Care
Title: Care
Rating: PG(language)
Characters: Castiel, Dean, Sam & John Winchester
Pairing: Pre-Slash
Summary: Castiel was already well aware that John had his moments of inadequate parenting, but the lack of apple juice was just too much.
A/N: Part of the 3 Kids and a Shitty Dad verse.
Castiel: 14
Dean: 11
Sam: 7
“Here’s a hundred, I’ll be back in two weeks. That should be enough for groceries, don’t go spending it on anything stupid.” John had said. Castiel remembered the the fatigue and seriousness in John’s face before he’d handed over the bill and the Impala disappeared down the mountain road in a haze of dirt.
That had been two and a half weeks ago. John hadn’t answered his phone in days and Castiel was starting to get nervous. He shifted, grip tightening around Sammy’s hand, making sure the 7 year old didn’t wander away from the medicine aisle that they were currently standing in. His pale eyes read along each of the labels, lips pursed in a scowl.
“Castiel?” Sam asked softly, tugging on the teen’s hand. Castiel tore his eyes away from the cough syrup label he’d been reading to glance down at the youngest Winchester. Sam shifted awkwardly, tugging on the zipper to his thick jacket and looking up at Castiel imploringly.
“Yes, Sam?” He asked softly, reaching out to grab a bottle of NyQuil and wincing at the price. He replaced it on the shelf quickly.
“Is Dean gonna die?” Sam’s voice was hushed, a slight edge of fear coating his words. Castiel shook his head, squatting down and grabbing a more generic brand of cough medicine.
“He’s not going to die, Sam. He just has a cold. We’re getting him medication so he’ll get recover faster.” Satisfied with his choice, Castiel pulled Sam with him towards the checkout, pausing when he caught sight of a discounted box containing medical masks. He grabbed them as well, knowing it’d be better to spend the extra few dollars to keep Sam and himself healthy, than to save the money and risk both of them catching whatever had befallen Dean.
“Are you suuuuuure?” Sam wheedled, pulling on Castiel’s hand for more leverage to try and grab a candy bar from nearby the clerk’s counter of the small pharmacy. Castiel tugged on Sam’s arm, giving his hand a warning squeeze. Theft was used only as a last resort, not for personal pleasures like candy.
Castiel placed the cough syrup and masks on the service counter, nodding once at the clerk. He released Sam’s hand, reaching into his pocket and grabbing the tattered wallet he’d brought along. “Nobody can be sure of anything, Samuel. But, if we take good care of him, he shouldn’t decline in health.” Castiel said, peeking at the ten and twenty dollar bill within. He scowled, taking out the ten and handing it over.
The clerk pursed his lips, ringing up the purchase and handing Castiel the meager change. Castiel nodded at him, taking the bag and pulling Sam out of the store. They started the two mile trek back to the old summer cabin that John had set them up in. Apparently, it had belonged to one of his hunter friends who went south during the winter to hunt werewolves in Boca Raton.
They were a little over halfway up the mountain whenever Sam started lagging behind, pulling on Castiel’s arm to get him to slow down. “Castiel, I’m tired.” Sam whined, twisting his hand free of the teen’s grasp. Castiel stopped, watching a truck drive down the mountain slope before moving behind Sam to open the small backpack that the 7 year old was wearing. He pulled out a bottle of water, replacing it with the cough syrup and medical masks and zipping the backpack closed.
“Here, drink some water.” Castiel urged, uncapping the bottle and handing it over. Sam drank from it greedily, caving the plastic in a little with each gulp. Castiel grabbed the bottle, easing it away from Sam’s mouth.
“Let me have some, please.” He asked softly. Sam handed it over with a sheepish smile, wiping the water from his mouth.
“Sorry, I forgot we only had one left.”
Castiel grinned weakly, tipping his head back and drinking as little as his parched throat would allow. Forcing himself not to just suck down the rest of it, Castiel capped the bottle, glancing at the small remainder with a scowl. He motioned to Sam to turn around, opening the younger boy’s backpack, sticking the water bottle inside before zipping it shut.
They continued walking, their pace slowing as Sam grew more and more tired. By the time they could see the very roof of the cabin near the top of the slope, Sam was running out of breath and Castiel’s legs were burning. He pulled his hand out of Sam’s grasp, kneeling down.
“Climb on my back.” He muttered. Sam looked horrified, fingers jumping up to fiddle nervously with the straps of his backpack.
“On your back? Are you sure? I can walk a little further, its okay!” Sam reasoned, scuffing his dirty sneakers on the gravel.
Castiel huffed out a sigh. “Just this once, okay? I don’t want you to get sick, either.”
Sam looked ready to continue protesting, but fatigue seemed to win over and he clambered up onto Castiel’s back. If he noticed the bodily flinch that came with the initial touch, he didn’t say anything. Castiel stood, back stiff and arms already shaking with exertion. He laced his fingers together, creating a seat with his palms for Sam to rest on.
“I’m sorry I’m not stronger, Castiel.” Sam muttered into the older boy’s ear. Castiel smiled thinly, resuming his hike back up the mountain slope towards the cabin.
Once the house was in sight, Sam wriggled off of Castiel’s back and went running for the cabin. Grabbing the key from underneath of the welcome mat, Sam unlocked the door and flung it open, running inside. Castiel followed him at a much slower pace.
“Dean! We’re back!” Sam crowed, running into the kitchen. He set the backpack on the table and Castiel walked over to the tattered couch in the living room, sitting down tiredly. Sam puttered around for a moment, procuring a tablespoon with a shout of triumph.
“How was the walk?” Dean’s rough voice drifted quietly from the bedroom doorway. Sam rummaged in his backpack for the cough syrup, pulling it out and carrying it over to Dean. Dean, who’s face was pale and smile weak, took the medicine from him and walked over to sit beside Castiel on the couch with a tired exhale.
“Has Dad answered the phone yet?” Dean croaked, coughing wetly into the bend of his elbow. He cleared his throat, brows furrowed as he tried to open the cough syrup. He handed it over to Castiel after a defeated noise escaped the back of his throat. Castiel pinched the lid, twisting it back and forth before opening it with a grunt. Dean muttered his thanks, pouring some of the liquid onto the tablespoon Sam had given him.
“I’m afraid I haven’t been able to contact John in the past week. I thought that it was our location that was blocking the signal, but I still could not get the call through while we were at the pharmacy.” Castiel explained, watching Dean grimace at the taste of the medication before re-capping it.
Sam came back with the box of medical masks, sitting on Dean’s other side and fighting with the box, tearing it open. Dean watched him with a look of amusement, taking the box and passing it to Castiel after Sam had pulled one out.
“Good idea, Cas.” Dean said softly after Castiel thanked him and tugged the mask on. They didn’t bring up John’s location, knowing that wondering would bring only questions, and no answers.
Sam thudded his head against Dean’s shoulder, grimacing whenever Dean released another body-wracking cough, his hand flying over his mouth reflexively. A noise of disgust escaped the eleven year old and he shot up, running into the kitchen and spitting mucus out into the sink.
“Ewwwwww.” Sam whined, crinkling his nose underneath the mask and looking at Castiel. Castiel shrugged, grateful that the doctor’s mask hid the way his lips turned into a worried scowl.
That night, Castiel used the last of their bread to make grilled cheese sandwiches, heating up one of the last cans of soup they had to go with it. Dean sat at the table, his forehead pressed against the old wood, drifting in and out of sleep while watching Castiel cook. Sam was sitting across from him, preoccupied with a Lewis Carrol book that Castiel had found on one of the shelves. His brows furrowed as he wrote words he didn’t know in a small notebook for Castiel to go over with him later.
Castiel placed two bowls on the table, a sandwich for each, and nibbled on the bread heel that had been at the end of the bag. He pressed the back of his hand to Dean’s forehead, scowl deepening at the heat that radiated against his knuckles. Dean opened his eyes wearily, smiling up at Castiel and thanking him for the soup. He reached out, grasping for his bottle of Gatorade and cradling it to his lips before sipping from it. Granted, the Gatorade wasn’t apple juice, but it was the only thing they had that helped lessen the pain in Dean’s burning throat.
Sam dog-eared the page in his book, sliding it to the side and pulling his own plate forward with a sound of delight. Castiel sat down silently, bringing Sam’s notebook towards himself and flipping through it, trying to decipher the 7 year old’s uneven scrawl.
Feeling eyes on him as he filled out definitions and nibbled on his bread heel, Castiel looked up to see Dean staring at him, sandwich half eaten and soup bowl nearly empty.
“Is something wrong, Dean?” Castiel asked, head tilted to the side. Dean pursed his lips, sleepy eyes narrowing.
“Why aren’t you eating?” He accused, looking just about ready to shove his sandwich at the older boy. Castiel looked back down at Sam’s notebook, scribbling that frabjous was a word created by the author, and was most likely meant to define something joyful and festive.
“I am eating. There was not enough food for a third sandwich.” He explained softly, flipping his pencil over whenever one of his ‘i’s was dotted sloppily. He bit off another piece of the bread heel, chewing it slowly.
“Bullshit.” Dean snapped, ignoring Sam’s displeased noise at the other boy’s harsh language.
“It isn’t up for discussion, Dean. You’re sick and Sam is the youngest. Eat your food.” Castiel’s voice was bordering on icy, his gaze never once leaving the notebook. Dean looked over to Sam, who was now guiltily looking at his half-eaten bowl of soup and the crusts from his sandwich that he’d torn off.
“I don’t want your crust, Sam.” Castiel said before Sam could even finish sliding the plate over. “Eat them, they’re good for you.”
Sam dragged the plate back towards himself slowly, grimacing as he started munching on the cheese-covered crusts.
Castiel stood once he’d deemed both Sam and Dean’s plates empty, sliding Sam’s notebook back over to the younger boy and taking the dishes to the sink to wash them.
When nightfall finally came, Dean’s cough returned with a vengeance. Castiel sat on the edge of Dean’s bed, knuckles pressed against the 11 year old’s forehead and cheeks. He scowled behind his doctor’s mask, watching Dean start to shiver. Sam stood in the doorway, watching nervously as his older brother let out a sobbing groan and coughed violently into his pillow. A disgusted sound came from the back of the boy’s throat and Castiel leaned off of the bed to bring a wastebasket up to Dean’s cheek. Dean peered out of tired eyes, spitting a mouthful of mucus into the basket and flopping his head back onto the pillow.
“Castiel....?” Sam asked softly, hugging a pillow to his chest. Castiel set the trash bin down and glanced up at Sam. Sam fidgeted, hovering in the doorway nervously. “Is Dean gonna be okay?”
Castiel, not one for lying to make others feel better, looked back down at Dean before standing up. “I don’t know, Sam.”
:I I'm so mean to Castiel.
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Rating: PG(language)
Characters: Castiel, Dean, Sam & John Winchester
Pairing: Pre-Slash
Summary: Castiel was already well aware that John had his moments of inadequate parenting, but the lack of apple juice was just too much.
A/N: Part of the 3 Kids and a Shitty Dad verse.
Castiel: 14
Dean: 11
Sam: 7
“Here’s a hundred, I’ll be back in two weeks. That should be enough for groceries, don’t go spending it on anything stupid.” John had said. Castiel remembered the the fatigue and seriousness in John’s face before he’d handed over the bill and the Impala disappeared down the mountain road in a haze of dirt.
That had been two and a half weeks ago. John hadn’t answered his phone in days and Castiel was starting to get nervous. He shifted, grip tightening around Sammy’s hand, making sure the 7 year old didn’t wander away from the medicine aisle that they were currently standing in. His pale eyes read along each of the labels, lips pursed in a scowl.
“Castiel?” Sam asked softly, tugging on the teen’s hand. Castiel tore his eyes away from the cough syrup label he’d been reading to glance down at the youngest Winchester. Sam shifted awkwardly, tugging on the zipper to his thick jacket and looking up at Castiel imploringly.
“Yes, Sam?” He asked softly, reaching out to grab a bottle of NyQuil and wincing at the price. He replaced it on the shelf quickly.
“Is Dean gonna die?” Sam’s voice was hushed, a slight edge of fear coating his words. Castiel shook his head, squatting down and grabbing a more generic brand of cough medicine.
“He’s not going to die, Sam. He just has a cold. We’re getting him medication so he’ll get recover faster.” Satisfied with his choice, Castiel pulled Sam with him towards the checkout, pausing when he caught sight of a discounted box containing medical masks. He grabbed them as well, knowing it’d be better to spend the extra few dollars to keep Sam and himself healthy, than to save the money and risk both of them catching whatever had befallen Dean.
“Are you suuuuuure?” Sam wheedled, pulling on Castiel’s hand for more leverage to try and grab a candy bar from nearby the clerk’s counter of the small pharmacy. Castiel tugged on Sam’s arm, giving his hand a warning squeeze. Theft was used only as a last resort, not for personal pleasures like candy.
Castiel placed the cough syrup and masks on the service counter, nodding once at the clerk. He released Sam’s hand, reaching into his pocket and grabbing the tattered wallet he’d brought along. “Nobody can be sure of anything, Samuel. But, if we take good care of him, he shouldn’t decline in health.” Castiel said, peeking at the ten and twenty dollar bill within. He scowled, taking out the ten and handing it over.
The clerk pursed his lips, ringing up the purchase and handing Castiel the meager change. Castiel nodded at him, taking the bag and pulling Sam out of the store. They started the two mile trek back to the old summer cabin that John had set them up in. Apparently, it had belonged to one of his hunter friends who went south during the winter to hunt werewolves in Boca Raton.
They were a little over halfway up the mountain whenever Sam started lagging behind, pulling on Castiel’s arm to get him to slow down. “Castiel, I’m tired.” Sam whined, twisting his hand free of the teen’s grasp. Castiel stopped, watching a truck drive down the mountain slope before moving behind Sam to open the small backpack that the 7 year old was wearing. He pulled out a bottle of water, replacing it with the cough syrup and medical masks and zipping the backpack closed.
“Here, drink some water.” Castiel urged, uncapping the bottle and handing it over. Sam drank from it greedily, caving the plastic in a little with each gulp. Castiel grabbed the bottle, easing it away from Sam’s mouth.
“Let me have some, please.” He asked softly. Sam handed it over with a sheepish smile, wiping the water from his mouth.
“Sorry, I forgot we only had one left.”
Castiel grinned weakly, tipping his head back and drinking as little as his parched throat would allow. Forcing himself not to just suck down the rest of it, Castiel capped the bottle, glancing at the small remainder with a scowl. He motioned to Sam to turn around, opening the younger boy’s backpack, sticking the water bottle inside before zipping it shut.
They continued walking, their pace slowing as Sam grew more and more tired. By the time they could see the very roof of the cabin near the top of the slope, Sam was running out of breath and Castiel’s legs were burning. He pulled his hand out of Sam’s grasp, kneeling down.
“Climb on my back.” He muttered. Sam looked horrified, fingers jumping up to fiddle nervously with the straps of his backpack.
“On your back? Are you sure? I can walk a little further, its okay!” Sam reasoned, scuffing his dirty sneakers on the gravel.
Castiel huffed out a sigh. “Just this once, okay? I don’t want you to get sick, either.”
Sam looked ready to continue protesting, but fatigue seemed to win over and he clambered up onto Castiel’s back. If he noticed the bodily flinch that came with the initial touch, he didn’t say anything. Castiel stood, back stiff and arms already shaking with exertion. He laced his fingers together, creating a seat with his palms for Sam to rest on.
“I’m sorry I’m not stronger, Castiel.” Sam muttered into the older boy’s ear. Castiel smiled thinly, resuming his hike back up the mountain slope towards the cabin.
Once the house was in sight, Sam wriggled off of Castiel’s back and went running for the cabin. Grabbing the key from underneath of the welcome mat, Sam unlocked the door and flung it open, running inside. Castiel followed him at a much slower pace.
“Dean! We’re back!” Sam crowed, running into the kitchen. He set the backpack on the table and Castiel walked over to the tattered couch in the living room, sitting down tiredly. Sam puttered around for a moment, procuring a tablespoon with a shout of triumph.
“How was the walk?” Dean’s rough voice drifted quietly from the bedroom doorway. Sam rummaged in his backpack for the cough syrup, pulling it out and carrying it over to Dean. Dean, who’s face was pale and smile weak, took the medicine from him and walked over to sit beside Castiel on the couch with a tired exhale.
“Has Dad answered the phone yet?” Dean croaked, coughing wetly into the bend of his elbow. He cleared his throat, brows furrowed as he tried to open the cough syrup. He handed it over to Castiel after a defeated noise escaped the back of his throat. Castiel pinched the lid, twisting it back and forth before opening it with a grunt. Dean muttered his thanks, pouring some of the liquid onto the tablespoon Sam had given him.
“I’m afraid I haven’t been able to contact John in the past week. I thought that it was our location that was blocking the signal, but I still could not get the call through while we were at the pharmacy.” Castiel explained, watching Dean grimace at the taste of the medication before re-capping it.
Sam came back with the box of medical masks, sitting on Dean’s other side and fighting with the box, tearing it open. Dean watched him with a look of amusement, taking the box and passing it to Castiel after Sam had pulled one out.
“Good idea, Cas.” Dean said softly after Castiel thanked him and tugged the mask on. They didn’t bring up John’s location, knowing that wondering would bring only questions, and no answers.
Sam thudded his head against Dean’s shoulder, grimacing whenever Dean released another body-wracking cough, his hand flying over his mouth reflexively. A noise of disgust escaped the eleven year old and he shot up, running into the kitchen and spitting mucus out into the sink.
“Ewwwwww.” Sam whined, crinkling his nose underneath the mask and looking at Castiel. Castiel shrugged, grateful that the doctor’s mask hid the way his lips turned into a worried scowl.
That night, Castiel used the last of their bread to make grilled cheese sandwiches, heating up one of the last cans of soup they had to go with it. Dean sat at the table, his forehead pressed against the old wood, drifting in and out of sleep while watching Castiel cook. Sam was sitting across from him, preoccupied with a Lewis Carrol book that Castiel had found on one of the shelves. His brows furrowed as he wrote words he didn’t know in a small notebook for Castiel to go over with him later.
Castiel placed two bowls on the table, a sandwich for each, and nibbled on the bread heel that had been at the end of the bag. He pressed the back of his hand to Dean’s forehead, scowl deepening at the heat that radiated against his knuckles. Dean opened his eyes wearily, smiling up at Castiel and thanking him for the soup. He reached out, grasping for his bottle of Gatorade and cradling it to his lips before sipping from it. Granted, the Gatorade wasn’t apple juice, but it was the only thing they had that helped lessen the pain in Dean’s burning throat.
Sam dog-eared the page in his book, sliding it to the side and pulling his own plate forward with a sound of delight. Castiel sat down silently, bringing Sam’s notebook towards himself and flipping through it, trying to decipher the 7 year old’s uneven scrawl.
Feeling eyes on him as he filled out definitions and nibbled on his bread heel, Castiel looked up to see Dean staring at him, sandwich half eaten and soup bowl nearly empty.
“Is something wrong, Dean?” Castiel asked, head tilted to the side. Dean pursed his lips, sleepy eyes narrowing.
“Why aren’t you eating?” He accused, looking just about ready to shove his sandwich at the older boy. Castiel looked back down at Sam’s notebook, scribbling that frabjous was a word created by the author, and was most likely meant to define something joyful and festive.
“I am eating. There was not enough food for a third sandwich.” He explained softly, flipping his pencil over whenever one of his ‘i’s was dotted sloppily. He bit off another piece of the bread heel, chewing it slowly.
“Bullshit.” Dean snapped, ignoring Sam’s displeased noise at the other boy’s harsh language.
“It isn’t up for discussion, Dean. You’re sick and Sam is the youngest. Eat your food.” Castiel’s voice was bordering on icy, his gaze never once leaving the notebook. Dean looked over to Sam, who was now guiltily looking at his half-eaten bowl of soup and the crusts from his sandwich that he’d torn off.
“I don’t want your crust, Sam.” Castiel said before Sam could even finish sliding the plate over. “Eat them, they’re good for you.”
Sam dragged the plate back towards himself slowly, grimacing as he started munching on the cheese-covered crusts.
Castiel stood once he’d deemed both Sam and Dean’s plates empty, sliding Sam’s notebook back over to the younger boy and taking the dishes to the sink to wash them.
When nightfall finally came, Dean’s cough returned with a vengeance. Castiel sat on the edge of Dean’s bed, knuckles pressed against the 11 year old’s forehead and cheeks. He scowled behind his doctor’s mask, watching Dean start to shiver. Sam stood in the doorway, watching nervously as his older brother let out a sobbing groan and coughed violently into his pillow. A disgusted sound came from the back of the boy’s throat and Castiel leaned off of the bed to bring a wastebasket up to Dean’s cheek. Dean peered out of tired eyes, spitting a mouthful of mucus into the basket and flopping his head back onto the pillow.
“Castiel....?” Sam asked softly, hugging a pillow to his chest. Castiel set the trash bin down and glanced up at Sam. Sam fidgeted, hovering in the doorway nervously. “Is Dean gonna be okay?”
Castiel, not one for lying to make others feel better, looked back down at Dean before standing up. “I don’t know, Sam.”
:I I'm so mean to Castiel.
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