Author's Notes:

Okay, so late birthday fic is super late, but I'm sick, and I have exams, and I am so not sleeping or studying because I'm writing Sastiel fluff instead, so please bear with me, Sam, and happy belated birthday! I watched the latest episode, and I just HAD to write this.

Many thanks go to Meinarch once again for beta-ing and making this a better fic. This actually takes place in the same verse as my earlier fic, Möbius, but you don't really have to read that to enjoy this one. I only make one legit reference to it in here.

Thanks for clicking, and I hope you enjoy.

Like Shooting Stars

Sam is tired. Dean is going on about how the trials are too much again, and Sam is tired. He knows Dean is worried, knows he has every reason to be worried, but God, it's not like talking it through is going to help, and when have they ever done this talking thing when it counts anyway? The constant pain doesn't help either. Almost too late, they spot the figure lying on the darkened road, and only Dean's superb reflexes and driving skills keep them from running the man over. Wait. Is that... the trench coat? Cas. It's Cas. They both climb out of the car to check, and it is. It is.

"Cas?" Dean tries, stunned.

In the headlights' illumination, he can see that the angel is pretty battered even as Cas manages, "A little help here?" with agonized effort.

He's moving before Dean, but his brother joins him at their friend's side, and between them, they manage to get the other up and into the Impala's backseat. Dean doesn't comment when he slides in beside the angel, just gets back into the driver's seat and steps on it. Quickly, he checks around for wounds, and when he finds the bullet hole in Castiel's stomach, he removes one of his shirts and tears two strips off.

"You've been shot." One strip he folds and presses over the wound. The other he uses to tie the first in place tightly, applying pressure to stem the bleeding. "Dean, stop the car. I need the first aid kit and the flashlight."

"Dude, what the hell? A gun got you in that shape? What happened to the angel mojo healing and stuff?" Dean asks, eyes flicking up to the rearview mirror as he slows down to pull over.

"Crowley," Cas answers with a grunt of pain. "He melted an angel blade down into bullets."

"Damn it!" Dean slams his hands on the wheel as the car stops. "Can't catch a break from that son of a bitch. You two sit tight. I'll grab it." He gets out of the car to do just that, kicking up gravel as he walks.

"I'll be fine," Cas whispers, curling in closer to rest his head on Sam's shoulder as Dean pops the trunk outside. "You're... in worse shape than I am."

Sam hushes him softly, presses a kiss into his hair. "That can't be helped. Let me do what I can."

Dean slams the trunk shut and is back in the car moments later, handing the first aid kit and flashlight over. "Sammy, put your jacket back on before you get worse."

Sam rolls his eyes, but complies before shifting forwards and to the side. "Come on, let's get you lying down." He presses Castiel's hand to the makeshift bandage. "Keep your hand on that." Gently manoeuvring the angel down onto the back seat, he brushes his lips lightly over Castiel's. "Told you you'd see me again," he adds with a wry smile.

Castiel's eyes soften. "I wish... we could have reunited in... better circumstances."

Sam shakes his head. "That doesn't matter." As Dean starts driving, he begins rummaging for the items he needs in the first aid kit. There's the floss and the needle, some gauze and the rubbing alcohol. "Okay, now, hold this." He turns the flashlight on and hands it to Cas. "And point it at the wound."

The angel merely does as he's told, and Sam pulls some floss out to thread the needle. It's harder than he remembers, and he fails several times before Cas puts the flashlight down and takes his hands. "Let me."

He ducks his head as he hands the items over, and oh God, he probably shouldn't be doing this. Maybe they should stop the car and let Dean do it instead. Dean probably doesn't even know he's about to try this, and it's the most irresponsible thing ever. "I'm so—"

Cas presses two fingers to his lips as he hands the threaded needle back. "Don't. I trust you."

Sam squeezes his eyes shut and shakes himself, pressing the fingers into his lips briefly before undoing the makeshift bandage from earlier. "Okay," he mumbles, pouring some rubbing alcohol onto a wad of gauze and cleaning the wound gently. It's not bleeding very much anymore.

Castiel picks the flashlight up and aims it as directed again, and Sam blinks several times to make sure his vision is clear and rests his hands lightly on either side of the wound to make sure they're steady.

"Okay." He pushes the needle in. Cas winces, but doesn't make a sound, and it's only a few stitches. He manages without a hitch, cleans the area again, and wraps some fresh gauze bandages over it. "That should stop the bleeding until it heals."

"Thank you, Sam," Cas says with a fond smile, turning the flashlight off and setting it down beside him. "It's your birthday today. What can I get you?"

Sam blinks. Huh, it is the second of May, come to think of it. He chuckles, thumbing at his lover's hairline. "Silly angel. You're back." He picks up the torn shirt, dampens it with half a bottle of water, and begins gently wiping the blood off Castiel's face. "That's the best present ever."

"Well, you could get him to eat for a change," Dean cuts in irritably. "At this point, I'd take it if the only thing he wanted was cake."

"Dean." Sam squares his shoulders. "We've been over this."

A hand on his arm has him turning back to Cas. "You haven't been eating?" Blue eyes are worried, and Sam can't help a pang of guilt.

"What is this, Day Five?" His brother beats him to answering.

"Dean—"

"Your brother's right, Sam. You need to eat. Even if..." Cas scrutinizes him for a moment. "Even if you're changing, you're still... mostly human."

The brakes screech in protest for a second time that night as Dean slams on them again, and Sam has to brace himself to keep both him and Cas from sliding off the seat.

"Damn it, Dean!"

"Mostly?! What do you mean 'mostly'?!" The older Winchester demands, whirling around in his seat.

"I don't know," Castiel admits, meeting Dean's eyes. "It's changing him, but I don't know the direction exactly. It's not something I've seen before." He pauses, reconsidering. "Or... perhaps I just don't remember. Naomi admitted that she's wiped my mind several times before. I..." Here he turns to Sam, frowning. "What if what I remember isn't... isn't really what happened?"

"You remember us," Sam offers, squeezing the angel's hand.

The corners of the angel's lips quirk up slightly. "I think so. They're... good memories."

As Dean starts driving again, resigned to not getting answers, Sam presses the other's knuckles to his lips tenderly. "Do you want to remember the rest?"

"Of course." There is no question. He is an angel. Angels remember everything. And yet, "It is not of import, however. Crowley has the Tablet. We have t—"

"It's okay," Sam interjects. "It's okay. He can't read it. We have Kevin. He's safe. He's with Metatron."

"What?" Cas tries to sit up, but the world spins. "Metatron? The Scribe of God? You found him?"

"Yes." Sam kisses the angel's knuckles once more, smiling happily. "Yes. He says he'll help us."

Castiel's grip tightens on Sam's hand, and he tries to sit up again. "Take me to him. I must—"

"Shh," Sam pushes him back down gently. "When you're better. We're already in Kansas. And um... He... doesn't seem too keen on seeing any other angels, so... I don't know, Cas. He greeted us with a shotgun. I think... I definitely think you need to heal up before going."

Castiel's expression sours. "Does he ev—"

"Yeah, save it," Dean interrupts firmly. "Sammy here gave him a right good piece of his mind, so tomorrow or the day after, we're going back to make that dickhead help you too. But tonight," Dean turns into the nearby grocery store's parking lot. "Tonight, we are having cake. And you are going to make Sam eat it."

Sam groans, "Dean..."

"Sam," Cas whispers gravely. "Is it not your people's custom to make a wish and blow out candles on a cake for their birth anniversary?"

Dean grins. "Yup! Give me two minutes." He dashes into the store.

Sam sighs resignedly. "Not you too," he mutters.

"If you blow them all out, it's supposed to make the wish come true? Of course, they don't usually. Come true, I mean. But perhaps..."

And Cas isn't looking at him, just staring at the leather of the seat back with the saddest look on his face as he trails off, and Sam feels like there's so much he's missed, so much Cas hasn't told them about the encounter with Crowley and Naomi that likely involved too much death and destruction. A part of him longs to have their connection back, so he can share that, so he can at least try to make it better, but he knows, he knows, that he's powerless to help here. So he just reaches out, cards his fingers through blood-flecked brown hair and presses his love into his angel's lips. Cas arches up into the contact, and he obliges by deepening it, his free hand fisting in the trench coat's collar. The metallic tang of blood is on his tongue, but it tastes... clean. Not like his own, and definitely nothing like the sulfur aftertaste of Ruby's. There's a sharp bittersweetness to it — it reminds him of the first time he tried coffee, and when Cas reaches up to bury a hand in his hair, all he can think of is how important the angel is to him, and Oh God, you have to be okay, always, because I don't think I can live without you anymore.

"I suppose we could use a wish right now," he relents quietly.

Castiel sighs contentedly and twines locks of soft hair around his fingers, pulling him closer, more strength in the arms around him now, and it feels like Cas is back to his usual self. They're almost there, so close to the end, and Cas is back. Sam smiles. He knows what his birthday wish is going to be. He'll be sure to blow them all out the first time.

Author's Notes:

Thank you for reading, and I'd appreciate any kind of feedback, so please leave some! 3