The green-eyed boy didn't reply. The fear in his eyes only grew, if that was even possible. He seemed to stumble over his own thoughts, his face blank as he stared down at Castiel's aching form.

Castiel swallowed thickly, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. God, everything hurt. Why was this happening? The annoyingly loud sound of sirens grew ever closer, but when Castiel opened his eyes and looked around, there was no one else there. It was just this frightened, freckled boy and Castiel.

He did see a car, though. Was he hit by a car? That wouldn't be good. Then again, most things that led to this kind of pain weren't good. His blue eyes, usually so vibrant and dancing with intelligence, were now all but empty. They managed to find the boy's face again, pleading silently for answers. Who was he? Why was he here? Why was Cas here?

Still, Dean remained silent. He was panicking. What could he do? While Cas had been blacked out for a few minutes, he'd called 911. Of course he had, he couldn't just leave him there, could he? No. No, of course not, but what else was there to do now but wait? He adjusted his worn leather jacket where it lay folded up beneath Castiel's head, his own shaking hand brushing through blood-matted black hair.

Some part of Dean found it hard to even recognize this body as Castiel. This bloodied, bruised body with blank blue eyes and hands sticky with red wasn't the same boy. He wasn't the rich, confident nerdy boy that still maintained a good heart even if it wasn't the most accepting thing in the world.

In truth, Dean had always known Castiel hadn't meant to hurt him back in middle school. He'd never called Dean names or told him he was going to hell, he just tried to...what? Cure him? To be fair, though, they'd both been in the wrong. Dean had always known Naomi drilled homophobia into Castiel's head from a young age, since the boy he knelt by now had lost his mother when he was just a toddler. Still, he expected him to instantly accept and be alright with Dean's interest in men. At least Castiel tried to "help" him, rather than kicking him out of his house.

Perhaps that made Dean the asshat here. Well, no, maybe not. Maybe they were both the ass, whether by accident or not.

What a great pair they'd turned out to be, though. Look at them now.

"It's gonna be okay, Cas," Dean finally breathed out, pale and nervous himself. Perhaps more so than Castiel, who seemed only to be confused and in pain. "You're gonna be alright."

This is your fault, Dean's mind told him. Again and again and again. This is your fault. You did this. You didn't want it to happen, but it's still your fault.

It made him feel sick.

Castiel just stared, parting cracked lips still trickling with blood almost a half minute later. "How can you know?" was all he asked, and then the ambulance was screeching into the parking lot.

The paramedics practically had to tear Dean away from Castiel's body, and for some reason Dean thought of all the movies he'd seen that had scenes like this. Usually, though, the two people involved were lovers.

Usually they ended with a widower.

By now, a crowd had formed around them, but Dean barely noticed. Upon hearing the sirens, practically half the school had showed up, gradually creating a semi-circle of onlookers. Some looked confused, some frightened, a couple just interested; then there were Castiel's friends, forming a separate little crowd. They clung to each other, whispering with lips paled by fear.

For the first time, Dean realized how much Castiel was loved. Not by everyone, but almost. Maybe if Dean had left him alone and just accepted the end of their friendship, the football team might even get along with the guy. His brother was on the team, after all, and Balthazar adored Castiel.

Dean wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.

That feeling only intensified as Balthazar, Anna, and Samandriel Novak came lurching out of the crowd. All three pairs of classically long-lashed eyes were wide with terror as they did so, running to their brother's side as Castiel was strapped down and the paramedics prepared to load him into the ambulance.

There were a shit-ton of Novaks, to put it lightly. Samandriel, the sweet Freshman even Sam adored, was the youngest. Then came Anna, the only sister of the group. Poor girl. She was tough as nails, though, and beautiful to boot. Balthazar was next, followed closely by Castiel and the recently graduated Gabriel. Those three were practically inseparable, Dean remembered. He'd never forget the long nights of Marvel movie marathons at Castiel's house, Balthazar and Gabriel taking up the whole couch and Sammy falling asleep first and Dean and Castiel laying side-by-side on the plush carpeted floor.

After the younger Novaks, things got a little complicated. Uriel and Raphael were rumored to be Naomi's children, adopted by her before her marriage to Chuck Novak, the kind CEO-slash-author but almost always absent father with a slight love for vodka. Dean had never bothered asking if that was the full story. Then came Michael, Castiel's full-blooded brother though he was practically a little Naomi clone, strict on his little brothers but always "in their best interest", or so the young man liked to claim. Lastly came Lucifer, the most reckless yet accepting Novak. He adored their father and was perhaps overly loyal to him, but he loved his brothers too. He and Michael had a bit of a tense relationship, but Luce was usually good to Castiel and that was always enough for Dean.

It looked like Dean was the one Castiel had to be protected from now. His stomach clenched and twisted itself into about a thousand knots at that thought.

Dean wanted nothing more than to climb into the ambulance at that moment, to sit beside the paramedics and squeeze Castiel's hand and keep telling him it would be okay. Maybe more for his own sake than Castiel's, who didn't seem to understand enough to be afraid, but he still wanted to be by his ex-best friend's side.

Unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen. Not with Anna, Balthazar, and little Samandriel already climbing inside and the paramedics telling everyone that no one else should enter the vehicle. Too much of a crowd would only hinder their work. Before Dean could even think of an argument or draw up the courage to ask the Novaks if they'd even allow him inside, as they probably assumed this was entirely his fault, Castiel was loaded into the ambulance and the doors were closed in Dean's face.

The crowd remained as the ambulance rode off, the sirens back on again as it sped down the road towards the hospital and blew right by the red light at the intersection close to the school. Everyone was murmuring to themselves, and Dean could feel dozens of pairs of eyes on his back as he knelt alone in front of the crowd, holding his sticky, red-splattered leather jacket in shock and fear.

Finally, Dean's English teacher, the principal, and the school nurse stepped forward, helping him stand up again and telling him he should go home. At last, Sam seemed to finally be able to push through the crowd and came running forward, the only thing to pull Dean out of his shock enough to even notice the adults talking to him.

"Dean!" Sam cried as he came closer, staring at his brother with concern. "What happened? Was that Castiel? Is he gonna be okay?" His older brother didn't look quite ready for questions at the moment, but Sam couldn't help but try.

As expected, he didn't receive much of an answer, just a dazed look as Sam promised the teachers to get his brother home. He pulled out his cell phone and pulled Dean aside, calling Bobby and asking him to pick them up, explaining that Dean was in no real condition to drive right now.

Dean watched the ambulance become a dot in the distance before taking a right turn and disappearing for good, the wail of the sirens still reverberating in his ears.

Dean was stubborn as a bull, and he could put up a damn good argument when he wanted to. As he finally finished regathering his wits, he managed to convince Bobby to bring him to the hospital rather than to the Singer residence, population 1 gruff second father and 2 lost boys with a recently deceased father and a mother working her ass off on business trips all over the country to provide for them and their futures.

How would Dean be able to rest, he argued, not knowing how Castiel was doing? Not knowing if he was okay? Sam seemed just as reluctant as Bobby to give in to this argument, but in the end they conceded and brought him to the hospital.

Dean rushed inside, looking around for someone that could help him. Finding the reception desk and approaching it before Sam and Bobby even made it inside, he leaned breathlessly against the counter.

"I need to see Castiel Novak," Dean insisted, looking intently at the young receptionist. "Now."

The woman raised one delicate eyebrow, her eyes showing understanding though she kept her face in a carefully controlled expression of professionalism. She typed away for a moment on her computer, pulling something up. "Mr. Novak is in surgery at the moment," she replied, after what felt like years to Dean. "I'm afraid it may be a few hours before he is available for any visitors. Are you family?"

Shit. Dean swallowed thickly, thinking fast as he grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a picture he hoped to God Bobby and Sam couldn't see as they walked up behind him. If they knew he'd kept this thing, they'd think he was the biggest wuss on planet Earth.

"Yes," Dean answered, setting the picture down on the desk. The woman looked to him curiously, taking it in a steady, manicured hand. On the front were two boys with their arms thrown around each other, smiling like there was no other place in the world they'd rather be than in that moment. They stood in front of an extensive mansion with a bounce castle and a slip-n-slide behind them, their swim trunks soaked and loose on their skinny hips.

When the receptionist turned the photo over, she saw 'Dean and Castiel, age 7' in Mary Winchester's graceful handwriting. She gave Dean a sad, pitying smile as she handed the photo back. "He'll be in room 313 when he comes out of surgery," she answered softly. "You may wait in the third floor waiting room, in the trauma ward. I'll have a doctor come get you when he's available for visitors."

Dean nodded and took the photo back, trying clumsily to conceal it from Sam and Bobby as he slipped it back into his wallet.

Their knowing looks told him he failed in his attempts. Suddenly, he didn't care. He ran to the elevator as if getting to the waiting room faster would make a difference, waiting impatiently with a tapping foot and just barely resisting the urge to kick the wall during the moments between hitting the 'up' button and the doors at last sliding open.

As the doors closed once more when the two Winchester boys and their secondary guardian were inside, it was hard for Dean to think of anything else but Castiel.

Dean and Castiel, age 7.

Best friends.

Dean and Castiel, age 17.

Enemies.

One's worst nightmare was still losing the other.