Sam: Hey!
Lampito: Le sigh. What now, giant fluffy emo?
Sam: I am not serving cookies wearing just this apron!
Lampito: Look, as long as you keep your back to the wall and your knees together you'll be fine...
Sam: Fix it! And DON'T do the Dean thing, I do NOT want to lose the apron, and be left with nothing but oven gloves!
Lampito: Oh, all right.
*the eebil fickriter taps at keys*
Sam: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRGH! *runs away*
Dean (runs past again): AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRGH!
Bobby: Correct me if I'm wrong, but did I just see Dean run past wearin' nothin' but oven gloves, and Sam with nothin' but...
Lampito: A tray. Silver. Antique. With faux filigree chasing.
Bobby: Oh.
Winchesters (run past back the other way): AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRGH!
Bobby: Some pretty impressive workmanship.
Winchesters (run back past back the other way again): AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRGH!
Bobby (frowning thoughtfully): You don't see definition like that every day.
Lampito: That's what he said.
...And could I just be clear that the bathroom window at Bobby's is small and made of frosted glass, so the Widow Witherspoon will not be seeing anything salacious through the binoculars.
CHAPTER SIX
This had better work, Sam thought to himself, this had better work, because if it doesn't, those Leviathan things are going to get out, and they're going to kill or farm everybody, and we'll be the first to die, and I refuse to die with my pants around my ankles, if any Winchester is going to die with his pants around his ankles it can be Dean, pants around his ankles, a satisfied lady beneath him and a beautiful smile on his face...
A sickly orange glow began to pulse weakly as the water began to slosh gently. As Bobby read the rite, the light became brighter, casting an eerie illumination over the worried features of Dean and the green features of Castiel.
"It's working!" yelled Dean, holding up Castiel's head as the angel began to gasp and retch. There was a final sizzle in the air, a tearing in the fabric of the space-time continuum between dimensions, and a hot, swirling, unnatural rift between the mortal realm and the appointed eternal prison of those things abominable unto God opened.
In Bobby's upstairs toilet.
Just in time.
Castiel sprawled in an ungainly fashion, leaned over the bowl, and called for his long lost brother named Ralph. Or, more correctly, Raaaaaaa-aaaaaaa-aaaaaaa-aaaaaaa-aaaaaaa-lph.
"There ya go," Dean muttered, making soothing noises and patting the angel on the back as Castiel leaned his face against the toilet bowl, patted it, and apparently thanked it. "Does that feel better?"
"No," choked Castiel, giving up to The Firehose Within once more.
"Oh, gross," Sam screwed up his nose as he straightened, pulled up and fastened his pants, then jumped down from the vanity. "Uh, I think we'd better..." he grabbed for the flush handle, and the contents of the bowl swirled away into Purgatory with a chorus of thin wailing screams and howls.
"Don't fight it, Cas," advised Bobby, tipping the bucket's contents in and flushing that too, "The sooner they're all out the better."
"So, just keep thinking, you know, purgatory thoughts," encouraged Dean, patting gently, "Think purgatory thoughts about Purgatory monsters! Ha ha ha!"
"Dean?" said Castiel, gazing at him with miserable blue eyes.
"Yeah, Cas?"
"Uriel was funnier than yoooooobrlaaaaaaaaaaaaarg..."
"Whoa, hang on, just... " Dean sighed, and grabbed a stray hank of Castiel's hair out of the firing line. "It's supposed to be girls who do this for each other," he griped, "It was bad enough that I've had to do it for Sam..."
"Hey!" protested Sam.
"Shaddap ya idjits," ordered Bobby, "And keep flushin'."
It seemed to go on for a long time: Castiel continued to bring up the strange, grey... stuff that was the souls he'd taken from Purgatory, Dean kept up the encouraging noises and general there-thereing, and Bobby and Sam monitored the gateway, proffered the odd damp washcloth, and kept flushing.
"He's like a TARDIS," mused Sam, "A TARDIS full of puke, able to hold way more puke on the inside than you'd possibly ever think the physical form on the outside. Time And Relative Disgorgement In Space."
"A property you also displayed as a carsick toddler," commented Dean, "Although at least we didn't have to down trou and do this every time you felt sick."
After a while, the endless gush of grey... stuff seemed to slow down a bit, then the intervals between emetic episodes became longer, and finally came dribbling to a halt.
"Is that it?" asked Dean cautiously.
"I believe that last bout may have included some of my vessel's internal organs," sighed Castiel, his voice sounding even more gravelly than usual. "And possibly also my will to exist."
"Always a good sign that a bout of puking is comin' to an end," Bobby smiled, "When you find yourself wantin' to jump in and flush away with the rest of it, you're getting to the bottom of the tank."
Castiel still looked terrible, but marginally less terrible than he had looked whilst being sick. "I am..." he began, seemingly at a loss for words. "... Sorry." He cocked his head, looking like their nerd in a trench coat again. "That single word does not seem adequate to apologise for... everything."
"It's a start, son," Bobby grinned wryly.
Castiel slumped against the wall. "I am..." he ran out of vocab again. "I have... I have been very foolish."
"Again, a reasonable start," Bobby nodded.
Castiel turned on an expression similar to the one that Jimi had worn as a puppy when he had been caught out eating something, doing something or crapping somewhere he shouldn't. "I have been... a very bad angel," he said finally, in a small and miserable voice. "I have done terrible things, in sin. I am guilty of Pride, Anger, Envy. And possibly also of Gluttony, if ingestion of souls counts." He turned sad eyes to Sam. "I am so sorry, Sam, for putting a hole in your wall. I have no idea how I can possibly make amends for my appalling behaviour. And Dean, your car, the item that is dearest to you after your brother, wrecked, on my account." He waved a hand distractedly. "I apologise to Baby."
"That's... okay, Cas," Dean said with a small smile. "At least you realise that what you've been doing is wrong."
"A lot of people never get that far, let alone admit it and try to apologise for it," commented Sam.
"And you apologised to my car," Dean added, "That right there gets you some brownie points."
Castiel didn't appear to hear him; he let out a small sigh. "My Father would be so disappointed with me. I have let Him down so badly."
"Weeeeeeeell," hummed Bobby, "I'm not gonna attempt to fathom the inscrutable workings of The Almighty's mind, but a lot of folks agree that He's pretty big on the whole forgiveness thing, in the face of genuine contrition."
"But... I'm an angel!" Castiel burst out. "I should have known better!"
"Yep, you should have," Bobby agreed, "And now you've remembered it. Well done you."
Castiel looked lost. "What do I do now?" he asked plaintively. "As a result of my actions, Heaven is in chaos, the Host are in disarray..."
"Fix it," Dean supplied promptly. "You want to make amends? Fine. You fix it. You made the mess, you clear it up."
Castiel looked bewildered. "I would not even know where to start," he ventured.
"Well, you gotta identify the major issues, and prioritise," Sam began, going into problem-solving mode. "You work out what's most important, and tackle that first. Maybe you can think about what your Father would do."
The angel's brow furrowed in thought. "The Archives will be badly backlogged and disorganised," he mused, "And Heaven's weapons must be secured..."
"Well, there you go," Sam told him, "You make a start on those, and then, you, well, go from there."
Castiel sat up straight, then stiffly climbed to his feet, his 'I am an Angel of the Lord, a Warrior of Heaven' demeanour sliding into place. "You are right. I shall do my best to restore order, until such time as my Father returns." He gave Dean what the Winchesters privately referred to as Castiel's Patented Eye-Sex Stare Of Doom. "Thank you, Dean," he intoned, "And thank you Bobby and Sam, for your assistance and understanding with... everything."
"Just... don't do it again, Feathers," Bobby rolled his eyes, "Ya idjit."
"I promise that I will not," Castiel said firmly. "I shall consider my conduct every day, as I ask my Father for forgiveness and guidance, and I sha-" his voice cut off as he let out a gasp.
"Cas?" asked Dean, worried, "Cas, are you all right?"
"I am not certain," Castiel replied, wincing again, "It is possible that I may be experiencing some after effects of my... AAAAH!" Once more he clutched at his midriff.
An ominous gurgling sounded once more, echoing threateningly around the small room.
"Cas," frowned Bobby, checking the swirling septic connection to Purgatory, "Are you going to throw up again?"
"I do not feel like I am going to be sick," said Castiel, "However..."
The gurgling sounded again, louder, deeper, darker. And...
Lower down.
Castiel's expression was unreadable. "I believe that I am yet to be... completely purged."
Dean's expression was easily recognisable as a textbook definition of horror. "Oh. My. God," he managed. "Are you telling me that you're... and they're... and you're gonna..."
"Not vomit," Cas confirmed, "But peristaltic activity of the gastrointestinal tract will definitely be involved."
"The Volcano Special burritos," realised Bobby in horrified realisation. "Son, are you tellin' us that you've got more souls in there, yet to, er, make their exit?"
Castiel cocked his head. "I do not believe there are any... souls left," he replied finally.
"Er, guys," Sam began, his face draining of colour. "Just a theory here, but... say there was a dimension, maybe called Purgatory, that was home to a whole bunch of corrupted souls, and also to some really nasty fuglies called Leviathans, say they were all trapped in this dimension, maybe waiting for a chance to get out, and say that one day, a hole opened up between Purgatory and physical reality, and say that all those souls and the Leviathans all wanted to get out. Say it was likely that the biggest baddest fuglies, these Leviathans, would get out first, shoving all the other souls out of the way so they could be first out... now, say there's an angel on the other side of the gateway, 'ingesting' what comes out, so, say they'd be first out so they'd be first ingested. Then say a whole bunch of those lesser souls piled in on top of them, and say they had to go somewhere to make room... say the containment within the angel and his vessel started to fail, and say that the Leviathans had been further 'ingested' than the souls when that happened... say the souls all came back out the way they went in, but... say the Leviathans were moved along closer to an, uh, alternative exit..."
"They stampeded through the house first, so they're closer to the back door than the way they came in," breathed Bobby. "God's tits."
GROWRM PBLOOB LOOLOOB BLOOPLOOB BLOOOP GLOOBLOOB
Castiel winced again, but remained upright. "I would prefer that you all leave now", he said gravely.
"Cas," Dean rasped, "You can't be here by yourself when..."
"Dean," Cas said firmly, "You the once told me, in no uncertain terms, that 'The last thing a guy wants is another guy eye-sexing him while he's on the can, Cas! Except maybe for Special Me Time, or Special Cuddles, but he TOTALLY does NOT want an Angel of the Lord materialising practically in his lap when he is communing with the gods of the water closet! Personal space, dude!'."
"Come on, bro," Sam put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Cas doesn't want us in the bathroom while he... takes care of business."
Dean nodded reluctantly. "Okay," he agreed, "But we'll be right outside the door..."
"You will not. I do not want you in the house while I take care of business," stipulated Castiel.
PBLOOB BLOOLOOPL BLOOBGLMPLOOB BLOOOP
"Come on, boys," Bobby said gruffly, "He's an Angel of the Lord, he knows what he's up against."
"I do," nodded Castiel. "My mess to clean up." Carefully, he removed his coat, and handed it to Dean. "Please hold this for me, Dean," he asked, in the same tone that Captain Lawrence 'Titus' Oates probably used in Antarctica in 1912 when casually announcing that he was just stepping out for some fresh air, and his colleagues should not wait up.
Numbly, Dean took the coat. "I'll... hang on to it for you," he managed.
"Thank you." Castiel winced once more. "Now, please leave."
Bobby steered the Winchesters out. "There's spare rolls in the cupboard under the vanity," he choked out as they left. Castiel nodded, and closed the door behind them.
Of course, Dean wouldn't go. Despite Bobby and Sam's increasingly frantic insistence, despite the severity of the groans, gurgles, shrieks and other eldritch noises that accompanied the Leviathans being excreted and flushed back to Purgatory, he paced in concern up and down the hallway outside the bathroom.
When the deep, almost subsonic rumbling began, he knocked on the door, only to be answered with more groans, more howls, the rattle of the toilet paper holder and the sounds of flushing. As the rumbling grew louder and the house began to shake, he pounded on the door, yelling at Cas, until, as the red glow under the door began to grow brighter, and the rumbling rose to a roar, Sam grabbed him and threw him into a fireman's carry, following Bobby down the stairs and out the door and into the yard at a run, not stopping until they reached a distant bank of derelict truck bodies behind which they dived to take shelter...
"He's still in there!" was as far as Dean got before the house blew up.
...And that, dear Denizens, is how Singer Salvage got blowed up in the Jimiverse. Your kind encouragement prompted the bunny!
Reviews are the Winchester Of Your Choice Patting You Soothingly On The Back While You Throw Up In The Bathroom Of Life!