Dean groaned in pain, looking around the waiting room impatiently.
Sam gave him a worried glance, instinctively reaching out a hand before quickly bringing it back to his side.
"I'm fine Sammy, it's just a bruised rib I think. It just kinda hurts to move my torso. Or, y'know, breathe."
Sam twiddled his thumbs in impatience, watching Dean, a new worry line appearing on his forehead each time Dean winced until he finally heard a nice nurse's small voice call for a Dean Winchester. Dean wrapped his arm around Sam's neck and wheezed towards the office, irritated having to rely on his little brother. He should be the one taking care of Sam, though he's really relieved Sam isn't injured.
He sat down in the doctor's office (the name on the front said Dr. Novak, Dean wondered if it was some kinda middle-eastern name and groaned to himself) and waited, Sam throwing little glances at him.
"Dude, it's a bruised rib, I'm fine," but even as he said it, he was holding back wincing.
Sam sighed in irritation, hearing Dean's shallow, pained breath.
After what felt like an eternity of pain and discomfort, the door finally creaked open, and Dr. Novak walked in.
Dean's breath hitched. This man, holy hell this man, was drop dead gorgeous. Dean had been with men before, little one night stands with men, and women of course, that he picked up after his shifts at the Roadhouse. But, wow. Just wow, this guy was frikkin stunning. He had messy raven black hair and long nimble fingers, and this little tiny bit of stubble that oddly made him look more professional.
But then he looked up from his clip board, and Dean's heart absolutely exploded, pounding hard against his bruised rib, making it hurt like hell to breathe but he didn't care because those eyes were staring into his, deep and beautiful and blue and all-knowing.
"Dean Winchester?" he said warmly, smiling brightly at Dean.
Dean stared at him blankly, mouth possibly slightly ajar, though he would completely deny it. Dr. Novak smiled brighter. Was that a blush on his perfect little cheeks? No, couldn't be.
Sam poked Dean on the shoulder, worried, chalking his weirdness up to the pain in his ribs.
"Huh? Oh.. oh! Right, that's me. Doctor... Novak?" As if he had forgotten.
"Please, call me Castiel. Doctor Novak makes me feel old."
Dean could easily tell that the man could only be around twenty-six. Dean smiled.
"What a peculiar name; it sounds very familiar," Sam spoke up, Dean too lost analyzing the little dimples that popped up on Castiel's face when he smiled at his brother.
"Oh, yes. My parents were rather religious, naming myself and my extensive amount of siblings after angels. Now, what seems to be the problem today, Mr. Winchester?" he asked, turning his penetrating gaze towards Dean again.
"Um.. my um.. my rib." he stuttered. He was angry that he was being so silly and pulled himself together with a deep breath, wincing immediately. "I was working at Singer's Repair Shop, y'know run by Bobby Singer. He's a family friend, I work there a few days a week, in between working at that bar down the road," He was rambling but Castiel just nodded, smiling as if this was the most interesting thing he had ever heard while Sam looked at his brother as if he were crazy. "Um.. and I was working under a car and a piece fell out from it and landed on my chest. It hit me pretty hard, and I kinda heard this weird cracking noise. Oh, and you can call me Dean."
"Well Mi- Dean," he smiled lightly, "it seems to me that you may have a broken rib or two, or at least cracked."
Dean's eyes widened in horror. No, that can't happen! He would have to take time off of work, and he can't afford that. Not with Sammy starting college. Even though he got plenty of scholarships, he still needs a few thousand dollars each semester, and then there's all the money needed to keep up their apartment.
Cas's eyes grew softer, as if reading Dean's thoughts.
"Don't worry, it's not as severe as you are thinking. I'm sure you could continue working at the bar, if you are willing to put up with some discomfort. Though I would recommend taking some days off. It's very important that healing and not straining yourself is your first priority, though I understand that sometimes working is very important." His eyes crinkle when he smiles, in this odd, old-soul sorta way. And Dean could just eat it up.
"R-right," Dean says, his ears heating up as he realizes he had spent several moments just staring at Castiel's fingers.
He was being completely silly, he knew nothing about this guy; he was just entertaining a fantasy of the most gorgeous man in the world. Laying on the doctor's table, Castiel's long slender hands running down his body, getting closer to his bulging-
"Should we take some x-rays then?" Cas asked, startling Dean out of his fantasy. He suddenly became very aware that Sam was sitting beside him, catching on quickly to his brother's enamored glances and clearly holding back a snicker.
"Y-yes," Dean managed to choke out, standing up slowly, pain rekindling in his chest, making him wince.
Castiel reached out a hand and put it on his shoulder, his fingers light and soft and kind, and Dean stopped breathing for a second. This was going to be a long day.
-
Several hours of staring, an exchanging of numbers for 'business' reasons, some teasing from Sam and arm punches from Dean, and a few types of medications later, Dean was sitting on the couch of their small two-bedroom apartment, his eyes glazed over slightly, laughing a little too loud at an episode of Doctor Sexy. He couldn't watch it without thinking of his own Doctor Sexy, and he chuckled a little louder.
Sam, thankfully, was out studying at the bar, with a pretty little girl named Jessica, he believed. Good, Sam was 20, he needed to get himself a nice girl. Then again, Dean was 24, and he had never had any real type of relationship. Hell, he had never even told anyone he loved them, besides his mom, dad, and Sammy. Two of those people were gone now, a thought he didn't want to dwell on.
Instead, he thought of a man with long pale fingers and messy dark hair, and bright blue eyes that pierced straight through your soul, and who could blame him if his pants came undone and his hands strayed lower?