Badass Angel Mofo
Sep. 22nd, 2012 11:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Badass Angel Mofo
Fandom: Supernatural/Pulp Fiction
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Cas, Dick Roman and maybe some Sam/Cas?
Warnings: Extreme cursing. Horrible violence. This is PULP FICTION CROSSED WITH SUPERNATURAL, people.
Word Count: 2,500
Summary: Some months ago, a couple of Leviathans went all Pumpkin and Honey Bunny in a café, killing Dean. Now it's time for Sam and Castiel to team up and take their revenge.
Notes: Z made me do this. It’s pure crack. But it goes with her keen Pulp Fiction/Supernatural artwork (under the cut).
Art byzsomeone
“Hello, Sam,” said the angel standing next to the sleek black ’67 Impala.
“Cas.” Sam inclined his head, and both men piled into the car, Sam in the driver’s seat. Today, instead of his customary hunter gear, Sam was wearing a cool black suit. Cas was wearing his customary rumpled suit, although he had for some reason changed to a loosely knotted black tie for the occasion.
“So, you finally woke up at the mental hospital?” asked Sam as he eased the car into gear.
“Yes, Sam. I woke up the exact instant the motherfucking Leviathans killed Dean. As I aroused, in my belly grew a hunger for fiery vengeance. As well as for delicious hamburgers,” Cas noted, holding up the greasy McDonald's bag he was holding. “Would you like one? These motherfuckers are tasty.”
“No thanks,” smiled Sam.
“By the way, that earring is very becoming.”
“Oh, thanks!” said Sam, pulling at the small hoop dangling from his right ear. “I got this in Amsterdam.”
“I hope you enjoyed your stay on the European continent, Sam,” said Cas courteously. “When you took your ass on the lam following Dean’s untimely demise.” Cas took a generous chomp of his Quarter Pounder, wiping a bit of cheese from the corner of his mouth with his trench coat sleeve.
“Hey, you know what they call Quarter Pounders in France?” asked Sam.
“No, I do not know what they call a motherfucking Quarter Pounder with Cheese in France, Sam.”
“Royale with Cheese,” said Sam, the words dripping off his tongue.
“Royale with Cheese,” repeated Cas, savoring the words much as he savored the greasy burger launching down his gullet.
“Motherfucking metric system,” said Sam.
“And what do they call the Leviathans over there, Sam?”
“They call them, dead motherfuckers, Cas.”
And they shared a grin.
“How many of them?” asked Sam as he poked around the armory in the opened trunk of the Impala. “We should have Borax.”
“At least twenty,” said Cas.
“Counting our guy?”
“I’m not sure.”
“We should have some fucking Borax,” said Sam. “And maybe a sexy ass demon girl. Hey, what's Meg doing these days?”
“She is still sitting with her feet propped up, reading that ghastly imitation of US Weekly magazine.”
“You left her there? At the mental institution?” asked Sam. “I thought-”
“I have no time for bitches, Sam,” stated Cas.
Hefting their supplies from the trunk, the two nodded at each other and entered SUCROCORP's corporate headquarters, barreling right through the front door. Just like the couple of badass motherfuckers they were.
Sam and Cas strolled confidently through the SUCROCORP, beheading and Borax-ing Leviathans with ill-concealed glee.
“Is this the right Dick?” asked Sam, holding up a bloody Leviathan head.
“Does that look like the right motherfucking Dick?” asked Castiel.
“Well, I can't tell, as I don't eat Leviathans,” said Sam, tossing the head away.
“Oh,” said Cas. “Are you on Atkins or something?”
“Naw, I just think they're pretty gross,” said Sam.
“They cause pretty bad motherfucking indigestion,” Cas advised him, patting his stomach.
The two at last slashed and detergent-ed their way to the corporate board room, where sat no less then three Dick Romans. The Dicks all looked up in shock and surprise. They were evidently in the middle of a Powerpoint presentation on corporate evil, and were eating their lunches, which consisted of greasy SUCROCORP cheeseburgers and fries.
Sam and Cas, both covered with gore, strolled right into the board room. The Dicks all stopped eating.
“Hello, Dicks,” said Cas. “Do you bitches know who we are?”
There was silence.
“Did I just ask you Dicks a question?” demanded Cas.
“I heard it,” volunteered Sam.
“Thank you Sam,” said Cas.
“Castiel,” said a Dick.
“Castiel,” said Cas. “That's very good.”
“And, uh, good on you, pulling this together,” said a Leviathan. The other Dicks nodded.
“We are associates of Dean Winchester,” said Cas. “You do remember Dean Winchester, don't you?”
There were nods, the Dicks now began to look nervous.
“We seem to have caught you during lunchtime. What are you eating?” asked Castiel, striding forward to loom over one of the Dicks.
“Uh. Sucro-burgers,” said the Dick, pointing to his plate.
“Ah. Hamburgers. I have developed a taste for hamburgers. Do you remember how many hamburgers I ate when I was under the influence of Famine, Sam?”
“It was hundreds, wasn't it, Cas?” asked Sam.
“It was hundreds, Sam,” said Cas, bending over so he was uncomfortably close with the Leviathan he was speaking to. The Dick squirmed, but Castiel only leaned closer, staring intently into his eyes. “Do you mind if I have a bite? I haven't experienced a Sucro-burger yet.”
“Uh, sure. Go ahead.”
Not taking his eyes from the Dick Roman analog (if that's what he was) Castiel grabbed the burger.
“And what is this burger made of?” asked Cas, staring down the Leviathan.
“It's 100% pure orphan meat,” bragged the Dick.
“That sounds flavorful and delicious, Dick. But on second thought, I don't think I care for any. Sam?” added Cas, not taking his eyes from the squirming Dick.
“Yeah, Cas?”
“Would you care to try a Sucro-burger?” asked Cas. “It is made only frome the freshest orphans. Or so I hear.”
“Sorry, Cas, I don't touch that shit.”
Castiel tossed the burger back into the wrapper and leaned even closer to the Leviathan. “You know what they call a Quarter Pounder in France, Dick?” he asked, their noses now nearly touching.
“Uh, I dunno?” said the Dick.
“Tell ‘em, Sam,” said Cas.
“A Royale with Cheese,” said Sam.
“A Royale with Cheese,” repeated Cas.
“We're going to start eating French people!” volunteered one of the Dicks, who was standing across the room.
Cas suddenly stood and turned to the Leviathan who had just spoken. “Was I speaking to you, bitch?”
“What?” asked the Leviathan, who now looked as if he were going to pee his Levia-pants.
“What do you mean, 'What?' Was I speaking to you, bitch?” demanded Cas, who suddenly looked quite insane. “Do you speak Enochian?”
“Uh, what?”
“Enochian, motherfucker. Do you speak it?” growled Cas.
“Uh. No?” answered the Leviathan.
“Sam?” said Cas. Sam suddenly whipped out his scythe and beheaded the Leviathan who didn't speak Enochian.
Cas rounded on the first Leviathan, who was openly cowering. “Now, where is the real Dick, motherfucker?”
The Leviathan could only sputter.
Cas suddenly picked up the board room table and threw the entire thing against the wall. “I said, where is the real motherfucking Dick? I'm tired of all the motherfucking Dick jokes on this motherfucking show!”
Sam and Cas brushed off the gore and took off down the SUCROCORP corridor. They came to a door marked CEO. Sam kicked it down, and both of them burst inside.
“Oh, Castiel!” trilled the real Dick Roman. “How nice of you to come, gentlemen.”
“Prepare to die, motherfucker,” said Cas, as he and Sam both cocked their shotguns.
“You silly beings. You can't kill me.”
“Oh yes we can,” said Cas. “Show him, Sam.”
Sam whipped out a notebook. He tossed it onto Dick's desk.
“Before I left the motherfucking mental institution, I made a list. You see the top item on the list?”
“Kill Dick?” asked Dick, reading from the list.
“Kill Dick.”
“No no no, wait! That's the wrong Quenten Tarantino movie!” protested Dick, waving his hands at them.
“I know a Biblical verse that is appropriate,” said Cas. “I learned it from a movie I used to watch with my friend, Dean Winchester. “'I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance, and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.'”
Dick Roman merely rolled his eyes and sighed. “You twit! You can't kill me with Bible verses. Or lists!” he added, throwing the notebook back at them.
“This is just the fun part,” said Sam.
“Now, listen to me, you imbeciles,” scolded Dick, who leaned forward menacingly. “I am one of the smartest villains this show has ever had. And you can tell that because I keep mentioning how smart I am. Every damn episode. You see, I am genre savvy! There is nothing you can do to defeat me!” He sat back, arms crossed, smirking in triumph.
The smile spread over Cas' face. “Prepare to transcend genres, motherfucker.”
“What?” asked Dick.
“We're taking you for a ride, asshole,” grinned Sam.
“In the back seat of our car,” said Cas.
“What?” said Dick. “Wait! Nooooooo!”
There was a fluttering of wings. And suddenly Dick's office was empty.
Sam and Cas were relaxing at a local diner. Instead of their cool suits, however, they were now dressed in T shirts, shorts and flip flops. Cas also wore his now trench coat over his casual outfit.
“Well, that was quite an adventure, getting the car cleaned up of Leviathan goo,” said Sam.
“Quite a motherfucking adventure, Sam,” nodded Cas. “I must thank Bobby again for my delightful Banana Slugs T shirt.”
“So, what do you think you’re gonna do now this is all over?” Sam asked Cas as the angel tore into his Kahuna Burger.
“I think I shall have pie for dessert, Sam. For pie is delicious.”
“No, I mean, now that you’ve gotten your vengeance?” asked Sam. “What are you gonna do with your life?”
“As my urge for vengeance has been satisfied, I do not wish to fight any more,” smacked Cas, taking a big slurp of Sprite. “I believe I will give up this life of violence, and instead, I shall walk the earth.”
“Walk the earth, Cas?” asked Sam, stirring his coffee and casting his eyes casually around the crowded diner.
“Walk the earth, Sam.”
“You mean like that guy in Kung Fu?”
“I do not understand that motherfucking pop cultural reference, Sam,” said Cas.
“Same old Cas,” grinned Sam.
“Everybody be cool!” came a shout from across the restaurant. “This is a robbery!”
“Any one of you pricks move, I’ll execute your motherfucking ass!” screamed the other robber, who was standing on a countertop.
There were screams and panic all through the diner. Sam and Cas, however, continued quietly eating their lunch. When one of the robbers came by with a pillow case demanding wallets and valuables, they both dug in and casually dropped theirs in a sack. After the robber had passed them by, Sam leaned over and asked, “Cas, are you sure you don't wanna do anything? About the robbery I mean? I think these guys are more Leviathans.”
“Sam,” said Cas, munching on a fry. “I must learn to get past such things. Alas, there has been too much bloodshed. From now on, I will do simple things. I will follow honey bees. I will play old-fashioned board games with my dear friends. I believe it is all in the creator's plan.”
“If you say so, Cas.”
“You look dubious, Sam,” said Cas.
“Well, I just don't know if it's so easy to make a change. I mean, you are an angel of vengeance, right?”
“Every little motherfucking change starts with a single motherfucking step,” opined Cas.
The second Leviathan robber strode past, doing a second round of collections.
Cas looked up.
The robber wore the face of Dean Winchester.
Suddenly, the robber was hunched over the table, Castiel’s hand at his collar, an angel sword at his neck.
“Tell me, motherfucker. What do I look like?” Cas asked the Leviathan, his face just inches from that of the robber.
“Uhhhhhh. I dunno?” muttered the robber.
“Do I look like a bitch?” asked Cas.
“I dunno.”
“Does the angel of the lord look like a bitch to you?” repeated Cas.
“Uh. No.”
“Then you will not fuck me like a bitch. Understand?”
“Uh, yes?”
“What the fuck is going on?” asked the other robber, who was still running around atop a counter.
“You!” Cas barked at the countertop Leviathan. “Look in the bag. There’s a wallet in there that says, ‘Badass Angel Motherfucker’ on it.”
“You really got a wallet like that?” asked Sam.
“Yes, Sam,” said Cas.
“Cool,” said Sam.
“Etsy. Those bitches have everything,” Cas advised him. He turned to the robber. “You are gonna dig my wallet out for me, so I can pay my motherfucking tip.” His sword dug into the first Leviathan's neck, which was now oozing a trail of gooey black blood. Or Leviathan juice. Or whatever the fuck that stuff is.
The second Leviathan hopped off the countertop and frantically overturned the bag of wallets, desperately digging through them. It found the billfold, and tossed the it on the table between Cas and Sam.
Sam picked up the wallet and showed it to Cas, as Cas didn't currently have a free hand. Cas nodded.
“And.... Now we can leave in peace?” asked the second Leviathan/robber hopefully.
Cas answered by skillfully slicing off the head of the first Leviathan and then springing up and beheading the second before it had time to even scream.
“No. I just didn't want to have to dig around for this thing,” answered Cas, taking some money out of the wallet and leaving it on the table as Sam poured Borax over what was left of the bodies. “Time to ramble, Sam?” he asked, reaching over to grab one of the Leviathan heads.
“Time to ramble, Cas,” said Sam, getting up and stretching lazily. He grabbed the other head by the hair and, as the other patrons gaped, they both strolled out together.
“So, I thought you were gonna retire and walk the earth, Cas?” asked Sam. They both stood out next to the Impala, near the docks where they had just dumped off the heads of two former Leviathans.
“Well, on second thought, perhaps that was not the most viable of prospects,” mused Cas. “Perhaps once a motherfucking angel of vengeance, always a motherfucking angel of vengeance?”
“Oh,” said Sam. “OK.” He leaned against the Impala, staring intently at Cas.
“What is it, Sam?” asked Cas.
“Well, I’ve always wanted to ask you. But I couldn’t, you know.”
“What is that?”
“Maybe we could … you know … make out?” said Sam hopefully.
Cas grinned. There was the soft thrum of wings, and then suddenly, they disappeared. And then Sam’s foot was sticking out of the back window of the Impala.
“Hey, careful with the wings!” came Sam’s voice.
Fandom: Supernatural/Pulp Fiction
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Cas, Dick Roman and maybe some Sam/Cas?
Warnings: Extreme cursing. Horrible violence. This is PULP FICTION CROSSED WITH SUPERNATURAL, people.
Word Count: 2,500
Summary: Some months ago, a couple of Leviathans went all Pumpkin and Honey Bunny in a café, killing Dean. Now it's time for Sam and Castiel to team up and take their revenge.
Notes: Z made me do this. It’s pure crack. But it goes with her keen Pulp Fiction/Supernatural artwork (under the cut).
Art by
zsomeone“Hello, Sam,” said the angel standing next to the sleek black ’67 Impala.
“Cas.” Sam inclined his head, and both men piled into the car, Sam in the driver’s seat. Today, instead of his customary hunter gear, Sam was wearing a cool black suit. Cas was wearing his customary rumpled suit, although he had for some reason changed to a loosely knotted black tie for the occasion.
“So, you finally woke up at the mental hospital?” asked Sam as he eased the car into gear.
“Yes, Sam. I woke up the exact instant the motherfucking Leviathans killed Dean. As I aroused, in my belly grew a hunger for fiery vengeance. As well as for delicious hamburgers,” Cas noted, holding up the greasy McDonald's bag he was holding. “Would you like one? These motherfuckers are tasty.”
“No thanks,” smiled Sam.
“By the way, that earring is very becoming.”
“Oh, thanks!” said Sam, pulling at the small hoop dangling from his right ear. “I got this in Amsterdam.”
“I hope you enjoyed your stay on the European continent, Sam,” said Cas courteously. “When you took your ass on the lam following Dean’s untimely demise.” Cas took a generous chomp of his Quarter Pounder, wiping a bit of cheese from the corner of his mouth with his trench coat sleeve.
“Hey, you know what they call Quarter Pounders in France?” asked Sam.
“No, I do not know what they call a motherfucking Quarter Pounder with Cheese in France, Sam.”
“Royale with Cheese,” said Sam, the words dripping off his tongue.
“Royale with Cheese,” repeated Cas, savoring the words much as he savored the greasy burger launching down his gullet.
“Motherfucking metric system,” said Sam.
“And what do they call the Leviathans over there, Sam?”
“They call them, dead motherfuckers, Cas.”
And they shared a grin.
“How many of them?” asked Sam as he poked around the armory in the opened trunk of the Impala. “We should have Borax.”
“At least twenty,” said Cas.
“Counting our guy?”
“I’m not sure.”
“We should have some fucking Borax,” said Sam. “And maybe a sexy ass demon girl. Hey, what's Meg doing these days?”
“She is still sitting with her feet propped up, reading that ghastly imitation of US Weekly magazine.”
“You left her there? At the mental institution?” asked Sam. “I thought-”
“I have no time for bitches, Sam,” stated Cas.
Hefting their supplies from the trunk, the two nodded at each other and entered SUCROCORP's corporate headquarters, barreling right through the front door. Just like the couple of badass motherfuckers they were.
Sam and Cas strolled confidently through the SUCROCORP, beheading and Borax-ing Leviathans with ill-concealed glee.
“Is this the right Dick?” asked Sam, holding up a bloody Leviathan head.
“Does that look like the right motherfucking Dick?” asked Castiel.
“Well, I can't tell, as I don't eat Leviathans,” said Sam, tossing the head away.
“Oh,” said Cas. “Are you on Atkins or something?”
“Naw, I just think they're pretty gross,” said Sam.
“They cause pretty bad motherfucking indigestion,” Cas advised him, patting his stomach.
The two at last slashed and detergent-ed their way to the corporate board room, where sat no less then three Dick Romans. The Dicks all looked up in shock and surprise. They were evidently in the middle of a Powerpoint presentation on corporate evil, and were eating their lunches, which consisted of greasy SUCROCORP cheeseburgers and fries.
Sam and Cas, both covered with gore, strolled right into the board room. The Dicks all stopped eating.
“Hello, Dicks,” said Cas. “Do you bitches know who we are?”
There was silence.
“Did I just ask you Dicks a question?” demanded Cas.
“I heard it,” volunteered Sam.
“Thank you Sam,” said Cas.
“Castiel,” said a Dick.
“Castiel,” said Cas. “That's very good.”
“And, uh, good on you, pulling this together,” said a Leviathan. The other Dicks nodded.
“We are associates of Dean Winchester,” said Cas. “You do remember Dean Winchester, don't you?”
There were nods, the Dicks now began to look nervous.
“We seem to have caught you during lunchtime. What are you eating?” asked Castiel, striding forward to loom over one of the Dicks.
“Uh. Sucro-burgers,” said the Dick, pointing to his plate.
“Ah. Hamburgers. I have developed a taste for hamburgers. Do you remember how many hamburgers I ate when I was under the influence of Famine, Sam?”
“It was hundreds, wasn't it, Cas?” asked Sam.
“It was hundreds, Sam,” said Cas, bending over so he was uncomfortably close with the Leviathan he was speaking to. The Dick squirmed, but Castiel only leaned closer, staring intently into his eyes. “Do you mind if I have a bite? I haven't experienced a Sucro-burger yet.”
“Uh, sure. Go ahead.”
Not taking his eyes from the Dick Roman analog (if that's what he was) Castiel grabbed the burger.
“And what is this burger made of?” asked Cas, staring down the Leviathan.
“It's 100% pure orphan meat,” bragged the Dick.
“That sounds flavorful and delicious, Dick. But on second thought, I don't think I care for any. Sam?” added Cas, not taking his eyes from the squirming Dick.
“Yeah, Cas?”
“Would you care to try a Sucro-burger?” asked Cas. “It is made only frome the freshest orphans. Or so I hear.”
“Sorry, Cas, I don't touch that shit.”
Castiel tossed the burger back into the wrapper and leaned even closer to the Leviathan. “You know what they call a Quarter Pounder in France, Dick?” he asked, their noses now nearly touching.
“Uh, I dunno?” said the Dick.
“Tell ‘em, Sam,” said Cas.
“A Royale with Cheese,” said Sam.
“A Royale with Cheese,” repeated Cas.
“We're going to start eating French people!” volunteered one of the Dicks, who was standing across the room.
Cas suddenly stood and turned to the Leviathan who had just spoken. “Was I speaking to you, bitch?”
“What?” asked the Leviathan, who now looked as if he were going to pee his Levia-pants.
“What do you mean, 'What?' Was I speaking to you, bitch?” demanded Cas, who suddenly looked quite insane. “Do you speak Enochian?”
“Uh, what?”
“Enochian, motherfucker. Do you speak it?” growled Cas.
“Uh. No?” answered the Leviathan.
“Sam?” said Cas. Sam suddenly whipped out his scythe and beheaded the Leviathan who didn't speak Enochian.
Cas rounded on the first Leviathan, who was openly cowering. “Now, where is the real Dick, motherfucker?”
The Leviathan could only sputter.
Cas suddenly picked up the board room table and threw the entire thing against the wall. “I said, where is the real motherfucking Dick? I'm tired of all the motherfucking Dick jokes on this motherfucking show!”
Sam and Cas brushed off the gore and took off down the SUCROCORP corridor. They came to a door marked CEO. Sam kicked it down, and both of them burst inside.
“Oh, Castiel!” trilled the real Dick Roman. “How nice of you to come, gentlemen.”
“Prepare to die, motherfucker,” said Cas, as he and Sam both cocked their shotguns.
“You silly beings. You can't kill me.”
“Oh yes we can,” said Cas. “Show him, Sam.”
Sam whipped out a notebook. He tossed it onto Dick's desk.
“Before I left the motherfucking mental institution, I made a list. You see the top item on the list?”
“Kill Dick?” asked Dick, reading from the list.
“Kill Dick.”
“No no no, wait! That's the wrong Quenten Tarantino movie!” protested Dick, waving his hands at them.
“I know a Biblical verse that is appropriate,” said Cas. “I learned it from a movie I used to watch with my friend, Dean Winchester. “'I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance, and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.'”
Dick Roman merely rolled his eyes and sighed. “You twit! You can't kill me with Bible verses. Or lists!” he added, throwing the notebook back at them.
“This is just the fun part,” said Sam.
“Now, listen to me, you imbeciles,” scolded Dick, who leaned forward menacingly. “I am one of the smartest villains this show has ever had. And you can tell that because I keep mentioning how smart I am. Every damn episode. You see, I am genre savvy! There is nothing you can do to defeat me!” He sat back, arms crossed, smirking in triumph.
The smile spread over Cas' face. “Prepare to transcend genres, motherfucker.”
“What?” asked Dick.
“We're taking you for a ride, asshole,” grinned Sam.
“In the back seat of our car,” said Cas.
“What?” said Dick. “Wait! Nooooooo!”
There was a fluttering of wings. And suddenly Dick's office was empty.
Sam and Cas were relaxing at a local diner. Instead of their cool suits, however, they were now dressed in T shirts, shorts and flip flops. Cas also wore his now trench coat over his casual outfit.
“Well, that was quite an adventure, getting the car cleaned up of Leviathan goo,” said Sam.
“Quite a motherfucking adventure, Sam,” nodded Cas. “I must thank Bobby again for my delightful Banana Slugs T shirt.”
“So, what do you think you’re gonna do now this is all over?” Sam asked Cas as the angel tore into his Kahuna Burger.
“I think I shall have pie for dessert, Sam. For pie is delicious.”
“No, I mean, now that you’ve gotten your vengeance?” asked Sam. “What are you gonna do with your life?”
“As my urge for vengeance has been satisfied, I do not wish to fight any more,” smacked Cas, taking a big slurp of Sprite. “I believe I will give up this life of violence, and instead, I shall walk the earth.”
“Walk the earth, Cas?” asked Sam, stirring his coffee and casting his eyes casually around the crowded diner.
“Walk the earth, Sam.”
“You mean like that guy in Kung Fu?”
“I do not understand that motherfucking pop cultural reference, Sam,” said Cas.
“Same old Cas,” grinned Sam.
“Everybody be cool!” came a shout from across the restaurant. “This is a robbery!”
“Any one of you pricks move, I’ll execute your motherfucking ass!” screamed the other robber, who was standing on a countertop.
There were screams and panic all through the diner. Sam and Cas, however, continued quietly eating their lunch. When one of the robbers came by with a pillow case demanding wallets and valuables, they both dug in and casually dropped theirs in a sack. After the robber had passed them by, Sam leaned over and asked, “Cas, are you sure you don't wanna do anything? About the robbery I mean? I think these guys are more Leviathans.”
“Sam,” said Cas, munching on a fry. “I must learn to get past such things. Alas, there has been too much bloodshed. From now on, I will do simple things. I will follow honey bees. I will play old-fashioned board games with my dear friends. I believe it is all in the creator's plan.”
“If you say so, Cas.”
“You look dubious, Sam,” said Cas.
“Well, I just don't know if it's so easy to make a change. I mean, you are an angel of vengeance, right?”
“Every little motherfucking change starts with a single motherfucking step,” opined Cas.
The second Leviathan robber strode past, doing a second round of collections.
Cas looked up.
The robber wore the face of Dean Winchester.
Suddenly, the robber was hunched over the table, Castiel’s hand at his collar, an angel sword at his neck.
“Tell me, motherfucker. What do I look like?” Cas asked the Leviathan, his face just inches from that of the robber.
“Uhhhhhh. I dunno?” muttered the robber.
“Do I look like a bitch?” asked Cas.
“I dunno.”
“Does the angel of the lord look like a bitch to you?” repeated Cas.
“Uh. No.”
“Then you will not fuck me like a bitch. Understand?”
“Uh, yes?”
“What the fuck is going on?” asked the other robber, who was still running around atop a counter.
“You!” Cas barked at the countertop Leviathan. “Look in the bag. There’s a wallet in there that says, ‘Badass Angel Motherfucker’ on it.”
“You really got a wallet like that?” asked Sam.
“Yes, Sam,” said Cas.
“Cool,” said Sam.
“Etsy. Those bitches have everything,” Cas advised him. He turned to the robber. “You are gonna dig my wallet out for me, so I can pay my motherfucking tip.” His sword dug into the first Leviathan's neck, which was now oozing a trail of gooey black blood. Or Leviathan juice. Or whatever the fuck that stuff is.
The second Leviathan hopped off the countertop and frantically overturned the bag of wallets, desperately digging through them. It found the billfold, and tossed the it on the table between Cas and Sam.
Sam picked up the wallet and showed it to Cas, as Cas didn't currently have a free hand. Cas nodded.
“And.... Now we can leave in peace?” asked the second Leviathan/robber hopefully.
Cas answered by skillfully slicing off the head of the first Leviathan and then springing up and beheading the second before it had time to even scream.
“No. I just didn't want to have to dig around for this thing,” answered Cas, taking some money out of the wallet and leaving it on the table as Sam poured Borax over what was left of the bodies. “Time to ramble, Sam?” he asked, reaching over to grab one of the Leviathan heads.
“Time to ramble, Cas,” said Sam, getting up and stretching lazily. He grabbed the other head by the hair and, as the other patrons gaped, they both strolled out together.
“So, I thought you were gonna retire and walk the earth, Cas?” asked Sam. They both stood out next to the Impala, near the docks where they had just dumped off the heads of two former Leviathans.
“Well, on second thought, perhaps that was not the most viable of prospects,” mused Cas. “Perhaps once a motherfucking angel of vengeance, always a motherfucking angel of vengeance?”
“Oh,” said Sam. “OK.” He leaned against the Impala, staring intently at Cas.
“What is it, Sam?” asked Cas.
“Well, I’ve always wanted to ask you. But I couldn’t, you know.”
“What is that?”
“Maybe we could … you know … make out?” said Sam hopefully.
Cas grinned. There was the soft thrum of wings, and then suddenly, they disappeared. And then Sam’s foot was sticking out of the back window of the Impala.
“Hey, careful with the wings!” came Sam’s voice.
