(8) A Winter's Tale

At five in the morning on Christmas Eve, Dean got into the gold Continental, which was now in the chilly hospital parking lot, and fired her up. Sam was already in the hospital, making sure Cas got dressed and down to the lobby; Dean was supposed to meet them at the hospital's front doors with the Continental (or "Goldie," as he kept calling her now).

Five a.m. was a painful early start. But it would be a long drive. The good news was that by yesterday evening, Cas had met all the doctor's criteria for release. He'd been lucid every time he'd woken. He'd eaten—not much, but he'd managed to get down some soup and pudding, and he'd kept it down. He'd even sat up for a little while in the evening— just long enough to watch half of "Frosty the Snowman" on the hospital room's little tv before he passed out asleep again, but apparently that was long enough to count as "patient can sit upright on own." (He came half-awake later muttering, "What happened? Did he melt?") He'd even managed to stand and shuffle the ten feet to the bathroom— though Dean and Sam had to support him on either side, and even with their help Cas had to stop and rest about every five steps.

He still was running a mild fever and obviously was very fatigued, and he still was dogged by a stubborn cough, but it was clear that he was on the mend. So Cas's doctor had okayed a release; and then the hospital staff had turned out to be surprisingly helpful about arranging a very-early-morning departure. Turned out they understood the desire to bring a patient home for Christmas.

Though the doctor then had subjected Dean and Sam to a long, detailed lecture about how Cas was still sick, and how he would still need a lot of care, and how important it would be to keep him warm and comfortable, and hydrated and fed, on the long drive. Sam and Dean had to swear over and over that they'd take good care of him before the doc had finally okayed the release.

It was still pitch dark, and very cold. Dean maneuvered "Goldie" out of the parking lot and up to the main front bay doors. The car felt good; the new tires were gripping well, and the engine was purring much better. Dean had also just checked the tire pressure, oil level and a few other things while Sam had done some last-minute fiddling with the interior arrangements, setting up some final touches on Cas's "angel nest," as Sam kept calling it.

Dean pulled up exactly in front of the bay doors. Cas and Sam weren't in sight yet in the glassed-in lobby, but Dean kept the motor running anyway, so that the car would be toasty warm for Cas. He twisted around to look into the back seat, checking the "angel nest".

An hour ago Sam had had the bright idea of filling up the footwells with Dean's and his own duffels, using them as packing material to level the footwells with the seat. Then he'd spread a couple of soft fleece blankets (one of his new purchases from the local Target) all the way across the seat and duffels. This had converted the back seat into a sort of extra-wide bed, so that Cas would be able sprawl any which way without having to worry about falling off the seat. Two new pillows were now leaning against one of the doors, also courtesy of Sam's Target shopping trip, and several more fleece blankets were flipped up over the front seat, ready to be deployed once Cas lay down. Cas's blue sleeping bag, freshly cleaned, was heaped up next to Dean, ready to be used as a top layer if necessary. (A little bag of Cas's extra clothes, now freshly laundered and folded, was also sitting in the front seat.)

Dean looked over a small set of items that were wedged between the duffels— things Sam and Dean had thought Cas might want during the drive. Bottles of water, a thermos of soup, a little supply of crackers, some fruit (the doctor had suggested some grapes and a banana), stacks of Kleenex and a little trash bag. Dean had added a sleep mask and earplugs, bought from the hospital pharmacy, in case Cas needed extra peace and quiet; and Sam had donated his ipod too, in case Cas might want to listen to any music. (Sam had even spent a good chunk of last night loading the ipod with stuff he thought Cas might like—classical music, folk songs, and some hopelessly foofy indie stuff. Dean had snuck on a few classic-rock hits at the last second.)

Pretty damn good angel-nest, thought Dean, looking it over. He patted his pocket, making sure he had all of Cas's meds as well: the precious antibiotics, along with codeine for the chest pain, cough meds, and sleeping meds. Though Dean was determined to only let Cas take the recommended dose. No triple doses, he thought to himself. No drugging yourself to sleep. Well, not unless a doctor says so.

Everything looked ready.

Dean shot Sam a quick text ("I'm out front. Goldie's ready."). He left the car running to keep it warm, and headed into the lobby.

A few minutes later Sam and Cas came into view, Sam pushing Cas in a wheelchair down the long hallway toward the lobby. Hospital regs required Cas to exit the front door safely in a wheelchair, which was probably for the best given that he probably couldn't have made it the fifteen feet to the car on his own.

Sam was wearing a brand-new, totally ridiculous, red-and-white Santa hat—another score from his Target shopping trip, which seemed to have gone a little out of control. (Most of the Impala, and half the Continental's trunk, were stuffed with Target bags. Though Dean had contributed his fair share of shopping bags himself, after a little outing yesterday evening.)

Cas, for his part, was now dressed in a brand-new set of plaid flannel pajamas. And a warm polarfleece jacket on top. Sam had also fitted Cas out with a pair of hospital slippers over Cas's own wool socks, and Cas's scarf and hat (all now freshly cleaned).

Cas looked pretty good.

He looked great, in fact. Most of all, he looked alive. And awake and alert.

Dean stood there watching Sam wheel Cas closer. Sam was bending over the wheelchair handles, saying something to Cas with a smile; Cas was craning his head to look up at Sam, nodding about whatever Sam was saying. Cas's hands kept drifting unconsciously over the new flannel pj's and the soft polarfleece.

Dean got a little choked up, watching them come closer.

"How you doin', Cas?" Dean said, when they finally got up to him.

"Sam just gave me the most wonderful presents," Cas informed him, gesturing down at his pajamas. "Look. Pajamas. The fuzzy kind with the right angles and stripes. They're soft. And warm. And, look, this fuzzy jacket too. It's extremely warm. And so comfortable!" Polarfleece had been Sam's solution for a jacket that would be both warm enough, if Cas needed to totter around outside, but also soft and comfortable enough for Cas to sleep in for most of the drive.

"The pj's look awesome, Cas," said Dean. "And the jacket's great."

"I believe it qualifies as rockin'," said Cas. "Uh... I think."

"It is rockin'," agreed Dean. "Nice job, Sammy. So, Cas, I got kind of a present for you too." Cas looked at him, and Dean said, "You know how we told you we'd be driving you back in the Impala?"

Cas nodded.

"Well, the plan's changed a little," said Dean. "I didn't want to promise anything till I got it all sorted out and made sure everything was roadworthy. But take a look." He pointed outside through the plate glass lobby windows, to where the Continental sat idling.

The car was absolutely gleaming. Its gold finish shimmered dramatically in the hospital's well-lit entrance bay. Bill had done a great job with the detail yesterday, and Dean had given it another wipe-down just half an hour ago.

Cas stared at the Continental for a moment, and then turned to Dean, his eyes searching Dean's face. "Is that... my car?"

"It is your car," said Dean with a grin.

Cas looked back at the car for a long moment and then tore his eyes away to look at Dean again. "You found my car? Are we bringing my car back to Kansas? I thought— I thought I'd have to leave it here. I didn't think it would work out. I didn't want to bother you with it—"

"No way would we abandon your car, Cas," said Dean. "You and me are gonna ride in it, actually. It's got more room for you. Sam'll drive the Impala, and you and me in Goldie here. I'll be your chauffeur and you can camp in the back seat. And, um, I fixed it up a little. Yesterday. Me and a mechanic I found." Cas was staring at Dean now, and Dean started to feel a little self-conscious.

Dean said, ticking the things off on his fingers, "Let's see. It's had an oil change, tuneup, new battery, new tires, new timing belt, full tank of gas, new antifreeze. And it's all freshly washed and vacuumed, inside and out. I cleaned up the saltine wrappers and everything. And, um... Come on and out and see." Dean had been trying to minimize how long Cas had to be out in the frigid air, but it was time to take him out. He held the door open, and Sam pushed the wheelchair out and up to the car.

Cas gripped his scarf tighter around his neck, shrinking a little against the cold, but he couldn't take his eyes off the car. "It looks beautiful," he said. "It's so shiny."

"That's what a wash and detail will do," said Dean, grinning. "Course, it'll get a little dirtied up again today during the drive, but I'll give it another wash once we get it back to Kansas." Dean opened the driver's door and pointed to the sleeping bag. "Also I washed your sleeping bag. It's all fluffy and clean now. And your clothes, they're here in this bag. All clean."

He looked back at Cas, just in time to see Cas lurch up out of the wheelchair to his feet. Sam jumped to grab his arm.

Cas tottered over to the car and rested one hand on the shining roof, Sam close by his side.

"Dean," said Cas, turning to look at him. "You washed my car? And my clothes?"

"Washed your clothes and cleaned your car, yep," said Dean, nodding. "I... uh... wanted to be useful. Um, Merry Christmas."

Cas suddenly had that puppy-eyes look. As if he were about to tear up.

Though in a good way.

"You don't have to be useful, Dean," Cas said, his voice low.

"I don't have to, but I wanted to," said Dean. "You know the feeling?"

Cas just looked at him for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly. He looked back at the car, tracing his hand along the shining gold roof, and a smile crept over his face.

"I think he likes your present, Dean," said Sam.

"I do," said Cas. "I'm so grateful, Dean... I'll admit I've gotten rather attached to this vehicle. It looks so very beautiful. Thank you. Thank you so much." He glanced back at Dean. "Do you like it? The car?"

"I think it's pretty damn rockin'," said Dean.

"So do I," said Cas, a real smile on his face now.

"And check out the inside!" said Sam, opening the passenger door. "You can lie down in the back. If you want to sit up in front for a while, of course you can do that too, it's your car, but, I set up sort of a nest for you to lie down in."

"An angel-nest," said Dean.

Sam was pointing into the back seat. "You won't be able to totally stretch out your legs, of course, but it ought to be pretty comfortable."

Cas peered inside, said, "Oh," and he crawled straight inside and flopped right down, face down into the two pillows.

"You like it?" asked Sam, leaning inside.

"Yes" Cas mumbled into a pillow, still face-down. After a moment he managed to turn onto his side, Dean helped him get his shoes off, and Sam shook out the blankets over him and pointed out all the water and food. Then Dean fluffed out the blue sleeping bag on top of him. He did have to fold his long legs up somewhat, but he fit pretty well.

Then Sam and Dean stood back at the door and looked in at him.

Cas was gazing up at them now from a big poofy pile of pillows, blankets and sleeping bag. All that was really visible of him was his face, framed against the new white pillows with the blue sleeping bag puffed out around his chin.

"That's a hell of an angel-nest," Dean said to Sam.

"Complete with angel," said Sam. "Cas, you comfortable?"

Cas nodded.

"Warm enough?" added Dean.

Cas nodded again. "Dean. Sam. I need to thank you."

"Just relax and enjoy the ride, tiger. It's your car, after all," Dean said, grinning down at him. He closed Cas's door carefully, conferred one last time with Sam.

Fifteen minutes later the Impala and the Continental— Baby and Goldie— were gliding onto I-90. East, toward the paling sky. Toward the new day.

******

It was a hell of a long drive.

They made good time, though. They zoomed through the eastern Washington desert first, zipped through the foothills and forests of Idaho (they were too far from Rexford to drop by for Cas to see his old haunts, but seeing the "WELCOME TO IDAHO" sign reminded Dean that he needed to ship a case of beer or two, or ten maybe, to Bryce the pizza guy.).

Cas dropped off to sleep almost immediately; Dean kept checking on him in the rearview mirror, and set an alarm on his phone to buzz when Cas needed to take his next antibiotic pill.

All was going well.

They got to the mountain passes in Montana in good time. Goldie slowed down substantially on the steeper sections. Dean had expected this; Goldie's forte was clearly not going to be surging up the rugged Rocky Mountains at top speed. Sam, in the Impala up ahead, slowed too to keep pace with then, and soon both cars were puttering along at a sedate 50mph. Which was fine.

Though Dean did flinch a little bit to see smaller cars start zipping past the Impala.

It was when a ten-year-old Geo Metro went flying past the Impala that Dean really flinched. And then he got an idea.

He flashed his lights to signal Sam to pull over at the next opportunity, and soon they'd come to a stop in a chain-up area, where a bunch of big semis were lined up with the drivers chaining up the big tires for the mountain roads. Dean hopped out of the car for a quick conference with Sam.

Two minutes later Dean got back in the Continental and pulled back out on I-90. Cas spoke up sleepily from the back. "Why did we stop?" He coughed a little, and pushed himself up to sit up and look around a bit. "Where are we? Where's Sam going?" For the black Impala was leaping ahead now, its power unleashed, bounding up the Rocky Mountains like a... Well, like an impala, actually, thought Dean with a grin. In moments it was out of sight.

"Oh, Sam's just going on ahead," said Dean. "That car's faster on mountains. I told Sam not to wait for us; that way, he can get to Kansas a bit before us and maybe get some dinner ready for us or something."

Or something.

"Oh, that's nice of him," said Cas. "That's very nice of him."

Dean had to suppress a grin. Sam was going to try to make up as much time as he could, not just on the mountains but on the plains as well, and Dean was going to deliberately dawdle a bit. But there was no need to explain that to Cas. Not yet, not till Sam texted Dean about whether he'd managed to make up enough time to implement Dean's secret plan.

******

It was a beautiful drive. Sometimes the Montana passes could be pretty dicey in winter, but today they'd been lucky with the weather; the snowstorm that had passed through yesterday had only dropped a few inches, the snowplows had sprung into action, and road conditions were perfect now. I-90 was dry as a bone. The mountain vistas, though, were spectacularly snowy. The sky was crystal blue, the sun bright, the dark trees and snowy world beautiful. Cas even sat up a little again and looked out when Dean started remarking about how beautiful it was.

Dean had to chuckle when he took the Continental over the Continental Divide, the invisible line at the pinnacle of the Rockies that divided the watersheds of the Pacific and the Atlantic. I-90 actually crossed the Continental Divide no less than three times, as it looped its way through the mountains, and on the third time Dean finally parked and took a picture of the Continental exactly straddling the Continental Divide. Cas woke up again when the car stopped, and rolled down his window to tell Dean, "But this watershed division is constantly moving, Dean. Just another million years or two and it'll be in an entirely different place."

"But right now it's here," Dean told him. "Smile, Cas! You're on top of the mountains in your gold car!"

Cas actually smiled. And Dean snapped the picture.

Soon Cas had collapsed back down onto his pillows and was fast asleep again. He only seemed to have enough energy to look out for about ten minutes at a stretch. He repeated the pattern all day: snoozing for an hour or two and then sitting up and looking around for a few minutes, maybe saying something to Dean, and then instantly dropping off again. Dean coaxed him to have some water and food whenever he woke. He did have bad coughing fits a few times. Twice it got bad enough that Dean pulled over to thump him on the back. And when they stopped for the first bathroom break, Cas got so worn out after just ten steps out of the car that he tried to sit right down in a snowbank, only a third of the way to the bathroom, muttering, "Need a break. Just a sec." But he made it (with Dean half-dragging him there and back).

"Sorry," Cas said, gasping, once Dean got him back to the car. "Sorry. I'm... still so... tired."

"We'll scatter chairs all over the bunker," Dean told him. "So you don't have to take more the five steps before sitting down.

"That'd be good," said Cas, and two seconds later he was asleep again.

******

By late evening Cas perked up a little and spent an entire twenty minutes at a stretch sitting up and looking around.

And he started to ask Dean questions.

Some were about Sam and Dean's recent hunts. And Metatron, and the angels, and Crowley.

But soon Cas had slid into a whole different category of questions.

"Dean... why don't men's clothes come with flower options? Stripes seem to be common, but not flowers. Is there some reason for that?"

"Dean... Do you remember that I saw a movie called Harry Potter And The Sorceror's Stone? Have you seen it? I keep wondering how it ends."

"Dean... What would you advise I do about the plates on this car? They still belong to Demetrios's father."

"Dean... How do people generally find housing if they are new in a town? I feel like I must not have gone about it the right way."

All the questions he'd had stored up. For so many months.

The odd thing was that Cas had actually figured out the answers to almost everything already on his own. He, in fact, had learned more about apartment leases in the last few months than Dean had ever known; his theory about the flowers had been the correct one; he'd already pretty much figured out what "rockin' meant.

Sure, there were a few questions Dean actually could help with— the car plates, for one thing. But for most of the questions, it seemed Cas already knew the answer, and just wanted to hear Dean's opinion too. Or, perhaps, just wanted to hear Dean talk a little bit, to keep Cas company.

So Dean talked.

Dean told Cas everything he could think of. Housing, food, clothes, cars, jobs. Dean described every house he'd stayed in; his most and least favorite motel rooms of all time; he described how he and Sam got by financially (something he'd never really described to Cas before), with their odd combination of pool hustles and poker, credit card scams, the occasional lucky find of dragon-gold or whatnot, and, rarely, an odd job or two.

Time after time, Dean had only just gotten rolling on some random topic or other, when he glanced in the mirror and discovered Cas had already fallen asleep again. Dean grinned to himself.

Never thought the sound of my voice droning on about car registrations would make a good lullaby for anyone, he thought.

Maybe it lets him feel like he's not sleeping in the car all alone again.

So Dean kept talking.

******

It was very late, nearly midnight, when they finally pulled up at the bunker.

Cas was asleep (as usual) when Dean pulled Goldie into the garage next to the Impala. Sam was waiting for them with a big grin.

"Wake up, Cas," Dean said, leaning over the seat to shake him on the shoulder. "We're there." Cas sat up slowly, yawning. Sam popped open the door and said, "Welcome home, Cas."

Cas looked at him and blinked. A curiously somber expression came over his face.

Sam offered him a hand, and Cas sat up and scooched over to the edge of the car seat. He set his stockinged feet down on the ground. For a long moment he just sat there, on the edge of the seat, looking down at his feet; the wool socks that he'd bought in Idaho, against the bunker garage's floor. He looked up at Sam, and then around at the bunker.

"You okay?" said Dean, coming around the car.

"I've pictured this so many times," said Cas, looking around the garage again. "Coming back. Coming to this garage and then walking down these stairs. Sam... Dean... Thank you for bringing me back here. Thank you. I really mean that."

"It's good to have you back, Cas," said Sam, patting him on the shoulder.

Dean was getting choked up again.

Cas twisted around, still sitting on the edge of the seat, and began to fiddle with the sleeping bag. Dean didn't understand what he was doing first, till Cas turned around with the entire blue sleeping bag bundled up in his arms.

"I was thinking," said Cas, his eyes just visible over a huge mound of puffy blue sleeping bag, "maybe I could sleep in one of the cots in one of those extra rooms? I can use my three-season bag here. Oh and... also. Would it be all right if I used one of these pillows?"

Dean and Sam exchanged a look.

Dean said to Cas, "Your choice, Cas. You could have any room. You can use that pillow. And I can definitely see how you'd be attached to that three-season bag."

"We've been through a lot together," Cas said, nodding.

"And I'm not going to ask what you mean by that," said Dean with a laugh. "But Sam and I have another option for you. I had an idea earlier, and Sam zipped back here to do more than just dinner. We had kind of a secret plan for you."

"I got in over an hour ago," said Sam. "To do some stuff for you. Wanna come see?"

Cas looked confused, but he nodded. They convinced him to put the sleeping bag down temporarily, and and then Dean and Sam guided him down the hallway.

He could only go very slowly, and he still seemed to need to sit down and rest about every twenty feet. Sam even went and grabbed a chair and started carrying it along with them. Across the garage they went, down the steps, into the bunker, through the kitchen. Down the hall to the bedrooms. Sam opened a door.

"This is your room, Cas," Sam said. "If you want it, that is."

Cas shuffled inside.

The whole room was glittering with Christmas lights. There were fir branches scattered everywhere, and poinsettias. Flowers, thought Dean, grinning. Flowers for Cas. Sam found some. Fantastic.

And there was a huge bed, neatly made. Completely covered with pillows.

Dean counted the pillows. Looked like Sam had gone for twelve in the end. They were heaped all over the bed— big square pillows, puffy down ones, a few little decorative ones. In all colors of pillowcases - some blue, some striped. And some with flowers. Just visible under all the pillows was a heap of extra blankets, neatly folded at the foot of the bed.

And there was an entire friggin' bookshelf full of towels. All of them new and puffy and white. Sam had even wheeled in a little tv.

Cas stopped dead in the doorway.

Hesitantly he drifted inside. He looked at the pillows. He looked at the towels, and the blankets.

"Fantastic, Sammy," Dean whispered to Sam, as Cas tottered over to the bed, picking up the pillows one at a time to look at them. Sam whispered back, "The rest of the stuff is in the library. For tomorrow. And the thing. I got the thing."

"You got the thing?"

"I got the thing. Just need an hour tomorrow morning to—"

They didn't have time to whisper anything else, for a second later Cas had staggered back over to them and was giving a huge long hug to Sam, and then one to Dean too.

"Thank you," he whispered hoarsely.

"I wanted to do more," said Sam. "I got some more stuff for you but I didn't have time to put it all up. Dean bought all the towels yesterday when he was out picking up your car, and I got the pillows— the whole Impala was full of towels and pillows, actually— and then I picked up the Christmas lights on the way here. The TV's that extra one from the back— I thought you could have it in here while you're recovering."

"The idea is, it's your very own motel room!" Dean said, grinning. "For as long as you like! Do you like it?"

"Thank you," Cas said again, his eyes shining with real tears now. He turned to look at the room again. "Thank you both. Thank you. Thank you."

"Merry Christmas, Cas," said Sam.

"Merry Christmas, Cas," said Dean, "And welcome home."