Disclaimer: I don't know Supernatural.

"I'm ready to try anything, Cas," Dean said.

"I have to take care of this part," Cas said. "If I can find enough angels who still feel indebted to us for taking care of Metatron and reopening Heaven, then their combined power should be enough to reunite Sam's soul with his body."

"How many do you need?"

"I'm not certain. The connection between Heaven and angels still isn't as strong as it used to be, so I'll need to find several to help. It's the only way we'll have enough power to perform a resurrection."

"Okay," Dean said. He ran his hand down his face, exhaustion starting to catch up to him. "What do you need me to do?"

"You need to keep Sam calm. If he's too far on his way to being a vengeful spirit, his body will reject him. Do what you can to preserve his body as well. I believe there should be some spellwork for preservation in the Men of Letters' library," Cas said. "It will be much easier on the angels if they don't need to use the added energy to rejuvenate his body from the decay."

Dean took a deep breath, trying not to let his hopes take over at the possibility of having a way to save Sam. But how could he not get his hopes us? Weeks of fighting a losing battle to bring Sam back, and Cas came through with a solution.

"I think I owe you an apology," Dean said, "and a thanks."

"You two have saved me countless times. It's my turn to repay the favor," Cas said.

The line went dead, and Dean stuffed his phone back into his pocket with a laugh (which he would never admit sounded a little choked to his own ears). "Cas still sucks at goodbyes, huh, Sammy?"

He moved to the library and started searching for any useful spellwork, beyond glad to finally have a task he felt he could accomplish.

"I wish you could help me out with this one, Sammy," he said, flipping through book pages slowly and carefully. "You know how much I hate the research part. Why do you think I always tried to shove the job off onto you? Big brother privileges and all that."

Sam didn't answer, but this time the silence didn't feel quite so suffocating.

Mary held her head in her hands. She made it as far as pulling up a chair beside Sam's bed and sitting, but she didn't know what she was supposed to do next.

There was no point in talking to Sam, she knew exactly where he was, and it wasn't in that room.

She sang 'Hey Jude' softly until her throat was raw, but there were no ears present to hear her lullaby. So, she left the bunker and came back with bags of scented candles that she set up and lit all over Sam's over to cover the stench of death filling it.

But the artificial smell of pine trees barely masked the truth of that room.

Her son was dead, and her other son was dead on the inside because of it, slowly killing his physical self in his search for a way to save his brother.

She started to understand their feelings. Being alone in the world with only one person to rely on. It was why she brought John back by making a deal with a devil, the very thing that her father warned her against so many times over the years.

But her dad was gone by then, animated by possession. Her mom was gone. John was gone. No one could stop her, and ten years with someone was better than spending a lifetime alone.

She made her way into the kitchen, a little better stocked than it had been when she showed up. Maybe she didn't have the culinary repertoire of other, more traditional mothers, but she could make simple recipes.

She wondered if she would have learned to be a normal mother had she lived.

She made eggs and bacon, having witnessed that Dean devoured them with the same fervor she did back when they had breakfast after Asa's wake. Strange how things then could be simpler than they currently were.

With a nervousness that no mother should feel when facing her own children, she took a plate and found Dean in the library, pouring over books she was certain he already read within the first week since Sam's death.

"Dean," she said, not drawing more than a glance from him, "I brought you some food. I know it's not exactly breakfast time, but our schedules aren't exactly normal either."

Dean nodded his thanks, and she set the plate next to him on the table.

He didn't say anything, and she was about to go her own way. But she couldn't find the strength to leave him there, feeling as alone as she had on November 2, 1973.

She slipped into the chair across from him and stared at the edge of the table. "Dean," she said, "I'm sorry."

He finally turned his attention from the book to her. "Sorry for what, Mom?"

She laughed and shook her head. "I'm sorry for more than I can even say, but I get it."

"Get what?"

"I get what it's like. To feel like there's only one person you can rely on, and then to have that person taken away. I'm just sorry that you had to feel it even though I was right here the entire time."

Dean shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I'm used to it just being me and Sam. Always has been."

"I'm right here, Dean," Mary said. "I'm right here. I'm supposed to be your mother, but I'm in the same place as you and it's like I'm the ghost. It shouldn't be that way."

"That's enough, Mom," Dean said. He rubbed his eyes, sounding more tired than anything else. "We get it, too. Both of us, after Sam talked some sense into me. We know what it's like to be overwhelmed and need some space, okay? You never asked to be brought back, and thirty-three years is a lot to miss."

"I'm going to be a better mother," she said.

Dean looked at her the way hunters did when they sized up their prey, and it hurt. There was a certain level of wariness in his eyes. A certain level of distrust.

"Please, tell me what I can do to help," she said. "I want to be there for both of you. I want to prove that I'm not running away again."

Dean pushed a book across the table to her. "Well," he said, "start with finding anything you can that might be useful in preserving a body."

"I thought you were looking for something that would reconnect his soul with his body."

"I was," Dean said, "but Cas called and said that he has a plan to take care of that. We just have to make sure Sam doesn't go vengeful, and that his body stays mostly intact until Cas puts everything together."

Mary nodded. "I'm on it."

Dean smiled across the table at her, and she smiled back.

Sam watched them, as far off to the side of the room as the link with the amulet allowed him to get. His family together and smiling was something he longed for his entire life, but he always thought that he'd be in the picture, too.

Instead, he stood off to the side, unseen. It would be a lie to say that it didn't hurt. When he was around, living and breathing, smiles and quiet moments were rare. Had become more and more rare over the years. They never said things that needed to be said, it was always just a pat on the shoulder or a nod to communicate everything important. To communicate everything that couldn't be said with one small gesture.

Dean and Mary dedicated themselves to the material in the books, but sometimes they would share a short conversation and laugh a bit, genuinely happy.

Without him there.

Being attached to Dean was turning out to be more of a nightmare than he ever thought. They were always close—they had to be with the way they grew up—but he never felt that proximity was the only thing close about them and that he was nothing more than a spectator.

He turned and stared into the hallway. There was nothing to see beyond the library, but anything was better than watching his family bond without him.

Author's Note: I actually thought of this chapter's content when I heard 'Hey Jude' play in the grocery store (Disclaimer: 'Hey Jude' is written by the Beatles, I don't own it).

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