Charcoal (Household Objects, Chapter 4 of 7)
Title: Charcoal (Household Objects, Chapter 4 of 7)
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas (wait for it!); Sam, Bobby, Gabriel, Crowley, Zachariah
Warnings: Cursing, brief scene of violence some folks might find upsetting (this chapter)
Word Count: 3700 (this chapter), 35,000 total
Summary: When Castiel's true form is gravely injured during a battle with a strange malevolent entity he is forced to live for a time as a human. Fortunately, the Winchester boys are there, with driving instructions and pigs in a blanket. But is Cas inadvertently dragging his friends into a whole mess of angel danger?
Notes: This isn't really anywhere logical on the timeline. I'm just gonna whistle a happy tune and pretend they didn't kill off a crapload of my favorite characters. Also, although this story falls under the genre of hurt/comfort, be warned it’s a pretty twisted take on it. There will be some pr0n though. Later.
It had been Bobby who declared that the team needed “a little ahrandahr.” Castiel wasn't entirely certain what ahrandahr meant, and did not want to ask, as he wasn't in the mood to be teased. The consequences of this directive were that they packed up a cooler full of food and beer, some sundry stuff like blankets and towels and charcoal briquettes and lighter fluid (gallons it seemed), threw it in the back of the car, and drove to a pleasant if rather secluded lakeside area. Here the Winchesters spent a lot of time tossing a football back and forth while Bobby sucked down beer after beer and attempted to make the charcoal briquettes catch fire via heavy utilization of the lighter fluid.
Castiel sipped through about half a bottle of beer. Alcohol, as he'd learned to his displeasure, now made him feel the sensation of drunkenness in much smaller quantities than before his injury. As he wasn't entirely certain he wanted to spend the day in a mild haze, and also was definitely not in the mood to fend off accusations of being a “lightweight,” at some point, he had picked up the bottle and gone wandering down towards the lake.
There was a small dock, and he found himself walking out towards the end. It was cooler down here as a light breeze was blowing. He closed his eyes to the wind in his face, remembering the sensation of flying. He spread his arms, and let the wind flow over him. Memories came rushing back. His breath caught in his throat.
“Hey.”
Cas immediately dropped his arms and turned to see Dean standing beside him.
“Heh. Bobby and Sammy are bickering over the coals. Like a couple old ladies.”
Cas looked back up towards the barbecue pit, where indeed the two were hunched over in some kind of deep and arcane conversation.
“Uh. You feeling OK, Cas? You seem kinda quiet today.”
“Nothing,” said Castiel. I'm remembering being an angel, and how it sucks to be one of you? “Just thinking.”
“Oh. Well, this isn't a day for thinking. Wanna go in?” asked Dean, who was already kicking off his shoes.
“Uh. Go in?” asked Cas.
“Swimming,” grinned Dean, pulling off his shirt.
“Didn't, um, bring a suit,” muttered Castiel.
“Who needs a suit? Haven't you ever been skinny dipping?”
“Skinny.... What?”
“A human thing you obviously need to learn. Come on! There's no one else around for miles!” said Dean. Dean tossed his shirt in a pile and then, to Castiel's mild horror, pulled down his shorts. “Come on!” he yelled, kicking away the shorts and actually whacking a mortified Castiel in the ass. And then he ran down the dock and launched himself off the end in a splashing cannonball dive.
Castiel stood, rooted to the spot, stupidly holding his beer.
Dean surfaced, and sent a splash at Cas. “Come on, Cas! What the fuck are you waiting for?”
Castiel carefully set his beer bottle down on the dock. He cast a glance back up at the barbecue pit. Well, he thought, swimming naked was probably better than listening to Bobby and Sam fight about the characteristics of the charcoal fire.
And it was definitely better than getting lost in his own thoughts.
He knew the Winchesters well enough to realize he should not evince any hesitation. He deliberately repeated Dean's actions, albeit more slowly and methodically: slipped off the shoes and peeled off the T shirt, setting it carefully on the shoes.
Then, trying not to frown, he pulled down his shorts and underwear and placed them over the T shirt. He really didn't want to get into it with Dean over his differing standards of modesty. Besides, to be fair, a good portion of his angelic attitudes towards nakedness had gone straight out the window after a few weeks of sharing cramped hotel rooms with the brothers.
Then Castiel padded towards the end of the dock and peered at the water. Placing a hand on one of the pontoons, he leaned over and gingerly stuck a foot in the water. It wasn't super cold to the touch, but it also wasn't bathwater warm. He thought he should maybe sit down and slide in.
And then there was a hand grabbing on his ankle and, with a yelp, he was in the water.
He flailed in shock, and then broke the surface, sputtering and shaking his head, to the sound of Dean roaring with laughter. Cas caught his breath, glowering at Dean, and then in a heartbeat splashed over, both his hands atop Dean's head, the weight of his body dunking him.
Dean bobbed up again, spitting water and laughing even harder. Dean turned and dove and so Castiel followed him. The lake was chilly to his skin, so it felt better to keep moving. It was clear underneath, here at the surface, with the light breaking through, and he liked the sensation of water rushing by his face.
And he loved the weightlessness.
He wished for wings, or at least fins, as human limbs were ridiculous and clumsy, but he watched Dean carefully and tried to match his strokes. The chill wore off as he moved, or one could break surface and float and feel the sun's warmth.
“Are you guys ready to quit fucking around? The coals are finally hot!”
Sam was standing on the dock now, holding the inevitable beer.
Dean kicked over to Sam and brought his arms up to lean on the dock. “Hey, Sammy! Bring us down some towels.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked.”
“Fuck you.”
“Come on, Sammy!”
“What if I kick your clothes in the water?” grinned Sam, toeing Dean's pile of discarded clothing.
“Get us towels so we can get out of the water and eat your stupid burnt on the outside raw on the inside fucking burgers.”
“That's the way you like 'em. Bitch!”
“Asshole!” taunted Dean as Sam turned and walked away.
“Will he bring back towels, Dean?” asked a thoroughly perplexed Castiel, who was treading water not so far off.
“Yeah, sure, he's hungry,” said Dean. And sure enough, after a time, Sam was back with towels, which he grudgingly laid on the dock. Dean was out of the water like a shot, toweling off.
Cas deliberately hung back, hoping Sam might take the hint and wander back. I was stupid really, and if he'd been a human being, Cas thought, he would have long been over his modesty.
That's when he felt something wrap around his ankle.
“Dean!” he managed to cry just as he went under. He barely had time to catch a breath. He flailed, and then looked down. Dim in the water beneath him, it was a vaguely human looking figure pulling him to the bottom.
And then it looked up at him.
A shot of fear wrenched through him.
Fighting terror and the sense of running out of air, he doubled his body on itself and tore at the hand that was gripping him. It seemed impervious.
He despaired, looking up. The surface seemed far away, and he didn't spot Sam nor Dean coming after him. Had they not heard? Did they think it was a joke?
And then, his lungs burning, he slashed out with the sword. His sword. How the hell had it gotten into his hand? He aimed and sliced: right through the wrist. And then he was kicking up and up and up in what seemed like forever....
He surfaced, gasping.
“Cas? What the fuck? And... what the fuck are you doing with the ninja sword! You're gonna get rust spots!” said Dean.
Castiel reached up a hand and was yanked up, free of the water.
“Is that blood?” asked Sam, pointing to the katana's blade.
“I was....” Castiel struggled for breath. “I was pulled down. I don't know about the sword. It was just … here.” Dean draped a towel around Cas' shoulders and he shivered.
Dean was leaning over the dock, squinting into the water. “Drowning victim?” he asked Sam.
“Maybe.”
“Did you get a look at it?” he asked Castiel.
“Looked like.... Could have been human. At one point,” Castiel panted.
“Look at his ankle!” said Sam. Castiel looked down. There was a burn mark around his ankle, just where the hand had gripped it.
“Holy shit,” said Dean. “Hey, just like when you flew in and got me!”
“Are you idjits gonna come eat?” came Bobby's bellow from up at the BBQ pit.
“Yeah, in a minute,” Dean yelled back. “We might have to do a little after dinner exorcism!”
“Eat first!” said Bobby. “Demons later!”
“Dean!” shouted Sam. All three of them peered over the dock. Sam gestured for the sword, and Cas handed it over. Sam poked a bit at the water and then stabbed the sword point against on of the pontoons.
He brought it up.
At the end, a clawed hand.
“Ew!” laughed Dean.
The burgers were in fact completely delicious.
Castiel consumed one, and then another. He couldn't recall ever eating at a human picnic prior to this. He reached for a third burger.
“Damn, look at your angel eating us out of house and home,” joshed Sam.
“We gotta take you camping, Cas!” said Dean.
“These are really good. This is the best human food I have ever consumed,” said Castiel. “I like these meat patties with a slice of cheese placed upon them!”
“Uh, yeah, that'd be a cheeseburger,” volunteered Dean.
Castiel had also now consumed several bottles of beer, which he told himself he needed due to the shock of nearly being drowned by some kind of lake demon. “I believe I am now slightly drunk as well,” he confessed, looking at his nearly empty beer bottle.
“Lightweight!” laughed Bobby.
“We promise not to take advantage of you. Too much,” laughed Dean.
Bobby shot a glance at Dean, but said nothing.
“So now it's time for the traditional post-barbecue drunken exorcism!” said Dean. “Sammy, you find anything?”
“Yeah, the 3G is a little shaky out here,” said Sam, who was sitting hunched over an electronic pad. “But I'm pretty sure about our friend with the hand. He gestured over to Castiel's katana, which still held the dismembered hand skewered on its point.
“So, who's our mystery spirit?” asked Dean. Sam tilted the iPad over so Dean could see it. “Holy shit!”
“Who is that?” asked Castiel.
“Buckley Jones!” said Dean. “He was leader of The Gates.”
“I'ma get the exorcism stuff,” said Sam, grabbing the car keys.
“Buckley Jones? A no good little shit,” said Bobby.
“Wait, you know Buckley Jones?” asked Dean.
“He was a local,” said Bobby.
“He was a genius!” said Dean.
“Yeah. Genius boy died of stupid,” grumbled Bobby.
“He was a heroin addict,” said Dean.
“Like I said, died of stupid,” snorted Bobby. “The band kicked him out because he couldn't get his shit together. Hey, I'm not that old,” Bobby told Dean, who was looking surprised. “Heard he went back to live with his mom. I know he was out partying with some of his dumb ass friends when he drowned. I didn't realize it was right here.”
Sam returned with a box of goodies, and the boys spent the next few minutes working on summoning the ghost of a dead musician. At last, Sam repeated the summoning spell, and everyone looked around.
All was silence.
“Huh. That was supposed to work,” Sam observed keenly.
“Shit! Wonder why the spirits aren't answering?” asked Dean.
“Because they're dumb shit sprits. Here, gimme that,” said Bobby, grabbing the katana sword with the hand still impaled on it. He dangled it over the still glowing coals. “Hey, dumbass! Come out come out wherever you are!” he yelled.
“OW! Dude, that's my hand!”
The party all turned around to see the softly glowing spirit of a dripping wet man. He was cradling one arm, which coincidentally, lacked a hand at the end.
“Why didn't you come to our summoning?” asked Bobby crossly, taking the hand away from the fire. “You off getting high in the afterlife?”
“Uh. Maybe,” confessed the spirit.
“So why were you trying to sink Cas?” asked Dean.
“Dudes!” said the spirit of Buckley Jones. “I bring you a message. From the great beyond!”
“You wanted to contact us by fucking drowning us?” asked Bobby.
“Oh, yeah, sorry about that dude. I forgot about that whole breathing thing.”
“It's all right,” said Castiel.
“Thanks dude, you're totally cool. Hey, wait! Dude! Did you know you're an angel?”
“Uh, yes, I think I have this knowledge, thanks,” said Cas.
“Your aura is totally bitchin'! With spangles and shit!” said Buckley Jones, making what one assumes were spangly gestures with his hands.
“Wait. You have a sparkling aura?” Dean asked Cas, who glowered. “You never told us about this,” grinned Dean.
“So what were you supposed to tell us?” asked Bobby, who was of he opinion that this conversation was getting off track.
“You need to go check out the Lake of the Dead,” said Buckley Jones.
“What the hell is the Lake of the Dead?” asked Bobby.
“It's like, Native American and shit. It's totally relevant!” said the ghost.
“OK,” said Sam, consulting his iPad. “Arizona?”
“Road trip to Arizona,” said Dean.
“Hey, I didn't agree to this,” said Sam crossly. “We just got back from the west coast. Why the hell are we going all the way back out there?”
“Dean, it is your des-ti-ny!” said the ghost. “Wooooooooo!”
Bobby rolled his eyes. “Dumb shit,” he muttered.
“Those aren't ghostly sounds you know,” sighed Sam. “You're just making woo woo noises.”
“Where did you hear this information?” asked Castiel.
“I heard it from a mermaid! They're cool. Except, you know, they have fish tails.”
“Yeah, bummer,” said Dean.
“And the mermaid?” asked Castiel.
“She was talking to some Native American weather god dudes. The ka-ching?”
“Kachina?” asked Sam.
“You got it!”
Sam and Castiel looked at each other.
“Hey, before I depart off to the great beyond, dudes, could I have my hand back? So I could like, use it. For stuff.”
Bobby frowned and grabbed the sword again. He held it out to the spirit of Buckley Jones, who happily grabbed off the hand and set it back on his stump.
“We have dental floss if you need it,” offered Dean.
“Nah, this is sweet,” said the ghost, reattaching his hand and flexing his fingers. “Catch you later, hunter dudes! And say hello to the Trickster. He's a cool dude.”
Buckley Jones disappeared, leaving the men looking at each other in confusion.
“Idjit,” sighed Bobby.
Castiel was lying out on the dock.
He was naked. But he was not ashamed.
He was glorying in the sun's warmth, drying his body.
His eyes were closed, but he could sense the shadow fall over the brightness of the sun.
Dean was there. Kneeling next to him. Smiling down at him.
Cas put up a hand. Traced his cheek. Two fingers run across those sweet lips.
When Dean leaned down for the kiss, it was perfect, such a light touch of his lips. Cas twisted his fingers in Dean's hair, pulling him down. And there was Dean's weight on top of him now. The feel of skin on skin. It was electric. Cas' hands drifted down now, holding Dean's hips, pulling them into him.
Dean's hands on him. Moving together.
And then: something gripping him around his ankle...
Castiel was falling, unable to breathe. His back felt like it had exploded. He had never felt so much pain.
Dragging him down.
His eyes shot open. He peered through the dimness, black on black on black.
He screamed.
“Baby bro!”
The car bumped out of the Tunnel of Love, into the bright sunlight.
Cas turned to see Gabriel sitting, grinning in the seat next to him.
Annoyed, Castiel jumped out of the car. Cas looked around, confused and disoriented. They were in one of Gabriel's weird dreamscapes: this one was evidently a deserted carnival. Yes, this had Gabriel written all over it, with huge creepy clown faces and an abandoned ferris wheel that still circled round and round.
“Why can't you just call?” crabbed Castiel. “I have a human cellular telephone.”
“I like having my fun. And I have news! It's the angels.”
“Yes. The angels are being attacked. Murdered.”
“Wait, how did you get the news?” asked Gabriel.
“Zachariah appeared at Bobby's place.”
“What? Zach? That giant dickbag!”
“He is,” sighed Cas.
“What did he say? Did he tell you about the plucked angels?
“Two brothers,” said Castiel.
“No. I've heard it's actually half a dozen now,” said Gabriel.
Castiel shook his head. “Well … damn.”
“Baby bro. Shit just got real,” said Gabriel, snapping his fingers so they were standing in what looked like a minefield. Far off in the distance, a frantic gunfight of some kind was going on.
“I don't understand that reference,” sighed Castiel. “But Zachariah asked me to return to the garrison. To help the investigation.”
“What did you tell him?” asked Gabriel, looking concerned as gunshots echoed in the distance.
“I have told him to, uh, fuck off,” said Castiel.
“Good for you!” laughed Gabriel.
“I'm not an angel any more. At least, I might not be one again,” said Castiel. Neither angel noticed as the firefight continued in the background.
“Fuck the angels,” said Gabriel. “But what else is wrong with you, little bro? You look upset.”
“My last dream. Before this one. Dean Winchester was there....”
Somewhere in Gabriel's dreamscape, a mine exploded.
“And...?” urged Gabriel, who was practically bouncing up and down on his toes.
“Dean and I. We were … intimate.”
“Congratulations!” said Gabriel, throwing confetti and blowing a noisemaker. “Aw, little Castiel has grown up!”
“Gabriel!” scolded Castiel.
“No, look!” said Gabriel, pulling Cas by the shoulders and sitting down next to him. They were suddenly in an auditorium, where a 1950s era grainy informational film about the facts of life was playing.
“The birds and the bees, little bro!” sang Gabriel.
“Please quit calling me that,” moaned Castiel.
“After an angel reaches two thousand years old, he starts to get urges! It's completely normal and natural!”
“Gabriel!” shouted Castiel, jumping up. “Turn off the film!”
They were suddenly in an empty space, although the row of theater seats was still there.
“These urges are ... not appropriate! I am Dean Winchester's guardian.”
“I thought you just said you weren't an angel any longer,” said Gabriel, raising an eyebrow. He had remained seated.
“I'm not. But....” Castiel paused, remembering the dream. The sensation of falling, of his wing being broken.... He sat down, hard, next to Gabriel. “Gabriel.”
“What?”
“The rest of the dream. I just remembered.”
“Pleeeeease tell me Sam shows up and he's not wearing any pants!” grinned the archangel.
Dream Castiel looked into his brother's eyes. “At the end of the dream, I had a vision. The beings who attacked me,” he said. “Angels.”
“Shit,” said Gabriel.
“They were angels … possessed by demons.”
“Oh. Oh!” said Gabriel.
“Shit is.... I think that shit has definitely become real now,” said Castiel.
There were two of them.
A big one.
And an even bigger one.
The not so big one was giggling. A very big, mean, nasty giggle.
He was dancing around, waving a pair of wings.
The were not his wings. They came, in fact, from the poor being lying at their feet, weeping and moaning, blood dripping down its back.
“Look at me! I'm a pretty angel.”
The wounded being on the ground - it had been an angel, until the laughing beings had pulled its wings off - sobbed.
“Oh, quit that,” grumbled the biggest being, breaking the angel's neck. It stopped crying. The big one sighed. “Bored,” he said.
“You're bored? You want to pull the wings off the next one? Pretty pretty angel?”
“I'm bored with angels.”
“Aw,” said the smaller one, handing his friend one of the wings. “Have some of this then. Have a nice snack. Angel wing! They are good with hot sauce! They are good with ketchup! Or strawberry jam!”
“All right. But after this,” said the big one, turning the wing over in his hands appraisingly, “let's go hit something else.”
“Oh, yes, that will be fun!” said his friend, jumping and flapping his own four wings. “Yes, let's do that! Such a fun idea! Oh, yes!”
This entry was originally posted at http://tikific.dreamwidth.org/116404.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas (wait for it!); Sam, Bobby, Gabriel, Crowley, Zachariah
Warnings: Cursing, brief scene of violence some folks might find upsetting (this chapter)
Word Count: 3700 (this chapter), 35,000 total
Summary: When Castiel's true form is gravely injured during a battle with a strange malevolent entity he is forced to live for a time as a human. Fortunately, the Winchester boys are there, with driving instructions and pigs in a blanket. But is Cas inadvertently dragging his friends into a whole mess of angel danger?
Notes: This isn't really anywhere logical on the timeline. I'm just gonna whistle a happy tune and pretend they didn't kill off a crapload of my favorite characters. Also, although this story falls under the genre of hurt/comfort, be warned it’s a pretty twisted take on it. There will be some pr0n though. Later.
It had been Bobby who declared that the team needed “a little ahrandahr.” Castiel wasn't entirely certain what ahrandahr meant, and did not want to ask, as he wasn't in the mood to be teased. The consequences of this directive were that they packed up a cooler full of food and beer, some sundry stuff like blankets and towels and charcoal briquettes and lighter fluid (gallons it seemed), threw it in the back of the car, and drove to a pleasant if rather secluded lakeside area. Here the Winchesters spent a lot of time tossing a football back and forth while Bobby sucked down beer after beer and attempted to make the charcoal briquettes catch fire via heavy utilization of the lighter fluid.
Castiel sipped through about half a bottle of beer. Alcohol, as he'd learned to his displeasure, now made him feel the sensation of drunkenness in much smaller quantities than before his injury. As he wasn't entirely certain he wanted to spend the day in a mild haze, and also was definitely not in the mood to fend off accusations of being a “lightweight,” at some point, he had picked up the bottle and gone wandering down towards the lake.
There was a small dock, and he found himself walking out towards the end. It was cooler down here as a light breeze was blowing. He closed his eyes to the wind in his face, remembering the sensation of flying. He spread his arms, and let the wind flow over him. Memories came rushing back. His breath caught in his throat.
“Hey.”
Cas immediately dropped his arms and turned to see Dean standing beside him.
“Heh. Bobby and Sammy are bickering over the coals. Like a couple old ladies.”
Cas looked back up towards the barbecue pit, where indeed the two were hunched over in some kind of deep and arcane conversation.
“Uh. You feeling OK, Cas? You seem kinda quiet today.”
“Nothing,” said Castiel. I'm remembering being an angel, and how it sucks to be one of you? “Just thinking.”
“Oh. Well, this isn't a day for thinking. Wanna go in?” asked Dean, who was already kicking off his shoes.
“Uh. Go in?” asked Cas.
“Swimming,” grinned Dean, pulling off his shirt.
“Didn't, um, bring a suit,” muttered Castiel.
“Who needs a suit? Haven't you ever been skinny dipping?”
“Skinny.... What?”
“A human thing you obviously need to learn. Come on! There's no one else around for miles!” said Dean. Dean tossed his shirt in a pile and then, to Castiel's mild horror, pulled down his shorts. “Come on!” he yelled, kicking away the shorts and actually whacking a mortified Castiel in the ass. And then he ran down the dock and launched himself off the end in a splashing cannonball dive.
Castiel stood, rooted to the spot, stupidly holding his beer.
Dean surfaced, and sent a splash at Cas. “Come on, Cas! What the fuck are you waiting for?”
Castiel carefully set his beer bottle down on the dock. He cast a glance back up at the barbecue pit. Well, he thought, swimming naked was probably better than listening to Bobby and Sam fight about the characteristics of the charcoal fire.
And it was definitely better than getting lost in his own thoughts.
He knew the Winchesters well enough to realize he should not evince any hesitation. He deliberately repeated Dean's actions, albeit more slowly and methodically: slipped off the shoes and peeled off the T shirt, setting it carefully on the shoes.
Then, trying not to frown, he pulled down his shorts and underwear and placed them over the T shirt. He really didn't want to get into it with Dean over his differing standards of modesty. Besides, to be fair, a good portion of his angelic attitudes towards nakedness had gone straight out the window after a few weeks of sharing cramped hotel rooms with the brothers.
Then Castiel padded towards the end of the dock and peered at the water. Placing a hand on one of the pontoons, he leaned over and gingerly stuck a foot in the water. It wasn't super cold to the touch, but it also wasn't bathwater warm. He thought he should maybe sit down and slide in.
And then there was a hand grabbing on his ankle and, with a yelp, he was in the water.
He flailed in shock, and then broke the surface, sputtering and shaking his head, to the sound of Dean roaring with laughter. Cas caught his breath, glowering at Dean, and then in a heartbeat splashed over, both his hands atop Dean's head, the weight of his body dunking him.
Dean bobbed up again, spitting water and laughing even harder. Dean turned and dove and so Castiel followed him. The lake was chilly to his skin, so it felt better to keep moving. It was clear underneath, here at the surface, with the light breaking through, and he liked the sensation of water rushing by his face.
And he loved the weightlessness.
He wished for wings, or at least fins, as human limbs were ridiculous and clumsy, but he watched Dean carefully and tried to match his strokes. The chill wore off as he moved, or one could break surface and float and feel the sun's warmth.
“Are you guys ready to quit fucking around? The coals are finally hot!”
Sam was standing on the dock now, holding the inevitable beer.
Dean kicked over to Sam and brought his arms up to lean on the dock. “Hey, Sammy! Bring us down some towels.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked.”
“Fuck you.”
“Come on, Sammy!”
“What if I kick your clothes in the water?” grinned Sam, toeing Dean's pile of discarded clothing.
“Get us towels so we can get out of the water and eat your stupid burnt on the outside raw on the inside fucking burgers.”
“That's the way you like 'em. Bitch!”
“Asshole!” taunted Dean as Sam turned and walked away.
“Will he bring back towels, Dean?” asked a thoroughly perplexed Castiel, who was treading water not so far off.
“Yeah, sure, he's hungry,” said Dean. And sure enough, after a time, Sam was back with towels, which he grudgingly laid on the dock. Dean was out of the water like a shot, toweling off.
Cas deliberately hung back, hoping Sam might take the hint and wander back. I was stupid really, and if he'd been a human being, Cas thought, he would have long been over his modesty.
That's when he felt something wrap around his ankle.
“Dean!” he managed to cry just as he went under. He barely had time to catch a breath. He flailed, and then looked down. Dim in the water beneath him, it was a vaguely human looking figure pulling him to the bottom.
And then it looked up at him.
A shot of fear wrenched through him.
Fighting terror and the sense of running out of air, he doubled his body on itself and tore at the hand that was gripping him. It seemed impervious.
He despaired, looking up. The surface seemed far away, and he didn't spot Sam nor Dean coming after him. Had they not heard? Did they think it was a joke?
And then, his lungs burning, he slashed out with the sword. His sword. How the hell had it gotten into his hand? He aimed and sliced: right through the wrist. And then he was kicking up and up and up in what seemed like forever....
He surfaced, gasping.
“Cas? What the fuck? And... what the fuck are you doing with the ninja sword! You're gonna get rust spots!” said Dean.
Castiel reached up a hand and was yanked up, free of the water.
“Is that blood?” asked Sam, pointing to the katana's blade.
“I was....” Castiel struggled for breath. “I was pulled down. I don't know about the sword. It was just … here.” Dean draped a towel around Cas' shoulders and he shivered.
Dean was leaning over the dock, squinting into the water. “Drowning victim?” he asked Sam.
“Maybe.”
“Did you get a look at it?” he asked Castiel.
“Looked like.... Could have been human. At one point,” Castiel panted.
“Look at his ankle!” said Sam. Castiel looked down. There was a burn mark around his ankle, just where the hand had gripped it.
“Holy shit,” said Dean. “Hey, just like when you flew in and got me!”
“Are you idjits gonna come eat?” came Bobby's bellow from up at the BBQ pit.
“Yeah, in a minute,” Dean yelled back. “We might have to do a little after dinner exorcism!”
“Eat first!” said Bobby. “Demons later!”
“Dean!” shouted Sam. All three of them peered over the dock. Sam gestured for the sword, and Cas handed it over. Sam poked a bit at the water and then stabbed the sword point against on of the pontoons.
He brought it up.
At the end, a clawed hand.
“Ew!” laughed Dean.
The burgers were in fact completely delicious.
Castiel consumed one, and then another. He couldn't recall ever eating at a human picnic prior to this. He reached for a third burger.
“Damn, look at your angel eating us out of house and home,” joshed Sam.
“We gotta take you camping, Cas!” said Dean.
“These are really good. This is the best human food I have ever consumed,” said Castiel. “I like these meat patties with a slice of cheese placed upon them!”
“Uh, yeah, that'd be a cheeseburger,” volunteered Dean.
Castiel had also now consumed several bottles of beer, which he told himself he needed due to the shock of nearly being drowned by some kind of lake demon. “I believe I am now slightly drunk as well,” he confessed, looking at his nearly empty beer bottle.
“Lightweight!” laughed Bobby.
“We promise not to take advantage of you. Too much,” laughed Dean.
Bobby shot a glance at Dean, but said nothing.
“So now it's time for the traditional post-barbecue drunken exorcism!” said Dean. “Sammy, you find anything?”
“Yeah, the 3G is a little shaky out here,” said Sam, who was sitting hunched over an electronic pad. “But I'm pretty sure about our friend with the hand. He gestured over to Castiel's katana, which still held the dismembered hand skewered on its point.
“So, who's our mystery spirit?” asked Dean. Sam tilted the iPad over so Dean could see it. “Holy shit!”
“Who is that?” asked Castiel.
“Buckley Jones!” said Dean. “He was leader of The Gates.”
“I'ma get the exorcism stuff,” said Sam, grabbing the car keys.
“Buckley Jones? A no good little shit,” said Bobby.
“Wait, you know Buckley Jones?” asked Dean.
“He was a local,” said Bobby.
“He was a genius!” said Dean.
“Yeah. Genius boy died of stupid,” grumbled Bobby.
“He was a heroin addict,” said Dean.
“Like I said, died of stupid,” snorted Bobby. “The band kicked him out because he couldn't get his shit together. Hey, I'm not that old,” Bobby told Dean, who was looking surprised. “Heard he went back to live with his mom. I know he was out partying with some of his dumb ass friends when he drowned. I didn't realize it was right here.”
Sam returned with a box of goodies, and the boys spent the next few minutes working on summoning the ghost of a dead musician. At last, Sam repeated the summoning spell, and everyone looked around.
All was silence.
“Huh. That was supposed to work,” Sam observed keenly.
“Shit! Wonder why the spirits aren't answering?” asked Dean.
“Because they're dumb shit sprits. Here, gimme that,” said Bobby, grabbing the katana sword with the hand still impaled on it. He dangled it over the still glowing coals. “Hey, dumbass! Come out come out wherever you are!” he yelled.
“OW! Dude, that's my hand!”
The party all turned around to see the softly glowing spirit of a dripping wet man. He was cradling one arm, which coincidentally, lacked a hand at the end.
“Why didn't you come to our summoning?” asked Bobby crossly, taking the hand away from the fire. “You off getting high in the afterlife?”
“Uh. Maybe,” confessed the spirit.
“So why were you trying to sink Cas?” asked Dean.
“Dudes!” said the spirit of Buckley Jones. “I bring you a message. From the great beyond!”
“You wanted to contact us by fucking drowning us?” asked Bobby.
“Oh, yeah, sorry about that dude. I forgot about that whole breathing thing.”
“It's all right,” said Castiel.
“Thanks dude, you're totally cool. Hey, wait! Dude! Did you know you're an angel?”
“Uh, yes, I think I have this knowledge, thanks,” said Cas.
“Your aura is totally bitchin'! With spangles and shit!” said Buckley Jones, making what one assumes were spangly gestures with his hands.
“Wait. You have a sparkling aura?” Dean asked Cas, who glowered. “You never told us about this,” grinned Dean.
“So what were you supposed to tell us?” asked Bobby, who was of he opinion that this conversation was getting off track.
“You need to go check out the Lake of the Dead,” said Buckley Jones.
“What the hell is the Lake of the Dead?” asked Bobby.
“It's like, Native American and shit. It's totally relevant!” said the ghost.
“OK,” said Sam, consulting his iPad. “Arizona?”
“Road trip to Arizona,” said Dean.
“Hey, I didn't agree to this,” said Sam crossly. “We just got back from the west coast. Why the hell are we going all the way back out there?”
“Dean, it is your des-ti-ny!” said the ghost. “Wooooooooo!”
Bobby rolled his eyes. “Dumb shit,” he muttered.
“Those aren't ghostly sounds you know,” sighed Sam. “You're just making woo woo noises.”
“Where did you hear this information?” asked Castiel.
“I heard it from a mermaid! They're cool. Except, you know, they have fish tails.”
“Yeah, bummer,” said Dean.
“And the mermaid?” asked Castiel.
“She was talking to some Native American weather god dudes. The ka-ching?”
“Kachina?” asked Sam.
“You got it!”
Sam and Castiel looked at each other.
“Hey, before I depart off to the great beyond, dudes, could I have my hand back? So I could like, use it. For stuff.”
Bobby frowned and grabbed the sword again. He held it out to the spirit of Buckley Jones, who happily grabbed off the hand and set it back on his stump.
“We have dental floss if you need it,” offered Dean.
“Nah, this is sweet,” said the ghost, reattaching his hand and flexing his fingers. “Catch you later, hunter dudes! And say hello to the Trickster. He's a cool dude.”
Buckley Jones disappeared, leaving the men looking at each other in confusion.
“Idjit,” sighed Bobby.
Castiel was lying out on the dock.
He was naked. But he was not ashamed.
He was glorying in the sun's warmth, drying his body.
His eyes were closed, but he could sense the shadow fall over the brightness of the sun.
Dean was there. Kneeling next to him. Smiling down at him.
Cas put up a hand. Traced his cheek. Two fingers run across those sweet lips.
When Dean leaned down for the kiss, it was perfect, such a light touch of his lips. Cas twisted his fingers in Dean's hair, pulling him down. And there was Dean's weight on top of him now. The feel of skin on skin. It was electric. Cas' hands drifted down now, holding Dean's hips, pulling them into him.
Dean's hands on him. Moving together.
And then: something gripping him around his ankle...
Castiel was falling, unable to breathe. His back felt like it had exploded. He had never felt so much pain.
Dragging him down.
His eyes shot open. He peered through the dimness, black on black on black.
He screamed.
“Baby bro!”
The car bumped out of the Tunnel of Love, into the bright sunlight.
Cas turned to see Gabriel sitting, grinning in the seat next to him.
Annoyed, Castiel jumped out of the car. Cas looked around, confused and disoriented. They were in one of Gabriel's weird dreamscapes: this one was evidently a deserted carnival. Yes, this had Gabriel written all over it, with huge creepy clown faces and an abandoned ferris wheel that still circled round and round.
“Why can't you just call?” crabbed Castiel. “I have a human cellular telephone.”
“I like having my fun. And I have news! It's the angels.”
“Yes. The angels are being attacked. Murdered.”
“Wait, how did you get the news?” asked Gabriel.
“Zachariah appeared at Bobby's place.”
“What? Zach? That giant dickbag!”
“He is,” sighed Cas.
“What did he say? Did he tell you about the plucked angels?
“Two brothers,” said Castiel.
“No. I've heard it's actually half a dozen now,” said Gabriel.
Castiel shook his head. “Well … damn.”
“Baby bro. Shit just got real,” said Gabriel, snapping his fingers so they were standing in what looked like a minefield. Far off in the distance, a frantic gunfight of some kind was going on.
“I don't understand that reference,” sighed Castiel. “But Zachariah asked me to return to the garrison. To help the investigation.”
“What did you tell him?” asked Gabriel, looking concerned as gunshots echoed in the distance.
“I have told him to, uh, fuck off,” said Castiel.
“Good for you!” laughed Gabriel.
“I'm not an angel any more. At least, I might not be one again,” said Castiel. Neither angel noticed as the firefight continued in the background.
“Fuck the angels,” said Gabriel. “But what else is wrong with you, little bro? You look upset.”
“My last dream. Before this one. Dean Winchester was there....”
Somewhere in Gabriel's dreamscape, a mine exploded.
“And...?” urged Gabriel, who was practically bouncing up and down on his toes.
“Dean and I. We were … intimate.”
“Congratulations!” said Gabriel, throwing confetti and blowing a noisemaker. “Aw, little Castiel has grown up!”
“Gabriel!” scolded Castiel.
“No, look!” said Gabriel, pulling Cas by the shoulders and sitting down next to him. They were suddenly in an auditorium, where a 1950s era grainy informational film about the facts of life was playing.
“The birds and the bees, little bro!” sang Gabriel.
“Please quit calling me that,” moaned Castiel.
“After an angel reaches two thousand years old, he starts to get urges! It's completely normal and natural!”
“Gabriel!” shouted Castiel, jumping up. “Turn off the film!”
They were suddenly in an empty space, although the row of theater seats was still there.
“These urges are ... not appropriate! I am Dean Winchester's guardian.”
“I thought you just said you weren't an angel any longer,” said Gabriel, raising an eyebrow. He had remained seated.
“I'm not. But....” Castiel paused, remembering the dream. The sensation of falling, of his wing being broken.... He sat down, hard, next to Gabriel. “Gabriel.”
“What?”
“The rest of the dream. I just remembered.”
“Pleeeeease tell me Sam shows up and he's not wearing any pants!” grinned the archangel.
Dream Castiel looked into his brother's eyes. “At the end of the dream, I had a vision. The beings who attacked me,” he said. “Angels.”
“Shit,” said Gabriel.
“They were angels … possessed by demons.”
“Oh. Oh!” said Gabriel.
“Shit is.... I think that shit has definitely become real now,” said Castiel.
There were two of them.
A big one.
And an even bigger one.
The not so big one was giggling. A very big, mean, nasty giggle.
He was dancing around, waving a pair of wings.
The were not his wings. They came, in fact, from the poor being lying at their feet, weeping and moaning, blood dripping down its back.
“Look at me! I'm a pretty angel.”
The wounded being on the ground - it had been an angel, until the laughing beings had pulled its wings off - sobbed.
“Oh, quit that,” grumbled the biggest being, breaking the angel's neck. It stopped crying. The big one sighed. “Bored,” he said.
“You're bored? You want to pull the wings off the next one? Pretty pretty angel?”
“I'm bored with angels.”
“Aw,” said the smaller one, handing his friend one of the wings. “Have some of this then. Have a nice snack. Angel wing! They are good with hot sauce! They are good with ketchup! Or strawberry jam!”
“All right. But after this,” said the big one, turning the wing over in his hands appraisingly, “let's go hit something else.”
“Oh, yes, that will be fun!” said his friend, jumping and flapping his own four wings. “Yes, let's do that! Such a fun idea! Oh, yes!”
This entry was originally posted at http://tikific.dreamwidth.org/116404.html. Please comment there using OpenID.