(3) A Winter's Tale

Cas's hand wouldn't warm up. This at last gave Dean something to think about— something other, that is, than the mental image of Cas sleeping alone outside in the September rain, shuddering with cold and wracked with hunger. And suffering through nightmares.

Nightmares about me, thought Dean.

Nightmares about me abandoning him.

After all he's been through, he was having friggin' nightmares about ME.

Focus, Dean chided himself. Cas's hand is cold. Do something about it.

Dean dragged himself out of the chair, and walked over to the nurses' station to ask about whether Cas was too cold. Two nurses came over right away. They were gratifyingly conscientious, checking Cas's temperature and vital signs carefully and adjusting all his blankets. They handed the notebook back to Dean (it had been sitting on Cas's legs) while they tucked the blanket edges around Cas's feet and covered up his shoulders a little more. Dean stood off to the side while they worked, clutching the notebook and feeling pretty useless.

The nurses then got into a complex discussion about whether they should still be trying to warm Cas up from his hypothermia or whether the major problem now was to make sure his pneumonia-related fever didn't take off. Apparently Cas actually was running a fever, at least in his "body core"; but somehow his "extremities" still hadn't fully warmed up from last night's hypothermia.

"So he needs more blankets AND he needs less blankets?" said Dean, half-heartedly quoting a line from one of his favorite comedies. Joking always made things more bearable, right?

Sam would've got the joke (it was from Walk Hard, a perennial favorite), but the nurses didn't. And Cas didn't, of course.

Cas would never get that joke anyway in a million years, thought Dean. Even if he were awake. Cas would've only frowned at Dean, probably with one of those confused-Castiel squints. And probably he'd have just added Dean's mystifying comment to his private mental list of the million or so confusing things he encountered every day -- all the other jokes Dean had never bothered to explain, and all the other details of twenty-first century life that Dean had never bothered to help him out with.

The joking impulse had died completely. Dean drifted over to the plastic chair in the corner and sat down there, watching the nurses as they fussed over Cas and got his hands and feet a little better bundled up. They then gave Dean a little pep talk; apparently Cas was "hanging in there" and "still fighting." Whatever that meant.

"Remember he's had a full day of antibiotics now," said one of the nurses. "We think he's got bacterial pneumonia, actually, not the viral kind, even though the flu started with a virus. That happens sometimes, you know — start with a flu, then get so weakened that the pneumonia bacteria somehow get in there and get a foothold. His immune system must have been pretty beaten down, though, for that to happen— was he under a lot of stress or something? Not getting a lot of sleep, maybe? Maybe he wasn't eating enough?"

Dean gave her a tiny nod, not trusting himself to speak, and the nurse said, "I suspected as much. You normally only see flu patients getting bacterial pneumonia like this if they're already immunocompromised or if they've been under a ton of stress. Anyway, the good news is, with the bacterial sort of pneumonia, sometimes you see improvement in just a day or two of the right antibiotic. What would be a really good sign is if he can start breathing on his own again, soon, today hopefully, because... well, it's not a good sign when... Well, anyway, don't give up hope."

The usual bullshit, thought Dean, but he nodded quietly. The other nurse gave him a little smile, tugged at Dean's hand to get him to stand up, steered him back over to the chair by Cas's side, plunked him down again, and finally they both left.

The room was quiet and empty again.

Click-psshhh.

Dean glanced down at the blue book that was still clutched in his hand. He ruffled through the pages gently. It was clear now that though it might have started as a list of things to tell Dean, it had evolved into something else entirely. Something personal; something private.

Something very private.

I better not read any more of it, thought Dean, closing the notebook again.

But then he thought:

Am I stopping reading because I'm respecting Cas's privacy, or just because it's too friggin' painful to face up to what I did to him?

And what if there's something in there that helps me pull him out of this coma?

There could be something in the book about why Cas had gotten sick. Or, just maybe, some way to help him out of it.

Dean wavered for another twenty minutes. He went and got another cup of coffee, and once again it went cold, and eventually he poured it down the sink like he had the other two. Finally he sat by Cas's side again, pulling the chair as close to the bed as he could get it. He checked the time. Four a.m.

Cas's hand and arm had been tucked under the blanket by the nurses. So Dean slid his own hand under the edge of the blanket, till he got hold of Cas's hand again.

Cas's hand still seemed a little cold.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said, glancing at Cas's face. "It's me again, Dean. Listen, I'm gonna sit here with you a while longer. I'm holding your hand... hey, um, can you feel my hand at all? How about, could you squeeze back if you can feel me?"

It seemed worth a shot. Dean waited a moment, just in case.

Click-psshhh. Cas's chest rose and fell. There was no other motion. His hand was limp in Dean's grasp.

"Okay, well... " Dean swallowed. "I'll just sit here with you, and... I'm gonna read the rest of your book, Cas. I'm sorry, I know it's private, but, I need to know what happened. If you don't want me to read it, well, maybe you can... wake up and tell me that?"

Dean paused for a moment again.

Click-psshhh.

"Or you can just add it to the list of things to beat me up about," said Dean with a sigh. "Which I know is a pretty friggin' long list at this point."

Click-psshhh.

Dean propped the notebook on the edge of Cas's bed with his free hand, opened it, found the spot where he'd stopped reading before— Cas's long, fruitless search for a job, on the last Friday of September — and turned the page.

This time he kept hold of Cas's hand as he read.

******

The next several days of job-hunting had been just as unsuccessful as the first. On Saturday Cas had trudged all the way up and down route 20, stopping at all the gas stations and motels along the way. He'd had no luck there. On Sunday the stores had been closed and he'd had to spend most of the day scrounging for food in dumpsters. The next Monday he'd worked his way down the decrepit stores downtown, a bit further away from the university. On Tuesday he'd actually trudged all the way out to the airport to inquire about jobs there. (Five miles out of town. One-way. On foot. Cas hadn't been able to afford the $1.25 for the bus.) On Wednesday he'd even walked out to a few of the little outlying farms.

Dean read every entry. Every store. Every place Cas had walked. Every day. Every long, tiring, discouraging, hungry, day, and every cold night.

Cas's inability to get warm was a recurring theme. The days weren't bad, but nights in early October in Idaho could be pretty frigid. Cas was soon making little entries each morning about how the night had gone. As Dean read each of these entries, each entry detailing how many times Cas had woken up shivering, whether or not he'd had to stand up and stumble around the park at three in the morning to get the circulation going to his feet, and how he'd kept drifting back to the thrift store just to look at the jackets and hats and scarves that he couldn't afford, Dean was soon holding Cas's hand even tighter. And pausing his reading now and then to doublecheck that Cas's blanket was still well-tucked around his feet and legs.

******

Friday, the fourth day of October. I don't think I can sleep through the night any more. I always wake up at two or three shivering too much to get back to sleep. But I made a discovery today while asking at the university library about jobs. Unfortunately it turns out students have priority for all the library jobs. But while there, I noticed two or three students napping over their books. I realized I might be able to nap there too! Of course I don't look the same age as a college student, but I saw, here and there, an older person as well— more like the age of my vessel. Perhaps an instructor or some sort of scholar. I tried it just now, spreading an assortment of books around myself at one of the little desk-cubbies and putting my head down on an open book. It's not very comfortable, but it's warm, and soon I did doze off, and got maybe one hour of sleep. I feel much better now.

Maybe I can do this every afternoon. I can sleep in the park till about two in the morning when the cold wakes me up; then I can walk in circles around the park, or walk up and down route 20, till the sun rises. At eight o'clock the library opens and I believe I could come in at mid-morning and sleep for an hour or two. I'll have to be discreet and I'll have to be very careful about staying clean and looking like I belong here, but I'm hopeful. It's so wonderfully warm in here.

******

The next Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, Cas methodically worked his way through the university campus, one department after another, asking for jobs. But students had taken all the jobs already. And all the usual obstacles arose: No experience. No id. No proof of citizenship. No references. No work history.

Still he kept looking. He scrounged food from dumpsters. Twice he got into a student dining hall before being detected by staff security; once he stumbled across a motherlode of free cookies at a physics department's seminar; and increasingly he turned to Bryce, at the pizza place, for free pizza slices late at night. But it was never quite enough food, and still he could find no job. Though at least now he could snatch short naps in the university library now and then.

******

Thursday the tenth day of October.

I don't think I'm the angel of Thursday any more.

Because, today was a Thursday but I had an awful setback. The librarian here woke me and asked for identification and looked quite skeptical about whether I belong here. I said I'm a linguist, and that I didn't have my identification with me (this was what I'd decided on earlier as my "cover story", as Dean and Sam would put it; and it's largely true, after all). She looked quite skeptical and picked up one of my books. I had a random assortment of books around me that had been left out on a table, and the one she picked up was actually in Greek (I hadn't even noticed) and she pointed to a sentence and asked me to translate it. I was still a little groggy and foolishly I translated it into Enochian (since that's the direction I tend to translate things, in my head. I still translate English into Enochian, mentally). So I translated it into Enochian, and from the look on her face I realized my error, so I panicked a little and translated the passage into English and then into Hebrew, then into Turkish, then into ancient Aramaic, then Khazar and had started on Scythian when she asked me to stop. She was laughing and she said I did indeed sound like a linguist.

But then she said there is no linguistics department at this school, and that none of those languages are taught here.

I should have noticed. I thought I just hadn't found that department yet. And when I could not produce any university identification she said I would definitely have to leave.

It was a blow.

She was kind about it though; she apologized and said it's a new rule. Something to do with "school shootings." They can't let people with no identification use the libraries anymore.

So I had to leave. I was planning on continuing my job search at the university but I admit I just went straight back to the park and sat there for a long time.

It's discouraging to find that the few skills I even still have aren't useful at all.

I don't know what to do.

The sun's just set. I'm just sitting here looking at the moon and listening to the owl. I should be coming up with a plan but I can't seem to think of anything.

******

Friday the eleventh day of October.

I couldn't sleep at all last night. Too cold. It went below freezing for the first time. I was afraid my hands and toes would freeze.

I'm going to have to call Dean for help.

I'll see if I can get through one more night.

******

Saturday the twelfth day of October - I'm watching a three-season sleeping bag.

I was walking all night last night, to stay warm, and I had to keep walking at dawn (I just couldn't get warm even after the sun came up) but at sunrise, to my surprise I ran across some people putting an assemblage of items on the grass in front of their house. It turned out they were setting up something called a "yard sale", a sale in their yard of things they don't want any more. The items are all used and it's quite an odd assortment, musical recordings and chipped mugs and so forth, but they seem very cheap, and, among all the paperback books and other things, there is A SLEEPING BAG. It's old and has a rip that's been somewhat messily sewn up, and is somewhat dirty, but certainly no dirtier than I already am.

Unfortunately they've priced it at five dollars. But I asked them if they would consider accepting $1.99. It's all that I have; it's the very last of the money Dean gave me. They warned me it is "just a three-season bag, not a winter bag", which is a bit worrisome but is still certainly better than nothing at all; and they said they would consider lowering the price to $1.99 if it hasn't sold by the end of the day.

So I'm waiting across the street watching the three-season sleeping bag.

******

12:35pm. A girl is looking at the sleeping bag.

She's picked it up. She's asking the price.

AH, she's put it back down!

She's left! She didn't buy it.

******

2:45pm. A young man is looking at the sleeping bag.

He's asked about the price too.

He's carrying it around. This is looking quite bad.

He's looking at a small collapsible tent too.

Now he's looking back and forth between the bag and the tent.

He's put the sleeping bag back down! He's picked up the tent.

He bought the tent but not the bag! Such a relief.

******

4pm - I GOT IT - the man of the house came over and said they would accept the $1.99 since I've been waiting here all day. I'm holding it now on my lap! I've got this notebook propped on top of it.

I own a sleeping bag.

I feel so much warmer even just holding it on my lap. I'm completely out of money now but I feel so encouraged.

It's blue. I like the color; it's almost the same shade of blue as the tie I used to have. It's shaped rather like a cocoon. It comes with its own little blue bag and squishes up to fit inside.

******

It's the next day. Sunday the thirteenth day of October. I SLEPT THROUGH THE WHOLE NIGHT. The sleeping bag is incredible! Apparently fall is one of the three seasons that it is designed for.

Truth be told it's still not entirely warm— it dipped below freezing again last night and so it did get chilly, and there was frost on the outside of the bag when I awoke. But the difference is astonishing. I didn't have to worry about my hands freezing. I feel so much better today.

This also means I won't have to call Dean yet. He won't have to find out how poorly I've done. (Not yet, anyway.) Maybe I do still have a chance of finding a job on my own before winter really closes in. And accomplishing my goals. Or some of them, at least. I've realized maybe I can't accomplish the bigger ones, maybe not this year anyway. But if I could even just find my grace again. Or if I could even just join the Winchesters again; if I could be of some use—

Maybe I should re-evaluate the mission. And the goals and strategy.

MISSION: Reverse some of my mistakes? At least some?

SPECIFIC GOALS: Recover my grace if any remains, earn Dean's respect and friendship back (if possible) and also Sam's too (if possible).

STRATEGY to accomplish these goals. Still need to earn money to cover immediate needs (continue sleeping in park in meantime, with three-season sleeping bag); then find housing. I doubt now that I'll be able to purchase a car; now that I know more about prices of things, I fear it's a choice between housing and a car, and it's apparent that I need housing more, at least for the winter. But once I find housing maybe then I can contact Dean and Sam and convince them that I'm still useful.

TACTICAL APPROACH FOR THIS WEEK: I absolutely must get a job. But I haven't made any progress at all at this task, though I've been at it for weeks now. Also I'm beginning to worry that the cleanliness issue will resurface. I've been sponging my vessel off in the town library bathroom. That library's too small to sleep in (it's a very tiny library and isn't open very often and has no cubicles like the university library, just some wooden chairs), but it is open for at least a few hours each day and I found I could use the bathroom to clean up quickly. I found I could shave there too, and I've washed the new shirt in the bathroom sink twice,. But I'm worried I need a real shower. And worried my pants may be too dirty. This may start affecting my job prospects again.

But the bigger issue is this continual problem of lack of job experience, and references, and an address, and identification. Not being human, basically.

Am I going to have to lie?

******

It's late on Tuesday the fifteenth day of October. Two days since last entry.

I have been through the entire town all over again and still have had no luck with a job but something very encouraging just happened. Today was another long day of not finding any work. But I stopped in at the pizza place at closing time. Bryce was there again and tonight he had saved 3 slices for me! One slice had pepperoni slices on top, one had pieces of pineapple and pieces of bacon intermixed, and one had mushrooms. They were all just fantastic. Bryce said I could sit inside in the warmth to eat them, while he closed up the shop, which was more wonderful still. I was still eating the 3rd slice when the shop was all closed up, so I tried to hurry, so that he could go home, but he told me to take my time.

Then he asked how my job search was going and what places I had looked at. I told him of the difficulties I've had and showed him my list in this book, the list of places I've looked for jobs. I tried to grab it back when I realized he might read the details of the futon store incident and the parts about where I'm sleeping (I've finally realized that people become quite leery of me if they detect I am sleeping outside.) But he'd already noticed the first several entries from Friday and one of the very first was the store that had required "cash register experience," the Gas-n-Sip.

Bryce then said, "Come around the counter," and he showed me how to operate the cash register! And the credit card machine too!

I think I could manage it. There's quite a lot of finicky details, things that have to be done in a precise order, and things about "bar codes" and "refunds" and different types of cards, and other complications. But he said it's not too difficult to learn if one is careful.

I thanked him and he said, "I just hate to see someone dropping weight like you are when you're trying so hard. You're not even dressed for the cold." This was somewhat embarrassing but I was very grateful nonetheless.

******

I GOT A JOB. I got a job! I've been hired for a job! It's Thursday the seventeenth day of October and apparently Thursday is still a good day for me, for I HAVE GOTTEN A JOB.

The job is as a "Sales Associate!" The rate of pay is $7.25 per hour. It's at the Gas n Sip store. What happened was, I went back to re-inquire at all the places that involve cash registers, because now, thanks to Bryce, I am able to say, truthfully, that I have "cash register experience" (though I'll admit I didn't say how much). It became clear that the Gas-n-Sip store manager, whose name is Nora, is actually rather desperate. When I came in this morning she looked quite tired and the store seemed disorganized and the bathroom badly needed cleaning. Apparently some of her student employees have quit due to problems with class schedules, and she is having difficulty getting students to cover the early shift in particular because most of them have morning classes, and she has a small child and can't always come to the store. She looked very frazzled. The moment I said I had "cash register experience" she had me fill out a job application.

I'm afraid I had to lie on several parts of the job application. But she doesn't seem to have checked any of it, for she called my cell phone later today, and offered me the job.

It's the first time anybody has called me on this cellular phone, actually. Since Dean hasn't called yet.

She wants me to work morning shifts, and some afternoons, for thirty hours every week! $7.25 per hour x 30 hours = $217.50 in just a single week! Over two hundred dollars! It seems such a huge amount. In four weeks that will add up to $870!

That's almost enough for a motel room. Like the ones Sam and Dean stay in. The cheapest one in town would be $960/month.

I start immediately, tomorrow morning at six a.m. Nora warned me I won't be paid till the Saturday after next, so I'll still have to sleep in the park for nearly two weeks more, but by the end of October I will have some money! And I'll be able to say, truthfully, to people renting rooms, that I have a job and a source of income. I may be able to get a room for November first. Or, just maybe, perhaps I could find a motel room I could afford. Motel rooms come with furniture and have a real bed.

Thank goodness the cell phone Dean gave me has a little alarm clock built-in, so I'll be able to be on time. Though I'm a little worried about how to clean myself up so early. I'm still quite concerned that my pants have gotten dirty (fortunately they're dark-colored, but still) - I have only the 1 pair of pants. So, I'm in the town library now and I just handwashed the pants in the bathroom sink and wrung them out as best I could, and now I'm standing on the heating vent, while my phone charges. The librarian Audrey is looking at me a little oddly—I fear it's obvious that my pants are wet, but I'm fairly confident that I don't smell, and I'm hoping she'll let me stand here for another couple hours till they get a little drier.

While I wait for the pants to dry, I've got a lot of new things I'm concerned about that I would like to ask Dean when he calls:

Things to ask when Dean calls.

1. ask if he ok / Sam ok

2. could I come back. I can offer:

- combat skills

- Enochian

- wash things. Wash clothes, wash dishes, wash Dean's car

3. other:

- Need to ask D/S if they can tell me anything about: how the gasoline machines work, how the drink and food machines work, many questions about cash transactions, how stores operate in general.

- Also I believe I will need to pay even more attention to acting more human. Apparently this job requires "people skills" — Nora asked about this specifically— and I know I'm still poor at this, though I've been trying to learn. I never was able to leave the garrison much in recent millennia, really. Balthazar kept sneaking down to Earth; I never did, for I had to stay on duty. I should have gone with him. Anyway I know I am missing many nuances of the culture and I know I still don't understand many of the modern idioms and gestures.

- The lying. It is bothering me that I had to lie about my qualifications. I did not actually lie verbally, but I must confess I phrased things in a deliberately misleading way, such that Nora was given the impression that I have worked at a pizza store for many years and have had jobs before that. And then of course I put a great deal of false information on the job application.

Does Dean need to know about this.

One of the worst things I ever did was

******

It's a little later. Pants still drying. Had to stop and think for a while.

One of the worst things I ever did was

******

It's remarkably hard even just to write about it, even now, all this time later.

One of the worst things I ever did was lie to Dean and Sam, during the war with Raphael. I lied to them repeatedly. And Sam was badly hurt, when I took his mental wall down. It was all part of a desperate strategy, of course, to try to win the war, and at the time I truly thought it was what I had to do; but I believe that to be the core of Dean's loss of faith in me. I still remember the look on his face when he discovered I had lied to him. He had trusted me, till that moment.

I remember that look on his face so vividly.

I dread to think of Dean's reaction should he discover that I have lied again. And Sam, these days, apparently does not even wish to speak to me again.

Dean lies frequently, of course, and so does Sam; but I dearly want not to lie. Wanted to be a good human. Also Dean and Sam's lies are mild. Also they do not need to redeem themselves as I do.

But now I have had to lie. I lied in 8 places on the job application: name (I put Steve Smith), the "social security number" (I put one that I remembered from seeing another person's application in another store), citizenship, work history, address, skills, references, education (I put the local university). Is this 8 lies or 1? So, my questions for Dean are:

- How severe a sin have I committed with these 8 lies? (or 1)

- As a human, how does one atone for sins like 8 lies? (or 1).

- Could Dean forgive me for these 8 new lies? (or 1).

- Might he, or Sam, ever forgive me for what happened in the past, as well? Could this ever be possible? Is there anything I could ever do to repair our friendship? Or has it been irreparably broken?

******

This was another of those points where Dean had to pause, and set the book down, and spend a while just trying to warm up Cas's hand.

"Forgave you long ago, you idiot," muttered Dean at last. "You fucked up, yeah. Pretty badly. But you were trying to save the world, did you forget that part? And it was, like, your first time ever doing anything on your own. Very first step out on your own and you end up having to lead the armies of Heaven?" Dean had to sigh. "Dammit, Cas. Do you ever give yourself a break?"

After a moment he added, "And, Cas... You've paid the price like ten times over by now."

******

There were twelve full pages next of Gas-n-Sip details. First was a set of astonishingly lovely hand-drawn diagrams of every machine Cas had had to learn how to operate. Each illustration was a magnificently detailed pencil sketch that wouldn't have been out of place, Dean thought, in an art studio. The cash register, the credit card machine, the gas pump register inside, the outside gas pump controls, the slushee machine, the hot-dog heater, the coffee machines, the walk-in refrigerator, the coolers... everything was meticulously illustrated, complete with delicate countershading and stippling.

There was a floor plan of the whole store, and diagrams of what went where on every shelf. There were detailed protocols for every aspect of running the store: procedures for opening and closing, for ordering supplies, for restocking shelves, for preparing food (lots of notes here on food safety: "Nora says it's unsafe to eat moldy food? Really? Check with Dean"), for taking inventory, for cleaning the floor and washing the windows, for handling cash. Right down to an astonishingly detailed list of exactly how to clean the bathroom.

On one page Cas had mapped out a hand-drawn calendar with the rest of October and all of November, all the days of the weeks neatly laid out in a precise grid, with all his work shifts penciled in. Along with the amount of money he calculated he would earn each day.

But he hadn't accounted for taxes, Dean noticed.

Cas had apparently been studying the Gas-n-Sip television as well. One whole page was covered with out-of-context quotes from tv shows. (Dean gave a little huff of laughter to see "the sheriff is back in town" scribbled in one corner, along with a careful note about the source - turned out Cas had picked up the "back in town" phrase from an old Bonanza rerun.) He'd noted down pieces of ad jingles, cliched phrases from soap operas, and even notes on gestures ("thumbs-up sign = goodwill? Spotted on the television in 3 different shows. Think I saw D/S do this a few times? Ask them about this one.").

And after one week of work, on the following Thursday, Cas had realized he might be able to afford housing.

******

hursday the twenty-fourth day of October.

I found a motel room I can afford!

I can't move in yet but it's all arranged. It's at the Mountaineer Inn on the outskirts of route 20. It'll be a several mile walk but it'll be a room of my own. I found that they offer a much discounted rate if I guarantee that I will stay for a minimum of a month. Then it comes to $800 per month! They were even willing to show me one of the rooms, and I picked out one. It's just like the ones Sam and Dean stay in. It has its very own shower with hot water and there's even a little kitchen with a microwave, and one of those tiny little refrigerators with the miniature alcohol bottles that Dean likes, and even a little stove. It's got an incredibly gigantic bed. The bed has 4 pillows and 2 blankets and a bedspread and there's an additional blanket in the closet, and in the bathroom there are six white towels (2 big ones, and 2 medium ones and 2 small square ones), and they're all very clean and white, and also a brand-new bar of soap and a vial of shampoo, and the whole room is heated and it has curtains on the windows. There's a sofa and a little table and chair. There's a television too.

Maybe I can show it to Sam and Dean if they come to visit someday.

That reminds me. I've learned so many new things! I think I could be more useful now. I should be prepared to describe how much I've learned:

Things to ask if Dean calls.

1. is he ok / Sam ok

2. could I come back

Skills now include:

- combat skills

- wash dishes

- Enochian

- Can afford my own motel room. 6 towels, 3 blankets, 4 pillows. I would be happy to share the towels and blankets and pillows if they need any. I would be more than happy.

- wash bathrooms, floors, counters, dishes, clothes, Dean's car

- change light bulbs

- I can do inventories. Inventory of ammunition, Men of Letters library?

- Can operate cash machine, various food machines (not sure if useful, or not?)

- Can prepare hot dogs, nachos, frozen burritos and blue drinks.

- I know how to make coffee now.

- Many other Sales Associate skills! Some of this must be useful. I hope.

- Know code for overriding Gas-n-Sip gas price setting. Could set it to 0.01. But I don't want to steal.

- I have many people's credit card numbers now... No. Don't want to steal.

3. other:

- verify that I am understanding the thumbs-up sign correctly

- what does it mean when one person holds one hand up at approximately shoulder height and another person slaps it with their own hand. I've seen this several times now on the television at the Gas-n-Sip, and today I witnessed it once in person. It seems like perhaps a very short ritual battle? Except that both people seemed friendly to each other. Is this a gesture of friendship? Would the same people also spank each other, as that pizza man did to the babysitter in that movie? It seems similar — both cases are slaps, correct? I have the feeling that I'm missing some nuances here.

- what does it mean when one person says to another "I'll get this round" at a bar. Also saw this on the television. I think this means the person is offering to pay for more beer for other people? Is this also a gesture of friendship? Would a person that did the ritual slap-battle also do the thumbs-up and the "I'll get this round"? (NOTE: Try to assess if it would be appropriate if I did any of these things with Dean or Sam. Could I buy bottles of beer for them someday, maybe?)

Would like to disentangle gestures of friendship from those that are not friendship; also need to identify those that are appropriate for the same sex vs opposite sex.

- advice on how to dry out a sleeping bag when you get back to the park at night after working all day and discover your sleeping bag has been rained on and the garbage bag that you'd put it in had a hole in it near the top and it's been sitting in a bag of cold water all day. If you sleep in a damp sleeping bag, how bad is that for one's health?

- Moldy food? Nora has given me strict rules about not serving "moldy or expired" food to customers. She says this is unsafe. But all the food that I eat myself is in this category. Is this truly unsafe? Specifically: how far past expiration date can one drink dairy products? OK to eat cheese that has mold on it? I've been scraping the mold off - is this ok? How about meat that has become green and smells foul?

- Why has there been such a delay in Dean calling? Is everything okay? I realized today it's been two months since I last saw him. But the only person who's called my phone has been Nora.

******

Saturday the twenty-sixth day of October.

I'm not going to be able to move into the motel room.

At last I have been paid, but it turns out it is much less than I had calculated due to "federal and state taxes and social security withholdings". I didn't realize this. Nora had to explain it. She seemed puzzled that I didn't know about it; I had to struggle to hide my dismay, since it became apparent that this is standard. Also it turns out the money comes in the form of a paycheck and the only place I can find to change the check into cash demands quite a high fee for what seems a small service.

My rate of pay is decreased over a third by these factors.

I didn't anticipate this in my calculations. I spent the afternoon in the library redoing my calculations. No matter how I work the numbers it appears I can't afford the motel room.

I'm going to have to keep sleeping outside in the park.

I'm trying to adjust to this idea. This was such a difficult realization. It has felt almost like a physical blow. I've been sitting here in the library just looking at the numbers and trying to accept that I will not be able to afford a room in November. November begins next week. The affordable rate for the motel was a special monthly rate. The daily rate is much higher. I could, I suppose, stay there on very cold nights? - But after looking at my calculations I will need to save all my money just to afford a room for December.

I'll have at least another month in the park. I am very fond of my blue three-season sleeping bag - it seems like a friend now - and it has made a huge difference, but it's only a three-season bag and the fourth season, winter, is approaching rapidly. Once again I have been waking up in the early mornings shivering.

It feels almost as if the winter is a predator that is stalking me. Every time I find a way to be a little warmer (the cardboard, the garbage bags, the sleeping bag), the nights get colder still and it always seems I end up just as cold as before. It's disheartening.

Also it's terribly unpleasant when it rains even despite the garbage bag roof that I arranged in the big bush. The sensation of exhaustion after a rainy cold night is quite overwhelming and I have been making mistakes at work, if it's the morning after a very cold night. The till was short $32 yesterday and I know this was why. Nora was upset. The $32 will come out of my pay.

I CAN'T lose this job. I've GOT to find a better place to sleep so that I can focus more at work.

******

At the bottom of this entry, Cas had a drawn a little sketch that Dean could not decipher at first. A row of little shapes. Four blobs, and three big rectangles, and then a set of six smaller rectangles and squares.

Finally Dean realized it was a drawing of four pillows, and three blankets, and six towels of different sizes. All lined up next to each other.

******

Monday the twenty-eighth day of October. I've had an idea.

I woke up this morning at 3 a.m. extremely cold with my hands and feet numb. Usually when that happens I walk around the park. I was doing so and was on my 4th lap around the park, wearing the sleeping bag across my shoulders, when it occurred to me I could simply go to the Gas-n-Sip a few hours early! And rest inside! Nora has been letting me open the store all by myself — nobody will know if I go in a little early!

I did so - I'm there now - got here at 4 a.m. - and I managed to get a few hours of sleep in the stockroom before 6 a.m. when I opened.

And then I had a revelation: I can sleep in the stockroom at the Gas-n-Sip for the entire night! (well, from midnight to about 5:30 a.m., anyway). Nora won't know! It will be much warmer there. It's always kept above fifty degrees Fahrenheit at night.

I just have to be careful that Tyler and Cory, who work evening shifts, don't see me. Tyler always closes at 11:30pm promptly; Cory, on his evenings, sometimes closes a few minutes early. They both are gone by approximately midnight. I'll wait behind the dumpster in the back lot till I'm sure I've seen them leave, and then I'll enter and sneak into the stockroom and sleep there. I should be able to get five-and-a-half hours of sleep at least! I think I can hide the sleeping bag behind the tool locker.

******

It's late Monday, the twenty-eighth day of October. Or early Tuesday, I suppose. I've done it. I'm in the stockroom. It's just past midnight. I'm going to spend all night here.

It's so incredibly warm here! It must be at least fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit.

It's amazing to be warm. It's incredible what a difference it makes.

It's not quite as nice as the motel room would have been, of course. I admit I still keep thinking about that motel room. But this will be fine. It's fifty-five degrees and I have my three-season sleeping bag. Also there's plenty of food in the dumpster (the moldy cheese and so on, that Nora discards), plus the pizza slices sometimes and the university cookies (it turns out that the physics department has cookies every Tuesday afternoon). I'm being diligent about not stealing any of the food from the Gas n Sip itself, but once the food is in the dumpster I decided I can take it. I have some cheese right now that is hardly moldy at all. So I'm fine for food.

I have a new plan. I think if I save all my money for all of November, I will be able to afford a rental room on December 1st. Not a nice motel room like Sam and Dean use, and it won't have the towels and pillows or any furniture, but I think I could find one of those student rental rooms that are in a shared house. Some students leave in December and apparently some rooms come available, and this time I'll be able to say, truthfully, that I have a job and some income. And I think I'll be able to fit in a little better, if I practice the things like the thumbs-up and the ritual slap battle and all the new phrases I'm learning.

It won't be as nice as Sam and Dean's motel rooms. But it'll be my own.

******

Wednesday the thirtieth day of October. It's late, just before midnight, and I'm settling down in the stockroom again for the night. This is my second night here. I still can't get over how warm it is. Also I found I can wash myself fairly well in the bathroom.

******

Still Wed. night. I'm still awake. It's extremely quiet and dark here. Much more quiet and dark than the park. I can't see the stars or moon anymore. It's peaceful but also very solitary. I don't miss the rats or the rain or the cold, but I find I do miss the owl, and the jays that used to come hopping around my bushes in the morning.

It's funny, I used to like to watch the jays flit around in the mornings. Even though it's always a little difficult watching how easily they fly.

I thought about calling Dean, to tell him I'm out of the cold now, but did not. I'd rather wait till I've got a room of my own on December 1st. Then I can show him my room, if he ever comes to visit.

******

Thursday the thirty-first day of October.

Today is a Thursday and it should be a good day for me. But today is also the holiday known as Halloween, or Samhain as it's also called.

This is only my 2nd Halloween on Earth. They did not used to celebrate this particular holiday in the old days. And I missed most Halloweens of the last six years - last year I was in Purgatory, the year before I was still in that hospital, the year before in Heaven, and so on. The only other Halloween I've really witnessed firsthand was the one just after I pulled Dean out of Hell, back when the sixty-six seals were being broken.

So of course all day today I've been remembering that Halloween. Cory asked for the night off and I've been working the night shift, and students have been coming in all evening with strange outfits. Some dressed as monsters, some as demons.

Two were dressed as angels. Both female. They had useless little fake wings made of wire and fake feathers and glitter. I thought the fake wings were absurd. Then I realized they were better than the wings I have now, which is, of course, no wings at all.

I recall Dean's expression when I showed him the shadows of my wings, shortly before that Halloween.

I remember flying him out of Hell. Funny now to think that I was selected for that task because I was considered the best combat flyer. I'm ashamed to say I was a little proud — that I was the best flyer, that I was the one selected to fly the Righteous Man out of Hell. I admit my flight capabilities used to be a point of pride.

I loved it so. Flying.

Pointless to think of it now. I won't ever fly again. Like the passenger pigeon, I'm

******

It's later. Nearly midnight. Must stop this. Must stop thinking about wings. I'll go to sleep now.

******

It's one in the morning. Still can't sleep.

That Halloween was also the very first time I met Sam. I remember, very clearly, the room I met them in; it was a motel room, of course, with purple walls (there was a hex-bag hidden in the wall), and a green couch. I was wearing Jimmy's coat and the blue tie. Both of which are long lost now.

I was reluctant to shake Sam's hand. He noticed, too. Now that I understand better what that gesture means, I feel bad to remember it.

Those were some of the last days before I rebelled. I still trusted in the justness of Heaven, back then; in the rightness of my orders. I obeyed and I followed my orders. I still believed that God was with us. Yet the very next day I sat in the park and told Dean I was having doubts. Uncertain as to what was right and what was wrong. I don't think he's ever realized what a risky admission that was. It was blasphemy, for an angel; it was an unforgivable admission. I had told that to no other soul in all of creation; not my fellow soldiers, not my superiors, not my friends, nobody. And there I was saying it to a human.

I was an angel. I had my grace, and my wings. I could still fly. But I had doubts.

In those days Dean still was somewhat in awe of me, I believe. That didn't last long.

******

Still can't sleep. It's nearly dawn.

Things to ask if Dean calls:

1. is he ok / Sam ok

2.

3.

Dean is not ever going to call.

I've known it for some time.

Why do I keep making these lists?

******

Finally fell asleep and I had a dream. I dreamed I was walking through the snow looking for shelter. There was a howling blizzard. Somebody was stalking me; and finally I saw there were skeleton-wolves all around me, with red eyes, getting closer. I ran a long way through snowy woods, just ahead of them, and then at last I saw windows up ahead glowing with golden light. It was the bunker. When I looked in a window I could see Sam and Dean. They were wearing the fuzzy shirts; they looked well. They looked comfortable and warm. There was a large amount of food spread out around them. Huge amounts of food— cheese that had no mold, lots of pizza with all sorts of toppings— and also stacks of white towels, and blankets, and piles and piles of pillows, all just heaped around on the floor. Sam was reading something on his little computer and Dean was drinking one of the drinks that he likes, and they were laughing about something.

In the dream I knew that I had to get into the bunker to safety. I raised my hand to break the window. But I realized, if I broke the window I'd let the cold and the snow in. And I'd let the wolves in.

Dean looked up at the window. It seemed he looked right at me. But then he turned away. At first I thought he'd turned away on purpose. But then I realized he'd only seen his own reflection; he'd never truly seen me at all.

In the dream I turned and walked away, toward the woods. All the wolves were waiting for me at the edge of the trees. Dozens and dozens of them.

Then I woke.

It's still surprising to me how human emotions affect my vessel physically. It still takes me by surprise, to find my heart racing or my muscles trembling; or, my eyes stinging and my lungs seizing, so that my vision has blurred and it's difficult to breathe. It's still confusing when these things happen; I'm still not used to it. And it takes so much longer to get back under control when one's body is reacting so unpredictably.

This time, I'm not even sure which of the emotions was causing all the physical reactions. I never did get back to sleep. It's five a.m. now; I've opened the store early.

Everything's fine. I've got a warm place to sleep and I have a job and a three-season sleeping bag, and I've got some cheese and a cup of hot coffee, and after another month maybe I can rent a room. Everything's fine. I'm fine.

******

Dean hadn't been able to read very fast— he kept having to take breaks and close the book for a while and then open it up again— and when he finally glanced at his phone to check the time, he found it was already six in the morning. Sam would be showing back up soon.

He closed the book and set it, once again, on Cas's legs, and then he set one hand on Cas's head, hoping to wake him a little, and held Cas's hand with his other hand. He leaned close to Cas's head and spoke straight into Cas's ear, hoping against hope that, somehow, Cas might hear him.

"Cas. You listen to me," said Dean. He heard his own voice come out in a gruff growl, and he thought, I sound angry.

I AM angry, Dean realized. But not at Cas. Not at Cas at all.

He forced himself to take a couple breaths, and then said to Cas, in a softer voice, "You listen up. You're gonna get better, you hear me? You're gonna wake up and you're gonna start breathing on your own today, and you're gonna beat this thing. This pneumonia and everything. You're getting antibiotics, so you're gonna be fine, you hear me? But you gotta fight, Cas. I know you can fight. You're a hell of a fighter; you've always been a fighter; and I know you've fought so hard for months now, but you gotta keep fighting just a little longer, you listening? You've gotta fight a couple more days, okay? Till you beat this thing."

Dean took another breath. He squeezed Cas's hand, and stroked Cas's hair, and went on:

"You gotta fight, Cas. You can't give up. You got that? You gotta start breathing on your own. You have to. Cause— cause, look, Cas, I need you to fight, and, Cas, my god, you had it so right, maybe I never really saw you— maybe I never did. Cas... I lost Kevin and I've about lost Sam and if I lose you— if I lose you too— if I lose you like this— after dumping you into that freezing cold hell— if I lose you like this, I am not gonna be able— I am not going to be able to— to, um—"

Dean closed his eyes, thinking, But it's not about me.

"You gotta fight, Cas, you gotta wake up. You gotta get better and then I'll take you back to the bunker, and, Cas, I'll buy a thousand white towels for you, I swear, and all the blankets you want, and a million pillows and the best cheese ever, and a bed a mile wide, and... and Sam deserves to get to see you too, you know, he didn't even know I sent you away, Cas, all that stuff you were thinking about how Sam didn't want to see you is total bullshit, he didn't even know... and... look, you gotta wake up just long enough for me to tell you how sorry I am, okay? Please, will you just give me that much time? Will you wake up and just let me tell you how friggin' sorry I am? Wake up, Cas. Start breathing on your own. Wake up. Please."

Click-psshhh.

******