"We got a hostile!"
'Bring him there this way."
"Well, what do we have here?"
"We caught him by the supply wagon, Sir."
"Ah, a Dakota. Not as tall as the Cheyenne,
and fine featured as the Crow. Take him away gentlemen, show him our best."
"Corporal, take him to the stock case."
'Not the stock case. The post.
No food or water."
'What are you looking at boy?"
He was called Little Creek.
And he seemed different from the rest.
There were just no end to the
strange ways of the two legged.
Dean, as always, read emotionally. Each character had their own voice, although they were all deep and crinkly in a way. Dean's way. The way that made Cas imagine them all with his face, which made a voiceless giggle bubble in the back of his throat. At times of speech the men seemed much nicer than their words hinted at, although it was on Dean's joy that lead to that conclusion.
A few others now gathered, the scene before them a hint of spark in the darker room they now waited helplessly in. Dean's hands sometimes flew into the air, his chuckles shattering everyone's fear in a new type of exhilaration. Cas' head was tilted slightly, his eyes almost glued to the pictureless pages in Dean's rough hands. Colors splashed about across faces, smiles and laughter, the yellow, the pink of the soul.
A new character entered, a native. It was soon obvious that this person would be a greater part of the story, one because they detailed him much more than the others, with things such as physical and the deeper parts he was feeling, and two, because Dean hinted. Dean had a habit of never keeping his mouth shut with his theories. One could not get through a page without 'he's probably going to die,' 'They're toooootally into each other' or some variation of those things many think but don't say.
Cas was crying, solid, thick tears welled and spilled over. His trenchcoat sleeve was dampened from wiping his eyes so many times over. "She'll get through it…" he mumbled to himself, sniffing and grabbing another tissue from his nightstand.
Dean nodded slowly, "No she won't! Come on Cas, get a hold of yourself!" He turned to Castiel, almost mocking him with a smirk.
"Damn it, Dean!" Cas cried, pushing away his husband's face and burying his head into his knees, "always ruining it," he shook his head, small gasps escaping from his throat.
A strong arm wrapped around his neck and knees, Dean's head now resting on his shoulder, "well if I ALWAYS ruin it…. Why am I still beside you in bed right now, hm?" he smirked, and while Cas couldn't see it, he heard it. Dean had a way of making audible smirks, those that used more of the sarcasm way of speech than the normal tone he held, but that wasn't much different.
"Oh, don't do that, Dean," Cas' anger faded with this joke and he slowly sunk into Dean's chest, "you know I love you."
Dean laughed quietly, hugging him tighter, "it's just nice to hear it."
A pang feels like it sounds, like the gap in one's throat slowly shrinking in size until the blue takes over the system. This pang of longing for what had once been hung for much longer than either of them wanted.
"Winchester!" The crowd looked up with Dean, a hint of sadness in all of them now. The doctor waited expectantly, eyeing the book and Dean with slight mockery. A grown man reading a book for teenagers, what a sight!
As Dean stood, everyone started to go back to their seats, light whispers quickly growing to loud chatter that would soon create the white noise of the bland room. They all seemed to ignore what had just happened, they too feeling foolish for enjoying such a thing. Charlie, who still sat kindly beside Castiel, smiled up at him as he left, "go get 'em." Cas' gaze held question, a slight head tilt only adding to such. Did she remembered that morning? At least as much as he knew he would?
Following the doctor, Cas felt much more sure-footed than the first time. Obviously, that wasn't much of a surprise as he now walked these halls tens of time everyday. So many more weeks of that were still ahead. How many steps would he take here?
The room they sat in had a water cooler by the door with cups shaped like cones stacked upside down on top. There was a circular table in the middle, a counter and cabinets to the right, and an unreasonable large window that was covered on the other side by bushes. Castiel took a seat at one end of the table, Dean beside him and the doctor across. Dean glanced quickly at the gap between them, At least 5 inches. And it was.
"I have to say, Cas has been a pretty cooperative patient, Mr. Winchester. No big issues have shown up, although within the past 36 hours he has been a bit more skittish than we've seen in the previous week"
Dean nodded, clasping his hands together softly and sighing, "how many panic attacks?"
"About one per day Mr. Winchester. We always find him humming or clicking his tongue."
Dean almost glazed over the sentence , picking at the skin on his fingernail, but that one word stopped him dead, "humming!?"
The doctor nodded, placing down his clipboard "always the same song, and always in the same way. He seems to be almost hugging himself and rocking."
While he had asked the question, the doctor's words were muffled by the joy that rung through Dean's ears, "What does this mean? Will he speak soon?"
The doctor held back a scoff, "huh, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Vocals are a big step, but this only means the others will be bigger. He must stay until the end of the program."
Dean rolled his eyes, "I know."
"With how you are speaking it seems you would like to leave Castiel to leave as soon as possible. I can assure you, this is the best place he can be right now."
Cas had counted 28 freckles on Dean's face at this point, each one slightly different than the other. Dean said they were all battle scars, put there to show he had won all the fights he had been through. Cas said every time Dean was truly happy, a freckle would appear on his face, and every summer as they ran through their backyard, the sun would remind him of all the great times he had, even in the darkness, light can still be found. Yet Sam claimed they were kisses from angels for every time he had been the father Sam needed, In their youth, Dean was blessed with the heart of a soldier, a mother, a father, a guardian, and the warrior Sam needed. Dean always shied away from these theories, blushing and smiling, mumbling, "Stop joking around," but all three of them knew, these stories were those he needed sometimes.
Dean turned towards Cas who was still staring at his face. His lips were slightly parted, yet the sides still stayed stuck to each other. Cas' eyes held betrayal, for he too knew that he would have to stay. Yet, to hear Dean confirm, tore through the little hope he had of leaving these white, white walls. He closed his eyes, swallowing tears, letting his head go limp against his chest.
Dean's breath, so suddenly caught between his mouth and his lungs, could do nothing for some time. He just stared at the angel breaking in front of him. He could almost see the wings falling against Cas' back, black and torn, worn to the very last feather.
"I'll give you two some time," the doctor responded to this silence, not hinting at any one emotion in his voice or walk. Not until the last knock of a footstep and close of a door had ceased did either move.
"Cas, Cas, Cas, my guardian angel, my feather, I'm so sorry." Tears welled in both their eyes, Cas now curled in a ball on the seat. Dean bit the side of his mouth, he couldn't cry, not in front of Castiel.
Dean moved quickly, a sudden sense of courage enveloping him. He grabbed Cas, hugging him in the most loving way he could. He didn't know how, or why, but he knew Cas would not scream, nor kick, nor be afraid. It was some form of magic that told him this, but it was a miracle that made Cas grab him back. Now they were each grasping each other's arms, tears of joy and sadness blending into memories of laughter and freedom. Dean pressed his head to Cas' , the moment sweeping him up in the thrill of hugging his husband, "Cas, you will make it through this. You will get better, and I swear on everything I've ever loved, I will be here for you until the end, so I need you to just keep fighting."
And maybe it was those words, or the gift he was about to give him, of the love that pulsed from one to the other that changed the hospital that day, but all could agree, things were about to be better.