Title:Two Faced Man
Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel
Rating: PG
Summary: As it turns out, strolling around nonchalantly in broad daylight wearing the same face as a missing person is not the greatest of ideas. In which Dean and Sam are reminded forcibly that angels are not Nice Guys, and that there's more than one way to give up your life for the cause.
Word Count: 2,186

Warning: A little bad language, courtesy of Dean.

Notes: Takes place sometime after 4.16 prior to 4.20. Slight AU. A quick something I wrote in about three hours 'cause I liked the idea and also because I was getting stuck with the Gen BB. Woe.

I was always walking one step ahead
Or so I thought until the monster crawled into my bed
Rewind and erase that shocked look on your face
'cause your Mona Lisa is dead

- Delta Goodrem, "Mistaken Identity"

"Jimmy!"

When it became obvious that the rather agitated dude in the business suit was hailing their table, Dean gave Sam a questioning look, which Sam returned with a shake of his head: No, not one of our aliases. Dean visibly relaxed; with the trail of dead bodies left in their wake, one couldn't be too sure of avoiding the many people they'd inevitably pissed off or baffled during the course of their investigation.

But then Castiel raised his head, a flicker of interest in his eyes. There was no sign in his face that the man posed any sort of danger; just that calm, intent expression that never failed to discomfit. It certainly worked on the newcomer, stuttering his steps and finally halting them a foot away from their booth. He looked perfectly ordinary; neatly parted hair, handkerchief in his suit pocket and striped knotted tie. Dean reached for the knife hidden inside his jacket anyway, curling his hand around the hilt. "Can we help you?" he asked, all nice and friendly. It probably wasn't a demon, or Cass would have jumped up and burned it right out of its body without giving two shits that he would be doing it in front of half the diner; but then it wasn't like the other options were that attractive, He stifled a groan: please don't let it be an angel. At least he was allowed to stab demons.

"Uh…" The man wavered, looking from one face to the other, before rallying again with a sudden surge of vigor. "Yeah, you sure can!" He jabbed one finger accusingly at Castiel, who reacted at the sudden intrusion into his personal space with the same blankness that he greeted practically everything not an immediate threat to himself or his charges. "What the hell are you doing here, Jimmy? Hanging around with your buddies, not lifting one finger to let Amelia know that you're okay—did it even cross your mind that she might be worried sick, that, God help her, she still cares about a guy like you? What's your problem, man?"

To which Castiel responded, simply and concisely, as though it was so bloody obvious: "You are mistaken. I am not Jimmy Novak."

Dean felt as though he had been pole-axed. This is a vessel, Castiel's words came back to him from three months ago. He had thought he understood it then, as possession pure and simple no matter how Castiel dressed it up with pretty words; but somewhere along the way he had to admit to himself that fact had somehow fallen by the wayside. The dorky trenchcoat, the loosely hanging tie and mussed-up hair had become to Dean pure essence of Cass, as much him as the douchey attitude and the freaky shadow-wings.

Yet it was Jimmy Novak with the terrible taste in clothing and, what was rapidly becoming clear, a girl waiting for him at home. A girl from whom Castiel had, for all intents and purposes, stolen a man she loved.

Yep; just like demon possession. Angels are dicks. In other news, water is wet and the sun goes from east to west. Anything new? But this was new, this feeling in his chest like someone had punched him right through the heart. He'd been starting to think that maybe Cass was different, maybe something more than a de facto ally in the war against the Devil. Yeah, and maybe pigs would sprout wings and fly.

Sam's face was unreadable. But then he always had had a higher opinion of angels than Dean did before this whole mess. Finding out that the prayers he'd been sending up all his life were reaching jerks like Uriel had been a revelation, and not in the good way.

The man's jaw dropped open in outrage. "So who are you, then?" he demanded, eyebrows descending like the wrath of God. "His identical twin?"

Castiel tilted his head, faintly confused. "Jimmy is an only child," he answered, after appearing to give the matter some thought. "As for who I am, you need not know more save that I am not the man you seek."

"Damn." The man breathed out, his shoulders slumping. The anger in his face and stance drained away like air from a leaky balloon. "You're serious, aren't you? I'm sorry to say this, but Amelia should have had you committed first chance she got. Well, Jimmy, or whoever you think you are now, let me tell you: I'm not leaving this place without you. And if your friends have any sort of decency, they'd help me manhandle your ass through the door."

Part of Dean immediately leaped at taking Jimmy's friend up on the implied offer, but then Sam, ever the mediator, started to talk, low and soothing. "We had no idea," he said earnestly. "Even so, is this a good idea? Jimmy obviously had his reasons when he left—"

"Jimmy departed of his own free will, in order to carry out God's work," Castiel interjected in a disastrous combination of incredibly poor timing and his usual lack of tact. "Your concern for him does you credit, Roger Harrison, but it is completely misplaced."

Dean felt absolutely no guilt in kicking Castiel's leg, even when the angel's eyebrows shifted upward minutely in surprise. "Cass. Shut up. Now," he hissed.

"You heard the man," Harrison said, the look on his face an uncomfortable mix of pity and disgust. "Fine, you guys didn't know you were palling around with a complete cuckoo. But now you know. Even forgetting that he could be a danger to others, his wife and kid need closure. He's been MIA for almost four months. Four months, Jimmy! And you couldn't even be bothered to pick up a phone?"

"I am not Jimmy Novak," Castiel repeated, as if that settled the matter. To him it clearly did. Dean fought the urge to smack him on the grounds that he'd only be hurting the poor bastard that Castiel was wearing as opposed to the angel himself. "You know, even a goodbye would be nice, Cass," he hinted strongly.

Castiel slowly turned his head, fixing Dean with the patented angelic thousand-yard stare. "Jimmy will be restored to his family when the war is over, Dean. Saying goodbye would only be premature and, at best, pointless."

Harrison threw his hands up in disgust. "I'm done with this shit," he announced abruptly, reaching out to grab Castiel's shoulder. Sam jumped onto his feet in alarm, obviously seeing nothing but grief down this particular road, while Dean seized Castiel's other shoulder. "Don't hurt him," he whisper-shouted, only to be rewarded with a glare. "I do not hurt innocents," Castiel said, during which Harrison tugged ineffectually with a look of almost comical surprise.

What about Jimmy, huh, Dean opened his mouth to say, but then Castiel twisted around in his seat and planted his magic fingers on Harrison's forehead. The man's eyes widened; then he was crumpling, held only upright by Castiel's grip. Some people glanced over curiously, but whether it was Castiel's angelic mojo or his tax accountant getup at work, they didn't come over to check up on what Dean personally felt were deeply suspicious circumstances. Fortunately, because Dean didn't think he was capable of dealing with anyone civilly for at least the next half hour.

"What did you do to him?" he hissed.

"I simply erased the memory of our encounter from his mind," the angel responded as casually as if he'd done nothing more important than tape over a movie. "He will wake, safe and sound in his hotel and remember nothing. We will speak again, Dean."

"Wait!" Dean yelled right before the sound of wings unfurling filled the diner, shaking the blinds and swaying the hanging lights. He kicked at the newly empty spot where Castiel had stood with his unconscious burden, fuming. "Son of a bitch!"

Sam was wise enough not to comment.

Castiel showed up again the next day in the backseat of the Impala. While Dean was driving. This did absolutely nothing to improve his temper. "Thanks for dropping in, I know I was getting worried," he muttered after his heart had quit trying to make a break for it through the windshield and Sam had put the gun away, luckily without having blasted any holes into the upholstery.

Castiel ignored this as he had ignored all previous attempts at sarcasm. "I am glad to see you are already en route to the site we spoke of the night before. The demons will most likely begin the ritual to break the seal in—"

"Whoa!" Dean took his eyes away from the road to glare at the angel for as long as he dared. "Is this all you're going to say about last night?" and it had to be asked, never mind that, in retrospect, it sounded vaguely dirty. Maybe he shouldn't have put it that way.

Castiel looked back at him, head tilted like a curious bird's. "There is nothing more to be said. The matter has been resolved."

"Only to your satisfaction." Dean felt the beginnings of a really ugly headache coming on. "What about the wife and kid that guy was going on about? You think they feel it's all been resolved?"

"It is important that I be able to act as a mediator between you and Heaven, Dean," Castiel said, his eyes narrowing in the first sign of anger that this whole mess had drawn from him. "You after all, are the Righteous Man," and the fervor with which he pronounced the title should have embarrassed Dean if he wasn't already seriously pissed off at the angel. "Jimmy, too, recognized this necessity and gave his consent. It was his decision to make whether you approve of it or not."

"So, do I have to respect the decision of Uriel's vessel too, then?" Dean asked pointedly. "Because it was pretty clear he didn't get told the full story. Forgive me if I don't swallow the pile of bull you're feeding me, Cass. Because that's all it is: bull."

"Then what do you propose, Dean?" Castiel asked, his voice cold. "That I leave this vessel right here, right now? There are other angels who will be glad to fulfill my function. Do not expect from them, however, the level of tolerance I have already shown you." Here he broke off his usual stare and looked away, uncharacteristically, at the road rushing away under the Impala's wheels. "It takes time to get used to your…peculiarities."

"Dean…" Sam said softly, a clear warning.

"Peculiarities. Thanks ever so much." Dean snorted, gripping the steering wheel until the backs of his knuckles turned white. "So what are you saying, it's all my fault that you went vessel shopping in the first place? Because I wasn't equipped with the special angel-proof eyes and ears?

"It was certainly a factor, yes," Castiel acknowledged. "However, Jimmy is simply another soldier called to battle, like you. Unlike you, he has an angel's promise that his family will be safe in exchange for his service. It is an assurance that few can enjoy in a time of war."

"Keeping innocents safe—well, congratulations on doing your job, Cass," Dean shot back. He snapped his fingers. "Oh wait—it also involves wiping whole towns off the map just to get at one teeny little witch inside. My bad, I forgot."

"My orders—"

"You know what? Screw your orders," Dean snarled. "Screw them, and screw you too. Just give us what we need and vamoose, okay? You don't have to pretend to justify yourself." He was inwardly impressed by how his voice remained steady for the next bit. "You don't have to pretend to be our friend."

Castiel regarded him silently for a moment, then reached out with and touched Dean lightly on the forehead. In the next instant he was gone, with Dean blinking the wind from his eyes . "Fuck," he muttered at what was quickly becoming his number one most hated angel power. His head was throbbing for real now, bursting at the seams with sudden knowledge and damn, Castiel should know by now Sam was the researcher of the Winchester partnership—

"Great," Sam said. "You just chased away your guardian angel. We better hope that he comes back."

"He deserved it," Dean said darkly.

"He did have a point, Dean," Sam said in his most annoyingly reasonable voice. "Just saying no to Castiel probably wouldn't have kept Novak safe from the war. As it is, he received something nice out of the whole deal."

"The ends justify the means, huh, Sammy?" Dean glanced at Sam out of the corner of his eye and was gratified, in a mean, petty way, to see Sam's shoulders tense. "Don't be so heartbroken. It's only a matter of time before Cass pops up again like that ex who never goes away."

"How can you be so sure?" Sam asked.

"Easy." Dean stared at the road ahead and breathed out, slowly. "Because his fucking orders will tell him to."

-end-

Ending Notes: I can't remember whether Roger's surname ever was given, so I made one up. If there was an official name please let me know =D