Unfinished WIP: Thursday [Supernatural]
I scribbled this out back in October, but it didn't really hold my interest beyond that. I'm posting it now, because spoilers for late Season 7 seem to show that great minds think alike. Maybe.
Anyway.
Title: Thursday
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: T
Pairing: Dean+/Castiel (I learn towards friendship, but the slash undertone is interesting)
Spoilers: for EVERYTHING
Summary: In which sharkflip tackles one of the only genre cliches that Supernatural hasn't tackled (yet).
Author's Note: This story, as like all my best stories, started and was written expressly because I wanted to read it but no one had written it. It was envisioned as a series of two-to-three thousand word mini-episodes, and I had no real destination in mind; I just scribbled out the scenes that were really vivid to me, and left notes-to-self to fill in a plot later, which I never got around to. Also, having never written for an on-the-air show before, this was jossed several times and I stopped bothering to revise the outline once I realized I wasn't that motivated to do anything with it.
Part I
The creak of old hinges warned Dean a moment before the Challenger's hood fell - again - and this time he managed to catch it and ease himself out.
"You stupid piece of -" Dean stifled the rest of his curse and deliberately did not kick the Challenger. Steps back and wipes his forehead. Forces himself not to look up to where the Impala waited, swaddled in tarps and parked under the porch of Rufus's cabin. Antsy about the future, trying to bury the past, trying to fend off the anxiety and hopelessness pressing in at him.
Laid up at Rufus's cabin, laying low and nursing Bobby back to health. Grazing wound to his temple and one serious one to his lung.
Late afternoon, sunlight golden through the trees. Knows that once he would have found it pleasant, idyllic, nothing to do but work on a car, but now just finds it stifling - waiting for the other shoes to drop, because it's never just one shoe.
Heading towards the house, wiping his hands on a rag.
"Any luck?"
"When do I ever get lucky?" Gets a beer. "If I were lucky, I’d have more than a socket set and a screwdriver to work with."
"At least it's not a metric socket set."
"That'd be typical."
Silence is almost comfortable, which means Dean isn't surprised when Sam breaks it. "Dean, how -"
"Think I'll take another look downstairs, see if I missed anything Rufus left."
Heard Sam's sigh as he starts down the stairs. "Fine. Whatever."
Fumbles for the light string, winces as it flares to life. Basement the same as last time and the time before that, the odds and ends of a reclusive hunter, not particularly useful. Sits down on the bottom step, elbows on his knees and forehead on his hands, and tries not to let the hopelessness overwhelm him.
Air stirs in the room, ozone-bright smell and the flap of unseen wings. Heart in his throat, letting himself reach for his gun even knowing it won't do any good. Hoping and fearing at once, not knowing what he'll see. Had hoped for… but -
Turns to find Gabriel, a body slung over his shoulder, dripping wet. "Deano, my second-favorite won't-quit burnout. Long time no see. "
Dean flabberghasted. Why am I surprised?
Gabriel, meanwhile, looking around the basement. Arches an eyebrow at the staircase. "Figures you'd be in the basement when I got here." Shifts the body on his shoulder. "Just for that, you can carry him up the stairs."
"Who -" Gabriel shifts again, sliding the body over his shoulder, and the world comes to a full stop.
Cas.
Eyes closed, mouth open, limp and unconscious, wearing just Jimmy's black suit, but unmistakably Cas.
Dean forces down the sudden hope. Gestures with his gun. "You - but he - you - you're both dead."
"Hate to burst your bubble, buddy-boy, but I am definitely not dead, and neither is he. Not yet, at least. Now. Like I said, you get to carry him upstairs."
Dean moves forward before he realizes it, letting Gabriel pass Cas off to him. Then brain starts working again. "How did you find us? Why? And where did you -"
"What is this, 'Twenty Stupid Questions?' I found him washed up near the Columbia River, Graveyard of the Pacific. Fitting, really."
Dread at how cold Cas is, damp and grimy. "Is he -"
"I told you, he's alive. For now." Steps back, studies Cas. Emotion flits across his face, real emotion, before the smirk returns. "I have to go. People to do, things to see - you know. But first -" reaches out, spreads his hand over Cas's sternum. Cas twitches, tenses, relaxes. Emotion returns to Gabriel's face for an instant.
Gesture familiar. "Did you just …" Dean waves his gun again. "Carve something into his ribs?"
"Got it in one - you're not the only one with a cloaking device. Now." All humor gone, replaced by all the fury of an archangel coiled into a human vessel. "Take. Care. Of. Him." Jabs Dean in the chest to emphasize each word. "I'll keep them away."
"Keep who -" Dean started, too late. Gabriel was gone, another stir of air all that marked his ever having been there. That, and Cas limp over his shoulder.
Anger and fear and wariness and confusion. Tries to tamp it all down, just plan.
Missing the overcoat, balled up and stuffed somewhere in the basement; looks narrow and frail in just Jimmy's black suit, torn and soaked through and smelling damp and fishy. Hair flat against his head and scruffier than usual. Reminds Dean too much of that future Cas, bitter beneath the drugs and booze.
Pushes that uneasy thought away. Takes his pulse, feels for his breath, satisfied that whatever else is wrong, Cas at least seems to be alive. Or is it Jimmy?
"Jesus, Cas, what now?"
Sam comes back up the stairs. "What - oh."
***
Dean Sam Bobby confer, gathered around Bobby's bed, staring out into the living room where Cas is still draped over the couch.
All worried. Cas is breathing and clammy warm and appears "alive". Cut off his soaked clothes, just in case it's Jimmy, or human. Appears to be sleeping, too, which is also disturbing.
"Maybe his batteries just got fried," Dean suggests.
"Maybe," Sam responds, with the expression that says he's trying to be reassuring but Dean can see right through.
"Well, one thing's for sure. He's not a leviathan."
Had stabbed him once, carefully, to see him bleed, and dipped one hand in borax.
"Or a shapeshifter, a revenant, a vampire, or a demon." They'd performed all the usual tests. Salt, silver, holy water, etc. Thin cut from the silver knife bleeding slowly. Dean dressed it with gauze and tries not to worry.
Discuss trying an angel spell, but the only ones they know are "keep out" and "banish." Don't really want to chance sending him away when he can't come back.
"So is he angel? Or human?"
"Is there any way to tell?"
"Short of asking?"
"It's not like we can just consult the angel atlas of anatomy."
"How is he even alive at all?"
No answers. Sam and Bobby half-hearted research, Dean broods.
All turn towards Cas, worried. Etc.
***
Night passes, Cas unmoving, day wears on. Dean half-heartedly back at the Challenger.
Afternoon deepens into evening. Setting sun, etc. Bobby absent and Sam flaked out at the kitchen table over a book. Dean alone and brooding, watching Cas. Setting sun red like the residual blood on the windows, the wards that didn't manage to keep him out.
Brooding Dean thoughts.
Cut off by slightest noise, looks over to find Cas blinking in the red light. Dean forgets to breathe. Stares at him. "Cas."
Cas tips his head, familiar awkward gesture. Stares for a long minute. Dean holds his breath again, hoping they weren't wrong, it's not the Leviathan or some other monster. Etc.
Cas finally speaks. "What are you?"
Dam breaks, anger swamping the relief. "Are you kidding? What am I? If anyone should be asking 'what are you,' it's me." Ready for a retort, for awkward sarcasm or tired protest. Not ready for nothing.
Anxiety creeps back up. "So. What are you? Cas?"
Brow wrinkles, tips his head again and gaze turns inward. Awkward and creepy, like when he first came to Earth.
"… I don't know."
"You don't know." Runs a hand over his face, stares at Cas, who stares calmly back. Dean lets himself feel the anger; it's easier than feeling the terror bubbling up. "How can I trust that you're telling the truth?" Advances, angry. "Remember the last time I saw you?"
"No."
Dean stares. "You don't remember."
Expression creases Cas's brow, the one that he makes when he's trying to decide if Dean actually asked a question and therefore expects a response. "No."
Pinches the bridge of his nose. "Well, what do you remember?"
Gaze unfocuses again. Utterly still, alien, like that first time in an old barn scrawled with sigils; none of the humanity that Cas had learned. Finally meets Dean's eyes again.
"Nothing."
Part II
"Nothing." Dean incredulous.
Cas tips his head, staring, the slight furrow in his brow that Dean knows is because he's trying to determine if Dean's words were question or statement, and therefore if he should answer or simply wait. Sees the moment where Cas decides that it's a statement and therefore requires no answer, and instead stares levelly back.
"Nothing," Dean answers himself, and drags a hand over his face. Sudden weariness; hooks a chair towards him and sinks into it. Stares at Cas, who stares back, unmoving. Dean realizes he's holding his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but silence stretches without the flap and ozone of angels or the hiss and sulfur of demons or any of the thousand other minor or major disasters that he half-expects as normal. Instead, it's just Cas.
Maybe.
"So," he says, to say something. "Angel?" Cas's brow creases again. Dean pushes on. "Leviathan? Human? God?" Spits the last word, trying not to think about how what he really wants to ask is friend or foe?
Cas stares at him. Long silence. Dean forces himself not to fidget. Cas finally breaks the silence. "I… don't understand what you are asking."
Dean irritated. "Don't play games, Cas. Are you still an angel? What are you, now?"
Cas considers the question, concern on his face wrenchingly familiar. Breaks eye contact to stare at his hands, also a familiar sight. "I…" starts, stops. Flexes his fingers, palms open. "I am unsure."
"Unsure." Dean suddenly very tired.
Sam comes back. Interrogation continues, more effectively. Gets Cas changed into dry clothes - Dean's clothes, bare feet. Looks small, but also bigger; like a person, maybe.
"What about Jimmy? He in there?"
Head tilt. "That name is unfamiliar to me."
Try to find Gabriel, but he's not responding. Don't know of any other angel they can call. Wish for a moment for Balthazar, for Anna, for Crowley, for Ruby or Meg or anyone who maybe had an answer. Death?
Have burned so many bridges and now they just need a simple answer.
Cast finally looks up. "What am I? Who am I?"
Dean starts to answer, no idea what he's going to say. Sam jumps in first. "You were… a soldier. Are a soldier. One of your… officers brought you here. To recover. You were wounded - in the war - and we thought you were dead." Etc.
Collective holding of breath. Knows from Cas's expression that there will be questions; don't know how to answer them, don't know how to deal with this new situation.
Cas nods. "Where's here?"
Dean feels unfamiliar relief. This, at least, he can handle. EXPLAINS MONSTER HUNT. Vicious maulings, like bear attacks, in an area where the last bear went extinct ages ago.
***
Day of research. Sam researching
Dean, meanwhile, on the phone with Bobby.
"How the hell should I know? He's your angel."
"Dammit Bobby, he's not my angel."
Etc.
No one will or can answer; needs to figure all this out.
Regroup for dinner that evening. Waitress passes out three menus; Cas takes one without comment and stares at it, same intensity and confusion as he'd displayed all day.
Dean and Sam exchange looks, silent communication.
Cas still staring at the menu when waitress comes to take their orders. Dean gets a burger, Sam gets a salad. Waitress prompts Cas; stares at her, stares at the menu. Dean about to jump in with the usual "just coffee for my autistic friend, thanks," when decision breaks over Cas's face. "I will have the broiled chicken, ETC."
"Mashed potato, French fries, or rice pilaf?"
Intense stare, then decision. "The rice pilaf, please."
Waitress nods, writes it down. "Anything else, sugar?" Shakes his head politely. She reaches for his menu and he gives it to her.
Sam and Dean stare at Cas. Waitress clears her throat, starts to collect their menus. Sam and Dean exchange glances again, then turn back to Cas. Calmly stares back.
"S'cuse us. For a minute. Sam." Dean drags him away.
Go into bathroom, furious whispers.
"Angels don't eat."
"No shit Sherlock."
"So he's not an angel?"
Etc.
***
Conversation. More monster hunt.
Food arrives. Both Sam and Dean watch Cas, barely aware of their own food. Cas, meanwhile, studies his plate, then studies Sam and Dean. Awkward few moments of staring at each other.
Dean clears his throat. "Anyway." Reaches for the ketchup while Sam starts pouring salad dressing over his lettuce.
TALK ABOUT THE MONSTER.
Sam talking while Dean watching Cas - realizes that Cas is watching them, waiting for cues. Sees him hesitate over fork, watching Dean dip his fries in ketchup, then picks it up after Sam starts in on his salad.
DINNER CONVERSATION.
By the end of the dinner, though, Cas has sampled each food on his plate, but not eaten past the first bite of anything. Waitress comes back just as Sam leaves for the bathroom again.
"Eyes bigger than your stomach tonight, Sugar?"
Confused head tilt and Dean just knows there's about to be angel awkwardness. "He's fussy - eats like a bird."
She smiles. "I'll just box it up for later, then." Smiles again.
"… Dean." Something about the way Cas says his name, half question.
"Yeah?"
"I am… unsure as to whether I will find this meal more appetizing later."
Shrugs. "Whatever. Someone will eat it."
***
"So, he's an angel, then?"
Another short, furious whispered conversation. Cas in the living room, staring at the TV (which isn't on; creepy).
"He ate -"
"He tasted, Sam. He didn't eat. He -"
Interrupted then by a low snore. Both turn to stare. Cas leaning back on the couch, eyes closed and while not relaxed, maybe just a little less rigid.
"So… not an angel?"
"How the hell should I know, Sammy? Since when am I the expert on angels?"
Sam just looks at him.
"Go to hell. Again."
Sam chuckles, Dean tries to keep from smiling, and suddenly it feels almost like old times - his egghead brother and a retarded angel and a monster to hunt.
Part III
Hamadryad.
[note from sharkflip: the "plot" of this episode was going to be something about random vicious maulings in Redwood National Forest, that turn out to be hamadryads defending their trees against logger-poachers. You can't kill a hamadryad without killing their trees, so Dean and Sam are at a loss as to how to approach without their "kill anything that bleeds" strategy; it all gets tied up neatly when Cas talks to the hamadryads and tells them to tie up the poachers and leave them at the ranger's station. This is where we determine that angel or not, Cas still speaks all languages.]
"She said -"
"Wait wait wait - 'she said'?"
Brow furrow. "I admit, the assignation of the female gender is arbitrary, given that -"
"I don't care if she's a she or a he or whatever - what I care about is that you were talking to a monster -"
"Hamadryad."
"Whatever." Fear and frustration; remembers Cas's choked "Leviathan," long before all of this.
Part IV
Next town, next monster, turns into a demon fight. Swarm of them, low-level but numerous. Fighting along, then realizes Cas is cornered, one baiting him while another creeps into range. Knife raising, Dean watching as if in slow motion, killing the demon in front of him with little effort, but knows he's too late.
Again.
"Cas!"
Sees Cas react, eyes widening and Dean wants to look away because he doesn't want to see -
Cas raises his arm, as if to shield his face, and suddenly there's a blade in it, clean and shining. Startled look on his face, then certainty. Stabs the first demon, whirls to dispatch the second, and a final one creeping from the shadows, and then it's all over.
Dean stares at Cas, who in turn stares at the blade in his hand. Tilts it back and forth, catching the light, testing its balance.
Finally looks up at Dean. "I believe there is more you are not telling me."
***
Debriefing at a café or something. Sword lays on the table between them, cleaned of blood and glinting silver-white, too bright and clean for it to be light reflected from the greasy bulbs. Etc.
Silence stretches.
"An angel." Cas's voice not incredulous, not disbelieving, not surprised or doubtful. Just flat statement, fact.
"You always said 'Angel of the Lord.' If that makes a difference." Dean cringes at how earnest Sam is.
Drops his eyes to stare at the table, at the blade. Sam fidgets, Dean watches.
"And am I still an angel?"
Sam and Dean exchange glances, shrugs, eyebrow raises. You answer. No, you answer. He's your angel. He's not my angel.
Cas raises his head, stares at Dean, who knows that he's lost the battle. Lets out his breath in a sigh. "We don't know." Head tilt, intense stare that Dean equates with a raised eyebrow. "Really, Cas, we don't know. ID-ing angels was always your department." Helpless shrug.
Sam breaks in. "We ran all the usual tests, so we're pretty sure you're not a demon or a shapeshifter or a vampire or a skinwalker or a ghoul, or any of the other monsters we usually deal with. But we don't have a way to tell if you're an angel that wouldn't kill you if you're actually… human."
Brow furrow. Dean watches.
Now, back to working on Enslaved, which I am, really.
Anyway.
Title: Thursday
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: T
Pairing: Dean+/Castiel (I learn towards friendship, but the slash undertone is interesting)
Spoilers: for EVERYTHING
Summary: In which sharkflip tackles one of the only genre cliches that Supernatural hasn't tackled (yet).
Author's Note: This story, as like all my best stories, started and was written expressly because I wanted to read it but no one had written it. It was envisioned as a series of two-to-three thousand word mini-episodes, and I had no real destination in mind; I just scribbled out the scenes that were really vivid to me, and left notes-to-self to fill in a plot later, which I never got around to. Also, having never written for an on-the-air show before, this was jossed several times and I stopped bothering to revise the outline once I realized I wasn't that motivated to do anything with it.
Part I
The creak of old hinges warned Dean a moment before the Challenger's hood fell - again - and this time he managed to catch it and ease himself out.
"You stupid piece of -" Dean stifled the rest of his curse and deliberately did not kick the Challenger. Steps back and wipes his forehead. Forces himself not to look up to where the Impala waited, swaddled in tarps and parked under the porch of Rufus's cabin. Antsy about the future, trying to bury the past, trying to fend off the anxiety and hopelessness pressing in at him.
Laid up at Rufus's cabin, laying low and nursing Bobby back to health. Grazing wound to his temple and one serious one to his lung.
Late afternoon, sunlight golden through the trees. Knows that once he would have found it pleasant, idyllic, nothing to do but work on a car, but now just finds it stifling - waiting for the other shoes to drop, because it's never just one shoe.
Heading towards the house, wiping his hands on a rag.
"Any luck?"
"When do I ever get lucky?" Gets a beer. "If I were lucky, I’d have more than a socket set and a screwdriver to work with."
"At least it's not a metric socket set."
"That'd be typical."
Silence is almost comfortable, which means Dean isn't surprised when Sam breaks it. "Dean, how -"
"Think I'll take another look downstairs, see if I missed anything Rufus left."
Heard Sam's sigh as he starts down the stairs. "Fine. Whatever."
Fumbles for the light string, winces as it flares to life. Basement the same as last time and the time before that, the odds and ends of a reclusive hunter, not particularly useful. Sits down on the bottom step, elbows on his knees and forehead on his hands, and tries not to let the hopelessness overwhelm him.
Air stirs in the room, ozone-bright smell and the flap of unseen wings. Heart in his throat, letting himself reach for his gun even knowing it won't do any good. Hoping and fearing at once, not knowing what he'll see. Had hoped for… but -
Turns to find Gabriel, a body slung over his shoulder, dripping wet. "Deano, my second-favorite won't-quit burnout. Long time no see. "
Dean flabberghasted. Why am I surprised?
Gabriel, meanwhile, looking around the basement. Arches an eyebrow at the staircase. "Figures you'd be in the basement when I got here." Shifts the body on his shoulder. "Just for that, you can carry him up the stairs."
"Who -" Gabriel shifts again, sliding the body over his shoulder, and the world comes to a full stop.
Cas.
Eyes closed, mouth open, limp and unconscious, wearing just Jimmy's black suit, but unmistakably Cas.
Dean forces down the sudden hope. Gestures with his gun. "You - but he - you - you're both dead."
"Hate to burst your bubble, buddy-boy, but I am definitely not dead, and neither is he. Not yet, at least. Now. Like I said, you get to carry him upstairs."
Dean moves forward before he realizes it, letting Gabriel pass Cas off to him. Then brain starts working again. "How did you find us? Why? And where did you -"
"What is this, 'Twenty Stupid Questions?' I found him washed up near the Columbia River, Graveyard of the Pacific. Fitting, really."
Dread at how cold Cas is, damp and grimy. "Is he -"
"I told you, he's alive. For now." Steps back, studies Cas. Emotion flits across his face, real emotion, before the smirk returns. "I have to go. People to do, things to see - you know. But first -" reaches out, spreads his hand over Cas's sternum. Cas twitches, tenses, relaxes. Emotion returns to Gabriel's face for an instant.
Gesture familiar. "Did you just …" Dean waves his gun again. "Carve something into his ribs?"
"Got it in one - you're not the only one with a cloaking device. Now." All humor gone, replaced by all the fury of an archangel coiled into a human vessel. "Take. Care. Of. Him." Jabs Dean in the chest to emphasize each word. "I'll keep them away."
"Keep who -" Dean started, too late. Gabriel was gone, another stir of air all that marked his ever having been there. That, and Cas limp over his shoulder.
Anger and fear and wariness and confusion. Tries to tamp it all down, just plan.
Missing the overcoat, balled up and stuffed somewhere in the basement; looks narrow and frail in just Jimmy's black suit, torn and soaked through and smelling damp and fishy. Hair flat against his head and scruffier than usual. Reminds Dean too much of that future Cas, bitter beneath the drugs and booze.
Pushes that uneasy thought away. Takes his pulse, feels for his breath, satisfied that whatever else is wrong, Cas at least seems to be alive. Or is it Jimmy?
"Jesus, Cas, what now?"
Sam comes back up the stairs. "What - oh."
***
Dean Sam Bobby confer, gathered around Bobby's bed, staring out into the living room where Cas is still draped over the couch.
All worried. Cas is breathing and clammy warm and appears "alive". Cut off his soaked clothes, just in case it's Jimmy, or human. Appears to be sleeping, too, which is also disturbing.
"Maybe his batteries just got fried," Dean suggests.
"Maybe," Sam responds, with the expression that says he's trying to be reassuring but Dean can see right through.
"Well, one thing's for sure. He's not a leviathan."
Had stabbed him once, carefully, to see him bleed, and dipped one hand in borax.
"Or a shapeshifter, a revenant, a vampire, or a demon." They'd performed all the usual tests. Salt, silver, holy water, etc. Thin cut from the silver knife bleeding slowly. Dean dressed it with gauze and tries not to worry.
Discuss trying an angel spell, but the only ones they know are "keep out" and "banish." Don't really want to chance sending him away when he can't come back.
"So is he angel? Or human?"
"Is there any way to tell?"
"Short of asking?"
"It's not like we can just consult the angel atlas of anatomy."
"How is he even alive at all?"
No answers. Sam and Bobby half-hearted research, Dean broods.
All turn towards Cas, worried. Etc.
***
Night passes, Cas unmoving, day wears on. Dean half-heartedly back at the Challenger.
Afternoon deepens into evening. Setting sun, etc. Bobby absent and Sam flaked out at the kitchen table over a book. Dean alone and brooding, watching Cas. Setting sun red like the residual blood on the windows, the wards that didn't manage to keep him out.
Brooding Dean thoughts.
Cut off by slightest noise, looks over to find Cas blinking in the red light. Dean forgets to breathe. Stares at him. "Cas."
Cas tips his head, familiar awkward gesture. Stares for a long minute. Dean holds his breath again, hoping they weren't wrong, it's not the Leviathan or some other monster. Etc.
Cas finally speaks. "What are you?"
Dam breaks, anger swamping the relief. "Are you kidding? What am I? If anyone should be asking 'what are you,' it's me." Ready for a retort, for awkward sarcasm or tired protest. Not ready for nothing.
Anxiety creeps back up. "So. What are you? Cas?"
Brow wrinkles, tips his head again and gaze turns inward. Awkward and creepy, like when he first came to Earth.
"… I don't know."
"You don't know." Runs a hand over his face, stares at Cas, who stares calmly back. Dean lets himself feel the anger; it's easier than feeling the terror bubbling up. "How can I trust that you're telling the truth?" Advances, angry. "Remember the last time I saw you?"
"No."
Dean stares. "You don't remember."
Expression creases Cas's brow, the one that he makes when he's trying to decide if Dean actually asked a question and therefore expects a response. "No."
Pinches the bridge of his nose. "Well, what do you remember?"
Gaze unfocuses again. Utterly still, alien, like that first time in an old barn scrawled with sigils; none of the humanity that Cas had learned. Finally meets Dean's eyes again.
"Nothing."
Part II
"Nothing." Dean incredulous.
Cas tips his head, staring, the slight furrow in his brow that Dean knows is because he's trying to determine if Dean's words were question or statement, and therefore if he should answer or simply wait. Sees the moment where Cas decides that it's a statement and therefore requires no answer, and instead stares levelly back.
"Nothing," Dean answers himself, and drags a hand over his face. Sudden weariness; hooks a chair towards him and sinks into it. Stares at Cas, who stares back, unmoving. Dean realizes he's holding his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but silence stretches without the flap and ozone of angels or the hiss and sulfur of demons or any of the thousand other minor or major disasters that he half-expects as normal. Instead, it's just Cas.
Maybe.
"So," he says, to say something. "Angel?" Cas's brow creases again. Dean pushes on. "Leviathan? Human? God?" Spits the last word, trying not to think about how what he really wants to ask is friend or foe?
Cas stares at him. Long silence. Dean forces himself not to fidget. Cas finally breaks the silence. "I… don't understand what you are asking."
Dean irritated. "Don't play games, Cas. Are you still an angel? What are you, now?"
Cas considers the question, concern on his face wrenchingly familiar. Breaks eye contact to stare at his hands, also a familiar sight. "I…" starts, stops. Flexes his fingers, palms open. "I am unsure."
"Unsure." Dean suddenly very tired.
Sam comes back. Interrogation continues, more effectively. Gets Cas changed into dry clothes - Dean's clothes, bare feet. Looks small, but also bigger; like a person, maybe.
"What about Jimmy? He in there?"
Head tilt. "That name is unfamiliar to me."
Try to find Gabriel, but he's not responding. Don't know of any other angel they can call. Wish for a moment for Balthazar, for Anna, for Crowley, for Ruby or Meg or anyone who maybe had an answer. Death?
Have burned so many bridges and now they just need a simple answer.
Cast finally looks up. "What am I? Who am I?"
Dean starts to answer, no idea what he's going to say. Sam jumps in first. "You were… a soldier. Are a soldier. One of your… officers brought you here. To recover. You were wounded - in the war - and we thought you were dead." Etc.
Collective holding of breath. Knows from Cas's expression that there will be questions; don't know how to answer them, don't know how to deal with this new situation.
Cas nods. "Where's here?"
Dean feels unfamiliar relief. This, at least, he can handle. EXPLAINS MONSTER HUNT. Vicious maulings, like bear attacks, in an area where the last bear went extinct ages ago.
***
Day of research. Sam researching
Dean, meanwhile, on the phone with Bobby.
"How the hell should I know? He's your angel."
"Dammit Bobby, he's not my angel."
Etc.
No one will or can answer; needs to figure all this out.
Regroup for dinner that evening. Waitress passes out three menus; Cas takes one without comment and stares at it, same intensity and confusion as he'd displayed all day.
Dean and Sam exchange looks, silent communication.
Cas still staring at the menu when waitress comes to take their orders. Dean gets a burger, Sam gets a salad. Waitress prompts Cas; stares at her, stares at the menu. Dean about to jump in with the usual "just coffee for my autistic friend, thanks," when decision breaks over Cas's face. "I will have the broiled chicken, ETC."
"Mashed potato, French fries, or rice pilaf?"
Intense stare, then decision. "The rice pilaf, please."
Waitress nods, writes it down. "Anything else, sugar?" Shakes his head politely. She reaches for his menu and he gives it to her.
Sam and Dean stare at Cas. Waitress clears her throat, starts to collect their menus. Sam and Dean exchange glances again, then turn back to Cas. Calmly stares back.
"S'cuse us. For a minute. Sam." Dean drags him away.
Go into bathroom, furious whispers.
"Angels don't eat."
"No shit Sherlock."
"So he's not an angel?"
Etc.
***
Conversation. More monster hunt.
Food arrives. Both Sam and Dean watch Cas, barely aware of their own food. Cas, meanwhile, studies his plate, then studies Sam and Dean. Awkward few moments of staring at each other.
Dean clears his throat. "Anyway." Reaches for the ketchup while Sam starts pouring salad dressing over his lettuce.
TALK ABOUT THE MONSTER.
Sam talking while Dean watching Cas - realizes that Cas is watching them, waiting for cues. Sees him hesitate over fork, watching Dean dip his fries in ketchup, then picks it up after Sam starts in on his salad.
DINNER CONVERSATION.
By the end of the dinner, though, Cas has sampled each food on his plate, but not eaten past the first bite of anything. Waitress comes back just as Sam leaves for the bathroom again.
"Eyes bigger than your stomach tonight, Sugar?"
Confused head tilt and Dean just knows there's about to be angel awkwardness. "He's fussy - eats like a bird."
She smiles. "I'll just box it up for later, then." Smiles again.
"… Dean." Something about the way Cas says his name, half question.
"Yeah?"
"I am… unsure as to whether I will find this meal more appetizing later."
Shrugs. "Whatever. Someone will eat it."
***
"So, he's an angel, then?"
Another short, furious whispered conversation. Cas in the living room, staring at the TV (which isn't on; creepy).
"He ate -"
"He tasted, Sam. He didn't eat. He -"
Interrupted then by a low snore. Both turn to stare. Cas leaning back on the couch, eyes closed and while not relaxed, maybe just a little less rigid.
"So… not an angel?"
"How the hell should I know, Sammy? Since when am I the expert on angels?"
Sam just looks at him.
"Go to hell. Again."
Sam chuckles, Dean tries to keep from smiling, and suddenly it feels almost like old times - his egghead brother and a retarded angel and a monster to hunt.
Part III
Hamadryad.
[note from sharkflip: the "plot" of this episode was going to be something about random vicious maulings in Redwood National Forest, that turn out to be hamadryads defending their trees against logger-poachers. You can't kill a hamadryad without killing their trees, so Dean and Sam are at a loss as to how to approach without their "kill anything that bleeds" strategy; it all gets tied up neatly when Cas talks to the hamadryads and tells them to tie up the poachers and leave them at the ranger's station. This is where we determine that angel or not, Cas still speaks all languages.]
"She said -"
"Wait wait wait - 'she said'?"
Brow furrow. "I admit, the assignation of the female gender is arbitrary, given that -"
"I don't care if she's a she or a he or whatever - what I care about is that you were talking to a monster -"
"Hamadryad."
"Whatever." Fear and frustration; remembers Cas's choked "Leviathan," long before all of this.
Part IV
Next town, next monster, turns into a demon fight. Swarm of them, low-level but numerous. Fighting along, then realizes Cas is cornered, one baiting him while another creeps into range. Knife raising, Dean watching as if in slow motion, killing the demon in front of him with little effort, but knows he's too late.
Again.
"Cas!"
Sees Cas react, eyes widening and Dean wants to look away because he doesn't want to see -
Cas raises his arm, as if to shield his face, and suddenly there's a blade in it, clean and shining. Startled look on his face, then certainty. Stabs the first demon, whirls to dispatch the second, and a final one creeping from the shadows, and then it's all over.
Dean stares at Cas, who in turn stares at the blade in his hand. Tilts it back and forth, catching the light, testing its balance.
Finally looks up at Dean. "I believe there is more you are not telling me."
***
Debriefing at a café or something. Sword lays on the table between them, cleaned of blood and glinting silver-white, too bright and clean for it to be light reflected from the greasy bulbs. Etc.
Silence stretches.
"An angel." Cas's voice not incredulous, not disbelieving, not surprised or doubtful. Just flat statement, fact.
"You always said 'Angel of the Lord.' If that makes a difference." Dean cringes at how earnest Sam is.
Drops his eyes to stare at the table, at the blade. Sam fidgets, Dean watches.
"And am I still an angel?"
Sam and Dean exchange glances, shrugs, eyebrow raises. You answer. No, you answer. He's your angel. He's not my angel.
Cas raises his head, stares at Dean, who knows that he's lost the battle. Lets out his breath in a sigh. "We don't know." Head tilt, intense stare that Dean equates with a raised eyebrow. "Really, Cas, we don't know. ID-ing angels was always your department." Helpless shrug.
Sam breaks in. "We ran all the usual tests, so we're pretty sure you're not a demon or a shapeshifter or a vampire or a skinwalker or a ghoul, or any of the other monsters we usually deal with. But we don't have a way to tell if you're an angel that wouldn't kill you if you're actually… human."
Brow furrow. Dean watches.
Now, back to working on Enslaved, which I am, really.