Dean and Castiel Go on a Hunt

Chapter Six

Dean trudged back to his seat, continuously wiping the water off his forehead, swearing at himself for forgetting to dry his hair with paper towels. He plopped down in his seat, much to the surprise of Sam who was still lost in thought. Sam surveyed his now slightly cleaner brother. He watched as blood slowly continued to leak out of the scratches that remained on Dean's face. Dean winced when he sat back too fast and he started to rub his left shoulder. "Dean, are you sure you're ok? I mean you could go to a doctor ' cause it's gonna be awhile before we get any feedback on Cas..." With his head still down Dean replied coldly, "I said I'm fine, Sammy." He refused to return Sam's gaze. Sam scoffed at his brother and leaned back in his chair. He didn't understand what was wrong with him. (Cas has pulled through worse) (Why is he so sensitive now)

Dean continued to stare intensely at the floor, his jaw and eyes continuing to harden. He swallowed hard and looked at his watch, pulling back his jacket sleeve. (12:42 a.m.) He allowed a croaky chuckle to escape. (Well it feels a hell of a lot later) Dean sat back in his chair, allowing himself to sink into it as the waves of fatigue finally hit him, his adrenaline continuing to falter. His eyelids grew heavy and his head slowly fell back, his muscles finally relaxing slightly. The room grew dark, quickly yet gradually as he fell asleep. (Cas)

Dean's head snapped up, the SLICE still ringing in his ears. He fought to control his breathing as his heartbeat started to overthrow the remnants of his nightmare. He groaned lightly, blinded by the hospital's lights once again. He rubbed his eyes and blinked rapidly, trying to regain his full sense of color and shape. He sighed and looked around. The lobby was now almost completely deserted with the exception of a married couple, both holding each other's hands while the wife rested her head on the husband's shoulder, and an elderly man sitting across the room, fidgeting every now and then as he flipped through magazines. Dean shifted his gaze to the receptionist's desk to see Sam leaning over his crutches to speak with Natalie. He watched on at their hushed conversation when Natalie looked back at Dean and Sam followed her gaze. "Oh, ok. Well, thank you," he nodded. She returned his smile as he limped back to his seat. Sam grunted as he clumsily sat back down in his chair, clunking his crutches several times on the rest. "Hey, Dean," he grunted. Dean watched as Sam's face returned to worry once he was adjusted to his chair. "I talked with the receptionist," Sam started, his voice quickly becoming darker, "She says there's no news on Cas yet." Dean licked his lips and started to rub his right temple.

He shifted his arm down to check his watch again. (2:56 a.m.) He allowed his arm to fall back on the rest as he stared at the double doors next to the receptionist's desk, the double doors that Cas was pushed through, fresh blood continuing to leak off of his abdomen, leaving a small trail, dripping off his fingertips when his right arm fell limply off the stretcher, blood caked to his chin, blood bleeding through his shirt almost becoming the new color of it. (blood) (blood) (blood) The word floated in and out of his head as his eyes darkened. His hands gripped the arm rests as tightly as he had gripped the sink. He continued to stare at the double doors (blood) as his mouth began to twitch. It twitched with anger yet quivered with fear. (Cas) He looked at the window and saw his reflection. (It's all your fault) (It's all your fault) (It's all your fault) (IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT AND NOW HE'S DYIN- ) "Dean!... Dean!" Sam yelled, shaking his brother. Dean's head snapped up, his grip on the arm rests relaxing. "What?" He choked. Sam stared at his brother, absolutely bewildered. He stared into Dean's eyes, the look of panic still fresh on his face. He had watched as Dean's knuckle turned white, as his eyes grew dark, and as his face distorted, filled with anger and fear, but worst of all... (guilt)