I was sitting near Sam in the Bunker library when I heard him sigh. We were researching – continuing to research – the Mark of Cain in an attempt to save Dean. I was making my way through a massive amount of books; Sam was perusing books and perusing his computer and perusing his copious notes.
And then I heard him sigh. He sounded deeply distressed, as though he discovered more bad news on his computer.
"What?"
He looked at me, surprised, as though he'd forgotten I was in the room with him.
"I just – " He gestured to the computer. "I found an obituary. Someone I knew. Someone I met, a couple of times."
"A hunter?" I asked.
"No." At first I thought he wasn't going to inform me who it was. But he added, "Jessica's grandfather. He died New Year's Eve."
Jessica – the love of Sam's life and the reason he'd come back to hunting.
"I'm sorry."
He shrugged and started to say something and shrugged again. He kept both hands on the computer and his eyes on the screen, and even though he said, "I don't think he liked me much," with an attempt at a small laugh, I believed that the news had strongly affected him. I wanted to offer comfort to him, and there was only one comfort I could think of.
"Let me get Dean for you."
"No." Sam's reply was immediate and emphatic. "No. Dean's resting. He needs to rest. He's got enough to worry about. This isn't – he doesn't have to worry about this. This is – this is – nothing."
Well, it obviously wasn't nothing, judging by Sam's reaction to it.
"I believe Dean would want to know," I told Sam. "Despite the Mark and his reaction to it, Dean does still worry about you."
"I know he does," Sam answered, still with some emphasis. "That's why he doesn't need to know about this."
That made sense, in a Winchester way. Dean worried constantly about Sam; he didn't need more to worry about. And giving Dean one more thing to worry about Sam would conversely give Sam one more thing to worry about Dean.
And yet – there is a fine line between worry and care, and while both brothers worried about each other, they needed to care for each other. Care tempered worry because it gave them something tangible to do.
"Dean would want to know," I repeated.
"He doesn't need to know."
"Doesn't need to know what?" Dean's voice startled both of us. He had come into the library from the bedroom hallway with neither of us realizing. He looked rough - haggard, pale, disheveled. His voice was scratchy and unused. "Doesn't need to know what?" He repeated.
"Jess's grandfather," Sam offered, his voice full of regret. "He died a couple of days ago."
Dean moved immediately to stand behind Sam. He put his hand on Sam's shoulder and leaned closer to read the information on his computer screen. It was a lengthy obituary, if the time it took Dean to read it was anything to judge by.
"I'm sorry," Dean said when he was finished reading. "If we leave now, we can get there in time for the funeral."
"They don't need to see me," Sam said. He considered his computer screen and Dean considered Sam.
"We'll send them some flowers later on," he said after several moments. "Okay? They'll be happy to hear from you."
"Yeah, okay," Sam answered. He smiled. "Thanks."
"You bet. C'mon down to the kitchen now and make me a grilled cheese. What d'you say?"
"Sure, c'mon."
Sam shut his computer and together they walked to the kitchen.
The End.
A/N: RIP Edward Hermann.