Reading Is Utterly Mental, a Supernatural and Black Books Crossover.
Considering the last thing Dean Winchester saw before the world went to watercolours and he swooned like a girl was Castiel, his fingers poised in that familiar and daunting whammy position, he couldn't claim to be all that surprised. However, he could claim to be pretty damn pissed off since he had no idea where he was except that it was freaking cold, raining and he was pretty sure he hated it.
Oh, and now he'd have another poopless week to look forward to. Great.
"Jesus, Cas! How about a little warning before you put the mojo on me?" He growled, shoving Castiel's arm off his waist where he'd steadied Dean during his disorientated post-whammy moment. The angel didn't seem to take offense at this; in fact he wasn't even looking at Dean but rather peering through the grimy windows of a nearby shop, searching for something.
"My apologies Dean, but time is of the essence..."
The hunter finally took a moment to look around and only had a mild freak out; it'd been 2 AM in Portland when Cas had shown up and nabbed him on his way back to bed from taking a leak. As such, he was clad in only his boxer shorts and a rumpled old tee. Wherever they were now, it wasn't exactly light but if somebody came past on an early morning jog, Dean was going to look like a crazy person; barefoot, barely clothed and soaked to the skin.
"What's so important that we've gotta be here right now? Wherever here is..."
Castiel ran a finger across the murky glass, cutting a clean path through the filth. Cobalt blue eyes seemed to darken as they narrowed thoughtfully and then Cas was nodding as if everything was in order and replied;
"England."
. . .
"... Come again?"
"London, to be precise." Castiel said, as if that clarified things completely.
Dean groaned and tugged the angel around and close by the shoulder so he would look at him and perhaps get that Dean was not exactly happy with the scenario.
"Cas, you bust into my room-
"I didn't bust in, Dean-"
"In the middle of the night and angel-whammy me three-thousand freaking miles across the Ocean. Please tell me there is a damn good reason for me to be standing in the rain, in London, in my freakin' underpants!
Castiel's head angled to the side as his eyes studied Dean's face and the hunter was struck as he always was by how much the habit made the angel look like a confused little bird. Then, Castiel's eyes were wandering down Dean's body, coming to rest on his boxers, and then the very tip of a tongue was darting out, probably subconsciously, to wet full pink lips.
Dean was all of a sudden very aware of why he'd endeavoured to teach the angel about personal space. He swallowed and stepped back, breaking the contact they'd held far past the point of awkwardness and into something else entirely...
"Something awoke here, or rather someone...' Cas was speaking again, attention once more on the window "A prophet. They may be able to translate the Word."
Well. That news was definitely worth getting whammied to another country and soaked, Dean thought. Maybe even worth having to try and avoid getting a boner in public from an angel's unintentional lip and tongue porn.
"Whoa, like a Chuck? Cas, that's big."
"I realise that Dean;' Castiel only sounded slightly snarky "this is why we need to move quickly." He was already darting towards the shop door and disappearing inside, leaving Dean on the sidewalk still feeling vaguely shell-shocked. Eventually, the cold droplets of water rolling wet, unpleasant chills down the back of his neck snapped him out of it and he followed Castiel, ducking inside shop.
The place was... A wreck. It was as if a tornado had hit the bookshop and it hadn't started off looking pretty anyway. Dean was automatically on his guard, sliding over quietly to stand next to Cas.
"This a normal scene when prophets wake up?" He quizzed softly and the angel nodded.
"God's sight entering a mortal body can be... Intense." He said and Dean shook his head.
"It's like a freaking bomb went off in here.' He commented as Castiel began to make his way over a fallen bookshelf "Doesn't look like there's anyone around."
"They are here..." Castiel murmured, kneeling to pick his way through a small mountain of dusty old books.
Dean figured he'd better start trying to unearth the poor bastard before they suffocated beneath the collected works of John Somebody and began to dig around the piles. Then somewhere from beneath a large, frayed encyclopaedia came a distant disgruntled moan. Dean began to feel around and eventually his hand closed over a scrawny ankle.
"Cas!"
The angel was on his feet and digging at Dean's side in an instant. Their combined efforts unearthing a short, pale man with ridiculously messy hair and a frown on his unconscious face.
"That... That's our prophet?" the dark-haired individual was pretty underwhelming to look at, but then again Dean didn't know what he was expecting; after all, well, the last prophet he'd met had been Chuck.
"His name is Bernard Black.' Cas said, eyes darting over the man to check him for injuries. Taking another look at his face, Dean wondered how anyone could possibly look so miserable with life without even being awake.
"... Is he ok?"
"Yes Dean, we must take him away from here quickly. His awakening will not have gone unnoticed." Cas replied, turning concerned eyes to the entranceway, as if expecting something to walk through any second.
"Awakening. Yeah, he's freaking comatose, Cas." said Dean, standing up and nudging the man with his bare foot.
"Don't kick the prophet, Dean." Castiel admonished and he had to smile at how solemn and serious the angel could be.
"You're no fun. Should we give him some warning before we, y'know, kidnap him?" Dean suggested and Castiel looked confused.
"We're rescuing him."
"I don't think that's the way he's gonna see it when he wakes up in another country, Cas." Dean explained gently and Castiel took another nervous look at the door before nodding curtly.
"Then hurry. We haven't much time."
Dean bent down, shaking the unconscious man and getting a strong whiff of old wine and cigarettes from his clothes.
He smells like that divorcee from Rhode Island... That was a weird night...
"Hey! Wake up! Mr. Black!" He gave him another not so gentle shake and the man's eyelids flickered open over unfocused pupils.
"Hunnurgh..." He groaned before going limp in Dean's grasp again.
"Hey, hey don't go back to sleep! C'mon, you with us?"
Suddenly, Black's eyes shot open and stared right at Dean before flickering to Cas and back again. Dean could see streaks of red in the whites of his eyes and wondered if it was normal for recently awakened prophets or if the man was just as hungover as he smelt like he was.
"... Who are you?' He croaked, his smoky sleep-roughed voice not matching the lilting tenor of his accent "Have I wandered into a gay club again?" Dean immediately dropped him on the floor in shock.
"Wha- no! What the hell's that supposed to-"
"Bernard Black, I am an angel of the Lord."
Black's eyes regarded Castiel as if he were utterly, truly mental and Dean couldn't actually blame him for it.
"Way to ease him into it, Cas." He snarked at the angel while Black struggled into a sitting position, his wild hair sticking straight up and giving him a bit of a mad-scientist look. Dean reckoned his slightly crazed hazel eyes probably helped. And that's when Black began brandishing a book at them.
"I knew it! I've joined a cult! I don't want anything to do with your naked praying rituals to summon your lizard king!"
Aaand he's a friggin' nutcase thought Dean. Just another freak to add to their already extensive collection of freaks. Castiel didn't seem to notice or didn't seem to care because he swiped the book from Black's hand and pulled him to his feet with very little effort. The man wobbled precariously for a moment, stumbling into a bow-legged stance and just glared at Cas.
"I'm sorry, but you have been chosen as Keeper of the Word. You must come with us, we can keep you safe." Cas said all of it in what he probably thought was a reassuring way but Dean was pretty sure he just made it worse. This was confirmed when Black started yelling for, or rather atsomebody;
"Manny! MANNY! I've got two weirdos in my shop wanting me to be their virgin sacrifice! If this is because you didn't lock the door, I'm going to tweeze out each and every single one of the hairs that make their home upon your wretched chin! Slowly! Individually..."
"God sure knows how to pick 'em, huh Cas?" Dean said wryly and Cas took a step towards Black, fingers in the traditional whammy position.
"I'm sorry, Bernard, but we're out of time."
"And I swear I will put them all into a box and nail it to a wall and set it on fireif you ever forget to lock the door-" and that's when Cas had zapped both him and Dean three thousand miles back into the Winchester's dingy motel room in Portland.
"- again! Oh, this is very not alright..."
Dean could see the panic rising in the unfortunate man; his pupils blown wide in shock and his wild hair which appeared to be puffing out like the fur of an angry cat. Dean knew automatically he'd get about three seconds to try and instil some sense of calm in Black before all hell broke loose.
"It's alright man, just sit down and we'll explain what's going on-"
"Guys, where were you? Who's this?"
And of course that was when a concerned Sam had come back into the room. Black took one look at the younger (though bigger) Winchester and freaked;
"Is that a Sasquatch? Where am I? How do you even fit through doors, beast?" He snatched a heavy glass astray from the side table and leapt up on a chair, as if to put himself several heads above Sam, who clearly had not been expecting that scenario.
"Whoa, Jesus! Put the ashtray down!" The younger Winchester brother had his hands up in a gesture of peace but Black wasn't having it.
"Answer my questions, Bigfoot!" and he hurled the ashtray at Sam only to see Cas appear right the fuck out of nowhere and in a display of what Dean could only call badassness, catch the hurled object and dart forward lightning-quick to pull Black off the chair, fingers brushing his forehead and rendering him unconscious before he could even fall into Castiel's arms.
Dude... I've missed how awesome my angel is Dean thought as he watched him deposit the finally peaceful prophet onto Sam's bed.
"Thanks, Castiel... Man, and you're positive this is the guy?" he said and Cas turned to him, a grim expression on his face.
"Unfortunately."
"Sorry Cas, but sometimes I think that wherever your dad is, he's stoned off his ass.' Dean said, shaking his head "This guy, a prophet? And I thought Chuck was a bad choice."
If Castiel took offense to the comment about his Father, he didn't show it. He just managed to look really tired for somebody who only recently regained their angel juice.
"We've got some time before he regains consciousness.' He said "I suggest we restrain him while we have a chance."
"And gag him." Sam chimed in. Dean turned to see his little bro wearing his classic bitchface; all of its power directed at the unconscious form of one Bernard Black.
"Bit kinky there, Sammy." Dean said, shooting him a grin.
"He called me Bigfoot." Sam snipped and Dean's grin just got wider.
"Well, at least our boy's got some good points; he's observant."
"Jerk."
"Bitch."
And Bernard slept on, currently at peace and blissfully unaware of the world he was about to be dragged into. He dreamt of cigarettes and cheap cornershop Merlot. He dreamt of shaving off Manny's beard and mailing it to China. What he didn't dream of were angels, demons or anything resembling a Leviathan, which was nice. Castiel made sure of this. He made sure Bernard didn't dream of being a prophet of the Lord either.
Castiel knew that Bernard was actually only the third worst prophet to ever exist; trumped only by the third Pythia of Delphi and the second of the Two Witnesses who Castiel had always secretly considered to be bad choices. It didn't give him a great amount of comfort, but it was certainly preferable than dwelling on the creeping suspicion that his Father simply possessed what Dean would call a "dick sense of humour."