A/N: I'd like to dedicate this chapter to the faithful reviewers :) You guys make me laugh, think, and update my ass off so I don't make anyone sad. Don't be cry! So this is for you, Byrneshadow, sock-feet-and-stirring-sand, WinJennster, Sixinfinty, SPNfan, and arealkiss! If I spelled your name wrong by accident, then may o holy Chuck smite me.
P.S. I realized last night (in between fangirling over videos of Misha Collins reading his poetry) that there are some spelling/grammar typos. I will try to fix those! I'll shut up now :3 -chaoswalking
...
"Oh, Baby!" Dean had managed to wrap what seemed like his entire being around the hood of the Impala. "I missed you so much!"
Gabriel chewed on a Tootsie roll.
"Y'know, Deano, that's not technically the real car," he chuckled. Dean was too busy planting sloppy kisses on the muddy hood to care. Cas leaned in towards Sam, staring at the scene in front of him with a horrified look, as if it all offended him AND his mother.
"Is that "making out"?" he asked, once again making quote marks in the air.
"Uh..." Sam fumbled for the words. He didn't exactly want to tell Cas the real definition..."Yeah, Cas. That's making out."
"Y'see Cassie, when an idiot and his car love each other very much..." Gabriel said loudly. Sam slapped him upside the head.
Meanwhile, Dean was straightening himself up. He gave a confident smirk, and crossed his arms over his chest.
"So, now that we've got the weapons and Baby, we can go take down that assbutt Crowley and his smelly cronies," he said. Gabriel popped another Tootsie roll into his mouth, crumpling up the wrapper and tossing it at Sam. It hit him in the head, and bounced off.
"Yeah, about that." he shoved his hands in his pockets, and gave the company a sheepish grin. "I think Crowley's called a few big guns in here. High-class bad boys."
Sam's heart sank.
"So you're telling us," he said slowly. "That we've got more crap to deal with?" (He still couldn't get his locker open).
Gabriel raised his hands innocently, giving Sam an incredulous look.
"Hey, you want my help, you follow my lead," he replied. "Besides, it doesn't matter what players they brought in to pinch hit. They ain't got any more steroids than Cas or Crowley in here."
Dean couldn't help but groan. He slid far enough of his car to give Gabriel what he hoped was a scathing, sarcastic glare.
"So who'd he summon? Ruby? Meg?"
"Azazel and Alistair, actually."
Sam's neck snapped sideways to gape at Gabriel.
"Yellow-eyes?" He managed to stutter, after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. "He raised friggin' Yellow-eyes?"
"It appears our friendly neighborhood demon is attempting to screw with your noggins, here, boyos," Gabriel answered cheerily, his broad smile stained with candy. He clapped the catatonic Sam loudly on the shoulder, and rubbed his palms together excitedly. "So, the way I figure, we gank Mr. Contact-Lenses and the Human Razor first, then we get after the King himself. Got it?"
He was greeted by two sets of rather pissed green eyes.
"Okay, then. One, two, three, go team!" Gabriel did a weak fist pump. "Nothing? Fine. Be that way."
Castiel cleared his throat.
"Is it necessary to kill the demons with Ruby's knife? Or are they in such a state of humanity we can simply kill them traditionally?" He asked. Gabriel snapped gleefully, and wrapped an arm around his brother's neck, putting him into a sort of loving headlock (which made Cas quite irritated).
"Exactly! So all you guys really need to do is stick one of 'em, and you're good! It also means Cas ain't exactly invincible, but hey. Nobody's perfect." He let go of Cas, and one again dug his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. "So we split into teams."
"I get Sam," Dean blurted, just as Cas said "I get Dean."
In the end, a peeved looking Dean and a satisfied Cas stood at arms length from Gabriel and Sam (who was forcing himself not to strangle his partner).
"Right. You get Alistair. We get Azazel," Gabriel ordered, pulling an extra blade from his sleeve. It was a lethal looking dagger, runes carved in scarlet on the rusted hilt. He handed it to Dean, who pocketed it grumpily. "Meet in the middle, four o' clock."
They separated.
...
Azazel felt good, considering he had just been raised from the dead. He stretched lazily in his new vessel, liking the taste of air on his tongue.
Now, if only Crowley hadn't dumped him in a high school.
"This is humiliating," he thought to himself, a frown edging onto his brow. "I didn't sign up to be a babysitter."
But Crowley had promised him Sam Winchester's head on a platter, and that was an offer the Yellow-eyed Demon couldn't just refuse. He'd been waiting forever to get revenge on those goddamn Winchester boys for shooting him, and if it happened to be in an alternate reality, so be it. He was looking forward to seeing the look on their faces as they watched each other die.
In the meantime, he was washing the floor of an overflowing bathroom stall. Because of course Crowley had gotten him a job as a janitor. Of course.
...
Alistair paced the main gym quietly, his shoes barely making a sound on the dust-coated wood floor. He fingered a pencil in his pocket, the sharp tip just itching to be driven into the skull of an unexpected visitor. He spun the utensil slowly in his palm, taking it out to observe the black point. Just perfect. He grinned.
He'd been waiting so long. So long to show his best student what perfection really was.
"I have something new for you today, Dean Winchester," he chuckled to himself. "Something brand new."
...
Sam and Gabriel were about as stealthy as two hippos attempting to delicately pick their way through an antique china shop. Gabriel kept "accidentally" smiting random students who got in their way, and Sam kept inadvertently bumping into things.
"Would you shut up?" He hissed at the gleeful Archangel for the fourth time. They were nearing a set of particularly smelly bathrooms on the upper floor of the English/Languages building. "French Club is gonna hear us!"
"I'll just smite their asses," Gabriel shrugged. He was now eating what appeared to be an oversize candy bar.
"You can't just kill people," Sam started to lecture, his classic bitch-face spreading across his features. "It's rude."
"They're just illusions," Gabriel snorted. "Bleeding-heart liberal, are you?"
Before Sam could sling back a sassy retort, a loud slurping sound emitted from the direction of the bathrooms, followed by a string of curse words. A disturbing odor wafted down the hallway, and Sam slapped a palm to his nose in disgust.
"HOLY CRAP." he hissed nasally. "I thig I jud drew ub in by moud."*
Gabriel was just giggling, waving his candy bar around like a large baseball bat.
"Haha!" he teased. "Angels don't have to smell it! Too bad!"
Sam slapped him upside the head again, which resulted in him getting a chocolate-covered bruise on his arm.
Just then, someone tumbled from the bathroom, coughing and waving his arms in desperation. It was the janitor (judging by his dark blue jumpsuit and clumpy broom).
But there was something wrong with his eyes. The irises, so familiar in Sam's memory, were laced with the palest of yellows.
Across the hall, the janitor grinned. He dropped his filthy broom, wiping something dark away on his pants, and tilted his head.
"Hello, Sammy-boy," Azazel said. "It's been awhile, ain't it?"
...
Dean had to continually check over his shoulder to make sure Cas was still following him. Once, he had gotten distracted by what appeared to be a stray, rabid cat, and Dean had to literally drag him away before they both contracted some weird-ass cat illness.
"Dude, focus," he whispered angrily for the hundredth time. He couldn't believe that he, Dean Winchester, was saying this to friggin' Holy Tax Accountant Castiel. But these were strange days, he mused, sneaking oh-so-stealthily around a corner.
They made it as far as the gym. Dean was all for skipping the place (all the lights were off, and there was nothing to be seen but the dusty silhouette of a single teacher), but Cas had stopped, a hand on Dean's arm.
"This is it," he said quietly, his eyes focused on something over Dean's shoulder. The guy was terrible at eye contact. "This is where the demon is."
Dean couldn't help but feel cold. As if someone had carefully injected him with liquid nitrogen, and it was worming it's way slowly to his heart.
They tried to pick open the lock. Dean had salvaged a few lockpicks from the Impala, and he poked them desperately into the hole to no avail. It seemed they would have to break the doors down. "What the hell," Dean thought, with a shrug. "It's just a stupid alternate universe. What's the worst that could happen?"
It turned out that would be the teacher in the gym throwing open the doors with a stern expression.
"What are you two...loitering around here for?" the man asked. He had an unnervingly quiet voice. Dean noticed, somewhat distractedly, that the teacher was twirling a sharpened pencil between his fingers.
"We, uh," he raked his brain for an excuse. "Um..."
"We were 'making out'," Cas filled in. His air quotes were starting to piss Dean off, and he shot the Angel a furious glare.
"No, we weren't, uh...sir...?" he answered a little too forcefully.
The teacher raised an eyebrow. A quirk of a smile crossed his face, and the pencil picked up speed.
"That would make sense," he slurred. "If I didn't already know what you were doing here."
Dean blinked. Cas' eyes suddenly widened.
"You're Alistair," he said. "You're the one who tortures the souls in Hell."
With a delicate twitch of his hand, the man flicked the pencil. It hit Castiel straight in the arm, the tip only embedding slightly in his trench coat. A thin sliver of blood trickled across the fabric, and Cas flinched.
"Why don't you ask Dean," Alistair grinned. "I'm sure he remembers a whole lot about me."
...
*Translated from barf: "I think I just threw up in my mouth". Peace out. -chaoswalking
