Summary: Dean is grieving over the loss of Cas. His golden lab, Sam, tries to comfort him.
Notes: Thanks to Tech Duinn for being such a fabulous beta. You make my job pleasurably challenging.
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"Three grand essentials to happiness in this life are: something to do, something to love, and something to hope for." - Joseph Addison
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Sam looked up at Dean, a whine in his throat. He hated seeing his master so... whatever this was. He nuzzled Dean's limp hand, trying to warm it as best he could.
Dean pulled away, and then, as if realizing a moment later it was Sam, twisted his fingers in an affectionate gesture.
"Hey, I'm sorry, buddy."
Sam sniffed Dean's fingers and then pushed into them, prompting Dean to scratch Sam's ears. Sam whimpered, his toes scratching at the linoleum as he jittered nervously. He only wanted to make Dean feel better.
"I'm sorry," Dean said again at last, though this time it was exhausted, defeated, and ended choked. He didn't seem to see Sam, who looked on worriedly. Dean's eyes were red, his mouth a grim line.
Sam put a paw up on Dean's thigh, next to the half-empty beer bottle in his lap. Dean turned his head but his eyes stared through Sam blankly. Sam felt something inside him tighten, something that hadn't been as constricted in a very long while. Perhaps the last time he'd felt like this had been when Cas had left. Cas had given Sam bits of hamburger under the table when Dean wasn't looking, and travelled with them sometimes. Cas had felt like Hope to Sam, something Dean rarely felt like anymore.
Hope wasn't just a feeling to Sam; it was the brightness and warmth in a person's eyes and the ease with which they moved. Cas had brought that feeling into their nice, rumbling car, and the motels they stayed at, and into... into Dean.
That hope was gone now, or at least washed very much away with new places and lonely, cold rooms. Cas had brought that with him, and had taken it when he left. Dean had changed when Cas left. He was colder, his movements sharper—
Dean stood up abruptly, sending Sam skittering back a safe distance. Sam's tail paused in mid-air.
Dean turned the tap on in the bathroom and stared at the running water for several seconds. Dean dipped his hand into the stream, pulling it back up to splash on his face.
The fact that no lights were on in the room meant that Dean was mostly a shadow, a ghostly reflection. Sam could only see Dean's face where the small bathroom window shed meagre light on his face. Water dripped from his nose as he stared at himself in the mirror.
Sam approached Dean hesitantly, sniffing at the floor by his shoes before lifting his nose and looking up at the human. His head only came up to just below the counter, but Dean saw him and broke the intense stare he had with himself. He half-smiled, but it fell too quickly.
"You hungry?" Dean's throat scratched and came out sounding like he was the hungry one.
Sam cocked his head: You fed me an hour ago, Dean.
Dean exhaled and looked away, chagrined.
"Yeah, I know." Dean looked anywhere but Sam.
Sam lightly touched Dean's hand with his nose. Dean chuckled softly, returning the sentiment by scratching at Sam's head. Sam pushed into Dean's touch, whining softly.
Dean inhaled sharply, the rough noise pulling the oxygen and sound from the room. Dean pulled his hand away and staggered into the main room. Sam followed him at a distance, fearful for Dean but staying just out of sight.
Dean stared out the window into the charcoal black night, to the field across the road. He stayed like that for one long minute, every so often pulling in another ragged breath, his shoulders shuddering up and down like a grungy, broken accordion.
Just as Sam was about to chance a move, Dean grabbed the keys from the bowl on the dresser and flung the door open. Sam slipped out before the door slammed shut. Frigid Wisconsin air touched his nose.
The wind rustled Dean's shirt. As if pushed to act by the wind, Dean walked across the road with even, measured steps. Sam looked both ways, relieved there weren't any cars. Sam didn't know why Dean was acting how he was, but he had to be sure Dean was okay just in case he was drunk or suffering from some human sickness. Some of the humans Sam had met in the past acted oddly—for no reason at all.
Sam hoped Dean wasn't drunk; those nights never ended well.
The field swallowed first Dean, and then Sam, as Sam tried to keep up with Dean in the long grasses. It started to rain, but, despite being early March, it was warm. Damp grass caught up in Sam's nose as he pushed his way through it, just barely keeping up with Dean's long strides.
Sam slowed as Dean did, when they were a ways away from the bright lights of the motel, the black night surrounding them. Dean stopped, his head turned up to the sky. Rain dripped from his face.
Eventually, so softly that Sam almost didn't catch it, Dean whispered to the night air.
"Please, tell me what to do."
The breeze picked up and fresh rain fell.
"I need you—"
The half-broken plea for help brushed past Sam's ear.
Sam waited as Dean stood with his face up to the clouds.
Finally, when Sam couldn't stay still any longer, he went to curl up at Dean's feet. Dean shifted, and Sam put his head down on his paws.
Dean crouched low. He rubbed Sam's ears.
"It's just you and me, I guess, Sammy."
Sam looked up at Dean and spied his other hand, limply resting on his thigh. Sam gently nudged Dean's hand. Dean didn't smile. He patted Sam weakly.
A moment passed before Dean reached out to Sam, pulling him into his arms in one breath, falling into the grass himself. He hugged Sam to him and Sam fell back into Dean's chest. Sam licked Dean's jaw, wagging his tail.
The rain stopped, a gentle wind rustling the grass. Dean's hand was warm against Sam's back.
"We'll be okay, Sam. We'll be okay."