Sic Transit Gloria Mundi (Part 3 of 3)
Nov. 9th, 2012 07:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Sic Transit Gloria Mundi
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikific
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Gabriel/Kali; Dean, Sam, Castiel, Nick, Gabriel, Bobby Singer, Harry Spangler, Ed Zeddmore, Kenny Spruce, Victor Henricksen, Michael, Kali, Joshua
Warnings: Cursing
Word Count: 23,000
Summary: When public defender Sam Winchester's new client show signs of demonic possession he calls on his brother, Dean, a reluctant member of the GhostFacers team, for help. But the brothers might have stumbled into a meltdown of celestial proportions.
Notes: Written for the 2012 Supernatural Reverse Bang Challenge. My grateful thanks to my betas, zsomeone and nugatorytm; and to hipokras, for a fun and creative art prompt.
After a bit of brotherly bickering, Cas was outfitted in only slightly mismatched socks. Dean claimed it didn’t matter, as the guy didn’t seem to know how to knot his own necktie, as long as the shoes matched. He ended up wearing a pair of Dean's boots that Dean had always found a bit too tight anyway.
They arrived at Bobby’s after a pit stop at a liquor store and then at the local burger barn when Cas confessed that he thought he was feeling hunger (this was attested to by a pronounced if mortifying stomach growl).
Bobby thanked them for the beer, but remarked, “You boys eat this crap?” to a selection of greasy burgers. He grumbled a little, but grabbed a big pink bottle of Pepto Bismol, and sat down and ate with them.
“So, Bobby,” said Dean, wiping secret sauce from his chin with a paper napkin, and then leaning over to do likewise for a rather pleased looking Cas, “give us The Grand Grimoire in fifty or less.”
“Well, first things first. There’s evidently two ways of calling up Lucifer.”
“The Satan Plan B?” asked Sam.
“Yessir. I guess the word is he’s not just down in hell, but he’s also locked up down there somehow.”
“That is what my brother told me,” said Cas, mouth full of curly fries.
“So, you’re into this eating thing?” asked Dean, upending the cardboard curly fry container on a NASCAR place mat.
As if in answer, Cas stifled a burp. Bobby passed over the Pepto Bismol, which Cas examined with much curiosity. “He gave you a monster burger, kid. You’re gonna need that.”
“So, you have to jailbreak Satan?” asked Sam.
“Yep,” said Bobby. “The first way is pretty elaborate,” he said, pointing to the Grand Grimoire, which was now studded with many exotic colors of post it notes. “It involves running around breaking something called a seal. And you have to break at least 66 of them. So fucking elaborate, I doubt anyone would be fool enough to try it.”
“Sounds like the plot of a grade Z horror movie,” mused Dean.
“So, the other choice,” said Bobby, “you pump yourself up by ‘consuming souls,’ and then you just go break the fellow out.”
“Souls are like metaphysical steroids?” asked Sam.
“Why, yes, if you are referring to anabolic steroids, as used illicitly by some human athletes, then the analogy is very apt!” said Cas, ladling ranch sauce on his curly fries. “Now, as for corticosteroids or sex steroids....”
“That's probably more information than we need there, Cas,” said Dean.
“Aside from the biochemistry lesson, souls … they make you powerful?” asked Sam.
“You would need to know the appropriate incantations of course,” Cas mused, wiping a bit of Pepto Bismol from the side of his mouth. “And collecting souls is not an easy task! The number it would take....”
He trailed off. He turned pale.
“Jesus!” said Sam, who had just come to the same conclusion. “Zachariah!”
Cas had leapt out of his chair. “I need to go,” he said, but then looked around in confusion. As the realization took hold, he sadly sank back down at Bobby's kitchen table, head in his hands.
“Wings got clipped, dude?” asked Dean, his voice uncharacteristically soft. He reached over to pat Cas's arm, but Cas wrenched out of his grasp. “Hey, it's OK.”
“Nothing about this is okay, Dean,” said Cas. “Don't you understand? What Zachariah is plotting.... It could mean the apocalypse.”
“Okay, apocalypse sounds not good at all,” said Dean, utilizing infallible Winchester logic. “In fact, bad maybe.”
“What the hell is going on?” asked Bobby.
“Cas's boss, Bobby. Zachariah, the angel-in-chief,” said Dean. “Sammy caught him crowd surfing at all the greatest genocides of the Twentieth Century.”
“Cas' boss?” asked Bobby, staring at the angel.
“We think he was actually working against Cas during World War II,” said Sam.
“For the Nazis?” asked Bobby. Sam and Dean nodded. “God damn.”
“He has spent the last century gathering souls so he might free Lucifer. I must find a way to stop him,” said Cas. He had pulled the grimoire over to him and began flipping morosely through it.
“You know these spells, Cas?” asked Dean.
“This was not my speciality, Dean. For many eons, I was a soldier.”
“How did you pull the 'watching for the Righteous Man' duty then?” asked Dean.
“I was, as humans might say, transferred to a new department,” said Cas. “That is how I happened to occupy Sreginski.” He stopped thumbing through the book and stared at it for a moment. “Bobby. Have you marked this book in any way?” he asked, holding it up to the light.
“What? Of course not!” said Bobby. “I don't mark my books! And I'll shoot anyone who dog-ears a corner!”
“What is it Cas?” asked Dean.
“I believe the latest caretaker of this book might have left a mark of some kind,” said Cas. He puffed out his breath and placed the book down. “Angels are very powerful, so sometimes, objects in their possession will pick up distinctive signs from them.”
“This has angelprints? You think it was Zachariah?” asked Dean.
“That makes sense!” said Sam. “He was probably preparing the way for Lucifer.”
Cas put a hand through his hair. “I can't see. I should have thought to look before. If I had access to my powers....”
Bobby grabbed the book. “You just wanna look at the watermark, so to speak?” Cas nodded. Bobby grinned. “Well, I may be just a idjit human, but I have a spell for that!”
“Bobby, you're awesome sauce,” said Sam.
“Ah, crap,” said Dean, taking out his cell phone as a Master of Puppets ringtone sounded. “Yeah, Ed, how ya doin'? Spruce is missing a camera? Aw, shit, that's too bad. Do you think-? Who, me? Hey, well, gosh, that's a possibility I suppose....”
“Oh, no, busted,” Sam whispered to Cas. Cas squinted at Dean, almost as if he expected an explosion.
Dean hung up the phone and rolled his eyes. “Emergency, guys. I gotta go make nice with the boss men.”
“Well, I could get started on the spell to figure out whose angelic fingerprints are on that book,” said Bobby.
“Can I help?” asked Sam. “It sounds kind of cool.”
“Yeah, I could use another set of hands,” Bobby told him.
“Would you like me to accompany you, Dean?” asked Cas. “Sometimes, I can … reason with Ed and Harry.”
“You're volunteering to save my sorry ass?” Dean grinned.
“Um....” said Cas, who looked mildly flustered. “Your...?”
“It's just an expression,” said Dean, who yanked Cas out of his chair. “Come on. Sooner we get to Ed's garage, sooner we can get the hell out of there.”
Sam and Bobby watched them go, Bobby wearing a puzzled expression. “So,” Bobby said after they had heard the Impala fire up and pull out of the driveway. “That GhostFacer boy, Ed, runs an auto shop?”
Sam burst out laughing. “No, he literally means a garage. They run GhostFacers out of Ed's parents' garage.”
“His parents' garage? How the hell old is he?” asked Bobby.
Sam only chuckled again. “I shouldn't give Dean hell. Though I do. Our family, you see, mostly our mom’s side, used to do what you do. At least that’s the family lore. So when she passed away, Dean thought it would be a great idea to carry on the family tradition. But Ed and Harry: I don’t know if he realized what he was in for.”
“Kid’s got patience of a saint. Would have ripped them both a new one by now.”
“They’re not bad guys. They just get a little … over enthusiastic I think.”
Bobby leaned forward conspiratorially. “And, 'scuse me if it ain't my business, but your brother and that angel....”
“Beer?” asked Sam, holding out a hand. Bobby handed a bottle to Sam, who untwisted the cap and then took a very healthy swig. “I don't know,” Sam confessed, leaning backwards in his chair. “I don't know if even Dean knows. My brother can be kind of an idiot.” Bobby snorted with laughter. “Actually, he can be a pretty complete idiot. But these past couple of weeks, he’s seemed, you know, what’s the word, smitten?”
“Yeah, smitten. It's like wantin' to scratch an itch lookin' at them.”
Sam shook his head. “Anyway, you want to start on that spell, Bobby? I think I need a distraction.”
“Yeah, me too,” laughed Bobby, going to grab some ingredients. “So you’re a college boy, Sam? I don’t suppose you know any Latin?”
“Hell yeah! A law degree is not completely useless!” grinned Sam.
“You’ll wait for- You’ll wait for us to get back, right? Sam? Wait. For. Me. To. Get. Back. Yeah. Look, I realize casting spells is really … wicked awesome? Okay. But we’re almost at Ed’s house, so you two wait up? Right? Sammy?” Dean frowned and tossed his cell phone back on the dash. “So, I guess Sam and Bobby drank some beer, and managed to get the angel mark off that book.”
“That’s good news, Dean.”
“And then they drank some more beer, and decided they’re going to summon him.”
“Oh,” said Cas. He stared out the window.
“Uh, is it just me, or is that a really, really fucked up idea?” asked Dean.
“That is a really … fucked up idea, Dean.” Cas’ cheeks flushed pink as he said it, but seemed terribly pleased with himself.
“You don’t have to curse, dude. That’s just how I talk.”
“There is absolutely nothing wrong with how you talk, Dean,” Cas countered instantly.
“Yeah, but isn’t there some crap somewhere in the bible about not cursing out your mother, or something?”
“Dean, please remember, I am a soldier. You should have heard the things my brothers, Uriel and Balthazar, would say. Especially after they had been drinking.”
“Angels get drunk?”
“It requires the consumption of copious amounts of alcoholic beverages. But it is convenient being able to turn water into wine.”
“Oh, so you get drunk?”
“I could, theoretically-“
“Hold it, Cas. You’re telling me you’ve never been drunk?”
“I’ve just never had … the occasion,” said Cas, looking deeply embarrassed.
“But your brothers did?”
“I am…. I am a traditionalist. Of a sort,” said Cas.
“Well, damn, after this crap is over, we need to take you out and get you smashed!”
Cas's eyes searched Dean. “Why do you wish to see me inebriated, Dean?”
“No reason!” said Dean quickly. Cas peered at him intently. “Uh, you lookin’ into my soul again?”
Cas sighed and turned away. “Unfortunately, as I am cut off, I no longer have that power.”
“Good,” said Dean, which evoked another soul-stare from Cas. Dean turned up the stereo.
“What is the music you’re listening to, Dean?”
“Dude, this isn’t just music,” said Dean reverently, “this is Metallica. Like on your T-shirt. My T-shirt,” he added somewhat sourly.
Cas pulled out his T-shirt and regarded it curiously, trying and failing to position his head so he could read the logo right-side up.
“Daaaaad! I’m having an important personnel meeting,” whined Ed.
“I gotta garage the boat for the winter,” grumbled Mr. Zeddmore, pointing to the large trailer attached to his Subaru. “Have your club meeting somewhere else, Eddie.”
“It’s not a club,” Ed muttered under his breath, though he nonetheless signaled Harry, Dean and Cas to accompany him down to the end of the Zeddmore’s broad driveway. “I have a TV contract,” he added as he plopped down to sit on the curb, elbows on his knees, head in hands.
“Yeah, for the Italian Home Cooking Channel,” Dean reminded him, despite a warning look from Cas.
“Um, but you received solid ratings among the male aged 55 to 62 demographic, Ed,” Cas encouraged.
“Oh, don’t bother,” sighed Ed, waving a hand. “This show is not what I wanted it to be.”
“Ed, quit being emo,” scolded Harry.
“No, I’m a failure,” moaned Ed, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You know what I really wanted to do?”
“Oh, Ed, not this again, please,” sighed Harry, who nevertheless braced for the inevitable.
“Caught on Tape!” said Ed. Harry groaned.
“What is … Caught on Tape?” asked Dean, despite Harry frantically waving his hands for silence.
“We would pursue evildoers the world over! And, when we had them in our sights, we would leap out and declare, “Sir, I am Ed Zeddmore, and you have been caught on tape!”
“Well, that's … punchy, I guess,” said Dean.
“Ed, you’re going worldwide now? Do you even have a passport?” sighed Harry.
“You're being undermining again!” shot Ed. “This is just what my therapist warned me about-”
“Ed,” said Cas softly.
“What, Cas?” asked Ed, who seemed to have suddenly shrunken from blustering to self-pity again.
“What if we could offer you film of something truly unique?” asked Cas.
“Cas-“ warned Dean.
“What do you mean?” asked Ed.
“An angel of the Lord,” said Cas.
“Cas, are you off your meds?” demanded Harry.
“No,” said Cas, sitting down on the curb next to Ed. “As it happens, an acquaintance of ours is even now summoning a very powerful celestial being named Zachariah. I think it would be … entertaining to get him on camera. Don’t you think, Dean?”
“Caught on camera, red-winged,” said Dean, grinning and nodding at Cas.
“Uh, Bobby…” said Dean.
“We almost got ‘er,” Bobby announced as he and Sam ran around the scrapyard throwing seemingly random elements into a big bowl. From the smell of his breath, it appeared Bobby had imbibed copious quantities of alcohol since Dean had seen him last. “Oh, who the hell you got piled in that clowncar?” Bobby said as he witnessed the three guys who had just piled out of the back of the Impala.
“Can you move the bowl over there?” demanded Spruce, who was peering through a video camera. “The light is better.”
“What the holy hell are these idjits doing on my property?” wailed Bobby, grabbing the bowl protectively and glaring at Ed, Harry, and Spruce, who they'd just stopped to pick up at his auntie's house.
“Bobby, I still need to report to the upper management at my headquarters,” Cas explained, nodding upwards. “It would be a great favor to me if you would let the GhostFacers capture him on camera, admitting to his misdeeds.”
Bobby squinted at Cas, and then glowered over to Ed and Harry, who had just knocked something over with a loud clang. “Only for you, kid. But they shut the fuck up. And keep your damn hands off my shit!” he added.
“Did you manage to determine the angelic mark on the book?” Cas asked Bobby.
“Yup, clear as day! And now we’re gonna summon the bastard. Sam and I are just gathering the right groceries.”
“I gotta ask, but is this a good idea, Bobby?” asked Dean, holding up one of many empty beer bottles that now littered Bobby’s front yard. “Zachariah is pretty powerful, and Cas is out of angel juice.” Cas frowned, but nodded.
“I got the mystery ingredient,” laughed Bobby, holding up a jar of what looked like olive oil.
“Uh, you’re gonna make a salad?” asked Dean.
“That’s holy oil, ya nitwit,” grinned Bobby.
“Oh, uh, yeah, I should have recognized it,” said Dean.
“If you light the oil on fire, in a circle, a celestial being is prevented from escaping,” Cas explained to Dean.
“Oh, so it's like your Kryptonite!” Dean told Cas.
Cas seemed to search through his memories. “Angels are not refugees from the planet Krypton, no,” he finally told Dean. “And we have little to do with Marlon Brando.”
“You idjits get the hell out of my way!” Bobby barked and Ed and Harry, who cringed.
“Is Bobby ever in a good mood?” Ed whispered to Dean as he and Harry ran over to huddle behind him.
“No,” said Dean.
“Bobby, may I see the book?” asked Cas. “I would like to view the angelic mark.”
“Yeah, it’s inside,” said Bobby. “Ask Sam. He’s gone in to get more stuff.” Cas nodded and disappeared inside Bobby’s residence.
“I got the unicorn snot, Bobby!” said Sam, who had just come banging out the door with a mason jar full of greenish goo.
“All right, everybody, stand the fuck back, we’re doing a damn summoning here!” Bobby announced.
Dean, Harry, Ed, and Spruce (who was still taking everything in through his camera) gathered close as Bobby hovered over a bowl placed on a card table in the middle of the scrap yard. He tossed a match into the bowl, which caused a pretty impressive flare of fragrant orange flame.
“Your turn, kid,” Bobby told Sam, who held up an old battered text and began to read something in Latin.
“Too bad we couldn’t have put Sam in a robe or something,” Harry whispered to Ed, only to be shushed by Bobby. Bobby carefully poured a small stream of holy oil in a circle on the ground around where they had painted some sigils, and took out a box of matches.
The sky darkened as Sam continued to read, and in the distance, thunder crashed.
“Is that camera waterproof?” a worried Harry asked Spruce.
“Will you shut the fuck up!?” Bobby shouted as Sam continued to read.
“Bobby!” called Cas, who had just rushed outside.
“I just said-“ started Bobby.
“Bobby, stop!” said Cas. “This mark, a crescent moon?” he told him, holding up the Grand Grimoire. It’s not Zachariah, it’s-“
Just then thunder crashed again, blocking out anything Cas might have said.
Bobby lit a match and, with a beating of wings, a figure appeared in the center the newly erupted circle of holy fire.
“Cas, what the hell do you think you’re doing? I’m working now!” asked the small figure in the center of the circle. He was wearing a preposterous fake mustache and, frankly, very little else.
“Gabriel,” said Cas. He shook his head, as if not believing what he saw. “Brother! You’re part of the plot to bring back Lucifer?”
“What?” asked Gabriel. “Oh, fuck no! I hate that guy.”
“Why did you leave the book with Sam then, angel?” asked Bobby, grabbing the text from Cas. “It’s got your wingprints on it.”
“Who the hell are you supposed to be, Grampa Simpson?” Gabriel demanded of Bobby. Bobby replied to Gabriel in Enochian, and they went back and forth for a couple of rounds.
“What are they saying, Cas?” Dean asked him.
“Um. Bobby told Gabriel that he lacks genitalia. Which, obviously, is not the case. And Gabriel retorted that Bobby has frequent intimate relations with swine.”
“Funnier in Enochian?” asked Dean.
“Yes, Dean.”
“Well, look then, Bobby Fucking Singer,” Gabriel was saying. “Did you even look at the book? The crap about summoning Satan is an afterword. Most of this book is actually protection spells. Basically, how to ward off Lucy if he's in your neighborhood.”
“Devil repellant?” asked Dean. “What, is the Prince of Darkness like a mosquito?”
“A really big mosquito,” said Gabriel. “But yeah, I suppose. In principle.” Gabriel snapped his fingers, and was suddenly dressed in a uniform, including a really big butterfly net.
“You left it there to help Sam, Gabriel?” Cas asked. He smiled, apparently relieved.
“You believe him, Cas?” asked Dean.
“Of course, Dean. My brother wouldn’t lie,” Cas told him.
“I don’t even believe his damn facial hair!” said Bobby.
“Oh, this,” said Gabriel, tugging off the fake 'stache. “I was working. It's my gimmick. I’m Senor Mustache Ride.”
“Wait, wait, Gabriel,” said Dean. “How could you be back to work so fast? The Holy Mother of God blew up. I was there.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “I only worked HMOG on Tuesdays and alternate Thursdays. I work at The Saucy Angel on Sunday, Monday and Tuesday,” he related, and suddenly, he was dressed in a robe with little cardboard wings taped on his back and a halo made of pipe cleaners on his head. “And then at The Nun's Knickers on Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday,” he continued, as he had now switched to a nun's habit. “And Monks, Friars and Beyond on Tuesday and Saturday,” he finished; now wearing a bishop's mitre.
Dean was toting everything up on his fingers. “Wait, how do you work everywhere on Tues-” But Cas elbowed him.
“Dean, no matter what you do, do not ask Gabriel about Tuesdays,” Cas whispered.
“This sorry specimen is your kin?” Bobby demanded of Cas.
“Um. Gabriel was always … artistic,” Cas offered, though his cheeks flushed red.
“So you guys gonna let me out? I got an afternoon show at the Little Slice of Heaven Gentlemen's Club,” asked Gabriel. He was now dressed in a three piece suit. He pulled an absurdly large pocked watch out of the vest.
“What I wanna know is, what the hell happened to the Zachariah dude?” asked Ed.
“Shut up, Ed!” scolded several people.
“Why, I’m right here,” grinned Zachariah, who had arrived with a soft flutter of wings.
“Oh, holy crap!” said Gabriel, who had gone pale.
“Are you getting this? Are you getting this?” Harry demanded of Spruce.
Everyone, including Spruce, edged back as Zachariah, smile pasted to his lower face, sauntered over to the holy oil fire and, casual as could be, circumnavigated it, eyeing Gabriel like a panther stalking its prey.
“Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel,” said Zachariah, holy fire lighting his eyes.
“That's my name. Don't wear it out,” snapped Gabriel, although he looked terrified.
“Just when I'm in need of an archangel, and you wrap one up and tie it in a bow. There should be a promotion in this for you, Castiel.”
“Zachariah, what are you planning?” asked Castiel.
“I was going to unlock Lucifer,” said Zachariah. “But then Michael assigned an annoying angelic boy scout to dog my steps.”
“Boy scout?” asked Cas, who looked baffled.
“Think he means you, dude,” said Dean helpfully.
“But Lucifer has already escaped, Zachariah,” said Cas.
“Yeah, he showed up in my brother’s kitchen,” noted Dean.
Zachariah grinned. “Saaaaaaam!” he wailed, his voice suddenly taking on a very familiar echo.
“It was you possessing Nick?” asked Sam.
“Oh, so there is one halfway intelligent being here,” said Zachariah.
“Zachariah, it is against all regulations to take a second vessel!” said Cas.
“And rude,” said Dean.
“Have you never heard about the ends justifying the means?” asked Zachariah.
“You won’t get away with it,” Cas told him.
“Oh, and who is going to stop me, pipsqueak?”
“We are.”
Zachariah emitted a terribly unappealing laugh. “It’s far too late for that, Castiel. Despite your meddling, I have the souls ready. And I have Lucifer's true vessel,” he grinned, now approaching Sam and looking him up and down appraisingly.
Cas jumped in front of Sam. “You stay away from him,” he threatened.
“Cute,” grinned Zachariah, flicking his hand. Cas was hurled back, crashing against the side of the house. He slid to the floor, moaning. “And just so you know, I filed the paperwork to cut off your batteries. Permanently.”
“Keep away from him, Nazi asshole,” said Dean, who had run over to help Cas.
“Oh, he'll be fine,” tutted Zachariah. “What's a broken bone or two when we have an apocalypse to run!” Then Zachariah snapped his fingers, and suddenly Sam disappeared.
“Sam!” said Dean. “Where the hell did you send my brother?”
“Not to worry. He's some place safe,” said Zachariah. “And stocked with plenty of disgusting tofu burgers. So, Gabriel, congratulations, because you are the final piece! I need an archangel to absorb the souls I've collected. Now if you could just make everything easy and gobble up a soul or two for me.”
“I'm not eating any souls,” said Gabriel, rubbing his stomach. “Gives me indigestion.”
“Oh, Kali will be so disappointed.”
“Kali?” asked Gabriel, his eyes suddenly going wide. “Um, I don't care. We're not going together any more. We're.... We're taking a break!”
“You broke up with Kali, Gabriel?” asked Cas, who was still sitting on the ground by the wall of the house, holding his side.
“She's seeing Baldur,” sighed Gabriel.
“I did not know, Gabriel,” said Cas. “I am sorry.”
“Yeah, I'm cool,” said Gabriel.
“So you won't mind when my men slit her throat?” asked Zachariah.
“You wouldn't,” said Gabriel. “I mean, would you?” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Oh, who am I kidding. You totally would, you've always been a major sack of douchery.”
“Here's one thing I don't understand, angel,” said Bobby, waving a beer bottle at Zachariah. “Why in hell are you so bent on starting the damn apocalypse?”
“Did none of you idiots read the bible?” asked Zachariah. “We're angels! It's what we do!”
“It's not what I do,” said Cas from where he was still sitting on the ground.
“Which is why you're being put on a performance plan,” Zachariah told him.
“Zachariah, your plot is at an end. I'm Ed Zeddmore and you've been CAUGHT ON TAPE!” announced Ed, who strode boldly forward so he could stand in the same frame as Zachariah.
“Oh, what now?” huffed Zachariah.
“We have all your evil dealings caught on camera now!” said Ed, boldly mugging for the camera.
“It's sort of his new idea for a TV show,” Harry told Zachariah apologetically.
“Hmpf! Well, it's a terrible idea,” puffed Zachariah.
“That's what I've been trying to tell him,” said Harry.
“Why is it terrible?” asked Ed. He narrowed his eyes at Zachariah. “That's not helpful criticism, that's just trolling.”
Zachariah rolled his eyes. “For one thing, it's clichéd! And worst of all, it's been done.”
“Not with my concept,” insisted Ed.
“There is nothing new under the sun,” lectured Zachariah.
While Zachariah continued to argue with Ed and Harry regarding television programming strategies, Dean noticed Cas had nudged his arm. He turned to the angel, who didn't reply, but cast a glance towards a low shelf near Dean. Dean followed Cas’s eyes, nodded, and then looked over at Gabriel, trying desperately to catch his eye. Gabriel, still trapped in the middle of the circle of holy fire, was busily playing with a yo-yo. Dean heaved a sigh, picked up a pebble and tossed it at Gabriel, knocking him on the head right in the middle of Around the World. The angel, now tangled in yo-yo string, turned and scowled at Dean.
“You obviously have no idea how the television industry works,” Zachariah was lecturing.
“I'm an industry professional!” protested Ed. “What are your qualifications, Feather Man?”
“I am Assistant Vice President for the Department of Revelation,” insisted Zachariah.
“Title inflation,” Ed muttered to Harry.
Dean suddenly rolled over and grabbed a bucket of sand from the shelf, which he flung on the holy oil fire, breaking the circle. And, just like that, Gabriel was no longer there.
“Oh. Fudge,” sighed Zachariah, who now had a sword point sticking out of his chest. A blinding white light poured out of his eyes and mouth. And then he spasmed, and collapsed.
“No one threatens my lady and gets away with it!” yelled Gabriel, who was now behind where Zachariah had stood, waving his bloody sword. The effect however was somewhat lessened in that he was still had a Duncan yo-yo tangled around him.
“We still gotta find Sammy,” said Dean, who helped Cas to his feet. Gabe came over and touched Cas on the forehead, healing his broken rib. Cas immediately straightened up.
“Thanks, Gabriel,” said Cas.
“If I were a complete douche nozzle, where would I hide Lucifer's vessel?” mused Gabriel. “Oh, shit!” he said, and he and Cas suddenly looked around.
“Oh! What the hell is goin' on now?” asked Bobby as lightning flashed.
“That's my question as well,” said the newly arrived being. He was attended by a pack of really large, apparently angelic, attendants. “Castiel. And … Gabriel? Is that you?”
“Oh, spare me, Mikey,” said Gabriel, waving his sword. “I don't hop to your tune anymore.”
“Um. Dean. This is my brother, Michael,” said Castiel, who seemed a bit more impressed than Gabriel.
“What the bloody blue blazes is going on here?” demanded Michael.
Dean looked at Cas. “Are we busted?”
“Yes, Dean, we are … busted.”
“Wanna burger?” asked Dean.
“I don't care for anything, thank you,” said Cas, sadly eyeing the heavily laden banquet table in the center of the ridiculously lavish and ornate room he, Dean and Gabriel now occupied.
“How 'bout you, Gabe?” offered Dean. Gabriel, who had set himself down in a corner to check his text messages, simply waved a hand.
“You get cell service here, dude?” asked Dean.
“Yeah, glad I switched to the Celestial Friends and Enemies plan,” Gabe told him, not taking his eyes off the smart phone screen.
Cas shifted uncomfortably on his seat and sighed softly. Dean sat down next to him and waved a beer at him. “I am not thirsty, either, Dean,” said Cas.
“Dude. This is beer. And you need one.”
Cas smiled sadly at Dean and accepted the beer. “Perhaps I will become inebriated,” he said.
“Cool. Then I'll get to see what I can do with a drunken angel,” said Dean.
“Will you two get a room?” snarked Gabriel from the other side of the suite.
“Shut up, Gabriel,” said Dean.
“I'm just looking out for my little bro!” protested Gabriel. “Five hundred million years is a little long to go without it, if you know what I mean.”
“Wait,” Dean asked Cas, who was blushing and trying to look absolutely anywhere but at Dean. “You've never-?”
Cas shrugged. Dean got up and grabbed another beer, which he handed to Cas. “I haven't finished this one,” said Cas, holding up his half-finished beer.
“Drink faster,” said Dean. “We'll get both your problems cleared up.”
Cas regarded the bottle. “I suppose I cannot possibly be in worse trouble,” he sighed. With a look of determination, he raised the bottle and chugged the contents in one go. He finished, gasping, and looking a little cross-eyed.
“I thought alcohol didn't affect angels?” said Dean.
“He lost his powers, Dean,” chuckled Gabriel. “Congrats, your boyfriend is a cheap drunk.”
Castiel took the second bottle of beer and downed a good volume of that as well. He peered at Dean. “Do you find me appealing, Dean?” he asked.
“Of course, dude. Hey. You're a frickin' angel.”
“I'm not listening!” shouted Gabriel.
Cas leaned over and gripped Dean's knee. “I think you are very cool, Dean,” he confided.
“Really? That's good.”
“Not. Listening!” repeated Gabriel.
“Then. Shut. Up,” Dean scolded as Cas downed some more liquid courage.
“I am not supposed to think of such things, such as how long your eyelashes are,” explained Castiel as Dean blinked self-consciously and helpfully handed him another beer. “I obeyed many rules and strictures, for so long. But where, I ask you, has it gotten me?”
“Mike's waiting room,” said Gabriel.
“It really does look like a whorehouse in here,” said Dean.
“Angels are dicks,” said Gabriel.
“They really are,” agreed Dean.
Cas let out a rather loud belch.
Just as Michael appeared in the room.
“Castiel,” said Michael. “You are in big trouble this time. Huge trouble. And I'll have you know, I've just seen your performance evaluation, and you are going to be unsatisfactory in several categories, some of which I've just come up with for this report!”
“Listen to me, Michael-” said Castiel, rising unsteadily to his feet. Dean leapt up beside him, grabbing him as he began to list to the side.
“There is no way you're winging out of this one, Castiel. You'll be expelled! Or sent down to work in the Cherub Force.”
“Just a damn minute, Grumpy,” said Dean.
“Dean, don't-” urged Cas. Dean waved him off.
“And don't you sass me, mud monkey,” growled Michael.
“You don't know?” said Dean. “I'm the Righteous Man. Like in the prophecy!”
Michael leaned over so his face was inches from Dean's. “Do I look like I care?”
“Stay back!” shouted Castiel, who stepped between them and pushed Michael back. “Dean is the Righteous Man! You do not touch him!” he raved. “Not even one of his eyelashes! Because....”
“Because what, Castiel?” asked Michael.
“You'll make me very angry,” said Cas, as he swayed into Dean's arms.
“Castiel, your actions just resulted in the death of Zachariah!”
“Zachariah was a nozzle full of douches!” Cas told him, waving a beer bottle.
“And look at you! You’re drunk and disorderly. Consorting with humans as well as a notoriously deranged fallen angel.”
“Hey,” said Gabriel.
“And falling far below our dress code standards,” added Michael, gesturing at Castiel’s somewhat rumpled ensemble of denim, flannel and concert T shirt. “What are you supposed to be, an angel of the lord, or an attendee at a Bay City Rollers venue?”
“I’ll have you know, Metallica happens to be a regarded as pioneering influence the genre of thrash metal!” said Cas, pulling up his T shirt.
“Give me one reason why I don't turn you into a scorch mark, Castiel,” said Michael.
“Because the man upstairs would be most displeased.”
“Joshua,” said Michael, turning to the kind-faced man who had just appeared in the room. “What is the meaning of this? This is an important personnel meeting.”
“Who the hell is this?” Dean whispered to Gabriel, who had finally pocketed his phone and come to stand beside him.
“Joshua,” Gabriel told him. “Very high up. He talks to the big guy. The holiest of holies.”
“He knows Lars Ulrich?” asked a very thrilled Dean.
Gabriel rolled his eyes.
“As it happens, I was just chatting with Our Father,” said Joshua. “He has a message, regarding Dean Winchester.”
Michael crossed his arms. “And what would that be?”
“Well, as you might recall, He wrote that prophecy Himself. He was rather pleased with it.”
“Yes, I remember. Vain old bastard.”
“It was going to be the new thing. The Winchester Gospel.”
“Yes, we all got the commemorative coffee mugs,” said Michael, holding up a ceramic cup inscribed, “The Winchester Gospel.”
“So, let us just say, He would be most displeased if anything … untoward happened to his Righteous Man.”
Michael glared at Dean.
“...Or any of his friends,” added Joshua.
Michael looked for a moment as if he would burst a blood vessel, but then slowly counted to however high angels can count in thirty seconds. Which is probably very, very high.
“All right. All right. Joshua. Tell Our Father, the message is understood.”
“Don't worry. He knows,” grinned Joshua. And, pausing to give Gabe a fist bump and a wink, he was gone.
“What was that about, Gabriel?” asked Michael.
“Oh, Josh may have gotten comp tickets to my afternoon show,” said Gabe, waggling his eyebrows.
“Joshua goes to your shows?” asked Dean.
“He’s a madman!” attested Gabriel.
“Okay, Mike,” said Dean, rounding on the archangel. “Sounds like we gotta talk. Because the Righteous Man? He is pretty fucking annoyed right now. And you know, Lars Ulrich is listening!”
“What?” asked Michael. “All right, what is it, Dean?”
“Well, first off, I'm appointing Cas my official guardian angel,” said Dean, gripping a very surprised Cas by the shoulder.
“There's no such thing as a guardian angel!” tutted Michael.
“I said there is. So, now there is! Officially. It's part of my gospel, the gospel of me! And I have the coffee mug to prove it.”
Dean stood defiantly, locking eyes with Michael for a long moment, and Cas, straightening his shoulders, stood proudly by him.
“He doesn't even have his powers,” said Michael.
“Then give them back,” said Dean.
Michael snapped his fingers, and Cas suddenly stared in wonder at his own hands. He nodded to Dean.
“What else?” said Michael.
“I want my brother back from wherever Zach stashed him.”
Michael snapped his fingers, and suddenly two people were standing next to them: Sam Winchester, being patted on the back by the many, many, many arms of the goddess, Kali.
“So Jess said, maybe we should take a break...” Sam was saying.
“Oooo, poor thing,” tutted Kali, rubbing Sam’s shoulders solicitously with a long-fingernailed hand or two or three. Both of them suddenly seemed to realize they were no longer where they had been.
“Oh, uh. Hi everybody!” said Sam brightly.
“What do you think you're doing, Kali?” asked Gabriel.
“I'm listening to this poor, poor boy talk about his relationship,” Kali told him, pushing Sam’s hair out of his face.
“But what about our relationship?” asked Gabriel.
“Oh? What relationship?” huffed Kali, her dark eyes blazing. “When a girl wants to go out to a fine restaurant, or take a moonlit walk on the beach, or go destroy the universe, where were you?”
“Baby you know, I'm a busy guy! The show must go on. Come on, sweetie. We could write an appendix to the Kama Sutra, you and me.”
Kali held up a fake mustache, rolled her eyes, and disappeared.
“Wait, baby!” said Gabriel. He turned to Dean and Cas. “Guys, I gotta go after her. Because, you know, she's a chick. And she expects me to chase after her.”
“And you do not harbor any special affection for Kali,” said Cas, stifling a burp.
Gabriel glared at Cas, but then his expression softened. “Will you be okay, Dean?”
“Yeah, I think we got it from here,” smiled Dean. Gabriel grinned and zapped out.
Michael sighed deeply. “Well, that was a sorry display. Dean, your brother has been returned to you. Does that satisfy you, Righteous Man.”
Dean motioned to the others, and then he, Cas and Sam huddled for a moment, while Michael tried to listen in without looking like he was listening in.
“Actually, we've got a list of demands,” said Dean when the huddle broke.
“Oh, what now?” demanded Michael.
“But, from now on, don't talk to me, Mike,” said Dean, suddenly reaching over and grabbing Sam by the arm. “From now on, talk to my lawyer!” Sam crossed his arms and glared down at Michael.
“Your....” sputtered Michael. “I'm from heaven! We don't have any lawyers up there!”
“I knew it,” Dean whispered to Cas, who nodded sagely.
Victor was working late again, so he looked up, somewhat surprised, at the late night knock on his door.
“Whoever the hell you are, I'm too busy! Short staffed.”
The door opened anyway, and a strangely familiar-looking woman popped her head inside. “Um, I'm looking for Mr. Henricksen?” she said.
“I'm sorry, ma'am, but who are you?”
The woman hitched up the baby in her arms and stepped inside.
“My name is Phosphoros. Gloria Phosphoros.”
“You're....” said Victor, who suddenly recognized her.
“I'm Nick Phosphoros's wife,” she continued. “I understand you have my husband in custody? For killing … me?”
Victor went to his desk drawer and extracted a flask. He didn't bother with the glasses.
“So, I am officially off the Nick Phosphoros case,” Sam called from the bathroom.
“That's good,” laughed Dean. “So, you gonna be hanging around, clogging up my shower drain much longer?”
“Maybe. If that's okay? I just get the creeps when I go back to my place. And … there's a lot of memories there.”
“No problem,” smiled Dean. “Stay here as long as you like.”
“Thanks,” said Sam, who had emerged from Dean's bathroom wearing a snazzy suit with a green striped tie.
“Hey, why are you all snazzed up?” asked Dean. “Dude, is that my tie?”
“Oh, uh, I was just going to, you know, go get a drink....”
“With Kali?” Cas asked. He was sitting on Dean's bed and may have even smiled.
Dean goggled at Cas and then turned to his brother. “What? No, Sammy! Are you nuts?”
“Kali and me, we're just good friends,” Sam insisted.
“Sammy, she's a goddess of destruction,” said Dean. “And she’s dating a jealous archangel.”
“But she's really easy to talk to,” said Sam, glancing at his watch.
“You are not going to stay and watch the premiere with us then?” smiled Cas, who had picked up a remote control.
“You guys tell me how it goes,” laughed Sam as he departed.
“Don't … set off an apocalypse!” Dean called after him. He went and sat down next to Castiel, who had just clicked on the small television sitting on the bureau. “My brother is not always one for wise relationship decisions,” he muttered.
“I have noticed you have a larger television set out in the living room,” Cas told Dean.
“Oh, uh, it's sort of on the fritz,” said Dean. “And this is comfortable, right?” he asked, handing Cas a beer.
Cas gave him an odd look, but took the beer. “I am still, as you might say, a little hung over from the other night.”
“That’s okay, beer cures that,” said Dean, causing Cas to look at him skeptically.
”Tonight, the premiere of, Spirits: Caught on Tape!” blasted the TV. A zippy theme song sounded, and then the picture changed to jerky footage of a ghostly figure.
Suddenly, Ed hopped in front of the spirit, facing the camera. “So, Captain Hornswoggler, I'm Ed Zeddmore-”
“And I'm Harry Spangler!” cried Harry, who leapt in front of the spirit, and in front of Ed.
“And you've been-” continued Ed, who elbowed Harry.
“CAUGHT ON TAPE!” they chorused, as one tripped the other and then both went crashing to the floor.
The spirit looked on, seeming confused.
“If you really wanna rid yourself of spirits,” came Bobby Fucking Singer’s voice from the TV, “then you gotta burn the bones,” he said, holding up a canvas bag. He put a lighter to the bag, and suddenly, the spirit appeared to burn up, and disappeared.
“But don’t do this at home, ya idjits!” Bobby warned. “Or I’ll come shoot you!”
“And he will, too!” said Ed who, along with Harry, had just scrambled to his feet.
The show suddenly clicked off. Dean had picked up the remote. “Uh. Sorry Cas. Not sure I can take any more of this right now,” he laughed.
Cas exhaled and collapsed back onto the bed. He stared at the ceiling for a moment.
“Long day?” asked Dean, smiling and staring over him.
“Dean,” said Cas, looking into Dean's eyes, “If I have not said so before, thank you.”
“I got a grateful angel? Cool,” said Dean. “That's almost as good as drunk.” He grinned down at Cas. “But you know what?”
“Yes, Dean?”
“You’re still wearing my Metallica T-shirt.”
Cas did not get up, but tilted his head to look down at my midsection. “Oh! I had forgotten! Did you want me-?”
“It's okay,” said Dean, sliding over to straddle Cas's legs. “I can get it.” He slipped both hands under the hem of the shirt and, as Cas watched, apparently fascinated, slipped the shirt up to reveal the angel's midsection. He bent down and softly kissed Cas on the belly. Cas writhed very slightly, but didn't protest. Then Dean slowly, very slowly, pushed up the shirt, taking time to kiss and nuzzle his way up Cas's torso.
He paused when he had gotten to the level of Cas's heart, glancing up at Cas, who was regarding him curiously. Dean frowned, wondering if this had been a giant, celestial mistake.
“Dean?” said Cas at last.
“Yeah?”
“Isn't it traditional to begin this kind of thing with kisses applied to the lips?” asked Cas, pointing to his own face.
“I'm not a traditionalist,” laughed Dean. Cas locked eyes with him for a moment.
“I am,” said Cas. He smiled, ever so slightly. And pulled Dean towards him.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikific
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Gabriel/Kali; Dean, Sam, Castiel, Nick, Gabriel, Bobby Singer, Harry Spangler, Ed Zeddmore, Kenny Spruce, Victor Henricksen, Michael, Kali, Joshua
Warnings: Cursing
Word Count: 23,000
Summary: When public defender Sam Winchester's new client show signs of demonic possession he calls on his brother, Dean, a reluctant member of the GhostFacers team, for help. But the brothers might have stumbled into a meltdown of celestial proportions.
Notes: Written for the 2012 Supernatural Reverse Bang Challenge. My grateful thanks to my betas, zsomeone and nugatorytm; and to hipokras, for a fun and creative art prompt.
After a bit of brotherly bickering, Cas was outfitted in only slightly mismatched socks. Dean claimed it didn’t matter, as the guy didn’t seem to know how to knot his own necktie, as long as the shoes matched. He ended up wearing a pair of Dean's boots that Dean had always found a bit too tight anyway.
They arrived at Bobby’s after a pit stop at a liquor store and then at the local burger barn when Cas confessed that he thought he was feeling hunger (this was attested to by a pronounced if mortifying stomach growl).
Bobby thanked them for the beer, but remarked, “You boys eat this crap?” to a selection of greasy burgers. He grumbled a little, but grabbed a big pink bottle of Pepto Bismol, and sat down and ate with them.
“So, Bobby,” said Dean, wiping secret sauce from his chin with a paper napkin, and then leaning over to do likewise for a rather pleased looking Cas, “give us The Grand Grimoire in fifty or less.”
“Well, first things first. There’s evidently two ways of calling up Lucifer.”
“The Satan Plan B?” asked Sam.
“Yessir. I guess the word is he’s not just down in hell, but he’s also locked up down there somehow.”
“That is what my brother told me,” said Cas, mouth full of curly fries.
“So, you’re into this eating thing?” asked Dean, upending the cardboard curly fry container on a NASCAR place mat.
As if in answer, Cas stifled a burp. Bobby passed over the Pepto Bismol, which Cas examined with much curiosity. “He gave you a monster burger, kid. You’re gonna need that.”
“So, you have to jailbreak Satan?” asked Sam.
“Yep,” said Bobby. “The first way is pretty elaborate,” he said, pointing to the Grand Grimoire, which was now studded with many exotic colors of post it notes. “It involves running around breaking something called a seal. And you have to break at least 66 of them. So fucking elaborate, I doubt anyone would be fool enough to try it.”
“Sounds like the plot of a grade Z horror movie,” mused Dean.
“So, the other choice,” said Bobby, “you pump yourself up by ‘consuming souls,’ and then you just go break the fellow out.”
“Souls are like metaphysical steroids?” asked Sam.
“Why, yes, if you are referring to anabolic steroids, as used illicitly by some human athletes, then the analogy is very apt!” said Cas, ladling ranch sauce on his curly fries. “Now, as for corticosteroids or sex steroids....”
“That's probably more information than we need there, Cas,” said Dean.
“Aside from the biochemistry lesson, souls … they make you powerful?” asked Sam.
“You would need to know the appropriate incantations of course,” Cas mused, wiping a bit of Pepto Bismol from the side of his mouth. “And collecting souls is not an easy task! The number it would take....”
He trailed off. He turned pale.
“Jesus!” said Sam, who had just come to the same conclusion. “Zachariah!”
Cas had leapt out of his chair. “I need to go,” he said, but then looked around in confusion. As the realization took hold, he sadly sank back down at Bobby's kitchen table, head in his hands.
“Wings got clipped, dude?” asked Dean, his voice uncharacteristically soft. He reached over to pat Cas's arm, but Cas wrenched out of his grasp. “Hey, it's OK.”
“Nothing about this is okay, Dean,” said Cas. “Don't you understand? What Zachariah is plotting.... It could mean the apocalypse.”
“Okay, apocalypse sounds not good at all,” said Dean, utilizing infallible Winchester logic. “In fact, bad maybe.”
“What the hell is going on?” asked Bobby.
“Cas's boss, Bobby. Zachariah, the angel-in-chief,” said Dean. “Sammy caught him crowd surfing at all the greatest genocides of the Twentieth Century.”
“Cas' boss?” asked Bobby, staring at the angel.
“We think he was actually working against Cas during World War II,” said Sam.
“For the Nazis?” asked Bobby. Sam and Dean nodded. “God damn.”
“He has spent the last century gathering souls so he might free Lucifer. I must find a way to stop him,” said Cas. He had pulled the grimoire over to him and began flipping morosely through it.
“You know these spells, Cas?” asked Dean.
“This was not my speciality, Dean. For many eons, I was a soldier.”
“How did you pull the 'watching for the Righteous Man' duty then?” asked Dean.
“I was, as humans might say, transferred to a new department,” said Cas. “That is how I happened to occupy Sreginski.” He stopped thumbing through the book and stared at it for a moment. “Bobby. Have you marked this book in any way?” he asked, holding it up to the light.
“What? Of course not!” said Bobby. “I don't mark my books! And I'll shoot anyone who dog-ears a corner!”
“What is it Cas?” asked Dean.
“I believe the latest caretaker of this book might have left a mark of some kind,” said Cas. He puffed out his breath and placed the book down. “Angels are very powerful, so sometimes, objects in their possession will pick up distinctive signs from them.”
“This has angelprints? You think it was Zachariah?” asked Dean.
“That makes sense!” said Sam. “He was probably preparing the way for Lucifer.”
Cas put a hand through his hair. “I can't see. I should have thought to look before. If I had access to my powers....”
Bobby grabbed the book. “You just wanna look at the watermark, so to speak?” Cas nodded. Bobby grinned. “Well, I may be just a idjit human, but I have a spell for that!”
“Bobby, you're awesome sauce,” said Sam.
“Ah, crap,” said Dean, taking out his cell phone as a Master of Puppets ringtone sounded. “Yeah, Ed, how ya doin'? Spruce is missing a camera? Aw, shit, that's too bad. Do you think-? Who, me? Hey, well, gosh, that's a possibility I suppose....”
“Oh, no, busted,” Sam whispered to Cas. Cas squinted at Dean, almost as if he expected an explosion.
Dean hung up the phone and rolled his eyes. “Emergency, guys. I gotta go make nice with the boss men.”
“Well, I could get started on the spell to figure out whose angelic fingerprints are on that book,” said Bobby.
“Can I help?” asked Sam. “It sounds kind of cool.”
“Yeah, I could use another set of hands,” Bobby told him.
“Would you like me to accompany you, Dean?” asked Cas. “Sometimes, I can … reason with Ed and Harry.”
“You're volunteering to save my sorry ass?” Dean grinned.
“Um....” said Cas, who looked mildly flustered. “Your...?”
“It's just an expression,” said Dean, who yanked Cas out of his chair. “Come on. Sooner we get to Ed's garage, sooner we can get the hell out of there.”
Sam and Bobby watched them go, Bobby wearing a puzzled expression. “So,” Bobby said after they had heard the Impala fire up and pull out of the driveway. “That GhostFacer boy, Ed, runs an auto shop?”
Sam burst out laughing. “No, he literally means a garage. They run GhostFacers out of Ed's parents' garage.”
“His parents' garage? How the hell old is he?” asked Bobby.
Sam only chuckled again. “I shouldn't give Dean hell. Though I do. Our family, you see, mostly our mom’s side, used to do what you do. At least that’s the family lore. So when she passed away, Dean thought it would be a great idea to carry on the family tradition. But Ed and Harry: I don’t know if he realized what he was in for.”
“Kid’s got patience of a saint. Would have ripped them both a new one by now.”
“They’re not bad guys. They just get a little … over enthusiastic I think.”
Bobby leaned forward conspiratorially. “And, 'scuse me if it ain't my business, but your brother and that angel....”
“Beer?” asked Sam, holding out a hand. Bobby handed a bottle to Sam, who untwisted the cap and then took a very healthy swig. “I don't know,” Sam confessed, leaning backwards in his chair. “I don't know if even Dean knows. My brother can be kind of an idiot.” Bobby snorted with laughter. “Actually, he can be a pretty complete idiot. But these past couple of weeks, he’s seemed, you know, what’s the word, smitten?”
“Yeah, smitten. It's like wantin' to scratch an itch lookin' at them.”
Sam shook his head. “Anyway, you want to start on that spell, Bobby? I think I need a distraction.”
“Yeah, me too,” laughed Bobby, going to grab some ingredients. “So you’re a college boy, Sam? I don’t suppose you know any Latin?”
“Hell yeah! A law degree is not completely useless!” grinned Sam.
“You’ll wait for- You’ll wait for us to get back, right? Sam? Wait. For. Me. To. Get. Back. Yeah. Look, I realize casting spells is really … wicked awesome? Okay. But we’re almost at Ed’s house, so you two wait up? Right? Sammy?” Dean frowned and tossed his cell phone back on the dash. “So, I guess Sam and Bobby drank some beer, and managed to get the angel mark off that book.”
“That’s good news, Dean.”
“And then they drank some more beer, and decided they’re going to summon him.”
“Oh,” said Cas. He stared out the window.
“Uh, is it just me, or is that a really, really fucked up idea?” asked Dean.
“That is a really … fucked up idea, Dean.” Cas’ cheeks flushed pink as he said it, but seemed terribly pleased with himself.
“You don’t have to curse, dude. That’s just how I talk.”
“There is absolutely nothing wrong with how you talk, Dean,” Cas countered instantly.
“Yeah, but isn’t there some crap somewhere in the bible about not cursing out your mother, or something?”
“Dean, please remember, I am a soldier. You should have heard the things my brothers, Uriel and Balthazar, would say. Especially after they had been drinking.”
“Angels get drunk?”
“It requires the consumption of copious amounts of alcoholic beverages. But it is convenient being able to turn water into wine.”
“Oh, so you get drunk?”
“I could, theoretically-“
“Hold it, Cas. You’re telling me you’ve never been drunk?”
“I’ve just never had … the occasion,” said Cas, looking deeply embarrassed.
“But your brothers did?”
“I am…. I am a traditionalist. Of a sort,” said Cas.
“Well, damn, after this crap is over, we need to take you out and get you smashed!”
Cas's eyes searched Dean. “Why do you wish to see me inebriated, Dean?”
“No reason!” said Dean quickly. Cas peered at him intently. “Uh, you lookin’ into my soul again?”
Cas sighed and turned away. “Unfortunately, as I am cut off, I no longer have that power.”
“Good,” said Dean, which evoked another soul-stare from Cas. Dean turned up the stereo.
“What is the music you’re listening to, Dean?”
“Dude, this isn’t just music,” said Dean reverently, “this is Metallica. Like on your T-shirt. My T-shirt,” he added somewhat sourly.
Cas pulled out his T-shirt and regarded it curiously, trying and failing to position his head so he could read the logo right-side up.
“Daaaaad! I’m having an important personnel meeting,” whined Ed.
“I gotta garage the boat for the winter,” grumbled Mr. Zeddmore, pointing to the large trailer attached to his Subaru. “Have your club meeting somewhere else, Eddie.”
“It’s not a club,” Ed muttered under his breath, though he nonetheless signaled Harry, Dean and Cas to accompany him down to the end of the Zeddmore’s broad driveway. “I have a TV contract,” he added as he plopped down to sit on the curb, elbows on his knees, head in hands.
“Yeah, for the Italian Home Cooking Channel,” Dean reminded him, despite a warning look from Cas.
“Um, but you received solid ratings among the male aged 55 to 62 demographic, Ed,” Cas encouraged.
“Oh, don’t bother,” sighed Ed, waving a hand. “This show is not what I wanted it to be.”
“Ed, quit being emo,” scolded Harry.
“No, I’m a failure,” moaned Ed, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You know what I really wanted to do?”
“Oh, Ed, not this again, please,” sighed Harry, who nevertheless braced for the inevitable.
“Caught on Tape!” said Ed. Harry groaned.
“What is … Caught on Tape?” asked Dean, despite Harry frantically waving his hands for silence.
“We would pursue evildoers the world over! And, when we had them in our sights, we would leap out and declare, “Sir, I am Ed Zeddmore, and you have been caught on tape!”
“Well, that's … punchy, I guess,” said Dean.
“Ed, you’re going worldwide now? Do you even have a passport?” sighed Harry.
“You're being undermining again!” shot Ed. “This is just what my therapist warned me about-”
“Ed,” said Cas softly.
“What, Cas?” asked Ed, who seemed to have suddenly shrunken from blustering to self-pity again.
“What if we could offer you film of something truly unique?” asked Cas.
“Cas-“ warned Dean.
“What do you mean?” asked Ed.
“An angel of the Lord,” said Cas.
“Cas, are you off your meds?” demanded Harry.
“No,” said Cas, sitting down on the curb next to Ed. “As it happens, an acquaintance of ours is even now summoning a very powerful celestial being named Zachariah. I think it would be … entertaining to get him on camera. Don’t you think, Dean?”
“Caught on camera, red-winged,” said Dean, grinning and nodding at Cas.
“Uh, Bobby…” said Dean.
“We almost got ‘er,” Bobby announced as he and Sam ran around the scrapyard throwing seemingly random elements into a big bowl. From the smell of his breath, it appeared Bobby had imbibed copious quantities of alcohol since Dean had seen him last. “Oh, who the hell you got piled in that clowncar?” Bobby said as he witnessed the three guys who had just piled out of the back of the Impala.
“Can you move the bowl over there?” demanded Spruce, who was peering through a video camera. “The light is better.”
“What the holy hell are these idjits doing on my property?” wailed Bobby, grabbing the bowl protectively and glaring at Ed, Harry, and Spruce, who they'd just stopped to pick up at his auntie's house.
“Bobby, I still need to report to the upper management at my headquarters,” Cas explained, nodding upwards. “It would be a great favor to me if you would let the GhostFacers capture him on camera, admitting to his misdeeds.”
Bobby squinted at Cas, and then glowered over to Ed and Harry, who had just knocked something over with a loud clang. “Only for you, kid. But they shut the fuck up. And keep your damn hands off my shit!” he added.
“Did you manage to determine the angelic mark on the book?” Cas asked Bobby.
“Yup, clear as day! And now we’re gonna summon the bastard. Sam and I are just gathering the right groceries.”
“I gotta ask, but is this a good idea, Bobby?” asked Dean, holding up one of many empty beer bottles that now littered Bobby’s front yard. “Zachariah is pretty powerful, and Cas is out of angel juice.” Cas frowned, but nodded.
“I got the mystery ingredient,” laughed Bobby, holding up a jar of what looked like olive oil.
“Uh, you’re gonna make a salad?” asked Dean.
“That’s holy oil, ya nitwit,” grinned Bobby.
“Oh, uh, yeah, I should have recognized it,” said Dean.
“If you light the oil on fire, in a circle, a celestial being is prevented from escaping,” Cas explained to Dean.
“Oh, so it's like your Kryptonite!” Dean told Cas.
Cas seemed to search through his memories. “Angels are not refugees from the planet Krypton, no,” he finally told Dean. “And we have little to do with Marlon Brando.”
“You idjits get the hell out of my way!” Bobby barked and Ed and Harry, who cringed.
“Is Bobby ever in a good mood?” Ed whispered to Dean as he and Harry ran over to huddle behind him.
“No,” said Dean.
“Bobby, may I see the book?” asked Cas. “I would like to view the angelic mark.”
“Yeah, it’s inside,” said Bobby. “Ask Sam. He’s gone in to get more stuff.” Cas nodded and disappeared inside Bobby’s residence.
“I got the unicorn snot, Bobby!” said Sam, who had just come banging out the door with a mason jar full of greenish goo.
“All right, everybody, stand the fuck back, we’re doing a damn summoning here!” Bobby announced.
Dean, Harry, Ed, and Spruce (who was still taking everything in through his camera) gathered close as Bobby hovered over a bowl placed on a card table in the middle of the scrap yard. He tossed a match into the bowl, which caused a pretty impressive flare of fragrant orange flame.
“Your turn, kid,” Bobby told Sam, who held up an old battered text and began to read something in Latin.
“Too bad we couldn’t have put Sam in a robe or something,” Harry whispered to Ed, only to be shushed by Bobby. Bobby carefully poured a small stream of holy oil in a circle on the ground around where they had painted some sigils, and took out a box of matches.
The sky darkened as Sam continued to read, and in the distance, thunder crashed.
“Is that camera waterproof?” a worried Harry asked Spruce.
“Will you shut the fuck up!?” Bobby shouted as Sam continued to read.
“Bobby!” called Cas, who had just rushed outside.
“I just said-“ started Bobby.
“Bobby, stop!” said Cas. “This mark, a crescent moon?” he told him, holding up the Grand Grimoire. It’s not Zachariah, it’s-“
Just then thunder crashed again, blocking out anything Cas might have said.
Bobby lit a match and, with a beating of wings, a figure appeared in the center the newly erupted circle of holy fire.
“Cas, what the hell do you think you’re doing? I’m working now!” asked the small figure in the center of the circle. He was wearing a preposterous fake mustache and, frankly, very little else.
“Gabriel,” said Cas. He shook his head, as if not believing what he saw. “Brother! You’re part of the plot to bring back Lucifer?”
“What?” asked Gabriel. “Oh, fuck no! I hate that guy.”
“Why did you leave the book with Sam then, angel?” asked Bobby, grabbing the text from Cas. “It’s got your wingprints on it.”
“Who the hell are you supposed to be, Grampa Simpson?” Gabriel demanded of Bobby. Bobby replied to Gabriel in Enochian, and they went back and forth for a couple of rounds.
“What are they saying, Cas?” Dean asked him.
“Um. Bobby told Gabriel that he lacks genitalia. Which, obviously, is not the case. And Gabriel retorted that Bobby has frequent intimate relations with swine.”
“Funnier in Enochian?” asked Dean.
“Yes, Dean.”
“Well, look then, Bobby Fucking Singer,” Gabriel was saying. “Did you even look at the book? The crap about summoning Satan is an afterword. Most of this book is actually protection spells. Basically, how to ward off Lucy if he's in your neighborhood.”
“Devil repellant?” asked Dean. “What, is the Prince of Darkness like a mosquito?”
“A really big mosquito,” said Gabriel. “But yeah, I suppose. In principle.” Gabriel snapped his fingers, and was suddenly dressed in a uniform, including a really big butterfly net.
“You left it there to help Sam, Gabriel?” Cas asked. He smiled, apparently relieved.
“You believe him, Cas?” asked Dean.
“Of course, Dean. My brother wouldn’t lie,” Cas told him.
“I don’t even believe his damn facial hair!” said Bobby.
“Oh, this,” said Gabriel, tugging off the fake 'stache. “I was working. It's my gimmick. I’m Senor Mustache Ride.”
“Wait, wait, Gabriel,” said Dean. “How could you be back to work so fast? The Holy Mother of God blew up. I was there.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “I only worked HMOG on Tuesdays and alternate Thursdays. I work at The Saucy Angel on Sunday, Monday and Tuesday,” he related, and suddenly, he was dressed in a robe with little cardboard wings taped on his back and a halo made of pipe cleaners on his head. “And then at The Nun's Knickers on Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday,” he continued, as he had now switched to a nun's habit. “And Monks, Friars and Beyond on Tuesday and Saturday,” he finished; now wearing a bishop's mitre.
Dean was toting everything up on his fingers. “Wait, how do you work everywhere on Tues-” But Cas elbowed him.
“Dean, no matter what you do, do not ask Gabriel about Tuesdays,” Cas whispered.
“This sorry specimen is your kin?” Bobby demanded of Cas.
“Um. Gabriel was always … artistic,” Cas offered, though his cheeks flushed red.
“So you guys gonna let me out? I got an afternoon show at the Little Slice of Heaven Gentlemen's Club,” asked Gabriel. He was now dressed in a three piece suit. He pulled an absurdly large pocked watch out of the vest.
“What I wanna know is, what the hell happened to the Zachariah dude?” asked Ed.
“Shut up, Ed!” scolded several people.
“Why, I’m right here,” grinned Zachariah, who had arrived with a soft flutter of wings.
“Oh, holy crap!” said Gabriel, who had gone pale.
“Are you getting this? Are you getting this?” Harry demanded of Spruce.
Everyone, including Spruce, edged back as Zachariah, smile pasted to his lower face, sauntered over to the holy oil fire and, casual as could be, circumnavigated it, eyeing Gabriel like a panther stalking its prey.
“Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel,” said Zachariah, holy fire lighting his eyes.
“That's my name. Don't wear it out,” snapped Gabriel, although he looked terrified.
“Just when I'm in need of an archangel, and you wrap one up and tie it in a bow. There should be a promotion in this for you, Castiel.”
“Zachariah, what are you planning?” asked Castiel.
“I was going to unlock Lucifer,” said Zachariah. “But then Michael assigned an annoying angelic boy scout to dog my steps.”
“Boy scout?” asked Cas, who looked baffled.
“Think he means you, dude,” said Dean helpfully.
“But Lucifer has already escaped, Zachariah,” said Cas.
“Yeah, he showed up in my brother’s kitchen,” noted Dean.
Zachariah grinned. “Saaaaaaam!” he wailed, his voice suddenly taking on a very familiar echo.
“It was you possessing Nick?” asked Sam.
“Oh, so there is one halfway intelligent being here,” said Zachariah.
“Zachariah, it is against all regulations to take a second vessel!” said Cas.
“And rude,” said Dean.
“Have you never heard about the ends justifying the means?” asked Zachariah.
“You won’t get away with it,” Cas told him.
“Oh, and who is going to stop me, pipsqueak?”
“We are.”
Zachariah emitted a terribly unappealing laugh. “It’s far too late for that, Castiel. Despite your meddling, I have the souls ready. And I have Lucifer's true vessel,” he grinned, now approaching Sam and looking him up and down appraisingly.
Cas jumped in front of Sam. “You stay away from him,” he threatened.
“Cute,” grinned Zachariah, flicking his hand. Cas was hurled back, crashing against the side of the house. He slid to the floor, moaning. “And just so you know, I filed the paperwork to cut off your batteries. Permanently.”
“Keep away from him, Nazi asshole,” said Dean, who had run over to help Cas.
“Oh, he'll be fine,” tutted Zachariah. “What's a broken bone or two when we have an apocalypse to run!” Then Zachariah snapped his fingers, and suddenly Sam disappeared.
“Sam!” said Dean. “Where the hell did you send my brother?”
“Not to worry. He's some place safe,” said Zachariah. “And stocked with plenty of disgusting tofu burgers. So, Gabriel, congratulations, because you are the final piece! I need an archangel to absorb the souls I've collected. Now if you could just make everything easy and gobble up a soul or two for me.”
“I'm not eating any souls,” said Gabriel, rubbing his stomach. “Gives me indigestion.”
“Oh, Kali will be so disappointed.”
“Kali?” asked Gabriel, his eyes suddenly going wide. “Um, I don't care. We're not going together any more. We're.... We're taking a break!”
“You broke up with Kali, Gabriel?” asked Cas, who was still sitting on the ground by the wall of the house, holding his side.
“She's seeing Baldur,” sighed Gabriel.
“I did not know, Gabriel,” said Cas. “I am sorry.”
“Yeah, I'm cool,” said Gabriel.
“So you won't mind when my men slit her throat?” asked Zachariah.
“You wouldn't,” said Gabriel. “I mean, would you?” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Oh, who am I kidding. You totally would, you've always been a major sack of douchery.”
“Here's one thing I don't understand, angel,” said Bobby, waving a beer bottle at Zachariah. “Why in hell are you so bent on starting the damn apocalypse?”
“Did none of you idiots read the bible?” asked Zachariah. “We're angels! It's what we do!”
“It's not what I do,” said Cas from where he was still sitting on the ground.
“Which is why you're being put on a performance plan,” Zachariah told him.
“Zachariah, your plot is at an end. I'm Ed Zeddmore and you've been CAUGHT ON TAPE!” announced Ed, who strode boldly forward so he could stand in the same frame as Zachariah.
“Oh, what now?” huffed Zachariah.
“We have all your evil dealings caught on camera now!” said Ed, boldly mugging for the camera.
“It's sort of his new idea for a TV show,” Harry told Zachariah apologetically.
“Hmpf! Well, it's a terrible idea,” puffed Zachariah.
“That's what I've been trying to tell him,” said Harry.
“Why is it terrible?” asked Ed. He narrowed his eyes at Zachariah. “That's not helpful criticism, that's just trolling.”
Zachariah rolled his eyes. “For one thing, it's clichéd! And worst of all, it's been done.”
“Not with my concept,” insisted Ed.
“There is nothing new under the sun,” lectured Zachariah.
While Zachariah continued to argue with Ed and Harry regarding television programming strategies, Dean noticed Cas had nudged his arm. He turned to the angel, who didn't reply, but cast a glance towards a low shelf near Dean. Dean followed Cas’s eyes, nodded, and then looked over at Gabriel, trying desperately to catch his eye. Gabriel, still trapped in the middle of the circle of holy fire, was busily playing with a yo-yo. Dean heaved a sigh, picked up a pebble and tossed it at Gabriel, knocking him on the head right in the middle of Around the World. The angel, now tangled in yo-yo string, turned and scowled at Dean.
“You obviously have no idea how the television industry works,” Zachariah was lecturing.
“I'm an industry professional!” protested Ed. “What are your qualifications, Feather Man?”
“I am Assistant Vice President for the Department of Revelation,” insisted Zachariah.
“Title inflation,” Ed muttered to Harry.
Dean suddenly rolled over and grabbed a bucket of sand from the shelf, which he flung on the holy oil fire, breaking the circle. And, just like that, Gabriel was no longer there.
“Oh. Fudge,” sighed Zachariah, who now had a sword point sticking out of his chest. A blinding white light poured out of his eyes and mouth. And then he spasmed, and collapsed.
“No one threatens my lady and gets away with it!” yelled Gabriel, who was now behind where Zachariah had stood, waving his bloody sword. The effect however was somewhat lessened in that he was still had a Duncan yo-yo tangled around him.
“We still gotta find Sammy,” said Dean, who helped Cas to his feet. Gabe came over and touched Cas on the forehead, healing his broken rib. Cas immediately straightened up.
“Thanks, Gabriel,” said Cas.
“If I were a complete douche nozzle, where would I hide Lucifer's vessel?” mused Gabriel. “Oh, shit!” he said, and he and Cas suddenly looked around.
“Oh! What the hell is goin' on now?” asked Bobby as lightning flashed.
“That's my question as well,” said the newly arrived being. He was attended by a pack of really large, apparently angelic, attendants. “Castiel. And … Gabriel? Is that you?”
“Oh, spare me, Mikey,” said Gabriel, waving his sword. “I don't hop to your tune anymore.”
“Um. Dean. This is my brother, Michael,” said Castiel, who seemed a bit more impressed than Gabriel.
“What the bloody blue blazes is going on here?” demanded Michael.
Dean looked at Cas. “Are we busted?”
“Yes, Dean, we are … busted.”
“Wanna burger?” asked Dean.
“I don't care for anything, thank you,” said Cas, sadly eyeing the heavily laden banquet table in the center of the ridiculously lavish and ornate room he, Dean and Gabriel now occupied.
“How 'bout you, Gabe?” offered Dean. Gabriel, who had set himself down in a corner to check his text messages, simply waved a hand.
“You get cell service here, dude?” asked Dean.
“Yeah, glad I switched to the Celestial Friends and Enemies plan,” Gabe told him, not taking his eyes off the smart phone screen.
Cas shifted uncomfortably on his seat and sighed softly. Dean sat down next to him and waved a beer at him. “I am not thirsty, either, Dean,” said Cas.
“Dude. This is beer. And you need one.”
Cas smiled sadly at Dean and accepted the beer. “Perhaps I will become inebriated,” he said.
“Cool. Then I'll get to see what I can do with a drunken angel,” said Dean.
“Will you two get a room?” snarked Gabriel from the other side of the suite.
“Shut up, Gabriel,” said Dean.
“I'm just looking out for my little bro!” protested Gabriel. “Five hundred million years is a little long to go without it, if you know what I mean.”
“Wait,” Dean asked Cas, who was blushing and trying to look absolutely anywhere but at Dean. “You've never-?”
Cas shrugged. Dean got up and grabbed another beer, which he handed to Cas. “I haven't finished this one,” said Cas, holding up his half-finished beer.
“Drink faster,” said Dean. “We'll get both your problems cleared up.”
Cas regarded the bottle. “I suppose I cannot possibly be in worse trouble,” he sighed. With a look of determination, he raised the bottle and chugged the contents in one go. He finished, gasping, and looking a little cross-eyed.
“I thought alcohol didn't affect angels?” said Dean.
“He lost his powers, Dean,” chuckled Gabriel. “Congrats, your boyfriend is a cheap drunk.”
Castiel took the second bottle of beer and downed a good volume of that as well. He peered at Dean. “Do you find me appealing, Dean?” he asked.
“Of course, dude. Hey. You're a frickin' angel.”
“I'm not listening!” shouted Gabriel.
Cas leaned over and gripped Dean's knee. “I think you are very cool, Dean,” he confided.
“Really? That's good.”
“Not. Listening!” repeated Gabriel.
“Then. Shut. Up,” Dean scolded as Cas downed some more liquid courage.
“I am not supposed to think of such things, such as how long your eyelashes are,” explained Castiel as Dean blinked self-consciously and helpfully handed him another beer. “I obeyed many rules and strictures, for so long. But where, I ask you, has it gotten me?”
“Mike's waiting room,” said Gabriel.
“It really does look like a whorehouse in here,” said Dean.
“Angels are dicks,” said Gabriel.
“They really are,” agreed Dean.
Cas let out a rather loud belch.
Just as Michael appeared in the room.
“Castiel,” said Michael. “You are in big trouble this time. Huge trouble. And I'll have you know, I've just seen your performance evaluation, and you are going to be unsatisfactory in several categories, some of which I've just come up with for this report!”
“Listen to me, Michael-” said Castiel, rising unsteadily to his feet. Dean leapt up beside him, grabbing him as he began to list to the side.
“There is no way you're winging out of this one, Castiel. You'll be expelled! Or sent down to work in the Cherub Force.”
“Just a damn minute, Grumpy,” said Dean.
“Dean, don't-” urged Cas. Dean waved him off.
“And don't you sass me, mud monkey,” growled Michael.
“You don't know?” said Dean. “I'm the Righteous Man. Like in the prophecy!”
Michael leaned over so his face was inches from Dean's. “Do I look like I care?”
“Stay back!” shouted Castiel, who stepped between them and pushed Michael back. “Dean is the Righteous Man! You do not touch him!” he raved. “Not even one of his eyelashes! Because....”
“Because what, Castiel?” asked Michael.
“You'll make me very angry,” said Cas, as he swayed into Dean's arms.
“Castiel, your actions just resulted in the death of Zachariah!”
“Zachariah was a nozzle full of douches!” Cas told him, waving a beer bottle.
“And look at you! You’re drunk and disorderly. Consorting with humans as well as a notoriously deranged fallen angel.”
“Hey,” said Gabriel.
“And falling far below our dress code standards,” added Michael, gesturing at Castiel’s somewhat rumpled ensemble of denim, flannel and concert T shirt. “What are you supposed to be, an angel of the lord, or an attendee at a Bay City Rollers venue?”
“I’ll have you know, Metallica happens to be a regarded as pioneering influence the genre of thrash metal!” said Cas, pulling up his T shirt.
“Give me one reason why I don't turn you into a scorch mark, Castiel,” said Michael.
“Because the man upstairs would be most displeased.”
“Joshua,” said Michael, turning to the kind-faced man who had just appeared in the room. “What is the meaning of this? This is an important personnel meeting.”
“Who the hell is this?” Dean whispered to Gabriel, who had finally pocketed his phone and come to stand beside him.
“Joshua,” Gabriel told him. “Very high up. He talks to the big guy. The holiest of holies.”
“He knows Lars Ulrich?” asked a very thrilled Dean.
Gabriel rolled his eyes.
“As it happens, I was just chatting with Our Father,” said Joshua. “He has a message, regarding Dean Winchester.”
Michael crossed his arms. “And what would that be?”
“Well, as you might recall, He wrote that prophecy Himself. He was rather pleased with it.”
“Yes, I remember. Vain old bastard.”
“It was going to be the new thing. The Winchester Gospel.”
“Yes, we all got the commemorative coffee mugs,” said Michael, holding up a ceramic cup inscribed, “The Winchester Gospel.”
“So, let us just say, He would be most displeased if anything … untoward happened to his Righteous Man.”
Michael glared at Dean.
“...Or any of his friends,” added Joshua.
Michael looked for a moment as if he would burst a blood vessel, but then slowly counted to however high angels can count in thirty seconds. Which is probably very, very high.
“All right. All right. Joshua. Tell Our Father, the message is understood.”
“Don't worry. He knows,” grinned Joshua. And, pausing to give Gabe a fist bump and a wink, he was gone.
“What was that about, Gabriel?” asked Michael.
“Oh, Josh may have gotten comp tickets to my afternoon show,” said Gabe, waggling his eyebrows.
“Joshua goes to your shows?” asked Dean.
“He’s a madman!” attested Gabriel.
“Okay, Mike,” said Dean, rounding on the archangel. “Sounds like we gotta talk. Because the Righteous Man? He is pretty fucking annoyed right now. And you know, Lars Ulrich is listening!”
“What?” asked Michael. “All right, what is it, Dean?”
“Well, first off, I'm appointing Cas my official guardian angel,” said Dean, gripping a very surprised Cas by the shoulder.
“There's no such thing as a guardian angel!” tutted Michael.
“I said there is. So, now there is! Officially. It's part of my gospel, the gospel of me! And I have the coffee mug to prove it.”
Dean stood defiantly, locking eyes with Michael for a long moment, and Cas, straightening his shoulders, stood proudly by him.
“He doesn't even have his powers,” said Michael.
“Then give them back,” said Dean.
Michael snapped his fingers, and Cas suddenly stared in wonder at his own hands. He nodded to Dean.
“What else?” said Michael.
“I want my brother back from wherever Zach stashed him.”
Michael snapped his fingers, and suddenly two people were standing next to them: Sam Winchester, being patted on the back by the many, many, many arms of the goddess, Kali.
“So Jess said, maybe we should take a break...” Sam was saying.
“Oooo, poor thing,” tutted Kali, rubbing Sam’s shoulders solicitously with a long-fingernailed hand or two or three. Both of them suddenly seemed to realize they were no longer where they had been.
“Oh, uh. Hi everybody!” said Sam brightly.
“What do you think you're doing, Kali?” asked Gabriel.
“I'm listening to this poor, poor boy talk about his relationship,” Kali told him, pushing Sam’s hair out of his face.
“But what about our relationship?” asked Gabriel.
“Oh? What relationship?” huffed Kali, her dark eyes blazing. “When a girl wants to go out to a fine restaurant, or take a moonlit walk on the beach, or go destroy the universe, where were you?”
“Baby you know, I'm a busy guy! The show must go on. Come on, sweetie. We could write an appendix to the Kama Sutra, you and me.”
Kali held up a fake mustache, rolled her eyes, and disappeared.
“Wait, baby!” said Gabriel. He turned to Dean and Cas. “Guys, I gotta go after her. Because, you know, she's a chick. And she expects me to chase after her.”
“And you do not harbor any special affection for Kali,” said Cas, stifling a burp.
Gabriel glared at Cas, but then his expression softened. “Will you be okay, Dean?”
“Yeah, I think we got it from here,” smiled Dean. Gabriel grinned and zapped out.
Michael sighed deeply. “Well, that was a sorry display. Dean, your brother has been returned to you. Does that satisfy you, Righteous Man.”
Dean motioned to the others, and then he, Cas and Sam huddled for a moment, while Michael tried to listen in without looking like he was listening in.
“Actually, we've got a list of demands,” said Dean when the huddle broke.
“Oh, what now?” demanded Michael.
“But, from now on, don't talk to me, Mike,” said Dean, suddenly reaching over and grabbing Sam by the arm. “From now on, talk to my lawyer!” Sam crossed his arms and glared down at Michael.
“Your....” sputtered Michael. “I'm from heaven! We don't have any lawyers up there!”
“I knew it,” Dean whispered to Cas, who nodded sagely.
Victor was working late again, so he looked up, somewhat surprised, at the late night knock on his door.
“Whoever the hell you are, I'm too busy! Short staffed.”
The door opened anyway, and a strangely familiar-looking woman popped her head inside. “Um, I'm looking for Mr. Henricksen?” she said.
“I'm sorry, ma'am, but who are you?”
The woman hitched up the baby in her arms and stepped inside.
“My name is Phosphoros. Gloria Phosphoros.”
“You're....” said Victor, who suddenly recognized her.
“I'm Nick Phosphoros's wife,” she continued. “I understand you have my husband in custody? For killing … me?”
Victor went to his desk drawer and extracted a flask. He didn't bother with the glasses.
“So, I am officially off the Nick Phosphoros case,” Sam called from the bathroom.
“That's good,” laughed Dean. “So, you gonna be hanging around, clogging up my shower drain much longer?”
“Maybe. If that's okay? I just get the creeps when I go back to my place. And … there's a lot of memories there.”
“No problem,” smiled Dean. “Stay here as long as you like.”
“Thanks,” said Sam, who had emerged from Dean's bathroom wearing a snazzy suit with a green striped tie.
“Hey, why are you all snazzed up?” asked Dean. “Dude, is that my tie?”
“Oh, uh, I was just going to, you know, go get a drink....”
“With Kali?” Cas asked. He was sitting on Dean's bed and may have even smiled.
Dean goggled at Cas and then turned to his brother. “What? No, Sammy! Are you nuts?”
“Kali and me, we're just good friends,” Sam insisted.
“Sammy, she's a goddess of destruction,” said Dean. “And she’s dating a jealous archangel.”
“But she's really easy to talk to,” said Sam, glancing at his watch.
“You are not going to stay and watch the premiere with us then?” smiled Cas, who had picked up a remote control.
“You guys tell me how it goes,” laughed Sam as he departed.
“Don't … set off an apocalypse!” Dean called after him. He went and sat down next to Castiel, who had just clicked on the small television sitting on the bureau. “My brother is not always one for wise relationship decisions,” he muttered.
“I have noticed you have a larger television set out in the living room,” Cas told Dean.
“Oh, uh, it's sort of on the fritz,” said Dean. “And this is comfortable, right?” he asked, handing Cas a beer.
Cas gave him an odd look, but took the beer. “I am still, as you might say, a little hung over from the other night.”
“That’s okay, beer cures that,” said Dean, causing Cas to look at him skeptically.
”Tonight, the premiere of, Spirits: Caught on Tape!” blasted the TV. A zippy theme song sounded, and then the picture changed to jerky footage of a ghostly figure.
Suddenly, Ed hopped in front of the spirit, facing the camera. “So, Captain Hornswoggler, I'm Ed Zeddmore-”
“And I'm Harry Spangler!” cried Harry, who leapt in front of the spirit, and in front of Ed.
“And you've been-” continued Ed, who elbowed Harry.
“CAUGHT ON TAPE!” they chorused, as one tripped the other and then both went crashing to the floor.
The spirit looked on, seeming confused.
“If you really wanna rid yourself of spirits,” came Bobby Fucking Singer’s voice from the TV, “then you gotta burn the bones,” he said, holding up a canvas bag. He put a lighter to the bag, and suddenly, the spirit appeared to burn up, and disappeared.
“But don’t do this at home, ya idjits!” Bobby warned. “Or I’ll come shoot you!”
“And he will, too!” said Ed who, along with Harry, had just scrambled to his feet.
The show suddenly clicked off. Dean had picked up the remote. “Uh. Sorry Cas. Not sure I can take any more of this right now,” he laughed.
Cas exhaled and collapsed back onto the bed. He stared at the ceiling for a moment.
“Long day?” asked Dean, smiling and staring over him.
“Dean,” said Cas, looking into Dean's eyes, “If I have not said so before, thank you.”
“I got a grateful angel? Cool,” said Dean. “That's almost as good as drunk.” He grinned down at Cas. “But you know what?”
“Yes, Dean?”
“You’re still wearing my Metallica T-shirt.”
Cas did not get up, but tilted his head to look down at my midsection. “Oh! I had forgotten! Did you want me-?”
“It's okay,” said Dean, sliding over to straddle Cas's legs. “I can get it.” He slipped both hands under the hem of the shirt and, as Cas watched, apparently fascinated, slipped the shirt up to reveal the angel's midsection. He bent down and softly kissed Cas on the belly. Cas writhed very slightly, but didn't protest. Then Dean slowly, very slowly, pushed up the shirt, taking time to kiss and nuzzle his way up Cas's torso.
He paused when he had gotten to the level of Cas's heart, glancing up at Cas, who was regarding him curiously. Dean frowned, wondering if this had been a giant, celestial mistake.
“Dean?” said Cas at last.
“Yeah?”
“Isn't it traditional to begin this kind of thing with kisses applied to the lips?” asked Cas, pointing to his own face.
“I'm not a traditionalist,” laughed Dean. Cas locked eyes with him for a moment.
“I am,” said Cas. He smiled, ever so slightly. And pulled Dean towards him.
