Chapter Text
Breathe In
The air is thick in the tailor’s shop. And muffled, every corner packed with spools of thread, making the chatter in the background sound far away. Someone is having a great time; it would almost be cozy on a normal day.
But when Castiel glances at the tailor and meets his eyes, he wishes he could just walk out and go home.
Breathe in.
For the last four years, Castiel Novak has never taken a day off - not even two hours.
Let that sink in.
So, of course, if someone were to ask his patients, colleagues and employers about him, they would say with no hesitation that he's the epitome of professionalism, one the best surgeons they've ever met: zealous, attentive, hardworking, and present. But if a stranger were to ask him, he'd change the subject.
Maybe, after some convincing, he would finally say that he is nothing special, that he's just one of the many doctors working like this and it's just his job. But if someone really pressed him, pushing his buttons, Castiel would eventually crumble and admit that, when your life is as empty as his, working all day, every day, is all you can do.
And it's almost easy. It becomes natural, part of of who you are along with the void you harbor inside.
Breathe out.
He's a workaholic, not the epitome of professionalism nor a savior, but this was Castiel before Jack.
Castiel before Dean. This was the Dr. Novak everyone knew since he started working there, the surgeon everyone still root for, someone who had always been available at any given time. Till he came across Jack.
But these people: they met Dr. Novak, not Castiel.
He's very aware of this, and so is Crowley as he loves him to remember.
So, days off are a new. Even if his priorities have shifted in the last few months, he has never needed them. And that's why he thought his boss would request some kind of clarification when, three days ago, he told her that he was going on annual leave for two whole weeks.
(Two whole weeks. Insane to even think about it, let alone say that aloud.)
She would want an explanation for sure - that had been Castiel's guess before entering her office because it was also without prior notice; but no, he'd never been more wrong. Because Amara, his president, just acknowledged him silently - which sounded like good news at first: uncommon, yes, but good. Usually, she loves to pester him with questions, trying to grasp any private information she can. She looked at him in silence for a whole minute; actually, she stared at him in a funny, creepy way; then, after that, she sniffed at him and just commented in a surprised, incredulous tone that made him cringe: "I thought I wouldn't see this day!".
And then she left it at that, no questions asked, implying something he did not want to acknowledge, exposing him in a way that felt worse than being naked in front of an entire theater. When he didn't reply she bid him farewell with, "See you at your wedding!", before scrolling on her iPad to arrange the new turns to cover for him.
That was a few days ago. Three or four? He doesn't know; he can't remember exactly when because his mind is still scattered, but he remembers way too well the interaction.
Horrible. Horrible feeling. He felt called out, he felt at fault, but most of all he felt judged.
At the memory, he can't stop a grimace that the tailor currently working on his suit knowingly ignores.
Because, yes, Amara saw through him for the first time and drew her conclusions, and, damn, it's been so awkward.
He just sat there in her office, mouth wide open, his hormones running rampant, while his boss implied that he needed a week off because he's in rut and can't control himself. And she isn't even wrong on the first guess (he is in rut, in fact), but the rest... And, for Heaven's sake, Amara could have avoided commenting on it in the first place, couldn't she? You'd think this is something that HR should warn you about, not to comment on your employee's conditions.
Breathe in.
It's hard. Back then, he had to smoke two cigarettes in a row to recover because thinking of the implication of that interaction makes him crazy - just like Dean's name now makes him squirm in the worst way. And, fuck, he was instantly hit by shame too. Because one he is quitting smoking, two he's an absolute mess for an omega that never consented to be lusted for. Dean would be horrified. But these are battles for another day, let's keep focused on ignoring the urge to claw at the suit he's trying on.
He needs to get a grip on himself.
"Is everything well, sir?" The tailor working on his suit glances up, concern etched on his face. He's an old man in his sixties, gray in his hair and eyes.
In response, Castiel would growl out in frustration if it were acceptable, but it isn't, so he nods with glazed eyes. He doesn't even try to smile, though. That would be too fake, and he doesn't think he can actually pull it off right now.
"Terrific," he reassures in a flat tone while the old man adjusts his sleeves, but he can tell that the beta doesn't believe him.
This man doesn't need to smell him to know his mood is foul and recognize in Castiel an alpha in rut - skepticism in his eyes.
The surgeon sighs deeply, the urge to scream building inside him again and again; pain claws at his throat, but he swallows it down.
It's hard but manageable.
To be safe, he thinks of Jack to steady himself.
Breathe out.
The tailor is smart, he doesn't comment further (not like his boss did).
"Is the appointment for the other groom confirmed for Sunday?" he just asks.
He's being practical.
And Castiel can just nod.
Yes. Yes, it is, but he doesn't have the clarity to say anything else.
The tailor seems to understand.
Breathe in.
The funny thing is that he can only nod because the thought of Dean makes him go feral. Mental.
Pronouncing his name is too much. He can't speak now.
He's been an idiot, really. He did not see the signs.
And he's a doctor! To not recognize the beginning of a heat in Dean, not even think about the possibility of it...
Of course they kissed! Dean wasn't himself. How could Castiel think it could mean something? The Winchester must hate him now. And, jokes on him, talking to Dean through a door while he was in heat had been enough to solicit his own rut.
Really, he's a joke. It's been for the better that Dean stayed there and didn't come back home, back with him, as Castiel first suggested.
The surgeon has no idea how he would have handled that. If the Winchester agreed, it would have been challenging - not thinking about him is hard, hard enough without having to live with him - being able to sniff his scent all day, every day, but not having the option to even touch him would have been a descent into madness.
Shame floods him.
He can't recognize himself.
Breathe out.
Seriously, though, he's been an idiot: he was so caught up in the situation that he even told him: "My door's always open".
Who knows what Dean thinks of him now? It's not like he wanted to take advantage or suggest anything with it: it slipped, he didn't have ulterior motives; he's just never been great with words. But yeah, Dean has every right to think that Castiel is a weirdo, to think that he wanted to play him.
He had seen the same thing happening to his mother.
It wouldn't be a stretch; that's how he came to be.
And maybe Crowley has been right all along: deep inside, he is just another alpha who can't control himself like his father. Because it's sick how he still can't help himself from thinking about Dean; from imagining things he should not.
Fighting this rut is remarkably harder than a regular one; he had to stop working for one. And if Dean were to read his mind, he would never look him straight in the eye...
Maybe it's already too late, and the Winchester doesn't want to get married anymore.
Breathe in.
Well, he'll find out soon enough.
At least his suit will be ready if they indeed get married.