A New Earth: Chapter 2: In Which There is a Fight and Reconciliation
Title: A New Earth: Chapter 2: In Which There is a Fight and Reconciliation
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Castiel, Gabriel, Balthazar, Dean, Sam, Bobby
Rating: PG so far.
Genres: Humor, drama
Era: AU
Warnings: Car talk
Word Count: 2,250
Summary: Angels and hunters don't know each other. Apocalypse happens. Righteous humans given to angels on earth. Read a better summary here. In this chapter, the housemates get sorted out. There are cars.
Notes: I've actually written out a vague outline for this thing, so hopefully future chapters will come quicker.
Masterlist
The first few days had gone by. Not well, but they had passed. We were settling into a routine. Each morning, the humans would wake, take care of their morning activities (which we were not required to be a part of), and come downstairs.
Bobby would start making breakfast. Sam would stand awkwardly in his tall frame. Dean, without fail, would come up to me and ask me what I wanted him to do. He would often throw "master" or "boss" or a more offensive term at the end of that question.
At first I was confused, but soon grew weary of his antics and just told him to eat. He insisted on this annoying, little ritual. Every day.
My angelic patience was wearing thin.
Our first real dispute came on the fourth day.
I was cleaning the living room area, straightening up, when Balthazar came in. "What are you doing?" he asked.
I shrugged, thinking it was obvious, "I'm cleaning." It was astounding how much of a mess three humans could make in such a short period of time, and then do the same thing all over again (seemingly as soon as I had cleaned up). They brought their food and dishes in here while watching television and left them. Books, magazines, clothes, various tools, and utensils were left all around. I sighed softly.
Balthazar interjected, "I can see that you're cleaning, Castiel. My question is why?"
"Then you should have asked that," I huffed. I disliked purposeful unclearness. "I am cleaning, because it is messy and dirty. Pass me the Windex," I asked. I sprayed the couch liberally, ignoring Balthazar's glares.
"Did you make this mess, Castiel?" Balthazar persisted, somewhat condescendingly, I thought.
"Of course not. Cleanliness is next to godlessness. Well, not precisely, but the expression is quaint."
His arms crossed over his chest, Balthazar continued to watch me until Gabriel slouched in and dropped on the couch. "Do you see this?"
Gabriel looked around. "Yeah?" he drawled. "Where's the remote, Castiel?"
I grabbed it off the top of the television set where I had placed it after finding in the barcalounger's cushions and tossed it to him.
"Gabriel!" snapped Balthazar. "Has Castiel been cleaning up the living room after our darling little mud monkeys all this time?"
"Think so," Gabriel shrugged. "I think he's been cleaning the whole house. Humans are gross."
Balthazar grabbed the Swifter out of my hands. "They make a mess - they clean it up. Get it?" He turned to Gabriel, "Get them in here."
Gabriel grunted, but got up, and, turning of the television, strolled out of the room. Balthazar made me put down all my cleaning implements. He angrily ripped my protective cleaning apron off. I did not understand his violent reactions.
Leading the four humans, Gabriel came back in, and flopped back down on the couch, looking carefree as usual. Feeling Balthazar's anger radiating, I tensed.
Balthazar started off, reminding me of him many battlefield speeches. "Look at this mess! You disgusting humans are revolting. We provided with safety and security and you completely trash it..." He went on for several minutes more, using more choice words unfit for an angelic being. In summary, he expressed displeasure at how they were treating our living conditions and at how I had ended up doing all of the work around here, and that from now on, they were going to take care of this place - even if we had to beat them like slaves to get it done.
I would have protested at that part, but at a look from the suddenly interested Gabriel, I stopped. To my surprise, Balthazar's words seemed to have some effect on our trio of humans. Sam looked ashamed; Bobby had an air of discomfort about him; and even Dean looked slightly cowed. Balthazar's acerbic speeches were legendary among the ranks.
Finally, he concluded and told them to get to work cleaning, a dangerous look on his face, daring them to refuse. They did not dare. The three men began cleaning the room, and I humbly noticed that they did a much better job that I had before. Within ten minutes, the living room was clean, not spotless, but I figured that their godliness was less clean than mine or something.
"Now get the rest of the house finished," commanded Balthazar. "And you will keep the house neat from now on. I don't want to find Castiel covering for your asses again. I'll check on you in a half hour. While you're working, we will come up with more jobs for you to do around the house, since you obviously have too much free time on your hands." Dean mumbled something, but even I could not hear the words, and we ignored it.
As the three trooped out of the room, Gabriel commented, "Well done, Balthazar. Way to put the fear of You-Know into them." He stood up, looking at me. "Castiel, why is the couch all wet?"
It took us longer than I expected (and more looking up definitions in the dictionary that I thought), but finally we came up with a working chart, color-coded with tasks and responsibilities for our three humans. It was well-rounded and would help improve them both mentally and physically. I thought it looked very nice. (The color coding had been my idea.)
Actually feeling excitement, I sat down at the large dining room table across from the three humans. I had been tasked with explaining the chart to them and was determined to do my best. I began, "This is a weekly schedule of your activities. You can see, it starts here on Sunday. Each of you will get up at 5:00 am, get dressed, and begin Morning Prayer, which will be followed by devotions at 6:00..."
I was interrupted by Dean, who said, "Lemme see," and pulled the chart across the table, closer to them. "This is bullshit," he exclaimed.
I protested, "This is not... that--"
"Why am I pink?" asked Sam, annoyed.
"Pink is a pretty color," I explained, confused.
"Yeah, you're so pretty, Sammy," chimed Dean.
"That's not why--"
"I ain't gettin' up at 5:00," protested Bobby, "and I sure as hell ain't going to bed at 8:00. What'dre think we're twelve?"
This demonstration was spiraling out of control. I looked to Gabriel for help, but he was laughing silently. Balthazar was fuming again. Again, it was up to me to diffuse the situation.
"Silence," I demanded raising my hand. I refused to let surprise show on my face at their compliance. Slightly reckless, I picked up the chart and tore it in half and then in half again. "Am I to understand that you would wish a different method of organization?"
They nodded.
"Very well. Understand that we wish you to do these jobs in order that you may be occupied and have a purpose in this time. It is not healthy for you to continue this apathetic and lazy existence."
"Well, what do ya expect us to do?" asked Bobby gruffly.
"You're not going to let us hunt anymore, are you?" Sam questioned hopefully.
"No, that would be too dangerous during this time," I reminded them.
"The boys like a bit of danger, don't you?" teased Gabriel.
I ignored him. Rules were rules. However, as far as I knew, Dean and Sam had never held any other jobs - hunting was their life.
Balthazar spoke up, "This one ran an auto garage," gesturing at Bobby.
Of course! I had forgotten that. "We can bring you some automobiles to repair," I said.
The three of them looked skeptical, but Dean asked, "Old ones, all right?"
I nodded. I was glad that we had come up with an idea acceptable to all. In the end, I knew that it was pointless - rebuilding cars when the world was burning around us was a fool's job - but if it gave them enjoyment, then I was glad of it.
Thus a new stage in our relationships began. It was easy for us to create a workshop garage in the back. Bobby insisted on us finding real cars (and not speaking them into existence from nothing), so Balthazar and I would search the nearby area for classic cars to transport back to our place. I checked a book out of the library on classic automobiles to make sure we brought the correct things. (The library was no longer in service, but I believe I followed the correct procedure by myself.)
It was usually Dean and Bobby who worked together. Sam helped for an hour or so each day, but he could not compare to their enthusiasm. I would watch them, out of sight, to make sure they were fairing well. Balthazar would drop by, though his sarcastic comments likely made his presence unwelcome.
I was ashamed to realize that I had been avoiding Dean. He was my charge, and yet, I felt out of place around him. I cannot express precisely why, but he made me feel ill at ease. However, I became determined not to let my weakness prevent me from doing my duty; he was my responsibility, and I would not shirk it.
I stood watching Bobby and Dean work. They were leaning over the hood of the car, gesturing and poking around in the greasy, metal deathtrap. Moving forward, I stood beside Bobby and peered inside, making sure I did not get too close. They were talking about something called a car burateor. Bobby turned away; seeing me, he gave me an unreadable look, but he did not seem upset.
Continuing to watch Dean, I was slightly startled when he held out his hand in my general direction and asked for a "wrench." Uncertain, I did not do anything. Dean looked up and said, "Oh--"
Determined, I asked, "Which tool is a wrench?"
Dean stared at me for a moment, then pointed over at the toolbox. "Long-handled, silver-colored, y-shaped head."
I picked the right tool the second time, and quickly passed it over. Dean gave me a strange look, but took it, and got back to work. I felt relief; he had not turned me away. I took the wrench when he had finished with it, and put it carefully back in the tool box.
Wrench. I would remember that.
I handed him a few more tools, until Bobby shuffled me out of the way, carrying a large, filthy object, which they fitted back into the automobile. I stood around for awhile longer, until Dean would ask for something, hand me this or push back on this here.
A couple of times a "please" or "thank you" slipped out, and he would look away annoyed. I knew he did not find it appropriate to show me courtesy intentionally, perhaps feeling that being friendly would be humbling. I did not mind; I would too find it troubling to be kind to a captor, however benign.
The next day, I "helped out" again - though I am certain that having to teach me every little thing slowed them more than it helped. Dean even explained a few things to me. I learned that the dirty grease was actually good as it helped lessen the friction and keep the parts running smoothly. I found that fact very interesting indeed.
Everything, even dirty grease, had its place. Just not in my house.
"Pass me the tire iron."
"This is a tire iron? I thought it was called a crowbar." I passed over the surprisingly heavy bar of iron.
"Different tool, but close enough. Lotsa people get 'em confused."
I was helping Dean removed the tires from a 1969 Buick Skylark. Of course, he was doing most of the work.
Our days had turned into this - Dean working on cars and me helping. Bobby worked less nowadays, finding other jobs around the house to occupy his time. Despite Gabriel's teasing, he began gardening, saying gruffly it was something he'd always wanted to do, but never had the time, and we'd sure be grateful when there weren't angels poofing in food from Who-Know's where. That idea was foolish, but I enjoyed seeing the little spouts pop up all over the yard. It had been a long time since I had time to watch something grow.
Sam spent more time indoors, trying to catch up on some reading that he had just never gotten around to. I said "trying" since Gabriel seemed determined to make even a few minutes of quiet solitude impossible for him.
Gabriel has always been a trickster - fonder of pulling pranks and telling jokes than any other angel I knew, more than most humans, according to the startled looks that Sam always gave him. I often considered diplomatically confronting Gabriel about this, but I had tried in the past to no avail. Plus our objective was different now, and perhaps, a bit of tomfoolery was a viable strategy.
Sam did seem confused at first, but I suspect that all younger brothers share an affinity for being obnoxious. (Gabriel is, in fact, the youngest of the archangels.) Soon, much to Dean's annoyance, Sam was returning the pranks with ease. Gabriel seemed delighted.
I was glad he found someone else to annoy. Up until then, I was most often the brunt of his jokes, worse for I did not understand them.
We were falling into a routine, easy enough, and I found it still interesting learning about my human and theirs.
Chapter 3
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Castiel, Gabriel, Balthazar, Dean, Sam, Bobby
Rating: PG so far.
Genres: Humor, drama
Era: AU
Warnings: Car talk
Word Count: 2,250
Summary: Angels and hunters don't know each other. Apocalypse happens. Righteous humans given to angels on earth. Read a better summary here. In this chapter, the housemates get sorted out. There are cars.
Notes: I've actually written out a vague outline for this thing, so hopefully future chapters will come quicker.
Masterlist
The first few days had gone by. Not well, but they had passed. We were settling into a routine. Each morning, the humans would wake, take care of their morning activities (which we were not required to be a part of), and come downstairs.
Bobby would start making breakfast. Sam would stand awkwardly in his tall frame. Dean, without fail, would come up to me and ask me what I wanted him to do. He would often throw "master" or "boss" or a more offensive term at the end of that question.
At first I was confused, but soon grew weary of his antics and just told him to eat. He insisted on this annoying, little ritual. Every day.
My angelic patience was wearing thin.
Our first real dispute came on the fourth day.
I was cleaning the living room area, straightening up, when Balthazar came in. "What are you doing?" he asked.
I shrugged, thinking it was obvious, "I'm cleaning." It was astounding how much of a mess three humans could make in such a short period of time, and then do the same thing all over again (seemingly as soon as I had cleaned up). They brought their food and dishes in here while watching television and left them. Books, magazines, clothes, various tools, and utensils were left all around. I sighed softly.
Balthazar interjected, "I can see that you're cleaning, Castiel. My question is why?"
"Then you should have asked that," I huffed. I disliked purposeful unclearness. "I am cleaning, because it is messy and dirty. Pass me the Windex," I asked. I sprayed the couch liberally, ignoring Balthazar's glares.
"Did you make this mess, Castiel?" Balthazar persisted, somewhat condescendingly, I thought.
"Of course not. Cleanliness is next to godlessness. Well, not precisely, but the expression is quaint."
His arms crossed over his chest, Balthazar continued to watch me until Gabriel slouched in and dropped on the couch. "Do you see this?"
Gabriel looked around. "Yeah?" he drawled. "Where's the remote, Castiel?"
I grabbed it off the top of the television set where I had placed it after finding in the barcalounger's cushions and tossed it to him.
"Gabriel!" snapped Balthazar. "Has Castiel been cleaning up the living room after our darling little mud monkeys all this time?"
"Think so," Gabriel shrugged. "I think he's been cleaning the whole house. Humans are gross."
Balthazar grabbed the Swifter out of my hands. "They make a mess - they clean it up. Get it?" He turned to Gabriel, "Get them in here."
Gabriel grunted, but got up, and, turning of the television, strolled out of the room. Balthazar made me put down all my cleaning implements. He angrily ripped my protective cleaning apron off. I did not understand his violent reactions.
Leading the four humans, Gabriel came back in, and flopped back down on the couch, looking carefree as usual. Feeling Balthazar's anger radiating, I tensed.
Balthazar started off, reminding me of him many battlefield speeches. "Look at this mess! You disgusting humans are revolting. We provided with safety and security and you completely trash it..." He went on for several minutes more, using more choice words unfit for an angelic being. In summary, he expressed displeasure at how they were treating our living conditions and at how I had ended up doing all of the work around here, and that from now on, they were going to take care of this place - even if we had to beat them like slaves to get it done.
I would have protested at that part, but at a look from the suddenly interested Gabriel, I stopped. To my surprise, Balthazar's words seemed to have some effect on our trio of humans. Sam looked ashamed; Bobby had an air of discomfort about him; and even Dean looked slightly cowed. Balthazar's acerbic speeches were legendary among the ranks.
Finally, he concluded and told them to get to work cleaning, a dangerous look on his face, daring them to refuse. They did not dare. The three men began cleaning the room, and I humbly noticed that they did a much better job that I had before. Within ten minutes, the living room was clean, not spotless, but I figured that their godliness was less clean than mine or something.
"Now get the rest of the house finished," commanded Balthazar. "And you will keep the house neat from now on. I don't want to find Castiel covering for your asses again. I'll check on you in a half hour. While you're working, we will come up with more jobs for you to do around the house, since you obviously have too much free time on your hands." Dean mumbled something, but even I could not hear the words, and we ignored it.
As the three trooped out of the room, Gabriel commented, "Well done, Balthazar. Way to put the fear of You-Know into them." He stood up, looking at me. "Castiel, why is the couch all wet?"
It took us longer than I expected (and more looking up definitions in the dictionary that I thought), but finally we came up with a working chart, color-coded with tasks and responsibilities for our three humans. It was well-rounded and would help improve them both mentally and physically. I thought it looked very nice. (The color coding had been my idea.)
Actually feeling excitement, I sat down at the large dining room table across from the three humans. I had been tasked with explaining the chart to them and was determined to do my best. I began, "This is a weekly schedule of your activities. You can see, it starts here on Sunday. Each of you will get up at 5:00 am, get dressed, and begin Morning Prayer, which will be followed by devotions at 6:00..."
I was interrupted by Dean, who said, "Lemme see," and pulled the chart across the table, closer to them. "This is bullshit," he exclaimed.
I protested, "This is not... that--"
"Why am I pink?" asked Sam, annoyed.
"Pink is a pretty color," I explained, confused.
"Yeah, you're so pretty, Sammy," chimed Dean.
"That's not why--"
"I ain't gettin' up at 5:00," protested Bobby, "and I sure as hell ain't going to bed at 8:00. What'dre think we're twelve?"
This demonstration was spiraling out of control. I looked to Gabriel for help, but he was laughing silently. Balthazar was fuming again. Again, it was up to me to diffuse the situation.
"Silence," I demanded raising my hand. I refused to let surprise show on my face at their compliance. Slightly reckless, I picked up the chart and tore it in half and then in half again. "Am I to understand that you would wish a different method of organization?"
They nodded.
"Very well. Understand that we wish you to do these jobs in order that you may be occupied and have a purpose in this time. It is not healthy for you to continue this apathetic and lazy existence."
"Well, what do ya expect us to do?" asked Bobby gruffly.
"You're not going to let us hunt anymore, are you?" Sam questioned hopefully.
"No, that would be too dangerous during this time," I reminded them.
"The boys like a bit of danger, don't you?" teased Gabriel.
I ignored him. Rules were rules. However, as far as I knew, Dean and Sam had never held any other jobs - hunting was their life.
Balthazar spoke up, "This one ran an auto garage," gesturing at Bobby.
Of course! I had forgotten that. "We can bring you some automobiles to repair," I said.
The three of them looked skeptical, but Dean asked, "Old ones, all right?"
I nodded. I was glad that we had come up with an idea acceptable to all. In the end, I knew that it was pointless - rebuilding cars when the world was burning around us was a fool's job - but if it gave them enjoyment, then I was glad of it.
Thus a new stage in our relationships began. It was easy for us to create a workshop garage in the back. Bobby insisted on us finding real cars (and not speaking them into existence from nothing), so Balthazar and I would search the nearby area for classic cars to transport back to our place. I checked a book out of the library on classic automobiles to make sure we brought the correct things. (The library was no longer in service, but I believe I followed the correct procedure by myself.)
It was usually Dean and Bobby who worked together. Sam helped for an hour or so each day, but he could not compare to their enthusiasm. I would watch them, out of sight, to make sure they were fairing well. Balthazar would drop by, though his sarcastic comments likely made his presence unwelcome.
I was ashamed to realize that I had been avoiding Dean. He was my charge, and yet, I felt out of place around him. I cannot express precisely why, but he made me feel ill at ease. However, I became determined not to let my weakness prevent me from doing my duty; he was my responsibility, and I would not shirk it.
I stood watching Bobby and Dean work. They were leaning over the hood of the car, gesturing and poking around in the greasy, metal deathtrap. Moving forward, I stood beside Bobby and peered inside, making sure I did not get too close. They were talking about something called a car burateor. Bobby turned away; seeing me, he gave me an unreadable look, but he did not seem upset.
Continuing to watch Dean, I was slightly startled when he held out his hand in my general direction and asked for a "wrench." Uncertain, I did not do anything. Dean looked up and said, "Oh--"
Determined, I asked, "Which tool is a wrench?"
Dean stared at me for a moment, then pointed over at the toolbox. "Long-handled, silver-colored, y-shaped head."
I picked the right tool the second time, and quickly passed it over. Dean gave me a strange look, but took it, and got back to work. I felt relief; he had not turned me away. I took the wrench when he had finished with it, and put it carefully back in the tool box.
Wrench. I would remember that.
I handed him a few more tools, until Bobby shuffled me out of the way, carrying a large, filthy object, which they fitted back into the automobile. I stood around for awhile longer, until Dean would ask for something, hand me this or push back on this here.
A couple of times a "please" or "thank you" slipped out, and he would look away annoyed. I knew he did not find it appropriate to show me courtesy intentionally, perhaps feeling that being friendly would be humbling. I did not mind; I would too find it troubling to be kind to a captor, however benign.
The next day, I "helped out" again - though I am certain that having to teach me every little thing slowed them more than it helped. Dean even explained a few things to me. I learned that the dirty grease was actually good as it helped lessen the friction and keep the parts running smoothly. I found that fact very interesting indeed.
Everything, even dirty grease, had its place. Just not in my house.
"Pass me the tire iron."
"This is a tire iron? I thought it was called a crowbar." I passed over the surprisingly heavy bar of iron.
"Different tool, but close enough. Lotsa people get 'em confused."
I was helping Dean removed the tires from a 1969 Buick Skylark. Of course, he was doing most of the work.
Our days had turned into this - Dean working on cars and me helping. Bobby worked less nowadays, finding other jobs around the house to occupy his time. Despite Gabriel's teasing, he began gardening, saying gruffly it was something he'd always wanted to do, but never had the time, and we'd sure be grateful when there weren't angels poofing in food from Who-Know's where. That idea was foolish, but I enjoyed seeing the little spouts pop up all over the yard. It had been a long time since I had time to watch something grow.
Sam spent more time indoors, trying to catch up on some reading that he had just never gotten around to. I said "trying" since Gabriel seemed determined to make even a few minutes of quiet solitude impossible for him.
Gabriel has always been a trickster - fonder of pulling pranks and telling jokes than any other angel I knew, more than most humans, according to the startled looks that Sam always gave him. I often considered diplomatically confronting Gabriel about this, but I had tried in the past to no avail. Plus our objective was different now, and perhaps, a bit of tomfoolery was a viable strategy.
Sam did seem confused at first, but I suspect that all younger brothers share an affinity for being obnoxious. (Gabriel is, in fact, the youngest of the archangels.) Soon, much to Dean's annoyance, Sam was returning the pranks with ease. Gabriel seemed delighted.
I was glad he found someone else to annoy. Up until then, I was most often the brunt of his jokes, worse for I did not understand them.
We were falling into a routine, easy enough, and I found it still interesting learning about my human and theirs.
Chapter 3