Chapter 20: You've Suffered Enough and Warred with Yourself
HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY EVERYBODY! Also, happy National Organ Donor's Day and Ferris Wheel Day, because whoever creates these holidays has a sense of humor.
"How do I look?" Claire did a little pirouette in front of a bleary-eyed Castiel the next morning.
"Coffee."
"Ick, that sounds awful."
"No. Wonderful. Need. Now." Castiel stared at the coffee-maker emphatically.
Claire snorted and rolled her eyes, "You're only selectively coherent in the mornings."
"Coffee."
"Hmm. Nope!" she grinned cheekily and skipped out of the kitchen.
"Claire!" Castiel protested, "Caffeinate! Caffeinate!"
"Aren't you just the cutest little coffee-Dalek," Gabe grinned as he swooped into the kitchen, depositing a cardboard travel cup in front of his cousin.
Castiel narrowed his eyes at him, "Who let you in?"
"Haha!" Gabe crowed, hopping up to sit on the counter, "It does speak!"
Castiel gave him a baleful look but snatched the coffee before Gabriel could take it back and chugged half the cup.
Gabriel shook his head, "If you think that'll stop me from drinking out of it now, you are sorely mistaken, my groggy friend."
Castiel narrowed his eyes at him, "This is disgusting."
Gabe snorted, "Fine then," he went to grab it back.
Castiel clutched it tight to his chest; "Mine."
"No one ever teach you 'sharing is caring', Cassandra?"
Castiel stood and took Gabe's drink out of his hands before sweeping out of the room.
"HEY!" Gabriel yelped, but Castiel was already out in the hall, smirking as he made his way downstairs to the bookstore.
…
"Hey."
Castiel did not jerk and did not slam his head on the metal shelf he had been crouching under in the back room. He just…twitched…slightly…dammit, he liked to be the one to sneak up on people and stand around mysteriously!
"Yes, Claire?" he asked, standing and trying to brush himself off and only generating a bigger and bigger dust cloud.
Claire gave him a knowing look and a raised eyebrow. He raised a testy eyebrow right back.
She politely swallowed a laugh and refocused, "So, I'm meeting my mother in a few minutes."
"Yes?"
"What should I do?"
Castiel sighed, a small, controlled puff of air, "Claire, you've already done this once, it won't be so terrible."
"What do you know, you hate her!" Claire snapped; then seemed to realize how that must sound and tried to reel the wayward comment back in, "I'm sorry, just…"
"Claire, I've told you, my feelings here don't matter."
"Of course they matter, you kept her away from me for eight years!" her eyes were watering, either from the dust of the emotions rioting within her slight frame.
Castiel eased himself down on a box of books, looking up at the child he had raised as his own, "I made some executive decisions that were for the best at the time, but now I'm no longer in control here. You can't hide behind me. How you handle this is up to you. I trust you, and I will back you so long as I feel you are safe. Believe me, the minute you or anyone else is in danger, I will be there."
She sniffled, "I'm sorry, I feel like we've had this conversation a million times."
Castiel shrugged, "Sometimes you need to say things out loud to understand them."
"I'm sorry."
He smiled gently and stood, wrapping his arms around her, one hand cupping the back of her head and smoothing her hair as she leaned into his chest, "You are my periwinkle little girl and I will be here whenever you need me. That's all you need to know."
"Thank you."
He patted the top of her head, then released her, "Now go talk to your mother, Gabe will be there if you need any backup."
Claire gave him a watery nod, then squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and went out to face the world. As the door swung shut behind her Cas rubbed at his chest, trying to chase away the hollow feeling in the center of his being that told him she was growing up.
…
"Claire."
"Amelia."
"Sweetie, you don't need to –"
"Flask."
"What?"
"Flask. I know you have one, I want Gabe to keep it behind the counter for the next hour."
"Claire!"
"I want to have a real, sober conversation with my mother, is that too much to ask?"
"…Alright…"
"Thank you."
…
The bell above the door jingled and Castiel shot the irritating thing off its hook with his rubber-band gun, not even bothering to look where he was aiming. He was too busy scrubbing down the counter, lysoling every surface, detail-dusting every key on the computer's keyboard.
"Cas?" a soft voice drew him out of his cleaning frenzy.
He glowered up into green eyes and a freckled face.
"What are you doing?" Dean asked gently.
"Cleaning," was Castiel's terse reply.
"Cas."
"What?"
"You don't clean."
"Yes."
"You hate cleaning."
"Yes."
"Cas."
"What?"
"What are you doing?"
Castiel blinked and finally completely focused on Dean, "Claire's meeting with Amelia."
Dean smiled, "Okay, so let's go get lunch."
"What?"
Dean raised his eyebrows, "Yeah, you and me, we're getting lunch before you set the desk on fire with your mind."
"It's a counter," Castiel reminded him mulishly.
"Yeah, whatever you say, let's go."
Castiel slunk out from behind the counter; Dean extracted the canister of Lysol wipes from Castiel's death-grip, set them by the computer monitor and slung an arm around Castiel's shoulders, tugging him into his side and not letting him escape. Castiel was tense, tight with anxiety as he imagined what might be happening next door, almost actively resisting the lure of Dean's body heat.
"Cas," Dean growled, resting his forehead on top of Castiel's head, "Relax."
Castiel huffed; then deflated, "I'm worried about her."
"You let her take point on this one," Dean reminded him, "She's a smart kid, she'll handle herself well, don't worry."
"It's my job to worry."
"Yeah? Well, it's my job to find the perfect burger before I die, and now that's your job too. C'mon, Cas, let's get something to eat."
Castiel let Dean tug him out of the bookstore, stopping to flip the sign from 'open' to 'closed' on the way. They were in the Impala and pulling out of the parking lot when Dean said, casually but with a gravity that was not to be disputed under any circumstances, "You're probably the best dad I've ever met, you know that, right?"
"Thank you, Dean," Castiel said, watching Gabriel's bakery as they drove away.
"We'll be back, just give her an hour with her mother."
"Amelia…"
"Is a bag of crazy cats on magic mushrooms, but Claire wants to know her and Gabe won't let anything bad happen, so you've got to trust Claire's instincts on this one."
Castiel stared at him very seriously as several lavender seconds trickled past.
"A bag of crazy cats on magic mushrooms?" Castiel repeated as solemnly as possible.
Dean crooked a smile and within the minute they were both laughing. Maybe a little hysterically on Castiel's part. But they laughed. Together.
Dean's hand found his and their fingers laced together like they had always been doing that. And maybe somewhere, on some other plane of existence, they had.
…
"Amelia…" Claire watched her, almost at a loss; overwhelmed by the sheer volume of questions she felt beating behind her eyes, in time to her trapped-animal heart.
"Please call me 'mom', sweetie," Amelia's eyes were pleading, her dark circles eating up her pale face.
"Please don't call me 'sweetie'," Claire asked, lips twisting.
"I used to call you…but you called me 'mommy' then…" Amelia stared at the table, picking at her long, artificial nails.
They were red. Claire wondered what kind. Puce? Folly? Maroon? Castiel would know.
"Why did you leave?" the question burst out of her body like air punched out of her lungs.
Amelia blinked, slowly, carefully, as if the world had shifted with that question and her eyes needed a moment to readjust, "I…couldn't."
"Couldn't?" Claire snapped, "Couldn't what? Come on, you're so quick to pick at other people, but you won't give me more than two words?"
"Please don't be angry," Amelia said, her lips trembled and Claire wondered how much of that tremor was real.
"Please be honest, then," Claire said, trying to keep her voice even but feeling it shake in her chest as all the loose, broken pieces inside her trembled.
Amelia sighed, then winced as if it hurt her, "After the fire, there was nothing. Nothing left. Just me and you and Castiel and I wondered what the point of it all was. What was the point of the last five years if something that small could take it all away? What was I doing? What were any of us doing? Why did we care what happened next when it had all happened before? I couldn't feel anything except this horrible, open pit inside me sucking everything into it and giving nothing back. It didn't seem to matter what I did, who I was, why should it? Everything was gone and I couldn't think beyond that, beyond this thick, scummy layer of memories and what had been and what was supposed to be.
"You were supposed to have a sibling, did you know that?" Amelia asked, red-lipsticked mouth twisting and bucking, "We had so many plans. We were perfect," she blinked watering eyes and seemed to drift a bit, more somewhere else than actually present, "I think I resented Castiel, right after the fire. No, I think I hated him. Because he was standing there, looking just like Jimmy and the hospital said he was Jimmy but they didn't know shit. And I think they said that Castiel, or Jimmy or whoever they wanted him to be, had saved us and why would he bother to do that? What was so worth it about being saved? Aren't fires meant to consume? Why not consume it all, burn it all down?"
"What about me?" Claire asked, the jagged edges of her voice slicing into her tongue as she spoke.
"I was glad you were safe. I was glad for that small thing. But I couldn't look at you because I couldn't see a future for you anymore. And that terrified me. I think I was convinced that I'd ruin you. That I'd ruined me. I don't really know. It was all tangled up and wrong back then."
"When did you start trying to find me?" Claire asked, voice shaking.
"I'm not sure. I tracked down Castiel and for a while I…didn't. I didn't do anything. I just liked knowing that you were there and imagining that maybe you had a future now. I tried to call…a year, two, later? I'm not sure. I'd try to talk to you but Castiel wouldn't let me. Either I was too drunk or too…whatever. He didn't want you to hear me like that, sweetie-pie. That number was really the only one I called regularly. I drunk-dialed Castiel a lot.
"I started to resent the way he kept you away from me. It just sort of came to me one day. I was getting ready to go to some stupid party full of stupid people I didn't really want to know and who didn't really want to know me and I realized that I hadn't spoken to my daughter for years. And in that second I'm pretty sure I hated Castiel, really hated him, for the first time."
"So you tried to get in touch?"
"Sort of. Castiel would disagree. I wouldn't. It's all in the perspective."
Claire nodded and took a slow sip of whatever fluffy drink Gabe had deposited in front of her. She couldn't taste much through the whipped cream. She supposed that was the point.
They sat there for a moment, silence wrapping around them like a tight, gauzy bandage.
"Do you forgive me?" Amelia asked, tentative, fiddling with the sugar packets on the table, tapping the edges of the paper parcels against the Formica surface.
Claire shifted, uncomfortable. She wondered what Castiel would do here. Probably something unexpected, unusual and perfect. Something with colors. But she wasn't Castiel.
She wondered what Dean would do, or Sam, or Gabe.
She wondered what her father would do.
"Do you love me?" Amelia's voice was whisper-frail and that wasn't playing fair, was it? For her to sound so fragile, when it was Claire who had been hurt in the first place.
Claire gnawed on her lip until, with a huff of irritation; she dropped it and tugged her gaze away from Amelia's searching eyes. "I don't know you."
"Do you want to?"
A tiny sound slipped away from Claire, it might have been a whimper; it might have been a sigh. "I want to try."
…
A week later found Gabe sitting on Sam's kitchen counter, kicking his legs aimlessly through the air, fingers tapping a strange little rhythm against the slick glass of a bottle of chocolate microbrew. "So, previously on The Not-So-Young and the Desperate…"
"Haha, Gabe, I get it, it's been a week, we're all in one piece…"
"And we put those Kardashian bitches to shame!" Gabe crowed.
"Rude," Sam said dryly, tapping away on his laptop and not really bothering to pay attention to his pint-sized home invader.
"Aw, does Sammy keep up with the Kardashians?"
"No."
"Ha, I call shenanigans! You totally do."
"I do not."
"Lies."
"Lie. Singular."
Gabe stopped, blinked, then shook his head as if to realign some gear that had gone cockeyed in there, "Did you just grammar-sass me, young man?"
Sam shrugged eloquently, "I don't know, I could be lying about it."
"Hey!"
"I'm untrustworthy."
"Hey!"
"Completely unreliable, I hear – "
Gabe grabbed a paper napkin off the counter, balled it up and chucked it at the younger Winchester's head, "No using my words against me! They are my babies and should be treated with the respect and dignity they deserve!"
Sam turned away from his laptop to give Gabe an exquisitely dry look.
"You words deserve no respect nor dignity so long as they do not possess it themselves," Castiel remarked, breezing through the doorway.
"Oh, if it isn't Cassie-Ex-Machina, riding in to put all to right," Gabe teased.
Castiel ignored him and began sorting through Sam's fridge.
"Oh, by all means, take my groceries," Sam deadpanned.
"You took my sister-in-law, it's the least I could do." And maybe somewhere in Castiel-land that logic actually made sense. Gabe would put money on the idea that Cas just said stuff like that to screw with people's heads sometimes.
"I didn't take Amelia," Sam said, mouth curving in distaste, "I'm just her physician. I'm helping her work through her options and communicate her problems in a healthy – "
"Yes, you're her shrink, we get it," Gabe rolled his eyes, smirking when Sam bitch-faced at him.
"Sam is not a shrink, don't cheapen his profession," Castiel said with a very serious look that could only be humorous.
"Anyway, I think we can all agree that I am not Amelia's nanny," Sam said, "I'm her doctor, there's a difference."
"Not really, in this case. Except most children young enough to need a nanny aren't die-hard alcoholics," Gabe mused.
Castiel held up a picture frame made of his fingers, "Exhibit A, Gabriel Shurley, the one being capable of making a tactless pun sound harmless."
"Ouch, mean, Cassie," Gabe whined.
Castiel made a face and dropped the finger-frame.
"Castiel," Sam stumbled over a name a bit, even after a week it was a hard thing to choke out, "There is some stuff I need to talk to you about, as far as Amelia goes."
Castiel blinked and tipped his head to the side, registering the change of tone, "This is serious," he observed, no question in his voice.
"Yeah, it kind of is, and you're her next of kin as far as I know."
"Close enough," Castiel remarked wryly.
Sam nodded; then heaved a gusty sigh, running his fingers through his over-grown mane of hair, "Things aren't looking great for her. She's terminal; she's been terminal for a long time, too. No treatment as far as I can see, it's like she never bothered. She doesn't have long."
"I already knew that," Castiel said gently, "She told me."
"I guess I'm just reminding you, she doesn't have long. And this might be a breach of confidentiality, but she's already told me to make sure you know everything, just in case… she hasn't told Claire anything yet. And I don't think she's planning on telling her."
Gabe shook his head, "Bitch."
"Bitch," Dean agreed from where he was now leaning in the doorway, apparently having followed Castiel when his fridge raid took longer than anticipated, "What's she planning on doing? Waiting until the last possible moment then leaving the kid all over again, no explanation, just 'bye, sweetie, you'll never see me again ever'? It's a dick move."
"It's that or die slowly in front of her," Sam said, "She doesn't want treatment, and frankly, it's too late in the game for it to help any."
"I agree, she should tell Claire. But it must be her, not me," Castiel observed, "That's something Claire needs to hear from the source."
They all nodded, not liking it one bit.
"Claire's with Amelia now?" Sam asked.
Castiel's body went tight and Sam regretted asking the question.
"Yes. They wanted to go to dinner together. I sent them to Benny's. He and Jo will look out for Claire. And Jo knows not to serve Amelia anything stronger than Pepsi."
…
Claire shuffled awkwardly, "Yeah, it's been good, here in Orcastle with… you know."
"Yeah?" Amelia watched her, heart in her eyes.
"Yeah," Claire smiled distantly, "We've done such dumb stuff, but it's been so great. Like before Thanksgiving we disrupted a film shoot."
"That sounds like Castiel."
"There were pirate flags involved," Claire said with mock-gravity, "And a pennywhistle."
Amelia laughed, air crackling in her lungs, "I wish I could have seen that."
"You could have." Claire's tone was neutral, neither an invitation nor an accusation.
Amelia sighed, "I could have."
"You still could…later…now…" Claire trailed off, not sure what exactly she was attempting to articulate.
Amelia blinked, mascara-clotted lashes bobbing up and down like little dark wings. "Thank you," she whispered, almost reverent.
…
Days trickled, traipsed and tripped past. Castiel fell asleep draped across Dean's body on the couch nearly every night, waiting for Claire to come home from her now-daily dinners with Amelia, soothed by the hum of the tv in the background and Dean's fingers combing through his hair. Dean would curl his other arm around Castiel's waist and hold him steady while Castiel buried his face as deep as he could in the crook between Dean's shoulder and the rich brown universe of the couch. They would breath together, filling the air with the sound and color of life itself.
…
Every night Amelia would say goodbye the same way, "Goodnight, sweetheart, I love you."
And every night Claire would say back "Goodnight, see you tomorrow."
Sometimes Amelia would dare to catch the question hanging in the air, "Do you forgive me?" and "Do you love me?"
Those nights Claire would just shake her head and repeat, like a wind-up doll, "Goodnight, see you tomorrow."
…
Claire was doing her homework one afternoon, soaking in the docile hum of the bookshop all around her when suddenly her head popped up. Castiel could see its sudden ascent clearly from where he sat behind the counter. He caught the honeysuckle gleam of blonde hair launching itself upward, like a gopher or a meerkat.
"Hey," she tried to get his (already gotten) attention, "Is it wrong that I don't hate her anymore?"
Castiel closed his eyes and tried to smother the tiny pinprick to his heart. "Don't hate. Please, Claire. Don't hate."
"Why not? You do."
"Claire, it's okay to want to be like me. But if that's the path you choose, I want you to be a more successful me."
There was a pause while they stared at each other over the angles and curves of the bookshop.
"Did you just make a Scrubs reference?" Claire demanded, trying not to laugh.
Castiel hummed and gave her a sly smile.
"You just tv-referenced my existential angst," Claire muttered, laughter boiling up through her throat.
"Yes," Castiel's eyes were bright fragments of sky.
"You just tv-referenced my existential angst…" Claire's murmur gave way to snickers halfway through.
"Excuse me? I'd like to buy this book sometime this century," a customer grumped in front of the counter.
Casteil gave the gawky teen a flat look. "What has two thumbs and doesn't care?"
Claire was hysterical with laughter now, "Don't answer that; never answer that!"
"Yeah, whatever; just let me pay so I can get out of here."
"You are a puce human being who obviously does not watch enough quality television," Castiel informed him as he rang up the purchase.
"Whatever," the kid muttered again as he scooped his purchase off the counter.
"Claire, what has two thumbs and doesn't care?" Castiel asked after the kid left.
"Bob Kelso!" she shouted.
"And?"
"You!"
"Very good."
…
"Hey, Mom?"
Amelia's fork stilled, the tines shrieking against the plate.
"I don't hate you."
"I don't hate you either, sweetheart."
…
"Hey, Dean?"
"Yeah, Cas?"
"You're a really nice pillow."
"Look at you, using adjectives that aren't property of Crayola."
"You're mean."
"A good second attempt, but the real challenge will be when you get to the multi-syllable adjectives. I hear they're a bitch."
"And puce. You're very puce."
"…"
"…"
"But I forgive your shortcomings."
"Really?"
"You're a good kisser."
"Hey, look, more adjectives."
"Shut up, atomic tangerine."
"I'm gonna assume that's another Crayola color."
"Maybe."
…
Amelia sagged against the bed in her hotel room. The streetlights outside painted the walls with bands of gray and stained the shadows indigo. Her heart pounded and staggered in her chest, like a drunk trying to walk down a narrow hallway and just bouncing off the walls instead.
She imagined she could hear it ticking, like a car engine, struggling a little bit more with every wheezing beat.
That was ridiculous. She wouldn't be able to mark off the days left like days until Christmas.
Christmas.
Ha.
She probably wouldn't get another one of those.
The thought made her sad in a way it hadn't before. She found herself wishing she would see another Christmas. Another Thanksgiving. Another Halloween. Really, at this rate she wouldn't get a last Fourth of July. But she wanted to see Claire's face on Christmas morning. She wanted to cook a Thanksgiving dinner for the first time since the last time. She wanted to know what Claire would wear for Halloween this year.
She wanted her family back.
She wanted Jimmy.
She wanted Claire.
And the kicker was this: she was still angry with Jimmy. She was so angry with him for dying, for leaving them here. It wasn't his fault, couldn't be his fault because death always seemed to absolve and sanctify the gone.
Maybe she would be a good person…after.
She shuddered, she always felt cold these days.
It was coming, the end. She could feel it when she struggled to get up in the morning and when she collapsed into bed at night. She was scared. She didn't want to leave like this, she didn't want to leave a body to be found the next morning; she didn't want Claire to know. She didn't want to leave her burdened.
Amelia Novak was going to leave under her own terms.
And it was going to be soon.
…
Castiel appeared at Dean's door, disgruntled, "I've been evicted from my own home."
Dean laughed at his pain, the beautiful bastard, "Come in, I'm making burgers, Sammy's sitting around doing nothing."
"You're a jerk," Sam called absently from the couch, where he was hunched over his laptop and a mess of patient history files.
"Bitch," Dean said easily, smacking the back of Sam's head as he walked past.
Sam grumbled incoherently and dug through his pile of folders.
"You keep doing what you're doing, which is nothing," Dean teased.
Castiel laughed and hopped up to sit on the counter and watch Dean cook.
Dean casually slid an arm around his waist and rested his chin on his shoulder. Castiel leaned into his touch like a cat, getting comfortable.
"You should make the salad," Dean mumbled, his breath warm on Castiel's skin.
"You're not allergic to vegetables," Castiel murmured back.
"You're not allergic to cooking," he shot back.
"Lies."
"Dean, don't forget to make a salad!" Sam called absent-mindedly from the living room, not paying attention to whatever was going on in the kitchen.
Dean pinched Castiel, "Salad."
Castiel pinched Dean's arm, "Manners."
"Salad, please," Dean tucked his head into Cas's shoulder and nuzzled his neck.
Castiel pinched him again.
"Hey!"
"Move."
"No."
"I need to make a salad."
Dean grinned, "Thank you."
Castiel snorted and rolled his eyes at him.
"I don't care if you're making out in you spare time, but I'm gonna be pissed if you guys get distracted and let the food catch on fire," Sam grumped vaguely.
Dean winked at Castiel and Cas rolled his eyes at him.
…
"Thanks for cooking dinner, Mom," Claire said, watching Amelia as the woman moved through the kitchen, hands fluttering and body language tentative but gestures sure.
"Thank you for letting me use your kitchen."
"Why you'd decide to cook tonight?" Claire asked, grabbing a sliver of carrot out of the pile sitting on the counter.
Amelia paused for a moment, uncomfortable, before gliding back into motion, "I just haven't cooked for you in so long…it was something I wanted to do."
"Oh, well, thanks."
Amelia smiled, shoulders sagging in relief, "You're welcome."
…
"Hey! I smell burgers!" Gabe barged into Dean's apartment, indignant.
"Why does he have a key?" Dean growled.
"He has keys to the entire building, you knew this."
"I don't have to like it."
Castiel threw an olive at him with a straight face.
"I want a burger tooooo!" Gabriel insisted, hopping onto a barstool and spinning in circles.
"Fine," Dean grumbled.
Castiel considered; then threw another olive at him.
"You guys are weird," Gabe concluded.
…
"This is delicious, Mom," Claire gushed, taking a second helping of shepherd's pie.
"Thank you," Amelia beamed. A smile transformed her face, bringing light to her sunken features.
"Seriously, this is great," Claire grinned at her, exuding warmth, stretching it out to her mother, trying to wrap her up in second-hand health and keep her safe, but not quite reaching.
"I wanted to cook for you at least once before…"
"Before," Claire's spoon dipped, clacking against her plate as her wrist went slack, "Before what, Mom?"
Amelia went silent and pensive, staring off into a realm no one could see but her. She had only eaten half of the food on her plate.
"Before what, Mom?" Claire demanded, voice climbing in volume.
"I'm leaving tonight, sweetie, I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer. But there's somewhere I've got to be."
"Where? What and where are more important than here?" Claire demanded, tears stabbing at the back of her eyes.
"No where, sweetheart, but I can't get out of it. I have to go."
"Then tell me where you're going, I'll visit you."
"You can't."
"What?!" Claire was shouting now, but shouting was better than crying and she knew she would start that as soon as Amelia wasn't right here, in front of her, staring her down with huge sunken eyes.
"You have to promise me you won't follow me where I'm going, okay? You can't, you really, truly can't and I'm so sorry but…I love you, please remember that, I love you forever and ever, okay? Please, please remember that." Amelia was crying, her bloodshot eyes bright with tears and her body shaking. She stood, trembling and walked over to where Claire sat, still and cold as stone. She kissed her forehead; her lips dry as dead leaves. And then she walked out the door, taking her purse and her coat with her and leaving only the faintest whiff of her overwhelming perfume in her wake.
Claire was shaking. She could feel her brains rattling in her head and her breath shivering in her throat. Her mom was leaving again. Her mom was…she was sick. How had Claire not noticed it before? The way Amelia's skin stretched over the framework of her face, the dark circles swinging above her cheekbones, the red veins cutting their way through the whites of her eyes. She was dying. She was leaving. She was…
She wouldn't.
Claire bolted out of the apartment, slamming into Dean's door and pounding over and over and over again with her fists, with her whole body, begging someone to come out, to be here.
The door swung open and she collapsed into Dean, clutching at his arms and burying her face in his chest. "She's dying and she won't tell me, but she says she's leaving and I can't let her go and I think she's going to kill herself and please, I need someone to…I need…" she was choked with heavy, ugly sobs and suddenly Castiel was there, she couldn't see him through the tears clotting her vision but she could smell him, all paint thinner and paper. His arms came around them, unable to disentangle her from her death-grip on Dean and instead just holding the both of them close.
"I'll take care of it," his voice rumbled through them, jarring Claire's bones and soothing her frayed nerves, "Claire, stay here, I'll be back."
"Cas, I can go with you –" Dean offered but Castiel cut him off.
"No, this is our business," Castiel said gently, "Please stay with Claire; she needs you."
"Okay, Cas," Dean agreed, sounding more resigned than anything else. A faint jingle echoed above Claire's head, "Take the Impala."
"Thank you," Castiel's voice was warm with gratitude and then he was gone, off to slay at least some of the family demons.
…
Amelia's rental car was pulling out of the driveway of Mary's bed and breakfast when Castiel caught up to her. He followed the out-of-state license plate out of town, tracking her down the highway to a run-down motel. He waited in a shadowy corner of the parking lot, watching the digital numbers on his watch tick over to spell 10pm. Amelia emerged from the office, keys glittering in her hand. She only took her purse inside with her. Her room's door faced the parking lot; Castiel could see dusty yellow light dancing behind the blinds.
Turning off the Impala's engine, Castiel eased out from behind the wheel, ignoring the way his leg muscles clutched and cramped from the long car ride. He hadn't driven this much in eight years. Now he remembered why he hated it so much. Righting himself, Castiel made his way across the parking lot, stopping in front of Amelia's door and throwing his fist up to knock.
THWACK.
THWACK.
THWACK.
His knuckles beat against the cheap wood in tune to the rhythm of his own ragged heartbeat.
He was almost surprised when the door eased open under his furious battering. Amelia must not have locked it, setting the stage for the next morning, perhaps? How was she going to do it? Pills? Hanging herself? Slitting her wrists? Cold seeped into Castiel's blood and fragments of moments from long ago threatened to overtake his vision.
The room was poorly lit, the faded yellow bulb in the end table's lamp doing little more than cast more shadows. Amelia's purse was tossed carelessly on the bed and she wasn't in sight. Cold curling into a heavy lump in his stomach, Castiel darted across the room, jerking open the door to the bathroom.
Gray.
Gold.
Jagged light tossing reflections off of polished metal.
Red.
Red.
Red.
Author's Note: Aaaaand I'm a bad person who loves cliffhangers way too much…I'm not going to promise anything with the next chapter. It's a surprise.
The chapter title is from the song "Falling Slowly" from the musical Once.
As always, I love hearing from all of you, thank you so very much for sticking with this fic