Sam gets to speak to his brother for the first time in over a month. Cas too is afforded this opportunity. Only, Dean isn't his brother.
Having finally gotten some concrete proof that Dean was doing... okay, and having seen Michael actually eat something for once in his life, Sam didn't feel the same sense of dread he usually felt while putting together breakfast. Probably because he knew, for the first time since he'd started helping with the whole 'food for their non-eating prisoner' thing, that it wasn't going to waste.
So, feeling somehow more optimistic than he had in... a long time, Sam took the corner into their archangel containment chamber, pausing momentarily as the sight of the Room standing there, grey and scarred and unyielding hit him hard as it had every time he'd seen it in just as long.
"Oatmeal again," Sam called as he reached down and slipped the shallow bowl through the door slot, right alongside the water dish Cas had delivered earlier. "Apricot today," he added, so the new fruit wouldn't be too much of a surprise.
"What am I, ninety?" Came the petulant response, surprising Sam with how very much it reminded him of-
"Dean? Dean, is that you?!" Sam asked, aware his voice was far from cool, calm, or collected, but knowing in that moment that he couldn't bring himself to care. He did though remember to send off a quick prayer to Cas, letting him know what was happening. In case his angelic assistance was somehow required.
"Yeah, Sammy, it's me," came the unmistakable, tired voice of none other than his older brother.
"What- what happened? Where's Michael?" Sam asked, checking around to be sure that- Nah, there wasn't any way the archangel had gotten out. Especially without the help of his vessel. Who was still right there, inside the locked and warded and perfectly intact Room.
"He's here. Don't know why, but he let me out. Probably got tired of how crappy a job he was doing of keeping us alive. I honestly don't think that chucklehead slept a wink while he was in here," Dean informed around a yawn.
"How're you feeling?" Sam asked as he indulged himself and peeked in through the food slot, knowing he was making a fool of himself as he practically laid on the floor to do so.
"Tired," Dean said in a very 'duh' sort of way. "And it feels like Mikey broke one of my hands... at some point."
"He was doing a lot of banging around in there, first couple weeks," Sam said with a sympathetic grimace.
"...How long's it been?" Sam heard more than saw the gloomy shadow of his brother ask from where it was lounging on the mattress.
"Just about a month." The answer coming from between tight lips and teeth that wanted to clench in indignation. Because Dean didn't deserve this- any of this, but it was still the best thing they had going for them on the whole 'don't let the homicidal archangel destroy the world' front, so it was the best they could give him.
"..."
"Dean? You still there?"
"Yeah, just, it hasn't been as bad as I thought it would. Honestly didn't feel like that long."
The weariness in the voluntarily incarcerated hunter's voice had Sam once again wishing this whole ridiculous setup weren't necessary.
At least Michael wasn't taking it out on his host. Probably too busy plotting how to escape after the reality had finally set in that physically busting out just wasn't happening. Ever.
"Cas around?" Dean asked, sounding hopeful.
"I'm here, Dean," came a voice that made Sam jump. Just a bit. Seeing as it came from right next to him.
"When-"
"Just now," Cas assured with a motion toward the barred door. Which Sam stood to unlock, now that both of them were there.
"How are you, Dean? Has Michael relinquished his control for good?" The angel asked as he kneeled where Sam had been but a moment ago.
"I'm good, Cas, but I don't think he's gone for long. He just couldn't figure out why his 'vessel' was about two seconds from keeling over. Constantly."
"But, I thought he began eating. After that talk Sam had with him?" Cas informed with a pointed glance at said talk haver.
"Yeah, well, the feather face still wasn't ready for human life with the training wheels off: Couldn't figure out how sleeping works," came the response Sam had hoped wasn't.
"He hasn't slept?" Cas asked, expression hardening. "It's worse than we feared, Michael truly knows nothing of humans," he said as he turned his face to Sam. Who was finished with the last lock and ready to lift the bar and grant himself access.
The concern etched deep into his friend's face though gave Sam a thought, so he removed his hand from the bar and stooped to better throw his voice inside the Room. "How's the hand, Dean?"
"Hand?" Cas asked. Puzzled.
"...Little stiff."
"Stiff? Dean, what're you talking about?" Demanded the angel still down by the food slot.
"Michael, probably back when he was really wailing on the walls, managed to break one of his- one of Dean's hands," Sam explained. Saving Dean the effort.
"And it's been broken since?" Cas asked, looking more and more akin to an avenging angel by the second.
"Naw," came the one word reassurance from inside.
"Sounds like he healed it but did a crappy job," Sam translated when Cas looked to him for assistance.
"Perhaps I can be of some help? Dean rarely complains of injury unless it is... serious," the angel said with a meaningful raise of his brow.
"You're tellin' me," Sam agreed, before stooping enough to once again throw his voice through the open slot. "Alright, Cas is coming in to have a look at that. Don't worry, he has the cuffs," Sam tacked on as he remembered to shove the shackles and their key in the angel's hands.
Cas nodded his thanks to Sam as the angelic hunter straightened and stood. Then the tall man lifted the bar out of its place and pulled the door open just far enough for the shorter to slip through.
XxxxxxxxxXxxxxxxxXxxxxxxXxxxxxxxXx
As he came to a stop on the other side of that homemade ma'lak door, Cas felt a pressure envelope him. One which hit him immediately and in such an all encompassing way that for a moment, he was completely disoriented.
Then the door shut behind him and the angel found himself having to rely almost entirely on his vessel's faculties to perceive the Room around him.
It was dark. With only the use of his human eyes, unenhanced by divine grace, Cas had to blink and strain to adjust to the gloom. Soon though, he saw his friend, reclining against the rear wall in a half seated position on his bed.
"How's it hangin', Cas?"
"How is what- oh. Never mind," the angel muttered as he looked over the murky form of his ever irreverent friend. Who held out his hands in a strange gesture which left Cas puzzled.
"The cuffs?" Dean prompted after a protracted moment.
"Oh, yes, here they are," Cas said, nearly fumbling them as he crossed the small space and bent to shackle a man who deserved no such thing.
"There we go; nice and cozy," said the hunter as he tested the chain, sounding far more cheery than the angel thought he had sound reason to.
"Well, as doubtful as that might be, it's good to see you too, Dean," Cas greeted. "As to how it is 'hanging', it saddens me to see you imprisoned like this," the angel said as he straightened. His situationally all too human eyes widening when they picked out the deep circles under his friend's.
"How's this ma'lak box treatin' you?" Dean asked. No doubt to distract from what Cas had most recently said.
Castiel blinked away his surprise and then answered as he walked back over to the door. "This Room was designed to contain an archangel. Specifically Michael. In addition," he said as he bent to grab the squatter dish from the floor, "I am only visiting."
"So you're good, then?" Dean asked, voice ever so slightly concerned.
"I am indeed 'good'," the guest in someone else's prison assured as he made his way back over to said someone.
"I thought you might appreciate some water," Cas said as he sat by the mattress and offered said water.
"Really?" Dean asked, motioning at the 'Fido' on the side of the bowl.
"It was Sam's idea," Cas defended. Perhaps a hair quickly. "Besides, it was the only water container we could fit through the slot without spilling."
"Oh, I'm sure it was," Dean said, taking a sip which turned into a half the bowl chug. Then, after a quick gulp of air, the hunter finished the bowl and handed it back with an appreciative nod. "Mikey doesn't drink enough."
"That may be our fault," Cas said as he set the bowl by his knee. "We were not aware of just how powerful an effect the wardings would have on Michael. We will supply more water from now on. Perhaps maintain a constant supply of fresh water... somehow," Castiel suggested, mind going thoughtful for a moment. A scoff from his tired friend bringing him out of it.
"You mean like for Fido over here?" Dean asked in a way that mocked at indignance, motioning towards the bowl in question.
"I suppose so," Cas admitted with an apologetic grimace. "Many people do treat their pets more humanely than they do other humans."
"Ain't that the truth?" Dean said, sounding tired for a new reason.
"Sam said that your hand was damaged in one of Michael's earlier attempts at escape?" Cas asked, in an attempt to change the subject from the dower turn it had taken.
"Must'a been how it happened, 'cause I know I didn't do it," Dean reasoned with a well placed shrug. Placing the hand in question in Cas's when prompted.
"You don't remember?" Cas asked, scrutinizing his friend's hand as he did. Finding that it took far more concentration than than he'd hoped, though far less than he'd expected, to perceive the bones within.
"What can I say? Archangel likes his privacy."
"You've no idea why Michael has allowed you this window of freedom?" Cas queried, hunching lower over the injured hand in an attempt to clear up the image he was getting.
"He scooted over: I'm behind the wheel. That's all I know," Dean explained, sounding more entertained than worried.
"Michael is letting you 'drive' for a while?" Cas asked, confusion forefront in his tone, even as he finally made out the damage Dean had been referring to. In the form of two poorly aligned, partially healed metacarpal fractures.
"Yeah, guess so," Dean said. The answer so simple Cas barely suppressed a cringe.
"Dean, you do realize that means Michael could-"
"Take back the wheel without warning? Bingo." Came the cool response Cas hadn't been expecting. Forcing the angel to divide his attention by glancing up and- And suddenly Cas was sitting across from his least favorite- well, one of his least favorite heavenly relations. One who was staring at him out of a pair of eyes he'd never thought would someday look at him with such calculating indifference. A matching, sneering smile slipping into place when it became clear to the archangel that Cas could think of nothing to say in return.
"Nice work, brother," the angelic scourge of a sister planet condescended with a prim nod to where his and Cas's hands were nestled in each other's. Mocking him as only Michael could.
"Have a nice chat."
And then it was Dean in his body once more, seemingly unaware of the switch that had just taken place, and Cas wasn't sure what to think of that.
So instead, he softened his face and promised himself that he wouldn't. Not until he had finished the healing and was no longer looking his best friend in the far too gaunt, thinner than suited him face.
For himself as much as for Dean, he pulled a smile in place and moved on to the work of enacting his smallest of miracles. Reminding himself to be patient as his heavily suppressed grace pulsed forth at the rate of cold molasses.
"It's not as bad as I was expecting," he commented. Realizing as he did that he hadn't needed to lie to do so.
"Guess he likes being able to use it," Dean said with a small, one shouldered shrug. No doubt making a courteous attempt to not interrupt his friend's efforts.
"Not enough to heal it fully," the angel griped. Trying not to let his repugnance show.
"...I don't think he could. This playpen works better than any of us hoped. 'S why he has no idea what he's doing. Dude can barely use any of his archangel juice in here."
The slow manner in which Dean's lids blinked and the almost slurred edge beginning to color his speech helped Cas to believe in what the hunter was saying. Fully.
"Well, not having access to his 'juice', as you call it, doesn't give him an excuse to treat you like this," Cas insisted, a little louder than was strictly necessary. Knowing that even if Michael wasn't eavesdropping right that second, he'd hear the rebuke.
"He's kinda treating himself 'like this'. I've only been out long enough to catch some z's and complain about the old break," Dean said, illustrating his point by flexing the fingers of his healing hand. With a barely there cringe.
"This is a recent 'break', Dean, and you're suffering for it, so he's treating you this way and you don't deserve it. End of discussion," Cas said, just a hint more serious than he'd meant to be.
"...Alright," Dean agreed with brows raised. "Now that that's settled, how's the weather out in the real world? And what the hell time is it anyway?"
"It's a comfortable partly cloudy with a chance of overnight showers, UV index of three, winds east by southeast at three miles per hour, and it is 2 o'clock in the afternoon," Castiel informed with a small smile. Both because Dean's metacarpal were well on their way to resembling healthy bones once more, and because the two of them had not had the opportunity for small talk in quite some time.
"Wow. Did you memorize the entire weather channel?" Dean asked. Eyes crinkling around the edges. In a good way.
"You never know when you'll need an umbrella," the answer that finally got Cas a chuckle. And helped him remember how much he missed having his closest friend by his side.
"How's the hand?"
"Huh? Oh, almost forgot about that," said the hunter as he raised the appendage in front of his face and gave it a good looking over. Then a thorough bend and flex.
"Not stiff anymore. Well, not anymore than usual, anyway. Thanks, Cas," Dean said with a smile whose genuine nature could not be muted even through the thick layer of exhaustion. Nor the oppressive gloom.
"You're welcome. I only regret that there is little else I, or indeed Sam, can do for you," Cas admitted, every ounce of contrition absolutely appropriate.
"Hey, the world's still spinnin', ain't it?"
The exultation apparent in that one, commonplace observation, as shiningly pure and genuine as it was, nearly brought Castiel to tears.
A protracted moment passed though and the angel once again found his voice. "Yes, Dean, it is. Thanks to you."
"Naw, I'm just the guy who was dumb enough to let the anti-Antichrist in; you and Sam are the ones the world should be thanking. That I should-"
"No, really, Dean, the world owes you its gratitude. Were it not for you and your... fortitude, Michael would either have found another well matched host and waged war against all that defies him, or else he would have taken you fully and we would all of us be dust on the wind already."
The closed off silence that followed was no more than Cas had expected, but less than he'd hoped for. So, with a tentative clasp of his friend's newly perfect hand, he stood and turned for the door. "I'll send Sam in. Have a pleasant lunch, Dean."
Cas was over to the door, one fist raised to knock, when Dean finally, blessedly spoke. "Thanks, Cas. I needed that."
"You're welcome, Dean. And, Michael, you would be wise to take better care of your health from here on out. I am not so forgiving as your host would think me." And with that, Castiel took his leave. Near certain that he heard the unmistakable sound of a smile blossoming on the mouth of the occupant he was leaving inside.