Rx: Physical Therapy

Consultation

Coffee. Without it, Dean Winchester failed to function. Given his new workload in a new hospital and a whole new list of patients, he needed all the energy he could get. No one should be forced to wake, let alone function, at such an unholy hour. His only saving grace was the empty café at six o'clock in the morning. And sure, if pressed, he couldn't complain about the sun rising over the trees of the nearby park.

The barista called his name and set his coffee on the counter. When Dean picked it up, he thanked her by name. She thanked him in return with a wink and a, "See ya tomorrow, sweetie." Not uncommon, her flirtation, but Dean blushed anyway.

Drink in hand, he sipped from the steaming cup as he turned for the door. The rays of early sunlight warmed his chilled bones on his way out as he passed the large café windows. With his mind racing in eight different directions, he pushed aside the front door only to stumble through it. Lucky for him, a man he recognized from the hospital was on his way in and caught Dean by the shoulder.

"Hey, slow down," the man said. "I don't need to see you in my office with a dislocated shoulder."

Dean placed him at the sound of his voice. "Dr. Novak," he breathed. "What... what are you doing here?"

"Keeping you from falling flat on your face, it seems," Castiel replied. "Aside from getting coffee, that is," he added with a nod towards Dean's cup.

No shit. Smooth, Dean. Very smooth. What else would a guy be doing at a coffee shop at six o'clock in the morning? "Yeah," he started. "Sorry about the door. In a bit of a hurry, was hoping to get to the office early. Catch up on paperwork."

"Behind already?" Castiel asked with a small smile.

Dean struggled to focus on his words as Castiel's bright blue eyes threatened to drown him. No. Not just any blue. Azure. Even in the dim light of the morning sun, that was painfully obvious.

"Mr. Winchester? Are you..."

He shook his head. "I'm good. Sorry, the paper work. Yeah, it's crept up on me. You know you send me at least one new post-op a week, right?"

Castiel laughed and Dean felt an unfamiliar sting in his cheeks at that. How had this man, a man he hardly knew, managed to fluster him so fast? The thought fled when Castiel spoke. "I'm the best surgeon in town, and you're about to be the busiest physical therapist as a result." He clapped Dean on the shoulder again. "Can I give you some advice?"

About work or personal things, Dean thought. The question vanished as quickly as it manifested. "Absolutely."

"Lean on your staff. They work for you for a reason," Castiel said. "You'll retain your sanity that way. And free up your evenings."

"My evenings?" Dean asked.

Castiel breathed a short laugh through his nose as he looked to his feet. "Like this Friday evening. Instead of doing paperwork, you could go out. Have a drink."

When Castiel's gaze returned to Dean's, he froze. Sudden understanding washed over him like a tidal wave, and he stuttered his reply. "I... could do that. I think."

"There's an Irish pub down the street. Meet me there at eight on Friday?" Castiel asked.

Dean nodded as he smiled, still baffled by the doctor's sudden behavior. Several seconds passed before he gathered his wits and replied. "As long as it's not a date."

Castiel's smile rivaled that of the rising sun. "I never said anything about a date."

"Good," Dean retorted. "Drinks between colleagues then."

When Castiel squeezed his shoulder, Dean cleared his throat to hide the sharp suck of his breath. Castiel repeated him with a crooked smile. "Drinks between colleagues. See you then."

And then, he was gone. As if Dean had imagined the entire conversation, Castiel disappeared around the corner without another look.