Dinner at Eight (Flight Club, Chapter 3 of 8)
Title: Dinner at Eight (Flight Club, Chapter 3 of 8)
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas; Sam, John, Bobby, Gabriel, Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Balthazar, Joshua, Death
Warnings: Cursing.
Word Count: 38,000 total
Summary: John abandons teenaged Sam and Dean in Sioux Falls for the school year, where our young hunters-to-be befriend a strange boy who claims he and his brothers are angels of the Lord. Well, he's got a pretty cool sword anyway. The plot thickens when young Sammy wonders why there are so many restless spooks in the neighborhood, leading the boys to decide that calling out for pizza and Death is a wicked awesome idea. Hijinks ensue.
Notes: This is a high school AU, but since I can never do these things correctly, angels are still angels. (And some of them are still dickbags.)
And FYI, someone on Tumblr just posted this adorable GIF set of a high school-ish Misha on Charmed.
“So, if you’re going against a werewolf, you should take Cas along,” said Sam from the back seat.
“What?” said Dean, who nearly steered the car into a ditch.
“That would be fine,” said Cas, sipping contemplatively on his chocolate Happy Clownshake. This afternoon the brothers had taken Castiel to a drive through restaurant, seeing as he had never been to a drive though. As he had never done most anything a normal teenager had done. Dean figured the family was just really religious or something.
After some thorough scanning of the Happy Clown menu, Castiel had decided on the chocolate Happy Clownshake, in addition to a Happy Clownburger with cheese and a side of Happy Clownfries.
“I tend to avoid clowns,” Sam had told him. “But they make good fast food!”
Dean now took another chomp on his Happy Triple Clownburger and fumed. “How did you figure that one out,” he asked Sam. “About the werewolf?”
“Oh, you’re kind of obvious,” huffed Sam.
“You are intending to slay the town’s werewolf?” asked Castiel.
“Wait, you knew about the werewolf?” asked Dean.
“Well, yes, there is only the one,” Castiel related. “In the immediate vicinity that is.”
“And, you and your brothers didn’t do anything about it?” asked Dean.
Castiel brushed his tangled hair out of his eyes and gave Dean a curious look. “What would we do?”
“Well, I dunno,” grumbled Dean. “Maybe use your magical angel mojo to stop him attacking innocent citizens?”
“Magic angel…? We are messengers of the Lord, not warriors,” said Castiel.
“Then what do you all got those cool swords for?”
“Oh. That,” said Castiel, taking a considered slurp. “You know, this beverage is quite tasty and refreshing. Are real clowns used in its composition?”
“We’ll have you do a commercial. What’s up with the sword, Cas?” pressed Dean.
“He’s got a sword?” asked a wide-eyed Sam.
“Yeah, he’s got an angel sword.”
Cas got one of those far off looks Dean was rapidly getting used to. “If I assist you in this endeavor, Dean,” asked Castiel, “will that count towards what you consider to be my obligations in this matter?”
“You don’t have to help,” said Dean. “I got this,” he added confidently.
“As with the vampires?” asked Castiel, with just a twinge too much innocence to his tone.
“Yes he does have to help!” insisted Sam. “He’s got your back! And I’m coming too!”
“Sammy…. Good God. Look, if I take Cas along, will you at least sit this one out?” pleaded Dean, thinking of his upcoming execution at the hands of John Winchester for putting his younger brother in jeopardy.
“I will…. I will be Dean’s wing man!” said Castiel.
Dean and Sam stared. “Dude, did you just make a joke?” asked Dean.
“Yes. At least, I think so?”
“Yeah, actually. That was pretty good,” said Dean.
“Hey, what’s with the welcoming party?” said Sam, pointing up ahead.
Dean looked ahead in some surprise. He had been giving Castiel a ride home fairly often these days, but at no time had he ever encountered another person at his house. This evening, however, Raphael was waiting outside, arms crossed, looking like a big douche bag.
Dean frowned, glad he hadn’t picked up beer tonight. Still, it wasn’t late, so he was not exactly sure what the issue might be. He looked at Castiel, who shrugged.
Signaling Sam to stay in the back seat, Dean stopped the car and got out along with Castiel, who was still sipping contentedly at his milkshake and clutching his somewhat greasy bag of Happy Clown delicacies.
“Hello, Raphael,” said Castiel. “We went to a drive through! Would you like to try a Happy Clownfry?”
“Michael is coming home for dinner on Sunday,” said Raphael
“Oh,” said Castiel, who suddenly looked as if his milkshake no longer tasted refreshing.
“You will join us for dinner, Dean Winchester,” Raphael told Dean.
With an effort, Dean stifled the snotty remark that was on the tip of his tongue. Raph was being a jerk, but, damn, he really didn’t want to mess up an opportunity for dinner with this weird ass family of alleged angels.
“OK. Sure. What time?” said Dean.
“8 pm. Sharp,” ordered Raphael.
“Cool. See you then,” said Dean. And then with a nod at a now glum Castiel (who appeared to have an aversion for saying goodbye) he got back in the Impala and drove off.
“You’re gonna have dinner with the angel brothers?” squealed Sam, who was so excited he nearly fell headfirst into the front seat while he was wriggling up.
“Watch it!” said Dean.
“I wanna go!”
“Not this time, Sammy.”
“Awwwwwww!”
“Seatbelt! Look, I’ll put in a good word for you, I promise. But I think maybe Cas doesn’t get along with his brothers so well. So it might be kind of tense. You know, like when we had that Thanksgiving with mom’s relatives?”
Sam nodded grimly. Their cousins, who themselves came from a long line of hunters, were evidently absolutely convinced that John Winchester had been possessed by some sort of demon, and thus a Thanksgiving that consisted of rather a lot of arguing and splashing holy water. Sam had actually liked the holy water fights, but like Dean disliked the bickering.
Four beings, who for all appearances were teenaged boys, gathered around the dinner table.
“Michael will be here on Sunday, so I want us to be on our best behavior,” Raphael was saying. He frowned and swatted away a psychedelic butterfly. “Gabriel!”
“Yes, brother?” asked Gabriel, who was happily creating the day glo butterflies.
“None of your nonsense,” scolded Raphael. “Michael will clip your wings!”
“Oh, not literally,” sighed Gabriel, snapping and banishing the ghostly insects.
“Yes. Literally. And Balthazar, could you ease up on the cigarettes? Just for the day? Michael can smell smoke from twenty miles away!”
“If Michael is coming, I’ll desperately need a fucking smoke,” pleaded Balthazar.
“And pleeeease get a haircut, Castiel,” continued Raphael.
Castiel glared through tangled bangs. “I do not need a haircut. This is...”
“Yes, only your earthly vessel. I know, I know. Your earthly vessel needs a damn haircut. Balthazar? Can you see to it?”
“I can't see through the hair,” laughed Balthazar, putting his hand through Castiel's hair. “You look a sheepdog, dear.”
“And kindly make sure your human … friend knows we dress for dinner around here,” scolded Raphael.
Castiel blinked. “You are afraid he might show up naked?”
Gabriel and Balthazar both burst out laughing. Castiel almost smiled.
Raphael stood and leaned over, close to Castiel. “You are spending altogether too much time among humans, brother.” And then he turned and strode out.
“Well, don't go away mad,” chuckled Balthazar, who quite suddenly had a lit cigarette in his hand.
“Just go away,” chimed in Gabriel, who let forth with some florescent lightning bugs.
“I liked him better before he declared himself our foster daddy,” sighed Balthazar.
“I do not want a haircut,” grumbled Castiel.
“I could zap it for you!” grinned Gabriel.
Castiel glowered. “I still have burns on my scalp from the last time you cut my hair,” he grumbled.
“You would look great with a Mohawk. Maybe with little butterflies in it,” said Gabriel, waving his hand as if styling Castiel’s hair.
Balthazar sighed. “Gabriel, though we all marvel at your creativity, I don’t think Raphael was kidding about the wing clipping.” Gabriel glared. “What about this?” Balthazar asked Castiel. “How about you ask your human friend where he goes to get his hair cut? You know, a human barber?”
“Dean’s barber?” said Castiel, who seemed stunned at the sheer awesomeness of the suggestion.
“Yeah, just ask your boyfriend,” grinned Gabriel.
Castiel was up like a shot, but Balthazar had ahold of Castiel's right hand. “Gabriel,” said Balthazar, “kindly make like a tree, dear, and leave.”
And Gabriel was no longer there.
“I will take off all of his hair. And his scalp as well,” threatened Castiel.
“I am going to tell you a story now,” said Balthazar, leaning back and taking a long drag from his cigarette. “About a little boy and a little girl.”
“Why do I need to hear this now?” grumbled Castiel.
“You will sit, and listen now. Because I asked you very politely. Now, Sigyn was her name. I remember that well. She had blonde hair. And blue eyes, like yours, only more the color of the sky on a summer morning. They had both just started junior high, the both of them. They would hold hands in the lunchroom.”
“Yes. Very cute,” grumbled Castiel, who obviously did not find it so. He sighed. “So. What happened?”
“One day, Michael went to school. A few days later, Sigyn was withdrawn from the school. Her parents moved her out of town, leaving no forwarding address.”
Castiel stared. “Michael would…? Why would he…?” And then, plaintively, “Would they do that to Dean?”
Balthazar smirked. “I doubt Michael would have as much luck with your friend. Mmm, I may be wrong. At any rate, I think you know the name of the boy? And why he might not be pleased about your new friend?”
“That’s not excuse to be … a fart knocker!” said Castiel, coming up with one of Sam’s current favorite appellations.
“No, it isn’t. But I think, between you and me, one reason for Michael’s visit is to get Gabriel in hand. He hasn’t been doing well in school recently, and won’t listen to Raphael about it.”
“Yes, you mentioned this,” said Castiel, who was honestly surprised Balthazar had chosen to share this with him.
“Yes, it’s possible even for Gabriel to screw off enough to fail.” He flicked ashes from his cigarette. And then he waved his hand, and cigarette, smoke, ashes and all disappeared.
“DEEEEEAN! CAS IS HERE!”
“Yeah, I can hear you Sammy,” said Dean, not taking his eyes off the ceramic crucible he was holding, slowly pouring the melted metal into the mold. He became aware of another presence out in back of the house, and saw out of the corner of his eye something that looked like it might be the world’s ugliest silver gravy boat.
“You’re sure this won’t be missed?” asked Dean, carefully setting down the hot crucible and taking off his welding mask. He finally looked up. And gawped.
“Yes, I am sure,” said Castiel. Cas had evidently taken his advice and headed down to Hair Today for a cheap haircut. The change was astonishing: instead of a cascade of hair, he was now left with a still tangled thatch that was mostly confined to the top of his head.
It threw Dean for a loop: if you could describe a guy as “beautiful,” then Cas would probably qualify. With the milky skin and wide blue eyes, he really looked like one of those old Italian paintings of an angel.
Dean felt a little woozy. He told himself it was from the heat of the crucible. “Um. Hey, you got your hair cut,” was all he said.
Cas self-consciously put a hand through what was left of his hair. “I feel stupid. Like a stupid person.”
“Aw, come on, Cas, none of that! Next you’re gonna start telling me your ass is fat.”
Castiel looked back. “Is my ass fat? Maybe I have eaten too much pizza and Clownfries of late.”
“You got the silver bullets?” asked Sam breathlessly as he ran out onto the back patio.
“You finished your report?” asked Dean.
“I finished your report,” said Sam, holding up a sheaf of papers.
“Oh. Uh, thanks,” said Dean, grabbing the report. “So, we'll make a shitload of silver bullets, and then we'll go kick the ass of that werewolf!”
“What if the werewolf has a fat ass?” inquired Castiel.
Sam and Dean both quieted. “That's a joke, right?” asked Dean.
Castiel almost smiled.
Dean was surprised to see a couple of cars parked discreetly to the side in the driveway of the house he was already mentally calling the Haunted Mansion when he pulled up Sunday at eight. They were mid-priced sort of sedans, so he guessed it might be servants. He rang the doorbell, and was frankly relieved to be greeted by Balthazar rather than Raph or Michael.
“Dean Winchester, how lovely!” said the graceful angel, beckoning him in. Balthazar looked pretty snappy in his suit, like Dean Martin or some cool Sixties guy holding a martini. Dean looked around and was glad he and Sammy had decided at the last minute that he should put on a tie. He could see why Cas had said that one ugly silver gravy boat would never be missed. This place looked more like a museum than a place anyone actually lived: there were expensive-looking knick knacks everywhere. He was astonished that so many boys had grown up here. Life must have been a litany of “Be careful,” and “Don’t touch that.” Then he remembered he had never heard word of any parents in the vicinity.
“Um, would you mind if I…?” asked Balthazar. Dean was called out of his reverie. Balthazar was pointing at his tie, which he and Sammy had knotted after consulting a couple of how to sites on the internet.
“Oh, yeah, knock yourself out,” said Dean gratefully. Balthazar’s skilled hands had the tie unfastened and into a much neater knot in mere seconds. “Hey, thanks!” said Dean, regarding himself in the mirror. Sometimes it was damned annoying not to have a dad handy.
“Dean! You came!”
Dean grinned over at Castiel, who had not even bothered to knot his own tie. It trailed down his rumpled collar. “Sure, dude. Wouldn’t miss it,” said Dean.
“Come on Cassie, chin up,” urged Balthazar. Dean wondered for a moment if Cas was sad, but Balthy literally wanted him to look up so he could tie Cas’ tie for him.
“I wish we could have had this suit altered in time,” fussed Balthazar, straightening Castiel's lapels, “though at least the tie brings out your eyes.”
Dean checked out Castiel. He thought his friend hadn’t done too badly this time: the suit very nearly fit him. Though it did look like something your parents would tell you you’d grow into. Not that any of the present parties had parents.
“Is your pet human here, Cassie?” came a familiar voice.
“Shut up, Gabriel,” grumbled Castiel.
“What the hell,” said Dean, looking around for the source of the voice: he recognized Garbiel, the guy from his history class with Mrs. Walsh. “Wait! Why is your brother walking on the ceiling?”
“Because he is a stupid person,” said Castiel.
“Hey, isn't anyone gonna introduce me?” giggled Gabriel, who was indeed standing up on the ceiling, looking expectant.
“Not until you come down and start acting like a mature individual,” scolded Balthazar. “Just ignore him,” he told Dean, physically turning Castiel around and starting to march him the opposite way down the corridor.
“How the heck does he do that?” asked Dean.
“Not well in fact,” said Balthazar.
“Especially if he attempts to walk,” added Castiel.
There was suddenly a loud thump in back of them and a shout of, “Owwwww! My head!”
“Not well at all,” smiled Balthazar, who shared a smile with Castiel.
“Is this circus act ready for dinner?” came a voice from the dining room.
Dean stepped into the dining room along with Cas and Balthazar, with Gabe (who was still moaning and rubbing his head) bringing up the rear. It was just what Dean had expected, only more so. The dining room table was just ridiculously big: you must have had to use a megaphone to shout down from one end to the other. And each place was set with more silverware than Dean generally used in a month. He figured he was pretty much fated to do something horrible like use the wrong fork at some point in the evening.
Raphael was standing by the chair up at the head, so the four boys went to sit near that end, Balthazar and Gabriel on one side, Dean and Cas on the other. Dean maneuvered to sit opposite of Balthazar, hoping maybe he could scope him out to see which goddam fork you were supposed to be using. And he didn't want to sit across from Gabe, in case the dude kicked under the table. Or worse.
“Dean Winchester,” said Raphael, holding out his hand. His suit, Dean noticed, fit absolutely perfectly. Only the effect on him was more like a federal agent than a member of the rat pack. “I think perhaps we got off on the wrong foot,” Raphael continued as Dean took his hand.
“Hey, bygones,” shrugged Dean. What the hell, it wasn't as if he and Sammy had a ton of friends in town.
Raphael motioned for them to sit, and a silent servant came out with a bottle of wine. Dean stayed quiet, and was fairly pleased to see that everybody got a hit of red wine. He knew shit about wines, but this was turning into a sort of cool evening. He noted with interest that Castiel, who seemed to marvel over the beers “James Hetfield” bought for them, expertly swished around the wine glass and took a sniff before he drank.
“You're a wine connoisseur, Cas?” he couldn't help asking.
Castiel quietly picked up Dean's wine glass and held it in two hands, swirling it around. “This oxygenates it and warms it from the cellar. It makes it easier to pick up the scents,” he explained, tipping it over so Dean could take a whiff. Dean leaned in, closed his eyes, and sniffed.
“Hey. Licorice?” asked Dean, who was immediately convinced he had said something dumb.
“Yes, this one has a bouquet of licorice!” said Castiel approvingly.
Dean smiled at his friend as Cas sat his wine glass down. He didn't seem interested in food, but he was a wine critic? Still, it was nice to see him smile.
“Or you can aerate it like this!” said Gabriel, who pointed to his own glass. It started to bubble.
“Oh, like adding Mentos,” smiled Dean.
“I don't need Mentos!” bragged Gabriel.
“This is how he uses the Lord's grace,” sighed Raphael.
“If our Father didn't want us to make our wine fizz, why did he give me grace?” asked Gabriel, as the wine continued to get more and more bubbly.
“Well, that is a sound theological question,” said Balthazar. “Oh! Gabriel! Careful!”
Gabriel's wine very quickly went from fizzy to explosive. Dean ducked, and when he looked up, Gabriel was sitting there, his entire front coated in a layer of red wine. Balthazar had evidently teleported (or whatever angel's did) to a safe distance behind Raphael's chair.
Dean just couldn't help it: it was probably the surprised look on Gabriel face. He started to laugh, and so did Balthazar.
Castiel, looking curious, leaned over and caught a drop coming from Gabriel's chin on his finger. He put the finger in his mouth. “Yes, still the distinctive bouquet of licorice,” he said.
Dean could have sworn he caught Raph cracking a smile just then.
“What the blazes is going on here?”
All five boys turned to the stern sound of Michael's voice. “Oh, Michael,” said Raphael, standing up. “Gabriel just had a little … spill.”
“None of your nonsense at the dinner table, Gabriel,” scolded Michael, striding confidently up to the head of the table. He flicked a finger at Gabriel, and the dripping wine was suddenly cleaned up. Michael then glared down at Raphael.
“We were just having a glass of wine before dinner,” said Raphael. “Please, sit down, Michael,” he continued, pointing down to an emply place setting. Michael continued to glare. “Oh,” said a deflated Raphael, who suddenly got it. He grabbed his wine glass and then scurried down to sit on the other side of Dean. Michael seated himself in Raphael's place, at the head of the table, like a king grandly lowering himself into a throne.
Dean continued to regard Michael. The dark hair and dark eyes reminded him of someone, now more than ever. But he just couldn't place the face.
“Under aged drinking,” said Michael, reaching for Castiel's glass. “I am not certain I approve.”
Castiel put a protective hand over his own glass, stopping Michael. “The Lord our Father turned water into wine. It is a sacrament,” he said, returning Michael's glare.
They locked eyes and had a small stare down, Castiel’s eyes two dark sapphires. Michael lost. “Well, just a glass won't hurt I suppose,” he said, looking away.
Raphael 0, Castiel 1, thought Dean, impressed that his friend would stand up to his older brother like that when Raphael evidently didn’t have the balls.
“Dean Winchester. It is good of you to join us,” continued Michael, now interlacing his fingers like some kind of super villain. Dean suddenly had a vision of Michael petting a big white cat. He tried to suppress the smile.
“Yeah. Thanks for inviting me,” he said evenly, noticing how the table had quieted. Everyone but Cas is petrified of this guy, thought Dean.
“We have a few small matters to get out of the way before our meal tonight,” Michael announced. “Gabriel, your grades are still slipping.”
“Do we gotta discuss this now?” whined Gabriel, irritably twisting the stem on his now empty wine glass.
“Yes. Here. And now. You already have a failing grade in History.”
“Old lady Walsh is a real hard ass,” Gabriel complained.
“Oh yeah. I have her third period too,” said Dean. “She uses any excuse to give you detention.”
“I've heard you've made rather a career of detention, Mr. Winchester,” said Michael, arching an eyebrow.
Cas cast another withering glance at Michael, but Dean just shrugged. “Yeah, it was bad for me at first, but it's getting better.” Since Sammy is helping with my papers, he thought.
“We need you to keep your grades up, Gabriel, if you're going to get into a good college,” blathered Michael.
“I'm not sure I wanna go to college,” said Gabriel. “Look, Mike, I'm bored in school as it is.”
“College isn't for everybody,” said Dean, sipping his wine. He noticed Cas was looking at him curiously.
“You don't think you'll go, Dean?” asked Castiel quietly.
“I doubt it. I bet Sammy will go. He's the brains of the family.”
“You shouldn't sell yourself short,” Castiel told him sincerely. Dean smiled.
“In this household, we are expected to go to college,” Michael told Dean.
“Man, that shit just isn't for me,” said Gabriel.
“We could clip your wings young man. Lucifer and I have discussed it.” Dean shivered involuntarily. It was like that first day, at the lockers. There was something in Michael’s tone that just gave him the creeps. Dean wasn’t overly fond of Gabriel, but he felt sorry for him now. Evidently, they meant to ground him somehow, but he seemed a bit terrified.
“Wait, you discussed this with Lucifer, Michael?” asked Raphael. “You hadn’t brought it up with me!”
“Balthazar,” said Michael, completely ignoring Raphael’s question.
“You'll have no complaints about my grades,” said Balthazar, who nevertheless looked nervous.
“All those theater classes?”
“I don't want to turn into a boring old fart. Not like some people,” Balthazar told him.
“Acting is not a career,” said Michael.
“Oh yeah? I think George Clooney would disagree!,” said Gabriel.
“Or Cary Grant,” said Cas.
“Or Clint Eastwood!” said Dean.
“Johnny Depp,” smiled Balthazar.
“Yes, but they are the exceptions,” said Michael, who appeared to think this was the end of it.
“Robert Downey Jr.,” snarled Raphael.
Sparing a glare at Raphael, Michael turned back to Balthazar. “And you need to stop smoking. Immediately.”
Balthazar rolled his eyes. “I'm immortal! What harm could it fucking do me?”
“Watch the mouth, Balthazar.”
“You didn't answer his question,” groused Raphael.
“Raphael,” said Michael, now turning toward Raphael, who had downed his entire glass of wine and was pouring himself another. “I haven't seen your Yale application.”
“I'm rethinking … applying to Yale,” Raphael told his wine glass.
“You are what?”
“I don't think I want to go to law school,” said Raphael.
“When did you make this decision?”
“You're already pre-law, Michael. I would prefer … a liberal arts college.”
“So,” said Michael, interlacing his fingers again, “since I have departed, you no longer care about this family?”
Oh, low blow, thought Dean, who was suddenly grateful that he didn’t have Sunday dinner with his own family.
“I care about the family,” said Raphael.
“I’d like to see that application. This week,” said Michael. “And now, lastly, but not least, Castiel. About the incident of bullying.”
Dean looked over to Castiel in surprise. “Dude,” he said, holding Castiel’s shoulder. He hadn’t heard anything about it. He frowned, thinking of the terrible revenge he would extract on anyone who tried laying a hand on his friend.
Cas didn’t look at him, but there seemed to be something brewing, as if he were gathering himself for some kind of tirade. Michael definitely deserved it, Dean thought. What a dick.
“What about it?” growled Castiel. Dean took his hand off Cas’ shoulder. He appeared to be trembling with a quiet rage.
“The junior high has received a complaint from the family of Curtis Westfall. They say you behaved in a threatening manner towards him. Castiel, you know what we’ve said in the past about this kind of behavior.”
“Curtis Westfall?” said Dean. “That kid is a bully! He was threatening my little brother.” Although Sam no longer talked about the threats, Dean recalled.
“I came upon Curtis Westfall and two associates,” said Castiel, his voice low and dangerous. “They were in the process of assaulting Dean’s brother, Sam, whom I had previously agreed to take under my protection. I had a brief discussion with Curtis, and strongly urged him to modify his behavior.”
“I heard the little shit peed his pants!” laughed Gabriel. “Good one, Cassie.”
Dean gawped. “Cas. Sam never told me.”
“You asked me to conduct him in safety, and that is what I did,” said Castiel. “There was no need for further discussion.”
“Castiel, that is not the way this family conducts itself! We are not … thugs!” lectured Michael.
“If we are not supposed to be active agents … why do we carry swords?” asked Castiel, flicking his eyes at Dean.
“It’s a good question,” smiled Balthazar.
“Castiel,” said Michael, eyes boring into his brother, who did not blink. “We have discussed this behavior before. I thought you, of all my brothers, would understand what is expected of you.”
“I do not serve you, Michael. Nor do I serve this family. I am the servant of the Lord, my Father,” said Castiel.
Dean took another sip of his wine, wondering if the angel swords were going to come out soon. He didn’t really envy Michael right now: when Castiel got like this, he was like a force of nature.
“Michael,” tried Balthazar, “Castiel did what he felt was right.”
“I speak for the Lord our Father,” said Michael, glowering at Castiel. “I am the oldest.”
“No you’re not,” said Raphael, swirling his wine, down at the far end of the table. “Or have you forgotten already?”
“Look, Mike,” said Dean, who thought he should say something despite the poor chance of success. “Cas wasn’t the bully here. I don’t care what those parents said. Curtis and his friends had been picking on my little brother, and Cas helped. When nobody else would! I mean, we barely know each other, and he’s one of the best friends I’ve ever had!”
Dean glanced at Cas, who was now staring at him. He nodded at Cas. Castiel’s expression changed, and that amazing almost-smile flickered into a too-brief, lovely smile. Dean smiled back. And maybe he swooned. Just a little.
“Castiel,” intoned Michael. “I think we need to reevaluate how much time you are spending among … human acquaintances these days. While it is admirable in its way that you take interest in their … passing fancies, ours is not to wallow in their trivialities.”
“Then what the fuck is ours to do?” snorted Gabriel. “Cas is right! I got a sword, but I’m supposed to drag my ass to detention because Mrs. Walsh is a dried up old prune.”
“Castiel, you know what we wish for you,” said Michael.
“I know very well what you wish,” said Castiel. “You expect me to pass my time in the library, isolating myself from the injustices done, closing my eyes to the indignities suffered by the righteous. I feel I can do this no longer.”
“Castiel, you have been commanded to keep a respectful distance from humans! They are a corrupting influence!”
“Sure, that’s what’s cool about them,” grinned Gabriel. But Castiel was on his feet.
“You are speaking derisively about humans, when there is one in our midst, and not only that, an honored guest at this table! This is not an appropriate manner in which to treat people in our home,” Castiel told Michael. “Dean. Let us go. We will get a nice Clownburger with Clownfries for dinner.”
“Can I come with?” asked Gabriel, who had bounced up as well.
“Yes, I think I have had just about my share as well,” said Balthazar.
Dean was just wondering how many angels would fit in an Impala (was this an existential question? Sammy would know) when yet another person showed up in the dining room.
“Hey, you guys don’t all have to get up on my account!” said the pleasant-looking, sandy-haired guy. He wore a friendly grin that Dean noticed didn’t quite make it up to his eyes. Since he didn’t look anything like any of the other guys, Dean immediately assumed he must be another Malakhim brother.
“Lucifer!” shouted Gabriel, who practically leapt into his arms.
“Hey, little bro,” said Lucifer. Evidently he hadn’t gotten the memo about the whole dressing for dinner thing, as he was casually dressed in camo pants, a khaki shirt with a red silk scarf, and (though Dean didn’t quite believe it) a black beret. Lucifer was also trying to grow a beard, and not having a whole lot of success.
The rest of the table had risen to greet the newcomer, but Dean noticed Cas seemed to bristle and hold back. He wasn’t exactly sure what the deal was, but he followed Cas’ lead and kept back too.
“Hey, little Cassie! You must have grown a foot since I saw you last!” said Lucifer warmly as Castiel cautiously approached him. Lucifer doffed his beret and playfully placed it on Castiel’s head, and in return received a vengeful glower from Castiel.
“This is my friend, Dean,” said Castiel, who had planted himself protectively in front of Dean, and made absolutely no effort to get out of the way, although he had immediately tugged off the beret and tossed it on the table.
“Always nice to meet one of the famous Winchesters,” grinned Lucifer, nodding at Dean.
“Uh, likewise,” said Dean, who was more than a little confused that Lucifer seemed to know him.
“We had been going through a few … family matters,” Michael told Lucifer as they all seated themselves.
“Aw, no wonder the guys are looking so darned hungry! Why don’t we table it, Mike, and get some grub?” asked Lucifer.
“Yeah, we want grub!” echoed Gabriel.
Michael sighed and signaled a servant. Though Dean was a bit chary about Lucifer (independent of Cas’ standoffishness, he just had a bad feeling about the guy) he had to admit, getting to dinner was a great suggestion, and the mood swiftly improved. As Dean had thought, Balthazar had the whole “which fork for is which weird food item” thing down, and was actually pretty cool, once he noticed Dean watching him, to point out how you opened an oyster and that sort of thing.
Cas was just as finicky about his food here as he always was with Sam and Dean, and here he had the added annoyance of Gabriel (who turned out to be a little garbage gut) constantly asking if he was going to finish this or that course. Cas, as if in retaliation, began offering bites instead to Dean, who politely refused. Indeed, though Dean, like most every teenage boy, was almost constantly hungry, after a never ending array of courses he was actually starting to feel quite stuffed.
“C’mon Cas,” he urged at one point, turning away these really delicious roast potatoes that had garlic and something else thrown in with them. “You need to bulk up if you’re gonna go hunt werewolves with me.”
In the awkward silence that followed, Dean had time to quickly contemplate how many glasses of wine he had downed. At least one too many, he thought. Oops.
“So, your family has made a career of the supernatural, Dean?” a smiling Lucifer inquired
“I dunno if you’d call it a career, exactly,” said Dean. “The benefits package ain’t exactly great.”
“No splendid retirement portfolio?” asked Balthazar, who was waving off yet another course of salmon and patting his stomach.
“Most folks in my profession don’t, uh, get a chance to retire,” Dean answered honestly.
“Why would anyone do something so dumb?” asked Gabriel.
“Why would one not, if one were called by the Lord, our Father,” said Castiel.
“You think it is a calling, Dean?” asked Balthazar.
“Yeah, you could say that,” said Dean.
“It could be a calling, but I doubt our Father had anything to do with it,” mused Lucifer, who was delicately buttering another dinner role.
“Oh. And when did you last speak to Him?” inquired Castiel.
Lucifer shot an unguarded nasty glance at Castiel. It made Dean’s blood run cold. “Just voicing an opinion,” Lucifer continued as he mastered himself. “One could look at what the Winchesters do as interfering with a natural ecological system.”
“An ecosystem? What kind of ecosystem has vampires?” asked Dean, who could not be persuaded by any means that vampires had any utility beyond showing up at the end of a pointed wooden stake.
“Maybe they take a few unlucky humans, here and there,” said Lucifer.
“Take ‘em?” asked Dean. “Have you actually seen somebody that’s been chewed by a werewolf? It’s ain’t pretty.”
“I simply mean,” said Lucifer, “you must admit, Dean, that humans have caused extensive damage to this planet! Now, think. Perhaps it is part of our Father’s plan that a few are occasionally … done away with.”
“But it ain’t the evil polluters and that kind who get grabbed by a werewolf or a vampire or a wendigo or whatever,” Dean protested. “There’s no connection. It’s just poor dumb folks who stumble into the path. Kids, sometimes. Or people with families. How can you say that’s fair?”
“One does not question our Father’s plan,” chimed in Michael from the head of the table.
“What plan?” slurred Raphael, who had been downing rather a lot of wine. “Our Father’s been dead for years.”
Talk about a conversation stopper. The entire table, including Dean, was now staring - in shock or horror or amusement or curiosity or just plain what the fuck - at Raphael.
“Oh, don’t pretend I’m saying what you don’t all think,” said Raphael, his dark eyes flashing.
“Now, Raphael, you don’t have any proof of that,” said Balthazar.
“What proof do you have? In fact, isn’t the burden of proof on you, brother?” asked Raphael.
“He abides,” said Castiel. “For He is eternal.”
“So our father is The Dude,” said Raphael, throwing up his hands.
Castiel looked confused, but Dean snorted with laughter. That was one of his favorite movies. Raphael was actually kinda cool when he had a few drinks in him.
They had somehow all hauled themselves up from the table and waddled into another room at the promise of cake. Dean looked around and wondered if this place was what snooty people called a sitting room.
There was a platter with a chocolate cake on the coffee table in the center, as well as a coffee and yet more strong, sweet alcohol Gabriel called a digestif. The coffee was accompanied by a jillion little spoons, a sugar bowl and a container of what Dean was sure must be real live cream and not Coffeemate.
He helped himself to a small slice of cake, but a big cup of coffee to fortify him for the drive home.
“We have a few things to discuss, so we’ll say goodnight,” said Michael, who let Lucifer into a nearby room, and then shut the door on poor Raphael, who was standing expectantly in the threshold.
“Good riddance, Mike,” grumbled Gabriel.
Balthazar, who had poured himself a bit of the digestif, said something in what sounded the strange language he had briefly spoken the other day, and Castiel briefly replied in kind. Then he downed a shot.
“That’s Enochian, right?” Dean asked Cas.
Cas nodded. “It is something like the human expression, ‘Cheers,’ I suppose,” he said, looking thoughtful.
“It’s … really beautiful,” said Dean. Because, damn, it was. And when Cas spoke it…. Well, it was weird, but it was pretty hot.
“You are aware, Michael wants us to speak English in this household,” Raphael sighed. He sat down heavily near the boys and helped himself to some of the digestif.
“Behold the angel Raphael,” said Balthazar. “Once, not so very long ago, my favorite brother.”
Raphael looked briefly annoyed, but also defeated.
“Raphael is our family nihilist,” continued Balhtazar. “He used to favor black turtlenecks, and composed reprehensible poetry.”
“I still write!” said Raphael.
“I’m glad,” said Balthatzar, who sounded sincere.
“Ya know,” said Dean, “there’s a couple of café’s around here, where the college kids hang out. They do poetry readings, that kinda thing. Chicks love that shit,” he added.
Raphael, who had looked momentarily interested, scoffed, “That’s not why I write poetry.”
“Why the hell else would you write that crap?” asked Gabriel, who was somehow managing to eat a huge piece of chocolate cake while sitting on the couch upside-down. Dean wondered if angels had the equivalent of Ritalin.
“I am expressing an aesthetic sensibility,” grumbled Raphael, downing his drink.
“Ya know, Raph, I dunno if liquor has different effects on angels than other guys, but if you got class tomorrow morning, you might wanna knock it off with that stuff,” said Dean.
Raphael looked up at him, a great sadness in his dark eyes. Somehow, even though he was only couple years older than dean, there seemed an ancientness to those eyes. “When you're right,” he said, picking up a coffee cup, “you're right.”
“Are you OK, man?” asked Dean.
“I remember, you know,” said Raphael quietly.
“Oh, here it comes,” whined Gabriel.
“Remember what?” asked Dean.
“My life before. Our lives. Before our Father stuck us here.”
“Raphael feels that he senses what went on before our, ahem, earthly reincarnation,” Balthazar explained.
“We were infinite beings. And now … homeroom. With Mrs. Welch,” snarked Gabriel, who added a burp.
“And your dad just took off?” asked Dean, who felt he could relate, somehow, to the situation.
“I barely remember Him. Just a presence,” said Balthazar. “I think Cassie doesn't even remember. He was too young.”
“But I know Him. Regardless,” said Castiel.
“I no longer feel it,” said Raphael. “He's gone. Gone from us.”
“Well, you know, our dad takes off. He's done it to us his whole life. And sometimes it feels pretty shitty,” said Dean. “But,” he continued, looking at Castiel. “He always comes back for us. Somehow.”
Castiel helped Dean situate several Tupperware containers in the passenger seat of the Impala. After Dean had thought to request a single slice of cake to bring home to Sam, Balthazar had marshaled the kitchen to produce something like a sixteen course meal of their leftovers. It did not good to refuse, so Dean accepted it. This would be enough food for a week, and he was quite honestly glad for the change from pizza and burgers.
Dean shut the door, having finally convinced himself none of it was going to drip on Baby’s floorboards. He shot a glance at the Toyota that had parked next to him. It had California plates.
“Uh. The Prius?” he asked.
“Lucifer’s,” said Castiel.
“But, I thought you dudes didn’t need to drive?”
Castiel frowned, and Dean saw this was probably a topic for another time.
“Anyway. Thank everybody again for inviting me,” said Dean. “It was sure … interesting.”
Castiel looked awkward. “I sincerely hope … you are still my friend?”
“Oh, hell yes!” said Dean. Now it was his turn to be awkward. “Cas. What you did for Sammy….”
“Only what was right,” said Castiel, who seemed to brook no more discussion of it.
Dean wished for a moment he was someone like Balthazar, who could come up with pretty words. But he was just Dean Winchester, so instead, he reached over and pulled a very surprised Castiel into a big bear hug.
“Just. Thanks,” said Dean, slapping Cas’ back and releasing him. Castiel stared at him, open-mouthed. “You’re a good friend. Now, you wanna go mess up some werewolves?” he winked.
“Oh, yes. That will be a pleasure,” said Castiel, who still seemed stunned.
Dean jumped in his car and, with a final wave, started to drive home. His mind raced with what he was going to tell Sammy. Even though the little brat was supposed to have gone to bed hours ago, Dean knew damn well he’d be up and waiting for him. He grinned, grateful of someone to talk to.
Castiel floated back into his living room and alit on one of the couches.
“What’s up with you, weirdo?” asked Gabriel.
“Dean just pulled me into a warm embrace and declared me his friend,” sighed Castiel.
“How warm was the embrace?” asked Gabriel, who was suddenly sitting right next to Cas.
Castiel glowered. “Go walk on the ceiling, Gabriel,” he said.
“And for heaven's sake, Gabriel, if you're going to do it, do it right,” sighed Balthazar.
“What, you think you could do better I suppose,” grumbled Gabriel, who was not happy to be the object of fun.
Balthazar and Raphael suddenly exchanged a glance. Raphael actually smiled.
Balthazar snapped his fingers, and he was up on the ceiling. And then, hand to his hip, he was sashaying down, pausing at the wall to do a little supermodel-worthy vamping.
Gabriel actually let out a small cry. “That's amazing! That's amazing! That's fucking amazing!”
Balthazar was down, sitting on the couch, drink in his hand.
“How did you do that?” asked Gabriel.
“Well, you just have to have a bit of flair,” said Balthazar, flicking an imaginary dust speck from his trousers.
Castiel sat back in silence, wishing for all the world that he would fledge. He wanted to dance on the ceiling.
He wanted to dance on the ceiling … with Dean.
This entry was originally posted at http://tikific.dreamwidth.org/118173.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas; Sam, John, Bobby, Gabriel, Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Balthazar, Joshua, Death
Warnings: Cursing.
Word Count: 38,000 total
Summary: John abandons teenaged Sam and Dean in Sioux Falls for the school year, where our young hunters-to-be befriend a strange boy who claims he and his brothers are angels of the Lord. Well, he's got a pretty cool sword anyway. The plot thickens when young Sammy wonders why there are so many restless spooks in the neighborhood, leading the boys to decide that calling out for pizza and Death is a wicked awesome idea. Hijinks ensue.
Notes: This is a high school AU, but since I can never do these things correctly, angels are still angels. (And some of them are still dickbags.)
And FYI, someone on Tumblr just posted this adorable GIF set of a high school-ish Misha on Charmed.
“So, if you’re going against a werewolf, you should take Cas along,” said Sam from the back seat.
“What?” said Dean, who nearly steered the car into a ditch.
“That would be fine,” said Cas, sipping contemplatively on his chocolate Happy Clownshake. This afternoon the brothers had taken Castiel to a drive through restaurant, seeing as he had never been to a drive though. As he had never done most anything a normal teenager had done. Dean figured the family was just really religious or something.
After some thorough scanning of the Happy Clown menu, Castiel had decided on the chocolate Happy Clownshake, in addition to a Happy Clownburger with cheese and a side of Happy Clownfries.
“I tend to avoid clowns,” Sam had told him. “But they make good fast food!”
Dean now took another chomp on his Happy Triple Clownburger and fumed. “How did you figure that one out,” he asked Sam. “About the werewolf?”
“Oh, you’re kind of obvious,” huffed Sam.
“You are intending to slay the town’s werewolf?” asked Castiel.
“Wait, you knew about the werewolf?” asked Dean.
“Well, yes, there is only the one,” Castiel related. “In the immediate vicinity that is.”
“And, you and your brothers didn’t do anything about it?” asked Dean.
Castiel brushed his tangled hair out of his eyes and gave Dean a curious look. “What would we do?”
“Well, I dunno,” grumbled Dean. “Maybe use your magical angel mojo to stop him attacking innocent citizens?”
“Magic angel…? We are messengers of the Lord, not warriors,” said Castiel.
“Then what do you all got those cool swords for?”
“Oh. That,” said Castiel, taking a considered slurp. “You know, this beverage is quite tasty and refreshing. Are real clowns used in its composition?”
“We’ll have you do a commercial. What’s up with the sword, Cas?” pressed Dean.
“He’s got a sword?” asked a wide-eyed Sam.
“Yeah, he’s got an angel sword.”
Cas got one of those far off looks Dean was rapidly getting used to. “If I assist you in this endeavor, Dean,” asked Castiel, “will that count towards what you consider to be my obligations in this matter?”
“You don’t have to help,” said Dean. “I got this,” he added confidently.
“As with the vampires?” asked Castiel, with just a twinge too much innocence to his tone.
“Yes he does have to help!” insisted Sam. “He’s got your back! And I’m coming too!”
“Sammy…. Good God. Look, if I take Cas along, will you at least sit this one out?” pleaded Dean, thinking of his upcoming execution at the hands of John Winchester for putting his younger brother in jeopardy.
“I will…. I will be Dean’s wing man!” said Castiel.
Dean and Sam stared. “Dude, did you just make a joke?” asked Dean.
“Yes. At least, I think so?”
“Yeah, actually. That was pretty good,” said Dean.
“Hey, what’s with the welcoming party?” said Sam, pointing up ahead.
Dean looked ahead in some surprise. He had been giving Castiel a ride home fairly often these days, but at no time had he ever encountered another person at his house. This evening, however, Raphael was waiting outside, arms crossed, looking like a big douche bag.
Dean frowned, glad he hadn’t picked up beer tonight. Still, it wasn’t late, so he was not exactly sure what the issue might be. He looked at Castiel, who shrugged.
Signaling Sam to stay in the back seat, Dean stopped the car and got out along with Castiel, who was still sipping contentedly at his milkshake and clutching his somewhat greasy bag of Happy Clown delicacies.
“Hello, Raphael,” said Castiel. “We went to a drive through! Would you like to try a Happy Clownfry?”
“Michael is coming home for dinner on Sunday,” said Raphael
“Oh,” said Castiel, who suddenly looked as if his milkshake no longer tasted refreshing.
“You will join us for dinner, Dean Winchester,” Raphael told Dean.
With an effort, Dean stifled the snotty remark that was on the tip of his tongue. Raph was being a jerk, but, damn, he really didn’t want to mess up an opportunity for dinner with this weird ass family of alleged angels.
“OK. Sure. What time?” said Dean.
“8 pm. Sharp,” ordered Raphael.
“Cool. See you then,” said Dean. And then with a nod at a now glum Castiel (who appeared to have an aversion for saying goodbye) he got back in the Impala and drove off.
“You’re gonna have dinner with the angel brothers?” squealed Sam, who was so excited he nearly fell headfirst into the front seat while he was wriggling up.
“Watch it!” said Dean.
“I wanna go!”
“Not this time, Sammy.”
“Awwwwwww!”
“Seatbelt! Look, I’ll put in a good word for you, I promise. But I think maybe Cas doesn’t get along with his brothers so well. So it might be kind of tense. You know, like when we had that Thanksgiving with mom’s relatives?”
Sam nodded grimly. Their cousins, who themselves came from a long line of hunters, were evidently absolutely convinced that John Winchester had been possessed by some sort of demon, and thus a Thanksgiving that consisted of rather a lot of arguing and splashing holy water. Sam had actually liked the holy water fights, but like Dean disliked the bickering.
Four beings, who for all appearances were teenaged boys, gathered around the dinner table.
“Michael will be here on Sunday, so I want us to be on our best behavior,” Raphael was saying. He frowned and swatted away a psychedelic butterfly. “Gabriel!”
“Yes, brother?” asked Gabriel, who was happily creating the day glo butterflies.
“None of your nonsense,” scolded Raphael. “Michael will clip your wings!”
“Oh, not literally,” sighed Gabriel, snapping and banishing the ghostly insects.
“Yes. Literally. And Balthazar, could you ease up on the cigarettes? Just for the day? Michael can smell smoke from twenty miles away!”
“If Michael is coming, I’ll desperately need a fucking smoke,” pleaded Balthazar.
“And pleeeease get a haircut, Castiel,” continued Raphael.
Castiel glared through tangled bangs. “I do not need a haircut. This is...”
“Yes, only your earthly vessel. I know, I know. Your earthly vessel needs a damn haircut. Balthazar? Can you see to it?”
“I can't see through the hair,” laughed Balthazar, putting his hand through Castiel's hair. “You look a sheepdog, dear.”
“And kindly make sure your human … friend knows we dress for dinner around here,” scolded Raphael.
Castiel blinked. “You are afraid he might show up naked?”
Gabriel and Balthazar both burst out laughing. Castiel almost smiled.
Raphael stood and leaned over, close to Castiel. “You are spending altogether too much time among humans, brother.” And then he turned and strode out.
“Well, don't go away mad,” chuckled Balthazar, who quite suddenly had a lit cigarette in his hand.
“Just go away,” chimed in Gabriel, who let forth with some florescent lightning bugs.
“I liked him better before he declared himself our foster daddy,” sighed Balthazar.
“I do not want a haircut,” grumbled Castiel.
“I could zap it for you!” grinned Gabriel.
Castiel glowered. “I still have burns on my scalp from the last time you cut my hair,” he grumbled.
“You would look great with a Mohawk. Maybe with little butterflies in it,” said Gabriel, waving his hand as if styling Castiel’s hair.
Balthazar sighed. “Gabriel, though we all marvel at your creativity, I don’t think Raphael was kidding about the wing clipping.” Gabriel glared. “What about this?” Balthazar asked Castiel. “How about you ask your human friend where he goes to get his hair cut? You know, a human barber?”
“Dean’s barber?” said Castiel, who seemed stunned at the sheer awesomeness of the suggestion.
“Yeah, just ask your boyfriend,” grinned Gabriel.
Castiel was up like a shot, but Balthazar had ahold of Castiel's right hand. “Gabriel,” said Balthazar, “kindly make like a tree, dear, and leave.”
And Gabriel was no longer there.
“I will take off all of his hair. And his scalp as well,” threatened Castiel.
“I am going to tell you a story now,” said Balthazar, leaning back and taking a long drag from his cigarette. “About a little boy and a little girl.”
“Why do I need to hear this now?” grumbled Castiel.
“You will sit, and listen now. Because I asked you very politely. Now, Sigyn was her name. I remember that well. She had blonde hair. And blue eyes, like yours, only more the color of the sky on a summer morning. They had both just started junior high, the both of them. They would hold hands in the lunchroom.”
“Yes. Very cute,” grumbled Castiel, who obviously did not find it so. He sighed. “So. What happened?”
“One day, Michael went to school. A few days later, Sigyn was withdrawn from the school. Her parents moved her out of town, leaving no forwarding address.”
Castiel stared. “Michael would…? Why would he…?” And then, plaintively, “Would they do that to Dean?”
Balthazar smirked. “I doubt Michael would have as much luck with your friend. Mmm, I may be wrong. At any rate, I think you know the name of the boy? And why he might not be pleased about your new friend?”
“That’s not excuse to be … a fart knocker!” said Castiel, coming up with one of Sam’s current favorite appellations.
“No, it isn’t. But I think, between you and me, one reason for Michael’s visit is to get Gabriel in hand. He hasn’t been doing well in school recently, and won’t listen to Raphael about it.”
“Yes, you mentioned this,” said Castiel, who was honestly surprised Balthazar had chosen to share this with him.
“Yes, it’s possible even for Gabriel to screw off enough to fail.” He flicked ashes from his cigarette. And then he waved his hand, and cigarette, smoke, ashes and all disappeared.
“DEEEEEAN! CAS IS HERE!”
“Yeah, I can hear you Sammy,” said Dean, not taking his eyes off the ceramic crucible he was holding, slowly pouring the melted metal into the mold. He became aware of another presence out in back of the house, and saw out of the corner of his eye something that looked like it might be the world’s ugliest silver gravy boat.
“You’re sure this won’t be missed?” asked Dean, carefully setting down the hot crucible and taking off his welding mask. He finally looked up. And gawped.
“Yes, I am sure,” said Castiel. Cas had evidently taken his advice and headed down to Hair Today for a cheap haircut. The change was astonishing: instead of a cascade of hair, he was now left with a still tangled thatch that was mostly confined to the top of his head.
It threw Dean for a loop: if you could describe a guy as “beautiful,” then Cas would probably qualify. With the milky skin and wide blue eyes, he really looked like one of those old Italian paintings of an angel.
Dean felt a little woozy. He told himself it was from the heat of the crucible. “Um. Hey, you got your hair cut,” was all he said.
Cas self-consciously put a hand through what was left of his hair. “I feel stupid. Like a stupid person.”
“Aw, come on, Cas, none of that! Next you’re gonna start telling me your ass is fat.”
Castiel looked back. “Is my ass fat? Maybe I have eaten too much pizza and Clownfries of late.”
“You got the silver bullets?” asked Sam breathlessly as he ran out onto the back patio.
“You finished your report?” asked Dean.
“I finished your report,” said Sam, holding up a sheaf of papers.
“Oh. Uh, thanks,” said Dean, grabbing the report. “So, we'll make a shitload of silver bullets, and then we'll go kick the ass of that werewolf!”
“What if the werewolf has a fat ass?” inquired Castiel.
Sam and Dean both quieted. “That's a joke, right?” asked Dean.
Castiel almost smiled.
Dean was surprised to see a couple of cars parked discreetly to the side in the driveway of the house he was already mentally calling the Haunted Mansion when he pulled up Sunday at eight. They were mid-priced sort of sedans, so he guessed it might be servants. He rang the doorbell, and was frankly relieved to be greeted by Balthazar rather than Raph or Michael.
“Dean Winchester, how lovely!” said the graceful angel, beckoning him in. Balthazar looked pretty snappy in his suit, like Dean Martin or some cool Sixties guy holding a martini. Dean looked around and was glad he and Sammy had decided at the last minute that he should put on a tie. He could see why Cas had said that one ugly silver gravy boat would never be missed. This place looked more like a museum than a place anyone actually lived: there were expensive-looking knick knacks everywhere. He was astonished that so many boys had grown up here. Life must have been a litany of “Be careful,” and “Don’t touch that.” Then he remembered he had never heard word of any parents in the vicinity.
“Um, would you mind if I…?” asked Balthazar. Dean was called out of his reverie. Balthazar was pointing at his tie, which he and Sammy had knotted after consulting a couple of how to sites on the internet.
“Oh, yeah, knock yourself out,” said Dean gratefully. Balthazar’s skilled hands had the tie unfastened and into a much neater knot in mere seconds. “Hey, thanks!” said Dean, regarding himself in the mirror. Sometimes it was damned annoying not to have a dad handy.
“Dean! You came!”
Dean grinned over at Castiel, who had not even bothered to knot his own tie. It trailed down his rumpled collar. “Sure, dude. Wouldn’t miss it,” said Dean.
“Come on Cassie, chin up,” urged Balthazar. Dean wondered for a moment if Cas was sad, but Balthy literally wanted him to look up so he could tie Cas’ tie for him.
“I wish we could have had this suit altered in time,” fussed Balthazar, straightening Castiel's lapels, “though at least the tie brings out your eyes.”
Dean checked out Castiel. He thought his friend hadn’t done too badly this time: the suit very nearly fit him. Though it did look like something your parents would tell you you’d grow into. Not that any of the present parties had parents.
“Is your pet human here, Cassie?” came a familiar voice.
“Shut up, Gabriel,” grumbled Castiel.
“What the hell,” said Dean, looking around for the source of the voice: he recognized Garbiel, the guy from his history class with Mrs. Walsh. “Wait! Why is your brother walking on the ceiling?”
“Because he is a stupid person,” said Castiel.
“Hey, isn't anyone gonna introduce me?” giggled Gabriel, who was indeed standing up on the ceiling, looking expectant.
“Not until you come down and start acting like a mature individual,” scolded Balthazar. “Just ignore him,” he told Dean, physically turning Castiel around and starting to march him the opposite way down the corridor.
“How the heck does he do that?” asked Dean.
“Not well in fact,” said Balthazar.
“Especially if he attempts to walk,” added Castiel.
There was suddenly a loud thump in back of them and a shout of, “Owwwww! My head!”
“Not well at all,” smiled Balthazar, who shared a smile with Castiel.
“Is this circus act ready for dinner?” came a voice from the dining room.
Dean stepped into the dining room along with Cas and Balthazar, with Gabe (who was still moaning and rubbing his head) bringing up the rear. It was just what Dean had expected, only more so. The dining room table was just ridiculously big: you must have had to use a megaphone to shout down from one end to the other. And each place was set with more silverware than Dean generally used in a month. He figured he was pretty much fated to do something horrible like use the wrong fork at some point in the evening.
Raphael was standing by the chair up at the head, so the four boys went to sit near that end, Balthazar and Gabriel on one side, Dean and Cas on the other. Dean maneuvered to sit opposite of Balthazar, hoping maybe he could scope him out to see which goddam fork you were supposed to be using. And he didn't want to sit across from Gabe, in case the dude kicked under the table. Or worse.
“Dean Winchester,” said Raphael, holding out his hand. His suit, Dean noticed, fit absolutely perfectly. Only the effect on him was more like a federal agent than a member of the rat pack. “I think perhaps we got off on the wrong foot,” Raphael continued as Dean took his hand.
“Hey, bygones,” shrugged Dean. What the hell, it wasn't as if he and Sammy had a ton of friends in town.
Raphael motioned for them to sit, and a silent servant came out with a bottle of wine. Dean stayed quiet, and was fairly pleased to see that everybody got a hit of red wine. He knew shit about wines, but this was turning into a sort of cool evening. He noted with interest that Castiel, who seemed to marvel over the beers “James Hetfield” bought for them, expertly swished around the wine glass and took a sniff before he drank.
“You're a wine connoisseur, Cas?” he couldn't help asking.
Castiel quietly picked up Dean's wine glass and held it in two hands, swirling it around. “This oxygenates it and warms it from the cellar. It makes it easier to pick up the scents,” he explained, tipping it over so Dean could take a whiff. Dean leaned in, closed his eyes, and sniffed.
“Hey. Licorice?” asked Dean, who was immediately convinced he had said something dumb.
“Yes, this one has a bouquet of licorice!” said Castiel approvingly.
Dean smiled at his friend as Cas sat his wine glass down. He didn't seem interested in food, but he was a wine critic? Still, it was nice to see him smile.
“Or you can aerate it like this!” said Gabriel, who pointed to his own glass. It started to bubble.
“Oh, like adding Mentos,” smiled Dean.
“I don't need Mentos!” bragged Gabriel.
“This is how he uses the Lord's grace,” sighed Raphael.
“If our Father didn't want us to make our wine fizz, why did he give me grace?” asked Gabriel, as the wine continued to get more and more bubbly.
“Well, that is a sound theological question,” said Balthazar. “Oh! Gabriel! Careful!”
Gabriel's wine very quickly went from fizzy to explosive. Dean ducked, and when he looked up, Gabriel was sitting there, his entire front coated in a layer of red wine. Balthazar had evidently teleported (or whatever angel's did) to a safe distance behind Raphael's chair.
Dean just couldn't help it: it was probably the surprised look on Gabriel face. He started to laugh, and so did Balthazar.
Castiel, looking curious, leaned over and caught a drop coming from Gabriel's chin on his finger. He put the finger in his mouth. “Yes, still the distinctive bouquet of licorice,” he said.
Dean could have sworn he caught Raph cracking a smile just then.
“What the blazes is going on here?”
All five boys turned to the stern sound of Michael's voice. “Oh, Michael,” said Raphael, standing up. “Gabriel just had a little … spill.”
“None of your nonsense at the dinner table, Gabriel,” scolded Michael, striding confidently up to the head of the table. He flicked a finger at Gabriel, and the dripping wine was suddenly cleaned up. Michael then glared down at Raphael.
“We were just having a glass of wine before dinner,” said Raphael. “Please, sit down, Michael,” he continued, pointing down to an emply place setting. Michael continued to glare. “Oh,” said a deflated Raphael, who suddenly got it. He grabbed his wine glass and then scurried down to sit on the other side of Dean. Michael seated himself in Raphael's place, at the head of the table, like a king grandly lowering himself into a throne.
Dean continued to regard Michael. The dark hair and dark eyes reminded him of someone, now more than ever. But he just couldn't place the face.
“Under aged drinking,” said Michael, reaching for Castiel's glass. “I am not certain I approve.”
Castiel put a protective hand over his own glass, stopping Michael. “The Lord our Father turned water into wine. It is a sacrament,” he said, returning Michael's glare.
They locked eyes and had a small stare down, Castiel’s eyes two dark sapphires. Michael lost. “Well, just a glass won't hurt I suppose,” he said, looking away.
Raphael 0, Castiel 1, thought Dean, impressed that his friend would stand up to his older brother like that when Raphael evidently didn’t have the balls.
“Dean Winchester. It is good of you to join us,” continued Michael, now interlacing his fingers like some kind of super villain. Dean suddenly had a vision of Michael petting a big white cat. He tried to suppress the smile.
“Yeah. Thanks for inviting me,” he said evenly, noticing how the table had quieted. Everyone but Cas is petrified of this guy, thought Dean.
“We have a few small matters to get out of the way before our meal tonight,” Michael announced. “Gabriel, your grades are still slipping.”
“Do we gotta discuss this now?” whined Gabriel, irritably twisting the stem on his now empty wine glass.
“Yes. Here. And now. You already have a failing grade in History.”
“Old lady Walsh is a real hard ass,” Gabriel complained.
“Oh yeah. I have her third period too,” said Dean. “She uses any excuse to give you detention.”
“I've heard you've made rather a career of detention, Mr. Winchester,” said Michael, arching an eyebrow.
Cas cast another withering glance at Michael, but Dean just shrugged. “Yeah, it was bad for me at first, but it's getting better.” Since Sammy is helping with my papers, he thought.
“We need you to keep your grades up, Gabriel, if you're going to get into a good college,” blathered Michael.
“I'm not sure I wanna go to college,” said Gabriel. “Look, Mike, I'm bored in school as it is.”
“College isn't for everybody,” said Dean, sipping his wine. He noticed Cas was looking at him curiously.
“You don't think you'll go, Dean?” asked Castiel quietly.
“I doubt it. I bet Sammy will go. He's the brains of the family.”
“You shouldn't sell yourself short,” Castiel told him sincerely. Dean smiled.
“In this household, we are expected to go to college,” Michael told Dean.
“Man, that shit just isn't for me,” said Gabriel.
“We could clip your wings young man. Lucifer and I have discussed it.” Dean shivered involuntarily. It was like that first day, at the lockers. There was something in Michael’s tone that just gave him the creeps. Dean wasn’t overly fond of Gabriel, but he felt sorry for him now. Evidently, they meant to ground him somehow, but he seemed a bit terrified.
“Wait, you discussed this with Lucifer, Michael?” asked Raphael. “You hadn’t brought it up with me!”
“Balthazar,” said Michael, completely ignoring Raphael’s question.
“You'll have no complaints about my grades,” said Balthazar, who nevertheless looked nervous.
“All those theater classes?”
“I don't want to turn into a boring old fart. Not like some people,” Balthazar told him.
“Acting is not a career,” said Michael.
“Oh yeah? I think George Clooney would disagree!,” said Gabriel.
“Or Cary Grant,” said Cas.
“Or Clint Eastwood!” said Dean.
“Johnny Depp,” smiled Balthazar.
“Yes, but they are the exceptions,” said Michael, who appeared to think this was the end of it.
“Robert Downey Jr.,” snarled Raphael.
Sparing a glare at Raphael, Michael turned back to Balthazar. “And you need to stop smoking. Immediately.”
Balthazar rolled his eyes. “I'm immortal! What harm could it fucking do me?”
“Watch the mouth, Balthazar.”
“You didn't answer his question,” groused Raphael.
“Raphael,” said Michael, now turning toward Raphael, who had downed his entire glass of wine and was pouring himself another. “I haven't seen your Yale application.”
“I'm rethinking … applying to Yale,” Raphael told his wine glass.
“You are what?”
“I don't think I want to go to law school,” said Raphael.
“When did you make this decision?”
“You're already pre-law, Michael. I would prefer … a liberal arts college.”
“So,” said Michael, interlacing his fingers again, “since I have departed, you no longer care about this family?”
Oh, low blow, thought Dean, who was suddenly grateful that he didn’t have Sunday dinner with his own family.
“I care about the family,” said Raphael.
“I’d like to see that application. This week,” said Michael. “And now, lastly, but not least, Castiel. About the incident of bullying.”
Dean looked over to Castiel in surprise. “Dude,” he said, holding Castiel’s shoulder. He hadn’t heard anything about it. He frowned, thinking of the terrible revenge he would extract on anyone who tried laying a hand on his friend.
Cas didn’t look at him, but there seemed to be something brewing, as if he were gathering himself for some kind of tirade. Michael definitely deserved it, Dean thought. What a dick.
“What about it?” growled Castiel. Dean took his hand off Cas’ shoulder. He appeared to be trembling with a quiet rage.
“The junior high has received a complaint from the family of Curtis Westfall. They say you behaved in a threatening manner towards him. Castiel, you know what we’ve said in the past about this kind of behavior.”
“Curtis Westfall?” said Dean. “That kid is a bully! He was threatening my little brother.” Although Sam no longer talked about the threats, Dean recalled.
“I came upon Curtis Westfall and two associates,” said Castiel, his voice low and dangerous. “They were in the process of assaulting Dean’s brother, Sam, whom I had previously agreed to take under my protection. I had a brief discussion with Curtis, and strongly urged him to modify his behavior.”
“I heard the little shit peed his pants!” laughed Gabriel. “Good one, Cassie.”
Dean gawped. “Cas. Sam never told me.”
“You asked me to conduct him in safety, and that is what I did,” said Castiel. “There was no need for further discussion.”
“Castiel, that is not the way this family conducts itself! We are not … thugs!” lectured Michael.
“If we are not supposed to be active agents … why do we carry swords?” asked Castiel, flicking his eyes at Dean.
“It’s a good question,” smiled Balthazar.
“Castiel,” said Michael, eyes boring into his brother, who did not blink. “We have discussed this behavior before. I thought you, of all my brothers, would understand what is expected of you.”
“I do not serve you, Michael. Nor do I serve this family. I am the servant of the Lord, my Father,” said Castiel.
Dean took another sip of his wine, wondering if the angel swords were going to come out soon. He didn’t really envy Michael right now: when Castiel got like this, he was like a force of nature.
“Michael,” tried Balthazar, “Castiel did what he felt was right.”
“I speak for the Lord our Father,” said Michael, glowering at Castiel. “I am the oldest.”
“No you’re not,” said Raphael, swirling his wine, down at the far end of the table. “Or have you forgotten already?”
“Look, Mike,” said Dean, who thought he should say something despite the poor chance of success. “Cas wasn’t the bully here. I don’t care what those parents said. Curtis and his friends had been picking on my little brother, and Cas helped. When nobody else would! I mean, we barely know each other, and he’s one of the best friends I’ve ever had!”
Dean glanced at Cas, who was now staring at him. He nodded at Cas. Castiel’s expression changed, and that amazing almost-smile flickered into a too-brief, lovely smile. Dean smiled back. And maybe he swooned. Just a little.
“Castiel,” intoned Michael. “I think we need to reevaluate how much time you are spending among … human acquaintances these days. While it is admirable in its way that you take interest in their … passing fancies, ours is not to wallow in their trivialities.”
“Then what the fuck is ours to do?” snorted Gabriel. “Cas is right! I got a sword, but I’m supposed to drag my ass to detention because Mrs. Walsh is a dried up old prune.”
“Castiel, you know what we wish for you,” said Michael.
“I know very well what you wish,” said Castiel. “You expect me to pass my time in the library, isolating myself from the injustices done, closing my eyes to the indignities suffered by the righteous. I feel I can do this no longer.”
“Castiel, you have been commanded to keep a respectful distance from humans! They are a corrupting influence!”
“Sure, that’s what’s cool about them,” grinned Gabriel. But Castiel was on his feet.
“You are speaking derisively about humans, when there is one in our midst, and not only that, an honored guest at this table! This is not an appropriate manner in which to treat people in our home,” Castiel told Michael. “Dean. Let us go. We will get a nice Clownburger with Clownfries for dinner.”
“Can I come with?” asked Gabriel, who had bounced up as well.
“Yes, I think I have had just about my share as well,” said Balthazar.
Dean was just wondering how many angels would fit in an Impala (was this an existential question? Sammy would know) when yet another person showed up in the dining room.
“Hey, you guys don’t all have to get up on my account!” said the pleasant-looking, sandy-haired guy. He wore a friendly grin that Dean noticed didn’t quite make it up to his eyes. Since he didn’t look anything like any of the other guys, Dean immediately assumed he must be another Malakhim brother.
“Lucifer!” shouted Gabriel, who practically leapt into his arms.
“Hey, little bro,” said Lucifer. Evidently he hadn’t gotten the memo about the whole dressing for dinner thing, as he was casually dressed in camo pants, a khaki shirt with a red silk scarf, and (though Dean didn’t quite believe it) a black beret. Lucifer was also trying to grow a beard, and not having a whole lot of success.
The rest of the table had risen to greet the newcomer, but Dean noticed Cas seemed to bristle and hold back. He wasn’t exactly sure what the deal was, but he followed Cas’ lead and kept back too.
“Hey, little Cassie! You must have grown a foot since I saw you last!” said Lucifer warmly as Castiel cautiously approached him. Lucifer doffed his beret and playfully placed it on Castiel’s head, and in return received a vengeful glower from Castiel.
“This is my friend, Dean,” said Castiel, who had planted himself protectively in front of Dean, and made absolutely no effort to get out of the way, although he had immediately tugged off the beret and tossed it on the table.
“Always nice to meet one of the famous Winchesters,” grinned Lucifer, nodding at Dean.
“Uh, likewise,” said Dean, who was more than a little confused that Lucifer seemed to know him.
“We had been going through a few … family matters,” Michael told Lucifer as they all seated themselves.
“Aw, no wonder the guys are looking so darned hungry! Why don’t we table it, Mike, and get some grub?” asked Lucifer.
“Yeah, we want grub!” echoed Gabriel.
Michael sighed and signaled a servant. Though Dean was a bit chary about Lucifer (independent of Cas’ standoffishness, he just had a bad feeling about the guy) he had to admit, getting to dinner was a great suggestion, and the mood swiftly improved. As Dean had thought, Balthazar had the whole “which fork for is which weird food item” thing down, and was actually pretty cool, once he noticed Dean watching him, to point out how you opened an oyster and that sort of thing.
Cas was just as finicky about his food here as he always was with Sam and Dean, and here he had the added annoyance of Gabriel (who turned out to be a little garbage gut) constantly asking if he was going to finish this or that course. Cas, as if in retaliation, began offering bites instead to Dean, who politely refused. Indeed, though Dean, like most every teenage boy, was almost constantly hungry, after a never ending array of courses he was actually starting to feel quite stuffed.
“C’mon Cas,” he urged at one point, turning away these really delicious roast potatoes that had garlic and something else thrown in with them. “You need to bulk up if you’re gonna go hunt werewolves with me.”
In the awkward silence that followed, Dean had time to quickly contemplate how many glasses of wine he had downed. At least one too many, he thought. Oops.
“So, your family has made a career of the supernatural, Dean?” a smiling Lucifer inquired
“I dunno if you’d call it a career, exactly,” said Dean. “The benefits package ain’t exactly great.”
“No splendid retirement portfolio?” asked Balthazar, who was waving off yet another course of salmon and patting his stomach.
“Most folks in my profession don’t, uh, get a chance to retire,” Dean answered honestly.
“Why would anyone do something so dumb?” asked Gabriel.
“Why would one not, if one were called by the Lord, our Father,” said Castiel.
“You think it is a calling, Dean?” asked Balthazar.
“Yeah, you could say that,” said Dean.
“It could be a calling, but I doubt our Father had anything to do with it,” mused Lucifer, who was delicately buttering another dinner role.
“Oh. And when did you last speak to Him?” inquired Castiel.
Lucifer shot an unguarded nasty glance at Castiel. It made Dean’s blood run cold. “Just voicing an opinion,” Lucifer continued as he mastered himself. “One could look at what the Winchesters do as interfering with a natural ecological system.”
“An ecosystem? What kind of ecosystem has vampires?” asked Dean, who could not be persuaded by any means that vampires had any utility beyond showing up at the end of a pointed wooden stake.
“Maybe they take a few unlucky humans, here and there,” said Lucifer.
“Take ‘em?” asked Dean. “Have you actually seen somebody that’s been chewed by a werewolf? It’s ain’t pretty.”
“I simply mean,” said Lucifer, “you must admit, Dean, that humans have caused extensive damage to this planet! Now, think. Perhaps it is part of our Father’s plan that a few are occasionally … done away with.”
“But it ain’t the evil polluters and that kind who get grabbed by a werewolf or a vampire or a wendigo or whatever,” Dean protested. “There’s no connection. It’s just poor dumb folks who stumble into the path. Kids, sometimes. Or people with families. How can you say that’s fair?”
“One does not question our Father’s plan,” chimed in Michael from the head of the table.
“What plan?” slurred Raphael, who had been downing rather a lot of wine. “Our Father’s been dead for years.”
Talk about a conversation stopper. The entire table, including Dean, was now staring - in shock or horror or amusement or curiosity or just plain what the fuck - at Raphael.
“Oh, don’t pretend I’m saying what you don’t all think,” said Raphael, his dark eyes flashing.
“Now, Raphael, you don’t have any proof of that,” said Balthazar.
“What proof do you have? In fact, isn’t the burden of proof on you, brother?” asked Raphael.
“He abides,” said Castiel. “For He is eternal.”
“So our father is The Dude,” said Raphael, throwing up his hands.
Castiel looked confused, but Dean snorted with laughter. That was one of his favorite movies. Raphael was actually kinda cool when he had a few drinks in him.
They had somehow all hauled themselves up from the table and waddled into another room at the promise of cake. Dean looked around and wondered if this place was what snooty people called a sitting room.
There was a platter with a chocolate cake on the coffee table in the center, as well as a coffee and yet more strong, sweet alcohol Gabriel called a digestif. The coffee was accompanied by a jillion little spoons, a sugar bowl and a container of what Dean was sure must be real live cream and not Coffeemate.
He helped himself to a small slice of cake, but a big cup of coffee to fortify him for the drive home.
“We have a few things to discuss, so we’ll say goodnight,” said Michael, who let Lucifer into a nearby room, and then shut the door on poor Raphael, who was standing expectantly in the threshold.
“Good riddance, Mike,” grumbled Gabriel.
Balthazar, who had poured himself a bit of the digestif, said something in what sounded the strange language he had briefly spoken the other day, and Castiel briefly replied in kind. Then he downed a shot.
“That’s Enochian, right?” Dean asked Cas.
Cas nodded. “It is something like the human expression, ‘Cheers,’ I suppose,” he said, looking thoughtful.
“It’s … really beautiful,” said Dean. Because, damn, it was. And when Cas spoke it…. Well, it was weird, but it was pretty hot.
“You are aware, Michael wants us to speak English in this household,” Raphael sighed. He sat down heavily near the boys and helped himself to some of the digestif.
“Behold the angel Raphael,” said Balthazar. “Once, not so very long ago, my favorite brother.”
Raphael looked briefly annoyed, but also defeated.
“Raphael is our family nihilist,” continued Balhtazar. “He used to favor black turtlenecks, and composed reprehensible poetry.”
“I still write!” said Raphael.
“I’m glad,” said Balthatzar, who sounded sincere.
“Ya know,” said Dean, “there’s a couple of café’s around here, where the college kids hang out. They do poetry readings, that kinda thing. Chicks love that shit,” he added.
Raphael, who had looked momentarily interested, scoffed, “That’s not why I write poetry.”
“Why the hell else would you write that crap?” asked Gabriel, who was somehow managing to eat a huge piece of chocolate cake while sitting on the couch upside-down. Dean wondered if angels had the equivalent of Ritalin.
“I am expressing an aesthetic sensibility,” grumbled Raphael, downing his drink.
“Ya know, Raph, I dunno if liquor has different effects on angels than other guys, but if you got class tomorrow morning, you might wanna knock it off with that stuff,” said Dean.
Raphael looked up at him, a great sadness in his dark eyes. Somehow, even though he was only couple years older than dean, there seemed an ancientness to those eyes. “When you're right,” he said, picking up a coffee cup, “you're right.”
“Are you OK, man?” asked Dean.
“I remember, you know,” said Raphael quietly.
“Oh, here it comes,” whined Gabriel.
“Remember what?” asked Dean.
“My life before. Our lives. Before our Father stuck us here.”
“Raphael feels that he senses what went on before our, ahem, earthly reincarnation,” Balthazar explained.
“We were infinite beings. And now … homeroom. With Mrs. Welch,” snarked Gabriel, who added a burp.
“And your dad just took off?” asked Dean, who felt he could relate, somehow, to the situation.
“I barely remember Him. Just a presence,” said Balthazar. “I think Cassie doesn't even remember. He was too young.”
“But I know Him. Regardless,” said Castiel.
“I no longer feel it,” said Raphael. “He's gone. Gone from us.”
“Well, you know, our dad takes off. He's done it to us his whole life. And sometimes it feels pretty shitty,” said Dean. “But,” he continued, looking at Castiel. “He always comes back for us. Somehow.”
Castiel helped Dean situate several Tupperware containers in the passenger seat of the Impala. After Dean had thought to request a single slice of cake to bring home to Sam, Balthazar had marshaled the kitchen to produce something like a sixteen course meal of their leftovers. It did not good to refuse, so Dean accepted it. This would be enough food for a week, and he was quite honestly glad for the change from pizza and burgers.
Dean shut the door, having finally convinced himself none of it was going to drip on Baby’s floorboards. He shot a glance at the Toyota that had parked next to him. It had California plates.
“Uh. The Prius?” he asked.
“Lucifer’s,” said Castiel.
“But, I thought you dudes didn’t need to drive?”
Castiel frowned, and Dean saw this was probably a topic for another time.
“Anyway. Thank everybody again for inviting me,” said Dean. “It was sure … interesting.”
Castiel looked awkward. “I sincerely hope … you are still my friend?”
“Oh, hell yes!” said Dean. Now it was his turn to be awkward. “Cas. What you did for Sammy….”
“Only what was right,” said Castiel, who seemed to brook no more discussion of it.
Dean wished for a moment he was someone like Balthazar, who could come up with pretty words. But he was just Dean Winchester, so instead, he reached over and pulled a very surprised Castiel into a big bear hug.
“Just. Thanks,” said Dean, slapping Cas’ back and releasing him. Castiel stared at him, open-mouthed. “You’re a good friend. Now, you wanna go mess up some werewolves?” he winked.
“Oh, yes. That will be a pleasure,” said Castiel, who still seemed stunned.
Dean jumped in his car and, with a final wave, started to drive home. His mind raced with what he was going to tell Sammy. Even though the little brat was supposed to have gone to bed hours ago, Dean knew damn well he’d be up and waiting for him. He grinned, grateful of someone to talk to.
Castiel floated back into his living room and alit on one of the couches.
“What’s up with you, weirdo?” asked Gabriel.
“Dean just pulled me into a warm embrace and declared me his friend,” sighed Castiel.
“How warm was the embrace?” asked Gabriel, who was suddenly sitting right next to Cas.
Castiel glowered. “Go walk on the ceiling, Gabriel,” he said.
“And for heaven's sake, Gabriel, if you're going to do it, do it right,” sighed Balthazar.
“What, you think you could do better I suppose,” grumbled Gabriel, who was not happy to be the object of fun.
Balthazar and Raphael suddenly exchanged a glance. Raphael actually smiled.
Balthazar snapped his fingers, and he was up on the ceiling. And then, hand to his hip, he was sashaying down, pausing at the wall to do a little supermodel-worthy vamping.
Gabriel actually let out a small cry. “That's amazing! That's amazing! That's fucking amazing!”
Balthazar was down, sitting on the couch, drink in his hand.
“How did you do that?” asked Gabriel.
“Well, you just have to have a bit of flair,” said Balthazar, flicking an imaginary dust speck from his trousers.
Castiel sat back in silence, wishing for all the world that he would fledge. He wanted to dance on the ceiling.
He wanted to dance on the ceiling … with Dean.
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