Chapter Text
Jesus can always reject his father
But he cannot escape his mother's blood
He'll scream and try to wash it off of his fingers
But he'll never escape what he's made up of- Family Tree (Intro), Ethel Cain
DAY 1
He arrived at the clinic late in the morning. Castiel was twenty-eight years old, with purple marks on his neck and greenish bruises scattered across his face. His body drooped like a dried stem, and his arms hung loose over his thighs, making his sedation painfully obvious.
Castiel didn’t come alone: he was accompanied by a short man in a black suit and gray tie holding a briefcase at his side, and by a graceful woman behind him, pushing his wheelchair.
On that particular Wednesday morning, Dean was at the front desk, filling out discharge paperwork so that Ryan Silver — his patient — could spend Memorial Day at home with his family. He didn’t turn his head so as not to draw attention, but kept his eyes lowered and watched the three unfamiliar visitors from under his lashes.
It was visiting day at Home Health, so a new patient arriving at that time was unusual. The freshly polished wooden floor of the entrance hall creaked softly under the wheelchair’s tires, finally catching the attention of Cassie, the psychologist and head nurse of the mental health unit.
“Good morning, welcome to the clinic. My name is Cassandra Robinson, how can I help you?” Cassie straightened her posture as she spoke, setting her pen down on a clipboard. Dean’s eyes dropped back to his own report, where he was writing down the daily doses of Olanzapine and Clonazepam Ryan was supposed to take.
“My name is Fergus MacLeod, I’m the attorney representing the Novak family, it's a pleasure to meet you,” the short man said with a nod. “I’m here on behalf of Castiel Novak’s parents and legal guardians. Mr. Novak or his wife contacted Jody Mills,” he continued.
Cassie was quiet for a moment. “I believe she’s already explained our treatment policies to you.”
“Yes. Ms. Mills sent an e-mail with all the information.”
“Did she also tell you about the current state of our facilities?”
“She did,” attorney MacLeod replied, in a British accent he seemed to be trying to hide. “She assured us there would be a room for young Mr. Novak, though it would be simpler than the others.”
Dean showed his first real reaction since the conversation had started, a slight frown tugging at his face. He knew all the official rooms were full. He’d heard rumors that Mills was planning to turn an old storage room into one, but he hadn’t imagined it was ready yet.
Coincidentally, he messed up the medication dosages.
Oh, what a shame, he thought as he reached for a clean copy of the discharge form and crumpled up the previous one. He also used the movement as an excuse to straighten up and take a better look at the lawyer, the patient, and the beautiful woman pushing him.
Both she and Novak wore small crucifixes on delicate gold chains around their necks — his stood out more because of the rope burns stamped into his skin — and MacLeod had cufflinks with the same symbol on his shirt sleeves.
“Good morning,” Dean murmured in their direction, pretending to turn his attention back to the form.
A bit strange…
“I’ve let Ms. Mills know you’re here. She shouldn’t be long, but in the meantime I’ll register Castiel. Does he have insurance and a psychiatric referral?” Cassie asked, putting the internal phone back on its cradle.
“Here’s his insurance card, ma’am,” Dean startled at hearing the beautiful woman’s voice for the first time, “but there’s no written psychiatric referral. This is an involuntary commitment requested by the patient’s family.” She walked up beside the man and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t think we’ve introduced ourselves yet,” Cassie said, reaching for Novak’s insurance card.
“It’s Miss,” she corrected politely. “And my name is Meg Masters. I’m the nurse appointed by the church to care for Castiel.”
Ah, Dean exclaimed inwardly, now the whole cross situation makes perfect sense.
“I understand,” Cassie replied in a tone that said exactly that. “What church are you from?”
Dean lifted his gaze just in time to see the woman part her lips and carefully shape the perfect smile before answering: “We’re from the Grace of Christ Baptist Church.”
“We don’t have any church by that name here in Cottonwood,” the nurse said, confused.
“Oh, no, we’re not from here, we’re from Wichita.”
This time, Dean didn’t mess up the form on purpose — the pen simply slipped from his fingers in sheer surprise and tore the paper between them. Wichita? If the family wanted to, they could move Castiel every two years and still have enough clinics nearby to admit him.
What was he doing here, so far from home?
Before Cassie could ask anything else or encourage the woman, Meg, to keep talking, the clinic’s director, Jody Mills, unlocked the door leading to the lobby and drew everyone’s attention.
“Ms. Masters, Mr. MacLeod, Mr. Novak,” she greeted each of them with a nod. Meg and Fergus answered, but Castiel turned his head for the first time and lifted his fingers to his crucifix, tapping the metal with his nails. Dean tried, but still couldn’t make out the color of his eyes.
“I hope you had a good trip,” Mills went on. “I’m glad you decided to move forward with Home Health,” she said, pausing—probably to smile at the guests. “As you must have read in our terms, one of our main policies is to offer greater empathy in caring for our patients. That’s why we’re very pleased to welcome Meg Masters to our nursing staff, especially now that Nurse Hael has taken leave.”
At that, Dean didn’t just drop his pen or rip the paper; to his dismay, he also knocked over the trash can by his feet, scattering shredded documents and candy wrappers across the floor.
So that’s where Sam’s been stealing candy for Gabriel!, he realized before looking up, embarrassed.
“Sorry,” he muttered, and looked toward the man in the wheelchair, hoping that, somehow, he might answer him. The tapping of Castiel’s fingers on the cross stopped, but the rest of his body stayed rigid.
“What’s wrong with him?” Meg’s voice echoed through the lobby, and Dean forced himself to crouch down and pick up the trash before he said something rude to the woman who was about to become his new coworker. What a bitch!
“This is Dean Winchester, one of our best nurses,” Mills replied, smiling at the sight of Dean bent over on the floor. “He’s just a bit flustered. We’re not used to new admissions on Wednesdays.”
The lawyer, who’d been silent until then, cleared his throat and turned his full attention to Mills. “Forgive me for interrupting, but my clients instructed me to move forward with the process as quickly as possible.”
“No, I’m the one who should apologize,” the director said. “Why don’t Cassie take Castiel and Meg on a tour of our facilities while Mr. MacLeod and I handle the paperwork in my office?” Mills turned to Cassie with a somewhat forced smile.
The nurse stood up from her chair and motioned for Dean to sit so he could finally finish the form. He finished putting the scraps of paper back in the trash and sat down silently.
A few seconds later, he was alone in the lobby, watching through the large glass doors as the garden full of dried flowers carried families and patients in and out every day.
Then he thought about Castiel Novak and his marks, his hands, his crucifix. He thought about his silence and Meg’s passive-aggressive attitude, about the absence of his parents.
Every story in the world has two sides. That’s what he always told himself when he spun fantastical tales for the patients, and that’s what Dean thought about Castiel.