The Hunting Life (Flight Club, Chapter 2 of 8)
Title: The Hunting Life (Flight Club, Chapter 2 of 8)
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas; Sam, John, Bobby, Gabriel, Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Balthazar, Joshua, Death
Warnings: Cursing.
Word Count: 38,000 total
Summary: John abandons teenaged Sam and Dean in Sioux Falls for the school year, where our young hunters-to-be befriend a strange boy who claims he and his brothers are angels of the Lord. Well, he's got a pretty cool sword anyway. The plot thickens when young Sammy wonders why there are so many restless spooks in the neighborhood, leading the boys to decide that calling out for pizza and Death is a wicked awesome idea. Hijinks ensue.
Notes: This is a high school AU, but since I can never do these things correctly, angels are still angels. (And some of them are still dickbags.)
A week had passed in Sioux Falls, South Fucking Dakota, and Dean was not doing well.
Not in general, and not right now.
He had not run into Michael Malakhim after their first encounter, so it seemed likely that Denise Hesselbacher was right, and he was off attending college. But his brother Raphael seemed to be everywhere, giving him the stink eye, and to make matters worse there appeared to be a Malakhim brother in every class, including his own: some guy named Gabriel, who was the class cutup. The other brothers didn't seem to be as big dicks as Michael and Raphael. But none of them looked or acted anything alike, and all of them seemed … just a little bit off. In a sort of “not in Kansas any more Toto,” kinda way. Even though they were in South Dakota.
South Fucking Dakota.
Dean was starting to wonder seriously what the fuck.
But he had also learned, to his dismay, that if you wanted someone to go running off like Denise Hesselbacher had, and then as a topper refuse to ever even meet your eyes again, start asking about the brothers Malakhim. So much for his fantasies about evenings spent with vanilla-scented redheads. It was enough to make him wanna go break into their house. Mansion, really: they all lived in some big rooty-toot shack up on a hill.
Breaking and entering was still a definite possibility. But in the now, Dean's lack of social success had driven him to one of his favorite vices, hunting. Signs pointed to vamp that hung out around the local cemetery, and if there was one thing Dean hated, it was vampires, sparkling or otherwise. Whoever they were, they weren't admittedly causing a whole lot of bother. He or she would occasionally drain a drunk high school kid or some poor homeless guy, that kind of thing. But it just fucking bothered Dean. Fucking vampires, he thought. Come on!
Dean had looked at it as practice, really, a way to keep his hand in the game. So one night after he'd gotten Sammy settled down for the evening, he'd lied about having a big date, and then tossed some freshly sharpened wooden stakes into Baby’s trunk and tooled down to the local graveyard.
What he hadn't reckoned on (rookie mistake) was that there turned out to be not one annoying vampire, but two. And so now instead of a quick “stake and shake,” he found himself at the bottom of a freshly dug grave, waiting to get drained or, if he were really lucky, and both vamps were especially stupid, waiting for morning, where he hoped he could come up with a good lie for the groundskeeper as to how he'd fallen in.
He clung to the earthen side of the grave, listening to his own heart pounding, brain desperately ticking through any advantage. He had unfortunately dropped his stake in the fall, and had been too stupid to jam something actually useful like a vial of holy water in his pockets to keep them off. Stupid mistake. Dad would tan his hide. Funny, thought Dean, that even when faced with the undead, it was the thought of John Winchester's unsmiling face (and belt) that got him sweating.
Dean froze as he heard what sounded like a small scuffle overhead. He listened silently for a time, heart in his throat. Were they getting ready to jump him? Or had yet more vamps arrived? Then he heard a thump, like a falling body. And then a cry, and suddenly a vampire toppled into the grave beside him, landing with a thump.
Dean carefully put a toe to it. The vamp was still alive - or whatever passed for alive in vampire - but it was out, cold.
Dean looked up to see a pale hand, reaching down into the grave. Dean peered into the darkness. It was the dark haired kid he'd seen talking to the Malakhim brothers that very first day of school.
He reached out and grasped the hand, reaching another hand towards the earthen side to climb out, but was shocked to find himself yanked right out of the grave by a kid who didn’t look a whole lot bigger than Sammy.
“Are you all right?” asked the dark-haired kid. His voice, like his coat, seemed a little bit too big for him.
“I'm fine. Arm nearly yanked out of the socket though,” Dean joked, rubbing his painful shoulder.
“Oh! I apologize.”
“No, no, that was great.” Dean looked around and saw the other vampire lying unconscious on the ground. “Well, they don't look so good, though.”
“I routinely walk home by this route, and saw your encounter with these vampires. I hope you don't mind my intervention on your behalf?”
“Mind? Fuck no! I would be dead.”
“No, I'm sure you would have handled the situation in your own way,” hedged the kid.
“Well, thanks for the confidence. I'm Dean by the way,” he said, sticking out a hand.
“Castiel.”
“Thanks, uh, Castiel?” The boy nodded. “Uh, you're the guy I ran into the other morning? Talking to Michael and Raphael?” Dean asked, hoping this wouldn't make the kid run away.
“They are my older brothers. I have several … older brothers,” he said, looking off into the distance.
“Oh! Wow. Your brothers? You don't seem at all like them.”
“I don't?” Suddenly, his attention was back on Dean.
“Yeah, you're not a dick for one thing.”
The barest wisp of a smile came over Castiel's features. It was enough to make Dean wonder what it looked like when he really smiled. “You don't know my brothers.”
“No?”
“They are … dicks, pretty much. Can I ask what you were doing here? Battling vampires isn’t a common occupation for my high school classmates.”
“We have sort of a family business,” said Dean. “We hunt and kill supernatural beings.”
“Oh,” said Castiel, who peered at him for a long moment. “You are aware that I am an angel?” he asked dryly.
“You're … what?”
“You do not know, do you? Myself and my family, we are angels, messengers of the Lord, come to earth.”
It was Dean’s turn to stare into the darkness. The kid didn't appear to be on crack. “Uh, come to earth, why?”
“To serve the Lord, our Father.”
“Serve him … doing what, exactly?”
“Well...” Castiel hedged. “It's a bit unclear at the present time. My Father … is not around. Much.”
“Huh, absentee dad. Yeah, I get that. When did you last talk?”
“I have, um, never seen Him. Myself.”
“You've never seen Him? Wow, that's even worse than our dad.”
“Should we, um...” asked Castiel, indicating the unconscious vampires as if he were eager to change an uncomfortable subject. “Clean up a little?”
“Oh, yeah! You gotta cut the heads off or they'll come back. I got stuff in the car...”
Castiel had already turned and struck out at the body that was lying nearby. And then hopped down into the grave and beheaded the other. He flipped a sword in his hand. Dean wondered how the hell he hadn’t noticed the sword before.
“That's cool,” said Dean.
“Angel sword,” said Castiel, reaching up a hand. Dean grabbed on and Cas hopped out as if it were nothing. He flipped the sword around again, and then to Dean's astonishment it disappeared from his hand. “I can't do a lot of angel stuff. Yet. But I can do that.”
“Wow,” said Dean, who for once had nothing else to say. “OK. Then we need to burn the bodies,” said Dean. “Can you, uh, light them up with angel juice too?”
“Angel juice?” asked Castiel, pushing dark, unruly bangs out of his face to look up at Dean in puzzlement. “Oh, can I make fire by the Lord’s grace? Unfortunately, no.”
“Well, I got stuff for that in the car then,” said Dean, chuffed that he was not going to end up being entirely useless in this, his own endeavor. And so he spent his first evening as friends with Castiel the angel burning vampire bodies and sweeping the ashes into the fresh grave.
Dean recalled his “hot date” lie to Sammy. Sort of a weird first date, Dean thought with a smile. Now, if he could find a girl who punched out vampires....
“You know, this is just a suggestion. But you might consider bringing another person along when you … do this?” said Castiel, interrupting Dean's thoughts.
“Hunt?”
“Yes. You call it hunting?”
“It's a good idea. But Sammy's too young, and anyway, I don't really want him going into the business. Too fucking dangerous.”
“Sammy?”
“My kid brother. You'd like him I think.”
“It's good that you get along with your brother.” Castiel gave a funny, wistful smile.
“Well, we're all each other's got, really. I don't come from a big family. Like yours,” said Dean.
Castiel gave an odd look, as if he did not fee especially lucky.
“Anyway. You wanna ride home?” asked Dean.
“I'm fine walking from here.”
“Yeah, but it's late, and the weather looks bad,” said Dean. Castiel shrugged, and they headed for the Impala.
“Is this your car?” asked Castiel politely.
“Yeah,” said Dean, stuffing the rest of the equipment in the trunk, and somehow grateful to have something to show off. “It's my dad's actually, but he lets me drive it when he's away. Hop in.” Dean noticed that Castiel spent a moment looking at the door handle, and then seemed surprised when the door popped open when he grasped it. When he was finally seated, he looked around with much curiosity.
“Belt,” said Dean automatically as he jumped in. He was used to driving Sammy. Castiel looked confused again, but then imitated Dean when he pulled on his shoulder belt. “Uh, Cas,” asked Dean, “you have been in a car before, right?”
“Me? Not really, no,” Castiel told him.
“Wait. No shit?”
“Um. Really? Maybe when I was small? I don't recall.”
“Huh,” said Dean. He didn't inquire any further. The house where Castiel lived with his brothers was a short distance away, up on a low hill overlooking the town. It looked to Dean like something you would only see in the movies. Or … a certain theme park in Florida. Dean smiled to himself.
Dean noticed with interest that there were no other cars in the broad driveway, which he thought odd, since he knew Cas had several brothers. “I would say I'll see you around school,” said Dean as he parked the car, “but I don't really see you around school.”
“I generally spend my breaks in the library,” said Castiel.
“We could have lunch,” suggested Dean.
“Would I need to bring a lunch?” asked Castiel.
“Well, yeah, that would probably help,” said Dean.
“All right. I will bring a lunch tomorrow.”
Dean grinned as Castiel exited the car, long overcoat flapping in the wind, giving a shy wave before he turned and walked to his front door. Dean pulled away, wondering quite frankly if Cas was going to run and ask his brothers what people packed in their lunches.
On the drive home, however, his skepticism took over. An angel? Really?
He couldn't deny the kid - a fairly scrawny kid - had knocked out not one but two vampires. And there was something that just seemed off about his brothers. But, angels of the Lord? Are you fucking kidding?
Not for the first time since he'd moved to Sioux Falls, Dean reached into his pocket and fingered the scrap of paper with Bobby Singer's number on it. This was just fucking weird, and he was curious. But Dad had left strict instructions to only call Uncle Bobby if there was some kind of emergency, and Dean somehow thought a kid who claimed his was a heavenly messenger of the Lord didn't fall under that category.
“What kind of date was that? You smell like gasoline!” said Sam.
“Sam, what have I told you about waiting up?” sighed Dean when he finally arrived back home, yawning. Sam continued to scowl at him accusingly, so Dean said, “OK. So, it wasn't exactly a date. But I did meet a cool kid.”
“Oh, so there's exactly one cool kid in all of Sioux Falls. Great.”
“Hey, I think you'd like him. Now, you need to get your ass to bed. And I need to finish my history report.”
“You're gonna face plant! You sure you don't want me to do it?” asked Sam.
“No, Sammy, I do not need my little brother to write my history report! Now, like SamJack says, get the fuck to bed!”
Sam grinned and headed off.
Dean yawned and sat down at the kitchen table. He pulled out his textbook.
And a few mere moments later, he face planted, falling asleep smack dab in the middle of the American revolution.
The next day, Castiel was waiting for Dean at lunchtime, paper sack in hand. Though the weather was getting brisk, they mutually decided to sit on a bench outside, as Dean especially had no patience for selecting the goddam lunchroom table appropriate for their status. They had just killed a nest of vampires, for Christ's sakes! Who cared what the cheerleaders thought of them? Well, other than the cute cheerleaders....
As it turned out, Cas, wrapped up as always in several layers of baggy clothing and a big coat, had brought a sandwich, although he seemed a bit hesitant about actually consuming it.
“Hey, I hate to ask, Cas, but do you think you could do me a big favor?” asked Dean, taking a huge chomp of his own ham sandwich.
“Sure, you can ask,” Castiel told him, watching him chew with apparent curiosity. He took an experimental bite of his own sandwich and chewed.
“So, I got detention. I kind of fell asleep after I got home last night, so I didn't get in my Government homework?”
“Oh, I'm sorry about that,” said Castiel, who was still chewing. He swallowed, and appeared surprised at the result. He scowled at the sandwich.
“Thing is, I usually pick up my brother. You remember I mentioned Sammy? Anyway, he's got some other kids who are bugging him.”
“Bullies?”
“Well, yeah.”
“I have dealt with that kind of issue before,” mused Castiel, who was peeking at the innards of his sandwich.
Dean nodded. Probably the reason the poor guy spent lunch in the library. Dean could imagine the small, weird kid who dressed funny would have his share of guys giving him shit. “Well, would it be too much.... Is there any way you could meet him after school and just walk home with him? Just to make sure there's no bloodshed? I mean, you handled yourself with those fucking vamps, I'm sure you'd have no problem with some junior high punks. Otherwise, I wouldn't ask.”
Cas did his almost-smile thing. Dean thought his eyes were literally shining. “I would be very glad to walk Sam home!” he told Dean.
“OK. I mean, you don't need to babysit. He's got a key and everything. And there probably won't be any trouble anyway. I think he's a little paranoid.”
“I'm glad to do this for you, Dean.”
“Castiel! So, are we enjoying our sandwich?”
“Balthazar,” said Castiel, greeting the tall, slim boy who had just strode up. “Dean, this is my brother, Balthazar.” Like all of the Malakhim brothers, Balthazar and Castiel looked nothing like each other. Balthazar dressed nothing like Cas either: to Dean he looked like what he thought of as a theater kid.
“Dean Winchester, no?” grinned the boy, flipping back an overly long scarf and reaching out a graceful hand to shake. Returning the shake Dean noticed that, unlike Castiel, all of Balthazar's clothes looked new and fitted perfectly.
“Dean Winchester yes,” said Dean through a mouthful of ham sandwich. “So, you're an angel too?” he added.
“I prefer Enochian-American, if you don't mind,” averred Balthazar. And then he said something in some kind of foreign language Dean didn't recognize.
“What was that?” asked Dean.
“I just offered my greeting in the language of my people!” announced Balthazar.
“'Get stuffed, mortal,' is one of our traditional greetings?” asked Castiel.
“Don't be tiresome, Cassie. After all, I made you a sandwich for your little tete a tete!” scolded Balthazar.
“Does tete a tete have anything to do with tits?” Dean asked Castiel.
Castiel blushed slightly but told him, “Um, no.”
“Then I'm probably not interested,” grinned Dean.
“You will forgive me,” said Balthazar.
“Why? Did you fart?” asked Dean. That actually merited a small sound from Castiel. Dean realized to his surprise that it was actually a laugh.
“You know something?” said Balthazar, tilting his head and putting a finger to his lips. “Dean Winchester, I think I like you. You're a little sassy. Raphael, of course, will shit his holy pants.”
“Raph? We've met,” said Dean.
“I'm sorry. And this time, I am sorry,” said Balthazar. He flourished a hand, and Dean noticed there was a cigarette in it. Funny, Dean hadn't seen him take out a pack. Or a lighter. It was sort of like Cas’ vanishing sword trick, only this guy wasn’t wearing several layers of baggy clothing plus an overcoat. A family of magicians?
“Raph and Michael were around my first day,” Dean told him.
“Oh dear. The gruesome twosome? And you will still talk to our dear Cassie?”
“Hey, your brother is a good guy,” said Dean.
“Yes,” said Balthazar, leaning over and affectionately running a hand through his brother's tangled hair. “He needs friends. And a haircut. And to quit wearing Michael's horrible hand me downs.” He smiled and took a puff on the cigarette.
“I don't concern myself with my rainment. Clothes are a vanity. This earthly existence is vanity,” Castiel told him.
“Yes, all is vanity, but it would be nice to see you pretty face in there,” sighed Balthazar. Dean looked between the two brothers. For some reason, although they still didn't look like any brothers on earth, he had the vibe that they had been having this same conversation for a long time. For eternity, in fact.
“You ought invite your new friend for dinner some time,” smiled Balthazar.
“Oh, hell no, Balthazar!” said Castiel, who seemed genuinely upset.
“I'm joking, little one,” smiled Balthazar.
“You know, Balthy, I wouldn't mind coming over to visit your house some time,” said Dean. “I mean, honestly, I'm a little curious. I tried asking around about you guys, but people act like I'm a leper.”
Balthazar gave a dramatic sigh. Yeah, theater kid, thought Dean. “First rule of Flight Club, don't talk about Flight Club,” smiled Balthazar.
“Michael, and Raphael after him, does not wish us to make our status widely known,” said Castiel, who looked concerned. “I do not wish to question my older brothers, but I find this … confusing. We are messengers of the Lord, come to earth!” he said earnestly.
“Oh, and what is our Father’s latest message?” smiled Balthazar. Castiel shrugged. “We have a bit of a communication issue,” said Balthazar. “At any rate, I must fly. It was a pleasure meeting you, Dean Winchester.”
Dean nodded, but then stopped chewing.
Bathazar had literally disappeared, to the soft sound of beating wings.
Dean turned to Castiel, who was doing the not-quite-smiling thing at him. “He does that,” Cas told Dean.
Sam Winchester had had a bad day. And it was just about to get worse. Curtis and his stooges (Sam didn't even want to use space in his brain to give them names) had been picking on him nonstop all day. Dean was supposed to pick him up at 3:30 sharp, as he always did, and release him from his daily misery.
It was now 3:35.
And they were circling. Like sharks scenting blood. Sam stood outside the junior high, shivering, only partly because of the chilly weather.
“Waiting for your boyfriend, Weener-chester?” taunted Curtis, as his lackeys laughed.
“GOD! That's not even a good taunt!” raged Sam. Me and my big mouth, he thought, regretting for the hundredth time John Winchester's absolute rule not to engage with “civilians.” Sam fumed. Maybe he would grab one of the salt guns he wasn't supposed to know Dean had around. It would just scare them, right?
And get Sam expelled. And maybe get Dean in trouble. And then maybe get Social Services involved.
And then John would come home from wherever the heck he was to murder Sam.
“I'll kick your ass,” said Curtis.
“I'd like to see you try,” grumbled Sam. And then of course, idiot Curtis, who couldn't even throw a decent punch for Christ’s sake, but outweighed Sam by a good 20 pounds, pushed him down.
Sam scrunched his eyes shut. Just take the beating, he told himself. Maybe they'll lay off? It never worked of course. It was a stupid thing adults would tell you. It was as stupid as telling you to ignore bullies.
And then something really odd happened: absolutely nothing.
Sam peered up through his interlaced fingers. Curtis' feet were kicking, but not doing him any harm. That was because they were no longer on the ground.
Sam sat up to take it all in. Curtis was being held up by the scruff of the neck by another, older boy, who Sam didn't recognize. The boy was rather buried in a long, overly big coat that looked like a hand me down, and his face was partially obscured by a tangle of dark hair, but you could see the piercing blue eyes, which seemed to bore through Curtis.
“Let me go! Creep!” yelled Curtis.
Here was a funny thing: although Curtis was struggling and wiggling, the other boy stood absolutely still, like some kind of alabaster statue representing vengeance personified.
“If you touch him again,” said the dark haired boy, in a voice that seemed far too big for him, a throaty low growl, like a predator, “If you touch him again, or I hear of you touching him again, or you think about touching him again, I will end you.”
Curtis gulped. His buddies gulped.
Sam gulped. This dude was a little scary. Awesome, but scary.
“Now tell him you are sorry,” ordered the boy.
“Sorry,” whimpered Curtis. Sam noticed, with no little glee, that he had peed his pants.
The dark-haired boy released his grip, and Curtis thumped to the floor. He looked up, teary eyed.
“Go,” rasped the boy.
Curtis didn't need to be told twice.
Sam watched in wonder as his tormentors tore off. He had the distinct feeling he had no more to fear from them. He looked up at his savior, standing tall, the setting sun behind him. “Um. Hey, thanks.”
“You are Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester’s brother?” inquired the dark-haired boy.
Sam nodded.
“I am Castiel,” said the boy, formally extending his hand. “Although your brother seems to prefer to call me Cas. Either is acceptable.”
Sam gratefully took his hand and stood, suddenly feeling very mature. “Hi, Cas,” he said, squaring his shoulders.
“I am to escort you home today. Your brother has been … um, delayed.”
“Dean's in detention again?”
“Well, yes,” Cas admitted.
“What did he do this time?” sighed Sam.
Sam thought he saw an actual flick of a smile on Cas' face. “This is a common occurrence?”
“Daily!” said Sam.
The smile flickered again. “I do not have a vehicle, so we will walk home. I hope this will be acceptable to you?”
“Sure!” said Sam. It was a nice fall day, after all, and this guy was so weird and badass, he seemed like he'd be fun to talk to. And he didn't talk down to Sam, which was pretty cool.
They walked in silence for a while, and then Sam asked, “So, you're Dean's friend?”
Castiel seemed to consider this. “I supposed it would be correct to term me a friend. I'm not certain. I am afraid I do not have many friends.”
“You're not like Dean's other friends.”
“Oh. What are they like?”
“Skanky girls!”
The small smile edged up again. “I am certain someone like Dean has, um, an active social life.”
“You know,” said Sam, because he really needed Castiel to know this, “I can fight.”
“You can? That's good.” Castiel didn't question this, which Sam liked.
“My dad taught me! But dad doesn't want me in fights. He doesn't want me to end up in detention all the time. You know, like my stupid brother.”
Castiel seemed to be looking around. He leaned over towards Sam and said, softly, “You need to pick out the alpha.”
“The what?” asked Sam. Castiel seemed cool, but he talked kinda funny.
“The, uh, the leader?”
“Oh!” said Sam.
“You need to observe them closely. It is not always the biggest, nor the strongest. But if you find him, and defeat him soundly, the others will cease vexing you.”
“Oh! Vexing means like stealing my lunch money?”
“Yes, vexing like stealing your lunch money. I have had dealings with such types before, unfortunately.”
“You were bullied?”
Castiel actually managed a very small laugh. “Something like that. At school. And then I go home. And … I have many brothers,” he added ruefully.
“Really? Your brothers give you shit?”
“Yes.”
“Dean would never do that to me!”
“Well, then he is a good brother.”
“So how did you guys meet?”
“Well, um, we met briefly at school. When he was talking to my brothers. But we became acquainted at the graveyard.”
Sam sighed deeply and dramatically. “Ha. So he was out hunting! I knew it! What was it? Vampires? Or werewolves?”
“Um. Vampires. So your brother has done this before?”
“It's always vampires! I've told him and told him, you need to go after ghosts! That's the issue here!”
“Really?” asked Castiel, who was not acquainted with such things.
“You know how many spooks per capita you got in this state?”
“Well, no, not really.”
“It's through the roof! But, Dean won't let me help him, 'cause he thinks I shouldn't be hunting. But he's too fucking lazy to do research! Oh, uh, 'scuze me,” added Sam, realizing he was cursing in front of a stranger who might be all religious or something.
“No problem. I find lore pertaining to the spirit world to be an area of interest myself.”
“Really? Cool! You're pretty cool, Cas!”
“Um, unfortunately, I am whatever the opposite of cool is. Isn't this your house?”
“Oh. Yeah,” said Sam as they came upon his rental house. He felt his sunny mood - the first in days - start to cloud. Who the hell knew when Dean would be back, and this was the first intelligent conversation he had had in forever. Then Sam had a glorious idea. “Hey, why don't you come in! We could discuss spirit entities, and we still have some ice cream left I think, and I have a new video game I borrowed! We have a Nintendo! I set it up myself!”
“I am not very good at playing video games,” Castiel confessed.
“C'mon, Cas! You don't wanna go home yet, right! You said your brothers are dicks!”
“Well, I didn't say that specifically.... Maybe, just until your brother comes home?” said Castiel.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean found himself pleasantly surprised to come home from a shitty hour in detention to find Castiel, alleged angel of the Lord, sitting cross-legged on the floor of his house playing Godzilla Stomps Again with his little brother. Dean knew this game. They were in the part where you dunk the boss in a fiery volcano.
Cas had politely stood up to greet Dean, meaning he had stopped paying attention to gameplay.
“Hey, we haven't finished this level!” Sam complained as the television roared with the rage of the radioactive monster.
“Hey, Cas! You know, I just asked you to walk him home, you didn't need to babysit,” Dean told him.
“I'm not a baby!” said Sam, who had hit pause and popped up.
“It was no problem, Dean. Sam is showing me how one achieves conquest of Godzilla!”
“Anyway, if you want, you could stay for dinner,” Dean offered. “I'm ordering pizza.”
“Can I call? Can I call?” asked Sam. Dean nodded, and Sam dove for the phone.
“Just don't get anchovies again. Yuck,” said Dean. “And make it extra large! With double meat!”
“What about half vegetables?” asked Sam.
“Vegetable pizzas are for douche wads!” said Dean.
“You realize I do not technically need to eat,” Castiel politely told Dean.
“Oh, come on, it won't kill you,” said Dean, poking Cas in the stomach, making him cringe. Cas had taken off the heavy overcoat and laid it over a chair, which only made him look scrawnier. “You look like you could use a few pounds on you. Did you just have a growth spurt or something?”
“A … what?”
“You just got taller. Right?”
“Yes, that's correct.”
“You might wanna bulk up, if you're gonna hunt vampires with me!” said Dean, flexing a bicep.
“I am not overly concerned. For, this is not really my body,” Cas told him.
“It's not?” asked Dean.
“This is merely my earthly vessel. When the time comes, I will be called up to heaven, to dwell with the spirit of the Lord, my Father, in heaven for eternity.”
Sam, who was back from calling in the pizza, exchanged a skeptical glance with Dean.
“Uh, and when exactly is this occurring?” said Dean. “I mean, not that I'm doubting you, it's just, you said you hadn't talked with your dad in a while....”
“Well. I guess I don't know. Precisely,” confessed Castiel.
“So. You'll stay and have a slice?” asked Dean.
Castiel looked at Sam, who nodded, and nodded himself.
“Cool. And I might get beer too,” said Dean, winking.
“How can you get beer?” asked Castiel, blue eyes wide.
Dean grinned and showed him a driver's license.
“Who is … James Hetfield?” asked Castiel.
“Just a guy,” grinned Dean. “The guy who buys my beer!”
Dean pulled up for the second time in a week outside the creepy mansion on the low hill just outside town.
“Thank you for the pizza. And, uh, the beer,” said Castiel.
“Thanks for watching Sammy.”
“You can walk with me any time, Cas. We're buddies now,” said Sam, holding out a fist over the front seat bench. Castiel flashed a curious glance at Dean, and then cautiously bumped Sam's fist.
And, without a word, he was out of the car and up his porch, his long coat trailing in back of him like … well, it was not unlike angel wings.
“I like that guy. He's real Old Testament,” said Sam, wriggling over the bench seat into the front of the car.
“You're not gonna be able to do that for very much longer you know,” said Dean. “You're gonna have to leave a leg or two in the back seat.” Sam had been growing like a weed since last summer. They had had to get to Walmart twice to get him jeans that didn't make him look like a dork. Dean thought that was cool, as long as Sam didn't end up taller than him, of course.
“Boy,” said Sam, taking one last look back. “You know what that place reminds me of?”
“The Haunted Mansion?” grinned Dean.
Sam laughed. “You should be Cas' friend,” he gabbled. “Then he could come over more.”
“Seatbelt!” chided Dean. Sam clicked the belt into place, and Dean began driving home. “So you like him? I mean, even though he's an angel?”
“He's what?” gasped Sam.
“He claims he's an angel.”
Sam suddenly twisted around and stared back at the Malakhim mansion. “But, he lives in a house. I mean, that's not heaven.”
“Yeah, he lives in a big house with other angels.”
“No shit?”
“No shit,” laughed Dean.
“Well, I guess I like angels then! He could be our friend.”
“Just like that?” asked Dean, amused that this was the same morose kid his dad had practically dragged to school a few weeks ago.
“Yeah sure. We were talking about spirits when we were playing Godzilla, and he knows a bunch, that's why he spends a ton of time in the library, he likes reading about arcane lore, like I do.”
“You played Godzilla and talked about arcane lore?” asked Dean. Really, he adored his kid brother, but he was starting to fear for whether the little guy was ever in his life gonna get laid.
“I told him about the spirit entity issue, and he said he'd look into it!”
“The spirit entity…. Sam, you know Dad doesn’t want you hunting.”
“He doesn’t want you hunting either. I wonder what he’d say about those vampires you staked!”
“How did you know…. Oh. Well. OK. It’ll be our secret right?”
“Right!”
“Is that beer I smell?”
Castiel sighed. Despite the plethora of angelic ears in his home, he had managed to sneak nearly all the way to his room without detection.
He paused, slightly thankful that the voice in question belonged to Gabriel and not Raphael, who had started to act terribly officious since Lucifer left for Berkeley. “I had dinner. With a friend,” said Castiel. He turned and looked down at Gabriel, still mildly surprised to be able to look down at anyone who lived in his house. Castiel was now at least two inches taller than his older brother. He thought about what Dean had told him, about a growth spurt, wondering if growing taller meant he would fledge soon.
Not that it mattered. It was all vanity. After all.
“A friend?” asked Gabriel, who had now suddenly appeared in front of Castiel. “To have a friend, don't you actually have to meet people?”
“I meet people,” frowned Castiel. He opened his bedroom door, and was not at all surprised to see Gabriel already inside, sitting on his bed.
“What people? Who are people? People people?” prodded Gabriel.
“How is it that you don't already know?” asked Castiel.
“What does brother Raphael think?” countered Gabriel.
Castiel tossed his coat over the back of a chair and sat down heavily on the chair. “Dean encountered Raphael and Michael earlier. I hear they did not get along.”
“Eh. Who gets along with those douches.” Gabriel was now up overhead swinging from Castiel's light fixture.
“I'm not sure that's strong enough to hold your weight,” said Castiel, cringing as he heard the creaking. He turned to see Gabriel now sitting up on his desk. “And could you please stop doing that?”
“You just told me to get down,” sassed Gabriel.
“I realize you're fledged and I'm not,” said Castiel. “You don't need to … flaunt it.” Although Gabriel was a full year younger than Balthazar, they had come into their fledging almost simultaneously; meaning Castiel remained the only immature angel in the house. Of course, none of this really mattered. But Castiel still found himself annoyed by it. And also found himself annoyed at his own annoyance.
“Isn't it all vanity?” taunted Gabriel.
“It's … fucking annoying!”
Gabriel smiled and hopped off Castiel's desk. “Don't worry little brother, it'll happen.” He leaned over, gripping Castiel's shoulders, and whispered in his ear. “What, you wanna be all grown up for your new friend?”
There was a brief flash of light. Castiel hadn't even realized he was doing it, but he was standing up, his hand thrust out, and Gabriel was now lying down on the bed. Where Castiel had evidently pushed him.
“Whoa!” said Gabriel, as Castiel held up his own hand in wonder.
“Get.... Get out of my room, Gabriel,” Castiel rasped.
“If you're gonna act like that,” said Gabriel, who disappeared.
Castiel sat down, hard, and staring at his hand as if it had betrayed him.
“Come on in, the water’s fine,” said Balthazar to the knock on his door. “Cassie! You are up late.”
“I was out,” he admitted.
“With Dean Winchester?”
“Yes.”
“That’s nice, dear! Say, since you’re here, you wouldn’t mind grooming my wings, would you?”
“Sure,” said Castiel.
Balthazar smiled and removed his dressing gown, so that he was only clad in fine silk pajama bottoms. He sat down on a low stool, and seemed to shrug, which extended his broad, light-feathered wings.
Castiel sat behind him. He grabbed a jar from Balthazar's shelf, and scooped up a small amount of the oily substance inside. He rubbed his hands together, and then began slowly working the oil through Balthazar’s feathers.
“Oh, god, that feels so good! Your hands are magic, brother,” said Balthazar, ruffling his wings in a satisfied manner.
“Balthazar. Do you think I will be fledging soon?”
“Well, of course. What a silly question. You’re right about the age when I did.”
“But I’m older than Gabriel was.”
“Gabriel is what modern science refers to as an outlier. And reasonable people call a little dickwad. I wouldn’t compare myself to him. But why is this suddenly a concern?”
“Gabriel is being … annoying.”
“It's like a career for him. I wouldn't let him get to you.” Balthazar looked up into the mirror, and saw Castiel's concerned face over his shoulder. “Between you and me, I don't wonder if our Gabriel was a little young. He seems to mostly use his grace to get himself into mischief. He is on shaky ground. With the family.”
Castiel looked up from ministering to his brother's wings, surprised that Balthazar would tell him this.
“Michael is concerned. Gabriel's grades have been slipping. There might be … repercussions.”
Castiel nodded. “Michael is concerned, not Raphael?” he asked.
“Michael. And Lucifer.”
Castiel shivered. Lucifer was everybody's favorite. But not his. Not his.
This entry was originally posted at http://tikific.dreamwidth.org/117590.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas; Sam, John, Bobby, Gabriel, Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Balthazar, Joshua, Death
Warnings: Cursing.
Word Count: 38,000 total
Summary: John abandons teenaged Sam and Dean in Sioux Falls for the school year, where our young hunters-to-be befriend a strange boy who claims he and his brothers are angels of the Lord. Well, he's got a pretty cool sword anyway. The plot thickens when young Sammy wonders why there are so many restless spooks in the neighborhood, leading the boys to decide that calling out for pizza and Death is a wicked awesome idea. Hijinks ensue.
Notes: This is a high school AU, but since I can never do these things correctly, angels are still angels. (And some of them are still dickbags.)
A week had passed in Sioux Falls, South Fucking Dakota, and Dean was not doing well.
Not in general, and not right now.
He had not run into Michael Malakhim after their first encounter, so it seemed likely that Denise Hesselbacher was right, and he was off attending college. But his brother Raphael seemed to be everywhere, giving him the stink eye, and to make matters worse there appeared to be a Malakhim brother in every class, including his own: some guy named Gabriel, who was the class cutup. The other brothers didn't seem to be as big dicks as Michael and Raphael. But none of them looked or acted anything alike, and all of them seemed … just a little bit off. In a sort of “not in Kansas any more Toto,” kinda way. Even though they were in South Dakota.
South Fucking Dakota.
Dean was starting to wonder seriously what the fuck.
But he had also learned, to his dismay, that if you wanted someone to go running off like Denise Hesselbacher had, and then as a topper refuse to ever even meet your eyes again, start asking about the brothers Malakhim. So much for his fantasies about evenings spent with vanilla-scented redheads. It was enough to make him wanna go break into their house. Mansion, really: they all lived in some big rooty-toot shack up on a hill.
Breaking and entering was still a definite possibility. But in the now, Dean's lack of social success had driven him to one of his favorite vices, hunting. Signs pointed to vamp that hung out around the local cemetery, and if there was one thing Dean hated, it was vampires, sparkling or otherwise. Whoever they were, they weren't admittedly causing a whole lot of bother. He or she would occasionally drain a drunk high school kid or some poor homeless guy, that kind of thing. But it just fucking bothered Dean. Fucking vampires, he thought. Come on!
Dean had looked at it as practice, really, a way to keep his hand in the game. So one night after he'd gotten Sammy settled down for the evening, he'd lied about having a big date, and then tossed some freshly sharpened wooden stakes into Baby’s trunk and tooled down to the local graveyard.
What he hadn't reckoned on (rookie mistake) was that there turned out to be not one annoying vampire, but two. And so now instead of a quick “stake and shake,” he found himself at the bottom of a freshly dug grave, waiting to get drained or, if he were really lucky, and both vamps were especially stupid, waiting for morning, where he hoped he could come up with a good lie for the groundskeeper as to how he'd fallen in.
He clung to the earthen side of the grave, listening to his own heart pounding, brain desperately ticking through any advantage. He had unfortunately dropped his stake in the fall, and had been too stupid to jam something actually useful like a vial of holy water in his pockets to keep them off. Stupid mistake. Dad would tan his hide. Funny, thought Dean, that even when faced with the undead, it was the thought of John Winchester's unsmiling face (and belt) that got him sweating.
Dean froze as he heard what sounded like a small scuffle overhead. He listened silently for a time, heart in his throat. Were they getting ready to jump him? Or had yet more vamps arrived? Then he heard a thump, like a falling body. And then a cry, and suddenly a vampire toppled into the grave beside him, landing with a thump.
Dean carefully put a toe to it. The vamp was still alive - or whatever passed for alive in vampire - but it was out, cold.
Dean looked up to see a pale hand, reaching down into the grave. Dean peered into the darkness. It was the dark haired kid he'd seen talking to the Malakhim brothers that very first day of school.
He reached out and grasped the hand, reaching another hand towards the earthen side to climb out, but was shocked to find himself yanked right out of the grave by a kid who didn’t look a whole lot bigger than Sammy.
“Are you all right?” asked the dark-haired kid. His voice, like his coat, seemed a little bit too big for him.
“I'm fine. Arm nearly yanked out of the socket though,” Dean joked, rubbing his painful shoulder.
“Oh! I apologize.”
“No, no, that was great.” Dean looked around and saw the other vampire lying unconscious on the ground. “Well, they don't look so good, though.”
“I routinely walk home by this route, and saw your encounter with these vampires. I hope you don't mind my intervention on your behalf?”
“Mind? Fuck no! I would be dead.”
“No, I'm sure you would have handled the situation in your own way,” hedged the kid.
“Well, thanks for the confidence. I'm Dean by the way,” he said, sticking out a hand.
“Castiel.”
“Thanks, uh, Castiel?” The boy nodded. “Uh, you're the guy I ran into the other morning? Talking to Michael and Raphael?” Dean asked, hoping this wouldn't make the kid run away.
“They are my older brothers. I have several … older brothers,” he said, looking off into the distance.
“Oh! Wow. Your brothers? You don't seem at all like them.”
“I don't?” Suddenly, his attention was back on Dean.
“Yeah, you're not a dick for one thing.”
The barest wisp of a smile came over Castiel's features. It was enough to make Dean wonder what it looked like when he really smiled. “You don't know my brothers.”
“No?”
“They are … dicks, pretty much. Can I ask what you were doing here? Battling vampires isn’t a common occupation for my high school classmates.”
“We have sort of a family business,” said Dean. “We hunt and kill supernatural beings.”
“Oh,” said Castiel, who peered at him for a long moment. “You are aware that I am an angel?” he asked dryly.
“You're … what?”
“You do not know, do you? Myself and my family, we are angels, messengers of the Lord, come to earth.”
It was Dean’s turn to stare into the darkness. The kid didn't appear to be on crack. “Uh, come to earth, why?”
“To serve the Lord, our Father.”
“Serve him … doing what, exactly?”
“Well...” Castiel hedged. “It's a bit unclear at the present time. My Father … is not around. Much.”
“Huh, absentee dad. Yeah, I get that. When did you last talk?”
“I have, um, never seen Him. Myself.”
“You've never seen Him? Wow, that's even worse than our dad.”
“Should we, um...” asked Castiel, indicating the unconscious vampires as if he were eager to change an uncomfortable subject. “Clean up a little?”
“Oh, yeah! You gotta cut the heads off or they'll come back. I got stuff in the car...”
Castiel had already turned and struck out at the body that was lying nearby. And then hopped down into the grave and beheaded the other. He flipped a sword in his hand. Dean wondered how the hell he hadn’t noticed the sword before.
“That's cool,” said Dean.
“Angel sword,” said Castiel, reaching up a hand. Dean grabbed on and Cas hopped out as if it were nothing. He flipped the sword around again, and then to Dean's astonishment it disappeared from his hand. “I can't do a lot of angel stuff. Yet. But I can do that.”
“Wow,” said Dean, who for once had nothing else to say. “OK. Then we need to burn the bodies,” said Dean. “Can you, uh, light them up with angel juice too?”
“Angel juice?” asked Castiel, pushing dark, unruly bangs out of his face to look up at Dean in puzzlement. “Oh, can I make fire by the Lord’s grace? Unfortunately, no.”
“Well, I got stuff for that in the car then,” said Dean, chuffed that he was not going to end up being entirely useless in this, his own endeavor. And so he spent his first evening as friends with Castiel the angel burning vampire bodies and sweeping the ashes into the fresh grave.
Dean recalled his “hot date” lie to Sammy. Sort of a weird first date, Dean thought with a smile. Now, if he could find a girl who punched out vampires....
“You know, this is just a suggestion. But you might consider bringing another person along when you … do this?” said Castiel, interrupting Dean's thoughts.
“Hunt?”
“Yes. You call it hunting?”
“It's a good idea. But Sammy's too young, and anyway, I don't really want him going into the business. Too fucking dangerous.”
“Sammy?”
“My kid brother. You'd like him I think.”
“It's good that you get along with your brother.” Castiel gave a funny, wistful smile.
“Well, we're all each other's got, really. I don't come from a big family. Like yours,” said Dean.
Castiel gave an odd look, as if he did not fee especially lucky.
“Anyway. You wanna ride home?” asked Dean.
“I'm fine walking from here.”
“Yeah, but it's late, and the weather looks bad,” said Dean. Castiel shrugged, and they headed for the Impala.
“Is this your car?” asked Castiel politely.
“Yeah,” said Dean, stuffing the rest of the equipment in the trunk, and somehow grateful to have something to show off. “It's my dad's actually, but he lets me drive it when he's away. Hop in.” Dean noticed that Castiel spent a moment looking at the door handle, and then seemed surprised when the door popped open when he grasped it. When he was finally seated, he looked around with much curiosity.
“Belt,” said Dean automatically as he jumped in. He was used to driving Sammy. Castiel looked confused again, but then imitated Dean when he pulled on his shoulder belt. “Uh, Cas,” asked Dean, “you have been in a car before, right?”
“Me? Not really, no,” Castiel told him.
“Wait. No shit?”
“Um. Really? Maybe when I was small? I don't recall.”
“Huh,” said Dean. He didn't inquire any further. The house where Castiel lived with his brothers was a short distance away, up on a low hill overlooking the town. It looked to Dean like something you would only see in the movies. Or … a certain theme park in Florida. Dean smiled to himself.
Dean noticed with interest that there were no other cars in the broad driveway, which he thought odd, since he knew Cas had several brothers. “I would say I'll see you around school,” said Dean as he parked the car, “but I don't really see you around school.”
“I generally spend my breaks in the library,” said Castiel.
“We could have lunch,” suggested Dean.
“Would I need to bring a lunch?” asked Castiel.
“Well, yeah, that would probably help,” said Dean.
“All right. I will bring a lunch tomorrow.”
Dean grinned as Castiel exited the car, long overcoat flapping in the wind, giving a shy wave before he turned and walked to his front door. Dean pulled away, wondering quite frankly if Cas was going to run and ask his brothers what people packed in their lunches.
On the drive home, however, his skepticism took over. An angel? Really?
He couldn't deny the kid - a fairly scrawny kid - had knocked out not one but two vampires. And there was something that just seemed off about his brothers. But, angels of the Lord? Are you fucking kidding?
Not for the first time since he'd moved to Sioux Falls, Dean reached into his pocket and fingered the scrap of paper with Bobby Singer's number on it. This was just fucking weird, and he was curious. But Dad had left strict instructions to only call Uncle Bobby if there was some kind of emergency, and Dean somehow thought a kid who claimed his was a heavenly messenger of the Lord didn't fall under that category.
“What kind of date was that? You smell like gasoline!” said Sam.
“Sam, what have I told you about waiting up?” sighed Dean when he finally arrived back home, yawning. Sam continued to scowl at him accusingly, so Dean said, “OK. So, it wasn't exactly a date. But I did meet a cool kid.”
“Oh, so there's exactly one cool kid in all of Sioux Falls. Great.”
“Hey, I think you'd like him. Now, you need to get your ass to bed. And I need to finish my history report.”
“You're gonna face plant! You sure you don't want me to do it?” asked Sam.
“No, Sammy, I do not need my little brother to write my history report! Now, like SamJack says, get the fuck to bed!”
Sam grinned and headed off.
Dean yawned and sat down at the kitchen table. He pulled out his textbook.
And a few mere moments later, he face planted, falling asleep smack dab in the middle of the American revolution.
The next day, Castiel was waiting for Dean at lunchtime, paper sack in hand. Though the weather was getting brisk, they mutually decided to sit on a bench outside, as Dean especially had no patience for selecting the goddam lunchroom table appropriate for their status. They had just killed a nest of vampires, for Christ's sakes! Who cared what the cheerleaders thought of them? Well, other than the cute cheerleaders....
As it turned out, Cas, wrapped up as always in several layers of baggy clothing and a big coat, had brought a sandwich, although he seemed a bit hesitant about actually consuming it.
“Hey, I hate to ask, Cas, but do you think you could do me a big favor?” asked Dean, taking a huge chomp of his own ham sandwich.
“Sure, you can ask,” Castiel told him, watching him chew with apparent curiosity. He took an experimental bite of his own sandwich and chewed.
“So, I got detention. I kind of fell asleep after I got home last night, so I didn't get in my Government homework?”
“Oh, I'm sorry about that,” said Castiel, who was still chewing. He swallowed, and appeared surprised at the result. He scowled at the sandwich.
“Thing is, I usually pick up my brother. You remember I mentioned Sammy? Anyway, he's got some other kids who are bugging him.”
“Bullies?”
“Well, yeah.”
“I have dealt with that kind of issue before,” mused Castiel, who was peeking at the innards of his sandwich.
Dean nodded. Probably the reason the poor guy spent lunch in the library. Dean could imagine the small, weird kid who dressed funny would have his share of guys giving him shit. “Well, would it be too much.... Is there any way you could meet him after school and just walk home with him? Just to make sure there's no bloodshed? I mean, you handled yourself with those fucking vamps, I'm sure you'd have no problem with some junior high punks. Otherwise, I wouldn't ask.”
Cas did his almost-smile thing. Dean thought his eyes were literally shining. “I would be very glad to walk Sam home!” he told Dean.
“OK. I mean, you don't need to babysit. He's got a key and everything. And there probably won't be any trouble anyway. I think he's a little paranoid.”
“I'm glad to do this for you, Dean.”
“Castiel! So, are we enjoying our sandwich?”
“Balthazar,” said Castiel, greeting the tall, slim boy who had just strode up. “Dean, this is my brother, Balthazar.” Like all of the Malakhim brothers, Balthazar and Castiel looked nothing like each other. Balthazar dressed nothing like Cas either: to Dean he looked like what he thought of as a theater kid.
“Dean Winchester, no?” grinned the boy, flipping back an overly long scarf and reaching out a graceful hand to shake. Returning the shake Dean noticed that, unlike Castiel, all of Balthazar's clothes looked new and fitted perfectly.
“Dean Winchester yes,” said Dean through a mouthful of ham sandwich. “So, you're an angel too?” he added.
“I prefer Enochian-American, if you don't mind,” averred Balthazar. And then he said something in some kind of foreign language Dean didn't recognize.
“What was that?” asked Dean.
“I just offered my greeting in the language of my people!” announced Balthazar.
“'Get stuffed, mortal,' is one of our traditional greetings?” asked Castiel.
“Don't be tiresome, Cassie. After all, I made you a sandwich for your little tete a tete!” scolded Balthazar.
“Does tete a tete have anything to do with tits?” Dean asked Castiel.
Castiel blushed slightly but told him, “Um, no.”
“Then I'm probably not interested,” grinned Dean.
“You will forgive me,” said Balthazar.
“Why? Did you fart?” asked Dean. That actually merited a small sound from Castiel. Dean realized to his surprise that it was actually a laugh.
“You know something?” said Balthazar, tilting his head and putting a finger to his lips. “Dean Winchester, I think I like you. You're a little sassy. Raphael, of course, will shit his holy pants.”
“Raph? We've met,” said Dean.
“I'm sorry. And this time, I am sorry,” said Balthazar. He flourished a hand, and Dean noticed there was a cigarette in it. Funny, Dean hadn't seen him take out a pack. Or a lighter. It was sort of like Cas’ vanishing sword trick, only this guy wasn’t wearing several layers of baggy clothing plus an overcoat. A family of magicians?
“Raph and Michael were around my first day,” Dean told him.
“Oh dear. The gruesome twosome? And you will still talk to our dear Cassie?”
“Hey, your brother is a good guy,” said Dean.
“Yes,” said Balthazar, leaning over and affectionately running a hand through his brother's tangled hair. “He needs friends. And a haircut. And to quit wearing Michael's horrible hand me downs.” He smiled and took a puff on the cigarette.
“I don't concern myself with my rainment. Clothes are a vanity. This earthly existence is vanity,” Castiel told him.
“Yes, all is vanity, but it would be nice to see you pretty face in there,” sighed Balthazar. Dean looked between the two brothers. For some reason, although they still didn't look like any brothers on earth, he had the vibe that they had been having this same conversation for a long time. For eternity, in fact.
“You ought invite your new friend for dinner some time,” smiled Balthazar.
“Oh, hell no, Balthazar!” said Castiel, who seemed genuinely upset.
“I'm joking, little one,” smiled Balthazar.
“You know, Balthy, I wouldn't mind coming over to visit your house some time,” said Dean. “I mean, honestly, I'm a little curious. I tried asking around about you guys, but people act like I'm a leper.”
Balthazar gave a dramatic sigh. Yeah, theater kid, thought Dean. “First rule of Flight Club, don't talk about Flight Club,” smiled Balthazar.
“Michael, and Raphael after him, does not wish us to make our status widely known,” said Castiel, who looked concerned. “I do not wish to question my older brothers, but I find this … confusing. We are messengers of the Lord, come to earth!” he said earnestly.
“Oh, and what is our Father’s latest message?” smiled Balthazar. Castiel shrugged. “We have a bit of a communication issue,” said Balthazar. “At any rate, I must fly. It was a pleasure meeting you, Dean Winchester.”
Dean nodded, but then stopped chewing.
Bathazar had literally disappeared, to the soft sound of beating wings.
Dean turned to Castiel, who was doing the not-quite-smiling thing at him. “He does that,” Cas told Dean.
Sam Winchester had had a bad day. And it was just about to get worse. Curtis and his stooges (Sam didn't even want to use space in his brain to give them names) had been picking on him nonstop all day. Dean was supposed to pick him up at 3:30 sharp, as he always did, and release him from his daily misery.
It was now 3:35.
And they were circling. Like sharks scenting blood. Sam stood outside the junior high, shivering, only partly because of the chilly weather.
“Waiting for your boyfriend, Weener-chester?” taunted Curtis, as his lackeys laughed.
“GOD! That's not even a good taunt!” raged Sam. Me and my big mouth, he thought, regretting for the hundredth time John Winchester's absolute rule not to engage with “civilians.” Sam fumed. Maybe he would grab one of the salt guns he wasn't supposed to know Dean had around. It would just scare them, right?
And get Sam expelled. And maybe get Dean in trouble. And then maybe get Social Services involved.
And then John would come home from wherever the heck he was to murder Sam.
“I'll kick your ass,” said Curtis.
“I'd like to see you try,” grumbled Sam. And then of course, idiot Curtis, who couldn't even throw a decent punch for Christ’s sake, but outweighed Sam by a good 20 pounds, pushed him down.
Sam scrunched his eyes shut. Just take the beating, he told himself. Maybe they'll lay off? It never worked of course. It was a stupid thing adults would tell you. It was as stupid as telling you to ignore bullies.
And then something really odd happened: absolutely nothing.
Sam peered up through his interlaced fingers. Curtis' feet were kicking, but not doing him any harm. That was because they were no longer on the ground.
Sam sat up to take it all in. Curtis was being held up by the scruff of the neck by another, older boy, who Sam didn't recognize. The boy was rather buried in a long, overly big coat that looked like a hand me down, and his face was partially obscured by a tangle of dark hair, but you could see the piercing blue eyes, which seemed to bore through Curtis.
“Let me go! Creep!” yelled Curtis.
Here was a funny thing: although Curtis was struggling and wiggling, the other boy stood absolutely still, like some kind of alabaster statue representing vengeance personified.
“If you touch him again,” said the dark haired boy, in a voice that seemed far too big for him, a throaty low growl, like a predator, “If you touch him again, or I hear of you touching him again, or you think about touching him again, I will end you.”
Curtis gulped. His buddies gulped.
Sam gulped. This dude was a little scary. Awesome, but scary.
“Now tell him you are sorry,” ordered the boy.
“Sorry,” whimpered Curtis. Sam noticed, with no little glee, that he had peed his pants.
The dark-haired boy released his grip, and Curtis thumped to the floor. He looked up, teary eyed.
“Go,” rasped the boy.
Curtis didn't need to be told twice.
Sam watched in wonder as his tormentors tore off. He had the distinct feeling he had no more to fear from them. He looked up at his savior, standing tall, the setting sun behind him. “Um. Hey, thanks.”
“You are Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester’s brother?” inquired the dark-haired boy.
Sam nodded.
“I am Castiel,” said the boy, formally extending his hand. “Although your brother seems to prefer to call me Cas. Either is acceptable.”
Sam gratefully took his hand and stood, suddenly feeling very mature. “Hi, Cas,” he said, squaring his shoulders.
“I am to escort you home today. Your brother has been … um, delayed.”
“Dean's in detention again?”
“Well, yes,” Cas admitted.
“What did he do this time?” sighed Sam.
Sam thought he saw an actual flick of a smile on Cas' face. “This is a common occurrence?”
“Daily!” said Sam.
The smile flickered again. “I do not have a vehicle, so we will walk home. I hope this will be acceptable to you?”
“Sure!” said Sam. It was a nice fall day, after all, and this guy was so weird and badass, he seemed like he'd be fun to talk to. And he didn't talk down to Sam, which was pretty cool.
They walked in silence for a while, and then Sam asked, “So, you're Dean's friend?”
Castiel seemed to consider this. “I supposed it would be correct to term me a friend. I'm not certain. I am afraid I do not have many friends.”
“You're not like Dean's other friends.”
“Oh. What are they like?”
“Skanky girls!”
The small smile edged up again. “I am certain someone like Dean has, um, an active social life.”
“You know,” said Sam, because he really needed Castiel to know this, “I can fight.”
“You can? That's good.” Castiel didn't question this, which Sam liked.
“My dad taught me! But dad doesn't want me in fights. He doesn't want me to end up in detention all the time. You know, like my stupid brother.”
Castiel seemed to be looking around. He leaned over towards Sam and said, softly, “You need to pick out the alpha.”
“The what?” asked Sam. Castiel seemed cool, but he talked kinda funny.
“The, uh, the leader?”
“Oh!” said Sam.
“You need to observe them closely. It is not always the biggest, nor the strongest. But if you find him, and defeat him soundly, the others will cease vexing you.”
“Oh! Vexing means like stealing my lunch money?”
“Yes, vexing like stealing your lunch money. I have had dealings with such types before, unfortunately.”
“You were bullied?”
Castiel actually managed a very small laugh. “Something like that. At school. And then I go home. And … I have many brothers,” he added ruefully.
“Really? Your brothers give you shit?”
“Yes.”
“Dean would never do that to me!”
“Well, then he is a good brother.”
“So how did you guys meet?”
“Well, um, we met briefly at school. When he was talking to my brothers. But we became acquainted at the graveyard.”
Sam sighed deeply and dramatically. “Ha. So he was out hunting! I knew it! What was it? Vampires? Or werewolves?”
“Um. Vampires. So your brother has done this before?”
“It's always vampires! I've told him and told him, you need to go after ghosts! That's the issue here!”
“Really?” asked Castiel, who was not acquainted with such things.
“You know how many spooks per capita you got in this state?”
“Well, no, not really.”
“It's through the roof! But, Dean won't let me help him, 'cause he thinks I shouldn't be hunting. But he's too fucking lazy to do research! Oh, uh, 'scuze me,” added Sam, realizing he was cursing in front of a stranger who might be all religious or something.
“No problem. I find lore pertaining to the spirit world to be an area of interest myself.”
“Really? Cool! You're pretty cool, Cas!”
“Um, unfortunately, I am whatever the opposite of cool is. Isn't this your house?”
“Oh. Yeah,” said Sam as they came upon his rental house. He felt his sunny mood - the first in days - start to cloud. Who the hell knew when Dean would be back, and this was the first intelligent conversation he had had in forever. Then Sam had a glorious idea. “Hey, why don't you come in! We could discuss spirit entities, and we still have some ice cream left I think, and I have a new video game I borrowed! We have a Nintendo! I set it up myself!”
“I am not very good at playing video games,” Castiel confessed.
“C'mon, Cas! You don't wanna go home yet, right! You said your brothers are dicks!”
“Well, I didn't say that specifically.... Maybe, just until your brother comes home?” said Castiel.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean found himself pleasantly surprised to come home from a shitty hour in detention to find Castiel, alleged angel of the Lord, sitting cross-legged on the floor of his house playing Godzilla Stomps Again with his little brother. Dean knew this game. They were in the part where you dunk the boss in a fiery volcano.
Cas had politely stood up to greet Dean, meaning he had stopped paying attention to gameplay.
“Hey, we haven't finished this level!” Sam complained as the television roared with the rage of the radioactive monster.
“Hey, Cas! You know, I just asked you to walk him home, you didn't need to babysit,” Dean told him.
“I'm not a baby!” said Sam, who had hit pause and popped up.
“It was no problem, Dean. Sam is showing me how one achieves conquest of Godzilla!”
“Anyway, if you want, you could stay for dinner,” Dean offered. “I'm ordering pizza.”
“Can I call? Can I call?” asked Sam. Dean nodded, and Sam dove for the phone.
“Just don't get anchovies again. Yuck,” said Dean. “And make it extra large! With double meat!”
“What about half vegetables?” asked Sam.
“Vegetable pizzas are for douche wads!” said Dean.
“You realize I do not technically need to eat,” Castiel politely told Dean.
“Oh, come on, it won't kill you,” said Dean, poking Cas in the stomach, making him cringe. Cas had taken off the heavy overcoat and laid it over a chair, which only made him look scrawnier. “You look like you could use a few pounds on you. Did you just have a growth spurt or something?”
“A … what?”
“You just got taller. Right?”
“Yes, that's correct.”
“You might wanna bulk up, if you're gonna hunt vampires with me!” said Dean, flexing a bicep.
“I am not overly concerned. For, this is not really my body,” Cas told him.
“It's not?” asked Dean.
“This is merely my earthly vessel. When the time comes, I will be called up to heaven, to dwell with the spirit of the Lord, my Father, in heaven for eternity.”
Sam, who was back from calling in the pizza, exchanged a skeptical glance with Dean.
“Uh, and when exactly is this occurring?” said Dean. “I mean, not that I'm doubting you, it's just, you said you hadn't talked with your dad in a while....”
“Well. I guess I don't know. Precisely,” confessed Castiel.
“So. You'll stay and have a slice?” asked Dean.
Castiel looked at Sam, who nodded, and nodded himself.
“Cool. And I might get beer too,” said Dean, winking.
“How can you get beer?” asked Castiel, blue eyes wide.
Dean grinned and showed him a driver's license.
“Who is … James Hetfield?” asked Castiel.
“Just a guy,” grinned Dean. “The guy who buys my beer!”
Dean pulled up for the second time in a week outside the creepy mansion on the low hill just outside town.
“Thank you for the pizza. And, uh, the beer,” said Castiel.
“Thanks for watching Sammy.”
“You can walk with me any time, Cas. We're buddies now,” said Sam, holding out a fist over the front seat bench. Castiel flashed a curious glance at Dean, and then cautiously bumped Sam's fist.
And, without a word, he was out of the car and up his porch, his long coat trailing in back of him like … well, it was not unlike angel wings.
“I like that guy. He's real Old Testament,” said Sam, wriggling over the bench seat into the front of the car.
“You're not gonna be able to do that for very much longer you know,” said Dean. “You're gonna have to leave a leg or two in the back seat.” Sam had been growing like a weed since last summer. They had had to get to Walmart twice to get him jeans that didn't make him look like a dork. Dean thought that was cool, as long as Sam didn't end up taller than him, of course.
“Boy,” said Sam, taking one last look back. “You know what that place reminds me of?”
“The Haunted Mansion?” grinned Dean.
Sam laughed. “You should be Cas' friend,” he gabbled. “Then he could come over more.”
“Seatbelt!” chided Dean. Sam clicked the belt into place, and Dean began driving home. “So you like him? I mean, even though he's an angel?”
“He's what?” gasped Sam.
“He claims he's an angel.”
Sam suddenly twisted around and stared back at the Malakhim mansion. “But, he lives in a house. I mean, that's not heaven.”
“Yeah, he lives in a big house with other angels.”
“No shit?”
“No shit,” laughed Dean.
“Well, I guess I like angels then! He could be our friend.”
“Just like that?” asked Dean, amused that this was the same morose kid his dad had practically dragged to school a few weeks ago.
“Yeah sure. We were talking about spirits when we were playing Godzilla, and he knows a bunch, that's why he spends a ton of time in the library, he likes reading about arcane lore, like I do.”
“You played Godzilla and talked about arcane lore?” asked Dean. Really, he adored his kid brother, but he was starting to fear for whether the little guy was ever in his life gonna get laid.
“I told him about the spirit entity issue, and he said he'd look into it!”
“The spirit entity…. Sam, you know Dad doesn’t want you hunting.”
“He doesn’t want you hunting either. I wonder what he’d say about those vampires you staked!”
“How did you know…. Oh. Well. OK. It’ll be our secret right?”
“Right!”
“Is that beer I smell?”
Castiel sighed. Despite the plethora of angelic ears in his home, he had managed to sneak nearly all the way to his room without detection.
He paused, slightly thankful that the voice in question belonged to Gabriel and not Raphael, who had started to act terribly officious since Lucifer left for Berkeley. “I had dinner. With a friend,” said Castiel. He turned and looked down at Gabriel, still mildly surprised to be able to look down at anyone who lived in his house. Castiel was now at least two inches taller than his older brother. He thought about what Dean had told him, about a growth spurt, wondering if growing taller meant he would fledge soon.
Not that it mattered. It was all vanity. After all.
“A friend?” asked Gabriel, who had now suddenly appeared in front of Castiel. “To have a friend, don't you actually have to meet people?”
“I meet people,” frowned Castiel. He opened his bedroom door, and was not at all surprised to see Gabriel already inside, sitting on his bed.
“What people? Who are people? People people?” prodded Gabriel.
“How is it that you don't already know?” asked Castiel.
“What does brother Raphael think?” countered Gabriel.
Castiel tossed his coat over the back of a chair and sat down heavily on the chair. “Dean encountered Raphael and Michael earlier. I hear they did not get along.”
“Eh. Who gets along with those douches.” Gabriel was now up overhead swinging from Castiel's light fixture.
“I'm not sure that's strong enough to hold your weight,” said Castiel, cringing as he heard the creaking. He turned to see Gabriel now sitting up on his desk. “And could you please stop doing that?”
“You just told me to get down,” sassed Gabriel.
“I realize you're fledged and I'm not,” said Castiel. “You don't need to … flaunt it.” Although Gabriel was a full year younger than Balthazar, they had come into their fledging almost simultaneously; meaning Castiel remained the only immature angel in the house. Of course, none of this really mattered. But Castiel still found himself annoyed by it. And also found himself annoyed at his own annoyance.
“Isn't it all vanity?” taunted Gabriel.
“It's … fucking annoying!”
Gabriel smiled and hopped off Castiel's desk. “Don't worry little brother, it'll happen.” He leaned over, gripping Castiel's shoulders, and whispered in his ear. “What, you wanna be all grown up for your new friend?”
There was a brief flash of light. Castiel hadn't even realized he was doing it, but he was standing up, his hand thrust out, and Gabriel was now lying down on the bed. Where Castiel had evidently pushed him.
“Whoa!” said Gabriel, as Castiel held up his own hand in wonder.
“Get.... Get out of my room, Gabriel,” Castiel rasped.
“If you're gonna act like that,” said Gabriel, who disappeared.
Castiel sat down, hard, and staring at his hand as if it had betrayed him.
“Come on in, the water’s fine,” said Balthazar to the knock on his door. “Cassie! You are up late.”
“I was out,” he admitted.
“With Dean Winchester?”
“Yes.”
“That’s nice, dear! Say, since you’re here, you wouldn’t mind grooming my wings, would you?”
“Sure,” said Castiel.
Balthazar smiled and removed his dressing gown, so that he was only clad in fine silk pajama bottoms. He sat down on a low stool, and seemed to shrug, which extended his broad, light-feathered wings.
Castiel sat behind him. He grabbed a jar from Balthazar's shelf, and scooped up a small amount of the oily substance inside. He rubbed his hands together, and then began slowly working the oil through Balthazar’s feathers.
“Oh, god, that feels so good! Your hands are magic, brother,” said Balthazar, ruffling his wings in a satisfied manner.
“Balthazar. Do you think I will be fledging soon?”
“Well, of course. What a silly question. You’re right about the age when I did.”
“But I’m older than Gabriel was.”
“Gabriel is what modern science refers to as an outlier. And reasonable people call a little dickwad. I wouldn’t compare myself to him. But why is this suddenly a concern?”
“Gabriel is being … annoying.”
“It's like a career for him. I wouldn't let him get to you.” Balthazar looked up into the mirror, and saw Castiel's concerned face over his shoulder. “Between you and me, I don't wonder if our Gabriel was a little young. He seems to mostly use his grace to get himself into mischief. He is on shaky ground. With the family.”
Castiel looked up from ministering to his brother's wings, surprised that Balthazar would tell him this.
“Michael is concerned. Gabriel's grades have been slipping. There might be … repercussions.”
Castiel nodded. “Michael is concerned, not Raphael?” he asked.
“Michael. And Lucifer.”
Castiel shivered. Lucifer was everybody's favorite. But not his. Not his.
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