Rx: Physical Therapy

Diagnosis

Dim yellow light dotted the bar where Castiel sat waiting with his nerves. Several patrons sat to either side of him, a second chair to his right reserved by his coat. Throughout the bar groups of friends, lovers, and families talked and laughed, reveling in their drink and company.

What in holy hell was he doing?

Once more, Castiel questioned his sanity. What had gotten into him? He had only met Dean a month ago when the hospital had opened their physical therapy wing. That had been a brief exchange when the young physical therapist had taken on the responsibility of rehabilitating Castiel's patients.

But Castiel would never forget the easy smile on Dean's face that first day. He would never forget the way Dean had looked him in the eye and Castiel, usually so witty, had fallen grossly silent. But that's all it had been. A brief connection in a brief moment that meant next to nothing.

But if that were the case, why had he invited Dean out for a drink? What had possessed him to behave with such recklessness?

The answer strode through the door clad in brown boots, tight black jeans, a light blue plaid shirt over a gray Henley, and leather jacket. Green eyes meet his as Dean spotted him, his face lighting up with his brilliant smile. He traversed the packed bar, navigating through the throng only to stop short as he reached Castiel.

A flicker of hesitation flashed in his gaze, and for a second, Castiel wondered if Dean had meant to hug him. He had thought to do the same but froze the moment Dean neared him. So, when Dean held out his hand, Castiel put on his best smile and shook it.

"Thanks for getting me out of the house," Dean said over the cacophony of the bar. "I don't do this much."

Confused, Castiel asked, "What do you mean? You're a young, good-looking guy, you should be out every weekend."

That familiar hue of pink crept across Dean's nose just like it had that morning at the coffee shop. A subtle lick of his lips failed to hide his embarrassed smile as Dean looked to his shoes. "I moved into town about two months ago. Had to get away from my... my old place. So, I don't know too many folks around here."

Something in his words suggested that there was more to Dean's story but Castiel didn't want to pressure him. "I'll introduce you to some of my friends another time," he said as he handed Dean a fresh beer. "Hope you like winter ale."

"This time if year, I do," Dean replied as he sat in the empty chair.

He shuffled closer once Dean seated himself. Castiel hoped that, though Dean might have noticed the subtle shift, he wouldn't mind. "Any family nearby?"

There it was again, that subtle hesitation, as if Dean had wanted to say more but chose a simpler answer instead. Indecision lasted but a moment, and Dean nodded as he drank a long pull from his beer. "My younger brother, yeah. He's just outside of town, so I've spent most of my free time with him."

"You have a brother?" Castiel mused. "There's two of you Winchesters?"

The laugh that emanated from Dean consumed Castiel with unexpected warmth. And God, what a smile. Dean didn't miss a beat. "There are. Sam's a lawyer. A damn good one at that."

"A lawyer," Castiel wondered aloud, then sipped from his glass. "And how did you get into physical therapy?"

"I wanted to help people," Dean replied. "Not quite how I envisioned it, but I enjoy the day to day. And it helps most folks."

"After I've patched them up first," Castiel jested.

Dean inclined his head. "Of course. Surgeons tend to keep me busy."