"Sam," Cas says over dinner one night, "can we go through our plan in regards to Dean?"
Sam stops chewing. For one, because it was the very abrupt broaching of a pretty touchy subject. For another… because he's actually gone almost all day without thinking about Dean.
You absolute son of a bitch, jeers one of the voices in his head, the most deprecatory one that's been fairly active of late.
For what felt like ages, a feat like this was impossible. His brother was on his mind 24/7, and honestly? It was exhausting. Especially considering how little there really was to be done. After a while, even if it was against his wishes… his brain seems to have learned to cope. To figure out what's healthy, and what's excessive.
Well, screw that. When did he start placing mental health above Dean? They're eating a goddamn family dinner right now. It took Sam like half an hour to prepare it. Cas doesn't even need food. When did they start actually eating again? What the hell is wrong with them?
He looks up at Cas, who's been waiting patiently for an answer for several seconds. Realizes he still hasn't finished chewing, and does so. Cas is still waiting as he swallows and finally says, voice shuddering just a touch, "Uh… we don't have much of a plan right now. We're just waiting."
Goddamn it, you don't even have a plan? the voice shrieks in indignation. So how is it that you spent half a freaking hour making dinner instead of making a plan?
"Waiting for him to get back?" Cas supplies.
"Um. Yeah, I guess." You guess? mocks the voice, and he pushes it down. "I mean, yes. We won't know when it happens, so we'll just have to do what we were doing before—keep in touch with other hunters and hope one of them finds him for us. Or maybe Eloise will. Or, though this seems to really be a stretch, maybe Crowley will find him in hell and get in touch with us."
Cas pushes his green beans around with his fork for a few seconds. "Say we do find him," he says at length. "How do we contain him?"
"Look, Cas…" He swallows. "We have all questions and no answers. But we're looking for answers. And that's just the best we've got right now. I've tried everything I could think of, believe me. Weeks ago I put out a plea to every hunter in my address book for any information they had on extra strength demon-fighting methods. How to trap them, hurt them, control them, influence them in any way. I asked them to ask their friends, and to ask their friends to ask their friends. Very few of them got back to me, and they gave me nothing I haven't heard of before." He releases a shaky sigh. "We've seen and fought more than anyone else I've ever known. If we don't know something, the chances of anyone else knowing it… aren't high, let's just say."
Cas stares down at his plate. Sam knows he's going to say something else, and he doesn't know what that will be, but suddenly, he's convinced it won't be something he wants to hear. He slams his fork down onto the table harder than he planned to, making Cas jump, and immediately takes a second to calm himself down, while Cas just watches him in confusion.
Finally, Sam says quietly, "There's nothing else, Cas." He stares down at his own plate for another long second, and goes on, voice cracking in a way it hasn't in a long time, "And it sucks, because I never… I never wanted to let him down like this again."
"Sam," Cas tries, "you won't. You never could."
He shakes his head at the hollow words. "I already have," he says softly. "By letting him go this far. He'll never, ever be the same again. There's no getting around that. We are at a point where I wish every day that he'd just died. Because maybe he could've come back from it. And even if he didn't, he'd be happy—and he'd still be himself. He doesn't exist anymore, Cas. And not existing is something I don't understand. Not in the way I understand death." He heaves a long, deep breath. "It was supposed to be me, burning the world. I was supposed to be a monster. The boy king. And even though everyone was telling him to, even though I did horrible, unforgiveable things and walked right out the door on him, he still wouldn't give up on me. He never stopped protecting me." Tears sting his eyes, and he rubs them roughly. "I told him I didn't want to be brothers."
In comes Cas again, like clockwork, to try to do damage control. "I'm sure he forgave you a long time ago."
Sam glances up at him. "No Cas, not long after he got the Mark. I've been an ass to him my whole life."
Even Cas looks dumbstruck by his stupidity. Sam can't blame him. Finally he says, voice almost completely lacking energy, "Just rest assured that when we do get a line on him—and we will, sooner or later—I will show no mercy to the thing he has become. He wouldn't want me to."
He doesn't look up at Cas again. They spend the rest of the meal in silence. Half an hour later, after Sam loads the dishwasher and sits alone in the kitchen for twenty minutes drinking scotch, he makes his way upstairs to Dean's room.
As ever, he lowers himself into the chair positioned near the head of the bed. As ever, he leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees and his chin on his clasped hands.
He can't count the number of times he's come in here since his legs healed. But he's never talked to Dean before.
He doesn't know what drives him to now, but he says softly, "Hey, Dean."
The empty body of his brother doesn't respond. But it doesn't matter. He hasn't said those words in who knows how long and he draws in a deep, shaky breath, tears trembling on his lashes, at the taste of the words in his mouth. After rubbing his eyes roughly and checking once again for movement on Dean's part, he manages to go on, "We're… hurting without you. Which I'm sure comes as a surprise to exactly no one, but." He considers Dean's peaceful face for a while, and leans back. "It's worse than the times you were dead. Way worse. You're not around, Dean. And it's not your fault at all, but…" He shakes his head, giving up on trying to keep the quivering in his voice under control. "It's just something we have to deal with. Now, how we do that… There's a few paths different people I know would recommend that I take. Path one: stop caring. Treat this like a hunt, and find something, or someone, that can kill the thing you've become. Accept that you're gone forever. Path two: give up. Leave you alone. From there, probably spiral into alcoholism and die in a botched hunt a couple months down the road. Path three: keep trying. Likely never succeed. Tear myself apart and quite possibly lose my mind." He runs a hand through his hair, grasping a handful in his fist and leaving it there. "So what am I supposed to do?"
You know, whispers Dean's voice in the back of his mind. You know what I'd say.
He rubs the side of his jaw. "You'd want me to kill you—and maybe you're so far down that hole of not existing that I shouldn't hesitate to do that. But then I think, it's not just about what you deserve, the world needs you." He chuckles sardonically. "Selfish. I know. But I've seen the lives you've changed, Dean. I never told you this, but… but I've never met a better person than you. No one tries harder, no one's given more than you have. And that is exactly the reason you're in this situation now. You gave too much. You gave yourself over. You were a candle, burning yourself up to give others light."
Cut it out with the poetry, Sammy. Get the job done.
He's silent for a long moment. And he starts to reach his hand out towards Dean's face.
In all this time, he's never touched him.
Now, as he lays his palm, albeit for the briefest moment, against his cheek, he finds it still warm.
Sam draws the hand back and stares down at it, flexing his fingers, and quickly looks back up at Dean. Still hasn't moved. It's getting predictable at this point. He considers his sleeping brother, and says, "You once told me… or at least some version of me… that to have a soul is to suffer." He shakes his head. "You were right. I can't go down those other paths. This is the worst thing I have ever experienced but it's the only road for me. For us. And I'm gonna get you out of this, Dean. And be there to pick up whatever pieces of you remain afterwards. I promise."