Hawaiian Sellout
Jul. 10th, 2012 04:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Hawaiian Sellout
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13.
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean, Castiel, Death; pre-slash Dean/Castiel.
Warnings: Cursing. OFC alert: she's not paired with anyone, but if you despise OCs with every fiber of your being, you should probably avoid this. And maybe have a nice frosty cocktail.
Word Count: 9000
Summary: Dean's childhood idol, the enigmatic cop Mac MacLeod from TV show Waikiki 666, has apparently made a deal with some pesky demons in exchange for eternal life. It's up to Sam, Dean and Cas to brave the surftastic beaches and sun-kissed babes of Hawai'i to deal with this menace.
Notes: A sequel to Beat the Reaper, but fine to read on its own. The title is once again gleaned from a Firesign Theater routine. I have a feeling, if nobody stops me, that this will end up being a trilogy. Or worse.
This is a sequel to my story, Beat the Reaper, but can be read on its own. Here is the tl;dr version of that one: Dean's childhood idol, Rebus Knebus, summoned a demon to keep away his Reaper and thus grant himself a long life of death-defying motorcycle stunts. His son, Rebus Jr., stole the spell and started to unleash rather a lot of these demons. Death, who helped Sam and Dean on this case, discovered that the demons are not from this reality. Sam and Dean were also aided by Death's daughter, the reaper Leinth, whom Death is training in the family business.
“Do you think things would have been different if we were girls?”
“WHAT?” Dean looked over at his weird little brother, who was turning his stupid salad shaker plastic cup thingie over and over and over in his hands. “You mean you'd be paranoid about your ass getting fat?” asked Dean, spitting out burger bits.
“No,” said Sam, who didn't seem to get the jibe. “That's not what I meant.” Or maybe he was ignoring the jibe. These stakeouts always made you a little punchy, hours and hours and HOURS in the car with someone and way to many cups of coffee. And it wasn't like on TV where you could go to a sexy montage, cut to some kind of crapola trance music either. You had to sit there in the car while your brother poked at his salad shaker to make sure all the honey mustard dressing was evenly distributed over the bits of rabbit food, and imagine your life as Dean-ella or whatever the fuck.
“What did you mean?” Dean prodded. Hey, it was a stupid conversation, but at least it was more interesting than this greasy, lukewarm bacon-double-bacon burger from the local McDonalds wannabee.
Sam shrugged and eyed his plastic fork. He picked up a paper napkin, and polished off an invisible spot from the fork. “No. Just. The stuff with our dad?”
“What stuff with our dad?” Now it was Dean's turn to act oblivious.
“All the stuff about having to be a hunter. I mean,” said Sam, now chomping on a honey mustard coated lettuce fragment, “you think he would've expected us to be hunters if we were girls?”
“Girls make good hunters. Girls make great hunters!” protested Dean, now rewrapping his sad burger in the orange waxed paper and tossing it back into the greasy sack.
“I'm not arguing that,” said Sam. “I mean he wouldn't have expected us to have to follow him. I think we would have had more of a choice.”
“We had a choice,” said Dean. “What the hell?” The last was spoken not about his brother's philosophical musings nor the atrocious fast food, but rather movement around the creepy building they were staking out, the whole point of spending hours cold and bored and stuffing their guts with processed meat of dubious origin. Well, stuffing Dean's gut anyway.
But there were guys there now. A lot of them.
“Are they wearing … grass skirts?” asked Sam.
Dean grabbed the tiki idol that was hanging from the mirror. “Come on!” he said.
“I don't know, Daddy. What about adopting a more modern game? A new trademark?”
“Leinth, my dear,” said Death, dispassionately surveying the chess board in front of him. “Every reaper worth his salt knows the ins and outs of this game. It is ancient: that is its virtue.”
“Yeah, but, what if, maybe, we gave something new a try? Like Monopoly? Or Pictionary? Or Battleship?”
“LEINTH,” scolded Death. “Death does not play Battleship! It would be undignified.”
“Yes, Daddy,” sighted Leinth, who refixed the skull and croosbone patterned scrunchie around her auburn hair.
“Now, have a cheese doodle,” offered Death, reaching the brightly colored plastic sack out to his daughter. “And try to concentrate!” Leinth took a handful of the snack food and crossed her legs up in the chair, staring unhappily at the board.
Both players looked up to the sounds of a light flapping of wings. “Ah,” said Death, rising to greet the new arrivals: Castiel the angel, accompanied by Sam and Dean Winchester. The latter wore around their necks amulets with Enochian sigils etched upon them: artifacts that allowed them to see the usually invisible reapers.
“Castiel. Our universe's little angelic pinball. I assume you are alive this week?” A thin smile played at Death's lips.
“Yes. I am alive this week,” answered Castiel, who angled his head and frowned in sweet puzzlement at the question.
“Hi Castiel. Hi Sam. Hi Dean,” said Leinth, smiling wanly. She went back to staring forlornly at the chess board.
“Hey Leinth,” said Sam, who smiled broadly. He wandered over to survey the chess board. It was old, and the pieces looked to be carved ivory.
“Uh, can I ask why you wanted us here, Death?” asked Dean, who looked rather uncomfortable about the whole business. Probably because he was uncomfortable about the whole business. He looked around, trying to not look like he was looking around. It wasn't what he expected: casa Death. Probably in his mind, it had added up to some cross between the Addams Family and the Munsters, with maybe a touch of Betelgeuse.
Instead it was swank looking, but old money swank, like a place you'd see British people living in one of those stupid PBS shows your girlfriend watched. He felt a little out of place, like one of the raggedy-toothed servants who said “Oi” a lot had wandered upstairs by mistake. But he noticed Leinth the reaper girl was wearing sweatpants and a T shirt, so maybe they did live here? And they had horses out back or something? Death was supposed to ride a white horse, right?
“It is the issue we discussed previously,” Death told them. “Won't you sit down? And do have a cheese doodle. I find them very crispy and delicious.”
Dean and Castiel sat on the couch where Death indicated, Dean grabbing a healthy handful of salty cheese snacks. Over at the chess board, and behind Death's back, Sam silently pointed to Leinth's knight, and then pointed to an empty square. Leinth knitted her brows for a moment, and then nodded to Sam and moved the piece as he had indicated.
“So we're talking about those weird ass demons Rebus Knebus called up?” asked Dean, wiping processed cheese flavored powder from his hands.
“Oh, those ass butt demons,” said Castiel.
“Yeah, the ass butts,” laughed Dean, punching a semi-bewildered Castiel in the shoulder.
“Ow,” said Castiel, rubbing his shoulder.
“You had said they weren't from this universe,” said Sam.
“No, and as such, they should be dealt with. Unfortunately, with the current lack of leadership up high,” said Death, casting a withering glance at Castiel, “we must tend to these issues ourselves.” Castiel did not reply, but cast his eyes downward, looking sad.
“So, you've spotted activity?” asked Dean.
“Yes, I've had young Leinth more closely monitor our unaccounted for reapers.”
“I looked back several decades,” said Leinth, swinging her legs to sit sideways in her chair. “And there are some discrepancies centered around the American state of Hawaii.”
“Specifically,” explained Death, “we have pinned this down to the actor, Tab Blandishment.”
“Holy fuck, you mean Tab Blandishment of Waikiki 69?” said Dean, who suddenly seemed quite excited.
“Waikiki 69? Was that one of your special videos, Dean?” asked Sam, raising an eyebrow.
“It was a TV show! The greatest cop show ever! Dad used to let me stay up on Sunday night to watch it with him.”
“I thought you hated police procedurals?” said Sam.
“This was great! They had the best opening theme, with guitars and surfers and half-naked babes and guys getting shot! Special Agent Mac MacLeod drove around in a beautiful, cherry 'Stang, picking up beautiful girls and solving crimes!”
“A 'cherry stang?'” asked Castiel. “Is that some kind of … condiment, Dean?”
“You could say it's got a cherry on top,” smiled Dean, dreaming of cool cars.
“Oh, ice cream sundae!” said Leinth, jumping up. “Would you guys like something to eat? I'm starving,” she said, rubbing her stomach.
“Have some more cheese doodles, my dear,” offered Death.
“Cheese doodles aren't filling, Daddy. And they're salty!”
“I'll have a sundae,” said Dean eagerly. “I mean, if you're making 'em,” he added, backtracking a bit in case he seemed impolite.
“Do we have ice cream?” asked Leinth.
“But of course. Ice cream, gelato, frozen yogurt, custard, mousse, sorbet....” ticked off Death.
“Oh, nobody likes sorbet,” said Leinth. “Hey. Castiel!” she said, pulling the still moping angel by his hand. “You're gonna help me make sundaes. You can't mope when you're eating a sundae!”
“I wasn't moping, Leinth,” moped Castiel, who nevertheless followed the reaper out towards what was presumably the kitchen.
“So, you think Tab Blankenship-” started Sam.
“Blandishment,” corrected Dean.
“Tab Blandishment called some of your demons?” asked Sam.
“That was the inference,” said Death. “But I would like you boys to do the, er, footwork on this.”
“What's Tab, uh, Blandishment doing these days?” asked Sam.
“From what I have ascertained,” said Death, “he is now starring in what you humans term the 'reboot' of the original show.”
“Oh, yeah. Waikiki 666,” said Dean. “It sucks. I mean, it totally sucks, man.”
“Wouldn't he be getting a little old for that kind of role?” asked Sam.
“Yeah, that's weird,” said Dean. “And he used to do his own stunts.”
“A practice which I understand had continued,” said Death.
Sam and Dean looked at each other.
“Demons?” said Sam.
“Yeah,” said Dean.
“Hey, could somebody give us a hand?” came Leinth's voice. Sam nudged Dean, who got up and followed the sound of the voice. He soon found the kitchen, which turned out to be quite bright and sunny, looking out on some pleasant green rolling hills. Yeah, these people definitely had horses somewhere, Dean thought.
The kitchen looked like a small typhoon had hit it. Leinth was putting the finishing touches on a tray of elaborate sundaes, each almost the size of a baby hippo. Judging from the great array of ice cream tubs that were littering the kitchen, they had been made with all 31 flavors of ice cream. She scattered crushed peanuts over the whipped cream and mouth-watering fudge and caramel sauces.
“Could you help me with these trays?” asked Leinth. “Your angel is too overwrought.”
Castiel was sitting up on a stool near a blender, puzzled expression on his face, dipping a straw into a chocolate milkshake.
“What's up, Cas?” asked Dean. Leinth tried to suppress a grin.
“Dean, I fail to see how this blended frozen dessert product can manage to bring young males to the vicinity.”
“I'd teach you, but I'd have to charge,” sang Leinth.
“Cas, what have I told you about listening to modern pop music?” asked Dean, crossing his arms and looking stern.
“You said don't listen to any popular music recorded after 1984. Yes but Dean-”
“Cas, finish your milkshake so you can eat your ice cream. We'll listen to nothing but Skynyrd on the drive back,” said Dean, casting the evil eye at Leinth. “That should cure you.”
“You realize I don't really need to eat.”
“Eat your damn milkshake,” said Dean, picking up a tray of gooey sundaes. Castiel shrugged, and then, as Leinth and Dean watched, downed the milkshake in one go.
Leinth managed to coax a tray into Castiel's hands, and they carted the desserts back to the living room. Conversation slowed down as all assembled ate contentedly for a while.
“Too bad there's no pie to go with this,” Dean mused at one point.
“Actually-” began Leinth.
“I can't believe you're still jonesing for dessert!” said Sam.
“Who is Jones?” asked Castiel.
“Dean stole his ice cream,” said Sam. Castiel raised his eyebrows, obviously willing to go smite this Jones person.
“Hey,” said Dean, whose memory had been jarred by the frozen treats. “I dunno if this is connected, but we recently had to clean up a nest of tiki gods. They were living in San Diego.”
“San Diego?” asked Death.
“I've heard it's nice!” said Leinth.
“Ah, yes, you must try the crab at Trulucks,” said Death. “These were Hawaiian natives then?”
“Yeah,” said Dean. “No fucking idea what they were doing in California.”
“I have no idea what anyone is doing in California,” sighed Death, sending a delicate silver spoon into his ice cream. “But I should say, as now you've been to my house, and eaten ice cream prepared by my own daughter....”
“Oh!” said Dean, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “Do we now owe you some kinda cosmic debt?”
“What? No, I should say not,” said Death. “But I thought, as honorable men, you should be favorably inclined towards me....”
“Don't worry your death's head, Death,” said Dean. “We'll take the case.”
“We will?” asked Sam.
“Hell yeah,” said Dean. “Mac MacLeod, man!”
“Why do you have all these memories of doing fun stuff with dad?” asked Sam, who seemed more than a mite jealous.
“I will assist them,” said Castiel, licking a drip of pistachio from his hand. “This rightly should have been Heaven's concern.”
“I suppose you angels have been terribly busy, what with all the feuding and conjuring up apocalyptic events,” snarked Death which once again produced a downcast look from Castiel
“Hey, don't pick on Cas,” said Dean, punching Castiel in the shoulder.
“Ow!” said Castiel.
“Yeah, Dean's the only one who can pick on Cas,” said Sam.
“There is one caution if you would like to employ your, er, friend,” warned Death.
“What's that?” asked Sam.
“We think the beasties can sense supernatural activity,” said Leinth. “We have a hunch they can sense us – reapers – when we're going about our business.”
“It explains why they are attracted to our kind. And this is why Leinth and I are unable to solve this … situation on our own,” said Death.
“No angel magic? Can do!” said Dean.
“Really, Dean?” asked Castiel.
“Easy as pie. And pie is easy as … ice cream!” said Dean, holding up a spoon.
“Ice cream is not so easy,” mused Castiel.
“Leinth, might I remind you, if you are quite through conjuring dessert, you need to make your next move, young lady,” scolded Death.
“I already moved, Daddy,” said Leinth smugly, pointing over to the board.
“Oh?” said Death, putting his sundae aside and going across the room to regard the chess board. “Oh!” he repeated, frowning at the board. “So you have. So you have....” Death sat down at the chess board, lost in thought.
Leinth stole a glance at Sam, who winked. She smiled, but was quick to wipe the grin off her face when her father suddenly looked up at her.
“Well, I guess we should get going. And, thanks for the ice cream, Death,” said Dean, stifling a burp.
“If you have any issues,” said Death, still surveying the chess board, “my daughter will be at our headquarters in Honolulu. You may contact her there.”
“You have a headquarters in Hawaii?” asked Sam.
“The rent is high, but Daddy likes pulled pork,” said Leinth.
“Cas?” asked Dean. Without waiting for a goodbye, Castiel put a hand on Sam's shoulder and a hand on Dean's, and then they were there no more.
The three materialized again near the Impala. “Is it me, or did we just have a little ice cream social with Death?” asked Dean, who shivered.
“We just had an ice cream social with Death,” smiled Sam.
“And you – you flirted with Death!” said Dean.
“Well, it was Death's kid,” said Sam.
“You flirted with Death, Jr!”
“That actually doesn't sound particularly portentious,” said Sam.
“Did you want me to convey you to Hawaii now?” asked Castiel.
“Oh, no, Cas!” said Dean. “Remember? No angel magic. Anyway, I got a better idea. We're gonna do this in style!”
“This is what I'm talking about,” said Dean, as the lovely woman placed a flowered lei around his neck at Honolulu airport.
“Ten hours confined to a small space with a child screaming and kicking the back of your seat?” inquired Castiel, who looked rather uncomfortable in his rumpled aloha shirt. Dean wondered if the angel perhaps had some enchantment that made any clothes that came in contact with him wrinkle up.
“I think Dean means you need to experience being greeted at the airport,” said Sam, bowing very low for the giggling women, who still had to stand on tippy-toe to get the lei up over his head.
“Yeah! You gotta experience the aloha!” agreed Dean.
“Does the concept of aloha include you screaming that the plane is going to crash?” asked Castiel, rubbing his upper arm where it probably bore a Dean's-hand-shaped bruise.
“It was only that once, Cas,” grumbled Dean. “Anyway, we'll go pick up our awesome cool car, drive with the top down to the beach, and maybe pick up some babes, grab some of those drinks with the little umbrellas in them....”
“Dean,” said Sam. Dean noticed Sam and Castiel were both frowning at him.
“What?”
“What about Tab Blepharoplast?” asked Sam as Castiel nodded.
“Blandishment,” corrected Dean.
“What about that guy? The one we're supposed to be following?”
“We'll get to that! Relax! We need to enjoy,” said Dean.
The white Prius hummed into the parking lot and stopped, silent as a ghost.
Dean Winchester emerged, muttering to himself. He tugged at his collar – despite the heat, he was dressed in a suit – and started to stalk off towards the television studio.
“Dean!” called Sam, who was helping Castiel extract himself from the back of the car.
“I can't believe the rental place was fucking out of convertibles!” raved Dean.
“Probably a lot of demand for them here. Whoa there!” said Sam, as Castiel stumbled awkwardly into his arms.
“I am sorry, Sam,” said Castiel, smoothing his coat. “I think that was more uncomfortable than the airplane trip,” he added, glaring at the impossibly tiny back seat.
“Cas! Why are you in that lame coat?” asked Dean.
“I feel more comfortable clad in my vessel's human clothes,” protested Castiel.
“Leave it in the car, Columbo! You'll stick out like a sore thumb,” ordered Dean.
Castiel frowned, but reluctantly doffed the trench coat and tossed it in the back seat. Dean fussily straightened the angel's tie, and then began to charge off again.
“Dean!” said Sam.
“What now?” asked Dean, who reluctantly turned around once again.
“You need to lock the rental!” Sam pointed out, indicating the cursed Prius.
Dean grumbled, but brought out his key and pushed a button, causing the car to beep. “Was hoping someone would steal the fucking thing while we're inside,” he muttered.
The three headed for the studio, SeaBee Entertainment. There was a gigantic billboard slapped to the side advertising Waikiki 666, the new incarnation of Waikiki 69. “OSHA, here for the inspection,” Dean, in his best officious voice, told the receptionist as the other two flashed official looking badges (at least one of which was right side up).
After a bit of low key fuss (the residents seemed friendly, if a bit suspicious) and a call to Bobby's OSHA line, the men were issued guest badges and allowed backstage. Dean, while trying to act casual, grabbed a clip board and ushered the other two into what looked like a custodian's closet. Dean used a penlight to look over the clipboard.
“What is that,” asked Sam, blowing some strands of a mop out of his face.
“This is the shooting schedule. We're in luck, Tab Blandishment is filming today in Studio C. I think it would be best if we split up. Sam, you take Cas and find his trailer, break in and poke around. I'll head to Studio C and interrogate Blandishment.
“Hey, I still smell of sulphur from Rebus Knebus' stupid trailer,” Sam complained.
“So, you have the experience!” reasoned Dean.
“I think you just wanna fanboy Blunderbuss!” said Sam.
“I'm not a fanboy! And you can't even remember his name!” said Dean. “Go on. Cas will help you break in.”
“I can break in on my own, thanks,” sighed Sam, who let himself out of the closet.
“Shall I come with you, Dean?” asked Castiel as they too crept out into the hallway.
“Yeah, sure,” said Dean. “Just remember, don't do your body space thing with Blandishment! He's a star! Remember our three rules?”
“Personal space, personal space, and personal space,” Castiel ticked off.
“Right. Live it. Learn it,” said Dean. “Come on.”
Studio C was bustling with activity, so it was no problem for Dean and Castiel to slip in unnoticed. “Here,” said Dean, “carry this,” he told Castiel, handing the puzzled angel a clipboard. “You always look more official with a clipboard.”
“Those people standing over there,” said Castiel. “Why are they all similarly surgically enhanced?” Dean looked over to where Castiel was pointing. There were several very attractive young men and women mulling around between takes, sipping coffee and typing on Blackberries.
“Those are the actors, Cas,” whispered Dean. “You've watched Dr. Sexy with me, right?”
“Yes,” said Castiel.
“They're TV actors. They all have to be young and sexy.”
“Why?”
“Because that's what people wanna watch, I guess,” shrugged Dean.
“But what about that woman?” Castiel now pointed out a middle aged lady who was sitting on the set of what looked like a reception area, patiently knitting.
“Oh my gosh, that's Miss Pennywhistle! They're still using the original actress, Betty Cask!” gushed Dean.
“Penny … whistle?” asked Castiel.
“She's Mac MacLeod's faithful secretary! She always had a case on him, but never scored with him.”
“That's unrequited love? It sounds terribly frustrating and unhappy,” mused Castiel, looking at Dean.
“Aw, c'mon Cas, don't be a downer. Let’s go see if she knows about Blandishment. Miss Cask?”
The woman looked up, her eyes brightening at the attention. “You’re calling me, young man?”
“Yes. We’re Mr. Paige and Mr. Plant, of OSHA? We were hoping we could talk to Mr. Blandishment.”
“Oh, such nice young men. You’re in luck, Mr. Blandishment will be on set in just a moment.”
“Great. That’s great. Uh, love your work,” added Dean.
“I’ve been in every show, since the beginning,” said Miss Cask proudly. “Mr. Blandishment calls me his good luck charm.” She reached into the bag at her feet and pulled out a small object. “Here you go, dear,” she told Dean. Dean took the small coin-like object from her and turned it over.
“Oh. Wow. What is this?”
“It’s my own very special good luck charm,” beamed Miss Cask.
“Thank you, Miss Cask!” said Dean. At Dean’s signal, the two men walked away. “I’m not familiar with these symbols,” he mused as Castiel looked over his shoulder at the strange coin.
“Those are odd,” said Castiel. “They resemble-“
“Hey look!” said Dean, pocketing the coin as there was a commotion on the set. “Whoa, he's shorter than I thought.”
Just then, a man on the wrong side of middle age strode onto the set, trailing a rather large entourage. He still wore a makeup bib, and one woman was spraying his perfectly coiffed hair while another dabbed at his makeup. “Are you fucktards ready yet?” he snapped irritably to no one in particular.
“Hi, Tab,” said Betty Cask, who was still sitting at the receptionist’s desk. She had put down her knitting and suddenly sat upright, patting her hair.
“Oh, hey Betty,” grumbled Blandishment. “What the fuck is going on?” he growled at no one in particular.
“Ten minutes, Tab,” said a guy wearing a headset.
“See that it's not late,” barked Blandishment, tearing off his bib and shooing off the hovering attendants, favoring one very attractive young lady with an affectionate pat on the ass. He took a cigarette pack out of his shirt pocket and pulled out a Marlboro. “I’m going for a fucking smoke.”
“Uh, Tab, you know there's no smoking in the studio.”
“Fuck. You!” said Blandishment, turning and stalking out of the studio.
“Come on! Now's our chance!” Dean whispered to Castiel, and they both took off after the star. When they were within sight of him, standing just outside the studio lighting up, Dean held up a restraining arm, and both of them began to walk instead of run.
“Mr. Blandishment?” said Dean, hurrying up and flashing a badge. “We're Paige and Plant, from OSHA. We're assessing safety issues at this facility.”
“You're who?” grumbled Blandishment, blowing smoke directly into Dean's face.
“OSHA inspectors,” choked Dean, as Castiel hurriedly scribbled something on his clipboard. “We've had recent reports of some incidents with some of the stunts on the, uh, Waikiki 666 program.”
“I told them not to name it that. Bad luck,” grumbled Blandishment.
“There was a car that went over a cliff?” prompted Castiel.
“You're going to ruin your vocal chords young man!” said Blandishment.
“Excuse me?” asked Castiel.
“Doing that unseemly voice: 'The car that went over the cliff,'” rasped Blandishment. “I know it impresses the ladies, but you've set the register far too low!” explained Blandishment.
“I'm sorry?” asked Castiel, now looking hopelessly at Dean.
“Uh, Mr. Blandishment, the car you were driving in ran over a cliff and exploded on impact?” said Dean.
“Yes, that was unfortunate. But I walked away. Not a scratch!” bragged Blandishment.
“After an explosion?” asked Dean.
“And the pyrotechnics that went awry?” asked Castiel.
“Didn't even raise a blister!” said the TV star.
“And the stunt gun that was loaded with live rounds by mistake?” asked Dean.
Blandishment laughed. “Young men, these things,” he said, indicating the cigarette, “will kill me before my stunts. And I've been smoking 'em for forty years. Forty years!”
“You've never experienced health problems from cigarette smoking?” asked Castiel.
“Poppycock,” said Blandishment. “But I thought you were from OSHA?” he asked suspiciously.
“Uh, we are,” backpedaled Dean. “He's just a nerd,” he said, hiking a thumb at an offended looking Castiel.
“I don't think I deserve that accusation for being concerned about human health problems,” said Castiel.
“OK. Cas. Write on your clipboard,” said Dean.
“I've seen bad acting in my time,” said Blandishment, “but you two, as they say, take the cake. Who are you, really?”
Dean sighed and decided to try a novel tack. “Uh. Mr. Blandishment? To be honest, Cas and I, we're really big fans.”
“Fans?” asked Blandishment, narrowing his eyes.
“Yeah. And we just, uh, wanted to talk to our idol,” said Dean.
“Oh really?” said Blandishment, looking between them, a thin smile drawing across his features.
“What a DICK BAG!” growled Dean as he and Castiel stood waiting by the white Prius. “I tell him I'm a fan and he calls fucking security?”
“Maybe Sam was more successful?” said Castiel. “I could go and find him if you wanted.”
“No, no angel tricks. Wait! Here's old sulphur breath now!”
“Who?” asked Castiel. He turned, and saw Sam ambling casually towards them.
“What happened?” asked Sam.
“Tab Blandishment is a ball sack,” grumbled Dean.
“Uh-huh,” said Sam. “He's also not using magic.”
“What?” asked Dean. “He must be! He's evaded certain death for four decades!”
“I ransacked the trailer. I went through it all twice. There's absolutely no evidence of demons, EMF is the lowest I've ever seen. The guy is normal, Dean.”
“The guy is not normal,” said Dean.
“Do you think Death's information was wrong?” asked Castiel.
“I dunno what to think,” said Dean. “Look, let's get to the hotel. I wanna check in, cool off, have a drink by the pool.”
Dean awoke, bathed in sweat. He tried out several inventive curses at the busted air conditioner. As it turned out, he had picked the only hotel in Honolulu with no view.
He looked over at the next bed. Despite the heat and stultifying humidity, Sam was contentedly sawing wood.
The room opened on a small private balcony. Dean thought he saw movement out there. Curious, he pulled on a pair of jeans and headed out, being careful to shut the door softly so he didn't wake Sam, the sleepy jerk.
Dean blinked, not certain for a time what he was seeing.
Castiel had removed the trench coat, and his shirt as well. They were balled up in the corner. And the angel was … well, the only word Dean could think of was perched up on the balustrade.
His great, dark wing flapped lazily, the light breeze sending ripples through the feathers.
“Cas?” said Dean.
The angel looked around. He held in his wings and slid to the floor, graceful as a cat. “I am sorry Dean. I did not mean to startle you.”
“No, Cas, that's OK,” said Dean, utterly fascinated. There seemed to be a soft glow around him, and it wasn't the moonlight.
“Sometimes I find my human form … restricting,” said Castiel, who was now standing up too close.
“It's.... It's really cool, Cas,” said Dean. The angel didn't reply, but searched Dean's eyes. He was so close, Dean could feel his breath. Embarrassed, although he didn't know why, Dean looked down. Barely visible in the moonlight, there were some thin scars running up and down the angel's chest. “Hey. Are you hurt?” asked Dean. He looked closer. Faint traces of Enochian sigils.
“I don't understand,” admitted Castiel. His wings gave a short flap. Like a shrug. “My vessel never quite healed from this injury.”
“The angel banishing sigils,” said Dean. He reached out tentative fingers and put a hand on Castiel's chest, tracing the main sigil. “You saved us,” he whispered.
“It was effective.”
“You know I never.... I never....”
“Dean?” Dean looked up into Castiel's searching eyes....
….And sat up in bed. Breathing hard, he looked around the room. There was Sammy, out like a light.
“Damn.” Sparing a glare at the broken air conditioning unit as well as the discarded hamburger wrappers, Dean held his rumbling stomach and then pulled on his pants and made his way outside for some air.
“Dean?”
“Shit! Cas! Don't startle me like that,” said Dean, as he suddenly realized the angel was standing in back of him.
“I'm sorry, Dean.”
Castiel looked contrite, so Dean said, “No, I'm sorry. It's too fucking hot to sleep, and I'm having weird dreams.”
“Strange dreams?” asked Castiel, cocking his head in the “Cas doesn't understand these weird humans,” gesture.
“Oh, that's right, you guys don't sleep,” said Dean. “I dreamed I came out and saw you, only you had wings.”
Castiel looked shocked. “You know I would never do that to you, Dean! I might cause injury if I showed you my true form!”
“No,” said Dean. “It was nice. You looked nice.”
“Really?” said Castiel, his eyes brightening. Dean smiled. He could almost imagine the dark wings he'd dreamed perking up. Unlike the dream, Castiel wasn't up close. On the contrary, he seemed to be hanging back on purpose.
“Really. Look, uh, what should we do about Tab Blandishment?” asked Dean, deliberately changing the subject.
“Death had suggested we contact his daughter. I believe this would be a logical next step.”
“Go to Death's international headquarters?” laughed Dean.
Castiel sighed and shook his head. “I will never understand mortal humor,” he sighed.
“No, it wasn't a joke. It's just I'm imagining their offices are in a big old dark castle up on a hillside in central Europe, where there's always a thunderstorm.”
“Really?” asked Castiel.
“Yeah, defintely, Cas. Let's go see Death. Maybe it'll cheer me up.”
Dean glanced at the Addonexus Industries sign, and then craned his neck at the skyscraper. “Death is in an office tower?” he asked.
“It is the twenty first century,” said Sam.
Dean shrugged, and he, Sam and Cas entered the bright, modern lobby, where they were directed to the very top floor. “We have an appointment with Leinth Morris?” he told the gorgeous receptionist when the elevator had deposited the three of them up high.
“Whoa!” said Dean when they were ushered into Leinth's office. He nodded to her, but then walked to gaze out of the bank of floor to ceiling windows.
“Like it?” asked a grinning Leinth, who was dressed in her black reaper suit with silver death's head bolo tie.
“I guess this makes up for our frigging hotel having no view,” said Dean. Castiel stood beside him, seeming mesmerized.
“How did you find a hotel in Honolulu with no view?” asked Leinth.
“We let him book the reservations,” laughed Sam, taking a seat.
“Yeah, I kinda screwed the pooch. Their air conditioning is busted too,” admitted Dean, who also seated himself. Castiel however remained at the window.
“Does it remind you of flying?” Leinth asked him curiously.
“There are few things like flying,” said Castiel. He frowned, looking down at his vessel's hands, which he balled into fists. He looked up, and appeared to want to say something more, but finally shook his head and sat down with the others.
“Can I get you boys anything” said Leinth. She sat down behind her desk. “A drink?” After some discussion, Leinth ended up ordering a round of Cokes.
“So, if it's not prying,” said Sam, “since you and your dad eat and drink, is that a vessel you're occupying?”
“Me?” asked Leinth, regarding her own black-painted fingernails. She cocked her head. “No. This is … you might say, this is a little part of me. The real me. A little something I've poked into your dimension, that you're capable of comprehending.”
“Oh. So we can understand. Well, ain't that nice,” groused Dean.
“So, I take it no luck with Blandishment?” asked Leinth, folding her hands.
“He's clean. Of magic. As far as we can tell,” Sam told her.
“And he’s a complete asshole,” said Dean.
“He is oblivious to the feelings of Betty Cask,” piped up Castiel.
“I'm sorry?” said Leinth. Now all three of the others were looking confusedly at Castiel.
“Oh, you mean the actress who plays Miss Pennywhistle?” said Dean. “But that's just on the show Cas.”
“No. She has an affection for Mr. Blandishment. And he disdains her,” said Castiel.
“Betty Cask, you said?” asked Leinth, who typed something into her desktop computer. “Hrmmm. Anyway, I'm glad that I have you guys here. There were some things I think my father was reluctant to discuss with you the other day.”
“What things?” asked Dean.
“We have another … concern with this case. As I’ve explained before, we have an issue with reapers going missing.”
“You don't think the demons just killed them?” asked Sam.
“The thing is, we just don't know.” Leinth sat back, waving her hand. “You see, I'm trying to bring a modern sensibility to my family's trade, but for a long time – a very long time – everything was done on the honor system. One reaper for one soul. But, as I'm sure you gentlemen realize, things have gotten complicated. A lot more complicated.”
“So. You want us to look up the missing reapers?” asked Sam.
“You might say, we're hoping if we take care of this situation, that might bring us closer to a resolution,” said Leinth.
“Damn, did you go to law or something?” asked Dean.
Leinth grinned broadly and pointed across the room. There was a framed MBA certificate on the wall. “Harvard Business,” she told them. “At any rate, Daddy was reluctant to bring mortals into our affairs. And, as a courtesy, I won't go into what he says about your kind, Castiel,” she added, looking apologetically at the angel.
“My brothers and I, we haven't always behaved as we should,” said Castiel.
“But you're OK with us grubby humans doing your dirty work?” asked Dean.
“I like humans,” said Leinth. “You’re my business. Oh!” she said, turning back to her desktop when it beeped. “See? This is what I was talking about!”
“What?” asked Sam.
“Betty Cask. The name rang a bell. She's old enough to have her own reaper.”
“And?”
“Among the missing!” said Leinth.
“Wait,” said Dean. “She’s supposed to be dead?”
“I am honestly not sure. Our record keeping, I'm embarrassed to say, was that bad.”
Sam and Dean looked at each other.
“You said she was in the old show?” asked Sam.
“Yeah. Miss Pennywhistle was in every single episode, even if it was just for a minute or two. She told us Blandishment used to call her his good luck charm,” said Dean.
“Is it the same production company?” asked Sam.
“Yeah. Tiki Talk,” said Dean. “Just like the old show.”
“Look, so what if Tab Bakersfield…” started Sam.
“Blandishment!” said both Leinth and Dean.
“What if Tab Whatsisname doesn’t know anything about this? What if somebody in the production company is keeping the cast out of danger?”
“Can you tell us where Tiki Talk productions has their offices?” Dean asked Leinth.
“They’re in the neighborhood,” said the reaper.
“Cas, we're out of here,” Dean told him.
“Leinth,” said Sam, who was writing the address of Tiki Talk in his notebook. “Can you tell me something?”
“Yes?” she asked.
“Uh. This might sound like a weird question, but do you ever think about being something besides a reaper?”
“Never,” said Leinth decisively.
“Oh. Really?” asked Sam.
Leinth stood up. “It's my calling. The greatest calling.”
“C'mon, Sam,” urged Dean.
“But, what if.... What if you didn't get along with your dad?” asked Sam.
“Sam,” warned Dean.
“Hmm,” said Leinth, who did not seem offended. “It's hard to imagine. There's no one like my father. Daddy is the best. I don't know. I mean,” she allowed, “I guess I get cross when he tries to teach me chess sometimes. I really think the game’s outmoded and we ought to jazz it up. Maybe have reaper Monopoly!” she said.
“What about Twister?” asked Castiel.
“Twister would be great!” said Leinth. “I keep asking Daddy about Battleship, but he won't hear of it.”
“I haven't played that game,” said Castiel.
“Uh, OK. Well, thanks, Leinth, and we'll be in touch,” said Dean, eager to usher his weird brother and his weird angel out.
“Oh, and stop by my receptionist. She has something for you,” said Leinth.
The “something” from Leinth turned out to be reservations at a hotel that had breathtaking views, functional air conditioners, and one of those pools that overlooked the ocean.
“So is it OK to flirt with Death from now on?” teased Sam as he swam up beside Dean. Dean had changed to a swimsuit too, but had not gone in the water, choosing instead to sit by the pool with a drink in his hand.
“Damn. Death knows how to live,” said Dean. “Hey, how did the suit fit, Cas?”
“I am finding it a little large in the waist,” said Castiel, who had just shuffled out holding up his swim trunks, looking impossibly pale and awkward.
“Just don't go off the diving board,” chuckled Dean. “And next time bring your own damn swim trunks.”
Castiel perched on the edge of a chaise lounge, looking uncertain. Sam hopped gracefully out of the pool and began to towel off.
“Why are you so damn nosy about the reaper girl?” asked Dean.
Sam shrugged, dripping water on Castiel. “I was just wondering. She seems to get along really well with her dad. It just doesn’t seem so complicated.”
“It’s never complicated when you’re fucking rich,” said Dean, adjusting his sunglasses.
“Her father is present for her,” said Castiel, not a little wistfully.
“C’mon, Cas! Don’t be morbid. We’re in Hawaii and we have an awesome pool,” said Dean.
“Of course he’s morbid,” said Sam, sitting beside Castiel in the chair. “We’re working for Death.”
“I’m not acting morbid, Dean. I’m stating a fact,” said Castiel. “Death is present, and he expresses his wishes to her. He prefers that she play chess, and not Battleship.”
“Cas,” said Dean. “Death can’t play Battleship!”
“Why not, Dean?” asked Castiel.
“It’s not dignified!” said Dean.
“Dean, you don’t even play chess!” laughed Sam.
“If my father had made his wishes known to me,” Castiel persisted, “I would have fulfilled every one of them.”
“Maybe that’s why he didn’t tell you,” said Sam.
“Why not?” asked Castiel.
“He wanted you to figure stuff out for yourself,” said Sam.
“Sure. Like you can choose to play Battleship. Or Twister. Or whatever,” said Dean, who was down to the end of his drink.
“Well, I would choose to work on the case,” said Castiel. “I don’t see what this has to do with solving it,” he added, waving an arm at the pool.
“This is important. This is down time!” said Dean.
“And you don’t wanna get back in that Prius,” laughed Sam.
“Fucking plastic car,” grumbled Dean.
“Cas is right, though,” said Sam. “We should get our asses in gear and get over to Tiki Talk. See if they have any arcane knowledge.”
“Oh! Or maybe they have some scripts for next season lying around,” speculated Dean.
“I thought you said the new Waikiki 666 sucked donkey balls?” said Sam.
“How is that possible?” asked Castiel, who got a very odd look on his face.
“I’m a casual viewer!” said Dean, standing up. “Cas, quit thinking porn thoughts and get up.”
“I’m not thinking porn thoughts,” protested the angel.
“You’re not?”
“Well, maybe a little. Technically,” admitted Castiel, who stood up so abruptly he nearly lost his swim trunks. “Oops,” he said, blushing.
If anything, Tiki Talk Productions scored lower on the EMF reader than SeaBee had. After the lack of success at the studio, the brothers had decided that the best strategy would be to wait until after hours and simply break in, the old fashioned way.
“And remember, no angel tricks, Cas,” Dean reminded the angel for the hundredth time as they entered the darkened office.
“No angel tricks. Only human tricks,” said Castiel. They looked around. Other than the numerous tiki totems positioned around the cubicles, and a couple of neatly framed Waikiki 666 posters in the entryway, Tiki Talk’s headquarters could have been any office, anywhere.
“Can you find the personnel files in there, Sam?” asked Dean, hovering over his brother’s shoulder while Sam booted up an office computer.
“What are we looking for?” asked Sam.
“Anybody who’s been here since the old show.”
“That narrows it down. Huh,” said Sam.
“What?”
“There’s almost no one. I mean, besides Tab Whatsisname and Betty Cask.”
“Wait, not even the head?” asked Dean.
“The CEO has changed,” said Sam.
“Dean,” said Castiel.
“Just a minute, Cas. Like the directorship passed on from father to son maybe?” suggested Dean.
“No, it’s all different guys. A bunch of different guys. And girls,” Sam told him.
“Dean!” said Castiel.
“One minute, Cas. You think they’ve been passing the spell book around among them all?” asked Dean.
“You can’t a secret with this many people,” said Sam.
“DEAN!”
“Cas, I-“ began Dean who looked up just in time to duck as the green-eyed demon snapped at him. The demon lunged again, this time taking down Dean, Sam and the computer stand. “Shit!” said Dean. “Cas!” He looked over to where the angel was now wrestling with two of the creatures.
He grabbed the now broken computer and hurled it into the stomach of the attacking demon. It grunted and stumbled back, but quickly recovered. Sam recovered too, and the demon got a splash of holy water, which only seemed to make it mad.
“Cas!” shouted Dean as the creature was once again upon him. There was a thwack, and the creature suddenly went limp and rolled off. Castiel was standing over, holding what must have been a hundred pound tiki idol like a baseball bat.
“You said no angel tricks,” he told Dean.
Dean looked over to where Castiel had evidently similarly dispatched the pair of demons that had been attacking him. They were down, in a pool of sticky black blood. “Yeah. That’s good.”
“Then how the heck did they find us?” asked Sam.
“No fucking idea,” sighed Dean. “But I guess we gotta call Leinth to tell her we screwed up again.”
Leinth, who had used her reaper power to stop time locally, was looking concerned as a few of her reapers bustled around, hauling out demons, and putting the office back together. “I apologize. I didn’t think you would be in any danger here,” she told them.
“I don’t understand. We told Cas to hold off the magic,” said Dean.
“I don’t understand either,” said Leinth.
“Dean!” said Castiel. “When we were at the studio, Miss Cask gave you a coin, didn’t she?”
“Oh. Yeah. Her good luck charm.” Dean fished it out of his pocket.
Castiel grabbed it. “This isn’t Enochian, but it resembles it.”
“You think it’s related?” asked Leinth.
Castiel touched the symbols. “You are aware of the symbols used for concealment: the ones I’ve marked on your ribs?”
“Yeah,” said Dean, rubbing his side at the memory.
“We also have sigils used for the opposite purpose: tracking,” Castiel explained, holding up the coin.
“Holy shit,” said Dean. “The cute little old lady? Put a hex on us?”
“She has motivation!” said Castiel confidently. “Love!”
Sam and Dean exchanged puzzled glances. “It sounds like you need to go investigate this person,” said Leinth.
“Did you keep a copy of the shooting schedule, Dean?” asked Sam.
Dean pulled a much wrinkled sheet of paper from his back pocket. “Huh. Looks like they’re on location tomorrow. And get this! Tab Blandishment is doing a stunt.”
“What kind of stunt?” asked Sam.
“Boys,” said Dean, his grin stretching across his face, “tomorrow, we surf the pipeline!”
“Dean, you realized it’s physically impossible to have a high speed pursuit on surfboards,” said Sam.
The beach in question was not the fabled pipeline, but a rather more remote area.
“This show was never one for realism,” said Dean, who had cranked all the windows in the Prius all the way down, but still failed to transform it into a convertible.
‘Yeah, but I can feel my brain cells pop just reading about this,” complained Sam.
“I think my vessel is becoming sunburned,” said Castiel from the windy back seat. “Next time, can we possibly find a place with less aloha?” he asked.
“You two! Quit your bitching, or I’ll stop this car and you’ll have to hitch hike,” warned Dean.
“Cool. Maybe Cas and I will get picked up by an awesome convertible with a couple of babes,” said Sam.
“I think I would miss Dean,” opined Castiel.
“See. Someone around here has loyalty!” said Dean.
“I would want to know precisely how attractive the babes were first,” said Castiel.
“WHAT?” said Dean, as Sam choked with laughter. “You guys are both walking back.”
They arrived at the filming location. Like every film or movie set Dean had ever been on in his life, the entire beach was swarming with activity, none of which would ever end up onscreen.
Dean was careful to park the car out of sight, as nobody wanted to risk crossing Tab Blandishment again. They were up on a bluff overlooking the location. As he exited the car, the salt air really hit him, and Dean looked down, a little sad that the TV people had thrown out all the real surfers for the day.
“Dean?” said Sam, tapping the rearview mirror. Dean leaned back in and grabbed the reaper amulet that he habitually hung around the mirror if he wasn’t expecting to deal with any reapers.
Sam got out as well and pulled out some field glasses. He lay down on his belly at the edge of the bluff and surveyed the scene below. “Ah, look who’s here,” he said.
Dean knelt down next to him and looked where Sam was pointing. “Evil Betty,” he grumbled. “Can you see her trailer?”
Sam pointed as the old lady disappeared into a motorhome.
“Well, since Tab knows what Cas and I look like, you get trailer duty.”
“Again!” grumbled Sam. He got up, wiping the grass stains from his jeans.
“How long should we give you?” asked Dean, looking at his watch.
“What? I’m gonna be jumped by an old lady?” asked Sam.
“Sam!”
“All right. All right. Fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops,” said Sam. He watched as Betty Cask once again emerged from the RV and went to sit with her knitting bag beneath a shady awning. And then he shinnied down the bluff, and Dean began nervously checking his watch. He watched as Dean reached the beach, sneaked his way around to the trailer, and then disappeared inside.
And then they waited.
And waited.
And waited.
“Dean, does it seem as if Sam has been gone a long time?”
“It has been a long time,” said Dean. He frowned at Castiel. “Look, I dunno why, but I have a bad feeling about this. Could you do your angel stuff and check on him.”
“You don’t think we’ll be detected?”
“I don’t care,” said Dean.
Castiel smiled and put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’ll be back shortly with your brother,” he said. And then he wasn’t there.
“I hope so,” said Dean, wiping the nervous sweat from his forehead.
“Sam,” said Castiel, who had just appeared inside the trailer. He instantly knew something was amiss by the gaffer’s tape over Sam’s mouth. Sam squirmed and tried to say something, struggling against the yards and yards of…. Castiel gawped. Sam had been tied up with yarn! “Don’t worry. I’ll get you,” he assured Sam.
Sam screamed under the tape. There was a whoosh.
And then Castiel was surrounded by flames.
“Holy oil?” he asked.
“I’ve got you now, angel,” said Betty Cask.
“Uh, Miss Cask,” said Castiel politely. “These flames in this confined space? This is not-“
“Where’s the other one. Your friend?” hissed Miss Cask. She leaned forward towards the flames, her eyes flashing green, with odd, cat-liked slits for pupils.
“You’re possessed?”
“I do whatever Mr. Blandishment requires,” she hissed.
“You killed those reapers?” asked Castiel.
“I’m his lucky charm!”
“Think about this, Miss Cask! Those reapers were living beings, performing their job. You have upset the natural order.”
“Tell me where the other one is!” demanded the demon Cask. “Or I’ve got a bucket of holy oil with your name on it.”
“Never,” growled Castiel. “Knit bitch!”
Castiel turned to Sam’s muffled scream. Flames from the holy oil had set off a curtain near him.
“Miss Cask!” demanded Castiel.
But suddenly the demon got a far off look in her eyes. “He’s here. I’ll kill him!” she growled. And then she was gone.
“Oh…. Shit,” said Castiel.
The demon who had been Betty Cask stalked up to a deserted portion of the beach.
There was a lone figure there. But it wasn’t Dean Winchester.
It was an auburn haired girl, wearing a black suit.
She was flipping Miss Cask’s good luck charm coin.
“Looking for me?” she grinned.
A reaper’s scythe flashed.
Dean threw his entire body at the door. It felt hot to his touch. It buckled. And then, just as he feared his shoulder would break before the door did, it caved inwards.
The heat was overwhelming.
“Dean! Get Sam!” shouted Castiel, who seemed surrounded by flames. Keeping low, Dean bolted for his brother. He grabbed a knife and cut off the yarn. Sam pulled the gaffer’s tape from his mouth.
“Holy oil, Dean!” he rasped through the thick smoke. “Holy oil!”
Dean whirled around. “Shit! Cas!” he shouted. The angel had taken off his trench coat and was huddled underneath. Dean grabbed a fire extinguisher from above a sink and aimed it more or less at the ring of flame around Castiel. After an excruciatingly long time, a small patch of bright flame turned to a curl of smoke. And then Dean felt the wind knocked out of him.
He was suddenly standing out on the beach, along with Sam, huddled under Castiel’s coat. The angel, coughing, threw back the coat. Sam straightened, coughing. Dean pounded his brother’s back, and Sam nodded and gave thumb’s up. Castiel’s skin, however, was red and blistered.
“Shit! Are you gonna be OK?” asked Dean.
“I think I will need some Solarcaine,” smiled Castiel. “I am fortunate I wore my coat,” he added.
“Hey, are you guys all right?” It was Leinth, who had just appeared, wiping black blood from her reaper’s scythe.
“We’ll live,” said Dean.
“OK. I’ll be back. I’ve got an appointment.”
Tab Blandishment staggered out of the surf, confused by the lack of rescue personnel. Where were his aides? Had the tide washed him out to a different beach?
He felt stupidly for his cell phone. Of course he didn’t have one in his swim trunks.
He looked up. There was someone! A girl with auburn hair. Sitting up on some rocks.
“I’m Tab Blandishment! There’s been an accident.”
“Yes, there has,” she told him. “You hit your head on your board and were knocked unconscious.”
“Oh,” said Blandishment. “How long was I out?”
“For eternity. I’m afraid.”
He blinked at the girl. Obviously some kind of crank. “I need medical attention,” he told her.
“Like I said,” she told him, “you’re past that.”
Blandishment scowled. “I don’t have time for this, young lady,” he scolded, and, turning his back on her, strode away.
He didn’t get very far, however, as she was already in front of him.
She was holding a shining scythe.
“Wait a minute. You? Not you! Betty got rid of you people.”
She grinned. “Miss Cask fucked with my boys.” She ran a finger across the scythe. “She won’t do your dirty work any more.”
Blandishment turned around again. And there she was.
He gulped.
“Now,” she said, “we can make this easy, or difficult. Your choice.”
Dean wandered out by the pool. It was deserted. The still water reflected the moon.
Castiel turned around, his magnificent dark wings ruffling in the breeze. His skin glowed, pale and cool in the darkness.
“Dean?”
“Yeah, Cas?”
“You know this is a dream, don’t you?” asked the angel, who seemed concerned.
Dean sat down beside him: sat close, so he might be inside one of those wings. That was all he wanted right now. “Yeah, but who cares? It’s a nice dream.”
Cas’ wing came and folded around him, and Dean relaxed back in the softness. “You’re worried,” said Cas.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“That crazy demon today! It could have hurt you. It could have hurt Sam.”
“That is the cost of what we do. There is a danger to it.”
“I wish maybe…. Sometimes I wish maybe Sam didn’t have to do it. That it was just me who was chosen. But I don’t know what I’d do without him.” He looked up, into Cas’ eyes. “Or you.”
Cas smiled.
And time stopped around them.
“C-five!”
“Hit. E-ten?”
“Miss! D-five!”
“Hit. L-two?”
“Miss. B-five!”
Death sat back and sighed. “Regrettably, you have sunk my battleship.”
“Yay!” screamed Leinth, hopping out of her chair and jumping up and down.
“Well, you don’t need to be a poor winner,” sniffed Death, sitting back to sample some tasty fried cheese.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13.
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean, Castiel, Death; pre-slash Dean/Castiel.
Warnings: Cursing. OFC alert: she's not paired with anyone, but if you despise OCs with every fiber of your being, you should probably avoid this. And maybe have a nice frosty cocktail.
Word Count: 9000
Summary: Dean's childhood idol, the enigmatic cop Mac MacLeod from TV show Waikiki 666, has apparently made a deal with some pesky demons in exchange for eternal life. It's up to Sam, Dean and Cas to brave the surftastic beaches and sun-kissed babes of Hawai'i to deal with this menace.
Notes: A sequel to Beat the Reaper, but fine to read on its own. The title is once again gleaned from a Firesign Theater routine. I have a feeling, if nobody stops me, that this will end up being a trilogy. Or worse.
This is a sequel to my story, Beat the Reaper, but can be read on its own. Here is the tl;dr version of that one: Dean's childhood idol, Rebus Knebus, summoned a demon to keep away his Reaper and thus grant himself a long life of death-defying motorcycle stunts. His son, Rebus Jr., stole the spell and started to unleash rather a lot of these demons. Death, who helped Sam and Dean on this case, discovered that the demons are not from this reality. Sam and Dean were also aided by Death's daughter, the reaper Leinth, whom Death is training in the family business.
“Do you think things would have been different if we were girls?”
“WHAT?” Dean looked over at his weird little brother, who was turning his stupid salad shaker plastic cup thingie over and over and over in his hands. “You mean you'd be paranoid about your ass getting fat?” asked Dean, spitting out burger bits.
“No,” said Sam, who didn't seem to get the jibe. “That's not what I meant.” Or maybe he was ignoring the jibe. These stakeouts always made you a little punchy, hours and hours and HOURS in the car with someone and way to many cups of coffee. And it wasn't like on TV where you could go to a sexy montage, cut to some kind of crapola trance music either. You had to sit there in the car while your brother poked at his salad shaker to make sure all the honey mustard dressing was evenly distributed over the bits of rabbit food, and imagine your life as Dean-ella or whatever the fuck.
“What did you mean?” Dean prodded. Hey, it was a stupid conversation, but at least it was more interesting than this greasy, lukewarm bacon-double-bacon burger from the local McDonalds wannabee.
Sam shrugged and eyed his plastic fork. He picked up a paper napkin, and polished off an invisible spot from the fork. “No. Just. The stuff with our dad?”
“What stuff with our dad?” Now it was Dean's turn to act oblivious.
“All the stuff about having to be a hunter. I mean,” said Sam, now chomping on a honey mustard coated lettuce fragment, “you think he would've expected us to be hunters if we were girls?”
“Girls make good hunters. Girls make great hunters!” protested Dean, now rewrapping his sad burger in the orange waxed paper and tossing it back into the greasy sack.
“I'm not arguing that,” said Sam. “I mean he wouldn't have expected us to have to follow him. I think we would have had more of a choice.”
“We had a choice,” said Dean. “What the hell?” The last was spoken not about his brother's philosophical musings nor the atrocious fast food, but rather movement around the creepy building they were staking out, the whole point of spending hours cold and bored and stuffing their guts with processed meat of dubious origin. Well, stuffing Dean's gut anyway.
But there were guys there now. A lot of them.
“Are they wearing … grass skirts?” asked Sam.
Dean grabbed the tiki idol that was hanging from the mirror. “Come on!” he said.
“I don't know, Daddy. What about adopting a more modern game? A new trademark?”
“Leinth, my dear,” said Death, dispassionately surveying the chess board in front of him. “Every reaper worth his salt knows the ins and outs of this game. It is ancient: that is its virtue.”
“Yeah, but, what if, maybe, we gave something new a try? Like Monopoly? Or Pictionary? Or Battleship?”
“LEINTH,” scolded Death. “Death does not play Battleship! It would be undignified.”
“Yes, Daddy,” sighted Leinth, who refixed the skull and croosbone patterned scrunchie around her auburn hair.
“Now, have a cheese doodle,” offered Death, reaching the brightly colored plastic sack out to his daughter. “And try to concentrate!” Leinth took a handful of the snack food and crossed her legs up in the chair, staring unhappily at the board.
Both players looked up to the sounds of a light flapping of wings. “Ah,” said Death, rising to greet the new arrivals: Castiel the angel, accompanied by Sam and Dean Winchester. The latter wore around their necks amulets with Enochian sigils etched upon them: artifacts that allowed them to see the usually invisible reapers.
“Castiel. Our universe's little angelic pinball. I assume you are alive this week?” A thin smile played at Death's lips.
“Yes. I am alive this week,” answered Castiel, who angled his head and frowned in sweet puzzlement at the question.
“Hi Castiel. Hi Sam. Hi Dean,” said Leinth, smiling wanly. She went back to staring forlornly at the chess board.
“Hey Leinth,” said Sam, who smiled broadly. He wandered over to survey the chess board. It was old, and the pieces looked to be carved ivory.
“Uh, can I ask why you wanted us here, Death?” asked Dean, who looked rather uncomfortable about the whole business. Probably because he was uncomfortable about the whole business. He looked around, trying to not look like he was looking around. It wasn't what he expected: casa Death. Probably in his mind, it had added up to some cross between the Addams Family and the Munsters, with maybe a touch of Betelgeuse.
Instead it was swank looking, but old money swank, like a place you'd see British people living in one of those stupid PBS shows your girlfriend watched. He felt a little out of place, like one of the raggedy-toothed servants who said “Oi” a lot had wandered upstairs by mistake. But he noticed Leinth the reaper girl was wearing sweatpants and a T shirt, so maybe they did live here? And they had horses out back or something? Death was supposed to ride a white horse, right?
“It is the issue we discussed previously,” Death told them. “Won't you sit down? And do have a cheese doodle. I find them very crispy and delicious.”
Dean and Castiel sat on the couch where Death indicated, Dean grabbing a healthy handful of salty cheese snacks. Over at the chess board, and behind Death's back, Sam silently pointed to Leinth's knight, and then pointed to an empty square. Leinth knitted her brows for a moment, and then nodded to Sam and moved the piece as he had indicated.
“So we're talking about those weird ass demons Rebus Knebus called up?” asked Dean, wiping processed cheese flavored powder from his hands.
“Oh, those ass butt demons,” said Castiel.
“Yeah, the ass butts,” laughed Dean, punching a semi-bewildered Castiel in the shoulder.
“Ow,” said Castiel, rubbing his shoulder.
“You had said they weren't from this universe,” said Sam.
“No, and as such, they should be dealt with. Unfortunately, with the current lack of leadership up high,” said Death, casting a withering glance at Castiel, “we must tend to these issues ourselves.” Castiel did not reply, but cast his eyes downward, looking sad.
“So, you've spotted activity?” asked Dean.
“Yes, I've had young Leinth more closely monitor our unaccounted for reapers.”
“I looked back several decades,” said Leinth, swinging her legs to sit sideways in her chair. “And there are some discrepancies centered around the American state of Hawaii.”
“Specifically,” explained Death, “we have pinned this down to the actor, Tab Blandishment.”
“Holy fuck, you mean Tab Blandishment of Waikiki 69?” said Dean, who suddenly seemed quite excited.
“Waikiki 69? Was that one of your special videos, Dean?” asked Sam, raising an eyebrow.
“It was a TV show! The greatest cop show ever! Dad used to let me stay up on Sunday night to watch it with him.”
“I thought you hated police procedurals?” said Sam.
“This was great! They had the best opening theme, with guitars and surfers and half-naked babes and guys getting shot! Special Agent Mac MacLeod drove around in a beautiful, cherry 'Stang, picking up beautiful girls and solving crimes!”
“A 'cherry stang?'” asked Castiel. “Is that some kind of … condiment, Dean?”
“You could say it's got a cherry on top,” smiled Dean, dreaming of cool cars.
“Oh, ice cream sundae!” said Leinth, jumping up. “Would you guys like something to eat? I'm starving,” she said, rubbing her stomach.
“Have some more cheese doodles, my dear,” offered Death.
“Cheese doodles aren't filling, Daddy. And they're salty!”
“I'll have a sundae,” said Dean eagerly. “I mean, if you're making 'em,” he added, backtracking a bit in case he seemed impolite.
“Do we have ice cream?” asked Leinth.
“But of course. Ice cream, gelato, frozen yogurt, custard, mousse, sorbet....” ticked off Death.
“Oh, nobody likes sorbet,” said Leinth. “Hey. Castiel!” she said, pulling the still moping angel by his hand. “You're gonna help me make sundaes. You can't mope when you're eating a sundae!”
“I wasn't moping, Leinth,” moped Castiel, who nevertheless followed the reaper out towards what was presumably the kitchen.
“So, you think Tab Blankenship-” started Sam.
“Blandishment,” corrected Dean.
“Tab Blandishment called some of your demons?” asked Sam.
“That was the inference,” said Death. “But I would like you boys to do the, er, footwork on this.”
“What's Tab, uh, Blandishment doing these days?” asked Sam.
“From what I have ascertained,” said Death, “he is now starring in what you humans term the 'reboot' of the original show.”
“Oh, yeah. Waikiki 666,” said Dean. “It sucks. I mean, it totally sucks, man.”
“Wouldn't he be getting a little old for that kind of role?” asked Sam.
“Yeah, that's weird,” said Dean. “And he used to do his own stunts.”
“A practice which I understand had continued,” said Death.
Sam and Dean looked at each other.
“Demons?” said Sam.
“Yeah,” said Dean.
“Hey, could somebody give us a hand?” came Leinth's voice. Sam nudged Dean, who got up and followed the sound of the voice. He soon found the kitchen, which turned out to be quite bright and sunny, looking out on some pleasant green rolling hills. Yeah, these people definitely had horses somewhere, Dean thought.
The kitchen looked like a small typhoon had hit it. Leinth was putting the finishing touches on a tray of elaborate sundaes, each almost the size of a baby hippo. Judging from the great array of ice cream tubs that were littering the kitchen, they had been made with all 31 flavors of ice cream. She scattered crushed peanuts over the whipped cream and mouth-watering fudge and caramel sauces.
“Could you help me with these trays?” asked Leinth. “Your angel is too overwrought.”
Castiel was sitting up on a stool near a blender, puzzled expression on his face, dipping a straw into a chocolate milkshake.
“What's up, Cas?” asked Dean. Leinth tried to suppress a grin.
“Dean, I fail to see how this blended frozen dessert product can manage to bring young males to the vicinity.”
“I'd teach you, but I'd have to charge,” sang Leinth.
“Cas, what have I told you about listening to modern pop music?” asked Dean, crossing his arms and looking stern.
“You said don't listen to any popular music recorded after 1984. Yes but Dean-”
“Cas, finish your milkshake so you can eat your ice cream. We'll listen to nothing but Skynyrd on the drive back,” said Dean, casting the evil eye at Leinth. “That should cure you.”
“You realize I don't really need to eat.”
“Eat your damn milkshake,” said Dean, picking up a tray of gooey sundaes. Castiel shrugged, and then, as Leinth and Dean watched, downed the milkshake in one go.
Leinth managed to coax a tray into Castiel's hands, and they carted the desserts back to the living room. Conversation slowed down as all assembled ate contentedly for a while.
“Too bad there's no pie to go with this,” Dean mused at one point.
“Actually-” began Leinth.
“I can't believe you're still jonesing for dessert!” said Sam.
“Who is Jones?” asked Castiel.
“Dean stole his ice cream,” said Sam. Castiel raised his eyebrows, obviously willing to go smite this Jones person.
“Hey,” said Dean, whose memory had been jarred by the frozen treats. “I dunno if this is connected, but we recently had to clean up a nest of tiki gods. They were living in San Diego.”
“San Diego?” asked Death.
“I've heard it's nice!” said Leinth.
“Ah, yes, you must try the crab at Trulucks,” said Death. “These were Hawaiian natives then?”
“Yeah,” said Dean. “No fucking idea what they were doing in California.”
“I have no idea what anyone is doing in California,” sighed Death, sending a delicate silver spoon into his ice cream. “But I should say, as now you've been to my house, and eaten ice cream prepared by my own daughter....”
“Oh!” said Dean, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “Do we now owe you some kinda cosmic debt?”
“What? No, I should say not,” said Death. “But I thought, as honorable men, you should be favorably inclined towards me....”
“Don't worry your death's head, Death,” said Dean. “We'll take the case.”
“We will?” asked Sam.
“Hell yeah,” said Dean. “Mac MacLeod, man!”
“Why do you have all these memories of doing fun stuff with dad?” asked Sam, who seemed more than a mite jealous.
“I will assist them,” said Castiel, licking a drip of pistachio from his hand. “This rightly should have been Heaven's concern.”
“I suppose you angels have been terribly busy, what with all the feuding and conjuring up apocalyptic events,” snarked Death which once again produced a downcast look from Castiel
“Hey, don't pick on Cas,” said Dean, punching Castiel in the shoulder.
“Ow!” said Castiel.
“Yeah, Dean's the only one who can pick on Cas,” said Sam.
“There is one caution if you would like to employ your, er, friend,” warned Death.
“What's that?” asked Sam.
“We think the beasties can sense supernatural activity,” said Leinth. “We have a hunch they can sense us – reapers – when we're going about our business.”
“It explains why they are attracted to our kind. And this is why Leinth and I are unable to solve this … situation on our own,” said Death.
“No angel magic? Can do!” said Dean.
“Really, Dean?” asked Castiel.
“Easy as pie. And pie is easy as … ice cream!” said Dean, holding up a spoon.
“Ice cream is not so easy,” mused Castiel.
“Leinth, might I remind you, if you are quite through conjuring dessert, you need to make your next move, young lady,” scolded Death.
“I already moved, Daddy,” said Leinth smugly, pointing over to the board.
“Oh?” said Death, putting his sundae aside and going across the room to regard the chess board. “Oh!” he repeated, frowning at the board. “So you have. So you have....” Death sat down at the chess board, lost in thought.
Leinth stole a glance at Sam, who winked. She smiled, but was quick to wipe the grin off her face when her father suddenly looked up at her.
“Well, I guess we should get going. And, thanks for the ice cream, Death,” said Dean, stifling a burp.
“If you have any issues,” said Death, still surveying the chess board, “my daughter will be at our headquarters in Honolulu. You may contact her there.”
“You have a headquarters in Hawaii?” asked Sam.
“The rent is high, but Daddy likes pulled pork,” said Leinth.
“Cas?” asked Dean. Without waiting for a goodbye, Castiel put a hand on Sam's shoulder and a hand on Dean's, and then they were there no more.
The three materialized again near the Impala. “Is it me, or did we just have a little ice cream social with Death?” asked Dean, who shivered.
“We just had an ice cream social with Death,” smiled Sam.
“And you – you flirted with Death!” said Dean.
“Well, it was Death's kid,” said Sam.
“You flirted with Death, Jr!”
“That actually doesn't sound particularly portentious,” said Sam.
“Did you want me to convey you to Hawaii now?” asked Castiel.
“Oh, no, Cas!” said Dean. “Remember? No angel magic. Anyway, I got a better idea. We're gonna do this in style!”
“This is what I'm talking about,” said Dean, as the lovely woman placed a flowered lei around his neck at Honolulu airport.
“Ten hours confined to a small space with a child screaming and kicking the back of your seat?” inquired Castiel, who looked rather uncomfortable in his rumpled aloha shirt. Dean wondered if the angel perhaps had some enchantment that made any clothes that came in contact with him wrinkle up.
“I think Dean means you need to experience being greeted at the airport,” said Sam, bowing very low for the giggling women, who still had to stand on tippy-toe to get the lei up over his head.
“Yeah! You gotta experience the aloha!” agreed Dean.
“Does the concept of aloha include you screaming that the plane is going to crash?” asked Castiel, rubbing his upper arm where it probably bore a Dean's-hand-shaped bruise.
“It was only that once, Cas,” grumbled Dean. “Anyway, we'll go pick up our awesome cool car, drive with the top down to the beach, and maybe pick up some babes, grab some of those drinks with the little umbrellas in them....”
“Dean,” said Sam. Dean noticed Sam and Castiel were both frowning at him.
“What?”
“What about Tab Blepharoplast?” asked Sam as Castiel nodded.
“Blandishment,” corrected Dean.
“What about that guy? The one we're supposed to be following?”
“We'll get to that! Relax! We need to enjoy,” said Dean.
The white Prius hummed into the parking lot and stopped, silent as a ghost.
Dean Winchester emerged, muttering to himself. He tugged at his collar – despite the heat, he was dressed in a suit – and started to stalk off towards the television studio.
“Dean!” called Sam, who was helping Castiel extract himself from the back of the car.
“I can't believe the rental place was fucking out of convertibles!” raved Dean.
“Probably a lot of demand for them here. Whoa there!” said Sam, as Castiel stumbled awkwardly into his arms.
“I am sorry, Sam,” said Castiel, smoothing his coat. “I think that was more uncomfortable than the airplane trip,” he added, glaring at the impossibly tiny back seat.
“Cas! Why are you in that lame coat?” asked Dean.
“I feel more comfortable clad in my vessel's human clothes,” protested Castiel.
“Leave it in the car, Columbo! You'll stick out like a sore thumb,” ordered Dean.
Castiel frowned, but reluctantly doffed the trench coat and tossed it in the back seat. Dean fussily straightened the angel's tie, and then began to charge off again.
“Dean!” said Sam.
“What now?” asked Dean, who reluctantly turned around once again.
“You need to lock the rental!” Sam pointed out, indicating the cursed Prius.
Dean grumbled, but brought out his key and pushed a button, causing the car to beep. “Was hoping someone would steal the fucking thing while we're inside,” he muttered.
The three headed for the studio, SeaBee Entertainment. There was a gigantic billboard slapped to the side advertising Waikiki 666, the new incarnation of Waikiki 69. “OSHA, here for the inspection,” Dean, in his best officious voice, told the receptionist as the other two flashed official looking badges (at least one of which was right side up).
After a bit of low key fuss (the residents seemed friendly, if a bit suspicious) and a call to Bobby's OSHA line, the men were issued guest badges and allowed backstage. Dean, while trying to act casual, grabbed a clip board and ushered the other two into what looked like a custodian's closet. Dean used a penlight to look over the clipboard.
“What is that,” asked Sam, blowing some strands of a mop out of his face.
“This is the shooting schedule. We're in luck, Tab Blandishment is filming today in Studio C. I think it would be best if we split up. Sam, you take Cas and find his trailer, break in and poke around. I'll head to Studio C and interrogate Blandishment.
“Hey, I still smell of sulphur from Rebus Knebus' stupid trailer,” Sam complained.
“So, you have the experience!” reasoned Dean.
“I think you just wanna fanboy Blunderbuss!” said Sam.
“I'm not a fanboy! And you can't even remember his name!” said Dean. “Go on. Cas will help you break in.”
“I can break in on my own, thanks,” sighed Sam, who let himself out of the closet.
“Shall I come with you, Dean?” asked Castiel as they too crept out into the hallway.
“Yeah, sure,” said Dean. “Just remember, don't do your body space thing with Blandishment! He's a star! Remember our three rules?”
“Personal space, personal space, and personal space,” Castiel ticked off.
“Right. Live it. Learn it,” said Dean. “Come on.”
Studio C was bustling with activity, so it was no problem for Dean and Castiel to slip in unnoticed. “Here,” said Dean, “carry this,” he told Castiel, handing the puzzled angel a clipboard. “You always look more official with a clipboard.”
“Those people standing over there,” said Castiel. “Why are they all similarly surgically enhanced?” Dean looked over to where Castiel was pointing. There were several very attractive young men and women mulling around between takes, sipping coffee and typing on Blackberries.
“Those are the actors, Cas,” whispered Dean. “You've watched Dr. Sexy with me, right?”
“Yes,” said Castiel.
“They're TV actors. They all have to be young and sexy.”
“Why?”
“Because that's what people wanna watch, I guess,” shrugged Dean.
“But what about that woman?” Castiel now pointed out a middle aged lady who was sitting on the set of what looked like a reception area, patiently knitting.
“Oh my gosh, that's Miss Pennywhistle! They're still using the original actress, Betty Cask!” gushed Dean.
“Penny … whistle?” asked Castiel.
“She's Mac MacLeod's faithful secretary! She always had a case on him, but never scored with him.”
“That's unrequited love? It sounds terribly frustrating and unhappy,” mused Castiel, looking at Dean.
“Aw, c'mon Cas, don't be a downer. Let’s go see if she knows about Blandishment. Miss Cask?”
The woman looked up, her eyes brightening at the attention. “You’re calling me, young man?”
“Yes. We’re Mr. Paige and Mr. Plant, of OSHA? We were hoping we could talk to Mr. Blandishment.”
“Oh, such nice young men. You’re in luck, Mr. Blandishment will be on set in just a moment.”
“Great. That’s great. Uh, love your work,” added Dean.
“I’ve been in every show, since the beginning,” said Miss Cask proudly. “Mr. Blandishment calls me his good luck charm.” She reached into the bag at her feet and pulled out a small object. “Here you go, dear,” she told Dean. Dean took the small coin-like object from her and turned it over.
“Oh. Wow. What is this?”
“It’s my own very special good luck charm,” beamed Miss Cask.
“Thank you, Miss Cask!” said Dean. At Dean’s signal, the two men walked away. “I’m not familiar with these symbols,” he mused as Castiel looked over his shoulder at the strange coin.
“Those are odd,” said Castiel. “They resemble-“
“Hey look!” said Dean, pocketing the coin as there was a commotion on the set. “Whoa, he's shorter than I thought.”
Just then, a man on the wrong side of middle age strode onto the set, trailing a rather large entourage. He still wore a makeup bib, and one woman was spraying his perfectly coiffed hair while another dabbed at his makeup. “Are you fucktards ready yet?” he snapped irritably to no one in particular.
“Hi, Tab,” said Betty Cask, who was still sitting at the receptionist’s desk. She had put down her knitting and suddenly sat upright, patting her hair.
“Oh, hey Betty,” grumbled Blandishment. “What the fuck is going on?” he growled at no one in particular.
“Ten minutes, Tab,” said a guy wearing a headset.
“See that it's not late,” barked Blandishment, tearing off his bib and shooing off the hovering attendants, favoring one very attractive young lady with an affectionate pat on the ass. He took a cigarette pack out of his shirt pocket and pulled out a Marlboro. “I’m going for a fucking smoke.”
“Uh, Tab, you know there's no smoking in the studio.”
“Fuck. You!” said Blandishment, turning and stalking out of the studio.
“Come on! Now's our chance!” Dean whispered to Castiel, and they both took off after the star. When they were within sight of him, standing just outside the studio lighting up, Dean held up a restraining arm, and both of them began to walk instead of run.
“Mr. Blandishment?” said Dean, hurrying up and flashing a badge. “We're Paige and Plant, from OSHA. We're assessing safety issues at this facility.”
“You're who?” grumbled Blandishment, blowing smoke directly into Dean's face.
“OSHA inspectors,” choked Dean, as Castiel hurriedly scribbled something on his clipboard. “We've had recent reports of some incidents with some of the stunts on the, uh, Waikiki 666 program.”
“I told them not to name it that. Bad luck,” grumbled Blandishment.
“There was a car that went over a cliff?” prompted Castiel.
“You're going to ruin your vocal chords young man!” said Blandishment.
“Excuse me?” asked Castiel.
“Doing that unseemly voice: 'The car that went over the cliff,'” rasped Blandishment. “I know it impresses the ladies, but you've set the register far too low!” explained Blandishment.
“I'm sorry?” asked Castiel, now looking hopelessly at Dean.
“Uh, Mr. Blandishment, the car you were driving in ran over a cliff and exploded on impact?” said Dean.
“Yes, that was unfortunate. But I walked away. Not a scratch!” bragged Blandishment.
“After an explosion?” asked Dean.
“And the pyrotechnics that went awry?” asked Castiel.
“Didn't even raise a blister!” said the TV star.
“And the stunt gun that was loaded with live rounds by mistake?” asked Dean.
Blandishment laughed. “Young men, these things,” he said, indicating the cigarette, “will kill me before my stunts. And I've been smoking 'em for forty years. Forty years!”
“You've never experienced health problems from cigarette smoking?” asked Castiel.
“Poppycock,” said Blandishment. “But I thought you were from OSHA?” he asked suspiciously.
“Uh, we are,” backpedaled Dean. “He's just a nerd,” he said, hiking a thumb at an offended looking Castiel.
“I don't think I deserve that accusation for being concerned about human health problems,” said Castiel.
“OK. Cas. Write on your clipboard,” said Dean.
“I've seen bad acting in my time,” said Blandishment, “but you two, as they say, take the cake. Who are you, really?”
Dean sighed and decided to try a novel tack. “Uh. Mr. Blandishment? To be honest, Cas and I, we're really big fans.”
“Fans?” asked Blandishment, narrowing his eyes.
“Yeah. And we just, uh, wanted to talk to our idol,” said Dean.
“Oh really?” said Blandishment, looking between them, a thin smile drawing across his features.
“What a DICK BAG!” growled Dean as he and Castiel stood waiting by the white Prius. “I tell him I'm a fan and he calls fucking security?”
“Maybe Sam was more successful?” said Castiel. “I could go and find him if you wanted.”
“No, no angel tricks. Wait! Here's old sulphur breath now!”
“Who?” asked Castiel. He turned, and saw Sam ambling casually towards them.
“What happened?” asked Sam.
“Tab Blandishment is a ball sack,” grumbled Dean.
“Uh-huh,” said Sam. “He's also not using magic.”
“What?” asked Dean. “He must be! He's evaded certain death for four decades!”
“I ransacked the trailer. I went through it all twice. There's absolutely no evidence of demons, EMF is the lowest I've ever seen. The guy is normal, Dean.”
“The guy is not normal,” said Dean.
“Do you think Death's information was wrong?” asked Castiel.
“I dunno what to think,” said Dean. “Look, let's get to the hotel. I wanna check in, cool off, have a drink by the pool.”
Dean awoke, bathed in sweat. He tried out several inventive curses at the busted air conditioner. As it turned out, he had picked the only hotel in Honolulu with no view.
He looked over at the next bed. Despite the heat and stultifying humidity, Sam was contentedly sawing wood.
The room opened on a small private balcony. Dean thought he saw movement out there. Curious, he pulled on a pair of jeans and headed out, being careful to shut the door softly so he didn't wake Sam, the sleepy jerk.
Dean blinked, not certain for a time what he was seeing.
Castiel had removed the trench coat, and his shirt as well. They were balled up in the corner. And the angel was … well, the only word Dean could think of was perched up on the balustrade.
His great, dark wing flapped lazily, the light breeze sending ripples through the feathers.
“Cas?” said Dean.
The angel looked around. He held in his wings and slid to the floor, graceful as a cat. “I am sorry Dean. I did not mean to startle you.”
“No, Cas, that's OK,” said Dean, utterly fascinated. There seemed to be a soft glow around him, and it wasn't the moonlight.
“Sometimes I find my human form … restricting,” said Castiel, who was now standing up too close.
“It's.... It's really cool, Cas,” said Dean. The angel didn't reply, but searched Dean's eyes. He was so close, Dean could feel his breath. Embarrassed, although he didn't know why, Dean looked down. Barely visible in the moonlight, there were some thin scars running up and down the angel's chest. “Hey. Are you hurt?” asked Dean. He looked closer. Faint traces of Enochian sigils.
“I don't understand,” admitted Castiel. His wings gave a short flap. Like a shrug. “My vessel never quite healed from this injury.”
“The angel banishing sigils,” said Dean. He reached out tentative fingers and put a hand on Castiel's chest, tracing the main sigil. “You saved us,” he whispered.
“It was effective.”
“You know I never.... I never....”
“Dean?” Dean looked up into Castiel's searching eyes....
….And sat up in bed. Breathing hard, he looked around the room. There was Sammy, out like a light.
“Damn.” Sparing a glare at the broken air conditioning unit as well as the discarded hamburger wrappers, Dean held his rumbling stomach and then pulled on his pants and made his way outside for some air.
“Dean?”
“Shit! Cas! Don't startle me like that,” said Dean, as he suddenly realized the angel was standing in back of him.
“I'm sorry, Dean.”
Castiel looked contrite, so Dean said, “No, I'm sorry. It's too fucking hot to sleep, and I'm having weird dreams.”
“Strange dreams?” asked Castiel, cocking his head in the “Cas doesn't understand these weird humans,” gesture.
“Oh, that's right, you guys don't sleep,” said Dean. “I dreamed I came out and saw you, only you had wings.”
Castiel looked shocked. “You know I would never do that to you, Dean! I might cause injury if I showed you my true form!”
“No,” said Dean. “It was nice. You looked nice.”
“Really?” said Castiel, his eyes brightening. Dean smiled. He could almost imagine the dark wings he'd dreamed perking up. Unlike the dream, Castiel wasn't up close. On the contrary, he seemed to be hanging back on purpose.
“Really. Look, uh, what should we do about Tab Blandishment?” asked Dean, deliberately changing the subject.
“Death had suggested we contact his daughter. I believe this would be a logical next step.”
“Go to Death's international headquarters?” laughed Dean.
Castiel sighed and shook his head. “I will never understand mortal humor,” he sighed.
“No, it wasn't a joke. It's just I'm imagining their offices are in a big old dark castle up on a hillside in central Europe, where there's always a thunderstorm.”
“Really?” asked Castiel.
“Yeah, defintely, Cas. Let's go see Death. Maybe it'll cheer me up.”
Dean glanced at the Addonexus Industries sign, and then craned his neck at the skyscraper. “Death is in an office tower?” he asked.
“It is the twenty first century,” said Sam.
Dean shrugged, and he, Sam and Cas entered the bright, modern lobby, where they were directed to the very top floor. “We have an appointment with Leinth Morris?” he told the gorgeous receptionist when the elevator had deposited the three of them up high.
“Whoa!” said Dean when they were ushered into Leinth's office. He nodded to her, but then walked to gaze out of the bank of floor to ceiling windows.
“Like it?” asked a grinning Leinth, who was dressed in her black reaper suit with silver death's head bolo tie.
“I guess this makes up for our frigging hotel having no view,” said Dean. Castiel stood beside him, seeming mesmerized.
“How did you find a hotel in Honolulu with no view?” asked Leinth.
“We let him book the reservations,” laughed Sam, taking a seat.
“Yeah, I kinda screwed the pooch. Their air conditioning is busted too,” admitted Dean, who also seated himself. Castiel however remained at the window.
“Does it remind you of flying?” Leinth asked him curiously.
“There are few things like flying,” said Castiel. He frowned, looking down at his vessel's hands, which he balled into fists. He looked up, and appeared to want to say something more, but finally shook his head and sat down with the others.
“Can I get you boys anything” said Leinth. She sat down behind her desk. “A drink?” After some discussion, Leinth ended up ordering a round of Cokes.
“So, if it's not prying,” said Sam, “since you and your dad eat and drink, is that a vessel you're occupying?”
“Me?” asked Leinth, regarding her own black-painted fingernails. She cocked her head. “No. This is … you might say, this is a little part of me. The real me. A little something I've poked into your dimension, that you're capable of comprehending.”
“Oh. So we can understand. Well, ain't that nice,” groused Dean.
“So, I take it no luck with Blandishment?” asked Leinth, folding her hands.
“He's clean. Of magic. As far as we can tell,” Sam told her.
“And he’s a complete asshole,” said Dean.
“He is oblivious to the feelings of Betty Cask,” piped up Castiel.
“I'm sorry?” said Leinth. Now all three of the others were looking confusedly at Castiel.
“Oh, you mean the actress who plays Miss Pennywhistle?” said Dean. “But that's just on the show Cas.”
“No. She has an affection for Mr. Blandishment. And he disdains her,” said Castiel.
“Betty Cask, you said?” asked Leinth, who typed something into her desktop computer. “Hrmmm. Anyway, I'm glad that I have you guys here. There were some things I think my father was reluctant to discuss with you the other day.”
“What things?” asked Dean.
“We have another … concern with this case. As I’ve explained before, we have an issue with reapers going missing.”
“You don't think the demons just killed them?” asked Sam.
“The thing is, we just don't know.” Leinth sat back, waving her hand. “You see, I'm trying to bring a modern sensibility to my family's trade, but for a long time – a very long time – everything was done on the honor system. One reaper for one soul. But, as I'm sure you gentlemen realize, things have gotten complicated. A lot more complicated.”
“So. You want us to look up the missing reapers?” asked Sam.
“You might say, we're hoping if we take care of this situation, that might bring us closer to a resolution,” said Leinth.
“Damn, did you go to law or something?” asked Dean.
Leinth grinned broadly and pointed across the room. There was a framed MBA certificate on the wall. “Harvard Business,” she told them. “At any rate, Daddy was reluctant to bring mortals into our affairs. And, as a courtesy, I won't go into what he says about your kind, Castiel,” she added, looking apologetically at the angel.
“My brothers and I, we haven't always behaved as we should,” said Castiel.
“But you're OK with us grubby humans doing your dirty work?” asked Dean.
“I like humans,” said Leinth. “You’re my business. Oh!” she said, turning back to her desktop when it beeped. “See? This is what I was talking about!”
“What?” asked Sam.
“Betty Cask. The name rang a bell. She's old enough to have her own reaper.”
“And?”
“Among the missing!” said Leinth.
“Wait,” said Dean. “She’s supposed to be dead?”
“I am honestly not sure. Our record keeping, I'm embarrassed to say, was that bad.”
Sam and Dean looked at each other.
“You said she was in the old show?” asked Sam.
“Yeah. Miss Pennywhistle was in every single episode, even if it was just for a minute or two. She told us Blandishment used to call her his good luck charm,” said Dean.
“Is it the same production company?” asked Sam.
“Yeah. Tiki Talk,” said Dean. “Just like the old show.”
“Look, so what if Tab Bakersfield…” started Sam.
“Blandishment!” said both Leinth and Dean.
“What if Tab Whatsisname doesn’t know anything about this? What if somebody in the production company is keeping the cast out of danger?”
“Can you tell us where Tiki Talk productions has their offices?” Dean asked Leinth.
“They’re in the neighborhood,” said the reaper.
“Cas, we're out of here,” Dean told him.
“Leinth,” said Sam, who was writing the address of Tiki Talk in his notebook. “Can you tell me something?”
“Yes?” she asked.
“Uh. This might sound like a weird question, but do you ever think about being something besides a reaper?”
“Never,” said Leinth decisively.
“Oh. Really?” asked Sam.
Leinth stood up. “It's my calling. The greatest calling.”
“C'mon, Sam,” urged Dean.
“But, what if.... What if you didn't get along with your dad?” asked Sam.
“Sam,” warned Dean.
“Hmm,” said Leinth, who did not seem offended. “It's hard to imagine. There's no one like my father. Daddy is the best. I don't know. I mean,” she allowed, “I guess I get cross when he tries to teach me chess sometimes. I really think the game’s outmoded and we ought to jazz it up. Maybe have reaper Monopoly!” she said.
“What about Twister?” asked Castiel.
“Twister would be great!” said Leinth. “I keep asking Daddy about Battleship, but he won't hear of it.”
“I haven't played that game,” said Castiel.
“Uh, OK. Well, thanks, Leinth, and we'll be in touch,” said Dean, eager to usher his weird brother and his weird angel out.
“Oh, and stop by my receptionist. She has something for you,” said Leinth.
The “something” from Leinth turned out to be reservations at a hotel that had breathtaking views, functional air conditioners, and one of those pools that overlooked the ocean.
“So is it OK to flirt with Death from now on?” teased Sam as he swam up beside Dean. Dean had changed to a swimsuit too, but had not gone in the water, choosing instead to sit by the pool with a drink in his hand.
“Damn. Death knows how to live,” said Dean. “Hey, how did the suit fit, Cas?”
“I am finding it a little large in the waist,” said Castiel, who had just shuffled out holding up his swim trunks, looking impossibly pale and awkward.
“Just don't go off the diving board,” chuckled Dean. “And next time bring your own damn swim trunks.”
Castiel perched on the edge of a chaise lounge, looking uncertain. Sam hopped gracefully out of the pool and began to towel off.
“Why are you so damn nosy about the reaper girl?” asked Dean.
Sam shrugged, dripping water on Castiel. “I was just wondering. She seems to get along really well with her dad. It just doesn’t seem so complicated.”
“It’s never complicated when you’re fucking rich,” said Dean, adjusting his sunglasses.
“Her father is present for her,” said Castiel, not a little wistfully.
“C’mon, Cas! Don’t be morbid. We’re in Hawaii and we have an awesome pool,” said Dean.
“Of course he’s morbid,” said Sam, sitting beside Castiel in the chair. “We’re working for Death.”
“I’m not acting morbid, Dean. I’m stating a fact,” said Castiel. “Death is present, and he expresses his wishes to her. He prefers that she play chess, and not Battleship.”
“Cas,” said Dean. “Death can’t play Battleship!”
“Why not, Dean?” asked Castiel.
“It’s not dignified!” said Dean.
“Dean, you don’t even play chess!” laughed Sam.
“If my father had made his wishes known to me,” Castiel persisted, “I would have fulfilled every one of them.”
“Maybe that’s why he didn’t tell you,” said Sam.
“Why not?” asked Castiel.
“He wanted you to figure stuff out for yourself,” said Sam.
“Sure. Like you can choose to play Battleship. Or Twister. Or whatever,” said Dean, who was down to the end of his drink.
“Well, I would choose to work on the case,” said Castiel. “I don’t see what this has to do with solving it,” he added, waving an arm at the pool.
“This is important. This is down time!” said Dean.
“And you don’t wanna get back in that Prius,” laughed Sam.
“Fucking plastic car,” grumbled Dean.
“Cas is right, though,” said Sam. “We should get our asses in gear and get over to Tiki Talk. See if they have any arcane knowledge.”
“Oh! Or maybe they have some scripts for next season lying around,” speculated Dean.
“I thought you said the new Waikiki 666 sucked donkey balls?” said Sam.
“How is that possible?” asked Castiel, who got a very odd look on his face.
“I’m a casual viewer!” said Dean, standing up. “Cas, quit thinking porn thoughts and get up.”
“I’m not thinking porn thoughts,” protested the angel.
“You’re not?”
“Well, maybe a little. Technically,” admitted Castiel, who stood up so abruptly he nearly lost his swim trunks. “Oops,” he said, blushing.
If anything, Tiki Talk Productions scored lower on the EMF reader than SeaBee had. After the lack of success at the studio, the brothers had decided that the best strategy would be to wait until after hours and simply break in, the old fashioned way.
“And remember, no angel tricks, Cas,” Dean reminded the angel for the hundredth time as they entered the darkened office.
“No angel tricks. Only human tricks,” said Castiel. They looked around. Other than the numerous tiki totems positioned around the cubicles, and a couple of neatly framed Waikiki 666 posters in the entryway, Tiki Talk’s headquarters could have been any office, anywhere.
“Can you find the personnel files in there, Sam?” asked Dean, hovering over his brother’s shoulder while Sam booted up an office computer.
“What are we looking for?” asked Sam.
“Anybody who’s been here since the old show.”
“That narrows it down. Huh,” said Sam.
“What?”
“There’s almost no one. I mean, besides Tab Whatsisname and Betty Cask.”
“Wait, not even the head?” asked Dean.
“The CEO has changed,” said Sam.
“Dean,” said Castiel.
“Just a minute, Cas. Like the directorship passed on from father to son maybe?” suggested Dean.
“No, it’s all different guys. A bunch of different guys. And girls,” Sam told him.
“Dean!” said Castiel.
“One minute, Cas. You think they’ve been passing the spell book around among them all?” asked Dean.
“You can’t a secret with this many people,” said Sam.
“DEAN!”
“Cas, I-“ began Dean who looked up just in time to duck as the green-eyed demon snapped at him. The demon lunged again, this time taking down Dean, Sam and the computer stand. “Shit!” said Dean. “Cas!” He looked over to where the angel was now wrestling with two of the creatures.
He grabbed the now broken computer and hurled it into the stomach of the attacking demon. It grunted and stumbled back, but quickly recovered. Sam recovered too, and the demon got a splash of holy water, which only seemed to make it mad.
“Cas!” shouted Dean as the creature was once again upon him. There was a thwack, and the creature suddenly went limp and rolled off. Castiel was standing over, holding what must have been a hundred pound tiki idol like a baseball bat.
“You said no angel tricks,” he told Dean.
Dean looked over to where Castiel had evidently similarly dispatched the pair of demons that had been attacking him. They were down, in a pool of sticky black blood. “Yeah. That’s good.”
“Then how the heck did they find us?” asked Sam.
“No fucking idea,” sighed Dean. “But I guess we gotta call Leinth to tell her we screwed up again.”
Leinth, who had used her reaper power to stop time locally, was looking concerned as a few of her reapers bustled around, hauling out demons, and putting the office back together. “I apologize. I didn’t think you would be in any danger here,” she told them.
“I don’t understand. We told Cas to hold off the magic,” said Dean.
“I don’t understand either,” said Leinth.
“Dean!” said Castiel. “When we were at the studio, Miss Cask gave you a coin, didn’t she?”
“Oh. Yeah. Her good luck charm.” Dean fished it out of his pocket.
Castiel grabbed it. “This isn’t Enochian, but it resembles it.”
“You think it’s related?” asked Leinth.
Castiel touched the symbols. “You are aware of the symbols used for concealment: the ones I’ve marked on your ribs?”
“Yeah,” said Dean, rubbing his side at the memory.
“We also have sigils used for the opposite purpose: tracking,” Castiel explained, holding up the coin.
“Holy shit,” said Dean. “The cute little old lady? Put a hex on us?”
“She has motivation!” said Castiel confidently. “Love!”
Sam and Dean exchanged puzzled glances. “It sounds like you need to go investigate this person,” said Leinth.
“Did you keep a copy of the shooting schedule, Dean?” asked Sam.
Dean pulled a much wrinkled sheet of paper from his back pocket. “Huh. Looks like they’re on location tomorrow. And get this! Tab Blandishment is doing a stunt.”
“What kind of stunt?” asked Sam.
“Boys,” said Dean, his grin stretching across his face, “tomorrow, we surf the pipeline!”
“Dean, you realized it’s physically impossible to have a high speed pursuit on surfboards,” said Sam.
The beach in question was not the fabled pipeline, but a rather more remote area.
“This show was never one for realism,” said Dean, who had cranked all the windows in the Prius all the way down, but still failed to transform it into a convertible.
‘Yeah, but I can feel my brain cells pop just reading about this,” complained Sam.
“I think my vessel is becoming sunburned,” said Castiel from the windy back seat. “Next time, can we possibly find a place with less aloha?” he asked.
“You two! Quit your bitching, or I’ll stop this car and you’ll have to hitch hike,” warned Dean.
“Cool. Maybe Cas and I will get picked up by an awesome convertible with a couple of babes,” said Sam.
“I think I would miss Dean,” opined Castiel.
“See. Someone around here has loyalty!” said Dean.
“I would want to know precisely how attractive the babes were first,” said Castiel.
“WHAT?” said Dean, as Sam choked with laughter. “You guys are both walking back.”
They arrived at the filming location. Like every film or movie set Dean had ever been on in his life, the entire beach was swarming with activity, none of which would ever end up onscreen.
Dean was careful to park the car out of sight, as nobody wanted to risk crossing Tab Blandishment again. They were up on a bluff overlooking the location. As he exited the car, the salt air really hit him, and Dean looked down, a little sad that the TV people had thrown out all the real surfers for the day.
“Dean?” said Sam, tapping the rearview mirror. Dean leaned back in and grabbed the reaper amulet that he habitually hung around the mirror if he wasn’t expecting to deal with any reapers.
Sam got out as well and pulled out some field glasses. He lay down on his belly at the edge of the bluff and surveyed the scene below. “Ah, look who’s here,” he said.
Dean knelt down next to him and looked where Sam was pointing. “Evil Betty,” he grumbled. “Can you see her trailer?”
Sam pointed as the old lady disappeared into a motorhome.
“Well, since Tab knows what Cas and I look like, you get trailer duty.”
“Again!” grumbled Sam. He got up, wiping the grass stains from his jeans.
“How long should we give you?” asked Dean, looking at his watch.
“What? I’m gonna be jumped by an old lady?” asked Sam.
“Sam!”
“All right. All right. Fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops,” said Sam. He watched as Betty Cask once again emerged from the RV and went to sit with her knitting bag beneath a shady awning. And then he shinnied down the bluff, and Dean began nervously checking his watch. He watched as Dean reached the beach, sneaked his way around to the trailer, and then disappeared inside.
And then they waited.
And waited.
And waited.
“Dean, does it seem as if Sam has been gone a long time?”
“It has been a long time,” said Dean. He frowned at Castiel. “Look, I dunno why, but I have a bad feeling about this. Could you do your angel stuff and check on him.”
“You don’t think we’ll be detected?”
“I don’t care,” said Dean.
Castiel smiled and put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’ll be back shortly with your brother,” he said. And then he wasn’t there.
“I hope so,” said Dean, wiping the nervous sweat from his forehead.
“Sam,” said Castiel, who had just appeared inside the trailer. He instantly knew something was amiss by the gaffer’s tape over Sam’s mouth. Sam squirmed and tried to say something, struggling against the yards and yards of…. Castiel gawped. Sam had been tied up with yarn! “Don’t worry. I’ll get you,” he assured Sam.
Sam screamed under the tape. There was a whoosh.
And then Castiel was surrounded by flames.
“Holy oil?” he asked.
“I’ve got you now, angel,” said Betty Cask.
“Uh, Miss Cask,” said Castiel politely. “These flames in this confined space? This is not-“
“Where’s the other one. Your friend?” hissed Miss Cask. She leaned forward towards the flames, her eyes flashing green, with odd, cat-liked slits for pupils.
“You’re possessed?”
“I do whatever Mr. Blandishment requires,” she hissed.
“You killed those reapers?” asked Castiel.
“I’m his lucky charm!”
“Think about this, Miss Cask! Those reapers were living beings, performing their job. You have upset the natural order.”
“Tell me where the other one is!” demanded the demon Cask. “Or I’ve got a bucket of holy oil with your name on it.”
“Never,” growled Castiel. “Knit bitch!”
Castiel turned to Sam’s muffled scream. Flames from the holy oil had set off a curtain near him.
“Miss Cask!” demanded Castiel.
But suddenly the demon got a far off look in her eyes. “He’s here. I’ll kill him!” she growled. And then she was gone.
“Oh…. Shit,” said Castiel.
The demon who had been Betty Cask stalked up to a deserted portion of the beach.
There was a lone figure there. But it wasn’t Dean Winchester.
It was an auburn haired girl, wearing a black suit.
She was flipping Miss Cask’s good luck charm coin.
“Looking for me?” she grinned.
A reaper’s scythe flashed.
Dean threw his entire body at the door. It felt hot to his touch. It buckled. And then, just as he feared his shoulder would break before the door did, it caved inwards.
The heat was overwhelming.
“Dean! Get Sam!” shouted Castiel, who seemed surrounded by flames. Keeping low, Dean bolted for his brother. He grabbed a knife and cut off the yarn. Sam pulled the gaffer’s tape from his mouth.
“Holy oil, Dean!” he rasped through the thick smoke. “Holy oil!”
Dean whirled around. “Shit! Cas!” he shouted. The angel had taken off his trench coat and was huddled underneath. Dean grabbed a fire extinguisher from above a sink and aimed it more or less at the ring of flame around Castiel. After an excruciatingly long time, a small patch of bright flame turned to a curl of smoke. And then Dean felt the wind knocked out of him.
He was suddenly standing out on the beach, along with Sam, huddled under Castiel’s coat. The angel, coughing, threw back the coat. Sam straightened, coughing. Dean pounded his brother’s back, and Sam nodded and gave thumb’s up. Castiel’s skin, however, was red and blistered.
“Shit! Are you gonna be OK?” asked Dean.
“I think I will need some Solarcaine,” smiled Castiel. “I am fortunate I wore my coat,” he added.
“Hey, are you guys all right?” It was Leinth, who had just appeared, wiping black blood from her reaper’s scythe.
“We’ll live,” said Dean.
“OK. I’ll be back. I’ve got an appointment.”
Tab Blandishment staggered out of the surf, confused by the lack of rescue personnel. Where were his aides? Had the tide washed him out to a different beach?
He felt stupidly for his cell phone. Of course he didn’t have one in his swim trunks.
He looked up. There was someone! A girl with auburn hair. Sitting up on some rocks.
“I’m Tab Blandishment! There’s been an accident.”
“Yes, there has,” she told him. “You hit your head on your board and were knocked unconscious.”
“Oh,” said Blandishment. “How long was I out?”
“For eternity. I’m afraid.”
He blinked at the girl. Obviously some kind of crank. “I need medical attention,” he told her.
“Like I said,” she told him, “you’re past that.”
Blandishment scowled. “I don’t have time for this, young lady,” he scolded, and, turning his back on her, strode away.
He didn’t get very far, however, as she was already in front of him.
She was holding a shining scythe.
“Wait a minute. You? Not you! Betty got rid of you people.”
She grinned. “Miss Cask fucked with my boys.” She ran a finger across the scythe. “She won’t do your dirty work any more.”
Blandishment turned around again. And there she was.
He gulped.
“Now,” she said, “we can make this easy, or difficult. Your choice.”
Dean wandered out by the pool. It was deserted. The still water reflected the moon.
Castiel turned around, his magnificent dark wings ruffling in the breeze. His skin glowed, pale and cool in the darkness.
“Dean?”
“Yeah, Cas?”
“You know this is a dream, don’t you?” asked the angel, who seemed concerned.
Dean sat down beside him: sat close, so he might be inside one of those wings. That was all he wanted right now. “Yeah, but who cares? It’s a nice dream.”
Cas’ wing came and folded around him, and Dean relaxed back in the softness. “You’re worried,” said Cas.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“That crazy demon today! It could have hurt you. It could have hurt Sam.”
“That is the cost of what we do. There is a danger to it.”
“I wish maybe…. Sometimes I wish maybe Sam didn’t have to do it. That it was just me who was chosen. But I don’t know what I’d do without him.” He looked up, into Cas’ eyes. “Or you.”
Cas smiled.
And time stopped around them.
“C-five!”
“Hit. E-ten?”
“Miss! D-five!”
“Hit. L-two?”
“Miss. B-five!”
Death sat back and sighed. “Regrettably, you have sunk my battleship.”
“Yay!” screamed Leinth, hopping out of her chair and jumping up and down.
“Well, you don’t need to be a poor winner,” sniffed Death, sitting back to sample some tasty fried cheese.
