Chapter Text
// "I wonder why progress looks so much like destruction." - John Steinbeck //
Dean Winchester woke up feeling like a fat cartoon cat. Thank god it's not a Monday, that would piss him off even more. Heading straight for the kitchen, he lets the warm rays of sunlight slowly wake up his mind. Making coffee for himself practically on autopilot, leaves room for his mind to get in gear and start filling itself back up with thoughts he carefully put a lid on last night, in order to get some sleep. If he were a smoker, now would be a damn good time for a cigarette. Dean contemplates into his steaming mug how unfortunate it is that he didn't get into smoking earlier in life, if he started now when he's almost 30, it would just be pathetically sad.
What's also unfortunate, he can't even enjoy the sunny fall morning. A slow relaxing day is such an unfamiliar concept to Dean, the idea of relaxing and having no worries is actually causing him to worry. That's probably fucked up in ways he can't even comprehend.
But today, he's got no time for introspection of his life and choices. No, he's got more pressing issues. He needs to psych himself up for an unnerving day at work. Not because of the nature of his job, at this point, hunting the worst most depraved serial killers humanity has to offer is just another day at the office. What's got his completely metaphorical panties in a bunch today, is meeting his new supervisor.
Bobby retired. With a couple of decades of working at the FBI under his belt, the unit chief of Dean's team, his close personal friend supervisory special agent Robert Singer, decided he's gotten 'way to old for this crap'. Whatever. Dean doesn't feel like he's been personally betrayed at all. It's just business. He's dealing. It would be insane and pretty fucking ironic that something so minuscule could affect a man whose life experiences would make a Regular Joe kill himself last week.
So, here he is, donning his black sunglasses and cranking the radio abnormally loud, the coolest government employee is officially on his way to work. If he can't control anything else about his life, Dean can always rely on his Baby gliding smoothly down the road and instantly improving his mood. Getting his hands on the wheel and ignoring the speed limit just a tiny bit, have been one of his few guilty pleasures, ever since he was a teenager.
Being the expert on these things, Dean can confidently assess that there are far worse coping mechanisms out there. Many of them. If there weren't he'd be out of a job.
x
After parking Baby at a far-off corner space, Dean barely has two seconds to admire her shine in the crap lighting of the underground garage, before he's rushing to catch the elevator.
As the shiny metal doors open on his floor he tries to subtly shake off his nerves and hopes his marching comes off as a self-assured stride.
"Good morning, Dean!" A short woman with clicky heels greets Dean as he makes his way through the big open hallway. She recently came back from maternity leave and clearly, she's more than happy to be back at work. A surprisingly large number of people tend to be overly enthusiastic about their jobs around here. Dean supposes they have to be that way, otherwise all the stress of life and death stakes would eat them alive. It's either those or the terrifyingly ambitious bureaucrat types that tend to border on sociopathy.
"Mornin', Angela. That post-baby glow 's dazzling the whole floor," he winks at the blonde as he passes her by.
"Mornin' Dean," Dean is met with a southern drawl and a nod from HRT's agent Lafitte.
"Lookin' good Benny", he nods back.
With his desk coming into view, he notices Gabriel sitting across from it, his leg stretched out with his foot propped up on a second office chair. Charlie is crouching on the floor next to it and writing on his cast with colourful markers.
"Hey, Pippi Longstocking, I said you could write your name, not make a whole art project out of it," the blond man complains, way too loud for an early morning in the office.
"What's up my fellow preschoolers," Dean grins as he approaches his coworkers.
"Hey, Dean," Charlie smiles up at him. "Man, you look a mess," she sizes him up with a look that says, 'I just saw an old lady fall down and I gotta make sure she's not hurt before I can laugh'.
"How dare you, I look hotter than ever," Dean deflects, giving her his usual cocky grin.
"Yeah, maybe to someone who doesn't know better. I don't have to be a behavior expert to know bad vibes when I see them," the redhead smirks from her place on the floor.
"Oh, you can see vibes now," Dean says, giving her a look that he hopes is more of a glare than a bitchface.
Charlie simply shrugs as she goes back to desecrating the cast covering Gabriel's left ankle and shin with glitter markers that are most definitely not issued in the standard office supplies.
"Yo, Dean-o, you mind doing a status check on my leg prison," Dean has learned to live with Gabriel's nicknames for him, especially after hearing a few he has for his other 'work buddies'.
"Terrifyingly colourful," he answers after a closer look at the cast. Not that he would say it out loud, but he can't help but be impressed with shockingly detailed spaceship, rainbow and what he can only assume is a lady-knight riding a unicorn.
"Damn. Now we both look a mess," Gabriel sighs in defeat as he unpacks a red and pink swirly lollipop and pops it in his mouth. A lollipop for breakfast. And this is the guy judging him.
"Okay, seriously, you guys, do I gotta go fix my hair or something," Dean runs his hands through said hair as much as the crusted-up gel allows him to.
Charlie, in her endless compassion, laughs at him once again. Dean files that away for the next time she calls herself his 'BFF'.
"Relax, the new supervisor 's not some hot chick you have to impress," Gabriel tries his best at a reassuring tone. "It's just good ol' Cassie." When Bobby told them who the most likely candidate to replace him was, Gabriel mentioned that he knows SSA Novak from his time working at the Chicago field office, before moving to D.C. after his divorce.
"An ugly chick he has to impress?" Charlie looks up in question from her work in progress. She clearly didn't pay attention when that conversation was happening, probably confident in her hacking abilities to dig up dirt on their new colleague on her own. Or maybe she just wanted it to be a surprise because that's more exciting. She's weird like that. Dean is maybe a little envious of her ability to unapologetically be her strange self and having everyone love her regardless of that.
"He said yesterday it's a dude, Charlez," Dean rolls his eyes.
"Ooh, a hot dude Dean has to impress," the excitement in the redhead's voice speaks a promise of antics that have made a mess of Dean's dating life on multiple occasions.
Gabriel barks out a laugh "Trust me, even you ain't impressing this one buddy boy".
"What, he some stick in the mud?" Dean is already annoyed with the fact that the well-established status quo of his team's work life is gonna change. He can't even begin to consider how much so, if their new supervisor is some bitchy bureaucrat on a power trip. "He's gonna come in here and start ripping everybody's heads off for fun?"
"I can assure you, I am not in the business of ripping off heads."
Hearing the words spoken in a deep and grumbly tone from what is probably, a spot directly behind him, all of Dean's thoughts come to a screeching halt. For seconds that feel like hours he doesn't move a muscle, only blinking slowly. When he looks down to his coworkers, Charlie and Gabriel look almost as uncomfortable as he feels. Almost being the key word. It dawns on him that he's way over due to turn around and face the owner of the gravelly voice.
Dean moves slowly as he tries to scold his face into a more casual look.
Casual flies out the window when he comes face to face with the bluest eyes he's seen in his life. They fucking sparkle in the bright morning light that's shining through the big bulletproof windows. The man's gaze is paralyzing him in place, Dean feels like it's piercing straight through his entire being. He tries to speak but his breath is stuck in his lungs, and his mouth feels like he just took three shots of sand. He licks his lips unconsciously, but much to Dean's horror, the man catches the movement of Dean's tongue and tracks it with a sharply focused stare.
"Nice to see you again Cassie," Gabriel breaks Dean's concentration and only then does he realize how close to the other man he's standing. He's pretty sure he should take a step back, or to the side, or honestly anywhere but his feet still seem to be cut off from his brain's commands.
"You as well, Gabriel." A voice like that should be illegal in a workplace setting. Honestly, in any public setting because it's incredibly distracting. Most assuredly to anyone. Not just Dean. Definitely not.
"Alright," as if hearing Dean's traitorous thoughts, agent McSteamy clears his throat again, "seeing as most of you are gathered, let me formally introduce myself. I am supervisory special agent Castiel Novak. I have previously been in charge of the Violent Crimes Task Force at the Chicago field office. From now on I will officially take over the duties of agent Singer as the Unit chief of the SMI. Would anyone like me to answer a question of any kind?"
The robotic cadence and sobering words finally seem to get Dean's gears moving again. Right. This is not a meet cute at a coffee shop. Or a dog park. This is his new unit chief, who is most likely a huge asshole. And also, most likely, has already concluded that Dean is some kind of a brainless loudmouth lip-licking borderline-creepy moron.
Before he can even think to do anything to embarrass himself further, he's stumbling to the side as Charlie barrels past him to enthusiastically shake Novak's hand. "Hi! Not a question, just a greeting," she beams up at the man still shaking his hand "I'm Charlie."
"As in, technical analyst Charlene Bradbury, I presume," Novak gives Charlie a smile that pisses Dean off. Who gave him the right to come here and be all handsome and charming and nice to people. He's the new guy, he should be nervous and stumbling over his words, wanting to earn all of theirs approval and respect. His internal grumbling is interrupted when the new agent's attention lands on him yet again.
"Then you must be agent Winchester." Dean quickly catches the eye contact that's been thrown at him. Never one to back down from a challenge, he extends a hand to the agent.
"Dean," he nods as Novak's palm meets his own "agent Winchester was my dad. And my mom. And briefly, the family hamster."
Novak nods back at Dean. He doesn't comment on the joke but the slight narrowing of his eyes and the barely there upturn in the corners of his mouth signal to Dean that he's not completely repulsed by it. Now that he's assessing the man's face more thoroughly, Dean is surprised by the fullness of his lips. They look soft even though he could use some chapstick. There is a dark stubble covering his sharp jaw that Dean assumes grows back too fast to be worth trying to shave it. It fits him in an unusual way, instead of making him look unkempt, the scruffiness makes his eyes seem even brighter. His lightly tanned complexion also helps.
The next thing that Dean notices is that the guy's hair is a mess. Like someone's just finished running their fingers through it. Or pulling it. If there's no one in Novak's life currently doing that very important job, Dean would consider offering himself up for the position.
The sound of a throat being cleared cuts through the daze and Dean has to blink a few times to reluctantly turn his head in the direction of Ellen who just entered the room holding a brown folder that promises anything but good news.
"Hate to cut the introductions short but I'm afraid we got a case, boys. And girl." Dean's known SSA Ellen Harvelle for as long as he can remember and the quick 'Harvelle, we spoke on the phone' and a handshake she offers Novak is the warmest welcome that one is getting out of her. Of course, it's precisely at that moment that Dean realizes, he is still the one holding Novak's hand.
He feels heat crawl up his face as he quickly lets go and tries for a subtle fake cough.
"Come on Chuckles, don't go hogging the chief on his first day," Gabriel, clearly way to amused with the situation at hand, teases him as the group starts making their way to their meetings room. Dean has to get things back under his control. Assuming they ever were.
"I'll break both of your crutches, funny man," he mutters through his teeth.
If Novak feels uncomfortable with anything that just transpired, he doesn't show it on his face. It's really unnerving to Dean that he can't get a read on this guy. Behind the undeniably attractive facade, he can't tell anything about the man's intentions. He doesn't sense any danger or obvious deceit but even so, Dean has a feeling he needs to be careful. If SSA Novak is keeping his walls up, Dean will be damned if he doesn't do the same. He only hopes that the man is just some sort of anomaly rather than a sign that Dean's off his game. Without profiling he's just some dude with a gun. And those kind usually end up in jail or in a ditch somewhere.
"No offense Ellen, but I'm a little hurt," Dean can hear Charlie complain as they enter the room "I'm supposed to be the one briefing people on cases around here. They didn't even send me this one. Oh, man am I getting fired? Tell me now so I have time to plan things out!"
Ellen puffs out a small laugh "Kid, we all know damn well that the day they fire you this whole building's as good as done." Dean couldn't agree more. The day the people upstairs recruited Charlie, he'll bet his ass that all of them let out a sigh of relief that she's on their side and they don't have to hunt down a national security threat of her level.
x
The case turns out to be a series of strangulation deaths in Philly. The commissioner of the local police is also Ellen's old acquaintance who personally called her and the team in.
"What's so special about this that they need us out there ASAP?" Gabriel prompted after Ellen's brief explaining. "No offense, but strangling a woman in her sleep does seem like something local law enforcement should be able to handle. What do you say Dean?"
"Well, the women were all in their mid to late twenties, living alone," Dean bemused "so that puts the UnSub somewhere in that range. Also, he's physically fit enough to get in, strangle them quickly and bolt."
"So, all that's left to figure out is how he finds his victims."
"Well, if you two hotshots are all done now," Ellen fixes them with a stern look that exudes every bit of the 'take no shit' aura she's known for "there was a key detail I was about to get to." She paused as if waiting for the whole room's undivided attention "It's not a he.
The locals are already calling her The Ghost Woman. Only a matter of time before it's all over the news."
Only the buzz from the air vents could be heard in the room as everyone tried to process the weirder-than-usual revelation. Novak was the first to speak "Well, it is highly unusual for a woman to break into another woman's apartment and strangle her with her bare hands. Let alone do it two more times. And the media getting involved also pushes this to the top of our priority list."
"Glad to see we're on the same page here, sir." Something about Ellen addressing the man with such respect rubs Dean the wrong way. He knows it shouldn't bother him, but it does. Bobby never asked for expressions like that. Sir. He imagines how Ellen must feel, her colleague of several decades retires and now there's a guy that's about twenty years her junior taking his place and she just has to stand there and call him sir. Like he's the queen of England or some shit. Of course, Dean might be heavily projecting here, be it as Ellen herself seems completely fine. He should probably dial up his professionalism a couple notches.
"Castiel is fine," Novak corrects in a light tone after giving Ellen a nod. Huh. Talk about jumping the gun. Whatever, he still doesn't like the guy.
x
After the quick briefing and grabbing their already packed bags, the team was ready to hit the road. Or ,more literally, hit the air. Dean's least favourite part of the job, by far. Well, at least he'll get another chance to embarrass himself in front of the weird, mysterious new Unit chief. Perfect.
Plane anxiety was still something Dean was working on managing, four years into the job. He did find that the comfort of their jet made it much easier than flying commercial planes. The only real struggle was still the take off and landing parts. As per usual, he situated himself in a seat not directly next to the window with an iced tea he pretended was a glass of whiskey.
"You know what stumps me about this," Gabriel, who isn't out of commission despite the fact that his leg still is, prompted from the seat across Dean.
"You mean besides the super strong lady-strangler?" Dean crossed his arms.
Gabriel answered with a raise of his eyebrows while tipping his head to the side before continuing, "But also, there's no way that the unsub didn't know these victims."
"What makes you say that?" Novak tilted his head slightly as he questioned Gabriel. Or, Dean supposes, Castiel tilted his head. Whatever, doesn't matter, it's a weird-ass name anyway.
"Come on, you know how women are,"
"Wow, sexist much unicorn-man?" Charlies voice echoed from the computer they were currently calling her on, as she frowned through the screen.
"I didn't mean- I was just trying to say, no woman with that much rage inside of her would be able to fly under the radar. It's gotta be someone the vics got in a fight with or something. One of their friends or family would have to know something about that." If the situation weren't this tense already, Dean would've had a blast watching Gabriel sweat as he explains himself. As it stands, he stays quiet, holding out for an unlikely, quick breakthrough in the case.
"It is possible that the UnSub, despite being filled with rage, has extremely low self confidence, making it impossible for them to engage in direct confrontation." Novak wonders aloud while looking to nowhere in particular. Dean has a split second thought that his profile exudes the confidence and energy of an old-time sheriff.
"Okay, but still, all that rage for a stranger? Using that amount of force?" Gabriel repeats while unwrapping a tiny straw and piercing a juice box with it.
"One stranger is a stretch, but three," Dean grumbles against his glass, "I ain't buying it."
"What would be the alternative? Call the forensics team liars?" There it is, Dean thinks. This guy's already questioning him, questioning his intelligence. Dean is used to it by now, for better or for worse, people take one look at him and whatever they see, it is definitely not something that says 'this guy 's the brain of the operation'. It's basically become routine to him that he has to constantly prove himself to others. Only thing he hasn't realized, how much he's gotten used to the comfort of being part of a team where he's not only trusted but respected as well.
"I don't know what they are, but my gut 's tellin' me there's some pieces that don't fit right with this whole story." Dean turns to look Novak in the eye directly as he fights not to frown more that absolutely necessary.
"Can you offer anything more insightful than your 'gut'?" Novak mirrors Dean's frown but he thinks it's made 99 percent less effective by being paired with the honest-to-god air quotes the man made with his fingers.
"Currently, no, sir." Dean packed as much disrespect into the last word as he possibly could. He blinks at Novak a few times, unwilling to be the first to look away.
"Well thank God you got me here to help you with that puzzle, right Dean?" Ellen, once again, breaks the exchange and Dean is grateful for the help even though it's in the form of a scolding look one would give to a kid that's eating mud in the park. It also serves to ease Dean's worries, remembering they have their own top-notch forensics expert to help sort out through this mess of a case.
x
After landing in Philly, Novak though it best for all of them to meet with the locals together, before splitting up with different assignments. Probably a good call considering they really have no guesses as to what they're working with here. After a quick meeting, Ellen left to go look over the victim's bodies down at the morgue and Gabriel chose to go over the evidence with some of the officers over coffee. That left Dean and Novak to be led by the lead police detective to a conference room reserved for the team.
Novak's one good call, however, is pretty much cancelled out in Dean's eyes by the guy chewing out the lead detective after barely five minutes of meeting him.
"You mean to tell me you where the one that came up with that ridiculous name?" He growled, squinting his eyes at the now-confused cop.
"All due respect, I don't see what the big deal is," the other man seemed to snap into focus and argued with Novak, "every serial killer needs a name, it's basically common knowledge these days. And it makes things easier for us."
Oof. That last bit might've rubbed any of them the wrong way but Dean was not prepared for Novak to deliver that message with the harshness of a drill sergeant and the calm of a cloudy sky, growing darker with the promise of abundant rain.
"Makes things easier? You have only done an irreparable disservice to this investigation. The name is influencing the minds of everyone working on this case by limiting their understanding of events. We are not here to investigate The Ghost Woman." Well, at least he didn't do the air-quotes this time, Dean thinks to himself. "You are to send a memo officially retracting the name to everyone working this."
"Point taken," the detective nods with a tight-lipped expression. "Anything else?"
"No, thank you." Novak answers as the man exits the room, closing the door behind himself.
Now that it's only the two of them, Dean is free to let his frustrations be known to the supervisor. He takes a breath, trying to think of the most appropriate way to let the man know he seriously doesn't appreciate him talking to the guy like he just did.
"What the fuck was that?" The words tumble out before he even thought to stop them. He didn't realize how wound up he was until he had the chance to speak.
"Excuse me?" Novak turns to look at him.
"I'm not excusing shit, man, you can't just be a dick to the local detectives for no reason." Dean steps closer to the man.
Novak steps forward as well, "There was a reason, Dean." Just the way this guy says his name gets Dean even angrier than he was a few seconds ago. "I'm sure you are aware we can't have a name like that derailing this investigation."
"Oh, I'm aware all right, but it wouldn't kill you to be just a tiny fricking bit nicer."
"Of course it wouldn't kill me, I-" Novak stops himself, probably on the account of Dean's stare telling him he's not in the mood to joke around when he's this pissed off "Look, Dean," the slightly shorter man breathes out, "we don't have time to waste on sparing people's feelings." He concludes, eyes not leaving Dean's for even a second.
Dean sighs, finally looking away and carefully taking a step to distance himself from the man. Contrary to popular belief, he knows when to quit. The guy 's clearly dead-set on going about this his way, with Dean's opinion holding little weight. They're here to solve murders, not argue over manners and Dean's not getting payed enough to also be solving this stubborn man's emotional problems. "I'm gonna grab a cup of coffee and see if Gabriel 's got something new," Dean says to the floor as he leaves the conference room. He doesn't look back at Novak even if he feels the man's gaze burning into his back. Possibly, because of it.
x
The day drags on and by the time night falls they're no closer to having a complete profile. They don't even have a semblance of one. The only thing everyone can agree on is that a woman capable of strangulation with only her hands as weapons, can't be that difficult to spot in a crowd.
After Novak declares that it's best for them to get some sleep, Dean agrees only in hopes of being left alone to bask in the kind of peace that can only be achieved when a place that's normally buzzing with people, gets vacated. After promising he'll only be a couple minutes he pours a now-cold and kinda gross cup of coffee and gets to work. He goes over everything, memorizing the smallest inconsistencies, blank pieces of a puzzle that need to be filled in before getting placed in the right spot.
Retiring from the bulletin board to the worn-out leather couch, he opens his equally rough looking leather bound notebook and starts writing details down. The last thing Dean remembers is flipping through the pages in search of similar details from previous cases that may be able to help him now. What was supposed to be a quick blink turns out detrimental as his eyes slowly lose focus, allowing the heavy blanket of exhaustion to finally cover him completely.