I turned away from him, feeling inexplicably sick to my stomach. I could hardly think straight, let alone speak to him. It had to be the Chemo acting up again; God I hated the Chemo. A hand touched my face; he was trying to get me to look at him again.
"You're so clammy." He mumbled out.
I coughed a bit before answering, "Yeah? Well I need a fucking bucket." I could feel the bile in the back of my throat. How my esophagus must have looked… probably worse than a Bulimic's.
"A bucket?" he stammered, picking up the first waste basket he laid eyes on. "Sit up." He whispered, helping me. He sounded worse than I did. It scared me, I had never seen my baby brother like he was now: blindly terrified and anxious. No sooner had I been propped up when I tossed my cookies all over myself.
"Shit…" I muttered, gasping for air and coughing between fits of choking back vomit.
"It's okay, you can't help it." He said, giving me that rueful smile that I hated to see. He put a hand in my hair, like he had done for the last six months when I needed comforting. "I know it's not your fault." As he pulled away, some of my hair went with him.
I gaped, mouth wide in bewilderment at the sight, "Don't look at me, Sam; I'm disgusting."
"Don't say that, Dean!" he said sharply, forcing me to look at him; his eyes were wet with tears, "You're going to get better."
"I can't Sammy, I'm dying, I can't get better… I made a deal."
"You can't talk like that, Dean. We need to fight this, don't let it win." He pleaded, eyes filled with desperation, his voice hysterical.
"You know, I only have a few days left, if anything..." I smiled.
Sam didn't respond initially, the silence between us heavy. "You're so white; your skin, your lips…" he paused again, studying me, "I suppose you want out of that gown?" he was trying to change the subject, obviously hoping I would forget it in my stupor. I nodded, feeling grateful I hadn't had to wait long.
My voice was hoarse when I spoke up again, "Sammy?" I wouldn't forget something as important as what I needed to tell him.
"Yeah?" he asked, pulling another goddamned hospital gown from the cupboard. I was sick of the things, with good reason.
"I'm gonna miss you most." Sam froze in his tracks, only to turn violently around a moment later.
"You're not saying your goodbyes, are you?" He looked frantic, terrified almost.
"No." I said, still smiling.
"Okay, good." He said apprehensively, helping me change. Sam had been at my bedside every waking moment since I had been hospitalized, tending to my every need. He had slept in chairs until the nurses told him that he could have the cot next to me. "Good as new, right Dean?"
"Yeah Sammy. Hey, could you get me a water bottle from the cafeteria?" I asked.
"Sure, whatever you want." He replied eagerly, tossing the soiled gown into a hamper. Without another word, he left, but took quite a few glances back to me.
In his absence, I had the chance to think. Yes, I would miss him the most, my baby brother who loved me more than anyone or anything else: my baby brother who had taken care of me, who had made each day just that much more bearable. I took up a pen and note pad from the table next to my bed, jotting out a quick note. I folded it into my grip as my eyes fluttered closed, the images of out childhood playing in my mind's eye like a strange, surreal movie. It played backwards, up until just before Sammy was born, the screen fading to black, a smile upon my wizened lips…
Sam walked back into the room, nurses standing over his big brother. He moved closer, seeing the doctor there was well; the nurses unhooked things, some scribbling notes on a clipboard in turn. He dropped the food, staring, crushed and dumbfounded.
"Dean?" he choked, moving closer. He pushed past the group, looking down at his big brother. He looked serene; eyes closed and lips in a slight smile, as though he were getting the most peaceful sleep he had gotten in over a year. Since he had made the deal for his life.
"I'm sorry, he just couldn't fight any longer." The doctor said quietly, echoing Dean's words. Instinctively, he took his big brother's hand, finding a wad of paper there. He unfolded it, feeling everyone's eyes upon him:
"I'm just soggy from the Chemo; and counting down the days to go, it just ain't living and I just hope you know that if you say goodbye today I'd ask you to be true; cause the hardest part of this is leaving you…
Miss you already Sammy"
"You son of a bitch, you knew!" Sam collapsed onto Dean's body, "You knew, and that's why you sent me: because I wouldn't- couldn't say no!" he sobbed, feeling guiltier than ever; he had let his big brother die alone.