The Only Way, for annie46
Aug. 2nd, 2016 05:02 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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spn_summergenTitle: The Only Way
Recipient:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
annie46
Rating: PG
Word Count: Approx 1,000
Warnings: Some references to hell, but nothing graphic
Author’s Notes: It’s always fun to write Dean caring for a sick Sam, so I was delighted when the prompt gave me the chance to do that. I tried to work in a little of the amulet prompt as well. I hope you enjoy this!
Summary: After Red Meat, Sam’s a little unwell. Dean takes care of him and they talk.
“I want you to have it.”
Sam’s voice is little more than breath, so soft Dean wouldn’t know what he was saying if he weren’t used to reading every nuance of his little brother’s expression like a favourite book.
“I want you to have it.”
It looks like Sam’s going to keep saying it until he gets a response, and he doesn’t have energy to waste, so Dean nods even as he swipes a damp cloth over Sam’s burning forehead.
“Sure, kiddo,” he says easily. “Just as soon as you’re better.”
“No.”
Sam’s voice is louder, firmer. It makes Dean’s blood run cold. He knows that no. He hates that no.
“Sammy –”
“No, Dean.” A wildly flailing hand reaches out, hitting Dean’s ear and his top button before finally finding his fingers to squeeze. “No, no, no, what if I don’t? I have to show you –”
“Shut up,” Dean snaps, fear giving his words real heat. Sam can’t give up. He’s everything Dean’s got, everything Dean will ever have. “You’re going to be fine. You’re going to get better, you hear me? No way are you wasting all the hard work I put into patching you up in a cabin in the middle of nowhere.”
“But –”
“Shut up.”
Sam subsides, shutting his eyes.
Dean slides his fingertips down to Sam’s wrist. The thrumming is a reassuring sign that, no matter how dramatic Sam’s being, he’s alive right now. It’s Dean’s job to make sure he stays that way.
He still can’t believe how stupid he was, thinking they were going to get away with something as easy as a few stitches after Sam almost died and scared about fifty years off Dean’s life in the process. Of course he woke up in the middle of the night, all his senses on fire telling him something was wrong. Of course that something turned out to be Sam, delirious and spiking a fever and rambling about wanting to give Dean something.
Sam’s still now.
Dean feels something twist in his chest. What if he never hears Sam rambling again?
“Hey. Sammy.”
Sam’s eyes open. They’re still fever-bright.
“I’m sorry. You need to save your strength.”
“I don’t want to die.”
The words are almost childish. Dean thinks he might burst into tears if he meets Sam’s eyes, so he keeps his gaze on the nondescript brown blanket as he answers.
“You’re not going to die.”
“I’m not scared.”
“I know you’re not.”
“Lucifer tried to make me let him out. I couldn’t, Dean. I fought too hard to keep him locked up. I gave everything for it, Dean.”
“Yeah, you did.” Dean remembers those months without Sam. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget them. He doesn’t want to forget them. The memory is bearable now; with Sam alive and whole and pulling the puppy-dog eyes every time Dean forgets to buy kale, he can stand to look back on the time when his baby brother was the devil’s plaything. “I understand, Sammy. You did the right thing.”
“I thought you’d forgive me,” Sam mumbles.
Dean’s puzzled for a moment until his brain connects the dots. “You’re an idiot,” he says bluntly. “I know I gave you a hard time, but did you really think I’d want you to give yourself up to Lucifer to make up for it? Forever? I was just… I was scared I was losing you. And it came out the wrong way, and it wasn’t fair to you, but… I thought you understood that, Sammy.”
“You threw it away.”
Dean doesn’t need to ask what Sam means. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it.”
“If I die –”
“Hey.” Dean would shake Sam if he could. Since he can’t, he settles for a glare. Sam responds by looking so hurt that Dean hurries to soothe him. “You’re not going to die. Not on my watch.”
“It’s not your watch.”
“It’s always my watch.”
“No,” Sam breathes. “No, not anymore. He’s back now. Lucifer’s back.”
“Sam –”
“A hundred and eighty years.” Sam clutches at Dean’s shirt. “I haven’t known you for a hundred and eighty years.”
“Sam.” Dean disentangles Sam’s fingers. “Sit up. You need to take something for the fever.”
“No. He’s back. If I die, do you want it?”
Dean doesn’t know which part of that to address first, so he buys some time by sitting Sam up. Sam promptly settles himself against Dean’s shoulder. Glad for a reprieve, Dean wraps one arm around Sam and grabs the bottle of Tylenol with the other.
“That won’t help,” Sam mumbles.
“Let’s try it anyway.”
“Lucifer’s cold.” Sam shivers. “Cold, Dean. So cold. You have no idea. It’s colder than absolute zero. I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again.” He snuggles closer, like he’s searching for warmth. “If I die, do you want it?”
“That’s enough talk about dying, Sam.”
“He said that was the only way. God didn’t want to be found. I thought you’d have it if I died. But I didn’t, did I? Not really. I was in Lucifer’s Cage, but I was alive.”
“What are you talking about? Who said it was the only way?”
“He said it was the only way.” Sam’s eyes are wide, like he’s astonished Dean’s asking something so obvious. Dean has no idea what he means; it could’ve been any of the dozens of angels and demons and humans who invaded their lives. “If I die –”
“No.” Dean’s answer is sure. He’s never been surer of anything. “If that’s the only way to get it, I don’t want it. There isn’t going to be an if you die. You’re not going to die.”
“Lucifer said I’d die. He’ll come for me.”
“He’s going to have to get through me,” Dean says calmly. “He’s not getting you, Sammy.”
“He will. You can’t protect me.”
“Yes I can.” Dean holds a cup to Sam’s lips. “Drink.” He tips it so Sam can sip slowly. “Why only if you die, Sam?” The words feel like they’re choking him, but he has to know.
“I thought you wouldn’t want it while I was alive.”
Dean shuts his eyes for a moment to force back tears. Then he puts the cup down and runs his fingers through Sam’s hair.
“Get some rest, Sammy. We’ll talk about it later.”
“But –”
“Sleep.”
Sam does.
In the morning, he doesn’t bring up their conversation. His fever is down, so Dean dares to hope it was just delirium and he’s forgotten it now.
But their lives have never been that easy.
Dean pushes the thought from his mind, dredges up a cocky grin, and threatens to cut Sam’s hair the next time he’s unconscious.
THE END
Recipient:
annie46Rating: PG
Word Count: Approx 1,000
Warnings: Some references to hell, but nothing graphic
Author’s Notes: It’s always fun to write Dean caring for a sick Sam, so I was delighted when the prompt gave me the chance to do that. I tried to work in a little of the amulet prompt as well. I hope you enjoy this!
Summary: After Red Meat, Sam’s a little unwell. Dean takes care of him and they talk.
“I want you to have it.”
Sam’s voice is little more than breath, so soft Dean wouldn’t know what he was saying if he weren’t used to reading every nuance of his little brother’s expression like a favourite book.
“I want you to have it.”
It looks like Sam’s going to keep saying it until he gets a response, and he doesn’t have energy to waste, so Dean nods even as he swipes a damp cloth over Sam’s burning forehead.
“Sure, kiddo,” he says easily. “Just as soon as you’re better.”
“No.”
Sam’s voice is louder, firmer. It makes Dean’s blood run cold. He knows that no. He hates that no.
“Sammy –”
“No, Dean.” A wildly flailing hand reaches out, hitting Dean’s ear and his top button before finally finding his fingers to squeeze. “No, no, no, what if I don’t? I have to show you –”
“Shut up,” Dean snaps, fear giving his words real heat. Sam can’t give up. He’s everything Dean’s got, everything Dean will ever have. “You’re going to be fine. You’re going to get better, you hear me? No way are you wasting all the hard work I put into patching you up in a cabin in the middle of nowhere.”
“But –”
“Shut up.”
Sam subsides, shutting his eyes.
Dean slides his fingertips down to Sam’s wrist. The thrumming is a reassuring sign that, no matter how dramatic Sam’s being, he’s alive right now. It’s Dean’s job to make sure he stays that way.
He still can’t believe how stupid he was, thinking they were going to get away with something as easy as a few stitches after Sam almost died and scared about fifty years off Dean’s life in the process. Of course he woke up in the middle of the night, all his senses on fire telling him something was wrong. Of course that something turned out to be Sam, delirious and spiking a fever and rambling about wanting to give Dean something.
Sam’s still now.
Dean feels something twist in his chest. What if he never hears Sam rambling again?
“Hey. Sammy.”
Sam’s eyes open. They’re still fever-bright.
“I’m sorry. You need to save your strength.”
“I don’t want to die.”
The words are almost childish. Dean thinks he might burst into tears if he meets Sam’s eyes, so he keeps his gaze on the nondescript brown blanket as he answers.
“You’re not going to die.”
“I’m not scared.”
“I know you’re not.”
“Lucifer tried to make me let him out. I couldn’t, Dean. I fought too hard to keep him locked up. I gave everything for it, Dean.”
“Yeah, you did.” Dean remembers those months without Sam. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget them. He doesn’t want to forget them. The memory is bearable now; with Sam alive and whole and pulling the puppy-dog eyes every time Dean forgets to buy kale, he can stand to look back on the time when his baby brother was the devil’s plaything. “I understand, Sammy. You did the right thing.”
“I thought you’d forgive me,” Sam mumbles.
Dean’s puzzled for a moment until his brain connects the dots. “You’re an idiot,” he says bluntly. “I know I gave you a hard time, but did you really think I’d want you to give yourself up to Lucifer to make up for it? Forever? I was just… I was scared I was losing you. And it came out the wrong way, and it wasn’t fair to you, but… I thought you understood that, Sammy.”
“You threw it away.”
Dean doesn’t need to ask what Sam means. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it.”
“If I die –”
“Hey.” Dean would shake Sam if he could. Since he can’t, he settles for a glare. Sam responds by looking so hurt that Dean hurries to soothe him. “You’re not going to die. Not on my watch.”
“It’s not your watch.”
“It’s always my watch.”
“No,” Sam breathes. “No, not anymore. He’s back now. Lucifer’s back.”
“Sam –”
“A hundred and eighty years.” Sam clutches at Dean’s shirt. “I haven’t known you for a hundred and eighty years.”
“Sam.” Dean disentangles Sam’s fingers. “Sit up. You need to take something for the fever.”
“No. He’s back. If I die, do you want it?”
Dean doesn’t know which part of that to address first, so he buys some time by sitting Sam up. Sam promptly settles himself against Dean’s shoulder. Glad for a reprieve, Dean wraps one arm around Sam and grabs the bottle of Tylenol with the other.
“That won’t help,” Sam mumbles.
“Let’s try it anyway.”
“Lucifer’s cold.” Sam shivers. “Cold, Dean. So cold. You have no idea. It’s colder than absolute zero. I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again.” He snuggles closer, like he’s searching for warmth. “If I die, do you want it?”
“That’s enough talk about dying, Sam.”
“He said that was the only way. God didn’t want to be found. I thought you’d have it if I died. But I didn’t, did I? Not really. I was in Lucifer’s Cage, but I was alive.”
“What are you talking about? Who said it was the only way?”
“He said it was the only way.” Sam’s eyes are wide, like he’s astonished Dean’s asking something so obvious. Dean has no idea what he means; it could’ve been any of the dozens of angels and demons and humans who invaded their lives. “If I die –”
“No.” Dean’s answer is sure. He’s never been surer of anything. “If that’s the only way to get it, I don’t want it. There isn’t going to be an if you die. You’re not going to die.”
“Lucifer said I’d die. He’ll come for me.”
“He’s going to have to get through me,” Dean says calmly. “He’s not getting you, Sammy.”
“He will. You can’t protect me.”
“Yes I can.” Dean holds a cup to Sam’s lips. “Drink.” He tips it so Sam can sip slowly. “Why only if you die, Sam?” The words feel like they’re choking him, but he has to know.
“I thought you wouldn’t want it while I was alive.”
Dean shuts his eyes for a moment to force back tears. Then he puts the cup down and runs his fingers through Sam’s hair.
“Get some rest, Sammy. We’ll talk about it later.”
“But –”
“Sleep.”
Sam does.
In the morning, he doesn’t bring up their conversation. His fever is down, so Dean dares to hope it was just delirium and he’s forgotten it now.
But their lives have never been that easy.
Dean pushes the thought from his mind, dredges up a cocky grin, and threatens to cut Sam’s hair the next time he’s unconscious.
THE END
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