Dark Shadows - Metaphysical Gravity - Ch. 13 - That Secret That You Know
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Dean’s stupid tired.
Ash never made it to work. His cat, Gigabyte, needed emergency surgery to remove a hairball and Ash had explained it all in painful detail to Dean over the phone, despite Dean’s vehement protestations that he just did not need to know the details.
And then Andy had shown up and Dean thought he could escape but Flannigan’s two streets over lost their cable signal and it was like the Exodus; all the customers pulled up stakes and showed up at Dean’s pub to watch the game.
And they wanted wings.
Lots of wings.
Jesus if he never sees another chicken wing again it will be too soon.
He stumbles up the walkway to Cas’ front door. It’s ridiculously late, but somehow he knows Cas won't mind; he’ll be up, waiting.
Waiting for Dean.
It makes Dean absurdly happy and cancels out most of his fear that he smells strongly of Buffalo hot sauce.
The front light is on and he wears an idiotic grin knowing it’s for him. He blames it on fatigue. He knocks twice on the door and it’s only seconds before it swings open and even in the half light the blue of Castiel’s eyes is sharp and clear.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean lips curl up into a smile of their own volition at the greeting and although he thinks should feel nervous or awkward, he just steps forward. Cas pulls him close and Dean turns his face into Cas’ neck. He still smells a little bit like pears.
Fuck, he’s turning into a girl.
He feels Cas tilt his head toward him. “What is that smell?” Cas asks, tone inquisitive and Dean grimaces.
“I’m pretty sure that’s hot sauce. It was wing night and game night and the pub down the street lost the cable…”
He realizes he’s rambling somewhat as Cas pulls him inside and closes the door with a soft click behind him. Cas is making low ‘mm-hmm’ sounds and quiet murmurs of agreement and interest as he leads Dean up the stairs and Dean continues to natter on sleepily about chickens, buckets of sauce, dropping his cell phone in the potato masher, and customers who don’t know the difference between lagers and ales.
Cas deftly steers Dean into the master bedroom and when he starts unbuttoning Dean’s shirt and pants, Dean sighs happily, grips the back of Cas’ neck and pulls him in for a kiss.
“You’re exhausted,” Castiel says, stripping Dean of his most of his clothes.
“I’m tired but I’m not dead,” Dean murmurs back against Cas’ lips, cradling the back of Cas’ skull in his hand. He can feel Cas’ lips turn up in a smile against his own and can’t help it when he grins back like an idiot.
Cas presses forward slightly, imposing on Dean’s space, sending him off balance and backward onto the bed where he lands with a soft bounce. Cas’ bed is stupidly soft and Dean shouldn’t like it. He should want a manly man’s bed, all hard angles and firm mattress with no give, but he can’t help but give a happy little sigh as he crawls up the mattress to the headboard.
“Dude, your bed is awesome,” he blurts out gleefully and is a little horrified by it.
“And perhaps tonight we’ll actually get to sleep in it instead of on the floor,” Cas replies dryly, yanking his shirt up and over his head in a swift move that leaves his hair askew and tousled. He makes quick work of taking off his pants and tugs the covers back, yanking them from underneath where Dean is sitting on them. He sinks into the bed and Dean grabs his arm and tugs him closer, their lips meeting in a graceless smack, their teeth clacking together soundly. Cas barks out a surprised laugh.
“I swear to God, I have better moves than that,” Dean says against his lips.
“I’ve no doubt, and I look forward to them, but right now, you’re going to sleep.”
“‘m not tired,” Dean says, laying back and pulling Cas down with him.
“Perhaps I want you well rested for what I have in mind.”
“Sounds promising,” Dean mutters, trying to angle Cas’ head for another kiss. Castiel deftly shifts onto his side, managing to snag Dean with him, tucking him in close.
Dean starts to protest and then gives an absurdly huge yawn. “Dude, I cannot be the the little spoon.”
“What are you talking about?” Castiel asks tugging Dean infinitesimally closer.
Dean knows he had a reason why he can’t be the little spoon. Something about being manly and feeling stupid but his back is ridiculously warm pressed up against Castiel’s chest and he can feel soft puffs of air on the hard edges of his spine and neck. He feels safe and warm and suddenly so goddamn tired that he has the brief sensation he’s falling and jerks awake sharply. He feels Castiel’s lips ghost over his neck, soothing and… familiar.
His last semi-conscious thought is that it’s pretty damn great to be the little spoon.
***
They fall into a pattern; an easy routine of Dean sleeping over at Collinwood and Castiel coming by the pub on Dean’s nights. It turns into Dean leaving a set of clothes and a toothbrush in the master bedroom and waking up to Cas curled around him and under him and nights coming home from the pub and Castiel always waiting up.
Dean didn’t realize how much it would mean to come up that driveway and always, always see that light on.
Sam bitches and moans good-naturedly that he’s lost his house frau, since Dean was always cleaning up after him, loading the dishwasher and making sure the garbage got out on the right day. But Dean can see that Sam is happy for him and it makes him ridiculously glad.
Jesus, he’s such a sap.
Castiel doesn’t know a thing about sports and Dean makes it his mission to turn him into a football fan and they fight over Castiel’s wide screen TVtv when it turns out that Castiel likes soccer instead and the schedules clash. Castiel can’t stand Dean’s rock music and hides his iPod for days and returns it telling Dean that if he wakes up to ’that infernal crashing and banging’ one more time he’ll smash the small device.
Dean putters around Collinwood, surprised at how quickly he feels at home in the large estate. It doesn’t seem weird at all for him to be letting Chuck in one day, as if it’s Dean’s own house. Chuck himself doesn’t seem at all surprised to see Dean there, just gives him one of his squirrelly Chuck-like nods and heads into the den where he is meeting Castiel.
Dean’s not sure what kind of work they’re doing. Cas doesn’t mentions it and Chuck won’t say. Chuck sometimes comes by three or four times a week, and then won’t show up for days. When asked, Castiel murmurs something about Chuck helping him with antiquities and Chuck nods and smiles, his eyes bright and tight.
It’s not really Dean’s thing, so he doesn’t ask any further.
He’s planning a weekend camping trip for him and Ben, making his list of stuff to purchase at the outdoor sporting store when he gets the mental image of Castiel camping and it makes him chuckle. While Castiel is certainly a ‘can-do’ kind of guy, Dean has a hard time picturing him sleeping in a tent, sitting around a campfire and setting marshmallows aflame only to blow them out and eat them when they’re still too hot. Castiel enters the kitchen, just as Dean is smiling to himself over the picture.
“What?” he asks at Dean’s amused expression.
“I’m picturing you camping,” Dean says with a grin.
Castiel winces. “I’ve spent enough of my life ‘roughing it’ as you say. I’ve no desire to purposefully put myself out in the wilderness when I’ve got a fine roof over my head and a comfortable bed.”
“You should just come out for the day. You can fish with Ben and me.”
“I believe Benjamin is looking forward to having you all to himself. He’s been chattering about this weekend endlessly.” Castiel’s words are warm and fond as he discusses Ben. “I’ve been hearing all about how ‘cool’ it will be and ‘awesome.’” Castiel frowns. “That word no longer means what it used to if it can be used to describe a day of hooking worms trying to catch fish.”
Dean laughs. “C’mon. It would just be for a day. I won’t even make you camp out.”
“Thank you, but no.” Castiel stares out the tempered glass of the kitchen window. “I believe it’s going to be quite sunny this weekend.”
“Oh… I.. Shit, I’m sorry. I forgot. I just forget…”
“There is nothing for which you need to apologize.”
Dean nods, tapping his pen quietly on the table for a moment. “Have you thought about going to see Sam? I mean, he’s a great doctor and if he can’t help you, he might know someone or know of a specialist or something…”
Castiel hesitates, eyes drifting away from Dean and out the window again before answering. “My… condition is… quite rare and unusual.”
“When was the last time you saw anyone about it?” Dean hedges.
“Many years ago.”
“So, maybe there’ve been some changes or advancements that you don’t know about.”
Dean brings up a valid and interesting point. As a matter of fact, Castiel has never seen a medical doctor about his… affliction. In his own time, to do so would have surely condemned him. Even if a doctor didn’t declare him cursed or possessed, there wasn’t anything to be done. But now… it had never occurred to him until this moment but his supernatural condition may have a very modern medical treatment or cure. He wouldn’t have to confess the nature of his condition, not that anyone would believe him, and he sincerely doubts that he will be diagnosed with acute vampirism.
“Perhaps you are right,” he says finally and Dean perks up a bit in his chair.
“Yeah?”
“If your brother is willing to meet with me, I would very much like to speak with him.”
***
Sam makes sure his office helps his patients feel as at ease as possible. He has a desk, but he doesn’t sit at it when meeting with patients, not liking the way it feels like an automatic barrier between them. And he doesn’t like to sit in his big chair, because he towers over people even when he’s sitting. Instead he has two plush high-backed chairs with ottomans and a small table between them. The walls are a muted brown, the furniture dark. He really had no preference for colors when he got his office, as long as it wasn’t that horrible hospital green or yellow that institutions everywhere chose and seemed to think was ‘relaxing.’
He didn’t even want to put his diplomas on the wall, but Dean had persuaded him saying that ‘no one was gonna wanna talk to a doctor who couldn't prove he went to school’ with a side helping of ‘we didn’t spend all that money on your brain just so you could not put this piece of very expensive paper on the wall.’
So the degrees went up. But so did pictures of the Maine coastline that Sam likes and one of him and Dean when they were younger, both of them covered in mud, arms slung around each other, grinning as they held up the ribbon for winning the greased pig contest at the summer fair.
Castiel was staring at the photo of the two smiling boys when Sam entered his office.
“Mr. Collins,” says Sam, his face already breaking into a bright smile. “I’m glad you came to see me.”
Castiel takes his hand in a firm shake, bemused as he looks up. “Please call me Castiel.”
“Sam,” Sam says with a jerk of his head and then he inclines it toward the chairs. “Why don’t we sit down and talk?”
He’s aware of Sam watching him as he sits, taking in the precision with which he places his limbs and settles himself. Castiel rests his hands on top of the silver handled cane he carries with him.
“I appreciate you seeing me,” begins Castiel. “I confess, I’ve not seen a medical professional about my… condition for… some time. But of course you come highly recommended by Dean.”
“Well, I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to help, but it doesn’t hurt to try.”
“I suppose not. Dean speaks very highly of you.”
Sam’s smile widens. “Yeah, he does that. When I was away at school I’m pretty sure he bored the town talking about me.”
“He cares for you a great deal. You mean a lot to him.”
Castiel says it so calmly, so easily that Sam blinks. Dean’s carefully guarded with his emotions;while Dean’s never made it a secret that he loves his brother, Sam’s surprised to hear someone talking about Dean’s feelings so plainly, and it makes him happy and curious and protective at once. Dean made him swear that when Castiel came to see him, Sam would keep it strictly medical. Sam had promised.
Of course, Dean had him in a glorious headlock at the time and was knuckling his skull for all it was worth, but Sam did promise.
So when he blurts out, “Are you serious about my brother?” he’s a little bit mortified. He hadn’t meant to say it, but it just sort of… leapt out of his mouth.
Castiel’s lips curl up in a small smile. “Are you asking me what my intentions are towards Dean?”
“Oh, hey, look… I uh… crap, Dean kind of made me promise I wouldn’t ask and if I’m going to be your doctor, it’s, uh, well, seriously, you don’t have to answer. I… shit, forget I said it.”
“My intentions are honorable.” Castiel’s words are soft but firm, his blue eyes focused on Sam intently and Sam blushes.
“Sorry, it’s none of my business.”
“But of course it is. You are his family.”
“I’m pretty sure he won’t see it that way if he finds out I asked.”
“I will not tell him.”
“Thanks. So,” Sam segues, leaning slightly forward in his chair, “Why don’t you tell me what you can about your condition?”
Castiel’s eyebrows come together slightly and he gathers his words carefully before speaking. “It set on later in my life. I had no such affliction as a child. It came on rather… suddenly.”
“Can you think of anything in particular that may have precipitated it?”
Images of Ruby’s twisted features play out in his mind; the sharp tang of rat’s blood as it touched his tongue for the first time, the acrid burn of smoke in the air.
“Nothing that I believe is of medical significance.”
Sam gives that statement careful consideration. It’s not a ‘no’ but it’s clearly not a statement that invites more questions.
“And your allergy to the sun, how does it manifest?”
“I have a strong sensitivity to the sunlight. I can be outside on cloudy or overcast days. It’s worse when I am… tired or … I have not eaten. I find my eyesight is not as good in strong light as it used to be. In fact, strong sunlight will cause headaches. My skin will burn quite quickly in direct sunlight if I am… weakened. Although, I may be able to be outside in direct sun for several minutes if I have been… attending to my needs. I see very well in the dark however, and am generally able to get by with very little light at all.”
“It’s a burn? It’s not a rash or a hive reaction?”
“No, it is most assuredly a burn.”
“Do you have any medical records that I could have access to?”
“I’m afraid not. I lived in a very small town and the local doctor ran some minor tests but beyond that…” he waves a hand dismissively. “At any rate, he passed on and I’m not sure what happened to the records.”
“Hmm. It’s too bad we won’t have any data from before your allergy flared up. Sometimes it can be helpful in determining what has changed in your physiology. Any other health concerns?”
A ghost of a smile flickers over Castiel’s lips. “No. I’m quite resilient. I don’t get sick and I’ve suffered no major injuries.”
“Any other allergies?”
“None of which I am aware.”
“What’s your diet like?”
“Rather high in iron. I tire easily if I don’t ensure I get enough. I’m rather… selective about what I consume, although that’s more of a preference than anything else. As long as I get enough protein and iron I do fine. Anything else…” he waves his hand casually. “I eat what I wish.”
“Physical activity?”
“In my youth I was quite active. We were rather… we did not have as many technical advantages as you have here in Collinsport. We lived a rather… rustic lifestyle. After my affliction set in, I was not able to be outside as much during the day, but I was able to make up for it during the night. I’m stronger than I appear. I can do a great number of things without tiring or requiring rest.”
“How do you sleep?”
“Like the dead.” It’s not as though he’s without humor.
“Have you ever experienced any seizures, or other symptoms of neurological disorders?”
“No.”
“What about your family?”
“No one had an affliction like mine.”
“Had?”
“I am the last surviving member of my immediate family. I am of course distantly related to the Collins’ here, but I doubt any of them have a similar illness.”
“You don’t have any other family in England?”
“No.”
Sam nods thoughtfully, a practiced look of sympathy across his face. “Okay, well, I’d like to run some tests, put you through a standard physical, if that’s all right, and augment it with some additional testing. Blood samples and some allergy tests and see what we get. I’m not an allergist myself, so if you’re agreeable, I’d like to consult with a colleague of mine who works in immunology.”
“I leave all medical decisions in your capable hands.”
Twenty minutes later, Sam is drawing his seventh vial of blood from a quiet Castiel.
“You should go ahead and get all the vampire jokes out of the way.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Sam smiles as he removed the full vial of blood and snaps an empty one in with a practiced hand. “At this point, people usually start making jokes about doctors being vampires, with all the blood we draw. And I’ll probably put you through this several times.”
“Of course,” Castiel says, a small smile playing across his lips. “Although if you were a vampire, I doubt this quantity would be sufficient to satisfy you.”
Sam laughs. “Probably not. Speaking of vampires, it’s likely conditions like your own and others like porphyria that may have led to vampire mythology.”
“I’m unfamiliar with that medical term.”
“It’s a medical disorder involving the enzymes in the heme bio-synthetic pathway. It’s why I had asked you about seizures. Some forms of porphyria are accompanied by an unusual sensitivity to light.” Sam makes a face. “But I think the anthropologists and sociologists are still fighting over whether or not it was exclusively responsible for the vampire myth. At any rate, I’d hate to think of you suffering this allergy in the middle ages or the industrial revolution.”
“Yes, I’m sure the local religious leaders would have claimed I needed to be staked through the heart, or had my head severed from my body.”
Sam’s eyes flick over to Castiel, whose attention is precisely focused on the needle drawing blood from his arm. While his tone is light, his expression is grim and hard.
“Well, lucky for you, you’ve got modern science on your side.” Sam pulls out the full vial and snaps in a new one. “And I’m not about to suggest decapitation as a form of treatment.”
Castiel raises his blue eyes to Sam. “How fortunate.”
Next Chapter - 14 - Campfire Tales
Dean’s stupid tired.
Ash never made it to work. His cat, Gigabyte, needed emergency surgery to remove a hairball and Ash had explained it all in painful detail to Dean over the phone, despite Dean’s vehement protestations that he just did not need to know the details.
And then Andy had shown up and Dean thought he could escape but Flannigan’s two streets over lost their cable signal and it was like the Exodus; all the customers pulled up stakes and showed up at Dean’s pub to watch the game.
And they wanted wings.
Lots of wings.
Jesus if he never sees another chicken wing again it will be too soon.
He stumbles up the walkway to Cas’ front door. It’s ridiculously late, but somehow he knows Cas won't mind; he’ll be up, waiting.
Waiting for Dean.
It makes Dean absurdly happy and cancels out most of his fear that he smells strongly of Buffalo hot sauce.
The front light is on and he wears an idiotic grin knowing it’s for him. He blames it on fatigue. He knocks twice on the door and it’s only seconds before it swings open and even in the half light the blue of Castiel’s eyes is sharp and clear.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean lips curl up into a smile of their own volition at the greeting and although he thinks should feel nervous or awkward, he just steps forward. Cas pulls him close and Dean turns his face into Cas’ neck. He still smells a little bit like pears.
Fuck, he’s turning into a girl.
He feels Cas tilt his head toward him. “What is that smell?” Cas asks, tone inquisitive and Dean grimaces.
“I’m pretty sure that’s hot sauce. It was wing night and game night and the pub down the street lost the cable…”
He realizes he’s rambling somewhat as Cas pulls him inside and closes the door with a soft click behind him. Cas is making low ‘mm-hmm’ sounds and quiet murmurs of agreement and interest as he leads Dean up the stairs and Dean continues to natter on sleepily about chickens, buckets of sauce, dropping his cell phone in the potato masher, and customers who don’t know the difference between lagers and ales.
Cas deftly steers Dean into the master bedroom and when he starts unbuttoning Dean’s shirt and pants, Dean sighs happily, grips the back of Cas’ neck and pulls him in for a kiss.
“You’re exhausted,” Castiel says, stripping Dean of his most of his clothes.
“I’m tired but I’m not dead,” Dean murmurs back against Cas’ lips, cradling the back of Cas’ skull in his hand. He can feel Cas’ lips turn up in a smile against his own and can’t help it when he grins back like an idiot.
Cas presses forward slightly, imposing on Dean’s space, sending him off balance and backward onto the bed where he lands with a soft bounce. Cas’ bed is stupidly soft and Dean shouldn’t like it. He should want a manly man’s bed, all hard angles and firm mattress with no give, but he can’t help but give a happy little sigh as he crawls up the mattress to the headboard.
“Dude, your bed is awesome,” he blurts out gleefully and is a little horrified by it.
“And perhaps tonight we’ll actually get to sleep in it instead of on the floor,” Cas replies dryly, yanking his shirt up and over his head in a swift move that leaves his hair askew and tousled. He makes quick work of taking off his pants and tugs the covers back, yanking them from underneath where Dean is sitting on them. He sinks into the bed and Dean grabs his arm and tugs him closer, their lips meeting in a graceless smack, their teeth clacking together soundly. Cas barks out a surprised laugh.
“I swear to God, I have better moves than that,” Dean says against his lips.
“I’ve no doubt, and I look forward to them, but right now, you’re going to sleep.”
“‘m not tired,” Dean says, laying back and pulling Cas down with him.
“Perhaps I want you well rested for what I have in mind.”
“Sounds promising,” Dean mutters, trying to angle Cas’ head for another kiss. Castiel deftly shifts onto his side, managing to snag Dean with him, tucking him in close.
Dean starts to protest and then gives an absurdly huge yawn. “Dude, I cannot be the the little spoon.”
“What are you talking about?” Castiel asks tugging Dean infinitesimally closer.
Dean knows he had a reason why he can’t be the little spoon. Something about being manly and feeling stupid but his back is ridiculously warm pressed up against Castiel’s chest and he can feel soft puffs of air on the hard edges of his spine and neck. He feels safe and warm and suddenly so goddamn tired that he has the brief sensation he’s falling and jerks awake sharply. He feels Castiel’s lips ghost over his neck, soothing and… familiar.
His last semi-conscious thought is that it’s pretty damn great to be the little spoon.
***
They fall into a pattern; an easy routine of Dean sleeping over at Collinwood and Castiel coming by the pub on Dean’s nights. It turns into Dean leaving a set of clothes and a toothbrush in the master bedroom and waking up to Cas curled around him and under him and nights coming home from the pub and Castiel always waiting up.
Dean didn’t realize how much it would mean to come up that driveway and always, always see that light on.
Sam bitches and moans good-naturedly that he’s lost his house frau, since Dean was always cleaning up after him, loading the dishwasher and making sure the garbage got out on the right day. But Dean can see that Sam is happy for him and it makes him ridiculously glad.
Jesus, he’s such a sap.
Castiel doesn’t know a thing about sports and Dean makes it his mission to turn him into a football fan and they fight over Castiel’s wide screen TVtv when it turns out that Castiel likes soccer instead and the schedules clash. Castiel can’t stand Dean’s rock music and hides his iPod for days and returns it telling Dean that if he wakes up to ’that infernal crashing and banging’ one more time he’ll smash the small device.
Dean putters around Collinwood, surprised at how quickly he feels at home in the large estate. It doesn’t seem weird at all for him to be letting Chuck in one day, as if it’s Dean’s own house. Chuck himself doesn’t seem at all surprised to see Dean there, just gives him one of his squirrelly Chuck-like nods and heads into the den where he is meeting Castiel.
Dean’s not sure what kind of work they’re doing. Cas doesn’t mentions it and Chuck won’t say. Chuck sometimes comes by three or four times a week, and then won’t show up for days. When asked, Castiel murmurs something about Chuck helping him with antiquities and Chuck nods and smiles, his eyes bright and tight.
It’s not really Dean’s thing, so he doesn’t ask any further.
He’s planning a weekend camping trip for him and Ben, making his list of stuff to purchase at the outdoor sporting store when he gets the mental image of Castiel camping and it makes him chuckle. While Castiel is certainly a ‘can-do’ kind of guy, Dean has a hard time picturing him sleeping in a tent, sitting around a campfire and setting marshmallows aflame only to blow them out and eat them when they’re still too hot. Castiel enters the kitchen, just as Dean is smiling to himself over the picture.
“What?” he asks at Dean’s amused expression.
“I’m picturing you camping,” Dean says with a grin.
Castiel winces. “I’ve spent enough of my life ‘roughing it’ as you say. I’ve no desire to purposefully put myself out in the wilderness when I’ve got a fine roof over my head and a comfortable bed.”
“You should just come out for the day. You can fish with Ben and me.”
“I believe Benjamin is looking forward to having you all to himself. He’s been chattering about this weekend endlessly.” Castiel’s words are warm and fond as he discusses Ben. “I’ve been hearing all about how ‘cool’ it will be and ‘awesome.’” Castiel frowns. “That word no longer means what it used to if it can be used to describe a day of hooking worms trying to catch fish.”
Dean laughs. “C’mon. It would just be for a day. I won’t even make you camp out.”
“Thank you, but no.” Castiel stares out the tempered glass of the kitchen window. “I believe it’s going to be quite sunny this weekend.”
“Oh… I.. Shit, I’m sorry. I forgot. I just forget…”
“There is nothing for which you need to apologize.”
Dean nods, tapping his pen quietly on the table for a moment. “Have you thought about going to see Sam? I mean, he’s a great doctor and if he can’t help you, he might know someone or know of a specialist or something…”
Castiel hesitates, eyes drifting away from Dean and out the window again before answering. “My… condition is… quite rare and unusual.”
“When was the last time you saw anyone about it?” Dean hedges.
“Many years ago.”
“So, maybe there’ve been some changes or advancements that you don’t know about.”
Dean brings up a valid and interesting point. As a matter of fact, Castiel has never seen a medical doctor about his… affliction. In his own time, to do so would have surely condemned him. Even if a doctor didn’t declare him cursed or possessed, there wasn’t anything to be done. But now… it had never occurred to him until this moment but his supernatural condition may have a very modern medical treatment or cure. He wouldn’t have to confess the nature of his condition, not that anyone would believe him, and he sincerely doubts that he will be diagnosed with acute vampirism.
“Perhaps you are right,” he says finally and Dean perks up a bit in his chair.
“Yeah?”
“If your brother is willing to meet with me, I would very much like to speak with him.”
***
Sam makes sure his office helps his patients feel as at ease as possible. He has a desk, but he doesn’t sit at it when meeting with patients, not liking the way it feels like an automatic barrier between them. And he doesn’t like to sit in his big chair, because he towers over people even when he’s sitting. Instead he has two plush high-backed chairs with ottomans and a small table between them. The walls are a muted brown, the furniture dark. He really had no preference for colors when he got his office, as long as it wasn’t that horrible hospital green or yellow that institutions everywhere chose and seemed to think was ‘relaxing.’
He didn’t even want to put his diplomas on the wall, but Dean had persuaded him saying that ‘no one was gonna wanna talk to a doctor who couldn't prove he went to school’ with a side helping of ‘we didn’t spend all that money on your brain just so you could not put this piece of very expensive paper on the wall.’
So the degrees went up. But so did pictures of the Maine coastline that Sam likes and one of him and Dean when they were younger, both of them covered in mud, arms slung around each other, grinning as they held up the ribbon for winning the greased pig contest at the summer fair.
Castiel was staring at the photo of the two smiling boys when Sam entered his office.
“Mr. Collins,” says Sam, his face already breaking into a bright smile. “I’m glad you came to see me.”
Castiel takes his hand in a firm shake, bemused as he looks up. “Please call me Castiel.”
“Sam,” Sam says with a jerk of his head and then he inclines it toward the chairs. “Why don’t we sit down and talk?”
He’s aware of Sam watching him as he sits, taking in the precision with which he places his limbs and settles himself. Castiel rests his hands on top of the silver handled cane he carries with him.
“I appreciate you seeing me,” begins Castiel. “I confess, I’ve not seen a medical professional about my… condition for… some time. But of course you come highly recommended by Dean.”
“Well, I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to help, but it doesn’t hurt to try.”
“I suppose not. Dean speaks very highly of you.”
Sam’s smile widens. “Yeah, he does that. When I was away at school I’m pretty sure he bored the town talking about me.”
“He cares for you a great deal. You mean a lot to him.”
Castiel says it so calmly, so easily that Sam blinks. Dean’s carefully guarded with his emotions;while Dean’s never made it a secret that he loves his brother, Sam’s surprised to hear someone talking about Dean’s feelings so plainly, and it makes him happy and curious and protective at once. Dean made him swear that when Castiel came to see him, Sam would keep it strictly medical. Sam had promised.
Of course, Dean had him in a glorious headlock at the time and was knuckling his skull for all it was worth, but Sam did promise.
So when he blurts out, “Are you serious about my brother?” he’s a little bit mortified. He hadn’t meant to say it, but it just sort of… leapt out of his mouth.
Castiel’s lips curl up in a small smile. “Are you asking me what my intentions are towards Dean?”
“Oh, hey, look… I uh… crap, Dean kind of made me promise I wouldn’t ask and if I’m going to be your doctor, it’s, uh, well, seriously, you don’t have to answer. I… shit, forget I said it.”
“My intentions are honorable.” Castiel’s words are soft but firm, his blue eyes focused on Sam intently and Sam blushes.
“Sorry, it’s none of my business.”
“But of course it is. You are his family.”
“I’m pretty sure he won’t see it that way if he finds out I asked.”
“I will not tell him.”
“Thanks. So,” Sam segues, leaning slightly forward in his chair, “Why don’t you tell me what you can about your condition?”
Castiel’s eyebrows come together slightly and he gathers his words carefully before speaking. “It set on later in my life. I had no such affliction as a child. It came on rather… suddenly.”
“Can you think of anything in particular that may have precipitated it?”
Images of Ruby’s twisted features play out in his mind; the sharp tang of rat’s blood as it touched his tongue for the first time, the acrid burn of smoke in the air.
“Nothing that I believe is of medical significance.”
Sam gives that statement careful consideration. It’s not a ‘no’ but it’s clearly not a statement that invites more questions.
“And your allergy to the sun, how does it manifest?”
“I have a strong sensitivity to the sunlight. I can be outside on cloudy or overcast days. It’s worse when I am… tired or … I have not eaten. I find my eyesight is not as good in strong light as it used to be. In fact, strong sunlight will cause headaches. My skin will burn quite quickly in direct sunlight if I am… weakened. Although, I may be able to be outside in direct sun for several minutes if I have been… attending to my needs. I see very well in the dark however, and am generally able to get by with very little light at all.”
“It’s a burn? It’s not a rash or a hive reaction?”
“No, it is most assuredly a burn.”
“Do you have any medical records that I could have access to?”
“I’m afraid not. I lived in a very small town and the local doctor ran some minor tests but beyond that…” he waves a hand dismissively. “At any rate, he passed on and I’m not sure what happened to the records.”
“Hmm. It’s too bad we won’t have any data from before your allergy flared up. Sometimes it can be helpful in determining what has changed in your physiology. Any other health concerns?”
A ghost of a smile flickers over Castiel’s lips. “No. I’m quite resilient. I don’t get sick and I’ve suffered no major injuries.”
“Any other allergies?”
“None of which I am aware.”
“What’s your diet like?”
“Rather high in iron. I tire easily if I don’t ensure I get enough. I’m rather… selective about what I consume, although that’s more of a preference than anything else. As long as I get enough protein and iron I do fine. Anything else…” he waves his hand casually. “I eat what I wish.”
“Physical activity?”
“In my youth I was quite active. We were rather… we did not have as many technical advantages as you have here in Collinsport. We lived a rather… rustic lifestyle. After my affliction set in, I was not able to be outside as much during the day, but I was able to make up for it during the night. I’m stronger than I appear. I can do a great number of things without tiring or requiring rest.”
“How do you sleep?”
“Like the dead.” It’s not as though he’s without humor.
“Have you ever experienced any seizures, or other symptoms of neurological disorders?”
“No.”
“What about your family?”
“No one had an affliction like mine.”
“Had?”
“I am the last surviving member of my immediate family. I am of course distantly related to the Collins’ here, but I doubt any of them have a similar illness.”
“You don’t have any other family in England?”
“No.”
Sam nods thoughtfully, a practiced look of sympathy across his face. “Okay, well, I’d like to run some tests, put you through a standard physical, if that’s all right, and augment it with some additional testing. Blood samples and some allergy tests and see what we get. I’m not an allergist myself, so if you’re agreeable, I’d like to consult with a colleague of mine who works in immunology.”
“I leave all medical decisions in your capable hands.”
Twenty minutes later, Sam is drawing his seventh vial of blood from a quiet Castiel.
“You should go ahead and get all the vampire jokes out of the way.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Sam smiles as he removed the full vial of blood and snaps an empty one in with a practiced hand. “At this point, people usually start making jokes about doctors being vampires, with all the blood we draw. And I’ll probably put you through this several times.”
“Of course,” Castiel says, a small smile playing across his lips. “Although if you were a vampire, I doubt this quantity would be sufficient to satisfy you.”
Sam laughs. “Probably not. Speaking of vampires, it’s likely conditions like your own and others like porphyria that may have led to vampire mythology.”
“I’m unfamiliar with that medical term.”
“It’s a medical disorder involving the enzymes in the heme bio-synthetic pathway. It’s why I had asked you about seizures. Some forms of porphyria are accompanied by an unusual sensitivity to light.” Sam makes a face. “But I think the anthropologists and sociologists are still fighting over whether or not it was exclusively responsible for the vampire myth. At any rate, I’d hate to think of you suffering this allergy in the middle ages or the industrial revolution.”
“Yes, I’m sure the local religious leaders would have claimed I needed to be staked through the heart, or had my head severed from my body.”
Sam’s eyes flick over to Castiel, whose attention is precisely focused on the needle drawing blood from his arm. While his tone is light, his expression is grim and hard.
“Well, lucky for you, you’ve got modern science on your side.” Sam pulls out the full vial and snaps in a new one. “And I’m not about to suggest decapitation as a form of treatment.”
Castiel raises his blue eyes to Sam. “How fortunate.”
Next Chapter - 14 - Campfire Tales