Chapter Text
The Day I Fly Away
Part I
The mental ward always was a cold place. The tiles chilled Castiel’s feet as he walked across it, but he could not feel warmth or a chill as he was an angel. All Castiel could hear was the soft tapping of game pieces on the game board while others spoke around him, some yelled, and some laughed. Castiel allowed himself to smile as he picked up another card and moved his game piece up a few places.
“Castiel,” he heard a woman call his name with a plastic smile, a pitying smile. “You’re being transferred to a new doctor, all right? No freaking out okay?” She spoke as if he would have some break down if he was suddenly in the presence of someone he did not know. Castiel felt indifferent to this.
Castiel stood where he was, collecting his game pieces and stuffing them into his pocket as he made his way over. He nodded and the woman motioned for him to follow. It was the fifth doctor this month and twelfth this year since he’d been admitted. He tucked a loose curl of his hair behind his ear, some habit he’d always gotten into, and he’d glanced at therapists notes, this was apparently a telltale sign of schizophrenia. Castiel’s mind wandered away from him and he found his eyes losing focus, looking around a new place that wasn’t the hospital he was trapped in; this was one of the only times he was ever free.
It’s a secret, Balthazar whispered to him. Castiel nodded, “I know,” he said softly. The secret Balthazar was referring to was the secret of demons, angels, and monsters, because if others knew there would be chaos. Something cold ripped through Castiel like a rock when—
“Castiel?” the nurse snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. “Come on, don’t go zoning out on me already! Doctor Winchester is a nice guy. You’ll like him.”
Sometimes Castiel wished he had a remote that controlled that girl’s mouth that sputtered like a broken record. You’ll like her/him. She/he’s nice! He heard Balthazar laugh at the nurse and Castiel cracked a smile himself. The nurse opened the door for him and Castiel wandered into a room that was two degrees cooler. He was still barefoot.
“Hey, you’re Cas right?” a man at the desk asked.
“Castiel,” said man corrected, “Yes, I am. You are Doctor Winchester?”
“I know, man, I was just giving you a nickname. Seems cooler right? And Dean’s fine.”
The doctor gestured to the seat in front of him and Castiel slid into the seat. His hand slipped into his pocket and he played with the red pawn under the table. Put that away, Balthazar said to him, there’s a man right there. Isn’t that rude?
“So,” Dean started, flipping through some papers. “I’ve been told you’re schizophrenic.”
“They do say that,” Castiel agreed, his voice soft yet with an edge. It’s almost as if he were standing by a cliff with an avalanche warning above him. Don’t be too loud to trigger the rocks, but at the same time, he felt uneasy. That type of voice.
“But you don’t agree with them?” Dean asked, and Castiel was yanked back to earth by a rope around his neck.
Why do they even bother having different doctors? They all say the same things, he heard the slow drawl of a girl, a demon that was a kind demon nonetheless. She called herself Meg. “I don’t know,” Castiel muttered back to her and smiled. Don’t talk to me while there’s a hottie right over there, Meg teased. Castiel’s head snapped to his right and he glared at the seemingly empty space.
Dean looked at Castiel curiously. “Who’s that?” he asked.
Castiel looked back at him and said, “Who? Meg?”
Dean smiled, “Yeah her.”
Castiel glared again, “She’s just joking around, don’t listen to her.”
“All right,” Dean raised his hands in surrender. He paused for a few minutes before starting again, “You know,” he started softly. “Sometimes I think people like you are special. Like they can see things no one else can. Sort of like a super power.”
Castiel tilted his head out of habit, as if somehow the sky would open up and pour into him because that’s how he felt at the moment; just empty and needing something to fill him up. Being poison, being magic, being thought, being beings. He felt something stir inside him because no one’s ever said that before. “Special?” he asked and felt Meg nudge his arm.
“Yeah I mean, I’m boring,” Dean jammed a thumb to his chest. “Everything I can see, you can, too. But you? I can’t see Meg, and you can. I can’t hear her either. What’s she like?”
Castiel looked at Dean for a while, feeling like a tornado of everything was rushing through the room. His fingers twitched as he wished to turn around just to check.
“She’s annoying,” he blurted out and Dean laughed. Castiel’s cheeks flushed. “I mean, she can be annoying. She’s always teasing me, but she’s also sweet sometimes.”
Dean nodded in that doctor-way and Castiel was a bit surprised when Dean didn’t write anything down. The room felt so warm and comfortable, and for the first time someone other than his brothers or Meg had made him smile. Ice skating in summer was treacherous, then why did Castiel love it? Love this feeling of ease between the two of them. Because this ice was melting in everything that was this person and what was this feeling? Was it drowning but lifting and flying at the same time, and oh, just one minute of nothingness because Castiel just can’t breathe.
“Oh cool,” Dean said and leaned his elbows on the desk. “Anyone else I should know about or is there only Meg?”
Castiel fiddled with the red pawn in his pocket. “Well, there are others of course. I have over two million brothers and sisters.”
Dean leaned back in his chair, letting out a big breath. “Holy shit, man, how are the family reunions?”
Castiel laughed and peered up at Dean whom was smiling as well. Something was blazing inside him like an orchestra of every melody on the Earth and in the Heavens. This man was nothing like anyone he’d ever met, and somehow, brighter than the brightest archangel.
Dean stretched out his arms again before continuing, “So tell me more about your family. The people I can’t see but wish I could.”
Castiel picked his feet up from the ground and crossed them adolescently in his chair. He found himself telling Dean about Balthazar, the cocky and annoying brother, and about Gabriel, the asshole who always pranked him. He told Dean about Anna, his little sister that ran away from home and is somewhere on Earth now, like him. Dean nodded throughout the whole thing, smiling and never questioning a word or giving him that look that just screams “You’re crazy.”
Castiel picked the red game piece pawn and put it on top of the desk as he continued to tell stories, like how when he was twelve Gabriel stuck gum in his hair and he had to go to his birthday party like that, and how glad he was when no one noticed or at least showed that they noticed. Dean laughed that beautiful, orchestral laugh and Castiel found himself laughing, too.
And in some unspoken signal Castiel leaned over on the table and smiled wider than he had in a long time. Dean mirrored him and their eyes prodded at each other in some game of hide and seek except all there was was seeking and never any hiding.
“Your eyes are so blue.”
“Your eyes are so green.”
Dean laughed again. “All right then,” and the spell was broken as he sat back. “So, Cas, I think I’ll give you these two ugly things. Take this one every morning and night and the other one after dinner. Okay?”
Oh right. Dean was his doctor. Castiel nodded and took the pawn back from the table and stuffed it back in his pocket. He grabbed the medicine next and placed them neatly next to each other. Dean flashed him another smile and Castiel felt his soul back in Heaven. Then the door opened and another patient walked in.
“See ya, Cas,” Dean gave him a small wave before his eyes landed on the other person.
Castiel turned around the corner, hearing faintly in the background as Dean greeted the next patient. He pulled the game piece out of his pocket and sat down by the wall, placing it in front of him and fishing out other pieces. The game board was memorized, and he picked up a fabricated card and slid the red pawn over a few inches because—an earthquake or was that his heart beating wildly?—that’s what made him special.
~~*~~
“Good morning,” Dean greeted as Castiel sat down again that next morning. “How are you feeling?”
Castiel shrugged. Dean copied him jestingly.
With a big sigh Dean leaned over the desk and folded his hands. Their eyes locked and the key was thrown to the sea and Castiel did not go fetch it since he did not like the ocean. Dean’s eyes narrowed as if he was solving the mystery, the puzzle that was Castiel. And just scream from the Heavens because down on earth, Castiel can’t hear him loud enough.
“All right, entertain me now. I’m bored,” Dean proclaimed and his chair rolled back a few inches.
“Entertain you?” the words felt strange on Castiel’s tongue. This man was his doctor, right? Castiel’s eyes traced around Dean’s face, trying to pick up on any clue that he may not have been serious. He found none.
Dean took out a piece of paper and clicked his pen loudly. Twice. “I’ll have to mark you down for a hearing check,” he joked, peeking up at him again before crumpling the paper. “Yeah, man, tell me a story or something. I’ve been sitting here all day, I could do without some trivial shit. C’mon.”
Castiel tilted his head again and Dean did the same as if to say you do that a lot you know. Castiel’s head snapped back upright, fighting the blush that was knocking at his door.
“There once was a tree… Who loved a little boy…” Castiel started, one of the only stories he really knew. His eyes darted up to Dean to see if he recognized it. Dean didn’t. “And every day the boy would climb up the tree, and swing on her branches, and eat apples, and be happy. The tree loved the boy so much, and the boy loved the tree, and they were happy.”
“The Giving Tree?” Dean said softly and smiled. “Gotta love Shel Silverstein.”
“I don’t know any stories, really,” Castiel said, finding no point on continuing The Giving Tree since Dean had already known it.
“Tell me yours.”
“Mine?”
“Your story.”
Castiel played with the red pawn under the desk.
“It’s all your fault! I hate you! I hate you! I’ll kill you!”
“I’m sorry!”
“No you aren’t!”
“I don’t like my story,” Castiel shook his head and twirled the game piece.
“Well you can’t blame me for being curious,” Dean said and leaned on one arm.
Castiel held his soaking shirt over his stomach and cried silently, locked in the closet of his bedroom as he heard angry shouts from outside. The door shook and rattled and Castiel hugged his knees for some sort of comfort. The world felt like it was shaking and Castiel had never been more afraid—only, please, only would he behave. He yanked another shirt down from the closet and hid his face in it. He wanted to disappear.
“Come out here, bitch!”
“I don’t like my story at all,” Castiel insisted, his voice becoming frantic and his hands starting to shake.
Dean seemed to back off after that. He nodded, “All right, okay,” he gave up, “What about I tell you my story?”
Castiel seemed to calm down at the shift in attention. He felt something drop over them, something chilling and cold, but the refreshing kind of cold. Like iced lemonade rather than being locked outside in the snow.
Castiel nodded eagerly.
“Okay, okay,” Dean grinned and clapped his hands. “Let’s see… I have a brother, Sam. He’s awesome. We go out and hang every once and a while. He has a girlfriend and everything. I live alone, but I like the solitude. Gotta think y’know? Anyways, I got to admit my life was pretty blessed, and I’m lucky to be where I am. Worst thing I can think of that happened was that my mom almost died in a house fire, but the fire department came on time and we all go out safe. I always like helping people, did a lot of tutoring in school. I guess that’s where this whole doctor place came from, but I don’t really like to see people die so I didn’t want to be that person behind the medical table and see the flat line… Wow I just got depressing,” Dean laughed, “Anyways, I like helping out people like you.
“But there’s one thing people always get wrong. There’s nothing wrong with being the way you are. I think you’re more beautiful the more unique you are, and you, Castiel, you’re a whole new brand of human, angel, whatever you want to say you are, because you are. Like I said: Me? I’m boring, but you, Oh you, Castiel… I’m going to have to make up a new word just to say—“
“Mr. Winchester, another patient. You’re going overtime.”
Dean’s head snapped in the direction of the door and he ran a hand through his hair with a sigh.
“All right, bring ‘im in,” he said regretfully.
Castiel stuffed the Sorry game piece back into his pocket and stood with a creak of the chair. Before he got far, though, Dean stood and grabbed his wrist.
“To say how perfect you are,” he finished, words rushed and desperate to get the point across.
Castiel felt as if electricity was shooting through him and a light blush dusted over his cheeks. It happened so quickly that Castiel wasn’t sure if it had happened. Dean was sitting back at his desk and already greeting the next patient. Dean’s eyes lifted back up to Castiel and he gave him a wave.
Castiel left the room and leaned against the door for a few seconds, catching his breath before it got too far away from him.
You like him, Meg teased, You really like him.
~~*~~
The feeling of being completely and absolutely trapped is indescribable other than to those whom have felt it. The feeling of being closed in on, chest tightening and all you want to do is scream but you can’t, or if you do it just isn’t loud enough. Voice hoarse and sticking to your throat like poison and just burning. This burning this blazing fire that won’t go away and water only makes it worse like in a kitchen fire. And still, I have not described it accurately, because, only those of you whom have felt this way know exactly what I’m talking about—know exactly how Castiel felt at that moment.
“Calm down! Calm down! Nurse!”
Castiel screamed and pushed himself against the wall. Arms flailing and hitting anyone that got to close to him. He pushed a chair over and in front of him in defense. It was like watching someone play a two-person video game, except there’s a glitch because there’s only one character on the screen, and no matter how many times you hit square-for-punch the other’s health gauge just won’t go down.
“No one’s hurting you, Castiel, you need to calm down!” the nurse’s head swiveled around, “Someone get something to calm him down!”
Castiel hugged his knees and kept screaming, his fingernails digging into the skin of his legs, but the pain was not enough to get him to stop, the clouds never felt so heavy above him, made of the heaviest lead and silver. Unlock those gates to Heaven, oh please, let Castiel be free. His foot kicked at nothing and tears streamed down his face like rain off the side of a broken building because please please please, but no one knew what he was begging for, and no one could see what was tormenting him.
“Cas! Dude, calm down!” Dean shouted as he ran up to the scene. He grabbed Castiel’s shoulder.
Castiel threw his arm in Dean’s direction with a terrified yelp, knocking him away, “Don’t touch me!” he screamed, his voice cracking and he kept swiping at the air. “Please don’t touch me anymore!”
Castiel felt talons ripping at the insides of his head, pricking into his eyes and just, oh for the love of God stop. He threw his head from side to side and curled in on himself, shouting at the thing, the person, that no one could see to get away from him. His eyes squeezed shut and all he wanted to do was scream louder so he did. All he wanted to feel was nothing, but he could not feel nothing. How he yearned to be sucked into oblivion but—
Castiel must have been wishing too hard because a needle plunged into his forearm and he felt his body falling limp and he collapsed on the tile floor, the Sorry game pieces falling out of his pocket as he felt his eyes growing weary with fatigue. He stopped fighting and allowed himself to sleep.
~~*~~
A bottle of pills was placed with an audible thud in the middle of the table.
Dean looked from the bottle to Castiel and pursed his lips.
Castiel looked from the bottle to Dean and squinted.
“Yours,” Dean proclaimed and pointed at the medicine. “You’ll have to take those every morning now.”
Castiel grimaced but took the bottle and slid it in front of himself, tapping the lid with his finger absentmindedly. It’s Naomi’s fault, you know that, Samandriel said in attempt to comfort him. She gets into all of our heads. Castiel nodded and pulled his knees up to his chest.
“It’d help to talk about it, you know,” Dean said and leaned forward. He looked like every other doctor again. Castiel wanted him to be Dean not Doctor.
Castiel shrugged. He wouldn’t believe you anyways. Just like all those other doctors, Samandriel added. “I know,” Castiel told him, but at least he felt a bit better knowing he wasn’t alone. There was a lengthy pause with Dean looking at him expectantly, and that’s when Castiel realized Dean probably thought he had answered him.
“No, I mean, that was to Samandriel,” Castiel explained. “He said you’re just like all those other doctors. You wouldn’t believe me anyways.”
Dean sat forward with his arms on the table. “Hey, listen to me,” he said sternly, “Like I said, you are what you say you are. The world is only what people make of it, and if that’s what you say you are, if that’s what you say happened, that’s the truth. It’s real.”
But Castiel still hadn’t looked up. Dean grabbed the pills from Castiel, rattling them around until Castiel looked up confusedly. He’s not like the others, Meg interjected. I told you, you like him because he isn’t like the others.
“Look at me,” Dean demanded in a voice that Castiel couldn’t refuse.
Castiel’s gaze snapped up and I could get lost in your eyes. I am.
“Did it feel real?” Dean asked and his eyes never left Castiel’s in that way that made Castiel feel like he was wading waist-deep in a river, stepping over rocks and stones and tree branches. Do you feel that wind that whispers past his ear or see the mountain that fell to his knees to have a look at Dean’s eyes?
Castiel nodded numbly.
“Then it happened, and I’ll believe you. But I can’t believe this air between us or this table or—“ Dean rattled the bottle of pills around some more— “These. You have to tell me.”
Castiel felt like he was sitting in a bathtub filled with ice. He couldn’t stop shaking, stop shivering, but somehow it was okay because Dean, and that single word, single name was the only justification he ever needed.
“It was Naomi,” he said in a fear-stricken voice.
Dean leaned back in his chair, seemingly content with getting Castiel to talk. “Naomi? Who’s Naomi? Is she an angel, too?”
Castiel nodded. “Father is gone, so she runs a lot of Heaven now.”
Dean made a noise of understanding. “So what happened? What did she do?”
Castiel screamed in pain as a hand pulled his hair, forcing him to his knees. His bloodshot eyes looked up pleadingly to the woman above him. She cursed at him and spat on his face, pulling his hair harder and threw him into the wall. She shouted over and over at him that it was his fault, and alas all of Castiel’s pleads and cries for forgiveness, he was unheard. He drove himself hoarse and deaf of his own voice and oh God, could he not scream enough?
Castiel started to shake in fear at he didn’t even know what, something buried so deeply within him that only a crack would make him scream and beg to be forgiven for something he didn’t remember what. He only wanted to be forgiven.
“Hey, hey, Cas, you okay, man?” Dean said hastily, “You’re okay you know that right? You’re safe in here. I put angel warding around so no one can get you.”
“But I’m an angel, too. How can I be in here then?”
Dean shrugged, “Guess you’re just special. You’re my angel.”
And if those words didn’t make Castiel’s heart flutter nothing would.
Castiel gave a shaking breath and he looked back up at Dean. “She gets in all our heads,” he told him. “That’s how Samandriel puts it.”
“Your brother?”
Castiel nodded.
“All right then. Start talkin’,” Dean said, pushing his chair back and kicking his feet up jokingly.
Castiel chuckled and Dean laughed too, taking his feet back down, but leaned forward to show Castiel he was serious about the talking part. Castiel didn’t know where to start, really. He reached his to his pocket for his Sorry game pieces, but found his pocket was empty. His eyes widened and he shoved his hands in his pockets, turning them inside out.
“Where’s—“ he said frantically and stood up, looking around the room.
“Where’s what?” Dean said, his doctor voice back. Castiel didn’t like that voice.
“Sorry,” he said quickly, “Sorry game. Pawn. Red.”
“These?”
Dean pulled out five red pawns from his bag and put them on the table, watching them roll before coming to a slow stop. One was standing up straight while the other four were on their sides. Castiel let out a relieved breath.
“Yes,” he said breathlessly, “Yes.”
He collected the pieces and put them back in his pocket, taking the one that was still standing and turned it over in his hand. It felt heavy, weighing down in his hand and burning and blistering the skin. He looked back up at Dean.
“What did you do to it?”
“The game pieces? I just picked them up when you dropped them. Is anything wrong?”
Castiel looked back at his palm. “Nothing. They’re just different.”
“A bad different? Want me to get you a new game board?”
But Castiel shook his head and said, “It isn’t bad. Just different.”
The door opened and another patient poked their head in. Castiel took that as a sign to leave and he started towards the door, still looking at the game piece.
“Cas!” Dean called, and Castiel turned around. Dean waved the bottle of pills at him. “Catch!”
The bottle of pills fell to the floor a few feet short.
“Sorry,” Castiel muttered and bent down to pick it up.
“Nah, my bad. I shouldn’t have thrown them.”
Castiel picked up the pills silently, the bottle feeling as strange as the game pieces did, but he pretended it didn’t bother him at all. He closed the door slowly and his bare feet dragged across the tiles. To be reading a book, and feel as if you are in a desert, is that even possible? To be eating ice cream but feel like you’re drowning in salt water—that seemed impossible, too. To be afraid of heights, afraid of falling, but not afraid of the arms spread out before him under the clouds of the first fall, it seemed unlikely. But it was true. You like him, you like him, you really really like him, Meg chanted in a singsong voice.
“Shut up,” Castiel grumbled and shoved the red pawn and the medicine into different pockets.
~~*~~
Your move, Gabriel said.
Castiel picked up a card, being in the main room, he had an actual board again with actual cards. The paper between his fingers felt crusting and old, undeserving of such treatment from others. He could see patients in the past bending the cards, biting the corner in concentration. No one deserves to be used like that. He moved his red pawn over three spaces and nodded to Gabriel. Gabriel’s pawns were yellow. He moved four spaces. Castiel sat up straighter with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips in a game of tug-a-war. He picked up another card and this time he moved two spaces.
So what’s up Cassie?
Castiel shrugged and then nodded to him for him to move. He did.
Meg told me you had a crush, Gabriel raised his eyebrows up suggestively.
“I do not have a crush,” Castiel denied, but despite his words a blush crawled up his face.
Gabriel held his hands up in mock surrender before moving a few more spaces.
“You have to go back to start,” Castiel told Gabriel when he picked up a new card; his eyes looked up seemingly in a pleading manner. “Sorry.”
Gabriel shrugged indifferently and moved his pawn back. They continued playing the game in relative silence, listening to the others around them. Some patients were loud and laughed hysterically for no reason, and some were stonily silent. Castiel’s hands felt cold and he rubbed them together, looking at the open window and debating whether or not to close it. He never did.
But there was something comforting from the window, this feeling of light both in air and of refreshment. Green was never green enough no matter where he looked; some say the grass is always greener on the other side, but Castiel disagrees. The grass is dull on his side and grey on sides farther. May he dig until his fingers are coated and caked in dirt, lather up the soap but still he cannot hide the grime. All he wants to do is be clean.
Castiel stood up, collecting his pawns and stuffing them back into his pocket. Gabriel didn’t ask why he stopped playing anymore. Castiel never finished any games he started. He walked aimlessly, finding himself in the garden; how he loved the garden, singing, dancing, waltzing, but there was no music, there didn’t need to be. There were a couple people walking around like he was, some with their doctors and some laying down in the grass. Flowers reached up and grabbed his ankles, Stay, they told him and danced around him.
“I can’t,” he replied, “Sorry.”
“Sorry, sorry, sorry—!”
“YOU NEVER ARE!”
“Cas?” he heard Dean call a few feet down. He was sitting on a bench with a girl.
“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said and Dean smiled. Castiel felt a smile growing on his own face but he suppressed it.
You like him, Meg teased again and Castiel’s cheeks flushed because of course he didn’t. You keep telling yourself that, Clarence.
They didn’t say anything more though, because Castiel passed him either out of embarrassment or thinking himself as bothersome. Dean was with a patient anyways. The sky beckoned Castiel to return home, but he knew he could not. No, he never could, not yet. He ventured to the middle of the garden where a man was tending to the flowers. How kind of him.
He’s sorry. He really is.
Castiel pulled a game piece out of his pocket, rubbing it between his fingers absentmindedly as he sat down among the flowers and the bees and the butterflies and can he please fall into nothing? He raised a hand and squinted at the sun between his fingers. He closed his eyes.
He could feel the bees flying in front of his face and he smiled that thin-caked smile. The type of thin that you get if you roll pizza dough out too much. Castiel never made pizza before, but he could imagine it. That’s how he smiled. There were patients around him swatting at the bees, and that did not make Castiel smile, that made him frown. Bees were gentle and misunderstood. They could sting only once and die right there. They would live their lives out in fear I have one chance to defend myself, and even if I do, it will kill me.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said to the bees. “I promise. Don’t hurt yourself over me. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I really really don’t. I never wanted to hurt anyone.”
The bees clouded his vision and he smiled. He could hear them say back, I know. It’s okay, and as much as Castiel doubted it, he allowed himself to believe it just for that moment.
“Okay,” he said softly in a voice that skipped once over the blazing hot, hard and uneven gravel. “Okay.”
~~*~~
It became easier every day for Castiel to walk into the doctor’s office. Before, he felt his skin crawl, under, over, inside out and run away because those doctors never helped in the slightest. Castiel used to just hear their questions resonate from behind the door; he heard the calls and claims that were for his insanity, and once, he’d heard a doctor shout at him that he wasn’t fixable. He feared the wringing of hands and shaking of heads, the pitying looks; Castiel felt like he was standing in quicksand with those other doctors. He could hear tin cans clanging together in a way that was so discordant, but somehow it felt… Existent? Is that a word that may be of use?
“Are you coming in or what?” Dean poked his head out the door and Castiel realized he had probably been thinking too long.
Castiel answered by walking through the door and Dean hopped over the desk and sat in his chair. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of Castiel’s lips because it was just like a child. You like him, you like him, you like him, he heard Meg chanting and he did his best to ignore her. Dean started like every other doctor, and Castiel expected this, this simple How are you?’s and Did anything interesting happen yesterday? Castiel was beginning to think it was some law that they all had to start like that.
“So,” Dean said, leaning forward in a way that was comfortable and friendly. “You’re going to tell me about friends. People you liked before you came here. You’ve been here a year right?”
Castiel nodded, trying to think back. It felt like reaching through a plastic bag into strawberry jelly, icky, sticky, vague and wrong. The more he wandered back the more he was consumed with darkness and just when he was about turn back around the image of a restaurant came into mind. People rushing back and forth and couples eating lasagna, the lights flickering once or twice and then a man coming up to him with a smile, saying something indistinguishable before giving him a plate of food. Castiel took the plate to a table.
“There was someone with blond hair,” he said softly. “I don’t remember well…”
“That’s all right. Try your best.”
The restaurant felt comfortable, Castiel knew his way around easily. Had he worked there long? Castiel couldn’t quite remember, but with each passing second, the memory became clearer. Tapping on a glass will soon break it. And with the nearest memory at place, break it did.
“Cas? Are you alright?”
The man with blond hair held Castiel’s arm in attempted comfort but Castiel threw him off rashly, he shouted, “Don’t touch me!” He seemed deranged, as if the words were not meant for the man. Castiel’s eyes looked up wide and panicked. “Please get her away from me!”
“Get who away from you?”
“He may have…”
The man with blond hair rushed to a phone and dialed for help. Customers had started rushing away from the scene, and some stared. Castiel was under table, trying to keep away from something. The man with blond hair looked terrified, though not of the scene but for his friend whom was obviously in some sort of pain. No matter if he could not see it, it was obvious that Castiel could feel it and that’s all that mattered.
“Cas, Cas look at me,” the blond haired man said, crawling under the table with him. “You’re safe okay? I promise nothing’s getting you. Just please calm down. For me, okay?”
Words started to pop up vaguely and Castiel gave a small smile. “I remember. He had a British accent. I made fun of him for it once. We worked at a restaurant together.”
Castiel’s eyes snapped up, tears streaming down his face and the blond haired man forced himself not to look away. Castiel needed to be comforted from whatever this was.
“Tell her I’m sorry,” Castiel begged. “She won’t listen to me. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”
“Tell who?”
Castiel’s face scrunched up, perhaps he same way it would if someone just threw a wet rag at him. Fragments came back to him at a time, but the more he remembered, the faster his heart beat was. The more his hands shook. The more he looked panicked.
“M—”
“Cas, are you okay?”
Blurred and skipped tracks, sketches in mechanical pencil never to be inked over. Babbling and garbling speech and then just a bit clearer—
“You should get help.”
“He—He’s the one that told me to come here,” Castiel stopped abruptly. “No, I can’t remember. I can’t. I’m lying, none of that’s real. It can’t be real. It—“ Castiel looked up at Dean with desperation leaking from every orifice. “Please tell me it isn’t real.”
Dean leaned forward. “Castiel, what were you saying? How isn’t it real?”
“Balthazar is my brother. He’s an angel. He couldn’t—“
Different realities started to bleed together. The hazy image of Balthazar’s face and words mixed with something clear and tangible. And then Meg—
“Hey, Clarence, got that history assignment done yet?”
“Dean!” Castiel shouted desperately, his head pounding and heart beating rapidly. Catch his soul with a butterfly net before it runs away too far, clipped wings never to fly again have begun to rebel. They have been told time and time again that they could not fly, but they were. Fly far and fly fast and Castiel couldn’t breathe because
“Tell who?”
“Mo—“
“What? What’s wrong?” Dean said, his voice dancing on the edge of a polished blade.
Castiel shook his head violently, violently—before he fell relaxed. It was a chilling kind of change, as if from years of sleeping in the snow, as if from dreamless nightmares. Fall from a cliff or two maybe three, would it not make a difference? Or would you give him change for a dollar because his card isn’t working?
“Cas?” Dean asked hesitantly.
Castiel looked up as if he didn’t know Dean was there.
“Are you all right?”
Castiel’s hand found his pocket and he rubbed the red pawn.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
~~*~~
In the next session, Dean was more cautious, more careful. His fingers itched and twitched with eagerness, needing—wanting—to know what Castiel was talking about yesterday and what happened that made him stop. It shocked him the way it would if you stuck a quarter in an electrical outlet. Castiel sat down and pulled his legs off the ground, crossing them adolescently in the chair.
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Did anything awesome happen yesterday I should know about?”
“No.”
“Did you have a good breakfast?”
“I don’t eat. I am an angel.”
“You should,” Dean sighed. He got that answer every day.
“I don’t need to.”
“The medicine could be harmful on an empty stomach,” Dean pointed out, reaching under his desk and putting some crackers on the table.
Castiel looked at the snacks with confusion that only heightened with Dean pushed them towards him. The message was clear, but Castiel did not want to acknowledge it. It looked like just a handful from Dean’s personal stash or something of the likeness. Castiel was still watching the food as if it would grow legs and start dancing when Dean—
“Eat,” Dean instructed and jabbed a finger at the crackers.
“I don’t—“
“You need to eat.”
A look of defeat overcame Castiel’s face and he reached for the crackers, picking one up with two fingers and sliding it between his lips. The room was silent other than the small sound of crunching. Castiel looked up at Dean after he’d finished the cracker.
“All right,” Dean grinned, looking happy with himself. “Now, tell me about your brother, Balthazar.”
Castiel changed positions in his chair as he thought, sitting up straighter and leaning on one arm. His mind was a ball of yarn slowly unraveling and he was the cat that chased the thread. There was nothing to weave the yarn into, but Castiel would find something soon enough.
“He’s really funny even though he can be annoying sometimes. He used to look after me a lot. One time we watched the Titanic and he was groaning the entire time, saying how stupid the characters—“
“You’re telling me that chick is naked and the guy doesn’t think to do anything other than painting? Bullshit.”
“Oh come on, they can both fit on that raft easily!”
“OH, HER VOICE, SHUT UP! TURN OFF THIS MOVIE! THIS SONG IS KILLING ME!”
“—were. Needless to say, we never finished the movie,” Castiel chuckled.
Dean nodded, smiling at the way Castiel’s eyes were so bright. “Where did you meet him?”
“We went to high school together. We weren’t the best of friends in school but we met up at a restaurant we both happened to get a job at,” Castiel said, a faraway look in his eyes.
Dean sat up straighter at this, narrowing his eyes because—
“Wait no,” Castiel stopped himself. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”
Castiel looked as confused, if not more confused than Dean.
“We’re brothers. That’s obviously how…”
“Stop stealing all my pencils!”
“I like your pencils better, Cassie.”
“Then buy your own that are like it. You always bite the erasers.”
“I saw you do it once. Indirect kissing,” Balthazar winked. Castiel rolled his eyes.
“…We met.”
For the first time since Castiel had been with Dean, he saw Dean pull out a notepad and scribble something down. He yearned to see what was written, but it was too far away, unreachable. He felt uneasy because what had he said that prompted him to write something down? Dean must have noticed his discomfort since the next thing he said was
“Don’t worry, you didn’t do anything wrong. Just had to jot something down,” he gave Castiel a grin, but somehow it seemed coated in plastic.
Castiel felt his hands shaking and
Laughter, red hair, bubble bath—
everything was telling him to run. His heart felt encaged. The kind of cage that constricted tighter and tighter and tighter. His heart was endangered of being punctured but it never was and all he wanted was something to show for his pain but no one could ever see it why couldn’t they see it?
“Dean,” Castiel said suddenly. “Dean, I-I’m sorry. She won’t listen to me.”
“What are you sorry for, Castiel?” Dean asked, voice rushed and urgent.
Castiel’s eyes filled with tears and his breath was chopped into pieces. “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t.”
“Tell me what you did.”
Castiel cried harder, legs shaking and he fell to the ground and pulled his legs up to his chest in apparent self-defense.
“Don’t hurt me anymore,” he said in a voice that couldn’t be glued back together.
Everything was dark.
“I-I didn’t mean it.”
“CASTIEL!”
“I promise,” he whispered. Dean rushed down to him.
The door shook on its hinges as a fist pounded on it. Castiel cried from under his bed, sniffling and clutching a blanket to his chest. There were times he would feel like a child despite his age, but all he wanted was to go back in time. All he wanted. He would—
“Cas, hey, it’s okay,” Dean said softly, pulling Castiel into his arms. He wasn’t sure what else to do, and at the moment, Castiel looked just seven years old. He couldn’t help himself; almost as if they were connected by a thread that was shortening with each passing second because all Dean wanted was to hold him. Fix him.
Castiel thrashed in his arms at first, trying to get out. His chest heaved as he pushed at Dean’s shoulders, tears streaming down his face.
“It’s okay, Cas, it’s okay,” Dean whispered and didn’t let Castiel go.
Eventually Castiel seemed to realize where he was, his body falling relaxed despite the ceaseless rain of tears. Castiel fisted his hands in the back of Dean’s shirt, hiding his face in the crook of his neck as if it was the safest place in the world. His heart beat faster for a different reason entirely.
“You have angel warding, right?” Castiel asked hoarsely, in a small voice that wasn’t more than a millimeter high.
Dean smiled, running his fingers through Castiel’s hair. He felt his body rock to the side and back, heart light and breezy like the spring breeze. And may flowers sprout up, and dance because, though it was autumn spring didn’t seem too far away. His voice sounded even and soft when he spoke.
“Yeah.”
~~*~~
“Good morning,” Dean greeted him.
Castiel nodded in reply and sat down across from him. He counted the days they’d been together in this room, coming up with nearly a month. It’d been nearly a month and he’d not been referred to another doctor. He wondered if he would stay with Dean for the rest of his time, or if Dean would eventually refer him as well. He didn’t want another doctor.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Dean smiled at him. Why did he smile?
He’s a cutie, you should get some of that, Meg teased. Castiel fought the blush that crawled across his cheeks as he glared at her again. She held up her hands in mock surrender.
Castiel shrugged in reply to Dean’s question.
“All right, we’re going to be like that,” Dean huffed. “Do you trust me?”
The question caught Castiel by surprise, having never been asked that before. The room felt different, perhaps colder. He was unsure whether he liked it or not. The answer to his question was seemingly obvious, and Castiel wondered if anyone did not.
“Yes.”
Dean’s smile stretched wider. “Then you can tell me anything.”
Castiel cast his eyes down.
“Is there anything you’ve ever wanted to tell someone but you weren’t able to?”
Castiel felt the air around them too heavy. He wrung his hands nervously, for there was something. He’d never said it allowed, it was just always there. It was something he thought was as blatant as the sun each day, but he never knew if it was known. It might not have been.
“Yes,” he said softly.
“Tell me, then.”
There was a soft quietness between then before Castiel found his voice shaking, “I love her,” he said, “I love her and I’m sorry.”
Castiel felt his eyes burning and dug the palms of his hands into them. He didn’t want to cry. He didn’t deserve to cry. Nonetheless, his breath hitched and his hands were dampened, he hated himself for doing this.
The confession seemed not what Dean was expecting, and perhaps something twisting up in his chest. He pushed it back down and leaned across the table, feeling less welcome to put his hands on Castiel’s but he did.
Castiel looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes.
“If I was her, I’d probably already know.”
Castiel’s chest moved rapidly as his breath was cut into pieces.
“It’s all right,” Dean said softly, and Castiel wondered if this was in the job description. But the curiosity was too much and his lips asked without his heart’s permission, “Why couldn’t you tell her?”
His mind supplied it was probably because he was in this hospital.
But Castiel said, “She’s dead.”
~~*~~
It’s something tangible and nothing safe , these homes that he’s been shoved into because he’s said not to be worth what he used to be worth. Castiel has found refuge in what shouldn’t be and what should be, finding solitude and comfort in a simple board game, and most times, he forgets why he likes the game so much. He wonders if there was ever a reason to begin with. Or if this game was destined to be declared as his. Or if the game was never his in the first place.
The pawns stood valiantly, ready for battle, and though it made perfect sense that they were warriors, it made no sense at all. Castiel often forgot the point of the game other than saying Sorry, go back to start. Everything in the world matters just as leaving the salt out of a recipe will ruin the dish. Castiel plays by himself.
The world felt cruel and it felt unjust but he knew that’s the way it always must be, for what kind of world would it be if everyone had what others had and what others did not? There would be no goals, not a thing to accomplish, there would be nothing at all that would make anything worth living and there wouldn’t be anything to apologize for, but even if there was nothing to apologize for Castiel still felt regret gnawing away at everything that he was.
Castiel moved his pawn back to start and mumbled sorry to no one but everyone in particular. Gabriel did not come play with him this time. Castiel felt alone. The world was an instrument with strings but no tones and Castiel had yet to create a chord.
Suddenly, a hand grabbed one of the cards and then moved a green pawn up three places. Castiel looked up, startled to find Dean sitting down in front of him. His green eyes seemed to leap out and poke into Castiel’s. They glinted in amusement and Castiel realized Dean was probably waiting for him to move. He picked up a card.
They played for a while. It was something that wasn’t anything to be explained.
“Do you do this with everyone?” Castiel couldn’t help but asking.
Dean blinked his eyes, apparently taken aback by Castiel’s speaking.
“What do you mean?”
Castiel gestured to the game board, unable to touch the pawns even though it was his turn and he knew he must apologize. His heart banged around on the bars of his ribcage just at the thought of it.
“You’re…” the words got lost in everything that was between the two of them. The distance got greater and greater and it elongated until Castiel could no longer see Dean because he was nothing but a speck in his sight. “…Kind.”
Bells jingled and violins serenaded in all that was Dean’s laughter. “Gee, thanks,” he sang, “I guess it’s who I am.”
Castiel didn’t know why he felt the hurt settle like a rock in his body. Maybe he thought some part of him was special enough to receive something from Dean other than medicine. He forced himself to touch the burning red pawns, lit ablaze with fire unseen by Dean. Castiel was nothing but a project in Dean’s eyes; a broken-down car that needed to be repaired.
Dean moved his pawn.
“Sorry,” he said, and Castiel picked up his pawn to move it back to start. Dean laughed and shook his head. “No, no, not the game.”
Castiel looked up as if he was electrocuted. How may one apologize had it not been in the game? Was it even possible or was it nothing but shards of a broken beer bottle, tossed aside because it’d been used and wasted and that’s all it’s ever been good for.
“I meant that I can see I upset you. Don’t know how, though,” Dean continued and pulled Castiel back by the reins.
“I’m not upset,” words fell from his lips like a running river.
The room brightened and Castiel couldn’t count he times his heart had stopped from the corners of Dean’s lips being tugged upwards by strings.
“All right, all right, if you don’t want to admit it,” Dean held his hands up in surrender.
“There is nothing to admit,” Castiel said a bit too defensively that only yanked the strings up higher.
“Everyone has something to admit.”
A curtain of hush shoved itself between the two of them, wrinkled and dingy. Castiel shoved it aside.
“What do you have to admit?”
The strings were cut and Dean’s smile faltered. Castiel felt remorse for asking the question if it meant the demolition of such a beautiful sunrise. He could not take the words back after they’d been said, however, and Dean had cast his eyes down like a baited pole in the ocean.
A nervous chuckled fell from his lips, “No one’s ever asked me that before,” he said, “But I figure fair is fair. I’ll tell you something you tell me something.”
Castiel nodded, though he was unsure of what he may have to say.
“All right…” Dean muttered, sitting back in the plastic-but-looks-like-metal chair. “Well, it’s kind of a long story, but my brother and my dad tended to butt heads a lot. Long story short, Sammy wanted to go to college and Dad wanted him to stay at the house and help out in the family business—auto shop—and Sam left in the middle of the night. That was… Wow, nine years ago? But anyways, I told Sam I was fine with everything, but really… I don’t know, man, I guess at the time I was angry with him for leaving us. Eventually, I went my own way, too, and ended up going to college and everything for my medical degree,” Dean seemed to be finished, dampened like a rag, but he shook himself. “Well, that’s it! Your turn.”
Dean sat forward in anticipation.
Castiel found it spilling out of him without permission, without thought. It was something cold and hard, filling the crevices of rock with ice and splitting the stone in two.
He said, “I need to go back to the start, but I don’t even remember where the beginning is. Where did I start, Dean? Was I born of love or a one-time fling? Was I a mistake? Am I the result of a broken condom or was I planned? Was I loved in my first years before everything turned wretched? I’m sorry. All I am is sorry for everything that I am and everything that I will be. I just want to go home, and the only thing that keeps me from it is that no one has accepted my apology. When they do, I’ll be done. I-I’m just—“ Castiel looked up desperately. “I’m so sorry.”
Dean’s eyes turned softer. There was something about Castiel’s desperation that was just heart breaking. It was something that held onto his happiness by claws. His eyes were young. Dean wondered how long he’d been troubled by not being forgiven, but most of all, he wondered what he’d done.
“That will be the day I fly away.”
“What?”
“When I can go home.”
He pulled himself out of his thoughts to say, “Hey, Cas, you know whatever you’ve done, no matter how bad it looks, you’ll always be forgiven. No one can screw up so badly that they don’t deserve to be forgiven. Besides, you seem like a nice guy. I’m sure they’ve forgiven you already.”
Something snapped and shattered inside Castiel.
Something crashed
and something fell to the floor, skinned and bleeding, eyes blind and falling from everything that is not to be said.
“I’m,” his throat felt dry, “I’m—I’m forgiven?”
A sword flew between them but drew no blood.
The strings pulled Dean’s lips into a smile.
“Yeah.”
Castiel seemed in pieces, staring at that game board. He felt so empty, so vacant. It’s as if everything was ripped out of him and dangled it in front of his eyes. He made no attempt to snatch it back. He didn’t want it back. He looked past the debris blown from his being to Dean. The Sorry pieces were cold.
“For me?” Dean asked as he took the offered game piece from Castiel’s hand.
Castiel nodded.
“Thanks.”
~~*~~
Castiel always felt void of something important; as if someone was always taking something from him, and nothing could fill the empty hole that was blown inside him. And he reached to the sky and wished on the stars but they were gone. He was alone.
It wasn’t something to be remedied because there wasn’t anything to fix. It was a defective bed, springs rusted and old that always hurt whomever lay upon it. You didn’t fix the bed, you bought a new one. Castiel found he was finished before he’d even started, and that was cowardice, that was defeat. He was shot once over and again, four times more than often. He held onto the bars that caged him. That’s all he lived for.
And so he was to go home, having nothing tying him to this place. Castiel felt everything on his shoulders gone and he could fly. It may have been something twisted. Who knows? Who cares to know? Castiel was in his room, the old bed that probably four hundred other patients had laid upon before was beckoning.
He did not fight anymore, he set down the sword and fell upon the bed. Any warrior gets defeated, and Castiel was sure he was defeated long ago, he just couldn’t give up with this wrong falling from the sky. He felt his arms limp at his sides and he listened to the sound of his breath.
That’s when he reached to his bedside and took out his medication. Two at night, rang through his head. And he was forgiven.
Castiel opened one of the pill bottles.
He swallowed every pill.