Disclaimer: Supernatural, the Winchesters, and any other characters and/or places which may appear do not belong to me.

Whumptober 2020, Day #18

Prompt(s): Panic attacks; paranoia

Author's Note: Okay so I know this kind of trope has been done quite a few times but I hope you still enjoy and that I was able to make it somewhat unique. Set in season 11.

Today's Whumpee: Sam Winchester

Today was Tuesday. That Tuesday. Sam never liked Tuesdays much anymore, but that Tuesday? It was probably the, or at least one of the, worst days of the year for Sam.

Ever since they'd encountered the Mystery Spot way back when, Sam had always taken great care on that Tuesday to watch his brother, nearly always remaining in the same room. He knew he was being overprotective. Paranoid. He also knew he was annoying Dean.

The previous year, Dean had pressured Sam to explain why he was acting this way. He'd never connected the consecutive yearly occurrence of an overprotective little brother with the Tuesday seven years ago. So Sam had explained. Dean didn't judge him anymore after he heard why Sam acted that way. He couldn't imagine seeing Sam die over and over and over and over again. It sounded like, well, hell.

The rest of that day Dean stopped his avid research of a cure for the Mark, and chose to hang out with Sam instead. He gave Sam full control of the TV and made them his famous burgers.

This year's Tuesday, however, now eight years since, Sam and Dean were out on a case in North Dakota. Sam woke up early in their motel room, immediately glancing over to see Dean in the bed a couple of feet away. He watched his brother for a moment and listened to the steady breathing before glancing at the clock on the bedside table between them. It was a little after 5am. Dean probably wouldn't wake up for at least another two hours, so Sam contented himself with opening his computer and starting some research on the case him and Dean were working.

It was pretty simple. Sounded like a pair of angry spirits that had started going after some old enemies of theirs. Sam managed to scrounge up a few possible names and some relatives that they could interview. There'd been three victims so far so the boys couldn't really afford to waste time, but Sam didn't feel the need to hurry his brother to wake up. Same as the years before, Sam couldn't help but find himself thankful for every minute that ticked past. Every minute that clicked away was just another minute that assured Sam that that Tuesday was really over. Eventually the day would be over, and he'd be okay for one more year.

He felt better than he had the last year, knowing now that Dean knew and wouldn't be completely bewildered and annoyed by his behavior.

Sam had tried to control the constant hovering and mother-henning he did on that day, but knowing that Dean understood now… well, it made Sam feel like he didn't have to control himself so much. Dean wasn't one for chick-flick moments, and Sam wasn't really either, — Dean had rubbed off on him — but he got the feeling Dean didn't much care. If it made Sam feel better, then Dean could put up with a hovering little brother for a day.

Dean woke up around 7:30 like Sam had expected.

"How long you been up?" he mumbled sleepily when he saw Sam pouring over his laptop.

"Couple hours," Sam muttered in reply. "Did some research on the case."

"And?" Dean said, sitting up.

"Seems pretty normal," Sam said. "At least," he added with a shrug, "normal for us."

Dean nodded. "Good then. Any leads to check out?"

Sam nodded, finally looking up from his computer at his brother. "Yeah, I've got a list of suspected victims here that all died within a couple weeks who could be the spirit. One of them doesn't seem to have any family, but the other three do so we can go talk to them."

"Cool," Dean said. "I'm gonna shower," he said. He stood up and walked over to the small bathroom, but then he glanced at Sam and saw how he had stiffened. Dean hesitated. "You know what? That can wait, why don't we get dressed and go talk to the victims, 'kay?"

Sam obviously relaxed and nodded. "Yeah, okay, sounds good."

The entire day passed in fairly the same manner. Dean was patient with Sam. He avoided certain situations, walked closer to Sam than usual, bumping his brother's arm with his elbow occasionally and giving him a small smile. I'm still here.

The day was going fairly smoothly until they were interviewing one of the last relatives of their final possible victim. Sam questioned the woman while Dean took a glance around the house. Sam didn't see him walk off so when he turned away from the woman, finished with questioning her, and Dean was nowhere to be seen, his heart jumped.

Sam cleared his throat, trying to keep it steady. "Agent Plant?"

"We all finished?" Dean said, coming back around the corner of the kitchen.

Sam nodded. "All done," he muttered. "Th-Thank you for your time, ma'am."

The woman nodded mutely as she walked upstairs, not even bothering to see them out. Sam couldn't blame her though. It was her brother who'd died the week before, the pain still very fresh and raw.

Sam and Dean made their way out of the house and back to the Impala, Sam trying to calm his breathing down.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Dean asked when they were sitting in the car.

Sam covered his face with his hands. "You weren't there," he muttered.

"What?" Dean said, not catching his brother's words.

"You weren't there," Sam repeated, lowering his hands slightly. "I turned, and you — you weren't there."

Dean swore. "Dammit, Sammy, I'm sorry," he said. "I was only checking out the house while you talked to the woman, I didn't think that would trigger you."

"It shouldn't," Sam said ashamedly, shaking his head and looking out the window.

"Hey, don't say that." Dean caught Sam's wrist. "Listen to me," he said.

Sam looked at his brother hesitantly.

"I don't want you to ever be ashamed of this, okay?" Dean said. "I can't imagine what that was like for you. You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing," he repeated.

Sam nodded.

Dean let go of his wrist, patting his shoulder awkwardly. "Now that was the last person on your interview list, wasn't it?"

Sam nodded.

"Alright then," Dean said. "What do you say we go get some food and then head back to the motel for the next —" he glanced at his watch "—eight hours?"

Sam laughed. "Yeah, okay," he said.

"Anything particular you want to eat?" Dean asked, pulling onto the street and settling behind the wheel.

"Not really," Sam said. "Just not tacos."

Dean laughed. Sam had told him about the taco poisoning that had occurred one of the many Tuesdays Sam had endured. "Deal," Dean chuckled. "No tacos."