bakerstreet | LOOK, I WANT TO BE THE COPS THIS TIME. YOU ALWAYS TACKLE ME TOO HARD. IT'S JUST A GAME!

LOOK, I WANT TO BE THE COPS THIS TIME. YOU ALWAYS TACKLE ME TOO HARD. IT'S JUST A GAME!

ROLE SWAP MEME

It's time to shake things up, everyone! Have you ever wondered how the other half lives? Well, now it's time to find out! We're gonna go really simple with it this time. Maybe you were a hero, now you're a villain. Maybe you were the older sibling and now you're the younger one. Maybe you were an ice cream man and now you're a super hero (who is also an ice cream man). Maybe you were a cop and now you're us instead. Essentially you're playing your character in a different kind of role than they would usually be in. If their personality hasn't changed how do they fit in their new role? If their personality HAS changed, how so? It's a fun thing to explore.

• Top level your character. If you'd like, put any preferences for what kind of role swap you'd like to play out, what your character's usual role is, so on and so forth.
• Reply to other characters! Canon, cross-canon, whatever. You can be a hero in one world and a villain in another without even changing your ideals.
• This is not actually a porn-specific meme! I mean, you can play porn obviously, no one's going to arrest you, but it also includes gen genre/role swap.
• Have fun!

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_{[Angel of...generosity I guess? Or anything else you might have in mind]}

_{[Lieutenant Rackham... has a nice ring to it...]}

_{[Evil Dick? Playing around with Batfam ages? Non-hero? Gimme all your ideas]}

[A heroic Scarecrow. First time for everything.]

[ Available in all genres inc. gen. Can be demon flavored, angel flavored, or humans that give no fucks about saving anyone, killing all the monsters cause it's just that fun. ]

Castiel was in no condition for this. He knew it acutely as much as he knew that he shouldn't have brought Hannah into the situation, either. But Sam was too far away and Cas had seen Dean going into that bar. At the very least, he needed to talk to the man. Demon or not, there had to be something left of his best friend, in there. Something he could salvage.

"Wait here," he told Hannah as he stood before the doorway. He knew what she was thinking because the thoughts were likely very close to his own; he was barely alive, right now. The grace in his body was waning more with each second he was upright. To think that he could take on a demon at the moment was laughable.

But, if he were being honest with himself, the idea of taking on Dean at all was laughable. And at least, this way, he'd have less of a moral quandary on his hands about whether or not to kill the man. Chances are he wouldn't even be able to summon his blade fast enough, if Dean was on the offense.

So, with a deep breath and all his concentration going into appearing as put-together as he could, Castiel pushed open the door and stepped inside the drab, dark bar. Empty, it seemed. Except for the bartender.

And Dean.

He could see the putrid aura around him. The taint of something dark and something evil touching what had once been pure. He tilted his chin up, locking his eyes on the demon across the room. And then, for better or worse, he stepped forward.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean was still getting used to what he'd become. It was a steep learning curve, although Crowley was mostly around to help him with the worst of it. None the less, the strange prickling at the back of his neck was an entirely new experience. It sung at his nerves, something new that caught his attention, and yet it was an achingly familiar sensation.

It took him a little longer to work out what it was than he'd have liked, but finally it came to him, that spark of bright clarity which told him that an angel was coming.

And an angel probably meant his angel.

It took every effort in every muscle of his entire body to keep his eyes on the scotch on the bar and not on the door as it swung open. Dean breathed in through his nose, scenting the fragile weakness, the grace that was wearing so thin it almost tasted like the dregs at the bottom of the pool.

There was a stronger presence, just beyond the doors. Another angel? Cas had brought backup; that was cute. Considering he looked like he was about to fall over dead, that was probably wise.

He cocked his head to one side, not quite looking Cas in the eye, giving him just as much attention as he felt the angel was worth.

"Cas. You look like shit. Shall I pull you up a chair, or skip straight to the casket?"

Dean's voice sounded off. That was the first thing that Cas noticed before he really drank in the words and the nonchalant attitude his once-friend was directing his way. 'He's a demon,' he reminded himself as he stepped forward. Whatever Dean had been, he wasn't that anymore. And he wasn't going to risk his life being careless due to sentiment.

At least, that was what he told himself.

"You don't look much better," he grumbled back, getting closer but still staying outside of what he considered to be striking distance. It was probably a mistake to not have Hannah join him, but it wasn't something he could correct, now. "Dean. Sam is looking for you. We both have been looking for you..."

He doesn't think that Dean's unaware of this fact. If anything, the fact that he's been hard to find is probably thanks to that.

Cas has been looking for so long, thinking about Dean missing for so long, you would almost expect that he'd have prepared words. But now, standing before his best friend so corrupted and so lost, he has nothing. What could anyone say in this moment? What appeal could reach a man who had become a demon through the force and power of an ancient rage? A curse that had claimed him, now, far deeper than his own brand had so many years ago.

"I've come to bring you home, Dean. To make things right, again. Sam and I. We can fix this. Fix you. And we're not going to leave without you."

Dean ignored whether or not Castiel was stepping over toward him. Instead he lifted his glass and drank down a portion of the strong alcohol. Strong alcohol was the only kind that made any difference any more. Beer was useless; his demonic constitution overwhelmed it easily. Of course it helped that the booze wouldn't be able to kill him if he was already dead.

Still, he noted that Cas wasn't brave enough to actually take a seat. He licked his lips and lowered his glass back to the counter, then folded his arms in front of it and slung himself forward. Finally he turned his head, green eyes tracking the angel beside him.

He chose not to comment on the fact that they'd been looking for him. He'd figured Sam wouldn't let it go, that Cas wouldn't let it go. He'd known this interaction was going to happen sooner or later, because that was exactly the kind of people they all were. Hell, his own father had chased Yellow Eyes his entire life.

"Don't tell me. I've lost my boyish good looks. I remember the first time I saw a demon the way that you see demons. Oh, no. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you? You only showed your feathers after you let Hellhounds rip me to pieces."

He was more than happy to deliver the slaps. Dean turned the rest of the way toward Cas, crossed his feet on the rest of the stool, and raised his hands in front of him, wrists turned upward.

"Go on then, Cas. Slap those magic cuffs on me. I can take you with them on or off, you know that."

He should have brought Hannah in. It was too late to do anything but regret the decision. Hindsight, as always, 20/20. But, to his credit, Cas didn't make any motion toward or away from Dean. Just stood his ground, hands clasped into fists at his side.

There were cuffs in his pocket, but Dean was right. There was no way he would get them on him without dying in the process. And now that he's talked to Dean, he's pretty sure that the man would have no problem at all doing the deed. He probably wouldn't even lose sleep on it.

Maybe not even when it came to Sam.

"I know your true face," Cas said slowly, hoping beyond hope that there was some shred of Dean left, underneath all the evil. Hoping beyond hope that he would be able to still hear it. "I know your soul, better than anyone. And I know that this," he waved his hand, dismissively encompassing all of him, "Isn't you, Dean. This is an abomination wearing your skin as a suit. And nothing you say to me, like this, is true."

But it was true. And deep down he knew it.

He'd had his orders, after all. He'd been following his mission. Doing what he had been told was right. How was he to know that the man he drug out of Hell would come to mean so much to him? That the time he spent in Hell was time his best friend was being tortured and flayed apart and that he'd spend many long months wracked with guilt over it.

He felt guilt about a lot of things, come to think of it. Perhaps that was the blessing of being a Winchester, more than anything else.

"This isn't you," he repeated. "And if you're going to kill me, go ahead and get it over with. Because I'm not leaving without you."

"That would make it easier, wouldn't it? If it were just some demon inside me, riding me like a fairground pony. I get it. But open your ears, Cas. You hear the music playing on the jukebox? It's my music. This skin is my skin, and these eyes are my eyes."

They flickered to black almost entirely without thought, and he brought one hand up to his mouth, dragged his fingers across his lips from both sides toward the center, and pushed off the barstool, stepping straight toward the angel without preamble. Cas wasn't going to react. If he thought he'd had a chance, he would have gone for the cuffs.

He leered at him as he moved straight in to crowd the angel, meaning to either back him toward the desk by threat of touching alone, or to push his body against him and achieve his purpose that way.

He kept his face inches from Cas' the entire time, his lips pulled into a smirk.

"I tried to leave you and Sam out of this, but here you are anyway. Probably beating Sammy to the punch, right? So if he comes in here and sees angel wings burned into the carpet, he's going to think the worst."

The clever demon was already formulating a truly wicked plan.

"But I'm not going to kill you, Cas. Hell, I think a stiff wind could do that for me, at this point."

The truth was that Dean was right. This wasn't a possession. Underneath it all, the person pulling the strings was Dean. The darkest part of him, perhaps. But him, all the same. It made this all so much more painful to know that. That whatever good, human piece of Dean that had made him the hero Cas had so admired was gone. And that this was what lay beneath it.

When Dean herded him, Cas allowed it to happen. What choice did he really have? But it made a poetic amount of sense, he felt. He'd lived his life for Dean. He might as well have it ended by the same man.

When his back hit the desk, his anxiety spiked up at the sense of being boxed in. When he'd had his wings, he'd been able to go anywhere. Escape anything. The sensation of being caught was deeply unwelcome. But not even half as unwelcome as the words coming out of Dean's mouth.

"You don't have to do this," he said firmly. "You don't have to do any of this, Dean. Sam and I, we can heal you. We can fix this." And he might be throwing his survival into question pushing this, but he has to try. "We can bring you back, Dean. We're your family and we're not going to give up on you."

Outside, he can sense Hannah's growing anxiety. He could pray to her, but he's not entirely sure what Dean will do when she comes in. More than that, he's not sure what she will do when she faces Dean. And he's not prepared for either of of them to get hurt.

Dean could feel it. Castiel's anxiety was like a drug, and Dean breathed it in, his eyes partially closing as he did. Now he understood why Crowley had always seemed to enjoy tugging on their chains the entire time. It felt heady and gloriously delicious, and sated him in ways that food and booze and sex just couldn't any more.

He looked back into Cas' eyes, not giving him a moment to look away, no space between the facade of black and the frightened blue eyes that stared back at him.

"Any of what, Cas? What am I doing? Killing Abaddon's lackeys? Singing bad karaoke? Tell me what I've done that's so bad, other than hurting your feelings?" He cocked his head ever so slightly, and his expression turned to something cruel as he crushed in closer still, grinding his hips against Castiel's, trapping them against the countertop behind him. His hands went to Castiel's wrists, twisting them back to either side of his body, pressing them down against the countertop at an awkward angle. "It's because I'm a demon, isn't it? You can't even get it up for me any more."

But the sexual innuendo was only one part of the statement, a play on words that went hand in hand with Dean slamming Cas' wrists back against the tabletop, forcing him to give up his blade.

"There we go. Much better."

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Dean Winchester - SPN - ota

Deanmon deserved so much better.....

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