I twisted the silver ring on my ring right finger in nervousness—it was a present from Sam on my sixteenth birthday. I never took it off. It had the engravings of the One Ring of Mordor on the outside and inside band which made it all the more special. Sam figured if ever I needed silver to Swayze some werewolf I could melt down the ring and shoot that mother. He always thought of everything. Over the years I never gave Sam enough credit. Deep down I blamed him for breaking up the family. He was the one who took off to Stanford first. Shut up Max! He's your brother and he needs your help.
Before I could even get halfway across the back porch Dean had already opened the door for me. I put an awkward hand on his shoulder and nodded reassuringly at him. I wasn't really sure what to do. I never liked the fact that he really did leave me for Lisa. I don't care what I said about him deserving to be happy…I wanted to be happy too and I wanted to be happy with my brothers…soulless or not.
"Where's Sam?" Dean motioned me down to the basement. Bobby and Castiel were standing at the opening of a panic room. Sam lay on the army cot in the middle. I nearly died at the sight of him. "What happened, Bobby?"
"He lost his—"
"I didn't ask you Dean." I said quietly before turning back to Bobby. "What happened Bobby?"
"Crowley brought Sam out of hell…but conveniently forgot his soul. Death retrieved his soul and now he's just unconscious. That basically summed it up." Then he murmured. "Idjit."I slowly walked inside of the cylindrical room, a devil's trap painted on the ground, and stood above Sam. Leaning over, I kissed his pain stricken face.
"Oh Sammy," I whispered under my breath, brushing his hair out of his face. "Anyone want lunch?" I asked suddenly, the cheerfulness in my voice surprising everyone, including me. "I'm gonna make something to eat." I slid past them and hurried up to the kitchen.
I absently rumbled about, meandering through the half empty cabinets and drawers to find what I needed. Bobby stumbled up, heading toward the fridge. I peered over his shoulder at all the alcohol lining the low, metal shelf.
"Ah, the only men I trust…Jack, Jim and Jose." Bobby scoffed at my bitter remark and overlooked my boys, heading straight for the Bacardi.
"Want some?" I shook my head. "Like my daddy always said, just 'cause it kills your liver don't mean it ain't medicine." I didn't reply, but reached past the lamb's blood and vampire innards to pull out the cheap spaghetti sauce.
"This is tomato sauce right?"
"No, it's bat shit, Max." Bobby snapped, handing a glass of rum to Dean. "Sam still asleep?"
"Yeah," My brother groaned, slowly sipping away at the amber liquid.
"He'll wake up," Bobby assured. I started boiling the sticks of spaghetti in one pot and the sauce in another.
"Yeah," Dean replied monotonously, staring out the window with empty eyes.
"Dean, he's been through how much? Somehow he always bounces back."
"He's never been through this. Is that a job?" He pointed to the photocopies of newspaper articles, rubbing his forehead.
"Might be."
"Can I help? Send me to the library or something." While waiting, I walked over to the bay window behind the couch and looked out over the graves of mauled vehicles, my arms tightly crossed around my chest. Then a familiar voice, one I thought I'd never hear again, said,
"Dean…"