A/N: This is my first ever Supernatural shot, done for my sister, so be kind. It's a Dean/Crazy!Cas friendship AU. If you squint hard enough, maybe there's a bit of fluff here and there, but don't strain yourself trying to find it either. I found inspiration in a Keaton Henson song of the same title, kind of fitting, good soundtrack for this. Anyways.

He liked to watch the bees.

Sam Winchester had lost his mind exactly three days, five hours, and fourteen minutes ago.

It currently resided in an empty matchbox, the very same one that had just been thrown at an orderly in a fit of frustration somewhere between room 13B and the left wing kitchen hall.

The other patients at Mansfield Mental Hospital thought Sam Winchester was too loud, save for the schizophrenic girl three doors down who thought more about how he'd look naked and lying on top of her. She didn't mind the random fits of rage he had every time the medicine cart came by, in fact, she thought it made him even more attractive than he already was, if that was even possible.

It was twenty three minutes after this incident that Dean Winchester received a call from the hospital. He glanced at his phone, wiped his grease smeared hands across his work pants and stepped through the cold concrete hallway where he could speak privately. "What's wrong? Somethin' wrong with Sammy?"

"Is this Dean Winchester?"

He clicked his tongue impatiently, "was there anyone else on that emergency contact list? Now, come on, what's going on?"

"Er, well, your brother is refusing to take his medication, it's been three days now. Without the proper treatment he'll be here beyond the initial time frame we had given you. And, er, well it's not my place but you had mentioned that money had been tight. We don't want to put you or your brother in a situation where, well, you understand."

Dean looked over his shoulder, halfway expecting one of his co-workers to be hiding around the corner listening. But no one was there and he sighed loudly into the phone. "Let me talk to him."

"I'm sorry sir, he doesn't have phone privileges."

"Well, when can I talk to him then?"

"Visiting hours are from noon to three during weekdays, and from ten to-"

He sighed even louder into the phone this time. "Look, I work during all those hours, kind of hard to pay the bills when I can't work. Help me out here, can we arrange something, something special?" The woman on the other end bit her lip in hesitation. "This is my brother we're talking about, do you know what that's like? Having to haul your own blood to a place like that? It's hard, real hard. I need to talk to him. He needs me." After a moment of silence, she spoke.

"O-okay. What hours work for you sir?"

"I'll be out of here by six."

"I'll arrange your schedule with the night orderly, please have picture identification on you and there should be no problem, is that good?"

"Good."

"And sir?" Her voice got quiet then, small and pained. "I'm really sorry."

Three days, five hours and thirty-seven minutes ago Sam Winchester suffered a mental breakdown and Dean, the only family he had left, cradled his younger, broken brother to his chest with soft whispers that everything was going to be okay. He hadn't known what else to say and even then, the gentle crooning that left his lips were nothing but sugar coated lies. Nothing was going to be okay and as Sam muttered nonsense that couldn't be understood, Dean knew it would be a long time before anything was going to be okay again.

Dean felt guilty saying he had almost seen this coming, Sam hadn't slept right since Jessica had passed away and that had been months ago. The younger Winchester was looking worse for wear the days before his breakdown, his face was pale and hollow, his eyes even more empty and bruised. There were days where Sam would yell, he would strike out and throw whatever was closest to him, always at thin air. Dean never asked but he knew, his brother was losing whatever battle was waging within him.

So he did what he had to, having not the time nor resources to help Sam alone, he committed his brother to a psychiatric hospital some fifteen miles away in hopes that they could help where he couldn't.

These guilty thoughts recycled themselves in his mind as he drove down the scenic stretch of road between the garage where he worked and the hospital where Sam was. The windows were down and the clean air beat against the interior of the Impala in a loud, forceful rush. It was a small relief from working through hours of car exhaust and motor oil fumes, so he took a long, deep breath of it and tried to let his thoughts wash away.

When he pulled up to the hospital, the small amount of shame that had managed to escape him came flooding back, with interest. He felt like a failure, though he knew there was little he could have done to prevent Sam's breakdown, big brothers were supposed to look after their siblings. Not shove them off to an antiseptic washed white room. He swallowed his feelings, put on his usual hard expression then stepped off to his poor, crazy brother.

Flashing his identification at the door, he was led down an oddly sterile hallway into the empty day room. There were only two windows, revealing little but the tall pine trees that circled the area. It was to set the patient's minds at ease, the harmony of nature was to bring peace and calm of mind, but all it did was give him a headache. Or maybe that was just the smell of bleach.

Dean sat down at a small table, it looked about right for a child, complete with childish drawings of people and houses and animals. "I'll tell your brother you're here, we'll bring him down. Lights out is at nine, is that enough time?"

"Plenty. Thanks." The man gave a curt nod and then stepped back through the door. Dean felt an odd chill creep through him as he sat there alone. The room was full of different activities, there was a section reserved for musical instruments, art supplies, a small record player that had only three different albums next to it and against the far wall, a small television that had been left on. It was playing a black and white film and he caught the end of a heated conversation between a man and a woman, she didn't want him to go but he insisted, and she cried.

Ten minutes slowly drifted by and when the orderly came back, he wore an uncomfortable expression. "I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester has refused any visitors." Dean turned in his seat and cocked his head, his mouth forming a steep frown that made him look older than he was.

"What do you mean? I'm not a visitor, I'm his damn brother."

"I told him you were here. He doesn't want to see you."

Dean stood up suddenly, feeling rushed with hot anger. "I don't care if he doesn't want to, make him come down here!" He slapped his palms against his legs and gave a small humorless laugh. "He's batshit insane, why are you listening to him?"

"I'm sorry sir, I can't make him come down here. Maybe tomorrow-"

"I'll wait. Go tell him I'm waiting." Dean sat back down with a defiant huff. The orderly opened his mouth to protest but quickly shut it again, seeing the stubborn look in Dean's eyes, he knew he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"Lights out is at-"

"At nine, yeah, I heard you the first time. I'll wait." The man quickly left the room, leaving Dean alone with only the sound of an outdated movie and his own flustered breath. He put his head in his hands and twisted in his seat. Sam was still mad at him. He recalled the disbelief that showed itself across Sam's tired face when he had told him where he was going. Sam refused, told Dean that he wouldn't forgive him if he put him in a place like that. But it wasn't his choice and dammit, it was supposed to help him. He knew one day Sam would thank him but as it was, apparently, Sam wasn't yet ready for that.

He waited there for nearly an hour, quiet and lost in thought until the sound of an opening door tore him back to the present. He spun in his chair but deflated upon seeing a bed-headed young man instead of his brother. The man looked to be the same age as him, weary and slow but wearing a content expression that looked somewhat dazed. He walked past Dean without so much as a glance. Dean watched the man as he walked towards the television, he switched it off and then turned and crossed the room towards the record player. He was dressed in all white patient attire so Dean wearily sat back and tried not to make himself obvious.

The man placed a record on the turntable and clicked a switch, he moved the needle over and then gently placed it over the spinning record. The grainy sound of Anne Shelton popped to life, filling the room with a jaunty war song that felt eerie and cold. The man leaned his head back, his eyes were shut and his mouth slightly parted open. Every now and then he'd mouth the words to the song and a small smile would tug at the corners of his mouth. Then, with one eye opened and focused, he picked the needle back up and moved it back to the beginning of the song. The same notes strummed up again and less than twenty seconds in, he started it over once more. "That sound, that aged grainy sound. I like it, I could listen to that sound all day." He said suddenly, cocking his head slightly towards Dean.

Dean looked over his shoulder, suddenly aware that it was just the patient and him in the day room, and he forced a smile. "It's a good sound."

"Do you like Anne Shelton?"

"Well, uh." Dean rolled his head towards his shoulder, pulling his mouth downwards as he shrugged. "It's a bit before my time but sure, it's not bad. Feels like I should expect an air raid siren next." He gave a small nervous laugh.

The man turned towards him and blinked, his face falling blank. Then he nodded. "Yes, because she was popular during the Second World War. I understand that reference." The man turned away and then moved the needle again. "Ah, there it is."

Dean shifted nervously in his seat. He turned around once more, hoping to see sign of another orderly or even his brother, but no one was there and the hallway outside the doors had darkened.

"Do you work here?"

"Ah, yes." Dean turned back around. "Wait, what was the question?"

"Why aren't you wearing worker scrubs?" He looked down at his clothes and then tightly smiled. He didn't work here but he ran with it, he didn't want this man knowing his brother was another patient.

"I'm special. A volunteer. I can wear what I like."

"You're lucky," the man said. He stepped away from the record, feeling satisfied with the sound finally and he sat down at the table above Dean's. "I miss my clothes. These things," he plucked his fingers across the front of shirt. "They get a touch boring. White is such a drab color, don't you agree?" Dean nodded as if he completely understood and the man sighed in relief. "I'm Castiel, you probably already knew that though. And you are?"

"Dean. Nice to meet you Castiel."

Castiel got out of his seat and crept closer, extending his hand. Wearily, Dean shook it. "Firm grip, that's good. It's quiet in here isn't it? Maybe I should turn the volume up on that, er, thing." He looked over his shoulder and smiled. "I like this song," he turned back towards Dean and raised his eyebrows. "One of her best."

Dean opened his mouth to reply when the doors fluttered back open behind him. "Mr. Winchester?" A woman strolled in but stopped suddenly and tilted her head. "Jimmy? What are you doing out of your room? You know you're not supposed to be here this late..." She clicked her tongue in disapproval and he looked guiltily away.

"My name isn't Jimmy. It's Castiel." He looked suddenly towards Dean and repeated himself reassuringly. "And I'm not tired, it gets boring up there when you're not sleeping."

"I know, but come on, if you keep coming down here without telling anyone we'll have to revoke those roaming privileges." He shrugged and stood up when she crept closer. "Off to your room, it's lights out in an hour. I'll have the nurse deliver a sleeping pill to help you get your rest tonight."

"Alright, if you insist," he said tightly. Castiel strode over to the doors but politely turned back around and gave a small wave. "Until next time, Dean." And then he left.

After a small conversation regarding his brother, Dean left too. He told the woman he'd be back tomorrow, and even again after that until Sam came down to talk to him. She nodded but didn't look confident.

He didn't sleep well either that night.

The next day he managed to get off an hour earlier and when he entered the day room to wait, Castiel was already in there, along with two other patients. Dean took the same seat as yesterday and waited quietly with his head down. The chair across from his table pulled out and Castiel took his seat, rested his chin on his folded hands and simply stared until Dean looked up.

"Hello Dean."

"Hey Castiel."

"You're here early." When Dean raised his eyebrows in question, Castiel nodded. "I was in here yesterday at this same minute, you weren't here. It's strange, we've never had a worker posted in here. But then again, Suzanne did try to swallow a crayon three days ago. It makes sense," he contemplated. Dean didn't know what to say so he didn't say anything at all. "That's James," Castiel said suddenly, pointing to a patient across the room. "He's kind of a rude guy, no manners at all. You should see him eat." He scrunched up his face and then pointed to an older woman near the opposite door. "That's Madeleine. She's deaf, watch." He turned in his seat and cupped a hand to his mouth. "Hey Madeleine, your shirts on backwards!" She didn't so much as blink. "See? She's a lot of fun."

"Er, looks like it." Dean replied lowly, glancing around with his head still down. Castiel nodded and sat back, he resumed staring at Dean until the man coughed and felt obligated to speak. "So, what brings you here?" He shut his eyes when the words left his mouth, they sounded so much worse when vocalized. But that seemed to go unnoticed to Castiel.

"Well, you know." He looped a single finger near his temple and clicked his tongue. "I've been here for a while. Almost six years. Or seven. I can't remember. I'm more of a permanent resident than a patient." He shrugged and looked away. "It's pretty lonely."

"You don't get many visitors?"

Castiel kept his eyes unfocused towards the blank wall opposite of them. "No. I haven't heard from any of my brothers for years. I don't know where my father is. I don't get any visitors." Dean cleared his throat, feeling awash with guilt for asking yet another invasive question.

"Sorry."

Castiel quickly regained his confidence. "But you're here. It's kind of like you're visiting, isn't it?" Before Dean could answer, Castiel changed the subject. "Care to play a game? There's nothing else to do."

Dean knew he still had three hours left till lights out, three hours left waiting for his brother that probably still didn't want to see him. So he shrugged and leaned back, "sure, why not?"

The first month went by slowly, every day after work Dean tried his luck and waited for Sam to come out to speak to him, yet it never happened. Usually, he would have gotten frustrated, angry even and stormed his way upwards, but something kept him occupied. A dark haired, bruised eyed something.

"And so, I told her, babe, if you want me to buy you another drink it's gonna cost you." Dean smirked, feeding off of Castiel's energy as the man leaned expectantly across the table.

"And?"

Dean shrugged and Castiel laughed, leaning back and clapping for the story. "I got that kiss." Dean topped off haughtily. "And, well, a lot more if you catch my drift." He winked at Castiel and the man's face suddenly dropped."

"She reimbursed your money too?"

Dean hadn't laughed that hard in months.

The doors opened up behind him and a familiar click of heels crossed towards them "Enjoying yourself Jimmy?" Castiel shot her a wary look and she cleared her throat. "Sorry, Castiel. I forget." She apologized with her hands upwards and he tilted his mouth as if bored by the conversation. "Do you mind if we steal away Mr. Winchester for a minute?"

"Duty calls," he replied, leaning back in his seat. "See you around Dean."

"Later Cas." Dean stood and followed the director through the doors. "Everything alright?" He questioned once they found themselves alone in the hallway.

"Oh, yes. I just wanted to inform you that Sam has said he'll see you now. In his room, he doesn't like the day room much. The other patients don't like him much and well, he returns the feeling."

"Great, take me up there. Bastard has kept me waiting for a whole month."

She nodded and led the way towards the staircase. "You seem to have taken a liking to our dear Jimmy. He's a character, isn't he?"

"Yeah, funny guy." Dean said offhandedly. "Been here a while, has he?"

"Too long." She replied. "He won't be getting any better. Usually with our patients, we can help them find the right path to be successful amongst the common people, through means of medication and therapy. Much like we're trying to do with Sam. But people like Castiel, well, they can't be fixed." Dean felt odd hearing this so he changed the subject.

"How is Sam doing?"

"Much better. He's agreed to therapy though he won't take any pills. We've supplemented them into his food and he seems to be taking well to them. Well, you'll see." He nodded and they walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence. When they arrived at the door Dean took a deep breath, he didn't know what condition he'd see Sam in but his expectations made him nervous. The woman gave a small knock before opening the door.

Sam was lying on his bed, a book spread open in his large hand. He glanced over towards the door, gave a small scoff then returned to his book. Dean walked in, looked around and then plastered a smile over his face.

"Will you be okay Sam?" The woman asked. Dean turned to question her tone when Sam nodded and she promptly left, closing the door behind her. Slowly, Dean turned back towards his brother, nervously flexing his fingers tight against his palm.

"Hey, Sammy. How ya doin' buddy?"

"Don't talk to me like that Dean." Sam said flatly. He turned the page to his book and Dean muttered an awkward 'alrighty'. "You've been here every day?"

"Yeah, every day. I kept hoping you'd meet me and talk but you know, obviously, you never did." His tone was slightly accusatory and Sam let the book fall to his chest.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Was I supposed to come running to you all heartfelt and thankful for what you did? Have you seen this place? It's a prison Dean. You put me in jail, against my will." Sam hummed and then glared over at Dean.

"Look, it wasn't an easy call to make!" A small bit of relief bloomed in Dean's chest despite his sharp tone. Sam sounded much like he used to and that meant that this had indeed been the right thing to do. "Before you came here you weren't sleeping, you were talking to yourself, you were seeing things that weren't there. I mean, what was I supposed to do?"

"Half of that isn't even true," Sam said matter-of-factly as he pulled his book back upwards. "I'm fine now, when do I get to go home?"

Dean snapped his fingers to get Sam's attention. "Can you put the book down for a second, I haven't seen you in ages." Sam rolled his eyes but obliged, shutting the book with a snap he threw it down on the bed next to him. "I don't know when you get to come home. I can't take you out, they have to release you."

"Oh, Christ. Come on." Dean shrugged and Sam sat up. "I've been doing everything they've said." The older Winchester shot him a disbelieving look and Sam shrugged. "Mostly everything. Point is, I'm fine. I'm sleeping again, the nightmares have stopped, I mean look at me. I'm fine." To Dean, he still looked a bit tired. His eyes were dull and his unbrushed hair was scattered round his face. But aside from his overall lazy appearance, he looked much like he used to.

"I'll talk with them, alright? I'll see what I can do. I'll be coming back tomorrow, will you at least come see me downstairs next time?"

"I hate the day room."

The bedroom wasn't any better though, in Dean's opinion. The walls were just as sterile as the rest of the hospital. It had a small desk, an even smaller side table and if possible, an even smaller window. The bed was too small for Sam's height and it reeked of antiseptic. "Yeah, well, you know it might do you some good to get out of here. Socialize a bit."

Sam scoffed, shooting Dean a worn expression. "Socialize with who? If you hadn't noticed, we're in a crazy hospital. With crazy people." Dean opened his mouth to reply but settled for a shrug, and he looked away instead. Sam yawned than stood up. He lazily pressed a button near the bed and he turned to face his brother. "You don't have to come every day, maybe once a week." He pulled his hair away from his face and frowned. "Anyways, I'm going to head for the showers."

"You sure? I mean, it's quiet back home after work. I don't mind it."

Sam pointed a finger at him. "I still haven't forgiven you Dean. Once a week."

An orderly opened the door and nodded, Sam stepped out without saying anything more and Dean awkwardly followed after them. It was better than nothing at least. "Do you need an escort, sir?" The orderly asked as Dean made towards the staircase.

"Nah, it's alright." He tapped his head and smiled, staring at Sam's retreating figure before sighing and moving back downstairs. He passed the day room and looked in through the small glass window. Castiel was still sitting at the table, his eyes unfocused out the window towards the towering pines just outside the parking lot. Dean looked over his shoulder towards the direction of the exit. A strange feeling washed over him, something lonely and sad and suddenly he couldn't bear the idea of returning home just yet. So he pushed through the doors to the day room and smiled as his eyes met Cas'. "What do you say to another game of Hearts? I've got five bucks in my pocket, bet on it?"

Castiel smiled and then nodded with an air of superiority. "As you wish, but I warn you, I think I now understand the secret to this game of Hearts."

Despite his word to Sam, Dean came by after work every day after that. If he hadn't, he knew he'd only end up home alone with a beer in his hand. That would last through the night until he was out of beer and talking to himself. The director was glad to see that Castiel had become so close to Dean, she said he hadn't had many friends before and that it was worth noting he'd been making improvements lately. There was hope for him yet and Dean took this as all the more reason to keep visiting.

"Cas. Cas? What's wrong, huh?" Dean leaned across the couch, placing his hand on Castiel's shoulder. They were watching a movie together and when Dean looked over he noticed that Castiel wasn't paying attention any longer. Castiel glanced over, his eyes dark and looking more tired than they usually did.

"Oh. I'm sorry Dean. My head, it's kind of pained tonight."

"Like a headache?" Dean asked dumbly, leaning back against the dated piece of furniture.

Castiel shook his head slightly. "No, that's not it. I don't know, I just suddenly feel kind of...off." He blinked, his mouth creased in a tight line, and he shifted himself towards Dean. "May I talk to you about something?"

"Of course," Dean replied, looking worried. "Anything, what's wrong?"

"I have something I'd like to tell you. Dean, do you know why I've been here for so long?" Slowly, Dean lifted his finger to his temple and looped it around several times. Castiel smirked, shook his head and looked down.

"So they say. But really, I think..." he struggled with his words momentarily. "They rather just don't understand. But you, I think you might. You seem...different." A foreign expression crossed his innocent features then, something like shame or embarrassment with a touch of panic. It was something that looked strange on his usually confident and clear face. "I'm...an angel Dean, I'm trapped here but I mean it, I really am one."

Dean stilled for a second, unsure of what he had just heard. And then, he realized with a sort of twisting of his gut where he was. A mental hospital, full of mental patients. Sometimes he forgot that Castiel, or Jimmy Novak, was just another one of those patients. A fleeting expression of instant regret and fear flashed across Castiel's face and he slunk back slightly in his seat. Dean gave a small laugh. "You serious then?"

"Absolutely," he raised his hand and nodded, swearing on it.

Dean shrugged and Castiel quirked a brow. "Alright, then I believe you."

"You do?" Castiel asked flatly, disbelieving of those words.

"Sure, why not? You're an angel. Like, a guardian angel?"

"Well no, not exactly. But I could be." Castiel gave a small smile and he relaxed once more, that dreamy look came back to his face and Dean felt a surge of relief. "I could be your guardian angel even, if you wanted it."

Anyone would have told Dean that what he was doing was wrong, he was encouraging Castiel into his delusions but Dean couldn't look at this man and deny him what he said. Strangely enough, Dean thought he could believe it. He'd spent one too many nights tortured by his thoughts and guilt. It wasn't until he had formed this kind of bond with this strange man that those worries had gently just eased away, it had to be for something. So he sat back, stretched his arm back over Castiel's shoulder and gave a short nod, paired with a genuine smile. "Yeah, that sounds nice. My very own angel, Cas. Sounds good, doesn't it?"

Castiel pulled his legs up and turned back towards the film that neither knew what was going on any longer. His smile didn't fade or falter this time and he leaned back into Dean's arm. "It does indeed sound good."

The next month swept in and carried off with the changing season. And one day, on schedule with his visit to his brother, the director pulled him aside. "You'll be relieved to hear," she said with a coy smile across her rosy mouth. "We've given Sam the second class release. It's up to you now."

"Me?" Dean repeated, clueless.

"Yes, well, if your work permits it. We've seen incredible improvement with Sam, it was as we first thought, his breakdown wasn't a permanent state, chemically, he's all fine. He just needed some guidance. He should stay on his anxiolytics for a few months and we've made a list of all the hospital recommended therapists in your area, but with that, he should be back to normal in no time."

"And how do I have a say in this?"

"Well," she continued on. "You sign the release saying that you will make sure he attends his appointments and fill his prescriptions, also, you'll need to dispense his medication. A second class release means that he'll be moved from here to a caretaker that will be able to watch him properly, that would be you."

Dean was overcome for a second. He missed his brother, more than he'd ever vocalize, and this was just another step into falling back into their same, comfortable routine. His hand ran through his hair and he laughed. "This is, it's great. When can we do this?"

"Tonight, if it's good for you. We haven't talked to him yet about it. Would you like to tell him?" Dean waved his hand.

"Nah, go ahead. He'd probably think I'm lyin' to him anyways."

"Alright. I'll tell him and we'll prepare the paperwork, then you two should be set." She gave him a light clap on the shoulder and then moved away. Dean reached out for a moment, withdrawing his hand quickly. "Something else?"

"You think it would be okay if I said goodbye to Cas? I guess this means I won't be able to stop by as much. That okay?" Her mouth formed a tight line and her eyebrows knitted together for a brief second, but she nodded.

"He'll miss you."

"I know, but he'll be fine, he's a tough kid."

Dean made his way towards the day room where as he had assumed, Castiel sat on the couch with a book perched on his knee. He looked up as Dean crossed the room and he smiled, dog-earring his page and then pressing it to his chest. "Hello Dean. What would you like to do tonight? We got a couple new records, care to listen?"

"Sorry Cas, can't." Dean shrugged casually. "I actually came to say goodbye if you'd believe it." Castiel's face fell slightly but he worked fast to correct it, pulling a forced expression instead.

"Oh?" He asked quietly.

"Volunteer work, it's temporary you know."

"I see, so it is. So you won't be coming back then?"

Dean felt a familiar wave of guilt pass through him. He knew he was not obligated to return for the sake of a stranger, but over the course of the last two months, Castiel had become much more than that to him. He was a friend. A light in Dean's darkest days. An angel of his own kind. An odd, quirky, bed headed angel that only Dean could truly appreciate. So he shook his head and gave into an honest laugh, "Damned if I won't come back, I'd miss you too much to stay away."

A soft look replaced Castiel's worry. "...You're a good person Dean, I'd miss you as well. You're my only friend here. Anywhere, actually." Castiel looked away, blinked and then smiled sweetly back up at Dean. "It's been a really good couple of weeks, funny, I'm the miracle worker and yet here you came, saving me in a way."

He considered what to reply with but ran out of time when behind him a throat cleared and he turned, facing the director. "Dean, are you ready?"

He nodded and Castiel stood up, walking over to where Dean stood. He held out his hand. "Friends shake hands upon farewell, don't they?" Slowly, Dean took Castiel's soft hand in his own and shook it but the action felt off and so he gripped Castiel's hand and pulled him into a hug instead. Castiel opened his mouth in brief surprise but quickly smiled to himself and he wrapped his arms around the taller man. He placed his head against Dean's shoulder and hummed. Dean was warm and firm and completely human, he wasn't used to that kind of contact but it felt nice and he wished that it would stay. But Dean pulled away and patted him on the back.

"I'll see you around Cas, till next time, start working on those card skills." He winked and then laughed, stepping away towards the director where they then strode away together. Castiel didn't say anything, instead he stood there watching, with a small unwavering smile on his mouth and the touch of warmth that still could be felt through his clothes.

Sam Winchester was doing much better.

He did as the doctors told him and came off of his medication in just under six months, things had fallen into the same old cycle and life went on. Dean worked a lot of overtime to accompany the new set of bills that came along with Sam's newfound health and he hardly found time to himself those days. His first priority was his younger brother and now that he had become much more like old Sam again, things were looking to ease back out once more.

Every day rode him with guilt though for in the stretch of those six months he hadn't once returned to the hospital to see Castiel. Work exhausted him and he felt the need to stay close to Sam at all available times, just in case. So when everything seemed to return to normal, Dean told himself that he would go back and visit Castiel, like he had promised.

The air was clean and chilled that day but he rode with the windows down anyway. He had a tape playing that whirred with the sounds of reeling guitar riffs and heavy drums, his mood was high and there was a peculiar thrill in his chest to see how Castiel had been during the course of his absence, he had been putting this off for far too long. He pulled into the hospital and looked at it in a sudden new light, he was absent of sickness or fear because he knew all too well what things would hold for him inside. A constant stream of normality, in its own strange way.

And, if he were going to be honest, he couldn't wait to sit and listen to Castiel talk in that same odd, precise manner again. He had a lot of stories to tell but first, he'd listen to Castiel talk, like old times. It was the reason he arrived at noon, this was an entire day's investment.

"How can I help you?" A woman sitting behind a glass panel greeted politely.

"I'm here to visit Castiel?"

"I'm sorry?"

This was a new girl, Dean didn't recognize her. "Jimmy Novak, you'll find him under that." She turned towards her computer and Dean turned around to look back out the front door. It was a nice day aside from the small chill in the air. If he could find the director maybe, with enough charm, he could convince her to let the two of them out onto the grounds alone. Castiel would like that.

"Mr. Winchester?" A familiar voice asked. Dean spun around and grinned, it was just the lady he wanted to see.

"Hello ma'am. Long time no see, how are things?"

"We should walk."

Her tone instantly made his stomach fall. Something was off, the air was suddenly frigid and that familiar wave of fear rose inside of him. She held out her hand and they walked through a set of doors he'd never been through, it led into a small, shady courtyard. "What's wrong? Where's Cas?"

"He's not here anymore, I'm sorry." Her voice was crisp and professional, as if she hardly knew Dean. The brush off was unsettling and he felt hot with anger.

"Well, where is he? Did he get released? You said he was doing better, didn't you?"

"Mr. Novak was a peculiar case...as you know Mr. Winchester, I told you once that patients such as him don't ever truly adjust. Their makeup is too complex and their wires all wrong-" Dean stopped walking then, he held out his hand to stop her.

"You talk about him like he's not even a person. I spent nearly every damn day with him, he's fine. Where is he?"

"Sir, I can't-"

"Don't talk to me that way dammit!" Dean shouted. He was getting frustrated fast and the look that crossed her features told him he'd be better off calming down. "Sorry, it's just, I need to see him."

She eyed him warily for a second before turning away. "I can't tell you where he's at now. If you were direct family, that would be a different story, but by law I cannot tell you where he's at. I hope you understand," he promptly shut his mouth. "I can tell you though, he took a turn for the worse, about three months after you last came. He focused more on waiting around than working towards improvement"

"...What did you say?"

She caught on to his tone and suddenly her posture changed. She crept in closer, her hand touched at his arm in a tender way. "I'm not saying it's your fault, you were busy. You had duties to uphold for the sake of your brother. You had nothing holding you to this place Dean, it was understandable."

He pulled away at her touch and slowly shook his head. "What? No, not at all. I meant it, I was going to come back it's just, I was busy! I barely had the time to sleep. But no, no, I meant what I said. I promised him. Please, just tell me where he's at. He needs me." The desperation that caught his voice though did no good, she folded her hands in front of her and turned away from him.

"I'm sorry Dean, I can't do that. It's best you go home and not think about it, he's in a place now that will help him manage his problems properly, on a level that we could not. Please, don't fight me on this matter."

She wasn't bending and he knew that it was futile. He felt sick, the hospital suddenly felt like a rotting prison and he needed away, he needed fresh air. Even the courtyard, it suddenly felt stale and artificial, as if it too had been washed down in bleach and drained of any sort of meaning.

Dean walked away, his hands fisted and his chest aching. He was going to be sick.

"You're terrible at this game, you know that? One of these days you'll have to come by with more than just a couple of cents to offer to the table." Castiel smiled, folding his hand of cards to the bed. "Up for another game? I'll go easy on you this time."

A knock on the door stopped him from reaching for the scattered cards.

"Castiel, come on, it's time for lunch." A woman in green scrubs spoke softly upon entering, her face a delicate pale peach tone. She smiled and held out her hand for him.

"Please," Castiel held up a finger in front of him. "A few more minutes, we were just about to start a new game."

"Dear, there's no one there. It's just you and I in here."

Castiel frowned and then looked forward, she was wrong, how could she not see him? "That's a bit rude don't you think, Dean is right here with us, clear as day. Look, we've been playing cards all morning." He motioned to the pile of cards spread out atop his bedsheets.

"I see," she murmured. "Again, Cas, have you been cheeking your medication? I'll be back, I'm going to get the nurse." She left the room and Castiel shook his head and winked.

"Don't mind her, she's a sweet girl and she smells like a winter orchid. But anyways, sorry, I'm rambling." Castiel picked up all the cards and swept them together, gently shuffling them. "So, another game then?"

And he dealt each hand, one for him and one for his closest, only friend.