Balthazar, Doctor of Strangelove: or, How the Kings Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Their Life
It truly spoke volumes about Cas’ life that, when he answered his phone and heard nothing but swearing, he still wasn’t sure who was calling. He could think of five people off the bat who’d called barking curses at him-and that was when they were sober.
“This is Cas,” he repeated. More yelling. And then:
“It’s me, dumbass!”
Me, being Dean. His so-called life partner. Who’d obviously won him through his sweet, demure, gentlemanly-adoring behavior.
“What’s wrong?”
“A shithead hillbilly backed up into my leg and crushed it to hell. That’s what’s wrong.”
Cas’ stomach dropped. “Where are you?”
“In the back of the dumbass redneck’s van getting driven at about a hundred-miles an hour to the ER.”
“My ER?”
“What the hell other is there?” Dean barked. There was muffled swearing, and then another voice came through.
“Cas, it’s Jake Talley, from the garage. He’s alright.” More shouting. “I mean...he’s sure he’s gonna die, but he won’t, really. Though the leg’s not looking so hot.”
“What happened?”
Dean barked something else and Jake sighed. “I’ll let him tell you that.”
“What happened is that the sonofabitch ran my leg over!” Dean shouted into the phone.
“Alright, Dean-don’t worry. I’ll alert Anna. We’ll have a team at the door to meet you.”
“You get your ass there too,” he snapped. Cas had known him long enough to understand the need underlying his harsh tone. “And tell them they’re not sawing the damn thing off.”
“Of course. We won’t let that happen.”
“My insurance card is back at the garage, with my wallet and shit.”
“Don’t worry. You’re good here.”
“This seriously sucks, man! Don’t do your little bedside manner crap!”
More swearing and the phone faded out. “Hey, Cas,” Jake said, “I’m gonna sign off, okay? We should be there in ten or so.”
“Thanks Jake, we’ll be ready,” Cas said, already running down the hall to Anna’s office.
As soon as the connection disconnected he slammed through the door to her office, past her protesting assistant, and burst in on her and someone official-looking.
“Doctor?” she asked.
“Dean’s been hurt. Seriously. He’s on his way to the ER.”
“Who is this?” the man said slowly, rising to his feet.
“This is Doctor Cas Morgan.” She reached for the phone. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Uriel. This will have to be continued later.”
“I am one of the primary underwriters of this hospital.”
“And I’m the Chief of Staff, ensuring that your kind and generous donations go directly toward the treatment and care of patients, one of whom is enroute and needs my immediate attention.”
“If it weren’t for me, that ER wouldn’t have a name.”
“Because of you, this person will receive top-notch care.” She spoke quickly into the phone, ordering a team assembled, all with the same relaxed, cool confidence he’d always admired. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“I’ll have you thrown out of this state.”
“Please try,” she passed him and fell into easy, quick step behind Cas. With her white jacket, blue scrubs, and hair pulled back in a bun, she looked much older, and more severe, than she had when she’d visited their house for the Superbowl. But she had the same sharp mind and confident kindness he’d always fallen for. “I hate that guy,” she admitted, when they were safely out of earshot.
“Who is he?” Cas asked as they waited for an elevator.
“Secretary of the Board. Gunning for President. Where he’s from, a very, very big deal, with deep pockets. Fine. But that doesn’t make you a doctor. And if you’re not a doctor, then don’t sit there and tell me how to treat the ill.” The elevator announced its arrival, and two of their colleagues passed them, nodding. Anna hit the button to the first floor. “Dean. What happened?”
“He said his leg was hurt. Possibly run over. I couldn’t quite get the full story, but he doesn’t want to lose it.”
“I’ll evaluate it myself,” she said, eyes on the floors as they descended. “I’ll ensure he’s admitted regardless of insurance, since I imagine his card is elsewhere.”
Cas felt sudden goosebumps on his arms. For the life of him, he’d never understand how she knew what she did. “I don’t know how bad it is, but...he would not do well with the loss of a limb.”
“Like I said, I’ll evaluate. His life is more important than his leg, Cas. I won’t let him lose that.” She laid a warm hand on his shoulder.
Cas heard Dean before he saw him: he was roaring curses at the two orderlies who were ushering in his stretcher. Jake had one hand pinning him down while Bobby Singer took the rear, looking shaken and slightly sick.
“C’mon and take it easy man, we’re here,” Jake said.
“Dean,” Cas forced his voice to be calm and moved to pin Dean’s other shoulder to the stretcher and take his boyfriend’s hand, only to narrowly avoid a punch to the face.
“Cas, I gotta see it,” he gasped. “Is it one piece?”
“It is, Dean,” Anna said, carefully nudging Jake out of the way and moving the stretcher along. “You remember me?”
“Don’t you dare cut it off,” he snapped, sweat making its way from his hairline. Cas moved to smooth his boyfriend’s brow and nearly got hit again.
“I’m going to evaluate it personally. I’ll make sure we take every precaution possible to avoid an amputation.”
Dean let out a dull moan as they neared the back of the Emergency Room, toward the Operating galleries. Cas wanted to say something reassuring, something warm and soothing, the way Dean always could. But out of the safe privacy of their bed, he felt dumb and lost.
“Cas,” Anna said gently. “You need to let him go and step outside.”
“What?” Cas started.
“You can’t be in here. You know the rules. No operating on familial relations.”
“But-” Cas’ voice died. He’d assumed she’d make an exception: let him stand by and monitor it all, monitor Dean. He couldn’t be expected to just sit without knowing, minute to minute, what was happening inside his partner’s body: not now.
Dean started and gripped Cas’ shirt. “Sam,” he gasped. “You got to call Sammy.”
“He’ll be here. Don’t worry,” Cas managed.
“You gotta-take care of him, Cas. Make sure he’s okay. Don’t let him relapse, or hurt himself. Please.”
Cas squeezed his arm reassuringly, but it was an empty motion. Though he told himself it wasn’t personal, it still hurt to see the man he loved swept out of his sight. For a terrible moment, he flat out hated Sam: he wanted to think about Dean, look after him and him alone, and not have to worry that Sam’s anxiety and addiction and all-around insanity would get in the way. He felt guilt flood immediately after, knowing it wasn’t all Sam’s fault he was shaky emotionally, and that Dean would be furious if he knew he blamed him.
“I’ll go,” Bobby said, coming up behind him.
“What?” Cas asked.
“I’ll go. Get Sam. He shouldn’t get a phone call. I’ll stick him in the car and get him here.”
“Fine.” He didn’t mean to be short, he told himself. He cared, he did. He was just...just... “Why are you here?” he realized.
“The ‘dumbass hillbilly’ that ran him down? That was me.”
“What?”
“It was an accident,” Jake said quickly. “They didn’t see each other.”
That, at least, accounted for why Bobby looked like-to use a Deanism-hell.
“I’ll get Sam. Where’s he at right now?” Bobby repeated, and Cas recognized his attempt to escape. Cas glanced at the clock.
“Work, most likely. If not, try Rosemount. Someone there will know.”
Bobby lingered a moment, hands in his pockets. “You just...make sure he pulls through, alright?” he said awkwardly, before darting off down the hall. Jake shifted.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he said, with a somewhat false calm. “I mean...he was alert enough to call Bobby a redneck-dropout-sonofabitch. That’s pure Dean, if I know him at all.”
Cas had to smile. “That’s Dean.” My Dean.
“Anyway...I’m sorry to do this to you, but there was only one high-schooler on the pumps, and Jay was on a break, and when he gets back and sees that mess-”
“It’s alright, Jake. Dean would appreciate having his bases covered.”
“I’ll swing by as soon as I’m free.”
“Thank you.”
Jake drifted off, and Cas turned back to the waiting area: and felt a sudden slam of loss. He had no idea what to do now: Sam was being fetched, Anna had told him to steer clear, he couldn’t imagine finishing his rounds, and all the magazines spread carefully out on the table before him featured celebrities he either didn’t know or didn’t want to.
He had nothing to do but wait.
But Cas had never done waiting well.
Sure, Dean would argue, say he’d done nothing but sit with him for hours, waiting for Sam to wake after the attempt to take his own life: waiting for test results at Rosemount: waiting for Dean to wake, hung over and grief-stricken: waiting for the lab to buzz his Blackberry. But all those things had tasks to be completed while he waited: patients to tend to, Dean to reassure, Sam to sooth. To just sit, alone, and wait, while a couple of rooms away his partner was potentially losing a limb...
Cas felt a sudden shortness of breath and began to pace. Sam would be here soon: before he realized it, even. Sam would be here, and he’d be pale and frightened and anxious, and Cas would sit and explain that everything was fine, that Dean was safe, and he would get them some water and pat Sam’s arm and the time would fly, because Cas would have a focus. He’d be as good a brother to Sam as Dean was, and that meant a lot of calm and patience and understanding and compassion, and Cas had to prep, had to practice those skills, rehearse his stoicism and warmth so when Sam arrived, he could be everything he’d need.
Cas wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring dumbly over the waiting room, playing different scenarios in his mind and how he’d support Sam in each of them. All he knew was he was standing there, a pillar of calm one moment, and, in the next, heard the tell-tale ringing of “Cas?”
Cas steeled himself and turned, what he told himself was calm and comfort painted on his face-his very best imitation of Dean.
“Sam,” he said, and suddenly found himself wrapped in a tight, surprising hug.
“Don’t worry,” Sam said gently. “I talked to Anna’s assistant-she said the surgery’s going great. Dean’s tough, you’ll see. He’ll bounce back.”
“Of course,” Cas said, taken off guard. Afterall, he was a doctor who’d specialized in Emergency Medicine: he dealt with this type of injury all the time. Dean’s wound hadn’t been life-threatening, and that was all that mattered.
But when he opened his mouth to explain this to Sam, he found Sam already there, guiding him to a chair, and filling it in for him.
“You’ll see-he’s had worse. Fortunately his knee wasn’t crushed, and that’s the most important part of saving his leg. His vitals were strong, he was conscious and speaking clearly on arrival. You’ll see. Everything will be alright.”
Sam smiled, and Cas just stared, feeling a sudden, gaping chasm of insecurity bellowing open under his feet. Without Sam to tend to...there was nothing he could do.
His heart began to speed up, and he wondered if this is how Sam’s panics felt: lost and lonely and useless and delegated to a small, lonely corner of the world with empty platitudes drifting by and doing nothing to ease the ache of loss loss loss.
***
The surgery, it turns out, was picture-perfect.
It’s recovery that goes wrong.
Dean’s not two hours in a regular room when his face starts flushing, and less than thirty minutes later there’s a green slime soaking through his stitches, and Anna is pumping his IV with antibodies and ordering ice packs for around his neck and armpits.
Dean’s rolls, groans, burns with fever. The doctors-his colleagues-strap his arms down so he doesn’t pull himself free of traction. Cas sits dutifully by the bedside, but Sam-Sam leans over his brother, dabbing his forehead, talking softly, telling him everything is fine and not to worry. He stares at the monitors and demands that the nurses and doctors insure his brother isn’t in pain.
Cas feels vague flickers of envy and annoyance. He and Dean were both somewhat withdrawn emotionally: it was one of the many reasons they worked well together. And one of the reasons they were good at handling the easily agitated and frequently anxious, over-emotional Sam.
But here, with an ill Dean, Sam was all business. He watched over his brother’s machines, dabbed down his face, held his hand, rubbed his arm, talked to him softly, put the TV on stations he thought he’d like. His clear adoration and determination stirred a strange resentment in Cas, a feeling that this was his role the younger Winchester was stealing, but, even if it was intended for him, somehow Sam was playing it infinitely better.
He tries to rectify this. Two days after the surgery, while Dean seems to be resting peacefully, Sam goes for coffee, and Cas chances taking his partner’s hand in his own. His temperature is down, but still high, and Anna is still concerned that infection lurks in his blood, potentially threatening his kidneys , liver, and, most of all, the fragile hold of his damaged leg. Cas brushes a few strands of hair back behind Dean’s ear, and suddenly his boyfriend makes a low, pitiful mew of distress and begins to toss. Cas reaches down, places firm hands on his shoulders and pins him to the mattress, orders him to be calm. Dean writhes against him.
“Dean, you have to be still,” Cas pleads. “It’s alright.”
“Cas, don’t!”
Cas leapt away as Sam raced by him, dropping his coffee as he goes, liquid spattering over the white tile as Dean bucks almost violently and tosses his head to the side.
“Stand back!” the younger Winchester barked. He laid one hand on the mattress and leaned over his brother.
“Hey, Dean-don’t worry, you did good. We’re out, we’re safe. They’re letting me stay the night. They fixed you up and no one’s the wiser. Jim’s on his way, he’ll cover for us. I’ll wait right here.”
At the sound of Sam’s voice, Dean flinched less. His breathing eased, and he settled. Sam carefully picked up one of the cold cloths from beside the bed and continued.
“Your temp’s up a bit, but it’s no big deal. I’m gonna put this on your head to help.” He dabbed at his brother’s forehead, then gently laid out the cloth. Dean frowned and grunted, and his eyelashes fluttered before his eyes slid open, slightly. Sam smiled. “Hey, don’t worry. You did good. We’re fine now. I can stay, no problem. We’re covered.” Dean’s eyes dropped closed once more, and a few minutes later he was sleeping peacefully. Cas felt a savage stab of jealousy, pushed it aside.
“You shouldn’t touch him when he’s like that,” Sam explained, authoritative and calm. “He comes out fighting if you do.”
“I was trying to reassure him,” Cas snapped.
“Yeah, I know, but it doesn’t work. I learned that awhile back. He either comes out swinging or ready to swing because he thinks you’re trying to wake him up for a fight.”
“What were you saying?”
Sam’s face dropped abruptly into a version of Dean’s patent poker face. “Just...stuff I figured he’d remember. From when we were kids.”
“I fail to see how that wouldn’t just add to his confusion.”
“Look,” Sam said, eyes narrowing, “my brother’s been in the hospital twice in his life, and both times were because our Dad had put him there. And both times, he had CPS, insurance agents, and the cops to deal with. So just...back off. I know what I’m doing.”
Cas’ jealousy gave way to grief. It brought an ache to his chest to think of his partner conditioned to respond to touch as a means of defense. And he felt another spike of resentment toward the younger Winchester, who’d he’d seen take Dean’s gentle ministrations as a given.
“It’ll be fine, Cas,” Sam said, softening his tone. “I can stay here, if you need to-”
“He called me,” Cas interrupted. “He asked me to be here. He needed me in the Emergency Room.” He left out the part where Dean had nearly given him a black eye for trying to touch him.
Sam’s face twisted into what Dean referred to as his “puppy-dog” look, the one that always made Dean cave. It just made Cas even more irritated. “I suppose he knew that I wouldn’t be at all anxious over myself, but would remain focused on his condition.”
Sam’s look went from kicked puppy to kicked, locked-out-in-a-thunderstorm-puppy. Cas spun on his heel and stalked off into the hallway.
“That,” a familiar accent quipped, “was the gayest thing you’ve ever done.”
“Not now, Peter,” Cas muttered, stalking away from Balthazzar.
“No, really. The sexual activities enjoyed by your lot are now so frequently enjoyed by heteroes they can hardly qualify as queer. But that, right there? That qualified you to give fashion advice and haircuts to the stars.”
“What do you want?” Cas demanded.
“Well, I came down to make sure you boys had your knickers on straight, but after seeing that, I just may have to shower.”
“I have work to do.”
“Cas,” Peter grabbed him and spun him around. “Seriously. Calm down.”
“You don’t know what it is to have a relationship. A real relationship.”
“But I know jealousy when I see it-even if it’s usually in the eyes of a man whose date just left him for yours truly.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“You’re an embarrassment, is what you are. You’ve known Dean how long-two, three years?”
“Two years and five months.”
“And Sam has known him for...” Cas glared. “Well, at least twenty-six, I think. Can’t keep track. So wouldn’t it be natural that he would know a few tricks regarding how his brother ticks?”
“There are times when I would like to look after my partner without his brother’s interference.”
“Sam came with the deal and you know it. You aren’t ever going to be number one, Cas. Dean’s always going to put Sam before anyone else, himself included. If he hadn’t been so devoted to family you wouldn’t have landed on your ass as hard as you did, because he’d be just like your family.”
Cas pretended to be searching for a file, but in reality, he was starting to feel ashamed. Not only was everything Balthazzar saying true, but it was embarrassing that he himself was so transparent-and that he’d taken out his jealousy on Sam, who was doing nothing but trying to care for his elder brother, and make Cas feel included by explaining the best way to do so.
“Really. You just pitched a hissy-fit because Sam knew more about Dean in a severe state of physical and mental distress than you.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Cas,” his friend sighed. “Listen. Just...take a few deep breaths, go grab some coffee, grab whatever it is that unfortunate sober-soul drinks, and go sit by your man. He’ll want you both there. And he’ll want you there without whatever personal drama you’re currently involved in.”
“Since when did you decide to step in? I thought you hated me. For needing to go home the weekend of your friend’s arrest.”
“Oh. My. God. You, my friend, own the fattest pair of ovaries I’ve ever seen.” Cas flushed. “Listen...I know the impressions I give off, but I’m not stupid, Cas. We run into you and Dean at a bar. Sam runs off like the devil’s after him, Dean’s ready to burn the city down, and a few days later, Fitzgerald McCloud ends up beaten in an alley, and it’s revealed he was a drug dealer who lured minors and the homeless into sexual encounters in exchange for drugs. And not twenty-four hours later, you’re on the East Coast. You really think I didn’t guess?”
Cas felt his face burn and his heart pick up speed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do.” Balthazzar sighed. “And we both wish we didn’t.”
Cas felt his throat swelling. “Peter-”
“Look, Cas-I’m no saint. I...well, I hated you for awhile. And your man. And then, blah blah blah, I did a lot of drinking and whoring and soul-searching and I came around to the fact that I have shitty taste in friends, and you are, most likely, the closest I’ll ever get to a true one with decency and integrity, so I’d love it if you’d just...never mention this little episode again and keep me on the e-chain for your future sober parties. Deal?”
Cas nodded, and did the most embarrassing, fake-man-slap on his friend’s arm he’d ever done. “Deal,” he said, relieved when Peter laughed, and hit him back so hard it hurt.
***
Cas went down to the cafeteria and bought a bottle of red Gatorade and a fresh coffee for Sam; a large cup of espresso with milk for himself. He paused outside Dean’s room, seeing the anxious, but still determined, look on the younger Winchester’s face as he watched his brother, the monitors, and fidgeted with the blankets, adjusting and readjusting, trying to find some magic point where his brother would be perfectly comfortable. Cas swallowed, hard, when Sam ran his fingers over Dean’s arm, patting lightly, and then took his brother’s hand in both his own.
He felt like the world’s biggest ass. Had Dean been awake, he’d have told him so.
Cas stepped gingerly into the room, careful not to startle the younger Winchester. Sam looked at him and instantly lowered his gaze, pretending to adjust the sheet and rearrange Dean’s arm. Cas pulled a chair up beside Sam’s , set his own coffee at his feet, and held out the Gatorade and coffee to his friend.
“Black. And Fruit Punch,” he managed. Sam looked at him warily. “I wasn’t sure which one you wanted.”
“Thank you.” Sam accepted them both. He put the Gatorade at his feet and took a slow sip of the coffee, still avoiding Cas’ gaze.
“I’m sorry,” Cas murmured. “I...I was out of line.”
Sam’s eyes were back on Dean. “I only know some of this stuff. It looks like his heart-rate is high because his blood pressure’s low. And his temperature’s abnormal.”
“He lost a great deal of blood, but he’s received adequate transfusions. It will take a bit of time, and he will probably feel dehydrated, but he will rebuild them.”
“And...his leg-”
“Will take some time. And he’ll have to go through physical therapy. I’m sure that will be great fun for all of us.”
Sam smiled at that and sipped the coffee once more. Cas sipped his own, and looked at the sterile, white tile.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I let my own insecurities get the better of me. I have to admit, I’m...unsettled.”
“Christ, Cas, you’re allowed to be.”
“But I...was prepared to be strong. For you. And when you were strong, it...I wasn’t sure...what to do. How I was needed.”
“Cas...you don’t have to worry. I know I’m...” he turned back to Dean. “I know. I get it. I’m...Dean spends time on me he should spend on you. And, when things hit the both of you, you’re forced to consider ‘crazy Sammy.’ And that’s hard.”
“No,” Cas pleaded. “No, it’s not that. It’s-I-you’ve met my brothers. I don’t fit in. I...never fit in.”
Sam turned, face full of concern and softness. “Cas, you’re our family. I know it’s not-I’m not the way Dean is with you. But I-you’re-“ his voice hitched. He reached over and laid a hand on his shoulder instead. Cas smiled and squeezed his friend’s hand. “I get it. You don’t have to be perfect for me, Cas. I can help you too.”
“You do,” Cas sighed, touching Dean’s ankle through the blanket. “I am sorry. Everything will be fine. Dean will be fine.”
“I know. Cas-I did freak out. Completely. But I guess I’m just...used to Dean. Hurt. Sadly. I mean...God.” Sam’s voice wavered.
“I understand why you and Dean couldn’t forgive your Father.”
Sam slowly rubbed his elder brother’s fingers with this thumb, one after the other. “When we were kids,” he murmured, “we were so scared of CPS. They broke us up before, you know. We met this Priest, Jim-a Pastor, actually-and he really wanted the best for us. And he had a legal and moral obligation and all that, but he called in the state. And we were in these massive group homes, apart, for a couple weeks. Dean actually broke out-took off and made his way to me. I don’t even know how he knew where I was. But he got us home. And we lied. We told them we loved our Dad and he looked after us. And of course, our Dad lied too.” He smiled, ever-so-slightly. “There were times, you know, when Dad would stop. He’d swear up and down that he was sorry, that things would be different, that he’d never drink again, that he’d be there, that he loved us. Dean always fell for it, but I wouldn’t. If it weren’t for Missouri and my whole mess...I don’t think I’d ever have gotten it.”
He chanced a glance at Cas, who smiled warmly back. “I wish it had been easier for you both.”
“I just saw that he loved drinking and yelling and hitting more than he loved us. But that wasn’t it. He was sad and lonely and scared out of his mind, trying to raise two kids on his own, and when he drank he felt strong and right and sure of himself. And things didn’t hurt as bad. I didn’t get it, but I get it now. How sometimes you’ll think you’ll die if you don’t get it to hurt less.”
“But you stopped,” Cas reminded him. “For Dean.”
“I’d do anything for Dean,” Sam gushed. “And...for you too, Cas. I haven’t known many people willing to accept us. But you’re-I think of you as my brother. As my family. You can let me support you now and then. You don’t have to always be the strong one. If you needed me, I swear, I’d-”
“It’s alright,” Cas soothed, reaching across the space between them to touch Sam’s shoulder. “There’s no need. We’ll look after Dean together, and he and I will look after you together, and, when the time comes, you and he can look after me.”
Sam’s shoulders lost a bit of their tension. He looked at the floor, took another sip of his coffee, but Cas saw his hands shaking.
“You know...” Sam said softly, “Me and Dean...we always had a few people we could go to. Jim the Priest, and later Bobby and Ellen, and a teacher here and there. But you...you were the first to not tell us we were all wrong and messed up. You just...took us as we were. And I...I’d never want to...break that, Cas. You don’t just mean a lot to Dean.”
Cas officially knew he was the worst person alive. But somehow, when Sam looked at him warmly, he couldn’t bring himself to feel it.
Part II
“This is Cas,” he repeated. More yelling. And then:
“It’s me, dumbass!”
Me, being Dean. His so-called life partner. Who’d obviously won him through his sweet, demure, gentlemanly-adoring behavior.
“What’s wrong?”
“A shithead hillbilly backed up into my leg and crushed it to hell. That’s what’s wrong.”
Cas’ stomach dropped. “Where are you?”
“In the back of the dumbass redneck’s van getting driven at about a hundred-miles an hour to the ER.”
“My ER?”
“What the hell other is there?” Dean barked. There was muffled swearing, and then another voice came through.
“Cas, it’s Jake Talley, from the garage. He’s alright.” More shouting. “I mean...he’s sure he’s gonna die, but he won’t, really. Though the leg’s not looking so hot.”
“What happened?”
Dean barked something else and Jake sighed. “I’ll let him tell you that.”
“What happened is that the sonofabitch ran my leg over!” Dean shouted into the phone.
“Alright, Dean-don’t worry. I’ll alert Anna. We’ll have a team at the door to meet you.”
“You get your ass there too,” he snapped. Cas had known him long enough to understand the need underlying his harsh tone. “And tell them they’re not sawing the damn thing off.”
“Of course. We won’t let that happen.”
“My insurance card is back at the garage, with my wallet and shit.”
“Don’t worry. You’re good here.”
“This seriously sucks, man! Don’t do your little bedside manner crap!”
More swearing and the phone faded out. “Hey, Cas,” Jake said, “I’m gonna sign off, okay? We should be there in ten or so.”
“Thanks Jake, we’ll be ready,” Cas said, already running down the hall to Anna’s office.
As soon as the connection disconnected he slammed through the door to her office, past her protesting assistant, and burst in on her and someone official-looking.
“Doctor?” she asked.
“Dean’s been hurt. Seriously. He’s on his way to the ER.”
“Who is this?” the man said slowly, rising to his feet.
“This is Doctor Cas Morgan.” She reached for the phone. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Uriel. This will have to be continued later.”
“I am one of the primary underwriters of this hospital.”
“And I’m the Chief of Staff, ensuring that your kind and generous donations go directly toward the treatment and care of patients, one of whom is enroute and needs my immediate attention.”
“If it weren’t for me, that ER wouldn’t have a name.”
“Because of you, this person will receive top-notch care.” She spoke quickly into the phone, ordering a team assembled, all with the same relaxed, cool confidence he’d always admired. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“I’ll have you thrown out of this state.”
“Please try,” she passed him and fell into easy, quick step behind Cas. With her white jacket, blue scrubs, and hair pulled back in a bun, she looked much older, and more severe, than she had when she’d visited their house for the Superbowl. But she had the same sharp mind and confident kindness he’d always fallen for. “I hate that guy,” she admitted, when they were safely out of earshot.
“Who is he?” Cas asked as they waited for an elevator.
“Secretary of the Board. Gunning for President. Where he’s from, a very, very big deal, with deep pockets. Fine. But that doesn’t make you a doctor. And if you’re not a doctor, then don’t sit there and tell me how to treat the ill.” The elevator announced its arrival, and two of their colleagues passed them, nodding. Anna hit the button to the first floor. “Dean. What happened?”
“He said his leg was hurt. Possibly run over. I couldn’t quite get the full story, but he doesn’t want to lose it.”
“I’ll evaluate it myself,” she said, eyes on the floors as they descended. “I’ll ensure he’s admitted regardless of insurance, since I imagine his card is elsewhere.”
Cas felt sudden goosebumps on his arms. For the life of him, he’d never understand how she knew what she did. “I don’t know how bad it is, but...he would not do well with the loss of a limb.”
“Like I said, I’ll evaluate. His life is more important than his leg, Cas. I won’t let him lose that.” She laid a warm hand on his shoulder.
Cas heard Dean before he saw him: he was roaring curses at the two orderlies who were ushering in his stretcher. Jake had one hand pinning him down while Bobby Singer took the rear, looking shaken and slightly sick.
“C’mon and take it easy man, we’re here,” Jake said.
“Dean,” Cas forced his voice to be calm and moved to pin Dean’s other shoulder to the stretcher and take his boyfriend’s hand, only to narrowly avoid a punch to the face.
“Cas, I gotta see it,” he gasped. “Is it one piece?”
“It is, Dean,” Anna said, carefully nudging Jake out of the way and moving the stretcher along. “You remember me?”
“Don’t you dare cut it off,” he snapped, sweat making its way from his hairline. Cas moved to smooth his boyfriend’s brow and nearly got hit again.
“I’m going to evaluate it personally. I’ll make sure we take every precaution possible to avoid an amputation.”
Dean let out a dull moan as they neared the back of the Emergency Room, toward the Operating galleries. Cas wanted to say something reassuring, something warm and soothing, the way Dean always could. But out of the safe privacy of their bed, he felt dumb and lost.
“Cas,” Anna said gently. “You need to let him go and step outside.”
“What?” Cas started.
“You can’t be in here. You know the rules. No operating on familial relations.”
“But-” Cas’ voice died. He’d assumed she’d make an exception: let him stand by and monitor it all, monitor Dean. He couldn’t be expected to just sit without knowing, minute to minute, what was happening inside his partner’s body: not now.
Dean started and gripped Cas’ shirt. “Sam,” he gasped. “You got to call Sammy.”
“He’ll be here. Don’t worry,” Cas managed.
“You gotta-take care of him, Cas. Make sure he’s okay. Don’t let him relapse, or hurt himself. Please.”
Cas squeezed his arm reassuringly, but it was an empty motion. Though he told himself it wasn’t personal, it still hurt to see the man he loved swept out of his sight. For a terrible moment, he flat out hated Sam: he wanted to think about Dean, look after him and him alone, and not have to worry that Sam’s anxiety and addiction and all-around insanity would get in the way. He felt guilt flood immediately after, knowing it wasn’t all Sam’s fault he was shaky emotionally, and that Dean would be furious if he knew he blamed him.
“I’ll go,” Bobby said, coming up behind him.
“What?” Cas asked.
“I’ll go. Get Sam. He shouldn’t get a phone call. I’ll stick him in the car and get him here.”
“Fine.” He didn’t mean to be short, he told himself. He cared, he did. He was just...just... “Why are you here?” he realized.
“The ‘dumbass hillbilly’ that ran him down? That was me.”
“What?”
“It was an accident,” Jake said quickly. “They didn’t see each other.”
That, at least, accounted for why Bobby looked like-to use a Deanism-hell.
“I’ll get Sam. Where’s he at right now?” Bobby repeated, and Cas recognized his attempt to escape. Cas glanced at the clock.
“Work, most likely. If not, try Rosemount. Someone there will know.”
Bobby lingered a moment, hands in his pockets. “You just...make sure he pulls through, alright?” he said awkwardly, before darting off down the hall. Jake shifted.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he said, with a somewhat false calm. “I mean...he was alert enough to call Bobby a redneck-dropout-sonofabitch. That’s pure Dean, if I know him at all.”
Cas had to smile. “That’s Dean.” My Dean.
“Anyway...I’m sorry to do this to you, but there was only one high-schooler on the pumps, and Jay was on a break, and when he gets back and sees that mess-”
“It’s alright, Jake. Dean would appreciate having his bases covered.”
“I’ll swing by as soon as I’m free.”
“Thank you.”
Jake drifted off, and Cas turned back to the waiting area: and felt a sudden slam of loss. He had no idea what to do now: Sam was being fetched, Anna had told him to steer clear, he couldn’t imagine finishing his rounds, and all the magazines spread carefully out on the table before him featured celebrities he either didn’t know or didn’t want to.
He had nothing to do but wait.
But Cas had never done waiting well.
Sure, Dean would argue, say he’d done nothing but sit with him for hours, waiting for Sam to wake after the attempt to take his own life: waiting for test results at Rosemount: waiting for Dean to wake, hung over and grief-stricken: waiting for the lab to buzz his Blackberry. But all those things had tasks to be completed while he waited: patients to tend to, Dean to reassure, Sam to sooth. To just sit, alone, and wait, while a couple of rooms away his partner was potentially losing a limb...
Cas felt a sudden shortness of breath and began to pace. Sam would be here soon: before he realized it, even. Sam would be here, and he’d be pale and frightened and anxious, and Cas would sit and explain that everything was fine, that Dean was safe, and he would get them some water and pat Sam’s arm and the time would fly, because Cas would have a focus. He’d be as good a brother to Sam as Dean was, and that meant a lot of calm and patience and understanding and compassion, and Cas had to prep, had to practice those skills, rehearse his stoicism and warmth so when Sam arrived, he could be everything he’d need.
Cas wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring dumbly over the waiting room, playing different scenarios in his mind and how he’d support Sam in each of them. All he knew was he was standing there, a pillar of calm one moment, and, in the next, heard the tell-tale ringing of “Cas?”
Cas steeled himself and turned, what he told himself was calm and comfort painted on his face-his very best imitation of Dean.
“Sam,” he said, and suddenly found himself wrapped in a tight, surprising hug.
“Don’t worry,” Sam said gently. “I talked to Anna’s assistant-she said the surgery’s going great. Dean’s tough, you’ll see. He’ll bounce back.”
“Of course,” Cas said, taken off guard. Afterall, he was a doctor who’d specialized in Emergency Medicine: he dealt with this type of injury all the time. Dean’s wound hadn’t been life-threatening, and that was all that mattered.
But when he opened his mouth to explain this to Sam, he found Sam already there, guiding him to a chair, and filling it in for him.
“You’ll see-he’s had worse. Fortunately his knee wasn’t crushed, and that’s the most important part of saving his leg. His vitals were strong, he was conscious and speaking clearly on arrival. You’ll see. Everything will be alright.”
Sam smiled, and Cas just stared, feeling a sudden, gaping chasm of insecurity bellowing open under his feet. Without Sam to tend to...there was nothing he could do.
His heart began to speed up, and he wondered if this is how Sam’s panics felt: lost and lonely and useless and delegated to a small, lonely corner of the world with empty platitudes drifting by and doing nothing to ease the ache of loss loss loss.
***
The surgery, it turns out, was picture-perfect.
It’s recovery that goes wrong.
Dean’s not two hours in a regular room when his face starts flushing, and less than thirty minutes later there’s a green slime soaking through his stitches, and Anna is pumping his IV with antibodies and ordering ice packs for around his neck and armpits.
Dean’s rolls, groans, burns with fever. The doctors-his colleagues-strap his arms down so he doesn’t pull himself free of traction. Cas sits dutifully by the bedside, but Sam-Sam leans over his brother, dabbing his forehead, talking softly, telling him everything is fine and not to worry. He stares at the monitors and demands that the nurses and doctors insure his brother isn’t in pain.
Cas feels vague flickers of envy and annoyance. He and Dean were both somewhat withdrawn emotionally: it was one of the many reasons they worked well together. And one of the reasons they were good at handling the easily agitated and frequently anxious, over-emotional Sam.
But here, with an ill Dean, Sam was all business. He watched over his brother’s machines, dabbed down his face, held his hand, rubbed his arm, talked to him softly, put the TV on stations he thought he’d like. His clear adoration and determination stirred a strange resentment in Cas, a feeling that this was his role the younger Winchester was stealing, but, even if it was intended for him, somehow Sam was playing it infinitely better.
He tries to rectify this. Two days after the surgery, while Dean seems to be resting peacefully, Sam goes for coffee, and Cas chances taking his partner’s hand in his own. His temperature is down, but still high, and Anna is still concerned that infection lurks in his blood, potentially threatening his kidneys , liver, and, most of all, the fragile hold of his damaged leg. Cas brushes a few strands of hair back behind Dean’s ear, and suddenly his boyfriend makes a low, pitiful mew of distress and begins to toss. Cas reaches down, places firm hands on his shoulders and pins him to the mattress, orders him to be calm. Dean writhes against him.
“Dean, you have to be still,” Cas pleads. “It’s alright.”
“Cas, don’t!”
Cas leapt away as Sam raced by him, dropping his coffee as he goes, liquid spattering over the white tile as Dean bucks almost violently and tosses his head to the side.
“Stand back!” the younger Winchester barked. He laid one hand on the mattress and leaned over his brother.
“Hey, Dean-don’t worry, you did good. We’re out, we’re safe. They’re letting me stay the night. They fixed you up and no one’s the wiser. Jim’s on his way, he’ll cover for us. I’ll wait right here.”
At the sound of Sam’s voice, Dean flinched less. His breathing eased, and he settled. Sam carefully picked up one of the cold cloths from beside the bed and continued.
“Your temp’s up a bit, but it’s no big deal. I’m gonna put this on your head to help.” He dabbed at his brother’s forehead, then gently laid out the cloth. Dean frowned and grunted, and his eyelashes fluttered before his eyes slid open, slightly. Sam smiled. “Hey, don’t worry. You did good. We’re fine now. I can stay, no problem. We’re covered.” Dean’s eyes dropped closed once more, and a few minutes later he was sleeping peacefully. Cas felt a savage stab of jealousy, pushed it aside.
“You shouldn’t touch him when he’s like that,” Sam explained, authoritative and calm. “He comes out fighting if you do.”
“I was trying to reassure him,” Cas snapped.
“Yeah, I know, but it doesn’t work. I learned that awhile back. He either comes out swinging or ready to swing because he thinks you’re trying to wake him up for a fight.”
“What were you saying?”
Sam’s face dropped abruptly into a version of Dean’s patent poker face. “Just...stuff I figured he’d remember. From when we were kids.”
“I fail to see how that wouldn’t just add to his confusion.”
“Look,” Sam said, eyes narrowing, “my brother’s been in the hospital twice in his life, and both times were because our Dad had put him there. And both times, he had CPS, insurance agents, and the cops to deal with. So just...back off. I know what I’m doing.”
Cas’ jealousy gave way to grief. It brought an ache to his chest to think of his partner conditioned to respond to touch as a means of defense. And he felt another spike of resentment toward the younger Winchester, who’d he’d seen take Dean’s gentle ministrations as a given.
“It’ll be fine, Cas,” Sam said, softening his tone. “I can stay here, if you need to-”
“He called me,” Cas interrupted. “He asked me to be here. He needed me in the Emergency Room.” He left out the part where Dean had nearly given him a black eye for trying to touch him.
Sam’s face twisted into what Dean referred to as his “puppy-dog” look, the one that always made Dean cave. It just made Cas even more irritated. “I suppose he knew that I wouldn’t be at all anxious over myself, but would remain focused on his condition.”
Sam’s look went from kicked puppy to kicked, locked-out-in-a-thunderstorm-puppy. Cas spun on his heel and stalked off into the hallway.
“That,” a familiar accent quipped, “was the gayest thing you’ve ever done.”
“Not now, Peter,” Cas muttered, stalking away from Balthazzar.
“No, really. The sexual activities enjoyed by your lot are now so frequently enjoyed by heteroes they can hardly qualify as queer. But that, right there? That qualified you to give fashion advice and haircuts to the stars.”
“What do you want?” Cas demanded.
“Well, I came down to make sure you boys had your knickers on straight, but after seeing that, I just may have to shower.”
“I have work to do.”
“Cas,” Peter grabbed him and spun him around. “Seriously. Calm down.”
“You don’t know what it is to have a relationship. A real relationship.”
“But I know jealousy when I see it-even if it’s usually in the eyes of a man whose date just left him for yours truly.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“You’re an embarrassment, is what you are. You’ve known Dean how long-two, three years?”
“Two years and five months.”
“And Sam has known him for...” Cas glared. “Well, at least twenty-six, I think. Can’t keep track. So wouldn’t it be natural that he would know a few tricks regarding how his brother ticks?”
“There are times when I would like to look after my partner without his brother’s interference.”
“Sam came with the deal and you know it. You aren’t ever going to be number one, Cas. Dean’s always going to put Sam before anyone else, himself included. If he hadn’t been so devoted to family you wouldn’t have landed on your ass as hard as you did, because he’d be just like your family.”
Cas pretended to be searching for a file, but in reality, he was starting to feel ashamed. Not only was everything Balthazzar saying true, but it was embarrassing that he himself was so transparent-and that he’d taken out his jealousy on Sam, who was doing nothing but trying to care for his elder brother, and make Cas feel included by explaining the best way to do so.
“Really. You just pitched a hissy-fit because Sam knew more about Dean in a severe state of physical and mental distress than you.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Cas,” his friend sighed. “Listen. Just...take a few deep breaths, go grab some coffee, grab whatever it is that unfortunate sober-soul drinks, and go sit by your man. He’ll want you both there. And he’ll want you there without whatever personal drama you’re currently involved in.”
“Since when did you decide to step in? I thought you hated me. For needing to go home the weekend of your friend’s arrest.”
“Oh. My. God. You, my friend, own the fattest pair of ovaries I’ve ever seen.” Cas flushed. “Listen...I know the impressions I give off, but I’m not stupid, Cas. We run into you and Dean at a bar. Sam runs off like the devil’s after him, Dean’s ready to burn the city down, and a few days later, Fitzgerald McCloud ends up beaten in an alley, and it’s revealed he was a drug dealer who lured minors and the homeless into sexual encounters in exchange for drugs. And not twenty-four hours later, you’re on the East Coast. You really think I didn’t guess?”
Cas felt his face burn and his heart pick up speed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do.” Balthazzar sighed. “And we both wish we didn’t.”
Cas felt his throat swelling. “Peter-”
“Look, Cas-I’m no saint. I...well, I hated you for awhile. And your man. And then, blah blah blah, I did a lot of drinking and whoring and soul-searching and I came around to the fact that I have shitty taste in friends, and you are, most likely, the closest I’ll ever get to a true one with decency and integrity, so I’d love it if you’d just...never mention this little episode again and keep me on the e-chain for your future sober parties. Deal?”
Cas nodded, and did the most embarrassing, fake-man-slap on his friend’s arm he’d ever done. “Deal,” he said, relieved when Peter laughed, and hit him back so hard it hurt.
***
Cas went down to the cafeteria and bought a bottle of red Gatorade and a fresh coffee for Sam; a large cup of espresso with milk for himself. He paused outside Dean’s room, seeing the anxious, but still determined, look on the younger Winchester’s face as he watched his brother, the monitors, and fidgeted with the blankets, adjusting and readjusting, trying to find some magic point where his brother would be perfectly comfortable. Cas swallowed, hard, when Sam ran his fingers over Dean’s arm, patting lightly, and then took his brother’s hand in both his own.
He felt like the world’s biggest ass. Had Dean been awake, he’d have told him so.
Cas stepped gingerly into the room, careful not to startle the younger Winchester. Sam looked at him and instantly lowered his gaze, pretending to adjust the sheet and rearrange Dean’s arm. Cas pulled a chair up beside Sam’s , set his own coffee at his feet, and held out the Gatorade and coffee to his friend.
“Black. And Fruit Punch,” he managed. Sam looked at him warily. “I wasn’t sure which one you wanted.”
“Thank you.” Sam accepted them both. He put the Gatorade at his feet and took a slow sip of the coffee, still avoiding Cas’ gaze.
“I’m sorry,” Cas murmured. “I...I was out of line.”
Sam’s eyes were back on Dean. “I only know some of this stuff. It looks like his heart-rate is high because his blood pressure’s low. And his temperature’s abnormal.”
“He lost a great deal of blood, but he’s received adequate transfusions. It will take a bit of time, and he will probably feel dehydrated, but he will rebuild them.”
“And...his leg-”
“Will take some time. And he’ll have to go through physical therapy. I’m sure that will be great fun for all of us.”
Sam smiled at that and sipped the coffee once more. Cas sipped his own, and looked at the sterile, white tile.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I let my own insecurities get the better of me. I have to admit, I’m...unsettled.”
“Christ, Cas, you’re allowed to be.”
“But I...was prepared to be strong. For you. And when you were strong, it...I wasn’t sure...what to do. How I was needed.”
“Cas...you don’t have to worry. I know I’m...” he turned back to Dean. “I know. I get it. I’m...Dean spends time on me he should spend on you. And, when things hit the both of you, you’re forced to consider ‘crazy Sammy.’ And that’s hard.”
“No,” Cas pleaded. “No, it’s not that. It’s-I-you’ve met my brothers. I don’t fit in. I...never fit in.”
Sam turned, face full of concern and softness. “Cas, you’re our family. I know it’s not-I’m not the way Dean is with you. But I-you’re-“ his voice hitched. He reached over and laid a hand on his shoulder instead. Cas smiled and squeezed his friend’s hand. “I get it. You don’t have to be perfect for me, Cas. I can help you too.”
“You do,” Cas sighed, touching Dean’s ankle through the blanket. “I am sorry. Everything will be fine. Dean will be fine.”
“I know. Cas-I did freak out. Completely. But I guess I’m just...used to Dean. Hurt. Sadly. I mean...God.” Sam’s voice wavered.
“I understand why you and Dean couldn’t forgive your Father.”
Sam slowly rubbed his elder brother’s fingers with this thumb, one after the other. “When we were kids,” he murmured, “we were so scared of CPS. They broke us up before, you know. We met this Priest, Jim-a Pastor, actually-and he really wanted the best for us. And he had a legal and moral obligation and all that, but he called in the state. And we were in these massive group homes, apart, for a couple weeks. Dean actually broke out-took off and made his way to me. I don’t even know how he knew where I was. But he got us home. And we lied. We told them we loved our Dad and he looked after us. And of course, our Dad lied too.” He smiled, ever-so-slightly. “There were times, you know, when Dad would stop. He’d swear up and down that he was sorry, that things would be different, that he’d never drink again, that he’d be there, that he loved us. Dean always fell for it, but I wouldn’t. If it weren’t for Missouri and my whole mess...I don’t think I’d ever have gotten it.”
He chanced a glance at Cas, who smiled warmly back. “I wish it had been easier for you both.”
“I just saw that he loved drinking and yelling and hitting more than he loved us. But that wasn’t it. He was sad and lonely and scared out of his mind, trying to raise two kids on his own, and when he drank he felt strong and right and sure of himself. And things didn’t hurt as bad. I didn’t get it, but I get it now. How sometimes you’ll think you’ll die if you don’t get it to hurt less.”
“But you stopped,” Cas reminded him. “For Dean.”
“I’d do anything for Dean,” Sam gushed. “And...for you too, Cas. I haven’t known many people willing to accept us. But you’re-I think of you as my brother. As my family. You can let me support you now and then. You don’t have to always be the strong one. If you needed me, I swear, I’d-”
“It’s alright,” Cas soothed, reaching across the space between them to touch Sam’s shoulder. “There’s no need. We’ll look after Dean together, and he and I will look after you together, and, when the time comes, you and he can look after me.”
Sam’s shoulders lost a bit of their tension. He looked at the floor, took another sip of his coffee, but Cas saw his hands shaking.
“You know...” Sam said softly, “Me and Dean...we always had a few people we could go to. Jim the Priest, and later Bobby and Ellen, and a teacher here and there. But you...you were the first to not tell us we were all wrong and messed up. You just...took us as we were. And I...I’d never want to...break that, Cas. You don’t just mean a lot to Dean.”
Cas officially knew he was the worst person alive. But somehow, when Sam looked at him warmly, he couldn’t bring himself to feel it.
Part II