The Flock (SPN / destiel)

your heartbeat with mine: part 3

"I'm driving. That means I control the radio," Castiel argued, switching back to NPR. The Impala cruised down US-24 at a respectable seventy miles an hour.

"And I'm vetoing this station. Passenger's rights."

"Since when does the passenger have rights?"

"Since you drive like an old geezer and turn on talk radio."

"It's informative."

"It's geriatric," Dean said. "Sammy listens to that crap." He turned the dial and the radio spit out static.

"I don't feel like arguing, so put on one of your tapes or switch it off."

Dean put on Journey's Greatest Hits. He belted out the lyrics to Faithfully with one arm hanging out the window. The wind tossed his hair and he mimed singing into a microphone.

"You regretting this yet?" he asked as Steve Perry crooned, "Oh, girl, you stand by me."

"I'm beginning to," Castiel said, biting down to keep from smiling. He checked the rear-view mirror, but Dean saw through the farce and laughed heartily, gripping Castiel's thigh.

"Still time to change your mind." Dean flicked his eyes up so Castiel would understand his meaning.

Castiel adjusted his hands on the wheel. "I made my choice."

Dean went still. He regarded Castiel softly for a beat, then cleared his throat and adjusted the radio volume. He pulled out his phone.

"Anything?" Castiel asked.

"Zilch."

"Do you think he met someone?" Castiel asked, squinting as they approached the turn-off for 181. He slowed down and signaled.

"Maybe some chick who runs a dog shelter. Bunker's probably overrun with mutts." Dean let his head loll back against the seat. "Fact is, only time I've had trouble getting a hold of him like this is when something's wrong. He's good about checking in, unlike someone I know."

"Hey, I've been much better since I got my new phone."

"You forgetting about that radio silence a few years ago?"

"Are you really bringing that up again?"

"I'm just saying this isn't like him."

"Then it's good we're doing this," Castiel said.

"It's probably nothing. Waste of gas," Dean dismissed and turned toward the window.

***

Castiel drove through Lebanon a little after six. It was a good thing they'd eaten and had leftovers in the car because Ladow's was already closed for the night, which meant they'd have to drive over to Smith Center for any supplies.

He made the turn onto the road that led toward the bunker, squirming to relieve the discomfort in his back and legs. Kansas' flat roads were monotonous, and Dean was slumped against the window asleep with the radio off, unable to help Castiel stay awake. He'd make coffee once they got in.

He woke Dean in the garage with a hand on his knee. Dean grunted awake and ran his tongue over his teeth, then sat up.

"Time is it?"

"Almost six-thirty. You go in. I'll get the food."

"Okay."

Dean leaned over and kissed the corner of his mouth, then got out of the car. He stretched his arms over his head as he walked through the garage. Castiel watched him in the rear-view mirror.

Sam wasn't in the war room when Castiel got inside. But taking the leftover sandwiches and beer to the bunker's kitchen, Castiel noted signs of life: two mugs in the sink, a bowl, a spoon. The food left in the bowl was crusty, clearly a few days old. He pushed up his sleeves and scowled as he scrubbed it out, then made a half pot of coffee and left the machine to brew.

"Dean?" he called as he got to the door to Dean's—their bedroom. The distinction made him smile. He stood outside for a breath, momentarily overwhelmed, before turning the knob. The room was dark. He switched on the light and found it just as they'd left it, minus the few personal items they'd taken with them to Lawrence.

The bunker was blessedly cold. Castiel took a deep breath and set their bag on the bed. He sat on the edge to remove his shoes. The mattress sunk under his weight, then rose gently around him; if Dean were in the room, he'd probably joke about it remembering him.

Castiel walked barefoot through the hallway until he heard Dean's voice coming from Sam's room.

"—what Cas and I were up to. You shoulda called me!"

"My phone died. I couldn't get up to charge it." Sam's voice was rough. A cough rattled deep in his chest. Castiel winced at the sound.

"When's the last time you ate anything?"

"A day ago, maybe."

"What about water?"

"Yes, Dean."

"Don't give me that look. I'm trying to figure out if I need to drive your ass to the emergency room."

The door was open, so Castiel took it as an invitation to come in. He stood just inside the threshold.

"Hello?"

Dean's back was to him. His posture was stiff. He had one knee on the bed and a hand on Sam's forehead. Sam lay on his back, propped up on pillows, with the covers pulled tight to his chin. Even from the doorway, Castiel could see that Sam was flushed and shaking.

"Hey, Cas," Sam said with a weak smile.

"See if you can find his charger," Dean said without turning around. "And the thermometer. He's burning up."

"Of course," Castiel said.

"Did you take anything?" Dean barked at Sam.

"I took Tylenol a few hours ago."

"It's probably worn off. Cas, bring the bottle too." Dean looked over his shoulder and caught Castiel's eye.

"We're out," Sam croaked. "That was the last of it."

"I'll run out and grab some," Dean said, but Castiel stopped him with an outstretched arm before he reached the door. He knew that Dean would prefer to stay with Sam, and Castiel could manage a few groceries on his own. Besides, the hour-long round-trip to Smith Center would give Dean and Sam a chance to catch up. Castiel doubted either of them wanted him hanging around for that.

"I'll go," he said. "Do we need anything else?"

"Soup?" Sam asked hopefully.

"Of course. I'll be back soon," Castiel said, sparing a thought for the coffee sitting untouched in the kitchen. Dean shot him a grateful look.