Chapter 11: Tis the Season to…WTF?!
"Here's the plan -"
"We find the city of gold, we take the gold…"
"And we row back to Spain like there's no mañana!" Gabriel sighed, "Don't you just love movie quotes?"
"Road to El Dorado!" Claire grinned as she and Gabe slapped a high-five.
"Is there an actual plan, Gabe, or are we just standing around quoting movies?" Sam asked; brows furrowed.
"To be or not to be, whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or take arms against a sea of troubles-!"
"Gabe, if you keep quoting Shakespeare I may have to start removing your limbs and some of your non-vital organs," Dean said flatly.
Gabe sniffed, "Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, (all named Dean Winchester) and by opposing, end them!" he grinned smugly.
Dean glowered, but there was no real venom behind the glare. After all, it was nearly impossible to truly glare at someone wearing a Christmas sweater as cheesy and atrocious as the one currently decorating Gabriel Shurley. Although, upon further analysis, Dean realized that the winking cartoon Christmas tree knitted into the front of the fuzzy red/white/green monstrosity was a little bit creepy. And that the flashing miniature Christmas lights on the sleeves were probably blinding passers-by. Oh well, twas the season. And they were in a mall. In December. Their current location had become the land of rude shoppers. Why not do what all the cool kids were doing and piss off at least ten people before leaving?
"Do we have a plan or not?" Dean tried to growl out the words menacingly, but it came out as more of a wheezing chuckle as he watched people gawk at Gabe's horrendous sweater.
"Yes," Gabe still sounded huffy. Too bad, he and his ugly sweater seemed to be on the fast track for becoming the Orcastle mall's new Christmas icon. And if that wasn't a scary thought, Dean didn't know what was.
"You don't actually have a plan, do you?" Sam deadpanned.
"Not as such, no. But I'm sure I can BS one if you desperately need structure, Sammy-boy. Honestly, children these days, no sense of creativity."
Claire rolled her eyes. "Why don't we just split up into two groups of two and meet back here after an hour of shopping so we can switch partners? That way we can get gifts for everyone without spoiling the surprise…" she trailed off as she realized the three adults in her group were staring at her incredulously.
"Holy crap, you two just got out-planned by a middle-schooler. That's gotta sting," Dean seemed on the verge into breaking into an unholy cackle.
Gabe gave him a miffed glare, "I am not so crude or childish to require planned activities for my day. I make it up as I go."
"Very mature," Sam remarked dryly, "I vote you go with Claire, since she seems to have absorbed any maturity you might have once had through some sort of familial osmosis."
Gabe seemed on the verge of protesting, but Dean stepped in. "Okay, let's get moving, I want our asses out of here as soon as possible. I'm not sure how much more of this tinsel hell-hole I can take."
And with much bickering and very little ceremony, the quartet began the Great Search for Christmas Gifts.
…
Castiel Novak was not the sort of person who went shopping for Christmas presents. Or any presents for that matter. The only shopping he did was of the grocery store variety. At least, that was the only shopping he appeared to do. Somehow, someway, without ever appearing to deviate from his usual patterns of behavior, Castiel managed to procure the world's best Christmas gifts. They were always perfect for the recipient whether the recipient had asked for the object or not. These were always exactly right. Castiel had such an uncanny knack for gift-giving that Claire spent most of her early childhood convinced that Santa Claus was not, in fact, a jolly white-bearded man dressed all in red, but was instead an eccentric, dark-haired, blue-eyed artist dressed in a worn trenchcoat.
Needless to say, Castiel felt absolutely no need to venture out into the mall on this hectic December day. Honestly, he didn't really feel the need to crawl out from under the heap of blankets piled atop his bed. His head was pounding a steady rhythm generally associated with snare drums and other instruments of precussional torture, every swallow made him feel like someone had stuffed a lighter down his throat, his scarred and nerve-damaged right arm was doing its level best to establish itself as the king of all bodily pains, and he couldn't breathe through his nose.
*Sneeze*
*Cough, cough*
*Ugh…*
With a pained moan, Castiel rolled his limp, cold-ridden body out of bed, barely even registering the dull pain as his body whapped against the hardwood floor of his bedroom. He lay there for a moment, pressing his face against the blessedly cool material, and thanking god and whoever else might be listening that Claire had left with the Winchesters before he was fully conscious enough to make intelligible conversation. At least she didn't know he was sick. That was good…
Castiel Novak was the sort of person who did not get sick. With his tenuous legal identity situation he could never get medical insurance and as Claire's only parental figure he couldn't succumb to illness. Who would take care of her if he spent days curled up in bed, feeling ill and sorry for himself? Gabe? No, he couldn't foist his niece onto his cousin. That wasn't what civilized people did. (He did not bother to ponder the inherent implication in that statement that Amelia, Claire's mother, was not civilized. That…person…was an issue he had contemplated time and again and was really rather sick of.)
Speaking of sickness…
So Castiel had developed a system of coping with any ailments. It was not healthy. It was not advisable. People really shouldn't do this to their bodies.
He simply ignored any illnesses he might have. Through sheer force of will he crushed them down into a tiny corner of his awareness and worked past them. He could, would, and had done this for indefinite amounts of time before. Essentially, all he really needed to do in these situations was ignore the problem for long enough that it either was annihilated by his immune system (which was, admittedly, extraordinarily strong) or wait until Claire was gone for the night or the weekend at either a friend's house or Chuck and Becky's Seattle residence. After Claire was safely on her way he would crumple like a wet paper bag, spend 24 to 48 hours sleeping, guzzling medicine and focusing all his energy on healing, and be ready for her return almost completely healthy.
And as far as Castiel knew, the system worked.
Still lying on the floor, pathetically grateful that Claire had arranged to go Christmas shopping with the Winchester brothers and Gabe that day and that she had left while he was still mostly asleep, Castiel wondered how willing he was to peel himself off of that blessed floor and find some Dayquil. Or maybe some food. Or some tea…
It was shaping up to be an aggressively pea soup colored day.
…
"Bonzai!" Gabe yelped as he leapt from behind a sad-looking potted plant in some obscure corner of the mall, a horrible knit hat clutched in his hands.
Dean dodged the charging baker, spinning on his heel to watch Gabe and the offensive hat crash into Sam. Gabe teetered away, struggling to regain his balance, while Sam pawed at the hat which had somehow become stuck on his face. A soft chuckle sounding behind him was the only warning Dean received before he felt a second hat shoved onto his head. Whipping around, the elder Winchester glowered at the snickering preteen behind him.
"Was the hat really necessary?" he demanded.
Claire was laughing too hard to produce an intelligible response. Instead, she and Gabe slapped high-fives and fled to a different part of the mall, leaving the brothers struggling with their respective knitwear.
Sammy must have finally managed to remove the hat from his face because Dean could practically hear the bitch-face as his little brother said: "Dammit, Dean. This hat has freaking antlers."
Now it was Dean's turn to laugh until he couldn't speak.
…
Castiel opened the bookstore against his better judgment. After an hour spent trying to clear his sinuses while searching the apartment for the cold medicine (apparently in a fit of organizational eccentricity he had stuffed it and several boxes of asprin in an old paint can and stuck it in the back corner of the kitchen pantry) the artist brewed himself a thermos of tea and slouched downstairs to his store. He was now perched on a stool behind the cash register, glowering malevolently over the rim of his thermos at the milling herd of Christmas book-shoppers. All of which seemed too cowed by his foul mood and plum-toned presence to dare venture over to the counter and actually buy anything.
Perfect.
Castiel was and would have been, quite content to spend the remainder of the day in this stalemate with the masses. But even the best-laid plans and most articulate glares go awry. With a thud, one shopper sounded the death-nell to Castiel's day in splendid isolation.
Charlie Bradbury, student teacher extraordinaire, grinned at him over the top of the stack of books she had unceremoniously dumped in front of him (hence the dramatic thud).
"Merry Christmas and live long and prosper!"
Castiel blinked at her very, very, very slowly. She failed to get the message. He stared soulfully into the depths of his thermos of tea as if communing with it. She began to hum the Harry Potter theme music. He reached behind the counter and plopped a brand-new unwrapped game of SORRY! In front of her.
"Ooh! Can I buy this too? My girlfriend would love it!" Charlie chirped.
"No." the short, mildly indignant response was torn from Castiel's throat quite against his will. He resented it for escaping at all. "I don't sell my copies of SORRY!, I was merely attempting literary irony."
"Oh, too bad, it's pretty cool."
"Limited edition."
"…"
"…"
"So, do you scare all the customers away like this or am I just special?" Charlie was still smiling, Castiel could hear it in her voice."
"You are according to the Ancient Greeks."
"Oh really?"
"They believed that red-headed people were soulless demons who fed on the blood of others during the night."
"…Oh my god, I'm the ancient people's Edward Cullen…"
"I do not understand that reference."
"And you own a bookstore."
"Yes."
"Does that make you classy or just imply you live under a rock?"
Castiel propped the SORRY! box up so it obscured the view of pesky customers. Charlie bopped it with a fingertip and it fell over. Castiel sighed and took another deep swallow of tea.
"Can I buy my books now?" Charlie finally asked.
Castiel sighed again, "Very well, if you insist on contributing to the capitalistic perversion of the Christmas holiday via excessive-gift-giving, I shall not stand in your way."
"Okay, Scrooge."
Castiel snorted, "That is exactly what Dean said," he paused in the motion of grabbing one of her books and narrowed his eyes at her, "You aren't going to ruffle my hair, are you?"
"Aww, does Dean do that? That's so sweet," Charlie teased.
Castiel gave her a flat look, "You sound like my Aunt. And she is quite probably insane."
Charlie snorted, "I work with Dean, I have to give him grief, even if it's vicariously through you."
Castiel narrowed his eyes at her once more for good measure, took another swig of his coffee and resumed scanning her books. "I am not Scrooge-like. I merely endorse a more traditional view of Christmas traditions."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"…"
"…"
"This is the part where you explain yourself, oh Great Jedi Master."
"…You and Dean are disturbingly similar. Do you recklessly fling yourself into danger as well?"
"Nope, I'm a total scaredy-cat. Although a quest or two would be pretty cool."
"Hmm. To answer your question, I prefer quality over quantity when it comes to traditions such as gift-giving."
"Aww, you're such a softie."
"…"
"With a seriously terrifying glare and a bad case of laryngitis. Seeing as I don't want to be infected with your illness as some form of divine retribution, I'll just pay for these things and leave."
Castiel raised his eyebrows at her and told her the total cost of her purchases.
She scooped up her bag and turned to exit the store. Castiel sighed in relief and allowed himself to release the cough he had been feeling building up in his chest all morning. Closing his eyes and focusing on returning his breaths to their regular equilibrium, he almost missed the sounds of Charlie's converses treading their way back to the front desk. He did hear the thud of her bag of books hitting the ground. Curious, he opened his eyes to find her standing behind the counter, rolling her sleeves up.
Not entirely sure a trite 'what are you doing here' really sufficed to cover the situation, Castiel just stared at her, befuddled.
Charlie glanced up at him, gave a tiny little awkward shrug and said, "I didn't realize you were actually sick, I was kidding about the laryngitis thing. So, even though you're incredibly bitchy and rude to diss my Christmas traditions so cruelly, I'm going to help you run your store today. Capsice?" She grinned a full white-toothed grin right at him.
Castiel smiled softly, "Thank you. And…sorry. For any unintentional 'diss'."
Charlie laughed, "We're cool, bro."
…
Meanwhile, Dean, Sam, Gabe and Claire were exhausted, albeit for very different reasons. The brothers had been knit-hat-attacked, glitter-trapped, tinsel-assaulted and general become the victims of every single Gabe Shurley Christmas prank in the book. Gabe and Clarie were exhausted because tormenting your friends and neighbors is hard freaking work.
The four reunited in the food court looking for all the world like a kindergartener's first attempt at a homemade Christmas card. Dean was pissed, Sam was exasperated, Gabe had a stitch in his side from all the running and Claire was a little worried about everyone's reaction to the morning's events. They all moved to speak at once, but the second everyone's eyes met and they truly took in the Christmassy carnage that had been wrought on their wardrobes and dignity, it was all over.
They didn't stop laughing for over twenty minutes.
…
The four shoppers (who did actually manage to get some shopping done in between seasonal fashion disasters) trooped into the bookstore tired and footsore at around four pm. Castiel gave them all one long, slow, appraising look; then turned back to his thermos of tea. "Don't get glitter on my first editions."
Sam slid away from the bookcase he had been considering leaning against.
"What's up, bitches?" Charlie chirped from where she was helping someone find a book.
Dean grinned, "Hey Charlie."
"Who's Charlie?" Gabe asked.
"Dean's soulless female twin," Castiel referenced his earlier conversation with Charlie, without looking up from the book in his hand, struggling with the urge to cough. Thank god Claire had been planning on visiting Chuck and Becky in a few days. He just needed to hold it together until then. For Claire.
Castiel momentarily closed his eyes, letting the mild cacophony of his family and friends slide over and around him as his head throbbed, his throat burned and his bones ached. Someone bumped into his side and he resisted the urge to lean on that solid, warm person. It was going to be a long few days.
…
Dean blinked and looked down as he felt a slight weight lean against him. James Novak was sagging his seat slightly, eyes closed, just barely leaning against Dean. Concerned, Dean reached down to push his friend upright. He only got a fleeting sense of J's skin being way too hot and dry for a normal, healthy person before blue eyes were snapping open and a dark-haired head was firmly centered above narrow shoulders, away from the person it had been using as a pillow.
Years of older-brother instincts buzzed to life in Dean's subconscious. His friend was sick and obviously being incredibly stupid about it. But how was Dean going to fix it?
…
Dean did not end up being able to fix it that day or the next or even the day after that. As if some sort of predator-prey instinct had dinged in James' subconscious, he seemed to go out of his way to avoid Dean, not matter what Dean tried to do to confront him on the issue of his obvious (to Dean, anyway), illness. It was very frustrating for the elder Winchester.
Sammy was no help, "You thought he might have a fever? After like, half a second? Dean, don't you think you're getting a little weird about this? I get that you're protective of your friends and your family, but even if he is sick, Jim can handle it on his own."
Damn logical little brothers.
…
Castiel said goodbye to Claire early Wednesday morning, three days after the Great Shopping Debacle. Claire, who had never been happier to be on winter break, hugged her 'dad' and ran off to the car where Chuck and Becky waited for her without even a backwards glance. Of course she was excited, Chuck and Becky were the closest things she had to grandparents and now she was spending four whole days with them in Seattle before coming home for Christmas with Castiel and Gabe.
Castiel watched her go, a soft smile on his face and a raging headache stabbing through his eyes. Sweat trickled down his back and his collar felt too tight. His throat still felt like someone had lined it with sandpaper and his chest was sore from suppressed coughs. His body ached and his right hand was practically useless, the nerve damage, fatigue and body aches rendering it little more than a decorative piece of meat conveniently attached to his wrist.
One really must admire the sheer willpower it took Castiel to drag himself through each day acting completely normal. Or at least, as abnormal as usual.
Claire out of eyesight, Castiel sighed gently, mentally wished her a good trip and dragged himself back into the bookstore. At least he had managed to accidentally-on-purpose hire Charlie to work part-time for the rest of Christmas break. Maybe he could sneak back to the overstock room and sleep sometime in the afternoon. That would be nice.
What a horridly pea-soup day this was.
…
Castiel felt more and more wretched as the day crawled onwards. Giving up on continuing to coherently interact with other humans, he closed the store and let Charlie go home early, despite her protests and promises to bring him soup later and demands that he call her if he needed help. Cas spent the rest of the day in the back of the shop, ostensibly doing inventory and mostly hiding from anyone who might want to talk to him.
Reality seemed to bend and twist around him. He may have slept a bit curled up on the floor, the clipboard cradled in his arms like a metallic teddy bear, he really didn't know. He didn't recognize the shift and play of the light as it changed, leaking out of the sky and letting the shadows trickle in as night began to sneak up and overtake the sun. Instead he foggily scrolled down the list on the clipboard in front of him, taking what felt like eons to make every pencil mark, centuries to decide on each little line of graphite.
And then his right hand finally gave out and the clipboard clattered to the floor. Suddenly furious with his own weakness and brokenness, Castiel flung the pencil across the room and slammed his fist into the wall behind him before slowly sliding down that very surface to sit on the floor, coughing and resisting the urge to throw up as the room spun around him.
He didn't remember much after that for several hours.
…
Dean heard the crash of the clipboard falling by pure, dumb luck. He was walking down the staircase all four apartments shared, the staircase that ran right above the bookstore's storeroom. Not sure what was going on, but all police instincts buzzing, Dean raced down the steps, slowing momentarily for the corner; then dashing for the storeroom door. It stood ajar, Dean unceremoniously shoved it open.
Dean had never seen James Novak like this. It seemed somehow wrong that such a large personality should be confined to the small, barely-conscious frame leaning against that wall. Kneeling down, Dean gently placed a hand against the flushed forehead, feeling the fever burn beneath his fingers.
"Dammit, J," Dean grumped just as his friend coughed dryly and mumbled something unintelligible, "You're burning up, buddy. Come on, wake up. We need to get you upstairs. Come on, J, wake up for me."
James murmured more nonsense, although this time it sounded like names.
"What?" Dean asked, forcing himself not to sound too worried, needing to stay calm for his friend.
"Luci…fer…"
"Okay, whatever you say," Dean decided to roll with it, whatever 'it' was.
More mumbling, blue eyes twitching beneath heavy lids then a sudden shudder as he seemed to shake himself awake, one clear word dropping off his lips.
"Father-!"
His eyes began to drift closed, but Dean grabbed his shoulders, "No way, stay with me, J. We're going upstairs and your obnoxious cousin is going to help me take care of you until my brother closes his practice for the night and can treat whatever's going on here. Okay, so just stay with me, J, got it?"
"…Jimmy…"
Dean decided to humor him, slinging one of J's arms over his shoulders so he could help him stand up as he did. "Is that what they called you when you were a kid? Jimmy?"
"Cas…tiel…"
"I have no clue what that means, J." they were walking now, Dean guiding them, bearing about half of James' weight.
"…Jimmy…please…"
"Okay, Jimmy, come on, we're halfway up the stairs."
…
Castiel was lost in a fog, there was someone helping him, a kind voice, a strong voice. A very amber presence. But he still felt small and scared and very much like he had as a child. He wanted his big brother, Lucifer. He wanted his Father. He wanted his twin. He wanted to be Castiel again. He wanted all those people who had left him.
Lucifer.
Father.
Jimmy.
They all left eventually.
Even his own name had left him.
But for now he had the strong, warm, amber presence beside him and he was temporarily not alone.
…
Gabe nearly had a heart attack when Dean brought his cousin to the door. The eldest Winchester was almost completely supporting the exhausted, feverish man. Gabe had known Jim had a cold. It was obvious, not matter how much the little twerp thought he was hiding it, but this was something else entirely. This was the flu, or bronchitis, or something else equally nasty. How had he hid this so well, the little…
Ugh.
Gabe helped Dean haul James' feverish ass into the bathroom where between the two of them they managed to thoroughly soak the dark-haired man with frigid water, trying to bring the fever down and wake him up a bit. After he was dry, a bit more lucid and wrapped up in pjs Gabe filched from the Novak apartment (universal building key for the win!), they covered him in blankets and tucked him into Gabe's guest bed where he curled up and promptly went to sleep.
"I've got to go get Sammy. He'll fix this," Dean sighed, running a tired hand down his face.
Gabe made a wordless sound of agreement.
Dean moved to leave then paused, "If J starts mumbling again, just talk to him. It seems to calm him down when he's half-awake like that."
"Mumbling?" Gabe asked, mind fuzzy and vague from the shock and stress of the afternoon.
"Yeah, he asks for people. Lucifer, Father, keeps saying 'Jimmy' over and over, I think it was a childhood nickname or something. I called him that for a bit, it seemed to humor him."
Unbeknownst to Dean, at that moment a lightning bolt struck Gabriel with an epiphany. Not sure what to do with the new information that had begun to swim through his brain, Gabe answered vaguely, "Lucifer's his older brother, he's in jail now, white-collar crime gone bad, and his dad's been missing since the kid was eight. Not a happy family."
Dean made a sympathetic grunt of agreement, glanced over one last time at his sick friend, and left to go get Sam.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Gabe walked tentatively, slowly, delicately over to where his cousin lay, curled on his side, facing away from Gabriel. Gabe looked down on the dark hair, sticking up in sweat-slicked points, at the flushed face and the barest sliver of blue peering out from lowered eyelids.
Could he have been wrong for all these years? Nerves swirled in Gabe's stomach that had no right to be there.
No time like the present. Slowly, gingerly, Gabe sat down on the edge of the bed and softly said, "Hey, Castiel."
He could feel the slight tremors rattling their way through the bedframe as his cousin's body went rigid.
"Fuck you, Gabe," Castiel hissed out between clenched teeth.
Gabe didn't know whether to smile for the cousin who had just come back from the dead, or weep for the memory of Jimmy Novak. In the end he did a bit of both.
Author's Note: Aaand a cliffhanger…heh heh…don't hurt me.
So now Gabe knows Cas' big secret!
Please review and let me know what you think! See ya next chapter!