Who Is Like Dean
Dean Winchester. Hunter, pie aficionado, true vessel to Michael (not that he was too keen about it) and now apparently wrangler of holy weaponry. Cas so owed him for this.
To be absolutely honest, this story has been in the making for about two years. I really never planned for a sequel (of sorts) to 'The Voice of Shawn', but when an idea nags at you for that length of time it's almost compulsory to see it through. I've had the entire thing mapped out, it's just been an issue of typing it all down, but I'm determined to do it. I hope to have a chapter up per week in the very least.
This time the story is completely Dean-centric and set between Supernatural Ep06.09 'Clap Your Hands if You Believe' and Ep06.10 'Caged Heat', mostly because Soulless!Sam can be a scream to write, and in the Psych-verse a little after Ep06.01 'Shawn Rescues Darth Vader'. I'm throwing in two more shows in this crossover this time, which I'll reveal as the story goes along. While in TVoS I used both actual and Supernatural lore, I found that for the subject matter of this story I needed to make up a lot of my own, especially concerning the holy weapons. If I mention anything that contradicts Supernatural lore, please let me know and I'll fix it up as best as I can.
Uh, well, except for one thing – as this continues from TVoS my Metatron is different. A lot different. I will reference the prequel a quite a lot so it would help to have read it before this. Story is rated T for the Winchesters' potty mouths. I own nothing recognizable. And with all that out of the way, I give you Who Is Like Dean.
Chapter 01
In which our hero wants to kick his holy Cas where the sun don't shine
Dean Winchester had problems. This in itself wasn't new – Dean had been having very unusual, specifically supernatural problems since he was four years old. As of the moment, however, he felt like those problems had manifested into figurative shit that was raining down at him from all angles.
Opposite from him Sam gave him a blank stare. "Why do I have to care about upsetting that old bat? She should be thankful instead of angry – I purged her house of that stupid poltergeist."
"Yeah, by setting fire to her prize-winning garden. And then salting the earth so that nothing would ever grow again."
"It was her goddamn fault for fertilizing the soil with her cremated husband's fucking ash."
Dean sighed. Soulless!Sam was his primary problem. While his brother's normal, empathetic self had sometimes gotten on Dean's nerves, he found that this Sam, minus the warm and fluffy, was even more annoying. He was almost starting to miss the puppy dog eyes. Sam still did the bitch-face (which Dean didn't miss so much) pretty well though, soul or no soul.
Problem two was Crowley. The thought that he and Sam had to work for that demonic scumbag under a technicality made Dean feel unbelievably dirty. And not the good dirty. It was the disgusting, mind rapey dirty that extended to feeling actually physically violated. Every time Dean thought about it too hard he had to resist the urge to throw up in his mouth a little. They needed to find a way out of Crowley's well-manicured thumb and soon.
And problem number three concerned an angel. 'Your angel', as the all new douchebag Sam liked to say. Castiel was in the process of fighting a civil war in Heaven, as he liked to constantly remind the brothers every time they called on him for help. Although Dean didn't have the foggiest idea what that entailed (although the literal image of 'feathers will fly' did come to mind), he at least acknowledged that it was a big deal. Still he usually acted nonplussed about it, but in reality he was concerned, mostly about Cas, not that he would ever say it out loud. Especially with douchebag Sam around.
Dean figured he should tackle one problem at a time, and since a heavenly bust up wasn't something he had a whole lot of control over, he would start with the problem he could face. Or, rather, the problem that was facing him right now, complete with big, petulant bitch-face.
"Sam, I thought we agreed on this? From now on you follow my lead. And, for further reference, if you're unsure what that lead is, particularly when dealing with civilians, think of the least asshole-ish thing you can think of and act on that. Got it?"
"You make a lousy conscience, you know that?"
"Considering I never had to be one before, I'd say I'm doing an okay job!" Dean countered.
Sam rolled his eyes and looked like he was going to say something (which was probably some remark about Dean being a wussy), when he looked up and instead informed, "Oh look, your angel is here."
Surprised, Dean turned around. True enough Castiel stood in the middle of their motel room, trench coat, somber look and all. "Hello number three," Dean murmured absently.
Castiel gave him a confused look. "Number three?"
"It's nothing," Dean said, shaking his head. "What's up, Cas? If this is about another missing weapon it'll kind of have to go on the back burner. Me and Ragdoll(i) here are trying to hash something out."
"This cannot wait," Castiel said, looking almost uncharacteristically skittish. "I need to ask you for a favor."
Dean sighed. After having to put up with Sam and other people's understandably belligerent reactions to him, all he wanted was to drill a few things into his brother's thick skull and then drop into bed for some sleep. Still, this was Cas – he could at least hear the guy out. "All right, what is it?"
"I need you to retrieve all the weapons that Balthazar has moved," Castiel said.
Both Dean and Sam blinked quizzically at him. "Uh, aren't we already doing that?" Sam wondered.
"To a point – you stumble upon something that could be a relic and then investigate it," Castiel said. "Now I need you to switch tactics and actively pursue these weapons."
"Any reason for the switch from 'at your pace' to freakin' 'URGENT'?" Dean asked.
Castiel paced – he actually PACED. Dean noted that even Sam looked vaguely perturbed at that. "It's come to our attention that Raphael and his followers have put the recovery of the holy weapons as their primary focus. If Raphael comes into possession of them there is no question about who will win this war. I cannot let that happen, Dean."
"Wait a minute, I thought you had someone tracking down Balthazar?"
"Unfortunately cornering him has proven to be… tricky."
Sam frowned. "Well if you hadn't insisted on letting Liberace go in the first place…"
"He is a brother to whom I owe my life to – I was honor-bound," Castiel defended.
"You know, it's that exact sentimentality that's going to get your feathers plucked in this war," Sam said to him.
Dean saw Castiel bristle the slightest bit, and so he stepped in between the two of them. "Sam, what did I say about being an asshole?"
"That it's normally your job?"
"Damn straight," Dean said. He liked being peacemaker about as much as he liked being a conscience. "But not that one, the other thing."
"That I should, at all times, refrain from being one," Sam parroted with a sigh.
Dean nodded wearily, but also mumbled something about talking to a rock-filled sack that made Sam glare at him. He turned to Castiel now and said, "Do you even know how many of these weapons Balthazar has sold off to unsuspecting people?"
Castiel looked mournful.
"An approximate number? No?"
Castiel shook his head.
"Well can you at least point us to a possible location? Any place on the map that we can drive to that has even the slightest bit of indication that something not normal is going down?"
"Not at the moment, no."
Dean gave a frustrated groan. "You've got to give us something to go on, Cas!"
"I'm sorry I cannot impart more information."
"Any information, more like," Sam muttered.
Castiel looked like he chose to ignore that. "But Dean, please, I am asking for your help."
Dean sighed. Between Crowley demanding their assistance and Castiel asking for it, he was starting to feel less like a hunter and more like an errand boy. Of course it was obvious what the (much) lesser of the two evils was, and so he nodded. "All right, Cas, we'll help." He held up a hand before Sam could say anything. "We'll help."
"Thank you," Castiel said, looking relieved. "I'll be in touch." And with a rustle of feathers he was gone.
Sam lifted a hand to where Castiel had stood and gave Dean an incredulous look.
"Don't give me that look, Sam," Dean said, waving his hand. "Cas has always been there for us – it's only fair we return the favor."
"Actually Cas has always been there for YOU."
"And by extension, you," Dean countered. He rubbed his hands. "So, time to get tracking. Delegation – you start researching on any and all disturbances within the tri-state area… and possibly way beyond. Electrical storms, pillars of salt, decapitations, reanimated zombified remains, random smitings, anything even remotely suspicious."
"Right, and what are you going to do?"
Dean responded by dropping into his bed, stretching out into a more comfortable position and closing his eyes.
"Really, Dean? You're just going to go to sleep on me? Dude, we just fire-bombed a vegetable garden – aren't you going to even take a shower or something?"
Dean responded to that by flashing him the finger.
Sam narrowed his eyes but went to go set up his laptop. Sometimes Dean liked to use that whole not sleeping thing of Sam's way too much to his advantage.
Continued
i Secret Six comic book character with no soul.
