You've got this, Sam heard Dean telling him that. You're ready.

Ready to lead the assault on the Brits? To walk unflinchingly into ambush and gunfire? To lead hunters to their deaths?

Yeah, Sam believed he was ready for that. He believed he 'had that'.

He didn't have this.

Mom was gone. Cas was dead. Dean was in anguish.

There was no way Sam had this.

Dean was at the table in the library, surrounded by piles of books, digging and scraping for any information about opening a portal to that alternate universe. Trying to save Mom. Needing to save Mom. Sam was taking a break from his own books and computer and was in the kitchen trying to decide what to make for lunch that Dean might actually eat.

You're ready, you've got this.

He wasn't ready. He didn't have it. Trying to help Dean was hard enough when it was physical wounds and gushing blood. When it was emotional pain and metaphorical blood? Sam had lost his metaphorical head too many times trying to help when Dean was grieving. And now, losing Mom and Cas? The blast would probably be visible from space.

You've got this. You're ready

Got what? No clue what to do for Dean, nowhere to turn, no one to ask. What did he have? What was he ready for?

It hit him, hard and immediate. What did he have? A grieving brother. What was he ready for? To do whatever he had to.

He marched to the library, marched right up to Dean and slapped closed his computer and the book he was reading.

"Dude! What the hell?"

"We're going out to get some lunch."

"Uhh – no. We're going to stay here and dig through every book until we find an answer."

"No, we're going to take an hour and get some lunch and some air. We need a break, Dean. Just an hour."

"I'm not going anywhere until I figure this out."

"Yes, you are. C'mon," Sam said and tapped Dean's shoulder. Dean surged to his feet, sending his chair tumbling across the floor, and Sam braced himself for anything, a rebuke, a punch, an insult, a plea.

"Cas is dead," Dean snapped. "Mom is trapped with evil we know and evil we probably can't even imagine and you expect me to take a break? Mom's gone. Do you even care about her?"

You're ready, you've got this.

"I care about Mom. You know I do. I care that we don't miss something because we're exhausted and working on too much caffeine and not enough food. I care about you, Dean. I care about you killing yourself for something that isn't your fault. An hour, that's all I'm asking."

Dean scowled like fire, ran a hand down his face, then tried to say something as his eyes filled with tears. "I have to – I have to get her back, Sammy. I need to get her back."

"I know. I know you do," Sam reached out to take Dean into a hug. "We'll get her back, we will. And I need to take care of you until we do. All right?" Dean didn't answer but leaned into Sam's hug like that was the only thing keeping him upright. "I've got you, Dean. I've got you."

I'm ready.

A/N: two requests for thoughts & prayers
1) Today would've been my nephew Dennis's 21st birthday and my goodness, it hurts more than I thought it would.
2) A friend of mine is having a hard time with a "family drama" and needs (lots of) prayers.

As ever - thank you!