"What do you make of it?" Henricksen asks, rocking onto the balls of his feet and back to his heels, hands clasped behind his back as he watches Dean inside the interrogation room. Dean's eyes are focused on the mirror, barely paying attention to Pike and his questions, eyes tracking back and forth like he can find Castiel through the glass.

The other man sighs, shaking his head and pressing his lips together. "Dean Winchester shows classic symptoms of paranoid schizophrenia, with a narcissistic personality disorder. What brief instances I have seen have shown a predisposition towards violence and anger. He's delusional, and sure of himself, but in the brief time I have seen and known the man, I have begun to see him deteriorate at an alarming rate. I have seen him hallucinate several times in my presence. But," Castiel pauses, cocking his head to one side, "I would not have thought him capable of this. Has he had any blackout periods?"

"Pike's gotten nothing out of him," Henricksen says, rubbing the back of his head and looking with an unimpressed expression towards the hapless detective. Dean seems intent on ignoring him, barely giving the crime scene photos a second glance beyond confirming that it is in fact Lisa's body, and he recognizes the second woman as the woman from Charlie Bradbury's video footage, and Castiel's dinner. It's all so tightly linked and he wants to laugh because it's too fucking perfect – Castiel posing as a Goddamn Special Agent to throw him under the fucking bus. How could he have been so blind?

"Perhaps I should talk to him," Castiel suggests, tilting his head to one side, pursing his lips.

"He verbally threatened you, Novak," Henricksen replies with a raised eyebrow, "and you want to go one-on-one with the guy? You just said he leans towards violence, right? Somehow this 'delusion' you mention has put you on his radar."

"He is physically restrained," comes Castiel's reply, his mouth twisting in thought. "I would only say that any interview I conduct with Dean without his lawyer is unmonitored. It would potentially violate a doctor-patient confidentiality clause should this come to trial."

"We have the evidence," Henricksen argues, earning a dark look from the other man. "We've got him on leaving Williams' murder site and his DNA's all over Braeden's place. This is in the bag."

"Motive and means go hand in hand, detective." Castiel turns his gaze back onto Dean, who has given up trying to find him within the one-way mirror, and is instead delicately fidgeting with the edges of the photographs, eyes bright with emotion and upper lip twisted back in disgust. "Without one, the other is too easily weakened and broken apart. If you want both, I suggest you let me talk to him."

Henricksen sighs, throwing his hands up in the air. "Fine," he mutters, then leans forward and presses against the intercom. "Pike, get outta there. Novak wants a turn." As soon as he hears the name, Dean lifts his head, eyes narrowed and focused on the only door to the room in readiness, shoulders stiff and drawing in tight, fist clenching under the table.

Castiel follows Henricksen out of the observation room and around to the door leading to Dean. "You have fifteen minutes," Henricksen says sternly, jabbing a finger in Castiel's direction and waiting for the other man to nod before he hums, turning on his heel and striding away, Pike quick to follow.

As soon as they are out of side, Castiel lets the stiff posture melt away, a small smile on his face as he steps into the interrogation room and shuts the door behind him. He is turned away at first; unable to see Dean, but he can hear the man's breathing and feel his angry glare on the back of his neck. It's a rush, when he turns around, to see Dean so angry. He's breathtaking in his anger.

"You…" Dean cuts himself off, then, glaring downward, and Castiel has to admire his restraint, because anything he says can and will be held against him, et cetera and so forth.

He smiles more widely, coming to sit down opposite Dean, his legs stretched out so that one brushes against Dean's calf and the younger man visibly flinches, gritting his teeth and pulling his leg away. "Pretty smart what you did here," he mutters, gesturing towards the photos that got left behind, to the smear of yellow paint that exactly matches that outside his door along Lisa's front window, the ruffled sheets with the night's wet spot still barely visible, the way her blood had sprayed across everything but what would mark him as present at the murder. "But killing your own partner…" He shakes his head. "That's cold."

"I didn't kill her, Dean – you did, remember?" He laughs at Dean's glare. "It was always within the plan," Castiel replies coolly, sitting back and earning a surprised look from Dean. "We're not being monitored here, Dean," he adds, gesturing around them. "I'm a Special Agent."

"That business card I saw," Dean murmurs, licking his lips when Castiel tilts his head, "in your coat pocket. That was Jimmy's, wasn't it?" Abruptly, Castiel's eyes darken, his jaw clenching tight, and Dean bares his teeth in a grin when he sees that he's struck a nerve. "You slaughtered your own brother, your sister-in-law and niece. Your high school friends, Lisa, and I guess whoever-the-fuck Meg was. What for?"

"I did not kill him," Castiel hisses, and Dean leans back, almost startled at the force of Castiel's glare. "Or Claire. Or my friends."

"You expect me to believe you?" Dean challenges, eyebrows raised. "Prove your innocence, then. Give me a name."

The other man cocks his head to one side. "I can give you two. But not right now."

"Why the Hell not?"

Castiel sighs, shaking his head, and looks down at the photographs spread across the table between them. "I'll admit, I have a bit of a…jealousy problem," he says, cocking his head to one side. "I saw you leaving that harlot's home. It made me angry." Wordlessly he reaches forward, taking a picture of Meg from the table and pulling it towards him, idly turning it over by the corners in his hands. "You're going to rot in here, Dean," he says, one corner of his mouth quirking up high, eyes flicking up to meet Dean's briefly. "I left enough evidence in there to put you away with ease." Their eyes meet again, anger and triumph clashing together in the air. "I'm almost disappointed. You had such a legend preceding you; I'd have thought you'd be better."

"I will hunt you down," Dean whispers, fingers curling against the table. "If I have to serve time, or post bail, or break out myself, I will find you. I'll make you pay for this."

Castiel grins widely, eyes brightening. "If you get out of this," he says softly, leaning forward, "I would be offended if you didn't. I enjoy playing our games, Dean – really I do. And…" His eyes rake over Dean, predatory and sharp enough to make Dean shiver, his fingers digging dully into his injured hand. "I enjoy many other aspects about our relationship as well. You and I could go very far together, Dean. I could make you into something truly incredible."

Dean snorts, shaking his head and sitting back. "I don't want anything from you."

"You're breaking," Castiel insists, tone low and fervent and almost pretty damn convincing. He's a spider within in web, Dean just managing to skirt the edge. "I can see it in you, fracturing apart from your core. You need a center, a guide. I could be that for you."

"I'm not going to be your pawn," Dean growls, eyes narrowing in anger. "Whatever daddy issues or brother issues or whatever the fuck it is you're working through, don't you dare try and draw me into it. I want nothing to do with you."

Castiel smiles, pushing himself to his feet, and walks around the table so that he's standing near Dean. Dean's fingers clench tight, wanting to lash out, to hurt the man, but that sure as Hell wouldn't help his case and he wouldn't be able to do enough significant damage to Castiel in the time he has. He settles for glaring, tense and stiff when Castiel leans down and rakes a hand through his hair, tilting his face up for a harsh, biting kiss against his mouth. He doesn't fight it, but he sure as Hell doesn't participate either, snarling low against Castiel's teeth when he finally wrenches his head away, hears Castiel gasp and chuckle lowly against his ear.

"You are a beautiful creature," he whispers, petting through Dean's hair again. "Like a prowling wolf." Then, he straightens, turning to leave. "I'll see you on the other side, Dean. I hope you'll at least make it interesting. After all, I'd hate to have to give you extra incentive – that young woman Sam is dating; she seems so lovely and innocent." Dean tenses again, frozen to his core, eyes widening when he looks up at Castiel. "And Sam himself…well, if you didn't see me coming, I'm sure he won't either."

"You son of a bitch," Dean gasps, unable to believe that Castiel would go that far for what he wants – the others had motive, he knows now; Lisa and Meg were to get a reaction out of him, to get him in enough trouble that Castiel had him cornered. Sam and Jess… "Don't you dare touch them!" he yells, struggling against his bonds as Castiel laughs and lets the door close behind him. "You son of a bitch! I'll kill you if you touch him, I swear to God!"

He can almost hear Castiel's laughter in his head, as he breathes deep and tries to rack his brain to think of a way to get himself out of here, out of this. He needs bail, needs a way out, and needs an opportunity to think, God, just think…

He can't afford bail, if he'll even get it. Castiel could tell them anything about him, and they'll believe it. Something is nagging at him, though – something will go wrong, it has to. They can't pin this on him; they know he would never do something like this. Right?

He looks up at the sound of the door opening again, and finds Pike shuffling in, looking nervous and worried and guarded. "Pike," he whispers, urgently, "you gotta believe this wasn't me, man. I would never do something like this!"

Pike doesn't answer, merely presses his lips together and looks down at the folders in his hands.

Dean growls, slamming his hand on the table. "Damn it, man! We've worked together for years – you know I would never hurt anyone -."

"Dean," Pike sighs, running a hand through his hair and then over his face. He closes his eyes, heaving a sigh again, before taking his seat in the chair opposite. "I do believe you." He doesn't pause long enough to take in Dean's startled expression, before shoving the folders towards him. Along the edges Dean can see the names of Blake, Bradbury, Braeden, Milton and Williams. "I did some digging of my own, and I think you were onto something. There's too much evidence here against you – and that only happens when someone's sloppy as shit, which I know you aren't, or when someone's being framed." Dark eyes flash up to meet Dean's, guarded and stony. "I believe it wasn't you. I'm gonna get you out of this, man."

"How long will that take?" Dean asks, relieved to know that at least one person in this shitstorm believes him, but still tense because Castiel will walk for this and that means Sam and Jess could be in danger.

"I'll put pressure on the D.A., try and get bail posted on you. Could be as early as tomorrow."

Dean shakes his head. "That's not soon enough," he says, scrubbing his nails across his scalp. "He's gonna go after people while I'm in here, Pike – my brother and his girlfriend, anyone I've talked to. He knows I'm onto him."

"You know who it is?" Pike asks, and Dean nods, pressing his lips together. "Who?"

Dean shakes his head. "I can't tell you that," he whispers. "All the evidence I got's circumstantial. I need a confession, otherwise my tip will let him know you guys are onto him too. You just gotta get me outta here, Pike. Please."

Pike nods, standing. "Don't let me down, Winchester," he says before picking up the photographs and rushing out, leaving the files behind. Dean stares at them for a moment, frowning and tilting his head and wondering why Pike would leave them behind. Maybe he expects Dean to leave him a clue – maybe there's more in these ones that Dean missed before: Pike's own notes or extra details left out of even his copies.

Curious, he opens the one on Amelia Milton and Claire Novak, grimacing at the crime scene photos. How could someone do that to their own flesh and blood, Dean would never know.

His fingers curl over the frank, bullet-pointed list of Claire Novak's autopsy report. The bullet hadn't been what had killed her, but brutal blunt force trauma to her ribs and stomach. Son of a bitch had beaten the shit out of the little girl, leaving her to bleed out from the inside while he cut up her mother right in front of her. Fucking murderous psychopath.

"I will get you," Dean whispers to no one in particular, and when he looks back up at the one-way mirror, he sees the wolf, baring its teeth back angrily and staring right back at Dean, ears flat against its skull, hackles raised, ready to pounce. "One way or another."

The wolf seems to snarl in assent.

The bail is posted at five hundred thousand dollars, and a surrender of Dean's passport.

Dean can't afford that kind of money. That fact doesn't seem to stop an unnamed officer from coming to his holding cell thirty-one hours later, dangling a set of keys and playfully telling Dean that he's been let off his leash.

When he gets home, he finds an envelope taped to his door, and he shoves inside and opens it. Inside is a British passport with his face, the name Jacob Grey in bold on the inside. His upper lip curls back in a snarl when he finds the note attached, unraveling it swiftly.

Consider me your rich uncle who broke you free, it reads. Argentina has no extradition laws. Don't disappoint me. Love, Castiel.

Dean reads it again. And again, and again until the words begin to blur together and his shoulders are shaking with near-hysterical laughter. Of course. Of-fucking-course. Immediately he runs down to the kitchen, setting fire to the note and putting it into the sink. Sam is nowhere in sight, but when Dean goes up to his room he finds his little brother's huge shape in the blankets, and can hear him snoring. It doesn't smell like blood.

Even then Dean flicks on the light, just long enough to disturb Sam so that he rolls over and grimaces against the lightness, rolling onto his other side. So he's still alive. Dean has to believe that Jess is too. If she isn't, Dean will find out about it, and he'll gut Castiel like a fucking fish if he has to.

He still has his phone, and when he pulls up Castiel's number and texts a quick, sure I'm after you, he almost doesn't expect a response. He's still packing when his phone vibrates with a short, sweet I'll be waiting.

"Look at me," he mutters to no one in particular, "chasing down a man like a lovesick psychopath."

He doesn't leave a note for Sam – he can't. Too many questions, too many things to tie Sam to him and he can't drag his brother in like that. He loves Sam, and to protect him that means he'll have to wait this one out. He'll come home eventually, and consequences aside, he will make sure Castiel serves time for what he's done. Hell, some small part of him hopes that the bastard will get a lethal injection for his trouble.

Inside of his car, he grimaces at the feel of something hard and plastic sticking into his thigh. Moving, he feels out for the thing and brings it to his eyes, seeing that it's a worn-out cassette player. On it, in Castiel's familiar scrawl, are the words 'Jimmy and Claire'.

He almost doesn't want to listen. But, turning the key in the ignition, he puts the cassette in and pushes Play.

"Cas – oh, fuck, Cas, she's after us. She figured us out. No, no Claire, sweetie, just calm down, okay? I'm trying to talk to your uncle – Cas -." There's the sound of tires swerving, a young girl's startled cry. "Just, fuck, please believe what I told you, okay? Amelia's gone, I don't know where to find you, please, please be okay man – go find Charlie or Sarah, they'll help you. Fuck, Claire, stop!"

The tape abruptly ends. Dean rewinds it and listens again, and again.

Then, he sits back, and breathes out.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he takes it out and looks at the new text from Castiel; That was the last time I heard his voice. I could have saved Claire, at least, but someone got to her first.

I need you, Dean. I need someone with your eyes.

Dean's mouth twists, and he turns the car on fully, pulling it out from the covered awning where she's been living for the past few months – in a city like this, it's easier to walk. Dean doesn't even remember if it's in his name, or his dad's.

Argentina has no extradition laws. Castiel knew when he had finished playing the tape – he's probably watching right now.

Argentina has no extradition laws. Castiel wants him to go there – deliberately dropped the hint. Argentina. Croatia, too. And Dubai.

He has a passport. Castiel has a contact that can get him one – maybe it was one of the last things he made Charlie do before he killed her. If he killed her.

Dean sighs, ejecting the tape, and instead puts in a Metallica cassette, turning it up loud. Too many variables – he'll need to find a new base, narrow his search. The world is a lot bigger than his fair city, and he has no idea what the time limit on it is.

No sense getting lost inside of his own head. He has a Hunt to begin.

The End (for now).