FIC: Quid Pro Quo
Title: Quid Pro Quo
Author: blue_fjords
Characters/Pairing: Dean, Meg, Cas; Dean/Cas
Rating: PG-13
Word length: ~1300
Warnings: spoilers through 6x10
Summary: Episode Coda to 6x10.
Dean's in the checkout line at a Gas 'n' Sip the next time he sees her. Meg's looking a bit wild, as per usual, but there's something more in her big, round eyes that Dean can't quite place.
"Dean!" she hisses, pushing her way past the teenage girls buying tabloids and the drunk old man clutching his bottle of Wild Turkey to make a failed grab at Dean's arm. His hands are full of PayDays and SlimJims and Coke, but he still manages to juggle out his little flask of holy water from his inside jacket pocket.
"You want to talk, we're taking this outside," he tells her, jiggling the bottle meaningfully. Jesus, the cashier is pregnant and there's a little old lady with her grandson in the chips aisle - fucking Meg, probably revels in the idea of collateral damage.
To Dean's surprise, she gives a curt nod and backs out of the store. He follows slowly, leaving his junk food on the counter. He'd really been craving a PayDay. Trust Meg to interfere with the explosion of salty peanuts and sweet gooey caramel in his mouth.
His eyes dart around the parking lot. There's a man pumping gas at the far pump, but otherwise there are no human beings in sight. Just Meg-the-demon, gesturing him over to the side of the building, away from view of the door.
"Alright, Meg. Start talking. Begin with why I shouldn't just kill you now."
Meg sighs and leans against the ice machine. "You don't have the knife with you, Rambo. All you have is that little bit of water."
"True enough," Dean concedes. "But don't push me. I know Latin."
Meg raises her hands in a placating gesture. "All I want to do is ask you a question."
"One question?" Dean cocks an eyebrow. "No attempting to deal with me? No innuendo? Who are you and what have you done with Meg? Not that I'm complaining…"
She makes a little frustrated noise in the back of her throat. "It's that damn -" She stops, grinding her teeth, and attempts a smile. It looks weird on her without the cruel twist she usually employs. "Dean. I really need to talk to Castiel. How do I get a hold of him?"
Dean takes a step back, startled. "Look, Meg, I don't know how to say this nicely, but as it's you, I don't really care: he's just not that into you. Sorry." He has to laugh at the look on her face.
"Shut up, you cretin! Just tell me how you talk to him." Her hands are on her hips and then, to Dean's utter amazement, she stamps her foot. Like a child throwing a tantrum.
"You just stamped your foot," he says, pointing at her foot in case she forgot in the span of two seconds. "Instead of trying to kill me. You've been neutered. Or," he continues, as a wide grin spreads across his face and a dark frown spreads across Meg's, "spayed. Cas, you sly dog."
"He has to change me back!" Meg wails. "I need to talk to your fucking angel! I haven't hurt so much as a fly in THREE WHOLE DAYS!"
Dean can't help it. He laughs his ass off. He hasn't laughed that hard since he escaped a brothel in Maine. His sides are shaking, tears are streaming down his face, and he feels light as a balloon.
"You - you did steal his sword, after all," he finally manages to gasp out. "What did you expect?"
"This isn't funny, you bastard! I'll kidnap you, and force Castiel to fix me -"
"Oh, yeah? Try to touch me, go on." Dean holds out his arm, remembering how she couldn't touch him in the store. Sure enough, she snatches her fingers back about an inch from his jacket, and he howls with laughter again.
"This isn't the end of this, Dean. I will find some way to be normal again, and when I do, I am going to roast me some angel wings - ackkkkk!" She shrieks in pain as she gets holy water in the face.
"No threatening the angel," Dean tells her, all trace of mirth gone. "Now run along and go play with your dolls."
She shoots him an angry glare, but turns heel and runs away, clutching her face.
***
Later that night, alone in his room but for a bottle of whiskey, Dean contemplates the magical properties of angel kisses.
"Cas," he slurs to the empty room, "I ran into Meg today and she's acting really … weird."
He's not expecting an answer, and falls off the bed when a flutter of wings signifies that he's no longer alone.
"She didn't harm you?" Cas asks, frowning down at him on the floor.
"No, dude," he says, struggling back to his feet, "she can't hurt a fly." Now he's upright and face-to-face with Cas when the angel smiles, an honest-to-God smile. It lights up his whole face. Which is a sappy thought, Dean realizes, but he's drunk quite a bit of his bottle of whiskey.
"It's an old spell," Cas informs him. "I'm not surprised she wasn't expecting it. It's not cast all that frequently, of course, because angels and demons are rarely in close proximity when they are not actively trying to kill the other."
"Well, your magic kiss made my day. You should've seen Meg - it was like Godzilla being replaced with Bambi."
"I don't get that reference, but I trust that is a good thing."
Dean lays a heavy hand on Cas's shoulder. "Trust me, it was awesome."
Cas is still smiling slightly, his lips curved up in a bow, and Dean's having a hard time looking away from them.
"What other magic can your lips do?" he asks, swaying slightly on his feet, and he should really stop drinking so much. Cas slips a steadying hand around his waist. "If you kissed Sam, would it make him my brother again? 'Cause I fucking miss him." And dammit, he's thinking about Sammy again, and he doesn't want to, not about him leaving and not about him suffering in the cage. "If you kissed Bobby," he says, fishing for a change of subject, "would he stop saying 'balls' and 'idjits'?" Cas makes a noise, suspiciously like a laugh, and his breath tickles Dean's lips, they're so close. "If you kissed me, would I stop being an asshole?"
Cas does kiss him then, and Dean just hangs on. He imagines he can feel Grace running through his bloodstream now, burning out the tendency to drink, the short temper, the objectification of women, his low self-esteem. He hangs on, and just lets Cas take control, parting his lips and breathing into Cas's mouth because there is no other air between them.
He opens his eyes the next morning and yawns, jaw cracking wide. He feels more rested than he has in months and months. One look around the room tells him that Sam's still not back, but for once, he feels like he can deal with the situation.
A change in the feel of the air alerts him to Cas's presence. The angel is carrying a cup of coffee and he holds it out wordlessly to Dean. Dean takes it silently and sips. His eyes roam Cas's face, looking for proof of what happened the night before. Had he dreamed it? It's not exactly the type of thing he can bring up in conversation: Thanks for the coffee, Cas, and by the way, did we make out for several hours last night?
"I thought I might go on furlough today and ride with you," Cas says suddenly. Dean meets his eyes, his own widening over the Styrofoam cup as he realizes the answer to his unspoken question.
"Okay," he says. "Yeah. That'd be good."
And maybe later, they will see what else those magic angel kisses can do.
Author: blue_fjords
Characters/Pairing: Dean, Meg, Cas; Dean/Cas
Rating: PG-13
Word length: ~1300
Warnings: spoilers through 6x10
Summary: Episode Coda to 6x10.
Dean's in the checkout line at a Gas 'n' Sip the next time he sees her. Meg's looking a bit wild, as per usual, but there's something more in her big, round eyes that Dean can't quite place.
"Dean!" she hisses, pushing her way past the teenage girls buying tabloids and the drunk old man clutching his bottle of Wild Turkey to make a failed grab at Dean's arm. His hands are full of PayDays and SlimJims and Coke, but he still manages to juggle out his little flask of holy water from his inside jacket pocket.
"You want to talk, we're taking this outside," he tells her, jiggling the bottle meaningfully. Jesus, the cashier is pregnant and there's a little old lady with her grandson in the chips aisle - fucking Meg, probably revels in the idea of collateral damage.
To Dean's surprise, she gives a curt nod and backs out of the store. He follows slowly, leaving his junk food on the counter. He'd really been craving a PayDay. Trust Meg to interfere with the explosion of salty peanuts and sweet gooey caramel in his mouth.
His eyes dart around the parking lot. There's a man pumping gas at the far pump, but otherwise there are no human beings in sight. Just Meg-the-demon, gesturing him over to the side of the building, away from view of the door.
"Alright, Meg. Start talking. Begin with why I shouldn't just kill you now."
Meg sighs and leans against the ice machine. "You don't have the knife with you, Rambo. All you have is that little bit of water."
"True enough," Dean concedes. "But don't push me. I know Latin."
Meg raises her hands in a placating gesture. "All I want to do is ask you a question."
"One question?" Dean cocks an eyebrow. "No attempting to deal with me? No innuendo? Who are you and what have you done with Meg? Not that I'm complaining…"
She makes a little frustrated noise in the back of her throat. "It's that damn -" She stops, grinding her teeth, and attempts a smile. It looks weird on her without the cruel twist she usually employs. "Dean. I really need to talk to Castiel. How do I get a hold of him?"
Dean takes a step back, startled. "Look, Meg, I don't know how to say this nicely, but as it's you, I don't really care: he's just not that into you. Sorry." He has to laugh at the look on her face.
"Shut up, you cretin! Just tell me how you talk to him." Her hands are on her hips and then, to Dean's utter amazement, she stamps her foot. Like a child throwing a tantrum.
"You just stamped your foot," he says, pointing at her foot in case she forgot in the span of two seconds. "Instead of trying to kill me. You've been neutered. Or," he continues, as a wide grin spreads across his face and a dark frown spreads across Meg's, "spayed. Cas, you sly dog."
"He has to change me back!" Meg wails. "I need to talk to your fucking angel! I haven't hurt so much as a fly in THREE WHOLE DAYS!"
Dean can't help it. He laughs his ass off. He hasn't laughed that hard since he escaped a brothel in Maine. His sides are shaking, tears are streaming down his face, and he feels light as a balloon.
"You - you did steal his sword, after all," he finally manages to gasp out. "What did you expect?"
"This isn't funny, you bastard! I'll kidnap you, and force Castiel to fix me -"
"Oh, yeah? Try to touch me, go on." Dean holds out his arm, remembering how she couldn't touch him in the store. Sure enough, she snatches her fingers back about an inch from his jacket, and he howls with laughter again.
"This isn't the end of this, Dean. I will find some way to be normal again, and when I do, I am going to roast me some angel wings - ackkkkk!" She shrieks in pain as she gets holy water in the face.
"No threatening the angel," Dean tells her, all trace of mirth gone. "Now run along and go play with your dolls."
She shoots him an angry glare, but turns heel and runs away, clutching her face.
***
Later that night, alone in his room but for a bottle of whiskey, Dean contemplates the magical properties of angel kisses.
"Cas," he slurs to the empty room, "I ran into Meg today and she's acting really … weird."
He's not expecting an answer, and falls off the bed when a flutter of wings signifies that he's no longer alone.
"She didn't harm you?" Cas asks, frowning down at him on the floor.
"No, dude," he says, struggling back to his feet, "she can't hurt a fly." Now he's upright and face-to-face with Cas when the angel smiles, an honest-to-God smile. It lights up his whole face. Which is a sappy thought, Dean realizes, but he's drunk quite a bit of his bottle of whiskey.
"It's an old spell," Cas informs him. "I'm not surprised she wasn't expecting it. It's not cast all that frequently, of course, because angels and demons are rarely in close proximity when they are not actively trying to kill the other."
"Well, your magic kiss made my day. You should've seen Meg - it was like Godzilla being replaced with Bambi."
"I don't get that reference, but I trust that is a good thing."
Dean lays a heavy hand on Cas's shoulder. "Trust me, it was awesome."
Cas is still smiling slightly, his lips curved up in a bow, and Dean's having a hard time looking away from them.
"What other magic can your lips do?" he asks, swaying slightly on his feet, and he should really stop drinking so much. Cas slips a steadying hand around his waist. "If you kissed Sam, would it make him my brother again? 'Cause I fucking miss him." And dammit, he's thinking about Sammy again, and he doesn't want to, not about him leaving and not about him suffering in the cage. "If you kissed Bobby," he says, fishing for a change of subject, "would he stop saying 'balls' and 'idjits'?" Cas makes a noise, suspiciously like a laugh, and his breath tickles Dean's lips, they're so close. "If you kissed me, would I stop being an asshole?"
Cas does kiss him then, and Dean just hangs on. He imagines he can feel Grace running through his bloodstream now, burning out the tendency to drink, the short temper, the objectification of women, his low self-esteem. He hangs on, and just lets Cas take control, parting his lips and breathing into Cas's mouth because there is no other air between them.
He opens his eyes the next morning and yawns, jaw cracking wide. He feels more rested than he has in months and months. One look around the room tells him that Sam's still not back, but for once, he feels like he can deal with the situation.
A change in the feel of the air alerts him to Cas's presence. The angel is carrying a cup of coffee and he holds it out wordlessly to Dean. Dean takes it silently and sips. His eyes roam Cas's face, looking for proof of what happened the night before. Had he dreamed it? It's not exactly the type of thing he can bring up in conversation: Thanks for the coffee, Cas, and by the way, did we make out for several hours last night?
"I thought I might go on furlough today and ride with you," Cas says suddenly. Dean meets his eyes, his own widening over the Styrofoam cup as he realizes the answer to his unspoken question.
"Okay," he says. "Yeah. That'd be good."
And maybe later, they will see what else those magic angel kisses can do.