Definitely a spoiler warning so be warned.

AN: So idk if I'd necessarily call this a tag for 'Despair' because it doesn't take place right after the episode, but it takes places after 15x20, having been written after 15x18. Does that make sense lmao?

This isn't a prediction fic or anything, I don't believe this is how the series will end but I loved the prompt and everything so here you are!

Requested by 'huge sg1 fan', hope you like this and that I did your prompt justice 3

Note: I don't ship Saileen, so I've never written it before, but I hope I did them justice.

It had been a couple of weeks since they'd defeated Chuck. It hadn't been easy. It hadn't been fair. But they'd done it. But they'd dealt with a lot of loss. The world's population had returned, including Donna, Jody, the girls, Garth, and the other people of their world. But Eileen and all the people from the Apocalypse-world had not.

Sam had been keeping up a mighty facade around Dean and Jack. Jack had sustained significant depletions to his grace during the fight against Chuck and was unable to do more than lift a pencil into the air. He was also blaming himself for Cas's death, as it had been he who had Cas had originally made the deal to save.

When they'd fought Chuck, Dean had come back… in a sense. But after the battle was done and they'd returned home, Dean grew lifeless. His emotions were buried deep, so deep that even Sam couldn't see them.

Dean had told Sam in broken whispers about what had happened to Cas, and what the angel had spoken before his death.

He said he loved me… he said it, Sammy, but — but I didn't… I couldn't say it b-back. He was g-gone, before I — before I could say it. Now, he — he'll n-never know.

Sam had held his brother then, sitting on the cold kitchen floor against the counter, Dean breaking down like Sam had never seen. Sam stayed strong for Dean, he had to.

That had been a couple of days before they'd fought Chuck. After that, Dean had started bottling up his emotions. Sam hadn't seen hardly a single tear in his brother's eyes since that night in the kitchen.

Sam was bottling up his emotions too, but while Dean was doing it to protect himself, Sam was doing it to protect his kid and his big brother. Sam was being the rock that they needed right now. He could wait.

It had been three weeks now since they'd defeated Chuck. The little trio hadn't ventured beyond the Bunker's walls but more than three times. Short ventures, all three of them mere grocery trips. Dean barely ventured from his room, only visiting the shooting range, the kitchen, or — in rare cases that Sam knew of only by accident — the dungeon… where it had happened.

Sam had come across him there once, but hadn't lingered, hadn't wanted to impose on his brother's privacy, but he had caught the words his brother had been saying over and over again as he sat against the far wall.

I love you too. I'm sorry. I love you, Cas. I love you.

Four weeks now. Sam could feel his walls slowly breaking down. Grief over Eileen, the person he'd thought he could possibly have a future with, taken from him in the blink of an eye. Dean had driven as fast as he possibly could that night, but Sam still hadn't been able to give Eileen a goodbye kiss, a hug. Hadn't even had the chance to say goodbye, let alone figure out a way to save her.

Sam was grieving Cas too. He knew he wasn't grieving him the same way that Jack was, losing a father, or in the same way Dean was, losing his… best friend? lover?… what Dean and Cas had been to each other… that was a difficult thing to name.

But still, Sam was grieving for the angel. Cas had been his best friend, after Dean of course. Always there, nearly always on his side should Sam and Dean ever be in disagreement over something. Which always surprised Sam if he was honest. Even though Dean had been always closer to Cas, Cas's virtues and reasonings always lined up closer to Sam's. Always fighting for Jack, always fighting to keep Sam and Dean safe. The angel had broken every order, every command, every rule of heaven, in order to keep his family safe.

It was the middle of the night, Sam wasn't sure what time. Four and a half weeks since they'd defeated Chuck. Four and a half weeks since the world had returned to normal, and yet their lives had been anything but. They hadn't even taken a single case. Not that any of them wanted to. All three of them were wallowing in their own depressions, lost and alone, even though they had each other. None of them had hardly enough energy to walk around the Bunker. It was hard to describe. Grief… grief was exhausting.

Sam had lost many people before. Dad. Bobby. Charlie. Jessica. But this was different. He'd lost Eileen and Cas, but the worst part was that he seemed to have lost Dean too. And maybe that was selfish, but he didn't have the energy to feel guilty.

Sam had lost Dean before. But then he'd searched for ways to bring him back. Whether it was making a deal to get him out of hell or killing every demon he could find in order to track down Crowley. But this… Sam couldn't make a deal to stop Dean from burying his emotions. No amount of demons killed would ever bring Cas back.

Sam was sitting at the kitchen table, a warm beer left forgotten on the table. He'd finally let a few barriers down. Not all of them, but a few. He let the tears fall freely, but he didn't sob or get emotional… he just let them fall in a slow, silent manner. Every drop that slid from his eyes seemed to take a minuscule amount of pain with it, not very noticeable, but at least it was something.

He thought he was the only one left awake in the Bunker, but soft footfalls slowly approaching the kitchen proved that wrong. Dean came in, heading straight for the fridge. He grabbed a beer and turned around to leave again, but his little brother, who hadn't said a word, took him by surprise when he saw him sitting at the table.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said after a second. "Didn't see you there."

Sam had wiped his eyes when he saw his brother come in, and he looked up. "Sorry, didn't think you were still awake."

Dean shrugged, nodding towards the seat across from Sam. Sam nodded, and Dean sat down in response.

"Why aren't you asleep?" Dean asked after a few minutes.

"I could ask you the same," Sam replied.

Dean shrugged. "Haven't been sleeping a lot since… just kinda hang out in my room."

Sam nodded. "You should probably clean it," he said, trying infuse a bit of levity into his voice. "Can't imagine how many beer bottles are piled in there."

Dean's mouth twitched, and Sam's heart lightened a touch. He couldn't remember Dean's face had had even the hint of a smirk or a smile. Maybe this was a step forward.

"Why can't you? Sleep, I mean," Dean asked.

Sam mirrored his brother's shrug. "Same reason, I guess. Just can't. I mean, I'll doze a bit, you know… fall asleep in the library or something. But…" he finished with another shrug.

"Yeah," Dean hummed.

Sam felt the overwhelming sense of emotions again. The tears filling his eyes once more, triggered by the simplest exchanging of words with Dean. They hadn't had an honest-to-god brother conversation like this in a long time… even if it was just to not share feelings.

Dean must've noticed the slight shaking of his brother's shoulders because he straightened slightly and looked closer at Sam in the dim light streaming in from the hall.

"Sammy?" he prompted softly.

Sam inhaled deeply and looked up, but when he saw Dean's face, the exhale was much heavier and more emotional. Dean also caught the glint of tears in Sam's eyes.

"Sammy, what's wrong?" Dean asked.

"N-Nothing, nothing," Sam lied. He wiped away the tears and mustered a fake smile before looking up at his brother.

Dean cocked his head in that 'I-know-you're-lying-so-stop' way.

Sam sighed. He didn't really want to come clean about his emotions, but in all honesty, he was exhausted from hiding them. He hadn't realized till then just how debilitating burying feelings could be. Dean had always said Sam wore his heart on his sleeve, and Sam supposed that was true. At least till now.

"I miss her," Sam whispered, distractedly running his fingers over the marks in the table..

Dean didn't say anything for a second, and Sam wondered if his brother had even heard him. He looked up after a few more seconds and saw Dean doing the same as him.

"I know," Dean replied softly. "I know you do. I miss her too… I miss them all."

A pause.

"I'm sorry."

"No, Dean, you don't need to apologize for anything, there's nothing you could've done," Sam quickly reprimanded.

Dean shook his head. "Not like that, I mean… I'm sorry I haven't been… you know… there for you lately. I need to be. I need to stop… wallowing."

Sam shook his head. "No, I know you're dealing with something too. Something different. There's no rush for either of us to get better quick."

"Yeah, but I could at least be there for you. I mean, you've been there for me. You've been there for Jack. You're helping the both of us and we're not really returning it."

They both looked up now and made hesitant eye contact.

"Yeah, well, Jack… he seems to be dealing better than the both of us if I'm being honest. Cleaned his room yesterday."

"Really?" Dean said, his mouth twitching again. "I mean, he was never an incredibly messy kid, but wow."

Sam's mouth twitched, mirroring Dean's.

Dean tapped his fingers on the table a few times before he stood up. "C'mon," he muttered.

"What?" Sam asked, sniffling slightly.

"Just… just c'mon, okay? Grab more beer," he added as an afterthought, his voice still soft.

Dean started up the three steps that led out of the kitchen and then down the hallway. Sam grabbed more beer out of the fridge and then hurried after him.

A few minutes later, him and Dean were sitting opposite each other in the library, cold beers in hand, their feet propped up on the table. Dean had snuck back to his room for a second before meeting Sam back in the library. When he came back, he held a handful of photographs in his hand.

He laid them on the table with a form of reverence.

"I'm officially lifting the chick-flick barriers today, Sammy," Dean said, his face forming a sad, yet full, smile.

Now, him and Dean sat back in their chairs. The library was dark, only the lamps lit right now. There were three bottles of beer left. They each had one and then shared the third, sliding it back and forth across the table to each other until Sam drank the last bit. After that, they moved to one of the few remaining bottles of good liquor that the Men of Letters had had.

They filled a couple of glasses, sliding that bottle back and forth too whenever one of them needed a top off. The pictures Dean had brought out were the ones Sam had expected, but also a few others. The ones of him and Dean, the one with him and Dean and Cas. The one with Bobby. The one of Mary and John that Sam had had framed while at Stanford. Somehow, it had miraculously survived that fire, just like the one back in Lawrence oh so many years ago. That picture, however, mysteriously ended up furthest away from Sam and Dean on the opposite table.

Sam looked at the other pictures he hadn't seen before. One of Dean and Cas when they'd been on that case in Dodge City, one of Cas and Jack from the Jack's first case, the one they'd worked just a few months ago while him and Dean had been tracking down Amara.

And the last one, at the bottom of the pile. It looked newly printed, like it wasn't even a few months old. Pictures were always well worn in the Winchesters' hands, whether it was from sweat and blood or alcohol, so it was always easy to tell which photographs were oldest or newest.

This one showed him and Eileen in the kitchen making dinner one evening. They'd been so happy and comfortable with each other, making dinner while Dean — who was usually the one cooking — sat back at the table and watched them, pretending to hunt for cases on his phone. Apparently, however, Dean had been taking pictures of his little brother at the time. Normally, Sam hated it when people took his picture. But this time, Sam could've kissed Dean for having taken this picture were it not for obvious reasons.

Sam had gotten choked up at all the photographs as he flicked through them, particularly the ones with Cas. But this one. Sam couldn't tears his eyes away. He ran a finger over Eileen's face. He raised his eyes only for a second to looked across the table at his brother. Dean glanced up from the picture of himself and Cas that he'd been looking at and he caught Sam's eyes. They both knew, understood.

That's when Sam took real advantage of the chick-flick barriers being lifted. He let the tears fall freely, saw Dean do the same out of the corner of his eye, even though neither of them made eye contact with each other. It was enough to both be there, together. Thinking about the people they'd lost. Grieving their own people, but also grieving the one the other had lost. Dean had liked Eileen. He'd loved her. Loved her for how happy she made Sam.

Sam loved Cas. Loved him as a friend, as a brother, but also loved him immensely for how happy Dean was when he was around. He'd known for a long time that Dean and Cas's relationship went beyond friendship. And that was okay with him. He hadn't cared, as long as Dean was happy.

So yeah… they cried for themselves. But they also cried for each other. And that was okay. They knew how each other felt. Maybe they couldn't talk about it now, didn't know how to put it into words, but they would one day. But for now… yeah, this was okay.