Seven Hells, Part 4 of ?
Jan. 10th, 2013 04:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Seven Hells, Part 4 of ?
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikific
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam, Garth, Kevin, Linda Tran, Benny
Warnings: Cursing. Spoilers up to 8.08. 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: Team Free Will uncovers yet another of those annoying tablets. This particular Word of God, however, has its own set of guardians, with their own agenda.
Notes: I’m not usually stupid 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. Oh, and chicken and waffles are awesome together - just sayin'.
Some years ago....
The room was absolutely cavernous. On its own it would have swallowed many a castle or palace of earth.
But it was not of earth.
And it housed the tree at the center of the Nine Worlds.
A dark and beautiful woman awaited on the mezzanine, the graceful balcony winding around among the greenery, dappled with light from the many stained glass windows above.
“They told me I’d find you here.” He was tall and good looking, with clear blue eyes and close cropped reddish hair and beard.
“This place is my favorite,” she said, gazing around.
“Mine too. Or it’s come to be.”
“How … are you,” she asked, peering up into his eyes for the answer.
“Surprisingly well, all things considered. Sorry I haven’t been in touch. It’s been hectic up here, one thing and another. So, to what do I owe this?”
She nodded, casting her eyes down to the ground. She looked up again, through dark lashes. “I am here to plead for a favor. I realize you are probably busy, but I feel this matter has the greatest urgency.”
He smiled. “Your son?”
“Lost, at the Elysian Fields incident.”
“As was I,” he added. “You know how it works, now? You need to find a candidate.”
“We already have one. A care worker. Médecins Sans Frontières. Oxford-educated. Speaks eight languages.” She had a note of pride in her voice, as if he were already hers.
He grinned. “And he’s up for this madness?”
“We believe so.”
He nodded. His hands gripped the balustrade, staring up into Yggdrasil’s magnificent branches. Something slithered among its roots and disappeared.
He turned to face her. “Then there is one more thing. I must trust you with a great secret. This may put you, and your pantheon, in grave danger.”
She nodded, and, offering an arm, he escorted her out.
Cas emerged from the shower, dark hair sticking every which way, a quite non-angelic look on his face.
“Lemme see,” said Dean, impatiently turning him around. Cas clutched at the towel wrapped around his waist, trying to keep it in place.
“I don’t like showers,” the angel complained. “They are … inefficient. And wet!” He blew at his bangs, and water dripped down his forehead. He glared at the droplets, as if he wanted to smite them from existence.
“Aw, just hold on Mr. Grumpy Feathers,” laughed Dean.
“I don’t like care for nickname either, Dean!”
“Don't be pissy, Cas. I gotta get the ointment. Just stand here and don’t touch it. Don’t scratch it. Don’t … just don’t!”
Cas spotted the mottled full length mirror mounted on the dingy motel room wall and turned his back to it. Then he attempted to squint over his shoulder to glimpse his reflection.
There was a rap at the door, and then Sam was barging into the room, cradling a laptop. “Get this! You guys gotta hear this about ancient Babylonian- Whoa, am I interrupting something?” he added as he finally noticed the half-naked angel and his brother holding a tube of something or other.
Dean guffawed. “Naw, we’re just oiling the angel. But dude, you gotta learn to give us a second to yell after the knock.”
“You’re doing … what to what?” asked Sam, his voice rising near to cracking.
“Turn around,” Dean instructed Cas, who was still standing with his back to the mirror. “You gotta see this, Sammy. It turned out really cool.”
Cas, though he seemed reluctant, obediently turned so his back was now facing Sam.
“Holy shit!” said Sam. He set down his computer and rushed over.
Spread across Cas’s back was a fresh tattoo of a pair of wings. They were highly stylized, however, resembling not so much feathered wings as wing-shaped carved wooden lattices. The tromp l’oeil effect was quite astounding. It truly looked like there were a number of dark carved gaps in Cas’s back. Sam put out a hand. “Uh. OK to touch?” he asked Dean.
Cas wrinkled his brow. “Does it look … all right, Sam?”
“Dude,” said Sam, running two fingers lightly over a shoulder blade. “This is epic. This is like the best ink I’ve ever seen.”
“Really?” asked Cas, who seemed relieved.
“Shit, yeah, really.”
“That chick is a genius,” grinned Dean.
Sam was still craning his neck at the design. “I wanna get one like this. Maybe a sleeve.”
“Oh, yeah, they’d love that at college, Law Boy,” said Dean, who now had his hands affectionately on Cas’s shoulders. “Come on, sit down so I can rub this crap on you,” he said, leading Cas over to one of the beds. “Don’t want you to peel.”
“That sounds unpleasant, Dean,” grumbled Cas. “Vessels are … messy.”
“You weren’t complaining last night,” laughed Dean. Cas gave him a dark look but sat on the bed and Dean crawled around to sit in back of him.
“Hey, Cas, maybe we can go out and get a beer or something later,” Sam tried. He sat down on one of the ratty chairs and flipped open his laptop.
“And bacon burgers?” Cas asked, a spark of hope now showing in his eyes.
“Yeah, you can get you damn burger, long as I get a bite,” said Dean.
Cas glowered. “Why don’t you order your own bacon cheeseburger, Dean?”
“I dunno. Yours always tastes better for some reason.”
“Ouch!” Cas cringed away from Dean’s touch as if he had just been mortally wounded.
Dean paused from in his work, smiling slightly. “Sorry. But aren’t you like an angelic warrior or something?”
“I am a soldier!” Cas sat up straight, looking slightly offended. “My vessel is … sensitive.”
Sam puttered with his laptop, grinning with the fact that those two idiots sounded like a bickering married couple. He couldn’t very well tell Dean that though, without grave risk of losing life and limb.
Somehow, despite the new custom of booking separate rooms, Sam had begun gravitating towards Dean and Cas's place. It was easier to be around them now that Dean had confessed what they were up to and stopped making increasingly ridiculous excuses for wanting some private time. More evenings than not, after they had all checked in, Sam would grab his laptop and come over, and then he would just end up staying. And staying. And staying. And they would never ever kick him out. One time he had actually fallen asleep, slumped in his chair, only to awaken having been carefully placed on a couch, extra blankets tucked over him.
Sam decided it was partly because he didn't remember his parents together, and he just wasn't around for the time Dean was with Lisa. So there was a kind of fascination in watching the two of them. They weren't touchy-feely: Dean just wasn't that type. But the whole concept of personal space, which was always dicey with Cas, had now and henceforth been completely abolished.
The other day, Dean had been sitting on the bed, on foot on the floor, the other leg stretched out, hunched over something in John's notebook. Cas, who Dean had entreated to doff his coat and jacket, had sat himself down pretty much between Dean's legs, his back pressed against Dean's thigh. And then Dean had pushed the notebook over so it was spread, half over Dean's leg, half over Cas's, and both heads bowed together, almost but not quite touching, Cas's delicate hands – fingers that could burn out a demon – reverently turning the pages, one by one.
And Sam wanted to go over and hug them both. Even though it would have made him a total girl. And ruined the moment. So he'd kept his mouth shut and pretended to be poking around in his laptop, just sitting there marveling at the sheer mind-blowing fact of his brother being happy.
Cas was another matter. The angel's moods were sometimes dark. Given what he'd been through – what they'd all been through – these past few years, it was no surprise. He had these worrying … episodes sometimes. Dean had been the first to notice, but Sam had picked up on them as well. He had likened them to petit mal seizures. Cas didn’t end up writhing on the floor, he would just seem to forget himself for a moment, and then for a little while afterwards he would act flustered and confused. Dean speculated it had some connection with Cas’s sometimes misfiring mojo, but what the link was they didn’t know, and Cas seemed awfully reluctant to connect with the other angels, who might be a help with it.
While Sam was spacing out, Dean had been finishing up with the tattoo goo. “OK,” he said, giving Cas a poke in the ribs. “Now go get some clothes on your ass and we'll go for burgers.” Cas got off the bed, but Dean managed to snag the towel and pull it off of him as he stood. Cas, with lightning quick angel reflexes, snatched it back and then, to Sam's astonishment, snapped it with expert precision at the chortling Dean, sending him sprawling back. “Hey, that smarts!” Dean cried, holding his stomach. Cas gathered what little remained of his dignity and marched, butt naked, ramrod-straight back, into the bathroom.
Sam slammed his laptop, put his head down on it, and wept with laughter.
Some time later, the three men gathered in a local diner, Sam still noodling with his laptop, Dean stirring his cuppa joe, and Cas studying the menu as if it were a sacred text.
“Still taking this free will business seriously, Cas?” asked Sam, who, enjoying the cafe's excellent wifi, did not look up.
Cas, whose back was still tender, was pitched forward slightly. Dean, next to him, sat back with his coffee mug and extended an arm across the back of the booth, not quite over Cas's shoulders but close enough.
“Whatever it is, I get a bite,” said Dean, blowing on his coffee.
“I fail to remember when I agreed to that clause,” muttered Cas.
“You never finish anyway,” said Dean. “Think of the starving children in Albania.”
“How will my unfinished Belgian waffles help or hinder malnourished Eastern Europeans?” asked Cas.
“You're getting the waffles?” asked Dean. “Make sure to get whipped cream.” After they had given their orders to the waitress, he looked over at Sam, who was still hip-deep in Babylonia. “So, you gonna tell us about this Nerdly guy?”
“Nergal,” said Sam.
“And, he's a D-List god of some kind.”
“Nergal and his consort, Ereshkigal, are rulers of Irkalla,” Cas supplied.
Dean looked from Cas to Sam. “OK, so what do we got besides a butt-load of crossword puzzle answers?”
“Well, as it happens, Irkalla was the Babylonian equivalent of Hell,” said Sam. “That's why your buddy Bibi gave us the name.”
“Let me guess,” said Dean. “Not a member of the Crowley fan club?”
“No, in fact, I guess they've actually clashed before. As you could figure, there aren't a whole lot of dead Babylonians these days, so there supposedly lots of unused real estate in Irkalla.”
“So Crowley-”
“Attempted an incursion,” said Sam. “It didn't work, but I guess Nergal swore vengeance.”
“An angry pagan god. Oh joy,” said Dean, just as the waitress plunked a chocolate milkshake down in front of Cas. The angel's eyes crossed as he beheld the miracle that was blended ice cream, whipped topping and a cherry.
“More whipped cream?” asked Dean, stealing a finger full from the top. “We're gonna have to scrape you off the ceiling tonight, buddy.”
“Why would sweetened dairy product affect my gravitational pull, Dean?” Cas asked will utmost seriousness as he gripped the straw and took a generous sip. He goggled, eyes wide, and drank some more. “This is.... This is....”
“What?” asked Dean, rudely grabbing the straw and sampling for himself. “Yeah, it's a milkshake. Real ice cream,” he added approvingly.
“You've decided you like milkshakes, Cas?” asked Sam, knowing the angel regarded his free will choices of menu items with great gravity.
“This beverage is … better than pie!” pronounced Cas, taking another guzzle.
“Say WHAT?” asked Dean, a look of betrayal tracing his handsome features.
Cas’s smile was smug. “Yes, it is definitely better than pie. Also, I am not surprised that Crowley's hostile move against Irkalla was unsuccessful.”
“First off,” said Dean, once again pulling the milkshake towards him, “NOTHING is better than pie. Secondly, why aren't you surprised?” He took a generous sip.
“Because,” said Cas, grabbing the milkshake back. Condensation dribbled down the metal sides of the glass.
The waitress glided by, tossed a second straw on the table, winked and Dean and Cas, and hurried off.
Sam turned around in his seat, calling, “Hey, I'm the single one,” after her. Dean tore open the straw and stuck it into the angel's milkshake. Sam turned back to face his brother and Cas, now both drinking from the same glass. “You know, you guys, this is a little … sickening.”
“You're just jealous she didn't bring you a straw,” said Dean. And any further conversation was postponed as Cas and Dean, glaring at each other, attempted to guzzle down the milkshake in record time.
The waitress returned just as they were slurping up the dregs, handing out plates of burgers and fries and salads and fried chicken and then ketchup and honey mustard dressing and maple syrup and all of the rest.
“What the heck did you end up getting, Cas?” asked Dean, pointing a french fry at Cas's utterly confusing platter.
“This is chicken and waffles, Dean.”
Dean squinted uncertainly at the meal. “Why would you get waffles with your fried chicken?”
“Why would you get friend chicken with your waffles?” added Sam, spooning dressing over his salad and taking a considered bite. He frowned and began to shake pepper over the lot.
“That is an unholy combination, Cas,” pronounced Dean.
“I am making up my own rule book, Dean,” countered Cas smugly as he carefully smoothed whipped butter on the top waffle and then poured maple syrup over the entire concoction.
Sam swallowed his slightly wilted salad and halfway wished he had demanded a third straw for Cas's milkshake. “So, Cas, what was it you were saying about Irkalla?”
Cas was carefully lining up a bit of waffle with a chunk of chicken on his fork. “Yes, I was not surprised that Crowley's move against Nergal and Irkalla failed. Firstly, Nergal was not just a deity of the underworld, but also of wrath, and of war. Whereas Crowley is....” he shrugged and took a bite.
“A little Scottish dickbag,” said Dean.
“Secondly, Irkalla's design was not the same as that of the Western Hell. It was heavily fortified.”
“Oh yeah,” said Sam, pushing his fork around his salad plate and then pulling his laptop over. “Check it out! It says here that it had seven gates.”
“That's right. Souls entered, but never departed. This is excellent!” Cas said of his dinner choice
Dean began to dig in – to Cas's plate. “So, we got an angry war god with an impenetrable fortress of doom. Sounds like a Bond villain. Great.”
“Dean,” Sam pointed out. “You’re eating Cas’s dinner and you haven't even taken a bite of your burger yet.”
“I gotta check out Cas's Abomination Special.” Dean sawed off generous slices of poultry and pastry and crammed it all in his mouth. “DAMN!” he said.
Castiel glowered, nevertheless wiping off a bit of syrup from the corner of Dean's mouth with his thumb.
“How do you keep picking the awesome meals?” Dean asked. “You've only had free will like five minutes!” He pulled Cas's plate in his direction and dove in.
“You gonna eat that?” Sam asked about Dean's neglected meal. Without waiting for an answer, he reached across the table and grabbed Dean's burger.
“Hey! I was gonna eat that!” mumbled Dean through a mouth full of Cas's dinner.
“Possession is nine tenths of the law,” Sam, who was a legal scholar, smacked. “God, it's a wonder your arteries haven't already exploded,” he marveled, pulling out a piece of crispy bacon from between the bun and burger and then cramming it into his mouth.
“So, how we gonna pick the locks on seven gates?” asked Dean around a mouth full of chicken. “I take it this guy prob'ly has a security system, like the usual rabid, three-headed dog?”
“May I taste your salad, Sam?” asked Cas. Sam pushed the plate across the table towards the angel. “There are guardians along the way, located at each gate,” he told the brothers, taking a bit of lettuce on a fork. He sampled a bite and then made a sour face.
“You're supposed to bribe them with clothes and jewelry,” said Sam, peering at the computer screen, and dribbling secret sauce from Dean’s erstwhile burger on the keyboard. He attempted to wipe it up with a paper napkin. “You evidently drop another article of clothing with each guy.”
“Wait,” said Dean, screwing up his face. “Your pants?” Cas and Sam nodded over their borrowed food. “So, getting in is like Babylonian strip poker?”
“As I mentioned before, Dean,” said Cas, who was now pouring maple syrup over a lettuce leaf from Sam’s salad, “obtaining entrance will not be the problem. It's getting out. Especially for you and Sam, as you are mortals. It might be safer for me to enter alone.”
“Cas, you're not!” scolded Dean.
“Dean, I promise I will not take any unnecessary risks.”
“No!” said Dean. “I mean, you're not pouring syrup on that salad,” said Dean, staying Cas's hand as it poised, bearing maple syrup, over Sam's Chinese Chicken salad.
“It tastes better, Dean.” He held out a fork full of syrupy salad at Dean.
“It couldn't taste worse,” shrugged Sam, stealing another fry from Dean's plate.
“You really think we need this Nerdly dude on our side?” asked Dean around a glob of syrup-soaked salad.
“Nergal!” chorused Cas and Sam. “And, yeah,” Sam continued. “If we ever wanna see the other half of that demon tablet he’s holding, we gotta make things uncomfortable for Crowley.”
“I'm not good with Cas going it alone though,” mused Dean, pulling Sam's salad plate closer to his place, which was already crowded with his own and Cas's original dinner plate.
“Dean, you can't!” protested Sam.
“I can be nervous about Cas!” sputtered Dean. “I just got him back from Purgatory.”
“No, I mean, you're now stealing two of Cas's dinners?” asked Sam, pointing to the trainwreck of dishes clustered around Dean.
“You stole my burger,” Dean pointed out. “Anyway, the deal with Nergal is Sam and I are going with you, Cas, so no arguments.” Dean looked to Sam, who nodded.
“If you say so, Dean,” said Cas softly, though he looked unhappy.
“No arguments!” Dean repeated, sliding a fork full of fried chicken in the maple syrup into his mouth. “And I think we need to call in some more guns.”
“Not Garth,” said Sam, rolling his eyes heavenwards. “Besides, he's busy with the Trans.”
“Yeah, especially Mrs. Tran,” muttered Dean. “No, I mean, if it's a trouble for mortals to get out, we gotta call in a guy who's not mortal.”
“What … oh,” said Sam, who now morphed into full metal bitchface mode.
Cas had suddenly rounded on Dean. “I am not going into Hell with the … the vampire!”
Dean smiled fondly and squeezed Cas’s shoulder. “Aw, c'mon, Cas. He saved my butt, and yours.”
“I don’t trust him,” muttered Sam.
Cas just glared. “I am fully capable of carrying this out on my own.”
Dean sliced himself a mass of chicken, waffles and salad. “Cas! You are not going to Hell alone. No way! Like I said, no arguments.”
The two locked eyes for a long moment, but then there was an “Ahem,” and all three men looked up to see the waitress standing at the table. For some reason, she had a big grin on her face.
“Can I get you boys anything else. Another shake?”
Cas grabbed his empty milkshake glass and handed it over to her. “Yes, I will have another chocolate milkshake, please. With only one straw,” he added, shooting a glare at Dean.
“They don’t get along?”
“They get along just fine! Just fine!” Dean assured his brother as they pawed through a pile of T-shirts at Good Will. “Whoa. Motley Crue,” he said, pulling up a black shirt and holding it up to himself.
“Cas and Benny?” asked Sam, leaning against the table. “Are buddies?”
“Well. There are just, you know, cultural differences. They argue. Sometimes. Like we do. But it’s nothing.”
“I fail to see the point of this exercise,” stated Cas, who had just walked up. Sam stifled a laugh. The angel was swaddled in what looked like half a rack of clothing, flannel over dress shirt over T-shirt over undershirt, as well as a pair of jeans that looked to be at least two sizes too big. “What is wrong with my customary clothing?” He crossed his arms and glared.
“The key is layering,” said Dean, who started to fiddle with Cas’s outfit. “We're bribing the gate guards with clothing, remember? You don’t wanna get to the seventh gate wearing just a tie, right? Go negotiate with Nergal in your birthday suit?”
Cas shot a questioning glance at Sam.
“Dean means naked, Cas.”
The angel’s cheeks turned crimson. “No, I would not like that, Dean.”
“We just need to get you a jacket,” Dean told the angel.
“What about my coat?”
“I’m not giving over your trench coat to some demon rent-a-cop! We’ll go get you a cheap jean jacket or something.” He tugged at Cas’s belt loops. There was a pretty big gap between denim fabric and angel waist. “And a belt. Damn, we need to feed your more.”
“Maybe if you didn’t eat his dinner for him,” chuckled Sam.
Just then, a large, jovial man with a scruffy beard ambled up. “So am I in time for the fashion show?” he asked.
“Hey, Benny!” said Dean, shaking his hand warmly.
“Sam,” said Benny, nodding in his direction.
“Benny,” muttered Sam through gritted teeth.
Benny turned. “And look at Cas! You cleaned up good, friend. Like a shiny new penny.”
Cas got an extra-smitey look on his face. “You look … precisely the same,” he told Benny.
“Cas!” said Dean.
“Oh, Cas, where is thy sting,” laughed Benny, putting a hand over his chest.
“The sting of death is sin; the strength of sin is the law,” recited Cas.
“Boy knows his scripture,” said Benny, nodding.
“I’m an angel,” grumped Cas.
“Thought you were an atheistic angel?”
“That’s a recent development.”
“OK OK OK,” said Dean, stepping between them and putting his hands up. “We’re all gonna be in this together. Can we retract the fangs and bring in the wings and just everybody fucking get along?”
Both creatures stopped to study Dean for a moment, and then Benny stretched out a meaty paw towards Cas, cocking an eyebrow at the angel. Cas looked at the hand, cast a skeptical glance at Dean, who nodded encouragement, and then extended his own hand to shake Benny’s.
“See? Now, give me five minutes, and I could solve the Mid-East crisis!” chirped Dean.
“Hey, Cas,” said Sam. “I saw some belts over this way.” He inclined his head, and, with a final scowl at Benny, Castiel followed him to another part of the floor.
Benny cast a shrewd glance at Dean. “You got your angel back, brother.”
Dean was already back pawing at the T-shirts, but he cracked a huge grin. “Yeah,” he said. And then he shrugged. “It’s a long story, to be honest. Dumb son of a bitch didn’t wanna leave Purgatory.” The smile faded.
“That was clear enough. To anyone who had eyes,” said Benny.
Dean looked up, catching the rebuke. “I wasn’t gonna leave him, Benny.”
“That was pretty damn clear, too.” Benny smiled, putting a hand through the T-shirts. “No shame in that, Dean. You’re loyal. As well as completely off your ass insane.”
“I’m just…” Dean began, now looking up. “He doesn’t remember how he got out. I know he didn’t go with me.” Dean shook his head. “With us. Makes me nervous.”
“Oh, so now you’re looking your little gift angel in the mouth?”
“I don’t like being screwed around with,” Dean muttered darkly.
Benny nodded and picked up an Allman Brothers tee. “So what’s on the agenda?”
“You came before you even heard my carefully-rehearsed speech,” said Dean.
“I owe ya one, brother. I don’t forget my debts.”
“Just my luck, a House Lannister vampire,” grinned Dean. Benny looked confused, so Dean waved a hand. “Don’t worry. It’s some books Sammy likes. But they won’t be finished in our lifetimes. Either of us. Anyway, we’re marching on Hell.”
Benny stared. “You know, I’ve lived a full fucking century, half of that in Purgatory, and you are still the craziest motherfucker I think I have ever encountered. Congratulations.”
“It gets even crazier. This is a drunk-off-its-ass Babylonian Hell. I guess you have to bribe the palace guards with clothes, so we’re stocking up.”
“You give the guards a ratty T-shirt to pass in?” asked Benny, holding up a Poison T-shirt.
“Whoa, dude, that’s a classic!” said Dean, grabbing it from the vampire’s hands. “Every rose has its thorn!” he recited.
Sam had a big belt buckle shaped like the state of Texas held up to his belly for size. “That scripture you guys were quoting, Cas? Was that Corinthians?”
Cas was awkwardly threading a belt through his pant loops. He nodded at Sam. “Yes. That chapter touted my Father’s eventual victory over Death.” He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think Death would have been amused by the notion.”
“So, hey,” said Sam, setting down the belt buckle and hopping up to sit on the sturdy wooden table beside a pile of battered toasters and other household appliances that had seen better days. He picked up a waffle iron and fiddled with it. “I don’t know what you think about Benny….”
“What about Benny?” asked Cas, pausing to stare at Sam.
Sam looked up, but then looked back down towards the waffle iron as if it was the most interesting item on earth. “Uh, you know....”
“No, Sam. I'm afraid I don't know.”
Sam didn't need to look up to know he was probably getting the patented Castiel Countenance of Celestial Confusion. “Um. I didn’t wanna make a big deal about this in front of Dean. But do you trust the guy?”
Cas was quiet for a beat. Sam opened and closed the waffle iron, but finally looked up. Cas’s eyes were blazing like two blue sapphires. “Benny saved my life. And your brother’s life. Dean thinks he is worthy of trust.” As if that was the end of it.
Sam fought down a shudder. Avenging angels, not big on shades of grey, he thought ruefully.
Cas went back to doing origami on his belt. “Benny was the one who told Dean of the escape route from Purgatory. He is the one most responsible for your brother being here, with you, today.”
Sam stole a glance at Cas, who was no longer glaring at him, but he still felt the rebuke. “Dean doesn’t talk a lot about what went on in Purgatory….”
“There are monsters. Sometimes you run from them. Sometimes you kill them.” Cas looked up at Sam again. “And sometimes … you are killed.”
“What the hell are you doing with that belt, Cas?” asked Dean, who had just walked up along with Benny.
“Human clothing is unintuitive,” the angel grumbled.
Without bothering to ask permission, Dean grabbed the twisted leather and unwound it, and then deftly looped it around Cas’s waistband. “We may have to make you another notch,” said Dean, pulling it tight, “but this should be OK.”
“I fail to see the point of this garment,” said Cas suspiciously.
“It’s so your damn pants don’t fall down around your ass,” laughed Dean.
“Isn’t that nice? Playing dress up with your angel.”
Dean looked around in shock. They had been surrounded by a number of clerks and other customers, all of whom now wore unpleasant expressions. There were a couple of big guys among them, including the dude who had spoken, but there was also a little old lady and a skinny teenager in the bunch. “They are possessed,” whispered Cas.
“Yeah, I got that,” Dean told him. “What do you want?” he asked the demons.
“The rest of our tablet,” said the guy who’d spoken before. “You don’t have your little goth friend and her boyfriend to babysit you this time.”
“No, you’re right,” said Dean. “Just an angel, a vampire…. Oh, and me and my brother,” added Dean, taking a step forward and crowding the guy’s space. The demon's confidence seemed to crack a little.
“Dean,” warned Sam. “I think they’re just people from the store.”
“Yeah, yeah,” sighed Dean. “Civilians. Can you guys do non-lethal?”
Sam looked dubious, but Benny cracked his knuckles and grinned. “Oh, you just wanna make it more fun, don’t ya?”
Cas looked around and then nodded to Dean.
And then Benny and Dean heaved over the table, scattering demons and small appliances. Sam turned and clocked a rather large attacker over the head with the waffle iron. Cas snapped off his new belt and cracked it at a couple of them like a whip. And then what happened next looked like a snowball fight, only with dented toasters and broken blenders flying through the air instead of snow. Sam crouched behind the overturned table and began to recite, quickly as he could, the Ritual Romanum at double time, “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritusomnis satanica potestas, omnis incursion infernalis adversarii, omnis legio….”
The store was soon clouded with foul-smelling black smoke, as the unlucky victims of possession one by one belched out their demons and collapsed.
“Crowley?” asked Sam, as Dean hunkered down beside an unconscious little old lady to check her pulse. Her neck thrummed reassuringly beneath his fingers.
“Seems likely,” said Dean, standing and shaking his head. “We should get out of here before they wake up. They’re not gonna be in a good mood. Cas, grab your clothes.”
“I see the point of this garment now!” said Cas, once again snapping the belt so it wound around his hand.
“That is actually … sorta cool,” muttered Benny.
Cas was stooping down to pick up something on the floor. It was a dusty little tin toy of an angel. He grabbed it and stared at it, fascinated.
“All, right, yes,” said Dean, snatching it away from him. “We’ll get you a toy too. Now grab your crap and let’s get the hell outta Dodge.”
“We are not in Dodge, Dean. Dodge is in Kanas.”
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikific
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam, Garth, Kevin, Linda Tran, Benny
Warnings: Cursing. Spoilers up to 8.08. 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: Team Free Will uncovers yet another of those annoying tablets. This particular Word of God, however, has its own set of guardians, with their own agenda.
Notes: I’m not usually stupid 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. Oh, and chicken and waffles are awesome together - just sayin'.
Some years ago....
The room was absolutely cavernous. On its own it would have swallowed many a castle or palace of earth.
But it was not of earth.
And it housed the tree at the center of the Nine Worlds.
A dark and beautiful woman awaited on the mezzanine, the graceful balcony winding around among the greenery, dappled with light from the many stained glass windows above.
“They told me I’d find you here.” He was tall and good looking, with clear blue eyes and close cropped reddish hair and beard.
“This place is my favorite,” she said, gazing around.
“Mine too. Or it’s come to be.”
“How … are you,” she asked, peering up into his eyes for the answer.
“Surprisingly well, all things considered. Sorry I haven’t been in touch. It’s been hectic up here, one thing and another. So, to what do I owe this?”
She nodded, casting her eyes down to the ground. She looked up again, through dark lashes. “I am here to plead for a favor. I realize you are probably busy, but I feel this matter has the greatest urgency.”
He smiled. “Your son?”
“Lost, at the Elysian Fields incident.”
“As was I,” he added. “You know how it works, now? You need to find a candidate.”
“We already have one. A care worker. Médecins Sans Frontières. Oxford-educated. Speaks eight languages.” She had a note of pride in her voice, as if he were already hers.
He grinned. “And he’s up for this madness?”
“We believe so.”
He nodded. His hands gripped the balustrade, staring up into Yggdrasil’s magnificent branches. Something slithered among its roots and disappeared.
He turned to face her. “Then there is one more thing. I must trust you with a great secret. This may put you, and your pantheon, in grave danger.”
She nodded, and, offering an arm, he escorted her out.
Cas emerged from the shower, dark hair sticking every which way, a quite non-angelic look on his face.
“Lemme see,” said Dean, impatiently turning him around. Cas clutched at the towel wrapped around his waist, trying to keep it in place.
“I don’t like showers,” the angel complained. “They are … inefficient. And wet!” He blew at his bangs, and water dripped down his forehead. He glared at the droplets, as if he wanted to smite them from existence.
“Aw, just hold on Mr. Grumpy Feathers,” laughed Dean.
“I don’t like care for nickname either, Dean!”
“Don't be pissy, Cas. I gotta get the ointment. Just stand here and don’t touch it. Don’t scratch it. Don’t … just don’t!”
Cas spotted the mottled full length mirror mounted on the dingy motel room wall and turned his back to it. Then he attempted to squint over his shoulder to glimpse his reflection.
There was a rap at the door, and then Sam was barging into the room, cradling a laptop. “Get this! You guys gotta hear this about ancient Babylonian- Whoa, am I interrupting something?” he added as he finally noticed the half-naked angel and his brother holding a tube of something or other.
Dean guffawed. “Naw, we’re just oiling the angel. But dude, you gotta learn to give us a second to yell after the knock.”
“You’re doing … what to what?” asked Sam, his voice rising near to cracking.
“Turn around,” Dean instructed Cas, who was still standing with his back to the mirror. “You gotta see this, Sammy. It turned out really cool.”
Cas, though he seemed reluctant, obediently turned so his back was now facing Sam.
“Holy shit!” said Sam. He set down his computer and rushed over.
Spread across Cas’s back was a fresh tattoo of a pair of wings. They were highly stylized, however, resembling not so much feathered wings as wing-shaped carved wooden lattices. The tromp l’oeil effect was quite astounding. It truly looked like there were a number of dark carved gaps in Cas’s back. Sam put out a hand. “Uh. OK to touch?” he asked Dean.
Cas wrinkled his brow. “Does it look … all right, Sam?”
“Dude,” said Sam, running two fingers lightly over a shoulder blade. “This is epic. This is like the best ink I’ve ever seen.”
“Really?” asked Cas, who seemed relieved.
“Shit, yeah, really.”
“That chick is a genius,” grinned Dean.
Sam was still craning his neck at the design. “I wanna get one like this. Maybe a sleeve.”
“Oh, yeah, they’d love that at college, Law Boy,” said Dean, who now had his hands affectionately on Cas’s shoulders. “Come on, sit down so I can rub this crap on you,” he said, leading Cas over to one of the beds. “Don’t want you to peel.”
“That sounds unpleasant, Dean,” grumbled Cas. “Vessels are … messy.”
“You weren’t complaining last night,” laughed Dean. Cas gave him a dark look but sat on the bed and Dean crawled around to sit in back of him.
“Hey, Cas, maybe we can go out and get a beer or something later,” Sam tried. He sat down on one of the ratty chairs and flipped open his laptop.
“And bacon burgers?” Cas asked, a spark of hope now showing in his eyes.
“Yeah, you can get you damn burger, long as I get a bite,” said Dean.
Cas glowered. “Why don’t you order your own bacon cheeseburger, Dean?”
“I dunno. Yours always tastes better for some reason.”
“Ouch!” Cas cringed away from Dean’s touch as if he had just been mortally wounded.
Dean paused from in his work, smiling slightly. “Sorry. But aren’t you like an angelic warrior or something?”
“I am a soldier!” Cas sat up straight, looking slightly offended. “My vessel is … sensitive.”
Sam puttered with his laptop, grinning with the fact that those two idiots sounded like a bickering married couple. He couldn’t very well tell Dean that though, without grave risk of losing life and limb.
Somehow, despite the new custom of booking separate rooms, Sam had begun gravitating towards Dean and Cas's place. It was easier to be around them now that Dean had confessed what they were up to and stopped making increasingly ridiculous excuses for wanting some private time. More evenings than not, after they had all checked in, Sam would grab his laptop and come over, and then he would just end up staying. And staying. And staying. And they would never ever kick him out. One time he had actually fallen asleep, slumped in his chair, only to awaken having been carefully placed on a couch, extra blankets tucked over him.
Sam decided it was partly because he didn't remember his parents together, and he just wasn't around for the time Dean was with Lisa. So there was a kind of fascination in watching the two of them. They weren't touchy-feely: Dean just wasn't that type. But the whole concept of personal space, which was always dicey with Cas, had now and henceforth been completely abolished.
The other day, Dean had been sitting on the bed, on foot on the floor, the other leg stretched out, hunched over something in John's notebook. Cas, who Dean had entreated to doff his coat and jacket, had sat himself down pretty much between Dean's legs, his back pressed against Dean's thigh. And then Dean had pushed the notebook over so it was spread, half over Dean's leg, half over Cas's, and both heads bowed together, almost but not quite touching, Cas's delicate hands – fingers that could burn out a demon – reverently turning the pages, one by one.
And Sam wanted to go over and hug them both. Even though it would have made him a total girl. And ruined the moment. So he'd kept his mouth shut and pretended to be poking around in his laptop, just sitting there marveling at the sheer mind-blowing fact of his brother being happy.
Cas was another matter. The angel's moods were sometimes dark. Given what he'd been through – what they'd all been through – these past few years, it was no surprise. He had these worrying … episodes sometimes. Dean had been the first to notice, but Sam had picked up on them as well. He had likened them to petit mal seizures. Cas didn’t end up writhing on the floor, he would just seem to forget himself for a moment, and then for a little while afterwards he would act flustered and confused. Dean speculated it had some connection with Cas’s sometimes misfiring mojo, but what the link was they didn’t know, and Cas seemed awfully reluctant to connect with the other angels, who might be a help with it.
While Sam was spacing out, Dean had been finishing up with the tattoo goo. “OK,” he said, giving Cas a poke in the ribs. “Now go get some clothes on your ass and we'll go for burgers.” Cas got off the bed, but Dean managed to snag the towel and pull it off of him as he stood. Cas, with lightning quick angel reflexes, snatched it back and then, to Sam's astonishment, snapped it with expert precision at the chortling Dean, sending him sprawling back. “Hey, that smarts!” Dean cried, holding his stomach. Cas gathered what little remained of his dignity and marched, butt naked, ramrod-straight back, into the bathroom.
Sam slammed his laptop, put his head down on it, and wept with laughter.
Some time later, the three men gathered in a local diner, Sam still noodling with his laptop, Dean stirring his cuppa joe, and Cas studying the menu as if it were a sacred text.
“Still taking this free will business seriously, Cas?” asked Sam, who, enjoying the cafe's excellent wifi, did not look up.
Cas, whose back was still tender, was pitched forward slightly. Dean, next to him, sat back with his coffee mug and extended an arm across the back of the booth, not quite over Cas's shoulders but close enough.
“Whatever it is, I get a bite,” said Dean, blowing on his coffee.
“I fail to remember when I agreed to that clause,” muttered Cas.
“You never finish anyway,” said Dean. “Think of the starving children in Albania.”
“How will my unfinished Belgian waffles help or hinder malnourished Eastern Europeans?” asked Cas.
“You're getting the waffles?” asked Dean. “Make sure to get whipped cream.” After they had given their orders to the waitress, he looked over at Sam, who was still hip-deep in Babylonia. “So, you gonna tell us about this Nerdly guy?”
“Nergal,” said Sam.
“And, he's a D-List god of some kind.”
“Nergal and his consort, Ereshkigal, are rulers of Irkalla,” Cas supplied.
Dean looked from Cas to Sam. “OK, so what do we got besides a butt-load of crossword puzzle answers?”
“Well, as it happens, Irkalla was the Babylonian equivalent of Hell,” said Sam. “That's why your buddy Bibi gave us the name.”
“Let me guess,” said Dean. “Not a member of the Crowley fan club?”
“No, in fact, I guess they've actually clashed before. As you could figure, there aren't a whole lot of dead Babylonians these days, so there supposedly lots of unused real estate in Irkalla.”
“So Crowley-”
“Attempted an incursion,” said Sam. “It didn't work, but I guess Nergal swore vengeance.”
“An angry pagan god. Oh joy,” said Dean, just as the waitress plunked a chocolate milkshake down in front of Cas. The angel's eyes crossed as he beheld the miracle that was blended ice cream, whipped topping and a cherry.
“More whipped cream?” asked Dean, stealing a finger full from the top. “We're gonna have to scrape you off the ceiling tonight, buddy.”
“Why would sweetened dairy product affect my gravitational pull, Dean?” Cas asked will utmost seriousness as he gripped the straw and took a generous sip. He goggled, eyes wide, and drank some more. “This is.... This is....”
“What?” asked Dean, rudely grabbing the straw and sampling for himself. “Yeah, it's a milkshake. Real ice cream,” he added approvingly.
“You've decided you like milkshakes, Cas?” asked Sam, knowing the angel regarded his free will choices of menu items with great gravity.
“This beverage is … better than pie!” pronounced Cas, taking another guzzle.
“Say WHAT?” asked Dean, a look of betrayal tracing his handsome features.
Cas’s smile was smug. “Yes, it is definitely better than pie. Also, I am not surprised that Crowley's hostile move against Irkalla was unsuccessful.”
“First off,” said Dean, once again pulling the milkshake towards him, “NOTHING is better than pie. Secondly, why aren't you surprised?” He took a generous sip.
“Because,” said Cas, grabbing the milkshake back. Condensation dribbled down the metal sides of the glass.
The waitress glided by, tossed a second straw on the table, winked and Dean and Cas, and hurried off.
Sam turned around in his seat, calling, “Hey, I'm the single one,” after her. Dean tore open the straw and stuck it into the angel's milkshake. Sam turned back to face his brother and Cas, now both drinking from the same glass. “You know, you guys, this is a little … sickening.”
“You're just jealous she didn't bring you a straw,” said Dean. And any further conversation was postponed as Cas and Dean, glaring at each other, attempted to guzzle down the milkshake in record time.
The waitress returned just as they were slurping up the dregs, handing out plates of burgers and fries and salads and fried chicken and then ketchup and honey mustard dressing and maple syrup and all of the rest.
“What the heck did you end up getting, Cas?” asked Dean, pointing a french fry at Cas's utterly confusing platter.
“This is chicken and waffles, Dean.”
Dean squinted uncertainly at the meal. “Why would you get waffles with your fried chicken?”
“Why would you get friend chicken with your waffles?” added Sam, spooning dressing over his salad and taking a considered bite. He frowned and began to shake pepper over the lot.
“That is an unholy combination, Cas,” pronounced Dean.
“I am making up my own rule book, Dean,” countered Cas smugly as he carefully smoothed whipped butter on the top waffle and then poured maple syrup over the entire concoction.
Sam swallowed his slightly wilted salad and halfway wished he had demanded a third straw for Cas's milkshake. “So, Cas, what was it you were saying about Irkalla?”
Cas was carefully lining up a bit of waffle with a chunk of chicken on his fork. “Yes, I was not surprised that Crowley's move against Nergal and Irkalla failed. Firstly, Nergal was not just a deity of the underworld, but also of wrath, and of war. Whereas Crowley is....” he shrugged and took a bite.
“A little Scottish dickbag,” said Dean.
“Secondly, Irkalla's design was not the same as that of the Western Hell. It was heavily fortified.”
“Oh yeah,” said Sam, pushing his fork around his salad plate and then pulling his laptop over. “Check it out! It says here that it had seven gates.”
“That's right. Souls entered, but never departed. This is excellent!” Cas said of his dinner choice
Dean began to dig in – to Cas's plate. “So, we got an angry war god with an impenetrable fortress of doom. Sounds like a Bond villain. Great.”
“Dean,” Sam pointed out. “You’re eating Cas’s dinner and you haven't even taken a bite of your burger yet.”
“I gotta check out Cas's Abomination Special.” Dean sawed off generous slices of poultry and pastry and crammed it all in his mouth. “DAMN!” he said.
Castiel glowered, nevertheless wiping off a bit of syrup from the corner of Dean's mouth with his thumb.
“How do you keep picking the awesome meals?” Dean asked. “You've only had free will like five minutes!” He pulled Cas's plate in his direction and dove in.
“You gonna eat that?” Sam asked about Dean's neglected meal. Without waiting for an answer, he reached across the table and grabbed Dean's burger.
“Hey! I was gonna eat that!” mumbled Dean through a mouth full of Cas's dinner.
“Possession is nine tenths of the law,” Sam, who was a legal scholar, smacked. “God, it's a wonder your arteries haven't already exploded,” he marveled, pulling out a piece of crispy bacon from between the bun and burger and then cramming it into his mouth.
“So, how we gonna pick the locks on seven gates?” asked Dean around a mouth full of chicken. “I take it this guy prob'ly has a security system, like the usual rabid, three-headed dog?”
“May I taste your salad, Sam?” asked Cas. Sam pushed the plate across the table towards the angel. “There are guardians along the way, located at each gate,” he told the brothers, taking a bit of lettuce on a fork. He sampled a bite and then made a sour face.
“You're supposed to bribe them with clothes and jewelry,” said Sam, peering at the computer screen, and dribbling secret sauce from Dean’s erstwhile burger on the keyboard. He attempted to wipe it up with a paper napkin. “You evidently drop another article of clothing with each guy.”
“Wait,” said Dean, screwing up his face. “Your pants?” Cas and Sam nodded over their borrowed food. “So, getting in is like Babylonian strip poker?”
“As I mentioned before, Dean,” said Cas, who was now pouring maple syrup over a lettuce leaf from Sam’s salad, “obtaining entrance will not be the problem. It's getting out. Especially for you and Sam, as you are mortals. It might be safer for me to enter alone.”
“Cas, you're not!” scolded Dean.
“Dean, I promise I will not take any unnecessary risks.”
“No!” said Dean. “I mean, you're not pouring syrup on that salad,” said Dean, staying Cas's hand as it poised, bearing maple syrup, over Sam's Chinese Chicken salad.
“It tastes better, Dean.” He held out a fork full of syrupy salad at Dean.
“It couldn't taste worse,” shrugged Sam, stealing another fry from Dean's plate.
“You really think we need this Nerdly dude on our side?” asked Dean around a glob of syrup-soaked salad.
“Nergal!” chorused Cas and Sam. “And, yeah,” Sam continued. “If we ever wanna see the other half of that demon tablet he’s holding, we gotta make things uncomfortable for Crowley.”
“I'm not good with Cas going it alone though,” mused Dean, pulling Sam's salad plate closer to his place, which was already crowded with his own and Cas's original dinner plate.
“Dean, you can't!” protested Sam.
“I can be nervous about Cas!” sputtered Dean. “I just got him back from Purgatory.”
“No, I mean, you're now stealing two of Cas's dinners?” asked Sam, pointing to the trainwreck of dishes clustered around Dean.
“You stole my burger,” Dean pointed out. “Anyway, the deal with Nergal is Sam and I are going with you, Cas, so no arguments.” Dean looked to Sam, who nodded.
“If you say so, Dean,” said Cas softly, though he looked unhappy.
“No arguments!” Dean repeated, sliding a fork full of fried chicken in the maple syrup into his mouth. “And I think we need to call in some more guns.”
“Not Garth,” said Sam, rolling his eyes heavenwards. “Besides, he's busy with the Trans.”
“Yeah, especially Mrs. Tran,” muttered Dean. “No, I mean, if it's a trouble for mortals to get out, we gotta call in a guy who's not mortal.”
“What … oh,” said Sam, who now morphed into full metal bitchface mode.
Cas had suddenly rounded on Dean. “I am not going into Hell with the … the vampire!”
Dean smiled fondly and squeezed Cas’s shoulder. “Aw, c'mon, Cas. He saved my butt, and yours.”
“I don’t trust him,” muttered Sam.
Cas just glared. “I am fully capable of carrying this out on my own.”
Dean sliced himself a mass of chicken, waffles and salad. “Cas! You are not going to Hell alone. No way! Like I said, no arguments.”
The two locked eyes for a long moment, but then there was an “Ahem,” and all three men looked up to see the waitress standing at the table. For some reason, she had a big grin on her face.
“Can I get you boys anything else. Another shake?”
Cas grabbed his empty milkshake glass and handed it over to her. “Yes, I will have another chocolate milkshake, please. With only one straw,” he added, shooting a glare at Dean.
“They don’t get along?”
“They get along just fine! Just fine!” Dean assured his brother as they pawed through a pile of T-shirts at Good Will. “Whoa. Motley Crue,” he said, pulling up a black shirt and holding it up to himself.
“Cas and Benny?” asked Sam, leaning against the table. “Are buddies?”
“Well. There are just, you know, cultural differences. They argue. Sometimes. Like we do. But it’s nothing.”
“I fail to see the point of this exercise,” stated Cas, who had just walked up. Sam stifled a laugh. The angel was swaddled in what looked like half a rack of clothing, flannel over dress shirt over T-shirt over undershirt, as well as a pair of jeans that looked to be at least two sizes too big. “What is wrong with my customary clothing?” He crossed his arms and glared.
“The key is layering,” said Dean, who started to fiddle with Cas’s outfit. “We're bribing the gate guards with clothing, remember? You don’t wanna get to the seventh gate wearing just a tie, right? Go negotiate with Nergal in your birthday suit?”
Cas shot a questioning glance at Sam.
“Dean means naked, Cas.”
The angel’s cheeks turned crimson. “No, I would not like that, Dean.”
“We just need to get you a jacket,” Dean told the angel.
“What about my coat?”
“I’m not giving over your trench coat to some demon rent-a-cop! We’ll go get you a cheap jean jacket or something.” He tugged at Cas’s belt loops. There was a pretty big gap between denim fabric and angel waist. “And a belt. Damn, we need to feed your more.”
“Maybe if you didn’t eat his dinner for him,” chuckled Sam.
Just then, a large, jovial man with a scruffy beard ambled up. “So am I in time for the fashion show?” he asked.
“Hey, Benny!” said Dean, shaking his hand warmly.
“Sam,” said Benny, nodding in his direction.
“Benny,” muttered Sam through gritted teeth.
Benny turned. “And look at Cas! You cleaned up good, friend. Like a shiny new penny.”
Cas got an extra-smitey look on his face. “You look … precisely the same,” he told Benny.
“Cas!” said Dean.
“Oh, Cas, where is thy sting,” laughed Benny, putting a hand over his chest.
“The sting of death is sin; the strength of sin is the law,” recited Cas.
“Boy knows his scripture,” said Benny, nodding.
“I’m an angel,” grumped Cas.
“Thought you were an atheistic angel?”
“That’s a recent development.”
“OK OK OK,” said Dean, stepping between them and putting his hands up. “We’re all gonna be in this together. Can we retract the fangs and bring in the wings and just everybody fucking get along?”
Both creatures stopped to study Dean for a moment, and then Benny stretched out a meaty paw towards Cas, cocking an eyebrow at the angel. Cas looked at the hand, cast a skeptical glance at Dean, who nodded encouragement, and then extended his own hand to shake Benny’s.
“See? Now, give me five minutes, and I could solve the Mid-East crisis!” chirped Dean.
“Hey, Cas,” said Sam. “I saw some belts over this way.” He inclined his head, and, with a final scowl at Benny, Castiel followed him to another part of the floor.
Benny cast a shrewd glance at Dean. “You got your angel back, brother.”
Dean was already back pawing at the T-shirts, but he cracked a huge grin. “Yeah,” he said. And then he shrugged. “It’s a long story, to be honest. Dumb son of a bitch didn’t wanna leave Purgatory.” The smile faded.
“That was clear enough. To anyone who had eyes,” said Benny.
Dean looked up, catching the rebuke. “I wasn’t gonna leave him, Benny.”
“That was pretty damn clear, too.” Benny smiled, putting a hand through the T-shirts. “No shame in that, Dean. You’re loyal. As well as completely off your ass insane.”
“I’m just…” Dean began, now looking up. “He doesn’t remember how he got out. I know he didn’t go with me.” Dean shook his head. “With us. Makes me nervous.”
“Oh, so now you’re looking your little gift angel in the mouth?”
“I don’t like being screwed around with,” Dean muttered darkly.
Benny nodded and picked up an Allman Brothers tee. “So what’s on the agenda?”
“You came before you even heard my carefully-rehearsed speech,” said Dean.
“I owe ya one, brother. I don’t forget my debts.”
“Just my luck, a House Lannister vampire,” grinned Dean. Benny looked confused, so Dean waved a hand. “Don’t worry. It’s some books Sammy likes. But they won’t be finished in our lifetimes. Either of us. Anyway, we’re marching on Hell.”
Benny stared. “You know, I’ve lived a full fucking century, half of that in Purgatory, and you are still the craziest motherfucker I think I have ever encountered. Congratulations.”
“It gets even crazier. This is a drunk-off-its-ass Babylonian Hell. I guess you have to bribe the palace guards with clothes, so we’re stocking up.”
“You give the guards a ratty T-shirt to pass in?” asked Benny, holding up a Poison T-shirt.
“Whoa, dude, that’s a classic!” said Dean, grabbing it from the vampire’s hands. “Every rose has its thorn!” he recited.
Sam had a big belt buckle shaped like the state of Texas held up to his belly for size. “That scripture you guys were quoting, Cas? Was that Corinthians?”
Cas was awkwardly threading a belt through his pant loops. He nodded at Sam. “Yes. That chapter touted my Father’s eventual victory over Death.” He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think Death would have been amused by the notion.”
“So, hey,” said Sam, setting down the belt buckle and hopping up to sit on the sturdy wooden table beside a pile of battered toasters and other household appliances that had seen better days. He picked up a waffle iron and fiddled with it. “I don’t know what you think about Benny….”
“What about Benny?” asked Cas, pausing to stare at Sam.
Sam looked up, but then looked back down towards the waffle iron as if it was the most interesting item on earth. “Uh, you know....”
“No, Sam. I'm afraid I don't know.”
Sam didn't need to look up to know he was probably getting the patented Castiel Countenance of Celestial Confusion. “Um. I didn’t wanna make a big deal about this in front of Dean. But do you trust the guy?”
Cas was quiet for a beat. Sam opened and closed the waffle iron, but finally looked up. Cas’s eyes were blazing like two blue sapphires. “Benny saved my life. And your brother’s life. Dean thinks he is worthy of trust.” As if that was the end of it.
Sam fought down a shudder. Avenging angels, not big on shades of grey, he thought ruefully.
Cas went back to doing origami on his belt. “Benny was the one who told Dean of the escape route from Purgatory. He is the one most responsible for your brother being here, with you, today.”
Sam stole a glance at Cas, who was no longer glaring at him, but he still felt the rebuke. “Dean doesn’t talk a lot about what went on in Purgatory….”
“There are monsters. Sometimes you run from them. Sometimes you kill them.” Cas looked up at Sam again. “And sometimes … you are killed.”
“What the hell are you doing with that belt, Cas?” asked Dean, who had just walked up along with Benny.
“Human clothing is unintuitive,” the angel grumbled.
Without bothering to ask permission, Dean grabbed the twisted leather and unwound it, and then deftly looped it around Cas’s waistband. “We may have to make you another notch,” said Dean, pulling it tight, “but this should be OK.”
“I fail to see the point of this garment,” said Cas suspiciously.
“It’s so your damn pants don’t fall down around your ass,” laughed Dean.
“Isn’t that nice? Playing dress up with your angel.”
Dean looked around in shock. They had been surrounded by a number of clerks and other customers, all of whom now wore unpleasant expressions. There were a couple of big guys among them, including the dude who had spoken, but there was also a little old lady and a skinny teenager in the bunch. “They are possessed,” whispered Cas.
“Yeah, I got that,” Dean told him. “What do you want?” he asked the demons.
“The rest of our tablet,” said the guy who’d spoken before. “You don’t have your little goth friend and her boyfriend to babysit you this time.”
“No, you’re right,” said Dean. “Just an angel, a vampire…. Oh, and me and my brother,” added Dean, taking a step forward and crowding the guy’s space. The demon's confidence seemed to crack a little.
“Dean,” warned Sam. “I think they’re just people from the store.”
“Yeah, yeah,” sighed Dean. “Civilians. Can you guys do non-lethal?”
Sam looked dubious, but Benny cracked his knuckles and grinned. “Oh, you just wanna make it more fun, don’t ya?”
Cas looked around and then nodded to Dean.
And then Benny and Dean heaved over the table, scattering demons and small appliances. Sam turned and clocked a rather large attacker over the head with the waffle iron. Cas snapped off his new belt and cracked it at a couple of them like a whip. And then what happened next looked like a snowball fight, only with dented toasters and broken blenders flying through the air instead of snow. Sam crouched behind the overturned table and began to recite, quickly as he could, the Ritual Romanum at double time, “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritusomnis satanica potestas, omnis incursion infernalis adversarii, omnis legio….”
The store was soon clouded with foul-smelling black smoke, as the unlucky victims of possession one by one belched out their demons and collapsed.
“Crowley?” asked Sam, as Dean hunkered down beside an unconscious little old lady to check her pulse. Her neck thrummed reassuringly beneath his fingers.
“Seems likely,” said Dean, standing and shaking his head. “We should get out of here before they wake up. They’re not gonna be in a good mood. Cas, grab your clothes.”
“I see the point of this garment now!” said Cas, once again snapping the belt so it wound around his hand.
“That is actually … sorta cool,” muttered Benny.
Cas was stooping down to pick up something on the floor. It was a dusty little tin toy of an angel. He grabbed it and stared at it, fascinated.
“All, right, yes,” said Dean, snatching it away from him. “We’ll get you a toy too. Now grab your crap and let’s get the hell outta Dodge.”
“We are not in Dodge, Dean. Dodge is in Kanas.”
