Morituri Te Salutant, part 2
Part 1
The following day, Jack was gone, untied from the tree during the night by someone, and as Eleanora was missing too, everyone guessed that she was this someone. Castiel had to wonder why she would do something like that, freeing her husband and maybe running away with him, when he had wanted to kill her, called her a whore. Out of fear, out of guilt for cheating on him?
“Maybe she just loved him,” Dean suggested with a shrug.
“Why would she cheat on him if she loved him?”
“I don’t know. Could be a lot of reasons. Maybe he couldn’t get it up anymore. Maybe he was violent.”
“And she would still love him?”
“Some people just get under your skin. They become part of you and there’s nothing you can do about it. Whatever happens.”
Castiel stared at him, uncomprehending. Dean patted on his shoulder.
“It’s okay, Cas. You’ll get it when you’ll grow up.”
“Fuck you,” Castiel replied, though he thought he kind of understood what Dean meant. But it always made Dean laugh incredulously when such words came out of Castiel’s mouth. It was less heartfelt than usual this time, but it would do.
The Perries were the first to go, but not the only ones. Almost every night, people, sometimes entire families, packed up when everything was dark and silent, and in the morning all they found was a square of flattened and dying grass where the tents used to be.
When Dean didn’t find out by himself, it was always Doc who went to him, looking somber and whispering the news to Dean’s ear, like there was any way they could keep it secret. Dean, on the other hand, was resigned.
“I can’t blame people for wanting to run away,” he said one day.
“But they can spread the virus! We can’t let those people run around and spread death all over the country!”
“What do you want me to do? Tie them up? Shoot them?”
“I don’t know! Maybe!”
“Are you serious?”
“More people will die, Dean! It’s our responsibility to…”
“People die all the fucking time when it’s the end of the world, Doc. The way I see it, we’re all fucking screwed to hell anyway.”
It became rapidly clear that they couldn’t stay where they were. They were trying to be as careful as they could to contain the disease, but when latrines were holes in the ground and there was no running water, hygiene seemed like an insurmountable issue. Winter was coming and they knew tents would not be enough to protect them from the cold that was about to fall on them.
They were talking about leaving every day, but the problem was what to do with the sick people. None of them were well enough to travel, even those who seemed to be on the mend - there was always a chance they could have a relapse, Doc had explained. It was a frustrating situation. People were dying and they were doing all they could to help them, but all they could obviously wasn’t enough.
Castiel was the one to come up with a solution. One day he found a semi with a big enough trailer to carry all their sick in acceptable conditions, and he drove it back to the camp - Dean had taught him how to drive, like he had taught him how to shoot, or to shave, or thousands other human things. At the camp, he was welcomed by the first real smile Dean had in weeks.
Dean gathered everyone on one sunny morning.
“Okay, people, I have news,” he announced. “I’m sure you’re all aware of how shitty our current situation is. We’re vulnerable to attacks, to the weather and with winter coming… We don’t have running water or any real toilets. We need buildings. We need to move. So that’s we’re gonna do. Start packing, because we’re leaving in two days.”
Instantaneously, Dean’s speech aroused anxious questions and exclamations, coming from all sides at the same time.
“Where are we going?”
“What are we going to do with the sick ones?”
“We can’t leave them here! My husband...”
“And what about the Croats?”
Dean raised his hands.
“Okay, okay, everyone calm down! Hey!” The crowd quieted. “Thanks. I know you’re scared. I know you’ve all been though a lot, and you’re afraid of what is out there. But there’s nothing for us here. And we’re certainly not going to let our sick here to die. They’re coming with us. Cas here found us a semi and it will be our hospital on wheels. Or something.”
They left two days later, as Dean had planned. Doc and some volunteers took turns with driving the semi/“hospital on wheels,” while Dean and Castiel were packed with Jim and his twin sister Emma into the Impala, which became the leading and scouting vehicle. The other refugees followed as quickly as they could. Jim and Emma were young but they were good shots, having been taught by their dad, and they worshiped the ground Dean walked on.
Life on the road had never been Castiel’s life as it was Dean’s, so he was surprised to see how quickly they fell into a routine. The Impala would take the lead over the others and scout around the area, looking both for any threat and for a place where they could live. Then they would come back to the rest of the group, and Dean would check on the sick - and occasionally bury the dead -, share out food and water, and decide on some place to spend the night. They had brought their tents and they often had to camp outdoors, but sometimes they found a couple of abandoned houses that had escaped government bombing and they could sleep inside. Unfortunately, there was never quite enough room for them to think about living anywhere for good.
Once in a while they had to look for food and other supplies in the destroyed towns they passed by. Those were generally Croats hot zones, so Dean, Castiel, the twins and a few others went armed to the teeth and sometimes, not everyone came back.
It was maybe the tenth day; the Impala stopped on the side of the road and they got out, ready to go on reconnaissance. Dean spread a map on the hood and Castiel, Emma and Jim gathered around him. They had a few maps, none of them very reliable - bombing had changed the landscape too much - but it wasn’t like they had anything else to work with. Maps were a source of infinite curiosity for Castiel. When he had still been able to teleport wherever he wanted to, he had never needed maps. He had an instinctive sense of where he was and where he wanted to go, of the earth and every of its inhabitants.
“But it doesn’t look like that at all,” he had said, confused, the first time he saw a map. Dean had laughed at him.
Today, however, nobody was in the mood for laugh. They were all tired and on edge because of the never-ending trip and the need to be constantly on the look for danger. Dean, in particular, looked very rough, pale face and dark smudges under his eyes. Castiel hadn’t slept a lot since they had left the camp, but then he didn’t need a lot of sleep. Dean had slept even less. Castiel was wondering how to tell his friend that he maybe needed rest without him getting defensive, when Emma spoke up first:
“Dean? Don’t you think that one of us should drive, so you can get some sleep?”
Castiel winced. The girl didn’t know Dean well enough yet to know what exactly she was asking.
“I’m fine,” Dean replied absently, tracing a mental road on the map with his fingertip and rubbing his forehead with the knuckles of his other hand. “There should be a summer camp, twenty miles or so on the east. Camp Chitiqua. If it has not been destroyed it would be ideal for us… So I say we’re following this road there as long as we can, and if it’s been cut we could take this one here and…” He stopped talking, deep in thoughts and still rubbing his forehead.
“And what about driving, Dean?” Emma tried again. Jim mouthed to her, shut up, but she ignored him with the ease of siblings. “Castiel could do it if you think me and Jimmy are too young. What do you say?”
“I’m driving.”
“But…”
“End of discussion, Sam.”
The twins blinked and Castiel’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t know how to react to this, because Dean didn’t seem aware he had said anything wrong, so should Castiel point out to him his slip of the tongue or not? Jim opened his mouth and Castiel decided that it was better he did it than have the twins ask who Sam was.
“Dean, you called her Sam.”
“I did?” Dean blanched visibly, and he swallowed. “Uh, sorry, Em.”
“It’s… okay.” For a second Castiel thought she was going to ask, but she was wise enough to keep her mouth shut. She shared a look with her brother, who didn’t say anything either.
“Shall we move?” Castiel said to put an end to the horrible silence.
Dean shot him a quick grateful glance.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
Castiel tried to quell the uncomfortable feeling growing inside him, and resolved to make Dean rest after they had a look at the camp Chitiqua. But when they got to the camp and found the buildings intact, the area quiet, and even some running water - which was more than they even dared to dream for - Dean decided that it would be their final destination and the rest of the day was spent in getting back to the other refugees and leading them safely at the camp.
Patience is a virtue, though, and Castiel was - used to be - an angel, after all. Aren’t angels supposed to be the epitome of virtue? He was never one to renounce it easily.
---
When night fell, Camp Chitaqua was still buzzing with activity. Once they had a scout round the area and were sure it was safe, there still was a lot of work to do in order to get everybody settled. They opened the windows of all the cabins, cleaned them up roughly, wiping dust and dead leaves. They unloaded the cars from everything they had managed to take from their former camp, tried to find a place for everyone to sleep and put their meager belongings, and most importantly, somewhere to turn into a makeshift infirmary for the sick who survived the trip.
Dean was trying to be everywhere at once, and almost succeeding. He was settling the arguments sparking between the refugees, tired and cranky and eager to find a place to finally rest; he was helping getting the sick from the trailer to the biggest building in the camp, which probably used to be a canteen; he was ordering some of his men to start patrolling around to make sure that the place was really safe. Castiel followed him everywhere, trying to get him to stop and settle for a moment before he keeled over. His only weapon was persistence, and he knew that when Dean got into one of his moods the way to go was to outstubborn him, so he kept trying again and again even as Dean snapped at him that he should find something useful to do.
“Would you just fucking leave me alone? You know what, you missed your calling, you’re not an angel, you’re a leech!”
“You need to rest, Dean. When was the last time you slept, huh? Come on.” Feeling daring, Castiel stepped forward into Dean’s personal space with a raised hand that was aiming at his friend’s shoulder, but Dean flinched away and barked: “For God’s sake, back off, Sam!”
Castiel stilled and bit his lip.
“Dean,” Castiel said carefully, “You called me Sam again.”
“What? No, I…” Dean looked confused, mouth opening and closing, and Castiel felt a pang of worry. He still had a lot to learn about the way the human body worked, so he had to wonder - could lack of sleep and exhaustion make someone lose their mind?
“My name is Castiel,” he reminded Dean, in case lack of sleep could alter memory too. “Sam is your…”
“I know who he is!” Dean interrupted him. “Jesus, you think I’ll forget my… Anyway, I don’t have time for your crap, I gotta…” He took a step, obviously intending to walk away, but then Castiel saw him falter, tilting forward with his hands in front of him like he was trying to find his way in the dark. Castiel caught him by the shoulders before he fell nose first into the mud.
“Get off me,” Dean mumbled, struggling feebly against Castiel’s grasp. “I gotta, I gotta…”
“You gotta go to bed. And sleep.”
“But they need me…”
“Not right now. Come on, we’ll find you somewhere to lie down. Can you walk?”
“I’m fine.”
Castiel let go of Dean but stayed closed with his hands hovering, almost touching, just in case Dean got dizzy again. Dean could walk just fine though he apparently had no idea where to go, stumbling and zigzagging without purpose, but stubbornly standing upright and walking like he was on a mission.
“I’m fine,” he repeated out of the blue.
“I know. Let’s go over there,” Castiel said, pointing to a still unoccupied cabin. He led an unnaturally subdued Dean in it, found a bed with a box spring but no mattress and got Dean to sit down.
“There. Will you be okay while I find you a blanket?”
“I’m…”
“Fine, I know.”
“I am, I’m just…” Dean blinked, then rubbed his eyes. “I’m a little tired, I think.”
“Yeah, that you are. Stay there, I’ll be right back.”
Castiel rushed through the camp to where the cars and the semi were parked, ignoring the people trying to call for him and stop him in his tracks. Whatever they needed, it surely could wait, and he had to get back to Dean. Dean had been hurt before, but seeing him so weakened and confused and calling him Sam made his stomach churn and he just… A blanket, he needed to find a blanket.
Once he did he came back to Dean as quickly as he could, and found him slumped against the headboard, eyes widened and eyebrows raised in an almost comical attempt to keep his eyes open. Castiel approached him slowly, careful not to startle his exhausted friend.
“Dean?”
“Cas. Uh, I think I’m okay now. I was a little… It was all so muddled, but now I’m alright.”
He sounded lucid, which was relief, but he was also blinking convulsively, fighting sleep with obstinacy. He started to push himself up, but Castiel held him down with a firm hand on his chest.
“Lie down,” he ordered, a hint of his old authority as a warrior of the Lord coming back to him. Dean was usually taller, but he was sitting down so it allowed Castiel to loom over him and the protests died before he had a chance to say them.
“You’re bossy,” he pouted, and it would have sounded childish if he hadn’t looked so world-weary.
Castiel helped him out of his jacket, and rolled it so Dean could use it as a pillow. It wasn’t warm enough in the cabin for Dean to take off any other piece of clothing, and Castiel was about to lay the blanket on him when Dean snatched it irritably from his hands.
“Don’t need help,” he grumbled as he wrapped himself up in the blanket, lying down on the uncomfortable looking springs.
Castiel shrugged and had a look around the room to find something he could sit on. There was a chair in a shadowed corner and he dragged it to sit at Dean’s bedside. Dean’s eyes were closed but it didn’t feel like he was sleeping. Castiel folded his arms on his chest, resolving not to budge until Dean had enough rest.
“You gonna stay here?” Dean mumbled, the sound of his voice muffled because he had moved and was now hiding his face into the crook of his elbow.
“Well, yeah. Nothing better to do.”
“Freak.”
There was a long pause, and if Castiel wasn’t so attuned to Dean’s breathing he would have thought he had fallen asleep.
“I lost him, didn’t I? I lost him for good.”
There was no question who Dean was talking about, and Castiel wasn’t cruel enough to make him say his brother’s name again. He swallowed, feeling an awkward lump in his throat and a painful tug at his heart. In his new human condition he had learned that most feelings and sensations hurt - well, except maybe orgasm; orgasm had been a nice discovery. They strained the glue that held him together and he often wondered how humans were able to stand it.
“I’m sorry.”
It was a stupid thing to say, but it was the way human talk worked, piles of meaningless sentences that are here to fill the emptiness. It used to puzzle the hell out of him, but now he thought he got it. Like he got the real nature of the bond Dean shared with his brother. He had thought he understood it before, after he got Dean out of Hell, when he started to know him. He had thought he had him, them all figured out but he had been wrong. Family, loyalty, love, all these words could rightfully be applied to the brothers but they were somewhat lacking. Castiel had seen them together, and he had seen Dean alone, and he knew that when Dean still had Sam they were something more than just Sam and Dean. More than the sum of their parts. But Dean didn’t have that anymore, and never would again.
“You really should sleep, Dean,” Castiel said after a silence, having no comforting lies or encouraging truths to spare.
“And everything will look brighter on the morning?”
Dean’s words were sluggish but the sarcasm wasn’t lost on Castiel. He half-smiled sadly, though of course Dean couldn’t see him with his eyes closed.
“In the morning, you’ll have work to do.”
Dean groaned, but didn’t reply anything. Castiel leaned back on his chair and began to stand watch.
---
Dean started awake. His eyes snapped open and daylight blinded him so he blinked, eyes filling with water. He didn’t know what had woken him. He remembered being sent to bed by Castiel like a disobedient child, falling into darkness, and then waking up. He didn’t remember dreaming but he couldn’t shake off a weird feeling of dread. He rubbed his face vigorously.
“Hey, Dean. How did you sleep?”
Dean turned his head and found Castiel sitting by his bed.
“Like the dead. But, uh… tell me you didn’t sit there all night, please.”
“I’m afraid I did. I didn’t move.”
“Huh. So you just… watched me sleep. It’s creepy, dude.”
“I was watching over you.”
Angels are watching over you.
Dean snorted a laugh. Yeah. His mom probably didn’t mean it so literally. He started to push himself in a sitting position.
“How do you feel?”
Dean threw his legs out of the bed. How did he feel? His head was pounding and he was sore all over, but his mind felt clearer, less hazy. That was definitely a plus.
“I’m okay.”
He stood up, wanting to go to the door and get busy, having wasted enough time with sleeping, but for some reason he couldn’t get himself to move. He could hear the noise of people outside, talking and walking and moving things - probably still unloading the cars and getting settled. They needed him, all these refugees who had survived horror. They relied on him; that was his life, now. But whatever he did it was, somehow, still all about Sam. Sam, Sam, Sam. It was Sam he thought about when he woke up in the morning, Sam again when he had to shoot one of his men infected with the Croatoan virus, and Sam when he went to bed at night.
Sam wasn’t out there, in that camp they had finally found, their safe haven. He would never be there again - Sam was dead, and only Lucifer remained. Worse than Sam not being with him, it was the whole world being Samless, and it was sometimes more than Dean could bear.
“You sure you okay? Maybe you should sleep some more.”
Dean felt Cas move behind his back, coming closer but not touching. He sure had learned his lesson about personal boundaries.
“No, I’m good. You said it yourself, I have work to do.”
With these words, he stepped outside.