Season 10 is killing me, I love it. Although I was slightly disappointed in the third episode. Way too easy if you ask me. Anyway, this story is a birthday fic for Air Guitar Pixie. We bonded over our love for hurt Sam, so I wrote this in her honour!

Dean was really gone. He wasn't just dead, dead was fixable, at least for a Winchester. But gone? How does one cope with gone? Solution: Don't cope, act.

Rage and adrenaline were all that controlled Sam nowadays. Any sign of a demon, the slightest whiff of sulfur in the air, and Sam would come rushing. Pure, unaltered desperation was his guide. What the hell was a conscience?

Why won't Dean contact him? Was he being held against his will? Was it Crowley? Did it have something to do with the mark? A multitude of question ricocheted throughout Sam's one track mind.

Numerous times he'd been reminded that he couldn't do this on his own. There had been too many close calls, too many times all his work would have all been for nothing.

Inconsistently, Sam remembered that he wasn't alone in his suffering. He wasn't the only one mourning Dean. Castiel too was hurt by Dean's loss, he was just as willing to try anything to learn what happened as well. Although, Sam was a bit reluctant to bring him along. Every time he would talk to Cas, Sam would have to wait for almost a full minute before Castiel's coughing fit ended. The fading grace was getting to him. But that didn't stop Sam from bringing Cas in on a potential case. If Cas wanted to help. Sam wasn't going to deny it.

Demons seemed to believe that they were invincible now, they didn't bother trying to cover their bloody, gory tracks. Demons meant potential answers about Dean or Crowley. Ever since his failure to show up when Sam summoned him, he had his suspicions about Crowley's involvement in Dean's disappearance.

The methods that Sam used to acquire information were- questionable, and brutal to say the least. He had become immune to the sounds of screaming, or the empty threats demons would make. All in all, they were beginning to bore him. His only interest was finding his brother, and may the costs be damned. The costs, the consequences, Sam himself, they were all damned.

Damned or not, Sam wasn't giving up. After locating a potential hunt, Sam figured it to be a nest of demons raising a little hell. With a purpose, Sam pulled out his phone and let his finger linger for a moment, debating whether to call Cas in or not. He'd been alone for a long time, getting assistance should have been an easy decision, but Sam was a Winchester. That meant he'd do it his own way until it proved to be a mistake. Knowing Cas would have his head for overlooking him, Sam chose to make the call.

"Sam?" Came the strained voice from the other end of the call. It pained Sam to hear Castiel so weak.

"Hey, Cas. How you feeling?"

"I'm doing fine." The on-cue coughing fit seemed to contradict his statement. "Have you found anything out about Dean yet?"

Typical. Ignoring his own needs for the sake of helping others. Castiel truly was an honourary Winchester. "Not yet." Sam answered. "But I found a case if you're up for it. Looks like demons."

Another bout of coughing rekindled Sam's reluctance to bring Castiel along, but he couldn't take it back now.

All Castiel managed to croak out was, "Where?"

"Killings are all centred around Springfield, Missouri. You anywhere near there?"

"I-" Geez, how many coughing breaks can one guy take? "I can make it."

"Cas, if it's too far-"

"I'll be there, Sam." Not giving Sam a chance to protest any further, Castiel hung up.

Sliding into the driver's seat of one of the cars left behind in the bunker, the Impala had vanished along with Dean, he couldn't stop the memory of his last time in the Impala from barreling into his mind.

Dean's dead weight wasn't heavy or unfamiliar to Sam, but the idea of it being literal dead weight was what killed him. He'd hefted Dean's body into the backseat of his beloved car.

Repeatedly, Sam would desperately check the rearview mirror, praying to see any sign of movement from Dean. A sharp intake of air, him whispering Sam's name, hell, a simple twitch would have sufficed. Through tear stained eyes, Sam observed none of the above occurring.

In some hopeless attempt to rouse Dean, or as some kind of offering, Sam slid one of Dean's old cassette tapes into the player, hoping that somehow the melodic sounds of Led Zeppelin would bring Dean back. Even Sam knew he was kidding himself.

It was a ten hour drive back to the bunker, back to where Dean called 'home.' Ten hours of brokenly calling out Dean's name, ten hours of Sam picturing Dean singing along to his music, albeit off key, ten hours of nearly careening off the side of the road just to end the pain of losing Dean.

Besides constantly checking on Dean and trying to bargain with the universe to bring him back, Sam did something he didn't do often. He cried. He cried until his every breath choked and stuttered in his throat. He cried until a headache blurred his vision, almost getting him into a crash.

Normally, when Sam would cry, Dean would be at his side. He'd comfort him without having to utter a single word. His presence alone would offer him security that no words ever could. More than anything, Sam wanted, needed, that comfort now.

He still did. When Sam went too far, Dean was the one to pull him back. Sam really needed that. If he got his hands on a demon, there wouldn't be limits as to what he would do to get his information. He wished Dean was there to hold him back.

At least he still had Cas, despite how weak he was. Sam was actually looking forward to seeing Cas. He hadn't spoken to him since Dean d-… went missing.

Letting that thought fade away, San eased his foot on the gas, rushing towards Springfield, headfirst into another hopeless distraction at the horror that was his life. He longed to hear Dean's music again, but he couldn't bring himself to play it. It wouldn't be the same, maybe it never would.

A few hours of wishing thinking and nostalgia later, and Sam was at his destination. He checked into a hotel, and sent Cas the address, passing the time by preparing various weapons. Some were recently acquired, but equally as efficient as the old ones. He never thought he'd find himself thinking it, but damn he missed the Impala. Not to mention all the actual weapons that were being held hostage wherever the car was, but still.

Plotting exactly what he was going to do with those demons once he got his hands on them apparently kept him occupied long enough for Cas to arrive, and knock at the hotel room's door.

"Hey, Cas." Sam greeted as he opened the door for Cas. Castiel's eyes had grown heavy bags from sleep deprivation, and his skin was clammy. All in all, Castiel was deteriorating, and yet, here he was. "If you wanna get in the car, I can explain the plan on the way there."

Wordlessly, Cas nodded and headed for the car, but his small wince didn't go unnoticed by Sam. This whole time he had yet to say anything, maybe Sam really overestimated his health. Too late to turn back now though. Gathering up all the weapons, Sam followed Castiel to the car, and began to drive.

"So," Sam started describing his strategy. "Staked out the city before I found a possible place for the demons to be holing up in. Right in the middle of the murders."

"S-sounds reasonable." It had taken a moment for Castiel to get his voice working, but he still managed.

"I know there's gotta be more than one of them pulling this off, so I figure I can go in the front, and get their attention while you sneak in the back and take 'em by surprise. Think you're up for it?"

"Of course I am, Sam." His eyes told a different story. He was tired, weary, broken.

"Okay." Sam agreed, knowing he was going to have to deal with the consequences later.

The rest of the drive was filled with semi-awkward silence, not counting the harsh wheezing of Castiel's breath when he tried to hold back his coughing fits.

Eventually they arrived at the factory, supposedly closed for the night. Silently, Sam and Cas crept out of the car. Sam gave Castiel a look, and nodded a nonverbal command to get into his position. Castiel nodded back, and snuck to the back of the building.

From inside, Sam heard not at all clichéd cackling and deep throated laughter. Sam gripped the demon killing knife and holy water in his pocket, readied himself, and then barged in.

Multiple demons, at least half a dozen, whipped their heads towards him, grinning and eyes black with excitement. They charged him, and Sam flung the holy water wildly, and followed the attack with various swipes of his knife. Faces sparked orange, solidifying the demon's death.

As he busied himself with the remaining few, one demon managed to sneak up being him, and pinned his arms behind him. Struggling, Sam couldn't help but think, "Dammit, Cas, where are you?"

After receiving a few punches to his gut from another demon, Sam kicked one of his legs back, and the demon holding his arms back released him, but not before knocking the blade out of his hand, rendering him defenseless. Or so it would have believed. Sam was a Winchester, even weaponless, like hell he was giving up.

Lashing out, Sam heard bones cracking as he felt his knuckles split open when it made contact with their faces. He felt no guilt or remorse, even at the sounds of them howling in pain.

Suddenly a hand snaked out and grabbed Sam's arm, and then forced it behind his back. Before Sam had the chance to wriggle free, the demon kicked him in the back of his leg, and forced Sam to his knees, keeping his vice like grip on Sam's arm.

Unable to see a way out, Sam called out, "Cas!" Where the hell was he?!

The demon chuckled, and slowly forced Sam's arm further up his back, eliciting a pained grunt. "Little Sammy's all alone." It mocked with a grin, and tauntingly pulled on the limb again. This time Sam grit his teeth and threw his head back, determined not to give a vocal reaction.

"Cas!" He ground out again, but there was still no answer.

"Aw," the demon cooed sarcastically. "Guess that's what you get for not being his favourite Winchester, Maybe he doesn't want to save you."

"S-screw you," Sam hissed, trying to block out the pain radiating from his shoulder. It became more difficult when the arm was shoved upwards again, now on the brink of being pulled out of joint.

Finally, Sam saw Cas stumble into the warehouse and, was that blood trickling out of his mouth? Sam hoped it was from a fight with a demon, rather than Castiel hacking up his own blood.

The demon currently holding Sam smiled when it saw the angel enter. "Oops." Using its demonic strength, it yanked one last time, dislocating Sam's shoulder. It felt pride when the action made Sam scream, and crash to the ground. "Too late." It kicked Sam in the injured limb, relishing in how he cried out. "Catch you later, slowpoke." It gave the angel a mock salute, and then black smoke spewed from its meatsuit's body.

Sam continued writhing on the ground as he waited for the sparking agony in his shoulder to fade. Even worse was how it was his right arm. Hunting just got a hell of a lot more difficult.

Footsteps rushed towards him, and there were several flashing blue lights and the sound of bodies thudding, followed by the metallic chime of Castiel dropping his angel blade to the cold floor. He hurried to Sam's side. "Sam I-I'm so sorry. I heard you calling, but a demon came up behind me and-"

"D-Don't, Cas." Breathing heavily, Sam stood up, cradling his injured arm to his chest. "I-I get it."

"I-I'm very sorry about your shoulder. I didn't-"

"Just- stop, please?" Sam snapped." You don't have to keep apologizing."

"At least let me fix it."

"Just leave it alone, Cas!" Too many emotions had been building up for too long, and Sam couldn't hold back his rage anymore. And poor Castiel was the only around to dump it on. "It's over, okay? I don't need your help."

Castiel knew Sam wasn't just referring to the shoulder. Sam had lost all the confidence he had in Castiel. He knew he wouldn't be joining him on a hunt anytime soon again. "Alright then. We'll just- go our separate ways for now."

Sam's eyes softened a bit, but he still was clearly not too happy. After a sigh, he offered, "C'mon. I'll take you back."

"Your shoulder, Sam. Let me drive. You should rest."

Not having the energy for an argument, Sam simply nodded, and they got into the car, and Castiel drove off. Sam didn't mean for his thoughts to turn so callous, but he couldn't help but think, "Dean, I really miss you being with me." As harsh as it seemed to think it, Castiel was no replacement.

Sorry I made Sam kind of a d-bag at the end, but the guy's desperate, lonely, sad, angry, and his shoulder just got ripped out of its socket, cut him some slack. Once again, Happy Birthday Air Guitar Pixie. Y'all could give her a present by reading and reviewing one of her many fabulous stories (and maybe this one too if y'all have the time) such as Batman, Fix Yourself, and a her newest one Midnight Train. Go check them all out, and carry on my wayward sons!