Author's Notes: Kay, so that beer-disappearing thing has been tentatively confirmed by Sera to foreshadow something, particularly something pertaining to either Cas or Bobby. Question is, which one was it? Both characters were taken out in such a way that there's wiggle room. We never saw Bobby's final decision and Cas just kind of disappeared into a reservoir.

So this story is meant to be ambiguous. Which one (or both?) are friendly-ghost haunting our boys? What do you think?

Summary: 7x11 slight spoilers. What exactly did happen to Dean's beer?

Can't Reach You But I'm Trying

He'd been trying to get a hold of this insubstantial form thing for awhile now and nothing had been working. Beyond some weakly billowing curtains every now and then, nothing took. Watching the boys through their grief at their latest loss had been torture of a special kind. Sam was slipping silently further into the memories of the Cage and Dean was….well, he wasn't good.

The last straw had been seeing the man pick up yet another beer, arguing with his equally grief-stricken brother about pretty much everything: calling up old contacts to break open wounds not even scabbed over, following a set of numbers that seemed an obsession to Dean, and whether or not to track down a suspicious call from a young girl on one of Bobby's old phones that sounded in need of help.

Frustrated, he'd ranted and raved like a mad man. He knew they couldn't see or hear him, but he'd carried on, yelling at them till his alive self would have been blue in the face. He'd turned his back, huffing in grief of his own, feeling crushed under the helplessness. Maybe this was how human ghosts turned into malevolent spirits as he'd always heard…

"Hey, thanks for drinking my entire beer."

He looked back at the two brothers. Dean was holding an empty beer bottle with a sour look on his face.

"I didn't touch your beer. Mine's right there." Sam gestured to his own full bottle on the table. He looked at his brother worriedly, but bit back any real comment. "You probably drank it without noticing."

Dean didn't look convinced, casting suspicious looks around as if the damn chair had up and drank it. Sam was supposed to be the paranoid one at this point, but Dean never was too far behind his brother.

"…Right."

There was something light in his chest as he realized that he just might know how the drink had vanished. He had been trying and praying and wishing for it after all. He noticed a tiredness he hadn't felt since he was corporeal. Something had sapped a bit of his energy. A slow smile replaced his initial skeptical expression. He'd been trying forever to give those two some sign they weren't alone, but nothing had worked. As time went on, his thoughts had turned from simply trying to tell them he was still around to worry over their physical well being. And as far as Dean was concerned, drinking was the most present threat to the older Winchester.

Had he finally been able to…yeah. Yes, he was sure. This was progress.

The boys were packed for their respective missions. Dean grabbed his keys and waited for Sam at the door, rolling his eyes.

"C'mon, Sammy. You're always the last one out."

Sam looked annoyed, but it was a light moment between them, appreciated by both. Dean's lips twitched into a pitiful facsimile of a smile, but it was genuine. Then he walked out, yelling at Sam to remember to lock the damn door.

Sam was shoving the last of his supplies in his duffle when he stiffened suddenly, frozen. Taking a few deep breaths and closing his eyes, Sam rubbed at the deep scar tissue on his hand, murmuring a few words to himself. It lasted only a few heartbreaking moments, but it seemed like forever.

These two were his. He'd been inducted into the very exclusive Winchester family unit and he had never had any desire to leave it, even beyond death. This was his family and they were suffering so badly and he could do nothing. Well, he was sure as hell gonna work on that. It was pretty much all he could do.

He liked to think he had lingered like this because those two needed him more now than they ever had, both spiraling into something somehow darker than any global apocalypse had ever been. But the fact was, he had done this just as much for himself as them.

Things had been left unfinished between them and he could never 'rest' or 'move on' until he knew those he loved more than his own existence were…well, not happy, didn't know if that was ever in the cards for them, but at least managing to stumble through another day and then the one after that.

His eyes were a bit cloudy and he thought it was odd that someone in his state could tear up at all. But then again, the Winchesters had always had more of an effect on him than he'd ever consciously allowed. They just kind of squirmed in under your skin and stayed there. They were funny like that. You didn't set out to care about them, you just did.

Sam had straightened, rolling his shoulders determinedly. 'Yes. That. Keep going. Keep fighting.' He smiled sadly and spoke softly, words falling on deaf ears-

"I'm here."

Or maybe not so deaf. Sam was halfway out the door and he stopped cold. Afraid the boy was seeing Lucifer again, worry crept in. Sam's episodes….unnerved him, fearing he would only be able to watch as Sam slipped away, back into the Cage.

But Sam's eyes…he didn't look afraid, more confused, wide eyed. Sam looked to his left, eyes just past him and then, then directly at him. He held his breath in anticipation. Could Sam really know he was here? Demon blood or no, Sam was psychic, had always been empathic; fitting with the sweet and gentle nature he'd had as a child, the dispostion that had been blasted away in a wash of revenge, destiny, and death. Could he really…?

Sam opened his mouth, eyes uncertain.

"Come on already, Sammy!"

Dean's voice snapped the other hunter out of his trance and he was suddenly looking past again. Sam glanced around once more, but finally shook his head quickly, dismissinve

Sam left and pulled the cabin door shut behind him. He'd follow eventually, but right now he was as frozen as Sam had been. Shock and dread and hope welling inside him. Before there was demon blood, Sam had still been special. If he could just get a handle on this, just be able to let Sam somehow sense him, maybe see him…

Well, even if he could manage that, he'd have to wait until Sam was perfectly fine (for him anyway), lest he be taken for another trick of the Devil's. But this was good. This was progress. Hope for the hopeless.

That he'd see his family, hopeful and whole, once again.