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“Garth – what the hell?! You can’t just send people here! This isn’t some fucking refugee camp man, you gotta find them somewhere else!”
Sam was pacing the floor, yelling at Garth on his cellphone. The dispute was quite simple; Garth had sent a young mother and daughter to the Men of Letters headquarters and only informing Sam of this decision after it had been made. Castiel appreciated that the secrecy of the headquarters was ‘a big deal’, as Sam repeatedly said, and he certainly understood that Garth wanted to save these people, but Castiel agreed with Sam. Was there not a smarter option for Garth?
“Well why didn’t you send them to a motel and have me meet them there? Shit, I don’t need this right now!”
The woman looked afraid and uncomfortable, sitting at the table across from him. There were a few wrinkles in the corners of her eyes and her eyes looked weary. Castiel was becoming very acquainted with weary-eyed people.
“I don’t know, Garth, but you have a fucking brain don’t you?”
This was a question not to be answered. Rhetoric, Castiel was actually very knowledgeable in this but, like sarcasm, it could be hard to notice some times. Sharing living space with Kevin seemed to help this however.
Sam swore again and put his cellphone on the table. “Quit staring at her, Cas, it’s making her uncomfortable,” he snapped.
The woman flushed. Yes, Dean had previously informed him that prolonged staring gave people certain discomfort. However, it was strange. The woman’s daughter stared at him and Sam unrelentingly. And Dean now stared worse than Castiel stared.
“You know, Sam’s actually a nice guy, he’s just not really showing it right now,” said Charlie from the other side of the table. “I promise.”
Sam glared at her.
As far as Castiel was aware, she hadn’t spoken once. The woman, not Charlie. Charlie had been highly garrulous actually.
Sam put a hand on his forehead and looked very pained for a moment.
Castiel rose from his seat. “Sam, is everything okay?”
“Yeah, this is just turning into a very long day,” he replied wearily.
Nobody spoke for a small period. Charlie coughed. “So uh, it’s Mel, right?”
The woman nodded.
“Would you like me to show you and...”
“Marcie,” Castiel supplemented.
“Marcie to a bedroom for you both?”
The woman nodded again, slowly and uncertainly. Charlie smiled and picked up her bag and the two females departed the room.
Sam sat heavily at the table. He sighed. “This place has gotta be safe, man. This place is everything we’ve got now, and Garth... he can’t just send people here.”
“Garth is intelligent. I believe he would not have had he another choice.”
“Yeah well this feels like a really fucking stupid idea of his.”
“Perhaps he knows something we don’t know.”
Sam rubbed his face; a gesture Castiel found painfully reminiscent of the old Dean. “I miss Dean,” Sam said softly. “I know, we’ve got him, and I really fucking love him don’t get me wrong, but this Dean... he’s like my kid or something. He’s not my big brother Dean.” He laughed bitterly. “This is reminding me of when you guys were in purgatory. It was like Dean had died but hadn’t died, like there wasn’t closure or something.”
Castiel frowned. “I understand, I-“
Castiel stopped talking. A soft noise distracted both him and Sam, and they turned in the direction of the door, where stood the small child pulling at his pajama top.
“Sammy?” Dean said miserably, tear tracks visible on his face. Tears weren’t the only liquids on his face; Castiel inhaled sharply seeing the bright red on Dean’s pale face and in his blond hair.
“Dean? Shit,” Sam breathed. He moved to Dean and crouched to his level, placing a hand gently on his chin. Dean clutched his shirt. Castiel stared at his injuries, thick bleeding scratches around his temples. He walked over and crouched next to Sam and touched Dean's cheek gently. He wished his powers to heal Dean as they had once before, but it didn’t – would never – work.
“Dean, God, what happened?” whispered Sam.
More tears spilled over Dean’s eyelids. “They hurt me,” he whispered.
“Who did?”
“Alistair.”
Sam pushed Dean's hair off his face. He smiled sadly, pained, "You had a nightmare, huh?"
Castiel looked at Dean’s hands, noticing his fingernails were thick with blood. He’d done this to himself. Sam took Dean's hands into his own, looking closely at the bloodied nails.
“What did you do,” he whispered.
Dean hiccoughed and threw his arms around Sam’s neck, sobbing. Sam held him close whispering words of comfort and stroking his back.
A first aid kit was necessary. Castiel knew there was one in the bathrooms, he’d used it before. He remembered Dean using it on his injuries when he’d first returned to the bunker after falling. Old Dean, of course.
When Castiel returned with the first aid kit, Dean’s sobbing had faded into weeping. Sam pushed Dean away from himself. “Dean, buddy, this is going to h- this is gonna not feel great for a minute but I promise it’s going to end, it’s going to end and you’re going to be fine in a minute, okay?”
Castiel watched him put both hands on Dean’s cheeks and flinched as Dean flinched. Sam looked lost.
“Hold him,” Castiel said suddenly.
“What?”
“Hold Dean. I’ll take care of his wounds.”
Sam pulled Dean onto his lap. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he murmured to Dean.
“I want Daddy,” sobbed Dean.
“I know, I’m sorry Dean,” said Sam as Castiel tried to pull Dean’s hair out of the blood. Castiel patted lightly at his temple with a clean, damp cloth.
“Hey so she’s pretty cool – oh...” Charlie stopped at a bookshelf and looked on Cas, Sam and Dean with wide eyes.
Castiel pulled out an antiseptic wipe and dabbed as gently as he could at Dean’s cuts, but he still whimpered and tried to turn his head away.
“Dean, come on, head still, champ.” Charlie moved closer, a gentle smile on her face. “You’re gonna be a big, brave boy for us, huh?”
Dean flinched half-heartedly as Castiel continued to wipe the scratches on his head. “All done now,” Castiel smiled weakly. He wrapped a sterile bandage around Dean’s head to discourage him from scratching more at the cuts and wiped the tears off his face.
“There we go,” Sam said, putting his head back next to Dean’s.
Dean breathed heavily. “I want Mommy,” he said, and sobbed harder.
“Hey, Dean, how about some nice hot chocolate, huh?” said Charlie. There wasn’t a response. She pulled Castiel’s sleeve, getting his attention, and motioned her head towards the kitchen. “Come on Spock, let’s go make some.”
Charlie showed Castiel how to make hot chocolate. He was beginning to learn how to make a great many things, living in this bunker.
“What the hell was that then?” asked Charlie as she brought the milk to boil.
Castiel frowned. “I believe you chose the correct word.”
Comprehension graced her face. “Oh. Hell?”
“Yes.”
Dean was howling into Sam’s shirt when they returned with four mugs of hot chocolate. Sam was rocking side to side with both arms around his brother and looked up at Charlie and Castiel with a terrified expression.
As the howling fell into weeping hiccoughs for the second time this evening, Sam was able to tempt Dean with the hot chocolate. Warm chocolate, really, thought Castiel. If they were lucky.
“Come on, buddy,” Sam said tiredly, standing up with Dean on his hip. “You wanna sleep in my bed?”
Dean’s face was tucked into Sam’s shoulder and he was sucking on his thumb and sniffing.
"'K," Sam continued. "But we gotta get your hands and face all clean first, huh?"
Charlie finished her hot chocolate and kissed Dean’s head.
“Dream nice things now, huh? Han Solo being cool and Princess Leia kicking ass, that kind of thing?”
Sam's lips quirked up, but that was it for response. She left for the kitchen, saying she was going to clean up.
Castiel followed Sam and Dean down the halls, stopping before they did at his own room. He nodded at Sam as he did, noting how Dean’s eyelids were drooping.
He’d barely taken off his shoes when Dean and Sam entered his room.
“Cas – Dean doesn’t really want to be alone, and I need to say a couple of things to Mel and Marcie or whoever they are. Just wash him up a bit and put him to bed in my room?"
Castiel looked at Dean. “Of course,” he said, and held his hand out toward Dean. Dean took it and lolled his head against Castiel’s thigh.
He was very pliable, and let Castiel clean his face and hands easily and without squirming. Dean dragged his feet on the short walk back to Sam’s bedroom. Castiel pulled the covers back from the bed and Dean got in, looking up at Castiel with tired, red eyes. Castiel tucked him in as best he could, using Jimmy Novak’s memories of tucking in Claire.
“I sincerely hope you have good dreams,” he said, brushing the hair back from Dean’s forehead. Back from the bandage, actually, for this covered most of his forehead. “If anyone should sleep well...”
Dean tilted his head. “You weren’t there,” he mumbled.
“What?”
“Sammy was there. An – an mommy an daddy. But you weren’.”
In Hell, Dean meant. There had been apparitions impersonating his parents and Sam in Hell, but nothing bad of Castiel for Castiel was only there to save him.
“No, I was not.”
Sam appeared at the doorway. “Thanks.”
Castiel pressed a hand to Dean’s cheek, wanting nothing more than to take away the pain.
But Castiel couldn’t, and so he left.