To Face Goodbye

Chapter Two

Earlier that Evening:

"No! There has to be someone else, anything else! Bobby, Dean's time is running out and I have to find something that'll save him."

Flipping through a worn out book on ancient spells that he'd already been through nearly thirty times in the past twelve months, Sam Winchester jerked a restless hand back through his already tousled hair before giving in to throw the book against a wall.

"No, I won't give up!" he snapped into his phone, ignoring or not hearing the warning growl on the other end by a man who was willing to take just so much from his favorite two idjits. "Doc Benton lived for so long…he had to have some kind of formula, anything that might keep Dean alive until I find a way to break that deal or…" he still could see the ancient old man who kept himself alive by stealing body parts of other people and knew his brother would not have accepted that as a path to survival but by this point Sam was desperate enough to have tried it.

Listening to Bobby Singer try to be rational over what was clearly Dean's last days on Earth just managed to push Sam's stress to another level and he finally cracked. "I won't give up on him, Bobby! I won't…I can't just let him die because of me!"

Throwing the phone toward the bed, Sam wasn't even aware of when it hit the floor instead as he struggled to find anything, a spell, an idea, a clue in any of the books he'd been dragging with them but the longer it went that he only found the same answers the more tired, the more angry he became until finally he threw the first book and the next, and so on.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!" memories surging of waking up in that shack in Cold Oak, of knowing something was wrong but not being able to place it, of seeing the look of utter relief in his big brother's eyes that moment Dean walked in the door and feeling the strength of his arms when Dean did the rare thing and reached out to Sam.

Trying to do a computer search on his laptop also wasn't giving Sam the results he so desperately was needing as he searched every type of site he could think of…including a few that he knew Dean would roll his eyes at. Checking his e-mail to see if he'd gotten a response from any of the hunters or specialists he'd been contacting, Sam closed his eyes when seeing nothing there that would solve his problems.

His older brother, the one single person Sam had always counted on to be there for him, with him, only had 72 hours or so to live before his deal came due and everything Sam tried to save him just fell apart. "Son of a bitch!" standing suddenly, he flipped the table over and didn't care when his useless laptop went with it as he jerked open his duffel bag to begin to throw things out of it in search of what he'd shoved in earlier that night.

Memories of being small began to hit him as he opened the first bottle of whiskey that he knew Dean would kill him when he learned he'd taken it from the Impala but the pain right then, the pain that he knew would come later was too much and Sam wanted it gone. He just wanted to forget for the moment that in a matter of three days, on his birthday, he'd be losing his big brother.

Not a steady drinker like Dean could or their Dad could, Sam hated the stuff. He hated the smell, hated the effects it had on both his brother and Father but right then he just wanted to drink the pain and loss away even as his own mind betrayed him by remembering the years before…the good times, though he'd never thought them good at the time.

"Dean," he whispered, tightening his grip on the bottle while recalling his childhood. He could easily remember Dean being there more than their Dad had been. His brother taught him everything he needed to know, he'd taught him to walk and talk according to Bobby and Pastor Jim.

It had been his brother who had struggled to protect Sam from everything, he'd fought to make things as normal as possible and when Sam had learned the truth of John Winchester's life, Dean had fought to keep Sam as safe from the monsters they hunted as possible.

Dean had been the one who taught Sam to shoot, to hunt, to try to survive in that life even as their Dad yelled, lectured, and drilled. It was his brother who shielded him, who had given up things so that Sam would have a chance to get out…to have that normal life even if it meant leaving Dean behind.

Two bottles gone, Sam had started on the third when his anger slowly began to overtake the pain. Struggling to his feet, he fell back down when his legs decided to feel like jelly and he was unaware of when he tore the pillow in two as he could hear every lecture John gave them on hunting, on killing the things that needed killing and finally…

"…things that are dead should stay dead…" words that Sam has heard three times and that keep repeating themselves in his head now. The first had been by his Dad when John had been explaining why they needed to dispel a ghost, the second was from Dean after he figured out that he'd been expected to die after the semi truck crashed into them and John had made a deal to save him and finally, he'd heard it in that graveyard when the Yellow-Eyed demon had said it to Dean about Sam who learned why Jake was so shocked to see him.

"No, he's not dying because of me," he mumbled, refusing to let that happen no matter what he had to do. Sam struggled to his feet when his eyes fell on the empty bed closest to the door, his brother's bed, and felt a hammer hit his chest as he began to realize soon that bed would always be empty because he was failing to do what he promised Dean he'd do.

For as long as Sam could remember Dean had always had the bed closest to the door and he'd never questioned it. It was just one of those things that he'd grown up accepting…one of those things that Dean just did naturally and Sam had let him because his big brother had always known best.

"He was supposed to know what was best," he spoke to the empty room as his eyes blurred from both unknown tears and the heavy amount of liquor he'd taken in on a near empty stomach. "This isn't what was supposed to happen. Dean isn't supposed to die…he's not supposed to leave…sonuvabitch!"

Unaware of how much like his brother he sounded on that last curse, Sam lost himself in blind pain-filled rage as he took out the building emotion on the two double beds in the room before he felt his stomach roll with nausea and barely made it to the bathroom before his stomach emptied.

Recalling another time he'd drank too much didn't make Sam any less upset because he could recall the enjoyment Dean had gotten from his so-called hangover cure that had made Sam sicker than the booze did.

That was also the time Sam recalled telling Dean to stop him if he did start to go dark like their Dad warned him of and his brother promised him that he would.

"He promised me that he'd do it," leaning his head on his arm, Sam slammed his other hand down on the bathroom floor and heard glass break just as pain shot up his arm as the third bottle broke and broken glass ripped his flesh. "Damn it! I…blood…" staring at the blood pouring freely from his hand and wrist he thought of something he'd seen in one of Bobby's books. "I can still…try one more thing…"

Desperate for a way to keep his brother from dying, from facing Hell and what could possibly be waiting for him, Sam ignored the pain he was in, the sick way his stomach and head seemed to be rebelling on him as he tried to find the small and tattered looking old book he'd 'borrowed' from Bobby's library.

By the time Sam found the page he was looking for, he'd stopped noticing the blood coming from his hand that was now covering the bathroom where he'd decided to stay for more than one reason. Turning the shower on hot and full blast to create steam that he hoped would help him stay awake he began to work.

Blinking his eyes to bring the words back into focus, the young hunter read the spell again to be sure he understood before using his good hand to use his own running blood to draw the scraggly lines onto the floor when he thought he heard noises from the bedroom.

"This'll work," he whispered to himself, struggling to stay conscious as loss of blood, too much whiskey and feeling sick was making him drowsy.

Thinking he heard Dean calling him made Sam smile sadly as he thought of how much he'd miss the sound of that if he failed in this last ditch effort to stop his brother's deal from coming due. "I promised I'd find a way to stop him from dying…and I will…no matter what," he murmured, reading the book again as he whispered the words but faltered on the last when he couldn't read it due to a smudge on the paper. "No, this has to work. This has to…"

"Hey, you drink my whiskey or…shit! Sam, what the hell have you done?"

Jerking at the suddenly very loud to his ears voice of his very real and very pissed off older brother, Sam's head snapped up to look through the now lessening steam to see Dean standing in the door looking both horrified and shocked at the condition Sam was in.

Pale from throwing up more than once, being drunk, and losing blood still, Sam hadn't counted on his brother coming back so soon so as he jerked, his bleeding hand smeared the page of the book which rendered it unreadable and therefore unusable to Sam.

Angry at losing his last chance, dizzy as he moved to quick to stand and avoid his brother as he moved into the bathroom, Sam slid on the bloody floor and before he could make a clumsy grab for the sink he felt himself falling into darkness with only his brother's voice in his ears and nightmares of failing echoing his dreams.

"Sammy!"

TBC

Author Note: Third chapter coming very soon as Dean struggles to face what haunts his brother and must also face his own fear of saying that final goodbye when it comes.