Chapter Text
“You’re quiet,” John remarked from his position on the white, scratchy hospital bed. Dean, who had spent the last minute yelling at his brother, now turned to face his father.
“Yeah, sorry,” Sam replied, a breathless laugh, devoid of humor, reaching his lips.
“Bobby have the things I asked for?” John probed, his eyes imploring and impatient.
“No, he said it would take him a few days to get the stuff,” Sam muttered, his eyes not meeting his father’s gaze.
What the hell? interjected Dean’s thoughts.
Sam’s lying?
“C'mon Dad,” he shouted, clapping his hands as if to accentuate his point.
“Something is clearly wrong here, pay attention .”
“ Bobby didn’t have the things?” questioned John in disbelief, earning a shrug from his youngest son.
“I don’t know, he said he’ll get back to me.” John scoffed at this, at an apparent loss at his son’s inability to do one simple task. His dying son laid prone in the other room, and now John would just have to sit pretty and wait for Singer to get back to him. It was enough to elicit a few choice words from him.
“You know, you’re brother and I wouldn’t even be here right now if it weren’t for you,” John snapped, glaring down his son, who flinched at the jab. Springing up from the wall, Dean began to scream.
“What the hell are you on about, you bastard. Sam saved your damn life, and you can’t even find it in yourself to be a little bit grateful for that? How the hell could he have predicted that truck t-boning us, he’s not psychic- well he is, but that’s not the point !” He turned with expectation towards his little brother, ready to back him in the fight he knew was inevitably coming. To his utter confusion, however, Sam seemed to deflate at those words.
“I am sorry,” he whispered, eyes becoming moist.
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, I just didn’t want to lose anyone else.”
“Yeah, well you very may well lose your brother now,” jabbed John, unable to take the bone thrown to him. Dean stared with saucer plate eyes at his father, before rounding on Sam.
“Don’t you believe a word of that Sammy, this wasn’t your fault. If it’s anyone’s, it’s Dad’s for not giving it to us straight. You’re not actually buying this shit, right?” But Sam stared ignorantly onward, unable to hear his brother’s words. He took a breath to steady himself, before finally looking his father in the eye.
“Can we not fight, Dad? I mean, Dean’s not even conscious right now and we’re still going at it. I just- can we just act like father and son? It’s been years of this shit, and half the time I don’t even think I knew what we were arguing about. Until Dean is up, at least, can we just put this on hold?” John stared, taken aback by his son’s sudden outburst. It wasn’t the Winchester way to be so upfront, and he felt put on the spot by his son’s semi-passionate rhapsody. Meanwhile, the highest priority alarm bells that composed of Dean’s Big Brother Instincts went off in near perfect synchrony.
“You can’t honestly miss this shit, right Dad? The last time he talked like this to you he got stabbed by a fucking ghoul!”
“O-Okay, Sam” was all John Winchester said on the matter.
With a soft smile, filled with sorrow, admiration, and so much love , Sam strolled out of the room, closing the door behind him and snagging the duffel he had left outside. Dean followed, glaring daggers as he tried to figure out whatever his little brother was plotting.
Turning the corner, Sam strolled to his older brother’s room, tapping open the door with his foot. Placing the bag down carefully, as if it held fine china, he grinned at his brother’s form, tears in his eyes. Gently, he took him by the hand, all while tracing a finger at his hairline.
“I’m sorry I abandoned you, Dean, I never meant to hurt you. It was just- everywhere I went was death, death, and more death. I was going insane , dude. I was terrified that the next corner I rounded I would see the end of Dad, or worse, you. Look at us now,” he chuckled, a tear slipping down from his left eye and landing on his chapped, quivering lip.
“You’re not losing me Sammy,” Dean proclaimed, rubbing a soothing circle into his unfeeling brother’s back. Sam merely shifted, before steeling himself.
“You’re gonna hate me for what I do next, I know that. But just know that this is for you, okay? This time I’m gonna put you first, like you always did with me. Take care of Dad, God knows the stubborn bastard won’t do so himself, okay Dean? I-I love you. Thanks for everything.”
“What the fuck, Sam,” Dean whispered, his heart beginning to pound out of his chest. He watched as Sam wiped his tears away, giving his brother a swift kiss on the forehead, before turning and backing out of the hospital room, duffel in hand, never turning his back on his brother till the door was shut. Swiftly and with intent, he made his way down the hall.
“What’re you planning, Sam? What the hell do you think you’re doing, huh?!?!” Dean demanded, walking backwards as he attempted to cut his brother off.
“If this is because of what Dad said, he’s an ass who deserves to be clocked one. Whatever you’re gonna do, stop it now !”
They were descending now, Dean noted absently, still caught up in trying to reach his forlorn brother. The sorrowful, yet scary look of determination on his face sent shivers down Dean’s spine, which only grew as Sam opened the bag and drew fucking symbols on the ground. In desperation, Dean began to kick at the chalk lines, attempting to scuff the marks. He was all but hyperventilating now, his Save Sammy alarms kicking into overdrive. In one last ditch effort, he looked right into Sam’s eyes, which were focused on the task at hand, and screamed,
“Fucking stop, Sam! Please, I’m begging you. Go back to Dad, talk this through, just please, please , don’t do this.”
He nearly sobbed in defeat as Sam paid him no heed, now mixing ingredients in a bowl and chanting a ritual.
At last, Dean watched in horror as his little brother stood back, apparently done with his work.
“Well, what do we have here?”
An old janitor smirked at the younger Winchester, his eyes a bright yellow. Dean threw himself in front of his little brother, the Stanford genius who had just reached a new level of idiocy, and held his arms wide as though to protect him. In a seeming response, Sam walked right through him.
“Fix this,” he demanded, though his voice shook. Whether out of fear or sorrow, Dean was unable to discern, nor did he really give a shit because the Yellow-Eyed Demon was standing there and talking to his brother .
“Straight to the point, eh Sammy?” the demon snickered, strolling ever closer.
“NO!” Dean screamed. “Get the hell away from him!”
“I know how this works, I propose the deal, you reap the rewards, so take the damn trade and fix him .”
“Always the educated one of the family, eh son? What exactly does this deal entail?”
“Me for Dean. You can have me, all of me, and all you have to do is give me back my brother. I know you have plans for me, you said so yourself. This is practically a ripoff, so just make the trade.”
“Sammy no ,” whispered Dean in horror, the full scope of his brother’s plan just now setting in.
“No! Turn the fuck around Sam and go! Shoot the fucker and end this, but don’t do this.”
His desperation turned to horror and disgust as the demon approached and cupped his little brother’s face in his hand. His free hand began to probe, pulling back the younger Winchetser’s lips, inspecting his gums and teeth, as if to assess his potential trophy. After a few more moments of probing, bringing Sam’s face close enough to his own to make Dean growl in a predatory manor, he released the boy.
“Yes, this all seems in order, so if you’ll just sign the metaphorical dotted line we can get big brother back in action in no time. You’ll do great Sammy boy, just perfect in my army. Now do we have a deal?”
“NO SAM!” screamed Dean.
“NO!”
“...yes.”