Cheeseburger (Household Objects, Chapter 7 of 7)
Title: Cheeseburger (Household Objects, Chapter 7 of 7)
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas; Sam, Bobby, Gabriel, Crowley, Zachariah, Death
Warnings: Cursing, violence that may be upsetting (this chapter).
Word Count: 6,500 (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.
NOTE: I will inevitably regret mentioning this, but I've grown a bit curious as to whether anyone at all in SN fandom (well, other than the people I've dragged over from Metalocalypse fandom) is actually reading this here. I know there are a few over on AO3.
Castiel stood back to survey his work. He readjusted the flower in the tiny vase, and wiped a microscopic speck off the glass of orange juice with the tail of his shirt.
And it was good.
And then he grasped the breakfast tray and headed out Bobby’s kitchen.
….and straight into Bobby.
“Whatcha doin’ there, Cas?” grinned Bobby, who did not make any effort go get out of the way.
“I’m delivering my brother’s breakfast.”
“I see that. Looks pretty tasty. You’re doin’ OK at learning to cook.”
“Oh, you think so?” blushed Castiel. “He likes his bacon just so.”
“Yep, I’m sure he does. I’m sure he does,” smiled Bobby. “I seen him. Having you run up and down doing his shit work for him.”
“Well, uh,” said Castiel. “Gabriel gets annoyed if his breakfast is cold,” he whispered, trying to get around Bobby.
“Well then let’s get it right to him!” said Bobby, reaching over to grab the tray away from Castiel.
“Er, Bobby. Gabriel is my superior. He's an archangel. I need…. I ought to do as he says.”
“Cas, right now, are you more angel, or would you say you’re more human?”
Castiel looked downcast. “Well, presently I’m kind of functioning as a human,” he admitted.
“And whose human house is this?” asked Bobby.
“Yours!”
“So, who’s your boss, now, kid?”
Castiel was silent for a moment. And then he smiled. “You are. Boss!” he said, happily handing the tray to Bobby.
“Now, you scat and go save the world, or whatever unimportant crap you’re doing, and I’ll take care of Mr. Archangel’s obviously pressing needs. Deal?”
Cas nodded and hurried away.
Bobby helped himself to a piece of bacon and wandered up towards Gabriel’s room. “Hmm. Boy can cook,” said Bobby approvingly.
Gabriel was sitting in bed, propped up on every pillow in the house, and ringing a little bell. “Castiel, you are three and a half minutes late…. Oh, hello, Bobby.”
“Up and at ‘em, asshole.”
“What?”
“I said move! Or you want a boot in your angelic butt?”
Gabriel slid out of bed, while Bobby hopped up onto the pile of pillows and began to dig into the breakfast.
“What are you doing?” sputtered Gabriel. “That’s my breakfast!”
“Maybe you’ll get breakfast,” said Bobby. “If you put in a day’s work.”
“How am I supposed to work! I’m recuperating!”
“I see you standing on two legs,” said Bobby. “Ah, hell, these eggs are good. He knows how to make ‘em over easy.”
“What the hell do you want me to do, you old fossil?”
“Old? Pot, kettle, asshole. Now, we're all mighty grateful for what you done for Cas, Gabe. However, seems like you’ve spent the past week ordering your brother around, maybe it would be nice to see you put in a little time yourself. Cas just dirtied up nearly every damn pan in my kitchen cooking this swank breakfast. Might be nice to see it all cleaned up.”
You could almost see the steam rising from Gabriel’s head. “I’m an archangel! Not chief cook and bottlewasher!”
“Oooo, an archangel. Well, why don’t you use your angelic sparkle magic and just wish everything clean?”
“I can’t use my magic! I saved Castiel! From certain death!”
“And that was real nice of ya. So it won’t be much trouble to clear up his breakfast dishes, right?”
Gabriel glowered. “I will not forget this!” he vowed, stalking out of the room.
“I hope not,” muttered Bobby. “And grab me some more jam!” he shouted after Gabriel.
“Gabe let you off early today?” joked Dean.
Cas leaned against the Impala and shrugged. “Bobby said he would take care of him.”
“Oh, I would love to see that,” laughed Dean, leaning back out of the car’s engine. “Hey, Cas, could you get over to the tools and grab me a number five socket wrench?”
Cas gave a small smile. He held up his hand, into which blinked a wrench.
“Hey, cool!” said Dean, grabbing the wrench. “You can do angel stuff again?”
“A little,” said Cas. “It’s slowly coming back.”
“Ah, but this is a number four, not a number five!” said Dean, pointing to the wrench.
“Maybe it is best to stick to the human method for now,” grinned Castiel.
“Hey, did you guys check out Gabriel?” asked Sam, who had just ambled out.
“What’s he up to now?” asked Dean
“Bobby had him wash up all the pots and pans, and now he’s down on his hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor.”
Castiel grinned. “He will not like that.”
“Hey, are you enjoying this, Cas?” asked Sam.
Castiel’s face grew serious. “Gabriel is my elder brother. I love him. But … he can be a real jerk sometimes.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Sam, slinging an arm around Dean.
“Hey,” said Dean.
Castiel was suddenly looking around. “Do you feel that?”
“No,” said Dean. “Hey, wait, has it gotten cold.” He blinked: suddenly he could see his breath.
Castiel was staring at something. “Cas, what is it?” asked Dean.
“I have never seen so many of them,” said Cas. “Oh!” And then Dean and Sam saw it as well.
Death. And he didn’t look pleased.
“Cas,” said Dean. “We’re surrounded by reapers. Aren’t we?”
“As far as the eye can see,” said Castiel.
Dean frowned and wiped the grease from his hands with a rag. He tossed down the rag and then strode over to face Death. Sam and Castiel followed him. The few times Dean had met the Horseman before, he'd been cool as a cucumber. But today he seemed to radiate cold fury.
“So, can I ask what's going on?” asked Dean.
“They are killing my children. My reapers!” said Death. “I found them … gutted.”
“You know who’s doing it?” asked Dean.
“Angels,” said Death, giving Castiel a stare. “Abominations!”
Castiel looked down, but Dean continued to stare at Death. The tall, pale man really did look ready to kill. “And, can I ask, why did you come to us?”
“Whenever anything happens - anything - it is always and inevitably you three!” said Death.
“Well, I can’t argue with that,” said Dean, looking at Sam and Cas.
“They are Arstikapha and Yetarel,” said Castiel. “I did not know them. They have killed many of my brothers, and have gravely injured my brother, Gabriel.”
“Gabriel? The Trickster?” asked Death, whose already dark face darkened. One supposed he had had some unpleasant encounters with the often abrasive archangel.
“They’ve also gone against some of Crowley’s demons,” said Sam.
“Crowley thought it was some kind of angel bickering,” said Dean. “But we sure as hell can’t see the point,” said Dean. “To be honest, we’re kind of stuck. I didn’t know they’d go after reapers too.”
“What the fucking hell…?” yelled Bobby, who was hurrying out. “Oh. Shit,” he said, seeing Death. “This don’t look good.”
“I guess our wing-eating friends are now killing reapers,” said Dean.
“Damn,” said Bobby. “And, no offense, but you can’t just zap ‘em, Death?”
“My children are not designed to deal with these … things,” said Death.
“We been scratching our heads for weeks over this too,” said Bobby. “They took down an archangel, which I guess is unprecedented.”
“I see. And I do appreciate your honesty,” said Death, who seemed mollified. “So, how is our friend, Gabriel?” he inquired.
“Two broke wings,” said Bobby.
“Oh. And I take it you fellows have obtained a shoebox large enough to contain himself and his ego?” asked Death, arching an eyebrow.
Death might have smiled slightly. Bobby convulsed with laughter.
“I don’t understand,” Castiel told Dean.
“I’ll explain it to you,” said Dean. “Later.”
Dean pushed back from the dinner table, picking his teeth with a toothpick. “Gabe,” he said, “I gotta admit, that was amazing.”
“And you didn't use any angel tricks?” asked Sam, who was holding his stomach.
“No, no grace was used! I spent time as a short order cook,” bragged the archangel, looking around with obvious pride at the remains of the elaborate dinner he had prepared. “Hey, didn't everybody?”
“Nope,” said Dean.
“Naw,” said Sam.
“Not me,” grinned Bobby.
Castiel didn't say anything, but simply shrugged at his brother.
“This kitchen might be lookin' a mite too pretty for this place,” grumbled Bobby, looking around the now sparkling room. “But that was a damn good feed. Now I just gotta call about a dozen of my closest friends to deal with the leftovers.”
“Were you going to explain the shoebox reference to me, Dean?” asked Castiel.
Dean, Sam and Bobby all began laughing, while Gabriel and Castiel exchanged a bewildered glance.
“See, if you're a kid....” began Dean
“A normal kid!” emphasized Sam.
“You see a baby bird fallen out of the nest....” continued Dean.
“You get your mom....” said Sam.
“They get you a little shoebox!” said Dean, holding out his hands to display the size.
“And you get a cloth....”
“And a little head pad....”
“Or a hot water bottle!” interjected Bobby.
“And then you nurse the little critter back to health,” said Dean.
“Or, uh, have a funeral in the back yard,” admitted Sam.
“Yeah, most times, yeah,” said Dean.
Castiel sat back. “Death was implying that my brother and I are akin to tiny birds?” asked Castiel, narrowing his eyes in what looked for all the world a threatening manner.
“Aw, don't worry baby bro!” said Gabriel, cuffing Castiel. “I'll go smite Death in his skinny ass when I get my mojo back.”
“But that's only if you grow up in a normal family,” continued Dean.
“Yeah, if it had been us....” said Sam.
“It would have been a werewolf climbing in the tree that knocked out the nest!” laughed Dean.
“The baby bird would have had an Inca curse,” said Sam.
“We would have used an ammo case instead of a shoebox!” said Dean.
“And warmed it up with a holy oil fire!” said Sam.
“Oh, uh, sorry guys,” said Dean, as Cas and Gabriel both cringed at the mention of holy oil.
“So you guys think your childhood was fucked up?” asked Gabriel.
“Yeah, you know, dysfunctional family,” said Dean.
“Every family is dysfunctional!” laughed Gabriel. “I mean, look at ours!” Dean noticed Castiel did something odd: he pulled his foot up on the seat and sat with his elbows wrapped around his knee. He suddenly looked young.
“I wish you had not left us,” said Castiel softly.
“I didn't leave you, Cas,” said Gabriel. Castiel didn't answer, but looked hurt. “Awwww, c'mon, little guy,” said Gabriel, suddenly putting an arm around Castiel and giving him noogies.
Castiel extricated himself from Gabriel's grasp. “You left. Just the same,” he said, bitterness tracing his voice.
Now it was Gabriel's turn to glare. “They wanted me to choose sides. Michael and Lucifer. You know how fucked up that is? I mean, what if you had to choose between Sam and Dean? Would you do it?”
Castiel stared primly at the brothers and then rounded on Gabriel. “They would never make me do it. They are better than that!”
Dean nearly blushed.
“Hey, is this your mirror, Sam?” asked Gabriel, who obviously wanted a change in topic.
Sam sighed deeply and pulled the mirror off the low shelf behind him. “I can't put it away. It follows me. Like a fucking cursed doll.”
“Hey, my cursed doll is cool!” said Dean.
“Can I see that?” asked Gabriel. Sam handed it over, and Gabriel emitted a low whistle. “Some advice? Don't let Crowley see it.”
“Why? 'Cause it's haunted?”
“No! Not just haunted. In fact, this is a very cool item. A little demonstration is in order. Bro,” he said, turning to Castiel, “could you spare some magic?”
Castiel raised an eyebrow. “I guess. A small amount.”
“A little zap then,” said Gabriel, holding up Mamie's mirror. “Straight in the reflection,” he said, tapping the glass.
“I don't wish to break it,” said Castiel.
“Yeah, that's seven years bad luck,” said Dean.
“Don't worry. You won't!” Gabriel told Castiel.
Castiel shrugged and then put two fingers on the mirror and frowned.
There was a zap of magic.
Then Cas shrieked and fell back, right out of his chair.
Dean, struggling mightily not to laugh, was around the table in an instant. “Cas, you OK, dude?”
“Reflects magic!” laughed Gabriel. “Very rare item!”
“Whoa,” said Sam, grabbing the mirror back. “This might actually be useful!”
Castiel wrestled himself up, the ends of his hair still smoking. “You knew.... You knew it would do that!”
“Yeah, once a Trickster- OW!” he exclaimed as Castiel punched him - hard - in the shoulder. “That hurt!”
“That felt … really good,” said Castiel, rubbing his fist.
“I've got itching powder if you want,” Dean whispered to Castiel.
“Castiel, you don’t wanna get into it with a Trickster,” said Gabriel.
“Bitch!” said Castiel.
“Jerk,” said Gabriel.
“OK, you two! Cut it out!” called Bobby. Castiel sat back down, glaring. “This is real funny, but it ain’t getting us any closer to what’s motivating those bastards,” said Bobby. “Or how to stop ‘em.”
“Oh, those two, they wouldn’t know a motivation if you crammed it up their asses,” grumbled Gabriel. “It’s like that movie were were watching the other night, baby bro.”
“Oh,” said Castiel, who colored.
“What movie?” asked Dean.
“Bat Dick: the Dark Nuts Return!” said Gabriel.
“Uh, you guys watch porn together?” Dean asked Castiel, who looked as if he might slip under the table.
“Had to get the DVD back to Netflix,” said Gabriel. “Anyway, like Alfredballs tells Bruce Bat Dick, some guys just wanna watch the world burn!”
“Oh, god, do we have to hear this after we’ve eaten?” sighed Sam.
“Wait,” said Castiel. “What did you say, Gabriel?”
“Some guys wanna watch the world burn?” asked Gabriel.
“I’ve been… I’m an idiot,” said Castiel.
“What, watching bad porno?” asked Dean. “I warned you about that.”
“No. Arstikapha and Yetarel. They do not have a motivation. Or if they once did, they do no longer. They are terrorists. They simply want to instill fear. And they are getting stronger and stronger as we wait here. Doing nothing.” Castiel rose. “I must find a way to stop them! Before it’s too late.”
“Whoa! Hold it right there!” said Dean, who moved over to stand in front of Cas. “Where the fuck you think you’re going!”
“Dean, we don’t have much time. If we wait any longer, they might be too strong to defeat.”
“Sit down!” ordered Dean.
“Oh, I love it when he takes command,” grinned Gabriel, grabbing Sam’s hand.
Sam shook off the hand. “Just … stop.”
“Dean!” said Castiel.
‘You nearly got killed twice, and I know damn well you’re not up to full strength, or even near it,” said Dean. “You’re gonna do anything, you need a plan. And you need us!” he said, gesturing around the table.
“I can’t ask you to assist me,” said Castiel. “This is angel business.”
“We’re volunteering!” said Dean.
“I didn’t volunteer,” said Gabriel.
“You’re an angel, idjit,” said Bobby, whacking Gabriel over the head with his hand.
“Hey!” said Gabriel.
“And even better,” said Sam, “you’re a trickster.”
“I don’t have any of my bad magic though, bud,” said Gabriel.
“No, but you are an evil genius, right?” asked Sam slyly.
“That I am!” Gabriel agreed. He sat back. “OK, so how do a couple of broken angels and some pouty-lipped hunter boys….”
“Hey!” said Sam.
“…trick a couple of really big and stupid angels.”
“Hey, Cas,” said Dean.
“Yes?”
“Something I've been wondering. I asked you something the other night. What your brothers do with other angels who get busted wings?”
Castiel and Gabriel looked at each other. They were suddenly both quite serious.
“As I said, if the host is in a generous mood, you are killed. Immediately,” said Castiel.
“What?” asked Bobby. “And what if they ain't in a generous mood?”
Castiel started to reply, but then looked down. Gabriel reached out and put a hand through his hair. “Cannon fodder, basically,” said Gabriel.
“What?” asked Dean.
“If you get zapped, it must be your fault, after all, because the father isn't pleased with you for some fucking reason,” said Gabriel. “So, they'll use you for sword practice....”
“Torture,” whispered Castiel. “Experiments....”
“Experiments?” asked Sam. “What kind of experiments.”
Castiel looked up at Gabriel. “Like, putting a demon inside?” he asked softly.
Gabriel suddenly seized his dinner plate and sent it crashing into the wall. It shattered into a million pieces. “My fucking brothers! I'm gonna go up to fucking heaven with a gallon of fucking holy oil and burn the whole fucking place down!”
“First we shall stop the two who injured us,” Castiel told Gabriel. “I believe I have an idea. And I will need your help.”
Castiel laid out his hands. He didn't have a big supply of angelic grace to spare, so he needed to be careful. But this? This was important.
He took off his hands.
“Hey, how's it going?” asked Dean.
Castiel picked up his trench coat. The tear made by the kasa obake was gone.
“It's a miracle!” laughed Dean.
Castiel donned the coat. Grinning, Dean straightened out his lapels. “We're gonna win this one. No way they can defeat the trench coat!”
Castiel smiled. “And how is the, uh, experiment, going?”
“Come and see the prototype!” Castiel followed Dean outside.
“Stand back,” Dean warned. He held up a match. “Holy oil!”
Castiel nodded and took a cautious step back. But he drew near as it lit up. “That is brilliant! Human engineering is a thing to behold.”
“We try,” smiled Dean. “Hey, is that your sword?”
Castiel frowned at the katana in his hand. “This is odd. I do not think we are in danger.” He feinted with the sword, but flicked it a little too close to the holy oil fire.
“Oh!” said Dean.
“I did not know it could do that,” said Castiel.
“Cool,” said Dean.
Gabriel looked upon the landscape and smiled.
No one, no other living being, not for miles and miles.
Nothing but these crazy buttes and arches and whatever the hells they were, carved over millions of years by the unceasing wind.
Much as he currently thought his Father in heaven was a big dick, Gabriel had to admit: it was pretty cool. Way better than anything he had ever cooked up for one of his crazy dreamscapes.
A familiar voice was in his head, speaking Enochian. Gabriel nodded. Showtime.
Even though Sam had generously loaned him a few bottles of human painkillers, Gabriel knew this would hurt like hell. But he steeled himself. And true formed.
Hurt was not the word for it. He thought he would have been better off if those bastards had ripped out his wings.
Well, he told himself, it meant that much less acting.
“Oh, look at me!” he wailed. “All alone, in the middle of this fucking desert, with not one, but two broken wings!”
And, just for emphasis, he gave his wings a flap.
And nearly passed out from the pain.
OK, Gabe, no more showing off he told himself.
He didn't have to wait long. There they were, two ungainly figures, fluttering towards him.
Like skyscrapers trying to fly, he thought.
“Hey, hurry it up. I haven't got all day!” he yelled at them.
“You won't escape this time,” puffed Aristakapha, the bigger one.
“Yeah, I might have to … walk really fast,” said Gabriel, pretending to look at his watch. As he was true formed, he didn't really have a watch, but he thought it was a good, snotty gesture.
“I will pluck his wings! I will get them good!” said Yetarel, who had taken the bait, and now was attempting to fly faster, which was only making him seem more like a Greyhound bus that had decided to take wing.
Gabriel yawned. Stretching hurt like the dickens, but he wanted to get these guys pissed. “Well, I'm gonna step out for coffee. You guys want anything?”
“We are your doom!” puffed Aristakapha.
They were about to land. Gabriel muttered something. It was in Enochian. Although it didn't really matter what he said, the word more or less translates as, “Now.”
There was a howl as the wind kicked up over the flat desert. The strong gust caught the two angels completely by surprise, and buffeted Aristakaha and Yetarel, blowing one off one way, and the other the opposite direction.
Bird-like Yetarel ended up coming down with a thump in the middle of nowhere.
Furious and disoriented, he sprang to his clawed feet. And confronted an angel.
“You! I will take your wings! I will take them now!”
“You have tried twice before, and failed,” Castiel told him. “Why should you succeed now?”
“I will take them and I will have a snack. Yes I will.”
“Um. How exactly are you going to do that?” asked Castiel. He raised his arms. He was in his human vessel, which was, of course, wingless.
This threw Yetarel for a loop. “I will get your wings! I will have them with hot sauce! Or maybe wasabi!”
Castiel looked up at Yetarel, smiling and tilting his head. “OK,” he said amiably.
Yetarel whipped his tail in fury. He was hungry. “Then.... Then I will stomp you!” He raised a clawed foot to squash this annoying creature like a bug, but suddenly withdrew is foot, screaming in pain.
“You have a pointy!” he screeched, gesturing accusingly towards Castiel's sword. He hopped on one foot, cradling the other, wounded foot.
And then he screeched again as Castiel sent the katana into the back of his ankle, neatly slicing through the Achilles tendon. The wounded angel fell to the ground. He was in such pain he didn't feel the footsteps running up his body. He only drew back when he spotted Castiel standing on his chest, his sword pointed at one of Yetarel's eyes.
“If you would like to escape, Demon, now is your last chance,” Castiel told him.
Yetarel cracked open his beak, and a black smoke started to pour out as Yetarel's body spasmed.
Castiel, trying to keep his balance on the shaking angel, kept the sword pointed at Yetarel until the quaking stopped, and the last of the demon smoke had escaped. Then quick as a flash he hopped down and grabbed a flask from his overcoat. Using his magic to help, he ran in a circle around the big angel. And then he lit a match and hopped back. The holy oil ignited with a whoosh.
Yetarel stirred, emitting a moan. He sat up, switching his tail, which stirred too close to the holy oil. He whimpered, cradling the tail.
Good, the fire seemed to contain him.
Castiel paused for a moment, feeling light-headed. He had used of more of his grace than he had reckoned. But he was surely needed. He closed his eyes and got going.
“Mirror!” yelled Dean, diving in back of the Impala.
Sam held up the magic mirror again, and once again, Aristakapha ended up zapping himself with his magic.
“Boy, he is really stupid,” said Dean.
“Where the fuck is Cas?” asked Sam.
“I dunno. I hope he's OK.”
“I hope we're OK!” said Sam. They both ducked as the angel aimed another zap. It ended up impacting on the Impala's fender.
“God dammit!” said Dean, standing up. Sam pulled his belt and dragged him back down. “That won't polish out!” bitched Dean.
“Can you blow him away again?” asked Sam.
“I'm trying, but I think my kachina is out of juice.”
“How does a kachina run out of juice?”
“I will squash you!”
Sam and Dean whirled around. Somehow, the big angel had ended up in back of them.
“Shit,” said Dean.
“And then I will sup on you for breakfast!” vowed Aristakapha.
“How can you sup for breakfast?” asked Dean.
“Uh,” said the angel.
“Whaddya think you're doin', tall dark and gruesome?”
“Mamie?” asked Sam, for the ghost of Mamie LaRue was suddenly standing between them and the demonic angel.
“You stay away from my Sammy, you big palooka!” said Mamie.
“Who's gonna make me,” grumbled Aristakapha.
“Me!” said Mamie, who had suddenly grown as big as the angel. He stepped back, and she slugged him.
“Ow!” yelled the angel.
“Go, Mamie!” yelled Sam.
But because he was no gentleman, Aristakapha hauled off and hit her back, knocking her over.
“Mamie! No!” screamed Sam as suddenly, his magic mirror burst into a million pieces. Mamie disappeared.
But then Aristakapha screamed and fell over, his back bleeding from the stump of one of his big flight wings.
Castiel, his sword covered in blood, jumped off the angel's back. “You should never, ever hit a woman!” he scolded. “Sam, Dean! Get the tarp!”
Sam and Dean dove for the Impala's trunk, and then set to unrolling a large tarp on the desert floor. They heard Aristakapha's unholy scream once again as Castiel severed his other flight wing with another stroke of the sword.
“Go! Now!” Castiel yelled at the angel. “Or I'll have your other wings!”
As Castiel waved his sword, the angel, whimpering, crawled to the center of the tarp, upon which was painted a huge devil's trap.
“Get back, Cas!” said Dean.
Castiel jumped off the mat, and Dean threw a match. The edge of the tarp lit up with holy fire.
“Mobile angel's devil's trap!” said Dean, satisfied at his handiwork. “You think it'll work?”
“No idea,” sighed Castiel, who started to slump over.
Dean reached over and caught him. “You OK, man?”
“Used up … a lot of grace. I'll be OK,” he said, righting himself. “We needed at least one of them still possessed. We need some answers. And I think this one is.... Well, he's slightly less stupid.”
“Fuck you!” yelled the big angel.
“All right, Aristakapha,” said Castiel. “You need to talk. Now.”
“Oh, fuck off,” sighed the wounded angel.
“In case this is of interest, this is my friend, Dean. He spent many centuries in hell. As a torturer.”
Aristakapha didn't answer, but seemed to shrink back.
“I can't go into the holy fire, but Dean can. And, one more thing, I've found a neat trick I can do with this sword.” He carefully put the tip of the katana into the holy fire.
The sword lit up.
Aristakapha squirmed.
“Now,” said Castiel. “Do you have anything you would like to tell us?”
It looked like a waiting room in any office building.
But it wasn't.
The office was in heaven.
“I need to see Mr. Zachariah. I do not have an appointment.”
“Mr. Zachariah is not in,” sniffed the receptionist, but Castiel ignored him, striding past with Gabriel at his side. Two rather large attendants attempted to bar the door, but Castiel smacked them both with a gesture, and then for an encore bashed the door open.
Zachariah was sitting behind the desk. He looked up cheerily, unflustered, as Castiel stormed in.
“We need to talk, Zachariah.”
“Castiel. What a pleasant surprise. Oh, and Gabriel too. Long time no see, brother! I must get them to install a broken angel entrance, what do you think? That would be the PC thing to do?”
“Zachariah,” said Castiel. “How.... How could you? Your brothers and sisters?”
“I'm afraid I haven't any idea what you're talking about,” said Zachariah.
“Yadda yadda yadda,” said Gabriel, opening and closing his mouth like a hand. “Your little pets talked, Zach. They told us everything. They're as stupid as they are ugly.”
“Castiel,” said Zachariah. “You should understand. We need this! For too long, we've all lived under the domination of the archangels! We needed to even the odds. You know this!”
“So you unleashed … monsters!” asked Castiel
“And they were only the beginning,” smiled Zachariah. “A trial run, if you will.”
Castiel and Gabriel exchanged a glance. “You intend to make more? Zachariah, you can't control them! They kill our kin!”
“Necessary losses,” said Zachariah. “We can't let this stand in the way of progress. And once we have them in hand, we have nothing more to fear from the arches. We control the game board.”
“Zachariah, this is not a game! Are you going mad?” asked Castiel.
“Long gone, I'd say,” grumbled Gabriel.
“Abomination!” Zachariah spat at Gabriel.
“Sticks and stones,” said Gabriel.
“We will no longer live under your tyranny!” shouted Zacharial.
“You know, I could start taking this personally,” sighed Gabriel.
“It's sad. So sad. They could have mended you, you know, Castiel. You could have been a soldier again.”
Castiel was silent. “You expected me.... No!”
Gabriel was now leaning over the desk, pulling Zachariah by the collar. “Mess with my little bro? Over my dead body, bud.”
“That,” grinned Zachariah, “can be arranged.”
And they were no longer standing in a facsimile of an office, but rather a wasteland.
“Boy, the lack of creativity is appalling,” sniffed Gabriel, who looked around, unimpressed. “Couldn't you have arranged the showdown to be in a fairgrounds? Or maybe during the running of the bulls at Pamplona!”
But Zachariah was no longer Zachariah, or at least his human self. He had true formed. He now towered over Castiel and Gabriel. “So,” tutted Zachariah. “Truly a shame neither of you may true form. If only you had come to me first.”
“I do not think that is entirely true,” said Castiel.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you are only half right,” smiled Castiel.
“He means, eat shit and die, motherfucker,” said Gabriel.
Who was true formed.
Gabriel raised his flaming sword.
The fight wasn't a long one, nor was it terribly interesting. For as Gabriel was an ex-soldier of the Lord, and an archangel to boot, Zachariah had never been more than a heavenly bureaucrat. Zachariah very soon found himself beneath Gabriel's boot, a flaming sword at his throat.
“Gabriel,” said Castiel.
“Mercy!” pleaded Zachariah.
“Yeah, little bro?”
“His wings,” said Castiel.
“All of them?” grinned Gabriel.
“All of them,” said Castiel.
“No....” said Gabriel. And then he screamed.
The two angels reappeared back in Bobby’s wrecking yard.
Gabriel leaned back and opened his mouth. Suddenly a great deal of smoke poured out.
He gave a little burp, and the last bit of black smoke puffed out of his mouth. It consolidated into a very familiar ghostly form nearby.
“Well. That was unpleasant,” sighed Crowley, adjusting his spirit’s lapels.
“Ew. Yuck!” said Gabriel, shivering dramatically. Crowley gave him a ghostly stink eye.
“So, that was heaven?” grumbled Crowley. “Little ratty around the edges, don’t you think?”
“Yeah. It’s our home, but it kinda sucks balls,” agreed Gabriel, hanging an arm around Castiel.
“We thank you for your assistance, Crowley,” said Castiel.
“Oh, I consider it a purely financial transaction,” grinned Crowley, holding up a handful of angel feathers. “You boys will do me a favor and not let on these are actually form some potty angel bureaucrat? Doesn’t sound terribly romantic, does it?”
“How is Aloysius?” asked Castiel.
“He will make a full recovery. And in the meantime, I have some tasty angel bones for him to snack on,” grinned Crowley. “You do not mess with a man's dog.”
“I will remember that,” promised Castiel.
“Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I am inclined to get back to my host. I feel the need to fill it with much whiskey, to get the angel smell off. Could get me a bad reputation with my clients. No offense.”
“None taken,” said Gabriel. “I wanna take about sixteen showers, personally.”
“Hrm. Perhaps Sam Winchester is feeling sticky,” grinned Crowley, who, with a wink, disappeared.
Garbriel was laughing. “You might lay off on Sam,” said Castiel.
“Aw, you get a Winchester, why don't I?”
“He is still upset over Mamie,” said Castiel shrewdly.
“Like I told you, I'll see what I can do.”
“You think you can actually un-break a mirror?”
“Hey, you don't spend centuries as a trickster without learning a thing or two. And Mamie was some broad.” He gave a low whistle. “I bet she was something when she was alive! Sorry we didn't hook up.”
Castiel shook his head.
“You guys are back?” asked Dean. “Did everything go OK?”
“We clipped Zach's wings, if that's what you're asking,” said Gabriel. “But if I know my brothers, he wasn't the only one involved in this.”
Castiel sighed and nodded.
“So we're gonna have more monsters?” asked Dean.
“Well, not if our best buddy Death has anything to say about it,” grinned Gabriel.
“We visited Death in Chicago prior to our trip to heaven,” said Castiel. “He fed us pizza, and has now officially threatened to send his reapers after senior management if he hears any further reports of demonic angels,” said Castiel.
“You don't mess with a man's dog. Or his reapers,” laughed Gabriel. He slapped Castiel's back and walked towards the house.
“You feel better now?” Dean asked Castiel.
“Angels,” grumbled Castiel. “Fucking angels! What the fuck do the fucking angels fucking think they’re fucking doing!” He hopped up to sit on the hood of the Impala.
“Cas,” laughed Dean. “It’s fine to curse, but you might wanna tone it down.”
“What I’ll do Dean, I’m going to have Bobby get his chainsaw. And then he can cut off my good wing. And we’ll sell it to Crowley. We’ll make a million dollars. And go into … the dry cleaning business! And, then I won’t be an angel. Any more. Fucking fucking fucking angels,” he added.
Dean smiled and pushed Cas' knees apart to he could stand directly in front of the angel. “Dry cleaning tycoons, huh?” Castiel looked woeful. “Come on, dude, do you really expect anything out of those guys any more?”
“He should have been around for us! Our Father! He should have taught us all to drive, and tune an engine so it will purr, and … and taught us about pigs in the blanket!” Castiel slumped. “We were not raised well.”
Dean leaned in and gently kissed Castiel.
“And. They only wanted me back … to turn me into one of those monsters,” said Castiel, shivering.
“Really?” asked Dean.
“Really,” sighed Castiel.
“Sam and I wouldn't have let that happen to you. You know that,” said Dean softly, running his hands along Castiel's thighs.
“I don't see how you could have prevented it!”
“Oh, you know. We're pretty resourceful. For humans,” grinned Dean.
“And I am worried about Gabriel,” Castiel confessed. “He was more gravely injured than I. He may yet recover, but it will take time.”
“If I know that guy, he'll spin shit into gold,” said Dean. “Hey, maybe we can get him to cook us lunch. You in the mood for burgers?” he asked, pulling at Castiel's tie.
“Yes, with a slice of cheese? A burgercheese?”
“Cheeseburger.”
“Yes. Cheeseburger.”
“Don't worry, you'll get it,” grinned Dean, leaning over for another, longer kiss.
“Oh, are we about to have sexual relations?” inquired Castiel.
Dean stifled a guffaw. “OK, Cas, not that I endorse this, but if you find yourself watching those DVDs with your brother again, you might wanna pick up on what they’re saying.”
Castiel considered. “Am I not voicing the correct sentiments?”
“No, you’re OK. It’s just….”
“Sir, I am not certain how I am going to pay for this pizza!”
Dean stared at Cas. “OK, OK bad idea. Hey,” he said, pulling back and eyeing the Impala. “You've never done it in the back seat, have you?”
“Done what? Oh! Ordered pizza,” Castiel colored.
Grinning, Dean leaned back and, grabbing Castiel by the waist, pulled him off the car. “Come on,” he said.
And that's how our story ends: two boys in the back seat of a classic muscle car.
But not quite....
Dean nervously readjusted Castiel's tie for the fiftieth time.
“You guys ready to go?” asked Sam.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Dean, still fussing over a Windsor knot. “Hey, hot damn, Bobby.”
“Uh, yeah,” said Bobby, who looked terribly fish-out-of-water-ish in a suit. “Can we go before I change my fucking mind.”
“Yes,” said Castiel. “Is my tie fastened to your satisfaction, Dean?”
Dean nodded. Castiel reached out his hands, and suddenly the party was in New York city, outside a bustling restaurant.
Dean leaned back and took in the neon sign, Chez Malakim. Castiel talked to the maitre d', who immediately ushered them inside, past several resentful-looking parties of glitterati in the waiting area.
“And it is said if you cast a glance in the mirror late at night, you might just catch the reflection of the storied actress, Mamie LaRue,” came a familiar voice.
“Hey, Crowley,” hailed Dean.
The demon made his apologies and headed over to greet the foursome. “I am supposed to be the silent partner in this enterprise, however, he seems to think the British accent classes up the joint. Humans can be appallingly shallow about such things.”
“You seem to be enjoyin' yourself,” said Bobby.
“All right. You have caught me,” admitted Crowley.
“Amazing what an angel wing will buy you,” said Dean, who was still looking around.
“Keep that in mind, Castiel,” Crowley told the angel, who shrugged.
“Hey, I'm totally sure I saw Mamie,” smiled Sam, pointing to the mirror.
“But, ah, here is the proprietor!” said Crowley.
“Oh, there you are!” sang Gabriel, who was wearing a chef’s white double-breasted jacket. He gave everybody a hug, including the rather reluctant Bobby, and added a pat on the butt for Sam.
“Gabriel!” sighed Sam.
“Yeah, that's true, don't want Mamie to catch me,” winked Gabriel.
“So, how's the wings?” asked Bobby.
“They are actually healing up nicely,” said Gabriel.
“Oh, but you wanted to go ahead with this?” asked Dean.
“Bobby's fault. I found that I enjoy the hell out of cooking. And I enjoy yelling at chefs even more! Who would have thought a being who doesn't even need to eat? But you guys gotta check out the kitchen before we sit down. C'mon!”
He led them to the kitchen area, located behind a low wall so it was clearly visible to everyone dining there.
“Hey, you dumb fucks!” Gabriel yelled at the cooks. “You call that a line! Shape it up, bitches!”
“Yes chef.”
“Yes chef.”
Dean grinned at the line of cooks. There was a big one, and a tall one. He noticed the tall one had a pronounced limp. “So, you found an honest day's work for broken angels?” he asked Gabriel.
“Those stupid assholes love it here,” smiled Gabriel. “It's the perfect arrangement. They love abuse, and I love calling them out.”
“According to our interrogations,” said Castiel, “they were more sinned against, so to speak, than sinning. They had originally sustained injuries during the battle that proceeded Lucifer’s fall. And had been subjected to torture over the eons since.
“Zach promised them he’d release them if they’d let senior management implant the demons. The dick bag,” said Gabriel.
“And all this has nothing to do with you being a big old sentimental piece of crap, Gabe?” said Bobby.
“Don't let it get around,” sighed Gabriel. “But let's get you a table!” He beckoned to a waiter, who escorted them to a booth and handed out fancy tasseled menus.
“Hey, Castiel, I think you'd like this,” said Gabriel, pointing to an item on the menu. “I gotta go curse out some sous chefs. Catch you guys later.”
“The Shoebox Burger,” read Castiel. “'A patty of bovine meat to which cheese is affixed. Served with an appalling array of condiments.' Yes, this sounds perfect.”
“What?” asked Dean. “It doesn’t really say that, does it?”
“Yeah it does!” laughed Sam.
“Yes, this is how one writes a menu. So it makes sense,” said Castiel.
“It's how angels write a menu,” grumbled Dean. “Nobody would ever eat anything any more.”
“Angels will eat,” Cas told Dean. “As long as there is blueberry syrup.”
“You can't put blueberry syrup on a cheeseburger!” protested Dean.
“Why the hell not,” laughed Bobby. “Ain't against the laws of physics.”
“I am exercising my free will to like blueberry syrup,” said Castiel.
“That is a gross misuse of free will!” protested Dean. But he was interrupted by the arrival of the first bottle of champagne, and so occupied much of his time that evening attempting to get a certain blueberry-syrup-liking angel good and drunk.
This entry was originally posted at http://tikific.dreamwidth.org/117011.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas; Sam, Bobby, Gabriel, Crowley, Zachariah, Death
Warnings: Cursing, violence that may be upsetting (this chapter).
Word Count: 6,500 (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.
NOTE: I will inevitably regret mentioning this, but I've grown a bit curious as to whether anyone at all in SN fandom (well, other than the people I've dragged over from Metalocalypse fandom) is actually reading this here. I know there are a few over on AO3.
Castiel stood back to survey his work. He readjusted the flower in the tiny vase, and wiped a microscopic speck off the glass of orange juice with the tail of his shirt.
And it was good.
And then he grasped the breakfast tray and headed out Bobby’s kitchen.
….and straight into Bobby.
“Whatcha doin’ there, Cas?” grinned Bobby, who did not make any effort go get out of the way.
“I’m delivering my brother’s breakfast.”
“I see that. Looks pretty tasty. You’re doin’ OK at learning to cook.”
“Oh, you think so?” blushed Castiel. “He likes his bacon just so.”
“Yep, I’m sure he does. I’m sure he does,” smiled Bobby. “I seen him. Having you run up and down doing his shit work for him.”
“Well, uh,” said Castiel. “Gabriel gets annoyed if his breakfast is cold,” he whispered, trying to get around Bobby.
“Well then let’s get it right to him!” said Bobby, reaching over to grab the tray away from Castiel.
“Er, Bobby. Gabriel is my superior. He's an archangel. I need…. I ought to do as he says.”
“Cas, right now, are you more angel, or would you say you’re more human?”
Castiel looked downcast. “Well, presently I’m kind of functioning as a human,” he admitted.
“And whose human house is this?” asked Bobby.
“Yours!”
“So, who’s your boss, now, kid?”
Castiel was silent for a moment. And then he smiled. “You are. Boss!” he said, happily handing the tray to Bobby.
“Now, you scat and go save the world, or whatever unimportant crap you’re doing, and I’ll take care of Mr. Archangel’s obviously pressing needs. Deal?”
Cas nodded and hurried away.
Bobby helped himself to a piece of bacon and wandered up towards Gabriel’s room. “Hmm. Boy can cook,” said Bobby approvingly.
Gabriel was sitting in bed, propped up on every pillow in the house, and ringing a little bell. “Castiel, you are three and a half minutes late…. Oh, hello, Bobby.”
“Up and at ‘em, asshole.”
“What?”
“I said move! Or you want a boot in your angelic butt?”
Gabriel slid out of bed, while Bobby hopped up onto the pile of pillows and began to dig into the breakfast.
“What are you doing?” sputtered Gabriel. “That’s my breakfast!”
“Maybe you’ll get breakfast,” said Bobby. “If you put in a day’s work.”
“How am I supposed to work! I’m recuperating!”
“I see you standing on two legs,” said Bobby. “Ah, hell, these eggs are good. He knows how to make ‘em over easy.”
“What the hell do you want me to do, you old fossil?”
“Old? Pot, kettle, asshole. Now, we're all mighty grateful for what you done for Cas, Gabe. However, seems like you’ve spent the past week ordering your brother around, maybe it would be nice to see you put in a little time yourself. Cas just dirtied up nearly every damn pan in my kitchen cooking this swank breakfast. Might be nice to see it all cleaned up.”
You could almost see the steam rising from Gabriel’s head. “I’m an archangel! Not chief cook and bottlewasher!”
“Oooo, an archangel. Well, why don’t you use your angelic sparkle magic and just wish everything clean?”
“I can’t use my magic! I saved Castiel! From certain death!”
“And that was real nice of ya. So it won’t be much trouble to clear up his breakfast dishes, right?”
Gabriel glowered. “I will not forget this!” he vowed, stalking out of the room.
“I hope not,” muttered Bobby. “And grab me some more jam!” he shouted after Gabriel.
“Gabe let you off early today?” joked Dean.
Cas leaned against the Impala and shrugged. “Bobby said he would take care of him.”
“Oh, I would love to see that,” laughed Dean, leaning back out of the car’s engine. “Hey, Cas, could you get over to the tools and grab me a number five socket wrench?”
Cas gave a small smile. He held up his hand, into which blinked a wrench.
“Hey, cool!” said Dean, grabbing the wrench. “You can do angel stuff again?”
“A little,” said Cas. “It’s slowly coming back.”
“Ah, but this is a number four, not a number five!” said Dean, pointing to the wrench.
“Maybe it is best to stick to the human method for now,” grinned Castiel.
“Hey, did you guys check out Gabriel?” asked Sam, who had just ambled out.
“What’s he up to now?” asked Dean
“Bobby had him wash up all the pots and pans, and now he’s down on his hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor.”
Castiel grinned. “He will not like that.”
“Hey, are you enjoying this, Cas?” asked Sam.
Castiel’s face grew serious. “Gabriel is my elder brother. I love him. But … he can be a real jerk sometimes.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Sam, slinging an arm around Dean.
“Hey,” said Dean.
Castiel was suddenly looking around. “Do you feel that?”
“No,” said Dean. “Hey, wait, has it gotten cold.” He blinked: suddenly he could see his breath.
Castiel was staring at something. “Cas, what is it?” asked Dean.
“I have never seen so many of them,” said Cas. “Oh!” And then Dean and Sam saw it as well.
Death. And he didn’t look pleased.
“Cas,” said Dean. “We’re surrounded by reapers. Aren’t we?”
“As far as the eye can see,” said Castiel.
Dean frowned and wiped the grease from his hands with a rag. He tossed down the rag and then strode over to face Death. Sam and Castiel followed him. The few times Dean had met the Horseman before, he'd been cool as a cucumber. But today he seemed to radiate cold fury.
“So, can I ask what's going on?” asked Dean.
“They are killing my children. My reapers!” said Death. “I found them … gutted.”
“You know who’s doing it?” asked Dean.
“Angels,” said Death, giving Castiel a stare. “Abominations!”
Castiel looked down, but Dean continued to stare at Death. The tall, pale man really did look ready to kill. “And, can I ask, why did you come to us?”
“Whenever anything happens - anything - it is always and inevitably you three!” said Death.
“Well, I can’t argue with that,” said Dean, looking at Sam and Cas.
“They are Arstikapha and Yetarel,” said Castiel. “I did not know them. They have killed many of my brothers, and have gravely injured my brother, Gabriel.”
“Gabriel? The Trickster?” asked Death, whose already dark face darkened. One supposed he had had some unpleasant encounters with the often abrasive archangel.
“They’ve also gone against some of Crowley’s demons,” said Sam.
“Crowley thought it was some kind of angel bickering,” said Dean. “But we sure as hell can’t see the point,” said Dean. “To be honest, we’re kind of stuck. I didn’t know they’d go after reapers too.”
“What the fucking hell…?” yelled Bobby, who was hurrying out. “Oh. Shit,” he said, seeing Death. “This don’t look good.”
“I guess our wing-eating friends are now killing reapers,” said Dean.
“Damn,” said Bobby. “And, no offense, but you can’t just zap ‘em, Death?”
“My children are not designed to deal with these … things,” said Death.
“We been scratching our heads for weeks over this too,” said Bobby. “They took down an archangel, which I guess is unprecedented.”
“I see. And I do appreciate your honesty,” said Death, who seemed mollified. “So, how is our friend, Gabriel?” he inquired.
“Two broke wings,” said Bobby.
“Oh. And I take it you fellows have obtained a shoebox large enough to contain himself and his ego?” asked Death, arching an eyebrow.
Death might have smiled slightly. Bobby convulsed with laughter.
“I don’t understand,” Castiel told Dean.
“I’ll explain it to you,” said Dean. “Later.”
Dean pushed back from the dinner table, picking his teeth with a toothpick. “Gabe,” he said, “I gotta admit, that was amazing.”
“And you didn't use any angel tricks?” asked Sam, who was holding his stomach.
“No, no grace was used! I spent time as a short order cook,” bragged the archangel, looking around with obvious pride at the remains of the elaborate dinner he had prepared. “Hey, didn't everybody?”
“Nope,” said Dean.
“Naw,” said Sam.
“Not me,” grinned Bobby.
Castiel didn't say anything, but simply shrugged at his brother.
“This kitchen might be lookin' a mite too pretty for this place,” grumbled Bobby, looking around the now sparkling room. “But that was a damn good feed. Now I just gotta call about a dozen of my closest friends to deal with the leftovers.”
“Were you going to explain the shoebox reference to me, Dean?” asked Castiel.
Dean, Sam and Bobby all began laughing, while Gabriel and Castiel exchanged a bewildered glance.
“See, if you're a kid....” began Dean
“A normal kid!” emphasized Sam.
“You see a baby bird fallen out of the nest....” continued Dean.
“You get your mom....” said Sam.
“They get you a little shoebox!” said Dean, holding out his hands to display the size.
“And you get a cloth....”
“And a little head pad....”
“Or a hot water bottle!” interjected Bobby.
“And then you nurse the little critter back to health,” said Dean.
“Or, uh, have a funeral in the back yard,” admitted Sam.
“Yeah, most times, yeah,” said Dean.
Castiel sat back. “Death was implying that my brother and I are akin to tiny birds?” asked Castiel, narrowing his eyes in what looked for all the world a threatening manner.
“Aw, don't worry baby bro!” said Gabriel, cuffing Castiel. “I'll go smite Death in his skinny ass when I get my mojo back.”
“But that's only if you grow up in a normal family,” continued Dean.
“Yeah, if it had been us....” said Sam.
“It would have been a werewolf climbing in the tree that knocked out the nest!” laughed Dean.
“The baby bird would have had an Inca curse,” said Sam.
“We would have used an ammo case instead of a shoebox!” said Dean.
“And warmed it up with a holy oil fire!” said Sam.
“Oh, uh, sorry guys,” said Dean, as Cas and Gabriel both cringed at the mention of holy oil.
“So you guys think your childhood was fucked up?” asked Gabriel.
“Yeah, you know, dysfunctional family,” said Dean.
“Every family is dysfunctional!” laughed Gabriel. “I mean, look at ours!” Dean noticed Castiel did something odd: he pulled his foot up on the seat and sat with his elbows wrapped around his knee. He suddenly looked young.
“I wish you had not left us,” said Castiel softly.
“I didn't leave you, Cas,” said Gabriel. Castiel didn't answer, but looked hurt. “Awwww, c'mon, little guy,” said Gabriel, suddenly putting an arm around Castiel and giving him noogies.
Castiel extricated himself from Gabriel's grasp. “You left. Just the same,” he said, bitterness tracing his voice.
Now it was Gabriel's turn to glare. “They wanted me to choose sides. Michael and Lucifer. You know how fucked up that is? I mean, what if you had to choose between Sam and Dean? Would you do it?”
Castiel stared primly at the brothers and then rounded on Gabriel. “They would never make me do it. They are better than that!”
Dean nearly blushed.
“Hey, is this your mirror, Sam?” asked Gabriel, who obviously wanted a change in topic.
Sam sighed deeply and pulled the mirror off the low shelf behind him. “I can't put it away. It follows me. Like a fucking cursed doll.”
“Hey, my cursed doll is cool!” said Dean.
“Can I see that?” asked Gabriel. Sam handed it over, and Gabriel emitted a low whistle. “Some advice? Don't let Crowley see it.”
“Why? 'Cause it's haunted?”
“No! Not just haunted. In fact, this is a very cool item. A little demonstration is in order. Bro,” he said, turning to Castiel, “could you spare some magic?”
Castiel raised an eyebrow. “I guess. A small amount.”
“A little zap then,” said Gabriel, holding up Mamie's mirror. “Straight in the reflection,” he said, tapping the glass.
“I don't wish to break it,” said Castiel.
“Yeah, that's seven years bad luck,” said Dean.
“Don't worry. You won't!” Gabriel told Castiel.
Castiel shrugged and then put two fingers on the mirror and frowned.
There was a zap of magic.
Then Cas shrieked and fell back, right out of his chair.
Dean, struggling mightily not to laugh, was around the table in an instant. “Cas, you OK, dude?”
“Reflects magic!” laughed Gabriel. “Very rare item!”
“Whoa,” said Sam, grabbing the mirror back. “This might actually be useful!”
Castiel wrestled himself up, the ends of his hair still smoking. “You knew.... You knew it would do that!”
“Yeah, once a Trickster- OW!” he exclaimed as Castiel punched him - hard - in the shoulder. “That hurt!”
“That felt … really good,” said Castiel, rubbing his fist.
“I've got itching powder if you want,” Dean whispered to Castiel.
“Castiel, you don’t wanna get into it with a Trickster,” said Gabriel.
“Bitch!” said Castiel.
“Jerk,” said Gabriel.
“OK, you two! Cut it out!” called Bobby. Castiel sat back down, glaring. “This is real funny, but it ain’t getting us any closer to what’s motivating those bastards,” said Bobby. “Or how to stop ‘em.”
“Oh, those two, they wouldn’t know a motivation if you crammed it up their asses,” grumbled Gabriel. “It’s like that movie were were watching the other night, baby bro.”
“Oh,” said Castiel, who colored.
“What movie?” asked Dean.
“Bat Dick: the Dark Nuts Return!” said Gabriel.
“Uh, you guys watch porn together?” Dean asked Castiel, who looked as if he might slip under the table.
“Had to get the DVD back to Netflix,” said Gabriel. “Anyway, like Alfredballs tells Bruce Bat Dick, some guys just wanna watch the world burn!”
“Oh, god, do we have to hear this after we’ve eaten?” sighed Sam.
“Wait,” said Castiel. “What did you say, Gabriel?”
“Some guys wanna watch the world burn?” asked Gabriel.
“I’ve been… I’m an idiot,” said Castiel.
“What, watching bad porno?” asked Dean. “I warned you about that.”
“No. Arstikapha and Yetarel. They do not have a motivation. Or if they once did, they do no longer. They are terrorists. They simply want to instill fear. And they are getting stronger and stronger as we wait here. Doing nothing.” Castiel rose. “I must find a way to stop them! Before it’s too late.”
“Whoa! Hold it right there!” said Dean, who moved over to stand in front of Cas. “Where the fuck you think you’re going!”
“Dean, we don’t have much time. If we wait any longer, they might be too strong to defeat.”
“Sit down!” ordered Dean.
“Oh, I love it when he takes command,” grinned Gabriel, grabbing Sam’s hand.
Sam shook off the hand. “Just … stop.”
“Dean!” said Castiel.
‘You nearly got killed twice, and I know damn well you’re not up to full strength, or even near it,” said Dean. “You’re gonna do anything, you need a plan. And you need us!” he said, gesturing around the table.
“I can’t ask you to assist me,” said Castiel. “This is angel business.”
“We’re volunteering!” said Dean.
“I didn’t volunteer,” said Gabriel.
“You’re an angel, idjit,” said Bobby, whacking Gabriel over the head with his hand.
“Hey!” said Gabriel.
“And even better,” said Sam, “you’re a trickster.”
“I don’t have any of my bad magic though, bud,” said Gabriel.
“No, but you are an evil genius, right?” asked Sam slyly.
“That I am!” Gabriel agreed. He sat back. “OK, so how do a couple of broken angels and some pouty-lipped hunter boys….”
“Hey!” said Sam.
“…trick a couple of really big and stupid angels.”
“Hey, Cas,” said Dean.
“Yes?”
“Something I've been wondering. I asked you something the other night. What your brothers do with other angels who get busted wings?”
Castiel and Gabriel looked at each other. They were suddenly both quite serious.
“As I said, if the host is in a generous mood, you are killed. Immediately,” said Castiel.
“What?” asked Bobby. “And what if they ain't in a generous mood?”
Castiel started to reply, but then looked down. Gabriel reached out and put a hand through his hair. “Cannon fodder, basically,” said Gabriel.
“What?” asked Dean.
“If you get zapped, it must be your fault, after all, because the father isn't pleased with you for some fucking reason,” said Gabriel. “So, they'll use you for sword practice....”
“Torture,” whispered Castiel. “Experiments....”
“Experiments?” asked Sam. “What kind of experiments.”
Castiel looked up at Gabriel. “Like, putting a demon inside?” he asked softly.
Gabriel suddenly seized his dinner plate and sent it crashing into the wall. It shattered into a million pieces. “My fucking brothers! I'm gonna go up to fucking heaven with a gallon of fucking holy oil and burn the whole fucking place down!”
“First we shall stop the two who injured us,” Castiel told Gabriel. “I believe I have an idea. And I will need your help.”
Castiel laid out his hands. He didn't have a big supply of angelic grace to spare, so he needed to be careful. But this? This was important.
He took off his hands.
“Hey, how's it going?” asked Dean.
Castiel picked up his trench coat. The tear made by the kasa obake was gone.
“It's a miracle!” laughed Dean.
Castiel donned the coat. Grinning, Dean straightened out his lapels. “We're gonna win this one. No way they can defeat the trench coat!”
Castiel smiled. “And how is the, uh, experiment, going?”
“Come and see the prototype!” Castiel followed Dean outside.
“Stand back,” Dean warned. He held up a match. “Holy oil!”
Castiel nodded and took a cautious step back. But he drew near as it lit up. “That is brilliant! Human engineering is a thing to behold.”
“We try,” smiled Dean. “Hey, is that your sword?”
Castiel frowned at the katana in his hand. “This is odd. I do not think we are in danger.” He feinted with the sword, but flicked it a little too close to the holy oil fire.
“Oh!” said Dean.
“I did not know it could do that,” said Castiel.
“Cool,” said Dean.
Gabriel looked upon the landscape and smiled.
No one, no other living being, not for miles and miles.
Nothing but these crazy buttes and arches and whatever the hells they were, carved over millions of years by the unceasing wind.
Much as he currently thought his Father in heaven was a big dick, Gabriel had to admit: it was pretty cool. Way better than anything he had ever cooked up for one of his crazy dreamscapes.
A familiar voice was in his head, speaking Enochian. Gabriel nodded. Showtime.
Even though Sam had generously loaned him a few bottles of human painkillers, Gabriel knew this would hurt like hell. But he steeled himself. And true formed.
Hurt was not the word for it. He thought he would have been better off if those bastards had ripped out his wings.
Well, he told himself, it meant that much less acting.
“Oh, look at me!” he wailed. “All alone, in the middle of this fucking desert, with not one, but two broken wings!”
And, just for emphasis, he gave his wings a flap.
And nearly passed out from the pain.
OK, Gabe, no more showing off he told himself.
He didn't have to wait long. There they were, two ungainly figures, fluttering towards him.
Like skyscrapers trying to fly, he thought.
“Hey, hurry it up. I haven't got all day!” he yelled at them.
“You won't escape this time,” puffed Aristakapha, the bigger one.
“Yeah, I might have to … walk really fast,” said Gabriel, pretending to look at his watch. As he was true formed, he didn't really have a watch, but he thought it was a good, snotty gesture.
“I will pluck his wings! I will get them good!” said Yetarel, who had taken the bait, and now was attempting to fly faster, which was only making him seem more like a Greyhound bus that had decided to take wing.
Gabriel yawned. Stretching hurt like the dickens, but he wanted to get these guys pissed. “Well, I'm gonna step out for coffee. You guys want anything?”
“We are your doom!” puffed Aristakapha.
They were about to land. Gabriel muttered something. It was in Enochian. Although it didn't really matter what he said, the word more or less translates as, “Now.”
There was a howl as the wind kicked up over the flat desert. The strong gust caught the two angels completely by surprise, and buffeted Aristakaha and Yetarel, blowing one off one way, and the other the opposite direction.
Bird-like Yetarel ended up coming down with a thump in the middle of nowhere.
Furious and disoriented, he sprang to his clawed feet. And confronted an angel.
“You! I will take your wings! I will take them now!”
“You have tried twice before, and failed,” Castiel told him. “Why should you succeed now?”
“I will take them and I will have a snack. Yes I will.”
“Um. How exactly are you going to do that?” asked Castiel. He raised his arms. He was in his human vessel, which was, of course, wingless.
This threw Yetarel for a loop. “I will get your wings! I will have them with hot sauce! Or maybe wasabi!”
Castiel looked up at Yetarel, smiling and tilting his head. “OK,” he said amiably.
Yetarel whipped his tail in fury. He was hungry. “Then.... Then I will stomp you!” He raised a clawed foot to squash this annoying creature like a bug, but suddenly withdrew is foot, screaming in pain.
“You have a pointy!” he screeched, gesturing accusingly towards Castiel's sword. He hopped on one foot, cradling the other, wounded foot.
And then he screeched again as Castiel sent the katana into the back of his ankle, neatly slicing through the Achilles tendon. The wounded angel fell to the ground. He was in such pain he didn't feel the footsteps running up his body. He only drew back when he spotted Castiel standing on his chest, his sword pointed at one of Yetarel's eyes.
“If you would like to escape, Demon, now is your last chance,” Castiel told him.
Yetarel cracked open his beak, and a black smoke started to pour out as Yetarel's body spasmed.
Castiel, trying to keep his balance on the shaking angel, kept the sword pointed at Yetarel until the quaking stopped, and the last of the demon smoke had escaped. Then quick as a flash he hopped down and grabbed a flask from his overcoat. Using his magic to help, he ran in a circle around the big angel. And then he lit a match and hopped back. The holy oil ignited with a whoosh.
Yetarel stirred, emitting a moan. He sat up, switching his tail, which stirred too close to the holy oil. He whimpered, cradling the tail.
Good, the fire seemed to contain him.
Castiel paused for a moment, feeling light-headed. He had used of more of his grace than he had reckoned. But he was surely needed. He closed his eyes and got going.
“Mirror!” yelled Dean, diving in back of the Impala.
Sam held up the magic mirror again, and once again, Aristakapha ended up zapping himself with his magic.
“Boy, he is really stupid,” said Dean.
“Where the fuck is Cas?” asked Sam.
“I dunno. I hope he's OK.”
“I hope we're OK!” said Sam. They both ducked as the angel aimed another zap. It ended up impacting on the Impala's fender.
“God dammit!” said Dean, standing up. Sam pulled his belt and dragged him back down. “That won't polish out!” bitched Dean.
“Can you blow him away again?” asked Sam.
“I'm trying, but I think my kachina is out of juice.”
“How does a kachina run out of juice?”
“I will squash you!”
Sam and Dean whirled around. Somehow, the big angel had ended up in back of them.
“Shit,” said Dean.
“And then I will sup on you for breakfast!” vowed Aristakapha.
“How can you sup for breakfast?” asked Dean.
“Uh,” said the angel.
“Whaddya think you're doin', tall dark and gruesome?”
“Mamie?” asked Sam, for the ghost of Mamie LaRue was suddenly standing between them and the demonic angel.
“You stay away from my Sammy, you big palooka!” said Mamie.
“Who's gonna make me,” grumbled Aristakapha.
“Me!” said Mamie, who had suddenly grown as big as the angel. He stepped back, and she slugged him.
“Ow!” yelled the angel.
“Go, Mamie!” yelled Sam.
But because he was no gentleman, Aristakapha hauled off and hit her back, knocking her over.
“Mamie! No!” screamed Sam as suddenly, his magic mirror burst into a million pieces. Mamie disappeared.
But then Aristakapha screamed and fell over, his back bleeding from the stump of one of his big flight wings.
Castiel, his sword covered in blood, jumped off the angel's back. “You should never, ever hit a woman!” he scolded. “Sam, Dean! Get the tarp!”
Sam and Dean dove for the Impala's trunk, and then set to unrolling a large tarp on the desert floor. They heard Aristakapha's unholy scream once again as Castiel severed his other flight wing with another stroke of the sword.
“Go! Now!” Castiel yelled at the angel. “Or I'll have your other wings!”
As Castiel waved his sword, the angel, whimpering, crawled to the center of the tarp, upon which was painted a huge devil's trap.
“Get back, Cas!” said Dean.
Castiel jumped off the mat, and Dean threw a match. The edge of the tarp lit up with holy fire.
“Mobile angel's devil's trap!” said Dean, satisfied at his handiwork. “You think it'll work?”
“No idea,” sighed Castiel, who started to slump over.
Dean reached over and caught him. “You OK, man?”
“Used up … a lot of grace. I'll be OK,” he said, righting himself. “We needed at least one of them still possessed. We need some answers. And I think this one is.... Well, he's slightly less stupid.”
“Fuck you!” yelled the big angel.
“All right, Aristakapha,” said Castiel. “You need to talk. Now.”
“Oh, fuck off,” sighed the wounded angel.
“In case this is of interest, this is my friend, Dean. He spent many centuries in hell. As a torturer.”
Aristakapha didn't answer, but seemed to shrink back.
“I can't go into the holy fire, but Dean can. And, one more thing, I've found a neat trick I can do with this sword.” He carefully put the tip of the katana into the holy fire.
The sword lit up.
Aristakapha squirmed.
“Now,” said Castiel. “Do you have anything you would like to tell us?”
It looked like a waiting room in any office building.
But it wasn't.
The office was in heaven.
“I need to see Mr. Zachariah. I do not have an appointment.”
“Mr. Zachariah is not in,” sniffed the receptionist, but Castiel ignored him, striding past with Gabriel at his side. Two rather large attendants attempted to bar the door, but Castiel smacked them both with a gesture, and then for an encore bashed the door open.
Zachariah was sitting behind the desk. He looked up cheerily, unflustered, as Castiel stormed in.
“We need to talk, Zachariah.”
“Castiel. What a pleasant surprise. Oh, and Gabriel too. Long time no see, brother! I must get them to install a broken angel entrance, what do you think? That would be the PC thing to do?”
“Zachariah,” said Castiel. “How.... How could you? Your brothers and sisters?”
“I'm afraid I haven't any idea what you're talking about,” said Zachariah.
“Yadda yadda yadda,” said Gabriel, opening and closing his mouth like a hand. “Your little pets talked, Zach. They told us everything. They're as stupid as they are ugly.”
“Castiel,” said Zachariah. “You should understand. We need this! For too long, we've all lived under the domination of the archangels! We needed to even the odds. You know this!”
“So you unleashed … monsters!” asked Castiel
“And they were only the beginning,” smiled Zachariah. “A trial run, if you will.”
Castiel and Gabriel exchanged a glance. “You intend to make more? Zachariah, you can't control them! They kill our kin!”
“Necessary losses,” said Zachariah. “We can't let this stand in the way of progress. And once we have them in hand, we have nothing more to fear from the arches. We control the game board.”
“Zachariah, this is not a game! Are you going mad?” asked Castiel.
“Long gone, I'd say,” grumbled Gabriel.
“Abomination!” Zachariah spat at Gabriel.
“Sticks and stones,” said Gabriel.
“We will no longer live under your tyranny!” shouted Zacharial.
“You know, I could start taking this personally,” sighed Gabriel.
“It's sad. So sad. They could have mended you, you know, Castiel. You could have been a soldier again.”
Castiel was silent. “You expected me.... No!”
Gabriel was now leaning over the desk, pulling Zachariah by the collar. “Mess with my little bro? Over my dead body, bud.”
“That,” grinned Zachariah, “can be arranged.”
And they were no longer standing in a facsimile of an office, but rather a wasteland.
“Boy, the lack of creativity is appalling,” sniffed Gabriel, who looked around, unimpressed. “Couldn't you have arranged the showdown to be in a fairgrounds? Or maybe during the running of the bulls at Pamplona!”
But Zachariah was no longer Zachariah, or at least his human self. He had true formed. He now towered over Castiel and Gabriel. “So,” tutted Zachariah. “Truly a shame neither of you may true form. If only you had come to me first.”
“I do not think that is entirely true,” said Castiel.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you are only half right,” smiled Castiel.
“He means, eat shit and die, motherfucker,” said Gabriel.
Who was true formed.
Gabriel raised his flaming sword.
The fight wasn't a long one, nor was it terribly interesting. For as Gabriel was an ex-soldier of the Lord, and an archangel to boot, Zachariah had never been more than a heavenly bureaucrat. Zachariah very soon found himself beneath Gabriel's boot, a flaming sword at his throat.
“Gabriel,” said Castiel.
“Mercy!” pleaded Zachariah.
“Yeah, little bro?”
“His wings,” said Castiel.
“All of them?” grinned Gabriel.
“All of them,” said Castiel.
“No....” said Gabriel. And then he screamed.
The two angels reappeared back in Bobby’s wrecking yard.
Gabriel leaned back and opened his mouth. Suddenly a great deal of smoke poured out.
He gave a little burp, and the last bit of black smoke puffed out of his mouth. It consolidated into a very familiar ghostly form nearby.
“Well. That was unpleasant,” sighed Crowley, adjusting his spirit’s lapels.
“Ew. Yuck!” said Gabriel, shivering dramatically. Crowley gave him a ghostly stink eye.
“So, that was heaven?” grumbled Crowley. “Little ratty around the edges, don’t you think?”
“Yeah. It’s our home, but it kinda sucks balls,” agreed Gabriel, hanging an arm around Castiel.
“We thank you for your assistance, Crowley,” said Castiel.
“Oh, I consider it a purely financial transaction,” grinned Crowley, holding up a handful of angel feathers. “You boys will do me a favor and not let on these are actually form some potty angel bureaucrat? Doesn’t sound terribly romantic, does it?”
“How is Aloysius?” asked Castiel.
“He will make a full recovery. And in the meantime, I have some tasty angel bones for him to snack on,” grinned Crowley. “You do not mess with a man's dog.”
“I will remember that,” promised Castiel.
“Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I am inclined to get back to my host. I feel the need to fill it with much whiskey, to get the angel smell off. Could get me a bad reputation with my clients. No offense.”
“None taken,” said Gabriel. “I wanna take about sixteen showers, personally.”
“Hrm. Perhaps Sam Winchester is feeling sticky,” grinned Crowley, who, with a wink, disappeared.
Garbriel was laughing. “You might lay off on Sam,” said Castiel.
“Aw, you get a Winchester, why don't I?”
“He is still upset over Mamie,” said Castiel shrewdly.
“Like I told you, I'll see what I can do.”
“You think you can actually un-break a mirror?”
“Hey, you don't spend centuries as a trickster without learning a thing or two. And Mamie was some broad.” He gave a low whistle. “I bet she was something when she was alive! Sorry we didn't hook up.”
Castiel shook his head.
“You guys are back?” asked Dean. “Did everything go OK?”
“We clipped Zach's wings, if that's what you're asking,” said Gabriel. “But if I know my brothers, he wasn't the only one involved in this.”
Castiel sighed and nodded.
“So we're gonna have more monsters?” asked Dean.
“Well, not if our best buddy Death has anything to say about it,” grinned Gabriel.
“We visited Death in Chicago prior to our trip to heaven,” said Castiel. “He fed us pizza, and has now officially threatened to send his reapers after senior management if he hears any further reports of demonic angels,” said Castiel.
“You don't mess with a man's dog. Or his reapers,” laughed Gabriel. He slapped Castiel's back and walked towards the house.
“You feel better now?” Dean asked Castiel.
“Angels,” grumbled Castiel. “Fucking angels! What the fuck do the fucking angels fucking think they’re fucking doing!” He hopped up to sit on the hood of the Impala.
“Cas,” laughed Dean. “It’s fine to curse, but you might wanna tone it down.”
“What I’ll do Dean, I’m going to have Bobby get his chainsaw. And then he can cut off my good wing. And we’ll sell it to Crowley. We’ll make a million dollars. And go into … the dry cleaning business! And, then I won’t be an angel. Any more. Fucking fucking fucking angels,” he added.
Dean smiled and pushed Cas' knees apart to he could stand directly in front of the angel. “Dry cleaning tycoons, huh?” Castiel looked woeful. “Come on, dude, do you really expect anything out of those guys any more?”
“He should have been around for us! Our Father! He should have taught us all to drive, and tune an engine so it will purr, and … and taught us about pigs in the blanket!” Castiel slumped. “We were not raised well.”
Dean leaned in and gently kissed Castiel.
“And. They only wanted me back … to turn me into one of those monsters,” said Castiel, shivering.
“Really?” asked Dean.
“Really,” sighed Castiel.
“Sam and I wouldn't have let that happen to you. You know that,” said Dean softly, running his hands along Castiel's thighs.
“I don't see how you could have prevented it!”
“Oh, you know. We're pretty resourceful. For humans,” grinned Dean.
“And I am worried about Gabriel,” Castiel confessed. “He was more gravely injured than I. He may yet recover, but it will take time.”
“If I know that guy, he'll spin shit into gold,” said Dean. “Hey, maybe we can get him to cook us lunch. You in the mood for burgers?” he asked, pulling at Castiel's tie.
“Yes, with a slice of cheese? A burgercheese?”
“Cheeseburger.”
“Yes. Cheeseburger.”
“Don't worry, you'll get it,” grinned Dean, leaning over for another, longer kiss.
“Oh, are we about to have sexual relations?” inquired Castiel.
Dean stifled a guffaw. “OK, Cas, not that I endorse this, but if you find yourself watching those DVDs with your brother again, you might wanna pick up on what they’re saying.”
Castiel considered. “Am I not voicing the correct sentiments?”
“No, you’re OK. It’s just….”
“Sir, I am not certain how I am going to pay for this pizza!”
Dean stared at Cas. “OK, OK bad idea. Hey,” he said, pulling back and eyeing the Impala. “You've never done it in the back seat, have you?”
“Done what? Oh! Ordered pizza,” Castiel colored.
Grinning, Dean leaned back and, grabbing Castiel by the waist, pulled him off the car. “Come on,” he said.
And that's how our story ends: two boys in the back seat of a classic muscle car.
But not quite....
Dean nervously readjusted Castiel's tie for the fiftieth time.
“You guys ready to go?” asked Sam.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Dean, still fussing over a Windsor knot. “Hey, hot damn, Bobby.”
“Uh, yeah,” said Bobby, who looked terribly fish-out-of-water-ish in a suit. “Can we go before I change my fucking mind.”
“Yes,” said Castiel. “Is my tie fastened to your satisfaction, Dean?”
Dean nodded. Castiel reached out his hands, and suddenly the party was in New York city, outside a bustling restaurant.
Dean leaned back and took in the neon sign, Chez Malakim. Castiel talked to the maitre d', who immediately ushered them inside, past several resentful-looking parties of glitterati in the waiting area.
“And it is said if you cast a glance in the mirror late at night, you might just catch the reflection of the storied actress, Mamie LaRue,” came a familiar voice.
“Hey, Crowley,” hailed Dean.
The demon made his apologies and headed over to greet the foursome. “I am supposed to be the silent partner in this enterprise, however, he seems to think the British accent classes up the joint. Humans can be appallingly shallow about such things.”
“You seem to be enjoyin' yourself,” said Bobby.
“All right. You have caught me,” admitted Crowley.
“Amazing what an angel wing will buy you,” said Dean, who was still looking around.
“Keep that in mind, Castiel,” Crowley told the angel, who shrugged.
“Hey, I'm totally sure I saw Mamie,” smiled Sam, pointing to the mirror.
“But, ah, here is the proprietor!” said Crowley.
“Oh, there you are!” sang Gabriel, who was wearing a chef’s white double-breasted jacket. He gave everybody a hug, including the rather reluctant Bobby, and added a pat on the butt for Sam.
“Gabriel!” sighed Sam.
“Yeah, that's true, don't want Mamie to catch me,” winked Gabriel.
“So, how's the wings?” asked Bobby.
“They are actually healing up nicely,” said Gabriel.
“Oh, but you wanted to go ahead with this?” asked Dean.
“Bobby's fault. I found that I enjoy the hell out of cooking. And I enjoy yelling at chefs even more! Who would have thought a being who doesn't even need to eat? But you guys gotta check out the kitchen before we sit down. C'mon!”
He led them to the kitchen area, located behind a low wall so it was clearly visible to everyone dining there.
“Hey, you dumb fucks!” Gabriel yelled at the cooks. “You call that a line! Shape it up, bitches!”
“Yes chef.”
“Yes chef.”
Dean grinned at the line of cooks. There was a big one, and a tall one. He noticed the tall one had a pronounced limp. “So, you found an honest day's work for broken angels?” he asked Gabriel.
“Those stupid assholes love it here,” smiled Gabriel. “It's the perfect arrangement. They love abuse, and I love calling them out.”
“According to our interrogations,” said Castiel, “they were more sinned against, so to speak, than sinning. They had originally sustained injuries during the battle that proceeded Lucifer’s fall. And had been subjected to torture over the eons since.
“Zach promised them he’d release them if they’d let senior management implant the demons. The dick bag,” said Gabriel.
“And all this has nothing to do with you being a big old sentimental piece of crap, Gabe?” said Bobby.
“Don't let it get around,” sighed Gabriel. “But let's get you a table!” He beckoned to a waiter, who escorted them to a booth and handed out fancy tasseled menus.
“Hey, Castiel, I think you'd like this,” said Gabriel, pointing to an item on the menu. “I gotta go curse out some sous chefs. Catch you guys later.”
“The Shoebox Burger,” read Castiel. “'A patty of bovine meat to which cheese is affixed. Served with an appalling array of condiments.' Yes, this sounds perfect.”
“What?” asked Dean. “It doesn’t really say that, does it?”
“Yeah it does!” laughed Sam.
“Yes, this is how one writes a menu. So it makes sense,” said Castiel.
“It's how angels write a menu,” grumbled Dean. “Nobody would ever eat anything any more.”
“Angels will eat,” Cas told Dean. “As long as there is blueberry syrup.”
“You can't put blueberry syrup on a cheeseburger!” protested Dean.
“Why the hell not,” laughed Bobby. “Ain't against the laws of physics.”
“I am exercising my free will to like blueberry syrup,” said Castiel.
“That is a gross misuse of free will!” protested Dean. But he was interrupted by the arrival of the first bottle of champagne, and so occupied much of his time that evening attempting to get a certain blueberry-syrup-liking angel good and drunk.
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