SPN Fic
Title: Conversations with Angels (5/5)
Author: Commodoresexual
Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam, Castiel, Ruby, or Uriel. Or any other heavenly creatures, sad to say.
Rating: PG-13 for language and dirty, dirty porn!thoughts. No porn. (yeeeet)
Genre/Pairing: Dean, Sam, Castiel, Ruby, Uriel, and OMAC. Dean/Castiel, Sam/Ruby hinted.
Warnings: Spoilers up through 4.10, and at this point I can safely say? AU universe. Yet again, this is my interpretation of God, his Angels, and the whole kitandkaboodle. No smitey! Also, any similarities between totally hot and amazing British actors and characters in this story is completely, ah, coincidental. Maybe. Ahem.
Notes: Well this is it, the last chapter in the Conversations with Angels main arc. It's been a hellva fun ride, and personally I'm looking forward to digging more into this universe that I've created. Also, I blame all of you. Yep. All of you. Whatever comes out of my demented brain after this is your fault for inspiring me with your praise and love. If Kripke ever comes for my ass, I'm pointing him in your direction. Just sayin'.
I also want to dedicate part of this fic to tracey_loo_woo, and teh_blackspy. You two know exactly what you're responsible for, and thank you so much for it. It made this story much richer than I thought it could be.
Summary: Three things are necessary for the salvation of man: to know what he ought to believe; to know what he ought to desire; and to know what he ought to do.
Also, for those just joining us?
First Conversation
Second Conversation
Third Conversation
Fourth Conversation
If a man is not rising upwards to be an angel, depend upon it, he is sinking downwards to be a devil. ~Samuel Taylor Coleridge
1. Where Good Meets Evil, For Coffee
Castiel had learned to expect many things from the diners that Sam and Dean liked to frequent. For example - their syrup would always come in one of those little plastic jugs, and it would almost always be warm. There would always be some sort of cheeseburger meal and it would inevitably be called the 'deluxe' something or other. The waitresses would always call him 'sweetheart' and coo about his 'beautiful blue eyes'. There would be pie, and inevitably, Dean would order it.
What he did not expect, when he came to the local diner in Lansing, Michigan, was to see the demon Ruby demolishing a plate of cheese fries. Vague shock fluttered through the angel, then consternation. He did not think that Sam would be able to stop seeing the foul beast all together - Sam had spent too many months alone not to turn to the creature who had offered him physical if not spiritual comfort - but it was unpleasant to find her waiting for the young hunter.
He walked a little further into the diner, to let a boisterous group of customers in, who beamed at him, thanked him, and wished him a Merry Christmas. He nodded in turn, watching them as they bustled through towards a table, pulling off gloves and hats. He looked around - holly strewn around the windows - the cheap window stickers with cheery fat men, dressed in red. There was even a nativity scene, put near the cash register.
He tilted his head at the small clay figures with wings, thinking of 'fluffy white angels', before his mouth twisted faintly, and he turned his attention to the problem at hand. He would admit it was odd to find one of his kind here - but really - Ruby belonged here even less.
Especially if she was waiting for the Winchesters.
He slipped easily through the crowded diner, careful not to slip and fall on the splashes of wet, melted snow. He paused momentarily at Ruby's table, trying not to breath in the smell of sulfur and sin, before he sat himself down, and looked down at his fingers as he steepled them together. Only then did he lift his gaze, dark blue eyes narrowing on the woman's borrowed face, and he spoke without intonation. “Demon.”
He felt her body jerk backwards, her fingers lose their grip on a fork that landed on the table with a plink. He took in the shock on her face, the way she pressed her back against the seat of the booth. He watched, dispassionately, as her eyes flickered from solid back and then self-consciously back to dark brown. He watched, as she picked up and gripped the butter knife, glaring at him for a long moment, before she spat out one word. “Angel.”
They only had a moment to glower at each other, before a waitress sauntered over to their table, not looking up from her ordering pad to notice the crackling tension between Castiel and Ruby. “Hey hun, what can I get for you?”
Castiel paused, listening as John-the-vessel went through the varying beverages, and finally said. “Coffee, please. With real milk on the side. I shall order later.”
“'Kay. You all right here, hun? Need a refill?” The waitress asked, her tone polite but bored.
Ruby kept watching Castiel warily - while he merely kept her gaze without blinking - and muttered quietly. “Another Coke. Please.”
The waitress nodded, and turned on one heel, and Ruby's gaze flickered to her, and to all the people around her. Castiel followed her gaze, and finally their eyes met again. He felt his lips press more firmly together. “No. I will not attack you in the midst of all these people. Innocent lives need not be lost because of you.” He paused, and added with a hint of irony, “Again.”
Ruby snorted low in her borrowed throat, but she slowly lowered the butter knife to the table. “High and mighty talk, Angel, coming from someone who was willing to exterminate one of his own.”
His eyes narrowed, a touch. “To keep her from your kith and kin? Death would have been a mercy.” He lowered his voice. “Or have you forgotten, demon? I have been to Hell. I have seen the handiwork of the Hordes. Do not play moralistic for me. We would have merely ended her life. Your people would have torn her soul asunder.”
Ruby looked off from the window, her expression flickering through varying ugly emotions, before she glared back at him. “They're not my 'people'. There are demons and then there are demons. I'm not Alistair, and I never will be.”
Castiel canted his head at her, his gaze thoughtful and considering. “No. You are smarter than he is. He is a brute - a bully with a knife and a terrifying corral of torture methods. You take after your master, Azareal. Playing games with people's lives, twisting them with half-truths.”
Ruby's eyes widened, then narrowed, ebony black shivering through them. “I might have been Azareal's bitch, but he's long since gone, Clarence. As for Alastair, pretty funny that the guy who got bitched slapped by him is talking So Much Shit. Makes a girl think that you can't bring it the distance, Angel.”
Her smirk burned him, and brought the killing rage, but the waitress approached, bringing his coffee. He pulled his mouth up into a small smile of thanks, and slowly reached for the sugar. He stared at the white substance as he followed Dean's example, liberally pouring it into the bitter beverage. A few granules fall to the table, in a gesture he picked up from Sam he licked his finger and pressed it against the table, capturing the granules that escaped his cup. Only then did he speak, and his voice is gruff and mockingly mild. “And how is your stomach, Ruby?”
The demon swallowed at that, her hand going defensively to the spot below her breasts, as if assuring herself that it is in fact, still there. She snarled out a soft, “Just fine, you gigantic flying prick. Aren't you afraid to be walking around without your guard dog Uriel to protect you?”
He put the spoon into his coffee, swirling it around, fascinated by how the milk sank in deeper, swirl by swirl. His tone is contemplative. “My attention was elsewhere, with Alistair. Do not mistake my power for one fluke.” He tapped the spoon lightly against the side of the mug, and met Ruby's gaze again coldly. “With the right motivation, I could be moved to destroy you and Alastair in the same breath.”
“So glad I'm on the popular hit list. Tell me, is it because I helped your little angel friend, because I'm a demon, or because I'm just so much prettier than you?” She smirked again, but this time it was more bravado than anything else, perhaps sensing the truth in his words. She was scared of him.
Good. Hopefully she would take the next words as seriously as he meant them.
“Being a demon would be enough to warrant your destruction.” He answered slowly. “But no. My reasons are my Orders. You interfere with my charge, you interfere with me.”
“The elder Winchester. I should have guessed.” She whispered, and her eyes narrowed. “Don't see why you'd be bothering me, then. I have about as much use for Dean as I do for … oh gosh, you.”
“That is one problem.” He turned the mug slowly, marveling off the heat coming off the plain white, ceramic mug. “Considering your blaise attitude, I am sure you would have no problem sacrificing Dean to whatever ends you are trying to meet.”
One corner of her mouth curved up. “Well, well. Maybe the angel's smarter than he seems.”
“The angel is a deal smarter than you.” He picked up the mug finally, looking at her placidly, “If you honestly believe that Sam will chose you over Dean, greater the fool you, demon.”
Something cold settled over Ruby's face, and she picked up one of her fries. “You don't know anything about Sam. Remember, Dean's your particular creepy obsession? You just can't get enough of staring at him longingly, batting your big blue eyes in his direction. I don't know if they told you this upstairs, but Dean doesn't like boys, sweetie, not even if they're angel boys. Certainly not for fucking.”
Castiel tilts his head at the demon, contemplative, sipping his coffee. It needed more sugar. He put it down and reached for the container. “I see. Well. Then I believe someone should have told him that.”
He wasn't entirely sure what to make of her face when the demon started choking on her french fries, but for some reason it made him want to smile.
2. Where Brothers Enter The Scene, Sort Of
“Coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee.” Sam chanted as he huddled in his coat, huffing on his hands. Michigan was having one of its colder spells, and it was starting to seep through his bones. “Dude, seriously, no one is going to scratch your baby all the way out here.”
Dean turned off the car, for the fourth time, before turning it back on again. “Ye-ah, but if I park it a little further off...”
“Dean.” Sam's voice was flat, and he glared at his brother across the front seat. “If you park the car any further out, we will be in Ohio.”
Dean glared over at his younger brother, rolled his eyes, and turned off the car. “If anything happens to the Impala!”
“You will do horrible things to my person, blah blah blah, Dean smash.” Sam climbed out of the car, starting to chant again. “Sam cold. Need coffee. Coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee.”
“The first sign of addiction is acting like a whiny bitch.” Dean answered flatly, but he's looking towards the diner eagerly as Sam is. “C'mon. Let's feed your beast.”
Sam's answer was a continued, “Coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, “ even though he tossed his brother a large teasing smile.
Dean snorted a laugh, as they both speed walk across the icy parking lot to the front door, and inside. Sam forgot the cold long enough look around, smiling. The place is decked in Christmas - wreaths and ornaments and those cheezy stickers in the windows. There's also a perfect little nativity set by the front register. He brightened immediately - after all this was still his favorite holiday - and he nudged Dean with one elbow. “Hey. Haven't told me what you wanted yet, this year.”
Dean was looking around himself, bemused and a little skeptical. When he turned to glance at his brother, his voice was wry. “For Christmas? Well, I haven't gotten the latest issue of Busty Asian Beauties. Plus the Impala probably could use some anti-freeze.”
Sam rolled his eyes, as they headed off towards an empty booth, past the register and towards the back. The place is a madhouse of locals, and waitresses were carrying their orders in between people jabbering happily at one another over plates of food and glasses filled with carbonated beverages. He settled himself down, rubbing his hands together again, just to get some feeling into them, speaking firmly. “I mean it, Dean. We're going to do Christmas right this year. Tree, gift, presents … and lying low.”
Dean arched an eyebrow as he flopped himself down, “Yeah, okay … can I ask why?”
Sam pursued his lips, as he tapped his fingers down on the table, looking anywhere from his brother. Heartwarming moments were hard for Dean - and quite frankly Sam's heart was a little sore lately too. Things had gotten … better, but he didn't want to push it too hard. So he shrugged, and looked at Dean. “It's Christmas. We're together. It's just, you know.”
“A miracle.” Dean answered simply, his eyes flickering thoughtfully. “It's a frigging miracle we're together this year.” He slung one arm across the back of the booth, tilting his head with an easy smile. “Alright Sammy. Real Christmas this year. Tree, presents, no huntin'.” The smile twisted into a smirk. “We can even write letters to Santa.”
Sam lifted one eyebrow back, skeptical but amused. “And since when did you believe in Jolly St. Nick?”
Dean snorted softly. “I didn't believe in angels and look where that fucking got me.”
“Well...” Sam squinted one eye, pretending to think it over. “First it got you out of Hell. Then it got you a job as God's Golden Boy. After that, and because you're a lippy man-brat, it nearly got you thrown back in again.” He met Dean's gaze, and they both winced a little. Sam shook it off to snort. “Then it got you laid.” Dean held up one finger, grinning wickedly, making Sam roll his eyes. “Yes, yes, I know - and hopefully, it will help you get laid again.” He smirked. “Which all in all, makes you a dirty angel de-flowerer, so I'm not sure you should be too proud of that.”
Dean opened his mouth to protest, but that was the point when their waitress showed up, a pretty young woman with highlighted honey blonde hair and a faint dusting of freckles across her nose. She flashed them both a smile, putting one hand on her hip. “Hello, gentlemen, you ready to order yet?”
Sam watched, with no little humor, as Dean switched on his best 'hi-pretty-lady' grin. “Not just yet, but you'll make our evening if you get us two coffees.”
“Large coffees.” Sam added firmly, flashing her his own 'aw-gee-shucks' smile. “Please.”
She took out her pad, scribbled down their coffees, then offered them a dimpled grin. “Be back in a few.”
Both Winchesters watched her leave, but Sam pulled his gaze away first to intone piously to the back of Dean's head. “Two-timing angel deflowerer, no less.”
Dean spun around, jabbing one finger in Sam's direction. “Dude. I was just looking. Cas will not smite for just looking.” He paused, frowning. “I think.”
Sam shrugged, an overly innocent expression on his face. “I'd double-check on that one, dude.”
“Well, I'd mock you about your love life - but since it's frigging non-existant, or just plain fucking wrong …” Sam felt his expression tighten, and Dean heaved out a sigh. “Jesus, sorry. Asshole thing to say.”
Sam wet his lips, shrugging, even as he felt the tension roll through his body. “Yeah - well - maybe I'd kick your ass … if you weren't right.” He sighed, looking at the ceiling, finally admitting to Dean, and himself. “It's hard. All this, not using my gifts. Not trusting Ruby after letting her guard my back for four months. But … but Cas is right. You were gone, and I was looking for the easy answers. One of them was Ruby.” He looked at his brother, feeling that pressing, hard feeling of sadness settle on his chest again. “I won't lie and say I didn't know I fucked up. I just won't say that I feel guilty for thinking that she could change. Can change. Maybe.” He sighed. “I don't know, Dean. Am I crazy? Thinking that a demon would change sides for - “ He forced himself not to say 'love' and said instead, “ - for me?”
Dean nodded his head slowly, and answered with a simple. “Hell yes.” Sam snorted, finding his mouth curve upwards at the corners, and Dean gave him a tired smile in turn, before shrugging his own broad shoulders. “But - damn, dude. If it were possible, you're the only person I'd believe could pull it off. You just … you believe in the best, Sammy. I've been worried about you - how tough you've become, how hard you've had to make yourself. So I'm real fucking glad that the side of you that still - y'know, believes in Santa , and God, and that everything can be saved, is there.”
Sam cleared his throat, smiling down at his hands, feeling better. Feeling like he did when Cas offered him his hand openly. “Thanks, Dean.”
“You really want to thank me? Stop acting like such a damned little girl. Jesus.” Dean scoffed, although a smile tugged at his lips. “Getting all 'oh woe hug me'. You keep this up and Santa's gonna have to bring you a Barbie Dreamhouse to go with your dollies.”
Sam felt there was only way to respond, and so the corresponding Sweet 'N Low packet hit his brother right in the forehead. “Ass.”
Dean snickered as he responded with a small jam container. “Pussy.”
The waitress returned with their coffees, saying cheerily that she'd be right back to grab their orders, and she might have tossed a wink at Dean, but all Sam could see was that big, beautiful cup of coffee. He dragged it towards him as Dean picked up the sugar container and poured an unhealthy amount of sugar into his own cup before he pushed it towards Sam. Sam, in turn, licked the tip of his finger, pressed the digit to the table to catch the spilled sugar, as he poured a reasonable amount into his own cup.
The coffee warmed him. The moment of just brotherly understanding, though, did a lot more to improve his mood. He sucked the sugar on his finger into his mouth, feeling a little more settled. Whatever Ruby had to say - whatever he had to say to her in turn - it was all just going to wait. It was Christmas, he was here with his family, and they were going to do it right this time. No Santa demons this year, that was for damned sure.
Dean apparently was of the same mind, because when the waitress came back to take their order, he flashed her a bigger grin than usual. “And if we could get two extra place-mats and some crayons? We'd be forever grateful, Carolyn.”
“Yeah sure … but aren't you two a little too old to need to draw to behave yourself?” Carolyn dimpled in turn.
“Well maybe, but we're never too old to write out our lists for Santa, right Sam?” Dean purred out, smooth as butter. His brother just had a charm knack. Sam went with a guileless smile, and the waitress laughed, and promised to get their orders in, and then bring back the place-mats and crayons.
He met Dean's gleaming hazel-green gaze, and they smiled, before sipping their coffee in peace. They were in perfect agreement - they were going to make this Christmas count. Nothing short of Heaven and Hell was going to stop them, either.
Well, Sam could dream, anyways.
3.Where Good And Evil Fight, With Extreme Sarcasm
“You're lying!” Ruby hissed in his direction, and Castiel cannot help but see the creature beneath the skin then, black and ugly, but still... strangely human in her disbelief. He put down the sugar container, just arching an eyebrow at her, and she heaved out a breath, anger replaced with shock. “...But angels … can't lie. Fuck me, Dean bagged another angel?”
Castiel frowned - because for one the word 'bagged' had too many connotations, and secondly because well, that wasn't necessarily true. Yet. He felt something low throb in his stomach and relished the feeling as he spoke. “That is inaccurate.”
“That is inaccurate … wait. So he hasn't. So you're lying.” She scoweled in confusion. “Angels can't lie!”
“We cannot.” He sipped his coffee, wondering which he was enjoying more - Ruby's expression or the thought of Dean 'bagging' him, like Dean did Anna. After a moment of contemplation he decided the 'bagging' option.
While he contemplated, there was a moment of silence where Ruby fumed in front of him, jabbing a finger at him. “So you're either sleeping with Dean, or you're not and you're lying. You can't do both.”
“Why not? You are a demon and you're claiming to help the Winchesters, two very well known hunters from a family of well known hunters. Contradictions seem to be your forte.” He picked up the coffee again, breathing in the faintly sweet, faintly bitter scent. “I do not see why it can be in your purview and not in mine.”
“I am helping the Winchesters - included your .. maybe-butt buddy.” Ruby snorted, pointing with one french fry. “Just because you don't like the package it comes in, Wing-boy, doesn't mean the help isn't sincere.”
“And if it what's inside the package is rotten?” He met her gaze without blinking, without turning away. “What if all that is inside is malice, and greed, and the desire for self-preservation that stinks of cowardice? Ruby the silver-tongued, that's what they call you, is it not? The maker of crooked deals, the double-crosser. The first one out the door when the hunters come. They tell many tales of you, demon, and none of them are as pretty as you claim to be.”
The demon was staring hard down at the table, and once or twice her gaze drifted to the butter knife as if she wished to put it some place in his vessel's body, but instead she looked to him, dark eyes filled with bitterness. “You don't know anything about me.”
“Don't I?” Still, he pinned her with his gaze.
“No. You don't.” She met his gaze now. “You been to Hell? Well big fucking deal. Try living there. Try being there day after day, year after year, century after century. It is horrible. It is nothing but endless miles and miles of fucking horrible, and I'd sooner bring scouring acid to the Earth than Hell.” She heaved up a breath, “And yes, if that means backing the Winchesters, then so fucking well.”
He tilted his head at her, thoughtful, tasting the words from her lips against him, against the Divinity of Heaven. Then he shook his head faintly, “You are, apparently, a worse liar than me.”
He watched her face contort again. “Well if I'm not doing it because I hate Hell, then why am I doing it? I don't have any reason to - I backed Azareal, I might as well back Lillith if I'm as much of a coward as you say.”
“I do not know. Which is the problem, demon.” He tilted his head, leaning forward a little. “It is bad enough that you are - what you are. But you are willing to put it all on the line for Sam, everything that you are, that you have been, to see that he comes into his powers, no matter what the damnation to his soul. You will protect him, despite his brother, and you show him such devotion that it bespeaks of ...” His mouth twisted, as he thought of Uriel's words. How strangely fitting here. “... a dog, playing heel to her master.”
“Well I think you just answered your own question, Clarence.” She huffed, looking off out the window, then at him with a smirk. More bravado. “Obviously I'm backing the winning horse here in the run off to the Anti-Christ. Screw Lucifer, we could have Sam Winchester instead. Nothing better than a half-human, half-demon commanding the Hordes, don't you think?”
“That will not happen.” He answered softly, but more for his own benefit than for hers. For Dean's sake, and for Sam's, that could not happen. Brother need not destroy brother, if the angel had anything to say about it. Dean could not live without Sam, Sam could not live without Dean. Castiel could not lose either Winchester brother - because Sam had given his trust, Dean had given his love and Castiel could not fail them. Would not fail them. He had his doubts, but not in this.
“Oh yeah, and who is going to stop me? You?” She scoffed softly, her expression closed off, her hands balled into fists.
“Yes. Me.” He folded his hands around his cup, letting the words flow out of him like a soft moving poison, blue eyes never leaving dark brown. Suddenly feeling stronger and surer than he had for ages. His determination here was backed by every inch of his divinity, but things even greater than that. “I will end you, demon. I will rend you limb from limb in your mortal form. I will hunt down your demonic one and break it down to mere atoms, to be spread like dust across the sky. I will make you feel every inch of it, when I slowly destroy you. I will do all this, before I let you take Sam. Before I let you break Dean's heart, in such a way.” He put his hands flat on the table, not caring if anyone saw him, as he flared his Grace towards her, his voice low and flat. “You will not take Sam Winchester. I will not allow it.”
She stared at him, her eyes widening, as she shuddered at each word, her body twitching as if he had slapped her physically with them. She tried to speak, paused to pant for breath, then closed her eyes. Gritted her teeth together as she forced words out. “... Fuck. Stop. Whatever you're doing. Stop it.”
He let the Grace pulse for a moment more, before he pulled it back within him, where it stirred. Inside, John-the-Vessel cheered. “Do not trifle with me, demon.”
Ruby huffed out a breath, putting one hand into her forehead, before she whispered softly. “Message received. Now that you've delivered your extremely painful note, Fuck Off.”
He snorted, and then he felt surprised by the gesture. Dean was rubbing off on him, in unexpected ways. He found Ruby looking at him, glaring, and he snorted again in response. “I am not here for you. I am waiting here for Dean.”
“Oh, that's just fucking perfect …” She muttered silently, which puzzled Castiel, because she appeared to be talking to herself. “Which means I get to entertain the scary-ass angel until they decide they're having a snack attack. Fucking great. Wahoo.” She finally looked back at him, giving him a fraction of the smirk she had before. “And look at you - fine one to talk about heeling when you're cooling your angelic ass waiting around for Dean.”
“I have waited for Dean his entire life. A few minutes more means nothing.” Of course, that didn't stop his borrowed heart from thumping louder in his ears, for his fingers to curl inward, wanting to be holding something other than a coffee mug. Dean's smile flashed across his inner vision, and he found himself smiling in response. John-the-vessel's thoughts were tinged with smugness, and he silently shushed the man.
The demon mocked him, “'I've waited for Dean his entire life - I am a fucking romance novel. Any moment now I will throw off my business administrator suit and bear my fabulously oiled pecks for Dean Winchester'. Damn, are all angels so fucking melodramatic?” She yanked her Coke towards her, spreading a small spray of brown droplets across the table, her tone still derogatory. “Or are you just that 'in lurve' with your 'lurver'.”
“We are not lovers.” Yet. Suddenly he could feel Dean's hands on his borrowed skin, touching far more than the vessel. Touching what made Castiel - well - Castiel. Dean's touch made him feel more than anything, save God's love, in eons of time. The most curious part of it? He wanted more. He needed more. A word flickered across his mind, 'crave', and he found it fitting. He craved Dean. Craved every inch of him - the sound of his voice, low and soft, in Castiel's ear, the strength of his fingers, the soft warmness of his mouth, the rough and hewn charm of Dean's body under all those layers. It thrilled him. It scared him. It made him more than what he was, and made him who he was. The angel stared into his coffee, lost in those thoughts, his response soft. “But yes, I am in love with him.”
And the only reason he looked up just then, was because Ruby spewed her mouthful carbonated beverage across the table, and directly into his hair.
4. Where Dean Makes A Wish And Gets It, Kind Of
Dean finished up his list with a flourish, smiling as he signed his name in bright green crayon with a big sprawled, Dean, age 29. Considering the fact he hadn't written one of these letters in years, he thought he hadn't done too badly. And damn if it wasn't through. He wrote down everything he wanted since he was six, and didn't believe in Santa anymore, so it covered a lot of ground. From a puppy, a bike, to wanting to see Lisa Turner without a bra, and right up to see Metallica in concert, front row.
And of course, the last bits. The sincere wishes. Because it was Christmas, and you had to have those. Even if they were a little squishy and embarrassing.
He took a few fries off his plate, stuffed them in his mouth, and looked up to see how Sam was doing. His brother had one corner of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, like he did when he was learning how to tie his shoes or focusing in target practice. Just really giving his all, that kind of thing. Dean watched, amused, when Sam finally nodded his approval and signed off on his list with the same flourish that Dean had. He looked up at his brother, smirked, and held out his list. “Okay. Switch.”
Dean swallowed, grinned, and plucked up his list, snagging Sam's from his brother's hand. The first few made him laugh, (Number one, a puppy, number two, a bike. Yikes, sometimes they were just way too in-sync). He paused at number five, Mom, feeling something tightened in his throat. Same on his list too, but no surprise there. He kept reading, and then abruptly laughed, “... You want the entire Lego Star Wars universe?”
“Heck yeah. That thing was awesome. I stared at it in toy store windows for an entire month.” Sam said, not looking up from Dean's list. “And you're one to talk - a complete Lazer Tag kit? Seriously?”
“Hey Lazer Tag was - is - awesome.” Dean protested, mimicking shooting a gun, making soft phew phew phew noises. “Nothing more an eight year old wants than to shoot another eight year old. Y'know, and not kill them. You get in trouble for that kind of shit.”
“Mm.” Sam grinned, and kept reading the list, before he shook his head. “There's no way I can get my hands on Jessica Alba for you, Dean. Seriously.”
“Well just for that? You are so not getting … Alexis Bledel? Ew.” Dean said, putting as much mock disgust as he could into it.
“Hey, she's plenty hot.” Sam snorted a laugh, his look just daring his brother to talk shit, which Dean then promptly did.
“Yeah, sure, if you get behind looking like you're lusting after child prostitutes. How old is she anyways? Twelve, thirteen?” He smirked in turn, ducking out of the way of a flying french fry, as he kept reading. “A lotta of books, Sam.”
“Yeah, well.” Sam's smile went a little crooked. “Check out number 27.”
He skimmed down, and snorted softly. “A Dean-made bookcase. Where would we keep that? I mean, I doubt all your books and that bookcase are going to fit in the back of the Impala.”
“Number 70.” Sam's said firmly, looking up from Dean's list. “And also, I'm not stealing the General Lee for you.”
“Spoilsport.” Dean kept reading the list, until he hit 70, two before the bottom. There was a slight scrawl of crayon, like Sam contemplated what he put down, until he wrote boldly, A place where we can be a family again. He stared at that for a long, quiet moment, before he cleared his throat. “Number 72.”
He knew the moment that Sam hit it, because his little brother sighed softly. “A house - with a big garage and a tire swing in front.” Then Sam laughed quietly. “With a shed in the backyard, to be called 'Tool-shed Of Evil Shit Death'.”
He looked up to see his brother grinning at him, so he lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Hey - I know there's no way we're ever gonna get away from this life completely - except, you know, End of the World. So, we got a place where we keep the hunting stuff. Long as we got a home base. Emphasis on home.”
Sam nodded his head, before he looked down at the list again. “73. My family. There's my name. Who is the … giant scratched out blob here?”
Dean squirmed. He was hoping that wouldn't be picked up - so he glanced back at Sam's list, not really reading it. “It's nothing. Stupid. You know. Just something Bobby said, and I thought …eh. I'm crazy.”
Sam looked at him for a long time, before he nodded towards his list again. “71 and 72.”
Dean blinked, before he looked down to the list, and sighed as he read them aloud. “To be completely human.” His voice caught a little. “And my own personal angel, so I know I'm forgiven.”
“It's Christmas, Dean. It's time to wish for the impossible things.” Sam handed back the list, and nodded. “So, go on. Who knows what will happen?”
Dean looked at the list for a long, hard moment, before he picked up his crayon and scrawled under My family, Castiel, in slightly crooked letters. Then he dropped his crayon and started at the list long and hard.
“Miss him?” Sam asked quietly, as he dragged his plate back in front of him.
“Not in the fifteen year old emo girl way you're thinkin'.” Dean retorted, but he felt the burn on his shoulder ache. He ached, all over, just a little. There was an emptiness, like when he didn't have his gun at his side, or he had to drive some car that wasn't his beloved baby. When he and Sam were split up in a fight. Something vital wasn't here. He was kind of surprised to find that something was Castiel.
“Of course not.” Sam switched his tone to wry, letting Dean know his brother was letting him off the hook. “Your way probably involves something truly gross and degenerate, you perverted angel-deflowerer.”
Dean offered him a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows. “You bet it does. Handcuffs and honey like ways.”
“Oh-kay, now I'm officially not wanting to be part of this conversation.” Sam made his 'oh-nasty-Dean!' face, dragging his eyes away from Dean, to around the diner. “So I'm going to find anything else to talk about. Maybe cheeseburgers. Or … waffle irons.”
“Maybe not handcuffs. Maybe just rope. Oooh, and whipped cream.” Dean's smirk deepened, even though he contemplated it. Not bad thoughts to keep in mind - although he doubted he could get away with half of it. Probably best to keep it simple at first. Just his hands on Castiel, touching every part of the angel. Exploring. Marking. Making the angel his in more than just words, because words were good, no doubt, but he'd pay money to see Uriel's face the day Castiel was wearing a Dean-sized bite on his throat. And so many other dee-lightful options, like …
“Castiel and Ruby?” Sam said, shock clear in his voice.
Dean snapped to, blinking. “I so did not say that out-loud. There are limits to my porn-brain. Angel and demon threesome goes right over the line --”
Sam glared at him, and then pointed. “Not Porn. Reality. Castiel and Ruby. Over There.”
Dean twisted his head to where Sam's finger was pointing, and past the crowds to see the booth across the way and a little up. Sure enough, there was Castiel and Ruby. By the way they were looking at each other, Dean could imagine they were not talking about Christmas or Dear Santa lists. He swallowed, slowly. “Sam. Your demon and my angel are having coffee and fries. Together.”
“I know.” Sam whispered, his voice a little harsh. “What the hell is going on?”
Dean let out a sharp breath. “Okay, first things first. Let's assess the situation. Are we in fact - still in Lansing, Michigan?”
“And not in the middle of a metaphysical battle for the Earth?” Sam supplied the rest. “Best bet is to look out the window.”
“Right.” As one, both Winchester brothers turned to look out the broad window on the other side of them. They saw the parking lot, with a variety of cars, none as fine as the Impala. They saw snow. They saw the road, the occasional car driving slowly along the ice-covered pavement. Everything looked normal. Slowly, they turned to look at the table.
Whatever the argument between angel and demon, it was taking an almost feverish pitch, which abruptly dropped when the waitress approached. Dean felt a level of tension leave him at that. Whatever the fuck was going on, Castiel was being careful not to drag innocent people into it. He had to give Ruby props as well, for not escalating. Still. This was dangerous, and a little unnerving.
Especially since Dean had no idea what the hell they were saying to one another.
“What the hell do we do, Dean?” Sam asked, a little lost, and Dean knew that his brother was worried about Ruby, and hating himself a little for it.
“We do what we always do in this situation, Sam.” He heaved out a breath, before pushing himself to his feet. “We go put our goddamned noses where they don't belong.”
Continue ...
Author: Commodoresexual
Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam, Castiel, Ruby, or Uriel. Or any other heavenly creatures, sad to say.
Rating: PG-13 for language and dirty, dirty porn!thoughts. No porn. (yeeeet)
Genre/Pairing: Dean, Sam, Castiel, Ruby, Uriel, and OMAC. Dean/Castiel, Sam/Ruby hinted.
Warnings: Spoilers up through 4.10, and at this point I can safely say? AU universe. Yet again, this is my interpretation of God, his Angels, and the whole kitandkaboodle. No smitey! Also, any similarities between totally hot and amazing British actors and characters in this story is completely, ah, coincidental. Maybe. Ahem.
Notes: Well this is it, the last chapter in the Conversations with Angels main arc. It's been a hellva fun ride, and personally I'm looking forward to digging more into this universe that I've created. Also, I blame all of you. Yep. All of you. Whatever comes out of my demented brain after this is your fault for inspiring me with your praise and love. If Kripke ever comes for my ass, I'm pointing him in your direction. Just sayin'.
I also want to dedicate part of this fic to tracey_loo_woo, and teh_blackspy. You two know exactly what you're responsible for, and thank you so much for it. It made this story much richer than I thought it could be.
Summary: Three things are necessary for the salvation of man: to know what he ought to believe; to know what he ought to desire; and to know what he ought to do.
Also, for those just joining us?
First Conversation
Second Conversation
Third Conversation
Fourth Conversation
If a man is not rising upwards to be an angel, depend upon it, he is sinking downwards to be a devil. ~Samuel Taylor Coleridge
1. Where Good Meets Evil, For Coffee
Castiel had learned to expect many things from the diners that Sam and Dean liked to frequent. For example - their syrup would always come in one of those little plastic jugs, and it would almost always be warm. There would always be some sort of cheeseburger meal and it would inevitably be called the 'deluxe' something or other. The waitresses would always call him 'sweetheart' and coo about his 'beautiful blue eyes'. There would be pie, and inevitably, Dean would order it.
What he did not expect, when he came to the local diner in Lansing, Michigan, was to see the demon Ruby demolishing a plate of cheese fries. Vague shock fluttered through the angel, then consternation. He did not think that Sam would be able to stop seeing the foul beast all together - Sam had spent too many months alone not to turn to the creature who had offered him physical if not spiritual comfort - but it was unpleasant to find her waiting for the young hunter.
He walked a little further into the diner, to let a boisterous group of customers in, who beamed at him, thanked him, and wished him a Merry Christmas. He nodded in turn, watching them as they bustled through towards a table, pulling off gloves and hats. He looked around - holly strewn around the windows - the cheap window stickers with cheery fat men, dressed in red. There was even a nativity scene, put near the cash register.
He tilted his head at the small clay figures with wings, thinking of 'fluffy white angels', before his mouth twisted faintly, and he turned his attention to the problem at hand. He would admit it was odd to find one of his kind here - but really - Ruby belonged here even less.
Especially if she was waiting for the Winchesters.
He slipped easily through the crowded diner, careful not to slip and fall on the splashes of wet, melted snow. He paused momentarily at Ruby's table, trying not to breath in the smell of sulfur and sin, before he sat himself down, and looked down at his fingers as he steepled them together. Only then did he lift his gaze, dark blue eyes narrowing on the woman's borrowed face, and he spoke without intonation. “Demon.”
He felt her body jerk backwards, her fingers lose their grip on a fork that landed on the table with a plink. He took in the shock on her face, the way she pressed her back against the seat of the booth. He watched, dispassionately, as her eyes flickered from solid back and then self-consciously back to dark brown. He watched, as she picked up and gripped the butter knife, glaring at him for a long moment, before she spat out one word. “Angel.”
They only had a moment to glower at each other, before a waitress sauntered over to their table, not looking up from her ordering pad to notice the crackling tension between Castiel and Ruby. “Hey hun, what can I get for you?”
Castiel paused, listening as John-the-vessel went through the varying beverages, and finally said. “Coffee, please. With real milk on the side. I shall order later.”
“'Kay. You all right here, hun? Need a refill?” The waitress asked, her tone polite but bored.
Ruby kept watching Castiel warily - while he merely kept her gaze without blinking - and muttered quietly. “Another Coke. Please.”
The waitress nodded, and turned on one heel, and Ruby's gaze flickered to her, and to all the people around her. Castiel followed her gaze, and finally their eyes met again. He felt his lips press more firmly together. “No. I will not attack you in the midst of all these people. Innocent lives need not be lost because of you.” He paused, and added with a hint of irony, “Again.”
Ruby snorted low in her borrowed throat, but she slowly lowered the butter knife to the table. “High and mighty talk, Angel, coming from someone who was willing to exterminate one of his own.”
His eyes narrowed, a touch. “To keep her from your kith and kin? Death would have been a mercy.” He lowered his voice. “Or have you forgotten, demon? I have been to Hell. I have seen the handiwork of the Hordes. Do not play moralistic for me. We would have merely ended her life. Your people would have torn her soul asunder.”
Ruby looked off from the window, her expression flickering through varying ugly emotions, before she glared back at him. “They're not my 'people'. There are demons and then there are demons. I'm not Alistair, and I never will be.”
Castiel canted his head at her, his gaze thoughtful and considering. “No. You are smarter than he is. He is a brute - a bully with a knife and a terrifying corral of torture methods. You take after your master, Azareal. Playing games with people's lives, twisting them with half-truths.”
Ruby's eyes widened, then narrowed, ebony black shivering through them. “I might have been Azareal's bitch, but he's long since gone, Clarence. As for Alastair, pretty funny that the guy who got bitched slapped by him is talking So Much Shit. Makes a girl think that you can't bring it the distance, Angel.”
Her smirk burned him, and brought the killing rage, but the waitress approached, bringing his coffee. He pulled his mouth up into a small smile of thanks, and slowly reached for the sugar. He stared at the white substance as he followed Dean's example, liberally pouring it into the bitter beverage. A few granules fall to the table, in a gesture he picked up from Sam he licked his finger and pressed it against the table, capturing the granules that escaped his cup. Only then did he speak, and his voice is gruff and mockingly mild. “And how is your stomach, Ruby?”
The demon swallowed at that, her hand going defensively to the spot below her breasts, as if assuring herself that it is in fact, still there. She snarled out a soft, “Just fine, you gigantic flying prick. Aren't you afraid to be walking around without your guard dog Uriel to protect you?”
He put the spoon into his coffee, swirling it around, fascinated by how the milk sank in deeper, swirl by swirl. His tone is contemplative. “My attention was elsewhere, with Alistair. Do not mistake my power for one fluke.” He tapped the spoon lightly against the side of the mug, and met Ruby's gaze again coldly. “With the right motivation, I could be moved to destroy you and Alastair in the same breath.”
“So glad I'm on the popular hit list. Tell me, is it because I helped your little angel friend, because I'm a demon, or because I'm just so much prettier than you?” She smirked again, but this time it was more bravado than anything else, perhaps sensing the truth in his words. She was scared of him.
Good. Hopefully she would take the next words as seriously as he meant them.
“Being a demon would be enough to warrant your destruction.” He answered slowly. “But no. My reasons are my Orders. You interfere with my charge, you interfere with me.”
“The elder Winchester. I should have guessed.” She whispered, and her eyes narrowed. “Don't see why you'd be bothering me, then. I have about as much use for Dean as I do for … oh gosh, you.”
“That is one problem.” He turned the mug slowly, marveling off the heat coming off the plain white, ceramic mug. “Considering your blaise attitude, I am sure you would have no problem sacrificing Dean to whatever ends you are trying to meet.”
One corner of her mouth curved up. “Well, well. Maybe the angel's smarter than he seems.”
“The angel is a deal smarter than you.” He picked up the mug finally, looking at her placidly, “If you honestly believe that Sam will chose you over Dean, greater the fool you, demon.”
Something cold settled over Ruby's face, and she picked up one of her fries. “You don't know anything about Sam. Remember, Dean's your particular creepy obsession? You just can't get enough of staring at him longingly, batting your big blue eyes in his direction. I don't know if they told you this upstairs, but Dean doesn't like boys, sweetie, not even if they're angel boys. Certainly not for fucking.”
Castiel tilts his head at the demon, contemplative, sipping his coffee. It needed more sugar. He put it down and reached for the container. “I see. Well. Then I believe someone should have told him that.”
He wasn't entirely sure what to make of her face when the demon started choking on her french fries, but for some reason it made him want to smile.
2. Where Brothers Enter The Scene, Sort Of
“Coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee.” Sam chanted as he huddled in his coat, huffing on his hands. Michigan was having one of its colder spells, and it was starting to seep through his bones. “Dude, seriously, no one is going to scratch your baby all the way out here.”
Dean turned off the car, for the fourth time, before turning it back on again. “Ye-ah, but if I park it a little further off...”
“Dean.” Sam's voice was flat, and he glared at his brother across the front seat. “If you park the car any further out, we will be in Ohio.”
Dean glared over at his younger brother, rolled his eyes, and turned off the car. “If anything happens to the Impala!”
“You will do horrible things to my person, blah blah blah, Dean smash.” Sam climbed out of the car, starting to chant again. “Sam cold. Need coffee. Coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee.”
“The first sign of addiction is acting like a whiny bitch.” Dean answered flatly, but he's looking towards the diner eagerly as Sam is. “C'mon. Let's feed your beast.”
Sam's answer was a continued, “Coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, “ even though he tossed his brother a large teasing smile.
Dean snorted a laugh, as they both speed walk across the icy parking lot to the front door, and inside. Sam forgot the cold long enough look around, smiling. The place is decked in Christmas - wreaths and ornaments and those cheezy stickers in the windows. There's also a perfect little nativity set by the front register. He brightened immediately - after all this was still his favorite holiday - and he nudged Dean with one elbow. “Hey. Haven't told me what you wanted yet, this year.”
Dean was looking around himself, bemused and a little skeptical. When he turned to glance at his brother, his voice was wry. “For Christmas? Well, I haven't gotten the latest issue of Busty Asian Beauties. Plus the Impala probably could use some anti-freeze.”
Sam rolled his eyes, as they headed off towards an empty booth, past the register and towards the back. The place is a madhouse of locals, and waitresses were carrying their orders in between people jabbering happily at one another over plates of food and glasses filled with carbonated beverages. He settled himself down, rubbing his hands together again, just to get some feeling into them, speaking firmly. “I mean it, Dean. We're going to do Christmas right this year. Tree, gift, presents … and lying low.”
Dean arched an eyebrow as he flopped himself down, “Yeah, okay … can I ask why?”
Sam pursued his lips, as he tapped his fingers down on the table, looking anywhere from his brother. Heartwarming moments were hard for Dean - and quite frankly Sam's heart was a little sore lately too. Things had gotten … better, but he didn't want to push it too hard. So he shrugged, and looked at Dean. “It's Christmas. We're together. It's just, you know.”
“A miracle.” Dean answered simply, his eyes flickering thoughtfully. “It's a frigging miracle we're together this year.” He slung one arm across the back of the booth, tilting his head with an easy smile. “Alright Sammy. Real Christmas this year. Tree, presents, no huntin'.” The smile twisted into a smirk. “We can even write letters to Santa.”
Sam lifted one eyebrow back, skeptical but amused. “And since when did you believe in Jolly St. Nick?”
Dean snorted softly. “I didn't believe in angels and look where that fucking got me.”
“Well...” Sam squinted one eye, pretending to think it over. “First it got you out of Hell. Then it got you a job as God's Golden Boy. After that, and because you're a lippy man-brat, it nearly got you thrown back in again.” He met Dean's gaze, and they both winced a little. Sam shook it off to snort. “Then it got you laid.” Dean held up one finger, grinning wickedly, making Sam roll his eyes. “Yes, yes, I know - and hopefully, it will help you get laid again.” He smirked. “Which all in all, makes you a dirty angel de-flowerer, so I'm not sure you should be too proud of that.”
Dean opened his mouth to protest, but that was the point when their waitress showed up, a pretty young woman with highlighted honey blonde hair and a faint dusting of freckles across her nose. She flashed them both a smile, putting one hand on her hip. “Hello, gentlemen, you ready to order yet?”
Sam watched, with no little humor, as Dean switched on his best 'hi-pretty-lady' grin. “Not just yet, but you'll make our evening if you get us two coffees.”
“Large coffees.” Sam added firmly, flashing her his own 'aw-gee-shucks' smile. “Please.”
She took out her pad, scribbled down their coffees, then offered them a dimpled grin. “Be back in a few.”
Both Winchesters watched her leave, but Sam pulled his gaze away first to intone piously to the back of Dean's head. “Two-timing angel deflowerer, no less.”
Dean spun around, jabbing one finger in Sam's direction. “Dude. I was just looking. Cas will not smite for just looking.” He paused, frowning. “I think.”
Sam shrugged, an overly innocent expression on his face. “I'd double-check on that one, dude.”
“Well, I'd mock you about your love life - but since it's frigging non-existant, or just plain fucking wrong …” Sam felt his expression tighten, and Dean heaved out a sigh. “Jesus, sorry. Asshole thing to say.”
Sam wet his lips, shrugging, even as he felt the tension roll through his body. “Yeah - well - maybe I'd kick your ass … if you weren't right.” He sighed, looking at the ceiling, finally admitting to Dean, and himself. “It's hard. All this, not using my gifts. Not trusting Ruby after letting her guard my back for four months. But … but Cas is right. You were gone, and I was looking for the easy answers. One of them was Ruby.” He looked at his brother, feeling that pressing, hard feeling of sadness settle on his chest again. “I won't lie and say I didn't know I fucked up. I just won't say that I feel guilty for thinking that she could change. Can change. Maybe.” He sighed. “I don't know, Dean. Am I crazy? Thinking that a demon would change sides for - “ He forced himself not to say 'love' and said instead, “ - for me?”
Dean nodded his head slowly, and answered with a simple. “Hell yes.” Sam snorted, finding his mouth curve upwards at the corners, and Dean gave him a tired smile in turn, before shrugging his own broad shoulders. “But - damn, dude. If it were possible, you're the only person I'd believe could pull it off. You just … you believe in the best, Sammy. I've been worried about you - how tough you've become, how hard you've had to make yourself. So I'm real fucking glad that the side of you that still - y'know, believes in Santa , and God, and that everything can be saved, is there.”
Sam cleared his throat, smiling down at his hands, feeling better. Feeling like he did when Cas offered him his hand openly. “Thanks, Dean.”
“You really want to thank me? Stop acting like such a damned little girl. Jesus.” Dean scoffed, although a smile tugged at his lips. “Getting all 'oh woe hug me'. You keep this up and Santa's gonna have to bring you a Barbie Dreamhouse to go with your dollies.”
Sam felt there was only way to respond, and so the corresponding Sweet 'N Low packet hit his brother right in the forehead. “Ass.”
Dean snickered as he responded with a small jam container. “Pussy.”
The waitress returned with their coffees, saying cheerily that she'd be right back to grab their orders, and she might have tossed a wink at Dean, but all Sam could see was that big, beautiful cup of coffee. He dragged it towards him as Dean picked up the sugar container and poured an unhealthy amount of sugar into his own cup before he pushed it towards Sam. Sam, in turn, licked the tip of his finger, pressed the digit to the table to catch the spilled sugar, as he poured a reasonable amount into his own cup.
The coffee warmed him. The moment of just brotherly understanding, though, did a lot more to improve his mood. He sucked the sugar on his finger into his mouth, feeling a little more settled. Whatever Ruby had to say - whatever he had to say to her in turn - it was all just going to wait. It was Christmas, he was here with his family, and they were going to do it right this time. No Santa demons this year, that was for damned sure.
Dean apparently was of the same mind, because when the waitress came back to take their order, he flashed her a bigger grin than usual. “And if we could get two extra place-mats and some crayons? We'd be forever grateful, Carolyn.”
“Yeah sure … but aren't you two a little too old to need to draw to behave yourself?” Carolyn dimpled in turn.
“Well maybe, but we're never too old to write out our lists for Santa, right Sam?” Dean purred out, smooth as butter. His brother just had a charm knack. Sam went with a guileless smile, and the waitress laughed, and promised to get their orders in, and then bring back the place-mats and crayons.
He met Dean's gleaming hazel-green gaze, and they smiled, before sipping their coffee in peace. They were in perfect agreement - they were going to make this Christmas count. Nothing short of Heaven and Hell was going to stop them, either.
Well, Sam could dream, anyways.
3.Where Good And Evil Fight, With Extreme Sarcasm
“You're lying!” Ruby hissed in his direction, and Castiel cannot help but see the creature beneath the skin then, black and ugly, but still... strangely human in her disbelief. He put down the sugar container, just arching an eyebrow at her, and she heaved out a breath, anger replaced with shock. “...But angels … can't lie. Fuck me, Dean bagged another angel?”
Castiel frowned - because for one the word 'bagged' had too many connotations, and secondly because well, that wasn't necessarily true. Yet. He felt something low throb in his stomach and relished the feeling as he spoke. “That is inaccurate.”
“That is inaccurate … wait. So he hasn't. So you're lying.” She scoweled in confusion. “Angels can't lie!”
“We cannot.” He sipped his coffee, wondering which he was enjoying more - Ruby's expression or the thought of Dean 'bagging' him, like Dean did Anna. After a moment of contemplation he decided the 'bagging' option.
While he contemplated, there was a moment of silence where Ruby fumed in front of him, jabbing a finger at him. “So you're either sleeping with Dean, or you're not and you're lying. You can't do both.”
“Why not? You are a demon and you're claiming to help the Winchesters, two very well known hunters from a family of well known hunters. Contradictions seem to be your forte.” He picked up the coffee again, breathing in the faintly sweet, faintly bitter scent. “I do not see why it can be in your purview and not in mine.”
“I am helping the Winchesters - included your .. maybe-butt buddy.” Ruby snorted, pointing with one french fry. “Just because you don't like the package it comes in, Wing-boy, doesn't mean the help isn't sincere.”
“And if it what's inside the package is rotten?” He met her gaze without blinking, without turning away. “What if all that is inside is malice, and greed, and the desire for self-preservation that stinks of cowardice? Ruby the silver-tongued, that's what they call you, is it not? The maker of crooked deals, the double-crosser. The first one out the door when the hunters come. They tell many tales of you, demon, and none of them are as pretty as you claim to be.”
The demon was staring hard down at the table, and once or twice her gaze drifted to the butter knife as if she wished to put it some place in his vessel's body, but instead she looked to him, dark eyes filled with bitterness. “You don't know anything about me.”
“Don't I?” Still, he pinned her with his gaze.
“No. You don't.” She met his gaze now. “You been to Hell? Well big fucking deal. Try living there. Try being there day after day, year after year, century after century. It is horrible. It is nothing but endless miles and miles of fucking horrible, and I'd sooner bring scouring acid to the Earth than Hell.” She heaved up a breath, “And yes, if that means backing the Winchesters, then so fucking well.”
He tilted his head at her, thoughtful, tasting the words from her lips against him, against the Divinity of Heaven. Then he shook his head faintly, “You are, apparently, a worse liar than me.”
He watched her face contort again. “Well if I'm not doing it because I hate Hell, then why am I doing it? I don't have any reason to - I backed Azareal, I might as well back Lillith if I'm as much of a coward as you say.”
“I do not know. Which is the problem, demon.” He tilted his head, leaning forward a little. “It is bad enough that you are - what you are. But you are willing to put it all on the line for Sam, everything that you are, that you have been, to see that he comes into his powers, no matter what the damnation to his soul. You will protect him, despite his brother, and you show him such devotion that it bespeaks of ...” His mouth twisted, as he thought of Uriel's words. How strangely fitting here. “... a dog, playing heel to her master.”
“Well I think you just answered your own question, Clarence.” She huffed, looking off out the window, then at him with a smirk. More bravado. “Obviously I'm backing the winning horse here in the run off to the Anti-Christ. Screw Lucifer, we could have Sam Winchester instead. Nothing better than a half-human, half-demon commanding the Hordes, don't you think?”
“That will not happen.” He answered softly, but more for his own benefit than for hers. For Dean's sake, and for Sam's, that could not happen. Brother need not destroy brother, if the angel had anything to say about it. Dean could not live without Sam, Sam could not live without Dean. Castiel could not lose either Winchester brother - because Sam had given his trust, Dean had given his love and Castiel could not fail them. Would not fail them. He had his doubts, but not in this.
“Oh yeah, and who is going to stop me? You?” She scoffed softly, her expression closed off, her hands balled into fists.
“Yes. Me.” He folded his hands around his cup, letting the words flow out of him like a soft moving poison, blue eyes never leaving dark brown. Suddenly feeling stronger and surer than he had for ages. His determination here was backed by every inch of his divinity, but things even greater than that. “I will end you, demon. I will rend you limb from limb in your mortal form. I will hunt down your demonic one and break it down to mere atoms, to be spread like dust across the sky. I will make you feel every inch of it, when I slowly destroy you. I will do all this, before I let you take Sam. Before I let you break Dean's heart, in such a way.” He put his hands flat on the table, not caring if anyone saw him, as he flared his Grace towards her, his voice low and flat. “You will not take Sam Winchester. I will not allow it.”
She stared at him, her eyes widening, as she shuddered at each word, her body twitching as if he had slapped her physically with them. She tried to speak, paused to pant for breath, then closed her eyes. Gritted her teeth together as she forced words out. “... Fuck. Stop. Whatever you're doing. Stop it.”
He let the Grace pulse for a moment more, before he pulled it back within him, where it stirred. Inside, John-the-Vessel cheered. “Do not trifle with me, demon.”
Ruby huffed out a breath, putting one hand into her forehead, before she whispered softly. “Message received. Now that you've delivered your extremely painful note, Fuck Off.”
He snorted, and then he felt surprised by the gesture. Dean was rubbing off on him, in unexpected ways. He found Ruby looking at him, glaring, and he snorted again in response. “I am not here for you. I am waiting here for Dean.”
“Oh, that's just fucking perfect …” She muttered silently, which puzzled Castiel, because she appeared to be talking to herself. “Which means I get to entertain the scary-ass angel until they decide they're having a snack attack. Fucking great. Wahoo.” She finally looked back at him, giving him a fraction of the smirk she had before. “And look at you - fine one to talk about heeling when you're cooling your angelic ass waiting around for Dean.”
“I have waited for Dean his entire life. A few minutes more means nothing.” Of course, that didn't stop his borrowed heart from thumping louder in his ears, for his fingers to curl inward, wanting to be holding something other than a coffee mug. Dean's smile flashed across his inner vision, and he found himself smiling in response. John-the-vessel's thoughts were tinged with smugness, and he silently shushed the man.
The demon mocked him, “'I've waited for Dean his entire life - I am a fucking romance novel. Any moment now I will throw off my business administrator suit and bear my fabulously oiled pecks for Dean Winchester'. Damn, are all angels so fucking melodramatic?” She yanked her Coke towards her, spreading a small spray of brown droplets across the table, her tone still derogatory. “Or are you just that 'in lurve' with your 'lurver'.”
“We are not lovers.” Yet. Suddenly he could feel Dean's hands on his borrowed skin, touching far more than the vessel. Touching what made Castiel - well - Castiel. Dean's touch made him feel more than anything, save God's love, in eons of time. The most curious part of it? He wanted more. He needed more. A word flickered across his mind, 'crave', and he found it fitting. He craved Dean. Craved every inch of him - the sound of his voice, low and soft, in Castiel's ear, the strength of his fingers, the soft warmness of his mouth, the rough and hewn charm of Dean's body under all those layers. It thrilled him. It scared him. It made him more than what he was, and made him who he was. The angel stared into his coffee, lost in those thoughts, his response soft. “But yes, I am in love with him.”
And the only reason he looked up just then, was because Ruby spewed her mouthful carbonated beverage across the table, and directly into his hair.
4. Where Dean Makes A Wish And Gets It, Kind Of
Dean finished up his list with a flourish, smiling as he signed his name in bright green crayon with a big sprawled, Dean, age 29. Considering the fact he hadn't written one of these letters in years, he thought he hadn't done too badly. And damn if it wasn't through. He wrote down everything he wanted since he was six, and didn't believe in Santa anymore, so it covered a lot of ground. From a puppy, a bike, to wanting to see Lisa Turner without a bra, and right up to see Metallica in concert, front row.
And of course, the last bits. The sincere wishes. Because it was Christmas, and you had to have those. Even if they were a little squishy and embarrassing.
He took a few fries off his plate, stuffed them in his mouth, and looked up to see how Sam was doing. His brother had one corner of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, like he did when he was learning how to tie his shoes or focusing in target practice. Just really giving his all, that kind of thing. Dean watched, amused, when Sam finally nodded his approval and signed off on his list with the same flourish that Dean had. He looked up at his brother, smirked, and held out his list. “Okay. Switch.”
Dean swallowed, grinned, and plucked up his list, snagging Sam's from his brother's hand. The first few made him laugh, (Number one, a puppy, number two, a bike. Yikes, sometimes they were just way too in-sync). He paused at number five, Mom, feeling something tightened in his throat. Same on his list too, but no surprise there. He kept reading, and then abruptly laughed, “... You want the entire Lego Star Wars universe?”
“Heck yeah. That thing was awesome. I stared at it in toy store windows for an entire month.” Sam said, not looking up from Dean's list. “And you're one to talk - a complete Lazer Tag kit? Seriously?”
“Hey Lazer Tag was - is - awesome.” Dean protested, mimicking shooting a gun, making soft phew phew phew noises. “Nothing more an eight year old wants than to shoot another eight year old. Y'know, and not kill them. You get in trouble for that kind of shit.”
“Mm.” Sam grinned, and kept reading the list, before he shook his head. “There's no way I can get my hands on Jessica Alba for you, Dean. Seriously.”
“Well just for that? You are so not getting … Alexis Bledel? Ew.” Dean said, putting as much mock disgust as he could into it.
“Hey, she's plenty hot.” Sam snorted a laugh, his look just daring his brother to talk shit, which Dean then promptly did.
“Yeah, sure, if you get behind looking like you're lusting after child prostitutes. How old is she anyways? Twelve, thirteen?” He smirked in turn, ducking out of the way of a flying french fry, as he kept reading. “A lotta of books, Sam.”
“Yeah, well.” Sam's smile went a little crooked. “Check out number 27.”
He skimmed down, and snorted softly. “A Dean-made bookcase. Where would we keep that? I mean, I doubt all your books and that bookcase are going to fit in the back of the Impala.”
“Number 70.” Sam's said firmly, looking up from Dean's list. “And also, I'm not stealing the General Lee for you.”
“Spoilsport.” Dean kept reading the list, until he hit 70, two before the bottom. There was a slight scrawl of crayon, like Sam contemplated what he put down, until he wrote boldly, A place where we can be a family again. He stared at that for a long, quiet moment, before he cleared his throat. “Number 72.”
He knew the moment that Sam hit it, because his little brother sighed softly. “A house - with a big garage and a tire swing in front.” Then Sam laughed quietly. “With a shed in the backyard, to be called 'Tool-shed Of Evil Shit Death'.”
He looked up to see his brother grinning at him, so he lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Hey - I know there's no way we're ever gonna get away from this life completely - except, you know, End of the World. So, we got a place where we keep the hunting stuff. Long as we got a home base. Emphasis on home.”
Sam nodded his head, before he looked down at the list again. “73. My family. There's my name. Who is the … giant scratched out blob here?”
Dean squirmed. He was hoping that wouldn't be picked up - so he glanced back at Sam's list, not really reading it. “It's nothing. Stupid. You know. Just something Bobby said, and I thought …eh. I'm crazy.”
Sam looked at him for a long time, before he nodded towards his list again. “71 and 72.”
Dean blinked, before he looked down to the list, and sighed as he read them aloud. “To be completely human.” His voice caught a little. “And my own personal angel, so I know I'm forgiven.”
“It's Christmas, Dean. It's time to wish for the impossible things.” Sam handed back the list, and nodded. “So, go on. Who knows what will happen?”
Dean looked at the list for a long, hard moment, before he picked up his crayon and scrawled under My family, Castiel, in slightly crooked letters. Then he dropped his crayon and started at the list long and hard.
“Miss him?” Sam asked quietly, as he dragged his plate back in front of him.
“Not in the fifteen year old emo girl way you're thinkin'.” Dean retorted, but he felt the burn on his shoulder ache. He ached, all over, just a little. There was an emptiness, like when he didn't have his gun at his side, or he had to drive some car that wasn't his beloved baby. When he and Sam were split up in a fight. Something vital wasn't here. He was kind of surprised to find that something was Castiel.
“Of course not.” Sam switched his tone to wry, letting Dean know his brother was letting him off the hook. “Your way probably involves something truly gross and degenerate, you perverted angel-deflowerer.”
Dean offered him a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows. “You bet it does. Handcuffs and honey like ways.”
“Oh-kay, now I'm officially not wanting to be part of this conversation.” Sam made his 'oh-nasty-Dean!' face, dragging his eyes away from Dean, to around the diner. “So I'm going to find anything else to talk about. Maybe cheeseburgers. Or … waffle irons.”
“Maybe not handcuffs. Maybe just rope. Oooh, and whipped cream.” Dean's smirk deepened, even though he contemplated it. Not bad thoughts to keep in mind - although he doubted he could get away with half of it. Probably best to keep it simple at first. Just his hands on Castiel, touching every part of the angel. Exploring. Marking. Making the angel his in more than just words, because words were good, no doubt, but he'd pay money to see Uriel's face the day Castiel was wearing a Dean-sized bite on his throat. And so many other dee-lightful options, like …
“Castiel and Ruby?” Sam said, shock clear in his voice.
Dean snapped to, blinking. “I so did not say that out-loud. There are limits to my porn-brain. Angel and demon threesome goes right over the line --”
Sam glared at him, and then pointed. “Not Porn. Reality. Castiel and Ruby. Over There.”
Dean twisted his head to where Sam's finger was pointing, and past the crowds to see the booth across the way and a little up. Sure enough, there was Castiel and Ruby. By the way they were looking at each other, Dean could imagine they were not talking about Christmas or Dear Santa lists. He swallowed, slowly. “Sam. Your demon and my angel are having coffee and fries. Together.”
“I know.” Sam whispered, his voice a little harsh. “What the hell is going on?”
Dean let out a sharp breath. “Okay, first things first. Let's assess the situation. Are we in fact - still in Lansing, Michigan?”
“And not in the middle of a metaphysical battle for the Earth?” Sam supplied the rest. “Best bet is to look out the window.”
“Right.” As one, both Winchester brothers turned to look out the broad window on the other side of them. They saw the parking lot, with a variety of cars, none as fine as the Impala. They saw snow. They saw the road, the occasional car driving slowly along the ice-covered pavement. Everything looked normal. Slowly, they turned to look at the table.
Whatever the argument between angel and demon, it was taking an almost feverish pitch, which abruptly dropped when the waitress approached. Dean felt a level of tension leave him at that. Whatever the fuck was going on, Castiel was being careful not to drag innocent people into it. He had to give Ruby props as well, for not escalating. Still. This was dangerous, and a little unnerving.
Especially since Dean had no idea what the hell they were saying to one another.
“What the hell do we do, Dean?” Sam asked, a little lost, and Dean knew that his brother was worried about Ruby, and hating himself a little for it.
“We do what we always do in this situation, Sam.” He heaved out a breath, before pushing himself to his feet. “We go put our goddamned noses where they don't belong.”
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