Lightning Does Strike Twice

However I Can

A month or so after Cas moved in with me, I found him staring intently at his laptop when I came home from work. I shrugged off my coat and dropped my things on the table before I joined Cas on the sofa. His hair was messy and he was still in his pajamas. "What's going on? You look very focused."

He closed his laptop, slid it onto the coffee table, and held out one of his arms. I wasn't exactly sure what he was wanting, but I took it as an invitation to lay on his lap. "I was," he replied, combing his fingers through my hair, "until you interrupted me." His tone was light, though; he wasn't mad that I pulled him away from whatever he was doing. "Why are you home so early?"

"I'm not. I always get home at seven when I work." I knew I hadn't been working much for the past month with exams and life with Cas settling down, but I thought my schedule had been pretty routine lately. I thought Cas knew when I got home by now.

"It's seven already?" He squinted out the window. Cas told me that when he was in the hospital, he had one of the specialized healers improve his eyesight. His contacts were giving him terrible headaches, and he said his glasses were destroyed in the fire that night. It was just easier to fix his eyes than to get new glasses, though it was a bit more expensive. That was his only regret, he told me: making his parents spend more money on him. But every once in a while, I'd catch him squinting like he couldn't see again. Cas claimed it was just a habit. "I must have lost track of time."

"Must have been important."

"I was looking for a job," he said casually. "But now I'm hungry. What are you thinking for dinner? Over the weekend, I got some-"

I stopped him. "Wait. Back up. You're getting a job?" I sat up so I could face him. "Since when?"

Suddenly Cas looked extremely bashful. "Well, I've thought about it for a while. It's just that you're working and paying all the bills. I feel like I need to help somehow, even if it's a part time job."

"Cas, you need to take this slow, remember?" The idea of him taking on too much and having a relapse of his unstability made me uneasy. It terrified me, actually. "Dr. Tracy said-"

"I know what he said. But he also said that I should make this transition as comfortable as possible, which means I need constants in my life." He reached for my hands, squeezing them gently. "You are one of those constants, but I need more of them. I need something else to ground me from day to day. I really think working a little will help me."

"Okay. If you're sure about this, I support you. I'll help you however I can."

And just like that, Cas moved on to a new conversation. He acted like working, which could cause all kinds of stressors that can affect him, wasn't any more important than the conversation about dinner that followed. I, on the other hand, could couldn't let it go.

While we were laying in bed that night, I ran my fingers down his back. "Are you still up?"

"Yeah. Why?"

I continued to draw shapes on his back. "What kind of job are you wanting? Do you want to go back to school?"

He hummed against my chest. "Well, I can't exactly go into the medical field like I wanted. People wouldn't want to go to a doctor who has been unstable and could forget all of their training at any moment. Even I wouldn't trust myself."

How can he say that? Sure, people are judging and can be unforgiving, but he can't give up. Not after everything he's been through. "Cas-"

"No, it's fine. I've accepted it by now." He let out a sigh that sounded more content than upset. "Time to move on to a new dream."

"Would you want to study something else? I'm sure you could get in anywhere you wanted. They'll understand why you only have half your credits for senior year if you include that in your application." I was already thinking about how he could present himself to an admission team that would land him a spot in college. I got a little ahead of myself, though.

"Dean, I made up those classes while I was in the hospital."

Huh. I don't know why I didn't think about that. Why didn't I know about that? Cas has his diploma. "Oh."

"I don't think I'll go back to school, though. I could start writing for a magazine or newspaper without a degree." He snuggled into my chest. "I already have a portfolio, so I'm pretty much set to start applying. I just have to find somewhere to work."

I knew there were plenty of things to comment on, but I could only focus on one. "I didn't know you write." How many things do I not know about Cas?

"Yeah. In the beginning, it was a sort of therapy I started a few years ago. The doctors told me to write down every memory I had in as much detail as possible, even if it was just a flicker of a memory." He let out a puff of air. It was almost a laugh, but not quite. Whatever it was made me smile. "You were the first thing I wrote about, actually. But it helped me hold onto those memories, and it just made me feel better, so I started writing about other things when I was stressed out or frustrated. When I couldn't remember my own life, I started writing about other people's. I've actually had a few things published."

"Really?"

"I was a sort of oddity back in Claydon," he explained, "so everyone loved to read what was going on in my life."

I was struck by just how much of Cas's life was a mystery to me. It wasn't that he was hiding things from me; there was simply too much for him to tell me everything. There was so much that I felt like I should know but didn't. Did he still like the bands he put on my mixtape back in high school? Was his favorite color green or was there something in the hospital that ruined it for him? Could he still recite musicals line by line? Was his favorite superhero still Captain America? Had he watched the recent Marvel movies? Should I even bring up the latest Avengers movies? I don't think I want to watch Cas respond to Bucky in Infinity War. There was just so much I didn't know. I didn't know how I was supposed to learn all of this, either. Time, I suppose. It would just take time to get to know him like I used to. It was worth the wait, though.

"If that's what you love now, we'll find somewhere for you to write." I pulled him close to me. "As long as I get to read some of your pieces."

"Deal." He snorted a little. "I guess you can read whatever you want when they're published."

"I don't get a special preview of them?"

"You wish."