In hindsight, he should have seen it coming.
If he hadn't been so angry.
If he hadn't been so distracted.
If he hadn't been so wrapped up in his own pain.
If he had looked at a fucking calendar, he would have seen it coming.
He should have seen it coming.
But he hadn't.
"No!"
Dean startled at the holler as it echoed through the bunker, nearly dropping the full glass of whiskey he had been cradling in his hand. He was alarmed, because he hadn't been expecting it (like he should have been), not because he didn't know what it was. Dean had an intricate understanding of his little brother, which included what he sounded like upon waking from a nightmare.
Sam used to simply gasp awake, however since the cage, crying out was a new option. Dean made his way down the hall toward his brother's room, wondering what it was that had tormented Sam's dreams this time. The cage was always a likely suspect, but Dean could usually see those nightmares coming, like he had after Sam had been fucking tortured by that British-bitch. The kid had a few bad dreams after that, but not for the past few nights. Mom had left, but Sam hadn't had any nightmares about that, not that Dean had noticed anyways. Plus, your mother walking out on you was the kind of thing that hurt, and maybe even scarred, but it wasn't exactly night-terror material.
Dean sighed running his hand through his hair as he approached his brother's room, it was only that lingering thought of Mary that sparked the hunter's next idea. He slid his phone from his jeans, lighting up the screen long enough to get a look at the date, before returning the device to his pocket.
November 2nd.
Fuck.
How had he not seen this coming?
Sam tried to regain his bearings, forcing his breath to slow as he sat up in bed.
"Dammit." He cursed, tossing the covers aside. He knew there would be no getting back to sleep after that, he wouldn't be able to lay down again without feeling blood drip onto his forehead.
"Mom or Jess?"
Sam looked up to see his older brother stepping into his room.
"Both." He rasped, closing his eyes for a moment, finding no solace in what greeted him in the darkness, the image of a bleeding blonde woman burning alive on the ceiling. Sam quickly forced his eyes back open.
"Two for one, lucky you."
The words may have been phrased casually, but Sam could easily detect the despair in Dean's tone. He hated it just as much as Sam, probably even more.
Sam sat on the edge of his bed, bare feet resting on the floor as he stared over at the older man.
Dean looked exhausted, but he hadn't even changed into sleep-clothes yet, and the glass in his hand told Sam that the older man had yet to even attempt sleep. Sam sighed inwardly. Their mother's departure had hurt him, in more ways than he thought possible, but it had devastated his big brother. And Sam couldn't seem to find a way to make it better for Dean, he wasn't even sure there was a way.
"You want to do something?" Dean inquired after a moment.
"What?" Sam asked, trying to climb out of his thoughts and back into reality.
"Do you want to do something?" Dean repeated, patiently.
Dean was always patient with Sam. Sure, he bitched when the younger man took long showers, and he whined when Sam took his time reading, but Dean never lost his temper or became genuinely frustrated. Even after the nightmares, when Sam would often be a little spaced-out and scattered - his mind struggling to forget the merciless memories of the past, and focus back into the present - Dean would never snap at him or grow aggravated, no matter how many times he had to repeat himself. The older hunter no longer had patience for much in life, but he always did for Sam. And the youngest Winchester never stopped being grateful for that.
Sam squinted at his brother, his gaze traveling down to the object in his hand.
"Not that." He responded softly, nodding at the glass.
Dean looked down, not realizing for a moment what his little brother was indicating, once he did comprehend, he returned his eyes to Sam. The kid kept glancing between Dean and the drink, an apprehensive expression lining his tired face. Dean understood it immediately. November 2nd, was always a bad day for John Winchester, and more often then not he had spent it drowning himself in booze. The excessive consumption of liquor tended to do one of two things to their father. It made him sullen and miserable, or angry and volatile. If he didn't have a hunt to recklessly throw himself into, he would go off to the nearest bar on a bender, or sit in the motel room and brood. When Dean had started drinking (well before the legal age), he could remember Sam being weird about, becoming anxious when the older boy had so much as a beer in his hand. Dean had originally thought it was because the kid was such a stickler for rules and frowned on the law that was being broken, it took a few months for the teen to realize that it was more than that; and it took one hell of a chick-flick moment to get Sam to open-up about it. Dean had discovered that Sam was worried that his older brother would someday make the same mistakes that John had. He would drink to cope, drink to forget, and when he had too much he would become unstable, just as their dad did after having a few too many. Dean had quickly assured the young boy that he would never do that. He additionally promised to never drink on November 2nd, a promise he had kept until Sam went off to Stanford.
"Don't look at me like that, dude. I didn't even have chance to take so much as a damn sip yet. The glass is still full, ain't it?" Dean pointed out, making a show of displaying the cup.
Sam's lips twitched, but his anxiety didn't dissipate in the least.
When Dean had the mark, Sam hadn't failed to notice how his brother had drowned himself in alcohol, something he had never done at any point in Sam's life. Not even when Dad died. Sure, on a rare occasion Dean had too many, but he had never used liquor as a consistent coping method, he had never lost himself in it, and Sam knew that a huge reason for that was because Dean had promised him that he wouldn't. That had changed when Dean had the mark, and ever since then Sam watched his brother's booze-intake a little more closely than usual.
It wasn't like Sam wouldn't understand if Dean wanted to drown away the pain, specifically on this date, and especially after what happened with their mom. But he would be lying if he said it didn't scare him.
"Sammy."
The younger man tore his gaze from the whiskey and looked back up at his brother.
Dean was frowning, he looked unhappy, but not perturbed, Sam also didn't fail to notice the compassion shining through the green eyes.
"I forgot what day it was. Okay?" He stated softly, discarding the glass onto the desk and stepping away.
Dean could practically see the unease pour off the younger man.
"You don't have to. I mean…today, and then all that happened this week, I understand if you want to…" Sam faded off, gesturing at the liquor.
"Nah, I'm good, Sam." Dean said with a dismissive shake of his head.
"Seriously, Dean. I know you promised, but that was like forever ago—
"Doesn't matter. A promise is a promise."
Sam smiled at the comment, finding it surprisingly reassuring.
"Come on."
"What?" Sam questioned, squinting up at his brother, who was gesturing to the door.
Dean smirked, shaking his head at the confused puppy-dog look he was receiving. Sam was always a little slow on the uptake after having a bad dream.
"Come on, buddy. Let's get out of here." Dean prompted, snagging Sam's shirt and tugging on it until the kid was up and making use of those giraffe legs of his.
"Where we going?" Sam asked, as he obediently shuffled after his big brother.
"Sweater." Dean instructed, stopping at the door, his eyebrows rising as he felt the uncoordinated sasquatch stumble into him.
The younger Winchester cocked his head.
Dean couldn't help but chuckle.
"Grab your sweater, space-cadet."
Sam frowned, grabbing his hoodie off the end of his bed, and following his brother out into the hall.
Sam trailed after Dean all the way to the garage, watching curiously as his older brother climbed behind the wheel.
"Come on, Sam." Dean ordered, a smile pulling at his lip as he stared at the lanky kid still standing perplexed at the front of the Impala. Sam's sweater was half on, his hair was all over the place, and when he rubbed tiredly at his eyes, he looked all of five years old.
How the hell could anyone ever ditch this kid?
Dean's heart clenched at the thought, and he struggled to push the rising fury away as he watched Sam drop gracelessly into the passenger seat.
"We going on a drive?" He asked, looking expectantly in Dean's direction.
"No, dude, we are just going to sit and stare at the garage." Dean shot back dryly, starting his baby and guiding her out into the night.
"But it's like two in the morning."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Were you planning on getting some sleep?" Dean inquired knowingly.
Sam rolled his eyes, but didn't bother arguing. He knew his brother knew him well enough to know there was no way in hell he'd be able to fall asleep after the nightmare he had experienced. He observed his brother for a moment, frowning at the dark bags beneath the older man's eyes. He didn't know what had kept Dean up half the night, though he could probably make a pretty accurate guess, but it wasn't fair that he had to stay up for the rest of it because of Sam.
"Doesn't mean you can't get any." He suggested, hoping perhaps Dean would admit to some level of exhaustion.
As per usual, Sam Winchester was completely out of luck.
Dean shook his head. He wouldn't be able to sleep knowing that Sam was awake dwelling on the traumas of the past, or the present for that matter. Besides, all Dean had done most of the night was stare at the glass of whiskey and wonder what he could have done differently, how he could have made Mary stay. It was a useless train of thought that wouldn't lead anywhere pleasant.
Dean shook his head to try and clear it, as he directed the car down the road.
"That's my girl." He praised, caressing the steering-wheel, proud the Impala was still running smoothly so soon after being t-boned in the street.
The man on his right released a sarcastic snort, but Dean didn't miss the way Sam ran his hand lovingly over the dashboard.
Dean smirked, Sam could bitch and moan all he wanted, but the older man knew that his little brother loved the car just as much as he did.
He felt content being in the Impala with his little brother.
He was glad that the kid was back up at the front, right next to Dean, right where he belonged.
Where he would always belong.
"Where are we going?" Sam asked, not sounding pushy, but content and relaxed.
He felt at home with Dean in the Impala.
He always had.
He didn't know where they were going, and honestly, he couldn't care less.
He would go wherever Dean wanted.
He would follow him anywhere.
Throughout his entire life, Sam had never felt more at home or at peace than when he was with his big brother.
He trusted Dean more than anyone, he always had.
Dean was the only person Sam had ever truly been able to depend on.
He was Sam's anchor, stone number one.
He was his family.
Dean was everything to Sam.
And Sam would stay by his side no matter what.
No matter where they were headed or how long the journey.
Sam would be there.
Always.
And maybe – just maybe – that would make things a little better for his big brother.
Because, more than anything, Sam wanted things to be better for Dean.
He wanted his brother to receive all the happiness he damn-well deserved.
And Sam hoped that one day he would be able to find a way to make that happen.
But for now, well for now, all he could do was be there.
And maybe for now, on November 2nd, that would be enough.
Sam prayed that it was enough.
"Wherever you want." Dean replied.
"What?"
"Wherever you want. I got cash, baby's got a full tank, we've got nowhere to be. We can go anywhere you want to." The older hunter declared, glancing to his right, smiling at his brother's wide-eyed expression.
He wasn't kidding. He would drive Sam anywhere he wanted.
They could go all the way across the damn country if Sam wanted to.
Because it was November 2nd, and like all the ones before it, Dean would spend the day trying to make things just a faction better for his little brother.
He couldn't fix it all.
Dean was all too aware of that fact.
He hadn't been able repair Sam's motherless-childhood.
He hadn't been able to fix their father.
He hadn't been able to bring back Jess.
Hell, he hadn't even been able to get their mom to stick around.
But he could drive.
He could pay for gas, go to a movie, or even a fucking museum, if that was what Sam wanted.
He could do something to make his kid smile on this fucked-up anniversary.
And if he could make Sam happy, that would be enough for Dean.
That had always been enough for Dean.
As it should be for any parent.