Author's Note: Sorry this took so long. Gotta lotta crap going on e_e'
And the definition of 'help' here gets, erm...Well, loose 'n abused.
His last class of the day has officially ended. Which of course means that Castiel should be on his way home. Instead he's being held up by a petty argument with a petty student body president.
"It's very simple," Nathaniel goes on briskly. "You're not allowed to eat in class, so stop eating in class."
"Why do you care?" Castiel snaps, shuffling toward the stairs and looking back to glower.
Nathaniel heaves an exasperated sigh. "Because you just shouldn't disobey the rules! Besides you got crumbs everywhere, and that's just extra work the custodians shouldn't have to have. And if you eat in class and get away with it, other people are going to do the same thing and make more messes."
"Crumbs," Castiel scoffs. "You have your panties all in a twist over crumbs. Shit, Nat, you need to get laid."
Incensed, Nathaniel bristles with a sound like a choking cat and shoves him from behind. Castiel stumbles forward, and all it takes is a step-and-a-half to send him somersaulting down the stairs. He instinctively puts his hands out to break the fall, and then there's a blurry crack of pain, a flash of black.
.
.
.
"...pass out!?"
Castiel blinks blearily, the first thing he sees Nathaniel's shoes. For a second nothing makes sense and then he lifts his head, flinching at the spike of pain that drills into the back of his skull. He's at the bottom of the staircase and Nathaniel's squatted down beside him, alarm and bewilderment fixing his visage. Castiel draws himself into a sit, leaning back against the wall and putting a hand to his head. He feels like one giant, pulsating bruise, but the worst of it is throbbing there, keen and sharp.
"You did pass out, didn't you? You didn't say anything when I asked if you were dead."
"Why would you ask if I was dead?" mutters Castiel, trying to focus on Nathaniel enough to glare and finding himself unable. He feels off, dazed.
Nathaniel disregards the question entirely and asks one of his own. "What's my name?"
"You know your own name," Castiel spits irritably. He's not a patient person and the few grains of patience he does possess have been drained to the bottom of the hourglass.
"I know it, I want to make sure you know it. Delayed responses and memory loss are typical of head trauma." Nathaniel studies him intently, brow furrowed.
"S'Bitchface McTightass, now leave me alone."
Nathaniel pauses, his concern reworking itself to tired vexation. "Oh. You're just fine." He stands up and brushes nonexistent dirt from his clothes.
Castiel...Isn't too sure about that. He starts to stand and stars dance through his sightline, a tinny ringing in his ears. He dizzily slumps back to the floor.
"Alright, maybe I spoke too soon." Nathaniel glances down to him uncertainly. "I'll get the nurse, okay?"
"Don't," protests Castiel. He just needs a minute to get his bearings, he doesn't want this to turn into a big deal. But Nathaniel's already leaving and he can't summon the effort to get up again. His head is pounding, the room is twirling, and he's suddenly really, really sore, damn it. Today is just gonna be one of those days, isn't it?
Nathaniel returns with the school nurse in tow, a stout cactus of a woman with a perpetual sour grimace on her face.
"Where's it hurt?" she asks like it's his fault.
Everywhere. "It doesn't, I'm fine."
"That one says you're uncoordinated." She jerks her thumb back at Nathaniel.
"Just a little lightheaded," he mutters and if he weren't genuinely hurting and put out, he'd find Nathaniel's expression upon being referred to as 'that one' priceless.
She hums critically and slips a penlight out of her pocket, proceeding to flash it right into his eyes without so much as a warning. "Your pupils are blown, kid. My money's on a concussion. Take it easy the rest of the day, alright? Have someone keep an eye on you in case your symptoms get worse. If they do, alert someone who isn't me." She brusquely pats him on the shoulder and gets up, whisking around on her heel.
"Wait," Nathaniel sputters after her. "He lives alone!"
"Not my problem." She waves her hand in a dismissive gesture and keeps walking, never glancing back.
Castiel internally groans and brings himself to a stand against the wall. The flare of vertigo has burned out, leaving ashes of unsteady discomfort but nothing he can't handle. He starts walking down the hall, battered limbs protesting the movement and an invisible halberd splitting through his skull. But he's okay, right? As long as he's not seeing stars he can get home.
"Hang on, where are you going?" Nathaniel takes his arm.
"Home. Where else?" He's too tender to shake him off.
"But you shouldn't be alone right now. Can't you call Lysander, or something?"
"He wasn't here today for a reason," replies Castiel. "He's sick, I'm not gonna bother him. Why do you even care?"
Nathaniel mumbles something too low to catch and lowers his gaze to the floor.
"Speak up or let go, Nat. My head's killing me and you're on my last nerve." He tries to put enough bite behind the words for it to come out as a threat, but it's difficult when he feels like he just dove headfirst into a swimming pool of bricks.
"I said I feel bad," breathes Nathaniel, only just loud enough to be audible. "What happened was an accident, but I...I should've been paying attention."
"What are y—" Castiel cuts himself off, recalling. His memory's muddled, grainy snapshots before his trip down the stairs, but it's there nonetheless. "You pushed me." He fixes Nathaniel with a smoldering death glare.
"Not like that!" Nathaniel flinches and finally lets go of his arm. "It was an accident, really! I'm sorry."
Castiel pauses. Nathaniel has never apologized to him before. Not for anything, ever, the proud bastard. "Give me bus fare then. It's the least you can do."
Contemplation and compunction quiver over Nathaniel's features and leave a firm rictus. "Fine, I'll pay for the bus, but I'm not giving you the money. I'm going home with you."
"No."
"You don't have anyone else to keep an eye on you."
"Screw what she said, I don't need to be babysat!"
"Right now you do. You're pale and your words are slurring, and I refuse to be responsible if you keel over."
Alright. Nathaniel isn't budging on this and Castiel's too weary to keep arguing. He sighs in defeat and Nathaniel takes the cue.
The walk to the bus stop isn't exactly a struggle — he's not that fucked up — but it isn't exactly undemanding either. Every step incites a nagging reminder that oh yeah, he's going to a nice collage of bruises to look at later. It's tense too, sharing space with Nathaniel. Neither of them say anything until they're halfway there and then it's Nathaniel who breaks the silence, awkward and unsure.
"You can lean on me if you need to..."
For a second Castiel thinks Nathaniel might be mocking him, but a glance at the taut crease of his mouth changes his mind. He'd shrug if his shoulders didn't hurt. "M'alright."
When the bus comes it's already crowded and they have to sit together, which is just as well, because they probably would've anyway and now they have an excuse. The air reeks of hot oil and chewed bubblegum stuck under seats. The clutter of conversations and shifting bodies is grating on the pressure that already pulses between Castiel's temples. He sinks back and tentatively lays his head on Nathaniel's shoulder.
Nathaniel's posture goes stiff as he pretends not to notice.
"You're not feeling nauseous at all, are you?" he asks at some point when indeterminable seconds that drag on like weeks have ticked by.
"Your face is making me nauseous," Castiel offers drily. But he doesn't think it's the concussion or Nathaniel's face, he just thinks it's the thick atmosphere.
"Charming," Nathaniel deadpans.
The silence between them resumes all the way up until Castiel's digging the key out of his pocket to open the door. Sticking it in the lock and turning shouldn't be a difficult task, but for reasons he can't explain it isn't easy. He drops it and it's like Nathaniel expected him to drop it, because he catches it before it can hit the ground and unlocks the door himself.
Castiel grunts softly and takes the key back, cramming it in his pocket before turning the knob and stepping over the threshold. Nathaniel follows, nudging the door closed behind him.
"Don't get too comfortable," Castiel warns.
Nathaniel starts to reply, but it turns to a noise of displeasure as a curious Demon trots up to him and starts sniffing. His nose wrinkles and he shuffles off to the side, but Demon is undeterred and continues until he's satisfied. The canine then sneezes mist all over the blonde's pants and promptly turns his attention to Castiel, bumping his leg with his nose and whining pointedly.
That one's the 'out' whine.
"Alright," Castiel breathes, patting Demon's head and sluggishly treading to the kitchen to let him out the back door. Demon urgently bounds ahead and Nathaniel trails after him dubiously.
"You can actually understand what it wants?"
"He's easier to understand than you," Castiel grumbles, opening the door for Demon and smiling faintly as he eagerly gallops out, a streak of black and brown. He glances back to Nathaniel with an established aversion and the expectation to snapped at.
Nathaniel doesn't snap. He adjusts the collar of his shirt and softly says, "You've got a pretty good sized bump on the back of your head."
"You must be so proud of yourself," snipes Castiel, rubbing at the aforementioned damage somewhat automatically and wincing.
"I already told you, it was an accident...Look, you should go sit down. I could get you some ice if you want."
Castiel flounders, taken aback. Nathaniel is peering at him uncomfortably, fingers still raised to his collar and dry lips in an apprehensive line. He looks guilty. Wholesomely, undeniably guilty, expecting someone to slap the cuffs on him any moment now.
"...Alright," Castiel mutters. "Ice is in there." He points needlessly to the freezer and brushes past before Nathaniel can reply. He heads back to the living room and parks himself on the couch, casting a glance to the black screen of the television.
He's not sure where the remote is. He's too drained to look for it. Maybe it's better anyway, he doesn't feel like he could concentrate on anything. He lies down instead and looks to the ceiling. The cushions welcome him warmly and he almost wants to sleep. But he's not about to do that when Nathaniel of all people is audibly bumbling around in his kitchen. Besides, he's pretty sure you're not supposed to sleep when concussed.
In movies you're not supposed to anyway, whoever's with you with frantically slap you in the face and tell you to stay with them. He doesn't know how accurate that is, but there tends to be a seed of truth in every dramatized cinematic feature and he doesn't want to chance it.
"Here," Nathaniel announces his return, holding out a provisional icepack comprised of ice cubes in a plastic sandwich bag, wrapped in a clean dishtowel.
Castiel looks him over and accepts it without comment. He sits up a bit to hold it to the aching knob protruding from his scalp. The compression of coolness is an instant allayment and he settles back with ease. Nathaniel wordlessly shrugs his schoolbag off his shoulders and takes a seat in the armchair, posture straight and rigid. He watches idly as Nathaniel slips out a textbook and simply starts studying.
How...Typical of him. But Castiel's not complaining, it's better Nathaniel's busying himself with a task that doesn't involve annoying him. He shifts his gaze back to the ceiling and loses track of time listening to the brisk flip of laminated pages. The cool of the ice is still soothingly seeping in and the ambiance is an almost serene one.
Insistant barks at the back door interrupt. Demon wants in. Castiel starts to get up when Nathaniel's textbook snaps closed.
"I'll get it," he declares, on his feet and prancing to the kitchen before Castiel can wrap his head around this.
Nathaniel being considerate is just strange. Very strange. It's a curveball to everything he'd ever expect out of him, and it almost feels wrong. Almost. Not so wrong that he won't see how far he can push it.
He hears the door swing shut again and the click of Demon's nails on the floor, and Nathaniel saunters into the room a few heartbeats later.
"I let him in, but he's just standing outside your pantry."
"That's because I usually feed him right about now," Castiel intones, measuring Nathaniel with a half-lidded glance.
"Ah...I'll get that too. I'm already up." Nathaniel dismisses himself back to the kitchen, as awkward as a lost duckling, and Castiel feels a grin stretch his lips.
Oh yeah, he's definitely gonna push this. It's only smart to seize the opportunity, right?
He listens to the distant clatter of kibble filling a plastic bowl and then vigorous gobbling as Demon digs in. Nathaniel returns and Castiel waits until he sits back down again and resumes his reading.
"Hey, Nat."
"What?"
"Go make me a sandwich."
Nathaniel turns to him, sparking eyes narrowed and unamused mouth tucked down. "I'm not here to wait on you."
"Well then I guess I'll make it myself. Even though I'm supposed to be taking it easy..." He sits up, icepack and deliberately tender movement conspicuous.
Nathaniel squirms in his spot and stands with an irascible huff. "Fine. But I know what it is you're doing."
"I'm not doing anything," Castiel replies lightly as he leans back into the couch, brimming with satisfaction. "I'm just hungry."
Nathaniel rolls his eyes and trudges from the room. It's immensely gratifying to hear him mutter and gripe under the sounds of clinking plates and the opening and slamming of a refrigerator door. Demon lumbers back in and hops into the armchair, nonchalantly plopping down in Nathaniel's spot and if Castiel has ever doubted that he and his dog were on the same wavelength, all remnants of it vanish right there.
Nathaniel looks various levels of done when he comes back and holds out the plate of turkey-on-rye like he's holding out a rabid rat in a cage.
"Here."
Snickering softly, Castiel takes it and takes a bite. He chews it over contentedly. "Not bad, Nat. But next time use mayo."
Nathaniel facepalms so violently that Castiel is surprised he doesn't knock himself out. "I was being nice by making it at all! And has no one ever told you to eat with your mouth closed!? You know what? I don't need to be here. You're clearly fine enough to be yourself, you can be left alone."
"Told you I didn't need to be babysat," says Castiel. "But anyway, thanks for the sandwich."
There is a pregnant pause. "On second thought, maybe you're not yourself."
Castiel hides his grin behind said sandwich as Nathaniel sinks down onto the cushion next to him.