Chapter Text
Gabriel sways a little as uncontrollable weight of Castiel bumps into him. He gains his balance quickly though, taking a wider stance to keep them securely standing. His arms go around Castiel's shoulders, slightly narrower than his own, and his other hand palms the back of Castiel's head. The movement is almost instinctive, raising from their shared history of older brother always taking care of the younger.
-There, there, he hums soothingly into Castiel's ear. -It's alright. Just let it out.
The chest quivering against his own, the fists balling his army jacket, the tears wetting his button-down make Gabriel actually feel sentimental. He knows though that this is different from soothing those boo-boos after school bullies attacking his brother. When Castiel has sobbed his fill and lets his arms loose around Gabriel, he takes a straight, concerned eye contact, crouching down to see Castiel's from under his tousled hair.
-How are you feeling? He asks. -Cassie, can you look at me?
He can't quite get the contact, Castiel's gaze roaming a bit confused. His breathing is still uneven and hitching from time to time as he struggles with the aftermath of sobbing. Gabriel glances around, seeing only a couple of people minding their own business a bit further along the street.
-You know what? He chats, aiming for a soothing but light tone of voice, circling his arm behind Castiel's back, ready to take his weight as he turns them towards the truck. -We'll take a little breather now, what do you say? Just take it easy for a while.
He directs them forward, a wobbly step by step, and starts to dig his cell phone from his chest pocket. Balthazar is probably at work this early in afternoon, but the point is that he will know what to do.
—
-Hi, it's Balthazar Novak, the solemn, reserved voice says on the line when Dean takes the call. -Castiel Novak's older brother.
-Castiel's brother? Dean draws up, adjusting the cell phone between his shoulder and ear and laying Sam's hand back down on the armrest. Sam draws up too, shifting his eyes from his bathing toy and grunting sharply. Dean strokes his arm soothingly, kneeling beside him as he listens to the phone. -All good, Sam, he murmurs. -Nothing to worry about.
-I beg you pardon?
Dean hides a brief grimace, pushing Sam's soiled drawsheet under the sink, out of the way. -No, just keep on, please, he says quickly. -We're just doing our morning chores with Sam. I'm all ears.
-I'm sorry to tell you that Castiel needs a sick leave for today, the voice says without preamble, not sounding particularly sorry. -He's not fit to work.
-Oh. This time, Dean takes care that his worry isn't seeping into his voice or demeanor. -This is sudden. Nothing serious, I hope?
-Nothing serious, the voice reassures, making Dean sigh in relief. -He will tell you himself if he wants to what's going on.
There is a brief silence on the line, and the voice keeps on. -I'm a doctor myself. I can take care of him, and our other brother is here as well. Castiel will be fine.
-Alright. Dean thinks quickly, his thoughts forcefully yanked from around the familiar morning routine trying to find new paths. He knows as an employer that he's not permitted by law to ask about any details, but it surely feels weird. Castiel has never been away from work, never even hinted at any possibility to do so. Also, why isn't he calling himself?
-Castiel will tell you what he wants you to know when he comes back, Balthazar repeats on the line. -It's not my place to share his personal information.
-Naturally, yes, Dean says, shaking his head a bit to get his thoughts straight. -Just... give him my best, and tell him we'll be alright.
-I will, Balthazar says. -I'll get back to you, but he himself is adamant that it's only this day. Thank you for your cooperation.
Then the line is dead, only alarm sound beeping in a quick succession. Dean listens to it for a while before he presses the red button and puts the phone away. -Alright, a slight change in our plans, Sam, he says, his voice artificially calm and joyful. -Let's get a bath and I will teel you what's it about.
—
Castiel is still laying on a guest room bed when Balthazar walks in. His face is pale and drawn, but his eyes are sharp when he sees his older brother come in. Gabriel, sitting by the bed, has clearly seen some trouble in keeping Castiel down.
-What did he say? Castiel asks vehemently. To Balthazar's keen doctor eye, he seems wired up and exhausted at the same time, but his worst symptoms are dissipating. He comes close, sits on the other chair beside the bed and crouches closer.
-Dean sends you his best, Balthazar says, keeping his voice low and soothing. -He wants to tell you they will be alright.
Castiel lets out a distant sound, between sigh and a huff, and Gabriel glances at Balthazar with concern. Balthazar returns the glance with reassuring nod.
-You need to rest now, Castiel, he says soothingly. -I would be a totally unresponsible doctor and brother if I let you go to work today.
Castiel simply turns his face away, towards the wall, and Balthazar stands up, laying his hand on Castiel's shoulder for a moment. -Try to have some sleep, he says softly. -You barely slept an hour during the night. We'll be in the living room, and Amelia is coming after lunch. Kids are having their club day so they won't be here before the evening.
Still, no reaction from Castiel. Balthazar nods at Gabriel, walking out of the room. Gabriel follows him, letting the door ajar so that they could hear if Castiel calls for them. In the kitchen, there is a line of tiny medicine bottles side by side on the counter, and Balthazar takes a dosetti, starting to arrange the pills inside it, one by one.
Gabriel leans on the counter, staring at Balthazar's lean fingers working deftly, professionally. He knows Balthazar wants to act professional even now. It's his shelter against the harrowing truth.
He speaks no earlier than he feels he can't keep silent anymore. -He was calling for Adam when I found him during the nightmare, he says silently. -You think he... you think he's going straight back there?
Balthazar doesn't answer right away. His hands works meticulously, like playing asome kind of an odd instrument. -I don't know, Gabriel, he finally says. -We simply need to wait and see, I'm afraid.
—
Dean suppresses a sigh, running his hand over his face as he listens to the voice from his job cell. His laptop is open on the living room table in front of him — damn the ergonomy —, showing an excel of last months’ buys and sales, and he clicks it off, opening the file showing their newest clients’ information.
His eyes travel to glance at Sam, who’s lying comfortably on his recliner not far from Dean, humming softly along listening to his Spotify songs. Working at the living room table is killing Dean’s back, but damn him if he keeps Sam all day in his wheelchair instead of his recliner he is used to and finds comfortable.
-Yes, Mr. Roman, he says on the phone when the seemingly uncontrollable flood of speech has halted. -I have their info and our synchronized calendar right here in front of me. I had a Teams meeting with Mrs. Chang just Friday, and she was very pleased with our plans. We —
The speech starts again, and Dean closes his eyes, rubbing his temple. Suddenly he draws up and tenses, squinting at the screen and the calendar with a brand new meeting blinking on it.
-Today, Mr. Roman? He says, incredulously. -Today I’m scheduled to be at home, working from here. I’m alone with my brother today, and it says in my job contract that I have two days a week remotely. I’ve talked with the HR and office about that, and we agreed on it. Sam’s caregiver needs his days off, and we have an agreement you signed with your own hand that —
More hasty words. Dean stops and listens, speaking again as soon as there’s a tiny pause in his bosses word vomit. -I appreciate Mrs. Chang’s schedule, I do, but we have had a fruitful communication so far by Teams. I’m sure she —
Again. Dean gnaws his lip as his employer’s voice rises with a pitch, really trying to keep his reactions to a minimum so as not to alert Sam. Now it’s Mozart playing on Sam's Spotify list, something dramatic that luckily enthralls Sam so that he seems completely inside his own world somewhere.
-Mr. Roman, I understand. I hope you remember as well that I’m my brother’s only family, and he is mine. He needs care all around the clock, and he’s very sensitive. I can’t just leave him with some random —
The last, angry words, and then a click as the line goes dead. Dean bristles, blinking at the dead cell for a minute. Super, just super. He inhales, counts to five, exhales.
-Sam, I’ll be right back! Is all he’s able to grind out as he stands, forcing himself to do so calmly, and, all gathered, walks to the bathroom furthest from the living room.
He closes the door, grimaces at the mirror and screams silently, punching the air several times like it was his bosses face.
Fucking Dick Roman! Fucking insensible dickhead! Why couldn’t he believe that Dean has everything under control with the client? Why must he arrange these appointments in less than a day’s notice? Why couldn’t he listen when Dean tries to communicate his reality with Sam? And most importantly: How couldn’t he understand when Dean tries to tell him that Sam’s not some kind of a pet dog who can be left with anyone who knows how to feed the animal and let it out twice a day to do its business?
He rages inaudibly at the mirror until he needs to catch his breath, and then he sits down to the closed toilet lid to think.
Mrs. Chang will be at the office in two and a half hours. Castiel will be off today — Balthazar made it clear enough in the phone earlier, and Dean is so not going to call back and tell his and Sam’s everyday angel what’s going on. Castiel would be here in a flutter of wings, not minding the least his own health, and Dean can’t have it. So, the first alternative, out of commission.
Charlie is somewhere on the Pacific, on a cruise with her parents, so she’s not a possibility either. Mrs. McIntosh, the next door neighbour, is charming, but Dean knows her daughter Alex has a double shift week on her job as ICU nurse so they are out of count as well.
Dean huffs. So, it leaves them with only one alternative. He glances at his watch, does some counting. Sam had a good breakfast, and his bowel worked with the enema just fine in the morning. They just had their lunch and Sam’s leg physiotherapy, his upper body still waiting for the massage and daily stretches.
He could take Sam with him in a stroller, he plans. Sam’s snack can be a nutri smoothie today, it won’t hurt him once in a while, besides Sam’s formulas can wait in the office kitchen fridge and Dean can feed him in there. He can change Sam in the office’s nap room couch as well as give him his medicines. Sam will have his puzzles as his activity today, besides he surely would be stimulated enough by the hustle and bustle at the travel here and there and back in the office. The puzzles are easy to take with, especially the smaller ones…
Dean splashes some cold water from the tap on his face, dries it with a towel and strides back to Sam, gathering his confidence. This will have to be done. This will be all okay.
-Sam, buddy? He calls gently, standing behind Sam’s recliner and going around to see his brother. Sam tilts his head to look at him, smiling lopsidedly. The electrical voice buzzes alive. "Dean. Sam. Happy." Dean kneels down, palming Sam's temple. -You like yourself some Mozart, hmmm?
He chuckles as Sam coos at him, blinking his eyes like after a nap. -I know you were listening carefully, I’m sorry to interrupt, he tells him. -I have something to tell you, Sammy. We will have a little adventure trip today, what do you say?
Dean’s heart aches as he sees Sam’s confusion, but luckily Sam has been feeling well the last few days, so hopefully he won’t be too overfrought by this. At least that’s what Dean has to believe. He tries to act as calm and soothing as he can while he prepares them for leaving, trying to do the things the usual speed they keep up with when at home, simultaneously attempting to remember everything.
A list, he remembers, taking a paper and writing everything down as he goes, underlining the crucial ones like diapers, ointments and meds. Meds he writes with three underlines and a huge exclamation mark. Everything else can be arranged, every corner has a 7/11.
This time, he decides to take Sam’s cab. This wired, he would be a real hazard in the traffic behind the wheel, he deduces. Luckily it’s Mark who the service guy promises to send to them. Something good in a line of failures that started with some dick Roman.
And then they go.
—
Castiel wakes up to the silent house and sunshine straight to his eyes. He blinks, yawns and stretches, noticing the pristine white of the couch and remembering it's not his own. There is a country style quilt spread over his legs, and in a little white sofa table there is a glass of orange juice and pitcher of water with mint leaves and slices of cucumber floating in it.
Cucumber is actually quite weird vegetable, Castiel thinks, watching as the light filters through the slices, ending up as a light green, contorted form into the shiny surface of the table. Ninety-five percent water, like a human body, and still so well put together with the thinnest net of meat. Actually, he remembers reading from somewhere that cucumber is a fruit, not a vegetable, and it includes surprisingly many vitamins. At least for something that's mostly water.
There are soft steps coming closer, and Castiel notices his eyes are closed. Balthazar's after shave reveals him though. The wooden swing chair crinkles under him as he sits down.
-Cassie? He whispers. -Are you awake?
Castiel considers for a moment if he should just pretend sleeping, but the actual process of acting feels too complicated so he decides it's easier to just open his eyes. Balthazar smiles at him, lopsidedly, leaning backwards and his arm thrown over the backrest. He's having his usual sassy aura around him, but there is something much more brittle under the surface. Castiel returns the smile and lets his eyes close. His eyelids feel like concrete, slipping peculiarly closed all the time by the sheer gravity.
Balthazar speaks, his voice nice and low. -You seem better, he remarks. -Definitely better than how you sounded yesterday evening.
Castiel chuckles bitterly, then he draws up as the whole message reaches his consciousness. -Yesterday?
Balthazar nods, reaching for a table nearby and pouring something to a glass. -Yeah, that’s when you came here, he says. -Amelia and I both came home early when Gabe called to make everything ready for you.
Castiel takes the glass, gingerly. His hands still feel like rubber. -Sorry, he murmurs.
-Don’t be. Balthazar leans again closer, seemingly ready to take the glass. -Just tell me how are you doing now?
Castiel closes his eyes, letting his brother take the glass. -My limbs are feeling numb, he says softly. -And my head is buzzing… But not so badly anymore.
Balthazar nods, crouching to take Castiel’s wrist between his fingers. -Is your chest feeling tight still?
Castiel shakes his head. -It’s easing up.
Balthazar smiles again. -Alright, I assume you’ll live, teeny. Let me make some tea and then I want to hear what has happened.
The nickname Castiel always found the most irritating of all slips past his notice. He leans back with a sigh, letting the sounds of his older brother making the tea lull him into a doze.
—
-Thank you, Mark, Dean says with a slightly tense smile as the cab driver closes the backdoors of his vehicle after getting Sam safely out. -Wish us luck.
Mark's smile is encouraging. This isn't the first time he has listened to the older Winchester's worries, although this time the situation is slightly different than usual. -That's cool, he says, patting Dean onto a shoulder. -You two will nail it for sure.
-Yeah, Dean says, feeling much more concerned that he lets out. -Sam will for sure. But not so sure about myself.
Mark's cab accelerates away, and Dean stands still, looking after it, his arm draped over Sam's backrest. He has rarely felt this strong an urge to wave Mark back and ask to take them back home, no matter Mrs. Chang, no matter his job. This is they first time since the call from Castiel's brother than Dean has time to take a proper gulp of air and think, and the thoughts that fill his mind are less pleasant, starting with "ohmygods", "I'venevers" or "Whatifs".
Sam shifts on his chair. He tilts his head questioningly upwards, his hair brushing Dean's wrist, and suddenly the weight of the situation comes crushing down. They are downtown, outside Dean's office, their only way up to the twentieth floor where all of Dean's working place is waiting.
Tens of people who have never seen Sam, only the closest of them even knowing that Sam exists. It's a world where people come and go with briefcases, several cell phones, high heels, tight smiles and hand shakes. It's a clinical world, not the one with Sam, with squeals and laughter, mess and caretaking.
Dean has never wanted to mix these two worlds. But then again, this is the first time no-one asks him.
He takes a gulp of air, meeting Sam's eyes with a smile. -It's a working day today, buddy, he says with the enthusiastic, soothing tone he has mastered through their years by the two of them. -Shall we go in?