Notes: Seriously, I have no idea how that last month passed without me updating this story at all. Of course, there's still three major building sites towards the end that need a lot of fixing and it doesn't help that I'm basically tired all the time nowadays, but rest assured at least in that respect: I haven't forgotten this story, and it will be finished in due time.

I'm always asking you guys for life signs, and I'm really happy to receive so much good feedback! On that note, lots of love to KCS, expectoligamentumarteriosum, detectivetimehunter and Guest-kun for their encouraging reviews! You guys have no idea how easily some simple words can save a day :3

Sooo, in return, here's a bit of a life sign from me - time to get this rolling again!

Last time, we recruited Cas to teach Sam some featherfolk tricks, so now, let's see where that is going, shall we? :)

WEEKS FOUR TO SEVEN

"When I was still only a child of ninety years, I would take a night off every month to answer the prayers of humans in need."

To the ears of a human who was trying hard to live up to his sudden angelic vocation, Sam found Castiel's anecdote disconcerting in several aspects. Then again, he could not help appreciating the fondness in the former angel's voice, either.

"Clearly, my mission was another but to meddle with humanity's everyday affairs," Castiel elaborated, indulging in nostalgia, "However, I always knew God would want me to support his children. Doing so rather than just contemplating the possibilities filled me with a sense of accomplishment."

Chuckling softly, Sam could not help cherishing this brief insight in Castiel's very nature.

They might have already been friends before, but their switched roles as human and Angel - the Freaky Friday, as Dean called it - had enabled both of them to relate to each other on a whole new level. Sam had hoped, and was not disappointed, to find a mentor in Castiel. On the other hand though, it felt strangely rewarding to be able to offer some of his own experiences in return.

As a matter of fact, this was how the current nightly meeting of theirs had come into being in the first place. Knowing Sam would most likely be sitting in the bunker's study researching anyway, Castiel had sought him out when he had found himself unable to fall asleep at night.

"Well, you can either take some pills," Sam had offered simply, "Or you can talk off your mind whatever's bothering you. I'm right here."

Castiel had hesitated for a moment and pondered for another before coming up with an answer. "Condensed to one sentence," he had stated with a deep frown, "it is most likely my need of sleep that is making me wary of it in the first place."

Sam had laughed at that. "Is the concept that strange to you?" he had asked, "Both mental and physical relaxation do help you coping with reality, after all."

"But it demands an enormous amount of time," Castiel had countered with a light frown, "Do you realize humans spend a third of their ridiculously short lives sleeping?"

"I guess we - you - whatever, just never knew it any other way," Sam had replied simply, "What did you usually do during night time, anyway?"

"As Heaven is eternal, we do not generally differentiate between night and daytime," Castiel had replied, "Down here on Earth, however, there is much that can be done. I, for one, enjoyed offering help to those who prayed for it." Which brought them back to the story of the former angel's childhood adventures.

"I've been wanting to answer many of those prayers I'm suddenly hearing," Sam admitted quietly and looked at his hands, "But I still don't quite trust myself to heal people properly - or to use that mojo without blowing something up accidentally." Sighing deeply, he rested his chin on his hands.

"By this point, you have gained all the knowledge you need," Castiel offered in response. "There is only so much I can teach you in words and gestures. You will have to trust your recently added instincts at some point, especially if you still intend to reopen Heaven." He halted for a moment, furrowing his brows. "If you wish, though, I can still provide assistance to you by means of... moral support."

Their eyes locked for a long moment before Sam smiled at last. "I'd really appreciate your help, Cas."

"We can start with the practical lessons right now," the former angel suggested, "I do not feel sleepy anymore."

Sam arched an eyebrow. "Now?" he asked incredulously, but put the book he had been reading aside. "You're wearing pajamas," he pointed out with a small smile.

"They are very comfortable," Castiel agreed with a nod. "So do you hear any prayers of enhanced relevance?"

Concentrating, Sam recalled his friend's instructions on controlling the volume settings on angel radio, which he had previously muted for the sake of fruitful research. As it was to be expected and as Castiel had confirmed in great length some days ago, the most prominent connections and prayers were those of either personal or general interest to him. Before long, Sam made out a single request that outdroned the others.

"Please save her. I did not survive Afghanistan to watch her die on me, so even if it takes a miracle, I can't lose her. I just can't."

Confused for a moment, Sam recognized the voice at last. When an all too familiar fear gripped his heart tightly, he could not help gasping.

"What is it?" Castiel prompted.

Sam stared at his friend, his eyes wide and lost. "Amelia's dying."

"Come on, Ames."

Holding his wife's hand tightly, Don lowered his head. He was sitting at her bedside, just as he had been doing for the past ten hours.

As he would be doing for the next ten hours.

But chances were, he would not need to much longer.

The doctors gave her until the early morning. Only four more hours.

Inhaling deeply, he rested his forehead against the back of her hand.

If she even regained consciousness, if he could see her beautiful smile at least one last time, he would count himself lucky.

But chances were...

"What happened?"

Inhaling sharply, Don shot up from his seat, letting go of her hand as he caught sight of a ghost from the past. "You", he whispered in utter confusion as he stepped between his wife and the reason he had nearly lost her the first time around, "What are you doing here?"

Trying to keep his face blank, Sam Winchester tore his gaze off Amelia's bandaged figure and met Don's eyes. "I heard your call," he explained curtly and stepped around the bed, blatantly ignoring Don's disheartened attempt to block him as he repeated his question, "What happened?"

Breathing heavily, Don sank back onto the chair. With the tension between them still as palpable as ever, he anything but welcomed Sam's sudden appearance, especially since it meant the man was surveying them to some degree. But, honestly, Don was too tired to even care about that.

At least, Sam still cared much for Amelia, and as much as Don hated admitting it, she had never stopped feeling something in return, either.

So even if Sam was, quite obviously, seething underneath the professional facade, so even if Don would have preferred to never see the other guy again, it all came down to Amelia, and she deserved to be around the ones she loved during her last moments. As such, the soldier finally realized that fighting would do none of them any good. "It was a car accident," he explained quietly as he leant over to brush some strands of hair out of her face, "We were going on a trip for our anniversary, but then..." He trailed off when his voice broke at the memory.

He heard Sam sigh deeply, but he did not have it in him to look up. "I know what you're gonna say," he chuckled bitterly, "That you left her in my care and I messed up. That she wouldn't be dying if she'd chosen you." Somewhere along the line, his disheartened chuckles had turned into sobs. And he did not even care.

Suddenly, though, he found his giant of a rival standing right in front of him. "You know what?" Sam ground out bitterly as he pulled a startled Don up by the collar. "If she'd stayed with me, she would've died much sooner." His face darkened. "But that doesn't mean she isn't your responsibility," he finished through gritted teeth and shoved Don back onto the chair...before knocking him out cold.

But not cold enough for him not to vaguely hear a new voice in the room.

"Sam, I do realize you are harbouring pent-up aggressions towards him, but don't you think that man is already broken enough?"

"Don't lecture me, Cas, I need to be able to concentrate and you know that."

"So you did not incapacitate him because he got to enjoy the life you always craved and almost had?"

"...you really need to learn when to shut your mouth."

"Refining my 'social skills' might prove useful, yes. Will you teach me about that, too?"

"...I just did."

With his consciousness fading quickly, Don did not hear the rest of the conversation.

When he came to an hour later, however, he quickly forgot about it anyway.

It was his wife shaking him awake gently, and by what could only be a miracle she was perfectly fine.

"So," Dean greeted them as he joined the gang at the breakfast table and sent his brother a pointed look, "Are you going to tell me about your nightly adventure?"

Sam blinked back innocently, "I beg your pardon?"

Sighing, Dean flung himself into his customary chair. "When I was up at four A.M., I found you napping on the couch," he explained and arched an eyebrow, "Now tell me that wasn't because you've used up shitloads of mojo." When Sam frowned back, speechless yet obviously guilty, Dean heaved another sigh. "Listen man, I can't tell you what to do, and honestly, I would be surprised if you wouldn't spend all that additional time working somehow," he began and paused dramatically, "But if you insist on going out on your own, at least tell us. We've been down that road often enough. Once shit comes down, it comes down ten times as hard if we can't even find you."

After shrinking away several inches under Dean's speech, Sam eventually ran a hand through his hair. "Dude, no job," he began, apparently still quite groggy, "It was just a prayer."

Dean's frown deepened.

"Sam healed a human tonight, Dean," Castiel supplied, not without a hint of pride in his voice, "He wasted an incredible amount of spiritual energy in doing that, mind you, but he did perform much better than I would ever have expected of a human in his position."

"No need for encouragement, Cas," Sam grumbled unhappily.

Dean, meanwhile, was dumbstruck. "You..." he began, but realized he did not even know what to say.

"I can make a difference for once," Sam stated, and Dean's heart fell at the sight of his brother's poorly disguised despair, "What is this stupid angel affair good for if not that?"

Sighing softly, Dean had not other choice but to give in. "Just tell us, alright? And don't you dare hunting in your own" he warned and grabbed a sandwich from Cas' plate as he was already at it, "I'm dying to get some action."

- Weeks four to seven: end -

Notes: And with that it just so happened that Sam discovered a whole branch of side quests to keep himself distracted with while avoiding the actual battle, huh?

In case you're wondering whether Amelia will reappear here - as of now, she won't (mostly because most people I know don't like her anyway), but I still think Sam would have deserved some kind of happy life similar to what he had with her.

Oh well, now he has his funny crew of bunker mates, which is something too, I guess 8'D

Next time, we'll finally get some plot development. Until then, thanks a lot for reading, and stay tuned!