elementalv

Authors: elementalv and instantramen
Rating: Crack
Summary: It’s the end of the world as they know it
Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Michael, possibly others (the crack is still flowing)

~*~*~
It begins with: I’m all for naked Dean, Sam and Castiel.

They need to pay a visit to the Garden of Eden, where clothes are not allowed. (Well, they’re allowed, but Sam and Dean assume otherwise and Castiel isn’t about to tell them the truth as long as he can get away with it.)

And Castiel doesn’t want to mention it, because he’s still angling to be in the center of a Wincester sandwich.

They’ll probably look at him funny if/when they find out, but Castiel’s hoping he’ll have scored enough sympathy points by then that he won’t have to explain being swayed by the slashers when he was getting caught up on the Gospels.

Also, he refuses to explain that he was the one to get the remainder of the Wincester Gospels published so that the slashers even knew who he was. As far as he’s concerned, ensuring the publication of the entirety of the WG is his duty as an angel.

He’s helping to recruit disciples so frankly they can stop looking at him like that now. They already saved a lot of innocent people from possession with that tattoo!

He gently removes the fig leafs from their hands and tells them that if God were really upset about any of this, do they honestly think they’d have been given a month’s vacation in the Garden?

Another thing they don’t need to know: this is totally going in his blog later. Angel radio means you can post from anywhere.

Hell. He’s tweeting as he speaks, and every single one of his 6,158 followers is retweeting like mad as they offer suggestions on how to proceed.

He rewards the really stellar suggestions with pics--very carefully cropped, don’t want the best minds completely disabled.

After he posts the first pic, another 343 fangirls start watching him. It’s been a very long time since he felt that much faith directed at him, and it feels good. *REALLY* good. So good, in fact, that Dean, blushing, says, “Dude! What the hell?”

He can’t tell the truth, because that’ll only end in broken hands and a total failure to communicate, so apparently it’s time to take the next step in Operation Hottest Church Ever. Castiel’s learned a lot about inconvenient timing while among the humans, though, and he wouldn’t be surprised if his Father arrives for one of those frequent visits He’s been using to make up for being missing since forever.

Instead, he levels a smoldering look at both Dean and Sam and wills them both to understand without words. Unfortunately, Sam misreads it entirely and asks, “Are you constipated? I didn’t think angels got that way.”

Castiel’s next tweet: “sorry, Sam girls, he’s not the smart brother either”. Two thousand-some wails sound around the world.

And 2,105 fangirls immediately stop following him and start bitching in ONTD about what a bitch Castiel is. The whole thing ends up on Fandom Wank in record time.

A not-insignificant portion of the readers in both communities continue to seriously doubt the reality of the Winchester Gospels, and within hours of the initial Fandom Wank post it’s starting to look like Castiel accidentally started a religious war. Whoops!

At this point, Michael makes a reappearance. He glances at both Sam and Dean and takes a second look at Sam. And then a third look. And then he looks at Castiel and says, “Greed, brother?”

Castiel tries to look innocent, all “we’re on vacation, I don’t know what you’re talking about” and offering oranges, but Michael does this thing that equates to a human arching one eyebrow. He’s been following ONTD for yeeeears.

Castiel withstands the eyebrow for roughly three milliseconds (he wasn’t joking about Michael being *that* powerful, and he defies anyone to withstand the eyebrow for longer than he did) and says, “Fine.” At that point, Michael looks at Sam and says, “Come, Light Bringer’s Vessel.”

Sam is brutally, horribly embarrassed when he does.

That’s about the time Dean starts praying for a little holy brain bleach, because dude, that’s just not right! It’s even worse the way Castiel’s just sitting there pouting like Michael stole his Hot Wheels instead of being suitably disturbed.

And just when Dean thought it couldn’t get any worse, Castiel looks at him with what can only be described as unholy curiosity. He says, “I wonder...”

Not that it’ll help, but Dean is not too proud to run.

It’s not until he runs headlong into Castiel that he remembers the whole constipation-causing teleportation thing. And the whole angels-are-built-like-a-brick-shithouse thing, because seriously, OW. Half a second later, he changes that to “Holy fuck! Watch where you point that.”

Castiel gives this long-suffering look and, swear to God (wait, is he allowed to say that anymore? shit.), says “why do you always have to do things the hard way?”

Dean might have taken that at face value if Castiel hadn’t emphasized “hard” with a little pelvic thrust. He’s distracted, though, when he hears Sam moan, “God, yes!” because that’s just wrong.

“Okay, listen,” Dean concedes when he catches a garbled “Jesus!” a moment later. “You wanna make me sing hallelujah, I get that. But it’s not happening where I can hear that.”

Castiel blinks, and a moment later, they’re in the back seat of the Impala, which itself is sitting on the edge of —

“Is that the Grand Canyon?”

It’s enough to distract Dean from the fact that they’re still naked. The Grand Canyon! It’s kind of hard to see anything through the windows at this angle, but what he can see is awesome. Also a little terrifying. And did we mention he’s still naked?

Two seconds later, the nudity ceases to be a concern and instead becomes the best. thing. EVER. when Castiel actually touches him with intent.

Turns out the internet taught Castiel many, many things. Not that Dean knows about that yet, he just knows that Castiel is unexpectedly good with his hands.

For a moment, a brief, treacherous moment, Castiel considers tweeting the big event. He backs away from the idea when he realizes that even if Dean does not hear of it, Sam surely will, and that bastard Michael will probably hold it over his head for the next several millennia.

And if Michael tells the rest of the family? It’ll be like the incident with Arariel and the swordfish never even happened.

Castiel shudders, and he dearly hopes Dean assumes it’s because of that thing Dean is doing with his tongue. Dean does it again, and Castiel adds a gasp to the shudder, because dear Father, it feels incredible.

Dean gets a little distracted when the radio fizzles to life, but whatever song is playing doesn’t suck so he does. As long as he doesn’t catch the whiff of smoke from where Castiel accidentally fried the little string on the tuner, it’s all good.

After a moment, Dean upgrades it to fan-fucking-tastic, because, impossible as it may seem, Castiel tastes almost as good as pie. Almost, because it turns out that angel jizz may not be as salty and bitter as human jizz, but it still has a bite that Dean’s not sure he’s ready to handle. He thinks that he may have to ask Sam about it when they meet up again, because there’s no way in hell that bitch didn’t go down on Michael.

The thought of comparing notes with his little brother brings a sense of normalcy back into Dean’s world for the first time since Cas yelled, “Vacation!” and whammied them into some tropical jungle somewhere.

And damn, apparently angels take the afterglow thing seriously, because Castiel’s looking a little bright when he hauls Dean back up to really finish him off. Not that worrying eyes-and-mouth shine that usually means someone’s trying to evict him, just this all-over faint luminescence that makes Dean want to crack a joke about screwing in light bulbs.

Dean gets a little lost in watching Castiel, in thinking about the fact that he’s kind of pretty for a guy. He remembers that Jimmy owned the meatsuit before Castiel did, and then his brain throws out the one detail Dean has been successfully repressing for the last half hour.

“Michael,” he crokes.

Castiel frowns. “Yes?”

“He...he...”

“He what?”

“Goddamn it! He looked like me back there. What the hell, dude? Sam’s fucking ME?”

Castiel’s frown changes to something a little more clearly exasperated. “If you’d spent more time looking and less time running you would’ve seen that any resemblances between the two of you are superficial at best. You don’t have enough presence for the eyebrow thing and his eyes are the wrong color.”

“You think Sam’s gonna notice eye color?”

Castiel just stares at him, and Dean remembers just how much of a girl his brother is and realizes that yes, he’ll notice eye color. Still —

“The rest of him looks just like me, and that’s frickin’ wrong. Dude shouldn’t be fucking my brother if he looks like me.”

Dean is getting sullen about the whole thing, which is enough to kill what little remained of Castiel’s afterglow.

This is totally ruining the plans Castiel had to end the religious war that’s been raging on the internet for the last 42 minutes, but making concessions for Dean is pretty much his life now so Castiel’s not actually surprised.

“I suppose I can try to convince Michael to look like someone different. He’s just disappointed he didn’t get to share your face during the war, everyone agrees it’s very nice.”

Dean doesn’t seem to be buying it, but that’s what mind-reading is for. (Okay, no it’s not, but sex is awesome and it won’t happen if Dean is too busy being grossed out.)

Dean continues to pout, and the religious war continues on for seconds that Castiel really can’t afford if he wants —

“Castiel. A word, please?”

Dean scrambles backward and, in an intentionally hilarious move, tries to cover himself at the same time. “Who the hell are you?”

Castiel sighs as the other angel draws himself to his full height and announces, “I am the Metatron.”

“Yeah, well. Fly the fuck off. We’re busy here.”

“And while you’re ‘busy’ here, there’s a religious war brewing on the Internet.” The Metatron glares at Castiel. “Haven’t you had enough of war?”

“I have a plan to fix it!” Castiel doesn’t actually have a plan yet, but he’s a lot better at improvising than he used to be.

“Don’t plan. Do,” the Metatron orders, still glaring, and now Dean’s giving Castiel a Look, which is just an unfair amount of pressure, so instead of successfully booking a big-ass fancy hotel for an impromptu convention/truce party Castiel books a convention center in Ohio.

Bad news: they’ll probably frown on some of the more interesting ideas for creating and enforcing peace. Good news: pretty close to Chuck’s place.


When they get to the convention center, Chuck is already there, which tells Castiel his little religious war might be bigger than anticipated. That and the fact that there are two other prophets as well.

"I'm Jay. This is Silent Bob." Jay looks at Dean and says, "So. You like to take it up the ass from an angel, huh?"

It's all Castiel can do to keep Dean from killing him.

The disciples and unconverted fangirls are starting to get restless without things to buy and people to listen to, so Castiel taps into the sound system, moves to the stage, and opens his mouth.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm going to need a volunteer."

A little more than a third of the fangirls (and a fair number of fanboys) stampede the stage. It's the first time any of them has seen what Castiel really looks like, and they immediately swear allegiance to him. Quite a few also drag the Dean girls along, saying, "We can take out the Sam girls easy."

Castiel's been in fandom a while now by this point, so he teleports away from the stage.

"Thank you," he says from somewhere he's not revealing just yet. "Now if you could all confirm for me that there are no trapdoors on the stage and no tricky lighting, that would be awesome."

He's also been spending a little too much time around Dean, apparently.

The fangirls (and boys) mill around, confused about where, exactly, Castiel's voice is coming from. One of them shouts out that she's ready to tattoo herself, just for Castiel. A fanboy ups the ante, yelling out that he'll get a Prince Albert piercing for Castiel.

Jay winces and crosses his legs. Dean, surprisingly, looks vaguely interested, and Castiel would really like to investigate that further, but the restlessness in the room is growing.

He sends a wave of harmony and goodwill over them all, flushing out a demon in the process. Turns out it's Bela, and she's only there because she hoped to find Sam.

Castiel makes a mental note about the effectiveness of using Sam's fame against the forces of Hell in the future and gets back to work. A little light-flickering, a little holy music (it's a recording of a bunch of angels drunkenly singing Anna's praises after she introduced them to bar-hopping, but most mortals don't understand spoken Enochian so it's not like they can tell the difference), he's got everyone's attention.

He unfurls his wings.

Of all the camera phones in the room, only the iPhones survive the unfurling. The rest of the electronics in the room snap, crackle and pop in satisfying fashion.

(Castiel will never admit it, but he's grown to love the static and sparks that greet his pronouncements. They make him feel important.)

Before he can get started, though, Michael shows up with Sam in tow.

Sam looks a little out of it and Michael still looks like Dean, but nobody notices at first because they appear next to Dean and the Prophets and Castiel's at the other end of the room. They do notice when Michael raises his voice over the crowd's awed whispering.

"Showoff!"

Before Michael and Castiel can get into a bitch fight, Dean steps up to slap Michael alongside the back of his head and says, "Damn it! Get your own face."

Michael draws himself up to Dean's full height and narrows his eyes.

"It is my face! Or it would've been if someone had just let me do my job in the first place!"

Dean prays he never looks that bitchy when he's chewing people out. It's just not dignified.

Unfortunately, eye color notwithstanding, he's pretty sure he does have a bitchface, and that's — well — it's wrong, sure, but it's kind of creepy, like maybe he's stepping on Sam's toes or something. And speaking of creepy and Sam in the same sentence, there's absolutely no reason for Sam to be looking at him and Michael like that, like maybe he sees a two-for-one deal or something.

He growls at Sam, and when that doesn't work, he punches him in the arm.

Behind him, the fans have gone eerily quiet, but Dean refuses to deal with that on top of everything else. Instead he looks to the Prophets for backup.

Chuck pulls his attention away from helping Silent Bob arrange shot glasses to apologize.

"Sorry, Dean, but we've got a drinking game and you're the entertainment."

"Fucking prophets," he mutters. He would go on (and on and on and on) about what pains in the ass they all were, but Castiel clears his throat as loudly as he can and shakes his wings to make his point.

Forty-seven fangirls and two fanboys hyperventilate and faint on the spot. Thirteen more offer to be his submissive. The number is low, because there are still a lot of fangirls and boys waiting to see if Sam is going to make their dreams come true.

It looks like Sam's finally registered the pretty substantial number of people watching all of them. He waves and smiles sheepishly, which results in more fainting.

"Uh, Dean? What exactly is going on?"

"Cas started a war on the internet."

"Cas? A war? No way. We just ended the last one." Sam takes a step back from the fangirls and boys, positioning himself so that Michael is in front of him. "How'd he manage that?"

A young woman, Beth Gillespie from Poughkeepsie, calls out, "He tweeted that you aren't the smart brother either! He's evil! EVIL!"

The anticipatory silence is crushed under the weight of thousands of fangirls' and fanboys' vehement opinions. Sam looks like a kicked puppy, Dean is losing his patience, and Castiel sees his best shot at a truce fading. He sighs feedback into the sound system until the crowd settles enough to listen again.

It occurs to Castiel that as an Angel of the Lord, he has certain advantages, and that Michael, as an Archangel of the Lord, has even more advantages.

He lifts his right eyebrow.

Michael responds by narrowing his left eye.

Castiel's left eyebrow twitches.

Michae's nostrils flare just the tiniest bit.

Dean breaks the silence with, "What the hell is this? Showdown at the OK Corral? Get on with it already."

Well, there's definitely no way to put it off any further.

"I'm sorry, Sam, I was just frustrated," Castiel tells the Sam girls. "You're still the smart brother. Will you consent to hugs for the good of the world?"

Sam just looks at him and says, "You evil son of a bitch," before being overwhelmed by the fans. Even Michael is a bit taken aback by this turn of events.

Dean is torn between defending what's left of his brother's honor and laughing his ass off. In the end he brings another chair to the Prophets' table, sits down, and knocks back a shot of really cheap bourbon.

It could've been him in there.

Chuck, Jay and Silent Bob all look at Dean and then each other. They back away from the table slowly, so as not to arouse the interest of the fans.

Dean flips those retreating asswipes the bird, but he doesn't actually say anything because he's grown a sense of self-preservation sometime in the last few months.