Crazy Mind -Destiel-

2- An angel?

The first week was spent glued to his hospital bed and chained to Sam's. He had refused to leave their conjoined room for anything or anyone that wasn't Sammy. This, of course, meant that all of the things he was supposed to be doing in some dark old room was brought into their room, including the walking frame Dean had been told he was eventually going to use daily in an effort to strengthen his spine and legs, and a large whiteboard for him to write on in order to stimulate his brain. However, having two broken legs, two broken arms, a fractured spine and a number of broken ribs amongst other things made doing so freaking impossible and frankly pointless.

He never used either.

The second week was interesting, to say the least. His parent's death had barely even fazed him and no matter how many times the hospital's psychiatrist would ask he would always reply with the same monotone voice and tell her that he was fine. He couldn't make sense of any of it, he loved his parents, he still does, but it was almost as if he couldn't remember them like they weren't his parents.

Sammy still hadn't woke up but the nurses had told him it was going as well as they thought it would considering Sam had been in the car longer than Dean, plus John had weighed more than Mary. The doctors began to describe Dean's 'recovery' as no less than a miracle and said he was very lucky to be alive, let alone in near-perfect healing conditions.

'Lucky to be alive' that's what they kept telling him. But how could he have been lucky? His parents were dead and his brother was unconscious and broken beside him. Lucky is not how Dean would describe it.

Three weeks in is when things started getting weird. Sam was still unconscious yet Dean was nearly fully recovered. It was impossible. Every doctor kept telling him that it was amazing he could heal so quickly and that it should have been 'impossible' to do so, his injuries should have left him wheelchair-bound for at least a couple of years maybe even the rest of his life and here he was.

Dean quickly learnt never to believe in the impossible.

He had been coming back from his usual Monday afternoon visit to the hospital's psychiatrist when it first happened. He had been walking down an empty hallway, limping as fast as possible to his and Sam's room when he saw something. It was something bright, almost glowing and coming from one of the rooms. Usually, Dean would have ignored such things, especially when his brother was waiting for him but he couldn't help himself the light was talking to him, humming a slow melody for him to follow.

He chased the light, watching it cast bright rays until he found himself standing in an empty hospital room with nothing but a ball of light. "What are you?" He asked. He remembers getting the urge to touch the light, to feel the energy rush through his body but something told him not to.

I'm an Angel.

"Who..." Dean glanced around the empty room. "Who said that?" The ball of light chirped to get Dean's attention and floated around the room in a figure of eight.

I'm Castiel.

Dean frowned at the ball of light. "Why can't I see you?" He asked blinking his eyes repeatedly to try and get rid of the blue and red dots that were slightly blurring his vision. The brightness seared into his retinas making him close them out of fear of going blind; it was the kind of brightness that would make fresh snow look grey and dull. It was a brightness to rival the sun itself and Dean was almost angry that he couldn't see the cause of it.

Until I have found my vessel I have to stay in this form.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Dean's fingertips tingled as a sensation of static vibrations bled through the white walls, the energy humming with life in an almost rhythmic pattern. How could any of this be real? An angel? A vessel? The possibility of it being real was zero to none. The electricity in the air must have been a part of his imagination and the shaking of his legs and heels must have been to do with his insomnia or the fact that he hasn't been doing his physio. Dean waved his hand through the air and watched as each hair stood, sensitive and pale compared to the tanned colour of his skin. He snatched his hand back.

What the hell?

As I've said I'm an angel. To see me in this form it should be impossible as well as to understand my native language, you are very special Dean. That's why I've come to you, I need your help in finding my vessel- my human form.

Dean's stomach shifted uneasily and he noticed that the hands he hugged himself with were pinching his skin. He must be crazy, having a psychotic episode or maybe he's got too much morphine in his system. Dean released his hands but then couldn't figure out what to do with them, so instead, he clasped and unclasped them as if in constant need of touch and reassurance.

"Special? You've got the wrong guy. How would I even find your... vessel? If you haven't noticed," Dean gestured to his body the cast on his arm and the brace on his leg immensely evident. "I'm a bit disadvantaged at the moment." The light hummed and darkened slightly in colour.

Yes, I'm sorry about that, truly. I am trying my hardest to make sure you heal at the fastest pace possible. I would have like to heal you completely but...

Dean blinked stupidly at the light. "Heal me? It-its been you who's been healing me?" The light hummed and circled him glowing with pride.

Yes, I healed you.

His hands clenched and unclenched by his sides. This thing, this "angel" is healing him so that he can help find it's vessel so it needs him, it needs him to be alive and fully functioning and has the power to do so. That means it can do the same to someone else. To Sam. Dean blinked looking for a reason not to do what he's about to but his brain couldn't think of one because he already knew he was going to do it, he had to do it, for Sam.

Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek biting hard enough to rip the stitches that coated his cheek until the taste of blood filled his mouth. He felt pain without a delay and quickly confirmed that it must be real and that it could be his last shot at saving his brother. "Okay," He said slowly glancing at the clock hanging crookedly on the wall beside him just to double-check and sighed in relief when it continued to tick. "I'll help you on one condition." The light moved closer.

Thank you, Dean. I will do whatever you request.

"I want you to heal Sam."

...