The waiting room was tastefully decorated with gentle blues and creams, no doubt to be as soothing as possible. There was even a fish tank directly to Kevin's left. The constant movement out of the corner of his eye kept startling him, but if he stood up to move he'd start pacing again.

His phone buzzed and he fished it from his shirt pocket, stifling a groan as the motion reminded him of how stiff his back was growing from these waiting room chairs. "Hey, Dean."

"Hey. So where are you?"

"Allenmore General," Kevin replied, rubbing his eyes. "Are you coming?"

"Already here."

Kevin nearly dropped the phone. "How? You said you were four hours away!"

There was definite hesitation. "Don't worry about how. Where are you? Any word on Cas?"

A cursory glance around the waiting room didn't particularly help with the location effort. "The surgery clinic waiting room. I think it's in the blue wing?"

"Got it. Found a map. Cas?"

Kevin's chest tightened. "No updates. Which I guess is good. I assume they're taking so long because they've got the time to take."

"That's one way of looking at it. I'll be there in a few."

Kevin swiped his phone off and leaned back in the chair in relief, reaching up to rub his eyes again. The heavy weariness of worry pulled at his shoulders and pounded inside his head, making the single sleepless night somehow seem a week long. Everything felt distant, as though he were watching it unfold on television, a medical drama of some sort that he couldn't turn off. Even Dean finally rounding the corner, looking every bit as exhausted as Kevin felt, seemed unreal.

"How you holding up?" Dean asked, thumping heavily into the chair across from Kevin.

Kevin shrugged. "They mostly leave me alone. I tried to sleep a little." He nodded towards the pile of clipboards on the table next to him. "They're getting really anxious about getting those filled out."

"I bet." Grimacing, Dean reached over for one of the clipboards, but paused as a shadow fell over them. Kevin looked up and suppressed a wince.

"Dean, this is Jane. She's the nurse who has been...directing me." Kevin glanced significantly at the papers, and Dean nodded once in comprehension.

"I'm Dean." Dean reached up with one hand. "I'm a friend of Cas's. I got here as soon as I could."

"A friend." The tired smile on Jane's face slipped the tiniest amount as she shook Dean's hand. "A good friend?"

Dean's expression flattened. "You could say that."

Unperturbed, Jane picked up one of the clipboards in the pile. "We've been having trouble tracking down someone who can make medical decisions on Cas's behalf. Once he's out of surgery, we need to contact someone regarding his continued care." She handed the clipboard to Dean.

"What, like family?" Dean clarified.

Jane nodded. "Spouse, siblings - grown children, if he has them."

Dean shook his head as he scanned the form on the clipboard he held. "Well, he doesn't have any of those." He thrust the clipboard back at her. "We're all he's got."

Kevin recognized the thin line that appeared between Jane's eyebrows. He'd gotten to know that line very well in the past few hours: it meant she was getting annoyed at the lack of information she was getting. "Is Cas okay?" he interrupted. "Dean's here now, so can you tell me what's going on?"

"I'd like to know that too," Dean said, crossing his arms.

For the first time, Jane let her flinty exterior slip; rather than the low level of exasperation Kevin had come to expect, frustration flashed across her face for the barest of moments. "I'm sorry. It's like I've been telling Kevin - hospital privacy policy - I can't say anything specific to anyone who isn't family -"

"They're partners," Kevin blurted, glancing at Dean.

"Partners?" Jane asked in mild surprise, looking over at Dean.

"Partners?" Dean asked in a similar tone, his eyebrows raised as he turned his head completely to look at Kevin.

The look of incredulity on Dean's face made Kevin swallow. "I - they've been tiptoeing around it for ages. They think I don't know. But...they're not just friends."

Dean continued to stare at Kevin in disbelief, but Kevin could see the softening at the corners of Dean's eyes, the way his entire expression slid slowly into one of suppressed worry just before he tore his eyes away to study the fish. Jane apparently saw it too, because she coughed softly.

"I have some other forms to get," she said by way of excusing herself.

She had been gone for nearly a full minute before Dean looked back at Kevin. "Partners?" he asked evenly.

The word hit Kevin like an actual physical impact. "I - it's getting you in, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Dean continued in the same dangerous low growl, "until Cas wakes up and I have to do some fast talking. You may have noticed that Cas isn't the best liar." He set his jaw and shook his head. "You pull shit like that again, and I will eat every one of your Magic cards."

Kevin swallowed, a hot, sour twist in his stomach unfurling. "In my defense," he said slowly, not tearing his eyes away from Dean's, "I didn't know it was a lie."

It was amazing how Dean's face could be so expressive one moment, and then carved of stone the next. "We're done with this discussion."

His tone was so final and cold that Kevin responded without thinking. "Yes, sir."

"Don't 'yes, sir' me. Just -" Dean huffed out a frustrated sigh and sat back in his chair.

The feeble conversation died. Mortification began to slowly creep its way into the cocktail of horrible emotions stewing in Kevin's middle, and he stood, the need to move unbearable.

He felt Dean's eyes on his back as he left the waiting area, and he tried his best to ignore how much they felt like an accusation.

Sam couldn't remember a time when he'd been more bone-achingly exhausted.

That was even counting that hazy, only half-remembered haze in which he'd not slept for nearly two weeks, despite pharmaceutical intervention. That had been more of a constant, intense struggle; it had kept him in a constant state of lightheadedness, almost high on the dizzying feeling of disconnection. This, however - the fatigue was such that he didn't think he could summon the energy to sit up for more than a few minutes, or even summon the energy to care. The idea of actually moving himself from the wheelchair back into his hospital bed was almost laughable.

"Can I just sit here a few minutes?" he asked, and even that took an obscene amount of effort.

The nurse - Olivia, this one's name was Olivia - nodded. "Of course. I can help you, if you'd like, once you're up to it."

"Thanks." Sam closed his eyes for a moment. He wasn't sleepy, exactly; he did not begin to drop off like he normally would have after a night like the one before. Really, this felt a lot like he'd been feeling for weeks now, just intensified past the point of functionality.

He'd begun to brace himself against the insurmountable task of opening his eyes again when he heard someone enter the room. "I've got two more units of packed cells coming up," he could hear Dr. Harper saying, "and he's scheduled for a bone marrow aspiration and biopsy at ten." Then, clearly directed at him, "You look like you could use a nap."

"For about a week," he replied feebly, cracking open his eyes. "Did you drug me or something?"

Dr. Harper shook her head. "You're dangerously anemic. You don't have enough living red cells to carry the oxygen required to keep you going. I'm getting you another transfusion - it should be here soon - and that should make you feel more up to the tests I've ordered for you later."

"More tests." He tried not to sound so plaintive, but it seemed he couldn't manage any other tone.

"We have to know what's wrong before we can fix it," Dr. Harper replied, her tone sympathetic. "The anemia is a symptom, not a diagnosis. Something's killing your red blood cells. I've got the lab working on the samples we just took, and the imaging should rule out a few things involving your kidneys and spleen."

Sam wasn't really listening. "Right," he said vaguely when Dr. Harper paused, because it felt like it was his turn to say something.

"Based on the results from the samples we took when you came in last night, however..." He could hear her voice moving, and he cracked his eyes open again to see that she'd taken a seat in the chair next to the bed. "It could be a result of some medication you've taken, or it could be a genetic condition that is finally rearing its head. Either way, I think it's likely that your bone marrow - the tissue in your bones that make red blood cells - isn't working like it should." She paused, as though waiting for Sam to respond; Sam nodded dutifully. "One of the tests later is going to take a biopsy of some of the bone marrow in your hip. It'll take a cone-shaped piece of that tissue that the pathology lab can examine. They'll also take some of the fluid in that space."

"Biopsy." The word wandered through Sam's brain until it connected with a concept that nearly shocked him awake. "They do that to test for cancer."

"Among other things." Dr. Harper looked suddenly very tired. "I don't want to frighten you, Sam. This episode that you've had is strangely acute for it to be cancer. But I need to rule it out."

"Right." This was supposed to be upsetting. Sam knew that. But he was having a difficult time feeling anything except detachment. "Don't tell Dean."

Dr. Harper was silent for a moment. "All right." She twisted in her chair to address Olivia. "Please make a note of that in his chart, and make sure the other floor nurses know."

"I just - he worries too much. About things he can't change. All the time." He felt a sudden need to explain himself. "It's not that I don't want him to know. But he...needs to believe I'm okay. And he won't, if you tell him."

"We understand, Sam. It's...not an uncommon request." A shrill beeping sounded; Dr. Harper's pager, apparently, because she pulled it from the pocket of her coat. "Olivia, can you help Sam into bed, please? He can get at least an hour or two of rest before we start poking at him again."

The bed was that exact level of comfort that allowed for sleeping, but not much else. Once Sam was safely ensconced in the utilitarian sheets, his various tubes and wires secured so he wouldn't roll over them, he let his mind wander into a reverie that tipped him into an uneasy, restless doze, punctuated with beeps and tiny hot stabs in his arm and the ever-present pressure of uselessness on his soul.

Dean stared at the double doors. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY - PROPER SCRUB ATTIRE REQUIRED BEYOND THIS POINT. He wondered detachedly what would happen if he wandered into one of the locker rooms and borrowed some scrubs. How far would he be able to get? Not far, he suspected; the badges everyone wore seemed to be required to open most of the doors. He probably wouldn't even be able to make it into a locker room.

The paperwork, at least, had been easy enough. A quick call to Charlie had secured him a social security number and a promise that by the time the hospital tried to pull up the information, it would point to one James Castiel Novak, a 36-year-old single man so nondescript it would make people cry of boredom. "And in a few hours, he'll have a bank account and health insurance, too," she'd assured him. He'd decided not to ask how.

His pen had lingered over one space on the forms for far too long, however. Relation to patient. He could still see it when he blinked, as though it had burned to his corneas.

He'd decided that "partner" could be taken more ways than the obvious way. Castiel was his partner. His hunting partner. They'd been on cases, after all. But it had still felt strange writing the word, and not just because it was intentionally misleading; even though he was trying hard not to think about it, his mind insisted on examining it.

Not long after he'd handed back the numerous clipboards, a very exhausted-looking man in green scrubs had emerged from those double-doors and scanned the waiting room. It hadn't taken him long; Kevin still hadn't returned, for which Dean was guiltily grateful, and though the waiting room was starting to fill up with patients and their families, clearly the surgeon knew who he was looking for.

"We had to remove his spleen," the surgeon had said, as though Dean knew what a spleen did - he had always half-suspected it wasn't even a real organ. "It was ruptured and he was bleeding internally. Because it's so close to the pancreas, and when we're rushing to ligate vessels like we were - the pancreas are very friable tissue, and when they're punctured -"

Dean had mostly stopped trying to follow what may as well have been Greek at that point, zoning back into the surgeon's litany when he mentioned they'd had to give more than eight units of blood, and only then to idly muse that Cas and Sam could start a competition.

"The anesthesiologist is reversing the meds now," the surgeon had finished, "and we'll be able to bring you back to see him shortly."

"Why can't I go now?" Dean had asked bluntly.

"We haven't transported him to recovery yet," the surgeon had responded. "He's still in the room. A tech will come get you as soon as he's transported. I promise." He'd offered a tired but reassuring smile. "He's tough, your friend. And healthy. A fighter. It shouldn't be too long."

That had been half an hour ago. Dean had been staring at the double doors ever since.

"Any word?"

Dean looked up. Kevin thrust a cup of vending machine coffee at him; it had the vague sense of a peace offering about it, and Dean considered it before reaching out to take it.

"He's out." He took a sip of the coffee and immediately regretted it; bitter, too hot, and too much creamer. "They were supposed to come get me when I could come see him."

Kevin lowered himself into the chair next to Dean. "Look, I'm sorry I -"

"Forget about it," Dean cut him off. "It was a mistake. Now you know better." He swallowed, weariness making his thoughts thick and inelegant. "Truth is, I -"

"Are you Dean?"

Dean's head snapped around and he was up out of his chair before he even finished responding. "Yes. He awake?"

The nurse nodded. "And asking for you. Would you like to come with me?"

"Absolutely."

She led him down a hallway, going too slowly for Dean's liking. "He's very disoriented, which is completely normal after spending so long under general anesthesia, and he's on some painkillers that will also make him groggy, so don't be alarmed if he acts a little strange," she said as she held open one of the doors for him.

"Right." Dean stepped through and his eyes darted about the room, landing upon the only occupied bed after only a moment. Suddenly anxious, he stepped slowly to the bedside and stood mutely, not sure what to do next.

Aside from the oxygen tubes trailing from his nose and the IV inserted in his arm, Castiel did not look as though he'd just had major surgery. His dark hair was tousled against the pillow as though he'd spent a night tossing and turning, and he did look paler than usual, but otherwise Dean had seen him look far worse. It was that thought that gave him the courage to reach out and put light pressure on Castiel's shoulder.

"Hey," he said softly, and Castiel opened his eyes - he didn't seem to be able to focus them together at the same time, and they wandered slightly before landing on Dean's face.

"You're Dean," he mumbled, the lines around his eyes smiling even if his mouth didn't.

"Last time I checked," Dean replied slowly, Castiel's odd phrasing raising a tiny alarm bell of suspicion in the back of his mind. "What happened? You scared Kevin half to death.."

The smile lines disappeared. "Kevin?"

Dean swallowed. "Yeah. Little nerdy dude with the tablet?" The alarm bell multiplied at the blank incomprehension on Castiel's face. "And Sam was worried too."

The alarm bells upgraded to a siren and a terrible cold rush at the pit of his stomach as Castiel shook his head very slightly.

Bracing himself, Dean plastered a sickly smile on his face. "How about Castiel? Remember him?"

He didn't need Castiel to shake his head again to confirm it. He realized that the hand on Castiel's shoulder had started gripping it very tightly and he forced himself to let go, shoving it into his jacket pocket.

"Listen, I - I gotta go find your doctor," Dean said, forcing as much false cheer into his voice as he could muster. "I'll be right back."

"It's normal for him to be disoriented right now," the anesthesiologist told Dean calmly, but Dean held up a hand.

"He doesn't recognize his own name. I'm not a doctor, but that goes way beyond disoriented in my book."

"Dean, I need you to calm down," the anesthesiologist said, reaching out to put a hand on both of Dean's shoulders. Dean took a step back and her hands dropped. "He spent nearly six hours under anesthesia, and he was very sensitive to some of those drugs. That's why it took so long to wake him back up. He may wake up tomorrow morning and not remember having gone to surgery at all. You said he recognized you, right?"

"Kind of." Dean was even doubting that now. He shook his head to clear it from the cobwebs of fatigue that were beginning in the corners. "You're seriously not worried at all? That he doesn't even know his name?"

"He responded to Cas when we were bringing him out," she replied in a soothing tone. "And he's been asking for you since we extubated him. I think, once he's given time to actually rest and metabolize what remains of the drugs, he'll become more coherent and less worrisome." She looked carefully at Dean. "And I think you could use a little rest, too. Cas is likely going to sleep for the next several hours with the pain medication we've given him. I suggest you do the same."

"Why does everyone keep telling me to go sleep?" Dean demanded of no one in particular, but the anesthesiologist replied anyway.

"Because you look like you haven't for several nights, and having a loved one in the hospital is extremely stressful and draining." She put a hand on Dean's shoulder again, and this time he didn't knock it away. "We're taking care of Cas. You take care of yourself."

She sounded so sincere that Dean felt a little guilty for simply turning on his heel and walking away.

Castiel didn't wake up again when Dean stopped by his bed, even when Dean tapped on his shoulder. There were no disconcerting sounds coming from the various monitors around him, and no one seemed concerned, so he simply squeezed Castiel's shoulder in farewell before making his way back to the waiting room.

"So?" Kevin asked, rising to his feet.

"He's pretty fucked up," Dean replied in a low voice, passing a hand over his face to rub at his eyes. "Don't know what I expected - it's not exactly new for him to forget everything. He's done it before."

Kevin looked perplexed. "But he remembered you. And the bunker."

Dean shook his head in frustration. "I know." He sighed heavily. "He's drugged to the gills right now and as much as I want to stay..."

Kevin gave Dean a resigned look. "Sam."

Dean nodded. "Can you stay?"

Shrugging, Kevin looked around. "I don't have much else to do."

"Tell me as soon as Cas wakes up and can actually string two words together. I'm going to stop by the bunker and change and get Sam some new clothes too - they had to cut his off." A thought struck Dean, and he paused. "Should pick up some clothes for Cas. They probably had to cut his off, too." A tiny, inexplicable pain twinged through him at the thought, his overtired mind drawing a ridiculous parallel between Castiel's clothes and his identity.

"They did ask if I could bring him some things from home," Kevin said slowly. "Do you think I could ride to the bunker with you, and you can drop me back off here?"

Dean's previous line of thought screeched to a halt. "Um. No."

He cursed the bluntness of his response as Kevin's brow wrinkled. "Why not?"

"You won't like my ride." Closing his eyes, Dean sighed. Kevin would inevitably find out anyway - he'd known the plan to begin with, and he had to have guessed at its outcome by now. "It's Crowley."

To his credit, Kevin's expression changed very little, except for the sudden flare of hate and distaste in his eyes. He simply sat back down. "I'll wait here. Can you bring me my backpack?" he asked in a studiously neutral tone.

Dean nodded. "Anything else?"

"Yeah." Kevin pulled his phone from his pocket and slumped back in the chair, eyes glued to the screen. "Tell Crowley he can go fuck himself."

"I'll pass it on." When Dean got no further response, he turned and made his way through the maze of hallways, trying to find the entrance by which he'd arrived.