12. But They Fell Apart

"You tried to beat up Zachariah today, Sam, and you should know that you'll be punished for that."

"You didn't kill that slave. Why didn't you kill him? Do you know who you are? Do you know what an honour it should be that an abomination like you is allowed to touch a human being, even if it is to kill him?"

"You and me, we're alike, Sam, very alike."

"Today is going to be so much fun."

Sam's on a table; an old, rusted thing in Nick's office. The office isn't what it looks like from the outside. It has a couple of windows carved into the rock, letting in sunlight from outside, and another door leading to a small stone veranda. The room is large, lined with dirty cabinets, Nick's desk, and a washbasin on one side.

"Whatever you do, Sam, you face the consequences."

Sam is naked, feet on stirrups, hands bound to a couple of bars on the side of the table. He is sweating, eyes darting about, and he watches as Nick shows him a scalpel. Deftly he draws it across Sam's belly. Blood flows down, wet and thick, Sam's mouth open in a scream that threatens to take away his voice.

"You enjoy this, don't you? Our time alone?"

"Please, please! No!"

"Yes, Sam, yes!"

Sam screams more, the blade drags on. He's open, panting, coughing, tears falling out of his eyes, running down his temples and he wants to die… just die.

He thankfully passes out the fourth time that Nick cuts him.

0

Sam is back, healed and prone on the same rusty table. The room is warm today, sticky. The fireplace crackles with flames licking wood and Sam feels a drop of sweat roll down his temple. Nick is grinning at him, holding something over the fire. It glows, sends Sam's heart racing. He thinks he knows what this is.

"No! No! No, please!"

"You didn't request all of that when you mouthed us off, did you?" Nick is holding the rod over the brand, eyes glowing mad and orange in the fire. "Azazel is ready to keep your ungrateful ass here despite all that, and I think you should be thankful." He picks up the brand, Azazel's name glowing in the darkness.

"Come on," he says, "your scar's almost gone and we need to see it. We need you to remember."

And Sam remembers. Dean. Cas. The cabin. The wedding. Dean.

Nick's eyes are sparkling as he brings the brand closer. "What, you didn't think you were dreaming, did you, Sam? That these moments, these wonderful moments between you and I were just memories?"

He pulls out a mirror from his pocket, and it reflects the orange light in Sam's eyes. Sam freezes, a reflex; because he knows what's coming and he can't move… isn't allowed to move, or…

Burning metal touches him, excruciating, melting his skin off, peeling him away in layers and he's screaming. He's screaming and screaming, head throbbing, eyes watering. The stink of burning flesh permeates the air, bringing acid and bile up his throat, pushing it out as he retches and retches and he wants to escape, run away, but Nick shines the mirror again and if he moves… if he moves…

He can't move…

He wants to run.

Where's Dean? Why was this all a dream? Why couldn't it have been real?

A voice whispers in his ear as he teeters on the edge of consciousness. "It's not real, Sam," Nick says, "because you're a bad person and this is what you deserve. You are a monster, an abomination, and you're never getting anything good in your life while we're around. Remember that."

And Sam remembers it, keeps it in his mind as he drifts off, tears leaking out of his eyes and this time, not just from the physical pain.

~o~

"Cas, what have I done? Why the fuck did I do this?"

Dean is frantic, sponging Sam's forehead as his brother moans on the bed. He's staring into space, eyes glassy and his mouth open as he gasps, moans, and mutters. It's been a whole day since Dean shone the mirror at Sam. Sam never woke up. Dean looks down at the amulet clenched in Sam's fist and puts his hand over it, squeezing. "Sam. Sammy."

Sam's mouth opens, a single tear trickling out of the corner of his eye. Dean places the sponge there, wiping, hoping the coolness of it will help soothe his brother. That Sam can feel him, hear him… something.

Sam doesn't respond. He gasps again, eyes rolling up and lids shutting partly to reveal the whites of his eyes.

"This wasn't so bad the last time," Dean whispers. "He was talking and walking, Cas. What do I do?"

"I believe the constant stress from the past few weeks aggravated his reaction this time," Cas replies. "I'm not sure, Dean. I don't know what to do, either." He sounds highly regretful as he says that and if Dean weren't so goddamned worried about Sam right now—worried enough to not want to look away from his brother at all, he would have held Cas's hand.

Sam grunts before him, more sweat blossoming on his forehead and Dean swallows a lump in his throat as he presses the sponge over the skin there. "It's okay, Sammy," he whispers, saying the only thing he knows to say. "It's gonna be okay."

~o~

"You know, this one is my favourite," Nick murmurs as he strokes the whip, fingers running along the barbs and leather crackling as he straightens it. He looks up at Sam and smiles. "You comfortable there?"

Sam struggles against the bonds tying his wrists to the ceiling. "Sc-screw you." He flexes his muscles, pulling himself upwards, but Nick's holding something to his face, and then there's a flash of silver light…

"Good boy," Nick whispers as Sam stiffens. There's a whoosh and a crackle of leather. Sam doesn't even scream when he feels his skin peeling off. He can't move… he can't move, or…

"You moved. You moved when I told you not to, Sam. This is your punishment."

The meat hooks dig into Sam's flesh, blood streaming down from his shoulder blade, and all he can hear is laughter.

Don't move, Sam, or you will be punished. And you know what the punishment is, don't you?

~o~

When Sam finally opens his eyes fully, he screams. The washcloth falls off his forehead and Dean is by his side in a second as Cas comes running from the bedroom.

"Hey," Dean soothes his brother. "HEY!"

Sam just continues to scream, fist opening and closing over the amulet, and Dean puts his own hand over it, squeezing his brother's wrist. "Sam, snap out of it!" he says, voice shakier than he wants. "Dammit, come out of it."

Sam's whispering something, lips moving in a litany of something Dean cannot decipher, and he leans closer to listen.

"Not real. Not real. Not real not real not real…"

"No." Dean squeezes his fist again. "No, hey, look here, look at me."

Sam's head snaps up, eyes unfocussed, and Dean takes the opportunity to raise Sam's fist to eye-level. He points at the leather string and the amulet hanging from it. "Feel that?"

Sam doesn't respond, and Dean shakes him. "Answer me, Sammy. Do you feel that?"

His brother's eyes widen, fear shining through them, and he nods frantically. Dean holds his wrist, shakes Sam's fist. "That's the amulet you gave me. At the bunker. Remember? You remember that?"

Sam shakes his head. Dean squeezes his wrist. "You do. Search for the memory. You remember it very well. Think about it."

Sam blinks, takes a couple of minutes, then slowly nods.

"Good," Dean tells him. "Because when they took you to Hell, this necklace was with me. The only person who's always had it is me and the fact that you're holding it, it means you're with me and you're out. You get that?"

Sam nods again.

"I told you this was your stone number one, remember? If you don't, I want you to recollect that. We got you out of Hell, Sammy, we got you out."

Sam swallows, eyes dampening, and then sniffs, speaking at long last. "Okay." His voice is hoarse, a lot like the first time he'd spoken when they got him out.

Dean smiles back at him. "Okay. Now get some rest."

He helps Sam lie back down, Sam's hand tightening around the amulet as he drifts off. Dean sits beside him the whole time that he sleeps after that and watches over his brother.

~o~

The moment Sam wakes up from his tired slumber, he feels embarrassment extend its ugly tendrils into his system. He remembers Dean trying to soothe him, calm him down, and can't recollect what led to that.

"Mirror," Dean mutters guiltily at breakfast. "Sorry, man. I—"

"We'll do it again," Sam interrupts him. "Today."

Dean's fork drops onto his plate. "Sam…"

"Today." Sam clenches his jaw. "I want to get over it. They've used it as my weakness for too long, Dean."

Dean blinks several times, turning back to his plate. "Okay, kiddo."

"Don't call me that."

"Fine. Bitch."

~o~

Sam blanks out again at training that day, and then again the next time, and so on for the next ten days. Each time that he wakes up, Dean is frantic, trying to ground him, although he notes that every time, Sam is quicker to get out of the nightmares and hallucinations. The hand-to-hand is at a standstill due to Sam being incapacitated for entire days, but then he reckons he should have anticipated Dean losing his cool at some point too.

"That's it!" he says on the eleventh day when Sam's woken up with a terrible headache. "Sammy, you're with us, okay? And I'm never letting you go back to that fucking dreamland again. Starting tomorrow we're doing the hand-to-hand."

Sam tries to nod but his neck is stiff and Dean sounds furious when he helps Sam sit up. "I'm gonna rip their lungs out!" he growls. "They had no right… no fucking right…"

"I'm sorry," Sam whispers, the response involuntary, and his brother's eyes are immediately on him.

"It's not your fault, Sam."

"I'm… 'M… Nick…" Sam licks his chapped lips and Cas gets up from a nearby chair to get him water. "We c'dn't move… meat hooks…" The thought is overwhelming; the whole nightmare he'd just had coming back to him, except it's not just a nightmare, it's a memory. He smiles, feeling tears sting his eyes.

"Sammy." Dean's voice is shaky, and worn flannel swipes over Sam's cheeks, taking away the wetness with it. A hand cups his neck.

"T's fear tr'ning," Sam whispers. Dean holds a glass of water to his lips and he drinks greedily, until Dean pulls it away after a couple of seconds.

"Not so quickly, dude. You of all geeks should know too much water wouldn't sit well with your stomach." The hand on Sam's neck squeezes comfortingly, and he raises a hand to fist the hem of Dean's shirt.

"I never said," he replies, "Th'nks, Dean. F'r getting me out."

Dean pulls him forward, lets Sam rest the side of his head against his chest, Dean's chin on Sam's hair, and doesn't say a thing for a long, long time.

~o~

"You gotta hold your hands like this, finger over the trigger, watch."

Castiel is with Dean, eyeing the beer cans on the guard rails. They woke up this morning and decided Sam should rest a day while they brushed up Cas's shooting skills (which, honestly, according to Castiel, are next to nil, although Dean is a kind enough soul to lie, saying that is not the case). So here they are in a makeshift range, training for an enemy they all know they have to face but have no idea how to.

Dean's breaths ghost over Cas's ears, tickling and tingling, bringing goosebumps everywhere and he leans his head back slightly to match cheeks with Dean, feeling Dean's eyelashes tickle his skin. They're so, so close, Castiel is tantalised. Dean is such a strong presence at all times, so energetic, so marvellous, crackling and sparking, solid and ever-present…

Dean's one arm aligns both of Castiel's, hand over his on the gun. The other hand currently rests on Cas's waist, and he takes a sharp breath as it goes up underneath his t-shirt to trace a teasing circle over Castiel's abdomen.

"Shoot," Dean whispers.

Castiel pulls the trigger, the shot ringing in his ears as he stumbles back from the recoil, although he's still clutched in Dean's arms. Dean moves to the next one and they shoot all six of the cans together, in a row, gun smoking, leather and gunpowder permeating the air with their smell. Castiel feels the button of his jeans pop as a hand creeps into his waistband.

He sighs and leans backward. Dean chuckles, stroking Cas with his thumb. The rest of his fingers join in and Cas is hard before he knows it. He comes in the next moment, his body bucks as he leans back, head on Dean's shoulder. "Oh, Dean."

Sweat falls down Castiel's face and pools into the dip in his neck. Dean mouths the shell of his ear, teeth nipping at the lobe, getting Cas to sigh and shiver. Dean removes his hand from Cas's boxers, stepping ahead to face him as he licks his fingers, lips lingering on each one, tongue poking out to tease Cas. He smirks, leans over and kisses Castiel, tasting of Cas and beer. "You wanna come inside and practice after a break?" Dean asks him, voice breathy and incredibly, tantalisingly sensual.

Castiel can still hear the ringing in his ears when he nods a yes.

Dean takes his hand and they head inside, frantic, hearts racing. Sam looks up at them from his crossword, eyes widening when he notices their expressions.

"I'm outta here."

Castiel barely notes the sound of Sam's receding footsteps as Dean takes him to their bedroom, pushing him onto their bed, straddling him, and pulling him into a kiss. Dean bites and sucks and Cas moans, heat and spit getting everywhere as they kiss. Cas pants and hisses, feeling Dean's mouth on his jaw and neck, teeth nipping his ear again, and he clenches the bedcovers as Dean pulls at the collar of his t-shirt and sucks Cas's shoulder, fast and wet.

Cas can feel his body clench in anticipation, thighs quivering, and Dean reaches down to pull down his jeans and boxers in one go. He sits back, gets his own clothing off and pushes at Castiel's shoulder to flip him over.

Castiel obeys, gets on all fours, and feels the dampness of the lubricant in him, along with Dean's fingers. The condom packet tears open and in the next moment Dean is clutching Castiel's waist as he thrusts.

Cas grunts, Dean thrusts again, and Cas's jaw drops, breaths stuttering as his nerve endings fire up in pleasure.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Cas…" Dean whispers, thrusting. The ecstasy peaks, reaching its apex as Castiel feels an explosion of it; sweet, sweet pleasure as he finishes, moaning and grunting and panting. Dean's fingernails dig into his skin as he pulls Castiel back again, bucking forward until he's climaxing, too. "C-Cas," he mutters as he comes. His breath hitches and Castiel knows now that their hearts are in sync in the same way that their lives are.

Dean slides off and Cas falls on the bed and they're in each other's arms the next moment, half-naked and gasping and panting, but happy as they look into each other's eyes, trying to decipher all the wonder there. Dean leans over to rest his head on his hand as he props up an elbow and though there are no words, they talk for a long, long time.

~o~

When Dean and Cas get clean and dressed a while later, going upstairs to get Sam for more training and then lunch, Castiel feels a shiver run down his spine. There's something wrong, he thinks, but it could also be the weather. "Wait," he calls out to his husband, halting at the coat rack to grab his trenchcoat. "It feels a little chilly today."

Dean shrugs. "I guess. C'mon. We need to practice. I'm already getting hungry."

Castiel shoves his arms into the sleeves, Dean waiting for him, when they hear a sound outside of the trapdoor.

"What the fuck?!" Dean rushes up the stairs without a backward glance and Castiel follows. When they get up and out of the trapdoor, Castiel's heart skips a beat at what he sees.

Standing before them and restraining a struggling, angry Sam, is Azazel himself.

"Well, well, boys," the demon mutters, eyes flashing yellow. "Looks like we're all going to have a lot of fun."

~o~

Dean is swearing inside his head. He wants to do it out loud, yell at Azazel and fucking kill him but no, no, they're not prepared for this. They need time and Sam's not ready and this can't honestly be happening.

Azazel is flanked by two demons, and Dean almost wants to sneer at him about whether the bastard thinks that is enough take them down. One of the demons is male and the other is female. Azazel grins a big, wicked sneer. "Abaddon. Crowley. Get them."

Abaddon's painted lips widen in an ecstasy that Dean has only seen in Cas while he's orgasming and she makes her way toward them, Dean reaching for his knife, and—

She kicks his shin. He stumbles, punches in return and shuffles another kick from her. He starts to back up, her boot connecting with his knee as he blocks. The collision sends explosive pain through him and the world shakes but Dean balances, growls, and goes ahead to punch her.

They grapple, Abaddon's knee hitting Dean's stomach once, twice; and he plants an elbow to her face to push her away. He hurries forward, busted leg and all, and punches her face again and again, driving her to the edge of the cliff. She sways and kicks him again, missing, and he shoves at her chest heavily, sending her staggering to the edge of the cliff, and down.

Her scream echoes in his ears as she falls, a weird sense of satisfaction racing through him. He turns around, watching Sam lose against Azazel and rushes to help him.

"Oh no you don't, you little bastard," drawls a British-accented voice and Dean sees a flash of silver, right at Sam's face.

"NO!"

The words are just out of his mouth as Sam freezes, sinking to the ground. Dean charges towards Azazel. "You are not taking my brother back!" he snarls, landing one punch on Azazel's stomach, and another on his face.

"Watch me," Azazel replies, turning. Dean limps, grabs him in a headlock, but Azazel locks his arms around him, lifting him and throwing him to the ground. His head hits the harsh ground and everything spins, doubling in his vision.

Stone and gravel is everywhere and Dean tries to get up but is stopped by a stamp to his stomach. He tries to grab hold of Azazel's ankle but misses, and the demon stomps at him again. Dean coughs, rolls over, and takes a boot to his spleen. He blinks up at his brother who's still on the floor and tries to get up, but Azazel's foot is on his side again. He's dizzy and Azazel won't stop. He can hear Cas scuffling with Crowley, and he really, really needs to get to Sam.

Dean creeps closer, grunting at a kick, and then some more. He takes off his amulet. Azazel comes down on his knees as Dean creeps some more, holding a hand to his throat and pressing on his windpipe. Dean chokes, tries to move, his hand merely an inch away from Sam's. Azazel clamps down on his wrist and tightens his clench on Dean's throat, choking him further to hold him there.

Blackness is creeping into Dean's vision. He wiggles his finger, brushing it with Sam's. "S-S…" he gags, and manages to brush Sam's finger again. And before Azazel can react, he flings the amulet forward, trying to look if it's in Sam's hand, but it's all too black and he can't breathe… can't… can't…

"Dean-o, if only this were that easy…" Azazel's voice is ringing in his ears. The hand on his throat eases up, and Dean realises…

Sammy.

His eyes open and a burst of air enters his lungs. Azazel is on his feet and Dean gets on his knees, pain still radiating from one.

"N-No…" He can barely talk but his hands are on Azazel's calf. Beside him, Sam suddenly sits up.

"S-Sammy?"

"You bastard!" Azazel lets go of Dean's knee and stamps his already sore stomach. Dean can't catch a breath, blackness returning, and then there's a voice.

"Leave him alone."

"Or?" Azazel sounds amused, leg moving over to Dean's throat to choke him again. Dean grips onto his ankle, trying to get him off.

"What are you going to do, Sam?" Azazel taunts. "Save your brother? You, the weak, vulnerable, traumatised underdog, are going to save this guy?"

"I said leave him alone."

"Oh, Sam—"

"LEAVE. HIM. ALONE."

The ground beneath Dean vibrates. "What the hell?!" Azazel exclaims, and there's something hot and bright as the foot on Dean's throat eases up. Everything is smoky, hazy, and he's so warm, so warm…

"Dean! Dean, listen to me!"

He opens his eyes. Sam. Sam's sitting beside him. Except… except… what's wrong with Sam's eyes?

He wants to talk, wants to open his mouth, but someone kicks him again, and everything is black.

~o~

When Sam comes to he is groggy and dizzy, and bound to a chair. These are the first things that his mind takes note of, and then there are the familiar voices that are muttering beside him. He tries to move, but he can't. The bonds are tight, his hands and legs and torso and everything, everything attached to that chair and just short being cut off from blood supply.

"Fuck," he mutters, and his mouth feels dry and terrible.

"Glad you think so, too," says Dean's voice, and Sam finally opens his eyes. They're in their living room, him and Dean and Cas each bound to a chair and in a line, facing the window and the sofa.

"What happened?" Sam asks them.

"You exploded," says Dean simply. "Killed Azazel, dude."

"What?"

"Honest to God. Your fucking eyes were black."

"Really?"

"Really."

"So… so why're we…" Captured?

"You conked off," says Dean. "You lost consciousness after the big power blow-up. I passed out, too. Crowley overpowered Cas in all the confusion and knocked him out. Next thing we know…"

"So…" Sam clears his throat. "So they're gonna kill us now?"

"No," replies Cas. Sam tries to strain forward to get a look at him but he can't. His friend sounds morose, dejected.

"Then what?"

"Hell."

"What?!"

"I'm sorry," Cas says to him, remorse in his voice. "We heard him talking. Crowley. He is now the King of Hell and he wants us in there, trained as slaves."

"He really said that?"

"Yes, Sam."

Sam blinks, staring out of the window at the blue sky, imagining the river below. What was the mistake they'd made, for it to lead to this? For it to get them back to square one? What part of their plan hadn't they executed well enough?

It's noon and the sunrays sparkle as they fall through the glass, filtering into the sofa and colouring the floor with their light. Sam clenches his wrists, tries to shake himself out but realises he really can't escape. The bonds are too strong.

"We gotta get out," Dean murmurs. "We gotta get out of here."

"I'm trying."

"No, no, Sam, we can't die being slaves to these people. I'm not living my life like that, man, and I'm not letting you guys do it, either. We have to get outta here. Bobby will help us. We need to call him."

"I know, I know…"

"Shit, if they can just free us so I can get a hold—"

"Free us."

"Yeah, I just said that."

"No," Sam whispers, eyeing the window and the sky. "We can be free. We can be free, Dean."

He turns to his brother, whose brows are furrowed in confusion. "What are you saying, man?"

Sam takes a deep breath. "They're not going to let us go. Not long enough for us to drive out. We can't outrun them from here. And once we get to Hell… but, you know, there is a way to be free." He licks his lip. "We don't have to die being slaves, Dean."

~o~

"The transport has arrived," Crowley is saying as he descends the staircase to the room. His eyes are narrowed and triumphant, carrying an expression that makes Sam want to reach out and punch the living lights out of the fucktard. He clenches and unclenches his jaw, heart beating fast and he knows what he has to do now—he and Dean and Cas, and he wonders if they're just as nervous. They've all agreed on this. It was Sam's idea but Dean and Cas are with it too. They're ready for it because it's the only way out.

There are three demon minions, one for each person and Sam grits his teeth as the demon starts to undo the ropes. He turns towards Dean, looking for a signal, any signal, and feels warmth spread over him when his brother nods. The bonds are off and the demon gets Sam to his feet—followed by Dean and Cas.

In a split second, Sam's fist is in the demon's face. Dean imitates him and his demon staggers. The next moment, Dean's warm hand grabs Sam's and he turns, to see Dean do the same to Cas. They race across the room and onto the sofa.

Sam doesn't even feel the glass shards that hang on to him when they jump, breaking the window. All he knows is that he has Dean and Cas with him as he falls and when he hits the swirling, unforgiving waters beneath him, he keeps remembering just that. He just knows, with the last breath that he takes, that it's an honour. An honour to have this family and die with them. An honour to know Dean and Cas.

He remembers this, feeling cool water rush up his nose and mouth as he tries to swim, the current too strong, and he keeps remembering. He remembers forever, into eternity and everything beyond.

~o~

The water freezes Dean's chest and body and everything and he can't breathe. Two hands are clasped in his, one on either side, and each belongs to two of Dean's most precious possessions. Dean grasps on, but they're sliding, sliding away, water rushing everywhere… and one is gone.

"CAS!"

There are bubbles, water in Dean's throat, and he can't see. He's so cold… so cold…

Cas.

A shaking hand is grasping the back of Dean's collar. Biting, chilly air hits his face and he's floating… moving somewhere.

"Dean, stay with me!"

"C-Cas…"

"We're gonna look for him. Stay with me. Please." Dean opens his eyes, and his brother is peering back at him, wet and teary (and Dean just knows they're tears and not water from the river). Sam's lip quivers. Dean drifts off again.

He dreams of Cas. They're outside the cabin. Cas is reaching towards him, trying to get Dean to catch hold of his hand but he keeps shuffling back and Dean can't move… and then they're in water and a current swallows Cas. "Help," he gurgles, drowning, and Dean can't do anything. "Help!"

When Dean wakes up for the first time in ages, it's not Charlie or Jo or Kevin or his dad looking back at him, trying to wake him up from the nightmare. It's Sam. And isn't this what Dean wanted all along?

Cas is not dead.

He shivers, shivers terribly, and a hand runs up and down his arm, back, and someone's muttering platitudes in his ear but he can't hear over the roar in his head. He can't hear anything. He needs Cas back. He needs…

CasCasCasCasCas.

There is an awful sobbing coming from somewhere near him. A hand is stroking his hair, another rubbing wetness off his cheek while a voice shushes him. It's not Cas. Then where is he? Where's Cas gone?

"Help me."

Dean turns around. The voice is weak but it's Cas. "Help me," Cas says, and Dean tries to reach him. Dean holds his hand out, tries to move, and their fingers brush, but he can't…

They took Cas away.

"Dean."

Cas isn't coming back.

"He must have landed somewhere downstream," the same voice says. "We'll find him. We'll find him."

No, they can't. Cas is dead.

"Don't say that." The voice breaks. "Don't say that."

Cas is dead.

Dean shivers. The voice doesn't speak up again. Instead, the hands are back on his arms and soles, trying to keep him warm, and Dean drifts off again.

~o~

When Dean wakes up properly and stops muttering and dreaming about Cas, he and Sam vacate the temporary spot behind a rock near the river where they'd been waiting for Dean to recover. They were there for two days and Sam kept watch day and night when Dean was semi-conscious, and it looks like Crowley is either convinced they're dead, or he doesn't care anymore.

"I went looking for him as far as I could," Sam tells Dean. "I did, I promise. I couldn't leave you alone too long."

"Let's keep walking." Dean's throat is sore and hoarse.

Sam doesn't reply.

They walk for three days. They have to be on constant alert, in case Crowley tries to get to them again. Sam's almost passing out from exhaustion by the end of it. Dean agrees to wait and camp out so Sam can sleep and stays awake himself because he doesn't want to dream about Cas again. The next day, when they walk further, they see a familiar object lying on the shore. Dean recognises it and rushes forward.

It's Cas's trenchcoat. Wet and bloodied and torn, it sits near a rock and Dean picks it up and holds it to his face, smelling Cas's familiar scent as he shuts his eyes. "Where are you?" he asks, his voice a whisper and the question dispersing into thin air.

There is no reply.

A week later, there's still no Cas, but they manage to break into a Gas n' Sip just outside a ghetto in the middle of the night. They stuff their faces with whatever they can find and Sam makes a call to Bobby.

Dean watches his brother as he reveals their location, and then the silence from Sam's side as Bobby speaks. By the end of it he can see relief on Sam's face. So much relief, there are tears trailing down Sam's cheeks and the moment he puts the phone down, Dean walks forward and lets his brother rest his forehead against his temple.

"It's okay," Dean tells him, just like Cas did at Hell, and like the times that Sam detoxed and panicked. "It's okay."

Dean's not sure he believes this himself.

When Charlie and Jo arrive, Sam and Dean hug them tightly, and they spend two more days looking for Cas. When they don't find him, Charlie takes Dean aside and holds his forearms, squeezing them. "Bobby's gonna send some of the better hunters to look for him. But we need to get back to the bunker, Dean."

"He's my husband, Charlie, I can't—" Dean's voice is stuck in his throat, and he blinks. He's not allowed himself to grieve, and he's tried not to feel. He has to stay strong. He needs to do it. For Sammy and for himself.

Charlie pulls him into a hug. "You need to rest," she whispers. "We all do. It's been a hard few days and I know… I know…"

"You don't."

She pulls away, cups his cheek. "Okay, maybe I don't. But have you thought of Sam? You need to do this for him."

Sam's fatigued beyond imagination, hardly staying awake these days and Dean thinks of his brother. His brother, who's lost too much, and who knows exactly what this feels like. His brother, who needs to go back home and rest and be taken care of.

Dean leans forward, buries his lips in Charlie's hair. "Let's go back," he mutters, holding her close. "For Sammy."

They leave that night in Charlie's car. Bobby's promised to send a team for Cas and the Impala, and Dean sits with Sam in the backseat, watching his brother lean against the window as he sleeps. He keeps watching, Sam's peaceful slumber filling Dean with calm, and when Sam opens his eyes, Dean just smiles at Sam's confused expression.

After dinner, he puts a hand on Sam's back while Charlie and Jo go to take a pee break. "Sam," he says, looking into his brother's eyes, really speaking to him for the first time in days. "Sammy, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Jess."

Sam takes a deep breath, turns away. "I'm sorry about Cas," he whispers back. Dean just nods, eyes prickling, until his brother is looking back at him, his own eyes wet. Because they know, they both know, and they wish, they wish they didn't.

Sam takes a step forward, pulls Dean into a hug. Dean returns it, sniffling through traitorous tears, and he thinks of the one precious thing he still has. The one thing Azazel could never take away from him no matter how hard he tried, and he holds on to this precious thing of his for a long, long time.

They hold on as Charlie and Jo come back and then for long after.

A/N: PLEASE DON'T KILL US.

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