Doll (Household Objects, Chapter 5 of 7)
Title: Doll (Household Objects, Chapter 5 of 7)
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas (hey, finally); Sam, Bobby, Gabriel, Crowley, Zachariah, Death
Warnings: Cursing.
Word Count: 5,400 (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. Oh, and kindly pay attention to the chapter ratings, a little NSFW stuff here.
Everybody was kung fu fighting....
It was the world's most badass Hong Kong Action film.
And Dean Winchester was there!
And Dean was being slowly driven out of his fucking mind....
He stood back and watched, open-mouthed, as Castiel murdered a training dummy. The ex-angel's opponent was just an old punching bag Cas and Bobby had set up for him to practice with the katana (there being no ninja opponents available nearby), but it was still … impressive? That wasn't the word for it. It was all flashing steel and badassery.
You tended to forget, or just not notice, when Cas was all swaddled up in layers of baggy suit and an ill-fitting overcoat, that he was not a big guy. He was actually thin as hell, even when they reminded him to eat, but it seemed like every ounce was whipcord-strong muscle.
He held the sword like it was part of his arm, and moved so fast you just saw blurs and glints and flashes. It was like a dance routine or something. Any human opponent would have been in shreds by now.
Cas had started to throw in a couple of more complicated moves, one of which involved spinning around really fast.
That must have been when he spotted Dean.
And stopped. Dead.
“Uh. Hello, Dean.”
And then he blushed.
Dean grinned from ear to ear. He had to say, though he felt sorry for the guy, and hoped his wing or whatever mended, he liked human Cas. He was still completely socially awkward, but with the added bonus of acting embarrassed like this? It was … it was cute.
“Damn,” said Dean.
The color spread on Cas' face, and he dropped his wide blue eyes and pretended to look down at the blade. That was another difference: angel Cas would have already been up in Dean's face, leaning into him, saying “I don't understand that reference, Dean,” or some such. But this guy was hanging back, keeping his distance.
Dean smiled. He wasn't sure why he did what he did just then: a little hunter's predator instinct? But now it was Dean stepping nearer, closing the distance to Cas.
“I am still pretty inept with this weapon,” said Castiel apologetically.
“Inept,” said Dean. “You would have sliced a human guy to ribbons.” Cas looked up at him, and then looked back down, flustered at the proximity. “Are you using, like, angel mojo to do that?” asked Dean.
“Oh, no! That would be a waste!” said Castiel. “We don't use magic for sword fighting. I have just put in many years of practice. Many … centuries.” He looked up again to see Dean staring at him and immediately dropped his eyes.
Cas was sweating and still breathing hard. Dean noticed his shirt had pulled up slightly, revealing a thin band of bare skin above the waistband of his jeans. Dean had a sudden image of sidling up even closer, coming up in back of the angel, pressing into him, placing a hand, right there, flat on the warm bare skin.
He wondered what Cas would do?
A half step closer. Uncomfortably close, just the way Cas used to do it. Dean waited patiently for Cas to glance back up, and then locked eyes with him again. He looked panicked. It was pretty strange: here was a man who, even though he was injured and pretty much drained of power could skewer a guy in seconds flat, but he seemed discomfited by Dean's presence somehow.
Dean leaned in just a little more. So close he could feel Cas' breath on him. He could smell the perspiration. He could see Cas' lips slightly part.
“WHAT ARE YOU TWO IDJITS DOING?”
Cas literally jumped at the sound of Bobby's voice. “I was...” he began. “I'm sorry, I lost track of time.”
“Hit the showers, dummy, your breakfast will get cold,” Bobby told him. Castiel fled. Dean started to follow. But Bobby stood in his way. “And you, what do you think you're doin'?”
“Who, me?”
“Who, me,” mocked Bobby.
“I was just watching Cas practice! It's pretty cool,” Dean said, feinting with an imaginary sword.
“You know, he manages to mend that wing, he's just gonna go fluttering off to wherever the hell again,” said Bobby.
Dean scowled at Bobby. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You know damn well what I'm talking about. Or are you really just a big dumb bag of hormones?”
Dean grinned. “Pretty much.”
“Look, boy, if Cas is right, and we got demons that can wiggle themselves into angels….”
“We’re in a world of hurt. I know, Bobby. I know.”
“Just keep your head in the game,” said Bobby.
“I will. Wait - is that Sammy?”
Both Bobby and Dean started running for the house at the sound of the scream. Dean, in the lead, tore inside and up the short staircase to see Sam standing, dripping wet, hair still full of suds, in the cramped hallway outside the shower, a towel clutched around him. Castiel was standing nearby, a smile flicking at the edge of his mouth.
“Sammy? What the fuck?” asked Dean.
“Bobby's fucking bathroom is haunted!” sputtered Sam.
“What?” asked Dean.
“I believe that Miss LaRue’s spirit has made herself at home here,” said Castiel.
“She slapped me on the ass!” wailed Sam.
“Well, she does, um, evince an inclination towards you, Sam,” Castiel informed him.
“You’re being harasses by a sexy ghost?” laughed Dean.
“It’s not funny!” protested Sam.
“It’s a little funny,” said Dean.
“It’s … it’s not at all funny,” sulked Sam.
“All right, all right, look, I think I could set up some warding signs around … my bathroom, to keep out vengeful - or overly friendly - spirits,” grumbled Bobby. “But for today could you just kindly inform her that this ain’t a peep show.”
“Uh, let me,” suggested Castiel, still managing to hold off a grin. “Miss LaRue?” he asked, stepping into the still steaming bathroom.
“Well,” said Dean. “She’s still lively!”
Sam glowered, soap suds running down his eyes. “So. Not. Funny.”
Castiel drove. To the sound of choruses of Winchesters.
Both brothers were snoring, including Dean, who had taken over the shotgun position with promises of scintillating conversation to keep Castiel awake and alert as he drove through the early morning hours. That had lasted all of twenty minutes before Dean's head reeled back and the snoring sound emitted. Cas didn't much mind. The cassette tape had run out hours ago, so other than Winchesterian nasal passages, he drove in near silence.
Despite the fake driver’s license, Cas was still restricted in his driving privileges, at least in Dean’s car. He was still forbidden to pilot the car anywhere near an urban area, although Dean had recently lifted the restriction on night driving. That was how Cas had ended up on the 3 am shift.
But it was glorious. Castiel had seen these areas in the American southwestern region before, of course, in passing. But he had never before had time to linger. And now to come upon these gorgeous sand sculptures as dawn was breaking, casting long shadows across the painted desert: it was magnificent.
“Whoa. Pretty cool, huh?” asked Dean, yawning himself awake.
Castiel didn’t have the appropriate words, at least in English, so he simply nodded.
“So, maybe stop and get some grub, and then we look for this Lake of the Dead?” asked Dean. “Hey, wake up, sleeping beauty!” he yelled back at Sam.
“Mamie?” grunted Sam.
Dean and Cas looked at each other.
Cas smiled as Dean roared with laughter.
Breakfast had somewhat improved Sam’s mood. But only somewhat.
Castiel had, somehow, ended up with a children’s paper placemat and a batch of crayons. This had caused Sam to sulk until Dean, halfway through his six egg omelet, had realized the problem and asked the waitress for another paper placemat for his little brother to color.
However, just as Sam was whetting his teeth to fashion the mat - a map of Arizona's favorite tourist spots - in rainbow colors, Dean had grabbed the paper away from him.
“Look, dude,” Dean had said, greasy finger pointing to smack dab in the middle.
Lake of the Dead.
“Why wasn’t this on Cas’ placemat,” grumbled Sam irritably.
“Maybe ‘cause he’s drawn a purple unicorn over that section,” said Dean.
“I’ve always thought they look good. In purple,” commented Castiel, admiring his own artwork.
No one at the diner could provide any information regarding a more exact location for the Lake of the Dead, however. When they emerged after breakfast, Dean spotted a souvenir shop across the roadway just opening for business.
“That says Johnny's Native American Relics. Maybe they’ll know?” he proposed, holding up Sam’s placemat.
“The 'relics' are most likely made in China,” grumbled Sam, but he and Castiel nevertheless followed Dean across the highway.
“Hey,” Dean hailed the proprietor. “We’re a little lost and need directions.”
“Naw, you look like you need kachina dolls,” said the owner, holding up some relics.
“Uh, no, I steer clear of dolls these days,” said Dean, who literally hopped back from the wooden items. “We’re Keith and Mick, and that’s our cousin, Charlie over there,” he said of Castiel, who was regarding a shelf of kachinas.
“I’m Johnny Standing Duck. Not sitting, Standing,” the proprietor was careful to say.
“You know how to get to the Lake of the Dead from here?” asked Sam.
“Do I know how to get to the Lake of the Dead? Do I know how to get to the Lake of the Dead?”
“Uh. Do you?” asked Dean.
“You boys don’t wanna go out there. You know what you want?”
“Uh, what do we want?” asked Dean.
Johnny Standing Duck beckoned, and the Winchesters leaned over near. “Fireworks.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “We’re not here for-“
“Cool! What do you got?” asked Dean.
“You had that look,” grinned Johnny Standing Duck. “Come around back.”
“Dammit,” grumbled Sam, watching his brother, who was suddenly fourteen years old again, scamper after the old shop owner.
“Sam,” said Castiel quietly. He pointed, and Sam looked up. There was a party of people, all dressed in black, walking in a solemn line along the roadway. Towards the back, several pallbearers carried a coffin.
“Seventy-five, and I’ll throw in this kachina doll,” Johnny Standing Duck was telling Dean when Sam and Cas came around the back of the store.
Dean, who was holding a very, very large cardboard box filled with Fourth of July fireworks, was saying, “Dude! I said no dolls! Fifty.”
“Oh, you want this doll. Sixty-five?”
“Done! Sammy, could you loan me forty bucks?”
Sam sighed and went for his wallet. “Dean, did you see the funeral cortege going by?”
“I must have missed it,” admitted Dean, his eyes still lit up.
“Local kid. He drowned.”
That did make Dean take notice. “Wait. Drowned? We’re in the middle of the desert.”
“Exactly,” said Sam.
“We get freak storms,” Johnny Standing Duck told them. “You gotta watch out. Flash flooding.”
“We’ll be careful,” said Dean. “But there’s not a cloud in the sky.”
“Not now,” said Johnny Standing Duck significantly, raising an eyebrow.
“What do you mean?” asked Dean.
“Drowned guys. Kokole. They make angry spirits. They try and get home, but they can’t.”
“Coca Cola drowns people?” asked Dean as Johnny Standing Duck retreated back into his shop.
“Kokole,” said Sam. “I think I heard that word before.”
“Well, I guess for now we follow the placemat,” reasoned Dean, hefting his box of fireworks.
Sam shook his head, and they all wandered back to the car. “We're following a placemat on the word of a fireworks seller and a stoned ghost rock star,” he muttered.
“We could follow my placemat, Sam,” offered Castiel, proudly holding up his artwork.
Sam sighed and got into the car.
The Impala was in the middle of fucking nowhere.
Dean and Castiel stood looking around, though for what, neither could say.
Sam sat on the hood of the car hunched over his iPad because, as he said, he was getting really excellent 4G reception.
“Well, that's what happens when you get your directions from a napkin,” sighed Dean.
“I think it was a placemat, wasn't it?” corrected Castiel.
“Yeah, anyway, I don't see any purple unicorns.”
“Oh, they aren't typically purple,” Castiel informed him. “I just think that is the most aesthetically pleasing color.”
“You have the unicorn cred,” said Dean.
“I'm sorry?” Castiel scowled at Dean for a while. “Oh. You're making a joke. At my expense.”
“Hey, just giving you shit,” said Dean.
“Guys, you know the kokole that the Sitting Duck...”
“Standing Duck!” corrected Dean.
“Standing Duck guy told us about?”
“Yeah? So what about it?” asked Dean.
“I've been reading up on them,” said Sam, sliding down off the car's hood. “And it sounds a little concerning. It says here that unhappy spirits turn into uwanammi.”
“What are uwanammi?” asked Dean.
“Basically, vengeful water monsters,” said Sam.
“We're in the middle of a fucking desert!” said Dean.
“We're in the middle of a fucking dry wash in a desert,” said Sam.
“Look at the sky,” said Castiel.
Dean looked up and sighed. “Yeah, it is clouding up. Might as well get out before this road turns to mud,” he said, looking back at the long dirt track they needed to follow to get back to the main highway.
“Can I drive, Dean? This is not an urban land, and it's midday!” asked Castiel.
“Sure Cas,” said Dean, flipping the keys into the angel's hand.
They jumped into the car and headed back down the road.
And then the sky opened up.
Despite the wipers going as fast as they could and the high beams on, Dean couldn't see more than a few feet ahead, although Castiel quietly assured him they were indeed still following the now invisible dirt road. Dean fretted, though he was silently grateful Cas was still capable of some weird angel tricks. “How many miles were we out?” Dean asked. “Is the highway getting near?”
“It didn't seem like it was this far out,” said Sam from the back seat.
“Oh, hey, great!” said Dean. The downpour stopped as suddenly as it has started. Castiel flipped off the windshield wipers, and the only sound was tires through standing water. Dean was happy to see that, true to Cas' words, they were still on the dirt track, although it had turned to a mud track.
“Dean, what's that?” asked Sam.
Dean turned around to peer through the back window.
“Cas....”
“I see it,” said Castiel, flicking his eyes to the rearview mirror.
“Flood waters?” asked Sam.
“Might be....” said Dean.
“No,” said Castiel. “It's not flood waters.”
“Shit,” said Dean. Whatever it was, it was gaining on them. “Can you...?”
“Going as fast as the parameters of this car will allow,” said Castiel.
“Well, maybe go nudge the parameters a little,” pleaded Dean.
Dean turned around again. Whatever it was, it was gliding across the standing waters.
Its mouth was open. The mouth looked big enough to swallow a bus.
It had racks of glistening pointed teeth inside.
And it was still gaining.
“It looks like a fucking sandworm!” said Sam, who was staring in horror at the back window.
“What's the fuck's a sandworm?” asked Dean.
“Didn't you read Dune in high school?” asked Sam.
“No.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Maybe I was too busy, I dunno, getting laid?” said Dean.
“It is still gaining on us,” said Castiel needlessly.
“Are we near the fucking highway?” asked Dean, tearing himself to look around forward.
“Not near enough,” said Castiel, who had one eye on the rearview mirror. “I have an idea. Hold on,” he said, suddenly wrenching the car into a sharp 90 degree turn.
“Oh, the shocks,” said Dean.
“Cas, what are you...?” said Sam.
“Cas, is that...?” said Dean.
The car was rapidly approaching the end of the road.
The road ended abruptly.
In a sheer cliff.
“Both of you,” Castiel said, very quietly. “Hold on.”
Dean gaped as Castiel piloted the car straight towards the dropoff. “You're going to.... Your going to turn? At the last minute? Is that the plan? Cas? Cas?”
“Hold on. Hold on.” It was a whisper.
“Fuck,” said Dean. He turned and cringed. The monster was within a few feet. It opened its jaws wider. “Cas!”
And then the Impala left the ground. There was a rushing noise, a whoosh of air.
Dean was wrenched forward, and then back.
He felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.
And then … the sound of the tires rumbling on gravel again.
The sound slowly got lower as the car ground to a halt.
Dean pushed himself up and looked back. And then he was out of the car.
“Baby, are you OK?” he asked the Impala.
Castiel opened the driver side door. He stumbled out, and promptly fell to the ground. He lay on his back, staring up at the sky, breathing hard.
Sam was the last out of the car. He ran a few feet back and stared in wonder at the wide canyon they had just jumped.
He whooped.
“That was so cool!” he screamed. “Evel Fucking Knevel! Cas, can we do it again, please please?
Receiving no answer, he walked around to the driver's side. “Cas? You OK, man?” he asked, squatting down.
“No,” said Castiel. He was making absolutely no attempt to sit up. Nor to move in any way.
“I think she's OK,” said Dean, referring to the car. “I think she's still OK.”
“Cas. Did you … fly us?” asked Sam.
“Yes, Sam. I flew us,” said Castiel.
“Whoa,” said Sam, sitting down cross-legged next to Castiel. “That was pretty fucking awesome. Can we do it again?”
“No.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Cas, you OK?” asked Dean, who was finally hovering over the angel.
“Every … cell … of my body … hurts,” said Castiel.
“Come on,” said Dean, helping him to sit up. “We'll go into town … once we find town. And we'll get you a couple bottles of aspirin. And maybe some whiskey. A lot of whiskey.”
“I think we have a bottle in my pack. Ibuprofen, not whiskey. In the trunk,” said Sam.
“Oh. Good idea,” said Dean. He headed around and popped the trunk. “SON OF A BITCH!”
Sam and Castiel looked at each other, Cas leaning painfully on one elbow.
“What is it?” asked Sam. But Dean was already coming around.
“I told that bastard, no fucking dolls! Look what he slips in my package of fireworks!” raved Dean, holding up the kachina doll.
“You think that was it?” asked Sam.
“Of course it was! Fucking cursed dolls. Now we gotta go back into town and return the bastard. That's the only way.”
“Dean,” said Castiel. “I do not think that item is cursed. Or … not in the way you think.”
“It's cursed! It's a cursed fucking doll! Come on, Sam, help me with Cas. We gotta get to town, and get rid of this shit.”
The drive back to town was relatively uneventful and, after polishing off half Sam's bottle of Ibuprofen, Castiel soon conked out in the back seat. Dean hung the little wooden kachina doll from the rearview mirror, where he could “keep an eye on the little fucker.” It swayed back and forth, colored feathers ruffling.
“I don't believe this,” Dean raved. “I mean, Cas gets this badass sword following him around, and you get a mirror with a sexy Hollywood bombshell....”
“It's not that fun,” grumbled Sam.
“And I get the doll? I mean, fuck that! Hey, is that the shop?” Dean brought the car to a screeching halt by Johnny Standing Duck's souvenir shop. “I've got some words with that guy,” said Dean, snatching the kachina from its perch.
“Dean. I think the shop's closed,” said Sam.
Dean stood and gawped. Not only was the shop closed, it was in fact boarded up. And, judging from the dust, it had been that way for some time.
“I don't understand. He closed his shop since this morning?” asked Dean. “Hey!” he called to a guy across the roadway who was hauling out trash at the roadside diner there. “You know when Johnny Standing Duck is gonna be back?”
The guy stood up and grinned. “Not in our lifetime, man. Johnny died. Two, three years ago now.”
Dean looked at Sam, and then both looked back at the boarded up souvenir stand.
He turned to Sam and mouthed, “Fuck!”
The kachina swung rhythmically from the rearview mirror as the car thrummed across the rutted highway.
“Never, as long as you live, take the word of the ghost of a strung out drowned rock musician who heard it from a fucking mermaid!” muttered Dean.
“I'll remember that, Dean,” smiled Sam. “So, we're just gonna turn around and go?”
Dean sighed. “Cas sprained his whole body and we're cursed. Yeah, I think we had enough fun.”
“Is it time to stop and consume a meal?” asked a scratchy voice from the back.
“Hey, you're hungry, man?” asked Sam.
“I believe so,” said Castiel, leaning forward with obvious discomfort. “What happened with the kachina doll? I thought-”
“Later,” Sam whispered to Cas, seeing Dean's furious expression. “Dude, let's stop at the next diner, you can get a burger. And I'll spring for pie!”
“You always say that,” groused Dean.
“Come on. Cas is hungry. And we all missed lunch.”
“Yeah, yeah. That's the trouble with sandslugs!”
“Sandworms.”
“They ruin your lunch. I'll stop at the next truck stop,” said Dean.
“What was that?” asked Castiel, who was now looking around.
“What was what?” asked Dean, who was immediately answered by a thunder clap. “God dammit!” he roared as the downpour began almost immediately. “We gotta find safe turnoff.”
“DEAN!”
The car screeched to a halt. This time it was in front of them, still very far away, but approaching fast.
“Uwanammi,” said Sam.
“It's the fucking doll!” said Dean, grabbing the kachina. “I'm gonna-”
A bolt of electricity arced through the car. The kachina glowed orange as Dean, terrified, gripped it.
And then, as the three watched, there was a sense of building pressure. As the uwanammi swarmed forward at them, suddenly a great wind howled and blasted forward to meet it. It sent the monster reeling back, and suddenly turned the grey sky back to sunlight.
And then, silence again.
“Holy fuck,” said Sam. “That is one excellent doll!”
“Uh,” said Dean, weighing the doll in his hand. The glow had faded, and now it was only feathers and wood. He gave it a small toss and caught it. “I think I am starting to reevaluate my opinions regarding cursed dolls.”
Castiel stuck out a hand, and Dean gave him the doll. “It is clearly a magical object, but I believe its intentions are benign,” said Castiel. “And it appears Dean is the rightful owner, as Johnny Standing Duck came back from the dead to grant it to you.”
“Wait!” said Dean. “You were alseep for all that!”
Castiel handed the doll back to Dean. “Yes, but his spirit visited me in my dream.”
“What? Did he tell you anything relevant?” asked Sam.
“He told us to say hi to Buckley Jones, as we are evidently destined to meet again,” yawned Cas. “Are we near a diner? I think a hamburger with french fries on the side would hit the spot. I will have ketchup with the french fries, and probably a slice of cheese added to the hamburger.”
“It's called a cheeseburger, Cas,” smiled Sam.
“I've got a cool doll,” said Dean, starting the car and hanging the kachina back on the rearview mirror.
“I have felt for some time that the wing is mended,” Cas told Bobby. “That is, the bones are healed. But when I have tried to use it, it causes a great deal of … pain,” he added. “I suppose I was just postponing the inevitable. I cannot function as an angel any longer.”
“Cas, you're full of shit,” said Bobby, who sat across from Cas at the picnic table outside.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I don't know about mending fancy angel wings, but I know pretty damn well what happens when a human gets a busted leg: it hurts like balls the first time you use it. I mean, think about it: you may be magical and all that crap, but you just plain ain't been using those muscles for a while, have you?”
“No.”
“Well, seems like you flew a fucking Impala, you can fly yourself. That car's heavy as a damned tank. Now, what you need to do, you need to go into your true form every day and … I don't know. Flap or flutter or whatever the fuck you do. And it's gonna fucking hurt for a while, but then it'll get better. Maybe slowly, but you're eternal and all that hogspit, so ain't like you haven't got the time.”
Castiel's eyes seemed to go out of focus, as if he were reaching somewhere else. “Maybe.... Maybe you are right, Bobby. I.... I didn't dare hope.”
“Don't get mushy on me,” scolded Bobby, who really hadn't the patience for weeping angels.
“I won't,” whispered Castiel.
Bobby rolled his eyes at Dean, who had been standing quietly in back of the room. “I'm gonna go get drunk,” he said, stepping out.
Dean sat down on the bench next to Castiel. He put a hand on the angel's back. “Good news, huh?”
“I promised.... I promised Bobby I wouldn't express emotion,” whispered Castiel.
“Hey, I think it's OK in this case,” said Dean, rubbing his hand up and down Castiel's back.
Castiel turned, breathing hard. He smiled and lightly touched Dean's cheek. Then, seemingly reluctantly, he took his hand away and started to stand.
“Cas,” said Dean, now gently holding Cas down.
Castiel looked over at him. Dean recognized the look of pure terror. “Dean,” he said, looking away again. “I read minds. You know that. I don't.... I try not to pry. With my friends. But you have been rather … obvious lately.”
“What's wrong with obvious?” asked Dean.
“Nothing.” The look had turned from abject terror to sadness. “What you intend to do…. You will likely be … disappointed.”
Dean stared at him. “You haven’t ever, have you?”
Castiel sadly shook his head and cast his eyes downward.
“Well, that’s good,” said Dean, leaning in closer.
“What could possibly be good about inexperience?”
Dean smiled. “Because. I want to be the one.”
Cas was still looking away. “You’ve always been the one,” he said quietly. He looked up. “You’ll always be the one.” And then Dean was kissing him. And he was letting Dean kiss him. And he didn't know what to do, or where his hands should go or whether he was doing OK or whether anything would ever be the same again. Now that he wasn't sentenced to be a human, here he was trying to act like one. It was all stupid. And wrong.
Dean was on his feet, pulling Cas up. “Come on. Inside.” Cas was confused, and it didn't help that his vessel was aroused.
No. He was aroused. Castiel was the one walking inside with Dean Winchester, his human charge, and the one who kissed him and then gave Dean a little push so he sat down heavily on the bed. And then the one who climbed on top of him and began kissing him again and wresting off his shirt.
“Cas? Oh, fuck yeah,” a very surprised Dean managed to mutter. He writhed as Castiel slowly kissed his way down Dean's torso and began unzipping his jeans.
“Don't stop,” said Dean, kicking off his jeans. And then Cas had his mouth on him, Dean's fingers now twisted in his hair. “Don't stop,” Dean repeated as Cas used mouth and tongue, and then Cas' hands gripped Dean's perfect ass, and then his fingers were prying into Dean as the moans turned to cries and the writhing was now a barely controlled thrashing. And Castiel hadn't done this before with a real human being, but he could sense something was going to happen, and then Dean blurted, “O god Jesus Christ” and came, hot and sticky, in Castiel's mouth, and the writhing slowed and stopped.
Castiel wiped his mouth on a sleeve: funny, he had just realized he was still wearing all his clothes. He didn't think this was how it was supposed to go, but he wasn't certain. He slid upwards, and Dean, who was still breathing hard, yanked him up and pulled him close.
“Oh, god, you're gonna kill me. You are gonna kill me,” said Dean.
Cas slid up on one elbow, on Dean's bare chest, looking concerned now. “Is that.... Is that good?”
“That's a good thing,” breathed Dean, who pulled him closer, kissing the top of his head. “Oh yeah. That's a very good thing.”
Castiel walked into the theater and sat down beside his brother Gabriel.
The theater was all in his head. As he was dreaming.
“So, what do we say?” asked the archangel.
“Thank you for the pornography, brother. It has proved … educational.” Castiel smiled.
“Aw, anything for my little bro!” said Gabriel, clapping Castiel on the back. “You're a man now! You've bagged your first Winchester.”
“Please don't say it like that,” said Castiel, blushing.
“Now, what's on the menu tonight? I have Assman: the Dark Dick Rises, or maybe Butt Avengers? Or if you wanna bring in some girls next time, I have Tit Wars, or Cum with the Wind, that's a classic chick flick.”
“Uh, that won't be necessary,” muttered Castiel. “Uh, yet.”
“You know, Cas, I like you as a human.”
“That's funny. Dean has said the same thing.”
“You got the stick out of your ass. Not that it's necessarily a bad thing to have in your ass. Oh, speaking of which, The Amazing Spider-Dick!” said Gabriel, proudly holding up a DVD.
“Let me guess: this person has eight, er, members?”
“And it’s in 3D!” enthused Gabriel, handing Castiel some glasses.
“Well. OK,” said Castiel, donning the 3D glasses. “By the way, Dean also once told me that it's, uh, not appropriate to watch pornography in the presence of other men.”
“Aw, well, maybe you're not the only one with a stick up your ass. Popcorn? Though maybe we can get something better up Dean's ass.”
Castiel peered at the screen as he ate buttered popcorn from a cardboard bucket. “Oh, he can stick to walls … that way?”
This entry was originally posted at http://tikific.dreamwidth.org/116655.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas (hey, finally); Sam, Bobby, Gabriel, Crowley, Zachariah, Death
Warnings: Cursing.
Word Count: 5,400 (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. Oh, and kindly pay attention to the chapter ratings, a little NSFW stuff here.
Everybody was kung fu fighting....
It was the world's most badass Hong Kong Action film.
And Dean Winchester was there!
And Dean was being slowly driven out of his fucking mind....
He stood back and watched, open-mouthed, as Castiel murdered a training dummy. The ex-angel's opponent was just an old punching bag Cas and Bobby had set up for him to practice with the katana (there being no ninja opponents available nearby), but it was still … impressive? That wasn't the word for it. It was all flashing steel and badassery.
You tended to forget, or just not notice, when Cas was all swaddled up in layers of baggy suit and an ill-fitting overcoat, that he was not a big guy. He was actually thin as hell, even when they reminded him to eat, but it seemed like every ounce was whipcord-strong muscle.
He held the sword like it was part of his arm, and moved so fast you just saw blurs and glints and flashes. It was like a dance routine or something. Any human opponent would have been in shreds by now.
Cas had started to throw in a couple of more complicated moves, one of which involved spinning around really fast.
That must have been when he spotted Dean.
And stopped. Dead.
“Uh. Hello, Dean.”
And then he blushed.
Dean grinned from ear to ear. He had to say, though he felt sorry for the guy, and hoped his wing or whatever mended, he liked human Cas. He was still completely socially awkward, but with the added bonus of acting embarrassed like this? It was … it was cute.
“Damn,” said Dean.
The color spread on Cas' face, and he dropped his wide blue eyes and pretended to look down at the blade. That was another difference: angel Cas would have already been up in Dean's face, leaning into him, saying “I don't understand that reference, Dean,” or some such. But this guy was hanging back, keeping his distance.
Dean smiled. He wasn't sure why he did what he did just then: a little hunter's predator instinct? But now it was Dean stepping nearer, closing the distance to Cas.
“I am still pretty inept with this weapon,” said Castiel apologetically.
“Inept,” said Dean. “You would have sliced a human guy to ribbons.” Cas looked up at him, and then looked back down, flustered at the proximity. “Are you using, like, angel mojo to do that?” asked Dean.
“Oh, no! That would be a waste!” said Castiel. “We don't use magic for sword fighting. I have just put in many years of practice. Many … centuries.” He looked up again to see Dean staring at him and immediately dropped his eyes.
Cas was sweating and still breathing hard. Dean noticed his shirt had pulled up slightly, revealing a thin band of bare skin above the waistband of his jeans. Dean had a sudden image of sidling up even closer, coming up in back of the angel, pressing into him, placing a hand, right there, flat on the warm bare skin.
He wondered what Cas would do?
A half step closer. Uncomfortably close, just the way Cas used to do it. Dean waited patiently for Cas to glance back up, and then locked eyes with him again. He looked panicked. It was pretty strange: here was a man who, even though he was injured and pretty much drained of power could skewer a guy in seconds flat, but he seemed discomfited by Dean's presence somehow.
Dean leaned in just a little more. So close he could feel Cas' breath on him. He could smell the perspiration. He could see Cas' lips slightly part.
“WHAT ARE YOU TWO IDJITS DOING?”
Cas literally jumped at the sound of Bobby's voice. “I was...” he began. “I'm sorry, I lost track of time.”
“Hit the showers, dummy, your breakfast will get cold,” Bobby told him. Castiel fled. Dean started to follow. But Bobby stood in his way. “And you, what do you think you're doin'?”
“Who, me?”
“Who, me,” mocked Bobby.
“I was just watching Cas practice! It's pretty cool,” Dean said, feinting with an imaginary sword.
“You know, he manages to mend that wing, he's just gonna go fluttering off to wherever the hell again,” said Bobby.
Dean scowled at Bobby. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You know damn well what I'm talking about. Or are you really just a big dumb bag of hormones?”
Dean grinned. “Pretty much.”
“Look, boy, if Cas is right, and we got demons that can wiggle themselves into angels….”
“We’re in a world of hurt. I know, Bobby. I know.”
“Just keep your head in the game,” said Bobby.
“I will. Wait - is that Sammy?”
Both Bobby and Dean started running for the house at the sound of the scream. Dean, in the lead, tore inside and up the short staircase to see Sam standing, dripping wet, hair still full of suds, in the cramped hallway outside the shower, a towel clutched around him. Castiel was standing nearby, a smile flicking at the edge of his mouth.
“Sammy? What the fuck?” asked Dean.
“Bobby's fucking bathroom is haunted!” sputtered Sam.
“What?” asked Dean.
“I believe that Miss LaRue’s spirit has made herself at home here,” said Castiel.
“She slapped me on the ass!” wailed Sam.
“Well, she does, um, evince an inclination towards you, Sam,” Castiel informed him.
“You’re being harasses by a sexy ghost?” laughed Dean.
“It’s not funny!” protested Sam.
“It’s a little funny,” said Dean.
“It’s … it’s not at all funny,” sulked Sam.
“All right, all right, look, I think I could set up some warding signs around … my bathroom, to keep out vengeful - or overly friendly - spirits,” grumbled Bobby. “But for today could you just kindly inform her that this ain’t a peep show.”
“Uh, let me,” suggested Castiel, still managing to hold off a grin. “Miss LaRue?” he asked, stepping into the still steaming bathroom.
“Well,” said Dean. “She’s still lively!”
Sam glowered, soap suds running down his eyes. “So. Not. Funny.”
Castiel drove. To the sound of choruses of Winchesters.
Both brothers were snoring, including Dean, who had taken over the shotgun position with promises of scintillating conversation to keep Castiel awake and alert as he drove through the early morning hours. That had lasted all of twenty minutes before Dean's head reeled back and the snoring sound emitted. Cas didn't much mind. The cassette tape had run out hours ago, so other than Winchesterian nasal passages, he drove in near silence.
Despite the fake driver’s license, Cas was still restricted in his driving privileges, at least in Dean’s car. He was still forbidden to pilot the car anywhere near an urban area, although Dean had recently lifted the restriction on night driving. That was how Cas had ended up on the 3 am shift.
But it was glorious. Castiel had seen these areas in the American southwestern region before, of course, in passing. But he had never before had time to linger. And now to come upon these gorgeous sand sculptures as dawn was breaking, casting long shadows across the painted desert: it was magnificent.
“Whoa. Pretty cool, huh?” asked Dean, yawning himself awake.
Castiel didn’t have the appropriate words, at least in English, so he simply nodded.
“So, maybe stop and get some grub, and then we look for this Lake of the Dead?” asked Dean. “Hey, wake up, sleeping beauty!” he yelled back at Sam.
“Mamie?” grunted Sam.
Dean and Cas looked at each other.
Cas smiled as Dean roared with laughter.
Breakfast had somewhat improved Sam’s mood. But only somewhat.
Castiel had, somehow, ended up with a children’s paper placemat and a batch of crayons. This had caused Sam to sulk until Dean, halfway through his six egg omelet, had realized the problem and asked the waitress for another paper placemat for his little brother to color.
However, just as Sam was whetting his teeth to fashion the mat - a map of Arizona's favorite tourist spots - in rainbow colors, Dean had grabbed the paper away from him.
“Look, dude,” Dean had said, greasy finger pointing to smack dab in the middle.
Lake of the Dead.
“Why wasn’t this on Cas’ placemat,” grumbled Sam irritably.
“Maybe ‘cause he’s drawn a purple unicorn over that section,” said Dean.
“I’ve always thought they look good. In purple,” commented Castiel, admiring his own artwork.
No one at the diner could provide any information regarding a more exact location for the Lake of the Dead, however. When they emerged after breakfast, Dean spotted a souvenir shop across the roadway just opening for business.
“That says Johnny's Native American Relics. Maybe they’ll know?” he proposed, holding up Sam’s placemat.
“The 'relics' are most likely made in China,” grumbled Sam, but he and Castiel nevertheless followed Dean across the highway.
“Hey,” Dean hailed the proprietor. “We’re a little lost and need directions.”
“Naw, you look like you need kachina dolls,” said the owner, holding up some relics.
“Uh, no, I steer clear of dolls these days,” said Dean, who literally hopped back from the wooden items. “We’re Keith and Mick, and that’s our cousin, Charlie over there,” he said of Castiel, who was regarding a shelf of kachinas.
“I’m Johnny Standing Duck. Not sitting, Standing,” the proprietor was careful to say.
“You know how to get to the Lake of the Dead from here?” asked Sam.
“Do I know how to get to the Lake of the Dead? Do I know how to get to the Lake of the Dead?”
“Uh. Do you?” asked Dean.
“You boys don’t wanna go out there. You know what you want?”
“Uh, what do we want?” asked Dean.
Johnny Standing Duck beckoned, and the Winchesters leaned over near. “Fireworks.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “We’re not here for-“
“Cool! What do you got?” asked Dean.
“You had that look,” grinned Johnny Standing Duck. “Come around back.”
“Dammit,” grumbled Sam, watching his brother, who was suddenly fourteen years old again, scamper after the old shop owner.
“Sam,” said Castiel quietly. He pointed, and Sam looked up. There was a party of people, all dressed in black, walking in a solemn line along the roadway. Towards the back, several pallbearers carried a coffin.
“Seventy-five, and I’ll throw in this kachina doll,” Johnny Standing Duck was telling Dean when Sam and Cas came around the back of the store.
Dean, who was holding a very, very large cardboard box filled with Fourth of July fireworks, was saying, “Dude! I said no dolls! Fifty.”
“Oh, you want this doll. Sixty-five?”
“Done! Sammy, could you loan me forty bucks?”
Sam sighed and went for his wallet. “Dean, did you see the funeral cortege going by?”
“I must have missed it,” admitted Dean, his eyes still lit up.
“Local kid. He drowned.”
That did make Dean take notice. “Wait. Drowned? We’re in the middle of the desert.”
“Exactly,” said Sam.
“We get freak storms,” Johnny Standing Duck told them. “You gotta watch out. Flash flooding.”
“We’ll be careful,” said Dean. “But there’s not a cloud in the sky.”
“Not now,” said Johnny Standing Duck significantly, raising an eyebrow.
“What do you mean?” asked Dean.
“Drowned guys. Kokole. They make angry spirits. They try and get home, but they can’t.”
“Coca Cola drowns people?” asked Dean as Johnny Standing Duck retreated back into his shop.
“Kokole,” said Sam. “I think I heard that word before.”
“Well, I guess for now we follow the placemat,” reasoned Dean, hefting his box of fireworks.
Sam shook his head, and they all wandered back to the car. “We're following a placemat on the word of a fireworks seller and a stoned ghost rock star,” he muttered.
“We could follow my placemat, Sam,” offered Castiel, proudly holding up his artwork.
Sam sighed and got into the car.
The Impala was in the middle of fucking nowhere.
Dean and Castiel stood looking around, though for what, neither could say.
Sam sat on the hood of the car hunched over his iPad because, as he said, he was getting really excellent 4G reception.
“Well, that's what happens when you get your directions from a napkin,” sighed Dean.
“I think it was a placemat, wasn't it?” corrected Castiel.
“Yeah, anyway, I don't see any purple unicorns.”
“Oh, they aren't typically purple,” Castiel informed him. “I just think that is the most aesthetically pleasing color.”
“You have the unicorn cred,” said Dean.
“I'm sorry?” Castiel scowled at Dean for a while. “Oh. You're making a joke. At my expense.”
“Hey, just giving you shit,” said Dean.
“Guys, you know the kokole that the Sitting Duck...”
“Standing Duck!” corrected Dean.
“Standing Duck guy told us about?”
“Yeah? So what about it?” asked Dean.
“I've been reading up on them,” said Sam, sliding down off the car's hood. “And it sounds a little concerning. It says here that unhappy spirits turn into uwanammi.”
“What are uwanammi?” asked Dean.
“Basically, vengeful water monsters,” said Sam.
“We're in the middle of a fucking desert!” said Dean.
“We're in the middle of a fucking dry wash in a desert,” said Sam.
“Look at the sky,” said Castiel.
Dean looked up and sighed. “Yeah, it is clouding up. Might as well get out before this road turns to mud,” he said, looking back at the long dirt track they needed to follow to get back to the main highway.
“Can I drive, Dean? This is not an urban land, and it's midday!” asked Castiel.
“Sure Cas,” said Dean, flipping the keys into the angel's hand.
They jumped into the car and headed back down the road.
And then the sky opened up.
Despite the wipers going as fast as they could and the high beams on, Dean couldn't see more than a few feet ahead, although Castiel quietly assured him they were indeed still following the now invisible dirt road. Dean fretted, though he was silently grateful Cas was still capable of some weird angel tricks. “How many miles were we out?” Dean asked. “Is the highway getting near?”
“It didn't seem like it was this far out,” said Sam from the back seat.
“Oh, hey, great!” said Dean. The downpour stopped as suddenly as it has started. Castiel flipped off the windshield wipers, and the only sound was tires through standing water. Dean was happy to see that, true to Cas' words, they were still on the dirt track, although it had turned to a mud track.
“Dean, what's that?” asked Sam.
Dean turned around to peer through the back window.
“Cas....”
“I see it,” said Castiel, flicking his eyes to the rearview mirror.
“Flood waters?” asked Sam.
“Might be....” said Dean.
“No,” said Castiel. “It's not flood waters.”
“Shit,” said Dean. Whatever it was, it was gaining on them. “Can you...?”
“Going as fast as the parameters of this car will allow,” said Castiel.
“Well, maybe go nudge the parameters a little,” pleaded Dean.
Dean turned around again. Whatever it was, it was gliding across the standing waters.
Its mouth was open. The mouth looked big enough to swallow a bus.
It had racks of glistening pointed teeth inside.
And it was still gaining.
“It looks like a fucking sandworm!” said Sam, who was staring in horror at the back window.
“What's the fuck's a sandworm?” asked Dean.
“Didn't you read Dune in high school?” asked Sam.
“No.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Maybe I was too busy, I dunno, getting laid?” said Dean.
“It is still gaining on us,” said Castiel needlessly.
“Are we near the fucking highway?” asked Dean, tearing himself to look around forward.
“Not near enough,” said Castiel, who had one eye on the rearview mirror. “I have an idea. Hold on,” he said, suddenly wrenching the car into a sharp 90 degree turn.
“Oh, the shocks,” said Dean.
“Cas, what are you...?” said Sam.
“Cas, is that...?” said Dean.
The car was rapidly approaching the end of the road.
The road ended abruptly.
In a sheer cliff.
“Both of you,” Castiel said, very quietly. “Hold on.”
Dean gaped as Castiel piloted the car straight towards the dropoff. “You're going to.... Your going to turn? At the last minute? Is that the plan? Cas? Cas?”
“Hold on. Hold on.” It was a whisper.
“Fuck,” said Dean. He turned and cringed. The monster was within a few feet. It opened its jaws wider. “Cas!”
And then the Impala left the ground. There was a rushing noise, a whoosh of air.
Dean was wrenched forward, and then back.
He felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.
And then … the sound of the tires rumbling on gravel again.
The sound slowly got lower as the car ground to a halt.
Dean pushed himself up and looked back. And then he was out of the car.
“Baby, are you OK?” he asked the Impala.
Castiel opened the driver side door. He stumbled out, and promptly fell to the ground. He lay on his back, staring up at the sky, breathing hard.
Sam was the last out of the car. He ran a few feet back and stared in wonder at the wide canyon they had just jumped.
He whooped.
“That was so cool!” he screamed. “Evel Fucking Knevel! Cas, can we do it again, please please?
Receiving no answer, he walked around to the driver's side. “Cas? You OK, man?” he asked, squatting down.
“No,” said Castiel. He was making absolutely no attempt to sit up. Nor to move in any way.
“I think she's OK,” said Dean, referring to the car. “I think she's still OK.”
“Cas. Did you … fly us?” asked Sam.
“Yes, Sam. I flew us,” said Castiel.
“Whoa,” said Sam, sitting down cross-legged next to Castiel. “That was pretty fucking awesome. Can we do it again?”
“No.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Cas, you OK?” asked Dean, who was finally hovering over the angel.
“Every … cell … of my body … hurts,” said Castiel.
“Come on,” said Dean, helping him to sit up. “We'll go into town … once we find town. And we'll get you a couple bottles of aspirin. And maybe some whiskey. A lot of whiskey.”
“I think we have a bottle in my pack. Ibuprofen, not whiskey. In the trunk,” said Sam.
“Oh. Good idea,” said Dean. He headed around and popped the trunk. “SON OF A BITCH!”
Sam and Castiel looked at each other, Cas leaning painfully on one elbow.
“What is it?” asked Sam. But Dean was already coming around.
“I told that bastard, no fucking dolls! Look what he slips in my package of fireworks!” raved Dean, holding up the kachina doll.
“You think that was it?” asked Sam.
“Of course it was! Fucking cursed dolls. Now we gotta go back into town and return the bastard. That's the only way.”
“Dean,” said Castiel. “I do not think that item is cursed. Or … not in the way you think.”
“It's cursed! It's a cursed fucking doll! Come on, Sam, help me with Cas. We gotta get to town, and get rid of this shit.”
The drive back to town was relatively uneventful and, after polishing off half Sam's bottle of Ibuprofen, Castiel soon conked out in the back seat. Dean hung the little wooden kachina doll from the rearview mirror, where he could “keep an eye on the little fucker.” It swayed back and forth, colored feathers ruffling.
“I don't believe this,” Dean raved. “I mean, Cas gets this badass sword following him around, and you get a mirror with a sexy Hollywood bombshell....”
“It's not that fun,” grumbled Sam.
“And I get the doll? I mean, fuck that! Hey, is that the shop?” Dean brought the car to a screeching halt by Johnny Standing Duck's souvenir shop. “I've got some words with that guy,” said Dean, snatching the kachina from its perch.
“Dean. I think the shop's closed,” said Sam.
Dean stood and gawped. Not only was the shop closed, it was in fact boarded up. And, judging from the dust, it had been that way for some time.
“I don't understand. He closed his shop since this morning?” asked Dean. “Hey!” he called to a guy across the roadway who was hauling out trash at the roadside diner there. “You know when Johnny Standing Duck is gonna be back?”
The guy stood up and grinned. “Not in our lifetime, man. Johnny died. Two, three years ago now.”
Dean looked at Sam, and then both looked back at the boarded up souvenir stand.
He turned to Sam and mouthed, “Fuck!”
The kachina swung rhythmically from the rearview mirror as the car thrummed across the rutted highway.
“Never, as long as you live, take the word of the ghost of a strung out drowned rock musician who heard it from a fucking mermaid!” muttered Dean.
“I'll remember that, Dean,” smiled Sam. “So, we're just gonna turn around and go?”
Dean sighed. “Cas sprained his whole body and we're cursed. Yeah, I think we had enough fun.”
“Is it time to stop and consume a meal?” asked a scratchy voice from the back.
“Hey, you're hungry, man?” asked Sam.
“I believe so,” said Castiel, leaning forward with obvious discomfort. “What happened with the kachina doll? I thought-”
“Later,” Sam whispered to Cas, seeing Dean's furious expression. “Dude, let's stop at the next diner, you can get a burger. And I'll spring for pie!”
“You always say that,” groused Dean.
“Come on. Cas is hungry. And we all missed lunch.”
“Yeah, yeah. That's the trouble with sandslugs!”
“Sandworms.”
“They ruin your lunch. I'll stop at the next truck stop,” said Dean.
“What was that?” asked Castiel, who was now looking around.
“What was what?” asked Dean, who was immediately answered by a thunder clap. “God dammit!” he roared as the downpour began almost immediately. “We gotta find safe turnoff.”
“DEAN!”
The car screeched to a halt. This time it was in front of them, still very far away, but approaching fast.
“Uwanammi,” said Sam.
“It's the fucking doll!” said Dean, grabbing the kachina. “I'm gonna-”
A bolt of electricity arced through the car. The kachina glowed orange as Dean, terrified, gripped it.
And then, as the three watched, there was a sense of building pressure. As the uwanammi swarmed forward at them, suddenly a great wind howled and blasted forward to meet it. It sent the monster reeling back, and suddenly turned the grey sky back to sunlight.
And then, silence again.
“Holy fuck,” said Sam. “That is one excellent doll!”
“Uh,” said Dean, weighing the doll in his hand. The glow had faded, and now it was only feathers and wood. He gave it a small toss and caught it. “I think I am starting to reevaluate my opinions regarding cursed dolls.”
Castiel stuck out a hand, and Dean gave him the doll. “It is clearly a magical object, but I believe its intentions are benign,” said Castiel. “And it appears Dean is the rightful owner, as Johnny Standing Duck came back from the dead to grant it to you.”
“Wait!” said Dean. “You were alseep for all that!”
Castiel handed the doll back to Dean. “Yes, but his spirit visited me in my dream.”
“What? Did he tell you anything relevant?” asked Sam.
“He told us to say hi to Buckley Jones, as we are evidently destined to meet again,” yawned Cas. “Are we near a diner? I think a hamburger with french fries on the side would hit the spot. I will have ketchup with the french fries, and probably a slice of cheese added to the hamburger.”
“It's called a cheeseburger, Cas,” smiled Sam.
“I've got a cool doll,” said Dean, starting the car and hanging the kachina back on the rearview mirror.
“I have felt for some time that the wing is mended,” Cas told Bobby. “That is, the bones are healed. But when I have tried to use it, it causes a great deal of … pain,” he added. “I suppose I was just postponing the inevitable. I cannot function as an angel any longer.”
“Cas, you're full of shit,” said Bobby, who sat across from Cas at the picnic table outside.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I don't know about mending fancy angel wings, but I know pretty damn well what happens when a human gets a busted leg: it hurts like balls the first time you use it. I mean, think about it: you may be magical and all that crap, but you just plain ain't been using those muscles for a while, have you?”
“No.”
“Well, seems like you flew a fucking Impala, you can fly yourself. That car's heavy as a damned tank. Now, what you need to do, you need to go into your true form every day and … I don't know. Flap or flutter or whatever the fuck you do. And it's gonna fucking hurt for a while, but then it'll get better. Maybe slowly, but you're eternal and all that hogspit, so ain't like you haven't got the time.”
Castiel's eyes seemed to go out of focus, as if he were reaching somewhere else. “Maybe.... Maybe you are right, Bobby. I.... I didn't dare hope.”
“Don't get mushy on me,” scolded Bobby, who really hadn't the patience for weeping angels.
“I won't,” whispered Castiel.
Bobby rolled his eyes at Dean, who had been standing quietly in back of the room. “I'm gonna go get drunk,” he said, stepping out.
Dean sat down on the bench next to Castiel. He put a hand on the angel's back. “Good news, huh?”
“I promised.... I promised Bobby I wouldn't express emotion,” whispered Castiel.
“Hey, I think it's OK in this case,” said Dean, rubbing his hand up and down Castiel's back.
Castiel turned, breathing hard. He smiled and lightly touched Dean's cheek. Then, seemingly reluctantly, he took his hand away and started to stand.
“Cas,” said Dean, now gently holding Cas down.
Castiel looked over at him. Dean recognized the look of pure terror. “Dean,” he said, looking away again. “I read minds. You know that. I don't.... I try not to pry. With my friends. But you have been rather … obvious lately.”
“What's wrong with obvious?” asked Dean.
“Nothing.” The look had turned from abject terror to sadness. “What you intend to do…. You will likely be … disappointed.”
Dean stared at him. “You haven’t ever, have you?”
Castiel sadly shook his head and cast his eyes downward.
“Well, that’s good,” said Dean, leaning in closer.
“What could possibly be good about inexperience?”
Dean smiled. “Because. I want to be the one.”
Cas was still looking away. “You’ve always been the one,” he said quietly. He looked up. “You’ll always be the one.” And then Dean was kissing him. And he was letting Dean kiss him. And he didn't know what to do, or where his hands should go or whether he was doing OK or whether anything would ever be the same again. Now that he wasn't sentenced to be a human, here he was trying to act like one. It was all stupid. And wrong.
Dean was on his feet, pulling Cas up. “Come on. Inside.” Cas was confused, and it didn't help that his vessel was aroused.
No. He was aroused. Castiel was the one walking inside with Dean Winchester, his human charge, and the one who kissed him and then gave Dean a little push so he sat down heavily on the bed. And then the one who climbed on top of him and began kissing him again and wresting off his shirt.
“Cas? Oh, fuck yeah,” a very surprised Dean managed to mutter. He writhed as Castiel slowly kissed his way down Dean's torso and began unzipping his jeans.
“Don't stop,” said Dean, kicking off his jeans. And then Cas had his mouth on him, Dean's fingers now twisted in his hair. “Don't stop,” Dean repeated as Cas used mouth and tongue, and then Cas' hands gripped Dean's perfect ass, and then his fingers were prying into Dean as the moans turned to cries and the writhing was now a barely controlled thrashing. And Castiel hadn't done this before with a real human being, but he could sense something was going to happen, and then Dean blurted, “O god Jesus Christ” and came, hot and sticky, in Castiel's mouth, and the writhing slowed and stopped.
Castiel wiped his mouth on a sleeve: funny, he had just realized he was still wearing all his clothes. He didn't think this was how it was supposed to go, but he wasn't certain. He slid upwards, and Dean, who was still breathing hard, yanked him up and pulled him close.
“Oh, god, you're gonna kill me. You are gonna kill me,” said Dean.
Cas slid up on one elbow, on Dean's bare chest, looking concerned now. “Is that.... Is that good?”
“That's a good thing,” breathed Dean, who pulled him closer, kissing the top of his head. “Oh yeah. That's a very good thing.”
Castiel walked into the theater and sat down beside his brother Gabriel.
The theater was all in his head. As he was dreaming.
“So, what do we say?” asked the archangel.
“Thank you for the pornography, brother. It has proved … educational.” Castiel smiled.
“Aw, anything for my little bro!” said Gabriel, clapping Castiel on the back. “You're a man now! You've bagged your first Winchester.”
“Please don't say it like that,” said Castiel, blushing.
“Now, what's on the menu tonight? I have Assman: the Dark Dick Rises, or maybe Butt Avengers? Or if you wanna bring in some girls next time, I have Tit Wars, or Cum with the Wind, that's a classic chick flick.”
“Uh, that won't be necessary,” muttered Castiel. “Uh, yet.”
“You know, Cas, I like you as a human.”
“That's funny. Dean has said the same thing.”
“You got the stick out of your ass. Not that it's necessarily a bad thing to have in your ass. Oh, speaking of which, The Amazing Spider-Dick!” said Gabriel, proudly holding up a DVD.
“Let me guess: this person has eight, er, members?”
“And it’s in 3D!” enthused Gabriel, handing Castiel some glasses.
“Well. OK,” said Castiel, donning the 3D glasses. “By the way, Dean also once told me that it's, uh, not appropriate to watch pornography in the presence of other men.”
“Aw, well, maybe you're not the only one with a stick up your ass. Popcorn? Though maybe we can get something better up Dean's ass.”
Castiel peered at the screen as he ate buttered popcorn from a cardboard bucket. “Oh, he can stick to walls … that way?”
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