Dark Shadows - Metaphysical Gravity - Ch. 20 - Inhumation
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Chuck hasn’t had a vision in weeks, so when he finds himself on his knees in the kitchen praying that the spike of pain through his head will either stop or let him die, he’s kind of surprised.
He comes to on the ground, spilled water and a broken glass in front of his face (and Jesus he’s lucky he didn’t fall face first on to that) and he discovers that he’s lost an hour. Sam must still be in the basement with Castiel and is probably not likely to come upstairs, so Chuck leaves the glass and water on the floor, frantically tearing Castiel’s study apart for paper and a pen so he can commit this latest vision to paper before it bursts out his skull and kills him.
When he’s done, he reads over his scribbled, torn pages, ensuring he doesn’t miss anything. Then he checks the clock again, calculating against the time frame of what he’s just written.
It seemed like it was early in his vision. Early morning, maybe six or seven. It’s one in the morning right now, and assuming that his vision is for today, that leaves only five or six hours until it happens.
Once he found out his visions were real, and then later became part of them himself, he was never sure how much he was responsible for what happened. Does it happen because he’s already seen it? Can he change it? Should he change it? Would he get another vision, a different vision if he did? It’s a mind fuck for sure.
But this vision is different. He runs over the details in his mind again as he cleans up the glass and the water. He feels a sense of calm descend over him, settling his heart and his mind. He doesn’t fear the future, but instead sees it stretched out before him and he feels content.
All he has to do is make one phone call.
He dials a number he’s never used before, fingers sure and steady as he punches the buttons.
She answers the phone on the first ring. Even though it’s one in the morning, she’s been waiting for his call.
“Chuck Shirley. You’re right on time.”
“Hello, Pamela.”
***
It’s more than a little strange to have a conversation with someone who’s entombed in a sarcophagus.
Not that it’s much of a conversation, but still, Sam finds it weird.
“Castiel? It’s Sam.”
He’s started off everyone of the last eight check-ins identifying himself and it always makes him feel ridiculous. There are two people who know where Castiel is: Chuck and Sam, and he’s pretty sure Castiel knows his voice. It’s his medical training though, that kicks in and the need to identify himself to his patient is a reflex.
Even if that patient is a vampire who’s now forty-eight hours post-feeding.
Castiel had noted that he never really felt the hunger until the second day, but Sam had insisted on samples and measurements at four hour intervals starting twelve hours after Castiel last fed.
It’s the ninth check in and the start of day three.
Sam’s tired. Medical school and his internship trained him to live off of minimal sleep interspersed with coffee and food, but those days are long past. He has managed to catch a few naps in between check-ins, sleeping at either the small desk or bed that Chuck set up.
He won’t eat in the cellar, though. It seems beyond wrong to eat in front of someone he’s effectively starving. Chuck discretely comes down the old stone steps and lets him know without words when there is a meal waiting upstairs. Sam usually only makes it up the first two or three steps before he hears Chuck start in on some rambling conversation, keeping up a steady stream of chatter while he keeps Castiel company. Sam’s pretty sure that Chuck has narrated most of the Iliad and the Oddessy, Frankenstein, the Scarlet Pimpernel, one Hardy Boy Mystery, and parts of what Sam is sure is a Danielle Steele romance.
Castiel doesn’t speak unless asked direct medical questions by Sam.
His answers started off precise and efficient, almost bored. His arm remained close to the small opening that had been carved into the coffin, the butterfly IV that Sam had inserted easy to access and attach a vial to.
Sam always stuck to the same questions, in the same order, and explained the rating system, detailing the one to ten scale when required.
The first five check-ins were basic and didn’t deviate.
Castiel? It’s Sam.
It’s been four hours since our last check-in. How are you feeling?
Do you know where you are?
Do you know why you are there?
I am going to take a blood sample and your blood pressure now. You’ll feel my fingers on your arm. Try not to move too much.
Are you hungry?
On a scale of one to ten, ten being the most hungry you’ve ever been and one being satiated and not hungry at all, how would you describe your hunger?
Are you in any pain?
Anything you wish to add?
I just want to remind you that at any time if you want to stop the test, let either myself or Chuck know. Do you wish to continue?
All right.
By the sixth check-in, he started asking additional questions.
Are you in any pain?
Where?
On a scale of one to ten, ten being unbearable and/or excruciating and one being negligible at best, how would you describe your pain?
At the next check-in, the interview became slightly longer.
On a scale of one to ten, ten being unbearable and/or excruciating and one being negligible at best, how would you describe your pain?
That’s quite an increase from last time.
Would you like to stop?
Anything you wish to add?
No, there isn’t anyone else here.
Yes, I’m sure.
No, Dean isn’t here.
Castiel, your sister is dead. Do you remember at the beginning we talked about where you were and why you were there?
What did you think you saw?
It’s only me right now. Would you like me to get Chuck?
Who was broken and bloodied? What do you see?
Predictably, it got worse.
Castiel, you’ve got to stop pushing against the lid. I can… I can smell… Your hands are burning. Stop. Stop.
No, Dean isn’t here.
No, you didn’t kill him.
Castiel, please, listen to me. You’re in the cellar of Collinwood. Do you remember why you’re here? We’re looking for a cure.
I don’t know but I’ll keep looking until we find one.
No, Dean isn’t dead. He’s just…he’s not here.
Ruby is dead, Castiel. Remember?
I… I don’t know anything about witches. I’m sure… She’s dead, she’s…. She died a long time ago.
Do you want to stop?
Sam feels like he’s been shoring up his courage for the ninth check-in ever since silence descended after the eighth.
Chuck had come downstairs sometime around hour forty-six and sent Sam up for a bite to eat and a coffee. Sam wolfed down the sandwich and java Chuck left him, still chewing as he went back to the cellar. When he got there, Chuck was just at the part where Luke and Han try to rescue Leia, only to end up in the garbage chutes where they’re about to be pressed to their deaths. Chuck absently waved Sam away as he perched on the desktop, feet swinging slightly. Sam vaguely heard small sounds of acknowledgement coming from Castiel; soft ‘hmms’ and ‘ohs’ and it made him wonder if the silence he maintains is doing more to harm Castiel than he thought. Certainly it felt somewhat calmer when Chuck’s in the cellar, which is bizarre because Chuck himself is like a live wire sporting a hard current of electricity.
Sam had gratefully escaped back upstairs where he took refuge in the relative normalcy of the kitchen until it was time to descend to the cellar once more for the ninth check-in.
By the time Sam descends again, Chuck is wrapping up the final battle on the Deathstar, describing Han’s last minute arrival and Luke’s use of the force. Sam wonders how much gets through to Castiel in his hunger-soaked state. Chuck doesn’t falter as he speaks, his high-strung personality seems strangely suited to the task.
“… and I mean, no one really asks where the rebels got money for the medals they gave Han and Luke and seriously, like that part of the movie didn’t stick out like a sore thumb. They can’t be handing out medals every time someone does something for the Rebellion. They should be saving their money for actual weapons. Plus, Han left. He fucking left and then comes back at the eleventh hour and they give him a medal? And Luke, don’t even get me started. Whiniest kid in the galaxy although when I get around to telling you about his old man Anakin, you’ll see he comes by it honestly. Oh, hey. Sam’s back. Must be time for your checkup. I’m gonna head up stairs for a little bit but I’ll be back later.”
Chuck slides off the desk and his eyes slide over to Sam once before he makes his way quickly toward the sarcophagus. Sam watches as Chuck kneels down and puts his face very close to the opening where Sam draws blood from. Sam takes a step forward, concerned, but Chuck holds him off with a raised hand, eyes never leaving the hole they had excised from the stone. Sam can see Chuck’s lips moving and faintly here the soft sound of his whispers but he can’t make out the words. After a few more sentences, Chuck stands and steps over to Sam.
“Sorry, but I had to tell him something.”
“Uh, that’s okay,” replies Sam, not really sure he wants to know what secrets are between Chuck and Castiel.
“I’ll leave you to your work, but I’ll be back in about an hour and you can have another break then.” Chuck rubs his temples absently.
“That’s really not necessary, Chuck. I mean, I’m grateful, but you should have a break too. Why don’t you take off for a while?” Sam takes in the pinched look around Chuck’s mouth, the slightly pinkish tone to his eyes. “You look like you’ve got a headache or something.”
“Yeah, it always happens after.”
“After what?”
Chuck straightens slightly. “I’ll be back in an hour,” he repeats.
“Chuck, it’s fine. Take a break.”
“I’ll get a break. Later. I get a break later.”
Sam furrows his brow. Dean always said Chuck was twitchy but he never really appreciated how accurate that description was. “Okay,” he drawls out.
Chuck is already climbing the stairs and leaving Sam to his work in the darkened cellar. While he doesn’t have to keep the lights dimmed, he finds it works best when he can’t see every stark detail of the sarcophagus.
He takes a deep breath and steadies himself. He gathers his supplies and steps toward the coffin.
“Castiel? It’s Sam.”
Next Chapter - 21 - Black is the Color
Chuck hasn’t had a vision in weeks, so when he finds himself on his knees in the kitchen praying that the spike of pain through his head will either stop or let him die, he’s kind of surprised.
He comes to on the ground, spilled water and a broken glass in front of his face (and Jesus he’s lucky he didn’t fall face first on to that) and he discovers that he’s lost an hour. Sam must still be in the basement with Castiel and is probably not likely to come upstairs, so Chuck leaves the glass and water on the floor, frantically tearing Castiel’s study apart for paper and a pen so he can commit this latest vision to paper before it bursts out his skull and kills him.
When he’s done, he reads over his scribbled, torn pages, ensuring he doesn’t miss anything. Then he checks the clock again, calculating against the time frame of what he’s just written.
It seemed like it was early in his vision. Early morning, maybe six or seven. It’s one in the morning right now, and assuming that his vision is for today, that leaves only five or six hours until it happens.
Once he found out his visions were real, and then later became part of them himself, he was never sure how much he was responsible for what happened. Does it happen because he’s already seen it? Can he change it? Should he change it? Would he get another vision, a different vision if he did? It’s a mind fuck for sure.
But this vision is different. He runs over the details in his mind again as he cleans up the glass and the water. He feels a sense of calm descend over him, settling his heart and his mind. He doesn’t fear the future, but instead sees it stretched out before him and he feels content.
All he has to do is make one phone call.
He dials a number he’s never used before, fingers sure and steady as he punches the buttons.
She answers the phone on the first ring. Even though it’s one in the morning, she’s been waiting for his call.
“Chuck Shirley. You’re right on time.”
“Hello, Pamela.”
***
It’s more than a little strange to have a conversation with someone who’s entombed in a sarcophagus.
Not that it’s much of a conversation, but still, Sam finds it weird.
“Castiel? It’s Sam.”
He’s started off everyone of the last eight check-ins identifying himself and it always makes him feel ridiculous. There are two people who know where Castiel is: Chuck and Sam, and he’s pretty sure Castiel knows his voice. It’s his medical training though, that kicks in and the need to identify himself to his patient is a reflex.
Even if that patient is a vampire who’s now forty-eight hours post-feeding.
Castiel had noted that he never really felt the hunger until the second day, but Sam had insisted on samples and measurements at four hour intervals starting twelve hours after Castiel last fed.
It’s the ninth check in and the start of day three.
Sam’s tired. Medical school and his internship trained him to live off of minimal sleep interspersed with coffee and food, but those days are long past. He has managed to catch a few naps in between check-ins, sleeping at either the small desk or bed that Chuck set up.
He won’t eat in the cellar, though. It seems beyond wrong to eat in front of someone he’s effectively starving. Chuck discretely comes down the old stone steps and lets him know without words when there is a meal waiting upstairs. Sam usually only makes it up the first two or three steps before he hears Chuck start in on some rambling conversation, keeping up a steady stream of chatter while he keeps Castiel company. Sam’s pretty sure that Chuck has narrated most of the Iliad and the Oddessy, Frankenstein, the Scarlet Pimpernel, one Hardy Boy Mystery, and parts of what Sam is sure is a Danielle Steele romance.
Castiel doesn’t speak unless asked direct medical questions by Sam.
His answers started off precise and efficient, almost bored. His arm remained close to the small opening that had been carved into the coffin, the butterfly IV that Sam had inserted easy to access and attach a vial to.
Sam always stuck to the same questions, in the same order, and explained the rating system, detailing the one to ten scale when required.
The first five check-ins were basic and didn’t deviate.
Castiel? It’s Sam.
It’s been four hours since our last check-in. How are you feeling?
Do you know where you are?
Do you know why you are there?
I am going to take a blood sample and your blood pressure now. You’ll feel my fingers on your arm. Try not to move too much.
Are you hungry?
On a scale of one to ten, ten being the most hungry you’ve ever been and one being satiated and not hungry at all, how would you describe your hunger?
Are you in any pain?
Anything you wish to add?
I just want to remind you that at any time if you want to stop the test, let either myself or Chuck know. Do you wish to continue?
All right.
By the sixth check-in, he started asking additional questions.
Are you in any pain?
Where?
On a scale of one to ten, ten being unbearable and/or excruciating and one being negligible at best, how would you describe your pain?
At the next check-in, the interview became slightly longer.
On a scale of one to ten, ten being unbearable and/or excruciating and one being negligible at best, how would you describe your pain?
That’s quite an increase from last time.
Would you like to stop?
Anything you wish to add?
No, there isn’t anyone else here.
Yes, I’m sure.
No, Dean isn’t here.
Castiel, your sister is dead. Do you remember at the beginning we talked about where you were and why you were there?
What did you think you saw?
It’s only me right now. Would you like me to get Chuck?
Who was broken and bloodied? What do you see?
Predictably, it got worse.
Castiel, you’ve got to stop pushing against the lid. I can… I can smell… Your hands are burning. Stop. Stop.
No, Dean isn’t here.
No, you didn’t kill him.
Castiel, please, listen to me. You’re in the cellar of Collinwood. Do you remember why you’re here? We’re looking for a cure.
I don’t know but I’ll keep looking until we find one.
No, Dean isn’t dead. He’s just…he’s not here.
Ruby is dead, Castiel. Remember?
I… I don’t know anything about witches. I’m sure… She’s dead, she’s…. She died a long time ago.
Do you want to stop?
Sam feels like he’s been shoring up his courage for the ninth check-in ever since silence descended after the eighth.
Chuck had come downstairs sometime around hour forty-six and sent Sam up for a bite to eat and a coffee. Sam wolfed down the sandwich and java Chuck left him, still chewing as he went back to the cellar. When he got there, Chuck was just at the part where Luke and Han try to rescue Leia, only to end up in the garbage chutes where they’re about to be pressed to their deaths. Chuck absently waved Sam away as he perched on the desktop, feet swinging slightly. Sam vaguely heard small sounds of acknowledgement coming from Castiel; soft ‘hmms’ and ‘ohs’ and it made him wonder if the silence he maintains is doing more to harm Castiel than he thought. Certainly it felt somewhat calmer when Chuck’s in the cellar, which is bizarre because Chuck himself is like a live wire sporting a hard current of electricity.
Sam had gratefully escaped back upstairs where he took refuge in the relative normalcy of the kitchen until it was time to descend to the cellar once more for the ninth check-in.
By the time Sam descends again, Chuck is wrapping up the final battle on the Deathstar, describing Han’s last minute arrival and Luke’s use of the force. Sam wonders how much gets through to Castiel in his hunger-soaked state. Chuck doesn’t falter as he speaks, his high-strung personality seems strangely suited to the task.
“… and I mean, no one really asks where the rebels got money for the medals they gave Han and Luke and seriously, like that part of the movie didn’t stick out like a sore thumb. They can’t be handing out medals every time someone does something for the Rebellion. They should be saving their money for actual weapons. Plus, Han left. He fucking left and then comes back at the eleventh hour and they give him a medal? And Luke, don’t even get me started. Whiniest kid in the galaxy although when I get around to telling you about his old man Anakin, you’ll see he comes by it honestly. Oh, hey. Sam’s back. Must be time for your checkup. I’m gonna head up stairs for a little bit but I’ll be back later.”
Chuck slides off the desk and his eyes slide over to Sam once before he makes his way quickly toward the sarcophagus. Sam watches as Chuck kneels down and puts his face very close to the opening where Sam draws blood from. Sam takes a step forward, concerned, but Chuck holds him off with a raised hand, eyes never leaving the hole they had excised from the stone. Sam can see Chuck’s lips moving and faintly here the soft sound of his whispers but he can’t make out the words. After a few more sentences, Chuck stands and steps over to Sam.
“Sorry, but I had to tell him something.”
“Uh, that’s okay,” replies Sam, not really sure he wants to know what secrets are between Chuck and Castiel.
“I’ll leave you to your work, but I’ll be back in about an hour and you can have another break then.” Chuck rubs his temples absently.
“That’s really not necessary, Chuck. I mean, I’m grateful, but you should have a break too. Why don’t you take off for a while?” Sam takes in the pinched look around Chuck’s mouth, the slightly pinkish tone to his eyes. “You look like you’ve got a headache or something.”
“Yeah, it always happens after.”
“After what?”
Chuck straightens slightly. “I’ll be back in an hour,” he repeats.
“Chuck, it’s fine. Take a break.”
“I’ll get a break. Later. I get a break later.”
Sam furrows his brow. Dean always said Chuck was twitchy but he never really appreciated how accurate that description was. “Okay,” he drawls out.
Chuck is already climbing the stairs and leaving Sam to his work in the darkened cellar. While he doesn’t have to keep the lights dimmed, he finds it works best when he can’t see every stark detail of the sarcophagus.
He takes a deep breath and steadies himself. He gathers his supplies and steps toward the coffin.
“Castiel? It’s Sam.”
Next Chapter - 21 - Black is the Color