Title: Don't Ever Play with Guns, Ch. 14
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Warnings: Strong language
Summary: The moment Castiel is taken away, Dean begins to sink into a depression. During Castiel's absence, Dean butts heads with Gabriel.
A/N: Hey! Look at me! I didn't take three months to update this time! :) I came back~ Before I finished writing and editing this chapter, I went back to re-read the entire fic to make sure I wasn't missing anything, and whoa did I ever find some stupid typos/errors. I tried to fix everything I saw, but I think maybe my AO3 version is the cleanest. Still, all three of the versions of this story I have posted various places are about identical. Sorry about the dumb errors!
A musical note: the song "Summertime"by George Gershwin shows up in this chapter. It was written in 1935 and has been covered thousands of times by loads of people. But, recently, I like this modern interpretation by Kat Edmonson. It's supposed to be sad even though the lyrics seem happy at a glance.
Alright, I hope you like this chapter. I will try to bring you more ASAP. Also, I promise this chapter does not end with Uriel beating up Cas.
A slender body clad in gray lay upon the slate colored pavement, legs bent at odd angles. If not for the stock of bright blonde hair on his head and the vivid red seeping from Miggs' pale face, the convict would have blended into the ground where he had taken a dive. He was absolutely still with his eyes closed to the spectators that surrounded him.
There was a hush over the crowd as they regarded the warning that had been violently flung down upon them. Not a single man doubted that Castiel would litter the entire prison with gray and red bodies if anything happened to Dean. They knew he feared neither bullets nor what came in the afterlife. The only thing that eclipsed Castiel's fearlessness was his love for Dean.
Then, suddenly, Miggs' eyes flipped wide open and he inhaled a terrible breath that chilled the bones of the prisoners around him. I'm alive. The lights overheard blurred into his vision. Miggs laughed a soft laugh that was almost as painful to hear as it must have been for him to force out of his lungs. "I am everlasting," he croaked. "These fucking homos are so bad at killing me."
What Miggs found funny was gruesome and unbearable to others. He was pitiful to observe. I can't move my legs. Miggs tried to lift up his neck to look at his misbehaving limbs, and couldn't accomplish the feat without searing pain. He panted and labored to breathe. "My legs," he cried. My legs! Shock was settling in. "He broke my fucking legs!"
The cries of agony that came from his lips were horrendous, and yet not a soul volunteered to help him. Rather, like a single entity, the mass of inmates looked up to watch Dean walk over to the railing as he was drawn to the screams. Dean Winchester, the man of the hour, gave Miggs a look of grave contempt.
The brew of emotions in his heart couldn't be expressed by any words. The momentary glint that passed into his eyes suggested that he was prepared to walk down the stairs to finish what Castiel had begun. Unfortunately, as Dean watched Miggs, Dr. Devereaux ran to the scene as quickly as his emphysema would allow.
"Let him die," Dean said. Apart from Miggs' sounds of suffering, the air was so silent that his words echoed in the chambers. The doctor glanced up at Dean with an expression that said he would have loved to do exactly that. Behind his thick, black-rimmed glasses was a look of deep knowledge, none of which was favorable to Miggs. Duty bound, the doctor eventually focused on his patient.
Castiel was gone, Miggs was alive, and Dean was alone. He couldn't stay to watch the doctor lend aide to his nemesis. With his hands in his pockets, Dean sauntered away with a face of stone to the place he had come to associate with peace.
In the library, Dean sat in the chair he remembered having sat in the first time Castiel had ever spoken to him. He folded his hands over the table, trying not to think of Cas being beaten or dragged somewhere dark and far away. Worse still, Dean thought of Miggs' taunts. He wasn't stupid. Dean knew exactly what it meant for a convict to 'fry' and he needed to get to the bottom of the matter before he went insane. Before long, Gabriel rushed into the library.
"Ese hijo de puta!" Gabe snarled and began to pace. "That blonde pendejo just fucked everything! The least he could do is have the decency to die!"
Dean didn't say anything. Gabriel tipped over a chair and found the action gave him no relief for all the troubles he knew were to come. Revenge on a chair wasn't about to bring Castiel back or cease the beating of Miggs' heart.
"Time and place!" Gabriel vented. "I've told him a hundred times, but no. Castielito doesn't listen. It's like he enjoys being in the hole. They'll put him away for a long time for this."
Dean had guessed as much. If Castiel had gotten two weeks in the hole for a public announcement, he was likely to get double that much time or more for trying to carry out a public execution. Dean sunk his face into his hands. God damn it.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" Gabriel gestured to Dean. "Aren't you going to tell me what happened? What did that bastard say to you?"
"He said Cas is going to fry."
Oh. Gabriel's hand flew to the back of his head and he backed away. He had not been expecting that response. Gabriel's hesitation to comment on the matter brought about a torrent of suspicion from Dean and his eyes locked on the bearded male. Abruptly, Dean leapt out of his chair.
"You knew!" Dean shouted. "You son of a bitch! It's true, isn't it?"
Gabriel's instincts were to flee. The day of reckoning had finally come, so Gabe scrambled away as quickly as he could, knocking over books as Dean mercilessly pursued him. Dean caught him and pinned him to a bookshelf. The Winchester stared down at Gabriel for a long while, his nostrils flaring. "You damn well better tell me the truth, Gabriel," Dean smoldered, "And tell me now."
"I don't know what you're talking about. You know better than to listen to anything that piece of shit tells you."
"Is Cas on death row?"
Gabriel's eyes grew wide as his heart thudded in his chest. "Aren't we all? If you really think about it – "
"Cut the bullshit!" Dean barked so aggressively that Gabriel jumped within his grasp. This was the exact place Gabriel had always dreaded he would someday find himself.
"Well, you're a match made in Heaven. Talk about anger management issues…"
"Gabriel!" Dean squeezed the other man's shirtfront in a way that made Gabriel worry for his well being.
"I know it sounds bad, Dean. Just calm down a minute, alright?" Gabriel placed his hands gently on top of the Winchester's. "It's really not that big a deal."
Not that big a deal?
Dean growled, "You're telling me Cas frying to a crisp isn't a big deal to you?"
"He's not gonna fry," Gabriel answered. "Cas is special. He's been here thirteen years and he's still kickin'. I've got no reason to doubt he'll be going strong for thirteen more, at least."
"Cas is on death row," Dean repeated, disbelieving.
"Technically, yes."
Dean thought he was going to be sick. He couldn't say anything for a while, which was very uncomfortable for Gabriel, who was still firmly pressed to the shelf. "How is this not a big deal?"
"Listen, amigo. There are dozens of scumbags out there that die of old age waiting for their sentences to be carried out," Gabriel explained. "And those guys don't have lawyers half as good as Castiel's."
That answer wasn't good enough for Dean. "How? How is that possible?"
"Appeals," Gabriel hissed. He hated spilling to Dean and was ready to run so he boiled things down for Dean as hurriedly as possible. "He has this hotsy-totsy lawyer fella, Mr. Carter. The guy's a real bureaucrat that works some kind of legal magic, I tell ya. He's got an eye for detail and puts up the most complicated appeals you can imagine to stall things. Cas'll be one hundred before he sits his ass on any chair."
Dean felt a small amount of relief, but he was full of so much confusion and turmoil that he wasn't satisfied. "You've known about this ever since I got here and you never said anything?"
Gabriel shrugged. "Neither did Cas."
His words stung Dean deeply. He was going to suffer over that later, when he was alone. Now, Dean just wanted to deal with Gabriel and get all the information out of him that he could while he had him within his clutches. "Am I the only one that didn't know about this?"
"I don't know!" Gabriel whined. "I know. Charlie doesn't know. Death has known for longer than I have. I can't keep track of what everyone knows. Will you let me go now?"
"No!" Dean cried. His mind was rushing, and he had so many questions it was difficult to just pick one. Agitated, Dean rambled, "Cas said something else. When he was talking to Miggs he said he only had three rules. What the fuck does that mean? Since when does Cas have rules? What are they?"
Gabriel blew out a low gust of air. Dean really didn't know shit, but then, that was all part of the rules. "Why don't you ask Cas when he gets out?"
Lies and evasion. That was what Dean had become accustomed to hearing whenever he wanted to know more about Cas. Even men that had wanted to talk, like Martin Creaser, had only had the courage to give him the most cryptic of messages. Dean remembered the way Martin had turned white at the sight of Cas and then skedaddled like a deer that had just heard the snap of a branch. Was it possible Gabriel was just like all of the other guys?
"You're afraid of him."
"Yeah, right!" Gabriel laughed. "As if! Me afraid of Cas."
"Then why don't you tell me his fucking rules?" When Dean challenged him, Gabriel paused to consider what he could get away with telling Dean. Gabe faced real problems because, although Dean was a tenacious, hotheaded ruffian, Gabriel liked him a lot. He bent to Dean like he wouldn't have with almost anyone else.
"Fine," Gabriel met Dean's hard gaze. "Rule Number One: Don't touch Dean. Two: Don't tell the secret. Three: Don't pick fights with Cas."
I'm Rule Number One? Dean frowned. "What secret?"
"How should I know? I'm just the messenger!" Gabriel tried to fight his way out of Dean's hands. "All I do is make sure all the guys know the rules. C'mon, let me go!"
"Gabe, tell me the God damned secret, for fuck's sake!" Dean shook the other man. "This isn't a game."
"I wish it was!" Gabriel spat in reply. "I'm not telling you anything else. I've already said too much. Ask Cas."
"I can't ask him! I don't know when he's going to come back. Just tell me. Please."
The secret was supposed to be kept from Dean, more than anyone else, but Gabriel didn't feel the need to tell the Winchester that. Miggs had broken two rules at once and he had a series of broken bones and internal hemorrhaging to show for it. "You wouldn't like it."
"Please, Gabe. I'm beggin' you." The way Dean's voice faltered as he held him firm within his grasp softened the other man's heart. Again, Gabriel lost more ground to Dean.
"You already know half of it because that bastard Miggs couldn't keep his trap shut," Gabriel condemned the crippled inmate once more. "Nobody is supposed to talk about his sentence."
"Well, now I know so I might as well know it all. What's the other half?"
"I'll never tell," Gabriel said unequivocally. "You can rough me up. You can string me up by my toes. You can eat all my candy. But, I swear on my sweet Maman I will never tell. I'm a lot of things, Dean. Handsome, likeable, talented. One thing I am not is a rat."
"I deserve to know, whatever it is," Dean sniffled. He tried to think of what it could possibly be. What kind of secret was Cas always keeping from him? Dean gulped. "It's his crime, isn't it? If he's going to die for something, I want to know what for."
"And I explained to you that I'll never tell. Never. Don't bother trying to ask around either. You'll only get silence and tall tales."
Dean was flummoxed. Gabriel, now, was more than a carefree blabbermouth. Dean had found the one thing even he wasn't eager to share. "Why are you doing this?" Dean questioned.
"If Castiel is the king, I'm his right hand man and making sure nobody knows the truth is part of my job. I've spun so many realities every dumb fuck out there thinks he knows. Boy, have I got a story for everyone. Maybe he beheaded a dozen nuns? Or, my personal favorite these days… He burned down a Catholic school full of children," Gabriel grinned. "I keep the myth alive. Every story I've got is something ungodly and blood chilling, so might as well take your pick."
Dean felt cold and ill because he was swimming in so many lies he couldn't see straight. He remembered how Death had mentioned the school arson and could not believe that everything came back to Gabriel and Castiel's orders. Castiel got rid of those papers for a reason.
"If every story is true, then maybe nothing is. I can barely remember myself," Gabriel said with an insolent shrug that drove Dean wild.
"Fuck, Gabe! Just tell me! I won't let you go until you do. I know you know. Why won't you just tell me?"
"Because he's in love with you!" Gabriel pulled out the exact phrase that he knew would stump Dean and get him to lower his guard. Gabriel slipped out of his grasp. "And because he's my brother. You talk about Sammy all the time. You think I don't want to protect my family too?"
Dean was still hearing the proclamation of love made on Castiel's behalf like a blaring clarion in his brain. The notion that Castiel could love him like the lovers of the songs that Gabriel always sang made Dean feel weak. Gabriel stood up straight with pride and resolve. "It was you that said family doesn't end with blood. Cas isn't my blood, but he's my family, you understand? If Cas doesn't want me to tell you something, I won't tell."
"Why?" Dean breathed, at a loss. He wanted to know the why of everything. He felt stunned, vulnerable, and defeated.
"You never saw what he was like before." Gabriel walked over to a table and leaned against it. "That face he makes when he's about to hurt someone used to be the only face he ever made. Looking at Cas was like looking at a brick wall right before you got your nose smashed into it."
Dean listened intently, only vaguely aware that Gabriel's anecdotes were distractions.
"There's always been a little something wrong with Cas. He's never been totally right in the head. When I first met him, he barely talked and never laughed. I was the one that taught him how to smile." Gabriel grimaced when he thought about how unhappy Castiel's first smile had been. "Cas looked out for me. He was this murder machine that nobody would dare fuck with, but he came to help me out of the blue one day. He didn't know who I was, but Cas floored this giant goon to protect me anyway. He didn't ask for anything in return. Cas ruined this guy's face, because… he thought it was the right thing to do."
Gabriel was apprehensive about telling Dean the story of their past, but he went on, "I'm a specimen of manly perfection now, but back then, I was a skinny kid. I was about as old as you were when you first got here, maybe younger. Pretty face, smooth hands. Easy target, some might say."
His first days in prison had been miserable. When Gabriel was angry and felt a burning sense of justice, he could be brutal. But, in his daily life, the indulgent playboy wanted nothing to do with conflict. Gabriel didn't like to be in situations he could not charm his way out of. He had felt like he was in the wrong place being in prison, but murder was not something that could be undone. The man he had killed was horrible, but Gabriel paid for it.
"People were afraid of Cas then as much as they are now. But he saved my life, and I owed him. From that day on, I stuck close to him." Gabriel had been the perfect combination of reckless, desperate, and lonely. Clinging to the dangerous man bested all his alternatives. He chuckled when he thought of the way he had buzzed around Cas cheerfully, like a daring hummingbird, when inside he had genuinely been nervous the other inmate would someday crush him like he'd crushed his enemy.
"That's how I found out he had this deep, incredible faith. Cas of all people. The guy with rivers of blood on his hands. For the longest time, we went to chapel together every Sunday. We've sat next to each other in the mess hall three times a day – everyday – for going on eight years now." Gabriel pressed his palm over his eye as he became affected by emotion. Dean hurt at the thought of Cas languishing in solitary, but so did Gabriel and he could no longer hide it. "He's the only family I have that will still talk to me."
A hot, fat tear seeped down Gabriel's cheek and he turned away from Dean. The things he knew about Cas were things he often wished he didn't know. Keeping secrets for Cas was easy because they shared at least one feeling in common – both Gabriel and Cas liked to run from the past and deny reality. "He's done a lot of bad things, Dean. He's flawed, but he tries harder than almost anyone. I just want to think of him as the guy that will defend someone in trouble. He can't stand to see a person being hurt by someone stronger, and that's good enough for me. It should be good enough for you too."
"Gabe," Dean spoke for the first time in a long while. "Whatever it is, I can handle it. He's my family too."
"No. It would break his heart if I told you the one thing he asked me to never tell. I wouldn't do that to him," Gabriel asserted. "Don't ask me about it. Ever again."
After Gabriel left the library, nobody else entered. The room was so empty and noiseless that it felt like a forgotten catacomb. Not knowing what had happened to Cas since the guards had carried him away was torture to Dean. He increased his grief by reviewing events in his mind over and over.
Again, Uriel had struck Castiel with remarkable force. What got to Dean was that Castiel had seemed to have purposely provoked the guard. Did Cas dread the idea of answering Dean's question so much that he preferred being struck unconscious? Everything Gabriel had told Dean had only managed to summon feelings within Dean that added to his wretchedness. Castiel could not possibly be a mastermind of deception, and yet, it seemed that he was.
There had to be a good reason why, Dean decided. Castiel probably just wanted to tell him his secret in his own time, using his own words. Dean paced in the library, festering with nerves. He didn't like the feelings he had, like he was being used and lied to from every angle.
Castiel is the king. Gabriel is the right hand. What does that make me? He felt like the fool – the court jester that Castiel kept for entertainment. Castiel himself had remarked that the prisoners believed him to be property. The king's favorite toy, Dean thought. He wasn't worthy enough of being kept informed or of knowing Castiel's past and that tore up his insides. You son of a bitch.
Dean was alone now, probably because the other inmates were too terrified of Cas to go near him. His bitch, Dean thought, the queen. What was it he had been called? …self-righteous whore.He gnashed his teeth together, thinking that this could not possibly be love, as Gabriel had claimed it was.
Dean wasn't pleased with Gabriel, but he took his advice and didn't ask any other inmates about Castiel's secret because he could not stomach any more lies for the evening. Nor did Dean think he could handle the truth, just at that moment. He didn't want to be seen caring about Cas or his past either. When time came for dinner, Dean sat where he always did. He faced Gabriel, who was next to Charlie. The space to Gabriel's right was mournfully empty.
No matter how angry and hurt he was because of Cas, Dean still wished to see his handsome face. He wanted to confront Cas, kiss him, and punch him. Dean ate in silence, unable to strike up any conversation. Charlie tried to talk, but his companions gave no signs of wanting to reciprocate.
The nightly count further established what Dean and Gabriel already knew. The guards passed by, counting every man except for Castiel. Castiel's cell had no occupant, which meant he was spending the night somewhere else. It could be the hole. It could be the infirmary. Or worse, the infirmary and then the hole.
Dean collapsed on his bed after the lights went out and buried his face into his pillow. What hurt more than anything else was the fact that Castiel had been sentenced to death, and could be taken from him permanently, at any moment. Dean was not unyielding. He could not be tough and composed at every hour. That night, he soaked his pillow in quiet tears and snot. You can't die. You son of a bitch, you can't die.
Castiel also failed to be present at the morning count, an absence that crippled Dean's spirit. Loosing Cas to violent, yet mysterious circumstances produced an effect similar to the consequences of severing one of Atlas' arms. If the world had been teetering upon one of the titan's arms in the old myths, it would have been as unbalanced as Dean's world.
Even his relationships with his other friends faltered. Knowing that they most likely would have tried to help him in their own ways, Dean still didn't want to see Charlie or Gabriel. He didn't want to hear how much he was liked or loved by Castiel from other's mouths. Dean didn't care to hear the hope Charlie had for him and Cas whenever spoke in his upbeat, knowing tenor. Neither did he care to hear more about the history-laden special relationship Gabe had with Cas. Most importantly, Dean did not want to talk about his feelings. All he wanted was to have Cas back.
Dean accomplished his daily routine with perfunctory motions, wordless and uncaring, bordering zombielike. The Winchester said fewer than a handful of words to anyone for a week. When they had free time, he hid himself in places where he was unlikely to be seen or heard. He carried a book or the guitar with him, as if either could really entertain. Everything was so awry and dark that it took all of his energy just to be at the designated spots at the right times for daily counts, showers, and meals. Why did he eat at all, he wondered, when he had no desire for food?
The chessboard was an eyesore. The library was a graveyard. The only thing that might have soothed Dean was the garage, but he ceased receiving jobs after Castiel's disappearance. He was being punished too, Dean reasoned, because someone knew of the connection between him and Cas' aggression.
By the time he was a week into his loneliness, Dean knew what Castiel's punishment was. Cas was to stay in solitary for a month. Dean had also learned that Miggs continued to survive, however laboriously. He had a broken neck, shattered legs, a concussion, and multiple other injuries, but he stubbornly held onto life. The blonde male was still being kept in the infirmary under strict watch. All scalpels and other pointy objects were under lock and key.
Dean wanted to write to Sam to tell him the truth more than ever. He wanted to write to Sam about Castiel, giving him every difficult, heartbreaking detail. Dean didn't like bearing his heartaches to his brother. Sam still had only half the details about his first love, Cassie. Even though Dean had married Lisa, he had found it difficult to tell Sam he loved her. Yet, with Castiel, Dean wanted to rip him apart in a letter to Sam and to worship him all at once. After all, Castiel had disfigured one man and crippled another for him. Cas was his greatest ally and the most loyal friend he had ever had apart from Sam. Dean didn't feel right that Sam knew so little about what was going on, but he knew he couldn't write without explaining everything about his crime. Normally, Dean would turn to Cas in a moment like this, but this time, Castiel was the source of all his problems. Dean was determined to keep Sam in ignorance, regardless of how much he wanted his secrets to be known.
Dean played the guitar everyday because he had gotten a little out of practice. He sought places where he could be alone to play. Each day, he would gravitate ever closer to the area where he knew Castiel was being held. When he played, he poured his thoughts of Cas into the notes his fingers coaxed from the strings. Come back, please, Dean pleaded internally as if Castiel could obey. God damn it, I miss you.
Maybe Castiel would go on another hunger strike. Maybe he would try to kill himself and get let out early, like before. The fact that Dean secretly hoped for these things, demonstrated the depth of his desperation. Then, one day, Charlie approached him.
"March 23rd," Charlie said to catch Dean's attention.
The Winchester killed the ballad on his fingertips to look up at the redhead. Dean had not shaved in days. "What about it?"
"That's when he'll be unguarded," Charlie explained. Dean knew precisely what Charlie meant and it sent a jolt of optimism through his veins. The hole was monitored by guards daily. They would never spend a full twenty-four hours in front of the cell, but they would pass by at random intervals each day to inspect the prisoner. They came by at different frequencies and different hours, but, if Cas was unguarded, that meant nobody would be checking in on him except for at the periodic meal times. Charlie went on, "One of the guards is taking a three-day weekend to take a trip to the beach. You can thank the warm front that's coming in for that."
"Thanks," Dean said to his friend. "You sure?"
"One hundred and ten percent sure." Charlie was so certain because Gabriel had snuck into an office to check the schedule. That was something only Gabriel could do because of all the favors he had curried throughout the years. He knew the insides of the prison like the palm of his hand, and was skilled at bullshitting and bribing his way out of any problems he could get into with the guards. Checking the guard schedules was a hobby of his that was often fruitful. When Charlie left him to his thoughts, Dean got up and wandered ever nearer to the hall where Castiel was being kept.
Three days from now. Dean dreamed about busting Castiel out of solitary, but he only had the rest of the prison to take him unless he found a way out of the penitentiary as well. He worried that if they were caught, Castiel would be punished with more time in the hole, so he concentrated on what little things he could do for Cas. Perhaps he couldn't break Cas out of that tiny cell, but that didn't mean he couldn't visit him. After receiving Charlie's message, Dean had more energy. He decided he would scheme a way to let Castiel know he was coming. Dean wanted to be sure that Cas knew he had not yet forgotten about him.
The guitar in his hands was the perfect vehicle to achieve his goals. Dean got as close to Castiel's hall as he dared and began to play the song with which he had once serenaded Cas. I'll Be Seeing You. That was the title of the song and it could not have been more appropriate. The notes filled the air like love incarnate. He didn't know if Castiel could hear or if he was even awake to listen, but Dean played on anyway. His rendition of the song was unique to him, and Castiel would know what it meant if he heard it.
Wake up, babe. Listen. There was no way for Castiel to indicate that he had heard, but Dean was confident the hall could carry his tune. When Dean was done playing the song, he waited for only a few moments before playing it again. Renewed, the song sounded as beautiful and enchanting as the first time Dean had played it for Cas in the library. The music was a cheery, tender contrast to the agonizing hardships they faced. To Dean, it became addictive to create his message in art. By the time he was beginning to pluck away at the same song for the fourth time, a guard approached him.
"Five twenty-nine twenty-nine, what's with the racket?" He asked in a rough tone. "What're you doing here?"
Dean did not allow the use of his prison number instead of his name to ruffle him into doing something unwise. "Practicing," he said simply. "This is a good spot. I've been coming here because nobody else comes here."
The guard didn't trust Dean and wasn't quite yet ready to let him off the hook. "You can take that racket somewhere else."
"Nope," Dean answered, continuing to strum. "This 'racket' is the only thing that's keeping me from bashing in a skull. If I take it somewhere else it would defeat the purpose because there might be people around. Skulls."
Dean winked and plucked away more loudly.
"If you're going to play here, at least mix it up a little," the guard groaned.
"Will do, officer." Abruptly, Dean switched songs.
"And stay out of trouble, you hear?"
"Yes, sir!" Dean nodded and went on playing.
The Winchester had been right. Across the small plaza, the narrow, tunnel-like corridor funneled sound flawlessly to the cell. Castiel, curled up on the floor of his tiny cell, listened to the first notes of 'Summertime' float through the only crack in his metal door. This was a song Cas loved almost as much as 'I'll Be Seeing You.' Without anyone to socialize with for several days, Castiel communicated with the music through quiet singing to have some kind of interaction with something that was alive.
"Summertime, and the livin' is easy…" Castiel sang in a coarse, low voice. "Fish are jumpin', and the cotton is high."
"Oh, your daddy's rich – " he coughed miserably because he hadn't spoken in so long that it was now a strain to sing. Cas owed Dean a song, he remembered, so he picked up his soft, somber vocals again when he caught his breath. "One of these mornings, you're gonna rise up singin'..." His fingers gently tapped on the pavement in tempo with the guitar. "Then you'll spread your wings, and take to the sky."
Castiel was glad Dean could not hear him, for he was sure he was an awful singer. In truth, he sounded nothing like Dean or Gabriel. Castiel's singing voice was haunting in its melancholy, and yet, colored by a talent he couldn't himself appreciate. What had begun rough had become lachrymose loveliness. The brooding quality of his voice was well suited for the slow-moving, A minor chords. "'Til that morning, there's nothing can harm you."
He couldn't manage another lyric. Cas' eyes slipped closed. This song was a lullaby and singing for as long as he had sapped what little energy he had had. Cas wanted to be lulled into a permanent sleep by the sound of the music Dean played.
Hush little baby, don't you cry.
Castiel woke up abruptly and wondered if it was the following day. He had such narrow, indirect sources of light that the passing of time was difficult to decipher. With nothing else to do, he had spent a lot of time asleep. He prayed constantly, slept, and did everything in his power to not lose his mind. He was certain the music from yesterday had been a part of a dream, at least, that was true until he heard it again. I'll Be Seeing You.
In all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces
All day and through
The music was not accompanied by singing of any kind, but he remembered the sweet lyrics as Dean had once sung them. Cas sat up and pressed his ear to the door. When that didn't increase his ability to hear, he lowered himself to the floor and tipped open the small slit where his food entered daily. Sound flooded in. "You're losing your mind," he muttered to himself. "Again."
You can't do that to yourself. Not again. Castiel felt over his face and, by the state of his beard, judged that he had been away for over a week. He normally didn't start talking to himself until after two weeks. This time, he was singing and hearing things. He commanded himself to stay strong. Exercise.
Exercise was the only other thing he could think of to keep his blood rushing and his brain connected. He did pushups until he lost count. Then, he did sit-ups. That music isn't real. Next, Castiel boxed invisible enemies to practice all the moves he had learned from books and the newsreels. He remembered watching Henry Armstrong knocking out Jimmy Garrison in seven rounds on a piece of old film the prison had. It had been such a great fight that the guards had played it multiple times. Somehow, any variety of boxing moves had always come naturally to Cas.
The music didn't stop. The sound of the guitar wasn't like other hallucinations Castiel had had in the past. All at once, it was familiar, friendly, charming, and wonderful.
No matter what Cas did, he felt suffocated by the small room. He felt a maddening loneliness that made him doubt his own thoughts. Dean couldn't possibly be outside of his cell, Castiel thought. That was madness. Wishful thinking. He sat on the ground and pulled his knees to his chest, listening closely. When the music finally stopped, he started from his spot and looked to the door. Now that it was gone, he was dying to hear it again. Whether or not they lived just in his imagination, the tunes reminded him of Dean.
Castiel pressed his hands together and prayed. Come back, please. For the rest of the afternoon, there was no more music. Cas eventually crawled to a corner and spread his legs out in front of him. The room looked largest from any one of the corners. If he could trick the room into appearing larger, perhaps he could also will the music to come back. He slept that night in an atmosphere that was absolutely still and mirthless.
When March 23rd came at last, Castiel had no idea what day it was or the significance of it. He'd heard music everyday until then, but today was different. After receiving his one o'clock rations, Castiel heard a knock on his door that caused him to scatter away from it, abandoning his plate of meager sustenance. Castiel didn't answer. He pressed his back up to the wall by the door and sat, waiting.
"Cas!"
The unmistakable sound of Dean's voice fell on his ears. That can't be. The insistent knocks that followed made his heart pound in bewilderment. Sounds continued to be made outside – sighs, the scrapes of impatient feet, whispers, and more raps on the sturdy door. A thud that was unlike anything he was used to hearing landed low and right outside of his door. Grumbling followed, "If you're sleeping, you better wake the fuck up soon. Cas, wake up!"
Dean?
The Winchester sat resting against the wall opposite to where Castiel was leaning on the other side. He looked down at his hands and moaned, "Just my luck, isn't it? I come all the way here and you're passed out. I'll stay here as long as it takes."
Dean didn't want to make too much noise because he knew there was always a chance sound would carry in a direction he did not want, alerting guards. "I came to visit because I miss you so damn much. I'm still pissed at you. Believe you me, am I ever pissed." Dean cast his eyes to the piece of floor in front of the slot. "But I'd rather have you, dodgy, conniving scumbag or not. Can you hear me?"
Dean bent over and lifted up the small sliver of metal. He pressed himself low to peer through it and saw nothing but a plate because Castiel was too far to the side. "Where the hell are you?"
Boldly, he stuck his hand through the slit to feel around for Cas. The sudden appearance of Dean's arm made the other man gasp. "Dean!" Castiel rasped, finally. He lunged for the hand to make sure it was real.
From the other side, Dean exhaled a happy breath. Castiel's clammy hand covering his own was a blessing. "You're awake. Why didn't you say so sooner?"
Joy shut out all of Castiel's words. He bent down and kissed Dean's fingers repeatedly. He followed his grateful, sweet kisses with more kisses up Dean's arm, and then traced the tip of his tongue along the inside of Dean's middle finger. The Winchester made of sound of aroused torment and squirmed on the other side of the door. "Whoa, whoa!" Dean moaned. "Cas, wait. Hey."
"Yes, Dean?"
"Baby, let me see your face, would ya?" Dean waited and when Castiel removed his lips and hands, Dean struggled to get his arm out of the slot. It took effort, but once he was free, he used his hand to prop the opening ajar. He got down as low as he could and could only see Castiel's knees at first. Then, he watched his hands come into view, followed promptly by his dirty, unshaven face. Blue eyes blinked at him in wonder.
"Aw, sweetheart, you look like shit." Dean remarked with a grin. "But gorgeous."
Cas felt shy and nervous like he had not felt for a long time around Dean. He wasn't sure what Dean had heard from his confrontation with Miggs or what he now knew. Cas was only sure that Dean was angry about something and that inhibited his ability to enjoy the visit fully.
"Don't worry, we'll clean you up when you're out of here. You'll be good as new, just like last time," Dean reassured Cas.
"You played music," Castiel stated without conviction.
"Yeah. You heard?" Dean was pleased. "Did you like it?"
Cas nodded and inched near the sliver that joined them. He carefully forced his arm through to delicately touch Dean's face. He fingered over the new scruff Dean had developed in his absence. So handsome. Soon, Dean was holding his hand and leaving affectionate kisses along his fingers and knuckles. "I miss you," he whispered. "Fucking hell, I miss you."
Without a warning, Castiel's hand disappeared. "You can't be here, Dean," he said. "It's too dangerous. They might come back, at any moment."
"No!" Dean insisted, "The guard that is supposed to be watching you is out today. It's Friday, babe. He's taking a three-day weekend and there's nobody to cover for him. Someone is just coming by to open the hall, give you your meals, and then lock the hall at night. I've been watching."
Understanding dawned upon Castiel and he asked, "How long have I been here?"
"Thirteen days." When Cas said nothing, Dean continued. "You have eighteen days left." To both men, that seemed like an infinite amount of time. Castiel's hand again slipped outside of the door to grab Dean's hand. Cas pulled Dean's arm onto his side of the door and nestled near their joined hands. Dean could feel Castiel's steady breaths brushing against his fingers. God. Dean swallowed and admitted his cravings out loud, "I want to hold you."
If needed, Castiel would lie a million times and hospitalize any number of men just to hear those words from Dean's lips again. "And I you," he said.
Dean leaned on his back and looked up at the ceiling miserably. He had plans to ask Castiel about death row, his crime, and his rules, but those were difficult subjects to broach. Last time Castiel had been in solitary, Dean had been angry with him then too, and Charlie had advised that he go easy on Cas. Going easy on Cas was so much more difficult this time around. Dean squeezed Castiel's hand.
They rested together for a long time, their hands interlaced, Dean on his back and Castiel on his side facing the Winchester. Apart from the view of his arm, Cas had a fraction of a view of the rest of Dean. He could see the hard lines of his jaw and his freckled cheek. Cas kept watch, waiting for Dean to turn so he could see the green of his eyes again. Staring upwards, Dean broke the calm between them. "You should have told me."
Castiel didn't offer a reply and his avoidance of the subject only increased Dean's frustration. The Winchester sighed, and then groaned. "You do understand why it's wrong, don't you? You can't just keep a big fucking secret like that." Dean didn't let go of Cas' hand, but he wouldn't look at him. "You understand that you can't just leave a person without saying goodbye? Have you ever been abandoned by somebody?"
Castiel stopped to think. People he knew had died, but he hadn't felt whatever Dean was trying to describe. "No."
"Well, it ain't right!" Dean raised his voice suddenly. "They could execute you next week. If that rat bastard hadn't told me, I wouldn't have known anything. You should have said something!"
"Some things are hard to tell."
By the way Dean's jaw moved, Cas could tell Dean had begun to grind his teeth. "Damn it. I don't care how hard it is. You can't keep something like that from me."
"I'm sorry," Castiel said, finally. That was what Dean had wanted, and although he felt Cas was sincere, he didn't feel especially satisfied.
"You keep pulling shit like this, and one day 'sorry' isn't gonna be enough."
"I am sorry." Castiel repeated and nuzzled Dean's hand with his face. He begged his pardon in soft kisses to his fingers. "I tried to tell you, but I never could."
As much as Dean hated to admit it to himself, he was thankful the blonde thug had blurted out Cas' secret. He could imagine Cas lying to him all the way to the gallows, but he couldn't figure out why. "Alright," Dean said. "But say it is going to happen…"
"Stop." Castiel couldn't talk about it now. He couldn't bare to listen to Dean speculate about what would happen if he got executed – not when he was in the darkest place of the penitentiary.
"When you get out of there, we are going to have a talk." Dean waited long enough to allow the severity of his statement settle in before continuing. "Hear me out for a second, okay? All I wanna say now is, time isn't always on our side. So, we should stick together as much as we possibly can while we still have it."
Castiel could not argue with that reasoning. He was a Dead Man Walking and his greatest wish was to be near Dean every step he took to the end.
"I know what you were trying to do out there on the balcony," Dean added, "but next time you wanna fuck some guy up, you should really consider toning down the theatrics."
Castiel's lip quirked. "I wanted people to see."
"You could have iced him in some corner somewhere and you wouldn't be here now. You know it's true!"
"Restraint is not one of my stronger suits."
Thickheaded son of a bitch.
"Well, now's as good a time as any to learn. Don't get yourself locked up here again, for the love of all things holy." Dean pressed Castiel's hand. "I mean it."
No matter how much Castiel sometimes believed he belonged in solitary, he hated it too. But, if it meant so much to Dean, he would make a special effort to stay out in the future.
"I'm going crazy out here without you," Dean went on. "You know Gabe was bawlin' over you?"
"Was he?"
"Yeah, big fat tears. That guy really loves you."
"Gabriel is a good friend," Castiel remarked with fondness. "Tell him I said hello and that I miss him too."
"You got it."
"How much time do we have left?"
"They lock up this hall at six, so about four and a half hours."
"Oh." Castiel slid closer to the door. "Are you going to stay the whole time?"
"No! I've got shit to do, I'm a busy man!" Dean cried. He flipped to his side to face the door with an incredulous look. "Yes, of course I'm staying the whole time, ya lug."
Castiel slowly moved their joined hands away so he could open more space with which to observe Dean. Their gazes met and they shared soft smiles. "You'll get bored. Four and half hours is a long time."
"Not long enough, if you ask me," Dean countered. "Nothing out there is more interesting than what's in that little cell."
Castiel was so struck by Dean's words that he was totally silenced. Meanwhile, Dean wondered if it was possible to get a kiss through the tiny opening between them. That would be awkward, Dean mused, he'd never go for it.
"Hey, where's the bed? Aren't you supposed to have a cot or somethin'?"
Castiel looked at the barren metal loops high up on his walls. He might have ruled the other prisoners with fear, but he was no favorite among the guards. "They take it away when I'm here."
Dean furrowed his brows. Oh, for fuck's sake. With heightened worry, he scanned Castiel's face. "Have you been eating?"
Castiel nodded. The food in solitary was worse than what was served in the mess hall, partly because he was served after everyone else had eaten. His portions were smaller and always made of the odd bits and ends. Castiel was fed like he was an afterthought.
"Don't you even think about pulling another hunger strike, you hear me?" Dean threatened. "No matter how bad it gets down here, just remember you've got us waiting for you. I'll be waiting for you."
Cas met Dean with a grateful gaze. "Will you play the guitar again?"
"If you like it, I'll play. I'll play for you everyday."
"I like it."
Dean discovered that it was impossible to kiss Castiel through the slot in the door where Cas' tray was delivered daily. They got close, but never close enough. If not for the metal flap covering the opening, their lips could have met. Dean would have been willing to wreck his hands to rip away that metal flap, but his efforts were to no avail. Time and time again, the metal flap would come down on his nose or hit him in the eye. Dean cursed and they laughed about it in the rueful way only parted lovers can laugh. Yet, they found ways for their lips to taste each other by taking turns bathing each other's hands in tender kisses. Dean noticed the warmth and every detail of Castiel's hands more acutely than he had before that day because Cas' hands and arms were all he could reach. In turn, Castiel idolized Dean's hands, massaging over them with his fingers in motions that were soothing, but unfamiliar.
The four and a half hours they spent together were tranquil and loving, despite the sorrowful topics they occasionally approached. Dean explained that Miggs lived on as a temporary cripple with a broken neck. The news caused Cas to grow reticent with fury. He only relaxed when Dean told him that the troublesome inmate was being kept under observation at the infirmary to recuperate and for his own safety.
Apart from the depression felt by Gabriel and Charlie at Castiel's removal from their group, Dean did not have much other news to provide. He told Cas that he had been practicing the guitar daily in his absence because he found most of his other favorite pastimes involved Castiel. He didn't have the patience to play chess with anyone else, Dean said. Castiel had ruined his ability to play chess with any other man. Dean couldn't concentrate on reading his books either because he kept worrying about Cas. He still had the energy to race Gabriel from time to time, but lifting weights was nowhere near as satisfying when Castiel was not there to spot him.
The last thing Dean did before he had to leave was offer Castiel a cigarette. He lit it between his lips and passed it through the slot, knowing Castiel must have been craving nicotine with his every nerve. Castiel reclined on his back and watched the smoke as it trailed from his lips, happily. There was no man on earth kinder than Dean, Castiel thought. The blue-eyed male imagined Dean's lips on the stick as he drew from it, feeling like they were sharing a kiss through paper and the leaves packed in between.
When the time came for Dean to leave, he couldn't tear himself away from Cas. Castiel had to urge him multiple times to hurry and leave before Dean finally got up to make his exit from the hall. Before he was a few yards away from the hallway, he almost ran head first into a guard. Just in time.
Dean's spirits were too high from having seen Castiel to fear his run-in with the guard. As if affected by Dean's pleasant aura, the uniformed male allowed the Winchester to continue on his way, unperturbed. Dean walked to the mess hall with a spring in his step. He ate whatever was before him, wearing a contented expression on his face, like he could still feel Castiel's lips all over his hands. He couldn't talk about having met with Castiel to his friends in such an open area, but when the time came to put up their trays, Dean whispered to Gabriel.
"He says hello, and that he misses you too."
Gabriel's eyes all but sparkled at the message, and at the fact that Dean was speaking to him again. The trio – Gabriel, Castiel, and Dean – found a break from their agitated, somber moods that evening. The chill of winter was passing, but Dean still pulled out the old navy gloves Castiel had given him that night. He put them on not out of necessity, but because he felt Cas' nearness through the scratchy fabric. Dean's eyes fell, and he dreamt of Castiel.
He saw him spread out on sand, wearing an ensemble of white and tan that did not belong on any convict. Cas was without shoes and he gazed up at the clouds, saying something wonderful to Dean. Perhaps he was philosophizing about the physics of the beauty laid out in the nature before them. A full spectrum of color filled the dusk sky and reflected on the gentle waves of the ocean that intermittently lapped at Castiel's feet.
It did not matter what Castiel said because his voice rang like soft poetry on Dean's ears as he listened. He loved Castiel and he loved the beach. He was fascinated and infatuated by all the details of his friend, from the way short strands of his brown hair curled towards his ears to the ever-present cracks in his lips and the deep intelligence of his blue eyes.
The sun was falling, but Dean wasn't worried about going back to find the car in darkness. He wasn't sure if he could ever will himself away from the stretch of sand that he shared with Cas. The blood-oranges comingling with the pale blues of the sky had Castiel transfixed in the same way that Dean was spellbound by Castiel. The longer they relaxed together, the darker the water became, until it was a blackish-blue hue, creeping over Cas' ankles and calves.
The Winchester rolled on his back to witness the first specks of stars emerging from the blanket of crimson and purple, still soothed by the steady voice of his companion. In an instant, the ocean came to a rushing crescendo. Then, Castiel was gone.
His disappearance was so sudden, Dean jumped to feel the sand beside him to check if it was not just an illusion that Castiel was gone. Through the last rays of sunlight, Dean felt nothing but sand.
"Cas?" Even to his own ears, his voice was pitiful.
He acted with urgency, looking for Cas everywhere. The only traces of human presence all along the dim landscape were of Dean's footprints. He looked out to the water and the sound of the ocean fell even more stridently upon his ears. "Cas!"
Anger colored the panic in his voice. He did not want to be left behind, not again. There was already a golden woman missing from his life that he could never forget because he took her picture with him to every dwelling he had ever inhabited since her death. Then, his father had followed her, after showing him time after time what it was like to be alone. Dean even felt abandoned by the war and his brother. Dean had been left behind – wounded, but safe – when he had wanted nothing more than to protect his fellow soldiers and his precious brother. He had become a pariah to the people of his town. He was a drunk and an unhinged, broken solider to them. But, Cas was different. Castiel was his and he wasn't going anywhere without Dean's permission. So, he walked that dream beach with obsessive purpose.
Men did not just vanish, he assured himself. The sky remained at permanent twilight to give him barely enough visibility to continue his search. Finally, he came upon a rocky cliff that cradled signs of Cas. When he saw the streak of white, Dean ran towards it. He expected to find Cas, but instead came upon only his shirt. Dean's fingers dipped into the water to pick up the sopping article and a swell of loss penetrated into his heart.
Dean woke up with a horrified gasp, fearing that Castiel had really drowned. He scrambled out of bed and was disorientated by the sight of bars. He stared at them, and out at the prison beyond for a while, before fully collecting his wits. Cas is alive. You saw him just yesterday.
Right as he gathered himself, the sound of the morning bell made him jump. His cell opened, letting Dean out so that he could better gaze at the cell that should have held Castiel. Cas wasn't there. Dean knew why, and yet, felt no comfort in the knowledge. If he couldn't see Cas, he had no way of knowing what he was enduring. They wouldn't execute him while he's in solitary, would they?
That question echoed in his mind for the rest of the day, along with dozens of other worries. Dean couldn't fret and pine passively. He delved into studies of the prison, walking the grounds every second he had. Dean examined the guards and the positions of lights, doors, and vents. Every passageway embodied potential and every guard was assessed by degree of threat. Dean poured himself over old newspapers and books, hoping to find valuable knowledge or inspiration. He was scheming to get Castiel out before anyone could take him away from him.
As promised, Dean also visited the space by Castiel's hall with the guitar. He played during rec time, for the inmate's pleasure. Castiel was still there, alive, Dean reasoned. As long as he played for him, Dean believed there were ears listening.
For days, Dean continued in his solitary rounds, pondering, researching, and playing. Sometimes, Gabriel joined him when he played for Cas. At first, Gabriel simply admired him from afar, not wishing to disturb Dean or break his concentration. Dean's fingers eventually tore from the amount of playing he did and, finally, Gabriel decided to take over when Dean would allow it.
Gabriel's playing was distinct from Dean's in a way the singer knew Castiel would be able to recognize. He plucked energetic, complex tunes that impressed Dean and provided a vivacious counterpart to the Winchester's wistful, romantic strumming. Playing together for Cas, Dean and Gabriel mended the rift that secrecy had created between them earlier.
One day, Dean labored to play something new. He was running out of songs he knew to play for Cas, so he tried to adapt a jazzy piano piece he knew to the guitar. It was an understatement to say this was a difficult task for the amateur player. Envisioning chords for the guitar was no small feat when he had horns, the piano, and Fats Waller's unique voice ringing in his brain. Dean sang quiet and slow to help his train of thought.
"No one to talk with, all by myself…"
Dean shifted his fingers into a different key. That was better.
"No one to walk with, but I'm happy on the shelf."
"Ain't misbehavin', I'm savin' my love for you!" Gabriel's loud, happy voice interrupted Dean and startled him into lowering the guitar. Dean wouldn't have been singing if he had known Gabriel would appear. "I love that song!" Gabriel cried. "Good ol' Fats, may he rest in peace."
Gabriel had run up to Dean's perch and he nudged him when the other male met him with a mortified expression. "Oh, c'mon! Why'd you stop? I know you sing. I know you know I know why you sing here of all places. Don't stop on my account."
"I was just practicing…" Dean verbally stumbled. "I couldn't remember how it goes without singing."
"You know for certain the one you love," Gabriel teased with a haughty grin and then half-spoke and half-sang more in his sweet, molasses voice, "You're through with flirtin', it's just him you're thinkin' of!"
"That's not how it goes!" Dean snarled, pretending that Gabriel wasn't singing about him.
"Oh, it doesn't? I can't remember. Play more so I can remember."
Dean fought it for a few seconds, but then strummed something halfheartedly without singing. He felt uneasy with Gabriel's eyes scrutinizing him so devilishly. Gabriel was disappointed that he didn't get to hear Dean sing about how Castiel's kisses were worth waiting for. He listened for a few moments before interrupting. "G, huh? Good choice." He waved his hand. "Maybe add some D in there at the beginning."
"Huh?"
"May I?" Gabriel stretched out his hand. Dean passed over the instrument and crossed his legs to face Gabriel. Then, in a miraculous display, Gabriel produced a waterfall of loveliness through a variety of chords in a tempo much quicker than what Dean had been playing. The Winchester was floored as Gabriel began to sing as well, seeming to invent an arrangement without effort.
"How'd you do that? I just – " Dean gasped. "I've been picking at this for an hour and you just – How do you do that?"
"What? I dunno." Gabriel shrugged. "I just think it and it happens."
Dean's mouth hung open. Gabriel made playing the song seem like child's play, somehow funneling New Orleans jazz piano out of the strings. He didn't think he could imitate what he'd just heard.
Gabriel shed all his temporary modesty to take the opportunity to boast, "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm a savant. A genius. A prodigy. A god among men."
Dean groaned, and cast his eyes up to the ceiling, his palm to his forehead. He should have known better than to ask. Still, he had a mission. His mission was to play for Castiel and he didn't want to drive the other man insane by playing the same songs over and over again. Dean leaned forward. "Can you teach me?"
"I always have time for my star pupil." Gabriel all but glowed. Together, the pair strummed and sang until they created a brilliant adaptation of the song. Teasing and laughing ensued. All the while, neither man forgot they had a single audience member who they hoped was also smiling to the music.