Chapter 14
The Winchesters and Temeriel watched the pick-up, with Giovanni the elderly scooter in the bed, head out of the lot.
"So, do we have mission accomplished?" asked Dean.
Temeriel stared hard after the truck, and sighed. "Mission accomplished," he confirmed. "Sylvia is a bit worried about her scooter right now, but they're finding out that they enjoy each other's company. Oh, it's always so wonderful to see a mission completed!"
"We should celebrate, then," declared Dean, "I have a sudden strange urge to try one of those red drinks that Dr Samgrabber was having. Well, she's Dr Philgrabber now," he amended with a grin.
"Oh no, we can't celebrate, not yet," Temeriel told him seriously. "We have to prepare our reports, and submit them to Danael. Then we're finished. She likes to get the reports as quickly as possible. So she can correct them, and get the final versions filed."
"What?" demanded Dean. "You gotta be shitting me."
"Figure of speech, Tem," said Sam hurriedly, at the bewildered look on the cherub's face. "Maybe you'd better just, you know, knock out a quick p-mail, for the, uh, Heavenly Archives," Sam suggested, as Temeriel wrote in his notebook.
"I told Cas that I do NOT do paperwork," Dean growled, "Paperwork is for people who don't have actual useful jobs to do. It's for people who get paid to do it. I am not getting paid enough to do paperwork, Sam."
"Look, it won't take you long, and it'll finish this job off properly," Sam reasoned. "And it'll keep Danael happy. She sounds like an angel you don't want to piss off."
"She does take the administration side of things very seriously," nodded Temeriel. "She can become quite... stern if we are tardy with our reports."
"Screw the Archives, screw reports, screw paperwork, and screw Danael," grumped Dean, "Where's the form for me to fill out to get trauma counselling after spending a week wearing feather pants, huh? Feather pants, that flew, with me in them! Feather pants, that my little brother, and a certain Angel of the Lord, couldn't stop groping! Feather pants, that got me groped by demons! I've spent a week being traumatised to get a job done for them, and on top of it all, now they want a report? A she-demon grabbed my junk, Sam! Where's the paperwork for that, huh?"
"Okay, okay," Sam placated, hearing the shrillness in his brother's voice, "I'm just saying that it might be a good idea to do something about it."
"The only idea I have right now is trying one of those drinks," Dean glowered. "You two frustrated secretaries my join me, or not."
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Temeriel gratefully accepted Sam's offer to help him with his report, while Dean wandered off to find himself another bar. He didn't want to go back into the bar where Syl met Phil, because he didn't want anybody to think to themselves "Look, there's that asshole who was in here earlier this week, you know, the one that was two-timing these two other guys, what a bastard..."
He approached the bar, winked at the cute bartender, and ordered a beer.
"Dean Winchester, submit your mission report to Reception," she told him with a smile.
Dean blinked. "Er, excuse me?" he said, confused.
"Dean Winchester, submit your mission report to Reception," she repeated, the smile wavering.
"Am I going to get that beer?" he asked.
"Dean Winchester, submit your mission report to Reception!" she told him, her face clouding.
Dean groaned. "Tell you what, don't worry about it," he told her, "I'll get something on the way back."
Some guy who'd had too much to drink bumped into him as he left. "Dean Winchester, submit your mission report to Reception," he slurred, giving Dean a friendly pat on the shoulder.
"Yeah, you too, buddy," grimaced Dean.
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
He arrived back at their motel room, with a face like a thunder cloud. He had managed to buy a bottle of Jack and some snacks, but only by dealing with a cashier who would say nothing but "Dean Winchester, submit your mission report to Reception."
"You're back early," noted Sam, as Temeriel carefully wrote his next sentence, "Didn't find a bar you liked? What, it's Ladies' Night, and the strippers were male?"
"Oh, thank fuck for that," sighed Dean, dropping heavily onto his bed.
Sam looked confused. "Thank fuck for male strippers?" he sounded dubious.
"No," groaned Dean, "Thank fuck you're not telling me to submit my mission report to Reception."
"I have already told you to submit your mission report to Reception," Sam pointed out.
"Yeah, but now, everybody is telling me!" exclaimed Dean. "The bartender. The drunk guy who bumped into me. The cashier. The homeless guy I walked past. The weirdo on the corner telling everyone that the end is nigh. A traffic cop. Everybody out there is telling me to submit my mission report!"
"Well, perhaps you should," suggested Sam, peering over Temeriel's shoulder, "Just something quick."
"I'm not doing a report," growled Dean, fishing for the remote, and turning on the TV. "Oh, yeah," he grinned, opening a packet of Cheetos, "Dr Sexy is on!"
"Dean, we're trying to do some work here," Sam complained.
"Shhhhh can't talk watching Dr Sexy," Dean told him.
On the screen, a bleeding patient on a gurney was rushed into A & E.
"Dean Winchester, submit your mission report to Reception!" barked a paramedic.
"Dean Winchester, submit your mission report to Reception?" asked a nurse.
"Dean Winchester, submit your mission report to Reception," confirmed the paramedic.
"Dean Winchester?" enquired the resident, picking up an alarmingly enormous syringe.
"Submit your mission report," snapped the nurse, hanging up an I.V. bag.
"TO RECEPTIOOOOOON!" screamed the patient, writhing in pain.
Dr Sexy strode into the chaos. The entire cast sighed in relief.
"Dean Winchester, submit your report to Reception," he intoned in a cool, authoritative voice, pointing a scalpel at camera. "Stat!"
"AAAAAAAARGH!" yelled Dean, throwing a handful of Cheetos at the screen. Jimi happily began to snuffle them up.
"Dean, keep it down," said Sam, "Tem is trying to do his report, even if you don't want to do yours. I think maybe you should write 'Dean then suggested that a more powerful weapon would be necessary', Tem. It's unlikely that Danael has seen 'Jaws', so that's a reference that she won't understand..."
Nothing worked. He grabbed the laptop, but every link he clicked led to a flashing banner, demanding that he submit his mission report. The car magazine he'd been perusing had had all the text replaced with the same instruction.
The radio was the final insult. He found a heavy rock station, and slumped heavily against the headboard, letting the swelling strains of the intro to 'Fade To Black' wash over him.
Dean Winchester, you can't thwart
The requirement to report
On the job complete tonight –
Sit down now, and start to write,
You may send it as a prayer,
Don't ignore me, boy, I swear,
All reports must be completed.
Do not make this be repeated...
"Aaaaargh!" yodelled Dean in outrage, turning off the radio. Having James Hetfield mournfully exhort him to do his paperwork really was the last straw.
By the time Temeriel had laboriously finished his report, hugged them both goodbye and departed, the bottle of Jack was three quarters gone, and Dean was looking thoughtful.
"It's late, bro, I'm going to bed," yawned Sam, heading for the bathroom. "What about you?"
"Yeah, right behind you," humphed Dean.
"You really probably should do something about a report," Sam suggested.
"You are probably right," nodded Dean. "I'll take care of it while you're in the shower."
As soon as he heard the water running, Dean put down his bottle, knelt beside his bed, put his hands together and shut his eyes to send his report.
"Now I lay me down tonight,
I want to just turn out the light,
And go to sleep, in dreams cavort,
But nooooo, you want some damned report.
I've spent a week as Acting Cupid,
Feeling really fucking stupid,
Walking round in feathered pants
That put my brother in a trance
And made him want to pet my rear –
Do you have any damned idea
How frigging weird a man's life gets
When brother grabs his shorts – and pets?
It would've helped if from the start
I'd known that demons played a part,
Those evil, anti-Cupid jerks
Who threw a spanner in the works.
But no-one thought to check that first?
Your planning has to be the worst.
Do you plan missions by committee?
Because your intel's really shitty.
So, here's what happened, how it went:
Sam and I by Cas were sent
To help out poor Temeriel
Because his mission went to hell.
We found the girl and found the guy,
I let my Cupid's arrows fly,
They didn't work; but one hit Cas,
Which was a real pain in the ass,
He showered me with agape.
I had to make like I was gay.
We had a different plan to try.
I had to use my pants to fly.
I fell out of the air, and then
My brother stroked my pants. Again.
We found the demons out, by chance,
And then guess what? They stroked my pants!
So that's the job, no more for me,
No more Acting Cupidity,
I've done enough of cherub shit,
So count me out. I fucking quit.
Sure, cover this in damned red ink,
But don't you dare to damn well think
I'll write it out for you again –
I hope you break your frigging pen,
So if you like reports, that's fine,
But paperwork's no love of mine,
To re-write this I will decline,
So shove it where the sun don't shine.
And if tonight my last I groan,
Leave James Hetfield the fuck alone.
A-frigging-men."
"All done?" asked Sam, emerging from the bathroom.
"All done," smiled Dean, heading in after him.
"You'd better have done a decent job of it," Sam warned him, "Or she'll just send it back."
"Don't worry, Sammy," Dean reassured him, "I'm pretty sure that Danael will never want to look at another report from me again."
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flap-flap
"Hello, Sam."
"Yikes!" Sam jumped like he'd been stung when Castiel appeared far too close for comfort. Then he gasped for air as Temeriel gave him a cheerful hug hello. "Er, hi, guys," he coughed, getting his breath back. "Um, how did the report go, Tem?"
"Look at this!" the cherub happily waved a piece of parchment. There was hardly any red ink on it at all. "She wrote, 'Much improved, Temeriel. A very good effort' on it!" The Cupid was beside himself with joy. "You know," he went on shyly, "I think she almost smiled when I hugged her."
"That's great, Tem," smiled Sam.
"Temeriel wanted to say a final goodbye," intoned Castiel. "I am here to thank you both for your efforts, and to relieve Dean of his temporary Cupid duties. However, I see that Dean is not here."
"He went off to his Den Of Iniquity," Sam told the angels. "He's found some place he's been going and playing poker, and he's doing really well. He's several thousand up. He said he'd be back later."
"Now that the mission is completed, it would be appropriate for him to relinquish his Cupidity," Castiel stated. "Do you know where he is?"
"You know, I have been wondering where he's been going," Sam admitted, "But he just gives me that great big shit-eating grin, and tells me that I wouldn't approve." He looked thoughtfully at Castiel. "Can you find him?"
"Your brother, no," Castiel answered, "But I can locate his car."
"Why don't we go find him, then," suggested Sam, anticipating having his curiosity satisfied. "You can de-Cupid him, and I can, er, project disapproval."
"Very well," agreed Castiel.
The world lurched sideways...
flap-flap
"Here is Dean's car," Castiel pointed to the Impala, where it sat in a parking lot. "We are several miles from your motel."
"It looks like a, a club of some sort," mused Sam, taking in the large modern brick building and the high walls. "What is it? It can't be a health club. Dean wouldn't go near anything with the word 'health' in the title..."
Castiel peered hard at the building. "It is a... resort," he announced finally.
"Can you get us in?" asked Sam, taking in the security at the front of the building, "It looks pretty well, er, regulated."
"Yes," Castiel confirmed. "I can go and find your brother. Are you certain you wish to accompany me?"
"Er, yeah, I'm sure," Sam told him, thinking it was a strange question, "Truth be told, I'm kind of curious to see what he's been getting up to."
"Very well," Castiel intoned again.
The world lurched sideways once more...
The first thing Sam noticed, was that there was a draft.
The second thing Sam noticed, was that he was naked again.
The third thing he noticed, was that Castiel was also naked.
The fourth thing Sam noticed, was that everybody else was naked as well.
The large mural reading 'Welcome to Greenfields Naturist Retreat' was a bit further down the list.