Factor in two weeks of bronchitis with a lab report and here we are! Still aiming to get this done by the end of March, there's one or two more chapters and then an epilogue left to go. This chapter cuts off a bit, but no worries, it'll be continued in the next installment. I got a few questions about the timeline for this story, it's set in season 12 (mainly because the brothers were actually in a decent, understanding, same page spot for once) just minus Mary and the problematic BMoL.

Everyone's support and well wishes on the last chapter continued to blow me away, thank you all so, so much for making my day with your feedback, it really does matter and made a difference (almost 200 reviews, when did that happen?) To the two guests that I can't directly reply to, truly, thank you for the reassurances. For those of you that suggested some memories, I'll do my best to see if the story heads in a direction that will let me include them. Thanks to jham768 for inspiring a bit of this chapter and to ThornsHaveRoses for being my sounding board on some of it ;) I know, snow stuff may be a bit out of character, but it made me happy to write them smiling a little after causing them so much pain. Hopefully you all enjoy!

Still don't own SPN. Still waiting for it to come back from hiatus because the 300th episode and the three before it left me an emotional mess.

Dean had a bad night.

It didn't take a genius to figure it out. Okay, so maybe genius wasn't the right word, but it certainly didn't escape the already over-worried brother and angel that were residing in the same location.

A few days had come and gone since their talk about Lisa and Ben and Sam filling in a few of the blanks. Sam had honestly hoped that talking about it would let Dean's mind stop doing the hard work at digging up everything in his sleep. And apparently it had worked, but only for a few nights.

Dean hadn't been shouting in his sleep per say, but it was more than groaning, enough to bounce off the bunker's walls and through to Sam's room where he already had his ears tuned for something out of the ordinary. He got up to check it out, of course, and edged open Dean's door silently. Dean was definitely in the throws of a nightmare, hands fisted into the blankets at his sides, not unlike the one that had closed around Sam's lungs. But he wasn't yelling anymore.

Sam waited another moment, debating on whether or not to risk waking Dean up and getting a knife at his throat or an embarrassed brother looking back at him (he didn't know which was worse). Thankfully, Dean's hands finally lessened their rock solid grip and his shoulders sagged against the pillows.

So yeah, no way in hell Sam was falling back asleep after that. He scrubbed a hand over his face and went into the kitchen instead and a quick glance at his watch on the way there showed it wasn't necessarily too early to be making coffee.

He wasn't surprised to see Cas sitting at the table in the kitchen either, eyes raised expectantly when Sam entered. Sam wasn't the only one that was worried, after all.

"Is Dean alright?" Cas asked, not beating around the bush, but keeping his voice down, apparently aware of the fact that Dean was still sleeping.

Sam shrugged a shoulder. He wasn't exactly sure how to classify alright anymore. As long as one of them wasn't possessed, bleeding out, or in some massively precarious or world ending scenario, then they were probably doing relatively fine.

"Yeah, just a nightmare. Common thing," he explained and went to the cupboard to get some coffee…which they were apparently out of. Great.

"Not common on this degree though."

Sam turned around to see Cas looking back at him, understanding wholly and completely, and he couldn't help but shake his head. "Not like this, no."

"You wish there were something more you could do," Cas said as Sam turned back towards the cabinets. He didn't have to see the angel's expression to know that he was speaking for the both of them.

"Of course." He busied himself by getting out a few tea bags and setting them inside the cups while he waited for the water to heat up. "But we're doing everything we can, we know it, and Dean does too," Sam leveled his eyes with Cas, "and that's all any of us can do. Just…ride it out, I guess."

Cas sighed and nodded. "I suppose."

They lapsed into silence as Sam got them both cups of tea and came to sit down at the table across from Cas and slid him one. There were some slight snippets of conversation that floated back and forth between the cool walls of the kitchen, but nothing substantial that wasn't tinged with worry.

The remaining tea was long cold when Dean finally wandered in, scrubbing at his eyes as he so often did. "Mornin'," he muttered, "doesn't smell like coffee yet," he added and paused.

"We ran out, I'll have to go pick up more," Sam explained. It was just a bit entertaining that Dean immediately became more awake at the fact that there was no coffee to really do the waking up part. Still, even with the pseudo-awakeness, Dean looked beat and haunted, though he was doing his best to not appear so.

"Dude, seriously?"

"Wasn't me," Sam raised his hands in defense.

"Sure, of course it wasn't you," Dean muttered back as he went over to the fridge. In all honesty, Sam didn't know if it was him or not, but he doubted Dean was keeping track of it. And besides, a bit of bickering over coffee in the morning was just about as normal as they would ever get in a time like this.

"I could go to the store and purchase some if you two would like to make breakfast?" Cas eventually pitched, seeing as how the discussion was at a stalemate and apparently even he knew how much the two hunters would need their coffee.

Dean closed the fridge door and looked up at Cas over a carton of eggs and then back to Sam, as if checking with him.

"Sure, yeah, knock yourself out," he waved at him with the eggs, "just not, ya know, literally."

"I am familiar with that form of speech, Dean," Cas reminded in his monotone voice as he stood up from the table, waited a few seconds, and strode out of the kitchen towards the library and the garage.

"Thanks, Cas!" Sam shouted after him through the bunker, which again fell into silence, broken only as Dean cracked an eggshell over a bowl.

Then there was a sigh, which Sam hadn't been expecting. "So?" came Dean's gruff voice.

"So…?" Sam trailed off, unsure what the one word question meant. He wasn't about to press Dean for what had happened this early, he'd see if anything came up later. His brother did still deserve his privacy, after all, and he understood if some things couldn't really be shared.

"You gonna help me with breakfast or not?"

It was an olive branch. Dean knew that Sam knew he hadn't slept well, one look in Sam's direction could tell Dean that his little brother was worried, and rightly so. Not talking yet, but an offer to do something constructive together. That Sam could work with.

Sam stood up and went to put his and Cas's cups in the sink. "You can't get mad at me if the peppers aren't cut the exact same size."

"Dude, that was one time," Dean's voice raised up a little bit at the end.

Sam was about to say twice, he did in fact keep track of stupid stuff like that if only to use in situations like this, but he stopped himself. Dean remembered the one time inherently, but not the other. Still, one they could work with. Small victories, right?

"Well then don't make it two."

Dean muttered a fond 'whatever' and tossed Sam a pepper he had next to him on the cutting board. Sam, of course, caught it, and smirked before he started cutting it into decent sized chunks. He did also check with Dean a few times to make sure they were in fact the correct size, which had his older brother gesturing mock-angrily with a spatula at him.

Like everything else recently, it was all tinged with a sense that something wasn't quite right, but it was good nonetheless. It was a productive distraction, which they had both been working with their whole lives. And besides, for two hunters, they didn't make bad cheese and pepper omelettes. Dean went a bit heavier on the cheese, but not that Sam said anything.

They were just starting to clean up, having lulled into a few short, comfortable conversations while they were eating, when Cas finally arrived.

"Was beginning to think you got lost," Dean mentioned when Cas walked into the kitchen with a few bags. He passed Sam a plate to dry off before he turned to the angel.

"I know my way around the city," Cas reminded, "I and the rest of the inhabitants were slowed down by the weather."

Sam looked at him curiously, towel stilling over the plate he was drying. "What sort of weather?" They hadn't been outside in a few days and seeing as the bunker was, well, a bunker, it was lacking in windows.

"A few inches of snow fell overnight and more is continuing to fall. The weather reports said it was a 'snap'," he used finger quotations, "and that it should be over in just a few days."

"Get the snowballs in while you can," Dean replied. A few days of snow wasn't unusual, but it never really stuck around long enough to be a problem or provide some modicum of winter enjoyment.

Sam put the dry plate away and took another from Dean as he watched Cas, who still hadn't said anything else and was more staring off into space, as if contemplating.

"You should go out and make a snow angel!" Dean piped up a moment later with a proud grin on his face as he looked to Sam for approval.

Sam let out a breathy chuckle and shook his head.

Cas appeared like he was trying to understand, but didn't. "I am aware of typical human traditions of making men out of snow and throwing snowballs, but a snow angel? Perhaps you could show me?"

And damnit, Sam couldn't tell if Cas was joking or not, but he sounded earnest and serious enough, and to Dean's credit he kept a confused smile on his face.

"What, you mean right now?"

"The weather never lasts like this, Dean, when else would we do it?" Sam suggested with a shrug and put the final dry plate on the counter. Dean turned his eyes back to Sam as a really? look crossed his face.

"Three grown dudes making snow angels for the hell of it? Seriously?"

"Who's around to see us?" Sam raised his hands a little and asked. "Think of it as an…an educational experience for Cas."

Cas was nodding along with what Sam said. "I am curious. A small break from the bunker would be good too, especially seeing as how the snow won't last."

Dean kept looking back and forth between the two of them, both of whom were set on the new course of action for the following hour or so before he threw up his hands and left the dish towel on the sink. "Fine, whatever. But if I get a friggin' cold after this I'm blaming you two," he pointed a finger at both of them.

But there was no heat behind the words to melt the snow, they could all tell. Dean stalked off to his room to get changed for colder weather, leaving Sam and Cas in the kitchen.

"A break would do him some good," Sam said quietly with a small nod, to which Cas agreed. Especially after the night Dean had, and the rest he hadn't.

"It will. And I doubt he won't at least somewhat enjoy it," Cas agreed.

Everyone in agreement, Sam took Cas back to his room to get him an extra coat just in case, even though he insisted that angels didn't exactly get cold. They'd all been in worse temperatures before with higher stakes, but there was no sense in not playing it safe with everything else going on.

They met up a few minutes later, boots and an extra few layers on before they clambered out of the bunker and onto the small, slightly wooded hillside by the factory.

Sam had to admit, even a few inches of snow really transformed the landscape. The typical fallen leaves and twigs were hidden under a blanket of white. Even though the sun was poking through some of the clouds, the snow was still falling and their breath fogged up in front of them.

Dean took a few steps ahead, tested something, and sat down in the snow.

"Dean? What are you doing?" Cas asked, his face morphed in confusion. Dean lay back in the snow, moved his arms and legs a few times, and popped back up like nothing had happened.

The whole sight made Sam laugh, more internally than externally, he didn't want any remote chance of embarrassing Dean of course, not when they all needed the break. The stuff they taught Cas didn't usually involve snow and children's activities though. Still, it lessened something in Sam to see his brother smiling as he pointed to the faint shape in the snow and explained how it was a snow angel.

"See? The arms with the," he made a 'fwooshing' sound, "kinda like wings, right?"

"I…suppose," Cas said after a moment, and both Sam and Dean urged him to try, since it was his idea after all to come and check out the snow.

Sam laughed out loud along with Dean when Cas completed the steps in almost robotic order and stood back up with snow hanging off the jacket's arms. The shape was actually pretty good for a first attempt, even though Cas kept trying to assure them that his real wings were in fact much larger.

Even though he tried to avoid it, Sam was eventually forced to make his own snow angel, which Dean laughed at him for and Sam just rolled his eyes at. "Sasquatch making a snow angel," Dean joked in-between laughs as Sam got back up.

When he did, he noticed that the smile didn't quite reach his brother's eyes, like it just wasn't powerful enough to pull down whatever nightmare he'd remembered and pull him back down to the real world. But he was trying, maybe even a bit desperate for a distraction, and if Sam could do anything, he'd give him one.

"We done?" he asked and brushed snow off his jacket before Dean pulled out his phone and took a picture.

"Jody'll get a crack out of this," Dean explained and put the device back into his pocket.

Sam just shook his head, amused, and turned his attention to Cas, who had his neck craned almost wistfully to look at the snow flurrying lightly around them. It was cold but also peaceful and beautiful, and it was obvious that the fact wasn't lost on the angel.

Both brothers gave him a moment, appreciating the environment themselves, before Cas turned his attention back to earth. "I believe making men out of snow is also a common custom?" Sam and Dean nodded and a few minutes later they had rolled a decent amount of snow into a ball on the ground, and considering it hadn't exactly snowed a metric ton, they did alright.

Dean explained how the balls got smaller as they got higher, typically three in all. Sam helped, but mostly watched as Dean kept busy and described the mechanics of 'perfect snowman building'. It wasn't like they had years worth of experience or anything, but two or so snowmen built in their lives was still more than Cas.

Dean kept tinkering with the snowman, like he so often did with the car when he needed a distraction, scraping off and adding snow, and picking up little pebbles they could use for buttons. It was only when he walked a few steps away to grab some sticks for arms that he looked between the wood and Sam and paused.

"You know, we also need a nose. I think I saw some carrots back in the kitchen, Cas would you mind grabbing one?" It sounded casual enough, and would be good for getting part of the actual job done.

Cas looked between the two of them and nodded. Years with the Winchesters had taught him a lot, and he understood some of the underlying meaning behind the action. So if he spent an extra few minutes looking for said carrot, no explanation would be needed.

The brothers watched until he disappeared around the small hill and back to the bunker, leaving them standing outside with just the slight breeze to keep them company. It was more than obvious that Dean had something on his mind, he'd had something on it all day, but Sam didn't bring up the subject. If Dean needed another minute to collect his thoughts on something, Sam wasn't about to rush him. Besides, the left side of the middle snowman portion was a bit uneven…

He reached for some snow and compacted it in his hands as Dean tore small strips off the tree branch in his hands.

But anything Sam had been expecting, a question about a memory, some general confusion, most everything they'd dealt with so far, completely went out the window at the two words that seemingly slipped from Dean's lips and settled between them like the new fallen snow.

"I'm sorry."

It was one of the faintest apologies Sam had ever heard, and if he hadn't been straining his ears to catch whatever Dean may or may not be saying, it may have been lost to the wind altogether.

The snow in Sam's hand was forgotten as he looked up to find Dean with his face twisted ever so slightly. It didn't look like he was immediately about to say more, but Dean knew what Sam would say. Something along the lines of he needed more than a blank to fill in, some context, something, sorry for what exactly? Dean knew, so Sam stayed silent and just watched and waited.

"When I said that it should've been you…not Charlie up there…" Dean trailed off, and Sam's blood chilled in his veins more than any amount of snow could do. "I mean, not that I'm glad it was her instead, just that, you know," he fumbled, and a portion of the stick snapped in his slightly shaking hands.

Sam's jaw was set and he nodded slowly. He'd had a lot of bad days in his life, and the one where they had to put Charlie on the pyre was high up there for a multitude of reasons. And just like everything else revolving around her death, they never really got the chance to talk it over between the Mark and Amara. But Sam got it, of course he did. There was no way in hell that Dean in his right mind, his big brother, his protector and his stone number one, would say something like that in bad blood.

Dean had opened his mouth to try and further explain, as if his message wasn't getting across enough, but Sam stopped him. "I know, Dean," he said softly, "and you don't need to apologize, not for that."

"No, Sam, what I said, it wasn't alright, you can't just blanket it and say it's fine." Dean's face had screwed into a disapproving frown, and Sam could only imagine the half formed thoughts going through his head with whatever context he had been given overnight.

"It's not alright," Sam agreed and quickly continued, "but it wasn't you. It was the Mark and a really, really screwed up situation, between Charlie and the book and everything else," he shook his head. "You'd never say something like that, not when you were completely…you, of course I know that."

He could see Dean fighting not to scoff at that. Of course in his eyes, he probably felt like he'd failed at doing his one job, again, because he beat up people that said stuff like that about his brother. He wasn't supposed to be one of them.

"And I also know that as much as you may feel like you should, especially without the context, you shouldn't beat yourself up for something I forgave you when it happened." He was almost pleading with Dean, his voice dropped down to a quieter tone.

He didn't know if Dean had carried this around with him, this guilt for things he had said or done when he wasn't in his right mind but had never been able to articulate before. Sam didn't know if this was just the memories bringing it up or if the emotions and honest intentions to apologize and smooth things over had been there for years, in some cases. Knowing how he himself typically dealt with, or more often than not, didn't deal with situations like those in the past, it was probably the latter.