Chapter Text
Sam had slowly begun to see the bunker as his home, or at least as a secure base Dean and him could return to after a hunt, get some time to relax and calm down in their own comfortable four walls. The warmth he had felt towards the bunker had faded ever since Dean had left. Now it was nothing more than a cold, lonely underground building with an eerie aura, making Sam too aware of the fact that it only functioned due to intricate engineering and magic. It gave the bunker a feeling of being somewhat alive, but that didn’t make it any more welcome. It was hostile and cold place, and Sam was trapped within it, having nowhere to go and even if he did, he had no energy to leave.
Sam’s feelings did nothing but confuse him as he walked aimlessly through the bunker that should be his home, but felt nothing like it. His fingers were loosely folded around the neck of the bottle of whisky he had almost emptied, there as a reminder that the last thing he wanted to do was think about Dean.
Not that the thoughts ever stayed away for long, no matter how drunk Sam got. Was Dean even his brother anymore, given that he died and came back as a demon? He wasn’t human. He didn’t see Sam as his brother, had said so explicitly before he had left and he might as well could have killed Sam right there. It would have hurt less. He didn’t care about Sam or his feelings or whatever they had been through since the night Dean showed up at his college apartment to tell him that Dad went missing. As if everything they had done for each other meant nothing.
Sam’s lungs and rib cage felt like a layer of old ice was wrapped tightly around them, making it near impossible to breathe but at the same time numbing his senses to the point of indifference. He felt nothing at all, unable to explain why nothing was such a hard feeling, why it hurt so much. His head was dizzy from the whisky, but all it did was making Sam’s body feel even more empty, as if it didn’t belong to him anymore.
Sam’s feet hurt and the blood in his head pounded against his skull in the rhythm of his heartbeat, slow and unsteady just as his walking pace as he roamed through the corridors of the bunker. This place was too big for one person, too empty, too lonely. And Sam knew exactly where he was headed, every sense telling him to turn around and go to bed.
The light flickered when Sam pushed the switch, entering the bunker’s empty dungeon. It wasn’t exactly a dungeon like one would expect from a medieval fantasy novel, no tortured prisoners who were chained to the wall, wrapped in the tattered remains of their clothes. No, it was just a big, empty room that smelled of dead air and residual sulphur. It was here where Sam had seen his brother last, tied to a chair by the wall before he managed to escape once Sam realised that he could do nothing to save him. That maybe he couldn’t cure the demon inside him, that this demon was who Dean had thoroughly become. The parts of his brother that were left were impossible to separate from the twisted version his soul had become due to the Mark of Cain. Dean wasn’t Sam’s brother anymore; he had made that more than clear.
Sam raised the bottle to his lips and pressed his eyes shut, trying to breathe as the room began to spin around him while he emptied the rest of the whisky. The urge to curl his giant body into a tiny ball of misery ran through him, strong enough to bring back the sting in his eyes that he tried so hard to stifle with alcohol and indifference. The ice in his chest and throat made it hard to concentrate on anything but the numbing pain, bringing him close to tears. Sam didn’t let himself cry and denying himself that small bit of relief only made the pent up rage bubble up in his stomach, melt the cold away until there was only angry heat inside him. Impulsively he threw the bottle at the stone wall with a shout, hearing it shatter into hundreds of tiny glass pieces. Sam tried his hardest to resist the urge to reach for one of the shards and slam it into his own wrist, so he sunk down to his knees, sobbing quietly when the tears escaped his closed eyelids.
Why was he even still trying to find a solution, a cure to Dean’s condition? Sam’s brother was gone. “Get over it,” the demon had taunted him with the voice that belonged to Dean, that Sam had heard a thousand times, but somehow didn’t sound right. He had made it clear that he didn’t want to be human or to be saved, that he just wanted his peace away from Sam and hunting and the life they had made together. Sam’s brother wasn’t inside him anymore, that was something else. So why did Sam spend his nights in the library looking for a cure, knowing that Dean didn’t want it? He knew how it was to be saved against his will, how it had felt when Dean sold his soul in exchange for Sam’s life. He couldn’t do that to Dean, selfishly break his consent on something so important, and yet he was still desperately searching for solutions, just in case. Sam was truly, utterly lost.
“Sam?” he suddenly heard a soft voice call out for him through the quiet sound of his sobs, followed by slow footsteps walking in his direction. Sam felt a careful hand on his shoulder and when he managed to open his eyes to look up, he could see right into Castiel’s worried gaze. The angel went down to his knees in front of him. “Sam, what’s wrong?”
Sam couldn’t hold back a sarcastic chuckle that immediately turned into another sob as he rested his head against Castiel’s chest. The angel had been gone for a few days, but Sam didn’t have the energy to ask where he went. He shrugged helplessly. “Dean.”
Castiel let out a long sigh, his shoulders shaking slightly before he nodded. “I know, Sam, I know. You cannot imagine how much I miss him.”
“I think I do,” Sam muttered, his forehead still resting against Castiel’s heaving chest. It was a kind of comfort he wouldn’t allow himself, if he wasn’t so utterly drunk and broken.
“It’s fine, Sam,” Castiel assured him, “But you cannot keep doing this. It isn’t healthy.”
Sam shrugged again, unable to reply anything that wouldn’t worry Castiel. When had anyone of them ever been healthy? Maybe Sam wanted it to end and that was why he did all of this. Self-destructive like all Winchesters were.
“C’mon, I’ll get you into bed,” Castiel murmured, patting Sam’s shoulder before helping him up to his feet. The world was still spinning around Sam and for a moment his stomach was roiling painfully, sending a cold shiver down his spin. He sucked in a sharp breath and closed his eyes to keep himself from throwing up. God, he had to stop this, Castiel was right.
Getting back to Sam’s room turned out to be harder than expected, his legs shaking while his whole body revolted against him as a revenge for all the alcohol. Sam had to stop several times to catch a breath with his arm slung around Castiel for physical support. The angel shouldn’t have to see him like this.
Once they managed to get into Sam’s room, he sat down on his bed, inhaling slowly through his nose while he swallowed down against the thick lump in his throat. It would be a true miracle if he didn’t throw up tonight.
“Wait here, I’ll be right back,” Castiel said with a caring smile, placing his hand on Sam’s shoulder. He shoved the trash bin from under the desk towards the bed, just in case, before he left the room.
Sam slowly tried to calm himself, looking up to the spinning ceiling. He shouldn’t let Castiel take care of him. It was selfish and cruel, knowing that Castiel had lost Dean as well. He had been gone for days at a time since Dean left, only checking in once in a while, and Sam was sure he did this because he was still grieving. Maybe it was time for both of them to move on, but that was easier said than done. Dean would always be missing in their lives.
Castiel returned five minutes later with a steaming mug of tea. Sam carefully sat up to take it from him and gave the angel a grateful smile.
“Thank you, Cas,” he sighed and took a sip. “’m sorry… Sorry you gotta see me like that.”
Castiel shook his head. “It’s fine, Sam. I understand. I am still mourning Dean as well, but I do not want you to hurt yourself.”
Sam nodded, closing his eyes for a second so he wouldn’t start crying again, not in front of Castiel. “Yeah, you right,” he muttered, “I… I jus’ gotta get some sleep.”
“Yes, do that,” Castiel said softly, but Sam could see the sorrow in his blue eyes. He wasn’t doing great himself and still looked after Sam as if that was his responsibility. It shouldn’t be. “I’ll be in the in the library if you need me.”
Sam nodded. Somehow Castiel was able to melt away the numbing ice inside him, but that revealed open wounds Sam didn’t want to think about. Castiel was all he had left in the world.
“Thanks again,” he murmured, watching the angel give him a smile and slowly close the door behind him as he left the room.