Now that Michael and Dean are both finally in their rightful places, should be nothing but smooth sailing from here on out for Team Free Will… Right?
A/N: I think the last update was 8 months ago. If you're interested in excuses, please see the ending note. Otherwise:
I'm so sorry it has taken this long! I have several more chapters outlined and even some rough drafts scratched out and I'm quite pleased with it all, but I'm not sure when to expect the next one to go live. Though I'll do my best to try for soon!
It'd been a couple days. Maybe more. Hard to say with the way there weren't any windows in the joint. But he'd learned to trust his gut about things like that. Things that could help keep you alive. In a pinch.
Weirdly enough though, this wasn't one of those 'pinch' situations. Not so far as he could tell, anyway.
Sure, Dean wasn't all that sure what was going on, but there were certain telltale 'danger' signs a body learned to look for which just plain weren't coming up. Like the fact that there wasn't a distinct aroma of blood or grave dirt on the air. Or how 'bout the fact that he wasn't full on chained to some dank, dingy, stone wall with nothing but rats for company? Pretty big clue right there.
Instead he was picking up all kinds of clues pointing clean in the opposite direction. Like how he had some sort of cranky roommate who he was pretty sure also wasn't chained to the wall. Or how about the fact that that lumbering stilt of a dude who kept coming around and sitting for long stretches in that cheap, creaky chair by the side of his bed was actually Sammy?
Yeah, having his baby brother around, telling him all about how his day was and just talking at him for hours on end? Dean was pretty sure that out-and-out proved he wasn't in any sort of a pinch.
Except... well, it wasn't setting off the old warning bells, exactly. It was just weird. How often his bro was around.
Actually, how often someone was sitting in that stupid little chair. 'Cause it felt like there were folks in there all the flipping time.
Sure they were nice folks, like the blonde lady who kept coming by to read out loud or offer him food, or the gloomy dude in the coat who stopped in at least once a day to recite the entire weather forecast. From memory. But them being nice didn't make the whole never being alone thing any less weird.
Was almost like the three —or maybe four… Yeah, there had to be four— of them were trying to keep an eye on him. Maybe even taking turns watching him. Like some super-dedicated babysitting tag team.
Only, considering he wasn't any kind of baby, that setup had sort of a creepy ring to it.
Thankfully it sounded way creepier than it felt. Considering he was pretty sure he was related to more than one of his so-called babysitters.
Plus the fact none of the weirdos were calling him 'Pooky'.
Still, he could probably count the number of times he'd actually been alone the past few days and all together it would barely even count as one actual whole time.
Even then, if you counted the grouch one bed over, it was actually zero times. For either of them. Not that he was complaining. Exactly.
Another weird thing Dean'd noticed was something that had nothing at all to do with the others and their mildly creepy hobby.
Naw, this one was a him issue and while he had no clue what to do about it, it's not like it was actually causing him any grief. It was just that he was pretty sure his head had never felt quite so… empty before.
Not like he was missing his brain or anything like that. More like, in a weird way, there was too much space up in his thinker for just one person. Almost like there was supposed to be somebody else there with him.
It wasn't even all that obvious: the impression that someone'd set up camp in there... then they'd pulled up stakes and were gone.
And now the place just plain felt kinda spacious without them.
But all in all, even the extra think space wasn't all that bad. He didn't even really notice it most of the time. Just those minutes when there wasn't anybody there 'visiting'.
Which wasn't going to be a 'currently happening' issue much longer anyway. 'Cause that annoyed groan from the other bed meant company was a-comin'.
Yep, never missed a beat. Only this time, instead of one or two beatniks, it was a whole three at once. The guy in the big coat leading the others in like he had something important to share with the class. Which he probably did, based on the serious look on his face. Once they got close enough Dean could make out the details pretty good.
"Hello, Dean, how are you doing this most pleasant of afternoons?"
Heh, that guy was always great. Super formal but a hoot and a half. Real class act. After all, who else in their right mind would stand there and say stuff like that? Without getting paid for it.
"And my point has been made; he's no more responsive now than the minute he woke."
"But it's only been a few days. You said yourself that it's going to take time, right?"
"Yes, of course, Mary, and with any luck time is exactly what it will take…"
"… But?"
"But —and I don't mean to cause undo anxieties— but I'm beginning to suspect that we may need to reassess our expectations concerning his recovery."
Huh, that didn't sound good. The way the other two flinched at it sure as shit didn't look good. Made Dean feel kinda sorry for whoever the guy in the big coat was talking about.
"What do you mean, Cas? Why would we need to 'reassess' that?"
"Because, Sam, I no longer find myself wholly confident that we didn't miscalculate something somewhere along the transference. In fact, I'm beginning to suspect the possibility that he may even have suffered some metaphysical form of stroke or-"
"Stroke?! Cas, what're you saying?"
"Are you telling me my boy had a stroke?!"
Wow, whoever this guy was sure had bad luck. And Dean happened to know a thing or two about bad luck, so he had every right to call it like he saw it.
"I'm telling you that I'm beginning to suspect as much, and though Rowena has her reservations on the matter, she hasn't outright refuted it either."
"Is- is that why he hasn't said or- or done anything since he woke up? I thought it was because his soul needed longer to adjust to… everything?"
"Yes, Sam, that may well be exactly the reason for his unresponsive condition, but regardless as to whether my hunch turns out to be correct, this wouldn't be a neurological matter; Rowena and I have checked and rechecked his brain countless times."
"So it's his soul? His soul had a stroke?"
"It's only a working theory at this point, but yes, Mary, that is what I fear. I fear that- that there may be lasting damage and that we may need to restructure what 'recovery' is going to look like for him."
"You mean, he might not hunt again?"
Asked the giant one, Dean wondering why the guy said it like it was some kind of death sentence. After all, who in there right mind liked killing Bambi's mom that much?
"Unfortunately, yes. For if his recovery continues to progress as it has these past few days, it may take quite some time before he can speak again. Or walk unassisted. Let alone drive his Baby."
"But, Castiel, you and Rowena were so careful with everything and you just said you both agree that his brain's fine, so shouldn't the rest of him be fine too?"
"Yes it's true that we took every conceivable precaution, but the operation was an unprecedented one and even being as successful as it was, at this point, it seems there may have been some unforeseeable side-effect. Perhaps some form of breakdown in the connections between his mind, his body, and his soul, causing a communicative blockage or possibly even an inability to communicate. We're not sure what else may have been affected nor how permanently or impermanently. At this point, we're not even sure whether his hearing is intact, considering he hasn't responded to anything we've-"
"As I've said countless times, he can hear you buffoons just fine. In fact, if you must know, your thoughtless assessment only just now has reminded him of a ballad: 'Communication Breakdown', by a band of troubadours known collectively as... 'Lead Balloon'?"
Huh, excusing the arrogant, rude way he'd interrupted their visitors, Dean couldn't help but be impressed by his roommate's musical knowledge. After all, it'd been years since he'd heard anyone else sight the origin of his favorite group's gigging name.
"Ah, you mean 'Led Zeppelin'?"
Asked trench coat. Not repeating himself when he got no answer. Or, when all he got for an answer was a huffy scoff. Which, honestly, the dude clearly deserved for having to ask in the first place.
"Wait, Cas, that's it! Dean loves Led Zeppelin! And hair metal! A-and all classic rock!"
"Yes- yes, that's right! We haven't tried music therapy! Considering his love of the musical arts, that could well prove instrumental in helping jumpstart the reconnection process."
"Huh?"
"I'll explain as best I can, Mary, but to begin, I'll need to speak with Rowena and check a few medical journals, then I may well require your and Sam's assistance setting up the equipment."
And all that while the suddenly super excited crowd turned and left.
Then it was quiet again. Until the dude in the other bed made a noise of frustration and rearranged his sheets in a huff.
"I should have kept the insight to myself. Now this ward shall never again know a moment of peace."
Heh. Guy sure was funny when he was in a mood. And he was always in a mood. Dean would know; they'd been rooming for days.
Huh, come to think of it, judging by how much time the dude had to grumble about and curse their 'keepers' and their 'many' and 'blatant' incompetences, Dean figured this time had been the longest they'd gone without at least the lady with the red hair popping her head in. But it still wasn't long enough to start wondering whether The Babysitter's Club finally found someone else to creepily watch twenty three point nine hours of the day. 'Cause the next thing he knew, his roommate was groaning louder and more annoyed than ever and, right on cue, the three super excited people were back. Trench coat in the lead again but this time pushing some weird, squeaky, wheeled table ahead of him.
"Where do you think would be best to set up the stereo? The middle of the space would likely provide for optimal acoustics, but-"
"'But' put that thing anywhere near me and I'll have it sending up sparks within the hour."
Dean watched as the threesome took a wordless couple steps back, glanced between themselves, nodded, and then moved as far from the cranky guy's side of the pad as possible.
Which was honestly one of the funniest things he'd seen in… probably ever.
Especially since the three full grown adults setting something up over in the least 'middle' place possible were doing everything possible to not look back over toward the beds. Even when they had to go the long way 'round to plug something in. Which it turned out they were doing a lot of. Running wires from the wall into some funky machine and then from the machine into big black boxes.
Folks looked almost like Doc Frankenstein putting together his ultimate creation. But without all the lightning. Or the guy with the hump throwing all the switches.
Funny all the same. You asked him.
"Alright, now to power it on and make our musical selection."
"How 'bout the rock station?"
"Might wanna go with the oldies to start them off, Mom. Rock can be a little much for… someone who's never listened to music before."
"Perhaps the local university's classical music station would be best? I have read that the mathematical nature of the masters' works can help with brain development in infants and the youth."
"Great idea, Cas. Perfect beginner's music."
Dean listened to the hushed back and forth, wondering the while why the weirdos were whispering the whole time if everyone could hear them just fine anyway.
He began to understand the method to their madness though when a certain someone not far off to one side up and shouted soon as the disc jockeys found what they were looking for.
"One decibel louder and I shall sabotage that wretched machine!"
And the three babysitters, true to form, stepped back from said 'wretched machine', glanced at each other, nodded, and made a tactical retreat right on out the 'door'. Almost like they actually believed the dude would make good on his threat.
Then Dean's attention was caught by a noise of frustration that, for once, hadn't come from the cranky dude in the other bed. Instead, it'd come from right around the corner. Out where all the walking suddenly stopped. And where someone was gearing up to give a couple somebody elses a piece of their mind. An angry piece.
"I still don't get why we can't just shove him back in the Room. It's where he belongs, isn't it?"
"Mom, we can't do that because he- because we gave him our word."
"Yes, Mary, were we to break our pact, especially after Michael held true to his end, I'm afraid he would never again place his trust in another living soul."
"Besides, as far as we know, he's basically human now. I'm pretty sure we have his social security card and birth certificate and... everything."
"Sam's right. And even disregarding the fact that Michael now holds United States citizenship and therefore certain legal rights which we would be very much in violation of were we to unilaterally sentence him to an eternity of imprisonment, Rowena and I have sealed his destructive powers."
"I know that, Castiel, but even without his archangel smite, Michael could be seriously bad news. No, you weren't there; you didn't see what he'd done- what he was doing on Apocalypse World. He's a sadist and he deserves to rot in a cage."
Woah. Dean wasn't sure who this 'Michael' character was but by the sound of him, he'd be a bad dude to bump into in a dark alley. Or any kind of alley, for that matter.
"She truly is the only detainer in this depressing dump with a drop of sense, your mother."
Oh, that was his mom talking out in the hall? Then she was probably arguing with Sammy. And maybe Cas, if he was around too.
"Yes, your brother and that angel of yours would have me pampered like some pedigreed lapdog; your mother would have me chained like the awesome Cerberus of Heaven she knows me to be."
Huh, come to think of it, Dean knew that voice from somewhere. Somewhere aside from 'just over to the side the past few days'. Though he was pretty sure it'd sounded… different then. Like it used to come out of a different throat. One with an older, deeper, more robust voice box.
"No more idle chitchat. I must rest; gather what piteous strength those dolts so foolishly left me that I may make my next move. Before I am moved upon by that most wrathful of Winchester."
Well, if that didn't sound ominous Dean didn't know what did. But he agreed that a nap did sound pretty sweet right about then, so he followed the guy's lead and zonked out to the sounds of a couple dozen violins warbling out some ancient, stuffy tune. Both of them ignoring the folks outside who somehow thought they were far enough away for their entire argument not to be overheard.
A/Nd now for the excuses:
Wow. The world has had quite the winter. And spring. And summer. And like so many others worldwide, this author has been through quite a bit in that time. What with taking on a couple part-time jobs while navigating through shutdowns and city wide curfews and food and supply shortages, as well as grieving the loss of multiple friends and family members due to sudden and unforeseen health crises.
I'm just so thankful for the friends and family members across the globe who've been able to be there for each other through all of these hardships. Because it's been a challenging year and a half the world over.
I hope everyone out there has been doing as well as possible and that this chapter brought a little extra joy to all those who've been waiting for it and for anyone who had only now happened upon this story. Thanks so much for reading!