Splatter

26. The Exchange 3081

* * *
22 Hours
* * *
"There's nothing to see here," Castiel said, pointing Dean in the other direction.

Dean stared into the darkness. There was a spot in the shadow of the crumbling wall where Dean thought he could see someone moving. They were miles away and Dean had to squint but that gut feeling of knowing rather than seeing which Dean had gotten used to on the island was back. The ground felt like it was shivering. The night was too balmy and too calm. There was no wind from the harbour. Too much sweet blossom on the warm evening breeze. The moon hung super low and bright, like it might fall out of the sky and splash all over the pavements. Castiel was turned away, his face towards the street lamp, checking his cellphone.  Dean looked around him, he had been so wrapped up in whatever it was that was happening between him and Castiel that he had not really kept up with what was going on in the world. Now he noticed Dick Roman's election posters hung limp and peeling from the rotting concrete barricade. The banners promising an upgrade to coastal boarders drooped in the becalmed night.

"These explosions, they might not just be from Mer," Dean wondered out loud. "This could be our own people. People who want the Mer here, or just people who hate dicks."

"Come on," Castiel's hand was on Dean's shoulder. "Whoever did this is long gone. This site was targeted hours ago."

For once, Dean didn't feel compelled to follow Castiel. His nose picked up on something lingering in the air, like baby powder and microwave popcorn mixed in with machine oil. Underneath those smells was a sort of warm familiar scent. Dean took one step then another, then he was running full pelt and a figure peeled off the wall in the distance and so began the chase.

The runner was wearing a beige trenchcoat. The same generic one that all the staff around the wall wore. The very same type as the one Dean had given to Castiel when they first met. Dean knew that if he lost his target for a split second and they could cast the coat off or mingle into a crowd where other people wore the same thing it would be difficult to spot them again. The smell was gone, Dean was too busy gasping air into his lungs to keep his legs pumping. He couldn't spare a second to glance behind him to see if Castiel was bringing up the rear. He was surprised that Castiel hadn't overshot him, given that he was a very strong runner.

Dean kept the air cycling through his chest and put his head down, getting a burst of speed that impressed even himself. Then he was within arm's reach, close enough to touch the flapping sash belt. A figure lunged at him from a side alley, but Dean ducked just in time to avoid collision. There was a flash of khaki and Dean realised that the attacker wore the same jacket as the runner.

"You go around and cut him off!" Castiel shouted behind Dean. "I'll get the other one."

Dean followed the order instinctively, taking a left turn and momentarily losing the first figure from his sights. He trusted Castiel and was confident that the Mer would be able to hold his own against anybody. Dean looped around and ran down the alley, towards the figure huddled on the ground. He leapt, grabbed the guy by the trenchcoat and rolled him into the concrete, hearing a soft familiar gasp.

"Hey, it's just me," Castiel grunted. He was still on the ground, clutching at his ankle. "Think I rolled it."

"What," Dean frowned. "Where did they go?"

"He got away," Castiel said, his voice low. "I'm sorry, I let him get past me."

"The other one too?"

"Yes." Castiel sounded a little ashamed.

"Are you hurt?" Dean knelt down, hurriedly inspecting Castiel's leg. Relieved when he found no signs of injury except a little awkward favouring of one ankle.