerated sounds of the man next to him shifting in his seat to look at him. He knows. They know. They know what he’s planned and he’s suddenly scared, fearful, breathing fast and heavy, filled with dread not for himself but for Dean, waiting on the ground with more information than it’s safe for him to have. He swallows the lump in his throat.
“What about?” he forces out.
“They think you’ve been asking too many questions of your passengers. They’re worried about your health if that continues.”
Cas laughs, slightly manic. His brothers don’t know because he acted too fast for them. Relief floods him. With trembling hands he tweaks the instruments. They’re nearly on the ground now, he can see the end of the runway clearly.
“Is this amusing to you?” the wiry man asks, the first hint of doubt that Cas has heard from him filters through Cas’s relief. He smiles. He cuts the throttle and they hit the runway with a gentle bump, rushing along the tarmac. He puts the flaps on all the way and they slow. He can’t stop smiling.
“You’re too late,” he says and he nods out of the window towards the terminal building where three police cars and an unmarked black SUV wait. They’re still a long way away but Cas can make out Dean standing next to a small man in a suit and another man in a uniform taller than Dean himself. That must be Sam. Cas wants to meet Sam. Their speed reaches taxiing speed and on the instructions of the tower, Cas turns off the runway three hundred meters short of the terminal. He’s watching Dean through the window with a sense of joy, maybe premature but still there none-the-less. It’s over, it was so easy in the end.
The bang of the gun in the confined space, and the punch of the bullet hitting his side and smashing his ribs takes him by surprise. He throws his head back and wants to scream with the agony of it but he can’t get any air into his lungs. He doesn’t see or hear his passenger slamming on the parking brake half on and half off the runway. He doesn’t hear the man scrambling out of his seat. He doesn’t hear what the man on the radio says. All he hears is the sound of his own labored breathing and blood rushing in his ears. The pain is unbelievable. He should have known, should have known it was too easy. Tears run down his cheeks. At least Dean’s safe. He screws up his eyes and tries to focus. His seatbelt is holding him upright and for that at least he’s grateful. He opens his eyes, everything he looks at is blurred with tears and he’s so lightheaded he’s trying hard not to pass out. He looks out of the window to a hive of activity, cars rushing towards the plane. The sound of gunfire makes it through the pained haze of his mind and he narrows his eyes spotting the wiry man running across the tarmac in front of the plane, his weapon held out in front of him. The cars all stop and people scramble out of them, crouching down behind the vehicles.
Cas doesn’t want to move but he has to to see what’s going on. He screams when his ribs grate together, spots dance in front of his eyes. He can’t pass out. He mustn’t pass out. He inhales through his mouth, out through his nose. Does it again until his vision clears. His passenger seems to have a whole arsenal with him and Cas doesn’t stop to ponder how. The man’s firing a semi-automatic pinning down the cops who are firing back with handguns. Cas thinks he sees Dean crouching behind one of the cars, head ducked low.
This is not how it ends. This can’t be how it ends.
The man’s running down the taxi path straight in front of him, heading for the exit near the hangars. Cas turns his head to check the instruments, gasping with every movement. The engines are still on, throttle low, props lazily turning but making no traction against the parking brake. He grits his teeth. This is not how it ends.
He releases the parking brake and the plane moves but nowhere near fast enough, he gives it a little more throttle and there’s a lurch forward that has him gritting his teeth against the sharp pain. He spits the blood out of his mouth. The plane gets within fifty meters of the man before he notices, then he turns fast and starts shooting at the plane itself. Bullets hit the fuselage creating a cacophony of zings, pings and pops. Cas feels the thud as the plane hits its target and the quiet as the shooting stops. He lifts a hand to cut the engines, drops his head back into his seat and closes his eyes.
“Dean,” he murmurs into the empty cockpit. “This isn’t how it was supposed to end.” He gives up, everything fades away.
***
Cas wakes up in a hospital, dull and disoriented, and he supposes that waking up is better than not waking up but it’s not exactly pleasant. The side of his chest feels as if it’s shattered into a hundred pieces held together by sticky tape which maybe it is. He takes a shallow breath and winces.
When he opens his eyes the room’s empty and part of him is relieved but the other part is more than a little disappointed that Dean’s not there. He supposes he shouldn’t have been surprised though. Dean thought he was dead for a year and Cas made no effort to find him and correct that notion. Whatever made Cas think that Dean would come running back to him as if nothing had happened was obviously a flight of fancy.
He closes his eyes again, thinking the remnants of the drugs so obviously still in his system might pull him back into sleep, and shifts to get more comfortable, screwing up his face when the movement tugs at his injury.
“Typical.”
Cas’s eyes fly open and he turns too fast to the source of the voice. He takes a breath. Dean stands in the doorway. He looks tired, shadows obvious under his eyes but even so, a small smile curls on his lips.
“I spend three days sitting by your bed and the one time Sam persuades me to go for coffee you wake up.”
Cas smiles. “Sorry.”
This is how it ends.