Title: Scars
Genre: angst, hurt/comfort,
Characters: Sam, Castiel, others
Warnings: drug use, violence, blood and gore, sensuality
Summary: AU since 7.23 into The End'verse. All paths lead to the same destination. The apocalypse is over, but Sam doesn't want to live after all that's happened.

Ch.1: Rising Sun

Desolation was all there was. It had become a familiarity- a commonplace, and although the apocalypse was fleeting it left much to be desired in its wake.

Those few who remained sought after new lives while others tried to continue where they left off, and some- the least fortunate, wondered still if there was anything worth holding on to.

The rain was warm as it beat down in heavy sheets, forming pools of muddied ground beneath a mans soles. He stared blankly outwards toward a cleared plain and watched the rising sun from a distance. It's rays we're unnaturally red and bled into the atmosphere where they stained the sky.
He took a moment to look down as he raised his palms to his face. They too were red. They were also sore and littered with bloodied cuts and scratches that puddled with the rain.
The man fell to his knees, palms smeared on either side of his face. He wailed uncontrollably into the risen sun.

"Hey." a voice called out. It reverberated throughout Sam's mind, bouncing left and right.
Weakly, he opened his eyes only to squeeze them shut in bitter agony.
"The light." he groaned.

The voice made an understanding grunt as it moved farther away.
There was a snapping of curtains, that signaled for Sam to open his eyes again.

"Still sensitive? Sure you're not a vampire now?" Cas jested as he walked towards the opposite side of the cabin.
Sam watched him without expression or rebuttal.
"How's your-" Sam gestured vaguely at Cas, the action had made Cas chuckle in response.
"This-" he returned the hand motions languidly on to himself. "-will heal with time." He pulled out a bottle from a wooden cabinet and promptly took a large swig from it. "Among other things."
Cas grabbed another and handed it to Sam who nodded in refusal.
"Suit yourself."
Cas limped to the bed adjacent to Sams.
It was otherworldly to see him like this. So mangled and broken. So human.
Sam swallowed at the tightening in his throat while he looked over the multitude of bandages on Cas' chest and limbs. His ribs were fractured and as a result, made it more difficult for him to walk around.
Cas noticed the stares, taking a moment to put aside his drink.
Sam shifted awkwardly, looking down at his feet as he cradled both hands between his legs.
"Sam- I'll be fine." Cas mumbled.
Sam continued to look down. He seemed to be struggling with something, his words couldn't quite form. He was too consumed with emotion, with guilt.
"Cas...I think I should start heading out." He said.
Cas had began to drink again, then paused and tilted his head back against the shifty headboard.
"And where exactly do you plan to go?" he asked. His voice was low but strained.
Sam let out a frustrated sigh and strode towards the opened doorway.
No one was left at Camp Chautauqua, either having been killed in the suicide mission or fled after promises of a better life- the long awaited end to the apocalypse. Sam laughed to himself at the thought. There was nothing left for him in this world, and even if there was he didn't deserve it.

+

His breathing was heavy, but his strength had not yet been depleted. Sam trudged through the dirt and mud, ignoring the ever nagging pull that it gave to his legs as if the earth wanted to engulf him.
He had to see, he had to see for himself.
"DEAN!" he screamed, he cried, he breathed. Until all that came out were broken hyperventilations, and then silence. It was deafening, and nothing felt emptier than at that moment, by his brothers side.
Not far off in the distance there was a hacking noise.
Caught in a haze, Sam wouldn't have noticed it if it hadn't have called out that name.
"Dean! De-chhah." the coughing persisted.
Shaken, Sam scurried around until he found Cas lain on his back with an arm wrapped around his waist and blood drenched in every fibre of his clothing.
"-Cas." Sam managed with what was left of his voice. The bodies that surrounded Cas were unresponsive to Sams presence.
The man looked up at Sam with a distant stare. One of his eyes was too bruised to see through.
"Stay away from me!" he shouted. Sam stood his ground. Cas shifted painfully up on his elbow, his head wobbled from side to side.
Sam promptly lifted the wounded man, positioning him carefully over his shoulder.
Cas cried out in pain, his face distorted into grimaces that reflected his inner turmoil.
"You killed him!" he fidgeted, deliriously. His shouts of rebellion mingled with those of physical pain. They soon turned to cries. "He's dead!...Dean's-!" he soon drifted out of consciousness.
Sam said nothing in his own defense, however his frame trembled profusely as he carried Cas to shelter.