The drive was long, and the car filled with Sam's suffering. It seemed to expand and fill every fold in the seats, every crevice, and cranny in that old car. It infused the air, making it hard for Dean and Castiel to breathe. It stole all their words, and clogged up the radio, so nothing could be heard but the pain from the back seat.

Finally, finally they pulled off the highway, just outside of Sioux Falls, and onto a long dirt road. A sign for Singer Salvage lined the drive, and Castiel felt a rush of relief. He was glad that he was mostly well again, after that last bout of sickness, for the gravel road was full of potholes making the car dip and jerk, and the gravel made a loud clanging against the body of the car. Sam was conscious enough to tense against the back of Castiel's seat every time a bump threatened to slide him on to the floor. Dean drove carefully, but there was little he could do.

Bobby's yard was as it always was, and the man himself was parked out on the porch, despite the late hour.
Dean parked the car, and got around to open the back door. Castiel got out unnoticed.

"Sam? Hey, Sam, we're here. At Bobby's." Dean's voice was soft, not at all like his normal voice. Sam roused a bit, blinked, and looked around confused.

"Dean? Cas?"

Castiel was standing close to the open door of the car, and Dean gestured back to him.

"I'm here, Cas is too. We've gotta get you inside, okay?"

Sam nodded tiredly, more aware than he'd been in hours. Dean pulled him out of the car, and upright with some help from Sam, and then both Castiel and Dean helped the taller man inside.

Bobby watched them come closer with sad eyes. "Hey, boys." He greeted when they got closer. Castiel nodded as best he could from under Sam's arm, and Dean grunted.

Sam was twitchy, and flinched at shadows, but they got him downstairs with minimal trouble. When they got to the door of the panic room, that old room that held dark memories for all of them, Sam straightened up. His eyes were clearer.

"Guys, I want to do this by myself." He murmured, and Dean nodded and stepped away, a hand held out in case the unsteady man fell. Castiel followed suit. Sam trembled, but walked into the metal room under his own power. It felt oddly symbolic, that Sam walked into this on his own. It was like he was taking back the control from Famine, for making him give in in the first place. It brought a small measure of peace to Castiel's heart.

Dean, however, kept his face downcast while he closed the door on his brother, and locked it tight. The clang did sound ominously final.

There was silence for a moment, and then Dean turned back to the stairs.

"I'm gonna get a drink." And Castiel knew that he meant something to ease the pain of listening to this a second time.

For they all knew what was coming. He heard Dean go upstairs, exchange small, tired pleasantries with Bobby, and return, holding a bottle and no glass.

"You want some?" Dean held out the whiskey, and Castiel shook his head, unable to hide the disgust at anything passing his lips ever again. On any other night, Dean would have chuckled at seeing that, but he only shrugged, and took a swallow. "More for me."

Castiel took up a position close to the door of the panic room. Dean didn't ask if or when Castiel would leave, in truth he didn't know. His stomach was settled now, and flying would probably be fine, but he didn't want to leave-not yet.

Sam was going to be in much pain for a while, and Castiel didn't want Dean to have to listen to it alone.

It wasn't long before the panic of Sam's hallucinations became loud enough to penetrate the salt encrusted iron. They were painful calls for help, pleas for Dean and Castiel and the angel's heart broke to hear them. Dean leaned against the wall, close to the stairs and as far from the room that contained Sam as possible, sipping from his drink, and not showing much on his face.

"Help!" Sam panted, crying out, clearer than before, and Castiel felt a lurch in his gut that had nothing to do with meat. "Help! Cas? Dean, if you're out there, help!"

Dean did nothing but take a swig of his bottle, his face unaffected, but his body was slumped and agonized. Sam yelled again, sounding tortured. Then Castiel watched Dean's face twitch in pain, and he closed his eyes.

"You know it's not him in there." Castiel said. He had to say something, the air was thick outside the panic room, and it seemed that all sound was a vacuum around Sam's cries. "Not really,"

Dean swallowed. Sam called out for help again. "I know." Dean said his voice rough with whiskey and grief. Castiel saw his lip tremble.

Castiel was suddenly desperate to make this better, to make Dean understand that this was not his fear of Sam relapsing, but rather an unavoidable result of the monster that they faced. He didn't want Dean blaming Sam for falling, nor himself for not preventing it. This could not be helped.

"Dean," Castiel said, urging Dean to believe him, but not sure how to voice his thoughts. "Sam just has to get it out of his system. Then he'll be-"

"Listen, I just, uh..." Dean interrupted. He worked his mouth. "I just need to get some air."

Without meeting his eyes (truly Dean hadn't made eye contact since they'd faced Famine, not really) Dean turned and headed up the stairs without another word. Castiel was left to listen to Sam's shouts and pleas alone, as Dean's footsteps faded.

"Please!" Sam cried again, and Castiel closed his eyes too. He felt guilty for it, but he willed Sam to pass out, to fall asleep, just to spare him, and those who listened. If he still had half the angelic powers he'd had a year ago, he could have sent Sam to sleep through the worst of the withdrawals, or even perhaps have taken away the symptoms altogether. Now, he could only listen and hope that helped.

Then, the part of him in tune with prayer, with Dean's prayers in particular came forward in his mind. Dean was praying, and not for him to get his "feathery ass down here" or whatever else he regularly used. Dean probably didn't even mean for him to overhear this.

"Please," Dean murmured brokenly to the sky, to God or whomever else. "I can't...I need some help." Dean sounded so lost, that Castiel wanted to immediately go to him, to do...something. But what? Castiel had been there, ready to help all day, and still Dean took no comfort from him. What could he do now? Plus, Sam was still crying out to him, and his brother, and he was someone else Castiel could not help. He bowed his head.

"Please?" Was Dean's final whisper. Castiel could take it no longer. There was nothing he could do for Sam right now, save be a witness. Perhaps there was also nothing he could do for Dean, but he could try. Was that not what friends did?

Castiel suddenly remembered something, vaguely heard as he swallowed more and more unwanted meat. Famine's rasping voice accusing Dean of being dead inside, of being empty. But Dean's prayer was not the prayer of a man with a deadened heart. Dean felt, perhaps too much, and Castiel could see it clearly. Dean needed to realise this. Castiel fluttered out of sight a moment later.

Dean was standing, limp looking and drained by the car in Bobby's yard. Castiel's heightened human senses could tell that it was colder now; the temperature had dropped since they'd arrived. Dean's breath blew out in plumes, and there were minute shivers running up and down his whole frame.

Castiel stepped closer, feeling like he was approaching a wounded wild animal.

"Dean?" He said, carefully. Dean jerked like he hadn't heard him come near, though Castiel had taken care not to be silent. The man hurriedly wiped at his face, covering any evidence of his emotional plea moments before.

"Cas," Dean's voice was gravelly and rose into alarm. "How's Sam? Is he alright?"

"He's the same as he was," Castiel told him, coming near to stand beside him. "Are you alright?"

Dean hung his head further. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Castiel didn't believe that for a moment. He clasped his hands together, not sure what to say next.

"Dean-"

"Cas, please," And Heaven help him, the please sounded just like his prayer from before. Castiel's heart twisted. "I just want to be alone..."

Castiel's shoulders slumped. Dean was facing away from him, so Castiel simply turned to go. But before he went, one thing did need to be said, even if Dean didn't want to hear it.

"Dean, I'll leave you alone if you wish. But you need to hear, Famine was wrong."

Dean glanced back at him. "What?"

"What Famine said to you. I heard it." Castiel came around the other man, tilting his head until he met Dean's eyes, reddened and anguished. Not dead. "You are not dead inside. The proof is in your heart right now. Your suffering tonight means your heart is still alive enough to feel it."

"You don't know what I'm feeling."

Castiel stepped forward, his urgency surprising himself and Dean. "No, I suppose I don't. But I do know what it means to feel nothing, to be dead inside. And Dean, you are feeling. By that very fact, it means you are human, still and nothing else."

Dean did not visibly react, but Castiel could see him taking it in. That had to be enough.

Castiel spread his wings and appeared back in the hallway outside the panic room. Sam's shouts had quieted to the occasional sob, and peeking in, Castiel saw Sam still curled on the small bed, shaking but alright for the moment. The effects of Famine's curse would soon fade for Sam, as they had for him.

Castiel's thoughts turned to Dean. He had wondered why it seemed Dean was not affected by the horseman's powers.

Dean had seemed the same as ever, though outside his craving, Castiel could remember Dean turning down a burger, and Sam watching his brother with sharper than usual eyes. Perhaps he'd been wrong in his assumption that Dean had evaded Famine's influence. Perhaps, and Castiel's eyes widened as he fully realized, Dean had craved, not food or love or attention, but numbness. Nothingness. It would explain why Famine had felt no life within his soul, and also why Dean was so anguished now. Those feelings had come flooding back with Famine's death, and now Dean was drowning in them.

"Oh, Dean..."

Sam's voice renewed in volume, and Castiel felt a wave of weariness. Sam was beyond his help for now, and Dean refused to be comforted. Castiel leaned backwards until he was supported by the wall, then helplessly raised his eyes to the ceiling. He felt useless, standing and listening. But it seemed that was all he could do, falling angel that he was. He let out a sigh, and rubbed his brow, considering sending a prayer upwards as Dean had done...but then only closed his eyes. Sam's calls echoed in his ears, as Dean's prayer did in his mind.

He could answer neither.

A/N: This is the final chapter, I hope you all enjoyed it. I tried to show how the events of this episode really affected each of the characters, and if you think about it became a sort of catalyst for the rest of the series. Sam fell off the wagon, and so became determined to not give in. Cas was reminded of his falling angel state, and because of his failure to be stronger, he let Dean down. And Dean, *sigh*, Dean watched as his brother "gave in" and as Cas gets weaker, he sees how their path of resistance that they're on is just killing them slowly. Dean begins to realize that they are pretty hopeless, and moves towards his decision to say yes. I focused on Castiel this time, but he focuses on the others. There will be more along this line (ie Missing scenes, character studies of various parts of the series, my meta turned into fic, and lots of Cas POV) so if that's your thing, look out for more :)