Chapter 2: Bend and break

When Dean woke up the next day, it was to a heavy pounding noise. First he thought it was his lingering headache, but it wasn't that severe. Eventually, he figured out that someone was doing a decent job of trying to break down his front door. He dragged himself out of bed, too annoyed at being woken to put on anything except his boxers, and opened the door.

'Put on some clothes. What if it had been Pamela?' Sam suggested as he bounced into the living room.

'What if it had?' Dean muttered. Sam blushed as he realised his mistake and disappeared into the kitchen. Dean heard the coffeemaker come to live and it mollified him slightly. Sam was always pestering him about Pamela.

Dean, she's still in love with you. Dean, you're stringing her along. Dean, you have to tell her there's no hope for the two of you.

It was exhausting. Mostly, because none of those accusations were even remotely true. Pamela had been Dean's first and only girlfriend and she had known Dean was gay before Dean did. So, they had decided to be friends and they still were. No one was stringing anyone along. Something about having Pamela live only two doors down the hall from Dean seemed to irk Sam. Dean just thought it was nice. Whenever he had enough of Sam's cheery optimism and never ending book review talks, Dean went to see Pamela. They'd drink and listen to sports on the radio or simply grouse.

Pamela could grouse with the best of them. To be fair, she had reason to grouse. Most of the time, Dean hardly remembered she was blind and Pamela dealt with it like a pro, but it must still be a son of a bitch to live with.

'Why are you even here?' Dean directed the question to Sam's back as he shuffled into the kitchen. Not that he didn't appreciate the coffee, but he liked his Sunday mornings a little less chipper. For some reason Sam spent more time at Deans apartment than at his own. Granted, Dean's place was bigger, but Sam's was much cleaner and cosier and decidedly uncluttered. Sam put a steaming mug in front of Dean and leaned back against the counter.

'Balthazar called me. Apparently, Castiel's injuries were more serious than was initially thought. His arm is broken and he's also got a concussion. They're still keeping him at the hospital today. I gather he was being a bit of a nuisance.'

'So, you thought it was a good idea to bother me with an update about the health of my least favourite person?' Dean asked. He was going to have to go visit Castiel, wasn't he? Due to the whole saving his life thing. Damn it! Irritated at the prospect, Dean took a quick sip and burned his tongue. Without saying anything, Sam filled a glass with water and handed it to Dean. Grateful, Dean drank some of it.

'He's a big old meanie, but I like him,' Sam admitted. Trying not to roll his eyes, Dean drank some more water. His tongue was starting to feel better.

'Of course you do,' he said. Mention something bookish and you earned Sam's undying devotion. Hell, Dean bet that even a reference to Twilight – a series that Sam claimed to hate, but secretly owned all four novels of – would excite Sam.

'What the hell does that mean?' Sam retorted, slightly raising his voice. It was too early for this shit, Dean thought, but he played along nonetheless.

'It means whatever the hell you want it to mean,' Dean repeated, as he had done numerous times before.

'You sayin'...' Sam began, but he cracked up before he could finish. Dean merely watched his brother clutch his stomach and laugh. In a way it was comforting, because it was like Sam's off button. No matter how serious the fight they were having, all Dean had to do was segue into Seinfeld territory and Sam would be reduced to giggling.

'Really, dude? Still?' Dean asked. His brother panted and dried his eyes.

'It's just... Seinfeld gets me every time,' Sam explained. He appeared a tad embarrassed, which was only to be expected. Dean picked up the conversation where they'd left off.

'It means you always like people that go literary. That Mark Twain comment did it.'

The coffee had graduated from scalding hot to pleasurably warm by now, but Dean still took a cautious sip. Ah, that was fantastic. When he closed his eyes, Dean could almost imagine that Sam wasn't here, that they weren't having this talk at a time in the morning when he was barely fit to stand up and that he didn't have to go visit a certain person in the hospital.

'He also mentioned Animal Farm,' Sam said, ruining the nice illusion Dean had going. Dean opened his eyes and made a gesture to indicate it all just went straight over his head. Disapproving, Sam shook his head and sighed.

'You should read more,' Sam suggested.

'I should read, period,' Dean dryly replied. Leaving Sam in the kitchen, he went into the bedroom. If he was going to have to visit Castiel, he might as well get it over with. Dean threw some clothes on or rather; he tried to. Somehow he ended up picking apart his entire wardrobe, which wasn't much to begin with. He asked himself what the hell he was doing. He was behaving as if he was a teenage girl about to go on her first date, while he was actually going to see a person he didn't like. To counteract his ridiculous behaviour he decided to focus on how much he didn't like Castiel.

'Castiel is an asshole,' Dean hollered to Sam. After a brief silence, Sam answered.

'He's attractive,' his brother's voice insisted, which made Dean sigh. True. Those eyes, his lanky frame, the pale skin... But still, you know; asshole.

'I did attractive and asshole; it didn't work out so well,' Dean yelled back. Just jeans and a shirt were good enough. Dean sniffed them. Yep, they'd do.

'Yet, you saw fit to make that mistake several times,' Sam's voice reminded him. Again true. These sorts of talks would be a lot easier if Sam didn't know him so well. Then Dean could lie about having all sorts of healthy relationships with nice men and Sam would be none the wiser. Sam might actually take Dean's dating advice to heart too, instead of chuckling derisively whenever Dean tried to offer it now.

'Shut up, Sam,' Dean snapped as he walked into the living room. Sam was sprawled across the couch as if he owned the place. Dean quickly hustled his brother off the furniture and out of the apartment. When Dean locked the door behind him, Sam kept standing there in the hallway. He seemed to be waiting for something, but Dean had no idea what it could be.

'You're not bringing your wallet? You're not going to buy him anything?' Sam finally asked. Dean pressed the button of the elevator and looked back at his hesitating brother.

'Why?'

'When visiting a person in the hospital, someone who in this case has perhaps saved your life, it is customary...' Sam began, but impatiently Dean cut him off. He nudged Sam into the elevator, against Sam's protests. Frowning, Dean registered that Sam kept glancing at Pamela's door until the doors of the elevator slid closed. What was that about?

'Yeah, yeah. No, I'm not getting him something. Whatever it is, he would just mock it,' Dean said. Chocolates, a balloon, flowers? Mock, mock, mock. That was a bit weird. He felt that assessment was correct, but he didn't even know Castiel. I mean, Dean thought, the guy insulted me approximately five times in less than a minute, but that didn't qualify as getting to know someone. That qualified as verbal abuse.

'You're probably right. Are you doing something tonight?' Sam asked as they walked to their respective cars. Dean's shiny, impeccable Impala and Sam's rusted, dented piece of crap. It was hard for Dean to even refer to it as a car. He was always urging his brother to spend some money and buy a real car. Sam was on a full scholarship, so it was a mystery to Dean why Sam couldn't afford a better car. Knowing Sam, he blew the money from all his side jobs on books.

'Pizzas at Pamela; you can come if you want to,' Dean answered and he watched puzzled as Sam nervously bit his lower lip.

'Yeah, sure. I mean, whatever, maybe. I'm busy today, but if I don't have something else this evening...' Sam stammered and got into his wreck. The engine revved up and died twice before Sam managed to drive away. My God, Sam's a freak, Dean thought. Seriously, what was that all about?

(***)

'You look pretty awful,' Dean told Castiel. Stiffly, Castiel shifted in the hospital bed.

'Why, thank you,' he croaked. The intention was there, but the sharpness was gone. Dean dragged a chair over to the bed and sat down. Where did your razor sharp wit go, Dean wanted to ask, but he didn't. Instead, he found himself leaning closer and gently touching the bandage covering the right side of Castiel's head. It was where the blood had been streaming over his face the day before. At the light contact, Castiel winced. Quickly, Dean removed his fingers.

'Sorry,' he mumbled. Castiel looked haggard. His skin had been pale to begin with and now it seemed almost translucent. Dark stubble covered his chin and part of his cheeks. It was sexy. For fuck sake; this was Sam's fault. All that blathering about how attractive Castiel was. Focus on the asshole aspect, Dean prompted. Unfortunately, that part wasn't functioning properly. Otherwise Castiel wouldn't have allowed him to touch the bandage or he would at least have chewed out Dean for doing so.

'It snapped like a twig,' Castiel said, apropos of absolutely nothing.

'I thought it snapped more like a thick steel beam,' Dean responded. That earned him a glare from Castiel, which curiously made Dean feel better. He was purposely irritating a wounded guy and it felt like the right thing to do.

'Point is; it wasn't supposed to snap. Not if it had the right density,' Castiel elaborated. They looked at each other. Dean scooted a little closer.

'You think it didn't?' he whispered. He glanced at the door and at the curtain separating Castiel's bed from the patient in the other bed. There was something conspiratorial in Dean's tone that he didn't entirely understand himself.

'Someone somewhere along the line made a mistake,' Castiel stated.

'Unless it wasn't a mistake,' Dean offered. They stared at each other some more. Dean must have fiddled with the dials and accidentally tuned into asshole wavelength, because he was pretty sure they were thinking the exact same thing. Construction was the new mafia. No one could be trusted. Everyone was always trying to swindle everyone else. So, someone had decided to substitute the proper steel with lower grade steel of a considerably lesser density in an effort to save some money and had hoped that no one would find out.

If all the other beams were also tampered with and they held long enough for people to move into the condos... That could cost lives. Not to mention the construction workers who were working at the construction site building those condos who were in danger.

'We've got to do something. Warn Balthazar or something,' Dean suggested. Castiel looked at him with barely concealed contempt.

'I told him,' Castiel admitted and then added with scorn, 'He told me Crowley is going to do an independent investigation into the accident. Meanwhile, the construction naturally continues.'

'We should look into it. We already dislike each other. It'll be like a buddy cop movie,' Dean gushed. His enthusiasm was as artificial as Castiel's had been when Dean praised his design of the condos. However, Castiel was off his game, so he didn't pick up on the sarcasm.

'We'll do no such thing. And if we did, I'd prefer if we were Holmes and Watson. I'd be Holmes, in case you were wondering,' Castiel protested. A thin smile formed around his lips and Dean couldn't help but return it. Damn his assholish attraction, he thought.

'I wasn't. I assumed you were Sherlock; seeing as how you're an arrogant dickhead and all.'

(***)

The Seinfeld reference comes from the episode The Little Kicks. Here's the dialogue of the scene in question:

Frank Costanza: My George isn't clever enough to hatch a scheme like this.
Elaine: You got that right.
Frank: What the hell does that mean?
Elaine: It means whatever the hell you want it to mean.
Frank: You sayin' you want a piece of me?
Elaine: I could drop you like a bag of dirt.
Frank: You want a piece of me? You got it!