A/N For those of you who are keeping up with my NoRest!Verse, this story is not part of it. It is just something that I wrote because I love the friendship between Sam and Cas, and I wanted to see some hurt/comfort with them, as well as worried Dean. However, I am still working on my NoRest stories, and the next one should be up within the week. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this oneshot. This is NOT a deathfic.

Disclaimer: Would that I could say otherwise, but Supernatural is not mine.

Blood and Jewels

After Dean's fourth trip to the bathroom to throw up, Sam was starting to get worried. He knew that Dean had not been taking care of himself; putting all of his energy into nursing his little brother back to health after the disastrous third trial. Sam had finally recovered, but at the cost of Dean's immune system. Sam could tell that Dean had been feeling poorly for days, but it was not until this morning that things had gotten bad. But just because Dean felt like crap didn't mean he wanted his brother to hover.

"Enough, Sam, I'm fine," he growled after he heard Sam tap on the bathroom door for what felt like the millionth time.

Dean was even more disgruntled when he emerged at last to find not only his little brother, but Castiel-No-Longer-Angel-of-the-Lord waiting for him. The Men of Letters' bunker was enormous, and yet he still could not seem to walk ten steps without running into its only other occupants.

"Okay seriously guys, this is getting ridiculous," he snapped at them. "If you really want to make me feel better, just give me some space, alright?"

He sighed when their faces fell in unison. They were both masters of the kicked puppy look, and he was always a sucker for it. But he really felt terrible, and he needed them out of his hair. He glanced at the clothes that Cas had been wearing for the three weeks since his grace had been torn out, and was struck by an idea.

"Sam, why don't you take Cas shopping?" he suggested. "He needs to get some new clothes now that he smells like a human. Besides, we need food anyway."

Sam looked like he was about to argue, but then reconsidered when he caught a whiff of the fallen angel standing beside him. Dean was right; Cas was really starting to smell.

"You're sure you'll be alright?" he asked his brother anxiously.

"I'm a grown man Sam, I know how to take care of myself. It's just a stomach bug and all I need is some peace and quiet, which I can't get if the two of you are following me around like mother hens."

"I do not understand," said Castiel with his familiar head tilt and quizzical expression. "In what way do Sam and I resemble maternal chickens?"

"It's an expression, Cas," said Sam, guiding his friend towards the exit. "Dean thinks that we're hovering and he wants us to leave for a while; so we're going on a supply run."

"But what was he saying about me needing new clothes? I thought that my attire was adequate…"

Dean watched his brother leave with his best friend and could not help but breathe a sigh of relief. He felt slightly guilty for kicking them out when they were just trying to help, but mostly he was just glad that he would not have to deal with their constant presence and concern for a few hours. Another wave of nausea hit him and he turned back to the bathroom with a groan.

ooooooooooooooooo

"What do you think of this one, Sam?"

The hunter turned when he heard his friend's voice and was rather taken aback by the sight that greeted him. Castiel had emerged from the dressing room in a knee-length skirt the color of his old tie. He was swaying back and forth slightly, seeming to enjoy the way the fabric swished around his legs.

"Uh, Cas, that's a skirt," said Sam, trying and failing to hold in a laugh. "Only women wear them."

The fallen angel looked crestfallen, so Sam sighed and backpedaled quickly.

"But you know what?" he said, tired of his friend looking so sad. "Guys can wear them too. We'll get it for you Cas."

Castiel beamed. Sam shook his head at the thought of what Dean was going to say when Cas showed up in a skirt, but if cross-dressing was what made his friend happy, he would buy him a hundred skirts. The angel had been devastated since his fall, and Sam just wanted to help him recover. He knew what it was like to feel the weight of so many lives and mistakes, and he would do whatever he could to ease that burden.

About an hour later, the two companions left the store laden down with clothes for Cas. While they had purchased two more skirts besides the first one, Sam had insisted on several pairs of jeans as well, for the sake of practicality; it would be hard to run and fight in a skirt. The hunter had been amused by his friend's selection of shirts; the fallen angel seemed to be trying to mimic the Winchesters' fashion sense as closely as possible in that regard. This meant that there was a lot of plaid.

Their next destination was the grocery store, but in order to get to it, they had to pass a jewelry store. Sam thought nothing of it, but Castiel gravitated towards the light and glamour like a homing pigeon. Sam had gone about ten yards before he realized that he was walking alone. He stopped, sighed, and turned back.

"Cas?" he asked softly as he approached the fallen angel. Castiel had pressed his hands against one of the display cases, and his face was inches from the glass.

"It is beautiful, is it not, Sam?"

Sam glanced at the luminous gems and precious metals under the counter. They looked fine, he supposed, but jewelry held no interest for him. The last time he had even given it serious thought was when he was ring shopping for Jess.

"Uh, yeah I guess," he said to his friend. "But we can't afford any of this stuff Cas."

"Heaven was full of beauty like this," the other man said forlornly. Sam sighed.

"Yeah, I'm sorry man," he said, at a loss for how to help. "I guess we can stay for a while, if you want."

Castiel nodded at his friend and returned to gazing fixedly at the jewelry. Sam smiled apologetically and shrugged at the woman behind the counter, who was staring at the two of them bemusedly. The hunter was too busy keeping an eye on his companion to notice the threat until it was too late.

"Everybody get on the ground with your hands on your head! This is a robbery!"

Sam whirled around and his stomach dropped. There were three men in grey ski masks with very large guns blocking the exits. They had a hard and experienced look about them; clearly not amateurs on their first heist. Sam looked over at Cas, who was stepping forward, reaching for the angel sword that he still carried with him everywhere. He reached out an arm to stop him.

"No, Cas, don't" he said urgently in a low voice. "You don't have a chance against those guns." He did not want to see his friend get shot to pieces in front of him.

"On the ground I said!" shouted one of the robbers, pointing his gun at Castiel and Sam.

The pair slowly sank to their knees. All of Sam's instincts were screaming at him to fight these douchebags, but he knew that it was smarter to just let them do their thing and leave. He and Cas were outnumbered, and the only weapon that he had on him was Ruby's knife. He was not a cop, and it was not his job to stop human crimes, especially when no one was getting hurt. That is, until someone tried to get heroic.

The saleswoman behind the counter had inched forward towards the silent alarm that was installed under one of the display cases. Unfortunately, one of the thugs caught sight of her movement and turned his gun on her. Even knowing that he was too far away to do anything, Sam threw himself forward. He heard the sharp crack of the gunshot, and then the sound of a body hitting the floor. He could not spare a glance for the fallen woman because he was too busy trying to wrestle the gun away from her shooter.

He had been right about these guys being practiced criminals. His opponent was clearly a skilled fighter, which was making beating him very challenging. The only blessing for Sam was that he was too close to the robber for the man's two accomplices to have a clean shot with their guns. However, that did not stop them from rushing forward to help their accomplice. No sooner had Sam managed to knock out his first opponent, than he was jumped by the other two.

"Cas?' he managed to gasp out when he was caught in a stranglehold. "A little help here, man?"

He knew that he had told Castiel to stay back, but he could not believe that his friend would just leave him like this, not even lifting a finger to help. It was then that he caught sight of the pool of blood on the floor, surrounding not the saleswoman who pulled the alarm, but the body of a fallen angel in a filthy trench coat.

"No," Sam choked, forgetting for a moment that he was fighting for his life. Cas had been kneeling closer to the woman, he must have thrown himself in front of the bullet meant for her. Of all the stupid, rash, moronic, self-sacrificing, heroic things to do…And now Sam was going to lose another member of his tiny family.

No. Not again. Not Cas.

Panic for his friend and rage for his attackers gave Sam the extra burst of strength that he needed to neutralize his remaining two opponents. When he had rendered them both unconscious, with a few more kicks to the head than were strictly necessary, he ran to Castiel's side and searched frantically for the bullet wound.

"Call an ambulance!" he shouted at the woman that Castiel had sacrificed himself for. She had been frozen by shock and fear, but jumped into action at his order. He ignored her as he turned back to his friend.

"No, come on Cas," Sam muttered, feeling for a pulse with one hand. "Don't do this to me, man; I can't handle this. Neither can Dean. Please, Cas, you're family, and we just got you back."

He let out a breath when he felt the weak, unsteady throb of blood in Cas's neck; the fallen angel was still alive. He leaned forward when he saw the man's crystalline blue eyes begin to slowly drift open.

"Hey, Cas, can you hear me?" he asked with desperate hope.

Sam had found the bullet's entry site; it was high on his friend's left side. He knew from his vast experience with wounds of all kinds that the projectile must have pierced at least the lung, possibly hitting the heart or a major blood vessel as well. Cas was losing too much blood, and if he did not get help soon…

"Sam?" Cas's voice came out as a whisper, blood bubbling from the corner of his mouth. He gripped weakly at the hunter's jacket. "Is…she…alright?"

"The girl?" asked Sam, glad to hear his friend's voice, but worried about how bad it sounded. "Yeah, buddy, she's fine. You saved her life."

"Good," murmured Castiel, his voice fading. "At least one…life will continue because…of me. I destroyed…so much in my life…it is fitting that I protected…in death."

"Hey, no, don't talk like that Cas," said Sam, tears beginning to form in his eyes at the prospect of losing the man who had become a brother to him. He could hear the distant sounds of approaching sirens, but his friend was slipping fast. "You're going to be fine man, just hang on. There's help on the way. Come on, you're not going to let calling you a maternal chicken be the last thing Dean ever said to you; he'd hate himself. And he hasn't gotten to see you in a skirt yet. Just don't do this to us, Cas. Please."

Cas drew in a ragged breath and forced his eyes open again, meeting Sam's tearful gaze.

"Tell Dean…that the greatest thing…I ever did…was raising him…from perdition." He tightened his grip on Sam's jacket, his eyes intense. "And Sam…thank you."

His eyes drifted shut and his grip grew slack. He breathed out a sigh, but did not take another breath.

"No," whispered Sam, horrified. He gathered Cas's broken body into his arms, tears cascading down his face as he pleaded, "no please, no. Oh god, Cas. No."

There was no response from the fallen angel. Sam could not believe that he had let another member of his family down. How did he constantly fail to protect the people that he loved? He could not imagine what he was going to say to Dean, how they were going to move on from this.

Sam was so lost in his despair that he did not notice the first gunman that he had taken out beginning to stir. He only heard the scream of warning from behind him. He turned just as the bullet ripped through his newly broken heart.

ooooooooooooooooo

Dean had just begun to feel better when he heard the familiar ringtone of his phone. He glanced at the caller ID, fully intending to ignore it if it was Sam calling to check up on him. He was glad that his little brother was feeling better after nearly being killed by the trials, but sometimes his nerves just needed a break. But it was not Sam's number calling. He pushed the 'answer' button.

"Hello?"

"Is this Dean Wilson?" The woman's voice was clear and professional.

"Yeah," Dean answered cautiously.

" Brother of Sam and Castiel Wilson?"

"What happened to them?" Dean asked, instantly alarmed. He was listed as their emergency contact, and the only reason that someone would be calling about them…

"Sir, I'm afraid that your brothers were involved in a robbery. They've both been shot."

Dean sank into the closest chair, his fingers growing numb from gripping the phone so tightly. He had let them go; no, he had kicked them out, and he had not been there to protect them. Sammy and Cas, the only two people in the world he had left, and they were…

"Are they dead?" he asked bluntly, knowing in his very core that if she answered in the affirmative, he would not be surviving the night. There was no way.

"No sir," said the woman.

Dean closed his eyes and raised his face to the empty heavens, knowing that prayer was useless, yet still feeling the need to thank someone, anyone, for the survival of his family.

"The paramedics managed to revive them both," she continued. "But they are in very serious condition. It would be best if you could come-"

"Where?" he interrupted.

He did not care if she told him that they were on the moon; he would find a way to get to them fast. Fortunately, they were a little closer, and within twenty minutes he was striding into the ICU of the local hospital. He was directed towards the cubicle at the end of the unit, and he shoved aside the curtain to reveal the two most important people in his life.

Sam and Castiel were both pale, with tubes down their throats and needles in their arms, their beds positioned side by side. But they were alive; beautifully and undeniably alive, as evidenced by the steady beeps of the monitors attached to each of them. Dean sank into the chair between their beds and reached out to grip their hands in his own.

"I'm so sorry Sammy, Cas," he whispered to them, his voice breaking as the wild emotions of the last half hour finally catching up with him. "I let you guys down. I should have been there, should have been watching out for you. But I'm here now, alright? I'm here and I'm not going anywhere, so I need you two to get better. Can you do that for me? Just get better, and I'll take care of you, I swear."

"Mr. Wilson?"

Dean looked up to see a tall, older doctor in scrubs and a white coat standing in the doorway. He nodded.

"I'm Dr. Cooper; I'm your brothers' doctor."

"Are they going to be alright doc?" Dean asked quietly, trying not to let the desperation he was feeling bleed into his tone.

"Well, it's still early, and your brothers sustained very severe injuries as well as extensive blood loss, but I'm optimistic," said the doctor, trying to reassure Dean without providing him with false hope. "We've decided to keep them in the same room, because their vitals started crashing as soon as we tried to separate them. It seems to be working so far; they're both stable for now. Hopefully your presence will help as well. You boys sure must be close."

He exited with the promise to check back in a few hours, leaving Dean alone with his small and broken family. He watched over them, keeping an eye on the news that was playing in the corner of the room. The robbery was featured frequently, informing him that one of the three criminals had been shot and killed by the police, and the other two were in custody.

Dean was tempted to march into the prison and strangle the two surviving men with his bare hands, but he resisted the urge. He knew that it would only get him arrested, and then he would not have the chance to ask Sam what the hell he and Cas had been doing in a jewelry store in the first place. He had also promised not to leave again. So he waited, sometimes patiently, sometimes not, until one of the hands that he was still holding began to twitch.

"Sammy?" Dean asked hopefully, leaning closer to his little brother. Sam groaned and pried his eyes open.

"Dean?" he asked dazedly. Then remembrance filled his eyes and clouded them over with tears. "Cas," he whispered brokenly.

"He's right here man," Dean soothed, gently tilting his brother's head so that he could see the man in the bed next to his. "He's alive, and he's staying that way."

Sam's face filled with disbelief and then hope. He stretched a hand across the gap between the beds, touching the fallen angel's arm to make sure it was real. At his touch, Cas began to stir.

"Sam?" he asked hoarsely when he had opened his eyes.

"Sammy's going to be fine Cas," Dean assured his friend, hardly able to withstand the flood of relief that was racing through him. "And so are you. Just rest now, I'm going to look after you."

"I know," said Cas softly, beginning to slip back into sleep. "You always do."

Dean looked over at Sam, who had also gone back to sleep, still gripping Castiel's sleeve. The older hunter smiled, pulled their beds closer together, and returned to his guard station between them. They would be alright; he would make sure of it. They would wake up again, and Dean would fuss over them until they both got cranky and tired of the attention, but he would not care. He would keep his family safe.

A/N Thanks for reading! I would love it if you left a review to tell me what you think.