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tikificTitle: Tangled up in Blue (Blood on the Tracks, Chapter 2 of 7)
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas; Sam, Crowley, Bobby, Gabriel
Warnings: Cursing, some violence, Dean being dickish, appetizing descriptions of Greek food.
Word Count: I dunno. Long-ass story. It was up over 30K last I checked.
Summary: Sam can't read a damn map; a mad scientist archangel is after Cas' grace; Crowley is going through a nasty demonic divorce; and the angel voices have all suddenly gone silent.
Notes: This is semi-post-Season 7 on the timeline, with the caveat that I’ve arbitrarily resurrected some characters just for the hell of it. Also: each chapter begins with a brief flashback that takes place prior to the main narrative. I have labeled these flashbacks, but you gotta pay attention, OK? Also, there's gonna be a Coda following Chapter 7.
Some months ago....
It was something out of a glorious old black and white monster movie: a mad scientist’s lab, complete with mysterious test tubes and Erlenmeyer flasks and even, for no particular reason, a fizzling Jacob’s ladder, electrical current arcing up between the poles.
“Now, this won’t hurt a bit!” said the crazy-eyed requisite mad scientist type. He was hovering over the requisite victim, who was strapped, naked and shivering, to a cold metal table. He was wearing an old fashioned white laboratory coat, and had a shock of Einstenian tangled grey hair.
As the subject on the table squirmed, the mad scientist leaned over closer. “Confidentially, it will hurt. Quite a bit. And probably kill you!” And here he cackled. It wasn't actually a very good super-villain laugh, it was too high pitched and slightly hysterical.
“Please,” said the victim. He seemed oddly detached. He appeared to be a young man, although he was not. Not really.
“Oh, the time for pleading is over, my friend. Time to separate the sheep from the goats, the wicked from the righteous. And you, my love, from your grace.”
“My name is Inias. What is yours?” asked the victim.
“Oh, don't try to personalize, dear. I know what the books say! But it is time. Sinners to the left hand, and the righteous at my right hand side.” He held up his hands, and lightning crashed and thunder roared.
“But why would you do this?” asked Inias.
“I am doing the Lord’s work! Our glorious Father’s work!”
“But no one has seen our Father for many years. How can you claim to act in His holy name?”
“His will be done!” bellowed the scientist. Inias noticed he was now running his thumb over some kind of serrated knife.
“You are an angel. Like me. Aren’t you?”
The scientist leaned over again. Inias shivered. And he smelled something very familiar on the mad scientist’s breath.
“I am an angel. But not at all like you. Not anything like you.”
And then he plunged in the knife.
The present day....
Sam, Dean and Cas had been suddenly yanked somewhere else. The somewhere being Crowley’s current hideout, which looked not unlike his old hideouts, namely, a rather posh mansion. Dean was already running to the window to look out.
“Yes, your car arrived safely,” said Crowley, once again gripping his back. “That’s it out in the drive. Damn, those old muscle cars are heavy bastards.”
“It did! Thanks, dude,” said Dean. “You’re not all bad. Well, actually, you are. But thanks for the car.”
“Now, shall we have the strippers perform first, or would you care to get right to business?” inquired Crowley as a line of rather good-looking women, and one terribly good-looking man, all dressed in frightfully skimpy costumes, suddenly appeared in a kick line in back of him, to the accompaniment of an unseen orchestra’s vamping some burlesque themes.
“Uhhhh,” said Dean.
“DEAN!” scolded both Sam and Cas.
“We need to get to business,” groused Sam.
“Guess not,” said Crowley, snapping his fingers. The women disappeared. The lone man remained, and cast an expectant glance at Crowley. “Laters, dear,” said Crowley, blowing a kiss and then snapping his fingers again.
‘You guys seriously gotta learn to live a little,” sulked Dean, sinking down onto one of the plush leather couches and grabbing a handful of cocktail peanuts.
“Those are actually left over from hell,” Crowley explained.
“Really?” asked Dean, who continued stuffing his face. “They're pretty good.”
“Ah! But they're supposed to be a cocktail mix!” said Crowley, sitting down opposite of Dean.
“And it's all peanuts!” said Dean appreciatively. “Excellent. Damn, Crowley, you thought of everything.”
“Crowley, why did you call on us?” asked Sam, who also sank down into the couch next to Dean. Castiel remained defiantly standing, arms crossed, glaring righteously at the demon.
“As it happens,” explained the ex-chief of hell, sampling some peanuts of perdition for himself, “I have a spiffy new enchantment which I am itching to try. However, as so often happens when one is working within the black magic genre, I have need of a few … somewhat arcane ingredients. At present I am short precisely one essential element. And that is why I chose to call up on my two favorite hunters, pouty lipped division. Of course, it was a special side dish to also bring along their trusty little angel pal.”
Castiel's scowl increased in intensity.
“What is the ingredient, Crowley?” asked Dean.
“A demon heart!” said Crowley.
“Tell me where it is,” said Castiel, taking out his sword. “There is no need to involve Sam and Dean. I will go slay it.”
“Now, see, this is how synergy works!” said Crowley. “When I waylaid you,” he asked the brothers, “were you or were you not on your way to confront a faceless demon?”
“Yeah, reports are he's been preying on lost kids in the area,” said Dean.
“Ah, but did you know why you couldn't get to him? And why you never would have been successful, if I had not come to your aid?” asked Crowley.
“Because a certain relative of mine can't read a fucking map?” asked Dean, offering a bowl of peanuts to Sam. Sam put on his best bitch face and waved his hand.
“The faceless demon lives in an intersection between dimensions,” nattered Crowley. “Really, a bit above the present crowd's educational level....”
“I went to Stanford!” said Sam.
“As I said,” breezed Crowley.
“Only children are allowed to approach a faceless demon’s lair,” said Castiel.
“Aw! You obviously peeked at the answers in the back of the book!” said Crowley. "Yes, it's like an inter-dimensional spider web."
“Wait, we are not getting kids to help with this,” said Sam.
“And I am unfortunately several eons too old,” said Castiel.
“Ah, but what if I could fix that?” Crowley asked Castiel.
“How?” asked Castiel.
“A small, temporary de-aging charm. We cut you down size,” said Crowley, pressing his palm towards the floor, as if shrinking Cas, “and you go smite your demon.”
“He’s gonna be turned into a kid?” asked Sam, who was suddenly almost clapping his hands with glee. “Oh, cool, can I go along too?”
“I am grieved to report,” said Crowley, who was suddenly holding a measuring tape, “that you are almost certainly beyond the parameters of my little charm.” The tape jumped over and extended itself over the length of Sam's body, and then hopped back into Crowley's hand. The demon tsk-ed and tutted.
“What? No! That’s no fair!” said Sam.
“Well, you see, it’s not a very strong spell, and there’s not much of him to reduce,” Crowley explained, pointing to Castiel.
“My true form is the size of the Hindenburg,” grumbled Castiel.
“I thought you were the size of the Chrysler building?” said Dean. Castiel scowled at him.
“Now, you,” Crowley said to Dean, as the enchanted tape measure made its way to his portion of the couch.
“Hey, watch it!” shouted Dean, ineffectively slapping at the tape measure as you would a pesky mosquito.
“You ought to do,” Crowley told him, examining the tape measure with apparent approval.
“Hey, no way!” said Dean. “I'm not doing some kind of weird age reduction magic!”
“Dean, you don't want Cas to go alone,” said Sam, waving at the angel.
“Cas has a lot of years! A lot of years! What if Crowley goes too far, and turns me into a zygote or something!” protested Dean.
"We need to figure out a way to stop the faceless Demon," reasoned Sam.
"And once we get the heart, what exactly are you gonna use it for, Crowley?" asked Dean, turning suspiciously to the demon.
"I would rather not say, at this particular point in time," hedged Crowley. Dean began to protest again, but Crowley held up a hand. "I know this will be a difficult concept for your tender monkey brains to absorb, but I am actually keeping this information to myself for your protection. There is something a trifle … unpleasant going on, and I would like to spare you a bit of strife."
"What kinda trouble?" asked Dean.
"Domestic issue," said Crowley. He sighed. "If you absolutely must know, I'm in a bit of a row with the ex."
"The ex?" asked Sam, exchanging a glance with Dean. “As in ex-wife?”
"You were married, dude?" asked Dean. “To a chick?”
Crowley nodded.
"My condolences," laughed Dean.
"She rather made off with some of the joint property, and I am attempting to track it down," huffed Crowley. "I have the appropriate enchantment but find myself in need of the blackest of demon hearts for this..."
"Because she's got one too," grinned Dean sympathetically.
“You can assist me in this matter,” said Crowley, “I will provide this spell for you. And then, as they say, I shall owe you one.”
Sam and Dean nodded. “You do not wish to know more about this situation?” Castiel asked them.
“Dude. Divorce,” said Dean. “Believe me, we do not want to know more about this situation. Not without a lot of beers, anyway.”
Castiel nodded, although he still appeared puzzled. “I shall assist you. Then, afterwards, I should probably pursue what is the matter with my brothers and sisters,” said Castiel, who sounded a little more distracted than usual.
“Yeah, we'll figure that out, dude,” said Sam, patting the angel's arm. “We know you're worried.”
“How can you know he's worried? Dude’s always got the same expression,” grumped Dean, which comment received rather unpleasant looks from both Castiel and Sam. “OK, OK,” said Dean. “Can we get with the kiddie magic then so we can get this hunt over with?”
Some time later, there was a small but dramatic crash. Also, flashing lights, and the distinct reek of sulfur.
The swirl of black smoke slowly evaporated, and there stood two figures. Two small figures.
“So, when is it supposed to work?” grumbled a little freckle-faced boy.
“Dean,” smiled Sam, grinning like a jack o’ lantern and pointing at his brother.
Dean looked down at his body. “Son of a bitch!” he said. “I didn't even feel that.” He regarded his little hands. “It worked. Crowley, you actually didn't fuck this up. Hey, Cas-?” He looked beside him, but there was no one there.
That's because the little blue eyed boy standing beside him had already gone running over to Sam.
“Well, hey there,” grinned Sam, crouching down to be at eye level with child Castiel. “Hey, you're kind of cute,” he laughed, running a hand through his tousled hair. Castiel stuck out his arms in an unmistakable gesture. “Is that what you want, little guy? Hey, OK,” said Sam, grabbing him and picking him up.
“Sam! What are you teaching him?” asked Dean. “We know he has personal space issues!”
“Hey! He wanted to be picked up!” protested Sam, who was now carrying Cas on his hip. “I don't want him to … get a complex. Or whatever.” Castiel smiled up adoringly at an indulgent Sam.
“Wait a minute. Are you OK in there, Cas?” asked Dean. Dean's spider sense was tingling. Castiel looked at Dean and nodded enthusiastically.
“Hey, what's the matter, can't he talk?” asked Dean.
“Can you talk, Cas?” Sam asked Castiel.
Castiel moved his mouth, but nothing came out. He held his throat and, eyes wide, solemnly shook his head at Sam.
“Aw, well, that’s OK,” Sam cooed to Castiel.
“What? No, it's not OK!” pint-sized Dean protested. “What the fuck, Crowley?”
“Er. There might be a few kinks,” said Crowley. “I haven't tried this one on an angel before," he noted. “Now, we should all get prepared to drop you off-”
"You haven't..... Look, we're going to be in some danger out there...." protested Dean.
“Aw, he'll be OK,” said Sam. “Won't you, little guy?” he asked Castiel, who nodded enthusiastically and added a hug. “Awww!”
“Yeah, when we meet the faceless demon, he'll just bat his eyes and give it a big old hug,” grumbled Dean as Castiel suddenly wriggled in Sam's arms and signaled to be put down.
“What's the matter?” asked Sam. “You need to use the potty?”
“Oh, I do not fucking believe this,” said child Dean.
There was a sudden crash and a padding of huge feet. "Growly! How did you get in?" scolded Crowley. But the footsteps only sounded louder. “Wait! Get back!” said Crowley, now sounding rather frantic.
"Cas! Don't!" yelled Sam as tiny Castiel barreled towards the invisible hellhound.
"Oh dear!" said Crowley, covering his eyes with his hands. “I believe Growly smelt Angel McNuggets.”
“Cas!” yelled Dean.
Castiel screeched to a halt and squeezed his little blue eyes shut, and suddenly, it looked as if some great thing was licking the side of his face. He reached out his hands and scratched what may have been an invisible nose, and then to everyone's surprise, seemed to be climbing up something that wasn't there,
"Crowley! What is Cas doing?" asked Sam.
Crowley uncovered his eyes and stared. "He's.... He's riding my hound. Growly! Stop that at once! Growly doesn't let anyone ride him! He is a fierce hellhound!" But despite Crowley’s words, Castiel was atop some unseen mount, giggling madly and riding around the room.
“I don't know about this, Sam,” little Dean told his brother. “I don't think Cas came out ... right!”
“He rides hellhounds, Dean,” said Sam. “I think you guys will be OK.”
It was actually a lovely day for a walk in the woods. The sun was high in the sky, but there was a soft, cool breeze.
“So, great, lost in the woods with a psychopathic demon and my batshit angel buddy,” sighed Dean once they were alone.
Castiel was standing before him on the path, holding out a hand, his eyes wide with expectation.
“Cas, come on! You're a full grown adult! You're just in a weird little kid body like me,” sighed Dean. “All right, all right,” he finally said, exasperated, taking Cas' hand in his. He got a smile as Castiel tugged him along the path, into the dark woods.
Dean thought it was probably not that much unlike when he and Sammy had been small. Although he wondered irritably why Crowley's spell had turned a million-billion year old angel into a child smaller than he.
“OK. Faceless demon. Faceless demon,” muttered Dean. “Not much to put on a wanted poster. And I guess we're basically bait, huh?”
Dean briefly dropped Cas' hand to recheck the gun he had in his waistband. Crowley had loaned him a 22 since his regular gun turned out to be a bit too much for him at this size. And loaded with salt ammo, of course.
“Cas! Wait!”
Some delicate white butterflies had flittered out into the pathway, and Cas had heedlessly run off to follow them.
“Stay on the path!” warned Dean, to absolutely no effect. “Not a brain left in his head,” he muttered, as he replaced the gun in his waistband and hastened to follow Cas. “Not that there was much there to start with.” Dean pushed through to where the path narrowed, and came upon Cas, standing in the dappled sunlight, proudly displaying a butterfly perched on one of his small fingers. "Well, look at that," Dean told the beaming angel. "Friend to all of nature, huh?" He watched as the delicate creature began to flap and once again fluttered away.
Dean turned and cast a glance at what appeared to be some round, white rocks piled by the side of the path. He felt something lurch at the pit of his stomach. He crouched down and took another look.
It was a mound of small, white skulls, neatly arranged.
Dean shot back up. He noticed Castiel was looking up at him, concern in his eyes. “OK, Cas, listen to me. I'm not sure what's left of you in there, but from now on,” he told the angel, holding out a hand, “you stick with me. You hear?”
Castiel nodded and gripped Dean's hand, and together, they set off again, although both were more wary than before. It seemed so much different here, off the main path, darker and more foreboding. And quieter: Dean noticed the sound of birds chirping and insects buzzing had quieted. All he could hear was his shoes crunching on gravel.
And a rustling?
He turned. No. Must have been the wind.
“You hear that?” he asked Castiel, who nodded solemnly. They continued walking. It seemed like the trees were taller here. Or maybe it was just Dean was smaller now.
Movement? Dean stopped again. Weird: it looked like one of the tall trees was moving. He shook his head at Cas. Now he was just freaking himself out.
They walked on.
And then Dean halted. He dropped Cas's hand and spun around, gun pointed.
At nothing.
“Shit,” grumbled Dean. “I'm getting twitchy.” He went to grab Cas's hand.
But Cas was standing, mouth gaping open, pointing to something behind Dean.
Dean started to turn again, but only got the barest glimpse before he was knocked from his feet, the ground coming up fast beneath him, his knee slamming down hard on a root. He pushed himself up, spitting out a mouthful of dirt.
He looked up. And then kept looking up.
Whatever the hell it was, it had Cas gripped tight by the arms and held suspended, far above Dean. Cas was squirming, legs kicking ineffectively. Dean realized Cas must have knocked him out of the way, but then the thing had grabbed Cas instead of Dean before he could draw his angel sword. It was so strange, tall and thin, like one of the spindly trees had snapped to life. He heard a crackling as it moved, like sticks breaking. The face was the worst. It reminded Dean of the figure in The Scream painting. Only there was no scream. There was no mouth. There was no face at all, just a white blur where a face should be.
Dean grabbed for his gun. He fired a round into the body, and landed on his butt again from the recoil. Can’t even handle a 22? Why had he let Crowley talk him into donning this useless kid's body? He remained seated and fired again, but it seemed to do nothing.
In desperation, he pointed the gun higher, carefully drawing a bead, sending a round into a long arm, hoping that could make it at least loose its grip on the angel.
It worked: the demon emitted a terrible piercing cry, and dropped Cas, who fell with a small thump.
There was a rustling. Dean screamed as the dry branch-like limbs wrapped around him and he felt himself jerked from the ground and brought up, up, up, up. The thing not only had a pair of regular arms, it had a set of branch-like limbs that appeared to originate from its back, making it look like a large, horrible insect. And here he was, lifted up, face to faceless.
Dean was terrified. The thing was not only massively tall, the branch arms were improbably long, and although he kicked with all his might, as had happened to Cas before him, his arms were pinned to his sides, and it was holding him far enough out so he was nowhere near the thing's body, where he could do damage.
And then he felt the horrible wrenching. Knowing what would come next, he desperately clenched his jaw shut, shaking his head violently from side to side. But finally, his mouth was wrenched open, and he could feel it, his soul being slowly, surely ripped from his body. It was the worst pain ever, like getting a tooth pried out without Novocaine. A whole row of teeth. Dean gurgled, unable to even scream.
But then, suddenly, Dean swallowed hard, and let out a strangled cry as he was released and dropped to the ground. He fell right on his butt. He craned up at the demon, now halted, frozen, a thick honey-colored sap-like liquid oozing down its front from the knife blade that was now sticking through its chest.
The blade wrenched out, and Dean rolled to the side. There was a soft crunching sound, like a dead tree falling, and the faceless demon collapsed with a thump onto the forest floor. Dean gazed disbelievingly, and then glanced up at the unmistakable sound of soft, beating wings.
Castiel was there, two small, dark-feathered wings extended from his back fluttering madly, a sap-covered angel sword in his hands.
“Cas,” choked Dean. And then, “Wow,” because he couldn't think of anything else useful to say.
Castiel glided to the ground. “Well,” said Dean, “I guess we gotta get the heart. Can you-” But he had no sooner said it than Cas ripped into the demon's chest with the sword. Dean soon found deposited in his hands a large, blood-clotted heart. “OK. Done,” he said, adding, "Uh. Ew."
“That is seriously cute, man. I mean, seriously,” Sam babbled as Dean deposited the icky, sticky demon heart in the small metal tin Crowley was holding out when they returned. Sam was crouching down next to l'il angel Cas, taking yet another cell phone picture. Castiel then ran over to Uncle Crowley.
“Aw, yes, look, how darling, he had the blood of his enemies on his chubby little hands,” said Crowley, deftly catching the angel's wrists as Cas reached up to him. “Let's apply some soap, shall we?” asked Crowley, who leaned over a nearby sink and hit the faucet. Cas obediently fluttered up to sink level and calmly washed his hands. “Come on, you too!” Crowley barked at Dean.
Dean looked up at the towering sink. He held up blood-sap-stained hands. “Dude. No wings. Why don't you just switch us back?”
“That is going to take a moment, and in the meantime I don't want the mansion despoiled with sticky little fingerprints,” sighed Crowley.
Dean looked up indecisively at the running sink, and then felt himself yanked up under the arms. “Oh, uh, thanks Cas,” he said, soaping up his hands as Castiel kept him at sink level.
“Aren't you a handy little kitchen appliance?” asked Crowley as Cas returned Dean to earth.
“Can't we just keep him this way?” asked a doting Sam.
“Sam!” said Dean.
“Unfortunately, if nothing else, the spell ought be wearing off by itself in a little while," Crowley told them.
“Wait, there was a time limit on this spell?” asked Dean, staring up at Crowley. “And you didn't tell us?”
"Oh, no need, I had worked in plenty of margins. I am no fool. Oh, watch it!" he cried as suddenly a cloud of sulfurous smoke surrounded Dean and Cas.
Dean emerged, coughing, a moment later. He ran his hands over his body and found it to be reassuringly adult sized. "Ah, that's better!" he said. "Hey, Cas, are you...?" But he didn't need to ask, as a frowning Castiel emerged, too, from the smokescreen, adult-sized, and bearing a pair of adult-sized smoky-dark wings sprouting from his back.
"Crowley!" barked Castiel, who had the demon by the collar.
"Well, you have your voice back, that's a positive development," pleaded Crowley. From the way Cas was arching up the wings, Dean did not think he looked pleased. "It's probably just a small, temporary side effect," Crowley continued.
"This vessel was not supposed to sport wings!" grumbled Castiel.
"But you gotta admit, it's pretty cool," said Sam, who had his cell phone camera ready.
"And there's no way anyone's gonna mistake you for a bat looking like that!" reasoned Dean.
"Who would mistake me for a bat?" Castiel demanded of Dean, as he dropped Crowley.
"Look," said Dean, holding up his hands, "why don't you just … put them away?"
"Put them away how? They are not a winter coat!" Castiel pointed out, giving them a good flap for emphasis.
"Dean's right," said Sam. "When you were a kid, you didn't have them at first." He held up a cell phone photo he had taken of himself holding little Castiel. Cas regarded the photo with curiosity, suddenly too intrigued to be angry.
"Oh. We were friends?" Cas asked Sam.
"We were best buddies," smiled Sam.
"I wouldn't say that," countered Dean.
"If you boys don't mind," said Crowley, who had now picked up the container with the demon heart, "I need to throw some bits and bobs together for a location spell. You can go ahead and keep bickering."
Dean frowned at Crowley.
"Maybe you just think them away?" Sam proposed to Cas as Crowley began to throw some strange ingredients in with the heart.
"Why did I extend them?" asked Cas, who apparently didn't remember the interlude terribly well. Crowley hummed tunelessly and dumped something that looked an awful lot like an eye into his bowl.
"Faceless demon attack," said Dean. "You were defending me! Your best friend!" he added, looking at Sam.
Sam regarded his brother with the utmost skepticism, but Cas looked thoughtful. Crowley threw some foul-smelling powder into the bowl and lit it on fire.
"Perhaps if I concentrate," said Cas. He closed his eyes and went silent.
Crowley repeated something in Latin.
There wasn't a poof, but suddenly, Cas's wings had gone back to ... Well. Wherever they had come from.
"Cool!" said Sam.
"So maybe they are like a winter coat," Dean proposed.
"I have torn my coat," said Cas, who, indeed, had two great tears that went through the back of his coat, jacket and shirt, evidently where his wings had sprouted.
"Aw, we can get you a new one," Dean told him.
"But I liked that one," said Cas.
"Did someone summon me?"
Everyone, whether human, angel or demon, now looked to the other side of the room, where there had appeared the strangest being. He was tall with a cloud of wild grey hair, and wore an old fashioned lab coat. He in fact looked every bit the old movie mad scientist.
"Raguel!" said Cas, who had actually torn his attention from his damaged overcoat.
"Castiel," said Raguel. "How fortunate. I have need of your grace." He made a beckoning gesture, and suddenly Castiel hurtled towards him, and fell, unconscious, at his feet.
"Cas!" yelled Dean. He and Sam both attempted to run forward, but were halted in their tracks by a gesture from Raguel.
"What are you?" Raguel demanded.
"What do you mean what are we?" demanded Crowley, who had come up behind Sam and Dean. "That's my Bride of the Demon lab coat, you bloody bastard!"
Raguel smiled. "I am sorry my friends. I have need of him," he said, indicating Castiel. "I have no need of you." He aimed a hand at Sam, Dean and Crowley.
"Smiting! Not good, not good!" said Dean. "Crowley?"
But Crowley gave no reply. He seemed to be distracted.
And then there was a light. And Dean felt his body wrenched through time and space.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas; Sam, Crowley, Bobby, Gabriel
Warnings: Cursing, some violence, Dean being dickish, appetizing descriptions of Greek food.
Word Count: I dunno. Long-ass story. It was up over 30K last I checked.
Summary: Sam can't read a damn map; a mad scientist archangel is after Cas' grace; Crowley is going through a nasty demonic divorce; and the angel voices have all suddenly gone silent.
Notes: This is semi-post-Season 7 on the timeline, with the caveat that I’ve arbitrarily resurrected some characters just for the hell of it. Also: each chapter begins with a brief flashback that takes place prior to the main narrative. I have labeled these flashbacks, but you gotta pay attention, OK? Also, there's gonna be a Coda following Chapter 7.
Some months ago....
It was something out of a glorious old black and white monster movie: a mad scientist’s lab, complete with mysterious test tubes and Erlenmeyer flasks and even, for no particular reason, a fizzling Jacob’s ladder, electrical current arcing up between the poles.
“Now, this won’t hurt a bit!” said the crazy-eyed requisite mad scientist type. He was hovering over the requisite victim, who was strapped, naked and shivering, to a cold metal table. He was wearing an old fashioned white laboratory coat, and had a shock of Einstenian tangled grey hair.
As the subject on the table squirmed, the mad scientist leaned over closer. “Confidentially, it will hurt. Quite a bit. And probably kill you!” And here he cackled. It wasn't actually a very good super-villain laugh, it was too high pitched and slightly hysterical.
“Please,” said the victim. He seemed oddly detached. He appeared to be a young man, although he was not. Not really.
“Oh, the time for pleading is over, my friend. Time to separate the sheep from the goats, the wicked from the righteous. And you, my love, from your grace.”
“My name is Inias. What is yours?” asked the victim.
“Oh, don't try to personalize, dear. I know what the books say! But it is time. Sinners to the left hand, and the righteous at my right hand side.” He held up his hands, and lightning crashed and thunder roared.
“But why would you do this?” asked Inias.
“I am doing the Lord’s work! Our glorious Father’s work!”
“But no one has seen our Father for many years. How can you claim to act in His holy name?”
“His will be done!” bellowed the scientist. Inias noticed he was now running his thumb over some kind of serrated knife.
“You are an angel. Like me. Aren’t you?”
The scientist leaned over again. Inias shivered. And he smelled something very familiar on the mad scientist’s breath.
“I am an angel. But not at all like you. Not anything like you.”
And then he plunged in the knife.
The present day....
Sam, Dean and Cas had been suddenly yanked somewhere else. The somewhere being Crowley’s current hideout, which looked not unlike his old hideouts, namely, a rather posh mansion. Dean was already running to the window to look out.
“Yes, your car arrived safely,” said Crowley, once again gripping his back. “That’s it out in the drive. Damn, those old muscle cars are heavy bastards.”
“It did! Thanks, dude,” said Dean. “You’re not all bad. Well, actually, you are. But thanks for the car.”
“Now, shall we have the strippers perform first, or would you care to get right to business?” inquired Crowley as a line of rather good-looking women, and one terribly good-looking man, all dressed in frightfully skimpy costumes, suddenly appeared in a kick line in back of him, to the accompaniment of an unseen orchestra’s vamping some burlesque themes.
“Uhhhh,” said Dean.
“DEAN!” scolded both Sam and Cas.
“We need to get to business,” groused Sam.
“Guess not,” said Crowley, snapping his fingers. The women disappeared. The lone man remained, and cast an expectant glance at Crowley. “Laters, dear,” said Crowley, blowing a kiss and then snapping his fingers again.
‘You guys seriously gotta learn to live a little,” sulked Dean, sinking down onto one of the plush leather couches and grabbing a handful of cocktail peanuts.
“Those are actually left over from hell,” Crowley explained.
“Really?” asked Dean, who continued stuffing his face. “They're pretty good.”
“Ah! But they're supposed to be a cocktail mix!” said Crowley, sitting down opposite of Dean.
“And it's all peanuts!” said Dean appreciatively. “Excellent. Damn, Crowley, you thought of everything.”
“Crowley, why did you call on us?” asked Sam, who also sank down into the couch next to Dean. Castiel remained defiantly standing, arms crossed, glaring righteously at the demon.
“As it happens,” explained the ex-chief of hell, sampling some peanuts of perdition for himself, “I have a spiffy new enchantment which I am itching to try. However, as so often happens when one is working within the black magic genre, I have need of a few … somewhat arcane ingredients. At present I am short precisely one essential element. And that is why I chose to call up on my two favorite hunters, pouty lipped division. Of course, it was a special side dish to also bring along their trusty little angel pal.”
Castiel's scowl increased in intensity.
“What is the ingredient, Crowley?” asked Dean.
“A demon heart!” said Crowley.
“Tell me where it is,” said Castiel, taking out his sword. “There is no need to involve Sam and Dean. I will go slay it.”
“Now, see, this is how synergy works!” said Crowley. “When I waylaid you,” he asked the brothers, “were you or were you not on your way to confront a faceless demon?”
“Yeah, reports are he's been preying on lost kids in the area,” said Dean.
“Ah, but did you know why you couldn't get to him? And why you never would have been successful, if I had not come to your aid?” asked Crowley.
“Because a certain relative of mine can't read a fucking map?” asked Dean, offering a bowl of peanuts to Sam. Sam put on his best bitch face and waved his hand.
“The faceless demon lives in an intersection between dimensions,” nattered Crowley. “Really, a bit above the present crowd's educational level....”
“I went to Stanford!” said Sam.
“As I said,” breezed Crowley.
“Only children are allowed to approach a faceless demon’s lair,” said Castiel.
“Aw! You obviously peeked at the answers in the back of the book!” said Crowley. "Yes, it's like an inter-dimensional spider web."
“Wait, we are not getting kids to help with this,” said Sam.
“And I am unfortunately several eons too old,” said Castiel.
“Ah, but what if I could fix that?” Crowley asked Castiel.
“How?” asked Castiel.
“A small, temporary de-aging charm. We cut you down size,” said Crowley, pressing his palm towards the floor, as if shrinking Cas, “and you go smite your demon.”
“He’s gonna be turned into a kid?” asked Sam, who was suddenly almost clapping his hands with glee. “Oh, cool, can I go along too?”
“I am grieved to report,” said Crowley, who was suddenly holding a measuring tape, “that you are almost certainly beyond the parameters of my little charm.” The tape jumped over and extended itself over the length of Sam's body, and then hopped back into Crowley's hand. The demon tsk-ed and tutted.
“What? No! That’s no fair!” said Sam.
“Well, you see, it’s not a very strong spell, and there’s not much of him to reduce,” Crowley explained, pointing to Castiel.
“My true form is the size of the Hindenburg,” grumbled Castiel.
“I thought you were the size of the Chrysler building?” said Dean. Castiel scowled at him.
“Now, you,” Crowley said to Dean, as the enchanted tape measure made its way to his portion of the couch.
“Hey, watch it!” shouted Dean, ineffectively slapping at the tape measure as you would a pesky mosquito.
“You ought to do,” Crowley told him, examining the tape measure with apparent approval.
“Hey, no way!” said Dean. “I'm not doing some kind of weird age reduction magic!”
“Dean, you don't want Cas to go alone,” said Sam, waving at the angel.
“Cas has a lot of years! A lot of years! What if Crowley goes too far, and turns me into a zygote or something!” protested Dean.
"We need to figure out a way to stop the faceless Demon," reasoned Sam.
"And once we get the heart, what exactly are you gonna use it for, Crowley?" asked Dean, turning suspiciously to the demon.
"I would rather not say, at this particular point in time," hedged Crowley. Dean began to protest again, but Crowley held up a hand. "I know this will be a difficult concept for your tender monkey brains to absorb, but I am actually keeping this information to myself for your protection. There is something a trifle … unpleasant going on, and I would like to spare you a bit of strife."
"What kinda trouble?" asked Dean.
"Domestic issue," said Crowley. He sighed. "If you absolutely must know, I'm in a bit of a row with the ex."
"The ex?" asked Sam, exchanging a glance with Dean. “As in ex-wife?”
"You were married, dude?" asked Dean. “To a chick?”
Crowley nodded.
"My condolences," laughed Dean.
"She rather made off with some of the joint property, and I am attempting to track it down," huffed Crowley. "I have the appropriate enchantment but find myself in need of the blackest of demon hearts for this..."
"Because she's got one too," grinned Dean sympathetically.
“You can assist me in this matter,” said Crowley, “I will provide this spell for you. And then, as they say, I shall owe you one.”
Sam and Dean nodded. “You do not wish to know more about this situation?” Castiel asked them.
“Dude. Divorce,” said Dean. “Believe me, we do not want to know more about this situation. Not without a lot of beers, anyway.”
Castiel nodded, although he still appeared puzzled. “I shall assist you. Then, afterwards, I should probably pursue what is the matter with my brothers and sisters,” said Castiel, who sounded a little more distracted than usual.
“Yeah, we'll figure that out, dude,” said Sam, patting the angel's arm. “We know you're worried.”
“How can you know he's worried? Dude’s always got the same expression,” grumped Dean, which comment received rather unpleasant looks from both Castiel and Sam. “OK, OK,” said Dean. “Can we get with the kiddie magic then so we can get this hunt over with?”
Some time later, there was a small but dramatic crash. Also, flashing lights, and the distinct reek of sulfur.
The swirl of black smoke slowly evaporated, and there stood two figures. Two small figures.
“So, when is it supposed to work?” grumbled a little freckle-faced boy.
“Dean,” smiled Sam, grinning like a jack o’ lantern and pointing at his brother.
Dean looked down at his body. “Son of a bitch!” he said. “I didn't even feel that.” He regarded his little hands. “It worked. Crowley, you actually didn't fuck this up. Hey, Cas-?” He looked beside him, but there was no one there.
That's because the little blue eyed boy standing beside him had already gone running over to Sam.
“Well, hey there,” grinned Sam, crouching down to be at eye level with child Castiel. “Hey, you're kind of cute,” he laughed, running a hand through his tousled hair. Castiel stuck out his arms in an unmistakable gesture. “Is that what you want, little guy? Hey, OK,” said Sam, grabbing him and picking him up.
“Sam! What are you teaching him?” asked Dean. “We know he has personal space issues!”
“Hey! He wanted to be picked up!” protested Sam, who was now carrying Cas on his hip. “I don't want him to … get a complex. Or whatever.” Castiel smiled up adoringly at an indulgent Sam.
“Wait a minute. Are you OK in there, Cas?” asked Dean. Dean's spider sense was tingling. Castiel looked at Dean and nodded enthusiastically.
“Hey, what's the matter, can't he talk?” asked Dean.
“Can you talk, Cas?” Sam asked Castiel.
Castiel moved his mouth, but nothing came out. He held his throat and, eyes wide, solemnly shook his head at Sam.
“Aw, well, that’s OK,” Sam cooed to Castiel.
“What? No, it's not OK!” pint-sized Dean protested. “What the fuck, Crowley?”
“Er. There might be a few kinks,” said Crowley. “I haven't tried this one on an angel before," he noted. “Now, we should all get prepared to drop you off-”
"You haven't..... Look, we're going to be in some danger out there...." protested Dean.
“Aw, he'll be OK,” said Sam. “Won't you, little guy?” he asked Castiel, who nodded enthusiastically and added a hug. “Awww!”
“Yeah, when we meet the faceless demon, he'll just bat his eyes and give it a big old hug,” grumbled Dean as Castiel suddenly wriggled in Sam's arms and signaled to be put down.
“What's the matter?” asked Sam. “You need to use the potty?”
“Oh, I do not fucking believe this,” said child Dean.
There was a sudden crash and a padding of huge feet. "Growly! How did you get in?" scolded Crowley. But the footsteps only sounded louder. “Wait! Get back!” said Crowley, now sounding rather frantic.
"Cas! Don't!" yelled Sam as tiny Castiel barreled towards the invisible hellhound.
"Oh dear!" said Crowley, covering his eyes with his hands. “I believe Growly smelt Angel McNuggets.”
“Cas!” yelled Dean.
Castiel screeched to a halt and squeezed his little blue eyes shut, and suddenly, it looked as if some great thing was licking the side of his face. He reached out his hands and scratched what may have been an invisible nose, and then to everyone's surprise, seemed to be climbing up something that wasn't there,
"Crowley! What is Cas doing?" asked Sam.
Crowley uncovered his eyes and stared. "He's.... He's riding my hound. Growly! Stop that at once! Growly doesn't let anyone ride him! He is a fierce hellhound!" But despite Crowley’s words, Castiel was atop some unseen mount, giggling madly and riding around the room.
“I don't know about this, Sam,” little Dean told his brother. “I don't think Cas came out ... right!”
“He rides hellhounds, Dean,” said Sam. “I think you guys will be OK.”
It was actually a lovely day for a walk in the woods. The sun was high in the sky, but there was a soft, cool breeze.
“So, great, lost in the woods with a psychopathic demon and my batshit angel buddy,” sighed Dean once they were alone.
Castiel was standing before him on the path, holding out a hand, his eyes wide with expectation.
“Cas, come on! You're a full grown adult! You're just in a weird little kid body like me,” sighed Dean. “All right, all right,” he finally said, exasperated, taking Cas' hand in his. He got a smile as Castiel tugged him along the path, into the dark woods.
Dean thought it was probably not that much unlike when he and Sammy had been small. Although he wondered irritably why Crowley's spell had turned a million-billion year old angel into a child smaller than he.
“OK. Faceless demon. Faceless demon,” muttered Dean. “Not much to put on a wanted poster. And I guess we're basically bait, huh?”
Dean briefly dropped Cas' hand to recheck the gun he had in his waistband. Crowley had loaned him a 22 since his regular gun turned out to be a bit too much for him at this size. And loaded with salt ammo, of course.
“Cas! Wait!”
Some delicate white butterflies had flittered out into the pathway, and Cas had heedlessly run off to follow them.
“Stay on the path!” warned Dean, to absolutely no effect. “Not a brain left in his head,” he muttered, as he replaced the gun in his waistband and hastened to follow Cas. “Not that there was much there to start with.” Dean pushed through to where the path narrowed, and came upon Cas, standing in the dappled sunlight, proudly displaying a butterfly perched on one of his small fingers. "Well, look at that," Dean told the beaming angel. "Friend to all of nature, huh?" He watched as the delicate creature began to flap and once again fluttered away.
Dean turned and cast a glance at what appeared to be some round, white rocks piled by the side of the path. He felt something lurch at the pit of his stomach. He crouched down and took another look.
It was a mound of small, white skulls, neatly arranged.
Dean shot back up. He noticed Castiel was looking up at him, concern in his eyes. “OK, Cas, listen to me. I'm not sure what's left of you in there, but from now on,” he told the angel, holding out a hand, “you stick with me. You hear?”
Castiel nodded and gripped Dean's hand, and together, they set off again, although both were more wary than before. It seemed so much different here, off the main path, darker and more foreboding. And quieter: Dean noticed the sound of birds chirping and insects buzzing had quieted. All he could hear was his shoes crunching on gravel.
And a rustling?
He turned. No. Must have been the wind.
“You hear that?” he asked Castiel, who nodded solemnly. They continued walking. It seemed like the trees were taller here. Or maybe it was just Dean was smaller now.
Movement? Dean stopped again. Weird: it looked like one of the tall trees was moving. He shook his head at Cas. Now he was just freaking himself out.
They walked on.
And then Dean halted. He dropped Cas's hand and spun around, gun pointed.
At nothing.
“Shit,” grumbled Dean. “I'm getting twitchy.” He went to grab Cas's hand.
But Cas was standing, mouth gaping open, pointing to something behind Dean.
Dean started to turn again, but only got the barest glimpse before he was knocked from his feet, the ground coming up fast beneath him, his knee slamming down hard on a root. He pushed himself up, spitting out a mouthful of dirt.
He looked up. And then kept looking up.
Whatever the hell it was, it had Cas gripped tight by the arms and held suspended, far above Dean. Cas was squirming, legs kicking ineffectively. Dean realized Cas must have knocked him out of the way, but then the thing had grabbed Cas instead of Dean before he could draw his angel sword. It was so strange, tall and thin, like one of the spindly trees had snapped to life. He heard a crackling as it moved, like sticks breaking. The face was the worst. It reminded Dean of the figure in The Scream painting. Only there was no scream. There was no mouth. There was no face at all, just a white blur where a face should be.
Dean grabbed for his gun. He fired a round into the body, and landed on his butt again from the recoil. Can’t even handle a 22? Why had he let Crowley talk him into donning this useless kid's body? He remained seated and fired again, but it seemed to do nothing.
In desperation, he pointed the gun higher, carefully drawing a bead, sending a round into a long arm, hoping that could make it at least loose its grip on the angel.
It worked: the demon emitted a terrible piercing cry, and dropped Cas, who fell with a small thump.
There was a rustling. Dean screamed as the dry branch-like limbs wrapped around him and he felt himself jerked from the ground and brought up, up, up, up. The thing not only had a pair of regular arms, it had a set of branch-like limbs that appeared to originate from its back, making it look like a large, horrible insect. And here he was, lifted up, face to faceless.
Dean was terrified. The thing was not only massively tall, the branch arms were improbably long, and although he kicked with all his might, as had happened to Cas before him, his arms were pinned to his sides, and it was holding him far enough out so he was nowhere near the thing's body, where he could do damage.
And then he felt the horrible wrenching. Knowing what would come next, he desperately clenched his jaw shut, shaking his head violently from side to side. But finally, his mouth was wrenched open, and he could feel it, his soul being slowly, surely ripped from his body. It was the worst pain ever, like getting a tooth pried out without Novocaine. A whole row of teeth. Dean gurgled, unable to even scream.
But then, suddenly, Dean swallowed hard, and let out a strangled cry as he was released and dropped to the ground. He fell right on his butt. He craned up at the demon, now halted, frozen, a thick honey-colored sap-like liquid oozing down its front from the knife blade that was now sticking through its chest.
The blade wrenched out, and Dean rolled to the side. There was a soft crunching sound, like a dead tree falling, and the faceless demon collapsed with a thump onto the forest floor. Dean gazed disbelievingly, and then glanced up at the unmistakable sound of soft, beating wings.
Castiel was there, two small, dark-feathered wings extended from his back fluttering madly, a sap-covered angel sword in his hands.
“Cas,” choked Dean. And then, “Wow,” because he couldn't think of anything else useful to say.
Castiel glided to the ground. “Well,” said Dean, “I guess we gotta get the heart. Can you-” But he had no sooner said it than Cas ripped into the demon's chest with the sword. Dean soon found deposited in his hands a large, blood-clotted heart. “OK. Done,” he said, adding, "Uh. Ew."
“That is seriously cute, man. I mean, seriously,” Sam babbled as Dean deposited the icky, sticky demon heart in the small metal tin Crowley was holding out when they returned. Sam was crouching down next to l'il angel Cas, taking yet another cell phone picture. Castiel then ran over to Uncle Crowley.
“Aw, yes, look, how darling, he had the blood of his enemies on his chubby little hands,” said Crowley, deftly catching the angel's wrists as Cas reached up to him. “Let's apply some soap, shall we?” asked Crowley, who leaned over a nearby sink and hit the faucet. Cas obediently fluttered up to sink level and calmly washed his hands. “Come on, you too!” Crowley barked at Dean.
Dean looked up at the towering sink. He held up blood-sap-stained hands. “Dude. No wings. Why don't you just switch us back?”
“That is going to take a moment, and in the meantime I don't want the mansion despoiled with sticky little fingerprints,” sighed Crowley.
Dean looked up indecisively at the running sink, and then felt himself yanked up under the arms. “Oh, uh, thanks Cas,” he said, soaping up his hands as Castiel kept him at sink level.
“Aren't you a handy little kitchen appliance?” asked Crowley as Cas returned Dean to earth.
“Can't we just keep him this way?” asked a doting Sam.
“Sam!” said Dean.
“Unfortunately, if nothing else, the spell ought be wearing off by itself in a little while," Crowley told them.
“Wait, there was a time limit on this spell?” asked Dean, staring up at Crowley. “And you didn't tell us?”
"Oh, no need, I had worked in plenty of margins. I am no fool. Oh, watch it!" he cried as suddenly a cloud of sulfurous smoke surrounded Dean and Cas.
Dean emerged, coughing, a moment later. He ran his hands over his body and found it to be reassuringly adult sized. "Ah, that's better!" he said. "Hey, Cas, are you...?" But he didn't need to ask, as a frowning Castiel emerged, too, from the smokescreen, adult-sized, and bearing a pair of adult-sized smoky-dark wings sprouting from his back.
"Crowley!" barked Castiel, who had the demon by the collar.
"Well, you have your voice back, that's a positive development," pleaded Crowley. From the way Cas was arching up the wings, Dean did not think he looked pleased. "It's probably just a small, temporary side effect," Crowley continued.
"This vessel was not supposed to sport wings!" grumbled Castiel.
"But you gotta admit, it's pretty cool," said Sam, who had his cell phone camera ready.
"And there's no way anyone's gonna mistake you for a bat looking like that!" reasoned Dean.
"Who would mistake me for a bat?" Castiel demanded of Dean, as he dropped Crowley.
"Look," said Dean, holding up his hands, "why don't you just … put them away?"
"Put them away how? They are not a winter coat!" Castiel pointed out, giving them a good flap for emphasis.
"Dean's right," said Sam. "When you were a kid, you didn't have them at first." He held up a cell phone photo he had taken of himself holding little Castiel. Cas regarded the photo with curiosity, suddenly too intrigued to be angry.
"Oh. We were friends?" Cas asked Sam.
"We were best buddies," smiled Sam.
"I wouldn't say that," countered Dean.
"If you boys don't mind," said Crowley, who had now picked up the container with the demon heart, "I need to throw some bits and bobs together for a location spell. You can go ahead and keep bickering."
Dean frowned at Crowley.
"Maybe you just think them away?" Sam proposed to Cas as Crowley began to throw some strange ingredients in with the heart.
"Why did I extend them?" asked Cas, who apparently didn't remember the interlude terribly well. Crowley hummed tunelessly and dumped something that looked an awful lot like an eye into his bowl.
"Faceless demon attack," said Dean. "You were defending me! Your best friend!" he added, looking at Sam.
Sam regarded his brother with the utmost skepticism, but Cas looked thoughtful. Crowley threw some foul-smelling powder into the bowl and lit it on fire.
"Perhaps if I concentrate," said Cas. He closed his eyes and went silent.
Crowley repeated something in Latin.
There wasn't a poof, but suddenly, Cas's wings had gone back to ... Well. Wherever they had come from.
"Cool!" said Sam.
"So maybe they are like a winter coat," Dean proposed.
"I have torn my coat," said Cas, who, indeed, had two great tears that went through the back of his coat, jacket and shirt, evidently where his wings had sprouted.
"Aw, we can get you a new one," Dean told him.
"But I liked that one," said Cas.
"Did someone summon me?"
Everyone, whether human, angel or demon, now looked to the other side of the room, where there had appeared the strangest being. He was tall with a cloud of wild grey hair, and wore an old fashioned lab coat. He in fact looked every bit the old movie mad scientist.
"Raguel!" said Cas, who had actually torn his attention from his damaged overcoat.
"Castiel," said Raguel. "How fortunate. I have need of your grace." He made a beckoning gesture, and suddenly Castiel hurtled towards him, and fell, unconscious, at his feet.
"Cas!" yelled Dean. He and Sam both attempted to run forward, but were halted in their tracks by a gesture from Raguel.
"What are you?" Raguel demanded.
"What do you mean what are we?" demanded Crowley, who had come up behind Sam and Dean. "That's my Bride of the Demon lab coat, you bloody bastard!"
Raguel smiled. "I am sorry my friends. I have need of him," he said, indicating Castiel. "I have no need of you." He aimed a hand at Sam, Dean and Crowley.
"Smiting! Not good, not good!" said Dean. "Crowley?"
But Crowley gave no reply. He seemed to be distracted.
And then there was a light. And Dean felt his body wrenched through time and space.
