Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Breakfast was one of the most sacred times to firefighters. Morning rig checks have been done, the station has been cleaned, and no meetings have taken place quite yet. At least three pots of coffee have been guzzled down under mustaches and sleepy eyes. 

Typically at Atchison Fire, everyone ran their separate ways for breakfast. Dean would always make a bagel, Jo would make some healthy yogurt parfait bowl-thing that Dean never quite understood. Jo claimed that was the beauty of it. Only the divinely selected could appreciate it , Dean recalled her saying. 

He shook his head with a grin as if to send that memory back to the depths of his mind as he leaned against the kitchen counter. Dean’s arms remained folded in front of him with his legs crossed as the poor, aging wood supported most of his muscular weight.

Jo danced her way around the kitchen scavenging for her seeds - chia, Dean thought. More of that healthy bullshit. She was a gem to the station; a probie who had been there just under a year and a half. Jo was small, but good God was she feisty. She fit right in with the guys and despite her tiny frame, Jo never disappointed on fire scenes. Dean liked having her around, something he rarely felt for the newer employees. 

“But you see, that’s what I mean–” Jo sighed out as she opened the cabinet next to the stove, snapping Dean out of his reminiscing. “I don’t understand how that’s considered a skilled nursing facility. Come on, man, you have nurses on site and yet you call 911, emergency services , to transport a resident to get a wound cleaned? ” Jo asked incredulously.

Dean’s hands rose in a shrug. “Welcome to EMS. Glorified Uber drivers, except paid less,” he sighed. The toaster popped Dean’s bagel up with a small chirp. Turning, Dean grabbed his bagel and placed it on his plate, his daily ritual. While putting a less-than-healthy serving of butter on his food, the muted beeps of a keypad followed by the groan of the door hummed from the hallway. Based on the jangle of the keys that followed, Dean could tell it was Bobby, their chief. 

 
“Mornin’ Chief,” Dean called out as he finished preparing his food. He had his system worked out perfectly: free time was precious, even if he was getting paid for it. Each day, Dean would work out in the morning before meetings, rather than eating. He’d prepare his breakfast just in time for Chief’s arrival and have it ready as he strolled in for the obligatory morning meeting at 0830. 

Bobby set his plastic bag full of his groceries for the day on the kitchen island. “Dean, Jo,” he greeted. He opened the junk drawer of the kitchen with a shrill squeak of the rolling mechanism. Bobby retrieved a marker and popped off the cap to label his items, to claim his stake. It didn’t matter what it was: if it wasn’t labeled in the fridge, it was community. In a weak, faded blue, Bobby scribbled a messy ‘51’ on his items; a quart of milk, a dozen eggs, a package of chicken, and a family sized package of pudding. 

“How’s my dynamic duo?” Bobby asked as he reconfigured the fridge’s contents to make room for his items. 

Mid-bagel-bite, Dean hurriedly chewed. Jo glanced at him and grinned at his incapacitation. 

“We’re doing peachy, Chief,” Jo answered for the two. “No runs yet, thankfully. You know how cranky Dean gets if he doesn’t get his workout in, and I wasn’t about to deal with that today on the Med.” 

The crews of AFD rotated who was on the first-due ambulance, affectionately dubbed the Med, each day. Even though it was a fire station, they were a combination department, meaning AFD controlled both emergency medical and fire services for their community. They tried swapping EMTs and paramedics out so that way everyone worked with everyone, but some pairings just felt natural. Dean and Jo were one of them. 

Jo, as she was new to the field, was what was called an EMT Basic. She had the semester-long training and passed the national test, known as registry, and got her license. Basics fell under BLS, or basic life support, meaning they could provide essential interventions, like oxygen, to most people. Basics could give epinephrine for allergic reactions, splint traumatic wounds, and so on.

Dean, however, was a paramedic. His training was more intensive, often described as medical school in the span of a year. Medics, in contrast to basics, were considered advanced life support, or ALS. He could start IVs in veins and IOs in bones, sedate combative patients, and even paralyze and intubate someone to take control of their airway. 

Each first-out ambulance was required by the state of Kansas to have both a paramedic and a basic on board. After discovering how well Jo and Dean worked together, they were affectionately named the A crew dynamic duo.

Dean finished chewing and nodded in agreement with Jo. “A man’s gotta keep his heart in shape. And besides, you don’t get these smoking guns without a little sweat,” Dean winked as he flexed his arms. Jo rolled her eyes like she had done so many times before.

Bobby offered them both a small smile. He grabbed a mug from the station’s shelf and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Alright, big guy. Bring the guns to the morning meeting.” He walked into the office room with his mug. 

Dean nodded and grabbed his own mug and bagel-burdened plate and followed suit. “C’mon, Duckie,” Dean grinned back at Jo who was trailing behind. Like a little duckling , Dean thought.

Within a minute, each member of A crew was settled into their office chairs. AFD had three crews: A, B, and C. Each crew’s schedule was staggered for 24 hour shifts. Today was the start of A crew’s “swing”, which is what they dubbed their few days of work.

“Morning, everyone.” Bobby began, seated at the head of the table in the center of the room. Workstations lined the walls for each of the 6 members of the crew. From their chairs, they perched and faced the center of the room. Exhausted grumbles and chipper greetings floated throughout the room.

“We don’t have a whole lot going on today. I have a department head meeting, so that’s…” Bobby trailed off with a sigh as he mentioned administrative tasks. “That’s just lovely. Calls pending, I’m hoping to get a few inspections done around town today. Engine crew, I want you guys to take a second Med with you so that way you don’t have to haul ass back here in case first-out gets paged out. Other than that, try and keep yourselves busy. Gordon?”

Gordon, the A crew lieutenant leaned forward from his perch in the corner. He was a difficult man to read behind his perpetually hardened face. “I want to give the Engine a bath before we head out for inspections. If she’s out, she might as well look good. If we finish up in time, we’re going to do some search and rescue training,” he announced.

The crew nodded in agreement and a comfortable silence lingered for a few moments.

“Anyone else have anything specific?” Bobby asked, his gaze wandering to each of his men and women around the room. In order of seniority, Gordon, Benny, Dean, Jo, Ash, and Andy. In today’s world, emergency services had significant turnover, especially at smaller departments like AFD. That made for a pleasant mix of cranky old men who had been at the same department for 15 years and young punks that were still bright eyed and bushy tailed. 

Dean was still in the younger category, but barely. After his father died, Dean decided he needed to get out of Lawrence. He moved a few hours away to Atchison to be in a smaller department. He went down in pay and everyone thought he was crazy. He truly was happy there and decided early on that he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Everyone glanced at each other and finally settled on shaking their heads.

“What’s for lunch?” Andy piped up, his gaze coming up from the floor. His elbow rested on the arm of his chair where his hand supported his head. Andy was the newest of the crew. Dean had determined he was mild mannered and kept the patients calm - the kid had a way with words, of getting people to listen to him. He hadn’t seen him work on a fire scene yet, but Dean figured he’d be okay. 

Dean leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed. Nobody else in the room seemed to be piping up. “Finally, someone’s asking the real questions around here. Been a minute since we-”

The all-too familiar shrill tones of an EMS call came from the speaker overhead.

“Well, nevermind,” Dean scoffed, pushing himself from his chair and onto his feet.

The second round of EMS tones rang like clockwork. 

“Paging City of Atchison EMS, you have a call at seven-twenty-eight Forest Street for a report of a sixty eight year old female complaining of generalized weakness. Again, seven-two-eight Forest, time out oh-eight-fifty-seven,” came the familiar voice from the speaker. 

“Fuckin’ Gabriel,” Dean huffed as he slung his radio strap over his shoulder. “He always sounds so happy to ruin my day. Duckie, vamos.”

Gabriel was one of the county’s emergency dispatchers. He and Dean had only met a few times in person, but conversed frequently over the radio and passive aggressive email chains. It was common practice in emergency services to have a love-hate relationship with dispatchers: great for information and recording, awful for, well, making people do their jobs.

Dean held the door for Jo as they made their way to the ambulance, parked proudly at its designated post.

“Are you driving?” Jo asked while clipping her radio strap to her belt loop.

Dean huffed and shook his head. “No,” he grumbled while climbing into the passenger seat. “It’s going to end up being me in the back. God bless weakness calls,” he muttered sarcastically. 

Jo hopped up into the ambulance and slid the seat forward to accommodate for her height. She started the Med and opened the garage door. 

Dean loosely grabbed the ambulance’s microphone and watched as the radio booted up. Sighing one final time, Dean held the side button. “Atchison Control, AFD Med 2.” He released his finger and watched Jo cautiously exit the garage as he identified which unit was leaving so dispatch could surveille. 

“Med 2, go ahead.” Gabriel chimed from the radio.

Dean scoffed. “Fucking asshole,” he grunted before keying the microphone up again. “Med 2’s in route, Forest Street.”

“10-4!” Came the cheery reply from the speaker.

Dean set the microphone back down and began to fill out his paperwork. “Why does that asshole have to delight so much in sending us out?” Dean groaned as he scribbled on the worksheet. Incident location: 728 Forest St. Sex: F. Age: 68. Chief Complaint: Weakness.

Jo turned the ambulance down a nearby street calmly. With less life threatening calls like this, they often didn’t use the emergency lights or sirens. “Hey, at least this gets us out of cleaning the Engine,” She offered. 

Dean cocked his head to the side and made a quick pondering face. Little shit’s right , he decided. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Jo scoffed while she drove with one hand absentmindedly tapping on her leg. “You always do that.”

Dean snapped his head over to look at the driver. “Do what?” He asked, his voice thick with defense and suspicion.

“Pretend that you don’t live for this job. Admit it, you love running calls.” Jo glanced over at him before resetting her gaze on the street. She slowed to a stop before continuing along the road, narrowly avoiding a pothole.

Dean pursed his lips. She was right, of course. These calls felt annoying the moment that the tones dropped, but he really did love his job. Calls got him out of the station and gave him a chance to help people. That wouldn’t stop him from bitching, though.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that peeked from his mouth. He scanned the surroundings and noted that they were just a few blocks away. He grabbed two pairs of gloves: smalls for Jo and larges for himself. He tossed the small pair lazily on the center console which earned a small, appreciative nod from Jo. 

Dean scanned his paperwork one more time to ensure he had everything in order that he could fill out beforehand. He unlocked Med 2’s tablet and pulled up the dispatch notes. A quick read-through confirmed that he didn’t get any bonus information that wasn’t shared over the radio.

Moments later, Jo pulled the ambulance into the residence’s driveway and placed the vehicle in park. Dean looked up and grabbed the microphone once more. 

“Atchison Control, AFD Med 2.” Dean spoke clearly and slowly, waiting a moment for a reply. 

“Med 2, go ahead,” replied the dispatcher.

“You can mark Med 2 on scene, Forest.” Dean said. The microphone made a small click as his finger slipped from the button. He turned his own radio on and slipped his gloves on. 

“10-4, Med 2.” Gabriel acknowledged simply. Somewhere in the county, he was marking down that Med 2 was on scene while balancing more 911 calls and police transmissions. Dean would never admit it, but he thought dispatchers were the unsung miracle workers.

Dean nodded to Jo as they exited the Med in unison. He noted at least three cars in the driveway and deteriorating siding on the home. Fallen leaves filled the yard on top of neglected grass. 

A few strides later, the two made their way up the staircase of the porch. Dean took the liberty of knocking on the door twice before twisting the door open. Thank God, he thought, I didn’t want to break in today. “EMS!” He called, his voice commanding and deep.

“In here!” Called a female voice, surprisingly strong. Dean checked his surroundings before continuing in. He made note of a heaping pile of dirty dishes, plants that looked like they needed some love, and an affectionate tabby cat rapidly trotting towards the duo. One of the biggest things EMS schooling taught was to ensure your scene safety. You can’t help your patient if you die on the way , Dean recalled his instructor bluntly informing his class.

Dean leaned down and rubbed the cat’s head with his gloved hand before making his way across the home, searching for the source of the voice.

Oh, he found it alright.

He found it on the floor of the bathroom.

Covered in feces. 

Dean took a moment to regain his composure and swallow down the urge to gag at the smell. He offered the woman on the floor a friendly smile, masking any feelings he had about the situation. Dean would be the first in line to admit that he wasn’t an exceptionally big fan of the fluids, solids, and semi-solids that came with his job. He also would be the first to say that even if his body had a reaction to a patient’s current state, he would do everything to suppress it. Nearly every time someone was in a situation like this, they were embarrassed the way it was - often, they had no other option, no control. Therefore, Dean remained a proponent of patient dignity.

“Whatcha doing down there?” Dean asked as he made his way into the bathroom, exercising caution so as not to step on any of the woman’s limbs. He surveyed his scene a bit more: no immediately obvious injury or bleeding, skin maintained normal color, no difficulty breathing, and so on. With time, he had gotten surprisingly good at assessing his patients efficiently.

“I..” The woman began. “I was going to the bathroom and I slipped, I just couldn’t hold it. I’m really sorry.” Based on where the woman was in relation to the toilet and the visible trail of bodily substances between them, Dean gathered that she slipped near the toilet and managed to drag herself closer to the bathroom sink. Must’ve had her phone up there, Dean gathered.

Jo found her way into the bathroom door frame. She surveyed the scene and looked up at Dean sympathetically, as she knew his stomach wasn’t the strongest. 

Dean shook his head at the patient and replastered his smile back on. He breathed through his mouth to avoid certain smells. “There’s no need to apologize, ma’am. These things happen to the best of us.”

Jo cocked her head at the best of us - how many times had Dean shit himself? She shelved the thought for later. 

“Are you still feeling weak right now?” Dean continued.

The woman nodded quickly. She looked up at Dean with wide eyes. Her fear and embarrassment was obvious, and while it may have been sad, it served as a good reminder to both Dean and Jo to focus on keeping her comfortable.

“So here’s my plan. First off, what’s your name, ma’am?” Dean said while his eyes scanned her body. She wasn’t big by any means, which Dean was thankful for. 

“Linda,” the patient replied. 

“Linda, I’m Dean. It’s nice to meet you, just not under these circumstances.” Dean smiled. “Alright, Linda, my partner here, Jo, is going to go grab a blanket and some wipes from the Med. We’re gonna clean you up a bit and take you out on a stair chair - kind of a wheelchair that we can carry. I don’t want to test your walking right now with how weak you are. How does that sound?” Dean asked. His eyes flitted towards Jo with a nod.

Jo reciprocated and turned out of the room to scurry outside to find the items Dean needed. Her mild gag as she received the chance to leave the room didn’t get past Dean.

Linda nodded once again. “Okay.” She said simply.

Dean swallowed and grabbed a pen from his pocket. “Now, Linda, could you give me your last name and date of birth?” 

If Jo was going to take a moment or two to get the things needed to help get the patient out safely, Dean figured he’d get some of the administrative things out of the way. Linda revealed her last name and date of birth, earning a nod of thanks from Dean.

“And Ms. Masters,” Dean began. “Have you ever gotten weak like this before?”

Linda nodded in response. 

“Okay, did the folks at the hospital ever tell you why you had previous episodes?” Dean asked. He began scribbling on his clipboard as Linda replied. 

“Yes, they said I have something with my heart.” 

Dean’s hand freezes momentarily and he looks up at the wall. Shit, he thinks. Heart issues were exclusively ALS calls, meaning there was no way the call would go to Jo, just as he had suspected. Either way, he would have to run a 12 lead ECG, a picture of the patient’s heart, regardless of prior history because she was weak. Dean wasn’t thrilled that it was more likely to show something concerning. 

“Not a problem,” Dean smiles with a nod. “Been drinking enough water lately?” 

Linda visibly thinks for a few moments. “Actually.. probably not.”

Shocking, Dean thought. Didn’t drink enough water, heart’s on overdrive with the low blood pressure. 

Jo reappeared, holding a white hospital towel– AFD’s poor excuse for a blanket- and a package of baby wipes. Under her arm, she held the bulky stair chair. She handed the towel and wipes to Dean, who took them gingerly. 

“Miss Masters,” Dean began. “Would you like us to help you clean up, or would you rather on your own? Either is fine.” He looked at her expectantly. 

She reached a hand out as if to motion for the wipes. Dean complied, handing her the package. 

Within a few moments, Linda had significantly less of herself on her. Dean and Jo had the stair chair prepared. Dean stepped behind Linda and wrapped his arms under hers, whereas Jo grabbed under her lower legs. 

Jo looked up and locked eyes with Dean. “Linda, we’re just gonna lift you onto this chair. On three–“ Jo said. “One, two, three.” 

The two firefighters hoisted Linda onto the stair chair easily, only small huffs escaping their mouths. They made quick work of securing her with the fabric seatbelts. 

“AFD Med 2, 10-2?” Chimed Gabriel’s voice from their radios. 

Dean hung his head with a sigh before grabbing his radio and pressing the microphone down. “Med 2, 10-2.” He grumbled. 

Dispatch would ask med crews if they were 10-2, or secure, after certain time benchmarks. If they didn’t respond after so long, law enforcement would be sent. 

Dean had learned this the hard way. Multiple times. Everyone was new once, right?

With some finagling and mild strength, Jo and Dean carried Linda out of her home. Jo had the stretcher prepared at the base of her outside approach stairs. 

The dynamic duo once again lifted Linda, this time to the stretcher. Shortly after, she was strapped down to the stretcher and wheeled into the running ambulance. 

Dean climbed up the back doors, shutting them behind him. “Okay, Linda. Just gonna grab some vitals and a 12-lead, and we’ll be on our way.”

Jo joined the two, coming in from the ambulance’s side door. She began working on attaching the blood pressure cuff and pulse monitor while Dean began placing electrodes on the 12 lead wires. 

“Now, just giving you the heads up. You’ll be getting ten stickers on your chest. Two here, two here, and the remaining along your breastline. I’ll be lifting with the back of my hand to place stickers. Is that okay?” Dean asked, his hands pointing to his own chest as to where the stickers would be placed. He wanted his patient to feel as safe as possible. 

Linda nodded and Dean made quick work of peeling the backings from the ECG stickers and placing them on Linda. 

“Oooh.. 87/53.” Jo mumbled with a small frown, reciting the patient’s concerning blood pressure. 

Dean’s eyes peeked up from his task to verify the findings on the monitor. The corner of his lip peeled downward and he accelerated his placement. Once all 10 stickers were placed, he looked back at Linda. “Just gonna have you hold still for me. Smile for the picture,” he grinned before looking at the monitor as it captured her heartbeat. 

After a few seconds, the monitor began printing out the paper with the ECG. Dean tore it and began systematically reading the lines like he had done so many times prior. 

He squinted and looked at each of the 12 leads– rather, the 12 angles of electricity moving through Linda’s heart, right then and there. He didn’t do the best at it in school, but cardiology was the most hypnotic aspect of Dean’s training in his mind. 

Congratulations, Linda , Dean thought. You’re the lucky winner of AFIB.  

“Linda,” Dean snapped himself back to actually communicating with his patient. “When you said you had things with your heart, does AFIB mean anything to you?” He studied her reaction. 

She thought for another moment before making an uncertain expression. “I’m not sure.”

Dean nodded up at Jo. “We can get going.”

Jo peeled her gloves off and tossed them in the trash can. “You’re in great hands, Ms. Masters!” Jo reassured cheerily before exiting the patient compartment, making her way around the front of the ambulance and getting in the drivers seat. 

“Atchison Control, AFD Med 2,” Jo chirped into the radio. She was a lot sweeter towards dispatch than Dean. 

“Med 2, go ahead,” Gabriel replied, equally as cheery. Bastard, Dean thought. 

“Please mark Med 2 en route to Memorial Hospital.” Jo spoke into the microphone before shifting into gear. 

“10-4!” Came Gabriel’s response seconds later. 

Dean shifted his attention to his IV supply bag. As he began preparing to insert an IV catheter in Linda, he began talking. “That’s not the immediate end of the world. AFIB means that instead of going about the normal routes of electricity, the upper part of your heart is beating sporadically. Kinda like..” Dean paused, trying to find a way for Linda to understand what her body was doing without losing her as he spoke. “Like how birds flock to thrown seeds. They’re all weakly trying to get the end goal- same thing with those heart signals, only so many of them are causing a full beat, or getting the seed. You with me?” Dean glanced up at her once his IV bag was prepared. 

The patient nodded slowly with signs of understanding. Score , Dean thought. 

“I’m going to be starting an IV on you, okay? Your blood pressure is low, so you need fluid, and being in AFIB, the hospital is going to need to draw some labs from you.” Dean spoke, hiding his inner thoughts. I also need this IV so if you decide to tank on me at Mach 3, I can push meds. 

Linda frowned with a nod. “I don’t like needles. You get one chance.” Her matter-of-fact tone made Dean raise his eyebrows before smiling back. 

“Haven’t missed one yet today, Miss.” 

Namely because I haven’t done one yet today, but what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her. 

Dean wrapped the rubber tourniquet around her arm as he selected his needle. Within a few moments, he cleaned what he hoped would be a good spot to access her veins. He looked up at Linda one more time before uncapping his needle. After glancing at his bench seat with all of his supplies in order, he took a deep breath. 

“Little poke,” he called out before pursing his lips. Dean punctured her skin and advanced the needle, noting blood in the chamber of the catheter- this was known as flash. Dean retracted the needle and quickly occluded the vein to prevent bloodletting poor little Linda. 

After connecting tubing to the catheter, he secured it to her skin. “In good news, I get to tell the next patient that I haven’t missed one yet.”

Linda offered him a small smile despite being on edge about having been poked. “Good. ‘Cause you wouldn’t have gotten a do-over.”

Dean grinned before getting a bag of fluids ready and hung from the retractable pole of the stretcher. After allowing fluid to run through and remove air from the tubing, he connected the fluids to Linda’s IV. He stood up and reached in his pocket, grabbing his phone. “Just gonna call the hospital, let them know we’re on our way.” 

Dean peeked through the ambulance window, not realizing how close they actually were to the hospital. Better late than never. He found the ER’s contact and called them while scribbling Linda’s vital signs on his paper. BP 87/53, HR 98-143, RR 16, SpO2 98% RA. 

“Memorial ED, this is Lisa,” spoke the voice in Dean’s ear. 

A grin spread across his face. “Miss Lisa, Dean here, got a patient report for you.”

Shuffling of papers and a click of the pen could be heard in the background. Within a few seconds, “go ahead.”

“Coming to you with a sixty eight, six-eight year old female in AFIB. Hypotensive at 87/53, pulse is all over the board. Got a 20 gauge IV in her left AC with normal saline running.” Dean heard Jo calling dispatch advising that they arrived at the hospital. 

“Dean?” Lisa asked over the phone. 

He waited a moment with a small grin. “Yes ma’am?”

“Why did I catch Jo saying that you guys are here over the radio?” Lisa accused, her voice dropping with irritation. 

Dean inhaled sharply. “That’s cause we are. See ya!” He hung up before Lisa got a chance to respond. He turned his attention back to Linda. “I’m gonna disconnect you from our monitor and we’ll get you in there. Think you could sign something for me? Just saying we don’t share your information and we didn’t kidnap you.” Dean offered her the clipboard and his patient pen. He kept separate pens for himself and patients for bodily fluid rich calls, just like this one. 

Linda accepted the pen and scribbled her signature before handing it back to Dean. 

After parking the ambulance in the bay, Jo opened the back doors of the ambulance and waited for Dean to disconnect Linda from the monitor before sliding the stretcher out of the ambulance. 

Dean hopped out of the back following Linda, his grip on the stretcher strong. The group made their way into the ER where Lisa pointed to a room. “In here,” she sighed with irritation as she glared at Dean. 

Dean and Jo aligned the stretcher with the hospital bed, lowering the railing and unbuckling Linda. In the room, Lisa sat at a computer typing away patient information. Lights that were just bright enough to be uncomfortable draped the room in sickly white.

A knock on the open door rang out and Dean turned his head with a grin. “Doctor Winchester,” he acknowledged. 

Sam, better known at Memorial as Dr. Samuel Winchester, made his way into the room with a smile. He made his way to the other side of the hospital bed, grabbing the sheet under Linda. He nodded at Jo and Dean, who each held part of the other side. With a small countdown, Linda was moved to the hospital bed. 

“Sam, Lisa, this is Linda. She took a fall in her bathroom, we did our best to get her cleaned up. Stated she has a cardiac history, 12 lead showed AFIB, nothing else crazy. 20 gauge IV in her left AC, other than that..” Dean trailed off, scouring his brain for any other details as Jo wheeled the stretcher out of the room. “Yeah, should be about it.”

Dean handed the clipboard to Lisa who glared at him. In a hushed tone, she began to hiss at Dean. “You need to give me more heads up,” she glanced up at Sam and Linda as they conversed. 

Dean grinned down as he took the clipboard after she signed for transfer of patient care. “Forgive me?” He said with a wink. 

Lisa rolled her eyes and couldn’t help but smile. “No more today, okay? ER’s filling up already.” 

Dean saluted her and Sam on his way out. “Linda, best of luck! Sam here’s a good one.”

Sam nodded at him with a small, muted smile. “Later, Dean.”

Dean made his way out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Ava, one of the registration workers, leaned against the ER’s counter with Dean’s medical history list in her hand. 

“I hear you didn’t miss an IV for once,” Ava teased, offering him the papers. 

Dean smiled and took them. He clipped them under his current paperwork. “Blame it on the bumps in the road.” Ava shot him a grin before turning back towards her desk. He made his way to the copier, leaving a copy of his worksheet for the ER. 

Checking to make sure he had everything, Dean made his way towards the ambulance bay. He ducked into the staff room, ravaging the communal counter to see what sweet treats were up for grabs. He settled for a powdered donut and a can of Coke. 

Dean pushed the doors into the ambulance bay and noticed Jo already had the ambulance cleaned and the stretcher ready for the next patient. I love that girl , Dean mused. He pressed the garage door opener before climbing into his seat. 

He nodded at Jo before she started the Med. Dean immediately rolled his window down and the music up. 

“So, when you said shitting your pants only happens to the best of us..” Jo began while pulling out of the hospital’s garage. 

“Not another word, Duck.” Dean grinned while scribbling down the end of call time.

Dean Winchester truly did love his job. 

Even if it left him covered in shit sometimes.

Chapter Text

Dean Winchester was horrified of fire. 

The orange, the black, the heat, the smoke—the memories—n one of it was good news. 

Which is why his career choice was questionable at best. 

Under his mask, Dean was deprived of his senses. No touch; the thick fabric of his gloves handled that. He could only pound his fists on the floor in front of him to make sure he wouldn’t fall through or feel the heat encircle him. 

No smell beyond the compressed air he hauled on his back that ran through two regulators to prevent blowing up his lungs. No sound beyond the crackling of wood, the incessant beeping of his air pack battery, his radio, and his own heavy breathing amplified by his microphone. 

And strangely enough, no sight. 

The movies make everyone believe that fires are bright. Hollywood’s fixed lights and false flames always made the stars in front of them react as if it was the brightest thing they’d ever seen. Each individual flame danced or raged in its own time, part of a bigger landscape of unbridled chaos.   

Real fire was nowhere near that. The chaos reigned, sure, but it was nowhere near discernible. In the fire, all one had was orange, grey, and darker grey. 

And fear.

Dean reflected on this as he knelt in front of the dumpster behind the old grocery. Somehow, it had caught fire - Dean figured he’d leave the cause determination to the investigation team. Above my helmet color , Dean joked. 

Like a moth to the flame, Dean froze in fires. The flames were nearly hypnotic, holding him in a trance. On his knees and armed only with a handline pushing over 100 gallons per minute, Dean felt like he was worshipping some depraved god. The thing that had killed his mother could easily kill him if he’d just let go, just rush into it. 

When inside actual structure fires, Dean would always take a few dangerous moments to sit in the fire’s glory. Sheer adoration, pure horror - he could never tell the difference as the heat rolled off his back as if that putrid god caressed it and promised him freedom in the flame.

Dean blinked hard in his mask while spraying water intermittently into the dumpster, while Benny stabbed at the smoldering mess of old advertisements, rotten fruit, and worthless odds and ends with his tool. As far as burners went, dumpster fires were a walk in the park. 

“44, hit that hotspot, then we should be clear!” Andy shouted from his spot next to Benny. In his grasp, the thermal imager was pointed inside the dumpster at a small scorched pocket. 

Dean perked up at the sound of his number and readjusted his grip on the nozzle. “Copy!” He yelled back, his tone obedient yet strong.

Within a few minutes, Gordon had given the team the order to stand down based on Andy’s temperature monitoring. Dean peeled his mask off his face with a few heavy pants. The air still held the tang of smoke, a smell so precious yet terrifying to Dean. Sweat lined his face, his hair tousled and unruly. Small lines of soot worked their way into the creases of time on Dean’s face. 

“Good work,” Gordon stated plainly with no real indication of pride beyond the face value of his words. 

Dean nodded in appreciation. His hungry eyes scanned between his crewmates as if he needed to see them all before he could rest. He needed to see them all alive. Only then could he begin to ride his emotions down from the fire. 

For someone in an active career, Dean’s cardio was poor at best. He took a moment to catch his breath and feel his pulse become less of a throb throughout his body. Dean made his way to the Engine and slid a compartment door open with ease. Like a bear, Dean ravaged through the rehab tote for water and snacks.

Andy sauntered his way over to Dean’s makeshift buffet. The probie’s bunker pants hung lowly around his waist, one suspender burdened with the weight of keeping them on his frame. He shot a beaming grin over to Dean.

“Dean! My first one!” He gleamed, extending his hand for a high five. Dean complied with a true smile spreading on his own face.

“Nice work, kid. I mean it.” Dean pointed with pride, knowing he wouldn’t get that level of praise from Gordon. He tossed Andy a bottle of water before reassuming his place, leaning against the truck. Dean observed Jo and Ash picking up the fire hose into large, tight rolls. Excess water dribbled from the hose into the parking lot with each rolling motion.

Andy looked up at Dean, nearly starstruck. His smile couldn’t be wiped away by the strongest of forces. His first burner, the look of accomplishment. Everyone had that first fire look.

Dean’s just wasn’t as happy as everyone else’s.

The two lingered in silence; one contemplative, one delighted. Dean wrapped an arm around Andy’s shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze. Andy giggled, akin to a schoolgirl with glee. 

Bobby approached them, adorned in his white chief’s helmet. His mustache obscured the edges of a hearty smile. “Well boys,” he began. “How’d it go?”

Andy perked up impossibly more, his probationary joy overwhelming. “Chief, that was awesome!” He babbled excitedly while leaning forward and out of Dean’s grip. “They prepare you in school and stuff, yeah, but that was my first actual fire!”

Bobby grinned and patted Andy’s shoulder with a lingering grip. “You did good, kid. We’re lucky to have you.” He continued along his track of checking in with everyone, offering Dean a final nod. 

Andy turned back to Dean, still overjoyed. “I did it, dude!”

Dean nodded, a small disbelieving laugh escaping his mouth. “Yes, you did!” 

The shrill tones of an EMS call rang out in uniform.

“Goddamnit,” Dean huffed before chugging the remains of his water bottle.

The second round of tones followed suit.

“Paging City of Atchison EMS, you have a call at nineteen-oh-three Williams Avenue at Countryside Manor for a male subject who has been sick for at least a week. Again, one-nine-oh-three Williams Ave, time out fourteen-fourteen.” Gabriel’s charismatic tone made Dean want to kick his teeth in through the radio.

Bobby peered his head around the corner of the Engine. “Dean, are you good to go on this? Otherwise, I’ll send Benny if you need more time.” 

Dean shook his head as he discarded the empty water bottle into the engine’s compartment, a sad homecoming. “I’m good. Tell Ash I’ll meet him in the Med, it’s gonna be a basic call.”

Bobby nodded and slapped the back of the Engine once before disappearing around the corner. He grumbled an “AFD acknowledges” transmission into his radio as he went on the search for Ash. 

Dean glanced down at his bunker pants buckled around his waist and weighed his options. On one hand, he could ditch them and opt for his usual day clothes - navy tactical pants and a navy Atchison Fire shirt. He’d be much more comfortable and have less of the beautifully haunting smell of smoke following him around. On the other hand, he leaves the bunker bottoms on. Vaguely more uncomfortable, much harder to work in, but much more conventionally attractive. Memorial does have some hot nurses, Dean mused. 

That was the only convincing Dean needed. With a start, he worked his way to the ambulance. His fire gear made a shuffling noise with each step as his legs brushed together in the bulky attire. He ran a hand through his hair, still dampened by sweat. 

Within a few moments, Ash and Dean stepped up into the rig. Dean decided that if the patient had been sick for a week and was now just calling an ambulance, it likely could run as a basic call. Glorified Uber , he recalled.

Ash began filling out the patient care worksheet with some of the background information. Dean glanced over and gathered that he was busy, so he took the liberty of calling in to dispatch.

“Atchison Control, AFD Med 2,” Dean huffed into the radio before sliding his thumb off the microphone. 

A brief pause - then, “Med 2, go ahead.” Gabriel replied somewhat hurriedly. Admittedly, his radio voice took some energy and was the first thing to go if he was busy.

Must have a bunch of radio traffic with the coppers , Dean reasoned. “Med 2’s en route, Countryside.” 

Everyone at AFD knew Countryside Manor’s address, as it was an assisted living facility paired with a “skilled” nursing facility - Dean still had his doubts on the level of skill. Regardless, the Atchison Fire crews responded frequently: difficulty breathing one day, foot pain the next. A good majority of their clientele and job as a whole came from places like Countryside that weren’t equipped with transport means.

“Sick for a week, eh?” posed Dean as he lazily draped one wrist on the steering wheel. Low grumbles of the diesel engine within the ambulance’s body responded as Dean accelerated. “Can’t be that bad.”

Ash shrugged while scribbling away at his clipboard. “Hopefully not, should just be a load and go. I guess we’ll see what we have when we get there,” 

Dean pursed his lips and nodded, instead directing his energy to driving. Ash was meek and often preferred to work in silence while he made his game plan. It killed Dean, but he respected it. He was internally grateful that the nursing home was nearby, along with being less than a mile from the hospital. The closer the facility, the lesser mileage for ambulance rides, the smaller the bill: hence why most nursing homes tried to keep themselves close. 

Dean flicked the turn signal on and adjusted his grip on the wheel to an authoritative hold. He turned Med 2 into the driveway and parked in front of the main entrance to the facility. A young lady in scrubs stood by the front door armed with a manila folder, clearly awaiting the ambulance. A quick glance at the front of the facility revealed a few nosy eyes peering at the ambulance from their bedrooms, undoubtedly speculating what was going on. 

“Atchison Control, AFD Med 2,” Dean began. He allowed his thumb to waver just above the microphone, awaiting his response. When it came, Dean completed his transmission. “AFD Med 2’s on scene, Countryside.” With a pop, Dean released the microphone and reconnected it to its holder. While Dean had been speaking, Ash retrieved a pair of gloves for Dean and himself. 

Retrieving the patient from the nursing home went unremarkably normal. The usual bickering of care staff, the smell of stale urine, and the curious residents peering from their rooms. Ash and Dean loaded the patient on the stretcher and secured him as they had done so many times before. 

Once in the ambulance, the two worked leisurely at obtaining the patient’s vitals. After the monitor cycled, Ash flicked his gaze up to Dean.

After furrowing his brows, Dean realized what the oh shit look was for. The patient’s blood pressure was low, unsurprisingly. He took a deep breath before nodding back to Ash.

“Well, sir, I’ll be in the back with you for our short little field trip, my partner Ash will be driving us.” Dean offered a small smile before unlocking his phone to make a call to the hospital.

The patient nodded before grumbling incoherently and closing his eyes once more, clearly trying to rest.

“Memorial ER, this is Ellen,” the hurried voice came from the phone.

“Ellen! Good morning, Dean with Med 2. Got a patient report for you.” He said coolly, a smile spreading across his face. Even when Jo wasn’t with him, Ellen was always one of the kindest nurses to him. 

“Whatcha got?” Ellen quipped back.

“Eighty four, eight four, year old male who’s been sick for a week at Countryside. Reported history of diabetes and one previous stroke. Vitals are.. Okay, his blood pressure is low. We’ll see you in a minute.”

Ellen scoffed into the microphone. “Yeah, we will. Good luck.” 

Dean frowned as he heard the microphone click on the other end. 

Good luck? Dean wondered. The hell does she mean by ‘good luck’? We’ve got a whole two-minute transport.

Dean shook his head, trying not to read into it more than necessary. He had two minutes, which is precisely enough time to do nothing. Ash ended up driving as a precaution: if the patient were to hypothetically decompensate at hyperspeed, Dean could intervene.

However, being this close to the hospital, Dean would generally just monitor. The patient needed definitive care, so he didn’t see a point in waiting around on scene longer to start an IV that he’d miss half the time anyways. 

The sound of the ambulance’s power fading away snapped Dean from his thoughts about Ellen’s comment. Good luck.

Ash opened the back doors of the ambulance while Dean disconnected the patient from their monitor. Within a few seconds, the pair was wheeling the sick old man into the ER.

The air was tense, and the room was bustling. Within a few seconds, Dean could sense that there was something different. A disturbance in the force , in his internal words.

Ellen ushered the group into a room and sat down at the computer. “This is our Countryside patient?” She asked wearily. Ellen peered back behind her shoulder as if she expected someone to be hovering.

Dean nodded as he backed the stretcher up next to the hospital bed. Ash began to lower it as Dean responded. “Yep! This is Jerry, Gerald, if ya nasty. He’s been sick for about a week now, Countryside decided now was the time to call. His BP is a little low, like I mentioned. Other than that, no real changes during transport.”

Ellen popped up from her chair and helped Ash and Dean move the patient over to the hospital bed, earning a small grunt from Jerry. Ash began to wheel the stretcher out of the room while Dean made his way around the bed to stand over Ellen. 

She typed rapidly, each keystroke conveying that she had a job to do and a clear timeline. 

Dean opened his mouth to ask her about what she meant by good luck .

Then came the knock on the half-opened door. 

Ellen sighed and hung her head while Dean looked over his shoulder, a quizzical look spreading on his face.

Dress shoes, slacks, and a cream colored button up hid behind an obnoxiously flowing white coat. A stethoscope hung around the physician’s neck, a navy blue that matched his pants. He had dark hair, tousled slightly from the ever-changing environment of the emergency room. A small ID badge hung from a clip on his breast pocket. Despite his stone appearance, a small, faded rainbow sticker clung onto the corner of the badge.

Dr. Castiel Novak, M.D., it read.

The doctor, whom Dean had never seen before, cleared his throat. “Forgive me for making you repeat the report, but please, from the beginning,” he prodded. His gravelly voice held a near-monotonous tone as he spoke.

Dean raised an eyebrow and glanced between Ellen and Castiel . “That’s.. Alright, we just finished transferring care,” he protested.

Dr. Novak clearly did not care. “As I said, please, from the top.”

Dean shot one final glance at Ellen, looking for her to save him. When it was obvious she didn’t have a lifeboat to throw even if she wanted to, Dean sighed. “Okay, this is Jerry, he’s been sick for a week at Countryside, his blood pressure is a little low, and that about sums it up.” He held an irritated edge to his voice, a dash of venom on his usually suave tongue.

Dr. Novak hummed, the sound nowhere near approval. “And his temperature?” He posed.

“I didn’t grab one.” Dean said cautiously, feeling a small heat come to his face. 

Another low grumble came from Castiel. “And an IV? Certainly with the hypotension, there must be an IV.” He looked expectantly at Dean. If he noticed the medic’s growing frustration, he made no indication of caring.

Dean offered a nervous smile over to Ellen before cocking his head. “No, there’s not an IV, and I’d be happy to discuss this in the hall.” His voice echoed as a low warning to the doctor.

Castiel narrowed his eyes and looked Dean up and down. The medic was visibly nervous and agitated, a dangerous combo. His hair was resting somewhere near its normal place despite the fire. His bunker pants hung around his waist, only being held up by the thick fabric belt. 

“That won’t be necessary. Thank you..” Castiel prompted, waiting for Dean to fill in. 

“Dean. Thanks a lot, Doctor,” Dean paused, pretending to reread his name badge. “Doctor Costello. It’s been a real treat.” He glared up at the doctor with a painstakingly fake smile before tucking his clipboard under his arm and exiting the room. As he left, he heard the rich voice beginning to ask the patient questions while his eyes pierced Dean’s back. 

Dean paused outside the room and ran a hand over his jawline in frustration. Nobody had embarrassed him that badly since his first months as a paramedic. Who was this asshole, and why was he hard pressed on Dean suffering within five minutes of meeting him? Ellen’s warning couldn’t have been clearer; this guy was a real piece of work.

Dean shook his head and made his way over to the registration desk. Even Ava was working hurriedly. Her eyes remained trained on her computer, barely able to spare a glance at Dean.

“I’d ask how you’re doing, but I feel like I already know.” Dean leaned against the desk and allowed his arms to rest along the surface. The usual clutter filled the desk: empty forms and clipboards for new patients, a cup of pens, and some blank appreciation cards for nurses. 

Ava simply shook her head as she maneuvered her mouse to a new window. “He’s different, all right.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Different? Like..” he motioned vaguely. “Different ‘I have a way of doing things’ or different ‘I keep people in my basement?’”

A small smile crept at the corner of Ava’s lips as she typed away. “Dean,” she protested weakly.

“What! It’s a valid question. Dude was a complete asshole to me.” He rubbed his face exaggeratedly as he waited for his papers. The blood in his body still felt like it was boiling. 

Ava peered up briefly with a raised eyebrow. “How so?” She asked before returning to assembling Dean’s paperwork. 

The firefighter shook his head and laughed quietly, almost to himself. “Where do I even begin… made me repeat my entire report, embarrassed the shit out of me in front of the patient. The guy’s from Countryside, for god's sake.”

The receptionist kept her lips pursed as she worked. “Dean,” she mumbled quietly, a warning in her voice.

“Listen, I know what my protocols are, but definitive care is what the guy needs. I’m not going to waste time in the back of the ambulance to get an IV when the guy could already be here! I just think-”

“ Dean. ” 

Dean froze momentarily. The deep voice of Dr. Novak was ringing closer to his back than he expected. He looked up at Ava, who could only offer Dean his paperwork with a sympathetic expression.

Dean took a deep breath before turning around. Sure enough, Dr. Novak stood behind him. Dean straightened up to take advantage of the minuscule height difference. A falsely pleasant expression came across his face. “Costello, to what do I owe the pleasure?” 

Castiel’s face showed no reaction to the mockery - no humor, but no irritation either. He appeared to consistently stay straight-faced. A few moments passed before he rewarded Dean with a response. 

“Do not distract my employees,” the doctor ordered gruffly.

“ Your employees?” Dean raised an eyebrow and took a step closer to Castiel. The shuffling of Dean’s bunker pants was the only sound to provide reprieve from the tension between the two. Dean was far too confrontational for his own good. “I’ll tell you what-”

Castiel raised his hand between the two, seeing Dean’s growing aggression. “Do not.” He ordered, pointing one finger upwards. Cool blue eyes pierced into Dean beneath furrowed eyebrows. He cocked his head as he watched Dean back down as if he was a misbehaving dog.

Dean’s lip twitched in a snarl. Despite his own strong-headedness, he backed down. He kept his eyes trained on Castiel as he retreated a step or two. In frustration, Dean shook his head and scoffed. 

Castiel raised his chin calmly as if he hadn’t just tamed Dean.

“Goodbye, Dean.” The doctor’s farewell remained monotonous. 

“Yeah.” Dean replied, averting his eyes. He grabbed his things from the counter and departed for the ambulance bay. Now that he wasn’t staring down the doctor, he allowed his cheeks to flush during the short walk.

He had never had issues with doctors. Typically, they were grateful for the services provided by EMS workers. Never, never , in Dean’s career had he met a doctor so detailed, so nitpicky over a goddamn nursing home patient. While still guided by anger, Dean pulled his phone out. He quickly composed a text to Sam.

You’ve got a real asshole in the ER.

Dean pressed send and made his way back into the ambulance, instead opting for the passenger’s seat. Ash was already sitting in the driver’s seat, mindlessly tapping on the steering wheel. 

Frustratedly, Dean ran his hands over his face again and yelled in irritation as the ambulance moved.

Ash glanced over, his face a mix of confusion and concern. He never was the best with reading expressions or responding appropriately, but Dean’s reaction came from left field. “Are you..” Ash prompted.

“No! I’m not! That doctor is a fucking asshole! ” Dean growled as he grabbed the microphone. “Atchison Control, AFD Med 2.” He huffed.

Gabriel’s smooth-as-silk voice responded within a few moments. He must have heard the frustration in Dean’s voice, as he matched it with his signature panache. “Go ahead, Med 2.”

Dean felt as though he was tweaking out. Gabriel’s maddening voice and intonation pushed him right off the ledge of sanity he had walked like a tightrope following his meeting with Castiel . Dean clenched his fist before responding. “Med 2’s clear, available.” He said shortly.

Ash was nearly afraid of Dean as the two made their way back to the station. Each time he glanced over, he could see the medic gripping onto a pen as if he were trying to strangle the ink out of it. He also knew that prompting Dean to let loose would be even more terrifying. As a compromise, he opted for remaining silent and turning up the music. 

Dean folded his hands in his lap as the ambulance hummed against the decrepit roads of Atchison. He kept his jaw clenched tight, a side of him that he rarely showed at work. While working, he always tried to be fun, not some angry clone of his father that struck fear into anyone around him. 

There was something, everything , infuriating about the way that Castiel had spoken to him.

A small tink could be heard from Dean’s pocket. A glance at his phone revealed a text from Sam.

Sam: Buckle up. This is just day one. :P

Dean groaned before closing his phone again. However long this Castiel was sticking around, it was already too long in his eyes.

Dumpster fire after dumpster fire.

Chapter Text

“Sam, I’m telling you, this guy is a class A asshole!” Dean exclaimed over the phone. He was pacing around AFD’s bay mindlessly with the phone held to his ear. He ran a hand through his hair, something just short of anger boiling beneath his skin. He had cleared a few minutes before the morning meeting to speak with his brother. Even if they lived near each other and saw each other frequently at Memorial, Dean still loved to check in. 

He wasn’t the greatest at it, but he tried.

Across the line, Sam was sitting at home with a mug of coffee in his hand. He had worked the night shift at the hospital and was just now enjoying some time to wind down before eventually sleeping through the day. The circus of screaming patients would begin once again when the night turned dark.

“You’re just not giving him a chance,” Sam cooed, a small snark hiding in his undertone. The grin plastered on his face refused to leave.

“No, I gave him a chance. First impressions are supposed to last forever, right? My first impression is that he’s a dick.” Dean shook his head as his hand rubbed across his face in frustration. “It’s been days and I’m still pissed about it. First day back from my four-day, and I’m irate at the thought of even seeing him.” 

Dean hated to admit it, but over the course of his four days off from AFD, he couldn’t fully shake the anger that the new ER doctor caused. He tried not to hold grudges or to be unreasonably upset, but something about him just got under Dean’s skin. He seeped in through Dean’s snarls and nestled himself tight against his anger, never to be fully separated again. 

That doctor had an essence of authority about him, and it felt like a chokehold to Dean. He knew he was a good medic, a damn good one at that. He didn’t take kindly to being spoken to in the way that Castiel had done so a few days prior. 

“Don’t.”

The lift of the finger, the firm look of warning.

The way that it worked, and how Dean felt like he couldn’t refuse.

The interaction replayed through Dean’s head in moments of silence. If this doctor had been a woman, things might have been different. Dean probably would have knelt down before her and been in her bed by week’s end. Firm dominance was right up his alley, but for a man to speak to him like that? That was uncharted territory that Dean couldn’t shake.

“I just don’t get it, Sam, he’s got a complex about him. All the nurses were on edge; you should have seen it. Even Ava was focused on her work,” Dean huffed as he continued to pace. “I just don’t like him. I don’t like seeing him, and I don’t like him critiquing my work as if I didn’t do it right.”

Sam smirked as he glanced down at the call on speakerphone. “Then you’ve got a storm coming.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed as he stopped in his tracks. Without the shuffling of his boots, the bay was only filled with the low hum of an overhead fan. “The hell does that mean?” He interrogated Sam gruffly.

The same smile maintained its place on Sam’s face. He remained quiet, suppressing a laugh.

“Sam!” Dean growled into the phone. “The hell does that mean?” He repeated. Dean’s irritation was palpable over the line. 

Sam scoffed through his grin. “You’ll see soon enough,” he replied, his voice dripping with a suspicious excitement.

Dean shook his head and leaned against AFD’s Engine behind him. “Is he on today?” 

The last thing he wanted was for Castiel to be the ER doctor on shift. A close second for last place was being productive, despite that being his job.

“Worse.” Sam said simply.

“How does it get worse than that?” Dean whined, his face twisting into a scowl. He glanced out the bay windows at the pad of Atchison fire. The usual vehicles of A crew and Bobby’s pickup filled the parking spots that lined the edge of the property. A woman walked her dog across the street, oblivious to the station. 

“Dean, you’ll see. I promise. I have to go, I need sleep,” Sam huffed, still staring down at his phone as he sat on the couch. His home was on the other side of Atchison in one of the better neighborhoods. Dean always joked that he could feel his own tax bracket raising each time he went over to Sam’s.

“What, you got a hot date or something?” Dean snarked.

“Yeah, actually,” Sam said quietly, nearly embarrassed.

Dean was clearly surprised yet impressed. The two shared a brief moment of silence before Dean spoke up. “Well shit! Go sleep. Tell me all about it tomorrow.”

Sam grinned down at his phone. “You will not be getting the details. Stay safe today, and good luck.” He pressed the red end call button before he could hear Dean protest.

Dean looked down at his phone as he heard the three beeps of the call ending. “Bastard,” he groaned out before closing his phone. He shoved it back in his back pocket and looked out at the pad in front of the station again. 

An older car was parked in the visitor’s spot. Dean’s eyebrows furrowed. He cocked his head to the side as he rummaged through his mind. There wasn’t anything on the schedule that he remembered Bobby mentioning last shift. Dean just assumed it was some mom bringing her kids in for a tour of the fire station.

Dean grinned and made his way back into the main area of the station, allowing his mind to wander on the possibilities of a single mom rolling into his station. As he passed Bobby’s office, he noticed that the door was closed. Even more abnormally, the blinds were drawn.

Dean paused outside of the door. He was disappointed when he couldn’t hear anything. He couldn’t make out any other voices, let alone the words they spoke. 

He continued on, finding Benny leaning in the doorframe of the training room. He snuck up behind his poor superior and kicked the back of his knee out from under him.

Benny’s knees buckled. He quickly regained his balance and grabbed Dean in a playful chokehold. “You gonna let up?” He asked, his mouth next to Dean’s ear as he leaned down. His Cajun accent made him strangely more intimidating.

Dean grinned and tapped Benny’s arm twice. When he relented, Dean gave him a fistbump. “Mornin’, Benny.”

“Good mornin’ to you too, asshole,” Benny returned with a grin. Roughhousing around the station was frequent. Part of the reason Dean loved his job was the group he had there, forged in fire. It was one big, dysfunctional family. The guys always played mild to moderate pranks on each other, wrestled- you name it- just like he and Sam had done when they were younger. 

Dean continued into the training room and plopped down into his chair. “Gordon, what’s Bobby doing? All secretive back in there, I feel like I’m going to see HR. Again.”

Gordon responded without looking up from his computer, facing the wall. “He’s in with the new medical director,” he said gravely.

Dean glanced over at Jo, who had been waiting with a gaze for him as well. She was suppressing a laugh.

Dean looked at her, confused for a moment. 

Then, his face fell. 

“No..” he groaned with exasperation. “Duckie.. No..”

Gordon turned around in his chair. It emitted a creak, displaying the years since Atchison city really poured any money into the station. “What?”

“Say, LT,” Dean paused as he swallowed hard. “You wouldn’t have his name, would you?” Dean asked despite not needing the answer. His fate was sealed. Jo’s telling look was all he needed.

“Dr. Novak.” Gordon appeared apprehensive, the smallest hint of caution crawling into his voice as he spoke. “You seem upset,” he inferred, rather plainly.

Dean hung his head and looked at the floor. He clenched his jaw. He could feel the vein on his temple throbbing. “Nope. All good,” he said shortly.

“It’s one of Dean’s hookups gone bad,” Ash joked. “Those always seem to come bite him in the ass.”

The rest of the crew exchanged a glance at Dean’s misfortune. Mouths barely contained grins and chuckles. Jo’s giggle finally escaped. 

Great. Just fucking great, Dean thought. Sam, goddamnit, when I asked how it could get worse, that wasn’t a challenge. Now that pompous bastard is my medical director? Abso-fucking-lutely not. 

Each EMS agency had to have a medical director. Every employee of that agency, even if they were personally licensed, still worked as an extension of their medical director’s physician license. AFD had been in between medical directors for a while until they found someone permanent.

To Dean’s misfortune, AFD found someone.

Dean’s eyes remained trained on the ground. The sound of Bobby’s door opening, the sound of two sets of footsteps, the sound of that grating voice- all of it was too much. 

“Morning, everyone.” Bobby said as he strolled into the training room, more chipper than usual. His hearty voice resonated through the room as if it were made specially for him.

Castiel followed in his wake. He had traded the white lab coat for a tan trench coat to drape over his button-up. He remained in neutral tones: had he not been conventionally attractive, Castiel would blend in to any scene, simply an extra in a movie cast. He looked like he belonged anywhere, holding the ability to be dropped into a new situation and blend in physically without getting anyone to bat an eye.

Socially, however, he was a different story. Castiel did not blend in anywhere socially.

He stood stiffly next to Bobby at the head of the room’s center table. Castiel’s hands were folded expectantly in front of him. Blue eyes scanned the room methodically, lingering on Dean for a moment.

“Everyone, as you probably heard from the other crews, we finally have a medical director.” Bobby’s eyes swept the room as he surveyed his crew. 

“Some of you have met him in the ER-” he glanced briefly at Dean, whose eyes remained focused on the floor with a locked jaw. “But for those of you who haven’t, this is Dr. Novak.” Bobby introduced as his eyes came back to Castiel.

Castiel looked around as the room fell silent. Despite completely missing his cue to speak, he finally picked up on it. “Hello,” he said finally.

Dean glared up at him briefly from his chair in the corner, earning him a disapproving glance from Bobby. If he hadn’t already had ‘fire chief’ embroidered on his white polo, he likely would have gone for ‘adult babysitter.’

He frequently joked that he had to settle on fire chief because the city’s miniscule budget couldn’t pay for the extra embroidered letters of the latter title.

“I am Dr. Novak, but you may call me Castiel. I am excited to work with you all.” Castiel continued. His demeanor was strikingly warm and welcoming despite his deep voice. “I hail from the Atchison area, some of you may know my brothers. I went to medical school in New York and decided to come back to be closer to them.”

“My brother informed me that your department was still without a dedicated medical director, so after some conversation with both the hospital and Chief Singer,” he shared a nod with Bobby before continuing. “We decided that it would be a good fit. I love emergency medicine, and I really do have some ideas on places we can improve AFD.” Castiel’s icy blue eyes fell on Dean.

Dean was still fuming. He refused to look up at Castiel. He wasn’t buying this nice-guy facade that Dr. Novak was suddenly displaying. This was counterproductive, Dean concluded. This man clearly already had issues with Dean and his methods. This meant that Castiel would now be in charge of his protocols and how Dean operated, down to how he could give someone oxygen.

Castiel hummed before continuing. “I want to hear where everyone thinks we need to improve. Dean?” He raised an eyebrow as he gestured at the man in the corner.

Dean ground his teeth for a moment before finally looking up. Castiel was still looking at him, expressionless. For a moment, it felt that the rest of the room had dissipated. Dean could only feel Castiel’s eyes piercing into his own. 

Likewise, Castiel could feel the strange mix of emotions radiating from Dean. He glanced up at the doctor, his green eyes hardened. There was anger and there was betrayal. There was rage and shame. The amalgamation of each feeling came to form something that settled on his body like a gray morning and tasted like coffee that had gone far too bitter.

Neither of the men paid any attention to the rest of the room for those few moments, only their display of disdain in their own silent language.

Dean swallowed before finally blinking. He breathed heavily, his exhale coming off as a shaky sigh. He plastered a fake smile on his face. “I think AFD is just fine the way it is. I think our protocols do the job. We haven’t had issues with them in the past, so don’t fix something if it ain’t broken.” Dean smiled his “patient smile”, the same one he would give when telling someone that he didn’t mind coming back to their home for the fifth time in a 48-hour period.

Castiel cocked his head and a hint of a smirk played at the corner of his lips. “That is an interesting take, Dean.” His voice came off like a searing iron. Fake appreciation that was just convincing enough to make Dean feel like his head was spinning. 

Dean’s face hardened as Castiel continued to look around the room, gathering suggestions, improvements from everyone else. Not a word registered in Dean’s mind. He was seeing red and red alone.

After about twenty minutes of conversations between the crew and Castiel, the room fell back into silence as Bobby led the rest of the meeting. 

“We do have a fire truck ride today for a kiddo, so be prepared for that. Keep cracking on inspections, please. I know they’re awful, believe me, I know. The sooner we get them done, the better. I’m going to be actually checking how many each crew is doing per swing, so please give me a good number.” Bobby looked around the room. Castiel was still hovering to his side, keeping his distance equal between Bobby and Dean. 

Gordon nodded from his corner. “Alright. Dean, Jo, you two will be on the Med today. I want to take Andy with me for inspections, and Benny and Andy will take the fire truck ride and some other inspections. I do want to deep clean our ambulance, too.”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment and nodded. He’d been getting put on the ambulance more and more lately. He didn’t necessarily mind during the day, as it freed him from whatever mindless task upper management had assigned.

During the nights, though, he was getting exhausted from being continually woken up with no snooze option. Most people wouldn’t enjoy going from a vaguely restful sleep to being woken in a panic. Dean’s heart would thump out of his chest, his eyes wide as he began dressing himself and making his way to the ambulance bay in the small hours of the morning. He never really came to until he was in the Med, figuring out where he was going and for what. Only after a bit of adjusting and coaxing would his pulse even out.

Castiel and Bobby eventually retreated to Bobby’s office. Dean presumed they had plenty of new paperwork, new protocols to discuss. Jo and Dean began cleaning the ambulance mindlessly, pulling used gloves from the door compartments. Led Zeppelin played quietly from Dean’s phone in his pocket. He loved his loud music, but it wasn’t worth accidentally missing tones. Another lesson he had learned the hard way early in his career. 

Dean began speculating what changes Dr. Novak would be instituting as Atchison Fire’s medical director. He hummed mindlessly along to the song while he wiped down the dash of Med 2. 

Asshole’s probably going to force every call that isn’t a basic lift assist to have an IV before we get to the hospital. God forbid we get a patient to definitive care , he thought. No, no, no sir. You better wait on scene and do a bunch of shit that the hospital could just as easily-

As it was, Dean’s train of thought was interrupted by the shrill two-tone squawk of the overhead speaker. The tones repeated once more. 

“Attention AFD EMS, you have a call at three-eighty-three Wren Road for a sixteen-year-old male stating that he just gave himself a tattoo and it has begun to become infected. Time out ten-forty-three.” Instead of the usual suave voice of Gabriel, Ruby’s came over the speaker. The lack of Gabriel’s incessant chipper voice brought inklings of a smile to Dean’s face. 

He turned to throw out the gloves and assorted items he’d found while cleaning the front of the ambulance. He heard Benny acknowledging the page over the speaker and the closing of the ambulance doors: the back side door first, then the passenger door. Dean figured that Jo had the back open for ventilation while they cleaned with the potent smell of medical wipes.

Dean climbed into the driver's seat and paused his music before turning the ignition of Med 2. Jo grinned a bit too widely at him.

Dean furrowed his eyebrows and began driving while Jo spoke with Ruby through the radio. A sharp exhale left his lips. His mind began to drift as he mindlessly drove to the call. He knew this city better than he knew himself: it didn’t take much thought to get to calls. Dean often thought it would stay that way until he was in a grave.

Castiel still occupied his mind. He had made Dean seem like he had overreacted after their encounter in the ER. He came to the station with a serious but goal-oriented essence. Hell, he’d even smiled. There’s no way anyone at AFD could even begin to hold such a disdain for him from their first impressions as the one Dean held for him.

No, Dean was furious. Bobby and Castiel were already best friends, hell-bent on making new protocols and procedures. The rest of the crew took part in the discussion, saying god-knows what to encourage those two to make changes.

Dean didn’t like change unless it was brought on by him and him alone at his own chosen pace.

He cleared his throat as he pulled the ambulance alongside the curb of 383 Wren.

“Atchison Control, Atchison Med 2,” Jo quipped. As she closed the microphone, waiting for her response, she glanced over to Dean. 

“You’ll have to go in back for large gloves, we’re out up here,” Jo hummed over Ruby’s routine transmission.

Dean sighed and nodded. He opened the driver’s door and clicked his portable radio on as he walked around the front of the ambulance. A quick glance at the home housing the call showed a cookie-cutter home in a subdivision off the southside of Atchison. Not exactly the type of neighborhood you’d expect an up-and-coming stick and poke artist to come from, Dean mused.

He opened the side door of the ambulance and began up the stairs, eyes trained on the ground before him. Dean glanced up and nearly fell down the stairs he’d just climbed so easily.

“Hello, Dean.” 

Castiel loomed in the back of the ambulance, completely silent until this moment.

Dean took a deep breath as the effects of the very sudden, very unwelcome surprise cooled down. “The hell are you doing back here?”

Castiel offered a polite smile. “I’m shadowing the med crew today. We discussed that in the morning meeting. You were listening, correct?” His deep blue eyes scanned Dean’s paling face.

From the front of the ambulance, Jo’s laugh could be heard as she finally left the ambulance.

“I love this job,” she sighed in a dreamy tone that barely made its way to the ears of the men in the ambulance.

Dean trained his eyes on the floor to collect himself before finally smiling up at Castiel. That patient smile of his was back in full force. “Of course,” he grumbled while grabbing his gloves. “We’re glad to have you,” Dean replied shortly before turning around and starting down the stairs, unable to keep his eyes from rolling.

Castiel hummed, somewhere between approval and disapproval. He followed Dean out of the ambulance to where Jo was discussing options with the patient. Castiel carried a strange aura around him, one that Dean hadn’t been able to place quite yet. Aside from dick , the only word that came to mind was omniscient and omnipresent.

“I just.. I got bored. I bought a tattoo gun off of Amazon, and I ran out of ink,” the teenager explained.

“Then what did you use?” Jo asked, a tone of genuine concern in her question.

“Pen ink.” His expression showed that no, this wasn’t a joke, and yes, he used ink from a pen to give himself a tattoo. Only in Atchison.

Jo deadpanned over to Dean. She was unable to keep the amusement off her face.

Dean’s eyebrows raised while a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Was it at least a good tattoo?” He prompted. Dean had the sickening “cool guy” voice as he tried to appeal to the teenager.

Dean could feel Castiel’s cold expression falling on his shoulders.

The teenager rolled up his sleeve with a small wince. In all its glory stood an inflamed ‘L’.

“What’s the L for?” Dean asked while looking up to meet the kid’s eyes. 

“My girlfriend’s name is Lucy,” he said proudly.

Dean suppressed a smile. For a moment, he hoped that this kid would actually get transported to the hospital and that Pamela was working. Maybe she and her “Jesse Forever” tattoo could knock some sense into this kid.

“Are your parents home?” Jo continued, trying to keep the conversation moving in a more productive direction. 

The boy shook his head. “I didn’t want to tell my mom.” 

“Yeah, you couldn’t handle ‘taking the L?’” Dean winked. Jo couldn’t help but cringe as Dean tried to fit in with the young punk generation, as he called it. 

The kid cocked his head to the side with a look of judgment that only passive aggressive teenagers could master. “Uh.. sure?” He replied with a disgusted look. 

Dean glanced over his shoulder at Castiel, whose face was stoic as ever. Seeing no relief from his medical director, Dean looked back at the patient. Patient smile on. 

“We’ll need to call her. We can’t kidnap you, since you’re a minor,” Jo began. “We at least need to inform her of what’s going on.” Absently, she fidgeted with the clipboard under her arm out of boredom. 

The boy pursed his lips and sighed heavily. “I don’t.. I don’t think I should go to the hospital. At least.. not until I can explain this,” he gestured to his unfortunate tattoo. Small droplets of inky blood seeped from the pores slowly. 

Dean raised his head in a small nod as he hummed under his breath. “I understand. Unfortunately, either way, we need to speak with her.”

In order to leave the kid or to take him, AFD had to at least contact his parents to inform them of whichever decision was made. 

The boy’s face paled considerably, and he groaned in frustration. “I don’t- no, you’re not talking to my parents.”

With a start, he turned on his heel and darted into the house. He tore open the front screen door and made quick work of getting in the main door, twisting the knob with rapid precision. He clearly expected a chase as he stood behind the glass window of his home’s front door. The child seemed disappointed as the three stood unmoving.

Nobody aboard AFD Med 2 cared nearly enough to chase this teenager into his home. The three exchanged a few looks, some surprised and some annoyed. After a few moments, Dean leaned his head to the side and keyed up the microphone on his radio strap. 

“Atchison Control, AFD Med 2.”

“Med 2,” Ruby acknowledged. 

“Control, please send law enforcement to our location, non 33.” Dean slid his finger off the microphone and turned to the team. “Well? Medical control, do you agree that we’re doing the right thing per protocol ?”

Castiel hummed and scanned between the house and Dean once more. “Yes, I suppose so.” His voice was level and certain; for a change, less cocky. 

Dean felt a small smile of satisfaction creep onto his face. Castiel’s approval meant nothing to him, of course. That snarky, cocky, self-absorbed doctor having no choice but to agree with him, however, was worth everything. 

As the crew waited for law enforcement to arrive, Dean kept feeling Castiel’s eyes wander along him every now and again. Each time, he couldn’t help but stiffen under his gaze as it burned into his neck. 

The tension ate through Dean’s skin. In a way, it was ever so slightly different than how Castiel usually made Dean feel. 

The satisfaction added a small, new flavor on his tongue. 

Dean could get used to that.