Cas was sitting on the hospital bed that had been his. It wasn't his anymore. He was supposed to leave. They needed all the room they could get, and with a little assistance from a cane, Castiel was fully functioning. The thought of relying on a walking stick to keep him upright made him feel like an old man and he hated that feeling. He was in his twenties! He shouldn't feel like that.

"You lucky bastard," Dean grumbled and his eyes opened. Dean was stuck there for God knows how much longer and it was going to drive him insane. All Dean wanted was a room to himself and a comfortable bed with no one hanging around to fuss over him. He'd made it very clear that he despised hospitals. They smelt like chemicals and death and he wanted nothing more than to breathe fresh air.

Cas sighed and took hold of the shining wooden stick next to him. "Yeah…. We're both lucky though, aren't we?" his voice was quiet and he didn't really believe what he was saying. Were they really that lucky? Was being stuck with aching wounds and awful memories really better than going out with a fight?

Dean half tried to manoeuvre himself into a sitting position, but soon gave up. He huffed in frustration and scratched at his forehead. "Do you think I could convince these guys to let me out early if I find someone to look after me?" His eyes lit up as the idea had obviously just crossed his mind.

Cas ran a hand along the wood of his walking stick. His hand ran over a patch and he jerked his hand away, sucking at the spot where the small piece of wood had jammed itself under his skin. "It's worth a shot… who would you get?" He lifted his eyes to look at Dean. It was strange how one look into those green eyes could slow the frantic beating of Castiel's heart. It wasn't something he dwelled on for more than a few seconds though. Perhaps it was merely because Cas had thought Dean was dead and he still felt relieved whenever he looked up and saw that Dean was okay.

Dean shrugged. "I don't know anyone here."

Cas bit down on his lip. "Either do I." He put the stick on the floor and used it to pull himself to his feet. His leg burned and he thought that maybe the stick wasn't enough to keep him standing. They didn't know anyone. Cas wasn't even certain where in England they were. It was probably London, but he hadn't exactly bothered to ask. It was America, it wasn't home and that's the only fact that mattered to either of the men.

"How do you feel?"

"Stable enough… I guess that's why they're in a hurry to get rid of me," he smiled slightly in an attempt to lighten the mood, but there wasn't really any point. He walked around for a bit, trying to get his leg working properly, but the bullet had done quite a bit of damage and the muscles wouldn't respond as they normally did.

"Are you ready to go?" The nurse he'd come to know as Bela was staring at him expectantly.

Cas took a deep breath and looked up at her. "Look, my friend here, he doesn't hates hospitals."

"I hate them," Dean chimed in.

Cas nodded. "If there was some way he could leave, that would be great. If he can't live alone then he can stay with me and I can look after his wounds if you tell me what to do."

"Please," Dean flashed a smile and Cas narrowed his eyes as he watched Bela's reaction.

Bela bit her lip. "I'm not sure if I can allow you to do that... I'll be back in a minute," she nodded to the men and rushed from the room.

Cas shrugged at Dean and winced as the healing wound in his leg started aching. "The place I got is pretty small, but there's room enough for another bed to be set up someplace," he mumbled and collapsed back down onto the solid bed that had been his.

"I just hope I'm allowed to leave…"

Bela came back after a few minutes, tugging and a strand of hair that was hanging in front of her face. "So, it looks like both of you can go," she smiled and placed her hands on her hips.

Cas waited around and listened to around three different people spurting instructions at him. He would have to change the dressing on Dean's chest.

Dean had tried to argue and explain that he could do it himself, but no one would allow it. He gave up after a while and let himself be helped into a wheelchair. He was in obvious pain. Not only was there a huge scar on his chest, but there were still yellowing bruises covering his from head to toe and his hair was oily and the shadows under his eyes were only getting darker.

Cas struggled to his feet once again and hobbled out of the ward for the last time. He glanced down at his clothes. Well, they weren't his really, as his were stuck back home or tucked away in someplace for holding. The clothes were knew and stiff and he just wanted to be in a pair of pants that needed ironing and a shirt that didn't constrict his movements. Cas watched Dean and wished that he could help. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. It was his fault that Dean had been shot. He hadn't gone back. He'd refused to do as Dean asked and now Dean was in pain.

The walls were dark grey, there was barely any furniture in the place and the windows were tiny, letting in very little light. The kitchen was cramped, with ugly mustard coloured cupboards and a tiny fold out table that they could eat at. There was one small, scratchy brown couch facing a blank wall that just so happened to be a lighter shade of grey to the rest of the place. There was a double bed with grey and blue sheets crammed into the bedroom. There was one large, full length mirror handing of a wall and a small bedside table with a lamp and a lock sitting on it.

"You can take the bed," Dean mumbled as Cas stuffed the warn out mattress into the small gap between the bed and the wall.

"No. Your injuries are worse than mine. I'll sleep on the mattress," Cas finally got it lying flat and sighed as his leg threatened to crumple underneath him and the chunk taken out of his side started to sting painfully. He lowered himself onto the bed and stared at the blank, bleak, grey wall opposite him.

Dean hoisted himself up and out of the wheelchair, claiming that it didn't really help the pain. He grimaced as he staggered over to sit next to Castiel. "Why us, Cas? Why did we survive?"

Cas shrugged and rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

"We should be dead. Well, me, anyway… Why did they bother to get us out of there? Why us? There were so many other people… more important people. Why are we alive?" Dean took a visibly shaky breath and put a hand to the bullet wound.

Cas watched him out of the corner of his eye. He wished that there was something he could say to make it better, but he had been thinking the same things himself and had no comforting words. "You should get some rest."

"We've had enough rest to last a life time," Dean muttered. He pushed back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

Cas bit his lip. He felt his stomach flip nervously and he ran a hand through his hair. "Do I need to… change the bandages?" he asked quietly, cheeks turning ever so slightly pink.

"No they're fine. Tomorrow, though I still don't understand why I can't do it myself,' Dean was never going to give up on that one. "Hey, Castiel? You don't snore, do you?" Dean grinned, his tongue running along his bottom lip as pushed back the covers. "I don't sleep well with noises."

"I don't know. No one's ever told me… maybe you can let me know in the morning?" Cas smiled and took a strangely shaky breath.

Dean chuckled and rested his head back on the pile of pillows. He'd made a sort of pillow tower behind his head.

"I'll leave you to get changed," Cas said and hurried from the room. The walls had started closing in on him. He needed air. He needed space. He just wanted to see his parents and sleep in his own bed, but that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. Cas dragged out the stiff pair of brand new pyjamas. He'd never really liked wearing striped and these pyjamas were blue and white. They'd be warm though and that's all that really mattered. He pulled them on and splashed water on his face, stopping to look out one of the windows. He couldn't see very much in the darkness, just huge shadowy shapes looming over him.
When he limped back into the bedroom having left his walking stick leaning against a wall, Dean was asleep.

Dean's face wasn't peaceful though. His features were all screwed up and he was tossing and turning. His breathing wasn't even either and his pyjama shirt was hanging open, showing the bandages that had the smallest amounts of blood seeping through them.

Cas sighed as he lowered himself down onto the thin mattress. It hurt. The muscles screamed at him, but he finally managed to collapse rather painfully on the bed. The blanket he dragged over the top of him was scratchy, but warm.

Dean's hand flopped over the side of the bed as he tossed restlessly in his sleep and a little whimper echoed around the small room. He'd rolled onto his front, which probably wasn't best for the healing wound in his chest. He started snoring softly and his fingers brushed against Cas' nose.

Cas smiled, scratched at his nose, reached up absent-mindedly and gave Dean's hand a comforting squeeze. He held on and heard Dean's whimpers stop. He didn't want to imagine what Dean was dreaming of right now. If it was anything compared to the nightmares he'd been having, Dean wasn't actually getting much rest behind his closed eyelids.

He might have been dreaming about guns and explosions and death, or maybe he was dreaming about his family… or perhaps about Castiel, though that was ridiculous. Dean wouldn't dream about a man who he didn't even really know. What was even more strange than the thought of Dean dreaming about Cas, was the fact that Castiel actually felt a bit disappointed when he realised that Dean dreaming of him would be impossible.

Cas shut his eyes and half tried to push Dean's hand back onto the bed, but he merely succeeded in getting a finger in his eye. He rolled over so that Dean's fingers were tickling at the back of his head and he tried to ignore it. He listened to Dean's breathing as he tried to sleep. It seemed to take forever and he was uncertain as to what nightmarish reality he was about to enter, but eventually, he started forgetting what he was thinking about and drifting off into a dream world.

Note: This part would have been done quicker and would possibly have been a bit longer, but I haven't been feeling my best recently and have therefore lacked motivation. Anyway, I guess it isn't too short and it may not have seemed like a long wait to you, but it did to me...