Smite Your Bitch Up



Part of the 90 Proof series. Dean continues to corrupt educate Castiel in how to successfully hang out with humans. Or make them stare at him with open-mouthed horror. Sam lives in fear. 2050 words; PG-13 for foul language, a drunken angel, and crack. No spoilers, although this is inspired by Castiel’s remarks in 4.10.




They walked away from another set of demons with nothing more than a few scorch marks and a wasted afternoon. Castiel walked with them back to the car, looking as grim and weary as usual.

“We need to teach you how to talk smack,” Dean said. “You’re failing hard, there, buddy.”

Sam rolled his eyes and got into the car.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel said.

Dean snorted. “Yeah, obviously.”

Castiel gave him one of his patented constipated stares, so Dean patted him on the shoulder. “Look,” he said, “You can’t go saying ‘lay waste’ to people, or demons, especially if it’s what they expect.”

“But it’s accurate,” Castiel said. “I’m telling them what is about to occur.”

“First off,” Dean said, “Quit tipping your hand and telling everybody what you’re going to do. Just do it.” He paused, and made a point to look very hard at the angel. “Except when it’s me or Sam, I mean. Always warn us. Everybody else, just hit ‘em. But if there’s room to talk first, make it count.”

Sam rolled his window down the rest of the way. “Don’t listen to anything he says, Cas,” he said. “Except the part about warning us first.”

Castiel began to look as if he might have a headache.

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean said. He turned his attention back to Castiel. “We need to get you a new tagline. What else do you threaten people with?”

“I don’t often threaten,” Castiel said. “It isn’t necessary.”

“But when you do, you say...”

“I can put you back in Hell,” Castiel said.

“I’ve heard that one and I’m kind of unimpressed,” Dean said. “Anything else?”

“Just laying waste,” Castiel said. “Maybe...smiting.”

Dean sighed.

“I don’t understand why this is an issue,” Castiel said.

“And this is the real problem,” Dean said. He thought for a moment. “You just don’t really have a lot of...okay, don’t get me wrong, because I know you can bring it when you want, but you’re not that intimidating most of the time, Cas. The point is to make it so people, demons, whatever, don’t even want to try you. That saves a lot of time and energy.”

Castiel blinked. “Posturing is a very human thing.”

“Sure, but, you get it, right?” Dean said.

“I fail to see – ”

Quit failing,” Dean said. “Here, I’ll show you.” He pointed a finger at Castiel and dropped his voice to a menacing growl. “Asshole, you’re pissing me off. Don’t make me fuck you up.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “Using profanity is sufficient to cause a conflict, not resolve it.”

“We’re not resolving a conflict, you frickin’ Vulcan,” Dean said. “We’re warning assholes off so we don’t have to have a conflict. Throw some shock value in there, Cas.”

“Get in the car already,” Sam said.

“There is no reason for me to resort to profanity,” Castiel said.

“Exactly! No one’s going to expect it from you,” Dean said, clapping him on the shoulder. “It’ll throw ‘em off, and you’ll have the upper hand.”

Castiel looked as if a light that wasn’t holy, for once, had come on above his head. “Tactics,” he said.

“That’s my boy,” Dean said with a grin.

“So now you’re happy with me,” Castiel said, looking at Dean intently. He sounded like that might be important.

“I’ll be really happy with you if you say something besides ‘lay waste’ or ‘smite’,” Dean said.

Sam sighed and leveled the same disapproving stare on both of them. “Dean,” he said, “Stop corrupting him, please.”

“This isn’t corruption,” Dean said, sounding offended. “C’mon, loosen up.”

“If I use profanity, can I have Cheetos?” Castiel said.

“Yes,” Dean said. “Let’s put you in real clothes and try this shit out. Get in the car.”


Even Sam’s ears go hot with the level of embarrassment he feels over Dean’s recitation of the most common epithets used among humankind for Castiel. His brother knows words Sam has never heard before, and that’s after four years of college and living with Dean nonstop for the last three.


“We’re so screwed,” Sam said again, as they walked into a bar. “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.”

Castiel was wearing a baseball cap (Kansas City Royals) backwards; shades; a black t-shirt, a blue flannel, an extra jacket of Dean’s, ripped jeans, and biker boots.

“This is not the valley of the shadow of death, Sam,” Castiel said. “I have seen it.” He paused. “Although it is fairly dark in here, with sunglasses.”

“Leave ‘em on,” Dean said. “Your eyes are too kind, and you’ll ruin the badass image if people see ‘em.”

Sam looked at him.

Castiel looked at him.

“Shut up,” Dean snapped, looking away. “Just...shut up.”

Gin and tonic for the angel, whiskey shots and beer for the Winchesters. Castiel tasted his drink and then said, “I would like to avoid the aftereffects of alcohol, this time.”

“We’ll remember to cut you off before it goes that far, lightweight,” Dean said.

Castiel looked at the beer nuts and the pretzels on the bar with open disdain. “These are not Cheetos.”

“They don’t have ‘em here, Cas,” Dean said. “Sorry. Wanna try nachos?”

Castiel looked genuinely put out. Even with the sunglasses on, the beginnings of a pout were evident.

Dean reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out a snack-size bag of Cheetos. “Psych.”

Castiel took them. One corner of his mouth lifted a little.

The bartender came over. “No outside food or drink,” he said.

Castiel looked at Dean. “Is this a conflict?”

Dean shrugged. “He says no Cheetos.”

Castiel turned back to the bartender. “Asshole!” he announced. “Don’t make me fuck you.”

Dean covered his eyes with one hand, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, man. That’s so wrong.”

“He’s just kidding,” Sam said quickly. “Sorry. He’s new to the country. We’ll get rid of them.” He slapped down a ridiculously generous tip, grabbed both Castiel and Dean by the shoulders of their jackets, and pulled them away from the bar. “Table in the back, Laurel and Hardy.”

Dean grabbed their drinks, starting to laugh but trying to hide it.

“I wish I thought this was funny, Dean,” Sam said, shoving Castiel in front of them and toward the most secluded table he could find.

“Our little angel is growing up, Sam,” Dean said.

Castiel slid into the corner of a booth and opened his snack. “This is all very enlightening,” he said.

“We need to work on your technique a little,” Dean said, sitting across from him. “Awesome first try, though.”

“It was awe-inspiring?” Castiel said, sounding mildly pleased with a cheesepuff halfway to his mouth. “That’s an extreme level of praise, Dean.”

“He’s messing with you, Cas,” Sam said. “Please, please don’t try and sound tough. Just be you. Anything else is going to get you into trouble.”

“I was of the understanding that this is tactical,” Castiel said, looking from Sam to Dean. “A means of diverting combat.”

“It is,” Dean said, shooting a glare at Sam.

“It’s not,” Sam said, keeping his eyes on Castiel and using his most earnest, open look. “It’ll only start trouble, Cas, not avoid it.”

“Why would Dean mislead me?” Castiel said.

“Dean’s telling you what he believes,” Sam said carefully, trying not to wince as Dean stomped on his foot under the table. “I’m telling you what I’ve observed.”

Castiel’s brows drew together in a frown that was visible above the shades as he took a swig of his drink. Then he seemed to draw himself up a little, and there was a note of gruff challenge in his voice when he spoke. “You’re a confusing species of assholes.”

The effect was ruined by the smudge of orange cheese-flavored stuff at the corner of his mouth.

Dean covered his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut, but the shaking of his shoulders gave him away.

“We’re not having a conflict,” Sam said to Castiel. “Oh my God, Dean, this isn’t funny. You’re going to get us killed.”

Dean leaned across the table and gestured Castiel closer. Castiel leaned to meet him without question, but his eyebrows shot up when Dean used a thumb to get the cheese powder off.

Sam stared at them.

“Shut up,” Dean said without looking at Sam, slumping back into his side of the booth. Castiel wiped his own face a little with the back of one hand and checked it. “C’mon, Cheetoiel, let’s teach you how to hustle pool.”

Sam watched them go.


“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference,” he murmured.




Dean played two games with Castiel, showing him the rules, and Castiel was thoroughly buzzed by the end of the first game.


“This is good,” Castiel said, spinning the 8-ball against the felt and wavering a little on his feet as he watched it roll. “I like all of this. We should do this all the time.”


“Well, next time you’re around, and we don’t have any seals to save, you’re on,” Dean said.


“I wish you were an angel,” Castiel said. “Then we would be friends for aaaaall eternity.”


Dean had no idea what to say to that, so he offered a half-smile.


“You’re beautiful,” Castiel said. “All of God’s creatures are beautiful, but Dean, you’re so, so beautiful.”


“Thanks, dude,” Dean said, racking up another game. “I’ll pretend that’s totally platonic, since your real form doesn’t have junk.”


Dean finally challenged a guy to a game, which Castiel watched with bleary interest. Then Castiel challenged the same guy to a game of his own.


“You okay?” Dean said. “You ready to do this?”


Castiel smiled. “I’m going to fuck him,” he said.


“I need you to remember to add the word ‘up’ to the end of that phrase, Cas,” Dean said. “Please, man, for me. Okay?”


Castiel did fine for the first few minutes; then his manual dexterity began to decline as he got progressively drunker.


“You suck at this,” the other guy finally said. “You wearing the sunglasses because you’re blind, or just a poser?”


Castiel frowned at him, then tilted his head a little. “Excuse me?”


“I said you’re an idiot,” the guy said.


“Hey, watch your mouth,” Dean said.


Dean sounded serious, so Castiel tossed his cue across the table and said, “Motherfucker, I’m advising you to shut your cockholster before I tie your whore ass into a pretzel.”


The guy froze and stared. “Is he for real?” he said, looking at Dean.


“He is so, so for real,” Dean said, looking and sounding like he was going to cry. “Don’t mess with him, dude, he’s as real as it gets.”


“Smite your bitch up,” Castiel added with vigor.




Castiel held the towel full of ice against his face and said, “He struck me anyway. Did I do it wrong?”


“No, Cas,” Dean said, holding ice to his own knuckles. “This was just a case where no one could take a joke.”


Sam shook his head and shook his hands out. He’d had to throw a few punches of his own before he could successfully extract everyone from the brawl that had erupted by the pool tables. Castiel had a black eye, and Dean had a split lip in addition to a few scraped knuckles, so they’d been lucky.


“Uriel’s going to give me shit over this, isn’t he,” Castiel said. “I tire of that bitch.”


Dean laughed, throwing his head back.


“I would like to retire from the practice of using profanity,” Castiel said. “It requires a...finesse that I’m not certain I possess at this point.”


“It’s not for amateurs,” Dean agreed, trying to catch his breath. “That’s okay, you did your best.”


“Thank you,” Castiel said. “Can I keep the hat?”


“Keep the whole outfit,” Dean said. “You can’t wear the suit forever.”


“Please keep it for me, though,” Castiel said. “It belongs to the vessel, and I should not just give away his possessions.”


Neither Dean or Sam wanted to get into that.


Castiel put the ice pack down and vanished.


Sam looked at Dean. Dean started to grin, then winced at his split lip.


“I hope you’re happy,” Sam said.


“I am,” Dean said. “God help me, I am.”


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