A/N: Thank you to all who reviewed the first chapter! It's always nice to hear from readers, and I had so much fun writing this that I'm glad to hear it when someone enjoys reading as well.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, of FernGully, for that matter. And I've never even seen Futurama, so I think it's safe to say I don't own that either.
Winter is not something I thought to worry about. Half the camp is caked in salt and demon traps, but when winter gets here, I think I half-expect the snowstorms to just pass on by. But the snow rolls right over us, burying the camp in a crisp layer of precipitation.
I need to touch base with the team that just got back from the last run, but right now I'm staring at Cas's cabin, willing myself to go inside and say what needs to be said. Hell, maybe it will be nice to vent to somebody. Nobody's clearing the roads and one of the trucks is broken down and Chuck is hyperventilating as we speak because we were low on toilet paper last week and now we're snowed in and just what the hell am I supposed to do about snow, huh?
I would love to say all that, but as I practice my venting on the way to Cas's door, my frustration sputters down to nerves. That's what makes me pause on the porch. That's what makes me knock instead of barging in.
Cas doesn't answer right away. I don't think I expected him to answer at all. I was kind of just planning on walking in like usual, and then after I knocked I was planning on waiting a second and then going in. But I don't do either. I stand there, and consider either leaving or knocking again. That's when Cas opens the door.
He stares at me. "You knocked," he says.
I stare back. "Good god, Cas, is that hemp?"
Cas looks at the hand that's still on the door, where a bracelet hangs from his wrist. "Mira made that for me," he announces, pointing to the bracelet with his free hand.
"You make friendship bracelets during your play dates with the angel groupies?"
Cas wrinkles his nose, but tries to get back to his point. "Why—"
"Is this before or after the show and tell?"
Cas shuts his mouth and lets out a short breath through his nose. "Would you like to come in?" he asks, exaggerating a gracious sweep of his arm as he steps back from the door.
Then the nerves come back, because I remember that I'm here for a reason. I shove my hands in my pockets and step inside, kicking my snow-caked boots off while Cas shuts the door behind me.
There's a house of cards in the middle of the floor that I fight the urge to kick over when I make my way to the chair across from the bed. But instead of sitting I touch the back of the chair and try to lean against it. It rocks out from under my hand, so I stand up straight again, scratching the back of my neck.
Cas is leaning against the door through all of this without interrupting, like he's content to just stand there all day and watch me be awkward. I drop my hand. "So," I start, finally getting to business. "I just wanted to let you know that we've been… uh. Not been able to go very far lately to get supplies."
Cas crosses his arms in front of his chest, only to unfold one and wave me on when I pause. "Right," I say. "Well, the last truck we took out got stuck, and we managed to walk most of the salvage back, but… you know that other truck broke down last week and we can't risk the others. Probably wouldn't get them out of the camp, anyway."
I've been talking to that house of cards this whole time, but now I look up at Cas. He's frozen, looking at me with an empty stare while I ramble on. "So we're running low on… uh, just about everything. I mean we've got plenty of canned food to last us until the end of winter but… I mean, just make sure you ration… everything." And at that both Cas and I glance at the bed at the same time, where the shoebox is hidden underneath.
When our eyes meet again, Cas has snapped back into his easy, drug-induced detachment. "You know, some people would call this enabling," he points out.
I take a step forward, stopping just short of the stacked cards. "Hey, I don't need you going through withdrawal on top of all the other crap I've got to deal with," I snap, taking a hand out of my pocket just to point a threatening finger at him.
Cas's smile flickers. He scratches the back of his neck, and I realize for the first time that the gesture is something that I picked up from him, not the other way around. "Right," he says, trying and failing to keep the nonchalance in his voice. "Well, I'll try not to be too much of a hassle, then."
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. "Man, that's not what I—" I try to tell him, but when I look up again Cas is shaking his head, his smile returning. I know, I know.
I step over the cards again to pull my shoes back on, but Cas doesn't move out of my way once I'm standing in front of him. I raise my eyebrows, and Cas points to the cards behind me, saying, "Do you want to help me finish the south wing?"
"… No."
Cas dips his head. "Oookay," he drawls, and steps aside. I brush past him, grumbling the whole way out. After slamming the door shut, I hear a muffled string of curses from inside, and I smirk with the satisfaction of knowing that I've just knocked every one of those cards down.
We figure out pretty quick that ex-angels don't go through withdrawal. Cas of course did not heed my advice about rationing his crap, but after a week of no drugs the only thing we notice different in Cas is that he's extra crabby and barely leaves his cabin. I'm not completely shocked by this, because Cas doesn't get the flu that goes around the camp, either.
Speaking of the flu, I think I'm dying.
"You're not dying," Cas says, handing me another tissue.
"Shut up," I tell him, trying to figure out when I said that out loud.
Cas looks up from the paper he's folding into what I'm pretty sure is a flower. He's been making origami nonstop for the past week, and now he's dragged his paper into my cabin so that he can sit on my floor and make sure I don't die. "You should be kinder to me," he points out. "I'm the only one here who isn't afraid of your germs."
"Yeah, yeah," I say, pulling my blankets up to my shoulders. "And speaking of, get me some soup."
Cas goes back to his paper thingy, which by now I think is definitely a flower. "I got you soup half an hour ago," he reminds me, pointing to the bowl sitting on my nightstand. "You didn't touch it."
I kick the covers off of my feet. "Then go get me hot soup," I demand.
Cas just makes a final adjustment to his paper creation and holds it up for me to see. "Does this look like a gardenia to you?" he asks.
"Th'hell is a gardenia?" I mumble into my pillow.
Cas rolls his eyes and places the paper flower on the nightstand next to the soup. Then he unfolds himself from his spot on the floor and pulls on my arm. "Up. Eat," he orders.
As soon as the room stops spinning, I whine, "But it's cold."
Cas puts the bowl in my lap.
"And I wanted chicken soup," I grumble, finally picking up the spoon.
Cas sits back down and picks up another sheet of paper from the pile next to him. "Tomato is all we have left," Cas answers.
I sip at a spoonful of my soup, cringing. "We have got to get a truck out soon," I say.
Cas picks at one of his fingernails, which he's bitten down to the quick. He says nothing.
After a few minutes of silently eating my soup, I ask, "So how you doing?" It's the first time I've asked since he's run out of drugs, because. Well.
Cas folds his new sheet of paper until I can sort of guess that it's going to be an airplane. "Each day is a gift," he says, and it takes me a second to realize he's being sarcastic.
"Whatever," I say, setting my now-empty bowl back on the nightstand. "Just stay out of the Elmer's glue, huh?"
In answer, Cas chucks the now-finished paper airplane so that it hits me square in the nose. I snatch it into my hand, about to crumple it up, but then I notice the writing scrawled across the wing. "Cas… these are Chuck's inventory sheets."
Cas's hands freeze on the new page he's already started to fold. "Oops," he says. Then he continues folding. "I'll make him an apology swan."
I snort and lie down, rolling over to face the wall. "You do that." I let my eyes slide closed, adding, "I'd love to see Chuck kick your ass."
Cas maybe says something in response, but I'm falling asleep before I can make out what.
The first thing Cas does after the snow melts is get high and take his door of the hinges.
I stand back and watch him, for a while.
"It's still a little cold to go without a door, isn't it?" I comment.
Cas doesn't look up from his work. Currently he's swinging the door back and forth, like he's testing the remaining hinges. "I have a tarp," he replies.
"Ah." That settles that, apparently. "Well how's it coming?" I ask. He hasn't realized yet that he doesn't have a screwdriver, but half of the door is already hanging off of the frame crooked. I don't bother asking how he managed that.
Cas sits back on his heels, tossing a hammer down next to a red cooler at his feet. "I'm trying to remove the door without compromising the integrity of the wood," he answers.
I blink once. Twice. "Huh?"
"This door and I…" Cas stands and reaches forward rest his hand on the frame. "I'd like us to part on good terms."
I wave a hand at the crooked door. "Yes, well you've obviously already hurt the door's feelings," I say.
Cas nods and, before I can protest, grabs my hand to press it over a crack that's sprouted from the door's middle hinge. "Don't you feel its pain?" Cas says.
I wriggle my fingers under Cas's hand, but he won't budge. "Uh, I feel a door. Made of wood. Are you trying to give me a splinter?"
Cas levels me with a stare. "But trees give life. They make the clouds, the water, the air."
I snatch my hand back to reach into my pocket. "They sure do, buddy," I agree. "Listen, I brought a screwdriver, thought you might want a hand—"
"There are worlds within worlds, Dean," Cas interrupts like he didn't hear me. "Everything in our world is connected by the delicate strands of the web of life, which is a balance between—"
"God, you are a full-blown hippie now, aren't you?"
Cas deflates, dropping his hand from the door. "I'm screwing with you Dean," he reveals, crouching to open the cooler. "Those were all quotes from FernGully." He pulls out a bottle and holds it up to me. "Want a beer?"
I stare at the bottle for a second before I sigh and trade him the bottle for the screwdriver. "When the hell did you watch FernGully, anyway?" I mutter, crouching next to him to hold the door steady while he unscrews the bottom hinge.
Cas doesn't answer for a long time. I think about asking again, but when Cas says, "Hand me that hammer, will you?" I remember a night, a million years ago in a crappy motel, when Sam introduced Cas to Netflix. I remember begging Sam not to "nerd up the angel more than he already is," and I remember falling asleep to the sound of Sam laughing at Futurama, and I remember waking up the next morning to find Cas still at the table glued to Sammy's laptop.
"Dean." Cas nudges my shoulder. "Hammer."
"Yeah." I shake my head and pick up the hammer. When I drop it into Cas's hand, he catches my eye for a second, searching. I drop my gaze quickly, because let's face it—we both suck at the staring contests nowadays. Then Cas promptly goes on a rant about the deceptive nature of string cheese, and I don't stop him.
A/N: I obviously have no idea how to take a door off it's hinges, but I doubt Cas does either, so there you go. I also have no idea if FernGully was actually instant on Netflix in 2009, but it is now, which I approve of immensely. The FernGully thing I actually just put in at the last minute, because everything I had Cas saying originally reminded me a lot of FernGully and I just could not resist. The Dean having the flu thing was also something that just popped into the story when I wasn't watching it closely enough. The last line about the string cheese, though? Took me forever. Getting into Cas's drug-soaked, post-apocalyptic brain is, um, hard.
As always, I'd love to hear what y'all think, and if you don't review, then I'd like to thank you for reading all the same. One chapter left!
