Castiel wakes up that morning and he just knows that today is going to be different. He can feel it. Like when you know within a couple of days you will catch a cold, or when you feel a bug bite you and at first it doesn't hurt but than it suddenly does.

It's inevitable and it's going to happen and he knows when stepping out of his front door that today is going to be different.

Castiel pulls into a gas station, blue eyes flicking over and checking the prices. He winces slightly, the idea of getting an electric car continues to seem like the better alternative. The tiny screen bleeps and he scowls at the 'go inside to order' sign on the pump screen. He obeys, enjoying the gust of warm air as he enters.

Usually he prefers to get gas from the nicely kept station down the street from his home. He seemed to have lost his head and forgotten to fill his car up this week forcing him to make a stop in the rather filthy neighborhood on the way to his school. The place is a chain with two numbers that rhyme, and deliciously sweet artery clogging Slurpee's.

He stands in front of the machine, the clerk eyeing him warily. He ignores the man, contemplating which flavor he had favored as a child when the bell rings signalling a new customer.

Usually he wouldn't bother turning around, but he does. Which is strange because Castiel minds his own business, he learnt that from a young age. He frowns at himself. The sounds of boots squeak on the floor as the new customer comes to stand beside him.

"What's your favorite flavor?" The man asks conversationally, looking exceptionally serious about which one he will purchase.

"Cherry, I suppose." Castiel finds himself answering instantly. Which is again strange, because he is shy, cripplingly so. Not only is he shy, but he is socially awkward and anxious and he does not know why he is not curling away from this man and ignoring him.

"Nah, Coke's better." The man says, pulling the largest cup and sloppily shoving it under without bothering with the plastic lid.

"I don't believe I've tried Coke." Castiel admits, and the man already has his lips over the rim and is loudly gulping the flavored ice shavings. He offers it to Castiel. Castiel also has Mysophobia, he keeps hand sanitizer and chemical wipes in his car. His palm curls around the already sweating cup and takes a sip.

"It's delicious." Castiel says, eyes widening. More in shock over how his body seemed to work on autopilot and how he isn't calculating the odds of how many contagious diseases that this stranger could contain. A bright white smile flashes to him, and his mind blanks.

"Told ya." The man says, licking his rather plump lips.

"Now I am at odds on which I'd rather have." Castiel hums, looking back to the machine with brightly colored titles over every nozzle. He hasn't talked this easily to anyone since he last saw his little brother Samandriel. It was unnerving. The man plucks a cup from the dispenser and swirls in both Cherry and Coke, handing it to Castiel.

"Problem solved." The man winks, before sauntering over to the register and Castiel is left stunned. He has a double major in both mathematics and philosophy and yet it never occurred to him to simply mix the desired flavors.

Castiel can not dwell long on his bewilderment and embarrassment for much longer because glass is shattering, blue and red lights are glaring into his eyes, and the sound of gunfire gusts around him.

Castiel supposes this is what he deserves for being so shamelessly drawn to the strange man.

"Drop any weapons you may have and come out with your hands up!" The police sound over a megaphone. The cashier slams down a screen over his booth and ducks out the backdoor, before Castiel can even process what is happening. Through the window, Castiel can see him be escorted by the police into a ambulance. Castiel and the man with the large Coke Slurpee are the only two remaining people in the store.

"Shit, they found me." The man says, not sounding in the least bit worried as he takes another loud sip of his beverage.

"Are you a criminal?" Castiel finds himself demanding. The strange compelling easiness he feels around the man dampens, and his chest begins to ache.

"Yeah." The man says bashfully almost like Castiel had paid him a compliment. The ache subsides, the man is calm and it is affecting Castiel's own self. Now that Castiel sees the man fully he realizes that perhaps he is vaguely familiar.

"Shouldn't you turn yourself in?" Castiel asks, his voice brittle. He does not know how to conduct himself in such a situation, he had only ever seen 'cops' once and it had not been a pleasant experience. The stranger curses loudly, startling Castiel into jumping and the handles of the machine dig into his back. His heart race increases and the sickening feel of anxiety begins to swell around him.

"Fuck, "The man shouts again. Looking up with damp grassy eyes. "Brain freeze." He elaborates, gesturing to his head with a flinch. Castiel almost laughs because how absurd for this man to be more concerned about that than the police swarming outside, the tightness in his chest once again disappears. The unmistakable sound of a helicopter above them pulls Castiel out of his confused amusement.

"Oh, good. Chopper's here." The man says, rolling over to another isle further from Castiel. Bullets follow inches behind him, but he doesn't seem to mind. Castiel watched the swirl of smoke come from the holes in the ground. The criminal picks the lock on the cage within seconds, lifting it up and plucking the remote to the TV from the counter. He switches it to a local news station.

"...mass murderer Dean Winchester has been located at a Gas station in Orchid Town, Nebraska. Authorities are soon going to..." Dean makes a face and mutes it, taking another gulp of the slush in his cup.

"See here, two officers covering the back. Everyone else is upfront. Idiots man. Our best shot is going out back." Dean decides, watching the live video of the Helicopter circling above them.

"We?" Castiel's voice breaks and he stares at Dean in horror. Dean's bright white grin looks suddenly manic.

"You're my hostage." He declares.

Although Castiel currently hates the man keeping him prisoner, he can't help but be impressed with how he quickly gathers the ingredients needed for their escape. Some sugar, aluminum foil, and a bullet from his gun. He uses a knife to dig off the top of a bullet and pour it into the concoction. He digs into the large pockets in his leather jackets and flicks open a zippo.

"What is that?" Castiel swallows thickly.

"Smoke bomb, pretty impressive, huh?" Dean smiles, tucking the gun back into the back of his jeans and looking up at Castiel. He glances up at the isle and laughs, he pulls down a package and rips it open.

"Put these on, will yah'?" Dean says, tossing them to him.

"You want me to incapacitate myself?" Castiel hisses dubiously, catching the heavy metal handcuffs.

"Sure, it's not too hard just-" Dean yelps as a bullet nearly hits his foot from were he's crouched behind the isle shelf. He scoots forward, shooting Castiel a look of exaggerated amusement.

"Those are bullets! Not pop rocks!" Castiel curses because this man is ridiculous, absolutely insane and now he wants to make Castiel his hostage. Castiel realizes that today he is probably going to die. He should have stayed home.

"Ah, no biggie. I've been shot before." Dean says, poking out his tongue as he fiddles with the bomb he's making.

"You've been shot?!" Castiel can't help but be amazed because the most bodily harm he's ever had has been when he sprained his ankle in seventh grade.

"Sure, haven't you?" Dean looks up, sounding honestly confused as to why Castiel would not have gained that experience in his young life. Castiel is about to reply when the Police use the megaphone again.

"Dean Winchester, if you do not-"

"Ah, shut up." Dean cuts them off by rolling the bomb to the front door. The room almost rapidly fills with smoke. Castiel feels himself being cuffed, and moments later a piece of cloth is snugly tied around his mouth.

"Don't struggle." Dean's mouth is covered too, his voice muffled. Castiel's eyes burn from the smoke and he coughs. They hunker down in the back corner as police officers fill the store, one of the officers in back burst down the door and Dean slides past him.

"Clear!" Castiel hears the men shout.

"He's going out the back!" Dean's already knocked out one of the officers that had avidly kept watch on the back door.

"Get him!" Another officer shouts. Dean drops another bomb behind him, leaving a trail of smoke as Castiel is being shuffled into a enormous black classic car. He hears shouts as they pull out of the driveway. But it's too late, he might as well be dead.

The car is loud, a rumble that echoes all the way into Castiel's bones. His hands are still neatly tucked against his lower back, Dean had removed the bandanna from his mouth. Dean's humming along to a classic rock song, and sipping at what's left of his surely melted ice drink. Castiel has no idea how he managed to get it out in all the fuss.

"Are you going to kill me?" Castiel asks slowly. Dean stops humming and looks over at him.

"Wasn't planning on it." Dean says steadily, as serious as Castiel's seen him since they'd met. Castiel lets out a slow shuttering breath.

"You're a mass murderer." Castiel coughs around the word, shutting his eyes and inhaling slowly because he thinks perhaps he may feel the beginning of a panic attack.

"I ain't gonna hurt you," Dean says again, and Castiel catches a slight southern twang.

"Unless you make me." He adds as an afterthought, his face puzzled.

"I saw a sketch of you on the news. They said you've killed over fifty people." Castiel breathes, eyes wide and stuck on Dean's face.

"That's bullshit!" Dean grits. Castiel feels his shoulders relax, perhaps it had all been a misunderstanding.

"You didn't recognize me! That sketch artist is total shit! I'm way better looking than that." Dean spits and he leans over Castiel ruffling threw the glove department before producing a copy of said sketch. Castiel looks at it and then Dean.

"They over exaggerated your freckles." Castiel concludes. Dean is handsome, more than handsome perhaps even beautiful. He had long lashes and golden freckles and a military style haircut, which seems at contrast with his easy going personality.

"Damn right, my nose ain't that big either." Dean grunts. Which is also true, Dean's nose is straight with a slight bump from perhaps having been broken earlier in his life. The bump in the sketch is massive and wobbly. The car is silent for a long while.

"So what's your name?" Dean asks, and Castiel thinks perhaps he sounds awkward.


"Casta-what?" Dean's brow furrows and he shoots the other man a look.

"Caz-tee-ell." He enunciates more clearly.

"I'm ma' call you Cas." Dean decides, scratching at the back of his neck. This makes Castiel twitch because suddenly his neck is itchy.

"Will you please remove these cuffs?" Castiel asks, eyes wide and imploring. Dean glances at him.

"Why, they hurting you?"

"I do not believe they were constructed with comfort in mind." Cas says, which makes Dean snort a rather boyish laugh. He swerves over to the side of the road.

"Don't try anything, okay? I have a gun." Dean says, eyes meeting Castiel's. Castiel's chest tightens and he nods. Dean unlocks the cuffs. Castiel rubs at his red wrists and Dean pulls back onto the road.

"You're not scared of me." Dean says suddenly. Castiel nods because he had been thinking the same thing. He should be terrified, shaking, anxious. But instead he is calm, mildly uncomfortable from his wrists, and a little curious were they are going.

"I think you desensitized me. I have an array of disorders and I don't think my body couldn't handle all the stress so I've locked myself down. Or at least that's my theory." Cas murmurs, eyeing Dean from the corner of his vision. Dean is smirking. They lapse into another silence. Castiel plays with the hem of his sweater, glancing at Dean in his leather jacket and frayed jeans.

"How old are you?" Dean asks.

"Twenty." Castiel says. Dean lets out a short laugh.

"Same age as my brother. He's studying to be a lawyer." Dean nearly brags.

"Does he know what you do?" Castiel asks instantly. Dean laughs again.

"Oh yeah. He helps sometimes." Dean says with a shrug.

"Helps you murder people." In retrospect, speaking with disdain to a known murderer probably isn't the most avid way of staying alive. But Castiel had never been able to hold his tongue, only saying how he honestly felt in the moment.

"Not people, Cas. Things. It's sort of the family business." Dean says flippantly, eyes fond as if he's looking back on memories of his years as a cub scout, not violently ending a persons life. Castiel tried to remember more information of Dean Winchester. The Winchester's were on the news constantly. Before Dean, his father had been convicted of manslaughter on several accounts. But Dean, Dean had been vicious in most of his assaults, resorting to torture of the highest degree.

"Humans are not things." Castiel says stubbornly. He had been raised religious. But he had been dissuaded of most of his teaching while in college. Disagreeing with more than was allowed in the church, and forbidden to call himself a Christian because so. But he was still a man of faith.

"You don't know what I do, do you Cas?" Dean says, turning to look at him with a raised brow.

"You kill people." Castiel says thickly, voice going hoarse. This man is dangerous, he should be freaking out. He should be screaming, crying. Not having a conversation on the sanctity of human life. Dean leaned back in the leather seat, running a hand through his light hair.

"I don't kill people. I kill killers." Dean's stunning smile is completely at odds with the statement.

A/N: Never seen this done. Thought it was an interesting idea for an AU. Tell me what you think and if I should continue.