A/N: I got the idea for this AU through several graphics of Castiel and the autistic man's heaven from The Man Who Would be King (6x20). In this AU Castiel is human and the boys aren't hunters, supernatural beings don't exist. Cas and Dean are 13, Sam is 9. Any and all medical facts are either made up or from medical websites so please take it easy on me, this fic is mostly about the boys anyway and the medical facts are there for dramatization, if anything. There should be about 20 chapters if I follow my plot to a T, and I have 3 pre-written so I hope to update fairly frequently. Please enjoy.
Warnings: cancer, character death, swearing, mentions of religion and beliefs (very brief), abandonment.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.
Summary: While visiting his brother in the hospital, Dean Winchester meets a sick boy named Castiel. Through hospital pranks, late night movie marathons and the harsh hand of reality the trio become good friends, just in time for one of them to reveal a fatal secret.
My Kingdom Come by intrajanelle
Chapter 1:
Castiel's favorite part of the hospital is the Autistic Research wing. On Tuesday afternoons when he's free from the poking and prodding of his numerous doctors he sneaks up the stairs while the nurse's at the station are busy collecting their third cups of coffee. He ghosts his way through the halls, his white robes and even whiter skin blending into his surroundings. The only thing that stands out is his unruly brown hair that hangs low over his eyes. He pushes it back with his fingers and slides into a chair in the visitor center.
Every Tuesday afternoon Charlie McDonald, born 1953, will sit across from him and spend the majority of his time staring out the window at the blue sky and puffy white clouds floating above the Boston harbor.
"I'm Charlie McDonald, born 1953," the man says once he notices Castiel sitting across from him.
"Castiel," Cas says back, tucking his hands under his legs and staring at the peaceful way Charlie's eyes seem to stare past him as he speaks.
"Like the angel," Charlie says. He says the same thing every week. An introduction, "like the angel" and then he turns to stare out the window again.
Every week Castiel asks him one question. "What are you looking at?"
Charlie doesn't answer him until the last week of February when the harbor is frozen and snowflakes twirl from ashen clouds.
"What are you looking at?" Cas says, not expecting an answer. He's getting to his feet, thirty minutes later, preparing to sneak downstairs to his room before the nurses can make a fuss, when Charlie clears his throat.
"My kite," the man says, without looking away from the window.
Cas spares a glance outside, then one more back at Charlie and he nods solemnly, before heading back to his room.
Its later that week, a Friday, when Cas catches his first glance of Dean Winchester.
Cas is wandering his floor, nibbling on a piece of stale toast that had been on his breakfast tray. He hadn't been hungry but the toast made his stomach hurt less and it felt good to hold something in his hands, so he chewed it slowly. He ambles around a corner, expecting to see the morning nurses trading shifts with the afternoon nurses, or perhaps Mr. Gabriel the janitor heading down the hall to fix the toilet in room 3004-when he hears a shout.
The ward is often so quiet that Cas can hear his slippers sliding along the linoleum tiles but there seems to be someone who this silence bothers enough for them to interrupt it.
There is more shouting, a garbled and indistinct scream that is immediately followed by a choked sob and Cas follows the sound to the end of the hall. A large man with a full beard and scruffy dark hair is leaning over a boy Cas' age, maybe 13-14, pulling him into a hug. The boy is the one shouting, he's pushing against the man, struggling but not out of panic or anger, its desperation.
The boy's hair is slicked back from his face, his cheeks are stained with sluggish tears and his skin is entirely red as if he has a fever.
"No, no, no," Cas hears the boy say, this time his words more coherent as he ceases struggling against the older man and falls into his chest.
"Dean," the older man says, "Dean I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
But the boy is quiet now except for the sobs that wrack his thin frame as he clings to the man.
Cas begins to get the distinct feeling that he is witnessing something private and he scoots back down the hall silently, watching the pair from around the corner before turning in the direction of his room.
"Castiel," a stern voice says as he walks straight into a robust stomach and practically falls backwards.
"Doctor Zachariah," Cas says, stammering as he drops the last of his toast on the floor between them. "I was just going back, I promise."
"See that you do, we have an appointment in ten minutes. I want to take some blood samples. Tell me you've eaten more than that," the doctor says, pointing to the crust on the floor.
"Oh, yes, I ate, Doctor Zachariah," Cas says simply, itching to leave before the doctor can glean the truth from him.
Zachariah sighs and kneels in front of Cas, his eyes suddenly in line with the boys. Cas is short for his age, barely 4 and a half feet and as thin as a scarecrow. The doctor places a hand on the boys bone-thin shoulder and squeezes.
"You can call me Uncle Zach, Castiel, we've talked about this," Zachariah says, large eyes curved into a frown. "Your father would like that."
"Yes Doc-Uncle," Cas says, licking his lips.
Its a long moment before Zachariah removes his hand from Cas' shoulder and stands to stride down the hall. Cas is still for a further moment mulling over the words 'your father would like that' before he shakes his head, hair spilling over his eyes as he walks purposefully to his room. He isn't calm again until he's settled on his cot, hiding his uneaten breakfast under his mattress before Zachariah can come in and see he hasn't eaten for the fourth day in a row.
The weekend is uneventful, as it usually is in the east wing of Children's Hospital.
The night-shift nurse sneaks Cas a cheeseburger on Friday evening and he eats it in nibbles over the next two days, sneaking it underneath his robe as he scours the hospital for something to do. The TV in the playroom is broken, white and black dots fizzing across the screen whenever he turns it on, and all the board games are designed for more than one player. Castiel finds this a little unfair. He can't understand why board-game makers weren't prepared for their games to be played by a sick boy, all alone on a Saturday afternoon. It isn't that preposterous of a scenario, really.
On Sunday Castiel learns that there is a new kid at the end of the hall. His name is Sam.
Cas knows this because he sees his favorite nurse, Meg, start her afternoon rounds with two lunch trays instead of just one; and when he asks her who the second one is for she replies, "Samuel," with a smile before heading toward the open door at the end of the hall.
"Jealous Castiel?" Meg asks a moment later when she's setting Cas' tray at the end of his bed.
"Huh?" Cas asks in response, quirking his head to the side in confusion.
"Of sharing the attention," Meg says, ruffling Cas' hair before yanking the cover off his lunch tray. "You've never had another kid on this floor, always had everyone's attention to yourself."
Cas shrugs, his stomach turning slightly at the sight of the gravy on his plate. He doesn't think he'll ever be hungry enough to stomach something other than a cheeseburger for the rest of his life. "I think it might be interesting," Cas says.
"Interesting," Meg huffs, placing her hands on her hips, "any other kid might say 'fun' or 'cool', but interesting, huh? Y'know it would be interesting if you finished your mashed potatoes this time, instead of hiding them under your mattress when Zachariah comes around."
Meg spares him one more shake of her head before collecting the cover of his tray and his laundry and heading down the hall.
Cas tries to imagine what Sam looks like as he hides his uneaten chicken dinner in the top drawer of his nightstand.
Its Monday when things begin to get interesting. The morning passes by without anything out of the ordinary and the hours stretch into the afternoon. Meg brings Cas lunch, regales him for switching hiding spots and tells him that if isn't going to eat-to throw his tray in the trash. Eventually, Cas gets bored staring out the window at the snow that falls in a thick curtain over the city and goes in search of something to do before his afternoon appointment with Zachariah.
He finds himself standing beside the nurses station. The ward is shaped in a lazy 'L' with the playroom at the end of the hall on his side of the 'L', the nurses station centered at the 'L's' axis and Sam's room on the other end, tucked at the very tip of the 'L' closest to the ward's exit. Castiel stands beside the nurses's station, his dark hair poking just over the top of the counter, enough so that after a moment one of the nurses peeks down at him and asks, "Sweetie? Are you alright?"
Cas looks up at her but doesn't answer. Meg looks over at both of them from where she's sitting at her desk and says, "Leave him, he's just mustering the courage to introduce himself to our new guest."
The other nurse nods uncertainly before sliding down into her chair and Cas stands, rooted in place for another moment before slowly inching his way down the corridor. The door at the end of the hall, Sam's door, is open, and there's someone inside whispering. The voice is so low and indistinct that Cas thinks it could someone on television, if only there were televisions in the rooms of this ward. But Cas doesn't have one and he doesn't think Sam has one and Cas is feet from the open door before the voice becomes steadily louder. Its like someone has their thumb stuck on the 'volume +' button only Cas knows its not a TV for certain this time.
He knows that voice.
Cas is standing in front of the door-almost, his foot is in front of the door really, the rest of him is still in the hall frightened that this entire venture has been a terrible terrible mistake-when a figure launches itself from the room and tackles Cas to the ground.
"Sorry, man, Jesus fucking Christ are you okay?"
There's a hand reaching down for him but Cas is still reeling from being knocked to the floor, his chest practically bursts from the breathing. He hasn't had such excitement in a long time. He thinks he sees three hands now, instead of one, reaching for him, so he shakes his head to clear his vision and tries to let his eyes settle on the face of his attacker.
"Dean."
"Sorry?" Dean asks, leaning forward, eyes wrinkling. "Speak up, man, you okay?"
Dean's eyes wander to the nurses station as if he plans on calling for help.
"Yeah, I'm fine, fine," Cas says finally grasping Dean's hand and allowing himself to be pulled up. He feels strange for a moment once he's standing, as if he should be the one doing the pulling, as if Dean should be the one he's picking up from the ground. It would make a better first impression, certainly.
Dean puts a hand on Cas' shoulder to steady him. "Listen, man, you sure you're okay? I was running pretty damn fast and no offense but you're kind of a light-weight, nothing's broke?"
Cas looks down at himself, a little rumpled maybe but there aren't any bones sticking out. "I'm okay. Uh- You shouldn't use the Lord's name in vain."
Dean kind of laughs then and Cas can't figure why but he likes the sound of it. Its much better than those choked sobs he made the first time Cas saw him.
"Dean?" a small voice says from inside the room and Cas looks past Dean to see, who must be, Samuel.
He's a slight, pale thing. He looks nothing like Dean with his long, scraggly hair and his pitched nose and his wide eyes. Dean is all edges and barbs as if there's a solid wall between him and everything else, Sam is softer, and Dean's shoulders soften when he turns to look at him. Like Sam's the only person who can really see him.
"Sam, you shouldn't be out of bed," Dean says, brushing away from Cas. He's at Sam's side in an instant.
Cas realizes then how Sam is limping, how weak he seems just standing by the doorway, his limbs slack and tired and useless.
Dean helps him back to bed, lifting him up, and Sam seems embarrassed but doesn't say anything about it. As if he's used to Dean's coddling.
"I thought you were gonna get yourself lunch? You need to eat," Sam says, poking Dean's shoulder. "You're losing muscle dude, you're a shrimp."
And Cas wonders if maybe he has it wrong. Maybe the coddling isn't as one-sided as he first imagined.
"Says the shrimp," Dean chuckles. It doesn't sound very genuine, in fact Dean's face is more pinched than Cas imagines any 13 year olds face should be. "I was gonna, but I ran-literally-into this dude. Name's- sorry, I didn't catch your name?"
"Castiel," Cas says before he can help it. "Cas."
"Huh, weird name. I'm Dean, this is Sammy," Dean says placing a hand on Sam's arm.
Sam whacks it away. "I can introduce myself. It's Sam."
Cas nods and for an awkward moment he doesn't know what to do next. He's still standing in the doorway, hands twitching. He hasn't held a conversation with someone his age in a long time and he doesn't know what to say to keep it going. He doesn't want to leave. He doesn't want this chance to slip through his fingers.
"You a patient here Cas?" Dean asks, gesturing to his blue robes.
Cas is startled for a moment, startled that the decision has been taken out of his hands. Cas isn't good at conversations, but Dean seems to be.
"Yes, I'm right down the hall. I- uh, I noticed you. I noticed you came earlier and I wanted to say hi."
"There aren't many other patients," Sam says before Dean can jump in. "You want to be friends, Castiel?"
He says Castiel and Cas can't remember the last time someone said his name so comfortably. It doesn't sound like when Zachariah says it, the syllables hard and bitter on his tongue, like its a curse. He doesn't say it like Meg says it, as a joke, on the edge of a laugh. He says it like his name means something important.
Castiel wants to nod adamantly, to take Sam's hand and shake it, and Dean's too for good measure, and promise he'll be the best friend Sam could ask for. He hasn't had a friend in a long, long time, not really, if Meg wasn't counted.
In his defense Cas does begin to nod, the 'Yes, yes please' is on the tip of his tongue when Zachariah's hand finds his shoulder.
"Excuse me, I have to borrow Castiel for his check-up," Zachariah says, and Cas knows he's smiling that stupid plastic smile of his, because Zachariah hates children more than Meg hates cleaning the food out of Cas' hiding places.
"Bye Cas!" Dean says and Sam's saying, "Come by again soon," as Zachariah drags the door shut behind them.
That afternoon Zachariah sits Cas down and tells him he has six months to live.
Cas isn't listening, he's imagining kites and cheeseburgers and Winchesters and trying to determine how 'soon' could be implied from 'come by again soon'.
I still haven't decided who's going to live and die in this fic. Reviews may help sway me.
I hope you enjoyed the first chapter and please review! :)