Permanent - part 5, END
Permanent, part cinq - END
~~~
As soon as the Impala screeched to a halt in the hospital's parking lot, Dean bound into the building with Sam right behind him, demanding at the front desk to know where Castiel had been taken; fortunately Lisa intervened before security could be called.
"Dean," she said, her voice cracking at the seams.
He turned around and settled into her open arms. He squeezed her once then pulled away and asked in a strained voice, "Where is he?"
Lisa's face fell, not exactly knowing how to put it. She placed a hand on his shoulder and said, as she shook her head sympathetically, her eyes red, "I'm so sorry, Dean."
"Where is he?" Dean said stubbornly, still not believing that anything so earthly, so stupid, could happen to Castiel, of all people.
"He's --" She cleared her throat. "He lapsed into a coma just before you arrived, but the doctors say he's stable."
"He's… in a coma," he repeated dully.
Sam turned to Lisa, his eyes slightly glossed, and asked, "Can we… can we see him?"
She shook her head. "They're still assessing his condition. We have to wait for the doctor."
"How did this happen anyway?" asked Sam
Lisa rubbed a hand over her forehead, as if trying to crease out all the stress that had accumulated since the brothers' arrival. "I… Look, I don't know how it happened. He must've climbed out Ben's window and slipped or something."
"You don't think… like… he tried to… like…" Sam fumbled with his words, his glance flitting from Lisa to Dean.
Dean cried, affronted, "What? No! No… He wouldn't do that." He saw his brother purse his lips while Lisa glanced uncomfortably to the side.
"Can we have a minute?" Sam asked Lisa, who nodded, relieved, and went to sit in a chair near some magazines. "Look," Sam turned to his brother, "I know you've grown pretty fond of him these past few days, but face it. He never wanted this. He never wanted to be mortal and live in a world where 'God' means little more than a verbal interjection, in a world where he can actually feel time slip through his fingers, sitting around, waiting for death, decaying. It's a traumatic transition, Dean; he's bound to have some issues about it."
"He was going to get over them, he was getting better," Dean protested.
"Or repress them," said Sam.
They stood in a brief pocket of silence as the hospital staff bustled around them.
"Where's Gabriel?" asked Dean, suddenly.
Sam's eyebrows creased. "He must've taken off…"
"And miss out on all the fun?" Gabriel's voice made them jump.
He clapped a hand on each of their shoulders and gave a wide grin. "Why did nobody tell me my little bro was turned into a human?"
He didn't seem overly concerned that his little brother had, well, fallen and in a coma. Plus he was wearing a doctor's outfit. Which didn't make sense to Dean.
"Could you at least pretend to be a little upset?" he said through his teeth.
"I do sincerely apologize." Gabriel put a hand on his chest. "You're right, though, where's the fun in teasing him about it if he's unconscious?"
Dean had to seriously bite down on his anger before he did anything stupid to piss off an archangel. A bastard of an archangel.
"Oh, lighten up." He tapped Dean's shoulder. "He'll be out of it in a few weeks, a few months tops. I overheard what the docs were sayin'. They've seen this before. And FYI, children with traumatic brain injury have 60% more chance of recovery than adults. So, there's something to chew on before you start having a hissy fit."
Dean groaned. "If only Jesse had gotten to you instead…"
"You mean the anti-Christ?" Gabriel raised his eyebrows. "No wonder I couldn't bring him back to consciousness. Little bastard probably put a strict no interfering clause on him. Can't do squat that's not natural."
"Shit." Dean pressed a knuckle to his forehead.
"Can we at least see him?" asked Sam.
"Sure. Just don't forget, you two have a job to do early in the morning." He looked at them pointedly before leading them to the boy's room, turning away nosy doctors and nurses with the flick of an ID or a flick of his hand. Dean turned around to fetch Lisa.
They all entered the sterile room and were greeted by a loud respiratory machine; there, in the middle of the room lay Castiel. He looked so small, as tough he was drowning in the bed's oversized mattress, tethered only by tubes and sheets, and a nasopharyngeal airway that kept him afloat in the world of the living. Or at least in a sort of limbo.
Dean sat at one side of the bed with Lisa, while Gabriel and Sam stood on the other.
"We're right here, buddy," said Dean. "But you already knew that."
---
"The hardest part wasn't trying to get into the museum. It wasn't trying to get the exorcism right either, when one of the angels had knocked Sammy out. It wasn't saying the right words at the right time. It wasn't nursing a lame arm and a broken leg while ditching the cops. Or not visiting you for at least a month." Dean shook his head, his elbows on his knees and his hands under his chin. "No, the hardest part was knowing you were living in hell every single minute of it. And the worst part is, I don't know if it's all the same to you, living or this."
"Dean," interrupted Sam from the other side of the bed. "The doctors say he has a good chance of recovery. He's already progressed into a vegetative state, it could be a few more months before he snaps out of it."
"How is that any better? Just look at him," he gestured in the boy's direction, whose eyes had opened at the outcry; it was a startle reflex that had been preserved the doctors had said.
Sam scooped a tiny hand in his and felt it grasp around his thumb. Another motor reflex that made his breath hitch.
"I hate it when he does that," said Dean who was referring to Castiel's slow roving eye movements. "It makes him seem awake when he's not. It's kind of sick, in a way."
Sam sighed. "You know Bobby has a hunt lined up for us, right?" said Sam.
"Yeah, I know. Just ten more minutes."
"Yeah, okay." Sam breathed out and tightened his grip.
---
They stopped by Lisa's place to ask how they were doing and collected Cas's stuff; they were a little more reluctant to giving the cat back, seeing how Ben had grown attached to it. When they were back in the car, Sam raised an eyebrow at his brother.
"I understand the pictures, the clothes, and the sketchbook. But the cat? Really?"
Dean shrugged. "What can I say? It grew on me." He elicited a smug purr from the cat as he stroked its head. How old was she now? Three months? And what were they feeding her? He swore she wasn't so plump when they first left her at Lisa's. "Maybe it could like, you know, help us spot ghosts or stuff we might have missed at first," he offered weakly. They both knew what the real reason was.
"Like a living EMF meter?" Sam shook his head in disbelief. "You are not driving with that thing in your lap." Dean grinned.
Eventually, the cat ended up being used more often than not as their supernatural-o-meter in the weeks to come. Not that she minded anyway, being coddled and treated as she was like a spoiled child every chance they got. Except when it came to the Impala… Kitty, or 'Kit' as Dean liked to call her, learnt the hard way not to mess with the upholstery.
Sam never commented on how Dean's face would sometimes grow vague and distant when he'd unload his clothes from the duffle bag. Probably because Cas's sketchbook was still lodged at the bottom, along with the Polaroid pictures that were stacked inside. For some reason, he could never bring himself to open it and look at the drawings or the photos. He'd just stare at the cover for a while, lost in a moment of indecision and an intense internal debate before reverting back to his usual self and resuming his pace. Suffice to say, Sam was growing weary of his skirting about the issue. He was also damn curious about what the boy had drawn in there, but Dean insisted that it be kept that way. Sam knew there was no use in arguing.
---
Dean was never one to be a coward. Well, okay, there was that one time where he caught that ghost sickness which made him scream at the mere mention of monsters, but that was totally different. And there had also been times where he'd been accused of being crazy, which, granted, he could understand where they were coming from, aside from the fact where he'd indeed spent time in an insane asylum (but again: totally different). So it was fairly new to him when both of those instances cropped up to sit on the edge of his bed as he just walked out of the motel's bathroom.
"Cas," he barely mouthed over the thundering of his heartbeat. Instinctively, he knew that the impossible was almost always the product of a malignant force. The first thought that could explain the cross legged figure that was calmly going through his stuff and laying them on the bedspread in a neat order was "ghost". But then that would mean… His face blanched even further at the thought. That wasn't possible; he'd have felt a drop in the temperature. Second explanation: it was a supernatural creature that had taken his form. But he was in a coma, there was no way a shapeshifter should have any idea who Cas was. Third explanation: this was a dream. A very, very vivid dream where he could feel and see every tiny detail. Okay, fourth and final explanation: he'd finally flipped, and this was one helluva hallucination. He groaned inwardly. Why did Sam pick now to go get a coffee? And did he have to take Kit with him? Some reassurance of his sanity would have been nice.
He tried to say the boy's name again, but realized his throat had become too dry to choke out even a single word. He cleared his throat. The thing that looked like Cas continued to gut his bag and neatly arrange its contents on the bed spread, occasionally sparing a curious glance at a random item, entirely oblivious to Dean's presence.
"Hey," he tried to yell, but came out as a coarse squeak. It's not like he was scared, he's dealt with many an apparition before. No, dammit, this wasn't a ghost. "Hey, who are you?" he ordered the thing who continued to ignore him. And, okay, what? No-one, not even unexplainable creatures, got to ignore him. "Hey, I'm talkin' to you." He slowly reached for the gun tucked in the back of his jeans. The thing muttered something he couldn't catch. He had his gun out now, and was cautiously edging towards the figure, his firearm at the ready.
The boy muttered more clearly this time, "Ah, you've kept it," and proceeded to pull on the wrinkled trench coat. he turned to the startled man. "Hello, Dean," he said, the ghost of a smile wavering in the corners of his mouth. "I hope you'll pardon my intrusion, but I felt a rather strong chill come over me just now." He raised an eyebrow at the gun pointed in his face. "You're not intending on shooting me, are you?" he said, a hint of amused skepticism in his voice.
Dean blinked. It was like his brain had shut off and was giving him an immutable blue screen of death. He could feel himself put his gun away and mumble half an apology as if he were on autopilot. Castiel cocked his head slightly to the side, like he was trying to figure out Dean's odd behavior.
"You're…" Dean croaked. "You're supposed to be in a coma. How can you be here?" he asked as he found a chair he could slump into.
The boy dangled his feet off the edge of the bed as he leaned backwards, his arms stretched back to support him, and studied the ceiling in a slightly bored manner: the perfect image of your typical kid. His mind was definitely playing tricks on him. Cas suddenly straightened, his brow scrunched up in annoyance. "This trench coat is insufficient," he said and dug for more layers in Dean's bag.
Okay, so this was probably a dream. Or a vision or whatever. He fished his cell phone out and dialled Lisa. After five rings he heard a tinny voice sound through.
"Hello?"
"Ben," Dean said, relieved that it didn't go to voicemail. "Hey, how are you?" He didn't exactly feel like opening the conversation asking if Cas hadn't by any chance walked out of his bed and hitched a ride to Arizona.
"I'm okay. Mom's with Cas right now if you wanted to speak with her."
"No, that's okay." He looked up at Cas who had started to try out various pieces of clothing, and had left a mound of balled up clothes on the sheets in the process. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes. "Listen. Is, uh… Is he still in a coma?" He winced at how desperate that sounded.
He could hear Ben sigh. "Yeah. Sorry. Doesn't look like he's gonna come out of it any time soon. He does moan occasionally, though. It's a little scary."
"Tell me about it." Dean pressed a knuckled to his forehead and exhaled. "Okay. Thanks anyway. I'll try drop by this week, see how you're all doing, okay?"
"Uh-huh. Bye," he said and hung up before Dean could reply. Ben probably didn't like it when the only moments he called were either for his mother or to see how Cas was doing. He groaned. Why couldn't his life be more of the black and white variety? Or better yet, why couldn't people just be simpler?
He looked up and found that Cas had finally settled for his leather jacket that swallowed his whole body, and was patiently waiting for him to finish his call.
"Dean," he started, his voice a little giddy, "could you take me to see the Grand Canyon?"
This couldn't be Cas, yet it was. Maybe Gabriel was screwing around with him.
"Dean." Castiel was growing impatient. He gave a dry cough and pulled the jacket closer. It really wasn't that cold, especially around May in Arizona.
"Uh…" He swallowed, still not sure if he was ready to let down any version of Castiel yet. "I guess?"
The boy's face broke into an authentic smile that lit up the whole room, making Dean's chest stutter a little. He was definitely dreaming this.
"Let -- Let me just text Sam. I'll join you in the car." He gave a weak smile.
Cas bounced off the bed and flounced over to the door; his whole body was practically humming with delight at the simple prospect of visiting something so earthly. He texted his brother, his brain still on autopilot like he was manipulating his limbs through a deafening stupor.
When he reached the car, he found Cas huddled in the front seat, idly fiddling with the AC vents. Dean turned the ignition on and glanced over at the boy who jerked forwards and gave a few wet coughs.
"You okay?" asked Dean as he backed out of the parking lot.
Cas cleared his throat and assured him he was fine. Dean didn't know what else to say, and to be honest, he was a little afraid that if he said or did something inappropriate, Castiel would suddenly disappear. Ten minutes into a heavy silence, the boy finally said, his eyes fixed on the road in front of them, "How's Sam?"
Dean breathed in and said, "He's good. He's, uh… he's good."
"And Kitty?"
"She's wonderful." He cracked a grin. "I mean, she's practically part of the team now. Helping us catch monsters and stuff with her laser eyes. Almost four months old and already a professional ghost buster."
Cas grew silent as he seemed to take that in for a moment before replying, "That's good."
More dry Americana landscape rolled by their windows as they eased into a hesitant stillness where neither wanted to acknowledge why Castiel was there.
"I'd… I'd like to see them again," the boy said as he absently ran a finger across his seat.
Dean's hands tightened around the wheel. "Yeah, you will. Right after the Grand Canyon. Then we'll get some Häagen-Dazs; you remember that don't you?" He glanced at him.
Castiel nodded vaguely like it was a memory that wasn't especially relevant. "I remember that day." He gave a violent cough that jerked his whole body; he sniffed and pulled the jacket closer. "It was my birthday."
Dean shook his head, annoyed and slightly rueful. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."
"No," Castiel said after a short while. "I suppose not."
The rest of the drive passed in a relatively easy silence until they reached the Canyon. They sat on the edge of an extended railed floor, their legs dangling over the edge, and contemplated the rocky chasm below. It was just his luck that the weather turned out to be shitty on this very day. Well, not that it was raining or anything, but the air was really heavy and humid, and the sky was as bleak as they came. It would have been depressing if it weren't for the amber grey rocks that never failed to impress.
Castiel closed his eyes and breathed in deeply; a passing breeze tousled his hair even more. Dean stared at the yawning gap that seemed to have swallowed his voice.
"You've always wanted to bring me here," Cas stated calmly.
Dean sighed and laid his chin on a supporting pole. "Yeah. I did."
"Why didn't you?" Cas opened his eyes and turned to him. It was an honest question that was more interested than accusatory.
"I guess…" Dean said in the wind. "I guess I thought I'd have more time." He closed his eyes and leaned onto the pole. "I'd say time is overpriced the way it is."
Neither said another word and simply let the hot air blow around them in affectionate caresses. Dean felt a weight press against his shoulder and opened his eyes to find Castiel leaning on him, his eyes shut, and a trickle of blood forming a single thin line down his upper lip.
Cas mumbled sluggishly, like he was on the brink of falling into a deep sleep, "Time means nothing. When you understand that, you'll be less angry… less sad…" He trailed off into broken words that barely made it past a whisper that died on his lips.
Dean snaked a hand around the boy's shoulder and pulled him closer to bury his nose in his hair and breathe him in, not caring if this was a drunken dream or a freakish hole in reality. He murmured coarsely into the boy's scalp, "We'll always have time."
Cas nodded absently, almost in a slumber, and muttered lazily, "If I say goodbye…" He drew in a shaky breath. "Will you tell me not to go?"
Dean hugged him tight to his side and said, his voice loud in the empty chasm that surrounded them, "No. 'Cause you're not going anywhere, buddy. You're right here with me. And Sam and Kitty are waiting for you back at the motel, remember? Just imagine the look on Sam's face when you show up, I think he'll even faint." He grinned at the now still form that pressed against his side. Cas's face had gone completely slack, his mouth slightly open, a trace of blood smeared over his top lip.
He moved, and the figure slumped forward. Dean caught him and pulled the boy into his lap. Even then he didn't allow himself to appear maudlin at such an obvious moment. So if his vision had grown a tad blurry, he blamed it on the sharp wind, and if his throat was a little sore, he blamed it on the humidity in the air and an oncoming cold.
It was at that time that he received a call on his cell phone from Lisa who informed him that Castiel had died from a pulmonary infection, and that she was very sorry. He'd hung up after the first 'sorry'. He glanced down; Castiel was no longer in his lap, and neither was the jacket. He ran an exhausted hand over his face and sniffed. "See you on the other side, Cas."
He lost himself in the Canyon a little while longer before finally dragging himself back to the car. He felt a sudden urge claw at his chest and make his skin crawl as if scalding pinpricks had swarmed all over his body in an effort to purge him of a growing rot that had seeded itself in his mind; right then, all he wanted to do was burn all of Cas's clothes, the pictures and the drawings… He rolled the window down and sucked in desperate gulps of air; he would never admit that the sound the pounding wind made reminded him of the beat of wings.
---
"How was the Grand Canyon?" Sam called out from his laptop as Dean showed up at the coffee shop he'd settled into. "I found some new info. Get this, apparently Mrs. Donovan was spotted on a surveillance camera at the crematorium fifteen minutes prior the incineration… Dean?" He looked up at his brother who'd crumpled wordlessly into the chair opposite him, his face somewhat bleached and his eyes wandering elsewhere. He looked positively drained. He forwarded his own coffee across the table and asked, "You okay?"
Dean blinked the vagueness out of his eyes and slipped a hand around the coffee, absently scratching at the label. "Lisa called."
"Oh," was all Sam could articulate, his mind reeling with the implications of the words. "Anything bad?"
Dean choked something out, then drank a bit of coffee and tried again. "Pulmonary infection -- pneumonia. He didn't stand a chance."
"Oh," he said. Because what else could he say? He felt his thoughts scatter and escape any form of coherency and order he tried to impose. "But… The doctors… they said he would recover. They said they were going to try a new medication on him." He could hear how whiny he sounded as he complained about how unjust things always turned out, not only for Cas, but for every damn thing they encountered. Everything they touched seemed to burst into flames and fall to ashes. Sometimes literally.
Dean simply looked at him for a while. It's not like he didn't understand Sam's protests, only he'd been there before, though he'd wizened up since and threw in the towel before the towel could strangle him to death. So instead of patting his brother's shoulder or offering consoling words, he sipped the coffee and focussed on the present. His eyes trained on some crumbs on the table, he said, "So Mrs. Donovan was lying…"
There will be time for commiseration later.
---
That night, Dean quietly took the sketchbook out. He ran a contemplative finger over the corny animal characters on the cover, thinking he really should have gotten a better one. The mattress dipped as he sat on the edge of his bed, startling a little when Kitty pointed her whiskers and climbed onto the sheets, her nose curiously prodding the photos that fell through, perhaps vaguely recognizing the tiny scrunched up face; Sam was busy in the shower. He opened the book and his breath came to a stuttering halt. He had to clench his fists tight so as to physically restrain himself from throwing the sketchbook against the wall.
For a moment he could imagine how much like a ghost Castiel must have felt, walking forever in a silence deeper than silence, apprehending but never quite reaching the lights of home… now hiding in the dusty folds of brittle drawings and fading photographs.
---
End
Bonus scene.
Feedback makes me all warm inside. And if you could spare a comment I would really appreciate it. This monster almost consumed my whole summer.
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As soon as the Impala screeched to a halt in the hospital's parking lot, Dean bound into the building with Sam right behind him, demanding at the front desk to know where Castiel had been taken; fortunately Lisa intervened before security could be called.
"Dean," she said, her voice cracking at the seams.
He turned around and settled into her open arms. He squeezed her once then pulled away and asked in a strained voice, "Where is he?"
Lisa's face fell, not exactly knowing how to put it. She placed a hand on his shoulder and said, as she shook her head sympathetically, her eyes red, "I'm so sorry, Dean."
"Where is he?" Dean said stubbornly, still not believing that anything so earthly, so stupid, could happen to Castiel, of all people.
"He's --" She cleared her throat. "He lapsed into a coma just before you arrived, but the doctors say he's stable."
"He's… in a coma," he repeated dully.
Sam turned to Lisa, his eyes slightly glossed, and asked, "Can we… can we see him?"
She shook her head. "They're still assessing his condition. We have to wait for the doctor."
"How did this happen anyway?" asked Sam
Lisa rubbed a hand over her forehead, as if trying to crease out all the stress that had accumulated since the brothers' arrival. "I… Look, I don't know how it happened. He must've climbed out Ben's window and slipped or something."
"You don't think… like… he tried to… like…" Sam fumbled with his words, his glance flitting from Lisa to Dean.
Dean cried, affronted, "What? No! No… He wouldn't do that." He saw his brother purse his lips while Lisa glanced uncomfortably to the side.
"Can we have a minute?" Sam asked Lisa, who nodded, relieved, and went to sit in a chair near some magazines. "Look," Sam turned to his brother, "I know you've grown pretty fond of him these past few days, but face it. He never wanted this. He never wanted to be mortal and live in a world where 'God' means little more than a verbal interjection, in a world where he can actually feel time slip through his fingers, sitting around, waiting for death, decaying. It's a traumatic transition, Dean; he's bound to have some issues about it."
"He was going to get over them, he was getting better," Dean protested.
"Or repress them," said Sam.
They stood in a brief pocket of silence as the hospital staff bustled around them.
"Where's Gabriel?" asked Dean, suddenly.
Sam's eyebrows creased. "He must've taken off…"
"And miss out on all the fun?" Gabriel's voice made them jump.
He clapped a hand on each of their shoulders and gave a wide grin. "Why did nobody tell me my little bro was turned into a human?"
He didn't seem overly concerned that his little brother had, well, fallen and in a coma. Plus he was wearing a doctor's outfit. Which didn't make sense to Dean.
"Could you at least pretend to be a little upset?" he said through his teeth.
"I do sincerely apologize." Gabriel put a hand on his chest. "You're right, though, where's the fun in teasing him about it if he's unconscious?"
Dean had to seriously bite down on his anger before he did anything stupid to piss off an archangel. A bastard of an archangel.
"Oh, lighten up." He tapped Dean's shoulder. "He'll be out of it in a few weeks, a few months tops. I overheard what the docs were sayin'. They've seen this before. And FYI, children with traumatic brain injury have 60% more chance of recovery than adults. So, there's something to chew on before you start having a hissy fit."
Dean groaned. "If only Jesse had gotten to you instead…"
"You mean the anti-Christ?" Gabriel raised his eyebrows. "No wonder I couldn't bring him back to consciousness. Little bastard probably put a strict no interfering clause on him. Can't do squat that's not natural."
"Shit." Dean pressed a knuckle to his forehead.
"Can we at least see him?" asked Sam.
"Sure. Just don't forget, you two have a job to do early in the morning." He looked at them pointedly before leading them to the boy's room, turning away nosy doctors and nurses with the flick of an ID or a flick of his hand. Dean turned around to fetch Lisa.
They all entered the sterile room and were greeted by a loud respiratory machine; there, in the middle of the room lay Castiel. He looked so small, as tough he was drowning in the bed's oversized mattress, tethered only by tubes and sheets, and a nasopharyngeal airway that kept him afloat in the world of the living. Or at least in a sort of limbo.
Dean sat at one side of the bed with Lisa, while Gabriel and Sam stood on the other.
"We're right here, buddy," said Dean. "But you already knew that."
---
"The hardest part wasn't trying to get into the museum. It wasn't trying to get the exorcism right either, when one of the angels had knocked Sammy out. It wasn't saying the right words at the right time. It wasn't nursing a lame arm and a broken leg while ditching the cops. Or not visiting you for at least a month." Dean shook his head, his elbows on his knees and his hands under his chin. "No, the hardest part was knowing you were living in hell every single minute of it. And the worst part is, I don't know if it's all the same to you, living or this."
"Dean," interrupted Sam from the other side of the bed. "The doctors say he has a good chance of recovery. He's already progressed into a vegetative state, it could be a few more months before he snaps out of it."
"How is that any better? Just look at him," he gestured in the boy's direction, whose eyes had opened at the outcry; it was a startle reflex that had been preserved the doctors had said.
Sam scooped a tiny hand in his and felt it grasp around his thumb. Another motor reflex that made his breath hitch.
"I hate it when he does that," said Dean who was referring to Castiel's slow roving eye movements. "It makes him seem awake when he's not. It's kind of sick, in a way."
Sam sighed. "You know Bobby has a hunt lined up for us, right?" said Sam.
"Yeah, I know. Just ten more minutes."
"Yeah, okay." Sam breathed out and tightened his grip.
---
They stopped by Lisa's place to ask how they were doing and collected Cas's stuff; they were a little more reluctant to giving the cat back, seeing how Ben had grown attached to it. When they were back in the car, Sam raised an eyebrow at his brother.
"I understand the pictures, the clothes, and the sketchbook. But the cat? Really?"
Dean shrugged. "What can I say? It grew on me." He elicited a smug purr from the cat as he stroked its head. How old was she now? Three months? And what were they feeding her? He swore she wasn't so plump when they first left her at Lisa's. "Maybe it could like, you know, help us spot ghosts or stuff we might have missed at first," he offered weakly. They both knew what the real reason was.
"Like a living EMF meter?" Sam shook his head in disbelief. "You are not driving with that thing in your lap." Dean grinned.
Eventually, the cat ended up being used more often than not as their supernatural-o-meter in the weeks to come. Not that she minded anyway, being coddled and treated as she was like a spoiled child every chance they got. Except when it came to the Impala… Kitty, or 'Kit' as Dean liked to call her, learnt the hard way not to mess with the upholstery.
Sam never commented on how Dean's face would sometimes grow vague and distant when he'd unload his clothes from the duffle bag. Probably because Cas's sketchbook was still lodged at the bottom, along with the Polaroid pictures that were stacked inside. For some reason, he could never bring himself to open it and look at the drawings or the photos. He'd just stare at the cover for a while, lost in a moment of indecision and an intense internal debate before reverting back to his usual self and resuming his pace. Suffice to say, Sam was growing weary of his skirting about the issue. He was also damn curious about what the boy had drawn in there, but Dean insisted that it be kept that way. Sam knew there was no use in arguing.
---
Dean was never one to be a coward. Well, okay, there was that one time where he caught that ghost sickness which made him scream at the mere mention of monsters, but that was totally different. And there had also been times where he'd been accused of being crazy, which, granted, he could understand where they were coming from, aside from the fact where he'd indeed spent time in an insane asylum (but again: totally different). So it was fairly new to him when both of those instances cropped up to sit on the edge of his bed as he just walked out of the motel's bathroom.
"Cas," he barely mouthed over the thundering of his heartbeat. Instinctively, he knew that the impossible was almost always the product of a malignant force. The first thought that could explain the cross legged figure that was calmly going through his stuff and laying them on the bedspread in a neat order was "ghost". But then that would mean… His face blanched even further at the thought. That wasn't possible; he'd have felt a drop in the temperature. Second explanation: it was a supernatural creature that had taken his form. But he was in a coma, there was no way a shapeshifter should have any idea who Cas was. Third explanation: this was a dream. A very, very vivid dream where he could feel and see every tiny detail. Okay, fourth and final explanation: he'd finally flipped, and this was one helluva hallucination. He groaned inwardly. Why did Sam pick now to go get a coffee? And did he have to take Kit with him? Some reassurance of his sanity would have been nice.
He tried to say the boy's name again, but realized his throat had become too dry to choke out even a single word. He cleared his throat. The thing that looked like Cas continued to gut his bag and neatly arrange its contents on the bed spread, occasionally sparing a curious glance at a random item, entirely oblivious to Dean's presence.
"Hey," he tried to yell, but came out as a coarse squeak. It's not like he was scared, he's dealt with many an apparition before. No, dammit, this wasn't a ghost. "Hey, who are you?" he ordered the thing who continued to ignore him. And, okay, what? No-one, not even unexplainable creatures, got to ignore him. "Hey, I'm talkin' to you." He slowly reached for the gun tucked in the back of his jeans. The thing muttered something he couldn't catch. He had his gun out now, and was cautiously edging towards the figure, his firearm at the ready.
The boy muttered more clearly this time, "Ah, you've kept it," and proceeded to pull on the wrinkled trench coat. he turned to the startled man. "Hello, Dean," he said, the ghost of a smile wavering in the corners of his mouth. "I hope you'll pardon my intrusion, but I felt a rather strong chill come over me just now." He raised an eyebrow at the gun pointed in his face. "You're not intending on shooting me, are you?" he said, a hint of amused skepticism in his voice.
Dean blinked. It was like his brain had shut off and was giving him an immutable blue screen of death. He could feel himself put his gun away and mumble half an apology as if he were on autopilot. Castiel cocked his head slightly to the side, like he was trying to figure out Dean's odd behavior.
"You're…" Dean croaked. "You're supposed to be in a coma. How can you be here?" he asked as he found a chair he could slump into.
The boy dangled his feet off the edge of the bed as he leaned backwards, his arms stretched back to support him, and studied the ceiling in a slightly bored manner: the perfect image of your typical kid. His mind was definitely playing tricks on him. Cas suddenly straightened, his brow scrunched up in annoyance. "This trench coat is insufficient," he said and dug for more layers in Dean's bag.
Okay, so this was probably a dream. Or a vision or whatever. He fished his cell phone out and dialled Lisa. After five rings he heard a tinny voice sound through.
"Hello?"
"Ben," Dean said, relieved that it didn't go to voicemail. "Hey, how are you?" He didn't exactly feel like opening the conversation asking if Cas hadn't by any chance walked out of his bed and hitched a ride to Arizona.
"I'm okay. Mom's with Cas right now if you wanted to speak with her."
"No, that's okay." He looked up at Cas who had started to try out various pieces of clothing, and had left a mound of balled up clothes on the sheets in the process. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes. "Listen. Is, uh… Is he still in a coma?" He winced at how desperate that sounded.
He could hear Ben sigh. "Yeah. Sorry. Doesn't look like he's gonna come out of it any time soon. He does moan occasionally, though. It's a little scary."
"Tell me about it." Dean pressed a knuckled to his forehead and exhaled. "Okay. Thanks anyway. I'll try drop by this week, see how you're all doing, okay?"
"Uh-huh. Bye," he said and hung up before Dean could reply. Ben probably didn't like it when the only moments he called were either for his mother or to see how Cas was doing. He groaned. Why couldn't his life be more of the black and white variety? Or better yet, why couldn't people just be simpler?
He looked up and found that Cas had finally settled for his leather jacket that swallowed his whole body, and was patiently waiting for him to finish his call.
"Dean," he started, his voice a little giddy, "could you take me to see the Grand Canyon?"
This couldn't be Cas, yet it was. Maybe Gabriel was screwing around with him.
"Dean." Castiel was growing impatient. He gave a dry cough and pulled the jacket closer. It really wasn't that cold, especially around May in Arizona.
"Uh…" He swallowed, still not sure if he was ready to let down any version of Castiel yet. "I guess?"
The boy's face broke into an authentic smile that lit up the whole room, making Dean's chest stutter a little. He was definitely dreaming this.
"Let -- Let me just text Sam. I'll join you in the car." He gave a weak smile.
Cas bounced off the bed and flounced over to the door; his whole body was practically humming with delight at the simple prospect of visiting something so earthly. He texted his brother, his brain still on autopilot like he was manipulating his limbs through a deafening stupor.
When he reached the car, he found Cas huddled in the front seat, idly fiddling with the AC vents. Dean turned the ignition on and glanced over at the boy who jerked forwards and gave a few wet coughs.
"You okay?" asked Dean as he backed out of the parking lot.
Cas cleared his throat and assured him he was fine. Dean didn't know what else to say, and to be honest, he was a little afraid that if he said or did something inappropriate, Castiel would suddenly disappear. Ten minutes into a heavy silence, the boy finally said, his eyes fixed on the road in front of them, "How's Sam?"
Dean breathed in and said, "He's good. He's, uh… he's good."
"And Kitty?"
"She's wonderful." He cracked a grin. "I mean, she's practically part of the team now. Helping us catch monsters and stuff with her laser eyes. Almost four months old and already a professional ghost buster."
Cas grew silent as he seemed to take that in for a moment before replying, "That's good."
More dry Americana landscape rolled by their windows as they eased into a hesitant stillness where neither wanted to acknowledge why Castiel was there.
"I'd… I'd like to see them again," the boy said as he absently ran a finger across his seat.
Dean's hands tightened around the wheel. "Yeah, you will. Right after the Grand Canyon. Then we'll get some Häagen-Dazs; you remember that don't you?" He glanced at him.
Castiel nodded vaguely like it was a memory that wasn't especially relevant. "I remember that day." He gave a violent cough that jerked his whole body; he sniffed and pulled the jacket closer. "It was my birthday."
Dean shook his head, annoyed and slightly rueful. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."
"No," Castiel said after a short while. "I suppose not."
The rest of the drive passed in a relatively easy silence until they reached the Canyon. They sat on the edge of an extended railed floor, their legs dangling over the edge, and contemplated the rocky chasm below. It was just his luck that the weather turned out to be shitty on this very day. Well, not that it was raining or anything, but the air was really heavy and humid, and the sky was as bleak as they came. It would have been depressing if it weren't for the amber grey rocks that never failed to impress.
Castiel closed his eyes and breathed in deeply; a passing breeze tousled his hair even more. Dean stared at the yawning gap that seemed to have swallowed his voice.
"You've always wanted to bring me here," Cas stated calmly.
Dean sighed and laid his chin on a supporting pole. "Yeah. I did."
"Why didn't you?" Cas opened his eyes and turned to him. It was an honest question that was more interested than accusatory.
"I guess…" Dean said in the wind. "I guess I thought I'd have more time." He closed his eyes and leaned onto the pole. "I'd say time is overpriced the way it is."
Neither said another word and simply let the hot air blow around them in affectionate caresses. Dean felt a weight press against his shoulder and opened his eyes to find Castiel leaning on him, his eyes shut, and a trickle of blood forming a single thin line down his upper lip.
Cas mumbled sluggishly, like he was on the brink of falling into a deep sleep, "Time means nothing. When you understand that, you'll be less angry… less sad…" He trailed off into broken words that barely made it past a whisper that died on his lips.
Dean snaked a hand around the boy's shoulder and pulled him closer to bury his nose in his hair and breathe him in, not caring if this was a drunken dream or a freakish hole in reality. He murmured coarsely into the boy's scalp, "We'll always have time."
Cas nodded absently, almost in a slumber, and muttered lazily, "If I say goodbye…" He drew in a shaky breath. "Will you tell me not to go?"
Dean hugged him tight to his side and said, his voice loud in the empty chasm that surrounded them, "No. 'Cause you're not going anywhere, buddy. You're right here with me. And Sam and Kitty are waiting for you back at the motel, remember? Just imagine the look on Sam's face when you show up, I think he'll even faint." He grinned at the now still form that pressed against his side. Cas's face had gone completely slack, his mouth slightly open, a trace of blood smeared over his top lip.
He moved, and the figure slumped forward. Dean caught him and pulled the boy into his lap. Even then he didn't allow himself to appear maudlin at such an obvious moment. So if his vision had grown a tad blurry, he blamed it on the sharp wind, and if his throat was a little sore, he blamed it on the humidity in the air and an oncoming cold.
It was at that time that he received a call on his cell phone from Lisa who informed him that Castiel had died from a pulmonary infection, and that she was very sorry. He'd hung up after the first 'sorry'. He glanced down; Castiel was no longer in his lap, and neither was the jacket. He ran an exhausted hand over his face and sniffed. "See you on the other side, Cas."
He lost himself in the Canyon a little while longer before finally dragging himself back to the car. He felt a sudden urge claw at his chest and make his skin crawl as if scalding pinpricks had swarmed all over his body in an effort to purge him of a growing rot that had seeded itself in his mind; right then, all he wanted to do was burn all of Cas's clothes, the pictures and the drawings… He rolled the window down and sucked in desperate gulps of air; he would never admit that the sound the pounding wind made reminded him of the beat of wings.
---
"How was the Grand Canyon?" Sam called out from his laptop as Dean showed up at the coffee shop he'd settled into. "I found some new info. Get this, apparently Mrs. Donovan was spotted on a surveillance camera at the crematorium fifteen minutes prior the incineration… Dean?" He looked up at his brother who'd crumpled wordlessly into the chair opposite him, his face somewhat bleached and his eyes wandering elsewhere. He looked positively drained. He forwarded his own coffee across the table and asked, "You okay?"
Dean blinked the vagueness out of his eyes and slipped a hand around the coffee, absently scratching at the label. "Lisa called."
"Oh," was all Sam could articulate, his mind reeling with the implications of the words. "Anything bad?"
Dean choked something out, then drank a bit of coffee and tried again. "Pulmonary infection -- pneumonia. He didn't stand a chance."
"Oh," he said. Because what else could he say? He felt his thoughts scatter and escape any form of coherency and order he tried to impose. "But… The doctors… they said he would recover. They said they were going to try a new medication on him." He could hear how whiny he sounded as he complained about how unjust things always turned out, not only for Cas, but for every damn thing they encountered. Everything they touched seemed to burst into flames and fall to ashes. Sometimes literally.
Dean simply looked at him for a while. It's not like he didn't understand Sam's protests, only he'd been there before, though he'd wizened up since and threw in the towel before the towel could strangle him to death. So instead of patting his brother's shoulder or offering consoling words, he sipped the coffee and focussed on the present. His eyes trained on some crumbs on the table, he said, "So Mrs. Donovan was lying…"
There will be time for commiseration later.
---
That night, Dean quietly took the sketchbook out. He ran a contemplative finger over the corny animal characters on the cover, thinking he really should have gotten a better one. The mattress dipped as he sat on the edge of his bed, startling a little when Kitty pointed her whiskers and climbed onto the sheets, her nose curiously prodding the photos that fell through, perhaps vaguely recognizing the tiny scrunched up face; Sam was busy in the shower. He opened the book and his breath came to a stuttering halt. He had to clench his fists tight so as to physically restrain himself from throwing the sketchbook against the wall.
For a moment he could imagine how much like a ghost Castiel must have felt, walking forever in a silence deeper than silence, apprehending but never quite reaching the lights of home… now hiding in the dusty folds of brittle drawings and fading photographs.
---
End
Bonus scene.
Feedback makes me all warm inside. And if you could spare a comment I would really appreciate it. This monster almost consumed my whole summer.
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