A/N: To original anon: glad you like how the story is playing out!

Chapter 8

Sam pushed the Impala as fast as he dared, praying they didn't get caught by a traffic cop as he barreled their way toward Bobby's. With one hand on the wheel, he fished out his phone and punched the last number dialed.

Bobby answered after the first ring. "Well?"

"We got him," Sam replied, voice rougher than usual. He glanced at his brother in the passenger seat with Cas bundled in his arms. Sam could barely see the kid's head poking out of his jacket, but the little that was visible was ghostly white. They'd cranked the heat up to the max as soon as they'd started the engine, but Sam didn't know if it was working.

"You gonna make me guess, boy?" Bobby growled.

Sam wrenched his attention back to the road and the phone call. "Cas is hypothermic. We're ten minutes out. Heated towels, blankets, hot water bottles…" he rattled off. He didn't know what else they could do, what else they needed to do. What were the effects of Cas getting some of his grace siphoned away?

"Balls," Bobby muttered, and promptly hung up.

Sam tossed his phone on the seat between him and Dean, casting another worried look at his brother, who had Cas's head tucked under his chin. Cas still hadn't made a sound this entire time, and now his eyes were closed. He also wasn't shivering, which Sam knew wasn't good. A hospital was out of the question, though, because the staff would probably call Child Protective Services when the Winchesters failed to produce ID and proof of guardianship for the kid. Besides, Cas was still an angel, so he'd heal up…right?

Sam glanced at the limp form again, and pressed harder on the gas.

They pulled up to Bobby's a short time later, and after turning off the engine, Sam scrambled out of the car and around to open Dean's door. His brother wordlessly got out and carried Cas into the house. Bobby met them in the hallway.

"Towels are in the dryer," he said without preamble, sparing only a brief brow raise at Dean's reddened skin. "Bed upstairs is made," he added, and focused on the lump in Dean's arms.

Dean didn't even take the time to respond, but pushed past the older hunter and went straight for the stairs. Sam knew his brother was wrestling with a shitload of guilt right now, and a lot of anxious worry. He was scared too, and debated calling Balthazar, but Cas's best chance was probably to have the de-aging spell reversed. Though, if Cas died, Sam would never forgive himself. And likely neither would Dean.

"Damn," Bobby uttered. "It wasn't that I didn't believe you boys, but seeing him…"

"Yeah," Sam said quietly. The image of Cas lying lifeless in Dean's arms, eyes frozen open, was going to haunt Sam for a good long while.

Bobby's hand settled on his shoulder. "Come on, help me get the towels."

Nodding gravely, Sam followed Bobby into the washroom where the old dryer was rattling on high heat. Bobby popped open the door and started piling hot towels in Sam's arms. Breathing in the fresh heat was stifling, and Sam had already been sweating from having the heater blasting in the Impala, yet he hugged the towels in order to keep in as much warmth as he could while he carried them upstairs.

Dean had laid Cas in one of the spare bedrooms and pulled the covers over him, but at Sam's arrival, he peeled them back again. He slid his arms under Cas's back and knees to lift him, and damn if the kid didn't look as thin and light as a feather. Sam spread one of the bigger towels on top of the mattress. Dean gently set Cas back down, and then he and Sam draped more heated towels over him, wrapping them around the angel's arms and legs. Dean took off Cas's shoes, and Sam bunched up one towel around his feet.

"Found an electric blanket," Bobby announced as he entered.

Dean nodded in acknowledgement and accepted the blanket while Bobby maneuvered around the bed to reach an outlet. They spread that over the angel, and finally covered him with the comforter, leaving a bulging mound way too large for the tiny head sticking out on the pillow. Cas still hadn't woken up.

The three of them stood around awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what else they could do. Bobby left first, muttering something about double checking the wards and to call him if anything happened. Sam grabbed the chair from the opposite corner and dragged it over to the side of the bed for Dean to sit in. He watched helplessly as his brother sank into it, Dean's eyes never leaving Cas. Those horrific tear tracks were still on Cas's face, so Sam went into the bathroom and soaked a washcloth in hot water, then wrung it out. He brought it back to Dean, who finally blinked out of his stupor.

"Thanks." Taking the cloth, Dean gently started wiping Cas's face, washing away the last visible evidence of the horror the kid had been subjected to. Now he just looked as though he were sleeping.

Sam left then, knowing Dean needed some time alone to process things. Sam would take his turn sitting vigil later, but for now, he went back downstairs and out to the Impala to unpack their bags. They'd left the car doors hanging open, which spoke volumes about the depth of their concern for Cas. Sam went around both sides and shut them. He glanced in the backseat and saw colored pencils scattered across the leather. His first thought was Dean would be pissed if lead got smeared on his upholstery, but then realized his brother wouldn't give a damn as long as Cas would be okay.

Sam opened the back door and leaned in to gather up the pencils; Cas would want them when he woke up. A sheet of paper on the floor caught his eye, and he reached for it. It was the drawing Cas had been working on, the one Sam had asked him to make. The blank white space that'd been next to the Winchesters was now filled in with a familiar trench-coated figure. Cas's features weren't as distinct as the brothers', and his face was slightly angled away and up so that only half his profile was shown. But he was there, standing with Sam and Dean as they gazed at a diamond studded sky.

A lump settled in Sam's throat, and he had to blink back tears. He finished putting the pencils back in their box, and then reverently placed the drawing in his laptop bag with the others, all while his conversation with Cas echoed in his mind. He needed to tell Dean about the angel's feelings, because Cas was not dying, and as soon as he was better and back to normal, the three of them were gonna address their issues—while they still had an opportunity to do something about it.

Sam hefted all their bags onto his shoulders and shuffled back into the house. He dropped everything in the den, except the laptop bag with Cas's sketches, and turned toward the stairs.

Bobby stepped out of the kitchen to intercept him. "Soup's simmering on the stove," he said gruffly. "Don't know if kid angels even need to eat, but it'll be hot for when he wakes up." There was a rough catch to the man's voice that revealed how concerned he was as well.

Sam gave him a grateful smile. "Kid-Cas actually does like food. Dean's been introducing him to all sorts of unhealthy sweets."

Bobby snorted. "Figures." He rolled his shoulder. "Anyway, it's there. And I know Mr. Personality is searching for a reversal spell, but I'll keep looking into it on this end."

Sam smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Bobby."

The older hunter nodded, and moved past him toward the den to resume his research. Sam headed upstairs. He stopped at the bathroom first and rifled through the cabinet under the sink until he found an old bottle of aloe vera. There was only a quarter of gel inside, and the lid looked permanently sealed with congealed crust, but it would have to do. Then Sam finally returned to the room Cas was in.

Dean hadn't moved from the chair. His arms were resting on his thighs as he leaned over his lap, gaze staring at the top of the bedcover, though Sam knew his mind was replaying the last several hours, wondering if he could have—should have—done something different.

"You should put some of this on," Sam said, and lifted the container of aloe vera to catch Dean's attention. As soon as he looked up, Sam tossed him the bottle.

Dean caught it deftly, and his nose crinkled in slight disgust. "I'm fine."

"You look like a bad advertisement for a tanning salon." Sam set his computer bag on the floor beside the bed, and went into the next room to retrieve a chair for himself. When he came back, Dean had twisted the grungy cap off and was slapping the bottom of the bottle to get the gel out.

Sam turned his attention to the small, silent form in the bed. There were so many blankets, it was impossible to tell if Cas was breathing underneath them all. Sam leaned over and tentatively laid a hand on the angel's head. His mouth turned down; Cas was still too cold. Fear lanced through Sam's heart, and he shakily moved his fingers down to the hollow underneath Cas's jaw. His shoulders sagged when he felt a pulse. It was slow, but steady.

Sam leaned back in his chair and they sat in silence for a while before he remembered the sketches in his bag. He only pulled out two—the one with Cas's hidden wings framing the Winchesters, and the one Cas had finished before he'd been taken. Sam laid them on top of the bed.

Dean's eyes slowly roved over them. "So he finished that one."

"Yeah."

Dean rested his elbows on the mattress. "What was the deal with you pushing him to draw himself?"

Sam pursed his mouth, trying to figure out where to start. He pointed to the first drawing. "Do you see wings in the shadows here?"

Dean peered closer, and after a long moment, leaned back with a, "Huh. Didn't notice that before."

Sam waited a beat to see if his brother would put the pieces together himself. When he didn't immediately volunteer anything, Sam took a centering breath. "I asked Cas about it, why his presence was hidden like that. …He said he feels like he doesn't fit with us anymore. That we call him only when we want help, but never want him to stay afterward."

Dean stiffened defensively. "Excuse me? He's the one who's been too busy to bother with us for the past year."

Sam rolled his eyes. "He is fighting a war." Dean looked away guiltily at that, and Sam continued, "And despite that, he still comes when we call."

"And then I leave...Over and over again." How had they gotten stuck in this cycle?

"He didn't even tell us he was the one who raised you from Hell."

Sam ran a hand through his hair. Yeah, that stung, but now that he knew more, Sam tried to imagine what might have driven Cas's actions. The angel had saved Sam, brought him back to his brother, and then…well, Dean had been trying the apple-pie life. Sam had been considering going back to school, until he ran into the Campbell side of the their family and gotten sucked back into hunting. But the point was Cas had left them to live a normal life, or whatever the hell that meant to a Winchester. And in Cas's mind, it probably didn't include angels.

"Dean, after the Apocalypse, I think Cas felt like we didn't have a use for him anymore."

"That's bull." Dean crossed his arms, expression hardening. "After everything we went through together, he assumed it didn't mean anything?" Dean snorted. "Nice to know how much Cas thinks of us."

It was interesting how Dean kept avoiding looking at Cas throughout the conversation, as though he was distinguishing between the kid unconscious in the bed between them, and the angel he'd been pissed with only a few days earlier.

"You think Cas truly understands what friendship means?" Sam pressed. "Or family? His siblings cut him off from Heaven and then hunted him just because he opposed the Apocalypse. Half of them are still out for his head. And the only other friend he's ever mentioned to us faked his death and ran out on everything, including him." Sam let out a breath. "Look, Cas wants to stick around; he wants to belong here. He just doesn't know how to." Sam tapped the charcoal drawing with the hidden wings as proof.

Dean stared at the drawing before finally looking at the sleeping angel. "He can be such a child sometimes."

Sam smirked at the irony. "He learned how to talk about feelings from you."

Dean scowled, but it was soon replaced with sadness. "How can he not know, Sam? I mean, he came to us, and we've been taking care of him." His voice caught on the last part, choking with guilt.

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "And I told him how eating donuts, and going to the park, and just hanging out is how he fits. I think he understood, but once we figure out how to reverse this spell and get him back to normal…we need to be clear with him." That was one reason Sam had wanted Cas to draw that picture, so he'd have a tangible reminder of how much he belonged with the Winchesters.

"And we need to stop calling him only when we need help," Sam added.

Dean's brow furrowed in thought. "I know we should take more interest in this war he's fighting. And not just because the Apocalypse would be bad for us, but because Cas is in the middle of it."

Sam tried to keep the surprise off his face. So his brother had been thinking about stuff already. Well, that was a good sign.

Dean rubbed his face wearily. "If the bastard that betrayed him hadn't screwed up whatever spell he was doing, Cas might not have escaped. He might have died, and you know what I would've done the next time he didn't come when I called?" He let out a mirthless laugh. "Cursed his name to kingdom come."

Sam's gaze drifted to the little angel, pale face slack in sleep. If this hadn't happened, he and Dean probably never would've found out how Cas really felt. And wasn't that a sobering thought.

"We know better now," Sam said gently. "And we just have to make sure Cas knows better too." He gave Dean a compassionate, yet pointed look. Sam would do what he could to assure Cas of his place, but it was Dean's opinion that always carried more weight with the angel.

"Yeah." Dean reached out and laid a hand on top of Cas's head. His frown deepened. "He's not getting warmer."

Sam didn't say anything; he didn't know what to say. So he did the only thing he could—he got up to pull yet another blanket from the closet, and draped it over the small child who meant more to him and Dean than the brothers had previously acknowledged. And why did it require almost losing him for them to realize it?