This whole story is dedicated to W1ccan, for giving me the awesome prompt.


Dean was handcuffed to the table of a holding room.

After the first ten minutes of snapping a cap to be let out (no reply) and the next twenty cussing Detective Inspector Novak's momma (still no reply) he had spent fifteen trying to cheese it out of the nippers (this failed).

Dean refused to give in to the urge to pine after a chiv. If there was one thing he was good at, it was spitting his way out of a jam. Take that time Madhouse Micky had mistaken him for one of Lucio 'Loco' Angeli's hatchet men, for example. Yeah, so he'd taken several of Mama Harvelli's apple pies to the pan before he'd finally managed to sing his way out (Dean winced in memory of all the wasted pastry) but he had hit all sixes eventually.

Thing was, he'd never tried to make a clean sneak with one of the fuzz before.

'Get me a lawyer,' Dean said, the moment he heard the door open behind him. His words died in his throat as the flattie in the trench crossed round into his field of vision, and DI Novak fixed him with a stare. Blue eyes stood out against pale skin and dark hair so casually messy that Dean bet the egg spent hours fixing it in front of a mirror.

'Dean Winchester,' Novak's voice was rocks on more rocks, 'looks like you're in the cooler.'

'What's your beef, gravelly? You on three decks of luckies a day?' Dean attempted to lean back casually in his chair, but was jerked to a stop. Horsefeathers - he'd forgotten his wrists were still manacled to the table.

Castiel simply narrowed his peepers slightly in response and then cocked his noodle, which gave Dean the heebie-jeebies.

'You think I'm on gaspers? I'm a John. The voice comes with the job, sucker.'

Dean swallowed. For some reason when Castiel spoke he found himself getting a little warm around the collar.

'You don't really look like one of the bulls.' The gumshoe didn't, with his loose tie and five o'clock shadow, and to be honest, Dean didn't think elephant ears were supposed to be this keen. 'You're too much of a looker.'

Hold on. Did he just spill that?

He did not just spill that.

Castiel leaned over towards Dean, hands braced on the table. 'Cut the spooning, line, bank's closed.'

Dean reckoned he must have spilled it.

'Alright, Cas,' he drawled, 'This grilling's been swell, but I'm a busy guy. I'm done with the bull session,' Novak's poker face twitched slightly at the abbreviation of his name, 'so if we're done bumping gums…?' Dean held up his metal bound wrists pointedly.

Castiel sighed, then reached inside his trench to pull out file of papers. Dean's file. It was so full he almost felt proud.

'Three counts of Chinese squeezing, two soup jobs,' Castiel said, flicking lazily through the file, 'repeated chiselling, buncoing, and gloaming orchids worth a whole load of cabbage. Oh, and you were pinched in a juice joint with bootleg.' He slammed the papers down in front of Dean, never once breaking eye contact. 'You're not going anywhere, hombre.'

Jeepers, did the guy never blink? Dean swallowed and glanced down at the file, to see that mugshot from Little Rock prison taped on the front.

'You can't keep me, bluenose ,' he smirked, 'You've got no proof.'

'But we do have your machine,' Castiel was smirking right back.

Applesauce. Dean kept everything in the boot of his boiler.

'Now we're on the level,' said Castiel, leaning back and folding his arms. Dean licked his lip, stalling for time. Castiel had the bulge, and he knew it.

'Pass the ameche,' Dean said eventually, 'I need to get on the horn.'

'Be my guest.' Castiel gestured with one hand at the telephone which sat to one side on the table top.

'So you gonna undo me, Mrs. Grundy?'

'No,' said Castiel. 'Tell me the number and I'll dial.'

'It's lucky you're a sheik, Cas,' Dean muttered to himself. Of course, Castiel heard him.

'Close your head,' he said, voice entirely matter of fact, 'or I'll fill you full of lead.'

Dean bit down on his frustration, and told him the number. Cas slowly spun the dial with one finger, then raised the receiver to his own ear.

'Hey, what- '

Castiel held up a finger, and Dean trailed off.

'Sam Winchester? This is Castiel Novak… yes, he's with me.' He regarded Dean with an expression that could only be described as smug. 'Your patsy brother's hitting on all eight, actually. No, but you can chin.'

Castiel shoved the receiver between Dean's cheek and shoulder. 'Two minutes.'

'Dean? Where'd you lam off to?' Sam's concerned voice crackled in his ear. 'Is everything Jake? And who's this Castiel you're with? Is he another gigolo? What have I told you about skating around like some drugstore cowboy - '

'I'm at the clubhouse, you dumb mug,' Dean interrupted.

'Say what?'

'I'm in the can, Sammy,' Dean hissed, 'the piano man nailed me, and I'm sitting here on the rap like a fish. Now are you gonna get one of your shyster pals to help me blow this joint, before I end up in the bing doing a three-spot?'

Castiel was drumming his fingers slowly on the tabletop beside him. Dean shifted, he was trying to have a barber, and the bruno clearly hadn't heard of personal space.

'Sorry, but I need to see a man about a dog,' Sam said, sounding mildly tearful, 'After you left, Crowley got fogged and they took him away in the meat wagon. Bobby reckons he's hit the big one and he's lying in his wooden kimono, so we're heading down to Mama Harvelli's for the gigglejuice to get fried to the hat.'

'Crowley wasn't your pal,' Dean said incredulously, 'He kissed you on the schnozzle, remember?'

'He was just some poor boob, and now he's been pooped' Sam hiccupped, 'Plus… Ruby needs a shoulder to cry on.'

Dean ground his teeth. He could picture them all getting out on the roof without him, Ash and Jo racking up dead soldiers, while Gordon downed tiger milk and Ellen dished out endless rounds of pie. But since when was Sam into Ruby?

'Don't wait up,' Dean said sarcastically, 'but you better get your own sawbucks to pay for the hooch.'

'That's ducky then,' Sam sighed, 'I guess I'll go get splifficated.'

'Hold up,' said Dean, 'I'm still stuck here - '

But the other end of the line had already gone dead.

'I need a hair of the dog,' Dean groaned, as Castiel replaced the blower.

At that moment the door slammed open, and Dean twisted around to see some hard boiled jobbie enter the room. 'The jalopey is empty,' the big six said. 'Someone cleaned out the evidence.'

Thank god for Sammy's quick thinking. 'Looks like you're going to have to let me go, Cas,' Dean said, and he couldn't keep back another smirk.

Castiel stared at him, face impassive, but Dean was rewarded by a slight tightening of his lips. Strike one. The other pill exited, and Cas reached inside his coat again for the key to Dean's bracelets. Standing way closer than necessary, he took Dean's wrists in his hands to undo the nippers.

'Have a drink with me,' Dean found himself saying.

Castiel's hand round the key froze in mid turn. 'Maybe you haven't crabbed, but I'm with the heat.'

Dean spread his hands. 'And I'm a law abiding citizen. You don't know from nothing, remember?'

'Give me one good reason why I should put up with you barbering on all evening.' Castiel sounded sore, but from the glint in his eye Dean reckoned he'd slayed him.

Time to dial up the Winchester charm to eleven.

He raised his eyebrows at Castiel. 'Do you really need a reason?'

Castiel ranked Dean, and wet his top lip thoughtfully. 'I guess I could nibble one.'

'Copacetic,' Dean smiled.

'Not some hash house,' said Cas, 'It'd better be spiffy.'

'I know just the dive,' said Dean, and he couldn't wait to see Mama Harvelli's map when he asked her to put on the Ritz for a button.

'And you're getting the rhino.'

'Cas,' said Dean, standing up and clapping a mitt on his shoulder, 'You're the bees knees.'

Then all the wind was knocked out of him as Castiel slammed him into the wall, fists tight around the lapels of his flogger, and face inches from Dean's.

'One final condition,' he growled. 'Call me that monicker again, and I'll paste you in the beezer. Savvy?'

'Cas, you're the…cat's pajamas?' Dean hazarded.

Castiel raised an eyebrow dangerously.

'Okay, okay,' Dean raised his hands in surrender, 'No more nicknames.'

Castiel nodded, satisfied, but didn't seem to have any intention of moving. They were still squashed together against the wall, and Dean couldn't help his gaze flicking down to Castiel's mouth. Cas seemed to be struggling to breath smooth too.

Yep, they were totally goofy for eachother. Well, at least then tonight was going to be a whoopee not an oilcan.

'Cash or check?' Dean risked.

Castiel brought his lips forward to Dean's, and Dean knew he'd turned into a tomato when felt himself go all jingle-brained.

'Cash,' said Cas, pulling away. 'Now scram.'

'Pipe you later,' said Dean, grinning like some dumb Dora on prom night. He scrammed.


That's all, folks! I hope you enjoyed it. This was my first ever Destiel fic, and my first ever AU – I actually had an awful lot of fun. Cripes did adding in the slang take a long time. :P