Dean feels at a loss. At a loss and, kinda, a little bit sick.

Why?

Because Sam's just gone to take a shower, leaving him with alone with Castiel. A Castiel who looks very much like a kicked puppy, his crystal blue eyes stuck like glue to Sam's retreating (bare) back. His normally apathetic face is flooded with an emotion that Dean really doesn't want to see on anyone's face when they look at his baby brother.

"Oh, hell no." He spits, the sound of his voice snapping Castiel out of his littler reverie. "You did not just check my brother out."

The blue eyes widen but nothing more than a fraction of a millimetre and nobody else would have noticed it, but Dean does. Dean knows that stoic face well enough to know when Castiel is showing emotion. And that current emotion appears to be something along the lines of 'oh shit'.

"I don't understand."

"Like hell you don't." Dean growls, that same feeling in his stomach that he got when Sam got his first girlfriend; it's a cocktail of protectiveness and fear, a fear of becoming his brother's second favourite. "You have the hots for Sammy!"

The angel shifts awkwardly on the edge of the bed, Sam's bed, where he'd been sat side-by-side with the other Winchester boy until mere minutes ago. He has a feeling that he should get out of there before Dean blows his top, something that looks perhaps just seconds away, but the idea of running away from his problems never has appealed to Cas.

So he tilts his head to the side, trying diversion tactics instead. He knows Dean won't buy it but it's the best shot he's got, so his eyes decide that the questionable stain on the coffee-coloured carpet is currently the most exciting thing in the universe.

"So you don't deny it then!" Dean all but yells, sounding very much like one of those annoying little kids who sing those songs about K-I-S-S-I-N-G in school playgrounds. "You've got a crush on my baby brother."

"He's not a baby." Castiel fires back, instantly regretting it when he realises he should probably be denying Dean's other claims instead. "And I don't."

Dean springs to his feet, deciding that he needs a drink. He pulls one out of the room's mini-fridge, some off-brand beer, and yanks the top off.

He's always sworn to protect Sammy, ever since he was born, but he doesn't know how to deal with this. Hell, it's not even that Castiel is male. It's just that the Big Brother Handbook never came with a chapter entitled 'Coping When Your Brother's Love Interest Is an All-Powerful Angel'. Dean doesn't like it when there's something going on with Sammy that he doesn't understand and doesn't know for sure he can handle, so he comes to the conclusion that the best option here is to treat it with hostility.

Better to shoot than to be shot. Or, in this case, better to break Castiel's heart than have Castiel break Sammy's.

"You are stressed." Cas states. It's almost a question and, although asked with innocence, it irks the older Winchester brother no end. "It's because I was checking out Sam."

Dean drops the beer, not caring that the precious, cool nectar is cascading over the grotty motel-room carpet. Not caring about anything other than this surreal situation. After all these years, Dean thought nothing could surprise him.

Well, turns out he was wrong.

"No." Dean says, walking to be stood in front of Castiel. Unsure of how to react, the angel also stands. They are practically nose to nose. "No. No. No. No. No!" With every chant of the mantra his voice gets louder, his eyes wider and his temper shorter. "You were not checking out Sammy."

"But I thought you said-"

"I don't give a damn about what I said, Cas." Dean falls back onto his bed, evidently out of steam for the moment. Cas follows his lead and sits down too, mind whirring at a million miles a minute trying to keep up with Dean. "You stay away from him, y'hear?"

Castiel feels his chest go tight and his throat dry up like the fucking Sahara desert. He just doesn't understand why Dean is being all bitchy with him, why he's saying that Cas has done something bad, flips out when Cas disagrees and then goes insane when the angel does agree.

Maybe it's a human thing, Castiel thinks, hoping that Dean doesn't really want him away from his brother. Because, yeah, maybe the angel does have a thing for the young Winchester. And maybe, just maybe, it makes him nervous that Dean doesn't like it.

"Does that mean you want me to leave?"

There's a touch of heartbreak in the question and Dean would feel a twinge of guilt. He doesn't though because this is about Sammy.

"No, Cas, just…" He tails off, thinking desperately of the right thing to say. "Kid's been through a lot."

"He's not a kid."

"He's my kid brother. Always will be." Their eyes lock and all of a sudden Castiel kind of thinks that he gets it; Dean is worried, not mad. "So, you like him, right?"

"Of course I do." The angel nods eagerly, confused by the question that he doesn't even think should be being asked. "He's my friend."

Dean lets out a guttural sound of frustration. He knows he needs to get this sorted fast, before Sam gets out of the shower and finds him throttling the angel in despair. Yeah, that sounds good right about now; the idea of choking Castiel's almost painful naivety right out of him. He doesn't though for two reasons. The first being that he doubts it would work and the second that Sammy might get upset if he sees Dean hurting Cas.

Instead Dean settles for ramming his fist into the stiff mattress of his bed, letting out a long, calming exhale and counts to ten. He feels like a teacher in a special needs school. He'll put up with it, though, for Sammy.

"When I say 'like' I mean as in you want to fuck him behind the bins."

The imagery that Dean has just conjured for himself makes him wince in disgust. The last thing he wanted to ever envisage is his brother and their angel friend going at it like two horny teenagers behind a nightclub.

Oh God.

"No. I don't like him like that, Dean." Castiel says steadily, looking almost hurt by the accusation. "I like him in the way that someone likes their wife. With respect and love and longing."

"Jesus, Cas."

"Yes! Like Jesus would love." Castiel nods, happy that he seems to be getting somewhere here. "But I don't think Christ would want to kiss Sam Winchester."

"Okay, TMI."

Dean blanches; he can hear the sound of the shower dribbling to a halt, a sure sign that he only has a handful of moments left to sort this whole mess out. The pressure is pushing at him, just in the way it does on particularly dangerous hunt.

Because there's no way in hell that he's about to let Castiel have his brother without a fight.

"Right, here's the rules." He leans forward, his voice sharp and insistent. Castiel nods, ready to listen and knowing that he has no choice here but to obey. "Just three of 'em, not hard to remember." The tone is intense and it would make Cas feel afraid if he wasn't momentarily distracted by the sound of Sam finishing up in the bathroom. "Rule numero uno; you don't use any of that angel crap on my brother. Meaning you don't magically teleport yourself into the bathroom whilst he's showering, you don't read his mind, none of that bullshit. Ever."

Castiel just nods, intrigued by Dean's primal need to 'protect' Sammy from him. He doesn't understand it, not really, because if someone 'likes' someone else then surely it means that they don't want to hurt that person. It just doesn't make any sense.

"Number two; do anything with my brother whilst I'm around and I'll castrate you. This extends to talking about doing things with my brother, flirting with my brother and, hell, even looking at my brother." Dean shudders, remembering the look in the angel's eyes when Sammy, his baby brother, took his shirt off to shower. "Also, no sexual activities in the Impala. She's upholstered beautifully."

The words taste like rotten food in his mouth, the very idea of Cas and his brother doing that in his baby making him want to vomit. Also making him want to buy both of his companions chastity belts. He makes a mental note to look into them on eBay later.

For his part, Castiel just nods again. He gets that he can't have Sam without Dean's approval.

"Finally, the last and most important rule." The over-protective big brother cracks his knuckles in an attempt to be threatening. Apparently it goes straight over Cas' head because he just smiles and nods. "You hurt him and I hurt you twice as bad."

"Why would I?" Castiel wonders out loud, genuinely confused and baffled by that last one.

"Because, sometimes, we hurt the ones we love." The tone's gone from threatening to thoughtful and neither man really knows what to say next, so Dean settles the conversation with; "You do though and I'll gank ya."

The threat doesn't make any sense to Castiel because he knows that they both know Dean couldn't kill him if he tried. One look at Dean's eyes though, the eyes of an older brother who's seen his younger counterpart suffer too much, and the angel gets it.

At least, he thinks he does. He can never be too sure with the Winchesters.

"Shush, shush, Sammy." Dean coos, gripping his baby brother's hand tightly, wincing at the heat radiating from him. "I know it sucks being sick but you'll be alright."

He sounds like he's trying to reassure himself more than his brother but it does the trick all the same, the softness of the words cushioning Sam's fall into a fever-induced slumber. No matter how many times he's seen his baby brother sick it always scares the living shit out of Dean.

Realising that his brother needs some sort of medicine Dean decides to, reluctantly, leave his brother in order to search out a late-night pharmacy. Or anywhere that can supply him with some Tylenol. Hell, he'll break in if he has to.

He scrawls out a quick note explaining where he's gone in case his brother wakes up in his absence. Looking at Sam's current state though, Dean highly doubts that'll happen.

"I'll be right back, Sammy." He whispers before turning tails and heading for the door before he has the chance to feel bad about leaving.

On Sam's end he feels like he's in an oven, whacked up to the kind of heat a turkey cooks at on Thanksgiving. The heat is just a prickle in the back of his mind compared to the aches in his muscles though, the sheer agony of it making him shake in pain. He briefly wonders if he's overreacting, if he's just being a wimp, but then his stomach cramps up and silences all doubts as to his health.

Crying out in pain, Sam does the only thing he can think of to do; he prays. Not to God though, hell, screw God. He's praying to Castiel, that angel with the aquamarine gemstones for eyes and a heart bigger than anyone other than Sam seems to care to see.

"Sam!"

And there he is, the angel in the long coat, stood next to Sam's bed with worry rampant in those depthless eyes of his.

Aforementioned eyes flick to the note left on the bedside table, then back to Sam. A Sam who is currently sprawled under the scratchy covers of yet another motel room bed, thrashing half-heartedly in pain. The sight installs a foreign feeling in Castiel, one that's halfway between hate, concern and helplessness.

"Sam, can you hear me?" Castiel carefully perches on the edge of the bed, trying not to jostle the ailing man. Sam nods, peeling his eyes open and smiling weakly at the angel. Castiel can't help but smile back. "Good. You're okay."

"Cas." The croaked cry makes the addressed frown, the sound of putrid agony making him feel like a failure. "Cascascascascascascascascascas."

"I'm right here."

As if to illustrate, he wraps his hand around Sam's, squeezing it gently. It's what humans do to people they like to comfort them, right?

He feels a sense of pride wash over him as it appears to work, Sam's incoherent moans of his name slowly fading out. As soon as the silence comes though Castiel is filled with a need to fill it, to say things that will make Sam feel better. Because seeing him like this hurts.

And Castiel doesn't understand it. It helps him understand his and Dean's quaint little chat a bit over a week ago, though.

"You're sick." He observes, using his over hand to gently thumb away a stray tear from Sam's cheek. He takes it to be the wrong thing to do because it only appears to increase the heated redness of the ill man's face. "Sorry."

"No." Sam fights to pull himself up into a sitting position, only to have Castiel ease him immediately back down again. "Like it. Hands soft."

A small hum of a laugh rumbles through Castiel's chest but never makes it out of his throat, a strong thrum of affection preventing it from being so. The compliment gives him a complexion to rival Sam's but he doesn't mind because he did something that Sam liked.

So he does it again. Gently pulls his hand up to caress the side of the young Winchester's face, the tips of his fingers washing over the burning heat of a fever. Sam sighs in relief at the touch and Cas smiles, just as he would imagine God smiling down upon the world after having first created it; with all of the love and awe in the universe.

"Like you, Cas." The sick one mumbles, nuzzling into the angelic touch. "Like you lots."

Feverish, mossy eyes lock with crystalline blue, leaving both men speechless at the other's understated beauty.

Castiel doesn't know how this works. For all of his observing of the human race he has never once understood how romantic moments are supposed to work or how one makes them come about. Deciding that Sam's too sick to know what he's doing, he resigns himself to leaving the romance for next time; it wouldn't be fair with Sam apparently reverting back to a child's mind-set in the throes of his illness.

He settles for pulling Sam's hand up to his lips and pressing said lips to Sam's knuckles in what he deems a suitable act of comforting love. When he drops the hand he notices Sam's eyes fixated on him, making him feel a nervous nausea building in his stomach.

"Was that wrong?" The angel mumbles, heart palpitating at the idea of losing Sam before he even has him. "Was that a bad thing to do?"

"Uh, no." Sam stutters between coughs, the strain of them making him squeeze Cas' hand tight, uncomfortably so. Cas doesn't say anything though, he likes the contact too much to risk losing it. "No, not at all, Cas." Not liking the awkwardness he's feeling, Castiel opts to distract himself by mindlessly threading his fingers with Sam's, then unthreading, then threading them together again. "Actually, it made me feel a little better."

At that the look on Castiel's face could outshine the sun with its brightness. He somewhat resembles a kid on Christmas morning finding out that Santa got him precisely what he asked for. It melts Sam's insides to gloop, the way that such small words mean so much to the angel.

All of a sudden Sam starts spasming, his body fighting the illness in a way that fights Sam too. So Castiel presses another kiss to his hand, hoping that it works again.

Sure enough, Sam smiles back. He still looks like he's in pain, but at least he's happy now, Castiel thinks. He knows it's physically impossible for kisses to heal the sick but maybe Sam Winchester is the exception. After all, it wouldn't be the first time the guy hasn't been what he expected.

"Thanks, Cas." Sam pants, aching eyes locked on his friend's. "Feel sick."

"I know, Sam." The angel thinks for a moment, briefly wondering if it would be right to use such a sacred nickname. "But it's alright, Sammy, I'm here."

Apparently, it is okay because it makes Sam beam. Which, in turn, makes Castiel do the same.

"Dean will be back soon, Sammy."

"Want you." The boy pouts, the look oh-so-adorable and oh-so-tempting for the angel. "Dean's hands aren't soft like yours." The childishness of it makes Castiel chuckle, though in the back of his mind he can't help but be proud that he's making Sam feel better. "Lips are soft too."

"Oh."

Castiel knows that Sam's got a fever and that fevers alter a person's state of mind but right now the invitation is right fucking there and too poignant to ignore. So Cas takes it.

He drops Sam's hand and uses both of his to cup the boy's cheeks. They're warm, flushed but still perfect under his fingertips. Cas takes a moment to appreciate the texture of Sam's skin and leans in closer, until their noses are practically touching. For his part, Sam just keeps his eyes on the angel's lips, gazing intently at the literal and metaphorical angel before him.

They've both hungered for this more than either cares to admit and finally, finally, it's about to happen.

"Is this okay?"

"'Course it is, Cas."

And that's all the encouragement either needs to initiate their first kiss.

Sam's lips are hot against the cool of Castiel's, the pair balancing each other out and fitting together like two long-lost puzzle pieces. Their noses rub together softly, and Sam locks his arms around the angel's neck, pulling him down to deepen the kiss. Castiel's seen Heaven and, he thinks, it has nothing on this; on Sam.

"Son of a bitch!"

They pull apart like two magnets of the same pole, being met with the sight of an extremely pale looking Dean. His eyes are wide and flickering between the two on the bed, mind torn between teasing Sammy about it or beating up Castiel for kissing his baby brother on his sickbed.

"Good evening, Dean." Cas smiles and Dean takes a moment to wonder if the slimy bastard is being annoyingly nice to him on purpose. "I was just looking after Sammy."

"Yeah, I can fucking see that." Dean barks, voice going all high-pitched. Castiel would be worried if it wasn't for the fact that Sam looks like he's about to die of laughter. "Because eating someone's face is a great way to lower a fever." Sam looks like he's about to make a 'witty' comeback, so Dean points a finger at him, giving that stern look that screams at him to not say a damn thing. "So, who kissed who?"

Sam has a feeling that he should say that he kissed Cas first but a sudden wave of illness drowns out all thoughts, making him groan. Immediately his hand is being enveloped in Cas' and being bought up for a gentle kiss.

Dean, intrigued by the exchange, can't help but let a smile escape. He loathes himself for thinking it, but they do look good together. Sweet, almost. As soon as the thought ripens he squashes it down, reminding himself that it's his job to defend Sammy from any form heartbreak.

Right now, his heart looks to be in safe hands. So he leaves the Tylenol on the coffee table and goes to take a shower.

Every night it's the same; Sam has a nightmare, Castiel senses it, Castiel materialises and then proceeds to hold Sam's hand until morning. Dean doesn't know.

Tonight is one of those such nights.

It's just a little past two in the morning and Castiel is stood over Sam's bed in the latest cheaper-than-shit motel, waiting for the first sign of an oncoming nightmare rolling in like fog around a beacon. He wishes he could fight Sam's nightmares away but that's impossible, so he has to settle for being the never-ending supply of comfort that his Sammy needs.

Out of the blue, Sam starts shaking and Castiel takes his cue, sitting on the edge of Sam's bed just like when he was sick. He takes one of his new boyfriend's hands in both of his, gently playing with his fingers and occasionally kissing them.

It always works. Sometimes even just Castiel's presence is enough. Sam doesn't say that though; he likes the kissing too much. It makes him feel whole.

"You need to tell him about your nightmares, Sam."

"No, I don't. I've got you."

"And you have Dean, too. Just tell him."

"No!"

"Sam. Tell him, or I will."

"Do that and we're over, Castiel. I mean it."

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Fine."

"Fine!"

"What did that fucker do?"

Dean is currently sat on his bed, with his little brother slumped next to him, head on his shoulder and holding a wad of tissue to his nose. Because Dean just came back from a bar to find Sam hunched in the corner, sobbing, blood tumbling out of his nose in fiery torrents.

He knows it's Castiel's fault. It has to be. Cas and Sam were meant to be out for dinner, an end-of-case celebration date, but here Sammy is, a crying mess leaning on his big brother's shoulder as though he's too weak to sit upright on his own. Normally Dean wouldn't at all appreciate the clingy contact but right now is far from normal; his brother might have just gotten punched by his boyfriend, who just so happens to be a goddamn angel.

Great. Well, that makes sense.

"What happened, Sammy?"

"I think Cas broke up with me." He murmurs as though he can't quite believe it himself, like he doesn't want to believe it. "My first damn boyfriend and he just breaks up with me!"

"Broke your nose too, by the looks of it." When it makes Sam unleash a fresh wave of silent tears, Dean would give anything to take those words back. "Sorry, Buddy. I didn't mean it."

"Yeah, well, he did." The younger brother bites back, taking on the offensive instead of letting himself be a weeping wreck. "And that's all I care about right now."

Fantastic, Dean thinks, Castiel is acting like a dick and Sam is acting like a teenage drama queen. He'd still take Sam's side in this, of course he would, and he will as soon as he sees Castiel next. In fact, he wants nothing more than to see Cas now, to punch him right in his pretty little face and make Sam's injured nose like a kiss in comparison.

Yeah, revenge sounds good right about now, with his brother falling apart next to him.

"Did he say why?" Dean asks gently, not wanting to poke the wound whilst it's still bleeding but knowing he needs to get Sam to tell him how it broke so he can fix it.

"We fought." Sam shuts his eyes, a migraine coming on and making his vision blur. He lets out a long, shaky breath, hating that the hand rubbing circles on his back isn't Castiel's. "I told him to drop it or I'd dump him and he just said 'fine'. Like he didn't even fucking give a shit, De!"

Dammit, Dean thinks, Cas has finally broken his baby brother. Tipped him over the edge, destroyed him, betrayed both brothers' trust in the angel way quicker than it took to gain it.

But instead of feeling like he wants to murder the angel, right now Dean feels like he wants to make the angel apologise and take Sam back, kiss him and hug him and all of that other cutesy-couple crap.

Because he hasn't seen Sam as happy as he was with Cas in a painstakingly long time.

"You called."

"You know why, so don't play dumb with me, Cas."

The angel regards the older Winchester with a withering look, like he's sick and knows full well that Dean won't cure him. Not that he'd expect him too, not after what happened with Sammy; not after he broke Dean's most important rule. He finally fully understands the look on Dean's face when the rules were lain out for him and he wishes that he didn't.

The night air is cool on their skin and the darkness is just enough to cloak the tearstains on Cas' face, although he doubts Dean would care about seeing them now. Because Castiel made his baby brother cry.

Castiel isn't sure who out of the three of them hates him more.

"Is he alright?"

"No." The word leaves Dean's mouth like a bullet and hits Castiel right in the heart, making him wince away. Good. "Not unless your definition of alright is not eating, not sleeping and not talking. Hell, I offered him a hug this morning and he didn't react." Dean kicks out at an oversized pebble, sending it skidding across the motel's parking lot. "Me. I offered him a hug."

Cas nods, seeing the relevance of the statement all too clearly. Dean just isn't the touchy-feely type, so for him to be moved to offer his brother a hug something must be seriously wrong with the guy. And that something is Cas.

The not sleeping Castiel would expect, what with him not being there to hold Sam's hand through a nightmare. But the not eating? That worries him. Like, really, really worries him. On the same level as the apocalypse worries him. Because Sam's already skinny and the last thing he needs is to lose anything.

"I see." The angel replies, jaw set tight. "You blame me."

"Damn right I blame you!" Dean shouts back, not caring that his brother can probably hear everything from behind their motel room door. Hell, it'll probably do him some good to hear his big brother sticking up for him. "I saw what you did to his nose."

Dean's eyes zone in on Castiel's, rattling the angel with how similar they are to Sam's.

He can still remember the exact look in Sam's eyes after he punched him on the nose, three days ago. The way they widened and the narrowed, filled with tears then froze like a lake in winter. How they jammed shut and then opened, ablaze with every kind of pain imaginable. He misses Sam's eyes, how they look when Castiel is holding his hand.

"Why the fuck did you punch him, Cas?"

"He wasn't listening to me." Even as it comes out he knows it's a lame excuse but it's the only one he's got. It made much more sense at the time. "It's what humans do when people don't listen, isn't it?"

"Yeah. If they're completely fucking insane!" Dean's just about at the end of his tether with this whole thing; he knew he should have just made Sammy completely off-limits from the get go. "And what could Sammy have possibly done to warrant you smashing his face in?"

Castiel knows what he has to say but he also knows that he can't say it; that Dean has a right to know about the nightmares but to tell him would be breaking Sam's trust all over again. Looking into Dean's overly-worried eyes and thinking of Sammy's heartbroken ones, he comes to a decision.

"He was being stubborn." Dean raises his eyebrows, his face telling Castiel to carry on or die. "He… Sam has problems." Cas nods to himself, thinking that that's the right thing to say. "I help him with them but I thought you should know."

"What kind of problems?" The big brother crosses his arms over his chest in a feeble attempt at hiding the raging concern that Castiel's words have ignited within him. "And why wouldn't he tell me?"

"I don't know why he wouldn't tell you, Dean. And thus it is not my place to tell you either."

Dean runs a hand through his hair. He hasn't washed in three days, not since he arrived at the motel to find Sammy looking like hell. He's been too scared to leave him on his own; worried that he'd either do something stupid or get upset all over again and need his big brother by his side to comfort him.

But now there's other 'problems'. Ones that he won't tell Dean about. And that kills. Because Dean thought he was good at this big brother bullshit, that he was doing alright at it. Well, obviously not if Sammy will tell Cas about his 'problems' but not his own damn big brother.

Ouch, Dean thinks, really, fucking ouch.

"Fine. Whatever." He huffs, knowing by the look in Cas' eyes that he won't get anything more out of him about it right now. Also knowing that he has bigger fish to fry. "It's not why I called you here anyway."

"Oh?"

"I need you to talk to him, Cas. He's a wreck." Dean knows he sounds like he's begging but he's beyond the point of caring; this is for Sammy, his Sammy, after all. "I don't care about your little lovers' tiff. You need to get your shit together and sort him out. Get him to eat something, at least."

Cas wants nothing more than to push past Dean, to rip the door off of its damn hinges and go straight to Sam's side with a bouquet of apologies. He aches to hold Sam's hand and tell him everything's alright. He hungers to take Sam out to his favourite restaurant in this town and order him everything on the menu.

His eyes mist over, fog over the blue oceans of his eyes, and he realises what he must do.

"I'm sorry, Dean. Really, I am." He sighs, looking down at his shoes, at the ground, at anything that isn't Dean. "But I can't. Not until he wants to see me."

"He does want to see you, Cas! He needs to see you!" Dean is close to tears himself, his last hope turning out to be nothing more than a let-down. "Please, just get him to eat something, then you can leave. I'm begging ya here, man."

"When he wants me he knows how to contact me."

And with that, he's gone.

"Damn angel."

"Cas!"

"Dean? What's wrong?"

"It's Sam. He's missing."

"Missing as in vanished missing?"

"He's not in any of the local bars and his phone goes straight to voicemail. He's been gone hours."

"Okay. I'll help you look."

"Damn right you will. If anything's happened to him I'll-"

"Gank me. I know."

Sam can't figure out where he is. Hell, he can hardly figure out who he is. What he can figure out though is that he's in a shit-tonne of pain.

He presses a trepid hand to the back of his head, seemingly the source of his pain, and hisses; it comes back bloody. Taking a quick stock of the situation he can tell that he's probably got a couple of broken ribs, a sprained ankle and will get pneumonia if he stays down this godforsaken alley in the damn rain for much longer.

Vaguely he can remember a group of men approaching him, one of them punching him, another kicking him and then everything melting into a black oblivion. He can remember thinking he was going to die and not caring because Cas wouldn't care if he died right now.

He's not dead though, so Sam figures he should probably do something about his current predicament.

His jacket is gone, meaning that his cell and wallet are too, so that leaves only one means of calling for help; prayer. It's the last thing he wants to do but he knows he has no choice. If he stays out here much longer he might wind up getting sick again or worse. The reason he doesn't want Castiel isn't anything to do with spite, no, it's more to do with fear. A fear that Cas really does hate him, that he won't hold Sam's hand again, that he won't call him 'Sammy' anymore. The idea of praying in itself strikes fear into him; what if Castiel doesn't answer?

Swallowing down his worries and anxieties, Sam takes a deep breath in. They just had a row. That's all. Castiel isn't the sort to not rescue someone because of a petty argument, right? He sure as hell hopes not.

"Cas? You out there?" He calls out tiredly, wincing at how frightened he sounds. Weak. "I, um, I'm real sorry about the other day. But I could really use your help now." He coughs and catches it with his hand; blood. Shit. "Please, Castiel."

"Sam!"

Using all of his dwindling energy Sam looks up towards the deep, gruff voice and can't fight off the smile that attacks his bloodied lips.

"Cas!"

The angel sprints down the alley, a bittersweet feeling swelling in his stomach. The bitterness coming from his Sammy being hurt, the sweetness coming from simply seeing him. Right now though, the bitterness outweighs the sweetness.

He skids to a halt by his boyfriend, dropping to his knees and all but tearing his coat off, rapping it carefully around Sam. The rain doesn't bother him but he knows it'll be bothering Sam, what with how the coldness of it is making it feel as though it is raining razorblades instead of tiny water droplets. His eyes assess the damage; he doesn't think he's ever felt so guilty.

"You came."

"Of course I did, Sam." The angel responds as though it's a stupid thing to say. "You're hurt." He places his hands gingerly on Sam's ribs, making the man cry out in pain. The sound is enough to make Castiel want to destroy worlds. "Badly."

"I'm fine." Sam lies, everything about it convincing other than all of the blood and that look in his eyes that only two people in the world can recognise; one of those people being Cas. "You're here."

"Yes. I am." Cas nods and reaches out to wipe away some of the blood on Sam's face with his thumb. The act is loving enough but Sam still flinches away, unable to forget the image of his boyfriend's fist barrelling towards him a few nights ago. "Shit, Sammy, I'm not going to hit you." Their eyes lock and the angel's flood with sincere regret. "Never again."

Sam studies Castiel's face. He looks exhausted and ragged, almost like a dying man. Castiel returns the favour, noting how much weight Sam must have lost over the past few days, the deep black bags cutting into the skin around his eyes.

It makes him feel like a demon. He did this. He hurt Sam.

Sam nods, accepting the unspoken apology, in too much agony to argue. He just wants a bed and warmth. And Dean. And Castiel, holding his hand. Yeah, all of that would be good right about now.

"Everything hurts, Cas."

Sam sounds pathetic and he knows it; that's the plan. It seemed to work the first time around, so why not again?

Cas, brow creased in concern, looks over Sammy for further injury, eyes fixing on the split knuckles of his right hand. This means that Sam most likely did fight back which, in turn, means that he was grossly outnumbered because he would have otherwise won. The idea of Sammy being jumped down a dark alley in the pissing rain by a group of thugs makes Castiel's blood boil.

Unsure of how to handle this burning hatred, Cas simply picks up Sammy's hand and holds it, not caring that it's all bloody. His eyes flick to the young Winchester's face, making sure that the gesture isn't hurting Sam. It doesn't appear to be, so Cas decides to push his luck and presses a kiss to the poor, hurt knuckles.

"Missed you, Cas." Sam whispers, positioning himself to be closer to his angel.

Castiel smiles in a sad sort of way and presses his lips softly to Sam's, wincing at the coppery taste of blood on his lips. He doesn't care; it's been too long since he did this last.

"I missed you too, Angel."

A/N:

Okay, okay I know they are all WAY out of character (apart from maybe Dean) but I kinda like how this one turned out. I'm not really sure at which point it's set, maybe it's kinda in an AU world. I'm not really sure.

Thank you very, very much for reading! :D