Dean read the awful list one more time, flipped the notebook closed with a thwack and stood. He put the notebook back in Cas's battered leather bag, setting the notebook carefully very deep down at the bottom. Then he put Cas's ziploc bag of cash and ids on top of the notebook, and the bundle of clothes on top of that, and set the angel-blade on top of that. Once the notebook was safely covered up, Dean buckled the bag closed, set it gently on Cas's little rolling bedside table, pushed the table to the other side of the room against the wall, and then went back and sat by Cas's bed again.
But after that Dean found himself strolling over to the table and almost picking the leather bag up. "Nope," he muttered to himself. "Not mine to read." It had been painful enough to read anyway; and it seemed it might have been somewhat private, too, maybe? So Dean made himself turn around and go back to Cas's chair.
But now he was far too restless to sit. Instead he stood, arms crossed over his chest, and looked once more at Cas's bruised face, and Cas's closed eyes; and he watched Cas's chest rise and fall slowly with each click-psshhh of the breathing machine.
Finally Dean ran both hands through his hair, spun on his heel and left the ICU bay in search of some food. Though he really wasn't very hungry.
Dean knew, from far too many late-night hospital vigils like this, that every hospital always had a twenty-four hour cafeteria somewhere. (Usually somewhere on the complete opposite side of the building, in the most inconvenient place possible). He wandered back to the lobby, found some signs pointing to the "cafe," and followed the signs down a long empty linoleum-tiled hallway that led, sure enough, clear to the other side of the building. He passed department after department — Laboratory, CT Scan, Radiography, Chemotherapy, Internal Medicine. But he didn't notice much of what he was passing, for there was a phrase running through his mind over and over:
Things to ask Dean when he calls.
Things to ask Dean when he calls.
Things to ask Dean when he calls.
"When" he calls, thought Dean. Not "if." When.
The whole long hallway smelled faintly of that inevitable hospital smell - a mix of bleach, alcohol swabs and betadine. And maybe a faint tinge of the stale breaths of the sick and the dying. The smell brought back far-too-vivid memories: of Dad dying, of Bobby paralyzed, of Bobby dying, of Lisa nearly dying, of Sammy nearly dying. Dean had sat by hospital bed after hospital bed, far too many times, over his life. Keeping vigil. Waiting. Hoping.
Praying, even.
Praying to Castiel, usually.
Cas had always helped when he could. And even when he couldn't help, he'd come anyway, or he'd called. Maybe he'd been a little brusque sometimes, a little blunt, in his Castiel way; but whenever Dean had really needed him, Cas had always tried to help.
By the time Dean got to the cafeteria, what little appetite he'd had left was entirely gone. The cafeteria was a small one, with just a stack of burgers and fries sitting under heat lamps, and some yogurt cups, pre-made salads, and sandwiches stacked in a cooler. A scattering of the usual late-night hospital crowd was hanging out at the little tables nearby: a couple of worried-looking family members staring glumly at a plate of uneaten french fries; a table of surprisingly chipper hospital staff in blue scrubs chatting with a pair of EMTs who were scarfing down some burgers on a late-night break; and one ambulatory patient dragging an IV pole around.
Dean didn't really notice any of them.
Things to ask Dean when he calls....
Dean got a cup of coffee and headed back to the ICU.
When he got back to Cas's ICU bay, he sat in the chair by Cas's side again, holding his new cup of coffee, and he looked at Cas for a while.
"You wrote out a whole list, huh, Cas," said Dean at last.
Cas, of course, didn't answer.
Click-psshhh.
"A whole list for whenever I would finally get my sorry ass around to calling you, huh. A whole goddamn list."
Thinking a moment more, Dean added, "You must've bought the whole book just to write that list, didn't you? That's why it's on the first page, right?"
Once again the scene from a few months back replayed in Dean's mind: Saying goodbye at the bunker door. The chilly, silent dawn. The early-morning fog twining through the trees; Cas trudging away with his head down. And Dean saying — uselessly, pointlessly, too little, too late— "I'll call and check in."
The new cup of coffee had gone cold. Dean sighed, and stood to pour the cold coffee down a tiny sink in the corner of the room, chucking the empty cup in the trash. When he made the way back to his chair he had to pass the corner with the rolling bedside table, and somehow he stopped and unbuckled the bag, and then somehow his hands were taking out the angel-blade and the bundle of clothes and the ziploc bag and uncovering the blue book, and then he was sitting down by Cas's side with the blue spiral-bound notebook in his hand.
He scowled at the battered blue cover for a while.
He glanced again at Cas. Silent. Still. Obviously not able to tell Dean much of anything anymore. But clearly there was stuff Cas had wanted to say.
Things to ask Dean when he calls...
"All right, Cas," Dean said, as he flipped the book open. "What else you got to ask me? Cause I'm listening now, I promise."
That sounded pretty lame. Of course Cas couldn't hear him anyway, but just the same Dean winced at how lame it sounded. So he added, "Sorry it wasn't sooner."
That sounded even lamer.
Click-psshhh.
Dean drew a breath, and turned to the second page.
******
The second page said "REXFORD, IDAHO," in big neat letters at the top of the page, and the entire rest of the page was a beautifully detailed hand-drawn map of a smallish town. There was a huge block in the center of town that Cas had labeled "The University" and which dominated the map. Rexford's university was a conservative religious school, Dean knew; and it seemed to be Rexford's primary reason for existing, for there wasn't much else to the town. Cas had drawn in almost all of Rexford's small grid of streets, even including the set of shops along little Route 20, and the tiny municipal airport, and even so the whole map still fit on one page. Dozens of locations had been carefully noted on the map, often with little notes by each one: a bus station with a tiny list of bus fares to other Idaho cities (including, Dean noticed with a pang, the fare back to Kansas); the town library, with a list of the days and hours it was open; a laundromat (a big star by this one, along with "$1.25/load not including drying, soap is $0.75"), a YMCA (a big star here, with a note of "SHOWERS $1.00"); a pizza place with the note "Closes 11pm, sometimes gives away unsold slices"; and a grocery store with notes about when they threw away rotten food in the dumpsters and when the dumpsters were emptied.
Several parks had been sketched into the map too, each one with a note about "Safe To Sleep" or "Not Safe To Sleep" and little diagrams of places that Cas had apparently tested out for sleeping.
Cas had written a few paragraphs on the facing page:
Need to locate safe, warm, dry place to sleep . University student tells me there is no homeless shelter; need to find housing somewhere. (Could hitchhike to larger city with homeless shelter but don't want to risk other people like before. Better to stay in small town on own? Fewer people at risk, & less risk of discovery?) So - Motel? Apartment?
Need food at least every other day . Dumpster food not always edible without a place to cook it. No ability to cook. Can find edible fruit and cheese though sometimes, but no place to keep it. Rats get it if left overnight. Pizza store is fairly reliable source of average of approx 2 unsold slices every 2 days. Note: Pants are getting loose. Need to remember to monitor how much weight my vessel is losing per wk. May need food every day instead of every other day? **Remember to ask Dean about this.
Need to keep the cellular phone charged , else Dean won't be able to call. Can charge it in library.
******
Dean slowly turned the page and found that the next several sheets of paper were crammed with dozens and dozens of notes, all of which seemed to involve addresses and phone numbers and sets of confusing abbreviations in Cas's neat handwriting. Dean studied the first set of notes, which read:
35 Morgan Dr, 208-555-7972, $300/mo 1 br, "spacious" and has closet, "first last deposit" - ? - "utilities" approx $60/mo - ? They sounded nice on the phone so I walked a mile over there, but when I showed up, they said room is taken already.
It was a search for housing, Dean realized, flipping through a few pages. Addresses and phone numbers corresponding to cheap apartment listings that Cas must've found in some local paper; there were also some notes in someone else's handwriting (the librarian, Dean deduced) about how to use Craigslist to find more listings. There were notes on rental prices, leases, utilities, furnishings, move-in dates. Cas had looked into motels, too; every motel in town was listed on one page, with the daily, weekly and monthly rates for every one.
It looked like it had been a long and difficult search.
It looked like he hadn't succeeded, either. For after all the pages of the housing search was another hand-drawn map, this one a careful diagram of one of the parks. There was a clump of three bushes and a tree drawn in one area, starred and labeled, "Best so far, under these 3 bushes, hidden, not many rats, ground stays dry." And some notes with ideas of how to build a rain shelter out of garbage bags and cardboard.
"College town, Cas," Dean muttered. "Damn. College town in the middle of September. Right after all the students rented all the rooms. Damn... I could've told you to try a different town..."
Dean's voice trailed away.
He finally finished, his voice gruff, "Could've told you that housing is awful in small college towns, after the semester starts. Could've told you, if I'd ever called. But I didn't friggin' call, did I?"
******
The next page had longer paragraphs. Cas had started writing out longer thoughts, and he'd added a date as well:
Thursday, twelfth day of September. I realized I need to organize my thoughts and Thursday of course is an auspicious day for me.
Housing has proven to be very difficult. The cheapest rooms are all in shared houses that are full of students. But it always seems that the room is "already taken" when I arrive. I have slowly realized that they don't want me. Something in my appearance, perhaps, or something in my behavior that is not standard. I've been aware of this issue before, the fact that I don't fully know the native culture; but before it didn't actually matter much. But now it matters.
It may also be my vessel's age. The students in the rental houses seem very young. One student asked when I was born and without thinking I said "The pre-Cambrian" and they thought it was a funny joke. They did not offer me the room though.
There are some apartments available that are not shared with students, but cheapest I can find is $1800/mo for "first last and deposit" then $600 per month thereafter. This is absolutely out of the question. How do people afford this?
In addition to the ridiculous expense, the apartments require proof of income and a "credit check" and a "social security number" and also references. I do not have any of these. (Could Dean or Sam be willing to be a "reference"? - Probably not.) Did Jimmy Novak used to have one of these "security numbers"? What does that mean? I don't have any of his old identification; he did not have his wallet the final time I took possession. Without formal papers it is surprisingly difficult to make headway. I need to ask Dean about how he obtains those fake identification papers that he always seems to have.
Cheapest motel is: $35/day. How do Dean and Sam keep paying for these? Where do they get their plastic cards and money?
I have: $32.90.
******
Dean frowned at the description of the students' reactions, and flipped back through several pages of the apartment and room-rental listings again. This time he noticed there were quite a lot of notes about Cas having walked a long way to look at a room for rent, only to be turned down, or to find that the room was mysteriously "taken" suddenly.
Dean thought about that, and looked again at Cas's bruised face.
It seemed such a trusted face; a beloved face, really. A face Dean knew intimately; the face of a friend who had fought by his side for years and saved his life countless times. More than a friend; part of his family. But to a bunch of eighteen-year-old Idaho college kids, what must Cas have seemed like? Presumably Cas hadn't been so bruised when he'd been looking for housing; but what would college kids have thought of Cas, if he'd come knocking at the door asking to see a room for rent?
Just some weird middle-aged guy, probably. A slightly-weird middle-aged guy all on his own. And probably Cas had looked obviously homeless. Rundown and dirty, probably, by that point, after a few weeks on his own living in the park. And knowing Castiel, he probably would have told the college students, with that characteristic candor of his, that he was living under some bushes in a park and had no job and no income and no references.
Just some loser, they'd have thought.
"You fucking morons," Dean muttered, to the imaginary Idaho college kids in his mind. "You're going to a friggin' religious university to serve God, and you went and turned an angel of the Lord out on the goddamn street."
"Not that I did any better," Dean whispered to himself a second later. He sighed once more, and turned to the next page.
******
Thursday, the nineteenth day of September. It's a week later. I still haven't found housing and even though I'm sleeping in the park now, I'm rapidly running out of money because I keep having to spend a little bit almost every day for food.
Things to ask Dean when he calls:
1. Is he ok / Sam ok
2. could I come back?
- it has occurred to me that Dean only asked me to leave once I'd lost all my powers. Neither Dean nor Sam has ever asked me to leave before. So perhaps they only want me around when I am useful.
- Might help if I promise only to eat very little and not take up any space? Maybe I used too much of the hot water, or ate too much food?
- must convince Dean I can still be useful, and will not use much water or food.
3. Other. If #2 is still no:
- all questions from previous list, and these new ones:
- MONEY, how best to earn more, any advice? I have tried not to spend any more money since last week but I had to buy food several times (cheapest I could find was those frozen burritos. Which I let thaw and then just eat cold). I am now down to: $17.54. I have started asking for jobs but people say the "job market" is bad, though I haven't yet done a truly rigorous search. Also it seems that students have already taken all the jobs, several weeks ago when the school year started.
- HOUSING: what does "first last and deposit" mean, is it always that much, what does the "credit check" involve and why do I have to pay $25 for it for every single apartment; what is the "security number" and how could I get one; do I really need "utilities" (I really don't mind if there is no heat or water, I just want a room out of the rain), what do people do when they do not have enough money for all this? What would Dean recommend I do?
- PAPERS: How to get an identification without a birth certificate or ability to drive. Room-rental people all require identification for the "credit check", library requires "proof of residence", and even the woman at the assistance center that I was directed to yesterday told me I must have "proof of citizenship" to qualify for free food vouchers.
- really need some advice about the bad dreams. Also: how to tell bad dream from reality (when wake up, how do you know for sure you've woken up?) Also: is there a way to stop specific dream topics (how can I stop dreaming about flying; the dreams themselves are not bad, but when I awaken and realize that my wings are truly gone and I can no longer fly, it becomes very difficult to get up and start the day). Is there any way to stop certain dream topics from occurring?
******
Monday, the twenty-third day of September.
I have been to the library today and I discovered something that has shaken me. I thought if I write it out perhaps it will settle in my mind.
I have been observing and visiting humans for hundreds of thousands of years, on all the continents. Here in North America I have visited several vessels in the last 12,000 years and always humans were hunter-gatherers. There was abundant game on land, abundant fish in the rivers, abundant food crops in fall. Chestnut trees especially would drop enormous bumper crops of edible chestnuts every fall. Wild game like Eskimo curlew and passenger pigeon filled the skies on fall migration. Passenger pigeons were especially easy to catch. Fall was always an excellent time to catch game and harvest the wild crops and put up food for winter. I knew Sam and Dean never foraged or hunted for their food but I had assumed they just chose not to. So, I have been very hungry recently and my funds have been dwindling due to having to buy a little food each day, but I wasn't too worried because I have been waiting for the passenger pigeon migration, thinking I could catch some easily in the roosting trees like in the days of old, and cook them over a fire, and smoke some of the meat for later, as the people I've visited here in the past used to do. But it is well into September now and the passenger pigeons have not appeared. I thought the migration must just be delayed for some reason. This is actually the first time in recent years that I've been on Earth continuously through the fall (last fall I was still in Purgatory, the fall before fighting the war in Heaven, and so on) and so it's the first time I realized the passenger pigeon migration was not occurring. Then too I could not find any chestnut trees; last I knew they were the dominant hardwood tree species in North America, and the one that produced the greatest edible crop every fall - often the chestnuts would be a foot thick on the ground - so I've been puzzled as to where the chestnut trees are.
Today I asked in the library where were the nearest chestnut trees, and was truly shocked to discover that the chestnut tree, and the passenger pigeon and also the Eskimo curlew, and the sage grouse and desert rabbit, and even the salmon that used to migrate up the rivers, are all extinct or nearly so.
The passenger pigeon is entirely extinct.
I cannot understand how this happened so rapidly. Of course species go extinct from time to time, and I've seen it happen many times. But so many, so rapidly? Just a few centuries ago, just an eyeblink really, the passenger pigeon was the most abundant bird on the entire planet. And they were always one of the reliable sources of free food for the poor, since no expensive gear was needed to catch them. You could simply catch them by hand at their roosting trees on migration.
I was so dismayed and saddened to find that they are gone that I had to go outside and sit on the library steps for a while to take it in.
They were such spectacular flyers, too; so fast and so lovely. "Blue lightning," we called them. Many times I flew with them on their migration just for the joy of it, just to see that river of slate-blue birds darkening the sky.
Now finally I understand why the skies seem so empty.
It is a great sorrow to me.
And a great practical problem. The chestnut trees are also gone, and almost every other source of free food is gone as well. It seems the poor can no longer find and gather their own food. Apparently there are still people who hunt the larger game, the deer and elk and pronghorn, but Audrey the librarian tells me people need quite expensive guns to do this (snares and pit traps are not allowed), and one must also pay for "hunting licenses", and one must own a car and travel well outside of cities to certain places; in other words to hunt one must have money.
Humans no longer forage and hunt. This has taken some time for me to comprehend, for humans have been foragers and hunters since the dawn of the species. I knew that agriculture had taken over much of the landscape, and I had noted the great size of the cities, but I had not fully comprehended the magnitude of the change. Nor had I realized that the wild fowls and fishes, and even the wild food crops, have been stripped from the earth almost entirely.
Food is now something one must buy. But where does that leave the poor who have no money?
My entire strategy must change now.
******
Wednesday, twenty-fifth day of September. Have really gotten quite worried since the discovery of the passenger pigeon tragedy. I have had to buy more food and my funds are now down to $8.53 remaining of the money Dean gave me, and I still have not found housing that I can afford. I should not have spend so much on the bus ticket away from Kansas. Did not need to go so far. I should not have bought food so often. Should not have bought this book, or the pen.
$8.53
I find that the garrison training for calming oneself and ridding one's mind of fear does not work nearly as well when one is human. I think those techniques must require grace. I used to be able to simply command myself to become calm; and at once I was calm. It simply isn't working any more. It isn't working at all.
Must find a different way to control this fear. I wish I could talk to Dean about how he and Sam manage this sort of feeling, this confusion and bewilderment and sense of hopelessness.
$8.53. $8.53. $8.53.
Possible courses of action:
1. I considered begging and even tried it briefly, though I felt very uneasy about whether I deserve any human charity. The point quickly became moot anyway because a town policeman came and told me that begging is forbidden.
2. Steal? - No. NO. Do not want to steal. Nor lie, nor cheat. I want to be good; if I am to be human I want to obey humanity's ethical codes.
3. Call Dean? To ask for help, or for more money, perhaps? Or advice, at least?
But if I wish to demonstrate that I am useful, calling him for help, or asking for money, would be counterproductive.
Also: in addition to the not-being-useful problem, it has occurred to me that Dean has likely lost all respect for me in a deeper sense.
Years ago actually. He has always treated me in a joking manner from the beginning, of course; which some humans of his type do for emotional defense, and as he seemed to need all the emotional defense he could muster, I never commented on it. Though sometimes I have thought of telling him that his brand of dismissive joking does not actually go unnoticed; but, it didn't matter really; it becomes irrelevant when one is thousands of times older and has visited hundreds of other human cultures whose customs all seem, to be frank, equally silly. (His "personal space" lectures are a classic example; I know full well that every human culture has a different code of minimum-distance, eye contact, postural orientation and so forth; and yet once you've visited 100 different cultures that all have 100 different rules about this, it all starts to seem rather pointless and becomes just another pesky little detail of trivial importance.)
But, in the past year there has been something beyond his customary joking; something more than a jab about my ignorance of this or that unimportant little detail of 21st century North American culture. There has been, in Dean's speech recently, and his actions, something closer to disdain, or scorn. Perhaps a lingering distrust. I think that since the war in Heaven Dean has progressively lost faith in me, and respect for me. Rightfully so I think, for my errors were egregious. I have tried and failed to atone; and now I find I can no longer brush off his joking remarks as I used to. The jokes are more pointed now, the scorn in his speech more pronounced, and it bothers me now. I still do not comment, but always I notice and always it is a source of some pain.
All of which is to say: If I am to stand any chance of earning Dean's respect once more, or Sam's for that matter, it is really not going to help if I call for help at times like this and demonstrate only too clearly to them what a failure I am.
I won't call Dean. I'll wait till he calls me, as he said he would, and then perhaps I can just casually raise some of my questions, as if I've only just thought of them. As if it's not a big deal.
Though I suppose if I have some 30 questions or more lined up, he will likely realize that I'm not doing very well on my own. I'll have to assess his mood when he calls and then proceed. Maybe 2 or 3 questions at a time? Maybe I can pick the most important ones when the time comes. When he calls.
$8.53.
It's very late now, near midnight; it's getting hard to write because my hands are shivering so I will need to stop soon. I haven't managed to come up with any kind of plan and I still feel this draining sensation of fear and worry, but, I'm going to see if I can get any sleep. I've found that if I roll up in 2 or 3 plastic trash bags (I found some clean unused ones) and put cardboard between my vessel and the ground and put the leather bag under my head, I can sometimes get some sleep. I found some more cardboard today and constructed a sort of shelter that is hidden in my three bushes. Maybe if the dreams aren't too bad tonight, I can get a little sleep and can come up with some kind of plan tomorrow.
********
Thursday, the twenty-sixth day of September. It has just occurred to me that if I am no longer an angel at all, I am no longer the angel-of-Thursday either. Maybe Thursday is no longer a good day for me. A very disorienting thought.
This occurred to me because the day did not start well. I did not get much sleep after all— I had a long strange dream in which I was sinking into a muddy bog of some sort and the water level was rising. Sam and Dean came walking by and they waved and even said hello, but when I asked them to help me, or even just to throw me a rope, they walked away. Dean even was carrying a rope, and the water came up to my neck and I was begging him to throw me the end of the rope, but he just shook his head and they both just walked away chatting about some case. The sensation of despair, upon realizing they were walking away, was overwhelming. I woke and it was raining and my cardboard had gotten wet, and I was drenched and extremely cold and shaking and confused, and it took some time to understand that it had only been a dream.
I managed to make my way to the bus station to get out of the rain, and eventually stopped shaking, though I'm still somewhat damp. At least I had this notebook well-wrapped in a plastic bag, and thankfully the phone too.
I don't think Dean would just walk away like that if I were actually drowning.
Or would he?
I am very tired and very hungry this morning. Over the last week I've learned a lot more about the dumpster and trash pickup schedules, and I can usually find some food in the grocery store and restaurant dumpsters. But it's never very much and I still can't store any (it definitely attracts the rats and though I know they are just hungry too, for some reason is deeply disturbing when they run over my face in the night). It's only late September but I am very cold every night, and always hungry and I know I'm losing energy. I'm so groggy in the mornings that it's getting hard even to think. I know the cold will only get worse.
I know this is not sustainable. I need a plan. A strategy.
I need to think of this as a war, and every day as a battle; which means I need an overall strategy and I need a focused tactical approach for each day.
I need a mission.
I'll take stock first:
HAVE: shirt, sweater, pants, belt, underwear, two socks, two shoes, the leather bag that Dean gave me, a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste (almost empty), a razor (though I'm out of soap and haven't been able to shave in a few days), this book and the pen and another bigger plastic bag, 3 garbage bags (wet), several pieces of cardboard (probably ruined now), and $8.53 in cash.
IMMEDIATE VESSEL NEEDS: Need food every day. Water every day. Warmer and drier place to sleep, or at least, some warm bedding or warmer clothing to sleep in. Some kind of rain shelter.
LESS IMMEDIATE VESSEL NEEDS: Indoor housing that is truly protected from rain and wind. More vessel-maintenance supplies - need more soap/shampoo, some place to bathe more regularly, need a towel, already need more toothpaste, might need comb for hair, I think I need one of those clipper devices for fingernails and toenails, and I wonder if deodorant is expected (Sam and Dean always use it but I'm unsure if it is universally used or just a family quirk). Also laundry soap, and quarters for the laundromat and something to wear while I wash my primary set of clothes. Stock of food, place to store it; and it would be really helpful to have some kind of fire or stove so that I could have warm food sometimes. Also: additional clothing - need full change of clothes, multiple underwear, much warmer socks, much warmer coat, much warmer pants, hat, scarf, gloves.
Suppose I get all those things taken care of. Then what? What is the mission?
MISSION: Reverse all my mistakes and fix everything in Heaven and on Earth.
SPECIFIC GOALS of this mission: Recover my grace if any remains, dethrone Metatron, open the gates of Heaven, rescue the fallen angels; in the process, hopefully earn Dean's respect and friendship back (if possible) and also Sam's too (if possible).
STRATEGY to accomplish these goals. Earn money to cover immediate needs (continue sleeping in park in meantime); then cover less immediate needs; then the vessel will be taken care of and healthy; then get sufficient funds to purchase a car; then I will be healthy and mobile and can return to Dean and Sam, then demonstrate usefulness, see if they might be able to help me recover my grace. And after that I can tackle the goals one at a time.
TACTICAL APPROACH FOR THIS WEEK: I need to earn money. To earn money I will find a job, like a human would.
So tomorrow I will start looking much more rigorously for a job.
I feel a little calmer now.
********
The next four pages were filled with columns of names, addresses, tiny maps, copies of classified ads, and then a huge list of what Dean finally realized were names of small businesses. Dozens and dozens of businesses. Restaurants, motels, barbershops, movie theaters, grocery stores, pet shops, coffeehouses, fast food places, cell phone stores, car dealerships, bookstores, shoe stores, hardware stores, and on. They were all listed in long neat columns, in an apparently random order that didn't make any sense till Dean noticed the addresses; Cas had been making his way through the town street by street, stopping in at every single business in the order he came to them. And for every business Cas had made a note about whether they had any jobs.
Friday, the twenty-seventh day of September
1. Little Red Hen bar - Job for "skilled bartender only."
2. Subway sandwich shop - No jobs.
3. Starbucks coffee shop - No jobs.
4. Burger King restaurant - No jobs.
5. Aquarium fish store - No jobs. The fish were absolutely lovely though.
6. International House of Pancakes - Does have a job but it turns out the application form requires proof of citizenship that I do not have, so I couldn't even apply. I did wonder what makes a house of pancakes international, or why one would built a house out of pancakes in the first place. I don't think the pancakes would stand up well to rain.
7. Gas n Sip - Job available but requires experience with cash register and "customer service" experience. I said I could learn quickly but they said they absolutely require past experience. This was disappointing.
8. Bookstore - No jobs.
9. Futon store - At first the staff would not talk to me. Then the manager said I "smelled bad" and told me to leave because I was "filthy" and they'd "never let someone that stank so bad near the futons," so I left.
It has become impossible to continue at my task. I had been planning to continue on to the next place, the Greek restaurant, but now I am sitting on a curb on a side street trying to decide what to do. Has taken a surprising amount of time to stop feeling so shaken about being judged as "filthy," and to come up with any sort of corrective action.
I know it's customary in this culture to take showers daily but it's very difficult to do so when living in the park. The showers at the YMCA cost $1.00 each so I've been rationing them and it's been a week. Also I need soap - after all I was drenched last night but apparently I'm still filthy anyway. Cold water is not enough. Also some of the stink is probably coming from my clothes, but I no longer can afford the $1.25 to wash my clothes, nor the $0.75 to buy the soap to wash them, nor do I have any other clothes to change into.
Such customs of cleanliness and odor used to be just one of those insignificant cultural details. I've been in many cultures that don't bathe at all, and in several that bathe with olive oil or in salt water, and one that bathed in stale urine (in the Arctic; it was the best way they had to get the rancid whale-blubber off their skin). And there were cultures that coated their skin in deer fat to keep mosquitoes off, or that layered perfumes on top of the body odor. All possible approaches. Every culture has some peculiar variant. But as an angel, one can simply think the vessel clean. To be confronted with such a vivid reminder that not only am I not an angel anymore, but I am also apparently substandard even as a human, caused the strangest sensation. After all the cultures I have seen, this should not have bothered me one whit, yet, when the futon store manager said to me that I smelled bad and was filthy and must leave, the oddest thing happened: it actually became a little hard to breathe, and extraordinarily difficult to hold my head up, as I left the futon store. My eyes seemed to be burning as well and I found I wanted to sit very still for a while, somewhere out of view of anybody, so I searched out this spot on a side street where I can sit for a moment.
It took me a while to recognize that this is shame; this is what shame feels like as a human. It feels truly horrible.
I really wish I could call Dean and ask what to do. I've been sitting here holding the phone and looking at his number.
But he'd probably just laugh. Body-related questions are one of those things that he laughs at.
Anyway I've already decided that I shouldn't call Dean for help. Not if I want to convince him that I'm worthy of any respect, and that I can be truly useful. Besides, he said he would call. I know he'll call. He said he would. I'll wait till then.
I've thought a little more. I've been thinking over Dean and Sam's usual routine for self-cleansing, and the things they do when they've gotten dirty after a fight. I think I need to invest in: a shower at the YMCA, one of those deodorant stick-like things, some soap, and a 2nd shirt. I still have the $8.53. It's frightening to part with even a penny of it, but I think I have to.
******
It's later. I have been to the drugstore and bought 1 small travel-size deodorant for $1.29, $1.00 for a tiny bar of soap, then went to the thrift store by the university and I found 1 shirt that I think looks fairly good for $3.25. The shirt seemed a huge expense but I need one that looks truly acceptable. There are so many different types of shirts and I wanted to ask for advice but was very nervous to approach anybody closely in case I stank too badly, so in the end I looked for the kind of shirt that Sam and Dean usually wear, the fuzzy kind with the right-angles and squares all over. People generally respect Sam and Dean so maybe this is a good kind of shirt. I couldn't find exactly the right kind though, but I think I found one that is not bad; it isn't fuzzy but it has the right-angles. But $3.25 seems so much! I spent a long time looking at all the other shirts but I think this is the only one that is decent and has all its buttons and that I can afford and that seems to fit. I hope it is okay.
Then I went to the YMCA and had a shower ($1.00) and shaved and put on the deodorant and changed into the new shirt. I still have no towel but it isn't too bad using paper towels. I washed my underwear too and tried to dry it with the dryer thing on the wall, which took a long time and the underwear is still somewhat damp so I am a bit chilly, but I think I'm clean now.
I feel better. Seem to be able to hold my head up again.
$8.53 - $1.29 deodorant - $1.00 soap - $3.25 shirt - $1.00 shower = $1.99 left. I really hope the pizza store has some unsold slices tonight. I am not going to be able to buy any food any more, and the grocery store doesn't throw out food today.
It's getting late in the afternoon now but stores are still open for another two hours, so am going to get back to my task now. Focus on the mission:
9. Futon store -
I tried to go back into the futon store but I couldn't make myself walk inside. Strange.
10. Greek restaurant - No jobs. And the food smelled so good and my stomach wouldn't stop growling. An old Greek man behind the counter was scowling at me and I was certain he was going to say that I am still filthy and still stink and that I needed to leave, so I started to back away, but instead he bundled something up and came around the counter and gave it to me. He was still scowling but maybe it's just his customary expression, for it was a free piece of something amazing that turns out to be called "baklava." It was incredibly good. I think it might be the best thing I've ever eaten. I was very grateful.
I have a little more energy now.
11. Shoe store - No jobs
12. Bank - No jobs
13. College movie theater - No jobs. But I noticed something though. They show modern movies during the early evening, but at midnight on Fridays and Saturdays they show old movies cheaply for the students — and, next Friday they are showing a "Steve McQueen" movie called "The Great Escape". I remember this title; Dean has mentioned it. He thinks it's a "classic" and he said once that I really ought to see it. It costs $2.50 though. But what I noticed is, for $2.50 you can actually stay for as long as three hours, for they let you in as early as 11pm (I asked) and the movie ends at 2am. It's warm inside and I got a glimpse of the theater and the seats are padded and look so comfortable. Immediately a new goal sprang to mind, which is: if next week I have gotten a job and have $2.50, I could go see Dean's movie and have 3 hours in a comfortable soft chair in the warmth.
14. Computer store - No jobs, and I realized instantly I don't know anything about computers anyway.
15. Hardware store - No jobs. Same problem, I don't know anything useful.
16. The pizza place. It turns out they recognized me! The student at the counter is the same one who gave me a free slice the last two Saturdays and he remembered me. He greeted me with a smile and I had a very strange reaction to the smile; to be honest I almost started to cry. I'm not sure why. Anyway, the pizza store employee's name is Bryce, and he is a college student who is studying engineering, and he asked my name and I said "Steve" (from Dean's midnight movie) and he says they do have a job for a delivery person. I thought at once that it must be like that other movie I saw once on the TV, so I asked if it was the sort of job that involves spanking babysitters and he seemed to think I'd said a hilarious joke (it turns out he's seen the same movie). He laughed quite a bit. But he also seemed to think I'd told the joke on purpose. I am never going to understand this culture. Anyway, the job is actually just to deliver pizza for people to eat, with no kissing or spanking involved. But after all that, it turned out the job requires a driver's license and a car so in the end it was just another disappointment. Bryce was kind though and he said he would try to hold a pizza slice for me tomorrow night if I come back at 11pm (he does the closing shift again tomorrow). He smiled again when I left and he said "Take it easy, Steve." It's the sort of thing that Dean and Sam used to say, and once again I nearly started to cry. I seem to be experiencing ridiculously exaggerated emotional reactions to very small things - is this normal or could I be getting sick, perhaps?
17. Hair cutting store. No jobs and also the hair-cutter women in the store laughed at me. Apparently hair cutting requires training and a certification, but also I think I transgressed some gender-role boundary because then I noticed everybody in the haircutting store was female. Need to remember I'm in a male vessel; need to pay more attention to these things.
18. Hiking store. No jobs. I could not stop looking at the sleeping bags. They look so warm! They are very expensive though. Even the cheapest is over a hundred dollars.
19. Vietnamese soup store. No jobs and they only hire family. They said, "Will your family not help you?" and I was taken aback, thinking first "the angels do not really feel like my family any more" and then thinking "Sam and Dean are my family now, they've said so" and then remembering "Well, not really, not any more, apparently," all 3 thoughts coming in quick succession and once again my eyes were stinging suddenly. Strange how this keeps happening. I had to leave.
20. Furniture store. No jobs.
21. University Inn. No jobs. Owner told me frankly "why would I hire a middle-aged man with no job experience and who's apparently an illegal immigrant, when there's a hundred students right outside all with id's and all with more experience?" He did not say this in a cruel way; I think he was trying to be helpful. But I left feeling shaken once more.
That was the last store on this street. It was a discouraging note to end on. I managed to make myself clean but I cannot make my vessel younger. And do I have to lie about my background? Pretend I have job experience?
But I'm so tired of lying. I don't want to have to lie. Or cheat, or steal, or kill, or hurt anybody. If I have to be human, I want to live an honest life.
I'm so hungry. I'm going to have to go look in the trash bins outside the little restaurants. I wonder if I can wait to eat until the pizza slice tomorrow night.
******
Same Friday. I have gotten back to the park. It's not raining anymore and I found some new cardboard to change out for the wrecked wet cardboard. I changed back into my dirtier shirt to sleep in and wrapped the new one (it's still clean I think) in a bag and I will wear the clean one for another round of job-hunting tomorrow. I can't afford another shower, but maybe I can at least do a little cleaning up tomorrow morning, in a store restroom somewhere. Also I forgot to charge my phone today and it went dead. I'm worried I might miss Dean's call. I'll charge it tomorrow morning at the library and maybe I can use the library restroom to clean up and re-apply the deodorant.
Despite the cold it can be beautiful. There's a perfect quarter-moon hanging in the sky (just enough light to write by), stars sprinkled around, stars I used to fly among; and the screech-owl that lives in this park is calling from right above me. It's beautiful, actually, but, somehow the moon and stars look very sad. Silver clouds started drifting by and it became even more beautiful, but oddly, the more beautiful it becomes, the sadder it seems. Even the owl sounds sad.
Things to ask Dean when he calls:
1. is he ok / Sam ok
2. could I please come back
Ways I can be useful. I've been thinking about this all week and I've come up with these things:
- combat skills.
- Knowledge of all human history up to 33 AD? - This is probably not useful.
- Knowledge of all evolutionary history as well - Also not useful.
- Enochian and related runes/sigils/arcane knowledge. - Is this useful? Unsure
- 100's other languages. No, NOT USEFUL, most no longer spoken.
- geography of entire planet, astral navigation. NOT USEFUL. D/S use those telephone maps
- friendship? Is this useful? No... probably not... No, it's not, I think. Else Dean would not have asked me to leave.
- maybe I could be useful washing things? I have a better feel now for how much soap is needed and how to rinse soap out. Maybe I could wash dishes, or clothes. Or I could even wash Dean's car.
This list seems very short.
3. other:
- all previous questions.
- The dreams are getting worse. I had the drowning dream again last night although it wasn't raining. Managed to get back to sleep afterwards only to dream of that horrifying, paralyzing sensation of the moment I lost my grace and how it felt as my wings were ripped away. Are my wings really gone, I wonder? Or could they still be there, but just so numb I can't feel them?
- Getting desperate about food. Really getting worried and the hunger is getting difficult to manage. I know it's weakening my vessel. I wonder if there is any other way to get free food that Dean or Sam might know about.
- Is it normal to feel my eyes pricking with tears so often? It's happened five times just today. Is this some kind of disease?
- When is it okay to lie. After today I fear I am going to need to lie about my background to get a job, and this disturbs me. I wanted to be a good human and not lie or cheat or steal, but I am starting to feel very discouraged. People seem to be skeptical about my vessel's age in combination with my lack of relevant experience and lack of the driver's license and lack of proof of citizenship and lack of an address. Some have asked if I was in prison, or if I have mental health problems, or if I am an "illegal alien." I fear I am going to have to lie but I don't want to. I know that Dean and Sam both lie frequently. They must have found some way to balance the lying, and the types of lies, with their own internal sense of justice and rightness. I really would like to discuss this with Dean: When is it okay to lie? And more generally - How does one stay good, when living in a world in which good people starve?
Or am I simply not "good" at all? Am I being punished? Do I deserve this?
Maybe I do.
******
Dean had to take another break from reading. This time he didn't stand, and didn't leave, and didn't close the book. Instead he set the book on Cas's blanketed legs, and pulled his chair a little closer to the bed and, finally, reached out to take Cas's hand.
"Cas," Dean began, and stalled instantly.
There were too many things to say.
Not that Cas would hear anything anyway, of course.
Dean sat a few moments in silence, one hand on Cas's.
Finally he said, "Okay, Cas, for one thing, just to start, that dream. You must know I would never let you drown like that, right?"
Then he thought, But that's exactly what I did.
Dean fell silent.
Cas's hand seemed a little cold, so Dean put his other hand around it too, rubbing Cas's fingers lightly and trying to warm them up. Then he folded Cas's hand tightly between both his own, and sat there for a long time in silence, holding Cas's hand.
Click-psshhh.