Post Season13 BEWARE OF SPOILERS...
Sam is a mess over the loss of Dean just when they had finally gotten the biggest win of their hunting careers.
Jack, Cas, and Mary make him comfort food and help him get his head back in the game.
Sam doesn't have to ask Cas what it felt like in the Big Empty. He's there now. Sleepwalking through life every day for weeks after Dean/Michael disappears.
Mary and Cas try to talk to him and he tries to make the appropriate responses but he barely knows what they're saying.
Mary hugs him all the time. For her benefit or his, Sam's not sure. She hugs him long and hard, hanging onto her youngest son and saying things like he can't give up, and they'll find a way to bring Dean back. Sam thinks he should be doing something, saying something, holding her back, reassuring her too. But he doesn't and he can't.
He researches constantly, poring over books, trying to find something, anything that will aid them in rescuing his brother.
But at the end of every day, when there are still no solid leads, and no one has had any luck tracking him, Sam just drifts to his room, stumbles down the hall and falls into his bed, and sinks into restless sleep.
Usually his dreams are full of nameless horrors, one-shot scenes of terror inspired by his previous hellish week. He dreams of his own death, of blood, and caves, and vampires, and Dean screaming his name as he's dragged down into a dark tunnel.
One night he dreams of Dean.
His brother is standing in his room, laughing. It's a strange kind of laugh, high and cruel, and mocking.
Sam tries to ask him what the joke is and when he responds, the voice that comes out isn't his brother's, but Lucifer's.
"Heyyy, Sammy. I feel sorry for you, you know? I mean, I really do." The mockery of his brother breaks into uproarious laughter again, then he straightens up, gasping and wiping his eyes "It's just so. perfect. I mean you idiots thought you could kill me and everything would be peaches and cream...but guess what? There was a catch. Oh there's always a catch, isn't there, Sam?" The devil/Dean cracks up again, doubling over and shrieking. Midway through his laughter turns to blood-curdled screaming and it's Dean's voice now.
"Sammy! Where are you? He's hurting me, Sammy, I need you!" His voice is a retching, throat-tearing, agonized cry.
"Dean!" Sam jolts awake, sitting up in his bed. Beside him the light is still on and he's wearing the same clothes he's had on for days, and lying on top of his blankets.
He still feels all his sore muscles, bruised ribs, and wounded flesh, tearing with every breath, but it's a distant echo of agony-he's aware of it but it belongs to someone else, a surface version of himself that still has the ability to feel pain.
Either he was making more noise than he thought, or Mary was waiting right outside, because, suddenly, the door to his room opens and his mom comes in.
She doesn't ask permission, just sits down beside Sam and looks at him for a long time without saying anything. The compassion in her eyes threatens to cut through the well-guarded barriers Sam has built but he remains impassive.
She reaches out and runs a gentle hand over the side of his face, rubbing her thumb against his cheek, then brushes the damp locks of hair off his sweaty forehead.
He still refuses to react, even to her soft touch.
"My Sam," she says sadly "My brave, little Sammy. You need to get changed out of these clothes." She suddenly decides.
When it becomes obvious that he's not gonna comply, she gets up and gets out a white t-shirt and a pair of dark-blue pajama pants from his dresser and sets them on his lap.
"Get a shower and get changed, Sam."
She says it with a commanding, mom voice that somehow breaks his daze and Sam gets up, gets his things, and does what he's told, moving like an automated version of himself.
The hot water washes over his feverishly sore body; it runs over his black and blue skin, cleansing him, but not clearing the fog from his mind.
He emerges some time later and Mary is still sitting on the bed, waiting for him.
"Come on." She says and takes him by the arm.
She leads him out to the table and he sits down on one of the chairs.
Jack and Cas are in the kitchen making something and Sam can hear them clanging around. Mary gets up after a particularly loud crash, and ducks away to check on them.
Several minutes later, Cas emerges, carrying a tray of something steaming with Jack close behind.
Jack appears to have a dark stain on his shirt and Mary is smirking a bit but Jack and Cas look excessively proud as Cas sets down the tray of food.
"We had a small accident, but..." Cas begins then Jack jumps in.
"We made these special sandwiches-grilled cheese with peanut butter-for us" he says excitedly, "that was my idea."
Mary grimaces and then hides a smile behind her hand at the thought of cheese and peanut butter.
"And this is for you, Sam." Cas says as he sets down a plate in front of Sam. When the smell hits him he actually gasps and sudden tears rush, unbidden to his eyes.
It's a bacon cheeseburger, but not just any bacon cheeseburger, it's the kind of burger that Dean made for Sam on one of their first weeks in the bunker. It's one of those secret recipes that Dean would huddle away in the kitchen working on. Or maybe it wasn't a secret...Sam thinks, maybe I just never cared enough to learn how since I never cooked for Dean. Another example of all the times Dean served Sam, and all the times Sam failed to take care of his brother.
Cas's voice interrupts Sam's dark thoughts.
"Your mother made that for you." He says.
"How...how did you?"
Mary smiles sadly at the expression on Sam's face.
"I didn't know anyone could make these but Dean." Sam's voice chokes over his brothers name, coming out tight and husky from emotion and disuse.
"I guess I have more of a knack for cooking than I thought." Says Mary. "Dean gave me some pointers though, he even shared a few secrets with me. He said he needed to be sure you could have your favorites if anything..." She stops talking before her composure falters. "He really loves to watch cooking shows, you know?"
Sam nods fondly at the thought "My brother-the domestic goddess," he says, and he actually smiles for the first time in weeks. "He'd watch the food channel and take diligent notes." Sam starts talking about Dean and suddenly, he can't stop. "He always cooked for me, I mean, ever since we were little. Of course he made some pretty bad stuff back then. He put marshmallow cream in macaroni and cheese once. I loved it." Sam stops and his face clouds over. "And then I got too good for his food." He looks so guilty at this tiny injustice, and, just like that, the mood at the table darkens.
"Why can't I just appreciate anything he does for me?" Sam's voice is tiny and he looks like an overgrown child, sitting hunched at the table while his untouched burger cools down.
Cas, Mary, and Jack haven't eaten anything yet either. They sit in silence, looking at Sam and trying not to disturb this much needed monologue. It's been so many days since Sam spoke more than a couple words, that now no one dares to interrupt his verbal stream of consciousness.
"Just once...I mean...even one time, couldn't I just eat one of the delicious things he made for me and not complain about how unhealthy it was? couldn't I just b-be thankful?" His voice catches again and he pauses, breathing heavily. "It's all my fault. As usual."
No one has to ask what Sam means.
"I'm the reason he's never had any kind of life outside of hunting. I mean, sure, dad pushed him really hard, but Dean...he never does much of anything except look after me. Not ever. The only time he got a break was when I went off to college. I begged him to run away too, I told him he should get away from dad, from this life built on death...but at that point he was too enmired in everything. And now...I'm the reason he's getting ridden by the patron angel of bloodlust and I can't...I can't..." Sam chokes and doesn't finish.
He breaks off, slides his chair back with a clatter and jumps up, leaving room, food, and family as he disappears back to his bedroom.
By the time he gets there, the room is spinning and he feels like he's gonna be sick.
He sits down, trying desperately to compose himself, and covers his face with his hands, feeling hot tears burning in his eyes.
He hasn't cried once since Dean disappeared, and he refuses to let tears fall now.
His brother isn't dead and he willl NOT grieve for him. Dean isn't gone. He's still out there, he's still alive, still waiting for Sam to save him.
Dean's being tortured and subjugated and forced to play the part of bystander to his own actions; to watch the horrible deeds done by his hand play out like a gruesome film while he sits trapped and helpless.
That kind of agony...Sam can't even think about it. He doesn't have to imagine it. He knows. Better than anyone, he knows that pain. And while his brother is in that kind of hell Sam doesn't think he deserves the cleansing, release of tears. He doesn't get to have that kind of comfort.
Several moments later, there is a predictable knock on the door.
Sam is sunk back into the dark place and he barely registers it, but after a minute the door opens and he's surprised to see Cas standing there.
He comes in, hesitantly, holding Sam's forgotten food on a plate.
"In case you feel like eating later." He mutters.
"Sam..." Cas begins to speak, then awkwardly sits down on the bed beside him.
Sam is still breathing heavily and he keeps his eyes resolutely fixed on the wall in front of him.
There's ladybug crawling up the plaster and he tracks its slow, aimless trail towards the ceiling.
He appreciates Cas' concern, he really does, but right now, he sincerely wishes that everyone would just leave him the hell alone.
Cas doesn't say anything for a long time, then he sighs and looks straight at Sam with those open, searing blue eyes. He's using that power of blinding intensity on him; that prying, shameless gaze that bores into his head and seems to see all his secrets and evaluate them without pity or judgement.
"Sam." Cas' gravelly voice disturbs the silence again, at long last. "You know, I think I'm the only one who knows your brother almost as well as you." He pauses, gathering his thoughts. "I don't think he was ever able to say certain things to you, he just always hoped that you knew. Dean loves you, Sam. He loves you like a son as much as a brother and you have absolutely nothing to feel guilty for. Every sacrifice he's made has been his choice and he's chosen to fight for you. And that's not because he felt a duty or an obligation, you aren't a chore to him, it's because he loves you like you're a part of himself."
Cas watches Sam take that in, how he sits there, pale and unmoving, like he's just been punched through the gut, which, in a way, he has.
"There was never one moment when Dean wasn't happy to take care of you." Cas continues. "He spent his life taking care of you, because you were his whole reason to fight. His purpose, his reason to get up in the morning and to keep getting up even when he got kicked down. And, as I'm sure you know, when he made the choice to become Michael's vessel it was never about saving the world or killing the devil, it was always about saving you, his little brother." Sam says nothing but Cas can tell how hard he's fighting to stay composed and he wishes that Sam would let go of all his pent-up hurt, even just a little bit.
"We will get Dean back, Sam. We have to. There's no way it will end like this, because we absolutely will not let it. But the only way we do that is if you pull yourself out of this pit you're in. Team Free Will is...we're broken without Dean but we're useless without you, Sam. You have to stop beating yourself up over this and start fighting."
It's Cas' voice that speaks but it's Dean's words that Sam hears and he breaks a tiny bit at last, the tears he's been holding back for days dripping freely down his cheeks.
He doesn't say anything. He can't talk, he just nods and fights for breath while Cas looks away, politely.
"Okay. That's all I wanted to say." Cas gets up to leave. "Well actually, no, there's more."
Sam's watery gaze raises to meet Cas' eyes.
"You better eat that cheeseburger." He says "If Dean finds out you wasted bacon, blood will be shed when he returns."
Cas' unexpectedly good joke shocks Sam, and he actually laughs, in spite of himself. It's tight and choked but it's a start.
Sam nods again at Cas, and scrubs his face with his hands.
He picks up the plate off the nightstand. He's shaking slightly, worn thin after days of stress, poor nutrition and lack of sleep, but he bites into it and...oh god... it tastes almost as good as Dean's recipe.
Sam eats slowly, savouring each taste and thinking of his big brother.
Cas is right. The fight isn't over. They will get Dean back. They will find a way.
~End
Well I hope that didn't all seem like contrived drama.
I just really needed a little bit of hope for Sam and Team Free Will after the devastating ending of this season so I wrote it for myself. It's like therapy to me.
I also really wanted to think about Mary mother-henning the boys at the bunker and about Cas pep-talking Sam in Dean's place.
I hope you enjoyed it.
Review and I will love you forever and always!
~BDC