Fic: Taka A Bow 5/6
Title: Take A Bow Author: Lopaka Tanu Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel, Bobby, Anna. Words: 20200 Prompt: 2. Post-apocalyptic or end of the world scenario. For stageira Beta: Thank you to my Muse, Beta and Corrections Officer, kira_bouviea Fandom: Supernatural Pairing: Dean/Castiel Spoilers: Immediately Post 4x22: 'Lucifer Rising'. Rating: Adult Warnings: Language, Violence, Character Death, Angelic Violence, Dean Angst, Dean Centric, Implied Adult Situations. Summary: Dean is the instrument that stops the apocalypse. There are consequences. Author's Note: There are general WTF moments that are explained by the end. ______________________________________
If he tried hard enough, he could just make the lake out through the trees. When the wind died down, the sun's reflection off the water lit up the path through them. It was always a thrill to come out on his back porch. That was one of the reasons he kept coming to this place.
A stiff breeze came through the one open window. It caused the old screen to bow slightly. The window hadn't been replaced in thirty or more years. He always meant to get around to doing that. Something always came up, though.
Not that he minded. Around here, even the distractions were great.
Bringing his mug to his lips, Dean sniffed at the strong scent of coffee. Freshly brewed always had that bitter edge to it that woke him up. He wasn't sure when he had started to like it though.
The groaning springs on the screen door signaled that someone was coming out. They were probably older than the window, and needed replacing more. Dean never would because he liked a little warning.
Wrapped in a heavy down blanket, Castiel plodded over the solid deck. His bare feet left almost no sound in their wake. He came to a stop two feet in front of Dean. Even from behind it was easy to tell his bedhead was massive.
Dean snorted. It had been a great night. Hell, he was surprised either of them had the energy to get out of bed that morning.
Staring over the back lawn, Castiel pulled his blanket up to cover his entire neck. "You are only delaying the inevitable, Dean."
Taking a sip of his coffee, Dean shrugged. It was true, why bother denying it?
Castiel turned slowly to face the lounging man. His hair was even worse from the front. There were bags under his eyes from lack of sleep.
Yet, to Dean, Castiel was the most beautiful sight in the world. He raised a hand to beckon the angel over.
Tilting his head, Castiel stared at the hand. As he raised an eyebrow, part of his bangs fell over his forehead. His look of confusion quickly turned to irritation. "It won't be long now."
"I know." Dean patted a space on the porch swing beside him. "Come sit with me for a while."
Castiel closed his eyes for a moment. Exhaling through his nose, he nodded once. His bare feet poked out from under the edge of the blanket as he walked over. With a graceful and deliberate turn, he eased down beside Dean. The serene expression on his face quickly turned to annoyance when an arm settled over his shoulders.
Dean didn't care. He tugged the irritated angel closer to him. And if he gently laid his head to rest against the other's, so what.
The sound of wings beating through the open window heralded the arrival of a crow. It's momentum brought it to land directly on the sill outside. Cocking its head, the bird blinked twice, then tapped its beak against the glass.
Dean came away with a snort. Sitting up in the driver's seat, he rubbed at his face. At first he was confused by what might have woken him. That is, until there came another tap to his window. Blearily turning to see who it was, Dean found a police flashlight shining through the glass upon him.
Great. The last thing he needed.
As he rubbed at his eyes with one hand, he rolled down the window with the other. He peered up at the uniformed man. Trying to form a coherent thought he delayed by smiling at the man. "What can I do for you, officer?"
"Can I see some form of ID?" The officer shined the light to just off-center of Dean's face so as not to blind him.
"Yeah, sure." Dean felt a little unstable as he nodded. Still rubbing at his eyes, he leaned forward to grab at his wallet. It took three tries to pry it from his back pocket.
Sighing, the officer leaned a little closer. "Sir, have you been drinking?"
Dean shook his head. "Nope, sleeping." He realized that had probably sounded like he was being a smartass, but it was too late now to take it back. Still, he didn't want to risk getting a ticket. "Been here all day from the looks of it." Finally, he got the wallet open and his ID out.
Taking it, the officer stared at the image critically. He switched between it and Dean several times before shaking his head. "Kerry Livgren?"
"Yeah." Blinking up at the man, Dean ignored the way his eyes watered.
"Funny," the officer muttered, "you don't look almost sixty."
"I have a great plastic surgeon." This was accompanied by a smartass grin. Of all the friggen people who could recognize his alias, this cop had to be one of them.
Giving the ID a final once over, the officer tossed it back to Dean. "Damn kids." Lowering his flashlight, he turned it off. "If you're going to get drunk illegally, don't fall asleep in a parking lot!"
Relief flooded Dean which he didn't bother to hide. "Hey, I...at least I didn't drive." Picking his ID off his chest where it had landed, he stuffed it back in his wallet.
"Yeah, well, finish sleeping it off, quickly. If you're still here in an hour when I get back, I'll give you a ticket. Two hours, and I'll haul your ass to jail!" Muttering to himself about drunken kids, he marched his way back to his patrol car.
Dean waited until he saw the car's lights disappear down the road before sitting up. Scrubbing a hand over his face removed the last vestiges of sleep. He was wide awake now.
It had been years since he had last fallen asleep behind the wheel like this. He must have been more tired than he thought. Taking a deep breath, something caught his attention, something that smelled like heaven. Glancing over to the passenger seat, he found the forgotten burger and fries.
He had the bag in his lap and the burger out before he even registered what he was doing. Placing it under his nose, he closed his eyes so he could enjoy the experience. That was as far as he got.
Frowning in confusion, Dean sniffed the burger. He tried it again, yet nothing happened. It smelled like a burger, which was good. The only problem was that he didn't want it. His stomach didn't even so much as twitch in anticipation. There was no saliva in his mouth.
For the first time in his life, he did not want a burger.
Carefully putting it back in the carton, he slipped them in the bag. Almost distantly, he put the bag back in the passenger seat. What the hell was wrong with him? Dean swallowed down a nervous breath.
So he wasn't hungry. That wasn't the end of the world. Not even the tempting smell of pie from the bag enticed him. It was pie, the most gooey-delicious wonderful thing in the world. Pie!
Closing his eyes, Dean folded his arms over the top of the steering wheel. He started to take a deep breath to calm himself.
At the same time, a loud fart erupted from the back seat. Then, suddenly, the smell was every where.
Coughing, Dean sputtered to get the smell from his nose. It went in his mouth and he began to gag. Dean frantically tried the door handle, but it wouldn't open. He had left the window open so he did the only thing a desperate man could. He hauled himself out of it.
Crawling on to the roof, he dry heaved in to the high-gloss finish. He was still half in the car when he heard his cellphone ring. His eyes went wide as he realized that it was still in the car. The phone was back there in that toxic fume pit.
What next? What else could the universe, god, or some other mischievous controlling force do to him?
In the distance, Dean saw lights on the road. They were coming from the same direction as the cop had gone.
Dean looked to the sky for answers, but only found stars and a burned out security light. When he next looked to the road, he found the lights were gone. The tail lights of the car were moving in another direction parallel to his.
Closing his eyes, he thanked the stars above for turn offs. As he sat there waiting for the stink to die down, the ringing stopped. Whoever it was would have to wait a few minutes more.
At least he knew the huge shit stain was alive and well. His ass was dead and rotting inside, but Sam was still alive.
Heading down the road at sixty miles per hour with the windows open was not good for one's hair. Thankfully, Dean was smart and had a utilitarian cut. It was styled, sure, but in a very manly way.
Leaning against the door, he controlled the wheel with one hand and held up his phone with the other. Clicking through the call history, he found the last number he received. It wasn't surprising to find that it was from Bobby. Selecting it, Dean hit the call button.
He braved the air of the car to put the phone to his ear. Breathing through his mouth, he waited for the phone to ring. It took a second for the line to connect. Then it began ringing.
Bobby picked up on the second ring. "Why didn't you answer your phone?"
"Sam shit himself, and both he and the phone were in the car." Speaking of which, Dean had to blink as his nose started to burn. "Yeah, I think I'm going to have to burn the upholstery."
The resulting snorting chuckle caused the speaker to crackle. "I'm surprised you let him ride in it with you after that."
"He's unconscious, else he'd seriously be walking about now." Dean's face screwed up as a tickle formed in his nose. He clenched the wheel. A moment later he sneezed so hard that it caused his ribs to hurt. Sniffing, he groaned. "Oh, man, ow!"
"That sounded painful even over the phone." Bobby snickered again.
Dean's only response was to groan again. His vision was a little blurry when he focused on the road ahead. He had to pull the phone away from his ear so he could wipe them clear. That done he put it back. "What can I do for you, Bobby?"
"Well, I was calling to check on you boys. I was worried about you." There was more to it than that from the sound of his voice. "I don't suppose you will tell me what happened the other night."
Frowning, Dean shifted the cell so he could steer with his right hand. "Not over the phone."
"Next thing you're going to tell me is that you're just fine." The annoyance in the older man's voice spoke of long experience.
"You know me. I'm not hurt unless I'm laying there bleeding." Dean was pretty sure Bobby could tell his smirk even over the phone.
"Since when aren't you bleeding all over the place?" After that, there was a moment of silence from Bobby. He broke it by clearing his throat. "There's something else that's come up."
"Oh?" A cold sensation crept up the back of Dean's neck. "What kind of something? Can it be solved with guns? I like those types of things."
Bobby released a wistful sigh. "It's not that type of thing. At least, I don't believe so. There's something all over the news. Apparently it's been there since yesterday."
The chill turned to ice, making Dean swallow. "Bobby, I can explain..."
"You? You had something to do with this?" The shock in Bobby's voice made it clear that isn't how he had been thinking. "Christ, son. How long until you get here?"
Checking his fuel gage, Dean noted there was over half a tank. "Ten hours, may be less."
Bobby took a moment to digest the news. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"
"It's not like that." Dean reached up to adjust his rearview mirror until he could see Sam. "It was a good thing."
"Are you sure?"
Was he sure? Dean gave it some heavy consideration. The answer was simple, though. "Yeah, definitely."
It was early afternoon by the time Dean pulled off the driveway in to Bobby's driveway. Despite the time, the sky was so cloudy that it felt considerably later. Lightning flashed on the horizon as rocks cracked under the tires.
The moment Bobby came in to sight, Dean released a tense breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding. He waved over the edge of the wheel while turning in to the front yard. At exactly the same moment that he put the car in park his brother let out a snort.
Rising up in the back seat, Sam groaned pitifully. He started to rub at his eyes and look around at the same time. "Where are we?" His voice cracked several times as he spoke.
"Uncle Bobby's. Thanks for sleeping through the whole trip." Turning off the ignition, Dean pulled the key out.
Sam froze. "Do you think he's forgiven me?" Leaning forward, Sam peered out the window up at the big house.
"Tough to say." From what he could tell, Dean already knew the answer. It was easier for him to pretend that he didn't though. "If I were you, I'd get down on my knees and start groveling the moment I got out this car. And if he hasn't, hope like hell his aim's off."
Paling a little, Sam nodded. He wisely kept whatever he was thinking to himself.
"Oh, and I'd like to thank you for soiling the Impala with your gas bombs." He jerked a finger over his shoulder to point at his brother. "You're scrubbing every inch of her until there is no more Sam stink!"
There was no response for a second. Sam sat there blinking tiredly out the window. Then he turned to face Dean. "What?"
Dean growled at him. Jerking on the handle, he pushed the door open. The moment it swung away he climbed out. Immediately his legs protested his weight and nearly buckled under. By some miracle, he managed to keep standing.
He teetered a little, but Dean got his barrings quickly. The junk yard looked exactly the same as it had six days ago before he had been taken by Zachariah. He finished his survey of their surroundings with the house and subsequently, Bobby.
Raising a hand, Dean waved. Noticing the shotgun in the older man's hands brought a smile to his lips. "Oh, Sammy. I think Bobby has something he wants to discuss with you."