Disclaimer: I've already written it somewhere (Chapter 1) and I'm too lazy to write it again. Sorry . ^.^

I wish to excuse myself for the delaying but I've been quite sick in those two months and I couldn't physically write. Moreover, university is a b…beautiful experience!

Hope you will enjoy this new chapter.


"Father! Father! Where are you going?
O do not walk so fast.
Speak, father, speak to your little boy,
Or else I shall be lost".


While Gabriel was having the time of his life making sure Zachariah would have never laid a finger again on Castiel, said angel wasn't doing so good.

After Dean had reassured him to have already been raised from Hell, the creature had fallen into a feverish sleep and hadn't woken up. Not even when Sam took Dean's place at his bedside. The only sign of him being still alive were the erratic rise and fall of his ribcage and the occasional gasps.

Until Sam moved to replace the empty bag of his IV with a new one.

Castiel's eyes half-opened and the younger hunter bent over him, placing a hand on his sweaty hair.

"Cas? Castiel? Can you see me?"
"S'm?"
"Yes, buddy! It's me! Come on: talk to me. How are you feeling?"
"Sam...you have to...to stop."
The Winchester frowned "To stop? What? Am I hurting you?"

A sudden small cough from Bobby made him turn.
The older man pointed at the figure laying on the bed and then tapped his temple. Delirious.
Castiel was delirious.

Acknowledging the information with a nod, Sam used the cool cloth to brush away the dark hair from the angel's brow and moved to sit next to him on the bed, taking hold of his bandaged hand.

"Sam?"
"I'm here, Cas. I'm here."
"T-the blood, S'm...the blood...please...please...stop...Lilith..." the words fade out as the angel found himself out of breath.

Sam placed his free hand on his heated forehead again: "Lilith's dead, Cas. The...the sigils have been broken."
The angel moaned softly and his eyelids closed for a while. When they reopened, his gaze fell on Sam again.

"And ...you?"
"I've quit with the demon's blood. I don't take it anymore."
"Oh. That...that's...really good." The relief that distended the creature's features was impossible to describe.

The hunter was moved by his fondness.

Then, Castiel began shaking again. "So, L-Lucifer and M-Michael...you are in danger..." he become more and more agitated, until the hunter had to press his shoulders onto the bed to prevent him from hurting himself.
As the angel began panting heavily, Sam collected his hands on his heaving chest to prevent the IV from tearing apart and started murmuring words of comfort to soothe him.

"Shh, shh. You're safe here. I've got you. And there's also Dean, and Bobby too." He smiled as the angel's fingers struggled to curl around his.
"D-don't...leave...please..."
"I won't, I promise. But now you should really get some rest. Sleep, Cas. You've watched over us for long, now it's out turn to vigil on you."

Faithful to his promise, Sam remained there, holding his hands and moving only to change the cloth on his brow.


The angel didn't stir even when Dean sent Bobby to sleep and took his place, luckily he slept quietly until dawn. But the fever kept consuming him and, at the first lights of that second day after his brother's leaving , the delirium returned.

And with it, the babbling. At first, the creature managed to produce only incoherent monosyllables and some angelic gibberish, but then proper words began to leave his lips.

"Abba..."
"What?! Is he obsessed with disco music?"
Sam rolled his eyes: "No! Dean, 'Abba' or 'Abbà' is an ancient Hebraic word. It means 'Dad', or 'Daddy'. In the Gospels, Jesus refers it to God. Cas is calling his Father."
"Oh, ok! This I can understand. I could get over being awkward and nerdy, but disco...dude that thing sucks!"

Sam shot him his trademark bitchface but, before he could insult his brother for his sad attempt of humour, the angel's muttering stopped him. This time they both could understand it.

"Pater Noster..."

Praying. Castiel was praying.

"Pater Noster...Qui est in coelis...santificetur Nomen Tuum...advegnat Regnum Tuum...fiat voluntas Tua...sicut in coelo et in terram...panem nostrum quotidianum...da nobis hodie... et ...dimitte...nobis...debita nostra.. sicut es nos...dimittimus...debitoribus nostris...e ne nos...inducas in tentatione...sed...libera nos a malo...Amen..."

And then:

"Pater...Pater...audi me!..Ne me defice...Pater...Te oro...audi me...ne exede...ne nos defice...ego cogo Tis...doleo...Pater...Te oro audi me!"

His ramblings in Latin went on for a while but those specific words tore apart the brothers' hearts and Dean felt his eyes burning hot with a stinging sensation. He could relate too damn much: how many nights had he spent awake, waiting for his father to return? How many times had he prayed for him not to go away, not to leave him and Sammy alone? And then, how long had he clung onto the tiniest hope of him not being dead? Frankly, too many to count.

This time, adjusting the wet handkerchief on the angel's brow was a mere excuse for him to caress his head. It was only of secondary importance if said hand had come to rest on his hair while brushing it back. It was a very rare gesture for him, one that was saved for Sam. For a very sick Sam.

Dean knew far too well how heartbreaking does it feel to have an absent father.

So, screw chick-flick moments! Their angel, their adopted brother, was getting all the care they could offer.

Ignoring the stinging sensation in his eyes, the hunter kneeled next to the bed and held his friend's hand in his free one:

"Hey, Cas. Listen, I know it's very hard for you at the moment but hold on, don't give up on us. Ok, buddy? I know you're in pain and I know how scared and lonely you feel. I've been there and so has Sammy. You are not alone in this, ok? You are not alone. We're at your side and we'll damn straight be until you're fully recover. You gave up everything for us, it's time to return the favour. Come on, buddy, I'm going on full chick-flick mode for you! Please snap out of it. It's just a fever you're stronger than that!"

Dean's heartfelt speech produced no results and, when Bobby came into view with some breakfast for the boys, the angel was still out.

While the brothers ate, the older hunter gave to the ill creature a critical glance. Seeing no chances, he bent forward and let the palm of his hand linger above the heated forehead:

"Still no change, uh?"
The Winchesters confirmed: "The fever's still high."
"It's time to take it down the hard way, then."
"Come on, Bobby! You wouldn't mean to dive him into an ice filled bathtub right now."
"That's exactly what I meant, actually. Angel or not, this fever's too high. His…vessel, or whatever can't remain for long in this condition. Were it one of you, he would've already been 'dived', and you both know it."

Silence. The boys knew Bobby was way too right and couldn't find any way to protest, so they just kept eating.

"Ok. I'll take a run to the grocery store and grab some ice, then."


While Bobby was out to fetch the ice and Sam downstairs doing the dishes, Dean knelt again at his ill friend's bedside, took hold of a limp hand and rested his head on the mattress, next to him.

This time he only whispered softly: "Hey, Cas. I'm here, ok? I've got you. Sam's got you. We'll stay here until Gabriel's return. You…damn…you're like a brother for me…and also for Sam...we…just don't give up on us, ok? Just hold on a little longer, please. Just hold on. Hold on…" We can't lose you, too.

A small, single, unnoticed tear, escaped from the older Winchester's left eyelid and fell onto the sheets. A silent prayer that wouldn't have remained unanswered.

Some time later, Dean was startled by a hand that came to rest between his shoulder blades. He jumped into a sitting position, to find hid mastodontic younger brother standing behind him.

"Dude, personal space!"

The bitch ignored him and placed a hand on their friend's head: "Still nothing?"

The rumble of Bobby's car suffocated Dean's sarcastic answer and the boys had to run outside to help him discharge the truck.

Or, at least, to cease their surrogate father's barking of orders for them to do it.

Five minutes later, the bathtub was filled with cold water and ice cubes and the hunters were reunited in the angel's room.

Sam took the covers from Castiel's body and, as Dean lifted him into a sitting position, the angel's head lolled sideway and came to rest on his shoulder.

The younger brother closed the IV line and removed the wire, leaving only the small catheter, blocked with a small plastic stopper. Then, he moved toward the creature's bare feet and, collecting them with great care, started to lift him from the sweaty mattress, while Dean did the same with their friend's upper body.

While carrying him to the bathroom, they heard Bobby's instructions: "Don't waste any time stripping him: those clothes are to be washed. I'll get you some fresh ones."

Dean gave him a faint nod and they proceeded to immerge Castiel into the icy water, leaving only his head outside, with a folded towel on the tub's edge as a makeshift pillow. His immediate reaction was to draw in a sharp breath but that was it, his body sunk into the water and only the older Winchester's hands on his face's sides prevented him from drowning.

As Sam crouched down at the angel side, holding his bandaged hand out of the water, Dean splashed some cool water over the creature's flushed cheeks.

In a few minutes Castiel's body was trembling and then violently shaking. His teeth chattering.

Finally, after hours of fever-induced coma, his eyelids peered open and the blue iris came to rest on the older Winchester's face.

"D- Dean…"he managed to babble as the hunter laid a hand on his brow "I'm c- cold-d…I'm s-so c-c-cold…"
"I know, I know…" Dean tried to soothe him, caressing the damp hair away from his forehead "It'll be okay, I promise. But now you need to remain there for a while…"
"It hurts!"
"Hey, Cas!" a gentle but firm squeeze around his left hand guided the angel's gaze toward a blurred, dark figure.
"S-Sam?"
"Yes, Cas. I'm here. Try to relax, ok? Concentrate on my voice. It'll be alright."

Sam kept on talking, effectively distracting the angel from the painful coolness of the tub, until Dean fetched a large towel from a closet nearby and spread it on the floor.

Then the men provided to lift their, soaked but feverless, friend and wrapped him into it. He was still shaking, so Dean pulled him close to his chest for warmth. Sam moved to the other room, where Bobby was tidying up. On the neatly made bed, were laying a pair of stripped pajama trousers and an old T-shirt. A very old and faded T-shirt. With a Confederate and a Northern soldier were facing each other, in a tribute to the Civil War.

Sam picked it up and frowned: "Seriously, Bobby?"
"That's all I have to spare now, idjit! Besides, that boy's so strained that he'll never notice the print."

The Singer's prophecy reveled itself to be true when the brothers had to help Castiel to get dressed: once they finished and laid him back to rest, he was so exhausted that he barely even noticed when Dean reconnected the drip to his hand.


Author's Notes:

The lines at the beginning are part of William Blake's Little boy lost, from Songs of Innocence.

The first Latin lines are the "Our Father". The others are translated below:

"Father...Father...listen to me!..Do not forsake me...Father...I pray You...listen to me...don't go away...do not forsake us...I beg You...I'm in pain...Father...I pray You, listen to me!"

A huge thank you to everybody who took the time to review, favorite and follow this: you are all awesome!

Please let me know what do you think of this.

We're running toward the end, only a couple more chapters, I think. Next one will be due in a pair of weeks and someone will make his return! Stay tuned!

Lots of love to everyone!