Take Out The Gunman

7

Dean woke the next morning with a pounding headache. He sat on the edge of the bed, his palms pressed against his eyes, and sighed heavily. His dreams had been filled with images of the evening Castiel had been shot, so he hadn't slept well. The detective pushed himself to his feet as his alarm started buzzing. He reached over to turn it off and ambled toward his en-suite and the shower.

After a hot shower, he readied himself for work and went into the kitchen. Two cups of coffee and several Tylenol helped to ease the pain in his head. His eyes shifted toward Sam's bedroom as he sipped his coffee: he hoped the kid had gotten some sleep and wasn't curled up on the floor of the closet again. He understood the young man's apprehension with his new surroundings; still, he wanted him to be comfortable.

Dean grabbed a notepad and ink pen that was laying nearby on the counter and scribbled a note to Sam, telling him to make himself at home and eat anything he wanted. He added his cell phone number at the bottom, in case Sam needed him. The detective finished the bagel he was eating and his coffee and left the apartment, locking the door securely behind him.

He was sitting behind his desk a while later, staring at Sam Wesson's file, when someone nudged his shoulder. He glanced up, startled, to see Garth standing behind him. The man was holding two cups of coffee, and handed him one.

"Morning," the slender man greeted, moving to seat himself at his own desk, which was across from Dean's, "How was your weekend with your new house guest? How's Castiel?"

"Cas is good," Dean answered, taking a sip of his coffee, "Thanks for this. Needed it. Sammy's doing – well, he's doing okay, given the circumstances."

Garth shot a glance toward the Captain's office, then leaned across his desk, "I heard the ADA wants to pull Sam into court to testify against Winchester, for the kidnapping charges."

Something close to fury welled up in Dean at the words, and a muscle in his jaw tensed. Garth noticed it and pulled back slightly.

"I don't know how accurate it is," the other man admitted, "Bess heard her talking to her assistant about it Friday evening. She had a family thing come up and forgot to mention it to me until this morning. Talbot might have changed her mind." Bess was Garth's wife and worked in the District Attorney's office as a receptionist.

Dean tapped his fingertips against Sam's file, his brow furrowed. "Winchester confessed, so Sam's testimony isn't necessary. Talbot's not getting her claws into that kid so that she can parade herself – and him – in front of the press. She can damn well find another way to make a name for herself."

Both men looked over as an officer approached Dean's desk. "Winchester," the woman greeted with a warm smile, "How's Novak?"
"He's good, Jodi," he answered, taking the files she handed over to him, "He said to tell you hello, and he expects more of those almond cookies soon."
Jodi Mills laughed and promised, "I'll bake some more for him before the weekend."
"You're spoiling him, you know." "Damn right," Jodi winked at him, and Dean grinned and shook his head.

Dean and Garth spent most of the day catching up on paperwork for the case against Winchester and going through cold cases. They left the station a little after 6 p.m.; Garth to meet his wife, and Dean to head for his apartment. He pulled into his parking lot a short while later and climbed out of the car, locking the doors behind him. He patted the car's hood fondly as he walked around it, and went into the apartment building.

The apartment was quiet when he entered, and Dean paused after closing and locking the door. He tilted his head, listening; after a moment, he moved through the place, shedding his suit jacket as he did. A quick glance into both the kitchen and the living room told him that Sam was in neither place, so he moved to stand in front of Sam's bedroom door. He knocked softly and called through the wood, "Sam?" Moments later, footsteps sounded and the door was opening.