Author Note: *heart breaks into tiny pieces that get everywhere*
Yeah, if you're not caught up through Thursday's ep, then turn away, cuz there be hella spoilers here.
Presence
He can't stop looking back at the body.
Dean, on the other hand, hasn't once shifted his gaze from the road ahead, even to check a passing intersection, and Sam sort of feels like his brother is playing chicken with fate. More likely, he just doesn't care. About anything.
Again, he rotates on the bench, just enough to glimpse the prone, still form in the backseat, and swallows around the hard lump in his throat.
There had been a single folded sheet in the Impala's trunk. Sam can't think of a reason why they had it in the car, but it must have been for this. Not for Mom, but for someone. Some thing. In this life, preparedness is taken to morbid levels. Like the gas can that's also in the trunk, always brought along in case something nasty is riding along when it's time for a fill-up.
A chill has settled in the car, a stark absence of life. Of hope. Sam feels alone, can hardly even feel the presence of his brother at his side. His gaze cuts across the man's slack features as he turns stiffly back, and he knows Dean's gone to that detached, numb place where the pain won't reach. For now.
He's been at risk of losing his brother to that void for a long time now.
Even so, he doesn't try to get Dean to talk. Not yet. He doesn't know what there is to say. Doesn't know how to tell Dean that they're going to get through this.
He feels a pang of guilt from the ongoing silence, and a burden of comfort weighing heavily on his shoulders. As badly as Sam hurts, he knows the pain his brother is keeping at bay must be so much worse. Losing Mom like this, it's a fresh sting for Sam, a sharp ache in his chest making it difficult to breathe. But for Dean…this is a brutal reopening of old wounds, teasing a deep well of pain that has nearly dragged him under more than once.
Dean will find a way to blame himself for this, and he shouldn't. Not entirely. He's the one who was wary from the jump, who already held Jack responsible once for losing Mom – and Cas – from the moment he came into the world. And now, just as he's gotten to see Jack as family, just as they've become a family, he's had all that initial wariness validated. Sam doesn't know how they're going to come back from this, if there's no taking back what Jack did.
He doesn't know how they're ever going to be a family again.
Sam steps back from the car, arms tingling from the sudden absence of Mom's weight. He crams his trembling hands into the pockets of his jacket, stares down at the wheel well. "What about Nick?" He doesn't recognize his own voice.
His question is met with silence, and he raises his gaze to find Dean still bent over her covered head on the other end of the bench, one hand pressing gently against her shoulder. Sam knows his brother didn't even hear him.
"Dean," he tries again, voice stronger. "What about Nick?"
Dean blinks, has clearly forgotten about the other…the other body. "Cas can deal with it," he says, sandpaper rough. He sniffs as he straightens, wiping away any trace of emotion from his face. His expressionless eyes skip right over Sam as he turns and reverently closes the car door. He moves wordlessly toward the driver's seat.
As the door creaks shut behind his brother and the Impala's engine roars to life, Sam understands that's a call he's meant to make. He stands outside the car under a dreary, gray sky and pulls his cell phone from his pocket.
It goes straight to voicemail. Either Castiel's phone is off, or…well, Sam doubts Heaven has much in the way of cell reception.
"This is my voicemail. Make your voice a mail."
He's never not chuckled at the message. Not until now.
"Cas." His voice catches immediately, and he clears his throat. "We've got Mom. We're gonna take her, uh…her body home. But we're leaving Nick…what's left him…here. What Jack tried to do…someone might have seen. You need to take care of that." Sam thinks about the next three hours in the car with Dean, with Mom, and adds, "don't call us. Just come to the bunker when you're done."
He doesn't mean for it to sound so harsh.
Or maybe he does.
He fidgets in the unsettling stillness, glances again into the backseat. "Dean," he says finally, and there's no acknowledgement from his brother that he's spoken. "We'll figure something out," he continues anyway, hollowly, but desperate to bring Dean back from the edge of this dangerous precipice.
Still, nothing.
"Dean."
"Mm."
"We'll figure something out," Sam repeats, staring straight ahead.
"Okay, Sammy," Dean replies, rough and robotic. Distanced. Unwilling, or unable, to offer his little brother the usual reassurances.
Maybe because there isn't any to offer.
Sam's instinct is to fix this. To bring her back, whatever it takes. There's still a chance Cas will return with good news. But he knows in his heart they can't, and he won't.
She's gone.
Having Mom here, having her back had meant so much to his brother, had restored so much in Dean that Sam hadn't even realized was missing. He'd never before witnessed his brother with an actual emotional safety net. She didn't even have to be with them, in the bunker, or on a hunt. Just knowing she was out there was enough. It made the weight they carried feel a little lighter.
And now, all of that stability and light is gone. Sam can't feel her now, here. He doesn't feel hope. He feels cold. He feels overwhelming loss, and hurt, and dread. And he doesn't know what they're supposed to do now.
It was an accident. Of course it was an accident. Jack would never…
But they knew he could.
Jack had always been a threat. They knew that. Even before he was born, they'd known full-well there was a chance he would be the end of a lot more than this.
This feels like enough.
Each of them has done things, has a dark spot on his record. Things that can't be taken back. That can't be undone. Whatever the circumstance, each of them has blood on his hands, and guilt weighing heavy in his heart.
Charlie. Kevin. Pamela. Ash. Ellen and Jo.
Mom was just the latest in a long line of collateral damage. A victim of Sam's own relentless optimism. Of Dean's patented avoidance. Of Castiel's willful ignorance.
They each played their part in this, but no amount of rationalizing can soothe this sting. Or make any less real what they might have to do.
What do we always do when we lose one of our own?
We fight.
But Dean's words had carried even graver implication. What they always do. What they've always done.
Reminiscence. Find a way to take on the weight of another loss that might as well have been by their hand. Retreat to separate corners until the sting fades to a bearable stab. Drink too much whiskey in an attempt to mask the pain.
Grieve.
Then find the thing that killed her.
Sam knows there's still a chance they'll be able to save Jack. But even if they do, he doesn't know what it will mean.
He looks once more into the backseat, but knows there's nothing to come of it. She's not here. When he turns back on the bench, it's for the last time, and hot tears begin to well. At his side, Dean stares at the road ahead.
They drive on, cold and still and missing a vital piece that won't, that can't be put back.
He doesn't know how they're ever going to be a family again.