These are the words...
Dean could not be reasoned with. When Mary did not text him back, he took to his car and raced off into the night. Castiel sighed and slumped off to the truck he'd seized like heavenly police. He decided to sweep the area just in case, knowing in his gut and by his grace that they would not find Sam.
When Dean was alone, the tears came. They slid down his cheek slow and quiet, almost invisible in their march as only a man's tears are. He wanted to scream but there was not enough air left in his lungs.
His little brother was wheeling around his head. A marionette of destruction. Sam, suspended by the strings of Fate. Sam...Always the instrument in some master plan of Destiny, of Providence not-so-Divine in his case.
Dean wanted to curse, to shriek at his mother for her betrayal. He didn't know about what she'd done with the British Men of Letters yet. But Dean, with the long history of abuse that he had, knew enough about the pattern to guess that something happened. Even a guess was enough to make him lose his mind.
He wanted to shriek and tear the hair and beginnings of a beard from his head and face. Had not eaten, had not shaved, was gasping of thirst, all because of_
"Sammy…" Dean whispered it so deep in his throat he barely heard it. He felt it, though. It was something that he had always been too guarded to say. Yet this moment was the mouth of Lucifer's Cage for Dean. This for him was the same moment that Sam had realized when he'd used the memory of Dean to beat the Devil.
Because at this moment, a mass flashback of Sam. Sam as a little kid, Sam as a 30-something-year-old man, Sam as a teenage boy, Sam at 27...
Images of his little brother flooded Dean's mind.
How come we don't have a Mom? A child's voice asking.
You are so beautiful! A man's voice nearly bursting into tears as he at last laid eyes on his mother.
Sam had loved their mother all his life even though he had no memory of her. And now...Now that she was finally here, she of all people was also so calloused to his life that she wouldn't even text Dean back for the sake of it. No, instead, she would work with the selfsame people who had tortured her own son at first meeting. Some misguided sense of justice maybe, Dean didn't know or care. The point was Sam's feelings should have meant more to his mother. At least, for the love of God!_let his mother care about him. Evidently, she did not. Not for real.
The rest of these sons of bitches might not care, but I do….Dean gripped the wheel and a little sob escaped him. Because his heart was squeezing in his eyes. Everything felt like it would burst as he watched Sam, his kid, dance across his history.
Look, you scared the crap outta me, you stupid little bitch. I was worried about you!
You don't have to be a jerk about it!
Bitch!
Jerk!
Dean started laughing remembering the origin of the nickname's conversation.
When he saw him again, he swore he would actually use words to say it.
I love you to Hell and back, you stupid little bitch...Dean was sobbing now. About to swerve off the road.
"Whoa, easy, hotshot! Eyes back on the road." Sam around age 23 grabbed the wheel. Dean shivered and gasped. He was hallucinating. Dean had kept it to himself, but he had done that before. When Sam was in Hell, Dean would see him sometimes, but it was only vague shapes, glimpses out of the corner of his eyes, Sam walking into bars where he could not be.
This time was different. There in the shotgun seat, his little brother sat solid in the form of a much younger man. A boy really, fresh out of college.
"Dean, what the Hell did I just say? Look at the road, man..." Sam pointed to the road, as vivid as if he was for real but about a decade too early. Dean looked back at the road but shivered when he felt Sam's hand as if it was solid clap down on his shaking knee palm first. Was this Sam's spirit disrobed of his body? Had something truly terrible happened to his little brother?
"Are you okay, man?" Sam's voice almost had a maternal coo to it. Dean realized as he bit back tears that Sam had been the mother they hadn't had with some of his girly talk-it-out stuff as he'd idolized the one they lost. That he had raised Dean as much as Dean had raised him.
This was scaring the Hell out of him. This the thought of letting go of his Sam...more central to Dean than the lungs beneath his ribs.
"I-I um...Listen...uh...It sounds weird but….God,_I love you, man!" Dean gasped. Might as well say it to at least practice telling the real and conscious version.
Hallucination Sam giggled.
"What?! What's with the chick flick stuff, huh? Are you okay? Dude, you're shaking like a little Chihuahua...Calm down, buddy. I love you, too. Does that make you feel better, eh?" Sam chattering like Sam always chattered.
"No, Sam...No I think I've finally lost my mind over you this time." Dean wiped his face on his sleeve and hit the gas.
