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Content: In which there is too much noise.

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Author's Note: You're awesome and I love you :D

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It feels like time itself starts to slow down as soon as Doctor Finley leaves them.

Every instinct inside Dean screams to ignore every single hospital regulation and storm the castle. Get to Castiel right away and make sure he's actually moderately okay.

The doctor seemed to be confident enough that Castiel isn't on the verge of dying and Dean knows she's got no reason to lie or at least downplay the situation because she's most likely quite aware that she is right in the middle of a police investigation and she has no time for sparing someone's feelings. Coordinating with the authorities is part of her job description as well, Dean figures.

So yeah, they have quite a clear picture concerning Castiel's condition.

At least from a regular, human point of view.

But there are so many things these people don't know and Dean can't shake off the picture of the doctor's confused face as she told them about the coma that apparently came out of nowhere. They have no clue what might be going on and it's driving Dean insane.

Only the fact that Christian next to him is glued to the phone, reading Castiel's patient's file a nurse just gave him a few minutes ago and passing the information on the the Men of Letters right now, keeps Dean from going berserk and destroying some stuff in order to get to Castiel.

It's not like they could do anything else at the moment than send headquarters every detail they have and wait for the brainiacs at the bunker (and probably any other base in the country) to figure this shit out.

Still, Dean hates to feel so powerless.

He hates the feeling of his world tumbling down.

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In the following thirty minutes Dean's phone rings several times.

He's actually way too numb to master a simple conversation, so every single time he passes his cell to Christian, ordering him to deal with this shit. And his cousin, oh wonder, seriously complies instead of making a fuss about Dean using him as his secretary.

And Dean can't help wondering how fucking pathetic he must look that a heartless bastard like Christian doesn't complain.

The news about Castiel's situation obviously spread fast and wide. It's not just Sam and his parents calling to wonder about their friend's well-being (and about Dean's, too, as the hunter can easily guess by the glances Christian throws in his direction while talking with his family in hushed whispers) but also hunters and Men of Letters Dean barely knows by name. Friends and colleagues of Castiel, so it seems, worried out of their minds and offering their help.

And Dean curses the day he gave his okay for his cell phone number to be saved in the Men of Letters database.

Christian doesn't seem overly happy about that either, but instead of complaining he dutifully answers every single call, eases people's minds with a calmness Dean actually didn't expect of him, and urges everyone to do their best to help since "one of our own has been attacked."

Christian's never been a fan of the Men of Letters and he didn't even appear particularly fond of Castiel the one time they met, but nonetheless he can't accept some supernatural creature running around and assaulting their allies. Dean is surprisingly glad to have him by his side right now – a thought he never expected to cross his mind anytime soon.

Or ever.

But without Christian to act as the voice of reason Dean probably would have already kicked in doors in a desperate and quite reckless attempt to get to Castiel somehow. Usually Dean tends to think rationally before going into motion (an important skill if you wanna survive as a hunter), considering every future step and the possible consequences, however, right now his brain doesn't seem to function properly.

He wonders if it ever will again.

"I think you should take this."

Christian's voice jerks Dean out of his chain of thoughts and he blinks a few times, startled, before his mind slowly finds its way back to the here and now. He rises his gaze, his heart making a jump at the urgency in Christian's tone. He stares at the phone the hunter is offering him and feels his throat clench painfully.

"What is it? Did they find anything?"

Did Sam or some other nerd discover a miraculous cure that would heal Castiel in no time and have him back at the motel room at lunch time? Were they really that lucky?

Christian's face, however, turns rather grim. "It's not the Men of Letters."

Dean doesn't like his cousin's expression at all and something dark starts to creep inside his chest. "Who is it?"

Christian shoves the phone into Dean's hand and announces, "Well, I never thought I'd ever be able to say these words, but the King of the Crossroads obviously wants to speak with you."

Crowley.

Dean takes a sharp breath and wastes no time pressing the phone to his ear and hissing, "Tell me you didn't do it, you fucking son of a bitch!"

The numbness in his limbs disappears all of a sudden like it never existed and is replaced by a boiling rage inside his body that makes him dizzy due to its abruptness and sheer force. It's like a switch has been turned rather violently and for a moment Dean needs to concentrate on not letting his muscles cramp too hard.

Meanwhile, Crowley chuckles like Dean just made the best joke ever, obviously not at all inclined to take the situation at least somehow seriously. "Am I supposed to be offended by that? I'm actually the first one to agree with you that my mother was indeed a bitch."

Dean rolls his eyes. He's got seriously no time to get into a demon's family history. "Just tell me already!" he demands. "Because I'm very angry and quite trigger-happy and I'd love to shoot someone in the face, you know? I wouldn't mind it being you."

Crowley laughs. "You're ridiculously kinky, Winchester."

Dean grinds his teeth. He's just moments away from losing every last bit of self-control and he's honestly too far gone to even care. He's only able to think about how good it would feel to trash this ugly waiting room like a mad man out of his mind.

"Did you do it?" the hunter asks, his jaw clenched so hard his face starts to hurt. "Did you hurt Cas?"

Crowley stays silent for a minute, obviously considering his next words. "I am where I am because I'm not stupid, Dean. I'm a businessman." He emphasizes the term like there is nothing more important. "You and your little entourage serve a purpose to me. You're at least valuable enough right now for me to even bother with your existence. So why would I jeopardize that by attacking your precious boyfriend? That wouldn't make any sense."

Dean scoffs. "You're a demon. You don't make sense!"

"You shouldn't stereotype, my friend."

Dean feels something dark and cold constrict his chest. "I'm not your 'friend'!" he clarifies. "And it wouldn't be the first time a demon lost any kind of common sense. I saw the way you were looking at Cas in that bar. And now, not even twelve hours later, he's in a fucking hospital?" He huffs. "I don't believe in coincidences."

Crowley sighs in a way as though he's dealing with a petulant teenager. "I admit that Castiel is an interesting member of your species, but seriously? He pales in the face of my bloody souls being missing!" His voice suddenly turns so loud that Dean finds himself flinching. "I need allies, not some firm asses. I have better things to do right now."

He sounds sincere enough, but Dean never before tended to trust demons and he won't start now of all things.

"I don't believe you." His voice is barely a threatening whisper now.

"You're one sodding suspicious bloke, aren't you?" Once again Crowley seems way more amused than for his own good. "Okay, I can get behind that. I will actually take that as a compliment since you obviously think that I'm capable of breaking into Castiel's highly warded room."

Dean narrows his eyes. "So you know about the room being protected?"

Crowley sighs deeply. "Of course it is," he says. "Castiel is apparently a very skilled fella, so no surprise there. And let's be honest, no Man of Letters would stay at one place without pulling a few wards up. It's not a far stretch to think that. Same goes for hunters as well."

Dean can't exactly argue with that. It's a safe assumption that isn't supposed to let anyone's warning bells go off.

"Besides, before I approached you two at the bar, I had to gather some information about you," Crowley continues. "I never go into a deal unprepared. And during my research I naturally noticed your motel room being so efficiently protected that I actually felt some nausea just by standing in the parking lot. Your boy toy did a fairly fine job there. No demon would have been able to cross that wall and You. Know. That!" He snorts. "Don't you?"

Of course Dean does. He saw the countless demon's traps and runes that Castiel put on the walls merely minutes after they arrived at this town, too. It should have been perfectly safe against any sort of demon, even the higher ranked ones you usually hear horror stories about. Castiel is a freaking expert and there is no doubt in Dean's mind that he made every effort possible to turn their room into a safe haven, similar to the bunker.

And that makes the whole thing much more uncomfortable.

"So what the hell was capable of breaking into such a fortress?" Dean can't help wondering for the millionth time. It's driving him totally nuts. "Crazy witches with the power of hundred souls perhaps? Or something else entirely?"

"Well, you can definitely scratch the souls from your list," Crowley offers instantly.

Dean raises a brow. "Why?"

"I just visited the crime scene," the demon explains, completely unfazed. "The wards are still in working condition, I couldn't get very close because of them. As far as I was able to see nobody tempered with them or even tried to. They stayed totally unharmed by whoever entered the room and attacked your beloved Castiel." There is a slight shuffling noise when Crowley changes the position of his phone. "However, if seriously a soul-powered witch would have attempted to break in, the damage would have been far more visible. So much energy in one place would have been destructive in a way you can't even imagine, my little human friend. There is no way in hell that the souls came even close to your motel. The whole bloody block probably would have exploded or something."

Dean really has no clue if he should feel relieved by that information or not.

"No idea who brought us into this mess," Crowley continues while Dean can't help cringing at the word us. "But I can help you finding out, we're allies after all."

"I've never agreed to your truce proposal, remember?" Dean grunts. It makes him sick even thinking about it. "And I've got more than enough backup, thanks."

"No one like me, hunter," Crowley counters, sounding way too self-conscious. "I could take a look at your precious boyfriend –"

Dean cringes at the thought. "Don't you dare come even close to him, do you understand?"

The demon laughs good-naturedly. "Fine, fine, for now I'll hold back. But you may call anytime, love. After all, a creature powerful enough to ignore Castiel's wards most likely didn't just give him a bump to the head, right?"

Dean grits his teeth. He really doesn't like the tone of Crowley's voice. "We've got everything under control," he says, not giving a damn that he's lying big time right now.

The truth is, Crowley could probably determine what's wrong with Castiel merely by glancing at him, but Dean never in his life relied on a demon before and he honestly won't start now. He can't forget the way Crowley looked at Castiel in that bar and to even imagine he might owe that bastard some kind of debt is way too much for him to handle.

No, there has to be a better way.

There just has to.

"But don't wait too long, Winchester," Crowley says. "We don't wanna see your lovely boy toy die because you're a foolish pighead, right? That'd look bad in your resume."

Dean clenches his fists, more than ready to use some violence.

That scumbag!

Dean inhales deeply and is about to open his mouth to give that goddamned demon a piece of his mind when Christian suddenly appears right next to him, looking all kinds of alarmed as he grips Dean's shoulder tightly. "We might have a problem!"

The hunter tenses instantly. "I've gotta go," he tells Crowley and shuts his phone without waiting for the douche's response. "What's going on?" His heartbeat does a jolt straightaway and Dean leaps to his feet before he even registers what he's doing. "Did something happen with Cas?"

Dean noticed Christian discreetly slipping toward the coffee machine down the hallway when he started to talk with Crowley – most likely not very keen to overhear a conversation with a fucking demon of all things – and whatever he saw or heard there obviously shook him up quite good.

"Gwen just called me," Christian explains. "She is currently at the crime scene with some other hunter and collects evidence."

Crime scene.

God, just mere hours ago that had been the place Dean lived in for the time being. Rather contently, as far as housing with a Man of Letters while being on a witch hunt goes.

And now?

Now everything is turned upside down and Dean can barely stand it.

"They talked with that witness, too," Christian continues. "Obviously the guy that occupies the room right next to yours. He heard some weird noises and wanted to check them out, finding the door to your room wide open and suddenly being confronted with … uh, with the attack."

He seems a bit unsure as though he fears that Dean would lose his marbles if he didn't watch his words carefully.

"The witness didn't see that much," Christian says. "He can't even tell whether the attacker was a man or a woman. He only saw some person in a mint green hoodie cornering Castiel. He probably didn't even realize at first that a crime was happening right in front of him. He called attention to himself and obviously that startled the perpetrator so much that they ran away instantly."

Dean finds himself frowning. That actually doesn't really sound like a powerful supernatural being. Creatures like those normally don't flee from unarmed humans.

"The video footage of the parking lot doesn't show much either." Christian starts to fidget, looking rather nervous. "So we thought it's a dead end, not much to go from there. But then I talked with Kristy over there."

He points at a young teenage girl standing by the vending machine, apparently highly annoyed by the device's failure in offering her some candy without making a huge fuss.

"You remember why the emergency room was so packed when we arrived here?" Christian asks.

Dean creases his forehead. Why was that important right now? "Some accident, I think."

"Exactly, just one block from here actually," his cousin says. "Someone ran across the street without looking, causing a major multiple crash. They had to close the whole street."

Dean vaguely recalls Christian having to take a detour on the way to the hospital because some police cars blocked the way.

"Okay …?"

"They didn't catch the person responsible for this mess, but they did get a bunch of witness statements. They all said the same: that some person in a mint green hoodie crossed the road and didn't give a damn about traffic regulations."

Dean's eyes widen when he understands what Christian is getting at.

"That bastard caused the accident?" he presses through gritted teeth. "Just a block from here?"

Dean realizes what that means. It's probably not a coincidence that the person was spotted so damned close to the hospital.

Not a coincidence at all.

"I think they figured that Castiel would be taken to the hospital," Christian says. "And they came here to … well, uh."

Finish the job.

Hurt Castiel. Maybe even kill him.

Dean moves without hesitation, his hunter instincts kicking in right away. There is no way in hell that he'll acknowledge any kind of hospital rule now in the light of these new information. He rushes into the direction where Doctor Finley went to last, only barely registering Christian following him on the spot, and immediately grabs the first person that crosses his way.

"Where is Castiel Novak?" he demands urgently, probably giving the poor nurse quite a scare, but being way too agitated to care. "We need to see him. It's life or death!"

The woman stares at him with big eyes. "Um …"

"Agents!" another voice suddenly calls from the end of the hallway and Dean instantly identifies her as the doctor. He lets go of the girl and runs toward her while Christian is quick to mumble an apology to the nurse before following his lead.

"I was just about to call you," Finley informs them, obviously a bit confused what she just might have witnessed. "We've still got some tests running in the lab, but Agent Novak is free to have visitors now." She looks at the nurse who takes to her heels rather fast. "What's going on?"

"There is a real chance that the perp entered the building, most likely to seek out Novak," Christian explains the situation. "He needs protection right away."

Dean is on the verge of demanding to know where they took Castiel, but suddenly he notices two broad shouldered police officers guarding a door a little further down the hallway and every single question on the tip of his tongue turns redundant all of a sudden. The Sheriff apparently left a few of his guys behind at the hospital to watch over the injured FBI Agent and though they probably don't stand a real chance against anything supernatural, Dean nonetheless feels some relief flooding his system.

He flashes them his fake badge as soon as he reaches them.

"Agent Barkes?" one of the men asks him, studying Dean's credential quite frankly a little bit too close for comfort. "Sheriff Palmer told us you were coming."

Dean nods curtly. "We've got reason to believe the attacker might be in the building. At least someone was spotted nearby that fits the description."

The two officers share a quick look. "We will inform the department right away. Don't worry, sir, your partner is in good hands."

Dean offers them a tight smile. "There is no doubt in my mind."

A big, fat lie, of course, since there is so much doubt inside of him it almost fills the whole floor, but those guys honestly don't need to know that.

As Dean walks through the door his years of training instantly get the upper hand. He scans the room thoroughly for escape routes, weak spots and the best places to hide some wards and protection runes. According to Doctor Finley's statement Castiel's condition probably doesn't allow immediate relocation yet, so it's essential to make this fucking room as safe as possible.

Sure, it didn't do them any good back at the motel, but at least Crowley wasn't able to come near it and Dean seriously doesn't need that prick to show up at the doorstep and torture him with a smug smile. Keeping demons out doesn't seem like a bad idea.

And just when he starts to contemplate if Christian got some rock salt stashed in his car or if they have to drive back to get it out of the Impala, his gaze lands on the bed in the middle of room.

Suddenly every single rational thought flies out of Dean's mind and his emotions take over.

He hears himself gasp quietly as he looks at the person on that bed.

He already prepared himself for the worst because doctors and nurses don't give you pitiful looks for nothing, but reality is still a merciless bitch, punching him right into the guts. He expected Castiel to be pale and unconscious, he also anticipated all the machines stripped to his body, monitoring every single function of his system. Hell, Castiel probably couldn't even get some goddamned flatulence without the better part of the hospital learning about it immediately.

Yes, Dean expected a lot of things because he simply knows the game. He's been in too many hospitals already and it'll probably not be the last time.

However, he totally forgot to count in the effect the sight of an injured Castiel would have on him.

Castiel just looks … close to death.

There is simply no other words for it. Usually Castiel is so full of life. Even when he cowers in some corner of his beloved library, bending over a book about the importance of the growth of grass, and he doesn't move for hours and hours, he's still brimming somehow. It's like energy is crackling underneath his skin all the time.

Even when he sleeps (since Dean did get the privilege of watching him sleep while sharing a room with him) there is still something about him. Something vibrant and bright.

But now?

There is nothing.

Dean finds himself stepping next to the bed, on the verge of taking Castiel's hand and at the same time terrified of doing so.

"How is he?" he hears Christian's voice whisper in the background and for a second Dean thinks his cousin is talking to him and he's about to burst out, "What do you think, jackass? Just look at him!", but then Doctor Finley answers and the fight leaves Dean's body straightaway realizing his mistake.

"His condition didn't change much in the last hour," she explains. "He's stable so far. Time will tell us the rest."

Dean scoffs, but she doesn't notice because Christian demands her attention yet again, asking about the remaining test results he would like to send to their colleagues at headquarter. They start to mumble, something about legal issues they have to consider first or whatever, though Dean just tunes them out, not at all keen to talk about shit like that.

Christian will deal with this. Dean only wants to stay at Castiel's side and never leave again.

He looks at the man in front of him, at the constant rise and fall of his chest, and all the guilt hits him full force once again. He tries not to, because after all it's been Castiel's decision to stay in this town despite the risks and the Man of Letters would kick his ass right now if he knew about what's going on inside Dean's head, but he just can't help himself. It's his second nature to feel responsible for everything and everyone, especially for people he cares about.

And yes, he cares about Castiel. He seriously not ashamed to admit that now.

It's not exactly a surprise and at the same time it is. He's got no clue whether it's always have been there, hidden behind his stubbornness, or whether it grew only recently.

He just knows that Castiel is one of the people which are closest to him (and how the hell did that happen?).

He interlaces his fingers with Castiel's before he can think better of it. As expected there is no response, no squeezing back, no warmth. Nothing.

But at the same time Dean hopes that Castiel is able to feel his presence one way or another. You hear a lot of stories about coma patients, so it's not an absolute futile endeavor.

"You're a stupid sonofabitch," he breathes, leaning a bit closer so that neither Christian nor Doctor Finley are capable of listening in. "I told you it's too dangerous, but you fool thought you knew better, right?"

Castiel doesn't move, not even a single muscle twitches.

Dean would have given almost anything to see a set of radiating blue eyes staring right back at him.

But it doesn't happen.

"You're not allowed to die, do you hear me?" Dean hisses, the hitch in his voice probably noticeable even for an unconscious man. "That's an order! And I know you don't like to be told what to do, but jeez, Cas, I'm the hunter here and when a situation gets out of control like this one, we jump in and take charge. You don't have to fancy it, but it's the way it is. Your superiors will agree with me."

Dean falls quiet, finding himself waiting for the retort that usually would have followed right away. Castiel would have snorted and argued and most likely itemized several precedents in which hunters almost got Men of Letters hurt or even killed because of their recklessness and stupidity.

But instead the silence in the room becomes deafening.

Well, okay, the hushed conversation of Christian and the doctor in the background is still audible, but Dean doesn't pay them any real attention. He's only fixed on Castiel and the lack of any kind of sound or disapproving noise coming from him.

"Okay, buddy, how about you just open your eyes?" Dean suggests. "Easy as pie, alright? I wanna see those pretty baby blues of yours."

Of course nothing happens.

A stupid pipe dream anyway, but Dean figured it wouldn't hurt to ask politely.

Before he really realizes what he's doing his thumb gently rubs over Castiel's wrist, the whole gesture strangely intimate. A slight blush creeps up his neck, but as soon as he senses his strained nerves calm a little bit at the feeling of Castiel's steady heartbeat, he figures it's not exactly the time to behave bashful and dumb.

Castiel is alive. His pulse seems to be strong and unwavering.

Focus on the good things, Dean tells himself while studying Castiel's relaxed features.

"Everything will be fine soon, okay?" Dean promises, his voice croaky. "I will make sure of that!"

He doesn't really know how to do that yet, but he guesses shooting some witches in the face might be a great start.

"They won't get away with this," Dean whispers, making sure that the doctor is unable to accidentally overhear him. He leans closer, his breath brushing Castiel's face. "We will hunt those bastards down, one by one, if necessary. The hunters, the Men of Letters – everyone is working together on this. Hell, my stupid phone won't stop ringing." He takes a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. "Just … just focus on waking up, alright? That's all I'm asking."

It seems like a small request, but of course it's probably about the hardest thing he could hope for right now.

"Don't leave me hangin', man," Dean whispers. Without letting go of Castiel's hand, he pulls a chair close and sits down, ready to stay for as long as necessary. "I can't do this without you."

He honestly can't.