Eternally Needing Proof (90 Proof)
Crack. Blasphemous, pointless crack. Sam and Dean corrupt Castiel with Cheetos and alcohol.
I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.
Someone had to chip away at that hardass.
– Dean Winchester
Sam was sitting on his bed reading 66 Seals: A Tourist’s Guide to Freeing Lucifer (which had been slipped under the door sometime during the previous night) when he heard them coming. Fighting, again. With a preemptive eyeroll and a request for patience aimed at the ceiling, he put the book aside just as Dean slammed the motel room door open and stormed in.
Sam watched his brother go straight to his own bed, kneel down, and put his hands together in prayer over the coverlet. “Dear God: take your damn angel back. I’ve had it with his bullshit. Amen.”
Castiel stepped in on a gust of wind, motions stiff with what could only be righteous anger. Despite the average size of his host, Castiel still managed to somehow fill the room beyond capacity. “Dean Winchester!”
The mirrors on the ceiling rattled threateningly. Sam balanced a pillow on his head just in case, then got his camera phone and waited for a snapshot moment.
Dean ignored them both. “P.S., bring my brother Sam a pony so he’ll finally get that big emo hole in his soul filled and then he’ll stop fucking around with demons. Amen again.”
“You are the most infuriating specimen,” Castiel said, pointing an incriminating finger at Dean. “I will not tolerate further insolence from you.”
“What was that, Jackassiel?” Dean said without rising. “You told me you wanted respect, and I told you to quit following me around saying stupid shit that doesn’t make any sense. Just go back to Candy Mountain or wherever you’re from. I’m sure God will understand.”
Castiel made claws of his host’s hands and advanced on Dean with shadows beginning to gather around him, but stopped short when Sam said, “Hey, hey. Thou shalt not kill.”
Castiel pointed at Dean again. “You are a liar, a thief, and a whoremonger, long overdue for a smiting.”
“Your hard-on for smiting has prevented us from negotiating what should be the relatively simple matter of catching or staying on a bus,” Dean shot back.
Sam sighed. “Don’t quote ‘Dogma’ at him, Dean, he doesn’t get it. Why don’t you two get a room?”
Dean stood. “I don’t fuck holy loser tax accountants, with or without the special angel filling!”
“I do not copulate with humans!” Castiel shouted. “And certainly not this one.”
“You said ‘copulate’,” Dean said, cocking his head back to stare at the angered angel. “Dude, you need to loosen up.”
“I am not here to ‘loosen up’,” Castiel said. He was still annoyed but it was closer to some brand of sulkiness rather than an urge to turn Dean into a briquette.
“I don’t need your celestial cooties anyway,” Dean said. “C’mon, Bitchiel, let’s tie one on.”
Twenty minutes later they were at the closest bar with a round of tequila shots in front of them.
“God made alcohol,” Dean said. “Ben Franklin said beer is proof that God loves us.”
“You are eternally needing proof,” Castiel said, glancing around disapprovingly. “This is not an appropriate arena for determining our next move. And my current host does not imbibe.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Dean said to Sam, who was on Castiel’s other side. They were making an angel sandwich at a table in the back. “C’mon, just try it. It’s made from a cactus. So it must be okay, right? Take the damn overcoat off, quit looking like you’re standing in front of Gomorrah, and knock this back.”
Dean held up the salt shaker. “First, you gotta lick your hand.”
“I will do no such thing.”
“Sam will do it for you, then,” Dean said.
Sam did two shots in response. “Oh, no. I’m not doing body shots with anybody here.”
Dean grabbed Castiel’s right hand, held it down on the counter, stuck his fingers in one of the shot glasses of tequila and smeared it on the angel’s hand. Castiel looked mildly perturbed, but didn’t move otherwise while Dean shook salt on him.
“It’s a ritual,” Dean said. “Just think of it that way.”
Castiel tipped his head back and simply filled his mouth with tequila rather than knocking it back, and that was the end of bar #1.
“I really need you to cut that out,” Dean said as they walked quickly to the car. “Okay? No more blowing out windows. You gotta express yourself some other way.”
Castiel went on wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his coat. “Hideous. Reprehensible.”
“Yeah, house tequila usually is,” Dean said. “I’ll make you a de...uh, I mean, let’s agree that we give you the good stuff next time, and you don’t make the place fall in. Okay?”
“I am not going to continue to engage in this excursion,” Castiel said. “As I said before, we have more pressing matters to discuss.”
“You have eternity,” Dean said. “Take a night off, Hopalong Cassidiel.”
Sam sat in the back seat and wondered if they were all going to survive the night.
“I highly approve of you,” Castiel said, resting an arm along Dean’s shoulders. “I may even hold a measure of love for you right now.”
Apparently, gin and tonic agreed with angels of the Lord.
“Jesus Christ,” Sam said, resting his elbows on the table wearily.
“I loved him, too,” Castiel said. “Good man. So many good people on this plane, once. Not so many, now. But you’re good, Dean.”
“Now I know you’re drunk,” Dean said. “If you try and grope me again, though, I’m gonna make a down comforter out of you. You got me, dude?”
“I got you, dude,” Castiel said. “May I have more Cheetos? I highly approve of the Cheetos.”
“And then I told Lahatiel, ‘surely what they’ve already been shown is enough to convince them’ and she said, ‘their generations are numerous and their lives short, and yea, they look but do not truly see’. I reminded her about the books, the tablets, the Bible, and she said there will still need to be angels of punishment and justice regardless, seeing as how we, part of His perfection, saw vast numbers of the Host cast down for acts as egregious as those any human could perform.”
Castiel was on his fifth gin and tonic and was regaling them with slurred tales that were likely hilarious in Paradise but were boring the humans to tears. Sam figured there was something lost in the translation.
Dean clapped Castiel on the shoulder. “Only happened the once, though, right? The big Fall?”
“Oh, of course,” Castiel said. “Still, we are deathless, short of the total destruction of our very essences, and we never forget. I knew many of those who Fell.” He looked down into his drink, suddenly looking as human as they’d ever seen him. “All so unnecessary. I often wonder if I should have simply gone with them.”
Dean slapped a hand over Castiel’s mouth and looked at the ceiling with dread. Sam put a menu over his own head.
When nothing transpired that could really pass as punishment (except for the Maroon 5 that someone had put on the jukebox), Dean released Castiel. “Dude, seriously, go stand somewhere way away from us if you’re gonna say shit like that.”
“I am useless here anyway,” Castiel said, hanging his head again. “Failed to keep any of the seals from opening so far, can’t get you to believe in God, can’t do anything correctly. May as well be Fallen, work for the winning side.”
He burst into tears.
“Way to go, Dean,” Sam said as they carried a drunken, weeping angel to the car. “Going to hell, again, for this.”
“How was I supposed to know he has issues?” Dean said.
Holding an angel’s hair and necktie back while he pukes was not really the kind of penance Dean ever saw himself paying for his sins, but, he figured it had to count for something later on.
Dean knelt by his bed again.
“Dear God: please don’t smite me or whatever for getting your messenger shitfaced. Um, I mean, drunk. He really needed a night out, and it’s not his fault either. So...yeah. Just sort of ignore this one. I’ll try and do better. And don’t listen to anything he said while he was wasted, because he really didn’t mean any of it. Okay. Thanks. Amen.”
He started to get up, then changed his mind and clasped his hands together again. “And don’t take him back. I didn’t mean that either. He’s an okay guy. Angel. Whatever. Amen.”
When they undressed him, they discovered the holy tax accountant wore briefs, not boxers. Or, Castiel had been out shopping and was doing a bang up job of it. Sam refused to take pictures. And Castiel got Dean’s bed to himself. As further penance, Dean slept on the floor on the coverlet from Sam’s bed.
“I think my host is dying,” Castiel rasped, lying sideways across the bed with his hands over his eyes. “You are a vindictive miscreant.”
A hung over angel is not very forgiving.
“You’re not dying, tax accountant’s not dying, no one’s dying,” Dean said. “Shut up and have some Tylenol and B vitamins and a lot of OJ, and stuff will be better soon. I promise.”
Sam shook his head at Dean and made a stabbing motion, then parodied the shooting of a gun.
“Oh, right,” Dean said. “Your host is already dead. I shot and stabbed him. Sorry. Still, the vitamins and juice will...shit, I don’t know, pour right back out the holes I made. Just try it.”
Castiel kept hiding his eyes, and made some sort of strangled sound of exasperation.
They put him under the shower and then Dean threw jeans and a t-shirt and a flannel at him.He was pretty much Dean’s size. Sam put sunglasses on him.
“You can blend in for once,” Dean said.
Castiel was expressionless. “Samuel,” he said, “...you’re good, too. I failed to say so last night. Please struggle to remain so.”
Sam shrugged. The shades were too dark to let him make anything of the generally inscrutable blue eyes behind them. “Uh...thanks?”
Castiel cleared his throat. “I may have been slightly humbled by the events of last evening.”
“I don’t remember anything,” Dean said.
“Me neither,” Sam said.
Castiel went on looking at them expressionlessly. Dean scratched the back of his own neck, and Sam pretended to stare at the wallpaper.
“Liars,” Castiel said finally. It didn’t sound like an accusation anymore.
Dean bounced on the balls of his feet a little. “Awkward.”
“I have things to attend to,” Castiel said suddenly.
“Okay, then,” Dean said. “See you around. Whenever.”
Castiel slapped Dean’s ass on the way out, and was gone long before Dean could do anything about it or Sam could stop laughing.
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