What You Need

Chapter 1

"Hi I'm Dean, I'm your new nurse, and I'm going to ask you a few questions. First, who are you?"

"I'm Castiel. I'm an angel of the lord. I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."

"Alright Castiel, how are you feeling today? Did you get much sleep?"

"I am fine. Celestial beings don't need sleep."

Dean sighed and jotted down all Castiels' answers on the mental hospitals form. He was glad to have this job of course, now he could support Sammy, who was going to an elite private school. The anonymous donor who sent Dean to nursing school and referenced him to this place had really saved him. Without this Dean wouldn't have been able to afford the fancy school that Sam deserved, but this job was pretty depressing. A pretty young girl down the hall named Ruby thought that she was a demon, and an older Scottish man on the second floor thought he was the king of hell. Dean felt bad for these people; they believed these things with such conviction that it almost seemed real.

Dean finished updating the chart and walked past his new patient sitting on the bed to open the blue cloud patterned shades coving the window that overlooked the community gardens that the mental hospital shared with the surrounding neighborhood. There were no clouds in the sky and some people in gardening gloves were crouched next to a plot of newly turned soil.

"It looks like there are some people from down the block planting some flowers in the garden today! Maybe you could go help them out, get some fresh air, what do you think?"

Castiel sighed and looked at the wall across from his bed, his favorite paintings covering the dull gray wall. Today he focused on his print of "La Bella Principessa" by Leonardo Da Vinci. He had become interested in it after seeing a documentary on its authentication on documentary night in the commons two months ago. His little sister Anna had brought the print for him two weeks ago, after his long letter to her describing the thrill of seeing how art dealers figured out that it was made by Leonardo Da Vinci.

Now he gazed the print on his wall, Bianca Sforza staring forward at nothing. Castiel loved the details, the individual eyelashes, the shading on her cheeks, and the intricacy of her hair.

His eyes snapped up to Dean, who had moved close to the picture, squinting with curiosity.

"So you like art huh?" Dean questioned, tilting his head as if trying to see deeper and deeper into the drawing.

"Yes, I think it is one of the greatest things humans have done." Castiel stated.

He was very straightforward, Dean noticed. He definitely had the air of an angel down pretty well for a crazy guy. Dean turned and smiled sympathetically at Castiel.

"Well it was nice to meet you Castiel and I hope I'll see you around today! I think there's an art class going on at 3 o'clock in the courtyard if you're interested. I'll see you later okay?" Dean grinned at the scruffy man in the trench coat.

"Okay. Sounds good, Dean." Castiel replied, turning just in time to catch Deans' bright green eyes watching him. Castiel cocked his head to the side and thought of words to describe those eyes.

"Olive, sea glass, moss, fern, apple pie, ocean wind, wild grass at the end of summer, and emerald." Castiel stated matter-of-factly, keeping his gaze trained on the pools of Deans eyes, not wanting to look away for fear that he would miss something.

"What?" Deans' eyebrows scrunched together, his smile still in place, polite, quizzical, but still genuine and beautiful, noticeable from across the room.

"Your eyes. That's what they look like." Castiels eyes never wavered from Deans' wanting to soak up that color and emotion so he could look at it and have it whenever he wanted.

Dean looked down and scratched the back of his neck shyly before straitening and returning Castiels' scrutiny.

"Ice, mountains, tide pools, blueberries, light through curtains, aquamarine, April rain, and my favorite wool sweater."

Castiel quirked his lips in what Dean could see was an almost unnoticeable smile. Dean returned the quiet, personal look before turning out of the room and closing the door behind him.