Dean was outside, saying his farewells to Garth. Sam sighed shakily, eyes flickering from the closed door to his half-packed duffel.
He wanted to get done with his own stuff and get the weapons packed before Dean came back in.
As he headed out the door, Garth gave him a look, an apology, and a promise to keep the elder Winchester outside for as long as possible,
so as to give Sam some time alone to compose himself or whatever.
Absently folding a semi-clean shirt, Sam doubted there was enough time in the world to compose himself for his brother’s return to the broken room… back to his useless brother.
Sam winced, forehead wrinkling in spite of himself. Dean was right, in a way.
He had started to look, but their promise to each other, to move on, to not look for each other, and most of all, to not bring the other back from the dead had changed Sam’s mind,
at least partially. At the same time, he had thought – hoped – that Dean and Castiel had both made it into Heaven.
Why would he have wanted to yank his brother out of there and back to Earth?
Why force him back into this life, back to fighting, hunting, exorcising, getting hurt, having to look out for his demon-blooded little brother? No. He was better off in Heaven.
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