Hey everyone! Back with a new story for the weekend :) This was one that randomly popped into my head and wanted to be written instantly, so I hope you all enjoy it. It's set in Season 5 after "My Bloody Valentine" and that's pretty much all you need to know, I guess. Not really canon divergent enough to call AU just something that could have happened.

Also, to avoid any confusion, all flashbacks (which are from Sam's POV) are in italics and happened before the story starts. But both Cas' POV and Dean's POV are in the present. Hope you all enjoy, please review if you are so inclined :)

When You Call

A Supernatural Fanfic

Chapter One

Castiel didn't think he would ever get used to hospitals. The pure amount of human emotions packed inside, pain, grief, hopelessness, even anger and futility—it was all so much to handle. Even more so now in his fallen state that only intensified the way he could feel and relate to the humanity surrounding him. And it was a painful taunt, all their emotions and suffering, now that he no longer had the ability to heal them even if he wanted to.

But even more distressing was seeing Sam and Dean, the two humans who had been his charges, and were now his friends, when they were hurting and he couldn't do a thing about it. And Sam was hurting now, a lot, in more ways than one, and Castiel had neither the power to heal his body nor the skill with words to heal his non-physical ailments. Castiel was certainly not Dean, and that was enough to make him unqualified.

He had been surprised and wary to receive the call from the hospital, telling him that there was a Sam Winchester there who had been brought in after being found collapsed on a forest highway by a passing driver. Sam had been taken to surgery for his injuries and Castiel had been told he was listed as an emergency contact. What worried the angel most was that he knew Dean was also listed, and the fact Dean had not been reached first could only mean something bad had happened.

The last thing Castiel had heard was that Sam and Dean had been going on some hunt in Wyoming. He would have gone too, but he thought he might be more use elsewhere, trying to track down information on what the angels were planning and where and when the other two Horsemen might show up. Now he wished he had gone with them, because something must have gone horribly wrong for Sam to end up in the hospital with such grievous injuries, and for Dean to be missing.

Because he had to be missing. Castiel knew there was no other explanation for why Dean wasn't there with his brother.

He got to the hospital and asked the kind woman at the reception desk about Sam Winchester. He was told Sam was still in surgery and was escorted to a waiting room with several other anxious people, and offered a cup of coffee, which he took because that was what people did. Then he sat down and tried to call Dean a dozen times on his cell phone but only got the voice message.

He was going to call Bobby Singer, but decided to at least wait until he knew what state Sam was in after the surgery, because that would be the first thing Bobby would ask. There was no point in worrying the hunter if he couldn't answer any of his questions, and Bobby couldn't exactly make it to the hospital in his current paralyzed condition. Another ailment Castiel couldn't fix.

It was almost two hours that he sat there, gazing into the dark coffee in the cup that he had barely drank from as it got as icy cold as the room. Finally another figure entered the waiting room and walked over to him.

"Sir?"

Castiel looked up to see a blond woman in scrubs standing beside his chair. He stood up instantly.

"Are you…Castiel?" she inquired, checking a clipboard, seeming slightly confused by his name. Castiel didn't care at the moment.

"Yes, do you know how Sam is doing?" the angel asked, surprised by the anxiety in his voice. The human emotions he was feeling were only getting worse by the day, telling of his falling nature.

"He just woke up—his surgery went without complications, but he was rather distressed when he woke, so we had to administer a sedative. He kept asking for his brother." She looked sympathetic. "It's not uncommon for patients who undergo anesthesia to be delirious when they come to. They're just getting him situated in a room now, and you can go sit with him if you want. It might help him to see a familiar face when he wakes up again."

"Yes, of course," Castiel nodded and followed her to the elevator where they went down a couple floors and walked down a sterile white hallway to a room at the end of the hall.

Castiel followed her inside and frowned in anguish as he saw the younger Winchester brother lying there in the bed, as the nurses hooked him up to monitors and IVs, adjusting a blanket over his lower body.

"He'll probably be coming around in another hour or so," the nurse told Castiel as she motioned to a chair for him to sit in.

"Thank you," Castiel said and watched as the other doctors vacated the room. Castiel finally took stock of Sam's condition. His face was pale and bruised, and his whole body had a thin, starved look. His left arm was in a cast, propped up at his side and his breathing hitched as if it pained him.

Castiel turned to the nurse who was scribbling something on her clipboard. "What happened to him?"

"We're guessing he was the victim of a hit and run, but that's only because he was found on the side of the road. It's just as possible that he had some kind of accident out in the woods. He was severely dehydrated when we found him and that doesn't really fit with a hit and run although the blunt force trauma to his arm and torso do. Do you know if he was out hiking or something?"

"It's possible he was…hunting," Castiel informed her.

She nodded. "Either way, it was lucky that couple saw him. Not a lot of traffic on that road. He suffered multiple fractures to his arm—that's why he needed the surgery—and several cracked ribs as well as evidence of blunt force trauma elsewhere. We don't think he has any internal damage but we're monitoring him carefully. He's also concussed pretty badly. He's definitely going to be sore for a while."

Castiel nodded. "It would appear so."

"Well, I've got some things I need to see to, just press the call button if he needs anything."

"Thank you," Castiel told her as he finally sat down next to Sam. He reached out to put a hand on the hunter's forehead, wishing he could push a little grace into his body to heal him, but his powers wouldn't obey him. It was so hard, seeing the lines of pain creasing Sam's face, and knowing he could do nothing.

He sat for a while, just watching over the young hunter, until there was a change in Sam's breathing pattern and he stirred slightly, his breath hitching at the pain the movement caused and his face scrunching in discomfort before his eyes blinked open.

"Sam," Castiel called gently, leaning forward in his chair as Sam's eyes roved toward him, blinking several times.

"Cas?" he asked, seeming confused. He looked around the room, getting only more distressed. "Dean? Where's Dean?"

Castiel reached out and gripped his forearm in an attempt to calm him. "He's not here, Sam, you need to calm down or you'll hurt yourself."

"He was right behind me," Sam insisted, still looking around. "He was right behind me…he has to be here!" The monitor he was hooked to started beeping more rapidly, and Castiel stood to press Sam back onto the bed, trying to calm him.

"Sam, please, if you don't calm down, they'll sedate you again."

Sam fought to get his breathing under control, seeming to see Castiel was right, and while he calmed down, Castiel reached for the side table and poured water from a pitcher into a small paper cup.

"Drink this," he said. "The doctor told me you were dehydrated." He helped hold the cup to Sam's lips, his other hand slipping behind the hunter's head to raise it. Sam sipped slowly, before nodding to Castiel that he was done. Sam licked his lips, seeming a bit refreshed by the drink as he turned weary hazel eyes up to the angel as Castiel sat down again.

"Can you tell me what happened, Sam?" Castiel asked gently. "I may be able to find Dean if you can tell me what happened to you. Did you get injured on your hunt?"

Sam closed his eyes and sighed wearily, shaking his head. "No, no we finished the hunt…two werewolves, but that was easy enough…oh God," his body shuddered, and he reached out to grip Castiel's sleeve, his eyes full of panic. "He was right behind me, Cas! Why isn't he here?"

Castiel gripped Sam's wrist in reassurance, pained by the anguish emanated from Sam, the need to find out what happened to his brother.

"Sam, can you try to start from the beginning?" he asked gently.

Sam swallowed hard, trying to gather himself, before he finally said, "We—we were just eating dinner at the bar…"

Sam picked tiredly at his chicken salad as he watched his brother hustling pool on the other side of the crowded bar. Normally he would have been over there with him, but the loud music and raucous atmosphere was giving him a headache. It had only been three weeks since the hunt that had led them to Famine, and his subsequent detox from drinking demon blood. It hadn't exactly been worse the second time around, but it hadn't been easier either. No, the worst part was knowing he had failed Dean. Again. After he had promised he would never go that rout again. And yeah, he could blame Famine's influence—even Cas had been affected—but deep down, he would always know it was because he had craved the demon blood in the first place. The look on Dean's face when he saw what Sam had done was going to haunt the younger man forever. The pure disappointment was almost enough to break Sam's heart all together. He had wanted so much for them to go back to how they were, and this was just another step backwards. Or more like a tumble down a cliff.

Sam watched Dean wrap up the game, grinning cheekily at the two guys he had just rooked out of several hundred bucks, saying they would have better luck next time. Sam quickly shoveled in several more bites of food even though he wasn't hungry at all, just because he was even less enthusiastic about Dean's lecturing if he saw he hadn't eaten. Sam had lost weight since the last detox since he had spent almost a week unable to keep anything but saltines in his stomach, and it was fair that Dean was worried, his older brother was a grade A mother hen, but that didn't make it any less annoying.

"Check it out, enough money to pay for dinner and the room tonight," Dean told him as he sat across from Sam and threw several bills on the table for the dinner and a tip. He frowned as he saw Sam massaging the bridge of his nose again. "You okay?"

"Just a headache. I'm pretty tired," Sam assured him.

Dean eyed him thoroughly to make sure he wasn't lying. "We'll get you off to bed soon enough, sleeping beauty. Why don't we call it a night? There was that motel down the road."

"Sounds good," Sam agreed and gathered up his stuff—a local paper and their dad's journal—before he followed Dean out.

"Hold on, gotta hit the head first," his brother said, making a detour.

Sam sighed and leaned against the wall to wait for him, watching the bar patrons from under half-closed eyes. It was then that three men sitting in the back caught his eye. Unlike the rest of the crowd, they looked rough, not to mention completely sober. And they seemed to be watching him.

Sam frowned, straightening up, and instinctively checking the gun in his waistband. They weren't the guys Dean had hustled, those two had left already, so who were these men to give him the stink eye? And they definitely had a familiar bearing about them. Almost as if…

"Hey, sleepyhead, let's get you out of here before you turn into a pumpkin."

Sam was startled by Dean's reappearance beside him, jumping slightly.

"Sam, you good?" Dean asked him, frowning at his brother's reaction.

Sam shook his head, and leaned close to Dean as he steered him toward the door. "Those guys in the back corner, you think they're watching us?"

Dean made a quick glance over his shoulder. "You mean the three guys who just got up and are starting to tail us?"

Sam chanced a look, and saw Dean was right and the two sped up, only to see the three men exit the other door of the bar and head out into the night. Dean watched them, but breathed out a sigh, chuckling.

"Paranoid much, Sammy?"

"What, you thought they were following us too," Sam protested with a grunt as he followed Dean out the door as his brother fished in his pocket for the car keys.

"Yeah, well, you can never be too careful," Dean shrugged as he dropped his keys with a curse and bent to pick them up.

That was all the distraction the three men needed.

"Well, well, well, fancy seeing you boys here."

Sam didn't get a chance to turn around before something slammed into the back of his skull and dropped him flat on the pavement. He tried to push himself up as he heard Dean yelling, followed by the dull thuds of punches being thrown, before something he suspected was a boot pressed into his back and shoved him flat again.

"Stay down if you know what's good for you, boy. We got some business with ya."

And that was the last thing Sam remembered before there was a burst of light as he was hit over the head again, this time succumbing to the darkness.

Castiel frowned as he listened to Sam's story. The young man had stopped, his good hand fisting in the blankets bunched at his waist as he swallowed hard at the memory.

"Is that how you were injured?" Castiel asked as gently as possible, wanting to know what happened but not wanting to press the young man too much in his obviously somewhat fragile state. "These men attacked you?"

Sam shook his head quickly and then winced in regret as the motion made his concussed skull pound. "No." He looked up at Castiel with haunted eyes and the angel's stomach twisted in anxiety for what he was about to hear. "That was—that was just the beginning. The worst came after that…"

Dean fluttered back to consciousness in patches. Everything ached, and he wasn't exactly sure where he was, but he felt like he was moving. Something scraped along his back, and he could feel his bare feet dragging along the ground, getting even more torn up than they already had been. He moaned, trying to shift to see where he was, and through his blurry vision, caught sight of trees and forest covering, and two pairs of boots bobbing back and forth on either side of his head as two men, one holding a wrist each, dragged Dean through the forest.

Flashes of memory assaulted him, getting taken from the bar parking lot, trussed up in a dark place, beaten, the endless coaxing. Taking a chance to escape their bonds when they men, hunters—their own kind—had gone out for a while. Running through the woods, grabbing Sam as he stumbled and yanking him along despite his brother's injuries. The gunshot…

That last memory made pain flare up in Dean's leg as he was dragged over a rock none-too-gently. He hissed and flicked his eyes down to his left thigh where a bullet had lodged a few inches above his knee. The leg of his jeans was soaked red, and he knew he was lucky the bullet hadn't hit an artery otherwise he would be dead.

But wait, if he was being dragged back toward the cabin, where was Sam?

Dean frantically cast his eyes around, trying to see if Sam was being carted back too, by the other man, but he wasn't anywhere. Hope surged through Dean, thinking maybe his brother had gotten away. But it was just as likely the he could be lying dead out in the woods. Dean only remembered the one gun shot, as he and Sam nearly made it to the road, remembered shoving Sam forward down the hill that led to the highway running through the mountains, wincing at the thought of it only doing more damage but if Sam was out of sight of the hunters, then a few more bruises and injuries were worth it. But they could have caught Sam after taking Dean out and he would have been none the wiser. Then he guessed he must have fallen and hit his head because he couldn't remember anything after that.

"S'mmy," he moaned, eyes still looking left and right as he was dumped at the door to the cabin again. There was the sound of a door creaking open and footsteps on the wooden porch.

"You find him?" a gruff voice asked.

"Yep, almost to the road, little bastard was trying to escape." A boot thumped into Dean's already bruised ribs, making him curl into himself.

"What about Sam?"

"No sign," the third man growled.

The one standing in the door to the cabin cursed viciously, then strode forward before he crouched down, obscuring Dean's view. But Dean didn't care. He didn't even care that he had been captured again, because they didn't have Sam, and they hadn't killed him either, and that was all he needed to know.

"It doesn't change anything, Dean. I'm still gonna get what I want out of you; I got a lot riding on your compliance. And there ain't nothin' you can do about it; can't run on that leg."

Dean mustered a grin. "Don't matter. Sammy's gone, you can't hurt him anymore. You think I care what you do to me now?"

"Son, I think you underestimate me and the lengths I'm willing to go here," the man said sincerely as he stood again and nodded to the other hunters. "Take him inside and stop that bleeding. It would be a shame for him to die on us now."

They dragged Dean the rest of the way into the cabin and threw him down beside the fire. Dean felt the warmth seep into his body, and started shivering, not having realized before how cold he was. Maybe that was from the blood loss though.

He hissed in protest as one of the hunters took out a knife and cut his jeans up to the point of the bullet wound and prodded the spot. Dean cursed and jerked weakly, trying to get away, but one of the other hunters came and knelt, patting his shoulder roughly before pressing him back to the floor.

"Got to get the bullet out, son. Don't worry, it will be back to business soon enough." He rolled up a filthy rag and shoved it between Dean's teeth before nodding to the other man.

Dean felt someone holding his leg down before the third hunter advanced with a pair of forceps.

"Hold him," he commanded his partners as he crouched and grasped Dean's knee before unceremoniously digging the pincers into the bullet wound.

Dean screamed past the gag, his whole body stiffening instinctively, but the men held him down, and to the hunter's credit, he was quick about it, though it didn't seem the bullet was too deep either.

Through a haze of pain, Dean heard the clank of the bullet on the hearth and then something wet and agonizing was poured over his leg, making him scream again.

"A little something to clean it out," the man said, settling a bottle of whisky onto the floor. Dean would rather have drunk it. He was barely conscious by now, trembling in shock and listening to the mumbling voices that were discussing something around him.

"Still bleeding a lot. He might just pop stitches."

"Just get it closed."

Dean's eyes fluttered open as he heard them stoking the fire and watched as they pulled the red-hot poker out. He knew instantly what they had planned and he began to struggle with all the strength he had left.

"N-no," he tried past the gag between his teeth but he was just slammed against the floor again, too weak to put up much of a protest.

He felt the sizzle of the heat as it first touched his skin, snapping and hissing at the remnants of the whisky, then the smell of burning flesh. His flesh. And then agony like he hadn't felt since he had been in Hell, before he surrendered to the darkness.