Made of Earth - Chapter Five [ part one ]
Chapter Five [part one]
Ben watched Dean oddly as he stood in front of the mirror trying to tie that stupid tie. Black, as Anna had ordered. He felt as awkward as a seventh grader going to his first dance. “Either help me, or stop giving me that look,” Dean said. Ben just snickered and clapped his hands together.
Sam knocked on the open door before stepping in. “We’re going to be late.”
“This is stupid.”
“You get free food. You love free food.”
Dean turned from the mirror to face Sam. His stupid brother already in his stupid suit with the stupid tie attached correctly. Without being asked, Sam started to fix Dean’s tie. He avoided his brother’s gaze, because he knew Sam would ask if he was okay, if he thought Cas was really going to be okay.
As a doctor, Sam had access to medical texts and papers that the public didn’t. Sam knew what made the brain tick, what was a disease and what was just personality, someone just being a little eccentric. He knew a sick brain or person when he saw it. He probably even knew the name of Castiel’s disorder.
“All right.” Dean pushed Sam away and went over to scoop Ben from his crib and carried him into the living room.
Anna had sent a car for Castiel an hour earlier. He dressed in a suit and tie too, and managed to get his hair sitting in one direction.
“Dada,” Ben touched Dean’s face, played with his mouth. “Dada.”
“Yeah?”
He smushed Dean’s face and leaned forward to kiss on his cheeks. Dean’s eyes fell shut and he leaned back, put his large hand over Ben’s tiny one, pressing both to the side of his face. All at once, he became surged with love and fear and just held onto his son. He inhaled the sweet scent of baby powder, bath water with that stupid lavender bubble wash that Lisa loved so much.
If Sam hadn’t moved down the hall, grabbing their coats from the closet, slapping Dean on the shoulder as he passed, Dean would have started crying. But Sam pulled him back into reality where he needed to be.
“When is she supposed to be here?”
The Care Worker. You could call up the Care Center for babysitters, just like the old days, but instead of pulling numbers off bulletin boards or asking the kid from across the hall, the agency sent over one of their workers.
Dean cleared his throat. “Soon.” He checked his watch. Ben started to fuss from the tight contact; Dean put him on the floor and let him wobble over towards his toy box. His favorites were the cars, a stuffed dog and a pink doll from origins unknown.
“You okay?” Sam asked, plucking a chip from a bowl set on the counter.
“Yeah.”
A peppy knock came from the door as Dean reached for his own chip. They stared at each other for a second before Sam rolled his eyes and went to answer. Dean wandered over to Ben.
“Knock, knock!” Ben said and handed Dean a car.
A hand-sized Buick, green paint chipping from the rims, the left wheel a little loose. Ben’s favorite. “Thanks buddy.”
“Hello, Mr. Winchester.”
Dean recognized the soft, summer voice from the Care service. Tall and blond, the blue eyes, and large, pink lips. She stood in the entrance way, feet together, dressed in gray down to her knees, matching gray sneakers, gray scarf over her head. Sam gave her a once, twice over. From her curved and tanned calves to the curls of her hair sticking out of her braid.
“This is Jessica,” Sam said, his mouth gone dry.
“Yeah,” Dean said standing and scooping Ben with him. “We’ve met before.”
Ben smiled wide and toothy, but he shied away, rolling his face into the crook of Dean’s shoulder. “Oh, come on, dude,” he said with his own grin. “You love spending time with her.”
“Do you mind?” she asked, starting to untie her scarf.
“Go ahead.”
Sam kept watching her, mesmerized. Captivated by the simple gesture of her hand threading through her golden hair, of moving that scarf through her fingers. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
In that moment, Dean wanted nothing more than for Sam to have her.
“Well.” Dean cleared his throat and handed Ben over; the shy thing was an act, the boy loved women and putting on a show. Once in her arms, he smiled and touched her face. “We should go. Uh, he’ll go down in an hour or so. He’s eaten, had his bath and everything. Changing table is in the bedroom at the end of the hall.” He pointed. “And you know, help yourself to food and TV, whatever.”
She nodded. “Sounds good.” Ben gripped onto her finger.
“Okay then.” Dean leaned forward to kiss Ben on the back of his head; his interest was already solely on Jessica. He grabbed the keys and headed out the door. As he stepped into the hall, he heard Sam fumble over his own words to say, “Nice to meet you.”
~
Crowley and Anna lived in a large house while most people lived in the little cube like apartments, but Dean didn’t blame her for sticking it out for the benefits. The house. The slight freedom that came with being married so high up, and oddly enough, Crowley did almost anything that Anna wanted.
Anna opened the door with a wide smile, pulled tight to the edges of her mouth. Her dark red hair pulled up, jewelry shining against her neck, her wrists, large and gaudy rings on her fingers. “I’m so glad you made it,” she said, kissing them both on the cheek and touching Sam’s waist as she ushered them inside. “It’s rather dull,” she explained, closing the door behind them. “Just a bunch of hospital staff from Clinton. Wives who have never had wine before. It’s like being in the goddamn 1900s.”
She kept smiling and Dean knew it was killing her. Her home was full of strangers, here for a cause that people hated and needed at the same time.
“Where’s Cas?” Sam asked.
“Hiding,” she answered. “The paintings are going over wonderfully though.” Her lips downturned a bit. She wrapped her arms around herself, the silver bracelets clinking and shining from the dim light of the foyer. “Well,” she said after a lapse, straightening up and taking a glass of champagne from a passing busboy. “Let’s pretend that we’re happy.”
Sam went to hang out with the men in the dining room. Dean bypassed the crowd and a large table that held more glasses of champagne and plates of fancy hors d’oeuvres, for the giant kitchen, grabbing two beers from the fridge.
A woman cooking stared at him as he closed the door. Like when women walked about in public, she wore a dull colored dress and a scarf over her hair that was cut short and tucked under the material.
“Hi,” he said, giving her a nod. She went back to stirring.
Dean went through the dining room and past the den where all the women sat, nervous and skittish as birds; their arms jerking in quick movements, their large and dark eyes with their first glasses of wine. Anna caught his gaze and nodded towards the back of the house. The balcony.
The French doors opened outward and Cas stood at attention to the sound and sudden burst of light. He turned around and braced himself against the concrete railing. “Just me, dude,” Dean announced, closing the doors behind him. Cas relaxed a bit. “You clean up nice.” The suit was big on him, loose and long, the black tie knotted crooked around his neck, his hair combed flat. He fiddled with the plastic cufflinks at his wrist.
“I hate it.”
“No one likes these suits.”
“Crowley does.”
“He’s an ass.”
Dean popped open both bottles, handed one to Cas and immediately started drinking his. The air was cool and fresh, a nice change from the warmth of inside. “Anna says the paintings are going over well.”
Cas shrugged. “People are just being nice.”
“Everyone loves your work; no one had to be nice about that.” Castiel could make finger paints look like something you’d find in the Louvre.
“Thank you for coming, Dean,” he said. “It means a lot to me. It always does.”
Dean bumped their shoulders. “Hey, maybe one of those mooks will wanna buy something, yeah?” Light from inside filtered through the lace curtains, shadows faintly covering Cas’ face with dull orange and gray.
“Maybe.”
“Don’t be too down,” Dean kept pushing. Cas’ expression stayed despondent and fixed.
“I don’t like a lot of people,” he said. “You know that, Crowley knows that, I don’t know why the hell I have to be here.”
“You know we have to play nice-”
“I’m fucking tired of playing nice,” Cas snapped. “Of being in this stupid country with their stupid laws and rules.” He started to pull at his shirt, untucking it from his slacks, and started to twirl at his hair.
This was it, the unraveling of the bad cycle, the start of an episode. This would be the fourth. When they were twelve and things on the news were getting real bad, Cas kept repeating that there were wires in his head and he could hear the enemy coming. He cried and cried for almost two days. Then when they were fifteen, before Michael died, he walked around the backyard, naked and screaming at the sky. When they were twenty, Cas painted all the walls in Dean’s room bright blue because the angels said if he didn’t they would bring down the wrath of God and kill Sam and Dean.
“Okay, Cas, look, this isn’t that bad, okay? Not like when everything was going down.” He set his beer on the railing and put his hands on Cas’ arms. “No one wants to kill me and Sam, no one is listening to us. Everything is all right.”
Cas jerked away. “No, it’s not Dean! Jesus, can’t you see it? We’re fucking pets here. You, me. Lisa…I just want…” he turned towards the massive yard and back again, moving directly into Dean’s personal space, but Dean was used to having him there. The smell of him, the feel of his breath and the frame of his body.
“Why are you doing this, Cas? Here, now?”
He laughed, bitterly. “You think this is all on purpose?”
“No.”
And then Castiel moved fully into his space and kissed him. For the first time in years, but it was the same, like they were picking up right where they had left off. Cas held onto the sides of Dean’s face, tucking their bodies together. Quick and desperate, Cas licked into Dean’s mouth, just like that first time in his parents’ attic after Michael’s funeral when nothing else existed but Cas, Dean, and those glow-in-the-dark stars.
But the whole world moved around them. Inside were members of the Authority, people who would report them as soon as look at them. And they would be both be treated, changed. Dean would lose everything all over again. He pushed Cas back until Cas bumped into the railing.
“Fuck, Cas, you know we can’t do that.” He glanced back to the house for people peeking through the curtains.
Cas leaned on the stone, touching his mouth. “Why?” he looked angry.
“You’re not stupid. Fuck.” His heart racked in his chest, like he was dying, desperate for some kind of oxygen. He went inside and left the door open. Rarely did he ever just leave Cas. He knew the face Cas would be making, squinting eyes, gaping mouth. He went to the room with the rest of the men for a glass of scotch.
Sam stood in the corner talking to someone he knew from work. Sam had always been good at that, mingling, fitting in with work and school. Dean had been the one standing in the wings with his dark eyes and folded arms. Making sure no one was messing with Sam, or Cas, though Cas was always sitting with him, making sure that somehow, they were touching.
“Dean.” He turned to Crowley coming down the spiral staircase that led to his office from the den. He wore a fine tailored suit, something silk and expensive, a wolf grin and carried a goblet of amber liquid. He put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Nice of you to come.”
Dean faked a smile, sipped his own drink. “Yeah, well, Anna asked me to come, so.”
“Of course,” Crowley continued. He removed his hand, but still stood close, glancing out at his guests, at Sam laughing. Castiel’s paintings hung on the wall by a sculpture. They kept a lot of art around. Crowley had the clout, the money. Dual citizenship that only a handful of citizens had. “Wouldn’t want one to get out of the cuckoo’s nest, yeah?”
Dean bit back the urge to punch Crowley square in the nose. He clenched his free hand into a fist and kept the decorated grin. For whatever reason, whatever Anna did, that smarmy, British bastard, wanted to keep her happy. So he kept his mouth shut. Dean downed the rest of his drink. It burned his throat like gasoline.
“Cas, stop!” Anna yelled from the kitchen. There was a crash that followed and everyone turned their heads towards the entranceway. Dean braced himself, setting his glass on the table.
Anna made it into the room before Castiel did, throwing Dean a panicked look. Crowley grinned, enjoying the show.
By the time Dean made it to the threshold, Cas stood a few feet away, his tie undone, his jacket shed. The buttons of his white shirt popped at the top. “They’re here, Dean,” he said, complete and utter conviction in his voice. Dean wondered if he saw them too, the angels that spoke to him, with great wings and halos.
“Yeah, okay, Cas, you can tell me about it in the car.”
Cas shook his head. Panicked and angry, but also sad. Fuck. Dean brought this on. Pushed him right over the edge. “No. They’re here and they’re mad. They’re saying it wasn’t the right time and now they’re coming and I’m sorry,” he babbled and twisted the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Fine,” Dean gritted out. The others in the room watched. Some of them worked in the Mental Ward. They knew the signs. They could tie down Cas right now.
Anna was close to tears. Dean gripped Cas’ wrists, pushing up the sleeves so it was skin on skin contact. “Castiel,” he said. His full name caught his attention. Dean spoke slow, calm, his voice a few octaves lower than usual. “Tell me about it in the car, okay?” He half-smiled and squeezed tight.
Cas glanced back over Dean’s shoulder, at doctors, at Sam approaching, setting down his stem-neck glass. At his baby sister crying. His eyes settled back on Dean, always on Dean.
“Atta boy, let’s go.” He put his hands on Cas’ shoulders.
“Apologies,” Crowley announced, moving between the kitchen and the crowd. “Our dear artist doesn’t exactly handle the good stuff well.” He added a chuckle, but the lines around his eyes pulled. Anna stood behind Castiel, rubbing his back.
The guests laughed uneasily.
“Come on.” Dean pushed at Cas to start through the kitchen. His whole body shook.
Dean heard Anna muttering something to the women and the rest of the guests before the clacking of her high heels followed them to the door. “Thank you,” she said, crying.
At the door, she grabbed a coat from the closet, buried deep in the back. A long trench coat, tan and torn at the sleeve. It had belonged to their father. She wrapped it around Cas’ shoulders. He put his arms through the sleeves. “It’s cold,” she said. Tears down her face, makeup running.
Sam took the keys from Dean’s pocket and gave him a slow pat on the shoulder as he slipped out the front door.
“I love you, Castiel,” Anna said, tenderly, touching his face, like their mother used to do. He shirked from Anna’s touch into Dean at his back. Her face look liked she’d been slapped. “Thank you,” she said.
“Crisis averted, darling,” Crowley said, coming behind her and kissing her neck. “Let’s not shake the charade, yes?”
“Yes.” She glanced at him and started backing away, closing the heavy door.
“It wasn’t okay,” Cas echoed as Dean led him down the pathway to the car.
~
On the ride home, Cas sat in the backseat, muttering to himself. Dean sped and Sam kept telling him to slow down. Last thing they needed was a Uniform, a fine, and Cas blabbering in the back.
Dean ushered Cas inside and to the bedroom.
“Everything okay?” Jessica asked Sam.
Sam paid her and signed her curfew waiver. Dean stood in the middle of his room while Cas was in the bathroom. He dropped his coat on the bed.
“Hey,” Sam whispered.
“What?”
“You guys take my bed.”
Dean rolled his eyes and brushed past Sam like he was nothing. His red oak of a brother. Sam followed to the kitchen where Dean leaned against the counter. He ran his thumb along a crack in the faux granite surface.
Sam stood close, closer than Dean would normally allow, but he did. The warmth coming from Sam was different than the warmth from Cas. Less comforting.
“That could have been a lot worse,” Sam said.
Dean jerked away from the counter. “All those doctors? Sam, you and the rest of those douche bags know when someone’s fucked up. Drunk is different from crazy.”
“As much as you don’t like him, Crowley won’t let it get bad. He loves Anna.”
“Whatever.” He ran his hand through his hair, down to his neck. Paced around the living room. Sam disappeared, Dean gazed at the stupid shag carpet on the floor that he hated, but Cas really wanted it because it had been in Gabriel’s room at the old house.
He stopped at the sound of whispers in the hall, quickly ran to the kitchen to see. Sam handed Cas a glass of water, a small pill which he took and mumbled something. Sam kept a smile and said okay, and ushered Cas into his room.
“What did you give him?”
Sam walked into the kitchen with the empty glass. “Sleeping pill.” He put the glass in the sink. “Shouldn’t take long to kick in. I’d go settle down or whatever.”
“Sam, you just can’t solve everything-”
“Stop. Just stop, okay?” He leaned against the sink, drying his hands. “He’s freaking out, he’s strung out and you know that he’s just going to sit on the couch and count rug fibers until morning. He needs rest and so do you, so, go change and get some sleep.”
Dean couldn’t look at Sam, not the way Sam was looking at him. Stern, scared. Right. He cleared his throat. “Ben will be up-”
“I can take care of Ben. Go. He’s got fifteen minutes, tops.” He tossed the towel over the long necked water spigot and pointedly stared at Dean until Dean made the trip to his room to quickly change into a sweatpants and a t-shirt.
When he got to Sam’s room, Castiel was in bed, lying on his stomach, his face smothered in Sam’s pillow. He had shed his suit and jacket at the door, the shoes and socks. All he wore was his boxer-shorts and a white tee. Dean closed the door behind him.
Sam’s room was smaller than his own, but the bed bigger, almost too big for the space. A dresser against the wall, a closet with a half-shut door, clothes sticking out of it. But the floor spotless, the curtains to the window closed. Picture frames sat on the dresser and on the nightstand. One of Mary, John, Sam and Dean, one of Ben standing at the park with a ball in his hand.
Cas groaned and shifted on the bed. “I think I’m flying,” he slurred.
“No,” Dean assured him, moving around the foot of the bed to sit on the other side of the mattress. The pillow sat unused, propped up like a book. He fluffed and reset it. “I’m gonna lie down with you, okay?”
“Yes.”
Dean slid into the bed, the sheets cool against his skin. He shuffled his feet against the mattress. Cas tried to turn, but didn’t end up moving much. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“Don’t worry about it.” Hesitantly, Dean put a hand on Cas’ shoulder. His skin was cool too. He feigned a smile even though Cas didn’t see. “Feeling better now?”
“Oh yeah,” he chuckled. “But I’m really, really tired.”
“Good, you need the rest.”
“Uh huh.” He inhaled deep and long and let out a slow breath. “Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not going anywhere, right?”
“No. I promise.”
“Good.” He sighed contently. “Because…” but he never finished his thought. The word rolled off his tongue, unfinished and he slipped into a chorus of snores, deep and sound.
Dean moved his hand to the dip of his back. “Cas?” he said. He pushed a little. No response.
He nodded to himself and the smile faded as tears rose to his eyes. Then he laughed, sick and stupid. Laughed and cried and Cas didn’t hear a damn thing. But he felt it all at once. The sting of Lisa’s absence, the last longing looked in her dulled eyes, the possibility of someone at the party reporting the incident. Cas being taken away and put in the hospital. Coming back different, wrong. Like Lisa. Dean had been managing, but he couldn’t live without Cas.
Dean moved as close as he could get to Cas, tugged on his body just a bit, arranging Cas to his side and held onto his body. He groaned a bit, shifted his legs. Dean pressed his forehead to Cas’ hair, inhaling the fading scent of shampoo and smoke, and cried.
---
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