Mirror (Household Objects, Chapter 3)
Title: Mirror (Household Objects, Chapter 3)
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas (we get there eventually); Sam, Bobby, Gabriel, Crowley, Zachariah, Death
Warnings: Cursing.
Word Count: 5,400 (this chapter)
Summary: When Castiel's true form is gravely injured during a battle with a strange malevolent entity he is forced to live for a time as a human. Fortunately, the Winchester boys are there, with driving instructions and pigs in a blanket. But is Cas inadvertently dragging his friends into a whole mess of angel danger?
Notes: This isn't really anywhere logical on the timeline. I'm just gonna whistle a happy tune and pretend they didn't kill off a crapload of my favorite characters. Also, although this story falls under the genre of hurt/comfort, be warned it’s a pretty twisted take on it. There will be some pr0n though. Later.
“I don’t know,” said Bobby. “But if it’s something that can take out an angel, maybe I don’t wanna know.”
“It worries me that Cas still doesn’t remember,” said Dean. “And that it seemed to scare the shit out of Gabriel. That guy doesn’t scare easily.”
The two hunters sat outside at the picnic table, across from each other. They each held a bottle of beer, and there might have been an empty or two spread across the table.
“Tangling with powers beyond our comprehension,” smiled Bobby. He shrugged. “Same old same old.”
“So you think it’s a good idea to keep taking him out hunting with us?”
“Well, yeah,” said Bobby, scratching his face. “Especially if the boy ain't gonna recover. You said Zach gave you that vision of the future where Cas doesn’t set well with being a human?”
“That could be Zachariah’s bullshit,” said Dean, spreading his hands.
“Could be angel bullshit, yeah. But he’s going to need something to do. I think he’s got the knack for it. He’s a bright boy, even if he ain’t got the common sense God gave a housefly.”
Dean laughed.
“And there’s another thing,” said Bobby. “If Gabe found out about this by talking to one of those big-balled Japanese critters, maybe if you boys keep your ears out, you’ll hear something about what swatted Cas.”
“That’s true,” said Dean. He listened. “Hey, I know that engine!” he said as he heard the unmistakable noise of the Impala downshifting.
“Uh,” said Bobby, holding out a hand. “You might wanna sit back down.”
“Why?”
“Well, don’t get upset, but Sammy told me-“
“I thought he was taking Cas to town to grab him some new clothes!” said Dean.
“Well, yeah, but then after that- Wait, Dean!” said Bobby as Dean ran towards the sound.
“Oh. Wait. Was that the reverse gear?” Cas was asking Sam. He was holding his hands on the steering wheel precisely at 10 o'clock and 2 o'clock.
They were in the Impala, on the grounds of Bobby's wrecking yard, in an area relatively free of scrap metal.
“Well, given that the car just lurched backwards, what would you say?” grinned Sam from the passenger seat.
“I find this highly non-intuitive!” muttered Castiel, shifting to drive. He gingerly pressed the gas, but suddenly stomped on the brake just as Sam hauled over and pulled the parking brake.
Dean was standing directly in front of the car, arms spread protectively over Baby’s hood.
“Park,” smiled Castiel, efficiently switching the gearshift on the steering wheel.
Dean marched over to the passenger side, gesticulating wordlessly, too agitated to form words.
“Yeah, Dean?” grinned Sam, sticking his head out the window.
“You’ve got…. You’ve got…. You’ve got an angel…. Driving my baby!”
“Yeah, we thought it would be a good idea,” said Sam, blithely ignoring his brother's shitfit. “If Cas comes with us, we could just go nonstop with three guys driving, save money on hotels.”
Castiel nodded solemnly.
“But this is my car,” said Dean.
Sam crossed his arms. “You learned to drive on this car! And so did I! It's a family tradition!”
Dean was thinking of twenty or thirty more things to say, but that one stopped him. That and Cas looking at him, wide-eyed. Was Sam teaching him to do The Stare as well, wondered Dean.
But Dean couldn’t think of any way around it other than being a hard hearted dick. Here Cas was wounded and maybe the poor guy could never be an angel again and all he wanted was to help them drive….
….the world’s most wonderful and awesome car.
“OK, OK,” sighed Dean. “Just … be fucking careful!”
“Yes, Dean,” said Castiel.
“Did you go get him stuff like you were supposed to?” Dean asked Sam. “In town?”
“Yeah, yeah, we’re great,” said Sam, pointing out the JC Penney bags still piled up the back seat. Dean frowned, now resisting the urge to go through the bags and check, as he hadn’t had the patience to volunteer for the shopping trip. “Just don’t let him look like a douche nozzle,” he had told Sammy, fearing that Cas, left to his own devices, would end up resembling someone who’d come knocking on your door with an Awake magazine.
“OK. I'm gonna go away now,” sighed Dean.
“Where are you going, Dean?” asked Castiel.
“Some place.... Some place where I can't hear … this!” said Dean, the last word breaking in his throat.
The next morning had not started well for Dean. Not well at all.
First, Sam had grabbed the car keys. And then Cas had compounded the insult by timidly saying, “Shotgun?” Only he said it like it was a question.
“No, you gotta yell, Shotgun!” Dean told him.
“Shotgun,” said Cas, a little more firmly. Dean rolled his eyes, but gestured for Cas to get in the passenger seat.
But as it turned out, Dean's idiotic little brother actually had a good idea. The back seat was awesome for sacking out, and Dean soon drifted off, with some happy back seat memories on his mind.
He woke up to the buzz of guitar feedback. And a discussion.
“Is the human reaction to infidelity commonly this incendiary?”
“No, man, but this was Hendrix,” drawled Sam.
“You never heard Hey Joe before?” asked Dean, yawing and leaning against the front seat. “It’s a classic, man! A classic!”
“Hey, look who's back among the living,” laughed Sam.
“I have heard this song frequently played in your car, but I hadn't previously attended to the lyrics,” Castiel told him.
“Well, anyway,” said Dean. “Happens to everyone. I mean, you find out she's going with another guy. But you don't blow away your girlfriend. That's being a shithead. You just curse a lot and maybe punch the wall then drink too much and then go find somebody else.” He shrugged.
“Murder's still illegal,” said Sam. “If nothing else.”
“And the music is supposed to convey the roiling emotional state of the rejected lover,” asked Castiel, who had placed a hand thoughtfully on the cassette player.
Dean looked at Sam, who risked a glance back. “Yeah, that's about the size of it,” said Dean.
“Like hunger,” said Castiel, almost to himself. He shook his head, as if to shake off the thought. “I suppose I didn't previously fully understand human emotions,” he mused.
“See?” said Dean to no one in particular. “Listen to Hendrix. It's educational!”
“But to continue about the case...” said Castiel, shuffling the papers on his lap.
“Wait, you guys were talking about the case?” asked Dean, stretching and leaning back.
“Were we not supposed to?” asked Castiel.
“Front seat banter! You're supposed to talk about music! Or chicks! Or cool cars!” said Dean.
“Just ignore him, Cas,” said Sam.
“There are many magical and enchanted mirrors. This particular one has, up until now, seemed benign, or at least not harmful or sinister, in its intentions,” said Castiel.
“Yeah, so?” asked Sam.
“This seems similar in many ways to the kasa obake. That is traditionally a gentle, harmless apparition.”
“I didn't find it particularly harmless,” grumbled Sam.
“So what do you think that means, Cas,” asked Dean, intrigued despite himself.
“I do not know that there is a connection. But I … feel that the two points are related,” said Castiel.
“Oh, your spidey sense?” asked Dean.
“My … what?”
“You have an intuition,” said Sam.
“Yes!” said Castiel.
“Wasn't that actress-” Dean started.
“Mamie LaRue,” supplied Sam.
“Yeah, the chick who appears in the mirror? Wasn't she supposedly murdered by her boyfriend?” asked Dean. “I mean, like we've just been explaining to Cas never happens?”
“Blaine Barrybanks?” asked Sam.
“He was evidently the prime suspect at the time,” said Castiel, examining the documents in his lap. “However, there was never sufficient evidence to convict him. And then he ended up fleeing....”
“Fleeing? To where?” asked Dean.
“MEXICO!” said both Cas and Sam. They looked at each other and shared a smile.
“Huh,” said Dean.
“And, also.... Uh, is it getting close to the time to stop and consume a meal?” asked Castiel.
“Lunchtime!” laughed Sam.
“Mr. Waters and Mr. Mason,” said Dean as they registered at the Sunflower Hotel. “And that's our, uh, cousin, Mr. Barrett,” he added, indicating Castiel, who was staring at a potted ficus plant.
The clerk, who was sitting with his feet up on the bell desk, reading, did not budge. “I’m not really a hotel clerk,” said the clerk, not taking his eyes off his Daily Variety.
“You’re not?” asked Dean.
“I’m really an actor.”
“Well, why don’t you act like a hotel clerk, and check us the fuck in?”
“I don’t know. Are you anybody?” He finally looked up at Dean. “You.... Holy crap! Uh, guys, could you wait here?” And then he scurried out of the room.
“Shit are we busted already?” asked Sam.
“Why is it so danged empty in here?” asked Dean. “This is supposed to be one of the most swanky hotels in Hollywood.”
The young clerk came back with an older gentleman. The man looked as if he had tried to hold off aging for at least a couple decades via spray tanning and some rather mediocre quality cosmetic surgery. He was wearing a “manager” badge. The clerk whispered something to him. The manager leaned over the desk, as if to confide with Sam and Dean. “I know who you are.”
“Uh, yeah, who are we?” asked Dean.
“You're the boys … who help the Ghostfacers!”
“My roommate's sister's cousin is a producer on that show!” bragged the clerk.
Dean began to roll his eyes, but was stopped by Sam stomping on his foot.
“Yeah, we're their, uh, assistants,” agreed Sam. “The Ghostfacers.”
“They said they'd get me on a show!” bragged the clerk.
“Who are you?” the manager demanded of Castiel, who had drawn near. “Are you anybody?”
“Uh. No,” said Castiel.
“Good. Look, I have a problem,” the manager told Sam and Dean. “The reason people come to our hotel is to see Mamie.”
“Mamie LaRue?” asked Dean.
“Yeah. People come from all over the world to see her ghost! She's been in the mirror - that mirror - for nearly a century,” he said, pointing towards a full length mirror displayed prominently in the lobby. “But now.... Well, it's been months since anyone has sighted her. And my guests. Well, they're describing some … unusual events.”
“They're getitng the shit beat out of 'em!” supplied the clerk.
“Corey. Shouldn't you go work on assembling your head shots?” sighed the clerk.
“Hey, OK,” said Corey, who ambled off.
“Actors,” grumbled the manager.
“So, you want us to look into it?” asked Sam. “What's happening with the mirror?”
“Actually-” started Castiel, who got a foot stomp from Dean.
“What I'll do, I'll put you boys up in the Presidential suite. Three days. On the house.”
“And we look into the magic mirror?” smiled Sam.
“Well, we were here on other important, uh, Ghostfacers business,” said Dean.
“But I think we can give him three days,” said Sam. Castiel looked between the brothers, completely baffled.
“Hot tub in the room? That's what I'm talkin' about!” said Dean once they had checked into the opulent room.
Castiel peered at the empty tub. “Are communal baths supposed to confer high status?” he inquired.
“We should probably get out and do a recon,” said Sam. “Before it gets dark.”
“Aw, Sammy,” pleaded Dean, “we just drove cross country. Can't we hang in the tub, maybe smoke some cigars?”
“This is a non smoking hotel room,” Sam pointed out.
“And you suddenly don't know how to disable a smoke alarm?” asked Dean.
“Um, perhaps Sam and I could take a look around while you unwind from, uh, sleeping in the back seat?” said Castiel. Sam snorted with laughter while Dean glared. “What?” asked Castiel.
“Good idea, Cas,” laughed Sam. “You can meet us later if you want, Mr. Hollywood,” he added, leading Castiel out the door.
“I'll use up all the hot water!” Dean grumbled after them.
“Where shall we start, Sam?” asked Castiel as they reached the hallway.
“Down the hall, I think,” said Sam. “That's the room where the murder occurred. And then maybe spread out from there.”
“Oh. How will we get into the room?”
“Heh. You got angel mojo, we got hunter mojo!” bragged Sam, pulling out his pick. The Sunflower still used locks and keys, and it only took moments for Sam to break in. Sam peered in and then opened the door. “Doesn't look like it's occupied,” he told Cas, though he also held his finger up to his lips.
Sam flipped on the lights. It was large: larger even than the Presidential suite. Sam immediately noticed the large mirror. “Good we didn't bring Dean, he'd just be jealous,” he muttered as he held an EMF meter to the mirror. “Huh. Not a lot of activity.”
“Sam!”
Sam turned at Castiel's call, just in time to be whacked in the face by something huge.
The being looked like a bunch of electronic snow that had escaped from a television set. It vaguely resembled a human, and it seemed like it must be at least as tall as Sam.
Castiel was standing there, positioned between Sam and the spirit. He was now holding that magical sword. “Stay back,” he warned.
The spirit ignored Cas, rushing right through him to punch Sam once again.
“Whoa,” said Castiel.
“YOU TWO TIMER!” said a low but female-sounding voice.
“Cas!” shouted Sam, as he was smacked again.
Castiel tried to jump onto the spirit's back (or more or less where the back would be) but just ended up falling through it, to smack on the floor.
“DOUBLE CROSSER!” yelled the ghostly voice.
Castiel grabbed a lamp and hurled it at the spirit, but, unsurprisingly, it just passed right through and smacked against the wall.
“Cas! Help!” pleaded Sam as the spirit loomed over him.
“Miss LaRue!” yelled Castiel.
The spirit paused.
“Miss LaRue!” said Castiel. “Please! Your boyfriend reacted inappropriately to the situation!” said Castiel.
The tall spirit seemed to turn. And then a husky female voice said, “What's that, scrawny?”
“Your boyfriend,” said Castiel. “Mr. Berrybanks. He should not have submitted to his … roiling emotions. And, um, blown you away.”
The spirit solidified into a female figure. An extremely curvaceous female figure. Jessica Rabbit, thought Sam, although he was careful not to voice this thought. She had platinum blond hair, and wore a clingy white outfit, slit up the her and down to there.
The ghost of Mamie LaRue leaned forward, running a hand up and down the lapel of Cas' jacket.
“Well,” she breathed. “You're a cute one. A little shrimpy for me though,” she noted, touching his nose with her finger. “I might throw ya back in the water,” she commented, putting a hand on one of her generous hips as she stood in front of him.
“Um. Sorry?” asked Castiel.
“She's making a joke, Cas,” said Sam.
“Oh,” said Cas.
Mamie turned her attentions to Sam, who felt himself lifted up and set right. “Nooooow,” said Mamie, running a ghostly finger down Sam's chest. “You're a tall drink of water, aren't ya? You can come up and seem me, any time. Maybe I'll tell you your fortune,” she promised, touching a finger to his chin.
“We think,” said Castiel, “that Mr. Berrybanks....”
“Blaine?” said Mamie, rounding on Castiel. “That cheatin', lyin' double-crosser?” she roared. Castiel cringed back.
“Wait,” said Sam. “You mean he cheated on you?”
“He done me wrong!” said Mamie. “I walked in on him with another dame! Some hotel heiress.”
“This hotel? The Sunflower?” guessed Sam.
“Yeah! A good girl. My sweet ass. That mug was just after her inheritance. But they both run off before the cops could track 'em down.”
“Sam! Cas!” yelled Dean from the doorway. “I heard the.... Uh, oh. Hello,” he told Mamie's ghost.
“Helloooo!” said the ghost of Mamie LaRue. “So many good lookin’ boys. The temperature’s getting’ unbearable. But don't worry, little chickadee,” she told Sam, ruffling his hair. “You're still my number one beau.”
“What?” asked Dean.
“We were just, uh, talking to Miss LaRue,” said Sam who was blushing a little.
“Aw, don't be formal, kiddo. ‘Miss LaRue’ sounds like your old maiden aunt. And, I ain't no maiden. You can call me Mamie.”
“May we ask, Miss- I mean, Mamie. What has evoked your wrath?” asked Castiel.
“Well, I tell ya, squirt. That lyin' rat has come back!”
“Blaine?” asked Dean.
“But he's been dead nearly fifty years,” said Sam.
“I seen him, I tell ya!” said Mamie. “Hangin’ out in my domicile!”
“Is it possible someone transported relics, or even his remains back to the hotel?” Sam asked Dean.
“Oooo, smart as well as good-lookin'!” said Mamie appreciatively, her ghostly bosom now right in Sam's face. “Tell me, are you married, doll?”
“Uh, no, not at the present time,” blushed Sam.
“I don't blame ya. Marriage is a fine institution. But I ain't ready to be institutionalized just yet,” said Mamie, straightening Sam's collar.
“Why would someone do something like that?” asked Dean.
“We should conduct a thorough search of the hotel grounds,” said Castiel.
“And maybe later I'll search your grounds,” she promised Sam, patting his ass. She dissolved for a moment and passed completely through him, reappearing on the other side. “Mmmmm. A hard man is good to find,” she murmured. And then with a wink aimed at Sam, Mamie disappeared, leaving only a hint of ozone and a vague smell of her perfume.
“Uhhhh. Was I just sexually harassed by a ghost?” croaked Sam.
“Come on,” urged Dean. “Let's go find her two-timing boyfriend.”
“I don't understand,” said Castiel. “Blaine Berrybanks' remains obviously moved here recently. Why would anyone want to upset Miss LaRue?”
“You're asking me?” sighed Sam.
“Actually,” said Dean, “I got a really good idea.” He stopped dead. “Shit!”
“What is it, Dean?” asked Castiel.
“Well, I bet this'll get our asses kicked out of the presidential suite.”
“I.... I dunno if I wanna spend the night at this hotel,” said Sam. “In fact, I might go sleep in the car.”
“OK, where are they?” Dean demanded of the bored looking hotel clerk. It was the same guy who had checked them in.
“Where's what?” grumbled Corey, who didn't even bother to look up from Daily Variety.
“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way,” said Dean.
“Oh, please,” said the clerk.
“OK, have it your way,” said Dean, who easily vaulted the hotel desk and headed for the office directly behind.
“Hey, wait, you can't go in there!” said the clerk, tossing away his magazine.
“Where do you have the bones?” asked Dean, who was already gleefully trashing the office.
“You've got to get out of here. What if my manager gets back?” fretted Corey.
“Then you can explain to him why you chased away his main attraction, Mamie, to get a shot on Ghostfacers.”
“They told me they wouldn't come down for just Mamie! She's old hat!”
“I'M WHAT?” demanded a very large spirit, who was suddenly hovering over Corey.
“Oh. Uh. Ah,” said Corey.
“Hey, Mr. actor guy, you got two choices,” said Sam, who had just stuck his head in the door along with Cas. “Tell us where Blaine Berrybanks' mortal remains are. Or Mamie will beat the everloving shit out of you.”
Mamie leaned over threateningly. “I'll moider ya, ya mug,” she growled.
Corey cringed, and then opened a closet, where he rummaged under several decades of hotel detritus. He held up a rather ratty shoebox.
“Dat’s him! Dat’s Blaine! I’d know that lyin’ stinker anywhere!” said Mamie.
“Miss LaRue,” said Castiel. “If it would make you more comfortable, we could handle this matter from here!”
“Thanks, baby blues. Your mudder should be proud o’ ya,” said Mamie, who departed.
“My … mudder?” asked Castiel.
“Where did you get this?” Dean asked the clerk.
“I didn’t go looking for them, if that’s what you mean!” protested the clerk. “These two guys show up one day.”
“Two guys?” asked Sam.
“Yeah, I didn’t get their names. But there was a big one,” he said, wrapping his arms wide, as if trying to hug an obese gentleman, “and a tall one. They said they were Blaine Berrybanks’ earthly remains, and if we kept them here, it would cause some fireworks with Mamie. Some telegenic fireworks!”
“You thought he and Mamie would fight?” asked Sam.
“Yeah, I never thought she’s start smacking around our guests.”
“Is it really worth this just to get on television?” wondered Dean.
“Oh, fuck yeah!” said Corey.
“So when the troubles started, why didn’t you just get rid of Berrybanks’ bones?” asked Sam.
“I dunno, what the hell do you do with enchanted bones? Put ‘em out with the recycling?” asked Corey.
“Amateur,” sniffed Dean.
“A shoebox,” muttered Sam, glaring at the cardboard box containing the mortal remains of one Blaine Berrybanks.
“Hey, no shame in a shoebox,” said Dean, who seemed to be laughing at some kind of joke. “Think that's enough lighter fluid?”
“I think that will take down half of North Hollywood,” said Sam. “You got the salt?” Dean leaned over and poured half a bag of rock salt in the box as well.
They were all standing out on the swimming pool deck of the Sunflower hotel. The pool was empty, as there were no other guests. Sam had placed the shoebox in an empty planter beside the pool.
Dean brought out a matchbook.
“What was that?” asked Castiel.
“What was what?” asked Sam.
“Wait! What do you boys think you're doing!”
The three men turned to face a spirit looking at them. He looked like an old timey movie start, dressed in a fine suit with a silk ascot.
“Uh, Blaine Berrybanks, I presume?” asked Dean.
“We're exorcising you,” supplied Sam.
“But, I like it here!” pleaded Berrybanks.
“Mamie doesn't like you,” said Sam.
“And we like Mamie,” said Dean.
“You done her wrong!” added Castiel.
“Hey, good one, Cas,” said Dean.
“Thank you, Dean,” smiled Castiel. “May I light the bones.”
“Hey, sure, why not,” said Dean, offering over the matchbook.
“Don't do that!” pleaded Blaine Berrybanks. But just as he was reaching for the matchbook, a rather large, curvaceous figure appeared in front of him.
“You two-timin' double-crossin' no good son of a sea captain!” she growled.
“Oh, this is good,” said Dean.
Mamie then wound up to slug Blaine, but her fist just whooshed through him. He turned and ran, and Mamie took off after him.
“Whoa, she can really run in that tight skirt,” said Sam with a grudging admiration.
“You know what this needs?” said Dean.
“Yakety Sax?” laughed Sam.
“You got it. But we can't YouTube it, 'cause we don't have the infrared camera.”
“Damn. Too bad the Ghostfaces didn't turn up after all,” said Sam.
“Think of the hits,” said Dean.
“What is a yackety sax, Dean?” inquired Castiel.
“It doesn't matter. Match, Cas,” said Dean.
Castiel struck the match, and then, after repeating some foreign sounding words, tossed it into the shoebox, which immediately flared.
“What was that, Cas?”
“That was Enochian. It was … a sort of a curse,” said Castiel.
“Oh! What did you say?”
“I told him his wings should rot off,” said Castiel.
“Hey, you gotta teach me that one,” said Dean.
Mamie and Blaine enjoyed a couple more rounds around the pool before Blaine abruptly stopped, screamed, and then went up in smoke. Mamie, too, blinked out.
“I guess our work here is done. You mugs,” grinned Dean.
To his surprise, Sam enjoyed a rather relaxing night of slumber in the presidential suite. He happened to glance over his shoulder as they were checking out, and could have sworn he saw someone - a blonde woman - winking at him.
“I think Mamie's back home,” he told Dean and Castiel as they loaded the car.
“Aw, she'll miss you,” Dean grinned.
“Yeah, well,” said Sam. He dumped his pack in the back seat and then went to jump in the car.
“Hey, wait, who packed that?” asked Sam. “Is this a joke?”
Dean and Cas crowded around the back seat.
It was a small mirror.
Sam picked it up and squinted at it. And then, with a cry, he dropped it.
“Mamie's in that mirror! I saw her! I swear she winked at me!”
“I think it's her parting gift for you, Sam,” said Cas.
“Yeah, I think Mamie wants you to come up and see her,” laughed Dean.
“Not. Funny,” said Sam, sitting a good distance away from his magical mirror.
Castiel set the parking brake and turned off the engine.
He jumped out of the car, into Bobby's wrecking yard. He felt like … dancing?
“Keys!” shouted Dean.
Castiel grinned and flipped the keys to Dean. “I let you drive, doesn't mean you own the fucking car,” grumped Dean.
“I drove,” Cas told Sam.
“Good job, dude,” grinned Sam, giving him a clap on the shoulder while Dean fussed over his beloved car.
It wasn't flying, of course, Cas had to admit. But...
“Boys.”
Cas turned. It was Bobby. Looking grim.
“What is wrong, Bobby?” asked Castiel.
“Think you boys need to see something,” said Bobby. “You too, Cas. Especially you.”
Castiel frowned, but followed Sam and Dean around to the back.
There, standing in the middle of a holy oil fire....
“Zachariah,” whispered Castiel.
“I've been standing here two days. TWO DAYS!” fussed the angel.
“Aw, quit yer bitchin'. You coulda called first,” said Bobby.
“What do you want, Zachariah?” demanded Castiel, his good mood shot to hell.
“Castiel? You look … different,” said Zachariah. He squinted at Cas. “Have you been eating human food.”
Castiel looked down, but didn't deny it.
“Get to the point, Zachariah,” said Sam.
“And talk fast,” added Dean, who was glowering at the angel bureaucrat.
“I got a lot more holy oil where that came from,” Bobby noted.
“Castiel,” said Zachariah. “We need you. Back at the garrison.”
Castiel was speechless. “No,” he said. He turned to go.
“Castiel! Wait! Your brothers! They're dying!”
Castiel stopped and turned around.
“Two. Just this week, Castiel.”
“I'm not an angel any more, Zachariah. As you must know, I might never be one again.”
Zachariah gulped. “They... Their wings were pulled off.”
Castiel stared.
“While they were still alive,” said Zachariah. “Still alive!”
“Cas!” said Dean. Castiel realized he had sunk to his knees. Dean was there, beside him.
“No,” whispered Castiel, hugging himself. The sheer cruelty. It was … unimaginable.
“Come back! Come back to us! Help us,” pleaded Zachariah.
“How can we trust you?” barked Dean. “You're a lying sack of shit.”
“Don't believe me? Ask anyone. Castiel, it was Barrattiel. And Amitiel.”
“They were friends,” said Castiel, shaking his head in disbelief. “They were good people.”
“Heaven might be in danger Castiel. We need your help.”
Castiel was quiet for a time. He needed to think, but couldn't do it in the face of the fire and the pleading angel.
He got up and grabbed one of Bobby's fire extinguishers and aimed it at the fire.
“Go,” he said quietly.
“Castiel,” said Zachariah.
“Go!” he repeated.
Zachariah was not there any more.
Cas tossed away the fire extinguisher and, pushing Dean away, stormed out, unable to put together a coherent thought.
“Cas?”
Castiel looked down. It was past dark, and he wasn't quite certain how Bobby had spotted him sitting up on the hood of the wrecked car.
“What?”
“You missed dinner.”
“Not hungry.”
“Well, we saved some for you. I managed to keep it away from two hungry Winchester boys.”
“Thank you, Bobby. That was kind.”
“Aw, don't get mushy. You had time to stew over what Zach said?”
Castiel hopped down from the car. He noticed it was getting cold, and he was a bit stiff. He shrugged. “He is a lying bag filled with excrement. Like Dean said.”
“You gonna go help 'em? I guess they're your kin.”
“I don't know.”
“Well, it's your decision. You're over 21. Well over 21.”
“I have.... I have a dysfunctional family!”
Bobby roared with laughter. “You ain't the only one, kid.”
“They must be very desperate. If they would ask the assistance of a one winged angel, like me,” said Castiel.
“I don't trust 'em. And you shouldn't either,” said Bobby.
Castiel nodded. “I have thought long and hard, but I do not know what to do.”
“Well, I tell ya, let me ask you something,” said Bobby as they started to walk.
“All right,” said Castiel.
“Let's say you do go back to them. Go back to your garrison. And then something happens to one of the boys. Sam. Or Dean.”
Castiel froze.
“Yeah, I thought so,” said Bobby.
“I cannot go back, can I? I need to tell Zachariah no, don't I?” asked Cas.
“Come on, we'll get you some vittles,” said Bobby, leading the way.
Castiel had had more of an appetite than he reckoned. He sat alone at the table, surveying the remains of Bobby's leftovers. There really wasn't much left but the tinfoil.
Funny, he thought. Only days ago, he would look at it as feeding his vessel. Now it seemed he himself was hungry.
“Hey, Cas,” said Dean softly.
Castiel nodded, and Dean pulled up a chair.
“So, um,” said Dean, poking at the tinfoil. “You gonna go back and help the angels?”
“No.”
“Really?” said Dean, who smiled, and then stopped himself. “Because. Um. If that's what you feel you need to do....”
“I am concerned, as we all are, about the situation. But I talked it over with Bobby. My place is here. For the present time.”
“OK. Cool,” said Dean.
“Now I feel I need to sleep,” said Castiel, who made to stand up.
“Yeah, um. I got something,” said Dean. He flipped a card over the table to Cas, who picked it up.
It was a counterfeit driver's license. With Castiel's picture on it.
Castiel sat back down. He held the card, running his thumb over the rather blurry and terrible photograph. He tried to form words. Finally he said, “Um. Who is Lars Ulrich? The name seems familiar.”
“Just a guy,” grinned Dean.
“Thank you, Dean. I really appreciate this.”
“It's still my car! And, uh, you still need to ask me permission!”
“All right.”
“And, we're only going to let you do highway driving. Where we're nowhere near a town! Or, any other cars! Or, anybody or anything!”
“All right.”
“And, only during the daytime. On clear days!”
“All right. I don't see any of these caveats on this license,” said Castiel with a small smile.
“It's implied!”
Castiel smiled his thanks.
“And, uh, Cas?”
Castiel gave Dean the head-tilt look.
“If it's not prying...” said Dean.
“You may ask me, Dean. You are my friend. You gave me a license to drive!” he said, tapping the license in front of him on the table.
“Look, angels must sometimes get busted wings right?”
Castiel felt his world darken. “That is correct.”
“And, uh.... Well, what generally happens to them? Afterwards?”
“What you mean is, if they do not heal, correct?” Castiel asked him.
“Yeah.”
Castiel stared at the driver’s license, running his hand over Lars Ulrich’s blurry photo. “If my brothers and sisters are feeling kindly, then.... They will kill them. The wounded one.”
“Fuck,” said Dean.
And Castiel was briefly glad that Dean didn't pursue what happened when the heavenly host was not feeling kindly.
“Cas,” said Dean.
“Yes, Dean?”
Dean waited until Castiel was looking at him. “OK. You stay far the fuck away from the other angels. Including Zach. Till you're mended. You hear me?”
“Yes, Dean.”
“That's.... That's an order! From your drivers license issuer!” said Dean, reaching over to tap two fingers on the fake ID. “So, among humans, that's like a sacred bond.”
And quite suddenly, before he knew what was happening, Castiel's face lit up. He had really never heard such a terrible, horrible lie before. Without thinking, he reached out and traced a finger down Dean's cheek. And then he stood and, grabbing the license, headed away to bed.
He didn't want to get teary eyed again in front of Dean. He was afraid Dean would make him blow in the Kleenex again.
This entry was originally posted at http://tikific.dreamwidth.org/116008.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas (we get there eventually); Sam, Bobby, Gabriel, Crowley, Zachariah, Death
Warnings: Cursing.
Word Count: 5,400 (this chapter)
Summary: When Castiel's true form is gravely injured during a battle with a strange malevolent entity he is forced to live for a time as a human. Fortunately, the Winchester boys are there, with driving instructions and pigs in a blanket. But is Cas inadvertently dragging his friends into a whole mess of angel danger?
Notes: This isn't really anywhere logical on the timeline. I'm just gonna whistle a happy tune and pretend they didn't kill off a crapload of my favorite characters. Also, although this story falls under the genre of hurt/comfort, be warned it’s a pretty twisted take on it. There will be some pr0n though. Later.
“I don’t know,” said Bobby. “But if it’s something that can take out an angel, maybe I don’t wanna know.”
“It worries me that Cas still doesn’t remember,” said Dean. “And that it seemed to scare the shit out of Gabriel. That guy doesn’t scare easily.”
The two hunters sat outside at the picnic table, across from each other. They each held a bottle of beer, and there might have been an empty or two spread across the table.
“Tangling with powers beyond our comprehension,” smiled Bobby. He shrugged. “Same old same old.”
“So you think it’s a good idea to keep taking him out hunting with us?”
“Well, yeah,” said Bobby, scratching his face. “Especially if the boy ain't gonna recover. You said Zach gave you that vision of the future where Cas doesn’t set well with being a human?”
“That could be Zachariah’s bullshit,” said Dean, spreading his hands.
“Could be angel bullshit, yeah. But he’s going to need something to do. I think he’s got the knack for it. He’s a bright boy, even if he ain’t got the common sense God gave a housefly.”
Dean laughed.
“And there’s another thing,” said Bobby. “If Gabe found out about this by talking to one of those big-balled Japanese critters, maybe if you boys keep your ears out, you’ll hear something about what swatted Cas.”
“That’s true,” said Dean. He listened. “Hey, I know that engine!” he said as he heard the unmistakable noise of the Impala downshifting.
“Uh,” said Bobby, holding out a hand. “You might wanna sit back down.”
“Why?”
“Well, don’t get upset, but Sammy told me-“
“I thought he was taking Cas to town to grab him some new clothes!” said Dean.
“Well, yeah, but then after that- Wait, Dean!” said Bobby as Dean ran towards the sound.
“Oh. Wait. Was that the reverse gear?” Cas was asking Sam. He was holding his hands on the steering wheel precisely at 10 o'clock and 2 o'clock.
They were in the Impala, on the grounds of Bobby's wrecking yard, in an area relatively free of scrap metal.
“Well, given that the car just lurched backwards, what would you say?” grinned Sam from the passenger seat.
“I find this highly non-intuitive!” muttered Castiel, shifting to drive. He gingerly pressed the gas, but suddenly stomped on the brake just as Sam hauled over and pulled the parking brake.
Dean was standing directly in front of the car, arms spread protectively over Baby’s hood.
“Park,” smiled Castiel, efficiently switching the gearshift on the steering wheel.
Dean marched over to the passenger side, gesticulating wordlessly, too agitated to form words.
“Yeah, Dean?” grinned Sam, sticking his head out the window.
“You’ve got…. You’ve got…. You’ve got an angel…. Driving my baby!”
“Yeah, we thought it would be a good idea,” said Sam, blithely ignoring his brother's shitfit. “If Cas comes with us, we could just go nonstop with three guys driving, save money on hotels.”
Castiel nodded solemnly.
“But this is my car,” said Dean.
Sam crossed his arms. “You learned to drive on this car! And so did I! It's a family tradition!”
Dean was thinking of twenty or thirty more things to say, but that one stopped him. That and Cas looking at him, wide-eyed. Was Sam teaching him to do The Stare as well, wondered Dean.
But Dean couldn’t think of any way around it other than being a hard hearted dick. Here Cas was wounded and maybe the poor guy could never be an angel again and all he wanted was to help them drive….
….the world’s most wonderful and awesome car.
“OK, OK,” sighed Dean. “Just … be fucking careful!”
“Yes, Dean,” said Castiel.
“Did you go get him stuff like you were supposed to?” Dean asked Sam. “In town?”
“Yeah, yeah, we’re great,” said Sam, pointing out the JC Penney bags still piled up the back seat. Dean frowned, now resisting the urge to go through the bags and check, as he hadn’t had the patience to volunteer for the shopping trip. “Just don’t let him look like a douche nozzle,” he had told Sammy, fearing that Cas, left to his own devices, would end up resembling someone who’d come knocking on your door with an Awake magazine.
“OK. I'm gonna go away now,” sighed Dean.
“Where are you going, Dean?” asked Castiel.
“Some place.... Some place where I can't hear … this!” said Dean, the last word breaking in his throat.
The next morning had not started well for Dean. Not well at all.
First, Sam had grabbed the car keys. And then Cas had compounded the insult by timidly saying, “Shotgun?” Only he said it like it was a question.
“No, you gotta yell, Shotgun!” Dean told him.
“Shotgun,” said Cas, a little more firmly. Dean rolled his eyes, but gestured for Cas to get in the passenger seat.
But as it turned out, Dean's idiotic little brother actually had a good idea. The back seat was awesome for sacking out, and Dean soon drifted off, with some happy back seat memories on his mind.
He woke up to the buzz of guitar feedback. And a discussion.
“Is the human reaction to infidelity commonly this incendiary?”
“No, man, but this was Hendrix,” drawled Sam.
“You never heard Hey Joe before?” asked Dean, yawing and leaning against the front seat. “It’s a classic, man! A classic!”
“Hey, look who's back among the living,” laughed Sam.
“I have heard this song frequently played in your car, but I hadn't previously attended to the lyrics,” Castiel told him.
“Well, anyway,” said Dean. “Happens to everyone. I mean, you find out she's going with another guy. But you don't blow away your girlfriend. That's being a shithead. You just curse a lot and maybe punch the wall then drink too much and then go find somebody else.” He shrugged.
“Murder's still illegal,” said Sam. “If nothing else.”
“And the music is supposed to convey the roiling emotional state of the rejected lover,” asked Castiel, who had placed a hand thoughtfully on the cassette player.
Dean looked at Sam, who risked a glance back. “Yeah, that's about the size of it,” said Dean.
“Like hunger,” said Castiel, almost to himself. He shook his head, as if to shake off the thought. “I suppose I didn't previously fully understand human emotions,” he mused.
“See?” said Dean to no one in particular. “Listen to Hendrix. It's educational!”
“But to continue about the case...” said Castiel, shuffling the papers on his lap.
“Wait, you guys were talking about the case?” asked Dean, stretching and leaning back.
“Were we not supposed to?” asked Castiel.
“Front seat banter! You're supposed to talk about music! Or chicks! Or cool cars!” said Dean.
“Just ignore him, Cas,” said Sam.
“There are many magical and enchanted mirrors. This particular one has, up until now, seemed benign, or at least not harmful or sinister, in its intentions,” said Castiel.
“Yeah, so?” asked Sam.
“This seems similar in many ways to the kasa obake. That is traditionally a gentle, harmless apparition.”
“I didn't find it particularly harmless,” grumbled Sam.
“So what do you think that means, Cas,” asked Dean, intrigued despite himself.
“I do not know that there is a connection. But I … feel that the two points are related,” said Castiel.
“Oh, your spidey sense?” asked Dean.
“My … what?”
“You have an intuition,” said Sam.
“Yes!” said Castiel.
“Wasn't that actress-” Dean started.
“Mamie LaRue,” supplied Sam.
“Yeah, the chick who appears in the mirror? Wasn't she supposedly murdered by her boyfriend?” asked Dean. “I mean, like we've just been explaining to Cas never happens?”
“Blaine Barrybanks?” asked Sam.
“He was evidently the prime suspect at the time,” said Castiel, examining the documents in his lap. “However, there was never sufficient evidence to convict him. And then he ended up fleeing....”
“Fleeing? To where?” asked Dean.
“MEXICO!” said both Cas and Sam. They looked at each other and shared a smile.
“Huh,” said Dean.
“And, also.... Uh, is it getting close to the time to stop and consume a meal?” asked Castiel.
“Lunchtime!” laughed Sam.
“Mr. Waters and Mr. Mason,” said Dean as they registered at the Sunflower Hotel. “And that's our, uh, cousin, Mr. Barrett,” he added, indicating Castiel, who was staring at a potted ficus plant.
The clerk, who was sitting with his feet up on the bell desk, reading, did not budge. “I’m not really a hotel clerk,” said the clerk, not taking his eyes off his Daily Variety.
“You’re not?” asked Dean.
“I’m really an actor.”
“Well, why don’t you act like a hotel clerk, and check us the fuck in?”
“I don’t know. Are you anybody?” He finally looked up at Dean. “You.... Holy crap! Uh, guys, could you wait here?” And then he scurried out of the room.
“Shit are we busted already?” asked Sam.
“Why is it so danged empty in here?” asked Dean. “This is supposed to be one of the most swanky hotels in Hollywood.”
The young clerk came back with an older gentleman. The man looked as if he had tried to hold off aging for at least a couple decades via spray tanning and some rather mediocre quality cosmetic surgery. He was wearing a “manager” badge. The clerk whispered something to him. The manager leaned over the desk, as if to confide with Sam and Dean. “I know who you are.”
“Uh, yeah, who are we?” asked Dean.
“You're the boys … who help the Ghostfacers!”
“My roommate's sister's cousin is a producer on that show!” bragged the clerk.
Dean began to roll his eyes, but was stopped by Sam stomping on his foot.
“Yeah, we're their, uh, assistants,” agreed Sam. “The Ghostfacers.”
“They said they'd get me on a show!” bragged the clerk.
“Who are you?” the manager demanded of Castiel, who had drawn near. “Are you anybody?”
“Uh. No,” said Castiel.
“Good. Look, I have a problem,” the manager told Sam and Dean. “The reason people come to our hotel is to see Mamie.”
“Mamie LaRue?” asked Dean.
“Yeah. People come from all over the world to see her ghost! She's been in the mirror - that mirror - for nearly a century,” he said, pointing towards a full length mirror displayed prominently in the lobby. “But now.... Well, it's been months since anyone has sighted her. And my guests. Well, they're describing some … unusual events.”
“They're getitng the shit beat out of 'em!” supplied the clerk.
“Corey. Shouldn't you go work on assembling your head shots?” sighed the clerk.
“Hey, OK,” said Corey, who ambled off.
“Actors,” grumbled the manager.
“So, you want us to look into it?” asked Sam. “What's happening with the mirror?”
“Actually-” started Castiel, who got a foot stomp from Dean.
“What I'll do, I'll put you boys up in the Presidential suite. Three days. On the house.”
“And we look into the magic mirror?” smiled Sam.
“Well, we were here on other important, uh, Ghostfacers business,” said Dean.
“But I think we can give him three days,” said Sam. Castiel looked between the brothers, completely baffled.
“Hot tub in the room? That's what I'm talkin' about!” said Dean once they had checked into the opulent room.
Castiel peered at the empty tub. “Are communal baths supposed to confer high status?” he inquired.
“We should probably get out and do a recon,” said Sam. “Before it gets dark.”
“Aw, Sammy,” pleaded Dean, “we just drove cross country. Can't we hang in the tub, maybe smoke some cigars?”
“This is a non smoking hotel room,” Sam pointed out.
“And you suddenly don't know how to disable a smoke alarm?” asked Dean.
“Um, perhaps Sam and I could take a look around while you unwind from, uh, sleeping in the back seat?” said Castiel. Sam snorted with laughter while Dean glared. “What?” asked Castiel.
“Good idea, Cas,” laughed Sam. “You can meet us later if you want, Mr. Hollywood,” he added, leading Castiel out the door.
“I'll use up all the hot water!” Dean grumbled after them.
“Where shall we start, Sam?” asked Castiel as they reached the hallway.
“Down the hall, I think,” said Sam. “That's the room where the murder occurred. And then maybe spread out from there.”
“Oh. How will we get into the room?”
“Heh. You got angel mojo, we got hunter mojo!” bragged Sam, pulling out his pick. The Sunflower still used locks and keys, and it only took moments for Sam to break in. Sam peered in and then opened the door. “Doesn't look like it's occupied,” he told Cas, though he also held his finger up to his lips.
Sam flipped on the lights. It was large: larger even than the Presidential suite. Sam immediately noticed the large mirror. “Good we didn't bring Dean, he'd just be jealous,” he muttered as he held an EMF meter to the mirror. “Huh. Not a lot of activity.”
“Sam!”
Sam turned at Castiel's call, just in time to be whacked in the face by something huge.
The being looked like a bunch of electronic snow that had escaped from a television set. It vaguely resembled a human, and it seemed like it must be at least as tall as Sam.
Castiel was standing there, positioned between Sam and the spirit. He was now holding that magical sword. “Stay back,” he warned.
The spirit ignored Cas, rushing right through him to punch Sam once again.
“Whoa,” said Castiel.
“YOU TWO TIMER!” said a low but female-sounding voice.
“Cas!” shouted Sam, as he was smacked again.
Castiel tried to jump onto the spirit's back (or more or less where the back would be) but just ended up falling through it, to smack on the floor.
“DOUBLE CROSSER!” yelled the ghostly voice.
Castiel grabbed a lamp and hurled it at the spirit, but, unsurprisingly, it just passed right through and smacked against the wall.
“Cas! Help!” pleaded Sam as the spirit loomed over him.
“Miss LaRue!” yelled Castiel.
The spirit paused.
“Miss LaRue!” said Castiel. “Please! Your boyfriend reacted inappropriately to the situation!” said Castiel.
The tall spirit seemed to turn. And then a husky female voice said, “What's that, scrawny?”
“Your boyfriend,” said Castiel. “Mr. Berrybanks. He should not have submitted to his … roiling emotions. And, um, blown you away.”
The spirit solidified into a female figure. An extremely curvaceous female figure. Jessica Rabbit, thought Sam, although he was careful not to voice this thought. She had platinum blond hair, and wore a clingy white outfit, slit up the her and down to there.
The ghost of Mamie LaRue leaned forward, running a hand up and down the lapel of Cas' jacket.
“Well,” she breathed. “You're a cute one. A little shrimpy for me though,” she noted, touching his nose with her finger. “I might throw ya back in the water,” she commented, putting a hand on one of her generous hips as she stood in front of him.
“Um. Sorry?” asked Castiel.
“She's making a joke, Cas,” said Sam.
“Oh,” said Cas.
Mamie turned her attentions to Sam, who felt himself lifted up and set right. “Nooooow,” said Mamie, running a ghostly finger down Sam's chest. “You're a tall drink of water, aren't ya? You can come up and seem me, any time. Maybe I'll tell you your fortune,” she promised, touching a finger to his chin.
“We think,” said Castiel, “that Mr. Berrybanks....”
“Blaine?” said Mamie, rounding on Castiel. “That cheatin', lyin' double-crosser?” she roared. Castiel cringed back.
“Wait,” said Sam. “You mean he cheated on you?”
“He done me wrong!” said Mamie. “I walked in on him with another dame! Some hotel heiress.”
“This hotel? The Sunflower?” guessed Sam.
“Yeah! A good girl. My sweet ass. That mug was just after her inheritance. But they both run off before the cops could track 'em down.”
“Sam! Cas!” yelled Dean from the doorway. “I heard the.... Uh, oh. Hello,” he told Mamie's ghost.
“Helloooo!” said the ghost of Mamie LaRue. “So many good lookin’ boys. The temperature’s getting’ unbearable. But don't worry, little chickadee,” she told Sam, ruffling his hair. “You're still my number one beau.”
“What?” asked Dean.
“We were just, uh, talking to Miss LaRue,” said Sam who was blushing a little.
“Aw, don't be formal, kiddo. ‘Miss LaRue’ sounds like your old maiden aunt. And, I ain't no maiden. You can call me Mamie.”
“May we ask, Miss- I mean, Mamie. What has evoked your wrath?” asked Castiel.
“Well, I tell ya, squirt. That lyin' rat has come back!”
“Blaine?” asked Dean.
“But he's been dead nearly fifty years,” said Sam.
“I seen him, I tell ya!” said Mamie. “Hangin’ out in my domicile!”
“Is it possible someone transported relics, or even his remains back to the hotel?” Sam asked Dean.
“Oooo, smart as well as good-lookin'!” said Mamie appreciatively, her ghostly bosom now right in Sam's face. “Tell me, are you married, doll?”
“Uh, no, not at the present time,” blushed Sam.
“I don't blame ya. Marriage is a fine institution. But I ain't ready to be institutionalized just yet,” said Mamie, straightening Sam's collar.
“Why would someone do something like that?” asked Dean.
“We should conduct a thorough search of the hotel grounds,” said Castiel.
“And maybe later I'll search your grounds,” she promised Sam, patting his ass. She dissolved for a moment and passed completely through him, reappearing on the other side. “Mmmmm. A hard man is good to find,” she murmured. And then with a wink aimed at Sam, Mamie disappeared, leaving only a hint of ozone and a vague smell of her perfume.
“Uhhhh. Was I just sexually harassed by a ghost?” croaked Sam.
“Come on,” urged Dean. “Let's go find her two-timing boyfriend.”
“I don't understand,” said Castiel. “Blaine Berrybanks' remains obviously moved here recently. Why would anyone want to upset Miss LaRue?”
“You're asking me?” sighed Sam.
“Actually,” said Dean, “I got a really good idea.” He stopped dead. “Shit!”
“What is it, Dean?” asked Castiel.
“Well, I bet this'll get our asses kicked out of the presidential suite.”
“I.... I dunno if I wanna spend the night at this hotel,” said Sam. “In fact, I might go sleep in the car.”
“OK, where are they?” Dean demanded of the bored looking hotel clerk. It was the same guy who had checked them in.
“Where's what?” grumbled Corey, who didn't even bother to look up from Daily Variety.
“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way,” said Dean.
“Oh, please,” said the clerk.
“OK, have it your way,” said Dean, who easily vaulted the hotel desk and headed for the office directly behind.
“Hey, wait, you can't go in there!” said the clerk, tossing away his magazine.
“Where do you have the bones?” asked Dean, who was already gleefully trashing the office.
“You've got to get out of here. What if my manager gets back?” fretted Corey.
“Then you can explain to him why you chased away his main attraction, Mamie, to get a shot on Ghostfacers.”
“They told me they wouldn't come down for just Mamie! She's old hat!”
“I'M WHAT?” demanded a very large spirit, who was suddenly hovering over Corey.
“Oh. Uh. Ah,” said Corey.
“Hey, Mr. actor guy, you got two choices,” said Sam, who had just stuck his head in the door along with Cas. “Tell us where Blaine Berrybanks' mortal remains are. Or Mamie will beat the everloving shit out of you.”
Mamie leaned over threateningly. “I'll moider ya, ya mug,” she growled.
Corey cringed, and then opened a closet, where he rummaged under several decades of hotel detritus. He held up a rather ratty shoebox.
“Dat’s him! Dat’s Blaine! I’d know that lyin’ stinker anywhere!” said Mamie.
“Miss LaRue,” said Castiel. “If it would make you more comfortable, we could handle this matter from here!”
“Thanks, baby blues. Your mudder should be proud o’ ya,” said Mamie, who departed.
“My … mudder?” asked Castiel.
“Where did you get this?” Dean asked the clerk.
“I didn’t go looking for them, if that’s what you mean!” protested the clerk. “These two guys show up one day.”
“Two guys?” asked Sam.
“Yeah, I didn’t get their names. But there was a big one,” he said, wrapping his arms wide, as if trying to hug an obese gentleman, “and a tall one. They said they were Blaine Berrybanks’ earthly remains, and if we kept them here, it would cause some fireworks with Mamie. Some telegenic fireworks!”
“You thought he and Mamie would fight?” asked Sam.
“Yeah, I never thought she’s start smacking around our guests.”
“Is it really worth this just to get on television?” wondered Dean.
“Oh, fuck yeah!” said Corey.
“So when the troubles started, why didn’t you just get rid of Berrybanks’ bones?” asked Sam.
“I dunno, what the hell do you do with enchanted bones? Put ‘em out with the recycling?” asked Corey.
“Amateur,” sniffed Dean.
“A shoebox,” muttered Sam, glaring at the cardboard box containing the mortal remains of one Blaine Berrybanks.
“Hey, no shame in a shoebox,” said Dean, who seemed to be laughing at some kind of joke. “Think that's enough lighter fluid?”
“I think that will take down half of North Hollywood,” said Sam. “You got the salt?” Dean leaned over and poured half a bag of rock salt in the box as well.
They were all standing out on the swimming pool deck of the Sunflower hotel. The pool was empty, as there were no other guests. Sam had placed the shoebox in an empty planter beside the pool.
Dean brought out a matchbook.
“What was that?” asked Castiel.
“What was what?” asked Sam.
“Wait! What do you boys think you're doing!”
The three men turned to face a spirit looking at them. He looked like an old timey movie start, dressed in a fine suit with a silk ascot.
“Uh, Blaine Berrybanks, I presume?” asked Dean.
“We're exorcising you,” supplied Sam.
“But, I like it here!” pleaded Berrybanks.
“Mamie doesn't like you,” said Sam.
“And we like Mamie,” said Dean.
“You done her wrong!” added Castiel.
“Hey, good one, Cas,” said Dean.
“Thank you, Dean,” smiled Castiel. “May I light the bones.”
“Hey, sure, why not,” said Dean, offering over the matchbook.
“Don't do that!” pleaded Blaine Berrybanks. But just as he was reaching for the matchbook, a rather large, curvaceous figure appeared in front of him.
“You two-timin' double-crossin' no good son of a sea captain!” she growled.
“Oh, this is good,” said Dean.
Mamie then wound up to slug Blaine, but her fist just whooshed through him. He turned and ran, and Mamie took off after him.
“Whoa, she can really run in that tight skirt,” said Sam with a grudging admiration.
“You know what this needs?” said Dean.
“Yakety Sax?” laughed Sam.
“You got it. But we can't YouTube it, 'cause we don't have the infrared camera.”
“Damn. Too bad the Ghostfaces didn't turn up after all,” said Sam.
“Think of the hits,” said Dean.
“What is a yackety sax, Dean?” inquired Castiel.
“It doesn't matter. Match, Cas,” said Dean.
Castiel struck the match, and then, after repeating some foreign sounding words, tossed it into the shoebox, which immediately flared.
“What was that, Cas?”
“That was Enochian. It was … a sort of a curse,” said Castiel.
“Oh! What did you say?”
“I told him his wings should rot off,” said Castiel.
“Hey, you gotta teach me that one,” said Dean.
Mamie and Blaine enjoyed a couple more rounds around the pool before Blaine abruptly stopped, screamed, and then went up in smoke. Mamie, too, blinked out.
“I guess our work here is done. You mugs,” grinned Dean.
To his surprise, Sam enjoyed a rather relaxing night of slumber in the presidential suite. He happened to glance over his shoulder as they were checking out, and could have sworn he saw someone - a blonde woman - winking at him.
“I think Mamie's back home,” he told Dean and Castiel as they loaded the car.
“Aw, she'll miss you,” Dean grinned.
“Yeah, well,” said Sam. He dumped his pack in the back seat and then went to jump in the car.
“Hey, wait, who packed that?” asked Sam. “Is this a joke?”
Dean and Cas crowded around the back seat.
It was a small mirror.
Sam picked it up and squinted at it. And then, with a cry, he dropped it.
“Mamie's in that mirror! I saw her! I swear she winked at me!”
“I think it's her parting gift for you, Sam,” said Cas.
“Yeah, I think Mamie wants you to come up and see her,” laughed Dean.
“Not. Funny,” said Sam, sitting a good distance away from his magical mirror.
Castiel set the parking brake and turned off the engine.
He jumped out of the car, into Bobby's wrecking yard. He felt like … dancing?
“Keys!” shouted Dean.
Castiel grinned and flipped the keys to Dean. “I let you drive, doesn't mean you own the fucking car,” grumped Dean.
“I drove,” Cas told Sam.
“Good job, dude,” grinned Sam, giving him a clap on the shoulder while Dean fussed over his beloved car.
It wasn't flying, of course, Cas had to admit. But...
“Boys.”
Cas turned. It was Bobby. Looking grim.
“What is wrong, Bobby?” asked Castiel.
“Think you boys need to see something,” said Bobby. “You too, Cas. Especially you.”
Castiel frowned, but followed Sam and Dean around to the back.
There, standing in the middle of a holy oil fire....
“Zachariah,” whispered Castiel.
“I've been standing here two days. TWO DAYS!” fussed the angel.
“Aw, quit yer bitchin'. You coulda called first,” said Bobby.
“What do you want, Zachariah?” demanded Castiel, his good mood shot to hell.
“Castiel? You look … different,” said Zachariah. He squinted at Cas. “Have you been eating human food.”
Castiel looked down, but didn't deny it.
“Get to the point, Zachariah,” said Sam.
“And talk fast,” added Dean, who was glowering at the angel bureaucrat.
“I got a lot more holy oil where that came from,” Bobby noted.
“Castiel,” said Zachariah. “We need you. Back at the garrison.”
Castiel was speechless. “No,” he said. He turned to go.
“Castiel! Wait! Your brothers! They're dying!”
Castiel stopped and turned around.
“Two. Just this week, Castiel.”
“I'm not an angel any more, Zachariah. As you must know, I might never be one again.”
Zachariah gulped. “They... Their wings were pulled off.”
Castiel stared.
“While they were still alive,” said Zachariah. “Still alive!”
“Cas!” said Dean. Castiel realized he had sunk to his knees. Dean was there, beside him.
“No,” whispered Castiel, hugging himself. The sheer cruelty. It was … unimaginable.
“Come back! Come back to us! Help us,” pleaded Zachariah.
“How can we trust you?” barked Dean. “You're a lying sack of shit.”
“Don't believe me? Ask anyone. Castiel, it was Barrattiel. And Amitiel.”
“They were friends,” said Castiel, shaking his head in disbelief. “They were good people.”
“Heaven might be in danger Castiel. We need your help.”
Castiel was quiet for a time. He needed to think, but couldn't do it in the face of the fire and the pleading angel.
He got up and grabbed one of Bobby's fire extinguishers and aimed it at the fire.
“Go,” he said quietly.
“Castiel,” said Zachariah.
“Go!” he repeated.
Zachariah was not there any more.
Cas tossed away the fire extinguisher and, pushing Dean away, stormed out, unable to put together a coherent thought.
“Cas?”
Castiel looked down. It was past dark, and he wasn't quite certain how Bobby had spotted him sitting up on the hood of the wrecked car.
“What?”
“You missed dinner.”
“Not hungry.”
“Well, we saved some for you. I managed to keep it away from two hungry Winchester boys.”
“Thank you, Bobby. That was kind.”
“Aw, don't get mushy. You had time to stew over what Zach said?”
Castiel hopped down from the car. He noticed it was getting cold, and he was a bit stiff. He shrugged. “He is a lying bag filled with excrement. Like Dean said.”
“You gonna go help 'em? I guess they're your kin.”
“I don't know.”
“Well, it's your decision. You're over 21. Well over 21.”
“I have.... I have a dysfunctional family!”
Bobby roared with laughter. “You ain't the only one, kid.”
“They must be very desperate. If they would ask the assistance of a one winged angel, like me,” said Castiel.
“I don't trust 'em. And you shouldn't either,” said Bobby.
Castiel nodded. “I have thought long and hard, but I do not know what to do.”
“Well, I tell ya, let me ask you something,” said Bobby as they started to walk.
“All right,” said Castiel.
“Let's say you do go back to them. Go back to your garrison. And then something happens to one of the boys. Sam. Or Dean.”
Castiel froze.
“Yeah, I thought so,” said Bobby.
“I cannot go back, can I? I need to tell Zachariah no, don't I?” asked Cas.
“Come on, we'll get you some vittles,” said Bobby, leading the way.
Castiel had had more of an appetite than he reckoned. He sat alone at the table, surveying the remains of Bobby's leftovers. There really wasn't much left but the tinfoil.
Funny, he thought. Only days ago, he would look at it as feeding his vessel. Now it seemed he himself was hungry.
“Hey, Cas,” said Dean softly.
Castiel nodded, and Dean pulled up a chair.
“So, um,” said Dean, poking at the tinfoil. “You gonna go back and help the angels?”
“No.”
“Really?” said Dean, who smiled, and then stopped himself. “Because. Um. If that's what you feel you need to do....”
“I am concerned, as we all are, about the situation. But I talked it over with Bobby. My place is here. For the present time.”
“OK. Cool,” said Dean.
“Now I feel I need to sleep,” said Castiel, who made to stand up.
“Yeah, um. I got something,” said Dean. He flipped a card over the table to Cas, who picked it up.
It was a counterfeit driver's license. With Castiel's picture on it.
Castiel sat back down. He held the card, running his thumb over the rather blurry and terrible photograph. He tried to form words. Finally he said, “Um. Who is Lars Ulrich? The name seems familiar.”
“Just a guy,” grinned Dean.
“Thank you, Dean. I really appreciate this.”
“It's still my car! And, uh, you still need to ask me permission!”
“All right.”
“And, we're only going to let you do highway driving. Where we're nowhere near a town! Or, any other cars! Or, anybody or anything!”
“All right.”
“And, only during the daytime. On clear days!”
“All right. I don't see any of these caveats on this license,” said Castiel with a small smile.
“It's implied!”
Castiel smiled his thanks.
“And, uh, Cas?”
Castiel gave Dean the head-tilt look.
“If it's not prying...” said Dean.
“You may ask me, Dean. You are my friend. You gave me a license to drive!” he said, tapping the license in front of him on the table.
“Look, angels must sometimes get busted wings right?”
Castiel felt his world darken. “That is correct.”
“And, uh.... Well, what generally happens to them? Afterwards?”
“What you mean is, if they do not heal, correct?” Castiel asked him.
“Yeah.”
Castiel stared at the driver’s license, running his hand over Lars Ulrich’s blurry photo. “If my brothers and sisters are feeling kindly, then.... They will kill them. The wounded one.”
“Fuck,” said Dean.
And Castiel was briefly glad that Dean didn't pursue what happened when the heavenly host was not feeling kindly.
“Cas,” said Dean.
“Yes, Dean?”
Dean waited until Castiel was looking at him. “OK. You stay far the fuck away from the other angels. Including Zach. Till you're mended. You hear me?”
“Yes, Dean.”
“That's.... That's an order! From your drivers license issuer!” said Dean, reaching over to tap two fingers on the fake ID. “So, among humans, that's like a sacred bond.”
And quite suddenly, before he knew what was happening, Castiel's face lit up. He had really never heard such a terrible, horrible lie before. Without thinking, he reached out and traced a finger down Dean's cheek. And then he stood and, grabbing the license, headed away to bed.
He didn't want to get teary eyed again in front of Dean. He was afraid Dean would make him blow in the Kleenex again.
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