A/N 0: I re-read this chapter and wasn't happy with the ending so I tweaked it. OK - I more than tweaked - I totally rewrote the ending.

A/N 1: this turned out to be waaaaaaaaaaay longer than I thought it would be. This one chapter is longer than most of my stories.

A/N 2:as ever and always, thanks to everyone who reads, reviews, alerts or favorites my stories.


Dean got some kind of medicine at the drugstore that stopped him squeaking, but it didn't stop his cold. He managed to hold out nearly fourteen hours, which put us about four hours outside of Cross Village, before he pulled off to an actually pretty good motel.

"We're staying here?" I had to ask. "Pretty upscale for us, isn't it?"

"I saw it on the internet, thought it looked nice." His voice was scratchy and flat. "You get the room, 'k?"

"Sure."

As I slid out of the car into the sharp sleet, Dean tucked his arm under his head against the car window. He wasn't squeaking but his breathing was getting as heavy as his eyes and he'd been popping cough drops for the last three hundred miles. I figured he'd make it as far as his bed. If I was lucky.

Turned out though he had a little more steam in him than I thought. After we carried in our stuff, duffels and groceries, Dean dug some clothes out and some package of something that I think said 'eucalyptus' and wobbled to the bathroom where instead of the shower turning on, I heard the bathtub filling up.

I laid down the salt and turned up the thermostat, emptied the food into the actually-nearly full-sized refrigerator, then set out all the medicine Dean would need on the bedside table with a bottle of orange juice. He wasn't as bad yet as I'd gotten so he could still dose himself without help.

When that was done, I put water on to boil for hot chocolate and got the book I'd been reading out of my backpack. We'd gained an hour driving east and it was only nine where we were, and I was going to be sitting up awhile. Aside from keeping an eye on Dean, research was pretty much my only past-time these days.

And anyway, with the sleet outside and the baseboard heat inside, it was a perfect night for hot chocolate and a good book.

Dean came back out after awhile, and aimed for the bed closest to the bathroom door.

"Call Cas?" He asked.

"Not much we can do tonight. Why? You want t'talk to him or something?"

"No, it's just -." Dean shrugged as he pulled his blankets back. "I was thinking, wherever he is out there, he's alone. You know? Every time we meet up with an angel, seems like another piece of his family falls away. You and me don't always get along but -" He shrugged again. " - we're together."

I didn't answer that and he didn't want an answer. He shook out a handful of vitamin C and ibuprofen and decongestant, and swallowed it all down with the juice.

"You want some hot chocolate?" I offered.

"No, thanks. I'm turning in."

"Your throat any better?"

"I'll live."

Which meant it wasn't bad enough to stop breathing.

"Your ears hurt?"

"That one's still all yours. Don't stay up late."

"Yeah."

So he went to bed and fell asleep.

We were in a good size motel room. Despite how sick Dean was feeling, I was glad we'd made it this far. The beds looked soft, the carpet didn't smell like a wet ashtray, the kitchenette was clean, and the heat was wonderful. I made my hot chocolate then pulled two dinette chairs close together at the table, one to sit in and one to put my feet on.

I set the book on my lap and started reading - more Apocalyptic Defense Strategy, of course. But my phone nagged at me, out the corner of my eye, sitting there on the small dinette table. I tried to ignore it. It was late, I was tired, I was staying up to keep a watch on Dean, and he needed sleep, not company.

A quick look at the bed and my brother confirmed that he was sleeping. Not twenty feet away from me.

Even when we were fighting and furious and not speaking to each other, even when I knew Dean was completely fed up with me, even when I needed to be away from him, just knowing that he was just a speed-dial away made being alive easier.

And I knew all too well what being alive was like when he wasn't that close.

And maybe Dean felt the same way too. When Dad was missing, and especially after Dad died, Dean seemed to pull me in closer, as close as he could. Because we were family. Because we were all we had left.

Because the alternative was to be completely alone with no one to reach out to. Or hang out with. Or hang onto.

No one to sit up and watch when pain and misery came calling.

The Apocalypse was maybe pounding on our door, but both of us, me and Dean, were behind that door, shoving with all we had to keep it closed.

I gave another look to be sure Dean was asleep, then I picked up my phone and dialed.

SPN*SPN*SPN

When my telephone rang, I was on the top floor of an office building, looking out the massive windows at a city quickly disappearing under a rapidly accumulating deluge of snow. The hour was late and the building was empty and I was alone.

"Sam - have you reached Cross Village already?" I asked.

"Uh - no. Not yet."

The hesitancy in his voice concerned me.

"Have you been taken ill again?" I asked. "Did Dean succumb more acutely than you had foreseen?"

"No. No, we're okay. Dean's sleeping. We just stopped for the night. If he doesn't get any worse, we'll be in Cross Village tomorrow, early afternoon at the latest."

"Oh. All right then. Thank you for letting me know. I'll wait for your call tomorrow afternoon."

As soon as Sam offered his goodbye, I was going to put away the telephone and resume my solitary vigil far above this snowy Michigan city.

Sam, however, was not offering goodbyes.

"Hey, Cas? I was wondering - are you, um, doing - anything? Right now?"

I knew the Winchesters were dedicated to the hunt, but this seemed a bit extreme, even for them.

"It is rather late isn't it to undertake any activities this evening? It presents no problem to wait until tomorrow."

"No, I didn't mean that. I wasn't - I meant - I was wondering - um - if you're in the area, you know, if you're not doing anything, maybe you could - um - come by. If you wanted."

His continued hesitancy and apparent distress confused me. If he needed something for Dean, he would ask me for it. Demand it of me. Perhaps he needed something for himself.

"Do you need more supplies? Certainly, I'll bring you whatever you need."

"No. No, we don't need anything. Thanks. No. I just - thought - you know - I'm gonna be awake for awhile and - um - I wouldn't mind some - um - company."

I was momentarily dumbfounded.

"You're inviting me for a - visit?"

There was a definite pause from the other phone.

"Yeah. I - um - yeah, I am....I - uh - made hot chocolate…?"

I considered - and dismissed immediately - the thought that perhaps Sam needed me to watch Dean while he went out, as I had watched over Sam for Dean. Again, I knew that if Sam needed something from me to benefit Dean, he would not be so circumspect in asking for it. He would demand it. As succinctly as possible. The invitation he had just proffered was as lengthy as it was convoluted.

"Um - thank you, Sam. Yes. Give me your location and I will be there momentarily."

SPN*SPN*SPN

I was surprised that Cas said 'yes'. I was surprised he'd spend - want to spend - time with me. I told him Dean was asleep. He knew it would be just me.

It'd been a long time, a really long time - four years, seven months, one week and one day, but who's counting? - since I'd invited somebody to visit me, just me, for any reason other than a hunt. I was kind of out of practice.

What constitutes small talk with an angel?

A knock on the motel door surprised me. I expected Cas to just wing himself into the room. But when I looked through the peephole, there he was, rumpled and dampening in the sleet.

"Hey." I opened the door to let him in. "You knocking now?"

"I thought perhaps that would be a more acceptable means of announcing my presence. Dean seems to think I bear a certain disregard for what he refers to as personal space."

"Well, isn't that the pot calling the kettle black..." I mused out loud. "C'mon in. Dean's sleeping." I said that as much a warning to keep things quiet as to remind Cas that I was it for company. "Let's go over to the sitting area…"

Back when I started really praying, even when I didn't know for sure who or what I was praying to, never in my wildest, most fevered, or pain-killer-filled dreams did I ever imagine inviting an angel in for hot chocolate on a winter night.

Especially not when it was just me and him, and Dean was gone off to sleep in Get-Well-Ville.

"So - um - you like hot chocolate?" I asked. Because if he didn't, I really didn't know what I was going to do.

"I've never tried hot chocolate, but I would be more than willing to."

Great.

"Great - well, pull up a cloud and I'll get you some."

We'd bought some powdered hot chocolate mix when we got the groceries, some generic store brand, not the really good stuff. But the water was hot and the cups were clean and not chipped, and I'd stopped wanting anything better than that a long time before.

"Here."I set the cup in front of Cas at the table and took my seat again, setting my feet back on the second chair.

And we sat there quite a few long minutes, drinking hot chocolate and not saying anything.

At all.

Dean slept on.

SPN*SPN*SPN

The hot chocolate was - hot. And chocolate.

As beverages go, it was - acceptable.

I have never visited anyone when it wasn't of my own instigation, or the eve of an horrific battle, and so I was not fully knowledgeable of manners or protocol in such a situation.

"This seems a comfortable room." I offered.

"Yeah. We've stayed in some ugly places in our lives. This past year though, we've been staying in some nicer spots."

"Dean wants you to be comfortable." I said. I was surprised by the answer I received - Sam shrugged and pulled a large book off the table onto his lap.

"I don't know." He said, as though he was embarrassed by the question, or the implication. "Anyway, you saw the place we holed up when I was sick."

"When you were sick, your world was reduced to bed, blankets, and pillows, and it was Dean who bore the burden of his surroundings. Now, your situations are reversed and I imagine Dean chose this motel - if indeed Dean chose this motel - with some thought to the time you would be spending in it while awake."

I waited for either affirmation or refutation of my statement. Sam, however, stared into the cup in his hands.

"Did Dean choose this motel?"

"Yeah - uh -." Sam cleared his throat. "Yeah."

He removed a tissue from his pocket and pressed it under his nose.

"You are still recovering from your own illness?" I inquired.

"Uh - yeah. I guess so."

And then neither of us said anything more.

I am not unused to silence, and prefer it to meaningless discourse, but the silence between Sam and myself was becoming rather incommodious. It is easy enough to engender conversation with Dean; all I have to do is speak one word and Dean replies to me in paragraphs. The situation with Sam seemed quite the reverse.

As I was about to remark on the book Sam had in his possession, his eyes fixed to the form of his brother. In another moment, he placed his book on the table, stood up and retrieved a bottle from the refrigerator.

I looked at Dean, but he only seemed to be shifting position on his bed. Sam walked toward him and when he was only a foot or so away, Dean sat up, apparently in some distress.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"Stupid congestion - can't get back to sleep."

"Okay, here, some more orange juice." Sam twisted the top off the bottle and Dean took it from him. "Sit forward."

"Nnnnnh." Was all I heard Dean say as he drank from the bottle of orange juice."C'mon, Dean. You know it always works. C'mon."

"Yeah, yeah…"

Dean leaned forward farther, hunching over his orange juice and misery. I don't believe he knew I was there. Sam stood several minutes, watching him, gauging something, waiting for something.

Then Dean nodded and Sam crossed the room again and brought a box of tissues back to his brother.

"Okay, have at it."

There followed several minutes of Dean attempting to disperse the accumulated effluence of a severe head cold. And he had apparently accumulated quite the quantity. Sam held the waste can where Dean could deposit his tissues as he exhausted them.

Finally, there seemed to be no more and Dean flung himself backwards into the bed. Sam set aside the waste can and sat on the edge of the mattress next to his brother.

"More orange juice?"

"Nnnnnh."

"Decongestants?"

"Nnnnnh."

"Hot chocolate?"

"Yuk."

"All right then, go back to sleep."

Sam pulled the blankets higher and placed his hand on Dean's brow.

Dean pushed Sam's hand away and turned to face the wall.

"Knock it off, Francis…"

SPN*SPN*SPN

When Dean turned away, effectively telling me to leave him alone and let him go back to sleep, I went back to the dinette table and my guest.

It felt kinda weird to have somebody else in the room with me when Dean wasn't there.

Okay, so Dean was there, he was just sleeping.

And maybe it was just weird because it was Castiel. We'd been through battles together, life and death, Heaven and hell, and I don't think we'd ever said more than a sentence or two to each other at any given time.

And probably less than half were what could be called pleasant.

He was Dean's friend. He was my - my brother's friend.

"I hadn't realized that 'Sam' was a nickname for 'Francis'." Cas said as I was taking my seat again.

"What?"

"He called you 'Francis'."

"Oh - ha. No, that's just something he calls me sometimes."

"Oh." Cas sounded confused, but I was too tired to explain.

We drank the hot chocolate and I made some more and I wondered if Cas was feeling as awkward as I was.

"Sam - if I may ask - why do you hate your birthday?"

He hadn't moved, he hardly changed expression. It was always hard to tell from the look on his face or the tone of his voice the difference between mild interest and deep scorn, pity or sarcasm or wit.

"Do you know what day my birthday is?"

"No."

"It's the day Mom made her deal. It's the day Dean made his deal and the day he went to hell. It's the day I let Lucifer walk free."

Cas didn't say anything. I didn't like the silence.

"Can't say we never do anything special for my birthday…"

"You shouldn't feel that way about your birthday." He said, finally. "The day you were born, the day - the moment - any child is born is a celebration of momentous wonder and joy. Each child born gives the universe pause, gives it a reason to continue. Each child gives the universe hope."

Well, Cas talked a good game, but I had to shake my head.

"Not me."

SPN*SPN*SPN

Perhaps I became carried away attempting to persuade Sam that the occasion of his birth was not one of sorrow but of delight. Despite all that had occurred in his life since his birth, the fact remained that the remembrance of his birth should give him pleasure and not pain.

He was in no wise persuaded.

"The day I was born, the universe choked." He told me. "Anybody who was happy, wasn't happy for long. There isn't one thing I've touched that I haven't ruined. There isn't one person I've ever loved who hasn't died or been maimed or both. And what I did? And why I did it? I have to be the most arrogant, selfish person the universe has ever seen."

A quite cogent response sprang to my mind and my lips, but my opportunity to impart that response was interrupted when Dean stirred on his bed, reaching out an arm and scattering onto the carpet the bottles that were next to his bed.

Sam of course was on his feet more quickly than it would require to take a breath.

"Dean? Hey - what's wrong? Dean - you okay, man? Hey - what is it?"

"S'm?" Dean made a brave but ultimately futile attempt to sit up. He accomplished no more than a few inches before he collapsed back into the pillows. "S'm - wh're y'?"

"Dean?" Instead of sitting on the edge of the mattress, Sam knelt beside the bed. One hand he placed on Dean's chest, while with the other hand, he scooped up the fallen bottles and box of tissues and replaced them on the table. "I'm here, Dean. What d'you need? Want some more orange juice? Hunh? Kleenex? Dean?"

Dean muttered something that I certainly couldn't understand. Given Dean's ability to translate Sam's most tortuous communications, I was not surprised when Sam answered Dean as though his remark had been as clear as crystal.

"No, I wasn't nauseous when I was sick - why?"

He'd barely finished his inquiry when Dean forced himself to an upright position and vomited - on himself, on his blanket.

On his brother.

And then - he did it again.

And the self-proclaimed 'most selfish man in the universe' pulled a sizeable quantity of tissues from the box on the table next to the bed and used them to wipe the residue of sickness from Dean's hands and face.

"Well, that was a good one." He said to Dean, though I wasn't sure if Dean was entirely cognizant of what was being said to him. "Wanna try best three out of five?"

I heard no answer from Dean but some communication must have passed between them because Sam told him,

"No, don't worry about it. How many times have I done that to you in my lifetime? C'mon, you need to get cleaned up. Can you stand? Upright, I mean…"

Dean did say something then, and Sam laughed.

"Says you…c'mon, can you slide over? Wait - let me -"

Sam stood up and folded the top blanket in upon itself, concealing the evidence of Dean's sickness. He set that aside on the floor then pushed the other blankets out of Dean's way and stood back, watching Dean, waiting again for some word or sign from Dean before making his next move.

When the sign or word or perhaps no more than the thought was given, Sam helped Dean to his feet and steadied him and walked with him to the bathroom. Dean went in and shut the door. Sam immediately reached to open it again part-way.

"Nice try. Door stays open. I'll put clean clothes on the sink."

The look on Sam's face when he turned back and saw me made me think he had forgotten I was even there. He looked down at the mess staining his shirt, then back to the bathroom. He swiftly pulled clothing from Dean's bag and deposited it inside the bathroom door.

Then Sam Winchester, Liberator of Evil, Bringer of the Apocalypse, Heaven's Pawn and Hell's Puppet, the 'Most Arrogant Man in the Universe', looked down at himself again and skirted the table where I sat, walking toward the sink behind me, not meeting my eyes. A flush that was not fever crested his face.

"Sorry. I just - excuse me while I clean up. It'll just be a minute. Sorry…"

SPN*SPN*SPN

Well, the last time I had anybody over for a visit, I sure didn't have to abandon them in the middle of it to wash puke off of me. Or my clothes. Or the bed. Maybe angels weren't everything I thought they'd be, it still didn't seem right to be wearing puke in front of Cas.

I ducked back to the sink in the kitchenette and washed off my hands and the front of my shirt.

Poor Dean. Regular flu wasn't bad enough, he had to get stomach flu too. He was sure going to feel like crap on stale toast for awhile.

We had some Sierra Mist in the fridge at least, I took it out and put it on the bedside table, near the other bed. The clean bed. I moved the meds and Kleenex over there too. I didn't want to put Dean back in the bed that smelled like puke, even if it was clean.

I picked up the dirty blanket and reached into the bathroom to grab Dean's dirty clothes off the floor while he was taking the shower. I wrapped everything in separate plastic bags I scored out of the wastebasket and dropped them in the farthest corner of the room, hopefully out of smell-range.

When that was taken care of, I cranked the thermostat up another five degrees since Dean had been shivering when I helped him stand up, and I pulled the heating pad out and set that on the bed.

With nothing left to do but wait for Dean to finish cleaning up, I sat down at the table again.

"Dean appears to have a different illness than you had."

"Yeah, I don't know where he got that. Could be food poisoning, I suppose. The places we eat, we get that a lot."

And then - silence.

I thought I could ask Cas how his search for God was going, but then I thought he'd tell us if he had any good news. And I didn't want to hear any more bad news. I stared at the bathroom door a minute, and it occurred to me.

"Hey - Cas? I - uh - I never thanked you."

"For what?"

"For saving Dean. For pulling him from hell. With everything that's happened ever since then, I never thanked you."

All I expected was a 'you're welcome', maybe a sardonic remark about Dean being more trouble out of hell than he was in, but Cas looked a little perturbed at my thanks.

"I removed Dean from hell on the command of God. You should thank Him for saving your brother."

"I have, I do. I thank Him every single day. But God's not the one who marched on hell and pulled Dean free. You did. You gave me back my brother."

SPN*SPN*SPN

I was taken aback when Sam offered me his thanks for reclaiming Dean from hell. Not that I thought he wasn't grateful; but since he felt Dean shouldn't have gone to hell and didn't deserve to be there, I believed that he would view my actions as no more than what I ought to have done and therefore deserving of no particular thanks.

What surprised me more, though, was his declaration that he had thanked God, that indeed he was still thanking God for saving Dean, the brother who argued with him, often maligned him to his face, on occasion visited violence upon him, and only moments ago had vomited on him.

"You continue to thank God for placing Dean back in your life?"

"Every day. Every hour. Every time I look at Dean, or hear his voice or - or anything. I'm never not grateful to have him back."

"Even when you're at odds with each other?" I asked. Sam's eyes looked from me to the bathroom door briefly, then back at me.

"I have no idea what love means in Heaven anymore, but here, in this family, when you love somebody, you love them even when they hate you. Even when you hate them. Nothing changes that."

And this, I thought, this was the boy with the demon blood.

"Do you realize what a very profound statement that is?"

"Yeah, well, I wish I'd realized it before I went to college. Before my Dad died. Things might've turned out differently. Some things anyway."

Before I could ask him what things specifically would have been different, he looked at me again.

"I wonder what Dad would've thought, meeting you. He never really believed in God or Heaven or angels. I wonder what he'd say."

Having considered this exact question many times as I'd dealt with the two younger Winchesters, I had an answer already formed.

"Based on how your brother has described your father to me, and also extrapolating a hypothesis of his behavior and demeanor from yours and your brother's, my conjecture would be that upon meeting me, your father would press weaponry upon me and issue the command -" I took a breath and did my best to imitate Sam's tone at his most incensed. " - 'I don't care if you're an angel or the Queen of England. Fight.'"

Sam looked at me a moment, and then burst into laughter. Deep, genuine laughter.

I was wholly earnest in my assessment of what John Winchester's reaction would be to the knowledge of my existence, and Sam was laughing as though I'd just related the most mirthful joke in the history of mankind. I wondered if I was that far off the mark.

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds like Dad all right." Sam told me when his laughter had subsided. "He could be kind of single-minded."

"One of many traits which he passed down to his sons."

I thought that sentiment would cheer Sam, but it only seemed to dishearten him.

"Apparently I didn't get enough of his traits…"

"Dean has told me that you and your father are very much alike."

"He doesn't mean that in a good way. He means I got Dad's blind need for vengeance and willingness to put the hunt before almost anything."

Again, before I could respond, Sam shrugged and said,

"Everybody's got flaws, though. Hunh?"

"Most definitely. Dean is disrespectful, acerbic, overbearing, and overconfident."

"Those aren't flaws." Sam said immediately, and with some conviction.

"Any strength can be a weakness." I pointed out. He didn't answer that; he only looked to the bathroom door again.

"I still miss Dad." He said. He was beginning to show the signs of weariness - pallor, hollow eyes, a slowing of his movements and speech. "I wish he was here. Everything would be okay if he was here. I was always safe with Dad."

This statement seemed to be at odds with many of the anecdotes Dean had shared with me about their lives with their father.

"But Dean told me that traveling and hunting with your father more often than not put you in harm's way. Often quite directly."

Sam offered me a fast glance over his shoulder as the sound of water flowing in the bathroom ceased.

"If strength can be weakness, then danger can be safety." He said.

SPN*SPN*SPN

Dean was done with his shower, so I went to pull the blankets back, and plug in the heating pad and turn it on low. That'd help his chills. I checked that all the medicine he needed and the Sierra Mist was within his reach, the soiled blankets and clothes were out of sight, and that the path from the bathroom was clear. I hoped he was feeling better after his shower.

"S'mmy?"

Guess not, judging from how he looked as he stood in the bathroom doorway. Flushed and pale, shivering, miserable-looking, and when I walked over to him and asked quietly…

"Hey, Dean. How're you doing?"

…he squinted up at me like his eyes were bothering him and he asked,

"Where'd y'put th'bed?"

Guess he had the gummy eyes now too.

"Over here, c'mon. I put you in the other bed. It's just a little farther."

He put his hand on my arm and together we made a slow walk to the farther bed. He sat down and I felt his forehead and he let me. His fever was still going strong.

"Throwing up anymore?" I asked.

"No, seemed t'be it."

"Good. OK. There's Sierra Mist here, anyway. Just in case. And here, take some more Ibuprofen, in case you tossed up most of the last dose you took."

He watched me as I shook a couple of tablets into my hand but he didn't answer me. He was practically falling asleep where he sat.

"You're completely wasted, man. We drove too far today."

"But we got a great motel." He answered with that grin he gets. He still didn't acknowledge the medicine I was holding out to him.

"Dean?"

"Hmmm?"

"Here, take these."

I took his hand and set the pills into it, then opened the bottle of soda pop for him. When he made no move to do anything, I sat down next to him and lifted his hand toward his mouth.

"Take the medicine, Dean. Swallow them down with this."

He either got the idea or his brain switched to automatic. He took the pills with a couple of swallows of soda pop, then set the bottle on the bedside table. When he turned to start putting himself in bed, I stood and pulled the blankets out his way some more, and then pulled them back around him when he was laying down.

"Keep the heating pad against you." I said, tucking it under the blankets with him. "It'll help your chills."

"M'na'delkit…" He muttered. But I saw him pull it close.

"Right, you're not delicate. Go to sleep. I'll be awake if you need anything."

SPN*SPN*SPN

From the very first moment I met Dean in his corporeal state, he presented himself to me as an obdurate, self-possessed, eminently capable man. Nothing he encountered, not even the realization that his brother was treading a bloody edge between good and evil, could breach Dean's nerve.

Only in the hospital, after Alistair had wreaked his havoc on Dean's body and - worse - on his psyche, only then, battered and bleeding and hardly able to breathe on his own, did Dean come close in my presence to anything approaching vulnerability, and even that was interspersed with moments of anger and fire.

So it was with utter amazement - bordering on sheer stupefaction - that I watched as Dean Winchester, the most feared man in Heaven, the most hated man in hell, the most independent man on earth, allowed himself to be guided, supported, medicated, even coddled, by his younger brother.

Dean Winchester is so strong, he can only be completely vulnerable in the presence of the only man strong enough to be vulnerable in his presence.

Sam.

Sam returned to the table and the two chairs he was using to recline himself. He rested his head in one hand. His eyes were half closed, as though a bright light was shining in them.

"You should sleep, shouldn't you?" I asked him. I knew enough of the Winchesters to know that if I commended him to rest, he would call his present state of wakefulness and fatigue 'resting'.

He turned toward me, without raising his head from his hand.

"He still has the fever; I need to wait to see that the medicine has an effect."

"That could be several hours, couldn't it?"

He nodded, again not lifting his head from where he rested it in his hand.

"If he's as sick as I was, yeah. Could be a few hours. I need to be sure too that he doesn't throw up again. If he does, with the fever, he could become dehydrated. I need to watch him."

"So - you're prepared to be awake all night, if necessary."

"Yeah." He answered me as though I'd suggested a pleasant activity.

"I can sit with Dean while you -."

As had happened the day before, my offer of help was cut short but a single glance of fire from Sam.

"You should sleep." I said again.

"When I know Dean is all right."

And we fell into silence again. I wondered if I should offer to leave, and leave Sam to his task of caring for Dean through the night.

Alone.

"Hey Cas, I never asked -" Sam straightened himself up in the chair and turned to me. "Losing your angel juice and all - you can't get sick, can you? Maybe you should take some ibuprofen? Echinacea?"

"No, I'm fine."

"You sure? I'd hate to invite you over just to give you a head cold."

"I assure you, I won't be taken ill."

He nodded. He actually seemed pleased with my answer. He rested his head in his hand again and let his eyes close for a moment.

"You know," he said as his eyes opened and again went immediately to the bed and his brother. "I was thinking, if God is anything like my Dad was, you won't find Him until He wants to be found."

"I am becoming more and more aware of that." I agreed.

"But you know what else? Dad stayed away from us, he kept us away from him, to protect us. That first year I was back with Dean, when Dad wouldn't even answer our phone calls, I thought he was mad at me, I thought he hated me, sometimes I thought he was the biggest jerk in the world and that he was staying away from us out of selfishness. But he wasn't. You know? He was doing his best to protect us. I think he must've maybe hated being away from us as much as we hated it."

"So, you think my Father is maintaining His distance and silence as a means of protecting me?" I asked. I couldn't help but think of all I had been through during my quest. "As Dean might say, 'bang up job on that.'"

That made Sam laugh again.

"No - I meant - even if it seems like God's ignoring you, or that He doesn't care if bad things happen - if He loves you as much as my Dad loved us, then He's doing what He knows He has to do. I mean - all the other angels are whining about how God is AWOL, but maybe - maybe He hates being away from all of you as much as you all hate it."

He rubbed his eyes and drew in a breath so deep it might've been a yawn.

"Maybe that doesn't even make sense. I don't know. Just - don't give up."

SPN*SPN*SPN

What the hell was I thinking, giving advice about God to an angel? Talk about arrogant.

"I'm sorry." I told Cas. "I don't mean to tell you your business. I'm probably telling you stuff you know already."

"Not at all, Sam. I appreciate your candor. And your concern. I must admit there are moments where I find myself contemplating despair and resignation, wondering if my quest is not simply an exercise in futility. There is solace in sharing the experience with someone who has made a similar journey."

Cas doesn't lie, and he doesn't ever say anything just to make somebody else feel better. So he was telling me the truth, that what I said had helped him. And it embarrassed me.

Me, 'the boy with the demon blood' had said something that reassured an angel.

That just didn't seem right.

"It's just - I didn't believe in my Dad and I was wrong and I never got the chance to tell him that. I don't - I wouldn't - just - you should have the chance to make things right with your Father."

Still telling an angel about God, and throwing my own petty regrets into the mix. Arrogant and selfish. Time to offer him something else.

"You want anything to eat? We've got instant soup, and some sandwiches. Hey - we've got macaroni that cooks in the microwave. It only takes four minutes. That's pretty cool."

He gave me a look that seemed more astonished than puzzled.

"Well, maybe not to an angel." I said.

He took another minute, looking like he was mentally flipping through cue cards, trying to find something appropriate to say.

"I'm sure it's very wholesome fare."

"It's not milk and honey and goat curds, but outside of Bobby's, it's the closest we ever get to home-cooked food."

Cas kind of tipped his head like he was thinking about it.

"Goat curd can be an acquired taste."

Huh, yeah, I bet.

He didn't say anything about being hungry, and I wasn't hungry, so we stayed at the table and didn't eat anything. I was too tired to read anymore, so I just rested my head in my hand and watched Dean. Just a couple more hours and if he seemed better, or at least didn't get any worse, I could lay down and get some sleep.

Until then…

"Sam?"

I opened my eyes as soon as I realized they were closed and looked over at Cas.

"May I ask you a question which has been troubling me since we spoke this morning?"

"Uh - yeah. Sure."

I straightened up, I tried to straighten up, and pay attention.

"By your own admission, you've known for some time that it was I who opened the door to the panic room and released you from your restraints, leaving you free to kill Lilith and break the last seal. Yet, you seem to harbor no ill will toward me for this."

I didn't want to answer that.

"Is there a question in there?" I asked instead of answering. Dean could need me any time now, I'd be really okay with that.

"Almost any other person would apportion at least some of the responsibility to someone else. Anyone else. Yet, all this time, you've borne the blame and the guilt and the shame entirely by yourself."

My mouth went dry and I wished I had more hot chocolate or anything to drink. It wasn't like I hadn't thought about this over and over and over again.

"That's because it is all mine. Every choice was mine. You opened the door, but I walked out. I walked past Dean. Hell, I knocked Bobby cold and stole a car from him to get away. If I'd listened-" to what Dad taught me, what Dean taught me " - to what I knew was right, none of this would've happened."

"If I had left the lock undisturbed, none of this would've happened."

Dean wasn't stirring but I stood up anyway to go check on him. I wanted to get away from the table.

"Blaming somebody else, anybody else, isn't going to change anything." I said. "I started it. All that matters now is ending it."

SPN*SPN*SPN

Sam went to his brother's side, even though Dean had not exhibited any indication of being in distress. I knew I'd pressedfd upon a tender spot with Sam in discussing the breaking of the final seal and his involvement in it, but I needed to know his feelings on the matter before I broached one last topic with him.

Dean needed no ministrations and I knew Sam would be loathe to risk disturbing him, and despite how uncomfortable I might have made him, he would not be rude to me, so he came back to the table.

"So, Cas - I'm gonna be up for awhile, whyn't you take the other bed? You can drive to Cross Village with us tomorrow."

"And where will you sleep when you decide to retire? In bed next to your brother?"

Sam's response was an immediate and rather derisive breath of laughter.

"Yeah, right. Dean would kill me. I've slept in chairs before, I can do it again. Anyway, I want to be up if he needs anything."

"Dean accomplished the very same objective by placing himself in the same bed as you slept in." I pointed out.

And received another derisive laugh in answer.

"Yeah, well - it's Big Brother's prerogative apparently." Sam said, and I heard affection in his voice. "You take the bed if you want it. I'll be awake for awhile."

Being recumbent is not an unpleasant thing and I considered availing myself of his offer, but there was yet that last topic I needed to broach with him.

"There's something I wish to tell you first, Sam. After that, you may require my departure from this room."

His first action was to look at Dean, as though opprobrium against his brother would be the only reason to dismiss me.

"What?"

I took a moment to collect my thoughts, and turned myself in my chair so that I was fully facing Sam.

"Earlier in our conversation, when we were discussing your birth and how you feel about it, you referred to yourself as the most arrogant, selfish man on earth."

Sam flinched and looked anywhere but at me. He had spoken those words aloud himself, yet they stung him.

"'Cause I am." He said, and did not look at me.

"Sam." Wanting him to look at me, I tried the tone of voice I'd often heard Dean employ when he wished to impress upon Sam the seriousness of what he was saying.

That it worked surprised me nonetheless.

"Sam - the most selfish man on earth thinks he gives more than he is required to give, and begrudges the little that he ever does give. The most arrogant man on earth thinks that rather than owing anything, he himself is owed from others. The most selfish man does not willingly give everything he has, and then give yet still more from all that he lacks. The most arrogant man does not put every other person on earth before himself, most especially not when it surely means his death."

He listened but shook his head. He didn't want to believe me.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

As Dean began once again to stir on his bed and Sam stood to tend to him, one further line of reasoning presented itself to me.

"I'll tell you what I know absolutely, Sam. Never, not in any fragment of any portion of any moment in history, not since the beginning of time would the most selfish, arrogant man on earth ever put up with Dean."

In Sam's eyes, that might well have constituted opprobrium against his brother and I expected to be shown the door with speed and fury.

But he breathed out a weary laugh and smiled a weary smile.

"Dean said we keep each other human." He said, and went to his brother who was becoming restless on his bed.

"S'm? S'mmy?"

"Dean - hey. Here I am. What's going on?" He sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on Dean's chest. "I'm here. You feeling that bad? What do you need?"

Dean turned onto his side, toward Sam, and Sam leaned in close and moved his hand to Dean's back, gently stroking back and forth while he spoke softly to him.

"Go back to sleep, Dean. Everything's okay here. Okay? Sleep."

Dean stilled, but stayed turned toward Sam. And Sam stayed with him.

That morning, Sam had told me that just as I was searching for God, he was searching for the place he didn't hear the screams anymore. Whether he was referring to the screams of people blighted by the unleashing of evil on the world, or his own screams I didn't know.

And I realized - just as Sam knew that I wouldn't find God if He didn't want me to, I also knew that Sam wouldn't find the place where the screams stopped if Dean wasn't next to him.

I was also quite sure the Winchesters were already aware of that.

The End.