Poker (or Poke Him)

Chapter Summary: Things get physical.

Author's Note: This is perhaps skirting the edge of the genre known as "CRACK!fic." There is simply no excuse for the bad pun, or for Dean's immaturity. My apologies.

The thing is, Sam won't let you drive now that you've had a beer (because half-asleep and headache-y is sooo much better).

"No, go sit in the back," he even demanded, when you tried to climb into the passenger side. "I know you're gonna rope Cas into some stupid, random word game in about two minutes. At least if you sit back there with him, then you won't have to yell it at him from the front seat, and I might finally get some peace."

Therefore, because, in secret, you are basically a big gooey melted marshmallow where Sam's needs are concerned (yes, after all these years you admit it, but that's for your ears only), you are stuck in back with Mr. I-Am-A-Stoic-And-Stoney-Statue-Angel-Dude-Who-Never-Moves-So-Why-Must-You-Fidget-So?

Okay, Cas doesn't really say any of that, but he looks like it. Dude hasn't moved a muscle for a full hour, and he isn't asleep. Plus, you aren't talking with him just to stick it to Sam because he said you would, so yeah, you're pretty quickly reaching the point of desperately needing something to do. As in, crossword puzzle kind of desperate.

Normal people would probably be all into watching the mountain scenery or something, but you've driven this road so many times you practically have it memorized. You wish Castiel would shift or sigh or blink or something, just so you could watch something happen (okay, creepy, that sounds like something he would do) or maybe just so you know you're not alone in your restlessness and boredom.

But Castiel just continues staring placidly at the back of the seat in front of him. Maybe he's tuned into Angel Radio or something.

You decide it's totally not fair that he gets to listen to stuff when you can't. In fact, it has become your sacred and holy mission to force him to stop sitting there like a freakin' ice sculpture and do something to entertain you. And, get this, Sam – you're gonna accomplish this without saying a word.

Experimentally, you reach toward him. He doesn't react, so you are sure all is well. You extend your index finger and poke him gently in the middle of his trench-coated arm, right below the deltoid muscle. Then, lightning quick, you retreat to your previous position, as if you had never moved.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him slowly turn to look at his arm, and then at you. You maintain your mask of poised nonchalance. Cas stares for a minute, then resumes his own former position.

You count two minutes (one thousand one, one thousand two, all the way up to one-twenty) before repeating the exercise. Cas looks at you again, and without really seeing it you notice the slight pucker of his eyebrows in confusion. When you don't react, he turns away again.

Two minutes later, you poke him a third time. This time, his head whips toward you quick enough to see you pull your hand back to your side.

"Dean," he says questioningly. You look at him, give him a smirk and a little 'that's-my-name-don't-wear-it-out' nod, and pretend nothing happened.

In your peripheral vision, you see him perform the 'Cas-Doesn't-Get-It Head Tilt™.'

Oh, yeah. This is gonna be great.

You count another two minutes and poke him again.

"Dean!" exclaims the angel. "What are you doing?"

You flash him a 'who, me?' look.

Sam's missing the byplay, but apparently Cas's outburst was enough to get him involved. "What's going on back there?" he calls.

"Dean persists in touching my vessel, and he refuses to explain why," complains Castiel. Good Lord, he's pouting again, and you're pretty sure you just got him to whine 'Dean's touching me!' in angel-speak.

"Dean, leave Cas alone."

You break your vow of silence to say, "Hey, it's not me!" as innocently as you can. "Maybe one of your angel buddies is hazing you, Cas."

"It is you, Dean," says Castiel sternly. "Do not take me for a fool; I saw you. It was not hazy at all."

"Eh, pretty sure you saw exactly what your angel buddy wanted you to see," you say, shrugging and tossing in a careless laugh just for good measure. "Or maybe you're just making it up."

Castiel's eyes flash. "I am not… 'making it up'."

You wave him off with a dismissive hand. "Pssh. 'Protest too much,' why don't you. Never fear, Sammy, it's all a figment of his overactive angelic imagination. 'S okay, Cas, we've all done dumb shit to get attention from time to time."

Castiel fixes you in his overly blue glare. You're kind of hoping he'll contradict you directly, as he so often does – mostly 'cause you wanna hear Mr. Unflappable Angel say the words 'dumb shit'.

Unfortunately, he just narrows his eyes and says, "YOU BEAR FALSE WITNESS AGAINST ME,*" in this steely, low-down voice that's actually a little bit scary. You remember that he is, after all, an angel, who could totally smite your ass if he wanted to.

Then you remember that he's the particular angel who dragged you kicking and screaming out of 'Perdition', and that if he sends you back there, he probably has to go after you and get you out again. Somehow, you're thinking that's not gonna happen.

You give him time to settle down. After twelve minutes, you sneak a glance at him and figure he's doing okay. He's still sitting rigid, but he always does that, and he's staring blankly again. You're golden. You reach out and poke him again.

"DEAN!" he thunders.

"Okay, Cas," you chuckle, "You've made your point. It was funny the first couple times, but enough with your little imaginary friends now, okay?"

He's glaring blue murder at you. You read tension in the muscles of his jaw – that's right, you have officially made an angel grind his teeth. How badass are you?

Sam lets out a sigh of exasperation. "Whatever you two are doing back there, could you keep it down? It's really obnoxious and distracting."

Castiel makes a visible effort to calm himself, but doesn't take his eyes off you.

"Cas, if Dean's bothering you, just ignore him. That way he'll get bored and stop," Sam advises.

You wink at Cas. He gives you the dirtiest look you've ever seen on his face, so you wait until he's no longer looking directly at you to stick your tongue out at him. You pull a couple other faces, crossing your eyes and all.

"Dean. Is something wrong," he says icily.

"Nope. All good over here," you say cheerily. Sam snorts up in front. "I'm good. How 'bout you, Cas, you good?"

Cas goes back to staring at the back of Sam's head.

You poke him again. He stiffens, but he seems to be trying to take Sam's advice.

Yeah, we'll see how long that lasts. You give him another poke. And another.

Poke. Poke. Poke. Poke poke poke poke pokepokepokepokepokepokepokepokepokepokepokepokepoke

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"DEAN!"

The air crackles with energy – or maybe it's the bones in your wrist doing the crackling. Castiel is gripping it, tight, twisting it awkwardly above both your heads. He's about an inch away from your face, and all you can see is electric blue wrath about to rain down on your ass, and probably the rest of you, too, because oh, Crap, Castiel is an Angel, and he is Pissed.

"DESIST!" he commands (snarls) venomously. There is definitely a small thunderclap that happens on the second syllable of that word.

Baby shrieks as Sam abruptly pulls onto the shoulder and brakes, breaking up the moment, thank God. Well, actually, thank Sam.

"Do I have your attention, gentlemen?" said brother says, firing bitchface all over you and the angel. "Look. I am gonna say this once, and only once, mmkay? Dean. Quit being a moron, leave Cas alone, and keep your hands to yourself. Cas, you're an angel. Act like one, by which I mean quit reacting to my idiot brother. Both of you: try to pretend, just for a moment, that you are fully functioning adults instead of whiny, bratty eight-year-olds. Now, I am going to pull back onto the road, and I am going to drive, and you two are going to sit there and do absolutely anything that does not involve making noise or killing each other. If I have to stop this car again, you will not like what happens next. Are we clear?"

You look from Sam, who looks totally composed, to Cas, who looks half wrath-y and half like someone just reached up inside him and ripped his diaphragm out through his ass.

Damn. Your (admittedly pretty giant) baby brother just successfully dressed down an angel.

"Yes, Sam. Yes, we're clear," you say. You'll be back to jerking him around soon, but he just earned himself some temporary respect. You nudge Cas, who doesn't seem to know what to do.

"Um. We are clear," he confirms, like he has no idea what it means. Which, actually is probably the case, but the fire is almost gone from his eyes, so that's a good thing.

"Good," says Sam, with a creepily pleasant smile, and he pulls back onto the road.

Castiel stares at you for a minute, wide-eyed. You don't blame him; it's probably not every day he gets out-bamf'd by a human. His gaze flicks up for a moment, then back to yours.

"…I'm going to let go now," he informs you, releasing your wrist. You wince a little as you massage it and roll your aching shoulder. Dude was close to crushing it or dislocating the arm.

Now he looks worried. "Did I injure you?" he asks with concern.

"Nah, just a little sore," you say.

"I apologize," he says. He hangs his head in a deliberate manner which suggests 'this-is-how-I-have-observed-humans-behaving-in-similar-situations' more than actual remorse, though there's a little of that, too. Mostly, there's just Castiel awkwardly staring at his lap, which is really more like staring at your lap because he's still so close to you that you can see the gel spiking his hair.

"Ookay, time for us to have a little talk," you say – quietly, because you don't want to bother Sam. "There's this concept humans have that we call 'personal space'."

Castiel listens attentively while you explain that, most of the time, being closer than like two feet from other humans is weird. As you talk, he suddenly looks at his proximity to you, and very obviously and abruptly scoots all the way to the far side of the seat, where he more or less plasters himself against the door. Which is vaguely adorable, in an 'aw-lookit-he's-trying-so-hard-to-do-it-right' kind of way.

You resist the urge as long as you can, but you were always gonna break sooner or later. You reach out and poke him again.

His expression of mixed fury, astonishment, and just a little bit of panic is hilarious. Conspiratorially, you raise a finger to your lips and jerk your head towards Sam. You really hope Cas gets it instead of getting mad, because if not, you're pretty sure you're screwed.

His eyebrows crunch in confusion, and his starts to imitate your 'shushing' gesture. Then, comprehension flashes across his face. Tentatively, he reaches out instead.

And pokes you right back.

You flash him a thumbs-up, which has him tilting his head again.

Angels, you decide, can be kind of awesome. You know, maybe. A little bit.

Note: *Words spoken in caps lock are infused with just a bit of Grace. Words in caps lock and bold are infused with a respectable portion of Grace. Words in caps lock, bold, and underlined are backed with a substantial amount of Grace, just shy of the True Voice. This is not the most grammatically correct way to convey this, but the correct way involves multiple font sizes. Therefore, we must unfortunately settle for what resources are available, incomplete though they be. My apologies again.