DISCLAIMER: I do not own Supernatural. All the rights belong to its rightful owners.

"Doctor Milton, code blue. Doctor Milton, code blue. Doctor Milton, ER, code blue."

Castiel Milton had always been a light sleeper. It comes with the job. Not that it was easy or enjoyable to be pulled out of your slumber; it wasn't - especially not when those were the first two hours you've had in almost a day and a half, but he was dedicated and he was quick. When he was on call, he was on call, and he'd never slept in. Not even once.

Seconds later, he was out of the highly uncomfortable cot that served as his bed for the vast majority of the week. He walked over to the sink and splashed some water across his tired face, the droplets stinging his worn out blue eyes and soon traveling into his hair as he ran his fingers through the black mess atop his head. He then made his way through the crowded hallways filled with frantic, hurried people, pulling his white coat on in the process.

The world was still a bit of a blur, his tired eyes glazed and his sight out of focus, when he entered the emergency part of the Winged Heart hospital, only to be quickly led to one of the rooms by a nurse, a brown haired, relatively short woman by the name of Megan Masters. She gave him the basic info - man in his early thirties, car crash caused by a drunk driver who died on site, while the one that got hit was currently battling for his life. Excessive internal bleeding, punctured lung, possible cerebral hemorrhage... That was Castiel's area alright. After all, according to some rankings, he was one of the best neurosurgeons in the state.

He thoroughly washed his hands, pulled on his scrubs and rushed in. Three other doctors and several nurses crowded the room, one shouting over the other. His glance quickly came to rest at the heart rate monitors.

The man's pulse was rapidly dwindling.

His next look fell upon the victim himself. He couldn't see much past the blood and bandages, but he did see a gaping wound right above the man's right temple.

There was no time to waste. He had a life waiting to be saved.

"Meg, morphine. Stat!"

:~:

It'd been a very long four hours.

They'd been forced to operate, to cut the man's skull open and stop the bleeding, to put all those broken pieces back together. Castiel focused on one part while the other doctors worked on the victim's lung, his broken arm and leg, displaced shoulder... Of course, not all of it had to be done at once. Their main task was to save Dean Winchester - that was the man's name according to the I.D. they'd found in his wallet - and for the most part, the task had been accomplished. The man was stabilized, although it'd be many hours before he opened his eyes, and who knew how many days or even weeks before he'd be allowed to walk.

Smack in the middle of the surgery, the nurses had to fight off a very determined, loud and absolutely terrified giant who tried to rush inside. Castiel couldn't tear his eyes away from his work, absorbed by making sure not to do more damage than the accident itself had already caused, but he heard the desperate cries of 'Dean! Dean! Let me see him! Please!' over the sound of various monitors, tools and doctors shouting commands to the rest of the staff. He'd heard this kind of fear in many a voices before, but deep down inside, he still felt shaken by it.

He couldn't just follow his instinct and turn to look at the screaming man, though. It could've been anybody. The man's brother, father, cousin... Anybody. To Castiel, he was just one more reason to save this man's life.

He was sure he'd managed to do so.

After the man was stabilized, Castiel left the operating table along with the other three doctors and went to take a long shower, washing the sweat off his tired, coiled muscles. His shift had ended three hours ago, but he wasn't going to leave just yet. He'd stay and make sure that Dean Winchester remained stable throughout the night.

He really was one of the best neurosurgeons in the state, perhaps even in the country. Only thirty-two, but very skilled, he climbed the ranks almost right out of med school (finished with honors) and he sacrificed whatever illusion of a personal life he may have had in favor of his job. Nobody worked quite as long hours, nobody took as many shifts, and nobody drove back to the hospital right in the middle of a Saturday night as often as Castiel did. The people he worked with used to remark on the fact that he ought to give himself a break, but he hardly ever listened and he never talked back, because he wasn't a man of many words.

This time, no longer in a hurry, he made his way back to the E.R and quickly found the room that Dean Winchester was in. He did not even need to read the little plaque near the door; the sight of a truly gigantic man sitting next to the bed would be explanation enough. He may have not had the time to look at the guy himself, but the nurses described him as enormously tall, and if there was one person to fit the description, that was the man.

He knocked on the door, softly as not to interrupt his undoubtedly still sedated patient, and the other man jumped slightly at the sound, getting right out of the uncomfortable, sickly-green chair he was previously sitting in.

The room was painfully white, lit up by two dim lamps and a set of monitors surrounding the cot that Dean was sleeping in. When the man turned around, Castiel saw a friendly face with what looked like green eyes, shoulder-length hair and a whole lot of fear, worry and sadness; a look so well known to every doctor, so often mirrored in the faces of people who'd almost lost somebody they loved.

The giant forced a smile upon his lips, but Castiel could see true gratitude both in his features and his voice when he spoke up, walking towards him across the tiled floor.

"Doctor Milton, right? Thank you so much. Nurse Masters said you'd saved my brother's life."

So he was a brother. Castiel stole a look at Dean before focusing on the man in front of him, eyes drifting to take a look at his patient's heart rate, to make sure everything was alright.

Seemingly, it was.

"Don't thank me. What matters is that your brother is stable," Castiel dismissed in a quiet voice. He'd often been told that his voice was gruff, rough around the edges, and he hoped that this man would not take it the wrong way. Even after a few years on the job, he still wasn't very adept at accepting congratulations and thank you's; to him, being a doctor wasn't about that. It was about sustaining life, the most precious thing any of them had ever been given.

"Oh, c'mon. I don't know what I would have done without-," he abruptly stopped there, eyes drifting to the floor. Castiel saw the man swallow hard, shoulders tense, and when he looked up again, his cheek was stained by a trail of tears, which the man quickly wiped away, pinching the bridge of his nose afterwards. "I'm Sam. Sam Winchester."

Castiel gingerly took the outstretched hand and introduced himself. "I'm Castiel Milton," he said, skipping the niceties and the titles.

Sam's eyes flashed with surprise at hearing the unusual name, but he didn't ask about it, and Castiel was grateful for it. He was tired of always having to explain.

"Do you think Dean's gonna be okay?" Sam choked out, letting go of Castiel's hand and stealing a look at his brother's sleeping, bandaged figure.

Castiel followed his eyes, catching a glimpse of what he could not see on the operating table; a patch of ash blonde hair, a bruised face, a pair of eyes adorned by very thick eyelashes. The outline of the man's body hidden underneath the sheets told Castiel that he wasn't lazy; he'd most definitely worked out a whole lot before the accident, because the trace of muscles in his arms was unmistakable for anything else.

"I believe so," Castiel responded, then paused for an instant. "I can't deny that his injuries are rather severe... It was a pretty bad accident. Your brother is... Quite lucky to be alive, Mr. Winchester."

Castiel could see the way Sam's breath hitched in his throat at that, before his jaw set tighter, a vicious gleam working its way into the man's eyes.

"The bastard's almost killed him..." Sam muttered.

"I heard that the other driver passed away."

Sam nodded.

"Can't say I feel sorry for the guy," the Winchester growled, "But I just... I just want Dean to be fine. He won't... Die, right? He'll get better now?"

Seeing the desperate hope in this twenty-something man's eyes made something constrict inside Castiel's chest. He wasn't used to seeing grown men act so vulnerable around him. They'd cry in front of the nurses, the female doctors, but never in front of him. Sam Winchester, on the other hand, seemed to have a hard time holding it together regardless of the company.

Cas so badly wanted to lie, to say that Dean would certainly survive, but he couldn't know that. All he could do was to stay there throughout the night and watch over his patient alongside the man's brother.

"The next few hours will be conclusive," Cas finally said, "If he makes it through, he will be alright."

He wanted to add eventually, but he spared the giant that additional piece of knowledge, at least for now.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay," Sam mumbled, shooting him one last thankful, if worried, glance before settling back onto the chair, eyes glued to Dean.

Castiel walked over to the hospital cot and observed the sedated man in silence. He'd been hooked up to a whole lot of different machines; heart monitors, breathing aid, morphine being pumped straight into the man's veins, a plethora of things that kept him alive. He looked at peace now, but Castiel knew how deceiving that could be; any damage caused so close to the most important parts of the brain could have unexpected results.

Without asking for permission, Castiel pulled up another chair and sat down next to Sam Winchester, wordlessly watching over the sleeping man before him, thinking of all the things he'd possibly leave behind if Cas failed to help him get through this in one piece.

:~:

The night passed without any sleep for either Sam or Castiel. They spent the hours until dusk without much conversation on Castiel's part, but somewhere in the middle of the night, when Dean's pulse briefly dwindled, Sam lost his composure and when the situation was brought back under control with the help of another doctor and several nurses, Cas remained to listen to Sam spill their life story. Or rather, not their life story, but their early years.

It appeared that the Winchester brothers were very close ever since Sam, the younger brother, was born, and it seemed that most of the man's childhood memories revolved around his older brother. Castiel quietly listened as Sam spun tales of scraped knees, fights in the school courtyard and watching the fireworks on the Fourth of July, hardly mentioning his parents, only describing Dean. As far as their adult life goes, Castiel found out next to nothing, but he didn't mind. He was a good listener, not so much a conversation maker, and in a strange way, he was happy to offer whatever support he could to Sam. The man struck him as kind, and obviously very attached to his brother. The least he could do was to stick around and listen.

By the time seven in the morning rolled around and the hospital started bustling with life again, Castiel had already heard about the time Dean nearly set Sam's hair on fire when he was eight, the time Sam developed a crush on a girl two years his senior and Dean attempted to get her to notice his scrawny little brother, and the time they both tried to build a car out of some old scrapes of metal and almost succeeded, if you consider that it looked like a kayak and did not actually run.

At seven-thirty in the morning Meg, the nurse, came in to check on Dean and froze at the sight of Castiel, her full lips agape in surprise.

"Castiel? Weren't you meant to go home about... Twelve hours ago? Look at you, married to the job," she said with a smirk before settling her eyes on the patient. "I heard about what happened. The boy's okay now, right?"

Castiel nodded, knowing that she was referring to the late-night scare.

"We can cut back on the sedatives soon enough. I'm going to-"

"You are going to need sedatives at this rate. Get the hell out, Doctor Milton. You need to sleep."

"I'm fine," he quipped, even though he knew the woman was right. Everyone had their limits; Castiel reached his about fifteen hours ago. For some reason though, he wanted to be there when his patient woke up; to reassure the man that from now on, it'd only get better, even if he could not be sure of the truth behind that statement.

He spent the majority of last night studying the man's littered with freckles, unnaturally pale face, his defined jaw line, strong cheek bones, full lips... It was hard to tell behind all the bandages, but Dean Winchester was undoubtedly a good looking man. Castiel's tired mind briefly wondered if the man had a wife or girlfriend to come home to, but he concluded that whatever other relations he'd had, they must've been far away. After all, only he and Sam remained by Dean's bed throughout the night.

Castiel shook his head briefly and focused on the monitors. His patient was stable, although still unconscious, and for whatever reason, the young doctor did not wish to leave the man's bed until he was certain he'd awaken. And yet, being a neurosurgeon, Castiel knew that there was no guarantee as to when Dean Winchester would finally open his eyes; it could take minutes, hours, even days, and surely the young doctor would have to sleep at some point too. He couldn't just stay there and wait however long it took.

He'd be of no use to anyone, not this patient and not the next, if he did not get at least three solid hours of rest, he knew that.

He left Sam to watch over his brother and went to seek out one of the doctors from his ward who was also on duty, planning to ask them to look after his patient while he'd go home to sleep in a proper bed for a few short moments. Of course Dean would be well taken care of, but it wouldn't hurt to ask, he rationalized with himself, much too tired to wonder at the reasons behind his actions.

He only hoped that it would be Michael, and not Crowley, who was on duty that day.

Castiel crossed through the clinically white halls, passed by various medical staff, until he reached the break room and found the answer to his silent question, his hopes quickly dashed as he found the one person he didn't wish to see.

He wasn't even remotely surprised to find the man napping away on the sofa, with his white coat rolled up into a pillow, snoring loudly, oblivious to the commotion that hardly ever ceased outside of the break room. Where Castiel was a workaholic, his counterpart was the exact opposite, and Cas would likely never stop shaking his head at the members of the board who not only hired this man but also promoted him, and not just once but twice.

Crowley was everything a doctor should never be. Lazy, with an unpredictable temper, clever in all the wrong ways and quick to indulge in everything except actual, hard work. Cas wasn't blind to the man's skills though. Undoubtedly a fantastic surgeon, Crowley had saved many lives... but what the board didn't know was that these lives were not saved for free. Crowley was completely corrupt, and to get a quick surgery done by his hands, you'd have to hash out a whole lot of money. To someone with any sort of a sense of justice, Crowley's whole personality had to be absolutely repulsive, and yet somehow, the man still managed to waste most of his time romancing the nurses instead of working.

With a sigh, Cas loomed over the snoring man and cleared his throat. Once, twice, thrice, all to no avail.

"Crowley, you are on duty," he finally reprimanded. "Why is it that every time you're at work, I am the one tending to your patients? It is illogical. You do get paid for being here, don't you?" Castiel ranted, exhaustion and personal dislike seeping into his voice, making it even more gruff than usual.

After a few moments of this, Crowley's eyes shot open, drifting to Castiel immediately. The young doctor really did not enjoy the way his arch-nemesis smiled at him just then.

"What's that then darling, did you miss me?" Crowley drawled in his foreign accent, sitting up at long last.

"I'm sure that your patients did. I'll have you know that I had to do your rounds again."

"But you do it so well!" Crowley exclaimed in mock admiration, then stood and patted Castiel on the back. "S'pose it's time you went home, eh? My little Meg said you've been here for a couple days now. Don't you ever wanna go out and get laid, Cassie?"

Castiel rolled his eyes and reminded himself of the reason he was there in the first place; Dean Winchester.

"I need you to look after a patient of mine. Car crash from last night, thirty-one years old. Dean Winchester. I'm going to go home for a couple of hours. All you need to do is check on him now and then. Is that clear?"

"Castiel, you act as if I do nothing when you're not around. You're breaking my little heart."

"You're wrong, Crowley. You never do anything. Whether I'm around or not is quite irrelevant," Castiel retorted and turned away, adding over his shoulder, "Look after him."

Not more than forty-five minutes later, he fell on the large double bed in his very own bedroom and passed out, still wearing his white coat, too tired to even change.

Not more than ninety minutes later, Dean Winchester's pulse came to an abrupt halt.

:~:

Castiel hadn't awakened until ten hours later, which was exceedingly unusual for him. He hardly ever managed to sleep that long without being called in for one reason or another; in fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd managed to sleep for more than five hours in a row; but this time, he slept soundly, his slumber undisturbed by all external sources.

He dragged himself out of bed, tossed the white coat aside, stripped down to his underwear and padded across his hallway. His whole one story house was a symphony of light blue combined with eclectic, pinewood furniture. Castiel liked open spaces and soft colors that did not interfere with the view right outside his windows, which happened to be pretty spectacular. He lived about fifteen miles out of town, right by the lake, with a small flight of wooden stairs going down from the porch leading to a little secluded sandy part of the shore that was not quite big enough to be called a beach but still good enough for Castiel to relax at during the very rare moments that he had the time to do so.

Today would not be one of those days, though. He'd have to go to the hospital, check on his patient, tend to the others. The usual business.

He discarded his boxer briefs and stepped into the shower, tossing his head back and slowly waking up under the warm stream of water. This was better than any cup of coffee he'd ever had, but he still would never survive if not for all the caffeine he'd been consuming on a daily basis. His mind briefly drifted away, musing over the idea of taking a holiday sometime, and then putting it aside like a book he'd had no interest in. What would he possibly do on a holiday? He'd be much better off working.

He didn't bother eating breakfast, only chugging down a cup of coffee before slipping into his car and driving to the hospital. He was surprised to not find any calls or messages waiting for him when he checked his phone, but he took that as a good sign. Perhaps, just this once, everything was alright with the world.

When Castiel pulled up to the hospital, the first thing he saw on the parking lot was a vehicle that stood out among the others. He was no good at cars, knowing only several brands, things like Fiat or Mercedes, but this one did not fall under any of the brands he'd been familiar with. It was black, sleek, old-fashioned and very handsome, if a car could ever fall under that category. He spotted a tall person standing behind it, sifting through the contents of the trunk, muttering something under their breath. Cas shrugged, locked his own Ford with the tiny pilot that came along with it, and started walking over to the entrance, only to be stopped by the giant he now knew was Sam Winchester, who apparently owned the unique black car. There was panic in his eyes, not much different from the first time he'd seen him, and Cas felt his own heart skip a beat.

Surely they'd alert him if something had happened to one of his very own patients. Surely he'd be told if Dean's state took a turn for the worse.

Surely...?

"Doctor Milton! They said you wouldn't have the time to come today?" Sam raised the question, brow furrowing, voice tinted with fear. He'd still been wearing the same clothes from when his brother was first admitted into the hospital, a simple plaid shirt combined with a pair of worn-out jeans.

" I'm not sure I understand," Cas muttered, mirroring Sam's expression. He wouldn't have the time? When did he ever have time for anything but the hospital?

"That other surgeon, the British one, he said you can't come. There was a-well, Dean's-he's not-" Sam stuttered, no longer able to look Cas in the eyes, which was a good thing, because the rage that suddenly welled up inside the blue globes was likely to startle the younger Winchester.

Castiel grabbed Sam's arm forcefully, pulling the other man's gaze onto himself, and gritted out, "Is Dean alive, Sam?"

Sam's eyes widened at the question. Castiel should have been more delicate, but he found himself in an urgent need of knowing the truth.

"What? Of course he's alive! Do you think I'd be out here talking to you if he wasn't?" he exclaimed, forcing himself away from Castiel.

"Then what is the matter?" he urged.

"His heart, it just, it stopped beating for a moment... That other doctor, he said that... That Dean's in a coma..." Sam trailed off, clenching his fists and looking down towards the asphalt, unaware of the fact that he'd just sent Castiel's head spinning.

Cas' eyes shot wide open. Why wasn't he alerted? Dean Winchester was his patient, assigned specifically to him. Castiel was the one to perform the life-saving surgeries as well as the one with the most thorough knowledge of the man's wounds. Why was he not informed?! They called him in for things a great deal smaller every single day of the week!

Then it dawned on him. Crowley.

He turned to walk past Sam, but first he laid his hand on the giant's shoulder and looked at him, trying to look reassuring. For some reason, he'd felt exceedingly bad for the man who so clearly cared about his brother.

"I'll look after your brother, Sam. I promise."

He then stormed off in the direction of the entrance, dead-set on showing Crowley exactly what he thought.

Castiel walked into the room, currently lit up by nothing else than a little sunlight sneaking past the heavy blinds and all the medical equipment that his patient was constantly hooked up to, now even more so, what with his recent turn for the worse.

Dean Winchester looked much the same as he did the last time Castiel had seen him, but now, with the diagnose stating that he was in a coma, Castiel knew better than anyone that the man's future could no longer be predictable. No one could be sure that Dean would wake up at any given point. Of course, those were the things they hardly ever said to the families, although Castiel knew better than to give too much hope where there could be none.

He'd seen Dean's card. The man was stable now, and only time could tell when - or if - he would open his eyes.

The young doctor walked over to the cot and looked down at the man that rested in it. He looked at peace, unmoving aside from the steady rise and fall of his chest, slightly pale, very much asleep. Castiel couldn't help but admire the man's features. A person so very loved by his brother, still so very young, he didn't deserve meeting this kind of fate.

Cas thought back to the past hour. He'd wrecked havoc in the hospital after finding out that Crowley stopped the rest of the staff from paging him under the excuse of having it all under control. He likely hoped to score an easy surgery that would bring him a lot of attention, but things didn't quite go as planned.

If Castiel had been here, if he'd never left, Dean may have been better by now. As it was, he wouldn't be surprised if Sam would choose to sue both Crowley and the hospital for not giving adequate care to his brother. If it came to that, Cas was already resolved to support the Winchester's case.

Why did he care so much about this one particular patient? He'd lost people before. There were many he just couldn't save. But this one, he really wanted to. Castiel was a doctor, a surgeon, but he knew that not everything had to make sense in order to still be a fact... And fact was, he'd give his very best to keep Dean Winchester alive.

He knew what the key was with coma patients. It was all up to luck, but if you talked to them, if you'd read to them and try to breach through that wall, it could help.

So he sat down in the uncomfortable chair, looking at the other man with remorse in his blue eyes. From doing various tests, he knew that Dean's eyes were green, but he'd never actually seen him with eyes wide open, never heard him speak.

Perhaps the man would at least hear him.

After a moment of prolonged silence, Castiel finally spoke up, and those were the only two words he said to his patient that night. Two simple words.

"Hello, Dean."

Castiel came and went all throughout the day and night, and he hadn't gone home when his shift came to an end. Instead, he snuck back into room 307, and watched over Dean, determined not to let anything happen to the man again.

A/N: Hi everyone! This is my first attempt at a Destiel fic, so please let me know if you liked it. Do keep in mind that English is not my first language, so if you spotted any kind of language slip, I'm sorry! There'll be more of this in the coming future. Reviews are inspiring! ^_^