Happy Monday! 52 days until S14! :D

Here's my second hiatus filler. Thanks SO much for all the notes on "My Freedom." I appreciated them and am glad you enjoyed that story. Hope you enjoy this one, too!

30,240

Thursday evening, Bunker

30,240.

It had been 30,240 minutes since Michael had taken Dean.

30,240 minutes.

Three weeks.

Sam stared at his watch.

For 30,240 minutes he'd been working with Cas and Bobby and Jack and Mary. Working every day to come up with a plan. To try to locate Dean. To try to figure out what the hell they were going to do when they did find him. Three weeks of searching. Of dead ends and leads that went nowhere. Three weeks of waning hope and rising frustration.

They'd just returned from another fruitless attempt. It had been a long, hard day and tensions were high. Someone slammed the trunk of one of the vehicles and the second hand on Sam's watch moved.

30,241.

He sighed, leaning down to grab the gear out of the trunk of his Charger. A glance around revealed that everyone else in the Bunker's garage looked as exhausted as he felt. They were unpacking their gear slowly, conversations muted.

It was almost eight. Still early at the rate they'd been going. Most nights no one went to bed before midnight and it was beginning to wear on them all.

He closed the Charger's trunk then rubbed his aching head. The headaches were getting worse every day despite the painkillers he was eating like candy. He squeezed his eyes closed, then opened them again. The room was a bit blurry. Seeing an eye doctor might not be a bad idea at this point, but he didn't have time for that.

Didn't really have time to sleep, either, which also might have helped.

Time.

30,242 minutes.

There was never enough time and yet all he had was time. They were no closer to a solution than they had been the very first day. 30,242 minutes spent trying and failing. People were getting frustrated and wondering if there weren't more important things they needed to be doing. The pressure was crushing him and sometimes he wondered if he was the only one who even still cared if they got Dean back alive.

He looked around again. Everyone had gone inside the Bunker except his mother and Cas. They were waiting for him by the door. She looked tense, but Cas had a patient, understanding expression on his face.

"Sam?" his mom called out.

He should answer her. Should go inside.

"We need to get our heads back in the game," his mom said, her tone like steel. "We just wasted an entire day -"

"Wasted?" Sam asked, incredulous.

"You know what I mean."

"No, Mom, I really don't." His pulse was thundering, pounding against his skull and he couldn't think.

She sighed, started to come closer.

Sam glanced at his watch again.

30,243 minutes.

It had been 30,243 minutes and he just couldn't do this. Not for even one more minute.

Sam shook his head and turned away. He heard his mom and Cas talking. Someone left the garage.

"Sam?"

It was Cas which meant his mom must have been the one to walk away. Go figure.

"What do you need?" Cas asked softly.

"I need…" He couldn't finish the statement.

I just need my brother.

Sam spared his friend a quick glance before shouldering his bag and walking back toward his Charger. He couldn't stand the sight of the Impala. Couldn't think of driving it. Not now. Not while Dean was missing.

"Sam…" Cas tried again.

"Don't follow me," he said, without looking back.

Castiel watched Sam leave, his heart aching.

He understood the need to take a break, the need to escape. The desire to walk away from everything for awhile. They'd been working for three weeks now and with nothing to show for their efforts. He readily understood Sam's frustration.

He readily understood his pain.

The pain of losing his brother.

This wasn't the first time they'd lost Dean, but this time was worse somehow. Castiel shook his head. Worse than Dean taking on a soul-bomb, ready to sacrifice himself to save the world? Was this really worse? Being taken over by an angel, was that really worse than becoming a demon? But how could things like this be quantified?

"They cannot," he whispered to the empty garage.

Silence responded in agreement, No, they cannot.

Shaking his head, Cas took a deep breath and went into the Bunker. He would give Sam his space. He owed him that at the least. Owed him so much more, and he'd repay his debt however he could. Walking through the quiet halls of the Bunker, his steps were heavy and slow. The pain of what had happened three weeks ago weighed heavily on him.

He'd been completely powerless. Or at least powerless enough to not have made a bit of difference in the fight. The massive surge of archangel power that Michael had used against him had done more than merely throw him across the room. It had depleted his grace in a way he'd never experienced before.

His grace had been stolen and drained and tortured and mutilated before but it had never attempted to stand up against archangel grace. It was humbling and terrifying to realize how truly weak he was. Terrifying to know that Michael could have so easily destroyed him to the very last atom. Could have destroyed all of them. Castiel could only assume he'd allowed them to live because he had some purpose for them; some agenda he had not, as Dean would say, shared with the class.

Sick, heavy dread settled in the pit of his stomach and the very human urge to vomit swept over him. Pausing, he put a hand against the wall and pressed his other hand against his mouth. Swallowing back the nausea, Castiel closed his eyes for a moment and attempted to regain his focus and his self-control.

His thoughts turned to Mary. She'd wanted to keep talking to Sam, but he'd held her back, sensing the rising tension between mother and son. She thought she understood, but she had never been present at a time like this. She had no idea what losing Dean was doing to Sam.

Castiel himself didn't fully comprehend, either; wasn't sure anyone could ever comprehend. But he'd stood by the Winchester brothers for nearly a decade and she'd been dead three times that long.

You are being uncharitable, he thought to himself. She is their mother.

Even so, he'd observed enough to know there were issues between Mary and her sons. He didn't pry. It wasn't any of his business. But he knew Mary was a conflicted person. A person out of time. He tried to understand her struggles but would never understand the way she continually distanced herself rather than even attempting to draw closer.

Shaking his head again to dispel the negative thoughts, he turned a corner and found himself face to face with Mary Winchester. Jack was at her side.

"Castiel? Where's my son?"

"He needs some time," he answered. Glancing from Mary to Jack, he added, "When he is ready, Sam will return. Until then, we will continue working to find a solution. Working to find Dean."

Mary stared at him for a long moment and he might have been incorrect, but he sensed some hostility directed his way. The moment passed and Mary nodded. Surrendering.

"I'll go make coffee," she said, turning away.

"Castiel?" Jack asked, his young eyes fearful. "Did I-"

"You have done nothing wrong."

"But-"

"No." Castiel shook his head.

He walked over to Jack's side and placed a calming hand on his shoulder. The boy had once been the most powerful being he'd ever been near, and yet he was so young. So in need of guidance, support. So in need of love.

Castiel smiled at him and repeated, "You have done nothing wrong, Jack. What happened to Dean was Dean's choice and not your fault or Sam's."

In the past three weeks he'd had more than one occasion to remind Jack and Sam of that fact. The same guilt coursed through his veins but somehow it was easier to console the others and reassure them it wasn't their fault than it was to convince himself of the same thing. After all, it hadn't been Sam or Jack who had stood there worthlessly while Dean had said yes to Michael.

The guilt and bitterness boiled through his veins; a searing pain that was completely inconsequential compared to the pain he knew Dean was enduring.

"Castiel?"

He blinked, forcing his attention back to the present.

Jack frowned and asked, "Are you...how are you doing?"

"I…"

He couldn't finish the statement. Did he have any right to finish his statement? Any right to potentially elicit even the slightest measure of sympathy or absolution?

"Castiel?" Jack interrupted his thoughts yet again, sounding so young and so lost.

"Yes?"

"Will they be alright?"

Studying him, Castiel tried to determine the best response. If it were Sam answering, he'd have a tactful, honest, but comforting response. If it were Dean, he would be less tactful, no less honest, and likely use colorful phrases. Neither of them were here, though, which left him the responsibility of trying to answer honestly without giving false hope.

Because Castiel didn't even have false hope at this moment, let alone true hope.

"I do not know."

There. Simple was best. Simple and honest.

Jack's frown deepened. He tilted his head and asked, "So they will not be alright?"

"I did not say that." Casiel sighed, running a hand over his face. "I said I do not know."

"What should we do?"

"Continue working, as we have been, to find a solution."

"And get Dean back."

"And get Dean back," he echoed.

Jack nodded, not looking any less distressed.

"You should rest," Castiel said.

They all needed rest; angelic being or not, even he was tired.

"Are you going to find Sam now?" Jack asked, rooted to the spot.

Castiel shook his head. "Not right now. He needs time."

"How much time?"

"I do not know."

"When will you go find him?"

"When he is ready to be found."

Jack didn't look happy about the answer, but he hadn't looked happy since he and Sam had gotten back to the Bunker after Dean had been taken so Castiel didn't take it personally. After a silent moment, Jack walked away. He paused in the doorway and turned around.

"When you do go to find him, I would like to come with you," he said softly.

"I would appreciate your company." Castiel smiled slightly.

Jack nodded, then left the room.

Sighing, Castiel walked to the kitchen and poured himself a drink.

It wouldn't help.

But it might not hurt.

Thursday night - Friday

Sam drove the rest of the night.

He had to stop for gas and should have found a motel right then, but kept going. He drove until the sun was just beginning to rise and he drifted off the road for the third time in as many minutes.

Finding a cheap, out of the way motel, he paid for a room then parked the Charger. He had no idea where he was. Didn't care. Just grabbed his gear and the booze he'd picked up at his stop for gas, and stumbled into the room.

Pulling the door closed, he dropped everything on the floor. Sam flipped the lock on the door but it was jammed. It took him three attempts to get the device to lock. Once the door was finally secure, he crossed the room and dropped onto the bed.

Sheer exhaustion swept him into sleep in seconds.

Dreams and memories haunted him, though, and nightmares jolted him into screaming awareness more than once. In between the nightmares, he drank.

At some point, he began to register how much his body hurt and how badly his head was pounding. The strong painkillers were kicking around in the bottom of his bag and, after a trip to the bathroom, he took a couple. Not the best plan given that he honestly wasn't sure how much alcohol he'd drank over the past however many hours, but everything hurt and he just wanted it to stop.

The next time he woke up the room was as dark as his dreams continued to be. Disoriented, he stared at the other bed and tried to remember where Dean had gone. Reality hit him like a punch. He stumbled out of bed and crashed to his knees in front of the toilet a moment before his stomach turned itself inside out. The heaving turned into sobs and continued long after his body had emptied itself.

By the time he stumbled back to bed, his mind had cleared enough for him to realize he wasn't making very good decisions.

What he was doing was making the same bad decisions he'd made every other time he'd lost his brother. Decisions fueled by alcohol and regret. He'd done this in the weeks after the hellhounds had torn Dean to shreds. He'd done it after Dean and Cas had disappeared in a splat of Dick Roman. He'd done it, to a lesser degree, in the weeks he'd searched for Dean not knowing he was a demon.

He was being an idiot.

He'd lasted three weeks this time. Three weeks of complete focus. Three weeks of forced optimism for everyone else's sake while the despair leached the hope from his heart. He shouldn't have walked out. They were all relying on him and, for once, he'd had people he could rely on, too.

With that thought, Sam checked his phone.

Thirteen missed calls and ten messages. Cas. Mary. Jody, even. And one from the American Red Cross. Sam almost laughed. Like they'd want his blood if they knew what it had been tainted with all those years ago.

There were dozens of texts. He didn't read them. Honestly couldn't see well enough to even try and he wasn't sure he cared. He set the phone aside and closed his eyes.

He didn't sleep, but the vivid memories of what had happened in the church played over and over and over in his mind. When he wasn't reliving the moment Michael had shoved his brother into the dark reaches of his own mind, he was imagining what Dean was going through. Except it was less like imagining and more like remembering.

Because he knew all too well what it was like to be possessed.

Knew what it was like to lose every bit of oneself to another entity. To have everything stripped away. Stolen. To be a prisoner.

He'd been a prisoner from the moment Azazel stepped into the nursery when he'd been just a baby. He'd been a prisoner too many times and to too many people. He'd been a prisoner his entire life and his freedom had finally been won for him by his brother but at a high cost. They'd had mere seconds to absorb the victory before it had turned to ash.

Sam got out of bed and opened a new bottle of whiskey.

Sitting on the floor, staring at a blank wall, he drank until the memories were washed away.

He drank until he passed out.

Saturday morning, motel

When Sam woke up, the sun was blinding and even the slightest movement of his head resulted in a hundred jagged splinters of pain.

Time ceased to exist.

At some point, he looked at his phone again and a dim part of his brain registered the fact he had even more missed calls and messages. He still couldn't focus well enough to read any of the texts. The caller IDs were blurring now, too, but honestly he didn't care.

There were so many people out there willing to support him and trying to help him fight, and yet there was no one. No one who could possibly fill the void Dean had left. No one who could make him feel any less alone. Because Dean was gone and, without his brother, Sam wasn't even sure why he was still existing.

All he truly had left were the memories and the guilt and the helplessness. Just him, failing yet again, to save his brother. He should get up and eat something and pull himself back together and get back to work. He'd done it before and he needed to do it now.

But he couldn't.

Maybe tomorrow he could, but right now, he couldn't.

Saturday morning, Bunker

"I am coming with you." Mary's voice was just one degree reserved from a shout.

Castiel shook his head.

"He's my son!"

It was true, of course. But it didn't mean she was coming with him to find Sam. Castiel wished he could have snuck away before he found himself in this predicament. Never before had he known what it was like go up against a determined mother trying to protect their child.

Except, he realized, he did know what it was like.

The thought alone left him confident that this was less of a problem than he'd feared. Because Mary Winchester's motherly instincts couldn't hold a candle to Dean Winchester's. She might be the mother and she did have a legitimate claim to worry about her son, but no matter how hard she tried, no one ever had or ever would worry more about Sam then his brother did.

Castiel had a fleeting image of Dean - a prisoner in his own body - still worrying himself sick over his brother. It almost made him smile. But it didn't. Because Dean had been gone for three weeks and Sam had been gone for an entire day without any contact.

"Are you listening to me?" Mary asked, taking a step closer, her eyes blazing.

"I am listening," he acknowledged. "And I am sorry. I understand you are worried. As soon as we find Sam, I will let you know."

Mary's jaw dropped and Castiel was relieved they were having this discussion without Jack around. He didn't need to be a part of this drama.

"So you're going to take Jack with you and leave me here?" Mary asked, shaking her head. "I don't understand-"

"That is correct."

"Excuse me?"

"You do not understand."

Castiel searched for words to explain what couldn't be explained. How could he tell her that she wasn't the person Sam would want - need - right now? How could he hope to make her see that she couldn't possibly understand what he knew Sam was going through? She thought she knew loss. She did know loss, that was true. But she hadn't borne witness, as he had, to the past ten years of the Winchester brother's lives.

She didn't understand what loss meant to them or how deeply they felt it when they were separated from each other.

He did.

Which was why he was telling their mother that she was not accompanying him and Jack. He knew without a doubt that Sam would not want her to find him. Had he only been gone for a few hours, it would be different. But over a day had passed and Castiel knew without a doubt that Sam was not doing well.

Shaking his head and trying to be kind, he said, "Mary, I know this is difficult. When we return, I am certain Sam will be eager to see you."

"But you don't think he'll be eager to see me right now?" There was a degree of understanding creeping into her voice now.

He remained silent.

Mary sighed and nodded. She held his gaze and said somberly, "You will let me know when you find him."

"I will."

"Both of my sons are missing, Castiel." Her eyes were bright with regret and unshed tears. "Please bring Sam home so we can find Dean."

"I will."

"Thank you."

She left the room and he headed in the opposite direction.

He found Jack standing just outside the Bunker, his face tilted toward the sky.

"Jack?"

"I don't sense him, Castiel." Jack looked at him, fear in his eyes. "How will we find him?"

"With patience. And with a great deal of knowledge I've gathered over the years working with Sam and Dean," Castiel said, then pulled his cell phone out of his coat pocket.

Jack leaned closer to peer at the phone.

"Find My Friends?" he asked, looking up with a quizzical expression on his face. "This is knowledge you have gathered?"

"Yes. It is."

Jack nodded, brightening a little as he asked, "And did you find our friend?"

Counting his blessings a dozen times over that Sam hadn't thought to disable the feature, Castiel said, "Yes. I have."

The smile that lit Jack's face was so bright it could have illuminated the darkest night sky. Castiel found himself unable to hold back a smile of his own.

"Can we go now?" Jack asked eagerly.

Castiel sobered. The next bit would be the most challenging. He'd been able to hold Mary back with relative ease. Jack would not prove to be so easy to restrain.

"Castiel?"

"Yes." He nodded, knowing the time had come to be completely honest. "Jack, we will go now together."

"Yes."

"But when we arrive, I will ascertain Sam's status. You will have to trust me if circumstances prevent you from seeing him right then."

Jack's smile faded and his frown was back. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that he may not be ready to see anyone."

Castiel hoped it wouldn't be the case, but feared what state his friend might be in when they arrived. For a long moment, they stared at each other. He could see the Nephilim sorting through all possible meanings of his statement. After another moment, Jack nodded.

"I understand." He squared his shoulders.

"Thank you, Jack." Castiel put his hand on Jack's shoulder and said, "We should go now."

Jack nodded again and asked, "How?"

Castiel couldn't help but smile at the innocent question. It was still unsettling to him anytime his powers were drained or low, so he could appreciate how Jack felt. He guided him down the driveway toward his truck. Sometimes he really missed his Lincoln Continental, but at least no one had mocked his choice of vehicle this time.

He couldn't help but smile a little remembering when Sam had called the car crappy. Maybe Castiel didn't have the same discerning tastes in cars that the Winchester brothers did, but he'd liked his car. It had been his first car.

"Where is Sam?" Jack asked once they were both settled in the truck.

"He is several hours drive from here," Castiel said, starting the engine.

Nodding, but remaining silent, Jack slouched in the seat.

As he drove, Castiel stole frequent glances at his companion.

Jack remained unwell. There had been improvement, of course, but not as much as any of them had hoped. The physical pain had faded, but the mental and emotional toll of everything was still weighing on him. He was exhausted and his sleep was filled with nightmares. He also remained powerless.

None of them were certain how - or if - Jack would ever fully recover from what Lucifer had done to him. Castiel knew Sam had been trying to do some research on angelic powers both for Jack's sake as well as for his. So far, the research had turned up nothing; much like their efforts to locate Dean.

His concern shifted to his friend, but Castiel forced himself to focus on the current situation. Worrying about Dean would accomplish nothing and he owed it to his missing friend to spend his time worrying about Sam. So he spent the next few hours on the road doing just that.

Worrying.

It was such a human thing to do, but sometimes he felt more human than angelic these days. He himself wasn't fully recovered from his encounter with Michael. Sam knew and had been making sure he at least made an attempt to sleep each night; not that any of them were sleeping well.

He glanced at Jack again. The Nephilim was leaning against the door, his head against the window as he stared blankly at the road ahead. He should never have agreed to bring Jack. Jack needed to be back in the Bunker, safe and resting. But he wouldn't be able to rest any more than Castiel had been able to rest.

Not with a second Winchester brother missing.

Sighing, he followed the GPS directions and made a left turn. He decided that once he'd found Sam, he would get a motel room for Jack. Perhaps he would be able to rest once he knew Sam was alright.

Hours passed and not a word was spoken for the entire drive, but Jack pushed himself upright as Castiel pulled into a motel driveway and parked the truck next to Sam's Charger.

"I will wait here," Jack said softly, staring at the motel room door.

"Very well."

Castiel held his gaze for a moment longer, then got out of the truck. He knocked on the door and waited. No response. Calling Sam's name and further knocking proved futile so he tried the door. It was locked, but no match for even his weakened powers. He pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

"Sam." His heart sank to the dingy carpet when he saw his friend sprawled across the bed.

Crossing the small space, he took in the disarray of the room and the discarded, empty bottles. The heavy stench of alcohol left him with no illusions as to what the past day had been like for his friend. He leaned down and placed his fingers to Sam's forehead long enough to assure himself he was not in imminent mortal danger.

With his depleted grace, it was more difficult than it should have been, but he did what he could to provide some healing. Ultimately Sam was still left in need of hydration and nutrition. Sighing, he rejoined Jack outside.

"Castiel?" Jack was out of the truck and met him halfway.

"He is sleeping," Castiel said without hesitation.

The fear vanished from Jack's eyes and he smiled. "He's alright!"

He is far from alright, Castiel thought to himself.

Aloud, he said, "He is alive but it has been a difficult time for him."

Jack nodded, glancing past him at the door and Castiel hoped it would not be hard to convince Jack to stay away for awhile. Because he knew without a doubt that Sam would not want anyone to discover he had been drowning himself in a bottle since leaving the Bunker.

"I should wait to see him," Jack said slowly, his frown deepening. "He is not well."

Wondering how much Jack was sensing, Castiel said, "I believe it would be best, yes."

"You will stay with him?"

"I will." Castiel smiled and put his hand on Jack's shoulder. "And you will get some rest."

Jack frowned up at him in confusion.

"I am going to get you a room of your own," Castiel explained. "Once Sam is feeling better, I'm sure he will be happy to see you."

Jack brightened at the thought. He waited patiently beside the truck while Castiel went to the office and paid for another room. On his way back from the office, he called Mary and updated her. She was relieved and did not seem angry with him. He assured her Sam would call her later while withholding the details of his condition. She accepted the assurance without further questioning and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but finished the call and returned his attention to the situation before him.

Once Jack was settled in the second room, Castiel returned to the other.

Saturday afternoon, motel

Sam knew someone was in the room before he was even fully awake. It should have sent his fight or flight reflexes into overdrive, but it didn't. Even so, the knowledge he wasn't alone was disturbing enough to pull him from the depths of sleep.

Eyes still closed, he shifted slightly and just had a feeling.

"Cas?"

Was that really his voice? It sent a chill down his spine because he remembered his voice sounding like this in hell.

All the reasons he'd screamed himself hoarse in the Cage slammed into him in vivid technicolor and, for a moment, he was lost in the memories.

"I am here, Sam," the angel's soft, low voice drifted to him from somewhere across the room, breaking him out of his dark thoughts.

"Why?" Sam whispered.

Why are you here? Why couldn't you stay away? Why did Dean do it? Why didn't you stop him?

Why?

Why?

Why?

He wasn't even sure which unasked question he wanted Cas to answer.

"Because you are my friend."

Sam's eyes prickled with tears he didn't know he still possessed. It had taken three weeks to break him down and he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to get up again.

The room was silent except for the clock on the wall and Sam's uneven breaths. He wished he could find the words to tell Cas to leave. But he couldn't.

After a few minutes of attempting to pull himself together, Sam forced his eyes open and found himself staring at the empty second bed. He didn't remember when, but at some point he'd torn the bed apart. Pillows and bedding thrown to every corner of the room, the mattress half on the floor. A glaring reminder that he didn't need to pick out rooms with two beds anymore.

The tears were hot against his skin. He closed his eyes again and reminded himself Cas was in the room. A bolt of fear stabbed through his gut. Maybe Cas wasn't the only one here.

"Is anyone-"

"I am alone," Cas answered quickly.

Sam struggled to draw in a relieved breath against the pressure in his chest. Silence descended again and he began to feel again. He kind of wished he could go back to being numb.

Cas must have done something because he didn't feel like death. He had a bitch of a headache, though, and was vaguely nauseous. Lightheadedness was also an issue which was ridiculous because he was flat on the bed, but somehow the dizziness still seemed overwhelming.

Tightening his fingers around the sheet under him, Sam swallowed hard then asked, "What do you want?"

"To help you."

Sam closed his eyes and didn't try to disguise the bitterness as he said, "Get out."

"Sam…"

"Get out."

"No."

Frowning, Sam forced his eyes open again. He was surprised to find Cas had moved and was sitting on the edge of the box spring across from him.

He looked terrible.

Sam had seen him look terrible before, but was shocked all the same.

Angels weren't supposed to age yet the past three weeks had taken an obvious toll on Cas. Maybe it was the depleted grace, maybe he was just that tired, that troubled. Whatever it was, the pain in his eyes and defeated slump of his shoulders told Sam more than a hundred speeches ever would.

Cas was hurting as much as he was.

"Cas…" His mouth was dry and speaking was difficult. He cleared his throat and tried again, "Cas. I'm sorry."

"As am I." Cas smiled slightly.

He returned the smile, then pressed his hand to his head and groaned. He'd been an idiot. A selfish, stupid, idiot. Walked away and wasted so much time getting drunk and crying like a baby.

"Sam?"

"Hm?"

"It is acceptable that you stepped away."

"Hate when you do that," Sam mumbled, massaging his forehead.

"When I-"

"When you read my mind."

"I wasn't-"

"Cas."

"Yes, Sam?"

Sam lowered his hand. "Do me a favor?"

"Of course."

"Water?"

Cas moved away, then returned with a bottle of water. And a straw.

Sam raised an eyebrow.

Shrugging, Cas held the bottle for him.

It was just as well since the lightheadedness made Sam hesitant to move anything more than his eyeballs. He took a couple sips. Just enough to take some of the dryness from his mouth but not enough to hit his stomach like lead.

Clearing his throat, he said, "What time...uh...what day is it?"

"It is Saturday. Three fifty-six in the afternoon." Cas sat back down on what was left of the other bed as he answered the question.

Sam felt a touch of relief that he hadn't lost any more time.

Just three weeks and two days.

His eyes watered again, but Sam blinked back the emotion. He needed to get up. Needed to get back to work. Everyone was depending on him. Dean was depending on him.

"Jack?" he asked, a twist of fear running through him.

"He is well. He wished to accompany me and is resting."

"Mom?"

"She wanted to come. I requested she not."

Sam almost smiled at the thought of Cas standing his ground against Mary. "How'd she take that?"

"She was not pleased with me, but did accept my request."

"Thanks. Really," Sam said, holding the angel's gaze. "For not bringing...for not letting her...or anyone…"

Cas nodded.

Taking a deep breath, Sam started pushing himself upright. Everything went grey and fuzzy for a moment, then he slowly brought the room back into focus. Cas helped him lean back against the headboard. Handed him the bottle of water. Basically did anything he could to help. It almost made him feel guilty, but it didn't.

Because Cas was his friend and sometimes friends helped their stupid, hungover friends.

"You are very dehydrated," Cas was saying, taking the now empty water bottle away. He switched the straw to a second bottle and handed it to him. "You also need to eat."

Eating was about the last thing he was interested in doing, but considering he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten anything, he knew Cas was right.

"I should have purchased some items on my way here," Cas said, reaching for the notepad and pen on the nightstand. "I shall make a list."

Sam closed his eyes and listened to Cas mutter to himself. After a minute, he asked, "Cas?"

"Yes?"

"I could use some coffee. Black. And a lot of it."

"But-"

"I'll eat. Later. I need coffee."

He didn't need coffee as much as he needed to be alone again. But Cas was trying to help him. Trying to be a friend. Even so, he needed him to leave.

He peeled his eyes open again and looked around the room. It was a disgusting mess. Just like he was. Suddenly the only thing he needed was a shower. Making up his mind, he started moving.

Cas was at his side as soon as he'd moved his legs off the edge of the bed. Sam tried to push him away, but it was a good thing he hadn't succeeded. Cas was the only thing that kept him from pitching forward onto the grimy carpet.

After a moment, when the world stopped doing slow loops around him, Sam pushed him away again and this time managed not to fall over. Cas stepped back. Waiting.

Sam swallowed hard against the rising nausea. He was not going to throw up in front of Cas. It was not going to happen.

It happened.

Cas had clearly been perceptive enough to know it was coming because he'd had the wastebasket under Sam's mouth before Sam had even known he was going to vomit.

It wasn't as intense as the vomiting he'd done before, but somehow it felt worse. Perhaps it was the mortification of it all, or perhaps it was because the entire world seemed to be spinning off its axis. Groaning he tried to hold back the next round and failed at that, too. All the water he'd managed to drink came straight back up and no matter how hard he clenched his eyes shut, everything continued to spin even more out of control.

And then, in a rush of darkness, it all stopped.

Castiel eased Sam back against the mattress when he lost consciousness. Once he was safely flat on the mattress, Castiel summoned his reserves and performed another check of Sam's wellbeing.

He might have been able to completely heal him and return him to full strength in the past, but was ashamedly too weak to do so now. At least not all at once. He straightened and made his decision.

He would have to employ some human methods of healing to supplement his flagging powers.

Hating to leave the room, he knew he didn't have a choice. So he covered Sam with a blanket, and locked the room behind him.

Once that was accomplished, he stopped next door to check on Jack. Relieved to find him soundly sleeping, Castiel left a note on the nightstand explaining where he was going. Once he'd locked the door behind him, he hurried to his truck.

He drove to the nearest convenience store, mentally reviewing his list and trying to think of anything he might have forgotten. Several years ago, he'd read an article on hangover cures. Perhaps they would still be useful. He tried to recall the necessary items. One such item was a brightly colored fluid called Pedialyte. Castiel was dubious of anything with such an unnatural color, but it had featured on the list, so he would purchase it.

Inside the store, he grabbed a shopping basket. Rushing up and down the aisles, he hunted for the items on the list. He picked up spicy Ramen noodles because they had been recommended in the article. He selected some chicken noodle soup as well because he'd learned that was the correct soup for illnesses. How it worked, he'd never determined, but Dean had assured him it was the magic cure for any human ailment.

Pickle juice and something called kombucha left him frowning, but he added them to the basket as well.

The entire process took far longer than he would have preferred and he was forced to disregard the posted signs designating the speed limits as he drove back.

Once back at the motel, he checked on Jack first. He was still asleep.

Castiel gathered the supplies from the truck. Struggling to hold all the bags, he unlocked the second door.

Relief filled him when he discovered nothing had changed while he'd been gone. After depositing the bags on the table, he searched through them.

He roused Sam enough to get him to take some Aspirin and drink half a bottle of the nuclear-colored electrolyte solution. Sam slipped back into sleep quickly, and Castiel glanced around at the mess.

Twenty-five minutes later, he had cleaned the room. After bundling empty bottles out to the dumpster, he'd put the second bed back together. He pulled the curtains aside and opened the window to allow in the sweet spring breeze. The room looked better than it probably had in decades.

With a sense of accomplishment, he sat down at the table to wait.

In the silence, with nothing but the breeze to keep him company, Castiel found his thoughts drifting. As had occurred innumerable times over the past three weeks, the scene replayed over and over in his mind.

Dean offering himself as Michael's true vessel.

As it had every single time before, the memory left him with a knot in his stomach and fury coursing through every fiber of his being. It should never have happened. Never have gone that way. Dean should never have said yes.

But he had and what had Castiel done?

Nothing.

He'd stood there like a brick in the wall and he'd watched as the best friend he'd ever had sacrificed himself, yet again, for the good of the world - two worlds. Of course it was for much more than the sake of the world.

Because even the entirety of two worlds could never mean to Dean Winchester what his brother meant to him.

Castiel held his head between his hands and breathed in a hint of freshly mown grass on the lilting breeze that ruffled his hair. He was a celestial being and therefore should not feel weary, but he was weary beyond measure. In failing Dean Winchester, he had failed Sam Winchester. He'd failed them both so many times over the years and yet they had never turned their back on him. Nor would he on them.

He lost track of the time and didn't move from his seat at the table until he heard Sam beginning to stir. A glance at the clock revealed it was nearly seven in the evening. Castiel straightened and crossed the room.

"Cas?" Sam frowned up at him.

"Yes. Are you feeling better?"

Sam closed his eyes and said, "Define better."

Castiel smiled although there was no humor in his friend's tone. There wasn't much in his tone at all, in fact. Just emptiness and pain.

"I procured some items to hasten your recovery," Castiel said, taking a seat on the other bed and wondering which of the hangover cures he should employ first. "I assumed you would prefer not to visit a hospital or clinic."

Sam didn't say anything, but pushed himself upright. He held out a hand when Castiel started to move toward him and Castiel did not go closer. Once Sam had settled himself on the edge of the bed, Castiel spoke up.

"I have selected several foods that may be palatable." Castiel glanced at his purchases on the table. "Crackers. Soup. I will need to find a pan. I should have purchased one. But I would need a stove-"

"Cas. Not now. Ok? Just leave me alone."

Frowning, Castiel stared at the carpet and debated his options. He'd never expected this to be a simple process - trying to support someone who had lost so much - but he was failing more spectacularly than he'd anticipated.

Looking up, he found Sam staring blankly at the wall; looking as confused and distressed as he was. No matter how much he tried to think of the right thing to say, he failed.

"I can't believe he said yes," Sam whispered after they'd sat in silence for several minutes.

"He felt he had no other choice."

"There's always a choice." Sam's tone was angry and his hands were fisted against the edge of the bed. "Even when there wasn't a choice, even when everyone and everything - angels and demons - was pushing all of us into this grand destiny, we made a different choice."

Castiel closed his eyes, anguish sweeping over him.

He was assaulted with memories of earlier times. A time when he had done everything he'd been instructed to do without giving any thought to what was actually right or wrong. A time when he'd pulled a righteous man from hell then helped pit him against his very own brother. A time when he'd been so short sighted and stupid that, when he'd first looked at Sam, all he had seen was his supposed destiny and treated him with disdain if not outright hostility.

And then these two brothers - two mere mortals who had spent their lives trying to save people from monsters - opened his eyes to an entirely different mindset. A different world.

They'd introduced him to the concept of free will and it had set him free.

"Cas, I don't know what to do." Sam's voice broke and he leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. "He saved the world and I can't save him. I don't know how to get him back."

Castiel crossed the short space between them. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he rested his hand on Sam's shoulder and said, "Nor do I. What I do know is this: your brother did what he did because he loves you. He did it to save you from Lucifer and, although I was not there, I believe Dean was filled with great satisfaction when he did just that."

Sam nodded, but didn't straighten.

"In all the years I have known you and your brother," Castiel continued gently, smiling as he found himself filled with confidence, "I have learned many things. Perhaps the most important is that you never give up on family."

After a long moment, Sam lowered his hands and looked at him. His eyes were bright with unshed tears, but the desolation had been replaced with something Castiel interpreted as hope.

"You're right," Sam said, his voice unsteady.

Castiel cleared his throat, daring to confess, "I think of you as my brothers."

"We are brothers, Cas." Sam squeezed his forearm, a smile lighting his weary features. "We are brothers."

Heart soaring with relief and hope, Castiel nodded. There was renewed strength and determination reflected in Sam's eyes. Something that had faded away over the course of the past three weeks.

Sam took a deep breath and sat up a little straighter. Running his hand over his face, he glanced around the room, then asked, "Where did you say Jack was?"

"He is still waiting in the next room," Castiel explained. "I did not know if you would be ready for-"

"Go get him." Sam cleared his throat, then motioned to the table. "Please tell me you bought coffee."

"I did purchase coffee. However, kombucha and pickle juice are highly recommended." Castiel might have been imagining it, but he thought Sam looked a little green. So he said, "I shall make the coffee when I return with Jack."

"Thanks, Cas."

Castiel paused at the door. Turning around, he met Sam's gaze and said, "We will get Dean back."

"Yeah." Sam smiled. "We will."

And, for the first time, they believed.

This was my first time writing so much of Cas and I've never written from his POV. But I had a lot of fun writing him (and I love writing Jack) so I may write some more fics with Cas now that I feel more confident! Hope you all enjoyed.

On Thursday I'll be posting the last of these three S13-S14 filler fics and then it will be back to "Fifty Miles." Thanks for reading! :)