#alien!cas

Brushing off his hands, Kevin hops off his stool. He looms over Charlie, looking down at her over crossed arms. “What’s going on with you, Charlie? You’re not doing any work, you keep asking the same questions over and over, and your moods are all over the place. And please don’t tell me this is about the blueberries. You know very well strain beta is going to succeed, you’re a genius. This isn’t about blueberries.”

Charlie throws an arm across her eyes in an unsuccessful attempt to hide. “I’m fine. Nothing to see here.”

Kevin sighs dramatically. “Alright. You give me no choice. Let’s see, I think these blueberries need some--”

Shrieking, Charlie sits up and rolls off the lab counter in one motion, misses her landing and ends up sprawled on the floor. She scrambles to her feet and leaps onto Kevin’s back. “Not my blueberries! I’ll talk, I’ll talk!”

“Get off!” says Kevin, but he’s laughing, and so is Charlie, so everything is okay.

They sit side by side on the bench in front of the blueberries. “Look,” Charlie says, “it’s not me. Not really. I’m just worried about...a friend.”

Kevin snorts. “So we’re talking about Dean, then?”

“I have other friends!” Her defensiveness is barely even halfhearted.

He just looks at her.

Charlie throws up her hands. “Fine, yes, I’m worried about Dean. He acts like he’s all macho tough guy, but really he’s just a big softie. He’s fallen for a guy, pretty hard, and he keeps…” She looks around to make sure the lab is still empty. Telling Kevin a few vague bits is one thing, but spreading gossip all over the station is quite another. Everyone’s still off eating lunch, so she continues. “Well, I haven’t witnessed any of this, but he says he keeps embarrassing himself whenever he talks to the guy. I think he’s probably exaggerating, but Dean’s taking it pretty hard. And now his brother’s going to be here in a few weeks, so he’s got that to worry about too.”

“Wait, Sam? Way out here? He’s not in the Star Voyagers, is he? I thought he was going to med school!”

Charlie grins. “Didn’t I tell you? Sammy graduated, and he’s doing his residency with the Star Voyagers, on the Virginian!”

Kevin shakes his head slowly. “That’s amazing. You and Dean getting reassigned here together, then his brother getting sent here...what’s next?”

“Kevin!” Charlie sounds scandalized. “Never, ever, ask what’s next! You know you just brought something horrible down on us, don’t you?”

“I don’t--I mean, I didn’t--” Kevin sputters.

Charlie giggles, bumping her shoulder into his. “I’m just kidding.” Kevin lets out a breath. Charlie’s  face shits to serious and she says ominously, “Unless something goes wrong. Then it’s totally your fault.” She laughs again. “Your face is funny, Kevin. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a person’s expressions change so fast.”

“You are a terrible person, Charlie Bradbury,” Kevin grumbles.

Charlie brightens. “Thanks, Kevin. You always know just what a girl needs to hear.”

“Here’s something you really do need to hear. Go clear your head. You’re doing absolutely no good here.” Charlie opens her mouth to protest, but Kevin covers it with his hand before she can speak. “Don’t argue with me Charlie. I know where your blueberries live.” Her eyes widen; Kevin continues. “Go for a walk. Go down to the Arboretum. You can always check on the plum trees while you’re down there. The gardeners take good care of them, but I know you like to check on our newest babies when you can.” Charlie nods.

“Can I take my hand away now?” Kevin asks.

Charlie nods again.

“And you’re not going to argue?”

Charlie shakes her head.

“Alright.”

When he takes his hand away, Charlie kisses Kevin on the cheek.

“What was that for?” he asks, startled.

“For being a good big brother.”

“I’m two years younger than you, Charlie,” Kevin says, somewhat exasperated.

“Doesn’t matter,” she says, grinning. “You’re still a good big brother.”

*

Castiel squints at the paper in his hands again, trying to decipher the scribbled directions. Honestly, who writes notes on paper anymore? Leave it to Meg. She could have written notes on his tablet, or recorded vocal directions for him, but instead she’d pulled a scrap of paper from her bag and jotted down the words with an old-fashioned fountain pen. He’d obviously looked at her strangely because she’d retorted, “What? I like to write. And perfectly formed letters on a screen are not the same as words that flow from my own hand. I always keep a pen and paper with me.”

Words on paper are all well and good, he decides, except that they are sometimes difficult to read. He’s unsure if he’s supposed to go to Deck 15, Section D4...or Deck 15, Section D9.

At least he’s fairly certain he’s going to Deck 15. He knows he could ask the station’s computer system, or one of the passing people… He looks around at the crowd around him, at how many of the people glance at him with wide, curious eyes, and decides to keep to himself. For now at least.

After another uncomfortable lift ride, the nearly empty corridor of Deck 15 is a relief.

He glares at Meg’s directions again. For someone who likes to write by hand, she’s not very good at it. Looking from the paper in his hand to the sign in front of him, he sighs. If he’s going toward D4 he has to go left. If it’s D9, he should turn right. Of course he’d get there either way, the station is a giant wheel. But “giant” is the key word, and that would be a long walk. He wants to save his energy.

He’s nearly resigned himself to asking a computer interface for help when he finds himself flying through the air--and not in a familiar, freeing sort of way. More in a tumbling, somersaulting, “tuck in my wings so they don’t get damaged” sort of way.

He lands in a heap some distance down the corridor, a jumble of arms and legs and wings, and when his brain clears enough to really notice things, he realizes that not all of the arms and legs are his. There is a foot that clearly belongs to someone else pressed against one of his hands, and the shock of red hair draped across his chest--

“Sorry! Sorry! Oof, ow! I’m gonna feel that tomorrow,” a voice groans from somewhere near his shoulder. Castiel is about to ask her--the owner of the voice is clearly a human female--if she needs help getting up when he feels a sudden crashing nausea in the pit of his stomach. His brain has a moment of clarity--she’s touching my feathers--before it whites out completely.

*

“Cas? Uh, Castiel, are you okay?”

Castiel slowly opens his eyes. He’s on his back in the a corridor, bright interior lights all around. He can feel his wings crumpled underneath him, sore but not broken so far as he can tell. There is a pale face haloed with red hair hovering over him, watching him anxiously. A small part of him had been expecting green eyes and freckles--no one but Dean has ever called him Cas.

“Oh! Oh, I’m so glad you’re awake, you have no idea. I can’t believe I did something so horrible, first not paying attention to where I was going and knocking you over, and then…” She bites her lip, looking away. Castiel can see how bad she feels.

“It’s alright, I’m alright,” Castiel says, struggling to sit up. The young woman, eager to help, takes his hand and eases him to a sitting position. He stretches his wings; the corridor isn’t large, but there is enough room to learn that they are only battered.

“I didn’t mean to touch them!” she blurts out, and one hand reflexively covers her mouth. “I was just trying to get up, I couldn’t see anything!”

“Why don’t we start with your name, since you already seem to know mine, and then I can tell you that I know it was an accident and you are completely forgiven?” He gives her as much of a smile as he can, under the circumstances, still dazed as he is.

“I’m Charlie,” she says. “And I’m really--”

“You don’t have to apologize again, Charlie. I should be the one to apologize to you. I reacted rather badly. I’m guessing it may have startled you when I collapsed?”

Charlie shrugged her shoulders. “A bit. But then I saw, well…” She glances at the floor next to them. Castiel follows her gaze, and what he sees makes him reel again, if only for a fraction of a second.

A pile of black feathers.

“You, ah, pulled them out?” he asks, his voice noticeably higher than usual.

The tears in Charlie’s eyes--had he noticed them there before?--overflow. “My fingers were in your feathers, and you jerked away, and I just…” She covers her face with her hands.

He looks at the feathers more closely.

Ever so gently he pulls Charlie’s hands away from her face. “Charlie,” he says, looking into her eyes. “You did nothing wrong. And those few feathers there, I can live without them. I lose feathers all the time. You should see my quarters.” He smiles at her, a genuine, open smile, and this time she smiles back. “Besides, those are mostly coverts. Only one of them is a flight feather.” He pulls the long silky feather from the pile and places it in her open palm. “You should keep it.”

Her eyes widen. “Yeah?”

“To remember our oh-so-forgettable first meeting,” Castiel deadpans.

Charlie bursts out laughing. “You seem to be learning human humor.”

“I’m trying,” he says, eyes suddenly not meeting hers. “Not many humans actually want to know me. They just want to know ‘The Astorian.’” He looks up again, smiling. “But I’m doing alright. And I’ll be even better if I could actually find what I’m looking for. I’ll tell you what, if you can get me to the Arboretum I’ll prove to you that my wings are just fine.”

Charlie brightens. “That’s actually where I was going. My friend told me I was being a nuisance in the lab so I should go check on the plum trees. In other words, ‘Get out of my hair, Charlie!’” She laughs. “Not really. He’s just looking out for me. That’s what friends are for, right? Come on, it’s this way.”

She helps him to his feet and they walk down the corridor, Castiel a comfortable half step behind and to the side to make room for his wings. When Charlie turns towards a door panel and speaks an entry code Castiel tilts his head in puzzlement. They are in Section C7. “I guess I couldn’t read the directions at all. This isn’t D4 or D9.”

“Oh, the main entrance--for visitors and anyone who just wants to enjoy the park--is D9, whoever gave you directions was right about that. But there’s access all around Deck 15. The Arboretum is huge, it fills the whole center of the station. This is just the closest entrance to the plum grove.”

The door opens and Charlie, grinning, gestures Castiel through the entryway. He steps through into… He gasps, turns to look at Charlie’s bright smile, then turns back, speechless. It’s another world.

He’s been on space stations before. And they all have places to grow things: greenhouses, biodomes, hydroponics. Most of them are even set up for public access, because everyone likes to have a breath of fresh air, a glimpse of home, every now and again. But this. This is unlike anything he’s ever experienced.

There’s the unprecedented vastness, for one thing. He has very good eyes, and he cannot see the ceiling from here. Or maybe he can, but it’s so cleverly designed that it doesn’t look like a ceiling. Also, it looks and feels like there is a sun overhead. How does that work? He automatically unfurls his wings and turns them toward the warmth. He hears Charlie’s soft intake of breath but he concentrates on the perfection of sun-on-feathers.

And then there is the land itself. Not flat like most created spaces, this has rolling hills, a valley with a stream running through it, gentle plains. In the distance Castiel even sees what looks like a rocky cliff. There are orchards of every imaginable fruit, fields of grain, flower gardens. There are even--and he can hardly believe this, but his eyes and ears don’t lie--there are even birds and bees and small mammals. This is a living, breathing ecosystem, as close to perfect as Castiel has ever seen in deep space.

Without warning he bends his knees, flexes his wings, and leaps into the air. The force of his wingbeat presses the grass flat and whips Charlie’s hair around her face, but he barely notices. He hears her shriek of joy, then her barely perceptible shout, “I’m just gonna go check the plums, then!” before he’s too high to hear--or care, really--anymore.

***

A GIANT thank you to @bend-me-shape-me for talking me through my anxiety about a few bits and being the all-around best cheerleader ever. *blows kisses across the ocean*

**