How Deep Is the Red?

Despite him doing everything but punching the doctor to get out of it, they made Cas ride out in a wheelchair.

"Protocall," the doctor explained as apologetically as he could. It seemed this was a regular argument he'd had to have with most every patient.

Cas sat with a huff and allowed them to cart him off to the front entrance, where Harper stowed away his prescriptions in her purse and called a cab. While they waited under the roof extension, Harper rocked on the back of her heels, studying him. He was back in his summer suit, trench coat sitting in his lap. He looked stoic, quiet and maybe a little irritated.

"My name's Harper Hall, by the way," she threw him a smile he didn't catch. "So, is 'Cas' short for something?"

"Castiel," he said, finally looking at her. The cab pulled up then, making sure the conversation didn't just halt, but rather slide into a shared action of climbing in. Five minutes after they were on their way, Castiel shifted beside Harper. His face was pinched, eyebrows drawn over his big, blue eyes.

"You okay?"

"I'm uncomfortable," he decided, fidgeting in his seat.

"Is it your head?"

"No... it's my...stomach?"

"Are you gonna throw up?"

Before he could answer, the driver was going off.

"Don't you let him barf back there, lady!"

"I'm not going to throw up," Castiel snapped.

"Do you need to go back to the hospital?"

"No," he said firmly. "I hate hospitals."

"Alright, alright. When we get to my place, I'll get you some Tums if you want."

"Tums," he repeated to himself, as if reflecting on a complex thesis.

Though Harper could sense something was off about this Castel guy, it did nothing but amuse her. The cab pulled to a stop outside of Harper's small house. She looked at it in slight dismay, wondering how it appeared to a stranger. With its plain white siding and small yard, it wasn't even the best on the block.

"$15.37," the cabby demanded, keeping his eye on Castiel, worried for his interior. As Harper gave him a twenty dollar bill to break, Cas stumbled out, nearly losing his balance.

Harper beat him to the door, unlocking it. The way the morphine made Castiel shuffle his feet gave him a child-like demeanor. The same heart-string that made Harper want to take in stray cats ached as she watched him from the porch, waiting to close the door behind them.

Harper flicked the light on in the living room. "Hold on," she took his overcoat from his arm and hung it up in the closet, along with the green apron she'd just thought to slip off over her head. "I'll get you something to sleep in."

Before he could protest, Harper had returned from her bedroom with a worn Guns'n'Roses shirt and an ex-boyfriend's basketball shorts. She pulled out the sofa to form a lumy, full sized mattress.

Harper stretched, yawning. "I don't know about you, but I'm beat. I'm going to jump in the shower. Feel free to rummage through my fridge or watch tv. The phone's there," she nodded to the living room wall, "if you need it."

Castiel screwed his mouth into a knot, eyebrows worried. "Thank you, Harper."

"It's not a problem, really." She drew the curtains to dim the rising sun and to give Cas some privacy if he decided to change.

Her bathroom was a startling wreck. Before she undressed, she flitted around the bathroom, shoving panties and bras into the hamper and checking the state of the small trash bin. She also decided to text her boss to say she was staying home because she was "sick". She needed a good eight hours of sleep, if not more.

She slipped off her khakis and ugly white work polo that still smelled like the diner. The faucets squealed when she turned them to adjust the heat. When it was hot enough to practically boil eggs, she climbed in, sighing.

While the water relaxed her muscles, Harper tried to think of an appropriate way to pry into Castiel's life. She was rinsing the conditioner out of her hair when she heard the bathroom door fling open and slam against the wall.

She nearly jumped out of her skin, hurrying to shut the shower off. Making sure her body was concealed, Harper peeked out from behind the curtain.

Castiel was sitting on the toilet, flushed and panting, the basketball shorts Harper had given him pooled around his feet. He turned his terrified eyes to her, beginning to piss.

"You okay, buddy?" she was trying with everything in her not to laugh.

"The discomfort was caused from the need to urinate." Disgust was evident in his odd choice of wording.

Harper did laugh now, retreating back behind the curtain to let Castiel finish in peace.

"This is so unorthodox," he groaned in embarassment.

"Why are you peeing sitting down," she cackled, taking note that it sounded like he was trying to figure out how to flush.

"I'm supposed to do that standing?!"

"Oh, my God, Cas! How hard did you hit your head?!" There were tears collecting in the corners of her eyes from not being able to breathe.

"I don't have head trauma," Cas fussed, getting defensive. He left the bathroom, allowing Harper to climb out and dress herself in pajamas, trying to stifle her chortling.

That incident alone gave Harper a legitimate reason to ask Cas just what planet he came from. Ready to start in on any question that came to her mind, Harper came grinning into the living room fifteen minutes later. She was disappointed to find Castiel asleep already, ontop of the blankets. Harper sighed, pulling the half of the quilt that he wasn't laying on over him.

Castiel's face was tense, even in sleep. His features relaxed then, as he lightly pressed his head deeper into the pillow, trying to get comfortable. Harper went to bed herself, then, figuring there was always time to investigate when she woke up.