We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell

SPN J2 BigBang 2015 - Dreameater (Destiel) 9/9 [COMPLETE]

animediva — Sat, 11 Jul 2015 01:59:35 GMT

The Baku was still chanting, still feeding the nue souls, but now she had turned towards them, her naked belly grossly distorted like she was carrying quintuplets. She smiled at them, her aura dark with nightmares and illuminated by souls colliding with her elaborate spellwork and disintegrating. Each time the soul struck the sigils, there was a high-pitched noise that Dean hadn’t heard when she had been further away, and he realized that Gabe was vibrating in his palm with aggression and pure anger.

Each high-pitched noise sounded like a scream. A tiny, sub-sonic scream. It churned his stomach, the vibrations crawling across his skin and making his hair stand at attention. Even worse, each heartbreaking shriek agitated Gabe, the tail inside Dean twisting violently in response to Gabe’s distress.

“You can’t stop me,” Eve sneered, rubbing her belly. The black paint on her stomach writhed and danced above her skin like it was alive, shifting out of time with the distended flesh beneath it. She patted it again, moving her eyes — once smoky brown, but now completely blood red — to set on the humans. Her gaze flicked between Dean and Akira, apparently aware they were the most danger to her, and she smiled blissfully at them, apparently amused at their aggressive stances.

She made a dismissive motion towards Sam, who had snuck behind Dean to fetch that three-pronged thing, while keeping an eye on Dean and his sword. Then her red eyes rolled towards Akira, and she sneered. “A lone onmyōji, and a woman at that. What do you expect to do?”

Akira’s chin kicked up and she snapped back, “I expect to surprise you, you sexist bitch.”

The Baku chuckled at Akira’s defiance. Another soul struck the sigils as she did, the sound grating on Dean’s nerves as much as nails on a chalkboard. “You can talk big all you want, but the last time it took a council of onmyōji to stop me… and I was less powerful then.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t count me out just yet. And I have help.” Akira grinned making a hand motion and keeping Eve’s attention on her. Behind him, Dean heard Sam chanting something, and he tried not to act too surprised when a wave of paper strips flew out en masse like something out of that Spirited Away cartoon, winding themselves like a whirlwind around the Baku’s body.

She looked moderately surprised when suddenly, in a strong voice, Sam snapped out the hand motions, smoothly running through the mudras, and shouted, “NOMAKU SANMANDA BAZARADAN SENDA MAKAROSHADA SOWATAYA UN TARATA KANMAN!!”

She outright laughed at Sam, thinking the attack had been focused on her. The papers — ofuda at a glance — snapped to pieces if they got too close to her aura, which made her disdain reasonable. But what she didn’t realize was that the human souls around her were disappearing as Sam quickly banished them. It took her a moment to see what was happening, and, when she realized it, she shrieked bloody murder and flung her power out at them all.

The power slammed into them with the force a car driving into them, pushing them all back. Dean had managed to parry with Gabe, and yelled, “Sammy!?”

“I’m okay, Dean,” Sam yelled back. “Akira’s got it!”

Dean looked over at Akira, and she was sweating heavily but looked okay.

It was much later, when he had time to think back on this battle, that he realized this was a pivotal moment. A turning point that he hadn’t recognized until well after the fact.

He had taken his eyes off the Baku to check on his teammates. Now, while she was absolutely upset about Sam banishing the souls she had collected, taking his eyes off the bitch was a bad idea since, really, she’d been aiming for Dean’s life force the whole time.

When he looked back to her, he was taken aback by how fucking fast she was. Sure, she was fat as a manatee, but manatees can move when motivated.

And the Baku was motivated.

She surged forward, her control over her form wavering as she lost power. Her hands transformed into tiger’s paws, and she slashed out with them, barely missing him as Dean blocked with his sword. Again and again, she hacked at him, her anger and desperation burning the air around her.

“You stupid, puny human! Do you think you can stop me?” She hissed, her face fluctuating between a rabid tapir and a crazed Japanese woman. “I will kill you, suck up your life force, and then I will devour your friends!”

Thanks to Gabe and the borrowed tail, Dean was able to keep up with her superhuman speed and even had the strength to ward off the strikes. He was doing okay until he found himself with his back pressed against the barrier. She grinned with triumph as she rushed forward, only to end up howling with rage as he barely ducked her strike and rolled away under the blow.

Somewhere behind him, he heard Akira chanting something.

He ignored Sam’s scream of, “Dean!” focusing on the enraged creature in front of him. He yelled back, “Just protect Akira!”

The Baku was panting hard, the thing in her belly writhing painfully now, as small parts of the sigils started to get lighter as if they were going to fade away. Her human form flickered around the edges, shifting between tapir and woman, as if she were falling apart.

She’s going to lose it. Without the souls, the summoning will fail. I just need to keep her busy.

With that in mind, he said, pitying, “You need professional help.”

She narrowed her red eyes at him, and she growled, “What would you know?”

Her furred, clawed hand on her belly, she stalked forward, tears forming in her red eyes. Her mouth revealed short tusks and tiny fangs, and she screamed, “What would you know? WHAT?! Everyone must suffer! They should all know what it’s like to have each and every hope and dream you held dear ripped from you (they tore them apart), watch them kill your children, your kin, your lovers (they pulled off their skins)! What it’s like to try and escape only to have them follow you, determined to destroy your soul (they hunted me… they haunted me)!”

Tears dripped down her face, and she glared at her clutching, empty hands. “Everything slips away… and it’s not a nightmare.” She turned those ruby-red eyes on him and wailed, “Who’s going to take that nightmare away from me?!”

“I am,” Dean snarked, and slashed at her. He cut through the giant sigil, distorting it further.

She screamed again, this time in agony as blood slipped out of the wound, and the smaller sigils of the spell started to disappear one by one in small, black puffs of smoke.

“NOOOO!” She staggered backwards and grasped her belly. “I will have my revenge!”

Her clawed hands grew longer and she threw herself at Dean in a fierce attack that, again, he could barely counter. She managed to get a claw through at one point, he ignored Sam’s cry as those claws ripped through his hand and chest, knocking the sword from his grip.

Dean tried to scramble in the direction of the sword, but she stepped between them and roared her conquest, leaping towards him with intentions of shredding him to bits. Dean closed his eyes and cringed back as he was about to get a face full of claws. Here is where I died.

He managed a short goodbye to Cas, when he heard it.

“DEAN!”

There was a the sound of feathers, followed by wet sound, a low cry, and a series of thumps, and Dean opened his eyes just in time to see Cas tumbling to the side, blood flying off his chest and wings.

As he rolled, Cas left dark, wet spots that Dean didn’t want to know what they were. He felt his breath stop in his chest as Cas came to a stop and a pool of dark wetness just flooded out from under him.

No.

The Baku was standing there with some satisfaction, her claws bright red with blood, and she said, “So that’s where the tengu went.”

She licked the blood off her claws and smiled at him triumphantly, eyes gleaming with madness. “I guess I’m not the only one to lose something precious.”

Dean glared at her, and reached towards the sword, counting on Gabe being equally pissed. The sword practically flew to his hand and, even better, grew into a bigger sword of at least 60-inches long and three inches wide. Somewhere in his mind, the fox tail whispered, “Ōdachi, the great sword.”

Dean shook the sword, and felt the fox tail inside his body vibrate with similar anger. It was white-hot and burned like napalm, and he let it. It felt right. It felt righteous.

He couldn’t look at Cas again. He couldn’t. He was too angry. Too angry at himself for being weak. Too angry at the world that would take everything he loved. Too angry at the bitch who was making humans suffer because she had had it hard eleven-hundred fucking years ago. Wah wah wah.

With Gabe and the fox tail in sync, Dean moved forward, noticing there was a weird light glowing out of his skin, but too busy focusing on the whiny bitch in front of him.

“You stupid, stupid creature,” he grated out. “You had freedom after eleven-hundred years of imprisonment and you chose to waste it on revenge.”

She grinned as she attacked him again, but this time the extra length on the sword helped parry the long claws and she again shrieked in frustration. He slashed at her, and she couldn’t fully leap out of the way of the extra inches on the blade. She clutched at her new wound where the sword had cut her shallowly from shoulder to hip.

“You could have run away and made a new family, found something new to interest you.” He stabbed at her and she couldn’t quite dodge it, and it stabbed her through the shoulder. He ignored her screech of pain.

“But no. You have to rain down destruction.” He slashed at her again, this time catching her thigh, making her cry out again.

Distantly, he heard Akira finish chanting, and then, when she started up again, there was a chorus joining her.

The Baku’s eyes grew large in her face, fading to her usual smoky brown, as if she realized what the chanting was for. Now running scared, she gripped her shoulder with one hand to try and stop the bleeding and fixed those brown eyes on Dean pleadingly. She fell to her knees and begged, “Quickly! Kill me!! You must kill me!”

Dean backed up, unsure of what was going on, when the sigils on the Baku’s belly completely lifted off of her with a sizzle. She screamed, but the chanting kept going, unrelentingly.

She gripped her stomach and threw back her head, screaming even more, her throat taut, the veins in her neck in sharp relief.

Dean backed off even more, unsure. He chanced a look to his right and Akira was standing there chanting and working mudras with her hands, but not alone. Another twelve onmyōji stood around the rooftop, surrounding them, and aiming their spellwork at the Baku.

The Baku shook her head wildly and cried out, “NO! DON’T DO THIS TO ME!!”

The chanting pitilessly grew to a crescendo, and Eve managed to glare at Dean with all the hatred in her soul. She grinned maliciously, foamy blood between her teeth. “Even if they succeed, you will never have him back. Never.”

She started to cackle madly, before screaming one long, last time, and falling backwards into a faint. Above her, the dim shadow of a tapir floated up and away from her prone body and dissipated with a hiss as the chanting suddenly peaked and stopped.

Confused as fuck, Dean walked up to her collapsed form.

She was alive, if her shallow breathing meant anything. The wounds had somehow sealed up but had left dark scars on her now-flat stomach. Her skin was pale, but not otherworldly, with sweat dewing her brow. She looked, for lack of a better word, human.

He poked her with a hesitant foot, and he heard Sam behind him say, “Dude. Don’t kick the unconscious chick.”

Dean turned on his brother, who was holding up a very pale Akira, and pointed at the Baku.

“Someone want to explain to me what the fuck just happened?”

The group of super pale Japanese dudes in those pristine white outfits like Cas had worn in his dreams, with the wide sleeves and touches of color, were watching them with some amusement. They shouldn’t have been so amused in Dean’s opinion; they were wearing those fugly ass hats that looked like meshy shark fins.

He pointed the sword at the gathering of pale people and gruffly asked, “Seriously, Sammy, who the fuck are they and where did they fucking come from?”

“They are my ancestors,” Akira said, still leaning heavily on Sam and finally getting a bit of color into her face. “They are technically shikigami, or summoned spirits who will fight for me.”

She made a half-assed attempt to wave in Dean’s direction. “Or, really, for you.”

Gabe popped back into his giant fox form and shook himself, then turned to eye the congregation.

To Dean’s chagrin, they all bowed to Gabe.

Gabe rolled his golden eyes. “Family. Can’t eat them, and they don’t stay dead.”

“Say what?” Dean made a ‘what the fuck’ expression at Gabe, but then saw Cas out of the corner of his eyes and hissed, “Oh my god! CAS!!”

He ran over to the collapsed tengu, kneeling next to him, but there was no life left in him. His skin was even paler, and his flesh had been fileted off his chest as well as part of his right wing, as if he tried to protect himself from the blow. Blood had bubbled from his lips, as the claws had managed to get deep enough to rip a lung, and his blue eyes were closed.

Dean bit his bottom lip and whispered, “Cas? C’mon. You said you were going to stay with me forever. Remember?”

He wiped at the blood on Cas’s face with trembling fingers. “Cas? You can’t leave me and go somewhere I can’t follow. C’mon. You promised.”

He brushed back the soft hair that had come loose and sniffled as tears spilled over, showering Cas’s slack, pale face. “Cas, you love me, remember?” He pulled Cas’s body close to him and whispered against Cas's cooling shoulder, “I don’t want to be alone. You promised me.”

Behind him, he distantly heard a discussion being had, but he didn’t care. He was alone. John had left him behind. Sam had grown up and didn’t need him anymore. His mom had left him when he was a kid. None of his girlfriends ever stuck around, and even his male dates left before breakfast.

Now, the one person he thought would never leave him was gone.

Dean heard low sobbing, and was surprised that it was coming from him. It was as if everything was so far away.

He felt a huge hand shake his shoulder and an insistent, “Dean! DEAN!”

Dean looked up, and found the crowd of pale men had a leader. The man was ethereally beautiful with golden eyes and foxy features that reminded him of Gabe. He smiled at Dean, and reached out a hand to brush back Cas’s hair.

Still leaning over, he peered into Dean's eyes as if he were looking for something, the bright and mischievous gaze making Dean feel vulnerable. The man quirked a tiny grin, and pushed back a stray lock of Cas's hair, asking, “Do you want him to live on?”

“Of course I do,” Dean snapped. “What sort of question is that?”

The man beamed at him, just like Gabe, and said, “We can fix this. We have enough power for one more spell, but it won’t be like before.” He tilted his head inquisitively. “Are you willing?”

Dean opened his mouth and then closed it, looking down at Cas. If it weren’t for how pale he was, he might have looked like he was sleeping. “What’s the price,” he whispered, afraid of the answer.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I asked ‘what’s the price’?” Dean snapped, glaring up at the man-thing.

The guy chuckled and took out a fan, hiding half of his face behind it. The fan was dark and had shiny metallic triangles on it. It didn't matter that it covered the guy’s face. Dean could still tell he was grinning from those golden eyes gleaming at him impishly.

“You must give us the woman,” he said, snapping close the fan and pointing at the Baku with it.

Dean turned his gaze to Akira, who was pale, but nodding.

Sam shrugged. “What does it matter? This is done,” he said.

Dean eyed the unconscious woman and asked, “What will happen to her?”

The man chuckled and it was like hearing birds in the early morning. “Nothing bad. She will be rehabilitated. She is, after all, only human.”

“Fine.” Dean stuck out his hand. “Deal. Make it happen.”

The man took Dean’s hand delicately and said, “My name is Abe no Seimei. It is a pleasure doing business with you.”

A Dream of Eggplants, Mt. Fuji, and Hawks*
*but not really

The truth is, humans cannot live without dreams. That was what they had learned. Humans without hopes and dreams were maddened beasts who preferred death.

Dreams gave humans things to look forward to; granted them access to loved ones and to those who have passed; to a wishful, far away future where they are successful; and to where they someday dangle their grandchildren on their knees. Dreams allow them to speak their minds, and to find their fears.

Humans without dreams are nothing.

Dean learned this the hard way, when he realized that whole time he had been fighting for humanity, the thing he was really fighting for were those dreams where he got to hold Cas under a blooming cherry tree. The taste of the tengu’s lips, of fresh cherries, was something worth dreaming about.

He was going to miss them.

But in exchange, he had been granted his very own, very human Cas.

The weird dude in the frilly outfit hadn’t played him, and he and his buddies (Akira included) had done that chanting shit again. At the end of it, Cas had breathed in a wheezing, shocked breath and jolted up, his wings just falling off his back. Just. Fallen off. Like a wart that had dried.

This had induced panic in Cas until he understood with whom he was speaking (Abe no Seimei?) and why it had happened. In exchange for the spirits taking the ex-Baku away, they were freeing him of his duties.

Cas was free.

After that, despite Dean’s body feeling like he had been hit by a tow truck and then backed over again, he hadn’t had any problems with Cas testing out his new reality with a lip-lock from heaven.

Because Cas, his snarky little bird man, was human.

He also learned that onmyōji have the ability to summon spirits to serve them, but that Akira had not been planning on Abe no fucking Seimei, the Japanese version of Merlin, showing up. That was like aiming for a sugar cookie and ending up with wedding cake. “They like you,” she had said, shrugging.

“And what about Eve, the Baku?”

Akira’s expression had gotten canny at that point, and she had shrugged again. “They took her somewhere safe. She’s human now. Hopefully she can start over.”

Dean didn’t believe her. She knew exactly where they had taken her, what they were going to do with her.

And then he realized he didn’t care. As long as she found her way again, it didn't matter. She would be okay.

When the dust had finally settled, Sammy had taken off again, back to Stanford and hopefully in time to prepare for his final papers. He had told Dean later on that, after Cas had been hit, that Dean had started to glow with a weird white light and even looked like he had a tail. Dean didn’t want to think about it, about the piece of the supernatural lodged in his chest. He had hugged his brother goodbye. Sam had chosen the ‘normal’ life and had even mentioned a blond girl he had been sort of seeing, if mostly for study sessions.

But Dean could tell he was hooked. With mixed feelings, he sent his brother off again, promising to call soon.

Akira stayed another week, helping out the others. The missing practitioners had been holed up in a warehouse at the edge of town, the tsuchi-gumo set to guard it. The giant mountain spider had eaten a couple of the men, and there was a mourning session for them, but they were mostly grateful that the others had been found safe, since so many had been lost.

The tsuchi-gumo itself had been killed with relative ease, now that the main power source for keeping him on this plane of existence had been snuffed out. Some of the weaker yōkai had even just poofed away like they had never been. Everyone had been relieved.

To Bobby’s immense displeasure, however, having that many practitioners of similar but ultimately different crafts meant that they would get to talking. The talking ended up as a set of seminars between all the sects, and they shared some of their trade secrets, often surprised when their information overlapped or, sometimes, impressed when someone showed off a short cut.

When they started talking about holding conferences once a year, he kicked them out, grumbling about ‘idjits’ and not having time for ‘dumbass ideas.’

Of course, there was Gabriel who was just hanging about with no real purpose. He had become addicted to caramel corn and lately he had just been loitering with Ichiren-Bozu, chowing down on the stuff and marathoning TV shows he had missed in the last decade or so. He had thoroughly enjoyed the Lord of the Rings movies and The Hobbit, and of course he fell in love with the Star Trek reboot. Or maybe it was just Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman. Dean wasn’t sure.

And Dean didn’t actually care.

The battle had been won. The yōkai had been dispersed or destroyed. The city and humanity were safe. But, best of all, was this.

This was the pair of hands that were clutching at his back. This was the pair of lips that he kissed again and again, amazed that they were real. This was the slim body that writhed under him, sweaty and oh-so-human, and, in between kisses, whispered his name like a benediction.

“Dean,” he would breathe out like a prayer. “Dean!”

“I got you, Cas,” Dean murmured against Cas’s throat, marking that unblemished column with his teeth and sucking on it to leave dark purpling marks. “You’re mine. All mine.”

Cas was his. Cas was not going anywhere.

He bit down harder on the arch of muscle where Cas’s shoulder met his neck. “Mine.”

Cas trembled beneath him as Dean moved down his body, licking into the notch in his collarbone, nibbling over his chest, and flicking his tongue over the dark nipples. The last move caused Cas to arch up, his breath shuddering out of him.

Dean chuckled against Cas’s diaphragm, leaving small bite mark against the smooth pale skin, and nuzzling his way down.

“Out of practice, old man? It’s been, what? Twelve hundred years since you last got laid?”

He bit down lightly at the flesh of Cas’s thigh, and the man arched up again and growled, “Get back up here and show me what I’ve missed, Winchester!”

Dean sucked another hickey into his love’s inner thigh, and slowly made his way back up, teasing Cas the whole way, licking a stripe up Cas’s leaking erection, and taking a brief moment to kiss the tip, licking at the slit and making the ex-tengu writhe and swear.

“Dean, I may not be a yōkai anymore, but I still know five kinds of martial arts and, as you say, a shitton of spells. Don’t anger me!”

Dean chuckled again and pushed himself upward, meeting Cas’s lips. He wasn’t surprised when Cas surged up and rolled them so Dean was on his back. They kissed desperately, as if, somewhere inside, they were afraid it was all still a dream and they didn’t know when reality would again intrude.

And then Cas took the initiative and moved to sit on Dean’s lap, to Dean’s immense surprise. He snagged the bottle of lube from the desk and reached between them to lube up Dean’s dick. Dean muffled his moan, since the calluses on Cas’s hands plus the lube felt fucking awesome. It was not something he ever thought he’d appreciate. But he managed to ask, “Aren’t I supposed — OH FUCK — to… uh… prepare y — JESUS FUCK — you or something…?”

Cas grinned down at him, his eyes luminescent with lust and joy. “I’ve been waiting for three days to have sex with you, Dean Winchester. What do you think I’ve been doing in the bathroom?”

“I dunno? Showering like a normal human?” He hissed in a breath as Cas sank onto him, the sense of finally and mine sinking into his bones. “Ah, fuck…”

Cas threw his head back and ground down a bit, moaning as he pushed Dean deeper.

“Exactly,” he breathed. “That exactly. Fuck.”

Dean slid his hands over Cas’s hips, holding onto them as Cas rode him, effectively ruining sex with anyone else, because no one else was going to feel so good.

And when they came undone, when Cas unraveled and fell against his chest, leaving them both panting and overcome, Dean had to hold on to Cas and whisper, “This is real right? No more dreams?”

Cas snuggled against him. “No more dreams, Dean. Just plain old humanity living out their day to day. You and me.”

Dean kissed Cas’s sweaty forehead.

“Sounds like a dream come true to me.”

FIN

PREVIOUS Chapter

This was a rough, but enjoyable ride. I hope you enjoyed it with me, my first J2 BB. ;)

Mudra: Hand movements used in both prayer and in spellwork.

Shikigami: it may be easier to think of this as a slip of paper that has been used to "house" or "represent" a spirit being. In "Spirited Away," you see them as those flying paperdolls that attack the dragon, Haku. In other places, like the movie "Onmyoji," they are seriously spirits that are given a medium to interact with humans with. It's common in Japanese media.

A Dream of Eggplants, Mt. Fuji, and Hawks: In Japan, the first dream of the New Year is called "Hatsuyume" (初夢) and it is supposed to predict how your year will go. To dream of eggplant, Mt. Fuji, and a hawk during that first dream is supposed to predict amazing, just phenomenal luck.

SPN J2 BigBang 2015 - Dreameater (Destiel) 8/9

animediva — Sat, 11 Jul 2015 01:54:23 GMT

Dean

Regardless of his emotional state — and the fact it was the first time since the whole mess started that he was allowed out without a team of babysitters — Dean went out hunting by himself that night. It’s not like he had much of a choice, what with people dying out there and Cas still down for the count.

As a hunter, there were rules about the supernatural that most people didn’t get. Sure, when there are eight people with cameras in a haunted house, the ghosts are unlikely to come out and say hi. But, really, the things that went bump in the night, particularly Japanese things, preferred for there to be humans out and about to torment and eat.

Yōkai were different than western monsters. On the whole, they liked teasing people as they walked, terrifying them for the heck of it, although there were other yōkai that were just hungry and, occasionally, vengeful and didn’t care if their meal was saturated in fear. They just wanted meats.

Tonight’s prey had been reported by the Chinese while they were out looking for the new kijo. They had been hot on its trail and had had no time to deal with the annoyance of a brand-spanking new yōkai. They had spotted the yōkai when one of them had been chasing any stupid joggers that thought their health was more important than their lives.

So that was how Dean had found himself out hunting down what he was told was a wanyūdō: a flaming ox-cart wheel with an old monk’s head in the middle. This yōkai liked to take souls early and deliver them to Hell. Buddhist Hell, not Christian Hell, and when Cas had tried to explain it (something about sixteen layers, hot and cold, blah blah blah Hell), Dean had not really tried to retain it.

There was a Buddhist Hell. That’s all that mattered.

Regardless, going out with just Gabe and leaving Cas in his room it didn’t feel right, and his attention was pretty shot as a result. The street where he had found the first wanyūdō was near a set of apartment complexes. This wanyūdō had been picking off people as they walked to and from their cars. The police had (as usual) no idea, as the bodies just look like they had collapsed, not a wound on them.

Thus here he was — his mind on his injured tengu, all while some sort of weird geriatric-wheel dude was sucking the souls right out of folks. He had to hand it to the thing, though: the gross flaming head guy was fast, and, when he brushed by Dean, the wheel cut into his guarding forearm viciously, even from a distance of half a foot, and it burned. He hissed at the pain, and hoped Gabe’s weapon of choice tonight — what looked like a fancy sword on a stick — was going to work out okay.

Dean knew that weapons like these were used for cavalry battles, when infantry were on the ground and needed the extra reach to knock riders off their horses. He had doubted the sword-spear thing that Gabe had turned into, but, as the thing came at him again, he set the weighted butt of the stick hard into the ground, like he might have if he were trying to survive a horse charge. The wheel-dude nearly struck the upright weapon straight on, but it veered at the last moment, cackling at Dean’s misfortune.

Dean shifted his weight, and stuck the sword end between the spokes, and three of them sliced open before the creature realized it had been struck. It screamed an old man scream, like it had fallen and couldn’t get up, and liquid squirted from the broken spokes, soaking Dean from head to toe.

Dean howled in disgust because it was old man goo, but used his anger to pull the weapon up and towards himself, forcing the blade higher, and slicing through the old man’s head with a clean swipe, splitting it in two. The wheel’s momentum, however, kept it moving, and it crashed into some nearby trash cans, disappearing into a pile of ash. It all happened in a flash, and Dean stretched out his arms and let the goop to just drip off his clothes, curling his lip at how gross he felt. He suddenly empathized with Dr. Venkman when he got slimed. He smirked and said, “He slimed me.”

Gabe popped back into his usual human guise and eyed the drenched hunter. “You smell like old man jizz,” he joked with a grin, snapping a chocolate bar into existence.

“You’d know,” Dean snapped back, and, maliciously, flicked his goo-covered arm at Gabriel, striping him from head to hip with the clear liquid. Gabe looked appropriately horrified for once.

“You nasty, y’know that?” Gabe growled, swiping at his face with the edge of his purple ‘Hopeless Romantic Seeks Filthy Whore’ t-shirt. “Fuck,” he muttered after a moment, sniffing at the now-wet t-shirt. “Actually, Dean, this shit smells like gasoline.”

Dean, who’d been smirking at Gabe’s discomfort, reluctantly took a sniff. “Yeah. Smells like gas.”

He pulled off his army surplus jacket, which had taken the brunt, and used its clean sleeve to wipe off what he could off his face and neck. The goop had gotten on Dean’s flannel and t-shirt, and they were sticking uncomfortably to his chest and stomach. “Man, I don’t have a clean set in the car. Should we go after the second one, or drop by the house?”

Gabe shrugged. “Not up to me, chuckles.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. There are two more of these mean little bastards out tonight. Let’s go get them and then I’ll soak in the bathtub later.”

But of course things were never as easy as he thought they’d be.

Dean was being optimistic and had forgotten about his bad luck, because there were five of the wheeled bastards. As a result, he’d almost been set on fire more than a few times, and he was absolutely filthy, just covered in old man-gas jizz, soot, and dirt from his several stop-drops-and-rolls. He now knew what a burnt-on-the-edges eggroll that had been dropped on the floor felt like, and it wasn’t all that great.

He had gotten home at 3am and realized that most of the hunters would have probably croaked on that one, and so he counted it a win, not seeing the speculative look that Akira gave him as he stomped upstairs to get clean.

Cas was downstairs with Sam, manning the phones for the other teams, and helping out with translations.

Someone, probably Akira, had bullied Cas into wearing a slightly oversized white t-shirt with tears in the back for his wings. The tears had been methodically safe-pinned together and the silver pins glinted occasionally. He was also wearing charcoal sweats, and his hair done in a ~~disturbing~~ man-bun. Dean tried not to roll his eyes and bet his money on it being Akira’s doing again, because her inner hipster was a douche and liked shit like that. Man-buns.

Cas’s feet were even encased in bright white tube socks with red stitching around the toes. He looked nearly human, except for the giant wings at his back, even with his wane color. Somehow his complexion reminded him of Bilbo Baggins’ description of feeling thin, like butter scraped over too much bread. He looked fragile, and Dean didn’t like that either. It was just gonna be one of those nights, he supposed.

He ignored his worries and just wandered over because Cas was beaming at him from across the room, the smile crinkling the corners of his eyes and making his nose look all scrunched. It was adorable, and he found himself grinning in return.

When Dean threw himself down next to him on the couch, however, the tengu hissed and grabbed Dean’s arm, eyeing the scorched cut and the new bruises. He cooed over Dean’s wounds sadly, and looking ready to try and heal them. Dean jerked his arm away, turning bright red in the process, and said, “You are not wasting your energy on these piddly cuts.”

Cas just blinked at him with those eyes and nodded, taking comfort in sitting as close to Dean as possible. Dean let him. Who was he to deny a dying man? Bird? Thing?

From Bobby’s desk, Sam said (in his girly-ass-let’s-talk-emotions voice), “If you two want to be alone, I can arrange that. I don’t want to get in the way of your canoodling.”

Cas tilted his head like he wasn’t sure what he meant, but his cheeks were slightly pinker than before. Dean flipped Sam the bird (HA HA HA! The bird!!), and, just to make him uncomfortable, stated, “I don’t need your permission, Samantha” and proceed to pull Cas in for a kiss, making sure his brother got an eyeful.

There was some artful, pretend gagging, and Dean one-finger saluted him again.

The unfortunate side-effect of this tactic, though, was that kissing Cas was a miracle and he still tasted like sweet, fresh cherries. Dean didn’t want to stop and, after a good five minutes of sucking face in front of witnesses, he heard his brother clear his throat and finally shout, “Seriously, Dean? C’mon!!”

He detached his lips only to find Cas had covered them with his wings, and he gently tugged one down to eye his brother.

Sam was looking traumatized. He hadn’t looked that traumatized since he had walked in on Dean standing in their motel kitchenette with a fistful of Crisco and a propped centerfold of Miss Busty Asian Beauty 1999.

Dean smirked. “Ah, don’t be such a big baby! You couldn’t even see anything!”

Sam stared at him with horrified hazel eyes and whispered forlornly, “The sounds. Dear god, the sounds.”

All was good.

Akira woke him up the next morning by violently pushing him out of bed. Dean landed on his chest with a hard thump. When he reared up from his nose being smashed against the wood floor, he knocked his head into the knobby bit of the desk chair that stuck out, and ended up curled in a piteous ball, swearing a blue-streak that may or may not have frightened all the birds out of the tree outside.

If he wasn’t sure Akira was capable and willing to kill him, he would have kicked her in the knee for being an asshole and standing there clapping and whistling in admiration of his swearing skills.

“Wow, I’m from New York, and that was impressive, man,” she said, still slow clapping.

Dean heaved out a breath and said, “Akira, whatever it is, it better be good.”

She stood there in her fancy black turtleneck, with her fancy crocheted huge sweater over it, her fancy black leggings tucked into her fancy black riding boots with the brown tops, her hand on her cocked hip, like Dean was wasting her time, and drinking from one of Bobby’s bigger mugs that said, “NOT INTERESTED” on it in big black letters.

He remembered that mug. Sam had given Bobby that mug.

Dean pushed himself up and muttered bitterly, “What’s this? Are you modeling for some douchebag hipster calendar, or what?”

Her brown eyes narrowed in on him, sharp and prickly, and he worked at not squirming under them.

Finally, she said, “Your precious tengu is already downstairs. Move your ass downstairs, or I will introduce my Ralph Laurens’ to it. Capisce?”

Blearily, he looked up at her from the floor, and, rubbing a hand over the new bump on his skull, he rasped, “Are you sure you’re Japanese? I thought they were supposed to be polite or something?”

“That’s the best you’ve got, Winchester?” She responded wryly, as she turned on her heel and walked out, the rest of her retort echoing down the hall, “I’m a New Yorker first, American second, and Japanese third. I will bitch you out, shoot you in the ass, and then thank you for the privilege. Now get out here!”

Dean sighed and hung his head, thumping it lightly against the wooden floor. “Jesus fucking Christ, don’t I know one nice female hunter?”

Without thinking on it too much, he marched downstairs as was demanded of him, yawning, stretching, and scratching his head. He had not even paused to change out of his pajamas, which were just soft flannel pants and an old t-shirt. He stopped short on the fourth step down when he realized there were like thirty people in the office and spilling out into the hall and kitchen.

He also realized there were some giggles and stares, and that he hadn’t noticed that, when he stretched, his t-shirt had risen, revealing his abs and hipbones. He blushed, but managed to smirk and a wink at them, internally groaning at the bright burst of feminine giggles it got him.

“She could have warned a guy,” he muttered as he turned around and waltzed back to his room, bitching under his breath the whole time about women not warning a guy about an audience, and how was he supposed to know that there were a bazillion people downstairs.

Changed, he came back out wearing a proper t-shirt with KISS on the front and a maroon flannel shirt over his worn jeans. He was in his socked feet, but he didn’t want to bother with boots, not when he didn’t know when Akira was just going to drop in.

Again, as he descended, he had an audience, and he recognized a few of the faces. He hadn’t had much to do with the larger teams, mostly because everyone was too spread out to hang out much. It wasn’t like there were that many people in Sioux Falls; it was more that there were just that many variations of yōkai running around causing trouble. Not all of them ate people; some were just annoying as hell and, to boot, multiplied like rabbits or hamsters.

As he stepped in, Akira caught sight of him and waved him towards the small island that was Bobby’s desk. The bead was nowhere in sight, although Cas was sitting on the couch, looking trapped, and Gabe was next to him, just looking belligerent, especially with a turquoise t-shirt that proclaimed, ‘I’d rather be snorting cocaine off a hooker’s ass,’ under a well-worn dark brown leather bomber jacket. He smiled at them, and Cas’s trapped expression eased a touch. Gabe popped a Chupa Chup into existence and aggressively sucked on it, his gaze sweeping over the assembled magicians and hunters vigilantly, just in case they decided to make a move against Cas.

Which was ridiculous, given the reverence they were receiving, and the number of hand claps and bows that were given in their direction. Still, they were in the middle of a mass of monster exterminators… and they weren’t actually human.

Akira pointed to the spot between Cas and Gabe, while his moose of a brother was helping hold up the whiteboard so everyone could see it. She made some noise to get everyone’s attention.

She slipped into her explanation. “One of our teams has finally caught onto the Baku’s den. She’s living on the top floor of the CenturyLink Tower, where the building’s eccentric owner kept his offices, but also lived there.”

She pointed to the whiteboard, indicating the center of the board where a sigil of some sort had been written. Dean only recognized the giant pentacle in the middle, the rest just looking like scribbles that spiraled around and away from the center. In the middle, there was a Chinese character “鵺” and a bunch more scribbles that he took as more writing. To him, it just looked like someone with a shaky hand tried to write something out.

There was a lot of murmuring, and she asked, “Does anyone else know what this means?”

A hand or two went up, and one of the older Shintoists said, “It’s a summons for a nue.”

Akira smugly smiled and nodded. “Exactly. That’s it. We have ourselves a harbinger of doom, folks.” She pointed over at the trio on the couch, and Dean stiffened at having the whole room look at him. “The Righteous Man who started it all must finish it. He has lost all his luck to the creature, and now is basically living off the kitsune’s good will.”

Gabe leaped up like he had won something, pumping his fists in the air, strutting in the two-foot strip of room they had for their feet, and bowing his head to everyone. “Yes, thank you! Thank you!”

Dean snagged the tail of his shirt and dragged him back down.

“Shut up,” he muttered, trying not to laugh. The various practitioners were giving Gabe incredulous looks. So much for the ‘honorable’ kitsune.

“Regardless,” Akira continued, ignoring Gabe, “Time is of the essence. She’s using that luck to force start the summoning. Because of that, I will need teams of two to go out and find the smaller sigils associated with this giant one.” She pointed to some of the slightly bigger squiggles on the sigil, most of them at the points of the pentacle. “If she calls it up, we’re in deep shit because I don’t know if Dean will survive to see Nurarihyon or the Night Parade to stop it.”

Dean ignored the queasy feeling those words gave him, and, when Cas took his hand, he was grateful, slotting those slim fingers against his and ignoring any looks it got them.

Akira continued, pointing to the areas on the sigil where lines touched. “Perhaps if we can weaken the spell by removing some of the smaller bits, we can help destabilize it.”

She pressed her lips together and shrugged. “Maybe just make it harder for the Baku, if nothing else.”

There was a general murmuring as the practitioners spoke amongst themselves, and a hand went up from an older man in his late thirties. “What is our timeline for this?”

Akira nodded. “Good question.” She folded her arms against her chest and said, “Two days, now, if my divination is right, and it is never wrong.”

One of the young men in the Shintoists stood up for a moment and said, “I agree. When I did a divination for events in the next few weeks, it said potential disaster in the next few days.”

“And, of course, there’s the lunar eclipse in two days,” remarked someone from the back.

The murmuring got louder, and Akira shushed them by just putting out her hands and making a settling motion with them. “Okay, alright. That means we basically have two days to at least weaken the spell, combat and hopefully defeat the Baku.” She turned to Dean, and suddenly every eye was on him.

“Do you think you can?” She asked him candidly.

Dean legitimately had no answer to that. He felt Cas wince and hadn’t realized he had tensed and squeezed his hand a bit too hard.

“I’m gonna do what I can,” he settled on finally. He didn’t know if he could, but he’d do his best or die trying. Hell, dying was on the menu if he didn’t try, so why not? Fake it til ya make it.

Akira narrowed her gaze at him, and he suddenly felt like she could read his mind. He narrowed his eyes right back at her and started to think of every sexual position he could imagine with Cas, and, as it turned out, it was quite a few. Her eyebrow twitched, but she didn’t appear shocked, so he presumed she was not actually reading his mind; she was just being an asshole.

“Fine,” she said finally, looking back out at the sea of faces. “Sam here has the list of pairs. About half of you will still be on yōkai extermination duty!” There were groans and complaints at that, and she shouted, “People dying out there folks! Keep it in mind!”

Someone grunted, “No one’s dying of Betobetosan exposure.”

Bobby broke in and said, “Yeah, but they multiply fast and they’re annoying as hell.”

There was more grumbling, mostly of agreement. Banishing the little bastards was time consuming, not hard, as it had to be directed AT them, which meant pinpointing their position, and the things were invisible.

Bobby yelled above the din of thirty people talking to each other and figuring out their assignments, “I know we had set up a perimeter last week to try and prevent yōkai from escaping the city, so we’re asking a few of you to get on it and check the barrier we set up.”

“Who do we talk to,” was shouted back, and Bobby pointed at Sam, who was chatting with some blushing woman as he wrote down her name and assignment.

Dean watched the crowd, hearing different languages being spoken, and laughter of some of them. They looked tired, and he didn’t blame them because night after night of ghostbusting was no fun. And it was night after night, as that bitch kept spawning hell creatures like she was suffering from beer shits.

He tried to ignore most of the stares in his direction, even as Gabe was deliberately ignoring the reverent clapping hands and bows in his direction, immersing himself in some tabloid with a headline that said, “Casa Erotica: The Real Story of Love and the Pizza Man” and chewing on a bit of red licorice.

Dean nudged him and asked to borrow it later, and Gabe gave him the bro-thumbs up.

Downtown Sioux Falls

Dean

That night, Gabe, Dean, Cas, and Sam were on baku watch. Using a telescope, they spied on her a bit, but the CenturyLink Tower was the tallest building in Sioux Falls (well, in South Dakota) and even camping out on the roof of a nearby building made it hard to see. But, really, all they saw her do all night was eat veggie pizza, pop open packages of Oreos and snack cakes to devour, and watch “Gilmore Girls,” while rubbing her belly. No sign of the big shot executive, so they figured he was dead.

“S-should we go in?” Sam asked after his turn at the telescope. He was looking vaguely uncomfortable as Gabe had decided to sit very close to him to keep warm, and was currently curling in next to him in his tiny form. It looked like his discomfort had more to do with worrying about squashing the fox than Gabe being affectionate. The flirting and all that was easy enough to ignore, since he knew Gabe wasn’t being serious.

At least, Dean hoped he wasn’t being serious.

Cas shook his head. He was bundled in a Ravenclaw muffler Sam had dredged up and covered in a beige trench coat that Bobby used to wear ages ago. It was just big enough to hide Cas’s wings and was warm to boot. Cas in a muffler covering the lower half of his face, with a reddened nose and cheeks, though, were doing weird things to Dean’s libido, even when he told it to calm the fuck down. When had he ever thought cold brightened eyes, and reddened cheeks and noses were attractive?

Cas tugged the muffler down, and said, “I think she only looks off guard. She’s on the 11th floor. We don’t know what’s on the other 11 floors.”

Sam nodded, his huge hand ducking down to pet Gabe, who curled into the caress with a tiny yip. “I know there’s an elevator that can take us to the top, but I think it requires an old fashioned key to get to the penthouse. It’s not one of those card accesses or we could get Ash to rig it for us.”

“Then how are we supposed to infiltrate?” Dean sat back and huffed petulantly. “We need suggestions on how to perpetrate this.”

Cas paused and looked at Dean. He slowly said, “She might be waiting for you tomorrow.” He stared at his hands. “She...might need you for the final part of the summons.”

At Dean and Sam’s disbelieving expressions, Cas held out his hands and stuttered out, “I am no expert at summoning nue!” He put his hands in his lap and stared at them more. “It… it’s more that I’m guessing that, if she needed Dean’s luck to summon it, maybe she needs the rest to complete it?”

The tiny fox yawned and stretched, shaking himself out. “She won’t,” Gabe said, sitting up and staring at them all. “She’ll need Dean’s life force to bring Nurarihyon and the Night Parade.”

Sam rubbed his face with his hands and blew out a frustrated sigh. “Okay, so what’s a New-rah-ree-hee-on thing? Explain it.”

Gabe cocked his head and said, “Hmm… Nurarihyon is said to be the leader of the Night Parade.” He quirked a smile and added, “By himself, he’s pretty harmless, just annoying as fuck since he sneaks into places humans live when they are out and uses all their things, drinks all their beverages, wears their clothes.”

He chuckled. “He’s a good fellow, when he’s not bringing about the Night Parade. But he’s really hard to pick out of a crowd since he looks human.”

“He looks like a little old man,” Cas clarified.

“And… that’s all he does?” Sam looked confused. “He sneaks into places and mooches?”

“Hey,” Dean muttered, “If I saw that my snacks had been eaten and my best booze gone, I’d pitch a fit!”

“You’d pitch a fit even if you’d have done it yourself while drunk,” Sam said dismissively, sending him a bitchface.

“You’d pitch a fit, bitch,” Dean groused, punching his brother lightly on the arm.

“Whatever, jerk,” Sam mumbled and turned to look through the telescope. He yelped and fell back, and Dean and the other two tensed in alarm. “Fuck! She knows we’re here!”

Dean said, “What?” He picked up the telescope and looked towards the penthouse, and, sure enough, that piggy bitch was standing in the window, just grinning at them, waving one hand. He saw her lips move, and she winked, walking away. He gritted his teeth and put down the telescope.

“Sonovabitch, I hate that thing,” he snarled, turning back to the others. “She just fucking waved at me and mouthed, ‘it’s too late’ before just turning away.”

“Well,” Sam muttered. “It can’t get much worse than that.”

When the troop of four returned to Bobby’s, it was to mild chaos.

A few of the pairs of hunters sent to find and possibly erase the grounding sigils were suddenly AWOL, and could not be hailed on their phones, nor did the GPS on them work.

The yōkai were suspiciously quiet, as if they were waiting for something, and the whole city seemed to be holding its breath.

Arguments had broken out about whether or not a full-scale assault should be immediately attempted, since it seemed things were too quiet, and seemed to be quickly coming to a head. Others vehemently insisted that locating the missing hunters was the most important thing, and fuck the frontal assault when their numbers had already been pared down by a quarter.

In the midst of it all, Akira was like a cork, bobbing between them, keeping her head up, mediating arguments, and coordinating efforts.

When she spotted them at the edge of the hall, she called out, “What did you bozos find out?”

Dean and Sam exchanged looks, and Sam said, “She made us. She didn’t do anything, but mock us that it was too late.”

Bobby looked up from where he was working with the map and pointing out where the last sigil-removing team had disappeared. “And you idjits let her scare you off?”

Dean and Sam both frowned. Sam started with, “It wasn’t like th—”

Dean shoved him back and got in front of him, “I made the decision to back down. We were made. She was deliberately doing nothing but snarfing Oreos and boxes of Little Debbies, while watching girly TV shows.”

From behind him, Sam grumbled about discretion being the better part of valor, and Gabe laughed at him.

Akira stopped moving for a moment and expectantly stared at them. “So, Dean, what’s the next move?”

Dean shrugged. There had been a brief discussion in the car about whether or not they needed to involve John, but Sam, like Bobby, was worried about John’s ‘kill first, ask later’ policy regarding the supernatural, and he had ended on, “I also don’t think he’d be too happy about you swapping spit with, y’know, it.”

Dean had punched him hard in the arm. “Don’t call him an ‘it.’ I’ll pound you.”

“Aw, look. True love rears its ugly head.” Gabe had snickered in the back seat, while Sam whined, “I didn’t mean it. It’s what Dad would say!”

Cas had been napping and Dean was glad he had missed it all.

Dean’s stomach had churned at what his Dad would say. “That’s why Bobby said not to tell him shit when this all started. His ‘stab first, ask later attitude’ was going to be a problem with the friendlies.”

But Sam had hesitantly said, “Dean… if… I mean, if we don’t break this spell…”

“We’ll break the spell,” Dean had said stubbornly. He blew out a breath. “We’ll break the spell, and he doesn’t have to know about all this.”

“He probably already does, y’know,” Sam had remarked, slouching in his seat.

“Well, he’s probably busy then. Why call him if we can handle it ourselves?”

Sam had given him a ‘who-the-hell-do-you-think-you’re-fooling’ look, and Dean had glared back, mentally begging him to just drop it.

Thankfully, Sammy had.

But now, confronted with a roomful of upset practitioners and hunters, all looking to him for leadership, he was feeling uncomfortable and missed the commanding presence of his father. John knew how to get things done. Dean mostly just played things by ear and hoped for the best.

He looked for his surrogate dad in the crowd and said, “Uh… Bobby, you wanna get in on this?”

Bobby looked at him with a scowl and shrugged. “It’s your ass on the line. It’s your show, son.”

Not at all helpful there, Bobby.

A hand snuck into his, and he looked over his shoulder to find Cas had wedged himself so he was standing next to Dean, his wings tucked in tight to his back. He gripped Cas’s hand and Cas smiled encouragingly. Coughing to release some his own tension, Dean said, “We have about five hours before dawn. How much time do we need to set up for an offensive?”

Akira’s mouth crooked into a small smile. “I imagine about twelve total, because I wanted to do a few spells and the others want to seek out the missing people.” She jerked her chin towards Bobby. “Bobby here can take care of organizing the missing people search.”

Bobby gave her a dirty look from under his shaggy brows. “Girl, you better not plan on leaving me out of this,” he growled.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, but you know Sioux Falls the best and have the most experience tracking down yōkai.”

“Bobby, please do that.” Dean jerked his thumb back towards Sam, Cas, and Gabe. “I have these guys with me, and whatever else Akira is cooking up.”

Green eyes assessed the onmyōji and he asked, “You are planning something, aren’t you?”

She grinned at him, looking disgustingly fresh in her off-the-shoulder deep red sweater and ripped skinny black jeans, despite being as sleep deprived as the rest of them. “Of course.”

Dean nodded. “Then it’s settled. Tomorrow evening early, before the lunar eclipse.”

He pointed at Bobby. “That gives us time to look for the missing people.” He pointed at Akira. “And gives you time to get whatever you’re planning to do done, right?”

She shrugged. “I’ll do that I’ve got to.”

Dean nodded again and made a swirly motion with his pointing finger towards the waiting practitioners. “Bobby, you got this, right? This… this is all you, right?”

Bobby made a shooing motion and bent back over to look over the map.

Dean sighed in relief and squeezed Cas’s hand gratefully. He looked at his small team and said, “C’mon, I need some info from you guys and see what we can do about tomorrow.”

Gabriel’s Grove

Akira

Akira hated wearing all the crap she was expected to wear as an onmyōji: the sashinuki were okay, because the wide-legged pants were pretty comfortable, but the joē, the ceremonial robe that went over it, make it a pain to move her arm and hands, and she ended up pushing them up her arms a lot while she prepared. Even with the strip of cloth she used to hold back her sleeves, they inevitably get in the way. She also hated the weird fin-like mesh hat called a tate-eboshi, but it was part of the outfit, so she bore with it.

She looked at the altar she had set up with permission from Gabriel in his small grove, making sure the boundaries were well delineated and double bound by the guardian ropes strewn with shide. The shide, pristine white paper folded into zig-zag strips, waved gently in the early morning air. The altar, made with some help from Bobby, was basically a small table with small offerings of salt, fresh fruit, a nice trout Gabe had fished out for her, and also several more shide. The shide were symbols for purity, and were important in guarding her from attacks.

She reasoned the time to be between the hour of the Ox and the Tiger, which meant she needed to hurry before the cock’s crowed dawn.

She knelt before the smaller table, where she had her paper works and ink, and, cupping her hands into the first mudra, she started to chant under her breath in Japanese. “With reverence and awe, I humbly request the assistance of my ancestors, as we guard this city from ruin and pray release the spirit of the Baku, Eve, from her pain.”

“I ask assistance for our relative, our ancestor’s kin, Akio, also known as Gabriel, who has made a contract with Dean Winchester to save this world from doom. I ask this in Abe no Seimei’s name, and pray that Seiryu on the East, Byakko of the West, Suzaku to the South, and Genbu on the North guard and reinforce the barriers built to hold in the damages that will be done today, in the name of humanity.”

She prayed this in a litany until she could feel the power building, reinforcing the containment spells, adding strength to her magic. By the time she felt it hit its peak, she was breathing hard and sweating profusely. She picked up her writing brush and, on the strips of prepared paper, she wrote her spells, one after another, until her powers were spent, and she could put down the brush.

Akira sat a moment, trying to pull herself together, since it had been a decade since she had last tried to channel so much power. But looking at the names on the paper strips, she wondered, not for the first time, what the gods had in store for Dean Winchester that they were coming to his aid so powerfully?

Dean

In the long-ass discussion with Cas, Gabe, and Sam, it came down to Cas wanting to get in on the action that he had no power to get in on; Gabe not really giving a shit one way or the other; and Sam getting all of them to see reason.

Getting into the penthouse was the first legitimate hurdle, of course. So, when asked point blank, Gabe finally admitted that he could jimmy open the elevator lock, but it was attached to electricity and that made it singularly uncomfortable to do so. Not impossible. Just… uncomfortable.

Dean nearly slapped him upside the head for that.

Further argument revolved around Sam’s wanting to be there, and Dean not wanting him there. It was dangerous. Sam had to go back to school. He didn’t have time for near-death fights.

“But Dean,” Sam gritted out, “It’s the end of the world if we don’t win. I don’t think Stanford’s going to matter if there’s no world.”

This is why his baby brother was going to end up a lawyer.

Cas broke the fight up and added his two cents.

“Dean, you will need back up. I’m pretty sure that Akira will be going with us, but even she’s going to need physical protection. The others… I suspect they will be trying to contain the damages.” He paused. “I… I really don’t think tomorrow will end very prettily.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Dean groused, running his hands through his hair. “Damn it.”

Gabe yawned and scratched his belly, saying through the mouthful of M&Ms he had been chewing on, “I think Akira’s got a plan. The woman’s a firecracker, that’s for sure.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I just bet she does. Meanwhile, we’re left as baku bait and my dick’s left hanging in the wind.”

“It’s a nice dick, at least,” Cas offered quietly, obviously not quite understanding the twin looks of utter horror on Dean and Sam’s faces, or why Gabe was laughing so hard, he nearly choked on his candy.

Sighing heavily, Dean said, “Great. Thanks, Cas.” He refused to look at his traumatized brother or Gabe, who was howling with laughter and rolling on the floor. “Fuck it. We’ll do what Winchesters have always done: wing it.”

The day of the battle had dawned quietly enough. The yōkai had not made much of an appearance overnight, and that made everyone very nervous. The overall group had departed around 2am to their respective living spaces, to rest, eat, and prepare for the night. It was going to get ugly; they had not been able to erase even a single sigil piece.

The teams had approached the various sigil sites, only to either not find them, or to also disappear into the night.

With morale already low with the first group of missing people, and the group’s collective failure was crippling. It was an unforeseen blow to an already traumatic battle. They tried to rally, but it was difficult.

So, at 5pm, they again met at Bobby’s house for a finale battle meeting and, possibly, a final meal.

Everyone kicked in and there was everything from General Mao’s chicken (although they didn’t call it that) to onigiri, the seaweed wrapped rice balls being tucked away into pockets and bags for later snacking.

Amulets were passed out and a few more blessings given, especially to Dean and Sam, who were spearheading the attack on the office building. Half of the group, coordinated by Bobby, were going to maintain the barriers at the edges of the city, just in case Dean and Sam fail and the nue does show up. They needed to keep it in the city by any means possible and Bobby had spent several days doing research on the side with Akira, Sam, and Cas to figure out how to kill it.

Only, of course, if Dean and Sam failed.

Which they weren’t. Absolutely not.

The rest of the hunters were going patrolling, while Akira, Sam, Dean, and Gabe went to the CenturyLink Tower. Cas was told to stay at home, and not all the pouting and puppy-dog eyes were going to change Dean’s mind about it. The tengu looked even worse, like the weight of his flesh was barely there. His eyes had sunken into his face a bit, and lost most of their luster.

If Dean was dying tonight, he wasn’t going to do it while Cas watched.

As the group made their way to the Tower, the atmosphere in the car was tense. Sam was playing with the metal thing that Bobby had found for him, something called a Vajra. It was the size of a knife, but it was the shape of a tube and it had heft to it. Elaborate symbols decorated the sides of the gold tube, and each end had four prongs surrounding a short pointed piece of metal to, as Bobby had said, crush evil.

Sam, over the last few days, had also been given a crash course on Buddhism and Buddhist chants, so his mighty and gigantic skull was stuffed full of those things. He had also been given a short sword by Akira with a bright red tassel hanging off the pommel, and a pocketful of paper ofuda to help distract the yōkai. The ofuda paper spells were for containment, but mostly for low to medium level yōkai. Who knew what they were going to run into? Dean had noticed the bulge in Sam’s coat too, although he hadn’t mentioned it, but he could tell Sam was also carrying a sawed-off shotgun with rounds of rock salt. It was a good idea. It may not stop yōkai, but it bothered the hell out of them.

Akira had not said much, carrying her monstrous tote bag with ease. She was dressed in pure white this time, with no makeup, and her hair was pulled severely back. She looked ready for business, and her smiles, when she found Dean looking at her, were sharp. Dean was genuinely glad that she was on their side.

So it had been decided that Akira would be playing defense, Sam would flow with what needed to be done, and Dean and Gabe needed to focus on pure offense against the yōkai in the battle planning. Akira had been very straightforward, which Dean appreciated and hated because he didn’t want to do it.

“It may go against the grain” Akira had said, her caramel colored eyes intent, her polish-free fingernail poking Dean in the chest for emphasis, “But you must cut through her abdomen. That’s where the main summoning spell is. That’s where she’s carrying the nue.”

Dean really did not like that idea, but he had swallowed his unease and nodded.

Gabe didn’t care. That bitch had beaten the hell out of Cassie and even hurt him a bit in the last battle they’d had in the dream realm. She was just pure monster to him. Screw that nue.

They didn’t speak as they parked across the way, easily breaking into the building, which was ominously quiet. They crossed the lobby nervously, and piled into the elevator. Gabe futzed with the mechanical lock that allowed the elevator to enter the off-limits 11^th floor, pulling back with a curse when it sparked and shocked him. Dean ignored Gabe’s resentful eyes, and focused on the battle to come.

He was so glad it was going to be over, one way or another.

When the elevator finally pinged and opened, the apartment was unoccupied, although it smelled horrendous and most of the lights were either flickering like a bad horror flick or just off, leaving heavy pockets of darkness.

To make things worse, there were a lot of things in the large penthouse. It was minimalist in furniture and in the open design, what with uncomfortable looking couches with short backs and a room floored with what Gabe called tatami mats. In locked glass cases, old Japanese swords, paintings, kimono, and just general cultural plunder were on display throughout the penthouse. A large, heavily embroidered red kimono took up most of one wall, the design looking like a bunch of flying storks and fluffy white clouds with gold linings.

But the Baku was not present and she had not set guards inside the rooms.

“Guess the party’s upstairs,” Dean muttered. Sam and Akira agreed, and they briefly split up to look for the way to the roof, Gabe nonchalantly following Dean.

Dean tried not to cringe when he found the bedroom and there was nothing but some hair and a giant blood spot in there. He worked around the foul, rust-colored stain, and looked around for the entrance to the roof. He found nothing so he backed out quickly, trying not to breathe in the stench of drying and fermenting blood.

Gabe had stayed away, complaining from where he was in the hallway about the stench. Dean ignored him, and poked around in the hall closet.

Sam finally gave a shout out when he located the entrance in the pantry. It was a closed panel at the top of a ladder and looked more like for emergency purposes than for really accessing the roof.

All of them stared at it, and Dean realized that he could hear chanting from the entry and feel a low-level buzz that was making the hair on his arms stand up.

They all looked to each other and nodded, and Dean climbed up the ladder to the rooftop first. He pushed the heavy metal panel up and cautiously looked out. The chanting was hella loud, now, and there was a definite buzzing like a million helium balloons had been charged with a million amps of static electricity.

He had just poked his head out, his arm holding the entrance up, when something snapped the panel completely open, while a huge hand reached in and grabbed his wrist. Dean had about five seconds to note a massive, red-hued, muscle-bound dude with insanely bright red hair and eyes looking at him, just dangling all six-foot plus and 200-lbs of him with one hand easily, before Dean was flicked away like a booger off a finger.

Indistinctly, he heard someone shout, “Oni!!”

But then he hit something with great force and clumsily slid down the invisible wall into a painfully moaning lump on the building’s roof. He groggily concluded it was a barrier, since he wasn’t plummeting to his death over the edge of the building.

From where he had landed, he heard Sam holler, “Dean!”

And then there was a grunt and thump as Sam landed in a crumpled heap next to him.

Dean sat up and rubbed his head, asking, “Sam! Are you okay?”

Sam groaned out a muted and mumbled, “Yes!”

They both staggered to their feet just as a similar-looking man to the red bastard walked up, this time with light blue skin, blue hair and ice blue eyes. They were both easily eight-feet tall, and just built like brick shithouses. Dean saw the guy’s foot pull back and braced himself for the kick by curling into a ball.

Meanwhile, the giant red man was apparently not prepared for a huge fox to come leaping out of the hole and biting his ruddy arm viciously. The red man howled, attempting to shake off the fox, but Gabe just bit down harder, making sure Akira got out of the hole in one piece.

When Akira get clear, Gabe released the oni’s arm and leaped towards Dean, knocking his shoulder into the blue oni’s back with all his strength and watching him stumble forward, only to trip over Dean and smack into the barrier face first.

Dean had grunted when the huge foot had caught on his shoulder, holding in his yelp of pain as he felt the bruise bloom under his skin right where his shoulder met his left arm. It was better, though, then getting the shit kicked out of him with a Caddy-sized foot.

Sam rushed over and helped him up, avoiding the blue guy as he also slowly stood up, and they all four backed up to the opposite edge of the rooftop as they figured out what was going on. The rooftop, now that he had time to look at it, was mostly flat with the air-conditioning units to one side. It seemed the owner had wanted to make sure there was a helicopter pad, which made most of the rooftop bare. On the western side, a completely naked Eve had set up the altar with a circle and glowing, white sigils painted into the black roof. On the altar was a dead woman, her body spread open like a dissected frog pinned to a board, with what looked like her heart, liver, and a bowl of blood offered up.

Before the altar stood the Baku, chanting loudly and rhythmically, while bright blue balls of light danced around her like butterflies. Every other beat of her chant, one of the balls of light was sucked into her abdomen, and it sent off a small shock wave that felt icky on Dean’s skin.

“Gabe,” he muttered, “What the fuck is she doing? It feels gross.”

Gabe, in his large fox form, had his ears back, his eyes were glowing yellow, and he had his lips pulled back in a disgusted grimace. “She’s feeding the spell souls,” he replied tightly. “That bitch is feed the nue the human souls that were caught for her. That’s why there’s that small electrical discharge.”

He turned those glowing eyes on Dean, and there was a predatory gleam, a purpose, there, for once. “Those souls cannot be redeemed, but… we need to stop her before she completes the spell and all the souls are consumed.”

Dean nodded, and reached, saying, “Ideyō!”

Gabe grinned at him and there was a pop as he transformed into a regular, old katana.

Dean gripped it, feeling Gabe’s moral indignation running through the blade.

Suddenly to his left, there was the retort of a shotgun as Sam pumped the blue big guy full of rock salt, which did little to slow him down, and shouting to his right, as Akira chanted something that put a stop the red guy’s momentum.

“FUCK!” He heard Akira shout. “This is not going to stop them very long!”

Sam had thrown the shotgun to the side and was trying to keep the blue guy busy with the sword Akira had given him. The sword was a few inches shorter than Dean’s katana, and Sam was able to use it more like a long knife. It didn’t damage the blue guy much, but it kept him at a distance, so there was that.

Dean stepped forward into Sam’s battle with the sword, glad Gabe was guiding him, because, although he was pretty good with a knife, he wasn’t sure what to do with a sword, other than poke someone with the pointy end.

He slid under the blue guy’s swing at him, and, as he stood, he realized that this wasn’t a guy who was cosplaying as a blueberry. He had horns. Tiny, black horns that stuck out from his scalp and were just visible through his bright, berry-blue hair.

Monster, then. He swung the sword as he stood up behind the guy, and it bit into his meats right above his waistline. The guy howled, obviously not expecting it to hurt, which made sense as the shotgun blast had done nothing but ruin his “Dallas Cowboys” jersey that said, “Aoi” on the back. Dean heard him roar again as Sam poked him from the opposite side.

He turned back and struck twice more, striking the blue guy (Aoi?) in the back of the knee and, even with Akira screaming a warning, he nearly got his head removed from his shoulders, when the big red dude came rushing at him with a giant spiked club from behind.

The blue guy had collapsed to one knee, but he looked like he was healing. Slowly, but healing.

Dean hollered, “SAM!!” before dodging the next blow from the spiked club aimed at his head.

The club stopped as the red guy (in a damned Red Wings hockey jersey) tried to bring it down, and Akira’s strained, “NOW, DEAN!” made it obvious this was his chance.

He stabbed through the creature’s middle, and something told him that it wasn’t enough. He dragged the sword out, ignoring the red oni’s grunts of pain and how, slowly, the club was starting to move. Dean stabbed the thing through the throat this time and sliced through, cutting away half of the monster’s neck and his arm when Dean pulled the sword down.

Dean was drenched in monster blood but he was happy with the results as the monster gurgled its rage.

Another howl, somewhere to his left, and Sam was reciting sutras as fast as he could. Dean ignored it, hearing Akira also desperately trying to keep the creature still and near losing, as the red oni had kept its grip on the club and it was definitely moving now.

Not for long.

The second cut slid effortlessly through the other half of its neck and arm, and Dean had to wonder if it was that Gabriel was just so holy that he cut through the monsters like a hot knife through room-temp butter, or that monsters were just more fragile than they thought.

The red oni’s head flew off its shoulders with a juicy bounce, its arm falling off to the side, while its bulky body fell in slo-mo to the ground.

He heard Sam scream, “Dean!”

He turned to look and the big blue guy came running towards Dean, his arms flailing. He stopped just short of engaging Dean when Sam threw the pronged thing that Bobby had given him through the blue oni’s back, and it slid through its chest like the monster was made of wet tissue paper.

The same creature the rock salt had barely touched, stared down at his midsection with surprise. The expression was still on his face when Dean cut off its head. There was another juicy bounce, and another anticlimactic thud as the body fell like its strings were cut.

Akira and Sam jogged closer to him, both of them breathing heavily and he turned Gabriel towards the Baku.

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Aoi: Means "blue" in Japanese. (Oni are often paired into Red and Blue.)
Oni, in Japanese, has a lot of meanings. In this case, it means "ogre."

SPN J2 BigBang 2015 - Dreameater (Destiel) 7/9

animediva — Sat, 11 Jul 2015 01:44:08 GMT

//Dreams. Again. Dreams.

For the last month and a half, his life had been about dreams. Dreams being eaten, being stolen, being killed for.

Fantasies, nightmares, hopes, fears, love, and passion. All of these things being battled over in a world that did not realize how lucky it was to have such a privilege. To dream, to hope, to touch the forbidden within one’s heart. Not knowing just how stark reality is when it’s all stripped away.

No wonder they shuddered and died.

Recently, Dean had dreamed about kissing a pair of lips that were dear to him. Missing the touch of the literal man of his dreams. The agony of watching him fly into battle for him, and unable to do anything.

With that thought, when he opened his eyes, looking up into a twilight sky.

That was different.

He also couldn’t hear the gentle swaying of the grass.

Nervous, he sat up and noticed he was wearing the same thing as Gabriel usually did: a white floppy outfit that looked like it came out of a samurai movie, all huge pants and giant sleeves. It wasn’t the only thing he noticed when he looked down at himself. He had noticed that he had a tear in his dream-body and it was bleeding out that foggy blue stuff. It was oozing out slowly, like pudding or something, and it made him uncomfortable to see that. He poked at it, and then hissed-shrieked as it hurt like a motherfucker, the pain radiating like he had slammed his finger with a sledgehammer.

“Have I told you lately that you’re an idiot?”

Dean looked up and found the huge golden-eyed fox staring at him. He blushed and pointed at his giant, oozing tear. “It looks gross. Why doesn’t it hurt?” He paused. “Uh, I mean, when I don’t touch it. Why doesn’t it hurt if I don’t touch it?”

The fox’s tails, all nine, swished once, blowing air across the grasses and making them sway for what looked like miles. Gabe said dryly, “Because Cassie is a bigger idiot than you are.”

Dean frowned, not understanding what that meant. The fox pointed towards the tree with his snout. “Look. The tree is almost bare. He gave it up to save you.”

Dean looked, and, indeed, the cherry tree was nearly empty of blossoms. Underneath it, he could see what looked like a white body resting against the trunk, and he pushed himself upright, despite the pain, ready to run to it, to make sure it wasn’t what — who — he thought it was.

Despite himself, tears bubbled up as his fear took root, and (as in dreams) he realized that he was a fool to not consciously recognizing Cas for so long.

Before he could get away, however, a huge paw stopped him, dropping heavily onto his shoulder.

“Just a second, lover boy,” Gabe said with some amusement. “Given time, he’ll recuperate some. But you…”

Dean blinked as Gabe poked him in the chest, and then yelped because, one, his claws were sharp, and two, his chest hurt from the damn rip up the middle of his dream-body.

Gabe sighed and muttered, “You idiots.” He turned his head to his tail and deliberately snipped one off with his teeth. The tail moved on its own, which was kind of gross, wiggling around to get free. Golden eyes narrowed speculatively at Dean and he panicked when he realized what Gabe was going to do with that tail.

“Oh hell, no! Get away from me!”

Gabe smirked and swatted him like a fly, making him land on his back with a thump. Which hurt tremendously and, in between the tears of pain, he swore roundly at the giant lump of fur.

“Now, now, Dean-o,” Gabe chuckled around the tail, pressing a paw onto Dean’s chest and ignoring his suffering. “You don’t realize how fortunate you are, even with your luck almost gone. Don’t you think it’s interesting that fate gave you a powerful tengu for a bond-mate? And that he knew me, knew I would save you, because of the love I bear him?” He peered down at the human. “What wonders are you going to do in this world, that it has worked so hard to save you, O Righteous Man?”

Dean glared up at Gabe through his pain. “I don’t fucking know, but get off me, Gabe!”

Gabe tutted at him. “Even half gone, your soul still glows like a fire opal under your skin. No wonder he can’t resist you.”

He pushed down on Dean’s chest a bit, making the rip gape. “This might hurt...a lot actually!”

Having said that, he shoved his muzzle and the tail into the gaping hole. Dean’s eyes bugged out at the pain, and he grabbed at Gabe’s head furiously, his screams deafening. He smacked the fox’s head and yanked on his ears to try and relieve the sensation of his spirit being infested by something, something large and snake-like that was curling around his soul and clutching it near.

Then Gabe pulled out, and grinned at Dean, licking the wound as it started to close. “See, Dean-o! All better.” He looked down at the wound, watching it close, and nodded faintly. “We’ll have to see what happens now. I hope you’re strong enough for it.”

Dean had curled onto his side, bringing his knees protectively over his abdomen. He cried at the pain — they were very manly tears — but the ache was slowly subsiding. Now, it just felt like something had taken root inside him, and he wanted to puke at the violation.

He heard Gabriel sigh. “If there were any other way to save you, we would have done it, Dean. Forgive him. He’s suffering too.”

Dean wanted to ask why, but Gabe stepped away and said, “I’m going to go take up the guardian post for now.” Dean opened his mouth to say...something… and Gabe smirked.

“Go find him. After all, wuv, tru wuv, will fowow you foweva…”

He cackled uproariously, before leaping into the air and disappearing into the sky.

“What a dick,” Dean groused, rubbing his stomach. It was down to a dull throb, and, although it felt weird, in comparison to earlier, he felt okay. “What the hell’s with his quoting ‘Princess Bride’ at this point?”

He pulled himself up to his feet, which were in those damn clunky wooden shoes again, and staggered his way to the cherry tree.

There were very few blossoms left on the tree. The trunk was now white, like a sycamore, and he fell to his knees in front of the man collapsed under it.

Gen (Cas?) was passed out, his face blanched, his iridescent black wings drooping off his shoulders and half in the dirt. Cas’s pure white outfit was as messy as the last time Dean had seen him, dark with soot and blood, his hat gone, and the sleeves ripped to shreds revealing pale, sinewy arms underneath. There was still a hole in his clothing where the Baku had gotten him on his side, although the flesh underneath looked whole and pallid.

Trembling, Dean took Cas’s face between his hands and slapped him a few times, saying, “Cas! Cas! Cas, wake up!”

Slowly, blue eyes opened, but they weren’t supernaturally bright. They were still the color of the summer skies, though. Regret burned through Dean, and he already missed that preternatural light.

Cas coughed, winced, and coughed again. “Dean…” he mumbled, “What happened?”

Dean couldn’t believe it. He pressed his lips together, and pulled his forehead to Cas’s, his eyes closed. “Why didn’t you tell me..?”

Cas blinked, looking unsure of what to make of things. “What do you mea—”

“Why didn’t you tell me that Gen was you?” Dean flashed open his eyes, unaware that Cas had started when he saw they were glowing faintly. “Why!?”

Cas tilted his head slightly, as much as Dean’s hands on his face would allow him, and he said, slowly, “Because this is my job. I have to protect you. I’m not supposed to get involved with my ward, and I tried to separate myself so it wouldn’t overlap.”

More tears escaped Dean, slipping down his face, and dropping off his chin. He hated he was so emotional here, his being stripped of his usual armor. Cas’s eyes were wide with wonder, watching him cry, whispering lowly, “Are these tears for me?”

“Cas, I don’t care if this your job. If… hell, if we need to keep our hands to ourselves, I can do that! But…Please don’t leave me. I...I need you.” Dean whispered hoarsely. “I thought we were bond-mates, partners! Doing this to me is not 50:50, man.”

Cas frowned lightly and touched Dean’s face. “But my life means nothing, Dean. I have lived and died, and now I am alive only to do penance.” He pressed bloodless, chapped lips together and said, softly, “I cannot have you the way I want you, Dean. Please… let me do this. Let me fade away.”

Dean tore away from him, sitting back on his heels and glaring. “No, damn it! I won’t let you fade!”

Cas opened his mouth to say something, when Dean growled and swooped in, sealing his mouth with his own. Dean knocked Cas’s head against the tree, but he planned to make up for it, straddling the tengu’s lap and burying his hands in the long, dark hair that freed itself instantly from its containing thread under the onslaught of his fingers.

He felt Cas’s hesitation before he started kissing back, and then it was desperate hands that pulled Dean closer. Cas’s hands that slid between them, his hands finally on him, slipping over his chest and checking that he was whole and okay. He felt Cas’s callused fingers touch his face, and he pulled back slightly, both of them panting in the small space between us. He ran his thumb over Cas’s reddened bottom lip, and looked into those blown blue eyes. “Is...is this okay?” He ran his other thumb over Cas’s cheek bone, burying his fingers deeper into the hair behind Cas’s head. “A—are we okay?”

“Dean,” Cas murmured, swallowing hard, his hands brushing over Dean’s face as if it were precious. “I have only a few days of spiritual energy left.” He closed his eyes to the pain in those glowing green eyes, both of them still breathing hard, and tapped his head against Dean’s. “You can’t stop it. The cherry tree will die soon, and then I will fade from this world.”

Dean swallowed hard, trying not to cry, and looked over at the pond. It was full of cherry blossoms that were swirling in the water and slowly melting into it. He realized then that Cas had put most of the blossoms into the water to buoy him up after the Baku had stolen his luck.

He grabbed Cas’s face again and shook it, whispering intently, “You stupid, stupid bird! Why did you do that? God damn it, Cas! You can’t give me your energy.”

Cas blinked up at him, his slim human hands sliding up Dean’s thighs encased in bright white hakama, thighs that bracketed his hips, and said, “You have to live. You have to seal the Yumekui. I don’t matter.”

Dean ignored the sob in his own voice as he choked out, “You matter to me, Tweety. You matter to me.”//

Dean

When Dean woke up, it was to Sam’s pathetic puppy-dog eyes and Bobby’s concerned blue-greys. They had dragged him to the couch while unconscious and his body felt stiff and not altogether his. He staggered as he tried to sit up, his abdomen not hurting anymore and he was delighted that he could breathe. Sam immediately put a hand to his back to help him sit up, but he slapped at Gigantor’s giant floppy hands.

“Get your massive mitts off me, you big girl,” he snapped, pushing his brother off. “I feel fine.”

He pushed himself up to his feet, only swaying a bit, and looked around the room. “Cas! Where’s Cas?”

Bobby and Sam exchanged a look, and Sam shrugged. “They were here for a moment and then, suddenly, Cas collapsed and stopped breathing for a second and Gabe carried him away.”

Fear clutched at Dean innards. “He fucking stopped breathing?” He pushed himself forward, to put one foot in front of the other, and grumbled, “Stupid fucking bird! I told him to not do that! Why doesn’t he ever listen to me?!”

Bobby grabbed his arm, fisting into the forest green-plaid flannel Dean was wearing. “You’re barely standing on your own, son. You can’t go out there running after Cas. Gabe’s got him. You’re just gonna have to trust him.”

Dean scowled at Bobby, every part of him wanting to run out to where he knew Cas was waiting with Gabe, out in the grove, in nature, revitalizing himself. He tried to remember what Gabe said in the dream, what he had said about Cas recovering a bit.

His temper flared and he jerked his shirt out of Bobby’s hand. “Fine.” He blew out a huge sigh. “Fine. I get it.”

Sam said, tentatively, “I’ll, uh, go make some coffee.” He gave Dean a concerned look that Dean hated, like he was made out of crystal or some shit, and he waved his little brother out.

After a moment, though, Dean shouted after him, “Make mine a double Irish!”

Dean dropped himself back into the couch with a grunt and flung his arms over his head to block out the world. He tried to ignore Bobby’s presence, as the older man took a seat in the desk chair he had parked nearby to keep an eye on Dean. “So,” Bobby started slowly, “Want to talk about it?”

“No, I don’t want to talk about it,” Dean growled from under his forearms.

“Well, neither do I, princess! But if it has a bearing on what the fuck happened when Cas collapsed, I still want to hear about it.”

Dean grumbled and, under the pressure of Bobby’s gaze, said, “Fine!”

He sat up and faced Bobby and laid it out all on the line about the Baku; how her getting stronger translated into her getting greedy for his luck; how she had plucked out most of his luck, leaving a gaping wound in his spirit; how Gabe and Cas had been fighting her off this whole time and he hadn’t known until recently; and how Cas had saved him by giving him most of his own spirit.

He skipped over the tail thing because that was creepy and he really didn’t know how he was going to face Gabe again after that, even knowing that Cas’s power hadn’t been enough to fix him, but only enough to staunch the flow. Still, there was a part of Gabe’s ass inside him and, if he thought about it too hard, he’d give himself an aneurysm.

If he thought of it at all, it would be because occasionally, just... occasionally as he sat there and talked and talked, he thought he could feel it wiggling under his sternum.

Sam had come back in with the double Irish coffee (Hallelujah!) and the hot liquored beverage went a long way in making him feel human again. But, I’m not anymore, am I?

He ignored that niggling voice in his head and told them how Cas was fading because of the transfer, and how they were going to have to chase down the Baku because there was no more time.

He wasn’t doing it without Cas. He just wasn’t.

Of course, now that Sam had him pinned, he demanded the full story, which made Dean groan and Bobby chuckle. “I’m gonna go check how the teams are doing.”

“Did that onmyōji show up?” Dean asked, giving his brother a ‘give me a fucking break’ look, only to have it parried with bitchface #4, ‘Dean, you’re being a dick.’

“He’s gonna be here later today. He’ll probably want to have a long parley with Cas and Gabe, seeing as they’re traditionally not all that friendly, what with onmyōji trapping them and/or killing yōkai.”

“Whatever,” Dean muttered, stretching out on the couch and covering his face with his arms again. “Just as long as he leaves them alone, it’s cool.”

“Gotten attached, Dean?” Bobby chuckled on his way out the door.

“Bite me, you old coot.” Dean snapped. To Sam, he grumbled, “He’s getting too old for this shit. We need to save some money and get him a condo in Florida or something.”

“I heard that! Idjit!”

Sam laughed softly at their banter, but soon grew serious.

“Dean,” He said, and Dean groaned because it was his ‘sharing and caring’ voice. “You almost died out there by being smacked in the head with a baseball. Are you sure everything’s okay?”

Dean sighed and moved his arms down to stare at the water-stained ceiling. “As sure as I can be,” he muttered, thinking about Cas’s predicament. “Now, can we drop it? I’m exhausted, nauseous, and not allowed to nap.”

Sam pressed his lips together, frowning slightly with disapproval, and said, “Yeah, okay.”

Dean almost counted that as proof his luck was back.

Gabriel’s Grove

“You are the biggest idiot, Cassie.”

“Shut up, Gabriel. Just… let me rest for a bit.”

“You leaving me with guard duty, little bro?”

“Gabriel… I’m not your little brother. Furthermore, yes. I am afraid I cannot move.”

“Ha ha ha! Ah, you’re such a child, Cassie. Fine, I’ll go watch over your lover boy. And stop getting all embarrassed and red. You weren’t all embarrassed and red when you were licking his tonsils under the cherry tree.”

“Gabriel, I might be weak, but I will still strive to kill you if you don’t shut up now.”

“Love you too, Cassie. Now rest up and I’ll go watch hot pants and that tall hot drink of Oh-My-God he calls a younger brother.”

“Thank you, Gabriel.”

“No problemo, little man.”

Baku

The night Eve had ripped the luck from Dean, she had come back triumphant and swallowed it whole. It had tasted delicately of cinnamon and silver, and she savored it as it settled in her abdomen, next to the nest of souls she had stolen, all held in by a thin membrane that was a harvested bit of Dean’s life force, reinforced by the bit she drained away each and every night.

But tonight, with her big haul, she was ready to start the spell. She had enough power to finally call the nue from beyond, and, with its help, she could then devour enough souls to bring the Hyakki Yagyō, the Night Parade, to this place and then to the world.

She was in a newly-stolen den, a place that oversaw the city from the very top of a building. They called it a ‘penthouse.’ The lights were brighter, but the air was fresher. She could look out and see the world she was going to devour and smile. She didn’t care if the spells she was plotting out would eventually destroyed her; she was taking the world with her, and this time there was no one to stop her.

No tengu. No onmyōji. No one.

Dean Winchester would not survive long without his luck, and that damned kitsune and tengu were not going to do much about it.

The kitsune...she chewed her thumb nail, worrying it as she stared out. They couldn’t save him… could they?

The kitsune was the big unknown. He was powerful enough to face her, even after she had devoured these thousand souls. Even after she had stolen all of Dean’s luck. He was older than she was, much older, and tricky. A definite trickster, fooling her in that last battle into thinking she had the advantage and then raking through her defenses with his claws and teeth.

She hadn’t wanted to spend more energy on healing than she had to; she had plans for her accumulated energy after all. Discretion was the better part of valor sometimes, and she knew she was outmatched when the fucking tengu reappeared, even looking worse for wear. She grinned. That one was on the short slope to oblivion. She just had to wait and he’d peter out like a gutted candle.

But that kitsune… she wasn’t sure what to make of him, although she knew he was helping Dean Winchester somehow. Those who had confronted Dean themselves never returned, and she wasn’t sure how that one puny human was killing off her brethren, her children, so easily. But she suspected the kitsune was somehow involved.

In her own defense, she had pulled a large band of hyōsube (the hairier, dirtier, meaner cousins of the kappa), making sure this time they were enough of them to kill off the priests that the human hunters had brought in. She had also pulled several oni, a new kijo, an obariyon to hound walkers, and even a couple of betobetosan to feast on the fear she had piled up in the city.

Eve smiled lovingly as she thought about her new companions.

She loved how the obariyon clamped onto unsuspecting humans and slowly ground them into paste with its weight on their backs.

She loved the formlessness of the betobetosan, made of nothing but ether and wooden sandals, the way their wooden sandals clacked in time as they synchronized their pace with walkers and followed them as long as they could. The betobetosan would get closer and closer with each step, invisible and bodiless. The humans, already terrified by the events menacing the city, would run, looking behind them, looking for the haunting sound of footsteps that followed them. But each and every time they turned to see what was following them, they’d find nothing.

Sometimes she encouraged other yōkai to work with it, so that the betobetosan chased the foolish humans into their waiting maw. It was how she often made sure the onihitokuchi, that big-mouthed woman eater, got fed.

She had even managed to release a tsuchi-gumo, which had fled and gone into hiding, preferring its own strategies for finding prey. She suspected that, like the kijo, it had fled into the mountain to find its food there. Spiders that size were sure to get attention in the human city anyway.

Even with all the yōkai, though, human hunters still swarmed to the city. Did they not understand yōkai were endless? They could not stop all the black specter dogs, all the corpse-eating ghosts, all the spirit-eating Will-o-wisps. They couldn’t.

Perhaps if they had a particularly powerful onmyōji to aid them, but the time of onmyōji had passed.

This was the time of science, not magic; a time of logic, not belief.

And she would eat at it until it was gone.

Eve smiled again, reaching over to the calligraphy brush she had found. The apartment she had taken as her new den had been owned by a fan of Japan, and they had collected many interesting artifacts. They had been a fan, of course, until she had fed them to the tsuchi-gumo as part of the summoning, both he and his mistress, another shrill, disbelieving blonde.

She frowned and wondered why so many of the women she encountered were blonde and shrill? She’d met dark-haired women, but they just didn’t seem as shrill. She put the thought away to think on it, wondering if it was because she was always meeting them under the worst circumstances?

She shrugged and dipped the brush into the blood-ink, made of the ashes of a hundred yōkai and a hundred humans’ blood (she had only needed the smallest drop, but some of the yōkai were insatiable and literally left nothing). She elegantly and swiftly drew the sigils onto her abdomen to bring forth the nue, with a quick flick of her wrist finishing this character, a small dip finishing that character, until her entire stomach and chest was covered in interlocking sigils and creating the spell so her body could house the nue.

It was critical to get it right. She’d have no other chance until after Nurarihyon emerged to lead the Night Parade. When she had sucked Dean Winchester dry of his life force, she would summon Nurarihyon and then it would be the end of days.

And the nue was the portent of end of days. It brought storms and darkness, nightmares and sickness. It cultivated fires and wielded lightning.

She would feed and then she would destroy the human world.

She smiled as the sigils lit up, each burning into her flesh with a small sizzling sound, the gods accepting her sacrifices: the thousand human souls, the luck of the Righteous Man, and the willing womb of a corrupted baku.

Three days. She needed three days for it to come into fruition.

She patted her belly and purred, “Let’s rain destruction soon, my pretty.”

Soon.

Dean

Onmyōji Akira Abe was a surprise.

For one, Akira was a woman, and they had all been under the impression that an onmyōji had to be a man. She had laughed at their stunned faces, a husky sound that shouldn’t have come from such a thin body, and said, “My name is very ambiguous for a reason. Akira is a man’s or a woman’s name.” She had smiled mysteriously and added, “I prefer it. I can be either.”

For another, she was a young woman in her mid-twenties, who was purely gorgeous and an interesting mix of Japanese and American cultures. She had the brash American personality; she laughed loudly and with her head thrown back, and she swore with the best of them. She had shoulder-length hair that glowed like polished onyx, and her eyes were a rich caramel that were nearly as mischievous as Gabe’s amber-hued ones. She was short at five-foot-five, and made of all angles and tight New York City energy that she could settle in a breath, surprising everyone.

She constantly drank coffee, despite her ‘spiritual being’ suffering from the dosing, but she shrugged off any funny looks she received with, “Better that than everyone suffer from my hella bad mood.”

And Akira had immediately jumped into the fray, nodding approval at the protective sigils on the walls and surrounding the property, looking over the reports that Bobby had meticulously compiled for future hunters, and even diagnosing Dean with a look. He wasn’t sure if she had gleaned what the issue was from what Bobby told her, or if it was more mystical Japanese hoodoo that he had no idea about. Somehow she had not only figured out his problem but she had also decocted an ‘herbal supplement.’ From her ginormous tote bag that looked bigger than she was, she offered him a decoction in a slim purple thermos that tasted like paint thinner with a ginger aftertaste (making him choke and gag, while she gleefully laughed and slapped his back), and told him to drink it all. She would make more and it would help boost what life force and luck he had left.

Sam, the big girl, would called it a ‘tincture.’

Dean didn’t give a shit what it was called because he was positive it was made up of ground yōkai ass with a sprinkle of ginger, because that was just how his luck (literally) ran. When he gagged, and tried not to vomit afterwards, he managed to choke out his suspicions. She smiled patiently and didn’t deny it, and he eyed the thermos suspiciously while Akira winked at Sam and Bobby.

Sam and Bobby positively adored her from that moment on.

When Gabe walked in, sucking on his usual Chupa Chup, he paused when he saw her. She also stopped mid-sentence and the tension in the room skyrocketed as everyone (being Dean, Sam, and Bobby) realized it was a potentially explosive situation. Yōkai, even friendly ones like Gabe, and onmyōji were not exactly friendly on the best of days.

Today, Dean noted, Gabe was wearing a yellow Hawaiian shirt over a neon-green t-shirt that said, ‘FLAWLESS’ in big black letters and ‘I woke up this way’ under that. He was also wearing ratty orange flip-flops and well-worn jeans. He looked, as usual, completely not as powerful as he actually was.

Gabe eyed her and, popping out his lolly to point at her with it, said flatly, “So, you’re the big time medicine woman Bobby called in.”

She eyed him and, hands on her hips, replied in the exact flat tone, “So, you’re the big time kitsune, who thinks he knows everything.”

He stuffed his lollipop back in his mouth, eyed her a moment more, seeming to evaluate her, and then he nodded. “Okay, you can keep her,” he said, while turning to walk away.

Dean hadn’t realized it until he heard Bobby and Sam do it too, but they had all three been holding their breath.

Akira chuckled and turned back to face them, amusement glittering in her caramel eyes. “That is one fucking powerful fox you guys wrangled in on this.” She grinned at Dean. “Someday, you’re going to have to tell me how you managed it.”

Dean heaved a sigh. “I’d say luck, but I’m seriously low on that.” He paused, wondering if he should mention Cas, but then shrugged because she was going to have to meet him eventually. “My, erm… bond-mate.” He flushed red, not used to saying it out loud, and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “My... guardian, Cas — well, Castiel — is the one who summoned him. I just helped.”

Akira’s eyes had sharpened on his flailing ‘explaining’ hand, having glimpsed something, and then narrowed. She pulled on his hand so she could see the palm, making him yelp because, seriously, she was strong for such a fine-boned thing. She scrutinized the characters on it with incisive eyes and rubbed the dark marks with her thumb, making Dean shift uncomfortably. Finally, she lifted her perceptive gaze up and asked, “Akio?”

She pointed at it, making Dean grateful that her fingernails were short and blunt. “What is this doing here?”

Dean opened his mouth to say something, when a soft, husky voice said, “It’s… his contract. With Gabriel. A promise til Dean’s death or the Baku’s dealt with.”

Dean’s open mouth turned into a gape as he spied Cas.

Cas stood in the doorway in his ‘true’ form: standing tall, his dark hair pulled back, and with bright-blue human eyes. At his back, two huge raven-black wings were tucked in close to his body. A small, black lacquer pill-box hat sat on his head, and he was wearing a larger version of his original outfit: the pants he called hakama; the big sleeved white kimono-looking top (kosode, his brain supplied); his vest made of giant red pompoms; and there were these things that looked like shin-guards for soccer that were wrapped around his calves, tucking in the billowing black cloth of his pants, and making the white split-toe socks visible. Dean had never seen the leg wear, probably because Cas had never had to wear socks as a bird.

It was not the sexiest thing Dean had ever seen, and, if he were honest (and he wasn’t going to be), he preferred the white flowing outfit from his dreams to this brash, bright outfit. Cas’s slim frame, angular face, slender hands looked like he should be dressed in elegant clothes. Not whatever this was.

Cas was half-leaning on the door frame, and he tried to bow properly. “It… is nice… to meet you.” He managed it, but Dean still moved to help him. It was just as well, as Cas sucked in his breath in pain and struggled to get upright again.

Akira watched them carefully, her expression carefully blank. As Cas struggled to remain standing, she then bowed respectfully and said, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. This one is called Abe Akira. This one’s forefathers were onmyōji for the Imperial family. This one’s many times over grandfather was Abe no Seimei. This one thanks thee, O honorable daitengu, for thine presence here today.”

Sam, Dean noticed, was frowning, but Cas looked pleasantly surprised and replied, “Abe Akira. I know thine family well. I am now called ‘Castiel,’ but it would please me to be friends. Please call me ‘Cas’ as friends would.”

They both bowed (Cas with some help from Dean) and tentatively smiled at each other. While trying to help Cas stand and not hurt himself, Dean overheard Sam ask Bobby what just happened, and he realized with a shock that Akira and Cas had been speaking some fancy-ass version of Japanese. He chalked it up to the language thing Cas mentioned before, and put it on the list of ‘things to ask Cas later.’

He ignored Akira’s knowing eye and leaned deep into Cas’s space to softly ask, “Are you okay?”

Cas huffed and straightened himself up completely, grimacing as he did. “Well, I’ve certainly been better.”

Akira stepped in closer and peered into Cas’s eyes (on her tiptoes, but that did not help the spike of jealous that speared Dean), humming and flat out saying, “You’re going to die soon, daitengu-dono.”

Cas smiled sweetly at her, his pale lips barely moving, and he murmured, “Yes, I am.”

In a rush, Dean asked, “Can you help him?”

He tried to ignore the panic in his voice, that the hand that was gripping Cas’s shoulder to help him stand was tightening just that little bit more. That’s when he felt Cas’s hand move to his lower back and rub circles into it, trying to soothe him.

He grimaced, realizing that Cas — his in-serious-pain-and-near-death Cas — was trying to soothe him. He was such an ass. Cas was trying to be strong, and he was being a whiny bitch about it. Dean pressed his lips together and, ignoring the part of himself that wanted to beg out loud, sent pleading looks at Akira.

Akira tilted her head slightly, regarding them evenly, and then shook her head. “I’m sorry. He’s already being helped as much as he can be by that fox. There’s nothing I can do.”

Anguish stabbed through Dean’s chest, almost as painful as the claws ripping out his luck, and he said quietly, “C’mon Cas. Let’s go rest in my room. We can listen to some music or something.”

He ignored the thoughtful look from Akira and the sympathetic look from his giant moose of a brother. He and Cas had been through a lot, some of it neither Bobby nor Sam knew about. He had a feeling that Gabe knew, but that canny bastard wouldn’t say anything that would hurt Cas. Him, maybe. Cas? No.

He mostly carried Cas up the stairs, Cas’s shortness of breath bothering him more than he wanted to say, and when they got to his room, he sat Cas down carefully as possible, taking special care of his wings. He removed Cas’s silly hat and pompom vest despite his protests and forced him to lay down, his wings flaring open a bit so he could lay down more comfortably. As Dean adjusted the pillows, Cas huffed out another laugh. “How pathetic is this?”

Dean didn’t answer, nor did he wait for permission; he crawled in next to Cas, pulling the tengu in so he laid against his shoulder, and he nearly sighed happily when those dark wings flared up and around them in a feathery cocoon.

“Cas,” he whispered against his ear, “why didn’t you show us this form from the beginning?”

Against his shoulder, slightly muffled, Cas murmured, “I was a monk before I was a tengu. A bad monk. I gambled. I played around with men and women. I drowned in excess. I broke with my brethren in doing so, breaking my Sangha into factions, some wanting me back, some wanting me dead. In Buddhism, these are sins.” He sighed, and laid his hand on Dean’s chest, patting it softly. “I was too defiled to move on, but not evil enough to land in Hell. But there is no easy forgiveness. As an ex-monk, you must work out your sins, repent, and, to do so, you become a tengu.”

Dean’s breath caught as Cas nuzzled into the junction between his shoulder and throat, the tip of his nose cold against his skin.

“You begin as a lowly crow tengu, almost mindless, a slave to your superior because you cannot be trusted. They’re endless days of relentless chores, meditation, and prayers. As you show repentance, you work your way up the ladder, until finally you are trusted enough to be given a task.”

Dean dropped a kiss onto Cas’s head and whispered, “And yours was to guard the Yumekui.”

Cas thumped Dean’s chest gently with his palm, punctuating each word. “Mine was to guard the Yumekui.”

Dean chuckled at Cas’s patting him, especially when he smiled up at him. Then his breath caught yet again as Cas raised his hand and touched his fingers to Dean’s face with a ridiculous amount of wonder, tracing over his forehead, down his cheek and under his eye to brush over his nose. He touched his fingers to Dean’s lips, over the dip in his upper lip to press just at the point where his lips became moist, pushing in the tip of his finger, and gasping lightly when Dean licked him. His eyes darkened, and he swallowed hard, looking up into Dean’s eyes.

“But I failed to protect the Yumekui,” he muttered. “And every night, and every day, I saw you. I saw your beautiful soul and…”

His words faltered. He closed his eyes and licked his lips, pressing them together as he visibly tried to pull himself together. “Dean, I have… no right to have feelings for you.”

Dean took Cas’s hand in his and gently kissed his palm. “Don’t I get a say in this?” He asked gruffly.

He wasn’t prepared for the sorrow that fluttered over Cas’s face. The depth of regret in his cerulean eyes burned him, hurt him in ways he didn’t know was possible. He released a shuddering breath, and pulled Cas closer to him, relishing the scent of cherry blossoms, leather, and sandalwood. In his ear, the warm, rumbling voice whispered, “I am prohibited from falling in love, and I have broken my vows for you. I will be punished.”

Dean vehemently shook his head. No, no, no, no…

“W—we just have to kill the Baku, right? J—just the Baku and we’ll both be right as rain,” he mumbled into Cas’s hair. “Y—you’re going to be okay, Cas. Just...stay with me.”

His dream came to mind, the barrier that separated them, the desperation of being left behind and not knowing what was going to happen next to his loved ones.

“Please,” he unintentionally whimpered, and the sound made him stop and suck in his breath, to try and regain control. He wasn’t crying, but the tears were threatening to fall. He felt the sobs catching his throat, making his throat feel hoarse and scratchy. He felt Cas’s hands fist into his shirt, one on his chest, the other at his back.

He tried again.

“Please, don’t leave me here. I—I don’t want to be alone. Not anymore.”

He sniffled loudly as he sucked back a big gasp of air, not letting waterworks get the better of him, and laid small kisses on Cas’s head, feeling the tengu trembling in his arms. “Every fucking day, you’ve been with me almost twenty-four hours a day. Every day, Cas!”

To silence him, Cas raised his head and clumsily kissed Dean, bumping their noses together. When Dean moved a bit, and they slotted together right, however, it was like coming home. All those nights under the cherry tree, talking and laughing. All those days, joking together and fighting for each other.

Cas gasped as Dean’s hand moved to the space between his wings and they quivered, the feathers rustling in the hush of the room, even as Dean ran his hand over that spot and buried his fingers in Cas’s hair. As he ran his fingers into the soft hair, his fingers ran into the tie and freed it, letting it fall around his shoulders. He tightening his grip gently and Cas gasped, arching slightly into him, moaning hoarsely, “Dean!”

Dean licked at the seam of Cas’s mouth and, desperately, they came together again. Cas tasted like cherries and tears, and Dean tried to burn the taste into his memory.

When they parted with a gasp, Cas kept his eyes on Dean’s lips, sliding his thumb against the bottom one slowly, as if doing his own bit of memorization. And then he said, looking up into Dean’s eyes, that sorrow still there, breaking Dean’s heart, “Dean, I’m sorry. Either way, I’m doomed. Please forgive me.”

Sam

Sam had had a rough two weeks. In the two weeks since his brother had called him, he had had to rush all his projects; get special permission to leave because of a 'family emergency'; and run into a ton of Shintoists, Buddhists, and even a Ying-yang master. But the weirdest thing, he thought, was his brother and the tengu.

Perhaps if he had been there from the beginning, he wouldn’t have thought it so odd to see his brother constantly getting in a large human-ish bird’s space — as if a child-sized bird in a Japanese mountain monk’s outfit wasn’t wacky enough — and getting all buddy-buddy. But, even so, his brother didn’t treat Castiel the way he treated Gabriel: a sort of 'we’re drinking buddies' vibe ruled that relationship.

Even odder, Dean found reasons to keep Cas to himself. He found ways to sit and laugh with the tengu and, occasionally, they could even be found sitting by the river not talking at all. For Dean, that was damn odd: he’d never been the contemplative type. Because of this, Sam was endlessly curious, since he wasn’t sure how they had interacted when, apparently, Cas had legitimately looked like a glowing-eyed raven. The only thing that was certain was whatever relationship they had hobbled together in that time before he arrived was something solid now, unbreakable.

It was also disconcerting that he occasionally caught his brother flirting with the bird. Admittedly, the air of pure burning embarrassment that swirled around the tengu was worth watching. It was, however, the fondness in Dean’s eyes — even as he roared with laughter, throwing his head back, and patting Cas on the back — that made Sam wonder (weirdly) if his brother actually wasn’t crushing on a three-foot-tall magic bird demon from Ancient Japan™.

Sam had also had to reckon the tengu was crushing right back.

He didn’t make that observation lightly. After all, he had seen bird documentaries. Heck, he’d even looked up raven mating on YouTube. And, although it wasn’t as obvious as flaring out all his feathers and doing a mating dance around Dean (Sam would’ve killed things to see that!), it was there if you were just paying attention. The way the bird’s eyes followed Dean, their supernatural glow somehow softer. The way he paid intense attention to what Dean said, something Sam knew Dean thought was flattering. The way he made food for Dean, like perfect sandwiches or pancakes with a ton of bacon on the side. The way he made sure Dean was well-rested, staying with him all night, swiping his feathered fingers over Dean’s forehead, pressing down the quilts to keep him warm, and, sometimes, cooing over his head before falling asleep himself in the corner of the bed.

If Cas had known Sam had been watching from the hallway those few times, making sure Cas was not a threat in and of himself, Cas had never mentioned it.

For Sam whole time back in Sioux Falls, it had been like this: a bizarre relationship that he just couldn’t really fathom.

There were so many things that hadn’t made sense until today, when the very human-esque — well, more so than usual — Castiel stood in the doorway, pale and somehow thin. Sam could see the tengu’s male body was already skinny, although he’d say it leaned more towards ‘wiry’, but it was more than that. It was like a spiritual thin.

Sam was sure neither Bobby nor Akira had missed the surprised and then the subtle brooding expression on Dean’s face that Sam knew all too well. He hid it behind his playful mask, but Sam knew Dean was worrying for the tengu. The — now that very attractive tengu at that.

Sam wasn’t blind.

Bobby caught his eye and jerked his chin at Dean’s swift rescue of Cas, as the winged-dude started to slide off the doorway and fall. Again, Dean had schooled his expression swiftly, but not before the two men who knew him best caught the sadness that flickered over him and then cemented into just a concerned face.

Sam had no idea what was going on, but it was obvious that Cas was something more than just a bird buddy or a bond-mate. Going by that, Gabe was also in a contract with Dean, and Dean didn’t look like he wanted to wrap the fox in cotton and save him from himself.

Or maybe he did, but he doubted it. Dean treated Gabe like a bro, but he treated Cas with kid gloves, like he was precious.

And, of course, Gabe might have known something, but that wily fox had just grinned at him and made inappropriate suggestions over the last few days that Sam somehow thought were anatomically impossible unless you were a yoga master. Gabe’s wagging eyebrows seemed to suggest otherwise.

But, now, Dean had retreated upstairs with Cas in tow, and showing no signs of coming back down.

On one hand, it was comforting that Dean had other things to preoccupy him than the battle with the Baku.

On the other hand, Sam was leery of Dean getting involved with a supernatural creature.

It was all very weird.

Behind him, he heard Akira and Bobby talking about the game plan. The groups of hunters were working out of their own bases — more because Bobby’s house couldn’t hold that many people— and they called in to keep everyone in touch and on top of the game, and using Skype to communicate face-to-face when necessary. Sam had been about to commend Dean on getting Bobby to level up and join the 21^st Century, until he heard Bobby bitching about Gabe fucking around with his electronics, and that computers had buttons not whatever this thing was — AKA, Sam’s iPad.

No wonder there was suddenly Wi-Fi in the house.

He walked over to them, noting everyone was just ignoring the bead watching anime off Hulu on the small laptop, and asked, “So what’s the plan?”

Akira said, “Your brother has maybe three days to get this done before the tengu dies.” She frowned slightly, her rich caramel eyes distant for a moment, before she added, “And possibly your brother. He’s barely surviving without any luck as it is. But something is animating him. Something powerful.”

There was a snort somewhere to their collective left and a tiny fox was sitting on the desk, its tail briskly wagging back and forth.

“That powerful thing,” it intoned, “is my ass.”

Bobby started to roll his eyes and even Sam started to, but Akira’s look startled and somewhat frightened, saying, “Wait. You’re Gabriel. You.... oh fuck… did you put one in him?”

The smug smirk on Gabe’s face made Sam want to smack him off the table, but he refrained. “What? What do you mean?”

“I mean my literal ass,” Gabe chuckled with a wink. “Here, for the slow ones in class… let me show you!”

He leaped off the desk into the middle of the room where there was more space. A short pop and a puff of smoke later, there was a horse-sized white fox in the middle of the room with eight giant, golden-tipped tails hanging out. “Ha ha, guess I’m not a kyuubi anymore!” The giant fox shrugged and yawned. "Well, it'll grow back eventually."

Akira gasped. “No… not a kyuubi with only eight tails.” She looked up at him and asked, “And how did he take it?”

“Ah, onmyōji. Always the curious ones.” Gabe sneered, popping back to his toy-sized self. He leaped on top of Bobby’s desk again. “He’s alive. Which is more than he would have been if Cassie and I hadn’t intervened.”

Akira slammed her small hands down on the desk, ignoring the piles of books and maps that was taking up space on it. “But the lore says that’s dangerous. The tail on its own is capable of doing monstrous things!”

At which point both Bobby and Sam got a clue and hollered, “What?!”

Gabe took a moment to lick his balls, ignoring her completely.

“Gabriel,” she said desperately.

He continued to ignore her, apparently finding something of intense interest by his tail.

“AKIO,” she hissed in a commanding tone, and Gabriel snapped his attention to her face with narrowed eyes.

“Watch yourself, magician,” he said in measured tones. “Your kind may be used to commanding spirits, but I have no tie to you.”

She hung her head, closed her eyes, and tucked her lips in together, appearing to try and collect herself. In her own measured tones, she said, “Fine. But tell me what will stop that tail from changing Dean into something else?”

Three sets of eyes on him didn’t make Gabriel budge. He stood, turned around in a circle a few times, and then curled into a ball on the edge of the desk. They heard him say, “Who knows? As you know, the Divine has plans for us all and I’m not privy to all of them.”

Gabe yawned as they watched, and then, after tucking his nose under his tail, shockingly started to snore.

“嘘じゃないと思う,” said a voice by Bobby’s left hand, and they all recoiled. Sam had seen the bead a few times, but it was always disturbing. The bead, now a spider-looking thing with a giant eyeball and disconcertingly long eyelashes, was watching them. He said some stuff that made Bobby and Akira nod, and Sam had to clear his throat and get their attention.

“Non-speaker,” he said plaintively, pointing at himself and trying out his sad puppy eyes on Akira.

Akira eyed him, not really buying it, but translated. “He said that he doesn’t think that Gabe is lying. Gabe really doesn’t know what’s going to happen. It was an emergency measure.” The bead interrupted and said some more stuff, causing Bobby and Akira to chuckle. Sam made a mental note to learn Japanese because this was some bullshit and his Latin and Greek weren’t helping him at all.

This time Bobby translated. “He said that the long-haired one — he means you Sam — should be thinking more about how to protect yourself from Gabe’s advances.” Which sort of explained why Sam thought he had heard the phrase 'cherry-boy' in the bead’s monologue, but Gabe’s sudden, “Meee-ow, baby!” from behind him did not comfort him at all. He threw a dirty look at the fox, and then rolled his eyes when Gabriel just winked and made some lewd motions with his long fox tongue.

Akira was, thankfully, task driven and, having scooped up the bead to consult with it, Sam was left with Bobby and the fake-napping Gabriel.

“Bobby?” Sam asked slowly, feeling a headache coming on, and rubbing his temples with his hand, only to slide it down and pinch the bridge of his nose. “When did this become our lives?”

“Hell if I know kid. Hell if I know.” Bobby pointed to the map on the desk that he and Akira had been looking at. “But according to Akira, if the Baku is playing by the rules, she should have a nest around here, where the ley lines create a box at the center of a pentacle shape for calling shit up. That’s why there were specific yōkai kills in those specific areas, to activate the main points.”

Akira came briskly back about fifteen minutes later, carrying the disgusting looking bead with no fear. “Ichiren-Bozu here told me about the yōkai, the contract, and the curse slash bond-mate sitch.”

She carefully dropped the bead next to his laptop so he could continue watching whatever it was he was watching, and she said, “It’s a good thing that before I came, I checked the stars and did some divination.”

Akira leaned back and gave Sam an unfathomable look, “Although I said your brother and the tengu only have three days, max, I wasn’t being completely clean about it.”

She pointed at the map and the spot Bobby had pointed out. The areas where there had been yōkai attacks had been clearly marked in red, with hauntings and other phenomena (like betobetosan attacks, which were just annoying) were marked in blue. She pulled out a black marker and started to draw on the map revealing the pentacle, and then several smaller markings outside the pentacle, marking it with sigils.

“Here,” she said confidently, snapping the cap onto her marker. “Those are the points we should check. I’m betting that she had to summon those yōkai in or around those spots in order to do this.”

She pointed to the spots of origin for each of the yōkai. “There are probably hidden sigils that look like these in these areas. We should send people to investigate.”

“What does that even mean,” Sam asked, looking over the map sharply.

“If my divination is right — and it’s never wrong — there was an indication of possible apocalypse. A star that hasn’t been seen in a millennium.” She caught the gazes of the two men and said firmly, “The harbinger of fate and doom, the nue, is going to be born if we don’t stop the Baku soon.”

She stretched her neck out, closing her eyes, and ignoring Bobby’s sharp inhalation and low-level cussing, while Sam was confused.

“Yep,” she added. “And the only two who can stop that shit are upstairs getting all melancholy and weepy as fuck.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” came from the fake-sleeping lump at the end of the desk.

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Kyuubi: If you watch anime, you may know this word from Naruto. It means "9 tails." That's it.

Kitsune reminder: They grow new tails as they age, although 9 is the general limit.

Akio v. Gabriel: To clarify, Akio is Gabriel's Japanese name, which means he can be summoned by it. He doesn't like that.
Cherry-boy: Male virgin in Japanese. Not very nice.
JAPANESE TRANSLATION: I don't think it's a lie. (Informal. Just in case you missed it.)

SPN J2 BigBang 2015 - Dreameater (Destiel) 6/9

animediva — Sat, 11 Jul 2015 01:37:19 GMT

End of Week Five

Castiel

For a full week, Gabriel took over night duty, refusing to hear anything different from Castiel. Although Castiel was grateful, he missed his personal time with Dean in his dreams. Admittedly, Dean did still hug him in his second form, patted his head, or scritched behind his neck, but it wasn’t the same. At all.

He tried not to sulk about it because Gabriel would tease him endlessly for it. He already had had to endure a full week of smirks and chuckled, “Gen, is it?” His faint protestations had been ignored. His glares had failed to shut the fox up. Not even biting Gabriel’s tiny fox tail had done enough to discourage him from teasing: “Dean misses Gen, y’know?” and “Dean keeps talking about this mysterious Gen!”

Castiel wanted to punch him so badly.

Instead, he kept to his healing process, going out to the river to recuperate his spiritual purity (Ha! Not with those desires running through his head!), watching Dean and Gabriel practice, and making Dean food occasionally.

He was also looking forward to meeting the much talked about Sam, who Dean had finally called. Sam had bitched at Dean until Dean just hung up the phone to make him stop. Later, when Dean received a message from him, he had grumbled, although he had a tiny smile.

It seemed Sam had decided to tie up his midterms and come back to help.

After a week, with the imported help, the situation had improved somewhat. Pastor Jim had shown up with a few disciples, and they were using their skills as exorcists to at least banish the corpse-eating ghosts. That, at least, was a mild relief, but they couldn’t do much more. The yōkai just didn’t respond to their prayers or chants like they did their own homegrown ones.

To boot, they had not caught the kijo, the ogress having taken up residence somewhere near Bear Mountain. She had taken to picking off unfortunate hikers, and warnings about a rabid bear were not as effective as they should have been. A team had been sent to find her, at least, if not take her down.

And while the kappa pack had been taken care of (throwing cucumbers at them worked well as distractions), one of the Korean shaman had been killed, and a member of the Chinese team severely injured taking down a onihitokuchi, a large demon with a huge, stretchy mouth — like a python unhinged its jaw — that devoured women in just one bite. The fellow had tried to rescue the woman it had caught, and his hand had gotten chomped off in the process. To say he was bitter was putting it lightly, but he had refused to go home. He mostly stayed in the war room (AKA: Bobby’s office) and helped with translations until he was okayed to go back into the field. With the healing help of the shaman, it was actually sooner than anyone would have thought.

Thanks to the injuries and unfortunate loss, Bobby had desperately put the word out for Mandarin-speaking hunters to call in. It was getting tight because it all hinged on belief, and too many hunters were atheists by nature. Even worse, conventional methods (iron, salt, holy water) only slowed yōkai down a bit. Because it took magic or ritual tools got rid of them, they needed believers and they needed masters of banishment. It was a mess.

Before he headed back to Sioux Falls, Bobby had called Sam too, and told him to find some Shintoists from some of the California shrines because it was getting down to the wire. He also contacted the two master Onmyōji he knew — one in San Francisco and one in New York — because all the other “Ying-yang masters” were just Feng Shui charlatans who would just get eaten in their hemp hipster clothes. When they needed to know where to stick a mirror to fend off bad luck, they’d find one of the asses. The one in San Fran, however, refused to come. Thankfully, the one in New York needed only a few days to get things prepared.

At least, Castiel thought, that was a relief. Getting help from people familiar with the creatures, even in theory, was better than having to explain it every single time. He already had to do that with Dean, and doing it several times would have been a strain on his currently limited reserves of patience. Bobby already knew a lot of the information, at least, and, if not, he had Ichiren-Bozu to consult.

Not that it mattered, because Bobby was basically stuck in the house coordinating teams of roaming hunters, giving them information on how to kill whatever they came across, and making sure no one got too hurt. Ichiren-Bozu was spending most of his time in front of the tiny electronic thing that got Interwebbing or something, and was glued to it by watching hours and hours of something called Fulu or Netflocks. Castiel wasn’t sure. But when he tried to get him to move, there was a lot of cussing from the bead, and bitching about, “It’s Breaking Bad! I can’t just walk away now!” and a bit about “I have to catch up with The Walking Dead! Everyone’s talking about it!”

It was a language that Castiel had no notion of, although he could blame Dean, since he had put together a 'list' of things Ichiren-Bozu had to watch.

To his bemusement, Dean, Gabriel, and Ichiren-Bozu would then talk about zombies and someone named Walter with as great enthusiasm while Dean, at least, ate a meal. Castiel sat in one of the opposite chairs, as his second form — the one he was basically in all the time now — was too big to just sit on the table. He tried to pay attention to the conversation but it was difficult. He didn’t know who this Norman Reedman (or whatever) was, but he did have a spike of jealousy when Dean praised him roundly, and talking about how he was so cool with his crossbow. Basically each word of Dean's admiration grating on Castiel’s already tender nerves, especially when he had no real way of getting reassurance from the man.

It didn’t help that Gabriel and Ichiren-Bozu just sat at the table and smiled knowingly at him while Dean prattled on about this Norman guy’s character, and how awesome the guy’s arms looked all the time, especially in his cut off vests and glistening with sweat. If Castiel had had teeth, he would have ground them in frustration. Or perhaps he just needed to kill Gabriel and Ichiren-Bozu both. And bury them. Under a pile of cow dung.

It was while he was contemplating perhaps owning a fox-skin rug with a bead accessory that the door banged open and a surreally huge young man stepped in the backdoor. He looked a few inches taller than the already gigantic-seeming Dean, and his long chestnut-brown hair was pulled behind his ears. He looked around for a moment, while Dean crowed, “SAMMY!” before he lunged out of his seat. This, of course, was a poorly-thought out action, as he caught his shirt on the table somehow, and tumbled — head over feet — over the seated Gabriel.

Gabriel yelped, and tried to catch him as Dean head-dived over his shoulder; but the bad luck and Dean’s momentum was too much, and he started to fly head first into the linoleum. Castiel threw himself underneath, knowing he was currently sort of weak and probably unable to hold up Dean's weight, and praying his feathers would at least soften the blow. Which they might have, but it also helped that Sam apparently had mighty, far reaching arms that managed to catch most of Dean’s weight before he completely crashed into Castiel. There were a few undignified “unff!s” and another yelp from Gabriel as Dean’s knee beaned him in the eye. It was then just a lot of low swearing as the pile of creatures realized they were in a dog-pile on the kitchen floor with Castiel basically on the bottom. Castiel shoved at Dean’s head when he heard him chuckle, “Dog-pile on the birdy!”

Bastard. Why did he even worry about him?

Then the green-eyed man smiled at him from his upside-down position, stroking a line down his beak, and Castiel forgot everything he had ever known his entire tengu life.

Ichiren-Bozu’s cough from the table made Castiel tear his eyes away from Dean, and he found himself actually in Sam’s lap, close to his chest, the man having slid into place like it was into homebase to stop Dean from hurting himself. Somehow, after Dean had touched his beak, Castiel had slowly moved backwards, ignoring the fact he had backed into the younger Winchester. Meanwhile Dean was hanging partially off the chair, since Gabriel had had the common sense to catch Dean’s feet as he fell, leaving Dean half in the air, his shoulders being gripped by his brother, and face-to-face with a now-mortified Castiel.

Castiel flushed red when he heard Gabriel say, “Are they eye fucking again? Is that’s what’s going on? Ichi, please tell me that the reason they aren’t getting off of me is not because they are eye fucking.”

Ichi responded with a snickering, “Oh, yeh. Definitely that.”

While Sam looked completely confused and Dean swore at Gabriel and Ichiren-Bozu, Castiel was plotting their deaths. Painful deaths. Humiliatingly painful deaths. Possibly to do with zombies.

Dean

Dean was well aware that Samuel Winchester was an enchanting young man. He could tell that Cas enjoyed speaking to him. After all, he was bright and inquisitive, asked interesting questions and wrote down things he thought were important. Sam also liked to read history books and old literature, and he and Cas ended up talking to him for a few hours before Dean couldn’t stand the low-stirring jealousy in his guts.

He walked in on them having some discussion about the some musty old capital of Japan, and Dean couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose in disgust. He walked up behind Sam, who was so engrossed he didn’t notice, and slapped two hands on his shoulders. Hard.

Sam yelped, and Dean grinned down at him, all while maneuvering himself out of grabbing distance of those Sasquatch arms. Cas was watching him with curious eyes, his humungo-bird form slightly ruffled at the interruption, even as Dean sidled closer to him.

“Hey, nerd, aren’t you supposed to be picking up those Japanese folks from the motel about now?”

Sam started and checked the time on his phone. “Oh, shit. Yeah. Let me go get them in a bit. I just want to finish this talk with Castiel here…”

Not really thinking about it, Dean grinned as he scooped Cas out of the chair and hugged him close to his chest, Cas letting out a protesting squawk.

“My giant-ass bird,” he said, walking backwards and carrying Cas away like he was a pet dog. A very large pet dog. In a pom-pommed sash and wooden sandals. “Go find your own!”

Sam frowned and shook his head. “You’re such a jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean said, sticking out his tongue and took Cas into the kitchen. He set the very-ruffled Cas down on the chair and started to make dinner. In his giangator-bird form, his facial expression were easier to read, and right now it was confused annoyance. Dean just grinned at him, winking as he pulled out pots and pans to prepare the meal.

“There was no need to be rude if you required company in the kitchen,” Cas said petulantly.

“That wasn’t rude,” Dean chuckled, pulling out a cutting board. “That’s how Sam and I show love.”

More confusion ran across Cas’s face, and Dean laughed lightly. He did like ruffling Cas’s feathers.

Dean pulled out a huge package of ground beef, but since it was something for all the people coming in, Cas advised him to go veggie. And, although he wrinkled his nose in disgust, Dean started to make vegetarian spaghetti for twenty people, muttering that he was glad he had prepared for this by going to Costco and buying in bulk. There was a companionable silence between them while Dean chopped garlic and green peppers, and he finally broke the silence by asking, “Cas, are you okay?”

This startled Cas, who had just been watching Dean with quiet interest. “Eh?”

Dean kept his eyes on his knife work, chopping up mushrooms and fresh tomatoes as well. “I know you’re using a lot of your power to heal me, but… I overheard Gabe saying you were going to be downsized if you survived.”

Castiel didn’t respond, and Dean sensed he wasn’t sure what he could say. Damn magical birds and their magical bird secrets!

Dean moved to the carrots, onions, and fresh basil, his cutting hand fast. He continued. “Gabe said I should ask Gen — uh...the dream dude — but I wanted to talk to you first.”

He should have known that he couldn’t divide his attention while using a knife. As he brought the knife down on the carrot, his fingers slipped on the knife, and he cursed as he knew what was coming: the tip ripped through his hand between his thumb and forefinger, making him hiss. He dropped the knife with a clatter and grabbed a nearby towel, trying to stop the bleeding.

Cas immediately came over and looked. He also hissed at all the blood and dragged a chair to the sink, motioning at Dean.

“Your bad luck,” he grumbled, his luminescent eyes dimmer with sadness. Cas turned on the water and made sure it was cool. He then pulled Dean’s hand over, and into the water. Dean watched Cas catch himself cooing piteously as he wiped over the cut with his feathers, sweeping his healing energy into Dean, and felt the heat from his bird blush from standing so closely.

Dean cleared his throat softly to get Cas’s attention, and, when he looked up, Dean felt those azure eyes were focused on him. There was something about those eyes that reminded him of bright dream skies and a dark-haired man. Without thinking, Dean used his other hand to stroke under Cas’s beak with a gentle knuckle, nearly coaxing a purr out of him.

“Talk to me, Cas,” he said softly, sincerely.

If Dean had been privy to Cas’s inner turmoil, he would have rethought his actions. Because it was times like this that Castiel had problems remembering he was an honorable tengu. That he had lived for hundreds and hundreds of years. It was how he found himself again, despite being in his secondary form, rearing back and hissing soundlessly at Dean. He even (lightly) pecked at Dean’s finger, making him shriek, before forcing a transformation that hurt enough to make him stagger, and flying upstairs where he knew the window was open.

He made it to Gabriel’s grove before the pain of maintaining the transformation brought him down. He landed hard, forced into his true form, and curled on his knees, wrapping his wings around himself. If he sobbed into the soft earth, only the river heard him.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Dean stared at his hand where Cas had pecked him.

That had not gone as he thought.

“What the everloving fuck?”

Sam

Although the food at dinner was lovely (and vegetarian), the atmosphere was definitely tense. It was to be expected when 18 people sensitive to emotions were seated in a room with a passionate man, who was currently sulking hard enough to make the world burn. So there was a lot of silence, awkward eye exchanges, and general discomfort, as if they had sat down at a family squabble no one wanted to even mention, lest it blow up. Like an oversized zit.

Of course, if asked, Dean Winchester, Aquarius and hunter extraordinaire, would swear he did not sulk. He was fine. Nothing was wrong.

They were halfway through dinner when Sam plucked up the courage to ask Dean a question. He received some slight encouragement from Bobby, seated at the other end of the table, in the form of a fork wave and eventually a glowering from under the baseball cap and a stabbing motion with the fork he took as “get a move on.” He coughed slightly, took a sip of water, and asked, “So, where’s Cas?”

Dean’s head whipped around to glare at him, something unfathomable on his face, and he snapped, “How the hell should I know?”

Dinner conversation, already somewhat strained, ground to a halt as Dean viciously attacked his noodles with his fork.

After a long and suffocating silence, just as conversation tentatively attempted to start up again, it was interrupted by Gabriel’s sudden appearance, causing a flurry of awkward leaping up and bowing to the honorable kitsune by the Asian practitioners.

This was also cut short by Gabriel’s growled, “You asshole!” And thereby Made Worse by his smacking Dean upside the head so hard, he face planted in his spaghetti. Gabriel had eyed the congregation, nodded acknowledgement, and walked out, leaving Dean wiping sauce out of his eyes and spitting out bits of carrot.

Overall, it was a weird meal.

//The sky was a stormy red, roiling with dark clouds. The air was too thick, too quiet. He looked around, and the pond was still a bit more than half full of violent water, but the cherry tree was down to maybe a third of the blossoms. He caught one as it fell and it turned to ash in his palm. He ground the ash into his palm with a stiff finger, and the scent of blood rose up to brush his nose.

He looked out over the landscape of grass, the stalks disturbingly still, and called out, “Gen? Gen, where are you?”

A bolt of lightning split the sky. Shadows played across the blood-red sky for a second, as the thunder rolled across his consciousness: a large winged-being was holding a ring-topped staff against a huge creature with a long nose. Off to the left, beyond his view, there was an ear-splitting roar, and Dean watched as a huge white, nine-tailed fox disappeared into the clouds. Even as the fox vanished, another lightning bolt illuminated the battle again, showing shadows of the winged-being locked in fierce battle against the long-nosed one, the lightning sending off tendrils of light in every direction. There was a pain-filled keen that just played over the bellow of triumphant. Then, there was a bulge for a moment in the sky, and then a silver-white meteor flew free, bright against the darkness.

Dread lined his belly as he watched it fall to earth, and he whispered, “Cas,” without realizing it. He started to run in the direction of the meteor’s fall. He ran and ran, the lightning overhead still blazing light into the sky, the vision of a fox and the creature duking it out, all claws and teeth. He realized that it was the Baku against Gabriel, and the Baku looked to be losing ground.

He wished himself closer to the meteor somehow, and (in the way of dreams) he found himself there, just beyond the crash site. His breath caught in his throat as smoke streamed steadily from the hole, the stench of burning flesh and feathers polluting his nose. He could see giant black wings were sticking out of the scorched hole, not moving. He ran forward, to see if he could help, not paying attention to himself as he yelled, “Cas!” again and again.

He stumbled head first into some sort of invisible wall, falling backwards onto his ass. Stunned, he got onto his knees and pressed his hands against it. He was prevented from moving closer by some sort of barrier. He pushed at it, and it was a bit malleable, but not enough he could push through. He battered against it with his human hands, yelling, “Cas! Cas!!”

The wings twitched as the creature pushed himself up, the bright white clothing now black with ash, mud, and blood, hanging torn and ragged off the thin frame. His hair had come loose and it was lying on his shoulders in dark waves, while black soot marred that perfect face, making the luminescent blue eyes sudden look surreally, incandescently neon blue. There was blood on his pale lips, and it faintly bubbled, while his nose looked broken. As he pushed himself up, it became obvious there was a huge and deep gash in his side that looked like it was from claws. Part of his right wing was missing at the bottom, some of his primaries gone in what looked like a bite, and it made him hiss and stagger as he tried to stand, looking used to having those appendages help him balance. He awkwardly bent to retrieve his staff, the golden rings and sharpened tip also covered in blood, while wooden pole had obvious teeth and claw marks in it.

“Dean,” he croaked, trying to shield his face by looking away, and leaning heavily on the staff. “Get away from here! Go back to the pond! It’s safer!”

Dean kept pounding on the barrier. “You’re hurt! Don’t make me leave you like this, damn it! Don’t make me leave you! Damn it, Cas!”

The tengu’s eye grew wide and terrified, even as he gasped and grasped his side where blood poured out.

Above them, there was a deafening roar from the fox and a squeal of agony and Gen looked up towards the sky, his wings tense on his shoulders.

“Get back to the pool,” he commanded tersely. “I cannot protect you here. Go back!”

“God damn it, I can take care of myself! And you’re hurt! Don’t you leave me here!”

Supernaturally blue eyes glowed hot as he glared at Dean. In a deep voice that rattled Dean to his bones, Gen bellowed, “Go back! NOW!”

He couldn’t hide his wince as he raised his wings, or the wobble in his take off as he flew back into battle, holding his staff before him. Dean’s fists stopped and went flat against the barrier. “

Don’t leave me here,” he whispered, slipping to his knees and knocking his forehead against the barrier. “I don’t want to be alone…”//

Dean

Dean awoke with a terrified gasp. He looked around the still-darkened room and panicked when he couldn’t find Cas.

Although they had had… whatever that was? A fight? Cas had still been sitting quietly on Dean’s bed when he went to sleep. Apologies were not given. Excuses were not made. Dean had simply gone to bed with Cas sitting like a stuffed bear in the corner of his bed by his feet.

He leaped out of bed, feeling the anxiety building inside. If Cas wasn’t on the bed, if he wasn’t in the room, then where was he?

For some reason, his mind went to Gen, battered and torn from battle, and he swallowed hard. He stuck his head out the window, but there was nothing out there but the first fingers of dawn crawling over the horizon.

Panic iced his veins for a moment, as he wondered if he had been abandoned again? He only had vague memories of Mary to cling onto, most of the concrete ones burned away with his childhood. John had deserted him in his absurd quest for vengeance, and even his moose of a brother had left him for the normalcy of college. Bobby hadn’t left him, but it wasn’t quite the same as having his brother with him. For a moment, he wheezed out his panic as it clenched around his lungs, not having realized how he had grown accustomed to Cas’s constant presence in his life.

He ran downstairs, not evening caring if he woke Bobby or that floppy-hair girl out of bed when he tripped over the hall rug and scraped his knee. He just jumped up and ran into the kitchen.

No Cas.

In desperation, he threw on some rainboots Bobby kept by the door (there was water in the bottom of the boots, but he just dumped them out and winced at the wet) and ran out to Gabriel’s grove.

There was nothing but the sound of the river, and no one to be found.

He ground his teeth and stomped back to the house (slipping on the mud and whacking his elbow on a tree), thinking spitefully about how many ways he was going to kill that fucking bird when he got back for worrying him.

He made coffee as he tried to keep it together (even when the coffee tin tipped over), and ran upstairs to take a shower because there was no way he was going to sleep until he knew where Cas was. He was used to the hot water running out mid-shampoo and didn't let it bother him.

When Bobby and Sammy finally came downstairs, bleary eyed and tired, he ignored them and their complaints about his running about. Bobby even made a snide remark how he was impressed Dean hadn’t died running around like a maniac.

Dean disregarded them and, his hands clenching and unclenching, he uttered, “Cas is gone.” The incredulous look on Bobby’s face and the worried look on Sam’s did nothing to ease his distress.

“I… I had a dream where he was severely hurt and…”

He swallowed hard and tried not to tear up, missing the look Sam and Bobby exchanged.

“And…” He continued gamely, “I couldn’t help him. He… he wouldn’t let me.”

The tension in Dean’s shoulders and the torment on his face stopped both men from saying anything sarcastic. Bobby clapped Dean on the shoulder and made for the coffee machine with a simple, “He’s a tengu, Dean. He’s tougher than he looks.”

Sam frowned and asked, “Did you ask Gabe? He usually knows where Cas is?”

Dean leveled a look at Sam like “duh” and put out his palm, saying, “Ideyō!”

Nothing happened.

The familiar puff of smoke and the pop of his appearance didn’t happen.

Dean stared at his palm like it had betrayed him. Sam scooted around Dean to get to the coffee machine, and murmured comfortingly, “I’m sure they’ll be back soon, Dean. I mean, if they’ve been in a battle, they might need some time to recover.”

Dean turned blank eyes on Sam and Bobby and replied, “Sure. I bet you’re right.” He smiled slightly and walked back upstairs, only stubbing his toe once.

He threw himself back on his bed and, putting his hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling. He didn’t even know what he had done to make Cas freak out like that.

He wanted to know.

Gabriel’s Grove

“There’s only a friggin’ week of power left on the tree, Cassie. And look at you! You’re beat to hell! What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t! I was — I just reacted to his need! He was in danger, Gabriel! What was I supposed to do?”

“Well, I don’t know, but if you plan to take on the Baku while you’re at that level, you’re fucked, bro.”

“It’s fine. I wasn’t meant to be here. I wasn’t meant to meet him. I… I wasn’t meant to feel this way.”

“Hmmmm. You sure about that, little bro? The gods work in mysterious ways.”

“I so want to punch you right now.”

Castiel

Castiel was back by 10am, looking worn, but whole. It had taken a lot of Gabriel’s energy to help heal him up. The wound to his wing had been particularly grievous, and he worried that the patch job they had done wasn’t going to last. It only had to last a week, though, he thought defiantly. Just a week!

He was unprepared for Dean’s hugging him, which hurt like the devil in too many ways. He awkwardly patted Dean’s back, and thought he heard him mutter under his breath, “You blue-eyed bastard. Don’t do that again!”

Dean punched Gabriel, which only served to make him hurt hand. Gabriel watched him nurse his hand and wince, and pulled out his lolly with a loud pop. He smirked, “Helloooo! Immortal nine-tailed fox?”

Afterwards, they pretended none of it happened like good little hunters.

End of Week Six

Dean

It was a bad day.

Day 42, or the day he got beaned by a random baseball while walking into the house, was a bad day.

Most people would have put that down to being beaned in the head with a baseball, but this late in the game — what with the tripping, the nearly drowning, salt getting mistaken for sugar, his burgers always being overcooked, the consistent lack of hot water or, more so of late, too much hot water — he was used to the constant tolls on his body.

The training Gabe gave him helped get him used to balancing that lack in his body when they were in battle, but if Gabe wasn’t helping him out during his transformation, lending his power and, more importantly at this point, coordination, he’d have died three yōkai ago, and that last one, the kijo they finally tracked down, had been a monster. Fast, vicious, hungry, and cunning, it had taken him forever to get a bead on the bitch and chop off her head. That one was also weird because it required prayers to send the woman’s soul to Buddha or some shit. They explained it all, about the monster being a woman driven into yōkai-hood, but Dean didn’t care.

That didn’t save his bacon.

While Bobby had been out on gigs with Itchy-wren, Sam had taken over manning the phones, which was why Bobby made sure there was at least one native speaker on the teams because there was just some stuff that was hard to explain in just English.

The addition of the Shintoists had made a surprising difference, and more creatures had been banished than before. It was just, in the last two days, their advantage had gone tits up when a few of those guys had been picked off. Well, technically girls, since they lost two professional shrine chicks to whatever it was. Gabe said it was probably another onihitokuchi, what with there being no corpse left, no body, and generally no evidence. The Chinese group volunteered to take it on, the one-handed guard looking forward to killing another one in revenge.

But despite all that, the ironic 42nd day was the day he got beaned in the head with a baseball and was knocked unconscious.

//If he considered it rationally, Dean should have thought about the Baku’s appearance at some point, given his enjoyment of the busty Asian form. But he hadn’t considered it, because a monster was a monster, even if it was hot.

The monster, in this case, was not precisely hot, but she definitely had a banging shape under her dark gray yoga pants and little hot pink workout shirt. She wasn’t wearing shoes, but her toenails had been painted a matching hot pink.

Dean raised a brow. “Yoga pants?” He asked, definitely judging.

The Baku was not very tall, maybe five foot in height. Her hair was gorgeous, he had to admit, down to her waist and an inky black that most women couldn’t get without a bottle to move it along. Her eyes were deep brown, like peerless smoky quartz crystals, and they were beautiful in her classically Japanese face of epicanthic folds, short straight nose, and a round face. She had small pouting lips that were currently smirking at him.

Overall, for a monster that wanted to eat his soul and destroy humanity, she wasn’t bad looking. She was no peerless beauty, no Keiko Kitagawa, but more like that Asian MILF that young men daydreamed about because she seemed so accessible. Almost like Michelle Yeoh.

The Baku chuckled at him, walking towards him with that slightly pigeon-toed gait of women who wore wooden sandals a lot. Most American women would have looked ungainly, but she walked like she was dancing on her toes, sliding forward and almost slinking towards him, making it beautiful.

Some part of Dean wondered how much of this beauty was real, but it was outvoted by the rest of him that wanted to see her to that electric boogie slide forever.

“Well, you are Dean Winchester,” she said, her voice warm and sweet, like toffee on the tongue. “I apologize for interrupting your day, but I have about five minutes before your precious bird buddy shows up.”

“How did you even manage this,” He asked sharply. “Between Gen and Gabe, you shouldn't have been able to manage this.”

A sly smile twisted her rosy lips, and her eyes slide away from his, looking off to the side, as if she were looking at something. “Indeed. I was counting on your excruciating bad luck!”

She walked in close to him, half-bent over so she could give him a clear view of her cleavage, her hands together at the small of her back, she got on her tip toes and whispered, “I had an oni throw a baseball into the field of cars because the place is so well shielded! But a baseball… it has no real will.”

The Baku chuckled, spinning away and facing him again, and dancing forward a few steps to tease him. “I knew if he threw it towards you, it would hit you. You technically only have eleven days of luck left, after all.”

She smiled knowingly as he glared at her. She shrugged and moved in close enough to touch his shoulder with her palm. “You have that fucking tengu and his fox buddy helping you out, don’t you?” She grinned at him with tiny pearlescent teeth. “But that tengu is also almost on his last legs. He can’t protect you forever.”

She chuckled as he gritted out, “Blah blah blah. Can you just stop with the monologuing and do whatever you’re going to do, bitch?”

She shook her head and said, “My name here is Eve.” Then she grinned wildly, her face joyous, and her hand turning into a claw, “And I’m here to eat your luck!”

Dean felt the blow distantly, the pain of his dream body being penetrated nothing compared to the absolute pain of his luck being forced out in bulk. It felt like someone was taking a fiery filleting knife to his innards, slicing through his guts like they were so much chum.

“Get away from him, you bitch!”

The clawed hand digging around his dream-body like a kid looking for the prize in a cereal box popped out of him blood red and holding a chunk of something that was soft and spongy, like a liver, but a swirling, foggy blue. She turned her grin on the interrupter, and snarled, “Too late, tengu!”

Through the disembodied pain, he saw Cas transform from his giant bird form to a familiar human form with giant wings on his back. Distantly, he thought, “Cool,” before passing out in his dream.

Just as he did, he heard a panicked, “Dean!”//

Dean

Dean came to with a pained gasp, his body doubling up and blood bubbles frothing from his mouth. He screamed, “AH, THAT BITCH!”

Gabe was holding him, and, next to him, Cas’s giant bird body was also coming to. Dean heard a low, “I was too late. She took most of it.”

Gabe sucked in a breath, and, as the pain split his body, he heard Sam asked in a panic, “What does that mean? Why is he in so much pain when it was just a dream?”

Cas’s sad voice replied, “She stole most of the rest of his luck. Now both Gabe and I will be forced to support him more, since, without luck, he could die any moment.”

“Ungh!” Dean grabbed at Gabe’s blue shirt, and growled, “I… dude… I— I can’t keep it together. I’m gonna pass out…”

Gabe slapped him and Dean howled. “Dean, if you go under, we don’t know if we can protect you without your having any luck.” He paused a moment and said, “But...we will be there. Go ahead. We’ve got you this time.”

Dean hissed with the pain. “Did you just fucking slap me for no reason?” Sam’s consoling hum made him angrier. “I— HOLY SHIT, THAT HURTS!” The sharp pain around the spot the clawed hand had entered got worse for a moment and he curled around his stomach.

“I— I need Cas,” he pleaded. “Where is he?”

A pair of beady bright blue eyes came into view. “Dean?”

“C...Can you fix this?”

Cas shook his head. “I don’t know. With Gabe to help me, we will refill it with some of our energy, but that...that may have some weird effect.”

Dean gasped, “Will it hurt?”

Cas tilted his head. “No, it shouldn’t.”

He grabbed the bird with one hand as he started to hack up blood again. “Then god damn it, do it! Side effects be damned!”

Gabe muttered, “That’s what they all say until the side effects actually kick in.”

But Cas, who had recently kept his distance from him, stroked Dean’s face with his wing-fingers and said, “I understand.”

“I am so killing that Baku,” Dean gritted out before the pain got the better of him and he passed out.

<< PREVIOUS CHAPTER Next Chapter >>

Norman Reedman: AKA- Norman Reedus. I actually know very little about the man. I don't watch The Walking Dead.

Vegetarianism: Most followers of Buddhism and Shintoism are (or should be) vegetarian. In Japan, there is actually a whole style of Buddhist monk cooking called shojin ryori (精進料理).

Michelle Yoeh v. Linda Tran (AKA: Lauren Tom): Because Dean and them haven't met them yet in this story.

SPN J2 BigBang 2015 - Dreameater (Destiel) 5/9

animediva — Sat, 11 Jul 2015 01:28:24 GMT

//The pool was notably lower than it had been. Like a lake that was usually flush with water being struck by drought, he could see the water level had definitely dropped now.

Curious, he kneeled by the pond’s side and dipped a hand in. The water was not precisely cold, but more, like, invigorating. He brought his tingling fingers to his lips, and the water tasted incredibly sweet yet electric, making his lips subtly numb.

As he watched the surface, the ripples his fingers had created were overcome by larger, angrier waves. They were coming from several directions now, but seemed to point towards one spot.

A cool, narrow hand touched his shoulder from where he knelt, and he looked up into eyes that glowed faintly like the crystal blue skies. “I am pleased that you succeeded so well in your first serious hunt.”

Dean covered the hand with his own and smiled up at him. “I hardly did anything. It was mostly Gabe.”

Gen kneeled next to him, and touched his face with his cool fingers. “Gabriel can only assist you. You are already a warrior.” He tilted his head slightly and smiled. “A hero,” he added.

Dean felt the dream-blush all the way to his ears. “I was just talking shit.”

Gen frowned. “I do not understand what fecal matter has to do with being a hero.”

Dean couldn't help it. He started laughing. He laughed and his diaphragm reminded him curtly that they might be talking, but they weren’t quite friends yet. “Jesus Christ, Cas! Don’t make me laugh!”

The young man next to him stiffened suddenly, and Dean blinked at him, seeing how the pale skin had, somehow, paled a bit more. The pink lips were even lighter, and were thinned with worry. He didn’t know what he had said to fuck things up, but he figured that, at this point, he might as well go for it.

Leaning forward, he caught Gen by surprise and kissed him lightly. Those blue eyes flew wide and he looked startled, like a bird about to take flight.

“Please,” somehow came out of Dean’s mouth and, again, the frightened look flickered over Gen’s face before he moved in closer and touched his lips to Dean’s.

The touch was tentative, as if he had not kissed in a very long time, and it made Dean want more, want to taste more of that mouth. HIs tongue slid tentatively along the seam of Gen’s mouth and Gen opened under him and he was finally, after weeks of dancing around his desire, kissing Gen!//

Dean

Dean was, again, breathing hard. Gabriel was looking down at him with narrowed gold eyes, his face set into impassive lines. At this point, Dean was just trying to breathe and avoid passing out.

He pushed back sweaty hair off his forehead, thinking randomly he needed a haircut, and focused again on not collapsing to his knees. Last time he had done that, Gabriel had attacked him from behind and left a nice set of claw marks that had sent him reeling into the dirt in pain.

The training sessions had been brutal. Gabriel was relentless and exacting. Dean hated jogging, and Gabe made him do that every day now to improve his breathing. He was forced into “core strengthening” exercises, whatever that was, thanks to Gabe’s love of late night infomercials.

He was also forced to meditate and focus on his damn chakras.

“Imagine the energy flowing through them like a waterfall, lighting up each ball of light in turn,” Cas would murmur at his side in his big bird form.

Cas liked meditation.

Dean just wanted to stab things.

To make matters worse, every day Gabriel counted on Castiel’s ability to heal Dean in order to push him to the edge, and then they would set off hunting at night. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been. People were catching on that there was something seriously wrong going on. More and more people were heading home earlier in the day and locking all doors and windows.

And, still, people were found dead all over town: people were complaining that they couldn't sleep, couldn’t dream. The hospitals were full and the doctors’ offices were overrun with people losing their minds from the sleep deprivation. There had been a rash of suicides, a higher than usual murder rate, and too many people just locking themselves indoors to avoid the world and self-medicating. The schools were slowly emptying as teachers and students alike were bitter and bitchy, everyone snapping at the slightest provocation.

Meanwhile, the number of yōkai had quadrupled, meaning Dean never got a night off. He, Gabe, Cas, and Bobby were all exhausted by the endless hunts for kappa, oni, bakeneko, and countless others. Bobby had taken to carrying his Shinto gear, only knocking Dean upside the noggin for saying his banishing chant made him sound like a grumpy Sailor-Moon knockoff. But then Bobby didn’t know Sailor Mars was also a shrine maiden thingy, with all that natural magic whatnot. With crows even.

Yeah, he watched that anime, no shame. Anime was an art form.

But even Dean had to admit Bobby and Cas were more useful at banishing vengeful Japanese ghosts (the jikininki were just gross — ghosts eating dead people, what? — and onibi were hard to hit because they were basically just ghosts that liked to get close to humans and suck their life force out) than he and Gabe were, what with the chanting and the waving of objects. Although Bobby and his stick with his zigzag papers (like a small pompom of them) was much funnier to watch than Cas with his little ringing staff that set off small circles of shockwaves around them.

Cas was one bad motherfucker, Dean had to admit. Even Gabe had to give it to him, when it came to banishing spirits and not just eating or killing them. (It was a mystery what Gabe did with the vengeful ghosts he caught, until Dean caught him chewing on a jikininki’s leftover leg like a dog with a treat.)

Overall, the ones that pissed him off the most were the fucking black specter dogs (Cas called them okuri-inu) because they followed people waiting to see if they’d trip and thanks to his low-luckitude, Dean always had like five or six of the little bastards just waiting for him to trip out in the edges of the shadows so they could eat him. If he did trip (which was quite often now), Gabe would often appear on his own and terrify them. Sometimes Bobby or Cas would exorcise them.

Either way, it was a pain in the ass.

But thanks to his losing life force and luck, his body got tired faster. He lost his breath so much quicker. He bruised and bled more. Even though Gabe pushed his limits every day, trying to boost his spiritual abilities and make it so his spirit and his fleshy bits cooperated better, his fleshy bits kept giving him the finger.

“Gabe, I — I seriously don’t know what all this mock battling with you is going to improve,” he gasped out as he staggered to his feet. Gabe was a fast little bastard and he often popped out a tail to snag Dean’s leg out from under him. Too often, it ended with Dean on his back, leaving angels in the dirt.

Gabe grinned at him, all pointy teeth and simmering mischievous eyes, not even bothering to pretend to give him a hand up. “You’ll see, Dean-o! Your reaction time is actually getting better and you’re lasting a bit longer.” He shrugged. “I mean, not a lot longer. Let’s just say you’re a work in progress.”

He slapped Dean across the shoulder solidly, and Dean swallowed the yelp that tried to make it past his lips.

“You’re doing awesome, bucko!” Gabe sauntered away, pulling a Chupa Chup out of wherever he kept them and sticking it in his mouth as he went.

There was a flutter and the feel of wings on his shoulder. “Don’t mind him, Dean. You are improving at an amazing rate.”

He paused and flew off Dean’s shoulder to do his nerdy bird laugh. “For a human with more spirit than brains.”

“I swear to GOD, Cas, I might not be able to get one in on Gabe, but I will smack you into Chinese New Year!”

Cas tilted his head and a sad amusement oozed off him for a moment, making Dean wonder what he had said. “Indeed, I would like to see you do that.”

He fluttered down, the familiar pop meaning he was in his big bird size, and he looked up at Dean, offering his wing-hand. Now, Dean shrugged and took the smooth, soft feathers in his hand as they returned to the house. As they ambled in companionably, Dean muttered, “Fuck, I would kill for a nap.”

“Dea—”

Dean put out his free hand to stop the comment. “I know I can’t , Cas,” he grumbled irritably. “It doesn’t mean I can’t want to.”

Cas didn’t reply and, once inside, Dean went to take a shower, leaving Cas in the kitchen.

Castiel & Gabriel

Castiel pulled open some cabinets, pulling out a few things, and gritting his beak when the shelves were just a smidgen out of reach. He was just about ready to start swearing when a hand reached over his head and handed him the tin of coffee.

Gabriel smirked down at him in his human form, and said, “What ya doing there, Cassie? Playing wifey?”

Castiel felt the heat surge over his feathered face, something he knew Dean and Bobby couldn’t spot, but Gabriel was something else.

“He… he expressed a desire to nap. When he is tired, he likes to drink coffee,” he mumbled. He took the tin between his wing-hands, trying to hide it, and shuffled sideways, away from Gabriel. “I… I just thought to be useful.”

Gabriel eyed the loaf of sliced bread, the mustard, and the plate that Castiel had also pulled down. “I see. And the rest is for you?” He asked sarcastically as he watched Castiel pull over a chair so he could reach the faucet and coffee machine.

Castiel’s wing-hands trembled a little as he tried to measure out the proper amount of water and coffee grounds. “He’s probably hungry,” he tried nonchalantly, “Humans do that.”

Castiel paused mid-water pouring when he felt Gabriel bracket him from behind, the fox’s human hands white-knuckling from their grip on the counter’s edge.

“You can’t do this, Cassie. If you’re caught, you’ll be eliminated. You’ll be kicked down the totem pole so far, you’ll be the point stuck in the dirt.”

He leaned in so Castiel was eye to eye with him. “They’ll strip you down to just mindless feathers again. You must not fall in love with him,” he said sotto voce.

Castiel turned back and finished putting the water and grounds in the machine like he had seen Bobby do so many times now. He flicked the on switch and turned to face Gabriel.

“I know that,” he said tersely, staring to those golden eyes that kept flickering between a fox’s and a human pupil.

“And?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes and pushed his way under Gabriel’s arm. “It’s not your concern.”

He made the sandwich while Gabriel watched, carefully remembering how Dean liked it: lightly toasted white bread so it wasn’t too soggy; a bit of mustard on the top, a bit of mayo on the bottom; two slices of tomato; three slices of ham because, as he said, if he might die any minute, why go cheap on the deli meats? He left it on a plate, and glared at Gabriel.

“Please make sure he gets that. Humans need to eat to keep up their strength.”

Quietly, Gabriel asked, “Are you sure, Cassie? If you don’t die with Dean-o there, you’re gonna get downsized to a feathery cross guard.”

Although the humans might have missed the tiny smile Castiel was wearing, Gabriel could see it. “Either way, it’s what I want, Gabriel. I won’t regret it.”

A small pop and a rolling “rah” later, Castiel had flown out to Inari knew where, leaving Gabriel staring at a sandwich and thinking harder than he generally liked to. “So fucking stubborn,” he grumbled as he pulled out another Chupa Chup. “I don’t know where he gets it.”

There was a creak behind him and Dean’s head popped around the doorframe. “Is he gone?”

Gabe eyed him speculatively. “If you mean Cassie, he’s gone to commune with his higher power or something.”

Dean shook his head at him. “Dude, you’re such a douche. Can’t you just give me a straight answer?”

“Hmm… about as straight as your sexuality,” he grinned, his sharp teeth loudly crunching through the sweet hard candy.

Dean sneered. “And what do you know about my sexuality? I’ve only ever slept with women.”

Gabe just smiled at him, popping a new lollipop into existence and tugging off the wrapper with two practiced fingers. “Perhaps. Or perhaps we should talk about your nocturnal emissions problem?”

Dean scowled. “What are you even talking about? What nocturna...whatevers?”

Gabriel leered. “I mean the vision of a dark-haired young man with blue eyes.” Gabe tried not to chuckle when Dean flinched.

“I see you know who I’m talking about.”

Dean sighed and slid into a chair. “First of all, what’s this about Cas getting downsized?”

Gabe scrutinized Dean’s face for a long moment, making Dean squirm a bit (bonus), but in the end he said, “It’s not my secret to tell. You’re going to have to talk to Cassie.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I know you knew I was right there, listening in!”

“Actually, I was aware of when you got into range of overhearing us. Cassie was too. That means that he wasn’t saying anything that you couldn’t hear, but he left quickly, so I’m guessing he didn’t want to get questioned.”

Dean threw up his hands in frustration. “Well, ain’t that just grand?”

Gabe grinned at him suddenly, all pointy teeth, his tail popping out to wag with suspiciously gleeful speed. “Y’know, you could always ask tall-dark-and-handsome of your dream.”

Confused, Dean asked, “What? Who? Gen?”

Pure mischievous delight lit up Gabe’s face like a giant Christmas tree, and Dean swore lowly. Gabriel knew it was because he knew he had done fucked up.

“What did I just say? Because I recognize that look. That’s the look Sam gets when I fuck up and he’s going to never forget about it until one of us dies, maybe not even then.”

Gabriel gleamed at him. “Gen is it? Is that right? Is that what he told you?”

Dean gave up, his face an embarrassed scowl. “I don’t remember his whole name. Gen is all that I recall.”

Gabriel grinned unpleasantly, although he eventually caught the guarded expression on Dean’s face, and pointed at the table. “He made you a sandwich and some coffee.” He turned the digit on Dean. “Appreciate it! A holy creature made you a snack!”

And then he disappeared with a muffled pop.

Dean looked over the sandwich. It was just the way he liked it. He got a mug and poured out some coffee. One sip later and he was frowning because it was exactly like he liked it. He thought about what Gabe had said, and decided it wasn’t worth the effort.

But the sandwich was awesome.

Baku

The Baku was not as tired as when she first emerged, but she hadn’t eaten in a day, and her liberator was not sleeping as much as he had in the beginning. Now, she was not getting as much luck as she had before. And trying to get into his dreams to influence him further was nigh impossible. The fucking tengu (a proper human word for it) guarding him was a tough opponent, even as banged up as he got every night trying to preserve the human’s sleep. She shrugged. He would be hers sooner or later, and that glorified bird was also losing his power from all the battles.

For now, she could find an (What are they called? Oh yes!) apartment complex and slowly eat her fill as she walked down the stairs. It wasn’t her fault that so many of these new humans indulged in medications and potions, in liquor and smoked goods. Their minds were much more fragile. The demons they feared were not actual yōkai, but the ones their minds conjured from the past or present. The darkness of their hearts was as easy to pluck away as she had the man in the park's. Dark desires that only a few of them repressed, and that emerged like sickly grapes from their minds and souls, popping loose from the humans with sticky, wet sounds that made them cringe even in their sleep. She gorged herself nightly, stealing an apartment, a place to rest that overlooked the river from a young man who had dreams of killing his employer with short knives and ropes.

She had had the ghosts devour his corpse after he gouged out his eyes with his own fingers.

But not tonight. She did not gorge tonight. Too many humans were dying from her influence in the building and she liked it here, this new den.

Even now, as she stood on the balcony (they called it), listening to the rushing waters of the multiple tributaries, she could smell blood in the air as her creatures curled into the crevices left by faithless humans. Their God didn’t protect them; they didn’t really believe.

She had freed some kappa into the river, but the turtle-like creatures didn’t like how polluted it was and grew angry (and murderous) very quickly. The okuri-inu loved chaos, and those she had loosed in the parks and mountains of Sioux Falls without a thought, the specter dogs waiting for unwary, late-night travelers to trip and fall.

She had opened the way for the onibi and jikininki to feast on souls, bring her back half of their meals. She had freed Hari onago to feed on young men, but she and a handful of other creatures had been quickly dispatched by hunters, with the angry kappa having been dispatched very swiftly after their riverside rampages. (She was angry about her bakeneko, since she had liked the demon cat quite a bit.)

She had nearly acquired enough power to try and free a nue, which would help her power up faster, since they were bringers of bad dreams. She smiled cruelly; she was still the devourer of dreams, but now she also ate good dreams, desires, fears, hopes, wishes. She ate them all, leaving a blank slate where they used to group together and motivate the human mind and spirit. To add a nue to the chaos..?

She was looking forward to it.

There was a knock at her door, startling her. She looked to the glowing numbers that told the time and saw it was still early, only nine in the evening. She walked to the door, paused to make sure she was wearing clothes, and opened the door.

A small blonde woman stood there, her eyes going round. “Who the hell are you?” She snapped out.

Baku tilted her head quizzically, not sure what to make of the hostile tone, and replied mildly, “Eve. I am called Eve.”

“And where’s Jordan?” She pushed the Baku aside and dashed inside.

Eve thought about her options. She chose the one most humans seemed to think of first.

“He is not here,” she said slowly, painfully in this new human tongue. “I am house sitting.”

“House sitting?” The blonde woman squawked like an angry chicken. Her hair was short and curled around her ears smoothly. Her face was round, with a small nose and tiny bowed lips. Her eyes were big and brown, and, if she had not been imagining ways to strangle the truth out of Eve, rather lovely. She had an alarmingly large chest and broad hips that were entirely foreign to Eve, and she found herself taking a step back to get some distance from the intimidating glands.

Those eyes glared up at her (because she was actually shorter than Eve was) and she said in a shrill voice, “He never told me he was going anywhere! That’s not like him!”

Eve eyed the human. She was plump with all the food this country, this time period provided. Her bones were strong. She could well breed out a full brood with those hips. But she was related to the young man on whose bones the jikininki had fed, and those ethereal vultures left nothing if allowed alone with a fresh corpse. She didn’t seem, however, the sort to let it go.

“Look… what was your name again?”

Her glare narrowed a touch more. “Lynn. You’d know that if you’ve known my brother long enough to house sit.”

The Baku sighed and made a decision: she concentrated and started a low chant, her eyes on the woman, Lynn. Her concern for her family was nice, warming even, but Eve knew it’d bring nothing but trouble.

A small, foul wind kicked up in the apartment, swirling around the enclosed space and filling with the stench of rotted fruit; a chorus of tiny voices emerged from the walls, chittering manically, their unseen forms slithering under the wallpaper and even from the wooden floors. The lights flickered violently, leaving minute smoky shadows flapping like miniature bats around their light.

It was then that the woman Lynn suddenly realized the danger, her eyes darting towards all the odd creatures that were just out of her view. She tried futilely to swat at the smoky bat-shadows, shrieking, “What’s going on? Who are you?”

Eve couldn’t answer her. She usually did not have to force an invocation. The yōkai just came to her, lured by the scent of her presence and the temporary rip in the universal fabric from a holy creature polluting herself and destroying humans.

But now, she was doing it deliberately, forcibly tearing at the membrane that separated the worlds, reaching through the slit she’d made.

She pulled one forward, someone like herself, once pure and now twisted at the core. The last word fell from her lips while the Lynn woman, at last, tried to run, only to find the door locked. While the new yōkai worked to enter the human plane, the woman scrambled to defend herself, pulling a knife from the kitchen. The blonde creature closed her eyes and ran at Eve, only for the point and edge of the knife to skid off her skin, no damage done.

Not a holy weapon; not a problem.

Her shocked expression, however, was particularly amusing.

In desperation, the screeching woman locked herself in the bathing room, crying the human tears that they all did: the recognition death was coming for them and no one was going to help.

Then there came a vicious ripping sound, like a million bales of cloth being ripped at the same time, and a small explosion rocked the apartment, blowing out a few windows, and setting off alarms in the building.

Dispassionately, Eve noted the destruction, knowing she could no longer stay in the apartment. Or I can let her have her way and she will destroy them all.

The Baku held her ground in the large entry area, where the lounging furniture remained, watching idly as the yōkai shook free the viscous gray-green mucus that had come with her as she came into the human dimension, and hunger raged over her inhuman features.

“She” was a kijo, an ogress she had once met in the mountains of Kanto. The kijo’s skin was a sickly blue white, especially hard and mask-like over her face. Her otherworldliness was heightened by her completely yellow eyes narrowed with hate and her red lips twisted by bitterness.

Here, in this uncomfortably clean and open human habitation, even her short horns and long claws were not as out of place compared to the pure filth of her: the fouled and ragged kimono she had worn for centuries; the disheveled and blackened straw sandals on her muddy, clawed feet; her hair haggard and streaked with white from her anger and madness.

Eve touched the kijo’s face fondly and pointed her towards the human’s hiding place. “Eat her,” she said mildly. “And then you may feast as you will. Only, I get the souls.”

She turned her back on the kijo and looked outside. The streets were already filling with the sound of sirens and the low roar of humans panicking. She smiled.

“When there is enough, I will bring Hell to this earth.”

As she left, the shrill screams of the blonde woman Lynn were already fading in the din of the night.

End of Week Four

Bobby

Bobby was fucking exhausted, and, as a man who routinely stayed up for days at a time, that was saying something. He had forced Dean into bringing in a few other hunters who were good with incantations and at least vaguely familiar with Japanese lore to be helpful. That was fortunately a good fifteen hunters, with a few more coming in from farther out.

He was organizing them now in threes, sending out the Korean magicians with non-practitioners to make sure their backs were covered, while the Chinese shaman group was reluctant to share their methods and went out in their own group. Since it had taken him calling in a pile of favors and ending up in some favor-debt, he just let them be.

He’d pulled a few more favors with some of the Buddhists, but they didn’t like to work with others. They were, however, sending a few people to help out. If they didn’t show up soon, the city was going to be completely devoured by the yōkai before they even made it to the 108th day.

He had had no choice in calling in folks and adding to the red column of his “favors” ledger. He was beyond exhausted and now, a month in, and Dean was looking ragged, with Castiel not looking much better. Gabriel had forced them to do purification rituals every other night, if possible, but Castiel seemed to be getting weaker than Dean was.

When Bobby asked about it, all Gabriel would say was something about a constant battle on all sides.

It was alarming. Castiel rarely was in his regular bird form, keeping to his larger body until he needed to change, and the transformation seemed to be taking a lot of out him, if the short gasps and the staggering when he walked was any indication.

He had even handed over Ichiren-Bozu to Bobby, since he had the least spiritual power of the group and went after the tsukumogami the most often. And there were a lot of those little bastards: sandals, umbrellas, lamps, and all sorts of things just popping to life and terrorizing people.

The yōkai chaos in the city had gotten to the point that Jody had alerted the city cops to just call Bobby when something bizarre was going on. After a few deadly encounters, it became obvious this wasn’t something they were equipped to handle, because shooting the yōkai didn’t kill them: they just pulled themselves back together and attacked again. Rinse and repeat: night after night, the yōkai chased families and scared pets into comas.

Bobby told them fire worked, sometimes, but not often enough. And, really, his time pretending to be an FBI agent in Sioux Falls was right fucked. Unless all the cops died in this debacle, there was no way he was going to be able to do that again.

He grumbled about the situation, marking the map where he had sent the teams: by the Falls, there had been more kappa attacks; in the city, there were more ‘shadow dog’ attacks; in Downtown, there were yet again rumors of a serial killer eating young men, and Will-o-Wisps that killed by touching you.

He knew that Japanese counting about spiritual things tended to be a bit sketchy, but, what the fuck, there were way more than a hundred yōkai! He groaned as the police scanner announced there had been an explosion at an apartment complex and several people had been found dead and apparently partially eaten.

“I’m too old for this shit,” he groaned into his Irish coffee.

He blew out a heavy sigh and circled the address on the map, hollering, “Dean! Cas! Get down here!”

Dean slowly came down the stairs, very carefully holding the handrail. Three or four times of trying to stubbornly do without had resulted in sprained limbs and a nearly broken neck, and even Dean had to concede, without Gabe’s help, he was a living, breathing Jerry Lewis character.

His skin was paler than Bobby liked to see, with dark bruises under his eyes. He looked slightly shrunken in his well-worn Metallica t-shirt and faded jeans — all of which added to the illusion he was drying up — and just beyond tired.

He rubbed a rough hand through his hair (that also looked like it had faded a bit) and said, “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Where’s Cas?”

Dean pointed up. “He’s sleeping. He wasn’t looking too good, so I let him sleep.”

Bobby gritted his teeth. “Well, wake him up. You guys need to go check out an apartment building where people have been reported as ‘half-eaten.’”

Dean pressed his lips together and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Fuck. I’m so tired. Okay, let me go get Cas and we’ll head out there with Gabe.”

“It’s just an investigation Dean. We don’t know what’s causing it, so we don’t need to kill it.”

Dean waved the palm with the Chinese letters at Bobby, a painful smile on his face. “I’m always packed for shit-crazy, Japanese bear.”

“That’s not funny, Dean. I’d prefer it if you weren’t in the line of fire.”

Dean scoffed at that. “In the line of fire? I’m the damn target. All these people getting popped because I was a clumsy asshole ain’t cool, so… It’s fine, Bobby. Let me go get Cas and we’ll head out in a bit.”

He watched Dean shuffle out with concern, yelling, “I made some coffee, so pack some in a thermos before you head out!”

Dean kept walking, waving his hand so Bobby would know he had heard him.

Bobby scowled at his back, and muttered, “Idjit,” before bending back over his work.

Dean

By the time they had gotten to the apartment building, the police had only left a few guards, the M.E.s had packed up the bodies they had found, most of the complex’s inhabitants had been packed off to hotels for the night, and the culprit had been long gone. The bomb squad had cleared the area, but ground zero for the explosion was taped off for forensics to finish their evaluation. The rest had been mostly figuring out why there was so little evidence left behind, aside from the murdered’s own.

Gabe had found them a way in, and Dean wasn’t particularly happy about it, seeing as every damn hall had some blood smeared on it, or, often, something worse that M.E.s hadn’t been able to pick out of the carpets or crevices.

Both Gabe and Cas had managed to find one of the bodies. She had been stuffed into the cabinet under the sink, and Dean wasn’t exactly sure how she had been missed, what with the pool of blood in the bathroom. The short blond was partially eaten, with long claw marks raking up and through her body. There was a sort of rage about the killing that Dean was willing to bet was missing from the other bodies. He supposed he’d find out later, when someone went to the M.E.’s to examine the victims and try and piece together what they had, if Gabe and Cas couldn’t do it.

The neck had been snapped with one hand, the livid marks on the corpse’s neck nearly black. The victim’s left breast had been partly ripped off, the meat under it chewed through, while the rib cage had been snapped to reveal a hole where a heart should have been. She was missing a leg, which looked like it had been ripped from the socket. There were clean streaks through the blood splatter, as if it had been licked, and even a seasoned hunter like Dean felt ill looking at it.

Both Cas and Gabe had wrinkled their noses in revulsion, and Gabe had snorted, “Gross. Kijo for sure!”

Cas agreed. “The stench is a good indication. The rage and brute strength is another. I concur.”

Dean knelt closer to the body, brushing the bloody blonde hair out of the way. The woman’s eyes were gone, her mouth stretched open in an eternal scream. “Missing her tongue and eyes,” he murmured.

Gabe sharpened his attention on the mouth. “Maybe...maybe this was to shut her up? This isn’t typical of kijo. They don’t usually eat eyes and the tongue.”

Cas said, “Well, kijo are jealous, vengeful yōkai. It wouldn’t be outside their behavior.”

“I wonder why they needed to silence her,” Dean wondered with a frown. He stared down at the blood puddle, grateful Gabe had put a whammy on his shoes so he wouldn’t leave any evidence behind. All he needed was more problems on top of the ones he had, and being accused of murder he didn’t commit wasn’t high on his list of experiences.

He stood up and turned away. “What about the rest of the apartment.”

Cas’s feathers bristled and he said, “She was here. The Baku. Her spiritual stench is all over the furnishings and that magical taint is hers for sure. She was probably nesting, it’s so strong.”

Dean watched Gabe pat Cas’s head with his hand, and felt an irrational surge of jealousy. He chided himself hotly. What the fuck? He’s a bird! A magical bird!

He shook it off, and looked around the room. “Do you guys know what happened?”

Cas sighed and looked about to do something when Gabe said, “No. There’s no need, Cassie. Obviously she summoned a big yōkai like a kijo and the building suffered for it.”

Concerned, Dean looked at Gabe, who he was shocked to find was glaring at him, those golden eyes molten.

He blinked and try to think about what he might have done and couldn’t think of anything. Then Gabe picked up Cas, who did actually sag against him, and said, “C’mon, Cassie. Let’s get you home. I’ll take you to mine for a bit.”

At that, Cas struggled weakly for a moment, then gave up. Gabe again glared at Dean. “We need to get back.”

When they returned, Gabe took off with Cas, leaving Dean to report to Bobby. Of course, Bobby was not happy. “God damn it! Can’t we get a break?!”

Dean smirked self-consciously. “You’ve got the boy with the bad rabbit foot here, Bobby. So I’m gonna saaaaay, NO.”

Bobby threw him a look, and grunted, “No need to get smart, boy. Which reminds me. Have you told Sam yet?”

In all actuality, Dean was avoiding all emotional conversations and, if he could, he would just die with his chick flick moments buried in his chest with him. He averted his gaze and said, sulkily, “He’s got to be busy, Bobby. I don’t want to drag him out here.”

Bobby glared fit to start a fire. “Son, you’re withering away, yer bird pal ain’t looking so hot, and now there’s a kijo running about along with that new batch of god damn kappas and all the fucking black dogs, fire wheels, Will-o-wisps, and god knows what!” He snarled, “If you don’t tell Sam ASAP, I’m telling him, capisce?”

Dean frowned at his feet. “Bobb—”

“Don’t you even ‘Bobby’ me! You call that boy! Capisce?”

Dean rolled his eyes and heaved a put-upon sigh. “Capisce,” he replied sullenly.

“Good.” Bobby straightened his papers and picked up his phone. “Now git. I got phone calls to make and my Mandarin is rusty as hell.”

Gabriel

“Cassie, you’re pushing yourself, guarding him night and day. Let me help!”

“Gabriel, it’s not your job,” Cas said stubbornly, wiping at the wound under his wing with a repressed hiss. “She batters at him, trying to take more and more, and without me, he’ll be too vulnerable.”

Gabe sat in his tiny fox form and watched the tengu hiss his way through some of the wounds. He shook his head. “This is ridiculous. I might not have the bond you have, but I am bonded to the guy. I can do it, just for tonight.”

Castiel opened his mouth to refuse when Gabe used his sad-puppy look, which was extra effective when he was tiny and adorable, and sighed. “Okay, fine. Fine! Just…” Supernaturally blue eyes blinked slowly once and then closed as he whispered, “Just keep him safe.”

Gabe chuckled and disappeared with a displaced pop, leaving Castiel to lay down and heal himself on his own.

//The sky wasn’t a brilliant blue today, and, instead of grass, there were swaying stalks of rice in a mushy paddy. The sun was glowing low in the horizon bathing everything in a gold light, and wondered why there was a change?

He looked around and, yes, there was the pond, the crystal water lower now than ever, and the quickly dying cherry tree at its edge. It was reassuring because the change in everything else, after nights of waving grass and clear blue skies, was kind of scary.

Not that he’d admit that.

After that kiss, he hadn’t seen Gen in awhile. He popped in very rarely, and generally he looked like Dean felt: exhausted. Every time, he had looked a bit more ragged, a bit more drained. He refused to speak to Dean about it. He refused to look at Dean when he asked.

So he stopped asking.

And he kissed him more, trying to take away the worn look. He held his hand and sometimes Gen let him nuzzle his collar and behind his ear. And they touched each other for reassurance and kissed to make sure they were alive.

Which seemed silly, since it was a dream.

But his time with Gen never felt like a dream. It never felt wrong. In fact it felt too right, and perhaps, had he been awake, that would have bothered him more.

In a dream, however, there was no one to judge or take Gen away from him.

Yet, today, things were different. He checked the cherry tree. There were still blossoms on it. They still fell like snow onto his upturned face, as if showering him with kisses. He laughed at what a girl he was turning into, and looked to the pond.

The surface was trembling with so many waves, it looked turbulent, raging against the edges, as if it resented being confined. He sat down on the bank and looked into the water, only vaguely surprised when a giant, fluffy white fox sat down next to him and nonchalantly started to clean its fur.

“Can’t leave you alone for a second,” it said clear as a bell, and Dean turned to look up at it. It was terrifyingly huge, at least the size of a horse, with bright golden eyes and a pointy smile. A huge gust of wind nearly knocked him into the pond and he looked back to see nine giant gold-tipped tails wagging at him.

He eyed the creature and then said, “What are you doing here, Gabe? Where’s Gen?”

Gabe grinned at him, all curling black lips and bright teeth. “Gen? Ah, him!” The tails wagged again and Dean had the feeling he was being made fun of.

He glared and repeated, “Where’s Gen?”

The giant fox stood and took a position behind him, curling around his body like a giant cat. He yipped, which sounded ridiculously small and cute for his size, and said, “He’s resting.”

The large round eyes peered into his, all molten swirls of gold. “He’s a fool, really, keeping things from you.”

He grinned again, his jaw on his stacked paws, and said, “Every night, the Baku comes to try and hurry things along, to eat you whole. She’s gained enough power to try that.”

Dean felt his breath hitch in his chest. Worried, he asked, “And Gen?”

The kitsune snorted. “He’s been fighting that bitch alone. He’s very powerful, but guarding you for this long without relief is exhausting for him.” There was another snort, as if something had caught in his nose. “Fucking idiot.”

Dean nodded and leaned back onto Gabe side. His fur was beyond soft, and Dean dragged his fingers into the fur by Gabe’s ears, scratching it. He chuckled when Gabe out an involuntarily pleased whine, and full out laughed when Gabe seemed offended by his own sound.

In the companionable calm, where only the riotous water, swaying rice stalks, and the sound of Gabe’s numerous tails gently wagging were heard, Dean asked quietly, “Is he really going to be okay, or are you just fooling with me?”

“My, my, such a worrier there, Dean-o. Something you're not telling me about your relationship with old… Gen, was it?”

He huffed a laugh and his tails wagged harder. “Just to keep things straight, kiddo, I won’t lie to you unless something greater than our bond asks me to.”

Dean wondered about that. So he asked, “Why do you say ‘Gen’ like you know him, but you don’t know him?”

“Because he is Genmyo and he is not Genmyo, just as I am Gabriel and yet not Gabriel.”

“Fucking riddles,” Dean groused, tugging on a large white ear just enough to be noticed.

Gabriel grunted. “It never occurred to you to wonder why we have these weird Western names when we’re from Japan?”

Dean frowned. “No?” He asked hesitantly.

Gabe huffed out another laugh, stirring the grass around his snout. “Because I told him we were in a new land, and we needed new identities here. There is power in names, my young padawan. So he and I got into witness protection, I had a face transplant, and carved out my own little corner of the world. 'Til you two screwed it all up.”

“Hey, I didn’t do nothing!”

Gabe slapped him in the face with a tail and wheezed out a laugh when Dean sputtered and coughed, plucking hair from his mouth. “So gross, man,” Dean complained, eyeing the three-inch long bit of fur.

“You broke the Yumekui, dumbass. What the fuck did you expect?”

“Not like I did that on purpose,” Dean groused, sulking. “Why are you such a douche?”

The fox smiled. “Because I can be.”//

<< PREVIOUS CHAPTER Next Chapter >>

Jikininki (食人鬼 "human-eating ghosts"): "...the spirits of greedy, selfish or impious individuals who are cursed after death to seek out and eat human corpses." [X] Well, you can also be just cursed. Anyway, we live in a consumer world. We are all going to Buddhist hell. (Just kidding)

Okuri-inu (送り犬 "sending-off dogs"): These are the same black ghost dogs from other countries. Which makes you wonder, doesn't it? They follow travelers home at night, waiting for you to trip or fall. The name refers to how they keep watch over a traveler like they are "seeing them off" safely.

Kappa (河童 "river child"): This is a water-demon. They have these little plates on their heads that, if they dry out, the kappa will be helpless. If it's broken, they'll die. Their favorite food is cucumbers. They are a symbol of clean water, and one of the sake breweries in Japan has kappa as its logo. Their old commercials are a hoot. The sake is SO GOOD.

Oni (鬼 "demon/ghost/ogre/troll"): The kanji for oni can mean a lot of things, so it gets translated into several things. In this story, they're ogres.

Bakeneko (化け猫 "monster cat"): I'm not arguing about 化け meaning "transform" so monster cat it is! These are cats who have lived a long time and are really big with a long tail. Eventually, the tail splits into two, and the cat gains a handful of powers.

Kijo (鬼女 "demon woman"): These are human women who have been irrevocably twisted by hatred, jealousy, a curse, or a wicked crime that corrupted their souls and twisted their bodies into monstrous forms.

SPN J2 BigBang 2015 - Dreameater (Destiel) 4/9

animediva — Fri, 10 Jul 2015 09:02:18 GMT

Bobby

Dean had already changed and eaten by the time Bobby had finally returned from the crime scene. Because it was within city limits, he hadn’t had to contend with Jody, but city police were generally fairly hostile to FBI on principle. Bobby didn’t care. He wasn’t really FBI.

He changed clothes too, and meandered down to find Dean dozing on the couch, the raven watching him from the desk. Bobby watched the tengu, wondering if Castiel realized he was cooing faintly and swaying just a bit. Bobby had thought that perhaps the bird was carrying a crush on Dean, what with his occasional freak out around the kid. And, heck, tengu were human before they became yōkai, so it wasn’t entirely out of the question that he might harbor some illicit affection for Dean. Of course, Castiel was also a bird, so there wasn’t much he could do about courting Dean, unless there was another transformation he was hiding.

Which, really, Bobby didn’t put it past Castiel to be hiding that third transformation. He knew that tengu, especially daitengu like Castiel claimed to be, were supposed to be more humanoid. At least, that’s what the lore told him.

He’d never seen a tengu before.

He eyed the cooing bird on his desk, the raven’s luminescent eyed glued to Dean’s napping face and shook his head.

Well, he’d worry about it when the bird started a mating dance around the kid.

He plopped himself into the desk chair, and growled, “Dean, wake up. There’s work to do, boy.”

Dean sat up, rubbing his eyes, and the raven scooted back, nearer to Bobby. Ah so the tengu has realized...

“What did you find out, Bobby?”

Bobby sat back and reported his findings, which included a college kid who would never drink again, a bruised up woman who swore an Asian woman saved her, and a grossed out medical examiner, who said in twenty years of working for the SFPD she had never seen three people in three different spots turned into gobbets of flesh and clean bone. Bobby added, “I saw the bodies and they were picked clean, just white bone was left, and the rest of them was tucked into large ziplocks looking like so much stew meat.”

“Sounds fucking delightful.” Dean grimaced.

“Gets better. Seems the heart and liver were also missing."

"Well, I suppose that rules out werewolf at least." Dean dropped his head back against the couch and said, "Those guys won’t touch the liver. What shreds its victim and eats the sweet meats?"

"Hari onago."

Both of them looked to Castiel. "It's a yōkai from Shikoku though…"

"Finish your thoughts, Feathers," Bobby snapped.

Castiel shifted uncomfortably and continued, "They look like a beautiful young woman, who just want to get your attention. The second a young man responds, they use tiny hooks that grow off the tip of each hair on their heads to attack."

He used his beak to point at the report. "That is the result. She shreds and eats them."

"Not creepy at all." Dean pointed at the folder. "Then those guys weren't guilty of anything? Wrong place, wrong time?"

Castiel seemed to consider it. "It may be a response to the earlier attack on the first woman, but I don't know."

"Well it does mean we're going hunting tonight." Bobby turned to Dean. "Did you get the weapon?"

"I got something but I don't know if it's a weapon." He held up his right palm and the two Chinese characters were very dark against the pale skin.

"Gabriel contracted with you. He'll do his part," Castiel said tartly.

"Contracted? What? He's got to give up his soul or something?" Bobby hated the word ‘contract’ and ‘demons’ in the same sentence, even if the creature was a kitsune. After all, some kitsune went evil with nine-tails, losing their minds as they aged and all sense of self. He didn’t know this creature, and he sure as hell didn’t trust it.

"He's got enough things sucking on his soul, I think," Castiel murmured. "Gabriel is a holy beast anyway. You'll probably need to keep feeding him sugar and fried tofu."

"How do I even use this, though?" Dean shook his hand like he expected Gabriel to just pop out.

Castiel hopped a little nearer to eye it. "I believe if you try saying 'ideyō' he might appear..."

“Ee-day-yo?”

There was a tiny pop and suddenly a tiny toy white fox was sitting next to Castiel, sucking on what looked like a Chupa Chup or maybe a Dum Dum lollipop.

“Wassup?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Gabriel, he didn’t even say that right.”

The fox stuck the lolly into the side of his mouth. “‘sn’t matter. I want’d ta show up.”

He grinned toothily at Bobby. “Yo! You must be the old man Ichi was telling me about.” He wagged furry eyebrows. “‘e says yer a riot.”

“Yeah, ‘m a regular Richard Pryor.”

“Well, the swearing part is spot on,” Dean snarked, and received dark look in return. Dean shrugged and pointed at Gabriel.

“This is apparently the weapon,” he said. “Gabriel.”

The fox bowed exaggeratedly and said, “Bobby Singer, renowned hunter of the supernatural. Word is you did a couple of years at a small shrine in Nara.”

“Outside Nara, actually. Closer to Asuka.”

“Ah, the old capital. How I miss the old inner palace, all fifty meters of it.” Gabriel grinned, crunching down on the lollipop and pulling out a bowl of Skittles from thin air. “So Mr. Green-eyes over there —”

“Dean,” Castiel provided.

“— Dean,” he said smoothly, “Calls me up in the heat of battle, I’ll come in the shape he needs me.”

“Which is?” Dean prompted.

“I have no idea,” the fox said between bites of magical Skittles. “Guess we’ll both find out.”

“Great. Just… great,” Dean groaned. “More surprises.”

Gabriel stopped chewing long enough to solemnly gaze at him, making Dean shift uncomfortably, and intoned, “Things you are perceiving as surprises are rarely that, and you know that down to your soul.”

Dean shifted again nervously, looking unsure of what Gabriel meant. Castiel coughed into the awkward silence and murmured, “Can’t you give us anything?”

Gabriel shifted his golden gaze to Castiel and said, “Sorry, kiddo. No can do. A time for all things and all that jazz.”

He looked back over at Bobby and said, “But, hey! You got a TV somewhere round here?”

Bobby scoffed. “TV, sure. Cable, no way. But the kids got a VHS/DVD player for it.”

Appalled, Gabriel retorted, “VHS/DVD player he says, like that’s cutting edge technology.”

Dean chuckled, shaking his head with amusement. “He’s running a 56.6 modem, bud. You’re lucky you got it that good.”

“Well, shit, no Netflix for me.” Gabriel shrugged. “I’m going where the wi-fi flows like mana, bitches. Hasta!”

He disappeared and Castiel coughed. “Um, he’s spent a LOT of time with humans. He loves this millennium.”

Bobby grumbled under his breath, knowing there was no helping it, and there was no way he was paying all that damn money for 200 channels of nothing he didn’t have time to watch any way.

Dean threw his head back and yawned. “Do I have time to take a nap?”

The disapproval whiffed off Castiel as he replied solemnly, “I feel like that’s a bad idea.”

Bobby leaned forward into Castiel’s space. “Why’s that, exactly?”

More shiftiness oozed off the raven as he backed up against the edge of the desk, glowing blue eyes averted. “I think that each time Dean sleeps, she’s siphoning off a bit of his luck.”

Dean groaned and Bobby snapped, “Don’t you think that might’ve been an important fact to make us aware of before now?”

Castiel shuffled awkwardly. “I wasn’t sure until just now, while he was napping. A tiny wisp of luck flew off of him. I was hoping it was my imagination.”

“Does that mean I can’t take naps?” Dean looked horrified, sitting up on the couch, his shoulders tense.

“Probably not the best idea, is what I said.” Castiel scratched at his beak with a black claw. “You have less luck than life force. That might kill you faster.”

Green eyes snapped over to Bobby. “What’s he talking about Bobby?”

Bobby groaned and explained about humans and their finite luck.

Dean just blinked owlishly through it, and, at the end, “So if I run out of luck, I die? Like stupid die? Like some sort of video game, falling-off-the-edge-because-you-can’t-tell-and-splattering-on-the-cobblestones die?”

“I’m sure it doesn’t help most of the Winchester luck is just bad,” Bobby added, sucking on his teeth.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it sounds correct. Tripping on uneven ground and slamming into a rock wrong is a possibility.”

Dean threw himself back against the couch, whacking himself when his head hit the wall. He yelped, while Bobby and Castiel both shook their heads.

“Yeah, more of that’s the ticket,” Bobby snorted.

Castiel said, “I believe less is better in this ca—”

“Sarcasm, Cas. That was sarcasm,” Dean grouched as he rubbed the spot on his head. “Fine. No naps. No carelessness. Tonight we hunt the bitch. We good?”

Bobby stood with a low grunt of assent. “I’m gonna go load some salt rounds and see if I still have that Ōnusa I was given. Not a general need for a cleansing wand on a regular day. Might be in the trunk I had the tsunesō in…” He paused in the doorway to watch Dean, and wasn’t surprised when Dean immediately jumped on Castiel.

Castiel apparently knew it too, and nervously shifted on the desk, the glow of his eyes dimmer than usual. “Dean…”

“How much time do I got, Cas?” The question was brusque, and the tightness in his voice revealing how upset he really was.

“If you continue to lose luck at this rate… maybe two moons?”

“Two moons… you mean two months?” Dean scrubbed his fingers through his short hair, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Fuuuck. Seriously?”

He huffed and sat up with a grunt. “Maybe I should call Sammy…”

Bobby thought that was an excellent idea and was about to say so when Castiel murmured, “Give us a moon, Dean. Let us see what we can accomplish.”

Dean stood up, eyed Bobby in the doorway, and turned his back on the bird. “Two months is nothing, Cas. If I don’t tell him soon, Sammy’s gonna have my head any way.”

He walked out, brushing past Bobby without a word.

Dean

They had spent an entire week trying to catch the Hari onago. She was cunning, and she mostly took young men who were walking home drunk. Within a week, another six young men had been killed and one young cop, who had had the misfortune of being good-looking and inquisitive. Cas pointed out that this was good, since it meant that most of the university men were paying attention to the rumors of a killer in the park. Dean mostly grit his teeth in frustration.

Finally, when he had had enough, Dean abandoned Cas in the park and planted himself in one of the nearby bars. There were fewer people in the college bar than he expected, and when he asked the bartender, she shrugged. “Ever since the murders started at the park, people haven’t been wandering around.”

Dean couldn’t disagree with that logic.

He nursed his beer and watched the other patrons, alert when one young guy said he was heading home alone, despite his friends’ protests.

“It’s fine,” he grinned, pointing at himself. “I’m hardly model material, and that’s who the killer is taking!”

Dean shrugged a tiny bit at that, since the young man was a bit on the short side. But most guys seemed a bit short to him at six-feet, so he couldn’t really tell. And the guy was a bit pudgy around the middle, but he wasn’t ugly or anything. He had nice blue eyes and a redhead’s looks, with a fuckton of freckles and dark red hair that was much nicer than most gingers Dean had seen in his life. (Dean didn’t think they were soulless, but sometimes he wondered.)

Okay, so he wasn’t drop dead gorgeous, but he wasn’t fugly either.

Maybe he wasn’t Dean’s type, but that didn’t mean Dean couldn’t appreciate what the guy did have.

So what’s your type? Dark hair and bright blue eyes? Slightly shorter? Pink lips you want to kiss red? Possibly watch them stretched wide around your —

Dean studiously ignored his brain’s attempts to side-track him with his literal dream guy.

Although, despite himself, he had managed to get the shy, blue-eyed dream man to hold his hand as they watched the ripples in the pond get stronger, noting there were fewer petals on the tree each time he looked. He didn’t know what that meant, but he suspected it wasn’t good.

Eyes on the prize, Dean.

As he had sat reminiscing about his flourishing literally nonexistent love life (Dreams don’t count, right?), his red-headed target was banging out the door, grinning with shiny bravado that might have fooled most people, but Dean was too used to seeing that grin in the mirror every morning. That was the grin of a desperate man trying to hide it.

The guy shambled out, and Dean slid off his stool and dropped a five on the bar. He walked out behind the guy in a slow, deliberate stroll. He stopped at one point to light a cigarette (for show), mostly because the guy really did walk much slower than he did, and, because of that, he nearly missed the flash of pale skin and...was that a Japanese schoolgirl uniform?

Both he and the guy stared as the young woman kept just off the main road and smiled, beckoning him with a perfectly manicured hand. The redhead blinked and, unthinkingly, walked in closer. She moved deeper into the mouth of the alleyway and leaned over provocatively, letting the gaping neckline of her uniform reveal a cute, lacy white bra that even Dean could see from his position ten feet away, and the redhead seemed to lose all capacity for rational thought.

She giggled at guy, and Dean growled, “Ideyō!”

Just as the redhead started to giggle back, Dean threw the first half of the paired hand sickles connected at the base by a thin silver-white chain. The sickle just made it between the young man and wave of barbed hair that was going to make him look like someone had picked the meat off his bones. It sliced through most of the tendrils, while the silver chain dropped on the rest of the hair as the sickle lost momentum and fell, the blessed metal separating it from the Hari onago with the hiss of a heated knife through butter.

The beautiful young woman with the luminescent skin and the gorgeous long dark hair reared back as if she had been hit, hissing like a serpent, revealing a mouthful of ragged shark-like teeth. A few of the barbed hairs had still gotten to the redhead, and he was blinking stupidly now while plucking at one of them like a taut guitar string. “Huh?”

“You stupid sonuvabitch!” Dean yelled as he ran forward, pulling the sickle towards him at the same time, the momentum taking it back over the same path and severing most of the remaining hair. Dean caught the hand sickle one handed, even as he moved forward, and hollered, “RUN!!”

The guy blinked at him some more before looking over at the woman. Gone was the gorgeous teen with the pale, creamy skin. All that was left was a horrible ghoulish form of pasty gray-white skin, black-depthless orbs for eyes, and a skeletal form in a dirty, shredded kimono. Like cutting heads off a friggin’ Hyda, her hair was re-growing at a horrifying rate, the strands wiggling around her as if alive.

She hissed again and sent out another wave of hair, and, again, Dean was barely able to get in front of it this time, spinning one sickle on the chain to block. The hair hitting the spinning blockade felt like the Hulk was trying to punch through his body armor and he groaned with the effort. He was infinitely grateful that, even if Gabe was in a weaponized form, he was still sentient enough to guide his “I-don’t-know-how-to-use-ancient-Japanese-weapons” ass.

When the hair withdrew with another enraged howl of the Hari onago, Dean turned to the still stunned young man and shouted, “RUN, YOU DUMBASS! DO YOU WANT TO BE DEMON CHOW??”

Big blue eyes in a round pale face snapped to his face and the guy turned to run, slipping a bit on the wet concrete as he went, leaving a bit of blood from a scraped palm on the sidewalk.

Big improvement on the pile of bone and stew meat he might have been.

Dean gazed back at the Hari onago just as she attacked and, because he was also a dumbass and had looked away, he had had to leap out of the way, again throwing out the sickle to make sure it wasn’t another attack on the guy.

Again, the sickle sliced through the hair, the mass falling like limbs, and becoming ash after landing on the concrete with a heavy thump. Again, there was an agonized howl from the creature as she realized her prey had gotten away. “Why are you trying to stop me!”

She pulled her hair back and glared with solid, soulless black orbs at Dean as she hissed through her red slit of a mouth, “This is the way of things, human. Men prey on women, stealing their bodies, their lives, their souls, and no one stops them. It is my right to feast on the flesh of men!”

Dean stood up and took a stance against her, his paired sickles in front of him. “Men don’t have that right. I have never harassed or raped a woman. I have always asked consent,” he said, his voice all hard edges. “I have always protected people who can’t protect themselves, no matter what sex they are. Heroes don’t have prejudices.”

She grinned at him, all serrated teeth and blank, black eyes. “You see yourself a hero? There are no heroes here amongst the filthy meat beasts. Might as well proclaim justice among the pigs you eat, stupid human!” She laughed. “Might as well think of a cow defending its brethren from the butchers!”

Dean narrowed his eyes at the ugly creature in front of him and said, “At least I don’t look like a flounder’s ass.”

Hari onago hissed again, and this time threw her hair at him in waves. Sometimes Dean wasn’t quite fast enough with the sickles and a few barbed hairs would make it past his guard, but they quickly burned into uselessness with the touch of the silver chain. Each time, she’d screech at the pain as her hair was cut or burned, but she kept throwing it at him, occasionally getting a hook in and pulling out pieces of flesh. After a particularly nasty combo that left him with a hell of a furrow in his left forearm, he decided to mount a counter-offensive, and slowly walked into the attack, blocking the hair, until he was just within reach of her body.

She puffed out suddenly, her hair fanning like an opened umbrella, but Dean didn’t let that stop him as he twirled and swung the sickle at her, feeling the solid hit through the chain. She yowled and grasped her side where the blade was carving into her, a viscous black goo seeping out. Her form flickered for a moment as she staggered, trying to grasp the weapon, but flinching at how it burned her hands. She yowled and backed away as she tried to pull herself together, long nails scraping and burning at the holy wood of the sickle’s handle.

Dean knew he had her on the run at that he flicked his wrist and the sickle returned to his palm.

He grinned wolfishly, and shouted, “We got her now, Gabe!”

He swung the sickle over his head again, and flung it straight at hers, and she easily ducked to the side, laughing at his aim. He smirked widely and threw the other at her, and she ducked to the other side, not realizing the trap until it was too late: there was a sickle behind her on each side, and Dean was still holding the fragile-looking chain with that grin.

“Sayonara, bitch,” he crowed triumphantly, twisting his grip and tugging on the chain with all his strength. The two sickles reared back towards him, their paths crossed and the thin silver blades glowing an intense white-gold under the sputtering light of the street lamps.

She screamed as the first sickle cut through her neck deeply, burning easily through her protective hair and half severing her head. The howl was interrupted as the second sickle sliced off her head neatly, the only sound in the alley the hollow thump of her head bouncing off the concrete before the rest of her collapsed into a heap.

Dean caught the sickles, one in each hand, and grinned, before he realized he was shaking. Dean hadn’t realized he had been sweating, nor that his breathing had gotten hard, like he had run a couple of miles in a sprint. He wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand, gasping, and suddenly Cas was there, landing on his shoulder and nuzzling his sweaty hair. The pain eased a bit and, after a minute, he no longer felt like he was going to seize right there in the alley.

In the distance, but closing in fast, was the sound of sirens. The sickles disappeared and the short (for sure this time) white-blond dude with golden eyes was standing in front of him, looking amused. “Wow, you really can’t handle me in battle. Looks like we’re going to have to up your regimen.”

“As long as you don’t make me give up burgers, pie, or beer, we’re golden,” Dean panted, letting Gabriel half carry him to the other side of the alley. “Cas, Bobby’s here, right? I don’t think I’m making it back to Baby right now.”

“Robert Singer is awaiting you on the other side, as per your request that, ‘as soon as I find that man-eating bitch, bring Bobby’.” Cas nuzzled Dean’s ear some more, ignoring Gabriel’s interested look, and added, “At least the body will fade back into the dark ash from which it was born.”

“There is that,” Gabriel agreed. He grimaced as he looked down at himself, the slightest tinge of gray all over him. “Man, I need a shower. Yōkai goop always sticks and smells like a pile of week old rat corpses. PEE-YEEW. So foul!”

Dean fought the urge to laugh because, even if his lungs were no longer trying to kill him, his diaphragm was sure as shit not happy with him.

“Okay,” he wheezed, as they loaded him into the cab of the truck and ignoring the string of pretty petty words Bobby was hanging up like tinsel about his condition, “I’ll… I’ll give up burgers. But if you make me give up pie, I’m just gonna let the human race die out.”

As he passed out, he felt Cas hopping onto his chest and resting there, not knowing that both Gabe (now down to his teacup-poodle size) and Bobby were regarding them with incredulous expressions.

He heard Bobby snort, “Idjits,” as he slammed the truck into drive, and felt Gabe curled into the curve of Dean’s body and agreeably grumble, “Dumbass.”

Then it all went dark.

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SPN J2 BigBang 2015 - Dreameater (Destiel) 3/9

animediva — Fri, 10 Jul 2015 08:48:53 GMT

Dean

As Dean suspected, Cas was a slave driver.

He made them go out into the Yard and search for an 'unpolluted spot.' Bobby’s salvage yard went back a few acres, and Cas dragged them out past the cars and towards the river, into the bushy woods. Again.

By the river, he finally sighed heavily and said, “Well, this is going to have to do. We can’t make it too far from the house for now.”

Before their eyes (Bobby’s included this time), he transformed into his giant-ass bird in a purty dress phase. It was difficult to surprise Bobby, but this managed it. It was slight, just a widening of the blue-grey eyes and a faint dropping open of his mouth, but it was still surprise.

From out of wherever Cas put his magical gear, he pulled out a fan. The fan was the size of a normal hand fan, the handle made out of gold and it held nine dark blue feathers with the longest in the center and the others descending down in length. He positioned it in front of his face and mumbled some words that Dean couldn’t hear. Then, he fanned it down once.

All the bushes and trees in front of them for about fifty feet tilted over and blew away with a mighty gust of wind. Cas nodded, satisfied, while Dean and Bobby were left gaping at the small lot they now had in front of them.

“We should use the trees to build a rudimentary shrine and altar,” Cas intoned solemnly.

Dean eyeballed Cas’s useless ass wings and scoffed, “I think you mean Bobby and me. You go pick up the bric-a-brac. We’ll get it done.”

One bird shrug and a lot of shooing later, Cas started to clean up the brush and twigs, while Dean and Bobby measured the three downed pines and the small elm that had come crashing down. They decided to use the elm, since the sap was less sticky. Cas said his ‘friend’ was particular and nothing less than some extraordinary effort was going to bring him forward.

Dean thought Cas’s friend sounded like a giant dick.

They then decided they would chop the pines into firewood or something later. No use in wasting good lumber. So, after collecting the stuff to make the shrine thing with (all of which Bobby had on hand), and bringing along an ice cooler with beer, water, and a fifth of whiskey, they started on it.

Thankfully, Dean and Bobby were both handy sorts, and Bobby already had an idea of what needed to be done. To Dean, it looked sort of like a taller, but skinnier bird house with mini-doors on it and a sloping, over-sized roof. Bobby had smacked him upside the head for joking about it, and Dean ended up sulking as he finished off the main altar, while Bobby added some decorative red-orange paint to the house.

The sulking intensified the second Dean tried to make a joke about the color being, “Blood orange,” and caused Bobby to give him a steady glare under which he folded like an old chair. He stomped off to find a broom and brush away any tiny crap on the ground, per Cas’s instructions. He left Cas doing something with white paper being folded into zigzag-shaped strips, and, when he came back, Cas already had an impressive array of strips, from about a foot long to tiny ones at three-inches. For some reason, Dean found him now twisting weeds together, and just shook his head. No fathoming the bird-demons, he figured.

They worked until the morning drained away, leaving a hot and humid afternoon. The river side was particularly muggy today, and Dean got tired of fighting with his shirt. It kept sticking in awkward spots from sweat, paint, and sap. In a fit of literally heated pique, he pulled off his t-shirt and tossed it onto the ice cooler, stretching slightly in now-marginally cooler air.

Both he and Bobby were unprepared for the slight pop of air imploding, startling them both, and a giant raven bomb diving Dean, only to land a few feet away in a juniper tree, making low and angry bird growls and chittering at them. The bird pecked at the branch hard enough to damage the wood, the action peppered with indignant squawks, all while hopping from one side of the branch to the other in his hissy fit. For a second, Dean reckoned they had accidentally run into a crow’s territory, but the supernatural gleam to the raven’s eyes gave away that Cas had lost his marbles again and had regressed into full-on stupid bird.

Dean jerked his thumb at Cas at asked Bobby, "Y'know what's wrong with him?"

Bobby narrowed his gaze and muttered, "Do I look like the god-damned bird whisperer?"

After a few seconds of this, Cas seemed to recall himself, and oozing out humiliation while refusing to look at Dean, he said, “Excuse me.” He flew off further into the woods, and they could only watch him go.

Dean looked around and finally asked, “Was it something I did or what? Because that little shit took a shot at me like I was King Kong and he was a fighter pilot.”

Solemnly, Bobby said, “Son, he’s a bird-demon from another country, who’s over a thousand years old, forced back into the land of the living, not to mention bonded to you to possibly die — all thanks to you being a clumsy idjit.”

He pulled down the bill of his ubiquitous cap with a solid tug and muttered, “You’ve seen me before coffee. I think he’s doing okay.”

Put that way, Dean just felt bad. He frowned and sputtered, “Y—you’re the idjit.”

Bobby just stared at him and bent back to his work, mumbling, “Idjit.”

Once the small shrine was done, it looked rather spiffy in the middle of the clearing. Dean had cleared away any pesky weeds and grasses around the spot, while Bobby painted the narrow altar table.

As the sun hung low in the sky, the two humans had finished most of the building. The smell of freshly cut and painted wood still floated in the air, stronger than the smell of river mud and recently turned earth. Cas had returned at some point, but he had been deliberately avoiding Dean for some reason.

He had returned to his monster-bird size and was carefully clipping away any poorly placed twigs with his beak. When he felt reasonably happy about it, took a tiny flower vase that Bobby had had the forethought to bring, and put a few twigs in them. He pulled some of his tiny paper zigzag things out of somewhere and attached them, doing it to the other vase so that there was now a pair of them.

“I believe we can leave this like so,” Cas said with pleasure in his tone. He seemed to smile, something not readily evident from his beaked face, and Dean realized that, somehow, in the past 48 hours, he was learning to read the bird very well. It was weird.

They cleaned up, something that was made easier when they realized Cas’s child-sized bird body was actually stronger than the two of them combined, as he easily hefted one of the pines they were taking home all by himself, something that made Bobby just mutter, “Friggin’ tengu.”

Dinner was tinned tomato soup and some slapped together grilled cheese sandwiches, since no one was in the mood to cook. They went to bed early, but Cas said he would stay outside and keep watch.

He turned back into a raven and flew to the roof, where he just sat, looking somewhat sad and pathetic when Dean checked on him a bit later. Dean made sure to take out all the nails and open the window a bit so Cas could get back in.

He was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

Baku

She had spent the day resting and watching. With her human guise on, she had walked into the neighborhoods, watching children play and women fuss. The large metal beasts, she had learned, were tame and used to transport humans. Left alone, they merely sat and waited until the humans roused them. Wandering aimlessly, she found a place called a “park” and watched humans walk about and play. They ate from small paper bags, and laughed a great deal.

There was less sickness in the air than there had been last time she’d been free in the human realms. There were no real forbidden corners of plagued humans, where they were piled in to die. The poor still existed, but even their existence was better than the poor that she had seen in Heian-kyō’s heyday. Here, they were occasionally given kindness, which was different. They weren’t just randomly beaten or killed, as they were in the Capital where she once lived.

Her observations, however, left her sore. In this here, she was too new; in this now, she was raw like a burn. She had too much to learn, from their mannerisms to their speech. It was all so different.

So, she waited and watched the humans go about their day.

She learned that they dressed similarly and it was often hard to tell male from female, as they all wore ‘pants’ and ‘shorts.’ Even when she thought she had figured out that females wore the ‘skirts’ and ‘dresses,’ she found that, no, some men did too. She just adjusted her thinking to there was no real difference: they all wore too little clothing in contrast to the layers and layers of silk she was accustomed to on both sexes. Colors here really didn’t matter, they didn’t indicate married or even social status. There seemed to be few differences with age. It was all confusing.

She learned that most humans ate food that smelled bad, and, when she dared to taste it, mostly sweet. She wandered into a 'cafe' that had a round sigil with a two-tailed ningyo on the door, and watched human addicts gleefully dose themselves from white paper cups.

She wandered into bars and saw humans polluting their lungs with smelly burning sticks, lusting randomly after each other, and drinking liquor like water until they could no longer stand and often made themselves ill. She didn’t understand it.

They had truly fallen as a species.

She also learned that men still attacked women, when — as the sun had finally set and the park was slowly emptying — she came upon a man pinning down a young woman in one of the bushes. That, at least, was not new to her.

She had been surprised, however, that the bright-haired woman with the painted face and smeared lip color had cried out to her for help, her pretty face swollen and her painted nails broken. She was also surprised that the guy had turned and snarled at her, and that he tried to hit her with the back of his fist.

She was not human. She generally did not get involved. But the man was wild, his mind a swirl of angry desires and hate, mad with power. For herself, she had simply side stepped his swings and stared at him, while the woman used the man’s distraction to struggle to her feet in those oddly narrow heeled shoes and run away. That left the man to turn on her, angrier at her than hungry for prey.

And, when the woman had long gone, and the man had tired of failing to get a hit on her and stood panting and sweating, she had easily punched him in the face, knocking him out, and reached into his unconscious mind to pull every single fantasy, dream, and nightmare out of it as if collecting grapes off the vine. They were vile, filthy things, and she gladly ate them.

She walked away, leaving him a drooling mess on the ground, knowing he would never dream again, and she licked her slick fingers with a half-smile. Perhaps things had not changed as much as she had feared?

Tonight, she decided, many of her fears abated, I will feast.

//He opened his eyes again, and found himself facing a pure blue sky. He sat up, looking at the sea of gently waving grass with trepidation. He was here again. The grass was nearly up to his shoulder, it was so tall, and he pulled himself to his feet with ease.

On his feet were those black-lacquered wooden clogs, not his sneakers, and that seemed odd. Different. He accepted it (as one does in dreams) and moved forward to the pond and the cherry tree that sat at its edge. Today, the pond just felt a bit lower. It wasn’t really visible. He looked to the tree and there were fewer petals on the branches.

He moved towards the tree, hoping to see that young man again, when a head popped out from behind the trunk, partially hidden by a hand fan. The fan was made of dark wood, with bright white paper painted with dozens of blue flowers and pink ribbons. A small set of Chinese letters sat in the corner of the fan’s face, and, just as he thought he had a grip on the word (in the way of dreams) the guy snapped it together decisively and the meaning slipped away.

“I see you’ve come back.” He smiled gummily at Dean, and Dean smiled back reflexively. The blue eyes sparkled at him, and the smile made the man’s nose wrinkle adorably.

“Perhaps this time you’ll even talk,” the man laughed, a slim but strong hand darting out of those voluminous sleeves and catching Dean’s wrist. The hand felt so real he was surprised by it, by the strength and the warmth of those fingers.

The man pulled him to the edge of the pond, and, although he could see his startled reflection (he had on the same hat as the guy), he could also see the faintest ripples across it.

“There,” the man said, his voice a low rasp. “She has done something again. If we could only follow the direction of those ripples, we might find her.”

Dean looked at the man’s face, the closed fan firm against his pink lips, pressing them and making them pale. He swallowed hard and tried to step away, ignoring the faint smell of cherry blossoms, leather, and sandalwood that tickled his nose.

Those two bright blue eyes turned towards him, and the guy dropped the fan from his lips, the blood rushing back and painting them rosy. The lower one dropped a bit, as if he were about to say something, and Dean found himself mesmerized by the full lower lip. He was aware enough that he saw the blush surge up the man’s face like a rising tide, and he was suddenly dreamily comparing him to the white and pink roses from his mom’s garden when he was four.

“Dean, you must focus.” The man said, looking away in embarrassment.

Dean smiled and touched two fingers to the man’s chin to force him to look at him. “What’s your name,” he asked, having developed a bone-deep need to know.

The surprised expression that flitted over the man’s face made his eyes widen, made the blue irises glow, and then he shuttered down and stepped out of Dean’s reach. He scowled at the landscape and then, with a sigh, he looked back at Dean and said, “Genmyo. Just call me Genmyo.”

“How’s about I just call you Gen, and we’ll leave it at that?”

The man tilted his head and squinted at him as if he were a mystery he wasn’t sure he could solve. “I suppose it does not matter,” he replied slowly.

Dean grinned at him and, taking a step forward, clapped him on the shoulder, causing the man (Gen, his mind supplied) to start at the contact. He squeezed the muscle beneath the layers of what felt like silk and it was more solid that he thought it would be, that feeling of flesh. “Okay, Gen! Tell me more.”

The blue eyes narrowed marginally, and he said, again moving out of reach, “I believe the Baku has been active again. We will need to hunt tonight.”

Dean blinked. “We?”

Gen colored again, and looked away. “Soon.”//

It was getting late, but the boys didn’t care. The bars near the university were full to capacity and they had had their fill of beer and cheap whiskey. Both of them were still young, and now more than a bit drunk. They stood at the edge of the park and peered in.

“Dude, I ‘eard s’me guy like... tried ta rape s’me woman ‘nd this scary chick stole his brain.”

“N-not ‘is brain, m’ron. J’st mind. He went nuts.”

The slightly younger and slightly more sober man licked his lips. He had just turned twenty-one, and drinking legally was a luxury. His roommate was seriously smashed though. And getting heavier by the second. The young engineer-to-be cringed at carrying the heavier man around the park rather than cross through it, but he really didn’t want his brain eaten. He rubbed his free hand over his faded black hair, wondering if he should call a taxi, but knowing that they’d be thrown out for a 50-yard ride because they were chicken shit and drunk to boot.

He hefted the pudgy economics major, wishing Dale had figured out his limits way before this, because he was a good four inches taller than Mark and a hell of a lot more substantial.

“Dude, Dale… c’n you, like, even st’nd? Srly… y’r heavy.”

There was a brief shuffle as Dale actively tried not to be a dead weight, but his eyes were drooping and he looked moments from passing out. For a huge guy, he was a lightweight drinker, and Mark knew that Dale was going to just fall over and sleep wherever he landed. He was a ticking time bomb of dead weight.

Mark sighed and looked across the park. “Fuk it,” he muttered, again hefting his friend up against his shoulder. He stumbled into the park and started the journey home.

They walked on a bit, Dale getting heavier and heavier, his longish, dark brown hair falling over his eyes. Mark blew out a tired breath. His stamina was wearing out, and they still had quite a bit to go. It was after 2am but it felt later, and, for some reason, maybe the booze, maybe the exertion, the air felt heavy and thick and he was having problems breathing.

He spotted a bench a few feet away and dragged Dale over, unceremoniously dumping the drunk onto the bench. He threw himself onto it too, leaning heavily on his buddy when he caught sight of a beautiful girl cosplaying a blue and black kimono. He thought, for a second, he was dreaming and blinked groggily at her, his eyes admiring how the kimono's gradation of colors from light blue to pitch black at the bottom showed off her pale shoulders and cleavage, masses of blue star-like flowers crawling up from the edges of the dark cloth. The dress dragged behind her, with a soft srrt noise, and her long, black hair nearly touched the ground. She paused at his intake of break, turning her head slowly to stare at the two men, and, when she saw Mark, her blood red lips smiled sweetly.

Mark drunkenly smiled back at her, liking how her dark eyes gleamed like obsidian orbs his momma wore like pearls to church in the low light of the park lamps.

She smoothly moved closer, her hair swaying, her white face narrow with her black hair framing it, such a contrast to those plump, red lips, slanted obsidian eyes, and cute short nose. He stood up, the alcohol making his movements jerky, and awkwardly adjusted his clothes. “Hey,” he said softly. “'re ya doin' a photo...photoshoot or som'thin' nearby? Tha' ou'fit is aw'some!”

Up close, her face was even whiter, like it had been painted, her eyes lined in black, and her lips were a very wicked red. She smiled coyly at him and she giggled lightly. He, again, smiled back and, drunkenly, chuckled back.

That was when he felt the tug of small needles digging into almost every millimeter of his skin as her hair wrapped around him as if it were alive. The girl’s smile widened to an impossible width and she giggled, “Itadakimasu,” as she ripped him apart instantly.

The boy’s blood rained down, small chunks of flesh thumping off the ground like bits of soft hail.

She saw the soul look confused and attempt to flee to its next destination, and she snagged it with long fingers and swallowed it down like a snake swallowing an egg. The soul settled into her belly and she smiled as she read its energy.

She shook her hair, the thousands of tiny hooked ends jingling merrily, and it lifted up, so she could tie it with a sash, allowing her to bend and devour the boy’s innards, taking special care with the heart and liver. Satisfied for the moment, she again smiled down at the boy’s remains. He was a good start. In her gullet, she had picked at his soul, found out what ‘cosplay’ was, and discovered a newer, better outfit with which to lure young men.

Grinning, her hair quivered, and the fabric of her kimono changed into a schoolgirl's outfit, complete with high-riding skirt, cute striped panties, midriff revealing top, and loose socks. She let her hair tumble free and smirked into the night. She had two more souls to collect her night’s quota. Two more men to eat.

She trembled in anticipation, knowing that her disguise was perfect, and disappeared into the shadows, ignoring the passed out drunk and the bits of Mark left in the grass.

Dean

When Dean woke up in the morning, he felt like he hadn’t rested enough. He scowled as he peered up at the out of focus black blob over his head. He heard a “Get out of bed you sleepy head,” before an ice cold washcloth was unceremoniously dropped on his face.

He squawked like a five-year old girl, and leaped out of bed, swearing. He heard the distinct sound of Cas’s purring laughter, and he turned on him, poking him in the fluffy feathered chest, and growled, “Oh, it’s on, Feathers.”

Cas tilted his head and blinked at him. “Dean, it was a joke. Ravens joke. You should be relieved it was so mild.”

Dean narrowed his eyes as he backed out the door, gesturing ‘I got my eyes on you’ at the (somehow) grinning bird, and hissed, “So on , Tweety. You’re gonna be a plucked crow. Just you watch.”

The warning would have been more threatening if he hadn’t slipped on the hall rug as he turned, gurgling and yelling bloody murder, as he attempted to recover his balance. But like a cartoon pratfall, he ended up rolling forward like a pill bug, his ass in the air and his head now throbbing from smacking the far wall’s baseboard molding. He felt the bird land on his ass, his claws pricking him through the sleep pants.

“Dean, your luck is going to get progressively worse,” Cas said mildly, looking down at Dean from between his knees, the sense the bird was grinning pervasive. “I would keep the hysterics to a minimum.”

“You. Are. So. Dead.”

More cackling ensued as the bird flew off.

A shower later — where the hot water suddenly ran out in the middle of his ablutions — a disgruntled Dean wandered downstairs. He glared at the raven sitting in the middle of the table, eyes closed, feathers ruffled.

Bobby was sitting at the table, his grubby robe on over his equally grubby pajamas. Blue-gray eyes narrowed meaningfully under his well-worn baseball cap as he tossed the newspaper he had been reading across the table to Dean.

Dean frowned and opened it up, swearing a blue streak at the headline: Four Dead Under Mysterious Circumstances at Local Park.

He skimmed the news article and tossed it back down on the table. “Well, there's the woman who was assaulted, the drunk passed out buddy, and the M.E. to talk to. Apparently the dude who went bonkers was the woman’s assailant, but he couldn’t explain anything and killed himself later that night.” He snorted. “I suppose we should suit up and go investigate.”

Bobby sipped his coffee and said, “I’ll do it. You and Castiel here need to get that ceremony done.”

“Aww… Bobby. I don’t speak Japanese!”

Cas sighed heavily. “Things are only going to continue to get worse. We need a weapon to stop the deaths.”

“So what’s your solution, Cas?”

“We do as Robert Singer suggests. We perform the ritual and he gets information.”

Bobby hummed for a moment and, hesitantly, said, “Y’know, this might be a good time to get your brother in on this.”

Dean stiffened over the cup of coffee he was fixing. Cas asked, “Sam?”

“Bobby, no.” Dean’s shoulders were stiff and he was frowning into his cup like the answers to life were in its dark-roasted depths. “He’s at school. I can’t involve him.”

Bobby blew out a sigh and threw up his hands in defeat. Frustrated, he snarked, “Well, think of someone else we could trust with this, because I promise you that your dad’s going to be totally ‘kill’em all’ and once Sam finds out you didn’t tell him, he’s going to be rooting for your death on the sidelines.”

Dean minutely tensed a bit more, the edges of his lips going white and he nodded. “Go get your FBI on, boss. I’ll work the spell and think of someone to help us out.”

An hour later, Dean was wearing a funky outfit with a funkier hat, and wasn’t happy. Bobby had left, snickering, and only Dean and Cas were left. Dean felt foolish. “Why the hell do I have to wear this?”

He plucked at the garments, slightly amused they had belonged to Bobby from his time in Japan. The hat was a meshy black thing that looked like a fancy tube and that had had to be tied on. The long kimono coat looking thing that Cas called a jōe was large all over and had to be tied at his hips with more cloth flopping over the tie, which he figured, from the satisfied look on Cas’s face, that it was supposed to be all floppy like that.

The voluminous pants that had to be tied at the waist and ankles were a pale blue color, and all Dean could think about was that he better not fall in the mud. He’d never get the stains out of the silk.

He had stuffed his feet into the slippers that Bobby had offered, getting a hard eyeball and the information from Bobby that the proper shoes were outside the door and he was NOT to touch the inside floors with them. Dean had hastily agreed since the threat of pain of death was hovering over his head, if the slitted-eye glare he was given by the older man was any indication.

Hopefully he'd remember.

Cas flapped up and landed heavily on his shoulder, apparently being careful not to snag the fabric with his claws because Dean didn’t feel the little prick (Heh heh! The little prick!). “Because you are going to be the acolyte. I cannot do the motions. A human needs to do this part, and I can say the prayer.”

“Do you really expect me to get this right without any practice? Do you?” He gestured aggressively at the outfit. “You do see these whatever-you-call-them pants are too long, right?”

“I called them hakama,” Cas said, traces of indignation in his voice. “And I realize that your balance is off, so I have requested Ichiren-Bozu to help you at least make the right steps.”

Dean released a huge groan at that, rolling his eyes as he very carefully walked downstairs. “Oh great, just want we need. A big mouthed accessory. Are we gonna use him like a brooch?”

Cas shifted back and forth, feathers again, fluffed with agitation. “Respect Ichiren-Bozu! He is a good servant of Buddha! He has soothed many tsukumogami into peace.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just… let’s get this over with. I don’t wanna be caught wearing this.”

Dean felt Cas smirk by his ear, the faintest pleased rustling of feathers. “By whom? Bobby already took photos with that device you call ‘phone.’”

“Oh, what the shit? Really?!” He facepalmed and pulled his hand down to sit over his mouth and chin, groaning. “Fuuuuck. Who’s he gonna send it to, though…”

This, however, took a second seat to the steaming cup of something smelly sitting on the kitchen table when he finally made his way towards the backdoor. The small mug sat innocently in the middle, reeking so horribly, Dean imagined cartoon demons flying out of it.

“W’aht izz dat?” Dean asked, holding his nose and gagging.

“This is a purity cup,” Cas said from Dean’s shoulder. “Robert Singer concocted it for me before he left.”

Must be nice to basically have no nose, Dean thought uncharitably at the raven’s apparent immunity to the stench.

“An’ wat daz it do?”

Cas hopped off his shoulder onto the table, within breathing space of the cup. He hopped around it a tad and looked up at Dean expectantly.

“We don’t have time for the usual purification ceremonies, and this is something I think he’ll be okay with any way.” He used his head to push the cup towards Dean. “Drink! Drink!”

Dean internally groaned. “’re you fakkin’ kiddin’ me??” He grunted as his lungs took another hit of the vicious odor, shook his head vehemently and took a step away, even extending his other hand out, as if to guard against the putrid concoction. “’at s’it fakkin’ reeks! NO WAY.”

“Dean, the sun is about to be too high in the heavens, and we've already spent too much time arguing about the fundoshi. Come on now.”

“Da wut?”

“Fundoshi. Remember? Underwear?”

Dean colored all the way to the tips of his ears. That had been an uncomfortable argument, as he had straight up refused to trade his boxers for the strip of cloth that was going to magically turn into a Japanese version of a male g-string with bizarre cloth origami skills. “Fine.”

He pulled the cup closer and nearly passed out at the smell.

“Jesus fucking CHRIST, what’s in this?”

Dean gagged, shying away from the fumes. He suddenly felt for Ludo in Labyrinth, when they hit the Bog of Eternal Stench. His eyes watered and he put the cup down, leaning away from the fumes.

“Better you not know,” Cas murmured primly, suddenly preening his feathers.

Asshole.

“Doezn’ look too bad,” he finally said, trying to cheer himself up and holding his nose. Indeed, the liquid was just a milky toffee color, like black tea with cream in it, so at least it wasn’t a murky green with human feet bubbling in it. He tried to calm himself with the thought of Conan the Barbarian tossing over a giant vat of foul-smelling milk tea and then he swallowed it down in two gulps, and went pale.

“I was wrong,” he croaked, snapping down the cup, while bending over the table, eyes watering, nose running, and gagging at what he imagined might be the liquefied taste of ‘horse’s ass’?

“You might want to sit down for the rest of this,” Cas said in a casual voice, that, somewhere inside, Dean recognized as a bad thing.

He struggled to sit down and managed to just plant himself when a pain stabbed him through the solar plexus. He curled into himself, and, as if from a distance, Cas said, “Dean, release it. Unlock it. Let it go. It’ll make it easier.”

Dean gagged harder, the thing in the center of his being swirling ugly and demanding freedom.

“Dean! Stop fighting it, you idiot! Let it go!!”

“Fak...u…” He managed through tense lips, pulled into hard pale lines in his red and sweating face. He distantly heard some low cursing and a pop, grateful as he felt a hand slap him in the middle of his back, like he was choking. And, like a choking victim, he straightened as it fought loose, the blockage in his solar plexus coiling up and out of his mouth.

He watched it fly out, a black cloud of what looked like gnats that swirled around the room before a dark and raspy voice snapped, “NOMAKU SANMANDA BAZARADAN SENDA MAKAROSHADA SOWATAYA UN TARATA KANMAN!”

Blearily, Dean recognized the voice from somewhere, but he was still a bit distracted by the cloud of insects that had come out of his mouth and then just popped out of existence like they had all hit a bug zapper at the same time. He heard another pop behind him. Breathing hard and sweating, he turned to find Cas watching him, head tilted, disapproval oozing off of him.

“Honestly, Dean. With such a bright and shiny soul, how did you ever accumulate that many impurities?”

Dean gave him a shit-eating grin through his panting, and gasped, “Hard work and dedication.”

Cas shook his head and hopped closer. “You will have to recuperate faster. I will sit on your shoulder and that should help.”

He should have realized the danger, when Dean kept wearing his grin. Without a thought, Dean reached out and swiped Cas into his arms, holding him pressed to his chest, and ignoring his highly indignant squawks.

“Not so high and mighty now, are we?” Dean wheezed.

But the bird was right. Although he wasn’t feeling all that hot, there was something about Cas’s presence that helped settle his still burning, buzzing center. The bird huffed at being hugged and then shifted into a more comfortable position, allowing himself to be snuggled.

“Good birdy,” Dean crooned, knowing he’d won. “The next time you drop a cold washcloth on me, you’re dinner.”

“I’d hardly make a meal, Dean,” Cas retorted. “Just tell me when you feel better.”

“‘Kay.”

“And do NOT fall asleep.”

“‘Kay.”

“Dean, I swear by the gods that, if you fall asleep, I will eat your pretty green eyes and leave you blind.”

Dean chuckled and released the raven. “You think my eyes are pretty? Aw, thanks, Cas.”

He petted the raven on the head, and stood up to stretch, ignoring the small shocked pool of embarrassment that was Cas.

As he stretched out his shoulders, he was aware that the small spot of heat where he had been hit still vaguely humming there, and asked, “Hey Cas, did you… did you hit me on the back?”

Cas stared at him. Just stared. He said, slowly, “As I currently am, I could not hit you on the back.”

Dean hmm’d. “But I thought I heard you transform.”

Shifting slightly from side to side, Cas said in a tight voice, “Even in that form, I could not hit you on the back.”

Dean nodded and said, “Well, okay. Then what the fuck hit me on the back? And then got rid of those bugs?”

As the feathers at the back of his neck ruffled, Cas replied, “I banished the bugs. Perhaps you were just imagining the other thing?”

Dean scoffed. “I might not be the brightest bulb on the tree, Cas, but I sure ain’t the dimmest. Something hit me and if it wasn’t you, what was it?”

If birds could shrug awkwardly, Dean was pretty sure that’s what the half-wing, half-bow thing Cas was doing would be. He shook his head and rolled his eyes at the raven, and motioned for him to jump up on his shoulder.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

Cas

Surprisingly, the ceremony itself went off without a hitch. Bobby, with Castiel’s help, had set up the altar and the offerings: a fresh fish, some oranges, a small pile of fresh veggies. The kicker had been the trays of fried tofu sushi pockets and fried tofu, topped off with a side of bowls filled with M&Ms, Skittles, mini-Snickers, and a small bouquet of Chupa Chups.

With Ichiren-Bozu’s help — indeed clinging onto Dean’s chest like a brooch — Dean had made it somehow, and now they were waiting. Castiel told Dean it didn’t usually take very long to get a response, but that his ‘friend’ was tricky and difficult. He might make them wait just because he felt like it.

So they waited.

Castiel made sure to put a preservation spell on the food, because he didn’t want to give him an excuse. He sat on Dean’s shoulder while they waited.

Ichiren-Bozu was having a small argument with Dean about something called “Pulp Fiction” and what was in the briefcase, and Castiel felt himself start to drift. He was doing that more and more these days, as his power tried to support Dean’s losses in luck and life force. It wasn’t a lot; just enough that the power drain was making itself known. Right now it was small naps. Sooner or later he’d have to abandon this form. He wasn’t looking forward to that. He genuinely feared what Dean would say to his more “true” self.

“OW! What the fuck, Cas! That hurts! Ease up or get off!”

He hadn’t realized he had gripped Dean hard enough to hurt. Sometimes he forgot how very sharp his talons were. He shifted on Dean’s shoulder to ease his pain, and watched the shrine with narrowed eyes. There was that glow of power around the tiny shrine, and he flew off Dean’s shoulder (surprising him) and changed into his middle transformation.

It was just as well, when from the two minuscule doors of the shrine, a tiny white fox the size of a teacup poodle leaped through and, standing on its two hind legs, front paws sliding into a presenting pose, he howled gleefully, “Heeeeeeereeeee’s Johnny!”

From behind him, Castiel heard Ichiren-Bozu snort, “SO OLD.”

But he had things to do, traditions and customs to work at, and he bowed and said, “O kind Kitsune, we thank you for your graci—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m the special leaf on the tree,” the fox said, throwing itself at Castiel and poofing into his second form: a white fox the size of a Boxer, wearing a small, pure-white shrine outfit with wooden sandals. He hugged Castiel hard and Castiel felt all the air squeezed out from his lungs in a strong whoosh.

“CASSIE!! Long time no see, bro!”

“I. Am. Not. Your. Brother.” Castiel tried to escape, but the furred menace had a mean grip.

The fox grabbed him by his wings’ elbows and said, “We are totally bros in all ways that matter!”

He tilted his head and said, “Cassie! C’mon! Don’t be a dick. You and me, man! We’ve been through some shit!”

Castiel pushed the kitsune off and brushed at his robe with stiff feathers. “You are, as usual, gregarious, Gabriel. I have prepared some food to your liking. Please help yourself.”

Gabriel’s eyes grew wide, and he beamed like he had won the lottery. “See, this is why you’re my bro, bro!”

He started to turn towards the altar, when he noted Dean standing a bit away, obviously trying not to laugh. He jerked a dew claw at him and asked, “Who’s the meatsuit?”

Castiel released a long, suffering sigh.

Gabriel always put him off his game.

He bowed and said, “O Kitsune Gabriel, this unworthy human is my bond-partner, the human called ‘Dean Winchester.’”

“Bond partner, huh?” There was another pop as Gabriel transformed into his third form. It wasn’t his ‘real’ form, since he was originally a wild fox, but he had been watching humans for millennia and he had taken a real shine to the American way of doing things when his family moved him and the household shrine to California.

In his third form, Gabriel was relatively short, with his nearly white-blonde hair brushing his ears, and he looked human with his well-worn jeans and bright yellow ‘eat this’ t-shirt with an arrow pointing at his groin. Well, until you looked into the glowing golden eyes and the fox-like features, and then there was definitely a feeling of unease.

Gabriel narrowed his gaze at Dean, who was trying hard to look as inoffensive as possible, and backed himself to the altar to snag the tray of Inarizushi. Dean hadn’t known what those were, and had been surprised that sushi could also be fried tofu pockets around a ball of sweet sushi rice. Castiel and Bobby had had to let him stuff his face until he was satisfied, he liked them so much.

Now, Gabriel was stuffing his face with the sushi, just shoving them into his human maw until his cheeks were fat and round. He chewed contemplatively and waved at Dean to step closer with a sushi-filled hand. When Dean complied, Gabriel slowly walked around him, still eating, and, when he was done, he grinned and exclaimed (spitting rice all over the place to everyone’s disgust), “Bro! Does he have a brother? He’s hot!”

Castiel rolled his eyes as Dean sputtered and Ichiren-Bozu laughed until he rolled off Dean’s chest and onto the soft earth. “I believe he does have a brother. His brother is not here.”

Castiel resisted the urge to rub at the top edge of his nose to stave off a headache and added, “Gabriel, actually, we asked you here for a favor. If you would be so kind as to listen—”

“From him.” Gabriel pointed with a now fried-tofu-filled hand. He had finished off the tray of sushi and was working his way through the fried tofu. He took a bite of it and chewed. “I wanna hear it from him.”

Castiel sighed. “Gabriel, you’re being childis—”

A golden eye caught his gaze and he groaned. Sagging, he muttered, “Dean, ask him.”

Dean panicked. “What?”

Castiel felt the pressure revving up behind his eyes. “Ask him for help. Ask him for the weapon.”

He waved a wing in their general direction, ignoring Ichiren-Bozu’s scuttling to the altar to nibble at the candy.

“Like I keep telling you, Gabriel is not just any kitsune. He’s a rare nine-tailed fox. He is immensely powerful, and he likes humans. But he’s mercurial so we must be careful.” He waved at Gabriel again, who was just grinning happily and chewing. One of his tails had popped out in his joy over the tofu and was wagging almost supersonically.

Dean watched the kitsune with the tofu and he coughed.

“Um, well, Gabe,” he started. (Castiel panicked. GABE? Did he just call him GABE??) “I broke the Yumekui thing, and Cas and that Baku chick popped out, and Cas said he’s not powerful enough to stop her alone and we have no holy weapons, but Cas here said that you were a mensch and you’d give us a hand.”

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, and Castiel tried not to think it was adorable. “So, uh, will you please help us out? Before, y’know, the world ends and stuff?”

Gabriel’s chewing had slowed down. He set down the empty tray and grabbed some Skittles, chewing thoughtfully. Dean still had that imploring expression, and, really, Castiel hoped he never had that directed at him, because he was mostly sure he’d melt like a bit of chocolate in the sun.

“Wow, he’s a cutie, ain’t he, Cassie,” Gabriel said slowly around a mouthful of colorful candy shells.

He set down the Skittles and transformed back into his standing-fox form, grabbing Castiel’s wings again. He peered into Castiel, and his lip curled back with distaste.

“It is a bond. It’s ridiculously solid too. Profound, really.” He huffed. “Ah, Cassie. I’d hoped this day would never come, especially after we both escaped the encampment.”

He rubbed a paw over his white muzzle idly and finally said, “Ah, what the heck. I’ll do it!”

He strolled back to Dean and said, “Okay, buddy. As a favor to Cassie here, I’ll form a temporary contract with you until either you die or the Baku is taken care of. Deal?”

Dean nodded dumbly and Gabriel popped back into his human guise, his eyes gleaming gold and inhuman. “Okay, Dean-o, this is how it goes. Gimme your hand.”

Dean put out his hand and Gabriel grinned, slapping it with his own. Dean squawked and Gabriel laughed, disappearing (along with all the food; he’d never let it go to waste) and leaving a black 昭雄 in the middle of Dean's palm.

It actually smoked for a second, and Dean yelped and shook it. “Cas, is this another curse?”

He looked spooked, and Castiel supposed if he were human and hadn’t even believed in Japanese gods before this, he might have been too.

“Let me see it.”

Dean held it out. Castiel chuckled. “No, it’s Gabriel’s signature. It means Akio or ‘bright hero.’ I think he meant it as a joke of sorts.”

“I can’t wait til this is all over,” Dean muttered, blowing on his stinging palm. “I never knew the Japanese were so snarky.”

Castiel smirked. “Gabriel has been exposed for the last hundred years to American customs and ways. And, he’s a TV addict. That’s why he looks and acts like that.”

He turned back into the raven and settled onto Dean’s shoulder. “Come now. Let’s get you some food and out of those clothes. They’re unsettling on you.”

“You ain’t just whistlin’ Dixie, Feathers,” Dean grumbled as he carefully made his way to the altar to grab Ichiren-Bozu, and then back to the house. “These damn fancy wooden clogs are killing me."

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SPN J2 BigBang 2015 - Dreameater (Destiel) 2/9

animediva — Fri, 10 Jul 2015 08:44:07 GMT

Baku

She flew free of the houses and dead metal beasts, and ran from the town itself. Although she had just fed, she was still weak and needed to go to ground. Regardless, she was curious about this new land, this new human place. It stunk of deep-set pollution and spiritual degradation; there was no purity, like in olden days, and she doubted anyone here would even believe in a baku.

She paused in the middle of the oddly hot and hard roadway and sniffed the air. The hum of lightning was strong in this new world, distracting her, while the trees of everlasting light were disorienting, and she wandered carefully, following the scent of fresh water. She disliked the clinging feel of contained lightning, like exquisite feet on her back as if hundreds of exceptionally tiny mice danced there, and she hurried toward the water. She would find refuge at the banks, as she always had.

Swiftly, she ran, still in human form, ignoring the dark eyes from shadowed corners, her passing a blessing to a few, as their nightmares were stripped from them. She was once a divine beast; she could not completely subdue her true self, even as infected and contaminated by hatred as she was. She still hungered for those dark dreams, pulling them into herself as base fodder. Her being now needed different sustenance, food that would grant her power and, more importantly, vengeance.

But now… she required safety, a place to regroup and hide. The luck she had stolen from that bright soul simmered inside her, the curse placed on him slowly pulling on his life and his luck. Even if he didn’t die in 108 days, he would most likely die of bad luck within the next fifty-four.

Humans, after all, had finite luck that kept them alive every single day and that they didn’t think about. The tiny bits of luck that they didn’t choke on a large bite of food, or that got them to work without incident. The luck that guided them down streets without falling headlong into traffic or cracking their heads on rocks that killed them. The luck that let them breathe without incident every single night of their lives, when death hovered most closely, waiting for that clot to strike them dead, or the heart to lose its spark. Finite amounts of luck that was doled out until they died, that either helped them avoid falling drunk into a river or that suddenly sputtered out and let them sink into that cold, wet death like a dream.

His luck tasted like silver and cinnamon, lovely on the tongue. She savored it. Tomorrow, she would gain a bit more, and every day she would collect more until that entire bright being was hers.

A cruel smile slipped over her human lips at the thought, when she finally found it.

The river. She could hear the river. At last, the stench of humanity lessened in her nostrils, overcome by the scent of rolling waters and supple river mud. The soft whisper of the current was a balm, and she shifted into her animal form, shucking off her clothes like a lizard does its skin, and running now on thickly-padded feet.

In this form, she would be mistaken for a large, wild pig with a long nose. Hopefully, humans would overlook her and leave her be.

She walked to the edge of the large river, the rich bank mud squishing between her toes and making her happy. She turned to look for a hole, for some sort of nearby den, and decided to walk a bit further off the marked human paths into the nearby woods. Here, away from humans, the tickle of contained lightning was less potent, made her itch less.

There were, she could tell, still humans nearby, restless in their sleep, the quiet night polluted by odd square windows with electric crackles and inhuman eyes. She ignored them for now. They would dream another night. After all, she had to find herself a den first, before the guardian found her. Her magic was small right now, and easy to hide. Sooner or later, it would grow too large for her to keep hidden. She had to prepare.

For the moment, she found a small hole. It was more just some pushed together mud than any respectable den, but she had time. She had time to find her bearings and live among her prey, learn their new ways. She wandered back to her human clothing, changing back so her hands could fold and hold them, placing them carefully next to her as she changed back into her animal form and rolled into the earth.

How long since she had had fresh fertile soil in her nose and still sun-warmed mud at her back?

She drifted off into an exhausted sleep. She had time; soon, soon enough she would have her revenge.

Dean

It was well after one in the morning when Dean and Castiel got home.

Dean was amused because the bird had been obviously trying not to fall asleep on his shoulder, and failing miserably. He kept listing left and falling onto Dean’s ear, struggling to stay upright when he realized it, and making odd, irritated little bird noises, followed by a tiny rustling of feathers.

Dean refused to call it cute.

Bobby was half-asleep at the table, a first-aid kit out. It looked like he had been trying to read a book, but sleepiness had gotten the better of him, and his hand had fallen into his lap, the book spread out open in his palm. He had roused some when the door had creaked and popped open (an old fashioned alarm) and bleary eyes glared out at Dean from under the cap. “Boy, you ok?”

Dean nodded. “Yes, Bobby. No one got hurt this time, but I did see an umbrella give me the raspberry and Cas introduced me to a bead with an attitude problem.”

“Cas?” Bobby sat up a bit more, closing the book with a snap as he pulled his arms over his head to stretch.

“Tweety here’s proper name is a mouthful. He said I could shorten it to Cas.”

Bushy brows jumped up into the cap again. He peered at the bird, who was asleep on Dean’s shoulder and making tiny bird snoring noises like a toy whistle. “Looks like ya wiped Feathers out.”

Dean pursed his lips and replied, “He fucking transformed and made the umbrella normal again. He’s earned his exhaustion.”

Bobby hmph’d and eyed Dean critically. “You look mighty muddy for someone who wasn’t in a scuffle.”

“I fell in the mud a couple of times,” he said with a straight face. “No biggy. Just got startled a few times”

Bobby hmph’d again and muttered, “Looks like more than a few times. Go put that bird in your room and take a shower. I’ll wait out here to re-dress yer head.”

Dean knew better than to ignore Bobby when he was looking at him all stern and stuff under those eyebrows, and slinked off to his room. He didn’t even bother to turn on the light as he shifted the bird off his shoulder.

Cas, surprisingly, only made a small fuss when he was moved to the head board of Dean’s bed, and Dean was able to make a shower run, coming back with nothing but a towel around his waist.

He was cursing, while trying to hold up his towel and get the drawer on the dresser open. It was an old, refurbished piece, like all of Bobby’s furniture, and it tended to get stuck.

“Why did I forget about this,” he groused, tugging on it hard, and yelping when his towel slipped in the process, the cool night air striking his now-towelless ass. He swore more vividly, ignoring the towel issue for a moment in favor of the drawer, feeling triumphant when he finally got it open and a pair of clean boxers were finally loosed. “Aha!”

He quickly turned, grinning like he had just beaten a vampire single handedly, only to find luminescent eyes on him. Well, specifically on his body. He could feel the bird’s gaze as it slowly looked him up and down, and he coughed awkwardly to get its attention.

“What are you looking at, bird brain,” he grumped. What did he care if a bird was eyeballing him? He pulled on his boxers, still feeling the bird’s gaze, and he snapped, “Take a fucking picture, for fuck’s sake!”

The luminescent eyes disappeared in the darkness, so either Cas was facing the wall, or he had closed them. Dean heard a soft and definitely embarrassed, “P-pardon me. I didn’t mean to stare.”

Dean angrily pulled on his boxers and turned to pull a t-shirt from out of the dresser. “Sure you didn’t. That would be super creepy if you were anything other than a feathered menace.”

Embarrassment again oozed off the raven, and Dean stared at it. “Is there something you’re not telling me?

Feathers rustled, and a small and muffled, “No!” Came out of the patch of slightly-darker shadow on his headboard.

Dean narrowed his eyes at the darkness, and whispered, “Freaky-ass bird.” He pulled on his t-shirt and dug out some pajama bottoms. Thing with hunting was you never knew what was going to happen, so it was best to at least have pants.

He wandered downstairs to find Bobby had gone to bed, the first-aid kit just waiting for him, but none of his wounds really hurt. He shrugged and wandered back upstairs, scratching at his head and wondering why there was no pain. He did feel a scab, but it seemed to be much older than a few hours ago.

He’d worry about it later.

Cas had turned back towards the door, eyes glowing freakily in the dark, just waiting for him to return. Dean heard him puff his feathers, Cas’s eyes moving the only indication of his nodding in the darkness.

Dean climbed into the bed, pointed at Cas, and growled, “Do NOT shit on my head or I will end you, magical or not.”

He could feel the indignation just radiate off Cas and harrumph’d as he curled himself around his pillow. He was going to get some sleep and just hope all this Japanese magical-girl transforming bird and its side-kick, the snarky spider-bead, were all his imagination. Fuck this curse any way.

//There was a pond and the pond was beautiful. It was crystal clear like a storybook pond, mirrored and gorgeous. He could see himself perfectly: green eyes, freckled skin, light-brown hair. He smiled into the water and saw his reflection do the same. Then, the mirrored-him cocked its head slightly and pointed to the left. Surprised and confused (but not scared; not in this dream.), he looked over.

Beyond the pond’s edge, the world was a grassy sea that swayed to a non-existent breeze under a sparkling pure blue sky.

It was completely deserted as far as his eyes could see, except for one thing: a single tree was at the water’s edge, and, as he approached, it burst into full bloom, heavy with light pink petals that bowed to him. He looked up into the flowers, and, sitting on one of the medium branches, watching him with bright blue eyes, was a man.

He was dressed in a flawless outfit that fit loosely, the white square-looking cape thing flowing over the sky-blue undergarment, tied at the hips with the cloth puffed over it, and with flowing long sleeves that fell over the top of his hands. The cape part had a wide notch in the shoulders so the blue was visible, and a there was a matching ribbon of sky-blue cloth that had been stitched into the edges of the wide sleeves for decoration, long strings hanging off the end of the ribbon like a decoration.

A hat that looked like an upside-down round-cake pan sat on his head, a dark-cloth tube standing pertly off the top, held in place with a small stick, while the same cloth was used in a long plume that trailed down his back like an elongated platypus tail. His dark hair was pulled back and up tightly into a club tied close to his head under it. On his feet were bulky wooden shoes, like clogs, lacquered black.

The whole outfit reminded him of a couple of anime shows where there was a magician that banished shit or captured monsters that molested women. He loved anime as an art form. Definitely that.

The guy’s face was angular, with a straight nose, carved cheekbones, and a round jaw that led to a tiny cleft in his chin. His lips, however, were sensual and pink, and paired with eyes so bright blue they almost glowed under sharply defined eyebrows, and that were framed with long dark lashes, they made Dean swallow hard.

The man looked down at his own outfit with mild distaste, fingering the cloth.

“This,” he said in low, gravelly voice that somehow reminded him of a raven, “is how you pictured me? It’s not even close!”

In the way of dreams, Dean felt he could say nothing.

The petals fell on him like a small blizzard of pink, their fragrance hypnotizing. He blinked up at the man, and the man smiled softly. He hopped off the branch and to the ground without a sound and walked into Dean’s personal space. Up close, the man’s skin was a golden cream so pure, Dean was sure he could just sink his hand into it. The guy’s eyes were also a bit more tilted than he had seen from a distance, adding to their mysterious gaze.

“Dean, you and I? We share a profound bond. What’s yours is mine, and mine is yours.” He pointed to the pond, the top rippling, and Dean could somehow tell it was a tiny bit smaller than before.

In front of him, even more petals fell off the tree, and Dean looked at the man. The man reached out and touched the tree, and the petals slowed but didn’t stop. He faced Dean again, something shy in his expression.

“The tree will lose all its petals. The pond will wither and dry up.” The voice was low, raspy, like honey over gravel, and Dean shivered. “You must stop it. Only you can.”//

Dean

Dean popped out of bed panting like he’d been sprinting. He rubbed his hands over his face and swallowed hard. He looked at his surroundings, trying to get back his bearings. Nothing out of place; it was just his room at Bobby’s.

From the top of the dresser, a small caw sounded, and he spun to find the raven sitting on his dresser.

“If you are amenable, I would appreciate the window left open so I can get out in the morning,” he said pointedly.

Dean blinked hard at the bird, his own head tilted slightly, as he wasn’t quite sure what he was hearing. The raven cawed harder, making it sound a bit like a cough, and firmly said, “Please open the window. I have need to get out.”

Oh. Oh yeah. Bird things. “If you can wait a second, I can walk you downstairs and let you out, because I’ll have to take all the nails out of the window.” He jerked his thumb at the window. “Bobby’s, y’know, kinda paranoid.”

Cas jumped onto his shoulder, and Dean yawned as he marched them downstairs. He saw Bobby was at the kitchen table, drinking a mug of coffee. After he let Cas out, he wandered over to the kitchen and found himself a mug and a hot cup of mud that Bobby passed for coffee. It was delicious.

“So, Dean, what happened last night?”

Dean looked up from where he was leaning against the counter. Bobby was wearing his usual clothing with the same ball cap on his head. Bobby had put down his cup and was now beadily staring at him.

“The first-aid kit wasn’t touched this morning, and I can see you didn’t bother to bandage anything. You wanna tell me something?”

Dean hadn’t actually noticed, what with spider-beads and raspberry-ing umbrellas, but his head and elbow were not bothering him. He rubbed his elbow with his palm and frowned when he realized he didn’t even feel any scabs or anything.

“What the actual fuck,” he muttered, craning his head and lifting his elbow to get a better look. The wound was gone, nothing but thin pale lines to indicated he had even been hurt. He put down his coffee mug and ran his fingers through his hair, and there was no pain or even last night’s scab to remind him he had been beaned in the crown. Eyes huge, he asked in a thready voice, “Bobby, it’s all healed and gone. I know I’m not dreaming because I had to let Tweety out to pee, but… what the fuck is this?”

Bobby stood and walked over to him, taking the offending elbow in his hand and inspecting it closely. “Yeah, looks like it’s all healed up.” Narrowed blue-gray eyes glared at Dean. “Did you cut a deal with the bird, or something?”

“HELL NO!” Dean yanked the elbow out of Bobby’s grasp. “He told me to go with him last night. I went, he gave me this damn snarky little bead called Itchy-wren who looked like a spider, Tweety got huge like a friggin’ ostrich, he chanted some stuff and the jumpy umbrella with a huge tongue turned back into a normal umbrella.” He took a deep breath. “Seriously, that was the extent of my adventures in bird sitting.”

He threw himself petulantly onto a kitchen chair, taking care to bring his coffee with him, and said, “Well, and Cas told me some story about the Baku used to be a divine beast or something.”

He squeezed his eyes shut as he thought about that weird ass dream with the cherry trees and the hot guy. Best to keep that under his hat. He sipped at the hot caffeinated liquid and griped, “I am on total sensory overload, Bobby. This is ridiculous.”

He heard Bobby sigh and retake his seat, the sound of his slurping making Dean reopen his eyes and look over. Bobby slowly said, “A baku is technically from China, but from what I understand from my research, they were hunted nearly to extinction because having a baku pelt was good luck and kept away bad dreams.”

Bobby grimaced. “They kept making them into baby gifts and bridal goods. Anyway, the Baku started to hide and flee, with some of the small clans moving to Japan, where they're mostly revered.”

“Mostly revered?”

Bobby shrugged. “You know well as I do that there are always folks willing to take advantage of others. So, in like the 7th century, they started to hunt the baku again, not just for their pelts, but for magical practices, since the heart and liver were potent in seeing into the veil and dreamwalking.”

He took a long sip of his coffee before adding, “Apparently, the magic users — you might hear them called onmiyōji or as Castiel called them, ‘yin-yang masters’ — found very little was as effective as powdered baku liver to get you dreamwalking.”

“On-mee-o-whatevers...they needed to do that why?”

Bobby shrugged again. “My best guess is that’s an easy way to drum up business. I mean, Onmyōdō as a magical art was pretty new back then, compared to the others. They specialized in divination, but you know… if you make the call and then make sure it happens, you get more work that way.”

Dean grimaced. “Well, that’s all well and good, but how is this affecting us now?”

There was a tap at the window, and he could see Cas sitting on the window sill. He pushed back roughly from the table and pointed at the back door. When he opened it, the raven flew in and landed on the table.

“Thank you. That was refreshing.”

Bobby nodded at him and Dean picked up his cup to get more coffee. “So, Bobby, as I was saying, and now that Cas is here, maybe he can add some insight, why was, like a billion years ago, some baku chased down and now I’m cursed?”

“Because the hunters who had chased down her family in China had followed her to Japan.” Cas settled in the middle of the table, feet tucked under him. “She was part of the original candle of baku.”

“The original what?” Dean leaned back, incredulous. He frowned with disbelief. “What the hell is a candle aside from a thing made out of wax?”

There was a definite feeling of judgment coming off the bird. Definitely. “A candle is what you call a group of baku… or, I guess, what you’d call tapir.”

“What’s a tapir?”

Cas’s beady blue eyes gave him a “are you fucking serious” look and Bobby sighed and pulled up a picture on his phone.

“That is one ugly mutherfucking pig,” Dean said.

“Dean,” Cas said slowly, as if speaking to a particularly slow child, “That is not a pig. That is a tapir.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s ugly.”

“Dean,” the bird tried again, the patience evident in his voice, “Tapirs are just one form of the baku and they are magnificent beasts. They are actually related to horses and rhinoceroses, not pigs.”

“I don’t care if she’s related to Santa Claus. How do we gank her?”

“That is an important point,” Bobby said, standing up to get breakfast started.

Castiel seemed to get very quiet, and he shifted uneasily on the table.

“What’s up, Cas? Why are you fidgeting?”

“I am unsure of the wisdom of, as you say, ganking her. She is just a lonely and hunted creature.”

“Who is slowly killing me, traumatizing dreamers, plotting to release a shitton of Japanese demons, and destroy dreaming thus destroying humanity?”

Dean sipped at his coffee and deadpanned, “Yeah, she sounds like a peach.”

He ignored the glare from the bird and even the low hmph from Bobby where he was frying bacon, and thought for a moment. “Actually, I need some info. I don’t even know what affects these creatures. Salt? Iron? What?”

Cas sighed. “Iron tends to work a bit. Magical weapons. Most of them are sealed or banished with spells.”

“Iron tends to work ‘a bit.’” Dean threw his hands in the arm in surrender. “Well, then, I’m fucked if it’s just ‘a bit.’ Ugh, I think we can dig up some sort of magical weapon, but I’m not good with spells. That’s Sam’s thing.”

“It has to be holy,” Cas added, again shifting uneasily. “Those work the best.”

Dean leaned back in his chair, pushing it onto its back legs, and asked, “Bobby, you got any holy weapons?”

Bobby turned up from behind him with a plate of toast, fried eggs, and bacon. “Mostly cursed weapons and some with just plain bad luck.”

Dean ignored how Cas had moved a bit further away from his fried eggs and tucked in, biting into his bacon with an inhuman moan of delight.

“God damn that’s good,” he groaned. “Thanks, Bobby!”

Bobby grunted from the stove as he plated up his own share. As he sat down, he realized that he was being rude (big surprise). In Japanese, he said, “Castiel, do you need to be fed?”

Cas started hard, breaking his stare at Dean, and, with his beak clicking shut, he emitted an aura of extreme embarrassment. He shuffled back so he could see both hunters, and he muttered, “Uh, no. I’m fine, thank you.”

The bird turned to watch Dean again, that feeling of embarrassment still hot in the air, and Bobby continued with, “Well, guardian, do you have any other ideas?”

Cas made a noise that Dean suspected would have been a cough in any other case. “Um, I have to tell Dean a few details and I believe we can call on… well… a friend.” He huffed. “Probably.”

Dean paused in stuffing his face, and said, “Okay, Tweety. Hit me. What’s the news?”

“I thought you were going to stop that,” Cas snapped. His wings twitched irritably and the feathers up his back puffed up with annoyance.

“Yes, yes, okay, I’ll stop.” Dean tried for consoling, but Cas just gave him a bird-based bitchface. He smothered his chuckle because it reminded him of his little brother, and tried to look penitent.

Cas huffed again and said, “The bond that we share, this... curse… it affects both of us. Because I was bound to the protections on the scroll and you freed the Baku. So, while the Baku may take your life energy and your luck, my spirit and energy will be trying to keep you alive because, without you, we cannot stop her.

“What’s that even mean,” Bobby said, forkful of fried egg halfway to his mouth.

“It means that, for now, he will benefit from my… alliance.” The bird started to look shifty, and he moved slightly, back feathers faintly fluffed. “I noted that his wounds healed quickly, which seems to be one side-effect of the bond. The language thing, I knew, would be an effect, but not that I would eventually understand and speak English, since that is Dean’s primary language.”

Both Bobby and Dean blinked, having missed the fact that the bird was speaking English. Well, that was all Dean ever heard, so it didn’t surprise him, but Bobby looked impressed.

“The healing, I did not know about.” He ruffled his feathers from top to bottom. “It also seems that if I use too much of my energy, I will get sleepy and, eventually, as this continues, I will start to eat.”

Dean swiped up the last of his egg yolk with his toast and chewed at the bird. “So, what you’re trying to tell me,” he said through the toast in his mouth, “is that you and I have a profound bond? And that you’re going to protect me with your energy or something?”

Again, the aura of embarrassment seemed to just swirl like a heated vortex around the bird. “Something of that nature,” he said, that shifty look again coming into play as his wings hunched up a tad.

“Is there anything else you need to tell me,” Dean said as he stood, put his utensils on his plate, and carried them to the sink to wash up.

“I believe that’s it.”

“Then back to the practical,” Bobby said harshly, handing over his dishes when Dean walked over and reached for them. “How do we gank this bitch?”

Cas stilled and said, “To be honest, I am uncertain there is a way to ensure her death, since she is one of the original nine baku, born from tears of the very first when she looked upon herself in the Yellow River and thought she was foul to see.”

“Why would she do that?”

Bobby replied, “The legend is that the baku is a creature made of odds and ends left over from when the gods finished making all the other animals.”

“And they just stuck them together like leftover Play-doh?”

“Pretty much.”

The raven radiated confusion. “I do not understand that reference, but, yes, the baku’s true form is that of the chimera: a bear’s body, an elephant’s nose, a tiger’s feet, an ox’s tail, and rhinoceros’s eyes. She has three forms, though, and the one she uses the most here on this plane is the tapir or, depending on how well fed she is, human female.”

“Three forms, huh?” It reminded Dean of last night. “So, uh, do you have another transformation? Like, a level-up or something?”

Bobby snorted. “What the hell are you on about, boy?”

Dean pointed at the raven. “He got huge last night. Like huge. Like little kid-going-to-school huge!”

Bobby frowned. “Castiel, is he right about the transformations? I know tengu aren’t supposed to look, well, small, I’d say.”

Cas fluffed up to his largest size, opening his mouth and puffing out his tail.

“I am big for a raven,” he said defensively, but after Dean started to chuckle under his hand, and even Bobby had to look away, he deflated.

“Admittedly, at this time I am choosing to stay in this form more often. As my power drains, however, I do believe I will be forced into my other forms. This one is the most… comfortable one while dealing with humanity.”

“So you totally are a magical-girl under all those feathers!” Dean chuckled and reached out to stroke the raven on the chest with a finger, making Cas squirm and slide away, the aura of embarrassment in full force.

“Aren’t you a good birdy,” Dean cooed, a huge grin on his face.

Bobby smacked him upside the head as he went to refill his coffee. “Idjit,” he muttered. “Castiel is here to help your dumb, clumsy ass. At least respect him a little.”

Dean rubbed where Bobby had smacked him, because, old man or not, he smacked pretty damn hard when he wanted to, and looked up to see the raven looking smug.

Cas bounced up and down like he had personally gotten one over on Dean and, leaning into Dean’s personal space, whispered, “Respect me.” Before flying off into the library cackling.

Dean had had it with Japanese magical birds. And, with that voice, he knew that no hot, busty anime-like babe was gonna just pop out of Feathers.

He was so done with this shit. If only it didn’t mean the end of the fucking world.

Castiel

The escape to the library was liberating. It had been eons since he had seriously had to interact with humans, much less an annoying cretin like Dean. Castiel perched on the fluffy piece of large furniture he now knew was a couch and shook his head.

In over 1100 years, no one had broken the seal on the Yumekui, and, although it had been boring, at least it had been peaceful. He had spent most of that time in mediation, when not hounded by one of his associates. Ichiren-Bozu had, on the whole, been okay, as long as he was permitted to occasionally roam, as was the way of tsukumogami. And, really, since he didn’t harm humans, Castiel had been at peace with it.

But now… now his bonded was arrogant and brash, young for his age, and not as clever as he had hoped. If only a young Robert Singer — with his solid sense and his broad wisdom and knowledge — had been the one to break the seal.

Then there would be no wide-grinning, green-eyed boys with souls that could burn away stars.

He snorted. He was practically falling back into his wild ways already; poetry eventually led to excess. He shivered and feared, as he had spent all this time, all of twelve-hundred years, conforming, being good, learning the Dharma and never falling off The Path. He would redeem himself. He would find Nirvana this time.

But the boy was frustrating! He was stubborn and willful! He was blasphemous and refused to believe him! He was gruff and proud, and his eyes burned like backlit peridots. In the shade, they were wild forest green with a cornet of golden sunburst in the center. He delighted and scorned Castiel at will, and it was driving Castiel mad!

Castiel hopped over to the desk and pecked at the tomes Bobby Singer had piled there, searching for information on the Baku. He read through the Japanese smoothly, finding small transcription errors in some texts, outright lies in others.

It took his mind off the smooth body revealed last night in the tiniest sliver of moonlight, all hard planes, smooth young flesh, and broad and muscular shoulders. Castiel shook his head again. It wasn’t right. He was going to have to meditate and relieve himself of those visions.

But then the man had groaned at his food, and the sound that had escaped him was so inhumanly wound with pleasure, Castiel had been taken aback. Even more so, the sound had curled around his heart and taken root there, a small feeble desire to hear more growing within.

He would have to weed it out. Men of Faith had no need for such things.

He hadn’t realized he had been just sitting on top of the books, breathing hard, when Bobby and Dean walked in, arguing amiably. If he had been human, a bright flush would have colored his face, because the morning sunlight that was angling through the window and over the couch was brushing tendriled fingers over Dean's face, playing with his hair with tiny-dancing dust motes, kissing those glorious freckles, and burnishing the young man’s eyes into a near molten gold.

Mindlessly, Castiel released an involuntary, soundless-hiss at the pair, puffing up his feathers, and leaning back out of their reach before he flew to a safe spot on top of the bookcase to glare at them, ignoring their confused expressions. He rah’d angrily and flapped from one side of the bookcase to the other, huffing out angry bird noises.

He heard but didn’t comprehend Bobby’s, “Did you do something to him again?” And even Dean’s defensive, “I haven’t done shit! You were with me when I walked in! He just went all…bird loco right now!”

The words didn’t quite penetrate the fuzzy pink cloud of attraction that was inhibiting his brain and was patently No Good.

To make things worse, Dean’s face was just so fascinating, he thought. He tried to ignore how gorgeous his charge was just sitting in his seat now, across from Bobby, and how emotions just charged across his face without shame.

And the freckles! Castiel had never seen freckles before. He had spent a shameful amount of time looking at them, and then more time trying to count them, hovering over Dean’s sleeping head all night. When Dean had finally fallen into his deepest sleep, he had moved himself to sit on the dresser, so as to watching the window, door, and his new human.

But, again, sleep had surprised him like it had on the way back to the house, and he had fallen into a dream.

To make matters worse, however, Dream-Dean, Castiel had concluded, was even better looking than Awake-Dean, only because his soul roiled right under his skin as if it were self-aware. Dean hadn’t seen the way his soul pulsed under his dream flesh, tiny opaque wisps reaching out from his skin to cement the connection that was growing between them, between guardian and now-ward, breaker of the Yumekui and the person who had to fix it. Admittedly, Castiel had been forewarned that the task he had been assigned would be difficult, and that he would be forced into an uncomfortable alliance, but not this.

Not with a ward whose form made him ache for his humanity and whose soul made him want to grasp it in his hands and watch the opalescent sheen play in the sunlight.

It was embarrassing.

Even when he had been human, he had enjoyed women and men, but none had stunned them with their soul. Then again, as a human, that hadn’t been what he had been looking for. More often, a bit of pleasure, a warm place to sleep, a bit of gaming and food… that had been more important than souls.

Well, perhaps I shall grow accustomed to it, as we are soul-bonded?

He looked down at the two men, discussing the texts on the desk that he had eyed before flying to a safe distance. He could vaguely feel the faint discomfort that Dean felt at his distance, and the 'oh well, he’s a bird, what do you do' feeling that stopped Dean from thinking on it too deeply.

Which was all to Castiel’s benefit.

They had hit a point in the text where Castiel knew there were issues, and even had a brief argument on whether iron would penetrate a baku’s hide since Castiel had mentioned it only slightly worked, when a much more vehement fight broke out over where the thing was even hiding, since Sioux Falls was basically surrounded by rivers. Castiel sighed to himself and flew down, settling on the desk lamp.

“You need a holy weapon,” he said.

Both men stared at him, as if waiting for enlightenment, and he added, “I believe… a...friend...of mine may be amenable to help, but we will need certain things, including a lot of fried tofu and several sweet desserts.”

“You say friend like you’re none too sure there, Cas,” Dean said, that scowl back in place. Castiel wondered what it would take to get him to smile at him like he had at Bobby Singer. He shook it off.

“While I was… guarding the Yumekui, I spent a great deal of time alone and in meditation. There was one time, however, that I was not alone.” He looked to Bobby. “As you have stated, the Yumekui was confiscated by your government. Much like your storage area, there were many, many artifacts. But unlike your storage area, which is contained and each item carefully sealed, it was just several artifacts of varying degrees of worth and sanctity placed in one room.”

“Like the Ark of the Covenant,” Dean murmured in awe out of nowhere.

Bobby gave him a look, and Castiel couldn’t help but wonder what he was talking about. “I… do not know, but the Yumekui was stored next to an old household shrine of the fertility and luck god, Inari, and the kitsune that had come over with the shrine was, I believe you would say, ‘friendly.’”

Bobby sat back in his desk chair, expression contemplative, and rubbed his jaw. Dean asked, “You sure? Cuz the way you say it, it doesn’t sound friendly, bub.”

Castiel shifted from leg to leg. “He talked endlessly. He’s the one who introduced Ichiren-Bozu to television. He is extremely old and powerful, but he is also capricious and mischievous.”

He hung his head and admitted with a small sigh, “He is very tiring, but, again, powerful. He may be the ally we need.”

Bobby hmph’d and stroked his beard as he thought, while Dean asked, “I don’t even know what a key-soon-thing is, but it sounds annoying. Are you sure we need him?”

Castiel sighed. “Again, he is immeasurably potent. His household was related to the Emperor, so they were given stone statues with dedicated kitsune. He was, I believe, used as a weapon at one point. I think having him on our side would be wise, as we have few options and not many shrines nearby.”

Bobby huffed out a laugh. “Closest one is Colorado. We ain’t exactly got time for a 10-hour trip out west.”

Dean stared at him. Bobby shrugged. “Well, I had time and some ideas this morning.”

“If we set up a sanctified space, bring a lot of fried tofu and sweets, perhaps he will talk to us.” Castiel refused to meet their eyes. “But I will not promise it will be easy.”

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SPN J2 BigBang 2015 - Dreameater (Destiel) 1/9

animediva — Fri, 10 Jul 2015 08:37:28 GMT

THEN

Dearest son, you have fallen from The Path. Do you understand the penalty of arrogance?
>Perhaps ‘understand’ is a strong word, my master.
During your life, you chose the path of the righteous, yet you fell to gambling and love of the flesh, dividing your brothers with your willfulness. Do you deny this?
>My eminence, denying will do me no good in this world.
Your punishment, Genmyo, is, after your training, to guard the Yumekui until you are no longer needed. Do you accept this punishment?
>As my master commands.
Your duty, Genmyo, is to protect it so the seal does not break. Humans will be humans, and the lore will eventually be forgotten, and that is why you must watch it.

NOW

Dean Winchester, Aquarius, lover of sunsets and frisky women (and the occasional man), bad-ass hunter of the supernatural, fell back onto his ass and yelled, “Bobby, you unholy pack rat! What the hell, man?!”

He looked around Bobby’s attic, overstuffed with all sorts of supernatural paraphernalia, and sighed, wiping at his brow and leaving a streak of dust across it. There were mounted creature heads confiscated from hunters, locked magical boxes filled with various cursed goods, and enough antique weaponry to arm a battalion.

Bobby stumbled up the stairs and handed him an ice cold beer. He took a drink, a happy sigh escaping him as the bottle popped off his lips. Bobby eyed the piles of crap with some resignation. “Well, needed to keep a few things safe, y’know. More layers of protection on this place than Fort Knox.”

“Maybe, but you’ve been doing this shit for over twenty years, and it never occurred to you that you needed to clear it out now and again?”

Bobby rolled his eyes at Dean, muttering how he’d like to find the damn time to do anything other than answer phones and research, when, on cue, a phone rang and he ran downstairs to answer it.

Dean pushed himself off the floor and tried not to knock any of the precariously piled boxes out of place. Seriously, things were packed to the goddamn ceiling, some things just shoved into the corners or whatever cubby hole in the mess it would fit into. It was a nightmare.

And, of course his nerdy little brother just had to be starting at Stanford and have no time to help clean out Bobby’s attic with him. The little shit even whined about it, complaining how he never got to look at Bobby’s good stuff.

Dean picked up and eyeballed a particularly nasty looking porcelain doll that looked like it had come from the mid-eighteenth century and was plastered in seals, only one beady blue-painted orb rolling at him when he picked it up, its porcelain feet unnervingly clacking together. He shuddered and stuck it in the “to incinerate” box. Good stuff, ha!

He pushed through a shoulder-high pile of magical boxes he needed to pack and move to the new storage area Bobby had gotten set up off-site, and was about to sort through the pile of miscellaneous crap that was literally a small mountain of 'things humans should never get ahold of,' when his foot snagged on the curved talon of a clawed walking stick. He tried to catch himself, but gravity was being uncooperative today and made him his bitch: he had managed to avoid the mountain of 'very bad things,' only to fall sideways into a set of sealed glass cases. He felt his elbow smash into one, cutting into his arm, and, when he hit the ground, the case followed, its corner bouncing off his head, while he heard deafening crack somewhere to his left. He grunted in pain, trying to cover his ears, when he heard a definite, “I’m free!”

He squeezed his eyes closed, and quietly prayed to whomever might be listening that he had not just set something free, and he was not in deep shit.

There was the feeling of pressure as a strong wind swept through the dusty attic and slammed through the door like a tornado. Wildly, as he lay there and tried not to choke on the unsettled cloud of dust, he hoped maybe it was just a bad dream and he would wake up in bed, next to some hot brunette or something. He groaned and gingerly checked his head and, yep, stickiness meant blood, and possibly a mild concussion. Nope, not a dream. He sat up and looked at the resulting mess, and, thankfully, most of the items were in just different messy piles, but nothing else was damaged. He refused to count the cardboard boxes he had prepped to stuff in and crushed in his fall as ‘damage,’ nor the high probability that the pain in his hip was from that creepy doll poking him.

The distant throbbing of his elbow made him check, and it looked like something had bitten him, the way the glass had stabbed into his flesh. If he hadn’t actually been bitten before, he would have been more grossed out by it. He let out a heavy sigh, rubbed his aching head, and was suddenly aware of someone else’s presence in the room.

“Well, this will prove most irritating,” said a gravelly voice somewhere above him.

Dean leaned back and, sitting at the apex of the highest cardboard mountain, found a large black bird staring down at him with glowing blue eyes. “What the everloving fuck,” he said eloquently.

The bird’s beady blue eye seemed to look straight through him, and it shook its head. “Humans,” it intoned, fluttering down to Dean’s eye level. “I cannot fathom how you have maintained control of the planet for so long.”

Reflex made Dean grin woozily at it and slur, “Pure talent.” That was all he got out before the world swirled nauseatingly and went black. When Dean came to, the world was still black. He figured that was more because he was planted in Bobby’s couch and it was nighttime than any head injuries.

He blinked at the window, feeling like the darkness was not at all reassuring, when that same gravelly voice he thought he had imagined said, “You’ve been asleep for a long time. This is not the most efficient way to catch the Baku.”

Dean touched his head, hissing as the padding on the top told him that, yeah, he had indeed been beaned by the corner of the frame. He groaned as he tried to sit up, his elbow protesting any weight, and he grumbled, “I don’t know what the hell I took that is giving me hallucinations, but I’m pretty damn sure birds don’t talk.”

Part of the darkness broke off and moved forward, hopping casually into a moonlit square and into sight on the couch’s arm.

“I am not ‘just a bird’,” it said huffily. It flapped to the edge of the couch arm and eyed him again, its blue eyes small dots of supernatural light in the darkness. “I am a guardian of the Yumekui. You, on the other hand, seem very much an idiot.”

“The yuma-what?” Dean tried to move his feet, and they begrudgingly listened. Having shifted them onto the wooden floor with a stifled moan, he finally found himself sitting upright on the couch. “Is that some sort of Arizona pink cactus thing? Coyote with a turquoise bandana?”

The bird shifted, its feathers faintly ruffling, and it sniffed, “I don’t get that reference.”

Dean wanted to laugh… or throw up. Throwing up seemed like the better idea. He cradled his aching head in his hands. “Where’s Bobby,” he finally asked, holding in his bile.

“Bobby?”

“Yeah, ya stupid bird! Bobby!”

The bird flapped its wings a touch, looking pissed. It hopped up and down, and hissed, “Impudent human! Can you not comprehend the magnitude of yo —”

Without looking, Dean swatted at the bird, hitting it square so it flew back and smacked the wall with a heavy thunk and a shocked squawk. There was hefty thump as it hit the floor and a rustle of feathers that just sounded pissed off, and he smirked. “PETA be damned. They don’t have to deal with a shitty-tempered, talking-demon bird.”

But, just as Dean started to stand, ready to go find Bobby and find out what the hell was going on, the bird flew at him like a Hitchcock nightmare, pecking and scratching at his head. He slapped and started to howl at it, when the living room light snapped on and Bobby stood in the doorway.

“What in the Sam Hill is going on in here?” Bobby was in a ratty, light-blue robe, his pajama bottoms faded to an indistinguishable gray and his hole-filled slippers revealing a bare toe. He was wearing his baseball cap, which seemed odd at whatever hour of the night it was, but Bobby was a man of action. He probably was going to die in that baseball cap.

The bird, too big to be a crow, had sheared off and landed on the desk, its feathers a mess. It eyed Bobby warily.

Dean glared at the damn thing, and he snapped, “What the fuck is that?”

“Looks like a raven,” Bobby said mildly.

To Dean’s chagrin, the bird bowed politely to Bobby, who was frowning fiercely at the bird like he was afraid it was going to take a shit on his desk. It then hopped up and down, those blue eyes glowing even in the overhead light.

Bobby’s eyebrows flew up into his baseball cap in a ‘eureka’ moment, and he asked, “Oh shit, which glass case did you break upstairs, Dean?”

Dean snarled, “Bobby, I can’t keep track of all your crap! It fell on my head. My head. I wasn’t up there trying to get brained by sharp objects in your attic.”

Bobby just glared at him and turned around, presumably to go upstairs and check, the faint echo of, “idjit,” reaching Dean’s ears.

Dean regarded the bird with distaste, and asked, “Is the thing that fell on my head why you’re following me?”

The bird leaned forward, its wings flaring slightly behind him. “You idiot. You’ve unleashed the Baku. You’re cursed.”

“I’m what?”

He distantly heard Bobby stomping back downstairs, breath coming in a pants, and when he stopped in the doorway, Dean wasn’t very surprised when Bobby said, “God damn it, boy! I told you to be careful up there!”

“I was being careful! I mean, if you didn’t hoard every piece of exotic knickknack that passed through the door, maybe it wouldn’t have happened!” Dean waved towards the bird. “Heckle here says I’m cursed.”

Bobby sighed heavily and slapped a hand to his forehead, dragging it down to his mouth and scratching absently at his beard. “You broke the Yumekui,” Bobby said slowly.

“I get that.” Dean pointed at the bird. “ He keeps telling me that. What I don’t know is what the fuck a you-may-whatever is!”

Gray-blue eyes watched the bird hop up and down, until, finally, Bobby bowed and said something in a language Dean didn’t understand. “Bobby?”

The bird bowed again and said, “It is nice to meet you. My name is Castiel. I am the guardian of the Yumekui. I am in your care.”

Bobby blinked and nodded, and said some more stuff in a language Dean didn’t understand, until Dean snapped, “Wait, wait, wait… what language are you even speaking in?”

“Japanese.” The bird snorted like Dean was stupid. Dean started thinking about feeding the raven its own feathers, plucked from its own ass. “It’s the language of the Yumekui.”

At the same time, Bobby said, “Japanese. The Yumekui is from Japan. Was given to me by some old hunter who had bought it at an old black market auction a few years back. Said it had been confiscated with the Japanese internment in the forties and needed to be protected.”

“Why?” Dean had the feeling he didn’t want to know.

Castiel said in his gravelly bird voice that wasn’t a bird voice, “It’s cursed. The Baku will start to affect the area around it with its magic, bringing the Night Parade of One Hundred Demons to wherever it was freed.”

Bobby said in his gruff old man voice, “It’s cursed. Whoever frees the Baku either has to reseal or kill the damned thing or they’ll die in one hundred and eight days.”

“So I am cursed.” Dean said slowly, the consequences starting to sink in. “I’m cursed? I don’t wanna be cursed!”

The ever-so-helpful bird snarkily said, “Too late for that.”

Dean snarled and turned to grab a pillow off the couch to bean the bird with, only to snag his foot and fall with an undignified crash into the edge of the couch, bruising his ribs, and banging the hell out of his knees on the floor.

The bird on the desk crowed, “Idiot! Idiot!” And it sounded a lot like laughing to Dean.

“Ow.” He grunted from his face full of pillow. “I fucking hate that bird.”

Bobby said, “The bird is here to help you, Dean. I… I think it’s a tengu.”

The bird squawked, and Dean could hear it hopping heavily on the desk. “That’s exactly what I am! As expected of an esteemed hunter like Robert Singer!”

Dean didn’t know what a tengu was, but he knew what an asshole the bird was. He picked himself off the floor and flopped inelegantly onto the couch. “Just tell me what to do, okay? Let’s just get this over with…”

Baku

When the seal cracked open on the Yumekui, the Baku had trilled with delight and leaped from her prison. She had been sealed inside a scroll, bound in a bone case with more seals over it. A tengu had been watching her the whole time, but it didn’t matter now. She was free.

She had fled down the stairs, into the house, already wondering at all the metal and human smells that permeated the place, and she knocked down a door to escape into the natural world.

To her horror, she was stuck within a labyrinth of curled metal beast bones, their meats obviously cut away and leaving shells like hollowed-out beetles. She shrieked and turned around the edge of the building, finding more desecrated beasts, until the forest finally called her, filled with unknown creatures and different gods from her home.

She ran.

The trees were not the same: there were no bamboo or glowing maples, and she couldn’t scent a single black pine, just ones that were similar but not quite right. She looked at her form, still the ethereal chimera and not suited to living in the rough environment of the woods. She shifted into her other form, shaped like an animal, but it was uncomfortable because nothing smelled right, and she was afraid of wild beasts finding her. Desperate, she changed into her human form, which was better. The smells were not as strong, the feeling of pure wrong not as bad. She was cold, as was expected from human flesh. But it was tiring. The surge of energy taken from her savior, the luck ingested, would not last long. Perhaps for a few hours.

Walking, she found another house and peered in. The female of the house was in interesting clothing that she had never seen before. They were tight on her body, not constricting, but compared to the sweeping, but heavy layers of brightly colored silk had worn at her father’s court, they made her shape obvious and she looked near nude. Still she thought they might do well for camouflage.

The Baku tried to mimic the clothing, thinking hard, and the illusion shimmered over her. She was still a bit weak from being constrained so long. She concentrated: the clothing shifted over her better, and then she decided to wait for the woman and her family to sink into sleep. After waiting almost eleven-hundred years, she could wait a few hours more.

As she had time, she walked out to the edge of the woods, and regarded the city.

So different, she thought, looking over the sprawling, sparkling human city. When she was last aware, human cities were nothing more than clusters of frightened upright monkeys in costume. The humans of old had huddled together, rightfully afraid of the night and the yōkai that lived within it.

Here, in this new time, the air was rife with their poisonous stench, loud with their tame metal beasts that even flew over her head.

The first had made her panic, squawking with terror as the metal being careened through the air with a loud roar that rivaled the great dragons she had witnessed in her youth. But it had merely passed overhead, not even looking around, and she had sank back into her seat, trembling but safe.

Yet, even if the stench of humanity — the noises that hurt her ears, the feel of so many crowded into such a small area — was overwhelming, it also made her smile. There was no hateful feel of onmyōji or even the reek of sutras and blessings. There was a new God here, and it seemed like a strong one, but, in most of the city, it was weak. This place was ripe for the taking.

As she investigated her new environment as much as she could for now, the sun sank away from the new sky, and the humans eventually fell into sleep. She smiled, ignoring the constant buzz of contained lightning that pervaded the house, as she slipped into her ethereal form and into their dreams. She started with the child, as their dreams were generally mild, picking out choice bits: the joy from playing with his friends; the fear of falling off the swings; the taste of a sparkling, but sweet beverage on his tongue. She devoured them all, leaving a bland landscape and a restless child curling protectively in his blankets.

She moved to the father: a dream where he was at his desk, working productively; a dream where he was at a large sports’ arena cheering for his team; a dream where he was making love to a beautiful blonde woman he called 'Anna Nicole,' and who looked nothing like his wife; the terror of showing up to work naked and everyone laughing at him. She ate all of them, and watched the man shiver in his bed, his brow furrowed in a horror he didn’t understand.

She contemplated the woman next to him, her long, fair hair brushing over his shoulder, and she watched her dreams: cuddling a baby to her chest; the smiles of her family around her; the look of adoration her son radiated towards her.

She left the woman’s dreams alone, but stole her clothing instead.

Behind her, an old umbrella popped to life and looked around for the first time with intelligence. It stuck out its tongue and hopped around a bit, trying out its first moments of life.

She didn’t even notice.

Dean

Dean cringed in his seat as the bird and Bobby talked some more. It had already been an hour, and his head still hurt despite the pill Bobby had given him. He had, of course, vaguely known Bobby spoke Japanese, but he was only catching half the conversation, and the fact it was just the bird’s half irritated the shit out of him.

“Time out!” He finally snapped at the pair. “Bobby, explain to me why I understand this walking pest farm and not you!”

The “walking pest farm” stood stiffly at that and eyed him with its beady blue eye as if thinking about how to smite him. Bobby sighed.

“Dean, from what I understand, Castiel here is your only hope of defeating the curse before you die from it.” He got a shifty expression and added, “You’re slowly going to lose your life force and you already lost a chunk of luck because that’s part of what the Baku took to survive on this plane of existence. If you don’t get it locked down in 108 days, you’re going to die drained like an empty beer bottle.”

“So what’s a bird going to do for me? Aside from give me bird flu and fleas,” he sneered.

“Like I said, Feathers over here is a tengu, idjit. He guards the scroll and he knows how to reseal it. He has magic powers.”

“Like laying eggs?”

The bird legitimately glared at him, and Dean nearly raised his hands in surrender. Nearly.

“More like he’s the master of all things occult from Japan, and I know you know nothing about Japanese folklore, aside from those 'Ring' movies and anime porn.”

“Hey, those are for cross-cultural appreciation.”

“Naked animated women and tentacle monsters do not make a cultural connection, Dean.”

“They’re Japanese tentacle monsters,” Dean countered. “Counts in my books."

The bird shook its head. “I do not understand your meaning.”

“Whatever. Answer the damn question. Why do I understand you and not Bobby?”

The bird turned to look at him, but somehow managed to look shifty. “We have a bond, you could say...It is because you are the breaker of the seal and I am the guardian, and we must work together to capture or kill the Baku before it’s too late.”

“Too late...as in I’m dead?” Seemed a reasonable question.

The bird hopped, its feathers puffing up slightly in what looked like irritation. “As in thousands of people disappearing because of the Night Parade. This place, this country is not set to deal with the demons that will walk amongst them and devour them. And there are no proper yin-yang masters who can protect them.”

“Demons? Yin-yang masters?”

Bobby sighed. “Yōkai. They aren’t like demons like we know them, per se. They’re… well… they aren’t from Christian Hell. Tsukumogami, oni, kappa, nekomata,” Bobby cringed. “Ugh, so many of them! Tsukumogami alone…”

Dean just watched the bird and old bastard not want to answer his question and snippily asked, “What is the Night Parade?”

Bobby just grumbled he needed a drink and walked out to the kitchen, leaving Dean with the bird.

Dean sighed and looked back at the bird. “Alright, Tweety. Let’s hear it.”

The bird radiated confusion, tilting its head at him, and said, “Again, you say something inexplicable… my name is not Tweety. It’s Castiel.”

Dean sunk deeper into the couch. “Whatever. Spit it out, you talking feather duster.”

The bird huffed indignantly. “If you do not wish to take this seriousl—”

“I’m going to die,” Dean interrupted, his tone snide. “How much more seriously do you want me to take it?”

This seemed to stop the bird cold, and he swayed a moment in thought, shifting from one side to another in a slow rhythm.

“A yōkai isn’t just what you would consider a ‘demon.’ Many Japanese demons are objects that have gained power from age and ownership. The tsukumogami are those sorts of monsters. They come to life from those things.”

“You’re saying like a cursed doll or something.” Dean was familiar with those. Hell, he’d fallen on top of one just earlier, if the tiny shoeprint-like bruise on his hip was any indication. “Like that have the owner’s hair in them or...or their clothes? A ghost making them move?”

The bird shook its head. “No. Those come to life because of the past owner’s will. Tsukumogami come to life because they have earned it through aging and have become self-aware.” He paused. “I hesitate to use this term, but… you would say they have earned ‘souls.’”

Souls. Right.

“Okay, what about the rest of this… Night Parade?”

The bird started to look shifty again, and Dean suddenly got the urge to whack it into the wall again. “Night Parade,” he snapped. “What about the rest?”

The bird speared him with a hurt expression, but the shiftiness didn’t go away. “There… there are more than one hundred… yōkai who will walk in the Night Parade. In Japan, when it happens, it happens on summer nights. But here… the Baku’s presence will force them to appear, although autumn approaches. More than a hundred demons will emerge, led by Nurarihyon.”

“If it’s more than a hundred, why is it called ‘Night Parade of One Hundred Demons’?”

The raven blinked. “Numbers are often arbitrary in Japanese. Sometimes it just means ‘a lot.’”

Dean sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over his face. “So fucking complicated. Damn it. It’s times like these I wish I had Sam’s uselessly big brain.”

“Sam is?”

“My little brother.” Dean couldn’t stop the pride in his voice as he said, “He’s gotten away from this life. He’s at school; got himself a full ride at Stanford!”

The bird nodded, but Dean suspected this was something else it didn’t get, and he snorted in amusement. “You really don’t know about this modern world, do ya, Tweety?”

The raven puffed itself up, wings high, trying to look intimidating. “My name is Castiel! I am a daitengu! You should show me some respect.”

Dean was about to give it another snippy comment when the bird suddenly focused on something else outside the window, and it sharply said, “The Baku has done something. We must go!”

The raven leaped off the desk and jumped onto Dean’s shoulder, pecking him on the head. “C’mon human! Run!”

“Ow! God damn it, cut that out! I’m moving!”

Dean half hobbled past the kitchen to find Bobby partway through a fifth of old rot gut, his nose buried in a book that looked ancient. “Bobby, gotta run. Bird brain says the thingy did something and we need to investigate.”

“Do you need me?”

“We do not at this time,” the bird said from Dean’s shoulder. “We are investigating.”

Bobby waved them off, his big toe twitching through the hole in his slipper. “Just be careful.”

Dean walked outside and the bird was silent on his shoulder. “Where are we going, anyway?”

He felt the bird stand a bit straighter and, then he said, “To the left. The woods are that way, correct? There are too many man-made items here; she’s likely to run away from here and seek out nature.”

“You saying she got freaked out by all the cars?”

He heard the bird’s soft huff only because he was next to his ear. “I’m saying she has been imprisoned for almost eleven-hundred years, and a few things have changed since then.” He bounced to his full height again, and said, “Go straight into the woods. I can sense it there.”

“Okay, wow… that’s a long time. But how are we going to imprison her again?”

The bird was silent on his shoulder now, until he murmured, “Turn right… there.. I can sense it there…”

Dean realized the raven had avoided the question about capturing the creature. He let it slide for now, since there were apparently pressing matters.

Then Castiel said, “She’s already been and gone. I can only sense a tsukumogami. You must capture it.”

Dean scowled. “First of all, what the hell is a sue-ku-thingy and, second of all, if I recognize it, how the hell am I supposed to capture it?”

The raven pushed off his shoulder and hopped on top of his head, carefully avoiding the gauze. He pecked at Dean’s forehead, and Dean lifted a hand to whack him into a tree, when the bird hopped onto his wrist and dropped a black wooden bead into his palm. “You must hold Ichiren-Bozu up to the creature. It will do the rest.”

“What?”

The raven hopped off his wrist, flying to the back of the house first, and Dean eyed the bead in his palm. “And what exactly are you supposed to do for me?”

From the small bead, a large booming voice said, “I am here to talk to the yōkai.”

Dean yelped and dropped the bead in disgust, stepping away from it. The bead seemed to grow tiny spider legs and an eyeball, and, as it crawled closer to him, the drilled center apparently worked as a mouth.

“Oi! How dare you drop me! I am a fine servant of Buddha! I have sent thousands of tsukumogami back to their rest!”

“Ah, yeah… that’s nice. But, you’re, y’know… gross.” He eyed the legs again with their fine hairs and tiny spider feet, the little beady eye with its ridiculous long lashes, and shuddered. “No. There’s no way. You’re… yeah, you’re seriously gross… with those tiny spider legs.”

The bead actually glared at him. “I am not walking around looking for the thing. It’ll go faster if you carry me. Just… don’t look at me, and we’ll be alright.”

“No. No, we won’t because I will feel your bitsy spider feet on my skin and, yeah… no.”

The bead actually shook as if it were trying to shake its head at him, and muttered, “No wonder my Lord Castiel was fuming over this.” The bead looked back up and said, “Look, pal, how about I pull my legs in and you can carry me just as a bead? Will that satisfy you?”

“D-did you just call me pal?” Dean leaned over and glared at the bead.

“I said something in Japanese and that’s what your puny human brain came up with,” the bead said. “Now, let me get in your hand and we can get this over with.”

Dean scowled hard and put out his hand, closing his eyes. “First a fucking bird bosses me around, and now a fucking bead. How is this my life?”

The bead’s ~~disgustingly~~ teeny feet tickled his palm something fierce and he resisted the urge to either try and crush it in his palm or throw it into the woods. There was a small tremor, and then there was just a soft weight in his palm. He opened his eyes, and the bead was looking forward. “Over there, behind the house,” it said. “You can feel the out of place magic.”

“Alright, dude.” He recovered himself. He’d dealt with vampires, ghosts, and werewolves. What was a bead with attitude in comparison?

“My name is Ichiren-Bozu, not… dude.”

They walked along the side of the house for a moment, until Dean looked around the corner and didn’t see anything frightening there. He realized he hadn’t even brought a gun, and cursed himself for an idiot, barely stopping himself from facepalming. He was trusting that damn bird already, and the bird had run away and left him with a talking bead-spider.

“What are we looking for,” Dean asked in the abnormal silence. The city was never very quiet, but neither were the woods, normally. It was as if the woods was holding its breath.

“You’ll know it,” the bead (Itchy-wren?) said.

He wanted to scoff when, to his left, from behind a large elm, a black umbrella popped out on its own power, flaring out its canopy as it came at him, a huge eye twinkling with mischief and a long red tongue wiggling from one of the panels.

Dean yelped and fell backwards onto his ass for the third time in twenty-four hours, nearly tossing the bead again, and ended up gritting his teeth when he felt it suddenly grow feet again so it could cling to his palm.

The umbrella was making a pbbbbth sound and hopping around on its handle, which had become a small foot in a tiny wooden sandal, obviously gleeful about being aware.

Itchy-wren leaped off his palm and webbing spat out from one of his holes, covering the umbrella like a net. The bead made a sound like it was sucking up noodles, and the webbing suddenly got tight around the umbrella, and it began to wiggle like a captured weasel inside the web.

Repulsed, Dean whined out, “Ewwwwww…” like a third grader faced with broccoli. The giant web was something out of that spider scene in The Hobbit, and his brain kept thinking about needing a sword like Sting if this shit kept up.

From out of what looked like his ass (although, really, he didn’t LOOK like he had a front or back), Itchy-wren said, “I will need Lord Castiel for the last part. Please go get him.”

Dean had to admit he was impressed with the tiny bead being able to handle a thing million times its size, like an ant wrestling an elephant. He just nodded and pulled himself up, realizing he had been of no help whatsoever to a creature smaller than an olive.

He cautiously walked up to the backdoor, which was hanging a tad open. He stepped in and heard a low chanting in a rasping voice that made shivers go up his spine. As he approached what he thought was the living room, the voice stopped, but he could see a vague shadow of a tall winged man up against the opposite wall. He again cursed his lack of weapons, and realized he had been trusting bird brain to protect him somehow. He had never done that before...

He carefully edged himself into the room, and looked around, but there was no one there but the raven with its beady blue eyes staring at him. “Did you capture the yōkai?”

Dean scowled and looked down at the bird, disappointed for some reason. “Yeah, Itchy-wren said you needed to be there for the last bit.”

The bird chuckled. “It was probably trying to get rid of you. Your energy is annoying.”

Dean snorted as he stepped more fully into the room. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m a joy to be around.”

The bird gave him a look and just flapped-hopped up and onto his shoulder. “We should leave before the family awakens.”

“What happened?”

The bird’s feathers brushed his ear as he twitched nervously. “I prayed to purify their minds and energies so they could sleep in peace. But you must understand something first. The Baku is not an inherently evil creature. It’s considered a divine being.”

Dean tried not to say anything as they crept out of the house, locking the door. Castiel went on. “The Baku is originally from Chūgoku, the Middle Kingdom. But she suffered some losses and fled to Japan, where, again, she was mercilessly hunted by men who wanted her pelt, and she eventually turned dark.”

They walked over to where the bead and the umbrella were waiting, the umbrella wrapped in webbing, its eye rolling at them and its long red tongue spitting at them continuously like an unending fart pillow. Castiel stopped his story telling to hop down to the bead. “Were there any problems?”

“Aside from the moron there dropping me and panicking at the first sight of a mere tsukumogami, it was peachy.”

Itchy-wren pulls no punches. “Hey, you filthy little walking bead! How was I supposed to know what the hell it looked like? I’ve never seen one! And it’s not like you and Heckle over here were any help!”

The bead and bird both stared up at him from their position by his feet, while the umbrella slowed for a moment, as if questioning Dean’s intelligence, spitting out pbbbth pbbth? Pbbth? Before going back to a solid pbbbth that made him want to break it in half.

Castiel just turned back to the bead and they had conversation in low voices, where in the middle of which they both turned and eyed Dean for a moment, and the bead was saying things that sounded seriously unflattering from the tone. Cas puffed up for a moment and said, “Enough. He is my partner for this venture. He must adapt.”

This does not sound good for me.

The bird stared up at Dean and said, “This will probably frighten you. Don’t panic.”

There was a low rush of air and a brief bit of smoke that caused Dean to cough hard. “What the shit?”

Instead of a raven, a larger bird was standing there. In fact, it was basically a raven the size of a five-year old child, with a small box-shaped black cap, a black and gray outfit that looked like it was out of a samurai movie, and a red pom-pommed thing that sort of looked like a vest.

Even after facing down witches and werewolves, this shit was terrifying.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dean shrieked, pulling back onto one leg, repulsed. “What the fuck is that?!”

The bird looked extremely insulted and said in that same gravelly voice, with a tone that was close to losing patience, “It’s just me, Dean. It’s Castiel.”

“You can transform?!” The sheer shock in his voice would have made him want to kick himself any other time, but the bead’s low-muttered, “Hello? Magic bird?” Did not help.

Castiel waved one wing, his primary feathers working as fingers, the tiny feathers at the top of the wing like thumbs, and a tiny staff appeared. It was three-feet tall, with a ring on top that was separated into two parts by elaborate gold metal work. On each side, a pair of large gold rings hung and they jingled faintly when it moved. Castiel sighed and said, “Dean, I need you to remain quiet for this part. Just focus on how the umbrella usually looks like for me.”

“He means without a tongue and not alive,” Itchy-wren snarked by his foot helpfully, and Dean fought the urge to move his foot that one inch that could squash the annoying thing, or at least crush it into the soft earth.

He closed his eyes and cleared his mind as much as he could, trying to imagine a regular old umbrella. The sharp sound of the rings clanging together like bells and Castiel’s low-raspy voice chanting startled him into opening his eyes.

“For the benefit of all beings, I wish for a change of heart in the harmful beings of the world…”

He stifled his surprise as he realized that he could understand the chant, and watched the umbrella. It writhed under the webbing as Castiel chanted.

“...the cruel and wicked people; the devils and evil spirits; the fierce animals, poisonous snakes and insects.”

The umbrella twisted hard, the eyeball squinting and then going wide with the cant of Castiel’s voice. Its tongue started to shrink, wiggling less and less as the chant went on.

“...I wish that all these beings hear the sound of the Shakujo, abandon all harm, emanate the Bodhi Heart, act with myriad skillful means, and quickly attain enlightenment.”

Castiel shook his staff and, again, it rang loudly, the rings rattling like bells. With a last pbbbth and a wink at Dean, the umbrella twisted once more, and then fell to the ground, normal and completely still.

Castiel bowed his head and murmured, “I give honor, reverence, and offerings to the vast world of mountain deities, reverence and offerings for the protection of this company. Please take mercy and protect all creatures.” From out of nowhere, a breeze blew past them, carrying flower petals and scenting the air with the fragrance of spring blossoms.

Castiel, the giant bird, sighed and looked up to Dean, relief evident. “The tsukumogami has been appeased and its soul has been sent to Buddha. Thankfully it was just a single kasa-obake…and a weak one at that.”

Dean crouched down to Castiel’s height. “Is this what we’re going to be facing, because it doesn't seem all that dangerous.”

Those luminous blue eyes peered at him like they were looking into his soul, and the bird said, “That was just the beginning. She’s weak right now. We are lucky tsukumogami are weak to electricity or I shudder to think what she might have wrought in that field of iron beasts.”

Field of iron beasts..? Dean snapped to it. “OH, you mean the salvage yard!” He scowled at the thought of all those cars coming back to life with tongues and eyeballs. It was creepy and he shuddered. “Yeah, glad we missed out on that.”

“Lord Castiel, are you done with me for now?”

Both bird and man looked down at the tiny bead. It was shifting on its tiny legs, looking impatient. “I would like to conserve as much energy as I can for the coming battles,” it said, all reverent to the giant bird.

Castiel nodded. “Of course, Ichiren-Bozu. My apologies. Dean is not at all knowledgeable of our ways.”

To Dean’s annoyance, the bead somehow snorted with derision, its one small eye managing to somehow roll. “My lord, that is an understatement. I bid you the fairest fortune in educating him.”

Castiel appeared to frown, and he said, warningly, “Ichiren-Bozu, watch yourself.”

If possible, the bead shrugged and hopped onto Cas’s offered wing. It disappeared with a twist of Castiel’s wing, taking the short staff with it.

Castiel turned to face Dean with a very serious expression and bowed slightly. “I apologize for my underling’s behavior. He is a very good servant of Buddha, but I fear I allowed him to watch a bit too much human television.”

“He watches TV?” Dean blinked and wondered when he was going to just get used to his life being weirder than usual. He shook his head and said, “Y’know, I don’t want to know how or why a bead watches TV.”

Castiel ducked his head and then did something with his wing, muttered something Dean didn’t catch, and suddenly, with a pop, the raven was back. “Let us return to Robert Singer and tell him what has happened.”

“Sure.” Dean stood and the raven flew up to his shoulder, settling easily.

As they walked, the raven suddenly said, “Humanity is both her food and her life. Baku are meant to eat bad dreams.”

Dean, who had been completely confused, realized Castiel was back to talking about the Baku.

“When she turned evil, she began to eat the good dreams of humans, as well as their hopes, wishes, and fantasies. Humans are meant to dream, and they will suffer from the lack of dreams and go mad.”

The bird fluttered on his shoulder as if uneasy. “The Baku, she was hunted for many years. She became known when she devoured the dreams of several villages. The humans would be driven mad and destroy themselves and each othe unthinkable ways. It was then that she was chased down by onmiyōji… and eventually trapped by a very young Abe no Seimei.”

He said the name like it was supposed to mean something, and Dean muttered, “I have no idea who that is.”

The long-hissing sigh that the bird released pushed Dean’s buttons and he grit his teeth. Between the uppity bead and the know-it-all bird, he had had it for the day. He just wanted to take a shower, and tell the day to fuck off.

“Abe no Seimei was one of the greatest onmiyōji that the earth had ever seen, a great yin-yang master. At the time, he was yet too young to soothe the maddened Baku, and so he sealed her and gave the scroll to King Sōjōbō of Kuruma Mountain.”

Dean shrugged. “No idea who that is. Or what a on-mee-o-its is.”

The bird hung its head. “Dear Buddha, grant me patience,” he mumbled, and Dean had had it.

He pushed the bird off his shoulder and snapped, “Okay, look! I don’t know shit about Buddhism, Japan, or whatever else other than what I’ve seen in movies or fucking anime! That does not mean you get to talk down to me! I may not know that Ah-bay dickbag, but I sure as hell know how to operate in this modern world.”

He stabbed a finger at Castiel, who had settled on a low branch and gave every indication that he was squinting at him. “You will grant me some respect for knowing about things you don’t know, and I’ll fucking respect you for knowing shit I don’t know.”

He leaned close to the branch, being careful not to step under it, just in case the bird felt like loosing a retaliatory shit on his head, and growled, “You said you needed me, damn it! So if we’re partners, you’d better cut me some slack, got it, Tweety?”

The shiny dark head tilted and supernaturally blue eyes glowed eerily out at him. Anxiety started to eat at the edges of Dean’s nerves, and he swallowed hard, trying not to back down from those eyes.

“Fine, I agree,” Castiel said slowly, leaning forward on the branch to look down at Dean. “But you will stop calling me by those ridiculous names. My name on this current plane is Castiel.”

Dean paused. “How about just Cas?”

The bird turned his head again and regarded him critically before shifting up and down, feathers puffing out slightly.

“That is acceptable,” he said. “You have only 107 days of life left, Dean. I apologize now that they will not be comfortable, as the Baku needs your spirit to complete her spell.”

He fluttered back down to Dean’s shoulder. “She will open that portal, releasing yōkai, and they will kill for themselves and gather souls for her. At that time, all the souls the yokaī gathered will be fed to her, and she will plunge the world into a dreamless insanity.”

Dean swallowed hard, moving on autopilot and pushing tree branches out of their way. “Okay, so she eats a bunch of dreams, she gets a boost from the demons… why my soul?”

Cas bent over to catch his eye, and the sad gleam in them did not make him feel better. “Because only the righteous man who broke the seal can end it. Your soul glows bright and will help her create a strong spiritual web to hold those other souls in, until she can condense them all down into a single power point that she will use to destroy the minds of humanity.”

Cas sat up. “So, we are going to stop her.”

Dean took in a shuddering, frightened breath, and, under his breath, muttered, “Great. Just peachy. I’m supposed to save the world.”

Next CHAPTER >>

NOTES:

Abe no Seimei: This guy will come up a lot. He's the Japanese version of Merlin, a great master of Onmyōdō or Chinese Ying-Yang. There's a shrine to him in Kyoto that I didn't get to visit because, well, I forgot.

The staff Cas uses is called a Shakujō (錫杖). We will see that again.

Daitengu (Greater tengu): A daitengu is much more powerful and humanoid than a lesser tengu. King Sōjōbō of Kuruma Mountain: Technically, there are very few "daitengu" (great tengu), and King Sōjōbō is one of them. He rules a specific territory and the smaller/younger tengu around him bend to his will. He's familiar if you watch anime or read manga. He's one of the most powerful tengu, so he's mostly in human form.

If you didn't get the Ark of the Covenant comment... please go watch Raiders of the Lost Ark NOW. NOW!!

Buddhism and Sin: This was something asked by my betas. As in all things, there are two minds about this. In more modern times, it seems as if Buddhism is thought of as not recognizing “sins.” But this is not true of all Buddhist sects, and, in fact, if this were true, there’d be no tengu, according to the lore. According to yokai.com: …[in] Buddhist lore, tengu are born when a person dies who is not wicked enough to go to Hell, but is too angry, vain, proud, or heretical to go to Heaven. The tengu is a personification of those excessive vices, magnified and empowered in a new, demonic form.

I use “sin” because it was easier than explaining Buddhist stuffs. It’s fiction. Forgive me. [ X ]

2015 SPN-J2 BIG BANG FIC: "Dreameater" [Dean/Castiel] SLASH, R, MASTER POST.

animediva — Fri, 10 Jul 2015 08:24:45 GMT

Fic title: Dreameater
Author name: Animediva (AKA: Naoe)
Artist name: dun
Genre: Fantasy/Destiel
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
Word count: 61,820
Warnings: Graphic description of violence and corpses; swearing; Japanese monsters
Summary:Dean has always had the Winchester Luck, which was never very good to begin with. But one day, while helping Bobby clear out his attic, he unleashes a Japanese creature called a baku and a curse on himself. With the help of his bird-buddy Castiel and his fox-friend Gabriel, Dean has to either recapture or kill the baku before she strips dreams from humanity and unleashes Japanese chaos.

Link to fic: AO3
Link to art: LJ

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8 // Ch 9 // GLOSSARY

There is a glossary for any questions, explanations, or creatures that get mentioned. If I miss one, please comment and I'll get on it. Which I might have missed some. There were a lot of monsters.

Let's face it, I'm mostly made of lazy...

animediva — Thu, 28 Jun 2012 00:12:01 GMT

...inspired by moments of action. But, no... mostly lazy. Mostly, "AHHHHN... I DON'T FEEL LIKE IT." This is a terrible habit. I'm sure it's hellworthy.

I have so much to do and so little desire to accomplish, well, any thing. This is punctuated by bouts of hacking cough. My lungs are idiotically tender, and any little thing, be it dust or a bit of cold air, sends me off into a raucous coughing fit that near chokes me every time. It sounds awful, but it is the well-known result of having a plethora of blood clots in the lungs. Makes them all wobbly and whatnot.

The word "plethora" is funny.

Any way, I am finishing up my application for my 2nd MA, which is a mere pretext for my actual plan to get enough official Japanese learning to take the National Exams and rank myself up enough to get into a PhD program. What's especially awful is that I hate the History department at my university. Honestly, it's the pits, but as a pretext goes, it will suffice.

I have recently begun playing Borderlands seriously. I don't get the point of the damned game, but I've leveled up to 32. It's a game that I definitely feel the lack of other players in, but, you know, I'm leery about online gaming. Hell, I'm leery about Borderlands in general. What the hell is the point?

I also pre-ordered Assassin's Creed and Dishonored. I am anxious about Dishonored only because I lost like 6-months worth of gaming on Skyrim when my old PS3 conked out on me. I nearly cried. To boot, the game itself is still locked in the system. ;__; Oh weepings!! That's like $50 in there at least!!

Otherwise, I re-watched Mirage of Blaze repetitively and read all the novels I could get my paws on. I own 1-6 of the novels (somewhere...) but it's all the way to FORTY!!! Ah... even worse, I heard the ending bites ass, an Escaflowne ending where you're like, "I invested ALL that time and got into that story for THAT ending???" It makes one weep tears of blood. Savages. How dare you hook us in and then deny us the ending we DEMAND!! But at least I know SMEX does occur... so I am REASSURED and will end up reading it regardless. Well, I will if I can get my paws on the novels.

Ah, that's most like because I am feeling quite Naoe-ish. If you don't know, it's fine. But it makes me quite peevish... recent events regarding my private life. Quite fucking peevish. It's annoying, really, but I don't care to report, seeing as I am quite peevish about the whole train of events and the outcome. Fuck that shit for a lark, I say!! Drown myself in Agatha Christie movies from the 80s (did you know they're full of dead people??) and Mirage of Blaze on repeat!! Ah, being human is quite the bother.

AH, why I want to join Deka Scans (a required essay)

animediva — Wed, 13 Jun 2012 03:33:42 GMT

I found the site because I used to belong to it, so I'm guessing there was a purge I was unaware of.

I liked the mangaka's other work, although I'm actually not that fond of this series, it's okay.

I am actually pretty indifferent to whether my application is accepted or not because I actually hate these games. Seriously, regardless if the scanlator has their reasons or not, "I understand why" is not the same as "I enjoy it."

I hope to read the works, but if I can't, that's fine too. I'll see if I can buy the raws.

Do I upload manga scanlations? Only my own any more, really. It's too much bother to post any one else's stuff, and, really, I don't care for manga aggregators.

Do I care if others upload MY scanlations? No. Not at all. Because it's bothersome to care that much about something I have virtually no control over. Why get an ulcer over the Internet?

So, whether or not this approved... it's up to y'all. But I'm pretty sure either way, I'm not going to die.

Dogs, Finals, & Naps

animediva — Fri, 04 May 2012 23:49:54 GMT

So... I called Chika over, but the other dogs came running, and got in the way, so when Chika FINALLY stomped over (100 lbs of dog), she accidentally stepped on the poodle's foot, who then, in a fit of rage, rationalized that he couldn't bite HER, the littlest one was behind ME, and that left poor Federico... who he promptly bit in rage... until I moved to bat him with the broom... and he literally ran off GROWLING, and hid in the back room. Still growling in rage.

I might have to put that one down sooner than later. He's got such a bad personality... -__-;;

Finals Are Upon Me!!
Ah, it's been awhile. Well, it's fine. I finished all my papers for my Imperial China to NOW class. Just one... Massive... Paper... to GO. A Japanese Conversation test... my take home quiz and my composition is DONE! Just have to help the Bakazaru with his shit. That already kept me up to 130-2 last night helping him with all the shit he needed to correct and return. I did not have that problem, THANK YOU very much. I have learned a lot this year, though.

ONE MORE PAPER TO GO!! ONE MORE!!

And now... I will take a nap. I'm getting sleepy any way, what with a big, warm, snoring Rottie not 3 feet away from me.

PS: Brian McKnight thanks to Boondocks did this... video called "Let me tell you how your pussy works." Which was like... WHUT?!

steampunked

animediva — Sun, 29 Apr 2012 07:21:58 GMT

Your result for Test Who You Are in the Steampunk Ether City of Salmagundi...

Doctor Josephine Bell (the Mad Scientist)

15% Cerys, 59% Ras, 73% Bell, 17% Wilde, 14% LeClerc, 10% Kendrick and 15% Fuzzy!

You are Doctor Josephine Bell, Salmagundi’s foremost surgeon and expert of medicinal science. You are erudite, detached, and above all clinical. You are also descended from an aristocratic pedigree, and you show it. Anyone who fails to meet your high standards of intelligence and conduct is immediately beneath you. Your detractors call you “haughty” and “callous,” but they are jealous and afraid. In reality, you have merely come to the realization that only a fraction of the people you encounter will be worth your time, and that the rest are an unwanted distraction. People will come and go, pass and be forgotten, but Science is forever.

Intrigued? Learn more about G. D. Falksen's Salmagundi and the Cities of Ether here

Take Test Who You Are in the Steampunk Ether City of Salmagundi at HelloQuizzy

Ugh... should not have eaten that...

animediva — Thu, 26 Apr 2012 01:26:26 GMT

I just ate a chile cheese burger. It was not a good choice.

I feel so grumpy and unhappy today. I don't like this "emotion" thing. It's irritating like a mosquito bite. I must get rid of it soon.

I spent my birthday in bed, under the covers. It passed. I was fine. That weekend, I went to Abiquiu with a friend. We enjoyed the view and went to the Echo Amphitheater which turned out to be rather fun.

I have surgery in June sometime. I'm not very happy about it because I'm going to be hospitalized again for... I dunno... a few days? Again? -_-;; There will probably be more blood transfusions to boot. *Sigh* Each time they crack open a pack of blood, I get nervous... HIV anyone? No, I'll take CAKE. Ha ha ha... *sigh*

Well, that's kinda it. Things are grumpy right now. Won't be forever, but RIGHT now... they are grumpy. Gotta go write my papers...

Minekura Kazuya... sigh

animediva — Sun, 15 Apr 2012 07:08:19 GMT

Since Minekura sensei is an Aries, I always get the feeling she's peering into my head for characters. However, she rarely finishes a damned storyline... which makes me love and hate her more. Furthermore, with the collapse of TokyoPop... I will not being getting the end of Saiyuki in ANY of its incarnations (Reload, Gunlock) and it PISSES me off.

Because she added Saiyuki Blast (Okay, a continuation, just like Reload and Gunlock were) and Ibun (totally like a Gaiden but not...)... but WTF... Wild Adapter has been on hiatus FOREVER. Holy SHIT, is this going to be like CLAMP and fucking Gohou Drug? Damn. We waited a DECADE for that shit to finally shake down, but it seems they were waiting for the end of XXXHolic to continue it. At least, that's what it seems like in it NEW incarnation as Drug&Drop, which features Watanuki (XXXHolic) very prominently. Since I really liked XXXHolic and Watanuki quite a bit, I don't mind... but STILL!!! Took forever!

I mean, a DECADE until Miuchi (that crazy woman) picked up Glass Mask again... a DECADE!! GAH!! Will I have to wait that long for the end of Saiyuki and Wild Adapter? She never even DID anything really with Bus Gamer! UGH!! Such potential just WASTING away... ;____;

Why ask... because... I haven't watched Saiyuki in ages, and I love Journey to the West in general. *sigh* Plus I'm tired of reading about Chinese Communism and the PRC. Mummies... kind of... but I haven't even STARTED my Great Wall paper and I'm exhausted.

Any way, to top it off, whenever I have a moment, I read a little bit of Christopher Moore's You Suck. I didn't realize at the time it was the SECOND book, but I suppose it doesn't matter since he refers back to the events in the last book in some detail. What bothers me is that I feel like I get stupider while reading it. Frankly, I read Lamb while in the hospital (when I managed to stay awake) and finished it soon after (since I couldn't do FUCK all) with some glee. I passed it onto friends, even. I really liked the book, so I decided to try another Moore book, but You Suck is a bit of a disappointment.

Um, I had also purchased Unwritten by Michael Carey, a fine comic book writer IMO, and it seems interesting. I barely found time to read it during Spring Break, which bites since I had purchased it in like... January. At least it's not boring, and he brings up several salient literary points about the nature of readers and stories. Always fascinating, in my literature-minded brain.

But, regardless, I've been drowning myself in Boy-Love because, damn, it's sexy. Minekura is perfect for that... oh, and Mirage of Blaze. I swear the tension is have the drive... you KNOW their off fucking somewhere off the page... or hope. It makes me want to slash, but DAMN. I'm two response papers behind and I have like 200 pages of reading a week JUST for class, fuck whatever else I have to read for papers!

Of course, my SHITTY birthday is this coming week, and I'll be OOT from Friday to Sunday with my friend Amanda. Should be fun and relaxing. I'll get to see Myra too.

Otherwise, things are just busy and I don't get enough sleep. And I LOVE sleep, so it sucks.

This part of Neko Samurai (I'm translating it) is killing me tho...

Ahh... so funny. This is why, no matter how far I wander, I always come back to YAOI... neee? LOL - owari.

Iya... tired tired... GOING OLD SCHOOL!!

animediva — Fri, 13 Apr 2012 20:28:42 GMT

SO, my kouhai is a FINE baka of a pervert who loves YAOI. Why? Because he's a FINE bi-sexual pervert who loves YAOI. There. I said it. He doesn't care because he just SAYS he's a fine YAOI loving pervert. As a fine pervert myself, I can appreciate the candor.

Regardless, recently I asked him if he had ever seen Mirage of Blaze, because... I was in the mood for Saiyuki, and Sanzo's VA is the same for Kagatora in Mirage of Blaze, which makes me want to ~~masturbate to~~ iya iya iya WATCH Mirage of Blaze.

The brat tells me that he doesn't like shounen-ai because it's like watching soft-core porn, and I was like... WHAT??! If it even GETS that far, it's not shounen-ai, it's YAOI. Shounen-ai is like Disney-movie love, IMO. But this sent me into utter PAROXYSMS of BL JOY in the parking lot as I explained the beauty and frustration that is Mirage of Blaze.

I'm sure he didn't understand, but I CAN'T TAKE IT. RAPE HIM ALREADY, NAOE!!! GAH!!

Okay, okay, so it sent me down that path of bad boy love, but I suspect part of it is that I can't take JUST doing academic shit all the time. I've written several pages of my research papers, but I really have NO fucking love for China. I really don't. I could give a shit, and ESPECIALLY about Communism, which is a crock fake religion, IMO.

Still, I'm writing one paper on Chinese Mummies, which is a JOY to write. I'm doing the other on the Great Wall of China, which BITES MY ASS. Meanwhile, I'm maintaining an easy 98% in my Japanese class... no duh. I only need to maintain a C average, but wtf would I do with just a C average? Ah, but I DID get permission to see if I could do conversation monitoring next semester. I'm very excited about that. So, although my writing has improved, my understanding of verb conjugations has improved... overall, I think my conversation has NOT improved, and has actually taken a dive.

Plus, I dread Chinese now. I have learned lingual fear. I am NOT a cunning linguist... OR AM I?? Ha ha ha... well, I had THIS conversation today:

Yeah... so I tell Mr. History Prof my Chinese is atrocious but my Japanese is quite good, and he says, "So just pronounce it in Japanese."

And I said, "No... Japanese has TWO tones, Mandarin has FOUR tones, and zh's that sound like J's; Japanese just has Z. Chinese has S's that sound like Z, and Japanese S's SOUND like s, and shi SOUNDS like SHI, and there are no T's that sound like dz."

His response: "This is true."

"Which is why," I said in an ongoing tirade of diarrhea of the mouth, "When I go for that Ph.D in Asian Studies, I'm learning Korean."

He said, "That'll work."

Yep... I need TWO Asian languages to get into a decent program. I wonder if I can take Korean next semester? Eh... probably not. I can only focus on one at a time. *sigh*

I'm off to finish off this mummy paper. Next week is my birthday, AND... I'm going out of town with my buddy Amanda. HAPPY HAPPY!! Mata ne!

:: thumbs up ::

animediva — Sun, 05 Dec 2010 10:03:25 GMT

Had a good day! XD

uwah... Too busy (Fallout: New Vegas; Cartman sings Lady Gaga)

animediva — Fri, 05 Nov 2010 19:05:19 GMT

been working a shit job to get some cash in my pocket. My two purposes are to get enough to buy a new car, and to start transferring my Mom into town. She needs to move closer to medical facilities and to where my aunt and cousin can also help her out. I can't do EVERYTHING.

The shit job, tho, takes up a LOT of time. It's a bit of nuisance in that way. Otherwise, it pays about the same as my LAST job, as benefits, and I don't have to prep, take home work, or worry about the next day any further than, "shit... I gotta work tomorrow."

It's liberating like that.

On the FLIP SIDE, I haven't done anything I really enjoy because my afternoon is totally booked. Bummer.

Of course, today, I DID wake up to a chapter of Skip Beat! so it's not all lose. And it's Friday. Thank god.

On the ANNOYING side, I think I might have wasted cash on Fallout: New Vegas. I've VERY rarely come across such a buggy game. It freezes, and, not only does it freeze, it freezes EVERYTHING. My whole system essentially crashes, and I have to hard reset. It's pissing me off. It keeps doing it every time I try to do a transaction of goods with this one caravan merchant. Fuck the merchant. I'm just gonna keep trucking.

Things I like about Fallout: New Vegas are actually few. In fact, I honestly can't think of many. I might just trade it back in and wait for the next version. I mean, I don't like the lag. I don't like the Breakdown/Rebuild/Modify crap. I don't like the small magazines on top of the books. I DON'T like the survival/food sitch, because I have to carry more shit and combine them so they're worth more than just 1 bloody HP. I don't like any of it. It pisses me off. My COMPANION lasts longer (this is good), but they kill everything in sight, which tends to annoy me. Plus, they have limited ammo. This wasn't a problem with Fallout 3.

The leveling (I think) is too slow, and they changed Perks to every other leveling, meaning I'm not getting all the perks I want, when I want, and I have to be MORE careful in choosing than I was before. Which really sucks, because I stressed out over the system in the Fallout 3.

The characters are more fragile, too. Shit I could pull off in Fallout 3 breaks my legs or arms in this game. Sure, it's a bit more "realistic," but that realism is PISSING ME OFF.

Oh well, maybe by the time I get to Vegas proper, I'll feel better about the whole game. I doubt it, though. I'm currently annoyed all the time with the bugs and the hard resets. HA HA HA... GAMING SURVIVAL!!

I did order Fable III, and my God of War for PSP DID come in, but... gawd. I haven't even MADE it to the GameStop. I mean, I get up late, and by the time I get up, it's friggin' time to go to work! Bleh!!

Well, I'll get back to it sooner than later, I guess. I have to go get ready. I have like... and hour and a half, and I have to dry my hair (this takes forever).

And... just because it amuses me... here's the MP3 for Cartman (South Park) singing Lady Gaga's POKER FACE, because it made me laugh like hell... har har...

CARTMEN + LADY GAGA'S CRAP FTW!!

UGH... 2.5 weeks to go...

animediva — Thu, 28 Oct 2010 06:53:18 GMT

today, someone handed out these slips of paper to look up info for. Everyone else: 1-5 things. My list: nine. WTF?? Lookie here, Bo Jangles, this is not fair nor fun. I hate this shit, because I'm OCD, and I will dig out every answer I can if given the opportunity and the capacity. Thus, I dug up a gazillion things and Bo Jangles? "You know... you coulda found it all on one page."

Fucker... YOU DIDN'T SAY THAT YOU WANTED THAT... YOU SAID "EACH." Bastard. :: flips him off::

Then, I was sitting staring ~~lovingly~~ at my phone since I had dl'd this app that allows me to see the hiragana/katakana charts, and this woman leans over and says, "Wow, you must have an IQ of like 250 or something!!"

Me: ...no. I'm not even that smart.... [what proceeds is a long rambling idiotic denial that must prove I am egocentric and indeed think I am uber-smart, altho my intent was to negate that...]

...nvm. It's been that sort of day.

Indeed, I am Jack's betrayed sense of Justice... or his engorged spleen. Possibly his ripped finger nail. Who can tell?

Going out of town next weekend. Going out of town THIS weekend. Gonna go hang out with the lezzies and the drag queens both weekends. Makes me wish I were a lezzie, but preferably a Drag Queen.

...drag queens rock... even Ving Rhames...

oh ho ho... FABULOUS...

...but thank god for the PS3 and DVR, or I'd be screwed...

:: amusement :: ARE GRINGOS FALLING FROM THE SKY??!!

animediva — Mon, 25 Oct 2010 09:07:15 GMT

Tonight was interesting. I picked up Fallout: New Vegas, some new nail polish with sparkles, and some dog food. The New Vegas package... well, it turned out it was the COLLECTOR'S EDITION (WTF?? DID I REALLY ORDER THAT??!) but I still haven't gotten to play it. I bought the nail polish MOSTLY because I broke TWO nails, and I didn't break them at the quick... OH NO! Apparently I am an AMBITIOUS nail breaker.

I BROKE MY NAILS HALF WAY DOWN MY NAIL.

Indeed, I had to buy some special shit to put on it, but I have to cover up the shit with sparkly nail polish so you can't tell it's all JACKED and stuff.

Still, the nail hurts. It happened like so: a couple of days ago, I tried to open the cover to the clothes washing machine with my right hand and THE LID SLIPPED AND SNAGGED MY FINGERNAIL ON THE WAY DOWN.

Indeed... it hurts like a bitch. So I have a bandage on it. So lame... so friggin' lame.

Any way, I ended up at Taka's because I said I'd help him with his cover letter, but the truth was he wanted to revise and to reformat his resume AND also write a cover letter. Fucking 4 hours later, I gave up. They were done... but I'm TIRED. They will need to be reviewed for errors later. Still, Ayano made me OMU RISU, so I'm looking forward to nabe later this year.

See how happy it is...? There are daifuku and some miso too. Those are green beans. They were okay.

Ah, so the funniest things are mostly funny to me, but what GOT me today was that I was talking to Taka about translating Patlabor, which he has been surprisingly DILIGENT about of late. Sadly, he's finished the part of Vol 4 that I've done, but it's OK. I've learned from looking over HIS translations and the fact is, we can probably just release the whole volume as whole.

In the process, however, Ayano became interested. I ended up giving her part of Bara no Tame ni, which is always on the backburner, but she took interest in Kuneida's stuff...

It was the HIDEOUSNESS of the character that grabbed her attention. God knows it did mine. It's what I'm working on now, but what takes me days, they can finish in a friggin' couple of hours. ;__; the gods are unfair!!!

However, on the plus, if I can hook Ayano, this means I will have a plethora of NATIVE SPEAKERS!!! HA HA HA!!!

Sorry... one of the people I know was quoting this movie, and I starting HOWLING when she got out of her seat and just started doing the Martin Short dance in the aisle. That's hilarious...

The Gringos from the Sky part really was hilarious... BWA HA HA... oh god... any way... other hilarious things occurred, but I will keep my amusement to myself... Ahhhh... so funny...

I have to say...

animediva — Sun, 17 Oct 2010 00:39:06 GMT

I'm rather taken with my two new headers... I mean, I do this stuff so rarely (maybe) I'm easy to impress...

Scarlett Johansson is just...

animediva — Wed, 13 Oct 2010 08:52:13 GMT

...I don't know. I find her pretty, but completely unmemorable. I always have to reference back to Girl in the Pearl Earrings to remember her face... and I've SEEN her in a shitload of movies, but I don't remember who the fuck she is.

Seriously, she's bland. I mean, SURE, if I could just FOCUS on her, she's hot, but she blends into the woodwork for me. She's in Iron Man 2, and I KNOW she's in Iron Man 2, but... I don't recognize her. EVER. Maybe if I just focused on her tits or something...?? I don't know... she's so... blandly blonde.

No disrespect to other blondes. Y'all are all that, yes yes. I recognize most Hollywood blondes, but she's just... meh. I seriously dunno. JM once told me all blondes looked alike to him, and I scoffed until Scarlett Johansson. I don't get it. I really don't.

I have decided I loathe Anzai Nobuyuki...

animediva — Wed, 13 Oct 2010 03:07:15 GMT

If you don't know, Anzai Nobuyuki is the guy who does Flame of Recca, MAR, and most recently MiXiM 12. I really can't stand his stories. They're obvious and it makes me want to throw things after awhile. I started MiXiM 12 when I realized that I recognized the style and then the story started to PISS ME OFF.

No... he's no good for me.

On the other hand, I started a manga called Dance! Subaru and that's been pretty good for a variation on a sport's manga. I mean, it's BALLET, so I don't quite understand the fanaticism, but the girl is kind of interesting, if a bit too narcissistic and something of a crybaby. Still, I like that sort of story, especially when it's a girl excelling at something I know might be harder than even soccer: ballet.

...but...seriously... I don't get ballet. I just don't.

Any way, Toukaido Hisame - Kagerou and Kamisama Shinkaron fired up my shounen-ai flame, and I think I'm going to read some YAOI for awhile.

Itsuki's, "Ah, so she was a demon" kills me!! XD (He was planning to get rid of her any way... but I just love his "oh, really?" expression!)

Cucumber x Sandwich also got me going, and the fact is... I just LOVE pretty boys kissing and loving on pretty boys. Especially if one of them is evil... which is generally interestingly enough the seme. Are all seme evil? Am *I* evil...?

(Cucumber x Sandwich there...)

HAR HAR HAR... just kidding.

Otherwise, nothing going on. I need to finish up some paperwork for tomorrow. Bleh. Ciao.

This shit made me seriously laugh... (men singing/dancing Lady Gaga's Bad Romance)

animediva — Tue, 28 Sep 2010 21:01:32 GMT

Mostly because I KNOW Lady Gaga can't sing, but this was just too well done...

SERIOUSLY... it's funny as hell.

Got a new phone in today. I also lost my f******g wallet+keys attached to it. GRRR!!!!

On the positive... I get to eat Okinomiyako cuz Taka and Ayano are gonna make it for me! YAY! Free food!!

We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell

SPN J2 BigBang 2015 - Dreameater (Destiel) 9/9 [COMPLETE]

A Dream of Eggplants, Mt. Fuji, and Hawks* *but not really

SPN J2 BigBang 2015 - Dreameater (Destiel) 8/9

Dean

Downtown Sioux Falls

Dean

Gabriel’s Grove

Akira

Dean

SPN J2 BigBang 2015 - Dreameater (Destiel) 7/9

Dean

Gabriel’s Grove

Baku

Dean

Sam

SPN J2 BigBang 2015 - Dreameater (Destiel) 6/9

End of Week Five

Castiel

Dean

Sam

Dean

Gabriel’s Grove

Castiel

End of Week Six

Dean

Dean

SPN J2 BigBang 2015 - Dreameater (Destiel) 5/9

Dean

Castiel & Gabriel

Baku

End of Week Four

Bobby

Dean

Gabriel

SPN J2 BigBang 2015 - Dreameater (Destiel) 4/9

Bobby

Dean

SPN J2 BigBang 2015 - Dreameater (Destiel) 3/9

Dean

Baku

Dean

Cas

SPN J2 BigBang 2015 - Dreameater (Destiel) 2/9

Baku

Dean

Dean

Castiel

SPN J2 BigBang 2015 - Dreameater (Destiel) 1/9

Baku

Dean

2015 SPN-J2 BIG BANG FIC: "Dreameater" [Dean/Castiel] SLASH, R, MASTER POST.

Let's face it, I'm mostly made of lazy...

AH, why I want to join Deka Scans (a required essay)

Dogs, Finals, & Naps

steampunked

Doctor Josephine Bell (the Mad Scientist)

Ugh... should not have eaten that...

Minekura Kazuya... *sigh*

Iya... tired tired... GOING OLD SCHOOL!!

:: thumbs up ::

uwah... Too busy (Fallout: New Vegas; Cartman sings Lady Gaga)

UGH... 2.5 weeks to go...

:: amusement :: ARE GRINGOS FALLING FROM THE SKY??!!

I have to say...

Scarlett Johansson is just...

I have decided I loathe Anzai Nobuyuki...

This shit made me seriously laugh... (men singing/dancing Lady Gaga's Bad Romance)

A Dream of Eggplants, Mt. Fuji, and Hawks*
*but not really

Minekura Kazuya... sigh