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Sam has never acknowledged how slow and agonizing time can really be… until now that is. Not even in the cage. There was no room to think about how long he’d been there for or how long he was staying. There was only ever pain and suffering but what does somebody expect when they have to share a small cramped space with two pissed off archangels who have nothing better to do but wail on each other and on the only other guy in the room. No, time didn’t really exist there, not for him, but here… as he watches Dean deteriorate, time is endless and only ever inches by. It’s like everything is in slow motion and it pains him more than he can express with words to have to sit back idly and watch. Even his stint in the asylum where his body began to shut down, all his organs one by one, with Lucifer screaming at him while it happened can compare to this feeling.
He can see the way Dean turns away from him, desperately trying to hide what’s happening to him as best he can just like Sam did almost over a year and a half ago. Back then, hell even before Lucifer took up residence in his head, he always thought hiding it would help. That it would give Dean some semblance of calm before the storm that was their lives, he hoped it would give him some peace of mind. It was the only reason he ever lied to Dean about what was going on with him but he was wrong. He was so wrong. He was an idiot to believe for even a second that it wasn’t obvious something was amiss. He was naive to believe that Dean wouldn’t see it and that trying to make it seem like nothing actually made it a thousand times worse for them both. Especially for Dean who was always trying so hard to help, to solve the problem, even when it seemed impossible.
After all this time, he understands and he feels out of his mind with guilt for what he’s done, for everything he’s put Dean through up until this point because now he knows that this is the worst feeling in the world. Having to sit idly by while Dean suffers, constantly aching and in pain, hacking up blood every few hours and slowly coming apart, piece by piece, right in front of Sam’s eyes makes him sick and there isn’t a damn thing he can do about it. Because it’s what they have to do and because Dean is way too stubborn for his own good.
And when Dean’s voice is so hoarse from praying to Cas, day in and day out, to the point that his brother is literally blue in the face and has completely forgone pretending he isn’t pleading with the angel to come back every night, Sam takes up calling for Cas too.
"Castiel. Look, I don’t know where you are or what happened with Samandriel but I honestly don’t care and neither does Dean. These trials… they’re taking a toll on him and he just needs you, okay? So would you mind getting your ass down here because you and I both know Dean is more important than whatever the hell it is you’re doing right now." Sam says fiercely before letting out a long defeated sigh, the fervor gone and leaving desperation in it’s wake. "Please, Cas. Just come. For Dean."
Sam often wonders when he makes runs for pie and to scour for nearby cases or when he’s reading through the towering books left by the Men of Letters that fill the batcave if it’s even worth it. He knows the answer should be an automatic and unwavering yes. A real hero would give up his own happiness for the greater good, like Dean is doing— like he’s always done, but Sam finds it increasingly hard to remain selfless in this as he is forced to do nothing while Dean becomes progressively weaker. Has to be in constant fear of Dean receiving a fatal wound when they’re out on the cases Dean insists they keep doing despite the fact he’s been beat down a handful of times.
Sam wants more than anything to stop what they’re doing, to call off these trials put about by the God who isn’t even listening anymore. Who is he to cause his brother even more pain than he already has after everything they’ve been through anyway? They’ve suffered enough and he has to repress a bitter laugh at that because he should know better. The hits keep coming. No matter what. Winchesters don’t catch breaks. Not their mom. Not their dad. Not Henry. No family has given more than theirs has and Dean. He’s given the most out of them all and Sam just wants— no needs— for his brother to come out of this okay because his brother deserves it, even if he doesn’t think so. Because contrary to what he’s made himself believe, he needs Dean in his life and he needs for his brother to be alive and okay.
"How is he?" Castiel’s voice is unmistakable against the silence of the bunker. Sam looks up to see Cas hovering in the doorway, looking worse for wear and weary as he stands just on the other side of the threshold. Sam’s gaze immediately flicks to Dean’s room but his snores are still carrying and he doesn’t stir.
"Cas!" Sam whispers, dropping the book in his hand and all but bolting to the door as he propels out of his chair. "Where have you been man? Dean’s—"
"I know. I came as soon as I could. There were some minor difficulties locating you, judging by the symbols etched into the framework of this bunker I now know why." Castiel tells him tiredly, squinting at the array of sigils and symbols carved into the inner walls of the bunker as well as the outer.
Sam opens his mouth to reply to tell Cas how fucking thankful he is that he came just as Castiel’s eyes widen and the angel’s gaze focuses intently over his shoulder. Sam spins around at the sound of his brother’s voice drifting from behind them and watches the two of them do their dance.
"Cas? Is that you?" Dean’s voice is gruff and laced with sleep but still suspicious as he brings his hands up to wipe his eyes and looks particularly small in the hoodie he’s currently huddled in.
"Hello Dean." Castiel replies sheepishly with worry set in every line of his body.
"What are you doing outside Cas? Get your feathery ass in here." Dean tells him, motioning for him to come inside with a faint smile on his lips.
"I can’t, Dean." Castiel tells him sadly, shaking his head as he meets Dean’s eyes. "The sigils along the doorway don’t seem to permit angels entry which is probably in your best interest."
"To hell with that." Dean retorts stubbornly, nodding to the knives laid out on the counter and holding his hand out for one. "Sammy—"
"Already on it." Sam interrupts him, putting a hand up to stop Dean and snatching up one of the knives so he can bend down in the doorway to scrape off the sigils himself before Castiel can even open his mouth to protest.
"You shouldn’t have done that." Castiel says with a scowl and Sam shrugs at him as Dean walks over to pull Cas through the door.
"Dude, you missed a lot. I’ve got my own room for the like the first time ever and it’s awesome. You gotta see it." Dean tells Cas with a grin before bowing forward and coughing blood into his hand.
Sam sees Cas start to smile before his brows furrow together with concern. Dean brushes it off and slings his arm over Cas’ shoulder. Sam knows he should probably get Cas up to speed. About the trials and the whole closing the gates thing and maybe even question him about whats going on in Heaven but he can’t bring himself to do it. Not yet. Not when Dean is smiling big for the first time in weeks.
"Got TV in there too. You’re gonna like it." Dean tells Cas happily. Sam meets Castiel’s gaze with a small appreciative smile and watches as the angel nods at him in recognition before turning into Dean’s arm as the both of them disappear into the depths of Dean’s room.
“Thank you.”