the island.

iii

"Ugh, Sam was right, I hate research," Dean groaned, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms above his head.

Castiel looked up from his laptop, a small smile playing on his lips. "You were the one who volunteered," he commented.

"Oh, don't rub it in. I only did it to spend time with you." The words were out of Dean's mouth before his brain could stop them. He felt a hot blush creep up from his neck as he lifted his eyes to glance at Cas. If Cas had heard him, he didn't show any sign of it. He was focussed on the laptop as he continued to read, tongue slightly visible through his lips, brows creased in concentration. Dean internally sighed with relief, his eyes raking over the angel's face, memorising it. As Dean watched, all the love he had for the angel plastered on every inch of his face, Castiel suddenly straightened in his seat, snapping Dean out of his trance.

"What is it?" he asked, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table, his previous statement gone from his thoughts as quick as it slipped from his lips.

Castiel was silent for a moment, still reading, before his eyes flicked up to Dean. "Didn't the investigator say that Joe Briggs was arriving home from a business trip?" he asked, brows creasing further.

Dean nodded slowly. "Yeah, the investigator didn't seem convinced, though."

"That's the common denominator," Cas said, his eyes clearing with realisation. "All the suspects were coming home from a business trip."

Dean frowned. "But how does that make any sense? Unless they were all on the same trip . . ." he trailed off. "Were they?"

Cas shook his head. "No, but they could have stayed at the same hotel."

Dean's eyes lit up. "Find that hotel," he demanded, his own attention falling back to his laptop, fingers already flying across the keyboard. The pair were silent for several moments, the only sound in the room was their fingers tapping keys and the mini-fridge filter humming away. The silence was broken by Dean slamming his hand down on the table victoriously.

"Found it!" he cheered, grinning wide as he eyed Cas. "The 8 Mile Inn, not far from here." He slammed his laptop shut, standing in the process. "Well, eight miles to be exact." He held his hands out at his sides in an 'aren't I just the funniest person ever' gesture, waiting for Cas' response.

Cas rolled his eyes and stood as well, collecting his trench coat from where it draped neatly over the back of his chair. Dean grinned, knowing that Cas secretly loved it, and grabbed his keys and phone. He flipped Sam a text, telling him where they were going, as the pair locked up their motel room. They made it to the inn in approximately 10 minutes, and were in the inn's reception within 2 more. The inn was quiet, but didn't look half bad. It was a vintage, renovated, two storey villa that looked bigger on the inside than it did on the outside. The reception and adjoining sitting room area was decorated with dark woods, maroon fabrics and gold accents. Both Cas and Dean looked around, nodding at the interior design. It wasn't contemporary, but it was warm and inviting.

The reception was empty, thus Dean tapped the small bell, the shrill noise ringing through the quiet halls. There was a rustle down the hallway that disappeared to the left of the reception's desk, and a woman with dark hair piled on top of her head, and a pale blue shirtdress appeared looking flustered and wiping her hands on a tea towel.

She smiled brightly when she reached Dean and Cas. "How can I help you?" she asked.

"I'm Detective Howard, and this is Detective Fine, we're with the FBI. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?" Dean flipped his badge in her direction and fixed her a serious gaze. He imagined Cas was doing the same.