A little fic I did for the LJ SPN prompt community, wordsmeetwings. I borrowed their format, too. :D For some reason Document Manager's editor is being a real pain about borders, so I used the ones provided. So if it's all suddenly jumbled, blame them. |B(

Title: Circus of Pink Animals
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Castiel, Ronnie the bartender, the nameless female bartender, Pamela the whore; though not really Sam/Cas, there is a kiss
Prompt: 5. Sam/Castiel – It's funnier in Enochian.
Spoilers: If you've not seen episode 5x18, you probably want to avoid this, as it is spoilery.
Word count: 3541
Warnings: Profanity, mild sexuality, drunks
Summary: Sam comes to retrieve Castiel from drowning in his sorrows with booze. It's about as easy as it sounds.
Notes: This is mostly a humorous fic with shades of light crack and angst. It's a bit meh, for that I apologize. Please excuse any grammatical mistakes. My beta was not around for me to whip.

Sam was woken with a violent jolt at the sudden ringing shriek in his ear. For a moment he sat upright in bed, collecting his bearings, all senses returning to semi-functional. The ringing became distant for that minute as he shook his head, rubbed his eyes, sucked in a deep breath. Sam cast the room a quick look over; hotel, grimy, simple, their things strewn around. The ringing muffled, Sam looked to his brother, who was snoring loudly into the face of his pillow, sheets tangled around his limbs and the "educational magazine" he was reading before bed still limp between fingers.

Finally, the ringing brought Sam back and he quickly picked up his phone. Which he left carelessly sleeping next to his damn head. It was Castiel calling, and he sighed. Why him? Why not Dean? Oh, right, his phone was dead.

Dammit. "H-Hello?" Sam croaked into the cell.

"You Sam Winchester?" a burly, annoyed voice gruffed at the other end. This didn't sound like Cas. Unless Cas had a severe sore throat and taken a giant injection of testosterone.

Nonetheless. "Who are you?" he asked calmly.

"I'm Ronnie from Tavern Road Bar down route 10," the man snorted. Come to think of it, the Winchester boy could hear faint bar music in the background. "Your friend, Castiel Angel Of The Lord is here."

Sam bowed his head, groaned. At a bar, this could only mean... "Is he all right?" he asked, paused. "Was anything destroyed?"

"If you don't count being shitfaced out of his pretty boy skull," the bartender grumbled, "he's as fit as a fiddle." He gave another disgruntled sigh. "There's only three people in his cell. You, Dean and some woman. I tried callin' 'em both, but one never answered and the other was a crisis helpline for Christians."

Sam rubbed his face nearly raw. "All right," he mumbled, "I'm on my way."

Sam at first tried waking Dean to go in his place. Castiel was his shoulder angel after all. But of the two, Dean was the one who needed more rest. Besides, each time Sam thought he had his brother fully alert, Dean would just growl, snap some incomplete sentence then roll away from the poking and prodding. Finally, Sam threw up his hands and sighed; fuck it. Putting on his coat and shoes, he felt no remorse picking the keys from the ground and taking off with the Impala without Dean's consent.


It was a short ride, just a little over ten minutes, before Sam arrived at the bar. It was stereotypical in design, from the motorbikes parked outside to the flashy electric lights on the blackened windows, down to that one drunk who was swaying out the exit before falling over a trash can and hurling. Sam carefully step-sided him and the puke, slipping inside where his senses were assaulted with loud rock music, cigarette smoke and a variety of obnoxious, human noises.

Sam wandered and weaved around tables, men and women; a pretty girl winked at him, and a rather ugly biker did the same. It didn't take long before he reached the far end of the bar, where the music had dimmed to a tolerable level. There weren't many people there, allowing Sam to easily spot Castiel without asking for Ronnie to locate him.

Castiel was hunched over the bar, spine twisted into a frown, head bowed and hands possessively holding his drink. God knows which one it was--five, fifteen, five hundred and two? He looked so lonely there, curled away from the world, big trenchcoat hanging off of him like a child wearing dad's big boy clothes. Everyone seemed to have kept their distance, ignoring his presence, though he was keenly watching them from behind the clarity of beer goggles with suspicious, slit eyes.

Sam calmly made his way to the angel, hands sunk into his coat pockets. Castiel hadn't noticed him right way; at least, was pretending not to. Sam slipped into a seat beside him, drummed his fingers on the bar's sticky surface. Castiel was still looking the other direction, attention trained elsewhere. "I know you know I'm here," Sam snorted, somewhat amused.

"I know you know I know you're here," Cas spat, head reeling back. His face was pallor, the whiskers darker in comparison, and his hair was trying to defy gravity in cowlicks. It had been roughly four days since the brothers had heard or spoken to Castiel. Sam noticed his suit was crinkled, but intact, eyes knowing beneath the layers there was once a bloody sigil.

"Hey," the angel hissed and snapped his fingers. Instantly Sam caught his gaze. Castiel pointed to his face. "My eyes are up here."

Sam clenched his jaw. "I was just wondering if everything healed all right," he muttered, embarrassed.

"Everything's fine," Castiel assured and took a long swallow of his beer. He glared into the yellow liquid before scowling, "No, nothing is fine." He waved over a pretty bartender and ordered another glass.

"Ronnie said not to serve you anymore," the girl replied.

"Ronnie isn't my father," Castiel said. He snorted crudely with a wry smile. "But he sure cares more than my real one."

The bartender frowned and looked to Sam for help. "Um, how about some water?" She nodded, unsure, before venturing off.

Castiel reached for her. "Hey!" he snapped, but she disappeared. With a low growl, he slammed a fist on the table. A few people down cast him a quick look before playing none the wiser. Castiel glared hellfire at the Winchester. "If I had wanted water, I would have asked for water."

Sam winced. The stench of so many liquors rolled off Castiel's breath and right into his face. "Cas," he coughed, "how much have you had?"

"You want an approximation?" Cas demanded. "Because if so, I may need the assistance of one of your calculators."

Sam rubbed his temples. In essence, the bar was probably running near empty. "I think when you need the aide of a calculator, Cas, you've had enough," he suggested.

Castiel just stroked his fingers along his empty glass, wiping away condensation. "Humans say when they are inebriated enough, they envision giant pink mammals," he grumbled. His eyes narrowed with both offense and disdain. "I have not yet seen them."

"Pink elephants, you mean?" Sam laughed. "Cas, that's not--"

"You are not truly drunk enough," Castiel interjected with a growl, "until you see pink elephants." He frowned. "I will not stop until I receive a visitation. I hear it is quite the experience."

"I hate to break it to you, buddy," Sam tittered, really restraining himself, "but that's an old wives' tale. There's no such thing as pink elephants." Cas glowered at him in disbelief and suspicion. "I guess, um, you could say they got laid off." He tried to look serious, deathly so. "The economy is in a terrible condition right now, you know."

Castiel stared. "No," he spat, "I do not."

Sam felt a little uncomfortable. "Maybe if I told my joke in Enochian, it'd be funnier," he teased.

"Are you trying to tell me..." Cas paused, took a deep, steadying breath. "... That I have been drinking to witness an incredible display of creatures invisible to the sober eye..." His head cracked as it tilted. "... For nothing?"

Sam bit his teeth together. "Sorry to say..." he trailed off, finishing with a shy nod.

Castiel didn't say anything, remained quiet as he searched Sam's face. The Winchester wiggled beneath the sharp examination. Once Cas realized it was the truth, he slowly looked forward, at the rows and rows of liquor. Suddenly, the glass cupped between his hands crushed into a million pieces.

Sam flung back in his stool, nearly falling off. "Jesus, Cas!" he gasped and quickly lifted the angel's hands from the glass. Shards had sliced small wounds into his palms and fingers, causing sluggish rivets of blood to run along their surfaces, little droplets hitting the mess of glass.

"Jesus?" Cas scoffed. "Don't talk to me about Jesus, kid."

Sam quickly reached over the bar and nabbed some napkins, carefully dabbing away blood without pushing in more shards of the glass. The bartender returned with a jug of water, nearly dropping it at the sight. "Do you, uh, do you have a first aide kit?" Sam mumbled. "We'll leave, but I want to get these bandaged first."

"Y-Yeah, one sec," she swallowed and scampered off, leaving the water behind.

Castiel didn't even blink, let alone change his solemn expression as Sam used the cold water to dampen the napkin and clean away the excess blood. "What do you think you were doing!?" the Winchester spat. He smiled weakly when the bartender dropped off the kit and left. Immediately he took out the pads of cotton and medical tape.

Castiel noticed their server was talking with Ronnie from across the bar, pointing at them as she spoke. "I guess they really will no longer serve me. And I am a paying customer," he grumbled. "Motherfuckers."

Sam tried not to laugh, really did; he managed only a snort before going completely serious again. "You don't need anymore booze in your system, Cas," Sam scowled, careful to bind his hands. He just had to keep them clean until they got back to the hotel, where he could tweeze the bits of glass from his skin and finish things up. "Trust me, you've had enough that by now you'd be seeing an entire circus of pink animals and people."

"Hmm." Cas wrinkled his nose. He wasn't satisfied. He then looked to the woman sitting three stools down, minding her own business as she took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He scanned her face for a brief second. "Pamela," Cas said, voice like gravel. The woman looked at him, shocked; how the Hell did he know her name? "I would like one of your cigarettes." He nodded to the pack. "Don't worry about providing the lighter. I can create my own fire."

Sam tugged warningly at his coat sleeve. "No," he snapped, "drinking is one thing, smoking is a whole new ballpark."

Castiel ignored him, continuing to stare unblinking at the gaping blonde. "I do not have all day, Pamela," he said, "I have Lucifer to fight, demons to smite, a neglectful Father to forget--"

Finally, the angel's hands were reasonably bandaged and Sam stood, forcing Castiel from off his stool. Cas swayed back, bouncing against his chest and nearly knocking them both to the floor. However, the Winchester caught his balance, holding him upright as he slouched against his side for support. "Forgive us," Sam mumbled at Pamela, guiding his drunk friend to the door.

Cas kept his eyes on her as they stumbled by. "I can pay you in money," he said, reaching for a cigarette, "you seem to prefer sex, as you are a who--"

Sam slapped a hand over the angel's mouth and with perfect timing too. As he roughly shoved him out the door, Ronnie watching with threats in his eyes, Castiel suddenly gurgled moistly against the palm on his mouth. The cool night air hit his face like a ton of bricks and Sam quickly whipped his hand back, letting Castiel curl over the trash can and hurl, just like the drunkard before him.

Sam kept his distance, nervously checking to see if they had any onlookers. Castiel continued retching until most every drop of booze not marinating inside his tissues and muscles was now on the dirt. Sam had to step away to avoid throwing up himself, face scrunched at the terrible noises coming from the drunk angel.

Finally, Castiel was dry heaving, before it faded out to deep, shaky breaths. Sam inched back. "You okay, buddy?" he asked, hands gently taking Castiel's shoulders.

The angel shoved him off. "Mm'fine!" he spat and pushed off the trash can, wiping the spittle from his lips with his sleeve. He couldn't stand his full height without his brain swimming, opting to crouch and keep his head down. "I'm fine," he repeated and clumsily walked forward.

"No, maybe--maybe you should sit down for a moment," Sam suggested, keeping close but at a comfortable distance. The Impala was only a yard or two away, but Castiel might not even make it then.

"I'm fine!" Castiel screamed, stood upright and glared. This, however, only succeeded in causing his head to clench and he dove fingers sharp into his temples with a loud groan. Sucking in too much cold air upset his stomach and now he was back on his knees and puking again. Nearly on Sam's shoes, had the hunter not jumped back just in time.

There was not much for Castiel to expel. Now it was just turning up bile. Sam carefully moved around him and all embarrassment replaced itself with pity. He genuinely felt sorry for the poor guy. He could understand what it was like to find out your father was a total douchebag. Slowly, Sam squat beside him, idly rubbing his back to help calm his fried nerves.

Cas managed to cough up all but his actual stomach before calming. "You okay?" Sam asked quietly. He kneaded his palm gently between two protruding shoulderblades. Cas nodded a few seconds of wheezing later. Sam returned the nod and carefully slipped his hands under the angel's arms, grunting as he brought him back to his feet.

Castiel nearly tipped over, groaning tiredly and without care as he shifted aside. "Steady!" Sam gasped and yanked him back, Castiel's head practically banging against his shoulder. Cas gave a sore scowl at the hard pressure to his cheek, before letting all his weight fall against the taller man's. He wasn't as heavy as Sam suspected; nervously, he rose both hands, squeezed weak, limp arms and led Castiel to the car.

"I'll take you back to the hotel," Sam explained, "clean up your wounds. Or do you think you can heal yourself without turning your skin inside out?" It was a joke, and he laughed, just a little.

"Healing," Castiel grumbled, eyes closed, "is natural. Comes... without command. Like human cells fix themselves... just faster." His eyes widened a second. "Reeeally fast."

Sam nodded fervently. "Good, that's good," he said without really thinking. He placed Castiel against the side of the car like a plank of wood, quickly unlocking the passenger's seat and pushing open the door to its limit. Sam quickly stuffed a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels beneath the driver's seat before ducking back out. "Easy, easy," he muttered, bowing Castiel down to slip into the car.

"Wait--" Cas began, jerked upright and met his forehead with the roof the car. He snarled, Sam wincing for him. "Nevermind," the angel growled and grimaced as he slumped into the seat, hands massaging his sore head.

Sam made sure his limbs and trenchcoat were all tucked in before shutting the door, soft enough not to rattle his sloshed, aching head. I'm going to set fire to Dean's coats, Sam swore angrily to himself. He darted around the car before getting inside, checking to see if Castiel hadn't started hurling again. At this point, Sam didn't care if the Impala earned herself a new coating. Dean should be the one doing this.

"You okay there, buddy?" Sam chuckled and started the car. Castiel rolled his head back to glare at him. Sam just shrugged, cracked his tiny smile before setting the car in motion.


The car ride started relatively calm and quiet. Sam looked every few seconds or so to check up on his drunk passenger. Cas had his head turned aside, shoulders loose and hanging. Sam had figured he finally passed out and decided to keep quiet. They'd be at the hotel in just a few minutes.

The Impala hit a bump in the road. Nothing unusual, except Castiel's head shot up. "I heard whiskey," he said, suddenly alert.

Sam laughed. "How can you hear whisk--" Why even bother asking.

"Whiskey sloshing in a bottle," Castiel explained. His eyes were sharp and wide on Sam, who looked at him, putting on a dumb and innocent face. Castiel's eyes then slowly trailed down and the Winchester boy was not liking where they stopped.

"I'm not hiding whiskey in my pants," Sam assured, wishing he could cross his legs somehow.

Cas shook his head. "No." The angel then practically did a swan dive between Sam's legs, trying to retrieve the bottle beneath.

"Cas! Jesus Christ!" Sam shouted, legs lashing between opening and closing, hand slapping at his crouched back. One of the angel's fumbling hands groped and hit the accelerator over Sam's foot, sending the Impala careening forward with a loud howl. "Shit!" Sam gasped, managing to kick off the hand. He had looked down for only a moment to see what Cas was doing now, only to return his vision to the road--to see a tree coming right at them. Well, not exactly the tree.

Sam yanked the wheel sharply to the side. Tires screeched against asphalt as the Impala did a jerky turn, narrowly avoiding colliding with the tree. Sam slammed on the brakes before they could take a ride down a steep hill leading into a valley of swampland.

Sam remained stiff in his seat, all the hairs on his body standing upright, panting as his heart thrashed in his ribcage. Wide, glossy eyes stared into the darkness of swamp and fog they could have currently been sinking in before him. He had completely forgotten about Castiel, who stopped all his rummaging and sat up. "Found it," he grunted tiredly, raising the bottle. He then sat back, cracked it open and took a long swallow.

Sam's knuckles were white, the skin tense over the bones as he squeezed the wheel in a death grip. Slowly, his big eyes turned to the angel beside him, who went about his business torturing his liver, when by all accounts he should be dead from alcohol poisoning. Finally, teeth bared and clenched, Sam let go of the wheel and dug his fingers into Castiel's coat collar, jerking him forward and face to face.

"The Hell was that, Cas!?" he barked. Castiel stared, eyes half lidded, though there was some surprise in with this confrontation. "I told you you didn't need anymore booze! You're about ready to keel over as it is! And you just put both our lives in danger because of it! Sure, maybe you could have survived! But I'm not exactly made of the same shit you are, Cas!"

Castiel didn't say anything. Suddenly, the barrel of the whiskey bottle was between their faces. "You need a drink," the angel said, though he wasn't joking.

Sam managed not to laugh. It wasn't as funny when he was just about to die. Again. With a sigh, he let Castiel go, facing the window again. "I... know you're in a lot of pain right now, Cas," he mumbled over the chugging of liquor, "and believe me, I've wasted my sorrows away with booze on a few occasions. But... You can't do this." He shook his head. "Not only to yourself, but to Jimmy, to your vessel."

"Jimmy will survive," Castiel assured. At least, for this, he wanted to add, but chose to keep quiet instead.

Sam frowned at him. "I think he'd ask you to stop, too, if he could."

"On the contrary," Castiel disagreed and finished off the bottle with one last swig, "he has been craving to go on a binge for a very. Long. Time now."

Well, that was no surprise. Sam couldn't blame him. "But that's all for now, Cas," he insisted. He looked to the angel's hands, covered hastily in white and brown bandaging. "How're they doing?"

"Healing," Castiel replied. He dropped the empty bottle between his feet. "... Slowly," he added, and refused to meet Sam's eyes.

Sam understood. The atmosphere was starting to get awkward, so the Winchester started the Impala again. "We'll be at the--"

Only he was cut off when Castiel leaned over and pecked his cheek with a sloppy kiss. Sam's mouth was gaping, body frozen in the same position just seconds ago. Castiel wiggled into his seat. "I am sorry for calling you an 'abomination,'" he apologized, low and meek. He finally met Sam's face again, which was still gawping. "Even though, you are."

The angel laughed then, laughed even though his comrade was turned into stone. "I do not even know why I am laughing," he chortled, smiling wide. He looked to Sam, giggling. "Everything is funnier when you are drunk. Even your pain." With that, he let his face sink into his hand, ushering forth pearls of amused and bitter laughter.

Sam seemed to have relaxed at that point, regaining mobility. It was that pain in Cas's laugh that smacked him back to reality. Castiel never laughed, and when he finally did, tears should have been there instead. "Hey, Cas..." Sam mumbled and awkwardly touched his shoulder. The angel looked at him, eyes moist. Sam smiled lopsidedly. "You're still a dick."

They both laughed then, Castiel a bit more uproariously. It didn't last long before Cas started bundling up into a ball, hands clamped over his mouth. Sam reclined over with a gasp, quickly rolling down the window. It was halfway cracked when Cas hung his head out and puked up a little more bile. Sam just waited until he was settled, before Castiel peeked back in, shaky, tired, but nodding.

"Let's get going," Sam said and pulled back onto the road.

"Wake me when we get there," Castiel replied, before the seat jerked back, taking him with it into slumber.

END