#ppb2020

He dropped his hand from his face and his eyes flickered, meeting Castiel’s. A small smile tugged at Dean’s mouth and he whispered, “Gotta call you back.” He hung up the phone and slid it into his pocket. “Hey there, Sleeping Beauty. Gave us quite the scare back there.”

“What happened?” Castiel asked, his voice hoarse, raw, and quiet.

Dean’s smile faded from his face, and he walked to Cas sitting on the edge of the bed he took Cas’ hand in his and smiled weakly. “You had a seizure, man.”

“What?”

“It's a side effect of withdrawal. You must’ve got something when you went into work… I don’t think I wanted to believe it, but you were fucked up, Cas. When you left you were fucked up, and I wanted to believe it was something else. It was the circumstances, you hadn’t eaten enough… whatever. You went into the morgue to look for evidence and you were doing drugs.” Dean’s eyes flickered away, hurt.

Castiel’s chest cracked open. “It’s not like that,” he choked out.

“I want to believe you, buddy. I really do.”

“Think I’m fallin’ for you, Cas.”

Castiel touched his head, wincing as the missing time bounced around inside of his skull. “Then believe me.”

“Can’t. It’s bigger than just my feelings here. You’ve gotta know that. You’re not safe like this.”

He stood up, and Castiel grabbed for him, catching the edge of his shirt in his fist. “Don’t leave Dean.” He couldn’t be alone, and he knew in his gut if Dean walked out that door he would never see him again. “Please don’t leave me.”

“It ain’t about leaving you, Cas. I don’t want to leave you. I have to.” He pried Castiel’s fingers from his shirt. “I’ve got a lead to follow. I’ll visit you later, okay?”

Take me with you, he wanted to say. He wanted to cry, to beg, to scream, but he didn’t. He just nodded, his fingers twisted in his sheets, as he watched Dean grab his coat and notepad before walking out the door.

Before

Dean

Cas stumbled out of the building, looking pale as hell, which was saying something considering how pale he always looked. “Hey,” Dean said, hopping out of the car. He jogged to meet Cas, who just about fell into his arms. “You good?”

“‘M good,” Cas mumbled against his shoulder.

“Let’s get you into the car.” Dean helped him into the passenger seat clasping the buckle. Castiel turned to him with heavy lidded eyes. “I don’t have any answers, Dean.”

“It’s okay, buddy,” Dean said softly. “Was a long shot anyway.”

“Long shot,” he repeated.

“You feelin’ okay?” Dean asked again, looking at him intently.

Cas nodded slowly. “I’m just a little dizzy.”

“You haven’t eaten anything today but coffee.” He offered Cas a supportive smile. “Let’s try lunch.”

“Lunch,” Cas repeated quietly.

Dean nodded to him before closing the door and walking around to get into the driver's seat. It was no secret that Castiel Novak was a little off. He knew that the moment he saw him. It made him interesting though. He was complex. He was a 50 year old scotch. There were some things in life that were just worth it, but more than anything, he believed Dean. Cas believed him when no one else did, and that meant something to him. So even though Cas didn’t seem okay, Dean started the car and backed out of the driveway anyway.

In Dean’s world, food and beer could fix anything. Any wrong doing could be erased by a cheeseburger with extra bacon. He was a simple man, but there were worse things to be. He wasn’t a fool, he knew things weren’t good. He knew it was going to be that simple, but he at least had to try. So he drove to his favorite dive bar, The Roadhouse, the one that had the best burgers in town, hands down.

“Where are we?” Cas asked, squinting out the window. He looked a little better already, Dean thought. Maybe it wasn’t being stuck in the morgue for an hour under screaming fluorescents. He needed some sunlight. Did the body good.

“Food,” Dean said with a soft smile. “We’re getting burgers.”

Cas made a face like he didn’t like that idea, his eyebrows coming together and his lips turning up in distaste.

Dean laughed in response, the chuckle bubbling up in his stomach, tugging his mouth into a smile. “Don’t give me that dirty diaper look. Sammy does the same thing.”

“Sammy?”

“Maybe after a beer or two,” Dean said with a soft compromise. He opened the door and got out of the car, heading inside. He grabbed a high-top at the back of the bar and settled in on the stool. He handed Cas a menu that was tucked behind the condiments against the wall. “You can look, but the best thing is the bacon cheeseburger hands down.”

Castiel stared at the menu, his eyebrows knitted, his blue eyes seeming to glow against his pale skin. “I don’t usually have cheeseburgers.”

“Please tell me you aren’t a salad guy,” Dean said, deadpanned. That could be a deal breaker. Dean was what he liked to call a meat man . He didn’t eat rabbit food. No dice.

“I often forget to eat,” Cas admitted almost shyly, and he was so damn cute with his shaggy hair and big blue eyes that it made Dean’s stomach flip.

“Shouldn’t do that, Cas.”

“I know.”

Dean wasn’t sure he believed him.

The waitress came over to them, her blonde curls falling down her back, and her jeans resting low on her hips. “What can I get you boys?”

“Jo,” he grinned.

“Dean,” she said back, unimpressed.

He shifted awkwardly in his seat. “Two of the regular.”

“And what about for blue eyes over here?” She asked teasingly, her eyes challenging.

“Ha-ha.”

Jo grinned back at him before sliding the menus off the table. “That’ll be right up, boys.”

They were just about the only customers in The Roadhouse, except for an old drunk drowning in his whiskey, slumped on the stool, and a woman focused on her crossword puzzle on the other side of the bartop. “Want to talk about what happened?”

“Nothing to tell,” Cas said absentmindedly as he picked at the peeling edge of the coaster in front of him.

“You were gone for almost an hour.”

“It was my boss,” he confessed. “She caught me rifling through my desk.”

“Shit,” Dean said, leaning forward. “Is everything okay? You in trouble?”

Cas was quiet for a moment, those eyebrows back together, his forehead wrinkling. “No. She just seemed worried about me. She really wants me to take time off.”

Relief flooded his chest as Dean let out a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding. Thank fucking god.

“That’s good, Cas. that’s real fucking good.”

Jo came over with a couple of pint glasses, placing one in front of both of the men along with a bottle of ketchup between them. “Thanks,” Dean said as he grabbed his glass. He pressed his lips to the edge and took a satisfying sip. The hops bit at the back of his tongue and he hummed at the satisfying pine flavor that tingled his taste buds. “The best,” he mused. “Try it.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be drinking…”  

“You’ve gotta get out more, Cas,” Dean laughed, sliding Castiel his beer.

“This isn’t exactly the time for pleasantries, Dean,” Cas said dryly, but he took the beer anyway. Watching Cas’ face as he sipped the beer, his lips turning downward in a frown made Dean a little giddy inside.

“Yeah, we’ve gotta work, but we’ve gotta eat, too. And you’ve gotta relax. You look a little wound up.”

“I take offense to that.”

“You shouldn’t.” Dean snorted with a smirk. “Just means I’m going to have to unwind you.”

Cas looked up at Dean from over his glass, his eyes challenging. “I look forward to seeing you try.” He seemed better even still. Maybe it was being away from all of the chemicals, or maybe it was just he and Dean being together that made Cas relax just a hitch.

“Buddy you’ve got a deal.”

Present

Dean

Walking away from Cas in the hospital was one of the hardest things that Dean ever had to do, but he had to do it. He had a lead on the drug that Meg had in her system. Demon Blood was what they were calling it. It was dangerous and secret. It was a miracle that he got tipped off on it in the first place.

He walked to his car, the Impala parked under a tree on the side of the parking lot. There was still so much that he didn’t know. He was so preoccupied, wrapped up and twisted inside of his own thoughts that he almost missed the paper stuck under his wiper on his windshield.

He reached forward, plucking the folded page. He leaned against the car and unfolded it carefully. It didn’t seem like a parking ticket, and he knew all about those. It was handwritten in red, messy scrawl on printer paper.

Let it go, or let go of Sammy.

He read the line about a thousand times before his stomach twisted in on itself. Suddenly, nothing else mattered. He had to go see his brother.

Dean got in the car and turned the radio up to block out his thoughts, his fears that were bouncing around inside of his skull. He hadn’t told Cas, fuck he hadn’t told anyone where Sammy was. What had happened to his brother after Sam’s fiancee died in that fire. He’d gone off the deep end. It started slow, drinking and pot. He wanted to be fucked up and stay fucked up so he wouldn’t have to face the reality of everything. It just about killed Dean watching his brother disappear in front of him. He wanted to give his little brother the space he needed, but the space almost ruined everything. He’d found Sammy in the bathtub, the shower running, and a needle still stuck in his arm. His lips were blue.

The Winchester brothers had tumbled to rock bottom together, as they’d done everything together.

Sam was in a rehab facility up state, and Dean hadn’t gotten up the nerve to go and see him. He couldn’t look his brother in the face without so much regret that he thought he’d be sick. He couldn’t get the image of his tall, strong brother looking so goddamn small, soaking wet, and dead in front of him. He called 911 and did chest compressions until the ambulance arrived. He pushed and pushed on his brother’s chest until his arms screamed out in pain, and then he pushed again. He’d never forget the sound and feeling of his brother's chest cracking under the pressure of his hands.

Sam had been in rehab for six months, and the closer Dean got to the facility the more his stomach twisted. He felt sick and anxious. Especially since his denial had allowed the same shit to happen to Cas, right under his nose. He knew better. He just didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to have to say goodbye again. It was too damn hard.

But he guessed that he didn’t have much of a choice anymore, especially with the threat scribbled on a piece of paper curled in his fist and pressed against the steering wheel. If Sammy was getting threatened that meant that Dean and Cas were closing in on the answer. He couldn’t let anything happen to his brother, but he couldn’t let this go either. It was too damn fragile. Two were dead already, maybe more. Dean was a detective, an officer of the law. He couldn’t just sit on it. It wasn’t in him.

He pulled up to the facility and parked out front. Rows of dead flowers were stark against the white, clinical exterior of the building. Part of him desperately wanted to turn back, to tuck tail and run, but he was so close to Sammy that he felt the pull in his chest. He missed his baby brother. He missed Sam more than his own fear that pulled at him. More than anything.

Dean pressed the red button by the front door, a ringing sound coming through the speaker. “Can I help you?” A female voice purred through the static.

“Here to see Sam Winchester. Uh, I’m visiting,” he said awkwardly, leaning into the speaker like an idiot.

“Come on in,” she said, before a buzzing sound erupted, the lock on the door audibly clicking.

He opened the door and stepped into the lobby. It smelled clean like Clorox and over-sprayed Febreeze. Cotton fresh my ass, Dean thought grumpily. He scribbled his name on the check-in sheet and headed straight to Sam’s room. After four months of sobriety Sam got a more relaxed schedule. He had to go to group twice a day, therapies, exercise, but other than that he could go where he pleased within the facility. Dean just hoped that Sam was napping instead of off swimming or playing tennis or whatever the fuck they did for fun around there.

He stood in front of Sam’s door, his fist hovering, preparing to knock, but he couldn’t find the strength. He couldn’t shake the image of Sam’s blue lips from his mind. He closed his eyes and counted to three. He had to man up. There were bigger things at work than this. Than his own fear. He had to--

“Dean?”

He hadn’t heard the door open. He was too wrapped up in his own mind. His eyes focused on his brother, three inches taller than him, his hair combed back, and his cheeks pink. He looked good. He looked healthy and strong. “Sammy,” Dean said with an exhale. “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I just…” He didn’t know how much he should disclose. He didn’t know what was safe… but looking at his brother, his best friend, it was hard not to just immediately spill everything. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up immediately, probably reading Dean like a book. “Sure. Let’s go to the gardens.”

The Winchester brothers walked side by side in a comfortable silence. There was so much to say, but no words to say it. The gardens turned out to be a hedge maze that went about to Dean’s shoulders. He followed Sam silently through two rights and a left before settling into the center of the maze. There was a large fountain in the center that had no water in it, drained for the cold weather, surrounded by benches. A chill ran up his spine in response to the eeriness surrounding the cold stones and moss covered angel statue in the center.

Sam took a seat on one of the benches. The entire maze seemed to be empty, void of sound apart from the breeze dancing through the hedges. Sam rested his arms on his thighs and clasped his hands together. “I’ve wanted to talk to you for months,” Sam admitted. His eyebrows were together, furrowed, concerned.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“I hate you!” Sam screamed as Dean walked away, buzzing out of the facility.

“I blame me,” Dean said, his eyes meeting his brothers. He lowered himself onto the stone edge of the fountain  across from his brother.

“I wanted to thank you. For saving my life and for getting me into this program.”

“Don’t have to thank me, Sammy.”

“Sure I do. You could’ve given up and left me for dead. You didn’t. That means something. I also wanted to say I’m sorry…”

“Stop.” Dean put up his hand. He couldn’t take it. Not when there was a killer on the loose. It was too much. There was only so much a man could take, afterall.

“Dean just let me apologize. It’s a part of my recovery to make amends.”

“Sam that isn’t why I’m here,” Dean said seriously, not trying to scare him.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been working this case,” he said, his voice hushed. “A woman was killed. It looked like an overdose, but I think she was murdered.”

Sam frowned a little deeper, wringing his hands.

Maybe Dean shouldn’t have mentioned it. It couldn’t be good for Sam’s recovery. He sucked in his breath, looking at his baby brother. “I think it’s connected with a new street drug… they’re calling it Demon Blood.” A look of recognition flashed across Sam’s face, which made Dean sit up a little straighter. “You’ve heard of it?”

“Who was the girl?” Sam asked tightly. “Can you tell me that?”

Dean eyed his brother suspiciously, but he folded quickly at the softness of his brothers expression, the wetness along his eyes, and all the pain that accompanied it. “Her name was Meg Masters.”

All of the color drained from Sam’s face almost immediately. He looked ill. “Fuck I think I’m going to be sick,” he muttered, covering his mouth.

“Deep breaths, hey, Sam? Look at me,” Dean instructed, and his brother followed suit. Dean held his shoulders and looked into his eyes. “What’s going on? Did you know her?”

Sam nodded slowly, and he let his little brother get his composure before squeezing his shoulders supportively as if he was saying it’s okay, I’m here. You can tell me. “She was a resident here. A friend. She left a month ago… but Dean she was clean. She worked the program hard. She didn’t want… she didn’t want to use anymore.” Pain flashed across Sam’s face again and Dean wasn’t sure if it was from the loss of a friend, or from the knowledge that he could backslide hard. Rock bottom wasn’t always something that a guy can come back from.

“I’m not too convinced that she was using.” His eyes locked on Sam. If they knew each other then Sam could be in danger anyway, even without his connection to Dean. He may already be connected to the case. “Do you know if she had any enemies? Anyone that would want to hurt her?”

Sam shook his head and took a few deep breaths. “There was this woman who visited her a lot, she had long dark hair… she was short, hell almost a foot shorter than me. Their relationship seemed intense. Meg was always quiet when she left.”

“Do you know her name?”

Sam squinted at his hands, deep in thought. “Don’t know a last name, but I’m pretty sure her name was Ruby.”

No. Dean stood up, digging around his pockets for his phone. No no no.

“What’s going on? Dean?”

It couldn’t be! It had to be a coincidence. His hands shook as he brought up some photos that he’d taken at the department Christmas party. “Sammy, is this Ruby?” He asked, handing his brother the phone as he lowered himself back into a seated position. “Do any of those women look familiar.”

Sam nodded slowly as he examined the picture. “Yeah, that’s Ruby… and I’ve seen that other woman as well,” he said, pointing to the background. Dean’s stomach dropped again as he looked at the beautiful blue eyes, even blurred and from so far away, of Cas. He looked unbelievably awkward, and Dean was kicking himself for not noticing him then. They would’ve had so much more time. His chest ached at the thought.

Then his eyes scanned to the woman that Cas was talking to. It was his boss, Naomi. “She was here?”

Sam nodded, looking at Dean. “Only once, but Meg almost slipped when she was here. It wasn’t good, Dean.”

He stood up instantly. That’s all he needed to know. “Ruby works in my office. She’s on the narcotics team.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck is right,” Dean said tightly. His head was spinning, and he could hardly get a handle on it. “I’m checking you out of this place. I’ll make a call. I’ve got somewhere you can go.”

“Dean, wait. I can’t go…”

“They threatened you, Sammy,” Dean said, grabbing  his brother's biceps to make him look at Dean. “They know you’re here and they know I’m close to cracking this. I have to crack it wide open… and I…” He sighed. “I forgive you, Sam. you know that, right? I forgave you the day you were born.”

Sam seemed to examine his brother's face, searching for something before he nodded. “Yeah, okay. Where are we going?”

“Her name is Sheriff Jody Mills, and she’s gonna take good care of you.”

+++

Part Seven

He was going to have to go to rehab, he knew that already. It was par for the course. It was past being needed. At the thought, though, he wanted to run. His veins itched, and he kept reaching for his hip instinctively. When it became too much he was searching for that familiar numbness that he craved. He didn’t want to feel. He didn’t want to face his mistakes, his pain, and the defined, sharp memory of Dean walking away. Deep within him, he knew that he wouldn’t see Dean again. It was the end, long before it ever really got started.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been in that room alone, time was ticking and warping in front of his eyes, making him dizzy. He didn’t like the man that he’d turned into, and being alone with that thought was far worse than anything else that he could’ve imagined.

He didn’t understand how Dean could like him. How he could look at Castiel with a softness that he’d never experienced. There was an unbelievable kindness within the detective that Castiel wasn’t sure he would ever deserve, and he loved Dean. He loved him deep inside of himself in a way that made his chest ache and his fingers itch. Love was a risk. People were a risk. Caring. They were all things that Castiel tried to avoid at all cost, but there he was, pining desperately after a man that probably would never return. Cas couldn’t even blame him if he didn’t. Castiel didn’t think he would come back if the roles were reversed.

He was a train wreck, he knew that. If he were a better man he wouldn’t wish for Dean to return. He would get his shit together, go to rehab, and move on with his pathetic life. But he wasn’t a better man. He was just Doctor Castiel Novak, a disaster, a mess, and only human.

The door opened, and he winced instinctively, expecting his doctor to enter with another round of bad news. He could hear his heartbeat pick up on the machine, the beeps speeding up rapidly as his eyes locked on Dean’s.

“Hey,” Dean said softly, closing the door behind him. “How are you feeling?”

Castiel opened his mouth to speak, but it suddenly felt so dry, like his tongue would crack and crumble in his mouth if he moved too quickly. He swallowed hard and composed himself before croaking, “better, thank you.”

A look of relief flooded across Dean’s face, and he nodded quickly. “That’s good, Cas. That’s real good.” Dean walked to him slowly, with caution.

“I won’t bite,” Cas said shyly, extending a hand out to Dean. “I… It’s good to see you, Dean.” I missed you, he wanted to shout. Come be with me. But he couldn’t, he knew that.

“Aw,” Dean said, shooting him an ornery grin that tugged at the corners of Castiel’s own lips. “You sure? I may be into it.”

“Then perhaps I will.”

Dean's expression softened, and he walked to Cas, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. “I’m not sure if I should talk about the case,” he admitted.

“I want to know.”

Dean looked down at his lap, considering, before he took Cas' hand in his. "I went to see my brother, and I learned some more information about Meg."

Cas' eyebrows came together in confusion, feeling the callous on Dean's trigger finger from hours at the shooting range. His hand felt protective, strong, and it sent a sensation of safety through Castiel. "From your brother? Did they know each other?"

Dean paused, his green eyes crinkling, softening, and wetting at the edges. He looked upset and it made Castiel's stomach drop. "My brother is in rehab, and so was Meg. They were friends in the program, and he told me about a woman named Ruby who met with her and made her agitated…"

He leaned forward to look at Dean, frowning. "What are you holding back, Dean?"

"Ruby works with me in Narcotics, but that wasn't the only person who Sammy recognized."

Castiel anticipated it before Dean said it, it made his head spin, his vision blurred at the edge, and his heart rate spiked on his monitor.

"It's your boss, Naomi. I think she's in on it."

His eyes stung and bile rose in his throat. "Dean…" He covered his mouth. It was a ball being dropped. Everything made so much sense. "They tested my blood. I think… I think Naomi drugged me."

Dean frowned, letting go of his hand. An emptiness filled Cas' chest, and he saw everything he needed to know on Dean's face. "You don't believe me," Cas said sadly.

"It's not that…" He said carefully.

"Then what is it?"

"Are you… you're saying you didn't do any drugs? I found the pill bottle Cas… I saw you fucked up. I held you in my arms when you had the seizure…"

He wanted to scream, to cry, to be fucking pissed. He curled his fingers into tight fists, the tube in the back of his hand stinging. "I didn't say I didn't do it."

Dean's jaw was tight, and he nodded slowly. "She drugged you."

"I think she did." Cas met his eyes, challenging.

'Why?"

Castiel's palms stung as his nails bit into his skin on his hands. He extended his hands and stared at the halfmoon cuts in his palms and the blood droplets that rested there. His eyes burned. "I don't know, Dean. I wish I did. I wish I knew why any of this happened, but I just don't know."

Emotion bubbled in his chest, and he found it hard to breathe.

He felt Dean's fingers on his knee, and he squeezed gently. "I'm sorry," Dean said softly. "I believe you. Okay, Cas. I believe you."

He looked up to Dean, his heart jumping into his throat, and a sob escaped his lips. He nodded, and Dean wrapped Castiel in a warm hug. He buried his face in the crook of Dean's neck, and he cried. He didn't mean to, or plan to, but once the floodgates opened they didn't stop. He couldn't contain it. "Dean I…"

"I know, Cas. I know," Dean whispered, his breath tickling Cas' scalp.  

His entire body shook with sobs, and he knew that if Dean’s arms weren't around him that he would shatter into a thousand pieces.

It took several minutes of silence, of their souls cementing together, strengthening each other to a point that it'd be nearly impossible to break them. They were impenetrable. "Let me help," Cas finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can talk to Naomi. I can get her to confess."

"No," Dean said firmly, pulling back from him. He captured Cas' face in his hands and stroked his cheekbones with his thumbs. "I'm not sending you in there. It's too dangerous, especially if she has been drugging you."

"She will be underestimating me, Dean. It's a good move."

"No."

Cas looked at Dean with a pain-filled expression. “Let me do this. Please.”

How could he explain to Dean that this was his penance? That this was the least that he could do for the man that he’d fallen in love with? He had to do something, be something more. He had to make up for the fact that he’d been a complete disaster, and not just for Dean-- but for Inias. “Please,” he whispered, desperately.

Dean sucked in a trembling breath, shaking his head. His tongue darted out of his mouth and wetted his bottom lip. “Okay, Cas. Okay.”

Later

Doctor Castiel Novak had wires strapped to his chest, a hidden microphone that connected to Dean outside in an unmarked vehicle. He had checked out of the hospital against medical advice. They agreed only because he was going to be in the custody of a police officer who promised that he would be checked into rehab ‘toot sweet’.

“We can back out of this, Cas. It ain’t too late.”

Dean was worried, and if Castiel was being honest he probably should be. Cas didn’t have his shit together on his best day, and it definitely wasn’t his best day.

“I’m fine, Dean.”

“I just… I can’t lose you, Cas. You know that right?”

He didn’t. He hoped for it, of course, but know it? How could he? It’d been a  short time, short and twisted. He couldn’t trust his own memories, his own experiences. How could he know what was real and what wasn’t? That was why he was there. He had to find out the truth from Naomi, and he had to have Dean there to hear it. No matter what she said.

“I do now.”

He buzzed in with his key card and walked to Naomi’s office. He was tense, stressed, and feeling the emptiness of his pocket, his fingers twitching with the desire to feel the familiarity of his plastic bottle in his hand. He pushed down the urge, even though it made him shake, and knocked on Naomi’s office door.

“Come in,” he heard her say through the door.

He poked his head in slowly. “Naomi? Can I speak with you?”

Her expression darkened, and he couldn’t believe he didn’t see it before. She flattened the sides of her hair, pulling it tighter into her bun. Her jaw was tight as she spoke. “Castiel I sent you home multiple times. I am surprised that you can’t seem to follow a simple instruction.”

“I want to come back to work,” he said, pushing into the office, closing the door behind him. “Please.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. She pressed her palms to her desk and leaned over, narrowing her eyes. “I’ve told you that I don’t believe you’re ready.”

“I am,” he insisted. “I know I’ve been under some stress… but the time away has healed me. I promise.”

Naomi examined him, with a raised eyebrow. “Healed you how, Castiel?”

He lowered himself down into his seat.

“If she tries to drug you don’t let her. You hear me? This isn’t worth a hair on your head.”

“I realize I was being… unreasonable. I was projecting my own insecurities and mental health on my job.” He wanted to throw up, but he bit back the bile. “I cannot apologize enough.”

Naomi stood up, her low heels clicking on the tile floors of her office. “I must say I am happy to hear that, Castiel. I’m glad your time away has been useful.”

“Promise me, Cas.”

“Would you like some tea, Castiel?”

“I promise.”

“Yes,” he said quietly. It was no surprise when one sip of the tea that Naomi gave him muted his senses. He didn’t have the strength to resist, but more than that he knew that Naomi was a black widow and if she knew she had him in her web that she would strike. She had to strike for them to catch her.

She perched on the edge of her desk and smiled down at him wickedly. “You are my favorite, Castiel. You know that right?”

A sour taste flooded his tongue at the sound of Dean’s words in her mouth. “I want to understand,” Cas said, his tongue heavy.

“Understand what?”

“Why I thought there was a girl.”

She tapped the mug with her index finger. “You were confused,” she purred.

His head spun, but he titled his head up to look at her. “I’m not confused,” he lied.

She tilted her head to the side, looking at him almost fondly. “Why are you here Castiel, really? I liked you because you were quiet. You had no friends. You were easy, but you are no longer easy.” She reached forward, stroking his hair, but he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel anything. Naomi’s fingers curled in his hair, pulling his head back. She grinned at him wickedly. “I’m afraid you won’t be coming back to work, Doctor Novak.”

“You killed Inias,” he slurred, his eyes heavy lidded.

“He was in the way.”

It wasn’t a confession, but it was close. If he pushed her a little more maybe she would let something slip. He grabbed for her with useless, deft fingers.

“Just like you’re in the way,” she continued, clicking her tongue in displeasure. “Which is a shame, because you’re so pretty. If you weren’t so drugged out, so sickly, then maybe…”

He mustered everything he had and spit up at her. He smiled weakly at the sight of her eyes bulging, and her mouth turning downward in distaste as she wiped the saliva from her cheek. “You disgusting little worm. I should’ve ended you a long time ago.” She pulled his head closer, her grip tightening on his hair. “No one will believe you, Castiel. You are a mess. Everyone knows it. That’s why I picked you. I pulled an old email from your drive and sent it from Inias’ computer after I got rid of him. It’s your verbiage. Word for word. You were in his apartment, and you didn’t wear gloves, did you? Your DNA is all over the place. I have contingencies. I’m well planned.” She was a breath from his mouth when she hissed. “And the next step is to get rid of you .”

He didn’t see it coming, because her face was so close to his, blocking his vision. All he felt was a quick prick in his arm, nothing more than a pinch before his vision faded to darkness.

Before

Castiel slipped his coat on and hovered in the doorway of Dean’s apartment. “We’ll solve it, Cas. Inias… the girl. All of it.”

“I hope that you’re right.” He leaned against the door frame, unsure of why he couldn’t easily step through the threshold and into the night. Normally leaving was all that he wanted to do, but looking at Dean the outside somehow felt colder, seemed so much more daunting. He wanted Dean to ask him to stay.

“I’m always right,” Dean said, offering him a wide, beautiful smile.

It felt wrong that a man that beautiful existed. It wasn’t just his freckled skin, striking green eyes, or strong jawline. He was smart, funny, caring, and a damn good cop, despite what others insinuated. His arms were strong, and when Castiel was near him he felt like everything might just work out. “Always?”

“Yeah.” He took a step toward Castiel, a smirk settling on his lips.

Castiel’s heart started to race, and it was a high that he’d never experienced before. Dean closed the space between them, their chests brushing. “Don’t go,” Dean said quietly. “That a crazy thing to ask?”

He shook his head, because he didn’t trust his voice.

“Then do it.”

His eyes flickered to Dean’s lips, full and pink and so fucking beatuiful. They hadn’t kissed since that first time in the bathroom, but he wanted to kiss Dean again. He wanted to kiss him with every fiber of his being. “Okay,” he whispered. “Dean? I’m… I’m afraid.”

“You don’t gotta be scared, Cas. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Deans knuckles brushed his cheek, sending chills up his spine.

“That’s not what I’m afraid of.”

Screwing everything up, losing Dean, being caught all made the list. A killer? It was bad, horrible even, but somehow it all melted away when Dean’s breath was tickling his lips.

“What is it?”

“It's… this.” He gestured between them.

“Us?” Dean raised an eyebrow before tilting Cas’ chin upward. “Sweetheart, I ain’t letting anything happen to us.” Then Dean kissed him. He leaned in and brushed his lips against Cas’.

“I ain’t letting you go, Cas,” Dean murmured against his mouth.

He let out a sigh into Dean’s kiss and felt his arms wrap around Dean, pulling him closer. He opened his mouth slightly to allow Dean to lick into him, taste him. They were pressed full flush against each other, and Castiel craved to be even closer to him. He wanted to blend into him, lose himself under Dean’s touch.

Dean’s hands settled on Cas’ hips, gripping his belt to pull him even closer-- which Cas wasn’t sure was even possible. The kiss felt like a promise. A promise of something more.

Dean pushed his coat from Cas’ shoulders, and he let it fall to the floor. Dean’s lips trailed along his jaw and down his throat, his teeth scraping. Goosebumps rose on Cas’ skin, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. He unbuttoned Cas’ shirt with deft fingers, nibbling at every stretch of exposed skin on his neck, collarbone, chest.

“Dean,” he gasped. “Should we… talk about this?”

“What do you want to talk about, pretty eyes?” Dean asked, his voice low, rough, wanting. Cas felt his fingers running over his chest, down his stomach. Dean’s green eyes met Castiel’s own.

“Is this just…”

“I think I’m fallin’ for you, Cas.” Dean’s voice was low, his face soft, his lips parted in ragged breaths.

That was all that Castiel needed to hear. He shrugged off his shirt, and Dean followed suit tugging it over his head. And then they were kissing, hands exploring, lips blending together, eyelashes tickling cheeks.

It wasn’t a far stumble to the bed in the small studio apartment. Castiel found himself falling backwards, hitting the bed breathlessly. Dean hovered over him, backing up far enough to look down at him. “You’re so damn beautiful, Cas.”

He reached up and touched Dean’s cheek. He wanted to trace the freckles on his cheeks, but Dean turned his head and placed a warm, soft kiss to Castiel’s palm. “You’re beautiful, Dean.”

Dean’s cheeks redden, blush dancing up his cheekbones. Cas’ stomach flips at the sight of Dean feeling embarrassed, vulnerable.

“I think I’m falling for you as well,” Castiel admitted, shyness flooding his tone.

He’d never said it to anyone. He’d never felt it before Dean. He missed Dean before he ever left him. He felt safe with him. Thought about him as he fell asleep. Despite the murder, and the fear and uncertainty, Dean was the only thing that made him feel sane.

“Well fuck me sideways,” Dean whispered, his eyes wide in happy surrpise.

Castiel sucked in his breath. “I can certainly try…”

And then Dean laughed, one of those big-belly, full body laughs that wsa contagious. Cas couldn’t hold it back as a laugh bubbled up in his own stomach, bursting out of his lips in an uncontrollable laughter.

Dean fell on his back next to Castiel, holding his stomach, tears filling his eyes as seeing Cas laughing made him bust up even harder. “Shit… Cas… you’re going to kill me,” he gasped.

His ribs hurt as his body convulsed with each gasp of breath that he managed between bursts of giggles. The two men turned on their sides and looked at eachother. Their chests were exposed, and Cas reached forward and touched Dean’s cheek, still grinning. His face was sore from laughing so hard, and there was this warmth in his chest. “I like that,” he whispered.

“LIke what?”

“You. You making me laugh.”

“I like making you laugh, Cas.”

He could lay there with Dean forever, just looking at him. “Keep making me laugh,” he whispered as he leaned in and kissed Dean softly, their lips brushing gently.

“Always,” Dean murmured against Cas’ mouth. “Always.”

+++

Epilogue

His shoes crunched the frozen grass and leaves under his feet, and his breath fogged up around his face in warm puffs of white. He’d made it to the other side of the small corner park, his shoe toeing the curb. He sighed and pulled out his phone from his pocket to check his messages. He hadn’t been in to work, but Naomi had told him to take some time off anyway. How much time was enough? A few hours? Would she be looking for him? He couldn’t exactly afford to lose his job.

He hadn’t noticed the numbness in his fingers until he tried to pull his phone from his pocket. The glass slipped against his deft fingers and tumbled to the earth. “Shit,” he muttered, crouching down to retrieve it, the toe of his shoe knocking it into the sewer grate.

He paused there crouching and looking into the blackness of the grate and considered the probability of a demon clown yanking him to his death. Normally, he would venture to say it was unlikely, but in the wake of the week he was having, he was reconsidering. No option was off the table.

Castiel let out a heavy sigh and rotated to where his knees were on the cold, wet ground. He reached a hand down into the grate, squinting into the darkness. His phone lit up with a vvrrr as it vibrated. The light at the bottom of the shallow sewer grate glinted against a shiny piece of plastic. The light flashed again. It looked like some kind of ID-- perhaps a driver's license.

It had to be a coincidence. No clues were that easy. They weren’t handed out on a silver platter. Here you go, Castiel, here’s all the answers. Go tell the pretty detective. He will reward you. He shook off the thought and instead reached his hand deeper into the grate. The metal dug into his shoulder as he strained. He turned his head to the side to get closer, his cheek pressing against the frozen, wet metal. He feared for a heartbeat that he would stick to the grate. How humiliating. He reached his fingers out, further, deeper, until he felt something wet. Leaves, cold and soggy from weather and time. He resisted the urge to gag as his shoulder let out a sickening pop!

His body went slack from the sudden onset of pain, his fingers settling in thick, standing water. He took a few deep breaths, counting to ten.

One.

Inias is dead.

Two.

I may die here stuck in a sewer gate.

Three.

I quit being a doctor.

Four.

I have been numb most of my life.

Five.

But not now.

Six.

There’s an answer. It’s not the answer, but perhaps it is an answer.

There was a crunch behind him, a footstep. “Cas?”

Seven.  

I am not alone. For once I’m not alone.

“Shit, did you fall?”

Eight.

“Hey! Answer me! Cas?”

Dean.

Nine.

Dean.

Ten.

Dean.

“I’m fine,” Cas finally managed. “I just… I dropped my phone. I can’t reach it.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Dean scolded as he crouched down next to Castiel. “Come on.” His fingers were against Castiel’s upper back.

“No, I’ve almost got it.” He grunted, stretching just a bit further until, yes! His fingers barely scraped the cool plastic of his phone and then, if he could reach just a breath further. He let out a groan of pain as he nudged the laminated plastic toward him. With agonizing effort he managed to grip both pieces. “Help me up,” he said breathlessly.

Dean obliged, pulling him up using his underarms. His shoulder was fucked, he knew that already, but in his cold, bluing hand he held his broken cellphone and a piece of worn plastic. “I think your phone is toast, Cas. Shouldn’t have risked it…”

“Scold later,” Castiel demanded tiredly. “Look.” He nudged at Dean with the drivers license.

“What?” Dean asked. There was a hint of annoyance in his voice until his eyes landed on the face of the woman on the ID. “Fuck.”

“What is it?”

“It’s her. Meg Masters.”

Castiel let out a laugh, relief flooding his chest and almost numbing the pain that throbbed through his shoulder. “Good.”

“You found this in there?”

“Saw it once my phone fell.”

“Damn, Cas,” Dean said softly, as he cupped Castiel’s cheek in his somehow-warm hand. “Starting to think you’re some kind of lucky charm.”

Castiel gave Dean a weak smile. “I think my shoulder is out of the socket.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What? You’re just tellin’ me this?” He pulled at Castiel’s coat gently to expose his already swelling shoulder. He winced in pain as Dean’s fingers danced along the joint. “Damn it, Cas.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, closing his eyes.

“Don’t say sorry. Just… don’t get hurt, alright?”

Dean Winchester. Don’t get hurt, alright? He was this tough detective, but he had this way about him that felt too soft. Being near him almost felt like being near a fireplace. It was this warmth that radiated, licking at his cheeks, the crackle and the scent sucking him in. When he was with Dean he felt safe. It wasn’t logical, but he supposed relationships typically weren’t.

“Maybe we should get you to the emergency room.”

“No,” he grunted, shaking his head. “Just pop it back in.”

Dean made a face, his lip curling back and his eyebrows coming together in distaste. “You want me to do what?”

“Pop it back in,” Cas said through gritted teeth. “It’s easy.”

“I think we have different definitions of easy.”

During his pediatric rotation he’d done it several times himself. “Come on, Dean. I can’t possibly pop my own arm back into place. Just help.”

Dean let out a sigh and nodded. “Fine, fuck, okay. What do you need me to do?”

“Take my wrist. Pull it forward and straight in front of me fast. Don’t tell me when you’re going to pull. It’s better when it’s a surprise.” He closed his eyes as he felt Dean’s fingers curl around his wrist and yank with a single breath, and for half a second he thought he was going to pass out. “Good job,” he gasped out, letting his head fall back slightly. Dean caught his back, his palm flat between his shoulder blades. “It’s okay, Cas. I’ve got ya.”

Castiel knocked on the glass of the window to the leasing office of Inias’ apartment. “Hello?”

“Come on, your hours say you’re open,” Dean called through the circular section of holes that were cut out for talking between the glass.

The blonde woman behind the glass looked up at him from over the book she was reading. She pointed to piece of paper that had been taped on the inside of the glass that had I’m eating lunch, fuck off! Dean narrowed his eyes, unimpressed.

He pulled his badge off his hip and slid it through the opening onto her desk. Her eyes flashed to it as he said, “Hope you’ll reconsider ma’am.”

She closed her book and forward. She was in her early forties, Castiel surmised, by the way her skin hung on her cheekbones. His eyes flickered down to the book on her desk A Guide to Divorce, you don’t need him sister!

Castiel felt that he was notoriously the saddest person in the room, by default. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

“How can I help you, Detective?”

“We have a question about a former tenant of yours.”

“I’ll do my best to answer whatever questions you have, but people come and go here so fast sometimes it feels like I never even saw them. It’s a building of goddamn ghosts.”

“He’s lived here for years,” Castiel offered, his voice hoarse. Even standing in the lobby, even during the day felt like too much. He could still see Inias hanging in the closet, his hair clumped in the sink.

“You recognize this guy?” Dean asked, sliding an old photograph of Inias and Castiel. Cas stood awkwardly next to Inias, who was grinning like a complete idiot wearing his cap and gown. Even from the blurry resolution Cas could see the bags under his own eyes. “Apartment 415?”

She picked up the photograph and looked at it, examining the photo, the two men in front of her, and then the photo again. “Yeah, I knew him. He was a good tenant. Never caused anyone problems. He was cute, too. Always asked how my day was.” her gaze lingered on the photograph again before sliding it back through the slot to Dean. “Is he in some kind of trouble?”

“We are having a hard time locating him,” Dean said, seriously.

Dead. Missing. Hurt.

Words bounced around Castiel’s skull like a loose ping pong ball. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing before he fucking lost it right there in the middle of the complex.

“He moved out a few weeks ago, detective. It was pretty sudden. He didn’t even want to wait to see if he got to keep the deposit.”

“Did he leave a forwarding address?”

She shook her head no, and Castiel’s mouth went dry.

“What was he like when you talked to him?” Dean asked. He looked serious, cool, and collected. “Did he seem agitated, afraid?”

“I didn’t talk to him. Well… not directly. He sent me an email.”

Castiel pressed closer to the glass. “Can we see the email?” He found himself asking, pressing his fingertips to the glass, leaving marks behind as Dean touched his wrist gently, urging him to back up.

“It would be helpful, ma’am,” Dean added, not looking at Castiel as he offered her a warm smile.

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked down for a moment. “Let me see what I can do. We normally wouldn’t… but if it’d help you, detective .”

Cas flexed his fingers at his side anxiously. She didn’t get it. They didn’t have time to flirt. His friend was dead, or if he was alive, he was almost out of time.

The woman shuffled around her office. From his angle it looked like she was shuffling paper, but he guessed she was cleaning up her work space, because a moment later she opened her side door and waved them both into the tight space.

He didn’t like it. Her door clicked shut, and he immediately felt like he was suffocating. He scratched at his throat absentmindedly and tried to focus on something through the glass, but all he could see was his smudged fingerprints. From there they almost looked like scratches on the inside of a coffin.

“He emailed me late at night, which I thought was odd. He never communicated through email, but it seemed urgent.” She sat in her office chair and typed on the computer, pulling up the email. She clicked a few times before turning the screen.

The two men leaned forward to read the email.

I am sorry to do this without notice. I’m sure it’s going to put you in a difficult position. That was never my intention. Please take this as the notice of my immediate evacuation of the building. I have arranged for the remainder of my lease to be paid out, but please feel free to rent the space as I will not be returning. I have gotten an opportunity that I cannot pass up.

I wish you well.

Inias  

Dean looked to Castiel for some kind of confirmation, but Castiel barely saw Dean turn to him. His eyes were focused on Inias’ name. It pulsed, throbbed, the letters bent with the beat of his heart. Dead dead dead dead dead. It sang in his head like a nursery rhyme. Like little girls jump roping. The slap of the rope with every beat of his heart.

“Cas, buddy, you okay?” Dean asked.

He sounded far away. Everything did.

That wasn’t Inias. He didn’t talk like that. Castiel talked like that. The words felt strange, but familiar.

He felt like he was going to throw up. His stomach twisted and cramped, and he covered his mouth in horror.

I did this.

He didn’t know how, and he didn’t recall doing it, but he knew that he’d written those words before.

“Cas?” Dean asked as he pressed his palm to Castiel’s shoulder.

The touch made him shoot up in his seat, shaking his head. “No, no, no. I have to get out of here.”

He turned the knob on the door and pushed out of the cramped space with the thick, unbreathable air, and he ran. He ran through the lobby and out into the street, gasping for the taste of fresh air that he could never hope to get in the city.

He collapsed to his knees, his palms on the asphalt.  

“Cas, hey,” Dean called after him. He kneeled next to Castiel and rubbed his back. “Hey, you good?”

“No,” Castiel gasped. “I’m not. I’m not good.”

“Look at me.” He placed his index finger under Cas’ chin, and he turned his face so their eyes could meet. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“I think…” He couldn’t say it, not out loud. He couldn’t admit it, not to Dean… Not to himself.

“Whatever it is you can tell me,” he promised. His thumb traced along Castiel’s jaw. His expression was soft, caring, understanding.

“I can’t explain it,” he said finally after a brief pause. “But the email...those words… They were mine.”

“What do you mean?”

“I recognized the email as if I typed it myself.”

Dean’s jaw tightened. “Did you kill Inias, Cas?”

“No,” he said suddenly, his eyes widening. “Of course not.”

I couldn’t have.

I didn’t.

I did.

“Then we will figure out the rest, okay?”

Castiel just nodded, because he didn’t have a single other thing to say.

“Are you sure you can get in and out without being seen?” Dean asked nervously, leaning over the center console in Castiel’s car.

Castiel looked to the outside entrance to the morgue in front of him and pressed his lips together tightly. “I have to see if there’s any documentation left, any proof that she was ever here. I can get in and out without being seen. I did it most days I worked here. No one pays attention to the medical examiner.”

Dean looked unconvinced, concern knitted his eyebrows together. “You sure?”

“Yes, I am certain. I will be fine.” He touched Dean’s hand, his fingers brushing Dean’s knuckles. “I will be fine,” he repeated softly.

Dean’s green eyes met his, and they were deep and unwavering. They were the depths of the sea, threatening to swallow Castiel whole, and if he was being honest, he would willingly drown within them. “You’ll be fine,” Dean said, his voice echoing Castiel’s own.

Cas wanted to kiss him, but instead he just squeezed Dean’s fingers and got out of the car. The door shut with a click that seemed to echo in the empty, silent air. It was too quiet, and he felt like he was in a dream. The soft morning fog seemed to blanket him in, surround him on all sides. All he could see was the door to the morgue. There had to be answers within the walls. She had been there. The weight of her ID in his pocket told him that she was real. The phantom touch of Dean’s knuckles told him that she was real, but they needed something more. Something tangible. Something that proved it without a doubt.

So he walked to the door and pulled his key card out of his pocket and swiped it in the slot. He watched the light turn from a glowing crimson to a bright emerald green, the lock clicking open. He turned the knob and pushed into the morgue. The hallways were dim as always, and the familiar smell of formaldehyde stung his nose. He was suddenly so much more aware of the weight of the bottle in his pocket. The pills jingled, bouncing, and clattering, the sound seeming to echo through the empty hallway.

The hallway stretched in front of him impossibly long, the silver doors at the end gleaming in the low fluorescent lights. It felt so far away, like he would never reach it. Perhaps he should turn around and go back to Dean. He could go back to the apartment and hide under the covers. Before he could find any comfort in the thought, Inias popped into his head. His friend's smile gleamed in his memory brighter than the silver doors that led to the answers he could only hope he would find behind the cold and sterile exterior. The weight in his gut pressed and twisted, stopping him in front of the door, his fingers outstretched to push the swinging door open. He stood there, completely frozen. What if the answers he seeked weren't the ones he wanted? The fear of the unknown wrapped around him, coiling and squeezing the air out of his body.

“There’s been a murder. We need you to come up here. There’s a new detective, and I think it’s the first time he’s seen a stiff. We could use you here.”

Inias had asked for him. Inias was his friend. Inias is dead. His chest ached at the thought and he reached into his pocket, pulling out his pill bottle and popping the cap.

Two would be enough, he knew. They'd take the edge off. They'd erase Inias' grin from the front of his mind. They'd give him the strength to push forward, to take a step, to complete his task, to not be such a fucking coward.

He swallowed them dry. They crept down his throat in an almost crawl, and he resisted the urge to vomit. He bit back the bile and clicked the cap back on the bottle and slipped it into his pocket for safe keeping.

He sucked in his breath and held it for a beat, letting the pills settle within him before his fingers brushed the cold metal, the pressure of the door against his fingers felt stronger than he was used to as he pushed the door open.

The space was undisturbed as far as he could tell. His instruments were just as he left them when Naomi had last asked him to leave the building. He trailed his fingers along the cold surfaces, reeling in the familiarity of the space. He’d been thrown off balance and being back in that room gave himself some solid footing, somewhere safe to stand. The morgue had been his saving grace after his surgery career had fallen through the cracks, he’d melted into a person he didn’t recognize, one he didn’t want to. He used to think the morgue had saved him, but now he wasn’t so sure.

He didn’t have the same feeling with his scalpel as he did when he was with Dean. The cold, unforgiving surfaces of the morgue didn’t send butterflies through him, or make him feel safe. Not anymore.

He walked to his desk in the back of the room. He picked up his clipboard and ran his fingers along the edge of where a page had been ripped. He knew it had. He couldn’t prove that it was Meg’s page, but it was something. He opened his desk drawer, not sure what he was looking for, but anything was better than nothing. He moved pens, bright colored Post-It notes, and shuffled through meaningless papers that honestly needed to be shredded.

“Doctor Novak?”

Her voice slithered into the room like a snake in the brush. Naomi. The sense that he’d been caught made his stomach fall through his ass, splatting on the floor. “Naomi.” He sat up straight in his chair, his fingers still shoved deep inside of his desk drawer.

“What are you doing here, Castiel?”

“I left something in my desk.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he said stiffly, pulling out the first thing that his fingers touched. He held up a bright pink pad of Post-It’s.

“Well you couldn’t forget something so special, could you?” She asked, dryly. “Can you come to my office, Castiel?”

He recoiled, sliding back further in his chair, his back bumping the wall as she stepped closer to him, his desk still between them. “I was actually leaving…”

“You were, but now you’re coming with me.” It wasn’t a question.

He nodded in response, standing up slowly, his pink Post-It’s crumpling in his palm. Castiel followed Naomi to her office, every step echoing through the halls, through his head, the walls seemed to tilt as he walked, making his head spin. He wanted to dial Dean, as he could feel his phone bounce against his thigh from the inside of his pocket as he walked.

Naomi stopped to unlock her office door, twisting the key, letting it click open. She swung the door to allow him inside and immediately walked to her electric kettle. “I asked you to not come back to work, Castiel,” she said, almost sweetly.

“I know. I apologize… I just needed…”

“To get the notes from your desk.” Her lips were in a tight line as she spoke. “I remember.” That shut him up almost immediately, and he swallowed hard. She poured a mug of tea and squeezed honey into it from the golden, bear-shaped container. She stirred it with a spoon three times before handing it to Castiel.

He took it and held it in his palms, the heat stinging his skin. “I shouldn’t have.”

“I’ve never known you to be defiant, Castiel.”

Naomi continued to say his name, a sweet hiss. He could see her, then, crouched in the grass looking up at him with large, slitted eyes. Take a bite. Just one little bite can’t hurt.

“I’m not defiant.” Even as he said it he could taste the lies on his tongue. They were thick like cotton, and he suppressed a cough in his throat.

“Of course you aren’t. Have a drink. You’re under a lot of stress. I know that,” she sat on the edge of her desk, and looked down at him. A predator and her prey. His eyes flickered down to the mug in his hands, and he felt sick to his stomach. He knew, deep in his gut that he couldn’t drink it.

“I’m not thirsty.”

“Drink it, Castiel. It’s good for you.”

“No.”

She recoiled at that and reached her hand out, her finger pressing on the bottom of the mug, raising it to his lips. “Now.”

+++

Part Six