Sam dies on a Tuesday. Peaceful, though his body has been emaciated and tortured for months. He wasn't to the point of begging for death, but if he had a pathetic bone in his body, it hadn't shown its full colors. The demons who took him away from his brother had kept him just on the edge of dying for over a year. When they finally killed him, one of them held his hair back and, Jesus—Sam had tears in his eyes when they sliced his throat. A silent thank you for finally bringing his suffering to its end.
Dean gets the call on a Wednesday. An old friend of their father's had been tracking down this group of demons for weeks, and when he finally found their lair, all that was left was Sam's body. Still fresh from the look of it. First thing he did was call Dean, and tried not to grimace when he heard the other man smashing glass, or anything else he could get his hands around on the other end of the call. A year—and finally when someone finds his baby brother, it's to tell him that Sam didn't make it out after all. He blames himself, after all, what self-respecting brother wouldn't?
Sam is buried on a Thursday. Dean doesn't allow himself to cry until afterwards, keeps a straight face while digging his brother's grave, but he's not able to bring himself to say anything in his honor. Sam would've liked it that way, anyhow. No groveling over his death, just bury the body and get out of there; an open and shut case. And if Dean drinks himself to sleep that night, well, it's his own way of grieving.
Dean kills himself on a Friday. The guilt over not being able to find his brother before it was too late is enough on its own. Mix that with way too much whiskey and a loaded gun, well. They always said there was no Dean without Sam.
Sam finds Dean on a Saturday. He's sitting in the Impala, fingers drumming on the steering wheel and humming along to Zeppelin's classics. Sam doesn't waste a moment, climbing into the passenger side like he's done a million times over, smiling a little at the creak of the door he'd missed for too long. Dean doesn't notice until Sam curls against his side like he did when he was little, the juxtaposition in size making the whole ordeal that much funnier, and the smile on Dean's face is only because of the humor in the situation, not because Sam's head is tucked safely under his jaw. They don't speak for a few moments, and it's Sam that speaks first, voice filled with nothing but joy, and Dean is practically buzzing from hearing it. "Welcome home, Dean."
