Work Text:
At first, Dean doesn’t think much of the lockdown. Yeah, he has to stock up the Impala with all the masks and Clorox wipes he can fit in her, and yeah, the business dries up a little bit, since a lot more people are working remotely and aren’t using their cars every day, and yeah, all of his favorite restaurants switch to takeout only so he eats a lot more burgers at home – but it’s not like Dean is a crowds person, so he doesn’t mind being alone. Even before the plague descended and forced everyone to scramble inside, few things had been better than kicking back in the Dean Cave with some cold beers, greasy burgers, and whatever movie he was trying to introduce Castiel to.
Of course, now it’s the plague times. So it’s just Dean in the Dean Cave. And at first it’s great. He can watch all his old favorites, and he doesn’t need to stop every half hour to make sure Castiel is actually paying attention. And he can binge Dr. Sexy without judgement.
But then Dean glances up mid-Tombstone for the fifth time with a joke on his lips only to find that he’s alone.
Because, right, Castiel is at home. Doing . . . whatever nerdy things he does when he’s not with Dean. Which are probably things that are far less important than finally watching the amazingness that is Tombstone, and Dean actually digs out his phone to tell Castiel to get his nerdy butt over, because Castiel might moan and groan and drag his feet over it, but he will come, and he even has a copy of Dean’s key so Dean doesn’t have to get up to let him in, and there’s even food for him because Dean had ordered two of everything on instinct –
But then he remembers: Plague. Lockdown. Social distancing.
Dean stares at his phone. The cursor blinks innocently up at him from his message thread with Castiel, which is filled mostly with either thesis-long rants or single words followed by almost incomprehensible strings of emojis, because the day Castiel had discovered the existence of the emoji keyboard had been both the best and worst day of Dean’s life. Their last exchange had been when Dean had demanded Castiel to come over and bring burgers so they could finally watch Austin Powers. Castiel had agreed, except he’d gotten distracted while shopping and showed up with nothing but fresh honeycomb and beeswax, and he’d been so excited about it Dean hadn’t had the heart to scold him.
He scrolls up to the timestamp. Seven days ago, his phone cheerfully informs him. Dean swallows hard and closes the message thread before it can send his half-formed text.
Seven days.
It’s probably the longest they’ve gone without hanging out. Or sharing a meal. Or just talking.
Dean looks at his phone again. Castiel is his top contact, surpassing Sam, because Sam prefers talking over the phone to texting and Bobby still forgets that his cellphone exists half the time. The only person that might even come close is Charlie, except most of their messaging is done through Charlie’s Moondoor app.
Although Moondoor is probably popping off right now, given that Dean bets a lot of people are looking for something to occupy themselves and Moondoor was already the best LARP app, so Dean opens it and looks for Charlie. Her status – the glittering Queen of Mondoor crown – shows that she’s holding court, so Dean switches to view her latest plans for the great Battle of the Kingdoms instead. He might be the Queen’s Handmaiden, but even a Handmaiden would not dare to interrupt the Queen of Moondoor.
A few seconds later, he’s firing off a message to her. To the mightiest and most glorious of Queens: You might wanna move your archers back and your broadswordsmen to the west.
To his surprise, Charlie responds lightning-fast for someone who’s currently holding court. Oooh, to fight the warriors?
Yeah.
Good call, Handmaiden.
Dean sends an ostentatious gif of a knight bowing back. Then, because Charlie would have ignored him if she didn’t want to be bothered, he dares to venture, And how goeth court, my liege?
Booooorrriiinnggggg. It’s mostly The Talk seven times in a row with all the newbies figuring out how to play and who they want to swear allegiance to. I swear to God, if Boltar switches again, I’m going to exile him on principle.
That sucks, Dean says. He’s given The Talk to several groups of newbies himself in his position of the Queen’s Handmaiden, and every time it is somehow worse than before. Any promising new recruits?
Maybe.
Dean raises an eyebrow. Charlie makes up her mind pretty quickly whenever Moondoor opens its figurative doors and new players swarm in; it’s what has led to her long and successful reign as the bearer of the Forever Crown. For her to say maybe . . .
Smirking, he sends, Are they hot?
Paws off, Winchester, Charlie says, which is as good as a confession. I saw her first.
Dean sends her an exaggerated as you wish gif.
I’m making you wear the Braveheart face paint the next time we run the Battle of the Kingdoms in person, Charlie threatens, which, fair. Also, what’s going on with you?
What do you mean?
Well normally you’re with Mr. Dreamy right now, and you always say you’ve gotta focus on keeping him focused, and not on Moondoor. Sooooo…
Charlie has never met Castiel, even though she’s been asking for it for a long time, and much to Dean’s chagrin, she’s taken to calling him Mr. Dreamy to remind Dean of that fact. He scowls and types out, Lockdown, remember? No visitors. He’s at home.
Oh.
Oh what?
Nothing, just surprised. Usually you two are attached like this, she sends, adding an emoji of crossed fingers. Especially on movie nights.
Hey! The Dean Cave is spacious enough for two chairs, thank you very much!
I’m so very sorry to have impugned the honor of your mancave. Anyways, gtg, new petition from the Elves, maybe we can actually make an alliance this year.
Good luck, Dean sends, even though he knows that Charlie probably won’t read it until she finishes court. It’s not surprising; the four kingdoms are constantly jostling for alliances, and Charlie will need to pay full attention to make sure the petition is legitimate and not a trap. He almost opens the court stream to join himself, but then he decides against it and closes his app altogether.
The thought of Charlie having a crush on someone – and a fellow Moondoor dweller, no less – is hilarious enough that Dean turns to the side and opens his mouth . . . only to remember that right, he is alone in the Dean Cave. Because of the plague. Because of the lockdown. Because Castiel is home, doing Castiel things in his own Castiel way, which do not include online LARPing on the Moondoor app.
And, sure, Dean could text him, because Castiel has always been very patient and gracious about letting Dean ramble on about it, but it feels weird, and also inefficient. It’s much easier to explain Moondoor in person. But he can’t explain it in person because Castiel is not here, taking up space in the Dean Cave, absently dropping popcorn on the floor or eating enough burgers to give Dean a stomachache just thinking about it.
Castiel is at home. Not with Dean.
And, well, Dean hadn’t realized how much he had gotten used to Castiel being all up in his personal space until suddenly he couldn’t.
“Is this vegetarian?”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Dude, it’s apple pie.”
Sam continues to eye the pie like the box contains a cursed museum artifact and not a still-warm freshly baked apple pie. “Dean, you know I’m trying to – ”
“Maintain your rabbit food diet, yes, yes, I know. And for the record, I did modify the recipe to make sure it suited your needs.”
Sam makes a face at the insult to his diet, but he does in fact put the pie in his car, so that’s a win. Dean even restrains himself from his usual mockery of Sam’s eco-friendly tiny car, because it’s the first time he’s seen Sam in a week and he’s trying to be nice.
Mostly, anyways.
“So how’s the wild world of lawyering?” Dean asks.
Sam rolls his eyes. “It’s not all kicking down doors to serve papers or spying on cheating spouses, Dean,” he says. “Mostly it’s just a lot of paperwork. But we are doing good things. It’s just a little slower now.”
“Cuz everyone has to be online now?” Dean guesses.
“Yeah. Never thought I’d see the day that I’d be delivering my opening statements over Zoom.”
Dean smirks. “Is the camera large enough to show all of you, or does it just show the top of your head?”
“Hey! I know how to adjust a camera!”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Dean says, because Sam isn’t exactly bad at technology, but part of his speedrun to a healthier lifestyle includes what he calls “digital detox retreats” where he goes off into the mountains to meditate and shuts off his phone. He’d once offered to take Dean along; Dean had thought about being on a mountain (fine) and camping out (also fine) without his phone (he’s survived without it), but the second he’d realized there would be, like, eight or ten hour silent meditation sessions, he had noped out.
Sam glowers. “I know what I’m doing, Dean. And it could be worse. At least I know how to turn on, but more importantly off, Zoom filters.”
Dean blinks. Sam’s tone of voice is incredibly pointed, but Dean sure as heck hasn’t called Sam on Zoom, so: “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Google ‘cat lawyer’ on your phone.”
Dean raises an eyebrow. “I thought talking was the lifeblood of any lawyer. All talked out, Sammy?”
“Just Google it,” Sam says in clear exasperation.
Two minutes later, Dean is holding onto Baby for dear life, because it’s that or slide all the way onto the driveway. He’s pretty sure that he’s making a bit of a racket from laughing, but everyone has to do their meetups outside in the road or on driveways, so it’s not like he’s the first.
“‘I’m not a cat!’” Dean repeats, and dies laughing some more.
Sam grins. “Told you it was worth it.”
Dean wipes away his tears of laughter. Then he favorites the video and turns to show it to Castiel – only to remember that, right, Castiel isn’t there, watching Sam and Dean interact with a tilted head and confused expression. Embarrassed, he clears his throat and closes the video.
“That’s great, Sammy. Think they have a moose filter?”
“No,” Sam says flatly.
“Or maybe a Sasquatch one?”
“No.”
“Lawyer costume party, come on! Even lawyers have to celebrate Halloween.”
“We do. Outside of our job,” Sam says. And then, with the subtlety of a born Sasquatch, he asks, “Anyways, how’s Castiel?”
Dean blinks, thrown at the sudden change in topic. “Uh – I don’t know?”
“Seriously?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sam shrugs. “Nothing. But usually you and Castiel are attached at the hip,” he comments.
“Why is everyone saying that?” Dean demands. “Cas and I are not attached like some sort of, I don’t know, set of conjoined twins.”
“Well, no. Conjoined twins would mean you were born together, and Castiel is older,” Sam says matter-of-factly.
It does not make Dean feel better.
He crosses his arms and scowls. It is true that he’s closer to Castiel than Sam and Castiel are, but that’s because Sam and Castiel got off on the wrong foot and then they were carefully, awkwardly polite to each other and it is only now, after years and years of them being around each other, that they’re finally starting to warm up to each other.
“I’m not the one who got into an intense argument about the meaning of guinea pigs,” Dean points out.
“He was wrong and I was right,” Sam says immediately. “But, like, Dean, usually whenever I come over, Castiel is around. And you drag him to poker night with Bobby. And to bar hopping with Ellen and Jo. And – ”
“Listen, Cas was born with the perfect poker face and you know it. And Ellen was the one who asked me to bring Cas back after he threw back all those shots.”
“And so maybe,” Sam continues, with that same dogged determination that got him into Stanford Law despite his fragmented transcripts and piecemeal years in high school, “maybe it isn’t surprising that I assume you’re up to date on however his life is going.”
“Well, I’m not. It’s the plague time, Sammy. I haven’t met up with anyone except your stupid face, and technically we’re not even really meeting because you can’t even come in the house.”
Sam looks up and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath. He says, “Dean. Are you seriously telling me that you haven’t even called Castiel?”
“We normally text,” Dean says defensively.
“Fine. You haven’t even texted him?”
“Well, he – he might be busy.”
“You’re the one who keeps telling me that texting is the best for on-the-go people. Because they can respond whenever they’re free.”
“Cas isn’t the best with technology.”
Sam opens his mouth – and then he nods, conceding the point, because they all remember when Castiel had tried to set up his first voicemail. He’s changed it since, but Dean has that downloaded because nothing can beat hearing Castiel’s deep voice going I don’t understand why, why do you want me to say my name? Although honestly he’ll have to download Make your voice a mail one day too, because it is an improvement, but it’s still funny as hell.
“Fine,” Sam says. “But that still doesn’t stop you from texting him. Or calling him. You have a miraculous device called a phone, Dean. It’s used for calling people.”
“I know what a phone is, Sasquatch,” Dean says grumpily.
“Then use it and call Castiel,” Sam fires back, right before he gets into his car and starts to drive away, because Sam likes to have the last word. Sam claims it’s because of law school; Dean’s pretty sure it’s just part and parcel of being an annoying younger brother.
Of course, the perk of being an older brother is that one learns how to make themselves heard.
So Dean cups his hands around his mouth and hollers, “Next time I’m only making you burgers! The meatiest and greasiest!”
Dean stares at his phone. His phone, with Castiel’s contact pulled up, stares innocently back.
It’s not like he’s never called Castiel before. In fact, usually if they are chatting they do so on a call, because if it had taken Castiel a while to figure out how to operate a phone, it had taken him even longer to figure out texting. And it’s not like Castiel would refuse his call; if anything, Dean is pretty sure he’s the person who bothers Castiel the most, because Castiel isn’t very close to his family. But at the same time: Dean usually doesn’t have to call Castiel. Because Castiel is usually with him.
Except for right now, when Castiel is at home, doing who knows what, because lockdown means he can’t be with Dean.
Dean hovers over the call icon. It would be so simple to press it and start a phone call. Just one touch. He could pretend to just be checking in. He could pretend to have his hands busy and be unable to text. Hell, he could pretend it was accidental. He’s done all those things and more to others before. But it feels strange to consider lying to Castiel.
Mostly because it’s hard to lie to Castiel, who had greeted Dean with the bluntest I’m the one who pulled you out of perdition at their first meeting and has never got any less blunt or less truthful in all the years since.
Dean takes a deep breath, lowers his hand – and chickens out and opens the text thread instead.
Hey, he sends. Casual. Neutral. Nothing crazy.
Castiel doesn’t reply immediately. That isn’t surprising, though. Unlike most people, Castiel is assuredly not attached to his phone. Sometimes he barely remembers it exists, unless he’s in the middle of a heated emoji war with his niece Claire.
Still, usually he does respond when he sees Dean’s name come up, so when an hour later he still hasn’t said anything, Dean tries again.
Have you watched Tombstone yet? You promised you would.
Still, Castiel does not respond.
And – well, Castiel is a grown man, even if voicemails confuse him and pop culture references go flying over his head. He can take care of himself, even if he can’t make a burger to save his life. He managed to survive for years before he met Dean. Surely he can survive a couple weeks in lockdown. Surely.
At least, that’s what Dean tells himself.
Five minutes later, he presses call, mostly because he can’t shake the image of Castiel lying unconscious on the floor out of his mind.
This is my voicemail. Make your voice . . . a mail, blares Castiel’s voicemail greeting. Normally, Dean finds it funny. Right now, he most assuredly does not.
“Come on, Cas, pick up,” he mutters, ending the call and trying again.
This is my voicemail. Make your voice . . . a mail.
This is my voicemail. Make your voice . . . a mail.
“Hey, uh, Cas,” Dean says awkwardly. “This is Dean. Um. Obviously. I’m just, uh, calling to see if you, uh, if you got my text about – ”
“Dean?”
“Cas!” Then he coughs and lowers his voice, because that was definitely way too loud. “Hey, Cas.”
“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says. He sounds . . . completely normal. Definitely not like someone who’s been a depressed lump on the sofa or a passed out unconscious lump on the floor. Were it not for the slight crackle from the call, Dean could almost close his eyes and pretend Castiel is sitting right next to him.
Except for the small, little, tiny problem that is: trying to explain why he is calling Castiel.
“Hey, Cas, I, uh. You picked up,” Dean says lamely.
“You called. So I answered,” Castiel says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “I always answer when you call.”
“Yeah, and I do appreciate it, buddy.”
“I am . . . glad,” Castiel says slowly, and Dean can almost see the confused head tilt Castiel must be doing. “Was there a reason for this call?”
“Just, uh, checking in on you. You know, since we’re all in lockdown. Supposed to, uh, do the friend thing and just make sure to keep in touch, you know, check that you haven’t gone stir crazy or, I don’t know, cracked and bought a hive of bees.”
“I was considering it last night,” Castiel says, which does not help Dean’s blood pressure.
“Cas, stay away from the bee websites.”
“But I like watching the bees. They lead very fascinating lives.”
“ . . . Wait, are you watching them now?”
“Yes,” Castiel says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “It is called a – a ‘Bee Cam’. According to this website anyways.”
Dean can hear the air quotes Castiel is making. Which, on one hand, he can’t help but smile at, even if he’s told Castiel a thousand times that he doesn’t need to make the gesture. On the other hand . . . “And how long have you been watching the bees?”
“Only three days.”
“Close out of the Bee Cam, Cas.”
“But Dean – ”
“You need variety, man. And you promised me you’d watch Tombstone. That’s gonna be a much better use of your night.”
Castiel’s sulk is pronounced even across the call. “Fine,” he says sullenly. “Are you going to make me wear that ridiculous hat?”
Dean snorts a laugh. “No, Cas, I think we can forgo the cowboy hat. Wait. Do you even have a hat?”
“No. But that would not stop you.”
“Damn right, it wouldn’t.” Dean flops down into his chair in the Dean Cave and fires up the TV. It feels a little weird to do it without Castiel sitting in his chair right next to Dean, but if Dean closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that the sound of Castiel’s breathing is coming from inside the room and not across a phone. “Are you ready to have your mind expanded, Cas?”
“My brain is already as large as it can grow and cannot possibly – ”
“Just play the damn movie, Cas.”
Four hours later, the credits have long since finished rolling, but Dean is still explaining the genius that is Tombstone. Fortunately, he can place the phone on speaker, so that he can gesticulate to his heart’s desire, even if Castiel isn’t physically in the room to make that confused expression or tilt his head.
“I still don’t get it,” Castiel says, for the umpteenth time.
Dean rolls his eyes. “Seriously, Cas, were you even watching?”
“Yes.”
“You know, I have trouble believing that. I think we should watch it again. Maybe you need repeated viewings to really appreciate Tombstone.”
“Dean – ”
“In fact, what are you doing tomorrow night? And don’t say watching the Bee Cam.”
Silence.
“Yeah, I thought so. We’re watching Tombstone again, Cas. So don’t make any other plans for the evening. It’s gonna be me, you, and Kurt Russell.”
“Fine,” Castiel says grumpily. “But I need to find my phone charger.”
“Oh no, did someone forget to charge their phone last night again?”
“This isn’t funny, Dean. The voice says I’m almost out of battery.”
Dean laughs. And to think he’d thought that once they’d moved from pay-by-the-minute to unlimited talk and text that Castiel’s phone problems would mostly be solved. “Fine, fine. Go find your phone charger. And you better have your listening ears on when we watch Tombstone tomorrow.”
“My ears are always listening, Dean. They are incapable of not being listening.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Cas.”
Somehow one movie night becomes two, and then three, and then four. At first, because Castiel keeps not grasping the genius that is Tombstone, until Dean finally orders him a cowboy hat and makes him wear it, at which point Castiel finally cracks and admits what they both know: Tombstone is amazing.
Dean does a fist pump of victory, even though Castiel cannot see him. “Ah hah! I knew you’d finally acknowledge it.”
“There’s no need to gloat, Dean.”
“Admit it, the cowboy hat helped.”
“It is a ridiculous hat and I stand by that.”
“Call it ridiculous again and next time I’m going to order you a poncho and make you wear that too.”
“There is no way that cowboys wore blankets.”
“Hey! They are not blankets, they are ponchos!” Dean says indignantly. He opens up a new tab and begins searching for ponchos. Luckily, it takes barely any time at all to find one, and even less time to key in Castiel’s address for delivery. “And just for that, you are wearing a poncho next time.”
“But we finished Tombstone.”
“And you thought you were done? Oh, Cas, buddy, we have so many more movies to go through.”
“I’m not sure that this is the perfect time to – ”
“Are you kidding me, this is the best time!” Dean says. “We’re literally unable to leave the house, dude! It is the perfect time to finally get around to all the classics you missed.”
“Shakespeare?” Castiel asks, and bless his soul, he almost sounds hopeful.
“I was thinking more like Star Wars. Because so help me god, you’re going to understand what a Death Star is.”
“Please tell me it’s not another hat. Or blanket.”
“They’re ponchos! In fact, I bet they make . . .” Dean keys in a new search and makes a noise of triumph. “Yes! You, my friend, are going to have a delivery tomorrow.”
“I am?”
“Yes, you are. And you’re gonna open it and wear it tomorrow during our Star Wars marathon.”
“No, Dean.”
“Yes, Cas. And just for that, I want a picture as proof.”
“ . . . Of what?”
“You in the Star Wars poncho,” Dean says smugly, and then he hangs up before Castiel can cuss him out.
Castiel does indeed send Dean a picture of the Star Wars poncho. It is blurry and at a terrible angle, but Castiel’s irritated face above the pattern of cheerful Ewoks makes up for everything.
They conquer Star Wars and move on to Star Trek. Or at least, Dean tries to get Castiel to move on to Star Trek. Castiel keeps complaining that it is patently unfair to expect him to keep the differences between Star Wars and Star Trek straight, and so that is exactly what Dean is expecting him to say when Dean’s phone rings an hour before their usual movie time.
So Dean, of course, answers and immediately says, “No, Cas, you’re not getting out of it, we are starting tonight and I will hear no more excuses.”
He’s expecting Castiel’s grumbling or moaning or more complaining.
What he gets instead is: “Uh, good evening. This is Lawrence General Hospital. You’re the most dialed contact for this patient. Are you able to give us some information on him?”
“ – and his mailman found him unconscious on the front step and now he’s in the hospital and because of the stupid lockdown, they won’t let me visit him – ”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Sam says. “What’s going on?”
Dean can’t help the irritated noise that escapes his mouth. He’d been perfectly damn clear. Apparently, Sam had only been half paying attention. “I said,” he mutters through gritted teeth, “Cas is in the hospital. He’s unconscious. And they won’t allow any visitors because of the stupid goddamn lockdown policy – ”
“Well, if he’s sick, they probably don’t want to risk anyone giving him anything else,” Sam says, calm and reasonable and all the things Dean knows he should be. “I’m sure as soon as they get him the medications he needs, he’ll be okay.”
“But we have no idea how long that’ll be – ”
“And harassing his doctors won’t help make it shorter.”
Dean blows out a long breath. He leans his forehead against the fridge, letting the cool surface wash over him. He knows Sam is right, he knows he is, and yet it still doesn’t make it any easier to accept the terrifying mental image of Castiel in a hospital bed, unconscious and helpless, with a machine breathing for him because he’s too sick to breathe for himself.
“Dean? You okay?”
“Yeah,” Dean says gruffly. “Fine.”
“Okay,” Sam says, his voice is full of doubt. And it doesn’t help when Sam shifts his tone into the soothing tone Dean knows he uses on his anxious clients. “Look, what hospital is he at?”
“Lawrence General.”
“Okay, not too far away. And they changed their visitation policies for the lockdown, yeah, but they also started doing video visits. Once Cas wakes up, you can probably ask for a video visit with him if a phone call isn’t enough.”
“What, hospitals do Zoom and FaceTime now?”
“Some of them, yeah. And if not, you can just call him. They have his phone, right?”
“Yeah, that’s how they called me.”
“See? Then you can just – wait. Why’d they call you and not his family?”
Dean sighs. “I don’t know, Sammy. They said something about how I was his most dialed contact or something.”
A poignant silence radiates over the call. Dean rewinds his last sentence back in his head and grimaces, because if there’s one thing he can immediately suss out from Sam’s silence, it’s when he’s made a terrible mistake in admitting something he shouldn’t.
“So then – ”
“Look, I’ll call you whenever I find out any updates, okay?” Dean says hurriedly. “Bye!”
Fortunately for all of their sanity, Castiel wakes up after a few days. And in true Castiel fashion, Dean finds out when Castiel just up and calls him on the hospital-provided iPad, which means that Dean ignores the call from a random unknown number twice before Castiel leaves him an irate voicemail.
Dean Winchester, pick up the phone.
Dean calls back quickly after that.
“Hello, Dean.”
“ . . . Hi, Cas,” Dean says after a moment, because it’s that or burst out laughing. Castiel is wearing the grumpiest expression Dean has ever seen, and it doesn’t help that he has IV lines everywhere and a blue patterned hospital gown on. Plus he has the worst bed hair Dean’s ever seen, and that’s saying something, considering how wild and rumpled Castiel’s hair usually is. “Uh, you still – ”
“At the hospital? Yes.”
“Are you okay?” Dean asks.
“No.”
Dean stares at him for a few moments. When Castiel blinks, he realizes that the connection hasn’t frozen or gotten messed up; Castiel truly just answered no and then expected Dean to not need any follow up information, apparently.
So Dean prompts, “You wanna elaborate?”
Castiel grunts. “I just woke up here. The doctors were very surprised.”
“. . . And that means?” Dean asks cautiously, because he honestly can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
“I am saying,” Castiel tells him irritably, “that I am thirsty and my head aches, and I have a bug bite that itches no matter how much I scratch it, and apparently, I can’t go anywhere right now until every single doctor on this unit examines me because they thought I’d be unconscious longer.”
Dean bites his lip very hard to keep in the laughter. He’s not really surprised that Castiel is a terrible patient, but that doesn’t stop it from being funny. “Welcome to being human, dude.”
“Very funny, Dean.” Castiel scratches his leg. “Hopefully they’ll let me go soon. Or give me some food.”
“Well, uh, look, Cas. I’m glad you’re awake. And hey, no worries – let me know when you get cleared to leave and I’ll come get you, okay?”
Castiel blinks. Dean’s always been able to tell what he’s thinking, and he knows that right now, Castiel is surprised. “You don’t have to do that,” Castiel says. “I can find someone else to give me a ride.”
Dean scoffs. “Like any friend of mine is gonna be taking an Uber or something when me and Baby are right here. You call me, Cas, you hear?”
“But, Dean, you . . . you like your personal space.”
And to be fair, it is true. Dean has lost count of how many times he’s had to tell Castiel Personal space, dude because Castiel is kind of like a cat that never quite got fully and properly socialized, and for the first few months of their friendship, Dean had always been turning around and nearly bumping straight into Castiel. He’d even threatened to buy Castiel a bell a few times.
But on the other hand, Dean also can’t remember the last time he’s actually told Castiel that. Somehow along the way, having Castiel nearby no longer was annoying to him.
Well, it is still annoying if Castiel is in the way when Dean needs to get something out of a kitchen drawer or a garage workbench, but aside from that – he’s sort of gotten used to Castiel just being nearby. Existing next to him, like a star quietly orbiting just within range. Eating his burgers, and drinking all his beer, and still not understanding pop culture references no matter how many movies Dean makes him watch.
Dean definitely can’t say any of that, though, so he just clears his throat. “I’ll deal with it. Just like I’ll deal with fighting the hospital traffic. One time pass, Cas. Don’t pass it up.”
“As you wish, Dean.”
The worst part, Dean reflects when he hangs up, is that he hasn’t even made Castiel watch The Princess Bride yet.
Castiel gets cleared to leave after only a few days. He doesn’t give Dean much details, but then again, Dean drops everything and runs to the Impala as soon as he gets the text, so that’s not really Castiel’s fault. The hospital traffic is, of course, absolutely terrible, and parking is even worse, so Dean is cursing every other driver in the world when he finally finds a spot and pulls in.
He’s still cursing under his breath when he actually finds Castiel, mostly because this hospital – like every other – seems to build every wing as a maze more suited to containing a minotaur than letting friends and family visit patients.
“ – and we do recommend staying with someone for a few days, Mr. Novak,” a doctor is saying when Dean slides into the room.
And, well, Dean knows his cue. He clears his throat. “He’ll be with me.”
All heads in the room swing to Dean. All four heads, in fact, because while there’s a doctor and nurse and Castiel (which makes sense), there’s also another random dude in the corner, leaning casually against the wall and definitely not dressed in scrubs or a white coat or anything else that might explain his presence in Castiel’s hospital room.
Said random dude raises an eyebrow. “And just who are you, bucko?”
Dean bristles. He steps forward and puts his hands on the bars of Castiel’s wheelchair, because he’ll be damned if Castiel is going home with a random person when he needs monitoring.
“I’m Dean. His friend.”
Random dude’s other eyebrow goes up to join the first. He looks Dean up and down, long and slow and carefully. He whistles. “So this is Deano, Cassie? You’ve been holding out on me. Why didn’t you tell me he was – ”
“Gabriel!” Castiel interrupts, in the embarrassed tone of every little brother everywhere.
Dean looks at Castiel. Looks at random dude – Gabriel. The name rings a very, very, very faint bell in his head, but –
“Wait,” he says, “candy store owner Gabriel? Your brother?”
“Yes,” Castiel says, at the same time that Gabriel says, “Wow, finally connecting the dots. Someone give Winchester a Nobel prize.”
“Shut up, short stuff,” Dean says reflexively.
“Now, now, there’s no need to be insulting,” Gabriel says calmly. “I came allllll the way here just to check on my baby bro after he dropped off the radar with no explanation; the least you could do is be polite.”
“This is polite.”
“Dean,” Castiel says wearily, and Dean subsides. “Gabriel, I’m fine. Dean will take me home. Besides, you should get back to your business.”
Gabriel presses a hand over his heart. “So eager to get rid of me? Cassie, you wound me!” he says, with all the drama of a Shakespearean actor. He even staggers.
“You were saying you pulled out in the middle of an important shoot and needed to get back soon,” Castiel says. “Dean lives nearby; it’ll be more convenient for him to give me a ride. And the doctor has already cleared me to go home, so I’m fine.”
“You’re cleared to go home and rest,” the doctor says pointedly. “Get some sleep, eat some food, and drink fluids. Nothing strenuous.”
Dean straightens, trying to look as responsible as he can. He knows that he’s not dressed to impress, but he did wash the car grease off his hands before he came in, so that has to count for something. “I’ll make sure of it, doc,” he reassures them.
For some reason, the doctor seems unimpressed, but they let Castiel leave, so that’s the important part.
When they get outside to the Impala, Gabriel tips an invisible hat at them. “Well, Cassie, since you’re going home with Deano here, I suppose this is our goodbye then. Try not to get into more trouble, okay?”
“Getting into trouble is your modus operandi, Gabriel.”
“Hey, I’m not the one who ended up in the hospital. Just saying. But you heard the doc, kiddos: nothing strenuous. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”
“Gabriel.”
“Yeah, yeah, fine, I’m leaving, I’m leaving, sheesh. Oh, and do me a favor, will you?”
“What kind of favor?” Castiel asks suspiciously.
Which is when Gabriel smirks and empties out what looks like an entire pocket of empty candy wrappers. “Toss these for me, will you?” he says with a wink, and saunters off whistling the most cheerfully annoying tune Dean’s ever heard.
Dean clears his throat. “So, uh, that’s your big brother Gabriel, huh?”
“One of my older brothers, yes,” Castiel says, scowling.
“I can see why you two don’t get along.”
“Hmm. We have our differences. But to be honest, I had thought him to be the one you were most likely to get along with.”
“How in the hell – ”
“Well,” Castiel says, settling into the Impala’s passenger seat, “you do like to watch Casa Erotica occasionally.”
Dean freezes. “Wait, when you said shoot – ”
“Yes.”
“You can’t be serious – ”
“I am.”
“And you decided now was a good time to drop that particular bomb because?!”
Castiel looks up innocently at him. “If I had told you earlier, it would have ruined one of your favorite past times,” he says, in the exact same calm tone Gabriel had used minutes earlier. “Can we go home now, Dean? I’m hungry.”
“You – !”
“Dean,” Castiel says when they get off the highway, “this is the way to your house.”
“Yeah, dude, you’re supposed to be with someone for a few days. To make sure you don’t collapse again or anything. Doctor’s orders, remember?”
“I was under the impression that the doctors say that all the time.”
“Probably. Doesn’t mean it isn’t a good idea, though.”
Castiel shifts in his seat. His expression is a little uncomfortable, as if Dean’s driving him to a brothel and not to Dean’s house, where he has been multiple times. He says, very carefully, “Dean, I do not wish to intrude on your personal space for that long.”
“It’s not intruding if I’m offering,” Dean points out. “And we have movie nights all the time.”
“But this is not a one night thing.”
Dean shrugs. “Unless you’re trying to tell me that after one night you turn into a gremlin and destroy my house, I think we’ll be fine.”
“I don’t understand that reference,” Castiel says in a long suffering voice.
“Aaaand you’re back to normal,” Dean says, pulling into his driveway. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty, let’s go inside and get some food.”
Fortunately, Castiel’s appetite appears not the least bit impacted by his dance with unconsciousness or his stay at the hospital. He devours no less than three of the burgers Dean makes for him, which is always a nice thing to see, since Sam started turning his nose up at meat and making noises about rabbit food years ago.
“These,” Castiel says, with grease on his hands and ketchup on his cheek, “make me very happy.”
“Why do you think I cooked them for you?” Dean jokes. “Nothing better than burgers after a hospital stay.”
“I find I must agree. They were very determined to give me ‘healthy’ food options,” Castiel says, air finger quotes and all. “But the options were not very good, and they did not allow me to order food from somewhere else.”
“If you hadn’t been unconscious, I would’ve snuck you something during visiting hours.”
Castiel raises an eyebrow. “So there are some doctors’ orders that you are willing to break, but others you are not?”
“Denying a man who’s sick a good burger is a crime against the Geneva Convention,” Dean says solemnly. And then, when Castiel puts down his burger and goes for his phone: “Wait, are you Googling that?”
“Well, yes,” Castiel says, typing very, very slowly because keyboards are his mortal enemy. “How else am I to determine the veracity of your claims?”
Dean laughs so hard that he almost chokes on his burger. “Don’t ever change, Cas. Come on, let’s go put on a movie.”
Castiel pleads for mercy when they get to the Dean Cave, and he is right about coming off a hospital stay, so Dean gives in and puts on The Princess Bride. Mostly it’ll be something new for Castiel, but also because Dean could watch it a million times without being bored.
“And I won’t even make you wear the cowboy hat,” Dean tells him as he settles down with his cold beer and freshly popped popcorn.
“Thank the Father for small mercies,” Castiel says solemnly, although the effect is somewhat ruined by his envious gaze at Dean’s beer.
Dean pointedly moves his beer to the other armrest. “Doc said no alcohol, Cas.”
Castiel grumbles under his breath, but he does lean back in his chair and switch his gaze to the screen, so that’s fine. He even starts eating the popcorn, which Dean made fresh and buttery just the way Castiel likes.
It feels right: Castiel in the Dean Cave, comfortably settled in his recliner with his feet up and head back, bucket of popcorn in one hand and an array of his favorite chocolates on his lap. After so many nights with only the pale mimicry of movie nights through his phone, Dean finds that he can finally relax.
Well, as much as one can relax when it’s clear that their movie mate is not at all paying attention to the movie.
As the showdown at the castle begins to unfold, Dean leans over. “Hey, if you fall asleep, we’re gonna watch this tomorrow too.”
Castiel’s eyes widen. “I can’t even have one night to – ”
“Nope. This here,” Dean says, gesturing to the screen, “is educational. And repetition makes it stick.”
“This is patently ridiculous,” Castiel grumbles. “We should have one night as a break. Otherwise you’ll need to come get me again and – ”
“There is exactly thirty five steps between my guest bedroom and the Dean Cave, the commute will be like two minutes.”
Castiel blinks. He straightens from his post-burger slump, staring at Dean like Dean’s just announced that ghosts are real or something. “Your guest bedroom? Wait, you intend for me to sleep over?”
“Uh, yeah, dude. How else am I to monitor you? Unless you have a nanny cam I don’t know about.”
“But,” Castiel says, “this is your house.”
“Aaaaand?”
“And your personal space. You’re always so . . . insistent about it. I don’t want to intrude on it.”
“You won’t be intruding,” Dean says, because what he really wants to say – which is that letting Csatiel out of his sight is enough to make his blood to turn to ice – would be really fricking weird. “I’m offering. And that’s what the guest bed is for, anyways.”
“I thought it was for Sam.”
“Well, I mean, yeah. But Sam isn’t here right now. And don’t worry, I’ll put fresh sheets on it.”
“That was not my concern.”
“Then we’re settled,” Dean says, trying to inject as much confidence into his voice as possible. He glances at the screen, but the music blaring tells him what he already knows: the movie is over and Castiel has missed all the best bits. He stands up and starts to stretch. “And tomorrow will be The Princess Bride encore.”
“Dean . . .”
“What now, Cas?”
“Dean, I’m serious. The doctors are probably being overcautious; I’m sure I can return home tomorrow morning.”
“I’m being serious too,” Dean retorts. “The doctors said you needed a few days with someone. So, you’re staying with me.”
“But I – ”
And just like that, Dean loses his patience. He whips around, ignoring the kernels that go flying from his bucket at the sudden maneuver, and snaps, “I’m not going to be on the receiving end of another random call from the hospital because you got it in your head to be stubborn and ended up collapsing again! You’re staying here and that’s final.”
Castiel lifts his chin, still defiant. He’s never been cowed by Dean’s anger. “And I don’t want you uncomfortable because I’m in your personal space.”
“I don’t care about that!”
“You always have before with your friends.”
“Not when it’s you,” Dean says.
He regrets saying the words instantly. They’re too blunt, too raw, too truthful.
But Castiel has always been good at bluntness.
Castiel sets aside the popcorn bucket. He pushes away the chocolates. He stands up. Every movement is slow and careful and calculated, like a man approaching a wild untamed horse. Dean would be insulted by it, if he wasn’t too busy hyperventilating about how, exactly, Castiel is going to react to his unintended confession.
“So you,” Castiel says slowly, when he’s standing, “don’t mind me being in your personal space?”
Dean licks his lips. “No.”
“Not even,” Castiel says, taking a step closer, “for a few days?”
“N-No.”
Another step, careful and slow, and then another, until Castiel is close enough that Dean can almost feel the heat of his body. “Not even when I’m this close?”
“Goddammit it, Cas,” Dean chokes out, “no, never – ”
He’s not sure who moves first. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was Castiel. Either way, the result is the same: they go from standing with barely any space between them to definitely having not even the slightest bit of space.
Oh, and they’re kissing. That’s happening too.
“Dean,” Castiel murmurs, voice deeper and rougher than Dean’s ever heard, “Dean.”
“Cas,” Dean gasps out. “Please stay, don’t go, please – ”
“Yes,” Castiel says instantly, and it quiets some overly anxious fretting part of Dean that he didn’t even know was fretting. “Yes, I will. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize – I’ll be more careful next time.”
“Dude, don’t apologize, it’s not like you planned falling unconscious.”
“Well, no, but I can make better preparations. So that you don’t, uh, get another random call from the hospital.”
“I’d rather have you,” Dean tells him honestly, “random phone calls or not.”
And then they’re kissing again, because now that they’ve started Dean can’t quite stop, and Castiel is warm and alive in his arms, and he’s kissing Dean back, and it’s better than any of his dreams ever were –
But, alas, eventually, the need for oxygen makes them part.
“Dean?”
“Hmm?”
“I don’t think I’ll be needing the guest bed,” Castiel says, perfectly blunt as always.
Dean smiles. “As you wish, Cas.”
FINIS