In The Impala
Sam did his best not to fall to pieces. It was hard. Dean had always been the strong one. When they were kids and Sam was upset, he'd crawl into bed with his brother and listen to him say that everything would be okay. He'd fall asleep with Dean's protective arm around him, keeping him safe from all the scary monsters.
But Dean wasn't here and he couldn't tell him it was alright. It wasn't alright. The world was crashing down around him. Everyone told him that it would be okay, that he'd get through this. But he didn't see how. Without Dean, the world was gray and painful. It had been two months since the accident. Two months since he'd lost it all. Sam hadn't even bothered to find jobs. He moped in hotel rooms around the country, sobbing whenever he thought of either his brother or of hunting. He couldn't keep the family business up without Dean.
As he sat there on the edge of a cheap motel bed, Sam heard a knock. He almost thought it was Dean. But that wasn't possible. Dean was dead, he had to remind himself. He didn't want to get up to answer the door, but the visitor insisted upon knocking louder until he finally got up. Sam made it to the door, peeking out the little hole. His stomach churned, seeing the face of an angel. So many memories washed over him all at once. All of them included Dean.
At the speed of a sloth, he opened the door. Castiel stood there and smiled weakly. "Hey, Sam." His voice was dry and almost cracked, as though he had been crying. "Can I come in?"
"Yeah." Sam took a deep breath and moved aside to let him inside. The two of them looked at each other with a thick nervous tension hanging in the air. Sam sat down on the bed where he'd been, and Cas took a seat in a small chair.
"Are you doing alright?" the angel asked him.
Sam knew there was no point in lying to him. He shook his head. "I'm not." He exhaled shakily. "I'm not doing alright at all."
"I'm sorry, Sam." His eyes were wide. He really meant it. Sam realized that Castiel must be going through the same amount of pain that he was. It was quiet for a while as the two of them sat. "Have you been by his grave?"
Sam shook his head. He hadn't had the strength to go there. The only time he'd gone there was for the little 'funeral' of sorts, in which Bobby, Castiel, and a few others had come to say goodbye and burn his bones. None of them wanted to have to kill Dean themselves if he came back. None of them could handle that. But it had been obvious to Sam that Dean wasn't there. He was nowhere near that body. No, Dean was somewhere far off. Sam liked to hope he was in heaven.
As soon as the funeral had ended, Sam had driven off in the Impala, listening to the tape that Dean had last put in. So many emotions were stored up in that old car. Memories filled the air and filled his mind. Sam cried, tears filling his vision. He'd almost gotten into an accident. But he didn't care. If he could have just died then, he would have been able to be with Dean. A thought had run through his mind—if he crashed the Impala and died, Dean would murder him for hurting his baby. Sam had laughed.
That Impala was the only place where he was okay. He knew it was stupid, but he could feel Dean there. He was everywhere in that old car. In the driver's seat, he laughed at Sam. He slept in the passenger's side, snoring over his music by some impossible means. Hell, Dean was even in the back seat, kissing Castiel. Cas had rode in the car with him a few times, and all Sam could hear was Dean's voice, teasing the angel, telling him that people said things about guys with big wings.
Sam looked at Castiel in the hotel. "I miss him, Cas." He swallowed. "I can't do this on my own."
"I know. I can only do so much, but if you ever need my help, you know how to contact me."
Sam nodded. He knew. He had prayed every night since the accident, telling Castiel what was going on. He couldn't count the number of times he had told him he was sorry. After all, Sam blamed himself. If he had just followed Dean into that warehouse, instead of guarding the door like a pansy, Dean would be there. But because Dean hadn't had backup, he was dead. Because of Sam, Dean was dead. Castiel was alone because of it. Sam had taken away the one person who brought the angel true joy. "I'm sorry, Castiel."
The angel shook his head. "Don't be. It's not your fault."
Sam sighed deeply. He didn't want to argue with Cas, and so he didn't keep that conversation going. He dropped the subject. "Cas, is Dean in heaven?"
The angel gave no reply, a solemn look on his face.
Sam's heart squeezed. The pain wasn't over for him. Sam had hoped that in death his brother could at least escape some of the pain he had felt when he was alive. But no. He was being tortured. It was unfair. Dean had done nothing wrong in his life. He had done his best to protect everyone else. He was so brave and selfless. "Dammit!" Sam shouted loudly.
Sam couldn't stand to look at Cas anymore. When he looked at him, he saw Dean. And when he saw Dean, he could only imagine the pain and torture he had to be going through in hell. He stood abruptly, throwing on his coat and leaving before the angel could even call for him to come back. Sam got into the car and started it up, driving off way faster than he should have.
He felt alright in the car, his anger leaving him. He was okay. Sam swore he could feel Dean near him. But that wasn't right. Dean wasn't there. He was in hell. Unless. . . A thought hit him as he drove down a back road. Unless he had latched on to the Impala. Stranger things had happened.
Sam smiled. Dean wasn't stupid. He wouldn't have let himself go to hell. No. He had latched on. Dean was there. Sam laughed loudly. "You're a genius," he muttered. Dean had known where he'd go if he let go. So he'd clung tight to life. Genius wasn't a word that Sam would often use to describe his brother, but in his dying moments, Dean had managed to have a spark of brilliance. Sam was thankful for that. He didn't have to be alone. He hadn't lost his brother. He couldn't help laughing.
Sam swore he could see Dean's smile in the rearview mirror. He turned to look. Nothing was in the backseat. That didn't matter. He had no doubt that he had just seen the real Dean. Sam grinned. He was comforted by the man he knew was there.
"Thank you, Dean," he murmured.
.
.
.
A/N:
This was inspired by the song "I Drive Your Truck" by Lee Brice. I feel like, if Dean latched onto anything, it would totally be the Impala. And I feel like he would latch onto something because he couldn't just leave his little brother.
This was supposed to just be some sad angst, but I guess I was being nice to poor Sammy. I felt bad for him.
The author of this fic is not to be held accountable for any nosebleeds, feels, or fangirl squealing that may result of this fic.