ext_107468 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
rubystandish.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
spn_reversebang2011-11-15 02:40 pm
rubystandish.livejournal.com) wrote in spn_reversebang2011-11-15 02:40 pm
(no subject)
Art Prompt Title: A Picture is Worth a 1000 Words
Art link: Art Masterlist
Prompt Number: 1022
Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rubystandish
Fic Title: Memoir
Author:aur_in_hue
Fandom/Genre: SPN, future!AU
Pairing(s): None
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3424
Warnings: Since it's a future!AU there are some off screen character deaths.
Summary: After getting a talk to from Gabriel, Sam decides that it time he tell his son about his uncle.
~*~
The small explosion of dust left Sam coughing into his elbow. The attic was a crowded one, pictures and trunks stacked high against each other. The roof was sloped, Sam didn't even have room to stand at the highest point, but the window allowed light to come into the little space. Sam himself was kneeling in front of the smallest trunk in the room. The lock had been a little rusty, though not rusted shut, and if you looked you could see the remnants of blood stains on the top and sides.
"Dad?" a dark head popped up from the opening in the floor. "I heard you cough, are you okay?"
Sam didn't stand up but did allow a huff of laughter. "I'm not as young as I once was, but I'm not decrepit quite yet."
His son responded to that with a laugh of his own, hoisting himself up into the attic. "Can't really take your word for that dad," he said, "the way you tell it Winchesters never even grow old."
They don't, he thought sourly because they die damn young. "And now you're calling me senile," he said with a sigh, "children are ingrates," he directed that at no one in particular.
"Right dad, what's up here anyway? The only things I remember are old art pieces and locked trunks."
"Your mother would be scandalized to hear you be so dismissive about such masterpieces, Dean Winchester," Sam scolded lightly, "but yes. All the trunks are locked, I just happen to have keys to all of them."
"All of them?" Dean asked. Sam nodded.
"Yup."
"So what makes this one so special?"
Sam gave him a sad smile and pulled out a bundle of old papers. Some were just newspaper clippings, others notes saying things like 'gone to make pie' and 'call Bobby when you wake up'. Dean looked through the little bundle he'd been handed, raising his eye brows at the shear amount of receipts from diners he was seeing.
"You sure lived the healthy life," he remarked dryly.
"Didn't your mom and I ever mention my misspent youth?"
"Misspent? Dad you got a full ride to Stanford." Sam smiled sadly at that, still shifting through papers.
"I travelled until I was almost thirty, it's how I met your mother."
Dean smiled, "way mom tells it you got thrown out of a showing."
"It was suggested I leave, thank you very much," he corrected. "And that was part of my charm."
Dean laughed again. "Right, that and awkward dinner conversations. But really, I'm almost positive a bunch of greasy spoon receipts is not what makes this trunk special. It's not even as big as the other ones."
Sam didn't respond for several moments until he reached almost the bottom of his pile. The thing he'd found was a photo.
It was weird to see Dean and Bobby smiling at him from a faded photo, he'd learned to rely on equally faded memories. Cas was there too, not smiling, but his head was cocked to the side in such a familiar fashion it had the same effect. Sam -a younger Sam- stared out at his older self, beer in hand, lounging against a rusting car.
Sam started a bit as he realized a car was slowly creeping it's way into Bobby's yard. "Bobby," he called, "you got company."
Bobby's head popped out from his living room where he and Dean were, much to Dean's disgruntlement, frantically looking for any hint as to how one went about stopping an apocalypse. "Yeah?" Sam gestured to the window. "That's just Mrs. Yates," he grunted, "she's here for her yearly oil change."
Sam stared at him for a moment. "Seriously."
"Yeah boy, you think the heat and light in this place pays for it's own damn self? Some of us are too old to live in a damn car."
Sam threw up his hands, "sorry."
Bobby just shook his head. "Idjit." Sam watched him go, one eyebrow cocked. Dean entered when he heard the front door creak open.
"What's his problem?" Sam asked and Dean rolled his eyes.
"Not sure, could be the fact we've got a looming apocalypse and no way of stopping it," Dean said. "Now grab me a damn coffee mug would you? I can't do this for another five minutes without some caffeine."
Sam took down a mug even as he spoke, "you've already had five cups from Dunkin's," he pointed out.
Dean shrugged as he took the cup, filling it almost to the brim. "And I've been reading dusty Latin books about assholes with wings made up of eyes for the last seven hours."
Sam said nothing at that, just watched his brother as he took a drink, biting back a laugh when Dean almost burnt his tongue. "Bitch," Dean muttered.
"Jerk."
They sat in silence for a while, watching as the little old lady chatted up an obviously annoyed Bobby, who hadn't even managed to go get the oil yet, or pop her lid. "That car is absolute shit," Dean said frankly.
"Yeah," Sam agreed frankly. "Hey Dean maybe we should try and talk to Cas."
"Be my guest," Dean said, not looking at him, "he's all yours."
"Dean, he never comes when I call."
Dean refused to look at him. "Well then, guess we'll just have to wait for Bobby to finish up."
"Dean-"
"What do you want from me, Sam? Cas isn't some sort of pet, and if he was I wouldn't even want him."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "What brought all this on?" he asked bluntly, "you two were just finally getting along."
"Getting along?"
"Well, you were not-getting along less." Dean smirked at that and Sam gave him a deadpan look. "Shut up, it's been a long night." Dean made a small sound of agreement into his mug.
The silence stretched after that, and finally Dean pulled away from the counter. "It's going to start raining," he said finally, "the angel probably won't respond if it means his feathery ass is going to get wet."
~*~
When Sam finally left the kitchen, he'd procrastinated by cleaning up a bit, Castiel was perched, for lack of a better word, stiffly on the edge of Bobby's couch while Dean continued to stare moodily out the window. Neither so much as twitched when he walked in, Castiel's eyes were glued to Dean and Dean was lost in thought.
"Sam." The greeting came even though Cas wasn't looking at him and Sam rubbed at his neck awkwardly.
"Hey Cas, how is," he fumbled for a topic, "heaven?"
"As usual," Cas finally turned his head to look at Sam, his face so incredibly grave it made Sam's mouth twitch a little. Almost. "How is your search going?"
"Slowly," Sam admitted, "is Dean all right?"
Cas turned to look at the older Winchester again, head cocked in that familiar way before he resumed looking at Sam. "I do not know, he called me here and now will not speak to me. Is this usual behaviour in humans?"
Sam snorted. "In five year olds," he said, "Dean, chill would you?" Dean settled for squaring his shoulders against the verbal assault. "Very mature, asshole."
It was hard to tell if that's what sparked the reaction from Dean, though Sam doubted it, because it was barely a second after his attempt to goad his brother into action that Bobby came flying through the window. The explosion of glass had Sam jumping out of the way while Bobby collided with Dean, sending both sprawling.
Cas continued to simply stand there through the whole thing, not so much as flinching as a piece of glass embedded itself in his cheek. In seconds though, Sam and Dean were both on their feet.
"What the fuck was-"
"Bobby are you-"
"I'm fine," Bobby groused. His wounds were nothing more than superficial cuts. "And that was Mrs. Yates."
"Demon," Sam and Dean said at the same time and Bobby rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, thanks for that geniuses, hadn't figured quite figured that part out yet."
Dean rolled his eyes that, already half way through loading his shot gun. "Is it just her?" he asked and Sam gave him a bewildered look.
"Unless she's one of the really powerful ones, I doubt it."
Dean grimaced. "Me too." His eyes landed on Cas and he tensed. "You going to help or what?" he demanded of the angel and Castiel wavered in indecision before he squared his shoulders.
"I am an angel of the Lord Dean Winchester," he said darkly, "you should show me some respect." He locked eyes with Dean for several seconds until a laugh sounded from outside. "But yes, I will help."
"Oh goodie," Dean muttered, and Bobby promptly slapped him upside the head.
"If you're done being five years old again, Mrs. Yates brought company."
Carefully, Sam and Dean peaked out the now broken window. "You've got to be kidding me," Dean said, pulling away, "what'd they do? Possess a knitting club?" Bobby chanced another look outside before pulling all the way back into the living room.
"It's Tuesday," he said, "that would be the quilting bee." Dean and Sam stared at him dumbly for a moment.
"I do not see why it matters which arts and crafts club these demons have possessed, it changes nothing." Dean shot him a dirty look.
"I hate fighting old ladies," he muttered, "give me the creeps."
"I have to agree on that one," Sam admitted, "I think it's the fingernails."
Bobby threw a spray can at Dean, who fumbled the catch. "If you two idjits don't mind," he said, gesturing to the new opening into his house, "a devil's trap might be nice right now." The older man turned back to his work table, quickly grabbing bottle after bottle of holy water.
"So what's the plan? Trap as many as we can in a devil's trap and exorcise them all?"
"Yup."
Sam shrugged and looked to Cas. "You know anything helpful. For this particular situation, I mean." Cas blinked.
"They are not very strong," he told them flatly, "you should be able to handle this fine."
Dean, finished with his trap whirled around. "Then go."
Once again Sam and Bobby were treated to a tension filled stare down. "If one of you was a girl, or at least girl shaped, I'd suggest you just go rut like bunnies," Bobby mused, "hell, I might suggest it anyway." He tossed a flask of holy water to Cas. "Just in case," he said, just as Mrs. Yates sent the door crashing in on them.
~*~
The quilting bee hadn't put up much of a fight, really, and Sam was a little relieved they hadn't been forced to kill any of the women. The seven old ladies were now sitting in Bobby's kitchen, wringing their hands as Bobby tried to explain everything to them. One was clutching her rosary, muttering into it. Cas watched in interest.
"That will not protect you from demons," he said simply, "though your devotion to the Lord is commendable."
"Cas-" Sam started gently but Dean was having none of it.
"Are all of you guys this socially idiotic?" he demanded, "or are you a special little bunny?"
Cas blinked at him. "I am not a rodent, Dean."
The Mrs. Yates and her friends were all staring at the two in confusion. "Bobby," one woman, a tiny little thing which had thrown Sam five feet while possessed, said, "I don't believe you introduced us."
"Right, sorry Edna," Bobby may have actually blushed a little.
"Edna, this is Dean, Sam and Cas," he pointed to them one by one, "boys, Edna, Margarete, Penny, Dorothy, Mae, Sheryl and Carol."
Mrs. Yates, or Sheryl, apparently, gave them a small smile. "Nice to meet you boys," she said softly, "good to know Bobby gets some visitors other than old women like myself." She smiled up at Bobby at that and he coughed, looking away. "Are you family?"
"No," Cas said just as Dean and Sam shrugged.
"He's not," Dean clarified, "Sam and I are, I guess. But not by blood."
"But in every other way that matters boy," Bobby said, "don't you forget it."
Dean's mouth twitched into a smile. "Wasn't going to."
~*~
Ultimately it was ten times harder getting the women out than getting the demons out had been. Tidying up was about four times longer than that, and no one was happy. Least of all, Sam noted, Dean, whose glowering had reached epic proportions when Cas zapped out the second he confirmed that the demons would be staying gone.
"Dicks. With. Wings." Dean punctuated each word by sweeping glass onto the dustpan. "Dicks. With. Wing-"
"Dean," Sam interrupted, "do you think maybe there's a different issue at hand here? Maybe?" Dean blinked at him before his scowl returned.
"No."
And that was that.
~*~
"He still moping?" Bobby asked, sliding Sam a beer as they both watched Dean out on the front step.
"Yeah," Sam said faintly, "he's been moody-" he saw the look Bobby shot him, "moodier, ever since he came back. Cas appears to be the icing on the cake." Bobby shook his head.
"That boy," he said, "is going to be the death of either him, or me. Not sure which yet."
Same gave him a horrified look. "Don't let Dean hear that," he said, "I mean, you know Dean." Bobby grunted in agreement.
"I'll start up some chil- fucking hell!" Sam whirled around, only to find Bobby chest to chest with Cas. "Don't you fucking knock?" Bobby demanded.
"No."
Bobby continued to glare at the angel for several more seconds until it was obvious that Cas either didn't notice or didn't care. "Yeah well, you're girlfriend's out on the front step, go make him feel better or something."
Cas frowned at that. "Dean is not a woman," he pointed out. "Nor are we friends."
Bobby said nothing to that, instead opening his fridge and Sam chuckled into his beer. "You really should go talk to Dean, Cas," he encouraged. "Please."
Cas started toward the front door before turning to Sam. "I am not doing this for you, Sam. This is for Dean."
Sam sighed, "I know."
Cas turned on his heel. "No, you do not."
~*~
Whatever Cas had said to Dean appeared to have worked. Dean was looking a little less angry at everything, and if his sarcastic quips were still a little less playful and just a little more hurtful, well, Cas did not seem to care.
The two sat shoulder to shoulder, not touching, and for a moment Sam thought things could maybe be okay.
The picture wasn't from that day, he couldn't remember when exactly it had been taken, but Ellen was there, as were a handful of other hunters, so it was probably around the middle of the apocalypse. Wryly Sam wondered why this was the picture that had been placed in that box. Most of the people in it were dead, either during the apocalypse or from old age, and those who weren't were just gone. People like Cas, who Sam had only seen once since Dean died over twenty one years ago. In fact, Sam had been fairly secure in the knowledge that any meetings he'd ever have with an angel again would be during his death.
Barring two exceptions.
The first had been on the day he'd married Sarah. Sam can remember, vividly, turning with his new wife to start down the aisle, and there, in the far back on the side reserved for the handful of people Sam still had in his life, was Cas.
The angel had still been in the same body, the same clothing, but that look of awkwardness was gone, replaced by something almost tired. Sarah had seen Cas too, and had spent hours harassing Sam over who, exactly, the man in the ill fitting trench coat was, but Sam had brushed it off.
The only other time had been both less and more momentousness. A pang of nostalgia had sent Sam back to Bobby's. The place had been boarded up since Bobby's death some twenty years prior, but it looked the same other than that, right down to the angel on the doorstep, though it wasn't the right angel, exactly.
"Hey-a Sam."
Sam had slip in next to him, sighing a little. "Gabriel, I never really thought I'd see you again."
"Yeah well," Gabriel shrugged, "I get bored."
Sam tilted his head down to look at Gabriel fully. "Then why are you here, of all places?"
Gabriel laughed, pulling a sucker out of his pocket. "Nothing more exciting than a run down scrap yard, didn't you know?"
Sam smiled wryly, "I seem to recall that was the case when I was younger."
Gabriel smirked, "I'm sure it was. The years certainly are getting to you," he leaned in, peering at Sam's hairline, "I think I see some grey hair."
"I have two kids," he pointed out, "one is already twenty one, the other is nineteen."
Gabriel whistled, "man, the things you miss when you're travelling the world. In style, might I add."
Sam said nothing and Gabriel sighed. "I'll cut to the chase, shall I? You're moping, you've been quietly moping for two decades now, and that means you have a brother up in heaven who is also moping and so, by yet another extension, so do I."
Sam raised an eyebrow, "I am not moping."
Gabriel laughed, "your kids don't even know they have a dead uncle," he pointed out and Sam would have bristled at the invasion of his privacy if it wasn't so expected. "I think it's time you let it go."
Sam took in a deep breath. "I just..."
"Don't just," Gabriel said, cutting him off and standing, "all your brother ever wanted was for you to be happy."
"Did he?" Sam asked, unconvinced and Gabriel rolled his eyes.
"You know, I don't have to play messenger."
"If I recall, actually, Gabriel is supposed to be the messenger to humans from God."
Gabe laughed. "Well your brother isn't God." He stood at that, pulling another piece of candy out of his pocket, "want some?" Sam shook his head. "You're loss. Anyway, stop being such a little baby and learn to deal," the angel was obviously ready to go. "I've got two brothers acting as evil in a sealed can, you don't see me angsting about it in a corner."
He popped the candy he'd offered to Sam into his own mouth. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting with two Russian actresses."
"Dad?" Sam blinked a little as he felt Dean give him a gentle shove, "you okay?"
"Yeah, I am," Sam assured him, still staring at the picture in his hand. Dean peered over his shoulder.
"Who are these guys?" he asked, genuinely curious and Sam's heart squeezed. For so many years Dean and Bobby, more than anyone else, had been a festering wound, his greatest failures. He hadn't even been able to tell his kids about their uncle, and the man who was, in all thruth, their grandfather.
Clearing his throat Sam passed the photograph to his son. "Dean, there are some people I want you to meet."
With that he ushered his son out of the attic, only pausing to pick up a candy wrapper on the way out.
Art link: Art Masterlist
Prompt Number: 1022
Artist:
rubystandishFic Title: Memoir
Author:
aur_in_hueFandom/Genre: SPN, future!AU
Pairing(s): None
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3424
Warnings: Since it's a future!AU there are some off screen character deaths.
Summary: After getting a talk to from Gabriel, Sam decides that it time he tell his son about his uncle.
The small explosion of dust left Sam coughing into his elbow. The attic was a crowded one, pictures and trunks stacked high against each other. The roof was sloped, Sam didn't even have room to stand at the highest point, but the window allowed light to come into the little space. Sam himself was kneeling in front of the smallest trunk in the room. The lock had been a little rusty, though not rusted shut, and if you looked you could see the remnants of blood stains on the top and sides.
"Dad?" a dark head popped up from the opening in the floor. "I heard you cough, are you okay?"
Sam didn't stand up but did allow a huff of laughter. "I'm not as young as I once was, but I'm not decrepit quite yet."
His son responded to that with a laugh of his own, hoisting himself up into the attic. "Can't really take your word for that dad," he said, "the way you tell it Winchesters never even grow old."
They don't, he thought sourly because they die damn young. "And now you're calling me senile," he said with a sigh, "children are ingrates," he directed that at no one in particular.
"Right dad, what's up here anyway? The only things I remember are old art pieces and locked trunks."
"Your mother would be scandalized to hear you be so dismissive about such masterpieces, Dean Winchester," Sam scolded lightly, "but yes. All the trunks are locked, I just happen to have keys to all of them."
"All of them?" Dean asked. Sam nodded.
"Yup."
"So what makes this one so special?"
Sam gave him a sad smile and pulled out a bundle of old papers. Some were just newspaper clippings, others notes saying things like 'gone to make pie' and 'call Bobby when you wake up'. Dean looked through the little bundle he'd been handed, raising his eye brows at the shear amount of receipts from diners he was seeing.
"You sure lived the healthy life," he remarked dryly.
"Didn't your mom and I ever mention my misspent youth?"
"Misspent? Dad you got a full ride to Stanford." Sam smiled sadly at that, still shifting through papers.
"I travelled until I was almost thirty, it's how I met your mother."
Dean smiled, "way mom tells it you got thrown out of a showing."
"It was suggested I leave, thank you very much," he corrected. "And that was part of my charm."
Dean laughed again. "Right, that and awkward dinner conversations. But really, I'm almost positive a bunch of greasy spoon receipts is not what makes this trunk special. It's not even as big as the other ones."
Sam didn't respond for several moments until he reached almost the bottom of his pile. The thing he'd found was a photo.
It was weird to see Dean and Bobby smiling at him from a faded photo, he'd learned to rely on equally faded memories. Cas was there too, not smiling, but his head was cocked to the side in such a familiar fashion it had the same effect. Sam -a younger Sam- stared out at his older self, beer in hand, lounging against a rusting car.
Sam started a bit as he realized a car was slowly creeping it's way into Bobby's yard. "Bobby," he called, "you got company."
Bobby's head popped out from his living room where he and Dean were, much to Dean's disgruntlement, frantically looking for any hint as to how one went about stopping an apocalypse. "Yeah?" Sam gestured to the window. "That's just Mrs. Yates," he grunted, "she's here for her yearly oil change."
Sam stared at him for a moment. "Seriously."
"Yeah boy, you think the heat and light in this place pays for it's own damn self? Some of us are too old to live in a damn car."
Sam threw up his hands, "sorry."
Bobby just shook his head. "Idjit." Sam watched him go, one eyebrow cocked. Dean entered when he heard the front door creak open.
"What's his problem?" Sam asked and Dean rolled his eyes.
"Not sure, could be the fact we've got a looming apocalypse and no way of stopping it," Dean said. "Now grab me a damn coffee mug would you? I can't do this for another five minutes without some caffeine."
Sam took down a mug even as he spoke, "you've already had five cups from Dunkin's," he pointed out.
Dean shrugged as he took the cup, filling it almost to the brim. "And I've been reading dusty Latin books about assholes with wings made up of eyes for the last seven hours."
Sam said nothing at that, just watched his brother as he took a drink, biting back a laugh when Dean almost burnt his tongue. "Bitch," Dean muttered.
"Jerk."
They sat in silence for a while, watching as the little old lady chatted up an obviously annoyed Bobby, who hadn't even managed to go get the oil yet, or pop her lid. "That car is absolute shit," Dean said frankly.
"Yeah," Sam agreed frankly. "Hey Dean maybe we should try and talk to Cas."
"Be my guest," Dean said, not looking at him, "he's all yours."
"Dean, he never comes when I call."
Dean refused to look at him. "Well then, guess we'll just have to wait for Bobby to finish up."
"Dean-"
"What do you want from me, Sam? Cas isn't some sort of pet, and if he was I wouldn't even want him."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "What brought all this on?" he asked bluntly, "you two were just finally getting along."
"Getting along?"
"Well, you were not-getting along less." Dean smirked at that and Sam gave him a deadpan look. "Shut up, it's been a long night." Dean made a small sound of agreement into his mug.
The silence stretched after that, and finally Dean pulled away from the counter. "It's going to start raining," he said finally, "the angel probably won't respond if it means his feathery ass is going to get wet."
When Sam finally left the kitchen, he'd procrastinated by cleaning up a bit, Castiel was perched, for lack of a better word, stiffly on the edge of Bobby's couch while Dean continued to stare moodily out the window. Neither so much as twitched when he walked in, Castiel's eyes were glued to Dean and Dean was lost in thought.
"Sam." The greeting came even though Cas wasn't looking at him and Sam rubbed at his neck awkwardly.
"Hey Cas, how is," he fumbled for a topic, "heaven?"
"As usual," Cas finally turned his head to look at Sam, his face so incredibly grave it made Sam's mouth twitch a little. Almost. "How is your search going?"
"Slowly," Sam admitted, "is Dean all right?"
Cas turned to look at the older Winchester again, head cocked in that familiar way before he resumed looking at Sam. "I do not know, he called me here and now will not speak to me. Is this usual behaviour in humans?"
Sam snorted. "In five year olds," he said, "Dean, chill would you?" Dean settled for squaring his shoulders against the verbal assault. "Very mature, asshole."
It was hard to tell if that's what sparked the reaction from Dean, though Sam doubted it, because it was barely a second after his attempt to goad his brother into action that Bobby came flying through the window. The explosion of glass had Sam jumping out of the way while Bobby collided with Dean, sending both sprawling.
Cas continued to simply stand there through the whole thing, not so much as flinching as a piece of glass embedded itself in his cheek. In seconds though, Sam and Dean were both on their feet.
"What the fuck was-"
"Bobby are you-"
"I'm fine," Bobby groused. His wounds were nothing more than superficial cuts. "And that was Mrs. Yates."
"Demon," Sam and Dean said at the same time and Bobby rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, thanks for that geniuses, hadn't figured quite figured that part out yet."
Dean rolled his eyes that, already half way through loading his shot gun. "Is it just her?" he asked and Sam gave him a bewildered look.
"Unless she's one of the really powerful ones, I doubt it."
Dean grimaced. "Me too." His eyes landed on Cas and he tensed. "You going to help or what?" he demanded of the angel and Castiel wavered in indecision before he squared his shoulders.
"I am an angel of the Lord Dean Winchester," he said darkly, "you should show me some respect." He locked eyes with Dean for several seconds until a laugh sounded from outside. "But yes, I will help."
"Oh goodie," Dean muttered, and Bobby promptly slapped him upside the head.
"If you're done being five years old again, Mrs. Yates brought company."
Carefully, Sam and Dean peaked out the now broken window. "You've got to be kidding me," Dean said, pulling away, "what'd they do? Possess a knitting club?" Bobby chanced another look outside before pulling all the way back into the living room.
"It's Tuesday," he said, "that would be the quilting bee." Dean and Sam stared at him dumbly for a moment.
"I do not see why it matters which arts and crafts club these demons have possessed, it changes nothing." Dean shot him a dirty look.
"I hate fighting old ladies," he muttered, "give me the creeps."
"I have to agree on that one," Sam admitted, "I think it's the fingernails."
Bobby threw a spray can at Dean, who fumbled the catch. "If you two idjits don't mind," he said, gesturing to the new opening into his house, "a devil's trap might be nice right now." The older man turned back to his work table, quickly grabbing bottle after bottle of holy water.
"So what's the plan? Trap as many as we can in a devil's trap and exorcise them all?"
"Yup."
Sam shrugged and looked to Cas. "You know anything helpful. For this particular situation, I mean." Cas blinked.
"They are not very strong," he told them flatly, "you should be able to handle this fine."
Dean, finished with his trap whirled around. "Then go."
Once again Sam and Bobby were treated to a tension filled stare down. "If one of you was a girl, or at least girl shaped, I'd suggest you just go rut like bunnies," Bobby mused, "hell, I might suggest it anyway." He tossed a flask of holy water to Cas. "Just in case," he said, just as Mrs. Yates sent the door crashing in on them.
The quilting bee hadn't put up much of a fight, really, and Sam was a little relieved they hadn't been forced to kill any of the women. The seven old ladies were now sitting in Bobby's kitchen, wringing their hands as Bobby tried to explain everything to them. One was clutching her rosary, muttering into it. Cas watched in interest.
"That will not protect you from demons," he said simply, "though your devotion to the Lord is commendable."
"Cas-" Sam started gently but Dean was having none of it.
"Are all of you guys this socially idiotic?" he demanded, "or are you a special little bunny?"
Cas blinked at him. "I am not a rodent, Dean."
The Mrs. Yates and her friends were all staring at the two in confusion. "Bobby," one woman, a tiny little thing which had thrown Sam five feet while possessed, said, "I don't believe you introduced us."
"Right, sorry Edna," Bobby may have actually blushed a little.
"Edna, this is Dean, Sam and Cas," he pointed to them one by one, "boys, Edna, Margarete, Penny, Dorothy, Mae, Sheryl and Carol."
Mrs. Yates, or Sheryl, apparently, gave them a small smile. "Nice to meet you boys," she said softly, "good to know Bobby gets some visitors other than old women like myself." She smiled up at Bobby at that and he coughed, looking away. "Are you family?"
"No," Cas said just as Dean and Sam shrugged.
"He's not," Dean clarified, "Sam and I are, I guess. But not by blood."
"But in every other way that matters boy," Bobby said, "don't you forget it."
Dean's mouth twitched into a smile. "Wasn't going to."
Ultimately it was ten times harder getting the women out than getting the demons out had been. Tidying up was about four times longer than that, and no one was happy. Least of all, Sam noted, Dean, whose glowering had reached epic proportions when Cas zapped out the second he confirmed that the demons would be staying gone.
"Dicks. With. Wings." Dean punctuated each word by sweeping glass onto the dustpan. "Dicks. With. Wing-"
"Dean," Sam interrupted, "do you think maybe there's a different issue at hand here? Maybe?" Dean blinked at him before his scowl returned.
"No."
And that was that.
"He still moping?" Bobby asked, sliding Sam a beer as they both watched Dean out on the front step.
"Yeah," Sam said faintly, "he's been moody-" he saw the look Bobby shot him, "moodier, ever since he came back. Cas appears to be the icing on the cake." Bobby shook his head.
"That boy," he said, "is going to be the death of either him, or me. Not sure which yet."
Same gave him a horrified look. "Don't let Dean hear that," he said, "I mean, you know Dean." Bobby grunted in agreement.
"I'll start up some chil- fucking hell!" Sam whirled around, only to find Bobby chest to chest with Cas. "Don't you fucking knock?" Bobby demanded.
"No."
Bobby continued to glare at the angel for several more seconds until it was obvious that Cas either didn't notice or didn't care. "Yeah well, you're girlfriend's out on the front step, go make him feel better or something."
Cas frowned at that. "Dean is not a woman," he pointed out. "Nor are we friends."
Bobby said nothing to that, instead opening his fridge and Sam chuckled into his beer. "You really should go talk to Dean, Cas," he encouraged. "Please."
Cas started toward the front door before turning to Sam. "I am not doing this for you, Sam. This is for Dean."
Sam sighed, "I know."
Cas turned on his heel. "No, you do not."
Whatever Cas had said to Dean appeared to have worked. Dean was looking a little less angry at everything, and if his sarcastic quips were still a little less playful and just a little more hurtful, well, Cas did not seem to care.
The two sat shoulder to shoulder, not touching, and for a moment Sam thought things could maybe be okay.
The picture wasn't from that day, he couldn't remember when exactly it had been taken, but Ellen was there, as were a handful of other hunters, so it was probably around the middle of the apocalypse. Wryly Sam wondered why this was the picture that had been placed in that box. Most of the people in it were dead, either during the apocalypse or from old age, and those who weren't were just gone. People like Cas, who Sam had only seen once since Dean died over twenty one years ago. In fact, Sam had been fairly secure in the knowledge that any meetings he'd ever have with an angel again would be during his death.
Barring two exceptions.
The first had been on the day he'd married Sarah. Sam can remember, vividly, turning with his new wife to start down the aisle, and there, in the far back on the side reserved for the handful of people Sam still had in his life, was Cas.
The angel had still been in the same body, the same clothing, but that look of awkwardness was gone, replaced by something almost tired. Sarah had seen Cas too, and had spent hours harassing Sam over who, exactly, the man in the ill fitting trench coat was, but Sam had brushed it off.
The only other time had been both less and more momentousness. A pang of nostalgia had sent Sam back to Bobby's. The place had been boarded up since Bobby's death some twenty years prior, but it looked the same other than that, right down to the angel on the doorstep, though it wasn't the right angel, exactly.
"Hey-a Sam."
Sam had slip in next to him, sighing a little. "Gabriel, I never really thought I'd see you again."
"Yeah well," Gabriel shrugged, "I get bored."
Sam tilted his head down to look at Gabriel fully. "Then why are you here, of all places?"
Gabriel laughed, pulling a sucker out of his pocket. "Nothing more exciting than a run down scrap yard, didn't you know?"
Sam smiled wryly, "I seem to recall that was the case when I was younger."
Gabriel smirked, "I'm sure it was. The years certainly are getting to you," he leaned in, peering at Sam's hairline, "I think I see some grey hair."
"I have two kids," he pointed out, "one is already twenty one, the other is nineteen."
Gabriel whistled, "man, the things you miss when you're travelling the world. In style, might I add."
Sam said nothing and Gabriel sighed. "I'll cut to the chase, shall I? You're moping, you've been quietly moping for two decades now, and that means you have a brother up in heaven who is also moping and so, by yet another extension, so do I."
Sam raised an eyebrow, "I am not moping."
Gabriel laughed, "your kids don't even know they have a dead uncle," he pointed out and Sam would have bristled at the invasion of his privacy if it wasn't so expected. "I think it's time you let it go."
Sam took in a deep breath. "I just..."
"Don't just," Gabriel said, cutting him off and standing, "all your brother ever wanted was for you to be happy."
"Did he?" Sam asked, unconvinced and Gabriel rolled his eyes.
"You know, I don't have to play messenger."
"If I recall, actually, Gabriel is supposed to be the messenger to humans from God."
Gabe laughed. "Well your brother isn't God." He stood at that, pulling another piece of candy out of his pocket, "want some?" Sam shook his head. "You're loss. Anyway, stop being such a little baby and learn to deal," the angel was obviously ready to go. "I've got two brothers acting as evil in a sealed can, you don't see me angsting about it in a corner."
He popped the candy he'd offered to Sam into his own mouth. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting with two Russian actresses."
"Dad?" Sam blinked a little as he felt Dean give him a gentle shove, "you okay?"
"Yeah, I am," Sam assured him, still staring at the picture in his hand. Dean peered over his shoulder.
"Who are these guys?" he asked, genuinely curious and Sam's heart squeezed. For so many years Dean and Bobby, more than anyone else, had been a festering wound, his greatest failures. He hadn't even been able to tell his kids about their uncle, and the man who was, in all thruth, their grandfather.
Clearing his throat Sam passed the photograph to his son. "Dean, there are some people I want you to meet."
With that he ushered his son out of the attic, only pausing to pick up a candy wrapper on the way out.
no subject
Questions: Why does Cas seem tired at Sam's wedding? Why is Dean moping? Why does that affect Gabriel?
no subject
And then, my heart broke, because of course his first son would be named after his brother.
This made me happy and sad in equal measure. A beautiful little look at what could have been, if things were just a little different.
no subject
no subject