Episode 11
In which Dean discovers just how very human an angel of the Lord can be.
Soundtrack
Evanescence - My Immortal
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Dean is watching Castiel as he moves through his work out.
They're in a new hotel. He has pushed the couch and table pushed back to create an open space. There is a pool of soft sodium orange streetlight on the carpet. The angel stands in the centre of the light in a pair of black briefs as he steps, twirls, and lunges with his twin spears an extension of his body.
It is amazingly smooth: the light catching on muscles, defined by sweat, pulling and distending as Castiel dances.
Dean can only call it dancing.
It is beautiful to watch.
And painful too.
Castiel does this at night when he thinks that Dean is sleeping.
Dean wakes as soon as Castiel leaves the bed.
Dean insists that Castiel sleeps next to him because it is comforting and the soft Christmas smell holds back the visions of Hell, but once he thinks Dean is asleep he rises and does this.
Dean thinks that the beautiful dancing is called a Kata.
The only thing that he knows for sure is that he was wrong before, because this is Angel-fu.
Step, lunge, twist and the two spears flash, each moving independently. It is beautiful to watch.
For the three nights that Dean has watched him he's realised that there are never any deviations in the movement. The angel has very clearly done these exact same exercises in exactly this pattern for thousands of years - even if the vessel is new.
That is amazing too.
So, Dean lies in the bed, eyes as thin as slits, and watches the angel.
Step; step; twist; step; lunge; parry; backstep; step; shuffle into Thibault; lunge; counter with breeze parting the reeds; backstep; backstep; twist; Capo Ferre; double step with spear thrust down; monkey dazzles the snake.
He is moving through a hundred martial arts and Dean ignores the fact that he knows the names of all these attacks, the defences, the lunges, because they're not something he should know.
Then when the motions are done, taking exactly the same amount of time and care, Castiel wipes himself down with a hotel towel, removing the worst of the sweat from his body and then he climbs back into the bed.
Castiel sleeps better after the exercise, and when he sleeps he snuggles and shuffles across the bed until he is pressed against Dean, hot and smelling of fresh sweat.
Dean sleeps too.
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They're checking into the third hotel in six days and Dean hurts.
The pain settles into a bone deep ache and he's tired. Castiel is quiet which just makes it worse. Unlike Sam, the angel can't be negotiated into prank wars or even name calling which just eases the tension when they drive.
Dean knows exactly which bones he broke in the accident, but he's sure that there are others Hathor missed from the way his body twinges. The bones he did break certainly hurt enough for most of them.
He's also pretty sure that Castiel has been crushing painkillers into his coffee.
Dean is sore, tired and tetchy and every now and again Castiel will turn around with this weary expression on his face and then Dean loses hours. He's pretty sure that being kidnapped by aliens would be less disconcerting than just dropping off.
The sleep isn't restful though.
Dean refused to get into the bed and sits on the arm chair, although it's unlikely he'll be able to get out of it again on his own. Castiel is fussing, he wants to be somewhere else but he won't go.
Castiel's trench was left in the car, as he carried up the clothes he'd bought Dean.
Dinner is awkward. Roast beef and boiled vegetables and Dean thinks, but can't be sure, that it's Monday. All he is sure of is that America has started it's landslide into Christmas because decorations are starting to appear and the adverts on the TV are extolling the joys of family.
It just makes him crankier because he misses Sammy and he's not ready to admit that his brother is anything other than a dick right now.
So when Castiel excuses himself, quietly, determined, Dean roots around in his pack for the phone that Magda gave him and just stands there looking at it and hurts.
It hurts.
Dean decides he can't take it anymore and opens the fitted wardrobe in the room and sits on the floor, because it's quiet and dark there, closing the door behind him.
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It's dark when he wakes up, warm and comfortable. His first thought is that the angel did the mind-mojo on him and has carried him to bed, but then he realises that although he is wrapped up in the coverlet he is still in the wardrobe and somehow Castiel has managed to wedge himself between Dean and the wall so that Dean's back is against the angel's chest.
In that moment Dean feels so safe and loved that he can't bear it. He's still clutching the phone in his hand and it's too much because Castiel is almost warm enough, almost.
Dean starts to struggle.
And Castiel clearly understands because he just holds on tighter, binding him in the strong cradle of his arms and his thighs, and then his warmed marble cold finger finds the cleft of Dean's lips and Dean softens. "Sleep," the angel says, "there are days when even Gods must hide from the world."
Dean doesn't want to sleep, but he does.
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In his dream there is a vast tiled floor which is a map of America. It looks ancient and written over North Dakota are the words "Here Be Dragons." There are small figurines all over the map, and small houses, hotels, and factories. There are tiny cars driving along tiny highways. There are angels sitting here and there along the map. He knows that the map is called an Orbyrarium in the way that things are known in dreams.
Sitting over the Grand Canyon is Horace, his hair swept back and desperately needing a wash, with a nasty red stain on the front of his shirt and chin. When he sees Dean he jumps to his feet. "I knew if I waited here long enough you'd show up."
"Where are we?" Dean asks.
"The place between," Castiel says beside him. Castiel is simply there, and with that same knowledge Dean knows what the map is – a representation. That somewhere on this map Sam can be found.
"Hathor is annoyed that you ran off," Horace says, "she wasn't finished yet." He puts his hands on Dean's arms and he is altered, in this place he is both a teenager with that same itchy twitchy restlessness that he had before and a tall handsome man with very dark hair and eyes Dean could drown in. "She gave me this for you." He has his hands on Dean's arms and then leans in to kiss the cut on Dean's forehead.
Castiel pulls him back and kisses Horace hard on the mouth. "He is mine," Castiel says when he pulls back, his fingers pressed hard into Horace's arms, and Dean's stomach tightens and he thinks he might vomit, his eyes narrow and his fists tighten. "I will give him Hathor's gift."
Horace just smiles.
Dean is aware that the dream changes because he's in a bed, but it's not the hotel bed. It's a wide silk pillow with layers of gauze softening the light, and he's not quite naked, but near enough, and Castiel is leaning over him, with his wings outstretched, each feather tipped in dark red, and then Castiel leans down and presses his face to the skin of his pelvic bowl, to the flesh over the break, and kisses.
Dean throws his good arm over his face as Castiel's mouth trails up his rib cage, taking care over the broken ones, and thinks of anything he can, because this is too much, even though he knows that Castiel is passing on Horace's gift, the thing that Hathor gave him. He knows that this is not sexual - Castiel is kissing it better.
The trailing of the angel's tongue along the scar on his leg is too much for Dean and he gives in to it, and cries out, and Castiel hushes them, with kisses to the cuts on the side of his face, to the bruises and Dean wants to weep but Winchester's don't cry.
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The Queen of Sheba is the complete opposite of what Dean could have possibly predicted. When Castiel told him that the mysterious Bell Keys ran a bar in Chicago, he did not expect the Queen of Sheba.
It's a warehouse in a reasonable part of town, there are a few other bars about but it's clearly the only club.
It's also a gay club.
For women.
Castiel is more uncomfortable than even Dean is when they go through the front door.
The female bouncer looks like she could bench press a truck with one arm and still break Dean in two with the other. She has wheat blonde hair and a bosom large enough to make playboy weep. When Castiel goes to the door, ignoring the rather impressive line, she waves him in, keeping her eye on Dean's ass until the door closes behind it.
All the waiters are men.
They are all tastefully undressed and what clothes they are wearing are made of leather. They have trays held aloft with martini glasses and olives. It seems to be the only drink that they serve.
There are women everywhere.
There is a woman on the stage, she's wearing a snake skin dress that fits like it's her own skin, showing off just how hugely pregnant she is. She looks set to give birth any day.
Other than the bump she's perfectly styled in a forty's getup. She is singing in a smoky voice.
"Other dancers may be on the floor dear, but my eyes will see only you
Only you have the right technique when we sway I go weak . . . "
When she sees Dean she winks at him.
The girl at the bar is a tiny red haired Korean girl with a very large pitcher, she waves when she sees them.
It's clear that they recognise Castiel and so Dean decides there and then that they aren't human. It doesn't particularly surprise him.
He's not surprised by much anymore.
Not since Castiel dragged him from hell.
The woman comes out of the crowd like an iceberg, a vision in white PVC and silk looking like every wet dream of Emma Frost he's ever had, and Dean gapes. She has been poured into the PVC pants and a white silk stomach protector with ice blonde hair and eyes like crystals.
"You will to be following me," she says in a rich voice, heavily accented, "Our lady is waiting." She pronounces her w's as a hard v sound. "She not care to be waiting." The blonde Amazon turns around with a stiletto clack and leaves for the stairs.
Bettie Page's lovely twin is stood at the top of the stairs in a sheathe of black satin. She slaps Castiel on the ass as he walks past.
The angel ignores her, instead he stepping closer to Dean. "Be reverent," he tells her, "Lady Bell Keys is the Queen of Heaven."
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Bilquis sits at her desk in a pair of silk pyjamas. She is even more unexpected than her club. He realises that he has been misspelling her name in his head because it has been embroidered unto the pocket of her shirt.
She isn't much taller than Magda was, possibly chest height on Dean and heavy set. She is black and has her hair in dreadlocks held back by a silk sash about her forehead.
Unlike all the other voluptuously beautiful women in this place she is not pin up quality. Her cheekbones are too heavy, her jaw too square and her nose flattened, but when she sees Castiel she smiles and suddenly Dean feels like the only man in the universe.
This plain, short, dumpy woman is, in that moment the beautiful woman in the entire world and kingdoms will be ransomed in her honour. He doesn't see the mannish jaw any more only skin the colour of dustbowl Oklahoma. Sparkling teeth and rosy lips hide the longinsh ears.
When she smiles he would give his life for her, but then once she greets Castiel the smile slips from her face and the Goddess is gone.
Her accent is classic miscellaneous American, a little bit of too many things to be enough of one to place. She is flat chested, and square hipped with a round belly and badly painted toenails in ugly bath mules. "Dearest Castiel," she says, "I am honoured to have you in my house."
Castiel bows his head before her to accept her blessing. "My queen, wife of the most honoured of prophets," he says and she puts her hand, short fingered, square, heavy, on his cheek and tilts his face to look at her.
Dean is suddenly, painfully, jealous, it seethes within him.
Then Dean realises that he's jealous of the way that Castiel is treating some woman with an unpronounceable name in some out of the way club like she was the best thing ever, and Dean decides that's a bad thing.
He swallows it down to find it tastes of taint.
Too many things lately have tasted of that kind of taint.
"Wayne is down below," she says, "he'll sort your boy out with a room, some clothes, things to eat. He'll be safe here as long as it isn't pushed. My girls won't hurt him as long as he doesn't hurt them."
She turns and she leaves a taste of sandalwood in the air behind her. "He cannot stay here forever, this is not a house of boarding, but until New Years I will offer him sanctuary here."
"My Queen," Castiel nods, "it is more than I could have prayed for. I shall stay only this night to settle him."
Dean hates it when people talk about him like he's not even there. Especially when it's Castiel.
She turns to the glamazon at the door in her squeaky white PVC trousers. She looks like she's made of diamonds, "To be following me now," she addresses them, "I bringing you to Vain."
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Wayne looks as exasperated as Dean feels. He's got the telephone receiver wedged between his ear and his neck and has a red face as he explains, with the icy tone of someone who has explained this ten times and is one step away from homicide, that the goose that they ordered did NOT arrive no matter what the company's invoice says.
Unlike the women upstairs, he's dressed for the winter in an oversized pull over and jeans. He could be the same age as Dean give or take ten years. Dean never could tell with men. He's perfectly ordinary looking, apart from the fact he appears about ready to commit genocide over a missing goose.
When he sees Dean he waves at him to wait a minute, then frowns and without stopping his explanation that he has paid for this goose and he will have it if he has to go down to them and explain that in person, he gestures a drinking motion, points to a cupboard and then the coffee maker.
Dean shrugs and takes three cups from the cupboard and then pours three cups of coffee.
It's Christmas flavoured.
Wayne takes the coffee and holds up one finger, then points at the phone, then gestures with his hand to the stools around the worktop. Dean understands this language. He sits down and stares at the coffee hoping it might taste a little less of Christmas and a little more of caffeine.
Castiel seems to appreciate it more than Dean can. He smiles at Dean and looks at the kitchen. It's a large house attached to the rear of the club, he can feel the drum beat through the walls.
It has also been decorated to the best that Sears can manage with Christmas trees and wreathes. Along the stairs, someone has replaced traditional Christmas stockings with fishnets. There are even things in the fishnets.
At the end is one long knitted sock with a paper sticker saying Wayne and one knitted stocking, which judging by the puce coloured wool with orange piping came from Magda, with the sticker saying Dean hanging off it.
There is a tray of cookies on the table and Dean takes one, then bites into it, pulls a face and pockets it so he can dispose of it later with no one the wiser.
Castiel remains implacable apart from a strangely childish glee at the decorations, which includes tinsel wrapped around a glitter ball propped up in the corner. The lights fascinate the angel, whose expression is still blank, which suggests that Dean is learning to read him better.
Wayne continues arguing with the butcher, who is clearly adamant that the goose was delivered, although Wayne is sure that it wasn't despite that he ordered it in September at a premium price.
The Emma Frost look alike excused herself as soon as they crossed the parking lot and went to the kitchen. Obviously, the winter chill suited her because she didn't bother with anything over the silk she wore – not even a bra.
She just pushed them into the kitchen and waited until Wayne noticed them.
Dean has just noticed that Wayne is wearing plush cow slippers. He is reminding the vendor that they had been using the same butcher for ten years and that he isn't really given to complaining, so if the goose was going to taste of anything it needs to be hung so he really does need it sooner rather than later, and he isn't accusing the delivery boy of stealing it, but these things happen and Wayne will be delighted to drive across town to pick up another one.
Dean knows that he would have hung up and got a turkey ages ago.
When Wayne finally hangs up, after Dean has consumed two cups of the Christmas flavoured coffee, he just shakes his head. "Come on, I'll take you to your room, it's a bit small but this was sprung on me short notice and everyone descends for Christmas. Kumiho and Zsu Zsu already have to share." There is a deep sigh, "which of course means fireworks at some point, but no one wanted to share with you. No offence Jean,"
"Dean," Dean corrects.
"Sorry, the accents around here are educational. Dean, no one knows you and we're taking you on the word of Castiel," he smiles at the angel at the table, "and if you want to stay over I'll get you a chair and a blanket, there literally are no beds left in the inn, but I'm not quite ready to make you sleep in the stable yet."
Dean learns that Wayne is always like this, he doesn't stop, and this is his third pot of Christmas tainted coffee today. Considering the women he lives with Dean really isn't that surprised.
