.
.
.
"Here," says Sam. He sets his laptop on the table in front of Castiel.
"Why are you giving this to me."
Sam looks pained for a moment. They'd been dealing with a should-be-routine-but-is-weirdly-complicated ghost...thing, and Cas had wanted to feel a bit more like he was part of the investigation, and ended up making the only witness cry. Not that he was such an expert at questioning himself, but at least no one he interviewed ran from the room in hysterics.
"Sam. You are giving this to me. Why."
Sam tries to give him a smile. He'd gotten used to Cas phrasing questions as statements. It was something about the even baritone of his voice - everything dripped with certainty. The things he said seemed like they had been chiseled in stone millennia ago.
"Because, Cas. We need you to do some research while we check out the campus again."
Cas seemed to light up at the opportunity to help - well, as much as Cas could light up - which was about the amount of a dead lamp.
"I see," Castiel says. Sam kind of doubts it.
"You gonna be okay with that thing, Cas?" Dean asks, pulling a bag of weaponry onto his shoulder.
"Yes."
Sam and Dean share a look before Dean shrugs.
"Well, alrighty then," says Dean evenly. He motions to Sam that they should get going. Sam manages to throw him a worried look before turning back to Castiel.
"We'll uh, call you if we need anything okay, Cas?"
"Yes." He's pushing buttons, and the laptop keeps making that dull ringing tone that means you shouldn't be pressing any buttons at all.
They leave Castiel at the table with the laptop, the light making his face glow blue in the fading light. After stowing the gear in the trunk, they slide into the car. Dean turns the ignition but lets it run for a moment in silence. Sam looks over at him.
"You think that was a good idea?" Dean asks.
"Nope," he says, almost immediately.
"Thought so."
They drive off into the night.
.
.
.
Two weeks later, Castiel is in the backseat with Sam's laptop, laughing at something.
"Sam, Dean," he says, his smile so wide he looks more like a six-year-old with a sugar rush than a renegade angel.
"Lemme guess," says Dean, deadpan. "Your blog."
They weren't sure how Castiel had even gotten there. They're not even sure how he got an email address to register himself. But ever since they left him with that damn laptop, Castiel would use it to go on what Sam called Tumblr, like a blogging site kind of, and Dean was having a hard time reconciling his friend and fellow Purgatory survivor with this blogger he was now faced with. If he had to hear one more thing about tags, so help him–
"There is this picture of a penguin," says Castiel, seemingly ignoring Dean's initial remark. For a minute Castiel is lost in his own laughter again, pointing at the screen that neither of them can actually see.
"A penguin? What about it, Cas?" says Sam, diplomatic as ever.
"There is large writing above and below him. It doesn't like phones."
Sam waits for the rest of it. There is only the sounds of Dean's teeth grinding together in his skull and the double-clicking of Cas trying to scroll down.
"Is that... is that the joke?" Sam asks.
Castiel chuckles, shaking his head. "Everyone knows penguins communicate on varied frequencies through vocal vibrations," he says in smiling disbelief.
Sam only stares, blank-faced, at Castiel before turning in his seat to look at Dean.
"Dude," Dean mutters to Sam, eyes fixed on the road. "Worst. Idea. Ever."
"You really think–" Sam starts.
"I must reblog this and makes notes on the evolution of the waterfowl," says Castiel to himself.
"Yes!" Dean spits quietly.
Sam turns up the radio to drown out the sound of Castiel's slow, heavy typing.
.
.
.
"I have gained another follower," Castiel says.
"That's great, Cas," says Dean's echoed voice from the other end of the phone. "But if you could just read us that spell–"
Dean's voice cuts off. Castiel can hear some kind of commotion in the background - there's grating metal sounds and a muttered goddamnit before something howls in pain.
"Cas! The spell!" Dean yells into the phone.
Castiel rattles it off in a bored tone, listening as Dean haltingly repeats it on the other end. The sound of rushing flames erupts for a few moments, then goes dead.
"Dean?"
"Yeah. Yeah, we're good. Thanks for that, Cas."
"It's 501, now."
"What?"
"Followers."
Castiel hears the click of Dean hanging up the phone.
.
.
.
"What's up, Cas?" Sam asks, though he already knows the answer. It's been relatively slow on their hunt for the other half of God's word, and Castiel has been typing furiously in the motel all day, answering what he calls "asks." Sam grabs the back of the chair opposite Cas and twirls it, straddling the seat with his arms crossed across the top of it.
"Sam," says Castiel, looking up from the screen. "Is there any news?"
"No, not yet. Hopefully soon though," he says. Castiel nods and goes back to typing. Sam sits for a moment, quietly, watching Castiel type away. He's gotten a lot faster at it.
"Anything new on your Tumblr?" asks Sam. He has the slow feeling that he might regret the question, but it's not like anything else was going on. Dean had gone out for food.
"Anonymous thinks I am a troll. I am rectifying their assumption," say Castiel casually. Sam lets that sink in.
"Right," he says, unsure if that's the correct response.
"And why is that?" Sam asks after another moment of awkward silence.
"Why is what," says Castiel.
"Why does someone think you're a troll?"
"I am unsure. I have not displayed any characteristics of troll, pre-dawn or otherwise," says Castiel seriously.
"Hm," says Sam.
"Though I gain more followers each time I reply. I now have over six thousand."
"Wow."
"Yes. I can start one for you if you'd like," says Castiel.
"Uh, no thanks," says Sam.
"You're sure?"
"Yeah," says Sam. "I'm really sure."
He gets up before Cas tries to convince him of the merits of blogging. Again.
"I'm just gonna... do some stuff. You know."
Sam takes long strides toward the door, and nearly walks into Dean, his hand reaching for the doorknob. Before he can say anything, Sam grabs Dean's arm and shoves him back outside, food bags and all.
"Dude, what the hell?" Dean says. Sam has already shut the door and is blocking the frame with his body.
"You don't want to go in there."
"Is he... is he blogging again?! We gotta deal with this, man! It's driving me nuts!"
"I know," says Sam, grimacing. "But later."
"Whatever," Dean grumbles.
They sit in an empty parking space, eating their burgers in silence as Cas occasionally chuckles to himself inside their room, still typing.
.