Chapter Text
31(?) Hours, 428 miles to go
It's been nearly three hours on the road.
They were going over the speed limit. They've been going over the speed limit. For a while now. That's risky.
The muscle car attracts enough attention as it is. They don't need to draw anymore. They might not have the cargo yet, but he highly doubts that the pearl handled gun in the hunters waist band is the only weapon in the car. Being pulled over by an officer for speeding is the worst possible scenario that could happen right now. Castiel's never been good with people, let alone cops. Most people find him too awkard and socially inept to be around, which means some individuals (like cops) find him "suspicious" and that's not...great.
And he can only imagine how this guy must come across as to someone of authority. Even without the slightly burised face. His rough voice, dirty clothes, six feet something stature; His whole demeanor screams "try me". Not to say Castiel fears the law, in fact, he frequently found himself questioning many things about the legal system. And may have been in one or two chases before.
At least they were making good time. Maybe it'll make up for the delay. (The delay being that not only did he pull over to sleep, but was also partially being held hostage.)
Neither men spoke.
There was, for a while, some sort of rock music playing quietly on the old cars stereo, but after an hour of it replaying the same seven songs the man asked him to get out a different cassette. ("They're in the glove box...Pick your poison.") Castiel scrounged around for something he might've known, but there wasn't to much to pick from. The sound of cassettes scraping against one another echoed out through the silent car.
Eventually he just choose one at random. The man snatched it out of his hand once it was offered to him and looked it over. Shrugging his shoulders as he placed it in the player. Once that had played through twice the man paused it and never asked for something else to put on. He wasn't sure if he was thankful for the silence, or if it made the situation more tense. His head hurt, and music would only make him want to hit his skull against the dashboard.
He'd never gotten that coffee. Or any form of caffeine intake for that matter. Hopefully they'll need to stop for gas soon and he can snag a drink of some sort then.
The hunter begins to lightly pound his hands against the steering wheel as he sits up a little bit, turning to Castiel.
"So...Gunrunning?"
He blinks. Gunrunning? What about it? Its kind of an obvious thing. Maybe this guy's a snitch. God, he better not be a snitch. He's only got dirt on Castiel for The Colt. Although it's a reasonable assumption that if he's been hired for the gun then he's transported other stuff before, too. But it's not like there's any physical evidence on him. The man couldn't prove anything.
"Gunrunning." Is all he says back. Just one of many things he's participated in. Not that the hunter knows that.
"Yea. How'd you get wrapped up in that business? "
"How'd you get involved with hunting?"
"C'mon man, I'm trying to be friendly." The man gives him a look, but all Castiel can focus on is the bruising that's formed under the hunter's eyes. Wow, that door to the face must have hurt.
"Forgive me. I must have took my vandalized truck the wrong way."
The hunter goes to say something else, but stops himself. He turns his focus back to the road. Staying quiet for a few minutes.
"I'll fix it for you. Once we get back to Missouri."
Castiel rises an eyebrow.
The hunter smiles back. "It wasn't nothin' too bad. Promise."
Castiel turns to look back to the road. "If it isn't damaged any further by then."
The hunter said "we" as in he plans to part ways after the gun is retrieved, as if Castiel would let him leave with the gun and not deliver it to Elkins. He can't let this man take the gun from him. Castiel could care less what happens with it after it's gotten into Elkins hands, but he has to get the cargo to him first.
"What're Wings?"
He looked back over to the man, caught off guard by the question.
"Pardon?"
"Earlier you said somthing about 'risking your wings'. What's that S'pose to mean?"
It's an easy question. It has an easy answer. Though Castiel struggles to give the explanation. Should he even tell this guy? Is it even safe to discuss this with him? It would only be self-incrimation if he willingly told him stuff about the smuggling system, wouldn't it?
"What do you...what all do you know about, uh...about arms trafficking?" Is what he settles for asking.
"Well, I know that's not the only part of your job, Highway-Haunter."
God, that stupid name.
"Right...anything else?"
The hunter shrugged. "Smuggling things, small group on the down-low, operating in the hunting world, y'know. Just the basics."
Oh well, it's not like it'll get worse if he does talk about it.
"Wings are like the...the status of runners. It's just referring to how much they are trusted within the, uh...system."
The man thinks for second. "So it's like your reputation?"
"Yes, my reputation. Sometimes the hunters that constantly hire the same runner will refer to that person as their angel wings." Castiel turned to look out the window as he continued.
"Though I've always found the term odd. We're either angels or haunters...It just depends who you ask."
"So you're called runners then?"
"Yes. Well, it's the term I perfer to use."
"And me finding you could hurt your...wings or whatever."
Castiel looked to face him. Face deadpanned. "Yes."
The man turned to him and he continued.
"Yes, it will."
The hunter swallowed and nodded. It remained silent for another few minutes. The tense feeling inside the car seemed to evaporate, but leaving an awkard atmosphere in its place.
Castiel really didn't care. He's not good with social interaction. He can't read tone well. He doesn't know how. However, he does know most silences are considered awkard. And awkardness leads to uncomfortable people. In most situations, it just means people will leave him be. They'll try to avoid him if they somehow end up at the same place twice. But that couldn't happen here. The man can't leave his car. And Castiel can't quit the run. They're both stuck.
"Could we perhaps stop somewhere?"
The man gives him a questioning look.
"I drink a lot of coffee and I have not had any yet. My head hurts."
"Your head hurts?" The man smiles at him. Right. Castiel gave him a slash in the nose and burised under-eyes.
The man looks at the dashboard then glances back at Castiel. "I guess. Was go'na need gas soon anyways."
Thirty minutes later, after two missed turns and a lot of unnecessary swearing from the hunters behalf, they found a gas station with one working pump. Castiel tried to stay as silent as possible when the man started to show his frustration, avoiding any attention that could have been brought back to him. He was the one who suggested they stop, after all.
The man swung the door open and jumped out of the car in one swift motion. Castiel went to open his door but it remained locked.
-----
Dean turned to look at Jimmy and gave his best taunting smile for the sixth time that day.
"Nuh uh, sunshine. You're staying here. Don't need you getting any ideas of wondering off."
He watched Jimmy carefully. Waiting for his reaction. Instead of arguing, the runner just stared at Dean for a moment before speaking.
"Just a plain black coffee then, please." The man put his hand in his pocket and took out five and handed it to Dean. Then he thought for a moment. Its not like the man could go anywhere if he wanted to. They're like, what? Four hours away from his truck? And he hasn't tried to fight with Dean since entering the car because he needs to get to gun just as much as Dean does.
"Oh whatever, c'mon." He unlocked Baby. "You try to leave my side and I'm leaving you stranded."
Jimmy tilted his head at him and Dean thought he almost resembled a confused puppy.
"You can't leave me. You don't know where The Colt is."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah...I know, Sherlock. Let's go."
The two silently walked inside. He followed Jimmy though the convenience store as he looked for the coffee maker. He grabbed a large cup and lid and poured himself his coffee.
Dean stood behind him, purposely close to continue making the man painfully aware the he was in charge, and glanced around the store. A box of slim Jim's caught his eye and he glanced back over to the runner before telling him not to leave the spot he stood at.
He walked over and grabbed a couple, them moved down the shelf to grab two cowtails. Sam use to always get them. He looked around some more before the newspaper rack caught his eye.
"Police are asking for assistance in the search for local missing homeless man, Phillips 'Flip' Jones, 43. Last seen Sunday, May 7th around Lincoln Drive wearing a red pull-over hoodie and dark brown sweatpants. Investigators believe his disappearance to be linked with two previous missing persons case from earlier this past year."
Dean thought to himself. That was about three weeks ago now? The article went on about Jones, giving details of his description and behavior.
"Acquaintances say he is a calm man with a quiet and friendly personality, however noticed a shift in behavior during the weeks leading up to his disappearance. Behaving coldly and rude towards regular contacts. If any information is known about his whereabouts please contact...."
Dean went back to his new found "business partner" and found that Jimmy had stayed exactly where he'd left him. Holding his drink and waiting for him. His face blank as ever.
Dean had noted that Jimmy seemed the stand-offish type. Keeping a quiet demeanor and very monotoned voice. 'Course it could just be the situation. Dean did practically kidnap the guy. Not that he had much choice. He needs the gun and Jimmy knew where it was. Sure, he could've forced the guy to tell him, but he could easily lie, and Dean believed him when he said that it's dangerous to give up the information. Some hunters are fairly ruthless after being in the gig for so long. He didn't need to be killed on Dean's behalf if there was a different option. So here they are.
"Let's check out."
Jimmy nodded and walked over to the register. Dean went first. Setting his snacks on the counter and asking for eighteen gallons on pump three. He watched as the man gave a once over of the two before he bagged them. Dean paid and stepped aside to let Jimmy go. He turned to look around one last time.
The store was in need of a restock on quite a few shelves. Dirt and mud trailed through the isles showing that it'd been a while since someone mopped the place. There was a TV mounted to the wall beside them. Showing fuzzy reflection of the store–then he saw it. The cashier.
His eyes glowed a white-ish gold color.
Dean slowly turned back around to the man and Jimmy. When the cashier met his eyes Dean gave a tight-lipped smiled and then looked to Jimmy. Oh, he is not going to like this.
"Say, uh, would you happen to know where the nearest motel is? My friend and I are going to be in town a few days."
The cashier sighed and looked to the side before nodding.
"Down the road. West Campton Inn or...something."
He set Jimmy's cup back on the counter before walking into the backroom. Jimmy didn't look at it, instead intensely staring back at Dean–eyebrows pulled down and his posture still. He was angry.
"We can't stay. I told Elkins this is a three day job. That I'd have it to him by Thursday evening."
"Plans changed. Get to the car."
Jimmy stood for a moment longer before marching out of the store. Dean followed after grabbing the coffee from the counter and a newspaper off the rack.
Castiel was sitting in the Impala waiting for Dean as he filled the tank back up. Once he opened the door and sat down in the drivers seat, Jimmy began speaking.
"If the gun is delivered late it's going to–"
"You ever been hunting before, Jim?" Dean spoke over him.
The runner squinted his eyes.
"No, and I never plan to. This is not a joke. If it's late then–"
Dean cut him off again. Speaking louder and more assertive.
"Shame. It's really exhilarating once you get the hang of it! You ever hear about shape shifters? Real son's of bitches, they are."
Jimmy stared at him. Once again blank face. Obviously annoyed.
"Really tricky. Theyre strong, agile, fast. They can even regenerate body parts."
Jimmy sighed as he sat back rolling his eyes. "Why is this important?"
Dean smiled. "Well, you see the thing about them is that if they don't want you to know what they are–you won't. People never knew about their existence for decades. At least, not 'till things like cameras and videos became a thing. Their eyes give them away. They glow on film. Did you happen to look at the surveillance screen in there?"
The other man turned back to him, his eyes squinting before slowly turning to look back into the gas station. Then while shaking his head and turning back to Dean he answered.
"No. Did you...did you see something in the store?"
"His eyes were glowin' on the footage. And I happened to find a newspaper talking about recent disappearance in town. Here, look." He handed the paper to the runner and sat and watched as he read it. Once Jimmy was done he handed the paper back to Dean and sighed again.
"So you think the guy in there is responsible for the man in the paper disappearing? He doesn't match the picture in the paper at all. Do you think that the cashier inside is another victim of the shape shifter?"
Dean shifted in his seat, folding the paper and tossing it in the back seat.
"Oh, he has to be! It couldn't be a trick of the light, neither of our eyes reflected anything like that. Whoever it's impersonating now is bound to turn up missing here soon."
He watched as Jimmy looked back at the store again. Eyebrows pinched and sitting back in his seat. Looking slightly worried.
"How long will it take you?"
Dean started the car and began to pull out of the gas station.
"Oh...maybe two days? Three at the most. Shouldn't be to hard if it's just the one."
Jimmy sighed, resigning the argument.
"Okay...okay. I guess, uh...I guess I'll call Elkins once we reach the motel."
"Great! Do me favor and don't mention I'm here. I have someone handling my part in this already, but I haven't checked in to see if they've spoken yet."
Jimmy made the same confused face as before–head tilting and eyebrows scrunched. Dean wondered if it's the only face the man knew how to make.
"I won't tell him I'm with you."
"Wonderful."
Dean turned the music back on as they took off to the motel.