November 2nd. It was November 2nd. Dean knew it, Sam knew it, but neither of them had said anything all day. Even worse, it was "set your clock back" day, so they had an extra hour to not say anything about it. Now it was late afternoon; Sam had gone to the kitchen to start making dinner and Dean was in the library not reading a gun magazine.

Thirty-one years. Somewhere out in the world, not that far from the Bunker, people in Lawrence ~ neighbors, firefighters, newscasters maybe ~ were saying, 'remember that house fire back in '83? Where that young mother burned to death in her baby's nursery? That was thirty-one years ago tonight'. Somewhere Jess's family was talking about their daughter, sister, cousin, friend; remembering a life cut much too short.

If other people were talking about the night, Dean thought he or Sam ought to broach the topic too before the long day was over. So he went into the kitchen where Sam was just closing the oven door.

"Hey, I'm making that frozen lasagna and those garlic knots, they're supposed to be good."

"Yeah, that sounds good." Dean leaned back against the cupboard across from Sam. "How're you doing?"

"Me? I'm fine."

Dean was about to automatically answer, No, you're not, but something stopped him from saying that, stopped him from assuming.

"Are you?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm okay," he amended.

And he was, Dean could tell. Sam wasn't hiding or lying or forgetting or avoiding the painful memories of today. He was – okay with them. And Dean didn't know how he felt about that.

"How're you?" Sam asked him.

Me? Fine – perfect – okay. But though the lies formed in Dean's mind, they refused to be spoken out loud.

"I don't know," he finally said and he didn't like saying it. He didn't like feeling it. "Thirty-one years, you know? All those years, every year worrying if Dad was okay, then every year worrying if you were okay after Jess. But now – "

"Dean – c'mon, man – you carried me out of that house thirty-one years ago. It's okay to put me down. Don't you think?"

It sounded selfish, it was selfish, but Dean said it anyway.

"If I'm not me, who am I?"

As soon as he said it, Dean realized it wasn't only selfish, it was insulting to Sam. But even though Sam could've called him on it– So, you're saying that unless I'm in emotional agony, you're not you? - he didn't.

"Dean, you are allowed to worry about you."

"You mean like my six week hiatus? All I did was worry about myself then."

"I mean like anybody is allowed to worry about themselves, especially when you've been through something like your –" Sam hesitated and rolled his eyes, reluctantly using the word. " – hiatus."

Dean hmpfd. "I'm just not used to it," he said, quietly.

"I know."

They stood there, silently, awkwardly, a few moments longer.

"You know," Sam said. "We can miss Mom, and Dad. I can miss Jess. But it's a good thing, isn't it, that we can miss them without – without – " He gestured vaguely, unsuccessfully looking for what he wanted to say. "Just – you need to worry about you, Dean. You need to worry about you and you need to let me worry about you, and tonight – tonight seems like the appropriate night for that to start happening."

Dean considered that.

"Yeah. I don't know. Maybe. I just – just – I guess all I can do is try, hunh?"

"It's a start," Sam said. "I think that's a good start."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. He got two bottles of beer from the fridge and handed one to Sam. "To Jess," he said.

"To Mom & Dad," Sam said.

Dean nodded and stopped halfway to taking a sip.

"To us."

The End.