All of These Stars.
Author's Note: First off I just wanted to say this is my first Sam/Dean fanfiction that I've ever written, okay? Second, this is basically The Fault in Our Stars and Supernatural mixed together. So, some of the dialogue will be the same as in the movie/book.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or The Fault in Our Stars at all. I'm just a shitty teenager trying to place feels in someone's heart, which defiantly shouldn't be there. Don't hate me, yeah?
Warnings: Sick Sam and Dean. Sam Singer and Dean Winchester. Non-related brothers. Really huge feels right in the heart. AU. OOC Castiel. (Sorry.)
Enjoy this heart felt story which will make you hate me. ~
In the middle of the fall of my 19th year, my family decided I was depressed. Which was totally not what was going on, okay? Well, maybe a little. Whatever.
I assembled on the white bed in the doctor's office, swinging my legs without any enthusiasm and watched as my dad talked to the doctor as if I was not there. I pushed the handle of my backpack down that had my oxygen in it and glared at them.
"He doesn't leave the house for God sake's, Dr. Gabriel."
"I'm not depressed." My mouth said the words automatically, watching as my dad sent me a look that was mixed with incredulity and concern.
"He's reading the same book over, and over again."
"He's defiantly depressed." Dr. Gabriel spoke, his lips twitching into a smile as he nodded at my father.
"I'm not depressed!" Scoffing at them, my view went out towards the window and watched as the leaves fell off the branches and cascaded towards the ground with a heap of colors.
With all the stupid websites and pamphlets out there, they always listed depression as a side effect of cancer. To be honest, it's not. It's a side effect of dying. This, of course, was what was happening to me and with stage four thyroid cancer, that's typically what happens.
I was snapped back into reality by the talking that was directed towards me. "Hm?"
"I said, that I might switch you to Prozac, or maybe Celexa, and possibly even Lexapro." He grabbed his clipboard and started writing down something. I don't know what, but it could be all the drugs he's probably going to be giving me.
"Oh, yeah, yup. Keep them comin'." Sarcasm laced my words as he looked back up and raised an eyebrow at what I had said.
"What?"
"I'll be, like, the Keith Richards of cancer kids." I smiled as the doctor rolled his eyes and smirked, going back to his clipboard.
"Well, are you going to that support group I at least suggested?"
"Yeah, uh—"I wrinkled my nose in disgust at the mention of the group he had suggested. "It's not really my thing."
"Come on, Sam. It'll be great. It's for people who're…"
"Who are what? Huh?"
If he's saying what I think he's saying.
"It's for people who're on the same…expedition."
"Expedition, my ass." I sneered at nothing in particular as I adjusted my cannula in my nose and breathed in steadily. My eyes glanced at the doctor as he spoke my name.
"Sam, just go. You'll maybe find that you even like it." Dr. Gabriel smiled and exited the doctor's room.
The string of a guitar made me look up from the disturbing blue color of the Jesus rug on the floor. I watched as the leader of the support group placed his guitar back on the floor. "Alright, who would like to start?"
A girl with long black hair stood up. "I'm Ruby. I have acute lymphoblastic leukemia." She sat back down just as a male stood up to take her place from speaking.
"I'm Adam. Intraocular melanoma."
Everyone watched as the kid sat down and the leader of the group started to talk, once again. "I'm Chuck. Testicular."
Let's just spare the details of this horrific tale, okay? Basically, they found it in his balls and they cut most of it out. He almost died, but, he didn't die. So, yeah. Here he is, divorced and living on his parents couch, telling his terrifying story and hoping that one day we could be just like him.
"Alright, who's next?" Chuck asked around just as I took a deep breath in through my nose and looked around the whole group.
"Sam? Would you like to go?"
My gaze caught his as I nodded slowly and stood up, adjusting my cannula to allow it to fit better in my nose. I opened my mouth and spoke, "I'm Sam Singer, 19, and I have uh—I have stage four thyroid." Smiling awkwardly, I looked at Chuck as his grin widened.
"And, how are you doing, Sam?" He asked, staring at me straight in the eye.
You mean besides the life-threatening cancer?
"Uh, I'm…I'm good, I guess."
"We're here for you, Sam." Chuck and the group said in unison. My eye brows rose in uncertainty as I kept staring at the leader.
"Why don't I play another song?"
And that's it. That's my life, usually. MTV, doctor's appointments, seven prescription pills, three times a day. But, worse, worse, worse of all? That stupid support group that my parents just wouldn't let me ditch.
"You seriously cannot make me go. It's agony." I complained, the back of my feet hitting the cupboards below as I sat on the counter.
"It's not even that bad, Sam. Just go and make some new friends. Be a teenager for once." My mom said, spreading mayonnaise on a sandwich.
"A teenager? Mom, if you want me to be a teenager, you need to get me a fake ID or something. You know, so I can go out to clubs and drink beer and take pot." I said, stretching.
"Uh, you don't take pot, Sam." My dad laughed as he took a bite out of his sandwich.
"You see? That's the kind of thing I would know if you would just get me a fake ID!"
"Can you just get in the car, honey? Please?" Mom laughed at me as she put the sandwich together and placed it on the plate.
I balled my fits up together and hit myself in the lungs, moaning out when it hurt and I started to slouch sideways. But, it didn't help. I went. Not because I wanted to or because I thought it would help me. I did it for the reason I always did anything, now.
To make my parents happy.
I unbuckled the belt as she came to a stop at the church. Grabbing my backpack with my oxygen in it, I pulled the handle up and started walking towards the group until I heard a voice yell, "Hey, make some friends!"
I paced faster and finally walked it, starting towards the elevator but stopped when I saw a kid in a wheelchair and he stopped it for me. "Oh, no, that's okay. I'll take the stairs."
"Thank you."
"Yeah, no problem." I watched as the door closed and started walking towards the stairs until I smacked right into someone that obviously wasn't watching where he was going. I looked up into piercing green eyes and watched as he smiled gently at me.
"Sorry—"
"I'm sorry—"
We spoke at the same time but he just smiled and apologized again before he started walking away and smacked into the door, on purpose, and smiled again, walking out of my line of vision.
Alright, then.
Dean Winchester wasn't easily captivated by anything, but today, he just couldn't stop staring at the boy across of him that had the oxygen tubes, that's what they're called, right, in his nose. He could hear Chuck talking, but, it didn't matter because his attention was focused on the boy that kept staring back at him. Okay, well, more like glaring, but close enough.
"—or would your friend here like to share?" The green-eyed male glanced at Chuck, who was staring at him.
"Sure. I'll go." The kid that sat next to Dean stood up, smiling at everyone as he waved. "Hey, I'm Castiel. And I have retinoblastoma. I had my left eye taken out when I was younger, so, that was is just a glass eye and I'm going to get my right one taken out , so after that I'll just be completely blind. It's okay though, because I have this smoking hot girlfriend, Meg and wonderful friends like Dean Winchester, here, so it's great." He smiled and sat back down in his seat.
"What about you, Dean?"
"What—?"
"Would you like to share?"
"Yeah, sure." He stood up, adjusting his leather jacket and smiled. "Hi, I'm Dean Winchester. I'm 20 and I had a touch of osteosarcoma so, I got this guy cut off." He pulled up his pant leg and his right leg was metal, he pulled it down before anyone could get a closer look.
"And how're you doing, Dean?"
"Hm, I'm fine. I'm on a roller coaster that only goes up my friend." He smiled and wiggled his hand up and down, in the roller coaster motion.
Chuck smiled and looked at Dean once more. "Would you like to share your fears to the group?"
"Fears? Uh," the leather-jacket male smiled and looked at Sam for a minute, "oblivion."
Sam scoffed and the leader of the group narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Oblivion?"
"Yeah, you see, I want to live an extraordinary life. And it would disappoint me if I didn't—if I didn't do that." He smiled at the male with the cannula and sat back down.
"Well, would anyone like to speak to that?"
Sam raised his hand quickly.
"Sam? Unexpected." Chuck laughed nervously, watching Sam stand up and fix his shirt before he glanced at Dean.
"I hope you know, there was a time before humans and there is going to be a time after. No one is going to be around to remember Mona Lisa, or Motzart, let alone any of us." He laughed and smiled before he started talking again. "Oblivion is inevitable. And if that scares you, I suggest you ignore it. God knows everyone else does." Sam sat down, fixing his cannula.
Dean Winchester knew he was in love.
Author's Note: I DID IT.
OH MY GOD OKAY I DID ITKHASJDKLG;JHBSJDF
I'm very proud of myself, okay.
DON'T HATE ME THOUGH BYE.