Seven Hells, Part 1 of ?
Jan. 3rd, 2013 11:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Seven Hells, Part 1 of ?
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikific
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam, Garth, Kevin, Linda Tran, Benny, Crowley, Meg, Inias, Naomi, Metatron, Odin, Kali
Warnings: Cursing. Sexual situations. Spoilers up to 8.08, and then we veer off into an AU and never return. There are some OCs here: they don’t slash the Winchesters, but if that’s the kind of thing you hate, you should go read something else.
Word Count: 80,000
Summary: Sam, Dean and Cas, along with some very unlikely allies, battle with Crowley over the Word of God. But the boys soon discover there is another, more malignant threat looming in the shadows.
Notes: I’m not usually not insane enough to write stuff set during the current season as it’s liable to get borked by the next episode, but here I go. Glad to have it out of my system.
“This might be Norway's first ever gold medal in this event,” came the announcement over the PA.
“What sport are we even watching again?” Peggy leaned back in the bleachers and used her broad-brimmed hat as a fan.
“Show jumping,” said her friend Sue, reading from the program.
“Show jumping? Like a Broadway show? It would be more interesting if the horses formed a kick line.” Peggy watched man and horse jump and trot and canter around the course with a great amount of disinterest while her friend eagerly thumbed her iPhone. “You sure you don't wanna get over to team diving? It's the men's semifinals.”
“In a minute. You know what it says on this guy's Wikipedia page, Pegs?”
“Yeah? Some Olympic drip has a Wikipedia page?”
“This guy is not only their team captain, he's a successful businessman, and Norway's most eligible bachelor.”
Peggy laughed and sipped at her plastic cup of watery ice tea. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
“He’s not gay, Peg. He's got TMZ entries. He's been dating like just about every princess and actress and society chick in Europe.”
Peggy focused her eyes back on the course. “Why have I never heard of him?”
The rider had finished the course and he and the horse were now off to the side, eagerly awaiting the score. A round of cheers went up as the electronic scoreboard flashed. Sue squinted at the rider through her field glasses as he gave thumbs up. “He kinda looks like Dr. Hunt. You know. From Dr. Sexy MD?”
Peggy snatched the binoculars away from her friend and stared as well. Yes, he did look like the actor – whatsisname, some British guy – who played Dr. Hunt: tall and 40-ish, with icy clear blue eyes and close cropped reddish hair and beard.
And then Peggy sat back and snorted. “Well, now he's dating Liz Taylor, I guess.”
“What?” Sue grabbed her field glasses back and took a look. “Dr. Hunt” had dismounted, and a dark-haired woman had emerged from the crowd to talk to him. Peggy was right, she was dressed like some kind of 50s movie star. She was wearing an oversized pair of sunglasses, but took them off to reveal what, even from this distance, you could tell was a stunning pair of blue eyes. She extended a delicate hand towards the rider, and they shook and began to chat.
“Dr. Hunt’s being chatted up by Liz Fucking Taylor?” grumbled Sue. “Fuck me.”
“You wanna get over to the men's diving?” asked Peggy, who was already standing. “Speedos!”
“Sure.” Sue departed with her friend, leaving the glossy equestrian program sitting on the bleacher, where it promptly blew away.
"Exactly how many of these fucking tablets are there?" Dean demanded, his knuckles white, gripping the steering wheel. He knew the answer pretty damn well, as he was currently staring down at the hard-won handwritten list, sitting on the upholstery between him and his brother. Compiling the list had cost them: in time and blood and even Cas's currently sputtering angel mojo.
"Well," Sam, sitting beside him, allowed. "Evidently, there's a compendium."
"And what does that mean, Mr. Wizard?"
"A compendium is a collection-"
"I know what the word compendium means!" Dean fumed. Sam gripped the door handle as they hit a corner way too fast, but he knew enough not to bring it up when his brother was like this. Dean rambled on. "First there was one tablet, and then there's two tablets, and then there's a tablet and a half.... And now we got a fucking grocery list? Pick up some beer and chips and a Tablet of The Lord? Maybe they'd start selling the fucking things at 7-11! We could just grab a six-pack when we buy gas.”
Sam counted his lucky stars as Dean's tirade was interrupted by the soft flutter of wings. "Hello Dean. Hello Sam."
"Cas! How many fucking tablets did your father write, anyway?"
Castiel answered from his place in the back seat. "Metatron left a compendium. That means...."
"I KNOW WHAT A COMPENDIUM IS."
Cas was thrown to the side as the Impala rounded another corner about five miles faster than the engineering really allowed, thus sending the back wheels into a kind of slalom. Cas shot an inquiring glance at Sam, who shrugged sympathetically.
"My father could be ... prolix," Cas attempted. Sam tried desperately to hide his smile.
"Prolix? God was on meds?" said Dean. “Great, the Lord is a manic depressive.”
Cas looked again to Sam, who was now quivering with silent laughter. The angel cleared his throat. "The repository is right ahead," Cas told them. "I sense that something is happening in the vicinity."
"Something good, or something bad, Deanna Troi?" asked Dean. Cas blinked in confusion. "Knowing our luck, let me guess...." But he didn't have to guess, as it was pretty clear when they rounded the last bend that the parties casually milling around the ancient church weren't entirely human. At least, not any more.
"Fucking Crowley," muttered Dean. "Fucking fucking fucking son of a bitch."
"I could not have put it so eloquently," stated Cas. Sam looked back, but could see no sign the angel was anything but sincere. Cas was thrown forward, as was Sam, when the car screeched to a halt. Cas recovered himself quickly. "Since we are obviously late on the scene, I'd suggest that I deal with the beings outside, and you and Sam proceed inside to gauge the situation?"
"Can you handle them all, Cas?" Dean had shut off the engine and then twisted all the way around to look Cas in the eye when he said it. Cas putting himself on the line had become a ... thing between the two of them since the angel had limped back from Purgatory. He'd been having issues with his mojo, that was true, but there was also an undercurrent there. Sam, for his part, tried to avoid getting tangled up in the profound bond as best he could.
Cas's eyes seemed to go out of focus, and he squinted, like he was either peering at something on the celestial plane, or preparing for a gunfight against Clint Eastwood in a spaghetti western. Then his eyes were back, locked with Dean's. "Yes," he finally said, in a tone that brooked no arguments. “I can handle them all.”
More eye-lock. Dean was the first to blink. "Sounds like a plan,” he said gruffly. Then Dean was out the door, not waiting for Sam's opinion. Hearing the whisper of wings, Sam looked back and realized Cas had already split as well. Sam hurried after Dean, trying to put aside the worry that there seemed to be an awful lot of demons hanging around, whereas they had only one seraphic buddy. He focused instead on what they might encounter inside as they ran up the church steps.
He didn't have to wonder for very long: something blindsided Dean the moment he stepped into the vestibule. Sam heard a thump and a skid as one of Dean's many hidden weapons went flying off.
"So much for sacred ground," muttered Sam as he rushed to pull the dude off his brother. He jerked the guy's head back and Dean decapitated him. Two more attackers rushed in. The demon-killing knife and Dean's axe had them after a brief scuffle.
The brothers rushed into the nave to confront a veritable demon cocktail party milling around the church. Dean pointed. The tablet was sitting right out in the open up on the altar.
Demons tend to be stupid creatures, but not quite that stupid, so the demons at the altar hadn't actually grabbed the thing yet. They were frowning at it, looking around nervously (if demons can ever be said to be nervous), as if they couldn't quite believe snatching it would be this easy.
Sam and Dean broke into a run, tearing towards the altar, but weren't even halfway up the aisle when one of the milling mooks spotted them and thrust a hand out towards them. The psychic blow tripped Sam, but hit Dean full force, sending him careening over the pews and smacking into the wall. He crumpled to the ground. Sam recovered his footing, hoped up on a pew, ran the guy down and tackled him before he could recharge. After a couple moments of mad grappling, Ruby's knife hit home, and the demon was snuffed out with a whiff of sulfur. Sam scrambled to his feet and began rushing the altar again, only to get decked by another demon using The Force. Sam fell flat, the wind knocked out of him, cursing that fate had not at least granted him a cool lightsaber to deal with this kind of shit.
He grabbed the back of the pew and once more forced himself to his feet, just as one of the demons up front chanced grabbing for the tablet.
All of a sudden, there was a redheaded girl standing there. She looked like some kind of art student, as she was clad head to toe in black thrift store finds - black shirt, black scarf, black skirt, black leggings - and then something Sam had never ever understood, a couple of big steel toed boots. Why would you wear a dress with a pair of lumberjack boots? Seriously, did girls think that was attractive?
She also held two small swords, one in each hand. She was sticking the point of one under the throat of a mightily amused demon: the one holding the tablet, Mr. Grabby Hands.
"I am Ruth, Acting Guardian of the Tablet, three hundred twenty-second of the blood. Yield ... Or die."
The demon's baffled look turned malignant. "Fuck off, bitch," he said, waving a hand to blast her away.
She somehow ducked the smiting force, but stepped back a pace and sighed, saying to no one in particular, "Dammit, I warned him! Why do they never listen?"
The demon scowled and held up a smiting hand once again.
And then Ruth kicked him. In the neck. And Sam figured out what the deal was with the steel-toed boots.
While Sam stood there, sore and still slightly stunned, she stuck the downed demon in the chest with one of her blades. The sword was evidently magical, like Ruby's knife, as light emitted from the demon, who promptly burnt out and died. But Ruth was already off, leaping over the altar and sticking a couple more stunned demons with the business end of the swords.
Sam gave up any thought of assisting her when he heard his brother moan and stir, so he ran over to help Dean to his feet. "Tablet?" Dean muttered, spitting blood.
"Uh, I think Little Red's got it," Sam told him, pointing towards the chancel, where Ruth, now moving like a miraculous demon-smacking art college whirlwind, was sticking two henchmen at once. The demons had wised up somewhat, and had stopped rushing her headlong, but it was still more of a massacre than a fight. "Huh," said Dean. "So they got a ninja chick in combat boots protecting it?"
The attacking party had now been reduced to one guy, who stood fairly quaking while Ruth held him by the collar, sword pushing at a pulse point on his neck. "Congratulations, you're last demon standing" she told him. "So what you're gonna do, you're gonna toddle back to Crowley, now, and tell your boss what happens to light-fingered idiots who come too close to my tablet. Understood?"
The demon nodded, a thin trail of blood leaking out from beneath the blade.
"Now!" she barked, and suddenly the dude threw back his head and vomited a great deal of foul-smelling black smoke. And then his body crumpled at her feet, a marionette with cut strings. She crouched down and checked his pulse. Dean patted Sam on the shoulder, and the brothers approached the altar.
"Dammit! Why do they never listen? I told them, 'yield or die.' I mean, you heard me, right? 'Yield or die.'" She stood up and looked at Sam and Dean, a pleading expression on her face.
"Yeah, I heard," said Sam, noticing that, for absolutely no reason, random bits of her hair were dyed blue. Art school. "Is that guy a goner?" he asked, pointing to the body at her feet.
She nodded sadly. "Poor bastard. It used to be, sometimes they'd wake up. Now, look at the mess I gotta deal with." She waved an arm, indicating all the downed demons that littered the floor.
"You the protector of this tablet then?" Dean asked.
"Yeah. I'm Ruth, the Acting Guardian of the Tablet of Nebuchadnezzar. Blah blah blah...."
"Dean. This is my brother, Sam."
"Hey. Oh! Are you the Winchesters?" The brothers nodded. "Cool. I've heard of you."
"What exactly do you mean by acting guardian?" asked Dean, narrowing his eyes.
"Acting guardian. Yeah. Long story." She shoved the swords into her belt, which was, unsurprisingly, black. "Hey you guys wanna beer?" She was wandering into the area in back of the altar.
Sam hesitated. "Should we check on Cas?" he asked Dean, who nodded.
"Your angel? No worries. He's fine," sang Ruth. "He's probably on his way." Ruth crouched down and opened the door of a mini-fridge tucked into the sacristy and grabbed an armload of beer bottles. She came back, dumping them on the altar beside the tablet, and pressed two towards the brothers. She then sat down on the altar beside the tablet, propping her feet up on a dead demon's body as she untwisted the cap and flung it away.
"You know," said Dean, who stood uncomfortably holding a beer bottle, "you could put down salt lines and warding signs to keep those guys away."
Ruth heaved a sigh. "Eh. I put up a salt line, they break it. Draw a sigil, they scratch it out. That magical stuff's pretty useless, you ask me. I'll tell you what Crowley understands. He understands getting his ass handed to him."
"Sam! Dean!" It was extremely weird seeing Cas run, but that was exactly what he was doing right now, galloping between the pews, coat tails flowing in back of him like wings. He stopped short when he realized he was surrounded by many, many dead demons and two very live brothers.
"We're OK," Dean told him, waving a beer bottle for emphasis as the angel craned his neck in confusion. "You deal with the bastards outside?"
"Yes. There were many of them, but-"
"No worries. They've been taken care of," said Ruth, waving a hand. "You wanna beer, Mr. Angel?"
"Castiel," said Cas.
"Wanna beer, Castiel?" asked Ruth, who was already up, pressing a bottle into the confused angel of the Lord's hands.
"So, you were telling us how you got to be guardian," Dean pressed.
Ruth settled herself back down, and, now that Castiel was accounted for, Dean seated himself on a front pew and opened his beer, although he avoided using a demon as a footstool. "I'm basically the last living member of my bloodline. I mean, the last one who's come of age. So the job sort of fell in my lap. Unfortunately, my résumé isn't quite up to snuff." Ruth raised an eyebrow.
"How is that?" asked Sam, who had started to untwist his beer cap. He took a sip. Good stuff, not the Pabst Blue Ribbon crap he was expecting from a hipster Guardian.
She snickered. "You need a penis. Evidently. So I'm keeping the chair warm. At least until one of my male cousins grows up and takes over from frail little me."
"So. How did your family get the job?" asked Dean.
"Oh, that part is easy!" She turned to Cas, who was still standing, somewhat flustered, holding an unopened beer bottle, and gave him a "come on" gesture. "Hey. Try and smite me. Go ahead."
Cas looked at Dean, and then back at Ruth, who grabbed his empty hand and smacked it on her forehead. "Come on! Smite away!"
Cas seemed to check with Dean once more. Dean shrugged. Cas looked back at Ruth, steeled himself, and then closed his eyes, opening them again in a moment. He seemed nonplussed to see Ruth still sitting there, completely un-smitten, grinning at him. He scowled. He set the beer bottle down on the altar, repositioned his hand and shut his eyes again. Nothing. Then he glowered and slammed both hands on her forehead and actually grunted.
"Cas!" said Dean, grabbing the mightily frustrated angel under the armpits and hauling him back a pace or two. "Enough with the smiting.”
"See?" Said Ruth, slapping her forehead. "Smite proof!"
"What the hell?" asked Dean.
"I got the mark." Ruth began to roll up her sleeve, revealing something that looked like an elaborate tattoo on the underside of her forearm.
"You're a Deatheater?" asked Dean.
Ruth howled with laughter.
"This is the Mark of Cain," said Cas, who had stepped forward again to peer curiously at her. Ruth offered up her forearm, and he took it up, running a thumb over the mark. "I can't remember the last time I beheld this," he muttered, voice filled with wonder.
Dean once again pulled Cas off Ruth. "Don't grope the guardian." Cas, as he so frequently did, looked confused.
Sam scoured his memories. "The original murderer. So, angel mojo doesn't work on you?"
Ruth nodded. "Angel. Demon. Witches. Vampires. Voldemorte. What have you. We're all immune to magic."
"So how did all your male relatives end up dead?" asked Sam. "I thought the mark prevented people from killing you?"
"Another thing your Bible did not quite get right," Cas noted. He picked up the beer bottle and untwisted the cap, and then sniffed at it curiously.
Ruth nodded. "Yeah, it just promises sevenfold vengeance if you do kill one of us. You think a demon gives a shit about that? You behead us, we’re still just as dead. Anyway, I've got some cousins, it's just they're all underaged at the mo'. They're going through training, so I imagine they'll duel to the death or something to claim this position.”
“To the death...?” asked Dean as Cas took a big swig of beer.
“Hey, you guys wanna see a magic trick?” asked Ruth. She pulled a large gold coin out of her pocket, and then made a big show of palming it and then rippling it back and forth over her knuckles.
“Is it an enchanted coin?” asked Cas after she had pulled it out of his ear.
“It's a magic trick, Cas,” Sam assured him. “I mean, not real magic. Like magician magic. Uh....”
Everyone suddenly turned, weapons raised, as a new presence materialized in shadows of the room. He was tall, dark-haired and dark-eyed, although it was difficult to make out his facial features in the dimness.
Ruth spun around, but then immediately lowered her swords. "Oh, Bibi, it's you. Don't sneak up on me like that."
"I saw you outside," Cas told the new being. “You helped me.” Dean stared at Cas, and then turned to stare at the new guy.
Bibi nodded. "Yeah. I saw you as well, engaging the demons, mate. I realized at once that you didn’t need any help, but thought you wouldn’t mind if I were to smite one or two myself." He spoke with a British accent.
"Your assistance was much appreciated," said Cas.
"Sri Vibhishana," said the dark man, giving a slight bow. "At your service."
“Castiel,” said Cas. “And my friends, Sam and Dean Winchester.”
"OK, you two, get a room," Dean muttered. He received a glare from Cas.
Sam looked Bibi up and down. "You're a demon."
"Bibi's a Rakshasa," Ruth corrected.
"Near enough the same thing," smiled Bibi, seating himself in a dark corner near the altar. "What’s important here is that I am not one of that lot." He waved a hand, indicating Crowley's ex-minions.
"I told them, 'yield or die!' I told them." Ruth tossed him a beer.
"They never listen," Bibi commiserated, catching the beer one-handed. "Pity. For them."
"I bet if I were a guy they would listen!”
"So wait just a minute," Dean scolded. "You're guardian of the Word of God, and you're working with a demon."
Ruth and Bibi exchanged a glance. Sam noticed there was absolutely nothing surreptitious about it. Ruth nodded. Bibi sat back in the shadows, or perhaps the shadows grew to enfold him. "We have, you might say, a shared interest." The demon's face was lost in the dark, but you could easily see his smile. His teeth were straight and white.
"Don't underestimate Crowley," Sam told them. "We've made that mistake before."
"Pffft. Crowley," grumbled Ruth, who made an obscene gesture.
Dean took a large gulp of his beer. "Hey. He's a douche, but he is the king of hell."
"Crowley serves as the current regent of a hell," Bibi corrected him. "My family would have words with the little wanker."
Dean shot a confused glance at Sam, who only shook his head.
"Could we ask a favor of you?" said Sam. Ruth nodded. “We have the prophet, Kevin, under our protection. Would you mind if we brought him in to take a look at your tablet?”
Ruth shrugged. “Sure thing, bring him by. I'd be interested to see what the stupid thing actually says. Would be funny if it's all a pumpkin pie recipe.” Bibi, drinking beer in the shadows of the corner, chuckled.
Cas had winked out to give the premises a final inspection, so Dean and Sam walked down the front the stairs together.
“I guess we can cross this one off the list,” Sam told Dean.
“Whaddya mean?” Dean grumbled.
“I meant-”
"Son of a bitch!"
Sam stared at his brother, who had stopped dead, patting his coat. "What is it?"
"One of my knives," grumbled Dean.
"Dude, you’re a walking silverware drawer. Probably slipped out when that first guy decked you," said Sam. “I think I heard it.”
Dean was already running back up the steps. "I'll just grab it and come back out." Sam shrugged and stayed put as Dean re-entered the church.
Dean spotted the glint of the knife right in the entryway. He crouched down to retrieve it. He inserted it back in his jacket and turned towards the door. He paused. There were noises coming from within the church. He walked to the vestibule doorway. The door was ajar.
The sound turned out to be dance music. Old fashioned stuff, like you might see WW II couples dancing to.
And, visible up by the altar, Ruth was dancing. With Bibi. They both looked like people who knew how to dance too, not just hanging off each other, but doing real steps. Dean rolled his eyes. Show-offs.
And then the music slowed.
Bibi dipped Ruth.
And they kissed.
“Son of a-”
Wings fluttered. “Dean.”
Dean instantly had a hand over Cas's mouth. He walked the angel to the door and outside before he removed it.
“Dean?” asked Cas.
Dean gestured back towards the door. “Great. We can add in forbidden love to the mix.”
Cas peered at Dean. “Why should love be forbidden?”
“Because she's a human and he's a demon! You know, like Romeo and Juliet?”
“Did you actually read Romeo and Juliet?” Sam, who was waiting at the bottom of the steps, asked.
Dean shook his head. “No, but I saw the Leo DeCaprio movie.”
“What's going on, anyway?” asked Sam, looking back and for the between Cas and Dean.
“Those two, Ruth and Bibi-whatever, are involved. Like a couple. Like, a couple couple!”
“Yeah, I got that,” said Sam.
Dean rounded on him. “What? You knew they were doing the nasty?”
Sam shrugged his wide shoulders. “Duh. It was kind of obvious.”
“Not to me. Damn. We should have ganked him.”
“Why?” asked Cas.
“Dean. The guy is on our side,” Sam pointed out. “And it's not as if we've got a ton of allies right now. Living allies.”
“Sammy, it's a girl and a demon! It's not gonna end well.”
Sam crossed his arms and glared down at his brother. “Dean, are you worrying about the tablet, or their relationship.”
“Well. Both. But mostly the tablet.”
Dean paused in the bathroom, wondering why his pajamas always seemed to get torn just at the moment they were finally getting comfortable. He put his foot up on the toilet seat and stuck a finger into the rip that ran across the knee.
He emerged from the bathroom. "Hey, do I look sexy in my torn pants?"
"Yes, Dean. You appear very sexy."
Dean scowled and sat down on the bed beside Cas, who was sitting more or less exactly where Dean had left him half an hour ago, covers bunched up around his waist. He was hunched over Sam's laptop, his brow furrowed with angelic concentration.
"You didn't look," said Dean.
Cas stopped whatever the hell he was doing on the computer and regarded Dean's knee, poking a finger at the frayed material. "Yes. Very sexy." And then the angel-focus was back to the laptop.
Dean started feeling obnoxious. He curled over to lie beside Cas, and began tugging down the covers around the angel's waist. Seeing nothing but further expanses of angel skin, he asked, "Did you even bother to get dressed?"
"No. I didn't bother getting dressed." Dean flopped over on his back and chortled. "Should I have?" asked Cas, a note of irritation creeping into his voice.
"No. Just don't let on to Sammy you're using his laptop without your pants."
"Why should that matter?"
"Don't blame me if he objects when you give it back to him with ball-prints on the case."
Cas stared at Dean, his expression unreadable. "Have you told Sam?"
"Told him what? asked Dean, although he knew damn well what.
"About us?"
Dean squirmed. "Uh…."
"I'll take that as a no."
Dean tried to buy time. "It's just ... I'm not sure what this is. So I dunno what I would say." He wriggled around to lie on his belly. "You want me to tell him?"
"I am certain you know what is best,” Cas stated crisply.
"That's not an answer. Hey, what are you doing anyway?"
"Research."
"Oh, you found a good angel porn site?" Dean scooted up so he could peek at the computer screen, a move he immediately regretted. "Cas, WHAT THE HELL?" Dean was sitting over on the edge of the bed, clutching his stomach, trying not to hurl from vertigo.
Castiel regarded him, and then glanced back at the laptop screen. There were tabs upon tabs upon tabs opened, seemingly not just in the screen's two dimensions, but somehow sticking out and going back into the screen, twisting around in a kind of infinite hall of mirrors. It looked like an eighty car pile-up on the information superhighway.
"What?" asked Cas, all innocence, the corner of his lip twitching upwards.
"How the hell did you even do that?" Dean pressed his stomach and tried to push down the wave of nausea.
"I have found the computer to be a very useful tool." And there was just enough of a hint of smugness there that Dean reached over and slammed the laptop shut, glaring at Cas. He grabbed the computer and carefully set it aside on an end table, and the took its place on Cas's lap. He put a hand on the angel's face.
"Are you attempting to initiate sexual relations, Dean? You just completed showering," Cas pointed out sensibly.
"You need a distraction. You've obviously been researching too hard. What the hell were you looking up, anyway?"
"Vhibishana," said Cas.
A dark look crossed Dean's face.
"You had well-founded issues of trust with him. I’ve done some inquiry into his background, as I am unfamiliar with his pantheon. Despite his status as a demon, he has followed a path of virtue."
Dean's expression darkened still further. "Bully for him."
“Dean. Bibi went against his own brothers – his family – when he felt it was the right course of action.”
Dean bristled, leaning back. “Oh, we're calling him Bibi. So he's your new demon buddy?”
"I don't think you could deny, I could benefit from some ... guidance, Dean." The last was said with an infinite sadness. But then Dean was kissing him. "Dean?"
"You need a tattoo."
Cas did the head-tilt thing, pushing Dean back a fraction. "I'm sorry?
"Like this." Dean put two fingers on his own T-shirt collar and pulled down displaying the edge of his anti-possession tattoo.
"Dean, as you know, I am not a likely target of possession."
"You know," said Dean, running his hands slowly over Cas's rib cage, "you scratched those sigils all over my ribs."
"Yes. To protect you. And your brother-"
"I need something, maybe here." Dean traced a finger over Cas's chest.
Cas squinted down. "Yes...?"
"Property of Dean Winchester. Fuck. Off. Bitches." Dean tapped out the imaginary letters.
The edge of Cas's mouth twitched up, just a fraction. "That's a long message. On my chest?"
From the very slight rise in his voice at the end of the sentence, Dean realized that he had succeeded in rattling the angel. Which may have been his intent all along. "Or we could put it somewhere else."
They were kissing again.
"Where?" It was barely a whisper.
"Maybe your inner thigh."
"That sounds painful."
"Would you like that?"
It happened in an instant: Cas was suddenly lying on top of him, gripping Dean's wrists up above his head, and Dean felt the weight of untold thousands of years staring down at him.
"I might," whispered Cas.
Afterwards, they were lying in a tangle. "Cas?"
"Yes?" There was really no need to check if the angel was awake. Angels never sleep. Dean did it out of habit.
"What did Bibi-whatever mean by Crowley is king of a hell. Isn't there only one? I mean, I got some experience there."
"It's ... complicated."
Dean rose up on one elbow. "Hey! OK, I know I'm not Sam. But isn't there Hell for Idiots version you could give me?”
The angel almost smiled. "You are anything but stupid, Dean. If anything, your fault is a kind of impatience. Which is common in the highly intelligent."
Dean was quiet. Had Cas just called him smart? He dismissed the possibility as another instance of misunderstanding Angel Speak. “Multiple Hells, Cas,” he prodded quietly.
Cas was quiet for a moment, as if his brain computer was buffering something. “You and your brother have encountered multiple gods, haven’t you, Dean?” Dean nodded. “Has it occurred to you before, the seeming contradiction? There is one God, and yet there are gods?” Dean nodded. It hadn’t occurred to him to get philosophical like that, but now that Cas mentioned it…. “They are all aspects of my Father. As is indeed everything in creation.”
“So the pagan gods … are part of God?” Dean started idly tracing out the Property of Dean Winchester Stay Back Motherfuckers line on Cas’s chest.
Cas peered down at his chest and frowned, as if he were privy to what Dean’s imagination was conjuring. “Yes. The pagan gods derive their essence from Him, but they also glean a certain amount of power from human belief. This is something fundamental about Creation that changed when my Father created you, beings with free will. These creatures were able to harness a certain amount of the collective will. That is one reason why the pagan gods you have probably dealt with have been in a somewhat … diminished state.”
“Fewer believers,” said Dean. He had now progressed to And This Stomach is Dean’s Too.
“And you are also aware that heaven, too, is multiform?”
“You mean that everybody has their own little patch of heaven? Yeah. That one I know from experience.”
“Everyone … wills a certain aspect of heaven.”
“And hell is like that too? You mean I picked where I wanted to go in hell? Because that’s not what I remember.”
“You were an exception, to an extent, due to the bargain with the crossroads demon. But, yes, a certain portion of your experience could be attributed to your expectations.”
“Why didn’t I know this? I could have expected strippers and cold beer!”
“That’s not quite how it works, I think,” said Cas. “And your beliefs are fairly static, Dean.”
“I did it to myself?”
“No! Dean, don’t twist what I’ve said to accentuate your already ever-present self-loathing!”
Dean looked up at Cas’s face. The angel was glaring up at him with a kind of celestial fury. “OK.”
“And … what you’re currently doing is distracting.”
“Oh. You want me to stop?”
“Well….”
Dean grinned.
Cas sighed and looked as if he was attempting to focus. “Other people, who have differing expectations, who perhaps spent their formative years in other cultures, in other parts of the world, would have a different experience of hell. So, yes, there are multiples.”
Dean traced his fingers along the lips that he also considered his personal property. And then he stopped. “How many?”
“What?”
“How many hells?”
Cas closed his eyes. “It’s variable throughout history. My best estimate, given the current conditions, is seven.”
“Seven hells. And, do you think the other CEOs of hell all despise Crowley?”
“That is quite possible.” Cas managed between Dean pressing down on his own personal lips. “Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“You really wish me … to get a tattoo?”
Dean pulled back. There was something plaintive about the statement. “You wanna get a tattoo?”
“What? No! I mean….”
“This will be great. Look, I know of a great artist. You'll look sweet.”
Cas didn’t look at all certain.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikific
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam, Garth, Kevin, Linda Tran, Benny, Crowley, Meg, Inias, Naomi, Metatron, Odin, Kali
Warnings: Cursing. Sexual situations. Spoilers up to 8.08, and then we veer off into an AU and never return. There are some OCs here: they don’t slash the Winchesters, but if that’s the kind of thing you hate, you should go read something else.
Word Count: 80,000
Summary: Sam, Dean and Cas, along with some very unlikely allies, battle with Crowley over the Word of God. But the boys soon discover there is another, more malignant threat looming in the shadows.
Notes: I’m not usually not insane enough to write stuff set during the current season as it’s liable to get borked by the next episode, but here I go. Glad to have it out of my system.
“This might be Norway's first ever gold medal in this event,” came the announcement over the PA.
“What sport are we even watching again?” Peggy leaned back in the bleachers and used her broad-brimmed hat as a fan.
“Show jumping,” said her friend Sue, reading from the program.
“Show jumping? Like a Broadway show? It would be more interesting if the horses formed a kick line.” Peggy watched man and horse jump and trot and canter around the course with a great amount of disinterest while her friend eagerly thumbed her iPhone. “You sure you don't wanna get over to team diving? It's the men's semifinals.”
“In a minute. You know what it says on this guy's Wikipedia page, Pegs?”
“Yeah? Some Olympic drip has a Wikipedia page?”
“This guy is not only their team captain, he's a successful businessman, and Norway's most eligible bachelor.”
Peggy laughed and sipped at her plastic cup of watery ice tea. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
“He’s not gay, Peg. He's got TMZ entries. He's been dating like just about every princess and actress and society chick in Europe.”
Peggy focused her eyes back on the course. “Why have I never heard of him?”
The rider had finished the course and he and the horse were now off to the side, eagerly awaiting the score. A round of cheers went up as the electronic scoreboard flashed. Sue squinted at the rider through her field glasses as he gave thumbs up. “He kinda looks like Dr. Hunt. You know. From Dr. Sexy MD?”
Peggy snatched the binoculars away from her friend and stared as well. Yes, he did look like the actor – whatsisname, some British guy – who played Dr. Hunt: tall and 40-ish, with icy clear blue eyes and close cropped reddish hair and beard.
And then Peggy sat back and snorted. “Well, now he's dating Liz Taylor, I guess.”
“What?” Sue grabbed her field glasses back and took a look. “Dr. Hunt” had dismounted, and a dark-haired woman had emerged from the crowd to talk to him. Peggy was right, she was dressed like some kind of 50s movie star. She was wearing an oversized pair of sunglasses, but took them off to reveal what, even from this distance, you could tell was a stunning pair of blue eyes. She extended a delicate hand towards the rider, and they shook and began to chat.
“Dr. Hunt’s being chatted up by Liz Fucking Taylor?” grumbled Sue. “Fuck me.”
“You wanna get over to the men's diving?” asked Peggy, who was already standing. “Speedos!”
“Sure.” Sue departed with her friend, leaving the glossy equestrian program sitting on the bleacher, where it promptly blew away.
"Exactly how many of these fucking tablets are there?" Dean demanded, his knuckles white, gripping the steering wheel. He knew the answer pretty damn well, as he was currently staring down at the hard-won handwritten list, sitting on the upholstery between him and his brother. Compiling the list had cost them: in time and blood and even Cas's currently sputtering angel mojo.
"Well," Sam, sitting beside him, allowed. "Evidently, there's a compendium."
"And what does that mean, Mr. Wizard?"
"A compendium is a collection-"
"I know what the word compendium means!" Dean fumed. Sam gripped the door handle as they hit a corner way too fast, but he knew enough not to bring it up when his brother was like this. Dean rambled on. "First there was one tablet, and then there's two tablets, and then there's a tablet and a half.... And now we got a fucking grocery list? Pick up some beer and chips and a Tablet of The Lord? Maybe they'd start selling the fucking things at 7-11! We could just grab a six-pack when we buy gas.”
Sam counted his lucky stars as Dean's tirade was interrupted by the soft flutter of wings. "Hello Dean. Hello Sam."
"Cas! How many fucking tablets did your father write, anyway?"
Castiel answered from his place in the back seat. "Metatron left a compendium. That means...."
"I KNOW WHAT A COMPENDIUM IS."
Cas was thrown to the side as the Impala rounded another corner about five miles faster than the engineering really allowed, thus sending the back wheels into a kind of slalom. Cas shot an inquiring glance at Sam, who shrugged sympathetically.
"My father could be ... prolix," Cas attempted. Sam tried desperately to hide his smile.
"Prolix? God was on meds?" said Dean. “Great, the Lord is a manic depressive.”
Cas looked again to Sam, who was now quivering with silent laughter. The angel cleared his throat. "The repository is right ahead," Cas told them. "I sense that something is happening in the vicinity."
"Something good, or something bad, Deanna Troi?" asked Dean. Cas blinked in confusion. "Knowing our luck, let me guess...." But he didn't have to guess, as it was pretty clear when they rounded the last bend that the parties casually milling around the ancient church weren't entirely human. At least, not any more.
"Fucking Crowley," muttered Dean. "Fucking fucking fucking son of a bitch."
"I could not have put it so eloquently," stated Cas. Sam looked back, but could see no sign the angel was anything but sincere. Cas was thrown forward, as was Sam, when the car screeched to a halt. Cas recovered himself quickly. "Since we are obviously late on the scene, I'd suggest that I deal with the beings outside, and you and Sam proceed inside to gauge the situation?"
"Can you handle them all, Cas?" Dean had shut off the engine and then twisted all the way around to look Cas in the eye when he said it. Cas putting himself on the line had become a ... thing between the two of them since the angel had limped back from Purgatory. He'd been having issues with his mojo, that was true, but there was also an undercurrent there. Sam, for his part, tried to avoid getting tangled up in the profound bond as best he could.
Cas's eyes seemed to go out of focus, and he squinted, like he was either peering at something on the celestial plane, or preparing for a gunfight against Clint Eastwood in a spaghetti western. Then his eyes were back, locked with Dean's. "Yes," he finally said, in a tone that brooked no arguments. “I can handle them all.”
More eye-lock. Dean was the first to blink. "Sounds like a plan,” he said gruffly. Then Dean was out the door, not waiting for Sam's opinion. Hearing the whisper of wings, Sam looked back and realized Cas had already split as well. Sam hurried after Dean, trying to put aside the worry that there seemed to be an awful lot of demons hanging around, whereas they had only one seraphic buddy. He focused instead on what they might encounter inside as they ran up the church steps.
He didn't have to wonder for very long: something blindsided Dean the moment he stepped into the vestibule. Sam heard a thump and a skid as one of Dean's many hidden weapons went flying off.
"So much for sacred ground," muttered Sam as he rushed to pull the dude off his brother. He jerked the guy's head back and Dean decapitated him. Two more attackers rushed in. The demon-killing knife and Dean's axe had them after a brief scuffle.
The brothers rushed into the nave to confront a veritable demon cocktail party milling around the church. Dean pointed. The tablet was sitting right out in the open up on the altar.
Demons tend to be stupid creatures, but not quite that stupid, so the demons at the altar hadn't actually grabbed the thing yet. They were frowning at it, looking around nervously (if demons can ever be said to be nervous), as if they couldn't quite believe snatching it would be this easy.
Sam and Dean broke into a run, tearing towards the altar, but weren't even halfway up the aisle when one of the milling mooks spotted them and thrust a hand out towards them. The psychic blow tripped Sam, but hit Dean full force, sending him careening over the pews and smacking into the wall. He crumpled to the ground. Sam recovered his footing, hoped up on a pew, ran the guy down and tackled him before he could recharge. After a couple moments of mad grappling, Ruby's knife hit home, and the demon was snuffed out with a whiff of sulfur. Sam scrambled to his feet and began rushing the altar again, only to get decked by another demon using The Force. Sam fell flat, the wind knocked out of him, cursing that fate had not at least granted him a cool lightsaber to deal with this kind of shit.
He grabbed the back of the pew and once more forced himself to his feet, just as one of the demons up front chanced grabbing for the tablet.
All of a sudden, there was a redheaded girl standing there. She looked like some kind of art student, as she was clad head to toe in black thrift store finds - black shirt, black scarf, black skirt, black leggings - and then something Sam had never ever understood, a couple of big steel toed boots. Why would you wear a dress with a pair of lumberjack boots? Seriously, did girls think that was attractive?
She also held two small swords, one in each hand. She was sticking the point of one under the throat of a mightily amused demon: the one holding the tablet, Mr. Grabby Hands.
"I am Ruth, Acting Guardian of the Tablet, three hundred twenty-second of the blood. Yield ... Or die."
The demon's baffled look turned malignant. "Fuck off, bitch," he said, waving a hand to blast her away.
She somehow ducked the smiting force, but stepped back a pace and sighed, saying to no one in particular, "Dammit, I warned him! Why do they never listen?"
The demon scowled and held up a smiting hand once again.
And then Ruth kicked him. In the neck. And Sam figured out what the deal was with the steel-toed boots.
While Sam stood there, sore and still slightly stunned, she stuck the downed demon in the chest with one of her blades. The sword was evidently magical, like Ruby's knife, as light emitted from the demon, who promptly burnt out and died. But Ruth was already off, leaping over the altar and sticking a couple more stunned demons with the business end of the swords.
Sam gave up any thought of assisting her when he heard his brother moan and stir, so he ran over to help Dean to his feet. "Tablet?" Dean muttered, spitting blood.
"Uh, I think Little Red's got it," Sam told him, pointing towards the chancel, where Ruth, now moving like a miraculous demon-smacking art college whirlwind, was sticking two henchmen at once. The demons had wised up somewhat, and had stopped rushing her headlong, but it was still more of a massacre than a fight. "Huh," said Dean. "So they got a ninja chick in combat boots protecting it?"
The attacking party had now been reduced to one guy, who stood fairly quaking while Ruth held him by the collar, sword pushing at a pulse point on his neck. "Congratulations, you're last demon standing" she told him. "So what you're gonna do, you're gonna toddle back to Crowley, now, and tell your boss what happens to light-fingered idiots who come too close to my tablet. Understood?"
The demon nodded, a thin trail of blood leaking out from beneath the blade.
"Now!" she barked, and suddenly the dude threw back his head and vomited a great deal of foul-smelling black smoke. And then his body crumpled at her feet, a marionette with cut strings. She crouched down and checked his pulse. Dean patted Sam on the shoulder, and the brothers approached the altar.
"Dammit! Why do they never listen? I told them, 'yield or die.' I mean, you heard me, right? 'Yield or die.'" She stood up and looked at Sam and Dean, a pleading expression on her face.
"Yeah, I heard," said Sam, noticing that, for absolutely no reason, random bits of her hair were dyed blue. Art school. "Is that guy a goner?" he asked, pointing to the body at her feet.
She nodded sadly. "Poor bastard. It used to be, sometimes they'd wake up. Now, look at the mess I gotta deal with." She waved an arm, indicating all the downed demons that littered the floor.
"You the protector of this tablet then?" Dean asked.
"Yeah. I'm Ruth, the Acting Guardian of the Tablet of Nebuchadnezzar. Blah blah blah...."
"Dean. This is my brother, Sam."
"Hey. Oh! Are you the Winchesters?" The brothers nodded. "Cool. I've heard of you."
"What exactly do you mean by acting guardian?" asked Dean, narrowing his eyes.
"Acting guardian. Yeah. Long story." She shoved the swords into her belt, which was, unsurprisingly, black. "Hey you guys wanna beer?" She was wandering into the area in back of the altar.
Sam hesitated. "Should we check on Cas?" he asked Dean, who nodded.
"Your angel? No worries. He's fine," sang Ruth. "He's probably on his way." Ruth crouched down and opened the door of a mini-fridge tucked into the sacristy and grabbed an armload of beer bottles. She came back, dumping them on the altar beside the tablet, and pressed two towards the brothers. She then sat down on the altar beside the tablet, propping her feet up on a dead demon's body as she untwisted the cap and flung it away.
"You know," said Dean, who stood uncomfortably holding a beer bottle, "you could put down salt lines and warding signs to keep those guys away."
Ruth heaved a sigh. "Eh. I put up a salt line, they break it. Draw a sigil, they scratch it out. That magical stuff's pretty useless, you ask me. I'll tell you what Crowley understands. He understands getting his ass handed to him."
"Sam! Dean!" It was extremely weird seeing Cas run, but that was exactly what he was doing right now, galloping between the pews, coat tails flowing in back of him like wings. He stopped short when he realized he was surrounded by many, many dead demons and two very live brothers.
"We're OK," Dean told him, waving a beer bottle for emphasis as the angel craned his neck in confusion. "You deal with the bastards outside?"
"Yes. There were many of them, but-"
"No worries. They've been taken care of," said Ruth, waving a hand. "You wanna beer, Mr. Angel?"
"Castiel," said Cas.
"Wanna beer, Castiel?" asked Ruth, who was already up, pressing a bottle into the confused angel of the Lord's hands.
"So, you were telling us how you got to be guardian," Dean pressed.
Ruth settled herself back down, and, now that Castiel was accounted for, Dean seated himself on a front pew and opened his beer, although he avoided using a demon as a footstool. "I'm basically the last living member of my bloodline. I mean, the last one who's come of age. So the job sort of fell in my lap. Unfortunately, my résumé isn't quite up to snuff." Ruth raised an eyebrow.
"How is that?" asked Sam, who had started to untwist his beer cap. He took a sip. Good stuff, not the Pabst Blue Ribbon crap he was expecting from a hipster Guardian.
She snickered. "You need a penis. Evidently. So I'm keeping the chair warm. At least until one of my male cousins grows up and takes over from frail little me."
"So. How did your family get the job?" asked Dean.
"Oh, that part is easy!" She turned to Cas, who was still standing, somewhat flustered, holding an unopened beer bottle, and gave him a "come on" gesture. "Hey. Try and smite me. Go ahead."
Cas looked at Dean, and then back at Ruth, who grabbed his empty hand and smacked it on her forehead. "Come on! Smite away!"
Cas seemed to check with Dean once more. Dean shrugged. Cas looked back at Ruth, steeled himself, and then closed his eyes, opening them again in a moment. He seemed nonplussed to see Ruth still sitting there, completely un-smitten, grinning at him. He scowled. He set the beer bottle down on the altar, repositioned his hand and shut his eyes again. Nothing. Then he glowered and slammed both hands on her forehead and actually grunted.
"Cas!" said Dean, grabbing the mightily frustrated angel under the armpits and hauling him back a pace or two. "Enough with the smiting.”
"See?" Said Ruth, slapping her forehead. "Smite proof!"
"What the hell?" asked Dean.
"I got the mark." Ruth began to roll up her sleeve, revealing something that looked like an elaborate tattoo on the underside of her forearm.
"You're a Deatheater?" asked Dean.
Ruth howled with laughter.
"This is the Mark of Cain," said Cas, who had stepped forward again to peer curiously at her. Ruth offered up her forearm, and he took it up, running a thumb over the mark. "I can't remember the last time I beheld this," he muttered, voice filled with wonder.
Dean once again pulled Cas off Ruth. "Don't grope the guardian." Cas, as he so frequently did, looked confused.
Sam scoured his memories. "The original murderer. So, angel mojo doesn't work on you?"
Ruth nodded. "Angel. Demon. Witches. Vampires. Voldemorte. What have you. We're all immune to magic."
"So how did all your male relatives end up dead?" asked Sam. "I thought the mark prevented people from killing you?"
"Another thing your Bible did not quite get right," Cas noted. He picked up the beer bottle and untwisted the cap, and then sniffed at it curiously.
Ruth nodded. "Yeah, it just promises sevenfold vengeance if you do kill one of us. You think a demon gives a shit about that? You behead us, we’re still just as dead. Anyway, I've got some cousins, it's just they're all underaged at the mo'. They're going through training, so I imagine they'll duel to the death or something to claim this position.”
“To the death...?” asked Dean as Cas took a big swig of beer.
“Hey, you guys wanna see a magic trick?” asked Ruth. She pulled a large gold coin out of her pocket, and then made a big show of palming it and then rippling it back and forth over her knuckles.
“Is it an enchanted coin?” asked Cas after she had pulled it out of his ear.
“It's a magic trick, Cas,” Sam assured him. “I mean, not real magic. Like magician magic. Uh....”
Everyone suddenly turned, weapons raised, as a new presence materialized in shadows of the room. He was tall, dark-haired and dark-eyed, although it was difficult to make out his facial features in the dimness.
Ruth spun around, but then immediately lowered her swords. "Oh, Bibi, it's you. Don't sneak up on me like that."
"I saw you outside," Cas told the new being. “You helped me.” Dean stared at Cas, and then turned to stare at the new guy.
Bibi nodded. "Yeah. I saw you as well, engaging the demons, mate. I realized at once that you didn’t need any help, but thought you wouldn’t mind if I were to smite one or two myself." He spoke with a British accent.
"Your assistance was much appreciated," said Cas.
"Sri Vibhishana," said the dark man, giving a slight bow. "At your service."
“Castiel,” said Cas. “And my friends, Sam and Dean Winchester.”
"OK, you two, get a room," Dean muttered. He received a glare from Cas.
Sam looked Bibi up and down. "You're a demon."
"Bibi's a Rakshasa," Ruth corrected.
"Near enough the same thing," smiled Bibi, seating himself in a dark corner near the altar. "What’s important here is that I am not one of that lot." He waved a hand, indicating Crowley's ex-minions.
"I told them, 'yield or die!' I told them." Ruth tossed him a beer.
"They never listen," Bibi commiserated, catching the beer one-handed. "Pity. For them."
"I bet if I were a guy they would listen!”
"So wait just a minute," Dean scolded. "You're guardian of the Word of God, and you're working with a demon."
Ruth and Bibi exchanged a glance. Sam noticed there was absolutely nothing surreptitious about it. Ruth nodded. Bibi sat back in the shadows, or perhaps the shadows grew to enfold him. "We have, you might say, a shared interest." The demon's face was lost in the dark, but you could easily see his smile. His teeth were straight and white.
"Don't underestimate Crowley," Sam told them. "We've made that mistake before."
"Pffft. Crowley," grumbled Ruth, who made an obscene gesture.
Dean took a large gulp of his beer. "Hey. He's a douche, but he is the king of hell."
"Crowley serves as the current regent of a hell," Bibi corrected him. "My family would have words with the little wanker."
Dean shot a confused glance at Sam, who only shook his head.
"Could we ask a favor of you?" said Sam. Ruth nodded. “We have the prophet, Kevin, under our protection. Would you mind if we brought him in to take a look at your tablet?”
Ruth shrugged. “Sure thing, bring him by. I'd be interested to see what the stupid thing actually says. Would be funny if it's all a pumpkin pie recipe.” Bibi, drinking beer in the shadows of the corner, chuckled.
Cas had winked out to give the premises a final inspection, so Dean and Sam walked down the front the stairs together.
“I guess we can cross this one off the list,” Sam told Dean.
“Whaddya mean?” Dean grumbled.
“I meant-”
"Son of a bitch!"
Sam stared at his brother, who had stopped dead, patting his coat. "What is it?"
"One of my knives," grumbled Dean.
"Dude, you’re a walking silverware drawer. Probably slipped out when that first guy decked you," said Sam. “I think I heard it.”
Dean was already running back up the steps. "I'll just grab it and come back out." Sam shrugged and stayed put as Dean re-entered the church.
Dean spotted the glint of the knife right in the entryway. He crouched down to retrieve it. He inserted it back in his jacket and turned towards the door. He paused. There were noises coming from within the church. He walked to the vestibule doorway. The door was ajar.
The sound turned out to be dance music. Old fashioned stuff, like you might see WW II couples dancing to.
And, visible up by the altar, Ruth was dancing. With Bibi. They both looked like people who knew how to dance too, not just hanging off each other, but doing real steps. Dean rolled his eyes. Show-offs.
And then the music slowed.
Bibi dipped Ruth.
And they kissed.
“Son of a-”
Wings fluttered. “Dean.”
Dean instantly had a hand over Cas's mouth. He walked the angel to the door and outside before he removed it.
“Dean?” asked Cas.
Dean gestured back towards the door. “Great. We can add in forbidden love to the mix.”
Cas peered at Dean. “Why should love be forbidden?”
“Because she's a human and he's a demon! You know, like Romeo and Juliet?”
“Did you actually read Romeo and Juliet?” Sam, who was waiting at the bottom of the steps, asked.
Dean shook his head. “No, but I saw the Leo DeCaprio movie.”
“What's going on, anyway?” asked Sam, looking back and for the between Cas and Dean.
“Those two, Ruth and Bibi-whatever, are involved. Like a couple. Like, a couple couple!”
“Yeah, I got that,” said Sam.
Dean rounded on him. “What? You knew they were doing the nasty?”
Sam shrugged his wide shoulders. “Duh. It was kind of obvious.”
“Not to me. Damn. We should have ganked him.”
“Why?” asked Cas.
“Dean. The guy is on our side,” Sam pointed out. “And it's not as if we've got a ton of allies right now. Living allies.”
“Sammy, it's a girl and a demon! It's not gonna end well.”
Sam crossed his arms and glared down at his brother. “Dean, are you worrying about the tablet, or their relationship.”
“Well. Both. But mostly the tablet.”
Dean paused in the bathroom, wondering why his pajamas always seemed to get torn just at the moment they were finally getting comfortable. He put his foot up on the toilet seat and stuck a finger into the rip that ran across the knee.
He emerged from the bathroom. "Hey, do I look sexy in my torn pants?"
"Yes, Dean. You appear very sexy."
Dean scowled and sat down on the bed beside Cas, who was sitting more or less exactly where Dean had left him half an hour ago, covers bunched up around his waist. He was hunched over Sam's laptop, his brow furrowed with angelic concentration.
"You didn't look," said Dean.
Cas stopped whatever the hell he was doing on the computer and regarded Dean's knee, poking a finger at the frayed material. "Yes. Very sexy." And then the angel-focus was back to the laptop.
Dean started feeling obnoxious. He curled over to lie beside Cas, and began tugging down the covers around the angel's waist. Seeing nothing but further expanses of angel skin, he asked, "Did you even bother to get dressed?"
"No. I didn't bother getting dressed." Dean flopped over on his back and chortled. "Should I have?" asked Cas, a note of irritation creeping into his voice.
"No. Just don't let on to Sammy you're using his laptop without your pants."
"Why should that matter?"
"Don't blame me if he objects when you give it back to him with ball-prints on the case."
Cas stared at Dean, his expression unreadable. "Have you told Sam?"
"Told him what? asked Dean, although he knew damn well what.
"About us?"
Dean squirmed. "Uh…."
"I'll take that as a no."
Dean tried to buy time. "It's just ... I'm not sure what this is. So I dunno what I would say." He wriggled around to lie on his belly. "You want me to tell him?"
"I am certain you know what is best,” Cas stated crisply.
"That's not an answer. Hey, what are you doing anyway?"
"Research."
"Oh, you found a good angel porn site?" Dean scooted up so he could peek at the computer screen, a move he immediately regretted. "Cas, WHAT THE HELL?" Dean was sitting over on the edge of the bed, clutching his stomach, trying not to hurl from vertigo.
Castiel regarded him, and then glanced back at the laptop screen. There were tabs upon tabs upon tabs opened, seemingly not just in the screen's two dimensions, but somehow sticking out and going back into the screen, twisting around in a kind of infinite hall of mirrors. It looked like an eighty car pile-up on the information superhighway.
"What?" asked Cas, all innocence, the corner of his lip twitching upwards.
"How the hell did you even do that?" Dean pressed his stomach and tried to push down the wave of nausea.
"I have found the computer to be a very useful tool." And there was just enough of a hint of smugness there that Dean reached over and slammed the laptop shut, glaring at Cas. He grabbed the computer and carefully set it aside on an end table, and the took its place on Cas's lap. He put a hand on the angel's face.
"Are you attempting to initiate sexual relations, Dean? You just completed showering," Cas pointed out sensibly.
"You need a distraction. You've obviously been researching too hard. What the hell were you looking up, anyway?"
"Vhibishana," said Cas.
A dark look crossed Dean's face.
"You had well-founded issues of trust with him. I’ve done some inquiry into his background, as I am unfamiliar with his pantheon. Despite his status as a demon, he has followed a path of virtue."
Dean's expression darkened still further. "Bully for him."
“Dean. Bibi went against his own brothers – his family – when he felt it was the right course of action.”
Dean bristled, leaning back. “Oh, we're calling him Bibi. So he's your new demon buddy?”
"I don't think you could deny, I could benefit from some ... guidance, Dean." The last was said with an infinite sadness. But then Dean was kissing him. "Dean?"
"You need a tattoo."
Cas did the head-tilt thing, pushing Dean back a fraction. "I'm sorry?
"Like this." Dean put two fingers on his own T-shirt collar and pulled down displaying the edge of his anti-possession tattoo.
"Dean, as you know, I am not a likely target of possession."
"You know," said Dean, running his hands slowly over Cas's rib cage, "you scratched those sigils all over my ribs."
"Yes. To protect you. And your brother-"
"I need something, maybe here." Dean traced a finger over Cas's chest.
Cas squinted down. "Yes...?"
"Property of Dean Winchester. Fuck. Off. Bitches." Dean tapped out the imaginary letters.
The edge of Cas's mouth twitched up, just a fraction. "That's a long message. On my chest?"
From the very slight rise in his voice at the end of the sentence, Dean realized that he had succeeded in rattling the angel. Which may have been his intent all along. "Or we could put it somewhere else."
They were kissing again.
"Where?" It was barely a whisper.
"Maybe your inner thigh."
"That sounds painful."
"Would you like that?"
It happened in an instant: Cas was suddenly lying on top of him, gripping Dean's wrists up above his head, and Dean felt the weight of untold thousands of years staring down at him.
"I might," whispered Cas.
Afterwards, they were lying in a tangle. "Cas?"
"Yes?" There was really no need to check if the angel was awake. Angels never sleep. Dean did it out of habit.
"What did Bibi-whatever mean by Crowley is king of a hell. Isn't there only one? I mean, I got some experience there."
"It's ... complicated."
Dean rose up on one elbow. "Hey! OK, I know I'm not Sam. But isn't there Hell for Idiots version you could give me?”
The angel almost smiled. "You are anything but stupid, Dean. If anything, your fault is a kind of impatience. Which is common in the highly intelligent."
Dean was quiet. Had Cas just called him smart? He dismissed the possibility as another instance of misunderstanding Angel Speak. “Multiple Hells, Cas,” he prodded quietly.
Cas was quiet for a moment, as if his brain computer was buffering something. “You and your brother have encountered multiple gods, haven’t you, Dean?” Dean nodded. “Has it occurred to you before, the seeming contradiction? There is one God, and yet there are gods?” Dean nodded. It hadn’t occurred to him to get philosophical like that, but now that Cas mentioned it…. “They are all aspects of my Father. As is indeed everything in creation.”
“So the pagan gods … are part of God?” Dean started idly tracing out the Property of Dean Winchester Stay Back Motherfuckers line on Cas’s chest.
Cas peered down at his chest and frowned, as if he were privy to what Dean’s imagination was conjuring. “Yes. The pagan gods derive their essence from Him, but they also glean a certain amount of power from human belief. This is something fundamental about Creation that changed when my Father created you, beings with free will. These creatures were able to harness a certain amount of the collective will. That is one reason why the pagan gods you have probably dealt with have been in a somewhat … diminished state.”
“Fewer believers,” said Dean. He had now progressed to And This Stomach is Dean’s Too.
“And you are also aware that heaven, too, is multiform?”
“You mean that everybody has their own little patch of heaven? Yeah. That one I know from experience.”
“Everyone … wills a certain aspect of heaven.”
“And hell is like that too? You mean I picked where I wanted to go in hell? Because that’s not what I remember.”
“You were an exception, to an extent, due to the bargain with the crossroads demon. But, yes, a certain portion of your experience could be attributed to your expectations.”
“Why didn’t I know this? I could have expected strippers and cold beer!”
“That’s not quite how it works, I think,” said Cas. “And your beliefs are fairly static, Dean.”
“I did it to myself?”
“No! Dean, don’t twist what I’ve said to accentuate your already ever-present self-loathing!”
Dean looked up at Cas’s face. The angel was glaring up at him with a kind of celestial fury. “OK.”
“And … what you’re currently doing is distracting.”
“Oh. You want me to stop?”
“Well….”
Dean grinned.
Cas sighed and looked as if he was attempting to focus. “Other people, who have differing expectations, who perhaps spent their formative years in other cultures, in other parts of the world, would have a different experience of hell. So, yes, there are multiples.”
Dean traced his fingers along the lips that he also considered his personal property. And then he stopped. “How many?”
“What?”
“How many hells?”
Cas closed his eyes. “It’s variable throughout history. My best estimate, given the current conditions, is seven.”
“Seven hells. And, do you think the other CEOs of hell all despise Crowley?”
“That is quite possible.” Cas managed between Dean pressing down on his own personal lips. “Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“You really wish me … to get a tattoo?”
Dean pulled back. There was something plaintive about the statement. “You wanna get a tattoo?”
“What? No! I mean….”
“This will be great. Look, I know of a great artist. You'll look sweet.”
Cas didn’t look at all certain.
