Mr. & Mr. Winchester

London

After a quick stop in New York to refuel the plane, the boys were finally on the way to London. The plane would land at the London City Airport, where the two Interpol detectives would meet them. Gabriel had called Castiel during their brief layover, asking how the trip was going so far, and if Dean was being his usual annoying self. Castiel told him the only reason he wasn't was because he was knocked out from his meds. Castiel enjoyed the quiet, save for Dean's soft snores almost the entire way to London. Just like every other thing about the man, they annoyed the hell out of him. Luckily the seven hour flight just seemed to, excuse the pun, fly by as Castiel read through his case notes. It was all pretty standard stuff, well, as standard as any case with Hell could get. Random tips from intel, vague details, pretty much knowing little to nothing about what Hell was actually doing.

It wasn't until the plane landed that Dean finally woke up. Castiel was immediately ready to start grilling him about the files, wanting to make sure that Dean was ready, but they were quickly led out to the airstrip and into the bustling airport. Dean had grabbed Castiel's hand somewhere in that mess, already going into 'husband' mode. Castiel had seen, or rather been forced to witness, Dean undercover in a married role, so it felt oddly familiar. Castiel didn't like it.

"You know, I never took you as a hyphenating kind of person," Dean said with a small smirk as he looked at Castiel from the corner of his eye. Castiel fought the urge to roll his eyes, opting for a forced smile instead, hoping that it looked convincing enough and not like he was being forced here against his will, which he kind of was.

"I didn't think I was either, I thought you'd be the hyphenating kind," Castiel replied, laughing slightly to make it seem like they were having actual banter like a married couple would. That was always the deal, you never knew who was watching. You always had to be on high alert when you were undercover. And that pissed Castiel right the fuck off since he was partnered with Dean fucking Winchester of all people. When he used to be a field agent, he had no problem at all with these kinds of things, but it was just Dean that made it that much harder.

"Think those are our guys?" Dean asked, nodding over to two men standing near the baggage claim. One of them was (way) taller with black, curly hair and piercing blue eyes, while the man next to him was shorter with blond hair and darker eyes. Both of them looked fairly pissed off, but their body language told Castiel that they actually were. But what Dean's A+ observation skills told him about them being 'their guys' was the sign with the name "Ackles" written on it in sprawling cursive. It was actually quite pretty, Castiel caught himself thinking.

"No shit, Sherlock," Castiel told him with a slight huff, leading him towards the two men. The shorter man nudged the taller when he saw Castiel and Dean approaching them.

"Misha, it's great to see you," the taller man said with a warm smile, clapping a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "And Jensen, it's been ages, man!"

"Hey, man, it's been too long," Dean said, returning the warm smile and pulling the tall man into a bro-hug of sorts.

"Call me Martin, the tall bloke is Benedict," the shorter man told Castiel in a hushed voice as he pulled him into a hug as well. "We'll fill you in when we get to the car, it's out front." Castiel nodded in understanding, putting on a happy front like they were old friends, which they were supposed to be.

"Thanks for picking us up, Martin, hope it wasn't too much trouble," Castiel told him as they broke their hug.

"It was nothing, trust us. Right, Benedict?" The short man, Martin, said, looking up to Benedict.

"Really, it was our pleasure. What else are friends for?" Benedict joked, the warm smile returning to his face. "Come on, I'll take your bags." With that, Benedict reached for Castiel and Dean's luggage, pulling the suitcases along behind him as Martin chattered along like an eager child. It was mindless chatter like you'd expect from a friend or relative that you haven't seen in ages: work stuff, family life, a recent vacation, things of that sort. It wasn't until the group was safely locked into the car and driving that the facade dropped. "Agent Winchester, Agent Novak, it's a pleasure to meet you," Benedict said, turning slightly to face them from the passenger's seat.