Lost and Found

This story was inspired by one of last year's Whumptomber prompts. I had this like 90 % written out in October 2021, but real life had other plans. Well, better late than never. Set between seasons 9 and 10 when Sam is looking for Dean (before he got his shoulder injury), still assuming Dean is dead. This is about Sam and Cas's friendship, Cas POV, which is a first for me.

Supernatural isn't mine.

Enjoy!

Castiel had walked among humans for only a fraction of his celestial existence. What were a few years compared to millennia of distant observation? Yet, this blink of an eye in an angel's life was enough for him to recognize and appreciate the complexity of humans. Despite all their flaws and imperfections, their willingness to forgive, to sacrifice, to love was sheer endless. Their devotion to one another unparalleled. Sometimes it took lies and betrayal to protect others, sometimes it took losing a part of oneself. What humans gave up for each other, how much they fought for the ones they loved, still astounded Cas even after all these years.

That was another thing. Cas. Angels did not usually shorten their names. Humans did, often as an expression of fondness towards one another. The single syllable rolled of the tongue easily, and it served as an exquisite indicator of who was well-disposed towards the angel and who wasn't. A special someone had given him the nickname. He cherished it dearly.

Now that he had experienced the perils of human life at first hand, he felt like he could relate to their sentiments to some degree. Humanity was complicated, much more so than Heaven or Hell could ever be. Cas would never be able to understand all intricacies life on earth brought about, but he'd learned enough to know that sometimes, humans put another person's wellbeing above their own. And maybe, some of those stupidly selfless humans had snuck their way into his heart and had rubbed off on Cas over the years. He was practically halfway human himself at this point, wasn't he? So, even though his grace had been fading for a while along with his life force, his existence steadily being on a trajectory towards its inevitable end, Cas 'sucked it up' as someone he dearly missed would say. Because there was someone else who needed him. A friend.

"Sam," Cas called out, surveying the bunker from the top of the crow's nest. There was no one in sight. He knew it was an act of faith that he had been entrusted with the key to the Winchester brothers' home base at all. Well, not brothers. Brother. Now, it was just Sam.

Dean was gone.

For a long time, Cas had not known angels were capable of feeling grief. Over the past years, he'd learned so much. And now here he was, an emptiness stretching inside his being so cold and encompassing that he didn't know if it could ever be any different again. This was mourning, he thought, but probably only a faint impression of humans' emotions after the loss of a loved one. If a celestial being felt this way, he could barely imagine what was going on in his friend's head. Sam had lost his brother, his soulmate. The strongest bond Cas had ever borne witness to had been severed, abruptly and brutally, only a few days ago. Metatron, the scribe of God, had killed Dean Winchester, and in doing so, he had undoubtedly killed a part of Sam Winchester, too.

Something else had happened, sweeping the rug from underneath Sam's feet a second time within mere hours. Dean's body had vanished from the bunker, without a trace. Just gone. To where and why and how were a mystery. Someone must have stolen his corpse. Sam suspected demons as the only ones capable of such a macabre deed. That's the last update Cas had gotten while being on the other side of the country, and he hadn't heard from Sam since. Traveling without his wings was arduous, but he'd come to Lebanon as soon as he could.

"Sam," Cas said again, carefully moving down the creaking metal steps. "Are you there?"

It was quiet in the bunker, too quiet. Only the low swooshing of the vents filled the emptiness of the chilly air. The lights were on. Cas looked around, finding papers strewn across the glowing surface of the map table. A half-emptied cup of coffee sat abandoned, just like a few stacks of ancient books and folders with obscure symbols on them. The sight of an overturned metal bowl, some spilled herbs, and a few scattered droplets of crimson decorating the tabletop almost made Cas's heart drop. Someone had been working here, researching, doing spell work – and hurting themselves in the process. There wasn't a lot of blood, just enough to kickstart a spell, but it was still clear that a certain someone had not been messing around.

"Sam!" Cas strode towards the library, suddenly feeling anxious for the youngest Winchester.

Speaking of… he finally heard the faint clicking of a keyboard.

"There you are," Cas said, relief heavy in his voice.

As expected, Sam sat in the very corner of the library, slumped in a chair, hunched over his laptop. Not bleeding out on the floor like Cas had feared. His clothes were rumpled, the table in front of him almost as much of a mess as the first one Cas had inspected. Sam looked impossibly small in the chair, the bunker bigger than usual. No wonder what with Dean's larger than life presence gone. Cas took a deep breath and cleared his throat. At that, Sam's head jerked up, revealing pale, tight-drawn features and an impressive hairdo that Dean probably would have called a bad case of bed head. The memory of his dead friend caused a pang in his vessel's chest. And the sensation only deepened when Cas realized that, apart from the tousled, greasy hair, Sam didn't look like he'd spent much time in bed lately. Or any at all.

"Cas?" came the slightly delayed reply. Sam's voice was rough, maybe from disuse. "What are you doing here?"

"Sam." The angel stepped closer, but his friend remained seated, distant. "You called me, remember?"

"Right." Sam blinked slowly. "Thanks for coming."

"Of course. I've been trying to get a hold of you for days, but you didn't pick up the phone. Ever since..." he trailed off, then composed himself. "I saw the blood in the other room. Are you okay?"

What a silly question this was, angel or not, even Cas knew that.

"Yeah," Sam mumbled anyway in what Cas recognized as the tried-and-true Winchester self-deception. The young man closed the laptop lid and flopped back in his chair, subtly fingering his left arm. A bandage peeked out from underneath his rolled-up shirtsleeve, most likely hiding a nasty cut. At least Sam had taken care of his injury after inflicting it on himself, Cas thought and suppressed a wince. "I've been busy," Sam said.

"I can see that," Cas responded uneasily but decided against calling Sam out on the questionable methods he'd used to try and get Dean back. He knew better than to stop a Winchester from saving their other half. As it seemed, nothing had worked so far, and knowing the brothers' history with deals, that was probably a good thing. "Are you sure you're alright?"

There was a flicker of something in Sam's expression, something dark and hollow. It made Cas's gut twist. All the hurt and grief was so clearly written all over his friend's face, and yet, the shutters went down as soon as Cas opened his mouth.

"Didn't hear you coming, that's all," Sam said quietly, avoiding the implicit question of what exactly he'd been doing these past days.

Cas studied the younger man, took in the glassy eyes and the reddish bags circling them. The chalky pallor to his skin. The slight tremor in his hands he so stubbornly tried to hide. Cas noticed the small smudges of dried blood on Sam's sleeve and wondered when Sam had last changed his clothes or taken a shower. As if sensing his scrutinization, Sam lifted his hand and scrubbed it down his face as if to wipe away all remnants of weariness. It didn't work. If anything, the motion looked oddly slow, like it took him a lot of effort. Cas stifled the urge to reach out to the man he'd come to care about so much.

"Sam, I know it's been rough. Losing Dean—"

"Cas," Sam interrupted the angel. His expression oozed of pain, and Cas could do so little to soothe the anguish that it almost physically hurt him to look his friend in the eye.

"There must be something I can do," he offered because that's what he'd learned from humans. From two very specific humans.

"Unless you know how to bring him back…" Sam whispered as he dropped his gaze.

Cas hesitated, then shook his head. "I can't sense his soul on earth, and I'm not welcome in Heaven." Almost as an afterthought – because the mere thought of his friend possibly rotting in the pit again sent a lance through his chest – he added, "Hell has been quiet too."

"So, no one knows anything, that it?"

"I'm so sorry, Sam. I don't know what exactly happened, or where he is. I can't bring him back. But I want to help."

Sam huffed, a small, tired sound. He didn't lift his head. "Help how?"

Cas sighed, taking in Sam's defeated form. "To take care of you. Like Dean would—"

"Stop it." Sam's sharp gaze suddenly pinned Cas, his jaw clenched as he looked up. Sam's eyes were brimming with tears, his body going rigid in the chair. "I know you mean well, but please, just—don't."

Looking at Sam hurt, it hurt so much that Cas believed he could, at this moment, vaguely grasp what it meant to love someone more than oneself. And how it ripped one's heart apart when that someone was gone. It was all right there in those familiar hazel eyes. Cas had lost his best friend, the man who had opened his eyes to what family meant, what love and brotherhood were. Sam had lost that, and so much more. What Sam needed wasn't Cas promising it would get better like he'd often heard humans say to one another in times of distress.

Sam needed Dean. And that was the one thing Cas couldn't give.

He stood frozen to the spot, watching Sam fist his hair. In his helplessness, Cas fidgeted with his hands, a very human gesture, he realized and dropped his vessel's limbs to his sides. He would never be able to give Sam what he truly needed, but he could do something. Taking care of Sam's physical needs was a start. Because, frankly, his friend obviously wasn't doing that himself.

"When's the last time you slept?" Cas asked.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Cas said matter-of-factly. "Have you eaten anything lately?"

"Cas—"

"What about hydration?"

At this, Sam jumped – or tried to, anyway – from his chair, standing on shaky legs and bracing himself on the edge of the table. "I said I'm fine. I prom—"

That's how far Sam got before all color leeched from his skin. The long limbs folded before Cas could do anything to stop the fall. Within a blink of an eye, Sam had collapsed to the ground, miraculously avoiding the furniture but ending up in a boneless heap, nonetheless.

Crap, as Dean would say.

"Sam!"

Cas belatedly dashed forwards and to his knees, reaching out to his friend. Worry and fear were nagging at him, and human emotions or not, he felt them as vividly as his vessel's marching heartbeat against his ribs. He shook Sam's shoulders and called his name again, and when this elicited no reaction, he carefully turned him on his back. Sam's eyes were closed and his face was lax, his body limp. Cas could sense that Sam's heart was beating as strongly as ever and his lungs were providing oxygen just the way they were supposed to, which was a small relief. He laid two fingers on Sam's forehead, glad that his temperature seemed normal enough. But there was only so much Cas could do in the way of healing with how depleted his stolen grace was. And what exactly there was to heal, he wasn't sure. But he had to try, to help, no matter his own weakness. That's what Dean would do. He closed his eyes, summoning all his strength.

It wasn't enough.

Cas felt his vessel faltering just from trying. He couldn't heal, he couldn't help, he couldn't do anything—

That's when, suddenly, a soft groan caught his attention.

"Sam?" Cas opened his eyes to find his friend awake, sort of. His eyelids were squeezed shut tightly, his forehead wrinkled – clear signs of awareness. Cas pulled his hand away from Sam's face. The suffering in every atom of Sam's being was palpable in the air between them, sizzling and tingling. And even though emotional distress was radiating off his friend like a cold storm, a wave of relief warmed Cas's insides ever so slightly at this moment. Sam may have been exhausted, but he wasn't seriously hurt, that much Cas could tell even without his grace.

"Hmm?" Sam's bloodshot eyes finally made a reappearance, and his brow furrowed in confusion. His mouth opened, then closed. And opened again to mutter a single word that would haunt Cas for a long time. "Dean?"

God, that hurt.

There was so much longing, so much trust in that one syllable that Cas briefly had to look away. The only one Sam clearly needed wasn't here. Dean had left behind a void that could never be filled, not by an angel, not by a friend, not by anyone. A painful pang shot through Cas's vessel, and his gaze softened when he looked back at Sam and caught the second the fallen man realized his slip-up. Sam's face fell and, if that was even possible, went another shade paler.

"It's Cas," the angel clarified unnecessarily, softly. Apologetically, even.

"Cas," Sam repeated slowly, blinking sluggishly. Cas tried not to notice the hint of disappointment flickering across Sam's face when it finally dawned on him that his brother wasn't here. Would never be here again.

"Sam, stay still," Cas said and pushed Sam back to the floor when he made an effort to get up.

"Why 'm I on the floor?" Sam mumbled and stayed down, if reluctantly.

Cas's hand didn't leave Sam's shoulder, squeezing in a gesture of protectiveness. "You passed out for a minute or two."

Sam frowned, and Cas could see the wheels working behind his friend's forehead. That's when Sam tried to push himself up on his elbows again. A typical Winchester move. "What?" he asked, sounding more coherent.

This time, Cas didn't stop the movement but simply hovered. His hand still lingering on Sam's shoulder. The sparks of nervous energy emanating from him gave Cas an idea about what exactly had happened. Breathing a sigh of relief, he deemed the situation harmless enough for Sam to have a say in the matter of lying down or getting up.

"As far as I can tell, you're sleep-deprived and dehydrated," Cas explained. "And you haven't eaten in days. It's probably your blood pressure—" Cas moved his hand from Sam's shoulder to his heart, feeling the soothing rhythm. "—that bottomed out when you stood."

A slight flush colored Sam's otherwise pale cheeks, his eyes searching the room instead of looking at Cas directly. He swatted away the angel's hand and muttered, "Sorry."

"For what?" Cas was not quite sure what Sam thought he had done wrong. His blood pressure dropping surely had not happened of his own volition. Humans couldn't control these kinds of things, not really.

Sam huffed, finally sitting up completely – slowly, very slowly – with the help of Cas's outstretched hand. He leaned his back against the chair's legs and pulled his knees to his chest. The position looked incredibly uncomfortable even in an angel's eyes. "Guess you were right."

"About what?" Cas sat across from Sam, similarly uncomfortable. Far enough away to not intrude his personal space, close enough to be there whenever his friend needed him.

"Everything."

There was a long pause. Cas tilted his head, waiting for more.

"I don't even remember the last time I had something to eat. It's…" Sam finally said and rubbed at his eyes, then blinked slowly. "It's all a blur. I don't know how many days since—since…"

"Five, Sam," Cas said quietly. "It's been five days, and I can safely say you haven't been taking care of yourself in these five days at all."

Sam said nothing, but it was all right there in his eyes. Sam didn't care about himself, not one bit, as long as Dean was gone. It was 2008 all over again, a time when Cas had not yet met the Winchesters in person, when Heaven had spread the rumor of the younger brother being an abomination, when Cas had been sent to earth to raise the righteous man from Hell. Back then, Cas had only caught a glimpse of Sam's mindset in the absence of his brother. And today, just like all those years ago, Sam wasn't coping, wasn't dealing, and he never would be if he didn't find out what had happened to Dean. Maybe it was Sam's default mode to walk a fine line between obsession and self-abandonment whenever Dean wasn't there to hold him together, and if he didn't stop that, maybe it would drive him down a dark path again. Maybe it would even kill him. And that was something Cas couldn't stomach.

But Sam had something now that he didn't have in 2008. And Cas had something he'd never had in his long life before. Something he was willing to fight for with all he had.

Cas could not lose another Winchester. Another friend. Another brother.

"Sam, are you listening to me?" he asked, leaning closer.

Sam avoided Cas's gaze and pulled his knees up even higher. Cas's heart screamed for the hurting man in front of him. Sam was a mess. The way he sat on the floor, hunched, and curled inwardly, his eyes hidden behind a curtain of long strands, he looked almost like a kid. Broken and lost.

"You've been running yourself ragged," Cas said softly.

The young man sighed, then whispered, "There's a note. Sammy let me go."

Change of subject then, alright. "How can there be a note when…?"

"I don't know. It can't be from him, right? Either way, I—I can't. I can't, and I don't know what to do. What am I supposed to do?" Sam didn't look up, but the rough tone of his voice was enough to tell Cas that his friend was on the brink of shattering to pieces.

"We'll find out. Together," Cas said, as much understanding and confidence as he could muster in his tone. He had to be strong, for both of them.

Sam lifted his head just an inch. "I should've never let him go in there alone, face Metatron all alone. If I'd just been there sooner—" His voice cracked at the end, and his head dropped to his knees again.

Sometimes, Cas was a bit slow on the uptake when it came to human emotions, but thanks to his excellent teachers he got this one quite well: guilt. The Winchester brothers had honed this particular feeling their entire lives. And even now, when his world was upside down with loss and grief, Sam still found it in himself to acknowledge his own errors. He didn't only acknowledge them, he felt like he deserved being miserable for failing his brother. The self-blame was running through his body like the blood in his veins. Cas knew that this – not taking care of himself – was a natural consequence of the devastation coursing through his friend. Self-destructive behavior was Sam's form of penance, one of many traits he shared with his brother.

"It's not your fault, Sam," Cas said softly, trying for a sympathetic gaze. "None of this is. You can't keep this up. Neglecting yourself is not going to bring Dean back. You know that." The Winchester brothers had been here before. Both of them. Risking their own lives to save one another. But this was not the way, not this time. Sam shifted a little on the floor, apparently considering Cas's words. After a pause, he added, "And it's okay to ask for help."

At that, Sam ever-so-carefully lifted his head, his eyes gleaming brightly. The devastation and guilt weren't entirely gone, but his expression was now equal parts grief and gratitude too. Sam slowly buried one hand in his hair while the other lifted, stopped mid-air as if he were hesitating, but then, to Cas's surprise, he reached out. Cas met Sam's gaze, supportive and firm. He didn't need to hear the words to recognize that Sam had just accepted Cas's advice. He'd asked for help.

Cas gripped Sam's hand and carefully pulled him to his feet. The young man wavered in his grasp, his knees still wobbly, so Cas promptly pushed him into his chair again. Sam didn't even resist, just cast a tired glance at the angel.

There was that dewy look in Sam's eyes that he sometimes got, so gentle and innocent that something in Cas cracked at the sight. These heroic men didn't deserve what this cruel world was throwing at them, none of it, of that Cas was sure. And the fact that he could do absolutely nothing to make any of this better made anger flare within his vessel. He'd raised Dean from perdition once, and apart from not even knowing where exactly his soul was, this time around, Cas simply wasn't strong enough.

He couldn't save Dean. But maybe it wasn't too late to save Sam.

Resisting to overindulge in his own feelings of defeat and failure, Cas tried to focus on the one thing he could do. Taking care of the ones he loved – the ones who were still there.

"Sam," Cas prompted, looking his friend straight in the eye from his heightened, standing position. "I know it's hard, but you can't keep doing this to yourself. I won't let you."

"I know," Sam mumbled, washing a tired hand down his face.

"Do you?" Cas asked. "You are aware that humans need to eat, drink, and sleep, right?"

There was a quiet snort, a hint of a smile even as Sam rubbed his eyes again. "Yeah, Cas, I'm aware."

"Good," Cas said sincerely. He gave Sam a mild smile. "And you should also know that you are not alone in this."

"Neither are you," Sam said, and it meant the world to Cas. His friend's face did that strangely human thing Cas had often observed over the years. Sam's big, liquid eyes grew soft and fond, like he was smiling with his eyes only.

And that was that. Cas and Sam lapsed into silence for a minute, just being and grieving with each another because that was all they could do. Everyone else was gone. Sam had lost his entire family, everyone he'd ever trusted and loved – well, almost everyone. Cas, too, had lost his brother in arms, and in a way this shared loss made him feel closer to Sam than he ever had before. They'd had their rough patches in the past, to put it mildly, and it was only due to Sam's immense ability to forgive – his huge, human heart – that Cas was allowed to be in the Winchester brothers' lives after everything he'd done. Still, it was no secret that Cas and Dean's bond had always run deeper than the one he shared with Sam. But at this moment, all of that was behind them. Sam was just as much Cas's family as Dean was. They weren't just friends. They were brothers, in a way. Cas knew he was a poor substitute for the real deal. He wasn't Sam's big brother, and he never would be. He wouldn't be able to offer comfort like Dean could. But what he could do was make Sam eat and drink and sleep. That's what friends did. Family. After all, a wise human being had once said family don't end in blood.

So, that's what Cas did.

After a few half-hearted attempts to argue, to resist the mothering, Sam gave up and finally allowed Cas to nurse him back to health. Without waiting for permission – but only after making sure his patient would sit tight – Cas went and raided the bunker's meagerly stashed pantry. He found some bread, cheese, and ham (all miraculously still within the best before date), and stacked them to something that resembled a sandwich. It looked a little lousy, and it wasn't much, but he figured not many angels had mastered the art of cooking – well, preparing food, anyway.

Sam looked a little green when the sandwich appeared before his eyes along with a bottle of water.

"I'm not sure I did this the correct way," Cas apologized and put the plate on the table, inspecting the crooked sandwich skeptically.

"No, no," Sam said, shooting Cas a weak smile despite his lingering paleness. "This is fantastic, thanks."

Cas couldn't help but feel warmth spreading through his vessel once again. Hope, maybe. It was such a small gesture, really, bringing a human food and water. But the gratitude he saw in Sam's eyes was overwhelming. Cas came to the realization that, sometimes, the little things were just as important as the big leaps.

When Sam had eaten the entire sandwich without complaining and had drained the bottle of water, Cas was certain that he'd done more for the youngest Winchester than Sam had done for himself in these past days. But Cas wasn't done yet. Allowing Sam to protest no longer than a minute or two, he gently pulled him to his feet, thankful for the young man's regained steadiness. Without further arguing, he escorted Sam to his bedroom. A quick shower and a change of clothes later, Cas ushered Sam to bed and told him to sleep tight and don't let the bed bugs bite.

"Thank you," Sam mumbled sheepishly as he laid sprawled on the bed, his eyelids already drooping.

"That's what family is for," Cas replied, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Sam smiled back, the seconds between his blinks stretching longer and longer until his eyes stayed shut.

Friends, family, those were just semantics. The fact was, Cas cared about Sam, and the angel wouldn't just sit by while Sam was slowly destroying himself. Of course, this was far from over, he knew that. Grief as profound as Sam was currently experiencing didn't just vanish, couldn't be sluiced out within a day or two. There was no doubt in Cas's mind that there would be dark days ahead. Weeks. Months. Years. Even if they found Dean one day, it would never be over. But at least for tonight, Sam was as safe as he could be.

One step at a time.

It didn't take long for Sam to fall into a slumber. As restless as his sleep was, he needed this. And Cas? Well, he wasn't going anywhere, and that had nothing to do with his physical weakness. He watched over Sam, willing himself to believe that they would find Dean, in whatever condition, and soon. Cas would never stop to try, not until his dying day. One way or another, the Winchester brothers deserved peace. Dean's death would always be an open wound, painful and jarring. But what hurt the most was the uncertainty. Sam was lost. And wasn't that what angels had been sent to earth to do in the first place? Watch over lost souls and guide them to the light.

So, that's what Cas would do. No matter what, he would help Sam find his way back to life.

The end

Thank you for reading. The prompts this was based on were from day 27 of Whumptober 2021: passing out / vertigo / collapse with the general theme being I'm fine, I prom… As much as I love Dean, I wish we could have seen more of the friendship (dare I say brotherhood?) Sam and Cas share, so this is where this came from. If you have a minute, I'd love to hear what you think :)