Chapter : 08
December rolled in with little activity, Anna and Gabriel returning to their respective schools while Castiel worked to avoid provoking his brothers or his mother into violence. For almost a month the youngest Novak boy kept a low profile, dedicating himself to school and a recently obtained job at the local grocery store. The last week had been miserable though; Sam and Dean were away on a trip with their father, and Castiel was stuck in bed with a nasty case of the flu.
For several days now he had been buried beneath the blankets of his bed, a box of tissues and a bottle of liquid Nyquil resting nearby. Standing was such a dizzying act that he hadn't bothered to get up and put his contacts in for almost three days now; instead, he grabbed his old glasses from the nightstand drawer and fit them on to his face for the sole purpose of watching television.
Sinking lower into his cocoon of blankets, Castiel closed his eyes and pressed his face into a nearby pillow. He would kill to have Dean's warm body pressed against his right now, he thought, the blankets simply weren't keeping any kind of heat. The frame of his glasses pressed hard against the bridge of his nose and his lashes brushed the lenses as they fluttered open to stare at the fibers of the pillow case.
"You look absolutely miserable, Cas," Castiel rolled over and came to face the younger Winchester sibling where he was standing on the balcony, the doors - which Castiel swore had locked - thrown wide open. Despite his gangly frame, he was quite graceful as he slid into the room, closing the doors silently behind himself, and took two quick strides towards Castiel's bed.
"Don't, Sam," Castiel sniffled, waving the younger boy back. "You'll get sick."
Sam came to an obedient stop a safe distance away, burying his hands in the pockets of his coat and toeing the carpet as he watched Castiel struggle to sit up, straightening his ruffled clothes and coughing into the crook of his elbow before finally asking "What're you doing here? I thought you were on a trip with your dad,"
"Since your phone's broken and I couldn't get in touch with you, I decided to come make sure you were okay," Sam shrugged, turning to examine a series of glass bottles resting on Castiel's bookshelf. "What're these?"
"So what you're saying is Dean sent you over?" Castiel translated, watching as Sam lifted one of the bottles and examined its contents with a raised eyebrow. Inside this particular bottle rested an acorn, a handful of feathers, and a tattered shoe lace.
"Yeah, he did," Sam muttered distractedly, setting one bottle down and reaching for another. "What are these, Cas?"
"It's something my father used to do. It's about the only habit of his that I remember, so I like to keep it alive." Castiel shrugged, smiling faintly as Sam retrieved one of the empty bottles at the end of a row.
"Why is this one empty?" He tossed the glass container idly from hand to hand, his eyes scanning the rest of the bottles on the shelf.
"I haven't decided who it belongs to," Castiel answered.
"What do you mean?" Sam pushed, and Castiel couldn't help but chuckle. Sam Winchester was not a born genius, as Dean often tried to call him; he was simply curious, and his curiosity lead him to seek out answers to any and every problem that presented itself.
"Each bottle belongs to someone," Castiel explained, slowly climbing to his feet. He remained stationary for a moment, letting the wave of dizziness roll over and passed him before he shuffled forward and took the bottle Sam had previously grabbed off the shelf.
"For example, this bottle belongs to my sister, Anna." He tapped his fingernails against the glass with a shy smile. "There are feathers because when I was seven she helped me save a nest of birds from a cat. An acorn that she gave me when I was eleven, and a shoelace because she taught me how to tie my shoes."
Sam smiled, watching as Castiel replaced the bottle and buried his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Setting the empty bottle aside, Sam motioned to the last glass on the left.
"Who does this one belong to? It's got a lot more in it than the rest," Castiel flinched as he spared this bottle a fleeting glance, quickly lowering his eyes.
"Balthazar." He muttered, choking around the sudden lump in his throat.
"That's an odd name," Sam mused.
"Don't speak ill of the deceased, Sam. Especially not him," Castiel immediately scolded, his eyes flashing dangerously. Sam back pedaled, realizing he'd hit a nerve.
"Have you always kept a bottle for people you're close to?" He asked, offering an apologetic smile as pension for his mistake.
"Ever since I can remember," Castiel nodded, sitting heavily on the edge of his bed.
"Do I have a bottle?" Sam grinned, obviously teasing.
"The empty one is yours, if you'd like it." Castiel offered. A look akin to disbelief flashed across Sam's face, and the younger boy almost dropped the fragile item in his hands.
"I was just kidding, Cas- you don't have to-,"
"Nonsense," Castiel waved him off with a tired smile. "I've been meaning to make one for you and Dean both."
"Dean won't let you make him one, Cas," Sam scoffed. "He's really weird about having sentimental monuments in his name,"
"Well Dean simply has to deal," Castiel shrugged, knowing he could persuade Dean if push came to shove; after all, Dean had been the one who challenged him to fight back against the more dominant forces in his life. "It's wonderful to see you, Sam, but... Why didn't Dean come with you?"
"Well he was in the truck with dad. I was driving the Impala, and I dropped by here. I haven't been home yet,"
"You were driving? You're fourteen, Sam!" Castiel scolded. He would have glared at the younger boy if all this talking wasn't draining his batteries; this flu was really taking it out of him.
"Dean couldn't drive and we couldn't leave the truck," Sam sighed, rolling his eyes as he flopped down in an armchair near the balcony doors.
"Why couldn't Dean drive?" Castiel questioned. Sam shrugged, becoming very interested on a spot in the carpet. "Sam, why couldn't Dean drive?"
"He just got a little messed up while we were gone." Sam muttered, playing with the hem of his shirt.
"Define messed up," Castiel glared, his heart stuttering out an uneven rhythm.
"He broke his leg and fractured a few ribs; hit his head pretty hard, too..." Castiel's heart sank, imagining how much pain Dean might be in and wondering what on Earth the Winchester's could have been doing that left Dean so broken.
"I want to go see him," Castiel decided, standing and grabbing for the corner of his dresser as his head spun. Sam was up in an instant, catching his waist and helping him to stand.
"Cas, you look like shit. I don't think you should go anywhere," Sam frowned, slowly loosening his hold until Castiel was standing alone on shaky knees.
"Sam, if someone told you that you're girlfriend was injured, what would you do?" Castiel prompted, grabbing a clean pair of clothes from the drawer and shuffling towards the bathroom.
"I'd go see her," Sam grudgingly admitted, and Castiel simply smiled as he stepped into the bathroom and swung the door closed behind himself.
Castiel was quick to shower, scrubbing away three days worth of grime and brushing his teeth hard enough to make his gums ache. He slipped into a pair of clean boxers and jeans and tugged his shirt over his head, the high school mascot printed in bold red and white on the black fabric. He once more ignored his contacts, in too much of a hurry to deal with them at the present moment, and slid his glasses on; the frame was askew as he stepped back into the bedroom to find Sam flipping through a paper back as he leaned against the dresser.
"Since when have you worn glasses?" Sam questioned, placing the book back on the bookshelf as he moved towards the window.
"I've had trouble with my eyesight since I was seven," Castiel shrugged, grabbing his coat, scarf, and beanie from their place hanging on the back of his closet door. "I prefer contacts, but I don't have the patience to put them in right now."
"Understandable," Sam nodded, opening the balcony doors. Castiel shuddered as the cool air flooded the room, hurrying to shrug on his coat and wind the scarf tightly around the lower portion of his face. He then slipped the beanie on, protecting his wet hair from the icy conditions.
"We're going to have to walk a bit to get to the Impala. I parked it at the end of the drive way," Sam frowned apologetically, hauling himself over the balcony railing. Castiel watched carefully, expecting him to climb his way down, and let out a short yell of terror as Sam released his hold and dropped gracefully three floors down. The younger boy hit the ground and rolled before shooting straight up and brushing the snow off his clothes, motioning Castiel to follow with a grin.
"Sam, I can't do that!"
"It's easy, Cas!" Sam called up. "Just bend your knees and tuck your head. Gravity will roll you,"
"I am not jumping!"
"Guess you won't see Dean, then."
"Sam!"
"Just jump, Cas!"
Castiel huffed out an irritated breath, which quickly turned into a rasping cough as the sound caught in his throat. He tried desperately to breathe in through his nose, but the effort was in vain. He knew that prancing around in the snow was not the wisest of decisions given his state of health; just moving too quickly left him light headed, and simply showering had left him running low on energy. He had to wonder what jumping from a third story balcony would elicit from his weary body.
Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself that he was doing this for Dean; where Dean was involved, sense should not be. Careful not to look down, he swung one leg and then the other over the railing and slotted his feet in between the bars. It was one quick jump backwards, right? He would watch the ground, bend his knees, and be graceful in his landing. Maybe landing gracefully was a false part of the equation- Castiel was a born klutz.
As long as Sam didn't see the terror in his face though, he should walk away with at least his dignity intact- or so he hoped. Staring wearily at the snow bank he should land in, Castiel nervously slid his feet out from between the bars of the balcony rail and took a calming breath before letting go.
For a brief moment, his stomach dropped and he was afraid he might scream; the cool air whipped at his face, his scarf slapping against his forehead and blinding him. The tails of his coat flew out around him in a tan halo, and his arms shot out as if they would help to balance his fall.
In his mind, Castiel could see a painting that his mother had taken off the foyer wall a few months before; an angel, falling from Heaven, arms spread wide and robes flying out behind him in a sea of white. For a brief moment, Castiel told himself he was that angel- then, at the last moment, he bent his knees and hit the ground in a surprisingly graceful crouch, one palm pressed to the snow and the other still stretched out at his side to provide balance.
"And you're sure you've never done that before?" Sam gaped, eyes wide as Castiel stood and turned to him with a dizzy grin; his head was spinning, his knees shaking, but the adrenaline covered most of the pain from the actual landing. He knew there would be pain later, though; if he thought his back had been aching earlier in the day, he was most likely in for a rude awakening.
"Never," Castiel confirmed, still smiling as he tugged his coat tighter around himself and stood. Sam's expression was almost reverent, reminding Castiel once more of the old painting of the angel.
"Never do that in front of Dean," Sam surprised him with the sudden warning, turning on his heel and starting down the drive way.
"What? Why?" He demanded, hurrying after the younger boy and coughing roughly into his elbow as the adrenaline slowly began to leave his body. The shivers and the constant cold flooded back through his system, his hands shaking where they were tucked in his pockets and the constant itch in the back of his throat reminding him of its presence.
"I don't want to walk in on you two.. Not ever again." Sam made a face as Castiel caught up to him, eyebrows furrowing with worry as Castiel fought to suppress his coughing. "And Dean would probably rape you if he saw that."
"It wasn't that impressive," Castiel dug in the pocket of his coat, hoping to come away with a cough drop; nothing.
"Cas, you just jumped three floors down and landed in a crouch without breaking your knees, which shouldn't be physically possible. You didn't even make a sound when you hit the ground, either. Your coat sort of snapped, but that was it." Sam pointed out. "Dean finds things like that to be sexy,"
"Well, your brother is quite strange." Castiel blushed, keeping pace with Sam as they moved down the driveway.
"You're the one dating him," Sam shrugged, grinning.
The boys then fell into comfortable silence, their steps crunching loudly in the snow underneath them until they reached the Impala. The car took a while to warm-up, and Sam refused to let Castiel drive; the older teenager was coughing in violent fits, his body shivering uncontrollably while Sam seemed almost unfazed by the weather.
The drive was quick and smooth – Sam was incredibly experienced as far as fourteen year old drivers went – and before the car had actually managed to warm entirely, they were parked outside the ramshackle house of the Winchester's. There was a large black truck in the driveway that Castiel was unfamiliar with, the massive vehicle still running as he and Sam stepped out of the car.
"Come on," Sam rushed, motioning Castiel to follow. The older boy did as he was told in silence, thinking of the last time he'd been here; Dean's hand, warm in his, and a smile on both their faces. A far different feeling sat in Castiel's gut now; something cold and uninviting was gnawing at him.
"Wait here," Sam ordered as they stepped into the small living room, both boys toeing their shoes off and setting them near the door. Castiel buried his hands in the pockets of his coat and propped himself on the edge of the couch; true to Dean's word, the TV had never quit running on its mute setting across the room.
The house was still, all lights dormant except a flickering bulb in the hall. Sam had disappeared into his and Dean's joint bedroom, but there was no sound coming from the area. The silence made Castiel uneasy and he climbed to his feet, busying himself with tidying the coffee table in the room; aligning all the void beer bottles and stacking several empty take-out boxes, careful not to disrupt what looked to be a game of cards. Now done with the only available tasks in the room, he simply turned to gaze out the small window in the room and tried not to be bothered by the unwelcoming nature of the home.
He was just managing to relax himself when a sudden shout brought him out of his thoughts, and the sound of a gunshot resonated through the house.
xXxXx
Sorry to leave you all hanging! Just as our little Cassie is sick, I myself have a really nasty virus that is slowly turning into a sinus infection, which means more writing - yay! - and less time to wait before the new chapter - double yay!
Now, I'm aware that Winchester Winter is not, nor will it ever be, one of the Twist and Shout 's in the Destiel Fan-Fiction community (if you haven't read T&S, you should; it's really really sad at the end though) but I do want it to be good quality, and to be enjoyable for anyone who stumbles across it!
So, on that note, I just want to give a huge thank you to anyone who gives (or has given) me feedback of any kind! I am so appreciative of all the people leaving comments asking for more or just something saying they enjoyed the chapter!
Go back to looking for Destiel smut, you sexy people! - CCW