Silent Night

Chapter 6 – School's Out

Despite the sun finally peeking out in the early-afternoon/late-morning hours of the day, the temperature was still painfully low and the Impala was coated in a thin sheet of ice under its heavy layer of snow. Dean forced open the driver's side door and slammed it shut again, effectively shaking off most of the frozen water as well as expelling some of his frustration. Sam did the same to the other side of the car—albeit with quite a bit less fury—before getting inside and shivering a little. The moment the vehicle was started up, he put the heat on high.

"Times like these, I really hate winter," he muttered, able to see his breath with every word.

"Christmas is in a few days. Did you know?" Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the door to room 202. He kept expecting it to open. He kept expecting Castiel to remember it was his job to come along. Nothing happened.

"Have we got plans?" Sam inquired curiously.

"Depends," his brother replied.

"On what?"

"On whether those kids are safe."

They had work to do. They had places to go, people to see, creatures to investigate. But once again, the Impala remained in park. They did not move from the lot in front of the quiet Manhattan motel. Dean waited just a bit longer, unwilling to leave it like this—unwilling to believe that Castiel would really abandon them for this.. new guy.

".. Dean?"

"What?"

Sam couldn't help but sigh quietly. He suddenly opened the car's passenger door, snapping his older brother's attention away from room 202 at last.

"I'm going to go grab the laptop," Sam replied to the question on Dean's face. "We might need it."

He doubted it. Dean knew it, too. But as the passenger door shut behind his younger brother and he was left alone in the empty, slowly heating to a bearable temperature car, he was grateful that he had a minute alone to collect himself, and he suspected that's what Sam was aiming for. He needed to concentrate, not tantrum like a jealous child.

Oh, God. Is that what he was? Jealous? No way. He didn't care who Castiel paid attention to or defended carried over his shoulder. He just wanted to help these damn kids. He closed his eyes and lowered his forehead against the cold steering wheel, taking a deep breath. Focus. They had work to do.

Hardly two minutes later, he heard the door to his car open and shut again as Sam got in. Alone and empty handed. His lips were pressed into a pale, thin line and he stared straight ahead. Dean sat back in the driver's seat, glanced over at him, and leaned forward a bit to peer around the other man. He raised an eyebrow slightly.

".. Forget something?"

"Huh?" Sam looked over at his brother as if noticing him for the first time.

"The laptop," Dean reminded him.

"Oh."

Still no explanation.

"Earth to Sammy?"

"Uh, battery's dead," Sam finally answered and abruptly snapped on the radio, fiddling with the tuning so he wouldn't have to look Dean in the eye. "I left it on the charger."

Dean watched the man a moment longer, wanting to question, wanting to ask if Castiel was coming, but he wouldn't let himself go there again. He had to focus. He put the Impala in gear and, before long, room 202 faded from view entirely. After all, they had work to do.

...

Castiel wouldn't have minded allowing the Doctor to sleep for a little while longer, considering the late night and exhausting morning the time lord had endured. But when he was alone, he was alone with his thoughts, and now what Dean had said before he and the other Winchester stormed out was threatening to ruin his good mood. The kids needed his help. No, he'd be lying if he pretended that was his main concern. Dean was the one that needed his help. Or at least his company.

He sat up, moved to shake his lover awake, and stopped his hand less than an inch from the body he couldn't keep his touch from less than two hours before.

The Doctor looked so helpless, so vulnerable, so.. beautiful. A strip of sunlight streaked his pale skin, leaving a golden stripe across his chest, over the back of his hand, then across his chest again. His other hand lay limp at his side, loosely puzzle-fit with Castiel's. Maybe he could wait just a little longer..

Then he could hear voices outside the door, approaching their room. Which usually wouldn't have been an issue at all-they were in a motel, of course, they didn't think for a second that they'd be the only ones around. The issue was that he recognised those voices because they belonged to the Winchesters.

"Seriously, I'm starving. Go get me some food or I'm going to eat your shoe."

Sam. They were right outside. But Cas didn't hear the sound of the key slipping into the lock. Had they even locked the door? He hoped so.

He shot out of bed and literally jumped into his pants, then slipped into his shirt and leaned over the bed to nudge the Doctor, who groaned a little and rubbed his eyes. His yawn was cut short when a pile of his clothes was dropped on his chest. Then there were lips pressed against his in a quick, apologetic kind of good morning kiss.

"Did I miss something?" he asked sleepily, sitting up in the bed and pulling his own shirt on. When he blinked again, and again, he realised something had changed; there was light. There was a difference between eyes open and eyes closed. His vision wasn't gone forever.

There was no time to celebrate, apparently. He heard 202's door open and he wondered if it was the sound of Castiel leaving him behind. But there was no sound of the door closing. Curiously, he listened for more, silently feeling for which side of his pants was the front before he put them on.

"I knew it."

Oh, that was not good. Not good at all.

There was a soft click as Sam closed the door behind him and some rustling from the bed when the Doctor got up. He lifted his suspenders back up on his shoulders and felt Castiel take one of his hands, placing his bow tie in the up-turned palm. He didn't need his sight to be able to tie it.

"I came back a couple hours ago for the laptop," Sam frowned at the two like he was disciplining two misbehaved children. Except these misbehaved children had slept together. On Dean's bed. "Not like either of you noticed. You were just dropping the puck in tonsil hockey, huh."

"Sam—" Castiel started, finishing up with his tie, backwards and all.

"No, Cas, don't try to explain. I don't care what's going on with you guys. I just sent Dean to the vending machines because I had a feeling." Sam shook his head. "I suggest you two pick up your socks and get your stories straight before he walks in here."

The Doctor and his angel were grateful for the younger Winchester and said nothing as they heeded his advice. By the time Dean returned to room 202, holding only two bottles of water because the "son of a bitch machine ate all his change," the three other men were seated at the table, the Doctor's hand on Castiel's leg beneath it.

"Anyway, in case you guys were wondering, Sammy and I made some real progress this morning," Dean remarked with a touch of pride. "The middle school. Remember the changeling in that house? Caroline's brother? All the families in the news have a kid in the same middle school."

"And what are we going to do about it? Blow up the school?" Castiel asked flatly.

"No," Sam interrupted, "We're going to set a controlled fire to the science wing."

The angel tilted his head a bit in disbelief. The Doctor didn't really react at all. He was busy staring at his hand, marvelling at the fact that he could see its general shape now. Only when he squinted, and it was only a few inches from his eyes, but it was progress. Dean regarded the man in silent suspicion.

"Tell me your plan is more thought out than that."

"Our plan is more thought out than that," Dean said. "Obviously not everyone in that wing is inhuman. We'll pose as detectives, check the kids out with a mirror, call the normal ones out for 'questioning,' and torch the rest."

"And what's our role in this?"

It both irritated Dean and threw him off a moment that Castiel used the word 'our.'

"Who said we need you?" he questioned.

"You did," the Doctor suddenly interjected. "You wouldn't be here telling us your plan if we weren't involved."

He had a point. And the two were supposed to be involved in the action. That didn't mean Dean had to be happy about any of it.

"Cas, you're going to help us check out the kids." he answered reluctantly. "Bow legs, we're giving you the easy job. Go to the maintenance room and turn off the gas. That part of the school's on the first floor—if it explodes, we're taking out a lot more than just science."

"Why are we only taking out science?" the Doctor asked.

"We asked around and got a couple of class lists," Sam said. "Not entirely legally, but it gets the job done. All the kids from the news have that class in common. Probably how the changelings chose their victims. They're using that part of the day to, like, regroup or something." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper and smoothed it out on the table. It was a map of the school. He pointed to one section. "That's where all the science rooms are. There's the maintenance room. We're going to take the kids there, since it's closest to the exit. I wish we had more time, but we have to go now. Their class starts in.. a half hour. And it's their last day before winter break."

They all looked over the map carefully, watching Sam's finger trace out the plan. The Doctor couldn't make out a thing on the page, but he was much too focused on the fact that he could see Sam's hand to worry about that. Then the hand was gone, and so was the page; the younger Winchester stood, stuffing the map into his pocket again.

Castiel stood as well, and the Doctor followed suit.

"Let's get going, then."

...

The four men stood in the empty hallway. Entering the school had been surprisingly simple; the Winchesters had put on their most professional suits and their FBI IDs, while Castiel had simply taken the Doctor's hand and teleported them inside.

"We all know what we're doing?" Sam asked in a low voice, handing both the angel and his brother compact mirrors (with concealer inside that matched none of their skin tones, but that was a minor, irrelevant detail). The Doctor squinted at the hallway. One of those doors led to the room he was supposed to go to. Little by little, his vision had lightened and blurred the slightest bit less, but that didn't mean he could see. Still, he put his trust in Castiel and nodded.

The group split up and attended to their individual tasks. Once, seemingly a million years ago, the Doctor had instructed a certain fairytale girl to close her eyes and walk like she could see. If she could do it, so could he. He wandered down the hallway, narrowing his eyes carefully at each door. Each sign read some kind of number he couldn't read, but closer to the end of the hall was a door with a much longer sign with what he assumed was two words, not numbers. If that wasn't it, it was his best bet.

He tried the handle. Locked. Soniced it. Not locked anymore. He went inside.

...

Not four rooms away, the rest of the plan was already falling apart. The Winchester boys had stood at the door, held up their mirrors, looked over the room, all as planned. What hadn't been planned was what happened if one of the creatures caught sight of them and didn't like what it saw.

A young boy in the front row hissed. Followed by two children near him. All eyes were fixed on the fake agents at the door. Panicked, Sam struck a match.

"Sammy, what are you—"

The kids were on their feet. Nearly all of them were monsters.

"There's no one in there to save!"

Dean's blazer caught fire and he swore, pulling it from his body. The boy that had initially spotted them lunged, resulting in the flaming cloth being tossed directly at his vicious, shrieking face. It screamed. Sam slammed the door on it. 'Child' after infected 'child' slammed into the barrier, clawing at the window until their fingernails bled.

"What now?!" Dean shouted over the noise.

Sam didn't reply. He left his brother with his back to the door—a situation unpleasantly similar to Caroline's house—and darted for the fire alarm.

...

"Doctor?"

Castiel entered the maintenance room. It was a small place; the breakers to the left of the entrance, the water and gas pipes to the right, along with a set of shelves covered in cleaning supplies and such scattered about. The Doctor stood near the valves—but his back was turned to them and he was looking up. His attention snapped to the angel when his name was called and he looked.. disoriented. It was unsettling.

"Doctor? Your hand is bleeding."

No response for a moment. The Doctor looked down at his hand and his eyes widened in horror. One cut had already scabbed over, but a second tally mark had been scratched into the back of his left hand right next to the first. He glanced up at the blurry figure of Castiel.

"What am I in here for..?" he asked quietly, confused.

The fire alarm sounded suddenly pierced their ears and snapped him out of his daze.

The gas was still on.

...

All four men watched from the Impala as half the school collapsed in on itself, flames bursting from windows and a number of the closest vehicles' alarms going off. Three of the four stared disbelievingly, while the fourth coughed and coughed violently, spattering blood on his hands. Teleporting so many people so fast had taken a lot out of Castiel. The Doctor patted his back until the fit subsided.

Silently, Dean drove. Away from the school. Away from the destruction. Away from the deaths that could have been so easily prevented. They passed fire trucks speeding in the direction they were driving away from. Emergency services could get there as fast as they wanted—those kids were dead and one man in the car was to blame.

At least Dean wasn't the bad guy anymore.