RATING: R gen, pre-slash Dean/Castiel
SPOILERS: For the Season 4 finale, and not beyond
CHARACTERS: Sam, Dean, Bobby, Castiel, Zacharia
SUMMARY: Post 4.22. What might have happened after the "to be continued" whiteout. With extra helpings of h/c.
Disclaimer: Supernatural is owned by it's creator Kripke and the CW network, and I am in no way affiliated with them.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic is complete, and will be posted one chapter a day. Muchas gracias to Starrylizard for betaing the whole thing!
"I'm dreaming, aren't I?"
A rhetorical question, if ever there was one. He knows he's dreaming. He almost woke up a little before, felt the reassuring rumble of the Impala surrounding him, snuggled a little further in his jacket and came right back to the smoky room with the pristine pool table, and the person leaning in front of it.
His father smirked, knowing he didn't have to answer, and kept looking at him. John Winchester looked good- healthy and as happy and relaxed as he ever got after a successful hunt- but didn't speak. Dean was acutely aware that this wasn't his father, not really, just a figment of his imagination, and felt the loss with renewed acuity.
"You're not really here," he said out loud, because apparently this dream consisted entirely of obviousness. Not-really-dad shook his head, still grinning, this time a little wistfully.
"I miss you," he continued, since this was a dream and there'd be no consequences to being a little sappy. Not-really-dad nodded to indicate that yes, he understood perfectly. Dean kinda wanted to go up and give him a hug, but somehow he couldn't.
This dream needs to move along, he thought, and two women stepped out of the shadows and went to twine their arms with not-dad. He smiled wolfishly, tightening his hold on them with clear satisfaction, and they smiled back. The women (one a brunette and the other a red-head) were decked out in pseudo-karate mini outfits, sleeveless and pant-less, but with two authentic and embroidered black belts.
Dean knew, because it was his dream, that they were legit. They could kick his and his not-dad's ass with one hand behind their backs. But he didn't really feel like letting the dream take that road, so he said "You go on without me, I'll hustle up some money," and the three of them melted back into the shadows.
"So, are we going to play or what?" His mark appeared at the other end of the table, already flustered and clumsily chalking his cue. He was chewing on a bent, unlit cigarette. It was Castiel.
"You're not really him," Dean felt the need to clarify, and not-Castiel rolled his eyes and huffed.
"Of course I'm not. You're the one making all this up. Like Castiel would ever play pool," he drawled, grinning at Dean.
"Cas wouldn't smoke," Dean countered, a little annoyed.
"Lungs are overrated anyway." Not-Castiel shrugged, but took the cigarette and tucked it in one of the pockets of his coat.
Dean looked down at the table, where the balls were waiting, spread out everywhere. Not-Castiel didn't know how to play, he realized suddenly, grabbing the triangle and racking them up under the nakedly curious stare of the other. "He might," Dean said, meaning the game, because really, why not?
"Yeah, in your dreams," not-Castiel dead-panned, blank-faced as his real counterpart. He held the cue up with both hands, like he was presenting a sword, and looked at the balls. They broke without a touch, and the black one started to hit the others, nudging them without fail to the holes. The table cleared quickly without either of them touching cue to ball. Not-Castiel looked up at Dean, proud as a little kid waiting for a gold star for his perfect spelling bee.
"That's cheating," Dean said gently, feeling like a heel but getting annoyed. How else was he gonna hustle the money he'd promised his dad if they couldn't play? Not-Castiel's face fell, and he dropped his cue on the table. I don't like this dream either, Dean thought.
"What else would you have me do?" Not-Castiel whispered, looking sad and confused.
Dean marched right up to him, spun him around and pinned him to the pool table with his body, standing chest-to-chest.
"No consequences," Dean reminded both of them. Not-Castiel grinned with delight, scrunching his nose in a way that Dean had never seen either him or Jimmy Novak do, and leant forward for a kiss.
The dream did a sort of fade-to-black, let's-pan-to-the-window-with-the-tweety-birds on him then, but he was aware that, however abstract his mind had decided to make it, he was still getting some action.
That is, until a harsh whisper interrupted them, calling "Dean!".
Dean stepped back from not-Castiel, who was looking at him like they'd just shared a really funny private joke, and turned around to face Castiel, the real, bone-fide angel in the dream-flesh.
"This- this isn't what it looks like," Dean stammered, feeling exactly as if he'd been caught by a jealous boyfriend frisking up his woman.
But Castiel didn't look at him, and didn't even change expression. He was staring ahead blankly, head slightly cocked, looking his usual unperturbed self.
"You needn't worry, Dean. I know the human subconscious communicates in a symbolic manner, and anyway it's your dream, not one I've created. I'm not really here."
Dean stepped up to this new Castiel, and passed a hand in front of unblinking, unseeing eyes. "But you are Cas... the real one."
"Yes."
"Where are you, man? We've been looking for you! Sam needs help, and that dick Zachariah said-"
"I'm trapped," Castiel hissed, voice rough but tone calm and self-assured, "I've been trying to reach you to give you a message, but it's difficult. I'm under constant surveillance. And I can't stay long."
Dean looked at him for a moment, then turned slightly and looked at the other Castiel, who was busying himself with racking the balls again. "I have a feeling this isn't the first time you've done this."
"No. It's frustrating, you seem to keep forgetting once you wake up, but there's no other way to go undetected. Please, Dean, try and remember this time: don't come for me. It's a trap. The moment you free me they'll catch us."
"Who? What-? We can't just leave you wherever it is you are! We need you, we need your help!"
"I know. I'm working on freeing myself, but it's going to take time. Please cease this search of yours. I do not need rescuing and it is dangerous to both you and your brother."
Dean wanted to protest, but the sudden sight of blood gushing through Castiel's white shirt made him take a step back in alarm. His first instinct was to try and staunch the flow, but something was keeping him from touching the real Castiel.
"I'm still bound," Castiel said cryptically, showing no reaction to the blood, which started to pool at his feet, alarmingly thick.
And then Dean was hurtling forward and smashing his face on the dashboard.
"Dean! Shit, I'm sorry, that stupid cat just ran out in front of me..." Sam grabbed him by the shoulder and tugged him back in the seat. They were in the Impala. Dean had been dozing, Sam driving. Outside, sitting on the tarmac like it didn't have a care in the world, a black cat was busy cleaning its paws.
"You ok, man? Hey..." Sam jostled him, and Dean slapped his hand back before he could start poking at his face. "'M fine," he mumbled, rubbing his forehead. He'd been lucky enough to execute a proper headbutt on the dashboard rather than hitting nose-first. Sore? Bruised? Yeah. Broken? Nothing.
"Sorry for interrupting... sounded a like a good dream," Sam said mock-serious, starting the car again. Dean blinked muzzily at him, ready to bitch something right back, but the sight of the slight tremor in Sam's hand sobered him. It was barely there, and it stopped as soon as Sam clenched his fingers on the steering wheel, but if he was already getting these kinds of symptoms who knew how much time they had? They really needed to step up their game and find-
"Sonofabitch!" Dean yelled, making Sam swerve and yell back "What??"
"Cas... I saw Cas. I was dreaming and he came." The unintentional double entendre made him realize suddenly exactly what Castiel had interrupted with his warning. Dean shuddered so hard his teeth rattled. It was bad enough that he was having weird homoerotic dreams with pieces of his imagination shaped liked Castiel –shaped like Jimmy Novak, ferchristssake! And not even having good sex, just that confusing, insert-happy-fun-times-here bit that possibly involved plenty of groping and rutting, but no other dick besides his own, which... he didn't know whether he should find that reassuring or be even more weirded out. Apparently his subconscious was just plain incapable of coming up with verisimilar gay-sex. Which was fine by him, obviously.
But having said dreams with the angel himself present? Yeah, ladies and gentlemen, Dean Winchester had just reached an all-new, spectacular low.
"I am so going to hell," Dean groaned, burying his face in his hands.
"Why? What did Castiel say? Wait- you mean he walked in on you having a... you were! You were making all these happy little grunts! Oh, god, what was his face like? It must have been priceless..." Sam started laughing and slapping the wheel like an old black and white cartoon character.
Dean flashed on not-Castiel's wicked little grin, looking at him from under his eyelashes and tugging him closer by the belt loops in his jeans, and burst out laughing as well, more out of nerves than anything. They both went on until they had tears in their eyes and Sam started hiccupping. It had been a long time since they'd laughed like that. Maybe –maybe- the utterly mortifying dream had been worth it.
oooo
The one thing they agreed on after discussing Castiel's message was that they needed better protection. They didn't have any of Ruby's hex bags left, and the fact that even bound and trapped Castiel had been able to walk into Dean's dream –several of them, apparently, and wasn't that a comforting thought- meant that they were way too open to attacks from the angels.
Bobby either didn't know or didn't manage to find anyone willing to help, but he heard that Jo knew someone. Ellen managed to get her to cough up the contact, but not before strongly suggesting to the both of them that they should never show their hide again if anything happened to this friend of Jo's. Actually, she worded it with "castrate" and "bowie knife", but the message was clear.
It was a two day's drive away by normal standards. They took turns at the wheel and got there on the morning of the second day. "There" being an imposing, three-storied house with a big untidy lawn, set back on a residential street lined with trees. The house itself had seen better times: shingles needed replacing, the paint needed a new coat, and the mosquito net on the veranda was hanging in tatters. Most of the houses they had passed coming down the street looked empty and in similar stages of disrepair. An old, beat-to-hell Volkswagen minivan with peeling orange decal flowers was the only car parked in the vicinity.
They mounted the steps wordlessly, weary from the long trip and unsure of what they'd find. Ellen had said that it was a duo, a witch and a psychic working together. Dean wasn't too thrilled with the idea of asking help from the former, even knowing she didn't practice demonic-powered magic.
They knocked on the door. Presently a young woman, in her early twenties, answered. Sam and Dean stared. She stared back. She was wearing fake pointy ears and a white medieval-style fantasy dress, with a laced up bodice, long flaring sleeves and buckles everywhere.
"I think maybe we got the wrong house," Dean said, eyes like dinner plates.
"Then you probably did," the woman said shortly, already closing the door in their faces.
Sam placed his boot in the threshold and stopped her. "We, er, 'we're looking for a level ten mage'," he said slowly.
The woman blinked, expression clouding over. "Suck my elfin ass, you goblin."
Sam hesitated. "Humm, I don't think Ellen told me the next safe word."
"Look," Dean interjected, maneuvering himself between the two of them. "We're friends of Jo Harvelle's. We just need some protection, of the juiced up kind."
"And I'm late for the Ren Fair as it is, and that's where I make most of my income-"
"We'll pay," Sam blurted out immediately.
"Well, I ain't certainly giving you anything out of the goodness of my heart. You want protection, you pay for it. Unfortunately for you, it's my mom you want for these kinds of things, and she's not here."
"This is kinda urgent, so if you could give her a call, we'd really appreciate it." Dean attempted his most ingratiating smile, though he was tired and getting pissed and it turned out pretty strained.
"And as I was saying, she's not here as in 'she's not in the US of A' right now. She'll be back sometime around the autumn equinox, but getting a precise date is difficult since she hitchhikes and she doesn't carry a cell phone."
"What??"
"The person you're looking for is currently somewhere in South America, ok? Probably in Honduras, since it's still spring. She usually hits the Texas border sometime in early September. Look, I'm sorry but I can't help you, and it's getting late and I'd like to get to the fair in time for the fancy costume competition. This year the winner gets an all-expense trip to Niagara Falls."
"Miss, please! You've got to have something in storage... for emergencies. Please. If ever there was an emergency, this is it." Sam used his most beseeching tone, looking at her as if... well, as if she held the key to his salvation. "Life or death. And not just ours, but many, many other's as well."
She hesitated, the pleading and their desperation finally making her waver. "I could... I can do little, you understand. It's my mother who... oh, all right. Niagara Falls is for honeymooners anyway."
She backed away from the door, leaving it open but without bidding them to follow her. They entered anyway. The hallway was cluttered with bulging bags, half of them modern and half of them made of rough hemp, but aside from that the decor looked rather middle class and mundane.
"I'm Dharma, by the way," she said, picking her way around the bags carefully to avoid snagging her full length skirts. "Don't," she exclaimed, whirling around and holding up a finger, "make a "Dharma & Greg joke." Sam shook his head innocently, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean snapping his mouth shut.
"What kind of protection were you looking for? I have charms... against possession, against spell work, against curses, to combat seelie and unseelie glamour..." She went into a sizable living room and opened a cupboard, taking out three cardboard boxes that seemed to weigh quite a bit for their size. From the closed lid of the top one Hello Kitty winked at Dean.
"Uh, no... we had a- we had some hex bags that would protect us from being tracked by anything. And I mean anything," Sam explained, keeping a weary eye on an enormous dream catcher that was swinging from the ceiling in lieu of a chandelier. There were three naked lightbulbs hanging under it, and the whole thing was about three feet wide.
Dharma noticed him looking and rolled her eyes. "I made that when I was eight and my mom insisted on hanging it there for all the world to see. I swear, one of these years I'm going bartering at Burning Man and getting rid of it. As for hex bags, I don't do hex bags, and neither does my mom. That's nasty shit you're describing. I don't know what kind of witches you've been consorting with, but that sounds like the opposite side of the color spectrum from us."
The Winchesters didn't budge an inch. She sighed, and started to rifle through the Hello Kitty box. "Look, if they try a locating spell on you this will scramble it. Other than that..." she held up a burnt copper charm on a leather strap, "it comes at twenty bucks, and it also covers you from unwanted voices and influences. I can put it in a cloth baggie if it makes you feel more comfortable."
Dean grimaced and shook his head. "We, huh, need communications open, I guess. It's our location we need to shield."
"Could you do a locating spell for us?" Sam asked suddenly, determined and focused.
Dharma got uncomfortable under his scrutiny. She lowered her eyes and started to tidy up the boxes. "No, I told you, it's my mom that does those things. I only-"
"You're the psychic though, aren't you? A scrying would do just as well," Sam insisted.
"I don't think... my mom might help you but she's not here and I really have to get to the fair now. All I've got here are the charms, and if you don't want those then I think you should leave."
"Dharma, please," said Dean, stopping Sam with a hand on his arm before he could continue. "If you can't do the bags that's ok, that's just for us and we'll manage. We've done without plenty of times before. But we need to find a friend of ours... he's in serious trouble, and he got in it to help me, and I can't just leave him to deal with it on his own, you know?" She fidgeted, listening but not overtly agreeing.
"He told me he can deal with it, and I know he can, but... if your mom got in trouble, powerful witch an all, you'd still want to help her, right?"
Dharma nodded, shooting glances at both of them, and then sighed. She turned around and headed to the kitchen, gesturing them to follow her. It was a spacious, sunny room where herbs hung up to dry from every nook and cranny. She took a non-stick pan from a stack inside the oven and filled it with water. "You have anything of his with you? That might help." She got a bottle of olive oil and dropped a shot of it in the water, where it separated into tiny drops that started to jump and spit like it was scorching hot.
Dean shifted in place, fingers resolutely not going for his shoulder. "No," he said. Sam shot him a look, but Dean shook his head behind Dharma's back. The situation was reminding him too much of what had happened with Pam, and just days before with him; he didn't want to repeat the same mistakes. Besides, if they couldn't get any results he could always show her the scar later. Not to mention that he was afraid of freaking her out.
"Ok," she shrugged, opening a drawer in the table and taking out a wooden spoon and two globs of clear glass. "Here, hold these for a sec," she handed the first glass sphere to Dean who held it up to the light curiously. It looked like nothing more than a dollop of blown glass that had been left to congeal without giving it much of a shape. But the moment she gave the second one to Sam he let out a pained yell and dropped it, shaking his hands like he'd been scalded.
Everything happened fast after that. Dharma simply turned her back and dove for the back door, but it was bolted: she had, after all, been about to leave the house. Dean, momentarily stunned, shook himself and grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms down. In the brief scuffle that followed her fake pointy ears fell off. She took a ragged breath and let out a panicked, strangled yelp, but before she could work her way up to a full blown scream Dean covered her mouth with her hand. She bit him, but he held fast.
"Sam! You all right? -Stop struggling, we're not going to hurt you!- Sam!"
Sam had stuck his hands under the running faucet. He turned around, tight-lipped with pain, but nodded. Dharma had started sobbing. She kept trying to shake Dean off, with less and less force, tears and snot running down her face and on his hand.
"I'll let you go now if you promise not to scream, ok?"
She nodded, growing perfectly still. Cautiously, Dean lifted his hand but kept her arms pinned.
She took a couple of ragged breaths, then whispered harshly: "Demon!" and continued to gasp it under her breath.
Dean groaned, and Sam spun quickly on his heel, turning his face so they couldn't see it. "He's not a demon! He's just- he's cursed, ok? That's why he responds to anti-demonic stuff, I swear to you. That's... that's why we need to be untrackable and why we're looking for this friend... he can help, and... he's really not possessed. Dharma, please, calm down. We're sorry we scared you, but nothing's going to happen, really." And to prove his point he let her go completely.
She snagged a paper towel and cleaned her face, smearing her make-up around, and then lifted her chin and went to retrieve the glass thing Sam had dropped. It didn't have as much as a spider crack. She looked at it thoughtfully, then peered at Dean again. "All right, I believe you," she said finally.
She turned to Sam and started to say something else, but when he met her eye she shuddered and turned to Dean again. "I can... I can't make you untrackable, as you say, but I can make it so demons can't pinpoint your position. It only works if you're around other people. It's sort of... like spreading your signal... on all the others around. That's... that's the best I can do."
Dean closed his eyes, heaving a sigh of relief, and nodded. Sam piped up from the back, saying "that's wonderful, Dharma, we really appreciate it," but she didn't turn to him, getting busy instead with herbs and water. "It comes in vials," she continued, pulling out several small bottles, "you uncork one and let the fumes out. Works once per vial."
"That's- that's a lot of 'vials' to carry around," Dean tried to joked, but it fell flat.
"So you are a witch," Sam said after a moment of silence. Dharma shrugged, not meeting their eyes.
"I know how to follow the instructions," she admitted, pulling out what at first glance looked like a Betty Crocker cookbook, but when she flipped it open the pages were all handwritten. "And I know how to prepare the base. It's pretty mundane, really, once you have the ingredients. I'll... I'll copy you the directions, and you can..." she trailed off, working diligently with her head down.
Dean jerked his head at Sam, and together they stepped back into the doorway. Dean examined Sam's palms, but they looked perfectly fine. "She's lying, you know," Sam whispered.
"She's freaked out. And I don't think she's trying to screw us with the 'vials'... huh, sounds kinda like those smoke bombs ninjas use. Pretty cool."
"I'm not talking about that, Dean. She keeps trying to minimize what she is capable of doing. First she can't help us, now this comes up. Notice how she's sidestepped the scrying altogether. We need Castiel's location, or this is useless-"
"I know, I know! Geez, you're like a broken record." Sam gave him a pointed look, so Dean rolled his eyes and addressed the woman again. "So, about finding our friend..."
She dropped the spoon she was using in the pot, cursed loudly, and had to fish for it with a ladle.
"Can you set up the scrying while that boils? We're in a hurry. And we don't want to keep you from your fair more than necessary," Sam added.
She finally stopped and looked up at them. "It's just that... I can't do it with you right here," she gestured vaguely at Sam.
"That's- that's ok, I'll... wait in the car."
Dharma heaved an exasperated sigh. "You guys aren't much for hints, are you? I don't- I can't- I'm not comfortable getting mixed up with something that can curse a human to, to-" She pointed at Sam more decisively, eyes on the floor and blushing slightly.
Dean grimaced, but before he could come up with any kind of rousing speech Sam had forged ahead. "No demon is going to know about this, I promise you. You'll be perfectly safe. This friend of ours is not on the demons' radar, finding him won't get you into trouble."
Dean gaped at Sam but restrained himself from calling him on his bullshit in front of her. "We- we just need a general location. You don't even have to look too close," he finally stammered.
Dharma bit her lip. It was clear that she was relenting. "We won't ask anything else of you, Dharma. We'll be out of your life and you can pretend like you've never even met us afterwards," Sam promised softly.
"I," she said, adding the final ingredients to her concoction, "this needs to simmer for a while, and... yeah, I can do a general location, I guess. The thing is, I really need something of his, otherwise it's useless even trying."
"Don't worry, we have something," Sam encouraged, bumping Dean with his shoulder. Dharma blanched. "Oh. Ok, then," she said feebly. She kept stirring her pot for a bit, then steeled herself and motioned for Dean to follow her back into the living room. Sam stayed in the doorway, giving them space.
She got out a big atlas, and opened it at random, then took a pen and sat down. "I need to touch his property," she said, looking straight at Dean and holding her free hand out. Dean found himself having a flashback, telling a pre-teen Sam that girls expected a thimble before a first kiss, like in Peter Pan, and that knowing this would totally get him to lock lips with that blue-eyed girl he dogged at recess.
Back in the present Sam cleared his throat, mercifully letting the 'property' joke go. Dean opened his shirt and then took Dharma's hand into his own, guided it up the sleeve of his undershirt and over his scar. "Don't look too closely," he said quietly.
Dharma looked at him askance, but nodded and produced a tiny bottle from a wooden box on the coffee table. It looked like smelling salts. In fact she took a good, long whiff of its contents, and then dropped her head, gripping Dean's shoulder tighter and tighter until he covered her hand with his own over the fabric, afraid that she was going to rip a chunk out. Suddenly she threw her head back, eyes rolling.
"What's the name of the one you seek?" She asked in a low voice.
"Castiel," Dean replied, growing uncomfortable.
"Castiel," she mumbled, scrabbling with her hand to grab the pen, "Castiel... Cas-ti-el... Cas-ti-el," she started flipping pages without looking down, head swaying, "Cas-ti-el is hidden." She announced.
"Yeah... that's why we need you to find him," Dean replied cautiously.
"You have a bond with him," she continued, hand clenching spasmodically. "Will he answer to your call? What is your call?" She demanded.
"Cas. I call him Cas," Dean heard himself answer, though he could have sworn he didn't know what she was talking about.
"Cas," she repeated, "Cas, Cas..." She started chanting the name, flipping pages furiously until she stopped at a detailed page of western Ohio. She put the pen down, and started tracing circles around the whole page, slowly tightening them into a spiral, her chanting growing frantic.
Dean was watching the map closely. She was tightening in on Kripke's Hollow, but then she crossed it out and started to go for a space right to the north of it. It was getting narrower, and narrower... "Cas-ti-el?" She enquired suddenly, breaking her chanting. "Are you there?"
Without a moment's hesitation, Dean slammed the atlas closed and pulled her hand off his shoulder. She gasped, her trance broken, and fell back in her chair panting.
"Not far from Chuck Shirley's place," Dean told Sam. "Hey, you ok?" He asked her, touching her shoulder lightly.
She started, grabbing her wrist. "You hurt me," she accused, looking at him angrily. Dean was about to refute that when she continued, gaining strength and volume, "And you lied to me! What is your 'friend'? Because that wasn't a human being." She leapt up and yanked Dean's shirt back, exposing the handprint scar. "What-? What does that?? You- I. I'm not safe anymore, am I? You lied. I looked, and now I'm not safe here anymore."
The Winchesters didn't answer her. She closed her eyes, hot tears of rage starting to run down her cheeks. "It's not fair. You lied and I helped you and now... I can't go to the fair, can I? If they come looking for me, that's- everyone knows I'm going there, I always go, they expect me there."
"Maybe it would be best if this year you joined your mom down in South America," Sam advised.
Dharma heaved a broken sob, and stormed back into the kitchen. Dean followed her.
"We, huh, we can help you load your van if you want? I can get a look at the engine, if you're-"
"NO!" She almost shouted, searching furiously in her pantry. "You are not 'helping' me with anything, thank you very much. And I don't want your money!" She pointed at Sam, who had appeared at the door with a few bills already in hand. "You are going away now without giving me anything of yours. You are going away in my debt. You owe me, you owe me big time!" She snagged another paper towel and blew her nose, then tore a page from her note book and slammed it in Dean's chest along with a small filled bottle. "Here's the instructions for the potion. You can make your own, that one's for me, I think," she motioned towards her pot, still simmering. "And this one's on the house. Now get out and never come back."
Dean allowed her to physically push him through the hallway and out of the front door, which she slammed in their faces.
The brothers looked at each other. Plenty of things sprung to both their minds, but Sam just said "Ohio?" and Dean just shook his head and headed for the Impala.
chapter three will be up tomorrow