A bit of crack from a comment fic meme on spngenlove over on LJ awhile back.
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It was true: The universe was actually out to get them.
Hick county sheriffs were the very last thing on his list of concerns. Who'd ever heard of a competent one? It's not like Sam didn't know the powers that be owed him no favors, but damn. Taken down by some good ol' boy in the back of beyond was just adding insult to injury at this point. He rattled his chains with some irritation, pulling against them in the vain hope of stretching his increasingly cramped muscles, but he was brought up short by his brother, who'd been doing the same thing.
"Dude, stop pulling," Sam said, making a face and yanking back on the heavy iron chains. Dean gave him a dirty look at continued to pick at their restraints, muttering unkind words about the sheriff's family tree. "Why does this shit always happen to us? There's no justice in the world."
"If there were any justice in the world, we probably already be on death row."
"Who are you, Clarence Darrow? What about the Nobel Peace Prize?"
"You think we deserve the Nobel Peace Prize?"
"Sure, why not?"
"I don't know….maybe all the killing?"
" They gave it to Kissinger."
"The apocalypse ringing any bells? And when were you reading up on the Nobel Peace Prize?"
Dean shrugged. "They could give it to us as an incentive."
"That's not how it works, Dean."
"Tell that to the-"
The sheriff interrupted. "We figured out a way to give you boys your phone call."
The man stood a fair distance from the bars of their cell, and looked at them with equanimity.
Dean stood up, or tried to. It took a few attempts and a lot of cursing before he and Sam managed to get untangled and upright.
"Great. Lead the way, Big Ed."
"Well, hold on there. I figure, with you two being dangerous fugitives 'n all, letting you out would be a little stupid on my part. So my deputy here-" he jerked a thumb at the nervous, pimply-faced, and armed young man behind him- "well, he's got some new fangled phone with some sort of nonsense. We're gonna dial for you, we'll give you the ear whatchit, and then we're going to stand here until you're done, though I promise we'll try not to listen too much."
Sam began to sympathize with his brother's feelings on the matter a lot more. There was something wrong with the world when the first cop to really catch them on their usual bullshitting wasn't the FBI or some big city PD, but some random - elected, even- sheriff in a county that probably had less than five thousand people living in it. Sam found himself wishing the man were possessed or something, because that he knew how to deal with. This? Not so much. They were practically hog tied in a small little jail cell, which was for all intents and purposes a freaking museum exhibit, with nothing even approaching a lock-pick in sight. The sheriff watched their every move from a safe distance away and with the deputy training a shotgun on them. There was only one way to put it: They were screwed. No way around it. He'd gotten used to that. But of all the ways he ever imagined their downfall…well, the sheriff of Storey county hadn't figured into a single one of them.
"Uh, Sam?" Dean said, interrupting his mental brooding, "Do you happen to know Cas' number off the top of your head?"
Sam blinked for a moment. "You don't know it?"
"What, you think I'm asking for shits and giggles?"
"It's in my phone," Sam said, not sure if he were apologizing or try to justify it.
The sheriff watched the exchange with interest.
"Problem, boys?"
Eventually, after some fast talking on Sam's part, they did manage to convince the sheriff to send the deputy to get the number for them. He seemed to find it funny. At the expressions on their faces, he softened a bit.
"Don't feel too bad about it, boys. We've had the best of the best in this here jail cell. You never had a chance." He regaled them with stories of Virginia City's wild past and the building's history. It was obviously a speech he'd given a thousand times to the tourists, and apparently it was his default setting. He was just getting up a head of steam describing some of the bloody murders perpetuated by previous occupants when the deputy came back. It took a few minutes for the Sheriff to get a hang of the Bluetooth earpiece, even with the deputy giving instructions. The barrel of the shotgun dipped and wavered as he did, punctuating his advice and substituting as a pointing device.
Finally, feeling more ridiculous than anything else, Sam and Dean were allowed to shuffle forward close enough to the cell bars to allow the sheriff to hang it on Dean's ear. The sheriff immediately backed up and retrieved the shotgun from the deputy, who then worked the cellphone.
Castiel answered immediately. "Dean."
"Oh, thank christ. How did- never mind. We need some help, can you get over here like yesterday already?"
"Where are you?"
"The old sheriff's office in Virginia City, Nevada."
Castiel seemed to hesistate. "There is a problem."
"Can you get here or not?"
"Yes."
And just like that, the connection was dropped.
"Damn it! He hung up on me."
"Is he coming?" Sam asked
"I think-"
"Your lawyer?" the Sheriff asked.
"Guardian angel," Sam muttered.
"I thought you weren't going to listen," Dean said sarcastically.
"Just want to know when he's going to get here so we can have all the paperwork ready."
"Listen, chuckles-"
" I sure hope you weren't calling for bail, boys. You're not leaving my sight until you're out of my jurisdiction," the sheriff continued, "I may not be a federal marshal anymore, but I'm as sharp as I was back in the old days and let me tell you-"
A breeze swept through the room, accompanied by a noise not unlike a flock of pigeons…in Piazza San Marco.
The sheriff and his deputy both whirled around, only to be struck dumb at the sight of Castiel standing behind them, looking around intently. The sheriff tightened his hold on the gun until his knuckles stood out in white relief.
Sam and Dean both sagged in relief, and then had to shuffle quickly to regain their balance.
The sheriff looked badly shaken at being caught unawares. He swore, lowered his gun and barked out, "Who the hell are you?"
"I'm not from Hell," Castiel remarked evenly. He stretched an arm forward in one smooth movement, and the sheriff watched him, mesmerized. At the last second, he panicked and and fumbled at his gun, but it was too late. Castiel tapped the sheriff on the forehead before the man could even begin to raise his weapon. The sheriff sank to the floor. A snore floated up. The deputy backed up into the wall until it looked like he was trying to push his way through it. Castiel reached a hand over and sent the deputy after his boss into the land of nod.
"Great timing, Cas. Now bust us out of here." Dean rattled his chains for emphasis.
"There is a...difficulty."
As a rule, Castiel's standard expression was one of stoicism. Now, if anything it was more….stoically embarrassed. It was kind of unsettling. Dean was getting some uncomfortable déjà vu.
"What problem?" Sam interjected.
"I believe Zachariah has…attempted something blasphemous in an effort to locate us."
"And?" Dean asked.
"I believe it failed, but it has had an effect. It has further limited my abilities."
"Can't you at least zap us out of here?'
"No," he said regretfully.
"Or just at least get us out of these chains?" Sam added
Castiel glanced over at him. "Yes." He walked forward, one moment outside the cell, and the next inside it. He grasped the chains tightly in one hand, and their weight suddenly vanished, sending the brothers reeling.
Sam was too ecstatic at being able to stretch out finally that he didn't notice anything weird until his brother started swearing. He looked down, seeing no manacles but instead a huge pile of…turnips.
"He cursed you?"
"I believe so."
"Crap," said Dean. "Sam, do we have the supplies for that cleansing ritual in the car still?"
"It won't be necessary. It is against the natural order and will pass."
"We still need to get out of here before anyone notices anything," Sam pointed out, "Cas, can you get the keys?"
Before he could finish, the angel had disappeared. Half a heartbeat later, he reappeared and unlocked the door.
"Man, if we had to get stuck in a cell, why couldn't it be pie? Who wants to eat turnips?" Dean said plaintively, stepping out of the cell and over the prone body of the sheriff.
"We don't have to eat the turnips, Dean. We're leaving, anyway," Sam argued.
They sauntered out of the jail, Castiel trailing behind them and then disappearing again. Instant teleportation meant never having to say goodbye, Sam thought. He wondered if Dean had gotten used to it.
"It's the principle of the thing," Dean said after a second.
"Do you have to complain about everything?" Sam said.
"I'm just saying, for all the ways for the curse to backfire, why not pie? I think the universe owes us some good luck."
"Or it could have been nuclear waste. Turnips are not that bad."
"Says you. I'm not so sure I wouldn't rather have the nuclear waste."
"Whatever. Though you have to admit- good luck, bad luck- what we have is weird luck."
"Yeah." Dean paused. "I'd love to see the Sheriff's face when he wakes up."
"I'll put in call to the local newspaper," Sam suggested evilly.
"I knew you were good for something," Dean said, grinning, "Remind them to send a photographer."
A/N: Prompt was: "Castiel's powers go wonky, what with everything, and suddenly he can make turnips magically appear. Dean wishes it had been pie, instead."