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I Dean of Genie	By : rae_roberts Category: Supernatural > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2234 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Supernatural, nor do I own any rights to either Disney's Aladdin or I Dream of Genie, which I have heavily ripped off for this fic. No money is being made from this silly little fic.

Chapter List
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Dean couldn’t suppress a grin as he looked at the young angel his imagination had added to Castiel’s memory. Now this was an angel worthy of a Christmas card. One of those sappy, sentimental Hallmark cards.   Little Cas’s feet were bare and he wore a knee-length white tunic. His child-size wings were fluffy with an abundance of downy feathers, like a baby chick’s. Dean wasn’t an expert when it came to children, but the angel looked about the same age as Dean’s memories of Sam as a Kindergartener.
An open leather sack as big as the boy himself lay at Cas’s feet on the wooden walkway, bulging with helmets, greaves, and other pieces of angelic armor. Cas perched on the top of the wall itself, looking out over the desert landscape. Dean followed his gaze and saw groups of angels flying and sparring with their swords. Unlike the regimented angels hard at work below in the compound, these were laughing and shouting, making what might have started off as combat exercises or practice drills into lighthearted fun.
“What’cha doing, Cas? Why aren’t you out there playing with the others?”
“With the Erelim? Oh, no, I could never. And I have chores,” Castiel said, his voice a good octave higher than the adult Cas’s gravelly baritone but just as serious.   He pulled a shin guard from the leather bag and began to run his hands over it, palms and fingers emitting a soft white glow, barely visible in the bright desert sunlight.
As Dean watched, he saw that Cas’s touch was gradually polishing the dull metal, restoring it to a brilliant silver that gleamed, bright as chrome. “Armor polishing, Cas?   I thought you were a Seraph. How’d you get stuck with the scut work?”
“I am a Seraph,” the angel pointed out with all the dignity of a five-year-old proclaiming himself a big boy. Dean had to stifle a chuckle as Castiel went on, “This world has many cares and sorrows. If allowed to, they will dull our armor and the edges of our blades, even diminish our grace.”
“I can help with that.” The whoops of laughter from beyond the ramparts were calling to his playful side, a pull as compelling as a Master’s hand rubbing the genie bottle in summons. He picked up a breastplate and restored it to a mirror shine with a careless blink.
“Oh, no, not like that.”
‘Baby’ Cas’s face was rounder than the adult Cas Dean knew so well, his features softer, but the disapproval in his big blue eyes still gave Dean a twinge of conscience. Cas reached for his hand, placing it on a scratch on the breastplate that he’d missed. Dean was startled to feel the calluses that lined the angel’s small palm, the child’s fingers as rough and work-hardened as his own.
“Here.” Cas guided his hand over the spot. “Can’t you feel the pain? Can’t you hear them?”
“Hear them?” Oh. “Prayers,” Dean breathed as his own fingers brushed over the scarred metal. Could he answer prayers?   It seemed that he could. He felt pleasure, but it was less of a rush than granting wishes, more of a slow-blooming warmth.
Aware, now, of the true purpose of Castiel’s chore, Dean polished the breastplate until it was flawless, then pulled another piece of armor from the sack. Angel and genie worked together in companionable silence, answering prayers and restoring the armor to a pristine shine worthy of an archangel.
“Chores done. Playtime, kiddo,” Dean announced with a grin when the last piece was finished. Levitating up above the stone ramparts, he held out a hand in encouragement.
Cas tilted his head quizzically, considering the novel idea. “Playtime. No. That’s for Erelim, not Seraphs like me.”
It was the second time Dean had heard the ancient Enochian word used to describe the angels still enjoying themselves outside the compound walls. He scoffed. “Come on, Cas. Seraph or not, it’s no sin to have a little fun once in awhile. Every couple milleniums or so,” he wheedled, still holding out his hand.
“All right. But not like that.” The little angel viewed Dean’s genie levitation--half corporeal, half a trailing tail of smoke--with obvious distaste. Cas reached up and took his hand, unleashing a jolt of power and a flash of white light.
Dean’s arms windmilled as his lower body rematerialized, booted feet balanced precariously on the top of the wall, purple smoke dissipating in a puff. The wings that sprouted from his shoulder blades felt utterly alien and yet somehow absolutely right. Recovering himself, he craned his neck to look over his shoulder. They were magnificent, feathers gleaming in the sunlight. Castiel’s should look like these, Dean thought, remembering his friend back in the motel room, huddled in his tattered and broken wings. Dean vowed again to fix that situation. He’d wish the angel’s grace back as soon as he could.
Meanwhile, in the vision Cas was sharing with him, the child version of the Seraph had released his hand and spread his own downy baby wings. Dean couldn’t resist. Just as Castiel took flight he reached out and poked his shoulder. “Tag. You’re it!” Dean launched himself skyward with strong beats of his wings.
“Oh--!” The little angel hurtled after him.
Just as Dean was considering slowing his pace to give the kid a chance, a Cas-generated gust of wind from below threatened to knock him off balance. He barely had time to register a flutter of wings and a head of unruly dark hair just beneath his feet before Cas was right in front of him. The little angel hovered effortlessly, eye to eye with Dean.
“No, you are it.” A stubby finger jabbed his sternum.
Dean heard laughter as Cas darted away, flipping over backwards into a loop-the-loop. A group of Erelim had witness the exchange. “You hear that? I’m it,” he shouted, and they scattered as he winged his way toward them. One wheeled higher into the sky as another glided down toward the ground. Dean folded his wings flat against his shoulders and nosedived after her, barely managing to tag one glossy wingtip. She grinned and shot off in pursuit of another of her companions. Caught up in the game, it took another minute or two to realize that Castiel hadn’t joined in the fun with the others.   He was hovering on the outskirts, watching. Dean flew to meet him.
“Hey, Cas.” Dean’s wings felt as natural as if he’d had them all his life. He stretched one out to brush its pinions against the smaller flight feathers of Castiel’s wing, the angelic version of a friendly shoulder nudge. “So what’s the word on these Erelim dweebs?”
“Dweebs?” Cas tilted his head, tiny frown lines appearing between his brows, and Dean fought to keep a straight face at the familiar expression. “I am not familiar with that word, but the Erelim are special. Our Father gave them free will,” he confided with a mixture of awe and disapproval.
Just then Dean felt his tenuous mental connection to the real, adult Castiel tune in. He could sense the Seraph’s conflicting emotions where free will was concerned. He felt his guilt that still lingered over the civil war in heaven and the unleashing of the Leviathans on the world. But there was a stubborn pride there, too, for Cas’s role in stopping the apocalypse and saving the world from the ravages of a war between Michael and Lucifer.
...And for saving Dean from his fated role as Michael’s vessel.
The connection cut off as abruptly as a television when the off button was pressed on the remote control, and Castiel’s adult voice spoke inside his mind, directing his attention to an oasis of palm trees. “I thought you wanted to learn about the origin of genies.”
One of the angels had slipped away from the game of tag. Dean felt a flare of annoyance. Here he was in Castiel’s memory, immersed in Castiel’s consciousness, and yet somehow his friend was holding out on him, shutting down the bond between genie and Master. But as the Erelim disappeared behind the cover of the trees Dean’s hunter instincts kicked in. “Come on.”    He took off for the oasis, little Cas keeping pace. They flew lower as they got closer, using the cover of the foliage to keep them both hidden as they touched down lightly at the edge of the patch of verdant green in the midst of endless arid sand. Dean put a finger to his lips, signalling to Cas to keep quiet, and the boy nodded understanding. They crept through the screen of bushes and trees until they came to the edge of a clearing.
There, by a pool of water, was the Erelim, along with a human woman. “I don’t understand why anyone would want free will,” Castiel confided, his voice scarcely the shadow of a whisper in Dean’s ear. “Humans seem to make terrible decisions when they use it.”
“Can’t blame them for that, kiddo,” Dean murmured back. He shook his head ruefully as he took in the woman’s beauty. Dark eyes, full lips, and lush curves that even her shapeless homespun robe couldn’t hide. Yeah, he thought appreciatively, there was a ‘terrible decision’ if ever there was one... But oh, so worth it!   And of course the Erelim must look like a demigod to a poor peasant girl, all gleaming golden perfection. No wonder she was smitten.
The couple was laughing and teasing, flirting that soon turned steamy as casual touches escalated to erotic caresses. The Erelim unbuckled his angelic armor, tossing it aside carelessly. Dean let out a low whistle as the woman slipped her loose-fitting robe off her shoulders, showing off breasts as lovely as any he’d ever seen.
An intake of breath brought his attention back to the boy crouched beside him.   Cas’s lips were puckered as he innocently tried to imitate Dean’s whistle.   “Whoa, whoa!”   Dean clapped a hand over his eyes, blocking his view.
“Let go. Why can’t I look?” Castiel pried at Dean’s fingers.
“Uh, because... It’s not nice to spy on people,” Dean improvised, self-righteous.
“You’re spying on people.” he retorted, pushing Dean’s hand away and craning his neck to get another glimpse of the couple.
Dean put the struggling angel in a headlock. “And we’re going to get caught spying on them if you don’t shut up.” With Cas’s curiosity effectively curtailed by the wrestling hold, he looked back into the clearing to see if they’d been discovered. The amorous couple was oblivious, he saw, both completely undressed now, the woman sitting in the angel’s lap, straddling his thighs. Dean started to back away, intending to retreat to the edge of the oasis and leave them, but he froze as the woman pushed her lover back onto the grass, playfully holding him down with her hands pressed against his chest.
His mouth went dry, pulse revving into panic. He was back in a motel room somewhere in the Denver suburbs, gazing up at the former shapeshifter Liz Anne with doglike devotion as she smirked above him, hands pressed flat against his chest as she bounced on his cock. Dean tasted acid at the back of his throat and his stomach clenched with shame. He wanted to grab Liz Anne by her shoulders, hurl her off the bed and away from him, but he was helpless. Trapped inside his own mind, Dean bellowed furious denial. His throat was raw, eyes bulging and bloodshot, the tendons in his neck taut as steel cables, but not even a whisper of sound came out.
She reached down between their straining bodies and wrapped her hand around the base of his erection. “You love it,” she told him.

Author's note: got a little more plot in my porn than originally expected. I promise I'll deliver the goods soon. How about this, I'll title the chapter "Smut" when we get to the actual Destiel shenanigans? That way (eventually!) you can just scroll down and enjoy the pwp if you're so inclined. Thanks for reading!
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I Dean of Genie