The Bodyguard (is the Omega)

32.

Dean was there when Castiel woke up again. Asleep on a pull out couch beside his bed. The machines were whirring and beeping gently. Castiel looked at the monitors that were within his line of sight, calmly reading the numbers and calculating his own recovery time in accordance with his observations. The process, which he observed routines when injured, helped to ground him. The room was filled with flowers, fruit baskets on every available surface. He was in a private room, given the city and the decor he could pinpoint his location down to about one or two possibilities. There were only so many top of the line private hospitals in Hollywood.

The size of the suite, the huge panel of equipment and the luxurious little touches to the furniture suggested that no expense had been spared. Not the first time Castiel woke up in a hospital bed, injuries being something of an occupational hazard in his line of work. This was different though, he was not alone. His employers usually sent cards, gifts, sometimes their personal assistants, but seldom did they appear in person. They were always grateful to be saved, but of course gratitude was measured in the heftiness of the bonus checks they provided. Dean, on the other-hand, was present in a flannel shirt and baggy jeans, his face creased against a neck pillow, his hand draped over a corner of Castiel's bed. As if in sleep he was still reaching for Castiel. Dean was snoring noisily and maybe it was the pain medication but Castiel found it utterly adorable. The last time he had heard the sound was that morning after they had spent the night together on an impulse. Dean in unguarded moments was precious to behold. His corner of the room intimated at the chaotic sense of the last few hours. There was a duffle bag flung across a couch, the zipper wide open, the contents spilling out. Clothes, toiletries, an electrical shaver. A portable radio softly playing love song dedications. A few creased newspapers and magazines to while away the hours. A pair of Nike Air sneakers lay strewn on the floor.

Castiel looked at Dean's toes, poking out of the bottom of the mohair blanket he was snuggled under, encased in fuzzy bed socks, inserted into generic courtesy slippers. Watched the rise and fall of his chest. Counted the freckles on his cheeks. Wondered at the glory of being alive and seeing all this soft cosy beauty laid out. Castiel was exhausted and a little distanced from his body by the pain relief, but watching Dean put his mind at ease. The scent of the alpha was subdued, mixed in with the sweet acridness of medication, saline solution, clean starched sheets, hot house flowers. He fell asleep again to the sound of Dean's breathing.

* * *

"Hey, you're awake," Dean said, eyes crinkling. Holding a tray in his hands which he quickly set aside. "Here, lemme help."

Dean had not made use of the electrical shaver yet. The scruff on his cheeks bizarrely symmetrical, as if some barber had laboured over it for hours. Dean was the sort of handsome that most people could only dream of. The way wild animals or cats were naturally gifted with grace and beauty. Castiel blinked as Dean leant down.

Like a doting nurse Dean used the remote control to elevate Castiel, wincing when Castiel winced. "Does it hurt?"

Castiel gave Dean a reproachful look. "I hardly noticed the bullets."

Dean huffed out a laugh, settling the tray over Castiel's lap. Trapping him behind a mountain of french toast and fresh fruit.

"I had this brought in from home, the kitchens here are kind of crowded, Charlie dropped it off ten minutes ago. The toast is still warm."

Pondering on Dean's use of the term 'home', Castiel watched wordlessly as Dean sliced open an orange and started squeezing the juices from a segment. The zest spitting out onto the side of the glass in a gush, a few droplets staining the bedsheets and more still running down Dean's wrist. Dean cursed softly and tried to lick the juice from his fingers. After some minutes, there was about a table spoon of liquid in the glass. Dean frowned and started on a second orange with a vengeance.