Title: Adventures in Diplomacy (or how Castiel and Crowley Got Stuck On Earth Helping With the Cleanup) – Ch 1
Universe: Supernatural
Theme/Topic: N/A
Rating: PG
Character/Pairing/s: Castiel, Crowley, Michael (Mentions of Dean)
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers through 5x21 (and then pretty much AU). MOAR blasphemy! Some crack. Randomness.
Word Count: 1,110
Summary: The Archangel Castiel is in charge of Angel Orientation. And puppies.
Dedication: for pipsqueaks! Encouragement for you to catch up and also to let you know I am thinking of your BTR fic. ^_^
A/N: I needed a break from my awful script writing today. Behold the speed fic.
Disclaimer: No harm or infringement intended.
1. In Which Castiel's Life in the Service of DEAN is Hard and the Demon Crowley Learns a Little Sympathy
"This is… confining," Michael states, with a weighty gravity that sucks all of the air out of the room. "It is much too small."
Crowley rolls his eyes and sips at a mug of coffee in the kitchenette, watching as Castiel stands beside his brother in the living room, looking as grave and weighty about the whole thing as Michael does. "It is as Dean has ordered," Castiel says.
Michael gives Castiel a look of utter reproach.
Castiel blinks. "DEAN," he corrects.
Appeased, Michael turns to inspect himself in the mirror thoughtfully, wearing the human body that Castiel has fashioned for him to use during the six months that he will be forced to live on Earth as a human, powerless and removed from the host.
It is the first mandatory tour of duty for any of the angels, and of course Michael would be the eager beaver to go before anyone else.
Crowley thinks he looks ridiculous.
Castiel seems to be thinking similarly, even as he reaches out and straightens the collar on Michael's tacky pewter blue polo. "You are ready, brother," he informs the mortal-bound Archangel with all the encouragement of an obituary. "I have obtained employment for you at a place called McDonald's."
Crowley chokes on his coffee. Neither angel notices.
"Dude, that is… sweet," Michael answers after a moment, dutifully. The words roll off of his tongue like boulders.
A beat.
"Was that not correct? I have studied the Word scrupulously, Castiel, and have drunk many beers. I believe it was correct." Michael fidgets in his new human skin.
Castiel's brow furrows. "It was correct," he confirms, after thinking about it for a moment. "And yet I am disturbed."
Crowley snorts. "You'n me both."
"I do not understand why the Word would be disturbing to you, Castiel," Michael begins, and looks at Castiel in critically, as if afraid that Castiel might fall again sometime soon.
"I apologize. It is difficult to explain. Dean is…"
Michael coughs.
Castiel sighs. "DEAN is the only one of the host I am accustomed to hearing in a manner so…" he trails off and makes a vague gesture with one hand when he can't find the words.
"Crass and tasteless?" Crowley chimes in helpfully, and Michael pauses to give him a disdainful look over his shoulder. "Idiotic?" he continues, encouraged.
"If you blaspheme like that again, I will smite you where you stand, you unholy Hell beast," Michael booms in dark promise, somehow making himself the picture of righteous fury even in that awful short-sleeved-polo-and-slacks get up.
Crowley just smirks at him and dunks his biscotti into his coffee smartly. "With what powers, moppet? You don't think I'm actually going to be afraid of a future fry cook wearing Wal-Mart couture do you?"
Michael blinks and instinctively knows he is being insulted, though he isn't quite sure how, exactly. He turns to Castiel. "What is a Wal-Mart?" he booms.
"According to DEAN, it is a demon infested hellhole." Pause. "But I believe others consider it a department store."
Michael turns to glower at Crowley again, looking rather affronted on both counts. "The moment my power is restored, I will wipe you off the face of all existence," he vows.
Crowley grins. "It's a date then, darling. I'll wear something nice." He picks out his day planner from his pocket and flips six months ahead in it. "Oh wait, that's a Friday. Can I pencil you in for the Wednesday after, maybe?"
Castiel looks tired. "Crowley, please do not heckle the Archangels," he says, not for the first time.
The demon looks innocent. "What? He's the one making me sweet, sweet promises."
Michael makes a fist with his hand and squeezes, like he is pretending to crush Crowley's head with his powerless fingers.
Castiel clears his throat. "Michael," he intones carefully, glancing sideways at the clock on the wall. "You will be late for your first day."
Michael pales at the thought of being anything less than perfect. "Then I will be off. Thank you, Castiel. I hope that you will have an exceedingly awesome and badass day."
Castiel nods in response—still looking kind of pained— while Michael fetches his coat and practically runs out of the apartment door, though not before sparing one last baleful glare at a smiling Crowley on his way out.
"Wow, so Dean was right," Crowley starts eventually, finishing off his biscotti with a flourish, "you really are the most well adjusted angel." Pause. "That's kind of sad."
Castiel is weary. "Yes, it is."
He pads over to the fridge and takes out the beer. Crowley snorts. "It's only nine," he points out.
Castiel pops the top from the first drink. "I am to give a lecture on various facets of being human to a group of my brothers at eleven. Dean has stated that I should begin with puppies."
A moment.
"Right. Cheers then," Crowley says, and watches Castiel finish a six pack for breakfast without another word.
Two hours later, Crowley walks past Castiel's open office door just in time to hear the new Archangel lecturing pedantically to five freshly Earth-bound angels on the enigmatic nature of the things humans call smiles.
"I do not understand," an angel called Barbiel asks after a moment, and holds up a squirming chocolate Labrador retriever puppy. "What about this is supposed to make us smile instinctively?"
"It smells bad," Dardariel confirms.
Atrugiel raises a hand. "And why is he called Rodney? It is not a name that properly sings the praises of DEAN, nor does it strike fear into the hearts of the wicked and Heaven's enemies."
"I believe it has just defecated on the floor," Eiael adds.
Castiel sighs and carefully takes an unhappy Rodney out of Barbiel's curious grasp. "Perhaps we should move on to pie instead," he suggests.
More hands immediately shoot up.
"Why is it called pie when it retains many of the properties humans associate with things called sandwiches?"
"Did the pie or the sandwich come first? If it was the pie, perhaps the sandwiches should be the foodstuff in question here."
"Does DEAN require that we love all pie equally or are some pies created greater than others?"
"What if we prefer sandwiches to pie? Is this considered blasphemy? Can we fall because of it? Why is roast beef so delicious? Is there such a thing as pie with roast beef inside of it?"
Castiel looks very, very tired. Rodney licks his face.
Crowley finds himself going out to buy more beer.
END