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tikificTitle: I Just Want to See His Face (Part 5 of You Got the Silver)
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikific
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Fallen!Cas
Warnings: Cursing. No beta.
Word Count: 2,000
Summary: Dean and Cas continue their search for a god with a dark sense of humor.
Notes: This one gets a little Destiel-y. Sorry to all concerned.
No light.
No heat.
No air.
No air.
Castiel’s human lungs burned. Why couldn’t he see?
Where was Dean?
He was in that cold place again. That terrible cold place. So far from his brothers, so far from his Father.
He felt a small hand on his arm. A soft voice in his ear.
“He won’t let you go. Come on.”
“I’m sorry.”
Cas awoke with a start, wondering if it was another nightmare
“I’m so sorry.”
He gazed upwards, trying to focus his eyes. Dean was kneeling in the dirt, holding him, eyes squeezed shut, rocking gently back and forth, muttering apologies.
Cas tried to make words come, but his throat felt gritty, like sandpaper. Somewhat slowly and clumsily, he raised one hand and managed to touch Dean’s face.
“Cas,” Dean whispered. The arms tightened. “Are you all right, man?”
Castiel painfully wriggled out of Dean’s grasp. It wasn’t easy, as Dean had a death grip on him. What the hell had happened? His throat felt like he had gargled with razor blades. His face was scratched to hell, there was blood under his fingernails, his back ached, and he had a splitting headache.
“Whoa, whoa there,” said Dean, darting up as Cas stumbled to his feet and looked around, hand on his burning throat. “You all right?”
“Need a fucking aspirin,” Cas managed to rasp.
Dean was there, cupping his face and laughing. “Dude, when we get back, you can have the whole bottle.”
Cas glared at him and lurched back, nearly falling as he tripped over some shattered pottery. He cursed, kicking at the shards on the ground.
“Careful,” said Dean.
But Cas was squatting down, scrabbling in the dirt for the pieces. He got two large shards in his hand and fitted them together. It was a mask. A blood-stained mask.
Oh.
“I’m sorry,” said Dean again. He was hunkered down next to Cas, face all dirty and tear-stained.
Cas reached out a thumb and wiped away some of the dirt from Dean’s cheek. “It’s all right, Dean. It wasn’t you. I think you were partly under an enchantment when he de-aged you.”
“I guess I was kind of a dick as a kid.”
Cas nodded sadly. “Kind of.”
Dean smiled, a weary smile.
“Anyway. We need to spare the emo hunter crap if we’re gonna get out of here.”
Dean grinned and stood, pulling Cas up with him. “Damn, I think you broke your nose. I broke your nose. You’re gonna have a shiner.”
Cas looked behind him. “At least the wings are gone.”
“Yeah. And so is Sammy.”
“That wasn’t Sam, Dean,” said Cas. It should have made him feel better, but he only felt worse. Something occurred to him. “When we were in the Portae Belli, what were you thinking of, just before we came out?”
“The hall of mirrors? Like I told you, I was thinking about when I took Sam to a county fair. And I may have wished you had your mojo back, because….” Dean paused. “Oh! He read me, didn’t he?”
Cas nodded. “And I think it was possibly amplified by all the reflections.”
“Walked right into it. Fuck. But he couldn’t get a fix on you?”
“I’m … different.” Cas wrapped his arms around himself and shivered, suddenly feeling cold and alien. Dean shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around Cas’s bare shoulders. Cas smiled thinly and worked his arms into the sleeves, noticing that Dean kept his arms around him, but not caring. He patted one sleeve and extracted Dean’s bottle of superglue. He frowned at it.
“You got an idea?” asked Dean.
“Yeah. I think I have an idea.”
“Are you ready?”
Dean clutched the object hidden underneath his shirt, shut his eyes in fierce concentration and nodded grimly.
“It’s up to you. Remember them. Fix them in your mind.”
Dean nodded, and he and Cas darted out of the hall of mirrors, emerging back to the landscape covered with rolling hills and ancient ruins.
Dean exhaled.
“You missed him.”
“Yeah, you just missed him.”
Dean and Cas turned around to confront Qin and Yuchi, the gate gods, who were lounging on either side of the door.
“Oh, hey, that’s too bad,” said Dean. “Maybe we’ll just hang on home, then. Oh, wait, that’s right, you guys sent us to this shit hole!”
“You’re not going anywhere until you give us back our weapons,” Qin told them.
Cas and Dean exchanged a glance. “Oh, you want your stuff back?” asked Dean.
“Yes, give them back.”
Dean shrugged at Cas. “Okay. Here.” And at that each pulled out a ceramic theater mask – Cas’s containing many great cracks – and slammed them onto the faces of Qin and Yuchi as if they were pie-facing them.
The gate gods emitted an unearthly piercing scream and fell, writhing, to the ground. Then Qin crawled on top of Yuchi, and, after a bit of moaning and tangling bodies that Dean would have wished he hadn’t been party to viewing, their flesh melted together, and they became as one.
“Ew. I didn’t need to see that,” Dean grumbled.
The god stood up. Although he had just one body, he now wore the two faces that had been the theater masks: mournful Tragedy in front of his head and the ruined, grinning Comedy on the back.
“How did you know?” asked the Tragedy Janus face.
“They musssht have cheated,” grumbled Janus’s Comedy face. A few of his front teeth were cracked, probably due to damage to his mask.
“Let’s just say, we’ve had some experience with Trickster gods who aren’t quite what they seem,” Dean told him. “Do you know what we’re here for?”
“Yesssh, you’re idiotssss,” spat the shattered Comedy face.
“You really want to smuggle someone out of heaven?” asked the Tragedy face.
“He's my brother,” said Dean. “He's not supposed to be there. We were locking off the gates and he got … stuck.”
“Is thissssh the Metatron thing?” sighed Comedy. “You Judeo-Chrissstiansssh and your complicated ritualsss. Give me the old dayssssh! We'd ssssshacrifice a goat....”
“Brother, we should hear them out,” said Tragedy.
“Why sssshould I hear them out! They ruined my facssshe.”
“You tried to kill Cas!” Dean told them, though Cas put out a restraining hand.
“It wassssh you who would kill your friend,” Comedy spat. “Thisssch ssshtupid quesssht. You don’t even know if he livesss.”
“He lives,” said Cas. “He spoke to me.”
“What?” asked Dean.
“When I was unconscious, Sam was there. He was there.” Cas stated this with an absolute certainty.
Dean looked, just for a second, as if he was about to cry.
“We could aid them,” Tragedy allowed. “They have come a long way.”
“They sssshattered my masssk!” wailed Comedy.
“What if I … mended you?” asked Cas.
“Can you do that?” Dean whispered.
“You can repair my brother?” asked the Tragedy face.
Cas shrugged. “It’s worth a try, I think.”
“What do you mean, worth a try? Are you sssserioussssh?” asked Comedy. But Cas had taken a cautious step forward towards Janus, raising his hand. He cast a nervous glance back at Dean, who nodded encouragement, and then, steeling himself, placed a hand on Janus’s head and closed his eyes. There was a humming sound, and a soft glow emitted from his hand.
“Ouch!” bellowed the Comedy mask. Cas stumbled back, blinking and disoriented. Dean grabbed him to steady him.
“How are you, brother?” asked Janus’s Tragedy mask.
“That stung,” Comedy complained. Janus’s hands found the back of his head, and ran over the now smooth surface of his mask. “But I think it’s fixed.”
“Hey,” said Dean, looking at Cas. “You un-broke your nose!”
Cas felt his own face. The scratches were gone as well. “Blowback. I guess?” he told Dean.
“We owe them thanks,” said Tragedy.
Comedy grumbled again. “Come here, human.” Dean, looking uncertain, approached Janus.
Comedy noisily horked up a loogie and spat into Dean’s hand.
“Uh. Ew,” said Dean, gingerly holding a drool-coated key.
“Thank you,” said Cas.
“Approach again our temple,” Tragedy told them. “The doors will take you home this time.”
Cas nodded and, grabbing Dean’s arm, let him back into the Portae Belli. “Before they change their minds,” he whispered. “These gods are … unpredictable.”
Dean looked around, surprised to see that the inside of the temple looked like the inside of a temple. The mirrors were gone. It was now lit by a soft glow. Cas strode towards the doorway on the opposite side.
“Wait, Cas.”
“Yes, Dean?”
“You saw Sam.”
“I didn’t see him. I felt his presence. It led me back.”
Dean nodded, taking it in. “And, uh. What exactly is this for?” he asked, pulling Janus's key out of his pocket and holding it up.
A faint smile traced Cas’ features. “Dean. If there's a key, there must be a lock.”
And then he grabbed Dean’s arm again, and hauled him out the door, into the sunlight.
“Memory foam, Cas!”
Castiel sat on Dean's bed and smiled softly. “Really, Dean, I don't feel the need to sleep.”
“Then you can kick back for a few. I'll make dinner.”
“Janus healed me. Or I healed myself, I’m not certain. But regardless, I'm fine.”
“But-”
Cas poked at the mattress. “And, besides, I’ve found that the library shelf is a perfectly good place to sleep.”
“It's actually a fucking weird place to sleep! Cas, look, I know I haven't been a stickler over this up to now, but you realize you're not a cat.”
“Cats are perfectly respectable creatures, Dean.”
“Look.... Just....” Dean sat down next to Cas. He sighed and looked miserable. “I wouldn't choose Sam over you. I mean, not like that. You know?”
“We've been over this, Dean. You were under the influence of Janus’s spell.”
“I mean, you're like a brother. Only not. I mean, I care about you too. Just not in that way. But in another way....”
Cas found he was tuning out of Dean's words, so he began to watch Dean's lips move instead. He always liked watching Dean speak, even if what was coming out of his mouth was a bunch of drivel. He liked watching Dean do pretty much anything: loading his gun, driving the car, eating burgers.
He liked watching Dean.
He liked Dean.
Cas was never certain afterwards if it was his recent near death experience that was responsible – after all, he had died before – or whether he was curious, or whether he simply wanted to somehow staunch the torrent of emo hunter crap pouring forth from his friend, but the next thing he knew, he was gently holding Dean's face, and kissing him. It was nice, and it got even nicer when Dean, after a moment's hesitation, suddenly reached his hands under Castiel's jacket (which was actually Dean's jacket) and began enthusiastically kissing back.
And then Dean's tongue found its way into Cas's mouth, and he felt himself slammed backwards onto the bed, Dean's hands stroking his body, Dean's hips grinding into his. And it was nice, if a little overwhelming. In fact, when one of Dean’s hands found Cas’s thigh and began to squeeze, it became a whole lot overwhelming.
Cas pushed Dean away. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“That noise.”
“Uh, the wind rattling?”
“We are inside a concrete bunker, Dean.” Cas wriggled out from under Dean and headed for the door.
“Wait! Cas! But this discussion was just getting interesting! God dammit....”
Dean leapt off the bed and followed Cas out to the main entrance. There was an enormous bear of a man with wild, long hair standing there. “Dudes!” he said.
Dean already had his gun raised. “Is this a homeless guy? Are you a homeless guy? How the hell did you get in here?”
“I came when you called, dudes!” said the guy, holding up a hand in a throwing horns gesture.
“My bro said you needed a hand with the ne plus ultra and shit.”
“Your bro?” asked Dean. “Satan?”
“Noooo, man, fuck that Judeo-Christian shit. My main man, Janus!”
“You know Janus?” asked Cas. He placed a hand on Dean’s gun and, much to his friend’s irritation, gently pressed down, lowering the weapon.
“I’m his main man! I’m Chaos!” He started headbanging: an impressive display, long hair whipping around. And then he started vamping some air guitar, which sent some real life heavy metal chords thundering through the bunker. It got Dean, not usually a reverent man, muttering a silent prayer that they had no windows to shatter, although it sounded like a couple of ceramic mugs that had been sitting out in the kitchen hadn’t survived the assault.
“You dudes got anything to eat? I’ve been storming and working up an appetite.”
Cas and Dean exchanged a glance. “Uh. Wanna call out for pizza?” tried Dean.
“AWESOME!” said Chaos.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikific
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Fallen!Cas
Warnings: Cursing. No beta.
Word Count: 2,000
Summary: Dean and Cas continue their search for a god with a dark sense of humor.
Notes: This one gets a little Destiel-y. Sorry to all concerned.
No light.
No heat.
No air.
No air.
Castiel’s human lungs burned. Why couldn’t he see?
Where was Dean?
He was in that cold place again. That terrible cold place. So far from his brothers, so far from his Father.
He felt a small hand on his arm. A soft voice in his ear.
“He won’t let you go. Come on.”
“I’m sorry.”
Cas awoke with a start, wondering if it was another nightmare
“I’m so sorry.”
He gazed upwards, trying to focus his eyes. Dean was kneeling in the dirt, holding him, eyes squeezed shut, rocking gently back and forth, muttering apologies.
Cas tried to make words come, but his throat felt gritty, like sandpaper. Somewhat slowly and clumsily, he raised one hand and managed to touch Dean’s face.
“Cas,” Dean whispered. The arms tightened. “Are you all right, man?”
Castiel painfully wriggled out of Dean’s grasp. It wasn’t easy, as Dean had a death grip on him. What the hell had happened? His throat felt like he had gargled with razor blades. His face was scratched to hell, there was blood under his fingernails, his back ached, and he had a splitting headache.
“Whoa, whoa there,” said Dean, darting up as Cas stumbled to his feet and looked around, hand on his burning throat. “You all right?”
“Need a fucking aspirin,” Cas managed to rasp.
Dean was there, cupping his face and laughing. “Dude, when we get back, you can have the whole bottle.”
Cas glared at him and lurched back, nearly falling as he tripped over some shattered pottery. He cursed, kicking at the shards on the ground.
“Careful,” said Dean.
But Cas was squatting down, scrabbling in the dirt for the pieces. He got two large shards in his hand and fitted them together. It was a mask. A blood-stained mask.
Oh.
“I’m sorry,” said Dean again. He was hunkered down next to Cas, face all dirty and tear-stained.
Cas reached out a thumb and wiped away some of the dirt from Dean’s cheek. “It’s all right, Dean. It wasn’t you. I think you were partly under an enchantment when he de-aged you.”
“I guess I was kind of a dick as a kid.”
Cas nodded sadly. “Kind of.”
Dean smiled, a weary smile.
“Anyway. We need to spare the emo hunter crap if we’re gonna get out of here.”
Dean grinned and stood, pulling Cas up with him. “Damn, I think you broke your nose. I broke your nose. You’re gonna have a shiner.”
Cas looked behind him. “At least the wings are gone.”
“Yeah. And so is Sammy.”
“That wasn’t Sam, Dean,” said Cas. It should have made him feel better, but he only felt worse. Something occurred to him. “When we were in the Portae Belli, what were you thinking of, just before we came out?”
“The hall of mirrors? Like I told you, I was thinking about when I took Sam to a county fair. And I may have wished you had your mojo back, because….” Dean paused. “Oh! He read me, didn’t he?”
Cas nodded. “And I think it was possibly amplified by all the reflections.”
“Walked right into it. Fuck. But he couldn’t get a fix on you?”
“I’m … different.” Cas wrapped his arms around himself and shivered, suddenly feeling cold and alien. Dean shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around Cas’s bare shoulders. Cas smiled thinly and worked his arms into the sleeves, noticing that Dean kept his arms around him, but not caring. He patted one sleeve and extracted Dean’s bottle of superglue. He frowned at it.
“You got an idea?” asked Dean.
“Yeah. I think I have an idea.”
“Are you ready?”
Dean clutched the object hidden underneath his shirt, shut his eyes in fierce concentration and nodded grimly.
“It’s up to you. Remember them. Fix them in your mind.”
Dean nodded, and he and Cas darted out of the hall of mirrors, emerging back to the landscape covered with rolling hills and ancient ruins.
Dean exhaled.
“You missed him.”
“Yeah, you just missed him.”
Dean and Cas turned around to confront Qin and Yuchi, the gate gods, who were lounging on either side of the door.
“Oh, hey, that’s too bad,” said Dean. “Maybe we’ll just hang on home, then. Oh, wait, that’s right, you guys sent us to this shit hole!”
“You’re not going anywhere until you give us back our weapons,” Qin told them.
Cas and Dean exchanged a glance. “Oh, you want your stuff back?” asked Dean.
“Yes, give them back.”
Dean shrugged at Cas. “Okay. Here.” And at that each pulled out a ceramic theater mask – Cas’s containing many great cracks – and slammed them onto the faces of Qin and Yuchi as if they were pie-facing them.
The gate gods emitted an unearthly piercing scream and fell, writhing, to the ground. Then Qin crawled on top of Yuchi, and, after a bit of moaning and tangling bodies that Dean would have wished he hadn’t been party to viewing, their flesh melted together, and they became as one.
“Ew. I didn’t need to see that,” Dean grumbled.
The god stood up. Although he had just one body, he now wore the two faces that had been the theater masks: mournful Tragedy in front of his head and the ruined, grinning Comedy on the back.
“How did you know?” asked the Tragedy Janus face.
“They musssht have cheated,” grumbled Janus’s Comedy face. A few of his front teeth were cracked, probably due to damage to his mask.
“Let’s just say, we’ve had some experience with Trickster gods who aren’t quite what they seem,” Dean told him. “Do you know what we’re here for?”
“Yesssh, you’re idiotssss,” spat the shattered Comedy face.
“You really want to smuggle someone out of heaven?” asked the Tragedy face.
“He's my brother,” said Dean. “He's not supposed to be there. We were locking off the gates and he got … stuck.”
“Is thissssh the Metatron thing?” sighed Comedy. “You Judeo-Chrissstiansssh and your complicated ritualsss. Give me the old dayssssh! We'd ssssshacrifice a goat....”
“Brother, we should hear them out,” said Tragedy.
“Why sssshould I hear them out! They ruined my facssshe.”
“You tried to kill Cas!” Dean told them, though Cas put out a restraining hand.
“It wassssh you who would kill your friend,” Comedy spat. “Thisssch ssshtupid quesssht. You don’t even know if he livesss.”
“He lives,” said Cas. “He spoke to me.”
“What?” asked Dean.
“When I was unconscious, Sam was there. He was there.” Cas stated this with an absolute certainty.
Dean looked, just for a second, as if he was about to cry.
“We could aid them,” Tragedy allowed. “They have come a long way.”
“They sssshattered my masssk!” wailed Comedy.
“What if I … mended you?” asked Cas.
“Can you do that?” Dean whispered.
“You can repair my brother?” asked the Tragedy face.
Cas shrugged. “It’s worth a try, I think.”
“What do you mean, worth a try? Are you sssserioussssh?” asked Comedy. But Cas had taken a cautious step forward towards Janus, raising his hand. He cast a nervous glance back at Dean, who nodded encouragement, and then, steeling himself, placed a hand on Janus’s head and closed his eyes. There was a humming sound, and a soft glow emitted from his hand.
“Ouch!” bellowed the Comedy mask. Cas stumbled back, blinking and disoriented. Dean grabbed him to steady him.
“How are you, brother?” asked Janus’s Tragedy mask.
“That stung,” Comedy complained. Janus’s hands found the back of his head, and ran over the now smooth surface of his mask. “But I think it’s fixed.”
“Hey,” said Dean, looking at Cas. “You un-broke your nose!”
Cas felt his own face. The scratches were gone as well. “Blowback. I guess?” he told Dean.
“We owe them thanks,” said Tragedy.
Comedy grumbled again. “Come here, human.” Dean, looking uncertain, approached Janus.
Comedy noisily horked up a loogie and spat into Dean’s hand.
“Uh. Ew,” said Dean, gingerly holding a drool-coated key.
“Thank you,” said Cas.
“Approach again our temple,” Tragedy told them. “The doors will take you home this time.”
Cas nodded and, grabbing Dean’s arm, let him back into the Portae Belli. “Before they change their minds,” he whispered. “These gods are … unpredictable.”
Dean looked around, surprised to see that the inside of the temple looked like the inside of a temple. The mirrors were gone. It was now lit by a soft glow. Cas strode towards the doorway on the opposite side.
“Wait, Cas.”
“Yes, Dean?”
“You saw Sam.”
“I didn’t see him. I felt his presence. It led me back.”
Dean nodded, taking it in. “And, uh. What exactly is this for?” he asked, pulling Janus's key out of his pocket and holding it up.
A faint smile traced Cas’ features. “Dean. If there's a key, there must be a lock.”
And then he grabbed Dean’s arm again, and hauled him out the door, into the sunlight.
“Memory foam, Cas!”
Castiel sat on Dean's bed and smiled softly. “Really, Dean, I don't feel the need to sleep.”
“Then you can kick back for a few. I'll make dinner.”
“Janus healed me. Or I healed myself, I’m not certain. But regardless, I'm fine.”
“But-”
Cas poked at the mattress. “And, besides, I’ve found that the library shelf is a perfectly good place to sleep.”
“It's actually a fucking weird place to sleep! Cas, look, I know I haven't been a stickler over this up to now, but you realize you're not a cat.”
“Cats are perfectly respectable creatures, Dean.”
“Look.... Just....” Dean sat down next to Cas. He sighed and looked miserable. “I wouldn't choose Sam over you. I mean, not like that. You know?”
“We've been over this, Dean. You were under the influence of Janus’s spell.”
“I mean, you're like a brother. Only not. I mean, I care about you too. Just not in that way. But in another way....”
Cas found he was tuning out of Dean's words, so he began to watch Dean's lips move instead. He always liked watching Dean speak, even if what was coming out of his mouth was a bunch of drivel. He liked watching Dean do pretty much anything: loading his gun, driving the car, eating burgers.
He liked watching Dean.
He liked Dean.
Cas was never certain afterwards if it was his recent near death experience that was responsible – after all, he had died before – or whether he was curious, or whether he simply wanted to somehow staunch the torrent of emo hunter crap pouring forth from his friend, but the next thing he knew, he was gently holding Dean's face, and kissing him. It was nice, and it got even nicer when Dean, after a moment's hesitation, suddenly reached his hands under Castiel's jacket (which was actually Dean's jacket) and began enthusiastically kissing back.
And then Dean's tongue found its way into Cas's mouth, and he felt himself slammed backwards onto the bed, Dean's hands stroking his body, Dean's hips grinding into his. And it was nice, if a little overwhelming. In fact, when one of Dean’s hands found Cas’s thigh and began to squeeze, it became a whole lot overwhelming.
Cas pushed Dean away. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“That noise.”
“Uh, the wind rattling?”
“We are inside a concrete bunker, Dean.” Cas wriggled out from under Dean and headed for the door.
“Wait! Cas! But this discussion was just getting interesting! God dammit....”
Dean leapt off the bed and followed Cas out to the main entrance. There was an enormous bear of a man with wild, long hair standing there. “Dudes!” he said.
Dean already had his gun raised. “Is this a homeless guy? Are you a homeless guy? How the hell did you get in here?”
“I came when you called, dudes!” said the guy, holding up a hand in a throwing horns gesture.
“My bro said you needed a hand with the ne plus ultra and shit.”
“Your bro?” asked Dean. “Satan?”
“Noooo, man, fuck that Judeo-Christian shit. My main man, Janus!”
“You know Janus?” asked Cas. He placed a hand on Dean’s gun and, much to his friend’s irritation, gently pressed down, lowering the weapon.
“I’m his main man! I’m Chaos!” He started headbanging: an impressive display, long hair whipping around. And then he started vamping some air guitar, which sent some real life heavy metal chords thundering through the bunker. It got Dean, not usually a reverent man, muttering a silent prayer that they had no windows to shatter, although it sounded like a couple of ceramic mugs that had been sitting out in the kitchen hadn’t survived the assault.
“You dudes got anything to eat? I’ve been storming and working up an appetite.”
Cas and Dean exchanged a glance. “Uh. Wanna call out for pizza?” tried Dean.
“AWESOME!” said Chaos.
