Author's Notes: Wonder what happened after Dean beat the shit outta' Cas in 10x22? Yeah me too.

Warnings for slight blood and suicidal thoughts or ideation, lack of self-worth and depressing thoughts.

Have to Try

Sam rushes into a broken-down door only to find bits and pieces of what made up his brother on the floor — his weapons, his clothes, old records and pictures, like the one of Bobby and him and Dean that is slightly cracked beside his foot. The stench of gasoline deteriorates the sensation of 'home' that Sam had struggled to grasp before. He thinks of burning corpses and salt and last rites, thinks of Dean's grinning young face from a long while back, smeared with ash and blood. 'Not bad, Sammy, right?' Sam's books are sopping in corpse-burning juice. There's some sort of lesson to be learned from it, like that he had deserved to burn instead of Charlie; to burn whole and alive, if it'll appease. Wouldn't be the first time he's watched himself light up, or his world burst into flame.

He snaps out of his despairing trance by Castiel, laid out with blood masking his face, a macabre art piece painted by Dean's fists. And his stomach twists. For a moment he has the thought that Cas could be dead — but then the angel blinks, looking over to him, and Sam wastes no more time in rushing over to his friend's side. It looks… pretty bad, but he finds at least some solace in the fact that Castiel is an angel. A full one, now, with his grace intact. "Cas. Cas, man, are you alright? Jesus. Oh, shit…"

He runs a hand over his hair while Cas gets his bearings straight, slowly sitting up from where he'd lied. Once of Sam's books on demonic possession is next to them, speared through by an angel blade; he doesn't need to be told what happened. He has a good imagination. Cas shakes his head, replying in a fortunately sturdy and strong voice: "I'm sorry, Sam. I tried to hold him here, but… I didn't want to strike him back. The Mark would have — reacted poorly to that." The swelling in his face is already receding, but there's still blood everywhere, and Sam pats the man's shoulder.

"It's — It's okay. I'm just glad you're… Don't move. I'm gonna…" He trails off as he leaves, returning with clean wipes. He doesn't give Castiel much room to complain when he puts a heavy hand on top of his head and gingerly begins to wipe at both the blood and the wounds that have yet to heal. Castiel's eyes flutter, sympathy weighing heavy in the blue there. Sam doesn't realize his hands are shaking minutely until Cas' hand reaches up to still them, quirking a brow at him.

"Sam, stop. I don't scar, and I won't get an infection. It will be mostly healed within the next few minutes, so it's not necessary to waste your time."

"I know," Sam admits tiredly, bangs falling into his eyes as he retrieves the ice pack. He feels like his ribs are full of pleading regrets, full of apologies. He thinks about how Dean should have never dragged him out of that church. He should have went with Death; he's known that since Gadreel was cast out, really, but the reality is so much more palpable with one of his friends bleeding beside him. Kevin's gone, Charlie's gone, Castiel just got the shit beat out of him by his friend, and Dean's — Dean's changing all over again. Swallowing hard, he says, "I know, I know, I just — I'm so sorry. This was all on me. I wasn't — I wasn't capable enough, I fucked up and I made Dean lose it. I should've protected Charlie; should've kept you out of Dean's way. I'm so sorry."

Castiel shakes his head. "Sam… Dean lost it because he has a bloodthirsty curse on his arm that makes him even more reckless and idiotic than usual. I suppose that's a comical understatement, but… what he does nowrests on his shoulders; he had chosen the Mark despite the consequences. It doesn't fall on yours. My safety certainly doesn't. Charlie and I had made our choices. We chose our teams. We all lied together, worked on this together, even knowing the dangers."

Sam clutches the bloody wipe in his hand, silent. He's not so sure he can agree with that. Cas just doesn't understand, didn't really know that Sam's hit the ground fumbling since Dean went to Hell, trying to do right by his brother and falling and tripping and skinning his knees. Sometimes it feels like hellfire's licking at his heels, obligated to snap at him after Sam's many failings. Now Dean hates him, wishes him dead, and Sam — Sam suddenly feels an icy cold grip his chest when he realizes he isn't sure how much of that is the Mark. There's a boy with shaggy brown hair and tears in his eyes to Sam's left, dead and blank-eyed. There's a blood stain still slowly expanding from the hole that burrows straight through his brain; he's just a kid. Sam squeezes his eyes shut, head throbbing.

"It's not enough. It's never enough," he says, "Tell me what I'm supposed to do… Tell me what he needs me to do."

Castiel breathes out. "I don't know."

"What should I do…? What am I supposed to do…?"

Cas puts his hand on Sam's arm, rubbing the tense spot there in the hopes that it helps. "I don't know."

Sam gracelessly lets go of the guilt that stopped him from seeking comfort, slouching forward as Castiel accepts his surrender. The angel pats his back, letting him hook his chin over his shoulder and wrap his long arms around him. Sam doesn't cry, though; sure, he'd like to, but he's not sure he can allow such a luxury. It's long enough that when he finally pulls back, the cuts on Cas' face are mostly healed, though he's ashamed to say he'd lost track of time and isn't sure just how long his friend was willing to hang onto him here in this bloody, foul-smelling room. He rubs his face, helping a shaky Cas to his feet.

"We need to… go. We need to do something."

"Yeah," Cas replies, uncertain but willing. "We can try to find him. But, Sam… I don't know that he'd listen to reason now, after what I saw today."

"I have to try," Sam nearly whispers. "He's my brother. I have to try."

He can't just leave Dean alone in the dark with a nightmare leeching off his arm. He has to do something. Even if it puts him on the pyre next. At least he could say he'd have it coming to him.

But… But at least he's got Cas.

It's better than being alone again.