Cas's Logical Sequel, Chapter 05
By CastielLovesDean
Correction: A reviewer rightfully pointed out that Crowley's not British. I think that chapter may have been posted before we discovered that he's actually Scottish.
A/N: Yeah, sorry this story is taking longer to write than an actual pregnancy.
February 14th, 2012
Dean had gone on nonstop about how Samantha was going to spend her life wearing turtle-necked mumus and rolling around in a plastic bubble. At first it was funny, even a little endearing, to hear these impassioned, paternal, completely delusional speeches from his older brother, but Sam had had enough enough. "She'll go to the beach at some point," Sam argued finally. "I'm sure she'll want to wear a bathing suit."
"Nuh-uh," Dean denied, shaking his head like an overcaffeinated squirrel. "She can't go to the beach because her bubble won't fit in the Impala and there aren't any beaches within rolling distance."
"Yeah, good luck keeping a fully-grown Nephal in a bubble, man. Specially one as stubborn as you."
Dean gasped dramatically. "I am not! You take that back!" Then his nose started to bleed. It had been like that for a couple days: when he could breathe through it, he inevitably wound up bleeding from it. "Damn it." He pinched his nose sharply and leaned forward. "Cas?" he called out.
"Yes, Dean?" Cas asked, suddenly beside him.
"Could you help me out a little here?"
"You know the effect is only temporary, Dean. Your hormones will just return your nose to its current state."
"Is it so difficult to just poke me in the damn forehead?" Dean demanded.
Cas frowned at the verbal abuse, but reminded himself that Dean was under the influence of a lot of hormones. He healed Dean's nose. Ah, who was he kidding? Dean was always irritable and bossy, pregnant or not.
"Thanks." Dean yawned and rubbed the blood off his upper lip. "I'm gonna go take a nap, guys."
"You just took a nap, Dean. You've only been up long enough to eat a couple slabs of ribs."
"One of the benefits of being pregnant, Sammy. See ya later."
"Dean, wait a moment."
Dean stopped and turned around. "Yeah, Cas? What is it?"
"Have you moved your bowels today?"
Dean groaned. Constipation was definitely not one of the benefits of pregnancy. "Ugh. No. Of course not."
"Well, Dean, you should really-"
"I know, I know. Look, if it starts to hurt, I'll let you know. Otherwise, just leave me alone."
"You should drink your juice."
"I am not drinking prune juice. Not until I'm, like, eighty. And I plan to be dead by then, so if you'll excuse me..." He fled from the room before anyone could force the prune juice down his throat.
ACDC
When he woke that evening, Dean could hear Bobby's house shake and moan under the strain of a Valentine's blizzard. Either that or he was gonna have to get the rock salt. A quick waddle up the basement stairs confirmed the snowstorm. Of course, the snow didn't detract from the eerie feeling of the dark, empty house or the suspicious soft glow emanating from the kitchen. "What the Hell?" he whispered to himself. He grabbed one of the shotguns that practically lined the house and checked the cartridges. Salt. Perfect. He slowly approached the door, stretching out his senses for any sign of evil. He slammed the door open and found himself shocked by what he saw.
Bobby's kitchen was full of lit candles Dean recognized from the older man's ritual supplies. The cheap kitchen table had a clean white tablecloth and was covered in roses and more candles. There was a fancy-looking tall silver lid in front of the chair. Dean was pretty sure the whole place was a fire hazard. Castiel stepped into view holding an obscenely large heart-shaped box of what Dean assumed was chocolate. "Hello, Dean. Did you sleep well?"
"Sure. What's going on?"
Castiel cocked his head. "It's Valentine's Day."
"Yeah...?"
"As I understand it, February fourteenth is celebrated by giving your lover flowers and candy and frequently spent dining by candlelight."
"That sounds about right."
"Then why are you confused?"
"Uh... I dunno. I mean, I guess I just always thought of candlelit dinners and chocolates as ways to get someone in the mood."
Cas glanced at his handiwork. "Is it working?"
Dean chuckled. "Maybe." He sat at the table. "What's for dinner?"
Castiel lifted the silver lid to reveal dinner. "Cheeseburgers."
Dean laughed.
"Is something wrong?"
Dean continued to laugh. "No, no, not at all." He regained his composure. "I just thought it was gonna be something pretentious and unpronounceable. You know: French."
"You don't like French food."
"No, I don't."
"You like cheeseburgers."
"I do!" As if to prove it, he picked up one of the two burgers on the plate and took a bite. It transcended delicious; It was even better than the ones from that seaside shack in Delaware. "Oh my God," he huffed around a mouthful of beef. "This is amazing." He gulped and took a giant bite. "Where did you get these?"
Castiel looked familiarly smug. "I made them."
"Yeah, but who, like, taught you? I've had Bobby's burgers, and they aren't that good. I swear, if Gabriel's been holding out on me-"
"It wasn't Gabriel," Cas insisted with a scowl. "I made them."
"You?" Dean asked incredulously. "I mean, no offense, but a couple months ago you couldn't make cereal."
"I'd never had to eat before. But I've been doing research. I've been practicing. While you've been sleeping for the past two months, I've made two thousand, three hundred, and sixty-seven different cheeseburgers."
Dean swallowed the food in his mouth. "Wow. That's a lot of cheeseburgers."
"Yes, it is. And quite of few of them were... subpar." Castiel scrunched his nose.
"Aww," Dean cooed. "I'd offer to put out, but," Dean frowned at his swollen belly, "I think that might be more of a punishment than a reward."
"It would never be a punishment, Dean. But I put a lot of effort into this, so you should finish your food."
Dean heartily agreed and scarfed down the rest of his cheeseburgers. He looked up at Cas when his Angel handed him a fresh fruit pie. "I love me some pie!" he exclaimed, digging out a piece of pie. "What kind of pie is this?"
"It's a plum pie," Castiel informed him with a straight face.
"'Plum?'" Dean recoiled from the fork as if it were a snake, or worse, a salad. "Prunes? You tried to trick me!" he accused venomously. "Using pie! That's blasphemy!"
"I don't think you understand what blasphemy is."
"Well then it's worse!" Dean shouted, slamming his fork on the table. "You're trying to disguise health food as pie! For shame, Cas! For shame."
"Dean, you've barely moved your bowels-"
Dean crossed his arms defensively and slouched in his chair. "Oh, this is great candlelit dinner conversation."
"-in the past week. I'm just trying to make you more comfortable."
"I'll be more comfortable once Samantha's born."
"Will you at least try the pie?"
"You mean the pastry equivalent of the gruesome offspring of Cthulu and a fluffy kitten? No."
"Don't you think you're exaggerating just a little?"
"No! If anything I was... what's the opposite of exaggerate? Unexaggerate? Dexaggerate?"
"Dean, I worked really hard on that pie. Gabriel even said that it would taste good."
"Gabriel would do anything to trick me into-"
"Gabriel would never lie... about pie," Castiel declared seriously.
Dean frowned. He supposed Cas had a point; the Archangel took his sweets pretty seriously. Finally, he sighed and, wincing, slowly put the fork to his mouth and ate the pie. He gently rolled the pastry around in his mouth, expecting the horrifying taste and texture of prune to overwhelm him at any moment. It never did. Actually, it wasn't bad. Not on par with, say, one of Marcy's peach cobblers, but more than edible. "This doesn't taste like prune."
"Well, there are also peaches and apricots and pineapple juice in there."
Dean didn't want to admit that he liked it. "It needs whipped cream."
"You can have as many of those pies as you want. It should help with the constipation."
Dean rolled his eyes. Leave it to Castiel to ruin the moment. "You know," Dean said, pushing the pie aside, "I'll have more tomorrow. Don't wanna overdo it and spend all tomorrow indisposed, right? Are those for me?"
"Oh. Yes." Castiel handed Dean the oversized candy box. As he stood next to Dean, admiring his strong features in the candlelight while the Hunter devoured the chocolates, he wondered if he should tell Dean those chocolates were laxatives before he ate the entire box. Ah, he'd probably be fine.
ACDC
March fifteenth was the first warm day of the year, so Sam and Dean had gone outside to enjoy it. To be fair, it was still slightly chilly, and there was still snow on the ground from a blizzard three days earlier, but fifty-three degrees felt like summer compared to the Hoth-like snowscape they'd been trapped in for over a month. Sam made a little bonfire for just a bit of extra warmth, and the brothers sat at it for a while, staring at the nearby South Dakotan wilderness while Dean ate an entire prune/peach/apricot pie. It had been ages since they'd been able to just enjoy each other's company.
Something was bothering Sam, though. "Man, why are you squirming so much? I mean, is your chair uncomfortable, or...?"
"The chair's fine. It's just this damn indigestion I've been having for, like, two weeks." He shifted and slouched yet again as he rubbed his tummy soothingly.
"Still constipated?"
"Ugh. It's better, but yeah. Thanks for that."
"I'm here for you, man."
Dean sighed and shook his head. "But that's not it - it's like this little air bubble keeps moving around, but it just won't go away. Actually, I think it's gotten worse."
"It feels like something's moving around in there?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
Sam smirked a little. "Like a bug?"
"Oh thanks for putting that image in my head, Sam, but yeah, something like that."
Sam grinned like an idiot. "Or maybe a widdle tiny baby?"
Dean sat upright instantly and focused his attention on his 'indigestion,' not even giving himself the chance to poke fun at Sammy's baby talk. Sam must have been right – now that he thought about it, it did feel more like a baby and less like gas. He laughed at the sensation, the concept of I'm-gonna-be-a-dad springing to the forefront of his mind as he reveled in the earliest movements of his first child. "Oh my God," he exclaimed in wonder, blinking back happy tears. "It's her, I can feel it!" He and Sam exchanged a look of wonder and joy as they laughed together into the afternoon.
ACDC
Somewhere else in America, a pretty young woman sprinted up the stairs to the modest apartment she shared with her two friends and fellow coven members. "We can do it!" she yelled gleefully. "We can do the spell!"
"Which spell?" their coven leader asked apathetically, too engrossed in a book to look up.
"The one we thought we couldn't do because it required a live Nephal!"
"Did you find something else we could use?"
"Better! I've found out about a human who's pregnant with an Angel's baby."
"No way!" the third witch shouted excitedly.
"Isn't that fantastic?"
"What's her name?"
"That's the weird part..."
"That's the weird part?"
"Yeah. It's not a she. It's a he. His name is... uh..." She fished around in her pocket, pulled out a scrap of paper, and read it aloud. "Dean Winchester."
The other two witches gasped in fear, and the leader finally paid her full attention. "'Winchester?'"
"The 'Dean Winchester?'"
"You fool, he's a Hunter!" the leader scolded. "And a damn good one! There's no way anyone gets their hands on the child of a Hunter and an Angel. Can't be done."
"Well, it couldn't hurt to look into it, could it?"
The lead witch laughed at her. "Fine. You figure out a way to separate an infant from its Hunter and Angel parents," she offered sarcastically, "and we'll talk."
AN: For the record, I like prunes. Just don't think Dean would.
AN2: I figure that just Dean can be afraid of cats while liking kittens just the way he likes kids but thinks people are crazy.