WARNING: Spoilers for season 12 in general, especially for 12x03 "The Foundry".
Author's Note: I realized this November 2nd was going to happen right after the extremely emotional events of 12x03 "The Foundry" so I decided to write about the brothers' experience of this important anniversary in the aftermath of that episode. (Obviously I haven't seen 12x04 "American Nightmare" yet, since it won't air until tomorrow, so if anything happens in that episode which entirely invalidates anything I wrote in this story, please forgive me and just consider this an AU. lol) Anyway, this takes place on November 2nd, 2016, between 12x03 "The Foundry" and 12x04 "American Nightmare".
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.
Dean awoke feeling very heavy and when he turned his phone's alarm off he found himself staring at the screen bitterly.
He had known today was coming.
Yesterday had been November 1st, and much as he wished the time-space continuum would have bent around his needs to spare him facing today's date, the universe had never shown him such kindness even within the realm of possibility.
So he had known today was coming.
Today, November 2nd of 2016. The anniversary of November 2nd, 1983. A day of the year which had always been sad. A struggle. A reminder of a mother lost and two sons who mourned her.
This year it was a slap in the face filled with irony and frustration and a deeper, fresher, more confusing variety of mourning.
Because Mary Winchester wasn't dead anymore but she was gone all the same. She had walked out on her sons, right out the bunker's door.
Dean had tried understanding her decision, he and Sam both had, but feelings of betrayal and disappointment were not ideal partners for empathy and in the end the men were still finding it difficult to see past a sense of abandonment.
Today's date merely poured salt into the wound.
In a lemon juice mood to go with that salt, and still bearing an invisible weight he couldn't seem to shrug off, Dean left his room and made his way to the kitchen.
There was still some bacon in the fridge but for the first time in his life he left his favorite morning food untouched. He grabbed butter instead and went to make toast. He had never eaten toast much in his life. It wasn't a fixture of his early childhood breakfasts and he'd never grown attached.
It seemed like a better choice today.
Sam wasn't in the kitchen, but there was fresh coffee in the pot and Dean guessed he had awoken later than his sibling like normal.
When his toast was finished Dean smeared a generous portion of butter onto the two slices and threw them on a plate, carrying it with him out to the library where he suspected he would locate Sam. Sure enough the younger man was seated at one of the desks there, hunched over his laptop staring at the screen with an intense sort of bleakness, and Dean instantly recognized that his brother had paid attention to the date too.
"Find any cases?" Dean asked as a way of announcing his presence. He knew Sam wasn't interested in looking up the British Men of Letters today. The kid had to be seeking something active. Something more distracting. Dean found himself hoping to hear a "yes" next. Such a distraction might alleviate some of the burden from his state of mind.
"No," Sam replied, voice one part apathy and one part exhaustion. As he glanced up from the bright screen the shadows under his eyes revealed themselves and Dean wondered how many pots of coffee came before the one he'd seen in the kitchen. Maybe Sam had been hoping the space-time continuum would bend for him to make yesterday last forever.
"Want any company?" Dean offered, not addressing what was really going on, but giving Sam the opportunity to if he wanted it.
Sam glanced at the toast in his brother's hand for a moment longer than he typically would have before saying, "Sure." It was clear he wasn't going to address the situation either.
Dean ate his breakfast, Sam looked for a hunt. They both nearly decided to go check out the report in which the bank robber claimed he had no memory of his crimes, but it was too flimsy an assertion even for their leniency with investigative criteria.
Sam eventually gave up on trying to find them a job. He switched over to pulling Men of Letters Files, burying himself in the less engaging task of trying to unearth any record of the British Chapterhouse. Usually Sam would ask for help, chiding Dean for not contributing to the tedious routine of file-searching. Today Sam said nothing when Dean left him to it. They both knew Dean's mind wandered during boring activities, and where it would journey today was equally transparent.
Dean went back to his room and pulled up Netflix on his own laptop. He clicked a recommended show at random and tried to care what it was. Hours later he still didn't.
By evening Dean wasn't feeling any lighter and a small square of ancient paper propped up against the lamp on his desk kept trying to draw his attention. He contemplated moving it but that required acknowledging it and today that felt like a bad idea. Ignoring it, he meandered back out toward the library and Sam. He was pretty sure they weren't mentioning what this day was, but he could still make the offer one more time for his sibling just by being near.
In the library he discovered a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels and a tipsy little brother, and Dean was instantly glad he'd decided to check up on the kid.
Sam sat at one of the vintage tables, a glass of booze in one hand and a pensiveness tugging his brow downward.
"Sammy?" Dean said his name while approaching the inebriated man. It wasn't technically a question but it contained several.
Are you ok? Do you need to talk? You know I'm here for you, right?
The younger man turned his focus upwards, still appearing deeply contemplative. He didn't respond, just pushed a second, empty glass across the wooden surface toward Dean who took the cue to sit down and pour himself a drink.
Dean sipped the whiskey, still watching Sam who hadn't spoken yet. It took a further minute, but finally his silence was broken with a quiet, "You're always here."
It wasn't what Dean was expecting to hear and it made him question whether he'd misinterpreted something. Maybe Sam had only offered him a drink grudgingly? Maybe he actually wanted to be left alone? He did have a tendency to get irritated by Dean's mothe- ...fussing.
"I can go," Dean responded cautiously. Though honestly, he wasn't sure he could leave Sam in this state. Not today.
"Not what I meant," Sam muttered, staring at the glass in his hands intently.
There was an extended silence in which Dean didn't press for further explanation, nursing his alcohol and waiting. When Sam was talking-drunk he sometimes just needed the time to say whatever he wanted get off his chest.
A minute later Sam had gotten the time he required, saying, "You don't leave me. We fight, or you die, or whatever. But you don't leave."
Dean lowered his drink to the table, brushing past the bluntness of Sam's explanatory phrasing.
There were a million things he could respond with and they'd all be honest. He could tell Sam that he was sorry their mom had left so soon after they'd gotten her back. That he wished Sam had known her as Dean remembered her, and that it was probably good he didn't because that didn't exactly ease the pain of her recent departure. Or that they had to keep hoping she'd figure herself out and find her way into their lives yet again.
In the end he chose to supply a much simpler remark, one that covered what mattered the most anyway.
"That's not changing," the elder man promised.
Sam shifted his glazed, tired gaze to meet Dean's comforting one and the kid nodded.
In return Dean drained his own glass, gently extracted the one from his brother's grasp, and stood up.
"You need sleep. Let's get you to bed. Come on," he gestured for the still-seated man to rise and follow him. Sam reluctantly did as he was asked, and after a quick pit-stop in the kitchen to ditch their dishes, Dean got Sam back to his room and convinced him to hit the sack.
Dean walked toward the door, ready to go to his own room.
"Wait!" Sam called out, sitting up and causing the older brother to stop and turn back. Sam declared, "I'm not leaving either. I've done it before. I've left you before, Dean, I know that. But- I mean after everything-" He stopped and changed tact, choosing to finish with, "I only have one constant. We're it."
With a goal of reassurance Dean pointed out, "Hey, you always come back though. We fight, or you die, or whatever. But you're still here because you've never really left."
Looking content with that statement, Sam flopped back on his bed again and said, "Goodnight Dean."
"Night Sammy," The elder brother stated before he shut the light off and made his way back down the hall.
November 2nd of 2016 finally drew to a close, and for the first time the whole day Dean didn't feel quite as heavy as before.
Secondary Author's Note: Thanks for reading! If you have a moment, please do leave feedback! It is always greatly appreciated! :)
SIDE NOTE REGARDING 12X03: I don't hate Mary for what she did, and I do understand her perspective. However, I don't agree with her choice to leave her sons when it's obvious how much they need her and how much her departure hurt them.