Chapter Text
The people on those breakfast commercials were wrong.
Not just wrong because their cereal really isn’t better than donuts and bacon for breakfast, but wrong because having a good start to the day neither guarantees nor ensures the rest of your day will follow suit. Not that Castiel Novak ever bought into their marketing lies, of course; he just hadn’t expected that things could do a complete one-eighty so quickly. The day had actually started out pretty well. Castiel had woken up to an empty bed, his partner Balthazar no doubt in town doing whatever he did, which meant Castiel could stay in bed and just browse the internet on his laptop for job openings. What really made the morning great was opening his email to find a reply from the chief administrator of the a school district nearby in Maine, to which he’d submitted his application to. They were interested in interviewing him for a potential position as a World Religions teacher, and Castiel had eagerly replied his assent to meet them at the time and location listed, a grin on his face.
In short, the morning had been uncharacteristically pleasant. As soon as Balthazar got home though, everything took a drastic turn for the worse.
Now Castiel is eyeing his year-long partner as he shuts the front door of the apartment they share behind him and kicks off his boots, not even bothering to acknowledge Cas’ greeting. Castiel squints at him as he makes his way into their tiny kitchen and grabs himself a beer out of the fridge. “Balthazar?” Castiel prompts, and the taller man looks up. His hair is disheveled and his lips are noticeably swollen, not to mention several shades too-bright red, smears of the color staining his skin where he couldn’t rub it out. The worst, most overpowering thing is the stench of beta all over him, smelling all kinds of wrong and making Castiel want to gag. He inhales a sharp breath, blinking rapidly as his mind races to catch up. “Were—were you with someone else?” Castiel breathes, his voice breaking. Everything is happening too fast, all this information too much to process. Balthazar wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and strides over to Cas, whole body tense.
“Yeah, I was with someone else, and not for the first time either, because you know what, Cas?” Balthazar demands, his voice hard and cold. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t deal with you, you and your fucking aversion to sex! I’ve handled it like a saint, but I’m at the end of my rope. This—us—it’s not going to work any longer. I need to be with someone who understands and can meet my needs, and you are just not that person.” Balthazar takes a long pull from his beer and puts it down onto the counter with a weary sigh, gauging Cas’ reaction with emotionless eyes.
“Balthazar, you know I haven’t presented yet—” Castiel tries to defend himself, but his partner’s frustrated growl interrupts him.
“That’s the bloody problem! You’re twenty-six and still haven’t presented! What am I expected to do?” Balthazar takes a few calming breaths as Castiel recoils from his words, cold seeping through his veins as Balthazar’s words sink in, hitting home. Castiel has always been insecure his unpresented status, and he thought that Balthazar understood that. “She was all over me, so needy and wanting, just ready to go, and I couldn’t resist. You aren’t right for me, Cas. I’m sorry, but you aren’t.” He takes another drink of his beer, frowning down at his hand clenched around the bottle.
“I suppose I’ll get my things and leave then,” Castiel replies calmly, hoping against hope that his voice doesn’t betray the tidal wave of hurt he feels. Balthazar just nods jerkily once and Castiel heads into their room, pulling down his suitcase from its top shelf in the closet, and begins to yank all of his clothing off the hangers to throw them in. He tears through the room, emptying all his belongings into the suitcase, and shuts it tight when he finishes, some twenty minutes later. Blood is roaring in his ears and his mind is reeling. In packing, he realizes how very little he actually owns; just his clothes, his laptop, a few toiletries and books, and that’s about it. Nearly everything here is Balthazar’s—even his phone, a gift from his now ex-partner for his birthday. He takes one look at it and feels a curl of revulsion in his gut. He doesn’t want to take it with him—he wants nothing of Balthazar's, period. He can get a new one.
When Castiel walks back into the living room, Balthazar is sprawled on the couch, a flask in hand, and ignores Castiel as he flings his spare set of keys back onto the counter. He won’t be needing those ever again. “Goodbye, Balthazar,” Castiel tells him briskly, then turns on his heel and leaves the apartment behind him, not caring that he violently slammed the door. He can’t quite believe that Balthazar actually dumped him because of his damn status, leaving him homeless and feeling worthless and unwanted. Maybe because he is, because Balthazar is right; who the hell would ever want an unpresented partner? He could satisfy no one. Castiel huffs at the thought. He does not live to satisfy anyone. Adjusting the handle of the suitcase in his hand, he picks a direction, and starts walking. He couldn’t care less where he’s headed. Right now he just needs time to think.
Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t feel any amount of real loss. Sure, Balthazar had been his first real relationship, the first person he’d ever slept with even, but he feels not even in their best moments had either of them really meant something to the other. Castiel was never properly satisfied by the relationship; a genuine, emotional connection had never developed between them, and with hindsight, he considers as he stomps his way down the street, Castiel was never attached to Balthazar, nor even close to him. Unlike Castiel, he was into relationships for the physical aspects, and Castiel felt little desire for emotionless sex. The few times they had actually slept together were uncomfortable at best, for Castiel at least. Balthazar had never been able to knot Cas, not with his body’s complete lack of cooperation, and for that, Castiel is endlessly thankful. It makes him sick to think of mating with someone like that, someone who sees Castiel as a sex object, the way Balthazar clearly had.
Castiel sighs, plowing a hand through his hair. Their relationship had been flawed from the foundations up, but he had been too comfortable to do anything about it. He’d been hoping Balthazar might be what he was looking for, the alpha who would protect him and put him first, who would truly care for him, even the liberal partner who would stick by him in the event that he presented as an alpha too, but he had been painfully wrong. He’s surprised he didn’t see it earlier really, Balthazar’s mounting frustration with his inability to get Castiel in bed more than once in a blue moon, and when he did, Cas’ lack of enthusiasm and arousal. In all honesty, Castiel hardly sees the appeal of sex. It hadn’t felt good, not even when Balthazar tried to go slow, which was coincidentally only the once. They’re too different in the worst of ways, and Castiel decides that it’s probably best this happened now instead of later. He felt neither was happy with the relationship and they were both making each other miserable in one way or another.
Thunder cracks overhead, so loud that Castiel is dragged from his somber thoughts with a start, and then, as if his life could get any worse, rain starts to fall in heavy, drenching sheets. Within minutes Castiel is soaked to the bone, shivering in his sweater and jeans. The rain clouds overhead are so thick that not even a sliver of moonlight can penetrate them, leaving streetlights as the only thing between Castiel and complete blindness. His shoes squelch with each step he takes, and he shivers as the wind whips the raindrops sideways, chilling his damp skin. He folds his arms across his chest and grumbles under his breath, dutifully pulling his suitcase along, thanking his past self for buying one with wheels. He really needs to get out of the rain and cold before he adds hypothermia to his list of ‘worst things to happen to one man in one day’, but he’s at an absolute loss for anywhere to go. He power walks in the direction of most light pollution, knowing that’s where he’s most likely to find a motel room. He’ll have to get one for the night, if not longer. How late is it anyway? Castiel doesn’t know where his watch is to check. Not that it matters; the only reason he’s in a rush to get out of the pouring rain is because he really isn’t enjoying the sensation of his clothes being plastered to his icy skin. He doesn’t even have a car, he considers glumly. He’s already at an all time low, and the whole thing’s made even worse when he turns his thoughts to how he’s feeling instead of the chafe of wet denim on the insides of his thighs.
He’s not going to even try and ignore the most overwhelming of his feelings right now: he feels completely worthless. Something must be wrong with him, deeply wrong, to not have presented yet, to be denied the chance to enjoy sex when it seems the entire world adores it. It feels like he’s good for nothing, is too useless to attract a mate or even have his body function properly. Castiel coughs into his arm, blinking raindrops out of his eyes, and glares at the vacant road ahead, wondering if he’s even headed in the right direction. Does it even matter? He can’t stay in a motel forever, so where is he supposed to go, what is he supposed to do with himself? He can’t go back to his family, wouldn’t even want to after being kicked to the curb with their own special brand of Christian kindness for refusing to be married off to a respectable, handsome beta, in hopes that mating would kickstart his errant hormones. His mother didn’t take too kindly to being rather bluntly reminded that he wasn’t an nineteenth-century maiden from a bodice ripper novel.
The rain is spitting into his face and he ducks his head to avoid it obscuring his vision as he approaches a corner, a growing feeling in his stomach that he’s actually heading further away from town instead of towards some place to sleep for the night. Before frustration can give way into despair, twin bright and blinding beams of light swing around the bend, paired with the loud rumble of an engine, and Castiel doesn’t even have time to move from where he’s made it to the middle of the road. He scrambles to get out the way, but the vehicle whips around the corner too fast and before he can blink it’s colliding with his body so hard that he’s thrown backward, weightless for a brief, yet drawn out moment. There’s a sickening crunch as he violently makes impact with the road, and then he’s plunged into darkness.
***
“Sonovabitch! Holy shit! Please wake up, come on, stay with me!” The deep, throaty voice brimming with panic is the first thing Castiel registers. Then comes the pain. His head is pounding erratically in time with his racing heartbeat, his ribs feels like there’s an elephant perched atop them, and one knee is burning white hot. The sudden onslaught of feeling is so overwhelming his body revolts against him and his stomach spasms, ejecting whatever he’d last eaten all over the wet pavement. His eyes roll blindly as he tries to get them to focus on the source of that voice, which is somehow beautiful and comforting even through his fear and discomfort. His head is clouded and foggy with pain, jolts of agony from trying to move the only thing piercing through the veil. His vision is blurry but his other senses are pulling into focus as the seconds tick by. What hits him even harder than how terrible he feels is the scent of whoever’s slipping their hand under his neck and cradling the back of his head. It’s the most glorious thing he’s ever smelled; heady and cloying, like pine, leather, sunshine, and gardenia. It’s distinctly, wonderfully alpha, the scent only slightly tarnished by fear. He’s never smelled anything even half as wonderful and that’s why he’s becoming more and more sure that he’s actually dead.
No human on earth could ever smell that good, so the only logical conclusion Castiel can draw from the scent alone is that he’s in heaven, despite what his mother predicted, and there’s an angel bent over him, begging for his coherence. The poor angel shouldn’t be so concerned; they’re in heaven, after all. Everything is okay. The pain is deafening, but in his deliria he’s sure the angel can make it go away. His vision pulls into focus like a camera lense and suddenly he’s staring at a face that matches the way the angel smells. Wide, forest green eyes are trained on his, pupils dilated, and he almost forgets to breathe when he takes them in. There are freckles dappled over his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, and he has a strong jawline and full, red lips. Even in the limited light Castiel can tell this angel is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He inhales deeply, drinking in the heavenly scent despite the sharp pains the motion causes, and cries out like a child when the angel moves his hands away. The alpha kneels beside him, slipping one arm under the crook of his knees and wrapping the other around his shoulders.
“Castiel? C’mon buddy, just keep your eyes on me,” the angel begs, and Castiel smiles, inexplicable warmth blooming in his pain-riddled chest. The angel knows his name! He’s keeping their eyes locked as he gathers Castiel to his chest and carefully stands, and all Castiel can do is grit his teeth and hope he doesn’t throw up again. As soon as gravity forces his head to loll to the side, he cries out in pain, lights going off behind his eyes and setting the world spinning on its axis. Pain flares in his knee from where it’s bent and it sends agony shooting up his leg, his head feeling like it may explode. Breathing hurts and Castiel can only wonder why there’s so much pain if he’s already dead. Isn’t it supposed to be a lot more pleasant than this? Everything is tilting at crazy angles and he wants to close his eyes, but losing sight of the alpha angel isn’t worth it.
Maybe his mother was right, and he wound up in Hell after all.
“There you go, you’re okay, just stay with me, Cas,” the alpha says, lying Castiel gently down on cool leather and arranging his limbs so they’re comfortable and not pinned awkwardly beneath him. The angel called him Cas. No one else has called him Cas but Balthazar, and he’s finding he much prefers the way the nickname sounds coming from the angel’s lips instead. The alpha bends over him, cupping his face in his warm palms, and Castiel smiles at the pleasant, electric feeling his touch sparks. “I need you to focus on my voice, can you do that for me?” Of course, of course Castiel can do it, he’ll do anything the beautiful man asks. With him so close, his delicious breath washing over Castiel’s face, Castiel can drink in his ambrosial scent as much as his burning lungs permit. The angel doesn’t move his hands, just keeps staring down at Castiel for a few seconds, and Castiel starts feeling like he’s on fire, skin burning hot, mouth dry. The alpha’s scent begins to intensify as the fever-like heat does, a startling contrast from the rain-chilled pavement.
The alpha’s eyes suddenly go wide and his body tenses, hands falling away from Castiel’s face as he sniffs the air gingerly. “Shit, shit, shit,” he mutters under his breath. “You not on suppressors, buddy?” The angel demands, clapping a hand over his mouth and straightening up. Castiel laughs, stupidly amused by the redundant question. His mouth is dry as a desert and he’s floundering around amid the hellish pain of his head trying to remember how to speak.
“Don’t need them.” The words come out slurred, each one painfully scraping up his unexpectedly bone-dry throat. There’s moisture on his skin, though, and could it even possibly be sweat? He’s so hot he wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t just rain dampening his skin. Dean’s eyebrows furrow and then he’s shutting the door and sliding in up front. The sound of the engine firing up fills his ears, the thrum of it vibrating up through his bones.
“You still with me?” Dean asks as the car lurches backwards, jerks around in a nauseating turn, then rockets forward. Castiel mashes his eyes shut and clenches his jaw, breathing in and out steadily to try and ward off the pain and nausea rising up like a tidal wave about to bear down on him. “Cas?” Dean prompts, a noticeable change in his now frantic voice. Cas’ mind feels like it’s drifting a thousand miles away, and the pain is clawing at his consciousness. He wants to reply but feels his grasp on reality slipping like sand through his fingers. His last thought is that he hopes when he wakes up, his beautiful angel will still be there.