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Content: In which Dean is worried out of his mind.

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Author's Note: You know, writers oftentimes say they're sorry for creating too much angst and sending their characters through hell and all that ... but dammit, we're always lying about that - in truth we all thrive on your misery :DD And I can tell you right away that this chapter probably won't be any better for you!

But hey, there always has to be some gut-wrenching angst before the hurt/comfort starts, right? ;D

So have "fun" with this chapter!

And once again, thank you so much for all your amazing comments and I can't wait to hear your cries of despair xDD

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Dean breaks every traffic rule humanity ever invented on his way back to the motel.

For a split second he feels a pang of concern for the Impala's safety, wondering whether he's even lucid enough to drive or if he shouldn't have just jumped into Christian's car and leave his Baby behind for now, but the thought is rather fleeting and he decides to dwell on this later. There are much more important things to worry about.

His stomach drops spectacularly when he finally arrives at his destination and the first thing he sees is the huge amount of police cars standing around in the parking lot. Sure, he expected the scene to look like that – the sheriff probably called every force available for a presumably FBI agent being attacked in his town –, but it's still horrifying to witness. It seems so real all of sudden, like a goddamned nightmare.

Dean jumps out of the car almost instantly (after reminding himself that he actually has to turn off the Impala instead of leaping out of the still moving vehicle) and rushes toward his room, flashing his badge at officers trying to stop him from entering. They immediately let him go through as soon as they notice the three capital letters and that's undoubtedly a good thing because right this second Dean isn't above punching about anyone in the face who dares to step into his way.

"Where is he?" he yells right after he crossed the threshold. "What happened?"

Sheriff Palmer, who is standing next to Castiel's bed, startles at the harsh voice. "Agent Barkes."

Dean lets his eyes rove over the room. It appears quite untouched, not very different from when he left, apart from a chair kicked over (the one Castiel's ass had been glued on for the last couple of days) and the law enforcement standing around, apparently checking the whole room for any kind of clue. They even rummage through Dean's underwear and usually the hunter would have smacked their heads really hard for that invasion of privacy, but right now he couldn't have cared less.

The only person that mattered is Castiel.

Who is nowhere to be found.

"Where is he?" Dean demands to know. He's on the verge of grabbing the sheriff's collar and shake him mercilessly, not giving a fuck about the man's crestfallen face and the big bag underneath his eyes.

"The ambulance took off a few minutes ago," Palmer explains.

And yes, if Dean would have been able to think straight anymore, he probably would have noticed the lack of some certain cars in the parking lot. It makes sense to rush an injured person to the hospital as quickly as possible.

He probably shouldn't have wasted his time to come here in the first place.

He's already turning on his heels, for once in his life actually cursing himself for not installing a navigation system in the Impala like Sam had suggested at least a million times before because then he could have just punched in the address instead of asking for directions like a caveman, but before he's even able to catch someone nearby to demand to know where the frigging hospital in this godforsaken town is, he collides with a solid chest and finds himself blinking confusedly for a moment.

"Dammit, Dean, get a grip!" Christian hisses, grabbing the hunter's arm, most likely in an attempt to steady Dean at least a little bit. "Take a deep breath or something!"

Dean scowls. "That's your fucking advice? Seriously?"

Christian sighs. "You're not thinking rational, Winchester! You get yourself killed that way and Mary probably wouldn't forgive me for that."

Dean grits his teeth and tries to free himself from his cousin's grip. He honestly doesn't need any stupid life lessons right now!

"Cas –"

"I know!" Christians replies, his voice almost sounding as if he actually cares. "But it won't do him any good if you're running around in town like a headless chicken. We have to be smarter than that."

Dean can't help to silently agree, but he keeps his expression unrelenting.

"Someone broke in here," Christians reminds him, emphasizing his words. "And the stories I heard about your Castiel make it perfectly clear that he protected this room with everything he knew. Am I right?"

Dean nods in confirmation. He personally oversaw Castiel putting up some more runes and protection wards last night while simultaneously complaining about Dean's unnecessary overprotectiveness.

"Yeah, he did."

"So," Christian casts a quick glance at the police men standing so close they might overhear something and as a precaution lowers his voice, whispering, " … who or what the hell is powerful enough to not be affected by that?"

Dean freezes.

He hadn't actually really thought of the mechanics before, he only cared about Castiel being hurt by a douchebag who downright dared to invade their allegedly safe refuge.

He didn't fully consider what this meant.

"My guess?" Christian asks, his teeth gritting. "Witches that used the power of souls for their own purposes."

Dean still hears Castiel's voice, loud and clear: "These witches are able to do a lot of damage if they're seriously in the possession of that many souls."

And once again, the guy had been so fucking right it's actually painful.

"Fuck!", Dean swears, clenching his fists. The whole situation is a freaking mess.

"Couldn't agree more." Christian nods. "That's why we have to be careful. They're still out there and maybe they'll look for us next. They had a reason they attacked Castiel in the first place. Maybe they don't like the fact that we're sniffing around and talking with demons."

Dean can't seriously argue with him on that front, he totally agrees, but it still doesn't make it any better. He just wants to shove his cousin to the side and rush to the hospital. He wants to lose his frigging head and freak out.

Christian seems to catch Dean's chain of thoughts and tightens his grip rather uncomfortably. "I know what's going on in your head, stupid, but we have to think for a minute, okay? Make some kind of plan. Because your mother would kill us otherwise."

Dean bites his bottom lip because there is nothing to add.

"Right now it's just the two of us," Christian continues. "We have to stay together from now on, do you understand? We shouldn't be running around alone. It would only make it easier for those bastard witches or whoever did this."

Dean narrows his eyes. "Then what are we waiting for? Cas is alone right now in that hospital!"

Christian hesitates, his gaze flickering through the room. It's more than obvious that he's not really okay with leaving without learning what exactly occurred here, getting a few statements and maybe looking at some surveillance footage, and Dean gets it to a certain degree, he's dying to know how everything happened step by step as well and if perhaps something else is going on than meets the eye, but he's still got Palmer's voice in his ear, all pitiful and sorrow when he told Dean about Castiel's condition over the phone.

There is no way in hell that Dean is staying behind to question some witnesses!

"We're going!" he decides. "End of story!"

Christian looks like a man who already knew that he'd be defeated right from the start. "Fine, but I'm driving!" he insists. "It seemed like you wanted to commit suicide driving here and I'm not down for that!"

Dean scoffs, but he's got really no time to pick up a fight. "Fine. Let's go!"

The hospital is a freaking mess.

Obviously there had been some traffic accident not long ago and now the waiting room and hallways are crowded with people talking and cursing and demanding to see doctors. It seems absolutely impossible to get through the huge amount of human beings blocking the way and Dean finds himself swearing at the sight in front of him. For a split second he even considers pulling his gun and forcing these people to jump out of his path, damn the consequences, but his common sense is apparently still strong enough not to pull bullshit like this.

That and Christian's warning glare because Dean's intentions had obviously been rather prominent on his face.

Dean, however, doesn't give much of a damn. He can only think about Castiel being somewhere in this building, alone and hurt and so freaking unprotected Dean feels sick even picturing it. Anything could happen at a place like this.

Hell, even his highly warded motel room hadn't been able to keep him safe.

Dean clenches his fists as he uses the power of his elbows to get to the front counter. He gets a lot of protests and harsh words by the people around, especially from those first in line at the reception, but Dean presses his fake FBI badge in all their faces, turning their loud noises into unhappy grumbles rather quickly.

"I need to see Castiel Novak!" he demands without much preamble, looking at the nurse in charge – a middle aged blonde named Julie, judging by her name tag – with an intensity that makes her recoil a bit instinctively.

"Sir -"

"Castiel Novak!"

He doesn't have time for pleasantries or any stupid games. He doesn't have time at all.

Julie's eyebrow twitches, evidently not happy about Dean's impolite behavior, but the sight of the badge obviously keeps her from voicing any kind of complaint. However, she huffs right into his face before turning toward the computer screen in front of her, most likely searching the information about Castiel's whereabouts.

"I'm sorry, Agent," she says eventually, not sounding apologetic at all. "But you can't see him right now. The doctors are running some tests."

Dean grits his teeth. "Listen, Julie -"

"I can't allow it," she cuts in, probably so used to people bitching at her that she can read the signs effortlessly beforehand and is able to interrupt them before they're even capable of opening their mouths. "I understand your concern and I know it's an ongoing police investigation, but this is our department here and there are rules and regulations for a reason."

Dean clenches his jaw.

The rational part of his brain knows that she's right. Castiel can't be here for long – probably only twenty minutes tops, perhaps even less – and of course the doctors need time to work their magic and examine the patient from top to bottom, without some concerned co-worker standing in their way and looking over their shoulder the whole time.

Dean is very aware that he's an annoying piece of shit when someone he cares about is involved.

And Julie's job isn't to keep them apart and be a cruel villain in the story of his life. No, she's simply the one who makes sure that everything runs smoothly and everyone is able to do their best.

But still …

There is so freaking much they don't know. The supernatural, witches, demons – the list is fucking endless and it drives Dean crazy just thinking about it. Castiel could be somewhere in this hospital, dying because of some spell or curse, surrounded by doctors who haven't got the foggiest what is even happening right in front of them. They would desperately search for some normal solution, something plausible, and naturally never consider something otherworldly might be going on.

Castiel could be dying, right now, while Dean would be arguing with the nurse!

"You don't understand," he urges, leaning closer and ignoring her scowl. "There are things happening here – I'm not sure your doctors are able to figure it out in time. But we – we dealt with this shit before!"

Julie narrows his eyes. "I can assure you, our doctors are very capable –"

"I don't doubt that for even a second, okay?" Dean interjects. "There is definitely a reason they're employed here after all, right?" He takes a deep breath. "It's just – they could benefit from our knowledge. We could save some precious time."

Julie's features stay unmoved, but a small glint appears in her eyes. "Agent, I can't just –"

"Please let us talk to one of his doctors!" Dean says, wincing at the pleading tone in his voice. "We could help solve the situation faster. That'd be in your interest too, am I right?"

Julie scrutinizes both of them intensely. "So you might have valuable information concerning Mr. Novak condition?"

Dean nods sharply and Christian behind him makes some sound of confirmation while simultaneously glaring at the guy who stood first in line before Dean pushed him aside.

In the end, Julie sighs. "Well, the sheriff told us to work with you …" She grabs the phone next to her, already dialing a number. "Go through that door over there, on the right you'll find a waiting area. The doctor is gonna be with you shortly."

Dean opens his mouth to add something more – though he's actually not sure what –, but Christian mumbles a quick thanks and drags Dean toward the appointed place before Dean's brain is even able to catch up.

"You think there is really something we can do?" Christian asks as soon as they're out of earshot. "We don't even know what happened yet!"

"Well, Cas obviously wasn't just stabbed in the back or something," Dean argues. "They wouldn't need to run some stupid tests to figure that out. All I know is what Palmer told me on the phone: That Cas was unconscious when everyone arrived at the scene."

At the motel room. Which Dean deemed safe enough to leave Castiel all by himself.

Probably the stupidest mistake he ever made.

"So what do you suggest?" Christian asks.

"We're making it up as we go," Dean grumbles. "And hopefully get the opportunity to shoot some witches."

It's not the best of plans, but it sounds solid enough for now and Dean is way too emotional to come up with something better.

Christian, however, just grunts. "I'll call Mary and let her know what's going on. That way everyone else will be informed in no time at all."

Dean just nods, knowing that he wouldn't be able to talk with his mother without revealing some feeling he isn't ready to share yet. Or ever.

So instead he sits down on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs and listens to Christian mumble into his phone while he forcefully fights back the urge to leap to his feet and search for Castiel on his own.

It takes about a fucking eternity until a woman in a doctor's coat suddenly appears next to them out of freaking nowhere.

Halfheartedly he notices she seems young and energetic and quite beautiful – under different circumstances certainly something that would've caught his eyes –, but right now he couldn't care less, to be honest.

There is nothing else but Castiel on his mind.

"You're the FBI agents?" the doctor asks, her voice strained. The bags underneath her eyes and the disarray on her head tell their own story about lack of sleep and stress due a job asking quite much from a person. Nonetheless she shakes their hands tightly as soon as Dean and Christian confirm her question. "My name is Sandra Finley. I've been told you have information regarding the patient's condition?"

Well, she honestly doesn't beat around the bush, Dean gives her that. Though she probably doesn't have time to exchange polite pleasantries.

"Maybe," Dean says. "We're not exactly –"

He swallows, suddenly feeling a wave of emotions coming his way. That woman saw Castiel merely minutes or perhaps even seconds ago and he just – God, he doesn't even know what he feels right now. He wants to ask so many questions and at the same time his brain is completely blank. For a moment he can't even remember how he got here in the first place. Did they take Christian's car? The Impala? He's got no clue whatsoever and that scares him more than anything.

So in the end he blurts out, "How is he?", knowing fairly well that he sounds way too desperate.

Doctor Finley blinks a few times, but doesn't show any sign of surprise at Dean's tone. "Well, it's hard to tell, I'm afraid –"

"We need to learn everything you know," Christian pipes in. "We – well, we've seen a lot of stuff you wouldn't even believe and our experts at headquarter are more familiar with this kind of situation than you are. No offense, of course."

"None taken," the doctor says, smiling slightly. "My colleagues might be too proud to admit it at this point, but so far no one came up with a decent diagnosis and I'm willing to use every resource available to help my patient."

Dean really likes her. She's not one of those "I've got a PhD, so you don't have to tell me anything"-types and he finds himself entirely grateful for that. He wouldn't have had time for such bullshit.

"Mr. Novak …" She licks her lips, obviously considering her next words. "When he arrived here, he wasn't responsive. He showed no signs of reaction to anything we tried. It didn't take long for us to realize that he obviously fell into a coma."

Dean feels his blood run cold at these words.

"Coma?" he croaks.

His legs suddenly feel too weak for his weight and for a split second he fears they would give up their duty and make him collapse right on the spot. It takes him a great deal of self-control to not let that happen.

"How …?" Dean's voice is tiny, vulnerable, and he hates it.

Doctor Finley sighs deeply. "That's the most important question," she says. "Usually there is some huge shock to the system involved. A massive heart attack, a severe trauma, a head injury. But with Mr. Novak – there seems to be nothing so far."

Nothing from a human, non-supernatural perspective, at least.

Dean feels impossibly sick all of a sudden.

"The police notified us there had been some kind of attack, but it appears that accusation is only based on a witness statement," the doctor continues. "From a medical point of view – well, there are no grounds for something like that. Mr. Novak's got no injuries, no scratches, no bruises, no signs of any kind of struggle. And even after some tests –" She rubs her forehead, most likely to fight back a headache. "Some kind of head trauma would have been my first guess, but his head scan showed up completely fine."

Christian folds his arms across his chest. "So what are you saying? That Novak just fell into a coma out of the blue? Just like that?"

Doctor Finley shakes her head vigorously. "No, of course not. We're still in the process of running some tests. And if it seriously had been some violent attack, there are a lot of things to consider. Maybe some poison or something. I mean, sure, his first blood test came back without any results, but that's just been a speed test, so still …"

It's absolutely clear that she doesn't have a single clue what might be going on, why a healthy man just dropped like that, and she obviously sincerely hopes that the FBI – or what she believes to be the FBI – would be able to give her the right input to solve this mystery.

"So there is nothing wrong with him?" Christian asks. "Apart from Novak being in a coma, I mean?"

Finley pulls a face. "Well, his brain activity is unusually high."

Dean can't help but snort at that. "He's a clever guy," he explains, detecting some fondness in his tone he actually didn't intend to put there. "His brain is working like all the time."

Obviously even during a coma.

Figures that the guy doesn't know how to make it stop even in a situation like that.

But the doctor shakes her head. "It's not that," she disagrees. "The activity … it's way higher than usual, especially when we're talking about a coma patient here. It's as if – as if he's calling up hundred different memories at the same time."

Dean frowns. "That sounds … like a lot of work."

Finley nods. "It actually sounds a bit like it's been way too much work for his system which eventually decided to shut down."

It's clear that she's not entirely convinced by her theory. And Dean can't exactly blame her, she probably never encountered something like that during her studies. As far as he knows black magic isn't a common school subject yet.

"So if you've got any idea what might have happened to him, we'd be grateful," Doctor Finley states, her eyes so fucking intense that Dean feels a shiver running through his body. "The more input we get, the faster we might solve this one."

Christian nods in agreement. "We need all the tests results you've got so far. Our expert back at home base would know what to do with them."

They continue to talk, using medical terms left and right and trying to coordinate their next steps, but it turns into a static background noise for Dean soon after. He feels numb all of a sudden. So hollow and tired. The adrenaline that pushed him forward since the sheriff's call is obviously wearing off, leaving an exhausted man behind.

But at the same time he can't make himself take a break and maybe drop onto one of the stiff chairs at the waiting area. He's too far away from any kind of finish line.

And there is one question, more important than anything else …

"Is he gonna make it?"

Dean dreads the answer. So much.

But he can't ignore it. Facing reality has always been a valuable rule in the hunter business.

Even when reality turns out to be a cruel bitch.

Doctor Finley's features soften as she looks at him. It's plain as day that no one needs to tell her that Dean isn't simply wondering about a mere colleague's well-being but about something on a much more personal level.

"His vital signs are quite good so far," she explains. "It's only … we don't know how much long-term damage his brain might have suffered. Perhaps nothing at all, but we have to face the possibility –" She halts, lowering her gaze for a split second. "We can tell for sure when he wakes up."

IF he wakes up, she doesn't say.

Dean feels his chest constrict in a very uncomfortable way and he has to shut his eyes for a moment and take a deep breath to gather at least a little bit self-control. He can't afford to have a freaking breakdown right next to an old vending machine.

"Can I –?" He stops himself, swallowing. "Can we see him?"

The doctor reaches out and squeezes his wrist in a reassuring manner. "We have to run some last tests. After that, of course."

It probably won't take that long in the end, but even having to wait for a few more minutes seems like hell to Dean. He wants to see Castiel immediately. Make sure with his own two eyes that the situation isn't as hopeless and horrible as it feels right now.

And though he knows the whole thing is necessary for Castiel to get all the help available, being forced to stay in the background is gonna be absolute torture! Dean can't imagine getting out of this unscathed.

And with the big pile of guilt pressing on his conscience he's not sure he even wants to.