Finding May

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Rest and Rage

Hello all.

I just got my bottom braces on and they already hurt but it's homecoming week and today was pajama day so life is okay for right now.

Warnings: hallucinations

Feel free to comment your comments, questions, and concerns below!

Seriously tho please comment or vote.

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Castiel's POV
January 24, 6:55 am

Cas rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed. He glanced down at his husband, who was still asleep, then leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek. "Happy birthday, Dean."

Dean grumbled and rolled over. Around 2:30 this morning, Sam and Eileen had convinced them to go to bed, and neither Dean nor Cas was happy about it. "Let's get back to work," was all Dean said before he got out of bed and lumbered down the hall to the library. Cas sighed. Ever since their plan to save May failed, everything had gone downhill; even more downhill than things already were. Dean got fired from his job because he hadn't shown up for work for a week straight, and had traded in his morning coffee for a bottle of whiskey.

It had been ten days since May had been kidnapped. Ten days without smiles or laughter or optimism. Ten days devoid of love and care. Those ten days were filled instead with little sleep and alcohol and anger and sadness. Four more innocent angels were dead now; more innocent angels that the four had been forced to kill. Each time, Cas would beg for the angel to help them get his daughter back, and each time he was battered with the same declarations of his disgrace to heaven.

Metatron wouldn't allow them to see May, either. Every time a job was done, he would say that they would get to see her soon, but they hadn't seen her since Cas killed Lailah. Cas thought back to the image of May, barely able to stand on her own, shivering in the freezing January air, her clothes bloody. The thought sent a chill down his spine.

Cas sighed. His heart physically hurt at the image. He got out of bed and trudged to the library, not bothering to change his clothes. Eileen, Sam, and Dean sat at the table. Cas took his usual spot next to Dean and got back to work.

After a couple hours, Dean got up and headed for the kitchen. Cas followed him, in hopes of getting Dean to talk to him. The husbands had barely exchanged three words a day ever since he killed Lailah. He wanted Dean to know that he was hurt, too, and that they should talk. Dean was rummaging through the fridge, no doubt searching for another beer. "I miss her," Cas said.

"You think I don't?" Dean questioned, standing upright, beer bottle in hand.

"No—that's not what I meant. I think we should talk about this—"

"Will talking about it help us find May?"

"No, but—"

"Well then, we aren't talking about it."

Anger bubbled in Cas. Dean moved past him to go back to the library, but Cas caught his arm. "Dean," he said, voice firm but gentle, "our daughter has been kidnapped, tortured, and God knows what else. We can't fight right now. We need to talk about it because—"

"You want to talk about it? Fine, let's talk," Dean said, his voice raising with every word. "It's your fault that May is gone."

Cas was taken aback. "It is not my fault," was all he said.

"Really? Because we were supposed to never take our eyes off of her, and then you left her alone," Dean yelled. "You left her alone, and now she's gone. So yeah, Cas, it is your fault." Dean turned and stormed out of the kitchen. Cas just stood there, shocked. Dean was in worse shape than he thought. He heard the Impala start up and listened to the sound fade as it left the garage.

Cas tried to remember the night May was kidnapped. She had just come home from her date.

Is something wrong, Papa?

He shook his head and gave her a small smile. You're growing up.

Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

I think it's a little bit of both. He stepped forward and kissed her forehead. Goodnight, May.

Goodnight, Papa.

Then he had gone to bed. Cas's head started to hurt, his heart started to race. He was the last one to see her. It was his fault that she was gone. He gripped the kitchen table for support.

Dean was gone. May was gone. Everyone was leaving, and it was his fault.

May's POV
January 24, 9:13 am

May knew she would be dead in the next twenty-four hours. She hadn't slept in ten days and the longest someone could go without sleep is eleven days. Every time she would accidentally doze off, the two angels that looked like Dad and Papa would come in and torture her.

The effects of sleep deprivation were taking their toll on May. She would black out for a few seconds, then wake up disoriented. Her memory was slowly deteriorating, and she was having hallucinations. Birds would start flying around the room, or the concrete ground beneath her would become a field of flowers. At least May knew they weren't real.

She wanted to sleep. She wanted to sleep so bad. But if she did, the angels would come back. But also, if she didn't, she would die. A small part of May wanted to choose the latter, and she hated herself for it. She had to stay alive for Dad and Papa. She was certain they were close to finding her.

Today was Dad's birthday—at least, she thought it was. The days in here seemed to pass in a haze. It was always dark. May hoped her family had taken the day off to celebrate. She didn't want them to be sad on her father's birthday.

The metal doors opened, and May grimaced. She stared at the floor instead of facing her torturers. But the cold metal of the blades never touched her skin. Instead, two pairs of shoes she recognized immediately came into view. May let out a shuddering breath as she looked up at her fathers' faces. They both smiled faintly at her. Tears began to slide down her cheeks. It's okay, Button, Papa signed. We're here to take you home.

Close your eyes, Peanut, Dad signed. When you wake up you'll be home.

May nodded. She closed her eyes, and finally let sleep take her away.