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goldenraeofsun · 2 years

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Day 17: Muse

Castiel runs into his old college muse in the emergency room of Seattle Mercy Hospital as he waits for his PA to be seen by medical professional.

“Hey, I’m Dean,” he says to the pair of them as he approaches. “If you’ll follow me.”

Dumbly, Castiel helps Alfie along and follows Dean to one of the beds portioned off by curtains. Castiel stares at the familiar, gorgeous green eyes and the same broad shoulders, now covered in navy scrubs.

Dean gestures for Alfie to take a seat. “Now, what seems to be the problem?”

Alfie helpfully takes that moment to gag into the plastic bag they brought for that very occasion. He stopped vomiting anything substantial about fifteen minutes ago, but he still clutches the handles of the bag in a white-knuckled grip.

Castiel gives himself a little shake and turns away from Dean’s face. He has more pressing matters than re-memorizing the slope of Dean's nose or noting how his jawline sharpened after college. “Alfie had a bit too much at the holiday party.” He pats Alfie awkwardly on the back.

Dean makes a sympathetic noise. “We’ve all been there, bud,” he says, and Castiel holds his tongue from saying he has never over-indulged to the point of a hospital visit. “When was your last drink?”

“About an hour and twenty minutes ago,” Castiel says for Alfie, glancing down at his watch.

“Alright,” Dean says, peering into Alfie’s pallid face. “Well, we’ll check if anything else is going on, as most people tend to stop puking by now.” He turns to Castiel. “Did one of the other nurses already get down your insurance information?”

Castiel nods.

“Alright,” Dean says cheerfully. “Then I’ll be right back with an IV – just saline, so you can re-hydrate like a rock star.”

After Dean leaves, Alfie turns to Castiel. “Please don’t fire me,” he moans.

Castiel pats his arm twice. “You’re not getting fired.”

He’s still reassuring Alfie of his job security when Dean comes back carrying an IV bag.

Dean quickly hooks it up on the mount and inserts the needle, chattering with Cas and Alfie (mostly Cas, as Alfie’s responses are sluggish, and he has this glazed-over look in his eyes, like the horrors of the night are finally catching up with him) about his shift so far.

“You’re the third drunk we’ve had in here today,” Dean says in a conspiratorial voice.

Alfie grimaces. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Dean says as he straightens up. “I’d take ten alcohol poisonings over a norovirus any day.” He shudders. “So much poop, man. You have no idea.”

Dean leaves them soon after to check on his other patients.

After an hour and a half and another IV drip, Dean pronounces Alfie out of the woods. “Have a big breakfast tomorrow,” Dean says as he processes the discharge paperwork on an iPad. “No low-fat yogurt or rabbit food. ’M talking enough bacon and eggs to make PETA spray paint your door in red, you get me?”

Alfie nods along sleepily.

“And stock up on a Gatorade or two – that couldn’t hurt. The hangover’s still gonna be pretty bad, but hopefully you won’t feel like death warmed over.”

“I’ll text him to remind him,” Castiel says, eyeing Alfie with concern.

“Good,” Dean says. He switches off the iPad and turns to leave.

“Dean?”

“Hm?”

Castiel squares his shoulders. He was too afraid in college, had heard from too many people that a fine arts degree was a one-way path to destitution and (food delivery) servitude. But Castiel finished his degree with a minor in business administration, started his own graphic design studio, and now lived comfortably in his one-bedroom apartment.

He’s had a few long-term boyfriends (unlike his past college self), and knows his way around a relationship – mostly.

“Would you like to go out with me?” he asks Dean.

Dean narrows his eyes. “Really?”

“Really.”

Dean inhales a deep breath, shifting his weight back and forth. “Yeah, sure, why not. You want my number?”

It’s not an especially romantic overture, but it gets the job done.

* * *

On their first outing, Dean and Castiel go over all the classic introductory information:

“Wait, shit, that was your personal assistant?”

“Alfie has since learned his lesson about indulging too much at an open bar.”

“I thought he was your brother or something.”

“I’m not on speaking terms with most of my family.”

“Bummer. Sometimes I wish I could get Sammy to shut up, especially when he gets started on his serial killers podcast.”

Dean gives no sign he remembers Castiel from college, and Castiel chooses not to remind him.

The only awkward moment comes when Castiel’s biggest client, Marvin Metatron stops by their table in the restaurant.

“Castiel!” Marv says, interrupting them halfway through dessert. “What a small world. I was looking around as I was waiting for my check, and I was telling myself, that can’t be Castiel! But here you are.”

“Here I am,” Castiel says dryly.

“And who is this?” Marv asks, turning to Dean with interest.

“This is Dean,” Castiel says stiffly.

Marv gives Dean an appreciative once-over that makes Castiel’s skin crawl. “I should have known. You’ve always liked to surround yourself with pretty things, Castiel. It must be the artist in you.”

Dean ducks his head, and that embarrassed flush can’t be a sign of anything good.

Castiel frowns. “We were in the middle of something, Marv, so unless you had a question about the assignment…”

“Not a question, no,” Marv says, drawing up short at Castiel’s not-so-subtle request to get the hell out of their presence. “But will the comps be ready by Wednesday?”

“You requested Thursday, close of day,” Castiel says with a hard edge to his voice, “so they will be ready by the end of the day on Thursday. If you’d like to put in a rush order, please email me so I have it in writing and we can sort out the rest during business hours.”

Marv holds up his hands in a patently false gesture of no harm. “Alright, alright. Keep your hair on. Thursday it is. You two enjoy your evening.”

After Metatron leaves, Castiel turns back to Dean. “I’m so sorry about him.”

Dean just waves him off. He leans in, his mouth curling into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “What do you say to pie for dessert?”

* * *

Things with Dean go well. They go really well, enough to shock Castiel every time he thinks about it hard enough. Castiel’s apartment is closer than Dean’s to the hospital, so he ends up sleeping there more often than not.

After a month, Castiel gives him his spare key so Dean can stay at his place in between all his shifts.

Sometimes, Castiel will come home from work to post-it notes in Dean’s handwriting stuck to various surfaces.

I drank the rest of your milk, sorry! :( I’ll pick up more tomorrow

You need a memory foam mattress topper

I DVRed Scooby Doo and some Looney Tunes eps for you. Watch them!!

Castiel always smiles when he catches sight of them, so he usually leaves them where they are. The bottom half of his television adopts a fringe of yellow post-its, and his nightstand winds up more paper than wood.

He practically counts down the days to their six month mark, when all the internet articles say it's an appropriate time to ask Dean to move in.

Dean says yes, and they celebrate with copious rounds of sex and a late night meat lover’s pizza.

Castiel has never been happier in his life.

* * *

“That box can go in the bedroom closet,” Cas calls as he sorts through Dean’s contributions to their shared kitchen. He has no idea why Dean possesses so many pans – how many does one man need? – or niche kitchen items. A citrus juicer, really?

He fits about three quarters of the boxes labeled “kitchen” into cupboards and drawers and gets to his feet, back twinging from his hunched position for the past twenty minutes. Dean can advise him on what to do with the kitchen duplicates.

“Dean?” he calls, frowning. It’s almost dinner time, and he hasn’t heard a word in at least a half hour. Unusual, to say the least.

He finds Dean in their bedroom. Castiel’s old sketchbooks are spread open in all their damning glory on the bed. Dean’s face and/or body adorns almost every page.

Castiel pales at the sight.

“Oh, hey, Cas,” Dean says in a deceptively calm voice. “I was just looking at your old work.”

Cas stands stock still in sheer horror.

“You wanna tell me what the hell is this?”

Castiel gulps. He walks on unsure legs to the bed and sinks down on it, pulling the nearest sketchbook closer. “You were a model in my figure drawing class,” Castiel rasps, his throat bone dry. “I thought you were beautiful.”

Dean scowls. “Shocker.” He taps the page of one of the books. “From what I remember, all you guys were working on easels, not paper.”

Castiel stares down at an objectively lovely study of Dean’s face. “These were done from memory.”

“I guess that’s better than stalking me across campus,” Dean snorts.

Castiel hunches in on himself, his face burning, his stomach twisting. “Not much,” he mumbles.

“What I can’t get my head around,” Dean asks, his forehead creasing, “is why didn’t you just tell me we’ve met before? Did you think I wouldn’t find out? I might just be a pretty face, but this is some fucking obvious proof man.”

“I – I didn’t want to remind you of how unmemorable I was,” Castiel confesses as Dean’s eyes widen in understanding, “since you’re…” He drifts off, shaking his head. He narrows his eyes. “And what do you mean you’re only ‘a pretty face’?”

Dean scowls. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I assure you, I do not,” Castiel says, his annoyance growing. “You are very handsome, of course, but you have so many wonderful qualities that only glimpsed when I drew these.” He closes his closest sketchbook with a snap.

“Yeah, but…” Dean starts but doesn’t finish.

Castiel stares at him.

“I’m a nurse,” Dean mutters.

“A very good one,” Castiel agrees. “So what?”

Dean heaves a heavy sigh, glaring at Castiel like he’s making him suffer on purpose. “All I do is clean up shit all day and fill out paperwork.”

“You also reassure scared people who are in pain that everything will be alright.” Castiel doesn’t understand Dean sometimes. “You are honest with them, and explain what is happening so they don't lash out or cause themselves more harm. Your character strengths and personality are extremely nursing.”

Dean’s mouth twists. “Sure.”

“I remember,” Castiel says tentatively, “in class, you used to talk about your little brothers. You were their primary guardian, it sounded like. You cared for them, making sure they were clothed, fed, and entertained.” He raises his eyes to meet Dean’s wide-eyed look. “You were so charming, funny,” he says, pressing on despite his discomfort, “I just wanted to know you,” he swallows, “but I had no idea how to do that, so I… didn’t.”

Dean glances down at the sketches in his lap. “You stopped drawing me after college?”

“The class ended, and I didn’t have time for much figure drawing afterwards.” He bites his lip. “I never forgot your face, though.”

“Clearly,” Dean snorts. He flips through the book until he reaches the end of the used pages. “You ever think about taking it up again?”

Castiel inhales a sharp breath. “I’ve given it some thought.”

Dean grins. “Want to try it naked this time?”

#suptober22 #strangers to lovers #nurse dean #artist castiel #destiel #destiel fanfic #fanfic #rae writes fic

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