Okay, here's chapter three :) I've actually written the next chapter as well (which is impressive for me) so that should be up soon. Sorry for not updating sooner, I've had exams and shit. Anyway, on with the story!
Seriously, dude, I have absolutely no idea what's going on.
Just keep reading, you'll get there eventually!
Is it more Mormon shit?
I'm not telling you, find out yourself :P
Urgh, fine. But don't blame me if I don't finish it before tomorrow. I'll get it out of you, through any means possible.
Bring it on.
Dean smirks at Castiel's latest text. He picks up the book again, trying to think of something which explains the situation that Holmes is currently investigating, but it's hard to figure out when Watson keeps deviating from the plot and informing the reader he's got another boner over this Mary Morstan. Truth be told, Dean wishes she'd piss off – he'd much rather be reading about the awesome deductions – but that's clearly not going to happen, so he continues with the latest on Miss Morstan's beauty with a sigh.
Lunch had been – a bit different today. Castiel had given him the book, and Dean had tried to engage him in a conversation about it, but the dark-haired boy had seemed very vague and uninterested. He'd had to leave early too, mumbling something about a school project, and Dean had felt thoroughly rejected until Castiel had turned around at the door and said, 'Hey – listen – shall we swap numbers? You can text me about how you're finding the book this evening, or something?'
Dean had agreed, relieved that Castiel was properly talking again, and he'd promised to text him once he'd started the first chapter. Castiel had seemed much more like normal through his texts, and Dean has assumed that whatever had been bothering him during the day had ceased.
Just as he turns the page on a new chapter, the doorbell rings, and Dean's instantly alert. He sends Castiel a quick text to explain why he won't be able to reply for a bit, then leaps to his feet and legs it to the door.
'Sammy!'
His sixteen year old brother grins, the dark mop of hair on his head falling into his eyes as he hugs Dean.
'How've you been?' he smiles, leaning back to get a good look at his brother. 'God, I swear you've gotten even taller since last week. What are they feeding you?'
Sam's shot up over the past year, easily overtaking Dean despite being a year younger. He's actually in danger of catching up with their dad, which is a terrifying thought considering the man clears the height of most door frames.
Sam laughs at Dean's words. 'Usual gruel, I'm afraid. Mum's on one of her healthy eating crazes, and I swear I've eaten more carrot sticks in the past week than all the rabbits at the pet store put together. I'm praying you have pizza?'
'Of course,' grins Dean. 'Only the very finest in my high class establishment.'
Sam heads into the poky living room, throwing himself on the sofa. He sniffs.
'You have damp,' he says disapprovingly, pointing at the dark patch of ceiling above his head.
'Well, cheap flats aren't usually known for their cleanliness,' replies Dean, heading into the kitchen to throw the pizza in the oven. 'Especially not if they're basement ones.'
Sam doesn't reply, and Dean pokes his head through the door.
'Sammy?'
Sam's staring at the book on the arm of the sofa, mouth open in mock astonishment.
'You're – you're reading?'
Dean groans at his brother's tone. 'Yes. Now shut up.'
'I didn't say anything!' protests Sam, hands raised.
'Yeah, but I know damn well you were thinking it,' replies Dean. Sam looks like he's going through some sort of internal struggle, and Dean can guess what he's going to say before his mouth is even open.
'Who the hell convinced you?'
'Just a mate,' answers Dean.
'Dean, you are reading Sherlock Holmes. You. I have got to meet this guy. Getting you to read? He's a hero.'
'Yes, we all no I'm an uneducated Neanderthal,' sighs Dean. 'So shut up about it or I'll – give it here!'
His phone's beeped, and Sam's quick to snatch it up.
'Who's 'Castiel'?' he asks, frowning at the screen.
'I said give it here!'
'Is this the dude who got you to open a book? Let me send a reply, man, he deserves some sort of reward – '
Dean snatches the phone off him. Scanning the reply – Okay, say hello to Sam for me – he turns the phone off and shoves it in his pocket.
'Yes, he got me to fucking read. Happy?'
'What sort of a name is Castiel?' Sam asks in reply.
'He's one of the private school kids, they all have weird names – oh shit, no, Sam, he isn't one of them - '
Sam's gone sheet white, and Dean recognises the terror in his brother's eyes.
'Shit, do the counting thing, Sammy, do it, it'll make you feel better – shit, I'm sorry - '
He sees his brother mouth numbers, and sighs in relief when Sam's tense face relaxes.
'Sorry about that,' mumbles Sam. 'Theresa says I'm getting better – the triggers might be less profound soon, or something.'
Dean nods, squeezing his hand. 'Pizza?'
His brother smiles faintly, and Dean's heart lifts. He can't believe he could have been that stupid – anything to do with the private school has always been a major trigger for Sam's episodes. At least that particular episode had been a minor one, though… he can still remember the horrendous screaming of last year, when the accident was still fresh in everybody's minds, especially Sam's.
Sam doesn't speak the entire time Dean prepares dinner, opting to sit on the sofa and stare at the blank TV instead. This sort of behaviour used to really freak Dean out, but now he knows Sam's in a kind of 'recovery mode'. After his episodes, he usually needs about half an hour to relax, and Dean learnt the hard way that it's better not to interrupt him during this time. So he takes his time with the food and does a bit more reading, trying not to distract Sam. It's only when he's brought the pizza through that Sam opens his mouth again.
'So – this Castiel dude – where did you meet him? None of the places you usually go to tend to have many literate frequenters.'
Dean grins. 'Thanks for that.' Sam winks, and he laughs. 'No, Castiel eats lunch at the café.'
Sam makes no effort to hide his shock.
'A priva- a posh kid? Really?'
Dean nods. 'Yep. Between you and me, I don't think he's exactly a member of the popular crew, if you get my drift. But he's a cool guy, you'd like him. Hell, you'd get along like nobody's business. Both nerdy types, you know.'
'Hey!' Sam starts to protest, but Dean shoots him a withering look.
'Oh yeah, the book on Elvish and the seven different lightsabres are something every cool teenager should own? And let's not mention the Star Trek uniform which still fits and the Doctor Who figurines that I happen to know fill the entire bottom drawer of your cabinet. And the Austen novels – '
'Yeah, yeah, point made,' Sam cuts in hurriedly.
'And don't even get me started on the Harry Potter crap. Cloak, wand, two sets of books and the Daniel Radcliffe autograph? God, what am I saying, Castiel is on a completely different planet of cool to you – hey!'
Sam's leapt on him and started wrestling, pretty pathetically Dean might add. Still, he lets Sam think he's got the upper hand for about 30 seconds, then employs the tickling tactic. They both collapse, hysterical, on the floor, pizza forgotten on the table.
'I wish you were still at home, Dean,' says Sam after he gets his breath back. 'I miss you. This.'
'I miss you too, Sammy,' answers Dean. 'Believe me, I'd rather be at home than here.
Sam opens his mouth as if to reply, but then shakes his head as if he's thought better of it. Getting up, he heads back over to the sofa and starts flicking through The Sign Of Four.
'So, what are these like then? I've been meaning to read them for a while.'
Dean describes the brilliance of the writing in detail, to a dumbfounded Sam. It's clear his brother can't believe he's taken such an interest in books.
'Apparently Hound of the Baskervilles is the best one, according to Castiel anyway, but it's better if I read them in order, so it's ages away. At least, that's what Castiel says.'
'You seem very interested in this Castiel's opinion, Dean,' smirks Sam.
'Shut up,' says Dean, thumping his brother with a pillow. 'I met him four days ago, for Christ's sake.'
'A lot can happen in four days.'
Dean can't help but laugh at Sam's tone, and decides to let him off.
They spend the evening watching a couple of DVDs and discussing how hot the new judge is on American Idol. It's the most relaxed evening Dean's had in a long while, and he finds himself feeling so desperately homesick that he almost caves in and begs Sam to take him back to their house right then and there. But deep down he knows what a mistake that would be, and so when Sam rises to leave he puts on a smile and reminds him they're going to a game on Sunday. Sam hugs him, then looks him straight in the eye and says, 'Seriously, Dean. I'm glad you've found a friend. I think it's been too long since you've had anyone other than me to talk to.'
Then he's gone, and Dean is left to wonder how this Castiel, private school kid and detective nerd, can possibly have made such an impact on his life in the space of less than a week.
As always, thank you for reading! I love you all :)
Iliketotastetherainbow x
