Hello hello! I finally wrote something that isn't related to the finale! This is a coda to 12x09, because you can't tell me that the brothers were just 100% A-okay after spending weeks in isolation. Come on. It's mentioned that they were away for six weeks, and then for two months, so I made the actual time somewhere in-between that, just in case anyone is confused. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy!

Still don't own anything.

Mary's car was fairly silent the rest of the way back to the bunker. On a normal night, Sam wouldn't have minded too much. Some peace and quiet, his whole family safe in the car, headed home from a situation handled. It sounded good. But not this time. Sam missed the rumble of the Impala, the throaty roar as Dean would accelerate over an empty stretch of highway he knew no officers watched.

He missed the rock music and the easy conversation and the jabs back and forth. He missed anything that told him that he was out of the cell. But here he was, surrounded by family, and near-silence once again.

Sam lasted about an hour after their departure from the park before he had to crack open the window. The car was a comfortable temperature, but with the quiet and the stillness, it felt too familiar. He caught Dean's eye in the side mirror as he looked on from behind Sam's seat. His older brother very obviously wasn't looking at Cas sitting next to him, who hadn't said a word since his declaration that the world needed the Winchesters after he killed Billie.

Dean was probably pissed about that. Or, worried more than anything, but it would come across as pissed. And Mary, sitting behind the wheel, not knowing what to say to her two sons that had been missing for…how long had it even been? Sam watched as she looked over periodically and smiled a little at him, but made no move to initiate any type of conversation.

The silence was getting stifling.

They finally had to pull off after about four hours for Mary to get gas. Cas said nothing before he opened the door and made his way into the mart, presumably to get some supplies. Mary watched him leave, looked to the brothers, and then got out herself to get the gas.

As soon as all the doors were closed, Dean slid into the middle of the back seat and leaned forward a little. "How you holdin' up?" he asked, not looking at Sam, but instead directly through the middle of the windshield. Sam followed his gaze, watching as a car passed by on the interstate they had just gotten off of.

"Fine," Sam said noncommittally. He wasn't alright, not at all, but he knew Dean already knew that. "How long are you planning on giving Cas the silent treatment?"

Dean sighed and Sam saw him lean back in his periphery. "You should try to get some shuteye, man, we've got a few hours ahead of us."

Sam immediately shook his head, not even bothering to call Dean out on the obvious avoidance of his question. There was no way he would be sleeping until he was in a space that he couldn't touch both outstretched arms to walls.

"Sam," Dean warned.

"It's a few hours, I'll be fine," Sam brushed off. He knew, of course, that Dean wasn't planning on getting any sleep either.

Finally, the gas pump clicked outside, and a few moments later, Mary slid back into the car. "You boys want to find a motel for the night or keep going?"

Sam didn't even have to look at his brother to know their decision was made. "We're good to go the rest of the way," he said.

"I can drive for a bit if you're getting tired," Dean offered from the back.

Mary smiled at him and shook her head. "I can finish up, thank you, just wanted to check what the two of you wanted to do."

Driving probably would've been good for Dean, Sam also knew. Being in control of something, seeing the miles pass around them because he was the one at the helm, that had always helped his brother. But Mary didn't know that, and Dean wasn't about to press his offer. So instead, he resumed his position behind Sam's seat just as Cas came back with a small plastic bag.

"It would be good to keep your strength up," he said as he passed the bag to Sam through the open window before continuing to the back of the car.

"Thanks, Cas," Sam said with a little smile in the angel's direction as he looked through the bag. He passed off a granola bar to Mary and kept one for himself while handing the protein bar and a bottle of water back to Dean.

Sam relished in the taste of something that wasn't room temperature prison food, finished half his water in a few swallows, and rolled the window up a little as they got back on the highway, stealing glances at his brother in the reflective surface the whole way back home.

Sam had been worried that being back in the bunker would be the worst thing for them. Back underground with no windows, no easy, quick way out. But it was just the opposite. The moment they entered into the map room from the garage, his shoulders slumped in relief. There was space to move here. He could feel the air being pushed around him, move with freedom, have choices in what direction to go. Never had being in an underground bunker felt so freeing.

The hum of machinery around them was familiar, as was the slight smell of old books. There had been nothing like either of those in the cell, that was for sure.

Mary told them to wake her if they needed anything, and Cas said he'd be in the library, and with that the brothers were left to their own devices. Without any communication between the two of them, they both ended up in the shower room. Their horrible jumpsuits were disposed of the instant clean clothes were within reach, and each of them took far longer than they normally would getting clean.

"They feed you enough?" Dean asked as he tried to get some of the water out of his hair. Sam had taken a towel to his own, leaving his shoulders and chest exposed, and even just by looking in the mirror he could tell he had lost some weight. Not a huge amount—he had tried to eat and stay active after all—but enough.

"Wasn't exactly Michelin star," Sam cut back and put his towel on a hook in favor of sliding on a grey tshirt. He noticed Dean watching him out of the corner of his eye, but didn't say anything further.

"Was thinking of makin' some burgers tomorrow," he said, as if testing the waters. "You in?"

Sam smiled a little at him. "Definitely."

Dean snapped his fingers in approval. "Alright then. Probably need to make a grocery list but that's tomorrow's problem. I'm gonna sleep for the next week or so. You good?"

Sam turned away from the mirror to look at him. Dean's eyes looked a little more sunken, the crinkles around his smirk a clear sign that he was trying too hard for Sam's benefit. And maybe for his own too, trying to convince his own mind that things were fine and they'd be able to move on like nothing had happened. Like they hadn't been stuck in a sensory-deprived cell for weeks, not knowing if the other was dead or alive. Nothing like that. "Yeah, yeah. Are you?"

Dean shrugged. "We're out now, right? That's what matters. Best thing is to put it behind us and move on."

Sam only nodded in agreement, but even that small movement felt forced and false. Dean regarded him for a moment more before he stepped forward, patted his shoulder, and moved past him out of the shower room.

Sam listened to his steps as he disappeared down the hallway, and then it was just him again, alone in a quiet room with his thoughts. Sam took another look at himself in the mirror as ran a hand through his hair and, upon deciding that it had gotten too long in lock-up, pulled out a pair of scissors in the top cabinet drawer.

The near-imperceptible sound of snapping scissors filled the room for the next few minutes until Sam was once again satisfied with the length. It had been annoying him for weeks, the way the hair had started to tickle the back of his neck again, not that he'd ever tell Dean. So to have that small problem fixed…Sam smiled to himself as he put the scissors away and swiped the cuttings into the trash bin.

Dean's light was still on when Sam passed his room to get to his own, but he couldn't make anything out even though the door was cracked. Convinced his brother needed some space, Sam continued, and left his own door cracked open in a similar fashion. From there, he tidied a few things before leaving the lights on their lowest 'on' setting before he crawled into bed. Just for tonight, he needed to be able to see his surroundings.

He sighed as he crawled over the covers, grateful to have a mattress that actually accommodated him, and slipped an arm under his pillow, fully intending to get a full night's sleep. Sam really should have known it wouldn't be that easy. He watched, frustrated, as the minutes ticked by on his bedside clock. Every so often he'd rustle the sheets just to hear something, and then look around the room to see how many different objects he could pick out and name. Note how the lights were a warm yellow instead of a cold off-white. Anything to remind himself that he was somewhere else.

After two hours, he was no closer to the rest his body desperately needed. The walls had started to feel closer than they had before, even though he knew his room was at least twice the size of the cell. Suddenly, even with the door cracked open and the lights partially on, it didn't feel big enough.

Sam got up, opened the door a little more, and clambered back into bed in hopes that being able to see the hallway would help. It didn't. Sam let out a frustrated breath. This was ridiculous. He wasn't in the cell, he wasn't stuck in any environment remotely resembling a cage. He was home, in his room, with his brother one room over, and his mother and best friend down a hallway. He was fine. He'd be fine.

When was another story.

Sam looked back and forth between the brick walls on his right and left, usually so warm and comforting, a promise of protection, now seeming domineering and confining. He was out of bed before his mind could go any further.

Maybe walking the halls would help, yeah, that could be it. He left his room and turned down towards the kitchen, relishing the way the floor felt cool under his bare feet. Once he hit the kitchen, he doubled back and tried returning to his room. Only, on the return trip, he noticed that Dean's door was still cracked open and light was coming through. Was it possible Dean was still up?

Sam approached the door slowly, just in case Dean was sleeping, and peeked in. To his disappointment, he saw Dean was propped up on a few pillows, absent-mindedly watching something on his TV. The sound didn't seem to be on, but Sam could see the colors flashing against the wall. Dean didn't seem particularly interested in the program, his eyes blinking lazily after a few seconds.

Sam tapped on the door before another thought could cross his mind. He watched as Dean actually jumped at that, before he looked away from the TV and towards the door. "Sam?" he whispered, surprised to see him still up. Sam took that as his cue to enter, leaving the door slightly open behind him as he stepped into the room. "You're supposed to be sleeping."

"You too."

"Yeah, well," Dean huffed out a tired laugh. "We missed some quality television, was just trying to get caught up."

"Oh yeah?" Sam asked, going along with Dean's lame excuse. "How many episodes?"

Dean pursed his lips and hit a few buttons on the remote. "Six of some, seven of others."

The little smile faded from Sam's face. Six or seven episodes of weekly television, which meant Sam had lost more time than he thought he did. "How…how long were we in there?" he asked quietly.

Dean's demeanor immediately changed. Any remnant of joking or bravado faded and he left the remote on the nightstand. "Forty-eight, forty-nine days, it depends."

The numbers hit Sam like a punch to the gut. "You kept track?"

Dean only nodded.

"I thought it was a…a month, maximum," Sam whispered, almost in disbelief. He thought he'd been counting the meals with some regularity, trying to maintain a normal sleeping schedule. But no. Time once again slipped out of his hands like sand. At least this time the discrepancy was only a few weeks instead of a few centuries.

The mere thought of it made him dizzy. Dean must have seen a slight sway to his movements, because he was out of bed before Sam could say anything else, directing Sam to sit down with a light hand at his elbow. Sam was putty under his direction, and sat down on the edge of Dean's bed, the memory foam giving under his weight. Dean moved to step in front of him, a worried figure in Sam's swimming vision.

"Sammy?" Dean ventured quietly. Sam saw him bring a hand up and pause before he let it rest on Sam's shoulder. The heat from his palm, the touch, immediately helped to ground him.

There was nothing like that in the cell. It wasn't cold, per se, but it was barren. Desolate. Empty of anything even resembling an attempt at comfort, be it auditory or visual or tactile. Dean, his room, the TV going in the background, the warmth that settled into the walls around them, all of that was the exact opposite.

"You with me?" Dean crouched down in front of him so that he was at eye level instead of above Sam. His hand remained on Sam's shoulder.

Sam pursed his lips. "Yeah, I uh," Sam blew out a breath, hating how small his voice sounded. It was just a few weeks, that was it, and it was fine now. It was fine. "Losing time like that, even going in the opposite direction as before, it…" Sam frowned and shook his head. It had been longer than he had expected, not shorter like it had been in the cage. But still, the sense of the world turning on a clock different to his own was nothing short of a waking nightmare.

"Hey, man, I get it, I do," Dean said, keeping the quiet, calm tone going. Sam raised his gaze to look at him, and saw the same tortured man that had told their mom just hours prior that what they went through was worse than Dean's own experience in hell. If anybody in the world understood, it was Dean. And here he was, helping Sam through his breakdown, when Dean couldn't be far from one of his own.

Then again, that was what Dean did best, and Sam knew it. In pulling Sam back from the edge, he'd nudge himself closer towards safety too.

"And you've been dealt a crap hand lately as far as torture is concerned." It sounded like Dean had fought with himself as he said it, and it made Sam's eyes burn to hear the care in his brother's words. "So if you need anything, I'm right here. I gotcha."

Sam only nodded, the jerky movement releasing the tears that had been pooling in his eyes. Through the fogginess, Sam could have sworn that Dean's eyes looked red too.

"C'mere," Dean directed softly, and gently pulled Sam's shoulder towards him as he leaned in. Sam reciprocated immediately, his arms going under Dean's as his brother straightened up to hug him around his shoulders. Sam latched on as tightly as he could and buried his head in Dean's shoulder. He felt Dean release a shaky breath as he clutched Sam to him and rubbed a slow circle on his back with one hand.

It could have felt confining, the strength of their arms around each other, but it didn't. It was the only safety Sam had ever known.

"Missed you," Sam whispered after a few moments when he had a little more control over the lump in his throat.

He had thought, many nights—he guessed nights, anyways, the lights always stayed at the same brightness so it may as well have been afternoon—about never getting a moment like this. About something happening to Dean in that other cell, about if he'd even be told about it. About if one of them got transferred somewhere else. About if one of them truly lost it before they told their captors everything.

Dean tightened the hug in response, as if he could squeeze the poisonous thoughts from Sam's mind.

When they did finally pull back, Dean left a hand cupping Sam's jaw. Through slightly clearer eyes, Sam could tell that Dean's eyes were indeed wet. What a picture they must've made to anyone walking by. But none of that mattered.

"You were gonna sacrifice yourself," Sam said. They'd never talked about it, but he'd known. And he'd also known what his own choice would be in the matter.

"Like you wouldn't try to beat me to it," Dean smiled just a little and patted the side of Sam's face before he let his hand drop.

"Yeah, well," Sam paused to clear his throat, "great minds think alike."

That got an honest breathy laugh out of Dean, which Sam considered an absolute win. Dean kept the expression on his face even as he stood up, knees popping as he did so, and walked to the other side of the bed before he resumed his earlier position. "Come on, sasquatch, these nature documentaries won't watch themselves."

Sam didn't need to be told twice, nor did he feel embarrassed about how quickly he changed his position to sit up next to Dean, shoulder to shoulder, facing the TV. He hadn't seen before, but Dean did indeed have on a nature documentary, though the sound was off. He watched as a swordfish darted into the frame, scattering a shimmering ball of thousands of fish that reformed in the next instant.

Dean turned the volume up a few notches, just enough to be barely heard, but by no means overpowering. The dramatic instrumental chase music eventually faded to softer, more peaceful tones as the scene changed and the camera panned up to reveal a whale. The exact species Sam didn't know, but watching it move gracefully through the water brought him a strange semblance of calm, a reminder that the world around him was big and moving and alive. That and the fact that his brother was still warm and breathing next to him, the blue light playing across his face and the green of his eyes.

"Those things are huge," Dean whispered, totally mesmerized as a diver swam next to it, dwarfed by the animal.

"Blue whales are even bigger," Sam mentioned. He knew those were different than this whale on the screen, at least. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean smile and shake his head slightly.

"You and your random facts, man." Sam heard the amusement in his tone, as well as the unspoken I missed hearing them.

Sam hummed a little in response and as he did so, shifted down so his head was pillowed against Dean's chest instead of his shoulder. Dean's arm immediately snaked around his back, hand coming to rest on his other shoulder, pulling Sam in closer.

"Blue whales are the biggest animals on the planet, it's a well known fact," Sam said, smiling as he did so, and sighed in contentment.

"Whatever," Dean muttered, voice low and resonant in his chest, "so long as we never have to take down a giant whale zombie or ghost. Let the ocean keep 'em."

Sam didn't bother mentioning the extreme unlikeliness, even in their line of work, that a situation like that would ever come to pass. The program seemed to be calming Dean too, and over the next few minutes Sam could feel him gradually relax into the bed next to him. Onscreen, pink and blue fish flashed back and forth in waves across a coral reef, painting the room around them in a rainbow of moving light.

Sam didn't fall asleep, not exactly. But with the hypnotic dancing of the fish onscreen, and hearing and feeling Dean's heart beating steadily under him, Sam finally felt a sense of peace.

Ocean documentaries are my go-to whenever I need something peaceful to watch, and I figured something less along the lines of Game of Thrones would better fit where their heads are at haha. Too fluffy for canon? Eh maybe, probably, but hey that's what fanfic is for, and seriously there at least should've been a 'I'm glad you're not dead' hug in the episode, right? Anyways, thank you for reading! :)