A Bridge Across the Sea and Land

by azephirin

Summary:

Don't sorrow, no, don't weep, for tonight, at last, I am coming home.... AU.

Notes:

roguebitch prompted me with Sam/Dean, "Christmas Day in the Morning." I interpreted that as the refrain from the carol "I Saw Three Ships," and somehow this resulted. Title and summary from "A Sort of Homecoming," by U2.

"Merry fucking Christmas," says Baxter, one of the other associates, as they're locking up their offices. "Let's have a goddamn drink."

"Amen to that," says MaryAlice, who has the office on the other side.

"I can't," Sam says. "I've got to drive down to Norfolk tonight."

"Like in Virginia?" Baxter asks.

Sam nods. "Like in Virginia. The naval base. My brother's getting back from Iraq tomorrow."

"Is he on leave?" MaryAlice ventures.

Sam lets himself smile. He hasn't allowed himself to be happy about it, or relieved, or anything besides marking the date on his calendar and making a reservation at a hotel in Norfolk. "No," Sam says. "Coming home for good."

"Aw, shit, man, that's great." Baxter is apparently incapable of making himself sound like anything but the Duke frat boy he is, but he also, very clearly, means what he's saying. "I'd say we should have a drink for that, but you better get on the road soon, or traffic's gonna be a bitch." The firm closed early, but it's Christmas Eve in New York, so traffic will back up correspondingly early, too.

MaryAlice, tiny and reserved, pauses, then seems to give in to an impulse and throws her arms around Sam. Baxter thumps Sam on the back, then adds, "Thank Christ we elected Obama, dude. My sister came back last month."

Sam blinks. "I didn't know you had a sister in the armed services."

"Yeah, Marines. She can totally kick my ass."

They split up at the corner—Baxter and MaryAlice to an Irish bar, Sam to the subway—and Sam heads home to Brooklyn to pick up the car. His bag is already packed.

+||+||+

 

Without traffic, it's a seven-hour drive; with the holiday, though, it takes Sam more than ten, and he doesn't check in until past two. He's not the latest straggler, though: There are other cars pulling in at the same time, most with military-related bumper stickers and many with license plates from far out of state. Inside, the woman behind him in line carries a sleeping baby and holds the hand of an unhappy-looking three-year-old; Sam lets them go ahead of him, and the mother gives him an exhausted smile.

They told the families to be there at eight. Sam sets the alarm for six thirty, hoping for a few hours' rest, but he stays relentlessly awake. He tries reading, but can't concentrate. Irritated with himself, he opens his laptop and catches up on some work email. An hour later, his inbox is clear, and he's no sleepier than before. Finally he turns on the television, and dozes off to It's a Wonderful Life.

It's the last night he'll sleep without his brother beside him.