ratherastory (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ratherastory) wrote2010-02-01 06:56 am
ratherastory) wrote2010-02-01 06:56 am
Entry tags:
Take Me Home —Part 20
Title: Take Me Home
Summary: The Trickster decides to have some fun with Sam. Wackiness ensues, with a healthy helping of whump, because it's me and I can't leave the boys intact.
Spoilers: All aired episodes up to 5.10
Word Count: 1,946 for this chapter
Disclaimer: Luckily for them, I own nothing. Otherwise they'd be in for a world of hurt.
Warning: Utter crack. Language that is definitely not workplace-appropriate.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer: No beta, written in such a hurry I'm amazed my fingers managed to connect with the keyboard.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #2:I take NO responsibility for this, because it's cracktastic and weird and I can't believe it came out of of my brain. If you are scarred for life after reading it, it's NOT my fault!
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #3: It's basically "Lassie Come-Home," Winchester-style. I dunno. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!
Master Post
Part 19
I know you folks missed Dean, but I'm making up for it now. With bonus other characters! ;) We'll be getting back to Jerry and Sam tomorrow.
*****
“Dean, wake up.”
There's a hand on his arm, right over the hand print Castiel left seared into his skin. He barely manages to bite back a groan of pain, forces open his eyes, finds himself staring into a pair of very bright, intense blue eyes, a whole lot closer than is strictly comfortable.
“Cas... personal space.”
Castiel obligingly steps back a pace. “My apologies, I wanted to be sure that you heard me.”
“I heard you,” Dean mutters, tries to raise himself on his elbows, and decides that's a really piss-poor plan. Everything still hurts, which seems vastly unfair. “When did you get here?”
“A few minutes ago. I did not wish to appear in the hospital proper, and so I walked a short distance before I found you. The woman at the front desk was most helpful when I inquired as to your whereabouts.”
“Right.”
Castiel tilts his head in that weird bird-like way of his. “You are still badly injured.”
“That's real observant of you,” Dean grumbles. It's bad enough when Sam plays Captain Obvious, now he has to take it from the angel, too. “I don't suppose you can get me out of here?”
“I am not sure it would be wise to do so until you are better. The doctor I questioned tells me that there have been —complications. That you are not recovering adequately.”
“I'll be fine. What do doctors know, anyway?” he flaps a hand dismissively but he's beginning to wonder just how out of it he was when he was talking to the doctor. He doesn't remember any of that, but looking back it kind of makes sense. It's been a week, but he's in more pain than he should be, or at least that's what past experience tells him. Cas isn't giving him much of a chance to indulge in inner monologue, though.
“Bobby has asked me to help, and so I am here, but I am unsure what assistance to lend you.”
It's a nightmare. He's stuck in a hospital bed, his whole body feels like one giant raw nerve twanging like a freaking guitar string, Sam is who knows where, and he can't think of a single good way to explain this to Castiel without it sounding all wrong. At least they've hooked him up with a morphine pump. It's about the only thing to go right.
“Your scenic detour was a trap, you know.”
“I know it now, and I am sorry. It was my hope that the Wyrm-slayer would be able to render assistance in our struggle against Lucifer. I had not considered that Lucifer might get to him first, nor that he might prevail against him this time. It was not my intention to put you in harm's way.”
It's as close to an apology as he ever gets from Castiel. In fact, it may actually be an apology, sometimes it's hard to tell. “Not your fault, Cas.”
“Nonetheless, I regret that you were injured.”
“Yeah, okay. It's fine, I'm still in one piece, mostly. I need to find Sam. No one knows what happened to him, and I'm stuck in this goddamned bed,” he shifts uncomfortably, and Castiel puts a hand back on his arm.
“You should not move. I will try to locate Samuel for you, but I cannot say how successful I will be. He is still hidden from me, as indeed he is from all angels.”
“Fuck,” Dean says quietly. “Well, at least Lucifer still can't get his damned claws into him. Hey, Cas... were you able to see that Sam was, uh, still Sam, even when he was a dog? Lucifer didn't seem to notice, which I thought was pretty high up there in the Annals of Weird. I mean, Sam wasn't right there, or anything, but I thought maybe he'd be able to sense him, being that close.”
Castiel shakes his head. “I was unable to see anything but a dog.”
“So how come you knew it was Sam? I thought you could just tell.”
The angel looks at him as though he's just sprouted an extra head. Of course, on Castiel, that amounts to a head-tilt. “I knew because you told me, Dean.”
“Of course.” Dean's head throbs in time to his pulse. “So how are you going to find him?”
“I don't know that I will find him. I will try. I will start by questioning the people who first found you and called for assistance. If anyone has seen your brother, it will be them.”
Dean manages a weak grin at that. “You know, you're getting pretty good at this casework stuff. I must be rubbing off on you.”
Castiel manages to look offended without actually changing his expression. It's a little uncanny, how he does that. “You forget that I have been around for a considerable amount of time. I may not be well-versed in modern parlance, Dean, but I possess more than a basic understanding of human nature, of logic, and the search for knowledge.”
“Sorry. Jeez, touchy.”
Dean rolls his eyes, tries not to feel so absurdly guilty at the thought that he may well have just hurt his angel's feelings. Angels don't have feelings. Without thinking about it he sits up, and this time can't bite back a gasp as pain flashes white-hot behind his eyelids. Castiel catches him, eases him gently back onto the bed. Dean is always surprised at how gentle the angel is, in spite of his strength: he's seen him rip apart demons, fight other angels, even has dim memories of him blazing through the darkness in hell, all with the same hands that are cradling him now as though he was a baby bird. Why the hell is he always thinking about birds when Cas is around, anyway? Must be the wings.
“You shouldn't try to move,” Cas says softly. “You will make your injuries worse. Hold still,” he places one hand on Dean's forehead, fingers over Dean's eyes, and he feels the pain recede, almost to nothing. When he opens them again, Cas is breathing hard, looking pale, if that's even possible for an angel.
“What did you do?”
“Not much. I can't heal you, but I can help with the pain, in some measure.”
“You didn't have to do that,” he mutters, feeling awkward. “Save your mojo for important stuff.”
“This is important,” Castiel says evenly. “And I wished to do it.”
Dean's embarrassed suddenly, for no reason he can quite decipher. “Yeah, well... thank you.” It sounds grudging, but Cas either doesn't notice or doesn't mind.
“I should go. It is important to find Samuel.”
“Before Lucifer does?” He can't quite keep the bitterness from his voice. It seems like the only thing on everyone's mind these days —his own included— is just keeping Sam from becoming Lucifer's prom dress.
“There is that,” Castiel admits, his voice just as gentle as his hands. “But there is more to it, than that, Dean. Sam is... important. To you, I mean. And to me.”
Before Dean can quite wrap his mind around that, there's a rustling of wings and a gust of air, and the angel is gone, leaving an empty spot in the room where he was standing a moment before. He heaves a sigh, grateful at least that he's not in excruciating pain for the time being. He has no idea how long it's going to last, but it's a small mercy in what's proving to be a really bad month in a series of really bad months. So he takes advantage of the respite, closes his eyes, and finds that he can't sleep after all, as thoughts of Sam crowd into his head to fill the void left by the pain. Sam dead on the side of the road, hit by a car driven by people who didn't even know who he was. Sam starving to death, lost in the woods out by George's cabin. Sam lost and alone, completely defenseless and without any back-up.
The pain creeps back in by increments, manifests first as a minor discomfort, then flares up in the leg that's encased from toes to just below the hip in a cast, radiates up his spine and into his skull, and he's almost happy to start up with the morphine again. At least when he's in an opiate-induced fog, he can't worry endlessly about something he can't fix. Nurses fuss around him, but he can't really bring himself to care, not even when they start making anxious noises about his pulse and his temperature, feed him extra ice chips and mess with his IV bags. They ignore all his attempts to ask about Cas or Sam, no matter how hard he tries to make them understand how important it is to find Sam. Finally he recognizes Alison at one point, catches her sleeve.
“Has Cas found him yet?”
“Who?”
“Sam. Has he found him?”
She lays a cool hand against his cheek. “Shh, don't get excited, okay? I don't think there's any news of your dog, sweetie. Is Cas your friend who was here earlier?”
He doesn't bother answering. If Cas hasn't come back yet, then it's because he's still looking, and Sam is still lost. Suddenly it feels like too much of an effort to talk. He shifts his weight in the bed, winces as a twinge of pain makes it past the haze of morphine, finds himself wishing they'd turn down the central heating in this place, and lets himself drift halfway into a sleep filled with uneasy half-dreams. When he opens his eyes it's still dark, and Castiel is standing over him.
“Cas?” He has to stop and swallow, his voice a hoarse croak. His head feels like it's weighted down with lead. Castiel holds a cup of cold water with a straw to his lips.
“The nurse tells me you should sip this slowly. You have a fever.”
He does what he's told, swallows a mouthful of water, coughs and tries not to choke. “Did you find him?”
“I am sorry, I did not. The couple who found you did see Sam. In fact, they said that it was he who led them to you from the road. However, he eluded all attempts to capture him once you were in the ambulance.”
Dean chuckles at that. “That's my Sammy,” the laugh turns into another choking cough, and Cas presses more water on him.
“I believe he is no longer where you left him. He appears to have fled through the town, and after that no one was able to provide me with any useful information. Many saw dogs, but could not swear that any one of them was in fact Sam. Apparently all dogs look the same to people,” he says with an expression that suggests he is unimpressed with humanity's lack of discrimination.
He sags against the bed, drained. “Okay, Cas. Thanks for trying.” He wants to cry, screws up his eyes tightly instead.
There's a cool hand against his forehead, gentle fingers on his eyelids. “We won't give up, Dean. I promise you. We will find him. Sleep now.”
“'kay, Cas.”
He sinks back into sleep, reassured by the weight of the angel's hand resting on his head.
*****
Part 21
Summary: The Trickster decides to have some fun with Sam. Wackiness ensues, with a healthy helping of whump, because it's me and I can't leave the boys intact.
Spoilers: All aired episodes up to 5.10
Word Count: 1,946 for this chapter
Disclaimer: Luckily for them, I own nothing. Otherwise they'd be in for a world of hurt.
Warning: Utter crack. Language that is definitely not workplace-appropriate.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer: No beta, written in such a hurry I'm amazed my fingers managed to connect with the keyboard.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #2:I take NO responsibility for this, because it's cracktastic and weird and I can't believe it came out of of my brain. If you are scarred for life after reading it, it's NOT my fault!
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #3: It's basically "Lassie Come-Home," Winchester-style. I dunno. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!
Master Post
Part 19
I know you folks missed Dean, but I'm making up for it now. With bonus other characters! ;) We'll be getting back to Jerry and Sam tomorrow.
“Dean, wake up.”
There's a hand on his arm, right over the hand print Castiel left seared into his skin. He barely manages to bite back a groan of pain, forces open his eyes, finds himself staring into a pair of very bright, intense blue eyes, a whole lot closer than is strictly comfortable.
“Cas... personal space.”
Castiel obligingly steps back a pace. “My apologies, I wanted to be sure that you heard me.”
“I heard you,” Dean mutters, tries to raise himself on his elbows, and decides that's a really piss-poor plan. Everything still hurts, which seems vastly unfair. “When did you get here?”
“A few minutes ago. I did not wish to appear in the hospital proper, and so I walked a short distance before I found you. The woman at the front desk was most helpful when I inquired as to your whereabouts.”
“Right.”
Castiel tilts his head in that weird bird-like way of his. “You are still badly injured.”
“That's real observant of you,” Dean grumbles. It's bad enough when Sam plays Captain Obvious, now he has to take it from the angel, too. “I don't suppose you can get me out of here?”
“I am not sure it would be wise to do so until you are better. The doctor I questioned tells me that there have been —complications. That you are not recovering adequately.”
“I'll be fine. What do doctors know, anyway?” he flaps a hand dismissively but he's beginning to wonder just how out of it he was when he was talking to the doctor. He doesn't remember any of that, but looking back it kind of makes sense. It's been a week, but he's in more pain than he should be, or at least that's what past experience tells him. Cas isn't giving him much of a chance to indulge in inner monologue, though.
“Bobby has asked me to help, and so I am here, but I am unsure what assistance to lend you.”
It's a nightmare. He's stuck in a hospital bed, his whole body feels like one giant raw nerve twanging like a freaking guitar string, Sam is who knows where, and he can't think of a single good way to explain this to Castiel without it sounding all wrong. At least they've hooked him up with a morphine pump. It's about the only thing to go right.
“Your scenic detour was a trap, you know.”
“I know it now, and I am sorry. It was my hope that the Wyrm-slayer would be able to render assistance in our struggle against Lucifer. I had not considered that Lucifer might get to him first, nor that he might prevail against him this time. It was not my intention to put you in harm's way.”
It's as close to an apology as he ever gets from Castiel. In fact, it may actually be an apology, sometimes it's hard to tell. “Not your fault, Cas.”
“Nonetheless, I regret that you were injured.”
“Yeah, okay. It's fine, I'm still in one piece, mostly. I need to find Sam. No one knows what happened to him, and I'm stuck in this goddamned bed,” he shifts uncomfortably, and Castiel puts a hand back on his arm.
“You should not move. I will try to locate Samuel for you, but I cannot say how successful I will be. He is still hidden from me, as indeed he is from all angels.”
“Fuck,” Dean says quietly. “Well, at least Lucifer still can't get his damned claws into him. Hey, Cas... were you able to see that Sam was, uh, still Sam, even when he was a dog? Lucifer didn't seem to notice, which I thought was pretty high up there in the Annals of Weird. I mean, Sam wasn't right there, or anything, but I thought maybe he'd be able to sense him, being that close.”
Castiel shakes his head. “I was unable to see anything but a dog.”
“So how come you knew it was Sam? I thought you could just tell.”
The angel looks at him as though he's just sprouted an extra head. Of course, on Castiel, that amounts to a head-tilt. “I knew because you told me, Dean.”
“Of course.” Dean's head throbs in time to his pulse. “So how are you going to find him?”
“I don't know that I will find him. I will try. I will start by questioning the people who first found you and called for assistance. If anyone has seen your brother, it will be them.”
Dean manages a weak grin at that. “You know, you're getting pretty good at this casework stuff. I must be rubbing off on you.”
Castiel manages to look offended without actually changing his expression. It's a little uncanny, how he does that. “You forget that I have been around for a considerable amount of time. I may not be well-versed in modern parlance, Dean, but I possess more than a basic understanding of human nature, of logic, and the search for knowledge.”
“Sorry. Jeez, touchy.”
Dean rolls his eyes, tries not to feel so absurdly guilty at the thought that he may well have just hurt his angel's feelings. Angels don't have feelings. Without thinking about it he sits up, and this time can't bite back a gasp as pain flashes white-hot behind his eyelids. Castiel catches him, eases him gently back onto the bed. Dean is always surprised at how gentle the angel is, in spite of his strength: he's seen him rip apart demons, fight other angels, even has dim memories of him blazing through the darkness in hell, all with the same hands that are cradling him now as though he was a baby bird. Why the hell is he always thinking about birds when Cas is around, anyway? Must be the wings.
“You shouldn't try to move,” Cas says softly. “You will make your injuries worse. Hold still,” he places one hand on Dean's forehead, fingers over Dean's eyes, and he feels the pain recede, almost to nothing. When he opens them again, Cas is breathing hard, looking pale, if that's even possible for an angel.
“What did you do?”
“Not much. I can't heal you, but I can help with the pain, in some measure.”
“You didn't have to do that,” he mutters, feeling awkward. “Save your mojo for important stuff.”
“This is important,” Castiel says evenly. “And I wished to do it.”
Dean's embarrassed suddenly, for no reason he can quite decipher. “Yeah, well... thank you.” It sounds grudging, but Cas either doesn't notice or doesn't mind.
“I should go. It is important to find Samuel.”
“Before Lucifer does?” He can't quite keep the bitterness from his voice. It seems like the only thing on everyone's mind these days —his own included— is just keeping Sam from becoming Lucifer's prom dress.
“There is that,” Castiel admits, his voice just as gentle as his hands. “But there is more to it, than that, Dean. Sam is... important. To you, I mean. And to me.”
Before Dean can quite wrap his mind around that, there's a rustling of wings and a gust of air, and the angel is gone, leaving an empty spot in the room where he was standing a moment before. He heaves a sigh, grateful at least that he's not in excruciating pain for the time being. He has no idea how long it's going to last, but it's a small mercy in what's proving to be a really bad month in a series of really bad months. So he takes advantage of the respite, closes his eyes, and finds that he can't sleep after all, as thoughts of Sam crowd into his head to fill the void left by the pain. Sam dead on the side of the road, hit by a car driven by people who didn't even know who he was. Sam starving to death, lost in the woods out by George's cabin. Sam lost and alone, completely defenseless and without any back-up.
The pain creeps back in by increments, manifests first as a minor discomfort, then flares up in the leg that's encased from toes to just below the hip in a cast, radiates up his spine and into his skull, and he's almost happy to start up with the morphine again. At least when he's in an opiate-induced fog, he can't worry endlessly about something he can't fix. Nurses fuss around him, but he can't really bring himself to care, not even when they start making anxious noises about his pulse and his temperature, feed him extra ice chips and mess with his IV bags. They ignore all his attempts to ask about Cas or Sam, no matter how hard he tries to make them understand how important it is to find Sam. Finally he recognizes Alison at one point, catches her sleeve.
“Has Cas found him yet?”
“Who?”
“Sam. Has he found him?”
She lays a cool hand against his cheek. “Shh, don't get excited, okay? I don't think there's any news of your dog, sweetie. Is Cas your friend who was here earlier?”
He doesn't bother answering. If Cas hasn't come back yet, then it's because he's still looking, and Sam is still lost. Suddenly it feels like too much of an effort to talk. He shifts his weight in the bed, winces as a twinge of pain makes it past the haze of morphine, finds himself wishing they'd turn down the central heating in this place, and lets himself drift halfway into a sleep filled with uneasy half-dreams. When he opens his eyes it's still dark, and Castiel is standing over him.
“Cas?” He has to stop and swallow, his voice a hoarse croak. His head feels like it's weighted down with lead. Castiel holds a cup of cold water with a straw to his lips.
“The nurse tells me you should sip this slowly. You have a fever.”
He does what he's told, swallows a mouthful of water, coughs and tries not to choke. “Did you find him?”
“I am sorry, I did not. The couple who found you did see Sam. In fact, they said that it was he who led them to you from the road. However, he eluded all attempts to capture him once you were in the ambulance.”
Dean chuckles at that. “That's my Sammy,” the laugh turns into another choking cough, and Cas presses more water on him.
“I believe he is no longer where you left him. He appears to have fled through the town, and after that no one was able to provide me with any useful information. Many saw dogs, but could not swear that any one of them was in fact Sam. Apparently all dogs look the same to people,” he says with an expression that suggests he is unimpressed with humanity's lack of discrimination.
He sags against the bed, drained. “Okay, Cas. Thanks for trying.” He wants to cry, screws up his eyes tightly instead.
There's a cool hand against his forehead, gentle fingers on his eyelids. “We won't give up, Dean. I promise you. We will find him. Sleep now.”
“'kay, Cas.”
He sinks back into sleep, reassured by the weight of the angel's hand resting on his head.
Part 21
no subject
I love Cas' reasoning: Dean told him it was Sam, therefore it must be true. It didn't even occur to him that Dean would be lying or pulling his leg.
I'm glad you liked the story! There are still lots of chapters left, so hang onto your hat. :)