Weekend at Gabriel's 2/2
Gabe takes them to a Champagne brunch to kick off their Sunday.
And sure, lots of people had bubbly brunches. But this one cost almost a thousand dollars for the two of them. Gabe didn’t even blink when he dropped the check. Cas did. All he could think was--that's fifty co-pays for Sam's Valium, a month of Dean's share of the mortgage, eight sessions with Missouri, a vacation he and Dean could never take.
It was obvious, but it still hit him suddenly: without his contributed finacial support, Sam would never be able to afford his ongoing treatment. Dean would have to sell their little house. Sam would have to work full-time in order to get health insurance, and then find an in-network therapist--meaning no more Missouri. No more Alan. No more halfway house with Ash and Andy. Even if Ellen and Bobby helped--as they had when Sam had had his head smashed by their father's bottle and Dean had been trying to emancipate them--his financial abscence would severely affect their lives.
Of course...he could always continue to send checks. Even if Dean didn't cash them. At least that would be on Dean, not him. It wasn't like they had written agreements. No court could fault him.
You sound like Michael. You sound like Ralph. You sound like Lou.
Cas accepted a glass of champange and drank it very, very quickly.
Gabe was in his element: he drank and ate and introduced Cas to the director of this and the president of that and the chief of this and the consultant of that, and gave his faire share of hugs and promises for charitable checks.
Cas couldn't take it all in. Champagne this early made him dizzy and light-headed, and the immense marble columns around the dining hall felt cold and made the sound of chatter echo. He missed his small kitchen--Dean scrambling eggs, Sam making coffee. The three of them in pajama bottoms and t-shirts, talking plans for the day. Feeling relaxed, out of suits and collars and ties and real shoes. Away from impressions.
He and Gabe had taken their seats, eaten poached eggs with fresh-ground pepper, french toast with cinnamon
-butter, had their glasses refreshed, and been back on the floor circling among the guests. Gabe had been chatting away and, quite sudddenly, dropped his glass, straightened his shirt, and darted across the room to a beautiful, olive skinned woman, with dark hair and eyes and slim frame, who merely cocked her eyebrow at Gabriel and barely glanced at Cas.
“Kali, meet my brother, Cas. Cas, this is Kali. She’s the founder and President of the Rubin Museum and on the boards of MOMA and the Met, and pretty much a consultant to every other major New York City cultural institution.”
“Your brother,” the woman said as she shook Cas’ hand, “prides himself in being one of the only people living who can make me laugh And one of four people on Earth I allow to call me Kali.”
"That's Kali with an 'I', not a double-l-y."
"It's Kalista to those I allow on a first name basis. And Ms. Patel to the rest."
“Kali’s a consummate professional. There’s no getting a rise out of her.”
“And yet, you have. On the...rare occasion.” Kali smiled and sipped her champagne. “It’s good to see you, Gabriel.” She briefly rested a perfectly manicured hand on his arm before moving off into the crowd. Gabriel tossed back his glass like it was a shot and reached for another.
“You’re in love with her,” Cas said, awestruck.
“What’s love got to do with it?” Gabriel winked.
“You’re in love, Gabe.” All the years Cas had sat through tales of his brother’s exploits, he couldn’t ever remember a woman coming close to felling him. There were second, third, and fourth rounds of lust, sure-but not the nerves, the slight blush, and the amazingly gentlemanly behavior he’d just demonstrated.
“I don’t know what I am around her, kid.” He tossed back his second glass. “But whatever it is, it sucks.”
He slammed his empty glass down on the next available silver tray and bolted for the bar. Kali had taken the arm of a white man with dark hair and was allowing herself to be escorted to the exit.
Morgans, it seemed, had many advantages. But being loved was not among them.
***
Dean made them breakfast--scrambled eggs, white toast and bacon.
Sam made coffee, started a load of laundry, and laid a light hand on Dean’s back while he cooked, causing his brother to squirm out of his support. They had work to do, Dean said. The upstairs sink had been leaking. The downstairs toilet kept running. The Impala needed better fuel. And Sam needed decent shoes.
Sam could raise a great fuss when he wanted. But he could also be a great wingman-and kid brother-when duty called.
So when Dean called for clean dishes, Sam did them. When Dean called for wrenches, Sam handed them. When Dean called for Sam to be downstairs, Sam went.
Dean wasn’t one to call for comfort, reassurance, and devotion. But Sam was going to give and get that for him too, or be damned to the bowels of hell trying.
“Dean-” he tried when they were settled in the Impala crusing toward the mall.
“Don’t ‘Dean’ me,” Dean snapped.
“But-“
“Don’t 'but' me.”
“Please-”
“Don’t ‘please’ me. Just-shutup, alright? You’re getting new shoes, and we’re not calling Cas. I don’t care, Sam.”
Sam checked his phone. It appeared, from his lack of texts and calls, that Cas didn’t really care either.
And if that hurt way, way more than he wanted it to, he couldn't imagine how torn Dean and Cas were feeling, no matter how well they hid it.
And it was his fault. That's what he did, right? Wreck lives? End good things? Tear up families? Leave his brother hurting and determined not to show the hurt? Leaving Cas writing check after check, emptying his bank account to try and keep him sane?
You think like that, Missouri's voice rang through him, and you'll never recover. Cas doesn't qualify his self-worth in money: you can't either. This is his way of showing his love and support, and you got to allow him that. No one is as secure as they pretend to be.
"Quit thinking about it, Sam. Shoes, lunch, home. What do you want to do for dinner?"
I want you to call Cas so I can have my brothers back.
But Sam just smiled and said "how about we grill?"
***
Back at Gabriel’s, Cas slumped in front of the television while Gabe grabbed a huge glass of water and slumped in front of the laptop. Cas wasn’t sure, at this point, what to do: should he call out Monday? Put in for leave? Resign? Talk frankly to Anna?
He didn’t want to do any of it. If anything, he wanted to grab a big glass of Gabe’s cold wine and curl up on the couch and forget he’d ever met the Winchesters.
“Bro,” Gabriel said, frowning at the laptop. “This is...bad. Listen to this: ‘international financier suspected of defrauding charities.’” He paused, scrolling loudly. “According to this, that McCloud guy would take accounts‘pro bono,’ claim finance fees and taxes, and skim money off the top.” He frowned. “Among his victims...several charitable trusts, four charitable foundations, three legal payments...including a settlement awarded to couple with a brain-damaged baby girl whose parents won a malpractice lawsuit because the doctor performing the C-Section was drunk.”
“Is he recovering?” Cas asked dully.
“Yeah, he’s fine. His lawyer’s are spewing crap about him being the victim and multiple assailants, but the Times says he’ll be out before we know it. Hear that? When a city in the Midwest makes the Sunday Times, the shit has hit the fan.”
“Well, I’m sure Dean will be delighted to know he’ll finally be introduced to my extended family.”
Gabe leaned back into his chair and slapped the computer shut. “Cas...I heard what you said. And let’s get this straight-you leave Dean, my guest room is your room. You go back? Call me when you land. You name it, you go it. I will always have your back. But...I like those guys. And, more importantly, you love them. Both.”
“I swore an oath,” Cas said firmly, “to protect and defend the innocent.”
“No, bro, that’s what cops do. You swore an oath to care for and treat the hurt and sick. That’s exactly who that sonofabitch preyed on. He’d find kids on the street, like Sam was,” he said, eyeing him meaningfully, “and give them drugs for sex. He took money from people who trusted he wanted to help them. He stole from a retarded baby’s legal settlement.”
“He’s still a human.”
“Is he?” Gabriel crossed his arms. “Look...I’m the first to say ‘stick it to the Man,’ but I’m not about a free-for-all. Unless it’s at a bar and I’m in the middle of the free,” he winked. “But if Dean hadn’t knocked that sonofabitch out? He’d still be doing this shit. And it’s wrong, Cas.”
“What if Dean gets caught?” Cas managed.
“He won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
Gabe leaned forward. “Cas, I don’t doubt that he knows exactly who beat him up.”
“Then why hasn’t he told?”
“You need to watch your ‘Criminal Minds.’”
“I don’t understand.”
Gabe put his hands out. “Here’s Dean,” he said, holding up an index finger. “Here’s Dean being taken to jail,” he bobbed the finger away. “Now, this?” he used his middle-finger to indicate Sam’s height, “is baby brother. Crying wee wee wee aaaaaaall the way to the cops.”
“Sam would never want to implicate Dean.”
“In that Podunk town of yours? Prosecuting an international criminal is this DA’s ticket to the big times. They want this evil asshole more than they want the grease-monkey who took him to town. And if this...McCloud squeals on his attacker, he gets little Sammy running after the squad car, willing to give gold-standard testimony in exchange for his big brother walking. So McCloud keeps his mouth shut, Dean’s a hero, Sam’s safe, and you get your panties in a bunch.”
“It’s not that simple, Gabriel.”
“This round it is.”
Cas turned away. Gabe crossed the distance between them, sank onto the sofa, and tossed an arm around his shoulder.
“C’mon. Tell Mama.”
“I don’t know why this bothers me.”
“Yes, you do. You’re scared Dean is violent at heart.”
Cas felt his throat closing. “Their father was.”
“Their father didn’t give up drinking for his children. Dean gave it up for you and Sam.”
“I still didn’t expect him to do this.”
“I know. And it sucks.” Gabe clapped him on the shoulder so hard it hurt. “But you know what? It makes me feel better. Because that means your decision to hang out in Bumblefuck doesn’t mean you’re unprotected. Dean’s gonna look out for you, same as he’s looking out for Sam. And he’s not gonna lie and say he’ll do anything and not follow through.”
“He took it upon himself to play that man’s judge and jury. After everything we’ve been through with Sam, trying to forge, as you say, a gray area of morality, he attacked that man like he was the blackest evil.”
“God, Cas-” Gabriel shifted and seized his brother’s shoulders, forcing their eyes to meet. “Look at me. Be honest. Whatever way you go, I swear, I won’t love you less. But you’re telling me, that the sonofabitch who told Sam he’d shoot him if he didn’t drop his pants in an alley, doesn’t piss you off? Doesn’t make you wish you could take him down?”
“Gabe-”
“Think of Sam-sick and homeless and trying to find change to eat and maybe call his brother, and then at the mercy of that asshole's pistol, and that doesn’t enrage you?”
“It does!”
“Do you think it enraged Dean?”
“Of course!”
“Do you think they should have called a lawyer, and the cops, and prosecuted him?”
“I-yes. Yes. That’s how the system works. That’s-that’s how justice works!”
“And if it were Michael or Ralph on the judge and jury, would they have prosecuted McCloud?”
“I-I don’t know. I don’t know,” Cas moaned, dropping his head forward, tears stinging his eyes. His brothers’ hand rubbed a circle on his back. “I don’t want them hurt. I don’t want Dean to feel he needs to avenge. I don’t want them to be us, Gabe.”
Gabriel sighed and rested his chin on Cas’ shoulder. “Listen to me, kiddo. I don’t have all the answers. No one does. The system means well-I believe that. But...I don’t think it allows for the love Dean’s trying for. His is a little more than tough--it’s more jungle-like. If the situations were reversed, I’d go to court for you, with lawyers and spokespeople and gorgeous high-def shots of this face, because we have the money and connections and degrees that our word wouldn’t be questioned. Those kids never had that. And...in this case...they may very well have brought someone to justice who never would have seen it otherwise.” Gabe took a slow, painful breath. “For the record...if Kali showed up saying she’d done something like that, for her sister...I’d get it. Maybe it's a big sibling thing. But Cas...you're one of us now. And you're doing great. It's not just Dean that loves you.”
Cas did something he hadn’t since childhood: he turned and pressed his face into his brother’s neck. And then, finally, he cried. He cried for Dean, the man he'd fallen in love with, who'd never had the chance to explore his potential. He cried for Sam, the adopted kid-brother who'd done things so far beyond his comprehension that he couldn't even properly support him on a logical level. He cried for Gabriel, in love with a woman who would, he was sure, never accept him with the Dionysian lifestyle he lead.
And he cried for himself, for knowing so many flawed people and having no idea how, exactly, to reconcile it all and love them best.
***Gabe ordered in for dinner, answering the door with "Flood!" and bumping chests with the delilvery man. "C'mon in, have a beer. You got time for a round?"
"Brother, I do. Guess who just ordered a double-stuffed burriot and four margaritas to go? Give you a hint: she's on a show that starts with Sex and ends with City. Who's this?"
"Cas!"
"The little guy? He ain't so little."
"I'm thirty-one," Cas said.
"I'm Flood."
"What is your real name?"
"Flood. Mario Flood. But there's a bunch of Mario's in the family, so I just go by Flood."
"You were baptised Mario Flood?"
"Brother, I ain't been baptised."
"Quit grilling him," Gabe chided, handing Flood a beeer and clinking glasses. "This man taught me everything I know. He drives that bike through Manhattan with the reflexes of a stealth pilot."
"Your bro's a great student. Have you seen him take that highway? He rides it like it's an open sea. No near misses. Well, since--"
"Yeah yeah, don't bore him!" Gabe said, a little too loudly. "Lamberghini's don't take corners well," he said to Cas. Anywho. You want me to fire up the 360?"
"Nah, got to hit it." He leaned back and swallowed his beer in three humongous gulps. "But that just saved my soul a teeny bit."
"Gotcha a water for the road."
"You'll be stained in glass one day, brother." Gabe walked him to the door.
"Say hi to the woman and the rugrat!" he called as Flood waved an disappeared down the hall to the elevator.
"That was Flood!" Gabe said, after shutting the door.
"You befriended the Mexican delivery man?"
"I befriended the delivery man from the Mexican restaurant. Careful about that nose Cas, any higher and you're gonna get a bleed."
Cas ate without tasting while they watched the “hottest” comedy on Netflix. He showered, shaved, changed. Checked his phone. He had five saved messages. The first four were from the hospital. The last was from Sam.
Cas put off listening.
He wandered back out into the living room and accepted a drink from Gabe. They watched a standup comedian for awhile while Gabe’s phone buzzed and buzzed and he paused frequently to type with two thumbs and his beer dangling between his cupped lips.
“S’nice,” he mumbled once, and nearly lost his hold.
Cas finally took a deep breath and forced himself to return to his room for a one on with his lone message. The palms of his hands were a bit sweaty as he pressed one for 'listen.' He had no idea what would be on the other end, but he imagined it wouldn’t be without retribution, frustration, anger, and everything in between.
“Cas...it’s me. Sam. Winchester.” Cas couldn’t help but smile. It was so stupidly obvious, and yet so endearingly sweet and formal, and so very Sam, that it brought an ache to his chest. “Listen...Dean would seriously kick my ass if he knew I was calling. But I just wanted to say...please don’t be angry at him. This is my fault. I never...I never wanted him to know. He’s not violent, Cas-you know it. But he’s protective. And I...I pushed his buttons.” He heard the younger man’s breath hitch. “I’m so sorry. I’ve come between you two...over and over. And I haven’t meant to. Three’s a crowd, right?” Cas heard a second of struggled breathing. “Please...you can hate me. Be mad at me. Tell Dean you’re done intervening for me. But please don’t leave him on my account.” He took another slow breath. “He misses you, man. And...I um...” his voice wavered. “Take all the time you need. But please, at the end of it, come home. Here. Okay? I promise, I'll be out of your way this time. I don't have any more bombs to drop. It can just be you and Dean and whatever level of me you're comfortable with. Oh…and check Gabe’s smoke detectors. I bet he doesn’t test them reguarly. And watch your wallet and stuff. I hope you're not taking the subways. And-” the message cut off.
Cas was suddenly, savagely, homesick. And not for New York. He wanted Dean yelling at a bad movie. He wanted Sam offering him a glass of bad punch. He wanted to go to breakfast in sweatpants. He wanted to go out for burgers and team up with Sam to make Dean eat his vegetables. He wanted to watch the panic in Sam's face fade when he reminded him to breathe, when he reassured him that he and Dean were safe and healthy and there to care for him. He wanted Dean to tell him to stop being a girl, and then curl his arm around his waist in a way that said he didn't actually mind as much.
He wanted to be one of them--the evagelical assailant, the reformed drug-addicted prostitute, and the emotionally inept and chronically disconnected doctor, who saw people as little more than cars needing their bolts and screws turned and longed so much to be different, to see what Gabe saw, what Dean and Sam saw.
The Winchesters had brought them into their fold: shown him just what it was family could do when there weren't trust funds to be negotiated and businesses to conquer. As much as the emphasis had been on Sam and Dean's faults, neither of them had ever turned and pointed out Cas'. They'd accepted him wholesale, and he'd done what Morgans always did when faced with a challenge: fight and run.
When Gabriel appeared in the doorway, it took him a moment to look from his phone to his older brother. Gabe started and said “Jesus, Cas. I’ll drive you to the airport. Got a few choice ladies working the flights on speedial. Just quit looking at me like you’ve lost custody of your kids and their puppies.”
Sometimes, Cas was overwhelmed by how much he really, really, loved his big brother.
***
Cas was on his own front porch by morning. Dean was cooking breakfast, barking at Sam, who was thoroughly ignoring him and sipping coffee while reading the paper. The table was set for three, although Cas hadn’t told them he’d changed his ticket. Sam spotted him first-his eyes widened, and he moved to stand, but Cas shook his head and smiled. Sam beamed back, and slumped back in his chair. Cas left his bag at the bottom of the steps and crossed to the kitchen, watching Dean flip pancakes and scramble eggs, before giving an affectionate wink toward Sam.
“Cas is back,” the younger Winchester said. Dean huffed.
“About friggin’ time someone helped out. Serving plates, Cas. Sammy, you have two seconds to get the milk out of the fridge for Cas’ coffee before we cut off your allowance.”
Cas dutifully got the larger plates out of the cabinets while Sam trotted over to the fridge. If this had been a Morgan family morning, the shouting would have started. If this had been another family, maybe he would have had to make a long speech apologizing, accepting, professing his recent realizations. If Dean had been another man, maybe he would have kissed him, reassured him, promised him he’d stay. If Sam had been another brother, maybe he would have snapped at Dean, rolled his eyes, given attitude, or been resentful that Cas had appeared in the kitchen like he belonged after walking out on them.
But this was the Winchester family-his family. So Sam got the milk, Cas arranged Dean’s meal on the serving plates, and the three sat down to trade stories of their weekends and make plans for their day.
Part I