Rx: Physical Therapy

Follow-Up

Seven days had passed since their last date. Later that night, Castiel would be arriving at eight o'clock. But surrounded by mounds of paperwork and a patient list long as his leg, Dean floundered. His heart skipped beats far too often, and his left eye had started twitching by Monday. He had traded a few polite text messages with Castiel, but since dinner at the restaurant, things felt different.

There had been one moment so brief Dean thought he might have imagined it, where Castiel had gone quiet. He seemed to be in another place, another time. But that moment had passed, and the evening had continued much like the others. They talked, shared stories, and traded hobbies. Then there had been the argument, but that had resolved as quick as it had started. As far as Dean was concerned, Castiel had enjoyed their time together the same as himself.

But text messages the following day were few and far between. And while courteous, Dean worried he had offended Castiel somehow. His typical responses, long-winded and fully typed, had vanished; Castiel had responded with shorthand and too few words the remainder of the weekend. By Tuesday, Dean had stopped bothering to text him, and it was not until Thursday that he received anything from Castiel. Even then, it was a simple, "G'morning," and nothing else. When Dean asked how he was doing, Castiel never responded.

Something had happened. Something significant enough, it had pushed Castiel away from him. If only he knew what it was. Then maybe he could fix it, right whatever wrong he had committed, or best yet, apologize so they could move on.

Dean stared at his desk covered in papers yet to be filed. God, there had to be something he could do. Their last night together replayed in his head. No single moment stuck out, besides the argument. But they had resolved it, and quick at that. No. That couldn't be it. Something else was wrong and he was determined to find out what.

With an excuse ready, Dean grabbed a stack of patient papers and rushed from his office.

The three-minute walk across the building passed in a blur of imagined conversations. What he would say, what he would ask, how Castiel might respond. Every scenario played out in his head, none ending the way he wanted, and he forced himself to stop over-analyzing it.

He rounded the corner and spotted the door to Castiel's consultation office. Through a narrow window to the left of the door, he spotted Castiel talking to a woman with dark, shoulder-length hair wearing a business suit. When Dean neared the door, his hand stopped on the handle, frozen.

The woman was holding the hand of a little girl around eight years old. As Castiel talked, the girl shifted her weight from foot to foot, her eyes wandering the office until they landed on Dean's through the window and stared.

He had only seen eyes that blue in one other person. Understanding slammed into Dean with such force, he stumbled back from the door. Everything, from Castiel's house, to his mysterious behavior last weekend, finally made sense.

Castiel was a father. Just like him. And he had kept that fact from Dean just as he had kept his children a secret from Castiel.

Son of a bitch.

He wanted nothing more in the world than to burst into Castiel's office and... do what? Interrupt them? No, that would be a disaster. Maybe he could get Castiel's attention through the window and... again, to what end? What purpose did it serve to jump on the fact that Castiel had a daughter, one that he had hid from him? He'd have to confess to having children of his own, then.

The second revelation came in a wave of panic as Dean backed down the hallway. Their last date replayed once more in his mind, Castiel's distant stares and awkward silences—not to mention the argument—all made sense. He knew. He knew Dean had children of his own.

Well, fuck.

It wasn't until he backed to the adjacent hallway that Dean turned for his office, an awkward and slow plod that wandered with his thoughts. There was no way he'd be able to focus the rest of the afternoon. He had to talk to Castiel before he came over that evening. Otherwise he would go insane waiting until their date. But what would he say? Hey, Cas, I spied on you in your office at work today and saw you talking with your ex and your daughter, why did you hide that from me?

Great.

Back in his clinic, Dean saw the afternoon through, three appointments that dragged abnormally. Preoccupied, he made little small talk and often asked his patients to repeat themselves. By the end of the third appointment, he all but ran to his office, threw on his coat, and sprinted through the door for his car.

Not that that had helped. He forced himself to keep both hands on the wheel, the urge to call Castiel resisted until he arrived at his house. He was barely through the front door before he smashed the call button with his thumb.

"Dr. Novak."

"Cas, it's... it's me. It's Dean," he stuttered. "Why did you answer your phone like that?"

A long sigh sounded on the other end of the line. "Sorry, I didn't look, just answered."

"Oh," Dean stated. "You okay? You sound stressed."

Castiel grunted before he spoke. "Stressed, yeah. A lot going on at the hospital today."

Dean paused as he kicked off his shoes. "Like what? Tell me about it, might make you feel better."

Another disgruntled sound emanated from his phone. "Just... a lot of shit happened today. Appointments, an emergency this morning, a walk-in this afternoon—"

"You take walk-ins?" Dean interrupted.

"Sort of, it depends—"

Anxious, Dean interjected again. "Who was it?"

Nothing. Nothing but silence followed Dean's question for several seconds until Castiel cleared his throat and asked, "Why do you want to know? And what's with the questions? Can't we talk tonight when I'm there?"

"I was just asking how your day went—"

"No," Castiel interrupted. "You've never cared about my patient list before it hits your desk. Why do you want to know more about a walk-in?"

Dean couldn't restrain himself any further. "Was she just a walk-in?"

"How do you know it was a woman?!" Castiel snapped. "No, forget it. I'm done. Fuck this, I don't need this bullshit today. Good-bye, Dean. I might call you some time, but don't bother calling me until you get over your paranoia and your own damn secrets before trying to pry others away from theirs."

The call ended with a click and Dean tore the phone from his ear as if it had bitten him. He slumped into a stool at the kitchen counter, forehead cupped in both hands, and sighed. He deserved that. He deserved to be alone after that sort of behavior. Castiel was right. He had to tell him.

But how?