Chapter Text
It was hell.
Castiel Novak narrowed his true-blue eyes at the steaming hot cup of tea on the immaculately clean counter in front of him
He knew it was stupid, he knew he was being neurotic, obsessive and downright compulsive. But as he stared at the white mug on his kitchen counter that wasn’t his usual mug, he knew that everything around him was wrong.
He had to reprimand himself. The tea was the same, the amount of sugar, milk and water was at the same level of measurement as it was every morning. Everything was going exactly the way he wanted it whenever he made tea.
Except.
That wasn’t his mug.
Sure he had bought it for himself, when emergencies such as this morning came to light, but even when he bought it, he knew, deep down inside, this was definitely going to happen.
And it was making his insides turn.
Letting out a long breath, counting out slowly from ten to zero, he closed his eyes and reached out for the white porcelain. Maybe if he forced himself, he could pretend that it was his normal mug and not this monstrosity.
Okay, so maybe he was exaggerating a little. His neurosis was always an annoying part of his life. He knew he was being over the top about everything, but he couldn’t help it. One change to his routine, no matter how small, and his skin wouldn’t stop crawling until it was fixed.
It didn’t help that it took over his life.
His family understood his problems, understood the need for him to have things the way they were supposed to be. They usually left him to do his own thing because they had seen the drop. They had seen his anger, his sadness, his fear, his ferocity when something wasn’t done the way he had expected, the way he was used to.
But he saw the strain in his mothers’ eyes, the tired lines on his fathers’ face. He was being a pest, he knew it. But he just couldn’t help it.
They had taken his to therapists, to doctors, everything that they could afford. After extensive tests, they told him he wasn’t what he had expected to be, a germaphobe. No, that would have been too easy. There were treatments for that. Easy and quick treatments. Treatments that wouldn’t take over his whole life.
He was something else entirely. The doctors called it “aphenphosmphobia”, the fear of touching others and being touched by others. But normal bouts of this phobia could be cured, be it through drugs or therapy. But he had none of the triggers as other sufferers.
Oh no, nothing was ever that simple. Without an actual trigger, there wasn’t much they could do to treat him. The phobia was problematic to both genders, so that ruled out sexual assault. But to be honest, he hadn’t even been kissed yet, let alone anything else.
Drugs were out of the question for him because he was just too young when it first happened and his allergy to penicillin prevented any real solid help. And he’d rather suffer than spend the rest of his life depending on short lasting drugs. What if he was in an elevator when the medicine wore off? He’d have a full blown panic attack.
Mixed with his obsessive compulsive need to be clean and have things done a certain way, he was a real treat to be with.
Castiel scoffed.
As the years went by, the doctors said nothing could help him. It was all in his head. He’d have to get over his trauma by himself. Self-will and all that crap.
But, nothing would make him ‘normal’.
So as soon as he was old enough, he left for university.
It was a horrendous experience. The rooms were unclean, the showers were always freezing cold and the beds and sheets could do with a slow and thorough sterilisation. The classrooms weren’t all that helpful either. The seats in the lecture rooms and classrooms were always so close together that he could feel the very heat of the person sitting next to him. And people always sidled up way to close to him. The feeling of being pricked by a million pins at their very touch made him shiver in pain and disgust.
But it allowed Castiel to get used to what he called ‘the real world’.
It didn’t lessen his neurosis a bit, but at least now he was able to cope, able to understand that the white cup sitting on the kitchen counter held the same tea he would drink every morning. It was just in a different mug.
That’s all. It’s just in a different, horrid, dirty (even though he had thoroughly cleaned it) sparkly white, retched, unfamiliar—
Damn it. He couldn’t afford to drop now!
The tea was slowly cooling before his very eyes, and he knew he didn’t have enough time to do this. He needed to get to work. He needed to pick up the cup, drink the tea, wash the cup once he was done, clean it, dry it, and then get to work.
“Castiel Novak,” He said to himself. “Pick up the bloody mug!”
~~
Castiel stepped out of his house a few minutes later, having lost to the mug that wasn’t his usual one. He pined for his broken cup sitting in the large bins outside of his house. He’d have to go and buy another one that looked exactly the same as his previous one.
That meant his day was going to be considerably longer than he had anticipated, which meant his entire schedule for the day would be ruined.
Damn it.
Juggling with the large black box in his hand that held all of his lesson plans and teaching equipment, he fished out his keys and locked his front door. He upturned his coat collars, shielding the bottom half of his face from the pattering rain and rushed to his car.
Pulling his car door open with a gruff sigh, he sat inside and sucked in a long breath. His car smelled familiar, and he felt all his problems and lack of his usual morning tea slowly melt down from a boil to a simmer.
He drove out into the calm streets, letting the sound of rain hitting the roof of his car lull him into a sense of equilibrium. He needed this short time to let out all of his frustrations of not having the morning go as planned before he stood in front of a classroom full of students and lashed out at them.
If he didn’t…well, he had only just gotten used to his job, his students, colleagues and the many people around him. It would be hell if he had to do that all over again.
It was really hard making new friends when all he could think about was how they weren’t familiar, weren’t clean, weren’t…safe.
Reaching to the school he parked in his usual space, seeing that, surprisingly even with the internal battle of his mind versus the mug that wasn’t his usual familiar mug, he was on time.
Letting out a sigh of relief, he picked up his black box from the passenger seat and headed into the rain to the entrance of the large school building. His thick rimmed glasses were slowly getting waterlogged with raindrops, but at least everything else was slowly slotting back in to place. He would be fine. He can get over going off-balance.
Snap!
His shoe had chosen that point in his already bad day to give way under his foot and the small heel broke off. He gasped out in pain as his ankle twisted.
Fuck!
His shoes! His new, clean, black oxford shoes that he had bought only a few days ago! They were completely ruined now!
Trying to gain balance on his, now twisted ankle, his black socked foot thudded onto the wet slab of concrete and tar with a low squelch.
Castiel hissed at the sudden pain. Forcing it to the back of his mind, he looked down to his now soaked socks.
Oh god, oh god, no! No! His socks were all wet now!
With a low growl, he pulled off his other shoe and trudged through the car park and into the school building, grimacing at every squelch his feet made against the cold tar ground.
Shit. It was too late now, he was dropping. Hard and fast. He could feel the anger course through him, his fingers clenched against the plastic of his teaching box.
He’d have to find his academic director and tell the man he wouldn’t be able to teach the first session of the morning class. Not without him screaming at his students.
He’d be better in an hour or so when he had a chance to vent his frustrations out on something. Music usually helped, especially if it was a playlist he was familiar with pounding into his mind. When he focused on music, he didn’t have to focus on anything else.
But now, he just wanted to go home. Be somewhere that felt familiar, safe, something that he was used to. Something that felt like home.
Maybe he could spend his drop in his car?
It’d only take a few hours…
He was thankful that his Academic Director, Sam Winchester, understood his demise. He never questioned Castiel. Not that Castiel ever had any of his harder drops in the school. He always made sure he had an excuse to leave for the day, handy when something like that ever happened. Usually he was able to quell those certain drops until he got to the safety of his home.
Castiel was surprised how he still had a steady job for almost five years. He must have been doing something right.
But the handsome Sam Winchester did nothing to help Castiel’s problems at all. For instance, Sam loved to eat croissants with strawberry jam for breakfast in the mornings, it was usually eaten in a rush in his office, but he always had a small piece of the flaky bread on his lips after he’d finish. That sight infuriated Castiel to no end. His fingers itched at the very need to take that offending piece of food off, to clean Sam, to make everything better. Castiel’s skin would crawl, his hands clenching into fists as he tried to smile as Sam would talk to him.
Sometimes Castiel thought Sam did that just to piss him off!
Jostling his shoes and box into his hands, he trudged into the building. Steering clear of the elevators – he detested those small, cramped coffins that held so many people. Everyone squished into those metal compartments in the morning, wanting to get to their classes quickly. All sweaty and close.
He didn’t want to go near those death traps. The large box staircase was his friend in more ways than one. Not only did they allow him to see who was coming or going, the ones in the school were large enough for him to meander around people, making sure he didn’t touch them.
But therein lay the problem. At the moment, with his arms full of his teaching equipment, his other hand holding his broken shoes and his bag. He couldn’t reach for anything to help him clean his waterlogged glasses. And the heating the school provided did nothing to help. His glasses fogged up, making it impossible for him to see properly.
All in all, he was having a very bad start to the day.
He stepped slowly towards the stairs, memorising where they were from having walked up and down the same stairs every day. Slowly, ever so slowly, peering up above his misty glasses to the brown and white blur, he let out an aggravated sigh.
He was pretty much blind without his glasses.
But, he thought to himself. All he needed to do was get up these stairs, get safely into the teachers’ lounge, place his box on his desk, fish out his pack of tissues, hope that they were dry enough, and clean his glasses. He’d see to the shoe dilemma later.
“Mr. Novak,” a familiar male voice said from behind him.
Sam Winchester.
Castiel winced at the loud squelch his wet feet made when he turned to see the handsome and extremely tall dark haired man making his way up the staircase. Sam all but flounced before Castiel.
“Mr. Winchester,” Castiel replied. Good, now he didn’t have to seek Sam out.
Sam brushed back his shoulder length dark locks framing his handsome face and smiled brightly. Sometimes Castiel hated how obviously pretty he was.
“I’m glad I caught you,” God, even his voice was pretty, all deep and seductive. Women fell to their knees when he spoke. And it irked Castiel, not that he’d ever admit he was jealous of the gorgeous AD. But the man always had someone vying for his affections. And he didn’t have to go through Castiel’s problems.
Okay, so maybe Castiel was a little bit jealous.
“I’m glad you caught me to,” Castiel said straightforwardly.
Sam’s face fell to curiosity and concern. He let his eyes drop down to the broken shoes in his hands and then to Castiel’s soaked socks. Sure enough Castiel wasn’t wearing any shoes and there was a wet trail of footprints leading from the entrance to the stairs.
Sam leaned in closer and whispered. “Are you experiencing a drop?”
Castiel nodded, embarrassed at his predicament. “I’ll be okay for second session, if Charlie—”
“Consider it done,” Sam said suddenly, clapping his hands together. “I was hoping to speak with you this morning,”
Curiosity peaked. What was Sam going to make him do now? Extra classes? Extra grading? Examination monitoring? Or…oh god, teacher training?
“I have someone for you,” Sam looked down at Castiel and tsked. He took the shoes from Castiel’s grasp and stepped up the stairs in that same feline grace Castiel wished he had.
Castiel let out a long breath. Now his nights would be filled with training a new teacher.
What if he had to take time out of his immaculately made schedule to help this person? Great. Castiel wasn’t fond of another person so close to him, sitting next to him, monitoring the way he worked in and out of classes. It made his skin crawl.
The last teacher he trained barely made it out of his first class. Castiel wasn’t very strict with his ways, but he liked everything to be in a certain order – otherwise he’d drop, and…well that’s not something he wanted everyone to know about.
That teacher in training didn’t really understand how everything worked. Even though Castiel had spent the better half of the morning meeting explaining the ins and outs of classes, lesson planning, having activities on call if something ever went wrong or even if everything went right.
It was a surprise to see how, even though Castiel had specifically asked the trainee teacher to put his USB stick – which held all of his lessons for that week – in his teachers’ box so he could get to it straight away, the trainee had failed to do something so simple.
It almost cost the entire lesson. Castiel had to scramble and think on his feet while the idiot trainee rushed back to the teachers’ lounge and went through his things to try and find it. Like the impromptu lesson wasn’t bad enough, when Castiel returned to his desk, he almost threw a fit at the mess the trainee had created.
Castiel followed Sam up the rest of the steps. “Is it a teacher?”
“Well, he does need to be taught a few lessons,” Castiel didn’t have to see his face to know Sam had that familiar smirk on his lips. That little smile never bade well for Castiel. “He’ll be with you for the foreseeable future,”
“Foreseeable future?” Oh shit. Castiel’s bad day was just about to get worse. Teachers were one thing. But this? Was he going to be monitored? Had he done something wrong? Had his students complained? “Why does OFSTED want to watch me?”
“Not OFSTED,” Sam let out a chuckle as they reached the top step. “Just someone interested in you, I think he might be able to help you out,”
Castiel juggled the things in his hand and followed. Sam was being cryptic and that was never ever a good sign.
And how long was ‘foreseeable future’ anyway?
“Morning Angel!” A voice bellowed from the bottom of the steps.
Castiel smiled at the familiar nickname. It was one of his students, Anna Milton.
His students had started calling him Angel a few weeks into his first year of working at the school. And the name had stuck throughout the years. Castiel loved making up alternate realities in his lessons, many that fell into all sorts of fandoms. His students were always eager to learn and almost all of them excelled in their exams. That and he always had a horde of candy and sweets on his to hand out to his students when they achieved beyond what was expected of them.
It was only after one hectic morning, where he had gotten a slight crick on his shoulders and spent the remainder of that day rolling his shoulders – or ‘wings’ as his students called it – that they had started calling him Angel.
He turned to his student, wanting to return the greeting. But he slammed into something big, hard and incredibly warm. His wet socked feet squeaked on the polished floors and he lost his footing, feeling himself fall back to the swell of the stairs. His box flew from his hands, the papers falling like confetti.
Oh god. He was going to die.