vanillafluffy | SPN fic -- The One About the Traveling Salesman, 1/1, PG, OMC/Castiel

Title: The One About the Traveling Salesman
Authored by:

vanillafluffy
Pairing/Spoilers: Pre 4.1
Rating/Work-safeness: PG
Approximate word count: 1100
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Kripke
Betaed by:

pwcorgigirl
Summary: A devout man struggles with temptation.

The One About the Traveling Salesman

The name on the credit cards in his wallet is Daniel R Borden. He's thirty-four, wears no wedding ring. The business cards he carries list him as a representative of Schmidt Industrial Distributors, Milwaukee, reliable janitorial products since 1937.

Daniel's own reliability is more recent. He's been with Schmidt for just over three and a half years, clean and sober for two years, nine months and eighteen days of that time. He's earned his own territory, which he's been working since March, and he's struggling to prove Arlan Schmidt's faith in him is justified. Except...the economy is in the toilet. People are economizing, joining price clubs, buying their products online---every refusal makes his throat choke up with longing for a drink, and today he's been turned down eight times.

Right now, he's registered in a crappy motor court on the outskirts of Pontiac, Illinois. The first thing he does when he brings his bags in is to set up his laptop and check for local 12 Step meetings. Forty miles, damn it. Daniel scrubs his fingers through his hair and thinks about it. Does he want to drive 80 miles round-trip miles to Bloomington? That's ten bucks worth of gas he can barely afford as it is.

He'll go for a run, he decides. Limber up after a day driving futilely from factory to warehouse to refinery...wear himself out, grab some dinner and stay in with his copy of the Big Book. That's the ticket. It's far from the first time he's done so.

He dons his sweats and does five miles. It's exhilarating. Daniel remembers the bad old days when the booze and the pills had him so messed up it was all he could do to stagger up a flight of stairs. Yeah, business isn't too good at the moment, but he's gonna turn it over to his Higher Power, let it go, let it go....

Running creates endorphins, God's own natural high, and he's buzzed...right up until the moment he opens the door to his room and sees his possessions strewn around the floor. No, this can't be happening. His laptop is gone, and his wallet, cell phone, keys---for some reason, they stole his suitcase, but left his clothes---and his sobriety medallions, which hurts more than anything else. He's surprised the car is still there, but the thieves probably have a better ride than his six-year old Contour.

He trudges to the office to report it, and spends the next hour talking with law enforcement and calling to get his cards cancelled. After the cops leave, the motel owner holds out a brown bottle moist with refrigeration and it's all Daniel can do not to grab it and drown himself. Whatever you need, man, you've had a helluva day, coaxes Lenny. Daniel stammers like a terrified virgin and bolts back to the sanctuary of his room.

Too close. Oh God, please protect me from this temptation. Study the Big Book and try not to think about how you'll have to call Schmidt and ask for a new list of prospects, for an advance just to get gas and a meal....

It's gone; the volume with its blue covers was tucked into his laptop case and it's freaking gone. He sits down on the edge of the bed that's heaped with shirts and underwear and breathes, tries to process his loss calmly. Tries not to think about the bar he jogged past, not a mile down the road.... Sometimes the website is wrong, sometimes there are local meetings listed in the phone book, there has to be someone he can reach out to---

There's a worn Bible from the Gideon Society in the drawer of the nightstand, but no phone book. Daniel opens it and reads:

"...cast thyself down: for it is written, He shall give His angels charge concerning thee:
and in their hands they shall bear thee up, lest at any time thou dash thy foot against a stone."

Daniel lets the book fall closed and weeps. It's another way of saying, "Let go, let God", and he's trying, he really is, and that beer would've tasted so good...he doesn't want to break his abstinence, he's heard stories, knows that's the path to disaster and he has enough of that....

Pull yourself together, he tells himself. He's still in his running clothes, which have dried and are sticking to his body. A shower is a good, productive thing to do, so he rises and strips off the grey fleece pants and white tee shirt and briefs. He collects his toiletries---apparently the robbers weren't interested in his grooming products once they realized the most potent drug in his bag was an antacid---grateful that at least he doesn't have to replace them, too.

On his way to the bathroom, he studies his reflection to see if there's a "Kick me" sign tattooed on his ass. No, just a thirty-four year old man who looks worried and confused by life. He makes an effort to smile at himself, repeats another affirmation: "I don't know what the future holds, but I do know God holds the future."

I'm not going to let this get to me, he resolves, but God? You can send that angel my way any time.

The light in the room behind him brightens slowly, as if by dimmer switch. DANIEL rings out as if spoken by trumpets. He draws in a deep breath, and it's sweeter than wine, tasting like peace, calming him. This. This is what he was searching for at the bottom of all those bottles...joyfully, he lets it encompass him. He no longer has any awareness of his body, only the celestial radience that fills his soul.

Castiel occupies the vessel---it's so much less traumatic for the host when he's been invited---and adjusts himself to having a mortal body once again. It's been some time since his last venture into this form, and he's forgotten how limited its senses are. He augments them with his own divine awareness, reveling in the sensation of air against his bare skin, the sound of music coming from a neighboring room's television, the sight of his new host.

It's an aesthetically pleasing vessel, too: young, fit, well-shaped in its features. He'll do his best to take care of it for the original occupant, although if anything happens, Daniel will enjoy a victor's reception at the gates of Heaven.

***

Feedback is shiny.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

ultraviolet9a.livejournal.com

I like this muchly. Love how you gave substance to the vessel. We all drool over Castiel so much we forget he's wearing a meatsuit, so to speak. Even a willing one. And man, reading about Daniel made me feel his pain. Like... i could feel what he went through somehow.

From:

Not my circus, not my monkeys....

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