“How do you do it?” Cas asks Sam one day, his eyes red-raw from lack of sleep, jaw dusted in two-day old stubble. “How do you live? How do you stand it?”
Sam’s face is partially obscured by yesterday’s newspaper, but he peers around the edge and quirks one eyebrow at Cas. “I dunno,” he says, and shrugs. “You have to figure out what kind of person you are first, I guess.”
“And how might one go about that?”
Sam looks at him then, really looks. He folds the paper into a square and sets it on the tabletop. “You good, Cas?” he inquires, concern budding in the corners of his eyes.
Cas nods abortively, wrings his hand together. “Yes, I–“ he pauses, sighs. “No, actually.”
Sam shuffles forward in his chair, curls his mouth into a gentle smile. “What’s on your mind?”