Seven Hells, Part 6 of ?
Jan. 15th, 2013 10:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Seven Hells, Part 6 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: 90,000
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.
Almost every soul dwelling inside the Babylonian hell of Irkalla was clad in feathers. Much to Benny's dismay, if his loud sneezing was any indication. Sam reached for his shirt pocket, only to realize there was none, as he no longer wore a shirt. “Sorry, dude, gave my hanky away to the guy at the second gate,” he told Benny.
“Allergy to down,” said Benny, wiping his nose on his sleeve. As he, at least, still had a sleeve. “Maybe that's why we never got along so good,” he told Cas.
“Your reaction is probably not to feathers but rather to dust mites,” supplied Cas.
“You got mites?” Dean asked Cas, who looked terribly offended.
“Guys,” said Sam, “we gotta focus. We gotta find Nergal and talk turkey.” The party watched a crowd of feather-clad dead wander by just then. “Uh, so to speak?”
“And remember-“ Cas started.
“Cas, we know,” grumbled Dean.
Cas glared at Dean. “I am not in contact with the host here in this realm, so I am not at full power. Be careful what you do. And what you say!”
“Why are you looking at me?” said Dean.
“I did not want you to come,” said Cas, his eyes narrowed.
“Well, you got us buddy, so tough luck,” laughed Benny, who ended the snicker with a sneeze.
They ceased bickering for a moment to look around. Even though they had now arrived at the city proper, to Dean at least, it really didn't look altogether that different from what they'd spent the past day traveling through: just a bunch of mud bricks and dust. It was definitely an improvement on his own experience in Hell, as he didn't see anybody being tortured, but he had to wonder if it was worse to be eternally tormented, or to live out your days choked on dust and basically bored silly.
Just then, a muscular, straight-shouldered individual came before them. Unlike most of the other residents, he was clad in a real cloth tunic. “You are to be presented at the Court of Nergal, Warden of Irkalla.”
“Well, that saves a heap o' lookin',” said Benny as the messenger turned on his heel and marched off, apparently expecting them to get in line and follow. They hastened after him, down a dusty roadway or two until they came to a vast courtyard at more or less the center of town. It looked like many of the residents had assembled here. The plaza was about as big as a football field. The feathery crowd was turned towards the far end, where there was a large building that looked like it might be the ruler's residence. It had a huge open porch in front, and there were already people out there, including two people sitting up on elaborate thrones set up on a raised dais.
“You see where our guy went?” asked Dean, as the messenger dude had somehow disappeared into the crowd. Everybody shrugged, and Benny sneezed, his nose turned red at the mass of feathers.
“That's gotta be Nergal getting ready to speak down there,” said Sam, who, as he was taller than almost everybody here, could peer over the crowd to the dais. He regarded the assembled mass of feathery spirits. “You guys up for a little crowd surfing?”
Dean laughed. “This can't be worse than that Slayer concert.” He and Sam slipped into the crowd.
“I have no idea what they're talking about,” said Cas.
“No clue, friend, I'm just gonna follow the tall one.” Benny smiled and inclined his head, and the two followed Sam and Dean, carefully threading through the dead souls, trying to keep the back of Sam's head ever in sight even when Benny had to pause to sneeze.
“So what's the big attraction of ruling this place, ya think,” Dean asked Sam as they picked their way through the strangely passive crowd. “I mean, it looks like dust and feathers and more dust to me.”
“Better to reign in Hell than to serve in heaven,” Sam quoted.
“Aw, you're not quoting Lucifer now are you?”
“You asked why. Oh, check it out!” They had finally come to the front edge of the crowd and could look up and see the group of royals and retainers who had assembled. “I think that's Nergal and Ereshkigal,” Sam told Dean, pointing to the two large thrones sitting in the middle of it all.
Nergal, for his part, was sitting slumped in his chair, one leg crossed up over a knee. He was barefooted, and Dean could have sworn the guy was actually sitting there clipping his toenails. This was confirmed when a nail seemed to fly off and landed with a plink in somebody's goblet.
“Oh, gross,” muttered Dean.
And then beyond Nergal was Ereshkigal, who seemed to be taking things a little more seriously. She sat erect: even seated you could tell she was quite tall and slim. She was clad in a long black silk gown, had long black hair, and had obviously done her eyes with a lot of black kohl. Most intriguing to Dean, she had two great, dark wings folded up neatly in back of her.
“Not bad,” said Sam with a low whistle.
“What? You mean winged Angelina Jolie over there?” asked his brother.
“She ain't bad,” opined Benny, who had just made his way through the crowd along with Cas. “Not my type though.” He sneezed as if to make a point.
Dean smiled and looked back at Cas, who was now standing beside him. The angel appeared puzzled for a moment, and then said, “Oh, you want me to assess her level of sexual attractiveness?” Dean nodded. “I am afraid I have eyes only for you in that regard.”
Dean's smile broke into a grin, and he reached out a hand, but then stopped. There were no lapels to grab. “Did you wanna borrow my shirt?” Dean asked Cas, tugging on the Poison T-shirt he was wearing.
“Then you would have no shirt, Dean.”
“Yeah, but....”
“I am less vulnerable to variations in temperature than you. But I appreciate the gesture,” Cas told him.
Dean's fingers finally found one of Cas's belt loops, and so he held on there. Dean looked down. “Uh, are you happy to see me or something?” he said, noticing the bulge in the angel's jeans. Cas reached into his pocket. He pulled out something: it was the little mechanical angel he had found at the thrift shop.
“Dude, you brought this all the way in here?” asked Dean as Cas wound it up. “You would've been better off packing another shirt.” Cas shrugged and watched the angel flutter.
“Hey, Dean,” whispered Benny. “Your buddy's attracting some attention.” Dean turned to where Benny indicated, up to Ereshkigal's throne. There was a new person visible up on the rise: a small child peeking at them from behind Ereshkigal's armrest. Dean assumed his was the queen's kid, as he had her dark eyes and dark hair. And right now, the eyes were wide as two little standing pools, staring straight at Cas and the fluttering tin toy.
He must have spotted them gazing at him, because he suddenly disappeared again behind the seat. Ereshkigal turned her head the direction he had disappeared, and cast one hand in that direction, as if she were patting his head. Her lips edged into the ghost of a smile.
Cas nervously pocketed the angel once more.
“Who wishes to stand before Nergal?” some bearded muckety-muck was saying.
“That's our cue,” whispered Dean. “C'mon!”
The four men moved across the front of the crowd so that they were standing in front of the thrones.
“I'm Dean Winchester,” said Dean, who proceeded to make introductions. Ereshkigal turned her regal head in their direction.
Nergal slumped lower in his seat and began plucking his nose hairs with tweezers. “Yeah? Who sent you?”
“Uhhh,” said Dean.
“Ewww,” whispered Sam.
“Our great friend, and yours, Sri Vibhishana, and his uncle, Lord Yamaraja, have sent us,” said Cas.
Nergal suddenly snapped to attention, not, though, at Cas's words, but rather at Castiel himself. He stared at Cas. “You're an angel,” he said.
“And you're a genius,” muttered Dean, who got an elbow in his ribs from Sam for his trouble.
“Yes,” said Cas. Ereshkigal's wings rattled just a bit, and the little boy once again poked his head up above her chair to stare.
“Why are your wings just painted on?” sniffed Ereshkigal.
“I have real wings,” said Cas mildly. “They are often difficult for non-angelic beings to visualize, other than through astral projection.”
“I can see Erie's wings just fine, thank you,” said Nergal, who got up and stumbled down the stone steps to come stand right in front of them. Dean sniffed the air. He was pretty darned sure the dude was drunk. He was also not a being of great stature: he was even shorter than Cas. “Sonny and Cher in hell,” he muttered.
“Yes, they are very fine wings,” Cas told Ereshkigal.
“Thank you. So are yours,” said Ereshkigal, her voice low and soft.
Dean looked back up to the porch. Ereshkigal was now standing, the little boy beside her. She rattled her wings just the barest bit, sending up a small cloud of dust. The little boy giggled and jumped. He had a small pair of wings as well. She looked down at him, and he calmed down. Dean noticed a stirring around him. The seemingly passive spirits of Irkalla seemed to orient to Ereskigal's voice.
This seemed to annoy Nergal, who glared. “Everyone else!” he yelled. “Dismissed!” The assembled crowd of spirits turned and, with surprising speed, shuffled away and out of the square, disappearing into the now quiet city, leaving nothing but dust and stray feathers.
Benny sneezed.
Soon there was no sound but a wind that occasionally howled between the buildings. Other than Dean and his friends, only Nergal, Erishkala, the little boy, and another dark-haired boy – a teenager, from the looks of him – remained. In addition there were several grim-faced individuals wearing regular clothes that he took for guards.
“And why would an angel, a vampire and the Winchesters be favoring me with a visit?” asked Nergal, studying his fingernails.
“Uh, it actually concerns Crowley-” Sam began.
The god was suddenly standing directly in front of Sam. “Your head should not be higher than that of the king when you speak!” he scolded.
Sam, making a herculean effort to keep his face blank, crouched down so he was shorter than Nergal. “Uh. We have a situation up topside with Crowley.”
“And what is that little upstart doing these days?” asked Nergal. With a grin, he sat down on the steps, forcing Sam to sit down on the ground in order to keep his head lower.
“He's in possession of a tablet-” Dean began. Nergal waved a finger at him, and Dean, not bothering to cover the annoyed look on his face, plopped down in the dirt next to Sam. “Right now, he's got a tablet – or actually half a tablet – that's evidently the word of God about demons.”
“And what do I care about fractional tablets? Even if they are from the One God?” asked Nergal, who now lay down on a step, his head propped up in one arm. He gave the Winchesters a mischievous glance.
Sam and Dean looked at each other. With a groan, Dean lay down flat on the dusty ground. He sneezed and said. “It's not just half a tablet, your majesty. He's trying to track down more of them. He wants to corner the market.”
“Nevertheless. No one has seen hide nor hair of the One God in years. Why should I heed to his word?”
“Because this is a power gambit by Crowley,” said Cas. “We have heard he's already attempted to make an incursion into your territory. You must have realized demons were in the vicinity.”
“Head!” scolded Nergal, pointing up at Cas.
“Angel knees do not bend,” stated Cas.
Nergal blinked up at him, and Sam and Dean looked over at Cas as well.
“Oh, I knew that,” said Nergal, now springing to his feet. “Anyway, yes, Crowley's demons. We put some disorientation spells on them. I didn't take it seriously.”
“And the men I found with the demons? Your men?” asked Cas.
Nergal's expression darkened. “Anyway, you have come at an inconvenient time. We are busy. Very, very, very busy.”
Dean turned and looked around the deserted square. “Uh. Busy. Yeah.”
“Much kingly business. I will take this under consideration. Now. You are all dismissed.” Nergal turned his back to them and waved a hand.
“Uh, you know, your majesty-” Dean began.
“I said dismissed!” snapped Nergal. And quite suddenly there were a number of very big, very unfriendly looking guardsmen between Nergal and the foursome.
Dean shrugged, and then he, Sam, Cas and Benny too made their way out of the square.
“Busy man,” muttered Benny as soon as they'd made their way to an alleyway. “My sweet aunt.”
“Angel knees don't bend,” muttered Dean as they walked down the alleyway. Cas actually smirked.
“So what do we do now?” Sam asked.
“I guess we wait,” said Dean.
“But how long, Dean?”
“Dean!” Cas had stopped. The others turned. The little boy who had been playing around the throne was now there, grabbing on to the angel's pant-leg. Dean, Sam and Benny stopped as well.
Dean walked over to Cas. “Hey there,” he told the boy.
“Ninazu!”
The voice belonged to Ereshkigal. It was a lovely voice, like trickling honey. The little boy lifted dark eyes towards his mother, but did not move.
“Hey, wait,” said Dean. “Cas, can you take it out again.”
Cas frowned, but then went into his jeans pocket and brought out the tiny tin angel. Ninazu stared at him, open-mouthed. Dean grabbed the toy from Cas, and then squatted down so he was at eye level with the boy. “You're Ninazu?” He got a nod in return. “I'm Dean,” he said. And then he would up the little toy and let it run, with a whirr and a flutter of tin wings. Ninazu gasped, putting his fingers in his mouth with the sheer wonder. Dean let the angel go until it ran down, then he turned it over and showed Ninazu how to wind it.
And then, with a look up at Cas, who frowned but didn't move, Dean set the angel in Ninazu's trembling hands. The boy stood stock still, but then his own wings set up a little rhythmic flap.
There was now a slim hand on his shoulder. Dean looked way, way up into Ereshkigal's dark eyes. She must have been almost as tall as Sam. There was another, older boy standing beside her, dark-haired and winged like his mother. He, though, wore a rakish grin.
“These are my boys, Ninazu and Namtar,” said Ereshkigal.
Dean stood up. “Hello,” he told Namtar, the older boy.
“Crowley's a dick,” said Namtar.
“Language,” chided Ereshkigal, although she was smiling.
Benny sneezed. “Uh, excuse me, ma'am,” he apologized. He looked down. Ninazu was standing beside him, gripping the little angel toy with one hand, and extending another upwards.
“You should bow your head,” Ereshkigal suggested. “He will heal your illness.” Benny frowned but then, wiping his nose, did as she said. Ninazu reached out two little fingers and touched the vampire's brow. There was a slight glow, and a little hum.
Benny straightened up. “Wow. What was that?” He felt his nose, which was no longer red and runny. “Did you do that little man?”
Ninazu giggled and ran back to his mommy. “I wished to speak with you,” the goddess told them. “My husband is sometimes not so adept at phrasing things.”
“What … did he really mean, then?” asked Sam.
“We will of course join your alliance to counter Crowley,” she told them. “I believe we will prove to be stronger together.”
“Oh, that's f- flipping great, your majesty!” said Dean, reaching out to shake her hand. He realized just after he'd done it that maybe royal people didn't shake, but Ereshkigal extended her hand anyway.
“Now,” she said, gripping Dean's hand. Her touch was soft as silk. “I might advise you to leave, and quickly, the way you came in.”
“Okay, and we appreciate it,” said Dean.
Everybody turned to go, including Cas, who suddenly stopped. He looked down to see little Ninazu hugging his leg. The boy pulled back, and held up the little tin angel, cradling it in both hands.
“Yes. You are welcome,” said Cas formally. He nodded, and then the four men started making their way down the alleyway.
“Awww, weren't that cute,” chuckled Benny, reaching out to ruff Cas's hair.
“Do not touch me, vampire, if you wish the continued use of that hand.”
“Why didn't he hug me? I gave him the toy!” Dean complained.
“It was my possession,” grumbled Cas.
“Hey. Is this the way we came in?” asked Sam.
“Cas?” asked Dean. The angel nodded, and led them on a left turn. “I just wanna get outta here, get our crap back from that asshole guard, and go get a burger....”
They stopped short. The alleyway was blocked by some grim-faced guards.
Dean turned around. And of course, their escape route had now been blocked as well.
“I guess there's no need to ask if we're gonna fight or gonna run,” said Benny.
“No way you can mojo us out of here?” Dean whispered to Cas, who only shook his head in frustration.
“I could stay and kill enough of them for you to run,” Cas suggested.
“No way. No fucking way.” And then, “Oh shit,” as Nergal had just appeared in their midst.
“I don't remember you asking to leave.” Nergal was picking at a molar with a toothpick.
“Nergal. We don't want any trouble,” said Dean “We're just gonna go out, the same way we got in.”
“You need to say, 'May I?'”
Dean was just about to say something much more colorful, but Sam grabbed his shoulder and spoke first.
“May. We. Leave. Your Majesty?”
“Ah, yes. Certainly. But through the back door.”
“The-?” Dean began.
“I don't like the sound of that,” said Sam.
Dean counted to ten. “Look, we wanna- May we leave the same way we came in?”
Nergal smiled and tossed away the toothpick. He came and stood nose to nose with Dean, though because of the height difference, it was more nose-to-sternum.
“No.”
And then there was a whooshing sound. A really, really big whooshing sound. Dean felt the wind knocked out of him as he was flung through the air, and then again as he hit the ground.
He jerked up. They now seemed to be sitting in the middle of the desert. Cas was already up on his feet, on top of a sand dune, staring in to space. Benny stood beside him, looking even more grim than usual, and the two were, strangely enough for them, having a quiet conversation.
Dean struggled to his feet, and then went to help Sam up. “Cas! Where in hell are we?”
Cas took a moment to answer, seeming to come out of a kind of trance. He and Benny walked down to where Sam and Dean were standing. “You are correct, Dean. We are still in Nergal's realm. I can sense our world from here, however. It is in that direction.” He pointed off into the distance. It all looked the same to Dean.
“Well, that's good,” said Dean, who was waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Right?”
“However, it almost one hundred miles away.” Cas was not looking at Dean, though, he was looking at Benny.
“Well, shit,” said Dean, looking between himself and his brother. “Can you mojo us?”
“Unfortunately, I am still too far away from the host. I- I do not have my normal powers here.”
“One hundred miles,” muttered Sam. “In the desert? With no water? Dean?”
Cas was still staring hard at Benny, who, after giving Sam and Dean a long appraising glance, finally said, “You take the big one.”
Cas nodded. “Let's get going,” he said quietly.
“Cas-” Dean started, but felt himself pulled along by Benny.
And so they marched. The party was more subdued than usual. Oddly enough, unlike the real desert, the sun never seemed to set: it seemed perpetually at its zenith.
Dean sweated. And then, after a time, he stopped sweating.
Feeling the sun baking into his skin, Dean pulled off his shirt and wrapped it around his head, like Lawrence of Arabia. His thoughts drifted to water. And root beer floats. A large cola, with tinkling ice cubes. Iced tea: a whole gallon of iced tea. Why hadn't he ever appreciated iced tea before? When they got back....
There was a soft noise. Sam had fallen over. Dean, feeling oddly passive about the whole thing, watched Cas scoop his little brother into a fireman's carry like he weighed nothing, and then continue to walk. “He's carrying my brother,” Dean laughed, his throat like sandpaper.
“Yeah, he is,” said Benny, who had a hand gripped around his waist.
“That's weird,” said Dean. “Hey. You’re really sunburned, dude.”
“That I am.”
And then they walked some more.
And then Dean was at a tea party. On the freeway. It was weird. Cas was wearing a floppy hat and asking, one lump or two?
And then....
Dean woke with a start, spitting water. “Come on, brother, you need to drink this shit,” urged Benny, who was sitting over him. The vampire poured a splash of water over Dean's head, and then poked the bottle towards his mouth again.
Dean blinked, desperately attempting to focus his eyes. Benny was red as a beet. He grabbed the water bottle with shaking hands. He manged a swallow, and then spat it out again. He tried again.
He was sitting on a chaise lounge. An old, dusty chaise lounge. On some kind of patio. They were sitting around a pool. Only the pool was empty. They were beside some kind of deserted high rise building.
“This is a weird dream,” Dean managed to rasp.
“Ain't no dream,” said Benny.
Dean heard the sound of wingbeats, and Cas was there. Only it was not Cas, because he was only wearing jeans and nothing else, and he had a bad sunburn. His tattoo was sunburned. The wings were black and red.
He was carrying something. Blankets. Dean got a blanket draped over him. It was midday, why was he cold?
“Found a hospital,” Cas was telling Benny. He held out a red packet to the vampire.
“Glory be!” said Benny. He grabbed the plastic packet and a blanket, sat on the ground, and made himself a little tent. Dean thought he heard slurping coming from beneath the blanket.
“Are you hydrating, Dean?” asked Cas. He had picked up the bottle. Dean hadn't realized that he'd dropped it.
“Hard. To swallow.”
“I will find you a rehydrating sports drink of some kind. That will be more effective. Stay here.” And then the flapping, and Dean flopped back in the chair.
“Dean!” Sam shout-whispered. Sam came stumbling up and sat beside him. He too picked up the bottle. “You should hydrate,” he said tiredly.
“What the hell. Sammy?”
“Bastard Nergal stranded us in the middle of the fucking desert!” groused the blanket containing the vampire.
“How did we. Get out?” said Dean, making another attempt with the bottled water.
“Cas and Benny carried us,” Sam rasped. Dean looked up at his brother, burned and blistered and huddled in a rough blanket, and wondered if he looked that crappy.
“Shit,” said Dean. A little bit of water managed to trickle down his throat. It felt like paradise.
“Worried about you. Cas ... pretty freaked,” said Sam.
“I found a convenience store,” said Cas, who had just shown up to the sound of wingbeats, cradling an armload of Gatorade bottles, or whatever the local knockoff was called. He knelt down beside Dean and handed him a bottle of purple liquid.
“You can't mojo us. Better?” Dean managed to ask him.
“I am not yet back to full power,” Cas confessed. Dean looked him over. He looked just as bad as the rest of them, physically, as well as anxious as hell.
“Then you sit here. And recharge.” Dean weakly pushed down on Cas's shoulder. Cas sat down hard on the patio. Dean tried to open the Gatorade bottle, but found it made him dizzy, so Cas popped it for him. Purple-flavored paradise flowed over cracked lips. The angel had been right: it was easier to keep this stuff down. Benny, who must have been done feeding, poked his head out of the blanket, and Sam picked up his own bottle of Gatorade. And they were silent for a moment.
“What is this place. Anyway?” huffed Dean.
“It was a hotel. Before the Iraq war,” Cas told him.
And then there was a soft sound of wingbeats. Dean frowned. It was Namtar, Ereshkigal's oldest son. “Are you guys OK? I'm sorry, we couldn't help you, not when you were in my stepdad's domain. That would have sucked if you hadn't made it.”
“Yeah. It would have sucked,” agreed Dean.
“Whoa! You're pretty sick, dude.”
“Yes. I'm pretty sick. Dude.”
Namtar whistled. “Hey! Squirt!” There was a very soft flapping sound, and suddenly, little Ninazu was standing beside his brother, staring up at him. “Can you do your stuff?” Namtar asked, waving a hand at Sam and Dean and the others.
Ninazu toddled over to Benny, wings flapping in the breeze, and laid a hand on him like before. Then he touched the foreheads of Sam, who had to lean over very low, Dean, and finally, Cas. In an instant, they were in the flush of health, all the sunburn and dehydration gone.
“Thank you,” Cas told him. He was still sitting on the ground.
Ninazu threw his arms around Cas's neck and gave him a sloppy toddler kiss on the cheek.
Cas turned bright red, only this time not from the sunburn.
And than Ninazu toddled back over to his brother. “He likes you,” Namtar told Cas. Ninazu waved bye-bye and then disappeared. “So, what I'm gonna do, I was gonna pay a visit to Crowley,” Namtar told them.
“Is your power...?” Sam started. “Do you do what your brother does?”
Namtar's eyes grew wide. “Oh, no, dude. My power is the opposite.” He grinned. And disappeared in a flurry of wingbeats.
“Oughta be interesting, “ said Dean.
The King of Hell sat alone at the head of a large banquet table in his ornate dining room, supping on a finely cooked meal. His meals had been well prepared since he made mincemeat out of the last two or three chefs. He paused in the middle of sipping his vintage Bordeaux to consider. Was it two or was it three chefs? Well, no difference. “Send the chef in here,” he muttered to a serving minion, who scurried off. It was good to be king, of that there was no doubt.
He paused for a moment, scratching under his arm. He would complement the man on a well-prepared meal, and then smite him in front of everybody. Had to keep those minions on their toes. He dabbed a napkin at his face, and then reached under his suit jacket to scratch again. He wondered if he was allergic to his laundry detergent. That might be a bit of fun, he supposed, blowing up his cleaning personnel. He withdrew his hand and winced. It didn’t just itch, it hurt like the dickens. He scowled, momentarily regretful that he had used his last personal physician as hellhound chow. It really itched….
The chef had appeared, red-faced, escorted by two of his larger minions.
“Did you prepare this- Wait a minute,” Crowley told him.
“Are you OK, boss?” asked one of the goons.
“Shut up,” Crowley politely replied. And the goon did as he was told. All three now watched as Crowley doffed his jacket and then pulled up his dress shirt.
An angry red rash spread around his side. There were blisters spread among the inflammation, some of them popped and oozing.
The chef made a noise. “What?” barked Crowley, eyes blazing at the guy.
“Shingles,” said the chef. “Yeah, my aunt used to get them.”
“Shingles?”
The chef pursed his lips. “Yeah. Like if you’ve had chicken pox. You need to get yourself some calamine lotion. Yeah.”
“Calamine lotion. You two idiots! Go get calamine lotion.” And with that the two goons skittered out of the room.
The chef nodded. “You should be OK. It usually goes away in a couple weeks.”
“WEEKS?” fretted Crowley.
“I could make you an oatmeal bath. That would help. Yeah. Oatmeal.”
“Oatmeal bath,” said Crowley. He was still itchy and pained as hell, but the chef’s words were a small comfort.
“Yeah. And some ice packs. You can use a pack of frozen peas.”
Crowley nodded.
“But like I said, you should be okay. Yeah.”
“It will heal itself?”
“Yeah, you should be fine.”
“Fine?”
“Long as it doesn’t spread to your face. Yeah.”
Crowley looked up from his ugly rash to the smiling chef. He wrinkled his nose.
His face itched….
“Poison,” said Dean, regarding Cas's T-shirt.
“Poison,” answered Cas.
Dean sat on the motel room bed beside Cas. “So, I guess I kinda gave away your angel toy.”
“You did,” said Cas, narrowing his eyes. “And so I took your Poison T-shirt in retaliation.”
“Oh, okay.” Dean watched Cas hover his fingers over the laptop. “You like that shirt.”
Cas stopped typing. He grabbed the shirt's collar, and held it up to his nose. “I've noticed that after you wear a garment, it will pick up your aroma. I find it … pleasant.”
Dean slid over to kneel on the bed beside Cas. He grabbed the laptop away from Cas and carefully placed it on the bedside table. “Now. Gimme back my shirt.”
“No.” Cas blinked up at him. And then he glared. “Make me.”
“Aha!” said Dean. “You are stronger. And faster. And older. And smarter. And better looking.”
Cas smiled. And nodded.
“But I fight dirty!” Dean announced, just as he pushed both hands up under Cas's T-shirt and began to tickle him unmercifully under the arms.
Cas emitted a gasp that was at least two octaves in pitch above his normal speaking voice, and then promptly toppled off the bed.
“Cas! You OK?” asked Dean, caught between concern and hilarity, staring down at the angel on the floor.
Cas raised himself up on one elbow, breathing hard. “What was that?”
“Tickling? You don't know tickling?”
“It is … a cruel form of attack,” said Cas, clambering back up onto the bed. He cast a suspicious glance at Dean, and then pulled up his Poison T-shirt, and began drumming his fingers under his own armpit. “Why is this ineffective?” he asked.
Dean was lying back on the bed, looking smug. “You can't tickle yourself.”
“You can't tickle yourself?”
“No, you can only tickle other people.”
Cas looked at his fingers, looked at Dean, looked at his fingers, and looked at Dean.
And then he smiled.
Dean suddenly tensed.
“What? Wait! No! CAS!”
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: 90,000
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.
Almost every soul dwelling inside the Babylonian hell of Irkalla was clad in feathers. Much to Benny's dismay, if his loud sneezing was any indication. Sam reached for his shirt pocket, only to realize there was none, as he no longer wore a shirt. “Sorry, dude, gave my hanky away to the guy at the second gate,” he told Benny.
“Allergy to down,” said Benny, wiping his nose on his sleeve. As he, at least, still had a sleeve. “Maybe that's why we never got along so good,” he told Cas.
“Your reaction is probably not to feathers but rather to dust mites,” supplied Cas.
“You got mites?” Dean asked Cas, who looked terribly offended.
“Guys,” said Sam, “we gotta focus. We gotta find Nergal and talk turkey.” The party watched a crowd of feather-clad dead wander by just then. “Uh, so to speak?”
“And remember-“ Cas started.
“Cas, we know,” grumbled Dean.
Cas glared at Dean. “I am not in contact with the host here in this realm, so I am not at full power. Be careful what you do. And what you say!”
“Why are you looking at me?” said Dean.
“I did not want you to come,” said Cas, his eyes narrowed.
“Well, you got us buddy, so tough luck,” laughed Benny, who ended the snicker with a sneeze.
They ceased bickering for a moment to look around. Even though they had now arrived at the city proper, to Dean at least, it really didn't look altogether that different from what they'd spent the past day traveling through: just a bunch of mud bricks and dust. It was definitely an improvement on his own experience in Hell, as he didn't see anybody being tortured, but he had to wonder if it was worse to be eternally tormented, or to live out your days choked on dust and basically bored silly.
Just then, a muscular, straight-shouldered individual came before them. Unlike most of the other residents, he was clad in a real cloth tunic. “You are to be presented at the Court of Nergal, Warden of Irkalla.”
“Well, that saves a heap o' lookin',” said Benny as the messenger turned on his heel and marched off, apparently expecting them to get in line and follow. They hastened after him, down a dusty roadway or two until they came to a vast courtyard at more or less the center of town. It looked like many of the residents had assembled here. The plaza was about as big as a football field. The feathery crowd was turned towards the far end, where there was a large building that looked like it might be the ruler's residence. It had a huge open porch in front, and there were already people out there, including two people sitting up on elaborate thrones set up on a raised dais.
“You see where our guy went?” asked Dean, as the messenger dude had somehow disappeared into the crowd. Everybody shrugged, and Benny sneezed, his nose turned red at the mass of feathers.
“That's gotta be Nergal getting ready to speak down there,” said Sam, who, as he was taller than almost everybody here, could peer over the crowd to the dais. He regarded the assembled mass of feathery spirits. “You guys up for a little crowd surfing?”
Dean laughed. “This can't be worse than that Slayer concert.” He and Sam slipped into the crowd.
“I have no idea what they're talking about,” said Cas.
“No clue, friend, I'm just gonna follow the tall one.” Benny smiled and inclined his head, and the two followed Sam and Dean, carefully threading through the dead souls, trying to keep the back of Sam's head ever in sight even when Benny had to pause to sneeze.
“So what's the big attraction of ruling this place, ya think,” Dean asked Sam as they picked their way through the strangely passive crowd. “I mean, it looks like dust and feathers and more dust to me.”
“Better to reign in Hell than to serve in heaven,” Sam quoted.
“Aw, you're not quoting Lucifer now are you?”
“You asked why. Oh, check it out!” They had finally come to the front edge of the crowd and could look up and see the group of royals and retainers who had assembled. “I think that's Nergal and Ereshkigal,” Sam told Dean, pointing to the two large thrones sitting in the middle of it all.
Nergal, for his part, was sitting slumped in his chair, one leg crossed up over a knee. He was barefooted, and Dean could have sworn the guy was actually sitting there clipping his toenails. This was confirmed when a nail seemed to fly off and landed with a plink in somebody's goblet.
“Oh, gross,” muttered Dean.
And then beyond Nergal was Ereshkigal, who seemed to be taking things a little more seriously. She sat erect: even seated you could tell she was quite tall and slim. She was clad in a long black silk gown, had long black hair, and had obviously done her eyes with a lot of black kohl. Most intriguing to Dean, she had two great, dark wings folded up neatly in back of her.
“Not bad,” said Sam with a low whistle.
“What? You mean winged Angelina Jolie over there?” asked his brother.
“She ain't bad,” opined Benny, who had just made his way through the crowd along with Cas. “Not my type though.” He sneezed as if to make a point.
Dean smiled and looked back at Cas, who was now standing beside him. The angel appeared puzzled for a moment, and then said, “Oh, you want me to assess her level of sexual attractiveness?” Dean nodded. “I am afraid I have eyes only for you in that regard.”
Dean's smile broke into a grin, and he reached out a hand, but then stopped. There were no lapels to grab. “Did you wanna borrow my shirt?” Dean asked Cas, tugging on the Poison T-shirt he was wearing.
“Then you would have no shirt, Dean.”
“Yeah, but....”
“I am less vulnerable to variations in temperature than you. But I appreciate the gesture,” Cas told him.
Dean's fingers finally found one of Cas's belt loops, and so he held on there. Dean looked down. “Uh, are you happy to see me or something?” he said, noticing the bulge in the angel's jeans. Cas reached into his pocket. He pulled out something: it was the little mechanical angel he had found at the thrift shop.
“Dude, you brought this all the way in here?” asked Dean as Cas wound it up. “You would've been better off packing another shirt.” Cas shrugged and watched the angel flutter.
“Hey, Dean,” whispered Benny. “Your buddy's attracting some attention.” Dean turned to where Benny indicated, up to Ereshkigal's throne. There was a new person visible up on the rise: a small child peeking at them from behind Ereshkigal's armrest. Dean assumed his was the queen's kid, as he had her dark eyes and dark hair. And right now, the eyes were wide as two little standing pools, staring straight at Cas and the fluttering tin toy.
He must have spotted them gazing at him, because he suddenly disappeared again behind the seat. Ereshkigal turned her head the direction he had disappeared, and cast one hand in that direction, as if she were patting his head. Her lips edged into the ghost of a smile.
Cas nervously pocketed the angel once more.
“Who wishes to stand before Nergal?” some bearded muckety-muck was saying.
“That's our cue,” whispered Dean. “C'mon!”
The four men moved across the front of the crowd so that they were standing in front of the thrones.
“I'm Dean Winchester,” said Dean, who proceeded to make introductions. Ereshkigal turned her regal head in their direction.
Nergal slumped lower in his seat and began plucking his nose hairs with tweezers. “Yeah? Who sent you?”
“Uhhh,” said Dean.
“Ewww,” whispered Sam.
“Our great friend, and yours, Sri Vibhishana, and his uncle, Lord Yamaraja, have sent us,” said Cas.
Nergal suddenly snapped to attention, not, though, at Cas's words, but rather at Castiel himself. He stared at Cas. “You're an angel,” he said.
“And you're a genius,” muttered Dean, who got an elbow in his ribs from Sam for his trouble.
“Yes,” said Cas. Ereshkigal's wings rattled just a bit, and the little boy once again poked his head up above her chair to stare.
“Why are your wings just painted on?” sniffed Ereshkigal.
“I have real wings,” said Cas mildly. “They are often difficult for non-angelic beings to visualize, other than through astral projection.”
“I can see Erie's wings just fine, thank you,” said Nergal, who got up and stumbled down the stone steps to come stand right in front of them. Dean sniffed the air. He was pretty darned sure the dude was drunk. He was also not a being of great stature: he was even shorter than Cas. “Sonny and Cher in hell,” he muttered.
“Yes, they are very fine wings,” Cas told Ereshkigal.
“Thank you. So are yours,” said Ereshkigal, her voice low and soft.
Dean looked back up to the porch. Ereshkigal was now standing, the little boy beside her. She rattled her wings just the barest bit, sending up a small cloud of dust. The little boy giggled and jumped. He had a small pair of wings as well. She looked down at him, and he calmed down. Dean noticed a stirring around him. The seemingly passive spirits of Irkalla seemed to orient to Ereskigal's voice.
This seemed to annoy Nergal, who glared. “Everyone else!” he yelled. “Dismissed!” The assembled crowd of spirits turned and, with surprising speed, shuffled away and out of the square, disappearing into the now quiet city, leaving nothing but dust and stray feathers.
Benny sneezed.
Soon there was no sound but a wind that occasionally howled between the buildings. Other than Dean and his friends, only Nergal, Erishkala, the little boy, and another dark-haired boy – a teenager, from the looks of him – remained. In addition there were several grim-faced individuals wearing regular clothes that he took for guards.
“And why would an angel, a vampire and the Winchesters be favoring me with a visit?” asked Nergal, studying his fingernails.
“Uh, it actually concerns Crowley-” Sam began.
The god was suddenly standing directly in front of Sam. “Your head should not be higher than that of the king when you speak!” he scolded.
Sam, making a herculean effort to keep his face blank, crouched down so he was shorter than Nergal. “Uh. We have a situation up topside with Crowley.”
“And what is that little upstart doing these days?” asked Nergal. With a grin, he sat down on the steps, forcing Sam to sit down on the ground in order to keep his head lower.
“He's in possession of a tablet-” Dean began. Nergal waved a finger at him, and Dean, not bothering to cover the annoyed look on his face, plopped down in the dirt next to Sam. “Right now, he's got a tablet – or actually half a tablet – that's evidently the word of God about demons.”
“And what do I care about fractional tablets? Even if they are from the One God?” asked Nergal, who now lay down on a step, his head propped up in one arm. He gave the Winchesters a mischievous glance.
Sam and Dean looked at each other. With a groan, Dean lay down flat on the dusty ground. He sneezed and said. “It's not just half a tablet, your majesty. He's trying to track down more of them. He wants to corner the market.”
“Nevertheless. No one has seen hide nor hair of the One God in years. Why should I heed to his word?”
“Because this is a power gambit by Crowley,” said Cas. “We have heard he's already attempted to make an incursion into your territory. You must have realized demons were in the vicinity.”
“Head!” scolded Nergal, pointing up at Cas.
“Angel knees do not bend,” stated Cas.
Nergal blinked up at him, and Sam and Dean looked over at Cas as well.
“Oh, I knew that,” said Nergal, now springing to his feet. “Anyway, yes, Crowley's demons. We put some disorientation spells on them. I didn't take it seriously.”
“And the men I found with the demons? Your men?” asked Cas.
Nergal's expression darkened. “Anyway, you have come at an inconvenient time. We are busy. Very, very, very busy.”
Dean turned and looked around the deserted square. “Uh. Busy. Yeah.”
“Much kingly business. I will take this under consideration. Now. You are all dismissed.” Nergal turned his back to them and waved a hand.
“Uh, you know, your majesty-” Dean began.
“I said dismissed!” snapped Nergal. And quite suddenly there were a number of very big, very unfriendly looking guardsmen between Nergal and the foursome.
Dean shrugged, and then he, Sam, Cas and Benny too made their way out of the square.
“Busy man,” muttered Benny as soon as they'd made their way to an alleyway. “My sweet aunt.”
“Angel knees don't bend,” muttered Dean as they walked down the alleyway. Cas actually smirked.
“So what do we do now?” Sam asked.
“I guess we wait,” said Dean.
“But how long, Dean?”
“Dean!” Cas had stopped. The others turned. The little boy who had been playing around the throne was now there, grabbing on to the angel's pant-leg. Dean, Sam and Benny stopped as well.
Dean walked over to Cas. “Hey there,” he told the boy.
“Ninazu!”
The voice belonged to Ereshkigal. It was a lovely voice, like trickling honey. The little boy lifted dark eyes towards his mother, but did not move.
“Hey, wait,” said Dean. “Cas, can you take it out again.”
Cas frowned, but then went into his jeans pocket and brought out the tiny tin angel. Ninazu stared at him, open-mouthed. Dean grabbed the toy from Cas, and then squatted down so he was at eye level with the boy. “You're Ninazu?” He got a nod in return. “I'm Dean,” he said. And then he would up the little toy and let it run, with a whirr and a flutter of tin wings. Ninazu gasped, putting his fingers in his mouth with the sheer wonder. Dean let the angel go until it ran down, then he turned it over and showed Ninazu how to wind it.
And then, with a look up at Cas, who frowned but didn't move, Dean set the angel in Ninazu's trembling hands. The boy stood stock still, but then his own wings set up a little rhythmic flap.
There was now a slim hand on his shoulder. Dean looked way, way up into Ereshkigal's dark eyes. She must have been almost as tall as Sam. There was another, older boy standing beside her, dark-haired and winged like his mother. He, though, wore a rakish grin.
“These are my boys, Ninazu and Namtar,” said Ereshkigal.
Dean stood up. “Hello,” he told Namtar, the older boy.
“Crowley's a dick,” said Namtar.
“Language,” chided Ereshkigal, although she was smiling.
Benny sneezed. “Uh, excuse me, ma'am,” he apologized. He looked down. Ninazu was standing beside him, gripping the little angel toy with one hand, and extending another upwards.
“You should bow your head,” Ereshkigal suggested. “He will heal your illness.” Benny frowned but then, wiping his nose, did as she said. Ninazu reached out two little fingers and touched the vampire's brow. There was a slight glow, and a little hum.
Benny straightened up. “Wow. What was that?” He felt his nose, which was no longer red and runny. “Did you do that little man?”
Ninazu giggled and ran back to his mommy. “I wished to speak with you,” the goddess told them. “My husband is sometimes not so adept at phrasing things.”
“What … did he really mean, then?” asked Sam.
“We will of course join your alliance to counter Crowley,” she told them. “I believe we will prove to be stronger together.”
“Oh, that's f- flipping great, your majesty!” said Dean, reaching out to shake her hand. He realized just after he'd done it that maybe royal people didn't shake, but Ereshkigal extended her hand anyway.
“Now,” she said, gripping Dean's hand. Her touch was soft as silk. “I might advise you to leave, and quickly, the way you came in.”
“Okay, and we appreciate it,” said Dean.
Everybody turned to go, including Cas, who suddenly stopped. He looked down to see little Ninazu hugging his leg. The boy pulled back, and held up the little tin angel, cradling it in both hands.
“Yes. You are welcome,” said Cas formally. He nodded, and then the four men started making their way down the alleyway.
“Awww, weren't that cute,” chuckled Benny, reaching out to ruff Cas's hair.
“Do not touch me, vampire, if you wish the continued use of that hand.”
“Why didn't he hug me? I gave him the toy!” Dean complained.
“It was my possession,” grumbled Cas.
“Hey. Is this the way we came in?” asked Sam.
“Cas?” asked Dean. The angel nodded, and led them on a left turn. “I just wanna get outta here, get our crap back from that asshole guard, and go get a burger....”
They stopped short. The alleyway was blocked by some grim-faced guards.
Dean turned around. And of course, their escape route had now been blocked as well.
“I guess there's no need to ask if we're gonna fight or gonna run,” said Benny.
“No way you can mojo us out of here?” Dean whispered to Cas, who only shook his head in frustration.
“I could stay and kill enough of them for you to run,” Cas suggested.
“No way. No fucking way.” And then, “Oh shit,” as Nergal had just appeared in their midst.
“I don't remember you asking to leave.” Nergal was picking at a molar with a toothpick.
“Nergal. We don't want any trouble,” said Dean “We're just gonna go out, the same way we got in.”
“You need to say, 'May I?'”
Dean was just about to say something much more colorful, but Sam grabbed his shoulder and spoke first.
“May. We. Leave. Your Majesty?”
“Ah, yes. Certainly. But through the back door.”
“The-?” Dean began.
“I don't like the sound of that,” said Sam.
Dean counted to ten. “Look, we wanna- May we leave the same way we came in?”
Nergal smiled and tossed away the toothpick. He came and stood nose to nose with Dean, though because of the height difference, it was more nose-to-sternum.
“No.”
And then there was a whooshing sound. A really, really big whooshing sound. Dean felt the wind knocked out of him as he was flung through the air, and then again as he hit the ground.
He jerked up. They now seemed to be sitting in the middle of the desert. Cas was already up on his feet, on top of a sand dune, staring in to space. Benny stood beside him, looking even more grim than usual, and the two were, strangely enough for them, having a quiet conversation.
Dean struggled to his feet, and then went to help Sam up. “Cas! Where in hell are we?”
Cas took a moment to answer, seeming to come out of a kind of trance. He and Benny walked down to where Sam and Dean were standing. “You are correct, Dean. We are still in Nergal's realm. I can sense our world from here, however. It is in that direction.” He pointed off into the distance. It all looked the same to Dean.
“Well, that's good,” said Dean, who was waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Right?”
“However, it almost one hundred miles away.” Cas was not looking at Dean, though, he was looking at Benny.
“Well, shit,” said Dean, looking between himself and his brother. “Can you mojo us?”
“Unfortunately, I am still too far away from the host. I- I do not have my normal powers here.”
“One hundred miles,” muttered Sam. “In the desert? With no water? Dean?”
Cas was still staring hard at Benny, who, after giving Sam and Dean a long appraising glance, finally said, “You take the big one.”
Cas nodded. “Let's get going,” he said quietly.
“Cas-” Dean started, but felt himself pulled along by Benny.
And so they marched. The party was more subdued than usual. Oddly enough, unlike the real desert, the sun never seemed to set: it seemed perpetually at its zenith.
Dean sweated. And then, after a time, he stopped sweating.
Feeling the sun baking into his skin, Dean pulled off his shirt and wrapped it around his head, like Lawrence of Arabia. His thoughts drifted to water. And root beer floats. A large cola, with tinkling ice cubes. Iced tea: a whole gallon of iced tea. Why hadn't he ever appreciated iced tea before? When they got back....
There was a soft noise. Sam had fallen over. Dean, feeling oddly passive about the whole thing, watched Cas scoop his little brother into a fireman's carry like he weighed nothing, and then continue to walk. “He's carrying my brother,” Dean laughed, his throat like sandpaper.
“Yeah, he is,” said Benny, who had a hand gripped around his waist.
“That's weird,” said Dean. “Hey. You’re really sunburned, dude.”
“That I am.”
And then they walked some more.
And then Dean was at a tea party. On the freeway. It was weird. Cas was wearing a floppy hat and asking, one lump or two?
And then....
Dean woke with a start, spitting water. “Come on, brother, you need to drink this shit,” urged Benny, who was sitting over him. The vampire poured a splash of water over Dean's head, and then poked the bottle towards his mouth again.
Dean blinked, desperately attempting to focus his eyes. Benny was red as a beet. He grabbed the water bottle with shaking hands. He manged a swallow, and then spat it out again. He tried again.
He was sitting on a chaise lounge. An old, dusty chaise lounge. On some kind of patio. They were sitting around a pool. Only the pool was empty. They were beside some kind of deserted high rise building.
“This is a weird dream,” Dean managed to rasp.
“Ain't no dream,” said Benny.
Dean heard the sound of wingbeats, and Cas was there. Only it was not Cas, because he was only wearing jeans and nothing else, and he had a bad sunburn. His tattoo was sunburned. The wings were black and red.
He was carrying something. Blankets. Dean got a blanket draped over him. It was midday, why was he cold?
“Found a hospital,” Cas was telling Benny. He held out a red packet to the vampire.
“Glory be!” said Benny. He grabbed the plastic packet and a blanket, sat on the ground, and made himself a little tent. Dean thought he heard slurping coming from beneath the blanket.
“Are you hydrating, Dean?” asked Cas. He had picked up the bottle. Dean hadn't realized that he'd dropped it.
“Hard. To swallow.”
“I will find you a rehydrating sports drink of some kind. That will be more effective. Stay here.” And then the flapping, and Dean flopped back in the chair.
“Dean!” Sam shout-whispered. Sam came stumbling up and sat beside him. He too picked up the bottle. “You should hydrate,” he said tiredly.
“What the hell. Sammy?”
“Bastard Nergal stranded us in the middle of the fucking desert!” groused the blanket containing the vampire.
“How did we. Get out?” said Dean, making another attempt with the bottled water.
“Cas and Benny carried us,” Sam rasped. Dean looked up at his brother, burned and blistered and huddled in a rough blanket, and wondered if he looked that crappy.
“Shit,” said Dean. A little bit of water managed to trickle down his throat. It felt like paradise.
“Worried about you. Cas ... pretty freaked,” said Sam.
“I found a convenience store,” said Cas, who had just shown up to the sound of wingbeats, cradling an armload of Gatorade bottles, or whatever the local knockoff was called. He knelt down beside Dean and handed him a bottle of purple liquid.
“You can't mojo us. Better?” Dean managed to ask him.
“I am not yet back to full power,” Cas confessed. Dean looked him over. He looked just as bad as the rest of them, physically, as well as anxious as hell.
“Then you sit here. And recharge.” Dean weakly pushed down on Cas's shoulder. Cas sat down hard on the patio. Dean tried to open the Gatorade bottle, but found it made him dizzy, so Cas popped it for him. Purple-flavored paradise flowed over cracked lips. The angel had been right: it was easier to keep this stuff down. Benny, who must have been done feeding, poked his head out of the blanket, and Sam picked up his own bottle of Gatorade. And they were silent for a moment.
“What is this place. Anyway?” huffed Dean.
“It was a hotel. Before the Iraq war,” Cas told him.
And then there was a soft sound of wingbeats. Dean frowned. It was Namtar, Ereshkigal's oldest son. “Are you guys OK? I'm sorry, we couldn't help you, not when you were in my stepdad's domain. That would have sucked if you hadn't made it.”
“Yeah. It would have sucked,” agreed Dean.
“Whoa! You're pretty sick, dude.”
“Yes. I'm pretty sick. Dude.”
Namtar whistled. “Hey! Squirt!” There was a very soft flapping sound, and suddenly, little Ninazu was standing beside his brother, staring up at him. “Can you do your stuff?” Namtar asked, waving a hand at Sam and Dean and the others.
Ninazu toddled over to Benny, wings flapping in the breeze, and laid a hand on him like before. Then he touched the foreheads of Sam, who had to lean over very low, Dean, and finally, Cas. In an instant, they were in the flush of health, all the sunburn and dehydration gone.
“Thank you,” Cas told him. He was still sitting on the ground.
Ninazu threw his arms around Cas's neck and gave him a sloppy toddler kiss on the cheek.
Cas turned bright red, only this time not from the sunburn.
And than Ninazu toddled back over to his brother. “He likes you,” Namtar told Cas. Ninazu waved bye-bye and then disappeared. “So, what I'm gonna do, I was gonna pay a visit to Crowley,” Namtar told them.
“Is your power...?” Sam started. “Do you do what your brother does?”
Namtar's eyes grew wide. “Oh, no, dude. My power is the opposite.” He grinned. And disappeared in a flurry of wingbeats.
“Oughta be interesting, “ said Dean.
The King of Hell sat alone at the head of a large banquet table in his ornate dining room, supping on a finely cooked meal. His meals had been well prepared since he made mincemeat out of the last two or three chefs. He paused in the middle of sipping his vintage Bordeaux to consider. Was it two or was it three chefs? Well, no difference. “Send the chef in here,” he muttered to a serving minion, who scurried off. It was good to be king, of that there was no doubt.
He paused for a moment, scratching under his arm. He would complement the man on a well-prepared meal, and then smite him in front of everybody. Had to keep those minions on their toes. He dabbed a napkin at his face, and then reached under his suit jacket to scratch again. He wondered if he was allergic to his laundry detergent. That might be a bit of fun, he supposed, blowing up his cleaning personnel. He withdrew his hand and winced. It didn’t just itch, it hurt like the dickens. He scowled, momentarily regretful that he had used his last personal physician as hellhound chow. It really itched….
The chef had appeared, red-faced, escorted by two of his larger minions.
“Did you prepare this- Wait a minute,” Crowley told him.
“Are you OK, boss?” asked one of the goons.
“Shut up,” Crowley politely replied. And the goon did as he was told. All three now watched as Crowley doffed his jacket and then pulled up his dress shirt.
An angry red rash spread around his side. There were blisters spread among the inflammation, some of them popped and oozing.
The chef made a noise. “What?” barked Crowley, eyes blazing at the guy.
“Shingles,” said the chef. “Yeah, my aunt used to get them.”
“Shingles?”
The chef pursed his lips. “Yeah. Like if you’ve had chicken pox. You need to get yourself some calamine lotion. Yeah.”
“Calamine lotion. You two idiots! Go get calamine lotion.” And with that the two goons skittered out of the room.
The chef nodded. “You should be OK. It usually goes away in a couple weeks.”
“WEEKS?” fretted Crowley.
“I could make you an oatmeal bath. That would help. Yeah. Oatmeal.”
“Oatmeal bath,” said Crowley. He was still itchy and pained as hell, but the chef’s words were a small comfort.
“Yeah. And some ice packs. You can use a pack of frozen peas.”
Crowley nodded.
“But like I said, you should be okay. Yeah.”
“It will heal itself?”
“Yeah, you should be fine.”
“Fine?”
“Long as it doesn’t spread to your face. Yeah.”
Crowley looked up from his ugly rash to the smiling chef. He wrinkled his nose.
His face itched….
“Poison,” said Dean, regarding Cas's T-shirt.
“Poison,” answered Cas.
Dean sat on the motel room bed beside Cas. “So, I guess I kinda gave away your angel toy.”
“You did,” said Cas, narrowing his eyes. “And so I took your Poison T-shirt in retaliation.”
“Oh, okay.” Dean watched Cas hover his fingers over the laptop. “You like that shirt.”
Cas stopped typing. He grabbed the shirt's collar, and held it up to his nose. “I've noticed that after you wear a garment, it will pick up your aroma. I find it … pleasant.”
Dean slid over to kneel on the bed beside Cas. He grabbed the laptop away from Cas and carefully placed it on the bedside table. “Now. Gimme back my shirt.”
“No.” Cas blinked up at him. And then he glared. “Make me.”
“Aha!” said Dean. “You are stronger. And faster. And older. And smarter. And better looking.”
Cas smiled. And nodded.
“But I fight dirty!” Dean announced, just as he pushed both hands up under Cas's T-shirt and began to tickle him unmercifully under the arms.
Cas emitted a gasp that was at least two octaves in pitch above his normal speaking voice, and then promptly toppled off the bed.
“Cas! You OK?” asked Dean, caught between concern and hilarity, staring down at the angel on the floor.
Cas raised himself up on one elbow, breathing hard. “What was that?”
“Tickling? You don't know tickling?”
“It is … a cruel form of attack,” said Cas, clambering back up onto the bed. He cast a suspicious glance at Dean, and then pulled up his Poison T-shirt, and began drumming his fingers under his own armpit. “Why is this ineffective?” he asked.
Dean was lying back on the bed, looking smug. “You can't tickle yourself.”
“You can't tickle yourself?”
“No, you can only tickle other people.”
Cas looked at his fingers, looked at Dean, looked at his fingers, and looked at Dean.
And then he smiled.
Dean suddenly tensed.
“What? Wait! No! CAS!”
