False Pretense
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Note: so, this was going to be a one-shot, but for the love of all the damn thing just keeps growing and I like to keep my one shots under 3000 words and its just not gonna fly with this fic, so im breaking it up into 2-3 parts.
Warnings: Now, y'all know I hate warnings because I think they ruin a story so I'm just gonna lay it out like this, language, so is the F-word offend you, don't read and flame me, you're warned. Also NO WINCEST. There is a Wincest version that I wrote, but I felt it was more challenging, and more interesting to tell it from a brotherly perspective; but if you'd really like to read the other version, I will happily send it to you, or if enough people are interested I'll just post it in my wincest fic series "Foreplay"
I hope everyone enjoys, I've spent forever on this fic, and I am proud of it, and feedback is love…which I am in desperate need of.
--
No matter what it took, Sam was not going to break the promise he made to his brother.
He swore that he would get Dean out of that deal…no matter what it took, he promised himself. Dean meant everything to him, he loved him and he refused…he wasn't going to live without his brother.
Live alone. They had taken his mother, and his girlfriend, and his father…but they couldn't take Dean.
He needed Dean; he couldn't do it without Dean. He needed his big brother.
But then the time started flying by and no matter what he tried, what he did, nothing could save him. It was like slowly drowning. Or worse, it was like watching his brother slowly drown and having to watch it, and he couldn't even jump the boat and try to help him.
Sink or swim.
He'd promised.
He'd save him like Dean had saved him and looked after him every day of his life.
But then he realized he couldn't, and he didn't know how.
--
He wasn't sure how or when or what made him figure it out.
He thinks that it was something Ruby said about how big sacrifice really was.
And that was when he decided…Dean sacrificed everything for him…he could give up one thing for his big brother.
Even if it had to be his soul.
--
And then that fucking bitch had to screw with him.
"You're already a demon, Sam, why would I trade that tarnished soul of yours for your brother's?"
"Because I'll give you and your boss what you want. She wants me dead, fine."
"You know, I can't just play revolving door with your and Dean's souls…it doesn't work that way."
"I don't want you to. Dean will never find out…ever."
"Tall order…" She seemed to muse on it for a bit, all the while thinking…how the fuck did she get so god damn lucky? The Winchesters were like a goddamned gift. Like a puppy with a big red bow that kept running in front of the moving bus.
"Eight months." She offered him, "Your brother lives and you get what you want."
"Deal."
She closed her lips over his, and sealed the deal.
She's so redeemed herself with this one.
But it was okay. He saved Dean after all, didn't he?
Just like he promised.
--
It all began the very next morning.
He barely remembered that morning. All he knew was that morning he had gotten up early and hopped in the shower. The next thing he recalled he woke up in a hospital bed with Dean standing over him with the protective edge in his eyes, and looking…scared.
No, scared was the wrong word. Dean looked fucking terrified.
"Sammy." Dean said, it all coming out in one big breath, followed by a silent prayer of thanks.
"What'm I doing here?" Sam was confused; did he get hurt on a hunt?
Dean half smiled. "Being the girl you are you fainted in the shower…you split your head open on the tiles and were bleeding pretty bad. The doc is running some tests, just to make sure everything is okay…but don't worry Sammy. Everything's going to be okay, I'm looking out for you."
Sam nodded his head. "I know."
He should have known…the bitch didn't waste even a day.
--
It was what Dean used to refer to as chick flick diseases. In the movies that he of course did not ever watch.
(Except sometimes he did, but he'd deny it until the earth fell from the sky, and Sam cut his hair to a decent length; something he'd discovered long ago would equal a sign of the apocalypse.)
An inoperable brain tumor.
All Sam could think was that as far as demons were concerned, there was no accounting for taste, or even the slightest bit of creativity.
--
"Have you ever played any contact sports?" Was the doctor's first question for Sam, upon diagnosis.
"Soccer." Dean answered quickly. "Only when he was a kid though."
She made a note of it on her clipboard. "Have you ever suffered any blows to the head, participated in any contact sports more recently?"
Suddenly Dean tuned out and Sam could see it right in his eyes, all it took was those few little words, that one little moment for him to turn to this is all my fault.
Sam answered, shaking his head. "A little football, a few pick up games of basketball with friends in college but that was three years ago, and no bad hits."
Dean was only half listening.
Every hunt…every single one flashed through his mind.
The time in Colorado when the windego threw Sam against the tree and then there was the ghost in Idaho that pushed Sam off of the balcony and the time at the bar in San Francisco when Dean got in a fight with some drunken biker 'cause he was flirting with his girl and Sam jumped in to back him up and the guy cracked his head open with a pool stick…
And then some.
God, this was all his fault. He was supposed to protect Sam. He had promised to protect Sam, that he wouldn't let anything happen to his brother and now Sam was dying and it was his entire fault because he didn't protect him like he said he would. Like he promised his dad, and his mom, that he would.
That he would always look after Sam and not ever let anything bad happen to him.
"Are you afraid of the monsters, Sammy?" Dean asked his baby brother. "You don't have to be, Mommy says there's nothing that can hurt us as long as she and Daddy are here. And I'll take of you too. I promise nothing bad will happen to you. I'll cake care of you. I'm your big brother, that's my job."
Sam gurgled happily as Dean talked to him and by the time Mary had come in to check on the baby, both children had fallen asleep. Dean was curled up in the crib, with Sam carefully curled up against his chest, just the way she had showed him he had to hold his brother.
Protecting him.
Like he promised Sam, I won't ever let anything bad happen to you.
When the doctor began to list all the options they had, Dean felt the bile rise up in his throat. He felt nauseous. All he wanted was to cry, for anything, for some magic fix…anything except listening to this doctor explain to them that their were options somanyoptions.
When she paused, telling them they should have a moment to think…he told Sam he'd be right back.
Sam knew Dean wasn't okay when he walked out without even a comment about using the sympathy card to have sex with the pretty lady doctor.
--
He felt lucky that he made it as far as the end of the hall, and into the men's room before vomiting his breakfast…
No, not breakfast…Sam had collapsed in the shower and they'd never had breakfast.
…He vomited last nights dinner into the toilet, his fingers clenching the edge of the seat until his knuckles went white and then he slid down to the floor, his back to the stall of the door.
How could he watch his brother die again? He felt a chill run through his body as he rembered, Sam's body and been so cold, and heavy…like lead.
As he saw the dead Sam from his nightmares appear again in his head, he threw up again.
He couldn't…he could not lose Sam again.
He kept seeing Sam lying there, cold, unmoving, unfeeling…not at all Sam. Just dead and gone and he was scared. He could feel the tears slipping down his face but he couldn't even care.
SamSamSam
How could it happen? Why? He'd made his deal, Sam was supposed to be okay. He was supposed to be the one to live and carry it all on. He was going to be the one with a pretty wife, and the house, and the great kids…
This was not supposed to be the way it ended for him.
But he didn't even know how to save him.
He was so scared because…what did he do without Sam?
How could he save Sam? How? How could he fix this when he had nothing, nothing left to bargain with?
Your gutter soul isn't worth much anyways.
He was down to nothing.
He had no intentions of spending his last months of life in a hospital, and he told her that plainly.
"This isn't a death sentence," She told him, when Sam requested that he be discharged. "This doesn't mean that you give up."
"Damn straight." Dean told his brother, standing in the doorway, forcing himself to believe…there was no other option but for Sam to beat this. Sam wasn't going to die, he couldn't. "What are our options?"
"Your brother's condition is very advanced, so I'd like to begin him on a course of chemotherapy and radiation treatment immediately. However, it is up to your brother just how rigorous of a treatment he'd like to pursue."
"Currently, he isn't interested in pursuing the recommended treatment, but there are medications I can prescribe to make him more comfortable." She told Dean, "But in the end…it's up to you. Sam."
Bullshit…Sam thought, feeling the slightest of urges to laugh as he looked at Dean
"Bullshit." Dean retorted, looking from Sam to the doctor, and Sam was suddenly so sorry…he knew what this was doing to Dean. He didn't need to have Dean say it to see how scared he really was. That inside he was being ripped apart, and was scared.
This wasn't something he could fight, and it scared the hell out of him.
"Sam, that's crap." He walked over to him and looked straight at him, and for just a moment, Sam didn't see Dean his pain in the ass big brother, but he saw the Dean that had protected him all these years giving him a direct order.
Orders had kept them alive for most of their childhood. Too bad it wouldn't work this time.
"You are not giving up…we've fought way to damn hard, and way to long for you to let something like this beat you. You are not going to."
Modern medicine couldn't beat the devil.
But he didn't care, he did it for Dean. Dean had made plenty of sacrifices for, so Sam could at least give him a little while to try and fight it.
--
He allowed them three months.
Three months of drilling holes in his head, and making attempts and doing all but giving him a pre-frontal lobotomy.
Dean joked frequently about how come Sam got to be Jack Nicholson and why he had to be the Indian.
Sam reminded him that he couldn't ever be the Indian cause he didn't know to shut his mouth long enough to eat a meal.
When Sam slept off the pain killers they gave him, and took him behind those doors where his brother couldn't follow him and assure him that everything, everything would be okay…
Dean would call Bobby and demand that no, don't you come here. Find me something. Find me fucking something to make him better.
Once Bobby told him that there was nothing left…Dean agreed. Sammy was dying, and their wasn't a god damn thing left.
That was when he cried, and cursed his father.
Fucking john! Fuck him for leaving him here to deal with this alone. Fuck him for making it so that he had to watch his brother die and not do a damn thing about it. Fucking bastard for running off and leaving him with a demon he couldn't save his brother from.
Three months.
They determined that try as they may, surgery would never work and they resorted to chemo and radiation.
He preferred the drilling.
His hair fell out—all of it. He was so god damn sick that he could barely sit up straight. So he hardly realized what happened to his hair until he heard Dean barking at the nurse to get rid of that god damn mirror.
On reflex he ran his hand through his hair and watched the clumps of brown hair flutter down to his lap.
It was stupid and superficial, he knew it was even silly, but that was the first time it really hit him. The first time he wanted to cry.
It was the first time he couldn't hide it from Dean, and Dean did what he always had done when Sam was a kid to make him feel better—joke.
"Well, Sammy, its about damn time we did something about that hair of yours."
Sam demanded, "Cut it off, Dean. Please, just…" He looked up at Dean, pleading with him. He didn't want to watch his hair fall out. "Please."
"Sam, its not that bad, really. You don't want to—
"Dean!" It was a frantic, hysertical sort of cry. He couldn't…anything, but he was not going to watch his hair fall out.
"Okay." Dean felt his eyes watering, but he was not—would not break in front of Sam. He had to be strong for him. "Okay Sam."
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