Chapter Text
Castiel’s hand rested on the blue, worn mailbox, his thumb tracing fondly over the dent in the side. He glanced at the house he had called home for the last year as he felt the cool metal under his skin.
He didn’t really want to leave. The quiet solitude of the lake calmed him. Michael often complained about the lack of privacy; after all, the walls were made entirely of glass. But who was there, in this empty pocket of nature, to intrude on him? Castiel found the glass walls freeing. He felt more connected to the world around him than he ever had living in the city. Many mornings had been spent watching the sun burn wisps of fog off the water’s surface as the swirls of moisture created patterns in front of him. Talkative ducks paddled over the surface of the water. Occasionally, a ghostly swan would appear from the mists reminding him of the innocence and beauty that surrounded him.
Such imagery wasn’t something he always got to see in his chosen profession.
A profession that now prompted Castiel to now bid farewell to this refuge, his escape from what life had become before he found this haven.
He sighed. That time was over. Reality beckoned and Castiel knew he needed to rejoin the real world. Tearing his eyes away from the house, he let them drift for the last time up the dock, counting as he always did, the dainty blue cat prints culminating in a matching set on the pole of the mailbox. They had been there when he’d moved in and had always piqued a certain curiosity. With the mailbox again the focus of his attention, he slid the thin envelope with his forwarding address inside for the benefit of the next tenant.
Finally and regretfully, he turned to his ancient, gold, Lincoln Continental.
The car sat, currently filled to the brim with most of his belongings. The furniture had been picked up and delivered to his new apartment in the city by the movers earlier that morning. Everything else he owned or valued was in the boxes crammed into every available space with a small void left for him in the driver’s seat.
Contemplating the vehicle silently for a moment before shaking himself out of his revere, Castiel moved forward, opening the door and sliding behind the wheel. He turned to look at the tawny cat with golden eyes sitting on top of a box on the seat next him.
“Well, Gabriel, I guess it’s time.”
Castiel was glad the car’s contents blocked his final view as he threw the car into gear and backed up. He didn’t want another reminder of what he was leaving behind.
The next morning dawned far too bright for Castiel’s taste. He had grown accustomed to the slow crawl of the sun across the lake as it rose above the horizon, the trees scattering the first rays as they hit the water. Here, he was on the thirteenth floor. Despite the forest of architecture surrounding him, the buildings in front of his window were too low to provide much protection against the sun’s insistent glare. He had arrived late the night before and hadn’t been able to dredge up the energy to find and install curtains on his window, opting instead for locating his bed sheets in the mass of boxes and the bliss of sleep.
Now he was rudely pulled from unconsciousness by a sharp glare cutting across his bed.
Grumbling, Castiel rubbed the lingering exhaustion from his eyes as he stumbled to the kitchen to start the coffee maker. Gabriel sat on the counter watching him, clearly unimpressed. Castiel just rolled his eyes and opened up a can of cat food, emptying it into a small bowl on the tiled floor. Gabriel hopped down to sniff it once before looking back up at him. Castiel would have sworn if he were looking at a person’s face, the cat’s lip would be curled in disgust. He had never seen a cat with a greater propensity for expressing what seemed almost human-like emotions - or a greater sweet tooth. Fairly soon after adopting Gabriel, Castiel had learned to keep all candy hidden in the cupboard, complete with a small lock.
Castiel raised his eyebrow in return as he looked down at the cat, wondering, not for the first time, who really owned whom. “That’s all you’re getting. You don’t need sweets, and despite your preference, chocolate isn’t good for you.”
Gabriel stared at him a moment longer before emitting a low rumble of discontent in his chest and eating what was offered.
Castiel rubbed his hand over his face and scrubbed his cheeks as he tried to wake himself up. He was starting his new position today. It wouldn’t do to show up appearing sleep deprived. Fortunately, since he would only be shadowing his assigned mentor, his shift would be a standard eight hour meet, greet, and paperwork. The real shifts, twelve to fourteen hour days, wouldn’t start for another week or so. Nonetheless, the pace would still be frantic.
Sighing, he pushed himself off the counter to get ready. His coffee finished percolating, and he poured it into a huge mug before moving to the bedroom to change. A short time later, he was presentable and in his car.
The drive was brief, as it was meant to be. Northwestern Memorial Hospital was only a few blocks from his apartment. He could walk on warmer days, and probably would once summer really took hold. He preferred the idea of being close. It would make it easier to get in for emergencies on-calls, and he didn’t want to attempt the busy Chicago traffic exhausted at the end of a double shift.
Navigating the parking garage, Castiel pulled into a visitor’s spot. Until he received his official parking pass, this would have to do. He sighed again. He should be grateful, he was grateful. Northwestern was the best hospital in the city. To have been hired on directly out of his residency was at once exhilarating and humbling. He couldn’t stop the constant flutter of nerves in his stomach, but he scolded himself for feeling them regardless.
He’d graduated first in his class. He worked hard to get where he was, even if it meant giving up a lot to do it. It had been worth it. Now he was here, a real doctor. Or he would be, if he could figure out where he was supposed to go. Castiel checked the notes he’d made on his phone.
First floor, Feinberg Pavilion - emergency department. As a teaching hospital, Northwestern wasn’t a traditional inpatient hospital - though it still had space for almost nine hundred beds to accommodate post-op care, cancer ward, women’s hospital and psychiatric care. His clinic hours and office would be in the Galtar Pavilion next door, but a good portion of his day would be spent with the patients in the emergency wing as well.
Making his way to the garage elevator, he stepped in behind a crowd of people, most of whom were clearly patients or family of patients. He looked around at the group sharing the same space as him, wondering about their stories. A young girl, probably no more than eight, stared back at him boldly. He gave her a small smile, just a twitch of his mouth when the elevator signaled its arrival at the ground level.
Castiel walked through in through the main entrance, and was met with the general bustle and confusion of an emergency ward. The nurses’ station was directly in front of him, just to the left of a large cluster of chairs filled with people suffering from various injuries or illnesses. Castiel stepped up to the counter.
“Excuse me,” he began.
“I’m sorry, you’ll have to wait a moment, we’re a little busy right now, and unless you’re family, I can’t tell you anything anyway,” the short, dark haired woman behind the counter told him brusquely, but not unkindly.
“No, I’m sorry, I’m looking for Dr. Balthazar French?”
“Dr. French doesn’t have office hours today, you need to make an appointment.”
“No, I’m…”
Castiel didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence before he felt someone hooking his arm through the elbow and tugging him along.
“You’re Castiel!” a jovial voice with a British accent exclaimed. “I’m Dr. French, but just call me Balthazar, or Bal, if you like.” Balthazar grinned at him before tossing over his shoulder, “Thanks, Tessa! You’re a doll, always looking out for me!”
Tessa rolled her eyes and waved the two men off, but Castiel saw her throw a grin at the attending before they turned the corner.
“Welcome to Northwestern, Castiel. It’s your lucky day, we’re absolutely swamped, so you get the pleasure of jumping right into the fire. No frying pan necessary. Always thought that was a pesky step anyway.”
They stopped at an unattended man on a gurney so that Balthazar could read his chart.
“What is this man doing down here? He needs to be hooked up to a catheter and fluids, stat. Castiel, darling; you can take care of that right? You need to head down this hallway, make a left, then another left and a right. Just follow the arrows. I’ve got to take someone’s hide off for leaving this gentleman to die.”
At the last sentence, the man on the gurney’s eyes went wide and he looked at Castiel in panic. Castiel had no idea how to react to such a pronouncement.
“Um, ok?”
Balthazar grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man. When you’re done, have Tessa tell you how to get to HR. Naomi will need to get you set up with all the paperwork. Then meet me in the cafeteria for lunch and we’ll start talking about how things actually work around here.”
He shot Castiel another grin before he was off.
Castiel looked down at the man on the cart, sincerely wishing he were already changed into a set of scrubs rather than his suit and trench coat.
“Am I going to die?” the man asked.
“No, sir,” Castiel said sincerely, hoping it was true. One of the first rules you learned in medical school was not to assure the patient they would be all right, but Castiel had always had a hard time with the mandate. After all, hope was sometimes the best and only medicine they could give, even if it was a long shot.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed on the gurney praying he wouldn’t get lost.
Castiel got his paperwork taken care of, and Balthazar even showed him his office, which was still a novel concept to him. There was a line of bookshelves along one wall just waiting for him to fill with tomes, both medical and a few fictional. He’d often found when he pulled a longer shift he couldn’t immediately turn his mind off to nap and something non-work related acted like a balm. In his residency his locker had been stuffed full with books to choose from.
In addition to Balthazar and Tessa, he’d also met and begun to make friends with a number of other members of staff. The charge nurse, Meg, was feisty and liked to flirt.
“Castiel, huh? Angel boy.”
Castiel had raised his eyebrow in surprise. Very few people recognized his namesake as angelic. Meg just laughed.
“Yeah, my folks were pretty religious. Never really got into it myself. Too much goes down here that just doesn’t sit with me if there’s some big higher plan going on. Besides, you got Doc Bal over there,” she crooked her thumb over her shoulder at Balthazar, who was currently bantering with the nurse in charge of records. “Another supposed angel. Though not quite as handsome as you.” Meg smirked, the corner of her mouth twitching up slightly as she gave him a once over. “What’s it with you guys and hospitals? I prefer fictional angels myself. You’re fresh out of residency right?”
Castiel nodded in confirmation and she’d grinned. “Newbie angel! Clarence it is.”
Castiel just frowned. “I don’t understand that reference.”
Meg had laughed, but their banter remained easy. He willingly recognized the fact that if he had been looking for a relationship, Meg would be easy to date. But he wasn’t looking. Had no desire for romance. Besides, he had no intention of getting involved with anyone from work. Ever.
It was after nine when he finally arrived back at his apartment, Balthazar having insisted on taking him out to a local bar after their mutual shift ended to welcome him properly. By the time he stuck his key in the deadbolt, he was exhausted.
He opened the door and flipped the light switch. It made a halfhearted attempt at blinking to life before there was a soft pop and the bulb went dead. Great.
Stumbling through the dark room, tripping over several boxes in the process, Castiel finally found his way to the lamp beside his couch and switched it on.
The room flooded with a soft light. Gabriel sat atop one of the, as yet, empty bookshelves, eyes glowing a yellow-gold in the reflection of the bulb and tail twitching in a way that Castiel was certain meant he was amused.
“Some roommate you are,” Castiel muttered, long since used to his cat’s perverse personality. “Are you going to join me for dinner?” he asked.
The cat’s ears perked forward and he hopping from the bookshelf to the back of the couch, quickly running along its spine. When he reached the end, he dropped gracefully to the floor. Rather than going to Castiel, however, he went straight for the pantry and imperiously tapped a paw against the door. Gabriel’s response to the mention of food was one of the many traits that made Castiel feel his feline was smarter than the typical cat. Of course, he couldn’t really call Gabriel his. If anything, he belonged to the cat.
He fed Gabriel first. Once the cat was satisfied, he opened the door to his refrigerator and winced. He hadn’t gone shopping the day before and what he’d brought with him from the lake house was paltry at best. He sighed and closed the door again, resigned to an evening of one sided conversation and delivery.
Dean pulled up to the lake house. He wasn’t sure what drew him out here, or why he’d bought the property to begin with, but he had and he was here, his baby loaded up with the few meager belongings he actually cared about.
The sun was just starting to set behind him, throwing long fingers of golden color over the lake itself. The air around him seemed quiet, almost oppressive in its stillness compared to the constant motion of the city. The lake wasn’t silent. The air trilled with the sounds of cicadas and an occasional bullfrog. It was the lack of industry that struck Dean – no motors, no engines, no cars honking at each other as they navigated busy streets. The absence of this cacophony felt like a blanket muffling out the distractions of the world. But the wilderness didn’t bother him. Dean was used to all different types of environments.
He wasn’t used to being alone.
He wondered again why he’d decided to move here. He hadn’t told his father. Hadn’t dared. He didn’t want to think of John’s reaction to this house and the memories associated with it. Dean shook his head at himself. It was highly unlikely he’d be able to hide it from his father for too long - after all, he did work with the man.
Stepping out of the car, Dean looked more closely at the structure. Even from a distance, it looked run down. Like a once great lady, long neglected. That alone tugged at Dean. The desire to fix what was broken.
He opened the trunk of the Impala and grabbed a box. As he walked over the wooden dock that separated land from house, he noted it was in desperate need of a new coat of paint. Ah well. He was sure that would be the least of the projects he would find waiting for him here. At least he wouldn’t be short of distractions.
All told, it took him about half an hour to shift his belongings to the house. He’d be relying on an air mattress tonight. He’d never needed to purchase a bed before, having lived most of his life in one motel or another.
He stood in the breakfast room and surveyed first the kitchen, and then the windows overlooking the lake. From his position, he could identify at least three obvious projects that would require immediate attention. Despite that, just being there, Dean felt a missing piece settle in his gut. He still wasn’t whole. He knew there were parts of himself that were unfinished. He’d long ago accepted that he would always be incomplete. He just wasn’t one of those people that got all the good things in life. But this? Maybe this could be one of those good things. Maybe he could have this. His mind still niggled at John’s reaction if he found out, but Dean pushed it down. He needed this.
As though on cue, Dean’s phone began to ring.
Sighing, he pulled it from his back pocket. There were only a few people who would bother contacting him. A glance at his caller ID confirmed his suspicions. He swiped the bar across the bottom of the screen to answer.
“Dad.”
“Dean, where are you, boy?”
“I told you, Dad, I bought a place. I moved out here tonight.”
“What the hell for? Damn waste of money, if you ask me. Could’a kept bunking with me, or even Bobby.”
“Dad, I’m twenty-six. I needed my own space. We’ve bought in on the business with Bobby, so we’re staying put. I figured it was as good a time as any to actually find a place to settle down.”
Dean heard his father grunt on the other end of the line. “Still say it’s a damn waste of money. Where is this place anyway? No doubt it’s a piece of shit fixer upper.”
Dean held his breath and counted to ten. He’d never been able to lie to his father. Hadn’t been raised to. John was a former marine - although he hadn’t been in the corps long. He’d stayed in the military long enough to get an engineering degree before he’d gotten out and gone into architecture. That time in the corps had been enough for John to instill discipline in his sons. With Dean at least, it had worked.
“It’s a lake house,” Dean hedged. He didn’t feel inclined to give specifics. After all, this was Chicago. There were plenty of lake houses to be had. Dean hadn’t even specified which lake. John would naturally assume Dean was talking about Lake Michigan. It probably wouldn’t even occur to him that Dean might look west of the city to the small, more isolated Maple Lake. Dean counted on his father’s long-held aversion to lake houses in general to push him off the topic.
He was right. John grunted again. “I bet it’s a piece of shit, just falling apart isn’t it?” he asked, derision clear in his voice.
Dean sighed. “It could use some work, yes. It’s how I could afford it, Dad.”
“With all the new development going up, you couldn’t find something that simply works for a change, could you?”
It was a long-standing argument. One Dean didn’t feel equipped to handle that night.
“It’s what I found, Dad. It suits me. Is there a reason you called? Do you need me for something?”
There was a pause, as though John was trying to determine if Dean was being smart with him. He must have decided not, or at least to let it pass. “Wanted to remind you that we break ground on lot ten tomorrow at the Kripke Hollow property. As the site manager, you need to be there early. No later than five thirty, you got that, son?”
“Understood, sir. I’ll be there first thing in the morning.”
“Bobby will be on hand if you need help with the men.”
Dean felt his shoulders tense and told himself to relax. Bobby was always on hand. His father wasn’t insinuating he couldn’t do the job properly; he was just reminding him of his assets. “Yes sir, Bobby and I have things well in hand. The crew is ready to go in the morning.”
“Good. I need to check out the progress on the Carver Canons property first thing, but I’ll be over to look in on you around noon. I expect the crew to be well underway by then. Remember, you’re already behind.”
Dean felt a sinking sensation in his chest. No matter how old he got, no matter how many properties he had under his belt, his father never seemed to trust his ability to get the job done. He couldn’t lie that it hurt.
“Yes, sir.”
“See you tomorrow, son.”
A click on the other end of the line told Dean the conversation was over.
Dean stared at the phone in his hand for a moment before dropping it on the counter and dragging his fingers through his hair. John was always happy to remind Dean why he didn’t deserve good things. It wasn’t like he was completely wrong. At least he hadn’t brought up Sammy. That was an argument Dean just wasn’t prepared to have.
He debated the merits of blowing up the bed and just going to sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a long day after all. A moment’s contemplation was all he needed to realize he wasn’t going to be able to sleep. And if all he was going to do was stare at the ceiling all night, he might as well keep himself busy. He’d start with the kitchen.
Rolling up his sleeves, Dean went in search of his broom.