"We are all wonderful, beautiful wrecks.
That's what connects us-that we're
all broken, all beautifully imperfect."
― Emilio Estevez
Chapter One
Castiel stepped off the elevator, tightening his grip on the briefcase as he cast his gaze about the hall around him. He had been in this hospital many times in the past few years. He was so familiar with its layout, he could probably navigate the halls blindfolded. The psychiatric inpatient unit, the ICU, cardiology, geriatrics, the post-surgical unit, the ER, and his favorite— maternity… he knew it all so well that when perfect strangers who got lost walking through the halls would ask him for help finding their way, he could always give them detailed directions to guide them.
In all the time he had spent at this hospital, he was always glad that he had never had to visit this particular ward. That would change today.
The spacious corridor was brightly lit, with a semi-enclosed nurses' station situated directly in the middle. The walls around the corridor contained large windows, flooding the area with plenty of natural light. Two short halls, situated at a forty-five degree angle from each other, stretched out from the area on the other side of the desk, opposite the elevators. A sign hanging above the nurse's station read Pediatric Oncology, so Castiel knew he was in the right place, though the desk below the sign was currently unmanned. Down one of the hallways he could see an open area, and from it he could hear a woman's voice speaking, so he made his way toward that voice. As he approached, her words became clearer, and he could hear that she was reading from The Princess Bride.
As soon as he had rounded the corner there was a soft gasp, and he found a small hand grabbing one of his own, pulling him into what looked like some sort of lounge or day room. He was unceremoniously deposited at a tiny table, sitting in a chair that was so low, his knees came up to his chest. He was joined by his captor, a girl of about ten and dressed as a fairy, who sat to his right. Another girl who may have been a couple years younger sat to his left, and a boy of about three sat across from him, drawing a picture with extra-thick crayons.
Across the room, a nurse with a round, friendly face sat reading. When he caught her eye, she nodded in acknowledgement of his presence, but didn't pause in her reading.
He was handed a clean piece of paper by the younger girl, and a blue crayon by the fairy, who leaned in whispering in his ear that he should use that one, because it matched his eyes.
He took it from her, asking, "What am I supposed to be drawing?"
"Draw Princess Buttercup."
"No, draw a dinosaur," the young boy requested from across the table.
"Hmmm, how about I draw Princess Buttercup riding a dinosaur?" Castiel asked.
The girl thought about it for a moment before nodding enthusiastically. The boy just shrugged noncommittally, so Castiel followed their orders, drawing the princess on the back of a dinosaur.
After a few minutes, a boy of about eight who had been sitting at the nurse's feet listening to the story wandered over to their table to watch the newcomer draw for a moment, before pointing at the picture and asking, "What is that?"
"That is princess buttercup riding on a stegosaurus," Castiel informed the young patient.
"Can you teach me to draw a stegosaurus? You draw them good. That's my favorite dinosaur."
"It's my favorite dinosaur too," Castiel informed the boy, while vacating his chair so that the boy could take his spot. He moved instead to the floor, between the new boy and the fairy, sitting back on his haunches and directing the boy on the basic shapes that would make the rough outline of the dinosaur. Pretty soon, everyone who had been at the table, joined by two more children, was drawing stegosauruses. Castiel had moved away from the table to make room for all of them, instead walking around the group on his knees, giving pointers whenever asked for help.
A young boy who had been sitting alone nearby came and stood near Castiel, grabbing his face in both hands, and turning the man's head so he could look deep into his eyes. The boy tilted Castiel's head slightly, as if to see the man better, then asked, "Are you an angel?"
"I don't know. What do you think?" Castiel responded.
"You probably are," the child replied, "even if you don't know it, yet."
The man chuckled to himself, thanking the child for the compliment, before the child joined the others at the now cramped table. Castiel turned and sat facing the story-teller, remaining close enough that he could still help the young artists, if one of them asked for it.
When the nurse reached the end of the chapter, she announced that there would be a short break before she would continue the story, then stood, making her way toward Castiel. He stood too, to greet her. Her scrubs were brightly colored -soft pink bottoms and a top so covered with multicolored cartoon cats, he couldn't even see a background.
"Hello, Father!" She reached out a hand as she introduced herself, "I'm Nurse Zoey Barkow. How can I help you today?"
He shook her offered hand while introducing himself. "Hello, Ms. Barkow. I'm Father Castiel, from St. Anthony's. I'm looking for Susie Vanderbilt."
"Oh, yes! She usually joins us for story time, but her mother came to see her today. I'll bring you to her room."
Before he followed her out, he turned toward the table, bowing and saying, "Excuse me gentlemen and ladies. I must go now."
The children all said their goodbyes, and waved him off, the oldest girl giggling and blushing as she did so. He followed the friendly nurse further down the hall, stopping outside a room about halfway to the end. She ushered him in, but didn't enter herself, instead turning and heading back toward the room in which he had found her.
Inside, there were two beds. The closest was empty, but unmade. Its occupant must be down the hall with the other children he saw. Upon the farther bed sat Susie, an eight-year-old whose cherubic face could usually be found haloed in ringlets of mousy brown hair, but instead was sporting a pink and yellow bandana tied Rosie the Riveter-style over a perfectly hairless dome. She was currently reading. Between the two beds, in a comfortable looking armchair slumped Susie's mother, catching what must be a rare nap for the single working mother of a child with cancer. As quietly as possible, Castiel approached the little girl.
Seeing the other children in the ward, all in varying stages of receiving cancer treatment, had been hard enough. Though he liked children, none of those children had been previously know to him. Seeing Susie in that hospital bed, hairless and looking thinner than he had ever seen her, was a bit harder. He was used to seeing her during mass, dressed in her Sunday finest and struggling to pay attention like every other child her age.
"Hello, Susie," Castiel whispered, loud enough for Susie to hear, but quiet enough not to wake her mother.
"Father Castiel! Have you come to anoint me?"
"I have, if that's what you'd like. I also brought communion for you and your mother, since you couldn't come to mass on Sunday."
"Oh, good! Father Robert has been coming the last few weeks, but I was hoping to see you this week."
"Is that right? Well, would you like to wait for your mother to wake up?"
"Anointing now, please," the girl requested. "We can wait for mom to wake up for the communion. Communion means 'sharing,' after all. It's better to do that with company."
"You're very smart, Susie."
"Thank you, Father!"
Castiel took a smaller zippered pouch out of his briefcase and opened it, pulling a small bottle out. As he did so, Susie removed the bandana from her head. He opened the bottle and tipped a bit of the oil inside on to his thumb, before stretching his arm out toward the girl, drawing a cross on her forehead as he began to speak.
"Through this holy anointing, may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit."
He moved the thumb to her hands, anointing each of them as he continued, "May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up."
A big grin blossomed on the girl's face. "Thank you, father."
"You are welcome." He returned her smile. "So how have things been going?"
"We finished chemotherapy, and I'm eating a little better. Plus, I think my hair is starting to grow back!"
He put a serious look on his face, though the mirth in his eyes was still obvious. "Well, let me see." He made a show of inspecting her head. Sure enough, there was a hint of stubble on her otherwise bare head. "Why, yes," he confirmed. "Are you going to keep shaving it? I think it makes you look pretty tough."
"It does?" She sounded skeptical.
"It certainly does," he confirmed. "You could join the Marine Corps."
"No thank you, I don't want to fight wars! Maybe the Peace Corps."
"See," he replied, "I knew you were smart."
She smiled at him, before adding, "Besides, you know I want to be a marine BIOLOGIST, not a Marine."
"Ah, that's right! You want to study the biology of Marines," he joked with her.
She was giggling like a maniac by now. "No, silly! I want to study the biology of marine ANIMALS."
"So which marine animal is your favorite?"
"I like sharks."
That surprised Castiel. "I was expecting you to say something like the dolphin."
"Oh, I like dolphins okay, but sharks are an apex predator, and some kinds can live more than 200 years!"
Before Castiel could respond, a voice piped in from behind, startling him. "She's a bit obsessed with different animals' lifespans right now."
He turned to see the girl's mother fully awake, sitting upright in her chair. He wondered how long she had been up, sitting so close behind him. To ease the awkwardness of standing with his posterior practically in the woman's face, he moved toward the foot of the bed to include the mother in their conversation as he replied, "Well, it sounds like you're well on your way to becoming a marine biologist."
He gave both ladies communion, soon after which Susie announced that she was ready for a nap, so Castiel accompanied Ms. Vanderbilt to a small family consult room a few doors down the hall. Inside were a small table, a few chairs, and a coffee machine set up in the corner. Castiel poured two coffees, and joined Ms. Vanderbilt at the table, passing one to her as he sat.
"I'm sorry we woke you. You must be exhausted. I can't imagine what it's like to be in your position." He looked her in the eyes, trying to convey his sympathy.
"I've cut back to working part-time –you know, family sick leave. Thankfully, insurance is covering her treatment. Money hasn't been a problem, yet. I just feel I'm facing this all alone." She reached out and grabbed his hand in both of hers.
"You're not alone," he tried to comfort her, putting his other hand over both of hers. "You have Susie, and the medical staff here. You have your friends and family, and the community at the parish. We've been praying for you both every day." He didn't bother adding God to the list. He knew she was craving a more tangible support system.
"I so miss having a man in my life." As she spoke, she began rubbing her fingertips across his hand. "Someone to confide in. Someone to hold. Someone to kiss."
Her hands no longer gripped his tightly, desperately looking for consolation. Her touches had turned exploratory, and more importantly, inappropriate. He had to put a stop to it quickly, while trying to remain sensitive to her fragile mental state. He pulled back from her touch, but with purpose, turning his body slightly away to reach down into his briefcase, which sat on the floor on his other side. Pulling two rosaries out, he handed one to her, and suggested they pray.
It wasn't the first time a parishioner had tried to hint at romantic interest. The collar alone, he had learned shortly after entering seminary, was alluring to some people, sometimes to the point of fetishization. Beyond those thankfully rare circumstances, a few parishioners had responded to his earnest and compassionate demeanor with confessions of attraction, or the occasional clumsy pass. The fact that he was a young and relatively good looking man didn't help.
He always tried to hold peoples' gaze when he spoke with them, not only as a non-verbal means to show that he was engaged in the conversation, but to covey his sincerity. In her current emotionally vulnerable state, it is understandable that Ms. Vanderbilt could confuse the situation, leading her to reach out inappropriately to anyone who showed her kindness and empathy. He didn't want to add embarrassment to her current torments, so he didn't acknowledge her blunder.
Instead, they prayed the rosary together. Afterward, he spoke with her about illness, death, and justice, answering any questions she had, and not falling back on any of the typical platitudes that grieving people often hear.
As the conversation was winding down, she thanked him. "Most people I've talked to about this try to tell me that Susie's illness is God's will. If one more person tells me that there's a reason for everything that's happening to us right now, I swear, I'm going to scream."
He chuckled with her. "God didn't do this. Susie just had some brain cells that started reproducing abnormally and invading her healthy tissue."
"You know, you've been there for her more than her own father ever was." She reached up to run her fingers through his hair. The movement came so out of nowhere; Castiel found himself jerking away in response. Unfortunately, this didn't dissuade her.
"I wish there was some way I could show you how much I appreciate everything you do for us."
As she finished speaking, she let her hand slide down the side of his face and neck, stopping on his chest. She stepped closer to him, looking up into his startled eyes.
He had ignored her fumbling from before. He had experienced moments like that a few times over the years, and knew how to handle them. No one had actually hit on him this blatantly, though, and he found himself filling with panic.
"Ms. Vanderbilt-"
"Please, call me Kate."
"Ms. Vanderbilt, please step back. This is making me uncomfortable."
She pulled her hand away from his chest, but did not move her body away.
He continued speaking, trying to be firm but gentle. "You are very kind, and I can't imagine what you're going through right now, but you don't want to do this."
"Oh, but I do."
It looked like she was preparing to step closer, closing the already too-close distance between them, so he hastily interjected, "I don't want you to."
He held her gaze firmly, standing his ground and attempting to silently communicate how sincerely he wanted her to stop doing what she was attempting to do. It was a stern look, but he was desperate for her to heed it, as he doubted her fragile emotional state could withstand any verbal admonishment, no matter how carefully worded. He also needed her to be the one to back away, as he feared that a physical retreat on his part could be misread has a sign of weakness. He didn't want her to interpret his protests as reluctant in any way.
Finally, she broke eye contact, looking down at her own feet as she backed away, saying only, "I'm sorry."
"No, don't be," he offered quickly. He needed to let her down, make it very clear that nothing would ever happen between them, but he didn't want to make her feel bad. He needed to word what he wanted to say very carefully. "I fear you will already look back on this exchange in embarrassment, I don't want you to do anything that would make that worse."
The ball of tension in his gut loosened a bit when she chuckled at that. If she could laugh at herself, he probably hadn't just added to her turmoil.
"Letting me down so gently, is that supposed to make you less attractive to me?" She was still chuckling as she asked, but a hint of the same sad look she had had on her face at her daughter's bedside had crept back into her eyes. Despite this look, he still hoped she had said that in jest.
He could think of nothing else to say, so he responded with a sad smile of his own, before offering an intentionally over-formal valediction, "Be well, Ms. Vanderbilt. My prayers are with you and Susie."
The woman only nodded.
He turned and made his way back into the hall, shutting the door behind him to give the grieving mother some privacy. On his way out, he nodded toward the nurse, who was now sitting at the nurses station's desk near the elevators.
"Father," she replied, nodding in return.
It wasn't until he had made it into the thankfully empty elevator and the doors had closed behind him that the knot in his gut completely unwound. He let out a cathartic sigh, collapsing back against the wall of the elevator and trying to force relaxation into his neck and shoulders, causing his head to fall back into the elevator wall with more force than he had intended. He winced at the impact, but remained otherwise still, not even pressing a button for close to a minute, savoring the solitude of the elevator car.
Later that night, as he was preparing for bed, Castiel made himself a cup of chamomile tea in the kitchen of the rectory. Walking by the study on his way back to his room, he noticed Father Robert sitting alone inside, already dressed in his nightclothes, over which he wore a plaid dressing gown. He appeared to be relaxing, flipping through a magazine but not actually reading it. After some thought earlier in the day, Castiel had decided that he should tell the man about what had happened at the hospital.
Castiel knocked. When the older priest looked up at him, he spoke, "Hello, Father Robert. Do you possibly have some time for me to speak with you?"
"Yes, come in, Castiel. How many times must I tell you? Call me Bobby."
"Thank you, sir."
Castiel sat, setting his tea on the table between their chairs, before continuing. "You take my confession, Father Robert. I'm not comfortable calling you Bobby."
The man rolled his eyes, but otherwise didn't respond, instead changing the subject. "What can I do for you, Castiel?"
Castiel hesitated. "I… visited Susie Vanderbilt in the hospital today. While I was there, Ms. Vanderbilt made a pass at me."
The older man looked sternly over his reading glasses at him. "You weren't tempted, were you?"
Castiel let out a soft sigh of frustration. Normally, the older priest's lighthearted teasing didn't bother him. In fact, he had not only come to enjoy the man's insight and support in his time serving under him, but had grown to appreciate his sarcastic sense of humor and surprising irreverence –given his profession– as well.
Today had been hard to deal with, though. Precocious children with cancer, desperate and confused mothers who were struggling to cope…plus, he hadn't been the object of someone's sexual attraction, at least not someone so blatant about it, in a long time.
"Of course you weren't," the older priest said, chuckling at the absurdity of his own question.
"I just thought you should know, as her parish priest," Castiel explained. "It was most likely a response to the tremendous level of stress she must be under with Susie. Still, she was more forward about it than I have ever seen; if this wasn't just a response to her current situation… I'm scheduled to begin my tertianship soon. When you are assigned a new curate-"
"Ah yes, the looming tertianship," the older man interrupted, "How are you feeling about that? I haven't had the occasion to speak with many Jesuits in my life."
"Honestly?" Castiel began, "I don't know. I am certain I feel called to serve, to help people wherever and however I can, but…" he looked down, grabbing his tea and bringing it to his lips as an excuse to not have to look the other man in the eye as he said this, "some days, I don't even know if I believe in God."
"I think that any priest who hasn't struggled with doubts –at least on some level– is probably guilty of not thinking deeply enough about his faith," the older man paused here, waiting until Castiel looked up at him before he continued, wanting to make sure his point hit home. "Of all the things you could be accused of, Castiel, 'not thinking' could never be one of them. You are one of the most brilliant men I'll ever meet, and I'm not just talkin' about your education. You're perceptive; you're intuitive, not only about the world around you, but also about yourself. You're a born logician, and you analyze everything about everything. Maybe too much. Even looking at the most beautiful, priceless work of art, you would see the cracks."
Castiel tried not to take offense at that. He knew what Father Robert said was true, and that he was trying to comfort him, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with his doubts, the fact that he was worried he had taken a wrong turn in devoting his life to the Catholic Church. "Sometimes the cracks are part of what makes it beautiful."
"You WOULD say something like that." Shaking his head, the man smiled fondly at the younger priest.
"Speaking of the cracks," he began again, delicately, "how have you been sleeping?"
Castiel looked up at the man. They had spoken about this many times, talking about his symptoms without ever actually putting a name to the cause. Though they had both danced around the topic, Castiel knew that they were both aware of what he was referring to: PTSD.
"I've been sleeping well. I still get the occasional nightmare. Meditation and running help."
He would have added prayer, but they would both know he would be lying. He had stopped praying for miracles years ago.
"Good, Castiel. I wouldn't want you to dwell on the undeserved torments of your youth."
A/N: For anyone interested, my story "Falling into Grace: Companion Pieces" is a collection of disconnected chapters that happen in the same timeline as this story, but for whatever reason (alternate POV, flow...) don't quite fit into the story itself. The first chapter of "Companion Pieces" is a prequel to this story.