Never give up. Today is hard, tomorrow will be worse, but the day after tomorrow will be sunshine ~ Jack Ma
Missing/tag scene to Soul Survivor.
Sam let himself into the Bunker from the garage. He carried a brown paper grocery bag in his left arm and the handles of an overfull blue plastic bag labeled 'Best Burgers by Gumm!' in the hand of his braced right arm.
The library and map room were dark, lit only from the lights in the hallway. No Cas, no Dean. He didn't call out. He didn't want to talk to anybody.
He went to the kitchen, pushed the light switch on with his shoulder, set his bags onto the closest table then sighed and looked around. The sink was full of dishes, the fridge was empty of food, the trash can overflowed with coffee filters and fast food containers, and a layer of dust covered everything.
He'd clean it tomorrow. Dean hated the kitchen being a mess, Sam would clean it tomorrow.
Maybe the day after.
He turned back to the table. His shoulder ached and the pain in his elbow burned down into his forearm and fingers. He massaged his arm but it didn't help. He knew he should take an extra dose of extra-strength painkillers, but he also knew that he'd be dosing himself with more than enough whiskey soon enough. No point in wasting the painkillers.
A footstep behind him made him turn. Dean had come into the kitchen. They both stopped.
"Oh," Dean said, "I didn't – "
"I – yeah, I -" Sam gestured to the bags on the table. "I just -"
"Yeah. Yeah." Dean turned away and walked toward the door.
"Hey, uh – " Sam picked up the blue plastic bag and held it toward Dean who had turned back. "I – here."
"Oh," Dean took the bag. "Yeah. I – yeah."
"Yeah," Sam echoed. He clenched and stretched his right hand a few times. It didn't help the pain. "I thought -"
"Yeah, thanks. Are you –?"
"Uh, no," Sam waved a hand at the bag of groceries. "I'm gonna – and then -"
"Eat?"
"Drink."
Dean stared into his bag a moment, then bundled the handles closed in his hand. "You know -" He stopped and made a vague gesture to his arm.
"I know."
"Yeah," Dean said. He gestured with the bag of food. "You should eat."
Sam thought of eating, pictured eating anything. It turned his stomach. "Maybe tomorrow." Maybe the day after.
Dean nodded and lifted the bag a little, "Well, thanks." He turned to the door to leave and Sam turned to the groceries to put them away. The sooner the groceries were taken care of and the sooner Dean was taken care of the sooner Sam could drink himself into a leaden sleep that hopefully wouldn't let any dreams through.
Putting the groceries away seemed a herculean task, though, even if he'd had two working arms. He stared at the bag, waiting for his brain and his body to connect and remember the simple process of putting cans on shelves and perishables in the fridge.
Then Dean was there. He set the fast food bag on the table and began taking the groceries out of the paper bag.
"Hey, no, don't. I can –" Sam said, his brain and his body reconnecting enough to put a hand out toward Dean. But Dean didn't notice, or didn't care, or didn't feel like answering. He filled his arms with the groceries and had them put away in a few minutes while Sam only watched and didn't even try to think of anything beyond the fact that Dean was back. He had Dean back.
"Thanks," he finally said, tried to say, when Dean was down to the last two things to put away, a carton of milk and a box of cereal. But he didn't put them away.
"You should eat."
Sam folded the grocery bag for something to do that wasn't looking at Dean. "Your food's gonna be cold."
Dean didn't move, didn't answer. Sam looked up and they stared at each other a beat or two.
"You should eat," Dean said again and it wasn't an order or a request, it was more of a need, he needed Sam to eat.
Sam needed the same thing. "So do you."
Dean sighed and his shoulders dropped in resignation. He set the milk and cereal on the table and picked up his bag of food. "Thanks," he said again, and that sounded, too, like a need, or a question, or a prop holding a door open that he wanted Sam to walk through.
"Yeah," Sam answered. "I'm glad – " He swallowed, trying to think if he was glad of too many things, or not enough things, or just one thing in particular. "Yeah."
"Yeah," Dean said. He walked up the couple of steps that led to the kitchen door and the hallways and bedrooms beyond. "You should eat," he said one last time before walking away.
Sam stuck the folded grocery bag into the paper bag holder next to the fridge and put away the milk and cereal. "Maybe tomorrow."
Maybe the day after.
The End.