Disclaimer: noun: the act of disclaiming; the renouncing, repudiating, or denying of a claim; disavowal.

A/N: Look at this! Another one shot so soon… yay me! …so aside from curiously wondering why dictionary.c.o.m. says that the word 'disclaimer' is a noun… is it a noun?... I have been on a writing streak lately. I have, as many of you may have seen, written another chapter to my chapter story, and I've already started on the next chapter for it. Then today, in one sitting, I wrote out this story after watching the episode 'Mystery Spot'. I always wondered what happened when/if Sam told Dean what really happened (ie. the fact that Sam was on his own all those months). Well—that's all for now. Do I have to ask you to review?

Oh crap! Haha, almost forgot! For my last story… only one person out of all that review actually gave a title suggestion. Thanks Colby's Girl! I have now re-named it as 'Fear Fox', and I love, whether you did it on purpose or not, the fox reference as kitsune is an actual monster that most often takes on the form of a fox (though can shapeshift into other things).

Title: It's Wednesday
Genre: Angst. (I think I gotta find a new favorite genre to write, haha)
Summary: Set two weeks after 'Mystery Spot', Sam is having nightmares about his time spent alone after Dean was killed. Finally, in the middle of the night, he comes clean and tells his brother everything.

It's Wednesday

Sam gasped as he sat bolt up in bed. Instinctually he looked to the bed beside him, and let out an unknown held breath as he saw Dean mumble and shift in his sleep. Sweat prickled at Sam's face as he tried to force his heart rate down; he had been having the same dream for weeks now. After the Trickster had made Sam relive Dean's death over and over again, Sam thought that was the worst thing he would ever experience; that Tuesday's would forever be a source of fear. He was wrong, however, as after the date changed to Wednesday, and Dean died by the asshole mugger, Sam had to live month after month without his brother.

That was far worse. Wednesday's would always be the day that reminded Sam what hell was truly like.

When Sam had finally woken up to it being Wednesday again, the sight of Dean was the greatest thing in the entire world. In the weeks since, Sam subconsciously kept an extra eye on the elder hunter, and would try to take the lead in any dangerous situations. He covered peculiar behavior well with Dean, but when Sam slept, he couldn't hide it. Every dream would be filled with the horrors of Dean being killed and Sam was alone again. Sometimes the dreams would twist, and it was Sam who had killed Dean. Or sometimes, the Trickster brought Dean back just to kill him again and leave Sam alone. Each time Sam would gasp awake, and stare at his slumbering bother, making sure that he was still alive and there.

"Crap," Sam mumbled, getting out of bed.

His heart still pounded, and Sam didn't know how much more he could take. Each time he slept, the nightmares got worse, and at best he was getting three or four hours of sleep. As quietly as possible, Sam went into the bathroom, and gently closed the door before turning on the light.

"He's okay," Sam told himself staring in the mirror at his reflection, "Dean's alright."

Sam turned on the water, and flushed his face with the cool liquid. Tears curiously mixed with the water down his face, and he was forced to squeeze his eyes shut to stop them. His latest dream had been bad; Sam had woken up in the Wednesday to see Dean alive again, but Sam had accidently shot him out in the parking lot just as the mugger had. For several minutes Sam stood in the bathroom, letting the tears fall down his face; maybe if he let the feelings of immense guilt and fear flood out, then he could get a few more hours of sleep until morning broke.

"God, Dean…" Sam did a final flush of his face, "I am so sorry…"

Taking a deep steadying breath, Sam turned off the light, then gently opened the door. He expected the main room to be dark, and so when light flooded his eyes, it caught Sam off guard. Dean sat in his bed upright, and was eyeing Sam.

"Sammy…?" immediately Dean could see the red in his brother's eyes.

"Dean," Sam swallowed and stupidly wiped his eyes, "What, uh… what are you doing awake?"

Dean pulled his covers back, and stepped out of the bed, all the while, not taking his eyes off of Sam. His bare feet touched the worn carpet that adorned the entire motel room, and though he wore just his boxer shorts to bed, the late summer heat kept night temperatures warm.

"Sam, what's wrong?"

"Nothing man," Sam shook his head dismissively as he walked back to his bed, and sat down.

"Bull," Dean sat across from his brother.

Both were stubborn, and refused to show emotions most of the time. Dean didn't want to point out the fact that he could tell Sam had been crying. Or that many of the nights that his brother woke up from a bad dream, he himself would awaken as well.

Sam brought his hand to his mouth and spoke through his fingers, "Bad dream."

Dean frowned; Sam hadn't had dreams this bad in well over a year, "Like from Yellow Eyes?"

Sam silently shook his head, hand still cupping his face in a meager attempt to keep in emotions under control.

"Sammy, c'mon man," Dean gave a weak chuckle, "It's me. I used to change the sheets on your bed when you pissed yourself as a kid. You can tell me."

This got a laugh out of Sam as he shook his head, "It's nothing."

Dean eyed Sam menacingly, "Sam, it's not nothing. You've been having these nightmares for a while now. Ever since our run-in with—"

"The Trickster," Sam finished.

Dean nodded, "Look, I know he through you for a loop… literally. But seriously," Dean looked at his watch, "It's Wednesday man. Not Tuesday; I swear."

Sam flinched and swallowed hard before speaking quietly, "There was more."

Dean frowned, "What do you mean?" Sam didn't answer, "Sammy! What do you mean there was more."

Panic rose up in the elder brother. Sam rarely showed any kink in his armour, and if the something 'more' was causing this reaction, there was no way it was good.

Sam took a deep breath, and looked up at his brother, "You died Dean."

Dean waited a moment before speaking, "I know Sammy. You told me that the Trickster put you through that loop of Tuesday's from hell with me always dying. But it wasn't real; he was just messing with your head."

Sam shook his head, "No. You died Dean. On Wednesday."

This caught Dean off guard, "What?"

Sam felt his heart beat increasing again, "We got rid of the Trickster, I woke up on Wednesday, and then you died. You went out to the parking lot and some guy shot you." Sam swallowed a lump, "And you were gone. No repeat of the day, no waking up… no Tuesday."

Dean's own breathing became more pronounced as a thousand thoughts raced through his head, "What… what do you mean Sam? The last thing I remember is coming face-to-face with the Trickster, and then it was Wednesday and we went on our way. That was about two weeks ago."

Again Sam shook his head, "You were dead for months Dean. Months. And I was alone."

"What did you do Sam?" Dean's voice suddenly dropped dangerously low, and anger licked at his words.

Sam frowned, "What?"

Dean stood up and paced a few feet away before turning back, "What did you do Sam? To get me back? Did you make a deal? Sacrifice yourself, or…"

"No Dean," Sam shook his head standing up as well, "I didn't… I swear."

"Then fill in the blanks Sammy," Dean could feel his whole body trembling, "What the hell happened?"

"I tracked down the Trickster," Sam's voice was small, "I tried so hard to find him… I needed…" Sam closed his eyes briefly, "I couldn't do this without you Dean. I can't… not yet. It took me five and a half months before I tracked that son of a bitch down." Sam thought about this a moment, "He actually tracked me down; disguised as Bobby."

Dean cocked his head, "The Trickster?"

Sam nodded, "Yeah."

Dean ran his hand down his face and paced some more, "So you were riding out there Hans Solo for almost half a year, and then the Trickster just phones you up one day?"

Sam nodded.

"And then what?" Dean pressed.

"He told me that we were each other's weaknesses, and that I couldn't always save you," Sam feared internally feared this was true, but pushed past that and continued, "Then he just… brought me back. It was Wednesday again, and we were at the hotel."

Dean sat down again on the edge of the bed, and looked up at Sam. The younger brother wore just sleeping pants, and stood three feet away with a pained and exhausted look on his face.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked carefully, "…were you hurt?"

Sam laughed at this as memories washed through his head. The vampire nest he took out; he had broken three ribs and nearly lost his eye when one of them got the upper hand. During a hunt in west Texas, Sam had been shot by a spirit haunting an old farm house; Sam had taken the bullet out of himself. Then there was the ghoul who decided to give Sam not one, but two concussions in the week it took him to hunt the thing down and kill it. All of the scars, of course, has disappeared when Sam was brought back to the hotel room.

"…Sammy?"

For what seemed like the hundredth time, Sam shook his head, "No… I'm alright."

Dean took a deep breath, "Good."

"I'm so sorry," Sam spoke after a few moments silence as he returned to his spot on the bed, "Dean… I tried to save you. So many times. I tried… I'm sorry."

"Hey," Dean placed a hand on the side of Sam's arm, "Sammy, it's not your fault. I'm here now, right? We're both here, and we're both okay."

Sam sighed, "Yeah."

"Sam, everything will be alright, I promise," Dean frowned, "I just wish you would have told me about this earlier."

Sam gave a half smile, "You've been so pre-occupied with things lately; bigger things. I didn't want to bug you."

"Hey," Dean shook his head, "You can come to me with anything Sammy. Seriously man…"

"Thanks Dean."

"You good now?" Dean asked, looking his brother directly in the eyes.

"Yeah," Sam took a deep breath, "I'm good."

"Good," Dean clapped Sam on the leg as moved to lay back down in bed, "'Cause I was in the middle of this awesome dream about this Asian chick from…"

"Good night Dean," Sam interrupted rolling his eyes as he, too, got back into bed.

Dean turned off the bedside lamp and smiled to himself, "Good night Sammy."

Sam took another deep breath and rolled over onto his stomach to sleep. And that he did; for the first time in over two weeks Sam Winchester slept dreamlessly for over four hours—even if when he woke up it would be a Wednesday.

The End.