"What did he say?" Michael demands, and Castiel can tell he's pissed. That's karma for not taping the call, apparently.

"He got shot," Castiel says. "Something he killed tried to fight back. He'd been squatting in an abandoned house since then. That's it."

"That's it?" Michael says skeptically. "He called you just to tell you he got hurt?"

"Trust me, I'm just as confused as you," Castiel says.

"Did he say anything else?" Michael asks.

"Nope."

"Anything," Michael adds. "Anything at all, whether you think it's important or not."

Castiel scoffs. "You want me to put on a one-person play or something?"

"Go for it."

Castiel rolls his eyes. "I was gonna head out. I called him one last time. He picked up, and the first thing he said was that he fucked up —"

"What do you mean?" Michael interrupts.

"Just that he got shot," Castiel says. "There's no hidden meaning there. I asked. Now, do you want the run down, or do you want to keep asking stupid questions?"

Michael crosses his arms, annoyed. "Continue."

"So, he said he got shot, I asked what happened, and he made some crack about feeling like he finally has a good parent, but I'm sure no one here is surprised that he didn't have a good home life growing up.

"Then he said he got shot killing someone, but we didn't find any sign of a gun at the last crime scene, so I have a feeling we missed one. He probably didn't sign it. Getting shot does things to you. Then he made a joke about not going to the hospital because he doesn't have health insurance, and then he left before we could find him."

Of course, he left out a couple small details. Obviously, he didn't want to mention the little bit about being the guy's closest friend. That wouldn't go over well. He also didn't mention asking if the guy was okay, because even if he was going into excessive detail to please his brother, he doesn't want to give the impression that the slip up means he cares. And, of course, he probably shouldn't mention that he admit that they were tracking him, because even if he knew it wouldn't change anything, it's still not something Michael would enjoy hearing.

"So that's it?" Michael asks. "It was, what, just a social call before he snuck back off into oblivion?"

Castiel shrugs. "I didn't claim to understand it. Serial killers are fucking weird."

Michael raises an eyebrow, but if he's having doubts, he doesn't say anything about it. Instead, he just says, "Well, he's gone now, anyway. We're out 'till the next murder."

"Maybe," Castiel says. "Or we can get the NYPD on the phone and have them contact any source of public transportation nearby, look for anyone with a bad limp and keep an eye on them. Have the local police grab him wherever he gets off."

"What makes you think he's even taking public transportation?" Michael asks.

"He was squatting in an abandoned house for weeks," Castiel says. "He doesn't seem like the type of guy to risk getting caught trespassing if he had a car to sleep in."

"He's a serial killer," Michael reminds him. "I don't think he's above a little breaking and entering."

"Morally, no, not at all," Castiel says. "But he's not an idiot. We get him for trespassing, we could use it to connect him to the murders. He's not dumb enough to risk getting caught if he doesn't have to."

Michael nods slowly. "Well, it's worth a shot. I'll get on that."

"I can do it," Castiel says.

"No, you're going to go home and sleep," Michael says.

"But —"

"I know you were stressed out when he dropped off the map. He's back now. Everything's normal again. So get some sleep."

"You're not my dad," Castiel snaps.

"Would you like me to get Dad on the phone?" Michael asks.

Castiel groans. "Fine, I'll go. But only if you do it now. I don't know how long we have."

"You know, you're really not supposed to be the one giving orders," Michael says.

"Since when have I cared about that?"