MORE SCENES THAN ANYTHINGmoorishflowerMay 13 2010, 02:49:27 UTC
~ONCE UPON A TIME~
"YouTube," Sam repeats. Castiel tilts his head - sometimes it's easier to show, rather than tell. Sam clicks the link, and a new screen opens. The page takes a few seconds to load (the hotel has a shitty connection and Sam's laptop is hardly the newest model), and then the video starts, zooming in on a young woman standing at the edge of a river while a voice over begins: 'Meet Opelia, from Shakespeare's Hamlet...'
"I have heard of Shakespeare," Castiel says, and he sounds so proud of himself that Sam can't help reaching over and giving the angel's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. Teaching Castiel the ins and outs of being human is sort of hit and miss, like training a puppy, but Castiel seems riveted, and Sam takes that as a good sign.
"It's sort of like a...a comedy," he tries to explain, while the video yells at them: 'What! What! What are you doing!?' "Someone made it because they thought it was funny. Humor's pretty powerful on the internet."
"I do not understand," Castiel says, and that's pretty typical. But he eyes the orange scarf with interest.
~
"Cas, what's that?"
Castiel stuffs the length of orange fabric somewhere deep into his coat. Sam swears that there's like, a whole other dimension in there. "Nothing."
Dean laughs into his sandwich, so Sam throws a cherry tomato at him. It bounces off his forehead, and Castiel catches it neatly in the palm of his hand. Which is pretty cool.
~
Another hour of sleep, another nightmare. Sam stares at himself in the mirror, imagining that Lucifer has already wormed his way so deep into him that saying 'yes' is practically a given at this point. He rests his forehead against the cool glass and wonders if there really is such a thing as a sickness of the soul. If he's going to be tainted, from the inside out, until the day he dies. His breath fogs the mirror, and he absently draws a 'y' in the condensation.
"What. What. What are you doing??"
Sam glances up.
"Uh," he says, because that's about all his brain can think of to say, because Castiel isn't wearing his coat, but he is wearing a...fabulous, suspiciously familiar orange scarf.
And then, "I'm...standing here?"
Castiel throws back his shoulders, like he's suddenly unsure. And Sam knows that expression. That's his 'I need to practice using Google so that I can get it right for Sam's sake' expression. That's his determined face.
Shit, Sam thinks. No one is safe now.
~
"I don't get it," Lucifer whispers. "I just don't...I've been trying, haven't I? To make the world better? To fix everything? It's the humans' fault, it's always been their fault! And Father loved them more, and everything I did wasn't good enough." He ends the sentence on a whine, then buries his face in Crowley's sleeve, sobbing extravagantly.
"There, there," Crowley says, wholly perturbed by the idea of comforting the Devil. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"
"Castiel. He - he...!"
"What did Castiel do?"
Lucifer glances up, eyes bright with tears. "He said I'm supposed to exfoliate with pumice, not broken glass!"
The sobbing begins anew. Crowley sighs and deftly mixes himself an Appletini with one hand. "Perhaps you should take a vacation," he suggests.
Lucifer sniffles.
~
"The Apocalypse has been averted," Castiel announces. Dean and Sam stare at him. He's wearing a bright orange scarf.
"Um," Dean says. "Yay?"
"It is indeed a cause for jubilation." Castiel glances at Sam, his expression valiantly trying for 'smouldering' but ending up somewhere in the ballpark of 'pleasantly warm' instead. "Samuel, would you care to accompany me for celebratory facials?"
"Facials," Sam repeats.
"I am using the word 'facials' as a euphemism for passionate lovemaking which may or may not end with your semen on my face."
Dean spits beer across the table.
"Uh...yeah, sure," Sam says, and stands up. Castiel beams at him.
"YouTube," Sam repeats. Castiel tilts his head - sometimes it's easier to show, rather than tell. Sam clicks the link, and a new screen opens. The page takes a few seconds to load (the hotel has a shitty connection and Sam's laptop is hardly the newest model), and then the video starts, zooming in on a young woman standing at the edge of a river while a voice over begins: 'Meet Opelia, from Shakespeare's Hamlet...'
"I have heard of Shakespeare," Castiel says, and he sounds so proud of himself that Sam can't help reaching over and giving the angel's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. Teaching Castiel the ins and outs of being human is sort of hit and miss, like training a puppy, but Castiel seems riveted, and Sam takes that as a good sign.
"It's sort of like a...a comedy," he tries to explain, while the video yells at them: 'What! What! What are you doing!?' "Someone made it because they thought it was funny. Humor's pretty powerful on the internet."
"I do not understand," Castiel says, and that's pretty typical. But he eyes the orange scarf with interest.
~
"Cas, what's that?"
Castiel stuffs the length of orange fabric somewhere deep into his coat. Sam swears that there's like, a whole other dimension in there. "Nothing."
Dean laughs into his sandwich, so Sam throws a cherry tomato at him. It bounces off his forehead, and Castiel catches it neatly in the palm of his hand. Which is pretty cool.
~
Another hour of sleep, another nightmare. Sam stares at himself in the mirror, imagining that Lucifer has already wormed his way so deep into him that saying 'yes' is practically a given at this point. He rests his forehead against the cool glass and wonders if there really is such a thing as a sickness of the soul. If he's going to be tainted, from the inside out, until the day he dies. His breath fogs the mirror, and he absently draws a 'y' in the condensation.
"What. What. What are you doing??"
Sam glances up.
"Uh," he says, because that's about all his brain can think of to say, because Castiel isn't wearing his coat, but he is wearing a...fabulous, suspiciously familiar orange scarf.
And then, "I'm...standing here?"
Castiel throws back his shoulders, like he's suddenly unsure. And Sam knows that expression. That's his 'I need to practice using Google so that I can get it right for Sam's sake' expression. That's his determined face.
Shit, Sam thinks. No one is safe now.
~
"I don't get it," Lucifer whispers. "I just don't...I've been trying, haven't I? To make the world better? To fix everything? It's the humans' fault, it's always been their fault! And Father loved them more, and everything I did wasn't good enough." He ends the sentence on a whine, then buries his face in Crowley's sleeve, sobbing extravagantly.
"There, there," Crowley says, wholly perturbed by the idea of comforting the Devil. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"
"Castiel. He - he...!"
"What did Castiel do?"
Lucifer glances up, eyes bright with tears. "He said I'm supposed to exfoliate with pumice, not broken glass!"
The sobbing begins anew. Crowley sighs and deftly mixes himself an Appletini with one hand. "Perhaps you should take a vacation," he suggests.
Lucifer sniffles.
~
"The Apocalypse has been averted," Castiel announces. Dean and Sam stare at him. He's wearing a bright orange scarf.
"Um," Dean says. "Yay?"
"It is indeed a cause for jubilation." Castiel glances at Sam, his expression valiantly trying for 'smouldering' but ending up somewhere in the ballpark of 'pleasantly warm' instead. "Samuel, would you care to accompany me for celebratory facials?"
"Facials," Sam repeats.
"I am using the word 'facials' as a euphemism for passionate lovemaking which may or may not end with your semen on my face."
Dean spits beer across the table.
"Uh...yeah, sure," Sam says, and stands up. Castiel beams at him.
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