Work Text:
Sam and Jack spent everyday researching, never giving up on the search for a way to bring both Dean and Castiel back without the added effects of the Archangel.
They worked tirelessly, bringing every book and tome in the bunker out into the map room where they hunkered down for hours.
Rowena, Charlie, Mary, Jody, Donna, Garth. Almost every other hunter the Winchesters knew had enlisted themselves in the search for answers; for a clue on how to save the righteous man and an angel.
The bunker was full of hunters, dimension hoppers, and a willing, red-headed witch.
The days grew long and answerless. Nights turned to day without a single wink of sleep.
In a week's time, the searching grew fruitless and everyone's moods turned sour due to lack of sleep.
A schedule was drawn up. Surprisingly enough, to the members in the bunker, Sam had been the one to do it. Slaving away on a particular manuscript about Angel Theology one night, Sam found himself concocting a torn away sheet of paper, a pen chewed down to the tip, and a schedule.
With shaking hands high on caffeine, Sam scribbled down a list of dates and times.
Every weekday from 10 am to 6 pm was dedicated to research and information seeking.
Saturdays were spent helping other hunters on hunts or simply digging up lore that would help along the way
Sundays.
Sam pointed to this day with a tilt of his head. Everyone was gathered around the map room in fierce concentration, listening to everything the Winchester had to say.
Sundays were for family. Because that's what they were. The people who had dredged up their time and put their lives on hold to help Dean and Castiel.
Rowena gasped dramatically at Sam including her in the bundle they called a family, but smiled nonetheless when no one was looking.
The schedule worked for a while, but soon the lives the hunters had built for themselves along the way came calling them back.
Jody was the first to leave. Claire and Alex needed her back and so did her job as Sheriff. She promised she'd continue to research whenever she could and call as much as possible.
A day a week was all she could make up, but it was enough for Sam.
Rowena and Charlie were next. The two had grown closer over time, surprisingly, and were summoned for an uneventful hunt involving a “witchcraft massacre”. They were the best for the case.
They returned to the bunker as often as possible.
Donna's job forced her back out, no matter how regretful she was to leave. Sam reassured her that anything, even a simple “hello” over the phone was more than enough.
The next was Garth, dealing with Werewolf importance. And soon followed Mary who had some loose ends to tie up.
Sam and Jack were left to their own devices in the bunker once more.
The quiet was chilling most times when all that was heard were the turning of hundred year old pages.
They both stuck to the schedule either way.
Sam taught Jack how to cook when they weren't researching on weekdays. On Saturdays, they called everyone on the phone at once and had a great big conversation that almost lasted hours most times.
Then when Sundays came around, Sam would take Jack sightseeing or they would spend the day watching movies and eating at diners.
This odd loop continued for four weeks until Sam couldn't put down a book one day. His hands worked through his hair mercilessly and he couldn't seem to stop reading, looking for any way to bring back his brother and best friend. The silence was deafening when they weren't around.
The pain was unbearable even with the family they had put together.
Even with Jack still in the bunker with him, just as devastated as Sam was.
He couldn't put the book down.
He began losing sleep again. He began to feel lightheaded and really on coffee and beers.
The schedule fell apart.
Mary showed up at the bunker a few times worrying over his health, but nothing she could say would convince him to “sleep, eat, take some time to yourself”.
He couldn't. Not when Dean and Castiel were stuck with Michael, in a coffin, somewhere at the bottom of the ocean.
He couldn't stop reading.
One day, Jack grew tired of the sack of a man that Sam had suddenly become. He plopped down next to the hunter, a sandwich forced over the book that had been open. Sam looked up warily and waited.
Jack spoke.
Jack spoke words of wisdom with the most determined voice he'd ever heard the boy use.
He didn't speak sympathies or “we'll find a way”.
Jack smiled kindly and said:
“They have each other.”
And that was enough for Sam to take a break, breathe. The schedule slowly fell back into place.
He knew that Dean wasn't alone. Neither Cas nor Dean were alone.
Michael may have hijacked Dean's body, but the two of them were safely away in a corner of his mind where no one could get them.
They were living the dream life they'd wanted for years.
Nothing could get in and nothing could get out.
Both Michael and the Empty were at uneven ends of a flawed plan. Dean and Cas were safe.
The schedule was concrete.
(Just for fun. Enjoy this piece.)