sam winchester (neversurrender) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2015-01-18 17:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, castiel, sam winchester |
Who: Sam & Cas
What: talking about relationship stuff, then it becomes apparent that Cas is not ok.
When: backdated to before the Blackout (say, January 12 or 13?)
Where: Cas (& Dean's) apartment
Warnings: references to Cas's deteriorating health.
Status: logged, complete
Being married was… surprisingly normal. After a lovely week away, being back in New York meant going back to most of his usual routine. Classes, training, studying, hanging out with his friends when he found the time, spending time with his wife-- well, that was new. The words, titles, the ring on his finger. And the little glow of happiness and warmth he was carrying around with him even now that he’d left the beach behind.
Coming back to find that everyone at home was happy, too, was making it even easier to ride the happy glow of marriage and honeymoon for a while longer. He’d been watching Dean and Cas make ridiculous faces at each other every time the three of them were in the same room together, and it hadn’t gotten old yet. He would have been concerned, but they just looked so damn happy that he hadn’t wanted to interfere.
He was making a point to spend time with them, though; to come over to the tower now that it seemed Dean had moved in with Cas. He still spent a lot of time in Sam’s apartment, but the last time they’d lived separately, Sam had gotten into the habit of bringing over groceries and beer. Now that they were living apart again, he figured he should get back into it, even if it wasn’t strictly necessary.
Six pack in hand, he arrived in front of their door and knocked.
--
Cas answered the door wearing one of Dean's shirts.
The undershirt was his own, and the pants were his, but the shirt was definitely one of Dean's -- blue and purple plaid. He was in his slippers, and had a rag in one hand and a bottle of Windex in the other.
"Hello, Sam." Always said solemnly, but he actually smiled slightly and stepped back to allow him in. "Ignore the mess, please, I've been… cleaning."
The apartment looked like a war zone. Cas was doing his best to take it apart and clean it, which included taking down some (but not all) of the tacky Christmas decorations. The tree was lying down on the floor, ornaments tucked into boxes and wrapped in newspaper for safekeeping, and he looked like he was attempting to make the entire place spotless. "Dean said it needed a cleaning, so. Here I go."
--
“Hey, Cas,” Sam said. He took in the sight of the angel in his brother’s shirt, but the rest of the apartment distracted him before he could comment on it. Standing near the doorway, he looked around. “Was the mess here before you started cleaning?”
Because it really looked to him as though the mess had been caused by the attempt at cleaning, and he wasn’t entirely sure Cas had gotten the concept.
--
"Yes," said Cas, eyebrows raised. "Or else I wouldn't be cleaning. But it's going to look worse before it gets better." He took a slow, despondent look around the room at the mess he'd made, and begrudgingly said, "I admit this would all be easier if I could still bend reality to my will."
He glanced back at Sam, shrugging a little. "Oh, well. Are you hungry? I can make you a sandwich. Or… a different kind of sandwich." Cas didn't know much about cooking.
--
“I’m sure it would be,” Sam agreed. He looked Cas over briefly, trying to assess his friend’s state of health. Then he said, “Let me put this down, and I’ll help you.”
He headed into the kitchen, waving away the offer of a sandwich, and put the beer into the fridge. Then he reemerged into the main room, and stood for a moment looking at the mess, assessing it. It occurred to him that he could use his own powers of bending the rules of reality around him, and it would probably be good practice, but he hadn’t yet used them in front of Dean or Cas. Mostly because it simply hadn’t been necessary, but also because he didn’t want to stir up any memories or sentiments related to the deal he’d made for Dean, the blood and power he’d used to control his brother as a demon, or any of the events involving his abilities that had happened back in their own world. He could handle any side-eye glances or questions regarding their effect on his own psyche, but neither of them needed to be worrying over him right now.
“You could make Dean do some of this, too,” he said casually. “Since he basically lives here now. He can clean up after himself.” Leaning down, he picked up one of the boxes of the ornaments. “You want these to go in the closet or something?”
--
Cas seemed fine, to anyone who didn't know him. But for someone who did, something was clearly wrong. He used to carry himself with power, with strength, but now he simply seemed … human, his skin paler than usual and his eyes dark. In the moments of silence that lapsed between them, his breaths seemed labored and rough.
"If that's where they go," he said. "There should be space." If Sam was attempting to angle Cas toward a conversation about Dean living there, or why Cas was in his shirt, Cas was either oblivious or refusing to take the bait.
"How is Veronica?" he asked, spritzing cleaner onto his rag and moving to wipe down the glass of the window.
--
“They usually get stored away somewhere and saved until the next Christmas,” Sam said. “Since they’re only useful once a year.” And the closet was as good a place as any. Sam had other places they could have put it, but they were Christmas ornaments, not a weapons cache. If the closet was a place where they’d simply gather dust and get forgotten, he wasn’t going to be heartbroken about that.
Well, he might be. Because the circumstances under which things like this got swept aside tended to be heartbreaking for him, and in this case it might come hand in hand with an end to the life he’d built here.
Or because Cas was gone, if they didn’t figure out how to help him. He was definitely not alright, but Sam chose not to address the issue. He’d have to bring it up again with Dean later.
He cracked a smile at the question, right before heading off to the closet. “You know,” he said, from behind the closet door, “Aside from the deeper meaning added to my relationship, the main thing that’s different about being married is how many people are asking me that.” He shut the door and came back, an amused look on his face. “She’s good, though. How’s Dean?”
It was only a leading question if Cas wanted it to be. The angel seemed to have acquired a habit of updating him on his brother’s well-being whether Sam asked for it or not-- which was, frankly, a little bit adorable.
--
It didn't quite connect that Sam may have been asking him how Dean was because Dean and Cas were also connected that way. No marriage, nothing legal, but they were something of a unit, a pair, and Sam knew that. "Dean's … all right," Cas said, after a moment's pause. What was he supposed to say?
Was mentioning the sex a good idea?
So instead, he opted to clean the window and skirt around the question instead, out of politeness to Dean, who tended to prefer to keep his feelings and his private life to himself. Cas now counted as part of his private life, it seemed.
--
The problem with pausing to answer the question was that it piqued Sam’s concern for his brother. He was aware that it might have been related to whatever direction their relationship had taken, but even still, they had looked more than “all right” to him. Or maybe he was doing that thing again where he saw his brother’s relationships (and sometimes, general well-being) through rose-colored lenses.
Amusement had faded from his expression, and he asked, “Only all right?”
--
Cas looked back at Sam, surprised. "Why, is that bad?"
--
“I don’t know,” Sam said. “You tell me.” He tilted his head ever so slightly, considering the angel. “I didn’t think there was anything wrong, but you don’t seem sure.”
--
Cas attempted to suppress a smile, and he glanced away. "No, I'm sure," he said warmly. "He's all right."
More than all right. Cas didn't think that anything had really changed between him and Dean, but he was beginning to notice that his responses were changing. Looking at Dean didn't only bring a sense of deep personal respect and love, but also tied knots deep in his belly and made him distracted when he looked at Dean's mouth. It was complicated, and uncontrolled, and … wonderful.
--
That got a grin out of Sam. “Good,” he said. His concerns eased, he moved back to helping with the task of storing the ornaments. “He really seems to like living here with you.”
--
"Really?" Cas looked over, suddenly seeming incredibly eager. "What has he said?"
--
Sam laughed. “He hasn’t said anything,” he said, shrugging. “He’s just over here all the time, and it’s not just for our sake.” Offhandedly, as he left the room with another box and headed for the closet, he added, “You two are adorable.”
Dean had thought he and Veronica were mushy. But the way he and Cas kept staring at each other, and the way Cas was so eager to hear that Dean was happy with him, was its own kind of chick-flick grade mushiness. Of course, he wasn’t going to say that to his brother-- not immediately, at least.
--
Cas opened his mouth to say something, and then he thought better of it. Adorable? He wasn't sure why that word affected him the way it did, but he very nearly blushed at the thought, and looked down at his feet. "Bashful" wasn't an emotion that came over him often, apart from an awkward humility when he felt like he was being praised for no reason, or when he felt someone was wrong about their assessment of him.
But right now, he didn't know if Sam was wrong.
He didn't think protesting was necessary. I don't know what you're talking about would have been Dean's response, but Cas just smiled to himself and said, "Thank you."
--
Sam caught sight of the bashful little smile as he reentered the room, and it got a smile from him in turn. “It’s nice to see you happy,” he said, meaning it. “Both of you.”
--
"I am … happy," Cas insisted, going back to the window and continuing to wipe it down. The hesitation was subtle but obvious. He was content in his relationship with Dean -- things hadn't changed much, except that they were spending more time together than ever before, and he found that it suited him. He'd gone weeks, months without having to disappear for urgent business, and while he and Dean certainly clashed when living in the same space, Cas would rather have had him here than not.
If he was going to die, he could stand to die like this, with Dean nearby, both Dean and Sam happy and safe. It made him feel, at least, that his life amounted to something decent even with all of the mistakes he'd made.
"I think Dean is, too." He plaintively spritzed more cleaner onto the rag. "But I exhaust him."
--
Sam took a moment to process that statement. It was the first confirmation he’d gotten of what he’d expected, that they were sleeping together-- or at least he assumed that was what Cas meant. It was also more than he’d particularly wanted to know about the dynamics of a relationship between a human and an angel, even one that wasn’t fully powered. While it wasn’t quite too much information, he also wasn’t entirely certain how to respond. So instead of answering immediately, he busied his hands in organizing, not really paying any attention to what he was doing.
“I think he can handle it,” he said finally. Dean certainly hadn’t seemed exhausted to the point that it was unhealthy, so he felt confident in that assessment. “I’m more concerned about you exhausting yourself.”
--
Something unusual crossed Castiel's expression, one that didn't come up often: there was a moment of recognition, and then a very clear guardedness came over him. It was one thing for Cas to be unemotional simply because he wasn't human, or to be stoic because he was an ancient creature supposedly not bothered by much (which was patently untrue, they'd all learned), but to carefully put up walls to avoid talking about something was uncommon. At best, if he didn't wish to speak, he'd disappear. He didn't have that option anymore.
He shook his head, waving a dismissive hand. Such a Dean thing to do. "I don't need to sleep," he said.
--
Sam decided to let him off the hook, even though he didn’t believe for a moment that it was something worth dismissing. “Well then,” he said, lightly. “You’re right, I shouldn’t worry about you keeping Dean up at night.”
--
"Dean does sleep," Cas insisted, not wanting Sam to think that Dean wasn't rested or was otherwise unwell. "He sleeps … better than he has in a long time, I think. Knowing you're safe, that helps."
--
His jokes were less funny when he had to explain them. But since it was Cas, and he was accustomed to having to explain the nuances of human language and expression, he said patiently, “No, I’m pretty sure that’s because you’re… exhausting him.”
--
Cas watched Sam critically for a moment, like he was trying to figure out if Sam was giving him a warning -- but then he smiled, bowing his head for a quiet chuckle. "I, ah." He was far more discreet than the other version of Cas had been, who'd been all smiles and sarcasm about it -- but that other Cas had led a pretty different life, with different circumstances. "He isn't … complaining," he said solemnly. Sam probably just needed to know that Dean was all right.
--
Sam grinned. “I’m sure he isn’t.” It was a different conversation than the one he’d had with the previous incarnation of his friend, but by comparison, this was much easier on his psyche. Impulsively, he reached out and gave Cas a little pat on the shoulder. “I’m happy for you. Both of you.”
--
Cas set his rag down on the windowsill to pat Sam's hand, giving it a little squeeze. He wasn't sure what Sam was suggesting, why he needed to be "happy" for either of them, except for be happy that they were happy. There was a shift, he was realizing, in human relationships when sex got involved, but he really wasn't certain where the line was. He had all of pop culture in his head, and he knew what humans wanted -- but people also had sex for reasons that had nothing to do with love, and he couldn't make sense of what humans found simple and commonplace.
"Well, I---"
He stopped, turning away to clear his throat. That little throat-clearing soon became a cough, and he covered his mouth with the back of his hand. They were small coughs at first, but soon they were wracking his body as he tried to get his breath back -- but every inhalation seemed to rattle his chest and make it worse.
--
It had been a nice moment, while it lasted. The next one wasn’t so pleasant. The cough immediately set off warning bells in Sam’s mind, mainly because he had seen Cas’s downward spiral of health on screen. He took hold of Cas’s shoulders, which only served to give him a tactile sense of precisely how bad the cough was. He could feel the rattling of each breath as it wracked his friend’s body.
He didn’t say anything, just held onto him, steadying him as he caught his breath.
--
It only lasted about ten seconds, but it was a terrifying ten seconds.
Cas finally managed to take in a full breath, reaching to brace a hand against the windowsill. As an angel, he didn't need to eat or sleep (though he "deeply rested" for long periods of time now), and his vessel didn't require the same maintenance -- but his heart needed to beat, his blood needed to flow, and his lungs needed to work. When he took damage before, his grace would heal it. Not only was his grace no longer doing that, it was actively causing harm.
"Thank you," he said finally, as he took a small step away.
--
“Sure,” Sam said, quietly. “Cas, I think you should take a break. I can do some of this for a little bit.”
--
"I'm… give me a minute, I think I need a drink of water. I'll be right back." It was as close to admitting that he wasn't fine as Sam was going to get, and he patted Sam's arm on the way into the kitchen.
--
Sam nodded, and let him go. He ran a hand through his hair, and stared around him at the mess. Suddenly, in the face of Cas’s deteriorating health, it seemed a very small concern. There was a much bigger mess he needed to clean up, and he had put it off long enough.