Before the clock could flash noon on the obnoxiously bright screen of Sam's cell phone, he was already in need of a nap, and about six more cups of coffee.

As the morning had pressed on, Dr. Harvelle had taken Sam and the other nine interns in circles around Wayward Saints in order to meet up with each of the Department Heads, and it had felt more like being led toward a firing squad than anything else. If he'd been confident and enthusiastic about his first day of internship earlier this morning, he was anything but, now. These doctors were ruthless, blunt, and downright unsettling to be around in Sam's opinion. Brilliant, yes, and incredible in their fields, but they scared the ever-loving crap out of him.

The fact that he had to work under these people just added to this magnificent little clusterfuck that was now his future career.

It had all stated off with Dr. Balthazar Durrand in the Plastics Department, whose arrogance made even Adam looked like a genuinely humble being. With his striking smile and thick blonde hair, he had practically every female intern fawning after him. Even Jess got a little starry-eyed when he addressed her flawless jaw structure and nose shape.

He spoke quickly, walked quickly, and didn't allow any questions to be asked by the interns. Much like Dr. Harvelle, he was sharp, to the point, but blunt in a way of being downright condescending. With his white coat billowing out behind him, he'd led them all through the halls of the department, which were exquisitely decorated with pots of fresh flowers and cushioned chairs, and large poster-sized photographs of beautiful people with enough plastic in their bodies to melt if they got too close to a radiator.

While Dr. Durrand rambled on in that irritatingly charming manner of his, he swept through a few of the surgical suites and allowed them all an inside look to a few of the surgeries he had planned. A few nose jobs and a fair amount of breast augmentations were to be expected but, surprisingly enough, Dr. Durrand was planning to completely reconstruct the face of a young woman who had been shot at point-blank range by her abusive husband, and required an entire new left cheekbone, eye socket, nose, and most of a jaw.

Okay. Sam had to admit, that was kind of awesome.

After that, they'd headed to Orthopaedics, and Andy practically skipped alongside Sam in his sheer excitement. He'd even asked to borrow Sam's binder just in case he needed to take notes. There, the head of the department was Dr. Bela Talbot, a tall and stunning creature with pale green eyes and a smirk that Sam wasn't sure if he could call enchanting or vicious. She carried herself with pride and dignity, gliding through the halls with her long ash brown waves swaying behind her, her clear and lovely English-accented voice calling for them to keep up.

She'd brought them to a small, dark room lined with light boxes that displayed a staggering number of x-rays from anonymous patients. There was even a full skeleton constructed entirely out of human bone, which she wheeled over during her presentation and allowed them to touch as long as they were gentle and didn't have 'grubby little fingers' as she put it.

Dr. Talbot allowed for questions, but had a tendency to offer a look of utter pity when something stupid was asked. The worst was the one she gave to Sam, like she was wondering how on earth this poor over-sized child even made through medical school in the first place.

Ouch. Right in the dignity.

Sam needed a coffee after that one, and he was lucky enough to have their tour pass right by the cafeteria on the way to the Trauma Department. He would've grabbed one for Dean as well, but the last thing he wanted was for everyone to think he was sucking up to the Department Head. It was bad enough the guy was of immediate blood relation to him.

Ever the one to make an unforgettable first-impression, Dean had been waiting for them outside of the department, and what do you know, he had ditched his suit and tie and was donning a set of dark blue freshly blood-stained scrubs. He'd just gotten out of a surgery involving the removal of a chainsaw blade from a man's shoulder, and hadn't bothered to change.

Sam had a feeling he just liked the shock-value of it all. Most of the interns had paled at the sight of their head Trauma surgeon looking like he'd been finger-painted in gore.

When Dean went through the motions of giving them a tour of his department, Sam was reminded a lot of the way really young children would repress the urge to wave at the familiar face of their parent in the audience during a school recital. During his tour, Dean kept flashing him slight grins and the occasional thumbs-up, and Sam had tried to keep himself at the very back of the group so he couldn't drop dead from embarrassment.

Of course, with Dean being referred to as Dr. Winchester, Sam had already earned his fair share of glares and dirty looks from the group, ninety-three percent of them from Adam.

Douche.

He was lucky that Dean kept his presentation short and sweet, leaving all questions until the end before Dr. Harvelle hurried them off to the Oncology Department. Sam was pretty certain he had holes bored into his skull with the way the surrounding interns had looked at him, especially when Dean had waved Sam farewell and wished him luck with the remainder of his day.

Sam made a mental note to kick him in the ass later.

Oncology was run by Dr. Robert Singer, a familiar face from Sam's childhood. Bobby had been best friends with their father throughout medical school and his work at Wayward Saints, and he was the closest thing they had to an uncle. He was a stern man, older, with large bear-like hands and a receding hairline and thick beard that already glinted with silver. His presentation had been a solemn one, and he'd refused to bring the group of them through the doors and into the department, because he didn't want to subject his patients to being seen as a stop in a tour, ready to be ogled at like they were science projects. They'd get a chance to meet with them when they were scheduled to.

Cancer victims had enough to deal with.

Sam always had incredible respect for Bobby, but even more so today when he'd seen him in his element. Bobby was far more subtle than Dean had been in his recognition of Sam, refusing to even make eye-contact with him until the end of the tour, where he'd just nodded once in greeting before disappearing back through the doors.

They hadn't spoken much since the death of Sam's father; the occasional phone call, an email or two a month, just to catch up and check in. Bobby never pried, never clung or meddled, but Sam found comfort in knowing he was there, just within reach whenever he was needed.

It'd be nice to catch up after so long.

Next stop in the tour had been Paediatrics, run by a lovely woman named Dr. Anna Milton. She was all smiles when she greeted them upon arrival, her fiery hair pulled back into a loose braid, and colourful stickers adorning her nametag. She was sweet, with a soft voice and doe-like brown eyes. She reminded Sam of some enchanted being that belonged in a fairytale, quick and quiet and gentle. Perfect for her field of work.

She had allowed the interns into a room with big walls painted with scenes of the ocean and the circus and the forest, where nurses monitored the ill or injured children as they coloured and watched cartoons and played with toys. Dr. Milton introduced them to the kids, who had no fear in coming up and greeting them with smiles so bright, it was hard to envision them in any kind of pain.

Though the occasional head of missing hair, breathing tubes, bandages, and casts many of them had were enough of a reminder.

Sam had struck up a conversation with a little four-year old patient on a beanbag chair about her stuffed moose doll, which she said she'd taken with her to all of her operations. Six, to be exact. There had apparently been something wrong with her heart since birth, and all the nice doctors were fixing her right up. Mr. Moosie had been with her through the entire journey, and she had spoken to Sam and only Sam because he reminded her of him.

Sam almost didn't want to say goodbye when the group of them had to move on.

And it all led up to now, in the Neurology Department under the care of Dr. Chuck Shurley. A slender little man with a head of ashen waves and eyes so eerily blue, that Sam wasn't sure if they were beautiful or unsettling. He had a kind of scruffy just-rolled-out-of-bed look much like Andy, jaw unshaven and tie askew under his long white coat. He was nothing like what Sam had imagined as being the head of brain surgery.

Frankly, he'd pictured a big-headed asshat like Adam, strutting about his precious department like a peacock while quoting Hamlet as he held up a human brain.

Most Neurology surgeons fit that description pretty damn well, but not Dr. Shurley. He was soft-spoken, humble, but incredibly bright as he addressed the group of them in a dark room much like the one Dr. Talbot had brought them into. Each of the light boxes on the wall held an image of a human brain scanned using the hospital's MRI machines, and Dr. Shurley gestured to each one of them using a laser pointer to indicate the different medical problems; the physical, such as aneurisms, strokes, clots, brain bleeds, and tumours; and the mental, like schizophrenia, and Alzheimer's.

After Sam finished checking the time on his phone, he lifted his head to catch the tail end of Dr. Shurley's presentation.

"…and we're hoping the results of this clinical trial will allow us to get that much closer to a cure for Alzheimer's." Dr. Shurley stated as he fiddled with his laser pointer. "It's going to be a long and rather risky trial, and we have many patients willing to be tested, so we're hoping for promising results. It'll be a new steppingstone in the direction of finally curing that disease."

Unsurprisingly, Adam raised his hand to ask a question. "What will happen if some form of a cure is found during your trial?"

"Uhm," Dr. Shurley clicked his tongue as he pondered. "Huge, huge progress in the medical world." He threw his arms open. "It would be life-changing! Millions of people with this disease would be able to remember again, would be able to think clearly again. Hospitals from around the globe would get involved. It would be a phenomenon."

"And if it doesn't cure it?" Adam asked.

Dr. Shurley seemed to deflate somewhat at that, and ran his fingers back through his already mussed hair. "Then, we dust ourselves off, keep our heads high, and find something else that will. It's all we can do."

"Who will be running these trials?" Jess chimed in.

"Myself," Dr. Shurley nodded. "And one of the residents of my choosing."

Sam couldn't help but smirk smugly at the flicker of disappointment in Adam's eyes when he knew that no intern would be involved in such ground-breaking research.

"Alright, I think we're all done here," Dr. Harvelle stepped forward and clasped hands with Dr. Shurley. "Thank you for taking time out of your schedule to meet with them."

"It was my pleasure," Dr. Shurley bowed slightly as the interns applauded. "Good luck to all of you on your journey ahead. I look forward to working alongside you all in the future."

Sam sipped at the last half of his coffee while following the group out of the Neuro Department and towards their next stop. His feet were starting to ache in his sneakers from all the walking and standing, and his back was begging for him to take a seat for just five minutes. Andy and Jess looked no better as they walked next to him, rolling their shoulders and chugging their own cups of coffee.

"I never thought I'd say this, but I really just want this to be over with so I can get to work," Andy grumbled.

"Any news as to where we're headed next?" Sam asked.

"Cardiology, most likely." Jess shrugged. "It's the only department left, I think."

Andy smiled. "Good news for you, eh Sam? You finally get the chance to see your department."

"Yeah right," Sam snorted. "If the Head of my dream field is anything like yours, then I'm completely screwed."

"C'mon, Dr. Talbot wasn't that bad."

"She told me I had the skeletal structure of a Neanderthal." Sam frowned deeply.

"And she addressed me as Malibu Barbie." Jess added.

Andy scrubbed his hand over his unshaven face. "Okay, okay, so she's a bit mean…"

"A bit?"

"Hey, I'm trying to be optimistic here." Andy said with a sob in his voice. "That woman's going to be my boss for as long as I want to be a doctor at this hospital, and I really need to see a silver lining before I just decide to walk into oncoming traffic."

Sam patted him on the back as the group slowed to a halt outside of the Cardiology Department, and he lifted his head to get a good look at who his future boss was going to be.

He saw no one.

Dr. Harvelle was standing alone outside of the department doors, her arms crossed beneath her breasts as she waited for their soft chatter to die to silence. Sam's frown deepened, and he found himself wondering if the Head of Cardio had completely forgotten about the tour, or just never cared to show up.

Neither one of those options was working in Sam's favour.

"Settle down, settle down," Dr. Harvelle lifted her hands. "I know you're all probably wondering where your Department Head is at the moment, and I have some good news. He's currently in the middle of an Arrhythmia treatment surgery, and has asked you all into the observation booth to watch him in action."

A thrill shot right through Sam's body at that news. Arrhythmia treatment surgery was a minor operation, requiring nothing more than the insertion of a pacemaker or an Implantable Cardioverter defibrillator in order to steady a heart that was beating too fast or too slow. It was the very first heart surgery Sam had ever performed and succeeded in medical school on a cadaver body.

"After the surgery, you'll all gather back out here, and Dr. Wesson will answer any questions—"

Sam didn't quite catch the rest of that sentence, because he was currently choking on the sip of coffee he'd just taken.

"Dr. Winchester?" He heard Dr. Harvelle ask. "Are you all right?"

He felt Andy's hand on his back, patting and rubbing. Sam wiped the dripping coffee from his chin and coughed. "D-did you say… Dr. Wesson?" His heart pounded wildly, and he was certain it had nothing to do with the fact that his lungs were screaming for air. "Like, Dr. Gabriel Wesson?"

Dr. Harvelle arched a thin brow. "That'd be him."

Sam tried to steady his composure, but the excitement he felt was like electric fire in his veins, and he could barely stand still. He smoothed down the front of his scrubs, and kept his eyes to the linoleum to avoid the odd stares of the surrounding interns.

Dr. Wesson. Dr. Gabriel Wesson. One of the greatest minds in the medical world, the very reason Sam had developed a passion for medicine, was the Head of Cardiology at Wayward Saints Hospital. The hospital that Sam now worked at. The hospital where he was going to train to be a heart surgeon. Probably under the guidance of Dr. Wesson, himself.

He wasn't entirely certain if he was going to cartwheel down the hallway or vomit.

Why hadn't Dean told him?

"Let's head inside," Dr. Harvelle called out. "Please, be as quiet as possible, and don't get rowdy in the booth. Dr. Wesson doesn't need a distraction."

"You okay, man?" Andy asked softly as the group of them started moving. "Need some air or something?"

Sam shook his head as he lifted his trembling cup of coffee to his lips and took a large gulp of it. "No, no, I'm fine…"

Shuffling closely together, the group of interns poured down one long, wide hallway toward the O.R.'s of the Cardiology Department. As Sam walked, he peered into every office, every consultation room, every open door he passed. He absorbed the environment that would eventually be his home at the end of his residency. The air was cool, scenting of lemon floor cleaner and sterile metal, the halls wide to allow the passing of gurneys, the pale blue walls devoid of much decoration save for the occasional abstract painting and chart. He imagined Dr. Wesson in these halls, performing consultations and surgeries, saving hundreds of lives.

He imagined himself working alongside him.

He also imagined himself kicking Dean square in the ass for having kept this all a Goddamn secret.

"Quickly, now," Dr. Harvelle placed a finger to her lips as she held the door to the observation booth open and ushered them all in.

Sam managed to snatch up a seat right in the front row in between Andy and Jess, with Adam right behind him and Dr. Harvelle hovering above everyone from her perch in the back. The few hushed whispers exchanged around him were drowned out by the thundering of his own heartbeat in his ears.

"Wow…" He breathed.

Through the angled pane of glass, Sam could see the entire floor of the O.R. down below. Nurses donned in pale blue scrubs and masks surrounded the table where the patient lay. The body was draped over in tarps, save for a carefully measured patch right smack in the center of his chest, which was currently cracked wide open, exposing the heart. Long lines of tubing were connected to the patients body to allow for oxygen and I.V., bright spotlights above illuminated the open chest cavity so nothing could be missed, massive machines monitoring heart rate and breathing beeped and flashed around him.

The environment was calm, quiet, and controlled, like a machine with every last conk and crane and wheel working harmoniously together to get the job done.

It was nothing like what Dean did.

And right there, in the very center of it all with his hands practically buried in the chest of his patient, was Dr. Gabriel Wesson.

Sam had never seen him in person. Just the occasional photo online and in the Journals he had stashed in his locker. He was a hell of a lot shorter than he imagined, and his face was mostly hidden away by a surgical mask and cap, and a pair of glasses with attacked magnifiers which allowed him to work with as much precise accuracy as possible. He caught a bit of caramel blonde hair sticking out from beneath his cap, lush and wavy and falling down the back of his neck.

Sam only snapped out of his star-struck daze when he caught Adam's snickers behind him.

"Jeez, don't fog up the glass, Winchester," he smirked. "Unless you're planning to draw a heart in the condensation."

Sam shot him a fierce glare, but turned away before he could give that jackass the satisfaction of noticing the blush heating up his cheeks. He rested his elbows on his knees and sat at the very edge of his seat, taking note of every last move Dr. Wesson made.

Almost as if he knew he was being watched so intently, Dr. Wesson's focus shifted briefly from the patient and up to the observation booth full of interns. Even from this distance, Sam felt their eyes lock onto each other, and the stare held.

He just about had a heart attack of his very own right then and there.

"They're waiting for you outside, Dr. Wesson."

Gabriel glanced over his shoulder at the tiny blonde nurse standing in the doorway of the O.R., her wide green eyes slightly creased at the corners from the bright grin she was no doubt sporting beneath her surgical mask. He smiled in return as he tore off the blood-soaked scrubs he had on over his suit, balled them up, and stuffed them into the nearest metal disposal bin.

"I'll be right out, Becky. Thank you." He nodded, peeling off his latex gloves and pitching them in as well.

Once left alone, Gabriel went over to the sink and turned the tap, filling the basin with icy cold water. He rinsed the sweat off his hands, and then splashed his face twice, fingers running back through his hair as he released a heavy breath of air. It was time to meet with the very last group of interns, and Gabriel could not have been more thankful. He'd already given five tours since strolling into work this morning and, frankly, this year's batch of wide-eyed hopefuls weren't exactly impressing him.

Then again, his department was the final stop of the hospital tour, and his colleagues always enjoyed traumatizing the interns before sending them over to him. By the time they reached Cardiology, they were sore, exhausted, antsy, and downright nerve-wracked.

Poor suckers. Fresh Meat Day was only getting them warmed up for the sweet circle of hell that was going to be their first year of internship.

Shutting off the water, Gabriel reached for his white coat and slipped it on, sighing contentedly at the comforting weight of it settled on his shoulders. He smoothed down the lapels and grabbed his stethoscope, which he then draped over the back of his neck. When he stuffed his hands into his pockets, he felt two things.

In one pocket, a grape lollipop he'd managed to swipe from Anna's stash, which he made quick work of unwrapping and popping into his mouth. In the other pocket, a crinkled up piece of paper he'd found pinned under his bike's tire when he'd gone out for a coffee break before surgery. It was a page from one of his Medical Journals; the very same Journals that Dean Winchester's charming little brother had dropped when Gabriel nearly ran his ass over earlier this morning.

The kid was in the final group of interns.

He'd probably want it back.

As he savoured the sticky sweetness of the grape lolly on his tongue, Gabriel flung open the doors of the O.R. and stepped out into the hallway, where Ellen was waiting with her group of interns. He took her hand in a firm shake when he reached her side, and took in each young face before him. As expected, they looked beaten down to the core.

He introduced himself, repeating the same blah, blah, blah's that he'd used on the five groups before them, explaining his field of work and all the things the Cardiology Department at Wayward Saints had to offer. He spoke about his patient, and about the surgery they had all just had the pleasure of witnessing. He made a thorough run-through of all the equipment he used, what kinds of cases usually came through the doors on a daily basis, and what his labs were currently working on in terms of clinical trials and research.

The exhausted expression of each face he gazed upon was something Gabriel was used to, but at least they had the decency to pay attention, and look at least somewhat interested in what he was yammering on about.

Except for one familiar face in the back, who towered above all the interns before him. Dean Winchester's brother had his binder open and was scribbling down every word that Gabriel had to say, soft hazel eyes tearing themselves from the paper to watch him in case he did anything remotely important. He looked just as worn down from his day as everyone else was, but there was a bounce to his step; an eagerness and excitement that was lost in the rest of the interns.

Huh. Admirable.

Once his speech was over and done with, and his lollipop had been worn down to nothing but a layer of sweetness over a paper stick, Gabriel rubbed his palms together.

"Now, I know that this is the part where you all get to ask any questions you may have about my department, but I think I want to do things a little differently today." He smirked around the stick in his mouth. "I'm going to ask you some questions."

The collective nervous gulp from the lot of them was downright hilarious.

"You have been handed over a newborn patient that had been diagnosed with Ectopia Cordis." He stated. "Does anyone know what that means?"

"He was born with a congenital heart malformation where his heart has grown either partially or completely outside of his body." A lovely young blonde answered.

"Good." Gabriel nodded. "You were handed over this patient, and he needs to get into surgery, or he risks dying within hours. The mortality rate of this condition is extremely high, and only on the rare occasion does a child born with it actually survive. What would you do to make sure this child is one of the lucky who make it?"

There was a long moment of silence, and then…

"I would place the heart back into the body." Dean's little brother chimed in.

Gabriel looked at him with a frown. "That's it?"

"I would have to take in the extent of the cardiac displacement beforehand." The kid said. "Evaluate any presence or absence of intercardiac defects, and then go from there. The heart would have to be disconnected from the aortic artery in order to be placed back into the chest cavity, and then reattached, perhaps with the help of a Coronary Artery Bypass Graft surgery, where we'd use an artery from his leg to replace any damage the aorta would have taken. We'd then create a skin flap using a graft from the child's back and use it to close him up."

Gabriel stood in silent disbelief for only God-knew-how-long, before Ellen nudged his side, forcing him to say something.

"What's your name, kiddo?"

The boy straightened, large hands curled tightly around the binder he held. "U-um… Sam Winchester, sir."

Gabriel smiled. "You got chops, Winchester. Very good."

The beaming smile that lit up Sam's face right then could have put the damn sun to shame.

"I'm afraid we have to end here, Dr. Wesson," Ellen smiled. "My interns need to get started on their first shift in the clinic."

"Fun stuff." Gabriel clasped hands with her in farewell as the interns applauded. "Thank you guys for coming to see me, and good luck on your first shift at the clinic. Drink loads of coffee."

Ellen clapped her hands together to bring the attention of her interns to her. "Alright! You all get one hour for lunch in the cafeteria starting now, and then we'll meet up in the clinic at two o'clock sharp. The nurses and I will have your orders ready for you."

Gabriel watched as the group of interns dispersed and made way for the cafeteria, and he was just about to head for his own office when the crinkle of paper in his pocket alerted him.

"Winchester!" He called out, bringing Sam's attention to him. "C'mere a sec."

Sam muttered something to two other interns, and then jogged over. Well, not so much jog as take long strides with those ridiculous legs of his. Christ, up close the kid was a good foot taller than he was, with broad linebacker shoulders and a mop of soft chocolate hair that framed a handsome face. His jaw was strong, angular, and he could practically count the flecks of green and gold in those almond-shaped hazel eyes of his.

Damn it, the kid was a gorgeous thing to look at.

"Y-yes, Dr. Wesson?" Sam visibly swallowed.

Gabriel reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper, which he then held out to Sam. "I believe this is yours. You forgot it in the parking lot this morning. It was trapped under the wheel of my bike."

It took Sam a second after looking at the paper before the realization hit him like a pillowcase full of bricks across the skull. His eyes went as wide as dinner plates. "You…" he stammered. "Y-you were the…"

"The asshat." Gabriel grinned brightly.

The manner in which the colour drained right out of Sam's face reminded Gabriel of a damn Looney Tunes cartoon.

"Enjoy your lunch." Gabriel clapped him on the arm. "Be seeing you, kiddo."

He turned away without another word and strolled down the hall toward his office, but risked one last glance over his shoulder at Sam, who was caught between staring at the crumpled up Medical Journal that Gabriel had handed him, and trying to keep himself from passing out.

He had a bright mind, that kid.

Gabriel was going to have fun with him.