Right now, Dean doesn't know what's comforting. Doesn't even know what to begin to ask for to make anything feel better, and so he tells himself to ask for nothing, to look normal, to look like he's just lost his brother for too many months to count. What would he have done if Sam had just died, what would his life had looked like--
But that's not how this works because Sam knows him. Knows that the last thing he would've ever done is sit on his ass and let Sam stay gone. He doesn't know how to do this without his brother, and while John had filled in the space Sam had left behind for four long years, Sam is his brother again, and has been for long enough that he can't handle the separation. And so his life would've been a desperate attempt to bring his brother back, some sane way, using methods that didn't involve voodoo and black magic. He wouldn't have tried to raise a zombie but he would've looked for something, because sitting around existing without his brother just wasn't any kind of a possibility. Which was why he sold his soul so damn fast. It was the easiest way around it, the only thing he could think to do, the only option he had.
So there's nothing else to it. Dean doesn't truly know how to fake this to the best of any ability, apart from trying to convince himself to make it seem as if he hadn't gotten Sam back yet. That his months were spent conversing with demons in a spiraled attempt to earn back his brother's life while simultaneously hunting for Yellow Eyes. It's the best he can think of on the spot, anything too much more elaborate and he'd be caught in his lies. Keep it simple, keep it pained, keep it away from his own grief.
"I mean- You made it here. You obviously made it back somewhere, otherwise you wouldn't be trying to live out your days as Bilbo. I know you-" -died, say the word Dean. Say it. Say it. Say it. "I know it happened, but you're here now, aren't you? Might not be where we both want you to be, but you're here. That means something, right?"
He wanted it to sound like he was grasping at straws, his voice strained with the kind of tension that came halfway through a hunt, when nerves were fraying and there were no more explanations left to give. It was sheer desperation, trying to put across that they could figure this out and bring Sam home with him, however they could make it work. But Sam's next question makes him tilt his head, not entirely sure Sam's implying, and if he's already cottoned on to Dean's lie and figured that something must have happened during the 'months' he was gone.
no subject
But that's not how this works because Sam knows him. Knows that the last thing he would've ever done is sit on his ass and let Sam stay gone. He doesn't know how to do this without his brother, and while John had filled in the space Sam had left behind for four long years, Sam is his brother again, and has been for long enough that he can't handle the separation. And so his life would've been a desperate attempt to bring his brother back, some sane way, using methods that didn't involve voodoo and black magic. He wouldn't have tried to raise a zombie but he would've looked for something, because sitting around existing without his brother just wasn't any kind of a possibility. Which was why he sold his soul so damn fast. It was the easiest way around it, the only thing he could think to do, the only option he had.
So there's nothing else to it. Dean doesn't truly know how to fake this to the best of any ability, apart from trying to convince himself to make it seem as if he hadn't gotten Sam back yet. That his months were spent conversing with demons in a spiraled attempt to earn back his brother's life while simultaneously hunting for Yellow Eyes. It's the best he can think of on the spot, anything too much more elaborate and he'd be caught in his lies. Keep it simple, keep it pained, keep it away from his own grief.
"I mean- You made it here. You obviously made it back somewhere, otherwise you wouldn't be trying to live out your days as Bilbo. I know you-" -died, say the word Dean. Say it. Say it. Say it. "I know it happened, but you're here now, aren't you? Might not be where we both want you to be, but you're here. That means something, right?"
He wanted it to sound like he was grasping at straws, his voice strained with the kind of tension that came halfway through a hunt, when nerves were fraying and there were no more explanations left to give. It was sheer desperation, trying to put across that they could figure this out and bring Sam home with him, however they could make it work. But Sam's next question makes him tilt his head, not entirely sure Sam's implying, and if he's already cottoned on to Dean's lie and figured that something must have happened during the 'months' he was gone.
"... How did what happen?"