Chapter Text
Dean stretched, relishing the satisfying cracks in his back as he arched his spine. He was only an hour into his 12 hour shift and already he was itching for a beer and his lumpy sofa at home. Only an hour in and he had already been puked on, forcing him to change into a new pair of scrubs. Of course, Dean hadn't thought to bring an extra pair, so he was wearing the only available scrubs in the hospital on laundry day. Dean was very secure in his masculinity, thank you very much, but light pink just wasn't his color. He was just thankful they were actually men's scrubs. He knew he couldn't rock a low v-neck and tapered waist. Dean sighed and pulled up the schedule of his patients on his computer. He had a full house today, though thankfully nothing that looked like it could turn too sour.
Working in recovery was a vast improvement from Dean's last job in ICU. It was hard to keep a positive attitude in intensive care, when every time you turned around another one of your patients was dying. Recovery had Dean making sure surgical patients got their shit together enough to get the hell out of the hospital. Make sure they can eat, walk, and take a shit on their own, and they were pretty much ready to go. No long term patients, not as much dying. Most patients in Dean's area stayed for a few days, depending on what surgery they were recovering from. No one stayed longer than a week.
Dean checked the records for the patient they had wheeled in right at the beginning of his shift, noting the patient's name and surgery before heading off to his room. The guy was probably still sleeping off the anesthesia, but he might be an early riser. Best to offer the patients painkillers before they ask, instead of waiting to get an angry patient buzzing you later. Dean pushed the patient's half-closed door open after a cursory knock. To Dean's mild surprise, the patient was awake, and had his hospital gown pulled up to his chest, a finger edging along the bandage taped over his belly button.
"Mr. Novak, best you leave that alone."
Mr. Novak looked up and Dean took a minute to appreciate the full effect of piercing blue eyes, tousled hair and thick stubble on the man's face. People were not supposed to look so good after waking up from surgery. Of course, the image was marred a bit by the fact that the man wasn't wearing any underwear, removed for the surgery, no doubt, and was essentially lying there flashing his dangly bits at Dean. When the man made no move to lower his gown, and instead just tilted his head slightly to stare at Dean some more, Dean moved to the bed and pulled the blanket over the other man's junk. Poor son of bitch was probably still high as fuck on the anesthesia. It took some people longer than others to shake off the effects.
"They removed my appendix through my belly button."
Dean bent to examine the incision wounds, gently moving Mr. Novak's hand away from the bandage. The man's throat must have been killing him, with how raspy it came out. Dean made a mental note to check that the breathing apparatus that had been inserted down the man's throat hadn't torn anything when removed.
"They sure did. On a scale from one to ten, how is your pain?"
Goddamn Dean was tired of asking that question. Every day, every patient, scale of one to ten. Dean ran his finger along the edge of the bandage that covered the man's belly button, and moved to check the other two small incisions on the left side of his abdomen.
"That question seems inadequate for determining the level of pain I am in. Each individual has a different threshold for pain."
Dean smirked, and pulled down Mr. Novak's gown so he was fully covered. It was nice to meet someone with the same opinion as him on the damn pain scale question.
"No need to get all existential on me, Mr. Novak. Scale of one to ten?"
"My name is Castiel. What number will convince you to give me painkillers?"
Dean snorted at that. He didn't know if it was the anesthesia making Castiel so brunt, but it was nice to hear so much honesty without the edge of hostility he normally got from patients.
"Anything above a 3, pal."
"Then I believe I am experiencing a pain level of five, Dean."
Dean turned and glanced at the white board under the TV, which had been filled out with his name under the 'day nurse' section, complete with a heart after his name. Dean rolled his eyes and resolved to change Jo's name to Joanna under the 'night nurse' section. She was always screwing with him, in every sense but the one that he'd really enjoy. He wouldn't put it past her to be the one who made sure they only ad scrubs left in the lovely shade of salmon that he was wearing.
"Alright, Cas. I'll get you some morphine. No touching your bandages, okay?"
Castiel nodded, a look of intense seriousness on his face, and Dean shoot him a small smile before heading out. By the time Dean got back to Castiel with his morphine, the man was passed out cold. Dean hooked up the IV and pulled the door mostly closed on his way out of the room. Nothing like trying to sleep when you can hear a doctor getting paged every five minutes from the hallway. Dean's shift progressed, long periods of monotony being broken up by moments of rushed excitement, angry patients, and bad hospital food. Dean found himself coming back to Castiel's room more often than strictly necessary, but there was something about the guy that made Dean smile. And, okay, sure, maybe Dean was crushing on the guy a little, but you couldn't blame him for that. The guy was freaking gorgeous.
Dean checked in on Castiel around lunch time, giving him the okay to try some solid food since he hadn't been throwing anything back up so far. He found Castiel propped up in the bed, watching some court drama on TV and completely ignoring the grilled cheese sandwich on the tray in front of him.
"Come on, Cas, you gotta eat. Sooner you prove you can keep food down, sooner you get outta here."
Castiel turned his attention from the TV to Dean (and no, that did not give Dean butterflies at all) and grimaced.
"It's awful. How do you ruin grilled cheese?"
And just like that, Dean finds himself sharing his pb&j with a patient he barely knows and discussing the merits (or lack thereof) of daytime television. After lunch it's back to dodging a little projectile vomit and the mountain of paperwork on his desk finally hits critical mass. Dean settles in to chip away at the paperwork and only checks on his patients when they hit the call button for him. Cas calls for him once, after setting off his heart monitor accidentally. Dean resets the damn thing, and lingers, not overeager to return to his paperwork.
"So, I can't help but notice, no family?"
Cas fiddles with the TV remote, not making eye contact, and Dean feels like a huge dick. If there's one thing he's good at, it's asking questions people don't want to answer.
"Look, man, it's none of my business. It's just, you should really have someone looking after you once you get out. It's not like I technically have to release you to someone else or anything, but, yeah."
Dean still feels like a dick, but now he's talked himself into a corner.
"No, it's alright. I haven't told them yet. I...don't get along with most of my family."
"Oh. Well, you don't have to. We'll call you a taxi home, and as long as you stay off work for a week, you'll be fine."
Cas smiled. It was startling, to see Cas smiling so sincerely without drugs in system, and at Dean, no less.
"No, I have been avoiding them for too long. But thank you, Dean, for your understanding."
Dean chuckled, running a hand through his hair.
"Well, let me take a peek at your bandages again, and then maybe we can get you up for a walk, hmm?"
After that, Dean tried to stay away from Castiel's room for a while. He really didn't want to come off as some love struck romantic. It's not like he's never crushed on a patient before, but he's afraid of toeing the line of inappropriateness. Which, alright, he does on a daily basis, sure, but he really doesn't want to scare off Cas so quickly. He genuinely likes the guy, weird as he is. Cas has been the best part of Dean's day, and Dean's already sort of dreading signing off on the guys discharge papers. Which, again, inappropriate, seriously.
Dinner rolls around, and Dean ambles back to Castiel's room, an extra tub of chicken noodle soup from the Panera down the street at the ready. He may not be overly thrilled on a personal level for his favorite patient to be recovering so quickly, but he's still a damn good nurse and willing to do what it takes to get Cas back home as quickly as possible. Picking up the guy some edible food is just good nursing, he tells himself. It has nothing to do with the cell phone number Dean scribbled on the bottom of the soup container. He almost believes himself.
He's surprised to see that Cas has a visitor, a short, stocky man, leaning against the window frame. Dean thinks he's walked into the middle of a lover's spat, if the look on Castiel's face is anything to judge by. Castiel's hands are gripping the sheets, and he's glaring at the visitor like it could physically hurt him.
"Evening, sunshine. Brought you some dinner."
Dean was never very good at breaking moments of tension, so he doesn't even bother to do so gracefully this time. He just marches in and sets up Castiel's dinner tray over his lap, putting the soup in the center and refilling Cas's water cup from the pitcher in the corner. He had hoped to talk to Cas alone, maybe ask him out for a drink in a few weeks, once he was recovered, but that plan's been shot to hell with the arrival of the mysterious unwanted visitor.
"One a scale of one to ten-" he starts, but Cas cuts him off.
"Three. I'm fine, thank you Dean."
Well, that sounds like a dismissal if he's ever heard one, and Dean snaps back into nurse mode, doing his best to hide his hurt at being so quickly shut down.
"Well, my shift's over in an hour. If you can keep that down-" he gestures to the soup, "then I'll recommend to the night nurse that you be discharged tonight."
With that, Dean strode out of the room, doing his damndest to not look like he was sulking. True to his word, he put a note in Castiel's file that he recommend he be discharged, as long as the surgeon gave him the okay to go home. Castiel didn't call for him for the rest of his shift, and he felt a twinge of regret as he clocked out and headed to the parking garage. Obviously Cas had either not seen Dean's number on the soup container, or had, and didn't feel the need to talk to Dean about it. It wasn't often that he got a date (or fuck) out of one of his patients, but he had hoped that maybe Cas would be interested. No use being a bitch about it now, though.
As he pulled the door to his Impala closed, Dean did his best to put Castiel out of his mind.