False Pretense
-2-
Note: So, I had to re-do this entire chapter (thanks to my brother the asshole who thought he was funny and deleted a bunch of stuff from my computer--including a very painfully long, half done, term paper which contributed to the late update) but I think I finally was able to settle on something that I was happy with…and so, I hope you all enjoy it.
The injections were hard at first, but Sam got used to them, they were better than the mind numbing headaches that made anything from thinking down to eating that crap ass hospital food impossible.
After awhile, he was pretty sure it was harder on Dean. He thought it was all harder on Dean…he was dying and Dean couldn't fix it, and he knew that scared the hell out of his brother.
Dean couldn't handle an enemy he couldn't burn, shoot, or stab. And it was like once again, reality had reared its ugly head to remind him that demons weren't the only ones who wanted a piece.
--
It had been a long standing joke that Dean could get shot or stabbed, and grin and bear it, but was terrified by the sight of needles.
Sam tried to tell him that it was fine, really, and that he didn't have to stay in the room when they did it, but Dean refused,
"You're damaged if you think I'm letting you have all these cute nurses to yourself, man."
And Sam gave up fighting Dean on that, even when Dean's face would drain of blood every time they pulled out a needle, and his fingers, and shoulder went numb from Dean's tight grip.
But he never said anything, all he could think was, I'm so sorry, Dean, and he felt so guilty, I'm so sorry for this.
It was like Jess had told him, dying was the easy part, it was the ones left behind who had the hard time. They were the ones who suffered.
He missed her so much it hurt sometimes.
--
The doctor had explained to Dean that if Sam was going to be insistent on leaving the hospital—
"Not gonna happen," Dean had cleanly interjected.
She just nodded her head, "In the event of those circumstances there will come a time when he will be unable to give himself the injections, and will need your assistance. If you're unable to care for him—
"I can take care of him just fine." Dean's tone was icier than he may have intended but he didn't need a damn person's help to take care of Sammy (especially not from some damn doctor who couldn't even fix him). He'd done just fine taking care of his brother alone all his life, that wasn't going to fucking change now.
"Of course, Mr. Winchester. But if help is needed, we can arrange for some in-home care."
Dean nodded his head, unable to help laughing inwardly. Home care? What home? They didn't have a home. They've never had a home.
What was home?
Home was where the heart was, right?
Bullshit. Home didn't exist for the Winchesters.
Once again, he was on the precipice of being completely alone, and he was scared to death.
What do you do when you don't have anyone else?
The only good thing he had going for him was he wasn't going to have to spend a lifetime alone. His debt would come due in a few months, and maybe you don't feel loss in hell.
An eternity of feeling nothing, just nothing for once in his god damn life would be wonderful.
--
"You want the good news or the bad news first?" Bobby asked him.
"Bobby, I told you to leave me alone." Dean retorted. "I don't give a damn what you have unless one of them is a magic fucking cure to make Sam better."
Bobby handed him a beer, and gestured for him to take a seat. Sam was knocked out with his meds, and it was the only reason that Bobby had managed to convince Dean to get out of the hospital to talk.
Dean took a swig…he needed something stronger. He gestured over the waitress.
"Whiskey." He told her, avoiding Bobby's look. He didn't care to get a 'Do you really think you should be drinking hard liquor right now?' speech.
He couldn't think of a more appropriate time to drink himself into a stupor.
His baby brother was dying.
What did he do wrong for them to have to take Sam away from him? Was it so much to just not to have to lose one person, to just have his little brother?
How much was one person supposed to handle before they broke?
"I did some research," Bobby told him, ignoring the attitude Dean was giving him…he understood, Dean was scared about losing his brother and he was lashing out. It wasn't going to scare him away though.
"If it isn't going to make Sam better, I really don't give a damn, Bobby. That is the only thing I care about right now."
"Sorry, Dean. But…I did find something that helps. Louisa Jung, a hunter I know…she found something that's going to help you. Word around the demonic inner circle has it that this thing with Sam—
"Thing? Its not a thing, Bobby. Its brain cancer."
It's inoperable.
Its terminal.
Except it couldn't be, because he couldn't accept that.
"I know. But your deal…its put your deal right to hell. Word has it the demons are having a fit because…because they don't get your soul anymore."
He couldn't breathe. It was like every single one of his faculties vacated his body. They don't get your soul anymore.
An eternity on this fucking planet alone, that was what that meant. Sam was going to die, and he was going to be here all alone with a sparkling and shiny soul, and what the hell did that get him?
A soul.
Dean threw some money down on the table. "I have to get back to Sam; I don't want him waking up alone. We'll talk later, 'kay Bobby?"
Bobby shook his head, and sighed. This wasn't going to be easy.
"Yeah, okay."
--
When he got back to the hospital, he heard a commotion down the hall way, in the direction of Sam's room.
His first reaction was panic.
Sam!
He broke into a run, stopping at the door of his brother's room.
Where there was nothing of a special nature, except of course for the half dozen doctors and nurses that crowded the room.
And of course, no Sam.
"Where the hell is he?" Dean demanded, he left for one god damn second and all hell broke loose. "Where is my brother?"
The Doctor-what's her name…? Dean couldn't, and didn't care, to remember-replied, "I'm sorry, he seems to have wandered off. I've notified security, and so there is no need to panic."
Not panic? What the fuck…Sam wasn't a golden girl with Alzheimer's, he was a Winchester, and he knew how to shake the Fed's, never mind the rent-a-cops, by the time he was old enough to understand why Dean owned a Victoria's Secret catalog.
Fucking Sam! Dean swore, he was going to find him, and throttle him.
--
He wondered if maybe he'd be struck by lighting. He'd read somewhere, sometime--who the hell knew when--that when evil entered consecrated ground, that sometimes they'd be struck down by lighting.
Dean had told him it was bullshit, and he had been terrified every time they'd walked into Pastor Jim's church, god was going to see all the evil he'd done, he murders he'd committed (it was a sin, wasn't it, no matter what you kill, its still a sin) and god would see fit to strike him down.
Nothing on earth is black and white.
His dad was right there, he may have fought tooth and nail with the man, but if ever John Winchester had been right about something, it was that.
God knew, their life was all different shades of grey.
What did it matter anyways…this was a hospital chapel (backslash quiet room), and thus not even really a church.
Like that mattered a damn anyways, he had to do this-preferably before Dean got back from talking with Bobby because he wasn't really feeling up to humoring his brother when Dean insisted on treating him like he was four.
He was dying, not stupid.
--
When the doctor sent a nurse across the way to check the tavern, Dean could have laughed. Sam would never break out of the hospital without a word to get drunk. That wasn't Sam.
People in his condition often do things uncharacteristic of their personality, the doctor reminded him.
Dean didn't care, Sam wasn't out getting drunk.
--
Sam slid into a pew towards the front of the chapel and was quiet for a long time.
He wondered if all that talk about redemption was true. Even the worst of sinners…could find redemption. For him, redemption was saving Dean, even though it meant playing ball with demons. It put things right, the world back in balance…a higher power had to respect that.
He bowed his head, after making the sign of the cross, mumbling, "…the name of the father, son, and holy spirit." and he prayed. He prayed that everything was going to be okay. He wasn't afraid of going to hell, he was ready.
He wasn't ready for Dean though.
He could see it in Dean's eyes, it was the same look he had after their dad died.
Hopelessness.
"Watch over him." He prayed, "Please save him."
--
Dean wasn't surprised when he found Sam in he chapel. Relief made it impossible for him to be angry, because Sam was okay.
He slid into the pew wordlessly next to his brother, and wondered why did it always have to come back to this? What the hell had god ever done for them…if he existed, all he did was fuck them over every time they turned around.
The amount of faith Sam had in this…was unbelievable to him. Especially now.
If there was a god…he hated him for this.
Dean turned to look at Sam, unable to help the anger that was bubbling to the surface as they sat there. He understood Sam's blind faith in this idea once…but he couldn't understand how even now…his brother could come back to this with anything except anger.
"Sam, what the hell are you doing here?" Dean asked.
"Thinking." Sam replied.
"Fantastic." Dean told him, "Nothing that you can't continue doing in your room then."
"I want out Dean." Sam told his brother simply. "I want out."
I know the feeling, Dean thought. "What do you mean?" He played dumb, Sam always said it was a skill of his.
"You know what I mean, Dean. Please." Sam looked up at him with those begging eyes. "Don't ask me to keep doing this." If Dean asked his too, he would, as much as he wanted to leave this place and die in peace…he'd do it for Dean.
Dean fought back tears as he tried to avoid Sam's unwavering glance. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Dean nodded his head.
"Okay Sam." He assured him, "I'll take care of it."
And he had ever intention of doing that. After all, he'd always taken care of Sam, hadn't he?
--
"Well, well, Dean Winchester," She drawled, circling around him. "Not that I don't cherish making deals with you and yours…but we've already danced this tango as I recall."
"I've got my soul back." He told her, "And you can have it back, all the same terms as before. I just need you to cure Sam."
She tilted her head to the side looking him over. "So, you traded your soul for little Sammy, and due to unforeseen circumstances…you got your soul back…and now you want to trade it again…for Sam?" She could barely take it, it as just too good.
Dean nodded his head. "I know you can do it."
She tilted her head from side to side, contemplating his offer.
Sam's deal was oh so much better. That one earned her brownie points, not an all expenses paid trip to hell's east shore; so, no, she wasn't exactly feeling the love for Winchester the elder…she was looking forward to a very long time of keeping her insides right where they belonged.
You don't fuck with Lilith. Lesson number one of the new world.
"You have to do it." Dean demanded, pulling out the Colt, and pointing it at he head; he wasn't going to watch Sam die again, not when he could stop it.
Even his soul wasn't worth that.
"Dean, this isn't deal or no deal…I don't have to do a damn thing." She laughed, "Enjoy your nice, long life. And remember, life is short."
And then she was gone, and he was standing there with a gun, and an eternity of forever.
He let himself contemplate it for about seventeen seconds.
--
