Title: Valley 6 Drive In Movie Theater
Author: Arisprite
Summary: Wherein, Dean and Castiel have been hunting together while Sam finally finishes his degree. All is fine until Sam wakes in the middle of the night to a panicked Cas, telling him Dean went on a hunting trip, and he hasn't been home in a few days.
A/N: Inspired by a prompt on tumblr by destiellockedin221b, and my feelings on the Valley 6 Drive In Theater being closed for good. This is an actual place (well, it used to be). My family would drive out here at least once a summer, and watch the double feature of whatever was showing. We'd take treats and buy sodas from the stand, and invariably, I'd fall asleep through the second movie, curled in my blankets on camp chairs and the bench seats from the minivan. It was a wonderful time, and I'm sad that it comes to and end with the leveling of this place.
Chapter One
Sam's apartment door was painted neatly, Castiel distantly noticed. The trim was elegant, and the knob was a shiney metal in the dim hallway light. The apartment interior was quiet: understandable, as it was sometime in the middle of the night. Castiel had never really gotten into the habit of keeping track of human hours, nor of sleeping during them.
Pound, pound, pound
Castiel knocked again, quick and urgent, willing the doorknob to turn. He was resisting the urge to yell through the door, less because of the neighbors that would be disturbed by the actions, and more because it would definitely aggravate his throat, and he didn't want to set off another coughing fit.
Pound, pound pound
Finally, Castiel picked up muffled thumping, a shuffling inside that was the tired version of Sam's familiar walk. They paused in front of the door, and then pulled it open in a rush.
"Cas?" Sam stood there, looking sleep mussed, and tired, but healthy, which made Castiel glad.
Another of the doors in the hall opened, one of Sam's neighbors, and a man's head poked out.
"Sam, everything okay?" He asked, and Castiel narrowed his eyes at him. Sam blinked, and waved a hand.
"Yeah, Mike, he's a friend. Sorry, go back to sleep."
Mike grumbled, and pulled his door shut. Castiel turned back to Sam, who was looking suddenly alert and worried, now that the prying eyes were off him.
"Come inside." Sam said, and Castiel followed him into his apartment. It was dark still, but Castiel could see a clean kitchen, and a squishy looking couch.
Sam pulled out two kitchen chairs, and sat him down, which Castiel was grateful for. He had yet to fully recover.
"Cas, what's the matter? Where's Dean?" Sam said, urgency in his tone. "Is he okay?"
"I don't know." He said, his voice rougher than usual (and not just from his illness). "He went on a hunting trip, and I haven't heard from him in a few days."
It was nearly a week ago now, that Dean got the call. Castiel had been huddled on the couch in the bunker, coughing into a tissue and attempting to pay attention to the movie Dean had put in. When the phone rang, Dean had waved off his offer to pause it, saying he'd seen it before, and gone into the other room. Castiel had paused it anyway, not feeling up to watching it without Dean jostling his arm to emphasize the important parts. He sipped his tea, and laid there miserably until Dean got back. It appeared that there was a case up in Washington State. Some old friends of Bobby's had found it and contacted Dean.
Castiel roused himself to listen, sitting up slightly more on his stack of pillows. Dean jiggled the phone in his hand, looking apologetically at him.
"I'd ask them to find someone else, but they were friends of Bobby, and Dad. I actually owe them one, for something way back, so I didn't think I could say no. Sounded like a straightforward salt and burn, though. Shouldn't take too long."
Castiel nodded, dragging himself upright with a jerk.
"Just give me a minute to shower...uh..."
His eyes blacked out from the abrupt change in elevation, and he stumbled, the room spinning.
"Woah," Hands grabbed his arms, and Dean lowered him back to a horizontal position. "I don't think so."
"I'm fine," Castiel protested, his vision clearing until he saw Dean's skeptical face.
"Sure you are." Dean shook his head. "You're not coming. I'll make a batch of soup before I leave, and stock you up on meds."
Castiel opened his mouth to protest, and Dean lifted a hand. "You need to get better, not drive up to the rainy state with those lungs." As if in agreement, Castiel felt the immediate need to cough. He tried to hold it in, and ended up choking on it, coughing hard into his elbow. When he finished, Dean looked smug. Castiel felt well enough to flip Dean off, a gesture he was still rather proud of learning. It only made Dean laugh, which wasn't exactly the desired result.
With a groan, Castiel pulled himself into a sitting position (he wouldn't try standing again just yet).
"I can help." He said, looking up at Dean with a glare. His head only spun a little this time, so he dared to scoot forward. "You can't go alone."
"I'm going to meet up with Bernard when I get there. I won't be alone." He pushed Castiel back against the pile of blankets and pillows and tissues with a soft fump. Blinking blearily, already exhausted, and recognizing another approaching fever like he'd had the day before, Castiel gave in and relaxed back where he'd been put. He really felt truly awful, but he still didn't want Dean to go on a hunt without trusted backup.
"Call Sam at least. California isn't too far out of your way from Washington." Castiel said, lifting his head again, and fixing Dean with his stare. It was less than effective.
"He's busy with school, you know that Cas. Degrees ain't easy to get."
"Dean..."
"Cas, don't worry. It'll be fine."
Four days later, when Castiel could stay awake for more than four hours at a time, and when Dean didn't answer his phone for the forty second time in a row, Castiel knew that all was not "fine".
He sat in Sam's kitchen, and tried to explain what he knew. It wasn't much.
"He neglected to leave his contacts' names or numbers, and Garth didn't know them, though he is checking for me. Charlie pinpointed his phone's signal from somewhere south of Seattle-" He paused to cough against his fist, "And she'll stay in touch."
Sam was frowning, his face pinched. It had already been exhausted when he opened the door, and only looked worse now. Then again, Castiel himself probably looked little better, judging by the way he felt. He coughed again.
Sam started, his face upturned.
"God, man, do you want a drink of water?"
Castiel lowered his fist, leaning his elbow on the table.
"That would be nice."
Sam got up, and poured him a glass from the tap, and Castiel took a grateful sip. Sam sat back down, his leg jiggling.
"And you don't know anything about the case he was working?"
Castiel rubbed his head. He had a lingering headache, and the two day drive from Kansas had not helped, even though, to his annoyance, he had stopped last night and slept when his body demanded the rest.
"No, Sam. As I told you, I was feverish when he left, and fell asleep soon after. Even if he mentioned it, I wouldn't remember."
"Damn," Sam mumbled, tapping the table top in a disjointed rhythm. Then he clapped his palm on the table, and stood. "We'll have to head to Washington, try and find where the signal is coming from. Maybe Garth will get back to us by then, with the names."
Castiel dozed at the table for the few minutes that it took for Sam to pack a bag. Sam shook him awake, a tight half smile on his face.
"Maybe I should drive?" He said, putting out a hand to pull Castiel to his feet. Blinking, Castiel nodded.
"That's probably a good idea." Now that he'd stopped, and delivered his news, he felt waves of exhaustion crashing over him. It was a good thing that he hadn't sat on the couch, or he didn't know if he'd be able to drag himself up again. He abhorred being ill...the tiredness lingered far longer than seemed reasonable.
The drive up the Oregon coast was tedious, even though he slept for a good portion of the beginning. Castiel felt his all too human anxiety rising with each mile. Sam handled Castiel's 1994 Jeep Cherokee with lines of tension in his arms and white knuckles on the steering wheel. After Castiel had learned how to drive, he'd picked the jeep from Bobby's car lot. Dean had fixed it, all the while bemoaning the gas milage and general 'crappiness' of the car, but Castiel liked it.
Sam navigated through the Oregon traffic with much cursing, using back roads, and avoiding I-5 as much as possible. He said he was saving time, but Castiel couldn't feel it. Every moment dragged out, each moment where Dean could be hurt or dead, unable to respond, maybe never to be found again. Castiel's thoughts caused his stomach to churn, which wasn't helped by the twisting roads of the highway. Time, that strange human linear concept had never felt so slow. It used to be holistic, and multidimensional and so much much complicated, but now he couldn't comprehend a fraction of what he used to.
Periodically, he tried Dean's cell. It went straight to voicemail by this point. If Dean was somewhere he couldn't charge it, it would have died days ago, even if Castiel hadn't been calling it over and over, but it was still slightly reassuring to hear Dean's voice in the recording. Sam had tried too, for a while, but now he simply drove, his muscles jumping with tension.