Overdose
Because I seem to have some cruel obsession with making Castiel suffer... here's a quick oneshot from everyone's favorite 2014!verse. A little over 1200 words, written in the long gap one gets between finishing the CST and the bell actually ringing. So um, yeah.
Castiel pushed the bead curtain of his cabin door aside and made no attempt to stop it's clacking and rattling as he crossed the room, beelining for the bed. He sprawled out on his stomach and reached for the drawer of his bedside table, removing the small canvas bag that held his hardly small drug collection.
Not fair not okay not me not now, the thoughts sped along as he fumbled with the childproof lid on the little orange containers.
He poured the remaining contents of the first bottle into the palm of his hand. It was only eight or nine times the recommended dosage, so he swallowed all of them with a swig of the half-empty bottle of whiskey that always sat on the table top.
The familiar sensation if the medicine sliding down his throat was calming in and of itself, enough so that Castiel let himself pause for a second and blink out the tears that were blurring his vision. Fuck. Why would Dean push him away now, after all they'd been through, and just when the end was finally in sight?
It didn't make sense and it hurt. How many pills had been in the first bottle again? Surely not enough to prohibit consuming more. The second bottle, slightly more full then the first, was emptied and discarded on the floor.
Time stopped moving. The room began to spin slowly. Dean's voice looped through Castiel's mind and sat bitter on his heart, “Cas, the mission's in one week. I don't want to see you until then, nor after. I think... I think we need to spend some time apart.”
The words stirred up pain strong enough to resonate through the chemicals in his bloodstream. Not good, Castiel thought as he reached into the bag for the third bottle. This one was full, though it was nearly impossible to open the lid now. Castiel shook a dozen into his hand, and got them into his mouth on the second try. He made the motions of getting more from the bottle, but it didn't work, as the bottle wasn't in his hand any longer. He saw it on the floor but determined that he no longer had the motor capacity to get up and retrieve them. He rolled to the far edge of the bed and reached but to no avail. Instead he tumbled to the floor and laid there rather aimlessly.
He had just begun to seize as Dean walked in the door.
* * *
Dean removed the empty glass from his lips and set it on the table. He was considering whether it had been too rash of a decision, telling Cas to leave. But no, he had to stick to his original rational that the two of them ought to detach a bit before going after Lucifer. After all, it was that god-awful codependency between him and Sam that had gotten them into this mess in the first place, and it would be just along his M.O. to screw up the mission trying to save his stupid angel.
The separation was a good idea, but he figured it would be best to go apologize to Cas, or at least make sure he hadn't taken in personally.
* * *
Taking it personally was clearly an understatement. In the hour since leaving Dean's cabin, Castiel had managed to empty-- what was that, three bottles of prescription medication lying on the floor? Dean cautiously approached the empty bed, where the hell had the angel gone off to? There. The floor on the opposite side of the bed held and unconscious and trembling Castiel. Fuck.
Dean swung around the end of the bed and scooped him up, an easy task considering how thin the last several years of drug abuse has left him. He stood up with Cas in his arms and found himself at one of those rare moments where he was at a loss of what to do.
But Castiel's shaking was getting progressively stronger, almost to a point where it was difficult for Dean to keep hold of him-- so he made up his mind quickly and set out towards Chuck's cabin.
* * *
Chuck instructed him to lay Castiel on the couch while he went to fetch the medics. But once Dean was alone in the cabin he couldn't stand watching his angel tremble so, so he sat down on the couch next to him and pulled him towards his chest. Maybe if he squeezed him tight enough, he would just stop shaking and wake up...
But that was not the case, for Castiel's body was still aggressively fighting the poison when Chuck returned with two paramedics. They weren't nearly as upset as Dean thought they should be, as they ushered him to the wall and set up their equipment around the couch.
Chuck's attempt at small talk failed. “I... I can't believe he's done it again...”
“What do you mean, again?” Dean's voice was deep and defensive.
“Well, you know about that,” Chuck ventured slowly while reading Dean's facial expression. “Wait, you mean he never told you? This is the third time this has happened.”
“When did this happen and why was I uninformed?” Dean ordered.
“It happened the a couple of months ago while you were gone on that scouting expedition. You know, the one where you stayed out an extra two weeks until you could lose the croats on your back and all of us here thought they'd got you. We went in to check on him after he hadn't emerged from his cabin for a few days and found him just like this,” Chuck shoved his hands as far into his jean pockets as they could go before continuing, “He said he wanted to tell you himself, sorry. I assumed he did.”
After a pause for thought Dean questioned softly, “You said this was the third time?”
“Err, yeah, over Christmas last year. I think you were gone then too... you better stop leaving, Dean,” he said with a strained laugh, “but you were here this time, what the hell?”
“Oh, fuck, Cas,” was all Dean said before walking along the wall to get a better look at what was happening on the couch.
* * *
When Castiel woke up, he took a moment to revel in how sore he was before opening his eyes. He was on the bed in Dean's cabin. What had happened? Dean had just told him to stay away from-- oh. Right, that. He lifted his head a few inches and saw Dean asleep in the chair next to him. Returning his head to the welcoming pillow, he decided to alert the world of his presence by making a sort of grunting sound. He heard Dean move in the chair and come over to check on him. He opened his eyes and stared at him as he leaned over and into his sight. Seeing his glance returned, a subtle smile landed on Dean's face.
“Thank God,” Dean said.
“God has had nothing to do with this,” Castiel replied plainly.
Dean said nothing, just leaned down and kissed him.
Castiel pushed the bead curtain of his cabin door aside and made no attempt to stop it's clacking and rattling as he crossed the room, beelining for the bed. He sprawled out on his stomach and reached for the drawer of his bedside table, removing the small canvas bag that held his hardly small drug collection.
Not fair not okay not me not now, the thoughts sped along as he fumbled with the childproof lid on the little orange containers.
He poured the remaining contents of the first bottle into the palm of his hand. It was only eight or nine times the recommended dosage, so he swallowed all of them with a swig of the half-empty bottle of whiskey that always sat on the table top.
The familiar sensation if the medicine sliding down his throat was calming in and of itself, enough so that Castiel let himself pause for a second and blink out the tears that were blurring his vision. Fuck. Why would Dean push him away now, after all they'd been through, and just when the end was finally in sight?
It didn't make sense and it hurt. How many pills had been in the first bottle again? Surely not enough to prohibit consuming more. The second bottle, slightly more full then the first, was emptied and discarded on the floor.
Time stopped moving. The room began to spin slowly. Dean's voice looped through Castiel's mind and sat bitter on his heart, “Cas, the mission's in one week. I don't want to see you until then, nor after. I think... I think we need to spend some time apart.”
The words stirred up pain strong enough to resonate through the chemicals in his bloodstream. Not good, Castiel thought as he reached into the bag for the third bottle. This one was full, though it was nearly impossible to open the lid now. Castiel shook a dozen into his hand, and got them into his mouth on the second try. He made the motions of getting more from the bottle, but it didn't work, as the bottle wasn't in his hand any longer. He saw it on the floor but determined that he no longer had the motor capacity to get up and retrieve them. He rolled to the far edge of the bed and reached but to no avail. Instead he tumbled to the floor and laid there rather aimlessly.
He had just begun to seize as Dean walked in the door.
* * *
Dean removed the empty glass from his lips and set it on the table. He was considering whether it had been too rash of a decision, telling Cas to leave. But no, he had to stick to his original rational that the two of them ought to detach a bit before going after Lucifer. After all, it was that god-awful codependency between him and Sam that had gotten them into this mess in the first place, and it would be just along his M.O. to screw up the mission trying to save his stupid angel.
The separation was a good idea, but he figured it would be best to go apologize to Cas, or at least make sure he hadn't taken in personally.
* * *
Taking it personally was clearly an understatement. In the hour since leaving Dean's cabin, Castiel had managed to empty-- what was that, three bottles of prescription medication lying on the floor? Dean cautiously approached the empty bed, where the hell had the angel gone off to? There. The floor on the opposite side of the bed held and unconscious and trembling Castiel. Fuck.
Dean swung around the end of the bed and scooped him up, an easy task considering how thin the last several years of drug abuse has left him. He stood up with Cas in his arms and found himself at one of those rare moments where he was at a loss of what to do.
But Castiel's shaking was getting progressively stronger, almost to a point where it was difficult for Dean to keep hold of him-- so he made up his mind quickly and set out towards Chuck's cabin.
* * *
Chuck instructed him to lay Castiel on the couch while he went to fetch the medics. But once Dean was alone in the cabin he couldn't stand watching his angel tremble so, so he sat down on the couch next to him and pulled him towards his chest. Maybe if he squeezed him tight enough, he would just stop shaking and wake up...
But that was not the case, for Castiel's body was still aggressively fighting the poison when Chuck returned with two paramedics. They weren't nearly as upset as Dean thought they should be, as they ushered him to the wall and set up their equipment around the couch.
Chuck's attempt at small talk failed. “I... I can't believe he's done it again...”
“What do you mean, again?” Dean's voice was deep and defensive.
“Well, you know about that,” Chuck ventured slowly while reading Dean's facial expression. “Wait, you mean he never told you? This is the third time this has happened.”
“When did this happen and why was I uninformed?” Dean ordered.
“It happened the a couple of months ago while you were gone on that scouting expedition. You know, the one where you stayed out an extra two weeks until you could lose the croats on your back and all of us here thought they'd got you. We went in to check on him after he hadn't emerged from his cabin for a few days and found him just like this,” Chuck shoved his hands as far into his jean pockets as they could go before continuing, “He said he wanted to tell you himself, sorry. I assumed he did.”
After a pause for thought Dean questioned softly, “You said this was the third time?”
“Err, yeah, over Christmas last year. I think you were gone then too... you better stop leaving, Dean,” he said with a strained laugh, “but you were here this time, what the hell?”
“Oh, fuck, Cas,” was all Dean said before walking along the wall to get a better look at what was happening on the couch.
* * *
When Castiel woke up, he took a moment to revel in how sore he was before opening his eyes. He was on the bed in Dean's cabin. What had happened? Dean had just told him to stay away from-- oh. Right, that. He lifted his head a few inches and saw Dean asleep in the chair next to him. Returning his head to the welcoming pillow, he decided to alert the world of his presence by making a sort of grunting sound. He heard Dean move in the chair and come over to check on him. He opened his eyes and stared at him as he leaned over and into his sight. Seeing his glance returned, a subtle smile landed on Dean's face.
“Thank God,” Dean said.
“God has had nothing to do with this,” Castiel replied plainly.
Dean said nothing, just leaned down and kissed him.