SPN FIC - Food Run
Rolling back a couple of seasons -- back to simpler times, when Cas was new in these parts, and still trying to figure things out.
Things like human beings.
And burgers.
Cas pondered that for a moment, then nodded and turned to the teenage boy standing in line in front of them. When the kid turned to Cas after being tapped on the shoulder, Cas informed him, "I am an angel of the Lord."
CHARACTERS: Dean, Castiel, Sam
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 1034 words
FOOD RUN
By Carol Davis
"Why are we waiting here?"
"Because I'm hungry."
"This is not a productive use of our time."
"Then…you know what? Zap on back to the Q Continuum, or wherever it is that you go. Come back in an hour."
It came as no great surprise to Dean that Cas didn't follow his instructions. Cas was so freaking literal that he might well have asked for an explanation (What is the Q Continuum? How does one get there?), right here in the middle of the damn Burger World, but he didn't do that either - which was somewhat of a bummer, because a nice little tutorial on Star Trek: The Next Generation would have used up five or ten minutes, giving Dean something to occupy his mind while he waited.
Instead, Cas simply stood there, staring at him.
"Jesus," Dean said. "It's lunchtime. There's a line. Deal with it."
Cas pondered that for a moment, then nodded and turned to the teenage boy standing in line in front of them. When the kid turned to Cas after being tapped on the shoulder, Cas informed him, "I am an angel of the Lord."
"Right," the kid groaned.
"Dude," Dean whispered. "What are you doing?"
"I am attempting to deal with this line," Cas replied.
"And…what?" the kid said. "You're gonna smite me?"
"It had crossed my mind."
Shaking his head, the kid faced forward again. His muttered "asshat" was just loud enough for both Dean and Cas to hear.
"You can't smite people in the friggin' Burger World," Dean hissed.
Cas gave him what was, for Cas, a withering look. "I did not intend to. I am attempting to - what is it you call it? Cut the line."
"You're gonna line-jump."
"That would seem to be the most expeditious method of securing your food so that we can leave this place."
"So you feel like getting your ass kicked."
"I have observed the procedure working quite well under a variety of circumstances. If one is aggressive enough -"
"Just chill out. All right?"
"I could inform the person distributing the food that I am a member of law enforcement."
Little ears, Dean thought; the angel was just like a three-year-old kid. Yeah, yeah, he'd cut through more than one line by flashing a phony badge and claiming he was a detective, or from the Health Department, or whatever it took. But dammit, he was good at bluffing his way through something like that.
Castiel was not.
And Jean-Luc Picard thought he had problems with the freakin' Q.
"Come on," he said, grasping Cas's trench-coated arm long enough to propel him out of the line and across the restaurant toward the door.
"Are you not hungry any more?" Cas asked as they moved out into the parking lot.
"I'm hungry enough to eat my own leg."
"Then I do not -"
"Drive-through," Dean said firmly. "We're gonna hit the drive-through."
~~~~~~~~
"We're back," Dean muttered as the motel room door creaked open. He hadn't so much pushed it open as simply tipped his weight against it, and it was only because his other option was sliding to the floor and lying there in a heap that he managed to take the few steps to the bed he'd claimed the night before.
He was barely aware of Sam gaping at him.
"Don't ask," he sighed.
"You said you were gonna get lunch. That was like…three and a half hours ago."
"And you were so consumed with worry that you called me…how many times? Oh. Like, none."
"I figured you were interviewing witnesses. Dude. You have - why do you have pickles stuck to your head?"
"Ask him."
Jabbing a finger toward the still-open doorway - where Cas was standing, poker-faced and silent - tapped what little energy Dean had left. That done, he collapsed onto the bed, face down, glad for the chance to look at nothing except an old, pilly, mustard-gold blanket. With any luck, he figured, lack of nourishment (combined with dehydration, and the fact that every nerve ending in his body had been fried several times over) would let him lapse right on into unconsciousness.
"We had difficulties," Cas said.
"Where the hell did you go?" Sam sputtered. "That's - what's all over your clothes?"
Dean turned his head a little to one side. The angle let him see Sam, but not Cas, which was a blessing in a variety of ways. "It was like friggin' Harold & Kumar," he told his brother. "Without the weed."
"You ran into Neil Patrick Harris?"
"We were trying to get hamburgers. And if you laugh, I'm gonna come over there and kick your ass."
"I…don't see any burgers."
"There are no burgers!" Dean barked. "Okay? There are no burgers!"
"There were burgers," Cas corrected him. "We left them behind."
Groaning, Dean dropped his face back into the blanket and did his level best to ignore the snorting sound issuing from his brother. When Sam announced, "I'm going to get dinner. With any luck I'll be back in less than three hours," Dean ignored him.
The door opened. Then closed.
A minute later, Castiel said, "There were burgers."
"There was also almost jail, douchebag."
For a while, the room was silent. Then the creak of bedsprings announced that Cas had taken a seat on the other bed.
The angel sighed.
"I am sorry, Dean," he said.
You damn well ought to be, Dean thought. But there was something about the woe in Cas's voice that reminded him of Sam - of the very little Sam who had tried his best to help out, by cleaning the tub, or cooking some soup, and had managed to create mayhem every single time. For a while - a short while, thank God - Sam had been so clumsy, Dean had begun to think there was something wrong with him.
There wasn't, though.
He'd just been young.
Learning.
"It's okay," Dean muttered as he shifted himself up into a sit. "Stuff…takes a while."
Cas thought that over, brow deeply furrowed. Then he asked quietly, "Are we…'good', then?"
Angel of the Lord, Dean thought.
I'm teaching a freaking Angel of the Lord how to tie his shoelaces.
"Yeah," he said softly. "We're good."
* * * * *
Things like human beings.
And burgers.
Cas pondered that for a moment, then nodded and turned to the teenage boy standing in line in front of them. When the kid turned to Cas after being tapped on the shoulder, Cas informed him, "I am an angel of the Lord."
CHARACTERS: Dean, Castiel, Sam
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 1034 words
FOOD RUN
By Carol Davis
"Why are we waiting here?"
"Because I'm hungry."
"This is not a productive use of our time."
"Then…you know what? Zap on back to the Q Continuum, or wherever it is that you go. Come back in an hour."
It came as no great surprise to Dean that Cas didn't follow his instructions. Cas was so freaking literal that he might well have asked for an explanation (What is the Q Continuum? How does one get there?), right here in the middle of the damn Burger World, but he didn't do that either - which was somewhat of a bummer, because a nice little tutorial on Star Trek: The Next Generation would have used up five or ten minutes, giving Dean something to occupy his mind while he waited.
Instead, Cas simply stood there, staring at him.
"Jesus," Dean said. "It's lunchtime. There's a line. Deal with it."
Cas pondered that for a moment, then nodded and turned to the teenage boy standing in line in front of them. When the kid turned to Cas after being tapped on the shoulder, Cas informed him, "I am an angel of the Lord."
"Right," the kid groaned.
"Dude," Dean whispered. "What are you doing?"
"I am attempting to deal with this line," Cas replied.
"And…what?" the kid said. "You're gonna smite me?"
"It had crossed my mind."
Shaking his head, the kid faced forward again. His muttered "asshat" was just loud enough for both Dean and Cas to hear.
"You can't smite people in the friggin' Burger World," Dean hissed.
Cas gave him what was, for Cas, a withering look. "I did not intend to. I am attempting to - what is it you call it? Cut the line."
"You're gonna line-jump."
"That would seem to be the most expeditious method of securing your food so that we can leave this place."
"So you feel like getting your ass kicked."
"I have observed the procedure working quite well under a variety of circumstances. If one is aggressive enough -"
"Just chill out. All right?"
"I could inform the person distributing the food that I am a member of law enforcement."
Little ears, Dean thought; the angel was just like a three-year-old kid. Yeah, yeah, he'd cut through more than one line by flashing a phony badge and claiming he was a detective, or from the Health Department, or whatever it took. But dammit, he was good at bluffing his way through something like that.
Castiel was not.
And Jean-Luc Picard thought he had problems with the freakin' Q.
"Come on," he said, grasping Cas's trench-coated arm long enough to propel him out of the line and across the restaurant toward the door.
"Are you not hungry any more?" Cas asked as they moved out into the parking lot.
"I'm hungry enough to eat my own leg."
"Then I do not -"
"Drive-through," Dean said firmly. "We're gonna hit the drive-through."
~~~~~~~~
"We're back," Dean muttered as the motel room door creaked open. He hadn't so much pushed it open as simply tipped his weight against it, and it was only because his other option was sliding to the floor and lying there in a heap that he managed to take the few steps to the bed he'd claimed the night before.
He was barely aware of Sam gaping at him.
"Don't ask," he sighed.
"You said you were gonna get lunch. That was like…three and a half hours ago."
"And you were so consumed with worry that you called me…how many times? Oh. Like, none."
"I figured you were interviewing witnesses. Dude. You have - why do you have pickles stuck to your head?"
"Ask him."
Jabbing a finger toward the still-open doorway - where Cas was standing, poker-faced and silent - tapped what little energy Dean had left. That done, he collapsed onto the bed, face down, glad for the chance to look at nothing except an old, pilly, mustard-gold blanket. With any luck, he figured, lack of nourishment (combined with dehydration, and the fact that every nerve ending in his body had been fried several times over) would let him lapse right on into unconsciousness.
"We had difficulties," Cas said.
"Where the hell did you go?" Sam sputtered. "That's - what's all over your clothes?"
Dean turned his head a little to one side. The angle let him see Sam, but not Cas, which was a blessing in a variety of ways. "It was like friggin' Harold & Kumar," he told his brother. "Without the weed."
"You ran into Neil Patrick Harris?"
"We were trying to get hamburgers. And if you laugh, I'm gonna come over there and kick your ass."
"I…don't see any burgers."
"There are no burgers!" Dean barked. "Okay? There are no burgers!"
"There were burgers," Cas corrected him. "We left them behind."
Groaning, Dean dropped his face back into the blanket and did his level best to ignore the snorting sound issuing from his brother. When Sam announced, "I'm going to get dinner. With any luck I'll be back in less than three hours," Dean ignored him.
The door opened. Then closed.
A minute later, Castiel said, "There were burgers."
"There was also almost jail, douchebag."
For a while, the room was silent. Then the creak of bedsprings announced that Cas had taken a seat on the other bed.
The angel sighed.
"I am sorry, Dean," he said.
You damn well ought to be, Dean thought. But there was something about the woe in Cas's voice that reminded him of Sam - of the very little Sam who had tried his best to help out, by cleaning the tub, or cooking some soup, and had managed to create mayhem every single time. For a while - a short while, thank God - Sam had been so clumsy, Dean had begun to think there was something wrong with him.
There wasn't, though.
He'd just been young.
Learning.
"It's okay," Dean muttered as he shifted himself up into a sit. "Stuff…takes a while."
Cas thought that over, brow deeply furrowed. Then he asked quietly, "Are we…'good', then?"
Angel of the Lord, Dean thought.
I'm teaching a freaking Angel of the Lord how to tie his shoelaces.
"Yeah," he said softly. "We're good."
* * * * *