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Sometimes it seemed like Dean had spent most of his life with this feeling of dread. The tightening of his chest, the way his brain wanted to just shut out of the world in hopes that maybe things weren’t really that bad—it had been his constant companion since he hit 18. Probably long before that if he were being completely honest.
You think he’d be used to it by now.
But no, here Dean was well over a decade later, still pacing the same holes in the ground as he waited to hear about his brother. He wanted to be in there with Sam, be able to do anything that might help fix this mess, but it had been clear that Dean was not wanted. Sam may not have spoken to him since they realized what had caused this sudden downturn in his health, but his anger at Dean had been plain for everyone to see.
And honestly? Dean couldn’t even blame him.
He should have found another way, some way that didn’t involve cramming an angel down his brother’s throat without his knowledge. Had he just told Sam about Zeke—no, Gadreel —sooner, then maybe his brother wouldn’t need a nasal cannula to breathe right now. He could never have just let Sam die, but in the end, wasn’t that what he’d done?
After all, Crowley was very clear. Gadreel may have been keeping Sam alive, but he certainly wasn’t healing him. The angel had been acting as a parasite, slowly but surely leaching all life from Sam. His essence had practically been eating him alive for the last month or so, and Dean would never forget the x-ray that had come back of his brother’s body. The doctor couldn’t even identify where some of his organs were, the angel had messed things up so bad. Sam’s doctor had said the thoughts they’d all been too afraid to voice: Sam shouldn’t be alive.
But he was, because somewhere in there, the angel was still hiding away, keeping Sam alive but just barely. They all knew what was actually happening though.
Sam was dying. Again.
The only difference was that, this time, it was a slow agony caused by the one person in the world who was supposed to protect him.
Dean could understand why Sam blamed him. This really was all his fault.
The sound of Sam’s door opening interrupted Dean’s thoughts, and his eyes shot up to meet those of Castiel. His heart sank immediately at the despair he read there. He knew just from his face exactly what the verdict was.
“I’m sorry, Dean,” he started gravely. “Sam’s damage is of such unique nature that it’s hard to even identify where it begins and ends. I’m afraid Crowley is right. There’s nothing we can do.”
Dean fought to keep his emotions at bay. He’d known this was likely the case—he’d see the x-ray and how deteriorated Sam already is. But somewhere deep down, he’d been clinging on to the hope that this could all be fixed and things could go back to normal.
Now, as the glimmer of hope was smashed to pieces in front of him, it was as if the floor had dropped out beneath him. His stomach clenched painfully, and he swallowed back the despair that was trying to tear itself out. He’d lost his brother too many times; he couldn’t do it again.
“I need to see him,” Dean announced as a sudden wave of desperation flooded him. How long did Sam have? Were these his final moments now?
He made to enter the room, but Cas held up a hand. “Dean, I don’t think Sam wants to see you ye—”
“I don’t care!” Dean shouted. “My brother is dying in there, and it’s my fault.” At Cas’s unimpressed look, he realized that was the same mindset that had gotten them into this mess. But this wasn’t about that. He softened his voice. “Please, I need to make this right.”
Cas stared at him for another moment before sighing heavily and stepping aside. Dean didn’t waste a moment pushing past him and to where he knew his brother would be laying.
He looks even more frail than this morning.
The door closes loudly behind Dean and, even though his brother’s back is towards him, he knows that Sam knew it was him. For a moment, neither said anything, and the only sound was the steady rhythm of Sam’s monitoring machines.
Deciding his best bet was just to go for it, Dean tried to wipe the sorrow from his voice. “Hey, Sammy,” he said softly, walking over to the side Sam was facing. The younger man didn’t even glance at him, but Dean hadn’t been expecting him to. Even if Sam had had energy, he was still furious over the revelation from this morning.
When there continued to be no reaction, Dean busied himself with checking Sam’s equipment. He frowned, noting that the IV bag seemed to only have saline in it. “Are you in pain?” he asked, looking for the pain killers he’d been on for most of the day. Sam huffed and Dean realized how stupid a question that was. His brother hadn’t been pain-free in awhile now.
Moving slowly in order to give Sam ample opportunity to stop him, he pulled out some of the strong stuff and added it to the IV bag. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.
There’s another couple of awkward minutes where neither speak. A small part of Dean relaxes as he sees the pain lines on his brother’s face lessen. Sam really would have just sat there in heavy pain before resorting to speaking to him.
Dean sat down, determined to somehow make this better. He knew that Sam had just gotten the same awful news as he did, but he had clearly given up hope before Cas even arrived.
That was what scared him most about this.
Dean would find something, had to find something to save Sam. That’s what he always did. And he was determined to do it right this time. He couldn’t let his brother die like this.
But Sam? Sam had been nearly unresponsive since Crowley revealed what Dean had done. He certainly wasn’t happy with Dean, but nowhere was the fiery rage that Dean had come to associate with his little brother. All spark in his eyes was long gone, and Dean couldn’t help but go back to his time in Sam’s mind.
Sam had been ready to die. He’d wanted to die.
And now, his will to fight was likely the only thing buying Dean time to save him. If Sam gave up...
Dean looked at his brother’s vacant expression, as if he was already just a husk of his former self, and felt his own anger festering. Gadreel hadn’t even left. Somewhere, he was still in there, continuing to rip his brother to shreds.
“Gadreel, if you can hear me, then listen up,” Dean growled. “You better fix my brother right now or I swear that I will hunt you down and show you exactly the kind of pain you’re putting my brother through.”
Sam took a slightly deeper breath, eyes misting a bit, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge his brother’s declaration. The rush of anger was almost immediately swallowed back into despair and he felt a little stupid for even trying to communicate with the angel. If Gadreel was willing to leave, he would be out by now. And it’s not like he could do anything to him now, when he’s the only thing keeping Sam alive. The last thing he needed right now was his brother shouting at him.
Fixing his attention on his brother’s face, Dean said, “I’m going to get you out of this, Sam, I promise. I don’t know how, but you’re not going to die, do you hear me?”
No response.
“And I get why you’re angry, I do. This is all my fault, and I swear when this is all over, you can chew me out for it for as long as you want. But please, hold on.”
A twitch, perhaps a swallow.
“And this time it will be on your terms, okay?” Dean said, desperate for his brother to just look at him. “No demon deals, no angel parasites, I’ll find a way that you’re okay with, just promise me that you won’t give up.”
His voice broke on the last words as a tear formed and slipped down his brother’s cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his head more into the bed as if to hide it, but they both knew he was crying. And as much as he hated seeing his brother put through this, Dean’s own eyes moistened at the first real signs of life in his brother all day. He’d mumbled a bit to Cas, and he’d tried to help in setting him up the best he can, but everything had been robotic. There’d been no trace of Sam.
The tears didn’t stop, but Sam kept his eyes closed.
“Sam, please, look at me, man. I need to know you’re still in there. That you’re still fighting. Just talk to me, please .” Dean’s breath hitched and he stopped trying to hold back the tears. If Sam needed to see how much he meant it, then he would show him. “I’m sorry, I really messed up, but I’m barely holding it together here. Please, Sammy, don’t make me do this alone. Let me make things right.”
He finishes with a tight throat, unsure if he could have forced more words out anyway. Sam wasn’t pretending Dean wasn’t there anymore, but he still wouldn’t look at him. A few more tears fell, but then nothing.
With each passing second of no response, Dean felt his heart sink deeper. Maybe it was too late. Maybe Sam really had already given up. Maybe he’d failed all over again.
After sitting there for another few minutes, the emptiness in the air became too much for Dean and he stood up. He placed a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’m not giving up on us, okay? Just hang in there a little longer.”
As he moved to leave, a hoarse voice interrupted him.
“My terms?”
Dean spun around to finally see that Sam was looking at him. His eyes were still wet and at that moment, it felt like Sam was a kid again, asking Dean if Dad would be back soon. It was a look that was pure Sam and something lifted from Dean’s shoulders as he replied. “Yeah, Sam. Your terms. I promise.”
Sam’s body had a slight tremor to it and Dean couldn’t tell if it was from sickness or from emotion, but then he smiled and everything else faded into the background. “Okay.”
The words were barely audible, but never had Dean felt such immediate relief. Because this was Sam. Living. Feeling. This was Sam fighting.
“Okay,” he said back, offering his own smile. Maybe Sam was still angry, maybe he would never forgive Dean, but right now he had his brother back and that was all that mattered. They would get through this. Together. “Okay, Sammy.”