Making it Count (2/?)
On the deck, Castiel stood from his wheelchair, every bone in his god forsaken back and knees cracking like sticks. He wrapped his hands on the cool railing, pressed forward for the salty breeze to glide across his face, through his snow white hair. He thought he may be shaking a bit, his body so thin and frail in his age. Just turned a hundred last year, in August. Anna had gathered the whole family, his children (though Ben was ailing) their children and a few of his grandchildren had sons and daughters of their own. Sometimes it was hard for him to believe he was…old. His children were old, and Dean was gone.
How eerie it was to be on the sea again, to be hovering in the same spot he had been over eighty years ago. The waves were the same, the smell of the sea, the feel of the sun coming down warm on his pale skin.
Footsteps approached and Anna leaned next to him, her hair blowing in the breeze like the flames on a beacon. Her eyes were blue too, as blue as his, as blue as the ocean. She let out a sigh and licked her lips. “I had no idea,” she said.
“No idea what?”
“This is how you guys came over here.”
Castiel’s jaw tightens a bit. “We didn’t care to discuss it.”
“Why not?”
“You ever wade through a mass of dead bodies?” That was more of a Dean answer, the way he’d snap about it whenever Castiel would bring it up. It was Dean who had forbidden discussion about their little trip. The fact that had nightmares (not that he would exactly admit it to anyone, not even his brother Sam), that he didn’t care for the ocean anymore or cold weather.
Anna reached over to thread her fingers through Castiel’s hair and then moves to give him a hug, tight and warm. She’s his whole world now, her and the dog. The kids were too far away, all with families of their own, though each of them called at least once a week.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked, pulling back from him. “You don’t have to, we can just go back home.”
He grinned and shook his head. “No. I want to.” Why shouldn’t his grand-daughter, why shouldn’t everyone, know? He turned back to the ocean and pictured icebergs on the horizon, glinting orange and yellow with the high sun.
Anna rolled Castiel back to lab where Nick sat and the other researchers pretended to look busy. Meg fiddled with a tape recorder. Castiel watched the monitors as tiny cameras probed the wreckage of the ship. One going down the broken stairwell, one gazing over the debris floor. His stomach twisted.
They didn’t talk about it, but Castiel remembered ever detail. He may misplace things, he may forget who called yesterday, or which one of his sons has the bad knee (he thought it was Ben, but it could be Bobby-John, he’d been a football star in high school). But he remembered that ship, everything that happened on it.
He couldn’t take his eyes away, like watching a train wreck, or people falling overboard. The submersible goes over the bulk head, the sand below like miles of untouched desert.
“Mr. Winchester?” Nick said, pulling Castiel from his memories.
“Yes?” He cleared his throat.
He shifted on his chair and Anna rubbed Castiel’s back. Nick flipped the buttons on the tape recorder. “You were going to explain…or tell us…”
Castiel rubbed his eyes. “Yes. Yes of course.”
He’d rehearsed this as a narration in his head practically his whole life. When Dean wouldn’t let him talk about it, when he caught Dean sketching a ship sinking, their hands clutched desperately at a railing. Freezing water, the sight of a dead mother clutching to her frozen baby.
Nick leaned forward, clicking on a tape recorder.
Neither Castiel, nor Dean, ever forgot the chill of ice against their skin.
~
Castiel preferred the country house, at least there he had places to duck, to grab a book and spend hours curled in a contained space to himself. Places to be away from Crowley and his leering. From the soft touches and requests.
“Castiel, stop fidgeting,” his mother, Eve, ordered, reaching across the car to tug the hem of his dress. He looked away from the window to her. Her steel-colored gaze, boring into him. Her jaw clicked, her toes tapped against the side-door. “We’ll be there soon.”
He sighed, leaning back to view the scenery, Hampton bustling, passing by. Everyone else got to have the life that they wanted. Everyone, every damn person in this city, the country, could do as they pleased. Wear what they wanted to wear, do whatever they wanted. They didn’t have to wear a dress, they didn’t have to wear makeup.
“Oh, don’t give me that look,” she sighed, adjusting the hat that matched her dress. Blue, like her eyes, like his. “It’s not even that bad. Look at what he’s doing for us. This car, this trip. We get to go back home.”
And all Castiel had to do was pretend to be a woman for the rest of his life. He scratched at his knee where the stocking caught on a scab from shaving his legs.
“Sure.”
Home. A house up on the hill overlooking the ocean that they hadn’t set foot in in five years since his father died and the funds shriveled up and they had to go back to England where the family estate originated.
Eve leaned forward and pressed her hand to Castiel’s knee. Her eyes watered and she spoke quietly, almost a whisper that Castiel couldn’t hear over the sound of the car slowing and the people outside. “I wouldn’t be asking you…you don’t know how much you’re helping us. It won’t be so bad, you’ll see.” She reached to touch his chin.
He smiled for her, but he wore it like the cufflinks he wasn’t allowed. Shining, but just for show.
The car stopped, horns honked. Castiel took a deep breath and grabbed his hat.
The door opened and sunlight broke through over his mother. She shined like an angel, her jet-black hair gleaming like onyx, pulled high and back, pinned tight. Only a few curls fell around to frame her face.
“Eve, a vision as always,” Crowley said, helping her out.
“Oh my God, it’s fabulous! Castiel, hurry up and get here.”
He stuck on his hat and stepped out. Smoke everywhere, people dragging their luggage, chasing after their children. Eve slipped her hand around Castiel’s arm. “Honey, look.” She pointed at the ship, and my God was right.
The ship wasn’t a ship, it was a building. A mile long, at least, the funnels pumping out black smoke and touching the sky. He wanted to fall back on his mother, but Crowley stood next to him, discreetly putting an arm around his waist to cup at his hip. “Isn’t it amazing? You’ll love the accommodations, darling.” His deep, accented voice, crawled down his spine and into his gut. If he weren’t standing in awe, he’d throw up.
The state room was just as busy as outside. Servants bringing in their luggage, everything that Eve and Castiel had left to their name. Most of Crowley’s things had gone below deck in boxes and bins. All ready for the gutted-out house that they would be moving to. Eve directed the maid, Rachel, to what was going where, whose room belonged to who. All Castiel carried about was his paintings.
“I can’t believe you bought those silly things,” Crowley laughed, while pouring himself a drink. He stood over Castiel’s shoulder as Castiel propped up a canvas with a ballerina paused mid-pose.
“I like them,” Castiel mumbled. It was the only thing he owned that made him smile or feel anything anymore.
“Well,” Crowley said, moving close, almost touching. “If it makes you happy darling.” He inhaled the scent of Castiel’s hair before moving on to chase someone about his safe.
Eve fluttered in, her hat removed, the servants still milling around them like bees. “This is, oh honey, this is lovelier than the house!” She rubbed her hands together and moved to touch the furnishings above the gold plated fireplace. “Oh, Castiel, these things again?” she gestured to the paintings. She kept on, like a hummingbird.
It pleased Castiel, seeing his mother so happy, he hadn’t seen her with so much as a smile since the movers had taken away the fine furniture from the home in Massachusetts. But every time Crowley circled around, Castiel fought with himself to not jump off the ship.
He tilted his head at the notion. Jumping off the ship. That would solve everything. Surely, Crowley would take care of Eve, and Castiel would be free. The constraints broken, he could finally fly like he wanted. Drive on his own, run down a dirt road without socks or shoes.
“Castiel,” Eve called. “Castiel, come back in here, you don’t want to miss the ship parting do you?”
“They say it’s good luck,” Crowley chimed in, standing behind Eve.
“Sure.”
They all walked to the deck, Castiel holding up the edges of the dress so he didn’t trip in those stupid heeled shoes. Everyone believed it, that he was a girl. He was thin and lithe, with large eyes and long eyelashes. He’d been told the better half of his life by relatives and his own mother that he had delicate features, soft and feminine.
“Wave, darling,” Crowley instructed, standing close to him and holding his waist, bunching the silky material.
Castiel waved, reaching out his arm, poised, the same manner that Eve waved.
“Smooth sailing from here.” Crowley placed a soft kiss on Castiel’s neck.
~
The dresses were tight. As thin as he was, Rachel still fitted Castiel with a corset, giving him the slight shape of a feminine waist. “I hate this,” he grumbled as he slipped the material over his head. Eve had ordered Rachel to seam and hem a fake and small bosom to go under the corset. He had to tape his gentiles to his leg and the corset smoothed it over.
“Yes,” Rachel agreed, grabbing a thin shawl. “You look best in blue.”
Castiel sighed. “I know.” Rachel wasn’t any help. She did as she was told, prettied up Castiel the best she could, to Eve’s cold standards.
“Your hair will be grown out soon enough,” Rachel mused, touching the curl at the nape of his neck. This scheme had been in action for just over a year and Castiel’s hair had become shaggy, in his eyes and over his ears. But there were barrettes and pins, hats to match dresses.
“Sure.”
“You look lovely.” Rachel smiled.
He wanted to throw up.
The door opened and Crowley entered. Rachel did a tiny bow before she flittered out the side door. “A vision, as always.” He touched Castiel on the cheeks. “Shall we?” he offered his arm and Castiel took it.
At dinner, he stared at his plate, pushing around the food, pretending he didn’t hear everyone around him. Eve going on about invitations, the other woman giggling. The men at the table discussed the weather and the speed of the ship.
“Such an interesting haircut,” one of the women said, drawing Castiel out of his trance. He’d counted twelve peas still on his plate. “Why so short?”
Castiel swallowed. “It got caught in a combine,” he lied. “Almost took my scalp too.”
The woman gasped and Eve glared at him. “Don’t mind her,” Eve said. “There was an incident with a candied apple,” she laughed like she was remembering the non-existent incident. “Castiel’s younger cousin. She was dreadfully upset.”
“Yes,” Castiel agreed, stabbing at his peas.
Men in suits walked by and stopped to speak to Crowley. “Mr. Andrews,” Crowley beamed. “This is my fiancé, Castiel.”
“Castiel?” Mr. Andrews bent to take Castiel’s hand to kiss the back of his knuckles. “Such a beautiful name.
“Isn’t it?” Eve agreed. The men went on, the women went back to squawking. “The venue is just perfect,” Eve gushed. “We can’t wait.”
Castiel pushed away from the table, almost knocking over his glass and plates. “Excuse me.”
“Castiel,” Eve called. But he was gone.
He couldn’t take it anymore. The smiles, the stuffy rooms. So, he ran.
Down the deck as fast as he could, the cool hair hitting his face and stinging. He cried but no one paid him any mind. He was just some crazy lady. The ocean called for him, the waves, the propellers whirling.
The idea struck him softly this time. A slow realization of waking up from a dream. He was going to throw himself off the back of the boat. He let the silk shawl from his fingers and in the wind, watching it disappear to the waves. The thought of falling, almost flying made his heart ache and he didn’t even hesitate to grab onto the flag pole and lift himself over the railing to stand on the very edge of the bars, his stupid high heels causing him to wobble.
The ship seemed to move so fast and the air caught in his lungs.
“Don’t do it,” a voice called behind him.
Castiel already had a foot off the railing. “Go away,” he breathed.
“Please,” the voice continued. “Come on, miss, you don’t wanna go out like this.”
Castiel gripped the railing tighter. “Please,” he whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek.
The stranger moved closer. He smelled smoke on the wind. A hand brushed his shoulder. “It’ll hurt,” the man said. “And you’re real pretty.”
Castiel jerked around, flared with anger. The man who stood near him wore brown, and tattered clothes, tan pants held up with suspenders. Dark hair, luminous green eyes, a cheeky grin. A cigarette hung from his lips.
“What do you know?” Castiel snapped. “Now go away. You’re bothering me.”
The guy chuckled. “You woulda done it buy now.” He tossed the smoke. “Come on, miss, don’t do it. I’m not a great swimmer and I’d have to go get you.”
“Why are you on a boat if you can’t swim?”
He chuckled again. “Just trying to make it home. Please?” he offered his hand. Castiel looked from the hand to his face. Gorgeous. Castiel felt himself blushing, but he accepted. “Atta girl. I’m Dean Winchester.”
“Castiel Milton.”
“Never heard that one.”
“Most people haven’t.”
Dean grinned. “Suits you.” He started to pull on Castiel’s hand. “Come on.”
As Castiel stepped up the railing, his foot tangled with a piece of the dress and he slipped. For a split second he was sure that he’d plummet to the cold water, but Dean had his hand was almost completely leaning over the railing himself.
“I gotcha,” Dean promised.
Castiel felt like he was being dragged. He’d be willing to let go; he looked down at the black water. “You gotta help me, Cas,” Dean said, trying to pull back. “Remember, I can’t really swim. Now pull yourself up.”
Castiel nodded and started to hoist himself up the bars, still slipping on a bit of gauzy material. If he weren’t in this stupid dress, he would have been okay, would have been able to climb back over without trouble. But then again, if he wasn’t in a dress, he probably wouldn’t hate his life so much.
Dean pulled and hauled the best he could and Castiel crawled over the railing, collapsing against the flag pole, taking deep breaths.
“There,” Dean said, still with a smile. “Wasn’t so hard.”
Castiel grinned a bit, his cheeks red, his eyes watered. Dean reached forward to brush away the tears with his thumbs.
“What the hell is going on here?” Crowley’s voice bellowed over the sound of the wind and the engines. He grabbed Dean by the shoulder to twirl him around.
“No,” Castiel piped up. Dean was poised to be punched in the face. “Crowley, don’t.”
“This bastard-”
“No,” he repeated, standing between Dean and Crowley. “No, darling, Mr. Winchester here was just helping me.”
Crowley scoffed. “With what?”
“I slipped,” he breathed. “I was looking over and I slipped and Mr. Winchester pulled me back over. I’m very lucky.” His heart jumped in his throat and his mouth trembled. He reached out to fold the lapel of Crowley’s evening jacket, then touched his cheeks. “He saved my life.”
Crowley’s face softened and he looked from Dean to Castiel, then back to Dean. “Well,” he began, running his hands down Castiel’s cold shoulders. “I apologize, Mr. Winchester. You understand how I could get the wrong impression. Castiel is very fragile.” He tucked a loose curl behind Castiel’s ear.
“Not a problem,” Dean answered.
“Alistair,” Crowley called.
Out of the shadows walked Crowley’s valet. Castiel had always been afraid and unnerved by Alistair. He was big and domineering, always a crooked kind of sick grin, a deep and commanding voice. “I think….thirty should cover it?”
“Money?” Castiel forced a fluttering laugh. “Don’t you think that’s a bit…tacky?”
“Tacky?” Crowley chuckled. “My dear, what would you…oh I see…yes.” He grinned. “Mr. Winchester, please, join us at dinner tomorrow. I’m sure Castiel’s mother would love to meet the man that saved her daughter.”
Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It would be an honor.”
“Lovely.” Crowley put a coat over Castiel’s shoulders. “Come dear, you should probably rest.” He jerked his head to Dean and Alistair still gave him the money.
Castiel shot a glance over his shoulder at Dean as he was being led away. Dean winked at him as he let up a cigarette. Crowley held onto Castiel’s arm so tightly that he knew it would be bruised in the morning.