#whips this onto the dash so fast it shatters my computer screen

[lcofowler]

ashes to ashes

2014

The droning of Leo’s heart monitor is the only thing convincing himself – and anyone around him – that he actually is lying there, alive. It’d probably been two days since he’d moved out of the uncomfortable hospital bed willingly, even attempting to bite the nurse that’d tried to force him to go to the washroom. All that’d done is resulted in a threat of putting his catheter back in.

“Intimate. My jerkin’ arm still aches, wouldn’t mind some nice dick fondling -,”

“He’s joking. Please, excuse him. Leopold, if you don’t listen to the nurses, you’re not going to get better period -.”

He’d stopped listening by then.

Even though all he’d done the last two days was sleep, there was a constant, inexplicable exhaustion that settled so deeply into his bones he felt as if they’d shatter if he didn’t get to sleep every few hours. Curled in on himself awkwardly, he’d started counting the beeps from his heart monitor as a replacement for sheep, slowly drifting off when the slamming of his room door startled him more awake than he’d been since he got there.

“Why’re you still here? I thought you were going home today?”

Finn’s appearance is unexpected but not totally surprising. If anything it’s a bit depression – his cousin makes the time for him when his own brother’s can’t. Audrey’s in tow, face flushed like she’d just been running, and her expression is exasperated, but she waves at Leo all the same – like he’s not crumpled in on himself, already scrawnier and more baggy eyed than the last time she saw him. Like she wasn’t visiting him at the hospital.

“God, Finn, I don’t want your girlfriend to see me like this -?”

“Right here. I can hear you. And I don’t care, you’ve looked worse.”

Finn doesn’t acknowledge Leo’s question either way. Just raises a brow, waiting for Leo to answer his own.

“I don’t know when I’m going home. I burned a hole in my sinuses. And apparently, I had, like, three seizures before the ambulance even got me. I think they’re running extra tests, in case.”

Finn and Audrey flash each other a look at that, and Leo always hated it when they did that – secretly, of course. He hated the way they could look at each other and know exactly what they were thinking, but no one else could. Leo never did much enjoy feeling left out after all.

“Alright, fine – get up,” Finn insists, taking his phone out of his pocket at the same moment Audrey’s making her way to Leo’s bedside. She’s reaching for his hand before he’s even moved the bed into an upright position again, and Leo’s feeling a bit overwhelmed, “We’re dancing. So that your limbs don’t turn to jelly and your brain doesn’t eat itself from the inside out. It’ll be good for you. Get up.”

“What? Woah, stop,” he mumbled, barely managed to weakly tug his wrist out of Audrey’s grip, “No, I can’t. I can barely stand, it’s – I hurt, fuck off. I don’t want to.”

(Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher and Higher by Jackie Wilson starts playing from Finn’s phone – which is a low blow. As if anyone could resist that song.

“I’m not asking you to run a marathon, dumbass. Just get up. Sway, if you have to.”

Leo has a weird thing about disappointing Finn. He doesn’t even try to protest this time around when Audrey’s grabbing him again, and once Finn’s set his phone down by the foot of the bed, he’s at Leo’s other side, supporting most of his weight.

“God – would’ve been helpful if I was the taller one here,” Finn huffs, but he’s grinning like Leo gave him the exact Christmas gift he wanted.

It’s awkward. The kind of awkward where within a few seconds, they’re all laughing hysterically to cover up how painful the situation actually is with humour. He’s clinging tightly onto Finn’s shoulder while Audrey’s still gripping his wrist, like that’s helpful at all, and he’s already worked up a bit of a sweat, and it’s great. The laughter’s still real – it’s the only time Leo’s smiled in the last few days.

“Tadpole, you’re a natural. Hips don’t lie! Lemme drive you home when you’re good, okay? I’ll come back tomorrow, anyway. See if your brain really has turned to mush.”

The offer to drive him home is mentioned out of sincerity but also as a warning. Three days later, Leo’s being driven home by Finn, but now, home has a different definition. Instead of Tallahassee humidity or Manhattan traffic, it’s the quiet and comfort of a Rochester home that constantly smells like flowers. It’s easily the happiest Leo’s ever been.

 2016

“I’m going to fucking kill him.”

It’s about the fifth time his uncle Steven’s said that in the span of five minutes and the only goodbye Leo gets before he’s leaving, slamming the door behind him. In search of Finn, probably.

He’d been missing for about two days now. It wasn’t uncommon by far, what was uncommon was the lack of an update to Leo that he was alive. What really ignited the fear was the call from Audrey’s parents asking if she’d been at the Fowler residence.

Leo’s not really sure what to do with himself, which makes the whole situation all that more alarming. The most he can do is awkwardly sit in the living room loveseat, Mitzie purring contently in his lap, waiting impatiently for the door to open and Finn to walk through. It’s too quiet with him gone – his aunt Marjorie’s manning Fowler’s Flowers in the meantime, in need of a major distraction, and Steven searches the streets restlessly.

A knock on the door has Leo launching himself out of the chair – apologizing to Mitzie under his breath when she cries in protest at the sudden movement. He doesn’t really put two and two together that it can’t be Finn, that he would’ve just walked in, more excited at the prospect his cousin could be home finally than anything else – he’d never been very logical anyway.

Initially, he’s stunned when he opens the door and two officers stand on the other side.

“Is this the Fowler residence?”

Leo doesn’t like movies very much – he can never pay attention for long enough and honestly, most of them are boring to him. Even TV never really grabs him, not enough to become properly invested in any show. And even then, he’s seen this scene. He knows what comes next.

“Is he dead?”

The officers look at each other like they weren’t expecting that, like Leo went off script and they weren’t expecting to improv. Which is annoying – it’s a simple yes or no question.

“Son, is this the Fowler residence?”

“Yes – yeah, but, uh. It’s Finn, isn’t it? Finnegan – his mom and dad are out – is he dead, or what?”

“Maybe we should talk about this inside – may we come in?” The taller officer sounds exasperated, while his shorter partner looks like they’re on the verge of tears.

“Is. He. Dead?”

There’s a pause, like they’re debating whether to answer or not – Leo gets it, he’s been called unpredictable enough to know that he’d be weary too of his reaction. Finally, after what feels like forever, the smaller officer says a shaky, “Yes.”

Leo’s the one to pause this time. His world doesn’t fall apart, which is kind of surprising – that’s what’s supposed to happen in moments like this. Instead, he nods, probably looks like someone that’s unsure and is just saying yes because they didn’t hear what the other said, but he heard loud and clear and there was no turning back from it.

“Yeah. Yeah, you better come in.”

He’s gone before his aunt and uncle get home, which was sort of planned. It’s selfish, but Leo doesn’t want to be there when they find out. He feels a pang of guilt when the police call after him once he’s wrenched the front door open, but it’s not enough to make him turn back.

Instead, he rides his bike all the way to the hospital. He’s sweating, more than a little gross by the time he gets there, but he doesn’t feel close to tired.

“Leo Fowler for Audrey Nguyen.”

Audrey looks like someone that’s been in a car crash. Her face is more bruise than anything else and she’s got a neck brace on. Her right arm’s in a cast, and Leo’s writing his signature on it when she starts to wake up.

“Tadpole,” her voice is so rough it’s almost inaudible.

It’s the first time Leo starts to reason with himself – or more or less beg. Pray this isn’t actually real and that it’s some pipe dream. Audrey’s already crying, clutching at her chest like each sob that wracks through her must hurt, badly. Leo’s not even sure what to do. He doesn’t want to cry but he doesn’t want to crack a joke. Instead, he takes her hand.

“What happened?” Most of it had been explained already, but it feels a bit like Leo will never know what happens until it’s explained to him twenty times.

“It was on purpose, I swear he did it on purpose. He tried to kill us – Finn tried to kill us. I tried to – I tried to stop him I’m – He was so high, he was so, so high – I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Leo, I’m sorry.”

His vision’s blurry now, stinging with the threat of tears that haven’t fallen quite yet. It still hasn’t hit him, really, and he still feels a bit numb to it’s entirety, but with Audrey gripping his hand like she was scared she’d never have human contact again and sobbing harder than he’s ever seen anyone cry, it’s a bit hard to avoid what’s happened.

Instead, he says, “Don’t cry – Just. I should go see… Marj and Steven they’re… they weren’t home. They don’t know – I should go see them I should… I have to go.”

There’s the implied I’ll visit but Leo can’t bring himself to say it. If he says it, he’ll have to – but he doesn’t, so he never does.

 2019

“There’s the little guy! Who’s the bestest boy in the entire world?”

Leo talks to Bear like it’s his own son that he hasn’t seen in months. Realistically, it’d only been just over a week, but he still flops to the floor before he’s even taken his shoes off to greet the pup once he’s walked through the front door.

“Did you miss me? Did you miss your daddy? Your daddy’s an actual daddy, did you know, Bear? DILF squad! Oh – Cas?” He doesn’t get an answer in return, feigning horror with a wide-eyed gasp of shock as he turns his attention back to Bear, “All alone?! Don’t worry, Zeke’s gonna be home soon. He’s grabbing more treats for you – doesn’t that sound nice? That sounds nice, huh?”

If left to his own devices, Leo could’ve sat on that floor for hours talking to Bear in a baby voice he’d never use if anyone else was in the room. The sound of his phone ringing, however, pulls him out of it – he’s still petting Bear’s head with one hand when he checks it, brows furrowing when he doesn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

“Jesus – Tadpole your voice is even deeper, I think. Did you hit a second round of puberty?”

Leo freezes up, immediately recognizing the voice, “Audrey?”

“We have a winner. Where the hell are you? No one’s at your place.”

“Oh, um,” for a moment, he considers lying – the last time they’d talked was at Finn’s funeral, Leo doesn’t know how much he wants to share with someone who’s technically considered a stranger now, “I’m crashing at my buddy Zeke’s place for a bit. Bougie place – you’d love it.”

“In between?”

A code name – for people they liked too much to just be friends with benefits and left at that.

“Yeah… yeah, guess so.”

“Still the same,” he’s sure it’s meant to be an insult, but her tone is completely fond, “What’re you doing right now? It’s – Tomorrow’s three years. We should… get drinks. I haven’t seen you since you turned legal, and –,”

“It’s what?”

A pause, “Three years tomorrow. Did you – did you lose track, or?”

Apparently, he did. They weren’t supposed to be at Coney Island as long as they were. He thought he had more time.

“I – I can’t, I’m – I don’t… feel like –,”

“Yeah, okay. I figured. I just – y’know, miss you. And I didn’t… I didn’t want to be alone tomorrow, I just – do you?”

No. “Yes.”

“… Right. Okay. Sorry to bother you, um –,”

“My birthday – it’s coming up soon.”

“Of course. I remember.”

“I think… I’m probably gonna have a party, or something. You should – wanna come? I want you to come, if you want to.”

“That’s – yeah, I don’t think so, Tadpole. Probably not a good idea, I’m… not gonna be in town by then.”

He doesn’t bother to clarify. He doesn’t really want a clarification, “Stupid, yeah. My bad.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I gotta go, my – my roommate’s back, he’s – groceries, lots of them. Lots of bags. I’m – he’s clumsy,” The excuse comes rushed, accompanied by a shaky voice and the realization that Leo’s about to, embarrassingly, cry. It was way too raw – he thought he had more time.

“C’mon, don’t go –,”

“Talk to you soon.”

He hangs up in a rush, sniffling grossly as he can feel the telltale signs of his nose starting to run. Which usually would be accompanied by a nose bleed. Leo cries rarely but it’s an entire event when it does happen.

“Stop it,” he whispers to himself – to Bear a bit, too, who seems incredibly confused by the sudden change in tone. He tries to flash the pup a look of reassurance, and that makes the whole thing worse – Leo’s crying in earnest now, “Shit – thought I had more time, Bear. I thought – tomorrow’s the 24th, I – I thought I had more time.”

He’s sad, which makes him angry, which makes him frustrated, which makes him get ugly. In an impulsive act to gain back some bodily control, he’s tossing his phone still in hand across the room – the screen shatters once it hits the fridge, and it’s satisfying for a few seconds before he’s blurting, “Oh, fuck, shit – what the fuck, why’d I – why’d I do that?!”

Bear’s whining once the tears pick up. Leo knew that animals could be empathetic, but this is ridiculous – he feels ridiculous. He can’t really remember the last time he cried, even before Finn was gone, but it didn’t feel so bad when he was around. When Finn was around, Leo used to crawl into his room and let his cousin read to him until he fell asleep.

“Do you like Lord of the Rings?” he’d asked.

“No, shit’s boring.”

“It’s not. It’s fun – it’s smart. You’re smart too, Leo. You’re allowed to admit it. You’re allowed to like smart things.”

There was no Finn, though, not anymore. Leo couldn’t go back home and crawl into his bed, listen to stories of Hobbits and Bagend, and be soothed the way only his cousin knew how to. Instead, he sits in the front hallway of a home that isn’t really his, with a dog that definitely isn’t his, with no one to crawl into bed with.

In the end, Leo really always just thought he’d have more time.

[wanderingcas]

Safe and Sound. Commission for @starsmish 3.5k words

. . . 

Castiel leans back against the wall adjacent to the men’s bathroom, looking down at the watch-face poking out of his sleeve. People stare at him curiously as they filter in and out of the restrooms. Castiel smiles politely back, all the while keeping his eyes trained for a specific face: one with bright green eyes, a jawline that Castiel is positive would cut glass, and dusty blonde hair. 

He was assigned to Dean Winchester approximately two weeks ago. What Castiel originally thought was going to be a low-key assignment, protecting Lawrence’s newly-appointed councilman is turning out to be one of his more difficult cases. 

The first red flag is that Dean’s family hired Castiel without informing Dean at all. According to the family, Dean had been receiving death threats from an alt-right group so cleverly named “the Trumpers” because of Dean’s very liberal agenda in his politics. The family was concerned. Castiel assumed that Dean was also concerned. 

But when Castiel walked into the room and saw Dean for the first time, saw the equal parts of surprised and pissed off look on Dean’s face: that was Castiel’s second red flag. 

He checks his watch again. It’s been 20 minutes. 

“Goddammit.” Castiel pivots and swings through the bathroom door. He opens each empty stall. He does a useless circle around the empty bathroom. 

“God damn it,” he says again, voice echoing off the tiles.

. . . 

It isn’t hard to find Dean, as the workaholic councilman is parked where he usually is: his office.

Castiel smacks a styrofoam cup onto Dean’s desk. Drops of cold coffee spring to liberate themselves through the plastic lid’s opening. “You forgot this.” 

Dean’s eyes barely leave his computer screen. “Mm,” he replies. He picks it up; sips. Grimaces. “That’s disgusting.” 

Sitting in a chair across from Dean’s desk, Castiel says, “Yes, Dean. That’s because it’s cold. Because you left it. Hours ago.” 

“Huh,” Dean says.

“When you left a location without informing me,” Castiel continues to explain. “Again.” Dean still doesn’t look up. “That’s dangerous,” Castiel adds.

“Uh-huh.” 

Castiel kicks the desk with the toe of his foot, making it rattle. “Are you even listening to me?” 

Dean finally takes his hands off the keyboard, folds them in front of him. “Cas. I have more important things to do than listen to you bitch about how you failed at your job. Again.”

“You can’t keep running away from me,” Castiel says tightly. “I can’t keep you safe if you’re constantly running away.”

Dean leans back in his chair, laces his fingers behind his head. “I dunno, I’d call it more like… walking briskly. Not my fault that you’re too slow.” 

“I was waiting for you.” 

“Huh. Didn’t see you.” 

“I was waiting,” Castiel continues, leaning forward, “as I was all the other times when you’ve attempted to ditch me. During that press conference on Wednesday, at every grocery store you go into, at the restaurant last night—” 

“Well, you being on my date was a little weird, to be fair,” Dean says.

“Dean.” Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose. “You hired me to protect you. I can’t do that if you won’t allow me to do so.” 

“My family hired you,” Dean corrects, “and based on some stupid disorganized Trump fanatic group that couldn’t even find their own ass if it was handed to them. Nothing’s gonna happen, okay? I’m keeping you around to make my brother chill out. That’s it. I don’t need your damn protection.” 

“I disagree,” Castiel says. “I’ve been monitoring tagged posts with your Twitter username, and some of them are violent death threats. From multiple extremist groups. Additionally, you did a very poor job at hiding the letter you received that depicted a very graphic drawing of you getting eaten alive by hellhounds.” 

“But that’s all they are, Cas,” Dean says. “Threats. Nothing’s actually happened. You’ve been up my butt for weeks; have you seen anyone stalking me? Confronting me personally?” At Castiel’s reluctant dissenting head shake, Dean says, “See? It’s fine. Nothing to worry about.” 

Castiel hasn’t known Dean long, but he can identify three qualities in him: stubborn, handsome, and fiercely loyal to his family. Castiel straightens in his chair and plays his last hand “Elections are coming up,” he says. “That’s when people get most heated. And if you’re ignoring the seriousness of the situation, there may be an attack on you that could get multiple people hurt if it’s not intercepted. Like the woman you were on a date with last night.” Castiel takes a breath, attempts to hit home. “Or your family.” 

It has the desired effect: Dean’s face becomes stormy and still. He slowly points a finger at Castiel, jabbing with it in the air. “Don’t you dare bring my family into this.” 

“I am not doing so. The people who are threatening your life will.” 

Dean sits, stone-faced, until an unheard noise makes Dean snap to attention. “All right, Cas. You wanna play it like that? Then here’s what I think: you’re bad at your job. It’s why you work as an independent contractor who costs next to nothing to hire. You’re shitty at your profession, and you’re blaming me for it. I’m not a ninja, and yet I slip past you every goddamn time. You think that’s a coincidence?” 

Castiel clenches the fabric of his pants, bunched at the knees, willing himself not to take the bait. “If this whole thing is some sort of ridiculous self-punishment—”

“Where the hell did you pull that out of your ass?” Dean scoffs.

“—from that attack last year that hurt your brother, instead of you, because he got caught in the crossfire—”

Dean says, voice raised and sharp, “Don’t you dare bring that up, you son of a—”

“You could really get hurt, Dean!” Castiel shouts above him. “This isn’t a damn game. No matter what your problem is with me, or with having protection in the first place, you have to face the facts.” 

They stare at each other in a moment of silent standoff. The hallway beyond Dean’s office’s open door has gone tensely quiet. 

Dean stands and pushes his chair back harder than necessary. “I did a little digging on you too,” he says, a little too calmly. “You were fired from the former Secretary of State’s detail because you made a mistake on the job. It’s classified, obviously, but I’m willing to bet it had to do with that bomb making its way to the East Wing. Am I on the right track?” 

Castiel clenches his jaw. “The whole security detail was fired,” he says. “Not just me.” 

There’s a flicker in Dean’s expression—a softness that Castiel had not seen yet from him—but it’s gone as fast as it occurred. He replaces it with a condescending smile. “Pretty hard to protect anyone properly after that piss-poor mistake, huh?” 

Something in Castiel’s chest splinters. “All right,” he snaps, the backs of his knees smacking the chair as he stands. “Message received. I’ll resign from protecting you, effective immediately. You won’t be hearing from me again.” 

“Peachy,” Dean shoots back. He falls back into his chair, trains his eyes once again onto the computer screen again. 

Castiel has his hand on the knob, clenching it so hard it could shatter. “Whatever your opinion of me is; I hope you think about what I said.” He turns the knob sharply against the silence behind him, says, “I don’t want to see you get hurt,” before slamming the door behind him.

He takes the stairs that are down the hall from Dean’s office. His feet hitting the metal stairs echo sharply in the empty space. Striding through the lobby of the office building, he narrowly avoids connecting shoulders with a group of men who are walking quickly in the other direction.

When he gets outside, he doesn’t know what to do. He pulls his scarf against the wind. As is the theme of the week, people look at him strangely as he stands there, staring down at the sidewalk. The sun begins to slump in the sky. 

“Idiot,” he says to the ground, as if to explain. “He’s a goddamn idiot.” 

Despite this, he knows he has to go back in. 

He’s clenching and unclenching his hands, indecisive, until his phone begins vibrating violently in his coat pocket. He scrambles to take it out with his stiff fingers and pulls off a glove with his teeth so he can hit the green button on the touchscreen. “Hello?” 

“Cas—” says Dean’s voice, cut off by something that sounds like static. 

Castiel holds the phone closer to his ear, listening intently. “Dean? Hello?” 

“Cas—” says Dean’s voice, again, this time more desperate. It sounds like some sort of fabric is being rubbed against the receiver, making the connection fuzzy. A few odd thuds are heard over the receiver. 

“Dean, what’s going on? Where are you?” He hears Dean’s voice again, but this time it’s not forming a word—more like a cry. The realization of what’s happening dumps over Castiel like cold water. 

“Fuck,” Castiel says. 

Like a shot out of a gun, he whips around and bolts through the revolving doors. He holds the phone to his ear like a lifeline with one hand, pushing people out of the way with the other. “Dean, hang on!” he shouts into the phone. “I’m coming, just hang on! Call the police, tell them to come to office 202!” he barks at the bewildered doorman as he sprints by. 

He was only gone for ten minutes, he thinks desperately. Or twenty. How long was he standing outside?

Castiel dashes into the stairwell he used earlier to leave. As he begins sprinting up the stairs, he hears the grunts and thuds he heard over the phone become a reality.

Castiel throws his phone aside and increases his speed, taking two stairs at a time. He sees a group of men all huddled around one broken one. He jumps at the back of one of the men, barely slowing his sprint, knocking him to the ground. 

Seeing Dean bleeding and curled up on the ground brings out something primal in Castiel. He kicks a man over the railing, barely hearing the thump that follows. He punches a man with one fist and pivots to scissor-chop a man’s neck with the other. Castiel barely sees how many people there even are, barely stacks the odds in the fight: he just knows that Dean is in danger, Dean needs to be helped, Dean needs protection. 

Among the chaos, Dean has teetered to his feet and is fighting beside Castiel, landing the occasional second blow after Castiel deals the real damage. Castiel grabs Dean by the arm, leading him toward the door that opens to the hallway. He fumbles for his taser, aiming and firing at a man running toward them. 

“Go to your office and lock the door,” Castiel tells Dean, already pushing him into the hallway. He sees an argument in Dean’s eyes; Castiel barks, “Go!” 

. . . 

In the end, one man against six is a bit stacked, even for a trained bodyguard. He’s caught in a headlock and can barely see out of his left eye by the time the police arrive. 

As soon as his neck is free, the police shouting at the assailants to get on the ground around him, he stumbles into the light of the hallway and runs toward Dean’s office. 

He finds Dean with the EMTs, a blanket being put around his shoulders, a stretcher prepared for him to be taken to an ambulance downstairs. 

Castiel stands in the doorway, waves off the medic trying to treat him. “Focus on the councilman,” he snaps. 

Castiel walks beside the stretcher as they wheel Dean out of the building; Castiel can tell that Dean is pretty hurt since he barely protests to the special treatment. 

When Dean reaches for Castiel’s hand, he decides that Dean is downright delusional; nonetheless he grabs Dean’s hand tightly, refusing to let go during the whole ambulance ride to the hospital. 

. . . 

“Cas.” 

Castiel raises his head from where it’s cradled in his hands. His delirious mind mistakes the voice for Dean’s; a few blinks into the fluorescent hospital lights confirms that it’s Sam Winchester looming before him. 

He feels a whole new wave of shame overtake him. “Sam.” Castiel wipes a shaking hand over his face. “God. I don’t know how to—” He stutters out a breath. “How is he?” 

Sam sits in the plastic chair next to Castiel’s. “He’s stable. A few broken ribs, concussion… nothing too serious, though. They’re going to keep him overnight for observation.” 

Castiel nods. He can’t sit still, has a weird tremor in his leg. “I am so sorry,” he whispers. 

“How long have you been here?” Sam asks. 

It’s a ridiculous question that Castiel couldn’t care less about the answer to. “I don’t know. What time is it?” 

“They brought Dean in six hours ago,” Sam says. “I got on a flight as soon as you called me.” 

Castiel nods numbly. He doesn’t even remember that phone call. Or where his phone is now. 

“Cas.” Sam puts a hand on Castiel’s shoulder; he flinches at the touch. “Have you had anyone look at you?” 

“There was a nurse,” Castiel says. He vaguely points to his swollen left eye. “Stitches.” He can’t meet the younger Winchester’s eyes. It makes no sense that Sam’s being gentle or caring to someone who so tragically and stupidly let his older brother down. If anything, Sam should be shoving lawsuit papers underneath Castiel’s nose.

“They arrested all the guys that attacked him,” Sam says. He huffs a laugh. “Although the majority of them had to be hospitalized, too, after the number you did on them.” 

Castiel clears his throat against the scratchiness that’s rising up in it. “Dean fought back, too.” 

Sam chuckles, shakes his head. “Of course he did.” 

They sit in silence, as nurses and white coats and stretchers scurry by. Castiel keeps his eyes on the scuffed linoleum floor that’s yellowed with age.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Sam says, shattering the silence. 

Sharply rising to his feet, Castiel says, “Don’t.” 

Sam stands with him. “Seriously, Cas, it wasn’t. Dean was being difficult. He ignored the dangers—and you can probably tell by now how freaking stubborn he is. I’m honestly surprised you lasted this long with him.” 

“I should have stayed by his side, no matter how much he complained,” Castiel says. “It’s part of the job. I didn’t do my due diligence, I didn’t protect him, I didn’t even see this attack coming—”

“Cas, whoa, slow down.” Sam puts a hand on his shoulder again, pulls him to face him. “These guys that attacked Dean aren’t even an alt-right group that was contacting him with those death threats. It was a completely random attack. They saw Dean go into the building and they impulsively decided to go in.” He looks imploringly at Castiel. “I don’t blame you, not even for a minute. And neither does Dean.” 

Castiel feels something thrum through him. “He’s awake?” 

“Yeah. And he’s asking for you. That’s why I came out here.” 

“I don’t—” Castiel shakes his head. “I don’t think I can—”

“I think he wants to apologize,” Sam continues, “Which for Dean is … well, frankly, a minor miracle. So don’t pass up this opportunity, okay?” 

Castiel looks for a moment at Sam’s reassuring smile. “I’ll go,” he finally relents. “At the very least to apologize to him.” 

“Whatever makes you two stubborn idiots talk to each other,” Sam says with a gentle pat on Castiel’s back. 

Dean’s hospital room is a private room with a security guard stationed in front of it. Castiel doesn’t meet the guard’s eyes as he walks in. 

Dean is on the bed, hunched over a sprawl of papers on his lap. He’s shirtless, bandages wrapped around his bare torso.

Castiel stands there for a moment, mouth open, staring at the scene. “What the ever-loving hell are you doing?” 

Dean looks up. “Hey, Cas,” he says with a lopsided grin. 

“‘Hey, Cas’?” Castiel spits out. “Are you kidding me? You’re doing work?” Dean opens his mouth to argue, barely gets a word out before Castiel is striding over to him and snatching the papers from him, dumping them on the floor. “And you shouldn’t be half-naked in a hospital where you can catch a cold,” Castiel continues, snapping Dean’s hospital gown in the air before depositing it on his head. “Put that on.” 

“Jesus, fine,” Dean tentatively putting his arms through the sleeves, wincing at the disturbed bruises on his skin. “I didn’t realize Sam hired a nanny instead of a bodyguard.” 

Castiel sits in the chair adjacent to the bed, bristling. “I won’t have you getting hurt on my watch again, Dean,” he snaps. “Not for the last few hours I’m in your employment.” 

Dean blinks. “Are you quitting?” 

Castiel looks at him incredulously. 

“Okay, yeah. Well, I probably owe you an explanation.” Dean shifts minutely in his bed. “And an apology.” 

Seeing Dean vulnerable deflates Castiel from any anger. “No, I have to apologize. If I had been there—”

“But you weren’t, because I pushed you away, Cas. The things I said to you…” Dean rubs at the eye that’s not bandaged, huffing out a sigh. “I said those awful things because I knew pissing you off wouldn’t make you go away; hurting you would. I know how to find people’s weak spots and apply pressure. It’s why I’m in politics I guess.” 

“It’s not like the things you said to me weren’t true,” Castiel says softly. “You’re right in that I did get fired. That I failed at my job. Similarly to how I failed at this one.” 

“No, Cas, that’s not it. You’re human, okay? But I just—” Dean pauses. Frowns down at his hands clasped over the thin, blue hospital blanket. “Sam was attacked last year. You know that. He didn’t get hurt, but—those people were after me. And I didn’t protect him. My whole life, it’s just been me and Sam against the world. I always protected him, kept him safe, and last year I realized that I just… can’t anymore.” He laughs, but it’s humorless. “It was fucking depressing.” 

Castiel blames it on the lack of sleep when his hand reaches out and gently grasps Dean’s arm. “Dean…” 

“And then Sam hires you because he thinks that I can’t take care of myself, and I just saw red. I saw you as this, I dunno,” Dean waves a hand in Castiel’s direction, “physical manifestation of everything I can’t do: take care of Sam or even myself from a bunch of crazy lunatics. I took it out on you. And I’m sorry.” 

Tightening his grip on Dean’s arm, Castiel says, “I shouldn’t have left you.” 

“It’s not your fault, Cas. Seriously. I don’t blame you for a second.” Dean wraps the hospital gown tighter around himself. “I blame myself, for being a coward. Not really facing the dangers that are out there.” 

Castiel shakes his head. “Dean—”

“I know there’s bad people on both sides,” Dean says, words rushing forward. “I just wanted to… I dunno. Be one of the good guys. Be brave.” 

“You are brave,” Castiel says. “You’re assertive in your beliefs, you don’t back down from your opinions just because someone dissents. That’s brave.” 

Dean shrugs, pondering on that for a minute. The heart rate monitor beats a steady thrum in the silence. “That means a lot,” he finally says. 

“Good. Because it’s true.” Castiel adds, firmly, “And protecting you has been an honor.” 

There’s a rise of color on Dean’s cheeks; he chuckles, “Jesus, Cas, buy me dinner first.” 

Castiel smiles. He pulls his hand back; as he does, Dean grabs it, just as firmly and decisively as he did while riding in the ambulance just hours before. 

“I’ve been an ass,” Dean says, “and I would understand if you don’t want to. But honestly, Cas, I want you around.” 

Castiel tries to take his hand back, but Dean holds tighter. “No, Dean. I think you’re incorrect. I wouldn’t keep you safe, I’d just—”

“I was safe until I pushed you away,” Dean says. 

Castiel can’t argue with that. He looks away from Dean’s green eyes are imploring. “I suppose that’s true,” he admits.

“I won’t do that again,” Dean says, “seriously. I’ll let you do your job. If I promise not to keep trying to dodge you, and at least, uh—try to be less stubborn and make your life easier… would you—” 

It’s the lack of sleep, Castiel thinks, it must be, because his mouth is moving and is interrupting Dean to say, “Yes.” 

Dean gapes at him. “You really want to—”

“Yes,” Castiel says again. More sure this time. He squeezes Dean’s hand tighter. “If you promise not to leave me standing in front of bathrooms again as you climb through the windows, then yes, I will stay. Keep you safe.” 

The smile Dean gives Castiel is blinding and beautiful, and if Castiel were hooked up to that heart rate monitor, it would be going wild, giving him away. It’s the first real one that Castiel’s since he started protecting Dean.

“I promise, Cas.” 

[minigenos]

Holidays Part 1

Part 1 (you are here) ― Part 2 (soon)

Genos plans a romantic holiday evening for Saitama. However, as this is the One Punch Man universe, things quickly start going to shit when monsters attack.

Small snowflakes swirled through the chill winter air. Despite the cold, couples were walking hand-in-hand or arm-in-arm as they admired the myriad number of strung lights placed through one of the large parks of Z City. Other pairs had taken to the warmth of local department stores or restaurants as they enjoyed some last-minute holiday shopping or a snack. Everything was so picturesque and romantic that nobody there wanted it to end.

Suddenly a powerful breeze blasted by the couples, causing some to get knocked onto their rears. Responses varied from confused questions to angry shouts and even worried murmurs. Was that an earthquake? A monster?

Nope.

It was Saitama and Genos.

A certain hero had overslept and now the pair were going to be late to a very important event.

“WHY DIDN'T YOU WAKE ME UP, GENOS?!” the hero yelled as they dashed through the park at inhuman speed.

“I did, Sensei!” Genos replied. “You then proceeded to hit me on the head like an alarm clock! It took me almost half an hour to recalibrate!”

“Oh. Oops. Sorry,” Saitama said with what might be inferred as a guilty smile. He must have had another one of those vivid dreams were he took on an opponent that didn't fall after a single punch. Those were the best.

But maybe not the best for his room mate. Luckily for them Genos knew how to do most of the repairs himself in order to save time, though there was still a visible crack where the cyborg's face and hairline met.

Well, it wasn't that noticeable. Mostly... Kind of...

It... was actually pretty noticeable. But as long as Genos didn't get hit by anything else it would probably be alright until he could go off and get it fixed.

Saitama made a mental note to tone the vivid dreaming down a notch to be on the safe side.

After what seemed like ages running – but was closer to maybe five minutes max – the pair arrived at a large banquet hall. Normally such places would be busy with huge parties, though the parking lot of this one was mostly empty.

“Um, Genos, are you sure this is where we're supposed to be?” Saitama asked as they approached the door.

“Of course. This is the place. I double-checked before leaving to make sure.” The cyborg failed to mention the fact that he checked in on the hall in person half a dozen times since he reserved it to make sure that his reservation was still in their computer system and that the building itself was still standing. He wouldn't want to lose his reservation or find out that the hall had been destroyed at the last minute.

Saitama casually inspected the building's decorations. “Wow, this place is pretty fancy,” he commented as the LED screen plastered on the wall depicted a scene of Santa's sleigh being pulled over a forest of trees covered in snow. Numerous strings of LED lights hung along the top of the hall flashed in bright holiday colors and rhythmic patterns. Even the trees and light posts gussied up in tinsel and, not surprisingly, even more LED lights. The hero couldn't help but feel out of place here. This wasn't somewhere he'd normally visit.

“Genos, are you sure we're supposed to be here?” he asked again.

A wispy female voice cut off the cyborg before he could reply.

“No, you're riiiiggghhht where I want you~”

A over-sized string of tinsel quickly wrapped around Saitama's leg. Once it had gained some footing even more strings of tinsel shot out from the shadows and wrapped themselves tightly around the hero.

“Sensei!” Genos yelled as he jumped back to avoid getting caught in whatever had wound around his mentor. Despite the cyborg's worry, Saitama stood where he was, completely unperturbed by his predicament.

“Hmm, yessssss~” the monster hissed as it completely emerged from the shadows. Its main body was composed of many strands of thick, interwoven tinsel, which branched out into ten long  independently-moving tentacles. The creature's head was shaped almost like a snake's, complete with fangs and even engorged jowls that contained massive venom glands .

Using built-in WI-FI to access the Hero Association's database Genos was able to narrow down their attacker to a single monster – Ten-SSSel, a fast and lethal Tiger-Level threat. He quickly read through the information on its page; its main weapons were venom, the ten tentacles that could easily pick up and strangle a human, and the innumerable number of tinsel-like strands that covered its body, which could be hardened at will to turn into ultra thin, razor-sharp knives.

“Sensei, watch out for-” the cyborg's warning was cut short as a tentacle struck him in the chest and sent him flying many yards back.

“Ssshut up!” Ten-SSSel hissed. It was only interested in fresh meat, not metal and plastic. With Genos out of the way the monster returned its attention back to its prey.

“You'll be a perrrfect holiday meal for me, don't you think~” Ten-SSSel cooed as its tentacles began to coil harder around the hero. After a few seconds it noticed that its prey had become... bored. Angered by Saitama's lack of any response and, more importantly, what should have been his death, the monster hardened every single strand on the tentacles that were wrapped around its prey.

Under normal circumstances most humans would have been killed just from the constriction alone. Some required Ten-SSSel to use its more powerful secondary ability to slice open and exsanguinate them before it could feast, though the monster personally never liked having to go so far as the meal just wasn't quite as filling without the blood.

But this bastard not only survived its first attack, every strand that should have cut him open snapped and shattered like toothpicks!

“Are you done?” Saitama deadpanned.

“H-how!? You ssshould be dead!” the monster hissed as it reeled back from the shock. It moved the damaged tentacles around and watched in horror as harmless pieces of tinsel fluttered to the ground.

The hero was too bored to wait any longer for an answer. With one lightning-fast punch Ten-SSSel exploded into countless pieces of tinsel, which landed on anything within a thirty foot radius.

“Oh. Pretty,” Saitama said with a small smile. It faded pretty quickly once Genos informed him that tinsel was bad for the environment and everything would have to be picked up before the rain washed it away.

Well, Saitama was sure the workers here would take care of things after the holidays.

“So, um, why are we here?” the hero asked as they finally entered through the hall's ornate double doors.

“I reserved the hall for us tonight,” Genos replied.

“No, but really. Why?”

“I reserved the hall for us tonight.” The cyborg was a little confused as to why his mentor doubted him. After a single second to think things over, Genos came to the conclusion that Saitama was more surprised that he had gotten the reservation rather than he had reserved the entire place for just two people. If that was the case then a simple explanation would clear everything up.

And so Genos started explaining, in painful detail, every step of how he rented the hall.

“I called back in June to ensure I could get my reservation in before the holiday rush. Because it would be just the two of us I didn't have to pay extra for chairs and tables, and since I wasn't sure what you would like to eat for tonight I ordered a hot food as well as a cold food buffet, as well as a fruit and salad bar. As for the alcohol-”

“GENOS! I GET IT!” Saitama exclaimed in order to shut the cyborg up. He sometimes forgot how ridiculously long-winded Genos could get with his explanations, and he really didn't need to know every step of the process.

But, he did mention something about food, and a lot of it to boot...

“Let's just get in there,” the hero said in a steady monotone. He pulled on one of the doors to the main hall, but it seemed stuck. It must have a stubborn lock or something; a bit strange for some place this fancy to have such faulty mechanics, but hey things happen. Saitama grabbed the handles of both doors and stood back as far as he could. With one good pull the doors flung wide open, allowing them inside.

And, of course, their entrance into the room was met with terrified screams as the workers rushed around them to escape.

“M-monster!” one of the caterers screamed as he dashed for the exit door.

“Well well,” said the creature as it turned around. It was a massive wreath at least ten feet tall, if not more, with dangerous weapons in place of the usual baubles. Barbed wire whips replaced strands of tinsel, live grenades in place of pine cones, and knives of various shapes and even colors instead of ornaments. One of its hands held a barbed wire whip while the other grasped a large red hunting knife.

“I don't know how you got past Ten-SSSel,” it scoffed, “but I can guarantee you ain't gonna be leaving here outside of a body bag!” A pair of glowing red eyes stared down at the two heroes as long tentacles made out of what seemed to be pine extended from its body. For the life of him, Saitama couldn't figure out where the damn thing's mouth was.

Genos looked at the floor behind them. Ah. It had trapped the people inside by blocking the door with its tentacles. He remembered seeing this monster's name when he was looking at Ten-SSSel's information.

“This is Gouliday Wreath, a Tiger-level threat,”the cyborg said to Saitama. “His powers are-”

His mentor wasn't standing next to him anymore. He had already run up to the monster.

“Oh? And what do you think you can possibly do to someone like me?” Gouliday Wreath laughed as Saitama stood in front of him. Their size difference was blatantly apparent at this distance, and for all intents and purposes it didn't seem like the human stood much of a chance.

But this was Saitama.

The hero grabbed a chunk of the monster's body and clamped down on it, preventing his opponent from escaping.

“Don't you know not to show up without a reservation?” Saitama said as he flung Gouliday Wreath as hard as he could. It sailed through one of the large windows and landed many, many yards away on the pavement, which caused some of its grenades to become activated by accident.

All that was left once the explosions were over was a large crater in the parking lot and tiny shreds of what had been the monster spread out over a roughly 200 foot radius.

Saitama turned to Genos, who had walked up to him. “That was a pretty cool line huh?” he said with a smile.

“Yes. But,” the cyborg pointed towards the broken window. “What are we going to do about that?”

Oh yeah.

Whoops.

“Uh, you bought insurance too, right?” Saitama said with a nervous smile.

He hadn't.

Genos made a mental note to leave a contact card so the hall's owner could call the Hero Association and get the window fixed.

With all the monsters taken care of and no further threats in sight, the hall's workers quickly barricaded the window and cleaned up the mess from Saitama's fight with Gouliday Wreath. As much as everybody wanted to leave and call it a night, they were almost positive that their boss would fire them if they left such a prestigious, high-paying customer to fend for himself and his one guest.

Luckily for them, all of the food was located in the direct opposite corner of the hall from where the monster had shown up and all but two items were covered in some way, which was easy enough to replace.

Saitama sat down at the only table in the entire place with uncovered seats. Genos sat down carefully next to him; the cyborg wasn't sure just how much weight his chair could hold and didn't want it suddenly collapsing on him. After a few quick tests he was sure that the chair had been reinforced to his specifications and moved to a more relaxed pose. What counted as relaxed for him at least.

The aroma from all the food was beginning to make Saitama's stomach rumble in anticipation. From what he could see there was a huge tray of various sushi and sashimi, a fragrant miso soup, and next to that was yet another large tray of seasonal as well as pickled vegetables. On another table was a container filled with steamed rice that sat directly next to a container of grilled fish sealed in – from what Saitama could smell – a sweet teriyaki marinade. And adjacent to that was the cold foods table – a big bowl of fresh garden salad along with a very sizable mixed fruit plate. The final table featured a tower of various miniature cakes and pastries sitting next to a small tray of obscenely fancy cookies. Built into one of the walls was a mini bar manned by an older-looking gentleman. From the looks of things he seemed to have more than enough drinks on-hand to suit literally any taste.

It was. A lot. Too much even. Saitama knew he couldn't finish everything, and even with Genos' unique metabolization process a good amount of the food would go to waste.

And since he was a hero he had to think and act like one.

He walked up to the caterers that were standing around with nothing to do since there were only two guests in the entire hall, and casually pointed back towards the buffet.

“Ah, yaknow if you want to grab some food go ahead. Genos and I can't finish all of that ourselves.”

Nobody seemed inclined to move. Instead they just gave each other confused looks. Their evening had already been bizarre enough, but now they were being invited, encouraged even, to eat right along with the Demon Cyborg and whoever the hell he had brought as his one and only guest.

“What are you waiting for? Saitama-sensei said you could have some food, so come and get some,” Genos said in an unusually stern voice. A couple of workers jumped in response; they hadn't expected him to say anything to them. Well, if the Demon Cyborg said it was ok, then it was ok, right? A few brave souls hesitantly made their way to the buffet and picked out a few pieces of their favorite foods from the selection there. Eventually the rest joined in, including the mini bar worker.

“Saitama-sensei,” Genos whispered, “why did you invite everyone to take some food?” He wasn't questioning the man's choice so much as why he decided to do such a thing.

“Ah, well, there was obviously too much food for us,” the hero replied. “And um, well, I just think it's better for people to eat together.” He couldn't tell if Genos believed him or not. Saitama quickly racked his mind for some sort of final reason to give his excuse some real punch.

“After all,” he bullshitted, “preventing wasteful use of food is something heroes gotta think about too.”

Oh god. That was bad, even for him.

Saitama glanced over to see Genos scribbling furiously in his notebook. Dammit don't write that down! he thought to himself.

“Yes you're absolutely right! Every little act helps” the cyborg agreed as he closed the notebook and stashed it away within his body.

Goooooddddddddd.

Not wanting to dig his hole any further and make Genos think he was smarter than he actually was, Saitama quickly changed the subject. “Merry Christmas!” he said while raising the bowl of soup he had poured himself.

“Merry Christmas,” Genos replied as he held up his own bowl of rice.

Despite the earlier setbacks, their night was coming together to be one of the nicest ones either of them had experienced in a long, long time.