SpN: Come The Night , 9/?
8/31/11 09:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: Come The Night
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean, Dean/Angel, brief Dean/OFC
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: 3144
Spoilers: oblique reference to events in s5
Summary: this is (now) an AU treatment of season five, where Sam doesn't escape his fate and Boy King means just that. Dean once again enters hell to save his brother—not entirely voluntarily. When he returns to the world, everything's changed. He's lost Sam, the new world is difficult to navigate, and he finds himself saddled with an angry young man who elects himself to be Dean's guide.
Notes/Warnings: rape, dubious consent, extreme power imbalance. Some scenes are graphic. Feel free to ask if you'd like more info.
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icon by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
uglybusiness
Dean comes out of the tiny bathroom, shaved clean. It's weird that when he had the beard, he didn't feel it, but now that he's shaved it off…he slides his hand over his chin and huffs at the smoothness. The feeling that started in the shower was growing—he's beginning to feel more settled—a bit more confident. He's got no idea what the fuck's going on, or where he is or what's happened to Cas or to Sam but…at least he knows who the fuck he is now. And pretty soon, he'll catch up with Sammy and drag his head out of his ass and things'll be like they're supposed to be, again.
Angel comes loping up to the shower, all pumping elbows and knobby knees, shouts, "Hey you done yet—" and freezes, squinty eyes gone totally round, cheeks flare red, right up to the tips of his ears and his mouth drops open.
"You…you…gosh."
Dean crinkles his eyes at the kid—he knows how different he looks now, way less crazy, at any rate. "I'm a rock star, right?" he grins.
"You're so…" Angel gulps, straightens his face and the red recedes a bit. "Hunh, you're a lot younger than I thought you were, now that all that hair and dirt is gone." He sniffs deeply. "I kinda thought the stink was just a part of you…"
"Yeah, thanks—fuck you too. Felt like I haven't showered in weeks," Dean says and smoothes his hand over his clean chin again.
"Um, that sounds about right," Angel says in an offhand way. He's still studying Dean like he's a particularly interesting science project. "S'weird, it's like talking to a completely different person, bru. Like night and day. It's…it's good. Real good."
"I'm sure…" Dean sighs. "So, where's the room, I'm tired as a motherfuck."
"Unh, room, room—oh. Room's down there." He stays leaning against the shower room wall as Dean walks by and Dean quirks an eyebrow.
"Well? You coming?"
"You don't like people sleeping with you."
"Uh, I'm not planning on fucking you, dude," Dean says slowly and carefully, like the kid's missing a few cards from the deck. "All I want is some shut eye. If you can restrain yourself, we can share."
"Christe, no! I mean…you know what, I'll explain it to you tomorrow. Christe." He glares at Dean like he's waiting for something to happen, finally gets that Dean hasn't moved. "You're not going to the room until I come, are you?"
Angel stomps down the hall and Dean saunters behind him, grinning. The set of the kid's shoulders makes him laugh—it's obvious he's pissed Angel off again. Scrawny little thing, he is, with shoulder blades like wings…delicate boned, thin skinned, and so ready to fight…his thoughts soften, his heart warms a bit watching the kid kick the door open…it's like good old days long, long past. He watches the boy and can't help but smile.
Until he walks into the shabby little room and sees that there's only one bed in a room literally as big as a closet. But the invitation is out and damn, that thing is going to be a tight fit. He stares a long moment before shrugging. It's not the first time he's had to share close quarters. "Don't snore, don’t fart, and don’t rub yourself off on me in the middle of the night," he says and drops the clean clothes on a chair. Doesn’t bother trying to hide as he pulls on the boxers and a t-shirt almost translucent with age and multiple washings.
"What—I never—fuck you man--" Angel sputters and "—oh fuck you," he says again when Dean starts laughing.
"Your face. You remind me of—of—" And just that quick laughter's gone. Suddenly he's tired, so fucking tired, and sleep begs him to put his head down and shut off for a bit. He practically staggers to the narrow bed, drops down on it with a long drawn out sigh. His body aches as it settles into the musty mattress, the thin blanket barely covers his feet—but it's a blanket and it's clean and he's never really been a picky one. Angel slides in after, carefully not touching which is stupid, so he shoves up against the kid, smirks at his scandalized gasp. He pushes the pillow towards the kid…kind of force of habit, and he curses at himself silently, but doesn't reach for the pillow back.
Right before Dean shuts the light off, Angel has the fucking nerve to give him a real look of sympathy and worse, calls him Dean when he says goodnight. Fucker.
It's not long before Angel's snoring like a buzzsaw, and putting out enough heat that the blanket is a moot point…"Yeah, good night, you little bitch…" He's out before he knows it.
'Dean. You have to find Sam. if you find him, you can…fix him. He's hurting, he just doesn't know why…I did a terrible thing, committed a disastrous mistake.' Castiel walks towards him, his hands out. He takes Dean's face in his hands, and they're so soft and his eyes are so blue. It feels like coming home.
'Sam has done terrible things. He's been monstrous. But he's strong, stronger than you or he realizes. Go to Dys, make him whole again, you have the means.' Castiel smiles at him, the rare true smile that warms his eyes. He leans forward and his lips are a breath away from Dean's. When he speaks, Dean's lips tingle, every bit of exposed skin tingles with whatever it is that fills Castiel—angelic blowback--he almost laughs, but Castiel is saying, 'Angels watch over you Dean whether you want it or not. Full of grace, Dean, full of grace.' Dean's eyelids drop, and something wonderful lights him from inside and he sighs, Castiel's mouth is soft and warm and yeilding….
The very fucking idea of Cas kissing him is a shock and sends him bolt upright in bed. Angel on his other side drops to the floor and pulls a knife from somewhere.
"What-what—"
"Fucking…" Dean drags both hands through his hair, his fingers clawed. "I...had a nightmare. Kind of. Damn. Have you ever heard of something called Dys?"
"Of course, you know…I mean, yeah. It's the Asshole's city. Where he fucks shit up from."
Dean's already thinking. "Asshole's name is Sam," he mutters, ignoring the horrified hiss that explodes from Angel. "I gotta get to Sammy. I have to save him from himself. This time, for real." He stares at Angel's pale face. "Whatever I have to do. I have to go there. So, can you tell me where this Dys place is?"
"Sure, you crazy fuck. I can tell you where it is. And after that, you leave me and Min and the rest of us alone, you hear? Go back to bed, it's still dark." Angel grabs his jacket off the floor and wraps himself in it, lies on the floor instead of the bed and turns his face to the wall—pretty much a shout to Dean to leave him alone.
And so what, it's okay, he doesn't give a flying fuck—hell, he doesn't know the damn kid from Adam and he'd be more than fucking happy to leave the place where he was a fucked up drunk behind. Fuck everyone, fuck 'em all.
Angel Explains
"So, what does plucking chickens have to do with laughing?"
The next morning Dean wakes up to a whole new set of aches and problems. His back's killing him from lying on a mattress stuffed with gravel. And now, he's got to find this Dys, and…do what it was Cas told him to do. If only he could blow off last night's light show as a crazy dream…he sighs and rubs his face hard…but that last night, it wasn't a dream, he gets that.
Well, except for the part right before he woke up. Cas was more likely to kick his ass then to kiss him. He strokes a thumb over his cheek bone, feeling a brush of phantom pain…that angel had a punch like a mule, he thinks fondly. The fucker. Hopes that Cas visiting in his dream means that he's okay, had made it out of the cluster fuck of that last battle.
Now, it was up to Dean to find out what was what with Sammy, and pull his ass out or…or not.
~o0o~
The place the kid drags them to too fucking early in the morning is some café called Beanies. It squats on a corner, a block away from the crack hotel they'd spent the night in, and the few extra feet of sidewalk it gained by being on the corner was taken up with a couple of tables. It looked like an average café on an average block in an average small town. There was plenty of traffic in and out of the place, and the tables are all occupied, by a smiling mother with a toddler in her lap, a young couple who weren't going to finish their coffees, not the way they were eye-fucking each other. Just a bunch of average joes, some sipping coffee and reading thin newspapers that looked like the hand-cranked street papers of he'd get sometimes when he was a kid and haunting the streets between jobs. It was all so. Normal. The town might look faded and old, it might have its seamy side, but there was an upbeat feel to the place anyway. They might be struggling, these people, but they haven't given up. He's gotta admire their attitude, at the same time he knows it's pretty much pointless….
He watches Angel come back to their little table, his face darkened by a scowl. Dean's only known the kid for two days and the fucking scowl seems to be his default expression. Not only that, Dean would swear it's gotten even worse since he's shaved. Fucking kid'll barely look at him now. And true to form when Angel sits, he eyeballs everything except Dean. He does toss a couple of rolls at him, barely missing his face. "Here. Best we can afford right now. We can get breakfast at the shelter, but Bennie's got better coffee."
"Thanks, and by the way, you’re a real charming dining companion."
He answers Dean with an icy "Shut the fuck up" and Dean smirks around the mouthful of roll. What a pain in the ass--reminds him of 16 year old Sam, when no sitch was ever so good that Sam couldn't find the worm in the apple. Angel sees that Dean's smirking at him and his squinty eyes narrow even more, so much so that Dean wonders if he can see at all. "How old are you, Ki—Angel?"
"How's that your business, lokar? Too old to be worth anything, if you're thinking of fattening your pockets." When Dean keeps staring, mostly because he's kind of speechless, the kid goes on. "I'm eighteen…pretty sure. Might be older. Maybe younger." He shrugs.
"Do you—are you—what do you mean 'worth something'?" Dean practically sputters and now it's Angel who's smirking.
"Calm down, bru--. I'm shittin' ya. You know that stuff's illegal out here." They both quiet as the waiter comes and sets a couple of ugly mugs in front of them.
"There ya go, gents, two cups our finest kind. One sugar light, one black." He sweeps the few silver slugs Angel left on the table up and sails off, leaving Dean to stare into his mug. The smell that's coming off the cup….
"Jesus, I hope it tastes half as good as it smells," he moans, and Angel growls at him.
"It's a friggin' cup of coffee. Drink it, don't fuck it."
Dean snickers and grabs his mug. "Aw, you worried about my sexlife?" He takes another bite out of the really good roll, crispy outside, soft inside, and still warm from the oven, follows it with a slurp of coffee that has the little pain in the ass across from him rolling his eyes, and yeah, the coffee is so damn good, he needs to close his eyes and block out everything but the amazing brew sitting in his mouth, smooth, almost chocolate-y it's so rich, with the slightest tang of bitterness--just enough to let you know that what you're drinking isn't some mamby-pamby café-oh-lattie shit, just real, hot, and strong.
"Fuckin' get a room, you freak," he hears and opens his eyes to Angel glaring at him, red cheeked, lips in a fierce tight line—now it's Dean's turn to roll his eyes. He gets no warning before the kid wings a hoof right into Dean's shin.
"Ow, you little fuck," he grimaces. It's been a while since anyone kicked him like that and with such deadly accuracy—an electric thrill of temporary paralysis shivers down his leg. "Bitch!"
Angel smiles, the first real wide smile he's seen on the brat and it doesn't do him much service. His eyes disappear; his cheekbones take up most of his face, what's left is dominated by teeth. Dean mouths bitch again and the smile slides into laughter, loud, braying laughter that startles the rest of the customers and makes Dean start to laugh too—before he knows it, he's bent over the table, holding his heaving sides and desperately begging Angel to knock it off, for god's sake.
Eventually laughter winds down into snickering…Dean feels like a bit of the weight he's carrying has lifted. "God, feels like I haven't laughed like that in…centuries," he grins at Angel. "Thanks."
"Yeah, well…I didn't even know you could laugh. I. I kinda like it."
"Come on now; don’t go all chick flick on me, dude."
"Hunh?" Angel shakes his head, says "…and then you go remind me what a lokar old…well, guess I can't really say old, can I?" Angel sweeps him with a speculative look, kind of weighing and appraising, and Dean has the uncomfortable feeling he's just been x-rayed inside and out. The sort of look he got a lot, when he was Angel's age. Not good, not good at all.
Angel's resting his chin on his fist now, kind of smirking at Dean. Says, "You're not old. How many years are you--and I get to ask, since you asked me."
"I know I'm not old—fucks sake," Dean practically shouts,"--I wish people would stop sayin' that! I'm thirty two, dude, that's not old."
"I guess not…" Angel squints at him hard. "But you look a lot younger than that, though." He's silent, his gaze roaming over Dean. He's not flirting now—if that's what he'd been doing. Now, he's just taking stock, trying to figure Dean out—he blinks when Angel says, puzzled, "So, what does plucking chickens have to do with laughing?"
"Dude…what? Plucking—oh! Chick flicks. You know, movies aimed at chicks. Tear jerkers, 'wah-wah, let's bond' moments…" he can see that the more he tries to explain, the more confused Angel gets, brow wrinkled, lips pursed, looks about a minute from going off—Dean grins at him. The kid could have been a Winchester…still, Angel's reaction makes it obvious that he's got no idea what a flick is, what Dean means by tear jerker, what a chick is…and all that drives the point home; he's a man out of sync with the world around him. He has no place here, though somehow Sam does.... "Never mind, tell me about Dys."
"See? I don't get that! How do you not know about Dys? Or the asshole on the throne? Or that slavery is illegal in the Out towns or—"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa…back up. Slavery?" Dean's leaning across the table, and instinct tells him to keep his voice barely audible. "What the fuck—like slaves? I mean—slave slaves? You can't have slaves in—anywhere. And especially not America."
"But. Well, yeah…you can. But since Brother Prince locked himself up in Dys and let the rest of the world go fuck itself, lots of places outlawed it, 'specially out here. 'swhy I'm here…" he drops his eyes and Dean can barely hear the mumble. "Got away."
Dean blinks. The world is definitely swimming around him, his head is definitely about to explode. "Kid…let's pretend that the hootch pickled my brain and I don’t know nothing about nothing."
"Not much of a stretch there," the brat tosses at him, but Dean decides to be generous and ignore it.
"Just…tell me anything. Assume I don’t know shit—shut up—and you've got to tell me the most obvious shit. Okay?"
Angel's face winkles like he's irritated, but he goes on. "Okay. So. Dys. Been there. Or close to there. I guess I was born in it or around the outskirts. Never had anyone tell me. I remember…not much except service—" and that one word he spits out like it's poison. "Dys used to be called something else a long time ago, but when Brother Prince killed the rulers of the old days, he renamed it. He used to only be in Dys during the summer months but now he's there all the time, running his empire. He doesn't leave the city, never leaves the city in the flesh."
"Um…so the Prince doesn't come out of…Dys. Why don’t people go in after him? Try and put him down? There are Hunters—what's wrong with them?"
"People don't go because the lands in-between are full of demons and monsters. It's different there in the In-Between. Like another world, with different rules and laws. Only the Chronos have safe passage, more or less. The Hunters are the hunted there. Still they do try and get to him. They say he can be killed…just…no one's found a way yet."
Dean muses. "Ooh--kay…explain the rest of that later…so Sa--he's not slaughtering people wholesale, he's not destroying the land…"
"Maybe not here, asshole, but Brother's armies and his enemies are tearing up the rest of the world—demons don't exactly get along like happy campers. They're like rats in a barrel, you know? Plus, they say one reason he's locked himself up is that he's busy looking for something he's lost, or got stolen off 'im…but they've been saying that for years and years. Some say he's looking for the Scapegoat." Angel eyeballs him hard. "I'm not explaining that before breakfast."
Dean feels faint. He's got a pretty good idea what Brother Prince is looking for, afraid of what Angel might mean by this scapegoat…he gets a flash of something, a memory or an old nightmare that makes his stomach turn. Angel doesn't notice, he's trapped in memories of his own. Dean sighs. Later, he'll deal with this shit later. Knocks Angel's boot with his own. "C'mon. Let's get something to eat."
10
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean, Dean/Angel, brief Dean/OFC
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: 3144
Spoilers: oblique reference to events in s5
Summary: this is (now) an AU treatment of season five, where Sam doesn't escape his fate and Boy King means just that. Dean once again enters hell to save his brother—not entirely voluntarily. When he returns to the world, everything's changed. He's lost Sam, the new world is difficult to navigate, and he finds himself saddled with an angry young man who elects himself to be Dean's guide.
Notes/Warnings: rape, dubious consent, extreme power imbalance. Some scenes are graphic. Feel free to ask if you'd like more info.
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icon by
uglybusinessDean comes out of the tiny bathroom, shaved clean. It's weird that when he had the beard, he didn't feel it, but now that he's shaved it off…he slides his hand over his chin and huffs at the smoothness. The feeling that started in the shower was growing—he's beginning to feel more settled—a bit more confident. He's got no idea what the fuck's going on, or where he is or what's happened to Cas or to Sam but…at least he knows who the fuck he is now. And pretty soon, he'll catch up with Sammy and drag his head out of his ass and things'll be like they're supposed to be, again.
Angel comes loping up to the shower, all pumping elbows and knobby knees, shouts, "Hey you done yet—" and freezes, squinty eyes gone totally round, cheeks flare red, right up to the tips of his ears and his mouth drops open.
"You…you…gosh."
Dean crinkles his eyes at the kid—he knows how different he looks now, way less crazy, at any rate. "I'm a rock star, right?" he grins.
"You're so…" Angel gulps, straightens his face and the red recedes a bit. "Hunh, you're a lot younger than I thought you were, now that all that hair and dirt is gone." He sniffs deeply. "I kinda thought the stink was just a part of you…"
"Yeah, thanks—fuck you too. Felt like I haven't showered in weeks," Dean says and smoothes his hand over his clean chin again.
"Um, that sounds about right," Angel says in an offhand way. He's still studying Dean like he's a particularly interesting science project. "S'weird, it's like talking to a completely different person, bru. Like night and day. It's…it's good. Real good."
"I'm sure…" Dean sighs. "So, where's the room, I'm tired as a motherfuck."
"Unh, room, room—oh. Room's down there." He stays leaning against the shower room wall as Dean walks by and Dean quirks an eyebrow.
"Well? You coming?"
"You don't like people sleeping with you."
"Uh, I'm not planning on fucking you, dude," Dean says slowly and carefully, like the kid's missing a few cards from the deck. "All I want is some shut eye. If you can restrain yourself, we can share."
"Christe, no! I mean…you know what, I'll explain it to you tomorrow. Christe." He glares at Dean like he's waiting for something to happen, finally gets that Dean hasn't moved. "You're not going to the room until I come, are you?"
Angel stomps down the hall and Dean saunters behind him, grinning. The set of the kid's shoulders makes him laugh—it's obvious he's pissed Angel off again. Scrawny little thing, he is, with shoulder blades like wings…delicate boned, thin skinned, and so ready to fight…his thoughts soften, his heart warms a bit watching the kid kick the door open…it's like good old days long, long past. He watches the boy and can't help but smile.
Until he walks into the shabby little room and sees that there's only one bed in a room literally as big as a closet. But the invitation is out and damn, that thing is going to be a tight fit. He stares a long moment before shrugging. It's not the first time he's had to share close quarters. "Don't snore, don’t fart, and don’t rub yourself off on me in the middle of the night," he says and drops the clean clothes on a chair. Doesn’t bother trying to hide as he pulls on the boxers and a t-shirt almost translucent with age and multiple washings.
"What—I never—fuck you man--" Angel sputters and "—oh fuck you," he says again when Dean starts laughing.
"Your face. You remind me of—of—" And just that quick laughter's gone. Suddenly he's tired, so fucking tired, and sleep begs him to put his head down and shut off for a bit. He practically staggers to the narrow bed, drops down on it with a long drawn out sigh. His body aches as it settles into the musty mattress, the thin blanket barely covers his feet—but it's a blanket and it's clean and he's never really been a picky one. Angel slides in after, carefully not touching which is stupid, so he shoves up against the kid, smirks at his scandalized gasp. He pushes the pillow towards the kid…kind of force of habit, and he curses at himself silently, but doesn't reach for the pillow back.
Right before Dean shuts the light off, Angel has the fucking nerve to give him a real look of sympathy and worse, calls him Dean when he says goodnight. Fucker.
It's not long before Angel's snoring like a buzzsaw, and putting out enough heat that the blanket is a moot point…"Yeah, good night, you little bitch…" He's out before he knows it.
'Dean. You have to find Sam. if you find him, you can…fix him. He's hurting, he just doesn't know why…I did a terrible thing, committed a disastrous mistake.' Castiel walks towards him, his hands out. He takes Dean's face in his hands, and they're so soft and his eyes are so blue. It feels like coming home.
'Sam has done terrible things. He's been monstrous. But he's strong, stronger than you or he realizes. Go to Dys, make him whole again, you have the means.' Castiel smiles at him, the rare true smile that warms his eyes. He leans forward and his lips are a breath away from Dean's. When he speaks, Dean's lips tingle, every bit of exposed skin tingles with whatever it is that fills Castiel—angelic blowback--he almost laughs, but Castiel is saying, 'Angels watch over you Dean whether you want it or not. Full of grace, Dean, full of grace.' Dean's eyelids drop, and something wonderful lights him from inside and he sighs, Castiel's mouth is soft and warm and yeilding….
The very fucking idea of Cas kissing him is a shock and sends him bolt upright in bed. Angel on his other side drops to the floor and pulls a knife from somewhere.
"What-what—"
"Fucking…" Dean drags both hands through his hair, his fingers clawed. "I...had a nightmare. Kind of. Damn. Have you ever heard of something called Dys?"
"Of course, you know…I mean, yeah. It's the Asshole's city. Where he fucks shit up from."
Dean's already thinking. "Asshole's name is Sam," he mutters, ignoring the horrified hiss that explodes from Angel. "I gotta get to Sammy. I have to save him from himself. This time, for real." He stares at Angel's pale face. "Whatever I have to do. I have to go there. So, can you tell me where this Dys place is?"
"Sure, you crazy fuck. I can tell you where it is. And after that, you leave me and Min and the rest of us alone, you hear? Go back to bed, it's still dark." Angel grabs his jacket off the floor and wraps himself in it, lies on the floor instead of the bed and turns his face to the wall—pretty much a shout to Dean to leave him alone.
And so what, it's okay, he doesn't give a flying fuck—hell, he doesn't know the damn kid from Adam and he'd be more than fucking happy to leave the place where he was a fucked up drunk behind. Fuck everyone, fuck 'em all.
Angel Explains
The next morning Dean wakes up to a whole new set of aches and problems. His back's killing him from lying on a mattress stuffed with gravel. And now, he's got to find this Dys, and…do what it was Cas told him to do. If only he could blow off last night's light show as a crazy dream…he sighs and rubs his face hard…but that last night, it wasn't a dream, he gets that.
Well, except for the part right before he woke up. Cas was more likely to kick his ass then to kiss him. He strokes a thumb over his cheek bone, feeling a brush of phantom pain…that angel had a punch like a mule, he thinks fondly. The fucker. Hopes that Cas visiting in his dream means that he's okay, had made it out of the cluster fuck of that last battle.
Now, it was up to Dean to find out what was what with Sammy, and pull his ass out or…or not.
The place the kid drags them to too fucking early in the morning is some café called Beanies. It squats on a corner, a block away from the crack hotel they'd spent the night in, and the few extra feet of sidewalk it gained by being on the corner was taken up with a couple of tables. It looked like an average café on an average block in an average small town. There was plenty of traffic in and out of the place, and the tables are all occupied, by a smiling mother with a toddler in her lap, a young couple who weren't going to finish their coffees, not the way they were eye-fucking each other. Just a bunch of average joes, some sipping coffee and reading thin newspapers that looked like the hand-cranked street papers of he'd get sometimes when he was a kid and haunting the streets between jobs. It was all so. Normal. The town might look faded and old, it might have its seamy side, but there was an upbeat feel to the place anyway. They might be struggling, these people, but they haven't given up. He's gotta admire their attitude, at the same time he knows it's pretty much pointless….
He watches Angel come back to their little table, his face darkened by a scowl. Dean's only known the kid for two days and the fucking scowl seems to be his default expression. Not only that, Dean would swear it's gotten even worse since he's shaved. Fucking kid'll barely look at him now. And true to form when Angel sits, he eyeballs everything except Dean. He does toss a couple of rolls at him, barely missing his face. "Here. Best we can afford right now. We can get breakfast at the shelter, but Bennie's got better coffee."
"Thanks, and by the way, you’re a real charming dining companion."
He answers Dean with an icy "Shut the fuck up" and Dean smirks around the mouthful of roll. What a pain in the ass--reminds him of 16 year old Sam, when no sitch was ever so good that Sam couldn't find the worm in the apple. Angel sees that Dean's smirking at him and his squinty eyes narrow even more, so much so that Dean wonders if he can see at all. "How old are you, Ki—Angel?"
"How's that your business, lokar? Too old to be worth anything, if you're thinking of fattening your pockets." When Dean keeps staring, mostly because he's kind of speechless, the kid goes on. "I'm eighteen…pretty sure. Might be older. Maybe younger." He shrugs.
"Do you—are you—what do you mean 'worth something'?" Dean practically sputters and now it's Angel who's smirking.
"Calm down, bru--. I'm shittin' ya. You know that stuff's illegal out here." They both quiet as the waiter comes and sets a couple of ugly mugs in front of them.
"There ya go, gents, two cups our finest kind. One sugar light, one black." He sweeps the few silver slugs Angel left on the table up and sails off, leaving Dean to stare into his mug. The smell that's coming off the cup….
"Jesus, I hope it tastes half as good as it smells," he moans, and Angel growls at him.
"It's a friggin' cup of coffee. Drink it, don't fuck it."
Dean snickers and grabs his mug. "Aw, you worried about my sexlife?" He takes another bite out of the really good roll, crispy outside, soft inside, and still warm from the oven, follows it with a slurp of coffee that has the little pain in the ass across from him rolling his eyes, and yeah, the coffee is so damn good, he needs to close his eyes and block out everything but the amazing brew sitting in his mouth, smooth, almost chocolate-y it's so rich, with the slightest tang of bitterness--just enough to let you know that what you're drinking isn't some mamby-pamby café-oh-lattie shit, just real, hot, and strong.
"Fuckin' get a room, you freak," he hears and opens his eyes to Angel glaring at him, red cheeked, lips in a fierce tight line—now it's Dean's turn to roll his eyes. He gets no warning before the kid wings a hoof right into Dean's shin.
"Ow, you little fuck," he grimaces. It's been a while since anyone kicked him like that and with such deadly accuracy—an electric thrill of temporary paralysis shivers down his leg. "Bitch!"
Angel smiles, the first real wide smile he's seen on the brat and it doesn't do him much service. His eyes disappear; his cheekbones take up most of his face, what's left is dominated by teeth. Dean mouths bitch again and the smile slides into laughter, loud, braying laughter that startles the rest of the customers and makes Dean start to laugh too—before he knows it, he's bent over the table, holding his heaving sides and desperately begging Angel to knock it off, for god's sake.
Eventually laughter winds down into snickering…Dean feels like a bit of the weight he's carrying has lifted. "God, feels like I haven't laughed like that in…centuries," he grins at Angel. "Thanks."
"Yeah, well…I didn't even know you could laugh. I. I kinda like it."
"Come on now; don’t go all chick flick on me, dude."
"Hunh?" Angel shakes his head, says "…and then you go remind me what a lokar old…well, guess I can't really say old, can I?" Angel sweeps him with a speculative look, kind of weighing and appraising, and Dean has the uncomfortable feeling he's just been x-rayed inside and out. The sort of look he got a lot, when he was Angel's age. Not good, not good at all.
Angel's resting his chin on his fist now, kind of smirking at Dean. Says, "You're not old. How many years are you--and I get to ask, since you asked me."
"I know I'm not old—fucks sake," Dean practically shouts,"--I wish people would stop sayin' that! I'm thirty two, dude, that's not old."
"I guess not…" Angel squints at him hard. "But you look a lot younger than that, though." He's silent, his gaze roaming over Dean. He's not flirting now—if that's what he'd been doing. Now, he's just taking stock, trying to figure Dean out—he blinks when Angel says, puzzled, "So, what does plucking chickens have to do with laughing?"
"Dude…what? Plucking—oh! Chick flicks. You know, movies aimed at chicks. Tear jerkers, 'wah-wah, let's bond' moments…" he can see that the more he tries to explain, the more confused Angel gets, brow wrinkled, lips pursed, looks about a minute from going off—Dean grins at him. The kid could have been a Winchester…still, Angel's reaction makes it obvious that he's got no idea what a flick is, what Dean means by tear jerker, what a chick is…and all that drives the point home; he's a man out of sync with the world around him. He has no place here, though somehow Sam does.... "Never mind, tell me about Dys."
"See? I don't get that! How do you not know about Dys? Or the asshole on the throne? Or that slavery is illegal in the Out towns or—"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa…back up. Slavery?" Dean's leaning across the table, and instinct tells him to keep his voice barely audible. "What the fuck—like slaves? I mean—slave slaves? You can't have slaves in—anywhere. And especially not America."
"But. Well, yeah…you can. But since Brother Prince locked himself up in Dys and let the rest of the world go fuck itself, lots of places outlawed it, 'specially out here. 'swhy I'm here…" he drops his eyes and Dean can barely hear the mumble. "Got away."
Dean blinks. The world is definitely swimming around him, his head is definitely about to explode. "Kid…let's pretend that the hootch pickled my brain and I don’t know nothing about nothing."
"Not much of a stretch there," the brat tosses at him, but Dean decides to be generous and ignore it.
"Just…tell me anything. Assume I don’t know shit—shut up—and you've got to tell me the most obvious shit. Okay?"
Angel's face winkles like he's irritated, but he goes on. "Okay. So. Dys. Been there. Or close to there. I guess I was born in it or around the outskirts. Never had anyone tell me. I remember…not much except service—" and that one word he spits out like it's poison. "Dys used to be called something else a long time ago, but when Brother Prince killed the rulers of the old days, he renamed it. He used to only be in Dys during the summer months but now he's there all the time, running his empire. He doesn't leave the city, never leaves the city in the flesh."
"Um…so the Prince doesn't come out of…Dys. Why don’t people go in after him? Try and put him down? There are Hunters—what's wrong with them?"
"People don't go because the lands in-between are full of demons and monsters. It's different there in the In-Between. Like another world, with different rules and laws. Only the Chronos have safe passage, more or less. The Hunters are the hunted there. Still they do try and get to him. They say he can be killed…just…no one's found a way yet."
Dean muses. "Ooh--kay…explain the rest of that later…so Sa--he's not slaughtering people wholesale, he's not destroying the land…"
"Maybe not here, asshole, but Brother's armies and his enemies are tearing up the rest of the world—demons don't exactly get along like happy campers. They're like rats in a barrel, you know? Plus, they say one reason he's locked himself up is that he's busy looking for something he's lost, or got stolen off 'im…but they've been saying that for years and years. Some say he's looking for the Scapegoat." Angel eyeballs him hard. "I'm not explaining that before breakfast."
Dean feels faint. He's got a pretty good idea what Brother Prince is looking for, afraid of what Angel might mean by this scapegoat…he gets a flash of something, a memory or an old nightmare that makes his stomach turn. Angel doesn't notice, he's trapped in memories of his own. Dean sighs. Later, he'll deal with this shit later. Knocks Angel's boot with his own. "C'mon. Let's get something to eat."
10
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9/1/11 12:05 pm (UTC)(no subject)
9/1/11 01:37 pm (UTC)(no subject)
9/2/11 01:31 pm (UTC)P.S. I love how this feels like some crazy mashup between 1984, a Terry Gilliam movie, and Supernatural. It's so many cool things at once!
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9/2/11 10:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
9/5/11 08:49 pm (UTC)