Castiel Novak sat wearily, fidgeting on the misleading couch, hands forced upon he's knees. He'd seen it, and presuming it would be nice and squashy he'd sat down too heavily, causing a sore butt for about a minute or two. It wasn't very comfortable, a hard sofa in such an artificial situation, clinical even. At least it looked nice, all brown leather and mahogany, pleasing to the eyes and the touch, Castiel stroking the arm nervously, running his fingers along. He messed with his hands, his dark tousled hair, smoothing it and carding his hands through it simultaneously wishing he'd had the forethought to bring something to read, papers or something to keep his dancing mind occupied and away from what was to come. He had some in the car that he needed to go over but he didn't want to move for fear of being absent when his name was called to enter the room. A new room. He was too nervous to remember before he left, hands shaking as he put his keys into the car ignition, tacky key chains hitting the interior, barely able to start it at one point, looking at himself in the reflection of the window and telling himself he needed to calm down, a reminder that he'd been there before many times and it was always fine. It had become some solid ritual for him to console himself in his car.
He was always nervous when he visited the psychiatrist though. He'd come straight from the university after a lecture that lasted too long and slowly drove him insane, and all he really wanted was to go home and curl up in bed, not even bothering to change into pajamas; just falling into the cool sheets as soon as he arrived home. Home was nice. Home was safe. There was nobody there to annoy him or listen to him rant. He slept alone and needed no armor, spoke alone and needed no curious ears to listen. He was lonely and it was perfect.
He'd been coming to the 'Serenity' clinic for just under a year, twice a week, but he'd always been downstairs, never up the twisted staircase until today. Castiel had been transferred.
He added all the sessions up in his head...eighty two. Castiel couldn't afford it really, not on his crappy wage from waiting tables, where he was rarely tipped after forgetting to smile at customers. He thought he'd be finished with it by now. He was told he'd only need to go there for three months, just to get everything off his chest and see if he still needed to take medication, but as he began to tell his story he felt the urgent need to end it for his own sake, for peace of mind and to try to tie a bow at the end of the plot, cut off the blood supply to his dysfunctional brain and let it hum at a slower pace.
He remembered the first time he ever came to the clinic. He felt so much younger back then, as if therapy, just someone listening and occasionally nodding could age a person five years in a time span of less than one. He could blame the stress of school or his job but he knew that the longer he revelled in his thoughts then the older and more cynical he would become, a gradual descent into a person he didn't think he wanted to be. He liked the dark innocence he carried behind him and the heavy shadows that he sighed, clouds that drifted around him.
He remembered arriving about two hours too early on his first day, an ever-present rush, always wanting to be too early rather than too late, just sitting and watching as he quietly bode his time. He saw people go in and come back out afterwards, they came out with some looking glad to be rid of anything they once possessed and other with blotchy faces and teary eyes, clutching tissues and dabbing their noses. Some taking ten minutes and some taking more, a lot more. They all had a slightly insane look about them though. When Castiel looked in the mirror he didn't see insanity staring back at him. Maybe just a puzzled expression.
The waiting room downstairs was the almost exactly the same as it had been a year ago, with the exception of a new bookcase but no new books. The foyer and adjoining waiting room was all stark whites and pastel blues, a small fountain in the middle with water dyed dark blue, spurting half heartedly every couple of seconds. It wheezed occasionally. Cas could relate to that fountain, a nice exterior with an inside that was giving up but still sort of trying. Castiel was always trying and he would always be trying to try until he was destined to die. It was all he could do.
The room was meant to be relaxing but it always made him feel like he was in a hospital, like he was sick. At least the sofa down their was comfortable. He fished out a memory of being called in on his first day, greeted by a woman with red hair. She was beautiful Cas thought as she motioned for him to sit opposite her, all long hair and doe eyes in a smart shirt and skirt. She reassured him that it was okay, just with one smile and he told her all he could that day. After some gentle coaxing he told her a lot more too. He told her things he didn't even know that he knew, deep rooted things that he had forgotten about. He told her about his childhood, growing up, and now, the present. She asked about the future but that was the only thing Castiel couldn't talk about. He didn't want to guess at what it all held, he wanted to believe that somebody, maybe God, would make it all okay for him and write a nice ending for him. In the future though, he thought he might be dead and buried before his story could conclude.
Ten minutes ago he'd traced his fingers along the mahogany banister of the spiral staircase, lingering with his touch, wary of the waiting room. All for show he presumed, making the patients feel they were in a safe, professional environment, somewhere they could call home and not a place to proclaim their insanity. For at least ten minutes nobody had come up, or gone down those stairs and it worried him, imagining some kind of odd torture room were patients were assessed and disposed of if they weren't a quick fix case. This waiting room too had an underlying medical feel to it, walls cream instead of white, the artificial facade hidden by soft touches of wood and leather like an upper class hunting cabin. He expected their to be various stuffed animals dotted around, whether staring from the wall with glassy eyes, mounted on wood, or positioned on pieces or bark and popped on mantle pieces. Castiel had an odd fascination with taxidermy. 'It used to worry my mother.' he'd revealed to Anna one time. 'Why?' she'd replied. 'Because they're dead, children shouldn't play with dead things.'
He pushed his glasses up his nose, tortoiseshell frames that didn't really suit his soft, gentle face, making his eyes look smaller than they actually were, the glare disguising the dark, long lashes that outlined his eyes and made him look so pretty, but he needed them to see. He scanned the selection of magazines on the table, mainly women's titles, one on classic cars. He chose the latter. He didn't want to succumb to stereotypes. He couldn't really get into it, cars were just a mode of transport, getting you from A to B in comfort, nothing truly beautiful about that but some of these people, it seemed they were actually in love with their shiny hunks of metal, fawning over them like they were new born babies, devoting their lives to keep them in good condition and make sure they glistened. He could appreciate old cars but it didn't mean he'd ever take it up as a hobby. Castiel preferred trains anyway, choosing the sounds of gentle whirring on the tracks and the lovely silence from other passengers, as opposed to the roar of engines and the smell of gasoline and leaky engines. It's nice to love something though he thought to himself. Some of the cars were nice and loved, really cared for.
'Bet these guys can't get laid.' he muttered, the cynic in him released, flicking through the flimsy glossed paper pages, eyes landing on an article about the importance of gear sticks instead of automatic. Swapping to a question page. 'Please help, my wife wont have sex with me because I spend too much time wanking over my vintage Vespa.' Cas mocked, pulling a face. 'I'm addicted to car porn.'
'See you Sammy.'
Castiel looked up quickly, pushing up the glasses that had again slid down the bridge of his nose. He really should get them adjusted so they didn't fall halfway down his face every time he looked down, it was quite a nuisance.
It confirmed that his theory about torturing wasn't true. There was a survivor- a good looking one Cas noted. He watched as the man left the only room on the upper floor, clumsily waving at the man inside and closing the door so Cas couldn't get a proper look at what was inside. He looked over at Castiel and nodded. 'Good choice.' he commented, flicking his line of sight to the magazine. He had nice eyes Cas thought, green that reminded him of grass in the morning, soaked with dew and tiny spider webs, the promise of a wonderful morning and the prospect of a better day.
'It was this or Vogue.' Castiel shrugged, smirking and trying to be charming, sifting through the pages again, deftly attempting to make it look like his heart wasn't beating as fast as it actually was. He didn't believe in love at first sight, But he did believe in lust at first sight and he wanted to...do things. Unspeakable things that made a slight blush creep across his pale cheeks. He hoped the guy wouldn't notice, but he already had. Dean thought it was unbelievably sweet.
Dean smiled slightly in return, seemingly hesitating for a moment before speaking, clearing his throat before he did so. 'I have a classic myself, a Chevy Impala 67, she's my baby.' He had a nice voice, deep and authoritative Castiel thought. He liked that in a man. 'She purrs, runs like a dream too.' He stopped talking and smiled lightly 'You probably don't care, that's fine.'
Castiel tilted his head. He had no idea what car he was talking about but he was interested. Anything this guy had to say was interesting. He realised that Dean was one of the guys he'd just been mocking. It didn't make sense though...he was attractive, he could get laid easily by anybody he desired, not like most of the guys in the magazine who posed proudly by their restored vehicles.
He's compensating for something Cas thought, he's got a tiny cock, or daddy issues or he just really likes classic cars. Castiel hated himself for always being such a presumptuous person. It was such a habit to try and analyse people and think horrible things about them. He deserved them saying horrible things about him. But they didn't. Nobody really ever had a bad word to say about Cas except for that he worried to much and over thought everything. He blamed his childhood, his reckless brothers that showing him with police car rides home and hour long detentions after school that sometimes it was better to think rather than to just go for it. So he thought a lot. A blessing and a burden.
Dean smiled again and turned his back to Castiel, walking to the faux wooden water fountain positioned on the back wall, bending over to grab a cup and have a drink. It seemed out of place, water was meant to be downstairs beside the leaky fountain, upstairs it was only supposed to be wood and glaze.
Castiel lowered his gaze. He was comfortable with staring at this guys behind, jeans straining slightly as he bent, perfectly outlined in all the right places. He wanted to reach out and realised how inappropriate he was acting right now. 'Keep your dirty thoughts to yourself' he scolded himself, almost physically slapping himself on the wrist. He did it mentally instead.
He would often find great pleasure in checking guys out, and this one was just pure gold dust to the eyes. He was taller than Cas was, only by a couple of inches, and decidedly more muscular, as Castiel liked his men to be.
Castiel always wanted to be the one who needed looking after in a relationship, the doting boyfriend that spoke wise words and proverbs and patched up their lover after they'd got into fights, kissing bandages as they went. That was all he ever needed-to be needed by someone as much as he needed them. He liked to be the little spoon, he liked to be on the bottom, he liked to be told what to do and never have to make his own decisions. Some people do. He wanted to be cared for and cuddled and mean something to someone. He wanted to be dominated and caressed and kissed all over by someone who knew him more than he knew himself. He wanted a little bit too much.
Dean had an angular face with tanned skin and a light stubble, a face that could be admired and labelled pretty as well as handsome, more handsome though...the word Cas would use would be rugged and slightly weather beaten. Cas wanted to trace his fingers over Dean's cheekbones, he wanted to grab his face and kiss his pretty pink lips.
He's not gay Cas reminded himself. It didn't matter, didn't mean he couldn't dream about it or think about him. There was nothing wrong with imagining running his hands over the familiar molded leather and taking off his jacket and dark plaid shirt, getting to the t shirt underneath, stroking his hands over his hard chest and around his back, all the way down. Castiel blinked back for a moment, not quite believing how he was acting. He'd never done that before. Not in public anyway.
He felt disheveled in comparison to Dean, his hair a mess from having run his hands through it in the car as he gave himself a pep talk, his face unshaven, eyes tired and heavy. He discreetly smoothed down his outfit of tight-ish blue jeans and forest green sweater thrown over a checked shirt. He was still in his school clothes. School clothes were everyday clothes too but he liked to refer to them as school clothes. At home he just wore sweats and t shirts.
'Mr. Novak?'
Castiel looked up to see the door had again been opened, this time by a tall man in an expensive looking dark suit with what could only be referred to as a mane of brown hair. It looked like he brushed it every couple of minutes but Castiel liked the way it flopped forward onto his face and curled faintly behind.. He looked nice, Cas thought in a totally non sexual way. He just looked nice. He thought it odd that he could see two equally attractive men and only think one of them as being what he wanted.
He got up slowly, putting down the magazine that he hadn't even been reading for a while now, discarded after the arrival of him, and walked to the door, feeling it close closely behind him, leaving Dean alone in the waiting room.
'Please sit.' Sam Winchester said calmly, gesturing at the large leather chair that sat opposite its counterpart, a glass table separating the two, on which sat a glass of water and some tissues. Castiel wondered if he'd cry. Not today but in the future. He did once with Anna, crying because he didn't think it was fair that he left him, that Cas met new people all the time and didn't fall in love with them the way his boyfriend did. He always saw people he would definitely rather be with, he didn't fall in love with them though because he was loyal to the people he loved.
Castiel sat, taking time to admire the room. Two bookcases took up the whole of one wall, huge wooden things, intricately carved around the corners with leaves and branches. It was something he'd like to own, but he knew he didn't have enough books to fill it, barely enough to fill it halfway, even if he included the fat textbooks he needed for school that overflowed with words in a font size way to small for his liking, making him take of his glasses to see them properly. The joys of being short sighted. Castiel read a lot, letting it take away his spare time and him altogether. He consumed books in the same way that they consumed him. He relished in the feeling he got after finishing a book; relief and reget. The cases were filled with ancient leather bounds with odd titles like 'Daeva' and 'Buruburu'. He had no idea what anything meant until his eyes skimmed titles like '1984' and 'To Kill a Mockingbird'-titles he was familiar with. A sunburst clock sat on one wall, ticking away quietly but still annoyingly, a stag head resting opposite, its glassy black eyes curious. He liked that. There was the mounted head he'd missed in the waiting area. He knew there'd be one somewhere. Maybe it had been killed by his therapist himself.
Sam spoke. 'Sorry we had to transfer you, it's just that we believe I'm more suited to your...' he stopped, looking for the right word 'disposition.' Sam looked at the ceiling for a moment then back to Cas, a look that made Cas feel like he was strapped to an operating table and numbed, listening to the doctors as he slipped out of consciousness , the surgeons trying to decide what actually needed to to taken out or replaced. He was purely professional and analytical, but he was reassuring too.
Castiel shrugged. 'So what, do you have my case notes or do I have to tell you my life story like i've been doing with Anna for the past year?' He said it with a poison that he didn't mean to be there, it just felt like a year had been wasted, money had been wasted. He could have used that to take a vacation somewhere, maybe on his own, maybe with someone. He'd been wanting to go for a long time now but scraping together the money was hard, unexpected bills coming through the door and washing machines and dryers that always seemed to break when he had enough saved up for a couple of days away. it wasn't Sam's fault. it was his own for being the way he was.
'I know about you, but I want you to tell me about yourself.' Sam said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. 'How old are you Castiel?' He looked at Cas from slightly underneath his lashes. He looked sincere and he seemed nice but Castiel didn't know whether to trust him. His intuition said yes but it always seemed to be wrong nowadays.
'I'm twenty one.' Cas relied, not really sure why it mattered. He clawed his fingers into the leather clad arm of the chair and he turned around as he began to hear the patter of rain on the windows outside. He was trying to remember if he'd left his car window open or not. He didn't think he had but the doubt bit away at him.
'You're tense.' Sam stated, watching Cas watch the rain. He pitied Castiel. From what Anna had told him he was just lost. He wasn't like the usual patients who came in complaining about broken marriages and childhood traumas. Castiel just wanted someone to listen, and he wanted answers, not knowing where else he could get them from. He was going to try to give him answers.
Castiel nodded and turned back around to face Sam, greeted with a small smile. 'I am.'
'I grew up in this town, it's a nice place and I know it well, everyone's real friendly., but of course you'd know that...you live here too.' Sam nodded along to Castiel's words. 'And then when I got to middle school I realised people were disappearing, I guess you might have seen that in the papers or on the news though.'