#and balthazar fucking. dramatic reveal

[girlbob-boypants]

S3 is such an interesting part of gw2 cause it feature some of my favorite and most hated moments

[destiel-love-forever]

What a Jerk

It’s Valentine’s Day. For Castiel & Dean, that means war. 

Read below or on AO3: HERE

"What a jerk," Castiel grumbles, closing the door as the delivery man leaves.

"Who?" Benny asks from his spot on the couch a few feet away. He turns to look at Castiel, more words about to come out. Then he sees the giant bouquet of flowers in Castiel's hands and grins. "Oh. Dean."

"Stop smiling. He's an asshole." Castiel storms off to the kitchen. Since his penthouse apartment is an open-floor plan, though, he doesn't escape Benny. He just gets his bitch face from a new angle.

"Yes," Benny says sarcastically. "What an asshole for buying you flowers."

Castiel huffs as he searches for a stupid vase for the stupid flowers. "I told him not to do this."

"Yeah, bad idea. Telling Dean not to do something is pretty much the equivalent of challenging him to a duel."

There's a dusty vase beneath the sink. Castiel takes it out and fills it with water, not bothering to clean it first. When it's filled enough for the flowers to survive - because Castiel isn't a monster, he's not going to purposely kill beautiful flowers - he stuffs the bouquet into the vase.

"There." He sets the vase on his kitchen island and breathes a sigh of relief. "At least it's over now. Right?"

Benny snorts. "Dude, it's 8 AM. There's no way that's all he has planned for the day."

"You work for me, ya know," Castiel says in a voice that's supposed to be threatening but isn't. "You have to take my side."

"I'm your bodyguard. I keep you safe from bullets and kidnappers. Not overbearing lovers."

Castiel sighs in frustration. He pulls out his phone and very aggressively types in Dean Winchester's number.

Dean answers almost instantly. Clearly, he had been waiting for this call.

"Hey, C-"

"This stupid romantic nonsense is a waste of money and I swear Dean Winchester if you get me any more presents today I'm going to break up with your stupid ass!"

"So you got the flowers," Dean says with a smile in his voice. "Good. You should get ready for work, my love. Don't want to be late."

"Don't ignore me, Dean! You promised. You promised not to do this!"

"No. You ordered me not to do this. I never agreed."

"Dean-"

"Have a nice day, babe. I'm sure I'll be hearing from you soon."

"Dean!"

"Oh, and Cas?"

Castiel grits his teeth, fuming. "What?"

"Happy Valentine's Day."

Castiel growls - yes, growls - and hangs up. He throws his hands in the air and turns to Benny. "What a jerk!"

----

When Castiel stops at his favorite coffee shop for his usual morning Americano with cinnamon, the barista already has his order ready. It has a message written on it in Dean's hand writing, black sharpie scrawling its way across the disposable cup.

You are so brew tiful. I love you like I love my coffee - inside me (;

Castiel rolls his eyes. "What a jerk."

"Sorry?" the barista says in confusion.

"He's a jerk." Castiel grabs a disposable cup from the stack beside the register. He pops the top off the one Dean wrote on and pours his coffee into the fresh, non-Valentine cup. Then he tosses the graffitied cup and nods at the barista. "Have a good one."

"Uh… yeah." The barista watches him go, looking crestfallen. Clearly she had found it romantic. Disgusting. "You too."

----

Another bouquet of flowers is waiting for Castiel when he enters his private office. He glares at it from the doorway for a long moment before huffing in annoyance, going over and grabbing the damn thing. Still dressed in his trench coat, still with his briefcase in his left hand, Castiel walks down to the bull-pen and lifts the vase in the air.

"Who fucked up today and needs a Valentine's Day present for their significant other?" he yells, his anger making most of his employees shiver or tense up.

It takes a second but then a woman in the back tentatively raises her hand. Charlie. She's dating Dorothy from accounting. They're a cute couple.

"They're yours," he announces, thrusting them out in the air to silently tell her to come get them.

Blushing, she makes her way to Castiel. She mumbles something about not forgetting but running out of time this morning. Castiel couldn't care less whether Charlie forgot or not. He just doesn't want to stare at the damn flowers all day.

Once they're out of his hands, Castiel waves a hand in the air and says, "As you were."

Benny is smirking when Castiel gets back to his office.

"What's so funny?" Castiel asks in a voice that's supposed to be threatening but just makes Benny's lips lift higher. "What?"

"I'm assuming you didn't see the box of chocolates."

Castiel parts his lips, about to ask what Benny means, when he sees a heart-shaped box beside where the flowers had been. He deflates. Goes over to his chair. Slumps down. Sighs dramatically. Then he takes the box and reads the attached note.

Life was like a box of chocolates.  You never know what you're gonna get. - damn glad I got you, babe ♡

"What a jerk," Castiel growls at the box. He rips the lid off and snatches a piece of chocolate before pushing it toward Benny. "Stop fucking smiling and eat. And don't tell him I ate any of it. That asshole knows I can't resist chocolate so you have to lie."

"Sure thing boss," Benny says with a wink. "Sure thing."

----

"Are you Castiel?" a man dressed in a cupid costume asks.

Castiel shakes his head. "Nope."

Unfortunately, he's in the breakroom at work and his employees think this whole battle between Dean and him is hilarious. Balthazar says, "He's lying" at the same time Chuck says, "He's Castiel."

Castiel decides he's going to fire them both.

The cupid smirks and turns to Castiel. Castiel puts a hand up in protest. "Whatever it is, I don't want-"

"Lord Almighty,

I feel my temperature rising

Higher higher

It's burning through to my soul

Boy, boy, boy,

You gonna set me on fire

My brain is flaming

I don't know which way to go

Your kisses lift me higher

Like the sweet song of a choir

You light my morning sky

With burning love"

"Nope," Castiel mumbles under his breath, grabbing his lunch and heading out the door. "Nope, nope, nope."

The damn telegram follows him. Everyone in the office stares, their jaws dropped open as the goddamn CEO is followed around by a glittery man dressed as cupid singing an Elvis song. Castiel isn't even embarrassed. He's just pissed.

Castiel enters his office and shoots a glare at Benny who had conveniently been gone to the bathroom when this all went down but is now back at his rightful place by Castiel's side. "Make him leave."

"It's coming closer

The flames are now lickin' my body

Please won't you help me-"

"Why? He isn't a threat."

"He has a weapon!"

"It's a plastic bow, boss."

"And my chest is a-heaving

Lord Almighty

I'm burning a hole where I lay."

"I own this goddamn building and I'm telling you, head of my security, to kick him out!"

Benny gives him a wry smile. "I'll get right on it, boss. Highest priority."

"Cause your kisses lift me higher

Like the sweet song of a choir-"

"You're fired."

"Oh, well, in that case I suppose he'll get to stay."

"Ah, ah, burning love

I'm just a hunk, a hunk of burning love."

Castiel grabs his office phone and presses 7, gritting his teeth. With every ring that passes, his rage boils. He's a breath away from exploding.

"Singer's Auto, this is Dean."

Castiel slams a finger down on speaker phone and turns to glare at cupid as he finishes the damn song.

"Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love

Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love

Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love

Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love."

Finally, it's over. Cupid winks at him before leaving. Benny smirks. Dean - the jerk that he is - is laughing hysterically on the other line.

"I hate you," Castiel states very matter-of-factly.

"Oh come on!" Dean snorts a laugh. "It's Elvis! You love Elvis!"

"Not anymore! Congratulations, Winchester. You have officially ruined Elvis for me."

Dean laughs harder. "God, I love you babe."

"Gaaaah, no!" Castiel hangs up the call before Dean can use his mystical powers to sweet talk Castiel into forgiving him. It ain't happening.

Castiel bangs his forehead against his desk a few times before deflating against it. "What a jerk."

----

Castiel walks into the first jewelry store he comes across. He storms past all of the stupid Valentine's decorations and up to a young man in a sharp suit who is smiling far too wide if you ask Castiel's opinion. Castiel smacks the palm of his hand on the glass display in front of the man and growls, "I need a goddamn engagement ring."

----

A ring box heavy in his pocket, Castiel stands outside Dean's small two-bedroom house. The yellow paint is peeling back in places, revealing the blue beneath. They come from two completely different worlds. Dean, the eldest son who sacrificed everything he had to raise his baby brother, dropping out of high school, working two jobs, scraping his father off whatever bar floor or sidewalk he ended up on most nights. Castiel, the eldest son who had the world handed to him, private prep school, undergrad at an Ivy league, two master degrees, no student loan debt, a $100,000 no-strings gift from his father to start up his own company.

Dean lives in a house that was foreclosed and rotting on the inside. He’s owned it for three years now. The floors and roof have been replaced. The staircase rebuilt. The walls repainted. The kitchen remodeled. The bathroom gutted. All Dean’s doing since he couldn’t afford to hire contractors.

Castiel lives in a penthouse apartment in a building that’s only seven years old. He got to pick in a catalogue what model of every room he preferred. Professionals molded his home into exactly what he wanted it to be in two weeks, handing it to him furnished and beautiful.

Dean works 60 hour weeks at his uncle’s auto shop, always smelling of oil and sweat. He drinks Jack Daniels. Listens to classic rock. Wears stained jeans and cotton shirts so worn they have holes in the collars and become see-through in certain lighting.

Castiel works 80 hour weeks, but only 30 of them are spent in the office, the rest spent on his phone or at his home so he can lounge on his couch and peruse documents without worrying about employees bothering him. He’s currently working through a bottle of 1926 Macallan. He listens to classical music, as well as plays it himself on his own grand piano that overlooks the city. Wears tailored Brioni suits and silk ties to work, settling for Gucci denim pants and cashmere sweaters when he's casual.

They should have never even met. Castiel would never take his car to a low-grade dealership like Singers. Never. You just don’t do that. Castiel was sure they wouldn’t even know what to do with a custom built Tesla like his. Yet, there Castiel was, broken down outside of the city with a migraine the size of Texas and stubborn impatience that made waiting for the professionals from the dealership that would take 3 hours a choice he wasn’t willing to make. So, he typed in auto shops on google and picked the one nearest to him.

Singers Auto.

Dean had showed up all southern drawl and warm smiles. Flirted right past Castiel’s foul mood. Stroked the hood of his Tesla like it was a cherished pet. Spoke to Castiel confidently about his knowledge on the vehicle. He offered to tow it into the city for Castiel if Castiel wanted but assured Castiel that if he chose to let Dean bring it to Singer's Auto, Dean would be able to take care of it.

“Easy fix,” Dean had said. “In and out. Twenty minutes.”

Castiel had agreed. It was completely out of character but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted more time with the mechanic.

He left that day with a fixed car and Dean Winchester’s number.

They never once brought up the salary gap between them. Some nights they’d crash at Castiel’s. Some nights at Dean’s. They’d go to five-star restaurants and gorge on filet mignon and lobster. They’d go to McDonalds and demolish burgers and chocolate milkshakes. Neither of them so much as blink.

Castiel smiles to himself as he looks at the house again. Where will they live? Castiel could care less, if he’s being honest. He’ll move here if Dean wants. He can deal with the furnace that needs to be kicked every few days as a reminder to work again. He can deal with the pipes that always freeze in the winter. He can deal with the way the fifth step creaks because Dean messed up when building the staircase. As long as he has Dean Winchester, he has everything.

“The hell you doin’ out here?” Dean yells from the front porch, snapping Castiel from his thoughts.

The ring box in his pocket grows hot in anticipation.

“It’s Valentine’s Day!” Castiel yells back, casually walking across the street from where he parked. “I figured if you’re going to insist on celebrating the idiotic holiday, I might as well win by outdoing you.”

“Oh, really?” Dean huffs a laugh, taking the porch steps two at a time until he’s on the grass of his front lawn. “How do you expect to do that?”

Castiel stops when he’s on the sidewalk, about five or so feet between them. He gives Dean a cocky grin that makes Dean’s smirk fall just an inch. Dean Winchester doesn’t like to lose at things - especially all of these silly competitions they get themselves into.

How long can they go without having sex or masturbating, and who will break first and beg the other to fuck him?

Who can eat the most pie in one sitting?

Which one can buy the best Christmas gift?

Who can win the most tickets at the arcade?

How long can they keep their prank war going, and who will be the one to finally throw in the towel when it goes too far?

Who can scare the other badly enough to make them scream?

Which one of them will win the cheesy romantic award of Valentine’s Day 2020.

Castiel won the 1st, 3rd, and 6th.

Dean won the 2nd and 4th.

Neither have won the prank war bet - it’s still on-going.

But Castiel Novak is going to win this damn Valentine’s Day award. If Dean wants to play this game today, it’s on.

“Cas-”

“Dean Winchester,” Castiel says softly, in a voice sickly sweet and loving. He lowers himself to one knee and reaches into his pocket.

Dean’s eyes flare with rage. “No! Don’t you dare!”

“You’re the love of my life-”

“Stop!”

“I can’t imagine any possible future that doesn’t have you in it-”

“I hate you so much right now,” Dean chokes out, eyes welling up.

Castiel smirks and opens the ring box. “Will you marry me?”

“No,” Dean grumbles with a pouty look on his face. Then he growls low in his throat and shakes his arms like a toddler on the verge of a tantrum. “Fuck - fine! Yes. I’ll marry you.”

Grinning, partly because the love of his life just agreed to marry him but mostly because instead of Dean evening the score Castiel is now 2 points ahead, Castiel pushes to his feet and slips the ring on Dean’s finger. He tugs Dean into his arms and kisses him breathless.

“Proposed to me on Valentine’s Day,” Dean says with an incredulous huff, resting his head on Castiel's shoulder and hugging him. “What a jerk.”

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[awed-frog]

"why are angels in suits and archangels in ratty jeans" do you think maybe archangels have something that resembles free will, something regular angels have to struggle a lot to discover within themselves? (yes I read all your tags)

I’m not sure the two things are linked, though? Or linked in that exact way, ie free will automatically leads to freedom to customize your accessories?

Like, if we’re talking clothes, the most striking examples are Michael and Lucifer and how their fashion sense seems to evolve with their vessel.

There could be many reasons for this. Most likely, it’s just a narrative way of showing a clear difference between Dean (or Sam) and their possessed versions, because the fact is, both Lucifer and AU!Michael used to dress in a very similar way to real!Dean and real!Sam, so without the change in clothes, both actors and viewers would have a much harder time telling them apart.

(The interesting exception, of course, is Cas. See below for more speculation.)

As for in-story logic, there are a couple of fashion-related points we can make.

First of all, both in Supernatural and IRL, suits embody a kind of willing submission to your role in society, and what your superiors think and want. While most lines of work have compulsory or traditional ‘uniforms’, suits are not dictated by practical or safety reasons. They simply signal you don’t work with your hands and you get (or hope to get) something of a decent salary. What’s particularly striking about suits is that, on the whole, they’re not really a good choice as ‘standard wear’ for tertiary jobs? Like - for one, most suits just don’t fit the wearer’s body very well. You walk around and you see a lot of people (basically all the women because boobs and curves, but also many men) who just look awkward and cheap. There’s a reason why ‘getting a bespoke suit’, complete with standing on ridiculous tiny podium with four Italian tailors shaking their hands at you is such a popular movie trope and generally shorthand for ‘you’ve made it’, and it’s because off-the-rack suits tend to suck - they fall weirdly on your body, might pull at your joints, and generally look really bad. If you’re Benedict Cumberbatch, you could probably find someting suitable even in Asda, but then again, if you’re Benedict Cumberbatch you’d look good in a sandwich wrapper, so that’s a moot point. And another thing is that suits are incredibly high-maintenance, even if Supernatural pretends otherwise? 

(And that’s another of those ‘black spaces’ we all watch with such rapt attention, by the way, because the boys wearing suits so often implies someone - *coughs* Dean *coughs* - spends a sizable portion of his time buying and looking after those clothes, and probably has a whole room in the Bunker full of fluffy fabric and costumes.)

Anyway - you need to fold them neatly and iron the shit out of them (and ironing shirts, that’s fun) and depending on the fabric every time you fucking move they fucking crease? And finally (I mean, I could go on because I hate them, but you know), finally they’re generally the reflection of an entitled, arrogant society which doesn’t take into account nature or weather. Like, people in suits may look all cool and unruffled inside their fancy AC-ed banks, but try wearing your bespoke woolen monstrosity on the tube, or outside on a summer afternoon, and you’re not likely to come out alive. So where manual workers are mostly forced to wear the same thing year-round to protect themselves from injury (or because their clothes need to be boiled when washed), and other professionals (like teachers) will adapt their wardrobe to seasons and mood, people who’re forced to wear suits truly represent the end of individuality, personality, and choice. 

(Our national bank and our biggest insurance will police everything down to your bra, nail polish and make-up, so while there are people who genuinely enjoy wearing suits - I guess - I’d say for most it’s not really a choice.)

And the sad thing is, we’ve all accepted this as a good & worthy thing: buying your first suit is a sign you’re all grown up, and even if you’re not a corporate slave, you’ll be expected to wear suits at important meetings, weddings and funerals (hell, I know I’ve got a couple in my closet, so I’m not claiming any moral high ground here). What’s even more perverse, and also chimes in with the Supernatural universe, is that true wealth doesn’t give a rat’s ass about suits. As with other stuff, from dead languages to meditation to how well you treat your inferiors, there’s a wide gap between those who think they’re the upper class and the real upper class. This is a detail that often goes unnoticed, both IRL and in fiction, but a show like Billions, for instance, explored it to perfection: most characters will be in suits all the time, because the background is the financial world, but not Axe, our main character, who’ll choose jeans and leather jackets (which probably cost more than your house, and okay, but still: the key is comfort and non-conformity).

(See also: Chuck in his second-hand jacket vs. his archangels preening up and buying stupid stuff as soon as they fall in line.

Or: Chuck wearing whatever the hell he likes while his theoretically more powerful sister is stuffed into luxurious and revealing clothes, complete with pastel nail polish.)

Coming back to Supernatural, this is something of a pattern: normal angels are (almost) always in suits. Cas has a shabby suit hidden by his trademark trench coat - a fashion choice which has many reasons (chief among them, that John Constatine thing) but ends up representing the character’s dilemma and his push towards free will and a different kind of belonging. Both Michael and Lucifer dress shabbily when they’re not following Heaven’s plan, and suit up as soon as they manage to fulfill their expected roles. Raphael, the only archangel to be 100% loyal to the task he was assigned, is always shown in a suit.

(Gabriel, who never fit in, lived and died (twice) in his own personalized wardrobe.)

Something else that’s a headcanon of mine is that angels, generally speaking, don’t give a damn about human stuff because they’re not equipped to understand it. Like, Crowley is susceptible to the joys of a well-cut suit, and also painfully aware of its meaning (as an illiterate, illegimate child of a socially rejected mother, belonging and riches is what he dreamed about, and it’s not a surprise he chose to be apprenticed to a tailor); then again, he’s a demon, not an angel, which means he’s got a deep layer of tortured humanity informing his thoughts and his decisions. On the other hand, what does a suit mean to someone like Lucifer, who’s older than balls, considers humans to be a mistake and the scum of the Earth and is used to see their fashion sense change dramatically every few seconds (to an immortal, fifty years must look like one or two minutes)? No - to Lucifer, and Michael, and possibly Gabriel, the main problem is that they’re not in their rightful vessels; and, as we’ve seen very clearly in Lucifer’s case, the consequences can be irritating and very, very dramatic. So it makes sense, in a way, that they’d focus on keeping their vessels’ skin in one piece without bothering with anything else? Like, Nick!Lucifer changing into a nice Armani would be like a guy being rushed to the ER for organ failure insisting on silver cufflinks on his hospital gown.

(That’s also why, I think, Lucifer never bothered to change anything about Cas’ appearance when he was possessing Cas? It was a way of 1) cutting down his workload, 2) annoying the hell out of Sam and Dean and tricking them for as long as possible and 3) refusing to claim ownership of a vessel Lucifer probably considered dirty and beneath him.)

As a final thought, I always had a problem with that whole ‘angels have no free will’ thing, because the show & tell on that one never matched all that well. I mean: the only angel whose journey we truly witnessed was Cas, and even with Cas, it’s stated outright he always had plenty of free will and a boatload of feelings and opinions - to the point where he had to be reprogrammed several times. Mostly other low-level angel we’ve seen, though, have displayed a remarkable sense of self and very disinct preferences: from Balthazar who did his own thing to hippy!angels who wanted to camp by a river, to Ishim who went against orders to get laid, to Gadreel who took an awful lot of independent decisions, to his subtextual husband/textual parabatai who’d chosen a suburban human life, all the way to Naomi (the highest in hierarchy) and to that cute angel in glasses (the lowest of the low, and rip). So while the ‘tell’ part of this story was always more or less consistent (‘angels can’t understand emotions, can’t make their own choices, Cas is the lone exception’), the ‘show’ part mostly fell short of that message: with the exception of the suit as shorthand for brainlessness and obedience, angels never acted like the brainwashed robots they were supposed to be. In fact, you could even argue that the only two angels who’re pig-headedly determined to follow the path Chuck traced for them are, ironically enough, Michael and Lucifer.

[redvsvblue]

god fucking dammit i hate mobile. anyways. Demon AU -- Jeremy summons Ryan just so he'll help him spookify his house/help hand out candy on Halloween. Jeremy dresses up as an angel to spite Ryan, and Ryan just.. un-glamours parts of himself (horns, tail, etc) instead of dressing up. I love the porn but like.... maybe just some good ol' bonding? or lowkey porn with feelings. maybe they kiss. let them KISS TJ - ya boy Trevor

First of all, Trev, slightly disappointed you didn’t come in with hey there, demon AU, it’s me, ya boy Trevor, but prompt accepted anyway. 

Second of all, GREAT PROMPT. STELLAR. THANK YOU. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT. 

“Hey.”

“Hey,”Jeremy says, standing casually at the edge of his summoning circle.Ryan rakes his eyes suggestively down Jeremy’s body and raises aneyebrow.

“Needsomething?” He asks, smirking. Jeremy shrugs and looks around athis undecorated living room, at the collection of tiny pumpkins inthe window sill with Sharpie faces.

“It’salmost Halloween,” Jeremy says. Ryan hums.

“Tomorrow,”he agrees, teleporting to Jeremy’s desk to perch on it.

“AndI kind of need decorations,” Jeremy says. “The neighbourhood hasa contest for spookiest house and I didn’t have time to pickanything up today.”

Ryanarches an eyebrow but doesn’t comment.

“Anythingelse?”

Jeremydithers for a moment, awkwardly shifting his weight and lookinganywhere but Ryan.

Ryanthe demon.

Thedemon Jeremy’s definitely not trying to befriend. Or be-whatever.

“…alot of kids come by,” he says slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.“Could use someone to help me hand out candy.” 

Nope, totally not an excuse to see Ryan. Shut up.

Heglances up nervously at the demon – Ryan’s smug grin melts into asofter smile, almost…well, almost gentle.

Jeremybreaks the eye contact.

“Don’thave to,” he mutters, shifting from foot to foot. “I just thought– I don’t know.”

“What?”Ryan asks.

“Thoughtmaybe – I don’t know, you’re a demon, thought maybe you’dlike the holiday.”

Ryantilts his head and Jeremy flushes under the scrutiny, looking away tohis pumpkins again.

“I’d,y’know, I’d trade you,” he says, boldly stepping forward, butRyan shakes his head.

“Don’tworry about it,” he says, still with that same soft smile thatmakes Jeremy’s insides tangle up.

“Thoughtyou couldn’t just give out favours,” Jeremy teases, probablyterribly covering his nerves but the relief rising in him is a littletoo strong to deal with right now. Ryan laughs and his eyes driftover to the bags of candy sitting by Jeremy’s front door.

“Hm,well, you’re right,” Ryan says, a distinct twinkle in his eyewhen he grins. “Need to keep a reputation somehow.”

Jeremyraises an eyebrow and Ryan jerks his thumb to the kitchen.

“Tradeya for one of those cupcakes you’re making?” He says, aninnocent, hopeful lilt to his words, and Jeremy laughs and nods.

“It’sa deal,” he says, and Ryan teleports to the kitchen.

– 

Ryanhelps Jeremy hang up the lights outside his house, stapling themneatly to the wood and wrapping them around one of the pillars tohide the battery pack behind the railing, and although the lights area tacky alternate of purple and orange, Jeremy can’t help admiringthe reflection of them in Ryan’s eyes. Ryan catches his gaze and –smiles at him and Jeremy’s chest feels suddenly tight.

Gleefulshrieking from the next house over breaks the moment, and Ryan moveson to arranging the fake skeletons while Jeremy lines up tinypumpkins on the railing, drawing in angry eyebrows and fearsome jawsto make them scarier. It doesn’t really work because they’resmaller than Jeremy’s hand, but he likes them nonetheless. Theyglue bats to the overhang, stick ghost decals to the front window andall the while Jeremy can’t stop sneaking glances at Ryan, listeningout for his easy laughter when something goes wonky or when Jeremybends a skeleton hand into a flipped bird.

Ryan’sactually – fun to work with, a lot more fun than Jeremyexpected, teasing Jeremy about not being able to reach the bats andswearing in a mix of languages when he fucks up a decal, peeling itoff with a frown and reaching for a new one.

Andthen Ryan magicks up his decorations, enchanting glitteringblack spiderwebs in the corners of the porch and conjuring purpleflames to dance in the main porch lamp. A mysterious white foggathers around the skeletons and pours through the gaps in therailing – above Jeremy’s head, the bats’ wings start flappingin mid-air.

“No,”Jeremy says when he sees Ryan affixing a bloody head to the door –Ryan and the head look at him, and Jeremy almost fuckingpisses himself.

“No?”Ryan asks innocently.  

“Toogruesome,” Jeremy says, glancing down at the unnerving yellow eyesof the decapitated head. “I don’t wanna actually scar thechildren.”

“Okay,”Ryan says with a shrug, cradling the head in his hands. “Bye,Reggie.”

Thehead disappears in a puff of smoke and Ryan enchants up a tackyHalloween wreath instead, glancing at Jeremy for approval beforehanging it and magicking up a smouldering green glow inside it.

“Well,”Ryan declares, dusting his hands off and glancing around the porch.“I think you’re done.”

“Yeah?”Jeremy asks. “You think it’s good?”

“Realspooky,” Ryan says, sharing a grin with Jeremy. A moment later itfalters.

“GuessI should go,” he says. Jeremy doesn’t reply – doesn’t…reallywant Ryan to leave but he supposes he can’t really ask him to stay.

“Yeah,I’ll – I’ll summon you tomorrow. If I remember,” he jokes.

“Well,wouldn’t have to remember if you traded somethin’,” Ryan sayswith a knowing smile, the insinuation heavy in his voice. “I couldjust pop in.”

“Whatif you forget?” Jeremy teases, ignoring the way his pulse jumpsinto doubletime at the implications of Ryan’s words. And the way hehasn’t…exactly declined the offer outright.

“Iwouldn’t,” Ryan replies, something oddly serious in his tone.Jeremy looks away and Ryan reaches out to poke the wreath, sending itswinging on its hook.

“I’llsee you tomorrow,” Ryan says, flashing him a smile before abruptlydisappearing – Jeremy blinks at the sudden empty space andcuriously pushes open the door to look inside – the circle’salready empty, smoke dissipating in mid-air.

– 

Jeremylaughs at himself in the mirror and adjusts the halo on his head,snaps the elastic band of the wings and shakes his shoulders to watchthe feathers flutter. He smooths his shirt over his chest, pattingover the faded LA Angels logo and grinning at the reflection.

Whenhe summons Ryan a few minutes later, the demon takes one look at himand erupts into laughter, teleporting over to tug playfully at theangel wings and flick the wobbly halo.

“Hey,careful!” Jeremy exclaims, ducking away from Ryan’s touch andbatting at his wandering hands. Ryan looks down at the jeans andshirt and snorts, his eyes flitting over Jeremy without any heat orintent – just pure, simple amusement.

“So,who are you meant to be?” He asks, gently brushing his fingers overa wing.

“I’man angel,” Jeremy says proudly, spreading his arm to show off thecostume.

“Yeah,well, there’s lots of angels,” Ryan says, lifting a hand to countoff his fingers. “There’s Gabriel, there’s Balthazar, there’sMichael, there’s Uriel - “

“Okay,okay, you fuckin’ nerd, I’m just a general angel.”

“– there’sLucifer if you want to get really technical –”

“Allright, fine, where’s your costume, then, smart guy?”

Ryangrins and looks him over again – his glamour wobbles and fades awayto reveal his horns, his tail, the blazing eyes, and now there’spurple fire licking at the tip of the tail, wisps of smoke trailingharmlessly into Jeremy’s living room. Dramatic fuck.

“Ifyou’re an angel, then I have to be a devil, right?” Ryan teases,leaning back against Jeremy’s desk.

“ThoughtI wasn’t an angel,” Jeremy replies. “Thought you didn’tlike my general costume.”

Ryancocks his head.

“AngelJeremy,” he says, a slow smile lifting up the corners of his mouth.

“AngelJeremy?” Jeremy deadpans.

“Idon’t think there’s one of those yet.”

“Yet?”

“Youcould be the first,” Ryan says. “If you get up there.”

“Yeah,right, I don’t exactly think I’m going to heaven,” Jeremyjokes, rolling his eyes. “Y’know, summoning demons and all that?”

Ryan’ssmile turns soft again and butterflies erupt somewhere inJeremy’s ribs.

“Wouldn’tbe able to see you anyway,” Ryan says. “Not exactly a freemembership club up there.”

Jeremylaughs and Ryan pokes his halo again, grinning at its bounce.

“So,Angel Jeremy, what first?”

– 

Ryan,it turns out, is an absolute menace.

Ademonic, handsome, sweet tooth menace who’s always pluckingcandy out of the bowls and seems to be perpetually chewing on onething or another, from the batch of cupcakes Jeremy’s trying tosave for the older teenagers to the half-melted lollipops buried inthe middle of the bowl.

He’sterrible. Jeremy’s having a great time.

AndRyan’s surprisingly – nice towards the kids, crouchingdown to their level and asking about their outfits as they pick outcandy – the parents smile at Jeremy standing behind him and take aproffered cupcake or two.

“Really,I think he’s the more angelic one here,” one woman says, lookingfondly down at her two children, who are explaining their Star Warsoutfits to an interested Ryan. “You should swap costumes.”

Jeremylaughs heartily and glances down at Ryan, at the horns literallysprouting from his head and the New Jersey Devils shirt stretchedover his shoulders.

“Didn’texpect him to be so good with kids,” Jeremy says. “Usually I’mdown there talkin’ to ‘em.”

“Hm,well, people can be surprising,” she says, gently nudging her sonaway from the edge of the step.

“Yeah,”Jeremy agrees, with a fond sigh he’ll deny for the rest of hislife.

Ryanstands back up and the children bound away to another lady walking upto the drive – she greets them with hugs and enthusiasticexclamations over their hauls of candy and the woman at their doorwaves back at her.

“That’smy wife,” she says, taking some chocolate bars from the bowl Ryanoffers her and tucking them into her pocket. “I should probably gobefore they tackle her.”

“Yeah,I’ll see you around – wait, will I see you around?” Jeremyasks.

“Oh,yeah, we just moved into the neighbourhood! I’m Lucy,” she says,holding out a hand to shake. “That’s Jackie back there.”

“Jeremy.”He shakes her hand firmly and gestures to Ryan. “This is Ryan.”Ryan smiles pleasantly and curls an arm around Jeremy’s waist –Jeremy’s heart flips over in his chest and Ryan squeezes him,handing the bowl over so he can also shake Lucy’s hand.

“You’llhave to come over sometime,” Jeremy says. “I got a grill thatisn’t used enough.”

“MaybeI’ll take you up on that,” Lucy says with a wink. She glancesback at Jackie and starts to back away, waving cheerfully to them.

“Number34!” She shouts, gesturing down the road, and Jeremy nods and givesher a thumbs-up.

“Well,she was nice,” Ryan says when they close the door, picking out aSnickers and tearing it open to pop it into his mouth.

“You’rehelping me grill,” Jeremy says automatically, and Ryan laughs.

“Youbuy the burgers, I’ll cook ‘em,” he says, holding something outto Jeremy. “Lollipop?”

Jeremytakes the lollipop and tears the wrapper open, the plastic crinklingloudly in his fingers before he slides the candy into his mouth,sticky sweet cherry flooding his tastebuds. He pulls a face andimmediately takes it out, swallowing to dispel the digsustinglysweet flavour.

“Ugh,what the fuck, these are awful, how the hell have youbeen eating these all night?!”

Ryanshrugs and finds a pack of Nerds, setting down the bowl to dump theminto his hand. He downs half of the box in one go and Jeremy staresat him in abject horror as the second half disappears a few secondslater.

“What.The. Fuck. Ryan. Ryan.”

Ryansteals his lollipop and clicks it against his teeth, grinning aroundit as he stirs up the bowl with a finger.

“What?”He asks innocently. “It’s Halloween.”

“Yeah,and the kids are supposed to be raiding the candy, not - “Jeremy tugs the bowl out of Ryan’s reach and narrows his eyes athim “ - not fucking – hundred year old demons.”

“Isuppose we’re supposed to be raising hell?”

“Somethin’like that.”

Ryanpouts. It’s dangerously endearing.

“Don’tyou have work to do or something? Tricking some poor soul out of –their soul or whatever?” Jeremy asks, more to stop himself staringat Ryan than actually asking.

“Nah,”Ryan says with a shrug, crunching his lollipop in two and discardingthe stick in the bin by his feet.

“Youdon’t?”

“Well.It’s my night off.”

Jeremyraises an eyebrow and Ryan grins, bopping him on the nose with hisfinger before suddenly disappearing in a cloud of smoke.

Jeremyhears him reappear, moments later, in the kitchen, and immediatelybolts to save his cupcakes from Ryan’s apparently garbage disposalappetite.

– 

Theneighbourhood quiets down gradually, the trick-or-treaters all herdedhome and the only horrors on the street the college studentsgathering for the house party at the end of the road. Music pumps outloud enough Jeremy can hear it from inside his house, but no onebothers to tell them to turn it down. It’s a Friday Halloween,after all.

Jeremylets Ryan have the rest of the cupcakes and collapses on his sofawith a bag of candy, picking out the Paydays and dropping them in apile beside him. Ryan comes by a few minutes later, plopping down onthe other side of the bag and sinking into the cushions.

“Youknow,” he says after a couple minutes of watching Jeremy digthrough the bag, “I could just get them out for you.”

“Thisis the fun part, though,” Jeremy says, flashing Ryan a smile. “It’slike a treasure hunt.”

Ryanshrugs and rests his head against the cushions, his tail whippingidly at the bag. Jeremy sorts through more chocolate and finally setsthe bag down on the floor by his feet to start on the pile by hiship. The wings crunch when he leans back.

“Thanksfor the help,” Jeremy says a few chocolates later. Ryan snorts.

“Yeah,handing out candy is a real hardship,” he drawls, scooting over sohe can nudge Jeremy’s side.

“Shutup,” Jeremy mutters. “It was – ” Fun. Nice. Better withanother person. With Ryan.

It’snot like he needed the help at all.

He’sprobably a little pathetic. More than.

“Itwas fun,” he admits, carefully avoiding Ryan’s eyes.

Silentmoments pass between them, only broken by the gentle thump of Ryan’stail against his leg, the rustle of candy wrappers in Jeremy’s lap.

“CanI tell you something?” Jeremy asks. Ryan inclines his head.  

“I,uh – I’m glad you were the replacement,” Jeremy confesses, eyesglued to the coffee table. “For – Azazel.”

Ryanhums and tips his head back on the sofa, crossing his arms. Jeremyfidgets nervously. Their shoulders brush when Jeremy breathes.

“CanI tell you something?” Ryan parrots, looking up at the ceiling.Jeremy glances over at him.

“It’snot my night off,” Ryan says.

Hisburning eyes flick to Jeremy – Jeremy freezes under his gaze,caught off-guard by the piercing intensity of the inhuman glow, bythe odd contrast of that with his lopsided smile.

“Supposedto be raising hell?” Jeremy asks.

“Somethinglike that.” He smiles and Jeremy can’t help matching it,playfully knocking Ryan’s elbow with his own.

“Guessthe cupcakes were good enough to stay?”

Ryanchuckles quietly.

“Somethingwas,” he says.

–  

“Ilike your costume,” Ryan says from the middle of the summoningcircle, his hands tucked into his pockets. His horns and tail fadeaway, the purple lick of flame wisping into nothing as it disappears.Jeremy snorts out a laugh and Ryan smiles and says something indemonspeak – Jeremy’s head whips up at the guttural, familiarstretch of syllables.

“Whatdid you just say?” He asks.

“AngelJeremy,” Ryan says, frowning a little. “Why?”

“What– How do you say my name?”

Ryanrepeats part of the syllables, slower so Jeremy can hear it, andJeremy’s struck again by how familiar he finds it.

“Whydo I recognise that?” He asks. Ryan coughs and brings a hand up torub the back of his neck.

“Oh.Uh. It’s – I…use it a lot,” he says. Something almost like aflush touches his cheeks, faint enough that Jeremy doubts it. “Whenwe’re – y’know.” He gestures between them and then Jeremy’scheeks heat as he realises what Ryan’s talking about.

“Oh,”he mumbles stupidly. “Oh.”

“Badhabit,” Ryan mutters. “Sorry.”

Jeremyblinks and then frantically shakes his head, hesitantly steppingforward but not entering the circle.

“No,don’t – don’t be,” he blurts out. “It’s – no, I likeit.”

Ryanshoots him a sheepish little glance and an equally shy smile, hisshoulders relaxing slightly in relief.

It’sweird, seeing him without the cocky confidence, without the flirtycockteasing. Not that Jeremy doesn’t love that, but. Ryan’squite nice just as himself. Or, well, as himself as he probably is –Jeremy doesn’t know a whole lot about demons’ origins except thatthey used to be human, but they don’t seem to change too much.

Ryanclears his throat – it breaks Jeremy out of his short reverie andhe shakes himself to dispel the lingering thoughts. The air betweenthem seems heavy with something, with some sort of tension that tugsat Jeremy, makes his palms itch with some hidden urge.

Itonly takes a moment before Jeremy’s striding confidently into thecircle, well aware that being in here means Ryan could whisk himaway, and stopping in front of Ryan, barely inches away, swallowingnervously before he leans in to press a quick kiss to Ryan’s cheek.

“Thanks,”he whispers – Ryan’s hands come up to grip his arms and Ryan’sshoulders slump with a sigh as he rests their cheeks together. Jeremylets him have the contact, touches his lips to Ryan’s hot skinagain.

Whenhe reluctantly steps back, Jeremy rubs a hand over his mouth andlingers for a handful of seconds before stepping out of the circle,his skin tingling from Ryan’s touch. He twists his fingers togetherand deliberately clears his throat to try and break the strangemoment, but when he looks up Ryan’s still wearing that soft smile,his eyes crinkled in the corners.

“HappyHalloween,” Jeremy says awkwardly, offering up a grin. Ryan laughsand slides a hand into his pocket again, lifting his other hand toready his fingers.

“HappyHalloween,” he replies, and hesitates. “Thanks for inviting me.”

Andthen he snaps his fingers and vanishes in a column of hazy smoke.

[thran-duils]

I am in Complete Control

TITLE:  I am in Complete Control (Rise For Your King Part 17) PAIRING: Reader/AU King!Castiel SUMMARY:  The reader was betrothed to the prince but when a neighboring king decides to dole out justice to your future father in low, he destroys the royal family, leaving you with the two youngest princesses. The mage king takes an immediate liking to you, letting you live. What will you do with this opportunity? WORDS: 2,351 WARNINGS: Angst, Violence

Part 16 || Part 18 || Masterpost || Fanfic masterpost

“Why am I in here?”

You had woken in yours and Castiel’s chambers, unable to remember how you had come to be sleeping in the bed. Castiel had been sitting in a chair by the fire, reading, looking as if he was keeping an eye on you. As soon as you had begun stirring, he had placed his book in his lap, waiting for you to speak first.

“You really don’t remember?”

Sitting up straight, you answered, “No.”

He placed the book on the table next to his chair and pushed himself into a standing position. Walking towards the bed, he asked you seriously, “Have you ever slept walked?”

The question startled you for some reason. “N-n-n-o,” you stammered, rubbing at your eyes. “Why?”

“Because you did last night.”

Your eyes widened at this, “What? Where?”

“Out into the gardens.”

You blushed scarlet, thinking of being outside in your gown. For some reason, this part of it you vaguely remembered. Castiel’s hands on you, keeping you warm as you walked around the garden. It seemed like a dream though. “You found me?”

“Eventually.”

“What do you mean eventually?”

“The guards found you first. I found them and I was led to you.”

This caused you to internally groan. That did not sound good. “I made a ruckus?”

Castiel answered simply, “You were not loud. Unless someone touched you that is. You yelled until I was able to wake you. But, before that? No. You did not make a ruckus.”

You immediately burst into tears, hearing this. You don’t know what came over you but everything seemed to hit you at once. Pulling your knees up to your chest, you cried, “Everything is going wrong!”

His arms were around you instantly and you didn’t push him away. “I am going to fix it.”

“I… I can’t. You keep making me promises and I keep messing up!”

Castiel forced you to look at him, “This isn’t your fault. There was… something with you.”

You hiccupped, wiping at your tears angrily, “What do you mean?”

“You weren’t yourself. It was… an assisted kind of sleep walking if you understand.”

“I don’t.”

There were a few moments of silence before Castiel revealed, “I think it was Mowg.”

You blood ran cold, your tears stopping. “How?”

“He calls to inflamers. It’s how he collects them sometimes. It’s a crude process – as you can see because it didn’t work with you – but it can be successful.”

The thought of him controlling you in your sleep scared you more than anything. “How did he call?” Your voice was small.

“Usually through a spell that you – an inflamer specifically – would respond to.”

“How are you so calm about all of this?”

“I’m not. I was up all night. I stationed guards at your door and a chambermaid in the room with you while I worked.”

Furrowing your brow, you questioned, “Worked on what?”

You were surprised he was sharing this much with you. It was melting some of the ice you had put up against him.

“Blocking him from calling to you again.”

“How?”

“Sigils.”

“They’ll protect me?” You were skeptical.

“I overkilled it,” he told you in response.

You chewed on this information, trying to process all of it. It was a lot to take in so early in the morning. “So, he… Mowg… knows I’m here?”

This was the first time that you noticed an uncomfortable wave pass over Castiel’s expression. “I’m sure he has an idea. But, he can also call inflamers for miles. It might not have been focused solely on a certain area. Just in general.”

“That means he’s close?”

“It can.” He noticed the sinking look on your face and he reached out, cupping your chin. “I won’t let him take you. I wouldn’t let Magnus kill you and I wouldn’t let those men take you in the square. And I did not let him take you last night. You mean too much to me. It is not going to happen. I assure you, Y/N.”

Words sounded nice but they were small comfort after knowing how close you were to leaving the castle grounds and falling under this vile creature’s thumb.

Your throat was dry when you said, “I didn’t mean it when I said I hoped he found me instead of you.”

Castiel’s shoulders fell a little bit and he sat down on the side of the bed, looking you in the eyes. “I deserved to hear that. But, I knew you didn’t mean it, Y/N. You do not have to apologize for it.” You fell silent and he stroked your hand, gently calming you. “Do you still want to sleep alone?”

“No.”

Castiel’s expression didn’t falter and you marveled at how well he was able to keep in his emotions at times.

Leaning down, he gave you a light kiss on your lips, pulling away slowly. You felt an urge to follow him, demand more from him and kiss him deeply. But, you forced yourself to be still.

He gave you a small smile, “I will have the maids bring your breakfast in here if you would like. It is late and everyone else has eaten already. Or if you would prefer it, I will have them set the table again.”

You shook your head, “In here is fine.”

“I’ll have it sent up.”

“Where are you going?” you questioned as he turned towards the door.

Castiel stopped and said, “I am getting information. To protect us.” He paused before adding, “It may take awhile. So, please, don’t hole yourself up in here waiting. You should mingle. But, stay inside.”

Curiously, you asked, “When am I allowed to go out?”

His voice was firm, “When I’m with you.” You studied him for a moment before nodding. “I will be back later, Y/N. Please stay inside.”

<> <> <>

“Your friend is dead,” Castiel announced, walking into the cell. There was blood on his outfit, his shoes, staining his hands. He didn’t have to make it messy but for dramatic effect, as well as self-satisfaction, he had made it so.

Dean and Balthazar waited outside the cell, ready to jump to attention if need be.

The man, Borg, was sitting in the middle of the cell, tied to a chair. He was no mage, only an ordinary man. One that was easily corrupted and would follow anyone for a price. And Mowg had quite an extraordinary way of paying his men, most likely in land conquered and large sums of money. They were all the same and Borg was one that had followed Mowg until the end. And obviously had been one of the first to return to his feet and serve. He had a lot to gain from Mowg returning to his full power.

Borg’s smile was boarding on a toothless one – a change since Castiel had last seen him and he fleetingly pondered what happened. More than likely malnutrition. “I wouldn’t expect any less from you. Your reputation proceeds you, molotok.”

Castiel had to smirk at this as he pulled up a stool and sat in front of Borg. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs, staring sternly at the man. He had to give Borg some credit for not having soiled himself yet hearing his friend scream down the hall. And then having seen the state of Castiel’s appearance. He was either insane, ready to die, or a mixture of both.

“I’m glad to know I have a reputation.”

It was Borg’s turn to be amused, giving a light chuckle. Leaning back in the chair, he commented, “So, you’ve settled down again, I see. Do you feel unfulfilled? Playing house, pretending to be benevolent?”

Castiel was watching him with a straight smile on his face, no amusement.

Borg leaned forward, “Or perhaps you are falling into a familiar pattern of falling for your whores?”

Castiel’s voice was sharp, “Watch your tongue.”

This was all the confirmation that Borg needed. “So, that’s a yes.” The only response he got was a clench in Castiel’s jaw and a slight squeeze in one of his fists. “When Magnus disappeared, I assumed something was going on. I reported it to him.” Borg’s eyes flashed with excitement as he simpered, “He wants her.”

“How do you know it’s a her?”

Borg chortled, “You wouldn’t let one stray far from you if they were as strong as Magnus said. And what safer place than in your bed? And what a smart move. Inflamers being in tandem, especially guided by that glorious warmth in between their thighs, with you makes them so much more agreeable to share their gift, does it not?”

Castiel’s hand shot out, grabbing one of Borg’s hands, and bent back his fingers at an unnatural angle, the crack resonating through the room. Borg’s screams echoed off the walls. Castiel thrust his hand back, drawing another loud yelp from the man.

He settled back letting the man cry about his broken fingers, watching him solemnly. It was a small punishment compared to what Castiel wished to do. Speaking lewdly or ill of Y/N was a surefire way to get him heated and retaliate immediately.

After a few moments, Borg’s cries subsided, he sat there, his head hanging low.

“How close is he?” Castiel demanded, breaking the silence between the two of them.

“Like I’m going to tell you,” Borg mumbled.

It wasn’t as if Castiel needed this information, he had already tortured it out of the other man before he had killed him. He just wanted to see if Borg would crack for his master.

“I would rethink that.”

Borg raised his head and looked Castiel dead in his eyes, “Fuck. Off.”

The corner of Castiel’s mouth pulled up before he revealed a dagger and drove it into Borg’s leg, drawing a new round of screams from him. Castiel couldn’t describe how satisfying it felt to turn the blade, twisting it in the wound, Borg almost pleading with him.

He did not register the uncomfortable clearing of throat behind him coming from Balthazar.

“I’m going to ask you again,” Castiel started. “How far away is he?”

Borg spat through gritted teeth, “He’ll get to you before you figure out he is there!”

He bellowed as Castiel ripped the dagger out of his leg. “You’re not answering my question, mortal.”

“And I won’t, you snake!”

“You call me a snake when you follow the serpent himself?” Castiel growled, his eyes flashing.

Castiel dug his finger into the wound and Borg screamed, tears finally falling. His cries were choked out, his breath short as he tried to see through the pain. It did not make a difference for him when Castiel removed his finger, wiping the blood on his pant leg.

Balthazar and Dean were watching Castiel wearily. At first he had held back with his torturing with the other man but with this man, someone he seemed to know, he was having no problem falling back into something that resembled a Castiel they had hoped was buried. Apparently, he had not been buried far enough to keep him at bay when it came to Y/N and her safety.

They still went ignored by Castiel, him raising his hand, a small, gold flame conjuring above it. His eyes flashed with the color of his magic, his eyes trained on Borg. This was far from over.

The man blinked rapidly, trying to focus his eye sight. All of a sudden, he started breathing heavily, his eyes darting around the room, the pain in his leg and hand forgotten. He struggled against his bounds, trying to escape them and whatever Castiel was hexing him to see.

He begged to no one, unable to see Castiel, but still able to feel his presence, “Please, please! Let me go! Don’t let them get me!”

Dean shifted uncomfortably outside the cell, his eyes trained on Castiel who was watching Borg with an aloof expression.

Borg continued to plead, asking for relief from his hell. His pleas went unanswered as Castiel stood up from the chair, lazily flicking away some of the magic, letting it float suspended in the air in the cell.

Castiel had a small, cold smirk on his face as he turned away from Borg, facing Dean and Balthazar. They had both seen him covered in blood before but it had been a long time since they had seen the blood staining their King come from someone he had tortured like this. And especially from torturing someone mentally like he was doing. They didn’t like that he looked satisfied, striding out of the cell and slamming the door behind him, allowing the man to continue to suffer in his delirium.

“Just kill him,” Balthazar said exasperated, unable to handle it anymore.

Castiel turned his gaze to him and narrowed his eyes. “He not only tried to kill me, he tried to kill Y/N and the small princesses. Do you not remember that? He works for Mowg!”

“This is coming too easy to you is what I’m saying.”

Castiel’s voice was cool, “I am in complete control.” Balthazar said nothing to this and Castiel peered down his nose at him. “It’s for the greater good, Balthazar. Everyone will be protected.”

“You always told yourself that.”

Cocking his head to the side, Castiel glared daggers through his right hand man, who did not back down. Balthazar was bothered, Castiel could see. But as usual, his character flaw of pride overrode the thought to back down and heed Balthazar’s warning. “When I want your opinion on my actions, Balthazar, I will ask for it. Otherwise, stay out of my way.”

With that, he turned, moving down the hall away from them.

“Well, can you at least put him out of his misery?” Dean called after him, desperately.

Castiel did not answer, ascending the stairs. Balthazar and Dean exchanged worried looks before both startled at the sound of Borg’s neck breaking, Castiel’s magic disappearing from the air around him. His head fell backwards, no longer supported by a strong spine.

~~~

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