Grand Theft Vessel

A Supernatural Fanfic, Post '99 Problems'

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and the big-wigs of the CW. I'm just borrowing them.

GTV: In which a falling angel and a faithless vessel come to an accord...

Dean stared hard into the bottled oblivion that waited patiently in his hands. He felt sick, and weak, like there was nothing he could do. Helpless. The Colt didn't work against angels, or least not against Lucifer. Neither would the Knife. Holy Oil could only be used as a stop-gap, a deterrent, like goofer dust did to hellhounds. They were fighting a loosing war where you couldn't even use your own death to flip the enemy the bird. The only thing he had any semblance of choice in was how long it would drag out. All he had to do was say that one damned word, and the earth and all its people would get one super fantastic firework send off as the seas boiled and the land burned.

Sipping from the bottle, Dean bowed his head and hunched in on himself. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes as Famine's words echoing in his head. Empty. He was hollow inside. Just an empty vessel. Dead. Nothing but a container for angel spunk. That was all he was, and all he had ever been 'destined' to be. Dean Winchester the Hunter was a lie. A fiction and alias. Another fake ID. Maybe John had always known, giving one final order to kill Sam, on some instinctual level since being possessed by that smug prick Micheal; why it always felt like he wasn't measuring up. Why he seemed to fail whenever it really mattered. He was a tool to be used and then cast away. Micheal's sword. A weapon.

Fucking shit. Dean took a long pull from his bottle, relishing the burn as it went down to join everything else he'd drunk after storming out of the motel room. He threw a toast to the sky. Servant of Heaven. That's me. He was well on his way to becoming stumbling-over-his-own-tongue drunk but it didn't seem to matter all that much. If he did die of liver failure the dicks upstairs would just bring him back. Bastards.

It seemed ridiculous that he, con man extraordinaire Dean Fucking Winchester, couldn't find a way out of the shit fest that had become his life. Apocalypse. Angels on one side and demons on the other with humanity stuck in the middle. Maybe he should say yes? After all, it wasn't like they had any other option. The forces of good, and what a laugh that title was, had stonewalled them but mightily. Demons running amok and not near enough Hunters to play damage control. Lilith had seen to that. "White-eyed bitch." He took another long pull from his bottle, nearly draining it entirely, and stared up at the sky.

The Y word was becoming more and more appealing and maybe, just maybe, if he said it before Sammy he'd at least do one thing right. He, or at least the dick riding him, and was that not a horrible mental image, could kick the devil's ass and prevent him from getting to Sammy and then Sammy could go upstairs and be with his perfect normal dream family and the little dog, too.

Dean cast aside his bottle with a sigh, listened to the slightly muffled shatter as it clashed against the pavement in the lovely little boondocks he'd found, and reached through the window to one of his many cases of beer. He was all out of the hard stuff now, but nothing in the 'verse was going to stop him from getting completely and utterly smashed. "I always wanted a dog. Would have been nice." He grumbled to himself, momentarily jealous of Sam's brief childhood foray into independence.

"Dean." The voice had a recognizable rumble to it, and Dean attempted to focus on the white and tan figure before him. Attempted being the key word. He felt his lips twitch in drunken amusement as he could swear he could see something fuzzy behind the only non-dick of heaven. He chuckled to himself and reached back in his beloved Impala to toss his friend a beer. Maybe they could find another liquor store and drink it?

"Hey, Cas." He took a sip of the sweet sweet ambrosia and swayed a bit. Cas looked so holy under the flickering street light. Glow-y. He also looked a bit concerned, but with Castiel's poker face and Dean's current level of inebriation one could never be sure.

Surprisingly, Castiel opened his can of beer in what resembled a practiced and familiar movement, one handed. His whole body looked infinitely more relaxed as he imbibed the alcohol though his eyes didn't lose that spark of wariness. "Are you well, Dean?"

Was he well? Not really. He was pissed drunk and on his way to utterly wasted. His fingers were starting to get tingly, but he still felt as though he'd had his heart ripped out of his chest, and he was truly familiar with that feeling, so he could say yes. Or he could say the other yes. Get all filled with angel mojo and ride to battle on a charging comet. Let the world burn so the dicks could remake it however they wished with puppies and unicorns and who-the-fuck knew what else.

Sounded like a plan.

"No." While Dean would have preferred to lie like he did with Bobby and Sammy he couldn't do that with Cas, at least not without all brain cells firing, but if he had that he wouldn't be out here drinking with his angel. He handed the other being a fresh beer and stroked the hood of his Baby. "No, I'm not."

Castiel tilted his head in that ridiculous puppy like way, and Dean felt his body shudder with insane laughter. Only a moment ago he'd been mourning his lack of pet while growing up, Sammy didn't count because dogs didn't talk back and ask too many questions for their own good, but here he had an overgrown puppy with wings. He reached out before he really realized what he was doing and placed one hand on Castiel's shoulder while resting his head on the angel's chest. "Dude, don't ever change." His throat constricted and for a moment Dean was afraid he was going to puke all over his friend. But then the moment passed and he rocked back, nearly falling, before Cas gripped his arm and guided him back to lean against the Impala. His Baby. Ever supportive and all things good.

"Would you like to make confession?" Castiel asked and Dean blinked the fuzziness away, while trying to process the question. Perhaps he had passed out during his binge and this was all a dream. It would certainly explain the hazy wings growing out of Cas' back that he had only seen as shadows on a wall before. Figured the only time he could see the damn things was when he couldn't see much of anything. Holy beer goggles?

"What?"

Castiel crunched the can in his hand and tossed it over his shoulder, right through one of the wings, and gave a halting shrug like he was attempting to do something he had only seen done, which was entirely possible. "Confession. I shall serve as witness for your soul if you do not wish to discuss such matters with Sam."

"..." Dean stared in confusion before the angel-speak made it through the cluttered fog of his brain into modern English. Then he scowled. "No. No dude. I don't do the touchy-feely share and care crap."

Castiel did not look very happy, or maybe it was his imagination. Dean pushed off the car and fumbled for the door handle. He should go out and find one of those crazy Mormons so they could get in touch with the heavenly command. He should probably figure out some demands. Keep Sammy safe, heal Bobby, maybe get Jo and Ellen resurrected, and make them let Cas back into the Angel Army.

Dean froze. There was something funny about that thought. Something ridiculously humorous about it. Carefully, he marshaled his alcohol drenched thoughts. He was a Hunter, the need to think clearly was a survival imperative nine times out of ten. He swallowed in reaction to his suddenly dry mouth and turned to stare at Castiel. Blue eyes bore into green as a vague thought bubble up that Dean was certain if he'd been sober would never have occurred to him. It was too ridiculous, too asinine and pie-in-the-sky to really contemplate. But that was what drinking did to the mind, and as anyone could say Dean Winchester had a hard on for pie. He latched onto that thought before it could float away and tied it down as he continued to ponder the idea.

Archangels left their vessels drooling wrecks. He'd seen that, and even if Micheal claimed he would not do so, Dean trusted those pricks as far as he could throw them, which was to say not at all. But he'd also seen Jimmy, Castiel's vessel, who when empty was disillusioned but not comatose. Hell, the guy had enough personality to sneak past Sam and hitch a Bus ride home, and then use knowledge he certainly didn't have pre-possession to try and save his family. More importantly: Dean trusted Cas.

He wondered what it would be like to have the overgrown puppy sharing space in his head. He'd never been possessed. He wondered if it would be the angry pain of a demon or the chained to a comet Jimmy had described. "Castiel." Dean enunciated slowly to make sure no drunken slurring entered his speech. The angel straightened and narrowed his eyes; Dean hadn't addressed him by his full formal name in months. "Could you use me?"

"...I do not understand."

"I don't want Micheal riding around in my meat suit. He is a dick. I know this. I've met him." Dean fought the urge to get another beer. Castiel had no such complications and reached for another, eyes hard and considering. "You aren't."

And the light bulb went on. "Dean. That isn't-"

Dean raised his hand for silence and plowed on. "I've seen you jump bodies. Hell, you turned that little girl into the second coming. I'm a vessel, maybe if I'm already occupied they'll just have to forfeit and try again next millennium."

Castiel was looking upset. "It was in her blood, the Novak bloodline is particularly suited to an angel of my caste as is your's to the archangels-"

"So what? A vessel is a vessel is a vessel. I know we aren't a 100% match but that hasn't stopped Lucifer and isn't he currently tooling around in a lesser vessel? Maybe I'll be a bit more roomy than you're used to but..." No. He was not crying. He was not going to break down and have a pity party in the middle of this. Not until he'd convinced Cas. "Please. Dude. I broke in Hell. You saw what happened to me, if I have to be a vessel I'd rather it be you in the driver's seat."

Dean couldn't even begin to guess what that look on his friends face was. Cas looked softer, somehow, and shiny like someone had been messing around with the filters in photoshop. He leaned forward, nose only inches away from Dean's own and the Winchester had a sudden sense of deja-vu. You don't think you deserve to be saved.

"Dean. You have to understand, cut off from Heaven my power is much diminished. Even before then I could not stand in battle among Micheal, Raphael, or even Gabriel. I can not defeat my brother." It drove home Castiel's position like a punch to the gut as it was the same damn thing Dean was fighting with. Unlike Dean, Cas had killed several of his family, but to be fair they tried, and momentarily succeeded, in killing him first. But it didn't really matter. Not where Dean was concerned. He reached up, cupped Castiel's face with his hands, and let his soul out. Let the tears fall.

He knew he was worthless. Hell, they all were. But that didn't matter to him. It had never mattered. We do what we do and we shut up about it. They were all just broken souls clinging to something, anything, that might be family. And no matter what Castiel said, no matter what the angel thought, there was still something in him. Something bright and powerful. For an instant rage burned through the haze, and Dean felt the same as he had in that green room after Zachariah gave his evil mastermind monologue. The feathered fucks might have stonewalled him, but Dean Winchester would just pull out a fucking sledgehammer.

He made sure Cas couldn't look away. "I don't give a shit."

Suddenly, it felt like a porno, and Dean couldn't help but give a cocky grin and whisper seductively. "I want you in me, Cas. Fill me with your... grace. I want you to take me as yours." There was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, the image of a thoroughly trashed warehouse and an unconscious Jimmy, but Dean would fight tooth, nail, and soul to keep his angel.

He wasn't quite expecting the sudden locking of lips, but he nearly came in his jeans as what could only be described as raw power flooded into him, and he was swept away into the flood of Grace and Faith.

Yes.

Dean's body jerked backward into the open window of the Impala, knocking his head on the metal frame, glowing a brilliant white-gold, as it screamed. His hands opened and closed as if trying to reach for something to hold before the power surged in an uncontrollable flood and and all that was left in the old parking lot was the unconscious body of James Novak.

A/N- I've had this idea for a while. Cleaned it up and posted it, hopefully it'll spawn some Dean!Cas stories...