Chapter Eleven

Author's Note: Hey guys! Sorry about the bulk upload. I've been having so much trouble with Doc Manager, and it's why I haven't been able to post these new chapters (I haven't updated on here since chapter 5 because I was so frustrated). I realized that my problem was that I was trying to use Safari, and when I switched to Google Chrome it worked! So sorry about that, and I hope you enjoy these six chapters! :D Also, if you want more reliable updates from me, I highly suggest switching over to AO3! Thanks for reading :)

Cas opens his eyes the next morning and for the first time in a long while, he finds he doesn't want to get out of bed. It's not the teenager-typical longing for extra sleep, but more worryingly, a listlessness that Cas can't seem to shake.

He lies in his bed – awake but not entirely present – and waits. He doesn't really know what he's waiting for, but he supposes he's waiting for a feeling. Some jolt of emotion or energy that will make him want to start his day. Cas turns his head to the side and looks at the wall of quotes that lay beside his bed. Ironically, his gaze lands squarely on one from Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre…

"It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquillity: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it."

Whatever Cas' existence is currently, it's certainly not tranquillity, but he feels he understands the quote more than he ever has. His life feels stagnate. While it's true he's had the occasional blips of… he hesitates to call it "excitement" when more often than not it's life-threatening, but it's the most accurate description his tired brain can muster.

He throws an arm over his eyes as he lays there, trying to get his mind to stop whirring with this type of depressing thought. Unsuccessfully, of course.

Bizarrely, he's reminded of rigor mortis. The way an animal can spasm after death. They may have the occasional movement, but it doesn't stop their life from being reduced to a monotonous flat line.

Almost as soon as that thought comes, Cas feels a pang of guilt for thinking it. What does that make Charlie? Dean? They're more than a cadaveric spasm and he feels ashamed for equating them with anything related to death. That's part of the reason Cas likes them, their liveliness makes him feel more like a person and less like a thing.

With a sigh, he decides to stop prolonging the inevitable and reluctantly swings his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up. Standing stiffly, he walks over to his record player. He scratches the back of his head absentmindedly before picking a record and putting it on, Billie Holiday's croon filling the room.

Cas looks out his bedroom window, the bright morning sun casting it's comforting rays of warmth on the world below. He walks closer to the window and, on a whim, lifts it open and takes a breath. The freshness of the breeze fills his withered lungs and the chirps of various birds fill his ears. Cas glances back to his unmade bed, looking particularly inviting, and then glances out the window again. He smiles a little to himself and makes up his mind that no matter how he's currently feeling, a day like this was not to be wasted on self-pity and wallowing.

After injecting himself with his new medication gun, he dons a plain blue t-shirt and casts a glance at a pair of jeans before settling on his comfiest pair of sweat pants. He quickly finger-combs his bedhead with little success and applies his cover-up and contacts with practiced ease before retrieving an old backpack from the depths of his closet. He unzips it and stands before his bookshelf, scanning the titles with furrowed brows. He grabs a few of his favourites – The Picture of Dorian Gray, his Edgar Allen Poe anthology, and the first Harry Potter – along with a few newer books he hasn't had a chance to read, and re-zips the backpack. He slings it over his shoulder and heads downstairs, turning off the record on his way by. He grabs a black hoodie before he leaves the house and pulls the hood up, feeling more safe that way when he ventures outside. Securing his backpack, he walks out the front door and into the forest nearest his house.

Cas knows the way to the clearing – which he privately refers to as his – like the back of his hand, but today he walks slowly, taking his time. His depressive lethargy tugs at the back of his brain, begging to be paid attention to, but Cas steadfastly ignores it and trudges on. He lets himself become distracted by the plethora of sights and sounds and smells in the beautifully sunlit woods.

A short while later, he comes to the clearing and settles down against a fallen oak, the field's only decoration. He opens his backpack and lets his books spill out of it, surrounding him in a tempting display. He looks to each one and decides on beginning one of his newer books, a Dan Simmons mystery set in the time of Charles Dickens. Cas gets comfortable, breathing a contented sigh, before gladly plummeting into gritty nineteenth century England.

Cas is on page 137 when he hears a rustling coming from the forested edge of the clearing. The sound is too big for a squirrel or some other woodland creature. Cas slowly puts his book on the ground to his side, his whole body tensing to either fight or run, he doesn't know. The sound gets louder and Cas can't tear his eyes away from the shaking bush that it's coming from. He doesn't blink, he doesn't breathe. It suddenly leaps out from it's hiding place.

Around a foot tall and two in length, a dog bounds into view and Cas lets out a whooshing sigh of relief.

Cas laughs a little to himself as he eyes what looks to be a breed of Terrier. It's mostly dark brown – almost black – with various areas of a blonde colour around its mouth and eyes (the latter looking, amusingly, like eyebrows). Its fur is scruffy and matted, and the dog appears to be balding a bit in certain spots. Upon a brief inspection, Cas confirms that it's male. It's also, Cas notices as it trots closer, decidedly collarless.

Cute as the animal may seem, Cas remains wary as he studies him, trying to gauge whether he's diseased or rabies-ridden. Cas also remains cautious because he knows that animals tend to shy away from PDS sufferers.

Sure enough, once the dog gets a few meters away from Cas, he stops suddenly. Then, Cas hears a low growl rolling off the animal, the menacing noise seeming unnatural from the small canine. Cas isn't surprised by the reaction. Animals seem to be able to sense the lack of life force in people like him. And dogs, with their keen sense of smell, can't place the unsettling aroma coming from the dead. Though he isn't surprised, Cas can't help but feel – absurdly – a little hurt.

The dog sniffs the air, distrusting, and Cas smiles at him affectionately, trying to radiate a sense of calmness. The terrier looks at him for a moment before hesitantly coming closer. Cas slowly raises a hand, offering it to the dog. It makes him stop again, letting out another warning growl. Cas stays still as the canine continues its approach.

Cas holds his breath as the dog sniffs his hand for a minute. Then, seemingly having made up his mind, Cas' hand is licked and the dog lets out a happy yap. Cas laughs and pets the pup, which it thankfully allows wholeheartedly.

"Hey there, do you have a home?" Cas says to the animal, obviously not expecting a reply. Cas looks at the dog's collarless neck and grubby exterior, and answers his own question. He only mentally debates his next proposal for a brief moment before deciding to voice it.

"Well, you do now. If you want it that is," Cas says, patting the dog's head and watching, bemused, at the tail-wagging it causes. "What do you say, boy? Do you want to come home with me?"

As if in its own way of reply, the dog barks merrily and hops onto his lap, laying his paws on Cas' chest, tail wagging all the while. Cas laughs again and scratches the pup's ear. Cas looks into the dog's deep brown eyes and he sees something in them, a twinkle of sorts, and Cas feels the warmth of affection bloom in his chest.

"Now, what are we gonna call you, huh?" Cas muses aloud. He thinks of stereotypical dog names and pitches them to his newfound friend.

"Spot?"

The dog's tail halts its wagging. Cas takes the hint.

"Rover?"

He lets out a small whimper.

"Toto?" Cas asks, getting desperate.

The pup lowers his head, seeming to shake it in disbelief. Cas sighs. He looks around him, trying to get some kind of inspiration. His gaze falls on the ornate cover of his favourite book. He looks at the canine warily, as he pitches one last idea.

"How about… Dorian?"

The dog raises his head and tilts it to the side, considering, before the tail is back to wagging at full force. He does a happy little hop and licks a wet stripe up Cas' face. Cas bursts into laughter as he wipes his cheek with his sleeve.

"Dorian it is!"

Cas packs away his books and slings the backpack over his shoulders. He looks back at Dorian and for a brief moment, he worries that the animal won't follow him without a leash. He takes an experimental few steps forward and beams when Dorian trots along beside him. They make the short walk home and Cas is thankful that he doesn't live on a very well trafficked street.

Cas opens the door to his house and holds it ajar for Dorian, the dog heading in obediently. Once inside, though, Cas can see Dorian lose some of his pep when faced with the new and unfamiliar surroundings. Cas gets down on his knees and gives his friend a comforting pat.

"It's alright. You're safe here," Cas says soothingly. Dorian looks at Cas for a moment before wagging his tail and turning around, about to go explore the rest of the house, but Cas quickly stops him.

"Not so fast, Dorian. We have to get you cleaned up first."

With that, he leads his newfound pet upstairs to the bathroom and closes the door. After a moment's consideration, Cas pulls his phone out of his pocket and sends a group text to Charlie and Dean.

Delivered 2:28 pm:

Do you think you could come over? There's someone I'd like you to meet :)

A reply comes in from Charlie a few seconds later.

Received 2:29 pm:

wow an actual emoticon?! must be smth special! u have peaked my interest, im there! :D shift ends at 3, see u soon xx

Cas smiles as he looks at her text, already looking forward to seeing Charlie's reaction to Dorian. Still waiting on Dean's reply, Cas starts to run the water in the tub. He makes sure it's a good temperature before gently placing Dorian inside it. The dog immediately goes to jump out of the confinement, but Cas blocks the way and tuts him. After two more escape attempts, Dorian finally gets the picture and stays in the bath. Cas grabs the cup off the bathroom counter and pours water over the dog. Then, he gently works the shampoo (unfortunately of the human variety, but Cas hopes that Dorian will be fine if he only uses it once) into his fur, taking great care not to get any in the pup's eyes. As he lathers, Cas doesn't like how prominently he can feel Dorian's ribs poking out of his skin. He frowns a little, mentally vowing to treat his dog will all the love he deserves. He picks up the cup again and starts to rinse out the shampoo. As he's doing it, his phone chimes. It takes all of Cas' will power to not rush Dorian's bath.

Finishing up, he lifts Dorian out of the bath and shields himself as Dorian shakes his tiny body of the moisture it had acquired, the spray flying everywhere. Cas chuckles and wraps a towel around Dorian, rubbing him dry. Dorian keeps trying to squirm out of Cas' hold, but Cas is firm, not wanting the pup to drip water everywhere. After a few minutes, Cas deems him dry enough and opens the bathroom door to let Dorian out. He unplugs the bath drain and grabs his phone to see the text from Dean.

Received 2:38 pm:

doesn't sound like a good idea

Cas looks at the text in confusion before realizing that Dean would naturally assume Cas wanted him to meet a person. And Dean doesn't want people (for obvious reasons) to know that he and Cas are friends. Or, if Dean thinks that the person is another PDS sufferer… well, much as Cas is loathe to admit it, he knows Dean wouldn't be especially keen on meeting them either.

Delivered 2:40 pm:

Don't worry, it's not what you're thinking.

Dean replies a moment later.

Received 2:41 pm:

then what is it

Cas considers just telling him to alleviate his worries, but a more childish part of Cas wants to keep his newfound friend a secret for now until Dean can see Dorian for himself.

Delivered 2:41 pm:

It's a surprise.

Received 2:42 pm:

cas I like surprises as much as I like a hangover…

Cas couldn't help but chuckle as he read that, before thumbing out a quick reply.

Delivered 2:42 pm:

Just trust me.

Received 2:44 pm:

ur a dick. be there in a bit

Shaking his head in fond exasperation, Cas heads downstairs in search of Dorian. What he finds makes his face almost break in two with the intensity of his smile. Dorian lies on the couch, his head on his paws, looking like he hasn't a care in the world. He's clean and seemingly happy, if a little worn down and too-thin. Cas looks at his dog and sees the utter contentment written on his face and the relaxed nature of his body, and Cas feels a sense of not only happiness, but pride. He did that. He gave this dog a home, a safe place. Cas wonders about the last time that Dorian had that, if there even was one. Cas goes over and sits by the dog's side. Dorian rolls over so that his stomach is facing Cas, and Cas is happy to take the hint. He rubs Dorian's exposed tummy as the dog's tail wags anew. After a few minutes, the doorbell rings and the tranquillity is shattered as Dorian bolts off the couch, barking at the door.

Cas opens the door and ushers Dean inside quickly so as not to let Dorian out.

"Hello, Dean," Cas greets happily. Dean looks from Cas to Dorian, smirking a little.

"Hey, yourself. The surprise, I take it?" Dean replies, gesturing to Dorian. Cas beams, nodding.

He watches as Dean squats down and holds out his hand to the pup. Dorian is much quicker to accept Dean for obvious reasons, and soon Dean is petting him like they're old friends. Cas stands there, quietly committing the picture to memory.

Dean is dressed in a ratty Metallica tee and a pair of jeans that are beginning to tear around the knees, with a pair of black converse adorning his feet. Cas thinks to himself that it's nice to see the boy out of military green once and a while. Dean has a small smile on his face as he plays with Dorian. Dean looks as happy as Dean seems to get, and Cas can't stop smiling.

So distracted is he, that it takes him a minute to realize that Dean is asking him a question.

"Hm?" Cas prompts absentmindedly.

"I said, what's his name?"

Cas braces himself for the inevitable teasing. He realizes that he really hadn't thought this through at all…

"Erm, Dorian?" Cas confirms, coming out as more of a question. Dean stares blankly at him.

"What."

"Dorian," Cas repeats with a bit more confidence. Dean raises his eyebrows incredulously.

"Dorian the dog? Dude, you can't be serious."

"Quite serious. He likes it!"

Dean looks at Dorian, clearly questioning the animal's sanity, before looking back at the owner.

"Where the hell did you even get a name like that?" Dean asks.

"It's from one of my favourite books," Cas replies. Dean rolls his eyes, but it's not mean-spirited.

"Castiel and Dorian. You two were made for each other," Dean says with an amused smirk, looking at Dorian. The dog tilts his head to the side and Dean suddenly barks out a laugh.

"What?" Cas questions, curious as to the reason for the sudden outburst.

"It's just… he does that thing you do."

"What thing?" Cas asks and, without thinking, tilts his head. Dean laughs again and gestures to him.

"That! The head-tilt thing!" Dean says.

"I didn't even realize I did that," Cas chuckles, a little embarrassed. Dean smiles at him and Cas' chest feels suddenly constricted.

"You do it when you're confused about something, it's kind of hilarious," Dean says. Cas smiles a little, and raises his eyebrows a fraction in surprise. Now it's Dean's turn to be confused.

"What's that look for?" Dean grumbles, probably thinking he's being mocked somehow.

"I just didn't know you paid that much attention, is all," Cas says quietly. Dean looks at him for a moment and opens his mouth as if to say something, but is interrupted by the doorbell. Cas opens the door and lets Charlie in and Dorian bounds up to greet her, tongue and tail wagging excitedly.

"Oh my god, you got a dog?!" Charlie squeals, immediately dropping down to play with the pup.

Dean clears his throat pointedly. "What am I, chopped liver?"

Charlie looks up, only just noticing Dean's presence. "Oh! Hi, Dean! Didn't realize you'd be here."

Much to Cas' horror, Charlie turns around to face Cas and waggles her eyebrows suggestively. Cas gives her a death glare, and she goes back to playing with Dorian, Dean thankfully none the wiser of the brief silent exchange.

"And what's your name, little guy?" Charlie asks, directing the question more at Cas.

"Dorian," Cas answers, dutifully ignoring Dean's snort of derision.

"As in Oscar Wilde Dorian? Nice," Charlie says approvingly. Dean jaw drops incrementally as he looks from Charlie to Cas, before the shocked expression peters away to an unimpressed frown.

"I need new friends," Dean mumbles grumpily.

A few hours later, Dean and Charlie take their leave. Cas bids them goodbye and shuts the door, breathing out an exhausted but happy sigh. He looks at Dorian, who seems to be feeling the same way. Cas suddenly feels a pang of guilt when he realizes that he hasn't given Dorian any food or water.

He grabs a bowl from the cupboard and fills it with water, placing it on the ground. Dorian laps it up with extreme vigour and Cas watches him, thinking about what food he could possibly give him. The fridge is empty and the few foods left in the cupboard would most likely make a dog ill.

Unless… Cas thinks, going to the top cupboard and reaching towards the very back. He feels around for a box and smiles when he finds what he's looking for. He pulls out an old box of dog biscuits.

They'd never had a dog, but Gabriel – fun-spirited yet devious child that he was – kept dog biscuits on hand in case he could ever manipulate someone into eating one (the burden tending to fall on poor Samandriel).

For once, Cas was glad of his younger brother's pranks, and for a moment he felt the now familiar pang of remembrance, before dropping three of the biscuits beside Dorian's water bowl. The dog sniffed the biscuits tentatively before biting into one.

"I know it's not exactly gourmet, but we'll get you all set up tomorrow," Cas explains apologetically. Dorian lets out a content little chuff before going back to his biscuits.

Cas sits next to Dorian on the floor and leans against the bottom cupboards.

"They would have loved you," Cas says, smiling a little sadly as he thinks – as he so often does – of his family.

It's at that moment that Cas realizes the lethargy and listlessness of that morning had all but evaporated. He looks at Dorian and a light bulb flickers to life in his head. It all made sense; not only had he gained a friend, Cas had gained a purpose. And he decided that having a purpose, no matter how small, was a good feeling. He smiles and gives Dorian an affectionate pat on the head.

"It's just you and me, Dorian," Cas intones softly.

And that, Cas thinks contentedly, really doesn't sound that bad at all.