Part 4.

"How could you?"

The question is like a slap in the face, stinging with impact. Sam jerks back with the hurt and hiss in Dean's tone. The older brother looks down at the hand Sam still has outreached, and then slowly back up to his little brother's face, his eyes bright with tears, and it hurts Sam to watch his walls going up. Hurts to watch Dean's grief-filled mind shutting him out, to pull defenses against him.

It's me, his soul cries out, it's Sammy, I'd never hurt you, I love...I need you.

Dean's eyes fall to the darker ground that marks Cas' fresh grave and takes a step back from Sam. He stumbles pressing a hand to his temple, but as Sam jumps to steady him he pushes him away, turning away his face so Sam won't see the tears there...the crushing acceptance that Cas is there, cold and dead and gone.

"Dean," he starts. To beg and to plead, let me help you. You need help Dean, you're not okay...

"No," Dean chokes out. And Sam's surprised he's not yelling at him, surprised he isn't in his face hitting him...in fact Sam would have much preferred that. Dean goes to his knees in the soft dirt and it's the worst punishment Sam could have endured to have to let him. He stands there hands hovering, about to go to his knees beside his brother, about to pull him back up and to the impala...

"I just..." Dean mumbles, his voice cracking. He waits a moment, not even glancing Sam's way, "I just need a minute."

The younger Winchester bites the inside of his mouth watching the back of Dean's head as if it will give him some great revelation as to how to absolve the situation. It's the minute shudder in his sibling's shoulders and the unintelligible whispers that break him, Sam joins his brother on his knees.

Dean winces with the change in the air sensing that Sam is close, glances his way, running fingers under his eyes angrily, dashing away the tears. And that's when he hears and understands Dean's whispers.

"I'm sorry, so sorry I wasn't here...you're family."

Sam swallows thickly, hesitantly places a hand on his older brother's arm. "Dean, Cas would understand..."

"No!" Dean weakly yells, brushing Sam's hand off his arm and jerking away from him. "This is your fault." Sam watches as Dean slumps forward a little, watches his fingers dig into the soft earth, bury his hands nearly all the way in the dirt. "It's your fault I wasn't here..." he whispers, "Cas deserved that Sammy, he deserved that much."

Sam winces with the blame in those words, winces with the pain in Dean's voice. Watches as Dean clutches his shaking fists in the dirt, as he turns his head to rub the wetness out of his eyes on the shoulder of his jacket again.

"I'm sorry." He whispers, leaning closer to Dean, their shoulders brushing. "I'm sorry."

Dean's breath hitches and he pulls his arms tighter around him middle, his top lip grimacing with pain and Sam's seen these signs enough times to know Dean needs a doctor, needs to be forced to rest...to forget. His body and mind are in overdrive with grief and denial...guilt that he should have stopped this somehow.

"I'm sorry," Dean echoes, eyes still unfocused and far away fixed on the grave. "I'm sorry."

He lets Sam pull him away.

...

Sam's there when Dean wakes up. Of course he is. He's the first thing Dean sees; but that doesn't keep his eyes from skittering away. It hurts, God, does it hurt. But Sam takes the win, Dean woke up. After a day of drug induced sleep, it had taken his brother another complete twelve hours to rouse...all of which had been considerable torture for Sam.

The doctors and nurses had been appalled with the evidence of the beating Dean had taken, and looking over Dean's charts Sam is too. He takes a moment to shut his eyes and breathe, to be grateful...overwhelmingly grateful that Dean is with him, is alive. Besides severe head trauma and five broken ribs, his older sibling was battling with internal bruising and what the doctor had labeled as 'exhaustion'.

Sam knew it as sleep depravation, fighting for your life and for the world for seventy-two hours straight, taking multiple beatings and more emotional and mental trauma than one person would normally endure in a lifetime. When the doctor had announce he'd do a head scan Sam had been so relieved, he's been terrified of the damage Dean's little trip in their Mom's mind might have done.

"Sammy?" Dean asks hazily after a few quiet moments staring at the wall.

"Yeah?" He answers quickly, "Yeah Dean, I'm right here."

"Can I get some water?" He asks, voice rough with disuse and dryness.

"'Course," Sam says, running to the sink behind the door and using one of the paper cups there. He brings it back holding it for Dean as his brother grimaces getting up on his elbow.

"How you feeling?" He asks, voice hushed, knowing with the frown between Dean's eyebrows that his head is still aching.

"Everything..." Dean frowns while swallowing again, fighting against the dusty feeling on his tongue. "Everything hurts."

Sam laughs, "Yeah, that was expected, you're pretty much bruised everywhere, including inside."

Dean lets himself fall back against the pillow with a huff. "That bad huh?" Sam nods, "I only remember it hurting a little, that probably means really bad." Sam nods again.

"How about you, are you okay?" He asks next, his voice the sharpest it's been.

"I'm fine, Dean, I'm fine as long as you are." Dean looks relieved, his eyes coasting shut.

Sam threads his fingers together and looks down into his lap nervously, "Uhm...Dean?" He starts, watching Dean's face, a little frightened out of the corner of his eye. God, he doesn't want to fight, they need each other so much right now. They need the trust, and the security, the warmth and the reason to live right now.

"Not now Sam," Dean says without opening his eyes, "Just not now."

But the coldness in his tone is enough to let Sam know what he'd done wasn't forgotten. That Cas and their mom wasn't forgotten, the pain, the guilt and the loneliness. And Sam watches his face for a moment, even with the hurt inside he's elated. Dean is back with him, talking and aware...Dean is with him. While they had lost most everyone close to them...they still had each other.

"I know your mad or whatever." Sam says softly, watches Dean's face for reaction or acknowledgement. "But De, please remember, you're all I got...you're everything. Don't take that away from me."

When Dean doesn't respond they both pretend like he never said anything.

...

"Dean."

"Yeah Cas?"

"Here, I want you take this in case...in case I don't make it tonight."

Dean looks down to find the mixtape he'd made for Cas outstretched towards him in the angel's hand.

"The hell Cas? I told you it was a gift, you keep it...and what do you mean? Of course you're gonna make it, we're all gonna make it."

Cas simply smiles, reaches over and slips it into Dean's coat pocket. "Take it." He says, and god it's so final Dean can't even say no. "I want you to have something to remember me by."

And Dean can't swallow around the lump in his throat at Cas' unspoken plea, please don't forget me.

...

"Are you just never going to talk to me ever again?" Sam asks later that night.

And Dean says nothing. What can he say? That boulder on his chest...he can't get past it. He can hardly breathe past it. He's got his coat gripped in his fist, and that tape is right there, right there in his pocket where Cas left it. Why hadn't Dean listened to Him? He was the angel after all.

He's envisioning that world, that place where their mother was trapped. Hot and dry, desolate and cruel...they'd left her there. And those woods right behind the house where Cas had tried to save a mother and child's life...they'd left Cas right there in those woods. Just left him there. And he can't speak past it, can't get past it...can hardly breathe past it.

"I was trying to help you." Sam mummers quietly, staring out the window at the city lights outside. And god his little brother looks awful. Dark bags under his eyes, there's a subtle shake about him hinting at exhaustion, a gleam in his eyes that says he's overtired and high on caffeine, his own grief still tearing into him.

"Don't hate me, Dean." He whispers.

And Dean had thought he couldn't feel anymore worthless. He was wrong.

tbc...

Whaaa, why am I making all this pain? *head hurts from stress for boys* REVIEW!?;);)