« Don't ask, Don't tell »

Wakey Wakey

Hey, well I'm the author - I was just wondering how I'm doing? If you could let me know that would be great I'm really worried that this story isn't gonna gain any ground. Love you all and thanks for reading xx

Castiel POV

It had been two days, Dean Winchester still wasn't awake. Castiel was pacing at the foot of Dean's cot again. It had sort of become the thing for him to do whenever he had free time, that and trying to figure out who Dean was. So far Castiel had discovered that he was a very well known soldier among their division - and also some others. He had heard that Dean was very brave, never turned down a fight and obeyed commands without complaint. Other than those meagre facts, the only other thing that he had learned was that he had been in Afghanistan for a pretty long time. Castiel was practically dying to talk to him, and he still couldn't understand why. A loud authoritative voice broke through his thoughts and made him jump.
"Dr. Novak, visiting your special patient again I see," said Dr. Watson from across the room. Watson was Cas's higher-up and the last thing he wanted to do was piss the short British man off.
"Pardon me sir?" Castiel said turning to face Dr. Watson, trying to keep the distaste out of his voice.
"Who exactly is this man, Castiel?" Dr. Watson said clearly.
"I-I'm not sure Sir," Castiel responded truthfully, a little thrown by Dr. Watson's use of his first name.
Watson's face softened for a moment, before he smiled sadly. "Take my advice and don't form any - er - unnecessary attachments. It won't end well for you," he paused before continuing, "or them."
"Sir?" Castiel asked, confused by the Doctor's seemingly intensely personal speech.
"Get back to work Dr. Novak!" Dr. Watson ordered, as he turned on his heel and strode away.
Castiel shook his head, what the hell had just happened? Taking one final glance at Dean's sleeping form, he also turned and followed in Watson's footsteps.

Dean POV

Everything was blurry, everything was way too bright, Dean wasn't sure where he was or how he got there. He heard some beeping, he heard a feminine voice, he smelled the sharp antiseptic smell of a hospital. A HOSPITAL, so that's where he was... but why? He tried to open his eyes but they felt like they were fighting against him. He also felt a dull ache in his chest, like there was something he should try to remember - but it wouldn't be a good idea to. Why did his leg feel so tight? Who even was he? He laid there feeling numb and sleepy, he recognized the sweet lazy feel of morphine, something bad must have happened to him. Dean started to drift off to sleep again but suddenly he felt blaring pain flash across his head and a memory screamed back to him.

The memories came in bright flashes, he felt his body shaking but he couldn't stop it. His ears were ringing and his skull was singing in pain. He watched the trucks fly over the sand dunes, he heard the helicopters thrum overhead, he relived Andy's death and he felt the heat of the explosion, and he could feel the heat rising and rising until suddenly he could breathe again and his green eyes flew open into cool quiet air.
Nurses were standing over him looking relieved, there was a beeping sound that was gradually dying down next to his bed, and above him stood a man.

Dean's heart was aching painfully, it felt like it was bleeding out at the memory of Andy but it tripped over itself an spluttered at the sight the doctor who was looking steadily into his green eyes with his bright blue ones.
"Who-" Dean tried to ask, but his voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard and it felt like his throat was burning, scolding him for trying to talk.
"Shshh," said the doctor in a medically calming tone. "Don't try to talk, you're lucky to be alive."
Dean silently fumed at the doctors words, anger was boiling in his stomach. How could he POSSIBLY be lucky to be alive, his whole troop was probably dead and Andy was for certain. There was no point to be alive, Andy had really been the only reason to begin with. Dean turned his head to the side to try and hide his hurt, but he could feel the doctor's gaze on him, and knew that this guy saw through whatever brave face he put on.
"I'm Dr. Novak," the doctor said officially. "But you can call me Castiel," Castiel said in a slightly lower voice. Dean turned to look at 'Castiel' with a puzzled look on his face - who was this guy and why did he seem so incredibly different from everyone else he'd ever met? Dean turned his head back to the side of his pillow as Castiel changed his bandages with steady, nurturing hands. Dean decided he liked the feeling of his smooth hands, they were so different from his rough ones - so different from any of the soldiers he'd ever been with. His heart suddenly felt constricted, Andy was GONE, gone forever - Dean refused to believe it.
He couldn't live without Andy, Andy was the only person who kept him sane in this fiery hot sandy hell. He couldn't stop the tears, they flowed freely now, he just let them fall, he didn't care who saw. It felt like there was a gaping hole where his heart used to be. His pulse seemed to scream - Andy. Andy. Andy. Dean bit his lip, it wasn't right, this was all wrong. Even with his eyes closed. Dean was aware of Castiel's eyes on him but instead of putting on his soldier face as he normally did, he left his face open, some tiny vulnerable part of him wanted Castiel to see. Castiel was a doctor and Dean wanted to show him the part that wasn't fixable, the place that would never heal. Dean couldn't figure out why he was bearing his soul like this so he chalked it up to the drugs, but the same part of him that wanted Castiel to see his vulnerability told him that it was something more. The tears were still falling when he felt a tender finger touch to his cheekbone. Dean froze and slowly opened his eyes.

Castiel POV

Cas didn't know why he did it, it was like something inside told him that that was the thing he should do, but as he left his finger on the teary tan skin he became more and more unsure. His heart was beating out of his chest, Castiel couldn't remember the last time he felt like this. Dean's eyes began to open and he saw them lock onto his - it was like slow motion, like his blinks lasted two minutes each. Finally Castiel wiped one of the tears away, feeling impossibly helpless that he couldn't help his patient in the place he was hurting the most. He saw something flash across Dean's face, but before he could tell what it was it was gone again. Castiel re-adjusted the bedding around Dean, feeling fuzzy every time his strong hands touched the firm muscle under the bedsheets. Cas cleared his throat and took a step away from the bed, trying to stop his heart from overreacting any more, at the same time he was trying to figure out what the HELL had just happened.
"You can press this red button if you need me," Castiel told Dean, not managing to keep the tremor out of his voice. "If you have any questions please write them down here, and avoid using your voice - we're pretty sure your larynx is a little singed," he said, placing a notepad on top of Dean's stomach. Dean just looked at him with his lovely wide eyes.
"Shake it off," a voice inside Castiel's head said.
"Ah, yes..." He said rubbing his now sweaty palms on his jacket. "I'll be back to check on you in a few hours." Castiel nodded and then strode off, trying not to trip over his own feet.
Dean wordlessly watched him go before beginning to frantically scribble on the notepad.