Lord of the Things
"Galadriel? Really? You don't look like an elf. You look..."
Dean paused, and looked questioning at Sam.
"Like an accountant?" suggested Sam.
"Yeah, I guess. I was gonna say boring, but yours is better."
"As it so happens," the small man in front of them said, rocking angrily back and forth on his toes, "My vessel is indeed an accountant, but by no means does this make him boring. He is devout, the cashier of the interstate model train association and also happens to be a very able bowler." He cleared his throat, eyes not looking at the Winchesters, "And quite the ladies' man."
"However," he continued and pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, "I am not an elf. As I said when I appeared, I am Galathriel, an angel of the Lord, and I am, humph, an executive agent, working with the public relationsof the Winchester brothers, ensuring that their name is not brought into disrepute."
He stared pointedly at them with his beady eyes, wagging a finger threateningly up at them, "And I have to say, this is not an easy job, gentlemen!"
They both took a cautious step backwards.
"Whoa, watch where you're pointing that thing!" Dean said, and raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "And I haven't noticed Heaven caring about that before. Using us as meat suits for their turf wars, sure, reorganizing our lives and deaths whenever they goddamn felt like it. But our reputations? What, we don't have enough street cred for you guys anymore? We're not shining quite as bright? Because I kinda like the sound of that. Maybe you could stay off our backs then, and let us do our goddamn jobs."
Galathriel closed his eyes in a suffering sigh, waving his hand towards the sky, "Do you see? This is what I have to work with! Why, why I ask you!"
He bowed his head and clasped his small, pudgy hands imploringly in front of him as if in prayer.
"Gentlemen," he began, sounding as if he tried very hard to stay calm, "You have been working with this establishment since before your very births, in one capacity or another. Do you not think that this fact is known throughout the land, throughout the multiverse? And do you not think, that the reputation of Our associates reflects on Us to a certain degree? Do the dirty tools not reflect badly on the craftsman?"
"We're no-one's tools." said Sam flatly, "Just no. Not ever." He had straightened from his usual slouch, and was suddenly looming over the angel like a threatening tower of barely kept aggression.
"Yes, yes, of course you're not, my big fellow," Galathriel hurriedly said, and backed up a couple of steps. "You are a son of Adam, he of the Free Will and all that. Ahaha." He smiled sickly, "And you have chosen countless times, of your very own free will, to work on the side of Heaven. Even if at times, it may have looked slightly different in the eyes of humanity."
"You mean, when we fought directly against you?" asked Dean sarcastically.
Galathriel waved dismissingly at him. "All is a matter of perspective. Only from the point of Eternity can one see the true pattern..."
Dean stopped him with a warning hand. "I don't care about whatever it is you tell yourself to be able to sleep, but I'm fed up with fucking angels, so say what you want to say and then get lost. Sorry Cas." he added under his breath.
"As I was saying," the angel continued offended, once again pompously acting like a badly tethered balloon, "We are having quite a situation, with the way you two are behaving. It is not exactly in tune with the Heavenly Spheres, so to speak, and it must stop. So. We are ordering you to change your conduct immediately." He gave them an imperious look.
"Or else?" asked Sam sharply.
The angel looked gravely wounded. "Or else nothing! It is for the good of your eternal souls! Besides," he added as an afterthought, "We have found that you do not respond well to the stick and have decided on a slightly different approach: The carrot."
"I'll tell you were you can stick your carrot." growled Dean.
"Dean, hold it a minute," Sam said, "Let's hear him out. I'm not crazy about these guys either, but we might as well find out what they want. Otherwise it'll just come back and bite us in the ass." Dean grumbled but shut up, still maintaining an aura of hostile disbelief.
Galathriel clapped his hands together, looking like he was standing in front of an enraptured audience and not two angry hunters. "Yes, gentlemen, I have been given the power to grant you your every earthly desire, be it fortune, power or pleasure! Basically, as long as you behave yourself, we will make sure your life on this earth will be as easy and smooth as is humanly possible." He looked first Dean and then Sam seriously into their eyes. "Let me paint you a picture. Imagine… never having to stack up on food or weapons ever again! Whatever you desire will be directly available to you - as fast as thought! No more close calls because you ran out of, I-don't-know, currency or canons or holy water. No more dangerous raids for ingredients, be it demon's tears or werewolf femurs. You wish for it, it is yours. We will naturally put a restriction on anything that might harm Us, but everything else in this wide, wide world is at your command."
"Not any canons, they just never get it right," Sam murmured to himself, while considering the offer, "The balls never end up where they're supposed to." Dean had meanwhile done a complete 180 on the whole deal, and his eyes had now taken on a dreamy expression, like being promised free pie (which he was). "Sammy," he said with reverence in his voice, "Free guns! Forever! …Forever?" he asked the angel.
"Certainly, for as long as you wish."
"But what's the catch?" Sam asked suspiciously. "What exactly do we have to do in return? And what will stop you from just terminating the deal, when it is no longer convenient for you? I mean, you haven't exactly earned our trust. Why should we believe anything you say?"
"Regarding that," The small angel reached into his jacket, and produced what looked like a stone tablet. He held it out to the brothers, as if an auctioneer showing an expensive painting. "This is The Last Tablet, created alongside the famous tablets containing the Word of God." He lowered the tablet to look them in the eyes. "Why Our Father made this, We have never been able to completely ascertain. We do know its power: The contract written here can never be broken. As its use is finite, tablet space not being infinite, We have only used it in the most important of circumstances. When the angel promised the Holy Mother a child, it was written here. When Moses was promised the power to save his people, it was written here. The Maid of Orléans and her wish to fight for Our Lord is that line right there." He pointed dramatically.
"So, your greatest hits." supplied Dean, when it became apparent that Galathriel had finished his spiel.
"The price." Sam said impatiently.
"The price, ye-es," the angel said, "The price is simply to change a few habits. Nothing life threatening or otherwise dangerous, for you or for others. Nothing that in any way will impair you from doing your job. Do you perhaps have an inkling of what I'm referring to?" he said, looking hopeful.
There was a silent pause.
"…Yeah." Dean said heavily, surprising Sam. Dean's green eyes were fixed to the ground, his hands fist at his sides. "Sammy," he said, clearly controlling his voice to keep it from trembling. "I – I haven't exactly been the best brother lately; I know I have been a bit heavy on the booze, and I know you hate that. It's just. Things haven't exactly been easy, you know? And sometimes, I really just want to forget it all, just for a while" He swallowed a lump in his throat. "But, if I can make you safer by quitting, then I'll quit. You know I will. And this deal, these weapons and money? It would make you safer, you know it would. And on top of that, I wouldn't have to make you sleep in those shitty motels all the time; you could sleep in nice places, with nice things. Heck, maybe we could even buy one of those mobile homes… No. Fuck no." He shook his head to clear it. "But whatever, I'm… What I'm saying is, that if this is what it takes, if this'll do it, then I'll quit the booze. For this. For you."
"But Dean," Sam said incredulously, "You don't really trust these assholes, do you?"
"Hah, no way dude," Dean said and gave him a rueful smile, "But if we can get them to play Santa for a while, we might as well use it. Until we find out what the real catch is."
"There is no ulterior motive!" the angel said, exasperated. "I promise! We just really want you to change your behavior! But sadly, abstaining from alcohol is not the answer. We do understand that you need to relax from time to time, and a man such as you, Dean Winchester, apparently needs to be under the influence regularly to protect your fragile heart."
"My what now?" said Dean, but Sam put a halting hand on his shoulder.
"I appreciate the sentiment, Dean, I really do, but I'm guessing it isn't AA membership cards he wants." He gave Dean's shoulder a squeeze, and smiled sadly at him. "I'm thinking this is about me, don't you think? We both know I'm… tainted. I'm not exactly winning brother of the year either. I might have some trust and anger issues I could work on, and… other issues. I don't know if I can do it, I won't promise anything, but I could try, like, some anger management therapy, I guess. Cleansing rituals. Stuff like that. If this really is what you want, if this deal would make you happier?" He turned his head away, shaggy hair hiding his face, "I - I just want you to be happy, you know?"
Dean looked at him with shiny eyes. "Sammy…" he said huskily. He moved as if wanting to hug him, but stopped himself and instead looked questioning at the angel, who was flinching oddly for some reason. "But violence and evil taints," he said, "I'm certainly no Snow White either. Hunting's a dirty job, but it's what we do, hell, it's all we do. If we go changing that, we wouldn't really be us anymore, would we?"
"You are correct," the angel said, sounding strained. "It is regrettable that such measures are necessary, but it's is unfortunately something one cannot fight Hell without, and somebody has to do it. It would be a tragedy if you became more peaceful; it's distasteful work, and you two do it so well. So no, of course it's not that!" he added impatiently.
"Then I don't get it." Dean said with a scowl, "What is it? The swearing? Or, oh, you mean the women? 'Cause that's not an option. I got needs." He musingly pursed his lips, and then looked hesitantly at Sam, "Although. It's not like either of us is gettin' any these days. It's just been so busy, and… So I guess what I'm saying is, it wouldn't really matter that much." He sighed. "If I have to be completely honest, I don't really feel that needy, you know?"
"Me neither," said Sam. "If that's what it takes, well fine. Besides, I really don't feel like meeting some girl and starting all over again. Too much baggage, I guess. I don't know, I just… I actually feel pretty good most of the time. Satisfied. Maybe it's age." They looked at each other a bit uncertainly and shrugged.
"Procreation is favored upon in Heaven!" the angel barked exasperated. "We have no interest in how or who. In fact, please do fornicate with loose women!"
"You are not really making any sense, dude, I can't see what I'm supposed tonot do," Dean growled, "And I'm kinda getting tired of your attitude. We're leaving, Sammy." He grabbed Sam and started walking away, and Galathriel visibly snapped.
"It's that! That right there!" he roared and pointed at them enraged.
"What?" Dean looked back and then at Sam, who looked just as confused.
"That!" shrieked the angel wild-eyed, "That – the – the… He fought for breath and then screamed: "THE GODDAMN INCEST!"
Both of the brothers visibly jumped and turned around.
"What? But I haven't, we haven't…" Sam said guiltily. A white-faced Dean said menacing: "You watch your fucking mouth, angel!"
"But just look at you, you crossbred bastards!" wailed the angel, "Look at what you are doing!"
"Were just standing here, you little asswipe! Cate Blanchett wannabe." Dean said angrily. "Hands in pockets even."
"In EACH OTHER'S pockets, you imbeciles!" The angel was getting purple in the face and looked ten seconds away from a heart attack. "And before that you were standing together like, like, like... WRONG!"
They looked guardedly at each other, slowly removing their hands from each other's back pockets and moving apart.
"That's none of your business," said Sam haughtily, with burning cheeks, "and besides, it's not true, nothing… Nothing like that has ever happened between us, so I don't see why Heaven is so concerned with us being close." He pulled Dean near again demonstratively and put an arm over his brother's shoulder. "Dean is my brother and I love him. That is all that matters."
"I love you too, Sammy." Dean said with moist eyes.
"Nothing? NOTHING?!" The angel was now so angry he was spitting and looked like a kettle ready to explode. "You call that nothing? Every night you end up in bed together and every night I have to personally mind wipe you, to do at least some damage control. Every night! Even when you're wounded! You are animals, rutting animals! It's despicable!"
Sam and Dean seemed frozen to the spot.
"And the declarations!" raged the angel, clawing at his hair, "Oh Lord, don't get me started! It's almost worse! All that hellish babble of "I wanted this for so long" and "I love you so much, Sammy-boy"! Nauseating! Vomit-inducing! Night after night! You're disgusting! Completely and utterly disgusting!" He sank down to his knees like a suddenly deflated balloon and whimpered desperately: "I won't do it anymore, I won't! I'd rather lose my wings!" He started keening weakly like a dying animal.
The brothers were speechless for a while, looking at the trembling angel on the ground, now apparently lost to the world around him.
"So…" said Sam.
"Yeah…" said Dean. "That's… just weird. Let's get out of here." They started walking very quickly towards the Impala.
"Yeah," Sam continued with contrived lightness, "Really weird! Because. We wouldn't do that. Nu-uh." Neither brother looked at the other.
"That's right!" said Dean heartily. "'Cause. 'Cause that's just wrong. And besides, I don't, we don't…" He faltered off and slowly stopped walking.
Sam turned hesitantly around, and looked at him questioningly, with the look of impossible hope blossoming on his face. Dean turned his head away and refused to look at him, but Sam raised a slightly trembling hand to Dean's cheek and gently persuaded his brother to look at him. He put his hands on Dean's shoulders and lowered his head so he could look directly into Dean's eyes.
"Do we?" he asked nervously. Dean looked down and blushed. Behind them the angel began sobbing uncontrollable.