Chapter Eighteen

Crowley blinked, and then smiled with the relief of a man who has been told that he has to spend an afternoon cleaning out a horse barn, then finds out it's actually the pink plastic stable of Barbie's horse Tawny.

"Well, that will not present any problem at all," he chortled, "I shall simply summon my darling little Gedda, who is not just a full-blooded Hellhound and at least the second-most feared Beast of the Pit, she is my dear companion and a model of unconditional loyalty and affection. Gedda!' He called, adding a cheerful whistle, "Gedda! Where are you, my darling? Come to Daddy!"

With a brief fwoop noise, a small comet of white vapour popped into existence, and swooped playfully around the room. It swooshed past Bobby a couple of times, and he couldn't help smiling as he felt the ghostly lick of a small doggy tongue in his ear, then the tiny fluffy missile whizzed around Crowley, an excited electron orbiting a doting nucleus with so much energy it couldn't decide which shell to occupy, before taking physical form and dropping into his arms as an equally tiny and fluffy toy Hellpoodle.

"Here she is!" Crowley crooned to the little dog as she climbed up his jacket to kiss his nose, tail wagging furiously, "Here's my little Gedda! Ooooh, she's so ferocious, isn't she? Yes you are! Yes you are!" With a happy yip, the Hellpoodle redoubled her efforts to kiss Crowley into submission. "She's a terror to demons, aren't you, my sweet? But not to me. Oooooh, who's a beautiful bloodthirsty girl, then?" Ruffling the little animal's ears, he bent down and air-smooched her fuzzy little head extravagantly, sending Gedda into paroxysms of delight.

Bobby gave him a pointed look. "That aint gonna cut it, asshat."

Crowley's face assumed an expression of good-natured resignation. "Oh, all right, then," he sighed dramatically. "We'll make it a proper kiss. I've kissed worse, during my career. And plenty of them have laid on the tongue action." He looked down at the happy little creature in his arms. "Even though I do know where you've been. Come on, then, let's make a deal, Gedda, for more cuddles!" Gedda yipped happily at the suggestion, or maybe just at the tone of Crowley's voice. "Is that a yes? All right, then, let's seal it…" With barely a hesitation, he lifted the little bundle of affection, and planted an audible kiss on her muzzle.

The gesture made her go beserk with cheerful doggy enthusiasm. "There we go," he put Gedda down, and reached into a pocket for a silk handkerchief. "Go and say hello to Bobby, darling," he urged her, dabbing at his mouth. "You know, that could've been worse, even knowing that she regularly tears the seats out of very senior demons' trousers." He looked quite pleased with himself. "I think I did rather well, considering how close that muzzle has been to the arse end of some extremely unpleasant Hierarchy. At least it's a close as I'll ever come to actually having to kiss those arses. So, Trial Number One done, what's next?"

Bobby sighed as he bent down to pat Gedda, who was butting against his legs for attention. "As I was tryin' to tell you, it aint that simple, idjit," he said. "That hardly counted as a Trial, did it?"

"Hardly at all," agreed Crowley breezily, "I suppose that when one is as, well, capable as I am, these things are bound to go better than expected.

"You're not listening to me!" snapped Bobby, straightening up. "It's supposed to be a Trial! It's supposed to be difficult! That's the whole point!"

"Well it's not my fault if I'm just too competent," Crowley sniffed disdainfully.

"But it is your fault that you're an idjit," Bobby growled. "Now, shut up, and listen. You are required to kiss a Hellhound, and bathe in its love. I said, shut up, and I'll fill you in on the details…"

Bobby proceeded to fill Crowley in on the details.

Crowley stopped smiling.

And started looking like a man who, having been told that he'll be required to clean out the stable of Barbie's horse, discovers that it is in fact a full-sized replica, right down to the pink cladding, built by a forty-something Barbie enthusiast who still lives with his parents and doesn't get out much.

And for the past six months, it's been occupied by a troop of baboons. With chronically upset stomachs. And a penchant for hurling their own dung.

...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...

"I spy, with my jet black eye," Dean began, "Something beginning with… B."

"Bitch," Sam answered immediately in a flat tone. The game that they had played for hours when he was a small child was, somehow, not quite so engaging now that he was stuck in the panic room with his appallingly cheerful brother, and had palled very quickly indeed. Especially once Dean had used the same B-word several times.

"That's right!" grinned Dean, "Okay, your turn, super-brain."

With a barely controlled humph, Sam said, "I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with J."

"Jerk!" Dean guessed immediately.

"No," said Sam.

"Jimi," Dean indicated the dog who had joined them, and was contentedly snoozing and chasing rabbits in his sleep.

"Nope."

"Jacket?"

"More nope."

Dean waggled his right hand where he wore the heavy silver ring. "Jewellery?"

"No."

"It's not some obscure sigil on the walls in here, is it?" Dean looked around. "Something that hasn't been used for thousands of years, and only a gigantic geek like you would recognise? Jumping Jerusalem's Jewish Judges' Juju?"

"No."

"Jennifer's Jiggling Jugs?" Dean nodded to the one girly poster on the wall.

"No!"

"Hmmmmmm." Dean frowned in thought, then sighed. "I gotta give up, Sammy," he admitted, looking around, "What?"

Sam glared at him. "Justifiable homicide victim digging his own grave," he growled.

Dean pouted, "Oh, hey, that's not a word, that's a whole sentence, no fair!" he complained. Then he sighed. "I guess you're right," he went on, "That game's kinda boring. This room is kinda boring. I'm kinda bored. I want something to do!" He frowned in thought again, then a bright smile broke out on his face. "Hey, I know! I'll call Cas!"

Sam's eyes bugged in disbelief. "What?"

"I'll call Cas," Dean repeated, "He can get in just about anywhere. He can get in here. So, if we can't go out and do something, something to do can come to us! He can bring us another PlayStation!"

"Dean, that's a bad idea," Sam said firmly. "Cas has things to deal with in Heaven. Serious things. He has important responsibilities. You can't go pestering him just because you're bored!"

"What if he's just as bored as I am?" theorised Dean, "What if he really needs a break, too?"

Sam sighed. "Then he can go and, and, I don't know, stand in that garden on a Tuesday, or something, he's an adult, well, in some ways he's an adult, but he's an angel, okay, and he's perfectly capable of deciding when he needs a break…"

But Dean was already kneeling by the bed, his face assuming an expression of reverence as he put his hands together and cleared his throat.

"Now I kneel me down to pray,
To angel Castiel I say
I beg you now to come to me
To help with this catastrophe…"

"Dean…"

"Dreadful fate has now befell
This wayward son – it's like some hell
A terrible calamity,
I plead with you to rescue me…"

"Dean…"

"And stuck with me, my brother Sam
Is suffering just as I am,
I really don't know what to do,
And so, at last, I turn to you…"

"Dean…"

"And if I die here, sorely pained,
I hope at least I'm entertained…"

There was a flap-flap noise, and a flash of light, as Castiel, Angel of the Lord and Warrior of Heaven, manifested before them in all his celestial glory, wearing his full armour, his sword in his hand, radiating righteous vengeance and glaring out at Creation with his most intimidating Eye Sex Stare Of Doom.

"Dean, Sam," he barely acknowledged them, striding across the room, clearly looking for something to smite. "Where is the danger?"

"Whoa," Dean breathed, taking in the sight before him, "That's… wow, Cas, you are totally bad-ass!"

"The content and tone of your prayer suggested that you were in terrible peril," the angel growled, looking around, "What is threatening you?"

Sam let out a small exasperated noise. "I'm so sorry, Cas," he groaned, "I tried to stop him…"

Castiel stared at Dean, having trouble taking in what was before him. "Dean," he began uncertainly, "You are…"

"Yeah, yeah, demonified," sighed Dean, "Which is totally uncool now that Bobby's locked us in here…"

"What happened?" the Angel of the Lord asked in a devastated tone.

"It's kind of a long story," sighed Sam, sitting down on the bed again and giving Castiel the abridged Reader's Digest version of Dean's Demonic Doings.

The angel's face filled with sadness and the infinite compassion of Heaven. "I understand," he said gently.

"And I told him not to pester you, because... you do?" Sam asked.

"Yes." Castiel turned to Dean, and found a smile. "Now that I am here, I understand."

"See?" grinned Dean. "I told you he'd fix the problem! He's awesome like that! So, what I was thinking was… Cas?" Dean's face filled with concern when he saw tears in the angel's eyes. "Cas, dude, are you okay?"

"No, I am not," Castiel took a deep breath, "But I will be." He drew himself to his full height, and his face became resolute. "Dean Winchester, you are the Righteous Man, and it would be an honour, as a servant of Heaven and as… your friend, to offer you my assistance."

"Uh, well, yeah," Dean nodded, "Because that's what friends do, right? Help each other out?"

Castiel smiled. "Yes," he agreed, "That is what friends do."

"Great!" said Dean, "So I was thinking tha- HEY!"

Striking like a snake, Castiel's blade flashed out, and would've run Dean clean through if he hadn't jumped out of the way with the reflexes of a life-long Hunter augmented by demonification.

"What the… Cas, you, you, you assbutt!" yelped Dean. "Oh, I really liked this shirt!"

"This will be easier if you hold still, Dean," Castiel murmured, advancing once more, "I promise you, it will be painless."

"Painless… ?" With a shriek, Dean darted out of the way of another strike, and scuttled behind Sam. "Sam! Saaaaam! Stop the crazy angel! He's tryin' to skewer me!"

"What am I supposed to do?" asked Sam wildly, "He's an angel! Cas!" He held up his hands pleadingly, "Look, can we, uh, you know, talk about this?"

Castiel lowered his weapon, looking confused. "I don't understand," he said, "Dean prayed to me for this. Have you changed your mind, Dean?"

The penny dropped for Sam.

"No!" he yipped. "I mean, yeah! I mean, not that! I mean, don't kill him!"

"But he is clearly distressed by having been transformed into a demon," Castiel said, "He begged me for help, to release him from his pain…"

"Boredom!" squawked Dean, his eyes bugging in horror, "I prayed for release from boredom!"

Castiel frowned as if he didn't understand the word. "Boredom?"

"Boredom!" confirmed Dean as his face assumed an expression of terrible suffering. "We are overwhelmed, tormented, crushed, by terrible, terrible boredom!"

Castiel blinked at him, and lowered his blade. 'You… you prayed to me because you were… bored?"

"Very bored," Dean nodded vigorously, "Very, very bored. Very, very, very. bored. We are SO bored."

"Bobby locked us in down here while he gets on with research on how to undo it," Sam explained warily. "He, uh, didn't like us arguing."

"He broke our gaming stuff," Dean added reproachfully.

"I told him you had much more important things to deal with," Sam gave his brother a reproachful Bitchface #7™ (You Can Be Impossibly Unreasonable Dean, You Know That?), "But he wouldn't listen."

Castiel shrugged and his armour vanished, to be replaced by his more usual earthly attire of rumpled suit, loose tie and ever-present trench coat. He gave Dean a long Eye Sex Stare Of Doom, until Dean started to wilt.

"Demons are by nature selfish creatures," he intoned eventually, "They care for nothing but their own wants and desires, with no concern for the welfare of others. Under the circumstances, it is not completely unexpected that Dean would behave in a fashion so contrary to his usual character, and to entertain a sense of warped priority regarding current events. And so, on this occasion, I think it would be… reasonable to forgive him this lapse in judgement."

Sam let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "Thanks, Cas," he sighed, "That's… thanks."

"Bobby believes that this transformation can be reversed?" Castiel pressed.

"Yeah," Sam assured him, "We got Crowley helping out…"

"He was cheating," Dean rumbled resentfully.

"…So we should have him back to his old, angst-riddled, self-loathing, doubt-racked self ASAP."

"Very well," Castiel nodded. "Then I shall take my leave, as I do have celestial matters to attend to."

"Uh, while you're here, do you think you could let us out?" asked Sam hopefully.

"Bobby is a Man of Knowledge," Castiel replied, "If he put you down here, it is for a reason. Goodbye."

With a flap-flap noise, he was gone.

"Hey!" Dean yelled at empty air, "Hey! Where are you goin'? I wasn't kidding about the boredom thing! The least you could do would be to fix the TV before you go, you flying dick!"

There was another flap-flap noise as Castiel briefly reappeared, and slapped Dean upside the head.

"Assbutt," he growled, before disappearing again.

I get the feeling that there might have been quite a bit of pent-up exasperation in that one headslap. Castiel has clearly been taking notes from Bobby. Which is fair enough; after all, Bobby is a Man Of Knowledge.

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