fic: God is Television
Title: God is Television
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Dean/Cas
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own; don't sue.
Word count: 5,500
Warnings: wall-busting meta, weirdness, god, Wincest, cracky like show is cracky
Summary: God is in the television, and he wants to cancel The Supernatural Show. It is not his story though - it belongs to the angels, and Dean is their TV star.
for my soon-to-be-departed TV.
The angels - in their figurative, forlorn existence - loved television. God himself had charged them with watching humankind, but television, once it arrived, was just so much better, faster, clearer, easier - it had convinced Gabriel to live out his fantasies through the miracles of editing and irony; it had convinced Raphael of nihilism, and that finally, god was indeed dead; it had (among other things) convinced Lucifer that all he believed was true; it had convinced Michael to fall in love. Perhaps it had even convinced god that he needed an epic series finale, full of character death, brief love, and disaster.
Castiel had never bothered to watch before. He always preferred the real thing, forbidden though it was, and hidden now by his own handiwork - sigils on their chest. Even if he had to read about Sam and Dean in the gospels, they were his story, his charges, and he could watch them whenever he liked - he could visit Dean in his dreams, and he could watch Sam fulfill his sad destiny - and not say a word.
Still, he wanted to find god and ask him why.
Castiel had started with Graceland. It just made sense at the time. He then tried searching the Grand Canyon, the forests of redwood trees (his favorite), hospitals and churches, dens of iniquity, Las Vegas, Texas. Even Florida. It took him a few days to figure it out: Sam and Dean were born here. The Antichrist was here, because of him. His name was on all the money; his face, Dean had said, was on a tortilla. It didn't seem right, but still, god was in America.
Strange.
Getting exploded by an archangel was pretty bad, but the search for god had been his idea. It was all on him - the lowly, noble angel Castiel. So, he watched, for god.
At first he was merely unsuccessful. Then he was massively unsuccessful, and fallen, and losing his connection to heaven more each day. The Colt was useless, and their best hope rested in the uprising of the underlings. Castiel began to despair, spending his time hiding out in vacant hotel rooms. When all of heaven and hell were after you, it helped to have four walls and a roof surrounding you; it didn't make it any easier, just better somehow. He became used to staring at the little glowing screen of his cell phone, waiting for Dean to call. He wanted to appear at the Winchesters' side; he wanted them to think of him, and use him. He missed what it was like to watch people before the apocalypse, before hell, before Dean. Now, he could barely hear their voices, and he found he didn't want to. He began to flip through the channels just to hear them again, the carefree voices, the certain ones.
He wished to see Sam and Dean like that. He wished to see his brothers like that.
Day by day, Castiel watched the television for signs of god. Until one day, he found him.
*
Sam and Dean didn't take bad news well, especially when it came during a midnight hotel bed pizza break. They had been on the move, switching hotels every few days not because they needed to, but because they were antsy, sleepless, and convinced they were going to be the death of everyone they meet. Which they often were. So they left Bobby's behind and set out on the road, determined to stay alive for once. Castiel, as far as they knew, had continued his search for god.
Now Castiel was claiming that god was in the television the whole time.
"Come again, Cas?" Dean struggled with a pepperoni.
"I believe that god is in the television. God might actually be television. I'm not sure about the physics."
"So, god is in the idiot box?" Dean nodded with both aplomb and sarcasm. "Like, 'the TV people'? Right."
Sam huffed. "You mean like in Poltergeist? Dean, that wasn't god, that was a poltergeist."
"Hey, Cas - are you sure god's not the Internet? I mean, that's what I would do." Dean shrugged.
Castiel shook his head. "No. Demons are the Internet. Angels are the radio."
"And you've just figured out that god is the television?"
The angel stood still and shrugged in his coat made for shrugging. "It makes sense. Though angels are taking over wireless communication of all kinds. We'll have the Internet soon."
Dean started to pace and scoffed in his coat made for scoffing. "You guys run cell phones? How? How does this make sense?"
"Angels are beings of energy and light. Our father who created us is a being of energy. I first traveled to earth on a radio wave. It was how I spoke to my vessel. God is watching us, surrounding us, speaking to us. God is religion. Religion is television. God is television. Ubiquitous, entrancing, worshipped. God. And television." Castiel frowned. "Maybe. I'm not sure yet. We're talking about pure energy existing on a material plane."
"Oh, so you've thought about this. And iPods?"
"There's nothing supernatural about iPods."
"Are you sure about that?"
"I think they might be alien. I haven't decided yet." Castiel paused. "You think I am probably schizophrenic."
"Yes, absolutely."
"Well, I'm not."
"Good to know. I mean, I just woke up to you staring at the TV while we slept. There's nothing freaky about that."
"I like to watch."
"So this is just a faith thing? Can't you give me some proof? What about the amulet?"
"It hasn't shown any signs."
"So why are you so convinced? What have you seen?" Dean looked at the corners of the room, like he'd done since he was a child. "Yeah. Ok. Whatever. So I guess I can't have it back them?" Dean turned around, held his palm out and stuck out his chin. He was using his rough voice. Castiel liked the rough voice.
But Castiel was no longer there.
*
Sam and Dean continued to hunt like they were born to do it. Especially nights after a salt n burn, the world didn't make any more sense. Dean only knew one thing that did.
"So, god is in the TV, huh?" Dean smashed the TV. It took three swings from a metal lamp - one to destroy the old analog set, and two to kill every light in the room. "Fuck the deposit," Dean declared, and used the rest of himself up rutting with his brother in the dark, their noisy wordless goodnight.
*
The thing was, everywhere they went, there was a television set. It usually went the same way.
"What are you watching, Cas?"
"God is sending me messages through the television. He's unhappy with Tivo. Also, infomercials. I think he really likes golf. And cooking."
"Ok then." Dean slapped his knees, presumably to change the subject and leave the room.
"No. I'm serious." Castiel put his hand over Dean's to stop him. On his knee. "Wait. I was going to tell you earlier, but... You might want to see this."
Castiel changed the channel to a show called "Supernatural". But it was actually Supernatural. Meaning, it was really them. Their lives, their faces, shot at pretty angles with perfect moody lighting, starring his brother, his baby, his dad. His leather jacket. All of it.
"What the...?" Dean was horrified.
"There are secret channels, on original radio frequencies."
"My life is a reality show. My life is a reality show. On...," he ran to get a closer look, squinting at the omnipresent logo, "Oh god! My life is a reality show on the Cutie World Network. I couldn't even hack VH-fucking-1."
He kept looking.
"Wait, Cas - that's you."
"Yes. It seems that god likes shows about angels. Though he likes to make me look either pathetic or powerful. It is uneven."
Then Dean realized he was on a show about angels. They were going to lose another room deposit.
*
Pay phones were not wireless, and therefore safe. If Dean could ever find one. "I don't know - Cas is on this freaky kick. He thinks god is talking to him through the TV, with these secret channels."
"Well that's just great," Bobby said, "I'm on TV and it has to be a damn soap opera. Lucky me."
"It's not a soap opera, Bobby. It's a reality show."
"Sure, much better. Have you ever watched an episode through to the end - you know, where you two stop the car and talk beside a body of water, or sometimes a bridge? The season finales?"
"There are seasons of this shit??"
"Of course. What part of soap opera aren't you getting?"
*
"Chuck, why is my life a TV show??" Dean gave up on finding pay phones somewhere in Oklahoma. Besides, Castiel never had quarters, and the last motel had Magic Fingers.
"I don't know! I'm not getting any money from it. Ask the angels!"
"I'm trying. Angels aren't the talky type. Unless they want to be. Then you can't shut them up."
"Maybe, I don't know, god felt the need to build the fan base."
"For what?"
"For the apocalypse. No one believes in it. I mean, even my generous publishing donor thought it was over the top."
"What the hell? The last thing we need is crazy humans to join up sides."
"Look, I don't know anything about a show. I mean, if god wanted a TV show, why did I have to write all those stupid books?"
"Well, I suppose the whole book thing hasn't worked out so well for god."
"No shit," Chuck and Castiel both said in unison.
"Maybe he's trying something new. All I know, this wasn't in my visions, but it's a hell of a lot like my visions. It's the way I see it; the way I've always seen it."
*
After that, Castiel built an altar out of the TV set, now surrounded by rings of 7-day candles, holy oil, and salt.
Dean wondered about the angels, he really did, but let it slide.
*
They found the show on older analog televisions in the cheapest motels - the ones they usually stayed at. They started looking for rooms without cable.
The network angels was always running marathons.
"How come nobody ever recognized us? And we've never seen this before? It doesn't make sense."
"None of this makes sense, Sam. That's what I'm telling you."
"It's not that highly rated," Castiel spoke up over the click of the remote. "It's hard to take a reality show about urban legends, demon hunters, and Southern gothic incest and make it palatable for the Nielsen viewers. I mean, Twin Peaks only lasted two seasons, and American Gothic barely lasted one. I'm not sure god understands his audience."
"How long have you known about this, Cas?"
"I don't think it existed before now. Not really. Yet, it has always existed."
"Okay," Sam said slowly.
*
Castiel loved the romance, and he loved watching with Dean, but it was a distraction.
He thought that once he found him, it would be easy. Instead, god was nowhere.
He would insist on old motel rooms because they had older sets. He would find himself praying, pleading with the static on the screen, the same way Jimmy used to try to talk to him. Was he that far away? Was the distance between god and himself even more vast than the distance between his vessel and the angels? Why, after all that he'd done to find god, was god so silent? Yet the static seemed to whisper to him, and Castiel thought he could hear children's laughter and smell fruit sometimes, like a ghost.
The Supernatural Show was something different. He liked it. He missed it when he wasn't watching it. Just like he missed Sam and Dean. Chuck had told Dean it was the way he imagined it. Castiel had to admit, it was the way he imagined it too.
The rest of television, there's a preponderance of false morality. Talk of crime. Inane comedy. People win prizes. Fake celebrities go on dates. People swap wives, houses, children, and recipes. Doomed love. Sports, preachers, and advertisements for everything above. People wondering what their collections, houses, cars, talents, fortunes, lives are worth. Many voices talking. Reenactments of real events, the reality of fake events, the fake news, the real news, the war, babies, and puppies.
Castiel didn't care about any of it, but still it could be fascinating. In its way. More human than godly. Human things he would never have the courage to do. None of the angels would. Even Gabriel had to create his own fantasies. Even Michael.
The secret channels - those were godly. One showed nothing but romantic scenes of people kissing in the rain, eating pie, or sprouting wings. Sometimes all three at once. It was Castiel's favorite, after the Big Bang Channel. Every one's favorite channel was the Big Bang Channel.
Still, the more Castiel watched, the more lonely he would become. He would end up sobbing to no one, and disappear into the forests where television did not exist. He would awake hours later, dew-covered and clear-eyed, convinced of what he must do. He needed to find a place that would return more little bars to his phone. Then he needed to talk to Dean.
"The secret channels. They're pathways to god."
"Say that again." Dean was used to Castiel just appearing. Almost.
"I'll show you. Let me gather my things." Castiel swept up a pen, a notebook, and a glass of water and moved closer to the television.
Dean had a weird feeling. Since when did Cas have things? "Is that a notebook?"
"Yes. I've been watching a lot."
"Hey, my dreams have been really close to old episodes of Three's Company. You still use your mojo on my dreams?"
"Only the bad ones." Castiel sat down to write.
*
Sam and Dean looked around for cameras but never found any. Dean was sick of being entertainment for god. Castiel knew there was meaning to all of it.
Sam felt exposed. "It's our lives, made into a book, made into a TV show, made into a book, made into a TV show." He adjusted his shades.
"Is that all?" Dean knew it wasn't, but he wasn't ready to tell Sam what Castiel saw.
"This all seems so needlessly complicated. Like something the angels would do, not god. He could do anything, but he's only transmitting through the radio waves." Sam sipped his black coffee, thinking. "Maybe it's not god. Maybe it's Michael. Maybe... he wants to talk to you, but he can't."
"Why would he want to talk to me?" Dean tapped the ketchup on the edge of the table, the same way he'd done in hundreds of diners.
Sam paused. "I mean, because... Lucifer is talking to me."
"You've seen him again?"
Sam nodded. "He always makes the same argument. But it doesn't make sense anymore."
"Dammit, Sam." That's exactly why he couldn't talk to him. He was always slipping through his fingers. Sam slipping through the Sam-shaped holes in Dean.
"He's in bad shape. He keeps expecting me to turn on you, like it's inevitable, like he doesn't even have to work that hard. But you know I never will."
"Yeah. I know." He did know. He thought maybe he knew what Michael wanted now too. "It's not your fault that everyone wants your brother's ass. Now, would you take those things off?"
Sam touched the corner of his glasses protectively. "If you're going to keep talking like that, I'm never going to take them off."
Dean stole his untouched french fries.
*
If Castiel was watching television in their hotel room, Dean wasn't surprised to find him there.
This time was different. Dean returned to a room of near darkness, nothing but flashing strobe light from the static of the set, with Castiel crying, kneeling, praying in front of it.
"Dean. I've found him."
And Dean looked back at the clear opacity of Castiel's eyes, believing in nothing of the angel's sanity or god.
"God says this is all full of lies." His hands touched the screen. The amulet at his chest glowed.
"Do you believe him, Cas?" Dean glanced down at the broken candles, the glass on the floor, the white of his notebook. He was starting to get a headache. "Whatever you're hearing, it can't be god."
Something in Castiel shifted, sudden and bird-like, and his eyes were clear as bells, angry and sure. "Why should I listen to you? You only have everything we want."
"Explain that, right the hell now, Cas."
The angel managed to at once collapse all his strength and rise up to bend his face towards Dean, his anger gone as quickly as it had come. "I need to tell you what god told me. It's a story, and I'm not proud to be any part of it, and yet I'm afraid that I am."
Dean's headache became legendary.
*
God tells the angel Castiel his story, as Castiel tells it to Dean.
Lo, the four brothers of heaven were born, blessed in form and function, blessed in the art of creation, if not creation itself. He thought it would be enough to sustain the order, enough for the rest of the host.
Michael created the idea of the story, at first to pass the time, later to replace a growing idea of a thing called conflict. Gabriel created comedy, as a reaction to his brother's increased stubbornness and rigidity, later as a means of survival. Raphael created philosophy, also to pass the time, later because it was all he could turn to. Lucifer loved Michael's stories, and joined him in creation, before he turned on them for good and drowned himself in reality.
Some of those first stories survived, re-told over the years, changed with the fire of something that was not quite emotion, but perhaps a mistranslation of it. When he was certain that his father was gone, finally, Gabriel spoke to men and told them to create boxes of tubes and light and wires, told them they were building boxes powerful enough to speak with heaven itself. The men listened, and the angels began their work.
God watched, waited for the time when he could begin speaking back, but the angels were no longer listening to the human voices, and no longer listening for his own. When he spoke, there was no one around to hear him.
Castiel tells Dean this story - God is in the television, and he wants to cancel The Supernatural Show. It is not his story though - it belongs to the angels, and Dean is their TV star.
*
Gabriel wasn't happy to see any of them. At least this time Castiel and Dean didn't need to use a ring of fire. Gabriel would just answer, because he had no one else to talk to. "This is weird, even for my tastes."
"You're telling me," was Dean's response. "But you have to admit, it's a hell of a coincidence. Angels use radio waves. You chose to trap us in the TV for a reason. Now there are whole channels devoted to our lives."
"I like metaphor. So sue me - I'm an angel. It's all I have."
"Well, then your life must suck."
"You're telling me."
"Look, I've listened to you angels spout off the ending to this story dozens of times. We're not going to play along. Because it's not some fucking story. It's our lives."
"You're talking to the wrong guy. Michael's a real romantic. He thought up the story in the first place, I just tried to have some fun with it. It's all the torture, the emotional porn - those two just never let up."
"Me and my brother?"
"Sam and Dean."
"What?"
"On the show. That's all Michael and Lucifer. That porn channel too. All Michael's idea."
"You guys should just try talking to each other. This whole speaking through metaphors thing is really convoluted."
"It's called repression, Dean. Look it up."
"Last time I checked, you had all the power here. I'm tired of angel sob stories. Grow a pair."
"Don't even pretend to know what it's like to be one of us."
"Yeah, our lives aren't fucking metaphors! When monsters live in our closet, monsters really live in our closet; when angels and demons want our asses, they really want our asses; when witches clap, we get the clap. We aren't like brothers - we are brothers. All of it - it's all real. Life might be a game to you, but it's actually not a fucking game. Got it?"
"Fine. Michael just wants what he sees. That's all. Figure it out."
*
When Dean thought about it, he figured Castiel had it worse than they did. Sam and Dean had each other, but they were responsible for no one. They had free will. All their brothers were dead. Still, some days only the TV could make him sane.
"BB-dash-C?" Sam enunciated. "What channel is this? Something British?" He walked in the room, carrying an attempt at groceries.
Castiel was carving angel sigils into black plastic with a knife with one hand, frantically fixing silver haloed bunny ears with the other. Dean was on the couch, his fist in his mouth. He slowly removed it.
On the TV screen, a man who looked just like Sam himself - but in soft black and white - was caressing a man who looked just like Dean. They were smiling with smiles Sam didn't recognize, laughing together in a giant white bed, fingering each other's sweat. Their eyelashes were practically fluttering, their lips swollen from kisses.
Sam was kind of jealous as hell. "What is this?"
All Dean could say, his mouth extremely dry, was, "Uhh, the TV."
Castiel stopped carving. "I'll leave you two alone now."
"Dean. Say something." Sam was freaking out.
Dean, oblivious, licked his lips. "So. BB-C is something called the Big Bang Channel."
"That doesn't sound good. Considering we're naked. On the television."
"It's not so bad, actually. I mean, innuendo is apparently big with this crowd, and that's not really us anyway. It's not our reality show either."
Sam squeezed his eyes shut against all the trauma. "Never say that again."
"Say what?"
"Our. Reality. Show. Those three words. Together."
"Okay. Fine." Dean shrugged helplessly.
"So what is this then?"
"It's two guys who look just like us. They're actors, and they live together, and work on this TV show, also called the Supernatural show. But it's not our... I mean, the Supernatural reality show. It's just these two guys, doing just about everything you can think of, but they're together. Like, together together. Always. I dunno, it's kind of addicting."
"What are their names?"
"I dunno. They just call each other 'J' most of the time."
Sam was at a loss for words.
"Don't you see, Sam?"
"What? What could I possibly not be seeing right now? That god hates the Winchesters?"
"No! God loves porn. The good stuff, too. It's classy. But not too classy. We look really good on TV, man. The camera loves me."
"That's not even you! It's just some guy who looks like you. We don't even know what's going on."
"I kind of like it."
"You can't tell the difference between porn and reality. Remember?"
"Yeah. Well. I kind of do know what's going on. If you want to believe the voice of god in the television, delusional friends, and trickster archangels."
"Well then. I'm game."
*
Dean watched as Dean soothed his brother with empty words and the familiar sound of his voice, wrapped Sam's blood-soaked arms in bandages and just tried not to cradle him in his arms.
Dean finished the last of the beers. He thought he was going to give up on all of this soon. "There's way too much man-love in this show."
"It's angel subtext. Michael and Lucifer are both trying to seduce you with fantasies."
"Cas, it's gay subtext."
"And? Michael loves his brother, as you love yours. Get over it, Dean." Castiel growled it.
"They're an angel's fantasies. That's something new, right? That has to mean something."
All harsh emotion left Castiel's face again, and he sighed. "Yes. I think it means everything."
*
Dean and Castiel still watched the television, looking for signs, but more often just looking.
It creeped Sam out. He lost his shit one day and kicked Castiel out.
"You guys need to stop. Seriously, stop." Sam stared Dean in the face.
"I just want a little escape now and then. You used to like that sort of thing. Spaceships and magicians."
"Yeah, before you told me the truth."
"Afterwards, too. You needed it even more."
"But TV is... it's just stupid. And it's not us. None of those guys are us. The angels think it's amusing to give me STDs. They get off on seeing you cry."
"Hey, Sammy - as always, right? - we are whoever we want to be. Fuck destiny."
"You've really been watching too much television."
"But it's true, right? God doesn't have an ending to this story; the angels think they do, but their ending sucks, and I'm sick of being their idea of a TV actor. I mean, who wants to be a TV actor?"
"Just, how do we get out of this? Just tell me what I have to do."
"Alright then. Sam. We're gonna have to come up with a better ending. So, Michael imagines he could live out another life with Lucifer, in our bodies. Maybe that's what he wants. To be able to love his brother, and just be normal. No god, no apocalypse, no heaven or hell or nothing."
"He's delusional. Has he even met Lucifer lately?"
"Probably not for a few millenia. Hey, I'm up for a wild west kind of ending. Shoot-outs and explosions."
"You do know you're talking about yourself here? You're going to get shot at. You're going to be the one exploding."
"Everyone likes to be entertained."
"Can't we have a nice farmhouse somewhere? Maybe even the beach."
Dean thought of something, considered it, dropped it, and considered it again. "I know I shouldn't do this."
"What?" Sam said, and followed his gaze across the room. "No way, that's Castiel's."
"I need some ideas." Dean opened to a page in the white notebook, started to read. "Dude. Wait a minute. I think Cas writes poetry. Love poetry. About kissing."
"Uh. Kissing who? Or what?"
Dean looked up, his eyes wide and fearless. "I think I know."
*
It was raining that night, a frozen rain that shone like ice from every surface.
Dean spoke first. "I know you're mad."
"You shouldn't have read my journal." Castiel wouldn't even look at him.
"I know I shouldn't have. It was wrong. It's just - a kiss is a kiss, Cas. You think that it solves anything? Do you think it's solved anything with me and Sam?" His voice was gruff but steam from his breath surrounded him like a cloud.
Castiel refused to answer, to even turn around.
"So, sex solves all problems? That never happens in real life, man."
His angel shook his head, his eyes darted around at nothing like they do. "The message is love. It has always been love."
"Okay. Yeah, I'll buy that part. But maybe it gets misinterpreted. Sex doesn't even mean love for humans most of the time. If we love somebody, we'll sometimes run as far away from them as we can."
"You don't have to speak to me as if I'm some child. I am immortal."
"I'm just saying, I get it. Gabriel said his brothers were all repressed. They won't give up their power. So they fantasize."
"They are. They are very repressed, Dean. Believe me."
"Let's give them something to really fantasize about. What do you say?"
Castiel said nothing.
"Come on, turn around. Just try it. Cas, try. The hero always gets the girl, right?"
"But. Sam..."
"Sam's the girl?"
Castiel wasn't going to correct him.
"Don't let your brothers teach you anything. They're possessive, and really bad fans, generally. You're my best one, though. My #1 fan."
"Yes," Castiel turned around. His face blue-eyed and open. "I am."
Their kiss was as perfect and unique as an ice crystal. It was better than television, but no one was watching.
*
The End
(Concrit and comments welcome.)
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Dean/Cas
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own; don't sue.
Word count: 5,500
Warnings: wall-busting meta, weirdness, god, Wincest, cracky like show is cracky
Summary: God is in the television, and he wants to cancel The Supernatural Show. It is not his story though - it belongs to the angels, and Dean is their TV star.
for my soon-to-be-departed TV.
The angels - in their figurative, forlorn existence - loved television. God himself had charged them with watching humankind, but television, once it arrived, was just so much better, faster, clearer, easier - it had convinced Gabriel to live out his fantasies through the miracles of editing and irony; it had convinced Raphael of nihilism, and that finally, god was indeed dead; it had (among other things) convinced Lucifer that all he believed was true; it had convinced Michael to fall in love. Perhaps it had even convinced god that he needed an epic series finale, full of character death, brief love, and disaster.
Castiel had never bothered to watch before. He always preferred the real thing, forbidden though it was, and hidden now by his own handiwork - sigils on their chest. Even if he had to read about Sam and Dean in the gospels, they were his story, his charges, and he could watch them whenever he liked - he could visit Dean in his dreams, and he could watch Sam fulfill his sad destiny - and not say a word.
Still, he wanted to find god and ask him why.
Castiel had started with Graceland. It just made sense at the time. He then tried searching the Grand Canyon, the forests of redwood trees (his favorite), hospitals and churches, dens of iniquity, Las Vegas, Texas. Even Florida. It took him a few days to figure it out: Sam and Dean were born here. The Antichrist was here, because of him. His name was on all the money; his face, Dean had said, was on a tortilla. It didn't seem right, but still, god was in America.
Strange.
Getting exploded by an archangel was pretty bad, but the search for god had been his idea. It was all on him - the lowly, noble angel Castiel. So, he watched, for god.
At first he was merely unsuccessful. Then he was massively unsuccessful, and fallen, and losing his connection to heaven more each day. The Colt was useless, and their best hope rested in the uprising of the underlings. Castiel began to despair, spending his time hiding out in vacant hotel rooms. When all of heaven and hell were after you, it helped to have four walls and a roof surrounding you; it didn't make it any easier, just better somehow. He became used to staring at the little glowing screen of his cell phone, waiting for Dean to call. He wanted to appear at the Winchesters' side; he wanted them to think of him, and use him. He missed what it was like to watch people before the apocalypse, before hell, before Dean. Now, he could barely hear their voices, and he found he didn't want to. He began to flip through the channels just to hear them again, the carefree voices, the certain ones.
He wished to see Sam and Dean like that. He wished to see his brothers like that.
Day by day, Castiel watched the television for signs of god. Until one day, he found him.
*
Sam and Dean didn't take bad news well, especially when it came during a midnight hotel bed pizza break. They had been on the move, switching hotels every few days not because they needed to, but because they were antsy, sleepless, and convinced they were going to be the death of everyone they meet. Which they often were. So they left Bobby's behind and set out on the road, determined to stay alive for once. Castiel, as far as they knew, had continued his search for god.
Now Castiel was claiming that god was in the television the whole time.
"Come again, Cas?" Dean struggled with a pepperoni.
"I believe that god is in the television. God might actually be television. I'm not sure about the physics."
"So, god is in the idiot box?" Dean nodded with both aplomb and sarcasm. "Like, 'the TV people'? Right."
Sam huffed. "You mean like in Poltergeist? Dean, that wasn't god, that was a poltergeist."
"Hey, Cas - are you sure god's not the Internet? I mean, that's what I would do." Dean shrugged.
Castiel shook his head. "No. Demons are the Internet. Angels are the radio."
"And you've just figured out that god is the television?"
The angel stood still and shrugged in his coat made for shrugging. "It makes sense. Though angels are taking over wireless communication of all kinds. We'll have the Internet soon."
Dean started to pace and scoffed in his coat made for scoffing. "You guys run cell phones? How? How does this make sense?"
"Angels are beings of energy and light. Our father who created us is a being of energy. I first traveled to earth on a radio wave. It was how I spoke to my vessel. God is watching us, surrounding us, speaking to us. God is religion. Religion is television. God is television. Ubiquitous, entrancing, worshipped. God. And television." Castiel frowned. "Maybe. I'm not sure yet. We're talking about pure energy existing on a material plane."
"Oh, so you've thought about this. And iPods?"
"There's nothing supernatural about iPods."
"Are you sure about that?"
"I think they might be alien. I haven't decided yet." Castiel paused. "You think I am probably schizophrenic."
"Yes, absolutely."
"Well, I'm not."
"Good to know. I mean, I just woke up to you staring at the TV while we slept. There's nothing freaky about that."
"I like to watch."
"So this is just a faith thing? Can't you give me some proof? What about the amulet?"
"It hasn't shown any signs."
"So why are you so convinced? What have you seen?" Dean looked at the corners of the room, like he'd done since he was a child. "Yeah. Ok. Whatever. So I guess I can't have it back them?" Dean turned around, held his palm out and stuck out his chin. He was using his rough voice. Castiel liked the rough voice.
But Castiel was no longer there.
*
Sam and Dean continued to hunt like they were born to do it. Especially nights after a salt n burn, the world didn't make any more sense. Dean only knew one thing that did.
"So, god is in the TV, huh?" Dean smashed the TV. It took three swings from a metal lamp - one to destroy the old analog set, and two to kill every light in the room. "Fuck the deposit," Dean declared, and used the rest of himself up rutting with his brother in the dark, their noisy wordless goodnight.
*
The thing was, everywhere they went, there was a television set. It usually went the same way.
"What are you watching, Cas?"
"God is sending me messages through the television. He's unhappy with Tivo. Also, infomercials. I think he really likes golf. And cooking."
"Ok then." Dean slapped his knees, presumably to change the subject and leave the room.
"No. I'm serious." Castiel put his hand over Dean's to stop him. On his knee. "Wait. I was going to tell you earlier, but... You might want to see this."
Castiel changed the channel to a show called "Supernatural". But it was actually Supernatural. Meaning, it was really them. Their lives, their faces, shot at pretty angles with perfect moody lighting, starring his brother, his baby, his dad. His leather jacket. All of it.
"What the...?" Dean was horrified.
"There are secret channels, on original radio frequencies."
"My life is a reality show. My life is a reality show. On...," he ran to get a closer look, squinting at the omnipresent logo, "Oh god! My life is a reality show on the Cutie World Network. I couldn't even hack VH-fucking-1."
He kept looking.
"Wait, Cas - that's you."
"Yes. It seems that god likes shows about angels. Though he likes to make me look either pathetic or powerful. It is uneven."
Then Dean realized he was on a show about angels. They were going to lose another room deposit.
*
Pay phones were not wireless, and therefore safe. If Dean could ever find one. "I don't know - Cas is on this freaky kick. He thinks god is talking to him through the TV, with these secret channels."
"Well that's just great," Bobby said, "I'm on TV and it has to be a damn soap opera. Lucky me."
"It's not a soap opera, Bobby. It's a reality show."
"Sure, much better. Have you ever watched an episode through to the end - you know, where you two stop the car and talk beside a body of water, or sometimes a bridge? The season finales?"
"There are seasons of this shit??"
"Of course. What part of soap opera aren't you getting?"
*
"Chuck, why is my life a TV show??" Dean gave up on finding pay phones somewhere in Oklahoma. Besides, Castiel never had quarters, and the last motel had Magic Fingers.
"I don't know! I'm not getting any money from it. Ask the angels!"
"I'm trying. Angels aren't the talky type. Unless they want to be. Then you can't shut them up."
"Maybe, I don't know, god felt the need to build the fan base."
"For what?"
"For the apocalypse. No one believes in it. I mean, even my generous publishing donor thought it was over the top."
"What the hell? The last thing we need is crazy humans to join up sides."
"Look, I don't know anything about a show. I mean, if god wanted a TV show, why did I have to write all those stupid books?"
"Well, I suppose the whole book thing hasn't worked out so well for god."
"No shit," Chuck and Castiel both said in unison.
"Maybe he's trying something new. All I know, this wasn't in my visions, but it's a hell of a lot like my visions. It's the way I see it; the way I've always seen it."
*
After that, Castiel built an altar out of the TV set, now surrounded by rings of 7-day candles, holy oil, and salt.
Dean wondered about the angels, he really did, but let it slide.
*
They found the show on older analog televisions in the cheapest motels - the ones they usually stayed at. They started looking for rooms without cable.
The network angels was always running marathons.
"How come nobody ever recognized us? And we've never seen this before? It doesn't make sense."
"None of this makes sense, Sam. That's what I'm telling you."
"It's not that highly rated," Castiel spoke up over the click of the remote. "It's hard to take a reality show about urban legends, demon hunters, and Southern gothic incest and make it palatable for the Nielsen viewers. I mean, Twin Peaks only lasted two seasons, and American Gothic barely lasted one. I'm not sure god understands his audience."
"How long have you known about this, Cas?"
"I don't think it existed before now. Not really. Yet, it has always existed."
"Okay," Sam said slowly.
*
Castiel loved the romance, and he loved watching with Dean, but it was a distraction.
He thought that once he found him, it would be easy. Instead, god was nowhere.
He would insist on old motel rooms because they had older sets. He would find himself praying, pleading with the static on the screen, the same way Jimmy used to try to talk to him. Was he that far away? Was the distance between god and himself even more vast than the distance between his vessel and the angels? Why, after all that he'd done to find god, was god so silent? Yet the static seemed to whisper to him, and Castiel thought he could hear children's laughter and smell fruit sometimes, like a ghost.
The Supernatural Show was something different. He liked it. He missed it when he wasn't watching it. Just like he missed Sam and Dean. Chuck had told Dean it was the way he imagined it. Castiel had to admit, it was the way he imagined it too.
The rest of television, there's a preponderance of false morality. Talk of crime. Inane comedy. People win prizes. Fake celebrities go on dates. People swap wives, houses, children, and recipes. Doomed love. Sports, preachers, and advertisements for everything above. People wondering what their collections, houses, cars, talents, fortunes, lives are worth. Many voices talking. Reenactments of real events, the reality of fake events, the fake news, the real news, the war, babies, and puppies.
Castiel didn't care about any of it, but still it could be fascinating. In its way. More human than godly. Human things he would never have the courage to do. None of the angels would. Even Gabriel had to create his own fantasies. Even Michael.
The secret channels - those were godly. One showed nothing but romantic scenes of people kissing in the rain, eating pie, or sprouting wings. Sometimes all three at once. It was Castiel's favorite, after the Big Bang Channel. Every one's favorite channel was the Big Bang Channel.
Still, the more Castiel watched, the more lonely he would become. He would end up sobbing to no one, and disappear into the forests where television did not exist. He would awake hours later, dew-covered and clear-eyed, convinced of what he must do. He needed to find a place that would return more little bars to his phone. Then he needed to talk to Dean.
"The secret channels. They're pathways to god."
"Say that again." Dean was used to Castiel just appearing. Almost.
"I'll show you. Let me gather my things." Castiel swept up a pen, a notebook, and a glass of water and moved closer to the television.
Dean had a weird feeling. Since when did Cas have things? "Is that a notebook?"
"Yes. I've been watching a lot."
"Hey, my dreams have been really close to old episodes of Three's Company. You still use your mojo on my dreams?"
"Only the bad ones." Castiel sat down to write.
*
Sam and Dean looked around for cameras but never found any. Dean was sick of being entertainment for god. Castiel knew there was meaning to all of it.
Sam felt exposed. "It's our lives, made into a book, made into a TV show, made into a book, made into a TV show." He adjusted his shades.
"Is that all?" Dean knew it wasn't, but he wasn't ready to tell Sam what Castiel saw.
"This all seems so needlessly complicated. Like something the angels would do, not god. He could do anything, but he's only transmitting through the radio waves." Sam sipped his black coffee, thinking. "Maybe it's not god. Maybe it's Michael. Maybe... he wants to talk to you, but he can't."
"Why would he want to talk to me?" Dean tapped the ketchup on the edge of the table, the same way he'd done in hundreds of diners.
Sam paused. "I mean, because... Lucifer is talking to me."
"You've seen him again?"
Sam nodded. "He always makes the same argument. But it doesn't make sense anymore."
"Dammit, Sam." That's exactly why he couldn't talk to him. He was always slipping through his fingers. Sam slipping through the Sam-shaped holes in Dean.
"He's in bad shape. He keeps expecting me to turn on you, like it's inevitable, like he doesn't even have to work that hard. But you know I never will."
"Yeah. I know." He did know. He thought maybe he knew what Michael wanted now too. "It's not your fault that everyone wants your brother's ass. Now, would you take those things off?"
Sam touched the corner of his glasses protectively. "If you're going to keep talking like that, I'm never going to take them off."
Dean stole his untouched french fries.
*
If Castiel was watching television in their hotel room, Dean wasn't surprised to find him there.
This time was different. Dean returned to a room of near darkness, nothing but flashing strobe light from the static of the set, with Castiel crying, kneeling, praying in front of it.
"Dean. I've found him."
And Dean looked back at the clear opacity of Castiel's eyes, believing in nothing of the angel's sanity or god.
"God says this is all full of lies." His hands touched the screen. The amulet at his chest glowed.
"Do you believe him, Cas?" Dean glanced down at the broken candles, the glass on the floor, the white of his notebook. He was starting to get a headache. "Whatever you're hearing, it can't be god."
Something in Castiel shifted, sudden and bird-like, and his eyes were clear as bells, angry and sure. "Why should I listen to you? You only have everything we want."
"Explain that, right the hell now, Cas."
The angel managed to at once collapse all his strength and rise up to bend his face towards Dean, his anger gone as quickly as it had come. "I need to tell you what god told me. It's a story, and I'm not proud to be any part of it, and yet I'm afraid that I am."
Dean's headache became legendary.
*
God tells the angel Castiel his story, as Castiel tells it to Dean.
Lo, the four brothers of heaven were born, blessed in form and function, blessed in the art of creation, if not creation itself. He thought it would be enough to sustain the order, enough for the rest of the host.
Michael created the idea of the story, at first to pass the time, later to replace a growing idea of a thing called conflict. Gabriel created comedy, as a reaction to his brother's increased stubbornness and rigidity, later as a means of survival. Raphael created philosophy, also to pass the time, later because it was all he could turn to. Lucifer loved Michael's stories, and joined him in creation, before he turned on them for good and drowned himself in reality.
Some of those first stories survived, re-told over the years, changed with the fire of something that was not quite emotion, but perhaps a mistranslation of it. When he was certain that his father was gone, finally, Gabriel spoke to men and told them to create boxes of tubes and light and wires, told them they were building boxes powerful enough to speak with heaven itself. The men listened, and the angels began their work.
God watched, waited for the time when he could begin speaking back, but the angels were no longer listening to the human voices, and no longer listening for his own. When he spoke, there was no one around to hear him.
Castiel tells Dean this story - God is in the television, and he wants to cancel The Supernatural Show. It is not his story though - it belongs to the angels, and Dean is their TV star.
*
Gabriel wasn't happy to see any of them. At least this time Castiel and Dean didn't need to use a ring of fire. Gabriel would just answer, because he had no one else to talk to. "This is weird, even for my tastes."
"You're telling me," was Dean's response. "But you have to admit, it's a hell of a coincidence. Angels use radio waves. You chose to trap us in the TV for a reason. Now there are whole channels devoted to our lives."
"I like metaphor. So sue me - I'm an angel. It's all I have."
"Well, then your life must suck."
"You're telling me."
"Look, I've listened to you angels spout off the ending to this story dozens of times. We're not going to play along. Because it's not some fucking story. It's our lives."
"You're talking to the wrong guy. Michael's a real romantic. He thought up the story in the first place, I just tried to have some fun with it. It's all the torture, the emotional porn - those two just never let up."
"Me and my brother?"
"Sam and Dean."
"What?"
"On the show. That's all Michael and Lucifer. That porn channel too. All Michael's idea."
"You guys should just try talking to each other. This whole speaking through metaphors thing is really convoluted."
"It's called repression, Dean. Look it up."
"Last time I checked, you had all the power here. I'm tired of angel sob stories. Grow a pair."
"Don't even pretend to know what it's like to be one of us."
"Yeah, our lives aren't fucking metaphors! When monsters live in our closet, monsters really live in our closet; when angels and demons want our asses, they really want our asses; when witches clap, we get the clap. We aren't like brothers - we are brothers. All of it - it's all real. Life might be a game to you, but it's actually not a fucking game. Got it?"
"Fine. Michael just wants what he sees. That's all. Figure it out."
*
When Dean thought about it, he figured Castiel had it worse than they did. Sam and Dean had each other, but they were responsible for no one. They had free will. All their brothers were dead. Still, some days only the TV could make him sane.
"BB-dash-C?" Sam enunciated. "What channel is this? Something British?" He walked in the room, carrying an attempt at groceries.
Castiel was carving angel sigils into black plastic with a knife with one hand, frantically fixing silver haloed bunny ears with the other. Dean was on the couch, his fist in his mouth. He slowly removed it.
On the TV screen, a man who looked just like Sam himself - but in soft black and white - was caressing a man who looked just like Dean. They were smiling with smiles Sam didn't recognize, laughing together in a giant white bed, fingering each other's sweat. Their eyelashes were practically fluttering, their lips swollen from kisses.
Sam was kind of jealous as hell. "What is this?"
All Dean could say, his mouth extremely dry, was, "Uhh, the TV."
Castiel stopped carving. "I'll leave you two alone now."
"Dean. Say something." Sam was freaking out.
Dean, oblivious, licked his lips. "So. BB-C is something called the Big Bang Channel."
"That doesn't sound good. Considering we're naked. On the television."
"It's not so bad, actually. I mean, innuendo is apparently big with this crowd, and that's not really us anyway. It's not our reality show either."
Sam squeezed his eyes shut against all the trauma. "Never say that again."
"Say what?"
"Our. Reality. Show. Those three words. Together."
"Okay. Fine." Dean shrugged helplessly.
"So what is this then?"
"It's two guys who look just like us. They're actors, and they live together, and work on this TV show, also called the Supernatural show. But it's not our... I mean, the Supernatural reality show. It's just these two guys, doing just about everything you can think of, but they're together. Like, together together. Always. I dunno, it's kind of addicting."
"What are their names?"
"I dunno. They just call each other 'J' most of the time."
Sam was at a loss for words.
"Don't you see, Sam?"
"What? What could I possibly not be seeing right now? That god hates the Winchesters?"
"No! God loves porn. The good stuff, too. It's classy. But not too classy. We look really good on TV, man. The camera loves me."
"That's not even you! It's just some guy who looks like you. We don't even know what's going on."
"I kind of like it."
"You can't tell the difference between porn and reality. Remember?"
"Yeah. Well. I kind of do know what's going on. If you want to believe the voice of god in the television, delusional friends, and trickster archangels."
"Well then. I'm game."
*
Dean watched as Dean soothed his brother with empty words and the familiar sound of his voice, wrapped Sam's blood-soaked arms in bandages and just tried not to cradle him in his arms.
Dean finished the last of the beers. He thought he was going to give up on all of this soon. "There's way too much man-love in this show."
"It's angel subtext. Michael and Lucifer are both trying to seduce you with fantasies."
"Cas, it's gay subtext."
"And? Michael loves his brother, as you love yours. Get over it, Dean." Castiel growled it.
"They're an angel's fantasies. That's something new, right? That has to mean something."
All harsh emotion left Castiel's face again, and he sighed. "Yes. I think it means everything."
*
Dean and Castiel still watched the television, looking for signs, but more often just looking.
It creeped Sam out. He lost his shit one day and kicked Castiel out.
"You guys need to stop. Seriously, stop." Sam stared Dean in the face.
"I just want a little escape now and then. You used to like that sort of thing. Spaceships and magicians."
"Yeah, before you told me the truth."
"Afterwards, too. You needed it even more."
"But TV is... it's just stupid. And it's not us. None of those guys are us. The angels think it's amusing to give me STDs. They get off on seeing you cry."
"Hey, Sammy - as always, right? - we are whoever we want to be. Fuck destiny."
"You've really been watching too much television."
"But it's true, right? God doesn't have an ending to this story; the angels think they do, but their ending sucks, and I'm sick of being their idea of a TV actor. I mean, who wants to be a TV actor?"
"Just, how do we get out of this? Just tell me what I have to do."
"Alright then. Sam. We're gonna have to come up with a better ending. So, Michael imagines he could live out another life with Lucifer, in our bodies. Maybe that's what he wants. To be able to love his brother, and just be normal. No god, no apocalypse, no heaven or hell or nothing."
"He's delusional. Has he even met Lucifer lately?"
"Probably not for a few millenia. Hey, I'm up for a wild west kind of ending. Shoot-outs and explosions."
"You do know you're talking about yourself here? You're going to get shot at. You're going to be the one exploding."
"Everyone likes to be entertained."
"Can't we have a nice farmhouse somewhere? Maybe even the beach."
Dean thought of something, considered it, dropped it, and considered it again. "I know I shouldn't do this."
"What?" Sam said, and followed his gaze across the room. "No way, that's Castiel's."
"I need some ideas." Dean opened to a page in the white notebook, started to read. "Dude. Wait a minute. I think Cas writes poetry. Love poetry. About kissing."
"Uh. Kissing who? Or what?"
Dean looked up, his eyes wide and fearless. "I think I know."
*
It was raining that night, a frozen rain that shone like ice from every surface.
Dean spoke first. "I know you're mad."
"You shouldn't have read my journal." Castiel wouldn't even look at him.
"I know I shouldn't have. It was wrong. It's just - a kiss is a kiss, Cas. You think that it solves anything? Do you think it's solved anything with me and Sam?" His voice was gruff but steam from his breath surrounded him like a cloud.
Castiel refused to answer, to even turn around.
"So, sex solves all problems? That never happens in real life, man."
His angel shook his head, his eyes darted around at nothing like they do. "The message is love. It has always been love."
"Okay. Yeah, I'll buy that part. But maybe it gets misinterpreted. Sex doesn't even mean love for humans most of the time. If we love somebody, we'll sometimes run as far away from them as we can."
"You don't have to speak to me as if I'm some child. I am immortal."
"I'm just saying, I get it. Gabriel said his brothers were all repressed. They won't give up their power. So they fantasize."
"They are. They are very repressed, Dean. Believe me."
"Let's give them something to really fantasize about. What do you say?"
Castiel said nothing.
"Come on, turn around. Just try it. Cas, try. The hero always gets the girl, right?"
"But. Sam..."
"Sam's the girl?"
Castiel wasn't going to correct him.
"Don't let your brothers teach you anything. They're possessive, and really bad fans, generally. You're my best one, though. My #1 fan."
"Yes," Castiel turned around. His face blue-eyed and open. "I am."
Their kiss was as perfect and unique as an ice crystal. It was better than television, but no one was watching.
*
The End
(Concrit and comments welcome.)