Tomorrow

SUMMARY: Supernatural - Season 14. Tag to "Prophet and Loss" Sam and Dean home at the bunker hours later.

"Hey. How ya feelin'?"

Dean didn't knock. Didn't wait for a welcome. He just walked in and sat down on the edge of Sam's bed and hooked a hand around his brother's bent knee. Sam was sitting upright, book in hand, one leg angled, one extended, already deep in research. Research that he wasn't supposed to be doing until tomorrow.

"Put the book down, Sammy. Tomorrow, okay? I promise."

The emotion hadn't completely cleared from Sam's face, even now, hours later. Unlike times before, Sam made no effort to hide it from his brother. Dean had already witnessed his breakdown; another few hours of struggle wasn't going to make difference.

"Dean." Faintly, red-rimmed eyes of the younger Winchester met the glassy ones of the older.

"I promise, Sam. Tomorrow, okay? You need to sleep, man."

"Can't."

"Try again." He removed the book from the other's grasp. "Without this." Dean took his phone from his pocket without losing the physical contact and tapped a few icons. Music. Playlist. Sam's List. He hit play and set the phone on the nightstand. "Soft rock. Just what you love. That'll help put you out for a while."

"You have a song list for me on your phone?"

"Of course."

"Why?"

"It's what I do, Sam. Look after my little brother. Now, lay down, shut up and sleep. Tomorrow morning we'll hit the diner for breakfast. Stuff this face with pancakes covered in lardy butter and sugar rich syrup until I implode. Hot cup'a caffeine. Hangin' with my little brother. The perfect mornin'. Then, we work. But, ya gotta sleep." Dean patted Sam's knee, pushed his leg flat and then pulled on the two extra pillows from behind his back until the long frame was vertical on the bed. It was all routine for both brothers at this point in their lives; so many similar moments from when they were younger and Sam was hurt or scared or lonely and Dean was the only one there for him.

Adjusting the phone on the nightstand, Dean reached for the pull chain of the nearby lamp. "You want the light on or off?"

"Dean, I'm not four."

Dean ignored the weak attempt at a complaint. "Shut up. On or off?"

"Off, but..." Sam paused, suddenly wanting to ask something, but feeling foolish doing it.

"Whatcha need, Sammy?" The use of the affectionate nickname had him futilely pushing back another surge of emotion. Dean saw and kept his tone low and comforting. "Whatever you need, brother, tell me."

Sam cleared his throat and hugged a spare pillow to his chest. "Just um...leave the door open and..."

Dean read the thought so he didn't have to finish it verbally. "Yup, hallway stays lit. See ya in the mornin', Sammy."

Again the name. Again another surge.

"Breakfast. Me an' you."

"Can't wait, Dean." A glimmer of happiness blending in with the new and very raw tears. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, Sammy. Night."

"Night."

Tomorrow would come. Dean would still be here and home and alive.

Tomorrow would be a good day.

The end.