When Push Comes to Shove (A Few Changes)
Title: When Push Comes to Shove (A Few Changes)
Author: ryouseiteki
Rating: PG-13
Word count: Approx 2k
Characters/Pairing: Castiel, Dean, Bobby, Sam, angels: randoms, Zaraquiel, Drael (one-sided Castiel/Dean)
Warnings/Spoilers: N/A this chapter
Summary/Prompt: Castiel sets up shop in Heaven's main citadel, and the Hunters worry about the mass of vesseled angels flocking to Bobby's scrapyard.
A/N: Sorry this took so long, I had to try to rewrite it after I lost my notebook with all of my notes. Flying by the seat of my pants now!
All of it for You | Corrupts Absolutely | What it's like | Severe Punishment | Instinct | A Few Changes
Castiel flew towards Heaven, hearing a faint mourning tone from the angels he left behind on Earth. They’d get to return home once they’d proved themselves. He sent soothing thoughts to them even as he filled with self-loathing for how he had reacted at Bobby’s home.
He arrived with a sound like shattering glass and the underlying grind of tectonic plates, his expression thunderous. Angels stumbled out of his path as he swept towards the main citadel.
He had left using his weakest wingsets, the feathered remains of his Grace; it eased the ache of his ever present incomplete bond. Because, apparently, Dean was feeling nostalgic for the good old days.
Days where Castiel allowed the human to call him from important duties at the slightest whimsy. Allowed the hunter to yell at him, cast blame, and use him.
Those days were over, and Dean should get fucking used to it. Castiel’s eyes literally flashed with his anger, power flickering behind his irises and flaring out of his pupils.
The souls swirled with the intensity of his emotion, and his arms twitched at his sides, hands curling into half fists, claws scratching restlessly at his palms. He wished he had a physical manifestation of this bond, like Dean’s handprint. He wanted to tear at it.
Castiel burst into the citadel, startling the angels inside to attention. He reached the far doors to the inner chamber and spun in an about face, critically assessing.
“There are going to be a few… changes, around here,” he intoned, Voice ringing out through the heavenly realms. He spoke, and when he was finished watched with satisfaction as the angels became a flurry of activity, working to make his Word True.
Management done, Castiel turned and opened the grand doors with gentle nudge before making his way into the council room where the archangels once held court. The darkness of the room receded as he made his way to the far end, light without source beginning to shine down from overhead. His strides slowed and he let his fingers trail over the armrest of the lowest seat as he passed, the knowledge that here once sat Gabriel left him feeling somewhat wistful, but he continued on to stop before the highest and stared at it, contemplative.
With an abrupt wave of his hand the thrones melted into their pedestals, which then flattened as he slowly lowered his palm. That done, he pivoted, arm out. The gray, featureless walls morphed into grand windows that stretched into the infinity above - as the room featured no ceiling, each depicting a different, Earthly image from the year past when he had desperately searched the planet for the Creator. Snow fell serenely on mountain tops, wheat flowed gently in the wind, sakura blossoms floated downstream, redwoods stood tall and imposing…
Castiel crouched down, gingerly touching the cold, white marble with the barest brush of his fingertips, careful of his claws. Wood erupted into being, flowing from under his hand to the walls, unbroken - as if the room had been built on one of the immensely huge boughs of the world tree. He gave it a fond pat, bark rough and warm and alive against his skin.
He blinked, startled at the sensation, and picked up his hand, curiously noting the familiar form. He hadn’t realized that his vessel, Jimmy Novak’s body, had become so natural to him as to manifest unconsciously here, where angels tended to leave behind the prisons of their human suits for the freedom of their true forms.
Strange. He didn’t feel at all confined.
Castiel sat, his large, varied wings sinking unhindered through the floor, and waved his hand once again. He watched with a small smile of wonder as vines crawled up the breaks between windowpanes - further separating each scene so that they didn’t seem to run into each other with such jarring unreality. The vines continued past his line of vision as he craned his head back to see, and when looked back down small, multicolored flowers bloomed into being amongst the leaves.
He leaned back with a soft sigh, hands moving behind him to catch his weight. Castiel spread his legs out so that he sprawled even more, toeing off his shoes and socks. Then he hummed, tuneless, and tapped his heels against the floor childishly.
The expenditure of power had calmed him down, and he tilted his head back and smiled dopily into the white abyss above. Souls rolled within him in slow cycles, content.
Things had been going wrong for so long now… he just wanted to fix it. Couldn’t Dean just try to understand?
He sighed, back bowing until he was leaning on his elbows for support. His head sank further back and his gaze shifted from above to the - now wooden and vine-covered - doors behind him.
He knew he had to lend his power to many of the changes he had ordered, but he almost resented opening this new sanctuary to the masses in order to hold council - though that had been his intention in the first place. With a whine he flung out his arms and let his back hit the floor, wings no longer visible, completely spread, and allowed himself to give off the feel of available and open.
Angels entered, pausing first to stare at the differences - extremely obvious as there was little color or texture in the heavenly realms - and then at his still figure sprawled out, undignified, on the floor.
Castiel raised an arm and waved it lazily in their general direction when it became certain that he’d have to prompt them to enter further. “Come on then,” he drawled, honestly a little blissed out from the calm atmosphere he’d created here. He scrunched up his face for a moment, thinking back, before his expression lightened and he let his arm flop back down and said, deadpan, “hit me.”
Sam stood in front of the window in Bobby’s study, brow furrowed. Outside, amidst the broken down and partially scrapped automobiles, were a multitude of angels. Some perched on cars, some wandered up and down the rows, and some just sat themselves on the ground. Though, from what he could tell, their expressions were as stern as ever, Sam somehow got the sense of… quiet contentment off of them.
“How’s it look?”
Sam jumped, not noticing when Bobby had come to join him in watching the angels through the window, panes still marked with angel wards.
“Our keepers look like they’ll let down their guard anytime soon?” The old hunter grumbled, taking a swig from the whisky in his hand.
“Well that’s the thing Bobby,” Sam said, “I’m not so sure they are our guards. They haven’t been paying any attention to the house at all.”
Bobby grunted, “’s probably just the wards.”
“Yeah, okay.” Sam agreed out loud, but he wasn’t so sure. He thought that if these angels were here to guard them, they’d be standing at attention and staring at the house without blinking or breathing; for hours. As it was, they just seemed too… relaxed.
“How’s Dean?” Sam asked, eyebrows unintentionally quirking when one of the angels, in the vessel of an elderly woman - all conservative clothes and hair in a bun, strawberry blonde mixed with gray - abruptly vaulted over an old suburban to tackle another to the ground, this one in the guise of a male, Asian teen - wearing some haughty looking prep-school uniform. Was that… were they, playing?
“He’s, Dean.” Bobby sighed, watching an angel in a middle-aged vessel lie with his head in the lap of one in the body of a little girl who could be no older than 10. She was plaiting tiny flowers into his shoulder-length hair. It was… strange. Bobby was an old hunter, and he’d seen a lot of weird shit, apocalypse notwithstanding, but this was beyond even his standards for normal.
“And you Sam?” Bobby turned to him, putting his back to the window. He didn’t know how he’d react if he had to watch them do more… well. More sweet stuff.
“How’re you holding up.” he crossed his arms, bottle hanging from his fingers. Sam tried not to let his gaze flicker to the side, where his terrified, Hell-scarred-self huddled next to the bookcase, trembling. He coughed, raising his arm and rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’m fine Bobby.” He caught Bobby’s skeptical glance, “Really. I’m good.”
Bobby shook his head and left Sam to himself at the window, and Sam turned back to continue watching the angels, brow furrowed with a worried frown.
His reflection smiled back at him, soulless.
Dean was most certainly not fine. He was the opposite of fine; the epitome of completely and totally not fine.
He had glanced out the kitchen window on the way to the refrigerator for more booze, and had caught sight of a bunch of fat angel dudes lounging around on top of his baby.
He was through not fine and out the other side.
His vision tinted red, Dean was vaguely aware of barreling past Bobby, the man’s startled curse following him as he raced out into the yard, the screen door banging against the side of the house in his wake.
The noise startled the chubby dudes into looking up and, seeing his fury, they fluttered off with squeaks of distress, their expressions frightened and unhappy.
Dean almost careened into his car, and stood for a moment, breathing hard as his vision cleared. Remembering himself, he could suddenly feel the gazes of the numerous angels in the yard on the back of his head. He swallowed, hard, the hairs on his neck rising as a chill swept down his spine. He turned, slowly, and found that though the angels hadn’t moved from what they were doing, he had each and every one of their attention.
No one made a sound. No one moved. A droplet of sweat trailed down the side of Dean’s face.
All of a sudden, something brushed against his thigh. Dean jumped back with a startled yell, ramming his backside into the Impala. His tailbone ached.
A little girl with soulful, solemn brown eyes gazed up at him. She reached up slowly to take hold of his pinky finger, her whole hand barely fitting around it, she was so small.
He tried not to let himself be fooled, but found himself relaxing slightly against his will as she tugged gently at his hand, towards the house. He found himself following her, glancing around nervously as the other angels stayed still and silent, watching with a creepy focus.
As they reached the threshold of the house, the little girl stopped and looked back up at him, mouth in a small moue, the wards forcing her to release him. Dean found himself pausing beside her, uncertain. She seemed so young and harmless…
An angel walked towards them and Dean found himself backing up skittishly towards the open door, which was wide open, Bobby and Sam wide-eyed on the other side. The angel didn’t make any move to pursue him, however, and stopped behind the little girl, putting a hand on her shoulder and pulling her into an embrace. The older angel was familiar, and when she looked up from the child Dean remembered her as the angel Cas had ordered to transport them here. Z-something.
The angel looked back down at the small one in her arms and crooned softly before coaxing her back, away from the house. Dean fought the sudden urge to follow.
“Drael,” the angel insisted, “come away, the humans do not want us near.”
The little girl looked back over her shoulder at him, eyes tearful and hurt, before nodding, accepting the other angel’s hand and letting the elder lead her away from Bobby’s doorstep.
Dean’s throat hurt.
Hands grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him inside.
Author: ryouseiteki
Rating: PG-13
Word count: Approx 2k
Characters/Pairing: Castiel, Dean, Bobby, Sam, angels: randoms, Zaraquiel, Drael (one-sided Castiel/Dean)
Warnings/Spoilers: N/A this chapter
Summary/Prompt: Castiel sets up shop in Heaven's main citadel, and the Hunters worry about the mass of vesseled angels flocking to Bobby's scrapyard.
A/N: Sorry this took so long, I had to try to rewrite it after I lost my notebook with all of my notes. Flying by the seat of my pants now!
All of it for You | Corrupts Absolutely | What it's like | Severe Punishment | Instinct | A Few Changes
Castiel flew towards Heaven, hearing a faint mourning tone from the angels he left behind on Earth. They’d get to return home once they’d proved themselves. He sent soothing thoughts to them even as he filled with self-loathing for how he had reacted at Bobby’s home.
He arrived with a sound like shattering glass and the underlying grind of tectonic plates, his expression thunderous. Angels stumbled out of his path as he swept towards the main citadel.
He had left using his weakest wingsets, the feathered remains of his Grace; it eased the ache of his ever present incomplete bond. Because, apparently, Dean was feeling nostalgic for the good old days.
Days where Castiel allowed the human to call him from important duties at the slightest whimsy. Allowed the hunter to yell at him, cast blame, and use him.
Those days were over, and Dean should get fucking used to it. Castiel’s eyes literally flashed with his anger, power flickering behind his irises and flaring out of his pupils.
The souls swirled with the intensity of his emotion, and his arms twitched at his sides, hands curling into half fists, claws scratching restlessly at his palms. He wished he had a physical manifestation of this bond, like Dean’s handprint. He wanted to tear at it.
Castiel burst into the citadel, startling the angels inside to attention. He reached the far doors to the inner chamber and spun in an about face, critically assessing.
“There are going to be a few… changes, around here,” he intoned, Voice ringing out through the heavenly realms. He spoke, and when he was finished watched with satisfaction as the angels became a flurry of activity, working to make his Word True.
Management done, Castiel turned and opened the grand doors with gentle nudge before making his way into the council room where the archangels once held court. The darkness of the room receded as he made his way to the far end, light without source beginning to shine down from overhead. His strides slowed and he let his fingers trail over the armrest of the lowest seat as he passed, the knowledge that here once sat Gabriel left him feeling somewhat wistful, but he continued on to stop before the highest and stared at it, contemplative.
With an abrupt wave of his hand the thrones melted into their pedestals, which then flattened as he slowly lowered his palm. That done, he pivoted, arm out. The gray, featureless walls morphed into grand windows that stretched into the infinity above - as the room featured no ceiling, each depicting a different, Earthly image from the year past when he had desperately searched the planet for the Creator. Snow fell serenely on mountain tops, wheat flowed gently in the wind, sakura blossoms floated downstream, redwoods stood tall and imposing…
Castiel crouched down, gingerly touching the cold, white marble with the barest brush of his fingertips, careful of his claws. Wood erupted into being, flowing from under his hand to the walls, unbroken - as if the room had been built on one of the immensely huge boughs of the world tree. He gave it a fond pat, bark rough and warm and alive against his skin.
He blinked, startled at the sensation, and picked up his hand, curiously noting the familiar form. He hadn’t realized that his vessel, Jimmy Novak’s body, had become so natural to him as to manifest unconsciously here, where angels tended to leave behind the prisons of their human suits for the freedom of their true forms.
Strange. He didn’t feel at all confined.
Castiel sat, his large, varied wings sinking unhindered through the floor, and waved his hand once again. He watched with a small smile of wonder as vines crawled up the breaks between windowpanes - further separating each scene so that they didn’t seem to run into each other with such jarring unreality. The vines continued past his line of vision as he craned his head back to see, and when looked back down small, multicolored flowers bloomed into being amongst the leaves.
He leaned back with a soft sigh, hands moving behind him to catch his weight. Castiel spread his legs out so that he sprawled even more, toeing off his shoes and socks. Then he hummed, tuneless, and tapped his heels against the floor childishly.
The expenditure of power had calmed him down, and he tilted his head back and smiled dopily into the white abyss above. Souls rolled within him in slow cycles, content.
Things had been going wrong for so long now… he just wanted to fix it. Couldn’t Dean just try to understand?
He sighed, back bowing until he was leaning on his elbows for support. His head sank further back and his gaze shifted from above to the - now wooden and vine-covered - doors behind him.
He knew he had to lend his power to many of the changes he had ordered, but he almost resented opening this new sanctuary to the masses in order to hold council - though that had been his intention in the first place. With a whine he flung out his arms and let his back hit the floor, wings no longer visible, completely spread, and allowed himself to give off the feel of available and open.
Angels entered, pausing first to stare at the differences - extremely obvious as there was little color or texture in the heavenly realms - and then at his still figure sprawled out, undignified, on the floor.
Castiel raised an arm and waved it lazily in their general direction when it became certain that he’d have to prompt them to enter further. “Come on then,” he drawled, honestly a little blissed out from the calm atmosphere he’d created here. He scrunched up his face for a moment, thinking back, before his expression lightened and he let his arm flop back down and said, deadpan, “hit me.”
Sam stood in front of the window in Bobby’s study, brow furrowed. Outside, amidst the broken down and partially scrapped automobiles, were a multitude of angels. Some perched on cars, some wandered up and down the rows, and some just sat themselves on the ground. Though, from what he could tell, their expressions were as stern as ever, Sam somehow got the sense of… quiet contentment off of them.
“How’s it look?”
Sam jumped, not noticing when Bobby had come to join him in watching the angels through the window, panes still marked with angel wards.
“Our keepers look like they’ll let down their guard anytime soon?” The old hunter grumbled, taking a swig from the whisky in his hand.
“Well that’s the thing Bobby,” Sam said, “I’m not so sure they are our guards. They haven’t been paying any attention to the house at all.”
Bobby grunted, “’s probably just the wards.”
“Yeah, okay.” Sam agreed out loud, but he wasn’t so sure. He thought that if these angels were here to guard them, they’d be standing at attention and staring at the house without blinking or breathing; for hours. As it was, they just seemed too… relaxed.
“How’s Dean?” Sam asked, eyebrows unintentionally quirking when one of the angels, in the vessel of an elderly woman - all conservative clothes and hair in a bun, strawberry blonde mixed with gray - abruptly vaulted over an old suburban to tackle another to the ground, this one in the guise of a male, Asian teen - wearing some haughty looking prep-school uniform. Was that… were they, playing?
“He’s, Dean.” Bobby sighed, watching an angel in a middle-aged vessel lie with his head in the lap of one in the body of a little girl who could be no older than 10. She was plaiting tiny flowers into his shoulder-length hair. It was… strange. Bobby was an old hunter, and he’d seen a lot of weird shit, apocalypse notwithstanding, but this was beyond even his standards for normal.
“And you Sam?” Bobby turned to him, putting his back to the window. He didn’t know how he’d react if he had to watch them do more… well. More sweet stuff.
“How’re you holding up.” he crossed his arms, bottle hanging from his fingers. Sam tried not to let his gaze flicker to the side, where his terrified, Hell-scarred-self huddled next to the bookcase, trembling. He coughed, raising his arm and rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’m fine Bobby.” He caught Bobby’s skeptical glance, “Really. I’m good.”
Bobby shook his head and left Sam to himself at the window, and Sam turned back to continue watching the angels, brow furrowed with a worried frown.
His reflection smiled back at him, soulless.
Dean was most certainly not fine. He was the opposite of fine; the epitome of completely and totally not fine.
He had glanced out the kitchen window on the way to the refrigerator for more booze, and had caught sight of a bunch of fat angel dudes lounging around on top of his baby.
He was through not fine and out the other side.
His vision tinted red, Dean was vaguely aware of barreling past Bobby, the man’s startled curse following him as he raced out into the yard, the screen door banging against the side of the house in his wake.
The noise startled the chubby dudes into looking up and, seeing his fury, they fluttered off with squeaks of distress, their expressions frightened and unhappy.
Dean almost careened into his car, and stood for a moment, breathing hard as his vision cleared. Remembering himself, he could suddenly feel the gazes of the numerous angels in the yard on the back of his head. He swallowed, hard, the hairs on his neck rising as a chill swept down his spine. He turned, slowly, and found that though the angels hadn’t moved from what they were doing, he had each and every one of their attention.
No one made a sound. No one moved. A droplet of sweat trailed down the side of Dean’s face.
All of a sudden, something brushed against his thigh. Dean jumped back with a startled yell, ramming his backside into the Impala. His tailbone ached.
A little girl with soulful, solemn brown eyes gazed up at him. She reached up slowly to take hold of his pinky finger, her whole hand barely fitting around it, she was so small.
He tried not to let himself be fooled, but found himself relaxing slightly against his will as she tugged gently at his hand, towards the house. He found himself following her, glancing around nervously as the other angels stayed still and silent, watching with a creepy focus.
As they reached the threshold of the house, the little girl stopped and looked back up at him, mouth in a small moue, the wards forcing her to release him. Dean found himself pausing beside her, uncertain. She seemed so young and harmless…
An angel walked towards them and Dean found himself backing up skittishly towards the open door, which was wide open, Bobby and Sam wide-eyed on the other side. The angel didn’t make any move to pursue him, however, and stopped behind the little girl, putting a hand on her shoulder and pulling her into an embrace. The older angel was familiar, and when she looked up from the child Dean remembered her as the angel Cas had ordered to transport them here. Z-something.
The angel looked back down at the small one in her arms and crooned softly before coaxing her back, away from the house. Dean fought the sudden urge to follow.
“Drael,” the angel insisted, “come away, the humans do not want us near.”
The little girl looked back over her shoulder at him, eyes tearful and hurt, before nodding, accepting the other angel’s hand and letting the elder lead her away from Bobby’s doorstep.
Dean’s throat hurt.
Hands grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him inside.