Soundrack: Jenny by Lily Seven (Ballad Version)
The Day I Fly Away
Chapter VII
May 20th, 2013
It became something unwritten for Balthazar to visit Castiel weekly, sometimes more than once a week. It was like a string, a bond, pulling them tighter and tighter. Only Balthazar worried over the tension. Castiel ignored it. Discordant was the chime of the bell when Balthazar entered; there was something chilling about it. For a moment, he could pretend he was simply visiting a friend at a hotel or a gathering until a nice woman at a desk asked his name, the name of the person he was visiting, and his relation to said person.
It became easier and easier for Balthazar to visit Castiel weekly, last week more than weekly. Even he got used to the shrill, excited yells of the more-insane patients. He sat down on one of the chairs, the one by the Sorry board. Once he sat a seat to the left of it, and Castiel sat right in front of it, staring through the empty air until Balthazar moved over. Every visit felt different. Every visit felt colder, this distance greatening and growing. There were times when Balthazar wanted to hit Castiel to see if it would gain a reaction. Sometimes Castiel's eyes were glassy.
He gave a half-wave and Castiel looked past it. He might as well not have moved at all.
"Hey, Cas," Balthazar said hesitantly.
Castiel blinked a few times before he stopped looking through Balthazar and looked at him.
"Hello," he said placidly.
An invisible nurse came and told them to be quiet, and they did. Only the single word felt slow like dripping syrup. It hurt him, somehow in the way he said it, it hurt him.
"I have a new doctor."
"Another?"
It was scripted.
"Doctor Uriel."
"Do you like him?"
"Yes."
Balthazar nodded and the director called "CUT!"
"He said I'm depressed," Castiel said, continuing without any lines.
Balthazar sat up, "What?" he said. Castiel was one to do things with energy. Perhaps not with a smile, but he did not seem upset doing chores or even seem hateful to anyone or himself. Balthazar would say that Castiel would be the last person he would believe to be depressed, only it is that those are always the most. He rewrote his line, "Do you agree?"
To his disbelief, Castiel nodded.
"I'm sad," he said.
Balthazar felt something die inside him then, and he replied, "Do you want to talk about it?"
Castiel answered with the silence between them and the nurse hushed them again. The thread was cut and it snapped back and slapped Balthazar in the face. He felt like he was bleeding, but he wasn't. He felt something burning up inside him, wanting to scream, wanting to shake him, wanting to do something.
But then Castiel spoke.
"I've thought a lot," he said softly, "About Meg."
Balthazar's face changed. A hint of understanding, pity. "Oh," he said lamely, "oh," he repeated again in his mind. Once more over again.
Castiel nodded and placed a Sorry pawn on the game board. Balthazar's eyes followed the game piece but he made no move to play along. He watched silently. Everything was too much; everything was dragging a massive boulder up a mountain; everything was pulling an air balloon underwater, and nothing was wanting to be put right.
"You said you told her I was here," Castiel's voice broke as if it wasn't already.
Balthazar nodded, lips pursed and his eyes dropped beneath the floor.
"Did she say anything?" his words were hopeful, oh they were hopeful, they were bright and they reached up for nothing in sight. If dreams are so far, if aspirations are too far, why does he bother to raise his arms for a lost cause?
Balthazar started, "She…" said he, and a pause, "I knocked on her door. There wasn't an answer. I told her it was about you and… I think I heard feet shuffle, like she came closer to the door. I banged again, and she still wouldn't open it, so I told her through the door that you were hurt and in here. Cas, she opened the door."
Castiel's eyes snapped up, wide, wistful. "What?" he said breathlessly, "Really? What did she look like? Did she look different? Did she say anything? I bet she's still beautiful."
"At first, her lips moved but all I heard was weird croaking noises," Balthazar said softly. "I think she was trying to say something. She coughed a few times, seemed to regain her voice, but then looked at me and closed the door again."
Castiel clutched each syllable earnestly, greedily. He leaned forward and for once Balthazar saw a spark of what used to be. Something dropped like a penny in a well inside him. Things were far too dark in this cave to ever find fire, to find light. It was too deep to dig Castiel out of this. He felt regret eating away for ever mentioning this place.
"She looked horrible," Balthazar blurted unintentionally. "Her hair was uncombed and her eyes were dead," like yours, he added in his mind, "It was like looking at a zombie."
"She's beautiful," Castiel said, more as an addition than a protest.
"Castiel," Balthazar said strongly. It almost made Castiel look at him. "It wasn't your fault. You do know that right?"
"IT WAS!" Castiel shouted and tears fell from his eyes like an unexpected rain shower. "I should have noticed sooner! I shouldn't have told her to go home! I should have listened to her! I shouldn't have tried to look at everything from her parents' view! I should have thought more of HER! I SHOULD—"
"CASTIEL!" Balthazar interrupted and a nurse he could actually see rushed over.
"Is there a problem?" she asked hastily, grabbing Balthazar's arm.
"No," Balthazar said quickly, but by the time he turned back to Castiel, all he saw was the back of his head moving behind a door.
The next time Dean saw Castiel was in his office for a therapy session. The air weighed two-thousand tons and nothing could keep it from suffocating Dean. Something tugged at a chain around his neck, pulling him this way, pulling him that way, because he knew what he would do as a doctor, but something kept him from it. Because when Castiel came in the room he felt his voice leave him without as much as a farewell song.
There was something graceful about the way Castiel sat down, something beautiful about the way his eyes flickered around the room, and something breathtaking when his eyes met Dean's. How are you? flew through the air silently. Dean rolled back his chair absentmindedly, to relax or to try to prevent himself from being too close, he had no idea, and he would deny the thought that he ever wanted to be closer.
Castiel was quiet, seeming not to want to bring up the previous day if Dean wasn't going to. Dean's chair rolled forward again of its own volition; he placed his arms on the table. He didn't see Castiel talk to his brothers or sisters as often anymore, though it did happen occasionally. Castiel fidgeted and his eyes darted around as if someone had said something; a soft red dusted over his cheeks. He wished he knew what was said to make Castiel look like that.
He flicked the thought away as if it was a fly on his wrist.
"Hello, Dean," Castiel said first. It was ages since he'd heard Castiel speak; it was an oasis.
"Hey, Cas," Dean lifted his hand in a wave.
Unspoken questions swam between them, of why Dean didn't appear to be starting a let's-fix-you conversation, of why Dean wasn't talking at all, but Dean indulged himself in staring at Castiel. He couldn't stop himself, so until Castiel did something about it, he wasn't going to look away.
A contest was declared and Castiel's eyes narrowed slightly as he stared back at Dean. Dean was taken aback, but did not make any move to avert his eyes. Castiel's eyes were so blue as if every ocean of the world was concealed inside them. The room was adorned with all that Castiel was, having no other decoration as beautiful. Dean could feel his pulse rising, his thoughts racing, his hands twitching, itching to touch him.
That was when Dean forced himself to look away. This was his patient. His eyes dropped down to Castiel's lips, and he swallowed, they dropped down further and landed on the desktop. He wanted to hit himself for beginning to think of Castiel in this way. Castiel was not here of his own will. Dean had no idea if behind closed doors there was the conversation: "Do you like your doctor?" "No."
Something bubbled up inside him and Dean felt something flare then die. It was defeat because there was just no way for what his mind fabricated to be anything close to a reality. His body resorted to anger, his heart resorted to hurt, and still it felt unjust to punish Castiel for being perfect. He looked up again and Castiel was still looking at him, seemingly curious. Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets.
"So, uh," he started softly, "You wanna talk about anything?"
"No."
"We have to do something for the next—" Dean glanced at his watch. "Ten minutes?" That time went fast. It was stolen from him.
Castiel was quiet, though.
"You said you loved someone once," Dean's lips said sinfully against his mind's will.
Castiel nodded slowly.
"What was her name?"
Castiel didn't reply immediately. It was a bit unprofessional to ask Castiel of these things, wasn't it? No, you're his doctor. This is part of learning more of his problem, his mind provided, and still it didn't seem right. It almost seemed painful for Castiel to remember a name.
"Meg," he said softly.
Dean felt a void in his body. "Tell me about her."
Castiel smiled.
"She was beautiful," said he, "She was such a pain in the ass sometimes, but she was so sweet other times. I hated her at first, you know."
Dean nodded emptily, prompting him to continue.
"The first time I started liking her was when we got paired together for a history assignment. She was so stupid and mean and made me do the entire thing but insisted on being with me while I did it. She was horrible. I don't know how I liked her," Castiel shook his head. "It's just… Weird. She would get this spark in her eye and she would act like she owned the world—I don't know. She kissed me and it all took off from there. It's like we boarded this plane without knowing the destination and we didn't even care."
Castiel's voice died away and Dean felt himself listening more closely than he would have liked to admit. His heart asked questions his mind wouldn't allow.
"What happened?" he asked softly, what are you sorry for? lay unspoken on the table.
Castiel shrugged. "The plane crashed."
It was evening, the same kind of evening that was cold and rainy. It was as if someone had shaken up the world like a snowglobe. A faceless woman approached the front desk precariously, hair dripping with rainwater and her shoulders shivering violently. She bit her lips and played with the hem of her shirt, eyes darting around quickly. Her feet carried her slowly, shakily. She was a few feet from the desk when the receptionist called to her.
"Ma'am? May I help you?"
The woman's face flashed white for a moment as if the worker had frightened her. She walked a bit closer.
"Uh," she stuttered, "I-I'm here to visit someone."
"Visiting hours are from eight AM to two PM. You'll have to come back tomorrow. I can tell them you stopped by though. What's his or her name?" It ran out of her mouth as if someone had just played a recording: rehearsed and even-toned.
"No," the woman's hair slapped against her cheek as she spun around. "Sorry. It's fine. I'll go. Sorry."
Before the receptionist could say anything more the bell jingled as the woman ran quickly out the door. It was eerie, how quiet it was now. The receptionist ran a hand through her hair, mumbling something about how she was working too late. She told herself to forget the strange woman that had mumbled another apology just before the door shut.
