Mark Sheppard and the Underwater Pipe
I'm very well aware I should have been writing my Big Bang. Haha. Hello three days to go. But this fic just wrote itself. More or less. My hand slipped. Etc. etc.
Title: On Film
Rating: PG-13
Words: 3,719
Summary: Castiel, Balthazar, with Dean/Cas undertones and possibly some one-sided Balthazar/Castiel. Post 6x18. Balthazar's life is not a movie.
Thanks to cienna for her speedy beta and her appreciation for nuns.
.On Film.
In the short time Balthazar has been on Earth he has come to love the movies, and every chance he gets he finds a theatre somewhere. He's been to them all; multiplexes with ridiculously comfortable rocking seats filled with groups of teenagers, trendy, glass-walled art houses that play things no one actually wants to watch, worn, old cinemas with faded velvet-red seats on the verge of being condemned, and village halls filled with plastic chairs and a terrible sound system. They are all the same, and they have taught him so many things about humans.
Not how they are or how they live or anything inane like that, but rather how they want to be. How they want to see themselves. It made finding humans willing to give up their souls an easy thing, because he learned to understand just how far they could be pushed, how easily they gave in to vengeance and hatred. How embarrassingly easily their choices could be moulded to his purpose.
Balthazar has also learnt to appreciate cliché, plot device, emotional cues and setting, and he wonders if he has been watching too many noir movies when he says to his contact, "Midnight, in the alley behind the Curzon," and sees the witch give him a disbelieving look.
"What?" he snaps, because he thought he'd sounded pretty damn cool, and why the hell shouldn't he have fun anyway? What's the point of saving this sin-ridden, pointless little world if he can't enjoy it. "You want to meet in the fruit aisle at Wal-Mart? We can discuss how we're going to curse a town full of first-borns while we pick out bananas."
The witch's lips curl up in distaste, maybe anger, and Balthazar has decided he likes humans when they're angry. They do all sorts of interesting things.
He smiles, and offers, "Or we can just skip the meeting part and you can come back to mine. I have a lovely place. Anywhere you like. Big, small, tropical, arctic. Your wish could be my command." Balthazar raises his eyebrows in the exaggerated way he's seen humans do in movies when they're trying to entice someone into bed. He doesn't believe it will actually work, but he has nothing to lose, and he does so enjoy trying new approaches to human sexuality. Next, Balthazar is contemplating online dating.
Regretfully, but predictably, the witch gives him a sour look and says, "I'll be there." It's a fine view as he walks away, and Balthazar lingers to fully appreciate the moment. He thinks that he would like to find a ridiculous hat and a long coat for the meeting, just to see how this human will react, but long coats will only ever now remind him of Castiel. Virginous, repressed Castiel, who has yet to partake of the finer fruits of humanity.
There is a little time before he has a rendezvous to keep- and not the good kind involving hot, sweaty naked bodies either- so Balthazar decides to find Castiel. It has been some days since he last saw his brother and Balthazar knows that if he doesn't induce Castiel to rest, even if only for a few moments, then no one else will.
He tries the Winchesters first, because there is always a good chance of finding poor hopelessly-devoted Castiel with them. Balthazar grimaces at how much he hates that song.
They are loud, and even though Castiel has hidden them well, Balthazar- and anyone who has had dealings with them in even the vaguest of manners- knows that they are almost always to be found at Bobby Singer's home. It is a solid-built house, with a long history Balthazar doesn't think even Bobby knows, and enough warding magic to make even the toughest demons cry. All of it is nothing to an angel, and surely enough, there are the brothers speaking to each other in hushed voices over the kitchen table whilst Bobby sleeps on the couch. No Castiel, but Balthazar can sense his grace and blood spilled over the wall and the floor and Bobby's hands. Something cold and strange settles in Balthazar's being and he wonders if it is anger or worry or panic.
He finds himself calling to Castiel, and tries to ignore the impatience, the very strong desire to reveal himself and demand to know what happened from the Winchesters. And if they didn't want to tell him- because they were contrary, over-confident little bastards- he would damn well make them. But then he hears Castiel's reply, and he sounds very much alive, and very pissed. Balthazar flies to his side as quickly as he can and finds Castiel on a far border of Heaven where reality almost touches the celestial and angels are half-formed things, part human shape, part angel being. The landscape is potential. Unreal. Balthazar doesn't like the borderlands. No one would ever set a movie in such an unfinished, nonsensical place as this. And Balthazar has always found these places cold, and dangerous. What Castiel is doing here Balthazar is not sure he wants to know.
He arrives to catch the tail end of an argument.
"-would be no point without it," one of Castiel's lieutenants says. Most of Castiel's followers, Balthazar has noticed, are young and entirely too dedicated. Zealots, Balthazar thinks with disgust, and ensures his entrance is as pointlessly flamboyant and disruptive as he can. He feels their annoyance, their dislike, and it makes Balthazar want to laugh. He wishes he could laugh in this ridiculous non-place, but all he can do is feel amused, and he makes sure the others can feel it too.
"Cassie," Balthazar greets, ignoring the others. They are vying for attention. They bring battle-plans and questions and are apparently incapable of doing anything for themselves. Castiel is weary and hiding it.
Absently, Castiel greets him in return before going back to the argument. There aren't enough angels. Raphael has taken the Fourth Heaven. The weapons won't be enough. Someone can't tie their own shoelace blah blah blah.
Castiel, Balthazar thinks, really needs to learn to delegate.
"Today," he announces over the din of a hundred angels singing in inharmonious frustration, "We're going to try something new."
They look at him, expectant, and only Cas looks at him with the wariness of someone who knows what trying something new usually means for Balthazar. As though he would incite an orgy with this lot of sanctimonious nuns. Whilst Balthazar has nothing against nuns- they can, often, be really very sensual and giving once you get to know them- he has better things to do with his time.
"Today," he repeats, for effect, and thinks and of all the pious, absurd speeches he has heard in movies, "We're going to try something called thought. I know you can all do it. You thought the former regime were correct when they cut off our current gallant leader from Heaven and doomed him to Fall. You thought it was wrong to follow Raphael. Now think for yourselves some more and fuck off."
"Balthazar," Castiel says warningly.
"They can do without you for a few hours." Balthazar doesn't give him a choice to protest, instead grabbing him by the not-quite-an-arm and dragging him away, to Earth, where he can be less of an almost-being and more of an actual one. He finds he's glad to be back in his vessel, comfortable like it's his own skin when it's not even close. He likes the touch and the taste, the smell and the sounds, and it's good to feel Castiel's warm skin against his.
They're on the deck of a cruise liner in the Caribbean, and Balthazar wonders if this is his subconscious trying to be funny with him about the whole Titanic thing.
There are no icebergs for thousands of miles though, only hot sun and tropical drinks and scantily clad humans and Balthazar decides he likes this place very much. Castiel, however, looks uncomfortable and decidedly out of place in his heavy coat. Though Castiel, Balthazar has noticed, looks out of place almost everywhere these days.
"That was not helpful," Castiel says, but he doesn't sound all that upset about it. Nor does he try to leave.
"And they were? My dearest Cas, we're not going to win any wars if your minions can't make a simple decision without you holding their hands." Castiel's shoulders sag and he looks away towards the clear, blue sea around them. A waitress passes by and Balthazar gives her a smile. He sees that she is unattached and interested and has a fascinating penchant for ribbons. But Balthazar is here for a reason, and with regret he must send her away, taking the pineapple cocktail concoction she is carrying from her tray. He takes a sip, and it's too sweet, but he drinks it anyway. There's alcohol in here somewhere; Balthazar can taste it, and he means to find it all. "You need to relax," Balthazar says. He sees the bend of Castiel's back and the way he favours his right side. "And you might want to avoid battle until you're healed."
"I'm fine," Castiel says, meeting his eyes and managing to be completely unconvincing.
Balthazar gives Castiel a stern look. "You might be able to hide it from your adoring fans, but you can't hide it from me, brother."
Castiel says nothing, but he doesn't look away. Balthazar goes on, "Only an angel's blade could have done that to you, and Rachel-"
"We're not discussing this," Castiel cuts him off, turns as if to go, but Balthazar catches his arm and holds him back.
"Then we won't." It's not like Balthazar cares. He knows what has to be done, even if the others don't understand, and he knows that Castiel feels the weight of his choices more keenly than most of them will ever comprehend. More than any of them will ever be required to comprehend, because they still get to follow, to be good little soldiers just like they've always been. They might hold Castiel as some shining example of free will, but none of them actually get what it really means to make a choice and then to have to live with the consequences.
Rachel, dedicated to the last, righteous- Balthazar is sure- to the end. But Castiel is the one still standing.
"We can find ourselves a party," Balthazar suggests. "Or make one of our own. Castiel, you're missing out on so much fun."
"I have more important things to do," Castiel argues and shakes Balthazar's hand away. "And I don't like boats."
He flies, and Balthazar follows, because like this Castiel is going to wear himself into the ground. He lands on the trail along the side of Roraima, luscious thick jungle around them, clinging to the sheer sides of the mountain.
Castiel sighs dramatically. "Balthazar-"
"No parties then. We can go out, just us two. Hit up some bars. Get drunk. Puke in alleyways. I hear it's all the rage these days."
And Balthazar knows some truly hedonistic places where true peace is indeed to be found between the thighs of talented, imaginative women and men.
"No, Balthazar," Castiel says dismissively, and Balthazar can see that he efforts are serving only to anger Castiel. He flies again, but Balthazar is not one to give up so very easily.
When they return to earth so close to the waterline along a stony, grey beach that Balthazar is afraid his shoes will get wet he suggests, "Fine. We can stand enigmatically and watch the sunrise. Or sunset. Whatever it is here." Balthazar considers that he should perhaps be concerned that he can't even name the place where they stand, except that he doesn't care. It also reminds him of that terrible movie, City of Angels, and Balthazar shudders.
To his horror, Castiel actually turns to the horizon, his coat blown wildly about him in the strong wind and Balthazar realises it's cold where they are. No fruit cocktails or bikinis. And Balthazar feels vaguely ridiculous.
Last ditch effort then; "Oh, I see how it is," he says, holding his arms out. "Why don't we go and stalk the Winchesters then? We can hide ourselves, watch Dean take a shower perhaps?"
It's nothing so petty as jealousy, though he knows there are angels among the ranks of Castiel's followers who would gladly see the Winchester brothers dead for the attention Castiel pays to them and not to Heaven. For Balthazar, there is no need for jealousy, because he knows that he will always know Castiel better than the Winchesters could ever hope to. They can't even look upon him without their little human eyes burning out of their skulls. It's beneath Balthazar to even think he could be second to such beings.
It is obsession that Balthazar sees in Castiel though, a devotion and loyalty more than they deserve, and there is no way it can end well for Castiel. Or perhaps for any of them, himself included.
He is not surprised, then, when it is this that gets Castiel to turn to him, his human face twisted in fury and his grace heavy and dark with all the parts of him that have become so twisted up with those humans over the past few years. "What is your purpose here, Balthazar?" he spits. "Why do you hound me?"
Castiel has always been an intensely private creature, has always had very little patience, but these days he is so full of anger that sometimes Balthazar fears for the future. Too many disappointments, too little hope, and not enough sex. Castiel feels too much, Balthazar thinks; already he regrets things they haven't even done yet.
"I hound you," Balthazar says slowly, "Because you never stop. You're going to get yourself killed. You're going to get me killed."
There's a fine mist rolling in and Balthazar can taste the sea, can feel the fine drizzle starting to fall. It's a perfect backdrop for this conversation, miserable and cold and hideously tedious. Balthazar wonders if anyone has ever told Castiel he is infuriatingly stubborn before. Or rather, he wonders if the Winchesters have ever told him that, because no angel would have. For all that has changed, for all the freedom Castiel expounds, most still follow, unquestioning and faithful, and for the most part Balthazar thinks this is for the best.
"I have survived this long," Castiel argues, and it is true that if there is one thing Castiel is good at, it's surviving. He came back from Hell whilst most of their garrison did not. He came back from Falling, which no angel has ever done before. He came back from death.
But Balthazar is not naive enough to believe he will be resurrected a third time, and Balthazar knows Castiel isn't either. Especially now, after all that they have done.
"And you look in such fine form, my friend," Balthazar laughs without much humour. "A strong breeze would not at all be able to knock you over right now."
Balthazar is sure that Castiel is going to argue back, or perhaps he will fly away again and they will repeat this argument across every continent of the Earth until Castiel is so exhausted he can no longer even lift his wings. But then he just seems to sag, the part of him that is not a physical thing retreating inside his vessel so that Castiel looks smaller, less himself.
"If I stop," Castiel says. He pauses, looks at Balthazar, unsure and very obviously unhappy, before admitting, "If I stop, then I will have time to think."
To regret, Balthazar thinks he means. To reconsider. To doubt. To feel guilt.
"Why do you think I seek pleasure?" Balthazar asks him. Admissions like this are not usually his style, but the setting is right; the drizzle is turning to rain and there's thunder in the air. It's like a scene before the final fight in any action movie where the hero has misgivings, doesn't believe in himself, and someone has to remind him what he's fighting for. That he can do this because he must. Except Balthazar isn't so sure they're the heroes in this story, and there's no world in which Castiel forgets what's at stake. Whether Balthazar believes they can win this or not is a question he doesn't allow himself to dwell on. "I can forget," he says, even though it's a lie. "I can be free."
There's too much space between them so Balthazar moves closer, and Castiel's eyes follow him warily. He doesn't remember Castiel being so distrustful. But then, from what Balthazar can see- from what Castiel isn't saying- he was stabbed not long ago by one of his closest lieutenants and that had to hurt. Castiel has to know though that Balthazar isn't like them, not least because he doesn't actually care. Stones crunch together under the weight of his shoes.
"I have nowhere to go," Castiel says dejectedly, and oh, Balthazar knows that isn't true.
He lifts his arms, puts his hands on Castiel's shoulders, rocks him forwards and backwards teasingly.
"Those brothers-" Balthazar forces himself to say, because he hates them, a little, but this is what Castiel needs and he's not so much of a bastard to ignore that. Castiel frowns at him, looks as though he's on the verge of berating Balthazar for bringing them up again, but Balthazar rides right over his brother's protests. "Those brothers," he repeats more loudly. "Would welcome you." He looks to the sky and rain falls in his eyes, making him blink. "They're driving, you will be unsurprised to hear. Along I-55 just outside Springfield, Illinois." He looks back at Castiel. "You really should teach them how to ward that car of theirs."
Balthazar refuses to think that Castiel and the Winchesters- and Dean- are enmeshed in some horribly trite romantic comedy, bred with a road-trip movie and brought up on horror because there is very little in their relationship to laugh about. Except perhaps their mutual obliviousness. Or denial. Whichever. Balthazar is also aware of the horror genre cliché that it is always the virgins who die first.
Castiel looks unsure, but Balthazar can tell he wants to go. "How can I go to them when I-"
"You can go to them," Balthazar interrupts, "Because you must." Did he really say that? he wonders. Yes, he actually said that. Castiel is giving him a truly unimpressed look. "What I meant," Balthazar clarifies, "is that you want to go, so go. While you have the chance." From a plane of existence entirely too close for Balthazar's liking he can hear his brethren clamouring for attention. "I'll take care of the kids," he adds, grimacing and thinking, oh, the things I do for you, Castiel.
A hint of a smile crosses Castiel's face and Balthazar knows he heard him.
"See to it that Heaven is still standing when I return, Balthazar," Castiel says. It should not be this surprising how easy it was to convince Castiel. That Castiel would rather spend time with two hopeless, pitiable humans than his own kind does not bode well for Castiel's sanity. Whatever they have, whatever is between them, Balthazar is sure it will not end well. Humans and angels were never meant to mix.
And when it does, when Dean does something unforgivable, or turns Castiel away, or decides Castiel has done something he can't forgive, then Balthazar will be there to pick up the pieces.
He can't decide if that makes him the faithful friend or the opportunistic schemer, but whatever. He can't help that it is the truth.
Balthazar tells Castiel, "I will keep them in line, and send them to bed without any supper if they are naughty. Now go."
He likes this beach, he decides. It's dramatic. Atmospheric. But he is not so very keen on the way his jacket has become heavy with rain, or the way water runs freely through his shoes. So he turns Castiel towards the sea and almost bids him fly away home. Except Balthazar is sure the effort would be lost on Castiel.
Castiel resists his gentle push. "You had a meeting," he remembers.
Balthazar assures him, "It's all arranged."
"When it is done, you will tell me the outcome," Castiel insists. Stubborn. Yes, this is the very best word to describe Castiel.
"I will. Now go before I take you to a particularly fine house of ill repute I know in Paris."
And then, Castiel is gone, leaving only vague imprints on the stones that had been beneath his feet. There is nothing quite like the threat of a brothel to encourage him to move.
For a moment Balthazar allows himself to think of the plush cushions and silk sheets of that excellent establishment, of the comfort of warmth and flesh. A whole other world from this beach, or from Heaven for that matter. His home. Their home. Though not so much anymore.
If there is one thing Balthazar has learnt from his time on Earth it is that you can never trust a human, so Balthazar looks in on Castiel, to be sure, and he hears Dean ask, "You want to rest?" He sounds surprised, but not hostile nor discomfited.
From the backseat, Castiel replies. "Just for a while."
"No, man, it's cool." Dean is looking at Sam out the corner of his eye and they are both concerned. That is enough for Balthazar.
It is near midnight behind the Curzon where Balthazar has arranged to meet a witch about a weapon. Once he is done, he will kill the witch, and it will be a very great shame because he is an attractive, strong human, full of life and desires and needs. But Balthazar will not regret it, as Castiel would- as Castiel will- because this is not a movie. There will be no redemption. There will be no grand finale. There will only ever be endless war. Endless fighting. Endless deals and guilt and secrets piled one on top of another. And in that time, Balthazar will take what pleasure he can, what joy he can find, wherever he can find it.
And for Castiel, he will wait.
.END.
Comments and concrit welcomed and appreciated. And now to return to what i'm supposed to be doing. Possibly.
Title: On Film
Rating: PG-13
Words: 3,719
Summary: Castiel, Balthazar, with Dean/Cas undertones and possibly some one-sided Balthazar/Castiel. Post 6x18. Balthazar's life is not a movie.
Thanks to cienna for her speedy beta and her appreciation for nuns.
.On Film.
In the short time Balthazar has been on Earth he has come to love the movies, and every chance he gets he finds a theatre somewhere. He's been to them all; multiplexes with ridiculously comfortable rocking seats filled with groups of teenagers, trendy, glass-walled art houses that play things no one actually wants to watch, worn, old cinemas with faded velvet-red seats on the verge of being condemned, and village halls filled with plastic chairs and a terrible sound system. They are all the same, and they have taught him so many things about humans.
Not how they are or how they live or anything inane like that, but rather how they want to be. How they want to see themselves. It made finding humans willing to give up their souls an easy thing, because he learned to understand just how far they could be pushed, how easily they gave in to vengeance and hatred. How embarrassingly easily their choices could be moulded to his purpose.
Balthazar has also learnt to appreciate cliché, plot device, emotional cues and setting, and he wonders if he has been watching too many noir movies when he says to his contact, "Midnight, in the alley behind the Curzon," and sees the witch give him a disbelieving look.
"What?" he snaps, because he thought he'd sounded pretty damn cool, and why the hell shouldn't he have fun anyway? What's the point of saving this sin-ridden, pointless little world if he can't enjoy it. "You want to meet in the fruit aisle at Wal-Mart? We can discuss how we're going to curse a town full of first-borns while we pick out bananas."
The witch's lips curl up in distaste, maybe anger, and Balthazar has decided he likes humans when they're angry. They do all sorts of interesting things.
He smiles, and offers, "Or we can just skip the meeting part and you can come back to mine. I have a lovely place. Anywhere you like. Big, small, tropical, arctic. Your wish could be my command." Balthazar raises his eyebrows in the exaggerated way he's seen humans do in movies when they're trying to entice someone into bed. He doesn't believe it will actually work, but he has nothing to lose, and he does so enjoy trying new approaches to human sexuality. Next, Balthazar is contemplating online dating.
Regretfully, but predictably, the witch gives him a sour look and says, "I'll be there." It's a fine view as he walks away, and Balthazar lingers to fully appreciate the moment. He thinks that he would like to find a ridiculous hat and a long coat for the meeting, just to see how this human will react, but long coats will only ever now remind him of Castiel. Virginous, repressed Castiel, who has yet to partake of the finer fruits of humanity.
There is a little time before he has a rendezvous to keep- and not the good kind involving hot, sweaty naked bodies either- so Balthazar decides to find Castiel. It has been some days since he last saw his brother and Balthazar knows that if he doesn't induce Castiel to rest, even if only for a few moments, then no one else will.
He tries the Winchesters first, because there is always a good chance of finding poor hopelessly-devoted Castiel with them. Balthazar grimaces at how much he hates that song.
They are loud, and even though Castiel has hidden them well, Balthazar- and anyone who has had dealings with them in even the vaguest of manners- knows that they are almost always to be found at Bobby Singer's home. It is a solid-built house, with a long history Balthazar doesn't think even Bobby knows, and enough warding magic to make even the toughest demons cry. All of it is nothing to an angel, and surely enough, there are the brothers speaking to each other in hushed voices over the kitchen table whilst Bobby sleeps on the couch. No Castiel, but Balthazar can sense his grace and blood spilled over the wall and the floor and Bobby's hands. Something cold and strange settles in Balthazar's being and he wonders if it is anger or worry or panic.
He finds himself calling to Castiel, and tries to ignore the impatience, the very strong desire to reveal himself and demand to know what happened from the Winchesters. And if they didn't want to tell him- because they were contrary, over-confident little bastards- he would damn well make them. But then he hears Castiel's reply, and he sounds very much alive, and very pissed. Balthazar flies to his side as quickly as he can and finds Castiel on a far border of Heaven where reality almost touches the celestial and angels are half-formed things, part human shape, part angel being. The landscape is potential. Unreal. Balthazar doesn't like the borderlands. No one would ever set a movie in such an unfinished, nonsensical place as this. And Balthazar has always found these places cold, and dangerous. What Castiel is doing here Balthazar is not sure he wants to know.
He arrives to catch the tail end of an argument.
"-would be no point without it," one of Castiel's lieutenants says. Most of Castiel's followers, Balthazar has noticed, are young and entirely too dedicated. Zealots, Balthazar thinks with disgust, and ensures his entrance is as pointlessly flamboyant and disruptive as he can. He feels their annoyance, their dislike, and it makes Balthazar want to laugh. He wishes he could laugh in this ridiculous non-place, but all he can do is feel amused, and he makes sure the others can feel it too.
"Cassie," Balthazar greets, ignoring the others. They are vying for attention. They bring battle-plans and questions and are apparently incapable of doing anything for themselves. Castiel is weary and hiding it.
Absently, Castiel greets him in return before going back to the argument. There aren't enough angels. Raphael has taken the Fourth Heaven. The weapons won't be enough. Someone can't tie their own shoelace blah blah blah.
Castiel, Balthazar thinks, really needs to learn to delegate.
"Today," he announces over the din of a hundred angels singing in inharmonious frustration, "We're going to try something new."
They look at him, expectant, and only Cas looks at him with the wariness of someone who knows what trying something new usually means for Balthazar. As though he would incite an orgy with this lot of sanctimonious nuns. Whilst Balthazar has nothing against nuns- they can, often, be really very sensual and giving once you get to know them- he has better things to do with his time.
"Today," he repeats, for effect, and thinks and of all the pious, absurd speeches he has heard in movies, "We're going to try something called thought. I know you can all do it. You thought the former regime were correct when they cut off our current gallant leader from Heaven and doomed him to Fall. You thought it was wrong to follow Raphael. Now think for yourselves some more and fuck off."
"Balthazar," Castiel says warningly.
"They can do without you for a few hours." Balthazar doesn't give him a choice to protest, instead grabbing him by the not-quite-an-arm and dragging him away, to Earth, where he can be less of an almost-being and more of an actual one. He finds he's glad to be back in his vessel, comfortable like it's his own skin when it's not even close. He likes the touch and the taste, the smell and the sounds, and it's good to feel Castiel's warm skin against his.
They're on the deck of a cruise liner in the Caribbean, and Balthazar wonders if this is his subconscious trying to be funny with him about the whole Titanic thing.
There are no icebergs for thousands of miles though, only hot sun and tropical drinks and scantily clad humans and Balthazar decides he likes this place very much. Castiel, however, looks uncomfortable and decidedly out of place in his heavy coat. Though Castiel, Balthazar has noticed, looks out of place almost everywhere these days.
"That was not helpful," Castiel says, but he doesn't sound all that upset about it. Nor does he try to leave.
"And they were? My dearest Cas, we're not going to win any wars if your minions can't make a simple decision without you holding their hands." Castiel's shoulders sag and he looks away towards the clear, blue sea around them. A waitress passes by and Balthazar gives her a smile. He sees that she is unattached and interested and has a fascinating penchant for ribbons. But Balthazar is here for a reason, and with regret he must send her away, taking the pineapple cocktail concoction she is carrying from her tray. He takes a sip, and it's too sweet, but he drinks it anyway. There's alcohol in here somewhere; Balthazar can taste it, and he means to find it all. "You need to relax," Balthazar says. He sees the bend of Castiel's back and the way he favours his right side. "And you might want to avoid battle until you're healed."
"I'm fine," Castiel says, meeting his eyes and managing to be completely unconvincing.
Balthazar gives Castiel a stern look. "You might be able to hide it from your adoring fans, but you can't hide it from me, brother."
Castiel says nothing, but he doesn't look away. Balthazar goes on, "Only an angel's blade could have done that to you, and Rachel-"
"We're not discussing this," Castiel cuts him off, turns as if to go, but Balthazar catches his arm and holds him back.
"Then we won't." It's not like Balthazar cares. He knows what has to be done, even if the others don't understand, and he knows that Castiel feels the weight of his choices more keenly than most of them will ever comprehend. More than any of them will ever be required to comprehend, because they still get to follow, to be good little soldiers just like they've always been. They might hold Castiel as some shining example of free will, but none of them actually get what it really means to make a choice and then to have to live with the consequences.
Rachel, dedicated to the last, righteous- Balthazar is sure- to the end. But Castiel is the one still standing.
"We can find ourselves a party," Balthazar suggests. "Or make one of our own. Castiel, you're missing out on so much fun."
"I have more important things to do," Castiel argues and shakes Balthazar's hand away. "And I don't like boats."
He flies, and Balthazar follows, because like this Castiel is going to wear himself into the ground. He lands on the trail along the side of Roraima, luscious thick jungle around them, clinging to the sheer sides of the mountain.
Castiel sighs dramatically. "Balthazar-"
"No parties then. We can go out, just us two. Hit up some bars. Get drunk. Puke in alleyways. I hear it's all the rage these days."
And Balthazar knows some truly hedonistic places where true peace is indeed to be found between the thighs of talented, imaginative women and men.
"No, Balthazar," Castiel says dismissively, and Balthazar can see that he efforts are serving only to anger Castiel. He flies again, but Balthazar is not one to give up so very easily.
When they return to earth so close to the waterline along a stony, grey beach that Balthazar is afraid his shoes will get wet he suggests, "Fine. We can stand enigmatically and watch the sunrise. Or sunset. Whatever it is here." Balthazar considers that he should perhaps be concerned that he can't even name the place where they stand, except that he doesn't care. It also reminds him of that terrible movie, City of Angels, and Balthazar shudders.
To his horror, Castiel actually turns to the horizon, his coat blown wildly about him in the strong wind and Balthazar realises it's cold where they are. No fruit cocktails or bikinis. And Balthazar feels vaguely ridiculous.
Last ditch effort then; "Oh, I see how it is," he says, holding his arms out. "Why don't we go and stalk the Winchesters then? We can hide ourselves, watch Dean take a shower perhaps?"
It's nothing so petty as jealousy, though he knows there are angels among the ranks of Castiel's followers who would gladly see the Winchester brothers dead for the attention Castiel pays to them and not to Heaven. For Balthazar, there is no need for jealousy, because he knows that he will always know Castiel better than the Winchesters could ever hope to. They can't even look upon him without their little human eyes burning out of their skulls. It's beneath Balthazar to even think he could be second to such beings.
It is obsession that Balthazar sees in Castiel though, a devotion and loyalty more than they deserve, and there is no way it can end well for Castiel. Or perhaps for any of them, himself included.
He is not surprised, then, when it is this that gets Castiel to turn to him, his human face twisted in fury and his grace heavy and dark with all the parts of him that have become so twisted up with those humans over the past few years. "What is your purpose here, Balthazar?" he spits. "Why do you hound me?"
Castiel has always been an intensely private creature, has always had very little patience, but these days he is so full of anger that sometimes Balthazar fears for the future. Too many disappointments, too little hope, and not enough sex. Castiel feels too much, Balthazar thinks; already he regrets things they haven't even done yet.
"I hound you," Balthazar says slowly, "Because you never stop. You're going to get yourself killed. You're going to get me killed."
There's a fine mist rolling in and Balthazar can taste the sea, can feel the fine drizzle starting to fall. It's a perfect backdrop for this conversation, miserable and cold and hideously tedious. Balthazar wonders if anyone has ever told Castiel he is infuriatingly stubborn before. Or rather, he wonders if the Winchesters have ever told him that, because no angel would have. For all that has changed, for all the freedom Castiel expounds, most still follow, unquestioning and faithful, and for the most part Balthazar thinks this is for the best.
"I have survived this long," Castiel argues, and it is true that if there is one thing Castiel is good at, it's surviving. He came back from Hell whilst most of their garrison did not. He came back from Falling, which no angel has ever done before. He came back from death.
But Balthazar is not naive enough to believe he will be resurrected a third time, and Balthazar knows Castiel isn't either. Especially now, after all that they have done.
"And you look in such fine form, my friend," Balthazar laughs without much humour. "A strong breeze would not at all be able to knock you over right now."
Balthazar is sure that Castiel is going to argue back, or perhaps he will fly away again and they will repeat this argument across every continent of the Earth until Castiel is so exhausted he can no longer even lift his wings. But then he just seems to sag, the part of him that is not a physical thing retreating inside his vessel so that Castiel looks smaller, less himself.
"If I stop," Castiel says. He pauses, looks at Balthazar, unsure and very obviously unhappy, before admitting, "If I stop, then I will have time to think."
To regret, Balthazar thinks he means. To reconsider. To doubt. To feel guilt.
"Why do you think I seek pleasure?" Balthazar asks him. Admissions like this are not usually his style, but the setting is right; the drizzle is turning to rain and there's thunder in the air. It's like a scene before the final fight in any action movie where the hero has misgivings, doesn't believe in himself, and someone has to remind him what he's fighting for. That he can do this because he must. Except Balthazar isn't so sure they're the heroes in this story, and there's no world in which Castiel forgets what's at stake. Whether Balthazar believes they can win this or not is a question he doesn't allow himself to dwell on. "I can forget," he says, even though it's a lie. "I can be free."
There's too much space between them so Balthazar moves closer, and Castiel's eyes follow him warily. He doesn't remember Castiel being so distrustful. But then, from what Balthazar can see- from what Castiel isn't saying- he was stabbed not long ago by one of his closest lieutenants and that had to hurt. Castiel has to know though that Balthazar isn't like them, not least because he doesn't actually care. Stones crunch together under the weight of his shoes.
"I have nowhere to go," Castiel says dejectedly, and oh, Balthazar knows that isn't true.
He lifts his arms, puts his hands on Castiel's shoulders, rocks him forwards and backwards teasingly.
"Those brothers-" Balthazar forces himself to say, because he hates them, a little, but this is what Castiel needs and he's not so much of a bastard to ignore that. Castiel frowns at him, looks as though he's on the verge of berating Balthazar for bringing them up again, but Balthazar rides right over his brother's protests. "Those brothers," he repeats more loudly. "Would welcome you." He looks to the sky and rain falls in his eyes, making him blink. "They're driving, you will be unsurprised to hear. Along I-55 just outside Springfield, Illinois." He looks back at Castiel. "You really should teach them how to ward that car of theirs."
Balthazar refuses to think that Castiel and the Winchesters- and Dean- are enmeshed in some horribly trite romantic comedy, bred with a road-trip movie and brought up on horror because there is very little in their relationship to laugh about. Except perhaps their mutual obliviousness. Or denial. Whichever. Balthazar is also aware of the horror genre cliché that it is always the virgins who die first.
Castiel looks unsure, but Balthazar can tell he wants to go. "How can I go to them when I-"
"You can go to them," Balthazar interrupts, "Because you must." Did he really say that? he wonders. Yes, he actually said that. Castiel is giving him a truly unimpressed look. "What I meant," Balthazar clarifies, "is that you want to go, so go. While you have the chance." From a plane of existence entirely too close for Balthazar's liking he can hear his brethren clamouring for attention. "I'll take care of the kids," he adds, grimacing and thinking, oh, the things I do for you, Castiel.
A hint of a smile crosses Castiel's face and Balthazar knows he heard him.
"See to it that Heaven is still standing when I return, Balthazar," Castiel says. It should not be this surprising how easy it was to convince Castiel. That Castiel would rather spend time with two hopeless, pitiable humans than his own kind does not bode well for Castiel's sanity. Whatever they have, whatever is between them, Balthazar is sure it will not end well. Humans and angels were never meant to mix.
And when it does, when Dean does something unforgivable, or turns Castiel away, or decides Castiel has done something he can't forgive, then Balthazar will be there to pick up the pieces.
He can't decide if that makes him the faithful friend or the opportunistic schemer, but whatever. He can't help that it is the truth.
Balthazar tells Castiel, "I will keep them in line, and send them to bed without any supper if they are naughty. Now go."
He likes this beach, he decides. It's dramatic. Atmospheric. But he is not so very keen on the way his jacket has become heavy with rain, or the way water runs freely through his shoes. So he turns Castiel towards the sea and almost bids him fly away home. Except Balthazar is sure the effort would be lost on Castiel.
Castiel resists his gentle push. "You had a meeting," he remembers.
Balthazar assures him, "It's all arranged."
"When it is done, you will tell me the outcome," Castiel insists. Stubborn. Yes, this is the very best word to describe Castiel.
"I will. Now go before I take you to a particularly fine house of ill repute I know in Paris."
And then, Castiel is gone, leaving only vague imprints on the stones that had been beneath his feet. There is nothing quite like the threat of a brothel to encourage him to move.
For a moment Balthazar allows himself to think of the plush cushions and silk sheets of that excellent establishment, of the comfort of warmth and flesh. A whole other world from this beach, or from Heaven for that matter. His home. Their home. Though not so much anymore.
If there is one thing Balthazar has learnt from his time on Earth it is that you can never trust a human, so Balthazar looks in on Castiel, to be sure, and he hears Dean ask, "You want to rest?" He sounds surprised, but not hostile nor discomfited.
From the backseat, Castiel replies. "Just for a while."
"No, man, it's cool." Dean is looking at Sam out the corner of his eye and they are both concerned. That is enough for Balthazar.
It is near midnight behind the Curzon where Balthazar has arranged to meet a witch about a weapon. Once he is done, he will kill the witch, and it will be a very great shame because he is an attractive, strong human, full of life and desires and needs. But Balthazar will not regret it, as Castiel would- as Castiel will- because this is not a movie. There will be no redemption. There will be no grand finale. There will only ever be endless war. Endless fighting. Endless deals and guilt and secrets piled one on top of another. And in that time, Balthazar will take what pleasure he can, what joy he can find, wherever he can find it.
And for Castiel, he will wait.
.END.
Comments and concrit welcomed and appreciated. And now to return to what i'm supposed to be doing. Possibly.