This is the sequel to Sparks: Why posted over on evil tumblr.
who i am is here. what was that I was doing? Flutes and violins? Cas? What the . . . . Rumpled all over from a night spent fully dressed, Dean felt his left hand came up on its own to hold his lids closed. His other groped out to the side, knocking over a piece of paper tented atop his cell phone. With his next lunge the cell went over, squashing the paper flat.
“Dawn is a feeling, beautiful ceiling . . .”
Groping fingers grasped the cheap plastic clock radio. Silence reigned as the digital readout flashed ‘SEEKING’. Douchey classic is still dou
~~rapid drum beats, ROWDY GUITARS~~
“As soon as I get my head round you
I come around catching sparks off you
I get an electric charge from you
That second hand living it just won’t do”
chey?! Dean gasped throatily, “What the FUCK,” ripping the radio unplugged to sail across the room. It missed the mirror by a hand as the second verse started:
“And the way I feel tonight
I could die and I wouldn’t mind
And there’s something going on inside
Makes you want to feel makes you want to try
Makes you want to blow the stars from the sky
I can’t stand up I can’t cool down
I can’t get my head off the ground”
“CASTIEL!!!” The music ceased. Dean sat straight up, hands pushing against the sides of his head. His expectation of a massive hangover was having a hard time with the fact that the only thing hurting him now was his throat. A tinny squawk sounded from the radio before Castiel’s placid voice caressed the air:
Pitching face forward onto the bed Dean groaned. -That’s- what I was trying to remember. Does this make me Mary Magdalene or Hera? “I think I’m gonna go back to sleep. It’s safer.” Rolling onto his right side, he curled into ball.
“You should read the note. And look to your cell phone. Dean.”
He rubbed his hands briskly over his face, adding a couple sharp slaps. Wait a sec. His head jerked to look at the bedtable. “Where’d my guns and booze go?” Whipping around to check the bigger table he pushed off the bed, crouching as his eyes fell on the three pistols neatly lined up in front of his Gold. The radio’s behind me. CRAP! He bounced backwards off the bed, bending his knees with his fists up and ready.
“Dean. Note. Phone.”
Pivoting to stare at the radio he noticed at last that its cover had landed on the floor near the wastebasket. That’s where the cell was last. Wasn’t it? Eyeing the radio like Castiel was going to ooze out of the wires he sidestepped over. He bent his knees enough to grab the edge, giving it a strong shake. Only hearing a soft rustle he peeked down to grimace at the empty plastic bag. Glaring at the radio again he let the trash drop, stepping sideways to his bed. Keeping his eyes on the thing he let the feel of the mattress against his legs guide him to midway where he sat. Closing his eyes for the length of a breath he looked down at the floor, “Ah. That was what I knocked over.” Grabbing up both he checked the radio was still sitting on the dresser. Phone first. Two texts before voice. Ugh, both Sam.
“chek frikin vox”
“read frikin note jerk”
Hitting speed dial for his voice mail he waded through the tedious choices.
“Hey dude. Jumped into a fight outside the bar. I’m okay. At the ER for some stitches. You know how long that can take. Hope you hit that stripjoint like you said you were. Call me.”
“Sammy saves the day. Again. Oughta get his huge ass some purple frickin’ tights and pink panties so he can be Superbitchyman. And now, the note that not only he but my Lord and Sexxor commands me to read.”
Seriously, what the hell’s going on? I don’t expect you to come running for a few stitches but a callback would’ve been nice. You buy expensive booze, you get drunk enough to forget to take off your jacket and boots — never mind clothes, and you smell like a dog kennel. And what’s with the bad guns care? Probably did a job by yourself? I’m worried because you won’t wake up and keep trying to hit me. I have to get back to there because the blood test showed some weird ass infection. Call me if you manage to wake up before I get back. It’s 8:30ish now.”
Pushing his arm wrist past his sleeve he closed his eyes before looking down. The watch showed him 11:59. “This can’t be good. Help a guy and it turns out he’s been waiting for stupid mooks like Sammy to pass on the love.” He was feeling thirsty but not enough to go over for the bottle, much less to the sink for water like Sam would say he needed. To keep Radio Castiel’s nagging self quiet he got his brother’s name scrolled and pushed dial. It rang until he thought it was going to voice when his brother’s pissiest, “Dean,” hit his ear. He sounded gravelly to himself like he hadn’t slept , “Yeah, dude. I know, I’m sorry. It’s just been a crazy night. Are you all right?”
“Oh, not so much but not too bad yet. They said this thing blew up fast while I had to wait. So they want me to do a couple few days of IV antibiotics. I’m sittin’ here in bed with my butt hangin’ out of the longest gown they could find.”
Wincing with a hand to his gut, “I’m on my way, Sammy. Crap. You want your laptop? Change of clothes?”
“No, nah. You don’t have to come today. They’re gonna cut the stitches off soon and already started lettin’ everyone who looks like a med student in to gawk. Stomach’s already goin’ to hell, too. You don’t wanna be around for that and you know it. I gotta go, nurse just came in with somethin’ Crowley probably invented. I’ll call you later.”
Dean held the phone cupped in both hands, staring. He’ll be fine. Moose hardly ever gets sick. The glow dimmed. It’s those angelically fortified genes. He got the worst of it so he could -take- the worst of it. Wish I’d woken the Hell up. Something Sam had written penetrated the gloom; sniffing, he finally noticed eau de werewolf pee infecting his clothes. “Dammit, I hate washing this jacket, too.” He lifted his head to gaze woodenly at the radio, “Will you behave while I take a quiet shower? I know it’s a lot to ask without professing love or lust or whatever the fuck you want now but I wanna be ready for public consumption if Sam needs me to go there today.” Castiel appeared before him holding out a glass of clear liquid, “If you drink this without whining I’ll sit out here while you do.” Dean took the glass bringing it to his nose to smell. He smirked at his Hole-iness, hoisting the water into the air as the other sat on the opposite bed, ” ‘Here’s to you and here’s to me and here’s to Eternity.’ ” Intending to chug it down the first taste on his tongue had him filling his mouth to hold it like he had the Johnny Walker Gold. He stared intently at Castiel, leaning his head as his eyes bulged. The god’s uneven smile in reply was broad, crazier than the one he’d shown when talking about Dean’s eggy tackle the night before. Creepier. “Dean. That water is the closest you or I will come to Heaven’s fount while on the Earth. You feel how it quenches the thirst. Finish it and when your shower is done we’ll speak.”
Bottoms up then. His thirst already stated, swallowing the mouthful produced waves of cool energy radiating from his gullet. He cupped it in both hands as he drank. When it was gone he gazed at the empty glass until Castiel waved his palm over it; Dean felt the weight removed. The former angel, his former friend and future who knew what, appeared as smugly calm as the hippie sex addict version of Cas had been stoned to the gills. Pulling off his violated jacket he tossed it on the floor beside the dresser. He couldn’t smell apple pie sitting so far from Castiel but the small smile replacing the axe murderer’s seemed pleased by what he was seeing. Dean remained unsettled so he bent over to undo his workboot laces, pushing them off with a toe to the heel. I bet whining includes saying out loud you can’t see anything else for now. Right? He pushed them away before standing to get his gear from the other side of his bed. With an obstacle between them he paused. How does the vessel look so small but feel ten times the size of Gigantor when I think of him? I hope Jimmy’s left the building. My Hell couldn’t come close to the one in there right now. Ditching the urge to square his shoulders since sex god might like it, Dean strode past into the bathroom.
Locking the door and turning on the fan became little ‘up yours’ of defiance because they sure as shit weren’t going to stop His Cornholioness from busting in. Dean turned his back on the mirror to remove his clothes, dropping everything in the empty trash. Pulling the bag out he tied the stinker off until it could be safely defused at a laundromat. Glaring between the john and the shower he opted for turning the cold spray on while he lifted lid and seat to relieve his main vein. Which just happened to be stupid enough to be in morning wood stance. “Women are so right about so many things dick. Too bad the guy code forbids tellin’ them that.” Smirking as he left both upright he went to add hot water to his shower and jumped in while it still ran cold, “OH YEAH! Rise and shine, Batman.” Unwrapping the annoying sliver of soap he got to scrubbing.
Close on ten minutes later Dean was standing at the sink skimming a razor down his cheek. The fun-sized towels weren’t enough to contain his manliness so he was already wearing his black flannel boxers. Question is do I bother wearing anything else out there? “It’s one thing to get juiced in the neck. Or groped in the giblets. A whole ‘nother friggin’ thing when it comes to other places.” Rinsing his razor in the sink he mowed through another strip of hair. Certain things just ain’t gonna happen, either. God or no god. He can turn me into extra-crispy nuggets first. Wetting one of the tiny wash cloths he wiped the lather from his face and neck, avoiding mirror contact with his own gaze. And we’re ready. It’s not like I’m a virgin protecting my lady parts. He forced himself to meet the green eyes staring back for a count of sixty before unlocking the door.
Throwing back his shoulders he stepped through the door, aiming his glare where Castiel had been sitting. Both beds were empty of cheap suit wearing gods as were the three rickety chairs, and the big table. He reached aside to open the tiny closet but he wasn’t hiding in there, either. That would’ve been too much like a sitcom. “Castiel? You go back in the radio?” A faint gurgling sound came from the valley between the beds. Leaning forward Dean took a few steps and saw leather soles lying toes down with the black clad form of he who’d be god lying crookedly, face down in the dirty carpet. A fist grabbed his heart and squeezed, almost as hard as Alistair those times downstairs. Dean rushed over, grabbing him under the pits to haul his dead weight on the bed. Castiel’s mouth gaped loosely, a faint red rash surrounding his lips that scaled his face like a climbing vine. It was worse below his eyes, fading away before reaching his hair. Feeling like the jerk Sam was always calling him, Dean smacked his cheek, “Are you still in there, Castiel,” before laying his ear over his heart. The beating was slow but he could hear air moving through his lungs in the quiet. Smacking his cheek again he hissed, “I don’t know what you did to yourself. I swear to any god not you I’ll slap you into Purgatory if you don’t start talkin’!”
The gurgling came again with something more that was lost to him. One of Castiel’s hands rose, wavering heavily to point behind Dean. He glanced back to see a full glass of the water he’d drunk like wine. The floppy hand caught him on the nose as he looked to see the brilliant blue eyes staring at him. Pointing at him Castiel mouthed, ‘your choice’. His hand went boneless before hitting the bed. Dean felt as if all the muscles of his face were tightening as he stared down, “You’re tellin’ me it’s my choice if I give you that glass of water. It’ll refresh you like it did me?” The solid chin moved up and down three times. Not looking like you’ll last for a full Q&A session here. Fucking HELL. “Castiel. You betrayed me. I betrayed you. You fixed my frickin’ back without even askin’ then propositioned me like some NFL quarterback horny for a high school cheerleader. I’m just a drop out who’s had to play god one too many fuckin’ times. Not today, no fuckin’ way.”
He twisted around to lift the glass with both hands, securing it in his right before lifting the overachiever’s head with his left. As he lifted the glass to Castiel’s mouth Dean muttered, “You and me try for greatness but I guess we’ll never get past bein’ a couple of fuck ups givin’ Dad the finger. Well, here’s another pissed off son’s opinion, unless your other writers were as big of douchebags as Chuck was.” He poured the water into Cas’ mouth, his voice lowering into tenderness, ” ‘Blessed are the meek. Idiot. For they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness. For they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful. For they shall hopefully obtain frickin’ mercy.’ ” Dean set the empty glass on the little table while watching the red fade to pink on the pale skin. He could hear Castiel’s breaths strengthen in spite of his limbs’ weak movements; fingers flexed, beckoning him. Putting his ear close to his mouth Dean heard him whisper, ‘thanks. cleaned jacket. hospital.’ Dean put his hand atop Cas’ unruly dark hair, shifting position to kiss his moistened lips.
Dean stuck the small ditty bag containing Sasquatch clothing under his arm with the laptop. Castiel had passed out and was currently drooling lightly. Going out to the Impala he got the door open, staring stilled at the trench coat draped over the seat. Several questions passed through his noggin in the moments it took him to recover. “I won’t know ’til Mr. Comatose in there can fess up.” Tossing the bag in first he set the laptop on the seat. Opening the back door, he leaned in to grab the coat to lay it out flat. Serve him right if he lets fly any kind of fluids. “Huh.” Dean patted at the inner pocket, grinning when he found the F.B.I. wallet they’d mocked up for the idiot, a.k.a. Eddie Moscone. He hurried back inside.
Pulling Castiel up by the arm into a fireman’s hold over his shoulder made him wonder about the water’s effect on him; the vessel wasn’t large but it had decent heft. It was being able to lay the guy out while supporting his head like a baby that made Dean sure he was stronger. Probably just ’til it gets peed out. Better put the pedal to the metal then. Door shut, he hopped in behind the wheel, leaning across to get his current Bureau I.D. from the glove compartment. He tucked in his squeaky clean jacket. The tires screamed as he swung her around in a tight circle, engine roaring at the other cars in his way. Taking out his cell he speed dialed Bobby and said, “Hey. Guess what? Good news and low test bad news . . . “
Dean pulled into a space right across from the ER entrance bearing a bright red and white sign saying, “For Hospital Personnel Only.” He threw open the door, pausing to stick one of his business cards in its window. Castiel was moving feebly when Dean put another card on the rear shelf. He dragged him out to drape over his shoulder, kicking the door shut with a hushed, ‘sorry baby,’. The dangling angelgod Dick Almighty mumbled incoherently as he ran across the lot to the opening doors. A blonde nurse came hurrying to him. “Hey, need some help here! F.B.I. special agent down. Not shot. Not sure what the Hell happened.” She waved to a burly orderly who somehow managed to be taller than Sasquatch. The big man lifted Castiel like he was a limp noodle. He laid him out gently on a gurney with her help and he followed them into one of the draped exam areas.
Ignoring him as she worked on Mumbles, the orderly left as another woman in civvies came in with a clipboard, “I need some information. Are you family or a friend?” Pulling out his ID wallet he let the weight of the badge open it, “Special Agent Will Graham, ma’am. He’s my partner, Special Agent Eddie Moscone.” She gave him one of those impressed frowns, pouting her petal pink lower lip out, “What happened to your partner, sir?”
“Well. We were discussing our case and I went to use the facilities. When I came out he was face down on the floor. Makin’ a gurgling sound.” He waited while she wrote, taking the opportunity to peer down her casually unbuttoned blouse. Like I’m giving those up forever. She raised her head and he lifted the edges of his lips in a bare smile. “When I got him up he couldn’t talk. Really weak. Had a rash of some kind on his face.” He circled his own with his hand, “Red, worse under the eyes. I got him to drink some water and it faded mostly. He passed out for awhile but came around when I parked outside.”
He got another business card from his pocket, handing it to her, “He’s still kinda new. If he says his name’s Castiel that’s his code name. Poor bastard looks sick enough to forget himself.” The woman finished writing, “We’ll take care of him. You’ll have to wait outside now.” She palmed his arm, turning when another woman wearing a white coat came through the drape. He nodded once, “Doctor.” She narrowed her eyes at him before going to the nurse’s side. His notetaker smiled up at him, patting his arm as she walked him out of the area. “I’ll be movin’ my car and then come back to wait. Unless, do you know if another special agent is admitted here? Jack Crawford? He’s working our same case.”
“Tall, good looking man with longish hair?” Her clipboard waved towards her face like a fan. Dean adjusted his tie, pursing his lips into a flat line, “I don’t know about the good looking part. But, yes. Very tall. We call him Fabio sometimes.” She stopped walking, “If you check at the desk they’ll know where to find him. I have to speak with the doctor now.” Patting him a last time she headed back. Dean indulged himself in watching her go before heading out to rescue his car and Fabio’s gear.
Clipboard woman wasn’t at the desk by the time he returned. A short brunette who looked too young to be out of high school smiled brightly at him. He fixed her with a stern gaze, raising one eyebrow, “I need to see Special Agent Jack Crawford. He came in earlier with a serious infection.” She typed the name, bobbing her head gently at the screen, “He’s in room 207. Lunchtime, poor thing.” He raised a finger to point at the girl as she smiled sweetly, “Thank you. I’ll give him your condolences.” Rolling his eyes to the heavens he patted the laptop under his arm as he walked away, the ditty bag swinging from his hand. There was more activity around Castiel’s draped area. The nurse from before came out. He took a few steps in that direction but she shook her head, tapping her wristwatch. Waving he mentally adjusted his compass to find the elevators.
Approaching the end of the hallway he saw two very young women in printed uniforms coming from what he’d figured was Sam’s room. They were giggling to each other as they eyed him. Smirking slightly with a small side to side head movement he turned to see them watching his back; he winked. Door ajar he leaned sideways towards it while listening for sounds of life. A heartfelt bleah came from within. He put on his jauntiest smile to push the door open slowly. Jolly Green was, in fact, turning a zombie-esque tinge of lima bean. “Well, Jack, I see you had some company. How’s lunch treatin’ you?” Sammy responded by bringing up the muscular arm impaled by a sturdy IV drip, raising his middle finger.
“That good? Damn, the food here must be top of the line. I hope Eddie enjoys it as much as you do.” His younger brother closed his eyes, swallowing hard. A few short, shallow breaths came, “Thanks for bringin’ my stuff, Will. If you’re gonna be funny you can leave it now on your way out.” Dean held out the laptop, letting it precede him before he put it on the weird bed table. “You know, you’ve made an impression on at least two of the damsels, four if you count the two checkin’ me out after leavin’ your gigantic presence.” He dragged over the ugly chair, tossing the little bag down as a back support first. Sickly puppy dog eyes greeted him when he turned around to sit, “I thought somethin’ happened to you, dude. Thanks for callin’ on the way over. Had time to go barf and get cleaned up in time for this alleged food. Remind me to arrest the kitchen staff.” Fabio’s head flopped back against his elevated torture bed.
A sweaty man in gown and bathrobe was coughing hard as Dean got back in the elevator. He stayed by the front with a nervous glance back. Going my way at least. He wanted to grip his nose as he held his breath. Doors sliding open he jumped out, walking fast towards the front desk. Clipboard woman was passing and caught him by the arm. He flexed a little. “Your partner’s been moved upstairs, 213.”
“Thanks, sweetheart. Can I go up?” She gave his guns a little squeeze, “You can but might have to wait outside when he’s being treated.” Leaving him alone he didn’t watch her go, only stared at nothing. Thank whoever. They think he’s got a shot. A gurney came straight at him so it was jump quick or get run over. Trotting back to the elevator he reached it in time to slip inside, Coughing Guy apparently enjoying a long ride while hacking up a lung.
Seven doors up from Sasquatch. Or is it down? Who cares? Turning left from the elevator his steps slowed the closer he got. Halted where he could just see Castiel lying propped up in his torture bed Dean could feel a tide rushing in of too much to deal with right the Hell now crap. “Wish I’d brought the Gold with. Dammit.” He advanced, sliding his hand along the door to ease it open before closing it firmly. Dragging off his coat he tossed it on the ugly chair, not stopping until he was looking down at his lightly bandaged, slumbering face. “Guess that rash thing was worse than it looked?” The lids rose, brilliant blue eyes startling him back a step. “Dean. Check my pocket.”
“You have to call me Will, Eddie.” Dean grimaced with an intent stare, “Remember? F.B.I., code name Castiel. You’re Eddie?“
“Check my pocket.” Muttering, “Pocket,” Dean opened the tall box masquerading as a closet. Rifling through the cheap jacket he found the I.D. where he’d put it and a flashlight sized and shaped digital recorder.
Castiel waved with the unbandaged hand. Dean smiled to see him stronger. Handing it over he pushed several of the miniscule buttons, frowning deeper as nothing happened. Closing his eyes the frown remained, “I can’t make this work any more. They’re all gone. I sealed them away so none can free them. I don’t recall how, now. Jimmy I remember sending to Heaven after killing Raphael. In time his soul may recover its sanity.” Dean smoothed Cas’s soft hair with zero intent of fixing its mess. The shining eyes opened, touching his again. His rough, weary growl softened, “I do remember your words. And these I wanted to remind you of.” Licking his lips he spoke with quiet deliberation, ” ‘I got sparks when I see you. Or hear your voice.’ ‘I come around catching sparks off you. I get an electric charge from you.‘ I can’t give you the sparks anymore but I can still feel them.” Dean leaned his head sharply to face Cas head on, “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t need a fingerzap to get them in the first place.” Dean rubbed his hand briskly against the blanket. Falling forward in slow motion he barely touched Cas’s lips with his own. The charge sparked audibly but he kissed him harder to soothe the pain away.
‘Head On’ by The Jesus and Mary Chain, September 1989. Rowdier version Pixies from ‘Trompe Le Monde’, 23 September 1991.
The Werewolves ‘Lisa’ from the self-titled 1978 LP, RCA Records.
The Moody Blues ‘Dawn: Dawn is a Feeling’ from ‘Days of Future Passed’, 10 November 1967.