Things Fall Apart - Team Free Will Big Bang - (8/8)
Title: Things Fall Apart
Rating: R
Characters: Dean, Sam, Cas, John, Bobby
Pairings: Gen
Warnings: Child abuse, implied prostitution, show level violence and blasphemy, swearing.
Spoilers: Seasons 2 to 5. Season 8.
Summary: When given his duty of guarding the First Seal, Castiel expects the Righteous Man and his Boy King brother. He does not expect to find two boys who fight and tease and defend each other over and over again. While Castiel may know a lot about fate and destiny, he’s about to learn a little bit about free will.
Previous Chapter
December 1997
Castiel has watched Earth for a long time. He has seen plates shift and mountains form. He has seen countless species come into existence via a minor genetic mutation, then die out due to much the same reason. He has watched the rhythmic undulations of glacial and interglacial periods. The plants and animals adapt to their environment, working around the planet’s whims.
Until now.
He now sees glaciers retreating, crops failing, rivers drying up. He now sees long lines of cars pumping carbon dioxide into the air as their owners let their engines idle in traffic queues. Where there were once fields of winter wheat, there is now nothing but desert.
He now sees a species hell-bent on destroying their home.
It makes him wonder if the angels were right. Maybe these creatures really do need a firm hand and orders to follow.
But then he watches as the UN passes the Kyoto Protocol. Governments all over the world agree to work towards lowering greenhouse gas emissions. They would prefer a sustainable planet to one where the lives of their children’s children are in jeopardy.
This is the people learning from their mistakes.
This is the people promising change.
This is not the product of angelic intervention. It is the product of choice. Despite what Heaven may think, these creatures are capable of listening to their conscience and deciding for themselves. Not all the time, but often enough to make free will something worth fighting for.
This world and its people are unpredictable, chaotic, fascinating. Castiel finds he wants to keep it that way.
_____
The time for the essay is nearly up. Sam grips his pen tighter as the boy sat behind him sneezes once again. He scribbles the final two lines of his conclusion, the muscles in his hands cramping from the build-up of lactic acid. Once he’s done, he grips the table leg with his right hand, letting the cool metal suck the heat out of his burning hand. He rifles through the papers with his left.
Sam has spent the last two weeks studying for this exam. Ever since his teachers have told him his spotty school record could lead to him being rejected by the better colleges, the child has thrown himself into his studies. While Dean used to hide comic books behind large tomes full of exorcisms, Sam hides textbooks on the American Civil War.
The bell rings. The students put down their pens and file out of class. The boy who had been sitting behind Sam coughs once again. The vessel of Darkness pulls a face and shuffles away.
Dean’s waiting outside when Sam comes out of the building.
“You look like you just saw one of Santa’s reindeer get run over,” he says by way of greeting.
Sam grimaces. “Nothing that bad. Just some kid who hasn’t heard of a tissue.”
They get into the car and Dean starts up the engine. “How did the test go?”
“It’s always difficult writing about the border states. The whole thing was just so messed up.” Sam shrugs.
“Yeah, Lincoln really hadn’t known what can of worms he was opening,” Dean murmurs as he slowly backs out from the parking spot.
Sam’s brow creases in what Castiel interprets as mild surprise.
It’s gone before Dean looks back. Instead Sam asks, “Heard from Dad?”
Dean’s jaw clenches. “Yeah, I did.”
“And?”
“He says he’s going to be another few weeks or so. But he’s left a number that we can call if we need him to come back early.”
“So he’s missing Christmas?”
“Seems like it, Sammy.”
“Typical,” Sam spits out. His stomach rumbles. “What’s for dinner?”
“Golden and spongy and rhymes with pinky,” Dean chants.
Sam groans.
_____
It has been two days since the cough set in. One day since the fever. Sam groans and turns over on the bed.
“Ugh, need more aspirin,” he mumbles into the sweat-drenched pillow.
Dean turns off the television and gets up. His back cracks from having been in the same position for the last two hours. He heads over to the counter, picks up the first aid kit, and unzips it. In the corner is the yellow bottle of Bayer aspirin. Castiel can see inside. He knows it’s empty. But Dean is not a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, so he takes it out and shakes it.
He comes to the same conclusion.
“There's none left the main kit,” he calls out. “Where’s the smaller one?”
“”In my bag,” Sam replies. He coughs up thick, yellow sputum into a tissue.
Dean goes behind the small wooden screen separating the living area from the bedroom. He opens the drawstring on Sam’s bag and starts pulling clothes and books out. Near the bottom, his hand wraps itself around the flyers Sam has collected. He pulls them out.
“Found it yet?” Sam calls over from the bed.
Dean doesn’t reply. Instead, he stares at the smiling faces and university crests. Castiel feels bitter as he notes how the young man’s heart hammers in his chest as panic floods through him. Dean flips one open. His fingers ghost over the courses his brother has highlighted, leaving trails of condensation on the glossed surface.
Castiel wonders what the Righteous Man will do now. The Righteous Man does not keep secrets from the Father. The Righteous Man should be full of-well-righteous anger at this betrayal. There will be repercussions, confrontations. And maybe the bond between these two brothers will finally break.
“Dean, hurry up! I feel like ‘m sweating out one of the Great Lakes here!” Sam follows it up with another wet cough.
Dean clutches the promotional literature in his fist, then shoves them back in the bag. He roots around until he finds the other first aid kit. Blinking back tears, he pulls out the bottle of aspirin.
“I’ve found ‘em,” he says. His voice teeters on the verge of cracking. He clears his throat. “Jeez, keep your panties on. How many do you want?”
Castiel watches as Dean goes over to Sam’s bed with the pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other. These brothers love, fight, betray and forgive each other. Over and over again. Breaking these two boys by pitting them against each other would be a sin in itself.
It’s a shame Castiel seems to be the only one who sees this.
_____
Three days later, Dean insists on taking Sam to the hospital. His breathing has become heavily erratic and his sputum has started turning brown.
They park the car in front of the large, blocky building. While they hardly had a choice in the matter, Castiel approves of the hospital they are going into. It has one of the lowest rates of post-op infections in the country due to a strict and well-enforced hygiene policy.
Inside, the receptionist hands over an admissions form. She peers at Dean. “Are you his guardian?”
“No, but my Dad’s out of town and I have power of attorney over my brother in situations like this,” Dean recites with a disarming smile. He holds out a document John had forged a couple of years ago, which the receptionist barely glances at.
“If you could fill that in and bring it back,” she says, nodding towards the clipboard in Dean’s hand.
The boys take a seat in the triage waiting room. Dean chews on the end of the pen as he tries to recall the address of the motel they were staying at.
“You remember the name of the street of the motel?” he asks.
“Sixteen East Merle Road,” Sam rasps, before taking a few panting breaths.
“’Kay, got it, thanks.” Dean jots down the address and his false name. He stares at the part of the form asking about health insurance. He shrugs and writes ‘uninsured’.
Eleven minutes and forty-two seconds later, they are led into a private examination room. A nurse then sets about recording Sam’s temperature, pulse and breathing rate. They’re all high. She leaves and a little while later a doctor comes in. She asks the boy to breathe as deeply as he can while she holds a stethoscope to the back, then front, of his chest.
“Pneumonia,” the doctor says, pulling out the stethoscope buds. She picks up Sam’s file and starts scribbling down her notes. “Pretty mild, though there’s fluid in both lungs. A joint course of amoxicillin and azithromycin should cure it, along with plenty of rest.” She turns to face Dean. “Would you mind stepping outside for a second, please?”
Dean looks up from Sam. “What?”
The doctor taps her foot impatiently. Castiel feels he can appreciate why. She is having to cover for her colleague, and the staff coffee machine has broken down. This combination has left her tired and temperamental.
“I asked if you’d mind stepping outside for a bit.”
Dean nods, before returning his gaze to his brother. “It’s ‘kay Sammy, I’ll be right outside.”
Sam nods. The doctor leads Dean outside to a smaller, empty waiting room filled with pamphlets detailing the dangers of smoking.
“I didn’t want to say it in front of your brother in case it worried him, but it says here on your form that he’s uninsured,” says the doctor. The curtness has drained out of her voice. Instead, it has been replaced by something akin to compassion. “If you take a seat here, I’ll call a representative over from the financial department to talk to you about your bills.”
Dean swallows, then complies. Once the doctor leaves, he palms the pockets of his jeans. Castiel assumes he’s looking for the bundle of ten-dollar bills his usually keeps on his person, but that’s currently in the motel room, stowed in the left pocket of the last pair of jeans he wore.
Apart from a few dimes, quarters, and an old stick of gum, his pockets are empty.
Dean curses and leans back into the plastic seat. He pulls out his wallet.
Just then, a man wearing a smart, grey suit and a sharp smile walks in. “Mr. Williams?”
Dean jerks up onto his feet. “Uh huh.”
“I just need to talk through your hospital bills with you,” he says. He hands over a sheet of paper and starts gesturing with the nib of his pen. “That’s the flat rate for the ER, which you can pay in one go or some now, some at the end. Any additional treatment or tests will cost extra.”
Dean blinks twice. He squints at the figure near the bottom of the page. “Seven hundred dollars? You sure you don’t want a couple of gallons of my blood along with that?”
The man in the suit grimaces. “Mr. Williams, I know the cost can sometimes seem excessive-”
Dean cuts him off by pulling a card out of his wallet and handing it to him. “I’ll pay the whole ER cost now.”
The representative nods and leaves Dean to stare at the patterned wallpaper. The young man wraps his jacket a little tighter around himself. He rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet.
The man in the suit returns in about a minute. He hands Dean’s card back. “I’m sorry, it looks like this card has been cancelled. Do you have an alternative?”
Castiel can see the whites of Dean’s eyes as he rifles through a wallet full of expired or cancelled cards.
“I-I’m going to need to go talk to someone to make some alternate arrangements,” he says, palming the back of his neck. “Where can I find a payphone?”
The representative peers round the door. “At the bottom of this corridor,” he says, pointing, “turn right. And about halfway along that corridor, there will be some payphones on the left.”
Dean nods his thanks.
“I’ll wait here for you,” the man says.
The Righteous Man has already started walking down the hallway. He turns the corner and breaks into a run, skidding to a halt next to the booths. He grabs the telephone nearest to him and puts it between his ear and shoulder. It nearly falls when Dean dips into his pocket for the number John has left him with. He dials it. It rings out for a while.
“C’mon, c’mon, just pick up,” he babbles, swaying from foot to foot. No one picks up.
He tries again, his fingers frantic over the keypad. The result is much the same as it was for his last attempt.
Dean stares at the wall. He looks hurt and betrayed. Castiel wonders if this is how Michael looked when Father left.
He slams the phone back in its holder and steps away. With a quick pat on the waistband of his jeans to confirm the presence of his gun, Dean heads back to Sam’s room. He peeks around the door, breathing out and entering once he’s confirmed it’s empty.
He moves around the bed and gently manoeuvres a dozing Sam into a sitting position. “Rise and shine, Sammy. We gotta get outta here.”
“’S warm ‘ere,” Sam mumbles against Dean’s shoulder.
“I know, kid, but we have to move fast.”
Sam seems to detect the panic in Dean’s voice. He opens his eyes and starts to shuffle off the bed. He coughs a large wad of brown sputum onto Dean’s shirt.
Dean closes his eyes and freezes. “That’s... That’s disgusting.”
Guilt flashes across Sam’s face, before it’s replaced by a dopey grin. “Remember that time you put your snot-covered hand on my face?”
“How the hell do you still remember that?”
“Yeah? Well, this is my revenge,” Sam says, standing up on unsteady feet.
Dean rolls his eyes and wraps his younger brother’s arm around his shoulders. “Lean on me if you start feeling dizzy, but we’ve got to get out of here before Walter Skinner comes looking.”
Sam pants and starts dragging his feet along the cold vinyl floor towards the door. Once there, he leans against the door frame to catch his breath.
In the meantime, Dean scans his surroundings and plans his next course of action. Castiel can see the neurons firing in Dean’s brain as the innate soldier awakens. His eyes dart along the exits until he settles on a secluded one situated next to a cupboard stocked with cleaning supplies.
“Okay, this way,” he whispers.
Sam stumbles forward with a tired groan. Dean grabs him before he falls.
“Easy, tiger,” he says. He frowns when he catches sight of the rivulets of sweat dripping down Sam’s pallid face. “You’re not gonna throw up on me, are you?”
Sam shakes his head and starts walking. Castiel can see the fluid pooling in his alveoli, making his breaths weak and inefficient. “’M fine,” he mumbles. He increases his pace despite his stiff muscles.
The boys are only ten yards from the exit when a passing physical therapist stops them.
“Excuse me, can I help you guys?”
Castiel notes the increase in blood flow through Dean’s brain. He knows what this is. This is the Righteous Man preparing to lie again.
“No, no we’re fine. My brother, uh, he just needs a little help getting to the restroom,” he says with a nervous smile. Blood rushes to Sam’s cheeks. He contracts his bicep and the grip around Dean's neck tightens.
“Oh, sure, it’s at the bottom of this corridor, on the left,” the physical therapist says, nodding in the direction of the toilets.
“Thanks.”
The man watches the brothers walk off before turning around and continuing on his way. Once he disappears into one of the wards, Dean turns Sam around and they both hurry back out of the door.
Three minutes and two breaks later, Sam is lying exhausted across the back seat of the Impala while Dean is driving out of the hospital parking lot.
“Wha’s goin’ on?” Sam slurs, his eyes drooping.
“Last card got cancelled so I couldn’t pay the ER bill. I’d put our address down on the form, so we’ve got to get our stuff from the motel and shift to somewhere else.”
Sam twitches his head in a nod. He closes his eyes and within minutes, he’s asleep.
Dean doesn’t bother to wake Sam when they arrive at the motel. He enters their room and starts stuffing their clothes and any leftover food into the duffles. His hand hovers over the photograph of John and Mary on the bedside table. Dean bites his lip and slides the photo frame into Sam’s bag.
Once he’s done, he checks out of the motel and drives away.
_____
“A hundred and twenty dollars for the week,” says the man behind the front desk. His badge says Evan Kalecki, Assistant Manager.
Dean pulls out his folded bunch of ten dollar bills. He counts them out. There are nine of them.
“Can I pay you at the end of the week?”
“Sorry kid, I need it now or no room.” Mr. Kalecki shrugs. “What about that money you have there?”
“I need this for my brother’s medicine. He’s really sick,” Dean mumbles. Castiel cannot work out whether he should feel amused or sad at how young he manages to make himself sound.
Mr. Kalecki’s face softens. He sighs. “Fine, you can have the room.” Dean bites the inside of his cheek to suppress his smile. “But I don’t care if he has the damn plague, you’re both out if I don’t get the payment by tomorrow.”
Dean nods. “Thank you.”
He turns around to see Sam teetering on the doorstep.
“Dean, we got any more aspirin?” he asks.
Dean goes over and wraps his jacket around Sam’s shoulders. This does little to stop the child from shivering.
“We’ve run out. I need to go to the pharmacy to pick up your other stuff as well. You just go lie down inside, I’ll be back in a bit.”
Sam nods and lets Dean lead him into their room and tuck him into bed. “Mother hen,” he croaks.
“Shut up,” he growls, smoothing out the blankets and palming his forehead. “I’m going to go pick up those medicines, along with some aspirin, from the Walgreens down the street. I’ll leave this with you,” he says, tucking his .45 caliber pistol under Sam’s pillow. “Anyone comes through that door that’s not me, you shoot.”
“What if it’s Dad?”
Dean’s hands ball into fists. “You shoot,” he mutters under his breath.
Sam shifts and mumbles a tired “did y’say somethin’?” into the pillow.
“I said ‘stop asking stupid questions’, dork. You need anything else?”
Sam shakes his head and coughs once again. Dean sets about laying the salt lines. He grips his torso when his stomach opts to remind him he hasn't eaten anything in over twenty-four hours. He finishes lining the rest of the door before taking a long drink from the kitchen tap. He leans against the edge of the counter with his eyes closed.
“If you ignore it, the pain will go away,” he whispers to himself. After giving the water ten seconds to settle in his stomach, he leaves the room.
The sun has begun to set by the time Dean reaches the pharmacy.
As he watches the star kiss the horizon, Castiel wonders if one could argue that the sun does indeed move around the Earth, like humans used to think. As there is no such thing as absolute space, if one took the Earth as the centre of the universe, the sun-along with everything else in existence-would be moving relative to it.
By the time Castiel’s musings come to an end, Dean has stepped out of the pharmacy. There is a packet in his hand and only ten dollars left in his pocket. He returns to the hotel and gives Sam his medicine.
The boy sits up in bed. He swallows the pills. Sipping on the rest of the water, he says, “Dean, I got a question for you...”
“Shoot.”
“Say some giant radioactive aliens visited our planet, and they came to talk to you. They said you could either hand me over or they’d eat everyone on the planet. What would you do?”
Dean stares at his brother with raised eyebrows. “That’s your question?”
“Yeah, why?”
“That’s a fucking stupid question.”
“Whatever. Answer it.”
Dean looks away. His loud, confident voice doesn’t match up with his guilt-laden eyes. “Everyone on the planet, obviously. Man, think of all the hot chicks who’d die if I didn’t!”
Sam gives Dean a weak shove. “Do you ever use your upstairs brain or does it sit there and look pretty?”
Dean replies with something about how both brains of his look pretty, to which Sam groans. But Castiel is no longer listening.
He is thinking about Sam’s question.
It’s not a stupid question, though he’s fairly sure Dean doesn’t think that either. It’s brutal in its simplicity: humanity or your brother, who will you save?
Neither of these boys know how important this question will be.
_____
It takes an excruciating forty-seven minutes for Dean to lose the game of pool. He’s in a bar about half a mile away from the motel, where Sam is lying fast asleep. He hands over his last ten dollar bill with a grimace.
The game was evenly matched. While Dean had managed to find the most intoxicated customer to challenge to a game of pool, it soon became obvious the man was far from a novice. Dean, while sober, was exhausted. Faint tremors ran down his limbs from a lack of food and sleep. Compared to his normal standards, his performance was abysmal. There were only been a couple of decent chips that resembled Dean’s usual standards.
Dean walks out of the bar. The man in the clean shirt and dirty jeans follows him. He has been staring at the young man from the moment he walked into the establishment.
“What’s your rate, sweetheart?” he calls over.
Dean spins round and shoots the man a glare. “Sorry, I don’t swing that way. You’ll have to get your rocks off somewhere else.” He starts to walk on.
The man catches up with him. Dean recoils at the stench of alcohol laced with sweat. “Quit playing hard to get. I can tell you need the money; you look like you’re about to collapse any minute. So how about an even two hundred for the night? I’ll even buy you a meal.”
His hand reaches out and curls itself around Dean’s forearm. Dean pulls away with a violent jerk.
“Get offa me! I don’t need your money!” he shouts.
The man lets go and splays his fingers in what Castiel assumes is a placating gesture. “Fine, fine, just trying to help. But if you change your mind, I’ll be in the bar, waiting.” His gaze travels down Dean’s body, lingering for half a second on his crotch.
Dean strides off, his veneer of calm crumbling into panic as he gets further away. He runs back to the motel, stopping near the reception when a spell of dizziness washes over him. There’s not enough glucose reaching his brain.
“Kid, please tell me you’ve got the money.”
Dean looks up to see Mr. Kalecki standing beside him. The man looks uncomfortable.
“You said I had ‘til tomorrow, right?”
Mr. Kalecki runs a hand through his hair. “The manager’s giving me hell over letting you stay like this. He wants the money by tonight or you and your brother are out.” Both Castiel and the assistant manager watch the blood drain out of Dean’s face. “’M sorry.” He starts to walk away when Dean grabs the sleeve of his jacket.
“Please. I’m begging you, please.” Tears cling to the youth’s lashes. “He’s really ill and it’s cold outside.”
“I’m sorry, kid. I wish there was something I could do.” says Mr. Kalecki, gently prying his jacket out of Dean’s weak grip. He exits into his small office, leaving Dean to stare at the wall.
“God, what do I do?”
His plea goes unheard by all of Heaven save one.
Eventually, he gets up and goes into their room. Sam fumbles for the gun when he hears the door opening.
“Oh, ‘s you,” he murmurs, replacing the weapon.
“Feeling better?” Dean tries his best to keep his voice from cracking.
“Yeah, still sleepy though. Hey, are you okay?” Sam starts to ease himself up when Dean hurries to his side and forces him to lay down again.
“I’m fine, think I’m just catching a cold, ‘s all,” he says. He swallows and blinks rapidly. “You need any more medicine?”
“Not for another few hours. Just feel tired, that’s all. And it still hurts to breathe.”
“’Kay.” Dean, places a gentle hand on Sam’s forehead. The boy bats it away.
“I’m kinda hungry though. Have we got any food?”
Dean bites his lip. From the neurons firing in his brain, Castiel can tell he’s thinking about something, trying to make a decision.
If this is what Castiel thinks it is, he might scream.
“I’m gonna go out for a bit and get us some. I might be a while. You go be Sleeping Beauty for a little while longer.”
Sam sighs, then shoots him a tired grin. “Wake me with a kiss and I’ll punch you.”
Dean snorts. “You wish.”
He gets up and walks out of the door once again.
Castiel refuses to watch this young man break. Dean Winchester is Good. He lies and he cheats and he sins. But his love is loyal and unconditional. He is selfless and brave. He is a soul unlike any other. And he deserves better.
It is a decision he will probably come to regret, but he makes it nonetheless.
The man is currently praying in a church in Kentucky. He is alone, and he is devoted. He is just what Castiel needs.
“Let me do what is right by God,” the man whispers.
Castiel offers him this opportunity.
I’m Castiel. I’m an angel of the Lord.
He watches as convulsions overpower the man. He sinks to his knees, clutching his head.
I need you to let me use your body to do God’s work.
The lie sits heavily on Castiel’s conscience. He ignores it for now. He has other things to worry about.
Will you be a true believer and consent to being my vessel?
The man curls up in a ball underneath the seat of the pew. “Yes,” he gasps.
That is all Castiel needs. He channels his energy into taking a particle form, focussing in on the man in front of him. He glows blue just before decoherence occurs, and then his world is black.
_____
When Castiel opens his eyes, he finds himself in a pine-scented church in Kentucky. He’s not quite sure what he’s doing there-or even how to move his limbs, for that matter. But a couple of experimental tries and he’s up and walking.
He’s by the door when he remembers what he came down here for. Within a second, he’s in an abandoned alley. There is garbage strewn across the ground. The whole place smells like dead rats and rotting fish.
Dean Winchester wrinkles his nose as he passes through.
Where is Castiel? He has left his station.
The voice is Uriel’s. Castiel hoped he’d get a little more time than this.
Castiel runs up to Dean and places a hand on his shoulder. The boy spins round with a quick “what the fuck?”
“I need you to listen to me. I know where you are going and I cannot let you do that.”
“And who the hell are you?” Dean growls. Castiel can see his hand reaching down for the knife tucked in his waistband.
“I am Castiel. I’m an angel of the Lord, though I wouldn’t say I’m exactly doing God’s work right now, but that is not of import-” He stops when the voices from Heaven start up again.
That angel has always been insolent. He’s a disappointment to the garrison. Who knows how many times I’ll have to wipe his mind before he stops with this childish behaviour?
The voice is brisk, formal, exasperated. It belongs to Naomi. It would appear the news of his disappearance has spread fast. He wants to analyse her mention of his mind being wiped, but Dean has started talking again.
"Yeah, and I'm Philo Beddoe," Dean says with a snort.
Castiel cocks his head. He knows this is Dean Winchester. He does not understand the reason for this lie.
Dean rolls his eyes. "Every Which Way But Loose? God, what's wrong with the people around here..." He trails off, then returns his sharp gaze to Castiel. "Look, if you’re a Bible-thumper, you’re wasting your time on me,” he says, shrugging Castiel’s hand off his shoulder.
He takes a few steps, then turns around. There’s a faint glimmer in Dean’s eyes that Castiel has learnt to recognise as hope.
“Hey, Cas, if you’re all about doing God’s work an’ all, do you think you could give me a hundred and twenty dollars?”
He will be with Michael and Lucifer’s meatsuits: the Winchesters. He has talked of taking a vessel and meeting them before.
“I don’t have any money on me,” says Castiel. Dean’s face falls. “But I can try to procure-”
It.
Castiel watches from above as his vessel crumples to the ground. He sees terror flashing across Dean’s face before he runs out of the alley, towards the bar.
How many times must you do this, Castiel?
The voice sounds tired and fuzzy. He cannot be sure who it belongs to because there is too much static. His vision blurs, and then there’s nothing.
_____
The cars look different. They were blockier. They used more petroleum. Their engines sounded louder.
And Castiel does not remember there being so many.
In fact, Castiel cannot remember much at all.
He remembers the fish, the wars, the young man fighting with the Marines in Vietnam. He remembers a couple and their Chevrolet Impala.
But nothing after that.
While it is puzzling, Castiel is sure it will come to him eventually.
There is a young man in front of him. He seems tall and well-built for his age-if a little gaunt. There is little out of the ordinary about him.
That is, apart from the fact there is no light emanating from his soul. All creatures with souls glow, some brighter than others. This is the first Castiel has seen which is completely dark.
He watches as the young man stands in a phone booth with tears rolling down his face. He reaches into his pocket, ignores the four fifty dollar bills inside, and pulls out a few coins. He slots them in and dials. Someone picks up within two rings.
“Caleb here, who’s this?” The man on the other end sounds young, though not as young as the sandy-haired man in the booth.
“I-I want to talk to John. Is he there?” The young man’s voice is unexpectedly steady.
Distant, crackly sounds of shuffling can be heard, then a yell of “John, it’s for you.”
“Hello?” This voice is deeper, rougher. Another couple of tears escape from the rims of the boy’s eyes.
“Dad, it’s me.”
“Is everything okay? Is your brother okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, we’re fine.” He holds the telephone away from himself and lets out a tiny sob.
“Anything else happen? Why’re you calling?”
“Just-just wanted to know when you’re coming back.” The young man’s voice cracks. He coughs to cover it up.
“It’s still going to be a few days. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“’Kay.” The young man hangs up.
He walks over to a door and fishes out the keys. He opens the door. Castiel notes the mix of blood and semen sticking to his inner thighs.
Inside, there is a boy with a vibrant blue soul. It dims momentarily as he coughs, but then it is back in its former magnificence.
“Dean? That you?” The boy’s voice sounds groggy. “Are you okay?”
The older boy comes inside and sits on his bed. He winces as his behind makes contact with the mattress.
“I’m fine Sammy, just go to sleep.” He voice is filled with love and despair in equal measure. His eyes are dull and tired. Castiel guesses this is what human beings, God’s favourite creatures, look like when they’re broken.
He cannot explain why, but he feels like he’s watching things fall apart.