Chapter Text
Castiel unhooked the strings of holiday lights from the canopy of his truck feeling well satisfied. The Hooper Street market was no Night Market, with blocks and blocks dedicated to commerce and magical revelry. This was just a two block neighborhood market, but with a growing reputation as a destination for purchasers of magical goods. The hand-made pies, cookies, and tarts went over well, but the true star of the evening were the pies he made by magic.
He was used to feeling exhausted after a long day of baking and selling. But these days he felt bone-tired at the end of a day whenever he tried to use his gift to its greatest potential. Despite that, his magical pies now felt like a gift and not a curse, at least most of the time.
Learning to use Amara’s gift to create healing pies had taken a lot of practice. There was still so much to learn that Castiel sometimes thought it might take a lifetime to master it. Adding that extra element to his pies - to heal, not just comfort or entertain - took considerably more energy than normal baking ever could. Where magic used to be a shortcut to feed his friends and customers, creating more purposeful pies drained him now.
Castiel rubbed at the circles under his eyes and scrubbed vigorously at his temples to try to spark a little liveliness. I could sleep for a week, he thought with satisfaction as he went back to spooling the light strings carefully around clothes hangers to keep them from tangling. He tucked them into a bin and locked the cabinet for transport, then moved on to boxing up a few of the remaining pies.
Castiel ran careful fingers around the edges of the crusts. His pies were earning a reputation. People bought them to seal wounds, cure colds, or lift depression for a while. None of the pies were basic, though many seemed deceptively streamlined. A simple pumpkin spice helped eczema. A sprightly lemon meringue tackled anxiety. They were small pies, with modest miracles contained within. And they were still so much more than Castiel had ever dreamed they might be to anyone.
“How’d it go?” Dean spoke this nearly into his ear and Castiel jumped, then scowled. Dean laughed and laid a steadying hand on his waist. “Somebody was absorbed in their work.” In response, Castiel mimed a yawn - which turned into a real one. Dean’s teasing grin softened. “You wanna sit down? I can finish packing up.”
Castiel shook his head, but laid a gentle kiss along Dean’s stubbled cheek to show his appreciation. Together, they finished taking down the banner and scaffolding and packing them carefully away into their storage box. Castiel unpinned the day’s menu from the truck, which listed the price for pies to heal common ailments and slid it between the counter and one of the truck cabinets.
It had been a good day. The transition of seasons was hard on people and several late spring viruses passed around the city’s residents like overzealous do-si-do partners. He’d had steady business with his robust cold-remedy pies, savory things that stayed blessedly warm for hours. With a few warm almost-summer days under their belts, there were also early sunburns to deal with. Castiel thought he would never stop being amused watching someone consume a bright red berry-burn pie, and see the scarlet flush ease away like it was being sucked into a black hole of jam.
HIs growing reputation meant that more difficult-to-help customers were beginning to find him. He’d met a woman in the morning who’d been battling a tumor. Castiel had promised to do his best to help her, even if it was just to ease her suffering during treatment. The potential of Amara’s gift boggled his mind. He got the sense that he was only scratching the surface of what he might be able to achieve through it.
I thought I had purpose before, Castiel mused as he wiped down the counter and outer display window. But now I can see it for what it was: running. Running from responsibility, from knowledge, from terrible relationships and fear of ostracism from the people I loved. As he latched the canopy to the side of the truck, Castiel caressed it. Now Honey Pies had a greater purpose, and a community which seemed well on its way to embracing both normal and magical wares fully, if the burgeoning magical markets were any indication.
“Okay, I think that’s it. Ready to go?” Castiel asked Dean out loud. He grabbed the resulting pie and offered it to Dean, who shook his head and laid his hand on his stomach, making a too full face. He’d taken his team out for a celebratory dinner that evening; their speech assist product had gotten an official green light for production. Dean had promised Castiel first pick of the samples, as long as he still came in for (highly professional, no funny stuff) testing.
Castiel set the lemon-thyme pie, brightly flavored with satisfaction and hope, onto a cardboard box upon which he’d written FREE. A kid from the neighborhood ran forward almost immediately and grabbed it up, tossing Castiel a cheeky grin before disappearing into the loose chaos of the disassembling fair.
“I’ll follow you out?” Dean asked and Castiel nodded. Dean grabbed the large pastry box of leftover healing pies to donate to a food pantry while Castiel settled things back at the Comm. Together, they formed a small caravan through the blooming city streets. Castiel parked his truck and headed inside to finish preparing his kitchen space for a potentially long absence.
By the time he was done, Dean waited outside blasting music in the Impala, one arm slung outside an open window. He winked as Castiel approached. “Hey baby, you want a ride?”
The only correct response to this was an exasperated eye roll. Dean laughed at him and turned the music down a couple notches as Castiel rounded the car and slid into the passenger seat. His and Dean’s bags were packed and taking up space in the backseat. An unopened bag of beef jerky slouched on the seat between them.
Castiel picked up the jerky and raised one eyebrow.
“C’mon, man. It’s my favorite road trip snack! A man’s gotta have more than pie!” Dean paused and his eyes widened as Castiel burst into laughter. “ I can’t believe I just said that.”
Castiel shrugged in innocence, then opened the bag and pulled out a piece for himself. He chewed it happily. When did I get so hungry?
“You need more? I thought we’d get a couple hours under our belts before we stop for dinner but we can grab something on the way.”
Castiel wrinkled his nose and shook his head. The jerky would be enough to sustain him through a well-deserved nap. He could eat later. Before Dean could start the engine, Castiel laid a hand on his arm. Thank you, he mouthed to him.
“For what? Driving up to Kansas with you?” Castiel nodded again. “Charlie’s my friend too,” Dean pointed out. “But even if she wasn’t, you know I got your back.” Castiel nodded again, gratefully. He slid towards the middle of the bench seat and settled into a slumped position, so his head could rest against Dean’s shoulder. Dean laughed quietly. “Okay. Get some sleep.”
Settling one hand on the wheel and the other on Castiel’s leg, Dean drove out of the parking lot. They were headed out of Maltese - out of state - to meet up with Charlie in Kansas.
Castiel slept and dreamed about fields of poppies blowing gently in the breeze and Charlie calling for him over the nodding flowers. Under the poppies, her mother slept low in the earth.
By the time they pulled into the motel Charlie was staying at, it was very early in the morning and Castiel had slept for most of the drive. Castiel checked in and then ferried their bags to their room. Dean blinked in the brightly lit room, red-eyed from the drive. Castiel looked at him appraisingly, then pulled out his tablet. “You should have stopped for the night somewhere.”
Dean stretched long, arching his back which let out a series of agonized cracks. When he collapsed again, it was with a sleepy smile. “Wanted you to have as much time as possible with her before the solstice.”
Castiel ran a thumb along the stubble cutting Dean’s cheek, then gripped his chin loosely. “You’re so sweet,” he murmured and Dean caught the pie automatically as Castiel leaned in for a kiss.
When they pulled apart, Dean laughed wearily. “I’m giving this to Charlie,” he said. “Or I gotta start running more.”
Castiel hummed happily and shrugged. It wasn’t his fault that the very thought of Dean made such ridiculously frothy pies. Well, maybe it was his fault just a little.
While Dean tucked the pie in the mini fridge and stumbled off to the bathroom, Castiel opened his own bag. He’d packed changes of clothes and the usual toiletries that accompanied a longer trip. But under the clothes gleamed new objects obtained from the red-haired ice cream purveyor at the Night Market.
Rowena, the ice cream witch, had listened to their plan attentively and vowed to help. She gave him crystals to concentrate magic, claiming to have been “charging” them for the past fortnight to bolster Castiel’s spelled pie. Castiel hoped they worked to magnify cursed magic just as well as born-magic. He had no way to test them before they needed to use them. According to Rowena, to test them was to drain them and then she’d need to start all over with a new set of stones. To him, they just looked and felt like cold lumps of rock. He touched the smooth side of one. It seemed completely lifeless. Castiel shook his head. There was a lot about magic he had yet to understand.
He glanced towards the bare motel wall that separated their room from Charlie’s. She had been staying at this motel for the past week, preparing herself to say goodbye - or hello again, depending on the success of their endeavors. He hoped - oh, how he hoped that their plan would work.
Dean emerged to find Castiel still standing at his open duffel, staring into space. Castiel was startled from his reverie by Dean sliding one arm around his waist and intoning in mock announcer style, “Earth to Cas. Come in, Cas.”
Castiel shook himself and grabbed up his toiletry kit. He tried to smile.
“Hey, you up for more sleep? I think you should. You still look pretty out of it.”
Castiel shrugged. Now that they were here, he felt light-headed with worry. What if it all goes wrong?
“Okay, let me put this another way. I want you to sleep with me. I’m exhausted but...wired? Too much coffee, maybe.” Dean’s hand slipped lower, across his waist, to Castiel’s wide belt buckle. His breath was close, hot and heavy on Castiel’s ear. “You want a distraction instead?” he murmured, pressing close. “‘Cause I could use one.”
Castiel dipped his head back, rolling to capture Dean’s earlobe in his teeth. Yes. A distraction would be very welcome.
After a handful of hours of sleep, they met Charlie for an unhurried, late breakfast at the nearby pancake emporium. They went over the plan. “Mom’s in a private room,” Charlie said. “And when I come to visit I usually close the door for a little while. I did that every day for the past week and nobody said anything, so I think we’re good there. Nobody bothers me.”
“She’s had her own room all this time?” Dean asked curiously.
Charlie shrugged. “It’s worth it. She deserves the best, you know? Just don’t ask me how I pay for it.” She patted his hand. “Someone’s gotta stay innocent. Cas already knows too much.”
Castiel snorted at this, and Dean glared at him playfully. “I refuse to be the ‘innocent person’ in this friendship. Just so you’re both aware.”
Castiel patted his hand with exaggerated solicitousness, and got his bacon stolen in retaliation. Breakfast devolved into ridiculous jokes until they all piled back into the Impala.
Once settled in the back seat, Charlie rested her elbows on the seat cushion between Dean and Castiel. “So, we’re ready for this, right? Tomorrow’s the solstice. Do we have everything we need?”
“We’re good, Charlie. Cas has Rowena’s crystals. And he’s really been doing awesome at his healing pies. This is gonna work,” Dean said with more confidence that Castiel suspected he felt. Castiel appreciated the sentiment all the same. “Let’s get Cas there to scope everything out, and we’ll go from there. Rowena says those crystals should stay charged until we’re done tomorrow.”
“Right. It’s fine. It’ll be fine.” Charlie said with a high edge of nerves coloring her tone. Castiel slung his arm back to give her a half embrace. In truth, he needed that comfort for himself as well.
If the drive to the hospital felt surreal, walking down the busy, bright corridors left him feeling uncomfortable and exposed. He’d grown easy in Maltese, Castiel realized in surprise. Spending so many years categorizing himself as an outsider had blinded him to just how much that city felt like home now. Here, in a strange hospital in the middle of the country, he felt raw, like his secret was painted across his face.
“Ms. Middleton!” The perky greeting of a nurse halted their little party. “We’re just finishing up in there and then you can have a little privacy.” She surveyed Dean and Castiel with open curiosity.
“Middleton?” Dean muttered as they passed.
“Please,” Charlie replied in a low voice. “You think I was born with the name Bradbury?” She paused at an open doorway, gesturing at them to stay back. A moment later, a nurse exited the room, pushing a cart of supplies.
“You’re all set, hon,” the nurse told Charlie. “And when you get a minute, stop by the station. Doctor Vancour wants to talk to you.”
“Sure,” Charlie said, her tone falling flat. “Great.” She shook her head at Castiel, a look which clearly said I don’t want to talk about it.
Doctor Vancour, Castiel thought. Yes, he remembered Charlie mentioning her soon after she had told him about her mother. She was the doctor overseeing her mother’s care. Vancour was the doctor who had been talking to Charlie about removing the feeding tube. Castiel chewed on his cheek, following Charlie inside.
The room was small but pleasant, with a wide industrial window taking up one wall and a pastoral print hung on the opposite side. Taking up most of the space was a large hospital bed flanked by huge machines, tubes, and wires. In the middle of it all lay Charlie’s mother.
Mrs. Middleton looked tiny in the bed, laid out carefully. She had no brain activity, or at least that’s what her doctors had told Charlie for years. It was hard to tell that just by looking at her, though. She might as well have been sleeping.
Charlie pulled a chair up to the bedside and patted the cushioned back. “Whatever happens,” she told Castiel as he settled himself. “You know I love you, right? I’m just glad we’re trying.”
Castiel nodded and reached for Mrs. Middleton’s hand. Her fingers were cold under his own. He closed his eyes, and tried to reach through his gift to understand what she might need. He was acutely aware of his own heartbeat thudding out a rhythm through his veins and somewhere along the way, he got lost in it. Slowly, Castiel spiraled down. The sun, through his closed eyelids, turned the world as red as a poppy. He let himself fall into the steady rhythm of the ventilator as he tried to chase after the essence of Mrs. Middleton. What flavor is consciousness? he wondered dreamily. Pomegranite, to call back the dead? Earthy egg, to anchor the living?
A sharp rap on the door pulled Castiel out of his meditative state. His head jerked up at the sound and he looked around, blinking at the bright sunshine streaming through the window. His mouth felt dry and tasted full of spice, like he’d upended a cinnamon shaker onto his tongue. He gently laid the hand of Charlie’s mother back onto the bedspread while Charlie answered the door and spoke to the person who’d interrupted.
“You okay?” Dean asked, crouching low beside Castiel.
Castiel ran his tongue over his teeth and along the inside of his lips. I’m not sure, he thought, but he nodded anyway.
“You get anything from her?”
Castiel shrugged.
Dean closed a comforting hand over his forearm. “You got this.”
Castiel nodded again, and tried to smile reassuringly. Nearly five months into trying to tame his gift, and he still felt like he was stumbling around blind. I don’t know if I can help her, he resolved, but I am damn well going to try.
They stayed until visiting hours were nearly over. Castiel held Charlie’s mother’s hand for nearly all of it, desperate to reach some sort of epiphany that might prepare him for the next day. When a nurse poked his head in to announce that visiting hours were nearly over, Charlie declared them done for the day.
“You go,” Charlie said. “I need to talk to Doctor Vancour and I’m not sure how long that’ll take. I can just Uber—”
“We’ll wait for you downstairs,” Dean said at the same time Castiel spoke up.
“Outside,” Castiel said. “Please.” He caught the exhausted cheese pie and tossed it across the room to the little wastebasket in the corner. It fell into it neatly and Castiel dusted his hands.
“We’ll meet you outside,” Dean said, watching Castiel with concern.
“There’s a little garden on the west side for families,” Charlie told them. “Meet you there?”
With a meeting place arranged, Castiel and Dean headed downstairs. As soon as he passed through the outer doors, a weight seemed to lift. They walked around the narrow sidewalk until they arrived at the garden. Castiel chose a bench in the sunshine and slumped onto it with a gusty sigh. Closing his eyes, he turned his face toward the sun.
Dean settled next to him and they sat in silence for several minutes. “Hospitals are hard,” Dean said finally.
Castiel nodded emphatically. He still remembered the time his mother was in the hospital, how they would pace the waiting room when things were very bad. The look of careful sorrow on a doctor’s face as they walked out to talk to them. The despair that the machineries of man weren’t enough to fix every ailment. He thought about Charlie, dealing with this dance of agony and hope for years and years now.
Around them, the garden smelled like freshly turned earth, accentuated by the sweetness of recently clipped grass. Insects whirred in the hidden boughs of the closely trimmed greenery. Castiel breathed in the garden, and tried to recharge.
He might have started dozing there, leaning against Dean, when a body jostled him from the other side. “Hey Cas,” Charlie said, squeezing next to him on the bench. “You doing okay?”
Castiel shuffled upright, blinking in the sun, and pulled out his tablet. He drew his mouth into an irritable line. “Everyone keeps asking me that.”
“Only ‘cause you’d never say otherwise.”
“Yup,” Dean agreed with a sardonic lilt.
“I could go for a burger,” Castiel wrote to deflect. And also, he realized quickly, because he was desperately hungry.
“I’ll buy you a hundred burgers,” Charlie declared. Her gaze was bright and fierce. Castiel wondered what the doctor had said to her. Whatever it was, Charlie had that old fighting spark in her eyes.
“I don’t think she’s joking, Cas.”
Castiel grunted.
“Charlie, I want a lifetime supply of fries thrown in, too.”
Castiel laughed at Dean’s attempt to lighten the mood, and the lemon rush helped clear out some of the fug from earlier. “I understand now. You only love me for my food,” he wrote, then looked up with an exaggerated frown.
“You got it, babe,” Dean agreed. His grip was solid as he helped Castiel up from the bench. Sandwiched between his boyfriend and best friend, Castiel headed for lunch and tried to push away worries about tomorrow.
The next morning, they moved on the hospital room like a finely tuned strike team. Immediately after visiting hours began, they got to work, unloading their duffels on the stiff seats and passing materials between them wordlessly.
They wreathed the room in fresh flowers and Rowena’s crystals, setting them on the floor, the windowsill, and every surface in the room that looked like it could bear weight and wouldn’t be in the way of the vital machinery keeping Charlie’s mother alive.
Castiel breathed in deeply when they were done. It smelled like a flower garden now, masking the dreary bleached scent of the Middleton hospital room. It smelled like summer. The solstice sun streamed in through the window, lighting the bed in warm gold.
Castiel’s palms began to sweat. Dean seemed to notice his nerves; he placed a comforting palm along Castiel’s lower back and walked with him to the chair by Mrs. Middleton’s bedside. Castiel scrubbed his hands on his jeans, then massaged his nerve-chilled fingers before taking up the woman’s hand again.
“You got this, Cas.” Dean whispered, pressed a quick kiss to his jaw, and stepped away. Charlie didn’t say a word, standing off to Castiel’s other side. He suspected she was incapable of speech right now. Like him, she was a knot of fear and expectation.
Mrs. Middleton gave no response when Castiel’s grip tightened. Is there anything left to heal? Castiel wondered. They were testing the limits of his gift today, stretching them well beyond the confines of what he’d ever attempted before.
It was the summer solstice. The solstice was a day, Amara had explained to him months ago in their encounter in the park, that could bolster spells. In the lead-up to today, he and Dean had talked about Amara at length. She’d delivered a one-time offer to them to meet him on the solstice and undo his curse. Instead, Castiel had decided to keep the magic, and use it better.
Once they’d hatched their wild plan to try to help Charlie’s mother however, Dean had suggested seeking out Amara to learn more about control and the limits of her gift. Charlie had put out feelers. There were rumors that Amara still roamed the city.
Charlie managed to track down a surly, sandy-haired man who seemed to derive great pleasure from being a recent recipient of one of Amara’s curses. Charlie had left him standing on the street, shouting while frogs and snakes fell from his mouth. She’d looked shaken by the encounter when she recounted it later to Dean and Castiel. “It feels like a warning,” she’d said. “A warning to you.” Mess with me and there are consequences. They couldn't take the chance that Amara might warp his gift into something uglier. Harsher. Instead, Castiel slipped the piece of paper she had given him into a drawer, so that he would always remember the choices he had made to steer his own fate. Keep the curse, make it a gift, make it useful.
And so, instead of meeting with Amara, they reserved the magic of the solstice for their own attempts at magic, and hoped it would be enough. If the power of the solstice is real, Castiel thought, let it help me now.
Castiel closed his eyes and sank down low into the pulse of blood beneath the paper skin of Charlie’s mother. He sank low beneath the floor and into the earth beneath them, and waited for the words to come.
He waited, as the sunlight crept over the room.
He waited as the machinery hissed.
He waited and the words didn't come. The ground felt...distant...both above and below him. His feet detached from his body, and his hands as well. Sound became something high and distant. For all he knew, somebody else was holding onto Mrs. Middleton’s hand and praying for the power to heal her.
“Cas,” Charlie said, catching him as he swayed. “It’s okay, we—”
When Charlie touched Castiel’s hand, it was like the world beneath his eyelids burst with color. Or was that flavor? He flipped his hand into hers, gripping her tight, bolstered by what he felt from her.
There was vast love there, deep as a well and thick as the earth. Castiel knit the words he needed together almost without thought and when he was ready, he spoke them aloud.
When he was done, he fell backward, or the world fell forward. Strong arms caught him. Dean.
Castiel let himself be supported down into a collapsed pile on the floor next to the hospital bed. He opened his eyes. Charlie stood there and the light from the window wreathed her in red and gold. She held a pie cradled in her hands. “Cas?” she said.
Castiel mustered up the energy to flip her a thumb’s up. With Dean’s help (and muttered curses) he rose to stand next to Charlie again. Curiously, he blinked at the pie.
The pie looked perfectly summery, full of juneberries and plump raspberries that had released their juice in a lacy froth against the finely latticed crust.
“It’s warm,” Charlie said in a wavering voice. “Should I—?”
They all looked down at the woman on the bed. Thin tubes ran into her, giving her air and food. “So how does she eat it?” Dean asked, voicing what they were all thinking.
“I guess I’ll just try a little bit in her mouth?” Charlie said, but her hands shook. Castiel looked at her with great sympathy. He couldn’t begin to imagine how she felt, but he could step in to ease her burden. Castiel took the pie and scooped a fingerful of the filling. With his other hand, he gently pulled down her lip and swiped the pie filling inside. Her mother’s lip closed over the ruby red filling.
There was no sound, save for the distant squeak of a gurney’s wheels in the corridor and the whoosh shush of the ventilator. On one of the monitors, there was a sudden movement. It was a small thing, easily missed if the room hadn’t already been as still as death. There was another blip as a line on the screen jumped.
And then the alarm went off.
Charlie clutched the precious pie close to her and stumbled back as the first nurse rushed in. The three of them pressed back into the corner as a cadre of nurses flooded the room.
Castiel dissolved against the wall, heart thudding as he tried to understand what was happening in the room. All he could hear was medical jargon tossed between seasoned professionals, and Charlie asking repeatedly about her mother. What’s happening? Is she okay? What should I do? What can I do?
Dean held Castiel’s hand very tightly and their palms were too hot. Everything felt too hot. What if I made it worse?”
Nurses ushered them from the room and banished the numb trio to the waiting room.
It had been years since Castiel had spent time awaiting news in a waiting room, but little seemed to have changed. They settled in the soft, gray room, which was stocked with old magazines and a child’s bead-track toy that had seen better days. While they waited, Castiel let Dean ply him with coffee and snacks from the little shop in the lobby until his hands stopped shaking. Charlie refused food, chewed on her nails, and hunched over the pie in her lap. Her eyes were wide and her gaze very distant.
When a doctor came to get them two hours later, they were all exhausted by the wait. Doctor Vancour approached solemnly and settled in a chair opposite Charlie.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she prefaced her news with, “but your mother is responsive. And we’re seeing promising brain waves for the first time since she was admitted.” At Charlie’s gasp, she held up her hands. “She’s still very weak. Very sick. We’ve moved her to the ICU for closer monitoring. You can visit her tomorrow. Visiting hours in that ward are over for the day.” Her strict tone brooked no argument.
Charlie buckled into herself and both Castiel and Dean wrapped and arm around her. She cried there in the circle of their arms. “She’s really awake?” she gasped, her hands still shielding the pie in her lap.
The doctor tilted her head. “She isn’t awake, but she appears to be fully responsive to stimulus. She’s breathing on her own. I think it’s too soon to say she’s recovered, but she made a huge stride today.” She looked up towards the ceiling, and smiled just a little. “Some people would call it a miracle, to be honest.”
Charlie gulped and Castiel laughed a little hysterically. Dean clapped a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and gripped him there. When the doctor left, they were allowed to head back up to the room to clear up their things.
Looking at it, the room looked brightly innocent. It was still bedecked with flowers and scattered with crystals. The sun had slid towards afternoon and no longer shone directly into the room. It made everything seem duller, more mundane. Even after all Castiel had seen and experienced, he still had trouble believing it was real. Had they truly healed Charlie’s mother? Had his magic brought her back from her unreachable state? Together, they zipped crystals into bags and consolidated flowers into wild, overflowing bouquets. They held onto everything, like giving away one ingredient might ruin the spell and send Mrs. Middleton back into relapse. Through it all, Charlie cradled the magical pie.
Afterwards, Dean and Castiel ushered Charlie back to the motel and settled her in her room. Though she’d protested their coddling, stress had left its mark. They took turns watching over her that night as she slept more soundly than she likely had done for weeks or months. Charlie slept with her hands curled around the still-warm pie with the bags of crystals close by and bouquets of flowers heaped at the foot of her bed.
In the morning, Charlie went alone to visit her mother in the ICU while Dean and Castiel did their best to distract the nursing staff just beyond the wing which held Mrs. Middleton’s bed. Dean had descended into full flirtation mode. It’s a bit like looking at the sun, Castiel decided as he pretended to have absolutely no interest whatsoever in his very attractive boyfriend and every interest in the story he was listening to about bunion care.
When Charlie emerged again, she no longer carried the pie. She had used the time to feed it to her mother in tiny portions. Charlie waggled her fingers at them and grinned.
Dean and Castiel took it as their cue to extract themselves and joined Charlie as they headed out of the ward. As they retreated down the hallway, doctors shouted at each other to go check out the vegetative patient who was not only awake, but complaining from her intensive care bed about wanting to go for a casual stroll in the garden. And was it so much to ask to get her beloved daughter back in there? They had a lot of years to catch up on.
When Charlie heard this, she stopped in her tracks and turned back towards her mother’s wing. Dean gave her a gentle push. “Go get her, kid,” he said. Charlie took off running. In the chaos, she slipped in and disappeared behind the curtain to be with her mother. From the hallway, they could hear Charlie’s voice rising in ecstatic greeting and the warm, low tones of her mother.
We should give her some space, Castiel thought, remembering his own mother’s miraculous recovery. He’d wanted to stay by her side for days afterward just to make sure she was really okay and her recovery hadn’t just been a cruel dream. He pulled Dean the rest of the way out of the ICU.
“You did it,” Dean crowed as they emerged into the quieter hallway. “You actually did it. You saved her, Cas.”
Castiel halted in his tracks and pulled Dean into a desperate embrace. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he whispered, expertly snagging the light-as-air pie that emerged. You believed in me. And you didn’t leave me because of my magic. He tried to convey that through the iron hold of his arms and his whuff of relief whispered softly across Dean’s nape.
“We make a pretty good team,” Dean murmured, holding him just as hard, and Castiel grinned at that.
After so many years of struggling against the magic inside himself, nurturing and exploring it felt like a revelation. There were so many ways to speak - for communication, for joy, by computer or voice - and now he was learning to speak for a greater purpose. We’re a great team, he thought as he turned to taste Dean’s lips. And together, we’ll soar higher than I ever dreamed.
Outside the hospital, the sun painted the summer-sweet, greening world in emerald and sapphire as the new season began in earnest. In Maltese, the effects would be radically apparent, with suddenly-bloomed flowers painting the streets in rainbows. Kansas was more outwardly normal, but Castiel thought he knew better now. A little magic existed everywhere whether it was acknowledged or not, and like a pie crust holds a filling, love held everything together and made it whole.