3) spn_omens -- a Supernatural/Good Omens community omgggggjkdlgj
4) Hey, it's Becky in high school.
5) The following fic is saved on my laptop as 'idkmybffbecky' and had the working title of 'The Unadventures of Sam girl and Dean girl'.
Restore From Saved Draft
Supernatural. Becky, Castiel, Chuck (and Dean & Sam). There's some Chuck/Becky, I guess. PG. Spoilers for 2.01, 2.13, 5.09, and 5.10.
So that's how Becky ends up babysitting a fallen angel with a broken arm. It's probably the weirdest thing that's ever happened to her and, considering recent events, that's saying something. ~4300 words
ETA: nos4a2no9 has recorded this as podfic and audiobook. mari_delarge has translated this fic into Russian.
"But I can help," Becky protests. "I know the Supernatural books inside and out, and look, I even got the anti-possession tattoo tattooed on my--"
"We know our supernatural lives inside and out," Dean cuts in, "and we'll do just fine, thanks. Come on, prophet, let's get a move on."
"Maybe Becky can come and--" Chuck wheedles.
"Look," Sam says in his let's-be-reasonable voice, "Becky, we really need you here for Cas, okay? He just broke his arm, and he can't... He's not in any state to be going anywhere right now.”
Everyone glances at Castiel, but Castiel's only response is conciliatory silence.
“Becky?” Sam says, and then he does that thing with his eyes, argh, it totally kills her. When Sam Winchester does that thing with his eyes, all hope is lost for Becky Rosen.
“Oh, Sam,” she sighs, which everyone knows means 'yes'.
Chuck clears his throat, and looks disgruntled.
"Okay, let's go, the apocalypse waits for no man," Dean says, and clasps Castiel's shoulder. “Call us if anything comes up.”
And then the Winchesters are out the door. Chuck is about to follow, but Becky throws her arms around him, and says, “Maybe the apocalypse can wait for the prophet a little bit.”
“Are you sure the apocalypse wouldn't rather wait for Sam?” Chuck grumbles.
“Oh my god, you are such an emoface.” Becky kisses his nose. "Who's my favorite nerfherder?”
Chuck mutters something indistinct.
“Whoooo's my favorite nerfherderrr?” she coos.
“I am,” he admits.
“I can't heeeaaar yoooouuu.”
“I am,” Chuck repeats, a little louder. “I'm your nerfherder!”
“Favorite nerfherder,” she corrects.
He smiles. “I'm your favorite nerfherder.”
“And don't you forget it,” Becky grins, and she kisses him.
“Chuck!” Dean hollers from down the hall.
“Chewie's calling,” she says. “Take care, okay? I love you.”
Chuck's eyes soften. “I love you, too.”
“No, no! Say it like Han says it!” She raises her eyebrows meaningfully, and tries again: “I love you.”
“...I know,” Chuck concedes.
And just for that, she kisses him again.
“Shurley!” Dean yells. “Don't make me come up there!”
Off Chuck goes, off to avert the apocalypse like the awesome prophet that he is. Becky closes the door with a proud and heavy heart, then turns and sees Castiel standing by the coffee table. He is staring at her. He has probably been staring this whole time.
“What's a nerfherder?” he asks.
“...You're C3PO,” Becky decides.
So that's how Becky ends up babysitting a fallen angel with a broken arm. It's probably the weirdest thing that's ever happened to her and, considering recent events, that's saying something.
Castiel doesn't do much of anything at first. He is distant when Becky attempts conversation, so she leaves him on the couch to watch Chuck's Star Wars DVDs while she researches omens and answers LJ comments in the next room. Some troll totally missed the point of her latest Wincest fic, and she is running out of patience trying to explain that there is a fine line between being formulaic and being in character. But, when the end is nigh, it's hard to get invested in people being wrong on the internet. Sometimes Becky would text Sam information about the omens she's reading up on, but Sam's replies are curt and run along the lines of "thx we already know".
She sends a text to Chuck. "how r u."
"ok," Chuck texts back. "dean is a jerk."
"ikr," Becky replies.
She closes her laptop. The apocalypse is not what she thought it would be.
"Hey, Castiel," Becky says, poking her head into the living room. "Are you hungry at all?"
Castiel still has blank eyes glued to Han Solo being wry at someone. "I don't..." he says, then shifts uncomfortably. "...Yes."
"We have some Hamburger Helper."
"Yeah, I can make some stroganoff. Do you like stroganoff?"
"...I like hamburgers."
"We don't have any buns."
He considers this. "Anything you make will be fine," he decides, with a gracious nod.
"You sure?” asks Becky. “Do you have like any dietary restrictions?"
Castiel's brow knits together, then he replies, "I can't eat raw ground beef."
"...I'll make the stroganoff."
So they're sitting at the kitchen table, eating food from a box, and she's asking him how he broke his arm.
“A demon threw me out a window,” Castiel says.
“That'll do it,” she nods. “Why did it throw you out the window?”
“Because it was trying to kill me.”
“Right. But why was it trying to kill you?”
“Because,” he replies, “I was trying to kill it.”
Becky is beginning to wonder if Castiel is doing this on purpose.
A minute passes like paint drying.
She tries again with "So what's heaven like?" but then he gets this gutted look on his face and skirts around the issue, and really, she should have known better. In a fit of desperation, Becky changes the subject to her go-to topic, that issue that is always ready to consume her thoughts at the slightest provocation. She falls back on what she knows best, and asks Castiel what he thinks of the homosexual subtext in the Supernatural books.
His response is a quizzical "Subtext?" to which Becky crows, "Ha-HA, exactly!"
But then he's back to pushing stroganoff around his plate and not saying much of anything, and here they are, like two people on the worst date in the world.
Castiel heaves a sigh, and looks into her eyes. "This is delicious. Thank you."
"Aww.” She smiles a wavering smile. “It's the least I can do."
"You are very hospitable," he continues. "And your... blouse is nice. How is the weather?"
"You have a pleasing smile," Castiel concludes, and Becky thinks that this must be what happens what you take lessons in small talk from Dean Winchester.
"Thanks," she says. "I guess."
"You're welcome. How are the douchebag Yankees faring?"
Becky thinks maybe it's time to break out the wine.
They're two and a half glasses in, and Becky is feeling much more comfortable now that they have fallen into a spirited meta discussion of Sam Winchester.
"I think it all started with 'Mystery Spot', you know?" she says. "I mean, obviously it started long before that--"
"Loooong before that," Castiel agrees.
"But I mean, what Sam went through in 'Mystery Spot', it's just so heart-wrenching, I can't even--" Becky takes another gulp of wine. "I mean can you imagine? It's like Sam's worst nightmare over and over! Like over and over--"
"Yes, Gabriel has always had a dark sense of humor," Castiel says. "Unlike Uriel."
"--and over," she gibbers. "Oh god. Sam."
"But maybe I just don't understand Gabriel's punchlines," Castiel muses.
"I just want to give him a hug," Becky sighs. "I mean, Castiel," she leans in closer, "Sam lost half a year to the worst cruelty that could ever be inflicted on him."
Castiel tilts his head. "Dean lost forty years to hell."
"Well, yeah, but Dean chose to be there, you know? That's different."
"Are you implying that half a year of being alive is worse than forty years in hell?"
"Look, if Dean decides he wants to be consorting with hell--”
"Consorting with hell?” Castiel interrupts, with something suspiciously resembling smugness. “Surely you remember Ruby?"
"Yeah, but Sam was doing that because he wanted to save the world.”
"Good intentions pave the road to hell."
"So do deals with crossroad demons, hello."
"They were the victims of heaven's manipulation," says Castiel, "as are we all--"
"Oh my god," she chortles, "stop using your brothers' wankathon as an excuse for being the biggest Dean girl ever!"
He narrows his eyes. "I raised him from perdition!"
"My point exactly."
Someone's cellphone buzzes, then. They both fumble for their phones, but the call is not for Becky.
Castiel flips his open, and intones, "Dean."
"I'm fine," Castiel says. "Becky is fine. We're drinking wine, and debating whether it's you or Sam who has more man-pain. Man-pain," he repeats in tones of confirmation. "It's what Becky calls it when you cry." Castiel frowns. "But I have seen you cry. Allergies? What are you allergic to?"
Becky pours more wine into their glasses, and Castiel nods his thanks at her.
"Ask him if Chuck's okay," she says.
"Becky wants to know if Chuck's okay." Castiel looks up at her. "They're all okay. They're in Pennsylvania. Lancaster."
"Ooh!" Becky lights up. "I bought the best fudge in Lancaster! Tell them if they have time – and if it's still there – they should drop by the Amish market and buy some fudge!"
"Becky says you should buy fudge from the Amish," Castiel informs Dean.
Becky can hear the tinny echoes of Dean's yelling, and she sips her wine as Castiel listens with a considering expression on his face. Then he looks up, and says, "Dean says you--" and is interrupted by another round of yelling.
"Never mind," Castiel tells her.
And then Castiel starts saying things like, "It's not High Enochian, more like a dialect of it," and "That's not how heptagrams work," so Becky tunes him out, and starts texting Chuck.
"castiel totes ships dean/himself," she sends.
"dont i know it," Chuck texts back, and Becky giggles to herself.
"r u a sam girl or a dean girl?" she asks.
Chuck's reply reads, "im a becky girl."
And her grin stretches from ear to ear.
Over the next few days, Becky figures out social interaction with Castiel: if all else fails, talk about the Winchesters. Castiel has many fervent opinions about them, as does Becky, and they are neither of them ever bored when it comes to discussing their favorite brothers. One of the things they like to do is watch TV on DVD and try to figure out who is a Sam girl and who is a Dean girl. MacGyver would be a Dean girl. Angel is probably a Sam girl and, after some debate, they think that Sayid Jarrah might be, too. Dana Scully, however, would be thoroughly unimpressed by the both of them.
“It would seem,” Castiel says, “that Scully is a Mulder girl above all else.”
One night, to the relief of all parties involved, Chuck calls Becky and Dean calls Castiel, assuring each other that everyone is still alive, everyone is still in one piece. But Chuck just had a dream about rivers turning into blood two states over, so Team Free Will v2.0 can't come home just yet.
“It's like, the more the apocalypse is happening, the more I'm getting my visions back,” Chuck says. “Sam thinks they're a decoy, but what can you do, right? We still have to save these people. I guess.”
“Well, you're on the front lines, Chuck,” says Becky, curled up on the bed. In the kitchen, Castiel is probably having a similar conversation with Dean. “So what's it like?”
“Uh, a lot of yelling. Sam wants to 'explore' my visions with some creepy-ass magic, but Dean thinks it's a waste of time and just wants to get to the asskicking.”
“What do you want?”
Becky rolls her eyes. “Hey, remember: you are a mean, motherfucking servant of God.”
“Oh, baby, you know I love it when you talk Tarantino at me,” Chuck purrs.
“...Um. That was totally Robert Rodriguez, bee tee dubs.”
“What? No, he directed it. Tarantino wrote the script.”
And then they roll into one of their rambling movie geek-offs, and it's so familiar and wonderful and, god, she really wishes Chuck were here, she misses him so much. Before the Winchesters dropped by and insisted they needed his visions (and him, by reluctant extension), Chuck and Becky had had a nice weekend lined up to be filled with little more than take-out and a Buffy marathon. Awesome, right? Chuck just got the complete season DVDs online for dirt-cheap because apparently when the world burns, the only thing that will survive is cockroaches and Craigslist. But then Sam had to be all, “We need you, Chuck,” and Dean was like, “Here's your claim stub, Becky,” and handed Castiel to her. And here they all are.
This morning, the papers told of mysterious floods swallowing Ogdenville, and children turning up dead in Sedgewick, and her boyfriend is out there trying to stop it by dreaming the right dreams.
Becky hears Dean say something gruff and indistinct in the background, and Chuck says, “Becky, I gotta go. I love you, okay?”
“I know,” she says. “I love you, too.”
And that's that.
She gives herself a few minutes, leaning back into the pillows and staring unseeing at the opposite wall. She supposes Buffy had to deal with this kind of thing all the time. Yeah, well, Becky doesn't really want to save the world a lot anyway. Once would be just fine.
Becky's favorite Supernatural book is 'Heart', and Castiel's is 'Houses of the Holy', which is just typical, but then he adds, "Sam still wanted to be saved, then."
She raises her eyebrows. "You think he doesn't want to be saved now?"
"I think now he would be content just to save everyone else," Castiel says into his glass. "He has... rearranged his hopes. Now there's just..."
There is a rough edge to his voice, and he takes another swig instead of finishing his sentence. Sitting in her dingy kitchen with his somber eyes and third glass of wine, Castiel reminds Becky of her dad after Mom left. There is a rumpled look about him like something inside has been set adrift. Dad had been conciliatory and full of second guessing, and Becky sees the same thing in Castiel now: a heaviness that does not dare to be regret.
“This isn't how I thought things would turn out,” Castiel mutters. “I... Sam is... And Dean--”
He pours himself another drink.
An idea niggles at the edge of Becky's mind, tentative but gaining momentum.
“Hey,” she says, carefully. “You know what I like to do when things don't go my way?”
"And you can write whatever fic you want," she gushes, back in her element. "You can fix things! You can make things better for Sam and Dean. You can bring people back to life, or make it so they never die. You can write AUs where they're rock stars or bakers or anthropologists. You can write about Sam turning into, like, a parakeet because of a curse, or... hmm." Becky stores that plot bunny away for later. Can't go wrong with a good transformation fic.
They're both on the couch, Becky curled up under a blanket, Castiel beside her frowning at her laptop. He makes a "hmm" noise and scrolls through an LJ fanfic community. It's one of the gen ones; Becky figures they can work their way up to the Wincest.
"Like, for example," she continues, "after 'In My Time of Dying'? I wrote this AU where John never made the deal with Azazel in the hospital, so he didn't die, and like, he and Sam reconcile, and then they kill Azazel together! It was awesome. People recced it everywhere, and it got like a bunch of saves on delicious."
"But,” Castiel says, skeptically, “John Winchester died so Dean would live."
"Uh-huh! So in my fic, Dean dies."
Castiel gives her what she thinks must be his blankest stare.
"What?” she says. “I warned for character death and everything."
He turns his attention back to Livejournal.
“What is a whump?” asks Castiel.
"Hey," she says, thoughtfully, "maybe you should write a fic."
"Yeah, I mean why not? Let's face it, canon is totally depressing right now, and also kidnapped my boyfriend on the weekend we were supposed to have a Buffy marathon. But in fic, we can change this! We can do whatever we want!"
"You want to write a fanfic about you and Chuck having a Buffy marathon?"
"Oh my god, is missing the point like your calling in life? Think big, Cas. Look, in the source material of our freaky lives, what would you change? What story do you want?"
He frowns. "That's a difficult question."
"It's not rocket science," Becky scoffs. "Come on, what do you want?"
"It's strange, to want,” he says, with an air of deliberation. “Human want is strange. Mortal desire. An angel's instincts are like an animal's -- immediate and singular -- but these new desires are,” he waves his hand vaguely, “complex. Sometimes we make wishes that we don't want to come true."
"Like... Like wanting things go back to the way they were.”
Becky sighs. Chuck would get like this sometimes. Chuck is an emotional drunk, and since he is often drunk (though less so these days, ever since they moved in together), he is often emotional, pondering the fate of the world and his tenuous connection to celestial beings. Becky figures this is sort of like that.
"Hey," she says softly, putting an arm around Castiel's shoulders. "Are you okay?"
She is mindful of his broken arm, but he flinches anyway.
"I'm mortal," Castiel mutters, as if that were answer enough. “I fell, as Lucifer did.”
"You are hardly Lucifer."
"We betrayed heaven for the same reason."
"What, hating humans? You seem pretty down with humans, actually."
"We rebelled against heaven because we felt it was the right thing to do," he says. "Because we were too devoted not to."
"Oh, Cas,” she says, because what do you say to something like that? Probably not “You really are the biggest Dean girl ever," but that's what she ends up saying anyway, smiling in a way that hopefully conveys equal parts “haha you are a dork” and “haha I am a dork”. Dorks together, being drunk, surfing LJ.
"No,” Castiel says. “Sam is the biggest Dean girl ever."
Becky rubs his back and he takes another swig out of the bottle. When she asks Castiel if he wants to watch more X-Files, he says yes.
“One of the monster-of-the-week ones,” he adds. “The mytharc episodes are overwrought, and the Cigarette Smoking Man is a dick.”
She wakes up the next morning with her head feeling heavy and her mouth all gross. To her lack of surprise, she is still on the couch. A bleary glance around the room reveals the TV displaying the X-Files season three menu screen, and Castiel snoring whole-heartedly on the floor. Her laptop is still on, humming a foot away from him--
Oh god, she totally fell asleep before Castiel did last night, didn't she. Did he go online and find the Wincest? Becky isn't sure if Castiel is ready to be left alone on the internet. With the same apprehension she feels when her boss walks in on her reading incest porn, Becky pulls her laptop over and taps the touchpad.
A Word document is open, and this is what it says:
Title: A fanfic about the Apocalypse
Summary: This is an AU.
Author's Notes: This fanfic contains canonical inaccuracies, but samlicker81 says you can get away with it if your story is good enough.
Once upon a time, the Apocalypse never happened because Sam Winchester never killed Lilith and Dean Winchester never went to hell because Sam never died because there were never any special children because Azazel never tried to raise Lucifer because Lucifer never fell from heaven because our Father loves him as He loves all His creations, and He never left. He loves us as we love Him and that is enough, and I would be home, and Dean and Sam would be home, and Jo and Ellen would still be alive, and we would all be with our family, and Becky and Chuck get to have their Buffy marathon and I wouldn't have spilled chardonnay all over her keyboard. Amen.
Becky turns to look at Castiel. You'd never be able to tell that he used to be an angel of the Lord; right now, he's just some drunk dude on her floor. There is a tight knot in her chest, and a warmth that spreads to the rest of her, unless that's just the hangover. Becky sets her laptop aside, then goes to Castiel and drapes the blanket over him. After a moment's consideration, she takes a cushion and sets it under his head.
"Ngargh," he comments.
"Yeah, pretty much," Becky murmurs, smoothing down his hair.
In the kitchen, she puts the coffee on and sits at the kitchen table. "when r u comin back," she texts Chuck.
Chuck replies, "idk. ill tell u wen i dream it hehe."
Prophet humor. It's really not as humorous as Chuck thinks.
Castiel paints protective sigils on the living room wall, and Becky says, “Our landlady is gonna be pissed.”
“At least she won't be smote,” Castiel says, and continues finger-painting with his own blood. He's wearing jeans that are a size too big on him, and a shirt that Becky would swear was the same one Dean wore on the cover of 'Long Distance Call'. All of Castiel's clothes are ill-fitting, like he went to Salvation Army and grabbed things in a hurry without bothering to try them on, which was probably what happened.
The short sleeves reveal the tattooed lines of a strange script that start at Castiel's wrists and go up his arms. They run across his back and shoulders, peeking out the back of his shirt. A couple of days ago, when she asked him what they were, Castiel replied, “Enochian sigils. Sam and Dean have the same thing carved into their ribs.”
Becky watches Castiel draw blood sigils as she matches up prompts for the MoreThanBrothers fic exchange. Fewer people signed up for the fic exchange this year; the fandom is slowly dying without new books. The only reason the participants list even broke thirty was because of Becky's fearless crossposting and strategic enabling of fans via IM. Sometimes you just have to go for it.
Sometimes this go-getter attitude bites her in the ass, though. Like, okay, when Becky sees Castiel about to cut into his own arm again, she finds herself blurting out, “Hey, maybe you can use my blood.”
It's not like she hasn't noticed that he's beginning to look a little frayed around the edges. His body is slack and tense in all the wrong places, and didn't she say to Sam and Dean that she'd take care of their angel? Ex-angel, whatever? That probably includes not letting him pass out from blood loss.
Castiel hesitates. “The sigils are more powerful if we use angel blood.”
“I thought you weren't an angel anymore.”
“That may be so, but...” He frowns. “But I'm not human either. For all intents and purposes--”
“I think maybe the guy with the broken arm should chill out,” Becky says, setting her laptop aside and going to him before she can change her mind. “Look, I don't mind. It's the apocalypse, right? And everyone has to help out however they can. So I'm helping. It's what Sam would do.”
“It's what they both would do,” Castiel amends.
Becky holds out her arm.
She kind of can't believe she's doing this. It's like she's a character in one of those epic stories, pledging her troops. Castiel just stares at her at first, but Becky holds her ground. Then he holds her arm still with his injured hand, angles the knife, and Becky looks away.
“Maybe you should get the Enochian sigils tattooed, too,” Castiel muses, cutting into her arm. “You're an apostle, after all. You also need protection.”
The words don't sink in until after the 'OH SHIT A KNIFE OW FUCK' sentiments have faded from her brain, and then, as she watches her blood drip into a bowl, she blinks and says, “Wait, what?”
Castiel says, “You are the rock on which the church will be built.”
“An apostle?” Becky squeaks. “Like... like Peter? Or like John, and... those other ones?”
He frowns. “No. Like yourself.”
“Like... uh. Mary Magdalene?”
“No. You: Rebecca Anne Rosen. Just you.”
Ugh, her parents are not going to be happy. Mom converted to Buddhism shortly after the divorce, and Dad has the world's biggest mancrush on Richard Dawkins. When they find out their little girl is a Christian (Winchesterian?) apostle, they are going to freak. “What do apostles even do?” she asks, worriedly.
“You are already doing it,” he replies, and resumes painting.
“its like i'm the tv and sam n dean are fighting over the remote,” Chuck texts her. “so glad we're done here. c u soon.”
“We are nowhere near done,” Castiel says when Becky shows him the text. “Sam may be correct in that the visions are decoys.”
“You are a Debbie Downer, has anyone ever told you that?”
“Just Dean.” Then Castiel continues writing in the notebook he's found somewhere in the apartment. Probably one of Chuck's.
“What are you writing?”
“None of your business,” he says.
Becky smirks. “Okay, Cassie Claire.”
Her bandaged arm itches, and she resists the urge to scratch. Instead, she replies to Chuck, “so u saved the world?”
“working on it. u n cas ok?”
“<333333333,” Becky counters.
“<3333333333333333333333333333333333,” Chuck insists.
Becky grins and texts back, “lol ilu,” and Chuck replies, “i know.”
A/N: The “mean, motherfucking servant of God” line is from 'From Dusk Till Dawn'. Someone out there has already written the crossover where the Winchesters and the Geckos meet, right? RIGHT?!