Title: CAS
Pairing: Destiel
Summary: Something as simple as a play-on-words can provide the best description.
Rating: T for language
AN: Yes, this is in fact what CAS stands for. I put the two together and realized it was just perfect. Beta'd by the lovely Kiterie. Enjoy!
OOOOOOOO
Surrounded, pinned down, and altogether screwed. What a way to start the day. Sam dove behind the nearest stack of crates and scrambled across the floor to slam up against the wall next to Dean.
"No good?"
Only a couple of minutes ago, they'd clattered down the rickety stairs with the entire seethe breathing down the back of their necks. Sam had made a dash for the door only to scramble backwards at the sight of shadows looming over the walls of the corridor beyond. He shook his head.
"Damn." Dean twisted, looking over at the only other exit. "More vamps over there. This may not have been the best idea."
"You think?"
"Not helping, Sam." Dean checked his clip before ramming it home and yanking the slide back. He looked around once more and swore under his breath.
"What?"
Dean didn't answer. His eyes focused in front of him on a particularly gnarly patch of demolished linoleum.
Oh. Sam recognized that expression – sullen resignation not even coming close to concealing the underlying pleasure brought on by the prospect of seeing his angel.
Not that Sam was stupid enough to say that to Dean's face. He wouldn't be able to take either the epic bought of sulking or the equally epic, and decidedly more likely to permanently scar him, prank war brought on by it.
Sam shoved himself up enough to crane his head over the crate and get a good count of the vampires. "Let's hope he's got his fast wings on today. I don't think they're going to sit around and wait."
True to form, an ear-piercing scream rang out from the upper landing. The unmistakable rallying cry did exactly what it was supposed to do – the rest of the seethe howled back, and a few of the braver ones vaulted the railing, lips pulled back from razor teeth.
Light exploded from the center of the room, displacing the air with a rush that slammed both Dean and Sam to the floor. The three front vampires simply vanished, leaving nothing behind. The others were blown back into the walls, shaken and disoriented not only by the impact but also by the webbing of light charring lines across their skin. They wouldn't last long.
Sam blinked away after images and turned his head to find Castiel. He'd caught sight of the unmistakable trench coated figure suspended in the air above them only moments before the burst of light.
The explosion had thrown Castiel back and literally knocked him out of the air. A graceful twist put him on his feet on the ground, his feet sliding across the torn up floor to counteract his momentum. The motion looked almost completely unbalanced for a human body, but the gathering shadows almost looked like wings thrown wide to stabilize him.
Both Sam and Dean trained their guns on the spots the vampires had been. Even with a side of angelic wrath complimenting the Winchester special, old habits died hard, and Dad had drilled the action into their heads – never assume the enemies are dead.
"So, that was something else." Sam noticed that Castiel was ever so slightly unsteady on his feet. He'd never seen an angelic trick quite like that before, and it must have taken a lot out of him.
"I do not usually use that ability." Castiel stepped over a small avalanche of boxes spilling from the corner of a compromised crate. "It takes a great deal of grace and is a beacon to any supernatural creature for miles that I am here. Are you alright?"
Dean holstered his gun and grinned hugely at Castiel. "Alright? We're fine thanks to your grace cannon. Dude, you're a fucking A-10! We give you a shout, and you…" Dean's eyes lit up, and he grinned broadly. "Cas, you're CAS."
"Yes, Dean." Castiel's eyebrows settled into their standard 'you humans confuse me greatly' configuration. Someone probably should have told him in the past that his face would stick like if he kept that expression up, but it was clearly too late.
"You're an idiot," Sam said right on the heels of Castiel's unambiguous agreement.
"Shut up, it's perfect."
"It's a tautological statement. I don't understand how it couldn't be perfect."
Sam groaned. He was almost certain that Dean used jargon on purpose and then conveniently ignored Castiel's questions – as evidenced by the fact that he was currently finding the charred vampire outlines so fascinating – so that Sam would have to explain. "It's an acronym, stands for 'Close Air Support.' They're the planes the military calls in, you know, to support the troops on the ground."
"And the…A-10?"
"Most badass one of them all." Dean returned, brushing vamp bits off onto the thighs of his jeans. "Glorified gun with wings."
Sam winced, and he even understood that it was supposed to be a compliment. Maybe it was better that Dean left the majority of the explanations up to him, because there was no way was that going to be taken well.
"That's what I am?"
"Yeah, man. Fucking A-10."
Moron. Sam had no sympathy for Dean when Cas slammed him up against the wall, and he certainly wasn't going to put up with any whining later.
"Shit, Cas!"
Castiel had fisted his hands in the front of Dean's shirt, his nose scarce inches from Dean's. "I told you, Dean. I am not a tool, and I am not your servant. I come when you call because I do not want to see either you or Sam perish, but I am not simply a glorified weapon." The leather of Dean's jacket creaked under Castiel's grip for just a moment before Castiel dropped him. His hand rested on Dean's shoulder a second too long, stabilizing Dean's slightly shaky legs.
To his credit, Dean gaped at him stupidly, clearly trying to put back together where this conversation had gone wrong. "That's not…." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Damnit, Cas, that's not what I meant. The CAS people, they swoop in and save the day. Come to the rescue in the eleventh hour when all the chips are down and the only thing left is a desperate Hail Mary. They're the best fucking thing for the good guys to see and the worst thing for the bad guys." Dean shrugged broadly, "They're the big damn heroes."
Sam barely managed to suppress a smile. There was real sentiment buried in the colloquialisms, and he hadn't been sure that Castiel would follow it all until that last line.
"I see." Castiel stepped back, giving Dean enough space to escape. "Close Air Support?" The corner of his mouth tugged into a hesitant, self-satisfied smile.
"Close Air Support." Dean clapped Castiel on the shoulder, stepped around him, and headed for the stairs. "I'm starving. Breakfast?"
Trust Dean to deflect with his stomach, but Sam had to concede the point. It was way past time for breakfast.
"Come on, Cas. Victory breakfasts include everyone, angelic lack-of-ingestion or not." Dean leapt up the stairs and headed for the front door. "Oh, and shut up, Sammy," He called over his shoulder.
Maybe he hadn't been so successful at hiding his smile.
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
AN, part 2: Word association is a beautiful thing (or not if you didn't like it). I was listening to book that was talking about CAS (This particular acronym is said not spelled, by the way - CAS not C.A.S.) and snickering about it every time, until I realized that Cas actually is close air support.
Second or third time writing Supernatural, and first that I've finished to the point where I felt okay submitting it, so serious apologizes for crappy/awkward characterizations.
Also, massive apologies for this not being one of the things that I'm supposed to be working on (*cough* LM2 *cough*). I'm trying to finish my WinterRound fic, but I have maybe an hour or two of free time each week thanks to real life, so it's damn slow going. I needed to take the hour to get this down and out of my head so I could focus on that. So, bottom line, sorry for this. I'm going to finish LM2 after winter round; it's on my list, I promise!
Thanks to Kiterie for beta-ing!