In the Blood (Los Desaparecidos, Chapter 3 of 6)
Title: In the Blood (Los Desaparecidos, Chapter 3 of 6)
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel (eventually); Sam, Bobby, Rufus, Ellen, Jo, Crowley
Warnings: AU. Cursing. Some hints of Dean/Jo, so if you loathe that pairing, steer clear.
Word Count: 4,700 this chapter
Summary: A dystopian AU where the United States is an authoritarian regime run by mysterious overlords. John Winchester disappeared when Sam and Dean were very young so the boys were not raised as hunters. Then Dean has a chance encounter with a strange homeless man who may be more than he seems.
Notes: Crowley’s song (yes you read that right) in this chapter is based on “I Just Can’t Wait to be King,” from The Lion King. I don’t have any rights to that, but I don’t have any rights to Supernatural either. So there.
It was chilly in the bedroom, so she grabbed his Metallica T shirt from where it was crumpled on the floor and pulled it over her head before she tip-toed out to the kitchen, intending to seek out some coffee. She spared one glance over her shoulder: he was still snoring away.
The kitchen was a bit of a mess. No, actually it looked like it had been hit by a twister. And a tidal wave. And maybe a rain of frogs or something. It was a nice big kitchen, or had been nice, at one point. It was all open, with what must have once been a skylight up in the high celing. There was a bar in the middle, and spaces to hang your pots and pans.
But that had been before. Back when the rest of the houses on this cul-de-sac had been occupied by up and coming young families: ones who didn’t mind commuting to the city in their SUVs if it meant a big house and a yard for the kids to play in.
There were no kids out playing now. The other houses in the tract had been abandoned long ago, and this house, whether by accident or design, now looked like it had been boarded up, with heavy curtains over the few remaining glass windows and a yard that looked like the aftermath of tank warfare.
It took some time to locate a coffee maker and all its parts in the mess, and then she somehow managed to find a bag of coffee and finally an actual functional electrical outlet. She figured this guy must have a generator somewhere, because there was no way this housing tract was still hooked up to utilities. The tap water was a little brown, but it turned out OK if you let it run for a little while. She stifled a yawn as she finally heard the satisfying thrum of brewing coffee. She swept aside some pizza boxes and hopped up on the cluttered island counter to await caffeination.
She heard the creak of footsteps behind her and smiled and turned around, but the grin on her face suddenly froze.
“Hello. I'm Cas,” said the grungy looking homeless guy who was suddenly standing in the middle of Dean Winchester's kitchen.
“Cas-”
“I apologize deeply if the young lady was upset by my presence,” said Castiel contritely.
Dean was holding back the front blackout curtain with two fingers. He watched the vehicle roar out of the driveway, somewhat wishing that he could recall the girl's name correctly. Was it Sandy, or Sally? He had really tied one on last night, and things were murky. He let the curtain drop back, sighed and turned back to Castiel.
“Look, I'm getting used to your weird angel stuff, but you might wanna knock first. You know, in case I have visitors.”
“I will remember that in the future, Dean.”
Dean bustled over to the counter and poured himself a cup of the coffee she had prepared. Sandy or Sally had been in such a hurry to leave, she hadn't even bothered to get some for herself. “Want coffee?” he asked Castiel, already knowing the answer.
“I do not require coffee,” said Castiel.
Dean filled a second mug anyway. “I'd feel better if someone was drinking with me. Come on.”
Castiel scowled, but took the mug anyway. Dean rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a flask. He poured a splash into his coffee cup. “Hair of the dog?” he asked Castiel.
Castiel’s frown wrinkles deepened. “What do canines have to do with alcoholic beverages?”
Dean shook his head and spiked the angel’s coffee. Maybe if he got the bastard a little tipsy?
Castiel took the mug and sniffed it. “Alcohol has little effect on me, I’m afraid. Nor does caffeine, nor any of the other chemicals present in this mixture.”
“Humor me,” said Dean. “Drink your chemical mixture.”
Castiel gave that queer “what the fuck is the human talking about now” head tilt, and then sipped his own coffee.
“Cas, why do you put up with me, anyway?” asked Dean.
“What do you mean, Dean?”
Dean gestured around the kitchen. “I’m a drunk, and I sleep with women pretty much indiscriminately.”
“I don’t understand. How is that my concern?” asked Castiel, leaning forward and looking concerned.
“Um, you’re an angel, right? Don’t you guys tend to go all flaming sword-y over sin and that kinda shit?”
“I am not authorized to carry a flaming sword. I am of a lower order,” Castiel explained.
“But I’m sinning, right?” prompted Dean, who hopped up on a stool. He gestured for Castiel to do the same.
Castiel sat facing Dean, cradling his coffee mug in both hands as if it were a sacred relic. “As for alcoholic beverages, our Lord and Savior turned water into wine,” he said thoughtfully. “I do not understand the human need for sexual relations, but the matter of what you do with your genitals is not of my concern.”
“Really?”
“It is love, is it not?” asked Castiel, who actually seemed curious.
It was Dean’s turn to frown. “So, uh, you guys don’t have sex? How do you have, you know, the little baby angels?”
“Little baby angels?” asked Castiel, his face made of puzzlement.
“Sure, you know, like on the Valentines cards!” As Castiel looked even more baffled, Dean leaned over, rooted through the top layer of detritus on the counter, and pulled out the stack of mail underneath well-thumbed copy of Busty Asian Babes. He flipped through a few envelopes, and grabbed one, extracting the card inside and showing it to Castiel.
Castiel scowled. “Is this a human representation of my kind? Why would they wield a bow and arrow? It seems … antiquated.”
“They’re supposed to shoot people in the heart,” said Dean, miming the loosing of an arrow. “That’s how you fall in love!”
Castiel blinked and then stared in astonishment. “These…. These are supposed to be cupids?” he asked.
“Not accurate?” smiled Dean.
“Cupids are at least 200 pounds heavier. And they do not bother to wear underclothes.”
“Euch,” said Dean, wrinkling his nose.
“Yes, euch,” agreed Castiel, tossing down the card in disgust.
Dean shook his head and smiled as the mix of Scotch whiskey and caffeine cleared the haze in his head. He was getting used to the “everything you know is wrong,” effect, as he was getting used to weird ass shit like having a coffee klatch with an angel.
In the month since Castiel had introduced him to Bobby Singer and his group of hunters Dean had accompanied the crew on several outings as they criss-crossed the Northwest in search of the unnatural. To his relief, none of the jobs had ended in a complete clusterfuck like the exorcism Bobby and Ellen had attempted that first evening. On the contrary, in their element, the hunters were maddeningly skillful. And Dean had learned his head was absolutely and utterly crammed with misinformation. They had gone after vampires in Oregon: the vamps were not romantic at all, but rather sort of gross and smelly. They had extinguished a pack of werewolves in the plains of Montana aided by only silver bullets and some nice, juicy steaks. And in Wyoming, they had also gone against wendigos, a word Dean had previously believed to refer to some kind of recreational vehicle.
It was actually pretty fascinating, and everybody agreed Dean had a knack for it. He saw the use in what he was doing: it was pretty obvious the hunters were stretched a bit thin. But he was also curious. Castiel had hinted a time or two that Dean was fated for some grand destiny. Well, it was satisfying, taking up his father’s trade, but he wasn’t too certain about the grandness of it all.
There was another nagging doubt: Ellen Harvelle’s pretty daughter, Jo, who was another hunter, made no secret that she was interested in Dean. He had been flattered at first. It had been a while since he’d been with what he considered a real live “nice” girl. But he wasn’t sure if he was out of practice,or just a dumb ass, because all he could think about were excuses to brush her off.
Not that Dean was some great prize: as he had been trying to explain to Cas, he was a drinker, a womanizer, and if by some miracle he ever happened to find himself with a nice family, he was probably fated to up and ditch them, as his dad had done.
But Dean stirred from his reverie when Cas awkwardly cleared his throat.
“I had thought,” said Castiel, who was now staring into his coffee cup, “that the time has come to introduce you to, uh, an … associate of mine.”
“Cas?” said Dean. That was weird: the body language and the stumbling were all wrong. If anything, Castiel usually came off too frank with Dean.
Castiel met Dean’s eyes, but the quickly looked away. He looked abashed. “He’s … someone I’m working with.”
“Cas, what is it? I’ve told you, no more angelic gobbledy gook.”
“Gobble-“
“You want me to come meet your guy? Tell me straight.”
Castiel put down his coffee mug. “You know that the hunters do not approve of angels?” asked Castiel.
Dean nodded, rolling his eyes. Oh, boy, did he know! One of his biggest missteps so far had been trying to bring up the topic with Bobby. The old hunter had set off on a rant that it had taken both Ellen and Rufus to finally quell. Bobby had proudly displayed to Dean the warding signs he had painted all over the compound to repel angels. Cas had later explained that Bobby’s penmanship was sort of crap, so the sigils (Dean seemed to remember they were in a language called Enochian) had no effect.
“Bobby would skin you alive and then probably set you on fire if he knew,” said Dean as Cas cringed. “So is this guy another angel?”
“Well, uh. Sort of the opposite, Dean.”
“Cas! You’re not working with a demon?”
Castiel looked sheepish. “I am working with a demon. And he would very much like to meet you.”
“Holy fuck!”
“It is…. It is what you humans call a long story. I can promise you this, Dean Winchester: if you come with me now, no harm shall befall you.”
Dean shook his head. “All right. Well, just let me know when this character-“
“Now.”
“What?” asked Dean.
“He would like to meet now,” said Castiel.
“Impatient bastard. How far away?”
“I will fly you there, so the journey will be nearly instantaneous,” said Castiel.
“You’ll … what?” asked Dean.
Castiel smiled impishly and made little flapping motions with his hands.
“You can do that?” asked Dean.
Castiel nodded. “I’m an angel. Remember?”
Dean hopped down from his stool. “Hell yeah then. Lemme just go get some pants on,” he said, sprinting for the bedroom.
Angel rides? he thought. Fuck yeah….
Dean stumbled, and felt Castiel's hand on his elbow, steadying him.
It had been exhilarating. Flight. Strong arms around him. The steady rhythm of wingbeats.
He noticed Cas was staring at him. “Are you all right, Dean? It can be … disorienting. The first time.”
Dean realized he was wearing a big loopy smile on his face. He tried rearranging his features into something more dignified. “No. I'm fine. That was cool.” Fresh air. The wind in his face. It was more than cool.
Dean took a look around at where they landed, inside of someone's house. Someone's mansion, actually. He suddenly found himself regretting that he had grabbed on whatever clothes he had found heaped on the floor, including the Metallica T shirt Sally or Sandy had discarded. He felt badly underdressed: this place was posh.
“Just one thing I should warn your about,” whispered Castiel.
“Yeah, what's that?” asked Dean.
“Don't.... If you can help it, don't get him talking about being King,” whispered Castiel. “He tends to … go on about it.”
But before Dean could ask why, a cultured voice rang out. “Castiel! My fine feathered friend. If I knew you were coming I'd have baked a cake! Or at least had out some birdseed.”
“I do not need refreshment,” Castiel told him. “Crowley. As you have requested, this is Dean Winchester.”
“Ah!” said the demon. He looked like a well preserved middle-aged guy, though Dean now knew that only meant he had possessed a middle-aged man. He was wearing a nice looking suit, and sported a rather jaunty eyepatch. “You must be Dean Winchester. Of the Winchesters. Your reputation precedes you!” His one remaining eye twinkled.
“What reputation?” asked Dean. “I'm just a mechanic. When I'm not on a bender.”
“A plain spoken man! How delightful!” said Crowley, coming over to put a hand on Dean's shoulder.
Dean suddenly jerked, feeling himself goosed in the ass by what sure seemed like a big, friendly dog. He whirled around, only to see nothing.
“What was that?” he asked.
“Oh, now, my puppy likes you! Isn't that nice!” Crowley was now making patting motions on what looked like thin air.
“It's his Hell Hound, Dean,” supplied Castiel. “You're mortal, so you won't be able to see it.”
“You have … an invisible dog?” asked Dean. It was annoying, but he had to admit, it was cool.
“Well of course I do, don’t I, precious?” asked Crowley, who was now evidently kissing the invisible dog. “You run off and play now!” Crowley reached over to a platter and pulled up what looked like the haunch from a good sized horse and playfully tossed the thing in the air. There was a snapping sound, and the thing disappeared in mid-air. There was then the sound of running paws. Ginormous running paws.
“Ulp,” said Dean, who looked to Castiel. Castiel nodded.
“So, you’re a demon?” asked Dean.
“Oh, he is a quick little thing, isn’t he?” Crowley asked Castiel, picking up another haunch. “Did you want to reward him with a little treat?”
“Crowley. Enough joking,” said Castiel.
“That’s right, you never did quite grasp the concept of humor, did you, love?” laughed Crowley, setting down the meat.
“I am very humorous!” insisted Castiel. “Um. For an angel.”
“You cause me great amusement,” grinned Crowley.
“Uh, so, why exactly are you guys working together?” interjected Dean.
“Ooooo! He is sharp!” clapped Crowley, adjusting his eyepatch.
“We have a mutual enemy,” supplied Castiel.
“We are not entirely enamored with the current management, you could say,” said Crowley.
“What? God?” asked Dean.
“Well, ambitious too?” asked Crowley. “I do approve of your boyfriend, and hope you shall be very happy!” said Crowley.
“The King of Hell,” explained Castiel, after casting the stinkeye at Crowley. “He is the cause of a lot of our current … difficulties.”
“He has as sparse a sense of humor as our dear little Castiel,” ticked off Crowley. “Although better fashion sense,” he acknowledged, flicking Castiel’s perpetually rumpled necktie. “Unfortunately, in addition to being merely tiresome, he is a vicious fuck. And he can’t forgive a slight. The man holds a grudge like an archangel holding in a shit.”
“Who does he have a grudge against?” asked Dean.
“Basically, all of humanity,” said Castiel.
“Oh. That’s not good,” admitted Dean.
“So besides enslaving a good portion of you lot - well, the Americans at least - which I'll admit has been mildly entertaining, he has plans to go a step further,” said Crowley.
“Meaning what?” asked Dean, looking back and forth between the demon and the angel.
“Hrm. Maybe not quite as quick as I thought,” mused Crowley.
“Genocide, Dean,” said Castiel.
“Oh, god,” said Dean. “Shit! Now it makes sense! Sammy!”
“What about Sam, Dean?” asked Castiel.
“His company! Niveus Pharmaceuticals. He’s working on something he thought was a bio warfare agent. But they’re gonna use it against us, aren't they?”
Castiel and Crowley exchanged a glance, Crowley looking almost serious. “Well, so that’s how they’re going to do it? No curses? Very modern, I suppose.”
“We don’t have a lot of time then,” said Castiel.
“Who’s doing this?” asked Dean. “Is this the guy you’re both fighting against?”
“Yeah, King of Hell, the guy is a rotter,” grumbled Crowley. “That’s why we’re gonna replace him, eh, Cassie?”
“Do not call me Cassie,” rumbled Castiel. Dean wasn’t certain, but he could almost imagine the ground shaking.
“Replace him? With who?” asked Dean, at which point Castiel slapped his on forehead in annoyance.
“What did I say?” Dean whispered.
“Here it comes,” muttered Castiel.
“What?” But before Castiel could answer, Crowley had leapt up to the top of the main staircase, where he now held a top had and a cane.
“Where is that music coming from?” asked Dean.
“He loves doing this,” sighed Castiel.
“I’m gonna be the King of Hell, I’ve got the style and flair!” sang Crowley. He had a great Broadway voice.
“You really think it’s decorous dancing on the stairs?” asked Castiel.
“Gonna make Hell a groovy place
A fresh address to live
I’m gonna chat with Robin Leach
And style on MTV cribs.”
“You’ll need to stock up more on your bling,” laughed Dean, who was amused to find himself singing.
“Oh I just can’t wait to be king!” sang Crowley, started to do a really lovely soft shoe routine on the stairs. The spotlights went up, and Dean realized that Crowley now had an entire chorus line in back of him.
A not entirely human chorus line.
“Wait,” Dean whispered to Castiel. “Are those … giraffes?”
“I told you not to encourage him,” Castiel sighed.
“Everybody look up,
Now look up more!
You’ll soon be groveling
That’s what’s in store!” sang Crowley as a bunch of elephants started to imitate the Rockettes.
“Whoa. This is like Fantasia,” Dean whispered to Castiel, who was suddenly rushing him back that he not get crushed by a hippo in a tutu.
“Oh I just can’t wait….”
“CROWLEY!” barked Castiel. And this time, Dean definitely did feel the ground shake.
Quite suddenly, all of the magical dancing animals were gone, and it was just Crowley, standing in the middle of the hallway, grinning madly.
Castiel emitted a long sigh. “The book?”
“What was wrong with the book Ellen and Bobby used the other day?” wondered Dean.
“Well, poppet, it was the wrong book, wasn’t it? Otherwise your little birdie wouldn’t have had to unbreak some necks.”
“There’s different kinds of demon exorcisms?” Dean asked.
“Oh, I know, I know, we all look alike to you!” complained Crowley, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, actually, you do. You’re all possessing humans,” Dean shot back.
“Hrm. Well, yeah, that is true,” said Crowley. “You ought witness my true form some time lad, it’s rather delightful!”
“If by delightful you mean repulsive,” said Castiel.
“Why, Castiel!” said Crowley. “You are catching on to humor.”
“I was not joking,” said Castiel, narrowing his eyes at Crowley.
“As it happens, I have the location of the right book, for which you will be grateful to me forever. And a day,” said Crowley, suddenly conjuring a little scrap of paper.
Castiel held out a hand, and the paper fluttered over to him.
“Are you gonna help us get it?” asked Dean.
“Oh, heavens no! That would make it too easy,” Crowley told them. “Just make sure your library cards are up to date. Oh, and try not to die. I know it comes so easily to your little humans.”
“Let’s go, Dean,” said Castiel, laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder.
“Toodles!” said Crowley.
But Dean was already back in his living room. Castiel was frowning at the piece of paper.
“What’s the matter?” asked Dean.
“Bobby is not going to like this,” said Castiel.
“Why not?”
“This address is in Seattle,” said Castiel. “He doesn’t like operations in the city.”
“You can’t just wink in and do it?”
“Much as I wish I could, no doubt this location has been well warded against angels.”
“Demons aren’t big angel fans, huh?” asked Dean.
“No one likes angels,” sighed Castiel. “I do not even like myself much of the time.”
Dean grinned and patted the angel on the back. “It’s not the end of the world. I go back and forth to the city all the time to see Sammy. Hey, that reminds me,” he said, taking out his cell phone. “I gotta phone him, see what’s up.”
There was a sudden crash of thunder. Castiel wandered over to the window and pushed up the blinds.
Dean took out a cell phone and hit the speed dial. He frowned and then said, “Sammy! What the fuck man? Call me.” He closed his cell phone, listening to the downpour outside.
“Is everything all right, Dean?” asked Castiel.
“Oh, Sam gets like this sometimes when he’s working. I’ll call Jess tonight and see what’s up.” Dean frowned, not entirely happy at the prospect of chatting with Sam’s wife. There was a reason he went to see his brother at work. “You wanna zap over to Bobby’s now?”
Castiel looked over from the window. “Uh. Do you mind driving in your car?” he asked, scowling at the rain.
“Can’t fly in the rain?” smiled Dean.
“I would prefer not to get my wings wet,” said Castiel, wrinkling his nose.
Dean grinned and grabbed his car keys.
Sam awoke, the feel of cold metal under his cheek, his head throbbing. He felt groggy and doped up, so it took him a moment or two to realize the pounding sensation was not all in his head. He was hearing the noise of some kind of rotor blade.
Wait. A rotor blade?
He forced his eyes open. He was lying on the floor of a helicopter - a big one, like a military vehicle. He pushed himself up on one elbow, steadying himself as even this small effort made him dizzy. The sides were both open to the sky. The floor was a mass of people, some lying on the floor, some slumped against the front of back walls. Sam tried to move up to a sitting position but felt a great weight dragging at him. He looked down at his legs. Was he injured?
“Get down!” One of the cops, the one Dean called Deathtroopers, bashed him with a rifle butt, knocking him back to the floor. Sam saw stars. Don’t pass out, he told himself. Don’t pass out.
Carefully looking around this time to make sure no one was watching, and not raising his head, he sent his hands down to feel his legs. Yes, he wore chains around his ankles. Where did these guys expect him to run off to? He was in a fucking helicopter. His fingers slipped down the links. He was chained to some kind of weight. Well, that explained why he was having trouble moving.
He cast his eyes around the interior of the helicopter. In the dim light, he could see the others were chained up too. Madness. What did they think they were doing?
And then the pitch of the rotor blades changed, and he felt the floor moving under him. They were tilting, turning.
Sam risked raising his head, so he could look straight down, out through the helicopter’s open side. As the vehicle turned, the earth’s horizon came into view.
They were over water.
In the middle of the ocean.
Sam gasped, realizing what was in store.
No. God no….
Dean was not smiling during the drive home. If anything the rain had just started coming down harder. Despite Castiel’s seeming aversion to flying in the rain, Dean wished he had insisted on it, as some of the rivers between his house and Bobby’s compound were overflowing their banks, and the road was getting impassable.
And Bobby had not helped matters. That had been the second annoyance. No way, nohow, were they going to go steal a book that was so rude as to be housed in the city. Despite any of Dean’s arguments that he and his brother would have been able to pull off such a petty crime in childhood.
And that was the third thing that was peeving him. “Yeah, Jess,” he was saying into his cell phone as he guided the Impala around yet another painfully swollen river bank. “I understand. But…. Could you just…. Yeah, I’ve left messages but…. When you see him, just tell him I called, OK? Yeah. Yeah, me too. Bye.” Dean closed the phone and angrily flipped it into the back seat.
“What is wrong, Dean Winchester?” asked Castiel.
Dean half smiled. Well, at least now he had a freaky angel to entertain him. “His wife hasn’t seen hide nor hair of Sam in days.”
“Is that … normal for married humans?” asked Castiel.
“Sam and Jess? Who the fuck knows. But it’s weird for Sam. I’m getting worried about him,” Dean confessed.
“I am sorry, Dean.”
“Not your fault,” said Dean. More to distract himself than anything, he asked Castiel, “So, what is up with Crowley’s eyepatch?” He looked like a pirate, but the guy didn’t seem like the fighting sort.
“Oh, he traded away that eye,” said Castiel. “For the sight!”
“The sight?” asked Dean.
“Yes, it’s an ability … prophetic, I think you would say?”
“No kidding. He’s a prophet?”
“In a sense. He has useful insights at times. In my opinion, however, it has made him … eccentric.”
“He is that,” laughed Dean.
“I would rather be thought eccentric than a bore!”
Both Dean and Castiel turned around to regard the demon who was sitting in the back seat, shaking out his umbrella.
“Uh. Crowley,” said Dean. “What a surprise?”
“You are fortunate I could locate you in this tempest,” scolded Crowley.
“Do you have news, Crowley?” asked Castiel.
“Yes, indeedy. Dean. About your brother….”
For the second time that month, Dean nearly swerved the Impala right into the ditch.
This entry was originally posted at http://tikific.dreamwidth.org/114140.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel (eventually); Sam, Bobby, Rufus, Ellen, Jo, Crowley
Warnings: AU. Cursing. Some hints of Dean/Jo, so if you loathe that pairing, steer clear.
Word Count: 4,700 this chapter
Summary: A dystopian AU where the United States is an authoritarian regime run by mysterious overlords. John Winchester disappeared when Sam and Dean were very young so the boys were not raised as hunters. Then Dean has a chance encounter with a strange homeless man who may be more than he seems.
Notes: Crowley’s song (yes you read that right) in this chapter is based on “I Just Can’t Wait to be King,” from The Lion King. I don’t have any rights to that, but I don’t have any rights to Supernatural either. So there.
It was chilly in the bedroom, so she grabbed his Metallica T shirt from where it was crumpled on the floor and pulled it over her head before she tip-toed out to the kitchen, intending to seek out some coffee. She spared one glance over her shoulder: he was still snoring away.
The kitchen was a bit of a mess. No, actually it looked like it had been hit by a twister. And a tidal wave. And maybe a rain of frogs or something. It was a nice big kitchen, or had been nice, at one point. It was all open, with what must have once been a skylight up in the high celing. There was a bar in the middle, and spaces to hang your pots and pans.
But that had been before. Back when the rest of the houses on this cul-de-sac had been occupied by up and coming young families: ones who didn’t mind commuting to the city in their SUVs if it meant a big house and a yard for the kids to play in.
There were no kids out playing now. The other houses in the tract had been abandoned long ago, and this house, whether by accident or design, now looked like it had been boarded up, with heavy curtains over the few remaining glass windows and a yard that looked like the aftermath of tank warfare.
It took some time to locate a coffee maker and all its parts in the mess, and then she somehow managed to find a bag of coffee and finally an actual functional electrical outlet. She figured this guy must have a generator somewhere, because there was no way this housing tract was still hooked up to utilities. The tap water was a little brown, but it turned out OK if you let it run for a little while. She stifled a yawn as she finally heard the satisfying thrum of brewing coffee. She swept aside some pizza boxes and hopped up on the cluttered island counter to await caffeination.
She heard the creak of footsteps behind her and smiled and turned around, but the grin on her face suddenly froze.
“Hello. I'm Cas,” said the grungy looking homeless guy who was suddenly standing in the middle of Dean Winchester's kitchen.
“Cas-”
“I apologize deeply if the young lady was upset by my presence,” said Castiel contritely.
Dean was holding back the front blackout curtain with two fingers. He watched the vehicle roar out of the driveway, somewhat wishing that he could recall the girl's name correctly. Was it Sandy, or Sally? He had really tied one on last night, and things were murky. He let the curtain drop back, sighed and turned back to Castiel.
“Look, I'm getting used to your weird angel stuff, but you might wanna knock first. You know, in case I have visitors.”
“I will remember that in the future, Dean.”
Dean bustled over to the counter and poured himself a cup of the coffee she had prepared. Sandy or Sally had been in such a hurry to leave, she hadn't even bothered to get some for herself. “Want coffee?” he asked Castiel, already knowing the answer.
“I do not require coffee,” said Castiel.
Dean filled a second mug anyway. “I'd feel better if someone was drinking with me. Come on.”
Castiel scowled, but took the mug anyway. Dean rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a flask. He poured a splash into his coffee cup. “Hair of the dog?” he asked Castiel.
Castiel’s frown wrinkles deepened. “What do canines have to do with alcoholic beverages?”
Dean shook his head and spiked the angel’s coffee. Maybe if he got the bastard a little tipsy?
Castiel took the mug and sniffed it. “Alcohol has little effect on me, I’m afraid. Nor does caffeine, nor any of the other chemicals present in this mixture.”
“Humor me,” said Dean. “Drink your chemical mixture.”
Castiel gave that queer “what the fuck is the human talking about now” head tilt, and then sipped his own coffee.
“Cas, why do you put up with me, anyway?” asked Dean.
“What do you mean, Dean?”
Dean gestured around the kitchen. “I’m a drunk, and I sleep with women pretty much indiscriminately.”
“I don’t understand. How is that my concern?” asked Castiel, leaning forward and looking concerned.
“Um, you’re an angel, right? Don’t you guys tend to go all flaming sword-y over sin and that kinda shit?”
“I am not authorized to carry a flaming sword. I am of a lower order,” Castiel explained.
“But I’m sinning, right?” prompted Dean, who hopped up on a stool. He gestured for Castiel to do the same.
Castiel sat facing Dean, cradling his coffee mug in both hands as if it were a sacred relic. “As for alcoholic beverages, our Lord and Savior turned water into wine,” he said thoughtfully. “I do not understand the human need for sexual relations, but the matter of what you do with your genitals is not of my concern.”
“Really?”
“It is love, is it not?” asked Castiel, who actually seemed curious.
It was Dean’s turn to frown. “So, uh, you guys don’t have sex? How do you have, you know, the little baby angels?”
“Little baby angels?” asked Castiel, his face made of puzzlement.
“Sure, you know, like on the Valentines cards!” As Castiel looked even more baffled, Dean leaned over, rooted through the top layer of detritus on the counter, and pulled out the stack of mail underneath well-thumbed copy of Busty Asian Babes. He flipped through a few envelopes, and grabbed one, extracting the card inside and showing it to Castiel.
Castiel scowled. “Is this a human representation of my kind? Why would they wield a bow and arrow? It seems … antiquated.”
“They’re supposed to shoot people in the heart,” said Dean, miming the loosing of an arrow. “That’s how you fall in love!”
Castiel blinked and then stared in astonishment. “These…. These are supposed to be cupids?” he asked.
“Not accurate?” smiled Dean.
“Cupids are at least 200 pounds heavier. And they do not bother to wear underclothes.”
“Euch,” said Dean, wrinkling his nose.
“Yes, euch,” agreed Castiel, tossing down the card in disgust.
Dean shook his head and smiled as the mix of Scotch whiskey and caffeine cleared the haze in his head. He was getting used to the “everything you know is wrong,” effect, as he was getting used to weird ass shit like having a coffee klatch with an angel.
In the month since Castiel had introduced him to Bobby Singer and his group of hunters Dean had accompanied the crew on several outings as they criss-crossed the Northwest in search of the unnatural. To his relief, none of the jobs had ended in a complete clusterfuck like the exorcism Bobby and Ellen had attempted that first evening. On the contrary, in their element, the hunters were maddeningly skillful. And Dean had learned his head was absolutely and utterly crammed with misinformation. They had gone after vampires in Oregon: the vamps were not romantic at all, but rather sort of gross and smelly. They had extinguished a pack of werewolves in the plains of Montana aided by only silver bullets and some nice, juicy steaks. And in Wyoming, they had also gone against wendigos, a word Dean had previously believed to refer to some kind of recreational vehicle.
It was actually pretty fascinating, and everybody agreed Dean had a knack for it. He saw the use in what he was doing: it was pretty obvious the hunters were stretched a bit thin. But he was also curious. Castiel had hinted a time or two that Dean was fated for some grand destiny. Well, it was satisfying, taking up his father’s trade, but he wasn’t too certain about the grandness of it all.
There was another nagging doubt: Ellen Harvelle’s pretty daughter, Jo, who was another hunter, made no secret that she was interested in Dean. He had been flattered at first. It had been a while since he’d been with what he considered a real live “nice” girl. But he wasn’t sure if he was out of practice,or just a dumb ass, because all he could think about were excuses to brush her off.
Not that Dean was some great prize: as he had been trying to explain to Cas, he was a drinker, a womanizer, and if by some miracle he ever happened to find himself with a nice family, he was probably fated to up and ditch them, as his dad had done.
But Dean stirred from his reverie when Cas awkwardly cleared his throat.
“I had thought,” said Castiel, who was now staring into his coffee cup, “that the time has come to introduce you to, uh, an … associate of mine.”
“Cas?” said Dean. That was weird: the body language and the stumbling were all wrong. If anything, Castiel usually came off too frank with Dean.
Castiel met Dean’s eyes, but the quickly looked away. He looked abashed. “He’s … someone I’m working with.”
“Cas, what is it? I’ve told you, no more angelic gobbledy gook.”
“Gobble-“
“You want me to come meet your guy? Tell me straight.”
Castiel put down his coffee mug. “You know that the hunters do not approve of angels?” asked Castiel.
Dean nodded, rolling his eyes. Oh, boy, did he know! One of his biggest missteps so far had been trying to bring up the topic with Bobby. The old hunter had set off on a rant that it had taken both Ellen and Rufus to finally quell. Bobby had proudly displayed to Dean the warding signs he had painted all over the compound to repel angels. Cas had later explained that Bobby’s penmanship was sort of crap, so the sigils (Dean seemed to remember they were in a language called Enochian) had no effect.
“Bobby would skin you alive and then probably set you on fire if he knew,” said Dean as Cas cringed. “So is this guy another angel?”
“Well, uh. Sort of the opposite, Dean.”
“Cas! You’re not working with a demon?”
Castiel looked sheepish. “I am working with a demon. And he would very much like to meet you.”
“Holy fuck!”
“It is…. It is what you humans call a long story. I can promise you this, Dean Winchester: if you come with me now, no harm shall befall you.”
Dean shook his head. “All right. Well, just let me know when this character-“
“Now.”
“What?” asked Dean.
“He would like to meet now,” said Castiel.
“Impatient bastard. How far away?”
“I will fly you there, so the journey will be nearly instantaneous,” said Castiel.
“You’ll … what?” asked Dean.
Castiel smiled impishly and made little flapping motions with his hands.
“You can do that?” asked Dean.
Castiel nodded. “I’m an angel. Remember?”
Dean hopped down from his stool. “Hell yeah then. Lemme just go get some pants on,” he said, sprinting for the bedroom.
Angel rides? he thought. Fuck yeah….
Dean stumbled, and felt Castiel's hand on his elbow, steadying him.
It had been exhilarating. Flight. Strong arms around him. The steady rhythm of wingbeats.
He noticed Cas was staring at him. “Are you all right, Dean? It can be … disorienting. The first time.”
Dean realized he was wearing a big loopy smile on his face. He tried rearranging his features into something more dignified. “No. I'm fine. That was cool.” Fresh air. The wind in his face. It was more than cool.
Dean took a look around at where they landed, inside of someone's house. Someone's mansion, actually. He suddenly found himself regretting that he had grabbed on whatever clothes he had found heaped on the floor, including the Metallica T shirt Sally or Sandy had discarded. He felt badly underdressed: this place was posh.
“Just one thing I should warn your about,” whispered Castiel.
“Yeah, what's that?” asked Dean.
“Don't.... If you can help it, don't get him talking about being King,” whispered Castiel. “He tends to … go on about it.”
But before Dean could ask why, a cultured voice rang out. “Castiel! My fine feathered friend. If I knew you were coming I'd have baked a cake! Or at least had out some birdseed.”
“I do not need refreshment,” Castiel told him. “Crowley. As you have requested, this is Dean Winchester.”
“Ah!” said the demon. He looked like a well preserved middle-aged guy, though Dean now knew that only meant he had possessed a middle-aged man. He was wearing a nice looking suit, and sported a rather jaunty eyepatch. “You must be Dean Winchester. Of the Winchesters. Your reputation precedes you!” His one remaining eye twinkled.
“What reputation?” asked Dean. “I'm just a mechanic. When I'm not on a bender.”
“A plain spoken man! How delightful!” said Crowley, coming over to put a hand on Dean's shoulder.
Dean suddenly jerked, feeling himself goosed in the ass by what sure seemed like a big, friendly dog. He whirled around, only to see nothing.
“What was that?” he asked.
“Oh, now, my puppy likes you! Isn't that nice!” Crowley was now making patting motions on what looked like thin air.
“It's his Hell Hound, Dean,” supplied Castiel. “You're mortal, so you won't be able to see it.”
“You have … an invisible dog?” asked Dean. It was annoying, but he had to admit, it was cool.
“Well of course I do, don’t I, precious?” asked Crowley, who was now evidently kissing the invisible dog. “You run off and play now!” Crowley reached over to a platter and pulled up what looked like the haunch from a good sized horse and playfully tossed the thing in the air. There was a snapping sound, and the thing disappeared in mid-air. There was then the sound of running paws. Ginormous running paws.
“Ulp,” said Dean, who looked to Castiel. Castiel nodded.
“So, you’re a demon?” asked Dean.
“Oh, he is a quick little thing, isn’t he?” Crowley asked Castiel, picking up another haunch. “Did you want to reward him with a little treat?”
“Crowley. Enough joking,” said Castiel.
“That’s right, you never did quite grasp the concept of humor, did you, love?” laughed Crowley, setting down the meat.
“I am very humorous!” insisted Castiel. “Um. For an angel.”
“You cause me great amusement,” grinned Crowley.
“Uh, so, why exactly are you guys working together?” interjected Dean.
“Ooooo! He is sharp!” clapped Crowley, adjusting his eyepatch.
“We have a mutual enemy,” supplied Castiel.
“We are not entirely enamored with the current management, you could say,” said Crowley.
“What? God?” asked Dean.
“Well, ambitious too?” asked Crowley. “I do approve of your boyfriend, and hope you shall be very happy!” said Crowley.
“The King of Hell,” explained Castiel, after casting the stinkeye at Crowley. “He is the cause of a lot of our current … difficulties.”
“He has as sparse a sense of humor as our dear little Castiel,” ticked off Crowley. “Although better fashion sense,” he acknowledged, flicking Castiel’s perpetually rumpled necktie. “Unfortunately, in addition to being merely tiresome, he is a vicious fuck. And he can’t forgive a slight. The man holds a grudge like an archangel holding in a shit.”
“Who does he have a grudge against?” asked Dean.
“Basically, all of humanity,” said Castiel.
“Oh. That’s not good,” admitted Dean.
“So besides enslaving a good portion of you lot - well, the Americans at least - which I'll admit has been mildly entertaining, he has plans to go a step further,” said Crowley.
“Meaning what?” asked Dean, looking back and forth between the demon and the angel.
“Hrm. Maybe not quite as quick as I thought,” mused Crowley.
“Genocide, Dean,” said Castiel.
“Oh, god,” said Dean. “Shit! Now it makes sense! Sammy!”
“What about Sam, Dean?” asked Castiel.
“His company! Niveus Pharmaceuticals. He’s working on something he thought was a bio warfare agent. But they’re gonna use it against us, aren't they?”
Castiel and Crowley exchanged a glance, Crowley looking almost serious. “Well, so that’s how they’re going to do it? No curses? Very modern, I suppose.”
“We don’t have a lot of time then,” said Castiel.
“Who’s doing this?” asked Dean. “Is this the guy you’re both fighting against?”
“Yeah, King of Hell, the guy is a rotter,” grumbled Crowley. “That’s why we’re gonna replace him, eh, Cassie?”
“Do not call me Cassie,” rumbled Castiel. Dean wasn’t certain, but he could almost imagine the ground shaking.
“Replace him? With who?” asked Dean, at which point Castiel slapped his on forehead in annoyance.
“What did I say?” Dean whispered.
“Here it comes,” muttered Castiel.
“What?” But before Castiel could answer, Crowley had leapt up to the top of the main staircase, where he now held a top had and a cane.
“Where is that music coming from?” asked Dean.
“He loves doing this,” sighed Castiel.
“I’m gonna be the King of Hell, I’ve got the style and flair!” sang Crowley. He had a great Broadway voice.
“You really think it’s decorous dancing on the stairs?” asked Castiel.
“Gonna make Hell a groovy place
A fresh address to live
I’m gonna chat with Robin Leach
And style on MTV cribs.”
“You’ll need to stock up more on your bling,” laughed Dean, who was amused to find himself singing.
“Oh I just can’t wait to be king!” sang Crowley, started to do a really lovely soft shoe routine on the stairs. The spotlights went up, and Dean realized that Crowley now had an entire chorus line in back of him.
A not entirely human chorus line.
“Wait,” Dean whispered to Castiel. “Are those … giraffes?”
“I told you not to encourage him,” Castiel sighed.
“Everybody look up,
Now look up more!
You’ll soon be groveling
That’s what’s in store!” sang Crowley as a bunch of elephants started to imitate the Rockettes.
“Whoa. This is like Fantasia,” Dean whispered to Castiel, who was suddenly rushing him back that he not get crushed by a hippo in a tutu.
“Oh I just can’t wait….”
“CROWLEY!” barked Castiel. And this time, Dean definitely did feel the ground shake.
Quite suddenly, all of the magical dancing animals were gone, and it was just Crowley, standing in the middle of the hallway, grinning madly.
Castiel emitted a long sigh. “The book?”
“What was wrong with the book Ellen and Bobby used the other day?” wondered Dean.
“Well, poppet, it was the wrong book, wasn’t it? Otherwise your little birdie wouldn’t have had to unbreak some necks.”
“There’s different kinds of demon exorcisms?” Dean asked.
“Oh, I know, I know, we all look alike to you!” complained Crowley, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, actually, you do. You’re all possessing humans,” Dean shot back.
“Hrm. Well, yeah, that is true,” said Crowley. “You ought witness my true form some time lad, it’s rather delightful!”
“If by delightful you mean repulsive,” said Castiel.
“Why, Castiel!” said Crowley. “You are catching on to humor.”
“I was not joking,” said Castiel, narrowing his eyes at Crowley.
“As it happens, I have the location of the right book, for which you will be grateful to me forever. And a day,” said Crowley, suddenly conjuring a little scrap of paper.
Castiel held out a hand, and the paper fluttered over to him.
“Are you gonna help us get it?” asked Dean.
“Oh, heavens no! That would make it too easy,” Crowley told them. “Just make sure your library cards are up to date. Oh, and try not to die. I know it comes so easily to your little humans.”
“Let’s go, Dean,” said Castiel, laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder.
“Toodles!” said Crowley.
But Dean was already back in his living room. Castiel was frowning at the piece of paper.
“What’s the matter?” asked Dean.
“Bobby is not going to like this,” said Castiel.
“Why not?”
“This address is in Seattle,” said Castiel. “He doesn’t like operations in the city.”
“You can’t just wink in and do it?”
“Much as I wish I could, no doubt this location has been well warded against angels.”
“Demons aren’t big angel fans, huh?” asked Dean.
“No one likes angels,” sighed Castiel. “I do not even like myself much of the time.”
Dean grinned and patted the angel on the back. “It’s not the end of the world. I go back and forth to the city all the time to see Sammy. Hey, that reminds me,” he said, taking out his cell phone. “I gotta phone him, see what’s up.”
There was a sudden crash of thunder. Castiel wandered over to the window and pushed up the blinds.
Dean took out a cell phone and hit the speed dial. He frowned and then said, “Sammy! What the fuck man? Call me.” He closed his cell phone, listening to the downpour outside.
“Is everything all right, Dean?” asked Castiel.
“Oh, Sam gets like this sometimes when he’s working. I’ll call Jess tonight and see what’s up.” Dean frowned, not entirely happy at the prospect of chatting with Sam’s wife. There was a reason he went to see his brother at work. “You wanna zap over to Bobby’s now?”
Castiel looked over from the window. “Uh. Do you mind driving in your car?” he asked, scowling at the rain.
“Can’t fly in the rain?” smiled Dean.
“I would prefer not to get my wings wet,” said Castiel, wrinkling his nose.
Dean grinned and grabbed his car keys.
Sam awoke, the feel of cold metal under his cheek, his head throbbing. He felt groggy and doped up, so it took him a moment or two to realize the pounding sensation was not all in his head. He was hearing the noise of some kind of rotor blade.
Wait. A rotor blade?
He forced his eyes open. He was lying on the floor of a helicopter - a big one, like a military vehicle. He pushed himself up on one elbow, steadying himself as even this small effort made him dizzy. The sides were both open to the sky. The floor was a mass of people, some lying on the floor, some slumped against the front of back walls. Sam tried to move up to a sitting position but felt a great weight dragging at him. He looked down at his legs. Was he injured?
“Get down!” One of the cops, the one Dean called Deathtroopers, bashed him with a rifle butt, knocking him back to the floor. Sam saw stars. Don’t pass out, he told himself. Don’t pass out.
Carefully looking around this time to make sure no one was watching, and not raising his head, he sent his hands down to feel his legs. Yes, he wore chains around his ankles. Where did these guys expect him to run off to? He was in a fucking helicopter. His fingers slipped down the links. He was chained to some kind of weight. Well, that explained why he was having trouble moving.
He cast his eyes around the interior of the helicopter. In the dim light, he could see the others were chained up too. Madness. What did they think they were doing?
And then the pitch of the rotor blades changed, and he felt the floor moving under him. They were tilting, turning.
Sam risked raising his head, so he could look straight down, out through the helicopter’s open side. As the vehicle turned, the earth’s horizon came into view.
They were over water.
In the middle of the ocean.
Sam gasped, realizing what was in store.
No. God no….
Dean was not smiling during the drive home. If anything the rain had just started coming down harder. Despite Castiel’s seeming aversion to flying in the rain, Dean wished he had insisted on it, as some of the rivers between his house and Bobby’s compound were overflowing their banks, and the road was getting impassable.
And Bobby had not helped matters. That had been the second annoyance. No way, nohow, were they going to go steal a book that was so rude as to be housed in the city. Despite any of Dean’s arguments that he and his brother would have been able to pull off such a petty crime in childhood.
And that was the third thing that was peeving him. “Yeah, Jess,” he was saying into his cell phone as he guided the Impala around yet another painfully swollen river bank. “I understand. But…. Could you just…. Yeah, I’ve left messages but…. When you see him, just tell him I called, OK? Yeah. Yeah, me too. Bye.” Dean closed the phone and angrily flipped it into the back seat.
“What is wrong, Dean Winchester?” asked Castiel.
Dean half smiled. Well, at least now he had a freaky angel to entertain him. “His wife hasn’t seen hide nor hair of Sam in days.”
“Is that … normal for married humans?” asked Castiel.
“Sam and Jess? Who the fuck knows. But it’s weird for Sam. I’m getting worried about him,” Dean confessed.
“I am sorry, Dean.”
“Not your fault,” said Dean. More to distract himself than anything, he asked Castiel, “So, what is up with Crowley’s eyepatch?” He looked like a pirate, but the guy didn’t seem like the fighting sort.
“Oh, he traded away that eye,” said Castiel. “For the sight!”
“The sight?” asked Dean.
“Yes, it’s an ability … prophetic, I think you would say?”
“No kidding. He’s a prophet?”
“In a sense. He has useful insights at times. In my opinion, however, it has made him … eccentric.”
“He is that,” laughed Dean.
“I would rather be thought eccentric than a bore!”
Both Dean and Castiel turned around to regard the demon who was sitting in the back seat, shaking out his umbrella.
“Uh. Crowley,” said Dean. “What a surprise?”
“You are fortunate I could locate you in this tempest,” scolded Crowley.
“Do you have news, Crowley?” asked Castiel.
“Yes, indeedy. Dean. About your brother….”
For the second time that month, Dean nearly swerved the Impala right into the ditch.
This entry was originally posted at http://tikific.dreamwidth.org/114140.html. Please comment there using OpenID.