Spring Fic Exchange for Peppermint_Wow: House Proud
Title House Proud
Author mamapranayama
Artist dizzojay
Recipient
peppermint_wow
Genre: Gen
Category: Humor/fluff
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Takes place just after 10x18 'Book of the Damned'
Summary: Dean is on a mission to kill … dust bunnies, that is. At the same time Sam’s buried beneath a mountain of files, Charlie is baking bread and Castiel is wondering why no one will let him use his newly returned grace to do all their work in the blink of an eye.
A/N So, I haven't written much in the last year, so please forgive me for any mistakes. Also, I want to give a huge thanks to Dizzojay for the wonderful art she made for this story and to Peppermin_wow for the prompt! You girls rock!
House Proud
Humans ...
They were so strange.
Even though Castiel had been reduced to being one himself not too long ago, he still didn’t fully understand them, especially now as each of his human friends rejected the use of his powers in favor of doing menial chores on their own.
For thousands of years, Castiel’s one task as been to simply obey when called upon, but oftentimes there was very little else to do for ages. There was no such thing as ‘work’ per se, and certainly not in the human sense of the word.
In between times smiting whole villages or armies of demons, he would sometimes spend a few centuries just observing the glaciers moving or maybe a millennium or two watching rocks in the Grand Canyon erode.
Those had been good times.
But during his comparatively short stint as a human, he had had to learn what it was like to work, not only for money to pay for food and shelter, but also in daily tasks of living. During his employment at the Gas n’ Sip, he had had to learn how to operate a broom and a mop, how to chisel out cheese encrusted in the microwave, and how sore feet could become after standing on them for eight hours straight. And then, after his shift had been over, he still had the regular tasks of procuring food from the grocery store, cooking the food, and then cleaning up after wards. Not to mention the need to clean his body and clothing - it was truly amazing how quickly both could produce an unpleasant odor if left for only a few days.
It was all so very exhausting. He had never known how hard it was for humans to simply just make it through one day, let alone their entire existence, without any divine powers.
And that was why he was now so perplexed. Why would they not want his help? Work was tiresome and hard on the human body. He could perform all of their self-assigned tasks in the blink of an eye and yet, each one of them had rejected his offers.
Dean was the first to rebuff him.
Castiel had been sitting at the large conference table in the library as the other three occupants of the bunker slept. He couldn’t say that he missed needing sleep. The first time it happened to him, he had been quite unprepared for the sudden onset of weakness followed several hours of unconsciousness. It had been a most unsettling experience. He didn’t envy his friends in this regard and was more than happy to remain conscious and keep vigil over the bunker.
He had only been sitting there for six hours and sixteen minutes when Dean appeared far earlier in the morning than he expected, looking as if his sleep experience hadn’t been a particularly pleasant one.
His human friend walked in carrying an arsenal of cleaning supplies. Somehow he managed to carry a duster, broom, a roll of paper towels, and a can of Lysol all while pushing a bucket of water and a mop across the floor.
“Morning, Cas.” Dean greeted, dropping his supplies and the reaching into his back pocket for a bandana which he proceeded to fold in half and then wrap over his hair like a kerchief.
“Good morning, Dean.” Castiel replied, standing up and cocking his head to the side, a puzzled expression forming on his face as he looked at the strange head covering.
Dean looked up at the kerchief and growled while pointing his finger at Cas just as the angel was poised on the edge of a question. “Shut-up. It keeps the dust out of my hair.”
Dean then took a pair of bright yellow, rubber gloves and snapped them onto his hands.
“I was only going to ask that since it appears that you intend to clean, I wanted offer my help.”
“Nah, that’s okay, Cas. I know you can snap your fingers and all of the dust bunnies in the place would disappear now that you got your mojo back, but I kinda need to do this, okay?”
Dean then pulled out the can of Lysol and started spraying down the table, grumbling something about Sam’s ‘giant-assed fingerprints’ as he ripped off some paper towels and then wiped the surface in vigorous circles.
“Why would you wish to perform manual labor when you know I am happy to save you the work?” Cas asked.
Dean didn’t stop scrubbing, “Because …” he came back, then stopped as he tried to come up with a better explanation, “I just do, okay?”
He resumed scrubbing.
He then sighed as if noting that Castiel was still expecting a better answer.
Dean spoke as he worked, “I guess it gives my hands something to do. And if you’ve noticed lately, I’ve got a bit of excess energy, so this helps in a healthier way than a fifth of whiskey at 6 am.”
Castiel watched, noting how Dean seemed to be concentrating on one spot. This was not proper cleaning technique, in his opinion.
Dean looked up, his face displaying annoyance, “What?”
“Doesn’t the entire table need cleaning? There are several spots you have neglected.”
Dean huffed and rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know. I’ll get to it”
“Perhaps I could sugges-“
“No.” Dean stopped him, angry at first and then, after taking a breath and sighing, he said, “You know … if you want to be helpful. Why don’t you go and start a pot of coffee?”
Castiel nodded. “If you wish.”
“I do.” Dean waved with a yellow-gloved hand, “Now go … shoo. Let me work in peace.”
Castiel turned and headed towards the kitchen where he knew the coffee machine was located.
Upon entering, he was greeted with a bright smile an exuberant, “Good Morning!” from Charlie.
Her bright red hair was pulled back from her face by a white headband and she was wearing an apron that was covered with a white powdery substance which he identified as flour. It also covered her hands and most of the kitchen floor.
“Good morning.” Castiel replied.
“Sorry. I hope I didn’t wake you up.” She apologized unnecessarily, her hands pushing into a soft, white mound of dough.
“I don’t sleep.”
Charlie stopped. “Really? Then what do you do all night?”
“When I am here, I usually sit at the conference table.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“Sounds boring.”
“Perhaps if I was human, but I have been alive for many millennia. A few hours of quiet is not long in comparison and can be restful in its own way.”
She shrugged. “If you say so. But I think I would miss sleeping. I usually have kick-ass dreams.”
Charlie turned back to her dough and continued kneading.
“What are you doing?” Castiel asked, curious as he sought out the coffee pot and then began filling its carafe with water. During his time working at the Gas n sip he had become quite adept at coffee making, and he had received many compliments on it though he never did enjoy the taste of it himself. He preferred the frozen Mountain Dew from the Slushie machine; it tasted sweet and tangy and gave his body a rush of energy that lasted for hours.
“I’m making bread.” She began simply, “I woke up this morning feeling the best I have felt in a long time, thanks to you and you magic, healing fingers, so I just felt like baking.”
“I could procure bread for you.” Castiel offered, raising his fingers to snap a loaf into existence, but she stopped him.
“Nah … I wanted to make it from scratch, ya know? There’s just something so satisfying about baking it yourself, and I dunno … I guess it’s the feel of the dough in your hands.” She said, picking up the ball and squeezing it, blobs of dough oozing between her fingers, making a squelching noise, “It’s just so … squishy.” She drew out the word and grinned, almost giddy with happiness.
“And this smell …” She brought her nose within a fraction of an inch to the dough, inhaling deeply, her eyes closing in bliss. “There’s nothing like it. That yeasty, yummy ... heavenly smell …”
Castiel furrowed his brow. If possible, Charlie was an even more confounding human than both Dean and Sam. “Heaven does not smell like yeast.”
“Okay then, what does it smell like?” she asked, then quickly interrupted before he could answer, holding up her hands to stop him and bouncing on her heels. “No wait, don't tell me. I bet it smells like chocolate chip cookies … or birthday cake. Or even better yet … gasoline,” she added wistfully, looking almost enraptured with the mere idea. “I know it may sound a little kooky, but I just love that smell … it makes me feel all gooey inside, ya know?”
“I'm afraid that Heaven does not have an odor.” Castiel informed her evenly as he finished getting the coffee pot started. The coffee percolated noisily as it dripped into the carafe and began to fill it.
Her face falling a little, Charlie dropped the dough back onto the counter with a plop, a little dust of flour puffing up. “Oh … bummer.”
Castiel felt that this might be one of those moments were he was supposed to use placating language in order to soothe the young woman’s disappointment. “That is not to say that when you die, that your version of heaven won’t smell of combustible fossil fuels.”
Charlie looked up again, intrigued, “So … in heaven then, everyone gets their own little virtual reality, right? Kinda like a divine holodeck or something?”
“If you are trying to draw an analogy between heaven and a fictional device from Star Trek: the Next Generation, you may find some similarities, but unlike Star Trek, a soul usually cannot end the program at will. If you are looking for a closer reference to which you may compare Heaven, then I believe The Matrix would be more apt.”
“Somehow, I really don’t find that very comforting.” Charlie muttered, turning her attention back to kneading the dough. She then stopped suddenly and raised a floury hand, her face showing both confusion and curiosity. “Wait a sec … You watch Star Trek?”
“No, however, I was given the knowledge of virtually every movie, novel, and television program ever made.”
“Cool.”
“It has its benefits.”
Castiel watched Charlie until she seemed to sense his eyes on her. “You know, I think Sam might want some coffee.” She said, pointing to the now full pot of black liquid. “I think I saw him heading towards the records room. If he’s digging into those files, then he’s probably gonna need it.”
Nodding, the angel grabbed two mugs out of the cabinet. He filled both, handing one off to Charlie.
She accepted it gratefully and took a sip, “Damn … that’s pretty good. Who would have thought that an angel would make such a great barista.”
Castiel smiled at the compliment and then headed towards the record’s room with Sam’s cup of coffee. The Men of Letters’ files were impressive by human standards, however, it could not compare even remotely to the infinite rows of files heaven kept on each and every soul that had been created since the beginning of time. That being said, Heaven had a true army of angels tasked with keeping up with Heaven’s records while the bunker really only had one person to sort, organize and file the records so that they could be easily accessible when needed.
Entering the room, Castiel found Sam, however, he had his back turned to the door and was balanced precariously on top of a 12 ft. ladder, straining to reach a file box with one hand while using his other hand to hold onto the shelf.
Castiel had read every word of OSHA’s regulations when he had been employed by the Gas 'n Sip and he recalled the passage of ladder safety.
Worried for his friend, Castiel spoke up in alarm, “Sam! OSHA reg. 1926.1053 paragraph B, line 13 states that the top rung or top step of a stepladder shall not be used as a step!”
Startled by Castiel’s sudden exclamation, Sam’s tenuous grasp on the file box he had just managed to pry from the shelf was lost and the box began to fall. Sam instinctively tried to catch it, but his already unbalanced hold on the ladder caused his feet to slip out from underneath him and was soon forced to yield to gravity, following the box down to the floor.
Castiel, thankfully, was faster and with a quick flick of his wrist was able to catch the young man’s fall with only a small rush of power all while managing to not spill any of the coffee in his other hand.
Sam hung suspended in midair, his nose only a few inches from the concrete floor. Mouth wide open and forming a perfect circle, he panted for breath, realizing just how close he had nearly come to breaking all of the bones in his face.
Gently, Castiel lowered Sam the rest of the way to the floor and the younger man wasted little time jumping to his feet and running a hand through his hair. He was still breathing hard as he glared at the angel. “Jesus Christ!”
“Are you alright, Sam?”
“Sure … I’ll be peachy as soon as I’m over the heart attack you just gave me.” Sam snapped, planting his hand on his chest.
Castiel looked at Sam with deep concern and raised his fingers as if to aid, “If your heart is injured -“
Sam shook his head, a little exasperated, but calmer now that he could breathe again, “It’s just an expression. You scared the shit out of me.”
“Ah.” The angel replied, contrite. “I was afraid you might have been in danger. Standing on a ladder as you were is not safe.”
“Yeah. And it’s even more dangerous when someone sneaks up behind your back and yells at you.”
“I am sorry.” Castiel held out the coffee mug in his hands as a sort of peace offering, “Would you like some coffee?”
“Sure.” Sam sighed, forgiving the angel without actually saying the words. He took the cup and sipped, seeming to get over his shock and anger as the hot drink soothed him. “Wow … this is actually really good.” He took another gulp, “So … did you come here just to bring me coffee?”
“Yes.” Castiel replied. He didn’t think he needed to elaborate, but Sam looked at him as if he needed to say more. “Charlie insisted.”
“Okay then. Thanks …” Sam looked down at the box of files that Castiel had not saved from falling. Its contents were spilled all over the floor and papers were scattered everywhere. “I guess …”
“Please … allow me -“ Castiel raised his fingers and intended to use his grace again to return all of the papers to the box, but Sam stopped him, waving his hands.
“No, no … that’s okay, really. I was going to go through everything in this box anyway.” Sam explained, and then hastily added, “And I kinda have a thing for the files being put away by only me.“ Sam suddenly looked a little sheepish, “Sorry, I know it’s a little weird, but you can’t imagine how crazy frustrated it makes me when Dean doesn’t put a file up in the right place or if I find one that has pages in it from another file. I know you mean well, Cas, but I have to do this myself.”
“I understand.” Castiel replied. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Nah, I’m fine on my own. Besides … I saw Dean this morning and it looks like he’s on one of his cleaning streaks. I’d rather be buried up to my neck in files and suffer a million paper cuts than get in his way.”
“He does seem rather preoccupied with it.” Castiel agreed.
Sam sighed a little wistfully, “That’s because he almost loves this place as much as his car. It's his first real home in a way and he likes to keep it clean. He’s proud of it.”
Castiel pondered on this for the next hour after excusing himself from Sam. He had a slightly better understanding of the reasons why his human friends wanted to do their tasks on their own, but it still left him wondering.
Angels weren’t supposed to be prideful, but he knew that that was a sin that many of them chose to ignore. Did he had anything of which to be proud and was it necessarily a bad thing if he did?
He supposed a little pride was alright now and then.
After all, he did make a damn good cup of coffee.
The End