Chapter Text
The tension in Captain Bradbury’s office could be cut with a knife. The weight of it almost felt physical. Despite the confined space, the silence seemed to stretch for miles. Castiel used to feel awkward in its presence, but now there weren't a lot of things that could make him feel anything at all.
Castiel stood in front of the captain’s desk, hands clasped stiffly behind his back, face unreadable. Charlie stared up at him from her seat, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled in front of her mouth. She leaned forward and furrowed her brows. It almost looked like she was trying to compel him to open up by staring even harder.
When Charlie realized Castiel was just as stubborn today as he'd been yesterday, the corners of her mouth dropped slightly. She leaned back with a tired sigh.
“I know I’ve said this a thousand times, Castiel,” she began, “but you’ve got to get your shit together.”
Castiel knew that. He'd been going through the same conversation with her everyday for the past few months, and everyday he found it pointless. If she hadn't been as stubborn as Castiel, she would've given up by now for sure.
“I’m not saying this as your captain right now. I'm saying this as your friend. I can't watch you waste your life away.”
Then don't, Castiel wanted to snap back, but then he'd have to break his silence. He would not acknowledge the elephant in the room, because there was no elephant in the room. As far as he was concerned.
“I worry because I care,” Charlie added quieter, something vulnerable in her voice.
Castiel didn’t dare move a single muscle. He kept staring back in complete silence.
He knew what he looked like to her. He had the misfortune of seeing it himself every time a mirror—or any reflective surface—was unlucky enough to stand in his way.
He looked old. Older. He was only turning thirty this year, but his face carried a weariness well beyond his age. His eyes were almost always bloodshot these days, and the bags beneath them were so deep they could be mistaken for bruises. He didn't even bother to shave anymore.
Charlie kept her voice gentle. “If you won't let me help you, that's fine—but you've gotta let someone in. If I didn't think taking this job away would break you, I'd not even let you keep working. People have limits, Castiel, and I don't want to see you reach yours.”
She paused, pressing her lips together, clearly mulling something over in her mind. Then, just for a moment, her expression crumpled—a flicker of grief breaking through before she looked away for the first time since their talk began.
“I’m scared I’m going to have to bury you before your time,” she whispered.
Sometimes, he hated Charlie for caring so much. He deserved to live like this—but knowing she was pouring her time and energy into someone who didn’t want to be saved only made him feel worse.
Still, he said nothing.
She waited, but when no response came, she eventually sat up straighter, shaking off the emotional moment Castiel had refused to be part of. Her posture shifted from concerned friend to commanding captain.
“Fine,” she said, reaching for the top of what looked like a pretty considerable mountain of papers. “Let’s get back to work.”
Castiel felt like he could finally breathe again.
Charlie handed him a sizable folder, which he assumed contained files related to the case she wanted to discuss.
“We’ve been working to dismantle this human trafficking operation for weeks. Jody’s been leading most of it, but this feels like the final step—so I’m sending you in too. Luckily for us, we just got a tip from one of our external informants. The guys we’re after are planning to move their ‘cargo’ tonight, most likely out of the city. We need to catch the traffickers and intercept the victims before that happens.”
Castiel was already skimming through the files, picking out what he thought was most crucial.
“We’ve also got the current location—a warehouse near the docks. We don’t know when they're planning to move. If they do… we might lose them for good. I want you and Jody to lead the takedown. Bring as many officers as you need. We can't afford to screw this up.”
Castiel nodded once, his thoughts already shifting to the new assignment. “Yes, Captain.”
It was the only thing he said.
Charlie didn’t stop him as he turned to leave. She knew better than to push when he got like this. Over the years, she’d come to know him well enough to recognize when there was nothing more he was willing to say.
As he walked out the door, he could’ve sworn he heard her mutter under her breath, “Please come back alive.”
Castiel moved through the office with a one-track mind. A few officers greeted him with small nods, but he was too absorbed in the case files to pay them any mind. The truth was, they expected this kind of behavior from him. He’d been distant for a long time, and some of the newer hires had never even met the version of him people used to like. These days, he mostly stayed silent unless he had something to say about a case.
Castiel arrived at his desk, snatched his winter coat from the back of the chair, and shrugged it on in one fluid motion. He skimmed through the files one last time before tossing the folder onto the cluttered tabletop with a thud. It skidded across the surface and knocked a few pens to the floor, but he didn’t stop to pick them up.
Without missing a beat, he turned and scanned the room until he spotted Lieutenant Mills leaning over a desk near the whiteboard, flipping through a stack of case files. He approached in a few quick strides, and she glanced over her shoulder as he came to a stop beside her.
“Lieutenant Mills,” he said in place of a greeting. “We’re being sent out to secure and seize control of a human trafficking base. Captain’s orders. I was told you’ve been lead on the case. We’re moving now—before they leave the city.”
Lieutenant Mills straightened slightly, instantly alert. “Best news I’ve had all day. I’ve been waiting long enough to get those bastards into custody. Do we have a team?”
“Team of five. Small enough to move quietly, big enough to take control once we’re in.”
She hummed in agreement, her hand already moving toward her radio. “So we need three more people. How about—”
“Sergeant Lafitte, Sergeant Harvelle, and Officer Claire Novak,” he cut in before she could suggest anyone. “We don’t have time to weigh options. They’re solid, and they’re on shift. We move now.”
She gave him a look, almost offended, but didn’t argue. No one usually did anymore. Other officers were tired of interacting with him, and he was tired of interacting with them. Most had probably figured out that trying to change Castiel’s mind when he was locked in on a case was like trying to move a wall with your bare hands.
“Got it. I’ll grab them. We got a ride?”
“A black SUV out front,” he confirmed. He'd taken care of it before leaving the captain's office.
They split without another word. Castiel returned to his desk, wrapped up a few final tasks, and mentally ran through potential scenarios, trying to prepare for anything.
The second he stepped outside, the cold hit him like a slap. His breath was visible in the winter air, but all he could think was that it was a good thing there was no snow—otherwise, their black SUV would stick out like a sore thumb against all the white.
Lieutenant Mills was already waiting beside it, rechecking their equipment, bundled in a dark brown coat that wouldn’t restrict her movements.
Behind her, Sergeant Lafitte leaned against the vehicle, arms folded across his broad chest. He gave Castiel a nod. “Cold as a witch’s tit out here, huh, brother?” he said, casual as ever, but Castiel knew he wasn’t expecting a response.
Sergeant Harvelle rounded the back of the SUV, snapping the last of her gear into place. “About time. I was starting to think you’d left without us.”
Castiel didn’t react to the jab. She grinned anyway and secured her gun inside her holster with practiced ease.
Claire was last to appear, jogging up from the side entrance of the precinct. Her cheeks were red from the cold, but she moved with swift efficiency, as if completely unaffected by it.
“Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “Had to re-check my weapon after I let a rookie train on it this morning.”
Sergeant Lafitte chuckled. “Poor rookie, probably thought you were gonna shoot ‘em with it.”
Claire flashed him a grin. “I might’ve.”
Castiel opened the passenger door and climbed in without a word, motioning for the rest to pile into the vehicle. Once inside, he gave the briefing. Normally, Lieutenant Mills would handle this part, but Castiel had a clear vision of what needed to happen, and how, so he took the reins without a second thought.
“New intel says the trafficking group we’ve been tracking is moving their ‘cargo’ tonight,” he said, finger-quoting the word, his expression tight. “We have a narrow window. Location’s a warehouse near the docks. The tip looks solid, but we treat this like a high-priority welfare check first. If we confirm the presence of trafficked individuals or illegal activity, we move in. Take whoever we can into custody, but prioritize the victims’ safety.”
Sergeant Harvelle’s eyes narrowed as she gave a sharp nod. Sergeant Lafitte followed, casualness replaced by cold focus.
Claire’s lips pressed into a thin line, her expression hardening. Castiel knew that if the intel was right, this could become the most brutal assignment she’d faced so far.
Lieutenant Mills sat behind the wheel. She’d been silent until now, reviewing the case files and double-checking coordinates.
“If the tip’s legit, we need to hit hard and fast,” she said.
Castiel agreed. “We’ll breach if necessary.” After a beat, almost reluctantly, he added, “Stay safe.”
He looked out the window as the engine started, his mind zeroed in on the most critical details about the warehouse and its surroundings. He could hear the others talking, but most of it didn’t register.
Charlie had asked him to come back alive. Even when he continued to ignore and shut her out, she never stopped trying. She must have really not wanted him to die.
With a resigned kind of acceptance, he realized he didn’t care either way.
The SUV rolled to a quiet stop several blocks from the suspected site. Officer Mills killed the engine, and Castiel's eyes locked on the old warehouse in the distance. No visible movement from here, but they'd need to get a closer look.
No one in the car said a word. As the five of them stepped out into the frigid January air, they kept their voices low and their movements quiet.
"One of us should get closer. See if anyone’s outside," Castiel said, nodding toward the large structure. "Wait here. I'll go," he added a second later, already stepping forward.
"No, you won’t," Lieutenant Mills said flatly.
He stopped short and nearly slipped on the frozen pavement—not having considered, even for a second, that his decision might be challenged.
Slightly embarrassed, he gathered himself and schooled his expression before turning to face her with a raised eyebrow.
"You’re too intense for recon," she added from the back of the SUV, digging through their weapons. "I'll go. Sending you out on a reconnaissance mission is like bringing a grizzly bear to a child’s tea party."
Claire snorted audibly behind him and tried to turn it into a cough. Failed miserably.
Castiel, begrudgingly, backed down. “Fine.”
Lieutenant Mills walked past them and melted into the shadows, quickly disappearing from sight. It didn’t take long. When she got back, the focus and resolve in her eyes reminded Castiel he wasn't the only lieutenant here.
"There’s a van parked behind the building, unmarked. Two men out front by the main entrance. Both armed," Lieutenant Mills reported. "The warehouse is supposed to be completely abandoned. The fact that anyone's here at all means something's definitely up."
"Just two guys? Anyone else?" Sergeant Lafitte asked, brows furrowed.
She shook her head. "Didn’t see more outside. If there are more, they’re either inside or not back yet. It’s still before noon, maybe they're not planning to move until later.”
Castiel considered this, the plan forming fast in his mind.
“No need to make a scene if we can help it,” he began. “If those two out front are the only ones, we knock them out quietly and bring them in for questioning. A silent approach gives us the advantage. If there are more inside, we go in fast. Lethal force only if they resist hard enough to pose a threat.”
The others listened as he laid it out. Their silence was as good as a green light.
"One of us distracts the guards. Two circle to the back and approach from behind to knock them out. The last two stay back with a clear line of sight. If anything goes wrong, they neutralize the threat."
"You and Sergeant Lafitte go around back," Lieutenant Mills said. "You’re the tallest and best at hand-to-hand combat. You can handle it if it comes down to a struggle."
“The only struggle’ll be knocking them out gently enough not to break anything important,” Sergeant Lafitte commented with a smirk.
Claire stepped forward, zipping up her coat to hide her uniform. "I should be the one to distract them. I look the least like a cop. I can pass for a lost teenager if I keep my gun out of sight."
Jody hesitated. "I don’t like putting our youngest on display.”
"I’m not a kid," Claire said firmly. "I’m an officer, and we're on a rescue mission. I can do this."
Jody let out a slow breath. "Alright. But you'd better be careful.”
"Always am," Claire replied, pulling up her hood with practiced confidence.
"That means Jo and I will stay further back with rifles. We’ll cover you," Lieutenant Mills added.
Sergeant Harvelle grinned. "Fine by me. I feel the most confident when I’m shooting bastards in the face."
They went over final positions, agreeing on one more important detail: a codeword. If Claire said “Nebraska” in a conversation, that was the signal for Castiel and Sergeant Lafitte to move in. It had to be subtle enough to slip by unnoticed, but distinct enough to be unmistakable to them.
With weapons in place and roles assigned, they split. Lieutenant Mills and Sergeant Harvelle settled into a concealed position down the block, rifles ready. Castiel and Sergeant Lafitte began their quiet route around the back of the warehouse, keeping to walls and shadows.
Claire waited until everyone was in position, then made her move. She approached the warehouse slowly, hands shoved deep in her coat pockets, her posture hunched like someone trying to ward off the cold.
Castiel waited at the side of the warehouse, a familiar calm settling over his mind. The rest of the world faded away, and there was only this, here and now.
Claire’s voice rang out. "Hey! Sorry, I—um, I think I’m lost? I was trying to find my uncle’s repair shop… He said it was on this street, but I think I turned the wrong way. I don't know."
One of the guards replied, tone skeptical. "What’s your uncle’s name?"
"Greg," Claire said, hesitating just the right amount. "Greg Walden. Do you know him? He forgot to pack lunch, so I was bringing him something to eat."
The other guard laughed, low and ugly. "Don’t think there’s any Greg working around here. You sure you’re not lost on purpose, kid?"
"Nah, she ain’t lost," the first one added. "She’s just real pretty and real stupid."
Castiel felt his jaw tighten.
Claire kept her voice soft. "I’m actually from Nebraska. Just moved here. Everything looks the same to me."
The second the word left her mouth, Castiel moved.
He crept around the corner, steps steady and quiet. He took care to make little to no sound. His target had his back slightly turned, focused solely on Claire.
Castiel rushed in without hesitation, one arm locking around his target’s neck, the other bracing the back of his skull. He applied just the right amount of controlled pressure that spoke of years of experience. With a clean chokehold, he brought the man down in seconds without difficulty.
Across from him, Sergeant Lafitte had done the same. The second guard was out cold.
Claire turned back, a grin already forming on her face. "Told ya."
"Damn fine acting, lil’ Novak," Benny said as he cuffed his guy. "You'd nearly fooled me, and I knew the plan."
Jody jogged up to them. "Good work. Let’s get inside."
They hauled the unconscious guards in through the main doors. Inside was a small, enclosed space that looked like some sort of entryway. It was bare except for a few dusty boxes, a single chair in the corner that looked like it had seen better days, and a closed door leading deeper into the building.
The place looked abandoned, just like the exterior suggested, but that was to be expected. There was no electricity here. The only light came from a small, high-set window, but it offered just enough visibility.
They dumped the two unconscious men inside, cuffed and out of sight, then turned to face the door.
Castiel raised a hand, signaling the others to wait. With the other, he gently pushed the door open a few inches and leaned forward to peer through the crack.
It was dim inside. Not completely dark though, which meant some kind of light source had been rigged in this part of the building. He waited for his eyes to adjust. The warehouse interior had no windows, just as the case file had said, so the artificial light was welcome, as faint as it was.
There were railings here and there, storage boxes scattered across the floor, but Castiel wasn’t looking at any of that. His eyes focused on the far-left corner, where several shapes lay huddled on the floor.
At first, they were so still he thought they might be trash or mannequins. His eyes narrowed. He looked again.
People. They were people. And they were very, very still.
He swallowed and whispered, "All clear."
Lieutenant Mills, Sergeant Lafitte, and Claire followed him in, weapons drawn. They moved carefully, alert in the face of the heavy silence. Castiel doubted more guards would jump out of the shadows—the place was so quiet, he wouldn’t have missed the sound of a pin dropping.
Fifteen people, he counted as they approached. Fifteen of varying ethnicity, gender and age. The oldest ones looked to be in their mid twenties. One boy looked like he could barely be in middle school.
Castiel felt something sharp twist in his chest. He refused to think about the girl from nine years ago. He shot the memory down as soon as it crawled up. He'd gotten good at that.
"Radio Sergeant Harvelle," he said to Lieutenant Mills, making an effort to keep his voice even. "Tell her to start the call-in. The rest of us will check the victims’ vitals."
They got to work.
He crouched beside the boy he’d noticed first. The kid was lightly bruised, but alive and breathing. He didn't even stir as Castiel looked him over. He was probably drugged, kept unconscious on purpose.
The next three fared similarly.
Then he reached the last one—a young man, late teens or early twenties, slumped in the farthest corner of the room. His body was folded awkwardly, head leaning against the wall like he was seconds from collapsing fully.
Castiel knelt beside him, checking his pulse. It was faint, but it was there. Next, he made sure the man was breathing. He felt soft puffs of air against his palm as he held it near the man’s mouth. The man's chest rose and fell, but barely so.
Assured the victim was still fighting, Castiel moved to assess his condition. Only then did he realize how bad it truly was.
He was filthy, malnourished, and bruised so badly that purple might as well have been his skin tone. His clothes were torn and far too thin to keep him from freezing in the middle of winter. His right ankle was swollen and red, easily twice the size it should have been. Walking would be near impossible, and extremely painful if attempted. His wrists were bound with thick rope, tight enough to make Castiel worry about circulation. He untied it as gently as he could.
Castiel couldn’t wrap his head around it. Why bind this one? None of the others were. And none of them were in such a bad state. It was a miracle the man was still alive.
He needed medical attention, fast. He’d have to be prioritized when the ambulance arrived.
Castiel moved to shift him into a more comfortable position, one hand cupping his jaw, the other arm around his side to lower him gently to the ground.
He turned his head to look at the rest of his team and opened his mouth to ask how long until the ambulance showed up. But before a sound could leave him, he felt a twitch against his palm.
His head snapped back to the man in his arms.
With eyes open wide, the man was now staring back at him.
His eyes were green, Castiel noticed, and blood rushed to his ears, drowning out everything but his rapid heartbeat. It was the shade of green that could’ve been its own color entirely.
Castiel didn't even think, he couldn't. His mouth opened on its own, the words that slipped out next not even registering:
"I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re safe now."
The man went still.
So did Castiel.
It felt like everything had come to a stop. Castiel couldn't move, couldn't think. He and the man just stared at each other as time seemed to slip away completely.
Then the moment shattered.
Sirens blared outside, snapping Castiel out of… whatever had just happened.
The man jerked like he’d also just come back to reality. Suddenly, he was moving, thrashing violently in Castiel’s grip and trying to break free. Castiel willed himself to focus and let go immediately, not wanting the man to hurt himself further.
He raised both hands, palms up, keeping his posture as non-threatening as possible.
Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel saw Lieutenant Mills start to step forward. Without taking his eyes off the man, he lifted one hand in her direction and gave a small shake of his head to keep her back. The man was overwhelmed enough, and it would only make things worse if people started crowding him.
The man’s breathing turned frantic, coming in fast, shallow gasps. Castiel had enough experience to recognize the signs of a panic attack immediately.
He took a steadying breath and carefully shifted on his knees, inching a little closer.
“You're having a panic attack,” he said in a low, composed tone. “You need to slow down, or you'll pass out, alright? Breathe with me.”
He inhaled deeply. “In.”
Then exhaled slowly. “And out.”
He repeated the process a few more times, holding the man's gaze and hoping it would actually work.
Relief washed over him when the man began to mirror his breathing. It was still shaky and uneven, but it was slowing down. His whole body remained tense, and he looked like he wanted to sink into the ground and disappear, but the worst of the panic seemed to be passing. Castiel would take what he could get.
“Just like that,” he said softly. “You're doing fine. Keep going.”
Once he was sure the man wouldn’t spiral again, Castiel tried to offer more context. The man had every right to be distrustful, and Castiel hoped that giving him more information might restore a small sense of control.
“I’m a lieutenant with the police force. Castiel Novak.”
He started with that, because he wanted the man to know who he was—not just a stranger in a uniform, but someone that could represent safety. That usually brought some level of relief to victims in situations like this.
The man didn’t respond, but Castiel saw his gaze flick briefly to the side, as if only now realizing there were other people in the room.
Castiel knew how a victim's mind worked. More people meant more chances for one of them to mean him harm. He didn’t want this to set the man off again, so he spoke quickly, trying to keep his attention centered.
“We're here to help you,” Castiel continued. “You’re very badly hurt, and there’s an ambulance outside. The medics will come in and take you—”
He stopped when the man had started shaking his head rapidly, his entire body twitching like he wanted to get up and run, but didn’t have any strength left.
Castiel didn’t know what triggered the reaction, but he didn’t back down.
“The medics will not hurt you. They’re here to give you first aid and then take you to the hospital, where a doctor will treat you. You’re in pain, aren’t you? The doctor will help make it stop. I promise.”
The man was still shaking his head, but it didn’t seem as certain this time. It looked more like a reflex than a decision. Castiel felt like they were getting somewhere and gently pressed on.
“I can go with you. I’ll make sure no one does anything you don’t want them to. Can you nod your head for yes if that sounds okay?”
The man hesitated. His eyes flicked toward the other victims, some of whom were already receiving aid from the medics. Then he looked back at Castiel.
After a few long seconds, his shoulders slumped. The fight seemed to drain out of him all at once. He looked down at his hands, no longer bound by rope, and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Castiel let out a quiet breath, only then realizing he'd been holding it in the first place.
He turned his head, still kneeling, and caught Claire's eye. She was watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite read.
Not important. He waved her over.
She came immediately, but Castiel didn’t miss the way the man flinched at the approach of someone new, like it was instinct to shrink away. And it probably was, considering what had been done to him.
“I need you to get a medic,” he told Claire. “Someone who can check him out. I’m riding with him in the ambulance. You all head back to the precinct without me. I'll join you later.”
Claire raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised, but didn’t comment. She just nodded and walked off.
Castiel felt a wave of gratitude for that. He didn’t have the capacity to explain anything right now. He didn't even understand himself. He’d figure it out later. Maybe.
Claire returned a minute later with a medic—a woman who looked close to her age. She had blonde hair tied back in a low ponytail and wore a soft, kind expression. She looked a bit like Sergeant Harvelle, but she was all soft edges and soothing where the sergeant was harsh and full of fire.
“You can call me Jess,” she said, voice warm but professional.
“Lieutenant Novak,” he replied, mostly out of habit, and almost immediately realized the introduction had probably been meant for the victim.
Jess approached the man with care, speaking softly and clearly as she explained each step before she took it. She made no sudden movements, carrying herself with calm efficiency and kindness. It was a textbook approach for a victim in this condition, and Castiel found himself genuinely impressed, especially considering she looked no older than twenty.
The man remained frozen, not relaxing but not resisting either. His eyes never left her hands.
When she finished, she crouched beside him and said, “You won’t be able to walk in the state you’re in, so I’m going to give you two choices, alright?”
She waited until he looked at her.
“I can either call two medics to bring in a stretcher and carry you out, or we can have one person carry you themselves.”
Before the man could respond, Castiel heard himself say, “I could do that.”
He froze the moment the words left his mouth. He didn't mean to say that. It had just… slipped out.
Both Jess and the man turned to look at him, and Castiel felt heat rise to his face.
“I mean… if you want,” he added, awkwardly. Then, glancing at Jess as if he needed to justify himself, he said, “I, uh, promised I’d go with him.”
He looked away, too embarrassed to meet their eyes. God, what was wrong with him?
To his shock, the man sat still for a beat, then gave another small nod.
Jess blinked. “Would you let Lieutenant Novak carry you to the ambulance?”
This time, the nod came without hesitation.
Castiel didn’t know what to say. Maybe it was better if he said nothing. Opening his mouth had been a mixed experience today.
He slid a little closer to the man, then glanced back at Jess, uncertain. “How do I…?” He gestured vaguely toward him.
She seemed to understand right away. “One arm under the armpits, one under the knees,” she explained. “It avoids pressure on the ankle and minimizes contact.”
“Right. Understood.”
Castiel braced himself, stood, and bent down to lift the man carefully. The man tensed up like a startled animal, but didn’t resist otherwise.
He looked like a deer in headlights, but allowed himself to be carried. His hands trembled slightly where they were clasped together over his lower stomach. Letting a stranger hold him while he was this vulnerable had to take immense courage. In that moment, Castiel knew without a doubt that this man was a fighter.
Jess led the way toward the ambulance, and Castiel followed. The man was light in his arms, far too light, even with all his muscles tensed up.
They climbed inside. Jess immediately resumed treatment, her movements quick and practiced. No one spoke, and Castiel let the silence settle his thoughts after everything that had just happened.
He stayed close enough to remain within the man’s line of sight, but far enough not to hover. Castiel's hands were starting to shake, though whether it was the adrenaline wearing off or something else entirely, he wasn’t sure.
The man wasn’t looking at him anymore. His attention was on Jess, cautiously watching her hands move.
And Castiel, in turn, couldn’t stop watching him.
Castiel sat on the hospital bench, his back against the wall. His gaze was fixed on some indistinct point ahead, body still.
“Castiel?”
He jolted slightly, pulled out of his daze as the voice registered. A doctor stood to his left, looking at him expectantly.
Not just any doctor.
Her face was pale, drawn tight from whatever she’d seen before walking over to him.
“Any news?” he asked, his voice low.
He used to call her Doctor or Dr. Harvelle, but she’d once threatened bodily harm if he didn’t just use her first name. He hadn’t had much choice but to comply.
Castiel was glad she’d been assigned to the man he brought in. She was reliable. He trusted her. And because they were acquainted, she’d be more willing to share information that another doctor might not.
“Kid’ll be fine,” she said, to Castiel’s relief. “Gave us a scare when you ran in with him seizing like he was possessed, but we got him stabilized. He’s asleep now, which is good. It gave me time to assess and treat every injury without causing him more stress.”
She sighed, suddenly looking very tired.
“He’s got a few cracked ribs, and a couple places that were broken once and never healed properly. We can’t do much about that now, though. His ankle’s in bad shape, but it’s salvageable. He’ll need to stay off it for a while and do some physical therapy. His nose was broken, but we managed to set it straight. He was in the early stages of hypothermia, and he’s probably fighting off a mild flu, but a nurse is managing the fever.”
She hesitated for a moment before continuing.
“There was some… internal damage. I won’t go into detail, but the kid’s definitely been assaulted more than once. I collected… DNA samples. You should run them. See if you get a match.”
Castiel had thought he couldn’t possibly feel worse. He was wrong. His vision tilted slightly. He prayed the contents of his stomach would stay where they were.
Ellen went on, either unaware of his reaction or choosing not to acknowledge it.
“And obviously, there’s the visible stuff—he’s too thin, too weak. He has bruises, cuts, burns… there are so many. Old and new, some layered over others. I don’t know where you found him, Castiel, but this kid looks like he’s been tortured. Not in a way meant to kill him, just to keep him in pain for a long time.”
She shook her head, like she was trying to chase the image from her mind.
“Haven’t seen anything this cruel in a long time. And I’m a doctor with over twenty years in the field. It’s good you brought him in when you did. I don’t know how much longer he could’ve lasted.” She gripped the medical files in her hand so tightly her fingers went white. “I think his body was already starting to shut down.”
Castiel listened closely, absorbing every detail. As much as hearing it turned his stomach, his gut told him he needed to know. And he’d learned never to ignore a gut feeling.
Castiel looked down at his hands. There was blood on them.
Huh. He hadn’t noticed that before. It must’ve gotten there when he was carrying the man to the ambulance. Or maybe when he’d run through the hospital doors with him seizing in his arms. Hard to say. The blood was dark red, already dry.
“Castiel.”
He heard the voice again.
…Ellen. Right. Ellen was here.
“Castiel, can you look at me?”
He raised his head. His eyes found hers. Even though she looked exhausted, her expression was gentle. She sat down next to him on the bench and took both his hands in hers, covering them—and the blood.
“He’s going to be okay. That boy is alive because of you. Whatever you’re feeling right now is the byproduct of a lot of intense, negative emotions. And it will pass. But for now, I want you to start taking deep breaths for me, and keep going until I get back. Alright?”
She gave his hands a light squeeze.
“I’m going to get you a cup of tea and some wet tissues. And I swear, if you’re not doing those breath exercises when I get back, I’ll knee you in the gut.”
The last part was said with a softer edge, and it earned the smallest of smiles from Castiel.
“Thanks, Ellen,” he said quietly.
“Better start breathing, boy, or you won’t be thanking me next time we meet,” she said with a matching smile, giving his hands one more squeeze before standing up and walking off.
Just like she’d ordered, Castiel started paying attention to his breathing, making sure it was steady and deep. He actually started to feel a little better after keeping at it for a few minutes.
He startled when he felt a vibration in his coat pocket. Without thinking, he pulled out his phone and unlocked it to check who was trying to reach him.
The message was from Charlie.
Captain: Hey, Castiel. I heard what happened. Are you still at the hospital? Do you know the victim? I could come over and we could hang out. Y'know, talk. Work’s done here anyway :)
He stared at the screen for a long time, the cursor blinking in the reply box.
Apparently long enough for Ellen to return.
Suddenly someone was sitting next to him, and his phone was gently pried away by weathered fingers. The next moment, his hands were being cleaned with wet wipes, the blood coming off easily and staining the white cloth dark red. When she finished, a cup of warm tea was handed to him. He grasped it with both hands, brought it to his lips, and breathed in the steam.
“You should take her up on the offer,” Ellen said gently.
“Huh?” Castiel blinked, coming out of his daze. He turned toward her. She was holding his phone, still open to the message.
“Oh,” he remembered. Charlie had texted him. “I don’t know,” he added, uncertain.
“Well, I do know,” Ellen replied, rolling her eyes. “So stop worrying and just trust me on this, hm?”
Castiel looked away and took a sip of the tea. Chamomile. She’d even added honey. Was it a coincidence, or did she actually remember he preferred it to sugar?
“Okay.”
Ellen gave him a double take, disbelief flickering across her face. “Really?”
“Yes. I will accept Charlie’s request to ‘hang out,’” he said, holding the cup in one hand so he could make air quotes with the other. Then he reached out and took his phone back from her.
“Good,” Ellen said, offering him the least strained smile he’d seen from her all day. “You did a great thing today, and you’ll keep doing great things. Give yourself a little credit.”
“...Thank you,” he replied, tone resigned but lighter. It felt good to hear that. He felt guilty accepting the praise, but he needed it too much to care.
Ellen watched him as he typed out a short reply to Charlie, agreeing to meet.
“Now, I’ve gotta go check on my other patients, but if you need anything, you’ll find me somewhere around here,” she said, giving his back a light slap as she stood.
Then she paused.
“And if someone happens to go down the hallway and then turn right, and then happens to see door number 130, and it turns out that room happens to belong to a recently rescued young man… Well. That'd be a pretty wild coincidence, don't you think?”
And with that, she was gone.
Castiel got up so fast he almost fell over.