West Coast

Chapter Seven

Dean knelt beside Cas in the bathroom, rubbing his back with one hand, and holding his ear to his phone with the other.

'I'm telling you, these meds are doing more harm than good,' Dean insisted to the doctor. 'I know you wanted to wait it out, but it's been four weeks and it's just getting worse.'

Cas had his head in the toilet, sweating and shaking.

'No, he hasn't stopped puking all morning, and he hasn't eaten since breakfast yeterday. He's not supposed to lose any weight, but he's sure not gaining any like this.'

Cas retched again, but had nothing left to bring up.

'Yeah, yeah, I'll bring him, if I can get him away from the toilet.' Dean hung up the phone and turned his attention back to Cas.

'Ugh,' Cas groaned, sitting back heavily.

'Here, try and drink some water,' Dean said, passing him a glass.

Cas took it with shaking fingers and took a tiny sip - just enough to soothe his cracked lips and burning throat.

Dean stroked the back of Cas's head. 'It staying down?' he asked.

Cas gave a slight nod, closing his eyes.

'You think you can go in the car?'

'Let me get dressed,' he croaked.

'Sure. Take your time.' Dean helped him up, and watched him walk down the hallway to their bedroom.

He went into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. He had helped Cas put up several whiteboards around the kitchen, a couple stuck to cupboard doors, and another to the door to the utility room. He looked around at them and sighed. Even this small thing served as a reminder of how different things were now. Where Cas had been quick and decisive, he was now uncertain, and almost helpless. It was a jarring change, to be sure, and as he stared at the whiteboards, all with different lists written on them, Dean realised that even Cas's handwriting was different now. He gripped his cup tightly, and wondered if he would ever see Cas's neat, cursive again, or if it was forever replaced by the messy scrawl that more resembled his own on the whiteboards.

Cas didn't emerge from the bedroom until Dean had almost finished his coffee. He was pale and still shaking, but Dean smiled at him.

'That's my shirt,' Dean said.

'Sorry,' Cas mumbled.

Dean shook his head. The Cas standing in front of him was pale and skinny, nothing like the lean, tanned man he'd been before, but all Dean had to do was look at him and feel the squeezing in his chest to know that his feelings were one of the few things that remained unchanged.

'Dean, can I ask you something?' Cas said.

Dean raised his eyebrows. Another thing that hadn't changed was the way that Cas's brilliant blue eyes searched him, and seemed to see into his very soul. 'What?'

Cas hesitated. 'I know you don't like to talk about it, but...' His eyes flickered down to the drawer that Dean kept his sobriety chips in.

'It's okay,' Dean said, ignoring the tensing in his shoulders.

'I worry about you...' Cas began.

Dean smiled. 'At least there's that.'

'When was the last time you went to a meeting?'

Dean froze. 'Uh... it's been a while, I guess.'

'Maybe you should go to one... Or maybe you should call your sponsor?'