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tikificTitle: I Am Trying to Break Your Heart (Blood on the Tracks, Chapter 4 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: Almost 40K total.
Summary: Castiel's grace is hanging by a thread, but he just wants a damned hamburger. Visitations from archangels and demon brides, and poor Dean gets zapped around again.
Notes: This is really nowhere logical on the timeline: it's vaguely post S7, but not really terribly spoilery, and I've brought back people and locations that should be gone. The beginning of each chapter is a little flashback, so you need to pay attention to that, there will be a quiz.
A few days ago….
It was late evening, and traffic had thinned here off the main street. This was one of those cities that had thought to preserve its downtown area, so the buildings were of quaint design and solidly wrought from thick old growth timber.
There was a neat plaque on the side of this building, Glaucus Appraisals, LLC, set beside an intricately carved wooden door. The door, if it had been opened (which it was most assuredly not) guarded a staircase which led to a second story office.
There were currently two demons, one standing to either side of the door, leaning against the building, both looking ill-tempered.
“You got business with me?” asked a female voice.
The demons turned, startled. They were not used to being surprised. The woman appeared to be about the human equivalent of thirty-something, and possibly of Mediterranean ancestry, as she had a fine clear olive skin and dark eyes. The most distinctive thing about her was a tangle of light brown, very, very curly hair, only partly tamed by a colorful hairband.
She wasn’t as tall as the demon men, but somehow, she appeared to be staring down her aquiline nose at them.
“You run Glaucus?” asked the bigger demon, whose demon name was Eblis. Not that he bothered to introduce himself.
“Yes, I am the sole proprietor,” she told them. She, too, did not bother with further introductions. “Look upon me and weep.”
“You’re working for Crowley, then?”
“Well, not that it’s your business, but yeah. I have ongoing consultation with Crowley.”
“You need to reconsider your decision then,” said Eblis, cracking his knuckles to emphasize the point.
“From the surfeit of muscle and paucity of brains, I take it you're some of Jahi's boys?” asked the curly haired woman, raising an eyebrow.
The two looked at each other, slightly confused at all the SAT vocabulary. “As a matter of fact,” said the smaller of the two, who was named Forcas. “Yeah.”
“Can you please get a message to her for me?” asked the woman.
“Yeah, sure, I guess so,” said Forcas.
“Now, listen up,” said the curly-haired woman, beckoning the two to lean in. When they were all close together, she said, very clearly and distinctly, “Fuck. Off. Bitch.” She scowled at the demons, drawing back. “Got it?”
“I don’t think you got the message,” snarled Eblis, now attempting to loom over the woman.
“I don’t think you got my message,” said the woman. “Want me to repeat?”
“You gotta stop working for Crowley,” said Eblis.
“You gotta stop making me annoyed,” said the woman. “You won’t like me when I’m annoyed.”
There was the flash of a knife that hadn’t been in Eblis’ hand one moment ago. And then a smashing sound, and Eblis was laid out flat on the ground, blood from the great crack in his skull now throbbing out and pooling on the ground beneath him, a very surprised expression on his dying face.
The woman checked the end of the long staff she was now holding. It now had bits of skull and blood and hair on it. “Got the message now?” she asked Forcas.
And then Forcas was suddenly no longer there.
An owl fluttered by, and came to rest on the woman’s shoulder. “Fucking demons,” she grumbled to it. She touched the staff to what was left of Eblis, who disappeared. And then she was no longer holding the staff. She scratched the owl on his forehead. Then she turned, and put a key in the heavy lock on the wooden door.
The present day....
Dean clutched at the bag of groceries from the 7-11 and pulled the motel key out of his pocket, smiling wryly at the funny, awkward key ring. The motel had some kind of dumb nautical theme, so the key ring was shaped like a flat, vinyl compass.
Of all the places they could have been banished to by the angel sigil, they had come to a landing at this same exact crappy motel room? He wasn't quite certain how Cas had managed it, as Cas was not in the state for too much conversation. But when they’d appeared here, the key had dropped out of Cas’ hand. Had he been clutching it the whole time he being tortured by Raguel? It was weird.
Well, it was fortunate, anyway. What the hell would Dean have been supposed to do, crash landed in the middle of nowhere with a naked, dying angel.
No, Dean corrected himself. Not dying.
Dean steeled himself and entered the room. Cas was still exactly where Dean had laid him out, huddled on the bed beneath a mountain of covers. He lay, gasping for breath, occasionally emitting a small moan of what Dean guessed was pain.
If Cas had been human, of course, Dean, despite his distaste for the institution, would have immediately transported his angelic ass to a hospital. But that just wouldn't work. “Well, he's an angel of the Lord, and somebody just tried to pull his grace out with a rusty knife?” No. That was more likely to get Dean transported to a mental institution. Where he wouldn't do anybody any good.
Dean had cleaned up the blood as best he could with a damp hand towel, but yet another weird aspect to this whole enterprise was that he still had no fucking idea where it had all come from. Cas still had the faint scars on his chest from the angel banishing sigil he'd carved there years ago, but that was the only visible damage. Dean guessed Raguel had opened him up inside somehow, but he just wasn't sure how. Nor how to fix it.
Dean thumped the groceries down on the motel room’s sole table and sat down on the edge of the bed and told Castiel, “OK. OK. Cas. Here’s the situation. I don’t know where the fuck just happened to you, and I don’t have a fucking clue how to make it right. But, given that, you’re gonna be OK. Understand?”
Amid the terrible gasping, Cas emitted a soft sound. Dean smiled. It sounded like a small laugh. But then it was back to the wracked breathing and the terrible moans. Dean put his head in his hands. More blankets? Less blankets? Fuck blankets, where was a fucking angel paramedic when you needed one?
It was the breathing that was driving him crazy. It seemed panicky and raggedy and all uneven like some kind of asthmatic fish.
And then Dean remembered something. He wasn’t certain how it came to mind just then, but it did. Sam had been very small, just tiny, and he’d gotten a cold, or whatever it was that babies got, and it was the middle of the night. And Sam was just a little thing: it was hard to think of now. But he sounded like a goddam bull moose when he breathed.
And it was 3 am or something, and you couldn’t get a damn doctor, and Mary had crawled right into the cradle with him, and wrapped her body around him, and just held him tight. And it had passed. Somehow, he had made it through that hellish night.
Dean quit thinking and kicked off his shoes. He tore off his leather jacket and his unbuttoned his shirt and then said, “Slide over,” and crawled in under the covers behind Cas, wrapping his arms around him. Dean tried desperately to calm himself: Cas felt clammy as hell, and now that Dean was in contact with him, he could feel the angel's human heart rattling like it was going to explode right out of his chest.
“Slow down,” ordered Dean. “Breathe with me.”
Cas whispered something.
“What?” asked Dean.
“Personal. Space,” rasped Castiel.
“Oh, fuck you, Cas,” said Dean, who squirmed closer. “Come on. Just … calm down. You’ll be OK.” He grabbed Cas’ hand, and put it on Cas’s own stomach. “Come on. There's your diaphragm. Slow down,” he urged. He knew he was sounding too damn much like a yoga guy, but gradually the panicked gasping began to catch Dean's rhythm, steadying and slowing down. He could feel the pulse rate edging back from the scary rattle to a more reassuring thump. “You’ll be OK,” Dean murmured. “I swear, you’ll be OK. I'm with you. I'm with you now….”
Dean awakened as the first light of dawn came slanting into the room. He reached out and, feeling nothing beside him, looked up in panic.
Cas was sitting on the edge of the bed, one bare leg dangling over the side, sheets bunched around his waist, looking not like death warmed over, but just cold hard death itself.
“We need to go. Get Sam!” Cas gasped. There were dark, dark circles under his eyes.
“You’re not going anywhere,” scolded Dean, sliding over and putting a hand to Cas’ forehead, though he was not 100% sure what he was feeling for. His skin felt reasonable enough, neither the scary clammy of last night nor the burning fever.
“We have to go, Dean!”
Dean frowned and gave Cas a very light push on one shoulder. As he had expected, the angel thumped right back down on the bed. “Yeah. You can’t even tangle with a human right now,” said Dean, hovering over him. “How good are you gonna be in a fight?”
“Then leave. You go,” breathed Cas, who struggled to painfully push himself up to a sitting position again. Dean could see the pale chest rise and fall with the strain.
“Look, Cas,” said Dean, “they got Sammy, they got Crowley,” he said, ticking off on his fingers. “That's pretty much the brain trust of the organization. And I’m not getting a cell signal for Bobby. We're in a dead space again.” Castiel nodded sadly. “We can't go without a plan. And, also, you probably need pants, dude!” he said, pointing to Cas' bare legs.
The small laugh again. It had been startling, once, to hear laughter coming from the angel. It was still a small, rare thing, but Dean could sometimes evoke it. He saw Cas start to sag again, and grabbed on to him, only intending to support him, but sometimes that's what happens with the best laid plans, and then Dean was up far too close, kissing him, and even with Cas pale and weakened, it was a glorious thing, shooting through every nerve fiber in Dean's body, pushing away any thoughts of anything in the world, anything but they two.
Cas was the one who pushed away first and, since he had been using Dean to support himself, he started to fall back, but Dean caught him and gently lowered him back to the bed, where Dean remained, bowed over his angel.
“Are you … counting ... nose hairs?” Cas breathed.
Dean smiled. “Don't be snotty, Cas.”
“I thought you said ... was a mistake,” said Cas. And Dean's smile faded.
“We were drunk,” said Dean. “That first time.” His fingers felt the ridges of the light scars on Cas’ chest.
“Angels … do not get drunk.”
“I know that.”
“And then what of the second time?” added Cas.
“So, I’m a mistake-prone guy,” said Dean.
“And … the third?”
Dean was running a hand along Cas' side, knowing this was stupid, and crazy stupid timing, and everything was wrong and … stupid. “Maybe it was a mistake, but it was an awesome mistake?” Dean proposed. “Maybe, when we get outta this, we need to talk?”
“You … hate ... talking,” said Cas, too weak to even raise his head from the pillow.
“True,” admitted Dean, who sat for a while and thought.
“Sam,” prompted Cas.
Dean reluctantly pushed himself up. “Sam. And maybe Crowley,” he answered.
“And maybe Crowley.”
“If we're feeling generous,” smiled Dean. There was a soft laugh again. He eyed Cas, and then sent his hands down to grip the angel's waist. Castiel squirmed, and then frowned as Dean removed his hands, keeping them frozen apart as if embracing an imaginary Cas.
“What are you doing?” asked Castiel.
“Trying to figure out your clothing size,” said Dean. “Cause there's no way you'd know it.”
“That's true,” Castiel confessed. He seemed to try to get himself sitting again, and then gave up.
“I can't really tell the girl at the store, 'he's about your size,'” Dean laughed. “And don't want your pants falling down at the wrong damn moment.”
“No,” agreed Cas.
“Look, I'll be out a few minutes. If you can get yourself up, try to eat some of that stuff,” Dean said, indicating the sack of groceries. “It's the shit like Sam eats, so it's probably healthy.”
“As you know, I don't need-”
“Yeah, I know, I know. But it can't hurt, right? I mean, do you know how to get your grace to heal back in?”
Cas shook his head at him, and Dean headed out. “I'll be back. Eat something.”
The anxiety hit Dean again like a blast of summer heat as soon as he shut the door. Sammy had been captured. And to make matters worse, was probably going to be used as bait by someone who wanted to finish the job killing Cas.
A mad archangel. Redundant, Dean thought: was there any other kind? The Lord Creator dude had kind of fucked up on the whole sanity thing with those guys.
Dean walked along the side of the highway, grateful that it wasn't terribly busy in these parts. The Walmart was across on the other side, and it looked like the only way to get there, if you didn't have a car or wings, was to madly run across and hop the Jersey barrier. Not a lot of planning for pedestrian friendliness, mused Dean.
The perfect counter to their supervillain would be another archangel. But where did you rustle up one of those guys? The ones on Dean's speed dial were all dead or missing.
His phone, thought Dean, as he made it to the outskirts of the parking lot. He felt it vibrating in his pants pocket. They must be in cell range here, at least over on this side of the highway. He pulled it out, and waved it, but it showed no service. Damn. He must have just run through a sweet spot, he thought.
Dean was surprised to see his email inbox was bursting. He thumbed the screen, and was rewarded with about a billion emails from Sammy, all of stupid baby angel Castiel. Sam and him, they needed to talk, thought Dean as he scrolled through the JPGs. Smiling bloody Castiel. Cas riding that stupid hellhound. Cas with wings. Sam holding Cas on a hip.
Dean paused, wondering about Sam.....
Sam Winchester sighed. It wasn't the first time, he reflected, that he had been confined in a metal cage in some idiot's dungeon. Or the second. Or even the third. In fact, considering his life, this experience was getting rather old hat.
Dungeon people needed to put up more curtains. Or something.
He heard the stirring over in the next cell and craned his neck, anxiously. “Crowley,” he whispered. “You up?”
There was some moaning and the sound of dragging, and then the demon had crawled near, looking much the worse for wear.
“Crowley?” asked Sam, grabbing onto the cold metal bars between them. “Can you talk, dude?”
“Fucking fuck.”
“Guess so.”
“Broken ribs. At least two. I have … one question,” Crowley muttered. “Why am I in this state, rather than safely dead?”
Sam leaned over so his lips were near Crowley's ear. “I may have told our friend you were Cas' lover.”
There was a chuckling sound, followed immediately by another choke of pain. “Oh. That was brilliant, my dear moose. Now, were I to survive, your brother will murder me.”
“They're kind of obvious, huh?” asked Sam, leaning back and stretching out his long legs.
“They have always been a bit obvious.” Crowley pushed himself to where he was leaning, albeit uncomfortably, on one elbow. “Well?”
“Well what?” asked Sam.
“You are going to fill me in? I am bored and aching, and this place doesn't seem to have its own theater company. Although we might start one. Demon and Moose Productions. Yes, I like that.”
“Moose and Demon.”
“No. That's sounds too much like moose and squirrel.”
Sam laughed quietly. He listened for a moment, straining to catch whether anyone might be lurking. And then he said, “Dean got drunk. One night.”
“Only one night?”
“OK. Maybe more since then.”
“Will you at least tell me there's a video recording somewhere?”
“In your head, you perv. Playing on a loop,” laughed Sam.
“And you heard this from....?”
“Both,” said Sam. Crowley was silent for a while, so he continued, “So, I could tell something was up. And then a couple days later, Dean starts asking a bunch of questions about what happened to a hypothetical friend of his....”
“Dean does not have a friend, hypothetical or otherwise.”
“Yeah, there's that. So, anyway, then a couple days after that, Cas comes over while Dean is out, and I ask him what's up, and he goes, 'Dean and I engaged in sexual relations,'” said Sam, doing a decent job at imitating Castiel's low register. He listened to Crowley alternately chuckle and moan in pain.
“Oh, why are you telling this now, when it literally hurts to laugh?” sighed Crowley.
“I’ll leave them to work it out,” said Sam. “But tell me your story, Crowley.”
“What bloody story?”
“Your divorce, man,” said Sam. Normally, Sam would have kept a polite distance from the whole thing. Dean, now, he would probably have taken Crowley out for a drink or ten and ended up commiserating about women. That wasn’t Sam, but he was growing a little bored, and more than a little anxious. Sam knew from the flash of light that his brother had made off with Castiel, but what the hell state was the angel in? Sam realized angels could take a lot of punishment, but Cas had frankly looked halfway past dead. Even if he’d survived, he didn’t look in shape to be leading a cavalry charge to rescue some guys being held by a crazy archangel.
“Jahi?” asked Crowley. “It ended, as did every relationship, in a storm of bitterness and recrimination.”
“All relationships?” asked Sam.
“It’s a pity, that. The sex was actually quite good.”
“OK, Crowley, TMI,” laughed Sam. “But seriously, dude, no offense, but I'm more stuck on how it got started. I mean, no offense, but you and a woman?”
“Such narrow-mindedness!” scolded Crowley. “I would expect as much from your brother, but I had reckoned you at least attended university.”
“I did. I did.” It seemed like decades ago, thought Sam. “I just got the impression you got your jollies from making out with Bobby Singer.”
“You underestimate your mentor,” said Crowley. “In so many ways. But more to the point, young one, there are occasions upon which you find you will meet the one soul for whom you break all your rules.”
“And end up in the divorce of the millennium?” asked Sam.
Crowley was silent for a moment. “And it was worth every damned moment of it. Every damned moment.”
Castiel wrapped a bedsheet around his waist and then, with much effort, stumbled over to the little table where Dean had set down the bag of substances from the human convenience store which Dean appeared to believe possessed magical healing properties. He sat down heavily in the battered chair and clumsily pawed through the bag. He felt strangely disconnected from his vessel, as if someone had randomly loosened some of the marionette strings.
He extracted a cup of peach nonfat yogurt. He stared at it for a while. He realized that, although he had no physical need for food, many human rituals and beliefs centered around the consumption of various foodstuffs, just as humans had many beliefs and taboos regarding sexual relations.
He tried not to think about sex, just then.
What he really longed for right now, he thought, was not milk byproducts, but a hamburger. A big, juicy hamburger. Had all the business with Raguel rattled Jimmy awake again?
"Little bro! You watching that sexy waistline for Dean?"
"Why would I want to do that, Gabriel?" Cas inquired of the mischievous archangel who had just appeared sitting across from him. He wrenched the top from the yogurt carton and took a hesitant sniff.
"What did you do to yourself this time, little bro?” asked Gabriel, who actually might have looked genuinely concerned. “Your grace is hanging by a thread!”
"Long story," said Castiel. "How did you manage to get here?"
"Whoa! That's a long story too! For some reason, our feather-brained brothers and sisters chose this moment to do exactly what I wanted for centuries: shut the fuck up. But I heard your cries of pain last night. It was pretty soft, just barely audible. I don’t think I would have been able to tune in if I didn’t know you. So I headed this direction."
"Oh," said Castiel, who was now slightly embarrassed. He pretended to direct his attentions to his yogurt cup.
"But I had to fly here by sight,” said Gabriel.
"Sounds tedious." Castiel, not having a spoon at his disposal, stuck a finger into the yogurt and took a taste.
"It was fucking tedious. How is it?"
"Gross. But, I need to … repair myself. Urgently.”
“You gonna tell me what the fuck happened? So I can go smite the guy?”
“Our brother Raguel is, as the humans say, off the reservation.”
“Eh,” said Gabriel, who pawed through the grocery bag and pulled out an apple. “That son of a bitch was never wrapped up too tight. What rock did he crawl out from, anyway?” He polished the apple on a sleeve and gave it a bite. “He took a powder way back about the time I did.”
“I do not know. But that is why our brothers and sisters have grown silent. I think they have all grown fearful.”
That actually shut Gabriel up, mid-crunch. “What? Afraid of Raggy-butt?”
“Yes. He has apparently been absconding with our brothers and sisters and tearing out their grace. That is what happened to me. He was nearly finished with the exercise when Dean found me.”
“Why would he…. What would he…. FUCK!”
“That was more or less my reaction too,” said Castiel, who had set aside the terrible, terrible yogurt. “Sadly, Raguel evidently captured Sam while Dean was achieving my rescue. But I’m afraid I won’t be much help to him in finding his brother. Not in this sorry condition.”
"Oh, I think I can help you there!" said Gabriel confidently, tossing away his apple core.
"How is that?"
"C'mere," said Gabriel, who jumped up and gripped Cas by his shoulders. Gabriel was now wearing a nurse’s outfit, complete with little hat with a cross on it. Sadly, he hadn’t remembered to shave his legs. "So, you know how sometimes you break a bone and you have to set it? And, it hurts like a mother, but then it's better?"
"Actually, no," said Cas.
The door opened, and Dean was standing there gripping a bunch of plastic Walmart bags. "Who the hell…? Gabriel? What the fuck do you think doing with my angel?" he demanded as he dropped the bags and started to rush over.
"Your angel, huh?" laughed Gabriel. "Fixing him! Though, not like you fix a cat. So, don't worry, lover boy."
"Gabriel!" warned Dean. “Whatever you’re doing, cut it out!”
"Why don't you just ... Hang?" said Gabriel, whipping a hand around and sending Dean back onto the bed.
"GA-BRI-UH!" protested Dean, who suddenly found a Walmart bag over his head.
"This won't hurt. Much," Gabriel told Cas.
"I wish people would quit saying things like that to me," sighed Castiel.
And then there was a flash. And it hurt. A whole lot. His mind screamed in agony.
Cas was lying on the floor as the white hot cloud of pain slowly receded. Dean, who had somehow managed to disentangle himself from Walmart plastic, grabbed him. "Cas. You OK?"
“Actually,” said Cas, who sat up. “Yes. I am much recovered.” He looked at his fingers, wiggling them. He still didn’t feel quite … right. But at least he seemed to have been snapped back into his vessel.
Gabriel, who had gone back to his street clothes, had grabbed a banana from the grocery bag and had begun to peel it.
“You sure?” asked Dean.
Cas impulsively flicked a finger at his brother, who wailed and went slamming into the wall.
“Yes, much better,” smiled Cas.
“Shit!” opined Gabriel.
“Then come on,” said Dean, helping Cas to his feet. “Get some pants on, we’ll go get Sam. And maybe Crowley.”
“Oh, you’re not hanging with that creepy ass demon again are you?” asked Gabriel, who looked sadly at his now badly mashed banana before he tossed it away.
“He helped us rescue Cas,” said Dean, setting the Walmart bags up on the bed for Castiel. “We owe him.”
“Even though his strained marital relations seem to have gotten us into this trouble to begin with,” said Castiel, who limped over to the bed to survey his new wardrobe.
“Look, I’m gonna go grab something to eat while you get dressed,” said Dean. “I’m fucking starved, and I can still taste that goddam bloodworm stew.” He smelled his own breath, and shook his head. “You guys want anything.”
“Cake!” said Gabriel. “Or pie. Or cake and a pie. Or maybe a pie baked inside a cake.”
Dean rolled his eyes.
“Would it be too much trouble to get a hamburger?” asked Castiel, rubbing his stomach.
“Hey, sure! Anything!” said Dean. “Be back in a flash.”
“Anything for yoooouuuuuu, Castiel,” mocked Gabriel after Dean had shut the door behind him.
“Gabriel. Kindly … blow me,” grumbled Castiel, who grabbed a plastic package of underwear.
“Oh, you don’t want those boring tighty whities, little bro!” announced Gabriel. Cas suddenly found himself holding a thong with a large pink bow on it. He trained a rather intense glower at Gabriel.
“Gabriel, cease,” Cas warned him.
“All right all right all right,” grumbled the archangel, who changed the garment back. Castiel then signaled for him to turn around. Gabriel sighed dramatically and turned his back.
“So when did you start … you know … with the hunter boy?” asked Gabriel. It was fortunate Castiel’s back was turned, so he did not witness Gabriel’s rude gesture.
“I don’t know.”
“How could you not know? Even you aren’t that thick!”
“What I meant was that…” started Castiel. “I know. Dean evidently has mixed feelings regarding the matter.”
“Whaddya mean mixed?”
“He told me afterwards that it was a mistake,” admitted Cas.
“WHAT? What a dick! You want me to smite him! Because, I’ll smite his ass!” Gabriel turned around. “Oh, those jeans are too big.”
“They will serve,” said Castiel, pulling on the waistband and shrugging. He went through the bags to find a shirt.
“I could just zap you into a better outfit,” offered Gabriel. “Something suave! How ‘bout a tux?”
“No tuxedo, Gabriel! Dean was kind enough to purchase these clothes for me, so I shall wear them.”
“Dean’s a dick. I’ll smite him!”
“Gabriel! Do not be … Smitey McSmiterson!”
“Hey, wow,” said Gabriel. “That was pretty good!”
“Was it? Human levity still eludes me in many cases,” said Cas, who had just pulled on a flannel shirt.
“Ha!” said Gabriel.
“Oh, what now, Gabriel?”
“Your boyfriend dressed you just like him!” taunted Gabriel.
“Gabriel-“
“Got burgers!” said Dean, who had just barged in the door. Castiel regarded him, in jeans and a flannel shirt. Gabriel, damn him, was correct.
Castiel sighed in relief as all of them now gathered at the small table around the greasy bag of fast food. Dean meted out several mini-pies and an ice cream sundae to Gabriel, who seemed pleased at the take. Castiel sat down and hugged a still warm hamburger to his chest.
“You gonna marry it or eat it?” asked Dean, who already had a mouth full of burger and fries, which he was downing with a huge gulp of sugary soda. Cas unwrapped his hamburger, wondering as to the origin of this strange craving. It smelled savory and enticing. He took an experimental nibble and decided ordering this particular item had probably been his best decision for at least the past month. He took another, bigger bite.
“How’d the clothes fit?” asked Dean, just at the exact point when Cas’ mouth was completely full. Cas nodded and pulled at his shirt, as if in demonstration.
“The pants are too big and the underpants are boring,” groused Gabriel, licking his fingers and popping the plastic lid off the sundae.
“Oh, I guessed wrong?” Dean asked Castiel.
“Everything … is fine,” said Castiel, who had hastily swallowed his burger.
“And you’re a giant dick,” Gabriel told Dean.
“What?” said Dean.
“G'biuh!” admonished Cas thought a mouth full of 100% ground beef.
“But Cas says I can’t smite you. Or else I would!” warned the archangel.
Dean cast a withering glance at Gabriel, like, why don’t you try it. “Look, eat up, Candy Man. We gotta go make a run at the Death Star trench.”
“What?” asked Gabriel.
“He is referring to the Star Wars trilogy…” Castiel added helpfully.
“I fucking know that!” said Gabriel. “Look, even in his nearly sane days, Raguel would smite me as much as look at me. And I heard the elevator no longer goes all the way to the top. Leave me out of this one, hunter boy.”
“Yeah, I know we seem outmanned, but that’s when we pull together!” said Dean. "Seriously, we'll be like Han and Luke freeing Princess Leia from the Death Star.”
Quite suddenly, two angels were staring intently at Dean.
"But the important question," said Castiel, leaning forward. Dean also leaned in closer. "Who is Chewbacca?"
Gabriel nodded.
“Uh,” said Dean, who had not quite expected this particular response.
"Sam is obviously Princess Leia,” said Gabriel.
"Obviously," agreed Castiel.
"Then I'm Han and you're Luke," Dean told Castiel, who regarded him skeptically.
"And I'm Obi Wan Kenobi!" said Gabriel.
"WHAT?" said Dean, who had never heard a greater sacrilege. "Dude, you are absolutely nothing like Ben Kenobi."
"I am strong in the force!" countered Gabriel. "And I got the Jedi mind tricks down,” he added, pointing to his own head.
"But Ben was wise! He wasn't some pint sized smartass,” argued Dean.
"Sticks and stones, pretty boy," said Gabriel.
"Dean, aren't Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia actually siblings?" asked Castiel, grabbing one of Dean’s French fries and dunking it in Dean's pile of ketchup.
"Well ... Yeah."
"I believe that would make you Luke. So I will be Han Solo," reasoned Castiel, triumphantly ingesting the French fry.
“What?” barked Dean, who was about to lodge a greater protest, but for a sudden commotion in the motel parking lot. Instantly, three beings were at the window, peeking through curtains that never quite shut right.
“For I hungered, and you did not feed me. And I thirsted, but you did not give me succor!” raved the archangel wearing a burned and blood-stained laboratory coat who was now standing in the middle of the parking lot.
“He must have heard me. Gabriel, when you reset my grace,” whispered Castiel.
“Shit,” said Dean, as there was nothing else to say.
“Boys,” said Gabriel, who had just crammed the last of his apple pie in his mouth. “I am about to do something really stupid. You guys take the back way out.”
And then he disappeared with the soft rush of angel wings, so he didn’t hear Dean say, “But this place doesn’t have a back way out!”
“Come and get me, dipshit!” screamed Gabriel, who was now also in the middle of the parking lot, standing up on the top of a camper van. He wore a white robe with paper wings on the back and carried a harp.
There was a flash, and the camper van was a pile of ash.
“I’m over here, dickweed!” shouted Gabriel, who was now sitting in a convertible, sunglasses atop his head. This vehicle was also summarily reduced to car scrap.
“I got your grace, right here!” came Gabriel’s voice again. This time he was calling from the roof of the motel, where, although Dean and Cas couldn’t see him, he was gleefully mooning Raguel.
“Cas, we gotta go,” said Dean, who suddenly felt two fingers on his forehead.
Crowley stirred. From the soft sound of snoring nearby, he assumed that Sam was asleep. He wasn’t quite certain why he himself had wakened. Maybe the pain and stiffness. Fucking archangel was keeping him down in his meatsuit, otherwise he would have bailed long, long ago, Sam Winchester be damned.
No. He had awoken because he sensed something. There was someone down here.
Someone he knew.
He was on his feet before he knew what he was doing. Crowley strained his demon eyes, peering into the darkness.
He sniffed the air. Yes. It had to be.
Barely there, in the corner of his eyes.
Movement.
“… Jahi?” he asked.
“Crowley?” The voice was Sam’s. “Someone down here?”
Crowley stood for a long moment still as a statue.
“No,” he finally said. “No one down here.”
“So I send you out with Crowley, now you come back with Cas?”
Dean looked around. By some miracle, they were safe, for the moment at least, at Singer Salvage.
“Cas!” said Dean. “How the hell did you do that? I thought the angels had all shut up.”
Castiel shook his head, panting for breath, looking around in wonder.
Dean suddenly grabbed Cas’ hand, turning it palm side up. The key. He held the motel key with the compass keychain.
“That’s what you did last time,” said Dean, now grabbing Cas’ arm to steady him as he stumbled.
“What last time? What the fuck happened to you kids?” asked Bobby.
“We got trouble,” said Dean. “Shitloads of trouble. I got Cas back from Raguel, but I lost Sam and Crowley up there. And now Raguel is chasing down Gabriel.”
“Gabriel? When the hell did the Trickster get involved?” asked Bobby.
“He was alarmed, as I was, by the cessation of angel voices,” whispered Castiel. “This was my fault, Dean. My cry of pain must have alerted Raguel to our presence.”
“Cas, you couldn’t help it, dude,” said Dean.
“We must stop this,” said Castiel. “But, I fear I am still not fully healed.”
“Yeah, you still look kinda shitty,” said Dean, holding a hand to Cas’ forehead. Did he always look this pale? Angels were pale, right?
“Fucking shame about Crowley…” said Bobby.
“And my brother, Bobby,” Dean reminded him.
“We’ll get Sam back, boy,” said Bobby. “Don’t worry. What I meant was, I been looking into this mess, I got a feeling it all somehow leads back to Crowley and his crazy ass ex-wife.”
“What? Crowley’s divorce? Made an archangel lose his shit?” asked Dean.
“As Gabriel so wisely pointed out, my brother Raguel was never fully in possession of, er, his shit,” said Castiel.
Dean turned and studied Castiel. “Hey, that’s kind of funny, dude.”
“Thank you, Dean.”
“Well, I got a lead I think you boys could check out,” said Bobby, handing Dean a business card.
Dean scrutinized at the card. “Glaucus Appraisals,” he said. There was an address, and a picture of an owl.
“Word is, they've been doing business with a certain Demon. It’s not too far, so you could drive if you ain’t in the mood to fly.”
“Sounds good,” said Dean. “I've had enough of being zapped around for a lifetime.”
“Though you, uh, might wanna get that one some shoes,” noted Bobby, pointing to Cas’ bare feet.
“Hey, at least he’s wearing pants,” laughed Dean.
“What happened to his pants?” asked Bobby.
“It’s not what you think,” said Dean.
“Oh. Ain’t it?” asked Bobby, crossing his arms and looking Dean up and down.
“Uh,” said Dean, who was suddenly uncomfortable. “Let’s uh, get shoes. And go track down a lead.”
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: Almost 40K total.
Summary: Castiel's grace is hanging by a thread, but he just wants a damned hamburger. Visitations from archangels and demon brides, and poor Dean gets zapped around again.
Notes: This is really nowhere logical on the timeline: it's vaguely post S7, but not really terribly spoilery, and I've brought back people and locations that should be gone. The beginning of each chapter is a little flashback, so you need to pay attention to that, there will be a quiz.
A few days ago….
It was late evening, and traffic had thinned here off the main street. This was one of those cities that had thought to preserve its downtown area, so the buildings were of quaint design and solidly wrought from thick old growth timber.
There was a neat plaque on the side of this building, Glaucus Appraisals, LLC, set beside an intricately carved wooden door. The door, if it had been opened (which it was most assuredly not) guarded a staircase which led to a second story office.
There were currently two demons, one standing to either side of the door, leaning against the building, both looking ill-tempered.
“You got business with me?” asked a female voice.
The demons turned, startled. They were not used to being surprised. The woman appeared to be about the human equivalent of thirty-something, and possibly of Mediterranean ancestry, as she had a fine clear olive skin and dark eyes. The most distinctive thing about her was a tangle of light brown, very, very curly hair, only partly tamed by a colorful hairband.
She wasn’t as tall as the demon men, but somehow, she appeared to be staring down her aquiline nose at them.
“You run Glaucus?” asked the bigger demon, whose demon name was Eblis. Not that he bothered to introduce himself.
“Yes, I am the sole proprietor,” she told them. She, too, did not bother with further introductions. “Look upon me and weep.”
“You’re working for Crowley, then?”
“Well, not that it’s your business, but yeah. I have ongoing consultation with Crowley.”
“You need to reconsider your decision then,” said Eblis, cracking his knuckles to emphasize the point.
“From the surfeit of muscle and paucity of brains, I take it you're some of Jahi's boys?” asked the curly haired woman, raising an eyebrow.
The two looked at each other, slightly confused at all the SAT vocabulary. “As a matter of fact,” said the smaller of the two, who was named Forcas. “Yeah.”
“Can you please get a message to her for me?” asked the woman.
“Yeah, sure, I guess so,” said Forcas.
“Now, listen up,” said the curly-haired woman, beckoning the two to lean in. When they were all close together, she said, very clearly and distinctly, “Fuck. Off. Bitch.” She scowled at the demons, drawing back. “Got it?”
“I don’t think you got the message,” snarled Eblis, now attempting to loom over the woman.
“I don’t think you got my message,” said the woman. “Want me to repeat?”
“You gotta stop working for Crowley,” said Eblis.
“You gotta stop making me annoyed,” said the woman. “You won’t like me when I’m annoyed.”
There was the flash of a knife that hadn’t been in Eblis’ hand one moment ago. And then a smashing sound, and Eblis was laid out flat on the ground, blood from the great crack in his skull now throbbing out and pooling on the ground beneath him, a very surprised expression on his dying face.
The woman checked the end of the long staff she was now holding. It now had bits of skull and blood and hair on it. “Got the message now?” she asked Forcas.
And then Forcas was suddenly no longer there.
An owl fluttered by, and came to rest on the woman’s shoulder. “Fucking demons,” she grumbled to it. She touched the staff to what was left of Eblis, who disappeared. And then she was no longer holding the staff. She scratched the owl on his forehead. Then she turned, and put a key in the heavy lock on the wooden door.
The present day....
Dean clutched at the bag of groceries from the 7-11 and pulled the motel key out of his pocket, smiling wryly at the funny, awkward key ring. The motel had some kind of dumb nautical theme, so the key ring was shaped like a flat, vinyl compass.
Of all the places they could have been banished to by the angel sigil, they had come to a landing at this same exact crappy motel room? He wasn't quite certain how Cas had managed it, as Cas was not in the state for too much conversation. But when they’d appeared here, the key had dropped out of Cas’ hand. Had he been clutching it the whole time he being tortured by Raguel? It was weird.
Well, it was fortunate, anyway. What the hell would Dean have been supposed to do, crash landed in the middle of nowhere with a naked, dying angel.
No, Dean corrected himself. Not dying.
Dean steeled himself and entered the room. Cas was still exactly where Dean had laid him out, huddled on the bed beneath a mountain of covers. He lay, gasping for breath, occasionally emitting a small moan of what Dean guessed was pain.
If Cas had been human, of course, Dean, despite his distaste for the institution, would have immediately transported his angelic ass to a hospital. But that just wouldn't work. “Well, he's an angel of the Lord, and somebody just tried to pull his grace out with a rusty knife?” No. That was more likely to get Dean transported to a mental institution. Where he wouldn't do anybody any good.
Dean had cleaned up the blood as best he could with a damp hand towel, but yet another weird aspect to this whole enterprise was that he still had no fucking idea where it had all come from. Cas still had the faint scars on his chest from the angel banishing sigil he'd carved there years ago, but that was the only visible damage. Dean guessed Raguel had opened him up inside somehow, but he just wasn't sure how. Nor how to fix it.
Dean thumped the groceries down on the motel room’s sole table and sat down on the edge of the bed and told Castiel, “OK. OK. Cas. Here’s the situation. I don’t know where the fuck just happened to you, and I don’t have a fucking clue how to make it right. But, given that, you’re gonna be OK. Understand?”
Amid the terrible gasping, Cas emitted a soft sound. Dean smiled. It sounded like a small laugh. But then it was back to the wracked breathing and the terrible moans. Dean put his head in his hands. More blankets? Less blankets? Fuck blankets, where was a fucking angel paramedic when you needed one?
It was the breathing that was driving him crazy. It seemed panicky and raggedy and all uneven like some kind of asthmatic fish.
And then Dean remembered something. He wasn’t certain how it came to mind just then, but it did. Sam had been very small, just tiny, and he’d gotten a cold, or whatever it was that babies got, and it was the middle of the night. And Sam was just a little thing: it was hard to think of now. But he sounded like a goddam bull moose when he breathed.
And it was 3 am or something, and you couldn’t get a damn doctor, and Mary had crawled right into the cradle with him, and wrapped her body around him, and just held him tight. And it had passed. Somehow, he had made it through that hellish night.
Dean quit thinking and kicked off his shoes. He tore off his leather jacket and his unbuttoned his shirt and then said, “Slide over,” and crawled in under the covers behind Cas, wrapping his arms around him. Dean tried desperately to calm himself: Cas felt clammy as hell, and now that Dean was in contact with him, he could feel the angel's human heart rattling like it was going to explode right out of his chest.
“Slow down,” ordered Dean. “Breathe with me.”
Cas whispered something.
“What?” asked Dean.
“Personal. Space,” rasped Castiel.
“Oh, fuck you, Cas,” said Dean, who squirmed closer. “Come on. Just … calm down. You’ll be OK.” He grabbed Cas’ hand, and put it on Cas’s own stomach. “Come on. There's your diaphragm. Slow down,” he urged. He knew he was sounding too damn much like a yoga guy, but gradually the panicked gasping began to catch Dean's rhythm, steadying and slowing down. He could feel the pulse rate edging back from the scary rattle to a more reassuring thump. “You’ll be OK,” Dean murmured. “I swear, you’ll be OK. I'm with you. I'm with you now….”
Dean awakened as the first light of dawn came slanting into the room. He reached out and, feeling nothing beside him, looked up in panic.
Cas was sitting on the edge of the bed, one bare leg dangling over the side, sheets bunched around his waist, looking not like death warmed over, but just cold hard death itself.
“We need to go. Get Sam!” Cas gasped. There were dark, dark circles under his eyes.
“You’re not going anywhere,” scolded Dean, sliding over and putting a hand to Cas’ forehead, though he was not 100% sure what he was feeling for. His skin felt reasonable enough, neither the scary clammy of last night nor the burning fever.
“We have to go, Dean!”
Dean frowned and gave Cas a very light push on one shoulder. As he had expected, the angel thumped right back down on the bed. “Yeah. You can’t even tangle with a human right now,” said Dean, hovering over him. “How good are you gonna be in a fight?”
“Then leave. You go,” breathed Cas, who struggled to painfully push himself up to a sitting position again. Dean could see the pale chest rise and fall with the strain.
“Look, Cas,” said Dean, “they got Sammy, they got Crowley,” he said, ticking off on his fingers. “That's pretty much the brain trust of the organization. And I’m not getting a cell signal for Bobby. We're in a dead space again.” Castiel nodded sadly. “We can't go without a plan. And, also, you probably need pants, dude!” he said, pointing to Cas' bare legs.
The small laugh again. It had been startling, once, to hear laughter coming from the angel. It was still a small, rare thing, but Dean could sometimes evoke it. He saw Cas start to sag again, and grabbed on to him, only intending to support him, but sometimes that's what happens with the best laid plans, and then Dean was up far too close, kissing him, and even with Cas pale and weakened, it was a glorious thing, shooting through every nerve fiber in Dean's body, pushing away any thoughts of anything in the world, anything but they two.
Cas was the one who pushed away first and, since he had been using Dean to support himself, he started to fall back, but Dean caught him and gently lowered him back to the bed, where Dean remained, bowed over his angel.
“Are you … counting ... nose hairs?” Cas breathed.
Dean smiled. “Don't be snotty, Cas.”
“I thought you said ... was a mistake,” said Cas. And Dean's smile faded.
“We were drunk,” said Dean. “That first time.” His fingers felt the ridges of the light scars on Cas’ chest.
“Angels … do not get drunk.”
“I know that.”
“And then what of the second time?” added Cas.
“So, I’m a mistake-prone guy,” said Dean.
“And … the third?”
Dean was running a hand along Cas' side, knowing this was stupid, and crazy stupid timing, and everything was wrong and … stupid. “Maybe it was a mistake, but it was an awesome mistake?” Dean proposed. “Maybe, when we get outta this, we need to talk?”
“You … hate ... talking,” said Cas, too weak to even raise his head from the pillow.
“True,” admitted Dean, who sat for a while and thought.
“Sam,” prompted Cas.
Dean reluctantly pushed himself up. “Sam. And maybe Crowley,” he answered.
“And maybe Crowley.”
“If we're feeling generous,” smiled Dean. There was a soft laugh again. He eyed Cas, and then sent his hands down to grip the angel's waist. Castiel squirmed, and then frowned as Dean removed his hands, keeping them frozen apart as if embracing an imaginary Cas.
“What are you doing?” asked Castiel.
“Trying to figure out your clothing size,” said Dean. “Cause there's no way you'd know it.”
“That's true,” Castiel confessed. He seemed to try to get himself sitting again, and then gave up.
“I can't really tell the girl at the store, 'he's about your size,'” Dean laughed. “And don't want your pants falling down at the wrong damn moment.”
“No,” agreed Cas.
“Look, I'll be out a few minutes. If you can get yourself up, try to eat some of that stuff,” Dean said, indicating the sack of groceries. “It's the shit like Sam eats, so it's probably healthy.”
“As you know, I don't need-”
“Yeah, I know, I know. But it can't hurt, right? I mean, do you know how to get your grace to heal back in?”
Cas shook his head at him, and Dean headed out. “I'll be back. Eat something.”
The anxiety hit Dean again like a blast of summer heat as soon as he shut the door. Sammy had been captured. And to make matters worse, was probably going to be used as bait by someone who wanted to finish the job killing Cas.
A mad archangel. Redundant, Dean thought: was there any other kind? The Lord Creator dude had kind of fucked up on the whole sanity thing with those guys.
Dean walked along the side of the highway, grateful that it wasn't terribly busy in these parts. The Walmart was across on the other side, and it looked like the only way to get there, if you didn't have a car or wings, was to madly run across and hop the Jersey barrier. Not a lot of planning for pedestrian friendliness, mused Dean.
The perfect counter to their supervillain would be another archangel. But where did you rustle up one of those guys? The ones on Dean's speed dial were all dead or missing.
His phone, thought Dean, as he made it to the outskirts of the parking lot. He felt it vibrating in his pants pocket. They must be in cell range here, at least over on this side of the highway. He pulled it out, and waved it, but it showed no service. Damn. He must have just run through a sweet spot, he thought.
Dean was surprised to see his email inbox was bursting. He thumbed the screen, and was rewarded with about a billion emails from Sammy, all of stupid baby angel Castiel. Sam and him, they needed to talk, thought Dean as he scrolled through the JPGs. Smiling bloody Castiel. Cas riding that stupid hellhound. Cas with wings. Sam holding Cas on a hip.
Dean paused, wondering about Sam.....
Sam Winchester sighed. It wasn't the first time, he reflected, that he had been confined in a metal cage in some idiot's dungeon. Or the second. Or even the third. In fact, considering his life, this experience was getting rather old hat.
Dungeon people needed to put up more curtains. Or something.
He heard the stirring over in the next cell and craned his neck, anxiously. “Crowley,” he whispered. “You up?”
There was some moaning and the sound of dragging, and then the demon had crawled near, looking much the worse for wear.
“Crowley?” asked Sam, grabbing onto the cold metal bars between them. “Can you talk, dude?”
“Fucking fuck.”
“Guess so.”
“Broken ribs. At least two. I have … one question,” Crowley muttered. “Why am I in this state, rather than safely dead?”
Sam leaned over so his lips were near Crowley's ear. “I may have told our friend you were Cas' lover.”
There was a chuckling sound, followed immediately by another choke of pain. “Oh. That was brilliant, my dear moose. Now, were I to survive, your brother will murder me.”
“They're kind of obvious, huh?” asked Sam, leaning back and stretching out his long legs.
“They have always been a bit obvious.” Crowley pushed himself to where he was leaning, albeit uncomfortably, on one elbow. “Well?”
“Well what?” asked Sam.
“You are going to fill me in? I am bored and aching, and this place doesn't seem to have its own theater company. Although we might start one. Demon and Moose Productions. Yes, I like that.”
“Moose and Demon.”
“No. That's sounds too much like moose and squirrel.”
Sam laughed quietly. He listened for a moment, straining to catch whether anyone might be lurking. And then he said, “Dean got drunk. One night.”
“Only one night?”
“OK. Maybe more since then.”
“Will you at least tell me there's a video recording somewhere?”
“In your head, you perv. Playing on a loop,” laughed Sam.
“And you heard this from....?”
“Both,” said Sam. Crowley was silent for a while, so he continued, “So, I could tell something was up. And then a couple days later, Dean starts asking a bunch of questions about what happened to a hypothetical friend of his....”
“Dean does not have a friend, hypothetical or otherwise.”
“Yeah, there's that. So, anyway, then a couple days after that, Cas comes over while Dean is out, and I ask him what's up, and he goes, 'Dean and I engaged in sexual relations,'” said Sam, doing a decent job at imitating Castiel's low register. He listened to Crowley alternately chuckle and moan in pain.
“Oh, why are you telling this now, when it literally hurts to laugh?” sighed Crowley.
“I’ll leave them to work it out,” said Sam. “But tell me your story, Crowley.”
“What bloody story?”
“Your divorce, man,” said Sam. Normally, Sam would have kept a polite distance from the whole thing. Dean, now, he would probably have taken Crowley out for a drink or ten and ended up commiserating about women. That wasn’t Sam, but he was growing a little bored, and more than a little anxious. Sam knew from the flash of light that his brother had made off with Castiel, but what the hell state was the angel in? Sam realized angels could take a lot of punishment, but Cas had frankly looked halfway past dead. Even if he’d survived, he didn’t look in shape to be leading a cavalry charge to rescue some guys being held by a crazy archangel.
“Jahi?” asked Crowley. “It ended, as did every relationship, in a storm of bitterness and recrimination.”
“All relationships?” asked Sam.
“It’s a pity, that. The sex was actually quite good.”
“OK, Crowley, TMI,” laughed Sam. “But seriously, dude, no offense, but I'm more stuck on how it got started. I mean, no offense, but you and a woman?”
“Such narrow-mindedness!” scolded Crowley. “I would expect as much from your brother, but I had reckoned you at least attended university.”
“I did. I did.” It seemed like decades ago, thought Sam. “I just got the impression you got your jollies from making out with Bobby Singer.”
“You underestimate your mentor,” said Crowley. “In so many ways. But more to the point, young one, there are occasions upon which you find you will meet the one soul for whom you break all your rules.”
“And end up in the divorce of the millennium?” asked Sam.
Crowley was silent for a moment. “And it was worth every damned moment of it. Every damned moment.”
Castiel wrapped a bedsheet around his waist and then, with much effort, stumbled over to the little table where Dean had set down the bag of substances from the human convenience store which Dean appeared to believe possessed magical healing properties. He sat down heavily in the battered chair and clumsily pawed through the bag. He felt strangely disconnected from his vessel, as if someone had randomly loosened some of the marionette strings.
He extracted a cup of peach nonfat yogurt. He stared at it for a while. He realized that, although he had no physical need for food, many human rituals and beliefs centered around the consumption of various foodstuffs, just as humans had many beliefs and taboos regarding sexual relations.
He tried not to think about sex, just then.
What he really longed for right now, he thought, was not milk byproducts, but a hamburger. A big, juicy hamburger. Had all the business with Raguel rattled Jimmy awake again?
"Little bro! You watching that sexy waistline for Dean?"
"Why would I want to do that, Gabriel?" Cas inquired of the mischievous archangel who had just appeared sitting across from him. He wrenched the top from the yogurt carton and took a hesitant sniff.
"What did you do to yourself this time, little bro?” asked Gabriel, who actually might have looked genuinely concerned. “Your grace is hanging by a thread!”
"Long story," said Castiel. "How did you manage to get here?"
"Whoa! That's a long story too! For some reason, our feather-brained brothers and sisters chose this moment to do exactly what I wanted for centuries: shut the fuck up. But I heard your cries of pain last night. It was pretty soft, just barely audible. I don’t think I would have been able to tune in if I didn’t know you. So I headed this direction."
"Oh," said Castiel, who was now slightly embarrassed. He pretended to direct his attentions to his yogurt cup.
"But I had to fly here by sight,” said Gabriel.
"Sounds tedious." Castiel, not having a spoon at his disposal, stuck a finger into the yogurt and took a taste.
"It was fucking tedious. How is it?"
"Gross. But, I need to … repair myself. Urgently.”
“You gonna tell me what the fuck happened? So I can go smite the guy?”
“Our brother Raguel is, as the humans say, off the reservation.”
“Eh,” said Gabriel, who pawed through the grocery bag and pulled out an apple. “That son of a bitch was never wrapped up too tight. What rock did he crawl out from, anyway?” He polished the apple on a sleeve and gave it a bite. “He took a powder way back about the time I did.”
“I do not know. But that is why our brothers and sisters have grown silent. I think they have all grown fearful.”
That actually shut Gabriel up, mid-crunch. “What? Afraid of Raggy-butt?”
“Yes. He has apparently been absconding with our brothers and sisters and tearing out their grace. That is what happened to me. He was nearly finished with the exercise when Dean found me.”
“Why would he…. What would he…. FUCK!”
“That was more or less my reaction too,” said Castiel, who had set aside the terrible, terrible yogurt. “Sadly, Raguel evidently captured Sam while Dean was achieving my rescue. But I’m afraid I won’t be much help to him in finding his brother. Not in this sorry condition.”
"Oh, I think I can help you there!" said Gabriel confidently, tossing away his apple core.
"How is that?"
"C'mere," said Gabriel, who jumped up and gripped Cas by his shoulders. Gabriel was now wearing a nurse’s outfit, complete with little hat with a cross on it. Sadly, he hadn’t remembered to shave his legs. "So, you know how sometimes you break a bone and you have to set it? And, it hurts like a mother, but then it's better?"
"Actually, no," said Cas.
The door opened, and Dean was standing there gripping a bunch of plastic Walmart bags. "Who the hell…? Gabriel? What the fuck do you think doing with my angel?" he demanded as he dropped the bags and started to rush over.
"Your angel, huh?" laughed Gabriel. "Fixing him! Though, not like you fix a cat. So, don't worry, lover boy."
"Gabriel!" warned Dean. “Whatever you’re doing, cut it out!”
"Why don't you just ... Hang?" said Gabriel, whipping a hand around and sending Dean back onto the bed.
"GA-BRI-UH!" protested Dean, who suddenly found a Walmart bag over his head.
"This won't hurt. Much," Gabriel told Cas.
"I wish people would quit saying things like that to me," sighed Castiel.
And then there was a flash. And it hurt. A whole lot. His mind screamed in agony.
Cas was lying on the floor as the white hot cloud of pain slowly receded. Dean, who had somehow managed to disentangle himself from Walmart plastic, grabbed him. "Cas. You OK?"
“Actually,” said Cas, who sat up. “Yes. I am much recovered.” He looked at his fingers, wiggling them. He still didn’t feel quite … right. But at least he seemed to have been snapped back into his vessel.
Gabriel, who had gone back to his street clothes, had grabbed a banana from the grocery bag and had begun to peel it.
“You sure?” asked Dean.
Cas impulsively flicked a finger at his brother, who wailed and went slamming into the wall.
“Yes, much better,” smiled Cas.
“Shit!” opined Gabriel.
“Then come on,” said Dean, helping Cas to his feet. “Get some pants on, we’ll go get Sam. And maybe Crowley.”
“Oh, you’re not hanging with that creepy ass demon again are you?” asked Gabriel, who looked sadly at his now badly mashed banana before he tossed it away.
“He helped us rescue Cas,” said Dean, setting the Walmart bags up on the bed for Castiel. “We owe him.”
“Even though his strained marital relations seem to have gotten us into this trouble to begin with,” said Castiel, who limped over to the bed to survey his new wardrobe.
“Look, I’m gonna go grab something to eat while you get dressed,” said Dean. “I’m fucking starved, and I can still taste that goddam bloodworm stew.” He smelled his own breath, and shook his head. “You guys want anything.”
“Cake!” said Gabriel. “Or pie. Or cake and a pie. Or maybe a pie baked inside a cake.”
Dean rolled his eyes.
“Would it be too much trouble to get a hamburger?” asked Castiel, rubbing his stomach.
“Hey, sure! Anything!” said Dean. “Be back in a flash.”
“Anything for yoooouuuuuu, Castiel,” mocked Gabriel after Dean had shut the door behind him.
“Gabriel. Kindly … blow me,” grumbled Castiel, who grabbed a plastic package of underwear.
“Oh, you don’t want those boring tighty whities, little bro!” announced Gabriel. Cas suddenly found himself holding a thong with a large pink bow on it. He trained a rather intense glower at Gabriel.
“Gabriel, cease,” Cas warned him.
“All right all right all right,” grumbled the archangel, who changed the garment back. Castiel then signaled for him to turn around. Gabriel sighed dramatically and turned his back.
“So when did you start … you know … with the hunter boy?” asked Gabriel. It was fortunate Castiel’s back was turned, so he did not witness Gabriel’s rude gesture.
“I don’t know.”
“How could you not know? Even you aren’t that thick!”
“What I meant was that…” started Castiel. “I know. Dean evidently has mixed feelings regarding the matter.”
“Whaddya mean mixed?”
“He told me afterwards that it was a mistake,” admitted Cas.
“WHAT? What a dick! You want me to smite him! Because, I’ll smite his ass!” Gabriel turned around. “Oh, those jeans are too big.”
“They will serve,” said Castiel, pulling on the waistband and shrugging. He went through the bags to find a shirt.
“I could just zap you into a better outfit,” offered Gabriel. “Something suave! How ‘bout a tux?”
“No tuxedo, Gabriel! Dean was kind enough to purchase these clothes for me, so I shall wear them.”
“Dean’s a dick. I’ll smite him!”
“Gabriel! Do not be … Smitey McSmiterson!”
“Hey, wow,” said Gabriel. “That was pretty good!”
“Was it? Human levity still eludes me in many cases,” said Cas, who had just pulled on a flannel shirt.
“Ha!” said Gabriel.
“Oh, what now, Gabriel?”
“Your boyfriend dressed you just like him!” taunted Gabriel.
“Gabriel-“
“Got burgers!” said Dean, who had just barged in the door. Castiel regarded him, in jeans and a flannel shirt. Gabriel, damn him, was correct.
Castiel sighed in relief as all of them now gathered at the small table around the greasy bag of fast food. Dean meted out several mini-pies and an ice cream sundae to Gabriel, who seemed pleased at the take. Castiel sat down and hugged a still warm hamburger to his chest.
“You gonna marry it or eat it?” asked Dean, who already had a mouth full of burger and fries, which he was downing with a huge gulp of sugary soda. Cas unwrapped his hamburger, wondering as to the origin of this strange craving. It smelled savory and enticing. He took an experimental nibble and decided ordering this particular item had probably been his best decision for at least the past month. He took another, bigger bite.
“How’d the clothes fit?” asked Dean, just at the exact point when Cas’ mouth was completely full. Cas nodded and pulled at his shirt, as if in demonstration.
“The pants are too big and the underpants are boring,” groused Gabriel, licking his fingers and popping the plastic lid off the sundae.
“Oh, I guessed wrong?” Dean asked Castiel.
“Everything … is fine,” said Castiel, who had hastily swallowed his burger.
“And you’re a giant dick,” Gabriel told Dean.
“What?” said Dean.
“G'biuh!” admonished Cas thought a mouth full of 100% ground beef.
“But Cas says I can’t smite you. Or else I would!” warned the archangel.
Dean cast a withering glance at Gabriel, like, why don’t you try it. “Look, eat up, Candy Man. We gotta go make a run at the Death Star trench.”
“What?” asked Gabriel.
“He is referring to the Star Wars trilogy…” Castiel added helpfully.
“I fucking know that!” said Gabriel. “Look, even in his nearly sane days, Raguel would smite me as much as look at me. And I heard the elevator no longer goes all the way to the top. Leave me out of this one, hunter boy.”
“Yeah, I know we seem outmanned, but that’s when we pull together!” said Dean. "Seriously, we'll be like Han and Luke freeing Princess Leia from the Death Star.”
Quite suddenly, two angels were staring intently at Dean.
"But the important question," said Castiel, leaning forward. Dean also leaned in closer. "Who is Chewbacca?"
Gabriel nodded.
“Uh,” said Dean, who had not quite expected this particular response.
"Sam is obviously Princess Leia,” said Gabriel.
"Obviously," agreed Castiel.
"Then I'm Han and you're Luke," Dean told Castiel, who regarded him skeptically.
"And I'm Obi Wan Kenobi!" said Gabriel.
"WHAT?" said Dean, who had never heard a greater sacrilege. "Dude, you are absolutely nothing like Ben Kenobi."
"I am strong in the force!" countered Gabriel. "And I got the Jedi mind tricks down,” he added, pointing to his own head.
"But Ben was wise! He wasn't some pint sized smartass,” argued Dean.
"Sticks and stones, pretty boy," said Gabriel.
"Dean, aren't Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia actually siblings?" asked Castiel, grabbing one of Dean’s French fries and dunking it in Dean's pile of ketchup.
"Well ... Yeah."
"I believe that would make you Luke. So I will be Han Solo," reasoned Castiel, triumphantly ingesting the French fry.
“What?” barked Dean, who was about to lodge a greater protest, but for a sudden commotion in the motel parking lot. Instantly, three beings were at the window, peeking through curtains that never quite shut right.
“For I hungered, and you did not feed me. And I thirsted, but you did not give me succor!” raved the archangel wearing a burned and blood-stained laboratory coat who was now standing in the middle of the parking lot.
“He must have heard me. Gabriel, when you reset my grace,” whispered Castiel.
“Shit,” said Dean, as there was nothing else to say.
“Boys,” said Gabriel, who had just crammed the last of his apple pie in his mouth. “I am about to do something really stupid. You guys take the back way out.”
And then he disappeared with the soft rush of angel wings, so he didn’t hear Dean say, “But this place doesn’t have a back way out!”
“Come and get me, dipshit!” screamed Gabriel, who was now also in the middle of the parking lot, standing up on the top of a camper van. He wore a white robe with paper wings on the back and carried a harp.
There was a flash, and the camper van was a pile of ash.
“I’m over here, dickweed!” shouted Gabriel, who was now sitting in a convertible, sunglasses atop his head. This vehicle was also summarily reduced to car scrap.
“I got your grace, right here!” came Gabriel’s voice again. This time he was calling from the roof of the motel, where, although Dean and Cas couldn’t see him, he was gleefully mooning Raguel.
“Cas, we gotta go,” said Dean, who suddenly felt two fingers on his forehead.
Crowley stirred. From the soft sound of snoring nearby, he assumed that Sam was asleep. He wasn’t quite certain why he himself had wakened. Maybe the pain and stiffness. Fucking archangel was keeping him down in his meatsuit, otherwise he would have bailed long, long ago, Sam Winchester be damned.
No. He had awoken because he sensed something. There was someone down here.
Someone he knew.
He was on his feet before he knew what he was doing. Crowley strained his demon eyes, peering into the darkness.
He sniffed the air. Yes. It had to be.
Barely there, in the corner of his eyes.
Movement.
“… Jahi?” he asked.
“Crowley?” The voice was Sam’s. “Someone down here?”
Crowley stood for a long moment still as a statue.
“No,” he finally said. “No one down here.”
“So I send you out with Crowley, now you come back with Cas?”
Dean looked around. By some miracle, they were safe, for the moment at least, at Singer Salvage.
“Cas!” said Dean. “How the hell did you do that? I thought the angels had all shut up.”
Castiel shook his head, panting for breath, looking around in wonder.
Dean suddenly grabbed Cas’ hand, turning it palm side up. The key. He held the motel key with the compass keychain.
“That’s what you did last time,” said Dean, now grabbing Cas’ arm to steady him as he stumbled.
“What last time? What the fuck happened to you kids?” asked Bobby.
“We got trouble,” said Dean. “Shitloads of trouble. I got Cas back from Raguel, but I lost Sam and Crowley up there. And now Raguel is chasing down Gabriel.”
“Gabriel? When the hell did the Trickster get involved?” asked Bobby.
“He was alarmed, as I was, by the cessation of angel voices,” whispered Castiel. “This was my fault, Dean. My cry of pain must have alerted Raguel to our presence.”
“Cas, you couldn’t help it, dude,” said Dean.
“We must stop this,” said Castiel. “But, I fear I am still not fully healed.”
“Yeah, you still look kinda shitty,” said Dean, holding a hand to Cas’ forehead. Did he always look this pale? Angels were pale, right?
“Fucking shame about Crowley…” said Bobby.
“And my brother, Bobby,” Dean reminded him.
“We’ll get Sam back, boy,” said Bobby. “Don’t worry. What I meant was, I been looking into this mess, I got a feeling it all somehow leads back to Crowley and his crazy ass ex-wife.”
“What? Crowley’s divorce? Made an archangel lose his shit?” asked Dean.
“As Gabriel so wisely pointed out, my brother Raguel was never fully in possession of, er, his shit,” said Castiel.
Dean turned and studied Castiel. “Hey, that’s kind of funny, dude.”
“Thank you, Dean.”
“Well, I got a lead I think you boys could check out,” said Bobby, handing Dean a business card.
Dean scrutinized at the card. “Glaucus Appraisals,” he said. There was an address, and a picture of an owl.
“Word is, they've been doing business with a certain Demon. It’s not too far, so you could drive if you ain’t in the mood to fly.”
“Sounds good,” said Dean. “I've had enough of being zapped around for a lifetime.”
“Though you, uh, might wanna get that one some shoes,” noted Bobby, pointing to Cas’ bare feet.
“Hey, at least he’s wearing pants,” laughed Dean.
“What happened to his pants?” asked Bobby.
“It’s not what you think,” said Dean.
“Oh. Ain’t it?” asked Bobby, crossing his arms and looking Dean up and down.
“Uh,” said Dean, who was suddenly uncomfortable. “Let’s uh, get shoes. And go track down a lead.”
