fic: The Strange Face of Love 3/14
Title: The Strange Face of Love
Author: Psammead
Summary: Pseudo-Canon: Dean and Cas have a relationship of sorts over the span of 3 years. They have that profound bond, but it’s not some chick-flick, one-true-love deal. It’s messy and painful, but desperately sweet. It's what could have happened off screen.
Rating: NC-17
Notes/Warnings: An attempt to stick to canon. Spoilers, massive, massive spoilers, as this fic runs concurrent with seasons 4, 5 and 6. Destiel, straight up, although it acknowledges canon parings. Mostly schmoopiness, some hurt/comfort, some Dean/Cas/Pie, teeny bit of wingfic, eventual non-consent, but a lot of ooey-gooey romance, too, a little bit of everything, really. A lot of blasphemy. Basically, it started when I got fed up with all the AU silliness when it's so easy to see Dean and Cas being involved without violating canon. There's so much in the show that seems to just be unspoken, or incomplete, and as a rabid fangirl, I needed to fill the gaps. (insert joke about the boys filling my gaps here)
Disclaimer: I'm not Kripke or Gamble, I obviously do not own Supernatural, Dean or Castiel in any way, shape or form, because if I did, you would be watching this on HBO complete with swearing and sex
instead. There is a great deal of canon and certain lines of dialogue referenced in my fic, used solely to establish when in the timeline of the series the scenes occur. I figure, if you're reading this, you're obviously a fan of the show, and should know exactly what I didn't come up with on my own. In addition, I reference several classic rock songs and various movies/books. A list of credits will be provided at the end.
Thank you!
The Strange Face of Love
Chapter One can be found at: http://ninjapsammead.livejournal.com/1797.html
Chapter Two can be foud at: http://ninjapsammead.livejournal.com/3854.html
Chapter Three: Over the Hills and Far Away
Mercifully, a few days passed with without either a visit from the real angel or his amazing-kisser dream-counterpart. Dean was waiting to hear from Sam in a motel, trying to not have a heart attack. He was still having horrible nightmares, and worse, in waking, he was plagued by thoughts of that kiss, that perfect, wonderful, completely gay dream-kiss. That was failing to mention that he was still apparently enough of an ass to get tagged by the ghost fever despite being tagged as one of God's favorites. Too much fucking stress, he thought, scratching furiously at the road rash on his arm, It was bad enough with just the gay sex dream and nightmares, but son of a bitch, I could live happily without the fucking ghost sickness.
"Hi there, lover boy."
Dean whirled about, and saw the grotesque visage of his rapist/mentor from the Pit, Alistair, with his melty brown face with giant cat eyes and a gaping mouth. He moved back a few steps under his own power, and was then propelled back into the wall by the force of the demon. The edges of the room started to blur and he heard the sound of his heartbeat too loud and fast in his ears.
"I brought you a friend," Alistair gestured, and Castiel appeared suddenly next to him, but this version of Castiel was horrifying. His eyes were pitch black, as was his entire demonic tax accountant ensemble, and instead of wings of shadow, twisted bones rose over his shoulders like skeletal vulture wings.
Alistair crossed the room, and ran his hand along Dean's cheek.
"I'm going to let him have his way with you, just as soon as we're though, precious," he hissed, and licked the sweat from Dean's neck. Castiel laughed and leered, advancing on him, too. Dean struggled, tried to free himself, and then suddenly fell to the floor, screaming and flailing.
He looked around the empty room. Nothing. He shook on the floor for a few minutes, then dragged himself up to the sink, splashing cold water on his face. Where the fuck is Sammy? he thought to himself, I'm dying, I'm fucking dying, I'm not going to make it.
Sam and Bobby did save him, eventually. Sam wouldn't stop asking questions about the Pit though, and Dean wasn't about to be honest with Sam, not when he could barely process it himself, and not to this man who used to be his innocent little brother, who was now lying to Dean, and god only knows what else.
It was the day before Halloween. Dean was tense with anticipation of when word of the next seal would reach them, and a little nauseous. Stuffing his face with liquor and candy wasn't helping him anymore. Not that that stopped him from trying to induce an alcoholic sugar coma, waiting for the witch to surface.
Then word came in the form of a visit from Cas and his super fun new 'friend', Uriel. A seal was about to be broken, and Dean was in the middle of a heated debate with the source of his angst, and his dream kept flashing into his head.
Focus, Winchester, he told himself sternly, this is serious fucking business. Focus on how pissed you are at these sons of bitches, not on Cas's stupid mouth.
"Is that something you are willing to risk?" Cas asked fiercely, stepping into Dean's personal space again, smelling all irritatingly delicious, and acting like a self righteous asshole.
Soft, warm lips pressing against mine, the scratch of stubble against my cheeks, Cas folding to my touch, pliant and contrite… Dean was almost overcome with the desire to fuck some humanity into the holy bastard in front of him. Cas was now giving him a very weird look. Does he know what I was thinking? Dean wondered, as they exchanged a series of heated looks, Or is he just upset that I still place value on human lives? Dicks.
He saw something in Cas's eyes, though, that gave him a moment of hope that Cas, at least, would side with Dean if it came right down to it, even if he was now spouting blind, patronizing faith in God. Dean was sick of being pushed around by Heaven and Hell. Fuck it, he thought, Time to go with my gut and start with the angry threatening.
The seal broke, but the town was saved. Castiel came to him after and explained the true intentions of the angels. Dean would have been upset that Cas had, once again, not been straight with him, but with the appearance of Uriel, Dean was starting to get that Cas was not exactly top dog in the angelic hierarchy- Uriel was awful lippy for a subordinate. He didn't trust the angels, but he felt deep in his guts, that somehow, Cas was different. He was surprised to learn that Cas had doubts and fears and even more surprisingly, admired and loved humans for being his Father's creations. He also speculated that perhaps having those doubts was a new thing in the angel's experience, maybe even something that could get him in a lot of trouble with his superiors. He felt… honored, almost, that Cas had spoken to him as an equal, not as a child. He went to bed that night, uneasy about everything. Every single aspect of his life seemed about as stable as the cardboard cutouts in an old western, and then, of course, the nightmares set in.
He had another nightmare the night they left Concrete, after the Wishing Well Fiasco.
The most annoying thing, other than Hell's stupid strobe lighting, was that ever since fighting the Buruburu, every single nightmare had been accompanied by the incessant yipping of a Yorkshire terrier with a pink bow in its hair. Dean hated the fucking Yorkie almost as much as the anal rape.
"Oh, yes," Alistair crooned in his ear, "The perkiest little nipples, and of course that nice, sweet, virgin ass."
Dean felt something pushing against his opening. He tried for the millionth time to break free, but the bonds were, as always, too tight. He screamed, swore, tried to clench to protect himself from the invasion, but Alistair got in anyways, he always got in. The Yorkie went crazy, howling in various pitches.
"Yes… Oh, that tight little ass," Alistair had a way of whispering certain words to make them sound as filthy and vile as possible. "Are you ready, Dean? For your favorite part?"
The worst part for Dean, was that it wasn't a lie. Oh God, did he hate himself for it, but for five seconds, the pressure in his ass felt good, so fucking good, and for a split second Dean couldn't help but enjoy it, and he was coming, and-
Then he was facing up on the rack again, Alistair smiling at him with malicious triumph in his eyes. He lifted his knife to cut into Dean, and he screamed again, the Yorkie barked-
Suddenly, everything changed. Dean lay on a wide, green meadow, surrounded by flowers and hedges, and topped by the most perfect blue sky Dean had ever seen. He let his muscles slowly relax. Am I dreaming? Is this a dream? Is that a kite?
"Yes," Castiel said.
Dean sat up and saw the angel, sitting on the grass a few feet away. Dean also noticed a figure on the far side of the meadow, attached to the other end of the kite string. This is pretty fucking idyllic, Dean thought.
"You're dreaming. You need to let me help you with these nightmares. They are more than you should have to bear. It's all I can do to alleviate your pain, Dean. Please allow me to help you. You can't live your life a step away from Hell."
"Uh. Yeah. Okay, I guess. What are you gonna do? Lock away my hell-memories?" Dean looked across the meadow.
"I don't think that would be wise. I am not powerful enough to place a permanent barrier. What I can do, is change what you dream, sometimes. I know it's not much."
"No, that would be nice. I know you're busy, and all, but yeah. Not having to have those dreams every single time I close my eyes, that would rock. Uh, thanks, Cas," Dean looked around again, "Where are we now?"
"I like this place, so I created it inside of your dream. It's… It's where I go to be at peace."
"Heh. You're angel, aren't you always at peace?"
Cas actually allowed his lips to curve upwards a little at that. "Angels are diverse. The bible describes my kind as the Powers. We are the warriors of God, we are the bearers of conscience, the overseers of the distribution of power among humans."
"Well, way to throw power my way," Dean rolled his eyes.
"We are giving you as much help as we can," Castiel looked at him sharply.
"I'm just sayin', for an overseer of conscience, you play a lot of games and you have a twisted little sense of honor there."
"Games? We test you, to be assured we can rely on you to do what must be done," Castiel frowned. "How can you question the honor of an Angel?"
"Oh, I'll question the honor of just about anything that would vaporize a town, whether or not you're just 'testing my battlefield responses'," Dean lay back down, "My honor isn't like that. I learned about honor from my dad. Well, and from the classics."
"The classics?"
"Movies. You guys know about movies?" Castiel nodded, Dean continued, "I grew up watching all the best ones. Sturges, Lucas. Roddenberry. Tarantino, " Dean suddenly had an awesome fucking idea, "Cas, I know exactly how to explain my sense of honor to you. Can you pick things up out of my mind? Like the plot to a movie?"
"I think so? I've never done it, but if you focus on it, I should be able to follow your 'script'. You wish to reenact one of these movies?"
"Yeah. Is that cool?" Dean suddenly realized he was hijacking the angel into his fantasy world.
"Yes. It is." Cas actually smiled then. Dean was amazed at the change that came over his features, the softening of the usually cast iron features.
"I'm going to be Chris, obviously. You should be… ah… Bernardo. Yeah. Ok. Here we go," Dean rubbed his hands together gleefully.
"The Old Man was right. Only the farmers won. We lost. We'll always lose." Dean said.
"Interesting," Castiel was himself again, standing off to the side.
Dean woke up abruptly. Cas stood next to the bed, watching him intently.
Dean realized he was naked. He pulled the thin hotel sheet up to cover himself, and then thought, Do angels even care about nudity?
"We do not. Even if we did, I rebuilt your body when I pulled you from Hell. I am more familiar with your every pore than you are."
"It's really not polite to read people's thoughts, dude, we've been over this. Or to gawk at their naked bodies."
Castiel sighed, and rolled his eyes. Huh. Angles roll their eyes. Whoda thought? Dean smiled a little to himself.
"You broadcast some of your thoughts so loudly I can hardly avoid them. Rest assured, I never want to know what is going on in your twisted little mind. Also, I am hardly gawking. You humans so rarely escape your fears of the original sin. Regardless, I will attempt to stay out of your thoughts, and thank you for sharing your story with me. I enjoyed it." The angel inclined his head slightly, and with that almost too quiet to be heard clap of wings, he was gone.
The Winchesters were regrouping, after having their asses handed to them by Alistair.
Sam and Dean sat in the hotel room, allowing their various injuries to set up before making their next move, whatever the fuck that would be. Every nerve of Dean's body was on edge, and he wanted to hit something or possibly curl up in a ball and cry- no, that's not true, I want to fucking give up. I want this to all be over, but suicide is never an option for us, is it, cuz that's just a trip back to the fucking Pit, he thought bitterly, and settled for slamming down more liquor.
Sam was still droning on about Ruby. Fuck Ruby, fuck demons, the latest thing I learned is that Sammy is a god-frickin'-awful storyteller. Or maybe I'm just annoyed because Sam's a trusting idiot. He didn't let himself think that maybe his brother's words set him on edge because he was repressing the knowledge that his rapist- his teacher- now walked the earth, and was coming for him. Today might just put me right off sex forever, he mused as Sam went on and on about his sweaty groping with the demon bitch.
After the long, painful story, though, Dean had to admit Ruby sounded pretty legit. In theory, she could be trusted.
However, Dean's gut told him otherwise.
Castiel was in his favorite place, the meadow. He felt shaken. Cas had heard the news and couldn't stop the thrill that ran through his vessel. Haniel. Alive. His joy had been instantly diminished by being assigned to locate and destroy her.
He had tried his hardest to hint to Dean that Anna was in truth Haniel. He had no desire to kill her unless there was no other choice but disobedience. He had the strangest feeling that if the Winchesters were given a chance, they could save Anna from both Heaven and Hell.
He was shaken by the mere fact of being shaken. He considered the implications of feeling, well, feeling at all.
That was when the first vision hit him- Haniel, sitting atop Dean Winchester, writhing. Cas felt warm, all over, could almost feel the sensation of human skin on his vessel's. He felt a tightening in his groin, tingly and warm. He saw her lean down to kiss Dean, and he felt Dean's lips against his own, felt the rush of passion as they climaxed. He groaned aloud and it was abruptly over, and he was alone in the meadow, gasping.
What was that? he thought, but as nothing else instantly happened, he wasn't sure how to react, so he sat, trying to calm himself and regain control of his vessel's physical response to the vision, and then the second vision hit.
"Castiel was a good soldier. Fast. Smart, but always obedient, loyal. Something of an idealist. He was sweet, too, sweeter than most of the angels."
"Cas's all right. He did save me. But I don't get why he's so loyal to a missing commander."
He was back in the meadow again. Was that real? Did they… he thought in confusion, The last time angels mated with humans, the offspring were an abomination, thus the sex was an abomination. Is it still a sin if there are no offspring? Does God even care anymore?
Uriel appeared next to him. "We have reached an arrangement. Come."
They went to meet the Winchesters. Looking at Dean, Cas found he was still feeling. He felt surprise that Dean would betray Haniel to Uriel. He felt something else, too, just as twisting as what he now recognized as guilt, but more sickening, pettier, when he saw Haniel kiss Dean and remembered his visions. He tried to put the new emotion out of his thoughts and focus on his faith that Dean would somehow still do the right thing.
Now it was on him to kill Haniel. He froze, unable to do it, praying for an alternative. He hadn't truly believed it would come to this.
Alistair spoke from the doorway, distracting everyone. When Cas attacked him, this time, the exorcism didn't work. The demon pushed him to the ground, and as Castiel felt his eyes bulge almost from his sockets with the pressure, he felt something entirely new, different than anything else he'd ever known. His arms and legs felt numb, like when the khopesh had run him through, and his palms grew extremely moist. He knew suddenly in his mind that this was it, Alistair would end his millennia of existence, and he would die powerless to save anyone or anything. He would have given anything in that moment not to be ended, tried to pray but found nothing but an overwhelming wave of the new emotion blocking out everything else.
Dean Winchester saved him. Haniel seized upon the distraction and reclaimed her Grace. It was marvelous, his Haniel, whole and powerful and beautiful again.
Uriel was furious, of course, and Dean was childish, but none of it mattered, because Castiel's prayers had been answered. He fixed Dean with a warning look, trying to keep his gratitude off of his face, and vanished, taking Uriel with him.
Castiel was alone, struggling with the sensations churning his insides. They were unpleasant, disturbing, sensations, involving Haniel and Dean Winchester, Uriel and Alistair. The doubts, the questions, those were actions. The things inside of him… Castiel had never really felt before, only felt as the Host felt, cared as God cared. But the things inside of him, rolling about, manifesting when Haniel's Grace was restored, when Dean saved him from Alistair… Castiel was shaken to his very core.
Once again, Uriel interrupted his thoughts.
"We need to track the demon. Haniel did not destroy him, she merely exorcised him. We need to find him before he breaks the next seal."
"How do you propose tracking him?" Castiel asked.
"There are signs of the coming Apocalypse across the entire globe. He must be at one of them, no?" Uriel raised an eyebrow.
Three weeks later, Castiel was ready to strangle Uriel. Not only had Alistair failed to manifest at any of the sites they searched, but they discovered seal after seal that had already been broken. At last, they discovered where Alistair was, almost too late.
They were at the peak of Mount Olivet when the sky went dark. The sun went out suddenly, as if someone had blown it out like a candle. Castiel could see in the darkness, luckily, and he turned to ask Uriel what was happening, but Uriel was gone. Cas crept silently along the graves, listening for a hint of what happened.
Then he heard the ragged breathing, and the chanting, Alistair's voice ever slippery and disquieting. A woman with a cat's head was tied to a fig tree, and Castiel recognized her as Bast, the Egyptian cat-goddess. A green flame flared up in the darkness, illuminating the demon and the woman, and Castiel started forward, only to be stopped in his tracks by another body tackling him to the ground. He looked into the crazed eyes of the man known as Gordon Walker, who held the smaller khopesh to Castiel's throat.
"Thought you got me, didn't you? I don't die so easy, boy. Don't you know the Messiah always rises again?" Gordon whispered viciously into Cas's ear. Cas heard a strangled meow as Alistair slit Bast's throat.
"Oh, it's gonna be a great fucking show." Gordon smiled, and yanked Cas to his feet, pushing him forwards to Alistair. He held Cas immobile with strength much greater than a mortal's, still pressing the blade to his throat. Once again, Cas felt that horrible sensation of knowing he was going to die.
"Castiel. I'm so glad you finally decided to show. Just in time to witness the Rise of Azathoth." Alistair caught the last drops of Bast's blood in an urn, and turned to face the False Prophet and the angel.
"Azathoth appareo quod semino per tergum of sus!" Alistair said with an evil grin, and the earth began to shake. He advanced on Castiel, khopesh in hand, "Once again, you arrive at exactly the wrong moment, angel. Don't you research these rituals before you start interfering? Maybe send someone who isn't instrumental in doing the spell to stop us? Do you even know how many of these things involve celestial blood?" Alistair was right next to him now, hissing in his ear, "A lot, Castiel. I've killed so many of your kin, it's getting to be sad how defenseless you all really are."
Castiel saw a pale arm shoot over Alistair's shoulder and make contact with his forehead.
"It's getting to be sad how oblivious you are, Alistair," said the lithe red-head, holding a bottle with a flaming rag in her other hand carefully away from herself.
Haniel. Castiel felt a wave of relief and gratitude wash over him as Alistair once again shone with white light and returned to Hell. He sunk his elbow into Gordon's stomach and pushed away, ducking. Haniel threw the burning object from her other hand, and it hit Gordon in the chest. He shrieked, and erupted into flames.
"What-" Cas began, and Haniel smiled.
"Abramelin Molotov, courtesy of Alestier Crowley. Only its flame can destroy the False Prophet. You need to watch your back, Cas, or get someone reliable to do it for you."
"Haniel, your body-"
"Anna, please. I'm not Haniel any longer. We'll talk another time," and before he could object, she was gone.
Chapter Four: http://ninjapsammead.livejournal.com/4908.html
Author: Psammead
Summary: Pseudo-Canon: Dean and Cas have a relationship of sorts over the span of 3 years. They have that profound bond, but it’s not some chick-flick, one-true-love deal. It’s messy and painful, but desperately sweet. It's what could have happened off screen.
Rating: NC-17
Notes/Warnings: An attempt to stick to canon. Spoilers, massive, massive spoilers, as this fic runs concurrent with seasons 4, 5 and 6. Destiel, straight up, although it acknowledges canon parings. Mostly schmoopiness, some hurt/comfort, some Dean/Cas/Pie, teeny bit of wingfic, eventual non-consent, but a lot of ooey-gooey romance, too, a little bit of everything, really. A lot of blasphemy. Basically, it started when I got fed up with all the AU silliness when it's so easy to see Dean and Cas being involved without violating canon. There's so much in the show that seems to just be unspoken, or incomplete, and as a rabid fangirl, I needed to fill the gaps. (insert joke about the boys filling my gaps here)
Disclaimer: I'm not Kripke or Gamble, I obviously do not own Supernatural, Dean or Castiel in any way, shape or form, because if I did, you would be watching this on HBO complete with swearing and sex
instead. There is a great deal of canon and certain lines of dialogue referenced in my fic, used solely to establish when in the timeline of the series the scenes occur. I figure, if you're reading this, you're obviously a fan of the show, and should know exactly what I didn't come up with on my own. In addition, I reference several classic rock songs and various movies/books. A list of credits will be provided at the end.
Thank you!
The Strange Face of Love
Chapter One can be found at: http://ninjapsammead.livejournal.com/1797.html
Chapter Two can be foud at: http://ninjapsammead.livejournal.com/3854.html
Chapter Three: Over the Hills and Far Away
Mercifully, a few days passed with without either a visit from the real angel or his amazing-kisser dream-counterpart. Dean was waiting to hear from Sam in a motel, trying to not have a heart attack. He was still having horrible nightmares, and worse, in waking, he was plagued by thoughts of that kiss, that perfect, wonderful, completely gay dream-kiss. That was failing to mention that he was still apparently enough of an ass to get tagged by the ghost fever despite being tagged as one of God's favorites. Too much fucking stress, he thought, scratching furiously at the road rash on his arm, It was bad enough with just the gay sex dream and nightmares, but son of a bitch, I could live happily without the fucking ghost sickness.
"Hi there, lover boy."
Dean whirled about, and saw the grotesque visage of his rapist/mentor from the Pit, Alistair, with his melty brown face with giant cat eyes and a gaping mouth. He moved back a few steps under his own power, and was then propelled back into the wall by the force of the demon. The edges of the room started to blur and he heard the sound of his heartbeat too loud and fast in his ears.
"I brought you a friend," Alistair gestured, and Castiel appeared suddenly next to him, but this version of Castiel was horrifying. His eyes were pitch black, as was his entire demonic tax accountant ensemble, and instead of wings of shadow, twisted bones rose over his shoulders like skeletal vulture wings.
Alistair crossed the room, and ran his hand along Dean's cheek.
"I'm going to let him have his way with you, just as soon as we're though, precious," he hissed, and licked the sweat from Dean's neck. Castiel laughed and leered, advancing on him, too. Dean struggled, tried to free himself, and then suddenly fell to the floor, screaming and flailing.
He looked around the empty room. Nothing. He shook on the floor for a few minutes, then dragged himself up to the sink, splashing cold water on his face. Where the fuck is Sammy? he thought to himself, I'm dying, I'm fucking dying, I'm not going to make it.
Sam and Bobby did save him, eventually. Sam wouldn't stop asking questions about the Pit though, and Dean wasn't about to be honest with Sam, not when he could barely process it himself, and not to this man who used to be his innocent little brother, who was now lying to Dean, and god only knows what else.
It was the day before Halloween. Dean was tense with anticipation of when word of the next seal would reach them, and a little nauseous. Stuffing his face with liquor and candy wasn't helping him anymore. Not that that stopped him from trying to induce an alcoholic sugar coma, waiting for the witch to surface.
Then word came in the form of a visit from Cas and his super fun new 'friend', Uriel. A seal was about to be broken, and Dean was in the middle of a heated debate with the source of his angst, and his dream kept flashing into his head.
Focus, Winchester, he told himself sternly, this is serious fucking business. Focus on how pissed you are at these sons of bitches, not on Cas's stupid mouth.
"Is that something you are willing to risk?" Cas asked fiercely, stepping into Dean's personal space again, smelling all irritatingly delicious, and acting like a self righteous asshole.
Soft, warm lips pressing against mine, the scratch of stubble against my cheeks, Cas folding to my touch, pliant and contrite… Dean was almost overcome with the desire to fuck some humanity into the holy bastard in front of him. Cas was now giving him a very weird look. Does he know what I was thinking? Dean wondered, as they exchanged a series of heated looks, Or is he just upset that I still place value on human lives? Dicks.
He saw something in Cas's eyes, though, that gave him a moment of hope that Cas, at least, would side with Dean if it came right down to it, even if he was now spouting blind, patronizing faith in God. Dean was sick of being pushed around by Heaven and Hell. Fuck it, he thought, Time to go with my gut and start with the angry threatening.
The seal broke, but the town was saved. Castiel came to him after and explained the true intentions of the angels. Dean would have been upset that Cas had, once again, not been straight with him, but with the appearance of Uriel, Dean was starting to get that Cas was not exactly top dog in the angelic hierarchy- Uriel was awful lippy for a subordinate. He didn't trust the angels, but he felt deep in his guts, that somehow, Cas was different. He was surprised to learn that Cas had doubts and fears and even more surprisingly, admired and loved humans for being his Father's creations. He also speculated that perhaps having those doubts was a new thing in the angel's experience, maybe even something that could get him in a lot of trouble with his superiors. He felt… honored, almost, that Cas had spoken to him as an equal, not as a child. He went to bed that night, uneasy about everything. Every single aspect of his life seemed about as stable as the cardboard cutouts in an old western, and then, of course, the nightmares set in.
He had another nightmare the night they left Concrete, after the Wishing Well Fiasco.
The most annoying thing, other than Hell's stupid strobe lighting, was that ever since fighting the Buruburu, every single nightmare had been accompanied by the incessant yipping of a Yorkshire terrier with a pink bow in its hair. Dean hated the fucking Yorkie almost as much as the anal rape.
"Oh, yes," Alistair crooned in his ear, "The perkiest little nipples, and of course that nice, sweet, virgin ass."
Dean felt something pushing against his opening. He tried for the millionth time to break free, but the bonds were, as always, too tight. He screamed, swore, tried to clench to protect himself from the invasion, but Alistair got in anyways, he always got in. The Yorkie went crazy, howling in various pitches.
"Yes… Oh, that tight little ass," Alistair had a way of whispering certain words to make them sound as filthy and vile as possible. "Are you ready, Dean? For your favorite part?"
The worst part for Dean, was that it wasn't a lie. Oh God, did he hate himself for it, but for five seconds, the pressure in his ass felt good, so fucking good, and for a split second Dean couldn't help but enjoy it, and he was coming, and-
Then he was facing up on the rack again, Alistair smiling at him with malicious triumph in his eyes. He lifted his knife to cut into Dean, and he screamed again, the Yorkie barked-
Suddenly, everything changed. Dean lay on a wide, green meadow, surrounded by flowers and hedges, and topped by the most perfect blue sky Dean had ever seen. He let his muscles slowly relax. Am I dreaming? Is this a dream? Is that a kite?
"Yes," Castiel said.
Dean sat up and saw the angel, sitting on the grass a few feet away. Dean also noticed a figure on the far side of the meadow, attached to the other end of the kite string. This is pretty fucking idyllic, Dean thought.
"You're dreaming. You need to let me help you with these nightmares. They are more than you should have to bear. It's all I can do to alleviate your pain, Dean. Please allow me to help you. You can't live your life a step away from Hell."
"Uh. Yeah. Okay, I guess. What are you gonna do? Lock away my hell-memories?" Dean looked across the meadow.
"I don't think that would be wise. I am not powerful enough to place a permanent barrier. What I can do, is change what you dream, sometimes. I know it's not much."
"No, that would be nice. I know you're busy, and all, but yeah. Not having to have those dreams every single time I close my eyes, that would rock. Uh, thanks, Cas," Dean looked around again, "Where are we now?"
"I like this place, so I created it inside of your dream. It's… It's where I go to be at peace."
"Heh. You're angel, aren't you always at peace?"
Cas actually allowed his lips to curve upwards a little at that. "Angels are diverse. The bible describes my kind as the Powers. We are the warriors of God, we are the bearers of conscience, the overseers of the distribution of power among humans."
"Well, way to throw power my way," Dean rolled his eyes.
"We are giving you as much help as we can," Castiel looked at him sharply.
"I'm just sayin', for an overseer of conscience, you play a lot of games and you have a twisted little sense of honor there."
"Games? We test you, to be assured we can rely on you to do what must be done," Castiel frowned. "How can you question the honor of an Angel?"
"Oh, I'll question the honor of just about anything that would vaporize a town, whether or not you're just 'testing my battlefield responses'," Dean lay back down, "My honor isn't like that. I learned about honor from my dad. Well, and from the classics."
"The classics?"
"Movies. You guys know about movies?" Castiel nodded, Dean continued, "I grew up watching all the best ones. Sturges, Lucas. Roddenberry. Tarantino, " Dean suddenly had an awesome fucking idea, "Cas, I know exactly how to explain my sense of honor to you. Can you pick things up out of my mind? Like the plot to a movie?"
"I think so? I've never done it, but if you focus on it, I should be able to follow your 'script'. You wish to reenact one of these movies?"
"Yeah. Is that cool?" Dean suddenly realized he was hijacking the angel into his fantasy world.
"Yes. It is." Cas actually smiled then. Dean was amazed at the change that came over his features, the softening of the usually cast iron features.
"I'm going to be Chris, obviously. You should be… ah… Bernardo. Yeah. Ok. Here we go," Dean rubbed his hands together gleefully.
"The Old Man was right. Only the farmers won. We lost. We'll always lose." Dean said.
"Interesting," Castiel was himself again, standing off to the side.
Dean woke up abruptly. Cas stood next to the bed, watching him intently.
Dean realized he was naked. He pulled the thin hotel sheet up to cover himself, and then thought, Do angels even care about nudity?
"We do not. Even if we did, I rebuilt your body when I pulled you from Hell. I am more familiar with your every pore than you are."
"It's really not polite to read people's thoughts, dude, we've been over this. Or to gawk at their naked bodies."
Castiel sighed, and rolled his eyes. Huh. Angles roll their eyes. Whoda thought? Dean smiled a little to himself.
"You broadcast some of your thoughts so loudly I can hardly avoid them. Rest assured, I never want to know what is going on in your twisted little mind. Also, I am hardly gawking. You humans so rarely escape your fears of the original sin. Regardless, I will attempt to stay out of your thoughts, and thank you for sharing your story with me. I enjoyed it." The angel inclined his head slightly, and with that almost too quiet to be heard clap of wings, he was gone.
The Winchesters were regrouping, after having their asses handed to them by Alistair.
Sam and Dean sat in the hotel room, allowing their various injuries to set up before making their next move, whatever the fuck that would be. Every nerve of Dean's body was on edge, and he wanted to hit something or possibly curl up in a ball and cry- no, that's not true, I want to fucking give up. I want this to all be over, but suicide is never an option for us, is it, cuz that's just a trip back to the fucking Pit, he thought bitterly, and settled for slamming down more liquor.
Sam was still droning on about Ruby. Fuck Ruby, fuck demons, the latest thing I learned is that Sammy is a god-frickin'-awful storyteller. Or maybe I'm just annoyed because Sam's a trusting idiot. He didn't let himself think that maybe his brother's words set him on edge because he was repressing the knowledge that his rapist- his teacher- now walked the earth, and was coming for him. Today might just put me right off sex forever, he mused as Sam went on and on about his sweaty groping with the demon bitch.
After the long, painful story, though, Dean had to admit Ruby sounded pretty legit. In theory, she could be trusted.
However, Dean's gut told him otherwise.
Castiel was in his favorite place, the meadow. He felt shaken. Cas had heard the news and couldn't stop the thrill that ran through his vessel. Haniel. Alive. His joy had been instantly diminished by being assigned to locate and destroy her.
He had tried his hardest to hint to Dean that Anna was in truth Haniel. He had no desire to kill her unless there was no other choice but disobedience. He had the strangest feeling that if the Winchesters were given a chance, they could save Anna from both Heaven and Hell.
He was shaken by the mere fact of being shaken. He considered the implications of feeling, well, feeling at all.
That was when the first vision hit him- Haniel, sitting atop Dean Winchester, writhing. Cas felt warm, all over, could almost feel the sensation of human skin on his vessel's. He felt a tightening in his groin, tingly and warm. He saw her lean down to kiss Dean, and he felt Dean's lips against his own, felt the rush of passion as they climaxed. He groaned aloud and it was abruptly over, and he was alone in the meadow, gasping.
What was that? he thought, but as nothing else instantly happened, he wasn't sure how to react, so he sat, trying to calm himself and regain control of his vessel's physical response to the vision, and then the second vision hit.
"Castiel was a good soldier. Fast. Smart, but always obedient, loyal. Something of an idealist. He was sweet, too, sweeter than most of the angels."
"Cas's all right. He did save me. But I don't get why he's so loyal to a missing commander."
He was back in the meadow again. Was that real? Did they… he thought in confusion, The last time angels mated with humans, the offspring were an abomination, thus the sex was an abomination. Is it still a sin if there are no offspring? Does God even care anymore?
Uriel appeared next to him. "We have reached an arrangement. Come."
They went to meet the Winchesters. Looking at Dean, Cas found he was still feeling. He felt surprise that Dean would betray Haniel to Uriel. He felt something else, too, just as twisting as what he now recognized as guilt, but more sickening, pettier, when he saw Haniel kiss Dean and remembered his visions. He tried to put the new emotion out of his thoughts and focus on his faith that Dean would somehow still do the right thing.
Now it was on him to kill Haniel. He froze, unable to do it, praying for an alternative. He hadn't truly believed it would come to this.
Alistair spoke from the doorway, distracting everyone. When Cas attacked him, this time, the exorcism didn't work. The demon pushed him to the ground, and as Castiel felt his eyes bulge almost from his sockets with the pressure, he felt something entirely new, different than anything else he'd ever known. His arms and legs felt numb, like when the khopesh had run him through, and his palms grew extremely moist. He knew suddenly in his mind that this was it, Alistair would end his millennia of existence, and he would die powerless to save anyone or anything. He would have given anything in that moment not to be ended, tried to pray but found nothing but an overwhelming wave of the new emotion blocking out everything else.
Dean Winchester saved him. Haniel seized upon the distraction and reclaimed her Grace. It was marvelous, his Haniel, whole and powerful and beautiful again.
Uriel was furious, of course, and Dean was childish, but none of it mattered, because Castiel's prayers had been answered. He fixed Dean with a warning look, trying to keep his gratitude off of his face, and vanished, taking Uriel with him.
Castiel was alone, struggling with the sensations churning his insides. They were unpleasant, disturbing, sensations, involving Haniel and Dean Winchester, Uriel and Alistair. The doubts, the questions, those were actions. The things inside of him… Castiel had never really felt before, only felt as the Host felt, cared as God cared. But the things inside of him, rolling about, manifesting when Haniel's Grace was restored, when Dean saved him from Alistair… Castiel was shaken to his very core.
Once again, Uriel interrupted his thoughts.
"We need to track the demon. Haniel did not destroy him, she merely exorcised him. We need to find him before he breaks the next seal."
"How do you propose tracking him?" Castiel asked.
"There are signs of the coming Apocalypse across the entire globe. He must be at one of them, no?" Uriel raised an eyebrow.
Three weeks later, Castiel was ready to strangle Uriel. Not only had Alistair failed to manifest at any of the sites they searched, but they discovered seal after seal that had already been broken. At last, they discovered where Alistair was, almost too late.
They were at the peak of Mount Olivet when the sky went dark. The sun went out suddenly, as if someone had blown it out like a candle. Castiel could see in the darkness, luckily, and he turned to ask Uriel what was happening, but Uriel was gone. Cas crept silently along the graves, listening for a hint of what happened.
Then he heard the ragged breathing, and the chanting, Alistair's voice ever slippery and disquieting. A woman with a cat's head was tied to a fig tree, and Castiel recognized her as Bast, the Egyptian cat-goddess. A green flame flared up in the darkness, illuminating the demon and the woman, and Castiel started forward, only to be stopped in his tracks by another body tackling him to the ground. He looked into the crazed eyes of the man known as Gordon Walker, who held the smaller khopesh to Castiel's throat.
"Thought you got me, didn't you? I don't die so easy, boy. Don't you know the Messiah always rises again?" Gordon whispered viciously into Cas's ear. Cas heard a strangled meow as Alistair slit Bast's throat.
"Oh, it's gonna be a great fucking show." Gordon smiled, and yanked Cas to his feet, pushing him forwards to Alistair. He held Cas immobile with strength much greater than a mortal's, still pressing the blade to his throat. Once again, Cas felt that horrible sensation of knowing he was going to die.
"Castiel. I'm so glad you finally decided to show. Just in time to witness the Rise of Azathoth." Alistair caught the last drops of Bast's blood in an urn, and turned to face the False Prophet and the angel.
"Azathoth appareo quod semino per tergum of sus!" Alistair said with an evil grin, and the earth began to shake. He advanced on Castiel, khopesh in hand, "Once again, you arrive at exactly the wrong moment, angel. Don't you research these rituals before you start interfering? Maybe send someone who isn't instrumental in doing the spell to stop us? Do you even know how many of these things involve celestial blood?" Alistair was right next to him now, hissing in his ear, "A lot, Castiel. I've killed so many of your kin, it's getting to be sad how defenseless you all really are."
Castiel saw a pale arm shoot over Alistair's shoulder and make contact with his forehead.
"It's getting to be sad how oblivious you are, Alistair," said the lithe red-head, holding a bottle with a flaming rag in her other hand carefully away from herself.
Haniel. Castiel felt a wave of relief and gratitude wash over him as Alistair once again shone with white light and returned to Hell. He sunk his elbow into Gordon's stomach and pushed away, ducking. Haniel threw the burning object from her other hand, and it hit Gordon in the chest. He shrieked, and erupted into flames.
"What-" Cas began, and Haniel smiled.
"Abramelin Molotov, courtesy of Alestier Crowley. Only its flame can destroy the False Prophet. You need to watch your back, Cas, or get someone reliable to do it for you."
"Haniel, your body-"
"Anna, please. I'm not Haniel any longer. We'll talk another time," and before he could object, she was gone.
Chapter Four: http://ninjapsammead.livejournal.com/4908.html