A/N: Sorry for the missed update yesterday. I've been horribly sick all weekend. Today's the first time I've been able to sit up for any stretch of time. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Sorry I also missed thanking you by PM.

Chapter 7

Sam didn't find any references on demon blood being used on angels, and it wasn't long before staring at the computer screen made his vision blur and his head start drooping forward. He must have nodded off at one point, because the next time he woke up, his laptop was gone and the blankets were pulled higher up on his chest.

His foot was killing him, yet exhaustion was stronger, and he slipped under once more. He managed to sleep off and on for almost twelve hours before the nightmares started to rear their ugly heads, and at that point he decided he wasn't going to continue staying in bed like this. So he extricated himself from the sheets and hobbled his way next door to where Cas was.

There was an empty chair by the bed and a bowl of water with a soaked washcloth sitting in it, evidence of Dean's divided vigil between the two of them. Sam limped across the room and plopped heavily in the chair. To his disappointment and concern, Cas didn't look much different than yesterday—pale and shivering in the throes of fever. But he was still holding on, just like he always did.

Sam reached for the wet cloth and wrung it out, then leaned forward to place it over Cas's sweat-beaded brow. Cas moaned and leaned into the touch.

"We're right here, buddy," Sam said softly. "Just keep fighting."

Dean came in a short while later. "Should you be out of bed?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "My foot's messed up, not the rest of me."

"Yeah, well, you had a really rough time of it recently."

Sam's gaze roved over his brother's darkening bruises, the echo of iron striking flesh sounding in his ears. "We all did."

Dean's eyes slid to Cas. "Yeah."

Sam fell silent for a moment before asking, "Is the fever from the demon blood or the gunshot wound?"

"Hell if I know," Dean replied. He ran a hand down his jaw. "I don't know what else to do for him."

Sam didn't either, and it settled heavily on his shoulders. He removed the cloth, now warm, and soaked it in the cooler water before folding it over and replacing it on Cas's forehead.

"Should probably change your bandage," Dean spoke up.

Sam's stomach turned at the thought, but he knew it was necessary. "Yeah."

But he wasn't planning on leaving Cas's side, so he simply lifted his leg up to prop it on the foot of the bed. Dean went to retrieve the bandages and salve he'd left in Sam's room earlier.

Sam clenched his jaw so hard through the process that his teeth started to hurt. He inhaled sharply and shallowly through his nose, trying to ride out the pain that made his gorge want to rise.

"Easy," Dean said over and over in a steady mantra. At least he didn't make a harsh sound or hesitate in his ministrations, suggesting that the burn wasn't festering or becoming infected.

When he finally finished wrapping it again, Sam slumped in the chair and didn't want to move.

"Need help getting back to your room?" Dean asked.

He shook his head, and forced himself to sit up a little straighter. "I'm gonna sit with Cas for a bit."

Dean nodded. "Need anything?"

"Water?" He knew he shouldn't let himself get dehydrated.

"Coming right up."

Sam slid his attention back to Cas, praying his friend would pull through.

He sat by Cas's bedside for an hour, going through the motions of rewetting the cloth and laying it across Cas's brow to help leech out some of the heat from the fever. Except no matter how many times he did it, it didn't seem to help. Dean even brought in ice wrapped in a towel and attempted to place it under Cas's neck, but the angel started squirming in discomfort and trying to get away, so they abandoned that plan and stuck to milder, tepid water.

Sam yawned so widely his jaw cracked, and he gave himself a small shake.

"Sam, go back to bed," Dean chided.

He shook his head. "I'm fine."

"Dude, you're about to fall over."

"I'll sleep here, then."

Dean heaved out an exasperated sigh. "Sammy…"

"I don't- I need to see someone when I wake up," he said, voice hitching and face flushing hot with the admission. "You need to look after Cas anyway, and I need to see that you're both still…"

Dean didn't say anything for a long moment, and Sam avoided looking at him.

"Yeah, alright," Dean finally murmured. "I'll get your pillow and another blanket."

Sam swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Thanks."

Dean paused before leaving, and reached out to squeeze his shoulder. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. Neither is Cas. He's too stubborn for that."

Sam gave a jerky nod. He knew that. But he also needed the reminder if he happened to fall asleep and the visions from those hallucinations in the cellar tried to convince him otherwise…

And sure enough, when he started awake sometime later, the first thing he saw was Dean sitting on the edge of the other side of the bed, mopping Cas's brow. Sam felt a flicker of embarrassment that his brother had probably noticed he was having a nightmare, but Dean mercifully didn't comment on it. It wasn't like nightmares wasn't a familiar past time for them both.

Movement in his peripheral vision had Sam turning his head to find Mom standing in the doorway with a breakfast tray in her hands.

"Hey," she said. "I brought you both some soup."

Sam straightened a little in the chair. "Thanks."

She brought the tray in and set it on the desk, then handed him a bowl of steaming tomato rice soup. He stared at it for a moment, remembering how Dean had always made this for him when he was sick. Because Mom had made it. And now she was here, making it again.

Sam lifted his gaze to take her in as she brought a bowl over to Dean, telling him he needed to eat, too. She was just as beat up as the lot of them, but that only made her look more real, more tangible. It still blew his mind.

"Sam," she said. "You keep looking at me like I'm going to explode."

He chuffed out an abashed chuckle. "I'm sorry."

She just smiled at him. "You guys are probably going to get tired of soup soon. I would cook something else, but I, uh…don't. I can go get some take-out to keep in the fridge."

Dean furrowed his brow in confusion. "Well, wait. Your meat loaf was amazing."

"Came from the Piggly Wiggly," she replied. "Sorry to burst your bubble."

Dean briefly looked like a kid who'd just found out Santa Claus wasn't real, but he shrugged it off. "Yeah, alright. I can make a supply run."

"Or I can," Mom said pointedly. "I just need some, um, cash."

Dean opened his mouth to lay out more protests, but Mom bowled over him.

"And I was driving the Impala long before you were," she said, crossing her arms and fixing Dean with a maternal look.

Sam had to duck his gaze to keep from laughing.

Dean's mouth moved soundlessly for a moment. "Right. Uh, okay." He stood up to fish the keys and some cash from his pockets. "Uh, you just take the road straight into town—"

"Dean, I paid attention when we were driving in and out the first time." She took the keys and money, then hesitated, glancing at Cas. "I don't suppose Tylenol would be of much help, would it?"

"Not really," Sam answered regretfully, but he gave her a wan smile of gratitude for trying.

Mom nodded, and then left.

Sam took a spoonful of hot soup, and then furrowed his brow. "Does it taste different?"

Dean took a mouthful, and closed his eyes in a brief moment of bliss. "Mom's always tastes the best."

Sam snorted at the cliche he'd heard often enough. He'd just never had a chance to see for himself before now.

They ate in silence for several minutes before Dean spoke again.

"It's, uh, a little weird. Having her here. Not that I'm not thrilled," he hastily added. "I just…I don't really know what to say to her."

"It's weird for me, too," Sam said. "But that's pretty much standard for our lives."

Dean huffed out a sound of agreement.

"And who would have ever thought we'd get something as good as this?" Sam went on.

Dean shook his head. "Never."

Sam paused for a moment. "It's probably weird for her, too."

Dean nodded silently.

Cas let out a low moan then, drawing their attention back to him. Dean set his bowl of soup aside and laid the back of his hand on Cas's forehead. His brows pinched in concentration, and then he reached for the thermometer on the nightstand to stick in Cas's mouth.

Sam waited, slowly sipping at his soup.

When Dean finally withdrew the thermometer and looked at it, his shoulders slumped a fraction in obvious release. "Fever's coming down."

Sam let out a breath of relief. Maybe, finally, they were all out of the woods.

That night, Sam pulled himself from Cas's bedside and shuffled his way toward Mom's room. Aside from bringing them soup, she'd more or less been making herself scarce, at least when Sam was awake, though he got the impression from Dean that it was the same with him.

He paused outside her door to knock.

"Yes?" came the surprised response.

Sam opened the door, keeping his hand on the knob for support. Mom was sitting at the desk in a robe, her long blonde hair cascading down her back. "Hey," he said nervously.

"Hi."

"Sorry, I hope I didn't wake you up," he gushed, unable to keep a goofy smile off his face because he was talking to his mom.

She gave him a warm smile. "Should you be walking around on that foot?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm mostly staying off of it. Uh, I just wanted to say…if you ever want to talk, I know what it's like to come back and not feel like you…really fit."

Mom's expression flickered with something hesitant for a split second. "I just have so much about you boys to catch up on."

He nodded in understanding.

"Mother stuff," she went on, getting to her feet. "You know, first tooth, first crush."

Oh. Sam looked away, realizing she meant all the…mundane stuff. Normal stuff. Which, they hadn't exactly lived very much. "Yeah."

She leaned back against the desk, expression sad. "I just have a lot of blanks to fill in."

Sam nodded jerkily again, remembering the book he'd retrieved on his way over. "Right, uh…" He let go of the door so he could grab the leather-bound book from under his other arm and hand it to her. He knew it wasn't filled with happy memories, but it was the truth.

"Dad's journal," he said.

Her eyes widened as she took it.

"His writing, his words. Helped me fill in some blanks, answer some questions I didn't know I had." He took a breath. "And, you know, it- it- it keeps him with us. Sort of." He grimaced at his poor attempt to comfort his mom. Dad had been gone a long time to them, but Sam knew her loss was current.

Mom looked back up at him, a genuine smile on her face. "Thank you," she said sincerely.

Sam nodded, relieved. He started to turn to leave. "Good night."

Mom stood up, gazing at him in bemusement. "Dean said you got out of hunting," she said carefully, tone laced with confusion.

Sam paused, equally perplexed by the turn of topic. "Yeah."

"And yet here you are."

He frowned, remembering that Mom never wanted this life for them. But… He lifted his shoulders. "Well, this is my family. My family hunts, you know? It's what we do."

And he didn't just mean Mom and Dad. He and Dean and Cas, they saved people. Saved the world.

Mom slowly nodded, but there was pain in her eyes as she looked away.

Sam hadn't meant to hurt her, and he didn't want to leave things off on a bad note. "Mom," he said, voice rising an octave as emotion swelled his throat and wet his eyes. "For me…just, um… Having you here…" He swallowed hard, trying his best to keep a hold of his voice. "Fills in the biggest blank," he finally finished.

Her eyes widened, and then she was stepping forward to carefully embrace him. Sam's breath exhaled sharply at the tangible feel of her arms around him, so solid, so real, and he closed his eyes to drink it in.

Yeah, his family hunts. And his family comes back from the dead.

And his family beats all the odds.

Cas's fever continued to come down, and two days later it finally broke. Sam was back in the chair by his bed when Cas started to shift with the beginnings of wakefulness, his brows knitting together as consciousness returned. Sam leaned forward and touched his arm.

"Hey."

Cas sluggishly dragged his eyelids open, and then turned his head. "Sam," he croaked.

Sam couldn't hold back a giddy smile. "How are you feeling?"

Cas groaned and closed his eyes. "Utterly wrecked." He let out a wheezing breath and opened them again. "But alive."

Sam's grin widened, because Cas had pulled through, and that was all that mattered. But then it faltered as he asked his next question. "How's your grace?"

Cas sighed. "Weakened. I will recover, but it will take some time. I'm sorry, Sam, I'm still not strong enough to heal you, and probably won't be for a while."

"That's not why I was asking," Sam said pointedly. The fact that Cas kept defaulting to that meant there was an issue they'd have to address sooner rather than later. But at the moment, there were some other, more pressing things.

"Um, how about your wings? How are they doing?"

Cas blinked at him blankly. "I don't understand the question. My wings aren't functional. They haven't been since the Fall. You know that."

Sam bit his lip. If he could have spared Cas knowing what Toni did to him, he would have, since it seemed Cas had been too drugged up to feel it. But it wasn't just the feathers Toni ripped out that was concerning Sam.

"Toni…she had a spell that let her…" He swallowed. "Touch your wings. And she…ripped out some feathers."

Cas stared at him in dismay.

"They don't hurt?" Sam pressed.

Cas's expression flickered as though he were turning his attention inward to find out, and then that familiar stoic mask was falling into place, though he avoided Sam's gaze. "Everything hurts," he admitted. "But…I can't feel my wings at the moment anyway."

Sam nodded slowly, processing that. "Dean and I made sure to grab all the feathers on our way out," he thought to add. "That bitch didn't get any of them."

Cas blinked. "Oh. Um, thank you."

Sam took another breath. "Cas…I saw her do it, and… Your wings looked broken," he let out bluntly.

Cas's jaw ticked, and he looked away again.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"All the angels' wings look like that," he said, voice hoarse. "There wasn't anything to be done about it."

Sam shook his head, frustration mounting. "Three years, man. You didn't think we'd want to know? You're our friend, our family."

"There were more pressing matters," Cas mumbled. "Dean had the Mark, and then there was the Darkness—"

"I wish you'd stop sacrificing yourself for us," Sam blurted.

Cas started, eyes wide. "I know Lucifer was a mistake. I'm sorry—"

"I'm not talking about that," Sam interrupted. "Or, I am, but not because it was a mistake. I'm talking about you not caring if you live or die. By saying yes to Lucifer. Or when your grace was burning out."

Sam closed his eyes against a swell of self-recriminating grief, because he'd failed Cas on that one, too. Had ignored when Cas was dying from his stolen grace because Dean was missing and Sam's sole focus had been on finding his brother. And of course Cas wouldn't bother to help himself in that situation.

Sam shook his head. "You always put us before yourself, even when you shouldn't."

"It's my job to look after you."

"We're your friends, not your occupation."

Cas blinked, and then ducked his eyes again. "You're right. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. Sam, you and Dean are my family. All I want is for you to be safe."

"That's a three-way street, Cas. We want the same for you."

They fell silent, neither one of them quite able to look the other in the eye.

Sam cleared his throat. "This is gonna sound awful, but…I'm glad you were there with me, in that cellar. Not that you got shot and poisoned and almost died, but…" He sucked in a shaky breath. "We thought Dean was dead, and you were all I had left. I'm not sure I would have been able to hold on if I'd been alone."

Cas's gaze was solemn and filled with understanding. "It was the same for me, Sam. I- I would have given up if I didn't have a reason to keep fighting. If you weren't that reason."

A spiky lump settled in Sam's throat, and he had to take a moment to breathe as his eyes grew wet. They were home. It was over. They'd found something to cling to in that hellhole and had endured because of it.

Sam reached out to clasp the angel's hand. "Thanks. For holding on."

Cas squeezed back.

A/N: And that's it for this story! The plan is to start posting my next one Friday, as long as I don't have any major setbacks.