Chapter Text
When Dean wakes up, the first thing he notices is that it's quiet. There's no Sam shuffling around the motel room, or snoring in the other bed. It's just Dean, alone with his thoughts. He groans, throwing an arm over his face. Sam's gone, and Dean's not entirely sure how to get him back, or if he even can. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees it all over again. The demons, fighting and snarling, and the knife sliding between Sam's ribs as Dean screams.
He sits up, running his hands over his face. He feels raw and empty. But most importantly, he feels alone. It's not a feeling that Dean likes. He sits for a minute, composing his thoughts, before sighing and getting off the bed. He wants to spend as little time here as possible, so he wants to get going soon. Dean walks over to his bag and pulls out a granola bar. As he eats it, he thinks that he could really use a drink. He wishes he'd brought something with him.
Dean finishes his granola bar and throws everything into his bag. He changes, and then he's out the door. As he opens the door to the Impala, he's again struck by the loneliness. He glances over at the passenger side door, but it doesn't move. No Sam to fill the seat next to him. Dean pops in Zeppelin II turning it up full blast, hoping it'll be loud enough to block out his thoughts.
Dean makes it all the way into Colorado before his thoughts wander. He thinks about Sam, about what's happened to him. Dean had buried his body in the woods outside the small Idaho town they'd been in, a small stone with his name on it the only sign that he was there. After he had filled the grave, he had collapsed, sobbing. The weight of everything that had happened was closing in around him like a vice, crushing him. He had stayed like that for a good half hour before finally leaving. He hadn't cried since. Years of having to be strong for Sam had ingrained that into him. Dean thinks about Cas, who he hasn't heard from at all since everything happened. Dean thinks that Castiel must be aware of what happened, so why hasn't he shown up? A hot anger fills Dean, pushing aside the sadness. He's mad at Cas, mad at himself, mad at Sam. He's mad at everything. Dean pulls the Impala over to the side of the rode. He sits, hands gripping the steering wheel, breathing heavily. Images flash before his eyes. Sam being stabbed, dying in his arms, blood on the ground, on his hands. Dean stumbled out of the car, shaking. He lands on the ground on all fours, vomiting up what little he had eaten. Dean sits back against the Impala, shaking all over. Tears feel hot in his eyes. He's not sure how long he sits there shaking, tears threatening to spill over. Eventually he gets up, takes a swig out of a water bottle, and starts driving again.
A few hours later, Dean pulls into the garage in the bunker. He turns off the ignition and walks inside. The bunker feels strange when it's just him. There's not even Crowley in the dungeons anymore. It's eerie, being the only person in a place so big. Dean wanders into the war room, flipping on the lights. Everything is just as he and Sam had left it. Dean feels a pang of sadness as he sees one of Sam's hoodies draped over the back of a chair. He walks over to it, running the fabric over in his hands, staring into space. He stops when he hears a knock at the door. Dean grabs a knife and goes to open it. Standing in the doorway is Castiel, a sad look on his face.
“Hello Dean,” he says, his customary greeting.
“Where the hell have you been?” Dean asks, almost spitting the words.
“I'm sorry,” Cas replies. “I was . . . otherwise occupied.”
“With what?” Dean is angry now. Sam just died, and Cas was “otherwise occupied”?
“May I come in?” Cas asks.
“Sure, whatever,” Dean mumbles, walking back down stairs. He sits down at one of the tables.
“I would have been here sooner if I could,” Cas says, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “Just so you know.”
Dean sighs, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “What was so important?”
“It's nothing that concerns you,” Cas returns, glancing away.
“The hell it doesn't!” Dean yells, slamming a hand down on the table, suddenly furious. Castiel doesn't even flinch. “My brother just died and you were gone doing whatever you were doing that's apparently too important for stupid mortals to understand!”
Castiel just looks back, meeting Dean's eyes. “You don't need to be worried about anything else right now,” he says calmly.
“I think I can decide that for myself,” Dean spits back.
“I'm sure you can,” is all Cas says in return. Dean just shakes his head, looking away.
“I'm sorry about Sam,” Cas says quietly.
“Yeah, me too,” Dean manages to get out.
Cas reaches across the table, resting his hand on top of Dean's. “Is there anything I can do?” he asks.
“I doubt it,” Dean mumbles, pulling his hand back and getting up from the table. He glances at Cas before going into the kitchen. He really needs a drink right now. He starts rooting through the cupboards, looking for some Hunter's Helper. He finally finds some and a shot glass, and sits down. He pours himself a shot and downs it, the whiskey burning his throat. He's already downed another before Cas comes into the kitchen. He stands awkwardly by the counter, watching Dean. After two more shots and a few minutes of staring, Dean breaks.
“What?!” he snaps. “Why are you even here! There's nothing you can do for me so stop looking at me like I'm a kicked puppy or something!”
Cas doesn't reply, just grabs a beer out of the fridge and sits down across from Dean. “Maybe you don't need my help. Maybe you just need someone to drink with,” he says, raising his beer and taking a sip.
“You can't get drunk,” Dean says.
“That may be true,” Cas replies, “but that doesn't mean I can't drink.”
Dean just shrugs and takes another shot.
A few hours later, Dean and Cas are on the sofa watching Batman Forever. By this point, Dean has finished the bottle of whiskey and is on his third beer. He's really drunk, and he likes how numb it makes him feel.
“I'm mad at him, you know,” Dean tells Cas, his words slurring together. “Sam. He went and got his stupid ass killed and now I have to deal with it. He wasn't supposed to leave me alone.”
“I understand, Dean,” Cas says, glancing over at him. “Sometimes I think death is harder on those left behind than those who actually go through it.”
“Amen to that,” Dean says, taking another drink of beer. He slumps back. “Everyone leaves me. Mom, Dad, Bobby, Sam, you. Everyone leaves, and it kills me every time.”
“I never like to leave,” Cas says, turning to look at Dean. “If I could, I would stay here always. But I have responsibilities, things that need to be done.”
“Screw responsibilities,” Dean growls, grabbing Cas by the lapels of his trench coat. “I need you. You know that. Sam died and I was alone. You should have been there.”
“I wanted to be,” Cas replies. “I felt your pain, heard your prayers, and I wanted nothing but to be there for you, but I couldn't.”
Dean releases his grip on Castiel's coat and leans forward, laying his head on Cas's chest. “You're all I have left now. You can't leave me.”
“We'll get Sam back,” Cas says, moving his arm so it's resting around Dean's back. “We've done it before, we can do it again. Besides, you wouldn't be saying these things if you weren't drunk.”
“You don't know that,” Dean says softly.
“Yes I do,” Cas replies.
Dean just sighs, bringing himself closer to Castiel. “It hurts,” he whispers.
“I know,” Cas whispers back.
“Why did this have to happen?” Dean asks.
“I can't understand all the designs of God,” Cas says. “Sometimes I wonder if there's even a plan at all, with all the bad things that happen. I know that's blasphemy, but it's hard to watch all the suffering of humanity and think that it's all part of some divine plan.”
“This is why the other angels don't like you” Dean jokes.
“Most likely,” Cas says, a slight smile playing on his lips.
“Do you really think we can get Sam back?” Dean asks.
“Yes,” Cas replies. “Nothing will stop you from protecting your brother.”
“That's true.” Dean pulls away from Cas, stifling a yawn. “We should finish the movie,” he says, trying to change the subject. He's thinking too much, and the whole point of getting drunk was to not do that.
“Alright,” Cas says, settling back into the couch. If Dean didn't know any better, he would say there was a brief look of disappointment on his angel's face.
Dean's head is pounding when he wakes up. He doesn't want to open his eyes or wake up or move or anything at all right about now. Besides, he's warm and comfortable. But he doesn't remember ever going back to his room last night. Dean opens his eyes and sees Cas very close to him, seemingly deep in thought. Dean starts, realizing that he had been resting his head on Castiel's shoulder. Cas breaks out of his trance and looks down at Dean. Dean pulls away, his face flushing.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
“It's quite alright,” Castiel says. “You were comfortable and I didn't want to move you.”
Dean can't think of anything to say right about now. His head is still killing him and he massages his temples. “I must have been really drunk last night,” Dean says. “We watched Batman Forever.” He laughs awkwardly. The joke didn't do anything to lighten the mood in the room. Castiel just tilts his head at him, confused.
“I need some coffee,” Dean grumbles, slowly getting up from the sofa. He so wasn't awake enough for this.
As Dean waits for the coffee maker, he replays scenes from last night in his head. Oh gosh, he and Cas had had a total chick flick moment. He runs his hands over his face. It's going to be a long day.
Dean sits down with his mug of coffee, drinking it even though it burns his tongue. Cas comes into the kitchen and sits down at the table. Dean doesn't acknowledge him, because if he doesn't maybe Cas will just go away.
They sit there in silence for a good ten minutes before Castiel blurts out, “I need to return to heaven.” Dean jumps, almost spilling coffee on himself. “I know that you'd rather I be here right now, but there is something important that needs my attention.”
“Yeah, no, it's totally fine,” Dean says. After last night and being all cuddled up to him this morning, Dean could use some time away from Cas right now.
“Are you sure?” Cas asks, trying to catch Dean's eye.
“Yeah, I'm sure,” Dean replies, avoiding Cas's piercing stare. “Go be a hero or whatever.”
“I'll return as soon as I'm done,” Castiel says, getting up from the table. “I shouldn't be gone long.”
“Ok,” Dean says, getting up. He walks Castiel to the door of the bunker. “Be careful, ok,” Dean says.
“Of course,” Cas says. He lays a hand on Dean's shoulder for a second before opening the door, walking a few feet, and then disappearing with the telltale sound of wings.
Dean sighs. As much as he didn't want to talk to Cas about all that stuff he'd said, he also realized he was alone again. It was going to be a really long day.
Dean is starting to worry. Cas had said he wouldn't be long, but that was a week ago. On top of what happened to Sam, now Dean has to worry about Cas too. He walks to his room, mumbling under his breath. He collapses onto his bed, but he knows he won't sleep. He's hardly slept in days. Nightmares plague him and every night he wakes up in a cold sweat. He always sees the same thing, that damn knife plunging into his brother's chest. He takes off his jeans and lays down, staring at the ceiling. Scenarios play in his head about what might have happened to Cas. Dean sits up, trying to clear his head. He grabs bottle of sleeping pills from his nightstand, downs one, and then tries to get some sleep.
Dean wakes up a few hours later, Sam's name tumbling from his mouth in a scream. He stumbles from his room into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before he vomits. He stays there for a minute, resting his head on the cool porcelain. When he gets up, he sees his reflection in the mirror. He has dark bags under his green eyes, his face his pale, and his eyes are bloodshot. He leans over the sink, splashing cold water on his face. He's shaking, grasping the edges of the sink so hard his knuckles turn white, and choking back sobs. Dean realizes that he has to do something. He can't handle not having Sam here with him. He composes himself, and goes to the war room to make a plan.
He doesn't know where to start. He doesn't even know where Sam went, whether he went to Heaven or Hell. The best way to start would probably be with a séance. Dean doesn't really like psychics all that much, but if there's a way to communicate with his brother, he'd better take it. Dean looks through their records for psychics. He thinks about Missouri, but he doesn't want any pity. As he flips through business cards and slips of paper, he finds a post-it note in Ellen's handwriting. It's an address for a psychic in Lincoln, Nebraska. That's not far from the bunker. Dean pockets the post-it and goes to make himself some coffee. He'll leave for Lincoln in the morning, hopefully to finally get some answers.