Warnings: The Dirty Jobs contains descriptions of anxiety/panic attacks and mentions autism spectrum disorders.
The Dirty Jobs
Part Four: Seeing Only Dreams
How did people live this way?
This was Castiel's most persistent thought. It permeated his waking hours and woke him from sleep. Angelic beings had constant vigilance, but his human body chronically avoided inconvenient truths. Jane came into the diner more and more often to speak with him, but he never absorbed or acknowledged her overt attraction. He avoided eye contact and all forms of unnecessary social interaction, no matter how persistent or insistent. When he wasn't acquiring funds for food and lodging, he remained either alone in his room or quiet in the Laundromat, only venturing out to the store when absolute necessity forced his hand.
His isolation became more profound when Steve suggested the former angel, known to him as Edward Smith, simply take the books home. Castiel's contact with people was reduced to one hour a day when he came in to check the register or to hand in the books.
His time alone became a prison, yet he had no desire to escape. Five weeks as a human and the last week spent almost entirely isolated. How did people live this way?
It honestly never occurred to Castiel that many people did not live this way.
Halfway through his second week of working from his motel room, someone knocked on his door. He opened it without looking through the peep hole.
It was Jane.
"Hello, Eddie," she said. "You've not been at work."
"I work from here," Cas replied.
They stood in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Jane asked, "May I come in?"
The former angel stepped aside, and she promptly took a seat at the small table. Cas shut the door, unsure of how to behave in this particular social situation.
"Hi," he said quietly.
"You're probably wondering what I'm doing here?"
Cas nodded. He didn't feel comfortable joining her at the table, so he found a bare spot along the wall and leaned back. He couldn't figure out what to do with his hands; it never occurred to him before that they needed to do something. He resolved the conflict by tucking them into his pockets.
"I thought, when you wound up in that pickup truck with me, that maybe you were running from something."
"Running?"
"You said you made mistakes. And you seemed like a person who's seen bad things."
Cas didn't know what to say.
"And you know about autism. And apparently you can do math. I guess I'm wondering who you are."
"So am I."
Jane realized she wasn't getting anywhere. "When I see you, I see my little girl as an adult. I see my daughter after I'm gone, and she's alone. Not because she has no family. Not because she has to be, but because it's what she's known. It's how she knows how to live."
"You sound unhappy," Cas replied.
"Eddie, you're smart. And clearly up until this point, people have cared about you, cared for you," she said.
"I don't understand."
"You're a good man. At least you seem like one. And I just hope – whatever it is you're running from, or whoever it is you're afraid of – that you wouldn't let that keep you here, in this room, away from the people who care about you."
"I have caused irreparable damage to the relationships with the people that care about me," he said bluntly.
"Are they all dead?"
Cas shook his head and whispered, "Not that I am aware of."
"Then nothing's irreparable."
"I used to believe that," Cas said. "And my attempts to rectify my mistakes only led to catastrophe and more loss."
"My husband – Annie's father – left because he didn't want her diagnosed. He thought the doctors would do more harm than good. But I knew she needed help, and – he left. He said he wouldn't be part of this. Any of it."
"That must have been difficult for you," Cas said. "I'm sorry."
"Eddie, Annie's father is alive in Kansas. The day we met, we were on our way out to visit him, so Annie could see him for the first time in years. When my car broke down, I thought it was some kind of sign. A sign that we were better off without him."
"That seems a reasonable assessment of omens, given the circumstances."
"Except I didn't factor in meeting you," she said. "I was so focused on my broken car that I didn't consider that you were the sign."
"I don't understand."
"You are a man apart from his family, broken away. Like my family is broken. My husband. The difference is, he knows where we are. I know where he is. I could drive to his house now that my car is fixed."
"Is that your plan?" Cas asked, thoroughly confused.
"What I am asking is, does your family know where you are? Have you given them the chance to tell you what they want?"
"They have spoken."
"And they told you to never come back?"
Cas remembered something Dean told him. He had said, "We don't need your help. Just stay here and... and get better."
Stay here. Stay here, and get better.
"Not – no. They didn't," he replied.
"Neither did Hank," she said. "My husband. I thought I was protecting Annie by avoiding him, but the truth is, I'm angry and afraid – and it's not right. Even though he left us behind, I'm gonna contact him. But your family can't do that, can they? They don't know where you are, don't have your number, so they can't even try."
"No, they can't. It's better that way."
Jane bit her lip. "I came here to thank you. I know that might be weird, but, thank you. And to return the favor, I just wanna say, give your family the chance. Don't leave them out in the cold."
Cas stared abjectly at the floor. The new emotions in his mind churned up and around him, threatening to engulf him. He said, "You should go."
Jane didn't say anything else; she just stood up, left, and shut the door behind her.
Cas fumbled through his coat for his old phone, the one Dean gave to him months ago. He flipped it on and dialed the voicemail.
The voice said, "You have 11 new messages."
He swallowed hard. The temptation to turn off the phone made his heart race, but he told himself he owed it to Dean to listen to at least one of the voicemails.
Beep. "Cas? Cas! Sam is in bad shape but he's alive. Cas, please tell me you are, too – call me back as soon as you get this. Turn your GPS on, Sam and I will find you – no matter what."
Beep. "Cas, we're back at the bunker. Sam's in no shape to be moving around, so he'll be here all day. All you have to do is knock. Or call."
Beep. "It's me. Sam. Dean said he couldn't get a hold of you, so I thought – look, if you can't talk, then text. Or something. It's been three days, Dean's worried Naomi may have done something to you. Or Metatron. Call us back."
Beep. "Cas, where are you?"
Beep. "Cas, please – "
Beep. "If Metatron did something – "
Beep. "Just call us back. Just let me know. Please."
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep!
Every message sounded hurt, afraid, angry, but they also pleaded for his response.
His hands shook, inflexible and unruly. He had experienced similar tremors to this once after lifting too many heavy objects in close succession. He didn't understand why it was happening again, but he dimly understood that this was like his anxiety attack. His body reacted to his emotions involuntarily.
Cas should've picked up the phone. He never should have run – and now? He had been hiding for nearly six weeks. What would he say? Thinking about it weakened his resolve, and when he tried to use his old phone, the signal failed.
To call the Winchesters, he'd have to use his room phone, and they would be able to pinpoint his exact location from the number. The words Jane said rolled through his mind, followed by the messages Sam and Dean left. Regret and shame encircled him, and Cas sat alone in his room with his hands shaking, irresolutely staring at the landline.
