Seven Hells, Part 2 of ?
Jan. 6th, 2013 10:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Seven Hells, Part 2 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.
Sam, who was standing in the parking lot near the dockside, one arm resting on the Impala’s roof, leaned his long body over a fraction more so he could look his elder brother right in the eye. Dean, who was squirming around in the driver’s seat, his fingers rapping on the steering wheel, finally glanced back up at him. “So,” Sam enunciated, “Cas is out getting a tattoo.”
It was a statement, but from Sam’s expression when he said it, also a question. A pointed question. “It’s an anti-possession tattoo,” Dean clarified, hoping that would be the end to it.
It was not. “Castiel. Who is an angel. Is getting an anti-possession tattoo.”
Dean’s words came rapidly, one spilling over onto the other. “Look, Sammy, you know his mojo has been on the fritz since he got back from Purgatory. We gotta take everything into account. And on the off chance that he short-circuits at the wrong moment, there’s extra protection.” It seemed clear enough.
Sam leaned back and extended a hand, counting off fingers. “So there’s gonna be an angel and a demon and Jimmy in there? Isn’t it gonna get kinda crowded?”
“Uh, Jimmy flew the coop. A couple of incarnations ago.”
Sam paused. “He did?”
“Yeah.” Dean had made damned sure of this before…. Well, he wasn’t going to go into it with Sammy right this minute. “Look, it won’t take long. I’ll just drop you off here at Garth’s….”
“Sure. And let me deal with Garth. And the Trans.”
Oh, so that was the issue. Dean grinned. “Look, how about this? You want me to drop you off at a nice college coffee bar instead? You could use the internet, do research, look for your porn-“
“Screw you!”
“… have some crappy gay coffee with the whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles and check out the college chicks for a while, and then we’ll go together. To meet Garth.”
“No, no, no,” Sam sighed. “I’ll do it. I’ll do it.” He rolled his eyes.
“I owe you big,” said Dean. “I promise, this won’t take long. I just have to make sure the angel doesn’t smite the tattoo artist, and then we’ll be right back. OK?” But the car was already in gear, leaving Sam little time to stumble back out of the way before Dean was rumbling off.
Sam turned and cast a glance down the dockside to the ramshackle-looking boat. How did the stupid thing even keep afloat? He sighed. How did he always end up pulling the shit jobs? Did his brother intentionally want him to hate his own life?
Sam steeled himself, remembering that some day, some day very soon, he would be back, hunched over a Styrofoam cup of Costco instant ramen, studying for the LSAT. Normal. Like the normal people. Who dwelled in normal houses with green lawns and picket fences built on real lots on land. Maybe he would join the damn PTA. Who cared if he even had a kid or not? Maybe there would be some cute single moms looking for a nice, normal guy who most certainly did not spend his days driving around with his half-mad sibling smiting demons.
He checked the moorage number one more time, and then strode up to the houseboat before he lost his nerve. He hopped up on deck and knocked on the door, as there was no doorbell on a boat. The door flung open immediately.
“SAMMY!” whooped Garth Fitzgerald the Fourth, who immediately had Sam enveloped in a suffocating hug.
“Uh, yeah, Garth,” said Sam, who was regretting many of his life choices. His mood was not improved when Garth drew back and Sam realized the hunter was attired in a weathered baseball cap, and not much else, save the damp bath towel that was somehow clinging around his narrow hip bones.
“Liiiiiinda, honeybun, look who’s here!” called Garth, now fully and finally shutting the door behind Sam.
“Who is it, babe?”
Sam, who had thought his level of awkwardness could not possibly be increased, was now confronted with the sight of Mrs. Tran, who was clad in a red and yellow-checked man’s shirt. And nothing else.
“Oh holy mother of fuck,” whispered Sam, smile pasted on his face, as Garth extended a bony arm around Mrs. Tran’s shoulders.
Cas looked up in surprise when he felt the kiss planted on the back of his neck.
He was lying on his belly on a table in the tattoo parlor, coat and jacket off, shirt rucked up under his armpits, and, to his utter humiliation, pants pushed down enough to reveal a three inch square patch of skin along his right hip bone. He had sensed Dean entering the establishment, but had not anticipated the affectionate gesture. Dean kept a hand on Cas’s shoulder. “How ya doin’?”
“He’s a trooper,” said the tattoo artist, a cute blond who was pretty much covered with ink and piercings. She put down her needle. “We’re just about done here, so you hold still, and I’ll go grab the bandage.”
Cas followed her with his eyes. “There is no need for a bandage, Dean. I can heal the area myself,” he whispered.
“Don’t,” said Dean.
Cas turned his head to face Dean. “I’m sorry?”
“Leave it. Let it heal by itself.” The conversation was cut off as the artist had returned with some salve and a dressing. Cas rested his head back on his arms. Dean’s motivations in this remained somewhat elusive. He had managed to negotiate a much simpler design as well as a less sensitive placement, but it was clear Dean’s idea about a marking him was not a whim, but something more deeply held. And Cas knew better to than to argue with Dean, who could be quite intensely stubborn, when it was only, after all, a small inconvenience. Humans were very, very complicated things, so if a slight alteration of his vessel was enough to please him, then so be it.
He hadn’t counted on having to let it heal, though. He prayed it wouldn’t be itchy. He really hated it when his vessel itched. He found as he got dressed that at least it was all on a level where his belt didn’t rub on it, for which he was thankful.
“Believe me,” the tattoo artist told Dean as he forked over a credit card, “I’m not hitting on your boyfriend or nothin', but he is a canvas! I’ve never seen skin like that. Honey, you should really consider coming back for more ink,” she told Cas as she swiped the card through the reader. “We could do a sleeve, four colors, it would look great. Maybe a lion?” Her eyes grew big.
“Uh. A sleeve?” Cas asked Dean. He was ineffectually trying to re-knot his tie.
“She means a picture going down your arm,” Dean told him, quickly taking over securing Cas's tie. “I think that’s enough for now. But we’ll keep you in mind,” he told the artist. “For now I just wanted…” he trailed off as he yanked down his T-shirt collar to reveal the top of his own tattoo.
“Oh, you’re matching! That is so epic!” gushed the artist, proffering Dean his card back.
“But what would you think about angel wings?” asked Dean. “Maybe on the back?”
The artist was suddenly rubbing Cas’s back. Cas tried not to cringe. “On his skin? Gorgeous!” she opined.
Dean nodded smugly and then, muttering, “C’mon,” to Cas, put a hand on the angel’s waist and steered him out of the shop.
“Dean. I already have angel wings. I do not need a … picture.”
“Yeah, but I can’t see them!”
“They exist on another-“
“Spiritual plane. Yeah, you’ve told me. And I’ll get eye-melt. Hey, no obligation. We’ll think about it.”
Cas frowned at Dean. He wasn’t at all certain when his back had become joint property, at least in Dean’ s mind, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about this new development. It was a little disorienting. He had reasoned that the small anti-possession tattoo represented the culmination of these negotiations, not the first step.
Humans confused him sometimes.
He sat down thoughtlessly in the Impala’s passenger seat, winced, and sat up straight.
“Hey, be careful,” said Dean. “That’s gonna be tender for a couple days.”
“I could heal it, Dean,” said Cas, staring at his friend. Dean however was thumbing his cell phone.
“Cas, be patient. You’re, what? A millionty-billion years old? It’ll only be a couple days.”
“Dean, I really need to ask-“
“Oh, shit!”
Cas stopped short. Dean was now sitting in the driver’s seat, roaring with laughter. “Oh shit. Oh god. Oh shit.”
“What is it Dean?”
“Text from Sammy. Garth and Mrs. Tran? I guess they’re together. Like, together together.”
Cas let the information sink in. “Garth Fitzgerald and Linda Tran are a romantic couple? Did Sam find this to be surprising?”
“Surprising? More like nauseating, stupefying, hit-you-like-a-shit-ton-of-bricks.” Dean paused and eyed Cas. “Hey. Did you know about this?”
Cas, who had been dispatched by the Winchesters on more than one occasion to check in on Kevin, unbeknownst to Garth, had indeed taken note of the relationship. He found humans to be confusing. But not that confusing. “Yes,” he answered simply.
“And you didn’t think it was worth mentioning?”
“You and Sam wanted me to assess Kevin’s security, and that was never an issue, to the best of my knowledge.”
Dean frowned. “Well, I guess.”
“What the various parties are doing with their genitals is none of my concern.”
“Oh, gawd, Cas! Thanks for the mental picture.” Dean huffed and then started the car. Cas squirmed around, trying to find a comfortable position as they sped towards Garth’s safe houseboat.
Sam was already waiting outside on the deck, sitting on a well-worn lawn chair and pulling back on a beer. He saw the Impala as soon as it pulled up in the parking lot, and strode up the dock to meet it.
“How’s the ink, Cas?” asked Sam politely as the angel extricated himself somewhat painfully from the passenger seat.
“Tender.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Can’t you just, you know, mojo it up?”
Cas caught the unspoken question. Is there something wrong? He flicked his eyes at Dean, and then quickly said. “I’m perfectly fine, Sam. I just … don’t wish to erase it. If I use my powers to heal it.”
“Oh, yeah!” said Sam, as if that actually made sense. “Would be kind of a waste, huh?”
“Uh, hey. How’s our little prophet?” asked Dean, eager to change the subject.
“How am I?” thundered Kevin, who had somehow sneaked up on them all.
“Oh, uh,” said Dean. “Hey, Kev. Should you be out her in the open like this?”
Kevin gripped the lapels of Dean’s jacket, one hand still swaddled in a bandage, and pulled the hunter down to his considerably shorter eye level. “I’ll tell you how I am. Trapped in this fucking tiny-ass leaky boat with the two of them?”
“I told him maybe we could get him out for a little while?” Sam suggested.
“Take me anywhere!” Kevin told Dean, not loosening his grip. “I don’t care. Take me back to Crowley. Just get me out of here.”
“Hey. Hey,” Dean soothed. “We can do that. There's a girl who's got another tablet. Sam and I were just talking about taking you to her.”
“Yes! The girl with the tablet! Take me to the girl with the tablet!”
Sam frowned. “We can do that, Kevin. But you know your mom-“
“Get me away from those two or I cannot guarantee what will happen! I will bludgeon them with the fucking tablet!”
“I do not think that is a proper usage for the word of the Lord,” Cas put in mildly. He found that Dean, who had finally wrested himself away from Kevin’s nine-fingered death grip, was suddenly grabbing his shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Kevin. We got it covered.” Dean smiled at Castiel.
The brothers’s instructions to Cas had seemed simple enough: “just go all badass angel mofo on their asses.” Castiel, angel of the lord, had the experience of a few millennia of scaring the holy crap out of humans. However, as he had confessed to Dean, “I find Mrs. Tran to be a little intimidating.”
“So does everybody, dude,” said Dean, slapping Cas on the back, causing Cas to wince where his tattoo was still tender.
Although Garth had been his typical effusive self, greeting Cas with an extra-tight embrace, and thus further irritating the sore spot just below his belt, Mrs. Tran was unimpressed. “This is supposed to be an angel? But it dresses like a Seventies TV cop. Am I supposed to be awed?”
But then Cas manifested the shadowy pair of wings, and suddenly Mrs. Tran’s small hand was gripping Garth’s, and there was a new spirit of cooperation was felt within the SS Wisdom Tooth.
Sparing one last steely-eyed glare, Cas suddenly turned and marched out the starboard door, Dean hot on his heels. He began to tremble as soon as he reached the deck, and only Dean getting a quick arm around his waist prevented him from slumping to the ground.
“Easy,” whispered Dean. “You done good.” He pulled an unresisting Cas around so the angel’s head rested on his shoulder.
“That was awesome!” shouted Kevin, who, along with Sam, was out the door just after Cas and Dean. He paused, looking at Dean and Cas. “Uh. Hey. Am I interrupting-“
“Kevin just had this great idea!” said Sam, grabbing Kevin by the arm. “We’re gonna go get some burgers. You guys hungry?”
“Huh? Yeah,” said Dean distractedly. He dug in his pocket and tossed Sam the car keys, not taking his eyes off Cas. “I think we could use a good meal.” He carefully helped Cas lower himself into the lawn chair Sam had been using.
“Great. Come on, Kev! We’ll get some nice greasy burgers.” And then Sam half-walked, half-dragged a very confused Kevin up to the parking lot an into the Impala.
“You should try their vegetarian burger, Kevin. It’s actually pretty good,” said Sam.
Sam set a little plastic triangle with the number 42 inscribed on it down on the table between them, and slid in to sit across from Kevin at one of the sticky candy-colored plastic booths inside the burger joint. The prophet, for his part, had been folding paper napkins into origami swans. He glanced up at the hand-painted mural of a hamburger running over a rainbow that decorated one wall. “I thought Dean liked diner food.”
“Yeah, this is more a college crowd, in here,” Sam admitted. “To be honest, I usually avoid places like this. Too many memories.”
As if in answer, the front door swung open and a small pack of college-aged girls came fluttering in, all giggles and whispers. Both Sam and Kevin looked over to them, almost unconsciously. There was one in particular, cute and chubby and dark-haired, who glanced over at Kevin and smiled.
Kevin gulped, dropping his head. “Yeah. Too many memories.”
“Sorry, dude,” said Sam quietly.
Kevin looked up, his eyes blazing. “Sam. What is the deal with your brother and that angel?”
Sam hesitated, confounded by the abrupt change in subject. “OK. Look, Kevin. I want to be straight with you. But you’re straying into profound bond territory here.”
“Profound what?” asked Kevin.
“Look,” said Sam, picking up the little glass salt and pepper shakers on the table. “See, this is my brother,” he said, holding up the salt. “And this is Cas,” he continued holding up the pepper.
“Yes, Sam, that makes it so much more clear,” snorted Kevin. “We are all condiments.”
“And this,” said Sam, grabbing a little packet of ketchup, “is you! Or anybody who gets in the middle.” He snuggled the ketchup between the salt and pepper shakers. “And this,” he said, rooting around in his pocket, “is the profound bond!” He triumphantly held up a little rubber band. Holding the shakers plus the ketchup packet together with one hand, he took the rubber band and, with some effort, stretched it around the entire assembly. And then he let go. The rubber band snapped. The salt and pepper shakers knocked together, squeezing the ketchup pack enough that it farted out a blast of ketchup, which caught Kevin right in the chest.
“Oh, gawd!” shouted Kevin, standing up. “Sam!” Sam pressed a worried finger to his lips, and, after a look around, Kevin sheepishly sat back down. “Goddammit, Sam,” he whispered. “So you interfere with your brother, you get ketchup stains?”
“I was advanced placement. Once,” Sam apologetically replied, handing Kevin a paper crane napkin.
“Number forty-two,” said a bored teenager, who thumped a plastic tray holding a couple of greasy paper bags and some drinks down on Sam and Kevin’s table. Kevin grabbed one of the cups, pushed off the lid, dabbed the paper crane napkin in the cup, and then applied it to his condiment-marred shirt. But he only succeeded in further extending the mark.
“Great, now it’s stained of coke and ketchup.” He tossed away the soggy napkin. “My mom is gonna kill me.”
“Not if we have Cas go angel on her again,” reasoned Sam.
Kevin gave a half-smile, and then took a drink from the cup he had just used as an impromptu liquid detergent. “So you really don’t know what’s going on there?”
“I have my suspicions. But, Kevin, believe me. I know you think you know everything, and that may be so, but I know my brother. You’re an only child, right?” Kevin nodded. “Dean is just this way about some things. Hunting. The car. And the angel.” Sam shrugged. He opened one of the bags and rustled around. “Wanna sweet potato fry?” he offered. Kevin shook his head. Sam stuffed some fries in his mouth and re-closed the bag. “I have plenty of shit to worry about. But I’m gonna let Dean figure this one out on his own.”
The place they were walking: it was really nowhere at all.
Castiel the seraph walked side by side with the demon, Sri Vibhishana, into the place that was between worlds. They didn't speak, but their silence was companionable. Castiel looked around, enjoying the experience of the scenery that wasn't. He had missed this. It would have been nearly impossible to venture here with Dean, or really any other mortal. And Cas was no longer on what might be called friendly terms with any of his angelic brethren.
There was a kind of freedom here. He was not in his true form, but close enough he could feel the breeze flutter the flight feathers on his primary wings. He arched his vessel’s back, enjoying the sensation. Bibi looked over and smiled mildly. Although he was demon-bred, Bibi’s true face was pleasant to look upon.
They finally arrived. It was a chalet, nestled in the mountains beside a running stream.
“This place … it's in the real world, isn't it?” asked Cas.
“Yeah, it is!” smiled Vibhishana. “I couldn't bring Ruth along to a place between worlds, you understand? It’s not really in the world, innit? And she's mortal and all. So I built a little place. For us. At any rate, go, have a seat.”
They hadn’t really gone through any door, but had instead arrived in the middle of a cosy living room with the view of a waterfall. You could hear the rushing water in the distance. It was soothing. Cas seated himself, wincing as he once again neglected to favor his still healing tattoo.
“Besotted with a mortal, aren’t we?” said Vibhishana, who was setting two glasses and a decanter on the low table between them. Cas looked up sharply at him. “Sorry if I’m talking out of turn on you?”
“No,” said Cas, watching as Bibi used a pair of silver tongs to plink ice into the glasses, and then poured a smoky amber liquid from the decanter over the ice. “I don’t fully understand what has happened to me. What is happening.”
“If it ain’t prying,” said Bibi, pushing a glass of Scotch rocks towards Castiel, “how long have you been gadding about with, you know, human sorts and all that?”
Cas beamed with pride. “I have watched over the human race for all of the millennia, since the first fish wriggled from the primordial ocean and crawled up on to the muddy bank.” Cas took a small sip of his drink. He had learned to relax into his vessel enough to enjoy a mild sensation of inebriation. Though he had no wish to get drunk off his ass with a demon.
Bibi sat back, the darkness that was his constant companion seeming to ease in around him like a well-worn old coat. “Yeah, you watched. But how long have you walked among them? Watching ain’t the same as parading around in a human skin.”
“Oh,” said Cas. He looked at his own hand, still marveling at the magnificence of his vessel, surely his father’s most splendid creation. “This is the first time. It’s been … four or five years?” He realized he wasn’t exactly certain how to count his time of penance in Purgatory.
“Oh, a virgin then,” chuckled Bibi. “It's no wonder you’ve been knocked arse over teakettle.”
Cas looked up, wondering if he should take offense. When Dean used the word “virgin” there was an undercurrent, a strange mix of spite and pity and wonder. But the demon was smiling at him, wearing an expression that held no malice he could detect. “What do you mean?”
“Mortal souls. They shine so brightly, don’t they? The most intoxicating substance known, much more so than this poor stuff,” he added, holding up a glass of liquor. The ice tinkled in a pleasing manner against the side of the glass. “Excuse me, here I’m comparing my demon self to you, but we, my friend, are no match for it.”
Cas took another swallow of Scotch, cherishing the burn as it went down. “You and the Guardian, Ruth…” he began, not really knowing how to phrase the question.
“Ah, yeah!” Bibi leaned forward and refilled his glass from a cut crystal decanter. He motioned, and Cas placed his own glass near for more Scotch. “It has to do with that bloody tablet. It’s had an arse-load of names over the years. It was once known as the Tablet of Sahadeva. You can imagine the row in my family when it turned into the Tablet of Nebuchadnezzar. And, to make matters worse, ended up in the sodding New World. In order to keep the peace – I am a sort of peace-keeper in my family – I ended up offering to watch over it. Which I have, over the many centuries, with more or less cooperation on the part of the current Guardian. Generally less.
“I was pretty chuffed when I met the current Guardian. Never thought those old buggers would get so desperate as to pass the job over to a female. And a redhead to boot. I… Well, I like women,” Bibi confessed. Cas could have sworn the shadows that enfolded him turned the slightest bit pink. “Rather a lot. Perhaps rather too much for my own good.” He smiled. “You understand, of course, I was supposed to be watching the tablet, not the Guardian. But she has sparked my interest, if you know what I mean..”
“I pulled Dean from Hell.”
Cas wasn't certain why he had blurted it out. He had been drinking alcohol, but was nowhere near drunkenness. It was no secret, of course, but it felt confessional. “Um. Our Hell.”
“You are one cheeky son of a bitch,” said Bibi.
“I was following orders. That's what I did best: follow orders.”
“Isn’t that what your lot was made for?”
Cas bit his lip. “Looking back, I wasn't a very good angel.”
“No shame in that. Between you, me and the lamppost, you are only the second of your kind I’ve ever allowed in here.”
Cas wondered but did not ask who was the first. “I have done many things which I regret.”
“You smote Raphael, didn’t you? There are not a few in my family who would shake your hand for that. He was quite a great twat.”
Cas narrowed his eyes and watched Bibi, not certain what to say.
“Your brethren haven’t been making many friends these past few years, Castiel: gallivanting around, slaying my kind on a whim. We lot are old families. And we have long memories.” The darkness around him seemed to shimmer, and then settle itself. “But here I am, being rude. You asked to speak, and I've gone off on a rant.”
“I just wanted to ask you...” Cas began. “I have studied your history. You have made some … difficult decisions.”
Bibi smiled wryly. “That bit they told in the Ramayana? My decisions were not universally regarded as the correct ones. At the time.”
Cas stared into his glass. “I have been having difficulty.... Free will is a new concept for me. I don't want to do the wrong thing. Not again.” He looked up at Bibi. “I know you have gone against your own brothers, when you thought it was right. But how do you tell … what is right?”
“THAT is a brilliant question, Castiel the angel,” smiled Bibi. He looked up. “Oh, can you excuse me for one moment? I‘ll be right back.”
Castiel had noticed there was a new being standing in Bibi's living room: a tall, well-dressed man. And … there was no other way to describe it, he was beautiful. He smiled down at Cas, his smile seeming so large that his face couldn't contain it. Bibi went over to him, and after a whispered conversation, the man disappeared once again.
“My cousin,” explained Bibi, sitting back down again. “Family business. And there is one bit of advice for you: surround yourself with good people. Always. You already have, haven't you?”
Cas nodded. “I think so. Yes.”
“Now, about pondering the whole 'What is right' business – you fancy trying out transcendental meditation, mate?”
“So how far to the girl with the tablet?”
Sam glanced back to the back seat, which was currently full of squirming prophet, and smiled. Somehow, neither Winchester had seen fit to share that the girl in question wore combat boots, and had a big, bad jealous demon boyfriend to boot.
“Are you really asking us, 'Are we there yet?'” asked Dean, his tone one of long-suffering annoyance. “What are you, twelve?”
“Guys, have you considered maybe, just maybe, I'm a little bit stir crazy? I’ve been trapped in a tiny boat, where I couldn't even wander out of my cabin without running into....” He waved his hand around in a gesture evidently meant to portray connubial bliss between his mother and Garth Fitzgerald. “And now I'm trapped in a freaking car.”
“It's a great fucking car. You should thank your lucky stars your ass is planted in this car. You want us to turn around and take you back home?”
“It's not my home,” muttered Kevin, who settled into a sullen silence.
“We're almost there, Kev,” said Sam, pointing up ahead.
Kevin peered ahead at the old stone church. “It looks drafty,” he commented.
Dean growled. He literally growled.
Kevin paused at the back of the church as Dean went up to greet Ruth. Kevin nudged Sam, pointing to her footwear. “Why do girls do that? The ugly boots? Do they think it's attractive?”
Sam rolled his eyes and dragged Kevin forward. “I think it's more of a uniform, dude.”
“Uniform for what? Does she think The Clash is gonna play a concert here?”
“So,” Dean told Sam and Kevin. “I told Ruth here we gotta go do … stuff and things.”
“You want me to babysit the prophet?” grinned Ruth. “I get twenty-five cents an hour.” Dean cracked a grin, but Sam cringed. He pulled his brother aside.
“Dean, you really think that's wise?” The brothers looked back towards the altar, where Kevin was irritably refusing Ruth's offered beer.
“Dude, come on. We drove all night. Don't you wanna at least crash a couple hours? Besides, that girl's made of badassery. And she's got a big, creepy boyfriend.”
Sam put his hands on his hips. “I thought you didn't trust the big, creepy boyfriend?”
“Cas thinks he's OK. He's done research.”
Sam glowered. “And here I thought he took the laptop to play Minesweeper. OK, so we lose Kevin again to Crowley, you gonna be the one to go tell his mom?”
Dean scowled. “All right, you win. You wanna take the first shift?”
It was Sam's turn to scowl. He really could have used a nap. “Yeah, all right.”
Dean was already on his way out, leaving Sam shaking his head.
“So what are you getting so far? Are you sure you don't wanna beer? Or some reading glasses?”
“Will you maybe stop hanging over my shoulder?” asked Kevin, who was seated in front of the tablet. He frowned over towards Sam, who had stretched himself out on a pew, wrapped up in his jacket. Occasionally, a soft sound of snoring emitted. Some protection, Kevin thought.
“OK!” said Ruth, who cheerily sat down on the altar, swinging her legs. “So, what's it say? What's it say?”
“Nothing,” snapped Kevin.
“What? That sure looks like writing,” said Ruth, holding out the beer bottle towards the tablet. Kevin slapped it away.
Kevin raised his hands, signaling, he hoped, for silence. “Sometimes … it takes a while. For me to be able to see.”
“Okey-dokey, arti-chokey,” said Ruth, sipping her beer. “Hey, you wanna see a trick?” she asked, pulling out a gold coin.
“No,” said Kevin, who studiously tried to remain unimpressed while she palmed the coin and ended up “swallowing” it and then spitting it into a hand. Ruth wore combat boots and had strands of her hair dyed blue, and as far as Kevin was concerned, nothing she could possibly do would be worth paying attention to.
“So, Dean says you live with your mom,” Ruth grinned.
Kevin rounded on her. “WHAT? Yeah, well … at least I'm not a drunk.”
“I'm not a drunk, either,” laughed Ruth. “I just like beer. You should try one. You're totally tense.”
Kevin lost what little cool he still possessed. “Yes, I'm tense. I'm being hunted by demons!” he spat, his voice jumping at least an octave.
Ruth held her arms out. “Hey, kid, look at me. You think it's easy being a Guardian?” She slapped a leg. “I got the knee joints of a sixty year old, I tell ya. I buy Ibuprophen at Sam's Club. In the gallon drums.”
“They … took … my … finger,” countered Kevin, waving his bandaged hand at her.
Ruth took his hand in hers. “Eh. Just the little one, it looks like,” she said. Kevin snatched his hand back. “Hey, it's not like you play violin, right?”
“I play cello.”
Ruth raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Well, that sucks.”
Kevin sulked in silence for a moment. He peered at the tablet again. Still nothing. “So, how did you end up Guardian? Did you just wake up one day and get zapped or something?”
Ruth sipped her beer. “Is that what happened to you?”
Kevin heaved a sigh. It seemed like so long ago now. The awakening. The crazy drive. Leviathan. Channing. Poor Channing. “Something like that.”
“Huh. Well, no, that’s not how it happened for me. Actually, it wasn’t very dramatic. The monks took me from my parents when I was five years old.”
Kevn quit staring at the tablet to stare instead at Ruth. “What? You're kidding. And your parents just let you go?”
“They made a deal. Well, my mom did. I don't exactly have a shit ton of living male relatives.”
“So the monks just ... took you?”
“Yup. I was off for the apprenticeship. They ran me around, trained me with these.” She twirled a sword. “They also gave me shit because I'm ten pounds too heavy. I'm like, I'm big boned, you know?” she said, patting a hip.
Kevin shook his head. “And that's your fate? You're just gonna guard a tablet?”
“Oh, hell no. I'm just Acting Guardian. We’re just waiting for my male relative to grow up and claim the position. Then I'm outta here.”
Kevin, despite himself, was interested. Mildly interested, but interested nevertheless. “And then what?”
“Med school!”
“What? No way! No fucking way.”
“Yes, way. My boyfriend negotiated me a scholarship.” She leaned over closer to Kevin to confide. “The Guardian monks didn’t wanna risk a class action lawsuit.”
“You can't get into medical school! No way! You don't have the prerequisites!”
Ruth extended her arm towards Kevin, tugging up a black sleeve. “Know what this is?” she asked, pointing to the number 42, tattooed on the inside of her wrist.
“The answer to life, the universe and everything?”
“My MCAT score.”
“What? No fucking way!”
“Come on! Ask me something. The Krebs Cycle! The limbic system! Lay it on me.”
Kevin just stared dubiously at her. “I don't know a question.”
Ruth narrowed her eyes. “Oh, come on. You were pre-med. You were totally pre-med. You live with your mom and play cello!”
“I'm not pre-med any more,” Kevin sighed. He turned sadly back to the tablet. This was what it was. No more MCAT prep. No more girlfriends. No more cello practice. Just him and a fucking rock. He rubbed the corner of one eye with his sleeve.
“I’ve got a ton books, you wanna borrow them?” asked Ruth.
“What?”
“You know, MCAT prep. And I have a study program on my laptop-“
“What? No. I don’t- Look, why would you even do that for me?”
Ruth hopped off the altar, and stared at Kevin for a while, until he finally looked up and met her eyes. “Why wouldn’t I do that for you?” she asked. And then she walked off to pop her empty beer bottle in a plastic recycling bin.
“What the fuck, Cas?”
Cas’s eyes snapped open at the sound of Dean’s voice. He was sitting on the motel room bed, wearing nothing but a pair of torn pajama bottoms, legs knotted up into the lotus position. He hadn’t budged when Dean blustered into the room, and now the only movement was those eyes tracking him.
“Hello Dean.”
“What are you doing? Hey, are those my pajamas?”
The edge of Cas’s mouth twitched upwards. He put a finger into the hole at the knee. “I have been told this is sexy.”
“No kidding, Cas, have you decided you’re Buddha now?”
“I had a drink with Vibhishana the other day….”
“Bibi? So now you’re out carousing with demons again? Yeah, because that always works out so well for you.”
“Dean?” said Cas.
“What?”
Cas was quiet for a moment. “Can you let me finish?”
Dean glowered, but remained silent.
“Dean, I find myself in need of … guidance. For more years than you can imagine, I followed my Father’s orders. Or what I believed were my Father’s wishes. Now I am no longer certain.”
“So you went to bargain with a demon.”
“Dean, there wasn’t any bargain. Bibi has managed to live a righteous life, and I was curious.”
“So you got yoga instructions in exchange for your soul.”
“Dean, I don’t have a soul. I’m an angel. And the gist of the advice he gave me was to look for the answers myself.”
“Cas, you do not need a wacky eastern religion. What, are you gonna start hopping around and chanting next?”
Cas tilted his head. “Why would I do that?”
“Trying to find your answers from the junior vice president of Hell Number Seven.”
Cas blinked, as if trying to parse out Dean’s sentence, and finally gave up. “Dean, listen to me. I can no longer rely on my Father. I definitely can’t ask my brothers. And I don’t wanna rely on you: you don’t need another headache.”
Dean started to say something, but seemed to think the better of it. Instead, he sat down next to Cas. “But, you know, you can come to me. Right?”
“Yes. Thank you, Dean.” Dean ducked his head. “Where are Sam and the prophet?”
“I left them with the tablet and the guardian chick. I thought I’d dump my stuff here and then go get everybody some takeout. Given they haven't all killed each other by the time I'm back. But then more fries for us!”
“Would you like me to accompany you to purchase fast food?” asked Cas, unfolding his legs.
“You’d need to put some clothes on. Hey, why didn’t you tell me you were flexible like that?” he asked, pulling Cas over for a kiss.
“Should I have?” asked Cas when the clench broke. “I thought you wanted to get food,” he added, as Dean was still occupying his mouth on Cas’s body.
“They won’t starve,” Dean muttered into Cas’s clavicle. He pushed the angel down on the bed, and Cas emitted a small grunt when he landed on the tattoo.
“How’s the tatt healing?” whispered Dean.
“Slowly.”
“Mmmm. We’ll go back and get you wings.” Dean had an arm under one of Cas’s legs and appeared to be seeing how far he could pull it upwards.
“Dean,” said Cas, holding Dean’s face in his hands to look him in the eye. “Why would I want tattoos of wings? I already have wings.”
“Because….” Dean murmured.
“Yes…?”
“Because you’re my angel.”
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.
Sam, who was standing in the parking lot near the dockside, one arm resting on the Impala’s roof, leaned his long body over a fraction more so he could look his elder brother right in the eye. Dean, who was squirming around in the driver’s seat, his fingers rapping on the steering wheel, finally glanced back up at him. “So,” Sam enunciated, “Cas is out getting a tattoo.”
It was a statement, but from Sam’s expression when he said it, also a question. A pointed question. “It’s an anti-possession tattoo,” Dean clarified, hoping that would be the end to it.
It was not. “Castiel. Who is an angel. Is getting an anti-possession tattoo.”
Dean’s words came rapidly, one spilling over onto the other. “Look, Sammy, you know his mojo has been on the fritz since he got back from Purgatory. We gotta take everything into account. And on the off chance that he short-circuits at the wrong moment, there’s extra protection.” It seemed clear enough.
Sam leaned back and extended a hand, counting off fingers. “So there’s gonna be an angel and a demon and Jimmy in there? Isn’t it gonna get kinda crowded?”
“Uh, Jimmy flew the coop. A couple of incarnations ago.”
Sam paused. “He did?”
“Yeah.” Dean had made damned sure of this before…. Well, he wasn’t going to go into it with Sammy right this minute. “Look, it won’t take long. I’ll just drop you off here at Garth’s….”
“Sure. And let me deal with Garth. And the Trans.”
Oh, so that was the issue. Dean grinned. “Look, how about this? You want me to drop you off at a nice college coffee bar instead? You could use the internet, do research, look for your porn-“
“Screw you!”
“… have some crappy gay coffee with the whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles and check out the college chicks for a while, and then we’ll go together. To meet Garth.”
“No, no, no,” Sam sighed. “I’ll do it. I’ll do it.” He rolled his eyes.
“I owe you big,” said Dean. “I promise, this won’t take long. I just have to make sure the angel doesn’t smite the tattoo artist, and then we’ll be right back. OK?” But the car was already in gear, leaving Sam little time to stumble back out of the way before Dean was rumbling off.
Sam turned and cast a glance down the dockside to the ramshackle-looking boat. How did the stupid thing even keep afloat? He sighed. How did he always end up pulling the shit jobs? Did his brother intentionally want him to hate his own life?
Sam steeled himself, remembering that some day, some day very soon, he would be back, hunched over a Styrofoam cup of Costco instant ramen, studying for the LSAT. Normal. Like the normal people. Who dwelled in normal houses with green lawns and picket fences built on real lots on land. Maybe he would join the damn PTA. Who cared if he even had a kid or not? Maybe there would be some cute single moms looking for a nice, normal guy who most certainly did not spend his days driving around with his half-mad sibling smiting demons.
He checked the moorage number one more time, and then strode up to the houseboat before he lost his nerve. He hopped up on deck and knocked on the door, as there was no doorbell on a boat. The door flung open immediately.
“SAMMY!” whooped Garth Fitzgerald the Fourth, who immediately had Sam enveloped in a suffocating hug.
“Uh, yeah, Garth,” said Sam, who was regretting many of his life choices. His mood was not improved when Garth drew back and Sam realized the hunter was attired in a weathered baseball cap, and not much else, save the damp bath towel that was somehow clinging around his narrow hip bones.
“Liiiiiinda, honeybun, look who’s here!” called Garth, now fully and finally shutting the door behind Sam.
“Who is it, babe?”
Sam, who had thought his level of awkwardness could not possibly be increased, was now confronted with the sight of Mrs. Tran, who was clad in a red and yellow-checked man’s shirt. And nothing else.
“Oh holy mother of fuck,” whispered Sam, smile pasted on his face, as Garth extended a bony arm around Mrs. Tran’s shoulders.
Cas looked up in surprise when he felt the kiss planted on the back of his neck.
He was lying on his belly on a table in the tattoo parlor, coat and jacket off, shirt rucked up under his armpits, and, to his utter humiliation, pants pushed down enough to reveal a three inch square patch of skin along his right hip bone. He had sensed Dean entering the establishment, but had not anticipated the affectionate gesture. Dean kept a hand on Cas’s shoulder. “How ya doin’?”
“He’s a trooper,” said the tattoo artist, a cute blond who was pretty much covered with ink and piercings. She put down her needle. “We’re just about done here, so you hold still, and I’ll go grab the bandage.”
Cas followed her with his eyes. “There is no need for a bandage, Dean. I can heal the area myself,” he whispered.
“Don’t,” said Dean.
Cas turned his head to face Dean. “I’m sorry?”
“Leave it. Let it heal by itself.” The conversation was cut off as the artist had returned with some salve and a dressing. Cas rested his head back on his arms. Dean’s motivations in this remained somewhat elusive. He had managed to negotiate a much simpler design as well as a less sensitive placement, but it was clear Dean’s idea about a marking him was not a whim, but something more deeply held. And Cas knew better to than to argue with Dean, who could be quite intensely stubborn, when it was only, after all, a small inconvenience. Humans were very, very complicated things, so if a slight alteration of his vessel was enough to please him, then so be it.
He hadn’t counted on having to let it heal, though. He prayed it wouldn’t be itchy. He really hated it when his vessel itched. He found as he got dressed that at least it was all on a level where his belt didn’t rub on it, for which he was thankful.
“Believe me,” the tattoo artist told Dean as he forked over a credit card, “I’m not hitting on your boyfriend or nothin', but he is a canvas! I’ve never seen skin like that. Honey, you should really consider coming back for more ink,” she told Cas as she swiped the card through the reader. “We could do a sleeve, four colors, it would look great. Maybe a lion?” Her eyes grew big.
“Uh. A sleeve?” Cas asked Dean. He was ineffectually trying to re-knot his tie.
“She means a picture going down your arm,” Dean told him, quickly taking over securing Cas's tie. “I think that’s enough for now. But we’ll keep you in mind,” he told the artist. “For now I just wanted…” he trailed off as he yanked down his T-shirt collar to reveal the top of his own tattoo.
“Oh, you’re matching! That is so epic!” gushed the artist, proffering Dean his card back.
“But what would you think about angel wings?” asked Dean. “Maybe on the back?”
The artist was suddenly rubbing Cas’s back. Cas tried not to cringe. “On his skin? Gorgeous!” she opined.
Dean nodded smugly and then, muttering, “C’mon,” to Cas, put a hand on the angel’s waist and steered him out of the shop.
“Dean. I already have angel wings. I do not need a … picture.”
“Yeah, but I can’t see them!”
“They exist on another-“
“Spiritual plane. Yeah, you’ve told me. And I’ll get eye-melt. Hey, no obligation. We’ll think about it.”
Cas frowned at Dean. He wasn’t at all certain when his back had become joint property, at least in Dean’ s mind, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about this new development. It was a little disorienting. He had reasoned that the small anti-possession tattoo represented the culmination of these negotiations, not the first step.
Humans confused him sometimes.
He sat down thoughtlessly in the Impala’s passenger seat, winced, and sat up straight.
“Hey, be careful,” said Dean. “That’s gonna be tender for a couple days.”
“I could heal it, Dean,” said Cas, staring at his friend. Dean however was thumbing his cell phone.
“Cas, be patient. You’re, what? A millionty-billion years old? It’ll only be a couple days.”
“Dean, I really need to ask-“
“Oh, shit!”
Cas stopped short. Dean was now sitting in the driver’s seat, roaring with laughter. “Oh shit. Oh god. Oh shit.”
“What is it Dean?”
“Text from Sammy. Garth and Mrs. Tran? I guess they’re together. Like, together together.”
Cas let the information sink in. “Garth Fitzgerald and Linda Tran are a romantic couple? Did Sam find this to be surprising?”
“Surprising? More like nauseating, stupefying, hit-you-like-a-shit-ton-of-bricks.” Dean paused and eyed Cas. “Hey. Did you know about this?”
Cas, who had been dispatched by the Winchesters on more than one occasion to check in on Kevin, unbeknownst to Garth, had indeed taken note of the relationship. He found humans to be confusing. But not that confusing. “Yes,” he answered simply.
“And you didn’t think it was worth mentioning?”
“You and Sam wanted me to assess Kevin’s security, and that was never an issue, to the best of my knowledge.”
Dean frowned. “Well, I guess.”
“What the various parties are doing with their genitals is none of my concern.”
“Oh, gawd, Cas! Thanks for the mental picture.” Dean huffed and then started the car. Cas squirmed around, trying to find a comfortable position as they sped towards Garth’s safe houseboat.
Sam was already waiting outside on the deck, sitting on a well-worn lawn chair and pulling back on a beer. He saw the Impala as soon as it pulled up in the parking lot, and strode up the dock to meet it.
“How’s the ink, Cas?” asked Sam politely as the angel extricated himself somewhat painfully from the passenger seat.
“Tender.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Can’t you just, you know, mojo it up?”
Cas caught the unspoken question. Is there something wrong? He flicked his eyes at Dean, and then quickly said. “I’m perfectly fine, Sam. I just … don’t wish to erase it. If I use my powers to heal it.”
“Oh, yeah!” said Sam, as if that actually made sense. “Would be kind of a waste, huh?”
“Uh, hey. How’s our little prophet?” asked Dean, eager to change the subject.
“How am I?” thundered Kevin, who had somehow sneaked up on them all.
“Oh, uh,” said Dean. “Hey, Kev. Should you be out her in the open like this?”
Kevin gripped the lapels of Dean’s jacket, one hand still swaddled in a bandage, and pulled the hunter down to his considerably shorter eye level. “I’ll tell you how I am. Trapped in this fucking tiny-ass leaky boat with the two of them?”
“I told him maybe we could get him out for a little while?” Sam suggested.
“Take me anywhere!” Kevin told Dean, not loosening his grip. “I don’t care. Take me back to Crowley. Just get me out of here.”
“Hey. Hey,” Dean soothed. “We can do that. There's a girl who's got another tablet. Sam and I were just talking about taking you to her.”
“Yes! The girl with the tablet! Take me to the girl with the tablet!”
Sam frowned. “We can do that, Kevin. But you know your mom-“
“Get me away from those two or I cannot guarantee what will happen! I will bludgeon them with the fucking tablet!”
“I do not think that is a proper usage for the word of the Lord,” Cas put in mildly. He found that Dean, who had finally wrested himself away from Kevin’s nine-fingered death grip, was suddenly grabbing his shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Kevin. We got it covered.” Dean smiled at Castiel.
The brothers’s instructions to Cas had seemed simple enough: “just go all badass angel mofo on their asses.” Castiel, angel of the lord, had the experience of a few millennia of scaring the holy crap out of humans. However, as he had confessed to Dean, “I find Mrs. Tran to be a little intimidating.”
“So does everybody, dude,” said Dean, slapping Cas on the back, causing Cas to wince where his tattoo was still tender.
Although Garth had been his typical effusive self, greeting Cas with an extra-tight embrace, and thus further irritating the sore spot just below his belt, Mrs. Tran was unimpressed. “This is supposed to be an angel? But it dresses like a Seventies TV cop. Am I supposed to be awed?”
But then Cas manifested the shadowy pair of wings, and suddenly Mrs. Tran’s small hand was gripping Garth’s, and there was a new spirit of cooperation was felt within the SS Wisdom Tooth.
Sparing one last steely-eyed glare, Cas suddenly turned and marched out the starboard door, Dean hot on his heels. He began to tremble as soon as he reached the deck, and only Dean getting a quick arm around his waist prevented him from slumping to the ground.
“Easy,” whispered Dean. “You done good.” He pulled an unresisting Cas around so the angel’s head rested on his shoulder.
“That was awesome!” shouted Kevin, who, along with Sam, was out the door just after Cas and Dean. He paused, looking at Dean and Cas. “Uh. Hey. Am I interrupting-“
“Kevin just had this great idea!” said Sam, grabbing Kevin by the arm. “We’re gonna go get some burgers. You guys hungry?”
“Huh? Yeah,” said Dean distractedly. He dug in his pocket and tossed Sam the car keys, not taking his eyes off Cas. “I think we could use a good meal.” He carefully helped Cas lower himself into the lawn chair Sam had been using.
“Great. Come on, Kev! We’ll get some nice greasy burgers.” And then Sam half-walked, half-dragged a very confused Kevin up to the parking lot an into the Impala.
“You should try their vegetarian burger, Kevin. It’s actually pretty good,” said Sam.
Sam set a little plastic triangle with the number 42 inscribed on it down on the table between them, and slid in to sit across from Kevin at one of the sticky candy-colored plastic booths inside the burger joint. The prophet, for his part, had been folding paper napkins into origami swans. He glanced up at the hand-painted mural of a hamburger running over a rainbow that decorated one wall. “I thought Dean liked diner food.”
“Yeah, this is more a college crowd, in here,” Sam admitted. “To be honest, I usually avoid places like this. Too many memories.”
As if in answer, the front door swung open and a small pack of college-aged girls came fluttering in, all giggles and whispers. Both Sam and Kevin looked over to them, almost unconsciously. There was one in particular, cute and chubby and dark-haired, who glanced over at Kevin and smiled.
Kevin gulped, dropping his head. “Yeah. Too many memories.”
“Sorry, dude,” said Sam quietly.
Kevin looked up, his eyes blazing. “Sam. What is the deal with your brother and that angel?”
Sam hesitated, confounded by the abrupt change in subject. “OK. Look, Kevin. I want to be straight with you. But you’re straying into profound bond territory here.”
“Profound what?” asked Kevin.
“Look,” said Sam, picking up the little glass salt and pepper shakers on the table. “See, this is my brother,” he said, holding up the salt. “And this is Cas,” he continued holding up the pepper.
“Yes, Sam, that makes it so much more clear,” snorted Kevin. “We are all condiments.”
“And this,” said Sam, grabbing a little packet of ketchup, “is you! Or anybody who gets in the middle.” He snuggled the ketchup between the salt and pepper shakers. “And this,” he said, rooting around in his pocket, “is the profound bond!” He triumphantly held up a little rubber band. Holding the shakers plus the ketchup packet together with one hand, he took the rubber band and, with some effort, stretched it around the entire assembly. And then he let go. The rubber band snapped. The salt and pepper shakers knocked together, squeezing the ketchup pack enough that it farted out a blast of ketchup, which caught Kevin right in the chest.
“Oh, gawd!” shouted Kevin, standing up. “Sam!” Sam pressed a worried finger to his lips, and, after a look around, Kevin sheepishly sat back down. “Goddammit, Sam,” he whispered. “So you interfere with your brother, you get ketchup stains?”
“I was advanced placement. Once,” Sam apologetically replied, handing Kevin a paper crane napkin.
“Number forty-two,” said a bored teenager, who thumped a plastic tray holding a couple of greasy paper bags and some drinks down on Sam and Kevin’s table. Kevin grabbed one of the cups, pushed off the lid, dabbed the paper crane napkin in the cup, and then applied it to his condiment-marred shirt. But he only succeeded in further extending the mark.
“Great, now it’s stained of coke and ketchup.” He tossed away the soggy napkin. “My mom is gonna kill me.”
“Not if we have Cas go angel on her again,” reasoned Sam.
Kevin gave a half-smile, and then took a drink from the cup he had just used as an impromptu liquid detergent. “So you really don’t know what’s going on there?”
“I have my suspicions. But, Kevin, believe me. I know you think you know everything, and that may be so, but I know my brother. You’re an only child, right?” Kevin nodded. “Dean is just this way about some things. Hunting. The car. And the angel.” Sam shrugged. He opened one of the bags and rustled around. “Wanna sweet potato fry?” he offered. Kevin shook his head. Sam stuffed some fries in his mouth and re-closed the bag. “I have plenty of shit to worry about. But I’m gonna let Dean figure this one out on his own.”
The place they were walking: it was really nowhere at all.
Castiel the seraph walked side by side with the demon, Sri Vibhishana, into the place that was between worlds. They didn't speak, but their silence was companionable. Castiel looked around, enjoying the experience of the scenery that wasn't. He had missed this. It would have been nearly impossible to venture here with Dean, or really any other mortal. And Cas was no longer on what might be called friendly terms with any of his angelic brethren.
There was a kind of freedom here. He was not in his true form, but close enough he could feel the breeze flutter the flight feathers on his primary wings. He arched his vessel’s back, enjoying the sensation. Bibi looked over and smiled mildly. Although he was demon-bred, Bibi’s true face was pleasant to look upon.
They finally arrived. It was a chalet, nestled in the mountains beside a running stream.
“This place … it's in the real world, isn't it?” asked Cas.
“Yeah, it is!” smiled Vibhishana. “I couldn't bring Ruth along to a place between worlds, you understand? It’s not really in the world, innit? And she's mortal and all. So I built a little place. For us. At any rate, go, have a seat.”
They hadn’t really gone through any door, but had instead arrived in the middle of a cosy living room with the view of a waterfall. You could hear the rushing water in the distance. It was soothing. Cas seated himself, wincing as he once again neglected to favor his still healing tattoo.
“Besotted with a mortal, aren’t we?” said Vibhishana, who was setting two glasses and a decanter on the low table between them. Cas looked up sharply at him. “Sorry if I’m talking out of turn on you?”
“No,” said Cas, watching as Bibi used a pair of silver tongs to plink ice into the glasses, and then poured a smoky amber liquid from the decanter over the ice. “I don’t fully understand what has happened to me. What is happening.”
“If it ain’t prying,” said Bibi, pushing a glass of Scotch rocks towards Castiel, “how long have you been gadding about with, you know, human sorts and all that?”
Cas beamed with pride. “I have watched over the human race for all of the millennia, since the first fish wriggled from the primordial ocean and crawled up on to the muddy bank.” Cas took a small sip of his drink. He had learned to relax into his vessel enough to enjoy a mild sensation of inebriation. Though he had no wish to get drunk off his ass with a demon.
Bibi sat back, the darkness that was his constant companion seeming to ease in around him like a well-worn old coat. “Yeah, you watched. But how long have you walked among them? Watching ain’t the same as parading around in a human skin.”
“Oh,” said Cas. He looked at his own hand, still marveling at the magnificence of his vessel, surely his father’s most splendid creation. “This is the first time. It’s been … four or five years?” He realized he wasn’t exactly certain how to count his time of penance in Purgatory.
“Oh, a virgin then,” chuckled Bibi. “It's no wonder you’ve been knocked arse over teakettle.”
Cas looked up, wondering if he should take offense. When Dean used the word “virgin” there was an undercurrent, a strange mix of spite and pity and wonder. But the demon was smiling at him, wearing an expression that held no malice he could detect. “What do you mean?”
“Mortal souls. They shine so brightly, don’t they? The most intoxicating substance known, much more so than this poor stuff,” he added, holding up a glass of liquor. The ice tinkled in a pleasing manner against the side of the glass. “Excuse me, here I’m comparing my demon self to you, but we, my friend, are no match for it.”
Cas took another swallow of Scotch, cherishing the burn as it went down. “You and the Guardian, Ruth…” he began, not really knowing how to phrase the question.
“Ah, yeah!” Bibi leaned forward and refilled his glass from a cut crystal decanter. He motioned, and Cas placed his own glass near for more Scotch. “It has to do with that bloody tablet. It’s had an arse-load of names over the years. It was once known as the Tablet of Sahadeva. You can imagine the row in my family when it turned into the Tablet of Nebuchadnezzar. And, to make matters worse, ended up in the sodding New World. In order to keep the peace – I am a sort of peace-keeper in my family – I ended up offering to watch over it. Which I have, over the many centuries, with more or less cooperation on the part of the current Guardian. Generally less.
“I was pretty chuffed when I met the current Guardian. Never thought those old buggers would get so desperate as to pass the job over to a female. And a redhead to boot. I… Well, I like women,” Bibi confessed. Cas could have sworn the shadows that enfolded him turned the slightest bit pink. “Rather a lot. Perhaps rather too much for my own good.” He smiled. “You understand, of course, I was supposed to be watching the tablet, not the Guardian. But she has sparked my interest, if you know what I mean..”
“I pulled Dean from Hell.”
Cas wasn't certain why he had blurted it out. He had been drinking alcohol, but was nowhere near drunkenness. It was no secret, of course, but it felt confessional. “Um. Our Hell.”
“You are one cheeky son of a bitch,” said Bibi.
“I was following orders. That's what I did best: follow orders.”
“Isn’t that what your lot was made for?”
Cas bit his lip. “Looking back, I wasn't a very good angel.”
“No shame in that. Between you, me and the lamppost, you are only the second of your kind I’ve ever allowed in here.”
Cas wondered but did not ask who was the first. “I have done many things which I regret.”
“You smote Raphael, didn’t you? There are not a few in my family who would shake your hand for that. He was quite a great twat.”
Cas narrowed his eyes and watched Bibi, not certain what to say.
“Your brethren haven’t been making many friends these past few years, Castiel: gallivanting around, slaying my kind on a whim. We lot are old families. And we have long memories.” The darkness around him seemed to shimmer, and then settle itself. “But here I am, being rude. You asked to speak, and I've gone off on a rant.”
“I just wanted to ask you...” Cas began. “I have studied your history. You have made some … difficult decisions.”
Bibi smiled wryly. “That bit they told in the Ramayana? My decisions were not universally regarded as the correct ones. At the time.”
Cas stared into his glass. “I have been having difficulty.... Free will is a new concept for me. I don't want to do the wrong thing. Not again.” He looked up at Bibi. “I know you have gone against your own brothers, when you thought it was right. But how do you tell … what is right?”
“THAT is a brilliant question, Castiel the angel,” smiled Bibi. He looked up. “Oh, can you excuse me for one moment? I‘ll be right back.”
Castiel had noticed there was a new being standing in Bibi's living room: a tall, well-dressed man. And … there was no other way to describe it, he was beautiful. He smiled down at Cas, his smile seeming so large that his face couldn't contain it. Bibi went over to him, and after a whispered conversation, the man disappeared once again.
“My cousin,” explained Bibi, sitting back down again. “Family business. And there is one bit of advice for you: surround yourself with good people. Always. You already have, haven't you?”
Cas nodded. “I think so. Yes.”
“Now, about pondering the whole 'What is right' business – you fancy trying out transcendental meditation, mate?”
“So how far to the girl with the tablet?”
Sam glanced back to the back seat, which was currently full of squirming prophet, and smiled. Somehow, neither Winchester had seen fit to share that the girl in question wore combat boots, and had a big, bad jealous demon boyfriend to boot.
“Are you really asking us, 'Are we there yet?'” asked Dean, his tone one of long-suffering annoyance. “What are you, twelve?”
“Guys, have you considered maybe, just maybe, I'm a little bit stir crazy? I’ve been trapped in a tiny boat, where I couldn't even wander out of my cabin without running into....” He waved his hand around in a gesture evidently meant to portray connubial bliss between his mother and Garth Fitzgerald. “And now I'm trapped in a freaking car.”
“It's a great fucking car. You should thank your lucky stars your ass is planted in this car. You want us to turn around and take you back home?”
“It's not my home,” muttered Kevin, who settled into a sullen silence.
“We're almost there, Kev,” said Sam, pointing up ahead.
Kevin peered ahead at the old stone church. “It looks drafty,” he commented.
Dean growled. He literally growled.
Kevin paused at the back of the church as Dean went up to greet Ruth. Kevin nudged Sam, pointing to her footwear. “Why do girls do that? The ugly boots? Do they think it's attractive?”
Sam rolled his eyes and dragged Kevin forward. “I think it's more of a uniform, dude.”
“Uniform for what? Does she think The Clash is gonna play a concert here?”
“So,” Dean told Sam and Kevin. “I told Ruth here we gotta go do … stuff and things.”
“You want me to babysit the prophet?” grinned Ruth. “I get twenty-five cents an hour.” Dean cracked a grin, but Sam cringed. He pulled his brother aside.
“Dean, you really think that's wise?” The brothers looked back towards the altar, where Kevin was irritably refusing Ruth's offered beer.
“Dude, come on. We drove all night. Don't you wanna at least crash a couple hours? Besides, that girl's made of badassery. And she's got a big, creepy boyfriend.”
Sam put his hands on his hips. “I thought you didn't trust the big, creepy boyfriend?”
“Cas thinks he's OK. He's done research.”
Sam glowered. “And here I thought he took the laptop to play Minesweeper. OK, so we lose Kevin again to Crowley, you gonna be the one to go tell his mom?”
Dean scowled. “All right, you win. You wanna take the first shift?”
It was Sam's turn to scowl. He really could have used a nap. “Yeah, all right.”
Dean was already on his way out, leaving Sam shaking his head.
“So what are you getting so far? Are you sure you don't wanna beer? Or some reading glasses?”
“Will you maybe stop hanging over my shoulder?” asked Kevin, who was seated in front of the tablet. He frowned over towards Sam, who had stretched himself out on a pew, wrapped up in his jacket. Occasionally, a soft sound of snoring emitted. Some protection, Kevin thought.
“OK!” said Ruth, who cheerily sat down on the altar, swinging her legs. “So, what's it say? What's it say?”
“Nothing,” snapped Kevin.
“What? That sure looks like writing,” said Ruth, holding out the beer bottle towards the tablet. Kevin slapped it away.
Kevin raised his hands, signaling, he hoped, for silence. “Sometimes … it takes a while. For me to be able to see.”
“Okey-dokey, arti-chokey,” said Ruth, sipping her beer. “Hey, you wanna see a trick?” she asked, pulling out a gold coin.
“No,” said Kevin, who studiously tried to remain unimpressed while she palmed the coin and ended up “swallowing” it and then spitting it into a hand. Ruth wore combat boots and had strands of her hair dyed blue, and as far as Kevin was concerned, nothing she could possibly do would be worth paying attention to.
“So, Dean says you live with your mom,” Ruth grinned.
Kevin rounded on her. “WHAT? Yeah, well … at least I'm not a drunk.”
“I'm not a drunk, either,” laughed Ruth. “I just like beer. You should try one. You're totally tense.”
Kevin lost what little cool he still possessed. “Yes, I'm tense. I'm being hunted by demons!” he spat, his voice jumping at least an octave.
Ruth held her arms out. “Hey, kid, look at me. You think it's easy being a Guardian?” She slapped a leg. “I got the knee joints of a sixty year old, I tell ya. I buy Ibuprophen at Sam's Club. In the gallon drums.”
“They … took … my … finger,” countered Kevin, waving his bandaged hand at her.
Ruth took his hand in hers. “Eh. Just the little one, it looks like,” she said. Kevin snatched his hand back. “Hey, it's not like you play violin, right?”
“I play cello.”
Ruth raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Well, that sucks.”
Kevin sulked in silence for a moment. He peered at the tablet again. Still nothing. “So, how did you end up Guardian? Did you just wake up one day and get zapped or something?”
Ruth sipped her beer. “Is that what happened to you?”
Kevin heaved a sigh. It seemed like so long ago now. The awakening. The crazy drive. Leviathan. Channing. Poor Channing. “Something like that.”
“Huh. Well, no, that’s not how it happened for me. Actually, it wasn’t very dramatic. The monks took me from my parents when I was five years old.”
Kevn quit staring at the tablet to stare instead at Ruth. “What? You're kidding. And your parents just let you go?”
“They made a deal. Well, my mom did. I don't exactly have a shit ton of living male relatives.”
“So the monks just ... took you?”
“Yup. I was off for the apprenticeship. They ran me around, trained me with these.” She twirled a sword. “They also gave me shit because I'm ten pounds too heavy. I'm like, I'm big boned, you know?” she said, patting a hip.
Kevin shook his head. “And that's your fate? You're just gonna guard a tablet?”
“Oh, hell no. I'm just Acting Guardian. We’re just waiting for my male relative to grow up and claim the position. Then I'm outta here.”
Kevin, despite himself, was interested. Mildly interested, but interested nevertheless. “And then what?”
“Med school!”
“What? No way! No fucking way.”
“Yes, way. My boyfriend negotiated me a scholarship.” She leaned over closer to Kevin to confide. “The Guardian monks didn’t wanna risk a class action lawsuit.”
“You can't get into medical school! No way! You don't have the prerequisites!”
Ruth extended her arm towards Kevin, tugging up a black sleeve. “Know what this is?” she asked, pointing to the number 42, tattooed on the inside of her wrist.
“The answer to life, the universe and everything?”
“My MCAT score.”
“What? No fucking way!”
“Come on! Ask me something. The Krebs Cycle! The limbic system! Lay it on me.”
Kevin just stared dubiously at her. “I don't know a question.”
Ruth narrowed her eyes. “Oh, come on. You were pre-med. You were totally pre-med. You live with your mom and play cello!”
“I'm not pre-med any more,” Kevin sighed. He turned sadly back to the tablet. This was what it was. No more MCAT prep. No more girlfriends. No more cello practice. Just him and a fucking rock. He rubbed the corner of one eye with his sleeve.
“I’ve got a ton books, you wanna borrow them?” asked Ruth.
“What?”
“You know, MCAT prep. And I have a study program on my laptop-“
“What? No. I don’t- Look, why would you even do that for me?”
Ruth hopped off the altar, and stared at Kevin for a while, until he finally looked up and met her eyes. “Why wouldn’t I do that for you?” she asked. And then she walked off to pop her empty beer bottle in a plastic recycling bin.
“What the fuck, Cas?”
Cas’s eyes snapped open at the sound of Dean’s voice. He was sitting on the motel room bed, wearing nothing but a pair of torn pajama bottoms, legs knotted up into the lotus position. He hadn’t budged when Dean blustered into the room, and now the only movement was those eyes tracking him.
“Hello Dean.”
“What are you doing? Hey, are those my pajamas?”
The edge of Cas’s mouth twitched upwards. He put a finger into the hole at the knee. “I have been told this is sexy.”
“No kidding, Cas, have you decided you’re Buddha now?”
“I had a drink with Vibhishana the other day….”
“Bibi? So now you’re out carousing with demons again? Yeah, because that always works out so well for you.”
“Dean?” said Cas.
“What?”
Cas was quiet for a moment. “Can you let me finish?”
Dean glowered, but remained silent.
“Dean, I find myself in need of … guidance. For more years than you can imagine, I followed my Father’s orders. Or what I believed were my Father’s wishes. Now I am no longer certain.”
“So you went to bargain with a demon.”
“Dean, there wasn’t any bargain. Bibi has managed to live a righteous life, and I was curious.”
“So you got yoga instructions in exchange for your soul.”
“Dean, I don’t have a soul. I’m an angel. And the gist of the advice he gave me was to look for the answers myself.”
“Cas, you do not need a wacky eastern religion. What, are you gonna start hopping around and chanting next?”
Cas tilted his head. “Why would I do that?”
“Trying to find your answers from the junior vice president of Hell Number Seven.”
Cas blinked, as if trying to parse out Dean’s sentence, and finally gave up. “Dean, listen to me. I can no longer rely on my Father. I definitely can’t ask my brothers. And I don’t wanna rely on you: you don’t need another headache.”
Dean started to say something, but seemed to think the better of it. Instead, he sat down next to Cas. “But, you know, you can come to me. Right?”
“Yes. Thank you, Dean.” Dean ducked his head. “Where are Sam and the prophet?”
“I left them with the tablet and the guardian chick. I thought I’d dump my stuff here and then go get everybody some takeout. Given they haven't all killed each other by the time I'm back. But then more fries for us!”
“Would you like me to accompany you to purchase fast food?” asked Cas, unfolding his legs.
“You’d need to put some clothes on. Hey, why didn’t you tell me you were flexible like that?” he asked, pulling Cas over for a kiss.
“Should I have?” asked Cas when the clench broke. “I thought you wanted to get food,” he added, as Dean was still occupying his mouth on Cas’s body.
“They won’t starve,” Dean muttered into Cas’s clavicle. He pushed the angel down on the bed, and Cas emitted a small grunt when he landed on the tattoo.
“How’s the tatt healing?” whispered Dean.
“Slowly.”
“Mmmm. We’ll go back and get you wings.” Dean had an arm under one of Cas’s legs and appeared to be seeing how far he could pull it upwards.
“Dean,” said Cas, holding Dean’s face in his hands to look him in the eye. “Why would I want tattoos of wings? I already have wings.”
“Because….” Dean murmured.
“Yes…?”
“Because you’re my angel.”
