Author's Note: I took the weekend off since I was drowning in real life work. I'm back with a prompt from Kristin Moore, who requested, "While on a solo hunt, Sam slips on some ice and hits his head. Luckily, Castiel manages to find him and get him to a hospital. I know you like bonds between Sam and Cas." You know me too well! I adore writing Sam and Cas friendship. Please enjoy this chapter! Set in season five (during that quick time period where Sam and Dean weren't talking to each other). Trigger warning: this chapter deals with suicidal ideation.

"So much emotion, it's driving me mad, yeah

But I'll take my chances with these feelings that I have

And I'll come back to this same corner where we met

And I'll be here every year, every Christmas."

—Luther Vandross, "Every Year, Every Christmas"

In some ways, spending Christmas alone isn't a new experience for Sam. He spent nearly four Christmases away from his family when he'd been at school. For two of those, he'd had Jessica by his side, but even her beautiful smile couldn't help fill the hole in his heart that his family left.

Even now, five years later, Sam finds being alone disconcerting. Of course, right now, he's away from the only family he has left to prevent the apocalypse that he unleashed. Really, it's all his fault. This is, all things considered, a punishment much too gentle for the likes of him. If anyone ever found out what he had done, they wouldn't think twice about killing him.

What's dead should stay dead, Sam.

John's voice mocked him as he stepped further into the snowy forest. Holding his shotgun aloft, Sam tried to banish his father's voice from his mind. He needed to be focused, especially while he was hunting on his own, tracking a wendigo. One rogue mistake could be fatal. Not that Sam particularly minded. If he died, the apocalypse would be ended. Sam would be doing what he should've done when he died nearly three years ago.

What's dead should stay dead, Sam.

He never wanted to be brought back to life. He never wanted to lose his brother in order to keep his own life. He hadn't wanted to become a demon blood addict and he sure as hell hadn't wanted to start the apocalypse.

But, what did they say? The road to Hell was paved with good intentions.

In Sam's case, quite literally.

"Focus."

He had to keep his mind sharp. What mattered right now was stopping the wendigo. If he failed, more people would die and he couldn't have any more blood on his hands. Saving these people wouldn't ease his guilt, but he could try to at least put something good out into the world.

And if he died in the process—

Lucifer would just bring him back.

He hears a twig snap and turns, raising his gun high. He waits, holding his breath, but no other movement occurs. Sighing, Sam takes a step forward and his word tilts, as he lands flat on his back, his hand slamming against some ice.

Darkness.

"Lose my number."

"Pick a hemisphere."

"This is all your fault!"

Sam can't escape their voices. Curled up into a ball, he wishes he could just disappear. If he hadn't been born, none of this would've happened. He should've ended his life when he knew the truth that John and Dean had been keeping.

"What's dead should stay dead, Sam."

He was a monster, tainted with demon blood and destined to be the antichrist. No matter how much he struggled against his fate, he could never escape it. He'd spent a few years free at Stanford, but even that ended up in flames.

Literally.

Maybe he could just stay in the dark.

Castiel frowns as he feels a change in the air.

Something is off. He knows that Dean and Sam have parted and while he can still sense Dean, he can no longer sense Sam. Worry gnaws at him. Sam may have started the apocalypse, but Castiel knew that it hadn't been on purpose. They'd all been tricked down this path.

He blinks and when he opens his eyes, he's in the middle of a forest, Sam's broken body splayed out before him.

"Sam!"

There's blood staining the snow a twisted shade of pink and Castiel feels panic.

"Sam? Sam, can you hear me?" He can't afford to expend too much grace here. With Heaven so unstable, he needs to conserve in case there's an emergency.

Sam's body flops limply as Castiel rolls him into his arms. He knows that he shouldn't move a human with a head wound, but the angel feels compelled to hold the man, to offer some comfort to the tortured soul.

Sam's eyes flutter open, pupils wide and unfocused.

"D-die?"

Castiel's heart breaks, "No, Sam, you are not going to die." Sam frowns, actually disappointed. The angel questions, "Can you move?"

Sam pushes against him, albeit weakly, "Go'way, Cas."

"I will not forsake you," He growls, wishing that Dean were here. The eldest Winchester know the right things to say and how to ease Sam's pain. Yet, Dean was gone, having given up on trying to fix their relationship. Castiel expends a little grace, just enough to seal the wound on Sam's head. He sighs, "We need to get moving."

"Cas—"

He hoists Sam up, using his own body as a crutch to keep the youngest Winchester upright. He moves forward, pushing through the snow, hoping to find the car that Sam must've brought. He doesn't remember many of his driving lessons from Dean, but Castiel is certain that he can at least get them to the main road and seek help.

"Sam." He waits for the youngest Winchester to give him his full attention, "You don't deserve death. You don't deserve this cruel fate."

Sam huffs out a dry laugh, "Fate . . ."

"I mean it, Sam," Castiel spies the outline of the car, "Things may seem dire now, but surely—" He doesn't know what to say to make things better. He isn't sure how to even approach things in order to fix things.

Still, he knows now that he is committed to fixing things.

"Cas?" Sam slumps, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head and suddenly, he has the full weight of Sam's body against him. He struggles, but he knows he needs to use grace. In a flutter of wings, they're in the lobby of a hospital and Sam is being whisked away.

"You're calling?" Dean's gruff voice filters through, "Didn't know if you knew how to use one."

Castiel frowns, "Sam is in the hospital, Dean."

Silence.

The angel continues, "He's getting an MRI right now. The doctors are worried about a brain hemorrhage." He sighs, "I couldn't afford to use all my grace just in case—"

The line goes dead.

He's admitted into Sam's room in the ICU a few hours later.

The doctor calls it a miracle, stating that there's no brain bleed or any bruises. The ICU is simply a precaution, though Cas worries that the situation could become worse. Sam stirs, and Cas stiffens.

"Sam?"

Sam opens his eyes, wincing at the light, "Cas?"

Castiel nods, standing at Sam's bedside, "I'm here. Are you well?"

"Headache."

Cas smiles wearily, "That is to be expected."

"Dean?" Sam's finds the answer in the angel's gaze and he frowns, "Yeah. Merry Christmas."

"Sam—"

Sam dismisses him with a wave, "S'kay, Cas. My own fault."

Footsteps echo down the hall and Dean bursts into the room, breath ragged, "Sammy?" The eldest Winchester charges into the room, quickly going to his brother's bedside.

"Dean?"

Dean smiles softly, "I'm here."

A soft refrain of "Hark The Herald Angels Sing" filters into the room and the Christmas lights in the hall twinkle.

There's much the two of them will need to speak of, but it's clear, family has triumphed. He turns to give them some space.

"Cas?" He stops, turning back to Sam's grateful gaze, "Thanks."

Castiel just smiles, "Merry Christmas Sam."

And then he's gone.