The Rescuers (Los Desaparecidos, Chapter 4 of 6)
Title: The Rescuers (Los Desaparecidos, Chapter 4 of 6)
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel (eventually); Sam, Bobby, Rufus, Ellen, Jo, Crowley
Warnings: AU. Cursing. Some hints of Dean/Jo, so if you loathe that pairing, steer clear.
Word Count: 4,700 for this chapter
Summary: A dystopian AU where the United States is an authoritarian regime run by mysterious overlords. John Winchester disappeared when Sam and Dean were very young so the boys were not raised as hunters. Then one day Dean has a chance encounter with a strange homeless man who may be more than he seems.
Notes: I think this will be six chapters total. But I may change my mind. I’ve been known to do that. And by the way, the farfetched method of mass murder I mention in this chapter? Really happened. Google the title, los desaparecidos, if you’d like to read about it.
The unconscious ones were the lucky ones.
Sam watched in increasing horror as the helicopter finally reached its destination, somewhere above the freezing ocean waters off the coast of the Pacific Northwest.
Then three of the cops had picked up one of the groggy people lying on the floor: one cop at the head, two at the feet, being careful to grab the weight the guy had chained to his legs. They scooted crab-like to the open side of the helicopter and then, one, two, three. It was casual as tossing your girlfriend into the pool on a summer day.
That first guy managed a strangled scream. Sam heard the soft splash far down below, and then listened to the cops chuckling as they selected the next one to go.
Sam noticed after a few throws that they seemed to choose the semi-conscious ones. Sadism? He didn’t care. So as he worked the pick, blindly and desperately, into the padlock that chained the fifty pound weight to his legs he tried to remain as still as possible.
He realized, somewhere, somehow, that he had little chance of surviving anyway. Even if he got the weight off, and somehow they didn’t notice, and then he by some miracle survived the fall, the biting cold of the sea would no doubt finish him off within minutes.
He just didn’t care. He couldn’t care.
He felt the lock click.
“Hey, look who’s been messing with his chains!” yelled a cop. Sam’s heart sank as the guy undid all his work with a click. The cop leaned in close as he grabbed Sam’s pick and tossed it away. “Wanna go for a swim?”
And then Sam felt himself yanked up. “No,” was all he could think to say. “NO!” He struggled feebly against the cops.
“Let’s make a big splash!” one of the cops called.
“One. Two. Three!”
And then he was flailing through the air, his stomach lurching, desperate and praying and resigned and struggling.
He closed his eyes, bracing for the impact. Like smacking on concrete, is what he had heard. He had a second pick secreted away. If he could stay conscious, pull it out, pick the lock while holding his breath….
And then…. This wasn’t what he expected. He felt the wind knocked out of him, rushing sideways, like being clasped by two mighty arms.
He opened his eyes and looked around, stunned.
His ass was sitting on solid ground. And there was a dude in an overcoat standing over him, repeating, “Please don’t sing. Please don’t sing….”
“You see! I have the sight!” came a shout from behind him. They seemed to be on a rocky beach. Sam turned. In back of them, up on some rocks, a crazy dude with an eyepatch was dancing around.
“What the fuck?” asked Sam. Was this heaven? Hell? His drowning dream?
“SAMMY!” And then he felt himself enveloped in a familiar hug. “Sammy!” said Dean, who was now kneeling beside him. “Are you OK? Are you hurt? I was so fucking worried!”
The dude in the overcoat pointed at the chains around Sam’s legs, and the lock suddenly broke. “They meant to drown him,” he said, all gravelly voiced seriousness in contrast to the freaky dude up on the rocks.
“Yeah, they’re dumping a bunch of them in the ocean. That’s how they disappear someone. It’s how they have their fun!” shouted the guy up on the rocks. “Bunch of assholes!”
Sam desperately tried to get his bearings. “Dean. What…. Who are these guys?”
“Uh, they’re friends. Kind of. That’s Crowley up there. And-“
“I am Castiel, angel of the Lord,” said the overcoat guy. “I am pleased to meet you, Sam Winchester.”
“Did you just save me?” Sam asked.
“Why, yes. I just saved you, Sam Winchester,” said the angel proudly.
Sam was up on his feet, gripping the angel by the shoulders. “There’s more! A lot more! They’re drowning people! If you’re an angel, use your magical angel … whatever! Please save them! You need to save them too!”
“I-“ said Castiel. He looked out towards ocean with a pained expression. “Are they … in the water?”
“Sammy, I don’t know-“ said Dean.
“Don’t like … getting my wings wet,” muttered Castiel.
“SAVE THEM!” ordered Sam.
“I will- Yes, Sam Winchester,” said the angel, giving a slight bow and glancing over at Dean. “I will save them for you.”
And then he was suddenly not there any more.
“Sammy, I don’t know if he has the power…” started Dean.
“He’ll probably drown his own fool self, you dumb ape!” laughed Crowley from up above. “Angels are hawks, not ducks!”
“You could help him out, Crowley!” Dean shouted.
“Half drowned humans? I think not. It’s time for my mani pedi!” said Crowley, primly consulting his watch. And then he was there no more.
“Fuck you,” grumbled Dean.
“What a jerk…” muttered Sam.
“He’s a demon,” said Dean.
“Demons are assholes!” said Sam.
And then there was another person on the beach, choking. Castiel, looking half drowned himself, stood by him. “I think he needs assistance,” he told Dean, before disappearing again. And then as Dean was slapping the drowning victim on the back, and there was sopping wet Castiel with two more.
“Sammy, I need your help!” pleaded Dean.
Sam tried to pull himself together, to remember the summers he spent as a lifeguard. Cas kept showing up with more people, dripping wet and gagging on seawater. Some were just cold and scared, so he sent them to huddle together. Cas dragged in an unconscious young woman and disappeared. Sam felt desperately for a pulse, and then began pounding on her chest. To his surprise and relief, she began choking. “Saved you,” Sam smiled. “I saved one.”
“Sam!” shouted Dean again, and Sam was over giving mouth to mouth to some guy. But this one didn’t work.
“Come on, come on,” said Sam.
“I think that’s it. Is that it, Cas?” asked Dean.
The angel, who looked worse than the drowning victims, was huddled in his sodden overcoat. He shivered and nodded. “Don’t like getting my wings wet,” he muttered.
“We lost one,” said Sam. He looked up and saw that the angel was now kneeling beside him, muddy kneed, like he had crawled over the beach. Castiel sighed and put two fingers on the dead guy.
The dead guy choked.
“Holy fuck!” said Sam, who did a double take towards Castiel and the revived guy.
“Yeah, he does that,” laughed Dean, who had a proud hand on Castiel’s shoulder. Dean now hunkered down next to the choking angel. “Cas. We need to get these people somewhere they can dry off.”
“OK,” said Castiel, wiping his mouth with a trench coat sleeve.
“I know it’s a lot, but can you get us to Bobby’s? All of us? We’ll be safe there!”
Castiel looked suddenly pained.
“Are you too weak now?” asked Dean.
Castiel shook his head, water running down his face. “I’m OK. I…. It doesn’t matter.” With a look of resignation, he stood up, though he was leaning on Dean to do so. He frowned and stuck his hands out.
Sam gagged. He stumbled, went down on his hands and knees, and threw up.
“It sometimes does that,” came Dean’s voice. Sam wiped his chin on his sleeve and looked up. Dean was standing over him, but they were no longer at the beach. He looked around. All of the people from the beach were now huddled in what looked like farmland.
“Dean! What the fuck!” came a gruff voice.
“Bobby!” shouted Dean, who ran over to the old guy. “They tried to drown these people! They need help.”
“Drown ‘em?” asked Bobby. He looked around in confusion. “Where the hell did they drown ‘em around here?”
“They took us on a helicopter. Over the ocean,” said Sam, who painfully lurched to his feet. “It’s how they disappear people.”
There were more people gathered around now, some running to get blankets.
“Over the ocean? Yeah, that makes sense,” said Bobby. “But how the fuck did you just land them here?”
“Castiel brought us!” said Sam, pointing to the angel. Castiel, who was hunched over, hands on knees, stole a glance at Bobby. Sam thought he looked panicked.
“Sammy,” warned Dean.
Sam looked at his brother, confused.
“How in blazes did he do that?” asked Bobby, who was now quiet.
“Bobby,” explained Dean. “You didn’t know. Cas is an angel.”
There was dead silence.
“He’s an angel?” Bobby demanded. “You brought an angel here?” he barked, now up in Dean’s face. “Into my home?”
“Bobby! Calm. The fuck. Down!” warned Dean
“I won’t calm the fuck down! Do you have any idea what these fucking things can get up to? Don't you know what we're fighting?”
“Bobby,” panted Castiel. “I could-“
“Shut up, you monster!” Bobby shouted, and suddenly, quicker than Sam would have expected for an old guy, he was on Castiel like a linebacker, butting him down to the ground. The exhausted angel’s knees buckled. Bobby grabbed Cas by the hair and dragged him to a small clearing, where Castiel collapsed in a heap, breathing hard.
“Bobby! Stop it!” shouted Dean, who tried to grab Bobby from behind. But Bobby had a match out and threw it on the ground next to Castiel. Suddenly, the ground in a tight circle around the angel erupted in a high wall of hot flame. Castiel screamed and hugged his knees.
“Burn you fucking thing!” Bobby yelled at him. The old hunter was in hysterics.
“You’re hurting him! Stop it!” shouted Dean, who tackled Bobby just as he was grabbing his rifle.
“Let me go, you dumb shit!” Bobby hollered. Dean wrested the gun from Bobby’s grasp and threw it away. “He’ll kill us.”
“He just saved those people!” Dean yelled back.
Although Sam was still sick and disoriented, he ran on unsteady legs, heading towards a nearby building that looked like a barn. He searched around desperately, and then spotted what he was looking for. He ran back out, quick as he could, and upended a bucket of sand on the unearthly flames surrounding Castiel. It ended up dousing enough of the fire so Sam could grab out the angel, who had stopped screaming and gone worryingly quiet.
Dean was over in an instant, grabbing Cas by the shoulders. “Cas! Can you get us home? Get us home! Now!” The angel seemed very out of it, but he touched Sam and Dean, and there was the rushing wind, and a feeling of the most seasick ocean voyage imaginable. And then Sam was in Dean’s living room, reeling, with Castiel pretty much collapsed on top of him.
“OK. We’re safe now. We’re safe now,” Dean repeated to Castiel as he helped him to the couch.
“Don’t like…. Wings getting wet,” muttered Castiel, who lay down on the couch and then seemed to lose consciousness.
“Sam, help me a minute, and let me get this wet crap off my angel. Or our angel, I guess.”
“We share an angel now?” asked Sam, who managed a wry smile.
“I think he’s from the department in charge of Winchesters.”
“He hasn’t been doing a great job. I have complaints,” said Sam, who spent a moment helping his brother strip Castiel of his clothes. Despite the hot holy oil fire, they were still sopping wet with seawater. Then Dean retreated and came back out with a big blanket that he tucked around Castiel.
“You OK, dude?” asked Dean, who hovered over him.
Cas’ eyes blinked open. “Wings … were burned,” he said softly. He put up a hand and softly touched Dean on the forehead. Dean blinked in surprise, and Castiel seemed to drift off.
“What was that?” asked Sam.
“Uh. He’ll be OK. He says he’s repairing himself. I think,” said Dean, who still looked a bit stunned.
Sam thumped down into one of his brother’s chairs. He frowned, grabbing underneath himself, and fished out the copy of Big Bad Boobies he was sitting on, and chucked it away with a grimace. “OK, Dean,” he said. “What the fuck?”
“I was gonna ask the same of you,” said Dean. “My life has become one big what the fuck.
“So, I leave you for a couple days, and you’re consorting with an angel?”
“He’s freaky as hell,” said Dean, pushing up Castiel’s legs so he could sit down beside him. “He has absolutely no sense of humor, and a weird understanding of personal space. Also, I think he’s now my best friend.”
“And eyepatch dude?”
“Oh. He’s a demon. He’s Castiel’s buddy.”
“Of course.”
“He sings and dances.”
Sam was now laughing. “Please god tell me you have beer.” Dean hauled himself up and went to the kitchen. Sam heard the fridge opening, and then saw his brother return with two long-necks. He eagerly grabbed one. Dean once again tried to rearrange angel limbs so he could sit down, but ended up with Castiel’s feet in his lap.
“So how did you get in trouble this time, Sammy?” asked Dean.
“Dean,” said Sam, sitting forward in the chair. “I broke into one of my company’s computers to investigate the project I’m working on. Croatoan.”
“Let me guess. It’s bio warfare. Against us,” said Dean.
“Wait! How did you know?” asked Sam.
“We may not be college boys, but we get the job done,” smiled Dean.
“Well, it’s worse than that! It turns out, my group has been working on a vaccine to keep their guys safe. Though there’s something … weird about their guys.”
“Yeah. They’re demons.”
“Holy fuck,” said Sam, sitting back and putting down his beer. “You’re kidding? No, you’re not kidding. So all the bullshit dad used to talk about? That’s real?”
“As far as I can tell from these last couple days, yeah. Every single last McNugget of weird.”
“Wow. Well, anyway, my vaccine worked.”
“Congratulations,” said Dean. “So, I take it they’re now set to unleash the doomsday virus?”
“Yeah, the apocalypse is coming. To a theater near you.”
“I’ll pop the popcorn.”
Sam grabbed his beer, and then stared at the stack of papers he’d set it down on. He grabbed them and waved them at Dean. “Dean! These were your college applications! Not a coaster!”
“Oh. Uh, yeah,” said Dean guiltily.
“Dean!”
“OK, look, since you’ll never quit bitching about this, why don’t we make a deal? You help me stop the Blow a Toad virus-“
“Croatoan.”
“-and I’ll fill out your fucking application. In pen! Deal?”
Sam sat back and sipped his beer. “Deal.”
Sam was sacked out in the guest room (or what passed for a guest room in Dean’s house) when Dean noticed Castiel finally stirring on the couch.
“You were out for a while,” said Dean.
“My true form received some damage. I needed to repair myself,” said Castiel, looking under the blanket. “Where are my clothes? I must go.”
“You’re not going anywhere!” said Dean. “In fact, come on, you’re bunking with me tonight.” Dean pulled Castiel’s arm over his shoulders and helped the angel off the couch. He noticed he was still shaky.
“Why?”
“Well, I could put you down with Sam, but he snores like a mother.”
“I do not sleep, Dean,” said Castiel, stubbornly taking his arm off of Dean’s shoulders.
“You also do not walk, right now,” laughed Dean as Castiel began to list to the side. “C’mon. You can ‘repair’ your wings, or whatever the fuck you call it, as long as it’s not noisy. And the bed’s softer than that old couch.”
Dean managed to wrangle the angel into the bedroom, where Cas sat down hard on the bed, clutching the blanket around him. Despite his protestations, he still looked pale. Or at least paler than usual.
“So, that fire stuff Bobby used, what exactly was it?” asked Dean. “Was it a spell or something?”
Cas shivered, and Dean was a little sorry he had brought it up. “Holy oil,” said Castiel. “When it burns, it is poison to us.”
“It burned you? I mean, your true form part?” asked Dean, who was still not quite sure how that worked.
“It burns. It can kill us. Few weapons that may be wielded by humans can kill an angel,” said Castiel. He frowned. “It is a rare substance. I am surprised that Bobby possesses a stock.”
“Guess you weren’t kidding when you said he didn’t like angels,” said Dean, sitting down next to Castiel. He noticed the angel’s hair was still pasted down from the dip in salt water. He wondered if he needed to stick him in the shower to wash it off. Dean leaned in closer to flick a bit of hair out of Cas’ eyes, and smelled the ocean, the clouds. Despite the horrendous day, it felt peaceful.
He noticed Castiel was staring at him. His eyes were blue as the sky. Dean found himself mildly surprised to be kissing the angel, but the best thing was that the angel was kissing back, opening his mouth and letting himself be pressed down, all wind and sky and freedom. It was the nicest, slowest, sweetest kiss, and it seemed to linger.
But then Dean was face down on the bed, his head smushed into his bedspread.
“I am sorry.”
Dean pushed himself up and twisted around. Cas was now in back of him, standing a few feet away, blanket clutched tightly around him, eyes wide as plates.
“I’m so sorry, Dean. I shouldn’t have done that. I should never have done that.”
What Dean wanted to do was jump out of bed and go to him. But somehow he knew that was exactly the wrong thing to do. He slowed down his breathing, and stayed still. “Why are you sorry?” he asked, keeping his voice soft.
“I shouldn’t have…” Cas said, as if he was having trouble figuring it out.
“You said,” Dean reasoned, “angels don’t worry about this.”
“Angels don’t worry about humans! I am not human!”
“So. You don’t wanna do this?” asked Dean, raising an eyebrow.
Cas didn’t say anything, he just stared, confused.
Dean slowly, carefully twisted himself around to sit on the bed. “I was scared shitless today, you know? First I thought I’d lose Sammy. Then I thought I’d lose you.”
Cas blinked. “That would upset you?”
“Yeah. That would have … really pissed me off.”
Castiel stood maddeningly silent for a long moment, looking as if he were trying to puzzle out a set of partial differential equations in his head.
And then Dean felt himself slammed to the bed, angel lips and angel limbs all over him.
“Cas! Cas!” Dean said when he managed to wriggle out of the clench.
“What?”
“Slow down. ‘Kay?”
Cas nodded sincerely.
Dean grinned.
Dean awoke to find himself in a pleasant tangle of angel.
He smiled, arms wrapped around a warm body. Evidently Castiel was still repairing himself, as Dean knew the guy didn't sleep but Dean didn't feel him stirring. He tightened his grip. It was like holding sunlight and air. His mind drifted pleasantly. Had he just been dreaming about Cas? Or dreaming with Cas? It was really weird. Pleasant, but weird. Angels didn’t sleep, but they dreamt?
Dean shot up in bed. A gear shift. A car pulling up in the driveway: that's what had awoken him.
“Dean?” asked Cas. But Dean had already pulled on jeans and was up and out. “DEAN?”
Dean was out the front door like a shot, down to the black Chevy pickup truck, rifle cocked and pointed at the driver.
“Off. My. Property.”
“I come to apologize, ya idjit” said Bobby, his hands on the wheel.
“He did,” said Rufus, who was already out, leaning against the truck’s cab casual as hell, viewing Dean with a half-smile.
“Those folks you left with us: they said it was true. The angel saved all their sorry asses.”
“You tried to kill Cas! Off my fucking property!” yelled Dean, not lowering the rifle.
“I said I'm sorry!” insisted Bobby.
“Stick it, old man,” said Dean. He held up the gun. “This ain’t loaded with salt. It’ll smear your head all over the fucking windshield.”
“You know,” offered Rufus, who seemed to be much enjoying the exchange, “I don't believe I've ever seen this bastard apologize before.”
“I don't apologize!” said Bobby. “But I'm saying I'm fucking sorry. I am one sorry son of a bitch!”
Dean stepped back. He inclined his head at Castiel, who was now, along with a yawing Sammy, standing up on the porch.
“Apologize to Cas!” said Dean.
“I apologize, Cas!” said Bobby.
“It's all right, Bobby,” said Castiel. “I have incurred no permanent harm.”
“Don't forgive him so quickly!” scolded Dean. “And apologize to him too!” he added nodding at Sam.
“Who the fuck is that?” asked Bobby.
“I'm Sam,” said Sam, waving cheerily.
“That's my brother,” said Dean.
“I'm sorry you're brother to this dumbass!” said Bobby.
“That sounded sincere,” laughed Sam.
Dean glowered, but finally stood down, reluctantly lowering his rifle. Bobby hesitated a moment, and then exited the truck, slamming the door.
“Cas, you dumb little shit, why did you lie to me?” asked Bobby.
“Maybe because he thought you'd fucking kill him?” proposed Sam, who now had an arm over Castiel's shoulders.
“I would have killed him!” said Bobby as Castiel looked baffled. “But that's no reason to lie.”
“Boys,” said Rufus, “I think all this apologizing crap has taken it out of Bobby. You might wanna invite him in, give him some coffee?”
“Hopefully with a shot of whiskey,” grumbled Bobby.
“We can do that,” said Dean, who actually might have smiled. As he entered, though, he pulled Castiel aside. “Cas,” he said quietly, “do you think maybe we should come clean with Bobby?” Cas had managed to don his pants and white shirt, but Dean noticed that in his hurry he had mis-buttoned his shirt. He grinned and started unbuttoning it.
“Get clean? Should we heat up bath water, Dean?” asked Castiel.
Dean laughed. “No, I mean, I think we should tell Bobby who we're working with.”
Castiel watched Dean rearranging his shirt. “Oh. He won't like that.”
“I think the worst is over,” said Dean.
Cas squinted at Dean, which Dean was figuring out meant he didn't agree, but was going to stew about it instead of saying something.
“Crowley? You idjits are working with Crowley?” barked Bobby, slamming down his Hooters coffee mug.
“You know him?” asked Dean.
Bobby and Rufus looked at each other and smiled. “Yeah,” said Rufus. “Everybody knows him. I think. He’s a son of a bitch. But he can get anything.”
“King of the Crossroads,” said Bobby, as Castiel cringed.
“I do not care for the musical routines,” grumbled Castiel.
“You a theater critic as well as an angel?” Bobby asked Castiel. “Yeah, he can be an annoying son of a bitch, but he’s the real deal.”
“I thought it was kind of entertaining,” said Dean as Cas shivered.
“He got me my holy oil,” said Bobby, looking over at Castiel. “Gallons of the stuff. Took off a couple years of my life.”
“What did you have to trade for it?” asked Sam.
“Like I said, he took a couple years of my life in trade,” said Bobby. As Dean and Sam exchanged a terrified glance, Bobby told them, “Eh, years I’d just be sitting around in adult diapers anyway.”
“You really don’t like angels, do you?” asked Dean.
“Boy,” asked Bobby, sitting forward, “do you know who we’re fighting against?”
“HEY! WHAT BLOOODY BASTARD PUT UP THE WARDING SIGNS?”
Dean grinned and ran to the door. “Crowley?”
“It’s not polite to summon me and then decorate your house with sigils!” protested the demon, who was standing in the middle of the driveway.
“I, um, took the liberty,” explained Castiel. He waved a hand at the front of Dean’s house, and, like a blacklight, it revealed some arcane symbols painted on the walls.
“Well, I knew it couldn’t have been you, Bobby,” sneered Crowley. “You couldn’t ward off a small poltergeist with that handwriting.”
“Fuck you too, Crowley,” said Bobby, as everyone had now assembled outside.
“Too bad you don’t appear to have many years of life in reserve,” said Crowley, “as I have happened into a case of a rather fine Scotch whiskey.”
“What kinda whiskey?” asked Rufus hopefully.
“Craig,” grinned Crowley. “Though your years are nearly as beat up as Bobby’s.”
“Look, you guys, no bullshit,” said Dean. “Crowley, we need your help.”
“Oh, you have some very tasty young years of life to offer? How about a combo deal, with your brother?”
“I’m not trading you shit,” said Dean. “If you were able to get the book, you would have done it by now. You must need our help.”
“The location is no doubt warded against demons as well as angels,” sighed Castiel. “Meaning his minions would be of no use.”
“Yes, yes. So what do you need from me?” asked Crowley.
“Cas is still a little fried,” said Dean, shooting a glare at Bobby.
“Oh, so you’ve made good use of my holy oil,” laughed Crowley. “Was wondering why you smelt of roasted chicken, Cassie.”
“Do not call me Cassie,” rumbled Castiel. The trembling earth sent Dean bumping into Sam.
“All right. All right,” said Crowley, who nevertheless looked a trifle nervous. “Touchy.”
“Just sneak a small group of us nearby. Into the city. Quietly. So we can leap over all the checkpoints. That’s all,” said Dean. “We’ll take it from there.”
“Mmmm,” said Crowley. “I suppose I can clear my appointment book. Especially for some perky little Winchesters. But, say, have your little buddies Cas and Bobby bothered to tell you who we’re up against?”
“The King of Hell? Some big badass demon, right?” asked Dean.
“Not. Quite,” smiled Crowley.
“Dean,” said Castiel.
“Oh, what now?” asked Dean.
“Lucifer,” said Bobby.
“He is my brother,” Castiel told Dean. “My elder brother.”
‘Your brother?” asked Dean.
“We’re trying to take down an angel?” asked Sam.
“Um. An archangel, actually,” corrected Castiel. “And he has never cared for humans.”
“Oh. The jealous type, huh?” asked Dean.
“Let me put this in monkey terms,” said Crowley. “Winchesters steal old book. Winchesters make big spell. Spell make big boom. Make Lucy mad. Oh so very, very mad.”
“And our super spell won’t do shit against an angel,” admitted Bobby. “Given that it even works in the first place.”
“Meaning…?” said Dean.
“We’re basically fucked,” said Bobby.
“It has the potential … of a suicide mission, Dean,” confessed Castiel.
“Yes,” said Crowley. “And you are taking an elite team of a couple of has-been drunks, your little brother, and the heavenly equivalent of a file clerk,” he continued as Castiel scowled.
Dean frowned for a moment. “Crowley,” he finally said.
“Yeah?”
“What kinda whiskey was it you said you had?”
This entry was originally posted at http://tikific.dreamwidth.org/114316.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel (eventually); Sam, Bobby, Rufus, Ellen, Jo, Crowley
Warnings: AU. Cursing. Some hints of Dean/Jo, so if you loathe that pairing, steer clear.
Word Count: 4,700 for this chapter
Summary: A dystopian AU where the United States is an authoritarian regime run by mysterious overlords. John Winchester disappeared when Sam and Dean were very young so the boys were not raised as hunters. Then one day Dean has a chance encounter with a strange homeless man who may be more than he seems.
Notes: I think this will be six chapters total. But I may change my mind. I’ve been known to do that. And by the way, the farfetched method of mass murder I mention in this chapter? Really happened. Google the title, los desaparecidos, if you’d like to read about it.
The unconscious ones were the lucky ones.
Sam watched in increasing horror as the helicopter finally reached its destination, somewhere above the freezing ocean waters off the coast of the Pacific Northwest.
Then three of the cops had picked up one of the groggy people lying on the floor: one cop at the head, two at the feet, being careful to grab the weight the guy had chained to his legs. They scooted crab-like to the open side of the helicopter and then, one, two, three. It was casual as tossing your girlfriend into the pool on a summer day.
That first guy managed a strangled scream. Sam heard the soft splash far down below, and then listened to the cops chuckling as they selected the next one to go.
Sam noticed after a few throws that they seemed to choose the semi-conscious ones. Sadism? He didn’t care. So as he worked the pick, blindly and desperately, into the padlock that chained the fifty pound weight to his legs he tried to remain as still as possible.
He realized, somewhere, somehow, that he had little chance of surviving anyway. Even if he got the weight off, and somehow they didn’t notice, and then he by some miracle survived the fall, the biting cold of the sea would no doubt finish him off within minutes.
He just didn’t care. He couldn’t care.
He felt the lock click.
“Hey, look who’s been messing with his chains!” yelled a cop. Sam’s heart sank as the guy undid all his work with a click. The cop leaned in close as he grabbed Sam’s pick and tossed it away. “Wanna go for a swim?”
And then Sam felt himself yanked up. “No,” was all he could think to say. “NO!” He struggled feebly against the cops.
“Let’s make a big splash!” one of the cops called.
“One. Two. Three!”
And then he was flailing through the air, his stomach lurching, desperate and praying and resigned and struggling.
He closed his eyes, bracing for the impact. Like smacking on concrete, is what he had heard. He had a second pick secreted away. If he could stay conscious, pull it out, pick the lock while holding his breath….
And then…. This wasn’t what he expected. He felt the wind knocked out of him, rushing sideways, like being clasped by two mighty arms.
He opened his eyes and looked around, stunned.
His ass was sitting on solid ground. And there was a dude in an overcoat standing over him, repeating, “Please don’t sing. Please don’t sing….”
“You see! I have the sight!” came a shout from behind him. They seemed to be on a rocky beach. Sam turned. In back of them, up on some rocks, a crazy dude with an eyepatch was dancing around.
“What the fuck?” asked Sam. Was this heaven? Hell? His drowning dream?
“SAMMY!” And then he felt himself enveloped in a familiar hug. “Sammy!” said Dean, who was now kneeling beside him. “Are you OK? Are you hurt? I was so fucking worried!”
The dude in the overcoat pointed at the chains around Sam’s legs, and the lock suddenly broke. “They meant to drown him,” he said, all gravelly voiced seriousness in contrast to the freaky dude up on the rocks.
“Yeah, they’re dumping a bunch of them in the ocean. That’s how they disappear someone. It’s how they have their fun!” shouted the guy up on the rocks. “Bunch of assholes!”
Sam desperately tried to get his bearings. “Dean. What…. Who are these guys?”
“Uh, they’re friends. Kind of. That’s Crowley up there. And-“
“I am Castiel, angel of the Lord,” said the overcoat guy. “I am pleased to meet you, Sam Winchester.”
“Did you just save me?” Sam asked.
“Why, yes. I just saved you, Sam Winchester,” said the angel proudly.
Sam was up on his feet, gripping the angel by the shoulders. “There’s more! A lot more! They’re drowning people! If you’re an angel, use your magical angel … whatever! Please save them! You need to save them too!”
“I-“ said Castiel. He looked out towards ocean with a pained expression. “Are they … in the water?”
“Sammy, I don’t know-“ said Dean.
“Don’t like … getting my wings wet,” muttered Castiel.
“SAVE THEM!” ordered Sam.
“I will- Yes, Sam Winchester,” said the angel, giving a slight bow and glancing over at Dean. “I will save them for you.”
And then he was suddenly not there any more.
“Sammy, I don’t know if he has the power…” started Dean.
“He’ll probably drown his own fool self, you dumb ape!” laughed Crowley from up above. “Angels are hawks, not ducks!”
“You could help him out, Crowley!” Dean shouted.
“Half drowned humans? I think not. It’s time for my mani pedi!” said Crowley, primly consulting his watch. And then he was there no more.
“Fuck you,” grumbled Dean.
“What a jerk…” muttered Sam.
“He’s a demon,” said Dean.
“Demons are assholes!” said Sam.
And then there was another person on the beach, choking. Castiel, looking half drowned himself, stood by him. “I think he needs assistance,” he told Dean, before disappearing again. And then as Dean was slapping the drowning victim on the back, and there was sopping wet Castiel with two more.
“Sammy, I need your help!” pleaded Dean.
Sam tried to pull himself together, to remember the summers he spent as a lifeguard. Cas kept showing up with more people, dripping wet and gagging on seawater. Some were just cold and scared, so he sent them to huddle together. Cas dragged in an unconscious young woman and disappeared. Sam felt desperately for a pulse, and then began pounding on her chest. To his surprise and relief, she began choking. “Saved you,” Sam smiled. “I saved one.”
“Sam!” shouted Dean again, and Sam was over giving mouth to mouth to some guy. But this one didn’t work.
“Come on, come on,” said Sam.
“I think that’s it. Is that it, Cas?” asked Dean.
The angel, who looked worse than the drowning victims, was huddled in his sodden overcoat. He shivered and nodded. “Don’t like getting my wings wet,” he muttered.
“We lost one,” said Sam. He looked up and saw that the angel was now kneeling beside him, muddy kneed, like he had crawled over the beach. Castiel sighed and put two fingers on the dead guy.
The dead guy choked.
“Holy fuck!” said Sam, who did a double take towards Castiel and the revived guy.
“Yeah, he does that,” laughed Dean, who had a proud hand on Castiel’s shoulder. Dean now hunkered down next to the choking angel. “Cas. We need to get these people somewhere they can dry off.”
“OK,” said Castiel, wiping his mouth with a trench coat sleeve.
“I know it’s a lot, but can you get us to Bobby’s? All of us? We’ll be safe there!”
Castiel looked suddenly pained.
“Are you too weak now?” asked Dean.
Castiel shook his head, water running down his face. “I’m OK. I…. It doesn’t matter.” With a look of resignation, he stood up, though he was leaning on Dean to do so. He frowned and stuck his hands out.
Sam gagged. He stumbled, went down on his hands and knees, and threw up.
“It sometimes does that,” came Dean’s voice. Sam wiped his chin on his sleeve and looked up. Dean was standing over him, but they were no longer at the beach. He looked around. All of the people from the beach were now huddled in what looked like farmland.
“Dean! What the fuck!” came a gruff voice.
“Bobby!” shouted Dean, who ran over to the old guy. “They tried to drown these people! They need help.”
“Drown ‘em?” asked Bobby. He looked around in confusion. “Where the hell did they drown ‘em around here?”
“They took us on a helicopter. Over the ocean,” said Sam, who painfully lurched to his feet. “It’s how they disappear people.”
There were more people gathered around now, some running to get blankets.
“Over the ocean? Yeah, that makes sense,” said Bobby. “But how the fuck did you just land them here?”
“Castiel brought us!” said Sam, pointing to the angel. Castiel, who was hunched over, hands on knees, stole a glance at Bobby. Sam thought he looked panicked.
“Sammy,” warned Dean.
Sam looked at his brother, confused.
“How in blazes did he do that?” asked Bobby, who was now quiet.
“Bobby,” explained Dean. “You didn’t know. Cas is an angel.”
There was dead silence.
“He’s an angel?” Bobby demanded. “You brought an angel here?” he barked, now up in Dean’s face. “Into my home?”
“Bobby! Calm. The fuck. Down!” warned Dean
“I won’t calm the fuck down! Do you have any idea what these fucking things can get up to? Don't you know what we're fighting?”
“Bobby,” panted Castiel. “I could-“
“Shut up, you monster!” Bobby shouted, and suddenly, quicker than Sam would have expected for an old guy, he was on Castiel like a linebacker, butting him down to the ground. The exhausted angel’s knees buckled. Bobby grabbed Cas by the hair and dragged him to a small clearing, where Castiel collapsed in a heap, breathing hard.
“Bobby! Stop it!” shouted Dean, who tried to grab Bobby from behind. But Bobby had a match out and threw it on the ground next to Castiel. Suddenly, the ground in a tight circle around the angel erupted in a high wall of hot flame. Castiel screamed and hugged his knees.
“Burn you fucking thing!” Bobby yelled at him. The old hunter was in hysterics.
“You’re hurting him! Stop it!” shouted Dean, who tackled Bobby just as he was grabbing his rifle.
“Let me go, you dumb shit!” Bobby hollered. Dean wrested the gun from Bobby’s grasp and threw it away. “He’ll kill us.”
“He just saved those people!” Dean yelled back.
Although Sam was still sick and disoriented, he ran on unsteady legs, heading towards a nearby building that looked like a barn. He searched around desperately, and then spotted what he was looking for. He ran back out, quick as he could, and upended a bucket of sand on the unearthly flames surrounding Castiel. It ended up dousing enough of the fire so Sam could grab out the angel, who had stopped screaming and gone worryingly quiet.
Dean was over in an instant, grabbing Cas by the shoulders. “Cas! Can you get us home? Get us home! Now!” The angel seemed very out of it, but he touched Sam and Dean, and there was the rushing wind, and a feeling of the most seasick ocean voyage imaginable. And then Sam was in Dean’s living room, reeling, with Castiel pretty much collapsed on top of him.
“OK. We’re safe now. We’re safe now,” Dean repeated to Castiel as he helped him to the couch.
“Don’t like…. Wings getting wet,” muttered Castiel, who lay down on the couch and then seemed to lose consciousness.
“Sam, help me a minute, and let me get this wet crap off my angel. Or our angel, I guess.”
“We share an angel now?” asked Sam, who managed a wry smile.
“I think he’s from the department in charge of Winchesters.”
“He hasn’t been doing a great job. I have complaints,” said Sam, who spent a moment helping his brother strip Castiel of his clothes. Despite the hot holy oil fire, they were still sopping wet with seawater. Then Dean retreated and came back out with a big blanket that he tucked around Castiel.
“You OK, dude?” asked Dean, who hovered over him.
Cas’ eyes blinked open. “Wings … were burned,” he said softly. He put up a hand and softly touched Dean on the forehead. Dean blinked in surprise, and Castiel seemed to drift off.
“What was that?” asked Sam.
“Uh. He’ll be OK. He says he’s repairing himself. I think,” said Dean, who still looked a bit stunned.
Sam thumped down into one of his brother’s chairs. He frowned, grabbing underneath himself, and fished out the copy of Big Bad Boobies he was sitting on, and chucked it away with a grimace. “OK, Dean,” he said. “What the fuck?”
“I was gonna ask the same of you,” said Dean. “My life has become one big what the fuck.
“So, I leave you for a couple days, and you’re consorting with an angel?”
“He’s freaky as hell,” said Dean, pushing up Castiel’s legs so he could sit down beside him. “He has absolutely no sense of humor, and a weird understanding of personal space. Also, I think he’s now my best friend.”
“And eyepatch dude?”
“Oh. He’s a demon. He’s Castiel’s buddy.”
“Of course.”
“He sings and dances.”
Sam was now laughing. “Please god tell me you have beer.” Dean hauled himself up and went to the kitchen. Sam heard the fridge opening, and then saw his brother return with two long-necks. He eagerly grabbed one. Dean once again tried to rearrange angel limbs so he could sit down, but ended up with Castiel’s feet in his lap.
“So how did you get in trouble this time, Sammy?” asked Dean.
“Dean,” said Sam, sitting forward in the chair. “I broke into one of my company’s computers to investigate the project I’m working on. Croatoan.”
“Let me guess. It’s bio warfare. Against us,” said Dean.
“Wait! How did you know?” asked Sam.
“We may not be college boys, but we get the job done,” smiled Dean.
“Well, it’s worse than that! It turns out, my group has been working on a vaccine to keep their guys safe. Though there’s something … weird about their guys.”
“Yeah. They’re demons.”
“Holy fuck,” said Sam, sitting back and putting down his beer. “You’re kidding? No, you’re not kidding. So all the bullshit dad used to talk about? That’s real?”
“As far as I can tell from these last couple days, yeah. Every single last McNugget of weird.”
“Wow. Well, anyway, my vaccine worked.”
“Congratulations,” said Dean. “So, I take it they’re now set to unleash the doomsday virus?”
“Yeah, the apocalypse is coming. To a theater near you.”
“I’ll pop the popcorn.”
Sam grabbed his beer, and then stared at the stack of papers he’d set it down on. He grabbed them and waved them at Dean. “Dean! These were your college applications! Not a coaster!”
“Oh. Uh, yeah,” said Dean guiltily.
“Dean!”
“OK, look, since you’ll never quit bitching about this, why don’t we make a deal? You help me stop the Blow a Toad virus-“
“Croatoan.”
“-and I’ll fill out your fucking application. In pen! Deal?”
Sam sat back and sipped his beer. “Deal.”
Sam was sacked out in the guest room (or what passed for a guest room in Dean’s house) when Dean noticed Castiel finally stirring on the couch.
“You were out for a while,” said Dean.
“My true form received some damage. I needed to repair myself,” said Castiel, looking under the blanket. “Where are my clothes? I must go.”
“You’re not going anywhere!” said Dean. “In fact, come on, you’re bunking with me tonight.” Dean pulled Castiel’s arm over his shoulders and helped the angel off the couch. He noticed he was still shaky.
“Why?”
“Well, I could put you down with Sam, but he snores like a mother.”
“I do not sleep, Dean,” said Castiel, stubbornly taking his arm off of Dean’s shoulders.
“You also do not walk, right now,” laughed Dean as Castiel began to list to the side. “C’mon. You can ‘repair’ your wings, or whatever the fuck you call it, as long as it’s not noisy. And the bed’s softer than that old couch.”
Dean managed to wrangle the angel into the bedroom, where Cas sat down hard on the bed, clutching the blanket around him. Despite his protestations, he still looked pale. Or at least paler than usual.
“So, that fire stuff Bobby used, what exactly was it?” asked Dean. “Was it a spell or something?”
Cas shivered, and Dean was a little sorry he had brought it up. “Holy oil,” said Castiel. “When it burns, it is poison to us.”
“It burned you? I mean, your true form part?” asked Dean, who was still not quite sure how that worked.
“It burns. It can kill us. Few weapons that may be wielded by humans can kill an angel,” said Castiel. He frowned. “It is a rare substance. I am surprised that Bobby possesses a stock.”
“Guess you weren’t kidding when you said he didn’t like angels,” said Dean, sitting down next to Castiel. He noticed the angel’s hair was still pasted down from the dip in salt water. He wondered if he needed to stick him in the shower to wash it off. Dean leaned in closer to flick a bit of hair out of Cas’ eyes, and smelled the ocean, the clouds. Despite the horrendous day, it felt peaceful.
He noticed Castiel was staring at him. His eyes were blue as the sky. Dean found himself mildly surprised to be kissing the angel, but the best thing was that the angel was kissing back, opening his mouth and letting himself be pressed down, all wind and sky and freedom. It was the nicest, slowest, sweetest kiss, and it seemed to linger.
But then Dean was face down on the bed, his head smushed into his bedspread.
“I am sorry.”
Dean pushed himself up and twisted around. Cas was now in back of him, standing a few feet away, blanket clutched tightly around him, eyes wide as plates.
“I’m so sorry, Dean. I shouldn’t have done that. I should never have done that.”
What Dean wanted to do was jump out of bed and go to him. But somehow he knew that was exactly the wrong thing to do. He slowed down his breathing, and stayed still. “Why are you sorry?” he asked, keeping his voice soft.
“I shouldn’t have…” Cas said, as if he was having trouble figuring it out.
“You said,” Dean reasoned, “angels don’t worry about this.”
“Angels don’t worry about humans! I am not human!”
“So. You don’t wanna do this?” asked Dean, raising an eyebrow.
Cas didn’t say anything, he just stared, confused.
Dean slowly, carefully twisted himself around to sit on the bed. “I was scared shitless today, you know? First I thought I’d lose Sammy. Then I thought I’d lose you.”
Cas blinked. “That would upset you?”
“Yeah. That would have … really pissed me off.”
Castiel stood maddeningly silent for a long moment, looking as if he were trying to puzzle out a set of partial differential equations in his head.
And then Dean felt himself slammed to the bed, angel lips and angel limbs all over him.
“Cas! Cas!” Dean said when he managed to wriggle out of the clench.
“What?”
“Slow down. ‘Kay?”
Cas nodded sincerely.
Dean grinned.
Dean awoke to find himself in a pleasant tangle of angel.
He smiled, arms wrapped around a warm body. Evidently Castiel was still repairing himself, as Dean knew the guy didn't sleep but Dean didn't feel him stirring. He tightened his grip. It was like holding sunlight and air. His mind drifted pleasantly. Had he just been dreaming about Cas? Or dreaming with Cas? It was really weird. Pleasant, but weird. Angels didn’t sleep, but they dreamt?
Dean shot up in bed. A gear shift. A car pulling up in the driveway: that's what had awoken him.
“Dean?” asked Cas. But Dean had already pulled on jeans and was up and out. “DEAN?”
Dean was out the front door like a shot, down to the black Chevy pickup truck, rifle cocked and pointed at the driver.
“Off. My. Property.”
“I come to apologize, ya idjit” said Bobby, his hands on the wheel.
“He did,” said Rufus, who was already out, leaning against the truck’s cab casual as hell, viewing Dean with a half-smile.
“Those folks you left with us: they said it was true. The angel saved all their sorry asses.”
“You tried to kill Cas! Off my fucking property!” yelled Dean, not lowering the rifle.
“I said I'm sorry!” insisted Bobby.
“Stick it, old man,” said Dean. He held up the gun. “This ain’t loaded with salt. It’ll smear your head all over the fucking windshield.”
“You know,” offered Rufus, who seemed to be much enjoying the exchange, “I don't believe I've ever seen this bastard apologize before.”
“I don't apologize!” said Bobby. “But I'm saying I'm fucking sorry. I am one sorry son of a bitch!”
Dean stepped back. He inclined his head at Castiel, who was now, along with a yawing Sammy, standing up on the porch.
“Apologize to Cas!” said Dean.
“I apologize, Cas!” said Bobby.
“It's all right, Bobby,” said Castiel. “I have incurred no permanent harm.”
“Don't forgive him so quickly!” scolded Dean. “And apologize to him too!” he added nodding at Sam.
“Who the fuck is that?” asked Bobby.
“I'm Sam,” said Sam, waving cheerily.
“That's my brother,” said Dean.
“I'm sorry you're brother to this dumbass!” said Bobby.
“That sounded sincere,” laughed Sam.
Dean glowered, but finally stood down, reluctantly lowering his rifle. Bobby hesitated a moment, and then exited the truck, slamming the door.
“Cas, you dumb little shit, why did you lie to me?” asked Bobby.
“Maybe because he thought you'd fucking kill him?” proposed Sam, who now had an arm over Castiel's shoulders.
“I would have killed him!” said Bobby as Castiel looked baffled. “But that's no reason to lie.”
“Boys,” said Rufus, “I think all this apologizing crap has taken it out of Bobby. You might wanna invite him in, give him some coffee?”
“Hopefully with a shot of whiskey,” grumbled Bobby.
“We can do that,” said Dean, who actually might have smiled. As he entered, though, he pulled Castiel aside. “Cas,” he said quietly, “do you think maybe we should come clean with Bobby?” Cas had managed to don his pants and white shirt, but Dean noticed that in his hurry he had mis-buttoned his shirt. He grinned and started unbuttoning it.
“Get clean? Should we heat up bath water, Dean?” asked Castiel.
Dean laughed. “No, I mean, I think we should tell Bobby who we're working with.”
Castiel watched Dean rearranging his shirt. “Oh. He won't like that.”
“I think the worst is over,” said Dean.
Cas squinted at Dean, which Dean was figuring out meant he didn't agree, but was going to stew about it instead of saying something.
“Crowley? You idjits are working with Crowley?” barked Bobby, slamming down his Hooters coffee mug.
“You know him?” asked Dean.
Bobby and Rufus looked at each other and smiled. “Yeah,” said Rufus. “Everybody knows him. I think. He’s a son of a bitch. But he can get anything.”
“King of the Crossroads,” said Bobby, as Castiel cringed.
“I do not care for the musical routines,” grumbled Castiel.
“You a theater critic as well as an angel?” Bobby asked Castiel. “Yeah, he can be an annoying son of a bitch, but he’s the real deal.”
“I thought it was kind of entertaining,” said Dean as Cas shivered.
“He got me my holy oil,” said Bobby, looking over at Castiel. “Gallons of the stuff. Took off a couple years of my life.”
“What did you have to trade for it?” asked Sam.
“Like I said, he took a couple years of my life in trade,” said Bobby. As Dean and Sam exchanged a terrified glance, Bobby told them, “Eh, years I’d just be sitting around in adult diapers anyway.”
“You really don’t like angels, do you?” asked Dean.
“Boy,” asked Bobby, sitting forward, “do you know who we’re fighting against?”
“HEY! WHAT BLOOODY BASTARD PUT UP THE WARDING SIGNS?”
Dean grinned and ran to the door. “Crowley?”
“It’s not polite to summon me and then decorate your house with sigils!” protested the demon, who was standing in the middle of the driveway.
“I, um, took the liberty,” explained Castiel. He waved a hand at the front of Dean’s house, and, like a blacklight, it revealed some arcane symbols painted on the walls.
“Well, I knew it couldn’t have been you, Bobby,” sneered Crowley. “You couldn’t ward off a small poltergeist with that handwriting.”
“Fuck you too, Crowley,” said Bobby, as everyone had now assembled outside.
“Too bad you don’t appear to have many years of life in reserve,” said Crowley, “as I have happened into a case of a rather fine Scotch whiskey.”
“What kinda whiskey?” asked Rufus hopefully.
“Craig,” grinned Crowley. “Though your years are nearly as beat up as Bobby’s.”
“Look, you guys, no bullshit,” said Dean. “Crowley, we need your help.”
“Oh, you have some very tasty young years of life to offer? How about a combo deal, with your brother?”
“I’m not trading you shit,” said Dean. “If you were able to get the book, you would have done it by now. You must need our help.”
“The location is no doubt warded against demons as well as angels,” sighed Castiel. “Meaning his minions would be of no use.”
“Yes, yes. So what do you need from me?” asked Crowley.
“Cas is still a little fried,” said Dean, shooting a glare at Bobby.
“Oh, so you’ve made good use of my holy oil,” laughed Crowley. “Was wondering why you smelt of roasted chicken, Cassie.”
“Do not call me Cassie,” rumbled Castiel. The trembling earth sent Dean bumping into Sam.
“All right. All right,” said Crowley, who nevertheless looked a trifle nervous. “Touchy.”
“Just sneak a small group of us nearby. Into the city. Quietly. So we can leap over all the checkpoints. That’s all,” said Dean. “We’ll take it from there.”
“Mmmm,” said Crowley. “I suppose I can clear my appointment book. Especially for some perky little Winchesters. But, say, have your little buddies Cas and Bobby bothered to tell you who we’re up against?”
“The King of Hell? Some big badass demon, right?” asked Dean.
“Not. Quite,” smiled Crowley.
“Dean,” said Castiel.
“Oh, what now?” asked Dean.
“Lucifer,” said Bobby.
“He is my brother,” Castiel told Dean. “My elder brother.”
‘Your brother?” asked Dean.
“We’re trying to take down an angel?” asked Sam.
“Um. An archangel, actually,” corrected Castiel. “And he has never cared for humans.”
“Oh. The jealous type, huh?” asked Dean.
“Let me put this in monkey terms,” said Crowley. “Winchesters steal old book. Winchesters make big spell. Spell make big boom. Make Lucy mad. Oh so very, very mad.”
“And our super spell won’t do shit against an angel,” admitted Bobby. “Given that it even works in the first place.”
“Meaning…?” said Dean.
“We’re basically fucked,” said Bobby.
“It has the potential … of a suicide mission, Dean,” confessed Castiel.
“Yes,” said Crowley. “And you are taking an elite team of a couple of has-been drunks, your little brother, and the heavenly equivalent of a file clerk,” he continued as Castiel scowled.
Dean frowned for a moment. “Crowley,” he finally said.
“Yeah?”
“What kinda whiskey was it you said you had?”
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