[chapter] Passenger Seat (2/6)
Words: 6.020 words
“there is no beauty within him. his laughs are as empty as his bottles,
his chest heaving with something more akin to a wheeze. you scoff as you see him and yet -
yet you long to taste the blood and the smoke on his lips,
to chase away the darkness from his wild soul, to calm his mind
he pulls you along with him, shows you his future grave and tells you there is no more death after death.
he smiles but even now his lips are tilted downward
he is a paradox you cannot decrypt. you do not know if you want to.
he puts a cigarette to your lips and tells you to experience death and you know that this is your downfall
because he is everything. you liken him to a wilting flower and for the first time in forever, his face softens and he tells you
that you remind him of someone he once knew.
he holds up a bottle and comes up to you on shaking knees. his eyes are glossed over
and he smiles an insincere smile.
he whispers words against your damp skin and you hate him.
you hate him so much you have to shut your eyes and hold your breath and clench your fists and -
you love him. he is a paradox you cannot decrypt. you do not want to.”
dionysus was never a god // s.z
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DEAN (02:00 am)
takin’ a cab back now.
CASTIEL (02:02 am)
Ok! How was it? When do you think you’ll be back?
DEAN (02:10 am)
It was good seeing them all again.
DEAN (02:12 am)
Weird but good. Tell you bout it when I get back
DEAN (02:13 am)
Should be there in twenty.
CASTIEL (02:13 am)
Want me to wait up?
DEAN (02:15 am)
Don’t bother.
DEAN (02:16 am)
Go to sleep Cas. You need it.
»»-------------¤-------------««
Castiel threw his phone back to the tangle of sheets at his feet, burying his face in his pillow. It was too early and too cold to be awake already. For the first time in ages, he'd actually been asleep when Dean had texted him. Castiel didn't really mind it all that much; he wanted his best friend and idiot of a roommate to be safe. In a way, he was the mother hen in their household and had asked Dean to text when he was planning on coming home. To be honest, it was almost a miracle that Castiel had fallen asleep in the first place. Usually when Dean went out, he stayed up like a worried mother until Dean was back and safely tucked in. Hypocritical of him, because he knew that he never did the same when he went out, but those occasions were rare.
It wasn’t that he stayed up just for Dean, even if it was part of it. Some nights, the nightmares were bad enough to leave him even more exhausted than the night before. Monsters haunted him ― Djinns, vampires, werewolves flooded his dreams and each time they had been there for him. Not Dean, not his mother, they were out to kill him. Sometimes, the nightmares changed and it was his mother that was out for him, wanted revenge. He could so easily her her yell at him that he was a murderer, a monster.
It was why it had been nice sleeping a little bit more than the previous days. Work had been hectic and even though Castiel was supposed to be on a break from bar duty, he’d been called in to fill in for a colleague. Jo couldn’t help that she broke her leg of course and Castiel didn’t blame her for doing it, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t suck. He had had plans that week, he'd wanted to sleep in. Dean and he had planned on spending a week lounging in the apartment in their underwear ― which really wasn’t that rare an occurrence on Sundays regardless ― and watch some movies to support Dean’s ‘help Cas get references’ campaign. He couldn’t help that he hadn’t seen most of the movies that Dean and Charlie - one of their friends - had seen.
Dean had taken the week off so that they could do that, on the sole claim that they had spend too much time apart the past few months and how they bad both been working a lot. Which was true, Castiel had been working a lot of hours and Dean had been in and out of the garage. So, when the plan had blown up in their faces, Castiel had been disappointed ― they both had been.
So yes, Castiel was exhausted and wouldn’t in the slightest be opposed to more sleep, but if Dean wanted him to stay up for him, he would. Dean had told him not to, so he just pulled the blankets back over him to at least get a little bit of warmth back.
There was a reason that he hated sleeping during the winter. It was always too cold, no matter how many extra blankets he piled on and over his legs. The bed felt extra empty, now his ex wasn’t there to keep him warm. It had been a mutual decision a few months back, sure, but during the winter it always felt just that little bit worse, just that little bit emptier.
Castiel fell asleep faster than he usually did, didn’t toss and turn for over a half an hour. He didn’t sleep long, waking up at three am with a pounding in his skull and tears stinging his eyes, but it was sleep and it was a start. The nightmare was still right there. The same one he always had, the one Dean usually helped get rid of but they never spoke of. Because speaking of anything slightly emotional was a sin in Winchesterland.
Castiel understood. Dean had been through shit and if he could ruin the only friendship that had actually seemed to last for a little bit longer than a few weeks, he wouldn’t do it. So if this snuggling up with him that had happened over the past few weeks fell under that, Cas didn’t mind it all that much.
He couldn’t today though. Dean probably hadn’t fallen asleep too long ago and Cas couldn’t wake him up. Castiel woke him up enough as it was, he didn’t need to repeat that even more often than he did.
He sighed as he slipped out of his bed. Their little house had poor radiation and especially during the winter months, it was too cold to be good. His bare feet send chills up his spine and made him shiver. He should probably start wearing socks and a shirt if he wanted to be colder, especially with the sweat still sticking to his back, but he couldn't be bothered. The cold helped him clear his head and get the dream out of his mind.
If only he ever could get that image off his mind. Not even alcohol or the cigarettes really helped anymore. Once upon a time, it had. Once upon a time the cigarettes had offered enough distraction and the alcohol had made his mind empty and clean, pure. Once upon a time was a long time ago, before he'd even met Dean. He was too addicted to the calm that the combination provided him to stop using.
Lately, all he got was Dean yelling at him from across the room to ‘quit the drinking already’ after he’d had perhaps a glass too much. He’d started out just telling him that he was going too far, that he was stepping the line of addiction ― Dean had seen his father slip away in addiction, he was scared, Castiel thought. Dean had started doing more, explicit things, like taking his stuff away or hiding his cigarettes. Dean should know that it wouldn’t help him all that much. Cas knew where he hid his things, could always retrieve them. There were night shops open where he could get them, should he really need them.
Castiel knew that it was behavior that was more often seen in addicts than it was in regular functioning human beings. He should be able to go without without wanting them. Perhaps he was addicted, but it was his price that he chose to pay.
Sex helped. It was the only thing that really seemed to help. Before, he had Alex to distract him and pull him out of his thoughts. Some day, having him was a small blessing in disguise. Just like everybody, Alex had gone away. Alex had left his life as well. He'd called Castiel up out of the blue and without introduction told him that he didn't want to do it anymore, that he was done. Castiel had been nice and what they were doing was enjoyable ― Castiel cringed at that word ― but that he had wanted more. Alex wanted to have a chance to build a relationship with somebody that was stable and loving. Somebody that was quite the opposite of Castiel.
Castiel was unstable and insecure about a lot of things related to his body, scars that were there and his mind that spun out of control. But probably worst of all, he was unreliable, he could be moody. Alex deserved better, to feel better. So he understood why he left, understood why Alex went for somebody that was everybody but him.
Castiel padded into their living room, hoping to see the familiar keys on the living room table and Dean passed out on the couch. Dean always did that when he came back, fell down on the closest comfortable surface and slept like a brick until the light became too persistent and he moved to his bedroom. His heart fell when he didn’t see the all too familiar pair of shoes next to the door or his set of keys on the hook where Cas’s too hung; lonely without their comrades. The couch was empty too, not even Dean’s old leather jacket there. Dean wasn’t a guy to hang his jacket on the hooks (but then again, who did in their household), but he checked anyway, let that idle hope linger.
The hanger too was empty. Castiel still had to get his winter coats out from his closet, so his weren't there either. It was a sad sight to see. Dean's car keys were on the counter, where they always resided when he didn't go out in his baby, but that was the only sign that Dean had even been there.
“Dean?” There was no answer. His bedroom was empty. His stuff still where he had left it before leaving that afternoon. His sheets hadn’t been touched since Castiel had made the bed that morning. “Fuck Dean, where the hell are you.”
Castiel settled on the couch, lit cigarette dangling between his fingers. It was almost an automatic response now, whatever what happened. Light a cigarette and watch it burn. Some nights he didn't even smoke his first one; he just watched as the flames licked at the tobacco and the paper. Part of him mourned his habits of coping, part of him really didn’t care all that much. Dean hated the smell of smoke that seemed to clung to everything in their house, the way that all fabrics seemed to tone more and more yellow as their friendship progressed.
He would die one day anyway, right? It wasn’t like it mattered if it was a little bit sooner or a little bit later. One day, the monsters that his mother had hunted and he too for at least a little while would come knocking on the door and he would lose his life because of it, because he wasn’t prepared to fight them anymore. It was bloody pathetic but it was the truth.
“Where the fuck are you,” he muttered under his breath, free hand reaching for his phone under the pillows. He’d thrown it in the mess without really paying attention to where it landed. It wasn’t that big of a deal anyway. If it fell, it fell.
CASTIEL (03:00 am)
Where the hell are you? I thought you’d be home by now.
CASTIEL (03:25 am)
I’m serious Dean. Answer.
He didn’t really mind Dean going partying or whatever it was that he did when he was out all night. He had been invited along before, but he never took Dean up on his offer. Cas didn’t mind him going out, not in the slightest and he himself enjoyed going out with friends or even just alone quite a bit. It was why it had been so weird for Dean that he said no. He always looked happier when he came back, especially when it was with old friends. Castiel just didn’t feel like he should join him in it. The two of them shared a house twenty-four seven as it was, they weren’t supposed to be together that much too.
So no, he far from minded Dean going out and enjoying himself for the first time in months. It would just have been nice if Dean would actually do what he said for a change and be back in time.
He knew what would happen and what had probably happened. Dean would get in a cab and almost be home, get a text from Jo or Charlie to come drink with them and he’d be gone. Usually, he texted to let him know, but it wasn’t uncommon of him not to. All was well. That was, as long as it wasn’t a hunt that had caught his attention and he had plunged into.
Even after almost a year since he stopped hunting, he sometimes came back to their house with cuts and bruises that he didn’t want to explain. He never pushed, just cleaned and bandaged them, let Dean be. Castiel knew well enough that if he complained that he didn’t tell him and probably wouldn’t even let him clean the wounds. Just letting him clean the wounds had been a battle in its own, he wasn't prepared to do it all over again.
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He had met Dean in a bar of all places. Castiel had never seen another Dean than the one that he met at the bar ever since that day. Once upon a time, he'd met a happier teenager that pretended not to care but still cared if his brother was okay or not. Castiel knew that version of Dean but he just couldn't imagine him anymore. All he could see was the Dean that he had met in that bar, hunched over and nursing a glass between his fingertips. A sad Dean, a lonely Dean.
That day, Dean'd been on his second glass of whiskey. Castiel had noticed him when he'd walked in on just a coke, but as he kept an eye on it, the order changed. The bartender was already shooting him looks, warning and perhaps a bit of concern. The coke had just been a step between different alcohols, to keep him from throwing up the next day.
Cas hadn’t really paid that much attention to him except that he didn’t quite know him ― or at least he didn’t think that he did ― and god that he was handsome. Once he started paying attention to his eyelashes or the way that he nurtured his drink between his fingers, he couldn’t stop looking at him every once in a while.
Cas hadn’t meant to keep an eye on him, but then a guy had walked in and Dean had looked up hopeful for a while. Once he realized that the guy - hair reaching his shoulders and taller than both of them - wasn't who he hoped he was, he deflated again. He looked so lonely sitting there, even if it was his own fault. he'd had seen a girl sit down next to Dean, but just a few minutes and she had been gone. Whatever she had to offer, he didn’t want any of it.
That night, Cas had bought him a drink and sat down next to him. They didn’t share a word for at least an hour except Cas saying that he didn’t have to talk, that they could just sit there. So they didn’t until the guy with the longer hair left the room again and Dean seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
That night, he went home with Dean. Castiel wasn’t sure when they had started flirting and if either of them had actually been sober at that point. All he remembered was going back to Dean’s motel room and not making it past the door before Dean’s mouth was on him, pushing him back and kissing him hungrily, as if he had been starved from affection for too long and was now committing the feeling to memory.
There wasn’t much love in the way that Dean slid his lips down Cas’s throat, tongue ghosting against his skin while his hands tugged at his shirt and slipped under it, fingers sliding over his sides, teasing at his hips and the band of his underwear.
“I can make it good,” Dean had breathed against his collarbones, placing kisses along them, stopping where his shirt ended. He looked up, asking for permission to pull his shirt off, to take it all the way. There wasn’t a fiber in his body that even remotely wanted to say no.
Dean took him apart like he knew all of his triggers; he figured out his sensitive spots within minutes. Castiel was a groaning, whimpering mess as Dean pushed into him, eventually coming with Dean moaning against his skin.
The day after had been awkward and weird. Both of them knew that there wasn’t really something emotionally going between them. In a way, this encounter with Dean had been what partially lead to Castiel going back to Alex. They had only met the previous day. Or well, met again the previous day. They barely knew each other. It hadn’t stopped Cas from leaving him breakfast before work.
But that hadn’t been the first time they met and both of them knew that. Castiel only realized it in the morning when Castiel packed his stuff and left Dean asleep on the bed. With the sun catching on his face, he remembered. Or more specific, recognized him.
Hunter’s lives crossed often and in weird ways. He remembered being eighteen and his mother helping John on a hunt. Castiel - being a seven years older than the youngest Winchester kid - had been the one to babysit them. Or well, just Sam. He had just turned eleven a few days ago and couldn’t really take care of himself for that long, even if he had Dean. Eighteen year old Dean hadn’t made it easy for him, sneaking out of the motel room and doing whatever it was while he was out. Castiel had had his suspicions at the time. The amount of money that he was bringing in wasn’t the amount that you got from a night of hustling pool.
He doubted that he really got into trouble when he was out, after all, he had come back safely each time. It just stressed him out a little bit more than he liked. Castiel knew that it wasn’t his place to comment on it or to question what he was doing. Dean had his own ways of getting money and if that was the way, he could go for it. In fact, the things that eighteen year old Dean had done were things that Dean still did sometimes. Castiel knew now, that it was just boxing he was doing back then, in street alleys, he knew there were bets placed. Back in the day, he'd had no clue.
All he wanted was that Dean was safe and after the two weeks that he looked after Sam, he was still walking and breathing. He didn’t look good, far from it actually, but he had never actually looked healthy to start off with.
Dean had been there when his mother had passed away, when he’d felt as if the whole room around him was caving and he couldn’t do anything. He’d helped him through, bandaged his wounds and had checked in on him after. He’d barely recognized him only because he had changed. They both had, but especially Dean had changed a lot since they’d said goodbye, a few years earlier. He looked older, worn, as if he had lived a thousand lives and came back to this.
It was stupid that he hadn’t recognized him. It was clear, now that he remembered.
»»-------------¤-------------««
Castiel finished the cigarette and lit another one, watching the tip as it burned it the dimly lit room. There was something aesthetically pleasing about the whole thing and in all likelyhood, a previous version of him would have loved it. A less worried, more grief stricken Cas would have adored it even. Drowned in it like a girl and her Starbucks coffee. Current Cas just wanted to hear about Dean and where the fuck he was. He’d tried to resist checking his phone every few minutes, but he gave in too easily, too quickly. He’d almost send off a few more aggressive ones, deleting them all. They wouldn’t get Dean to answer if he wasn’t answering his previous messages.
CASTIEL (03:45 am)
If you are with someone right now I am going to kill you whenever you get back.
CASTIEL (04:00 am)
Please be safe.
It was pathetic. He shouldn’t have to care so much if the stupid idiot showed up again or not. But truth was, that idiot paid the bills with him and cooked, helped him keep their house clean and the bugs out. Dean was the one that got the blankets when he was already curled up on the couch or the one that walked through the cold to get them hot chocolate or coffee. Castiel would be the one to massage his sore muscles or let him rant about work, about cars with ignorant owners that demand that he go ahead and fix their car right that second.
Dean was so build into his schedule that he didn’t think that he could bear losing him. Especially like that. Especially when Castiel didn’t really know what the hell was going on. If Dean was okay or not. God. He didn’t even know if he had reason to worry. He could be with somebody and having the time of his life right now.
Ashes fell to his chest, burning tiny specs in his skin before losing their warmth. He aimlessly tapped the remaining cigarette out and brushed them off his chest. His phone was back in his hands and he was dialing an all too familiar number before he even realized he was doing it. It rang and rang, until finally voicemail picked up.
“Hello, this is Dean Winchester. Leave a message or call me back, whatever you want to do.”
“It’s me. Again. I guess I didn’t call before, but I’m worried about you. Please, call?” Oh good god. He pressed the end call button, relieved to have heard his voice but at the same time, even more worried. Dean always picked up the phone when he called.
CASTIEL (03:55 am)
Charlie do you know where Dean is? He hadn’t come home yet.
CHARLIE (04:12 am)
Took a cab around two, haven’t seen him since. Called him?
CASTIEL (04:12 am)
Yeah, twice. He’s not answering. Neither to his texts. Just seeing if you know.
CHARLIE (04:25 am)
No idea where he went, sorry! You know him tho, he’ll be fine.
CHARLIE (04:25 am)
Keep me posted tho?
Castiel hated that he had worried her by sending her a text, or at least made her anxious. This wasn’t her, or the way that she texted. Charlie was one of the few people in Dean’s group of friends that he had actually met and talked to often enough to feel confident in texting her. She was a good friend to Dean, one of the best people that Dean had had in his life, if you asked him. She was dorky and fun ― had taken to the job of teaching him about Star Wars, Star Trek and all the other things that he had missed out on growing up if he could believe Dean. Her and Jo were Cas’s favorite people when it came to Dean. Even if Jo was a trouble maker and one of his colleagues. Dean loved her.
He tried to stay away from Dean’s friends because he didn’t want to fuck up, which was always the real threat. Castiel had a history of losing friends because of his own stupidity and he had given Dean a special place in his heart. If he would lose Dean, he wasn’t really sure what he would do or how he could keep his head above water with all the bills. And not just that. Dean helped keep him sane, keep the nightmares at bay even in the slightest. He could keep his head above the water, sure, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t miss Dean. That his heart didn’t ache for him.
CASTIEL (04:25 am)
‘course. I’m sure he’s fine and just sleeping over at a friend’s
CASTIEL (04:25 am)
I’ll let you know when I hear smth
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The phone call eventually came in at seven am. At five past seven, Cas was in his car and driving to the hospital. Traffic flashed by in a blur, his attention having gone not to the road but to the words the woman had spoken. He should probably calm down, focus more on the road, but he didn’t care. All his thoughts were on how much longer Dean had to be alone.
Dean had almost had nobody there. John and Mary were both gone, Sam couldn’t be reached and the rest was a no show. But then they had found his cell phone and their messages and they knew to call him. Thank god that they did. There was somebody needed that had Dean’s information. The hospital couldn’t do a lot without being sure about his blood type, birthday, allergies, medical history, stuff like that. Sure they could start on him, but for the paperwork, they needed more.
If Sam wouldn’t show up, Cas would draw blood or keep calling until Sam couldn’t do anything but come. Sure, the Winchester brothers hadn’t been on the same page the past few months and ever since John passed away, they had their troubles, but Dean in the hospital was something that should push that all to the side. Castiel quite frankly didn’t care about those brotherly quarrels. He’d keep calling, go to his house and stand against his doorbell if that was what it took to get him at the hospital at his brother’s side.
CASTIEL (07:22 am)
He was in an accident, at the hospital rn, don’t know how he’s doing or what happened exactly. They only called me because they couldn’t reach Sam and only said that he’d been admitted. He could be okay tho. I hope at least.
CASTIEL (07:22 am)
Probably not too good. I’m trying to get Sam on the phone rn but he’s not answering either.
CHARLIE (07:25 am)
Lawrence Memorial?
CASTIEL (07:29 am)
Yeah.
CHARLIE (07:32 am)
Gilda and I are on our way. Hang in there.
Cas had no clue what had exactly happened, if it had been a car accident or a hunt gone wrong, but he knew that he worried, from the bottom of his heart. Dean had never been one for caution, hunters never were. Cas should know, he’d grown up with a mother that hunted things but never wanted him near any of the danger. He knew better how to shoot a gun than to do his own laundry ― something he had found out first hand because all his whites were suddenly shrunken and pink after a wash with a red shirt ― because she wanted him to be safe. She wanted to make sure if anything ever happened to her he could look out for her. He could survive. It was the only reason that she had even taught him how to hold a gun or how to shoot it. If it hadn’t added to his survival chances, she would have never taught him that.
He had lost count of how many times he had seen his father patch her up. Later when James had passed away, he had taken his role; cleaning her wounds and bandaging them up. He still remembered being twelve and picking glass out of his mother’s wounds, afraid of all the blood seeping out of the wounds like a tiny river but keeping his lips together and staying strong. Castiel was a hunter, he would be proud and hang on. He remembered cleaning her wounds and bandaging her up, remembered making her wince when he cleaned them with antiseptic. Worst of all, he remembered wanting to throw up when one of the wounds got infected and he was the one to clean them out, cut them open to let the puss out.
He remembered apologizing endlessly as he shot her.
CASTIEL (07:35 am)
Your brother is at the hospital Sam. Get your ass here or I will get you and your gf here on willpower alone. I promise you.
»»-------------¤-------------««
CASTIEL (07:45 am)
I’m not leaving until I’ve seen you Dean; I promise.
CASTIEL (07:46 am)
Please be okay. I’m begging of you, please be okay.
»»-------------¤-------------««
The hospital was too busy for it to be that early, too chilly. Castiel hadn’t bothered putting on much more than a shirt and shoes before almost running out of the apartment. Taking the other things would have taken too long, would leave Dean alone for too long. He couldn’t do that. He could have Charlie go back to pick up more stuff, but he felt too guilty for that.
Oh god Dean. He’d texted him of all things, the stupid idiot. The text was send out before he even wrapped his head around the fact that he had just texted a guy that could not even answer. He’d forgotten some stuff at home, but nothing important. There was a phone charger in the Impala somewhere and that was all that he really needed.
He may be freezing, but he couldn’t care less about it. He was too worried to really care.
After an hour, Castiel still hadn’t heard anything. He was seated in the waiting room, fingers tapping on his knee restlessly. The plastic chair was cold and digging into his skin by now. There were a few other people waiting for news, sharing impatient looks with him every once in a while. At least they didn’t find him annoying.
Charlie and Gilda had arrived a half an hour ago and had sat themselves with him for a while. It was clear in both of the girls’ eyes that they too were worried and part of him was glad that at least some people were as well. He knew that Dean’s crew, like Jo and Ellen Harvelle, Adam, Aaron, Garth and Ash would be worried as well, but he couldn’t call them just yet. They barely had anything that they could say after all.
Castiel had no idea where Charlie and Gilda were now. They’d left to get the three of them coffee a while ago but he had forgotten to ask them where. He knew that they were bringing him some back as well but he honestly doubted that he could keep it all down. His stomach felt like it was tied in knots and even the slightest thing could make him throw up.
There were people staring at him and part of him understood why. He was wearing his bee PJ pants, like a toddler. He should go home, get dressed, but he couldn’t. Not before he had seen Dean, not before he knew that he was okay and healthy. Not hurt or at least, not hurt too badly. Couldn't before he knew that Dean was still alive and hadn't been killed.
They were actually kind of fitting, in a weird way. Dean had bought them for him as a Christmas gift. He still remembered the smile on Dean’s lips as he thanked him for them, how happy he had seemed to make him smile. Dean had been equally happy with his miniature Impala ― a carbon copy of his Baby that Castiel had had to repaint by hand ― that Cas had gotten him. It was one of the good memories and he hung onto the warmth it gave him.
It would all be okay.
They came back ten minutes later, with three starbucks cups and Charlie with a jacket thrown over her arms. Cas knew the jacket, knew the exact way that it would smell and feel. The way it would sit on his shoulders as if he was a kid wearing his father's jacket. It had been John Winchester’s in ages past, before he’s passed away and left his boys on their own. Dean had started wearing it and created his own faded patterns in the leather. It was cold on his shoulders and arms, but it was already better.
“He left it at my place,” Charlie shrugged before handing it to him, having the good grace to wait until it was on to pass him his cup. For now, he let the warmth soak through the paper and warm his hands.
He hadn’t known just how cold he was until the heat started growing on him a little bit. “Thanks.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Charlie had this look in her eyes, pity mixed with sadness. It stung, seeing her like that. He didn’t need pity ― she could save it for when she went to see Dean. “Needed something not to make you look like an overgrown toddler.”
“Got them from Dean actually, last Christmas. So if you want to blame anyone, blame him when he wakes up.” Castiel said, a slight smile on his lips. "And you just made me look like a toddler, just saying."
“Will do.” She smiled a little too. "And yeah, I see that."
“Mr. Novak?” He was up and next to the doctor within seconds, glad to finally have at least something. He was faintly aware of Charlie and Gilda following him to the doctor that was waiting for him in the front of the room. “I’m Doctor Milton, the doctor in charge of Mr. Winchester.”
“How is he?”
“He just came out of surgery, so we have to wait, but stable for now. We have to wait until he wakes up to get a better view on the situation, to get a better idea of how his brain his coping. He took quite a hit.”
“Can I see him?” It was out of his mouth before he could stop the words. He didn't even know if he was allowed to see him.
“I’ll bring you to him,” Doctor Milton said, “but just you for now. Your friends should probably wait downstairs.” Numbly, he saw Charlie nod from the corner of his eyes as he followed the doctor to where he would find Dean.
»»-------------¤-------------««
The sight of Dean was terrifying. Castiel wanted to reach out, stroke his hair away from his face and have a better look at all those tiny cuts, but there were too many wires and tubes in the way. No matter how incomplete the sight may be for now, it was a horrible thing to look at. He could hardly stand to look at Dean so broken and bruised without tears jumping in his eyes.
“He might not look good now,” the doctor admitted from the other side of the bed, “but he is doing relatively good. Considering the crash.” Considering the fact that Dean might as well have been dead too. “I’ll leave your boyfriend and you alone.”
He didn’t even have the heart to correct the doctor and tell him that he wasn’t his boyfriend.