Curiosity, as it turns out, is unavoidable.
Finally able to relax a little after hearing back from Charlie, Sam wanders into the kitchen to make himself a sandwich, planning to go through another couple of boxes from one of the storage rooms while he eats.
The whole time he's slicing, his mind keeps wandering back to the laptop.
Everything that has happened over the last couple of years, everything Dean has stubbornly refused to talk about; it's all just there.
Waiting to be read.
And more than that, he realizes, because Bobby is in those books. And Ellen, Jo, Ash. Maybe flashbacks to their parents; hundreds of moments he never experienced, things he didn't understand because his entire life has been spent with people who just plain won't open up and share when they need help, when they want something, when they need to.
It doesn't take long for him to convince himself.
He returns to his chair, balances his sandwich on the arm, and opens the first file he sees to a random page.
TWO MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT
In the back of the van, a stray bullet rolled noisily across the floor.
His plan to trick Lucifer into the cage was rattling around in his head, and though he believed it would work, Dean's lack of faith in his ability to do it was chipping away at his resolve.
Memories of that message, over a year ago, now, crawled to the forefront of his mind. You're a monster, Sam, Dean had said, and though it was in the past, though the demon blood was long out of his system, it boiled down to Dean not trusting him.
And if Dean didn't trust him, maybe he was wrong.
He had to know he wasn't crazy for thinking it might work. Sam cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder at Castiel.
"So, hey... Cas?" he said, "I uh, I have an idea I wanted to run past you."
"Yes?"
Bobby, his hands tight on the wheel, looked over at Sam with a frown. His eyes narrowed.
"Didn't we already—"
"I just want to see what he thinks," Sam said, cutting him off, and Bobby grunted, pressing his lips together.
He returned his eyes to the road and pulled down the brim of his cap against the wind that rushed in through the open window. For a moment, Sam watched him guiltily, knowing that Bobby wasn't happy that he was still considering this.
Castiel looked between them, sensing the tension in the air.
"What is it, Sam?"
Twisting in his seat, Sam explained the plan; from the Big Yes to the swan dive, and Castiel listened closely, nodding.
Throughout, Bobby remained mostly silent, save for the occasional displeased huff. Sam tried to ignore it.
Once he was finished, Castiel tilted his head back for a long moment, considering the details.
"'Yes' to Lucifer, then jump in the hole," he said, thoughtful, "it's an interesting plan."
Unable to focus, Sam closes the file.
The message, the one that had been on his mind as they'd driven toward the Niveus warehouse all those years ago, still hurts.
He remembers the sick feeling in his stomach as he'd listened to it, the way his limbs had gone lactic, his throat had closed up.
He doubts Dean has thought about it since; there's just been too much going on, and Sam sure as Hell never brought it up.
Still, he wonders if Dean had regretted it. If he'd really meant it.
He stares at the screen for a long time, cracks his knuckles, lets out a long breath through his teeth.
Finally, though, he clicks the find icon, selects search all documents, and types in VOICEMAIL.
There are upward of 50 results.
He backspaces and his fingers hover over the keys, before he types in his own voicemail message. It's Sam. Leave me a message.
There are three results this time; Lucifer Rising, Changing Channels and Abandon All Hope.He glances at the synopses for each, and makes a mental note to never read Abandon All Hope.
It might have been years ago, but there's no way he can relive that day, read about Ellen and Jo's last moments and keep himself together.
He deletes the file completely and empties the trash.
Changing Channels might hold some useful insight, he thinks, so he keeps it open in the background while he opens up the file he wants.
LUCIFER RISING
Heaven wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
Dean, having spent the entire day confined to Zachariah's glorified holding cell, was getting more than a little restless.
The place was too lush, too glossy, too nice.
With the gold-framed paintings, silver platters and opulent carpets, it was as though he'd stumbled into some rich guy's living room.
Everything seemed like it was trying too hard to be pleasant. As though there were something unimaginably shady happening just outside, just out of reach, and the beautiful room was a hologram, an Angel-made mirage created to keep him in check.
Even the lights were too soft, too warm with false comfort.
What it really felt like was that he was being forced to feel at home. His skin crawled.
It had been hours since Zachariah had delivered what Dean was pretty sure was supposed to be a pep-talk and promptly disappeared, and since then, he'd been pacing the room, stewing.
He didn't trust Zachariah, and he hadn't missed the guilty expression on Castiel's face before he'd left, either.
The implications of that weren't good.
In the pit of his gut, he felt the distinct possibility that he might not be getting out of here in one piece.
"Ah, screw it," he said, flipping open his cell.
If something happened, he didn't want to die without Sam at least knowing he was sorry. He owed him that, at least.
He dialled, pacing again, and a high-pitched beep came down the line.
"It's Sam. Leave me a message."
"Hey, it's me. Uh..." he trailed off, cleared his throat as he weighed his words, wishing he'd thought this through a little better before he'd dialled, "look. I'll just get right to it. I'm still pissed—and I owe you a serious beat-down, but... I shouldn't have said what I said."
Just getting that far was a weight lifted, but he pressed on anyway.
"You know, I'm not Dad. We're brothers, you know. We're family. And, uh... no matter how bad it gets, that doesn't change."
He paused, took a breath.
"Sammy, I'm sorry."
The voicemail beep cut his last word in half, but he figured Sam would get it.
Flipping his cell shut, he looked around the room, and tried to figure a way out.
Maybe, he thought, Castiel would help him despite his orders.
It wouldn't be the first time.
Sam squints at the screen, his brow furrowed, and reads the passage twice. He knows he never got that message. Knows it for a fact.
He scrolls forward until he sees the words listen to me, you bloodsucking freak, and realizes with a pang that it was Zachariah who left the message. Zachariah, manipulating them the same way he always did, playing off their insecurities, their fears.
Sam's head spinsand he wonders how many other misunderstandings have been eating at him, eating at Dean, at Cas, at everybody.
The hurt he's been holding for years finally lifts.