[ He watches the smoke curl up, slipping between Cas' lips like ghosts in the shadows, curling its way upwards until it dissipates.

This is an uncomfortable conversation; he's had it with himself before, in a dream and he looks away from Cas, down into his bowl to take a bite he barely tastes. Every piece of his identity had tied into his father - his car, his music, his favorite jacket. Hell, he still hears his old man's voice in his head;

Watch out for Sammy. Look after your little brother, boy.

He had nothing outside of Sam. What did he want, growing up? It's impossible to answer, because his life revolved around his fathers sick obsession that ruined his fucking life. ]

I dunno, Cas. Maybe some Hot Wheels. I was a kid. I was four when Mom died. I don't remember much before that, and after, I took care of Sammy.