More SPN fanfic!
Title: Conversations with Angels (4/5)
Author: Commodoresexual
Disclaimer: I do not own The Boys, The Angel, The Impala, or the town of Spearfish, South Dakota. Most of those belong to Kripke. But at least Kripke shares.
Rating: PG-13
Genre/Pairing: Dean, Sam, Castiel, Bobby. Dean/Castiel.
Warnings: Spoilers up through 4.10. This is my version of Heavenly affairs and attitude, so no smiting. I also have the same mystical creature as maychorian fantasic series, Entertaining Angels, but the name and some of the powers are all that are the same.
Notes: I kind of feel slow considering how many of my favorite authors have pounded out their parts for their stories - but eh. I feel better in taking my time than rushing through this. One more part in this storyline, and it'll be a lead-in to everything else I do in this universe. Set after First Conversation, the
Second Conversation
and the Third Conversation.
Summary: Never will I leave you, never will I forsake you.
Angels can fly directly into the heart of the matter. ~Author Unknown
1.Where Sam Contemplates Pie
The town of Spearfish, South Dakota had a few things going for it. It had a small college, a steady tourism rate because of its closeness to the Black Hills, the only mountain range in the entire state. It also had fantastic nature - like the fact the creek-beds didn't freeze over in the winter, the ice froze on the bottom. Weird, but true.
There were a few things, however, that Spearfish lacked. About five young virgins, the signs of any demons, demonic rituals, vampires, or even sexy witches having a sexy orgy with some sacrificing on the side. Dean was heartily disappointed by the lack of naked women, and said so to Sam as they left the Spearfish Library, on their way back to the Impala.
Normally, Sam would just ignore it. Four days of Dean pounding him with 'porn-brain', Sam's response was to roll his eyes and snark lightly. “You know, you don't need to keep bringing up your heterosexuality, Dean. I'm not going to question how straight you are. Even though you've been bringing up how much you like women, and just women, since, I don't know, Indiana.” A pause. “Especially if you just tell me what happened with Cas.”
Dean snorted, shifted his weight, shoved his hands into his pockets and looked ahead, all pure Dean-signs that he was not only uncomfortable about something but he didn't want Sam to think he was uncomfortable about it, so he was just going to ignore it. Instead, he gave Sam a Look before saying dryly, “You know how I know you're gay, Sam? Because of moments like this, where you try and make me talk about my squishy feelings, like we're on frigging Oprah. I've had my good, manly sobbing - we've shared. You know all the bad shit there is to know. So please, change your god-damned tampon and stay on topic. Who do we figure for this?”
Sam exhaled through his nose, as he went for the passenger side of the Impala, leaning on the roof again. “All the spots of the attack were out in the open - all the victims being virgins - who missing without a trace - the smell of smoke but no sulfur. I said it before, and I'll say it again, Dean. Dragon.”
Dean leaned on the other side, letting out a grunt, before he grumbled, climbing into the car. “Can't be. No one's ever seen a dragon on this side of the frigging ocean. Not anymore. I mean, c'mon, Sam. You get some smoky air, missing virgins, a few burnt buildings, and you're just gonna to jump to 'dragon?'”
“That or Godzilla.” Sam answered, his lips twisting a little.
“Or Godzilla.” Dean amended, “But dragons were only seen back in the good ole days, when people believed in shit like magic, things that go bump in the night. Now?” He sighed, staring out of the window. “Jesus, Sam. How the hell do we even kill a dragon?”
“I don't know. The research I've been able to come up with is pretty thin.” Sam admitted, pushing his hair off his face.
“That's why I really want it to be something else. Anything else. I'll take a Seal opening, even if that means we gotta deal with Uriel.” Dean shook his head, digging out his keys.
Sam slouched his tall frame down in the car seat as Dean started the Impala. “Yeah - sort of a no-brainer. Would we rather deal with a deadly, magical creature that can easily fly down and turn us into two human bonfires, or would we rather deal with Uriel?”
Both of the Winchesters were silent for a moment, before Dean spoke up, “... Y'know, thinking that over?”
“Rather it be the dragon?” Sam nodded his head in firm agreement. “Yeah.” He glanced sideways at Dean. “Maybe we should call Cas. You know. Just to be sure on the Seal issue.”
Dean's hands gripped then relaxed on the steering wheel. “You mean, actually use this incredibly powerful and badass resource to our advantage?”
“Yes.” Sam said firmly, looking over at his brother.
“Call upon the forces our own personal heavenly hitter to help us save innocent lives?” Dean arched an eyebrow over at his brother. “OR are we callin' in an angel of the lord to help us with a problem like millions of others we've handled, on our own, just so you can grill him like you've been grilling me?”
Damn. Busted. Sam rolled his eyes, saying emphatically, “Dean.” In Winchester-speak, that is the equivalent of Sam pointing out that the more that his brother avoided the issue the more Sam was going either push or worry - both are in his purview to do as the younger brother sworn to bolster his older, more stubborn than anything, brother.
Dean spared him a sideways look, green eyes going blazing, with a simple warning note to his, “Sam.” Clearly stating that it was not a topic he was going to get into, save if he was bleeding to death or they found themselves mixed up with another Fallen angel.
Sam glared for another moment, sighed, and shook his head a little. “You know how I know you're gay? Because you're acting like you two made out or something, and you don't want your friends on the football team to find out.” He thought about that, blinked, and then sat up a little. “Wait...”
The Impala abruptly stopped, and Dean shifted in his seat far enough to jab a finger at his brother. “Outta the car.”
Sam stared. “... are you honestly kicking me out of the car because I'm accusing you of making out with the angel and not telling me?”
“One, I did not make out with the angel.” Dean's eyes flickered, making the statement seem believable and yet off in a way that Sam didn't get. “Two, I am not kicking you out for it. I am kicking you out because there's a diner, I'm hungry, so I want you to go order us some food to go while I go to fill up the Impala.” He paused, and sighed. “And three - I really don't want to talk about it. Not right now.”
Sam pursued his lips, before he started to open the car door, threatening with a gentle under-bite. “I'm not going to let this drop, Dean.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Dean grumbled, staring at his hands and not at Sam. Sam sighed again, and started to walk towards the diner, when suddenly his brother yelled, “Don't forget the pie!”
Sam turned, one hand on the railing of the diner, glaring back at the car. “It was One Time, Dean.”
“One time too many.” Dean stabbed a finger at him. “Blueberry. With ice cream, if they got it.”
Sam shook his head, completely confused. Sure, Dean loved pie. He had a practically dirty relationship with it. However, he usually treated his pie like he ... well, treated his women. Different every time he had it. But for the past couple of days, all he ordered was blueberry. Sam was starting to worry about the remains of the blueberry crop outlasting his brother's desire to consume the small, round fruit. “What, again?”
There it was again, that twitchy look on Dean's face. “Yes, again!”
Sam watched the Impala drive off, the pit in his stomach sinking. It wasn't just the sudden craving for blueberry pie, or even the evasiveness. These past few days, Dean had this look in his eyes that Sam just couldn't place. He'd seen Dean through some of the toughest moments of both of their lives - he'd seen Dean be angry, be happy, be hard, be soft, be grief stricken beyond all imagination. There wasn't an expression, an attitude that Sam hadn't seen cross Dean's face.
Until now.
The look in his brother's eyes was desperation, but not quite. Confusion, but not really. Aggravation, sort of. Tension lined his face when he was awake, but now Dean slept like a baby. The nightmares - memories - of Hell only surfaced once during their trip. Sam had shaken him awake, and Dean just nodded his head in mute thanks before he got up, muttering about needing something to help him sleep. Sam worried it was going to be another bottle of Jack, but instead Dean had gotten twenty chicken mcnuggets and more honey than necessary to eat them. Sam sat awake for an hour or two, waiting to see if Dean would talk about it, but he just sat there on his bed, sucking honey off his fingers and staring at the television.
Sam sighed, as he pulled out his cellphone. He couldn't imagine what could be going through Dean's head. To go to Hell - to suffer such pain, to endure it for so damned long, and then to finally succumb ... it was Dean's own personal Hell, to give up. Sam felt his chest tighten every single time he thought of that, of what Dean had done for him. That Dean wasn't completely insane when he came out of the ground was some kind of miracle.
Now, though, Sam was starting to wonder, and in that wonder, he wanted - no, needed to know what Cas had said to Dean to make Sam's older brother act like, well. Like he was on crack.
What could an angel say to drive Dean crazy? What could an angel do to Dean that seemed to unnerve him?
Sam clenched a fist at his side. Maybe another threat to send Dean below? Maybe one more leveled in Sam's direction. That'd be enough to drive either one of the Winchesters over the edge at this point. He suddenly sighed, and let his fingers uncurl, feeling the blood flow back into them. No. Uriel might be arrogant enough to try that tired one-trick-pony shit again. Not Cas. Not after that talk. Castiel knew better, and more importantly, he cared. That was the thing - Sam knew that Castiel thought of Dean as pretty much the best thing ever. It was in the angel's eyes, in his every movement when he was focused on the elder Winchester. And Dean? C'mon. Cas had gone from 'dick' to 'ally' so fast that it made Sam's head spin. There was also the not-so-small matter of the clothing that Dean firmly insisted they needed to stock up on.
Castiel wouldn't hurt Dean, unless Dean pushed him too far.
Sam rolled his eyes mentally as he turned to climb up the short flight of stairs that led to the diner's entrance. It was Dean. Of course he would push the angel too far. He had, and would probably do again, driven the angel to aggravation more than once. Dean actually made the angel a little crazy. The only thing Sam worried about was 'what kind of crazy?' Good crazy or bad crazy?
Hah. Only in his universe could there be good and bad crazy for the Divine Host.
He pushed open the door to the diner and eyed the phone in his hand again, before going to grab a menu. The smells of grease and nutmeg assaulted his nose as he took a seat at the counter. He never had any of Dean's ease with waitresses, but he got by on simple politeness and sincerity. He smiled at the waitress at the counter as he ordered Dean the greasiest thing he could find, with a cobb salad and french fries for himself. Along with a large hunk of their blueberry pie, which apparently was a local specialty. That'd make Dean happy.
The pie arrived first, in a clear plastic container. Sam glared at it balefully, willing it to give him some kind of insight. The pie was annoyingly silent on the matter.
He sighed. Hell, maybe the angel had made some sort of pass at Dean. It wouldn't be the first time, after all. Heaven seemed to like Dean as much as they didn't like Sam, which struck him as all colors of the ironic rainbow. Sam tried to imagine Cas leaning against something, maybe a doorway, trying one of the million lines Dean drawled out at one time or another to some pretty bartender on the man himself.
Sam couldn't honestly say that he was surprised that his imagination decided to pull a blue-screen of death on that particular notion.
He tapped the phone twice against the counter, before flipping it open and hitting the number 'two' on his speed dial. In a situation like this, it was time to call the man who more likely than often had the answers - from how to kill a particular monster to why the sky was blue. Bobby had been good for answers as long as Sam could remember.
He held his breath, listening to the phone ring once - twice - three times.
2. Where Bobby Smacks Of Some Verbal Sense
Robert Singer.
Heya, Bobby.
Hey, Sam! How are you, kid?
Oh, you know. Usual. Busy. We might be hunting a dragon. Or Godzilla. Either one of them is out of place in South Dakota, heh.
... Right. What's wrong?
Ah. How did you -
You're cracking jokes and you sound nervous. Pretty big neon sign o' Wrong, boy, when a Winchester doesn't get to the point.
It's just. It's well. It's Dean.
Is it the nightmares again?
No, not ... exactly. I mean, he's been having less of them.
That's good! ... That is good, isn't it?
Yes. Just. He's acting really weird, Bobby.
Like not himself? You think he might be possessed?
No. No no no. I mean, if it was a possession I would be asking what kind of creature thrives off of blueberry pie.
...Blueberry pie?
Every day, for the past four days.
All right, that is a little ... weird.
And he won't tell me what happened with Castiel. I mean, at first I thought it was funny. He was worried about whether or not the vessel was going to be warm for winter, and we talked about getting Cas some clothes - but then he just wouldn't talk about whatever went down between them.
Anything else?
Well ... when he did have a ..a nightmare, he walked out and I thought he would come back with liquor? Drink it off, like he's been doing lately. Turns out he ended up at McDonald's. He ordered some nuggets, and like ... fifty packets of honey. Which he ate.
What's wrong with eating nuggets?
Nothing. He just ... he ate all the honey, too. He sucked it down like he needed it more than air.
So lemme get this straight - he's not getting drunk, he's eating regular - even if it is honey and blueberry pie, and he's actually getting some sleep. All after he started talking to the angel, a conversation that he's not talking about.
Yes.
Well. I'll be damned... not literally. Well, hopefully. Alright, gonna go out on a limb here, Sam ... but I think Dean is happy.
I - ah - what? Happy? Dean!?
Did I stutter, boy?
Bobby, I've seen Dean happy. There's usually a girl and nudity involved. Or ...pie, for breakfast, not with the girl and nudity. I hope. Anyways, this is not Dean happy. I don't know what this Dean is, but it is not ... yeah.
Sam, you're a bright boy. Real smart with your Stanford education n'all. But sometimes - you're thicker than engine oil. I'll simplify it for you, so you don't feel like a complete dolt later on. Dean's not temporarily on endorphins happy - he's Happy. Capital H.
But ... if he's so Happy, capital H, why is he acting like such a damned freak?
Sam, when have you ever known your brother to think he deserves anything but the worse this world has to offer? He might be Happy, but God only knows your brother ain't gonna settle into that easy.
That ... actually makes a lot of sense.
You wanna help your brother? Find out what's makin' him happy, then smack some sense into him. Boy's gone to Hell, and back, and dragged your emotional baggage down with him. Make sure he grabs onto this, whatever it might be, and holds on tight. Idjit is bound to let it go because he thinks he's undeserving.
How do I do that, when I don't even know what has him acting so freaky-happy in the first place?
Well, Sam, I suggest you go poking where it started. Start with the angel.
3. Where Dean Is Waiting, And Waiting, And Waiting...
Dean flipped open the fuel door to the Impala, stuck the nozzle in and pushed in the automatic tab to keep the gas pumping. He turned and leaned against the car, looking out to the street, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders. Normalcy. He needed some fucking normalcy. Nothing was more normal than feeding his baby, before going to pick up Sam, finding a hotel, eating a load of greasy food, and then hunting some kind of virgin snatching monster. Perfectly normal day.
Well, for him, anyways.
Two college girls, probably barely in their twenties, walked past the gas station, bundled up in snug little winter coats and even snugger hip-hugging jeans. The blonde only glanced over, but the brunette gave him a considering look that he had gotten in far, far too many bars on Saturday night. He returned it with a nod and a little smirk, something that had gotten him into far, far, faaaaaaar too many beds. This was also awesomely normal. Again, for him.
The brunette turned to her friend, whispering, and the blonde turned to give him a long look over her shoulder. She obviously liked what she saw (and who could blame her?) because she gave him a big wink. She and the brunette continued to walk on, but their hips had an entirely new swivel that Dean definitely liked, and wanted to see more of. He considered following them - after all his virgin barrier had only been breached like, twice? Far, far too little, all things considered ...
A stab of guilt firmly stuck itself between his ribs, and he scowled, cursing as he looked away. Damnit. He was just looking. Okay, and thinking of following, and maybe doing a few other things that required his hands and other parts of his body. He was a guy. This is what guys did. On either side of the fence. Even Sam, and he was so hard up he had sex with a demon.
Well, Ruby, at any rate. Who was a demon, and shouldn't be trusted, but it wasn't like Sam banged the Anti-Christ. Maybe. Crap, the less he thought about this the better he'd feel.
Which, conversely and perversely, brought him back to being guilty again. Okay, sure, he and the angel didn't have any kind of .... arrangement. Or anything. Just a whole lotta potential, and hellva lot of spark. But that didn't equal to much if he didn't know where the hell they stood. There was this space - between liking someone and doing something about it - and for Dean that space usually lasted all of thirty seconds. It did not last four days.
Four frigging days. Four long, frustrating, beating his hands against the steering wheel, eating nothing but blueberry pie because Goddamnit, his entire mind was besieged with the color blue, days. All the time his head going, what is Castiel going to say, like a fucking girly girl and that just made Dean angrier and more frustrated because he was Dean Winchester. He didn't do chick flicks, he didn't do scented candles and he sure as hell didn't do softly toliet paper sensitive over a fucking angel.
It also made him feel guilty, because didn't Cas tell him in their first little bitter and dreamed heart to heart that he couldn't stay perched on his shoulder all the time? That he was out there, fighting battles Dean could barely imagine, and losing his brothers. Dean tried imagining losing Sam six times over, in one week. His chest started doing weird things, and he stopped thinking about it. He couldn't be a selfish bastard about this. Cas was saving the world. Had to cut the man some slack.
Four frigging days worth.
Didn't help in the slightest that he clammed up to Sam about it, because for fuck's sake, how the hell could he explain this to Sam? Sam, the one who actually prayed. Sam, who looked up to him. Sam who he had gone to Hell for, and really was looking at a return trip for what he was thinking about one singular, trench-coat wearing divine being. Because maybe he believed Cas when he said no one was going to Hell for feeling what Dean was feeling, but that was when the angel was looking at him. Everything made sense when he looked at Castiel - Castiel believed so long, so fully in Dean, in all that the angel thought he, Dean Winchester, was capable of ... it was hard not to.
Dean wanted to believe. He wanted to think that he was worth something - that his failures could be wiped clean by an angel's devotion and a brother's love - and vice-versa. He held onto that thin little thread, knowing every single day was a fight to not let it go. Because otherwise he'd be drowning in doubts - that he didn't deserve any of this. He didn't deserve Sam's forgiveness for what he did in Hell, or Castiel's faith that he could and would find his own place in God's frigging great plan. Not even all the happy little moments he was starting to string together, back into a semblance of a life.
He wanted. But wanting and actually believing were a world of difference.
He sighed, glanced at the gas gage, and clicked off. He walked inside, grabbed some peanut M&M's to stave off the hunger, and headed to the counter to pay. He smiled at the gas attendant as he took out his wallet - just one of his regular, 'hey-how-are-ya?' smiles that had done him so well over the years. Something caught his eye, and he blinked as he stared at the air freshener rack. There was one shaped like an angel - with black tipped wings no less - that stated it would make his car smell 'just like heaven'. He snorted, paused, then snagged it up and put it next to the package of M&M's, justifying it as necessary expenditure. After all, Sam did tend to smell up the place.
He tucked the air freshener into his pocket, because fuck he didn't want to deal with another series of Sam-Inquisition questions, and got back into the Impala. By the time he circled around back to the front of the diner, there his brother was waiting with two white paper bags. He blinked, stopped the car long enough for Sam to climb in, and then pulled back into traffic. “That was speedy. Hope you tipped well.”
Sam glanced over at him, and Dean felt his shoulders bunch a little, almost in preparing himself for the battle of wills ahead. But instead Sam just shrugged, and looked ahead, “Naturally. I got your pie, too, so no hissy fits.” Dean watched his brother slouch in his seat. “I also figured out our game plan.”
“Yeah? Hit me.” Dean popped a blue M&M in his mouth, feeling himself relax again.
“First, room and food. Then, you should go investigate the areas where the victims disappeared, while I go check up in the college library -- they should have a more through history of the area. So I can see if it's anything else, but dragons.” Sam counted off.
Dean nodded his head. Neat and concise. He covered the ground while Sam covered the brainwork. He hated to think it, but Sam really was a great hunter. “Sounds good - then you'll give me a call if you think of anything?”
“Yep. And you do the same.” Sam nodded, rapping his fingers against the dashboard.
Dean blinked, then allowed his eyes to narrow. “Hey, what's up with you?”
Sam stared at him for a second, as if trying to comprehend what he's saying, before he blinked and said slowly. “Dean ... we're possibly going against a creature that no one has seen for hundreds of years. I won't lie and say I'm not as recalcitrant on the matter as you are.”
“There you go, using fifty cent words when you could say you're about two minutes away from wetting your pants.” Dean offered his brother a smirk, which got him a roll of the eyes and a half a smile.
“Fine, you troglodyte.” Sam snorted softly. “I'm wigged. I'm fucking wigged. Beyond the whole --” he waved his hand, “You know, war? This is the biggest thing we've handled. And we're handling it on our own.”
“Well, think about it this way. Against these sorts of odds - we're the underdogs. And the underdogs always get a shot. You know, like the Justice League against ... just about anything.” Dean waved his hand, before he felt a full-on grin tugging on his face. “Remember. I'm Batman.”
Sam gave him another flat look. “How could I ever forget?” His brother shook his head. “I'm not Robin, by the way.”
“No fucking kidding. You'd never fit in those dinky leotards.” He tilted his head, considering. “I'll be generous. You can be Nightwing.”
“Oh thanks, so much.” Sam replied dryly, as Dean let out a laugh, and pulled into one of the local motels, just one of the thousands they had stayed in. He started to get out of the car, when Sam suddenly spoke, “Hey, Dean?”
Dean slipped the keys out of the ignition, giving his brother another half waiting, half suspicious look. He didn't know what happened between the time he got gas and now, but Sam seemed to have shifted gears. There was that expression on his face, like he just figured out how to get the answer but knew it was going to take grace and tact, not bluntness and bullets, as Dean was apt to. It made Dean real nervous, to have that look turned on him, but all Sam said was, “You're doing good.”
Dean frowned at that, trying to process if that was a statement, a question, or an assertion that what they were doing was on the right path. He leaned back a little, looking at Sam intently, who met his gaze with a calm that seemed ... familiar. He felt one corner of his lip curl up, “Yeah. I guess I am.”
Sam smiled at him - the smile that made the corners of Dean's world just a little bit brighter, a little bit more manageable -- and clapped his brother on the shoulder, before grabbing the food and exiting the car. Dean watched after him as Sam loped into the office, getting them a room, mulling over his own answer. He was still stewing that over two hours later, while he wandered off the path where the third and fourth victims had disappeared. He walked past the police tape - his badge-of-the-day making him out to be a National Forest Ranger - and beyond it. He wasn't going to find anything in the blood spatters; there were no bodies after all.
He was doing good.
He tasted that on the tip of his tongue, in a mouth that still felt like it was biting into sweet, blueberry pie, and found it strangely true. He wasn't breaking down, he wasn't succumbing to memories of Hell. It didn't hurt to feel, anymore. Oh sure, things were still shit and he wasn't exactly going to be winning the most positive and optimistic award of the Apocalypse, but in general ... yeah. Things could be worse. A lot worse.
“I'm doing good.” He said out-loud to himself, and smiled. “I'm awesome. I'm frigging Bat-Man.”
The universe replied with a puddle, six inches deep, still filled with the water from the last storm that had rolled through the area, in which he stepped in, nearly past the top of his sturdy workboots. He paused, winced, and started cursing as he looked, “God. Damn. Sonnvabitch!” He glared up at the sky. “You don't have enough to do?” He muttered as he started to pull out his boot again. “What kinda stupid god takes time out of an Apocalypse to play practical fucking jokes, that's my fucking ... question.”
He stared at the puddle. The ... giant puddle. The giant, claw-shaped puddle. He started looking through the underbrush, and spotted a second, perhaps five to six feet away from him. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, exhaled, and slowly lifted his gaze upwards. About twenty feet off the air, a tree had been seared clean off. With fire.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips. “Dragons. Why the hell did it have to be dragons?” He picked up his phone, flipped it open, and hit the one on his speed-dial. It was on the fourth or fifth ring when Sam finally picked up, and at first Dean wasn't sure it was him, because the voice that greeted him was so hoarse. “...Sam?”
“Dean. Hey.” Sam's voice was quiet - a little too quiet. “What's up?”
“A lot, but answer a more pressing question for me first. Are you okay?” He asked, frowning a little.
“Huh? I'm fine.” Sam lowered his voice even more, and it sounded like he was ducking under something.
“Oh-kay.” Dean said slowly. “... Then why are you whispering?”
There was a long pause. A very, very long pause, before Sam spoke slowly. “Be-cause I'm still in the library?”
“Ah.” Well, that made sense. Didn't make sense why Sam was acting all cagey about it, but that was a situation that could be pounded into later. “So, I've got bad news, and then I've got worse news. It's a dragon - and from what I can see here - it's a big one.”
There was a silence, then Sam cursing, followed by him apologizing to someone, before he sighed into the phone. “Well, then you aren't going to like this any better. I've managed to do some solid research - dragons are known to be magical creatures, and wily besides.”
“Yeah, tell me something I don't know?” Dean said wryly, as he started trudging up the hill, keeping an eye out for other large claw prints. Several of them appeared around the site, and he shook his head on how he could have missed them.
“Dragons can make themselves invisible.” Sam answered simply.
Dean stopped in his tracks, his voice becoming sharp, “I'm sorry, what?”
“Well, they're giant lizards, right? From what I've been able to find - dragons abruptly disappeared from view at the end of the medieval era, when most of their kind was hunted to near extinction. Yet there are still reports of - well, burnt buildings and mysterious prints - but no dragon. I think they developed it as a survival instinct - some lizards have developed the ability to blend into the background to protect themselves. A genetic trait that's been passed down for thousands of years.” Dean could almost see Sam shrugging under the table at the library. “So, dragons developed something kinda similar. They made themselves invisible to the mortal eye.”
Dean pressed the heel of his hand to his eye, whispering hoarsely. “Are you frigging telling me that we have to deal with a giant, fire-breathing creature ... that is fucking invisible? We have to try and hunt a ... a ... a NINJA LIZARD?”
“Yeah.” Was Sam's reply, and it spoke volumes. Just that flat, almost despairing tone in his brother's voice made Dean want to find the damned dragon and wring it's leathery neck for making Sammy sound like that.
He heaved out a sigh, and spoke firmly. “Find out what kills a dragon. I'll meet you back at the room. We're taking this mother-fucker out.”
“Dean ...” Sam sounded surprised. Not displeased, just shocked.
“Sam. This is what we do. We hunt monsters, we save people. Dragons are just a bigger type of monster. We find it, we kill it, we save the day and have some goddamned victory beer.” Dean said firmly. “No ifs, ands, or buts.”
“All right.” Sam's voice was quiet, and then much firmer. “All right. Let me just finish up what I was doing here, and I'll meet you back at the room. Then we'll go take care of this dragon.”
“That's what I'm talking 'bout.” Dean said, feeling relief course through him. A little push, a little forward momentum. That's what this situation could use. “So get to it. I'll be back as soon as I can.”
He clicked off his phone, and looked down the slope grimly. Five lives at stake, (seven if he included Sam and himself, but the most he'd bump it up to was six - protect Sam, after all) and they had to figure out how to kill a dragon when dragons were about as likely as a slow week or a favor paid back in spades. They had done it before. They could do it again.
He just wished those footprints were smaller.
Or his dad was here.
Or his angel.
Dean looked up to the sky, patterned in sunlight and clouds, before taking in a deep breath and shouting at the top of his lungs, “CASTIEL!”
The sound of the angel's name echoed through the wooded valley.
But the angel didn't come.
Enough. Enough of this shit. Dean swallowed his disappointment, and started the long trudge up the wooded hill towards the Impala. He had work to do.
He's goddamned Batman. And Batman never managed to figure out his love life either.
Continued here...
Updated! Now fully complete, just follow the link at the bottom, please and thank you.
Author: Commodoresexual
Disclaimer: I do not own The Boys, The Angel, The Impala, or the town of Spearfish, South Dakota. Most of those belong to Kripke. But at least Kripke shares.
Rating: PG-13
Genre/Pairing: Dean, Sam, Castiel, Bobby. Dean/Castiel.
Warnings: Spoilers up through 4.10. This is my version of Heavenly affairs and attitude, so no smiting. I also have the same mystical creature as maychorian fantasic series, Entertaining Angels, but the name and some of the powers are all that are the same.
Notes: I kind of feel slow considering how many of my favorite authors have pounded out their parts for their stories - but eh. I feel better in taking my time than rushing through this. One more part in this storyline, and it'll be a lead-in to everything else I do in this universe. Set after First Conversation, the
Second Conversation
and the Third Conversation.
Summary: Never will I leave you, never will I forsake you.
Angels can fly directly into the heart of the matter. ~Author Unknown
1.Where Sam Contemplates Pie
The town of Spearfish, South Dakota had a few things going for it. It had a small college, a steady tourism rate because of its closeness to the Black Hills, the only mountain range in the entire state. It also had fantastic nature - like the fact the creek-beds didn't freeze over in the winter, the ice froze on the bottom. Weird, but true.
There were a few things, however, that Spearfish lacked. About five young virgins, the signs of any demons, demonic rituals, vampires, or even sexy witches having a sexy orgy with some sacrificing on the side. Dean was heartily disappointed by the lack of naked women, and said so to Sam as they left the Spearfish Library, on their way back to the Impala.
Normally, Sam would just ignore it. Four days of Dean pounding him with 'porn-brain', Sam's response was to roll his eyes and snark lightly. “You know, you don't need to keep bringing up your heterosexuality, Dean. I'm not going to question how straight you are. Even though you've been bringing up how much you like women, and just women, since, I don't know, Indiana.” A pause. “Especially if you just tell me what happened with Cas.”
Dean snorted, shifted his weight, shoved his hands into his pockets and looked ahead, all pure Dean-signs that he was not only uncomfortable about something but he didn't want Sam to think he was uncomfortable about it, so he was just going to ignore it. Instead, he gave Sam a Look before saying dryly, “You know how I know you're gay, Sam? Because of moments like this, where you try and make me talk about my squishy feelings, like we're on frigging Oprah. I've had my good, manly sobbing - we've shared. You know all the bad shit there is to know. So please, change your god-damned tampon and stay on topic. Who do we figure for this?”
Sam exhaled through his nose, as he went for the passenger side of the Impala, leaning on the roof again. “All the spots of the attack were out in the open - all the victims being virgins - who missing without a trace - the smell of smoke but no sulfur. I said it before, and I'll say it again, Dean. Dragon.”
Dean leaned on the other side, letting out a grunt, before he grumbled, climbing into the car. “Can't be. No one's ever seen a dragon on this side of the frigging ocean. Not anymore. I mean, c'mon, Sam. You get some smoky air, missing virgins, a few burnt buildings, and you're just gonna to jump to 'dragon?'”
“That or Godzilla.” Sam answered, his lips twisting a little.
“Or Godzilla.” Dean amended, “But dragons were only seen back in the good ole days, when people believed in shit like magic, things that go bump in the night. Now?” He sighed, staring out of the window. “Jesus, Sam. How the hell do we even kill a dragon?”
“I don't know. The research I've been able to come up with is pretty thin.” Sam admitted, pushing his hair off his face.
“That's why I really want it to be something else. Anything else. I'll take a Seal opening, even if that means we gotta deal with Uriel.” Dean shook his head, digging out his keys.
Sam slouched his tall frame down in the car seat as Dean started the Impala. “Yeah - sort of a no-brainer. Would we rather deal with a deadly, magical creature that can easily fly down and turn us into two human bonfires, or would we rather deal with Uriel?”
Both of the Winchesters were silent for a moment, before Dean spoke up, “... Y'know, thinking that over?”
“Rather it be the dragon?” Sam nodded his head in firm agreement. “Yeah.” He glanced sideways at Dean. “Maybe we should call Cas. You know. Just to be sure on the Seal issue.”
Dean's hands gripped then relaxed on the steering wheel. “You mean, actually use this incredibly powerful and badass resource to our advantage?”
“Yes.” Sam said firmly, looking over at his brother.
“Call upon the forces our own personal heavenly hitter to help us save innocent lives?” Dean arched an eyebrow over at his brother. “OR are we callin' in an angel of the lord to help us with a problem like millions of others we've handled, on our own, just so you can grill him like you've been grilling me?”
Damn. Busted. Sam rolled his eyes, saying emphatically, “Dean.” In Winchester-speak, that is the equivalent of Sam pointing out that the more that his brother avoided the issue the more Sam was going either push or worry - both are in his purview to do as the younger brother sworn to bolster his older, more stubborn than anything, brother.
Dean spared him a sideways look, green eyes going blazing, with a simple warning note to his, “Sam.” Clearly stating that it was not a topic he was going to get into, save if he was bleeding to death or they found themselves mixed up with another Fallen angel.
Sam glared for another moment, sighed, and shook his head a little. “You know how I know you're gay? Because you're acting like you two made out or something, and you don't want your friends on the football team to find out.” He thought about that, blinked, and then sat up a little. “Wait...”
The Impala abruptly stopped, and Dean shifted in his seat far enough to jab a finger at his brother. “Outta the car.”
Sam stared. “... are you honestly kicking me out of the car because I'm accusing you of making out with the angel and not telling me?”
“One, I did not make out with the angel.” Dean's eyes flickered, making the statement seem believable and yet off in a way that Sam didn't get. “Two, I am not kicking you out for it. I am kicking you out because there's a diner, I'm hungry, so I want you to go order us some food to go while I go to fill up the Impala.” He paused, and sighed. “And three - I really don't want to talk about it. Not right now.”
Sam pursued his lips, before he started to open the car door, threatening with a gentle under-bite. “I'm not going to let this drop, Dean.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Dean grumbled, staring at his hands and not at Sam. Sam sighed again, and started to walk towards the diner, when suddenly his brother yelled, “Don't forget the pie!”
Sam turned, one hand on the railing of the diner, glaring back at the car. “It was One Time, Dean.”
“One time too many.” Dean stabbed a finger at him. “Blueberry. With ice cream, if they got it.”
Sam shook his head, completely confused. Sure, Dean loved pie. He had a practically dirty relationship with it. However, he usually treated his pie like he ... well, treated his women. Different every time he had it. But for the past couple of days, all he ordered was blueberry. Sam was starting to worry about the remains of the blueberry crop outlasting his brother's desire to consume the small, round fruit. “What, again?”
There it was again, that twitchy look on Dean's face. “Yes, again!”
Sam watched the Impala drive off, the pit in his stomach sinking. It wasn't just the sudden craving for blueberry pie, or even the evasiveness. These past few days, Dean had this look in his eyes that Sam just couldn't place. He'd seen Dean through some of the toughest moments of both of their lives - he'd seen Dean be angry, be happy, be hard, be soft, be grief stricken beyond all imagination. There wasn't an expression, an attitude that Sam hadn't seen cross Dean's face.
Until now.
The look in his brother's eyes was desperation, but not quite. Confusion, but not really. Aggravation, sort of. Tension lined his face when he was awake, but now Dean slept like a baby. The nightmares - memories - of Hell only surfaced once during their trip. Sam had shaken him awake, and Dean just nodded his head in mute thanks before he got up, muttering about needing something to help him sleep. Sam worried it was going to be another bottle of Jack, but instead Dean had gotten twenty chicken mcnuggets and more honey than necessary to eat them. Sam sat awake for an hour or two, waiting to see if Dean would talk about it, but he just sat there on his bed, sucking honey off his fingers and staring at the television.
Sam sighed, as he pulled out his cellphone. He couldn't imagine what could be going through Dean's head. To go to Hell - to suffer such pain, to endure it for so damned long, and then to finally succumb ... it was Dean's own personal Hell, to give up. Sam felt his chest tighten every single time he thought of that, of what Dean had done for him. That Dean wasn't completely insane when he came out of the ground was some kind of miracle.
Now, though, Sam was starting to wonder, and in that wonder, he wanted - no, needed to know what Cas had said to Dean to make Sam's older brother act like, well. Like he was on crack.
What could an angel say to drive Dean crazy? What could an angel do to Dean that seemed to unnerve him?
Sam clenched a fist at his side. Maybe another threat to send Dean below? Maybe one more leveled in Sam's direction. That'd be enough to drive either one of the Winchesters over the edge at this point. He suddenly sighed, and let his fingers uncurl, feeling the blood flow back into them. No. Uriel might be arrogant enough to try that tired one-trick-pony shit again. Not Cas. Not after that talk. Castiel knew better, and more importantly, he cared. That was the thing - Sam knew that Castiel thought of Dean as pretty much the best thing ever. It was in the angel's eyes, in his every movement when he was focused on the elder Winchester. And Dean? C'mon. Cas had gone from 'dick' to 'ally' so fast that it made Sam's head spin. There was also the not-so-small matter of the clothing that Dean firmly insisted they needed to stock up on.
Castiel wouldn't hurt Dean, unless Dean pushed him too far.
Sam rolled his eyes mentally as he turned to climb up the short flight of stairs that led to the diner's entrance. It was Dean. Of course he would push the angel too far. He had, and would probably do again, driven the angel to aggravation more than once. Dean actually made the angel a little crazy. The only thing Sam worried about was 'what kind of crazy?' Good crazy or bad crazy?
Hah. Only in his universe could there be good and bad crazy for the Divine Host.
He pushed open the door to the diner and eyed the phone in his hand again, before going to grab a menu. The smells of grease and nutmeg assaulted his nose as he took a seat at the counter. He never had any of Dean's ease with waitresses, but he got by on simple politeness and sincerity. He smiled at the waitress at the counter as he ordered Dean the greasiest thing he could find, with a cobb salad and french fries for himself. Along with a large hunk of their blueberry pie, which apparently was a local specialty. That'd make Dean happy.
The pie arrived first, in a clear plastic container. Sam glared at it balefully, willing it to give him some kind of insight. The pie was annoyingly silent on the matter.
He sighed. Hell, maybe the angel had made some sort of pass at Dean. It wouldn't be the first time, after all. Heaven seemed to like Dean as much as they didn't like Sam, which struck him as all colors of the ironic rainbow. Sam tried to imagine Cas leaning against something, maybe a doorway, trying one of the million lines Dean drawled out at one time or another to some pretty bartender on the man himself.
Sam couldn't honestly say that he was surprised that his imagination decided to pull a blue-screen of death on that particular notion.
He tapped the phone twice against the counter, before flipping it open and hitting the number 'two' on his speed dial. In a situation like this, it was time to call the man who more likely than often had the answers - from how to kill a particular monster to why the sky was blue. Bobby had been good for answers as long as Sam could remember.
He held his breath, listening to the phone ring once - twice - three times.
2. Where Bobby Smacks Of Some Verbal Sense
Robert Singer.
Heya, Bobby.
Hey, Sam! How are you, kid?
Oh, you know. Usual. Busy. We might be hunting a dragon. Or Godzilla. Either one of them is out of place in South Dakota, heh.
... Right. What's wrong?
Ah. How did you -
You're cracking jokes and you sound nervous. Pretty big neon sign o' Wrong, boy, when a Winchester doesn't get to the point.
It's just. It's well. It's Dean.
Is it the nightmares again?
No, not ... exactly. I mean, he's been having less of them.
That's good! ... That is good, isn't it?
Yes. Just. He's acting really weird, Bobby.
Like not himself? You think he might be possessed?
No. No no no. I mean, if it was a possession I would be asking what kind of creature thrives off of blueberry pie.
...Blueberry pie?
Every day, for the past four days.
All right, that is a little ... weird.
And he won't tell me what happened with Castiel. I mean, at first I thought it was funny. He was worried about whether or not the vessel was going to be warm for winter, and we talked about getting Cas some clothes - but then he just wouldn't talk about whatever went down between them.
Anything else?
Well ... when he did have a ..a nightmare, he walked out and I thought he would come back with liquor? Drink it off, like he's been doing lately. Turns out he ended up at McDonald's. He ordered some nuggets, and like ... fifty packets of honey. Which he ate.
What's wrong with eating nuggets?
Nothing. He just ... he ate all the honey, too. He sucked it down like he needed it more than air.
So lemme get this straight - he's not getting drunk, he's eating regular - even if it is honey and blueberry pie, and he's actually getting some sleep. All after he started talking to the angel, a conversation that he's not talking about.
Yes.
Well. I'll be damned... not literally. Well, hopefully. Alright, gonna go out on a limb here, Sam ... but I think Dean is happy.
I - ah - what? Happy? Dean!?
Did I stutter, boy?
Bobby, I've seen Dean happy. There's usually a girl and nudity involved. Or ...pie, for breakfast, not with the girl and nudity. I hope. Anyways, this is not Dean happy. I don't know what this Dean is, but it is not ... yeah.
Sam, you're a bright boy. Real smart with your Stanford education n'all. But sometimes - you're thicker than engine oil. I'll simplify it for you, so you don't feel like a complete dolt later on. Dean's not temporarily on endorphins happy - he's Happy. Capital H.
But ... if he's so Happy, capital H, why is he acting like such a damned freak?
Sam, when have you ever known your brother to think he deserves anything but the worse this world has to offer? He might be Happy, but God only knows your brother ain't gonna settle into that easy.
That ... actually makes a lot of sense.
You wanna help your brother? Find out what's makin' him happy, then smack some sense into him. Boy's gone to Hell, and back, and dragged your emotional baggage down with him. Make sure he grabs onto this, whatever it might be, and holds on tight. Idjit is bound to let it go because he thinks he's undeserving.
How do I do that, when I don't even know what has him acting so freaky-happy in the first place?
Well, Sam, I suggest you go poking where it started. Start with the angel.
3. Where Dean Is Waiting, And Waiting, And Waiting...
Dean flipped open the fuel door to the Impala, stuck the nozzle in and pushed in the automatic tab to keep the gas pumping. He turned and leaned against the car, looking out to the street, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders. Normalcy. He needed some fucking normalcy. Nothing was more normal than feeding his baby, before going to pick up Sam, finding a hotel, eating a load of greasy food, and then hunting some kind of virgin snatching monster. Perfectly normal day.
Well, for him, anyways.
Two college girls, probably barely in their twenties, walked past the gas station, bundled up in snug little winter coats and even snugger hip-hugging jeans. The blonde only glanced over, but the brunette gave him a considering look that he had gotten in far, far too many bars on Saturday night. He returned it with a nod and a little smirk, something that had gotten him into far, far, faaaaaaar too many beds. This was also awesomely normal. Again, for him.
The brunette turned to her friend, whispering, and the blonde turned to give him a long look over her shoulder. She obviously liked what she saw (and who could blame her?) because she gave him a big wink. She and the brunette continued to walk on, but their hips had an entirely new swivel that Dean definitely liked, and wanted to see more of. He considered following them - after all his virgin barrier had only been breached like, twice? Far, far too little, all things considered ...
A stab of guilt firmly stuck itself between his ribs, and he scowled, cursing as he looked away. Damnit. He was just looking. Okay, and thinking of following, and maybe doing a few other things that required his hands and other parts of his body. He was a guy. This is what guys did. On either side of the fence. Even Sam, and he was so hard up he had sex with a demon.
Well, Ruby, at any rate. Who was a demon, and shouldn't be trusted, but it wasn't like Sam banged the Anti-Christ. Maybe. Crap, the less he thought about this the better he'd feel.
Which, conversely and perversely, brought him back to being guilty again. Okay, sure, he and the angel didn't have any kind of .... arrangement. Or anything. Just a whole lotta potential, and hellva lot of spark. But that didn't equal to much if he didn't know where the hell they stood. There was this space - between liking someone and doing something about it - and for Dean that space usually lasted all of thirty seconds. It did not last four days.
Four frigging days. Four long, frustrating, beating his hands against the steering wheel, eating nothing but blueberry pie because Goddamnit, his entire mind was besieged with the color blue, days. All the time his head going, what is Castiel going to say, like a fucking girly girl and that just made Dean angrier and more frustrated because he was Dean Winchester. He didn't do chick flicks, he didn't do scented candles and he sure as hell didn't do softly toliet paper sensitive over a fucking angel.
It also made him feel guilty, because didn't Cas tell him in their first little bitter and dreamed heart to heart that he couldn't stay perched on his shoulder all the time? That he was out there, fighting battles Dean could barely imagine, and losing his brothers. Dean tried imagining losing Sam six times over, in one week. His chest started doing weird things, and he stopped thinking about it. He couldn't be a selfish bastard about this. Cas was saving the world. Had to cut the man some slack.
Four frigging days worth.
Didn't help in the slightest that he clammed up to Sam about it, because for fuck's sake, how the hell could he explain this to Sam? Sam, the one who actually prayed. Sam, who looked up to him. Sam who he had gone to Hell for, and really was looking at a return trip for what he was thinking about one singular, trench-coat wearing divine being. Because maybe he believed Cas when he said no one was going to Hell for feeling what Dean was feeling, but that was when the angel was looking at him. Everything made sense when he looked at Castiel - Castiel believed so long, so fully in Dean, in all that the angel thought he, Dean Winchester, was capable of ... it was hard not to.
Dean wanted to believe. He wanted to think that he was worth something - that his failures could be wiped clean by an angel's devotion and a brother's love - and vice-versa. He held onto that thin little thread, knowing every single day was a fight to not let it go. Because otherwise he'd be drowning in doubts - that he didn't deserve any of this. He didn't deserve Sam's forgiveness for what he did in Hell, or Castiel's faith that he could and would find his own place in God's frigging great plan. Not even all the happy little moments he was starting to string together, back into a semblance of a life.
He wanted. But wanting and actually believing were a world of difference.
He sighed, glanced at the gas gage, and clicked off. He walked inside, grabbed some peanut M&M's to stave off the hunger, and headed to the counter to pay. He smiled at the gas attendant as he took out his wallet - just one of his regular, 'hey-how-are-ya?' smiles that had done him so well over the years. Something caught his eye, and he blinked as he stared at the air freshener rack. There was one shaped like an angel - with black tipped wings no less - that stated it would make his car smell 'just like heaven'. He snorted, paused, then snagged it up and put it next to the package of M&M's, justifying it as necessary expenditure. After all, Sam did tend to smell up the place.
He tucked the air freshener into his pocket, because fuck he didn't want to deal with another series of Sam-Inquisition questions, and got back into the Impala. By the time he circled around back to the front of the diner, there his brother was waiting with two white paper bags. He blinked, stopped the car long enough for Sam to climb in, and then pulled back into traffic. “That was speedy. Hope you tipped well.”
Sam glanced over at him, and Dean felt his shoulders bunch a little, almost in preparing himself for the battle of wills ahead. But instead Sam just shrugged, and looked ahead, “Naturally. I got your pie, too, so no hissy fits.” Dean watched his brother slouch in his seat. “I also figured out our game plan.”
“Yeah? Hit me.” Dean popped a blue M&M in his mouth, feeling himself relax again.
“First, room and food. Then, you should go investigate the areas where the victims disappeared, while I go check up in the college library -- they should have a more through history of the area. So I can see if it's anything else, but dragons.” Sam counted off.
Dean nodded his head. Neat and concise. He covered the ground while Sam covered the brainwork. He hated to think it, but Sam really was a great hunter. “Sounds good - then you'll give me a call if you think of anything?”
“Yep. And you do the same.” Sam nodded, rapping his fingers against the dashboard.
Dean blinked, then allowed his eyes to narrow. “Hey, what's up with you?”
Sam stared at him for a second, as if trying to comprehend what he's saying, before he blinked and said slowly. “Dean ... we're possibly going against a creature that no one has seen for hundreds of years. I won't lie and say I'm not as recalcitrant on the matter as you are.”
“There you go, using fifty cent words when you could say you're about two minutes away from wetting your pants.” Dean offered his brother a smirk, which got him a roll of the eyes and a half a smile.
“Fine, you troglodyte.” Sam snorted softly. “I'm wigged. I'm fucking wigged. Beyond the whole --” he waved his hand, “You know, war? This is the biggest thing we've handled. And we're handling it on our own.”
“Well, think about it this way. Against these sorts of odds - we're the underdogs. And the underdogs always get a shot. You know, like the Justice League against ... just about anything.” Dean waved his hand, before he felt a full-on grin tugging on his face. “Remember. I'm Batman.”
Sam gave him another flat look. “How could I ever forget?” His brother shook his head. “I'm not Robin, by the way.”
“No fucking kidding. You'd never fit in those dinky leotards.” He tilted his head, considering. “I'll be generous. You can be Nightwing.”
“Oh thanks, so much.” Sam replied dryly, as Dean let out a laugh, and pulled into one of the local motels, just one of the thousands they had stayed in. He started to get out of the car, when Sam suddenly spoke, “Hey, Dean?”
Dean slipped the keys out of the ignition, giving his brother another half waiting, half suspicious look. He didn't know what happened between the time he got gas and now, but Sam seemed to have shifted gears. There was that expression on his face, like he just figured out how to get the answer but knew it was going to take grace and tact, not bluntness and bullets, as Dean was apt to. It made Dean real nervous, to have that look turned on him, but all Sam said was, “You're doing good.”
Dean frowned at that, trying to process if that was a statement, a question, or an assertion that what they were doing was on the right path. He leaned back a little, looking at Sam intently, who met his gaze with a calm that seemed ... familiar. He felt one corner of his lip curl up, “Yeah. I guess I am.”
Sam smiled at him - the smile that made the corners of Dean's world just a little bit brighter, a little bit more manageable -- and clapped his brother on the shoulder, before grabbing the food and exiting the car. Dean watched after him as Sam loped into the office, getting them a room, mulling over his own answer. He was still stewing that over two hours later, while he wandered off the path where the third and fourth victims had disappeared. He walked past the police tape - his badge-of-the-day making him out to be a National Forest Ranger - and beyond it. He wasn't going to find anything in the blood spatters; there were no bodies after all.
He was doing good.
He tasted that on the tip of his tongue, in a mouth that still felt like it was biting into sweet, blueberry pie, and found it strangely true. He wasn't breaking down, he wasn't succumbing to memories of Hell. It didn't hurt to feel, anymore. Oh sure, things were still shit and he wasn't exactly going to be winning the most positive and optimistic award of the Apocalypse, but in general ... yeah. Things could be worse. A lot worse.
“I'm doing good.” He said out-loud to himself, and smiled. “I'm awesome. I'm frigging Bat-Man.”
The universe replied with a puddle, six inches deep, still filled with the water from the last storm that had rolled through the area, in which he stepped in, nearly past the top of his sturdy workboots. He paused, winced, and started cursing as he looked, “God. Damn. Sonnvabitch!” He glared up at the sky. “You don't have enough to do?” He muttered as he started to pull out his boot again. “What kinda stupid god takes time out of an Apocalypse to play practical fucking jokes, that's my fucking ... question.”
He stared at the puddle. The ... giant puddle. The giant, claw-shaped puddle. He started looking through the underbrush, and spotted a second, perhaps five to six feet away from him. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, exhaled, and slowly lifted his gaze upwards. About twenty feet off the air, a tree had been seared clean off. With fire.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips. “Dragons. Why the hell did it have to be dragons?” He picked up his phone, flipped it open, and hit the one on his speed-dial. It was on the fourth or fifth ring when Sam finally picked up, and at first Dean wasn't sure it was him, because the voice that greeted him was so hoarse. “...Sam?”
“Dean. Hey.” Sam's voice was quiet - a little too quiet. “What's up?”
“A lot, but answer a more pressing question for me first. Are you okay?” He asked, frowning a little.
“Huh? I'm fine.” Sam lowered his voice even more, and it sounded like he was ducking under something.
“Oh-kay.” Dean said slowly. “... Then why are you whispering?”
There was a long pause. A very, very long pause, before Sam spoke slowly. “Be-cause I'm still in the library?”
“Ah.” Well, that made sense. Didn't make sense why Sam was acting all cagey about it, but that was a situation that could be pounded into later. “So, I've got bad news, and then I've got worse news. It's a dragon - and from what I can see here - it's a big one.”
There was a silence, then Sam cursing, followed by him apologizing to someone, before he sighed into the phone. “Well, then you aren't going to like this any better. I've managed to do some solid research - dragons are known to be magical creatures, and wily besides.”
“Yeah, tell me something I don't know?” Dean said wryly, as he started trudging up the hill, keeping an eye out for other large claw prints. Several of them appeared around the site, and he shook his head on how he could have missed them.
“Dragons can make themselves invisible.” Sam answered simply.
Dean stopped in his tracks, his voice becoming sharp, “I'm sorry, what?”
“Well, they're giant lizards, right? From what I've been able to find - dragons abruptly disappeared from view at the end of the medieval era, when most of their kind was hunted to near extinction. Yet there are still reports of - well, burnt buildings and mysterious prints - but no dragon. I think they developed it as a survival instinct - some lizards have developed the ability to blend into the background to protect themselves. A genetic trait that's been passed down for thousands of years.” Dean could almost see Sam shrugging under the table at the library. “So, dragons developed something kinda similar. They made themselves invisible to the mortal eye.”
Dean pressed the heel of his hand to his eye, whispering hoarsely. “Are you frigging telling me that we have to deal with a giant, fire-breathing creature ... that is fucking invisible? We have to try and hunt a ... a ... a NINJA LIZARD?”
“Yeah.” Was Sam's reply, and it spoke volumes. Just that flat, almost despairing tone in his brother's voice made Dean want to find the damned dragon and wring it's leathery neck for making Sammy sound like that.
He heaved out a sigh, and spoke firmly. “Find out what kills a dragon. I'll meet you back at the room. We're taking this mother-fucker out.”
“Dean ...” Sam sounded surprised. Not displeased, just shocked.
“Sam. This is what we do. We hunt monsters, we save people. Dragons are just a bigger type of monster. We find it, we kill it, we save the day and have some goddamned victory beer.” Dean said firmly. “No ifs, ands, or buts.”
“All right.” Sam's voice was quiet, and then much firmer. “All right. Let me just finish up what I was doing here, and I'll meet you back at the room. Then we'll go take care of this dragon.”
“That's what I'm talking 'bout.” Dean said, feeling relief course through him. A little push, a little forward momentum. That's what this situation could use. “So get to it. I'll be back as soon as I can.”
He clicked off his phone, and looked down the slope grimly. Five lives at stake, (seven if he included Sam and himself, but the most he'd bump it up to was six - protect Sam, after all) and they had to figure out how to kill a dragon when dragons were about as likely as a slow week or a favor paid back in spades. They had done it before. They could do it again.
He just wished those footprints were smaller.
Or his dad was here.
Or his angel.
Dean looked up to the sky, patterned in sunlight and clouds, before taking in a deep breath and shouting at the top of his lungs, “CASTIEL!”
The sound of the angel's name echoed through the wooded valley.
But the angel didn't come.
Enough. Enough of this shit. Dean swallowed his disappointment, and started the long trudge up the wooded hill towards the Impala. He had work to do.
He's goddamned Batman. And Batman never managed to figure out his love life either.
Continued here...
Updated! Now fully complete, just follow the link at the bottom, please and thank you.