inonebasket | (no subject)

There is absolutely no reason beyond Dean's desire to shake off any lingering that-was-almost-weird for them to be moving this early. They're both tired and could both use some more sleep.

"Cas!" Argh. "Come on! We'll get coffee on the way."

He grabs one of the duffels and hefts it, heading out to the car without really looking to see if Cas is following, just trusting that he ultimately will.

Huh what. Oh.

Cas picks up his duffel and follows Dean, plodding out to the car and stowing their gear before slumping into the passenger seat without so much as a peep. That he hasn't thought to argue with Dean about driving privileges proves that he's too tired to think about it.

Dean's idea of breakfast is coffee and a burger from a nearby diner. It's greasy as hell, but he devours every bite, making some remarkably obscene noises in the process. Oh yes, Dean does love his burgers. Cas gets his own share; Dean pays for both.

"You're lookin' worn. How much you been sleeping?"

"Enough." Because he is not dead or hallucinating. Cas picks at his food before requesting a carry-out box, placing his leftovers inside.

"People who get enough sleep don't usually have dark circles under their eyes." Dean gestures, circling his fingers around his own eyes for emphasis. "You're not still stressing yourself over these bruises, are you? I told you, they'll be fine. And you can share the bed, it's not that big a deal."

"We had this discussion yesterday, Dean." Remember, you ordered him to relax and Cas said he'd work on it? It's only been like twenty hours, he needs a little more time.

"I'm just saying." Dean waves the waitress over for another order of fries. Why the hell not, they're good! "I'm starting to get a little worried about you, Cas. Forget bouncing back the way you did when you were all angel'd up, you're not bouncing back the way a human would."

Cas tilts his head, a little confused. Even when he'd looked next to dead as an immortal being, Dean hadn't been so concerned. This can't just be Dean's natural predisposition to playing the caretaker.

"...Dean, what is it?"

Immortal being the key word. He hadn't needed to worry about Cas dying because Cas couldn't die. As soon as they returned the souls to Purgatory, Cas was supposed to be fine. Now that he's human, though, it's a whole different story and Dean is intimately aware of the effects of too little sleep and too little food on the human body.

"You get sick and die on me, I am gonna kill you, that's what it is."

So that's it. Castiel shifts his weight, moving the box aside to lean on his elbows on the table. "...maybe we should take-"

Cas, unfortunately, doesn't get to finish because at that moment the waitress comes over with their check, grabs the back of Castiel's head and slams his face into the table with a sick crack noise.

Dean might not have picked up on the waitress being a little funny, but he reacts immediately, reaching over the table to yank her away from Castiel.

"Cas!" Doesn't take a genius to know they've managed to walk into trouble, though he's not sure why trouble waited until they were done eating. The waitress cackles when he flings her across the suddenly empty diner. "Cas, you okay?"

Judging by the blood pouring down his face and the way his hands shake, probably not. Cas spits out a gob and coughs; his nose is obviously broken.

The waitress is quite suddenly in front of Dean and grabs his wounded arm in a crushing grip, wrenching Castiel away from him and throwing the ex-angel to the floor. She stomps a foot onto Cas's chest and pushes Dean back into the booth. "Sit down, tiger. We're going to have a talk."

Edited 2011-11-23 05:30 (UTC)

Dean grits his teeth in pain and falls into the booth more than he's pushed into it. There's nothing he'd like more than to decapitate this bitch--and him without his machete.

"Don't you touch him!" If he weren't cradling his arm, he would be up and beating the shit out of her. Dean flicks his eyes down to Cas--oh man, he doesn't look good--and back up to the waitress. "I swear, lady, you do anything else to him and I will tear you a new one."

Between the blood oozing down the back of his throat and the unusually strong foot pressing into his solar plexus, Cas is having some trouble breathing. He glances around, looking for something, anything he can use, but their silverware is on the table and the only thing he has nearby is a napkin and their bill. Castiel coughs and spits out more blood, gritting his teeth and screwing his eyes shut as he claws futilely at the waitress's ankle. Not now. Not when Dean needs him, he can't be useless now-!

The waitress seems unaffected by their panic, however, and just raises a brow at Dean as if to ask 'really?' "Shut your pretty mouth and I won't put my foot through his ribcage. I said I wanted to talk to you, and talking is what we're going to do. Understand?"

"Little late for talking now, bitch. You wanted to do that, you shouldn't have spent the last couple months jonesing for our blood!"

Just hang on, Cas. Dean is going to find a way out of this.

Cas would probably be able to hang on a lot easier if Dean would stop antagonizing the monster standing on his chest. As it is, the waitress Leviathan clearly has had enough of Dean's lip and presses the toes of her high heel against Cas's chest; there's an audible snap and Castiel chokes, eyes flying open as she begins to break his ribs one by one.

"I. Said. Quiet."

"Cas--" Dean cuts himself off. Dammit. Dammit, he's got nothing and the waitress is going to kill Cas.

Once Dean interrupts himself she stops; four ribs total that leave Cas shuddering and pale with shock on the floor, and the waitress lifts her toes to rest her foot back on Castiel's stomach. "You really don't learn any way but the hard way, do you Deany? Always letting other people get hurt for the sake of your bravado. Not very nice."

Leaning forward and resting her hand on the table, she fixes him with a coy smile. "Now. Word gets around. Seems like you and good ol' Castiel have been traveling around beheading my pals and experimenting on kill-tactics. Good for you." Her hand snaps out to wrap in Dean's hair and she yanks his head forward. "Stop it. I'm going to let you live for now so you can spread the word to all your other hunter pals, but I'm going to be keeping some insurance." Her eyes dart down to the side, in Castiel's direction, before returning to Dean's. "You don't stop trying and not only will I flay him alive and make you watch, but we'll stop taking things easy and go into overdrive and eat every man, woman and child we come across. Capice?"

God, he hates creepy bitches like this. Between demons and Leviathans, he's hard pressed to say which he hates more. He grunts when she yanks him forward, glaring at her like--well, like he'd like to kill her. Which he'd like to do.

"You touch him again and I will kill every single freaking one of you, if it's the last thing I do." Which is...kind of agreeing to her terms? But he's a little busy trying to remember where the nearest hospital is to notice that little detail.

The waitress giggles, and it's a disgustingly childish sound. "But I'm touching him right n-"

The sentence remains unfinished as a glass jar of clear liquid flies across the room and smashes against the back of her head. She starts in surprise, pushing Dean away and whirling around when suddenly, her hair and scalp begin to hiss and spit and slough off of her skull.

She screams, kicking Castiel in her desperate effort to scramble away, clawing at her head and coming away with clumps of black-bloody hair and tissue and bone, oozing and sputtering.

Cas curls up in on himself reflexively before straightening out with a jerk; his body can't seem to find a movement that doesn't hurt and it leaves him still and white, hyperventilating on the tile as he tries not to take deep breaths, alternating between watching the waitress sizzle and nearly passing out.

Sam is circling the counter as the waitress scrambles away from Dean and Castiel, a yellow mop bucket hefted over his head. He dumps it onto the Leviathan and she screams again, gurgling as she folds onto the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, melting into a puddle of hair, black blood and cloth.

Sam watches to make sure she's completely dead before turning to Dean and Cas, long strides bringing him to them in a matter of milliseconds. "Dean."

Dean launches himself out of the booth the second the waitress starts screaming. He's by Castiel's side in a heartbeat, muttering completely useless but hopefully encouraging words to him. See? Everything's fine. Sort of.

"Sam." It's an acknowledgement and a plea. "Come on, Cas. We'll get you up and to a hospital. You'll be fine." How he'll manage to do any lifting with a bum arm is beside the point.

"Wait-" Sam is on his knees on Cas's other side as the former angel's eyelashes flutter, fighting for consciousness, and rests a hand on his brother's arm to stop him. He "We shouldn't move him, not without a- a stretcher, something to keep him still. Might puncture a lung. Call an ambulance."

"I don't--" He still hasn't gotten a replacement phone. He keeps meaning to, but then there was Cas to deal with and then they were operating below the radar and dammit--wait. Wait, Cas has a cellphone. He starts digging through Cas' pockets in search of it. "Sorry about this, Cas. It's for a good cause, I swear. We'll get you an ambulance, get you patched up, get you well. It's gonna be okay. I promise, you're gonna be fine."

Honestly, he's reassuring himself more than he's reassuring Cas, because he cannot survive that loss a second time.

Watching Dean panic like this hurts something deep down inside of Sam and he can't watch his big brother lose it. He shucks his jacket and rolls it up, lifting Cas's head and slipping the makeshift pillow underneath to help the blood slide down his throat instead of pool in the back of it. Castiel's eyes roll to rest on Sam before slipping up beneath his eyelids. He's not doing well.

Something across the room glints star-bright and makes Sam wince, as if someone had just flashed their high-beams in the rearview mirror. "What the hell is that?" he asks quietly, almost to himself, and he stands and crosses the room toward the puddle of Leviathan still steaming.

Picking up a fork from the ground, Sam moves aside a fold of the goo-drenched apron and flinches back when the thing flashes bright again. "Dean-"