A/N: A conversation between Sam and drunk!Dean, two days after Castiel got drowned.

Sam got out of the Impala with his hands full of little brown paper bags. The cool misty air smacked his face as tiny droplets of icy water fell on his tousled hair and dimpled face. It had been drizzling since morning.

Once Sam had finished with checking whether the car doors were locked, he quickly strode towards the motel where he and Dean were holed up for the past two days. He knocked on the door of the room in which they'd been staying. Dean opened it on the third knock. His eyes were puffy and red. 'What happened to your eyes, dude?' Sam wondered aloud. 'Nothing,' Dean said quickly and took the packages from Sam.

'Well, they look really red and kinda puffy…almost like you've been crying,' Sam uttered the words carefully. He knew he was treading on rough coast. But to his surprise, all Dean said was, 'What, really? Maybe it's because I've been sleeping so much.'

That's what Dean had been doing from the time they had checked into the motel. Apart from drinking, that is. Sam was really worried about his brother. After Cas drowned in that lake, Dean had completely changed. Almost like he'd given up or something. Sam knew this wasn't how he dealt with grief.

Whenever something really bad happened, Dean always resorted to hunting, he'd go through almost every newspaper to find a case and then he'd suggest looking up incidents that had almost a 0.1% chance of being related to anything supernatural. He'd work on his car, work on cases; he'd do whatever it took to keep himself busy. That was how Dean expressed his grievances, until, of course, the final show down when everything would come pouring out.

However, this time was nothing like it. Dean hadn't mentioned anything about a case. He just drank and slept. A more appropriate way of putting this would be: he drank himself to sleep. This was way too much even for someone like Dean who drank regularly. As he went to take a shower, he noticed a bottle of whisky that was half empty lying on the wooden coffee table. Just in front of it, on the sofa, was Castiel's trench-coat. Sam narrowed his eyes at the sight.

Dean had kept the angel's trench coat after he'd drowned. To Dean, the trench-coat was a symbol of his friendship with Castiel- the one who brought him back from perdition, the one, who, as he now realized, was trying to save his and his brother's life by trying to avert the apocalypse. The one who died trying to prove that his intentions were never, ever, wrong.

'Hey, I brought you some pie,' Sam said and hoped that this would help cheer his brother.

'You did? Thanks, Sammy,' Dean said as he unpacked the packages. He took out the pie and kept it inside the one-door fridge that stood near the wall behind the sofa, not even bothering to take a look at it. Sam was starting to freak out now. He bought pie and Dean didn't eat it right away. Dean didn't eat the pie right away.

'So, I'm gonna go take a quick shower,' Sam said.

'Yeah, you do that,' Dean said and settled down on the sofa, just beside the trench-coat.

Sam went inside the bedroom, pretending to take his clothes and towel, but instead he dialed Bobby's number as soon as he was out of Dean's sight. 'Hello, Bobby. I gotta talk to you about something,' Sam said when Bobby picked up the phone just before the second ring.

'Shoot,' was all Bobby said.

'Something's up with Dean, Bobby. He's not acting right,' Sam whispered into the phone. If Dean had the slightest idea that Sam was talking to Bobby about him, well, then all hell would break loose.

'What'd that idjit do now? Is he alright?' Bobby said. He sounded a little annoyed but at the same time the concern in his voice could clearly be felt.

'I dunno if he's alright. Ever since, Cas, um, ever since he…' Sam felt a lump in his throat as he uttered the word, 'drowned, ever since Cas drowned, Dean's been just sitting and, and drinking, and, you know whathappened today? He was sitting with the trench-coat and drinking!' Sam said, his voice shaking with anxiousness.

Bobby took a deep breath and said, 'Hey, he just lost a friend. Maybe you should cut him some slack.'

'But Bobby everything is so unlike him! You know how Dean becomes gung-ho hunter boy, when he's depressed, or, or grieving? Well, none of that's happening this time! And you gotta admit that it's a little weird,' Sam was trying hard to explain his point.

'It doesn't have to be that way all the time, Sam. Speaking of weird, how's your grapefruit?' Bobby enquired.

'I'm getting by, I guess,' Sam said.

'You 'guess'? Are you still getting guest appearances from Satan?' Bobby asked.

'I think he's a part of the permanent cast now. He's reciting the dialogue from When Harry Met Sally where Harry proposes Sally, as we speak,' Sam said nonchalantly.

'Wow, must be a real pain. Does Dean know about this?' Bobby questioned.

'Maybe. I don't know really,' Sam said.

'You don't know?' Bobby said with a sigh. 'You boys are the biggest idjits I've ever known! Talk to him, dammit!' he added.

'Talk about what, Bobby?' Sam said.

'Talk about how Lucifer's camping in your head! Talk to Dean about Cas's death…do I still have to spoon-feed you idjits?!'

'I think we'll be fine...' Sam was about to say but Bobby interrupted him and said, 'I don't wanna that crap, Sam. You boys need to talk now. You don't wanna shove this inside, trust me.'

'Okay, Bobby. I will,' Sam said and hung up. He picked up his towel and went inside the bathroom to take his shower.


Sam got out of the shower. The misty feel of the warm water still lingered in his body as he put on a fresh pair of jeans and a checkered shirt. He was on his way to the fridge to get himself a beer when he noticed Dean sprawled on the sofa.

Instead of going towards the fridge, Sam sat down on the easy chair just beside the sofa. 'Hey, you alright?' he asked.

'Yeah? Me? Sure. I'm, I'm fine, totally,' Dean said with a slurry voice.

'Dean, you're drunk,' Sam said, raising his eyes.

'Whaa..? No, I'm, I'm not ddrunk, not, not, at all. Not at all drunk,' Dean said and gulped down more of that whisky.

Sam heaved a worried sigh and said, 'Look, Dean. I know Cas's death has affected you deeply, but I'm starting to think that what you're doing is unnecessary. I mean, drinking like this won't bring back Cas. It'll only give you a crappy liver,' Sam tried to explain to his big brother.

'Are you talking about Cas? Castiel, that, that, angel dick?' Dean slurred.

'Yes, Dean, Castiel, our friend. I know Dean, you're sad and believe me, so am I. He was like a brother to me as well,' Sam said softly.

'I'm, I'm not sad, or anything. Why would I be sad, huh?' Dean said. 'The guy, he, he brought me back from, from hell. From all that torture, and, and, pain. But now, it's like, I don't even wanna live, Sammy!' Dean exclaimed.

'Don't say that, Dean…'

'Why shouldn't I?! First, the, the, fool brings me back, he becomes like my brother. He says that we've a special bond or whatever, then he saves my life and yours for, like a gazillion times! Then, the idiot that he is, he decides to become the new God! Balls!'

'I know, he shouldn't have done that but…' Sam said but he was interrupted by Dean who said, 'Wait! I'm not even finished! And then, then, he swallows all those souls and, and, boom! He's gone!' Dean ran his fingers over the trench-coat that still lay beside him. 'Why'd he do it, Sam?'

In a matter of seconds, Sam felt that his big brother had aged 10 years more than he was then. Sam really was at a loss for words. Why did Cas swallow all those souls? Perhaps his intentions were good but the path he chose was just…wrong.

Dean was right. Cas was like a brother to them, he put himself in danger to save them time and again. He brought back his brother from hell. Sam would never have been able to see his brother again, had it not been for Castiel. He would be eternally indebted to the angel for that. So for someone like Cas, to do something so, silly, it was somehow still hard to believe.

Dean interrupted Sam's train of thoughts and said, 'Hey, hey, you remember that time we got him that cell phone and he couldn't memorize his own number? Ha ha, and remember what he said? 'Is this sequence of random numbers of any import? I cannot seem to be able to remember this.' He used the word 'import' a lot, didn't he?' Dean said with his eyes fixed on the trench-coat.

'Yeah, he did,' was all Sam could say.

'And, and remember that time when I made him watch Terminator?' Dean asked Sam.

'Yeah, and he kept quoting Schwarzenegger's lines from the movie for the next three days,' Sam said with a short laugh.

'And then that time he got drunk? And kept singing that Taylor Swift crap?' the old memories of their friend made Dean nostalgic as he said this.

'Yeah! I still wonder where the hell he picked that up from,' Sam said with a laugh. Suddenly he realized that the person they were so affectionately talking about, did not exist anymore. He felt a pang of pain as this realization dawned. 'I wish Cas was still here with us,' he added.

A sort of a lump seemed to have been formed in his throat as Dean said, 'I wish we could've helped. Maybe if I'd tried hard enough, I could've talked him outta this whole shit.'

'Dean, it wasn't your fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. So, please stop blaming yourself and feeling guilty about it. We did what we could,' Sam explained.

Dean looked at Sam in the eye and said, 'I'm tired of this life, Sammy.'

Sam had nothing to say to this. He knew how hard it'd been going for his brother for the past years. It seemed that whichever person they held close to their hearts, whichever person they loved, ended up dead. And that was just not fair. But they were Winchesters and that's how it was supposed to be with them.

Sam cleared his voice that was now hoarse and desperately needed the cool touch of beer and said, 'I know, Dean. But you cannot help it, can you? And neither can I. I know it's a huge pain in the ass but, well, that's how it's supposed to be, I guess. I mean, we're hunters, right? We chose this lifestyle, our Dad chose this lifestyle. So I guess we gotta do what we do best, shove it all down and move on. And kill as many evil sons of bitches as we possibly can. We gotta go down swingin', right?'

'S-s-sammy? You know somethin'? The only reason I carry on is because of you. The only reason I have the courage to wake up every mornin' and face another day is…you. Thank you for being with me. Thank you for leaving everything behind and accompanying me that September night seven years ago,' Dean said and smiled earnestly at his brother.

'You're my brother and it's the least I could've done,' was all Sam said.