Angels & Mounties (due South/Supernatural) Part 1

[toolazytowork]

Title:  Angels & Mounties (due South/Supernatural)
Author: toolazytowork
Rating: R
Characters: Benton Fraser, Ray Kowalski, Fraser Sr, Diefenbaker, Castiel, Gabriel, Dean & Sam
Pairings: Fraser/Castiel, Fraser/Ray, Dean/Castiel
Spoilers:  Supernatural through Changing Channels
Warnings: None. Lack of knowledge of one canon should not be insurmountable.
Word Count: 23,182
Summary: A hot summer day in 1998, an overdressed man shows up outside of the 27 claiming he's an angel. Ray doesn't want to get involved. Fraser can't help himself. Castiel's day is not going very well at all.
Disclaimer: Not Mine.
Note: This started because I thought would be funny to imagine Fraser and Castiel having stilted, extremely proper sex. It was supposed to be short and silly. It took on a life of its own: a plot developed, characters I had no intention of writing made their way into the story. Thanks to everyone for putting up with me while I was writing this , especially hibernia1  for the beta.

"He's just been standing there for the last 40 minutes. It's creeping people out, Frase."

"I'm sure there's a logical explanation for this man's actions, Ray. Did anyone think to ask him what he's doing?"

Ray Kowalski rolled his eyes. "No, we were all too busy taking bets on how long it'd take for a bird to start building a nest in his hair,” he frowned. "Of course we did. A conversation with you is a real walk in the park compared to trying to get anything outta this guy."

He leaned against the doorway, doing his best imitation of casual despite being directly in the line of sight of the creepy guy in the trench coat standing stock still outside the station.

"He might be in some sort of distress. Perhaps he's found his way to the police station seeking our assistance. It's our duty to help him with whatever issues he might be dealing with at the moment." Fraser patted Ray on the shoulder and walked down the steps with stiff grace. Ray was used to Fraser's tendency towards being a little peculiar, but this trench coat guy was in a class by himself. It was hot-close to 90 degrees-wearing pants was going overboard on the clothes, but those two were dressed like they were waiting for a bus in a blizzard in mid-January. Fraser had a super human ability to deal with the elements,  what was Trench Coat's excuse?

"Sir," Fraser approached the man carefully. He stopped and stood with his hands clasped together against the back of his Red Serge. "My name is Constable Benton Fraser. You appear to be somewhat befuddled. Is there anything I could do to alleviate that confusion?"

Trench Coat turned his head almost imperceptibly. For a moment he stood there, as if he was surveying Fraser, making note of any distinguishing characteristics. More than likely he was just being weird. "Yes?"

"You'll excuse the intrusion, but my partner and I--" Fraser made a slight motion towards Ray who tapped his index finger against his sunglasses in acknowledgment, "well, we couldn't help but notice that you've been standing here for some time and we thought perhaps you might benefit from some sort of aid."

Trench Coat's stare was long and unnerving. If it was possible to stare into the abyss from a Chicago street corner this guy would be the one to pull it off. He was obviously a real whackjob. "I'm not meant to be here."

The man's demeanor was unusual, but his sentiment seemed fairly straight forward. "Are you waiting for a bus? If so, we have a complete bus schedule inside the station. Perhaps you'd like to step inside for a moment, I’m sure we can help you with whatever problem you might have." Fraser placed one hand gently on the sleeve of the man's coat and guided him towards the steps. Castiel followed willingly and they made their way towards the doorway and closer to Ray. "At the very least, I'm sure you would enjoy getting out of the heat. You seem to have dressed inappropriately for this weather."

The man cast his eyes towards Fraser’s outfit. "I could say the same about you. I'm used to people who dress in a considerably more casual manner. Though they may not be the best examples." He paused and looked at Ray, who was wearing a white t-shirt and sunglasses, an outfit as close to acceptable for the weather as he could get away with at work. "However, it would appear that casual attire is more common than not."

The three men walked into the squad room. Fraser and Ray nodded at several people as they maneuvered towards Ray's desk. The third man reacted to none of the looks, just followed their lead, taking in his surroundings like he was cataloging every person, place or thing in the room. It was not a good way to appear inconspicuous. Not that someone who roams around acting like this guy was likely to be interested in blending into his environment.

"Please, have a seat." Fraser motioned towards a chair. "I apologize, I have neglected to ask your name."

"Castiel," he said as he sat down.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Castiel. This is Ray." Ray took off his sunglasses, but made no further move.. Fraser kicked him in the shin and bobbed his head in a way that could only mean that Ray was failing at basic politeness.

"Yeah, right, nice to meet ya." Ray stuck out a hand, which Castiel looked at as if Ray was offering him the gift of a live, struggling fish. Ray dropped it and scowled in Fraser's general direction. "So, what're you doing here?" Ray asked.

"I'm looking for my father. Unfortunately, he is.." Castiel cast his eyes towards his lap and brushed at the wrinkles in his coat, "less than forthcoming about his whereabouts."

"How so?" Fraser asked.

He looked up and looked directly into Fraser's eyes, holding his gaze in a way that made it clear this guy had never learned that it wasn't nice to stare. When he spoke, his words were measured, almost monotone in their preciseness. "I'm an angel of the Lord. I'm on a mission to find God, my father. I have reason to suspect the men I am working with, Dean Winchester and his brother, are in the grasp of the Trickster. They have been rather difficult to trace for the last few days. If I can't locate my father, Dean may be the only hope for putting a stop to the Apocalypse."

Ray blinked, hard, and opened his mouth to speak, but could think of no words to describe his reaction. Fraser leaned in towards the mad man, as if proximity would make the story somehow easier to comprehend.

The lunatic, who claimed he was an angel, and only a lunatic would make a claim like that, continued: "Although I am not very well versed in the intricacies of human technological advancement, I'm relatively certain that I'm in the wrong decade. Based on some of the electronics alone, I assume that I have missed my intended mark by, ten, possibly 20, years."

Ray really wanted to have a go at this guy. He was weird as hell and it was making him nervous. He knew Fraser wouldn’t appreciate if he was to let loose and cause bodily harm, but that didn't make the urge any less strong. "What's wrong with our electronics?" he asked, since that was the first thing out of the guy's mouth that he could even come up with a response for.

"Your cell phones are antiquated. They are very cumbersome and don't fit comfortably into a back pocket. It’s also obvious that they are lacking in cameras, which Dean informs me he's not sure how he lived without. They most likely are not equipped with what Sam refers to as Wifi. I'm not sure what that is, but he assures me that it is essential for daily existence.  I would hazard a guess that texting is not an option on the phones I've seen, either. I've also noticed that your televisions are large and rather boxy. The televised images are lacking in clarity, as well. They do resemble some of the televisions I have seen in the motels Sam and Dean stay in, but they rarely stay at modern establishments. Though it is obvious that this time is somewhat after the 1970s, which I have also experienced, I believe it is somewhere earlier than the time where I would be of use."

"What the hell is he talking about, Fraser?" Ray shot a look at Fraser, who seemed not the least bit put off by Castiel's strangeness. "What do you mean our TVs lack clarity? And what the hell is this angel of the Lord crap? Is that some kind of gang or something?"

"I can assure you that I am not a part of a gang. Very much the opposite. As it stands, my closest associations are with the Winchesters. They're not nearly organized or numerous enough to qualify as a gang. There's only two of them. Three if you count Bobby," Castiel explained. "As for your first question, in the time in which I am accustomed, televisions are flat and broadcast images so realistic that they are unnerving to look upon. It's a minor difference, but one I couldn't help but notice when I passed by one of your electronics stores."

This was one of those times when Ray wished he'd gone into something other than law enforcement. If he'd listened to his folks and gone to university, gotten a nice desk job in an office somewhere, this sort of thing wouldn't happen. This guy was a real trip--the kind of trip Ray would have been much happier not taking. What kind of bull was he spouting? Flat TVs and phones with cameras? That was weird enough, but dammit, all the talk about angels and God and the Apocalypse being stopped by some guy named Dean? Guys named Dean don't stop the Apocalypse. Guys named Dean drink all your beer and pass out on your sofa. Dean is the type of guy who steals your girl and tells you how great she was in bed. He’s not a guy you trust with your car keys, much less the fate of the world. This Castiel didn't need any of the kind of help he or Fraser could offer. He needed mental help, the kind that featured straps, hardcore anti-crazy drugs and electroshock therapy. Lots of electroshock therapy.

Fraser seemed not the least bit phased. "You said you’re here on a mission to find your father." He was so calm, not at all like he was talking to a crazy person. "It seems we have something in common. I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father. For reasons that don't bear explaining at this juncture, I have remained, attached as a liaison to the Canadian consulate."

“But you’re certain that your father was dead," Castiel sounded sad, almost fragile. Ray would be tempted to call the man's tone childlike, but he preferred to believe that no child was capable of being that creepy. "I have to believe my father is alive and vested in the continued existence in that which He’s created. Yet, I have no proof beyond my faith, which has been tested a great deal of late."

Fraser nodded. "You seem to be under a great deal of stress. If you would just stay here, my partner and I need to talk for a minute." He stood and motioned for Ray to follow him over to a corner that was out of Castiel's earshot. Ray didn't need to be told twice, that was for sure.

Ray positioned himself so that his back was to Castiel. He wouldn't put it past the guy to be a lip reader. Someone claiming to be an angel of the Lord has to have a lot of tricks up his coat sleeves if he was going to survive for any length of time without getting his ass kicked.  "Fraser, this guy is out of our jurisdiction. He's queer in the head. We can't help him. The only thing that can help him is an extended stay in a very well-padded, very locked room."

“I agree that he does have some slightly unusual ideas, but he is in need of help. Need I remind you that you are sworn to protect as well as serve? If anyone has ever been in need of protection, I believe it is this man."

"Fraser, he thinks he's a damn angel."

"That's an oxymoron, Ray. An angel is, by its very nature, not damned."

"Can we not get nitpicky here? I think we have bigger issues to deal with than whether or not I'm using the right words to describe this...this!" He waved his arm towards Castiel, who was totally oblivious to the conversation going on not five feet away from him. "The guy just rattled off enough crazy to keep a troop of psychiatrists working until someone actually figures out a good reason to put a camera in a phone and you're suggesting we humor him."

Fraser had that expression that he got when he was trying to come up with a way to explain what he was going to say in words that even Ray could understand. "The things he said are quite outlandish, but that does not necessarily mean that he is mentally unwell. For example, he made mention of the trickster. The trickster is a very well known character in mythology, some incarnation appears in some form in nearly every culture. One of the best known is the Native American Coyote, who is the Creator of all things, but also a joker who causes trouble and wreaks havoc upon his people. To be under the spell of the trickster is a very troubling proposition, as they have a great deal of power. They rank among the most powerful of gods. Should they be so inclined, they have the ability to destroy entire worlds. A person who believes himself to be in the clutches of a trickster is a very sad soul, indeed, Ray."

"So, he's a crazy person that dabbles in mythology. I don't see how that makes him any more our problem than before. I really don't." Ray was used to letting Fraser get him into trouble. Hell, he wasn't just used to it, he expected it. It was like trouble had a permanent fix on Fraser's location. His ability to stumble onto weird situations was one of the most annoying things about Fraser. Damned if Ray didn't kind of love it. He never got bored at least. But, this was just too hinky. It didn't make things any easier to take that this Castiel guy had been sitting, almost motionless, staring into some far off point in the distance since they'd left him to go talk about the situation. A normal person would at least look around, maybe try to distract himself with a piece of lint on his pants or something. But no! Mr. Angel of the Lord just sat there, being a freak.

"He's our problem because he's here and clearly in distress. I suspect he has suffered some sort of trauma that has caused him to create a fantasy world rather than have to deal with the traumatic events. It is our sworn duty to assist him in any way possible. He's clearly harmless. He presents no danger to us, we have nothing to lose by providing him with whatever help we are capable of offering."

Fraser made it all sound so logical. As if this guy was just your average Joe that happened to walk into the station claiming he was on a mission from God. OK, fine. That happened at least once a week, but that didn't make this guy any less unnerving. Hell, if anything, it made him worse. He was so blasé about it. The least he could do was have the decency to be a raving lunatic like the rest of God's army of nutcases.

"Besides, as I was saying, his statements may be peculiar, but they are not without historical merit. My knowledge of eschatology is far from thorough..."

"Escha-what?"

"Eschatology. It's the study of the end times."

"Why can't you just say that? Why can't you just say end times? Why do you have to use some ridiculous $5 word when a 5 cent word works just fine?" Ray hated it when Fraser used big words. Not because he had anything against big words, not because he didn't understand them, but because it was unnecessary. Why couldn't he just say what the hell he meant?

"I apologize, Ray. I was just trying to use the most precise term possible. The little I know about the Apocalypse fits in quite well with what he has described. For example, there would certainly be a need for an angelic presence. It would be vital for interceding between the Earth and Heaven."

"That's great, Fraser, but what about the other stuff he's going on about? I'm sorry, but if the world is going to end, I am not putting my fate in the hands of some guy named Dean."

"The name of the person he believes to be humanity's savior is rather inconsequential in the great scheme of issues he's dealing with, don't you think?"

Spoken like a man who had never watched his girlfriend leave a 4th of July party hanging off Dean Shaffer like he was a wall and she was an oil painting. Like that one of the chick in the field looking towards a farmhouse that his buddy Charlie’s parents had hanging on their living room wall.  He remembered it well, since he'd spent the rest of the night sitting on the couch drinking beer and staring at that damned picture, thinking of Stella, off doing who knows what with that slimeball Dean Shaffer. God, he'd felt like so much shit that night. It only got worse when he'd run into Dean three days later and the jerk had gone into great detail about what happened back in his place. That's not something you forget and, yeah, maybe it was irrational to hold one guy responsible for the reputation of an entire name, but it was hard not to in this case.

"It's just not a very saving the world type name, is all. Besides, this guy doesn't seem too angelic. He's not doing a very good job at looking the part, you know? Angels don't roam around dressed like office drones and looking confused."

"If you take into consideration the changes in fashion over the course of the last 50 years, his appearance is not dissimilar to the angel Clarence in It's a Wonderful Life."

"Which is not exactly a documentary. In fact, I'd say that it's a good point in favor of this guy being a nutcase. He's based his appearance on an angel in a movie that's on TV 700 times between Thanksgiving and Christmas. He's probably a shut-in who watches too much TV and decided it was easier to be a character in a movie than face real life."

"That may well be the case. Nevertheless, we need to figure out what we're going to do about him right now. It would be both impolite and impractical to leave him sitting there all day. What do you say we take him somewhere less hectic and see if we can get him to open up to us a little bit more. Perhaps if we can get him talking, he will offer us some clues as to how we can help him."

"Whatever you say, but I'm just along for the ride on this one. You aren't going to get me into some epic battle of good and evil, here, got it?" Ray waved a finger a few inches away from Fraser's nose as he spoke.

Fraser's eyes followed the movements of Ray's index finger.  "I will do my best to avoid such a situation, Ray."

Continued