Three Ways Castiel Had Dean's (Ass)Baby and One Way He Didn't
Title: Three Ways Castiel Had Dean's (Ass)Baby and One Way He Didn't
Author: ZanneS
Genre: CRACK/implied slash/mpreg (kinda, but not really)
Pairings or Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel, implied drunken!Dean/Castiel, implied drunken!Sam/Castiel
Rating: PG
Summary: Angels and babymaking.
Author's Note: Thank you to icelily01 for beta-ing! This started as a joke, since I was amused by the utter abhorrence of mpreg at the Dean/Cas BigBang site when I went looking for a beta. It got me thinking about angelic ass babies and the "science" behind it. I came up with list of potentially plausible ways for angels to increase their population, and very few actually included ass! This is mostly poking fun at ways to get an angel pregnant. It's not your typical mpreg.
Disclaimer: Kripke owns all.
1.
It was the endless rustling and crinkling in the backseat that finally made Dean snap.
Sure, Castiel was a bit…weird, but Dean could never accuse him of being irritatingly noisy - irritating, God yes, but noisy? Hell, it was difficult to get a straight answer out of the guy; the angel far preferred the silent and glaring approach to communication. If anything, Castiel was pretty much the equivalent of an angelic mime most days, acting as if a steady stare conveyed volumes of information. On top of that, it was pretty much impossible to even get a full question out before Castiel did his David Copperfield impersonation and disappeared, leaving Dean talking to himself like some kind of demented freak.
Even more irritating was his ability to teleport in like a ghost, without even disturbing the air around him, so when Dean turned, there he was, merely a hair’s breadth away, nose to nose. Personal space was not a concept the angel seemed to grasp, no matter how many diagrams Dean drew for him. Dean was pretty sure they’d probably be considered married in some Eskimo circles with as often as their bare noses touched, which was…what? Like third base in such places where it was so cold your balls could freeze up and fall off.
Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his balls making their opinion known on that whole train of thought.
So…no, noisy wasn’t a problem.
Castiel had been acting even weirder ever since that night Dean took him out drinking. After Dean saw the rather amusing results of Cas downing the contents of a liquor store, he knew alcohol had some kind of effect on the weakened angel, so when things took an even worse turn after the Whore of Babylon, Dean thought it might be a good idea to cheer the poor guy up with a little liquid courage. The last thing he could remember was Castiel breaking into a karaoke mash-up of “Onward Christian Soldiers” and “Love is a Battlefield”.
Dean couldn’t recall much after that, but he woke up spitting feathers out of his mouth, and his hair looked like a flock of seagulls had nested in it, one of the cheap pillows on the hotel bed obviously not surviving the night.
Castiel had been nowhere in sight, and Sam hadn’t returned from wherever he’d gone the night before, so there had been no one handy to groan at to bring him aspirin and a glass of water, or to tell him whoever it was he’d wound up bringing home, as he had that just-been-fucked feeling still buzzing under his skin.
It was one of the many mysteries of Dean Winchester’s existence.
“God-dammit, Castiel!” Dean grumbled, purposefully ignoring the disapproving glare aimed in his direction from the backseat. “What in the hell are you doing?”
The glare quickly melted into something Dean almost didn’t recognize on the angel’s face, as out of place as it was on his visage - guilt. But his features smoothed out before Dean could blink, as pliable as modeling clay, until Dean was looking at the smoothly blank expression he was most used to seeing on Castiel.
“I am not doing anything,” Castiel replied quickly, stiffening in his seat, which only caused another muffled round of crinkling. As if purposefully ignoring the noise, Castiel aimed his gaze out of the side window and stuffed a potato chip into his mouth.
“And what’s up with the munchies?” Dean demanded. “You’ve been stuffing your mouth with crap since Tuscon; don’t think I didn’t notice my M&M stash missing.” He snorted a laugh and said, “ And I thought angels were anorexic or somethin’, since the last time I saw you eat anything was when Fami-.” His words cut off as his eyes widened, and he swerved the Impala over into the side of the road outside of a Circle K and slammed on the brakes, the loud lowing of a semi’s horn blaring beside them and making the car rock as it sped past. “Are you dying?!”
Even Sam had nothing to say to that leap in logic, his eyes falling on his brother in obvious disbelief as Dean calmed down from his momentary flare of panic, hands still tight on the steering wheel.
Castiel’s voice was steadier as he replied through a mouthful of whatever it was he’d found in the back seat, “I am well.”
Sam appeared concerned over this new state of affairs and glanced over his shoulder to check on Castiel in the back, pausing for such a long time to take in whatever it was he saw before shifting even further and propping his knee up on the seat.
“Why is our laundry bag dumped all over the backseat?” Sam asked, his voice relatively mild compared to Dean’s recent outburst. “And is that…Dean! Gross. I told you to clean out the car three days ago. That burrito wrapper can probably walk out of here on its own by now.”
“Then point it towards the door and shut up,” Dean sniped back, craning his neck to look over his shoulder, finally able to see what Castiel had been up to for the past few hours.
Castiel, his skin pale and slicked with sweat, was sitting in the middle of the Impala’s large back seat, surrounded by piles of both Sam and Dean’s dirty clothes. The fabric had been tucked around his trenchcoated figure, forming soft bulwarks around his hips and thighs, with odd bits of paper and pieces of trash filling in the gaps.
Dean just stared in horrified amazement at the mess in his backseat, a small whimper spilling from his throat when he saw the amount of destruction contained in such a small space.
“I was…cleaning,” Castiel interrupted before Dean could get out anything more that that pained grunt.
Sam cast a more assessing eye over their passenger. “Are you sure you’re alright, Castiel? You’re looking a little….”
“I am fine.”
Dean seemed to recover from his shock, and asked grumpily, “Hey, are those our case notes?” and strained to reach over the back of his seat to grab a crumpled manila folder filled with photocopies and articles half buried under Castiel’s thigh. He flicked through the pages as if to make sure it was all still there, before turning to face the front of the car, his breathing steady and even.
“I need a drink. I am going into that Circle K, and when I come back, my car better be pristine. I’ll bring you some Twinkies or something, Cas.” Before anyone could reply, Dean was out the door and stalking towards the entrance to the mini-mart.
“Um…I better go make sure he doesn’t maim the clerk,” Sam said, sliding out after his brother. He bent over to stick his head in the window and asked, “You sure you’re…okay?” At Castiel’s nod, Sam said, “We’ll be back in a few minutes; I’ll bring you a 7-Up,” and tapped the roof of the car before jogging off after Dean.
The door jingled in welcome as Sam swept into the frigid air of the mini-mart, and he took a deep breath of old hot dogs, nacho cheese, and tobacco that seemed to permeate the small space. He saw Dean perusing the large selection of Hostess products, so Sam walked towards the side where the walled refrigerators hummed quietly, pausing to pay homage at the coffee display before continuing on.
Sam almost dropped the cup of coffee he was holding when he closed the fridge door and nearly ran down Castiel as he turned to head towards the front of the store. The angel didn’t appear much better, but that familiar look of stubborn determination was on his face so Sam took that as a good sign.
“I might have a lead regarding His location,” Castiel told Sam, his entire body vibrating with urgency. “I need to go. Tell Dean…,” he glanced out the large front window towards the car, and Sam pursed his lips in commiseration. “Tell him, I will take care of it.”
Castiel disappeared with a soft flutter before Sam could reply, so Sam hurried his way up to the register just in time to add his drinks to the pile.
As they trudged towards the car, Sam said, “Castiel had a lead. He’ll be back later.”
“He better have used some angel mojo to clean up his mess,” Dean said, fiddling with his keys as he swung the small plastic bag in his hand. He shoved it in Sam’s direction when they reached the car, walking around the front towards the driver’s side. “Toss it in the back,” Dean ordered.
Sam was staring into the backseat by the time Dean slid into place, and he rolled his eyes at the memory of the mess. “I know...what was he thinking?”
“Dean,” Sam said softly, his hand still loosely gripping the bag. “Look in the back seat.”
“No, if I look, I might need to punch something, and you’re the nearest target.”
“Dean…” Sam’s voice was more insistent, and Dean felt Sam’s fingers grip his sleeve and tug sharply, like he used to do when he was little. “Look in the backseat.”
“What?” Dean demanded, shifting to tuck his knee up on the seat so he could get a good look.
His protests stopped cold at the sight, and he blinked in confusion. What looked like a large, ostrich-sized egg sat snugly nestled in the fabric nest that took up most of the back seat of his car. It was a pale pink hue, veined with small threads of blue that seemed to pulse in a steady rhythm
“What?!” Dean said again, though this time with more volume and an impressive use of diaphragm.
“So that’s what he meant.”
Dean glared with wild-eyed dismay in Sam’s direction and Sam glanced over at his brother nervously in return, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before he said, “Oh…uh…I guess I didn’t give you the whole message? Castiel said he’d take care of it.”
“Take care of it?! What the hell is it?”
Sam reached out, poking gently at the shell, which gave slightly at his touch. “It’s still soft, kind of like a reptile egg.” He pulled back his finger and studied the tip, a clear, slightly bloody gel decorating the tip. “And it’s a little…wet. Must be, um…fresh.” At Dean’s still gobsmacked expression, Sam reached over pat him on the shoulder, leaving a smear of goo striping his sleeve.
“It’s an egg…Castiel’s, is my best guess.”
“Castiel laid an egg? But…he’s a guy. Where did it come out?”
Dean’s eyes met with Sam’s open-eyed stare, the tilt of Sam’s head and the arch of his eyebrows indicating what he thought of that question. Dean’s gaze fell to the slimy strip on his shirt, and his face wrinkled in disgust as he panicked and slapped at his contaminated sleeve as if it were covered with angry bees. “Eeew, eeew, eeew! Get it off me!”
Sam frowned and wiped the rest of the mucus off on a napkin from the glove box, tossing it in the backseat to join the detritus surrounding their newest passenger.
“There aren’t any more, are there?” Dean asked suspiciously, taking off his outer shirt as if it were on fire and tossing it out the window. Then he peered over the back of his seat to study the footwells, his face pinched with proactive dismay at what he might find.
“Just looks like the one.”
“Castiel has a lot of explaining to do when he gets back.” Dean’s eyes widened once more. “He’s coming back, right?!”
“That’s what he said,” Sam said soothingly.
Dean slumped against the seat, his hands gripping the steering wheel as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. “So I guess that makes you Horton, Sam, ‘cause I’m telling you right now, I’m not sittin’ on it.”
2.
Sam noticed it first, which was weird, since he didn’t hang out with Castiel nearly as often as Dean did.
“Huh,” Sam grunted, squinting over in Castiel’s direction. “You look…different.”
Castiel actually fidgeted - fidgeted! - and shifted so that his trench coat draped closed across his front. “I do not.”
Dean snorted in amusement, carefully checking the weapons to be sure they were unloaded before they went in the bag. “Did he actually unbutton a button or something?”
Sam squinted once more, his eyes grazing the row of buttons he could still see on Castiel’s chest, as if that might be the simplest answer, and then said, “No. He’s….” and then shrugged when he couldn’t come up with an adequate descriptor, instead helping Dean shove some dirty clothes into a duffel bag.
When the Winchesters looked up from their task, the angel was gone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Castiel was quick, but not quick enough for Dean. He waited patiently, keeping an eye on his plate from the corner of his eye as he feinted a grab for some parmesan cheese, and slapped at the angel’s hand when it came back for the fourth time to pluck a piece of pepperoni off of his pizza.
“Never mess with a man’s food,” Dean warned, hunching protectively over his plate as he shoveled as much of the pizza into his mouth as he could. “It’s one of the basic rules our civilization is based on.”
Castiel blinked slowly as he absorbed this information. “I believe you said earlier that the rules civilization were based upon were to not touch your radio and that beer makes everyone pretty.”
Dean started to laugh, the sound quickly turning into a haggard hacking over his plate as his last bite tried to go down the wrong way. “Do you want a piece?” Sam asked, pushing a plate over towards Castiel with a large, greasy slice resting on it.
Dean took another large bite, mumbling through the masticated pizza, “I thought angels didn’t eat.”
“I do not need to eat,” Castiel informed him around his own mouthful, “but I can if I so wish it.”
Dean studied Castiel from the corner of his eye as the angel reached for another piece with his free hand, the other holding the first slice up to his mouth as he inhaled another large bite. “Looks like you’ve been wishin’ it a lot lately. You’re a little….” Here Dean hesitated, gesturing towards his face with one tomato sauce covered hand, his lips gleaming with grease. “…round.” He nodded as if that summed things up appropriately, and stuffed half a slice into his mouth, making his cheeks bulge out like a chipmunk’s.
“Huh,” Sam said, pausing with a piece of pizza dangling from his hand. “You do look…softer, I guess.” He squinted at the angel curiously for a second, taking note of the not-so-subtle differences before refocusing on his laptop, being careful to keep the greasy food away from his keyboard.
Castiel stiffened in his seat, dropping his pizza onto the table as he stood up abruptly, wrapping his coat around him. “I must go.”
“Do you wanna-” Dean began, but Castiel popped out before he could finish his question. With a shrug, he took the slice left on Castiel’s plate and placed it on his own. “Guess he wasn’t that hungry after all.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A rounder face wasn’t the only change the boys noticed as time passed. Despite a new tendency to keep his trench coat buttoned, Castiel’s once lean figure was definitely changing. While he still managed to hold his own in a fight, the imposing effect of the three men bursting into a nest of demons lost some of its impact when one of them waddled in like a duck.
After tracking down a lead in Omaha, they had sat down in the back of a bar to share some onion rings and news, and when Castiel reached for a handful, Sam politely coughed into his hand. “Are you sure you should be eating that?”
Castiel paused, his weighty stare shifting to rest on Sam. “Why?”
“You haven’t been in a human vessel for very long, so maybe you don’t realize what this stuff does to….”
“You’re getting fat,” Dean stated succinctly, and at Sam’s glare he shrugged, before taking another long drink of beer.
“I am not…fat,” Castiel disagreed.
Dean snorted, his lips barely brushing the mouth of the bottle as he spoke. “Then you must be pregnant.”
The silence that followed his joke went on far too long for it to be anything but meaningful, and Dean spat out his last drink across the table, dampening the fabric of Castiel’s coat.
“You’re pregnant?!” Dean shouted in disbelief, causing more than a few heads to turn in their direction as he slammed his bottle onto the table.
“Uh…” Sam said, keeping a wary eye on the bikers in the corner. “Maybe we should talk about this anywhere else but here.”
“Indeed,” Castiel agreed, reaching out to touch both Sam and Dean’s hands, before they all blinked out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dean didn’t pause long enough for the momentary dizziness and roiling stomach to stop him, even as Sam leaned over to heave in some nearby bushes.
“Alright, who knocked you up?!” Dean demanded, pacing back and forth across the patch of dirt outside the abandoned garage where they landed. “I’ll kick his ass!”
“You’re pregnant?” Sam asked again, as if for clarification. At Castiel’s steady stare, Sam rubbed at his forehead, his long bangs left askew when he dropped his hand to hang at his side. “How is that even possible?”
“It is my time.”
“Was it that asshole Uriel?!” Dean demanded. “It was, wasn’t it! I knew I didn’t like that guy. He was shifty!”
“He was a traitor,” Castiel reminded him. “And he is dead.”
“Just like I said! Shifty!” Dean shouted triumphantly, jabbing a finger in Castiel’s direction. “Runnin’ out on his obligations like that by being dead!”
“But you’re a…man. Men don’t have children,” Sam pointed out, as if logic would somehow shrink the bump still hidden beneath Castiel’s coat, which only seemed more noticeable the longer he stared at it.
“I am an angel, and I am several thousand years old. It is time; I have reached my breeding cycle,” Castiel explained calmly, despite Dean’s loud threats to neuter the already dead angel he blamed for Castiel’s delicate condition. “And, no, Uriel had nothing to do with it. Angels do not require outside assistance when breeding.”
“I’d rip his di-uh…what do you mean ‘outside assistance’?” Dean paused in his tirade to study Castiel’s form, noting how the angel rested both of his hands on the top of the bulge of his belly as if silently communing with the little passenger. “’Assistance’ is required, as far as Dad told me - when two people love each other very, very much, they hug each other really tight and….”
“I will admit this is not the most opportune time for it to happen,” Castiel continued, ignoring Dean’s story. “Since I am in a human vessel and we are busy trying to stop the Apocalypse, but I cannot control when it occurs.” The angel stared down at his rounded belly and frowned thoughtfully. “This is my first gestation, and things are not going as I expected.”
“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, eyes widening. “Is the baby coming? Breathe in *whoo-hoo-hoo*,” he panted, doing his best to imitate what he had seen on TV.
Sam arched an eyebrow in his brother’s direction. “What are you doing?”
“Lamaze,” Dean explained, trying to force Castiel into a prone position. “Nurse Leanne is pregnant, and she doesn’t know if the father is Dr. Sexy or the hot new intern in orthopedics, so on the last episode she went to Lamaze class with Nurse Betty, and things got a little hot and they started to….”
“I am not giving birth,” Castiel interrupted, looking a tad irritated. “I merely meant that being in a vessel has altered the process somewhat. I do not think it usually takes this long.”
“How long has it been?” Dean asked warily. “Because you look really…pregnant.”
“Two months.”
The brothers’ gazes shifted to each other and then back to Castiel’s protruding belly, which looked far larger than either of them would have expected after such a short time.
“Does this mean we’re gonna have to buy a car seat?” Dean asked dubiously, already trying to imagine how it would fit in the back of the Impala.
“I do not know,” Castiel said, after taking a long moment to study the stars. “Usually, I would merely send it home, but I have been….” Castiel stopped, as if unable to say it, but soldiered on. “I have been banned from Heaven, so I am unsure as to my offspring’s welcome.” The angel paused, his head cocking to the side as he rested his hand on his belly and mumbled to himself, “Mariel once gestated in human form. It cannot be that difficult.”
“What?” Sam asked, startled, his head swinging in Castiel’s direction. “Did you say something?”
“Well,” Dean said, tossing an arm over Castiel’s shoulder. “If they don’t want it, I guess it’s ours. Y’know, Sam had a goldfish once, but he forgot to feed it, and it….”
“How about we get some ice cream on the way home?” Sam interrupted before Dean could start on the hamster story. Castiel’s stomach gurgled in agreement at the suggestion. “I’m feeling a bit hungry myself.”
3.
Life on the road had never been kind to Dean’s dick. There was never a woman immediately handy when he needed one, and always too many when he didn’t. Sure, he could always run out to the nearest bar and pick and choose, but it sometimes got to the point where it felt like that was more of a chore than a treat, much like grocery shopping became after he turned thirteen and was expected to pick up what the family needed when Dad was busy.
Or even when he wasn’t.
So, when Dean started to see frozen peas or macaroni whenever he looked at a woman in bar, he realized he needed to take a little break from his routine.
That’s also the only time Sam was allowed to do the grocery shopping alone, because Dean could only survive without processed cheese snacks and sex for so long before he snapped.
Upon taking these random sabbaticals from women, this meant that Dean became best friends with his own hand in ways he hadn’t since he turned eleven and found out his dick’s primary purpose was not, in fact, peeing.
Sharing a room with his brother and an invasive angel with no concept of “private time” meant that even that little bit of respite was denied to Dean more often than he liked.
Damn frozen peas.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The first time it happened, Dean didn’t know what to think. He’d just gotten out of the shower after a little “alone time” and was feeling more relaxed than usual, and most of all grateful that he didn’t have to entertain a guest until she felt it was time for her to leave.
But the second he opened the bathroom door and nearly ran down Castiel, who was hovering just outside, a flurry of giggling feathers swarmed past him, spinning Dean in place until he almost lost his towel.
“What the fu-” Dean began, but Castiel’s dry observation interrupted him.
“Sam said you were busy.”
The slim angel was standing in the midst of what appeared to be a swarm of stereotypical cupids, the little cherubs looking nothing like the portly, naked man they had met only a week ago. In fact, as Dean ducked several that whizzed by his head, these jolly, jowly babies with the tiny wings had an expression of cognizance on their faces that was more than a little creepy - like those talking stockbroker babies in that ad on TV.
“Is this an attack? Are we being attacked right now?” Sam demanded, holding his laptop over his head as some sort of shield. And since none of the dozens of flying babies were wearing any diapers, Dean finally noted, maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea after all, and he began to look for his own form of protection. “What’s going on?!”
Castiel gave a quiet sigh, his eyes roaming the room. “I will gather them up. Please do not…just…sit.” Castiel sighed again, the flock of tiny angels disappearing with him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Disturbingly enough, this wasn’t the last occurrence of this phenomenon. It happened regularly enough that Sam started looking up references to flying baby attacks, and Dean called Bobby, but even the retired hunter hadn’t heard of anything even remotely like it.
“Y’sure they ain’t gremlins? Or pixies?” Bobby asked over the phone. “They tend to cluster in herds.”
“I keep telling you, Bobby. They are cute, pink-cheeked babies with wings - so, no, not gremlins or pixies.”
“Didja talk to Castiel ‘bout it? Sounds like angel business to me.”
Dean sighed, gripping the top of his nose between his eyes and squeezing in an attempt to forestall his headache. “He’s been too busy rounding them up and taking them wherever he takes them.”
“Talk to the angel,” Bobby advised. “I sure as shit don’t know what’s goin’ on.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dean had half-awakened as dawn neared, his recent dream still heavy between his legs. As Sam was out in the next bed, snoring like a lumberjack, he felt secure enough to take care of this not-so-little problem, and idly wiped his hand on the sheet, unconcerned about cleanliness since they’d be leaving the next morning. Upon relieving the nagging ache, he rolled over and buried his face in his pillow, drifting off quickly in hopes of meeting up with Carla and her four identical sisters once more.
It was the loss of the bedspread that woke him up, as a flurry of motion exploded beside him and dragged the bed sheets away, leaving little Dean bared to the cooler air of the room. Dean started awake, staring up into Castiel’s rather perturbed expression as he glared down at Dean, before the angel raised his eyes to watch the little cherubs darting around, playing some form of aerial tag.
“God, Dean,” Sam grumbled, dragging a pillow over his head. “Stop giggling.”
“It’s not me!” Dean took another second to process what his brother had said, and then snapped, “I don’t giggle!”
Sam opened one sleepy eye, lifting the pillow to say something else when he was dive-bombed by a tangle of cherubs that bounced off the mattress near his hip, before taking flight once more.
Sam blinked slowly, as if absorbing this new information, and asked foggily, “Are we being attacked by flying babies again?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Dean agreed, ducking as one particularly fat specimen zipped by his head. “There seem to be more of them this time.”
“Wake me when they’re gone,” Sam grumbled, pulling the pillow down over his head once more.
Meanwhile, Castiel was trying to use his trench coat to corral the cherubs into one corner, and Dean caught one in a pillowcase when it went fluttering by. He got up and handed the wriggling sack to the exhausted angel, who stared at Dean in all of his naked glory and ordered, “Just…stop.”
“Stop what?”
But the angel and his charges were already gone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It had been a tough job. Usually after a hunt like that, Dean would have sought out a willing companion to relieve some of his tension, and celebrate the joys of still being alive and kicking. But with his ban still in effect, Dean excused himself to the men’s restroom of the bar, glad to see the room was empty as he locked himself in the only stall and unbuttoned his jeans.
He’d just gotten a good hold on his dick when the flick-flutter sound of wings announced Castiel’s arrival, the tiles of the restroom making the sound echo loudly around him.
The angel grabbed Dean’s wrist, halting his motions before he could even begin, and Dean flailed in surprise, falling back against the side of the stall to keep space between them. Castiel’s grip did not loosen at all upon Dean’s wrist.
“Cas! I’m in the bathroom here!”
“That is exactly the problem,” Castiel informed him. “Heaven is embroiled in an Apocalypse. How many angels do you think are available to look after our progeny?”
“Our what?” Dean asked in disbelief, almost forgetting to tuck himself away before continuing this conversation. “Cas, we’ve never…uh, y’know, so we can’t have kids. Besides, we’re guys. Guys don’t do that!”
“The sin of Onan,” Castiel explained, his face set.
“Why are you guys talking about masturbating?” Sam’s voice interrupted, floating over the partition. “Should I leave you two alone?”
“No,” Castiel replied, slamming open the bathroom door and stalking out. “As forewarning, I should inform you, as well.”
“About…masturbating?” Sam asked hesitantly.
“Is that what ‘onan’ means? Don’t worry, I taught Sam all about it when he hit his growth spurt,” Dean said, following Castiel out of the stall.
Castiel turned to face both of the Winchesters, his broad shoulders reflected in the mirror behind him and framing the faces of the two men who were staring at him warily. “How do you think angels are made?”
Sam and Dean blinked at each other in surprise at the question, before Sam said, “I never really thought about it. Didn’t God create them…uh, you?”
“At first, but when he created you humans, there was an unforeseen loophole.” Castiel’s hands spread out before him, as if revealing some hidden secret. “And so became the sin of Onan.”
“I don’t get it,” Dean said.
“In essence, human seed is intended for procreation. When it is spilled in an angel’s presence without a…receptacle, then some of our Grace infuses it with life and you get-”
“Baby angels?!” Dean shrieked, the points finally connecting.
“That is what I need to discuss with you both. There are not nearly enough angels left in Heaven’s nurseries to watch the little ones, and you cannot seem to keep your hands off of your-.”
Sam started laughing, and Dean halted Castiel’s annoyed tirade with one hand held up in the air. “I get it. No more alone time.”
Castiel sighed in relief. “There is an Apocalypse coming.”
Dean huffed, rolling his shoulders one at a time to work off his discomfort. “I feel kinda cheap. You didn’t even buy me dinner first, Cas.”
“Would food keep you from touching-.”
“Yes…at least for a while.”
“Let us go buy something quickly,” Castiel urged, pushing Dean towards the door. “You as well, Sam. I cannot take any chances.”
4.
Castiel woke slowly, the sleepy sensation of being wrapped in sweat warm sheets something new for the weakened angel. Sleep had been an unnecessary affectation before he was banned from Heaven’s halls, but the longer he spent trapped on earth and in this vessel, the more he seemed to require it.
What he had also acquired was a lower tolerance for alcohol.
Castiel groaned softly as he rubbed at the soft ache hovering behind his temples, slowly realizing the aches did not stop there, but spread throughout every muscle in his body. He also felt an odd soreness in a place that he had never paid much mind to before, and he grimaced as he rolled over onto his side to relieve the pressure.
His progress was halted by a rock solid shoulder, and he lifted his hand to cease his movement into the lax form lying beside him, his palm shaping to the curves of the bicep beneath it.
His ministrations proved to be for nothing as the figure beside him stirred, blinking sleepily at the ceiling before turning his head to stare at Castiel lying so stiffly beside him.
“Good morning, Sam.”
Author: ZanneS
Genre: CRACK/implied slash/mpreg (kinda, but not really)
Pairings or Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel, implied drunken!Dean/Castiel, implied drunken!Sam/Castiel
Rating: PG
Summary: Angels and babymaking.
Author's Note: Thank you to icelily01 for beta-ing! This started as a joke, since I was amused by the utter abhorrence of mpreg at the Dean/Cas BigBang site when I went looking for a beta. It got me thinking about angelic ass babies and the "science" behind it. I came up with list of potentially plausible ways for angels to increase their population, and very few actually included ass! This is mostly poking fun at ways to get an angel pregnant. It's not your typical mpreg.
Disclaimer: Kripke owns all.
1.
It was the endless rustling and crinkling in the backseat that finally made Dean snap.
Sure, Castiel was a bit…weird, but Dean could never accuse him of being irritatingly noisy - irritating, God yes, but noisy? Hell, it was difficult to get a straight answer out of the guy; the angel far preferred the silent and glaring approach to communication. If anything, Castiel was pretty much the equivalent of an angelic mime most days, acting as if a steady stare conveyed volumes of information. On top of that, it was pretty much impossible to even get a full question out before Castiel did his David Copperfield impersonation and disappeared, leaving Dean talking to himself like some kind of demented freak.
Even more irritating was his ability to teleport in like a ghost, without even disturbing the air around him, so when Dean turned, there he was, merely a hair’s breadth away, nose to nose. Personal space was not a concept the angel seemed to grasp, no matter how many diagrams Dean drew for him. Dean was pretty sure they’d probably be considered married in some Eskimo circles with as often as their bare noses touched, which was…what? Like third base in such places where it was so cold your balls could freeze up and fall off.
Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his balls making their opinion known on that whole train of thought.
So…no, noisy wasn’t a problem.
Castiel had been acting even weirder ever since that night Dean took him out drinking. After Dean saw the rather amusing results of Cas downing the contents of a liquor store, he knew alcohol had some kind of effect on the weakened angel, so when things took an even worse turn after the Whore of Babylon, Dean thought it might be a good idea to cheer the poor guy up with a little liquid courage. The last thing he could remember was Castiel breaking into a karaoke mash-up of “Onward Christian Soldiers” and “Love is a Battlefield”.
Dean couldn’t recall much after that, but he woke up spitting feathers out of his mouth, and his hair looked like a flock of seagulls had nested in it, one of the cheap pillows on the hotel bed obviously not surviving the night.
Castiel had been nowhere in sight, and Sam hadn’t returned from wherever he’d gone the night before, so there had been no one handy to groan at to bring him aspirin and a glass of water, or to tell him whoever it was he’d wound up bringing home, as he had that just-been-fucked feeling still buzzing under his skin.
It was one of the many mysteries of Dean Winchester’s existence.
“God-dammit, Castiel!” Dean grumbled, purposefully ignoring the disapproving glare aimed in his direction from the backseat. “What in the hell are you doing?”
The glare quickly melted into something Dean almost didn’t recognize on the angel’s face, as out of place as it was on his visage - guilt. But his features smoothed out before Dean could blink, as pliable as modeling clay, until Dean was looking at the smoothly blank expression he was most used to seeing on Castiel.
“I am not doing anything,” Castiel replied quickly, stiffening in his seat, which only caused another muffled round of crinkling. As if purposefully ignoring the noise, Castiel aimed his gaze out of the side window and stuffed a potato chip into his mouth.
“And what’s up with the munchies?” Dean demanded. “You’ve been stuffing your mouth with crap since Tuscon; don’t think I didn’t notice my M&M stash missing.” He snorted a laugh and said, “ And I thought angels were anorexic or somethin’, since the last time I saw you eat anything was when Fami-.” His words cut off as his eyes widened, and he swerved the Impala over into the side of the road outside of a Circle K and slammed on the brakes, the loud lowing of a semi’s horn blaring beside them and making the car rock as it sped past. “Are you dying?!”
Even Sam had nothing to say to that leap in logic, his eyes falling on his brother in obvious disbelief as Dean calmed down from his momentary flare of panic, hands still tight on the steering wheel.
Castiel’s voice was steadier as he replied through a mouthful of whatever it was he’d found in the back seat, “I am well.”
Sam appeared concerned over this new state of affairs and glanced over his shoulder to check on Castiel in the back, pausing for such a long time to take in whatever it was he saw before shifting even further and propping his knee up on the seat.
“Why is our laundry bag dumped all over the backseat?” Sam asked, his voice relatively mild compared to Dean’s recent outburst. “And is that…Dean! Gross. I told you to clean out the car three days ago. That burrito wrapper can probably walk out of here on its own by now.”
“Then point it towards the door and shut up,” Dean sniped back, craning his neck to look over his shoulder, finally able to see what Castiel had been up to for the past few hours.
Castiel, his skin pale and slicked with sweat, was sitting in the middle of the Impala’s large back seat, surrounded by piles of both Sam and Dean’s dirty clothes. The fabric had been tucked around his trenchcoated figure, forming soft bulwarks around his hips and thighs, with odd bits of paper and pieces of trash filling in the gaps.
Dean just stared in horrified amazement at the mess in his backseat, a small whimper spilling from his throat when he saw the amount of destruction contained in such a small space.
“I was…cleaning,” Castiel interrupted before Dean could get out anything more that that pained grunt.
Sam cast a more assessing eye over their passenger. “Are you sure you’re alright, Castiel? You’re looking a little….”
“I am fine.”
Dean seemed to recover from his shock, and asked grumpily, “Hey, are those our case notes?” and strained to reach over the back of his seat to grab a crumpled manila folder filled with photocopies and articles half buried under Castiel’s thigh. He flicked through the pages as if to make sure it was all still there, before turning to face the front of the car, his breathing steady and even.
“I need a drink. I am going into that Circle K, and when I come back, my car better be pristine. I’ll bring you some Twinkies or something, Cas.” Before anyone could reply, Dean was out the door and stalking towards the entrance to the mini-mart.
“Um…I better go make sure he doesn’t maim the clerk,” Sam said, sliding out after his brother. He bent over to stick his head in the window and asked, “You sure you’re…okay?” At Castiel’s nod, Sam said, “We’ll be back in a few minutes; I’ll bring you a 7-Up,” and tapped the roof of the car before jogging off after Dean.
The door jingled in welcome as Sam swept into the frigid air of the mini-mart, and he took a deep breath of old hot dogs, nacho cheese, and tobacco that seemed to permeate the small space. He saw Dean perusing the large selection of Hostess products, so Sam walked towards the side where the walled refrigerators hummed quietly, pausing to pay homage at the coffee display before continuing on.
Sam almost dropped the cup of coffee he was holding when he closed the fridge door and nearly ran down Castiel as he turned to head towards the front of the store. The angel didn’t appear much better, but that familiar look of stubborn determination was on his face so Sam took that as a good sign.
“I might have a lead regarding His location,” Castiel told Sam, his entire body vibrating with urgency. “I need to go. Tell Dean…,” he glanced out the large front window towards the car, and Sam pursed his lips in commiseration. “Tell him, I will take care of it.”
Castiel disappeared with a soft flutter before Sam could reply, so Sam hurried his way up to the register just in time to add his drinks to the pile.
As they trudged towards the car, Sam said, “Castiel had a lead. He’ll be back later.”
“He better have used some angel mojo to clean up his mess,” Dean said, fiddling with his keys as he swung the small plastic bag in his hand. He shoved it in Sam’s direction when they reached the car, walking around the front towards the driver’s side. “Toss it in the back,” Dean ordered.
Sam was staring into the backseat by the time Dean slid into place, and he rolled his eyes at the memory of the mess. “I know...what was he thinking?”
“Dean,” Sam said softly, his hand still loosely gripping the bag. “Look in the back seat.”
“No, if I look, I might need to punch something, and you’re the nearest target.”
“Dean…” Sam’s voice was more insistent, and Dean felt Sam’s fingers grip his sleeve and tug sharply, like he used to do when he was little. “Look in the backseat.”
“What?” Dean demanded, shifting to tuck his knee up on the seat so he could get a good look.
His protests stopped cold at the sight, and he blinked in confusion. What looked like a large, ostrich-sized egg sat snugly nestled in the fabric nest that took up most of the back seat of his car. It was a pale pink hue, veined with small threads of blue that seemed to pulse in a steady rhythm
“What?!” Dean said again, though this time with more volume and an impressive use of diaphragm.
“So that’s what he meant.”
Dean glared with wild-eyed dismay in Sam’s direction and Sam glanced over at his brother nervously in return, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before he said, “Oh…uh…I guess I didn’t give you the whole message? Castiel said he’d take care of it.”
“Take care of it?! What the hell is it?”
Sam reached out, poking gently at the shell, which gave slightly at his touch. “It’s still soft, kind of like a reptile egg.” He pulled back his finger and studied the tip, a clear, slightly bloody gel decorating the tip. “And it’s a little…wet. Must be, um…fresh.” At Dean’s still gobsmacked expression, Sam reached over pat him on the shoulder, leaving a smear of goo striping his sleeve.
“It’s an egg…Castiel’s, is my best guess.”
“Castiel laid an egg? But…he’s a guy. Where did it come out?”
Dean’s eyes met with Sam’s open-eyed stare, the tilt of Sam’s head and the arch of his eyebrows indicating what he thought of that question. Dean’s gaze fell to the slimy strip on his shirt, and his face wrinkled in disgust as he panicked and slapped at his contaminated sleeve as if it were covered with angry bees. “Eeew, eeew, eeew! Get it off me!”
Sam frowned and wiped the rest of the mucus off on a napkin from the glove box, tossing it in the backseat to join the detritus surrounding their newest passenger.
“There aren’t any more, are there?” Dean asked suspiciously, taking off his outer shirt as if it were on fire and tossing it out the window. Then he peered over the back of his seat to study the footwells, his face pinched with proactive dismay at what he might find.
“Just looks like the one.”
“Castiel has a lot of explaining to do when he gets back.” Dean’s eyes widened once more. “He’s coming back, right?!”
“That’s what he said,” Sam said soothingly.
Dean slumped against the seat, his hands gripping the steering wheel as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. “So I guess that makes you Horton, Sam, ‘cause I’m telling you right now, I’m not sittin’ on it.”
2.
Sam noticed it first, which was weird, since he didn’t hang out with Castiel nearly as often as Dean did.
“Huh,” Sam grunted, squinting over in Castiel’s direction. “You look…different.”
Castiel actually fidgeted - fidgeted! - and shifted so that his trench coat draped closed across his front. “I do not.”
Dean snorted in amusement, carefully checking the weapons to be sure they were unloaded before they went in the bag. “Did he actually unbutton a button or something?”
Sam squinted once more, his eyes grazing the row of buttons he could still see on Castiel’s chest, as if that might be the simplest answer, and then said, “No. He’s….” and then shrugged when he couldn’t come up with an adequate descriptor, instead helping Dean shove some dirty clothes into a duffel bag.
When the Winchesters looked up from their task, the angel was gone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Castiel was quick, but not quick enough for Dean. He waited patiently, keeping an eye on his plate from the corner of his eye as he feinted a grab for some parmesan cheese, and slapped at the angel’s hand when it came back for the fourth time to pluck a piece of pepperoni off of his pizza.
“Never mess with a man’s food,” Dean warned, hunching protectively over his plate as he shoveled as much of the pizza into his mouth as he could. “It’s one of the basic rules our civilization is based on.”
Castiel blinked slowly as he absorbed this information. “I believe you said earlier that the rules civilization were based upon were to not touch your radio and that beer makes everyone pretty.”
Dean started to laugh, the sound quickly turning into a haggard hacking over his plate as his last bite tried to go down the wrong way. “Do you want a piece?” Sam asked, pushing a plate over towards Castiel with a large, greasy slice resting on it.
Dean took another large bite, mumbling through the masticated pizza, “I thought angels didn’t eat.”
“I do not need to eat,” Castiel informed him around his own mouthful, “but I can if I so wish it.”
Dean studied Castiel from the corner of his eye as the angel reached for another piece with his free hand, the other holding the first slice up to his mouth as he inhaled another large bite. “Looks like you’ve been wishin’ it a lot lately. You’re a little….” Here Dean hesitated, gesturing towards his face with one tomato sauce covered hand, his lips gleaming with grease. “…round.” He nodded as if that summed things up appropriately, and stuffed half a slice into his mouth, making his cheeks bulge out like a chipmunk’s.
“Huh,” Sam said, pausing with a piece of pizza dangling from his hand. “You do look…softer, I guess.” He squinted at the angel curiously for a second, taking note of the not-so-subtle differences before refocusing on his laptop, being careful to keep the greasy food away from his keyboard.
Castiel stiffened in his seat, dropping his pizza onto the table as he stood up abruptly, wrapping his coat around him. “I must go.”
“Do you wanna-” Dean began, but Castiel popped out before he could finish his question. With a shrug, he took the slice left on Castiel’s plate and placed it on his own. “Guess he wasn’t that hungry after all.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A rounder face wasn’t the only change the boys noticed as time passed. Despite a new tendency to keep his trench coat buttoned, Castiel’s once lean figure was definitely changing. While he still managed to hold his own in a fight, the imposing effect of the three men bursting into a nest of demons lost some of its impact when one of them waddled in like a duck.
After tracking down a lead in Omaha, they had sat down in the back of a bar to share some onion rings and news, and when Castiel reached for a handful, Sam politely coughed into his hand. “Are you sure you should be eating that?”
Castiel paused, his weighty stare shifting to rest on Sam. “Why?”
“You haven’t been in a human vessel for very long, so maybe you don’t realize what this stuff does to….”
“You’re getting fat,” Dean stated succinctly, and at Sam’s glare he shrugged, before taking another long drink of beer.
“I am not…fat,” Castiel disagreed.
Dean snorted, his lips barely brushing the mouth of the bottle as he spoke. “Then you must be pregnant.”
The silence that followed his joke went on far too long for it to be anything but meaningful, and Dean spat out his last drink across the table, dampening the fabric of Castiel’s coat.
“You’re pregnant?!” Dean shouted in disbelief, causing more than a few heads to turn in their direction as he slammed his bottle onto the table.
“Uh…” Sam said, keeping a wary eye on the bikers in the corner. “Maybe we should talk about this anywhere else but here.”
“Indeed,” Castiel agreed, reaching out to touch both Sam and Dean’s hands, before they all blinked out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dean didn’t pause long enough for the momentary dizziness and roiling stomach to stop him, even as Sam leaned over to heave in some nearby bushes.
“Alright, who knocked you up?!” Dean demanded, pacing back and forth across the patch of dirt outside the abandoned garage where they landed. “I’ll kick his ass!”
“You’re pregnant?” Sam asked again, as if for clarification. At Castiel’s steady stare, Sam rubbed at his forehead, his long bangs left askew when he dropped his hand to hang at his side. “How is that even possible?”
“It is my time.”
“Was it that asshole Uriel?!” Dean demanded. “It was, wasn’t it! I knew I didn’t like that guy. He was shifty!”
“He was a traitor,” Castiel reminded him. “And he is dead.”
“Just like I said! Shifty!” Dean shouted triumphantly, jabbing a finger in Castiel’s direction. “Runnin’ out on his obligations like that by being dead!”
“But you’re a…man. Men don’t have children,” Sam pointed out, as if logic would somehow shrink the bump still hidden beneath Castiel’s coat, which only seemed more noticeable the longer he stared at it.
“I am an angel, and I am several thousand years old. It is time; I have reached my breeding cycle,” Castiel explained calmly, despite Dean’s loud threats to neuter the already dead angel he blamed for Castiel’s delicate condition. “And, no, Uriel had nothing to do with it. Angels do not require outside assistance when breeding.”
“I’d rip his di-uh…what do you mean ‘outside assistance’?” Dean paused in his tirade to study Castiel’s form, noting how the angel rested both of his hands on the top of the bulge of his belly as if silently communing with the little passenger. “’Assistance’ is required, as far as Dad told me - when two people love each other very, very much, they hug each other really tight and….”
“I will admit this is not the most opportune time for it to happen,” Castiel continued, ignoring Dean’s story. “Since I am in a human vessel and we are busy trying to stop the Apocalypse, but I cannot control when it occurs.” The angel stared down at his rounded belly and frowned thoughtfully. “This is my first gestation, and things are not going as I expected.”
“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, eyes widening. “Is the baby coming? Breathe in *whoo-hoo-hoo*,” he panted, doing his best to imitate what he had seen on TV.
Sam arched an eyebrow in his brother’s direction. “What are you doing?”
“Lamaze,” Dean explained, trying to force Castiel into a prone position. “Nurse Leanne is pregnant, and she doesn’t know if the father is Dr. Sexy or the hot new intern in orthopedics, so on the last episode she went to Lamaze class with Nurse Betty, and things got a little hot and they started to….”
“I am not giving birth,” Castiel interrupted, looking a tad irritated. “I merely meant that being in a vessel has altered the process somewhat. I do not think it usually takes this long.”
“How long has it been?” Dean asked warily. “Because you look really…pregnant.”
“Two months.”
The brothers’ gazes shifted to each other and then back to Castiel’s protruding belly, which looked far larger than either of them would have expected after such a short time.
“Does this mean we’re gonna have to buy a car seat?” Dean asked dubiously, already trying to imagine how it would fit in the back of the Impala.
“I do not know,” Castiel said, after taking a long moment to study the stars. “Usually, I would merely send it home, but I have been….” Castiel stopped, as if unable to say it, but soldiered on. “I have been banned from Heaven, so I am unsure as to my offspring’s welcome.” The angel paused, his head cocking to the side as he rested his hand on his belly and mumbled to himself, “Mariel once gestated in human form. It cannot be that difficult.”
“What?” Sam asked, startled, his head swinging in Castiel’s direction. “Did you say something?”
“Well,” Dean said, tossing an arm over Castiel’s shoulder. “If they don’t want it, I guess it’s ours. Y’know, Sam had a goldfish once, but he forgot to feed it, and it….”
“How about we get some ice cream on the way home?” Sam interrupted before Dean could start on the hamster story. Castiel’s stomach gurgled in agreement at the suggestion. “I’m feeling a bit hungry myself.”
3.
Life on the road had never been kind to Dean’s dick. There was never a woman immediately handy when he needed one, and always too many when he didn’t. Sure, he could always run out to the nearest bar and pick and choose, but it sometimes got to the point where it felt like that was more of a chore than a treat, much like grocery shopping became after he turned thirteen and was expected to pick up what the family needed when Dad was busy.
Or even when he wasn’t.
So, when Dean started to see frozen peas or macaroni whenever he looked at a woman in bar, he realized he needed to take a little break from his routine.
That’s also the only time Sam was allowed to do the grocery shopping alone, because Dean could only survive without processed cheese snacks and sex for so long before he snapped.
Upon taking these random sabbaticals from women, this meant that Dean became best friends with his own hand in ways he hadn’t since he turned eleven and found out his dick’s primary purpose was not, in fact, peeing.
Sharing a room with his brother and an invasive angel with no concept of “private time” meant that even that little bit of respite was denied to Dean more often than he liked.
Damn frozen peas.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The first time it happened, Dean didn’t know what to think. He’d just gotten out of the shower after a little “alone time” and was feeling more relaxed than usual, and most of all grateful that he didn’t have to entertain a guest until she felt it was time for her to leave.
But the second he opened the bathroom door and nearly ran down Castiel, who was hovering just outside, a flurry of giggling feathers swarmed past him, spinning Dean in place until he almost lost his towel.
“What the fu-” Dean began, but Castiel’s dry observation interrupted him.
“Sam said you were busy.”
The slim angel was standing in the midst of what appeared to be a swarm of stereotypical cupids, the little cherubs looking nothing like the portly, naked man they had met only a week ago. In fact, as Dean ducked several that whizzed by his head, these jolly, jowly babies with the tiny wings had an expression of cognizance on their faces that was more than a little creepy - like those talking stockbroker babies in that ad on TV.
“Is this an attack? Are we being attacked right now?” Sam demanded, holding his laptop over his head as some sort of shield. And since none of the dozens of flying babies were wearing any diapers, Dean finally noted, maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea after all, and he began to look for his own form of protection. “What’s going on?!”
Castiel gave a quiet sigh, his eyes roaming the room. “I will gather them up. Please do not…just…sit.” Castiel sighed again, the flock of tiny angels disappearing with him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Disturbingly enough, this wasn’t the last occurrence of this phenomenon. It happened regularly enough that Sam started looking up references to flying baby attacks, and Dean called Bobby, but even the retired hunter hadn’t heard of anything even remotely like it.
“Y’sure they ain’t gremlins? Or pixies?” Bobby asked over the phone. “They tend to cluster in herds.”
“I keep telling you, Bobby. They are cute, pink-cheeked babies with wings - so, no, not gremlins or pixies.”
“Didja talk to Castiel ‘bout it? Sounds like angel business to me.”
Dean sighed, gripping the top of his nose between his eyes and squeezing in an attempt to forestall his headache. “He’s been too busy rounding them up and taking them wherever he takes them.”
“Talk to the angel,” Bobby advised. “I sure as shit don’t know what’s goin’ on.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dean had half-awakened as dawn neared, his recent dream still heavy between his legs. As Sam was out in the next bed, snoring like a lumberjack, he felt secure enough to take care of this not-so-little problem, and idly wiped his hand on the sheet, unconcerned about cleanliness since they’d be leaving the next morning. Upon relieving the nagging ache, he rolled over and buried his face in his pillow, drifting off quickly in hopes of meeting up with Carla and her four identical sisters once more.
It was the loss of the bedspread that woke him up, as a flurry of motion exploded beside him and dragged the bed sheets away, leaving little Dean bared to the cooler air of the room. Dean started awake, staring up into Castiel’s rather perturbed expression as he glared down at Dean, before the angel raised his eyes to watch the little cherubs darting around, playing some form of aerial tag.
“God, Dean,” Sam grumbled, dragging a pillow over his head. “Stop giggling.”
“It’s not me!” Dean took another second to process what his brother had said, and then snapped, “I don’t giggle!”
Sam opened one sleepy eye, lifting the pillow to say something else when he was dive-bombed by a tangle of cherubs that bounced off the mattress near his hip, before taking flight once more.
Sam blinked slowly, as if absorbing this new information, and asked foggily, “Are we being attacked by flying babies again?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Dean agreed, ducking as one particularly fat specimen zipped by his head. “There seem to be more of them this time.”
“Wake me when they’re gone,” Sam grumbled, pulling the pillow down over his head once more.
Meanwhile, Castiel was trying to use his trench coat to corral the cherubs into one corner, and Dean caught one in a pillowcase when it went fluttering by. He got up and handed the wriggling sack to the exhausted angel, who stared at Dean in all of his naked glory and ordered, “Just…stop.”
“Stop what?”
But the angel and his charges were already gone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It had been a tough job. Usually after a hunt like that, Dean would have sought out a willing companion to relieve some of his tension, and celebrate the joys of still being alive and kicking. But with his ban still in effect, Dean excused himself to the men’s restroom of the bar, glad to see the room was empty as he locked himself in the only stall and unbuttoned his jeans.
He’d just gotten a good hold on his dick when the flick-flutter sound of wings announced Castiel’s arrival, the tiles of the restroom making the sound echo loudly around him.
The angel grabbed Dean’s wrist, halting his motions before he could even begin, and Dean flailed in surprise, falling back against the side of the stall to keep space between them. Castiel’s grip did not loosen at all upon Dean’s wrist.
“Cas! I’m in the bathroom here!”
“That is exactly the problem,” Castiel informed him. “Heaven is embroiled in an Apocalypse. How many angels do you think are available to look after our progeny?”
“Our what?” Dean asked in disbelief, almost forgetting to tuck himself away before continuing this conversation. “Cas, we’ve never…uh, y’know, so we can’t have kids. Besides, we’re guys. Guys don’t do that!”
“The sin of Onan,” Castiel explained, his face set.
“Why are you guys talking about masturbating?” Sam’s voice interrupted, floating over the partition. “Should I leave you two alone?”
“No,” Castiel replied, slamming open the bathroom door and stalking out. “As forewarning, I should inform you, as well.”
“About…masturbating?” Sam asked hesitantly.
“Is that what ‘onan’ means? Don’t worry, I taught Sam all about it when he hit his growth spurt,” Dean said, following Castiel out of the stall.
Castiel turned to face both of the Winchesters, his broad shoulders reflected in the mirror behind him and framing the faces of the two men who were staring at him warily. “How do you think angels are made?”
Sam and Dean blinked at each other in surprise at the question, before Sam said, “I never really thought about it. Didn’t God create them…uh, you?”
“At first, but when he created you humans, there was an unforeseen loophole.” Castiel’s hands spread out before him, as if revealing some hidden secret. “And so became the sin of Onan.”
“I don’t get it,” Dean said.
“In essence, human seed is intended for procreation. When it is spilled in an angel’s presence without a…receptacle, then some of our Grace infuses it with life and you get-”
“Baby angels?!” Dean shrieked, the points finally connecting.
“That is what I need to discuss with you both. There are not nearly enough angels left in Heaven’s nurseries to watch the little ones, and you cannot seem to keep your hands off of your-.”
Sam started laughing, and Dean halted Castiel’s annoyed tirade with one hand held up in the air. “I get it. No more alone time.”
Castiel sighed in relief. “There is an Apocalypse coming.”
Dean huffed, rolling his shoulders one at a time to work off his discomfort. “I feel kinda cheap. You didn’t even buy me dinner first, Cas.”
“Would food keep you from touching-.”
“Yes…at least for a while.”
“Let us go buy something quickly,” Castiel urged, pushing Dean towards the door. “You as well, Sam. I cannot take any chances.”
4.
Castiel woke slowly, the sleepy sensation of being wrapped in sweat warm sheets something new for the weakened angel. Sleep had been an unnecessary affectation before he was banned from Heaven’s halls, but the longer he spent trapped on earth and in this vessel, the more he seemed to require it.
What he had also acquired was a lower tolerance for alcohol.
Castiel groaned softly as he rubbed at the soft ache hovering behind his temples, slowly realizing the aches did not stop there, but spread throughout every muscle in his body. He also felt an odd soreness in a place that he had never paid much mind to before, and he grimaced as he rolled over onto his side to relieve the pressure.
His progress was halted by a rock solid shoulder, and he lifted his hand to cease his movement into the lax form lying beside him, his palm shaping to the curves of the bicep beneath it.
His ministrations proved to be for nothing as the figure beside him stirred, blinking sleepily at the ceiling before turning his head to stare at Castiel lying so stiffly beside him.
“Good morning, Sam.”