Fly Away Home - part 8

Warning: allusion to drug abuse.

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Blue and black spots danced roguishly before him, ever staining the canvas of a permanent veil that hung loosely between a state of wary consciousness and a sour dreamscape which he thought he was always on the verge of piercing through. A sharp throb jabbed his brain awake, and his eyelids fluttered open to the jarring light of reality.

A blurry figure came into focus and spoke to him. He could certainly make out the sounds but not their meaning, to his frustration. He tried to will focus.

The man asked him something.

"Hm. Wha-?" he garbled. He supposed he could hear him just fine; he just couldn't grasp the meaning of the sounds.

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"Gabriel, can you hear me?"

Gabriel's face subsided into a frown, seemingly at a loss for words. John exhaled through his nose. The doctor had explained that the left side of the boy's brain had suffered a lesion, subsequently developing a speech disorder and slow comprehension. He didn't catch the details. Transcortical something or other. The doctor at their side muttered to him that this was normal.

Castiel had immediately leapt to his brother's side and hovered over him, enough to block out his entire sight.

"How-how… um… how… how are you feeling?" he asked, his wide eyes rimmed with anxiousness.

Gabriel merely gaped at him, his face lined with frustrated confusion and surprise.

"Gabe?" Castiel said, worried.

Gabriel cocked his head to the side and looked at him oddly.

"Auditory comprehension is severely impaired," explained Dr Asher and he leaned over Gabriel; Castiel moved back to let him through. "Gabriel?" he enunciated slowly as he placed a pen on the side table. "Can you grab this pen for me?" The boy gave him a blank look that indicated that he still couldn't make out what was being said.

"J-just grab the pen," Castiel urged him on, failing to see the difficulty.

"I see…" The doctor retrieved the pen and showcased it to the boy. "Gabriel, can you tell me what this is?" He gesticulated in a manner that made his question clear.

Gabriel narrowed his eyes and said, "Stick."

"Hm…" The doctor jotted something down on a notepad. He then motioned a writing gesture to Gabriel and asked him to write the name of the object down on the pad. Gabriel grasped the pen and let it hover in mid-air, uncertain of what to do. He huffed and gripped the pen tight in his hand, as if forcing it by sheer dint of will would make it write by itself.

The doctor turned to John. "Mr Winchester, I would think it preferable if we kept Gabriel for a while longer. I'd like a language therapist to run some more tests on him to diagnose exactly which aphasia he's suffering from."

"Whatever it takes," said John. He glanced over at Castiel who was peering at Gabriel, his eyes filled with frightened questions. "But could you, uh, please give us a minute?"

"Of course." The doctor nodded and left.

"Gabriel… Gabe… please s-say something." Castiel squeezed his brother's hand. "W-what's my name?" He tapped his chest to indicate the question.

Gabriel stared at him forcefully for a moment, an intense battle for memory raging on behind those glossy hazel eyes. He hung his head, ashamed. He knew who his brother was; it was just impossible to name him right then.

"Boy," he ended up muttering.

"It's-it's-it's Castiel, Gabe. Castiel."

"Cassel," Gabriel repeated and frowned. "Catel… Kesal… Cas…" He smiled weakly. "Cas."

"There, see?" Castiel returned his smile, but faltered just as quickly from Gabriel's dark expression.

"Zachariah is going to money. I'm going to sue," he gritted out. "Going to… going to… uh…" he wavered and huffed.

"Yes, Gabriel." John approached the bed. The boy looked up at him, confused as to who he was. "Zachariah's fine and court-ordered anger management sessions is a ridiculous slap on the wrist. I'll help you get back at him; even after this, I'll help you get a job and a place of your own where you can have custody of your brother Castiel."

"Castiel," he repeated dumbly, having not understood all the other words.

"That's right." He smiled down at him.

"Who are yow… you?" Gabriel spluttered.

"I'm John, the father of Castiel's friend Dean."

Gabriel shook his head, irritated at the series of words he knew he should understand easily, feeling like an incompetent moron who was incapable of stringing coherent words together and was wasting everyone's time.

"I'm sorry, I can't understand what you're selling." Wait, that didn't sound right… "Sagging… Slaying… Saying." He grunted and clenched his fists in the sheets.

"It's… uh… it's alright, Gabe." Castiel hovered his hand hesitantly over his brother's. "Uh… get some rest. Sleep, Gabe. Sleep," he enunciated slowly.

"Bed," Gabriel tried to repeat, ending up with a related word instead. He pursed his lips.

"Uh… yeah… bed, sleep; same… uh… same difference." He shrugged and smiled.

His brother's eyebrows knitted together, his disgruntlement becoming ever clearer to himself and those around him; it was like a part of him had been robbed.

Just then, a nurse entered and told them that visiting hours were over. Castiel muttered something to Gabriel and squeezed his hand once more before shuffling out of the room behind John. Gabriel rolled onto his side and lifted the covers over himself.

Morphine… he needed morphine. Or cocaine, whatever worked quickest… He thought he still had some left in his coat pocket. Maybe later, when they'd release him. But it was taken away… Would Cas understand?  He shivered and bit down on his fist. He didn't know what was going to happen. Was suing Zachariah going to get him anywhere? It didn't matter anymore; he couldn't speak properly, what kind of job could he get? For God's sake, he couldn't even write. What world would have him now?…

It hurt, yes. His head hurt so much. He pressed the button to call the nurse.

Morphine… he needed morphine. He would deal with the rest later.

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