The Bodyguard (is the Omega)

30.

Castiel wore his trench coat and stood with the fans in a corner of the red carpet spectator stands, uncharacteristically indecisive. While the crowd was still thin on the ground, he probably looked conspicuous in the beige coat worn over his dress suit in order to blend in with the crowd. More than one of the celebrity bodyguards side glanced him through their sunglasses. One or two recognised his face from attending Dean's parties with clients, the astute ones nodded at him as if they thought he had a good reason to be there. Castiel didn't even have a press pass let alone any security clearance. It was a warm spring afternoon, the crowd exuberant, the movie stars queued up around the block in their limos. Castiel moved slowly but steadily towards the front of the stand, going with the flow of the crowd rather than against it. He got as far as the mob of journalists and when the lightbulbs went off, ducked into their section. If anyone in the press gallery took notice, a firm stare was enough to quail any questions. His omega scent helped him blend in so long as no one looked him in the eyes, if they did they would have been discomforted.

Castiel kept watch as one limo door after another opened, indifferent to the beautiful faces passing before him. One actor actually paused and approached him, not someone he had met before. He was a handsome man with light golden hair and icy blue eyes, a little older than Dean.

"You got any questions for me sweetheart?" He was all charming smiles and knowing nods.

Castiel shook his head. Maybe he was high or just too arrogant to notice Castiel's death glare.

"Nick, from the show Nick," a sigh. "Seriously, how did you get this job? Biggest comedian out of New York? Man you must be just a pretty face."

"I don't watch television," Castiel said. "Please get out of my pretty face."

"Where's your press pass? Are you even a journalist? Hey security, this guy here's not even asking any questions, get him outta here will ya?"

Castiel was surprised to see Krushnic emerge from the crowds. Dressed impeccably in a Valentino suit, indigo eyes sharp under the flick of dark slick hair.

"Yeah boss, I'll deal with him," he smiled at Nick, guiding him by the waist along the red carpet, passing him onto an attendee in a ballgown.

"Hey Novak, fancy bumping into you again," Krushnic grinned disarmingly. "Don't mind my client, he gets real offended if anyone he meets don't tell him he's the funniest little devil they've ever met. Guy's a dick but he pays well."

"I don't have any passes."

Krushnic shrugged, lifting the red ribbon partition up. "Oh well, I know you well enough wouldn't you say? Come on in."

He was still talking when Castiel moved past the barrier, heading him off before he could head for the entry with a proffered hand. The cufflink on his sleeve showed the head of a wolf, the moon glistening on the other side.

"Look I have to catch up with my target but since we bumped into each other and I helped you out, do you think we can put Miami behind us?" Krushnic neatened his already prefect hair in a nervous gesture. "I didn't know you were involved with your client, I mean that's sort of the last thing I'd expect you to do, I'm sorry if I got myself involved in something I have no place to be part of."

Castiel looked at the hand Krushnic offered him in bewilderment. Did he really think Castiel was going to fall for that again?

"And while we are on the subject of apologies, I know I owe you more than that one," Krushnic was all sincere eyes and soft mouth.

A couple of meters from them Nick was posing for photographs, photographers were calling his name, laughing at his dumb jokes, Castiel couldn't understand the appeal.