The Rain is the Punch Line (Things Can’t Possibly Get Worse), 6/?
Fandom: Supernatural/Good Omens (crossover)
Rating: PG-13 (this chapter)
Summary: Dean had thought his life couldn’t possibly get any worse than it already was. He supposed this was his punishment for being so optimistic.
Warnings: Violence, language, crack, angst.
Chapter Five
Dean was standing knee-deep in a grimy pond...again. As usual, he was clutching that stupid trucker cap and a trench coat and he was completely and utterly alone. In fact, the only thing about the situation that wasn't typical was his very feminine body. Trust his subconscious to go ahead and remind him of his real life problems in an already unpleasant dream.
"I beg your pardon?" a voice behind him said tentatively.
Dean whipped around, hand going automatically for a weapon he didn't have. "What the hell?"
The man he had turned to face looked mildly affronted, which, Dean supposed, made sense, considering that he looked like a very gay, very British librarian rather than the spawn of hell that Dean had been imagining.
"Are you Dean Winchester?"
Dean quirked an eyebrow. "Do you make a habit of popping into people's subconsciouses without knowing who they are?"
"I'm looking for the Winchesters," the blond sniffed, "Perhaps you'd be easier to locate if you weren't switching genders and confusing everyone."
"I didn't do it on purpose!" Dean exclaimed, "Besides, who says we wanted to be found?"
"All evidence points to the contrary," the man agreed, "But I need your help."
Dean stepped away. "Who are you?"
"My name is Aziraphale." he answered.
"Aziraphale." Dean repeated flatly, "That's a rather angelic sounding name."
He nodded, looking pleased. "I'd heard you Winchesters were clever."
"Right," said Dean, "Get out of here."
Aziraphale frowned. "Sorry?"
"Get out of my head," Dean growled, "Now."
"But I need your help," the angel said, "You've dealt with my brothers and sisters before, haven't you?"
"Oh yeah," Dean agreed, "And every single one was a feathery asshole with an ulterior motive." He dropped the trench coat and turned to walk away. He felt kind of stupid, slogging through the pond and clutching a baseball cap, but the angel didn't say anything. After a moment, Dean realized he had, despite all attempts to walk in the opposite direction, ended up back where he had started, facing Aziraphale. And damn it all if he couldn't blame anyone but his own subconscious.
The angel bent down and fished the trench coat out of the water. He held it gingerly for a moment before he looked up at the hunter. "What happened to Castiel?
Dean's expression darkened, like shutters going up behind his eyes. "You're a little behind on the times, huh?"
"I've been...captive." the angel answered, "Michael imprisoned me for over twenty of your years."
Dean looked at him then, with real interest. "Dude, you've been on angelic lockdown for twenty years? What for? Does that mean you missed everything that's been going on?"
"I was completely cut off from everything." Aziraphale confirmed.
"Then how do you know about me and Sam?" Dean asked, suspicious again.
Aziraphale sighed. "He works in mysterious ways," he answered cryptically, "There are a few special humans that have been part of the Ineffable Plan since The Beginning. You and your brother are such people."
Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'm really tired of angels telling me I'm special."
"This must be why I was freed," the angel mused, "You Winchesters are tied to the Apocalypse."
Dean flapped a hand at him. "Ugh, don't remind me. I'd just as soon forget it ever happened."
"Happened?"
"Yeah, we stopped it." Dean answered. His paused, a proud sort of smile on his face. "Sammy stopped it."
"Again?" Aziraphale sounded shocked.
Dean looked askance at him. "Dude, just the once. How many times do you dicks expect a person to stop the Apocalypse?"
"No, it's the second almost-Apocalypse." Aziraphale rushed to explain, "The last time it almost happened was in Lower Tadfield, in England. Adam stopped Lucifer from rising."
"Adam?" Dean said, bewildered, "You lost me, Az."
"Michael imprisoned me for helping the Antichrist stop the Apocalypse."
"The Antichrist?" Dean looked confused, "Jesse wasn't alive twenty years ago."
"Adam," Aziraphale corrected, "He was actually Lucifer's progeny. Jesse was half-human, half-demon with the potential to break one of the seals. Adam was powerful enough to bypass seals entirely, but he chose not to."
"You're seriously telling me two separate Antichrists chose not to be evil? That's comforting, considering that all you angels are gung-ho for Armageddon."
"I'm not, I told you," Aziraphale said irritably. "I'll remind you I spent twenty years as a prisoner because I was not 'gung-ho' about 'Armageddon.'" He flashed air quotes at Dean, remembering fondly the time Crowley had taught him that particular human-ism.
Dean was watching him with a strange expression on his face. "You're a lot like Cas," he muttered, more to himself than to the angel.
"What happened to Castiel?" Aziraphale repeated then, remembering where the conversation had gotten off track.
"Dean, dude, wake up!" Dean jerked awake as a pillow hit him in the face. "You planning on sleeping the whole day away?"
"'M not a dude right now." Dean pointed out blearily, without opening his eyes. Sam snorted.
"You say that like I could possibly forget." He sounded like he was right next to the bed, so Dean reached blindly in that direction until Sam shoved a paper cup into his hands. Dean made a happy noise and Sam sighed. "You're impossible."
Dean took a deep swig of coffee before opening his eyes to grin cheekily up at his brother. "You love it."
Sam looked at him with an incomprehensible expression, and then rubbed his nose and looked away. "You were talking in your sleep," he said finally, "About Cas."
Dean nodded. "An angel showed up in here," he tapped his temple, "Wanted our help."
Sam looked alarmed. "How'd they find us? What does he want?"
"Dude, chill out, you're gonna give yourself an aneurysm and your screws are already loose enough as it is." Lucifer said, plopping down next to Dean on the bed.
"Dude, chill out, you're gonna give yourself an aneurysm." Dean said. Sam flinched. "Hey, are you okay?"
"Yeah, Sammy, you okay?" Lucifer echoed, wearing Dean's face. Sam gritted his teeth.
"I'm fine." He lied. Dean didn't look convinced, so Sam kept talking. "Who was this angel?"
"He said his name was Aziraphale," Dean answered, "Apparently he's been in solitary confinement in Heaven for two decades, had no idea what was going on down here."
Sam frowned. "Why was he on lockdown?"
"Yeah, here's the crazy part. Apparently the Apocalypse was going to happen and he helped stop it."
"You're telling me there have been two near-Apocalypses in as many decades?" Sam said disbelievingly.
"What, you think the world revolves around you?" Lucifer-Dean sneered, "That's self absorbed, Sam, even for you."
"--weird, I know, but he seemed to be telling the truth." Dean was talking, so Sam forced himself to pay attention. "He wanted our help."
"Help with what?"
Dean shrugged. "You woke me up before he could say."
"Way to go, genius." Lucifer added. Flames licked at Sam's boots. The leather caught fire and Sam caught the familiar smell of his own skin burning.
"--research until then and if he still wants to talk to me, he'll be back tonight." Dean said. He smiled crookedly. "We already know they're persistent bastards."
"What?" Sam said. His head was pounding and his legs were burning, covered in blisters.
Dean's brow furrowed. "You sure you're okay, Sammy?"
"Uh, yeah, I--I just have a little bit of a headache."
Lucifer laughed, reaching for him. "That excuse never stopped me before." Sam averted his eyes, resisting the urge to jerk away.
"Let's just get you turned back to yourself before we worry about anything else." he suggested a little too loudly.
For a long moment, Dean studied his face. Finally, he climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
"Don't worry." Sam heard him say in an undertone. "Not freakin' likely."
*
While the Winchesters dove into research at the library, Aziraphale did exactly what Sam had told Dean not to do: worried. Even at its most dull, his twenty year stint in Heaven hadn't seemed so indeterminable.
What had happened while he was gone? Where was Michael? What fate had befallen young Castiel? Though his heart told him otherwise, he hoped nothing too terrible had happened to his little brother--he was rather fond of Thursday's angel.
Most pressingly, where was Crowley? He'd come to America, certainly, but what had happened in the years since? During the second Apocalypse? If Aziraphale had been corporeal, he would have wrung his hands. As it was, he just sort of fluttered in space, earning a confused glance in his direction from a library patron's toddler.
A tiny ripple in reality was all the warning he got before his mysterious benefactor appeared.
(Well, perhaps "appeared' is the wrong word, considering he was invisible, his identity well and truly cloaked from Aziraphale. That didn't stop the toddler from giving out a shriek as he sensed the new arrival.)
"You seem rather glum, Az."
Aziraphale bristled. "You neglected to tell me there'd been another Apocalypse in my absence."
"Almost-Apocalypse," he corrected, "Seals were broken, but Michael and Luci didn't get to throw down. And I didn't neglect to tell you, I deliberately didn't say anything."
"Why not?" Aziraphale demanded.
The other being gave what might have been a shrug, if he'd had shoulders. "I sent you to the Winchesters, figured you'd get filled in along the way."
"Well, they didn't explain much." Aziraphale grumbled.
Yeah, not the most communicative family," agreed the other.
"That's a bit hypocritical, don't you think?" Aziraphale responded as sardonically as he could manage, "And they don't want to help me, either."
"But they will!" exclaimed the other, "They're literally incapable of leaving someone in need. But maybe don't mention the demon straight away, yeah? I mean, they are demon hunters."
Aziraphale felt him withdrawing, like a cloud momentarily blotting out the sun. "Wait!" But it was too late; he was alone once more.
Aziraphale sighed. This whole adventure was getting wildly out of hand.
*
"Dean, I'm just saying, it might not be a bad idea!" Sam half-shouted, "We don't know if we can trust him!"
"I can handle it by myself." Dean repeated stubbornly.
"It's not like we're low on dream root, Dean. Why can't I come?"
"He doesn't trust you," Lucifer hissed, looking more snakelike than Sam had seen him look since he escaped hell. "He's afraid you'll fuck it up."
"I'm not going to fuck it up!" Sam snapped.
Dean looked completely bewildered. "Sammy, what're you talking about?"
"You don't want me to take the dream root because you don't trust me in your brain."
"No, Sam, I don't want you to take the dream root because I don't trust angels with your brain."
"What?"
"Look, Sammy, I think Aziraphale is trustworthy, but last time I thought that about an angel, he nearly killed you." His eyes darkened, "I'm not taking that chance again."
"He's just trying to mollify you." Lucifer said. Sam didn't even spare him a glance. Dean's expression was so open and honest that it hurt Sam to look at him. Even when he wasn't completely himself, Dean was exactly the same as always; trying to protect Sam.
"Okay." he said. Lucifer vanished with a growl.
"Okay?" his brother repeated, a little stunned. "You're actually going to let this go?"
"I promise I won't use the dream root to sneak into your subconscious." Sam said, and watched the tension ebb out of his brother's shoulders.
"And no freaky psychic shit either!" Dean added with a grin. Sam laughed and it felt like the first time in weeks.
"Not promising anything on that front."
They ordered pizza for dinner and sat on Sam's bed, the box between them, watching a Star Wars marathon on cable. Sam spewed Mountain Dew out his nose from laughing too hard when Dean attempted to "I-am-your-father" along with James Earl Jones in his new soprano, and then got Dean all riled up over whether Han shot first.
It was a good evening, and Lucifer didn't reappear once. Predictably, Dean fell asleep within minutes of the Ewoks' first appearance, sliding slowly down the headboard until his head was pillowed on Sam's shoulder.
Sam could feel Dean breathing warmly against his neck and felt more comforted than he could remember feeling in a long time. He moved the pizza box to the floor and gingerly rested his head against Dean's.
Within minutes, he was asleep too, and no one was left to witness the triumph of the Rebel Alliance over the Empire.
Chapter Seven
Rating: PG-13 (this chapter)
Summary: Dean had thought his life couldn’t possibly get any worse than it already was. He supposed this was his punishment for being so optimistic.
Warnings: Violence, language, crack, angst.
Chapter Five
Dean was standing knee-deep in a grimy pond...again. As usual, he was clutching that stupid trucker cap and a trench coat and he was completely and utterly alone. In fact, the only thing about the situation that wasn't typical was his very feminine body. Trust his subconscious to go ahead and remind him of his real life problems in an already unpleasant dream.
"I beg your pardon?" a voice behind him said tentatively.
Dean whipped around, hand going automatically for a weapon he didn't have. "What the hell?"
The man he had turned to face looked mildly affronted, which, Dean supposed, made sense, considering that he looked like a very gay, very British librarian rather than the spawn of hell that Dean had been imagining.
"Are you Dean Winchester?"
Dean quirked an eyebrow. "Do you make a habit of popping into people's subconsciouses without knowing who they are?"
"I'm looking for the Winchesters," the blond sniffed, "Perhaps you'd be easier to locate if you weren't switching genders and confusing everyone."
"I didn't do it on purpose!" Dean exclaimed, "Besides, who says we wanted to be found?"
"All evidence points to the contrary," the man agreed, "But I need your help."
Dean stepped away. "Who are you?"
"My name is Aziraphale." he answered.
"Aziraphale." Dean repeated flatly, "That's a rather angelic sounding name."
He nodded, looking pleased. "I'd heard you Winchesters were clever."
"Right," said Dean, "Get out of here."
Aziraphale frowned. "Sorry?"
"Get out of my head," Dean growled, "Now."
"But I need your help," the angel said, "You've dealt with my brothers and sisters before, haven't you?"
"Oh yeah," Dean agreed, "And every single one was a feathery asshole with an ulterior motive." He dropped the trench coat and turned to walk away. He felt kind of stupid, slogging through the pond and clutching a baseball cap, but the angel didn't say anything. After a moment, Dean realized he had, despite all attempts to walk in the opposite direction, ended up back where he had started, facing Aziraphale. And damn it all if he couldn't blame anyone but his own subconscious.
The angel bent down and fished the trench coat out of the water. He held it gingerly for a moment before he looked up at the hunter. "What happened to Castiel?
Dean's expression darkened, like shutters going up behind his eyes. "You're a little behind on the times, huh?"
"I've been...captive." the angel answered, "Michael imprisoned me for over twenty of your years."
Dean looked at him then, with real interest. "Dude, you've been on angelic lockdown for twenty years? What for? Does that mean you missed everything that's been going on?"
"I was completely cut off from everything." Aziraphale confirmed.
"Then how do you know about me and Sam?" Dean asked, suspicious again.
Aziraphale sighed. "He works in mysterious ways," he answered cryptically, "There are a few special humans that have been part of the Ineffable Plan since The Beginning. You and your brother are such people."
Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'm really tired of angels telling me I'm special."
"This must be why I was freed," the angel mused, "You Winchesters are tied to the Apocalypse."
Dean flapped a hand at him. "Ugh, don't remind me. I'd just as soon forget it ever happened."
"Happened?"
"Yeah, we stopped it." Dean answered. His paused, a proud sort of smile on his face. "Sammy stopped it."
"Again?" Aziraphale sounded shocked.
Dean looked askance at him. "Dude, just the once. How many times do you dicks expect a person to stop the Apocalypse?"
"No, it's the second almost-Apocalypse." Aziraphale rushed to explain, "The last time it almost happened was in Lower Tadfield, in England. Adam stopped Lucifer from rising."
"Adam?" Dean said, bewildered, "You lost me, Az."
"Michael imprisoned me for helping the Antichrist stop the Apocalypse."
"The Antichrist?" Dean looked confused, "Jesse wasn't alive twenty years ago."
"Adam," Aziraphale corrected, "He was actually Lucifer's progeny. Jesse was half-human, half-demon with the potential to break one of the seals. Adam was powerful enough to bypass seals entirely, but he chose not to."
"You're seriously telling me two separate Antichrists chose not to be evil? That's comforting, considering that all you angels are gung-ho for Armageddon."
"I'm not, I told you," Aziraphale said irritably. "I'll remind you I spent twenty years as a prisoner because I was not 'gung-ho' about 'Armageddon.'" He flashed air quotes at Dean, remembering fondly the time Crowley had taught him that particular human-ism.
Dean was watching him with a strange expression on his face. "You're a lot like Cas," he muttered, more to himself than to the angel.
"What happened to Castiel?" Aziraphale repeated then, remembering where the conversation had gotten off track.
"Dean, dude, wake up!" Dean jerked awake as a pillow hit him in the face. "You planning on sleeping the whole day away?"
"'M not a dude right now." Dean pointed out blearily, without opening his eyes. Sam snorted.
"You say that like I could possibly forget." He sounded like he was right next to the bed, so Dean reached blindly in that direction until Sam shoved a paper cup into his hands. Dean made a happy noise and Sam sighed. "You're impossible."
Dean took a deep swig of coffee before opening his eyes to grin cheekily up at his brother. "You love it."
Sam looked at him with an incomprehensible expression, and then rubbed his nose and looked away. "You were talking in your sleep," he said finally, "About Cas."
Dean nodded. "An angel showed up in here," he tapped his temple, "Wanted our help."
Sam looked alarmed. "How'd they find us? What does he want?"
"Dude, chill out, you're gonna give yourself an aneurysm and your screws are already loose enough as it is." Lucifer said, plopping down next to Dean on the bed.
"Dude, chill out, you're gonna give yourself an aneurysm." Dean said. Sam flinched. "Hey, are you okay?"
"Yeah, Sammy, you okay?" Lucifer echoed, wearing Dean's face. Sam gritted his teeth.
"I'm fine." He lied. Dean didn't look convinced, so Sam kept talking. "Who was this angel?"
"He said his name was Aziraphale," Dean answered, "Apparently he's been in solitary confinement in Heaven for two decades, had no idea what was going on down here."
Sam frowned. "Why was he on lockdown?"
"Yeah, here's the crazy part. Apparently the Apocalypse was going to happen and he helped stop it."
"You're telling me there have been two near-Apocalypses in as many decades?" Sam said disbelievingly.
"What, you think the world revolves around you?" Lucifer-Dean sneered, "That's self absorbed, Sam, even for you."
"--weird, I know, but he seemed to be telling the truth." Dean was talking, so Sam forced himself to pay attention. "He wanted our help."
"Help with what?"
Dean shrugged. "You woke me up before he could say."
"Way to go, genius." Lucifer added. Flames licked at Sam's boots. The leather caught fire and Sam caught the familiar smell of his own skin burning.
"--research until then and if he still wants to talk to me, he'll be back tonight." Dean said. He smiled crookedly. "We already know they're persistent bastards."
"What?" Sam said. His head was pounding and his legs were burning, covered in blisters.
Dean's brow furrowed. "You sure you're okay, Sammy?"
"Uh, yeah, I--I just have a little bit of a headache."
Lucifer laughed, reaching for him. "That excuse never stopped me before." Sam averted his eyes, resisting the urge to jerk away.
"Let's just get you turned back to yourself before we worry about anything else." he suggested a little too loudly.
For a long moment, Dean studied his face. Finally, he climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
"Don't worry." Sam heard him say in an undertone. "Not freakin' likely."
*
While the Winchesters dove into research at the library, Aziraphale did exactly what Sam had told Dean not to do: worried. Even at its most dull, his twenty year stint in Heaven hadn't seemed so indeterminable.
What had happened while he was gone? Where was Michael? What fate had befallen young Castiel? Though his heart told him otherwise, he hoped nothing too terrible had happened to his little brother--he was rather fond of Thursday's angel.
Most pressingly, where was Crowley? He'd come to America, certainly, but what had happened in the years since? During the second Apocalypse? If Aziraphale had been corporeal, he would have wrung his hands. As it was, he just sort of fluttered in space, earning a confused glance in his direction from a library patron's toddler.
A tiny ripple in reality was all the warning he got before his mysterious benefactor appeared.
(Well, perhaps "appeared' is the wrong word, considering he was invisible, his identity well and truly cloaked from Aziraphale. That didn't stop the toddler from giving out a shriek as he sensed the new arrival.)
"You seem rather glum, Az."
Aziraphale bristled. "You neglected to tell me there'd been another Apocalypse in my absence."
"Almost-Apocalypse," he corrected, "Seals were broken, but Michael and Luci didn't get to throw down. And I didn't neglect to tell you, I deliberately didn't say anything."
"Why not?" Aziraphale demanded.
The other being gave what might have been a shrug, if he'd had shoulders. "I sent you to the Winchesters, figured you'd get filled in along the way."
"Well, they didn't explain much." Aziraphale grumbled.
Yeah, not the most communicative family," agreed the other.
"That's a bit hypocritical, don't you think?" Aziraphale responded as sardonically as he could manage, "And they don't want to help me, either."
"But they will!" exclaimed the other, "They're literally incapable of leaving someone in need. But maybe don't mention the demon straight away, yeah? I mean, they are demon hunters."
Aziraphale felt him withdrawing, like a cloud momentarily blotting out the sun. "Wait!" But it was too late; he was alone once more.
Aziraphale sighed. This whole adventure was getting wildly out of hand.
*
"Dean, I'm just saying, it might not be a bad idea!" Sam half-shouted, "We don't know if we can trust him!"
"I can handle it by myself." Dean repeated stubbornly.
"It's not like we're low on dream root, Dean. Why can't I come?"
"He doesn't trust you," Lucifer hissed, looking more snakelike than Sam had seen him look since he escaped hell. "He's afraid you'll fuck it up."
"I'm not going to fuck it up!" Sam snapped.
Dean looked completely bewildered. "Sammy, what're you talking about?"
"You don't want me to take the dream root because you don't trust me in your brain."
"No, Sam, I don't want you to take the dream root because I don't trust angels with your brain."
"What?"
"Look, Sammy, I think Aziraphale is trustworthy, but last time I thought that about an angel, he nearly killed you." His eyes darkened, "I'm not taking that chance again."
"He's just trying to mollify you." Lucifer said. Sam didn't even spare him a glance. Dean's expression was so open and honest that it hurt Sam to look at him. Even when he wasn't completely himself, Dean was exactly the same as always; trying to protect Sam.
"Okay." he said. Lucifer vanished with a growl.
"Okay?" his brother repeated, a little stunned. "You're actually going to let this go?"
"I promise I won't use the dream root to sneak into your subconscious." Sam said, and watched the tension ebb out of his brother's shoulders.
"And no freaky psychic shit either!" Dean added with a grin. Sam laughed and it felt like the first time in weeks.
"Not promising anything on that front."
They ordered pizza for dinner and sat on Sam's bed, the box between them, watching a Star Wars marathon on cable. Sam spewed Mountain Dew out his nose from laughing too hard when Dean attempted to "I-am-your-father" along with James Earl Jones in his new soprano, and then got Dean all riled up over whether Han shot first.
It was a good evening, and Lucifer didn't reappear once. Predictably, Dean fell asleep within minutes of the Ewoks' first appearance, sliding slowly down the headboard until his head was pillowed on Sam's shoulder.
Sam could feel Dean breathing warmly against his neck and felt more comforted than he could remember feeling in a long time. He moved the pizza box to the floor and gingerly rested his head against Dean's.
Within minutes, he was asleep too, and no one was left to witness the triumph of the Rebel Alliance over the Empire.
Chapter Seven