Title: Adventures in Diplomacy (or how Castiel and Crowley Got Stuck On Earth Helping With the Cleanup) – Ch 2
Universe: Supernatural
Theme/Topic: N/A
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing/s: Cas, Crowley, Dean (maybe slight undertones of DeanxCas who knows)
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers through 5x21 (and then pretty much AU). MOAR blasphemy! Some crack. Randomness.
Word Count: 2,280
Summary: Some inter-departmental clashing. And piecake.
Dedication: pinkpapyrus for the crazy capslock and the blatant stealing of her pics. LOL
A/N: More speed fic! Because I am avoiding the last fifteen pages of my script because they're stupid. ;_;
Disclaimer: No harm or infringement intended.
2. In Which a Line is Drawn and Castiel is Viscerally Offended by Crowley's Actions
In the new world order under DEAN, demons are no longer responsible for creating (or even encouraging) chaos and strife on Earth. Now they are what one might consider the celestial police officers in charge of monitoring humanity's (admittedly impressive) self-created chaos and strife.
SAM has stated that the demons will watch mankind like highway patrolmen watch speeding cars, popping up from crafty hiding spots under rocks and bushes and freeway overpasses whenever someone breaks a heavenly law so that they can speak to the perpetrator and give fair warning. "Sir," they will say, often in a dream or drug-induced vision, "were you aware that this is your sixth murder in twenty years? You do realize that if you keep going down this road you will be sent to the ninth circle, right? And in the ninth circle, you will have to listen to Lucifer wax poetic about how dumb and pathetic and disgusting you are as puny human beings until it's time to go to the Gas Room."
And then the offending human will probably say, "Well no, officer, I didn't know I was doing that, I could have sworn this was only murder number four. But thank you very much for stopping me and telling me. I'll try to curb my serial killing spree immediately, and aim to stay somewhere in the eighth circle of Hell when I die instead."
And then the demon will nod, and will disappear, and leave the actual human police to deal with the human criminal during his remaining time on Earth (if they catch him at all), because Hell's authority is not over the living while they are on Earth; Hell's authority will only matter once the physical body has been shed and it is time to make the eternal soul of the person suffer the wrath of SAM.
And this is where DEAN's brilliant idea of keeping Crowley here on Earth comes in, because Crowley is the demon charge of Hell's police force on Earth. From his tiny office with a window view of a brick wall, Crowley summons his fellow demons, educates them on company policy, and then assigns them on tours of duty all throughout the known world.
It's not exactly the business he'd wanted to be in when he'd signed on with Team Free Will, but it works in its own ways, when certain demons on the force bribe him for the juicier beats or to prolong or shorten their tours accordingly. He accumulates a decent amount of property from all of these under-the-table deals, both in Hell and on Earth, and as they say, it's a living. He knows SAM knows all about the deals, but lets it happen because Crowley did help save the world so he could make deals and live in obnoxious affluence as a result of them in the first place.
It's not like it's hurting anyone. Mostly.
Not anyone who doesn't deserve to be a little bit hurt, anyway.
Next to Crowley's room, the apartment's other bedroom-turned-office is designed to serve the very same purpose for the forces of Heaven. There, Castiel serves as the angel commissioner extraordinaire in charge of making sure his very special brothers and sisters don't make a smoldering pile of the planet everyone had worked so hard to keep intact. He arranges for the angels to go to Earth, provides an empty vessel in which they will live as humans during their six months cut off from the host, and afterwards, when they are returned to their angelic forms, he is in charge of their petitions to perform the occasional miracle and monitors their work encouraging righteous actions and helping lost souls seek redemption. (In other words Castiel watches them do boring stuff; it's why Crowley calls the angels the useless branch of the armed forces, kind of like the Coast Guard only slightly more celestial. At least his side sees some actual action.)
In short, within each of the rooms of this tiny, crappy apartment, the forces of Heaven and Hell and their influences on Earth are carefully weighed and balanced and monitored on a daily basis by an overworked demon and a stupidly devoted angel.
So of course the waiting room outside these two rooms is where the actual interesting stuff happens.
On one particularly sweltering summer afternoon, Castiel is at his desk, carefully explaining to his brother Gazardiel why the people he's working with during his stint on Earth prefer to be called Asian and not Oriental.
"It's complicated," he'd managed, on seeing Gazardiel's questioning head-tilt-of-doom. He thinks a little, before trying to offer another explanation. "People ascribe multiple meanings to words based on time of reference, the person using them, geographical region, and context of the situation. Mostly, Oriental is used for inanimate objects. Rugs. Rice. Artwork."
"Humans are needlessly complex," Gazardiel mutters as he takes this in. "Why do their words hold so much power over them when so many of them don't even speak the same language?"
Castiel blinks a few times. "It's…complicated," he manages again, and then sighs because even after all of his time down here, he stilldoesn't get them either.
To be fair, DEAN is not a fair representative sample of humanity in general.
Gazardiel head-tilts-of-doom some more in the meantime, and waits for more elaboration about what Castiel means by complicated.
Castiel lamely offers him a beer.
Crowley is likewise at his desk, playing solitaire on his computer and pretending to care while a whiny little demon named Mosley is complaining about how the whole warning system the demons have to adhere to now is sure bringing down the soul count in Hell.
"Quality over quantity," Crowley grunts absently, "We get 100% proof evil filtered down nowadays." He is about to slip into his shtick about how he might be persuaded to get Mosley into a more lucrative beat—say a government office of any world power—if he's so concerned about soul counts, but before he can, the walls of the apartment start to shake ominously, and there's the telltale scent of sulfur and ozone mingling in the air.
"Great," Crowley mutters, and blinks out of the office.
Both Castiel and Crowely arrive in the small living room that serves as the Embassy's waiting area just in time to hear a newly grounded angel named Hasmal declare, "But these are the orders of our Lord DEAN."
A fresh off the Styx demon called Chaney grins back mockingly at the indignant angel from the couch. "And that's why SAM is way better than DEAN," he declares, and leans back, sipping a beer while looking smug.
"I refuse to remain in the presence of such filth." the angel declares, and begins to unfurl his wings in a manner that speaks of ready-to-smite.
"Yeah? That's not what your mom said last night," the demon rejoins.
The angel frowns in confusion, wings mid-furl. "I have no mother."
The demon pauses when he realizes that that's true and mentally backtracks. "Uh, well, that's not what your DEAN said last night," he offers next, lamely.
From his doorway, Castiel blinks. "I was the only one who spoke to Dean last night," he points out reasonably, finally feeling the need to interrupt the quarrel. "He stated nothing specific regarding filth when I went to receive Revelation."
Hasmal looks vindicated upon hearing that, while Chaney just snickers and says, "Oh is that what they're calling it these days?" because he's evil, and can't help it.
"That is what they have always called it," the angels both answer with perfect seriousness, and tilt their heads in strange synchronization.
Crowley sighs, because this whole Autistic Angel spiel could go on forever if he let it. "Let's just all sit down and shut up and read the Marie Claire alright?" he suggests from his doorway, looking at Hasmal and Chaney with eyebrows appropriately arched and suggesting of things in the arena of gay antics (which are his specialty). "It's sweet you enjoy pulling each other's pigtails so much, boys, but I'd like to be able to concentrate on my game without you stinking up the place with all the fanboy pheromones."
"Then I will strike him down and this conversation will be over," Hasmal offers. "He dares to mock the will of DEAN and all that is good and holy."
Castiel nods. "Dean is very good," he agrees, all pining like.
Chaney crosses his arms defiantly. "Well I think SAM is way better is all," he huffs.
"He's got anger issues," Crowley snorts, before he can stop himself.
Chaney just grins. "And they're awesome. I mean, I read the books. Towards the end DEAN just gets all mopey and pitiful. He was totally ready to say yes to Michael, and then where would we be?"
Castiel frowns. "But he didn't."
"Well yeah, because of SAM and his awesome anger."
"SAM said yes too," Hasmal points out, looking sulky. Castiel is very close to looking the same.
"Yeah, but He did it with a plan! And He used the power of Free Will to burn Lucifer's power out. Way more awesome than DEAN. In fact, I think SAM should be DEAN instead of DE…"
Crowley is the only one who notices it when the Archangel Castiel's wings begin to unfurl and the walls begin to shake.
"Shit," he mutters, and disappears as quickly as he is able.
Five minutes later, DEAN looks disapprovingly around the almost totaled apartment. "Dude," He mutters, eyes on Castiel. "I was just finishing the greatest gift known to man and Crowley—the demon— pulls me away because you can't play nice with the other kids?"
Crowley would be insulted at the implications in DEAN's tone if they weren't so unbelievably true. Castiel has the grace to look cowed. "It's complicated?" the Archangel offers lamely, while DEAN tsks at him and pointedly declares, "That's it, no Piecake for you."
Everyone blinks. "Piecake?"
DEAN grins and holds up an overflowing pie pan in triumph. "Dude. Pie with cake inside. Greatest gift known to man."
Castiel looks heartbroken. "And none for me."
DEAN sighs at the angel's big sad moon eyes and eventually gives in. "Okay maybe a little for you. But seriously guys, this can't keep happening. We're never going to get our deposit back on this place if you keep ripping up the ground," He points out, and everyone knows that while He commands the full realms of Heaven and Hell now, He still doesn't really have dominion over His fellow man in quite the same way (or at all). It is, after all, the terrifying power of Free Will.
"I apologize, Dean. I will endeavor to work harder at keeping the peace amongst the angels and demons that enter this place in the future," Castiel promises DEAN, eyes full of hope again, now that he has been allowed to partake in the greatest gift known to man.
"I know it's not gonna be easy, but…" DEAN trails off, looking around the room thoughtfully. Then snaps his fingers in epiphany. "I got an idea."
"That can't be good," Crowley mutters, and as usual, is the only person (or demon or whatever) present who is always right and sane at the same time.
DEAN ignores him and goes into Castiel's office to grab a marker; he uses it to draw a thick black line down the center of the apartment. "There," he states when he's done, looking self-satisfied. "No demons on this side, no angels on that side. We'll fix the floorboards in the morning. Cool?"
Castiel thinks about this before nodding solemnly. "Cool," he repeats, and makes DEAN grin.
Crowley is not as impressed as Castiel is (probably because he lacks the giant angel-crush Castiel is harboring that makes him incredibly biased towards everything DEAN says or does). "That's the stupidest thing I've ever…" the demon begins, but before he can finish, realizes that DEAN is already gone after receiving the Archangel's acknowledgement (which just figures).
On top of that, the Piecake has been left as a peace offering on—how convenient—Castiel's side of the black line. Unbeknownst to them both, their Lord and Savior's unexpectedly speedy exit is due to the fact that He has just had another brilliant idea regarding Creation; this one is going to be called Piewaffle (and it will not just be good, but awesome as well).
This of course, leaves Crowley and Castiel alone together again, standing in the middle of their destroyed waiting room and its ridiculous line of black Sharpie drawn down the middle.
"Great," Crowley mutters, because the line definitely doesn't do anything for the place's already shoddy ambiance. "Look what you did now." He glances accusatorily at the angel.
Castiel's answering look is just as put out. "You are the one who told on me." The words are reasonable, but the tone he uses is full of wounded indignation and betrayal.
Crowley sputters. "Don't look at me like that. I'm evil! I'm supposed to thwart you!"
Castiel just shakes his head like he has been greatly wronged somehow, and wordlessly takes the piecake into his office with a supremely judgmental look on his face. The door shuts loudly behind him.
Crowley sighs and can't believe these damned angels and how they make him—him— the demon feel guilty.
Eventually Crowley heads back into his office as well and tells himself that he didn't want any stupid piecake anyway. Not really.
It isn't until a full five minutes later that Crowley realizes the door is on Castiel's side.
END