A Dreadful Symmetry.pdf

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Posted originally on the
Archive of Our Own
at
http://archiveofourown.org/works/664640.
Rating:
Archive Warning:
Category:
Fandom:
Relationship:
Character:
Explicit
No Archive Warnings Apply
F/M, M/M
Supernatural
Castiel/Dean Winchester, Michael/Adam Milligan, Balthazar/Castiel,
Balthazar/Anna Milton
Castiel, Dean Winchester, Anna Milton, Michael (Supernatural),
Adam Milligan, Inias, Zachariah (Supernatural), Ellen Harvelle, Jo
Harvelle, Lucifer (Supernatural), Sam Winchester
Alternate Universe - Historical, Historical, Alternate Universe -
Victorian, Closeted Character, Sexual Assault, Suicide Attempt,
Suicidal Thoughts, Period-Typical Homophobia, Explicit Sexual
Content, Melodrama, Community: spnbigbang_era, Frottage
Published: 2013-01-31 Words: 37199
Additional Tags:
Stats:
A Dreadful Symmetry
by
bellacatbee
Summary
After a failed suicide attempt, prompted by his father’s death and a love affair gone sour,
Castiel Novak is persuaded to visit the prisoners of Newgate prison by his pious older
brother, Michael, in the hopes of lifting his depression.
Castiel finds himself drawn to one of the inmates, the enigmatic Dean Winchester, a man
committed for fraud. Dean appears equally fascinated with Castiel and soon confides in
Castiel that he has had contact with the dead. Castiel is at first sceptical but unexplained
events prompt him to rethink his stance on the supernatural.
However, the Governor of Newgate prison warns Castiel that no good can come from his
association with Dean.
Is Dean all he seems, or is Castiel the victim of an elaborate con?
Notes
This story is loosely based on Affinity by Sarah Waters. I've tried to keep to the style of
the time period.
A note on pairings. The Anna/Balthazar is brief and the Castiel/Balthazar is past, although
Balthazar would like it to be present. Balthazar is also not a nice character in this story.
His father died suddenly.
The shock of it sent Castiel reeling. He’d been away at Cambridge when it happened. His father’s
heart had failed him one morning when he was having breakfast. The only people with him when
he died where Michael, his eldest son, and Anna, his cherubic little girl. The rest of the family was
scattered to the four winds. They all returned for the funeral.
Castiel lingered. Eventually his place at university could be held open for him no longer. He
drifted through life, a ghost in his father’s house as it slowly became Michael’s. The days became
weeks then months, and still Castiel drifted. Doctors came, cures were prescribed and melancholia
was diagnosed. The cures offered were many and varied – seaside visits, bed rest, and a spell of
care in a sanatorium. There were tonics and salts, balms and lotions. All sorts of little pills filled
with vile things. Castiel took them as directed and still drifted.
A friend from Cambridge, a Balthazar Milton, visited and for a little while the dark cloud over
Castiel lifted. They walked at length together in the garden, arm-in-arm, and stayed up late in the
library, laughing and talking. For a little while things were better. The family embraced Balthazar,
none more so than little Anna. It came as no surprise to anyone but Castiel when an engagement
was announced.
He sunk again; his mood blacker than before and his family quite despaired of ever finding a cure.
**
The breakfast was laid out as if for forty people rather than four. There were kidneys, scrambled
eggs, toast and marmalade, kedgeree and a freshly brewed pot of tea. There was cream, milk and
sugar. A plate of cold ham and tongue was set in the middle of the table. A small caddy of bitter
black coffee was left available on the sideboard but mostly ignored, apart from Michael who took
a cup with his toast. The others drank tea. Michael ate a hearty breakfast of kidneys and scrambled
egg, followed by a plate of toast with some of the cold ham. Anna ate kedgeree. Balthazar Milton
had tea and toast with a little of the scrambled egg and Castiel picked at a slice of tongue, rather
than face the faddish diet advised to him of oats and bran. The last specialist called had diagnosed
Castiel’s ailments as being caused by all manner of digestive problems. He had laid out a strict
diet, forswearing red meat and wine, instead prescribing the most dry and dull collection of
cereals.
Once his digestive system was in order, the specialist had assured him that Castiel’s mind would
be sure to follow. Castiel stabbed angrily at the cold tongue with his knife and fork, then nibbled
on the piece he’d cut for himself.
Anna looked up sharply, a frown marring her beautiful face.
“You’re supposed to avoid red meat, aren’t you?” she asked, but her tone conveyed that she knew
perfectly well what Castiel was and wasn’t allowed.
Castiel continued to eat, ignoring his sister’s comments.
Anna sighed softly. “Well, don’t eat the kidneys. They’re spiced.”
“Try the eggs,” Balthazar suggested. “They’re cooked in butter.”
“No, it will be too rich for him.”
Castiel ignored them. He hadn’t been planning to eat either the kidneys or the scrambled eggs.
He’d wanted some of the spiced rice dish but once Anna had selected it he’d moved along the
table and chosen something else. He reached for the toast rack, helping himself to one of the
cooler pieces of toast and the butter dish which was next to it. He buttered the toast generously
and took a bite.
The door to the dining room opened, Michael’s valet – a golden haired youth called Adam –
entered, carrying in the post on a little tray. He set it down by Michael’s arm, murmuring
something softly that Castiel didn’t catch. Michael nodded and the boy left the room without
further ado. As well as the post the tray contained the morning papers, a few periodicals and
circular which Anna subscribed to. Michael distributed the letters. There was one for Anna, a
handful for Balthazar and nothing for Castiel but Michael passed him one of the periodicals,
Punch, to amuse himself with. The rest of the letters were for Michael and he kept the papers for
his own enjoyment.
Adam, ever thoughtful, had included a letter opener on the tray. Michael opened his letters
between bites of his toast and marmalade. Castiel flicked through Punch, smiling a little at the
caricatures. Michael picked up one of the letters, his free hand reaching out, searching the table for
his coffee cup. Castiel pushed it the last few inches and Michael’s fingers grasped it, lifting the cup
to drink. Michael sipped at it then grimaced. He set his cup down quickly.
“Coffee’s gone cold,” he said, glancing at Castiel. “Pour me another cup, Castiel? And add a little
milk this time.”
Castiel got up and busied himself. The warmth of the metal coffee pot when he touched it meant
that the liquid inside would probably still be as Michael liked it. Not as hot as when it was first
prepared but not lukewarm either. Castiel poured a new cup and added a dash of milk. He passed
it to Michael who took it gratefully.
“I’m going to the prison today, Castiel,” he said, blowing on his cup before he took a sip. “I think
it might do you good to do some work outside the house. Prison Reform is something I think you
should take an interest in.”
It was a simple as that. Castiel knew that now he would take an interest in Prison Reform. Michael
seemed to think that if Castiel could have something to nourish his soul, some social cause to
which he could attach himself then he would forget his dark moods. Michael seemed to think that
it was overindulgence that meant Castiel was unhappy. People were supposed to live simple, God
fearing lives and there was too much opulence and gayety in Castiel’s life. That had to be why he
shunned social engagements and parties, not because he found people tiring but because he was
suffering from a lack of spiritual succour.
Simply going to church wasn’t enough for Michael. He had his charities and his social causes, and
he wanted his little brother and sister to be involved as well. Castiel realised, with a weariness that
went down into his bones, that he would now be wheeled out to take part in Michael’s pet project
until it all became too much for him, he was forced to take bed rest and another specialist was
called for. Already that had happened when Michael attempted to involve him with his political
commitments.
There was very little point in arguing. Michael always thought he knew what was best. He had
slipped into the role of a father, donning the mantel of head of the household so quickly that
Castiel had never had time to argue that he was a grown man now. In many ways he did not feel
grown but like a child. The food he craved was the nursery food of his childhood – soft, bland and
a reminder of the soft warmth of his mother. He craved the safety and security of his bed, huddled
beneath the covers, cocooned in the warmth and safe from the pains of everyday life. Considering
that, it made sense that Michael babied him. Castiel seemed to need his guidance now. He still
would rather have taken it from his father than from Michael.
“You could become a gentleman visitor, Castiel. Provide those poor men with an example to
aspire to,” Michael continued.
What sort of an example? Castiel wondered. He might not be a prisoner in the strictness sense but
he was still trapped; only his prison was one of the mind. The men he went to visit might be
criminals but they would as likely not wish to trade places with Castiel if they knew what his life
was really like. They might aspire to the money and society that Castiel had but he himself was
very unworthy of being placed on a pedestal.
“I suppose I should need my coat then,” he said absentmindedly, moving back to his seat. He
didn’t feel hungry any longer. His appetite had dimmed to almost nothing.
Michael smiled. “That’s all arranged then. My appointment is for mid-afternoon. More than
enough time for you to wash and dress.”
He went back to his letters, reading them with a growing irritation and Castiel wondered if they
were personal correspondence or letters from the companies in which Michael had investments. It
was impossible to tell from where he sat and Michael kept the letters themselves close to his chest.
Whatever they were, they were things he considered private.
Castiel turned his study to his sister and Balthazar instead. Anna’s letter appeared to be from a
friend. Castiel guessed by the sweeping, flourished writing that it was most likely one of the
young women Anna counted as a close acquaintance – Rachel or Becky– not someone who she
counted in a confidence because she read the letter openly at the breakfast table. He passed his
attention on to Balthazar and, after a few moments consideration, concluded that his letters had all
been bills. Balthazar had opened them quickly, glanced through them, his affable expression
faltering slightly and then he’d tossed them aside. Castiel knew all too well that Balthazar
preferred to hide his head in the sand where money was concerned.
Ellen came in then to collect the breakfast things, sighing a little when she noted the half-
untouched meal on Castiel’s plate. He knew he should be affronted that she thought she could act
in such a familiar way with him but Ellen had been a member of the household for almost as long
as Castiel could remember. She was their house keeper and Jo, her daughter, one of the upstairs
maids. Clearing the table shouldn’t have been Ellen’s job but after their father’s passing a number
of the house staff had given notice on account of a strange presence in the upstairs rooms and a
deep feeling of melancholy that affected the house. It was all nonsense and superstition but it had
still left them short staffed and Ellen had taken on the extra work. Castiel couldn’t begrudge her or
her worry for him. He smiled a little ashamedly and she took the plate, leaving him to wish he had
tried to eat a little more, if only to please Ellen.
Anna pushed her chair back from the table, tossing her bright red hair back over her shoulder as
she did. “I think I shall go out today as well,” she said. “The new fashions are in and Rachel has a
periwinkle blue dress.”
Castiel reached for his tea cup, if only to hide his smile. Now he knew who the letter had been
from and what it had been about. He wished, not for the first time, that he didn’t privately resent
his sister because Anna could be charming and amusing without knowing it. It was so easy to like
her and Castiel had to force himself not to sometimes. It wasn’t her fault, he knew that, but he still
couldn’t help feeling cold towards her and waiting to remain that way. When he thawed, he knew
he would have accepted the situation and he was nowhere near ready for that yet.
Michael collected his letters together and the papers he had been brought, tucking them under his
arm. “Castiel, I want to leave at one. Try to be ready for then,” he ordered, obviously feeling that
Anna’s exit signified the end of breakfast absolute. He left too, most likely to go to his study and
compose a return to his correspondence.
Ellen finished clearing the plates, waved away by Balthazar who was still eating. She returned to
the kitchens, leaving just Castiel and Balthazar. The silence that settled between them was an
uneasy one. Castiel found himself staring at Balthazar unconsciously as the man finished his plate.
Finally he shook his head, waking himself from his thoughts and got up, feeling the urge for
something stronger than tea, something bitter.
As he began to pour himself a cup of coffee he heard the scrape of a chair on the floor, then
footsteps and a moment later Balthazar’s arms were around his waist.
“My, Cassie, you’re such a good little maid,” Balthazar whispered in his ear, his breath hot and
smelling slightly of the tea he had just drunk.
“Stop it,” Castiel said, but he could hear how futile his resistance sounded, a token really. “Ellen
will come back soon.”
“I’m certain Ellen has seen and ignored worse,” Balthazar’s voice sparkled with good humour.
“She could not ignore this,” Castiel said, his mouth gone suddenly dry. He no longer desired
coffee but something else, a something else he was certain he would not get. He turned in
Balthazar’s arms, torn for a moment by the desire to kiss his wicked mouth but then he placed his
hands against the man’s chest and forced him away. “You’re marrying my sister, remember? You
should save your kisses for her.”
Balthazar sighed, shaking his head as if this was some joke that Castiel didn’t get. “Castiel,” he
started but the door opened and Ellen came in. She glanced between the two young men, her
expression enquiring as to if she had interrupted something and Castiel gratefully took advantage
of the intrusion.
“Ellen, we’re all done with breakfast now,” he advised. “I think we shall have a late lunch, maybe
around three? Miss Anna will be out this afternoon and my brother and I have an appointment.”
“Very well, sir,” Ellen said. “I shall inform Cook.”
“Thank you, Ellen,” Castiel said.
He turned, not wanting to be called back by Balthazar, and went out into the hallway, rushing up
the stairs to his room. He shut and locked his door behind him, his heart hammering in his chest.
He could still feel Balthazar’s arms around him, could still feel his breath on his cheek. They had
been too careless. Ellen could have come in at any moment and Castiel knew she wouldn’t have
simply turned a blind eye to it the way Balthazar assumed she would. Ellen wasn’t one of the
maids at Cambridge, finding two youths entwined together on a bed. She couldn’t be bought off
or have it explained to her that that was just the way of young men away from home.
She would tell Michael. Michael would tell Anna. The engagement would be called off and
everyone would be tarnished by it. Castiel wanted the engagement ended, wanted it finished and
done with, but not in a way that would result in Balthazar being sent away.
It was intolerable, Castiel thought sadly, to know the cure to his melancholy and be unable to take
it.
He had been getting better with Balthazar at his side. It had been like the giddy days in

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