[dcbb fic] Living In A Godless Universe - 1/3

[a_carnal_mink]

Title: Living In A Godless Universe
Author: a_carnal_mink
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 28,037 words
Beta/Notes: the lovely cassiopeia7 - it's been a pleasure, m'dear. Thank-you so much for helping me through this. Written for the 2011 deancasbigbang. Great thanks to willoweese for undertaking a thorough preview-read.
Warnings: a little horror (magic-induced pregnancy), temporary character death, a tiny bit of underage drinking, misappropriation of The Amulet's lore, Claire Novak is 16 here (she doesn't take part in any sex acts, but she's put in some mature situations)
Summary: In the immediate aftermath of 6x22, Castiel and Jimmy Novak are forced to take drastic steps to defeat the new "god" and purgatory souls. In a last-ditch effort to enlist the Winchesters' help, Jimmy makes the ultimate sacrifice, resulting in Claire and Amelia Novak's abrupt re-entry to the supernatural world. From the throne hall of the fairy realm to the gift shop at Niagara Falls, Dean's happy for the godlessness in their lives.
Fic: either o'er here on AO3 or click through on cut-text below to read here on Livejournal
Artist: temporalranger (who's done some amazing work at short notice!)
Art link: Art Masterlist





Given a choice between an angel of the Lord and a once-devout human, the clamoring hordes of Purgatory, apparently, were all about the latter of the two. They wanted to get their hands on manflesh - even if only in a metaphysical sense - and they wanted it badly.

So it was that Jimmy Novak spent the first few… hours? days? aboard the bad ship New God backed into a fleshy corner of his own psyche, being pawed and leered at like a cheerleader thrown into a high-security facility for lifers. And so too it was that Castiel, angel of the Lord and veteran warrior of Heaven, spent the corresponding time in unflinching battle stance in front of him, tirelessly fighting them all back.

As bodies fell, they were dragged away by other clawing hands, their places taken by the next slathering thing confident it could take on an angel. Jimmy lost all sense of time, mesmerized by the flash of Castiel's sword, by the inability of an angel - unfettered by a vessel's physical body - to slow down or tire, and the onslaught continued.

So this is what it had all come to. The vessel cowering inside his own flesh and the angel standing guard over him. Both of them staring down the barrel of Eternity like this.

And Jimmy was certain that Eternity was precisely what it would be. New God would endure, his reign dire and absolute. The multitudes would rage inside Him, all of them desperate to slake their thirsts upon Jimmy. And Castiel would never stop protecting him.

"There has to be some way," Jimmy said through his teeth, needing to communicate with his guardian but neither wanting to distract him. "Some way to get a message out. To Joshua, maybe? Or…" He hesitated a moment, mentally wrestling with himself over whether to say the name out loud, fearful of what reaction it might have on Castiel. "Or, or Dean?" he finished weakly.

It had amazed them both, the moment when Balthazar - about as "dead" as the Holy Host had previously thought him to be - had made a split-second rescue of Singer and the Winchesters, right from under New God's nose. Even fighting back Purgatory denizens as he had been, Castiel had made a sobbing sound of shamed relief.

To his credit, Castiel didn't falter as he heard Jimmy say Dean's name. "I can't think how," he threw over his shoulder as he pulled his sword out of yet another yawning belly. "And Joshua has chosen to stand apart anyhow. We would need help from a different quarter entirely to win here. Ancient magic. Older than us all."

Jimmy silently watched the angel hacking and slashing for several moments, half his mind frantic with the hopelessness of their situation, the other half strangely calmed by the efficient, fluid movements of Castiel's mêlée skills. If only one of them could take flight from here, from the vessel within which the terrestrial and the celestial had fused together - Jimmy Novak's meat and blood and sinew, housing a human soul and an angel's grace, now overrun and made their prison. If only Jimmy could commend his spirit into another's hands.

While he felt a flint of guilt for wishing his spirit cared for by anyone other than Castiel, the feeling was overtaken by the germ of an idea. If Jimmy were to die, if his soul was to walk free of this vessel, he could find help. Could he not?

"Will they kill me quick or slow?" he found himself asking.

"Their uses for you would take them centuries," Castiel barked back at him.

Right. Jimmy swallowed. "Then you'll have to do it, Cas."

"I don't have time right now for - "

"No, listen to me. You don't need my soul to stay in here with you while that thing's in charge. And you know you've got my complete consent anyhow, so you won't be expelled. So… So, kill me and I can get out of here, I won't go with the Reapers and I'll find Dean. I'll bring help, Cas. We'll get you out."

Castiel sliced a beast across its face and chanced a quick glance over his shoulder at Jimmy. His eyes were wide and sad, filled with love and fierceness. He turned back to their attackers in time to take out two more before speaking again.

"You can't go to Dean. You know how the Winchesters deal with ghosts."

Jimmy laughed dryly, a sound so humorless even a nearby monster took an instinctive half-step backward at its sound. "Shoot first, burn bones later." Although, he reasoned to himself, good fucking luck to them trying to burn Jimmy's bones any time soon - seeing as how they were currently walking around demanding kneeling and devotion across the Earth.

When the solution presented itself in his mind, the hope it made flower in Jimmy's heart almost blindsided him. Amelia. Claire. His wife and daughter were out there somewhere, hiding from demons and angels alike, or so he dearly hoped.

"My family," he told Castiel. "I can go to Amelia, to Claire. They can ask the Winchesters for help." He could practically see the moment Castiel agreed to the plan; could see it in the set of the angel's straight shoulders, the stretch of one tendon in his elegant throat.

Another quick glance was thrown back at Jimmy. "I will fight on as long as I'm able."

"Damn right you will," Jimmy told him vehemently. "We're getting through this, Cas. You and me. Make it quick, okay?"

"Go with love, Jimmy Novak."

Castiel's sword flashed, the movement too quick for a human to register anything but a blur. Jimmy felt peace.

Dean was ignoring the voices at Bobby's front door, too busy trying to find room in his duffel for yet more books Sam didn't have room for in his own. He was vaguely aware of a woman's voice, and of Bobby explaining why the holy water drinking test. Whoever it was, then, Bobby was considering letting them in.

"Dean!" Bobby hollered, his voice getting a little louder as he walked back in toward the library. "Visitors!"

"We're practically on the road, Bobby!" Dean shouted back, mainly into his duffel bag, still bent over it as he was, fighting the zipper into place. The fact that Balthazar had whisked him and Sam and Bobby to safety didn't much diminish Dean's need to get back to Crowley's compound and rescue his poor, demon-crashed baby. He was itchin'. He had to go get her. "You'll have to take this one!" he added in another shout. The zipper on his duffel stuck. "Fuckin' piece of shit - "

"Ladies present," Bobby scolded him half-heartedly from nearby. "And they're here to see you, ya idjit."

Dean swore a little more, under his breath, and slowly stood up straighter, craning his head over his shoulder to see the new arrivals. Two blondes stood on the other side of the room; the younger one, if Dean wasn't mistaken, brazenly checking out his ass. The older one, he suddenly realized he recognized. He crossed toward them, frowning a little as he tried to remember a name, but the only names coming to him were of two guys - one in particular - that he was trying his best not to think about these days.

"You're, um, Jimmy's wife. Right?"

"Amelia," the older one nodded. "You remember my daughter, Claire?"

Dean gave the teenager a small smile and a nod of recognition. "Changed a bit since I last saw you. What are you now? Fifteen or somethin'?"

"Sixteen," Claire replied, smiling back at him.

"As of just over a week ago," Amelia put in. No doubt as a giant hands-off-my-daughter warning.

"Yeah," Dean exhaled. "Time flies, huh?"

"Can I get you ladies a lemonade?" Bobby offered, a more amenable host than Dean had often seen him. "Or maybe somethin' stronger?"

Amelia looked at him gratefully. "Whiskey. Please. A large one." She glanced sideways at her daughter, appraising and motherly. "And a small one with a lot of water."

Wow. These gals had changed since Dean last knew them. But then, living in the real world as they did now - the real, blood'n'guts world where the supernatural is fact and everything is out to get you - tended to do that to folk. Even straight-laced, God-fearing families like the Novaks. Once that first preternatural sonofabitch breaks through into your world, you may as well kiss everything you thought you knew goodbye. Drink up. Smoke 'em if ya got 'em. Keep ya powder dry.

While Bobby ushered the Novaks toward the kitchen table and got out his least-worst gutrot, Dean walked to the bottom of the stairs and yelled for Sam to get his ass down here. When he wandered back to the kitchen, Bobby scooted a whiskey for him along the cupboard-top he was leaning against. Dean caught it and pulled out a chair at the table, joining Amelia and Claire. Sam arrived amid a cut-off "I said I'm practically ready, Dean!" and silently took another whiskey from Bobby and sat himself down at the table, too. After another round of re-introductions, Amelia briefly fiddled with a gold ring on a chain around her neck before launching into the reason for their visit.

She didn't get far before Dean was pushing away from the table and stomping over to the nearest window, swiping angrily at a salt line and demanding Jimmy show himself.

He was… perfect. One of the most substantial and fixed apparitions Dean had ever witnessed. As solid and communicative as the ghost-kid, Cole, had been in Greybull, Wyoming - though that had been due to Dean and Sam both being ghosts themselves at the time, on the kid's own turf, so to speak. The only spirit in their experience who'd come this close to seeming real among the living was Molly, that lost girl on a Nevada highway all those years ago. And that poor broad hadn't even realized that she was a fricken ghost.

"We don't have much time, Dean," was practically the first thing out of Jimmy's mouth. "Cas is trapped inside there and we've gotta get him out before they tear him to shreds!"

Dean bristled at being ordered about, especially on behalf of the angel that had gone off with Crowley behind his back like Cas had. People choosing demons over him would never stop being a raw nerve with Dean. He gave Jimmy a level look and squared his shoulders. "You don't think he kinda brought this shit down on his own head?"

Less than the space of one heartbeat had Jimmy flickering away from one part of the kitchen and flickering right into Dean's personal space, right up in his face. Jimmy's eyes were almost as blue as Cas's, his glare a little harder, his anger more human and therefore more accessible.

"And you've never brought shit down on your own head, I suppose?" Jimmy spat at him. "Are you so fucking perfect, Winchester? You've never made a mistake or a bad call or wished you could have a do-over?"

"He was working with Crowley!" Dean growled back at him.

"Well, who the hell here hasn't?!" Jimmy demanded of him. "Just where the fuck do you get off trying to put this morally superior bullshit over on anybody?" His nostrils flared as he ranted, as though he were actually having to breathe quicker through his tirade. "Where do you think Castiel learned any of this behavior from in the first place, huh? Working with Crowley, making a deal with a demon, not telling his loved ones about it? You're seriously gonna stand there and make out like you're better than him over this?"

It was not unlike being slapped in the face about five times in a row, but Dean was determined not to show it. He returned Jimmy's stare quietly, swallowing and feeling the vein in his left temple throb a little.

"Look, man," Sam's voice rose up into the heated atmosphere, "we hear where you're coming fro - "

"You dare?" Jimmy hissed, and Dean saw the edges of his spirit form tremble for a fraction of a moment, as though it was all Jimmy could do right then to keep a hold of himself. Jimmy turned on his heel and advanced slowly toward where Sam was seated, his voice low, his fury barely contained as he started in on Sam. "You dare to even have an opinion on the subject? You, who I thought should have understood best of all? Let me remind you about the last days Lucifer was walking the Earth, Sam."

Sam opened his mouth as though to protest but Jimmy barreled on, his white-hot wrath giving him momentum. "Oh, I'm sure you think you don't need reminding, but I'm here to tell you that you obviously don't remember shit. You decided, in order to save the world from the Apocalypse, to allow a more powerful entity into your vessel because you were sure you could handle it in order to save the world. And everyone - including Cas - backed your play, despite their own misgivings. They all, Cas too, had your back. And you went through with your plan and you did save the world. Good for you, Sam. You're a hero. Flashforward to a little while ago and what happened? Cas decided, in order to save the world from the same Apocalypse, to allow a more powerful entity into his vessel because he was sure he could handle it in order to save the world. And NO ONE backed his play. NO ONE had his back."

Dean could see Sam's face losing more and more color as Jimmy went on, as Jimmy's words sank in with them all. Dean tried taking a sip of his whiskey but swallowing it was like swallowing ash and bile.

"But," Jimmy continued, "Cas went through with his plan and he did save the world, just like you did, from the same Apocalypse. And what did you do to him, Sam?"

Sam's gaze flicked toward the Novak women and across at Dean before returning to Jimmy. "I - "

"You stabbed him in the back," Jimmy answered for him, rage punctuating every syllable. "Literally." He loomed over Sam's seated form, his ghostly status giving him a gravitas he hadn't really possessed in life. "I felt it," he enunciated slowly. "I felt the blade enter us. Felt it slice through my liver."

Both Novak women sat up a little upon hearing that, their postures becoming rigid and their expressions more stony.

Jimmy shook his head at Sam. "You didn't try to save him, didn't try to help him. You didn't even give him the comfort your brother gave you in Kansas, when he repeatedly told you how loved you are, that you would never be left alone." Jimmy stood up straighter. "You just went for the murdering blow, upon someone you had the gall to profess a friend. Would have murdered me, too, if things had gone a little different. I don't want to speak to you."

For a long, painful moment Jimmy and Sam were locked to each other by gaze, Sam's mouth mutely open and his eyes glistening with wetness.

"Okay," Dean said at no one in particular. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Okay, we get it. We were massive jerks. You can back down now, Casper."

Jimmy raised his head and glared in Dean's direction.

"I said, back down," Dean repeated as steadily as the sensation of his stomach heaving up into his throat would allow. He took a deep breath and looked up at Bobby, finding it more than a little unsettling that he'd allowed such a tirade to go on in his kitchen without saying squat about it. Bobby had emptied his glass and was necking straight outta the bottle, catching Dean looking and giving him a dejected look in return.

Dean felt cold and wiped a hand over his face, taking a moment to collect himself. "So," he found himself saying, seeing as no fucker else seemed to want to take on Jimmy's fury. "What's the situation right now? And more importantly, what do we do about it?"

Jimmy stared at him for a second or two, calculating, like he was deciding how far to trust Dean right then which, everything he'd just laid on them considered, Dean figured he couldn't really blame the guy for. Then almost all of his bluster seemed to leave him in one go and he practically deflated before their eyes. He was again just Jimmy Novak, a dude in a crappy suit and a sorry trenchcoat, looking like he could really, really do with a meal and a good night's sleep.

"The strongest one," Jimmy started, his voice more even than before, his anger having burnt hot and now just simmering, "the one who proclaimed itself the New God, that's the one in charge right now. Cas and I were pushed way, way down. This God creature, He wants devotion, absolute devotion. Partly because of His own proclivities but also partly, I think, because of the strongest emotion he picked up from us when He first entered."

Jimmy paused and looked around sadly at them all. "Love," he said softly, when it was obvious no one was going to take a guess. "He was, um, overwhelmed by the currents of love He felt coursing through us both. Particularly…" he glanced briefly toward Dean and hastily looked away again, "…particularly Cas's yearning to feel loved, I think." His gaze drifted toward his wife and daughter, drawn to them, and he smiled softly before re-gathering himself and continuing. "The others, the… multitudes… well, there's millions of them. And let's just say they didn't seem to pick up on anything emotional when they got inside. They just, they just wanted a human to play with. That's how Cas and I've spent the time since the takeover - me in a corner with Cas protecting me, waging this… one-angel, constant battle against millions of foe. And now that I'm not there, he's fighting for his own life." His voice squeaked at the end of the sentence.

Dean felt his thorax tighten. He cleared his throat, drained his whiskey glass, and put out his free hand to brace against a kitchen bench. "What do we do?" he asked again.

Jimmy's gaze locked onto his and Dean felt his whole chest constrict with the force of it, the strength of Jimmy's relief and gratitude. When he spoke again, his voice was steady. "Ancient magic, Cas said. That's all he had time to tell me - 'someone older than us all'… I don't even know if he had anyone specific in mind." Jimmy bowed his head. "That's all I know to tell you."

The only noise in the room right then was the clink of glass on glass as Bobby poured more whiskey into Dean's tumbler. "I can think of one guy that old," Bobby remarked nonchalantly, moving away to the table to refill everyone else's glasses. No water went into Claire's drink this time.

Dean figured it was gonna be a bit longer than he thought before he could go rescue his baby. "I can think of two," he offered, sighing a little.

Bobby's gaze snapped up to his. "Well, I was thinkin' of Death," Bobby said. "What other guy is there?"

Dean took a hefty swallow of whiskey and licked his top lip thoughtfully. "I don't know how much more flirtin' Death's actually gonna take kindly to from me," he murmured, trying for a self-deprecating grin to accompany it but probably failing miserably. "But there's someone else I haven't thought about for a little while. Someone I met by accident when Sam and me were on that bogus UFO case in Indiana last Fall."

Embarrassed, but trying to get beyond it 'cos he had to, Dean threw a short look Sam's way before looking back to Bobby. "Oberon," he grit out.

"Oberon," Bobby repeated incredulously. "As in… the King of the Fairies?"

"Yeah. Apparently."

Bobby's eyebrows disappeared under his trucker cap. "And you met him how?!"

Dean shuffled a little. "There was a circle and a light and a - y'know what? Doesn't matter how I met him, okay? I did. And, ah, well, apart from Death, I'd say he's the oldest dude I've ever met. Cas needs some ancient magic? Sorry, but that's where my mind goes."

"Your mind goes to fairies?"

Everybody, ghost included, looked to Claire Novak as she spoke up.

"Trust me, little lady," Dean felt a genuine smile tugging at his mouth as he looked at her. "They're way more hardcore than the name implies."

Less than half an hour's drive from Bobby Singer's salvage yard, just before the town of Brandon, was a large state forest fanning out from a huge bend in the Big Sioux River. It was simple enough to get through to the fairy realm, so Mr Singer said - although it occurred to Claire that he looked a little like he was trying to convince himself about that as he said it. You just had to find a mound in a forest. And kids' folklore - you always trust the kid lore when it comes to fairies, apparently - identified a "fairy mound" in just about every patch of forest and woodland in the whole entire world.

And so. State forest of Big Sioux River. From South Dakota to the fairy realm in three quick circles.

"You're kidding me?" Dean narrowed his eyes at Bobby. "That's all it takes? I just walk around this lump of dirt three times and I'm whisked away to another dimension? Little dudes ain't big on security, I take it."

"Well, it's three times widdershins," Bobby huffed at him. "If that makes a difference to ya."

"Vidderwhat?"

"Anti-clockwise, Dean," Sam provided. There was quite a breeze blowing and he was having trouble keeping his hair out of his eyes. Claire was glad for keeping hers sensibly tied back.

Dean eyed the hillock in front of them. "Anyone comin' with me?"

"Has to be first-borns, Big Bro," Sam smirked at his brother and sat down on a fallen log.

"Shit," Dean murmured. He glanced up sideways at Bobby.

"Don't look at me." Bobby side-eyed him back. "My folks had one die an infant before I came."

"I'm the eldest," Claire's Dad offered. "But fat lot of good I am in my current state." It was the first time he'd looked genuinely pissed about being a ghost. "Sorry, Dean."

Claire's Mom crossed her arms against the chill wind. "Two sisters and a brother before me," she said softly.

"Well, then." Dean cracked his knuckles and took a step forward. "Just me and the grassy knoll."

"And me," Claire spoke up.

"No, Claire!" her Mom said automatically.

"Yes, Mom," Claire responded, making sure to keep her tone firm but un-whiny. "This is important. I want to go."

Everybody, it seemed, went from looking at her to looking at Dean, as though leaving the decision up to him. Dean just gave Claire an appraising look then walked away a few yards, motioning for her to follow. When she walked after him, he put an arm around her shoulders, spinning her a little so as to make sure no one else could see their faces when he whispered to her.

"Claire, this is serious shit. D'you know what you're doing?"

"Of course I do!" she whispered back. "I want to help."

Dean looked down at her fondly, as though he completely understood. "The fairies are bastards. I know, I've been in there before, and this… they ask you to do things. Grown up things, if they consider you as bein' a grown-up. And, not to put too fine a point on it, I honestly don't think they're gonna see you as a little girl. D'you understand me?"

To Claire, it looked for all the world as though he was trying to tell her something with his eyes, as though he didn't want to say whatever it was out loud in actual words.

"What grown up things, exactly?"

Dean licked his top lip briefly, glanced across the top of Claire's head to make sure everyone else was still where they'd left them. When his gaze dropped back down to hers, he leaned his face in even closer, making absolutely certain no one else would hear or see him when he told her.

"It's oral sex," he whispered quickly. "A blowjob, okay? A fast one, thank god, but a BJ all the same. Big guy likes his service, I guess. So…" His voice trailed off and he just looked at her.

Amazingly, he wasn't telling her a flat-out "no". He was leaving the decision up to her. Claire really respected that.

"I've… I've done that," she confessed to him. "I haven't done much else, but I have done… that."

The arm around her shoulders tightened momentarily, a comforting squeeze, and Dean smiled a tiny, vaguely sad smile at her. He squeezed her shoulder again, firm, and stepped away abruptly, striding back toward the fairy mound. "Alrighty then!" He clapped his hands together. "Anti-clockwise, you say? Do we start anywhere in particular?"

As he spoke, he held his left hand out toward Claire and she stepped toward him quickly and grabbed hold of it. His hand was twice the size of hers and the skin on the top of his thumb was rough, but his grip was reassuring and his long fingers felt pleasantly cool entwined between hers.

Bobby shouted out to just start walking. Claire's Mom shouted a "Please don't!". And Dean and Claire stepped out together and were on their way.

It seemed so very ridiculous at first, walking around a grassy mound of dirt in a windy forest. It was barely more than a hundred steps to make a complete circle. As they made their first pass back around to where they started, Dean waved his right hand at everyone blithely. As soon as they'd walked to the far side once more, he dropped his arm again and his expression fell. Their second pass, Claire noticed that her mother was crying onto Mr Singer's shoulder, her father's ghost standing helplessly to the side. As they neared their third pass, Dean squeezed her hand tighter and gave her a little smile.

"Ready for this?" he asked her quietly.

"Not really."

"Well, at least you're honest."

The whole world shimmered as they completed their third circle, the mound turning into a stone archway beyond which lay a remarkable amalgam of forest and palace. No sooner had they stepped through than the archway closed up behind them. Claire looked about her in utter wonder. This place was neither inside nor outside, daytime nor night. Could it be everything at once? There were still trees and soil, but there were stones as well - standing stones and altar stones and walls made from stone. There was a magnificent chair, a throne, Claire supposed, carved from a single block of wood and upon it sat…

A very large, naked man. With horns.

"Oh yeah," Dean said in a vague tone. "Forgot to tell you about that." He looked down at her and gave her a cheeky wink. "Gotta see a naked man sometime, I guess?" As he said it, he gave her hand another squeeze, reassuring her silently while his bravado made light of the situation.

"Dean." The man's voice was deep and clear. Slowly, he rose up from his throne and motioned for them to step forward. He was incredibly tall, maybe the tallest man Claire had ever met, his body broad and firm, limbs powerful, chest and stomach and legs hairy. His penis was fully erect, dark red with all the blood that engorged it, and Claire felt her face heating, trying not to stare.

"Dean," he said again, "first-born Winchester Child."

Dean lifted his chin and grinned. "Oberon, I'm told? Didn't exactly get your name last time I was here. That's right, isn't it - King Oberon?"

The man inclined his head to one side in acceptance of the title, one horn brushing his shoulder as he did so. "I have many names. Oberon. Cernunnos. Freyr, Ammon, Pan, Herne, The Green Man… they go on." He straightened his head again and let his gaze fall upon Claire. His eyes were green as young moss and he had a distinct air of mischievousness. Claire fought to hold his gaze.

Dean cleared his throat softly. "This is Claire," he offered. "Um. First-born Novak Child."

"Virgin," Oberon proclaimed, nodding slightly. "Thank-you, Dean."

Dean's hand automatically gripped Claire's tighter. "We've ah." Dean blinked. "We've come to seek your assistance… Oh, King."

If facepalming could have been appropriate in the situation, Claire might have been tempted.

"Assistance?" Oberon repeated, almost like he'd never heard the word before.

"And, and pay tribute!" Dean hurried to add. "Of course! Always with the tribute giving…"

Oberon smiled beatifically. "Tribute!" He'd obviously not only heard that word before, but really really liked hearing it. He took one step closer to Dean and stood before him, feet planted solidly on the forest floor.

Claire could actually hear Dean swallow. Giving her hand one last squeeze, he released it and lowered himself to his knees. Claire's mouth fell open a little way as she looked on, stunned by what she was seeing even though Dean had told her it expect it. Should she look away? She should probably look away. But could she?

Oberon confidently offered his large penis and Dean… paid tribute to it. Claire didn't think Dean was taking any pleasure in the act - his cheeks were burning with humiliation and he wouldn't so much as glance in her direction while he worked - but he was professional about it, getting the job done, getting it over with quickly.

And "quickly" it was over with, too. Dean had certainly been right about it not taking long. Oberon had pushed his erection into Dean's open mouth maybe only seven or eight times before he was sighing and snapping his fingers. A creature that reminded Claire of something out of a Tolkien story appeared out of thin air at Oberon's bidding, a shallow stone bowl held in its bony hands. Oberon pulled his penis away from Dean and aimed it into the bowl, ejaculating with a satisfied grunt.

Well. That'd all seemed terribly efficient. Dean wiped at his mouth with the back of his right hand as he climbed back to his feet, immediately seeking out Claire's hand again with his left, though he still didn't look at her. Claire mentally readied herself, certain her turn for such tribute must surely be next. Curiously, despite his orgasm, the King's erection never appeared to flag.

Turning his gaze to Claire, Oberon smiled again. "Tribute," he cooed.

Willing her limbs not to shake, Claire gently lowered herself down to a kneeling position. Dean wasn't letting go of her hand, but Oberon didn't seem to care. He moved closer to her, offering his erection the same as he had to Dean. But when Claire took a deep breath and opened her mouth, the King withdrew, apparently appeased by her readiness to pay. As he walked back toward his throne, he nodded at Dean and let him tug Claire back up onto her feet.

"This… assistance you seek," Oberon said slowly, lowering himself back onto his throne and giving them both an appraising look. "What nature is it?"

"Our friend," Dean began, then paused to cough lightly. "A good friend of ours. He's been possessed by this, ah, evil god thing from Purgatory. As well as a coupla million other sonsofbitches from down there, too. We wanna get these things out of him. Get our friend back. The message he got through to us was that he needs ancient magic. I thought of you."

Oberon's eyes narrowed as he regarded them. "What manner of friend, that he can house so many beasts?"

"He's, he's an angel."

A bark of laughter shook Oberon's chest and he clapped his giant hands together once in delight. "Wonderful!" He laughed again and looked from one to the other of them. "The satyr and the virgin are friends with angels. Precious."

Claire chanced a glance up at Dean and saw that his cheeks were still flushed. She stroked her fingertips between the peaks of his knuckles and was rewarded with a quick look her way, a soft smile at one corner of his mouth, before he gave his attention back to Oberon.

"If you don't mind me asking," Dean began, "where exactly do you guys fit in? Y'know, with Heaven and Earth and everything else?"

Oberon sobered. "We are Nature. We are the caretakers of the world. You humans live out your lives on the surface of the planet and when you expire, you ascend or descend accordingly, never once having realized that the Earth you lived upon was ours all along. We don't like… anything wrong in Nature." He paused a moment, considering them. "Nothing from Purgatory is welcome in the Nature of this Earth." He paused again, letting them hang on his words. "So if what you say is true, then yes, I will lend you assistance."

Claire and Dean both exhaled at the same time, imperceptible sighs of relief.

"You will need a Champion," Oberon informed them.

"A champion?" Dean repeated. "Okay, that sounds good. Where do we get one?"

"I can make one for you."

Dean's eyebrows quirked. "Oh. Cool. Dare I ask… what from?"

"You brought a majority of ingredients with you." And the King's gaze slid solidly onto Claire.

Dean seemed to put two and two together quicker than Claire could under the weight of that gaze. "Hey, hey, what's that supposed to mean?" He held Claire's hand a little closer toward his own body, seemingly on instinct. "What do you need her for?"

"Virgin blood has myriad uses."

"No way, man." Dean was shaking his head already. "You can't have her blood."

"How much do you need?" Claire heard herself asking.

"Claire!" Dean chastised her but she Shh'd him so that Oberon could respond.

Again, one horn brushed a shoulder as Oberon tilted his head thoughtfully. "Would thirteen droplets be agreeable, Novak Child?"

Just that? Claire blinked, hoping she'd heard the number right. "F-from where?" she stammered.

Oberon waved one hand, dismissive. "Arm, hand, leg, throat - what does it matter? I fear you're not bleeding from the body this day, so we can't use the most potent."

Claire fought away a blush at the reference to periods - gah, she hadn't blushed at anything else so far, but she blushes at that?! - and made up her mind. Thirteen droplets from her arm? Yeah, she could do that. "Okay," she said firmly. "I'll give you thirteen droplets."

Oberon snapped his fingers and the bowl-bearing creature appeared again, this time holding a wooden bowl and a curved knife. It handed the blade to Claire and held the bowl at the ready.

"Be sure to think on your friend," Oberon instructed.

Claire looked from the knife, up to Dean, and back again.

"No point waitin' around," Dean reasoned and let go her hand. He was right.

Claire thought hard of Castiel and pressed the tip of the blade to the fleshy part of her left arm, just enough pressure to break the skin, and mentally counted off the drips of crimson as they dropped down into the waiting bowl. When it was done, she handed back the knife and pressed her hand over the small wound until the flow ceased. Well, that was relatively painless.

Dean was eying the bowl and the creature holding it, maybe expecting the knife to be handed to him next for a repeat performance. But the bowl-bearer moved to the side instead and waited. Dean looked up at Oberon. "I'm assuming you're wanting somethin' from me… ?"

"Warrior seed," Oberon agreed.

Dean looked confused. "Uh. Sorry, man, I didn't know I had to bring any warrior seed with me."

Oberon gave him a withering look, just as two young women wearing nothing but garlands of ivy appeared behind Dean and started to take his jacket from his shoulders. Dean jumped a little at the sudden hands on him but recovered his composure enough to not make too big a protest. His jacket gone, they took his overshirt next and swiftly after that, his t-shirt as well.

When their small, pale hands reached around to his belt buckle, Dean finally found his voice. "Hey now. Whoa just a minute. I told you I haven't got any of this shit on me. No horticulture products at all, I swear!"

Belt and flies undone, the women pushed Dean's jeans and boxers down to his ankles and stepped away. Claire felt her breath hitch somewhere in the back of her throat. Oh, she was trying not to look. Trying not to look…

Oberon let his gaze wander appreciatively down Dean's torso until he was staring hungrily at Dean's groin. "You are a warrior, are you not, Winchester Child?" He lifted his gaze to Dean's face once more and repeated, very pointedly this time, "Warrior. Seed."

Claire could practically hear the penny in Dean's head dropping into place.

"Oh," Dean said rather eloquently. He moved his right hand around himself, Claire could see from the corner of her eye.

"Be sure to think on your friend," Oberon reminded.

Dean hissed out a breath. "Yeah, that might make things a little uncomfortable. Y'see, I know him best as his vessel? And ah, he looks like her Dad, okay?"

Oberon merely settled more comfortably into his throne and regarded Dean with a smile. "Be sure to think on your friend."

There was a long moment where Claire very firmly kept her gaze locked on Oberon and Dean didn't make any movement at all. Then, tentatively, slowly, there was motion at the periphery of her vision. What else could Dean do, after all? They needed Oberon to make this champion for them.

It took a lot longer than Claire's thirteen drops of blood. Understandably. She wondered what Dean must be thinking of - thinking of Castiel, yes of course, but he had to masturbate to whatever those thoughts were, too. How would he force himself to perform to that? And under such scrutiny as well? Trying circumstances, Claire considered.

"It seems you need to think harder," Oberon remarked casually.

Claire was aware of Dean shifting at her side. He was swapping hands. Strange, she thought he was right-hand dominant. But then, maybe his wrist was tiring. Almost immediately, though, Dean made a noise, the sound making Claire realize that he had remained stoically silent through his ministrations so far. Now, it sounded as though he couldn't keep the noises bottled up inside any longer. His breathing was quicker and harsher, a choked-off gasp rasping out of him every few strokes. Claire felt her own breathing quicken in sympathy, felt her heart rate picking up at the sound of him.

When a soft moan escaped and Dean whimpered at it as though the sound had shamed him but he couldn't help it, Claire's gaze couldn't stay on Oberon a moment longer. Slowly, slowly, Claire turned first her eyes and then her head toward Dean and saw…

…saw many things.

Dean Winchester was beautiful. There was no other word to describe him. His sensual body and his pale-gold skin, his fine face and his strong arms, his dark lashes, his tattoo, his hard nipples, his stiff cock being worked in the hand he'd been holding onto Claire with earlier. It was all too easy to feel affected by him, by the pleasure he was enacting on himself. All too easy for Claire to let her body throb in time to his strokes.

Then Claire realized why it was that Dean had swapped hands, how it was that his noises had began tumbling from him without his control. Dean had switched to his left hand so that his right could reach up to his left shoulder, where it flexed on the curve now, even as Claire watched, enthralled. As Dean worked his body harder and faster, his hand would slide a little on his shoulder and Claire would spy a glimpse of something beneath it on his flesh. Then Dean would slide it back where it belonged and his mouth would pout into a perfect O and his cock would leak a little.

Whatever it was he was doing to his shoulder, this didn't seem like the first time he'd ever done it. He knew what he was doing; had known, when things were taking too long to get going, that he had to do that in order to get this show on the road. Claire was fascinated beyond herself.

Dean's eyes suddenly flew open and he grunted something that the bowl-bearer clearly took as an instruction. The creature did its duty and Dean emptied himself over the top of Claire's blood. Claire had never seen any other image that could rival it - Dean Winchester jerking himself off right next to her like that. Provided they made it through all this alive, Claire was certain this moment would be the star player in her personal fantasy material for at least the next five decades.

Re-dressed and halfway re-composed, Dean ran a hand through his hair and then down over his face. He needed to man up and check that Claire was okay, but he found he was having a hard time making himself meet her gaze right away. He knew she'd ended up watching him, despite her best efforts to be discreet earlier. She was a teenager - what're they gonna do when stuff like that's happening around them? Nothing to be done about it, he figured. The situation was what it was.

The ugly thing who'd held the dish for him was now handing it off to Oberon, who proceeded to plunge one long finger right in there and give it all a good mixin' around. Like some jerk celebrity chef on the cooking channel, King Fairy then stuck his finger into his mouth and took a taste test. Awesome.

Oberon's eyes widened as he savored his glob of blood and jizz. "Most interesting," he purred at them after slurping the finger clean. And then, to his servants or whatever they were, "Bring me a pool!". Great, now the guy wanted to go skinny dipping.

Cradling the dish in his lap with both hands - and really, it was a wonder he didn't spill the damn thing with that constant hard-on of his bobbing all over the place - Oberon gave Dean and Claire another appraising look, like he was looking at them afresh after gaining new intel. In a way, Dean supposed he had.

"Vessels," Oberon announced, practically gleeful. "Both of you. Angelic vessels."

Dean flicked a glance at Claire, only to find her already looking at him in a mirror of his own surprise.

"Uh." Dean rubbed the side of his neck. "Yeah, actually. How'd you know that? You can taste it on us?"

Oberon made a gesture that said it was no big deal. Then he leveled Dean with a piercing look. "But you're not his vessel," he elaborated. "Your friend. The one who claimed you."

"Claimed me?"

Oberon stood swiftly and strode up to Dean, the dish of gloop held lightly in one massive hand. He hooked a finger of the free hand - the finger he'd just sucked said gloop from, in fact - into Dean's collars and pulled the various fabrics hard enough to easily uncover part of the raised handprint on Dean's shoulder.

Claire craned her head for a better look at it and gasped. Clearly, she'd only just worked out what it was.

"Love," Oberon said quietly and swept the side of his finger across the nearest bit of raised scar tissue he could reach. Dean sucked in a harsh breath and Oberon took his hand away again, letting Dean's clothes fall back into place.

When he returned to his throne, Oberon continued with piecing their details together. "No, you're not his vessel, because…" His gaze traveled to Claire and he smiled sharply. "Because he looks like her father. You," he said to Claire, "can be his vessel, because your father is already."

Claire was looking pretty dumbfounded at that. Dean had to admit, it was a pretty neat trick to be able to gain that much info from a bloody come-lick.

"Has he been within you?" Oberon then asked and Claire's head nodded.

"Just once," she murmured.

Two nymphs, maybe even the same ones that had undressed Dean earlier, approached the throne carrying a large shallow salver between them. Looked like it was made of hammered tin. Inside it sloshed what Dean took a guess as woodland stream water. So, that was the "pool" Fairy-boy had ordered.

Said Fairy-boy continued to look upon Claire and Dean as he held his gloop dish over the tin pool and up-ended it into the water. "Many different strings connecting you," he told them. "This is a good thing. Your Champion will be fierce." Then he gave his attention to the pool and stirred all its ingredients together well, using the dish like a ladle. That done, he passed the dish to his other hand and proceeded to thoroughly and lavishly lick his own right palm.

Just as Dean was bracing himself for having to witness the big guy tug his junk in front of them, Oberon held his licked hand as flat as could be and lowered it carefully to the surface of the pool. The mixture within glowed bright green, the same forest green as Oberon's eyes and then faded again. Nodding to himself, Oberon dipped the empty dish back into the pool and scooped up a portion of what Dean now supposed must be a fresh batch of champion-making-juice.

Carefully, in deference to the mixture, Oberon again stepped down from his throne and approached where Dean and Claire stood. Smiling a little creepily, he held the dish out for Claire. "Virgin," he invited. "For you."

"Oh," Claire murmured and held her hands out, letting Oberon pass the dish to her. She peered into the contents before cutting a look up at Dean. "I have to drink this, huh?"

"Looks like." Dean caught a glimpse of the mixture and winced a bit. "Sorry, sweetheart. I haven't been drinking much pineapple juice lately." Claire just looked at him like she had no idea what he was talking about. Kids.

Claire pulled an adorable face at the concoction and lifted it to her mouth. "Bottoms up, I guess," she muttered and drank the whole thing down in one go. Damn it, but Dean was really starting to admire Jimmy's kid.

Admiration quickly gave way to concern and not a small amount of panic, when Claire's grip on the empty dish went so slack, she dropped it to the forest-floor-that-wasn't-really and pitched forward, clutching at her mid-section. A cry that was half surprise and half pain struggled its way out of her and Dean's arms went around her on autopilot, needing to comfort, wanting to take the pain away. Claire fell into his arms and Dean glared at the bastard Fairy Sonofabitch who had done this to her.

"What the fuck did you do to her?" he demanded. "Tell me, NOW, or so help me - !"

"Calm yourself," Oberon replied dispassionately. "Surely you can work it out? Man of the world, as you are?" And he flicked his gaze downward purposefully, retreating away from them as he did so, taking to his throne again and watching them like the playthings Dean was sure they most certainly were to him.

Claire's weight became heavier in his hold and he realized her knees had buckled beneath her. He shot a panicked look down where Oberon had looked and felt his eyes almost bug out of his head.

The entirety of Claire's abdomen was distended. No, scratch that - distending. The whole thing swelling obscenely before Dean's eyes. The denim jeans she wore had already popped their button and her belly, as it grew, forced the metal zipper down as well.

"Dean!" Claire clutched at him, scrabbling at his arms, trying to keep herself upright but losing the battle.

"You've poisoned her, you fuck!" Dean angrily threw in Oberon's direction, reasoning there must have been something in the water when the pool was brought in.

Oberon merely clicked his fingers for his nymphs - dryads, the nerd-corner of Dean's brain that held onto woodland lore corrected for him - and the two ivy-draped women from before were suddenly easing Claire out of Dean's arms. He didn't want to let go of her, not when she was hurting so badly as she obviously was, but there was something about the no nonsense attitude of the dryads, something so wise and… womanly, if he was being some sort of massive chick about it. And it didn't escape his notice that their touch seemed to calm Claire in some way that his own wasn't currently able to. That, and they seemed to instinctively know how to make her more comfortable, even as she started to scream in greater pain. Whatever his Saving People Thing was trying to tell him, Dean decided to let the dryads do their job.

He didn't retreat far, of course. Hell, he couldn't do that. By the time the dryads had Claire lying down on her back, Dean had dropped to his knees and was cradling her shoulders and head across his lap, stroking her sweating forehead and trying to tell her everything was alright. Lower down, beyond the incredible stretch of Claire's abdomen, the dryads were calmly removing her boots and easing her blue jeans down and off her legs. When underwear followed soon after, Dean felt gorge rise in his throat as he suddenly, sickeningly, realized just what the fuck was happening.

Claire was giving birth.

"Dean." Claire rolled her eyes up to try and look into his face. "There's something… something in me. I think. There's something moving."

Dean lifted Claire's shoulders and straightened his legs out beneath her upper body at a right-angle, lowering her back over his lap in such a way that he could hold her better. "It's okay," he told her desperately. "We're getting it out. I promise you.' "

The dryads spread and bent Claire's legs and one of them took a big long look and nodded to the other one. Oh shit, this was happening.

"Claire. Hey, sweetie, c'mon. I want you to focus on my face, okay?"

Claire ground the back of her head into Dean's stomach as a contraction wracked her body and she cried out. Dean held her through it, desperately wishing he could make this stop for her here and now.

"Claire," he tried again. "Look at me. LOOK AT ME. We're gonna breathe, okay?"

Eyes finally focusing on him, Claire panted up at him. "Get it out of me!"

"We are, sweetie, I promise you. We are. I just need you to focus right now, alright? I want you to breathe with me. C'mon, Claire, you're strong, I know you can do this. Deep breath now - that's it, that's it, now huff it out for me. Thatta girl. And again."

Given how quickly Oberon's concoction had impregnated and gestated, the actual birth seemed to take the longest ten or so minutes of Dean's life. The previous time he'd assisted in one of these, the lady in question had named her son "John" even though it was Dean who let her slap him repeatedly and bite into his forearm for the entire forty-seven minutes it'd taken for him and his Dad to bring her boy safely into the world. At least it meant he knew enough not to freak out too badly. Though considering the circumstances, he figured, freaking out wouldn't have been completely inappropriate.

"One more push, darlin', I promise." He wiped his hand through the sweat on Claire's forehead. "Just gimme one more, one more I promi - "

A slick, slithering sound accompanied Claire's final, most guttural scream. The dryads busied themselves with a large slug of expanding flesh, slicing through the umbilicus with what looked to be the same curved knife that orc creature had handed Claire earlier for harvesting her blood. Dean hauled Claire up into his arms and cradled her, holding her to his chest and rocking her gently while she calmed herself. When Dean felt it was safe to move her a little, he dragged the both of them across the floor a short ways, away from the puddle of blood and afterbirth that had formed at their previous location.

A cursory glance was all that was needed to see that Claire's body was already righting itself. Bleeding ceasing, abdomen already shrinking and forming to its previous flatness. Before long, no one would be able to tell that this horrific half hour had ever even visited itself upon young Claire Novak's virginal frame.

Well, Dean's brain reasoned with him, maybe she might not be as hymenated as other virgins her age. But that would be a subject completely between Claire and her future gynecologist. Dean was already making unspoken promises to the girl that he'd never breathe a word of this to anyone.

"Tell me I'm okay?" Claire asked into Dean's jacket. Dean thought he heard sniffling and figured she was probably crying. And who could fucking blame her.

"You're fine, sweetheart. Completely fine. I told ya we'd get that thing out, huh?"

Claire snuffled in closer to Dean's collarbone. He could feel her trembling. "Is it a monster?" she asked softly, clearly terrified of his answer.

Dean looked across to where the dryads were already helping the whatever-the-hell-it-was to its feet and it took its first, way too steady, step. He tried to chuckle as lightly as he could manage, but suspected it came out slightly hysterical anyhow. "I always thought my kids'd be a bit better looking," he joked humorlessly.

He put a hand to the back of Claire's head while he looked around for her lower garments. Luckily, they weren't too far away and he was able to reach his other arm out and snag them closer. "You wanna get dressed?" he whispered to her and she nodded vehemently into his chest.

"You know we don't have to tell anyone about this," he told Claire quietly while helping her back into her clothes. "We'll just tell 'em that Elvis gave us a champion. Don't have to tell no one how it happened." He stroked a stray lock of light blonde hair back behind her ear and gave her a tight smile. "You have my word, Claire."

Claire's "Thanks" was so small, he almost missed it.

By the time they had Claire presentable to polite company again - not that there was any of that around - and they were both climbing to their feet and glaring the ever-loving crap outta one King Of The Fucked Up Fairies, the thing that had slithered out of Claire was about three foot tall.

"Prepare her to walk at large," Oberon commanded his dryads and clothes and weaponry were suddenly appearing out of nowhere that Dean could see.

And - oh. The champion was the "her" Oberon was talking about. Three foot of gritty determination was currently being wrapped in dark linen and hefting a short sword in one hand as though testing its weight and balance. Both dryads placed necklaces over her head, but the loose collar of her clothing swallowed what was on them immediately from view. When she was deemed ready, the champion walked toward Dean and Claire. She stood and appraised them for a moment, wide dark eyes alert and knowing. Then she took up the place on the other side of Claire from Dean and turned to face her King.

Dean rubbed his right temple for a second or two. "Okay, I gotta ask," he said to Oberon. "What exactly is Daddy's Little Girl there supposed to do?"

"Fight," came the impassive reply.

Of course. "Yeah, I get that much," he countered. "But how is she gonna fight what's inside my friend? And without hurting him in the process, may I add?"

Oberon actually rolled his eyes. "You have a Champion. You have a spare vessel." He flicked a look at Claire as he said that. "Is it not obvious?"

Dean opened his mouth to point out that no, actually, it wasn't fucking obvious, but Oberon merely waved them off.

"Good fighting, first-borns," he told them. And that, apparently, was as much time as he was gonna give them.

Onward to Part Two.