January 22, 2020

So many 'National Days Of' today. So few that pertained in any way to them, even if Sam hadn't been in a profound funk.

Answer Your Cat's Questions Day. That was stupid.

Polka Dots. Stupid.

Hot Sauce. Stupid.

Dance of the Seven Veils. No.

Library Shelfie Day. No.

Blond Brownie Day. No.

Celebration of Life. Freakin', stinkin', stupid, no. Celebrate what? Their lives that had never been their own? Would never be their own? Celebrating Winchester Lives was celebrating death and loss and anguish. Sam wasn't going to celebrate that. Not today, not ever. Just no.

The only day that came close was Come In From The Cold Day, and that was only because Sam was outside the Bunker, sitting back against the hood of the Impala. He'd spent enough time, too much time, in his room. He needed fresh air. Even if that air was only just above freezing. That was better than feeling claustrophobic hiding in his room. It was better than not being able to avoid Dean and Cas in the kitchen or library or map room or anywhere in the Bunker.

Better than being where Eileen wasn't anymore. Or Jack. Or Mom. Or Dad. Or Kevin. Or Charlie. Or Maggie. Or all the other 'alt world' hunters.

Anywhere was better than where they weren't anymore.

The front door of the Bunker opened and closed and Sam listened to the footsteps up the concrete stairs. Dean. Sam closed his eyes. Dean hadn't ripped him a well-deserved new one for dropping the ball – literally – on trapping Chuck. There'd been no barbed jokes at Sam's expense, no jibing, no references, explicit or implicit, to what he'd done or not done.

Dean was being freaking gentle, and Sam was torn between hating it because he didn't deserve it and wanting to rest inside of it for just a little while longer.

The Impala shifted a little as Dean sat back against the hood next to Sam. He didn't say anything. Sam waited, eyes still closed, but Dean only sat next to him and didn't say anything. After a few moments Sam felt the high-strung tension in his shoulders, which he hadn't even noticed before, begin to release. A few more minutes of Dean just being there with him and Sam's hands in his jacket pockets uncurled from what had to be white knuckled fists and he let out a breath so deep it felt like his whole body shrank in on itself.

"Y'okay?" Dean asked. Gentle. So, so gentle. Sam opened his eyes but didn't look at Dean. He shook his head. "Okay," Dean said and pulled something out of his jacket pocket. He handed it to Sam. A blond brownie wrapped in clear cling wrap. Sam laughed, but it could've just as easily been half a cracked sob.

"It's 'Come in out of the cold Day' too, you know." Dean said then.

"Not yet. Just – not yet."

"Okay."

So they sat, together, in the chill and silence.

.

The end of this chaper.

A/N: last year I asked for prayers for a young priest who was dying. He recovered! He con-celebrated Mass with our pastor this past Sunday. Thank you!