Author's Note: This story takes place almost at the end of S04E20 The Rapture. In this story, Sam and Dean still argue at the end, but Sam doesn't receive a call from Bobby. Instead, they stop at a motel because Sam says he is tired. Please note, there is a suicide attempt in this story, so if that is triggering for you, please do not read this.

Side Note: This is my last story for 2023! Bring in the New Year!


"Cas! Cas, please! Please, answer me! Cas!"

Castiel wished he knew what constituted human consolation. He wasn't entirely sure it would do any good—and a nagging voice in his head told him he shouldn't have cared—but he felt like he had to do something to soothe the waters between them.

"Cas! Cas, can you hear me? Cas!"

Because Dean had been screaming rather frantically for seven minutes and showed no signs of slowing or stopping… and Castiel had been ignoring him. From the desperate way Dean had said, 'It's Sam, Cas! It's Sam!' Castiel could only assume Sam was detoxing from demon blood. Sam had been caught red-mouthed, so to speak, just after Castiel returned to Earth and reminded Dean who he served. It was only logical that Dean would try and force Sam off the unholy substance.

"Cas? Look, I—I get it, okay? You serve Heaven, not me, message received, just—just get down here! I need you!"

Dean's words brought a faint, twinging sensation to his chest, but it was immediately followed by memory of a far greater pain. Heaven's Persuasion. Thoughts of that led to thoughts of Anna, which led to thoughts of how he was supposed to assist in capturing her, which led to thoughts of what she would experience because of him, which ultimately led him back to the pain in his chest. It was both unpleasant and inconvenient.

"Castiel, please… please, help me."

Castiel didn't know why it bothered him when the shortened version of his name was no longer used. It felt like… a broken connection? Or… perhaps the creation of a barrier? It felt like something had been lost.

"Castiel, I will do anything. I'll do anything, I swear."

That got Castiel to perk up. He needed to convince Dean to obey the Will of Heaven, and he didn't have much time left to do it. If Dean was giving him an opening, it was his duty to take advantage of it. Dean was desperate, and Castiel could use that.

So, Castiel flew from Heaven to Earth, feet suddenly planted on cheap, motel carpeting. He looked around the room, and his brain once again wandered back to that question of what constituted human consolation. He quickly found Dean between the large window and the bed that was farthest from Castiel. He was on his knees, cradling someone to his chest—most likely Sam—and rocking them slightly.

"Dean." Castiel made his presence known, and then he waited for Dean to rant and argue and curse him for taking so long.

Only it never came.

Dean was uncharacteristically subdued, and he was crying. Not excessively, but there was moisture in his eyes, and his lips were trembling, and all he could get out was a broken, "I screwed up." He shook his head and held the body—a closer look said it was definitely Sam—to his chest, shoulders quivering. "I screwed up so bad. You gotta help him…"

Castiel almost reminded Dean that he didn't have to do anything for any human, but there was something in the way Dean said it that made him reconsider. It wasn't, "You gotta help him 'cause I said so, now hop to it," which was Dean's general attitude when interacting with angels. It was, "You gotta help him… because I don't know what I'm going to do if you don't," which wasn't Dean at all.

And… well, not that he would think about it loudly enough for Heaven to hear… but he did still… care… about… Dean... so, he walked across the room and looked down at Sam. "What does Sam need?" he asked, even though it became very apparent, very quickly.

"Just—" Dean sniffed hard, shifting his weight and trying to make Sam more accessible. "Just make the bleeding stop. I—I can't. I've been trying, but the towels… and the blood, he… he's lost a lot of blood. There's so much blood… oh, Sammy…"

Castiel frowned as he moved closer, taking a good look at the way the brothers were entangled. Sam's arms were folded against his chest, with his hands up near his face, and Dean was trying to hold a wrist in each hand while still keeping his arms wrapped around Sam. Castiel looked at Dean's face again, and then he slowly reached out and pulled the arms from Dean's grip, perplexed by the curious nature of the injuries. They were definitely inflicted with the intent to kill, but the angle and pattern made no sense. It wasn't the kind of injury one would normally sustain in a fight. Though, he supposed, it didn't really matter. Either way, Sam would die if he bled much longer.

"He'll—he'll be mortified if he wakes up in a hospital… and they might want to keep him in crisis or lock him in a psych ward or something. I have—I have no idea what they do in a situation like this, and if the credit cards don't hold up long enough or the police get involved—what if they take him away?"

Castiel said nothing and looked back down, quickly healing the wounds and pushing a little extra energy into replenishing some of Sam's blood. Not enough for him to regain consciousness, but enough that his life was no longer in danger.

Dean heaved a sigh of relief, but the tension didn't leave his body. He still held onto Sam for dear life, like he thought his little brother would slip away if he eased up his hold in the slightest, and he kept rocking Sam back and forth.

"Thank you," he whispered, pressing his forehead against Sam's. "Thank you so much."

Castiel was confused. No, that word wasn't strong enough. He was… fascinated and bewildered and flabbergasted all at once. He was floored. He was a bit offended, honestly.

Castiel pulled Dean out of Hell, and he got, 'yeah, thanks for that' and a knife to the chest.

Castiel saved Sam with a simple flesh repair, and he got, 'thank you, thank you so much.'

"You're welcome." Castiel uttered the customary response, trying to sort out the confusion in his brain. "Did you dispose of it?"

Dean looked up at the question and sniffed hard, eyes still watering. "What?"

Castiel stood up—he had no reason to stay close to them—and looked at Sam briefly. "Whatever attacked Sam. Did you dispose of it, or did it escape?"

Dean stared at Castiel for a long moment, a flurry of emotions Castiel could neither identify nor understand passing over his features. He let out a bitter laugh—something familiar, at least—and shook his head. "I can't tell if you're stupid or cruel."

Castiel frowned, narrowing his gaze slightly. What happened to that gratitude? Though, when it came to Dean Winchester, it was to be expected that any kind of appreciation would be short-lived. Castiel really should have known better.

"Sam did it to himself." Dean's voice cracked on the last word, and he shifted his hold to pull Sam a little closer, something Castiel hadn't thought possible up until that moment. "He did it to himself."

Castiel let a quiet sigh escape his lips. "He must know that neither Heaven nor Hell will allow their plans to be disrupted by mortality."

Dean snorted. "Stupid, then." He tucked his chin over Sam's head and then moved again so his head was back on Sam's shoulder. It was like Dean couldn't get close enough, like Sam was out of reach even though he was laying right there. "I really don't think Sam gives a crap about Heaven or Hell right now."

Castiel narrowed his gaze ever-so-slightly. "Well, he should."

Dean shook his head but offered no explanation.

Castiel waited a second more, and then he changed the topic. Because, as much as he wanted to know what he had walked in on, he had a mission to complete. "You said you would do anything."

Dean laughed, bitter and hollow, but the outrage Castiel expected was once again mysteriously absent. "Yeah. Yeah, I did." He snorted in disgust. "What do you want?"

"You to swear your obedience to the Will of Heaven so, when we need you, you will do as you're told without questioning orders." Castiel expected there to be blowback, but Dean looked almost… defeated, shoulders slouched and head bowed and spirit dimmed.

"I take it if I say no, you undo what you just did."

Castiel didn't understand why his actions were so significant, and he certainly didn't understand what would be different about this hospitalization from hospitalization for any other injury, but if it would work as a bargaining chip, so be it.

"That is correct." Castiel waited, cautiously hoping things would end on a non-violent note.

Dean gave a slight nod. "Yeah, okay." He held Sam a little tighter. "Just… no orders about Sam. You don't get to use him against me."

Castiel felt indignant for a split second, but he could hardly blame the mistrust. It was founded, after all. Castiel was standing there doing exactly what Dean accused Heaven of attempting.

"Heaven will give you no orders directly involving Sam." Castiel hoped Dean wouldn't catch the loophole.

Dean didn't.

"Okay." Dean kissed Sam's forehead—Castiel was progressively becoming more bewildered—and wiped his hair back out of his face. "Okay."

"Heaven needs you to—"

"Do I have to leave Sam?" Dean looked up. "I get that I can't ask you to hold off until he's better, but… I don't want to leave him yet." He looked back down, rocking Sam slightly. "Maybe just a couple days?"

Castiel clenched his jaw slightly, irritated at the obvious attempt to avoid upholding his end of the deal. "Sam will be fine in a matter of hours."

"No, he won't." Dean nearly whispered the words. "Why didn't you tell me, you idiot?"

It took Castiel a moment to realize Dean was talking to Sam.

"I know I talk crap about feelings, but…" Dean screwed his eyes shut. "That's just talk, Sammy. That's all it is. You should've told me."

Castiel frowned. Perhaps Dean is right. Perhaps I am stupid. Because he was clearly missing something. He didn't understand emotion the way most people did, but he knew grief and despair when he saw it, and he couldn't figure out the source.

"I was only gone for a few minutes. It was supposed to be longer, I—I was gonna—" Dean exhaled sharply, frustrated. "Sam wanted to stop. He said he was tired, so I left to call Bobby and bring him up to speed with the whole—the whole blood thing. We needed to have a plan. We talked for a bit. It would have been longer—I asked Bobby if we needed anything, and I was gonna go to the store, but I forgot my keys." He shifted until he was sitting cross-legged, and he pushed Sam's hair back again. "How long has he been planning this?"

Castiel tilted his head slightly. "How should I know? Heaven has made no report of anything like this."

Dean shook his head and continued as if Castiel hadn't said anything. "I should have seen it. I should have paid more attention. I could tell he was different, but I thought it was the stress and the blood. I never thought…" He sniffed and shook his head. "What if I hadn't forgotten my keys?"

Castiel squinted. "Sam would be dead." Obviously. He didn't understand why Dean was so disoriented. It wasn't like Dean to have such a hard time processing his surroundings, and in all honesty, Castiel was a bit concerned.

Dean gestured with his middle finger in a way Castiel assumed was offensive.

I don't understand. Castiel took a step closer and looked down at Sam, wondering if he would find something on the younger Winchester's body to explain the situation.

Sam didn't look all that different, though. He was wearing denim pants and a shirt with a pattern of lines and squares Castiel had a bit of a love-hate relationship with. But it was a typical pattern for the brothers, so it wasn't abnormal. He wasn't wearing shoes, but Castiel didn't see a need for shoes inside a dwelling. Obviously, Sam was covered in blood, but Castiel had fixed the source of that abnormality so…

…what was wrong?

"There's a difference between not wanting to live and wanting to die." Dean spoke suddenly, his voice hollow and somewhat absent, as if he didn't realize he was speaking aloud. "There have been nights I wanted to go to sleep and not wake up. I felt like I didn't want to live, but I never… actively wanted to die."

Yes, well, you never had the fate of the world riding on your shoulders. Futile though it was, it makes sense that he would try and remove himself from the equation. Knowing he has to fight and kill someone as powerful as Lilith must be incredible overwhelming when you're just a human. Castiel didn't say that, though. He might have been oblivious about emotions, but he could recognize patterns, and he knew any discussion of the apocalypse in relation to Sam was a bad topic. It was, apparently, not a good idea to bring up Sam's tactical decisions.

"You still aren't getting it."

Castiel blinked. Apparently, he will start a fight whether I bring it up or not.

Dean was staring at him with dry eyes, still rimmed with red from his earlier tears, and he was shaking his head slowly. He had an expression of disbelief, but there was more weariness than anger on his face. "Sam wants to die, Cas."

Castiel made note of the returning short name, still unsure why it was so important to him. "I told you, Dean: Heaven and Hell won't—"

"Cas." Dean looked at the angel, teeth grinding, and he spoke with as much force as he could without yelling. "Sam wants to die."

Castiel blinked. Clearly. He blinked again.

"Sam isn't trying to avoid responsibility or run away from Lilith. Sam doesn't want to rebel against Heaven or Hell. Sam doesn't think he needs to die. Sam wants to die." Dean lost all anger by the time he was done, the repeated verbalization apparently doing some form of emotional damage. He let out a heavy sigh and slouched against the wall. "I should be cleaning him up." But he didn't move. "What does Heaven need me to do? Specifically."

"Heaven will call when it needs you." Because Castiel wasn't sure how Sam's sudden resistance to the plan changed things. "If you had let me finish earlier, I would have told you as much. There is still time before Lilith tries to break the final seal." Not a lot, though.

"Crap. That's a good point. What are we gonna do?" Dean curled around Sam even as he said it, struck by the urge to protect. "Sam can't kill Lilith. He needs to get help."

Castiel almost offered further medical assistance, but a sharp pain down his spine silently reminded him of the mission. Heaven needed Sam to kill Lilith, and that was only going to happen if Sam and Dean were separated. Dean was opening the door for such an arrangement to be made. But can Ruby manipulate Sam into drinking enough blood while he's in this state? She may need more time, but that is more time I can't allow Sam and Dean to be together. He pondered the shift in plans for a moment. Dean is reluctant to leave, but if I can assure him of Sam's safety, I might be able to get him to leave sooner and give Ruby time.

"Heaven can help you defeat Lilith in Sam's place. He doesn't have to fight her—he doesn't have to be involved in the battle at all." Somehow, someway, the pang of guilt in his chest was just as painful as any of the stab wounds inflicted there during his reeducation. "You would need to come with me now—" and leave Sam here for Ruby to find and manipulate, "—but we can prepare you in time."

Dean looked up and shook his head. "No way. Sam can't be alone."

Well, that poses a problem. Castiel took a step away from the duo again, no longer needing the close proximity to observe Sam. "Dean… we both know Sam isn't healthy enough to fight Lilith. If you don't do this… I can't guarantee his safety."

"Cas, Sam isn't fighting Lilith." Dean actually let go of Sam with one arm, using the hand to gesture, as if he was laying out the words he was saying. "It doesn't matter whether I take his place or not, he can't do it."

Castiel frowned but managed to keep most of his frustration hidden, clenching his fists for a fraction of a second. "Dean, Sam doesn't have a choice. If no one kills her, she will finish breaking the seals, and millions of people will die."

"Yeah, I know." Dean took his gesturing hand and stoked Sam's matted hair. "I know."

Castiel somehow managed to keep from growling. "If you know, then why do you keep insisting—"

"Cas." Dean looked up from Sam, and there was something unreadable in his eyes. "Can you turn off your angel mojo? Just for a couple minutes. No superhuman strength, no invincibility, no healing."

Castiel considered the proposal for several moments and then offered a faint nod, uncertain. What are you up to, Dean Winchester?

"Cool." Dean slowly eased himself out from under his brother, laying him down as if he were made of glass before getting to his feet. "We're gonna fight."

Castiel tensed, eyes narrowing slightly. He had every confidence in his capabilities as a fighter with his full strength—hand-to-hand combat included—but he was unaccustomed to fighting as a human and didn't know the limits of a human body.

This isn't a good idea.

But a weighty combination of pride and curiosity wouldn't let him back down. He could tell from the look in Dean's eyes that he was up to something. Castiel wanted to know what. So, he concentrated and forced himself not to grimace when his Grace was forced down into the deepest, darkest corner of Jimmy Novak's body.

"I'll engage you in battle."

Castiel hadn't expected Dean to be so fast.

He threw his left hand out and knocked Dean's fist away before it could strike him in the jaw, and then gave a swing of his own. He made contact, but Dean was already jerking backward, and it didn't have the impact he wanted. Dean lunged forward and threw his entire weight into Castiel, sending them both into the wall.

I forgot how easy it is to knock a human body around.

Castiel smacked his head against Dean's and grabbed his shirt, half running and half falling forward. They hit the ground, Castiel landed another blow to Dean's jaw, and then the world was spinning as Dean rolled them over. Stars exploded over the field of vision in his left eye, the leg of a nearby table smacking him solidly in the temple.

Dean isn't on me.

Castiel rolled over and got his feet beneath him. He rose no more than a foot when something struck him. He hit the floor again, pain blossoming over his head, shoulders, and upper back. He made to get up as soon as he realized he was still down, briefly registering the sudden presence of broken pieces of wood on the floor around him.

He broke a chair on me?

Castiel got upright and saw stars again, that time fist-induced, and he staggered backward. Dean reached out and grabbed his jacket, but he struck the crook of Dean's arm to weaken the hold. He punched Dean square in the face, striking his nose more than anything, and then he reached out and grasped Dean's green overshirt, trying to pin him against the table. Dean brought his foot up and struck Castiel in one, concentrated, powerful kick, sending the angel back a few steps, and then Dean rushed him again. Dean grabbed Castiel by the hair and the collar of his jacket and pulled him about a foot to the side before slamming his head down on the tabletop.

I can't see.

Castiel rolled off the table and stumbled far enough away that he could face Dean fully, his vision slowly clearing enough for him to make out the details of his surroundings. Dean gradually became a person, the distorted colors growing more defined. Castiel panted heavily, his lips were bloody, and his head was throbbing.

There was no need to panic, of course. Castiel might have agreed to 'no angel mojo,' but that would hardly stop him from calling on his powers if and when it became necessary.

Why hasn't he rushed me? Castiel took another look at the room and realized he was standing somewhat near Sam—apparently too close for Dean's comfort. Castiel took another look at Dean and saw the hunter's lips were just as bloody as his. This fight isn't over yet.

Castiel rushed Dean, knowing the reverse would never happen while Sam was in the vicinity, and despite Dean having enough time to see him coming, Castiel still got him pinned against the wall. He drew his arm back and punched, and then he swung again, and then again. He landed all three hits, and then Dean grabbed the oncoming arm and twisted.

Hard.

Castiel didn't know what happened, but it was something that was definitely not good for humans, and it caused enough pain to throw him off-kilter. He held his arm against his side, staggering a bit to the right, and then Dean was on him. His back hit something hard—the table again?—and he threw his left arm up to push against Dean's chest. He threw his weight to the left, and both of them toppled onto the floor.

How do they fight like this all the time?

Dean grabbed Castiel by the hair again and smacked him against the leg of the table. It didn't do nearly as much damage as the tabletop itself, but it was enough. So, Dean did it again, and then he rolled them over. He grabbed Castiel by the jacket and slammed him against the linoleum, and then he left Castiel behind in favor of standing.

Dean pulled his foot back and let it fly.

Castiel put his left arm up to shield himself and rolled over slightly, trying to keep his vitals safe long enough to collect himself. Dean kicked again, and Castiel suddenly had sympathy for every living thing with a kidney. Dean kicked again, and Castiel rolled all the way over… and that was the fatal mistake.

Castiel felt a weight on the small of his back, felt Dean's knee pinning his good arm, and then he felt an arm wrap around his throat from behind. It tightened, and Castiel couldn't breathe.

That was a gamechanger.

Oxygen was precious to humans, and their bodies were wired to prioritize oxygen above just about everything else. If one wanted a human to bend to their will, withholding oxygen would almost always do the trick. Their minds would cloud up, their inhibitions and standards would dissolve, they would panic, and they would cave.

Castiel, without his so-called mojo, was no different.

He struggled and twisted, trying to throw Dean off, but it didn't do anything. He used his damaged arm to grab at the limb wrapped around his throat, finding the pain of resistance utterly insignificant when compared to the fact that he couldn't breathe.

"Cas, go kill a demon. Right now, no mojo, just go do it."

What? What is he—I can't breathe.

Castiel clawed at Dean's skin, he twisted, he pulled on his trapped arm, his feet scraped against the floor in a futile attempt to find purchase; his lungs were aching and burning, his vision was blurring, the muscles in his sides were spasming, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, and—

Dean went flying, thrown onto the nearby carpet by power Castiel had agreed not to use. Castiel blinked rapidly, not understanding why his eyes were watering, not understanding why the pain hadn't stopped as soon as Dean was gone, and he looked to Dean with a silent demand for answers in his eyes.

"What… was the point… of this exercise?" Castiel didn't know why he didn't heal himself. Maybe he wanted to see if there was an object lesson. Maybe he was morbidly curious and a little bit fascinated. Maybe the adrenaline rush was a little intoxicating. Maybe all three.

He didn't know.

"Well?" Castiel demanded, slowly pulling himself into a sitting position.

Dean stayed on his back, staring at the ceiling. "You're Sam."

Castiel blinked slowly. "I… am Sam?"

"Sam I am," Dean replied dryly.

Castiel was certain that was another reference he didn't understand.

Dean heaved a sigh and turned his head to look at Castiel. "I told you to go kill a demon. Why didn't you?"

Castiel scowled. "I was a bit occupied."

"You're telling me you couldn't just make yourself get up?" Dean arched a brow, his tone almost judging. "You couldn't just decide to get off the floor and go gank a demon? What if it was important? What if someone was going to die?"

Castiel grit his teeth, silently chastising himself for even agreeing to Dean's stupid game. It didn't make any sense, and he had wasted precious time.

Dean let out another sigh. "You're Sam." He looked at the ceiling. "You're Sam, and I'm his depression. You follow? It didn't matter that you wanted to get up, it didn't matter how much you wanted to get up, and it didn't matter what was at stake. It wasn't happening."

Castiel blinked slowly, looking down at his lap. He rubbed idly at his chest, amazed that the pain had lingered so long, and he considered the analogy Dean proposed.

"Sam can't go kill Lilith." Dean slowly sat up, grunting in pain. "He can't do that, because he's beat up and bloody and pinned to the floor, and he can't breathe." He inhaled deeply, and there was defeat in his voice when he spoke again. "Sam is suffocating, and he thinks suicide is angel mojo."

Castiel turned his head slowly and looked at what little he could see of the young man lying on the floor by the window. He thought back to the panic he had felt—thought back to the overwhelming desire to escape, to the moment when stopping his suffering was the only thing that mattered—and then he thought about the lack of negative repercussions for using his powers. He thought about how much more Sam must have been suffering to go against his basest survival instinct in search of relief.

And Castiel started to understand.

"Sam is depressed, Cas. You getting that?" Dean struggled to his feet and crossed the room, practically collapsing on the floor next to Sam. "He had freaking antidepressants in the lining of his duffel bag. I don't even know where he got them—is getting them." His voice tightened, and guilt washed over his face, pale green eyes misting as they scanned the body on the floor. "He must have been so afraid of me finding out… embarrassed because he needs pills for his brain to work right. As if—as if millions of people don't need medicine to make their bodies function."

Castiel stared blankly, but inside his mind was running a thousand miles per second. Had Heaven unintentionally sabotaged themselves? He tried to go through what he knew about Sam Winchester, cataloguing the hard times the young man had encountered in his short life. He collected them all and compared them to the months leading up to the moment he was in.

"I don't understand." Castiel shook his head, one hand wandering to his arm which, for some reason, still hurt despite the absence of attack. "Sam has been through far worse in the past." He pushed himself to his feet, meandering over to the brothers. "There is nothing depressing about his current situation. I would expect a lot of anger and—"

"That isn't how it works, Cas." Dean pulled Sam into his arms again and kissed his forehead. Castiel made a note of the uncharacteristically excessive affection. "You've been in fights a lot worse than the one we just had. But the circumstances were different. You weren't fighting a stronger enemy, you weren't in a different environment, something inside you was different; and you were lucky, because you could control it. Something inside Sam is different, and it's something he can't control. And suicide isn't the only way out, but… we've been fighting so much… he felt like he couldn't come to me for help. Like… like I would care more about him drinking demon blood than him wanting to d…"

Castiel felt a twinge in his chest, much like he had while listening to Dean from Heaven, and he didn't like the feeling it gave him. "You two have slaughtered many witches. Perhaps one cursed him." Or… did Heaven do this? I know I'm not privy to every order involving the Winchesters, but I thought—

Dean shook his head. "No, Cas, this is a long time coming. He's been fighting this fight for years. He just… he lost tonight."

Castiel tilted his head to the side. "You sound very certain of this."

Dean ran a hand through Sam's hair again. "He sent me a psychology textbook when he was away at school. I looked for codes or secret messages at first, but when I didn't find any, I figured it was just something he really wanted me to read. So, I did. And now I know why."

Castiel tilted his head the other way, moving slowly. "You mean… Sam has wanted to die for several years?"

"No, I don't—I don't think he wanted to die that whole time. Depression is a lot of things, y'know, anger and fatigue and appetite and—and stuff. He's managing it okay—or he was, I think. I think the pills are working. Psh. Then again, maybe they're not. Maybe I'm just really that stupid." Dean stopped for a moment but then shook his head. "He probably dealt with different symptoms on and off, and something triggered an episode… and now he can't get out of it."

Castiel frowned, trying to think over the last few days. "Do you think it has something to do with the consumption of demon blood?"

Dean shook his head weakly. "No. If it was anything, it was me."

"Oh. Have you done something to Sam?" Castiel had been keeping an eye on the brothers, but as he had stated to them himself, angels were not omniscient.

"I sold my soul. I was dead for four months." He shook his head. "I was so wrapped up in how I got back, I don't… I don't think I asked him how he was. I just assumed everything would be okay because I was back." He shook his head again, muttering curses under his breath. "Idiot. I should have looked closer."

Castiel frowned slightly. "Unlike our battle, it seems depression doesn't leave any physical markings." He glanced at Sam. "Rather, it doesn't until you put them there yourself. Is that correct?"

Dean nodded his head. "You got it, Einstein."

Castiel's brow quirked slightly. "My name is not Einstein."

Dean somehow managed a weak laugh. "It was the name of a really smart human." He lifted one of the bloody towels, his movements indecisive. "I don't know what to do… I don't know what the next step is. Some kind of suicide watch? Find him new medication? Or…?"

Castiel looked down at his arm, confused by the throbbing he could still feel. "You were going to take him to Bobby when he was doing something else self-destructive. Perhaps that is the best course of action here as well."

Dean took a breath, lips still bloodied from the fight. "Yeah. Yeah, that might be a good idea." He started shifting, sliding his arm under Sam's knees and slowly lifting him from the floor. Grunting, he turned and all but dropped Sam onto the bed. "I remember when I used to pick him up no problem."

Castiel didn't say anything, watching cautiously as Dean stared down at his brother.

"Sammy…" Dean took a deep breath and reached up to his breast pocket, pulling out a folded-up piece of paper. He pressed it to his lips and closed his eyes, breathing deep and slow.

"Did Sam leave you a letter?" Castiel took a step closer, extending his hand as if to take the note. "Does it explain why this is happening?"

Dean jerked, as if he had forgotten Castiel was there, and he sidestepped, holding the paper close. "No. No one will ever see this except me." He looked at it a moment longer and then tucked it back into his pocket. "He just… told me why he did this… and some other stuff. That's how I knew he wasn't just doing it because of this apocalypse crap, and that's how I knew it wasn't because of some attack."

Castiel glanced down, wishing he could better understand what was going on. He reached up to rub the pain traveling across the back of his skull, and he thought of what they needed Sam to do. If Dean was right, there was no way Sam would be able to kill Lilith, and Heaven would find that unacceptable. But Castiel didn't know what they could do.

Perhaps…

"Let me see him." Castiel walked up to the bed, and after watching Dean's face for any sign that he would be attacked if he touched Sam, he reached out a hand. "If I can sense…" he pressed his hand to Sam's forehead, closing his eyes, "…what's wrong…" he tried to push into Sam's mind, searching for something that would explain what was happening, "…maybe I can fix it."

Dean held his breath, and Castiel could only imagine the kind of look he had on his face. Silence settled over the motel room, and Castiel almost wished there was a clock ticking, just to have something to take the edge off the utter death of all sound.

"Do you sense anything?"

Castiel turned his head slightly, a frown pulling on his lips. "I… I can sense that his brain is not healthy… that is to say, it's different from other human brains I've looked at. However…" He leaned a little closer, as if he thought proximity to Sam would help him sense the problem. "I can't…" He withdrew his hand, clenching it into a fist as he dropped it to his side. "I can't make it out."

"Yeah." Dean heaved a sigh. "Thought that would be too easy."

Castiel looked at Dean, once again aware of the lingering pain throughout his body. "I will talk to my superiors. If the angel is of a higher rank, they may be able to see what I can't."

Squinting, Dean gave Castiel a cautious look. "Why are you being so helpful?"

"I…" He can't know about our plans for Sam. "I… don't see a reason to not help. It doesn't go against my orders."

"I could barely get you down here." Dean folded his arms over his chest, suspicious and angry. "I had to promise to swear my allegiance to Heaven for you to keep him from bleeding to death, and now you're gonna get your superiors to see if they can unscramble his brain?"

Castiel faced Dean, turning his back on Sam, and he tried to continue the lie that had been pounded into his head. "Exactly. You agreed to obey us. There are benefits to that."

Dean regarded him for a long moment, scanning his body and face and probably seeing all kinds of subliminal cues Castiel was oblivious to. "You…" He scoffed, dropping his arms. "Fine. Whatever. I'll do what you tell me. Just… let me get Sam to Bobby's, and I'm all yours."

Opening his mouth, Castiel almost asked if Dean needed help getting Sam there, but he caught himself at the last second. "Your cooperation is appreciated." He took another look at Dean, taking everything in, analyzing.

He could still see the evidence of tears in Dean's eyes—the redness and slight swelling—and his mouth was still bloody from their fight. His clothes were filthy, soaked with the life fluid that had been coming from his younger brother, and Castiel could still see the edge of that note Sam had left sticking out of Dean's pocket. His lips were in a straight line, and there was a resignation on his face that said he wouldn't be fighting back against Heaven any time soon. Most of all, there was pain in his eyes, and Castiel found it bothered him much more than it should have.

"I'll return to Heaven. Call me if you need anything."

And Castiel flew.

He landed in Heaven, another trickle of pain traveling through his battered body, and with a fraction of a thought, he allowed his 'mojo' to return fully. Immediately, the pain was swept away, overpowered by a cool, tingling sensation that spread through every fiber of his being. Oddly, he found he was almost sad to see it go. It had been a constant reminder, an example or representation, of the pain Sam was in, and subsequently, the pain Dean was in. Castiel didn't want to forget that.

Father… I don't understand. If this is the plan… if this… Castiel grit his teeth, pain of a different kind cutting into him as he remembered his punishment. I have to—I have to follow orders. I have to make my report to Zachariah, and… He shook his head, as if physically banishing his more rebellious thoughts, and then he started walking down the hall he had landed in. I have a job to do.

But he still had Sam's blood on his hands, and he could only hope the literal statement didn't turn figurative in the coming days. He could only hope there was a light waiting for Sam and Dean at the end of this tunnel.

Maybe… maybe there really is something they can do for Sam. He clenched his fists, slowing to a stop in the empty corridor. I know they would be doing it so he can fight Lilith, but… Falling against the wall, Castiel let himself slide down to the floor, holding his bloody hands out in front of himself. What are we doing? What are we—?

"Hey, are you okay?"

Castiel opened his eyes, gazing up at the partly cloudy but still blue afternoon sky. He shifted on the hood of the Impala, turning to look at Sam with his arms folded behind his head. "Just an old memory." Even if it wasn't that old. "Nothing to worry about."

Sam offered a faint smile—from what Castiel understood, smiling was one of the many, many things depression made it difficult to do—and approached the car. "I, uh… I just… you mentioned, over dinner, that you were sorry you couldn't heal me, and I just…"

Castiel waited patiently, knowing it sometimes took a while for Sam to get his thoughts together. Even without that fact, Castiel wasn't sure he would know what to say, so it all worked out in the end.

"I…" Sam took a deep breath. "I don't want you to think that I… I just want you to know that I'm okay, even though you can't heal me. I'm getting better, you know? And it's slow going, but it's going."

Tilting his head slightly, Castiel continued to watch Sam, making note of the way his hands gestured vaguely and his eyes flickered around. It was like he was nervous—like he wasn't quite sure he wanted to have this conversation.

"I've… I've always known recovery is possible. Even before I…" Sam swallowed, rubbing his palms on his jeans. "I don't want you thinking that because you can't heal me, I'm gonna try and off myself again. I just, that night, you know, I—"

"You couldn't breathe." Castiel turned his head back toward the sky, a faint smile pulling on his lips. "I understand, Sam. You don't have to explain it to me." He closed his eyes for a moment, and then he looked at Sam again. "You're right. You are getting better, and it makes me very happy. I just wish… for all the trouble I caused… not telling you about Lilith being the seal until it was almost too late… I just wish I could make it up to you somehow."

Sam exhaled sharply, almost like he wanted to laugh but didn't have the energy. "Cas, you're my friend, and you're still helping me, even without your mojo."

Castiel looked into his eyes for several moments, blue peering into hazel. "You mean that, don't you?"

Lips pulling upward, Sam shrugged and tilted his head back, looking up. "It's like you said. I couldn't breathe. You and Dean and Bobby… you're my oxygen."

Castiel watched Sam for another second, and then he copied Sam's movement, seeing the clouds slowly drift across the vast, blue expanse. He went back to that moment, in the motel, with Dean's arm wrapped around his throat. He remembered how it felt when the air flooded into his lungs and relief coursed through his veins.

"I am honored to be such a person to you, Sam. You and Dean and Bobby…" He smiled. "You're my oxygen, too."


Author's Note: Hey! If you liked this story, you might want to check out my other Supernatural!Depression stories. We As Human and Hiraeth and A Thorough Reeducation are all stories about Sam being depressed and suicidal.

Also, on my website, I have recently posted a list of projects I am working on but haven't posted yet. I would love to know what you guys would like to see next, so please leave a comment! On top of that, I can tell you this is not the last Depressed!Sam story I will be posting, so if there's any scenario you'd like to see play out, please let me know in your comment!

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and have a Happy New Year!