THIS IS A SERIOUS PROBLEM, Y'ALL
Title: Untitled X-Files Fusion [1/ ?]
Author: nirvana-falling
Rating: PG-13 for this part
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Cas seriously where else would I go with this.
Spoilers: Eh, general for both series, but nothing really explicit.
Word Count: 4498
Summary: "I'd KILL for a good X-Files crossover. Come on, Castiel in the basement, Dean sent to disprove his theories? Sam, lost? That shit would be bananas," Said rageprufrock. My formspring-creepin' ass saw this and went YES I LOVE ALL OF THESE THINGS. And, uh, this was born. Also, title suggestions, please?
Everyone in the bureau knows that Castiel is crazy. First off, his name is Castiel. No one has a name like that unless they’re crazy, or they were raised by crazy people, which amounts to the same thing. It’s rumored that he changed his name to Castiel, but even though they’re the FBI no one can seem to drum up any documents to support that. Second, he works in the basement. No one goes to the basement, and not just because the elevator doesn’t run there. It’s too hot in the summers and too cold in the winters, sort of clammy, and poorly lit. At least, that’s what Anna told Dean when she found out he’d been sent to the Pit.
Really though, those two things are secondary to Castiel’s insanity. Even if he was named James and worked on the third floor he’d be the bureau lunatic. The thing about Castiel is that he works with the X-files, all the unexplained shit that no one really bothers with, and he loves it. He believes in all the cracked-out theories “eyewitnesses” have given about vampires and werewolves and bat-boy, probably.
Dean knows he really fucked up, but even super-double-secret probation or a huge fine would be better than having to work with Castiel. He actually met the man once, back a few years ago when he still worked aboveground. Castiel didn’t say more than a few dozen words the entire meeting, but Dean knows he’s a dick. Reading people is one of his strengths, and he knows that Castiel is a self-righteous asshole. Giving him his own department, no matter how hilarious it actually is, can only have made it work.
Which is why Dean is stalling, currently having his third cup of coffee with Anna. “Dean, c’mon. You can’t hide up here forever.”
“Can,” Dean mutters into his cup.
“Skinner’s going to notice eventually,” Anna tells him.
“What else could he possibly do?”
“Fire you.”
“Right, fine, okay,” Dean grumbles and gets up. Anna smiles encouragingly and points towards the stairs when Dean (maybe intentionally) heads for the elevator.
He doesn’t usually hide from things like this, but Dean really knows he really fucked up and he’d rather be out of the bureau than have people looking at him out of the sides of their eyes for the rest of his career. Working down in the basement with crazy Castiel isn’t exactly the best way to get people to treat you normally again. On the other, maybe he’ll look saner by comparison. He also gets to write his little spy reports on his own, so there’ll be plenty of opportunities to remind Skinner and the rest of the guys upstairs exactly how good Dean is at his job.
Wow. Even the door to the basement is shitty. The paint’s peeling and Castiel doesn’t even have a real sign on the door. To be fair, Dean doesn’t think anyone actually visits Castiel, but now he’s going to be working here, too, and he likes to think that at least Anna will visit.
Castiel doesn’t move when Dean opens the door, just continues to stare at his computer with a staid intensity. The first the Dean notices is the one desk in the room. Apparently Skinner and Castiel think he’s going to sit on the floor. Maybe they’ll share a desk.
Castiel still hasn’t moved so Dean makes a sound in the back of his throat and finally gets some attention. All Castiel does is look at him and, fuck, he really looks like he works in a basement: his hair’s a mess, he doesn’t appear to have shaved recently, and his eyes have dark shades underneath them.
“Yes?” Castiel’s voice is low and rough, like he hasn’t spoken in days.
“Dean Winchester. I’m…” Dean doesn’t quite know what to say he is, but clearly Castiel has no time for his muddling, since he cuts in.
“Yes. You’re assigned to work with me now.”
“You already knew?”
Castiel gives him a calm, level look that makes Dean’s hair stand on end. Also, it pisses him off. “Upstairs hasn’t completely forgotten my existence.”
“Then you know…” Dean would prefer not to bring this up, actually, but apparently Castiel knows more people upstairs than he expected, and Dean does want the two of them on the same page.
“Yes.” Then Castiel adds, “Don’t worry about your desk. I’m sure they’ll get that sorted out eventually. Now, come on, we’re going to Wisconsin. I already had to book a later flight because I didn’t know when you’d arrive.”
Dean follows him, silent because he actually can’t think of a response to Castiel’s downright creepy, if efficient, way of handling him. Dean doesn’t really like being handled at all, actually, but Castiel is grabbing his briefcase and handing Dean a plane ticket so he’ll have to shelve the complaints for now.
Castiel refuses to explain anything to him until they pick up their car in Wisconsin, at which point Dean is actively contemplating murder, or at least suicide. Anna had been wrong; this is awful. Finally, Castiel passes him a thick manila folder, which Dean opens to the autopsy report, and promptly closes again.
“What the hell happened to her?”
“Werewolf, maybe, but the lunar cycle isn’t right. Wendigo, probably. It could have been a hellhound, but I find that unlikely.”
Oh God. Dean’s working with a crazy man. He knew beforehand but it’s different like this, having the crazy jammed up in his face while he’s stuck in a moving car. He puts the folder in his lap, slowly. Sudden movements could startle Castiel and even though Dean has a few inches and ten-plus pounds of muscle on the guy, well, he’s a lunatic.
“Is this some sort of prank? Because if it is it’s a pretty shitty one. Werewolves, really? And a hellhound? C’mon, that sounds like something out of a videogame!” At some point Dean raises his hands to ward off Castiel, who’s only giving him one raised eyebrow, not even his full attention. Actually, Dean figures that’s a good thing, since Castiel is still driving through rural Wisconsin.
“Both of those options are, as I said, highly unlikely. It is almost certainly a wendigo. If you had continued to read the file, you would have noticed that there have been three other victims in the past month.” Castiel lowers the eyebrow and maybe speeds up a bit, as Dean sheepishly takes his advice.
Oh. Well, Castiel had been right about the three other victims. They had all been found alive, within the same nature reserve. Dean’s never seen a bear do that much damage, but, then, he’s only ever seen one bear attack victim. None of them had survived to give the police any actually useful information.
“None of them went alone, either,” Castiel remarks, offhand.
“We have autopsies for their companions?”
“Bodies were never found.”
Dean shuffles the papers around and tries to come up with a reasonable explanation, while Castiel stares fixedly ahead, his face so blank that Dean is absolutely convinced he’s being mocked. Castiel drums his fingers on the steering wheel and Dean resists the urge to turn on the radio and just blast the first classic rock station he can find. He settles for turning towards Castiel and asking,
“So, are you just going to walk in and let them know they have a wendingo problem?”
“Wendigo,” Castiel corrects, “and no. I’m not going to suggest anything until we get to see the trails. I’m sure you’ve noticed that they were all hiking within the same ten-mile area.”
Of course Dean hasn’t, so he shuffles the papers some more, as though the sound will make him seem more useful than he, apparently, actually is.
“And then?” He prompts.
“Follow my lead,” Castiel suggests.
Forty minutes later they arrive at Wyalusing State Park. Castiel takes the files from Dean as they walk to the park ranger’s office and for the first time in years Dean doesn’t take the lead. It’s actually a weight off his shoulders, after last month’s fiasco, but in place of that weight is another one, admittedly less crushing, but still a weight. He’s pretty sure Castiel is going to open his mouth and let crazy pour out, and the park ranger is going to call Washington and ask them if they actually sent agents up and Dean will never hear the end of it.
The ranger tells them to call him Brian. He’s a fresh-faced eager kid who just wants to know what the hell is killing people in his park. Dean itches to take over, because this is what he does best: people love Dean, people spill their guts to Dean because he’s just so damn charming. Castiel, on the other hand, has roughly a teaspoon of charisma in his entire body.
Which is why Dean nearly trips when Castiel smiles and starts to explain the Brian that, yes, it’s probably something like a bear, but there’s always the off-chance that something more sinister’s going on, so if they could just get out onto the trail that would be great, thanks.
Dean feels a little gypped. Apparently Castiel is capable of normal human interaction, when he wants. He raises an eyebrow at Castiel as Brian gathers a pack and leads them towards the trail. All Castiel gives him in return is that wide-eyed stare that Dean’s already tired of.
They don’t talk as they wind through the park, going deeper into the trees until Brian stops and says, “Here’s where we found Ally.” Sure enough, Dean sees a little marker stuck in the ground.
“We didn’t want to disturb the wildlife,” Brian explains.
“All the other victims were found further in, correct?” Castiel asks, and Brian nods. He pulls out a map and marks where the other three were found. Dean and Castiel exchange a look; the little xs are all clustered around what the map indicates is a dense clump of trees. It’s prime territory for something to be hiding, they silently agree.
Brian sees what they’re looking at says, “We’ve never had bear sightings in the area, or anything like that. I’ve got a gun and knife in the pack, though, so I don’t see why we can’t check the area out. Just be careful.”
“Of course,” Castiel agrees. AS they set out again Dean jerks his head and Castiel and, with what may be the most subtle eyeroll Dean has ever seen, Castiel obliging pulls back a bit from Brian.
“So, these, wendigo things,” Dean begins, and backpedals when he sees a triumphant gleam in Castiel’s eye, “not that I’m saying I believe in this crazy stuff, but if I did, how exactly would we go about killing one?”
Castiel’s definitely smirking. “Fire,” he tells Dean, “we’re going to try and light the thing on fire.”
“You mean you’re going to try and light your imaginary beastie on fire. I’m just going to shoot whatever comes at us.”
“Ah, yes,” Castiel sneers, and maybe Dean shouldn’t try and piss him off so much, “I can’t imagine why they were so eager to get rid of you, with that kind of thinking.”
“Don’t,” Dean starts, but he isn’t about to explain to Castiel what he can’t do, or why, so he just shakes his head and catches up to Brian.
“We’re about two miles out,” Brian informs him, casual, cheerful. Dean only grunts in response and that seals the silence until they reach their destination. It doesn’t particularly look like the lair of some fantastic creature. The undergrowth is thicker, but still as lush as the rest of the reserve, flowering under an unusually pleasant May. Then Castiel catches Dean’s eye and cups his ear, and that illusion shatters. No birds are singing, hell, there’s not even the sound of squirrels in the trees. So maybe something’s off, Dean admits, but his shrug lets Castiel know that he doesn’t think it’s anything supernatural. All of them do ease their guns out, though, and Dean wishes he had brought something a little more useful than a handgun. At least Brian’s packing a shotgun, an old clunker like the ones Dean’s grandfather had kept, back in Kansas, but still liable to blow the head off anything that messed with them.
When something rustles the bushes, off to their right and only a little bit away, as far as Dean’s awesome directional hearing can tell, all three of them turn towards it slowly. Dean’s half expecting a bird or small rodent, but then he can see the branches moving and nothing is there.
Brian’s obviously as spooked as Dean is, since they’re doing the same strange backwards shuffle as they try to both keep their guns pointed in the things’ general direction and get out of there as fast as they possibly can. Castiel, too, is backing up, more wary and less panicked, at least to look at him.
Dean doesn’t see it coming, not just because whatever has decided to hunt them is invisible, but because it can also, apparently, move faster than any human or animal Dean’s ever seen. Well, seen isn’t the right word, but that’s irrelevant because during the three seconds when Dean can’t find the thing it somehow gets behind them and then Brian screams and he’s gone.
They don’t talk about it until they’re out of the woods and the Dean wheels on Castiel. “What the hell was that?”
“A wendigo.”
“Thought you knew how to handle those,” Dean gripes and Castiel doesn’t look at him when he replies.
“In a strictly academic sense.” It must be Dean’s imagination, but Castiel sounds almost embarrassed. He’s certainly avoiding eye contact with Dean, and continues to ignore him for the rest of the way back to the ranger station.
When they arrive at the empty station Castiel has to talk to Dean, since there isn’t anywhere to go but the car, and Dean manages to get himself squarely in Castiel’s way, and even though Castiel’s crazy Dean’s revised his opinion on whether or not he could take the guy in a fair fight.
“Look,” Castiel says, with his hands up, palms towards Dean like that will stop whatever Dean could throw his way. “I didn’t expect it to move quite that fast. Or be invisible,” he mutters.
“I thought you knew what was going on.”
“I don’t actually spend all my time hunting monsters,” Castiel snaps. “It may have escaped your notice, but I’m not exactly upstairs’ favorite person in the world. This is the first time in four months that I’ve gotten my expenditures approved, and I can’t afford to fly around the country every time some brain-addled witness claims they saw aliens!”
“Alright, Cas, Jesus, calm down. Can I call you Cas? Castiel’s kind of a mouthful.”
“I suppose.” Cas shrugs and narrows his eyes.
“So, Cas,” Dean leans on the syllable, something normal if effeminate in this sea of insanity, “what’s the plan?”
“It’s getting dark, so I don’t think there’s anything more we can do here. Not now, anyway.”
“But tomorrow?”
“Wendigos often keep their prey for weeks or months before feeding. Brian is, in all likelihood, still alive. Some of the other missing persons may be as well.”
That perks Dean up, and he doesn’t even mind when Castiel refuses to acknowledge his silent grab for the keys. Though they don’t talk all the way to the diner, or through dinner, Dean doesn't mind.
At the Wild Duck Motor Inn, which Dean thinks sounds like something from a bad TV show, he manages to get the bed closest to the door. Maybe he’s a bit too quick on the uptake there, because Cas raises an eyebrow at him and he’s forced to explain. “Enough years in Violent Crimes and you get pretty paranoid, Cas. Not like you’d know anything about that.” He’s rewarded with the quirk of Castiel’s lips.
“Did all those years teach you how to make a flamethrower?”
“What?”
“We’re going to have to burn the wendigo somehow, Winchester.”
“Right, right. But a flamethrower, really?”
“Any better ideas?” Dean thinks it over, silently. “Didn’t think so.”
“Wait,” Dean says before Castiel can start taping lighters to guns or whatever the hell he thinks constitutes making a flamethrower. “The ranger station would have flares, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes,” Castiel agrees, very slowly, like he’s still thinks even as he’s talking. “I don’t know if those would work, though.”
“Why not? They’d sure as hell light something on fire.”
“I suppose.” Cas pulls a face and Dean mentally notes that maybe some people aren’t actually cut out for facial expressions. “I don’t like it, but I don’t know if we have another option.”
“Not anything safe, anyway. Flamethrowers can get away from you pretty easy.”
“You sound as though you speak from experience.”
“Who says I don’t?” Dean realizes, startlingly enough, that he’s smiling. Yes, everything has gone to hell in a lovely, invisible handbasket, but he has missed actually having a rapport with someone. Anna was the last person he’d worked with that he actually liked, and then she’d gone and had her personal epiphany and spent a year in the basement and then got herself moved to some shady accounting job that Dean’s never gotten an adequate explanation for. So, yeah, maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
Then he looks over and Castiel is holding a lighter in one hand and a can of bugspray in the other and Dean remembers that he’s working with a crazy person.
“Bad idea, Cas.”
“Like the flare is any better.”
“Yeah, actually, since that was made by professionals. This is just going to light your shirt on fire. And, yes,” he says when Castiel opens his mouth, “that’s exactly what happened to me when I was thirteen and thought it’d be a great idea to make my own flamethrower. We’re using the flares.”
Cas raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything as he puts down the can and the lighter.
“I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that this thing stashes people underground somewhere.”
“Yes,” Cas says, eyes scrunched up in puzzlement, “how’d you know?”
“Really, Cas? You’ve never seen a horror movie? Shit like that’s always hidden somewhere dark and creepy.”
“Horror movies are often grossly inaccurate.”
“Point. Mind if I grab first shower?”
Castiel shakes his head without looking up, and when Dean gets out of the shower he’s still bent over something on the little table they’ve been given. Dean creeps up behind Castiel and peers over his shoulder. It’s a map of the park, with marks added where each of the victims was found.
“I don’t think they included secret monster caves on that map, Cas.”
Apparently Cas hadn’t heard him come up because his whole body goes tense and Dean can’t help but laugh. At that Cas does turn to face him, and Dean gets possibly the coldest stare he’s received yet from Castiel. He just claps them man on the shoulder and shrugs.
“I’m just messing with you, you know.”
“I suppose,” Cas hums. Dean rolls his eyes and pulls down the sheets on his bed.
“Try not to leave the light on for too long, will you? I can only assume we’re getting an early start.”
They do. Cas wakes Dean up at five thirty with a hand on his shoulder. Not a shake or a punch or anything, just the subtle weight of Castiel’s hand against Dean’s arm. It’s pretty freaky, when Dean thinks about it. He doesn’t get a chance to think about it until he’s in the car, clutching a cup of coffee and letting Castiel drive because in addition to being a kind of actual crazy person he’s also a loves-mornings type of crazy person.
Mercifully, Cas doesn’t talk until Dean finishes his coffee and is capable of opening both of his eyes all the way, and then he just starts rattling off their attack plan in this perfectly flat voice, like Dean’s just going to go along with whatever comes out of Cas’s mouth.
He really is intending to complain or at least offer some constructive alternatives, but Castiel’s plan sounds like the best they’ve got: go in as soon as they can, armed with flares and regular guns, trying to keep an eye on each other’s backs and find the cave as soon as possible, save anyone who’s still alive and maybe kill the wendigo in the process. Dean shrugs his agreement and Castiel raises an eyebrow.
“That’s it? You don’t have any…constructive comments to add?”
“Nope,” Dean grins, and when Cas looks only half convinced, he adds, “that sounds like our best option, Cas, really.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
Dean can’t really get a read on the sincerity of that last statement, and the next few minutes pass in what, to Dean, at least, is an incredibly awkward silence. They’ve still got twenty or thirty miles to the park, and while Dean thinks they can pull the whole thing off, if they do die he doesn’t want to go out with his last day on earth having been one long awkward pause. “So, Cas, tell me about these wendigo things.”
“You want to know?”
“If I’m going to kill it, I might as well know what it is first.”
“Wendigos,” Cas starts, and Dean can hear something warm and excited in his voice, “in legend, at least, were once humans who consumed human flesh.”
“Cannibals.”
“Yes. As a sort of divine punishment,” here Castiel’s mouth quirks in a strange way, “they became…warped. In their current form, they are symbols of human greed.”
“How so?” Dean asks, and is surprised to find himself genuinely interested.
“Wendigos capture and kill far more prey than they can eat at any one time.”
“Then we’re probably going to find our missing persons still alive?”
“I believe so,” Cas tells him with the ghost of a smile.
The rest of the ride is silent, but in no way uncomfortable, and Dean is content to watch miles of flat, Wisconsin earth roll by them. When the sign for the Wyalusing State Park looms ahead of them, though, a knot settles in his stomach.
He and Cas still don’t say anything even as they gather all the flares in the ranger station and double-check the map, and once they’re on the trail even Dean and his sort-of motor mouth know that their silence is among the only things keeping them alive.
The whole thing goes almost too smoothly for Dean’s taste. He finds the entrance to the cave, which is more of just an underground lair, hidden behind some particularly think bushes, and he and Castiel are halfway through untying the three people they find still alive (Brian, a man in his early thirties, and a teenage girl) before they even hear the wendigo.
The next thing Dean knows he’s being thrown against the wall of the place, surprisingly hard for what looks like really well packed dirt, and Castiel’s being held up in the air by something he can’t see. Then a gunshot rings out and there’s a scream that sounds like nothing else Dean’s ever heard and a bright, bright light and someone helps Dean to his feet.
It’s Brian, goofy smile still intact, even if his eyes are a little haunted and the hand he offers Dean shakes. “Thanks,” he says, and they both have to laugh at how normal a thing that is to say after what has just happened.
“Everyone okay?” Dean asks, then, turning to the rest of the people in the cave, the two other missing people, both of whom look a little malnourished but basically alive, and Cas, who’s slowly herding them towards the entrance.
By the time they get back to the station, they’ve hammered out some bullshit cover up that mostly relies on Brian’s abilities to bullshit about deviant wildlife and the general public’s willingness to accept trauma as an excuse for the other two, Mark and Amy, not saying a word. Castiel, of course, informs Dean that he is going to tell their superiors the truth and nothing but the truth.
“Not the whole truth, though, Cas?” Dean asks as they stand by their car, waiting for the ambulances to drive off.
“I feel some parts of that account could be neglected.”
“Like the part where you singed your own eyebrows?”
“They’re still there,” Cas mutters. “And I was going to leave out the part about you getting tossed about like a ragdoll, Winchester, until you said that.”
“Dean’s fine. And since your memory’s gone so spotty, I better drive. It could be a concussion,” he says, with a wink and a grin even he would describe as shit-eating.
Cas raises an eyebrow, but he hands over the keys.
f
Castiel eats lunch in his office, and while Dean no longer thinks he is a raving madman, he also doesn’t think they’re quite at a lunch-eating level of friendship. (Also, no desk. Cas claims he ordered one the day he heard he was getting a partner, but his get all shifty when Dean mentions moving around some of the clutter to make room, so Dean treats his desk like everything else Cas mentions.) Instead, he heads upstairs to find Anna.
He and his sandwich find her in her office with a salad and a stack of papers roughly as tall as she is. “Hello, stranger,” he drawls. She grins when he takes shifts half of her papers to the floor and takes the extra chair.
“Me, the stranger?” Anna laughs. “You’re the one who hasn’t been up here for two weeks. Is Castiel so fascination that you’d forget all about me?”
“Jealous?” Dean asks with a smirk. “Nah, Skinner and the big guys have been riding my ass. Haven’t had much time off.”
“They didn’t like your report?”
“Not any more than I liked writing it.”
“What did you say?” Anna asks, and leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees.
“Obviously not what they wanted to hear,” Dean grouses.
“Well, come on, tell me what you wrote,” she presses.
“That what we killed in that cave wasn’t like any creature I’d ever seen before.”
“Oh.” Anna’s eyes go wide and for a moment Dean thinks she’s going to call him crazy. “Yeah,” she goes on, “I can’t imagine they’d like hearing that the lunatic in the basement isn’t.”
“So you believe me?” Dean asks, breathless. For a moment he wonders if this is how Castiel feels every time he opens his mouth.
“I did work down there for a few months,” she reminds him. “I know that Castiel isn’t what everyone wants him to be.”
“No, he’s worse,” Dean chuckles, and Anna rolls her eyes.
“Be careful,” she says as he rises to leave.
“Always am.”
“I mean it, Dean. Be careful.”
Author: nirvana-falling
Rating: PG-13 for this part
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Cas seriously where else would I go with this.
Spoilers: Eh, general for both series, but nothing really explicit.
Word Count: 4498
Summary: "I'd KILL for a good X-Files crossover. Come on, Castiel in the basement, Dean sent to disprove his theories? Sam, lost? That shit would be bananas," Said rageprufrock. My formspring-creepin' ass saw this and went YES I LOVE ALL OF THESE THINGS. And, uh, this was born. Also, title suggestions, please?
Everyone in the bureau knows that Castiel is crazy. First off, his name is Castiel. No one has a name like that unless they’re crazy, or they were raised by crazy people, which amounts to the same thing. It’s rumored that he changed his name to Castiel, but even though they’re the FBI no one can seem to drum up any documents to support that. Second, he works in the basement. No one goes to the basement, and not just because the elevator doesn’t run there. It’s too hot in the summers and too cold in the winters, sort of clammy, and poorly lit. At least, that’s what Anna told Dean when she found out he’d been sent to the Pit.
Really though, those two things are secondary to Castiel’s insanity. Even if he was named James and worked on the third floor he’d be the bureau lunatic. The thing about Castiel is that he works with the X-files, all the unexplained shit that no one really bothers with, and he loves it. He believes in all the cracked-out theories “eyewitnesses” have given about vampires and werewolves and bat-boy, probably.
Dean knows he really fucked up, but even super-double-secret probation or a huge fine would be better than having to work with Castiel. He actually met the man once, back a few years ago when he still worked aboveground. Castiel didn’t say more than a few dozen words the entire meeting, but Dean knows he’s a dick. Reading people is one of his strengths, and he knows that Castiel is a self-righteous asshole. Giving him his own department, no matter how hilarious it actually is, can only have made it work.
Which is why Dean is stalling, currently having his third cup of coffee with Anna. “Dean, c’mon. You can’t hide up here forever.”
“Can,” Dean mutters into his cup.
“Skinner’s going to notice eventually,” Anna tells him.
“What else could he possibly do?”
“Fire you.”
“Right, fine, okay,” Dean grumbles and gets up. Anna smiles encouragingly and points towards the stairs when Dean (maybe intentionally) heads for the elevator.
He doesn’t usually hide from things like this, but Dean really knows he really fucked up and he’d rather be out of the bureau than have people looking at him out of the sides of their eyes for the rest of his career. Working down in the basement with crazy Castiel isn’t exactly the best way to get people to treat you normally again. On the other, maybe he’ll look saner by comparison. He also gets to write his little spy reports on his own, so there’ll be plenty of opportunities to remind Skinner and the rest of the guys upstairs exactly how good Dean is at his job.
Wow. Even the door to the basement is shitty. The paint’s peeling and Castiel doesn’t even have a real sign on the door. To be fair, Dean doesn’t think anyone actually visits Castiel, but now he’s going to be working here, too, and he likes to think that at least Anna will visit.
Castiel doesn’t move when Dean opens the door, just continues to stare at his computer with a staid intensity. The first the Dean notices is the one desk in the room. Apparently Skinner and Castiel think he’s going to sit on the floor. Maybe they’ll share a desk.
Castiel still hasn’t moved so Dean makes a sound in the back of his throat and finally gets some attention. All Castiel does is look at him and, fuck, he really looks like he works in a basement: his hair’s a mess, he doesn’t appear to have shaved recently, and his eyes have dark shades underneath them.
“Yes?” Castiel’s voice is low and rough, like he hasn’t spoken in days.
“Dean Winchester. I’m…” Dean doesn’t quite know what to say he is, but clearly Castiel has no time for his muddling, since he cuts in.
“Yes. You’re assigned to work with me now.”
“You already knew?”
Castiel gives him a calm, level look that makes Dean’s hair stand on end. Also, it pisses him off. “Upstairs hasn’t completely forgotten my existence.”
“Then you know…” Dean would prefer not to bring this up, actually, but apparently Castiel knows more people upstairs than he expected, and Dean does want the two of them on the same page.
“Yes.” Then Castiel adds, “Don’t worry about your desk. I’m sure they’ll get that sorted out eventually. Now, come on, we’re going to Wisconsin. I already had to book a later flight because I didn’t know when you’d arrive.”
Dean follows him, silent because he actually can’t think of a response to Castiel’s downright creepy, if efficient, way of handling him. Dean doesn’t really like being handled at all, actually, but Castiel is grabbing his briefcase and handing Dean a plane ticket so he’ll have to shelve the complaints for now.
Castiel refuses to explain anything to him until they pick up their car in Wisconsin, at which point Dean is actively contemplating murder, or at least suicide. Anna had been wrong; this is awful. Finally, Castiel passes him a thick manila folder, which Dean opens to the autopsy report, and promptly closes again.
“What the hell happened to her?”
“Werewolf, maybe, but the lunar cycle isn’t right. Wendigo, probably. It could have been a hellhound, but I find that unlikely.”
Oh God. Dean’s working with a crazy man. He knew beforehand but it’s different like this, having the crazy jammed up in his face while he’s stuck in a moving car. He puts the folder in his lap, slowly. Sudden movements could startle Castiel and even though Dean has a few inches and ten-plus pounds of muscle on the guy, well, he’s a lunatic.
“Is this some sort of prank? Because if it is it’s a pretty shitty one. Werewolves, really? And a hellhound? C’mon, that sounds like something out of a videogame!” At some point Dean raises his hands to ward off Castiel, who’s only giving him one raised eyebrow, not even his full attention. Actually, Dean figures that’s a good thing, since Castiel is still driving through rural Wisconsin.
“Both of those options are, as I said, highly unlikely. It is almost certainly a wendigo. If you had continued to read the file, you would have noticed that there have been three other victims in the past month.” Castiel lowers the eyebrow and maybe speeds up a bit, as Dean sheepishly takes his advice.
Oh. Well, Castiel had been right about the three other victims. They had all been found alive, within the same nature reserve. Dean’s never seen a bear do that much damage, but, then, he’s only ever seen one bear attack victim. None of them had survived to give the police any actually useful information.
“None of them went alone, either,” Castiel remarks, offhand.
“We have autopsies for their companions?”
“Bodies were never found.”
Dean shuffles the papers around and tries to come up with a reasonable explanation, while Castiel stares fixedly ahead, his face so blank that Dean is absolutely convinced he’s being mocked. Castiel drums his fingers on the steering wheel and Dean resists the urge to turn on the radio and just blast the first classic rock station he can find. He settles for turning towards Castiel and asking,
“So, are you just going to walk in and let them know they have a wendingo problem?”
“Wendigo,” Castiel corrects, “and no. I’m not going to suggest anything until we get to see the trails. I’m sure you’ve noticed that they were all hiking within the same ten-mile area.”
Of course Dean hasn’t, so he shuffles the papers some more, as though the sound will make him seem more useful than he, apparently, actually is.
“And then?” He prompts.
“Follow my lead,” Castiel suggests.
Forty minutes later they arrive at Wyalusing State Park. Castiel takes the files from Dean as they walk to the park ranger’s office and for the first time in years Dean doesn’t take the lead. It’s actually a weight off his shoulders, after last month’s fiasco, but in place of that weight is another one, admittedly less crushing, but still a weight. He’s pretty sure Castiel is going to open his mouth and let crazy pour out, and the park ranger is going to call Washington and ask them if they actually sent agents up and Dean will never hear the end of it.
The ranger tells them to call him Brian. He’s a fresh-faced eager kid who just wants to know what the hell is killing people in his park. Dean itches to take over, because this is what he does best: people love Dean, people spill their guts to Dean because he’s just so damn charming. Castiel, on the other hand, has roughly a teaspoon of charisma in his entire body.
Which is why Dean nearly trips when Castiel smiles and starts to explain the Brian that, yes, it’s probably something like a bear, but there’s always the off-chance that something more sinister’s going on, so if they could just get out onto the trail that would be great, thanks.
Dean feels a little gypped. Apparently Castiel is capable of normal human interaction, when he wants. He raises an eyebrow at Castiel as Brian gathers a pack and leads them towards the trail. All Castiel gives him in return is that wide-eyed stare that Dean’s already tired of.
They don’t talk as they wind through the park, going deeper into the trees until Brian stops and says, “Here’s where we found Ally.” Sure enough, Dean sees a little marker stuck in the ground.
“We didn’t want to disturb the wildlife,” Brian explains.
“All the other victims were found further in, correct?” Castiel asks, and Brian nods. He pulls out a map and marks where the other three were found. Dean and Castiel exchange a look; the little xs are all clustered around what the map indicates is a dense clump of trees. It’s prime territory for something to be hiding, they silently agree.
Brian sees what they’re looking at says, “We’ve never had bear sightings in the area, or anything like that. I’ve got a gun and knife in the pack, though, so I don’t see why we can’t check the area out. Just be careful.”
“Of course,” Castiel agrees. AS they set out again Dean jerks his head and Castiel and, with what may be the most subtle eyeroll Dean has ever seen, Castiel obliging pulls back a bit from Brian.
“So, these, wendigo things,” Dean begins, and backpedals when he sees a triumphant gleam in Castiel’s eye, “not that I’m saying I believe in this crazy stuff, but if I did, how exactly would we go about killing one?”
Castiel’s definitely smirking. “Fire,” he tells Dean, “we’re going to try and light the thing on fire.”
“You mean you’re going to try and light your imaginary beastie on fire. I’m just going to shoot whatever comes at us.”
“Ah, yes,” Castiel sneers, and maybe Dean shouldn’t try and piss him off so much, “I can’t imagine why they were so eager to get rid of you, with that kind of thinking.”
“Don’t,” Dean starts, but he isn’t about to explain to Castiel what he can’t do, or why, so he just shakes his head and catches up to Brian.
“We’re about two miles out,” Brian informs him, casual, cheerful. Dean only grunts in response and that seals the silence until they reach their destination. It doesn’t particularly look like the lair of some fantastic creature. The undergrowth is thicker, but still as lush as the rest of the reserve, flowering under an unusually pleasant May. Then Castiel catches Dean’s eye and cups his ear, and that illusion shatters. No birds are singing, hell, there’s not even the sound of squirrels in the trees. So maybe something’s off, Dean admits, but his shrug lets Castiel know that he doesn’t think it’s anything supernatural. All of them do ease their guns out, though, and Dean wishes he had brought something a little more useful than a handgun. At least Brian’s packing a shotgun, an old clunker like the ones Dean’s grandfather had kept, back in Kansas, but still liable to blow the head off anything that messed with them.
When something rustles the bushes, off to their right and only a little bit away, as far as Dean’s awesome directional hearing can tell, all three of them turn towards it slowly. Dean’s half expecting a bird or small rodent, but then he can see the branches moving and nothing is there.
Brian’s obviously as spooked as Dean is, since they’re doing the same strange backwards shuffle as they try to both keep their guns pointed in the things’ general direction and get out of there as fast as they possibly can. Castiel, too, is backing up, more wary and less panicked, at least to look at him.
Dean doesn’t see it coming, not just because whatever has decided to hunt them is invisible, but because it can also, apparently, move faster than any human or animal Dean’s ever seen. Well, seen isn’t the right word, but that’s irrelevant because during the three seconds when Dean can’t find the thing it somehow gets behind them and then Brian screams and he’s gone.
They don’t talk about it until they’re out of the woods and the Dean wheels on Castiel. “What the hell was that?”
“A wendigo.”
“Thought you knew how to handle those,” Dean gripes and Castiel doesn’t look at him when he replies.
“In a strictly academic sense.” It must be Dean’s imagination, but Castiel sounds almost embarrassed. He’s certainly avoiding eye contact with Dean, and continues to ignore him for the rest of the way back to the ranger station.
When they arrive at the empty station Castiel has to talk to Dean, since there isn’t anywhere to go but the car, and Dean manages to get himself squarely in Castiel’s way, and even though Castiel’s crazy Dean’s revised his opinion on whether or not he could take the guy in a fair fight.
“Look,” Castiel says, with his hands up, palms towards Dean like that will stop whatever Dean could throw his way. “I didn’t expect it to move quite that fast. Or be invisible,” he mutters.
“I thought you knew what was going on.”
“I don’t actually spend all my time hunting monsters,” Castiel snaps. “It may have escaped your notice, but I’m not exactly upstairs’ favorite person in the world. This is the first time in four months that I’ve gotten my expenditures approved, and I can’t afford to fly around the country every time some brain-addled witness claims they saw aliens!”
“Alright, Cas, Jesus, calm down. Can I call you Cas? Castiel’s kind of a mouthful.”
“I suppose.” Cas shrugs and narrows his eyes.
“So, Cas,” Dean leans on the syllable, something normal if effeminate in this sea of insanity, “what’s the plan?”
“It’s getting dark, so I don’t think there’s anything more we can do here. Not now, anyway.”
“But tomorrow?”
“Wendigos often keep their prey for weeks or months before feeding. Brian is, in all likelihood, still alive. Some of the other missing persons may be as well.”
That perks Dean up, and he doesn’t even mind when Castiel refuses to acknowledge his silent grab for the keys. Though they don’t talk all the way to the diner, or through dinner, Dean doesn't mind.
At the Wild Duck Motor Inn, which Dean thinks sounds like something from a bad TV show, he manages to get the bed closest to the door. Maybe he’s a bit too quick on the uptake there, because Cas raises an eyebrow at him and he’s forced to explain. “Enough years in Violent Crimes and you get pretty paranoid, Cas. Not like you’d know anything about that.” He’s rewarded with the quirk of Castiel’s lips.
“Did all those years teach you how to make a flamethrower?”
“What?”
“We’re going to have to burn the wendigo somehow, Winchester.”
“Right, right. But a flamethrower, really?”
“Any better ideas?” Dean thinks it over, silently. “Didn’t think so.”
“Wait,” Dean says before Castiel can start taping lighters to guns or whatever the hell he thinks constitutes making a flamethrower. “The ranger station would have flares, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes,” Castiel agrees, very slowly, like he’s still thinks even as he’s talking. “I don’t know if those would work, though.”
“Why not? They’d sure as hell light something on fire.”
“I suppose.” Cas pulls a face and Dean mentally notes that maybe some people aren’t actually cut out for facial expressions. “I don’t like it, but I don’t know if we have another option.”
“Not anything safe, anyway. Flamethrowers can get away from you pretty easy.”
“You sound as though you speak from experience.”
“Who says I don’t?” Dean realizes, startlingly enough, that he’s smiling. Yes, everything has gone to hell in a lovely, invisible handbasket, but he has missed actually having a rapport with someone. Anna was the last person he’d worked with that he actually liked, and then she’d gone and had her personal epiphany and spent a year in the basement and then got herself moved to some shady accounting job that Dean’s never gotten an adequate explanation for. So, yeah, maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
Then he looks over and Castiel is holding a lighter in one hand and a can of bugspray in the other and Dean remembers that he’s working with a crazy person.
“Bad idea, Cas.”
“Like the flare is any better.”
“Yeah, actually, since that was made by professionals. This is just going to light your shirt on fire. And, yes,” he says when Castiel opens his mouth, “that’s exactly what happened to me when I was thirteen and thought it’d be a great idea to make my own flamethrower. We’re using the flares.”
Cas raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything as he puts down the can and the lighter.
“I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that this thing stashes people underground somewhere.”
“Yes,” Cas says, eyes scrunched up in puzzlement, “how’d you know?”
“Really, Cas? You’ve never seen a horror movie? Shit like that’s always hidden somewhere dark and creepy.”
“Horror movies are often grossly inaccurate.”
“Point. Mind if I grab first shower?”
Castiel shakes his head without looking up, and when Dean gets out of the shower he’s still bent over something on the little table they’ve been given. Dean creeps up behind Castiel and peers over his shoulder. It’s a map of the park, with marks added where each of the victims was found.
“I don’t think they included secret monster caves on that map, Cas.”
Apparently Cas hadn’t heard him come up because his whole body goes tense and Dean can’t help but laugh. At that Cas does turn to face him, and Dean gets possibly the coldest stare he’s received yet from Castiel. He just claps them man on the shoulder and shrugs.
“I’m just messing with you, you know.”
“I suppose,” Cas hums. Dean rolls his eyes and pulls down the sheets on his bed.
“Try not to leave the light on for too long, will you? I can only assume we’re getting an early start.”
They do. Cas wakes Dean up at five thirty with a hand on his shoulder. Not a shake or a punch or anything, just the subtle weight of Castiel’s hand against Dean’s arm. It’s pretty freaky, when Dean thinks about it. He doesn’t get a chance to think about it until he’s in the car, clutching a cup of coffee and letting Castiel drive because in addition to being a kind of actual crazy person he’s also a loves-mornings type of crazy person.
Mercifully, Cas doesn’t talk until Dean finishes his coffee and is capable of opening both of his eyes all the way, and then he just starts rattling off their attack plan in this perfectly flat voice, like Dean’s just going to go along with whatever comes out of Cas’s mouth.
He really is intending to complain or at least offer some constructive alternatives, but Castiel’s plan sounds like the best they’ve got: go in as soon as they can, armed with flares and regular guns, trying to keep an eye on each other’s backs and find the cave as soon as possible, save anyone who’s still alive and maybe kill the wendigo in the process. Dean shrugs his agreement and Castiel raises an eyebrow.
“That’s it? You don’t have any…constructive comments to add?”
“Nope,” Dean grins, and when Cas looks only half convinced, he adds, “that sounds like our best option, Cas, really.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
Dean can’t really get a read on the sincerity of that last statement, and the next few minutes pass in what, to Dean, at least, is an incredibly awkward silence. They’ve still got twenty or thirty miles to the park, and while Dean thinks they can pull the whole thing off, if they do die he doesn’t want to go out with his last day on earth having been one long awkward pause. “So, Cas, tell me about these wendigo things.”
“You want to know?”
“If I’m going to kill it, I might as well know what it is first.”
“Wendigos,” Cas starts, and Dean can hear something warm and excited in his voice, “in legend, at least, were once humans who consumed human flesh.”
“Cannibals.”
“Yes. As a sort of divine punishment,” here Castiel’s mouth quirks in a strange way, “they became…warped. In their current form, they are symbols of human greed.”
“How so?” Dean asks, and is surprised to find himself genuinely interested.
“Wendigos capture and kill far more prey than they can eat at any one time.”
“Then we’re probably going to find our missing persons still alive?”
“I believe so,” Cas tells him with the ghost of a smile.
The rest of the ride is silent, but in no way uncomfortable, and Dean is content to watch miles of flat, Wisconsin earth roll by them. When the sign for the Wyalusing State Park looms ahead of them, though, a knot settles in his stomach.
He and Cas still don’t say anything even as they gather all the flares in the ranger station and double-check the map, and once they’re on the trail even Dean and his sort-of motor mouth know that their silence is among the only things keeping them alive.
The whole thing goes almost too smoothly for Dean’s taste. He finds the entrance to the cave, which is more of just an underground lair, hidden behind some particularly think bushes, and he and Castiel are halfway through untying the three people they find still alive (Brian, a man in his early thirties, and a teenage girl) before they even hear the wendigo.
The next thing Dean knows he’s being thrown against the wall of the place, surprisingly hard for what looks like really well packed dirt, and Castiel’s being held up in the air by something he can’t see. Then a gunshot rings out and there’s a scream that sounds like nothing else Dean’s ever heard and a bright, bright light and someone helps Dean to his feet.
It’s Brian, goofy smile still intact, even if his eyes are a little haunted and the hand he offers Dean shakes. “Thanks,” he says, and they both have to laugh at how normal a thing that is to say after what has just happened.
“Everyone okay?” Dean asks, then, turning to the rest of the people in the cave, the two other missing people, both of whom look a little malnourished but basically alive, and Cas, who’s slowly herding them towards the entrance.
By the time they get back to the station, they’ve hammered out some bullshit cover up that mostly relies on Brian’s abilities to bullshit about deviant wildlife and the general public’s willingness to accept trauma as an excuse for the other two, Mark and Amy, not saying a word. Castiel, of course, informs Dean that he is going to tell their superiors the truth and nothing but the truth.
“Not the whole truth, though, Cas?” Dean asks as they stand by their car, waiting for the ambulances to drive off.
“I feel some parts of that account could be neglected.”
“Like the part where you singed your own eyebrows?”
“They’re still there,” Cas mutters. “And I was going to leave out the part about you getting tossed about like a ragdoll, Winchester, until you said that.”
“Dean’s fine. And since your memory’s gone so spotty, I better drive. It could be a concussion,” he says, with a wink and a grin even he would describe as shit-eating.
Cas raises an eyebrow, but he hands over the keys.
f
Castiel eats lunch in his office, and while Dean no longer thinks he is a raving madman, he also doesn’t think they’re quite at a lunch-eating level of friendship. (Also, no desk. Cas claims he ordered one the day he heard he was getting a partner, but his get all shifty when Dean mentions moving around some of the clutter to make room, so Dean treats his desk like everything else Cas mentions.) Instead, he heads upstairs to find Anna.
He and his sandwich find her in her office with a salad and a stack of papers roughly as tall as she is. “Hello, stranger,” he drawls. She grins when he takes shifts half of her papers to the floor and takes the extra chair.
“Me, the stranger?” Anna laughs. “You’re the one who hasn’t been up here for two weeks. Is Castiel so fascination that you’d forget all about me?”
“Jealous?” Dean asks with a smirk. “Nah, Skinner and the big guys have been riding my ass. Haven’t had much time off.”
“They didn’t like your report?”
“Not any more than I liked writing it.”
“What did you say?” Anna asks, and leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees.
“Obviously not what they wanted to hear,” Dean grouses.
“Well, come on, tell me what you wrote,” she presses.
“That what we killed in that cave wasn’t like any creature I’d ever seen before.”
“Oh.” Anna’s eyes go wide and for a moment Dean thinks she’s going to call him crazy. “Yeah,” she goes on, “I can’t imagine they’d like hearing that the lunatic in the basement isn’t.”
“So you believe me?” Dean asks, breathless. For a moment he wonders if this is how Castiel feels every time he opens his mouth.
“I did work down there for a few months,” she reminds him. “I know that Castiel isn’t what everyone wants him to be.”
“No, he’s worse,” Dean chuckles, and Anna rolls her eyes.
“Be careful,” she says as he rises to leave.
“Always am.”
“I mean it, Dean. Be careful.”