Cas leaned against the nearest boulder, legs protesting with their usual ghost-ache after standing for oh-so-long on the not entirely soft surface that plagued Hell. He tapped the clipboard against his hand- a hand that was missing the majority of its outer layer of skin. It was one of the reasons that he was glad there weren't any mirrors in Hell. The only way to see your reflection was to grab a clean knife, and wasn't that a joke? There wasn't a single clean knife in all of Hell, Cas would bet money on it.
"Slacking off already are ya', beautiful?" A familiar voice drawled from behind him. Cas didn't even bother to crane his neck and look at what would surely be a widely recognizable face.
Well, maybe 'face' wasn't the best word to use.
Dean, Castiel's superior and perhaps the only demon Cas talked to, walked in front of him. His bony hands (literally, bony, Dean had less skin than Cas- a mark of how long he'd been in Hell without reprieve) resting on his hips. The same went for the rest of him, really. There was barely any mass to the man anymore. He wore the rags of souls departed which managed to hide most of the... damage.
But there was no mistaking the fact that Dean could hardly pass as human anymore.
Cas figured it didn't matter either way. It wasn't like anyone down here was human, and if they were they wouldn't be for long.
...Given he didn't 'slack off.'
"I am allowed breaks, Dean." Cas wasn't very good at defending himself. It was a mix of lack of effort from not entirely caring, and being tired of Dean's incessant teasing.
One would think after so many years in Hell, he'd be used to Dean's ever-shifting character. Perhaps that was one of the reasons Cas... put up with the man, he wasn't boring like the rest of Hell's ancient residents.
"Why do you need a break?" Dean asked, squeezing in to lean against the same boulder Cas was. Their shoulders brushed, Dean's bony and thin, Cas' burned and scaley with dried scabs. "You're job too mentally taxing?"
Cas didn't miss the smirk in his tone, even if Dean didn't have lips anymore, the guy sure knew how to show some attitude with only his voice. (Of course Cas knew they were spirits without vessels now, their corporeal forms more a representation of their fucked up souls rather than their true bodies.) Technically they didn’t have voices. Hell was a weird place.
"No," Cas spoke slowly. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth and all he could taste was ash and grit. "That is definitely not the problem."
Dean's black gaze flashed, his eyes boring into Cas like he could read the shorter demon's mind. Cas hoped fervently that he couldn't. How would he know, though? He knew less about Hell than he had before being dragged down here. "Then what? You getting old, Cas? Sorry to tell you, but we demons don't get to retire."
Castiel let silence descend upon them. The constant screams of torture and the crackling sound of damnations’ flames remained ever-present as always.
Technically speaking, demons did not get tired. They were... trained to work effortlessly to accomplish their tasks. Castiel knew that, had once had the words carved into his skin. Do not disobey. You are a slave to the King now.
But it had been a long while since that had happened, and recently his thoughts had been drifting elsewhere.
"Dean," Castiel spoke after a long while. There was a line of awaiting demons now. Each one tasked with working the racks; shaping new loyalists for their father. He should return to his place, start telling those waiting which rack they were assigned to- which human they were going to torment until they broke.
Cas sucked in a breath, the tang of pain and suffering held a permanent place in the air, making his following swallow thick and audible. "Do you ever want to leave this place?"
Dean considered him. Cas had learned to read his patchy expression throughout all of their time together, but right then he couldn't make out a single emotion. He knew his words were rebellious, that as a lower-ranking demon he had to shut up and get to work, but he could not stay quiet any longer.
For whatever reason... he thought Dean might understand him.
He was wrong.
"No," Dean answered flatly. "This place is great. We've got free heating, entertainment--" a pointed scream filled the air almost as though orchestrated. Castiel nearly rolled his eyes. "--And company. Lot's of it. What more could you want?"
At his friend's words Cas felt his shoulders slump. He put on a brave face though, kept his mouth in its usual, straight line.
Really, he shouldn't have been surprised. "Nothing." He was an idiot for thinking such stupid thoughts. Cas had died, he was dead. He was where he deserved to be, and he ought to be thankful for finally getting off rack-duty after all this time.
"Come on," Dean said, slapping him on the back. His blood stained, hole-torn trench-coat released a puff of black soot at the touch. "I'll keep you company as you rally the troops."
Things could be worse, Castiel supposed. He could've spent all his time down here without ever meeting Dean.
Wouldn't have that been true hell?
OOC: This is the story of two demons and will be told through their POVs. It will be run mainly through the tumblr; askdemondestiel. Answered asks/submissions will not be posted here or on fanfic.net. Only the entries made by the characters will be posted here.
Therefore, feel free to head on over to the tumblr and check out what you're missing.
Dean didn’t normally spend so much time down in the ‘muck’ of Hell; where the filthiest deeds of Hell took place.
Nah, that was a total lie.
He was always down there, checking on Cas, talking to Cas and giving the guy some company. There really wasn’t any other reason for him to be down there. He didn’t have a 'job’ anymore like his blue eyed friend. He’d outgrown that. As a higher-ranking demon he mostly worked freelance. They called on him when they needed him, otherwise he could just run around and cause general chaos for all they cared.
And sure, he did that. Over the decades he’d spent in Hell though, that’d gotten pretty fucking old.
… 'Scuse the french.
So Cas was a nice change to all of that, someone who could actually hold his attention. The only demon Dean actively sought out when he had free time.
He didn’t know why exactly he was so… drawn to the bloke. Sure, he was one of the few demons that had a soul in such good shape. Dean could still see the 'bluest blue’ in his gaze, and only rarely did his eyes flicker to black. His skin, whilst ravaged from his years spent on the rack, still showed his (in Dean’s words) pretty damn-fine looking form. A runner’s form, if Dean’s memory served.
Which, nowadays, it kinda didn’t.
Anywho, Besides Cas’ physical appeal, the guy was a breath of fresh air. He didn’t think like other demons. It hadn’t taken long to notice.
Cas didn’t appear to be ruled by baser urges- urges to maim and trick and deceive. He wasn’t all that vicious either.
Dean knew from experience that Cas could be pretty freaking scary when he wanted to be, but most of the time he was more like a kitten. An adorable, rain soaked kitten who had squinty, beautiful eyes.
[Cas would probably kill Dean if he heard him think that.]
All of this came together to explain why, after just finishing saving a crossroad demon’s ass (God dammit Steve), he was making his way down the oh-so-aptly dubbed 'Hallway of screams.’
… He may have came up with that name himself.
It wasn’t hard to find Cas, the guy stood out like a sore thumb. Still in his Earthly clothes and with a full patch of hair (Dean was jealous of his floofy black mess. Who could blame him? Given his own follicle impairment.)
After their chat earlier, Dean had been thinking. He had never really considered the whole surface vs damnation debacle. Hell had become his home after time, and he’d long since forgotten what Earth was really like. Only his few-and-far-between trips up above gave him some perspective. Each time had been for a job though. He could visit anytime he wanted, but what was the point?
Since Cas had brought it up, Dean had put some thought into the question.
“Hey Cas,” he greeted, bony hands lifting to ruffle Cas’ hair.
The demon ducked his head to free himself, but Dean didn’t miss the exasperated/amused wombo-combo on his face. “Hello dean.”
“Did ya’ miss me, honey-buns?”
Castiel read something on his clipboard before responding. “If I say yes, will you leave me alone?”
“Aww, don’t be like that Cas.” Dean circled him, pressing into the man’s personal space. “I know you absolutely love my company.”
“Keep thinking that,” Cas responded blandly, not giving anything away.
Dean chuckled. “You’re so cute when you’re being stubborn.”
“What brings you down to the racks this time?” Dean didn’t miss how he changed the topic.
That was another thing about Cas that kept Dean coming back. He could never really get a read on the guy. He knew Cas had to at least kind of enjoy his company. Otherwise he would’ve been told to shove off by now.
“Same old, same old. It was getting too boring hanging around and waiting for orders. Thought I’d come bug my favorite pencil-pusher.”
Castiel directed a deadpan expression in his direction. “How considerate.”
Dean couldn’t hold back the giant grin that broke out across his face. “I know right? I might be the nicest demon in this place.”
Cas looked at him as though he might be crazy.
The sad truth was that he was. Pretty much every demon in Hell was at least some percentage of coo-coo.
“Whatever you say.” Cas turned and started talking to a waiting demon, instructing him on which rack he’d be working.
“So how’s your day been?” Dean asked when Cas was done.
“Quiet,” Cas answered. The double-meaning of that statement did not allude the older demon. “How about you?”
Dean wondered, for perhaps the millionth time, if he should open up to Cas. Tell his demon pal that he was so over doing all the dirty work for the pompous assholes that ruled over them. Sure, he always got some sick satisfaction from torturing some schmucks or roughing up some misbehaving demons, but the truth was–
“…Same old same old."
Dean had always hated talking about feelings.
If Cas picked up on Dean’s hesitation, he didn’t show it. It was probably better that way.
The thoughts had been plaguing him ever since he spoke to Dean. He’d been thinking about the surface for a while, about how things were going up there and everything he was missing. Of course, he’d wondered about it every now and then even before he started considering bringing the topic up with Dean.
Now though, it seemed he’d been thinking about all that... nonsense way more than usual. He didn’t know what to do.
And... There was only one person he knew that he could talk to.
Cas finally got some time off, and although there wasn’t much to do in Hell (other than your job) he decided to head straight to somewhere quiet. Aka, Dean’s living quarters.
(If probed further on the reason for his decision, Cas would refuse to admit that he really just wanted to see Dean.)
As he entered through the small crevice that served as Dean’s humble-abode, Cas had to lament about the fact that he’d probably never get a place for his own. You would think that Hell, an infinitely vast place, would have more places for its residents to call home. Alas, hobbles like Dean’s were few and far between and all of them were very much taken.
The term ‘fight me for it’ often came to pass when one would try to scope out some real estate. Cas couldn’t find a reason to harm another being just to get a small outcropping of rock that passed as a home.
So yeah, he crashed at Dean’s... a lot.
Dean hadn’t done much with the place, not that there was all that much to work with. As Cas entered, his eyes scanned over the mess of journals and books that were spread on the surface of a square-ish boulder that Dean dubbed a table. There wasn’t a couch or a TV- just the ‘table’ and a massive hanging fabric creation. It didn’t paint any distinguishable picture, was just a mess of green, yellow and hazel threads.
It was like someone had tried to find the perfect color, but couldn’t quite capture it.
It was too bad really, the real thing was probably very beautiful.
“Dean?” Cas called. His voice echoed through the rocky cavity.
Sometimes Dean had time off when Cas did, and the younger demon hoped that Dean would be ‘round right then. As much as he enjoyed some peace and quiet, it was rather... boring without Dean there.
Castiel was wandering closer to the fabric masterpiece when he heard a response. “Yeah! In the bedroom, Cas. C’mon in.”
Frowning, Castiel headed towards the bedroom. He wondered what Dean could possibly be doing in there. Demon’s didn’t need to sleep, after all.
After their hold up in the bedroom, (see here) they adjourned to the living room. Cas had to talk to Dean, and even though this was their usual routine when they hung out, he couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous. It was what he was planning to say that was eating at him.
Best he just get it over with.
“Dean I–” Cas began at the same time that Dean said:
“Cas do you–”
Cas paused, Dean chuckled then scratched at the back of his neck. “You go first,” the elder demon proposed.
Castiel hesitated. He looked up and met Dean’s gaze, trying to get a read on him. Maybe Dean hadn’t thought about the surface, but it wasn’t like he’d reported Cas for treason when he’d asked the other day. It probably would be better if he just stayed quiet, but he couldn’t keep it... bottled up inside any longer.
He took a breath, then let it out.
"Dean I want to visit Earth, and check on my sister…”
Also viewable on tumblr here: http://askdemondestiel.tumblr.com/post/141215742025/entry-3