Fandom: SPN (slight Good Omens crossover in the tone)
Characters/Pairings: Ruby, Castiel. Sam/Ruby and Castiel/Dean implied.
A/N: This is crack. I am not very sorry, but I am slightly terrified. This might be the reason why I don't usually write SPN.
A while ago, they have divided the states between the sides. Nevada was easy, so was Georgia. They had a squabble over New York, of course, but it had been resolved without unnecessary violence (and with very little necessary violence, really). Both sides decided to stay the fuck out of Los Angeles, because this city was just really, really too full of weird types, they were doing quite fine on their own.
When neutral ground was needed, they met in Montana, where it was damn hard to corrupt or inspire anyone anyway; when you deal with cows' manure on the daily basis, you don't really have much time for the Principalities and Absolutes.
And there was a bar in Montana, where the waitress never asked questions, and served really good fries.
"I think I liked you more as a blonde," Castiel said absently, reaching for his handkerchief (some bodies came with benefits), and giving his glass a cleaning before he filled it up with soda.
Ruby rolled her eyes. "We're not here for you to Queer-eye me. We're here to compare notes and discuss progress. And for god's sake, excuse my french, why am I the responsible one now?"
Castiel sighed. It seemed like they were stuck in the same conversation for centuries now. Probably because they really were.
"I wouldn't call sleeping with Sam WInchester being the responsible one."
Well, fine, the argument was beyond childish, but honestly, he hadn't had a chance to smite anyone lately, and it was beginning to annoy him. The whole thing was taking too long. Maybe they should have gone with Plan A and just did the whole trumpets and trombones shtick. Of course, that involved the Riders, and he preferred not to do that. Any appearance by them was like a rock concert without the good music.
Ruby gave him a long look. Occasionally, he envied demons the possibility of taking on female bodies, they seemed perfect for throwing the pitying, smarter-than-you looks.
"At least I'm doing something. You just bring the creepy back."
"Guardian angel routine is not fooling anyone. You just like to watch him sleep."
Castiel threw a fry at her. "I've sent him to see the past," he pointed out, with all the dignity he could muster. Which, admittedly, after throwing fries like a third-grader, wasn't much.
"Right. Because messing with Dean Winchester's head is so difficult. Please," she twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. "Can you actually mess up with something that messed up without completely straightening it out?"
"Is this zen?" he asked suspiciously. He had a fondness for cryptic, yes, but he didn't trust the zen crap.
"Nah, some emo poetry," she muttered, viciously dipping her fry in ketchup. "Had to brush up on some of it, before going in to deal with Winchesters."
He sighed again. "They do seem a tad... dysfunctional," he ventured, and she rolled her eyes at him.
"I liked your previous body better, too, you know?" she muttered. "Less prone to understatements."
He straightened his tie, hurt somehow. "I'm much more comfortable like this, thank you very much." The previous body was a... mistake. They had all known the tendency of the residual personality and habits of the host to influence the new inhabitant, of course, but... well, he still had cravings for pot, even now, and that was just plain not fair.
"Winchesters," he pointed out, getting back on track.
"Yeah," she nodded, pursing her lips. "Still messed up."
She sighed. "Sam is getting stronger, and we're getting closer. Of course, now that Dean's back, it's much harder to manipulate him."
"We knew it was a risk."
"Yes, that's why you're on Dean's ass. Literally, I hope."
"What?" He straightened up, and glared at her. Didn't work. It never had.
"Well, you have no idea how easy it got to have Sam do what I wanted him to do once he was getting some."
"I'm not sure I like what you're implying," he told her primly, and she grinned.
"Methinks the angel doth protest too much," she reached for her bag, taking out her wallet. "My turn to pay, right? Okay, precis of the meeting: Winchesters are fucked up. Castiel's homework: fuck up with Dean more. Or just fuck Dean, whichever suits you, angel."
"I won't even respond to that."
She shrugged. "Promises, promises."