Twist And Shout

part 8

Late February, 1981

-

“Dean, you’ve got a call!” Dean looked up from the bike he was refitting and stood, walking to where Bobby hung out of his office, holding the phone out for him to take. He nodded, wiping his face with his rag, propping the receiver up to his ear with his shoulder as he tried to smudge some of the grease off of his fingers. Bobby pushed past him, shutting the office door halfway and giving him some privacy.

“Dean Winchester,” he began, glancing at the sliver of smoothed poured floor of the garage right outside the office. A crack had started to run across from the baseboard at the end of the wall and extended a decent amount, disappearing under a Harley. “Hello?” Dean tried again after he was met with silence.

“Sorry,” an unfamiliar voice said. “Sorry to bother you at work..”

Dean’s eyes narrowed and he squinted at the crack in the floor, trying to place the voice but coming up with nothing.

“Who is this?” he proceeded, adjusting the phone with his hand, turning away from the office and the rest of the crew on the floor. “Do I know you?”

The person on the other end seemed to hesitate, but eventually drew a deep breath.

“We’ve never met in person. I’m Gabriel Novak.” Gabriel Novak took another breath. “Castiel Novak’s older brother?” As if Dean could have ever forgotten that name.

Dean said nothing.

“…I was told I could reach you at this number, or that, if you weren’t in the city, Bobby Singer would know how to reach you,” Gabriel continued, his voice sounding spread thin. “Castiel wanted me to call you for him.”

“Is this a joke?” Dean said softly, the stupor surrounding that name slowly lifting. He could feel himself becoming more self-conscious. “Who the fuck is this?”

There was a weighted pause and Gabriel – if that even was who he claimed to be – cleared his throat.

“Castiel wanted – look, I know you two haven’t spoken to each other in years. He told me that. He told me you’d probably be angry when I called, but, I had to call. I would never have bothered you unless he’d asked me.”

Dean leaned against the near wall, crossing his arm over his chest.

“Make it quick, I’m on the clock,” he said harshly, ducking his head so the sound of an engine being tested wouldn’t cloud his ear.

“He wants to see you,” Gabriel said simply. “That’s all.”

“He should understand I can’t do that,” Dean replied.

“He’s sick.”

“Listen, I don’t know why you think you can just call me about this –!” Dean said angrily, looking around for the phone cradle so he could hang up.

“He’s dying.”

“ – but I don’t have time to worry about whenever Cas gets a cold, alright? We ended it. Years ago. Now get off my phone,” Dean snarled, but he found that he couldn’t move.

“I know how difficult that must be for you to hear,” Gabriel said, “and I know that you don’t want to hear it from someone like me, but he really wants to see you.”

Dean stopped, his face still screwed up in anger.

“What did you say?”

“He’s dying, Dean.” There was a break in Gabriel’s voice. “He’s very sick.”