The Man Who Knew Too Little

A Fic By Jokers and Clubs

Ch. 1: by Jokers

"Oh for…I don't care about the avian flu. Can you help us or not!" Dean's lip curled into a frown as he snapped at Death. The supernatural being had, upon being asked whether he could deal with Castiel - not kill, Dean didn't think he could stand actually ordering Cas' death - launched into a rant about the various maladies plaguing mankind and keeping him busy. In alphabetical order. It was a very long list. Dean was no stranger to untimely demises, but even he wasn't aware that so many lethal things came before "avian" in the alphabet.

"Why should I? I'm very busy." Death, his thin face molded into an expression of detached amusement. Dean crushed the sudden urge to punch in the Horseman's pointy nose, reminding himself that the pale bastard was their only lead on how to…handle…Castiel. Dean's anger still didn't fade, but he was able to restrain himself by mentally pledging to gank some supernatural baddies as soon as Death was gone.

None of them had actually wanted to contact Death about Castiel's newfound god complex, least of all Dean. As soon as the Winchesters plus Bobby had arrived home, which took some time considering their lack of a vehicle, the three of them had dug into Bobby's extensive collection of books. It had taken a week, a reading of everything Bobby owned with letters on it (twice), and far more whiskey than was at all healthy, but eventually even the older Winchester brother had to admit they had no other option.

Standing across from Death, though, Dean was beginning to wish they had read through Bobby's library a few more times, if only as a stalling tactic. It had taken a lot of work to get the Pale Horseman into the room with them, and it was taking even more work to get him to do more than sip tea and tell them exactly why he had no time to get rid of some upstart little godling. Dean had chafed at that description of Castiel, but hadn't exactly been able to argue. They were, after all, trying to get Death to help them, and the hunter doubted his opinion of the ancient creature would make said creature any more willing.

Dean continued to glare at Death, who seemed completely oblivious to the tension in the air. Sam, who had been leaning against the door frame, sighed and stood up, "Look. Death. I know that you're very busy..."

"Finally, someone understands my situation." Death's voice is a mix of genuine exasperation and sarcasm.

"But," Sam paused for dramatic effect, "That's exactly why you have to help us."

"I fail to see your point, boy." Death said, irritation displayed on his harsh features. Sam blinked, then continued as though he didn't understand how Death could miss something so obvious. Dean wondered when his brother had gotten so devious, and then quickly decided he probably didn't want to know.

"It's simple. Castiel is a god, right? And from what we saw at the warehouse, not a friendly one either. He threatened to kill us if we didn't bow to him! Now, if he goes around doing that to everyone on Earth, somehow I doubt there will be too many takers. And the ones who refuse? Well…"

"You'll have a lot more work to do, Death." Dean finished, a small smile tugging on his lips. It disappeared when he remembered it was Cas, the same Cas who was his best friend, that they were trying to get killed. Dean tried to tell himself that that Cas was gone, but somehow he didn't think he would be able to. At least, not as long as the angel wore Jimmy's body. Not as long as he could still see Cas' blue eyes, as long as he still had the same voice. As long as he still looked the same as when Dean fell in lo-.

Dean cut off that train of thought abruptly, reminding himself that he was a very heterosexual male, and turned his attention back to Death. Death looked torn, wanting to go back to his happily apathetic existence but knowing that would soon become impossible regardless of his decision. Finally, the Horseman shook his head, a defeated look on his face.

"Fine. But this is the last time I clean up your mess for you, Winchesters."

"What'll you need?" Bobby, who had been uncharacteristically silent the entire meeting, spoke up.

"Nothing that someone like you could provide me with. I have all of my tools, I only need my-"

"Target." Dean spun around at the sound of the familiar, husky voice. Castiel looked horrible. His vessel was covered in sores and scratches, looking almost burnt in a few places, most likely from when the angel's new power had been too much for the human body. Dean found himself almost glad Jimmy was gone, that he couldn't feel his own flesh sizzling and cracking. He looked like he was going to die, right then and there, without any intervention by the Horseman himself, but that wasn't what bothered Dean most about Castiel's appearance. No, what bothered Dean most about him were his eyes, swirling blue typhoons, unnaturally bright with madness and framed by dark shadows. They locked onto Dean's, and for a moment, the hunter thought he saw Cas. Not Castiel, the unnaturally powerful fallen angel who was so strong it was tearing apart his mind and body at the seams but Cas, the holy tax accountant who didn't understand anything about living as a human and who fell from Heaven for Dean as soon as he figured it out.

Then it was gone, and all that was left was an avenging god whose orders the Winchesters had just disobeyed. Castiel raised a hand in Sam's direction, and the younger Winchester fell to the ground screaming, his hands clutching at his head. Bobby looked from Sam, to Dean, to Castiel, then finally to Death, his eyes practically bulging out of his skull. Death, on the other hand, just looked mildly unhappy with his situation. He frowned, then turned to Dean.

"I thought you said Castiel wasn't actually God."

AN: So, this is the first chapter. The next one will be by Clubs. For those of you who were confused by Death's last line, I'll explain. The previous times god has been typed, it wasn't capitalized. Castiel was just another silly pagan god who thought he could take his daddy's place. But the last God is a proper noun. As in the Big G, the savior of everything, the man on the tortillas, which is totally different from Death's perspective. Please R&R!