Star Catcher (11/16)
Title: Star Catcher
Rating: G
Characters: Dean, Castiel, Sam
Genre: Friendship
Summary: A time-traveling mishap will make two children and a fledgling realize that the unexpected can sometimes be a good thing.
Prologue - Fall For A Shooting Star
Chapter 1 - Some Have Silver Linings
Chapter 2 - Not Your Carpet Ride
Chapter 3 - Host of Heaven, Sing Over Me
Chapter 4 - Moonbeams and Fairy Tales
Chapter 5 - I was Soaring Ever Higher
Chapter 6 - Go and Play with the Thunder
Chapter 7 - Heaven is Overrated
Chapter 8 - Hear the Stars' Ovation
Chapter 9 - Stars Cry the Blackest Tears
AN: Yeah, uhm... I was supposed to be working on Notes Tied to Balloons, but then the dialogue for this chapter spewed out of my head. Then a bunch of more words came along, then I noticed that this month is almost ending and I haven't updated at all. Basically, I just wanna post something within the month.
My next two updates will be on NTTB :)
Chapter 10 - Stars that Fill Polluted Skies
11:55 AM
While waiting for the take-out to arrive, Dean had been carefully monitoring Sam and Conner the minute they stepped out into the playground. Initially, the worse thing he could imagine happening to them was to fall off one of the dilapidated equipment; he did not expect this.
The slide obstructed his view, but once the two of them went down, Dean realized that Conner had been crying, and judging by Sam's close proximity to him, he was doing his best to console him. After that, hugging was involved. It was not a happy-hug; it was more like a please-don't-cry-anymore-hug.
What had the two of them been doing? Why was Conner miserable all of a sudden? Dean felt an urge to go outside so he could know what was going on, but from where he was watching, the situation looked far too fragile to handle any sort of interference. Nevertheless, he hated seeing his friend like this, he wanted to do something to help.
"You plan on joining the hug-a-thon out there, or are you good with the sappy staring?"
Dean startled at the unexpected voice, although he hid most of his surprise fairly well. He searched the diner for signs of life (because this diner was not exactly the respectable sort and, given the choice, majority of the people opted to head for some place more decent), and his eyes landed on a boy in a corner booth. He had dark blonde hair and wore a devilish smirk on his face. On the table in front of him was a towering stack of pancakes that nearly measured to the height of his head, plus the amount of syrup on them was so glisteningly thick that even Dean's stomach churned a little in unease.
"I'm not sappy." he retorted.
The boy made a dismissive pfft sound. "Keep telling yourself that." he said.
Dean swiveled in his chair so he could face him directly. "How'd you get in anyway? I didn't see or hear the door open." he suspiciously noted.
"I have special privileges." said the boy, shrugging like he could not care less what Dean thought of him, and at the same time he was teasingly arrogant.
Given the vague answer, Dean narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. The boy noticed his stubbornness and was forced to set down a forkful of sickeningly sweet pancakes. "If you must know, I came in through the kitchen." he replied.
"You know the people who work here or you just snuck in for free food?" asked Dean.
"Hey, pouty-lips, do I look like a riff-raff to you?" commented the boy, gesturing at himself.
"Depends. You want me to answer?" said Dean.
For a moment, it seemed as if the boy was affronted, yet his smile returned and he released a hearty chuckle. "Plucky. I like that." he said. He then swallowed a chunk of his pancakes and used the fork to point at the window. "So, bros of yours?" he inquired.
Dean was reluctant to answer. He was not stupid; he knew the dangers of conversing with someone he had never met, particularly if that meant revealing information - no matter how scarce - about people who were close to him. "Just the one. Other's a friend." he curtly answered.
The boy took another hefty bite from his pancakes and appeared to consider the taste. "Got a bro here too." he said.
Seeing how he could keep the boy talking about his family instead, Dean asked, "Younger or older?"
There was a huff from the boy, albeit it was unclear whether it was because of derision or amusement. "Let's just say he's waaaay older than you." he said. He put another slice into his mouth and chewed noisily. "I swear, the guy's a pain in the butt-cheeks sometimes." he added.
At that, Dean figured he must be referring to cashier-guy, A.K.A. waiter-guy. "You're tellin' me." he commented.
"Getting messed up in someone else's business, causing trouble even if he 'didn't mean to'," the boy rambled.
"Don't forget dragging you down with him." offered Dean, because if there was a topic he could relate to the most, it would have to be dealing with brothers.
"Especially that!" the boy agreed as he sat a bit straighter in his seat. Afterward, he slumped back down again and made a half-smile. "But he's a lovable dork, so it's cool." he said.
Dean was unable to prevent himself from sparing his own brother a glance. Sam may be annoying and whiny at times, but he was still his brother and he would always be one of the most important people in his life, no matter how many instances he complained about his sissy nature, or teased him every moment he could.
He snapped out of his thoughts when he saw the boy take out four packets of Pop Rocks from his pocket and began to season his pancakes with them. "Should you really be eating all of that?" Dean asked warily. He admired the guy's bravery, but there was such a thing as being recklessly stupid.
"Not like I have 'parental supervision' to worry about." said the boy, air-quoting. "My dad's in charge of making me behave, but since he's gone for a while, it's pranks and coma-inducing sugar rushes 24/7." he said gleefully.
Dean did not know how to react to that. All his life, Dean had been taught to obey his dad's instructions, especially when he was not around, or else something bad might happen and it would be his fault. To see a person in a similar position as he was and to realize that they chose to goof off instead unsettled a fragment of his mind.
"Yo, pouty-lips, you celebrating Halloween, right?" the boy spoke up, catching Dean unaware.
"I guess - and shut up, I don't pout!" defended Dean.
The boy blatantly ignored his protest as he licked his fingers clean of the syrup that had somehow gotten there. "Hastings Street is a goldmine for trick-or-treating! The decorations at their houses look like the crap of crap - I mean it, they're so lame, you'll cry - but that's just 'cuz they spend all their money on a mother-load of candies. But stay the hell outta Jordan Street; it's full of stingy, heartless bastards who…" He shuddered. "…actually care about your health." he explained disdainfully.
"Why are you even telling me this?" asked Dean, an eyebrow raised. He hardly knew the guy and already he was being treated as if they were pals who could swap notes on candy pointers. On normal circumstances, he would appreciate the gesture, yet normalcy never came that much to his life.
"Just helpful advice from your friendly neighborhood random guy." chirped the boy, flashing Dean a grin and a casual salute. Then, his mirth dissipated and the happy-go-lucky shine in his eyes drained out of his features at a pace quicker than water slipping through the drain. "And make sure the kids have fun, okay?" he said seriously, jerking his head to the direction of the playground where Sam and Conner were.
Understanding reached Dean; the boy was suggesting something that might help cheer Conner up, and Dean was grateful for that. Apparently, Conner's sadness was so infectious that everybody wanted to make him feel better, even total strangers.
"Yeah, sure." replied Dean and the unmentioned 'Thanks' hung visibly in the air between them. The boy nodded in response.
The door to the kitchen swung open and cashier/waiter-guy stepped out carrying a bulky, grease-stained paper bag that smelled of warm buns and thick ketchup.
"Here's your take-out." he muttered, letting the paper bag plop heavily and gracelessly onto the counter next to Dean. And in his typical cheerless manner, he turned his back to him and slinked back into the kitchen, likely never to be heard from again within a short period of time.
Now that his take-out was in his possession, Dean had no real other reason to stick around the diner any longer. "Guess I'll see ya around." he said to the boy as he slipped off the stool.
"Maybe you will, maybe you won't." the boy vaguely commented.
Dean wanted to ask what he meant by that, but the boy was too engrossed with his pancakes by now to notice him, and his level of intensity was one Dean was well acquainted with. If he had a good, luscious slice of apple pie, he would be so immersed in the mere act of eating it to pay attention to anything else, too.
He let the boy be and went outside to collect his brother and his grief-stricken friend.
12:39 PM
Gabriel watched as Dean and Sam Winchester took his brother, Castiel, away, probably back to their dingy motel room two blocks over. At the sight of their retreating forms, Gabriel's customarily eager appetite waned and he pushed his pancakes away.
It pained Gabriel to see him like this, but he knew he cannot interfere, cannot talk to Castiel again lest his identity be uncovered; that one instance had been an extreme risk already. Of course, he could simply send Castiel back to the past, he had more than enough juice to carry that out. But this - everything that had happened to Castiel so far - was an opportunity so rare that he dared not to cut it so short. If Castiel had to return to his time, he would have to do it through the rescue squad who will eventually (or hopefully) reclaim him.
Gabriel had been keeping an eye on his brother the nanosecond his Grace dipped into this timeline. From that first encounter, Gabriel knew that this was not his brother of the present, that he had been plucked from the distant past somehow.
Castiel's unfortunate trip had been an accident, that much he could tell. His journey was comparable to a skipping stone hurled mercilessly into the ocean: the farther he got from his point of origin, the more times he skimmed and bounced off the water's surface. In this case, the water referred to the flow of time, and every instant his brother fleetingly hit it, he would find himself in a different period in history, inching closer to the future. However, the process was erratic and much too fast for a fledgling's control and comprehension. At best, Castiel could merely had been vaguely aware of a couple of time-shifts; other than that, he had no sense of navigation and everything went past him in near-oblivion.
Before long, it was possible that the vortex of time began to overwhelm him. The forces of reality ripped through Castiel's tender light and Grace like paper going through a shredder because his defenses against different timelines were not fully developed yet. With every second that sped by him, a bit of his powers were stripped away in the process, and if he had not found a vessel to contain his fraying self, Castiel would have disintegrated.
To be honest, Gabriel was relieved that his brother managed to acquire a vessel. Not only was it forbidden for fledglings to possess a mortal, it was also practically impossible for them to have enough power to subdue the consciousness of their host so that they may gain control of the body. So for Castiel to walk around in a vessel was impressive, especially since he was running low on Grace.
Gabriel learned everything he needed to know about the vessel when he cloaked the signature of his Grace, morphed his body into a child, and talked to Castiel in that grocery store. The kid's name was Jimmy Novak, aged seven, an only-child thus far. He was plucked out of the year 1982 during one of Castiel's time-dips and, consequentially went 'missing' for a while.
If Castiel was considered lucky when he landed a vessel, then he absolutely won the jackpot when his vessel was actually in his designated bloodline. It was a one-in-a-quintillion chance and Gabriel wondered if he realized exactly how fortunate he really was. He even wondered if their Father was still watching over them; this cannot be pure coincidence.
From their brief conversation in the grocery, Gabriel could hear the echoes and picture the remnants of Castiel's terror before plunging into poor Jimmy's body:
'Please! Please… someone help me! I'm falling!'
Jimmy tore his head away from his math homework and stared wildly at the room, searching for the panicked voice… the voice he could understand, begging for help.
'Who are you?Where are you?'
'I'm falling! I don't want to fall! Don't let me fall!'
'I won't. I promise I'll get help! Where are you?'
'I'm falling…I'm falling! Help me please!'
'Yes! Yes, I'll help you! Tell me where you are!'
Those were the last words little Jimmy Novak uttered before a whooshing light entered him, and took him away unintentionally, because Castiel was incapable to stop until he reached 1989. The vessel merely slowed him down a tad. That single 'yes' had been strong enough to bond the two of them in spite of the chaotic time-travel.
Gabriel had been in Belgium when Castiel penetrated this point of time; the sole reason he returned to North America was to make sure his brother was safe. Even now, he was doing his best to keep him from being involved in any more mishaps.
From Day 1, he had been monitoring Castiel's every move (and no, that did not make him overprotective). With his depleted Grace, Castiel needed to eat and sleep in order to function; thankfully, the Winchesters took decent care of him, more or less. Gabriel silently congratulated them for the birthday thing, and that incident with the bra had been hilarious!
Regardless of the fun times his brother was having, his epic time-travel was not without bigger consequences. The universe had been… 'rumbling' for some reason, as if there was a disturbance in the fabric of creation.
At first, Gabriel dismissed the notion that the 'rumbling' was related to Castiel. As adorable as he was, he did not appear to be the type who will be crucial in manipulating the turn of major events one day. Gabriel searched the world for any probable causes of the 'rumbling,' but aside from the occasional demon cult prancing around in their petty social circle, there was nothing new, nothing dramatic, nothing out-of-the-ordinary from an angel's perspective… except Castiel's arrival from the past.
What really convinced him it was Castiel were the birds - not regular birds; angels masquerading as birds. The seemingly random attack on Castiel on that rooftop a few days ago had technically been an attempt to drag him to the Heaven-of-this-time. Gabriel doubted they simply wished to return Castiel to his proper time. These days, security tightened upstairs and the angels acted like white blood cells wanting to eradicate every trace of whatever they believed to be unwanted, unnecessary, or unauthorized in their ranks, and Castiel fell into at least one of those categories. At least the angels still under Heaven's command had been banned to take vessels, which was a weird law that was ongoing since the last couple of centuries.
Nonetheless, Gabriel had been keeping other angels at bay ever since, all the while being careful to cover his tracks. They could not hear the 'rumbling,' they did not know how great the situation truly was. The only angels he would let near Castiel were those from his original timeline, because then Gabriel would be certain that they will take him home.
For now, Gabriel will keep Castiel hidden and will carry out (reluctant) baby-sitting duty. Back when he had still been in Heaven, he noticed that Castiel was always so tense, so scared to speak up for himself. He was like that one quiet kid in class who had a tiny corner all to himself and only two major emotions: unnaturally innocent and holy-crap-what's-up-with-you serious. Gabriel wanted him to have fun, to live a life beyond the constraints of Heaven, and he could achieve that on Earth.
After all, the universe had always been on the verge of collapse in one form or another. What harm could playing a bit of angel-hooky ever bring?
6:23 PM
"Conner… you okay?" Dean asked hesitantly.
Conner looked up from where he was already settling into bed, albeit his bed happened to be the couch. He did not eat dinner; he simply went straight to the couch and curled up there.
"Yes, I'm fine." he said quietly, not making eye contact.
"You don't sound fine." commented Dean. When Conner did not say anything else, Dean sighed and sat down beside him. "Listen, uhm, Sammy told me that you're homesick and, well… I get it. It's okay. We'll make this right." said Dean as he rubbed the back of his neck. He had never been good with all this sentimental crap. He had to summon enough manliness to make himself sound strong, but he also had to squeeze out the right amount of gentleness to be to let Conner know that he truly cared about his situation.
"We still got a burger left over. It's in the fridge if you want it." said Dean in an effort to cheer Conner up. Ever since they left the diner, misery radiated off Conner like chill from a block of ice. That alone told Dean how much Conner missed his home and family.
Conner reached for his orange monkey plushie and hugged it to his chest. For a moment, Dean thought that his friend was using the toy as a shield against his efforts to communicate to him. "Perhaps tomorrow." muttered Conner.
"It's just there if you get hungry. I told Sam not to touch it since it's yours; you know how much of a pig he is." joked Dean.
"I don't mind if he eats it." said Conner.
Dean knew someone was really upset when they refused their favorite food, and from Conner's reaction this morning, burgers were definitely his favorite. "There's room for one more in my bed tonight… Just an offer you might be interested in." he said. He was willing to share his bed again if that meant making Conner feel less lonely.
However, Conner shook his head and drew the blankets and his orange monkey closer to him. "I wish to be alone tonight." he said, his voice quivering.
"Conner - " Dean began, shocked.
Conner covered himself up with his blanket and curled into a tight ball underneath. "Please leave me alone." he whimpered, and his voice betrayed that he was on the brink of tears.
Unwillingly, Dean backed off and hoped that his friend will feel better in the morning.
1:14 AM
With a shiver, Dean roused from his slumber to discover that the room was dark because the sun was still absent. He glanced at the clock and groggily deciphered that it was one in the morning, much too early to be awake and he was a bit irritated at the fact that a good night's sleep was officially ruined.
Once his mind cleared, Dean peered through the darkness of the room to seek out what woke him. He half-expected Sam standing at the edge of his bed, ready to bug him about something silly, but Dean noticed that his brother's huddled form was visible on the other bed. His eyes adjusted to the gloom afterward and he saw that there was nothing else amiss or peculiar in the room.
Then, he thought it might be Conner trying to get into his bed, possibly having had changed his mind and in want of reassuring company. Yet Dean's suspicion was proven wrong upon realizing that he was the bed's sole occupant. As Dean's grew more awake and more curious, his mind was fully functional now and it occurred to him that it was cold. Luckily, it was not the eerie kind; rather, it felt more natural, like someone had left the window open which allowed the nightly coolness of autumn to creep inside.
Dean reached for the knife under his pillow and jumped out of bed.
The windows in the bedroom were all closed; that left the ones in the living room, plus the door. Had someone gotten in? What about Conner? If an intruder indeed managed to sneak in, he was the one who would be in the most danger. But what if dad finally came back? No, it cannot be him; he strictly said that he will return in a week and not a day less. Besides, he would never leave a window or the door open for this long.
He sneaked into the living room, knife in hand, and prepared himself for anything. It was utterly silent when he got there; no sound of shifting, creaking, or breathing, except his own. Dean stood still for more than a minute but nothing moved in the slightest either. As he scanned the area, he discovered two things that made his heart stop:
The first was that the couch was empty.
The second was that the front door was left ajar.
A bad feeling welled up in Dean's core at the sight in front of him. Had Conner been taken? No, Dean distinctly remembered locking everything and applying all the necessary precautions before he went to sleep. The door could only then be opened from the inside. Did Conner go outside on his own? If so, why would he even think of doing that? Outside was freezing and dark and even sort of terrifying; any person who stepped out at this hour without a good reason - and it had to be a really serious one - was regarded to be insane.
Unless… Unless they actually do have a purpose in mind, a hugely important one, so important that any person would dare to become reckless… a purpose like finding their family.
Dean bolted out the door and strived to contain his mishmash of pleas and curses into an inaudible whisper. There was no way Conner was this stupid. There was no way he would simply get up in the middle of the night and start hitting the streets in a desperate search for his family, in his borrowed pajamas, barefoot, and totally without supplies.
"Conner?" hissed Dean under his breath. He hoped that his friend was still within the motel grounds, and that he had not been too late. A few of the lampposts had yet to turn off and Dean was grateful for the light. Though it was a meager amount, it sufficed in helping him navigate the perimeter and illuminating the nooks and crannies Conner might be in.
His search went on for roughly ten minutes, and just when Dean was ready to wake Sam for back-up, he saw a moving shadow on the ground. In front of him, there was nothing. Dean's gaze spread out madly until, finally, he pinpointed the source being on the rooftop of the motel building.
It was Conner… and he was standing alarmingly close to the ledge.
"Holy crap, Conner!" Dean could not have cared less if the whole neighborhood heard him. He raced up the stairs that led to the roof with such urgency that he feared the steps might shatter under all the force he was exerting on them.
The door at the top of the stairs was left slightly open, just like the door to their motel room, and Dean felt as if he was running out of time again, that the chance of him being able to remedy the situation was getting slimmer and slimmer. He barreled through the threshold and ran halfway over to his friend. Dean skidded to a halt because, now that he was here, he did not know what to expect, did not know what to do, but overall he was scared, and taking another step forward might make the reality of his fears more apparent.
"Get away from there! Conner!" yelled Dean. Conner remained motionless, showing no signs that he had heard him. "Dude, come on, this isn't funny. You could get hurt." said Dean as worry twisted his guts.
"Have to… go home…" murmured Conner distantly.
Putting his knife in his back pocket, Dean dared to approach him slowly. "You will, Conner; I promise you'll get there. Just step back, alright?" he said.
"I want… to go home now…" said Conner. A formidable wind picked up and Conner swayed along to the current with a resistance no better than that of a plant. The sight compelled Dean to take his final steps to the ledge. "I… don't belong… here…" Conner mumbled.
Dean took a closer look at him, albeit he wanted to avoid physical contact because there was no telling what something so slight can trigger. He seriously cannot afford a single risk; his friend was standing at the edge of a building and might do something unforgivably stupid at any given second.
Staring up at his face, despite the dim light, Dean noticed the hazy expression on Conner, as if he was half-asleep… or dreaming. His eyes were lidded, dull, and blank. Suddenly, the realization that Conner was sleepwalking hit Dean like a sixteen-wheeler truck. He saw this before with Sam once, a few nights after they narrowly escaped a group of heavily armed muggers. Dad explained that Sam's sleepwalking had to do with the trauma, or basically from a surge of strong negative emotions. The part of 'strong negative emotions' definitely applied to Conner at the moment.
"Conner, it's me, Dean. Your friend, Dean. And right now, you do belong here. Me and Sam don't want you going anywhere for a while." said Dean, calm and comforting.
He learned that, whenever someone was sleepwalking, they were either unaware of their environment or their senses were still partially working. In the case of the latter, there was a chance that they could see things, hear things, respond. If Dean had to talk to him in this state, he did not want Conner to hear that he was freaking out.
"I don't… belong… Time is… wrong…" said Conner in a detached tone.
"'Time is wrong'? What do you mean it's wrong?" asked Dean. He hoped that this was merely a delusion induced by his sleepwalking.
Conner blinked gradually, as if he was falling asleep, or further into it. "Don't belong… Have to… go home… fix it…" he muttered.
"Whatever it is, I'll help you sort it out. Just… please get away from the ledge." begged Dean. This was insane; Conner was not making any sense and it was getting harder for Dean to suppress his panic.
"Powers… fading… Have to fly… fly home now…" Conner dragged his foot an inch forward so that his toes were hovering in the air.
"Conner, no! Don't do anything stupid!" exclaimed Dean.
"I must fly… home…" said Conner in his daze. He dragged his other foot to the edge.
"Conner," warned Dean.
"Fly…" He put his left foot in front of him where there was nothing but space to land on… and Conner plummeted off the ledge.
"CONNER!"
Dean lunged, pushing his body and extending his arms as far as they could go. There was a fleeting heartbeat when his fingers only touched the cold air and his brain screamed at him in pure horror. Then he felt he was clutching onto something, something solid and thin. It turned out to be Conner's wrist.
Dean stared down and was utterly, incredibly relieved to find that he had a hold of his friend. Conner was dangling in the air like unresponsive bait waiting to be consumed and Dean, panting, was getting his mind wrapped around the thought that Conner could have died tonight. If he had not gone out to investigate, Conner would have stepped off the building without anyone to stop him. If his reaction had been just a single second late, Conner would have fallen freely until he smacked into concrete.
"I gotcha, buddy. I gotcha." said Dean, his voice trembling. As the feeling of terror washed out of him, he focused all his energy into hauling Conner back up onto the roof. When that was accomplished, he put his friend on the ground and checked to see if he was alright.
"Conner?" Dean shook him by the shoulder carefully and there was no reaction. He tried again with more force. "Conner?"
There was a whimper. A few seconds later, Conner peeled his eyes open. Dean thought that the danger was over at last with Conner awake. Unfortunately, Conner's next words crumpled Dean's optimism:
"Have to get to… Heaven…"
He was still sleepwalking. After almost falling to his death, he was still sleepwalking! "No, Conner, not Heaven! Not. Heaven! You're not going there 'cuz you're not dead. And you're not gonna kill yourself just so you can get in!" Dean practically screamed at his friend's face.
Conner continued to stare dreamily ahead at the night sky, as if Dean's head was not blocking his view of the stars at all. "Almost there… need to fly…" he whispered.
"Damn it, Conner - Wake up! Wake up! Snap the hell out of it!" shouted Dean. He was shaking Conner hard now, because if he did not do anything else, there was nothing to stop the tears from spilling out of his eyes. Dean desperately wanted this to end already; he was scared and confused beyond reason, although most of all he wanted Conner to wake up so he would not be alone anymore.
Finally, Conner winced and moaned at the harsh treatment he was receiving. Dean let him go when his eyes opened and, this time, they were clear and conscious. "…'ean?" he croaked softly.
"Yeah… Yeah, it's me." Dean breathed out. An enormous grin of relief was spreading across his face and he nearly leaned down to hug Conner.
Conner looked around them, bewilderment making his brow crinkle. "Where are we?" he asked hoarsely.
"On the roof." said Dean.
"Why?"
Dean swallowed the bile and uneasiness that were bubbling up his throat. "We were… We're trying to set up a prank for the janitors in the morning. Drop old fruit on them or something. I thought it would make you feel better." It was one of the lamest lies he had ever come up with, but his brain was still recovering from the shock of the last ten minutes and even the act of thinking straight was a challenge. He also hoped that Conner was disoriented enough not to ask too many questions or regard Dean's answer warily. "But we haven't done much yet since you hit your head on that satellite." added Dean, jerking a thumb over to the large dish by the side.
"I hit my head?" repeated Conner.
"Duh. Why do you think you don't remember being up here?" said Dean, trying to put on a fake air of confidence.
Conner attempted to sit up, though he ended up doing a mere backward crawl. "Where's Sam?" he inquired.
"He's too much of a wimp to stay up this late." lied Dean. "Let's head back. This plan's a bust anyway." he said before Conner could form any more questions.
Gingerly, Dean wrapped Conner's left arm around his shoulder, although that got a pained groan out of him. "My arm hurts." he grunted.
Dean noted that that was the arm he grabbed onto when Conner fell; he must have torn a muscle or something in the process. "You fell on it when you crashed into that satellite, you sissy." commented Dean as he switched to Conner's right arm. He placed his hand on Conner's hip and once he deemed their legs steady enough, he lead them to the stairs.
"I'm tired." Conner murmured.
"Don't worry. There's still room for you in my bed." said Dean. He was not leaving Conner alone again tonight.
TBC
Reviews are highly appreciated. They act as my caffeine, especially since it's one in the morning right now while I'm typing this.
Hopefully, things made some sort of sense here. I've been fighting off sleep for a while already so some stuff might be (though I hope not) inconsistent. I vowed not to go to bed until I finish this chapter.
Rating: G
Characters: Dean, Castiel, Sam
Genre: Friendship
Summary: A time-traveling mishap will make two children and a fledgling realize that the unexpected can sometimes be a good thing.
Prologue - Fall For A Shooting Star
Chapter 1 - Some Have Silver Linings
Chapter 2 - Not Your Carpet Ride
Chapter 3 - Host of Heaven, Sing Over Me
Chapter 4 - Moonbeams and Fairy Tales
Chapter 5 - I was Soaring Ever Higher
Chapter 6 - Go and Play with the Thunder
Chapter 7 - Heaven is Overrated
Chapter 8 - Hear the Stars' Ovation
Chapter 9 - Stars Cry the Blackest Tears
AN: Yeah, uhm... I was supposed to be working on Notes Tied to Balloons, but then the dialogue for this chapter spewed out of my head. Then a bunch of more words came along, then I noticed that this month is almost ending and I haven't updated at all. Basically, I just wanna post something within the month.
My next two updates will be on NTTB :)
Chapter 10 - Stars that Fill Polluted Skies
11:55 AM
While waiting for the take-out to arrive, Dean had been carefully monitoring Sam and Conner the minute they stepped out into the playground. Initially, the worse thing he could imagine happening to them was to fall off one of the dilapidated equipment; he did not expect this.
The slide obstructed his view, but once the two of them went down, Dean realized that Conner had been crying, and judging by Sam's close proximity to him, he was doing his best to console him. After that, hugging was involved. It was not a happy-hug; it was more like a please-don't-cry-anymore-hug.
What had the two of them been doing? Why was Conner miserable all of a sudden? Dean felt an urge to go outside so he could know what was going on, but from where he was watching, the situation looked far too fragile to handle any sort of interference. Nevertheless, he hated seeing his friend like this, he wanted to do something to help.
"You plan on joining the hug-a-thon out there, or are you good with the sappy staring?"
Dean startled at the unexpected voice, although he hid most of his surprise fairly well. He searched the diner for signs of life (because this diner was not exactly the respectable sort and, given the choice, majority of the people opted to head for some place more decent), and his eyes landed on a boy in a corner booth. He had dark blonde hair and wore a devilish smirk on his face. On the table in front of him was a towering stack of pancakes that nearly measured to the height of his head, plus the amount of syrup on them was so glisteningly thick that even Dean's stomach churned a little in unease.
"I'm not sappy." he retorted.
The boy made a dismissive pfft sound. "Keep telling yourself that." he said.
Dean swiveled in his chair so he could face him directly. "How'd you get in anyway? I didn't see or hear the door open." he suspiciously noted.
"I have special privileges." said the boy, shrugging like he could not care less what Dean thought of him, and at the same time he was teasingly arrogant.
Given the vague answer, Dean narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. The boy noticed his stubbornness and was forced to set down a forkful of sickeningly sweet pancakes. "If you must know, I came in through the kitchen." he replied.
"You know the people who work here or you just snuck in for free food?" asked Dean.
"Hey, pouty-lips, do I look like a riff-raff to you?" commented the boy, gesturing at himself.
"Depends. You want me to answer?" said Dean.
For a moment, it seemed as if the boy was affronted, yet his smile returned and he released a hearty chuckle. "Plucky. I like that." he said. He then swallowed a chunk of his pancakes and used the fork to point at the window. "So, bros of yours?" he inquired.
Dean was reluctant to answer. He was not stupid; he knew the dangers of conversing with someone he had never met, particularly if that meant revealing information - no matter how scarce - about people who were close to him. "Just the one. Other's a friend." he curtly answered.
The boy took another hefty bite from his pancakes and appeared to consider the taste. "Got a bro here too." he said.
Seeing how he could keep the boy talking about his family instead, Dean asked, "Younger or older?"
There was a huff from the boy, albeit it was unclear whether it was because of derision or amusement. "Let's just say he's waaaay older than you." he said. He put another slice into his mouth and chewed noisily. "I swear, the guy's a pain in the butt-cheeks sometimes." he added.
At that, Dean figured he must be referring to cashier-guy, A.K.A. waiter-guy. "You're tellin' me." he commented.
"Getting messed up in someone else's business, causing trouble even if he 'didn't mean to'," the boy rambled.
"Don't forget dragging you down with him." offered Dean, because if there was a topic he could relate to the most, it would have to be dealing with brothers.
"Especially that!" the boy agreed as he sat a bit straighter in his seat. Afterward, he slumped back down again and made a half-smile. "But he's a lovable dork, so it's cool." he said.
Dean was unable to prevent himself from sparing his own brother a glance. Sam may be annoying and whiny at times, but he was still his brother and he would always be one of the most important people in his life, no matter how many instances he complained about his sissy nature, or teased him every moment he could.
He snapped out of his thoughts when he saw the boy take out four packets of Pop Rocks from his pocket and began to season his pancakes with them. "Should you really be eating all of that?" Dean asked warily. He admired the guy's bravery, but there was such a thing as being recklessly stupid.
"Not like I have 'parental supervision' to worry about." said the boy, air-quoting. "My dad's in charge of making me behave, but since he's gone for a while, it's pranks and coma-inducing sugar rushes 24/7." he said gleefully.
Dean did not know how to react to that. All his life, Dean had been taught to obey his dad's instructions, especially when he was not around, or else something bad might happen and it would be his fault. To see a person in a similar position as he was and to realize that they chose to goof off instead unsettled a fragment of his mind.
"Yo, pouty-lips, you celebrating Halloween, right?" the boy spoke up, catching Dean unaware.
"I guess - and shut up, I don't pout!" defended Dean.
The boy blatantly ignored his protest as he licked his fingers clean of the syrup that had somehow gotten there. "Hastings Street is a goldmine for trick-or-treating! The decorations at their houses look like the crap of crap - I mean it, they're so lame, you'll cry - but that's just 'cuz they spend all their money on a mother-load of candies. But stay the hell outta Jordan Street; it's full of stingy, heartless bastards who…" He shuddered. "…actually care about your health." he explained disdainfully.
"Why are you even telling me this?" asked Dean, an eyebrow raised. He hardly knew the guy and already he was being treated as if they were pals who could swap notes on candy pointers. On normal circumstances, he would appreciate the gesture, yet normalcy never came that much to his life.
"Just helpful advice from your friendly neighborhood random guy." chirped the boy, flashing Dean a grin and a casual salute. Then, his mirth dissipated and the happy-go-lucky shine in his eyes drained out of his features at a pace quicker than water slipping through the drain. "And make sure the kids have fun, okay?" he said seriously, jerking his head to the direction of the playground where Sam and Conner were.
Understanding reached Dean; the boy was suggesting something that might help cheer Conner up, and Dean was grateful for that. Apparently, Conner's sadness was so infectious that everybody wanted to make him feel better, even total strangers.
"Yeah, sure." replied Dean and the unmentioned 'Thanks' hung visibly in the air between them. The boy nodded in response.
The door to the kitchen swung open and cashier/waiter-guy stepped out carrying a bulky, grease-stained paper bag that smelled of warm buns and thick ketchup.
"Here's your take-out." he muttered, letting the paper bag plop heavily and gracelessly onto the counter next to Dean. And in his typical cheerless manner, he turned his back to him and slinked back into the kitchen, likely never to be heard from again within a short period of time.
Now that his take-out was in his possession, Dean had no real other reason to stick around the diner any longer. "Guess I'll see ya around." he said to the boy as he slipped off the stool.
"Maybe you will, maybe you won't." the boy vaguely commented.
Dean wanted to ask what he meant by that, but the boy was too engrossed with his pancakes by now to notice him, and his level of intensity was one Dean was well acquainted with. If he had a good, luscious slice of apple pie, he would be so immersed in the mere act of eating it to pay attention to anything else, too.
He let the boy be and went outside to collect his brother and his grief-stricken friend.
12:39 PM
Gabriel watched as Dean and Sam Winchester took his brother, Castiel, away, probably back to their dingy motel room two blocks over. At the sight of their retreating forms, Gabriel's customarily eager appetite waned and he pushed his pancakes away.
It pained Gabriel to see him like this, but he knew he cannot interfere, cannot talk to Castiel again lest his identity be uncovered; that one instance had been an extreme risk already. Of course, he could simply send Castiel back to the past, he had more than enough juice to carry that out. But this - everything that had happened to Castiel so far - was an opportunity so rare that he dared not to cut it so short. If Castiel had to return to his time, he would have to do it through the rescue squad who will eventually (or hopefully) reclaim him.
Gabriel had been keeping an eye on his brother the nanosecond his Grace dipped into this timeline. From that first encounter, Gabriel knew that this was not his brother of the present, that he had been plucked from the distant past somehow.
Castiel's unfortunate trip had been an accident, that much he could tell. His journey was comparable to a skipping stone hurled mercilessly into the ocean: the farther he got from his point of origin, the more times he skimmed and bounced off the water's surface. In this case, the water referred to the flow of time, and every instant his brother fleetingly hit it, he would find himself in a different period in history, inching closer to the future. However, the process was erratic and much too fast for a fledgling's control and comprehension. At best, Castiel could merely had been vaguely aware of a couple of time-shifts; other than that, he had no sense of navigation and everything went past him in near-oblivion.
Before long, it was possible that the vortex of time began to overwhelm him. The forces of reality ripped through Castiel's tender light and Grace like paper going through a shredder because his defenses against different timelines were not fully developed yet. With every second that sped by him, a bit of his powers were stripped away in the process, and if he had not found a vessel to contain his fraying self, Castiel would have disintegrated.
To be honest, Gabriel was relieved that his brother managed to acquire a vessel. Not only was it forbidden for fledglings to possess a mortal, it was also practically impossible for them to have enough power to subdue the consciousness of their host so that they may gain control of the body. So for Castiel to walk around in a vessel was impressive, especially since he was running low on Grace.
Gabriel learned everything he needed to know about the vessel when he cloaked the signature of his Grace, morphed his body into a child, and talked to Castiel in that grocery store. The kid's name was Jimmy Novak, aged seven, an only-child thus far. He was plucked out of the year 1982 during one of Castiel's time-dips and, consequentially went 'missing' for a while.
If Castiel was considered lucky when he landed a vessel, then he absolutely won the jackpot when his vessel was actually in his designated bloodline. It was a one-in-a-quintillion chance and Gabriel wondered if he realized exactly how fortunate he really was. He even wondered if their Father was still watching over them; this cannot be pure coincidence.
From their brief conversation in the grocery, Gabriel could hear the echoes and picture the remnants of Castiel's terror before plunging into poor Jimmy's body:
'Please! Please… someone help me! I'm falling!'
Jimmy tore his head away from his math homework and stared wildly at the room, searching for the panicked voice… the voice he could understand, begging for help.
'Who are you?Where are you?'
'I'm falling! I don't want to fall! Don't let me fall!'
'I won't. I promise I'll get help! Where are you?'
'I'm falling…I'm falling! Help me please!'
'Yes! Yes, I'll help you! Tell me where you are!'
Those were the last words little Jimmy Novak uttered before a whooshing light entered him, and took him away unintentionally, because Castiel was incapable to stop until he reached 1989. The vessel merely slowed him down a tad. That single 'yes' had been strong enough to bond the two of them in spite of the chaotic time-travel.
Gabriel had been in Belgium when Castiel penetrated this point of time; the sole reason he returned to North America was to make sure his brother was safe. Even now, he was doing his best to keep him from being involved in any more mishaps.
From Day 1, he had been monitoring Castiel's every move (and no, that did not make him overprotective). With his depleted Grace, Castiel needed to eat and sleep in order to function; thankfully, the Winchesters took decent care of him, more or less. Gabriel silently congratulated them for the birthday thing, and that incident with the bra had been hilarious!
Regardless of the fun times his brother was having, his epic time-travel was not without bigger consequences. The universe had been… 'rumbling' for some reason, as if there was a disturbance in the fabric of creation.
At first, Gabriel dismissed the notion that the 'rumbling' was related to Castiel. As adorable as he was, he did not appear to be the type who will be crucial in manipulating the turn of major events one day. Gabriel searched the world for any probable causes of the 'rumbling,' but aside from the occasional demon cult prancing around in their petty social circle, there was nothing new, nothing dramatic, nothing out-of-the-ordinary from an angel's perspective… except Castiel's arrival from the past.
What really convinced him it was Castiel were the birds - not regular birds; angels masquerading as birds. The seemingly random attack on Castiel on that rooftop a few days ago had technically been an attempt to drag him to the Heaven-of-this-time. Gabriel doubted they simply wished to return Castiel to his proper time. These days, security tightened upstairs and the angels acted like white blood cells wanting to eradicate every trace of whatever they believed to be unwanted, unnecessary, or unauthorized in their ranks, and Castiel fell into at least one of those categories. At least the angels still under Heaven's command had been banned to take vessels, which was a weird law that was ongoing since the last couple of centuries.
Nonetheless, Gabriel had been keeping other angels at bay ever since, all the while being careful to cover his tracks. They could not hear the 'rumbling,' they did not know how great the situation truly was. The only angels he would let near Castiel were those from his original timeline, because then Gabriel would be certain that they will take him home.
For now, Gabriel will keep Castiel hidden and will carry out (reluctant) baby-sitting duty. Back when he had still been in Heaven, he noticed that Castiel was always so tense, so scared to speak up for himself. He was like that one quiet kid in class who had a tiny corner all to himself and only two major emotions: unnaturally innocent and holy-crap-what's-up-with-you serious. Gabriel wanted him to have fun, to live a life beyond the constraints of Heaven, and he could achieve that on Earth.
After all, the universe had always been on the verge of collapse in one form or another. What harm could playing a bit of angel-hooky ever bring?
6:23 PM
"Conner… you okay?" Dean asked hesitantly.
Conner looked up from where he was already settling into bed, albeit his bed happened to be the couch. He did not eat dinner; he simply went straight to the couch and curled up there.
"Yes, I'm fine." he said quietly, not making eye contact.
"You don't sound fine." commented Dean. When Conner did not say anything else, Dean sighed and sat down beside him. "Listen, uhm, Sammy told me that you're homesick and, well… I get it. It's okay. We'll make this right." said Dean as he rubbed the back of his neck. He had never been good with all this sentimental crap. He had to summon enough manliness to make himself sound strong, but he also had to squeeze out the right amount of gentleness to be to let Conner know that he truly cared about his situation.
"We still got a burger left over. It's in the fridge if you want it." said Dean in an effort to cheer Conner up. Ever since they left the diner, misery radiated off Conner like chill from a block of ice. That alone told Dean how much Conner missed his home and family.
Conner reached for his orange monkey plushie and hugged it to his chest. For a moment, Dean thought that his friend was using the toy as a shield against his efforts to communicate to him. "Perhaps tomorrow." muttered Conner.
"It's just there if you get hungry. I told Sam not to touch it since it's yours; you know how much of a pig he is." joked Dean.
"I don't mind if he eats it." said Conner.
Dean knew someone was really upset when they refused their favorite food, and from Conner's reaction this morning, burgers were definitely his favorite. "There's room for one more in my bed tonight… Just an offer you might be interested in." he said. He was willing to share his bed again if that meant making Conner feel less lonely.
However, Conner shook his head and drew the blankets and his orange monkey closer to him. "I wish to be alone tonight." he said, his voice quivering.
"Conner - " Dean began, shocked.
Conner covered himself up with his blanket and curled into a tight ball underneath. "Please leave me alone." he whimpered, and his voice betrayed that he was on the brink of tears.
Unwillingly, Dean backed off and hoped that his friend will feel better in the morning.
1:14 AM
With a shiver, Dean roused from his slumber to discover that the room was dark because the sun was still absent. He glanced at the clock and groggily deciphered that it was one in the morning, much too early to be awake and he was a bit irritated at the fact that a good night's sleep was officially ruined.
Once his mind cleared, Dean peered through the darkness of the room to seek out what woke him. He half-expected Sam standing at the edge of his bed, ready to bug him about something silly, but Dean noticed that his brother's huddled form was visible on the other bed. His eyes adjusted to the gloom afterward and he saw that there was nothing else amiss or peculiar in the room.
Then, he thought it might be Conner trying to get into his bed, possibly having had changed his mind and in want of reassuring company. Yet Dean's suspicion was proven wrong upon realizing that he was the bed's sole occupant. As Dean's grew more awake and more curious, his mind was fully functional now and it occurred to him that it was cold. Luckily, it was not the eerie kind; rather, it felt more natural, like someone had left the window open which allowed the nightly coolness of autumn to creep inside.
Dean reached for the knife under his pillow and jumped out of bed.
The windows in the bedroom were all closed; that left the ones in the living room, plus the door. Had someone gotten in? What about Conner? If an intruder indeed managed to sneak in, he was the one who would be in the most danger. But what if dad finally came back? No, it cannot be him; he strictly said that he will return in a week and not a day less. Besides, he would never leave a window or the door open for this long.
He sneaked into the living room, knife in hand, and prepared himself for anything. It was utterly silent when he got there; no sound of shifting, creaking, or breathing, except his own. Dean stood still for more than a minute but nothing moved in the slightest either. As he scanned the area, he discovered two things that made his heart stop:
The first was that the couch was empty.
The second was that the front door was left ajar.
A bad feeling welled up in Dean's core at the sight in front of him. Had Conner been taken? No, Dean distinctly remembered locking everything and applying all the necessary precautions before he went to sleep. The door could only then be opened from the inside. Did Conner go outside on his own? If so, why would he even think of doing that? Outside was freezing and dark and even sort of terrifying; any person who stepped out at this hour without a good reason - and it had to be a really serious one - was regarded to be insane.
Unless… Unless they actually do have a purpose in mind, a hugely important one, so important that any person would dare to become reckless… a purpose like finding their family.
Dean bolted out the door and strived to contain his mishmash of pleas and curses into an inaudible whisper. There was no way Conner was this stupid. There was no way he would simply get up in the middle of the night and start hitting the streets in a desperate search for his family, in his borrowed pajamas, barefoot, and totally without supplies.
"Conner?" hissed Dean under his breath. He hoped that his friend was still within the motel grounds, and that he had not been too late. A few of the lampposts had yet to turn off and Dean was grateful for the light. Though it was a meager amount, it sufficed in helping him navigate the perimeter and illuminating the nooks and crannies Conner might be in.
His search went on for roughly ten minutes, and just when Dean was ready to wake Sam for back-up, he saw a moving shadow on the ground. In front of him, there was nothing. Dean's gaze spread out madly until, finally, he pinpointed the source being on the rooftop of the motel building.
It was Conner… and he was standing alarmingly close to the ledge.
"Holy crap, Conner!" Dean could not have cared less if the whole neighborhood heard him. He raced up the stairs that led to the roof with such urgency that he feared the steps might shatter under all the force he was exerting on them.
The door at the top of the stairs was left slightly open, just like the door to their motel room, and Dean felt as if he was running out of time again, that the chance of him being able to remedy the situation was getting slimmer and slimmer. He barreled through the threshold and ran halfway over to his friend. Dean skidded to a halt because, now that he was here, he did not know what to expect, did not know what to do, but overall he was scared, and taking another step forward might make the reality of his fears more apparent.
"Get away from there! Conner!" yelled Dean. Conner remained motionless, showing no signs that he had heard him. "Dude, come on, this isn't funny. You could get hurt." said Dean as worry twisted his guts.
"Have to… go home…" murmured Conner distantly.
Putting his knife in his back pocket, Dean dared to approach him slowly. "You will, Conner; I promise you'll get there. Just step back, alright?" he said.
"I want… to go home now…" said Conner. A formidable wind picked up and Conner swayed along to the current with a resistance no better than that of a plant. The sight compelled Dean to take his final steps to the ledge. "I… don't belong… here…" Conner mumbled.
Dean took a closer look at him, albeit he wanted to avoid physical contact because there was no telling what something so slight can trigger. He seriously cannot afford a single risk; his friend was standing at the edge of a building and might do something unforgivably stupid at any given second.
Staring up at his face, despite the dim light, Dean noticed the hazy expression on Conner, as if he was half-asleep… or dreaming. His eyes were lidded, dull, and blank. Suddenly, the realization that Conner was sleepwalking hit Dean like a sixteen-wheeler truck. He saw this before with Sam once, a few nights after they narrowly escaped a group of heavily armed muggers. Dad explained that Sam's sleepwalking had to do with the trauma, or basically from a surge of strong negative emotions. The part of 'strong negative emotions' definitely applied to Conner at the moment.
"Conner, it's me, Dean. Your friend, Dean. And right now, you do belong here. Me and Sam don't want you going anywhere for a while." said Dean, calm and comforting.
He learned that, whenever someone was sleepwalking, they were either unaware of their environment or their senses were still partially working. In the case of the latter, there was a chance that they could see things, hear things, respond. If Dean had to talk to him in this state, he did not want Conner to hear that he was freaking out.
"I don't… belong… Time is… wrong…" said Conner in a detached tone.
"'Time is wrong'? What do you mean it's wrong?" asked Dean. He hoped that this was merely a delusion induced by his sleepwalking.
Conner blinked gradually, as if he was falling asleep, or further into it. "Don't belong… Have to… go home… fix it…" he muttered.
"Whatever it is, I'll help you sort it out. Just… please get away from the ledge." begged Dean. This was insane; Conner was not making any sense and it was getting harder for Dean to suppress his panic.
"Powers… fading… Have to fly… fly home now…" Conner dragged his foot an inch forward so that his toes were hovering in the air.
"Conner, no! Don't do anything stupid!" exclaimed Dean.
"I must fly… home…" said Conner in his daze. He dragged his other foot to the edge.
"Conner," warned Dean.
"Fly…" He put his left foot in front of him where there was nothing but space to land on… and Conner plummeted off the ledge.
"CONNER!"
Dean lunged, pushing his body and extending his arms as far as they could go. There was a fleeting heartbeat when his fingers only touched the cold air and his brain screamed at him in pure horror. Then he felt he was clutching onto something, something solid and thin. It turned out to be Conner's wrist.
Dean stared down and was utterly, incredibly relieved to find that he had a hold of his friend. Conner was dangling in the air like unresponsive bait waiting to be consumed and Dean, panting, was getting his mind wrapped around the thought that Conner could have died tonight. If he had not gone out to investigate, Conner would have stepped off the building without anyone to stop him. If his reaction had been just a single second late, Conner would have fallen freely until he smacked into concrete.
"I gotcha, buddy. I gotcha." said Dean, his voice trembling. As the feeling of terror washed out of him, he focused all his energy into hauling Conner back up onto the roof. When that was accomplished, he put his friend on the ground and checked to see if he was alright.
"Conner?" Dean shook him by the shoulder carefully and there was no reaction. He tried again with more force. "Conner?"
There was a whimper. A few seconds later, Conner peeled his eyes open. Dean thought that the danger was over at last with Conner awake. Unfortunately, Conner's next words crumpled Dean's optimism:
"Have to get to… Heaven…"
He was still sleepwalking. After almost falling to his death, he was still sleepwalking! "No, Conner, not Heaven! Not. Heaven! You're not going there 'cuz you're not dead. And you're not gonna kill yourself just so you can get in!" Dean practically screamed at his friend's face.
Conner continued to stare dreamily ahead at the night sky, as if Dean's head was not blocking his view of the stars at all. "Almost there… need to fly…" he whispered.
"Damn it, Conner - Wake up! Wake up! Snap the hell out of it!" shouted Dean. He was shaking Conner hard now, because if he did not do anything else, there was nothing to stop the tears from spilling out of his eyes. Dean desperately wanted this to end already; he was scared and confused beyond reason, although most of all he wanted Conner to wake up so he would not be alone anymore.
Finally, Conner winced and moaned at the harsh treatment he was receiving. Dean let him go when his eyes opened and, this time, they were clear and conscious. "…'ean?" he croaked softly.
"Yeah… Yeah, it's me." Dean breathed out. An enormous grin of relief was spreading across his face and he nearly leaned down to hug Conner.
Conner looked around them, bewilderment making his brow crinkle. "Where are we?" he asked hoarsely.
"On the roof." said Dean.
"Why?"
Dean swallowed the bile and uneasiness that were bubbling up his throat. "We were… We're trying to set up a prank for the janitors in the morning. Drop old fruit on them or something. I thought it would make you feel better." It was one of the lamest lies he had ever come up with, but his brain was still recovering from the shock of the last ten minutes and even the act of thinking straight was a challenge. He also hoped that Conner was disoriented enough not to ask too many questions or regard Dean's answer warily. "But we haven't done much yet since you hit your head on that satellite." added Dean, jerking a thumb over to the large dish by the side.
"I hit my head?" repeated Conner.
"Duh. Why do you think you don't remember being up here?" said Dean, trying to put on a fake air of confidence.
Conner attempted to sit up, though he ended up doing a mere backward crawl. "Where's Sam?" he inquired.
"He's too much of a wimp to stay up this late." lied Dean. "Let's head back. This plan's a bust anyway." he said before Conner could form any more questions.
Gingerly, Dean wrapped Conner's left arm around his shoulder, although that got a pained groan out of him. "My arm hurts." he grunted.
Dean noted that that was the arm he grabbed onto when Conner fell; he must have torn a muscle or something in the process. "You fell on it when you crashed into that satellite, you sissy." commented Dean as he switched to Conner's right arm. He placed his hand on Conner's hip and once he deemed their legs steady enough, he lead them to the stairs.
"I'm tired." Conner murmured.
"Don't worry. There's still room for you in my bed." said Dean. He was not leaving Conner alone again tonight.
TBC
Reviews are highly appreciated. They act as my caffeine, especially since it's one in the morning right now while I'm typing this.
Hopefully, things made some sort of sense here. I've been fighting off sleep for a while already so some stuff might be (though I hope not) inconsistent. I vowed not to go to bed until I finish this chapter.