Fic: The Yellowed Pages for caithream
Type of Submission: Fiction
Title: The Yellowed Pages
Author: leighleighla
Recipient: caithream
Rating: PG-13 ish for some language issues
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine, and all books mentioned are written by their respective authors, obviously
Warnings: Author provided no warnings.
Spoilers: Seasons 1-5 of SPN, and vague book spoilers for James Bond: Casino Royale, The Time Traveler's Wife, Frankenstein, Terry Pratchett's Discworld books.
A/N: Thanks to Principia_Coh for her input.
Summary: The Summer after the Apocalypse is averted, Castiel decides to take up reading as his hobby, and the humans around him are more than willing to offer up their recommendations, good and bad.
It was an old bookshop; quiet and musty with the smell of ancient paper.
A smell Castiel found comforting as he roams through the shelves. All he could hear was the buzz of the air conditioner and a couple of hushed voices from the front counter.
Heaven had made him restless. He’d gotten everything under control and then suddenly he had nothing left to do, and after spending time on Earth, seeing how much there was to do on this plain of existence, Castiel began to feel…well…bored.
There was still so much to see. The wonders of the world, and so many great and incredible sights.
Sadly, the people he had come to count as friends didn't have much interest in seeing those sights. Mostly, they insisted on staying in the general vicinity of Middle-of-Nowhere, United States.
“I hear Italy is nice this time of year,” Castiel had mentioned upon his return to the mortal coil.
He should have known better than that. He must have forgotten who he was talking with.
“What do you need Italy for? We got the world’s largest ball of twine twenty miles down the road!”
He supposed he didn't really need them. He could see his father’s many creations by himself, but it seemed lonely, and he liked the company the Winchester brothers provided.
It was the reason he was roaming this old bookstore on Maryland's sleepy Eastern Shore, the summer heat beating in through the uncovered windows.
Bobby had chased down an obscure text and the boys had agreed to get it for him instead of accompanying the older man on a werewolf hunt.
They’d been doing that often since they stopped the Apocalypse; taking quiet odd jobs instead of hunting down monsters. The Winchesters seemed tired of hunting; tired of their lot in life, and Castiel didn't really blame them after all that they had been through.
He let his mind wander away from the nightmare that had almost been the end of the world, and looked around. So many books by so many different people. So much imagination went into each and every one, and most of these writers - the ones who used angels and demons and the end of the world to tell their stories - most of them probably didn’t even realize they had gotten it at least somewhat right.
After all, Chuck the Prophet had had no idea just how true to life his novels were until his main characters showed up on his doorstep.
Briefly, Castiel wondered what had ever happened to Chuck. The Winchesters had stopped by his house after everything had calmed down, but there had been a sign out front, detailing the house’s foreclosure.
There was no trace of the prophet. Not even Becky had any clue what happened to him, though Dean suspected he’d run off with a prostitute.
“Help you with anything?”
Castiel turned and regarded the young woman behind him with a calm, blank expression.
She was too short to reach the top shelves, and had curly brown hair, made frizzy by the humidity. In her arms was a large stack of books and the nametag attached to the pocket of her jeans simply read “Lily.”
“No,” Castiel replied. “Thank you.”
“Okay, well, if you need anything just let me know.” She nodded as she began to slide the top book from her stack into its rightful place on the shelf.
He stood and watched her for a long moment before she turned her head to meet his gaze.
“Do I have a booger sticking out of my nose?” she asked.
“No,” Castiel replied, even though he was only vaguely aware of what a “booger” was.
“Then can I help you with anything?”
He chewed on his lip for a long moment, looking out the window and then the other way down the narrow aisle of books.
Eventually he looked back at the clerk, staring at her curiously. “What would you recommend?”
*****
“Thanks, Benett. Bobby says he owes you one.”
Benett was the pudgy old man with gray hair and glasses leaning behind the front counter. He was also the owner of the bookstore, and a former hunter. He’d given it up after a run-in with a nasty shape shifter.
“Yeah, he always says that.”
Sam gave him a thin smile. ‘You never know, he might mean it this time around.”
Dean lifted the paper bag that held their find. “We should get Cas and get moving. Wanna try and hit the beltway before rush hour.”
A moment later, before either Winchester could move, Castiel walked up to the counter and placed a copy of Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein on the wooden counter top.
“I would like to purchase this book,” he said, staring Benett in the eyes.
The brothers gave each other confused looks, but the old shop owner was only too happy.
“Sure thing.” But instead of stepping toward the register, Benett called out toward the shelves. “Lily!”
“Oh, my god!” she cried back. “You can ring up one book!”
“Yeah, but I hired you so I wouldn’t have to.”
Dean missed the entire exchange. He was too busy staring at the angel next to him. “Cas, what’re you doing?”
“Purchasing a book.”
“Why?”
“To read it.”
Sam grinned. “That’s great. And it’s a good book.”
“No it’s not,” Dean snapped. "It’s boring, and it’s about a monster. We deal with monsters all the time.”
“When did you ever read Frankenstein?” Sam asked, wrinkling his nose doubtfully.
“Seven-ninety,” Lily cut in. She accepted Castiel’s proffered credit card and ran it through, casually looking at the name engraved into the plastic. “Joe Jonas?” she asked skeptically.
Dean snorted, causing Sam to give him a sour look.
Castiel remained unphased. He took back his card and signed the little slip of paper, before taking the small softcover book and putting it into the pocket of his trench coat.
*****
He read the entire thing over the long car ride back to Bobby's, sitting up straight in the backseat.
"I feel connected to the monster," he told the boys late at night on a dark, narrow back road in South Dakota. His face and the last page of his book were illuminated by the mag light in his hand.
Sam and Dean looked at each other worriedly.
"Uh," Sam said nervously. "Frankenstein's monster murders people."
"Everybody except the ship captain was a douche in that book," Dean snapped. "Dr. Frankenstein was a giant pussy who took way too long to take responsibility for his fuck-ups."
Castiel tilted his head and stared at them. "In many ways, Dean, you have just described my father. Someone who creates life and then refuses to clean up the messes that life makes."
The car went silent.
"You know, Cas," Sam said. "Maybe we should get you a funnier book next time."
*****
Over the following week, Sam handed Castiel a number of books, including American Gods, which didn't go over well at all, and Wuthering Heights, which confused Castiel and made Dean tease them both for hours. Anansi Boys went over even worse than American Gods, despite being one of Dean's favorites.
"You ever get the feeling Neil Gaiman knew Gabriel when he was traipsin' around as the Trickster?" Dean asked as he flipped through Anansi Boys after Castiel had decided not to finish it.
"All the time," Sam muttered as he dug through his duffel bag for more books. "What about Kerouac?" He frowned. "Or Dickens?"
"What're you tryin'a do, bore him to death?" Dean snapped.
"They're not boring!" Sam cried, standing up straight.
Dean groaned and got to his feet, pulling his own duffel bag open. "Look, Gaiman is good an' all," he said as he rummaged through the bag. "But Cas needs something that doesn't take itself too seriously."
Sam wrinkled his nose. "He liked Frankenstein."
"He's a weirdo!" Dean shrugged. Out of his bag, he pulled a few beat-up paperbacks. "he needs somethin' lighter than Dickens, and for crap's sake, Sammy, Emily Bronte? He may be an Angel, but Cas is still a dude. That shit was like the Twilight of whenever the hell it was written."
Sam stood back and blinked at him, crossing his arms. "So...so you've read Twilight?"
"What?"
"Twilight.. You've read it?"
"Course not!"
"And you know that Emily Bronte wrote Wuthering Heights."
Dean glowered at him. "That's common knowledge!"
Sam didn't get a chance to tease his brother any further before Castiel walked in the room.
He zeroed in on the books in Dean's hands immediately. "Are those for me?"
"Yeah," Dean replied. "They're Terry Pratchett books. Discworld, they're awesome, you'll love 'em."
Castiel took them and looked them over before wandering off back toward Bobby's front door.
"He's not gonna like 'em," Sam said.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Course he is, they're awesome."
"He's not gonna get it," Sam argued. "They've got a million weird little references and jokes that are gonna fly right over his head. The entire universe exists on the back of a turtle!"
From the porch they heard a strange, deep sound. Both boys jumped a little turned to the porch to find Castiel, standing there, reading and...laughing. "The Death of Rats," he muttered to himself, before walking into the house.
Sam to make his patented sour grapes unhappy face, and Dean threw his hands up in the air.
"I'm awesome!"
*****
They spent the next week at Lisa and Ben's for a short visit, one which Sam spent on his laptop, scouring the internet for the perfect book series to one-up his older brother with.
"Face it, Sammy," Dean said as he sipped his coffee, leaning against Lisa's kitchen counters. "I beat you. I found awesome books that Cas likes and the ones you picked are boring and crappy."
"Jerk," Sam grumbled as he typed furiously on his laptop.
"But an awesome jerk," Dean grinned, raising his coffee cup in a toast to himself.
Ben watched them, a little puzzled, but amused. "Aren't you guys supposed to be like...hunting monsters or whatever?" the eleven-year-old asked with a laugh.
"We're on summer vacation," Dean replied.
"And they've started a book club," Lisa said, shaking her head as she sat down with a cup of tea for herself.
"Have not," Dean snapped. "We're not Oprah."
She laughed. "Gaze upon your future, and weep, Ben," she said jokingly. "One day you'll be just as stubborn as these two."
"We're not stubborn!" the Winchesters cried in unison.
At that moment, Castiel wandered in, a stack full of aging paperbacks in his arms. "I have finished with these. I require something else to read."
Ben's eyes widened. "You finished all those? Like...just now?"
"Yes," Castiel replied.
"Will you stay and do my homework for me when school starts?" Ben asked.
Lisa laughed in that way that only mothers can when their children have said something they're going to say no to. "Nice try, Buddy." She got to her feet and took Castiel's arm. "Come on, Cas, you can read something from my collection."
For a moment, both Winchesters gave looks of sheer panic, before they both started to snort and snicker at the thought of Castiel reading chick lit.
Ben, meanwhile, picked up the first of the Discworld books and sat back to read.
*****
It was hours later that that Dean found Castiel slumped down on Lisa's front porch, a book in his hand, a look of sadness on his face.
"What's wrong with you?" Dean asked, sitting down next to him.
"I do not understand why no one was able to treat Henry's Chrono-Displacement," Castiel lamented. "Why was no one able to save he and his wife from the horrors of his time-traveling disease?"
Dean narrowed his eyes and snatched the book from Castiel's arms, reading the title. "The Time Traveler's Wife?!" He groaned. "For god's sake! Lisa! Stop giving Cas sad Chick lit!"
"He wanted to read it!" Lisa called back.
"It's a good book!" Sam defended.
Dean slumped back and groaned again.
*****
They left Lisa's the next evening after promising to return for another visit before the school year started, and stopped by the local used bookstore to pick up an armload of old James Bond novels.
"I do not understand," Castiel said as he narrowed his eyes at his copy of Casino Royale.
"What?" Dean asked, half asleep in the passenger's seat.
"Say goodbye to 'it'? Say goodbye to what?"
Sam snorted from the driver's seat, laughing so hard the car swerved.
"Hey!" Dean snapped. "Pay attention!"
"Reread the paragraph, Cas," Sam said, still laughing.
He did, and slowly his legs crossed. "Oh."
Dean shook his head and slumped back. "Yep."
*****
Bobby's attic was dusty, not that it bothered Castiel. Really it was just an observation as he followed Bobby to a musty, cobweb covered corner. He watched the man pull out a cardboard box and blow the dust off of it.
Bobby cleared his throat from the dusty and then handed the box to Castiel. "Here ya go."
"What is it?" Castiel asked.
"Open it and find out, Dummy," the old hunter replied lightly.
Castiel sat on the creaky floor of the attic and pulled the lid off the box, finding a pile of old books inside. Their pages were yellowed but the print was still easy to read. Upon further inspection he realized that they were childrens' books. The Wizard of Oz, A Wrinkle in Time, Wind in the Willows, The Hobbit, The Phantom Tollbooth and Bunnicula were the top few, while others such as Harriet the Spy and Peter Pan were on the bottom.
Off of the Angel's quizzical look, Bobby nodded.
"Those were the boys' books when they were kids," he said. "Usedta get dumped here by their Daddy, and with only one TV, it was hard findin' stuff for 'em to do. Most of those I bought for 'em...John bought that Hobbit book for them to share, and I think Dean had that copy of Wizard of Oz since before the fire."
Castiel lifted the dust-caked book and felt its history; almost saw it with his own eyes. A little boy, standing in a doorway begging to be read to by a blonde woman, exasperated but indulgent.
"I figured you were so hot for stuff to read, you might like to see what they grew up with," Bobby shrugged.
"It doesn't feel right to read these without their permission," Castiel replied. "It feels...unsympathetic."
Bobby tilted his head in curiosity. “Y'know, for an Angel the people upstairs hit the reset button on, you sure are actin' more human since you've been back with us."
Castiel looked down at the box of books. "They restored my powers. That does not mean they erased my experiences."
"What're you two doin' up there?!" Sam's voice called up, before his footsteps echoed up the stairs. Another set followed, indicating that Dean was right behind.
"You wanted to ask permission, now's your chance," Bobby said, patting the Angel on the shoulder.
*****
September First marked their first hunt since they took their summer break, and Dean trudged back into their motel room, sore and bruised, a cut stinging his cheek, just under his eye. Sam was already asleep. He'd fallen onto his mattress and that was that.
Dean himself, after removing his boots and socks, was about to follow his brother into sleep on the other bed, when the familiar flapping of wings made him open his eyes.
"Hey, Cas," he said, too tired to be cranky about being disturbed.
Castiel nodded, holding a box in his hands. "Dean."
"What do you want?" Dean asked. "I need to pass out like an hour ago."
"I have come to return your books," Castiel replied, setting the box down on the bed at the hunter's feet. "I hope you're not upset. I let some of my Angel brethren borrow them."
"Whatever."
"I did not tear any pages."
"Good."
"I'll leave now."
"See ya."
A moment of silence passed, but Dean didn't hear the whoosh of angel wings he was accustomed to.
"What, Cas?"
"I have heard that there are books that follow the one about the short being that slows the dragon," Castiel said awkwardly. "Do you have them?"
"Lord of the Rings trilogy," Dean muttered, having trouble staying awake. "Sam just finished rereading 'em...they..." he yawned. "They're in his bag."
Dean listened to Castiel's footsteps quietly walk across the room, and he listened as the Angel rummaged through Sam's bag.
"Thank you, Dean."
The older Winchester merely grunted, and finally, he heard the soft flap of wings, signally Castiel's departure.
In the stillness of the hotel room, Dean let his toes brush against the box, and then fell asleep.
Title: The Yellowed Pages
Author: leighleighla
Recipient: caithream
Rating: PG-13 ish for some language issues
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine, and all books mentioned are written by their respective authors, obviously
Warnings: Author provided no warnings.
Spoilers: Seasons 1-5 of SPN, and vague book spoilers for James Bond: Casino Royale, The Time Traveler's Wife, Frankenstein, Terry Pratchett's Discworld books.
A/N: Thanks to Principia_Coh for her input.
Summary: The Summer after the Apocalypse is averted, Castiel decides to take up reading as his hobby, and the humans around him are more than willing to offer up their recommendations, good and bad.
It was an old bookshop; quiet and musty with the smell of ancient paper.
A smell Castiel found comforting as he roams through the shelves. All he could hear was the buzz of the air conditioner and a couple of hushed voices from the front counter.
Heaven had made him restless. He’d gotten everything under control and then suddenly he had nothing left to do, and after spending time on Earth, seeing how much there was to do on this plain of existence, Castiel began to feel…well…bored.
There was still so much to see. The wonders of the world, and so many great and incredible sights.
Sadly, the people he had come to count as friends didn't have much interest in seeing those sights. Mostly, they insisted on staying in the general vicinity of Middle-of-Nowhere, United States.
“I hear Italy is nice this time of year,” Castiel had mentioned upon his return to the mortal coil.
He should have known better than that. He must have forgotten who he was talking with.
“What do you need Italy for? We got the world’s largest ball of twine twenty miles down the road!”
He supposed he didn't really need them. He could see his father’s many creations by himself, but it seemed lonely, and he liked the company the Winchester brothers provided.
It was the reason he was roaming this old bookstore on Maryland's sleepy Eastern Shore, the summer heat beating in through the uncovered windows.
Bobby had chased down an obscure text and the boys had agreed to get it for him instead of accompanying the older man on a werewolf hunt.
They’d been doing that often since they stopped the Apocalypse; taking quiet odd jobs instead of hunting down monsters. The Winchesters seemed tired of hunting; tired of their lot in life, and Castiel didn't really blame them after all that they had been through.
He let his mind wander away from the nightmare that had almost been the end of the world, and looked around. So many books by so many different people. So much imagination went into each and every one, and most of these writers - the ones who used angels and demons and the end of the world to tell their stories - most of them probably didn’t even realize they had gotten it at least somewhat right.
After all, Chuck the Prophet had had no idea just how true to life his novels were until his main characters showed up on his doorstep.
Briefly, Castiel wondered what had ever happened to Chuck. The Winchesters had stopped by his house after everything had calmed down, but there had been a sign out front, detailing the house’s foreclosure.
There was no trace of the prophet. Not even Becky had any clue what happened to him, though Dean suspected he’d run off with a prostitute.
“Help you with anything?”
Castiel turned and regarded the young woman behind him with a calm, blank expression.
She was too short to reach the top shelves, and had curly brown hair, made frizzy by the humidity. In her arms was a large stack of books and the nametag attached to the pocket of her jeans simply read “Lily.”
“No,” Castiel replied. “Thank you.”
“Okay, well, if you need anything just let me know.” She nodded as she began to slide the top book from her stack into its rightful place on the shelf.
He stood and watched her for a long moment before she turned her head to meet his gaze.
“Do I have a booger sticking out of my nose?” she asked.
“No,” Castiel replied, even though he was only vaguely aware of what a “booger” was.
“Then can I help you with anything?”
He chewed on his lip for a long moment, looking out the window and then the other way down the narrow aisle of books.
Eventually he looked back at the clerk, staring at her curiously. “What would you recommend?”
*****
“Thanks, Benett. Bobby says he owes you one.”
Benett was the pudgy old man with gray hair and glasses leaning behind the front counter. He was also the owner of the bookstore, and a former hunter. He’d given it up after a run-in with a nasty shape shifter.
“Yeah, he always says that.”
Sam gave him a thin smile. ‘You never know, he might mean it this time around.”
Dean lifted the paper bag that held their find. “We should get Cas and get moving. Wanna try and hit the beltway before rush hour.”
A moment later, before either Winchester could move, Castiel walked up to the counter and placed a copy of Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein on the wooden counter top.
“I would like to purchase this book,” he said, staring Benett in the eyes.
The brothers gave each other confused looks, but the old shop owner was only too happy.
“Sure thing.” But instead of stepping toward the register, Benett called out toward the shelves. “Lily!”
“Oh, my god!” she cried back. “You can ring up one book!”
“Yeah, but I hired you so I wouldn’t have to.”
Dean missed the entire exchange. He was too busy staring at the angel next to him. “Cas, what’re you doing?”
“Purchasing a book.”
“Why?”
“To read it.”
Sam grinned. “That’s great. And it’s a good book.”
“No it’s not,” Dean snapped. "It’s boring, and it’s about a monster. We deal with monsters all the time.”
“When did you ever read Frankenstein?” Sam asked, wrinkling his nose doubtfully.
“Seven-ninety,” Lily cut in. She accepted Castiel’s proffered credit card and ran it through, casually looking at the name engraved into the plastic. “Joe Jonas?” she asked skeptically.
Dean snorted, causing Sam to give him a sour look.
Castiel remained unphased. He took back his card and signed the little slip of paper, before taking the small softcover book and putting it into the pocket of his trench coat.
*****
He read the entire thing over the long car ride back to Bobby's, sitting up straight in the backseat.
"I feel connected to the monster," he told the boys late at night on a dark, narrow back road in South Dakota. His face and the last page of his book were illuminated by the mag light in his hand.
Sam and Dean looked at each other worriedly.
"Uh," Sam said nervously. "Frankenstein's monster murders people."
"Everybody except the ship captain was a douche in that book," Dean snapped. "Dr. Frankenstein was a giant pussy who took way too long to take responsibility for his fuck-ups."
Castiel tilted his head and stared at them. "In many ways, Dean, you have just described my father. Someone who creates life and then refuses to clean up the messes that life makes."
The car went silent.
"You know, Cas," Sam said. "Maybe we should get you a funnier book next time."
*****
Over the following week, Sam handed Castiel a number of books, including American Gods, which didn't go over well at all, and Wuthering Heights, which confused Castiel and made Dean tease them both for hours. Anansi Boys went over even worse than American Gods, despite being one of Dean's favorites.
"You ever get the feeling Neil Gaiman knew Gabriel when he was traipsin' around as the Trickster?" Dean asked as he flipped through Anansi Boys after Castiel had decided not to finish it.
"All the time," Sam muttered as he dug through his duffel bag for more books. "What about Kerouac?" He frowned. "Or Dickens?"
"What're you tryin'a do, bore him to death?" Dean snapped.
"They're not boring!" Sam cried, standing up straight.
Dean groaned and got to his feet, pulling his own duffel bag open. "Look, Gaiman is good an' all," he said as he rummaged through the bag. "But Cas needs something that doesn't take itself too seriously."
Sam wrinkled his nose. "He liked Frankenstein."
"He's a weirdo!" Dean shrugged. Out of his bag, he pulled a few beat-up paperbacks. "he needs somethin' lighter than Dickens, and for crap's sake, Sammy, Emily Bronte? He may be an Angel, but Cas is still a dude. That shit was like the Twilight of whenever the hell it was written."
Sam stood back and blinked at him, crossing his arms. "So...so you've read Twilight?"
"What?"
"Twilight.. You've read it?"
"Course not!"
"And you know that Emily Bronte wrote Wuthering Heights."
Dean glowered at him. "That's common knowledge!"
Sam didn't get a chance to tease his brother any further before Castiel walked in the room.
He zeroed in on the books in Dean's hands immediately. "Are those for me?"
"Yeah," Dean replied. "They're Terry Pratchett books. Discworld, they're awesome, you'll love 'em."
Castiel took them and looked them over before wandering off back toward Bobby's front door.
"He's not gonna like 'em," Sam said.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Course he is, they're awesome."
"He's not gonna get it," Sam argued. "They've got a million weird little references and jokes that are gonna fly right over his head. The entire universe exists on the back of a turtle!"
From the porch they heard a strange, deep sound. Both boys jumped a little turned to the porch to find Castiel, standing there, reading and...laughing. "The Death of Rats," he muttered to himself, before walking into the house.
Sam to make his patented sour grapes unhappy face, and Dean threw his hands up in the air.
"I'm awesome!"
*****
They spent the next week at Lisa and Ben's for a short visit, one which Sam spent on his laptop, scouring the internet for the perfect book series to one-up his older brother with.
"Face it, Sammy," Dean said as he sipped his coffee, leaning against Lisa's kitchen counters. "I beat you. I found awesome books that Cas likes and the ones you picked are boring and crappy."
"Jerk," Sam grumbled as he typed furiously on his laptop.
"But an awesome jerk," Dean grinned, raising his coffee cup in a toast to himself.
Ben watched them, a little puzzled, but amused. "Aren't you guys supposed to be like...hunting monsters or whatever?" the eleven-year-old asked with a laugh.
"We're on summer vacation," Dean replied.
"And they've started a book club," Lisa said, shaking her head as she sat down with a cup of tea for herself.
"Have not," Dean snapped. "We're not Oprah."
She laughed. "Gaze upon your future, and weep, Ben," she said jokingly. "One day you'll be just as stubborn as these two."
"We're not stubborn!" the Winchesters cried in unison.
At that moment, Castiel wandered in, a stack full of aging paperbacks in his arms. "I have finished with these. I require something else to read."
Ben's eyes widened. "You finished all those? Like...just now?"
"Yes," Castiel replied.
"Will you stay and do my homework for me when school starts?" Ben asked.
Lisa laughed in that way that only mothers can when their children have said something they're going to say no to. "Nice try, Buddy." She got to her feet and took Castiel's arm. "Come on, Cas, you can read something from my collection."
For a moment, both Winchesters gave looks of sheer panic, before they both started to snort and snicker at the thought of Castiel reading chick lit.
Ben, meanwhile, picked up the first of the Discworld books and sat back to read.
*****
It was hours later that that Dean found Castiel slumped down on Lisa's front porch, a book in his hand, a look of sadness on his face.
"What's wrong with you?" Dean asked, sitting down next to him.
"I do not understand why no one was able to treat Henry's Chrono-Displacement," Castiel lamented. "Why was no one able to save he and his wife from the horrors of his time-traveling disease?"
Dean narrowed his eyes and snatched the book from Castiel's arms, reading the title. "The Time Traveler's Wife?!" He groaned. "For god's sake! Lisa! Stop giving Cas sad Chick lit!"
"He wanted to read it!" Lisa called back.
"It's a good book!" Sam defended.
Dean slumped back and groaned again.
*****
They left Lisa's the next evening after promising to return for another visit before the school year started, and stopped by the local used bookstore to pick up an armload of old James Bond novels.
"I do not understand," Castiel said as he narrowed his eyes at his copy of Casino Royale.
"What?" Dean asked, half asleep in the passenger's seat.
"Say goodbye to 'it'? Say goodbye to what?"
Sam snorted from the driver's seat, laughing so hard the car swerved.
"Hey!" Dean snapped. "Pay attention!"
"Reread the paragraph, Cas," Sam said, still laughing.
He did, and slowly his legs crossed. "Oh."
Dean shook his head and slumped back. "Yep."
*****
Bobby's attic was dusty, not that it bothered Castiel. Really it was just an observation as he followed Bobby to a musty, cobweb covered corner. He watched the man pull out a cardboard box and blow the dust off of it.
Bobby cleared his throat from the dusty and then handed the box to Castiel. "Here ya go."
"What is it?" Castiel asked.
"Open it and find out, Dummy," the old hunter replied lightly.
Castiel sat on the creaky floor of the attic and pulled the lid off the box, finding a pile of old books inside. Their pages were yellowed but the print was still easy to read. Upon further inspection he realized that they were childrens' books. The Wizard of Oz, A Wrinkle in Time, Wind in the Willows, The Hobbit, The Phantom Tollbooth and Bunnicula were the top few, while others such as Harriet the Spy and Peter Pan were on the bottom.
Off of the Angel's quizzical look, Bobby nodded.
"Those were the boys' books when they were kids," he said. "Usedta get dumped here by their Daddy, and with only one TV, it was hard findin' stuff for 'em to do. Most of those I bought for 'em...John bought that Hobbit book for them to share, and I think Dean had that copy of Wizard of Oz since before the fire."
Castiel lifted the dust-caked book and felt its history; almost saw it with his own eyes. A little boy, standing in a doorway begging to be read to by a blonde woman, exasperated but indulgent.
"I figured you were so hot for stuff to read, you might like to see what they grew up with," Bobby shrugged.
"It doesn't feel right to read these without their permission," Castiel replied. "It feels...unsympathetic."
Bobby tilted his head in curiosity. “Y'know, for an Angel the people upstairs hit the reset button on, you sure are actin' more human since you've been back with us."
Castiel looked down at the box of books. "They restored my powers. That does not mean they erased my experiences."
"What're you two doin' up there?!" Sam's voice called up, before his footsteps echoed up the stairs. Another set followed, indicating that Dean was right behind.
"You wanted to ask permission, now's your chance," Bobby said, patting the Angel on the shoulder.
*****
September First marked their first hunt since they took their summer break, and Dean trudged back into their motel room, sore and bruised, a cut stinging his cheek, just under his eye. Sam was already asleep. He'd fallen onto his mattress and that was that.
Dean himself, after removing his boots and socks, was about to follow his brother into sleep on the other bed, when the familiar flapping of wings made him open his eyes.
"Hey, Cas," he said, too tired to be cranky about being disturbed.
Castiel nodded, holding a box in his hands. "Dean."
"What do you want?" Dean asked. "I need to pass out like an hour ago."
"I have come to return your books," Castiel replied, setting the box down on the bed at the hunter's feet. "I hope you're not upset. I let some of my Angel brethren borrow them."
"Whatever."
"I did not tear any pages."
"Good."
"I'll leave now."
"See ya."
A moment of silence passed, but Dean didn't hear the whoosh of angel wings he was accustomed to.
"What, Cas?"
"I have heard that there are books that follow the one about the short being that slows the dragon," Castiel said awkwardly. "Do you have them?"
"Lord of the Rings trilogy," Dean muttered, having trouble staying awake. "Sam just finished rereading 'em...they..." he yawned. "They're in his bag."
Dean listened to Castiel's footsteps quietly walk across the room, and he listened as the Angel rummaged through Sam's bag.
"Thank you, Dean."
The older Winchester merely grunted, and finally, he heard the soft flap of wings, signally Castiel's departure.
In the stillness of the hotel room, Dean let his toes brush against the box, and then fell asleep.