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tikificTitle: Salt of the Earth
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikific
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Fallen!Castiel
Warnings: Cursing. No beta, so if you spaz out at minor spelling errors might be best to go fix a nice cocktail and read something else.
Word Count: 2,000
Summary: Dean and Cas go digging for information. But will they be able to gain cooperation from the creature they've sought out?
Notes: This is another chapter in the same 'verse as You Got the Silver, written for the same reason, to get out of a slump. No need to read that one first, but it's pretty short too.
Idly scratching at the cast that encased his left forearm, Cas squatted down and regarded the rivulet of water trickling down the center of the cave.
“You think we'll be able to trap him?” asked Dean.
“We don't need to trap him, only to hold him for a set amount of time.”
“And you think it'll work?”
Castiel stood, shrugging his shoulders. He rubbed at the plaster-covered area between his thumb and forefinger. “Yes.”
“You don't get skeezed out?”
Cas tilted his head, wistful smile on his face. He had caught Dean's use of slang, and it pleased him. “No, I am not … skeezed. Why should I be?”
“You're an angel.”
“Was an angel.”
“Aren't you pissed off at these little creeps playing at being god?”
Cas measured out his words with careful teaspoons. “They are beings with certain powers: powers which may prove useful to us, to our purposes. I have no other overall attitude towards their existence. They exist because my Father willed it. Does that answer your question?” He rubbed his arm. The cast had been the result of Castiel's first ever trip to the emergency room. When it was clear he had sustained a break, he had expressed his desire to set the bone himself and let it heal or not, as a true hunter would, but Dean had become insistent. Cas had learned it was best to pick his battles, so he had acquiesced, and, as a Mr. Mick Taylor, had received an X-ray as well as a plaster cast on his wrist. And a stern warning to take it easy for a number of months. Which warning he and Dean had blithely ignored.
“You need something.”
“What do I need?” asked Cas.
Dean rummaged through the pack that had held their lunches and, a look of triumph tracing his handsome features, extracted a plastic fork. He handed it over to Cas, who only looked puzzled. Dean then managed to convey, through a complex series of gestures, the intention of the implement. Cas slipped the little utensil under the margins of his cast, and slid it down to the area that had been bothering him. He rubbed the plastic tines up and down over his inflamed skin. He smiled, eyes, rolling up into his head.
Bliss.
“Thank you, Dean.”
“You sure you wanna come along?” asked Dean, coiling a length of rope.
“What? Why wouldn't I come along?”
“Dude, you got a bum wrist. Remember what the doc said?”
Cas stood stock still, absolutely determined. “I will not let you go alone.”
“You said you didn't think it was risky.”
“I said I thought we could hold him. And we can. We just need to follow the cave. Just follow the cave.”
“And I thought they smelled bad on the outside.”
Cas tilted his head. “That's a quotation from The Empire Strikes Back. And I believe it's a reference to the skins.” The sea was quite noisy here, so he needed to shout to make himself heard.
Dean unfolded the fur wrap on a rock, nodding and grinning. “Right and right.” He glanced out at the rocks, to the slick, fat creatures basking there at the mouth of the cave. “How close you think we can get before they, you know, are likely to squoosh us to death?”
Cas hoisted his own fur wrap and glanced out towards the rocky opening at the end of the tunnel. He smelled the salt spray. “Fairly near. If we approach carefully. I think I will be able to sense fear or aggression in them. So follow me.”
“You think you'll be able to sense aggression?”
Cas paused. “It's difficult for me to be certain, with what little power I have left. But it might be enough to serve a purpose.”
“Aw, Cas, I didn't mean it that way. I'll follow you. But if you hear them thinking bad sea cow thoughts, you tell me, and I'm taking out the shotgun.”
“They are sea lions, Dean, not sea cows.”
“You coulda fooled me.”
A wave roared in and then retreated. It was getting near the time. Both clutching their sealskins, Dean followed Castiel as he picked his way over the rocks towards where the majority of the herd was gathered. After a time, picking among some of the lazy creatures, Cas signaled to stop, and he and Dean found a place to lie down, and then spread the fur wraps over themselves as if they were camped for the night.
Dean twisted himself around, whispering, “When he gets here, the big guy, will we know, Cas?”
Cas pulled something ouf of a pocket. It was the plastic fork. He inserted it under his cast, and gave it a good scratch. “We'll know, Dean.”
Sea lions are not small beasts. And he was the biggest by far. He waddled up out of the water and roared, his herd sounding back to him. And then the beast king lumbered up to one of the highest rocks, and took his place of honor, as below waves broke and his loyal subjects returned to slumbering.
Nodding to each other, Dean and Cas quietly rose and, keeping the furs wrapped tightly around them, approached the king.
They stood on either side, the only sound the splashing of sea water.
“One ... two ... three.”
On three, both me leapt onto the back of the sleek, fat beast, clinging desperately as he jerked up and let out a tremendous roar.
His herd rose as one and slipped like flowing quicksilver out into the water.
And then things got weird.
The sea lion shivered beneath the men and something shifted. It was a wild boar now. Cas lost his shaky grip and toppled from its back. It butted him, square in his sore arm. He shrieked as pain broke through him and crumpled to the ground.
“Cas!” Dean was still somehow clinging on.
“Dean! Hold on to it!”
I'm insane, thought Dean. “Nice piggy!” he yelled, tightening his grip around its neck. It squealed and wriggled and writhed beneath him. And then something shimmered, and he was now holding on to a slowly slithering boa constrictor. “Why did you have to be a snake?” he moaned, now wrestling on the rocky ground with the coiled beast.
“Keep holding it,” said Cas.
“It's holding me,” yelled Dean as he felt a coil around his ankle.
There was another shift. The snake sprouted fur and growled. “You're a cat? It's a wildcat now! Shit.” It had tried clawing him, ripping the fabric of his jacket, but Dean held, bracing himself for a potent sneeze. “I'm allergic you asshole!” he howled, writhing around to to wipe the snot trailing from his nose on his shoulder while grasping the beast.
“Cas! How many transitions to I have to hold on to this fucker?”
“Just hold on Dean!” Cas's voice was broken with the pain.
“Simmer down, asshole,” said Dean. And then it started to shift again and he braced, closing his eyes.
He felt the movement, fur retreating, bones jutting out, flesh wrapping them, something bigger, something much bigger....”
Dean opened his eyes when he realized.
He screamed.
And released his grip on the thing.
But like a shadow in the night, Cas pounced, from somewhere, Dean had no idea where the fuck, and when the dust cleared, there he was, squatting on its chest like succubus, angel sword drawn and pointed under its chin.
Cas's angel sword?
Somewhere far away, lighting flashed and thunder cracked. Dean gasped. Unfurling from Cas's back, like so long ago, Dean would have sworn on a stack of Grand Grimoires that he glimpsed the shadows of two dark wings.
“What have you brought me, human?” said the thing lying beneath Cas: the pagan god. “A little angel? You would have made fine fodder for me in the day. Fine fodder!”
“I am no angel,” whispered Cas. “And you are not Sam Winchester.”
The thing that was not Sam – the thing that had taken his shape – grinned maliciously. “Ruined husk of an angel. You flatter me, little angel. Fluttering down to visit me. Little angel. Who is your master?”
“I have no master.”
The not-Sam tilted its head over, directing its horrible yellowy eyes towards Dean. “Always two. The master and his servant. Who are you, Brother-of-Sam?”
“I'm Dean Winchester, and we need you to answer a question, Proteus. Truthfully.”
“But what is truth, O Dean Winchester, Brother-of-Sam? How can I ever answer, if I am, as your little servant implies, a lie myself. Tsk. Such a quandry.”
“Look, buddy. We didn't crawl on our bellies all the way here to play fucking Twenty Questions. The deal is we hold you, we get answers. And I'd suggest you start answering before my 'servant' gets antsy with that sword!”
“Dean.” Cas's energy was flagging, his voice cracking. Blood now made a lazy trail, dripping from his cast. “Ask him. Ask him now.”
Dean steeled himself and glared at Proteus. “You're a telepath, right? That's how you read my brother? Okay, why don't you pull my question out of me?”
Cas looked confused.
The not-Sam clucked its tongue. “There is a hole in your heart. You must needs find him to fill it. And your servant will follow. He needs your full heart. For it is his too.”
Dean was going to kick the stupid fucking Sam thing in the balls just then, but Cas put up his sore arm in a cautioning gesture, wincing as he moved it. So Dean remained silent.
“The one you seek is the price you paid. And the promise you made. And the chance you took. Bigger fish than I. Much bigger fish.”
Dean shook his head. “Yeah, angels and demons are a big deal. I didn't need you to tell me that.”
“Then ask your question.”
Dean paused. Cas was staring at him, sword starting to tremble, left arm held to his side, blood pooling on the cast, his face a mix of dirt and tears.
“I want my brother back.”
“He is human. He will not pass the gate.”
Dean felt all the life seep out of him. He sat back on a rock, choking off a sob. The answer. The true answer. He looked at his arms, the red scratches there a map of his failures.
Don't ask. Not if you don't want to hear.
“Could he … ride another?” Cas's voice was barely above a whisper.
“Yes. Benny. Like I did with Benny?” asked Dean.
“You're a clever angel, aren't you?” asked the not-Sam. “Too clever for your own good. You've made a mess of things, haven't you?”
Cas faltered as Dean leapt, grabbing the sword and jabbing it at Proteus's neck. “Yes or no. Can Sammy hitch a ride out?”
“Yes.”
Dean dropped Cas's sword. He grabbed Cas around the waist and, being mindful of his shattered, bleeding arm, pulled him up off the god. He was trembling badly. Dean pulled Cas around so he was facing him and, cupping his face in a hand, told him, “You're all right. We'll get you out of here now. Okay? You're all right.”
“If you will allow me.” Dean started. He hadn't noticed yet another transition, but now instead of Sam Winchester there was an ancient, grey-bearded man standing beside them. Proteus reached over and grasped Cas's arm, causing Cas to moan in pain. Dean scrambled around and grabbed Cas's angel sword from the ground, but by the time he had it up, Cas was standing waiting patiently as Proteus cracked his cast like a nutshell and removed it. Cas held up his arm, flexing his fingers in wonder.
“Thank you. I didn't know you were a healer.”
“I didn't use my power. I used yours.”
Cas frowned at Proteus, but then the old man was a very large, slick sea lion, and he was tumbling off the rocks and out into the sea.
Cas and Dean shared a glance, and then Dean turned the sword around and handed it over, hilt first, to Cas. “I think this is yours.”
Cas nodded and grabbed it. After a moment of indecision, he tucked it in his belt.
“Where did it come from?”
“I have no fucking idea.”
Dean chuckled. It still didn't sound quite right when Cas cursed.
“Did I say that right?” Cas wondered.
“You said that perfectly.” Dean gripped Cas's shoulder and inclined his head towards the top of the tunnel. “Well, since I can't do that neat trick of turning into a sea cow-”
“Sea lion.”
“Wanna head for the top?”
“All right.”
“And then we'll stop get burgers.”
“All right.”
“And then we'll hit the showers.”
“Okay.”
“And then we'll go rescue Sam.”
For just a bare moment, Castiel's face bloomed into something so light and sweet. And then he nodded and, making sure his sword was secure, they began to climb.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikific
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Fallen!Castiel
Warnings: Cursing. No beta, so if you spaz out at minor spelling errors might be best to go fix a nice cocktail and read something else.
Word Count: 2,000
Summary: Dean and Cas go digging for information. But will they be able to gain cooperation from the creature they've sought out?
Notes: This is another chapter in the same 'verse as You Got the Silver, written for the same reason, to get out of a slump. No need to read that one first, but it's pretty short too.
Idly scratching at the cast that encased his left forearm, Cas squatted down and regarded the rivulet of water trickling down the center of the cave.
“You think we'll be able to trap him?” asked Dean.
“We don't need to trap him, only to hold him for a set amount of time.”
“And you think it'll work?”
Castiel stood, shrugging his shoulders. He rubbed at the plaster-covered area between his thumb and forefinger. “Yes.”
“You don't get skeezed out?”
Cas tilted his head, wistful smile on his face. He had caught Dean's use of slang, and it pleased him. “No, I am not … skeezed. Why should I be?”
“You're an angel.”
“Was an angel.”
“Aren't you pissed off at these little creeps playing at being god?”
Cas measured out his words with careful teaspoons. “They are beings with certain powers: powers which may prove useful to us, to our purposes. I have no other overall attitude towards their existence. They exist because my Father willed it. Does that answer your question?” He rubbed his arm. The cast had been the result of Castiel's first ever trip to the emergency room. When it was clear he had sustained a break, he had expressed his desire to set the bone himself and let it heal or not, as a true hunter would, but Dean had become insistent. Cas had learned it was best to pick his battles, so he had acquiesced, and, as a Mr. Mick Taylor, had received an X-ray as well as a plaster cast on his wrist. And a stern warning to take it easy for a number of months. Which warning he and Dean had blithely ignored.
“You need something.”
“What do I need?” asked Cas.
Dean rummaged through the pack that had held their lunches and, a look of triumph tracing his handsome features, extracted a plastic fork. He handed it over to Cas, who only looked puzzled. Dean then managed to convey, through a complex series of gestures, the intention of the implement. Cas slipped the little utensil under the margins of his cast, and slid it down to the area that had been bothering him. He rubbed the plastic tines up and down over his inflamed skin. He smiled, eyes, rolling up into his head.
Bliss.
“Thank you, Dean.”
“You sure you wanna come along?” asked Dean, coiling a length of rope.
“What? Why wouldn't I come along?”
“Dude, you got a bum wrist. Remember what the doc said?”
Cas stood stock still, absolutely determined. “I will not let you go alone.”
“You said you didn't think it was risky.”
“I said I thought we could hold him. And we can. We just need to follow the cave. Just follow the cave.”
“And I thought they smelled bad on the outside.”
Cas tilted his head. “That's a quotation from The Empire Strikes Back. And I believe it's a reference to the skins.” The sea was quite noisy here, so he needed to shout to make himself heard.
Dean unfolded the fur wrap on a rock, nodding and grinning. “Right and right.” He glanced out at the rocks, to the slick, fat creatures basking there at the mouth of the cave. “How close you think we can get before they, you know, are likely to squoosh us to death?”
Cas hoisted his own fur wrap and glanced out towards the rocky opening at the end of the tunnel. He smelled the salt spray. “Fairly near. If we approach carefully. I think I will be able to sense fear or aggression in them. So follow me.”
“You think you'll be able to sense aggression?”
Cas paused. “It's difficult for me to be certain, with what little power I have left. But it might be enough to serve a purpose.”
“Aw, Cas, I didn't mean it that way. I'll follow you. But if you hear them thinking bad sea cow thoughts, you tell me, and I'm taking out the shotgun.”
“They are sea lions, Dean, not sea cows.”
“You coulda fooled me.”
A wave roared in and then retreated. It was getting near the time. Both clutching their sealskins, Dean followed Castiel as he picked his way over the rocks towards where the majority of the herd was gathered. After a time, picking among some of the lazy creatures, Cas signaled to stop, and he and Dean found a place to lie down, and then spread the fur wraps over themselves as if they were camped for the night.
Dean twisted himself around, whispering, “When he gets here, the big guy, will we know, Cas?”
Cas pulled something ouf of a pocket. It was the plastic fork. He inserted it under his cast, and gave it a good scratch. “We'll know, Dean.”
Sea lions are not small beasts. And he was the biggest by far. He waddled up out of the water and roared, his herd sounding back to him. And then the beast king lumbered up to one of the highest rocks, and took his place of honor, as below waves broke and his loyal subjects returned to slumbering.
Nodding to each other, Dean and Cas quietly rose and, keeping the furs wrapped tightly around them, approached the king.
They stood on either side, the only sound the splashing of sea water.
“One ... two ... three.”
On three, both me leapt onto the back of the sleek, fat beast, clinging desperately as he jerked up and let out a tremendous roar.
His herd rose as one and slipped like flowing quicksilver out into the water.
And then things got weird.
The sea lion shivered beneath the men and something shifted. It was a wild boar now. Cas lost his shaky grip and toppled from its back. It butted him, square in his sore arm. He shrieked as pain broke through him and crumpled to the ground.
“Cas!” Dean was still somehow clinging on.
“Dean! Hold on to it!”
I'm insane, thought Dean. “Nice piggy!” he yelled, tightening his grip around its neck. It squealed and wriggled and writhed beneath him. And then something shimmered, and he was now holding on to a slowly slithering boa constrictor. “Why did you have to be a snake?” he moaned, now wrestling on the rocky ground with the coiled beast.
“Keep holding it,” said Cas.
“It's holding me,” yelled Dean as he felt a coil around his ankle.
There was another shift. The snake sprouted fur and growled. “You're a cat? It's a wildcat now! Shit.” It had tried clawing him, ripping the fabric of his jacket, but Dean held, bracing himself for a potent sneeze. “I'm allergic you asshole!” he howled, writhing around to to wipe the snot trailing from his nose on his shoulder while grasping the beast.
“Cas! How many transitions to I have to hold on to this fucker?”
“Just hold on Dean!” Cas's voice was broken with the pain.
“Simmer down, asshole,” said Dean. And then it started to shift again and he braced, closing his eyes.
He felt the movement, fur retreating, bones jutting out, flesh wrapping them, something bigger, something much bigger....”
Dean opened his eyes when he realized.
He screamed.
And released his grip on the thing.
But like a shadow in the night, Cas pounced, from somewhere, Dean had no idea where the fuck, and when the dust cleared, there he was, squatting on its chest like succubus, angel sword drawn and pointed under its chin.
Cas's angel sword?
Somewhere far away, lighting flashed and thunder cracked. Dean gasped. Unfurling from Cas's back, like so long ago, Dean would have sworn on a stack of Grand Grimoires that he glimpsed the shadows of two dark wings.
“What have you brought me, human?” said the thing lying beneath Cas: the pagan god. “A little angel? You would have made fine fodder for me in the day. Fine fodder!”
“I am no angel,” whispered Cas. “And you are not Sam Winchester.”
The thing that was not Sam – the thing that had taken his shape – grinned maliciously. “Ruined husk of an angel. You flatter me, little angel. Fluttering down to visit me. Little angel. Who is your master?”
“I have no master.”
The not-Sam tilted its head over, directing its horrible yellowy eyes towards Dean. “Always two. The master and his servant. Who are you, Brother-of-Sam?”
“I'm Dean Winchester, and we need you to answer a question, Proteus. Truthfully.”
“But what is truth, O Dean Winchester, Brother-of-Sam? How can I ever answer, if I am, as your little servant implies, a lie myself. Tsk. Such a quandry.”
“Look, buddy. We didn't crawl on our bellies all the way here to play fucking Twenty Questions. The deal is we hold you, we get answers. And I'd suggest you start answering before my 'servant' gets antsy with that sword!”
“Dean.” Cas's energy was flagging, his voice cracking. Blood now made a lazy trail, dripping from his cast. “Ask him. Ask him now.”
Dean steeled himself and glared at Proteus. “You're a telepath, right? That's how you read my brother? Okay, why don't you pull my question out of me?”
Cas looked confused.
The not-Sam clucked its tongue. “There is a hole in your heart. You must needs find him to fill it. And your servant will follow. He needs your full heart. For it is his too.”
Dean was going to kick the stupid fucking Sam thing in the balls just then, but Cas put up his sore arm in a cautioning gesture, wincing as he moved it. So Dean remained silent.
“The one you seek is the price you paid. And the promise you made. And the chance you took. Bigger fish than I. Much bigger fish.”
Dean shook his head. “Yeah, angels and demons are a big deal. I didn't need you to tell me that.”
“Then ask your question.”
Dean paused. Cas was staring at him, sword starting to tremble, left arm held to his side, blood pooling on the cast, his face a mix of dirt and tears.
“I want my brother back.”
“He is human. He will not pass the gate.”
Dean felt all the life seep out of him. He sat back on a rock, choking off a sob. The answer. The true answer. He looked at his arms, the red scratches there a map of his failures.
Don't ask. Not if you don't want to hear.
“Could he … ride another?” Cas's voice was barely above a whisper.
“Yes. Benny. Like I did with Benny?” asked Dean.
“You're a clever angel, aren't you?” asked the not-Sam. “Too clever for your own good. You've made a mess of things, haven't you?”
Cas faltered as Dean leapt, grabbing the sword and jabbing it at Proteus's neck. “Yes or no. Can Sammy hitch a ride out?”
“Yes.”
Dean dropped Cas's sword. He grabbed Cas around the waist and, being mindful of his shattered, bleeding arm, pulled him up off the god. He was trembling badly. Dean pulled Cas around so he was facing him and, cupping his face in a hand, told him, “You're all right. We'll get you out of here now. Okay? You're all right.”
“If you will allow me.” Dean started. He hadn't noticed yet another transition, but now instead of Sam Winchester there was an ancient, grey-bearded man standing beside them. Proteus reached over and grasped Cas's arm, causing Cas to moan in pain. Dean scrambled around and grabbed Cas's angel sword from the ground, but by the time he had it up, Cas was standing waiting patiently as Proteus cracked his cast like a nutshell and removed it. Cas held up his arm, flexing his fingers in wonder.
“Thank you. I didn't know you were a healer.”
“I didn't use my power. I used yours.”
Cas frowned at Proteus, but then the old man was a very large, slick sea lion, and he was tumbling off the rocks and out into the sea.
Cas and Dean shared a glance, and then Dean turned the sword around and handed it over, hilt first, to Cas. “I think this is yours.”
Cas nodded and grabbed it. After a moment of indecision, he tucked it in his belt.
“Where did it come from?”
“I have no fucking idea.”
Dean chuckled. It still didn't sound quite right when Cas cursed.
“Did I say that right?” Cas wondered.
“You said that perfectly.” Dean gripped Cas's shoulder and inclined his head towards the top of the tunnel. “Well, since I can't do that neat trick of turning into a sea cow-”
“Sea lion.”
“Wanna head for the top?”
“All right.”
“And then we'll stop get burgers.”
“All right.”
“And then we'll hit the showers.”
“Okay.”
“And then we'll go rescue Sam.”
For just a bare moment, Castiel's face bloomed into something so light and sweet. And then he nodded and, making sure his sword was secure, they began to climb.
