Castiel hears the sounds of the beeping machines and is assaulted by the overly-strong smell of disinfectant before he opens his eyes. It takes him a moment to clear his head enough to figure out where he is, and why. The last thing he can remember is that he was practicing his spins on the ice. He takes a deep breath and scrunches his eyes shut. When he does, he feels an odd stretch of the skin on his forehead and a spike of pain radiating from his left temple.
Slowly, it comes back to him. He remembers hearing someone yell 'Cas' then feeling a searing pain. What the hell? Those careless hockey players had hit him with a puck!
He tentatively reaches his hand up to his forehead and winces, sucking in a sharp breath when his fingers encounter a soft bandage. He looks around to find that he is alone in the room and decides he needs to use the bathroom, not just to relieve himself, but to see what his face must look like. Not that he is vain, but, really, he has to go out and skate in front of the entire world in a couple of days. He doesn't want to look like he just came from a bar brawl.
He slowly sits up and feels a blast of dizziness, a swirling rush of blood that clouds his eyes and makes his ears ring. He puts a hand over his eyes and sits perfectly still until the sensation clears. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and shivers as his bare feet hit the cold tile floor. And why did they feel the need to strip off his jeans? It's a head injury for pete's sake. But here he is, in a thin hospital gown with his ass hanging out.
He wonders absently if his favorite sweatshirt was destroyed, between the blood and them probably cutting it off he sighs wondering how his life suddenly has taken such a strange turn. He shuffles his way to the bathroom and heads straight for the mirror. There is a thick white bandage on his forehead and he makes a disgusted face at the crust of dried blood in the hair along his temple.
Surprisingly, he doesn't have black eye but he still wants to see what is hidden under that bandage. He digs a fingernail under the top corner of the tape and slowly peels off the white gauze. He never was one to tear a band-aid off all at once and he scrunches up his face at the spikes of pain he feels as the bandage comes slowly off, taking with it hair and catching on one of the stitches.
When the gauze is removed, it exposes the stitches on his forehead, just above his left eyebrow, and an ugly bruise surrounding them that is a grizzly rainbow of sickly reds, blues and purples. He leans in closer to examine the stitches. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. The black thread is tied into tiny, tight knots around his puckering skin. He sighs, thinking about how terrible he looks.
He turns to head back to his bed just in time to be greeted by a serious looking woman in a grey pants suit, shirt butted all the way up to her neck. Her auburn hair is tied up into a perfect knot and not a strand is out of place.
"Castiel Krushnic?" She greets him with a hand out to assist him back to his bed. "YA doktor Naomi Ostrovsky. Kak ty sebya chuvstvuyesh?"
Castiel recognizes his mother tongue when the woman asks how he is feeling. It washes over him like a comfortable blanket, like home and family. He answers her in Russian, "Like I was just hit in the head with a 90 mile an hour hockey puck."
She gives him a sort of smile and a nod. "Well, at least your memory is intact, it seems."
"Yes, I remember getting hit but nothing after that."
"You were brought to the hospital with a head injury. I am the neurologist that treated you. We took x-rays and found no fractures, however, you did suffer a concussion. You-"
"Doctor, Can I skate?" Castiel cuts her off with his most important question,
"Well, there are a lot of variables when it comes to concussions. We will need to watch and see what symptoms you display and how this affects your vision, reflexes and equilibrium. And you may call me Naomi."
Castiel leans back on his pillow and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to keep himself from panicking at the idea of not being able to compete.
"Mr. Krushnic, I understand this must be difficult for you and I am certain you are in a hurry to resume your activities, but you must understand that head injuries are complicated and unpredictable. We performed a CT scan and an MRI to determine if there was any bleeding or pressure on your brain. Thankfully, your injury appears to be largely superficial, however observation of any continued symptoms is required to determine if you have any minute traumatic brain injuries."
Castiel nods at the appropriate times during the doctor's rundown. He really just wants to know if he can compete and it doesn't sound like she knows anything.
Naomi leans closer and gently touches Castiel's stitches. "I see you removed your bandages on your own. Are you going to be one of those difficult patients?"
Castiel feels duly scolded and sighs, "I'm sorry, I just wanted to see… is that a problem?"
"They were due to come off soon anyway. You suffered a significant injury. This is a bit of a nasty crack in your chassis. You will need to be patient and let your body heal itself the way it was designed to do. We just need you to give it time."
"I don't have time to be patient. I'm supposed to be at the Opening Ceremonies in… I don't know, what time is it?"
"It's just after two in the afternoon."
"That means I have less than six hours before I have to be there." It comes out as a plea and Castiel hates himself (and those damn hockey players) for the whole situation.
"I'm afraid that we need to keep you here overnight for observation. I understand that this is important to you, but your health is more important and we would rather have you ready to compete on Monday." The doctor's stiff exterior softens just a bit as she almost smiles and adds, "We are all rooting for you, Castiel. You need to get better so that you can win the gold for Russia."
There is that familiar conflict that Castiel has been bombarded with since deciding to represent his home country in these games. He loves it here. He loves the warmth and hospitality of the Russian people. The rich culture and heritage, the stunning architecture, the colors, the shapes and lines, gleaming gold and bold reds, they all feel like home. He remembers walking in Moscow as a child, thinking the colorful onion-topped roofs of Saint Basil's Cathedral were like something out of a fairy tale.
Yet his home country has also become a source of fear for himself and others, who now have to hide their sexuality. He has kept up with the political news and has been hearing the stories of what has been happening here for months.
Castiel is proud of his heritage, proud of the beautiful country in which he was born but also feels that pang of shame that he will be representing a country where he could risk imprisonment for speaking out in public about who is really is. It's not that he hasn't met with his share of ignorance from the people in his new home. Certainly there have been Americans who have both accepted and rejected him for who he is. At least there, though, he thinks he sees the tides slowly turning in the right direction. He fears his birth country may be taking a step backwards.
He nods his head for the doctor, not wanting to expose his internal conflict. She is, after all, rooting for him to win.
Naomi grabs her pen then, poised to take notes. "Alright, have you experienced any dizziness?"
"A little when I first woke up."
"But it went away?"
"Yes, it was just a moment of vertigo but it hasn't returned since I have been awake."
"And your vision? Any blurriness? Spots?"
"No. I can see fine."
"Good, that's good. I'm hopeful that we can expect a quick recovery. We will need to keep a close eye on the vertigo, though. Please let a staff member know immediately if you experience any more dizzy spells."
The doctor walks Castiel through several tests. She has him walk around the room, bend his head this way and that, and follow all of her instructions as she takes notes about his abilities. All is looking good until she asks him to tilt his head to the side and the room begins to spin, sending a sickening nausea to his stomach. He has to grab onto the edge of the bed to wait for the sensation to go away and he sits down and looks up at the doctor.
Naomi hums and takes some notes before telling Castiel, "It's alright. It has only been a couple of hours. This may be a temporary side effect of the swelling or the fluid in your ears. Relax now. I will prescribe an antivert for the dizziness and see if we can't get that cleared up."
Castiel agrees to rest, gets back into the bed and closes his eyes when the doctor leaves the room. He is alone with only his thoughts and his fears. Vertigo, he knows, is a death sentence for a skater. He needs perfect balance to be able to spin and land a jump. For the first time, Castiel is truly scared. He puts his hands over his face and takes a deep breath, fighting against the lump building in his throat and the prickle behind his eyes. He won't be defeated. The doctor said this may just be temporary. He just needs to calm down and get control of himself.
"Knock, knock," comes a voice from the doorway and when Castiel looks up he sees his coach, Balthazar coming into the room, looking less together than he has ever seen the man before. Balthazar is usually all charm with his British accent and his swagger, but today he looks tired.
"Balthazar," Castiel greets his coach.
"Cassie, good to see you finally awake. You gave us quite a scare."
"I'm… a little scared myself. What if I can't skate with this concussion?"
Balthazar strides over and sits on the side of the bed and takes Castiel's hand between his own. "What did the doctor say?"
"She doesn't know yet. They want to keep me overnight. I think the biggest concern right now is the dizziness. I had some vertigo."
Balthazar looks contemplative, purses his lips and shakes his head. "We will deal with this. You don't skate your short program for several days. You just need to rest and heal. Now tell me, what on earth were you doing paying hockey?"
Castiel rolls his eyes. "I wasn't playing hockey. I was just sharing the ice with the hockey team. It was double-booked and I thought it would be fine. It was at first. They stayed on their side and it wasn't a problem until…"
Balthazar scoffs and gets up off the bed, "And your willingness to cooperate had nothing to do with one Dean Winchester?"
"What?! No! He's an insufferable cretin!"
"Then he's exactly your type."
Castiel tries to look affronted, "What do you mean?"
"Cassie, who do you think you're fooling? Tall, hot, bad boy? How is that not your type? You forget, I've watched you get your heart broken by men like him for four years. And you spent just a bit too much time last night at the bar watching him and complaining about what a complete ass he was. I'm surprised you didn't take him right there on the men's room counter."
"Balthazar!"
"Don't deny it, darling. You were totally crushing on that hairless ape."
"Never! I know what he's like and I don't do one night stands. Besides, I happen to know for a fact that he's straight."
Balthazar stops cold, eyes widening as he grins, "So you did try to hit that."
"No! I want nothing to do with him. It's… I just know, OK?"
"Hmmm. Loverboy came by, you know."
"What, here?"
"Yes, showed up a few minutes after you did. He stayed for a while, trying to get information but Meg chased him away. I believe her exact words were that she was going to sick rabid dogs on him if he didn't leave the premises."
"Well, good! I hope he stays far away. This is all his fault! Look at this." Castiel gestures to his forehead where the stitches stand out prominently.
Balthazar shakes his head, "Yes, do you look a bit of a mess. How about a clean-up?"
Castiel groans softly at the idea of getting cleaned up. He feels disgusting and he is pretty sure he smells just as bad. "That would be wonderful."
"Alright, I'll go get you some clean clothes and toiletries. In the meantime, you rest now."
"Thank you, Balthazar."
After his coach leaves, Castiel is left to the quiet of the room. His mind wonders to the conversation that he had with Balthazar. How could the he possibly think Castiel had any interest in Dean Winchester? Drunk last night, belligerent this morning, and a womanizer all the time! What about Dean could possibly interest him?
What indeed? The man is gorgeous, probably the most attractive person Castiel had ever met, in fact. He is tall and fit with a strong jaw that rocked that sexy stubble effortlessly. His mouth is absolutely perfect, soft and pouty and Castiel has to admit that kissing those lips would be heavenly if they were attached to anyone other than Dean Winchester. And when they locked eyes last night there was no denying the little flip his insides did when he looked into those eyes that were a riot of greens and golds.
Maybe that's why he was so defensive. Well that and the fact that he was shoved up against a wall by a perfect stranger. If he was being honest with himself he did have to admit that he was strangely affected by the hockey player. But that was wrong, completely wrong. He couldn't let himself be attracted to another man who was careless with people's hearts. And there was Anna…
"A-hem," Castiel hears a soft cough and snaps out of his thoughts to look up and meet the eyes of the man he was just fantasizing about. He feels the traitorous rush of blood to his cheeks and prays with everything he has that his blush isn't noticeable.
"What are you doing here?"
Dean looks down, and scratches the back of his neck. It seems to take him a moment to figure out what to say. "So… um… yeah… I just… wanted to check on you and… just… sorry, man."
Castiel's brain finally catches up enough to realize that Dean Winchester is standing in his room, looking ridiculously awkward and actually apologizing to him.
"I'm… well, I have a mild concussion and I have to stay here overnight, but I'll live." It comes out a little harsher than he had even meant it.
Dean takes a tentative step towards Castiel, "Oh, man, you mean you can't go to the ceremonies tonight?"
"That's right. It seems getting hit in the face with a hockey puck isn't great for your health."
"Shit," Dean mumbles and looks down. His fists clench and he looks like he wants to punch something. "Look, Castiel, I think we got off on the wrong foot. And me giving you a freaking concussion probably didn't help either. I just… just sorry... for last night and this morning." Dean's voice trails off quietly.
Castiel has a hard time keeping the fire of his anger lit. Dean just looks – defeated and sounds so sincere. He never would have believed that the man who he had built a certain image of in his mind would be so genuine. Had he demonized the man before he even gave him a chance? Castiel lets some of his anger dissipate and feels an immediate weight off of his shoulders.
"Thank you, Dean. I agree. Maybe we can start over?" He holds out his hand and bites his lip before saying, "Hi, I'm Castiel, nice to meet you."
Dean looks from the outstretched hand up to Castiel's eyes and his face lights up as his mouth turns up into a smile. And, oh God, it's beautiful. The way the crow's feet crinkle at the edges of his eyes and his tongue peeks out to wet his lips as they stretch and he does this tiny little bite of his bottom lip with his teeth. And Castiel is officially screwed. Balthazar is right, he is totally crushing on the gorgeous hockey player.
Dean steps forward and shakes his hand, "Name's Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you too."
Dean is surprised when Castiel's anger seems to fade and he looks down at the outstretched hand then up to his face. Those damn blue eyes are looking up at him with an expression of… hope? He can't believe this guy is willing to put aside everything and just start over.
After the animosity that had been seething between them since they met, Dean thought for sure there wasn't a chance that Castiel would forgive him for the whole puck-to-the-face thing. He almost didn't even come back. When he showed up at the hospital this morning he ran into Castiel's manager from hell. Meg had all but threatened his life before he surrendered and left. It's not like they would give him information on Castiel's condition anyway.
He had decided, though, that he would wait a while and come back, see if everything had calmed down. He really just wanted a chance to make sure Castiel was OK and apologize. He had been beating himself up all day worried about the possibility of Castiel's injury keeping him from competing. He couldn't think of much worse than to have worked for this moment your whole life only to have it taken away from you by some jerk with a hockey stick.
Luckily, when he returned to the hospital things had calmed down. He hadn't seen Meg in the waiting area so he went to Castiel's room, but hesitated outside of the door, second thoughts halting his steps. Castiel obviously hated him, even before he brained the poor guy with a puck. He was pretty sure that he would get something thrown at him the moment he peeked his head through the door, or have security called. He thought the last thing he needed was to have reporters catch him being escorted out of the hospital by security.
He finally summoned the courage, though, and walked into Castiel's room, clearing his throat to announce himself. And when Castiel had looked up at him what was that look? It was almost a blush? The moment had been awkward and Castiel had quickly gotten over his surprise to make room for the anger Dean had anticipated.
Castiel's angry responses were enough to tell Dean he should just apologize and get the hell out of there, leave the poor guy in peace. But then something happened. Castiel's anger seemed to fade.
And now, he is looking up at Dean with his hand outstretched offering a chance to start over. Yeah, he thinks, that sounds pretty good and he returns that look of hope with a smile of his own, closing the gap between them and taking his hand.
"Name's Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you."
After that, they begin a friendly conversation, during which Dean apologizes about five more times until an exasperated Castiel finally tells him that if he says he is sorry one more time, he is going to give Dean stitches to match his own. Dean laughs and puts his hands up in surrender.
Castiel talks a little bit about his injury, tells Dean that there was nothing major found on the tests and that they are just observing him because of some vertigo. He grouses a bit about feeling so disgusting and the fact that his favorite sweatshirt was destroyed.
But mostly, they talk about their sports. Dean learns that Castiel has to skate twice, once is a short program where he mostly has to demonstrate how well he can perform each of the required jumps and spins and movements, and then again a few days later he will skate in a long program that is more artistic and expressive. Castiel tells him how much better he likes the long program, even if his legs do burn by the time he has finished the almost five minute long workout.
Dean tells Castiel how much he can relate to that. Some nights he clocks as much as 35 minutes of ice time in a game, sprinting back and forth with all he's got, trying to keep an edge against the other players. He explains that the countries competing in the Olympic hockey games have been divided into three groups. The US will have to get past the first two rounds against Slovakia and Slovenia to play against Russia and the medal games. His first game is in a few days and he is itching with excitement.
He tells Castiel about Sam, how his little brother, who he learned hockey with growing up, is finally on his team and how much he loves playing by his side. He knows he is bursting with pride when he talks about Sam, he's done it his whole life, but Castiel just listens and tells him how nice he thinks it would be to skate with family.
Castiel's says his own family are mostly here in Russia although he now lives and trains in the US. He tells Dean how much he misses them, but wanted the opportunity to train with his coach, Balthazar, who would only do so out of his home in the US.
When Dean catches Castiel yawn, he looks up at the clock and realizes that he has been here chewing on the guy's ear for over an hour. He has to go get ready for the opening ceremonies soon and should probably let Castiel get some rest too. He promises to visit again soon and reluctantly leaves.
He still feels terrible, though, knowing that he is going to go get ready to march in the Olympic Opening Ceremonies while Castiel is stuck lying in a hospital bed. An idea comes to him and he pulls out his cell phone and dials the number of Inias, a teammate from back home who is playing for Russia at these games.
It's late. The hum of the busy hospital during the day has quieted and Castiel is sitting in his darkened room alone. He isn't ready to fall asleep yet, still wound up from the unlikely events of the day. Oh well, at least he feels better. After the afternoon guests all trickled off to find somewhere to watch the opening ceremonies, Castiel was finally able to take some time for himself.
He had been allowed to get a shower after a nurse applied a waterproof bandage to his stitches. It had felt amazing to get the sticky blood out of his hair and stench of sweat and something hospital-y out of his skin. He still hates the bandage, though, and peeled it off immediately following his shower. Balthazar had brought him some comfortable clothes to sleep in so he was able to change into grey sweatpants and a solid navy blue t-shirt.
He looks over at the nightstand, at the small stack of books and magazines that had been left for him. Nothing piques his interest immediately so he picks up a random sports magazine that is all about the Olympics and begins to thumb through the glossy pages.
Castiel hears a quiet knock at the door and looks up. It is Dean, and oh my God, what is he wearing? He has on white pants with black boots. That looks nice enough. But the sweater! He is wearing a loud red, white, and blue cardigan with a patchwork of red and white stripes, the Olympic rings, two US flags, and a spattering of big white stars over a navy blue background. It looks like someone had an ugly Christmas sweater contest in July!
Castiel's hand flies up to cover his mouth and the snicker that is itching to burst out of him.
Dean catches the gesture and looks down at himself then back up at Castiel sheepishly. "I know, you don't have to say a word. I look like I was vomited on by Fox News!"
Castiel does let out a snort at that. "Wow, just… wow."
"Yeah, well, you shoulda seen it with the fucking reindeer hat I had to wear. Really completes the ensemble." Dean shuffles awkwardly between his feet, "Y'know, required uniform and all."
Castiel's jaw drops, "Reindeer hat? I must see that!"
"Yeah, not gonna happen." Dean looks down, and rubs the back of his neck. It seems to take him a moment to figure out what to say. "So… um… I know that you missed the opening ceremonies so," Dean lets out a small nervous cough, "I brought you something."
Castiel looks down and notices a shopping bag hanging from Dean's free hand. Curious, he raises his eyebrows at Dean.
He reaches into the bag and pulls out a soft looking sapphire blue sweater. "First, to say sor- I mean since your favorite hoodie was destroyed I got you a replacement."
Castiel smiles, takes the sweater and pulls it over his head. He loves it. It's soft and warm and his favorite shade of blue. He knows how good this color looks on him because it brings out the deep blue of his eyes. Castiel suddenly feels much warmer than just the comfort of the fleece hoodie should provide.
"Thank you, Dean. It's very nice."
"And, because you couldn't come to the opening ceremonies tonight, I figured the least I could do is bring the ceremony to you."
Castiel raises his eyebrows, confused as to what Dean means. A cocky smirk paints across Dean's face as he pulls a tablet out of the bag. He sets down the bag and drags a chair over to sit right next to the head of Castiel's bed. He taps a few times on the tablet screen and brings up a video, which he pauses before it begins.
"So, I recorded a bunch of stuff from the opening ceremony and thought you could watch it. And… well, just watch."
Dean sits back in his chair and hands the tablet to Castiel who taps the play button only to be assaulted by a cacophony of noise. There are people all around dressed in the same star spangled cardigans that Dean is now wearing. He recognizes a couple of them, Dean's teammates and some fellow figure skaters as well as the more famous skiers and snowboarders.
He hears Dean's voice, "Hey, Sammy, this is for the guy whose face we busted up this morning. Say hi!"
A gigantic man with long brown hair sticking out from under his reindeer hat (yes, the hats actually have reindeer on them and Castiel secretly vows he is going find video of Dean in his) turns around and smiles.
"Hey!" Sam grins and waves, leaning towards the camera. "So sorry about what happened earlier. Too bad Dean's got a terrible wrist shot and can't figure out which side of the rink the net is on."
"Screw you, bitch," Castiel hears Dean's voice say.
"Shut up, jerk, this is my message." Sam grins into the camera. "Anyway, Castiel, we are all hoping you feel better soon."
Dean walks around the crowd of athletes asking person after person to wish the skater well. It's overwhelming how thoughtful everyone's messages are. Some are silly, others sincere but all filled with hope for his recovery. The sense of good will among the athletes is moving. Castiel swallows a thick lump in his throat.
The messages stop when the American athletes are announced and the crowd of people begin to move forward together. Dean records everything so Castiel can almost feel as if he is there. As the camera passes through a threshold into the stadium, the sounds of the crowd become deafening, tens of thousands of people are in the stadium, cameras flashing and flags of every nationality waving a rainbow of national pride.
Castiel can't take his eyes off the video until he gets that feeling of being watched and takes a glance to his side. He catches Dean, not watching the video but rather watching him. The man quickly looks away and directs his eyes to the tablet where the parade of athletes is now coming to a close and the entertainment portion is starting.
"So, uh, this part was pretty cool. They did this whole like light show thing. I hope it came out on the camera."
Castiel chooses to ignore the fact that Dean had been watching him. He doesn't want to make him uncomfortable and certainly doesn't want to expose his own little crush to the man.
The two continue to watch the show, Dean narrating and pointing out his favorite parts of the show as well as laughing as he heckles parts that he doesn't like. It is fun and comfortable and Castiel is enjoying the friendly camaraderie that he and Dean are developing. He finds that he really likes Dean's sense of humor. He is kind of crude and cocky but it somehow suits him.
When the main show was over, Castiel brings his hand up to the screen to close down the video but
Dean catches his wrist, "Not yet, Cas, there's another surprise."
Castiel takes a moment to look at the clock and he realizes how much time has passed. It's now dark outside and the nighttime hush has taken over the hospital wing. He turns the volume on the tablet down so that he and Dean can still hear it, but it is quieter and calmer. It just feels more appropriately serene in the quiet night hours. Even his room is now lit only by the glow of the tablet screen.
Castiel notices that he has inched closer to Dean, leaning towards the edge of the bed to share a good view of the screen. Dean, too now has his arm leaning on the bed and his chin propped in his cupped hand. It's nice. Their shoulders are practically touching and Dean smells intoxicating, all musk and fresh air. This man turned out to be unexpectedly sweet and charming and thoughtful. That wasn't supposed to happen. It was supposed to be easy to hate Dean Winchester. He was supposed to be the entitled, thoughtless, cocky man Anna had told him about.
He shakes off these thoughts and presses play, watching as the camera goes dark for a moment. When it comes back on, he is looking at a man in a jacket with fur trim and a traditional Russian hat. The women standing around him are dressed in long coats with white fur trim and Russian folk patterns.
The man introduces himself in Castiel's native tongue as Inias, a hockey player for Russia who is on Dean's team back in the US. He tells Castiel that all of the Russian athletes are rooting for his quick recovery and begins to walk through the crowd of athletes from his home country the same way Dean did with the Americans in the beginning of the video.
Dean is still behind the camera and Castiel can occasionally hear his voice greeting the other athletes. Sam is walking through the group of athletes with him, shaking hands and looking like he is just excited to be there.
Dozens of Russian athletes greet him through the camera, wish him well, blow him kisses and wave excitedly. At the end, Dean hands Sam the camera and Castiel catches out of the corner of the screen where he thanks Inias, gives him a quick bro-hug and tells him he'll see him soon on the ice. And then it's over.
Castiel doesn't say anything. He is so moved by the kind gesture he is afraid if he tries to speak his voice will break.
He turns his head a bit towards Dean to try to come up with the words to thank him for the video and sees that the man has fallen asleep, his head still held in his cupped hand but it's now resting on the mattress next to him. Castiel gives himself a moment to take in the hockey player. His long lashes are resting on freckle covered cheeks and his soft looking mouth is closed in a slight pout. He is lovely, warm and hypnotic as Castiel listens to the soft rhythm of his slow sleeping breaths.
He feels warmth and butterflies in his stomach and he sighs, knowing that he is feeling affection for Dean that is both unexpected and unwanted. There is no doubt that he was physically attracted to this man as soon as he met him, Dean is, after all ridiculously good looking. But he was sure that under that beautiful face was a corrupted soul, cruel and callous. But the man that he has spent so many hours with today isn't that at all. He is funny and kind and charming and Castiel had enjoyed every minute of their visits today and really doesn't want the magic of this serene moment to end.
"Dean," his whispers and nudges the man's shoulder. He watches as Dean blinks awake and slowly focuses on Castiel. And for a moment neither one of them can look away.
Castiel swallows and the movement seems to break the spell. Dean lifts his head and looks around, rubs a hand over his face and looks back at Castiel, "Sorry, guess I fell asleep."
"It's OK, listening to everyone speaking in Russian must be boring for you." Castiel says quietly. For some reason he feels he needs to not break the hush of the room.
Dean looks at the screen and notices the video has stopped. "So, what do think?"
"I don't know what to say. It's… it was perfect. Thank you, Dean."
"Cool," Dean says awkwardly and rubs the back of his neck. "Cool. Well, I guess I better get going, let you get some sleep. You, uh, you want me to make you a copy of that? I just need your, y'know e-mail address."
"Of course." Castiel finds a pen and tears part of a page out of one of the magazines and writes his e-mail address along the side and hands it to Dean along with the tablet.
"Awesome. Well… see ya, Cas." Dean says before clumsily backing out of the room.
Castiel sighs and lays his head back on the pillow. Closing his eyes, he reflects on the strange day he has just had. How he went from a being smacked in the face with a hockey puck to being moved by the beautiful video he had just watched. The cacophony of emotions that he experienced today is overwhelming and all because of one Dean Winchester.