This is not as cracky as we were all hoping. Still preachy! Very preachy. Um, IDEK what this is anymore. ---- Castiel’s popping in and out of places without regard to physics and common sense had been bound to get him into trouble some day. Humans were a curious species by nature. Americans were a nosy culture by practice. So it was that one day Castiel popped into a diner in Minnesota to meet Sam and Dean at the very same time as a lanky black man was being filmed asking the diner’s patrons if they had their birth certificates on them. Castiel was about to become an instant YouTube sensation.
The man who had moments before been politely thanking Minnesotans for telling him where to go back to introduced himself as Wyatt. Castiel liked him, could sense purpose in him, and so when Wyatt asked “How did you do that?” Castiel said, “I am an Angel of the Lord.”
It was hard to argue with the film.
Sam and Dean tried to run interference, tried to downplay their crazy friend as just a run of the mill crazy, but since ending the Apocalypse, Castiel had somehow become an even worse liar. Wyatt and his producer were intrigued, to say the least. They had three guys with some pretty amazing stories about the Apocalypse and one of them had literally appeared out of thin air. It was enough to get them discussing a trip back to New York, but the producer had her doubts.
And then, of course, Castiel whipped out his wings.
“Here? Really?” Dean had said. He didn’t like to share.
The wings were enough. The producer invited Castiel to New York. Sam insisted on going. He had some puns regarding Afghanistan he had been working on that he wanted to share with the writers. Dean had insisted on not going but one look from Castiel did him in. Inevitably, the worst part was choosing whether between flying in a tin can of fear or flying AngelAirways with its strict no restroom policy.
Castiel was surprisingly blasé about the whole thing.
“You realize you’re going on TV, right? Outing yourself as an angel in front of millions of insomniac stoners who will probably think you’re Jesus.”
Castiel’s brow furrowed. “I am not Joshua. I will explain that.”
Sam and Dean exchanged matching how-fucked-are-we? faces. On set, makeup artists powdered Castiel’s forehead and someone from wardrobe asked if he would mind taking off his trench coat.
“I would mind, yes.”
The wardrobe assistant had bowed slightly and disappeared. Dean kept his eye on her as he was naturally suspicious of anyone who expressed an interest in undressing Castiel. In the green room a producer went over some of the possible questions the host, Jon Stewart, might ask. Castiel nodded at some, tilted his head at others, and asked Dean what teabagging was after one particular question. The free beer provided did not feel as good coming out of Dean’s nose as it had felt going down.
“He doesn’t follow politics,” Sam said.
“So no Joe Biden jokes?”
“No Joe Biden jokes,” Sam said. “But I’ve got a few—“
“Sam,” Dean interrupted. Then to the producer said, “Just stick to life, the universe, and everything.”
From the green room, they watched the show unfold. The green room was much better than the Beautiful Room. Sam had baby carrots to snack on and Dean had free beer to get drunk on. The only thing that could have made it better was porn. But the television was tuned to the show. Ahead of Castiel’s interview they ran a segment about the Apocalypse called “Apocalypse? Schmapocalypse!” Sam noted it wasn’t their finest pun. In the segment Stewart ran through the some of the more cataclysmic events tied to Lucifer’s return but pointed out that these were no Acts of God and that no Act of God had intervened. That it was the actions of a few men who prevented the End of All Things. “And, not surprisingly, none of those men were in Washington, DC.”
(1/2) Schmapocalypse Now, Dean/Castiel, PG-13
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Castiel’s popping in and out of places without regard to physics and common sense had been bound to get him into trouble some day. Humans were a curious species by nature. Americans were a nosy culture by practice. So it was that one day Castiel popped into a diner in Minnesota to meet Sam and Dean at the very same time as a lanky black man was being filmed asking the diner’s patrons if they had their birth certificates on them. Castiel was about to become an instant YouTube sensation.
The man who had moments before been politely thanking Minnesotans for telling him where to go back to introduced himself as Wyatt. Castiel liked him, could sense purpose in him, and so when Wyatt asked “How did you do that?” Castiel said, “I am an Angel of the Lord.”
It was hard to argue with the film.
Sam and Dean tried to run interference, tried to downplay their crazy friend as just a run of the mill crazy, but since ending the Apocalypse, Castiel had somehow become an even worse liar. Wyatt and his producer were intrigued, to say the least. They had three guys with some pretty amazing stories about the Apocalypse and one of them had literally appeared out of thin air. It was enough to get them discussing a trip back to New York, but the producer had her doubts.
And then, of course, Castiel whipped out his wings.
“Here? Really?” Dean had said. He didn’t like to share.
The wings were enough. The producer invited Castiel to New York. Sam insisted on going. He had some puns regarding Afghanistan he had been working on that he wanted to share with the writers. Dean had insisted on not going but one look from Castiel did him in. Inevitably, the worst part was choosing whether between flying in a tin can of fear or flying AngelAirways with its strict no restroom policy.
Castiel was surprisingly blasé about the whole thing.
“You realize you’re going on TV, right? Outing yourself as an angel in front of millions of insomniac stoners who will probably think you’re Jesus.”
Castiel’s brow furrowed. “I am not Joshua. I will explain that.”
Sam and Dean exchanged matching how-fucked-are-we? faces. On set, makeup artists powdered Castiel’s forehead and someone from wardrobe asked if he would mind taking off his trench coat.
“I would mind, yes.”
The wardrobe assistant had bowed slightly and disappeared. Dean kept his eye on her as he was naturally suspicious of anyone who expressed an interest in undressing Castiel. In the green room a producer went over some of the possible questions the host, Jon Stewart, might ask. Castiel nodded at some, tilted his head at others, and asked Dean what teabagging was after one particular question. The free beer provided did not feel as good coming out of Dean’s nose as it had felt going down.
“He doesn’t follow politics,” Sam said.
“So no Joe Biden jokes?”
“No Joe Biden jokes,” Sam said. “But I’ve got a few—“
“Sam,” Dean interrupted. Then to the producer said, “Just stick to life, the universe, and everything.”
From the green room, they watched the show unfold. The green room was much better than the Beautiful Room. Sam had baby carrots to snack on and Dean had free beer to get drunk on. The only thing that could have made it better was porn. But the television was tuned to the show. Ahead of Castiel’s interview they ran a segment about the Apocalypse called “Apocalypse? Schmapocalypse!” Sam noted it wasn’t their finest pun. In the segment Stewart ran through the some of the more cataclysmic events tied to Lucifer’s return but pointed out that these were no Acts of God and that no Act of God had intervened. That it was the actions of a few men who prevented the End of All Things. “And, not surprisingly, none of those men were in Washington, DC.”