March 22-24, 1992
Dean heard Sam give a whoop from his room and come thundering out to the living room – the kid loved that stupid home video show. While Sam flipped to the right channel, Dean looked back over to Castiel at the other end of the couch, trying to comb out the rat's nest on his head. Dean chewed a thumbnail as he watched. He'd been happy that Cas had opened up to him finally – told him how he'd gotten hurt. And in return, Dean had told Cas how he'd gotten his busted lip, and that was the weird part. Dean never told anyone about things like that. Ever.
The show started, but apparently, the humor didn't translate very well. Bob Saget showed one hilarious home video after another, but whether it was cats falling off TVs, jump scares, farting dogs, or even nut shots, Castiel just looked perplexed, glancing back and forth between the television and Sam laughing his head off in Dad's recliner. After a while, he stopped paying attention to the show and just worked on untangling his hair.
Disappointment sat heavily on Dean's chest. He'd wanted Cas to like the show, to like hanging out with them... to like them. Instead, he looked miserable, all hunched in on himself.
For the rest of the half hour the show was on, Castiel kept working on his dreadlocks. After the show was over, everything was just uncomfortable since there wasn't anything good on TV, and the three of them didn't seem to have anything to talk about. Sam, the unhelpful traitor, went back to reading his book, leaving Dean to flounder around like an idiot.
Eventually, Castiel looked so unhappy, Dean said, "I guess we should get you back out to the shed. Dad might not show up until morning, but he could get here any time after nine, so..."
The relief on Castiel's face sent a little zing of hurt right through Dean.
"Oh, wait!" Sam cried, jumping up from his chair and racing down the hall. "I picked out some books for you!"
He came barreling back a minute later and handed a small stack of books to Castiel. "I didn't know what you would like, so I picked a few."
"Thank you," Castiel told him, accepting them solemnly. Then he turned to Dean expectantly.
Dean went to the kitchen to find one of the flashlights in the broom closet since it'd gotten dark while the show was on. "Come on," he said, gathering up the first aid supplies and forcing a smile.
They walked back out to the shed in silence. Dean went in first, all the way to the back and gathered up Castiel's bedding.
"Let me shake this out real quick. Since you showered, it'll be more comfortable if there's not a bunch of crud in the blankets."
He took the pile outside and shook the blankets out one by one. After the first one, Castiel helped, too. Dean watched him furiously shaking a ratty Star Wars comforter that used to be Sam's. His wings were spread a bit to help him balance, the white bandages bright in the darkness.
They reassembled Castiel's little nest, and Cas took his antibiotic and tucked the books from Sam onto the nearby shelves. Dean knew he should leave, but he couldn't help lingering as Castiel got settled in again.
"Cas? Um. I'm sorry about tonight. I thought you might like some company, but I guess maybe I should've just let you be."
Castiel studied him with a frown. "Dean, you did nothing wrong. I appreciate all you've done for me."
"You do?" Dean did his best to stifle the hope that sparked up.
"Of course. You've gone to great effort and put yourself at risk to help me." Castiel looked away. "It's just... being around people is difficult."
"You're always alone?"
Castiel nodded slowly.
"Doesn't that suck?" Dean couldn't help but ask. The thought of Cas being so alone was awful. At least Dean always had Sam, no matter how crappy everything else might be.
"I don't know." Castiel's eyes flickered up to Dean's face and away again just as quickly. "It's just the way it is."
"Well, it doesn't have to be, you know," Dean offered. "You can always come hang out with me and Sam. At least, when Dad's not here. If you want." He held his breath, watching Castiel hopefully despite his best efforts to squash the niggling optimism.
But Castiel didn't have an answer for him. He just looked at Dean uncertainly.
"Um. No pressure," Dean added, shrugging as if it didn't matter to him whether or not Castiel ever came back after his wing healed. "I'm gonna head back in. I'll see you tomorrow?"
Castiel nodded, "Tomorrow."
Dean handed him the flashlight. "For reading," he explained. "G'night, Cas."
"Good night, Dean."
But Dean wasn't able to get out to the shed on Monday. Dad was home, and Dean was on the receiving end of his bad temper the whole day. Awesome way to spend his spring break. He got Sam to go out to check on Castiel briefly when Dad went to shower, but didn't dare go out there himself. Dad always kept closer tabs on Dean than he did on Sam, and he didn't want to be out of earshot whenever his dad yelled for him next.
When Sam slipped quietly back into the house, he shot a glance at Dean, flashing a thumbs up to reassure him that Castiel was fine. Dean sighed in relief. He hated worrying so much, but having Dad home while Cas was hidden out there was wrecking his nerves.
By Tuesday morning, Dean had bitten his thumbnails down to the quick. Finally, around nine, Dad left for work, and the knot in Dean's stomach slowly relaxed. He waited a few minutes to make sure he was really gone. It would be just his luck if his dad had forgotten to take his wallet or something with him and turned around to get it.
"Hey, Sammy, I'm gonna go see if Castiel wants to come in," he yelled down the hall as he shoved on his sneakers without unlacing them.
"'Kay!" Sam hollered back.
Dean jumped down the front steps and hurried across the withered lawn to the tool shed. "Castiel?" he called out, pushing open the rickety door.
"Dean," came the immediate reply.
Castiel looked a whole lot less anxious than he did the last time Dean had seen him. He was working on his hair, and he'd managed to comb out a few of the dreadlocks so far. The hair that'd been freed was fuzzy and kind of flyaway from being knotted up so tightly for so long.
"Hey, my dad's gone to work. You want to come in so we can check your wing?"
Castiel picked up his comb and one of the books Sam had loaned him and followed Dean back to the house, brushing back the long fluff of his hair as the breeze blew it into his face.
Once inside, he pulled out a chair and sat, extending his wing so Dean could work. Sam trotted into the kitchen to watch, giving Castiel a grin and a "Hey," as he dragged his own chair out from the table.
As he unwrapped the wound, Dean said, "Sorry you had to be stuck out there all day yesterday. Dad was off work and didn't go out at all."
"It was fine." Castiel watched as he pulled the gauze free, peering at the injured spot. "It was much better with something to occupy me. Thank you for the books, Sam."
"You're welcome!" Sam answered brightly. "Did you finish any?"
Castiel nodded his head toward the book on the table. "That one. I'm not sure I understand it, though. Are there many people who can speak to animals as Fern does or is it an uncommon gift?"
Sam laughed. "Of course not! It's not real, it's just a story."
Castiel stared at the book with a frown. "A story?"
"Yeah, it's just made up. You know, for fun."
"I see," Castiel said, though he didn't look like he understood at all. "Is all of it a lie?"
"No, it's not a lie, it's just fiction. Like, to entertain people." Sam explained. "Fern's not a real person, and pigs don't really talk, and spiders don't really write words in their webs, but it's still a good story."
Throwing the old gauze into the trash can, Dean said, "Hey, not to interrupt your book club meeting, but it looks like the cut's healed enough we don't need to cover it anymore. I guess that'll probably feel a lot better on your feathers."
"Yes," Castiel agreed, drawing his wing in to inspect the stitches up close. "The bandages were not very comfortable."
"Just take it easy on your wing, okay? Just because you can move it around more doesn't mean you should."
Castiel nodded, folding his wing back to a more neutral position. "I'll be careful."
Dean made shooing motions with his hands. "You guys go on with your book talk. I'll be back in a bit."
He made his way to Dad's bedroom at the back of the trailer. It was supposed to be totally off limits to the boys, but occasionally Dean snooped. Sometimes because he needed something – like the first aid kit that had let them fix Castiel's wing – but sometimes just because.
Right now, he was after something specific. On the top shelf in the closet, he'd long ago discovered a box that contained stuff that could only be left over from when Dad banished Gabriel. As he pulled the box from its place on the shelf, Dean stopped for a moment, remembering what little he could of the angel he hadn't seen since he was five years old. Mostly all he had anymore were vague impressions of what he'd looked like and the feelings of sorrow and loss that had followed the banishment. Plus a fondness for Tootsie Rolls he hadn't been able to shake in the years since.
He smiled a little, shaking off the melancholy before sitting on the bed and digging into the box, sorting through the odd mix of bones, charms, vials of mysterious liquids, and other unidentifiable things until he found what he was after – a small silver knife in a black leather sheath.
"Dean?"
Castiel stood just inside the doorway with a look of concern on his face.
"Hey, Cas."
"What's wrong?"
Dean looked up in surprise. "What? What do you mean?"
Castiel hesitated. "You were...sad."
"I- How did you know that?"
Looking like he now wished he hadn't said anything, Castiel eventually answered, "You felt sad."
"You can tell what I'm feeling?" Dean didn't like that at all.
"Not all the time," Castiel tried to reassure him. "Only when you're close by or if you feel something strongly. Like how I knew you needed help when you broke your ankle and when Sam broke his arm."
"Dude, that's creepy!"
Castiel's face fell. "I'm sorry, Dean. It's not something I have control over."
"No, wait, please?" Dean said as Castiel started to turn and leave. "Look, it's fine, okay? I didn't mean you should go or anything. It's just... the junk in the box reminded me of someone I lost a long time ago. I was thinking about him is all. I, uh. I actually came in here to get this for you."
He handed the blade to Castiel, handle first. Castiel took it slowly, frowning as he drew the knife from its sheath and turned it, looking at it in the light from the window. The knife was simple but elegant. Castiel brushed his fingers delicately over the subtle etching on the grip.
"I wanted you to have something to protect yourself. In case you run into another angel or something."
Castiel looked up at Dean, who suddenly wished he could read Cas as easily as Cas could apparently read him.
"This...is for me?" Castiel's eyes seemed even more impossibly blue than usual as his stare burned holes into Dean.
Fidgeting under the intense gaze, Dean shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah. So you'll be safe."
Castiel dropped his eyes back down to the knife. "Thank you, Dean. This is... Thank you."
He slid the knife back into its sheath and clutched it tightly in his hand. Looking up again, he gave Dean a small smile – nothing big, but an honest to goodness smile.
Dean smiled back. "You're welcome."
Charlotte's Web is written by E.B. White, illustrated by Garth Williams.