Dean hated hospitals, ever since his mom died, and then his dad. He hated the white walls and the blue scrubs and the smell. It didn't even smell clean to him, it smelled like someone was trying to cover the stench of death. He hated it.

He remembered the tall doctor leaning down to whisper in his ear that his mom had died. Burn wounds, from the fire, were too great, he said. There was nothing they could do. They had tried everything. Dean didn't understand it at the time, all he knew is that his mom wouldn't kiss him goodnight anymore.

He was only four, he needed his moms' songs and her laughter and her smiles. He didn't understand, and he didn't want to understand. So he blamed it on the doctors, it was their fault they couldn't save his mom. They should've done more, or something different.

And then there was his father. A car crash, because the great John Winchester was driving drunk. And Sammy was in the car, he could've been killed too. Once again, doctors had failed to save him, had 'done everything they could'. It was bullshit, he knew that then. He was 19 and finally understood what it meant for his dad to die.

That was the last time Dean had set foot in a hospital, even when Grandpa Samuel contracted pneumonia. Dean never went inside, only sent a 'get well' card and some flowers. He didn't visit Charlie when her spleen had ruptured, but she understood. She had her own story filled with hatred for hospitals.

So when Dean woke up and found himself being wheeled around on a gurney in a hospital corridor, he fought like hell. Because to him, hospitals mean pain and death and sickness. He wanted no part of any of that. No matter why he was there. He hated hospitals, and besides he was only 22, he didn't have money to pay for it.

Actually, why was he there? He stopped fighting for a minute when a gravelly voice shushed him and said, "Dean, there has been an accident, I need you to calm down." He looked up to try and find where the voice was coming from. He was out of it though; they must've given him a sedative when he was fighting.

Dean craned his neck behind him, eyes searching wildly for the voice. There were nurses in masks who were pushing the gurney, some of them holding down Dean's hands. "I'm right here, Dean." The voice said again, and Dean's eyes zeroed in on the culprit. It was an angel, like actually an angel.

At least, Dean thought he was, he had wings. And the prettiest eyes, like clear blue water and cotton candy. Dean calmed down, keeping his eyes locked on the person with the eyes and the wings. A man, he thinks, based on the voice. He tried to speak, his voice coming out as a squeak.

"Shhh," the man whispered, "do not try to talk. Your vocal cords and neck were injured in the accident." That freaked Dean out, if his spinal cord was injured, could he move his hands? He needed his hands to keep Sammy alive.

He tried to move, wiggled his hands and tried to resist the nurses. The man, maybe the doctor, whispered, "Your hands are fine, you are not paralyzed, only a cervical fracture." Dean relaxed, immediately feeling relief at the Doctor's words.

"Sleep now." The man cooed, and that was all it took for Dean to fall into a deep slumber.

********* 5 years later**********

Dean loved his job, he got to spend his days inflicting pain on people and spending time with Sammy. That sounds really morbid actually, the pain part not the time with Sammy part. See it's just that he injected ink into people's dermis and it usually hurts. That isn't any better... He was a tattoo artist.

He was amazing with his hands, and loved to create masterpieces on people that would last forever. It made him feel like something he did was special, important to someone. It made him feel important, and that was a rare feeling.

It wasn't like Dean wasn't getting any or anything, it's just that nothing else he did felt important. Working with ink was his passion, he loved it. The money was good, he got to see Sam nearly every day, which was also rare considering he was working his way through law school.

He was satisfied with his life for once. Sure, he didn't have a mom or dad, and didn't have a lasting relationship with anyone. But really, who needed that when you had a dork of a brother and an amazing career.

Truth is, Dean wanted it. He wanted someone to hold at night, someone to love and care for, someone who loved to see him too. Dean didn't just want it, he needed it. There are times in the day where Dean could barely breathe he was so stricken with grief and loneliness over his nonexistent love life.

Sam, being the bitch he is, decided he would do something about this. He decided that it was his duty to bring Dean the love of his life. Or have them crash into each other in a hospital room. Literally.

When Dean was having one of his "moments" as he liked to call them, Sam called an ambulance. Even after resisting their help, Dean was carted off to the hospital. Did Dean mention he hated hospitals? Because he does, with a fiery passion.

He had x-rays of his chest and mri's of his head. After all that, a nurse came in to tell Sam and Dean that he was pretty much fine and could go home. A simple explanation of, "You had a panic attack. Your lungs are fine, your heart is fine, there is really no reason to stay." Well, not exactly that but that was the gist of it.

Dean wanted out of the hospital as soon as possible, so he went on his merry way and sped towards the door. He didn't make it to the door though, because suddenly there was a brick wall in front of him. Not literally a brick wall, but it was pretty hard. Plus, his skull came in contact with something and now he was on his butt. He looked up to see a doctor looking down at him and rubbing his forehead.

"Oh, pardon me." The man growled out, and even though he was apologizing it sounded like he was gearing up for war. "I just wanted to see how we were getting along," He spoke again, and okay maybe it was just his voice.

The nurse quickly stepped forward to explain that they were just leaving as Sam helped Dean to his feet. Dean rubbed at his nose and felt blood dripping from his finger. Searing pain shot up the bridge of his nose whenever he touched it a certain way. He quickly put his hand down.

The doctor looked over and noticed the blood running down Dean's face, his own morphing from emotionless to concern. "Oh." He stated, before grabbing some tissues and holding them under his nose. His hand on the back of Dean's neck sent chills through his bones.

Dean's hand found the mans' lab coat, and clung on while the doctor tilted his head forward and wiped away blood from his lips. Pain laced up into Dean's skull still, bring tears to his eyes. He didn't let them out though, forcing them back in because he wasn't weak.

Slowly, the blood came to a stop, and the man threw out the bloody tissues and began washing his hand. "I suspect you might have a black eye or two, but I don't think you will have a concussion." He took out a flashlight from his pocket and shined them in Dean's eyes.

Dean stared back at him, only now realizing that this man was familiar. Something about him, the eyes, Dean thinks. His eyes were incredibly blue, sparkling like they held the secrets to the universe. Dean could drown in those eyes.

Then it hit him, he was the angel. From five years ago, this man was the same doctor that had saved Dean's life. It was more than just a cervical fracture, he would have been paralyzed and possibly dead if it wasn't for this man.

"You're the angel." Dean blurted out, mentally slapping himself on the forehead. Sam only scoffed, "Wow, I knew you had some shitty pickup lines, but really Dean?" Immediately, blood rushed to his cheeks and he looked down at his shoes.

The doctor only chuckled slightly, "Well, I am no angel, but thank you. My name is Doctor Castiel Novak. And yes, I was the one that operated on you some years ago. I thought your name sounded familiar."

Dean was sure that this man was his Angel, yeah he was the doctor but Dean could have sworn he had wings. "You had wings. They were black, and spread out. They were beautiful." Dean spoke with awe in his voice.

Sam merely sighed, "I think he might actually have a concussion Doctor." The man nearly huffed and resumed his tests on Dean. Dean stared up at him, hoping to catch some glimpse of truth in the mans' eyes.

Doctor Novak stared back at Dean. It wasn't until Sam cleared his throat that Dean realized they were literally staring at each other. The doctor looked away and wrote something down on his paper. Then, without warning, he clicked his pen and said, "There may be a possibility of a concussion, but we cannot know for sure right now."

He tore off a piece of paper from his notebook and wrote something down on it. He handed it to Sam, with an explanation of, "If anything gets worse or changes, this is my personal number. Usually I would refrain from giving out such personal detail, but considering I may have been the one to give him a concussion, I think it is necessary in this case."

Dean could only stare at the man, not understanding a word he was saying, too busy trying to figure out where he was hiding his wings. Sam took the piece of paper from his hands and pushed it into his pocket, nodding along with what the doctor was saying.

After that, Sam grabbed Dean by the arm and hauled him up. "Time to go." He stated, pushing Dean towards the door with gentleness. Dean walked on unsteady legs, dizzy from the fall. Sam helped him out through the hospital doors and into the impala.

Once comfortable in the car, Dean stared out the window, wondering about Doctor Novak. Sam started the car, turning back to see Dean zoning out. "Hello…?" He said, waving a hand in front of Dean's face. It was enough to bring Dean out of his daze, and he refocused onto Sam's face. "Listen Sammy, I know this is gonna sound crazy but I swear that man is an angel. I saw his wings."

Sam shook his head, "Dean, he doesn't have wings. And don't call me Sammy, Sammy is a chubby twelve-year-old." With that, Sam took off down the road and headed to Dean's apartment.