Weathering the Storm
"Tired of burning your toast? Introducing the all-new – "
Click.
"Side-effects may include fatigue, nausea, depression, thoughts of suicide – "
Click.
"Stumped by this sudden storm system – "
Click.
"Due to inclement weather, authorities have advised – "
Click.
"It's just weird, man, you know? Like, this storm came out of nowhere! I bet aliens – "
Click.
Harry sighed from his cross-legged position on the floor, tossing his channel-changing friend an unimpressed look which clearly said 'just bloody pick one'. The man didn't seem to notice, staring at the outdated television set as if it held the secrets of the universe. No amount of sighing seemed to garner Castiel's attention, so he gestured to the nearest scraggly Reaper.
"What's the count?"
With the appearance of an old man, the Reaper's apathy seemed especially amplified. "Thousands within this facility and even more in the surrounding area, Master."
"'Course," he huffed irritably, dismissing Scraggly Reaper with a nod of thanks. Harry wasn't sure how many more would arrive before Death himself – or herself? He'd never met the being – and the suspense tried his patience brilliantly. He wanted to exchange a few words with Death (not pleasantries, either)... come to think of it, he also wanted to find that pretty Reaper, Tessa, and ask her just what her definition of 'soon' was.
Properly soured, Harry returned to what he was doing before trying to gain his friend's attention: messing around with children's play-sets and contemplating his situation.
He'd quickly gotten over his shock and awe after discovering Castiel's feathery nature, easily surrendering to the compulsion to badger the Angel for a small demonstration. Harry had grinned, saying, "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours," with a twinkle in his eye that good ol' Dumbles would've envied. The innuendo had gone unnoticed, of course, but his friend agreed to the 'terms'.
Though he'd much prefer seeing the real thing, the shadow of an Angel's wings was quite impressive. In turn, Harry had conjured a tap-dancing rabbit... not his best, but the delighted expression on his friend's face erased such thoughts.
Friendship mended, they'd settled in a corner of the Day Room that held an 'entertainment center', as it was so aptly named by the staff. It was where Castiel repeatedly flicked through the twelve available channels (including Animal Planet, thank Merlin), just in case another channel decided to join in on the dizzying party. Meanwhile, Harry had taken to exploring the meager selection of simple board games and play-sets. Most had missing pieces or odd bits randomly thrown in, but it was nothing a few whispered words of enchantment couldn't spice up. Hence, the otherwise boring Lincoln Logs were now flying about in a mock game of Quidditch, playing against rather aggressive, various-colored Legos. Magic at its finest.
Regrettably, the match came to an abrupt end when Harry was unexpectedly introduced to a sharp, paralyzing sensation that rudely knocked him on his back – leaving him with a racing heart and phantom pains that frazzled his senses.
Distantly, he heard a strangled gasp that echoed his own pain quite nicely, followed by a thunderous rumble that rattled the windows violently.
Ignoring the unease and, more importantly, the discomfort that clung to him stubbornly, Harry rolled over to face his motionless friend. "Don't you dare be dead," he muttered to himself before calling out. "Castiel? Still with me, mate?"
A beat of anxiety-filled silence passed before the Angel's muffled response reached him.
"That was unpleasant."
Harry snorted, fighting the, er, slightly hysterical giggles that bubbled up.
Shaking off the lingering aches, they unsteadily rose to their feet. Without aid from the dozen or so Reapers watching them fumble about like newborn fawns, thank you very much.
"We-ell, what do you reckon that was?" Harry mused absently, rolling his shoulders. There weren't many things that could affect him so strongly... not since accidentally acquiring his sort-of-immortal status.
Surprisingly, Castiel gave him a dreamy look, responding, "Something of import. "
"Ah!" Harry exclaimed indulgently, clapping his hands together. "Of course! Nothing that requires any action from us, I hope."
"Yes," his friend nodded in agreement, grinning like a (charming) fool. "I think I'd like to paint."
Taking the non-sequitur in stride, the green-eyed man beamed enthusiastically. "I'll join you. Come now!"
He abandoned the Lincoln Logs and Legos for the staff to clean up, leading Castiel through the sea of Reapers with a slight skip to his step and humming an upbeat tune. There was just something cathartic about indulging in such activities – certainly more satisfying than dwelling on the source behind that thunderstorm.
In no time at all, they'd unearthed the shoddy finger-painting supplies and gathered some relatively blank construction paper.
With matching expressions of content, they set to work.
A/N: Begging your pardon for my absence, lovelies. I couldn't respond to most of the reviews last chapter... so I'll cop out and send a collective, HUGE thank you to everyone who C2'd, alerted, favorited, reviewed, or just lurked! Seriously, I'd hug it out with all of you. With consent, naturally ;)