CHAPTER XXI
Sam slept through the rest of the night.
Dean made himself comfortable on the couch, staring at the full mug with hot chocolate on the coffee table for a very long time, until he got ripped away from his thoughts by silent moans.
Sam was dreaming – again. One of those dreams that would inevitably grow uncomfortable. Only this time, Dean wasn't sure if it was a good idea to crawl up behind Sam and hold him, shush him.
So he let it be. Strained and taut he lay on the couch and listened to the hunter's whimpers and groans until they subsided and he was able to relax again.
Against his better judgement, he fell asleep and got woken by the sounds of rustling fabric and bare feet shuffling over wooden floor.
Dean blinked his eyes open lazily and sat up, his limbs stiff and neck hurting from the awkward angle he had been lying on the couch. His first gaze was dedicated to the mattresses, which were empty.
The fire was still going.
From where he sat, he saw a pair of feet, slipped into boots. Beside the front door stood a duffel bag and back-pack, Sam's jacket thrown over it carelessly.
Dean was awake the very moment.
Sam was getting ready to LEAVE.
To FUCKING leave him.
The demon got to his feet and padded over into the kitchen, where he found Sam sitting at the table and tying his shoelaces, a half-empty mug of coffee beside him on the table.
"You're leaving?" Dean's voice broke as he spoke. He couldn't believe what was happening – that he had messed things up so badly.
"I'm going to visit a friend of mine. I called him this morning, he'll take me in until ..." Sam couldn't finish the sentence.
Dean had to lean onto something or else he'd pass out – at least it felt that way. Suddenly it felt like the ground was ripped away from beneath his feet.
Sam didn't look up. He finished tying the laces and sat up in the chair, reaching for his mug to take a sip of luke-warm coffee.
"I've made coffee anyway. Figured you'd stay a bit longer than me ... and you're always grumpy without it ... so ..." Sam shrugged and emptied his mug. "But ... before I go ... I want you to know that I'm not mad at you at all and that that's not the reason why I'm leaving." Sam looked up, meeting Dean's gaze for the first time this morning. He seemed perfectly calm and confident of what he was doing. There was no hesitation in his movements, or his voice. "You were right, Dean. - It's not fair to you, or Cas. You shouldn't feel compelled to look after me when I'm getting worse. So I decided to go. Besides ... I don't want you to see me like... that."
Dean gulped down a breath. "Sam- No ... You ... I ... Don't. Just don't." His voice shook with emotion. "I told you I didn't mean it. - It was nonsense. I'm sorry. I'm SORRY."
There was a sad smile on Sam's face that never reached his eyes. "I know. And it's okay. It really is. I'm convinced that you could have a nice life without me grounding you somewhere in some abandoned house for ... god knows how long it'll take for me, okay? Even if you didn't mean everything you said... where there's smoke there's fire.."
"Sam. No. I don't want you to leave, okay? I give a shit about what I can do. I know that I want you and I know that I screwed this up, but that doesn't mean that I can't make it up to you. - I WANT to take care of you. I WANT to look out for you. I WANT us to stay together. Cas took off to find ... find something else we could use, okay?" He frowned, his eyes watering.
Dean pushed away from the threshold and made his way in front of Sam, where he kneeled down in between Sam's legs, his hands high on his thighs, squeezing them.
"Please ... I'm begging you. THIS, with you is the only thing I want. I'll ever want. And that's why we won't give up, you hear me? We won't give up. Me and Cas are gonna figure it out. We'll find something to cure you."
Sam cast his look down and away from Dean, the corners of his lips turning down. "What if there's nothing?"
Dean's heart missed a beat at that, his whole chest tightening. "There will be, Sammy." He laid his hand on Sam's cheek and the hunter leaned into the touch instinctively. "And if there's not ... then ..."
"Then you're gonna have to let me go," Sam ended his sentence. "You promise me that, okay?"
Dean nodded. "And you don't leave- Okay? I'll make it up to you. I'll do everything. I didn't mean what I've said. I'd never ..." He huffed out a breath.
Awkward silence followed.
"Untie my shoes?" Sam cocked an eyebrow, his eyes glinting mischievously down at the demon. He laid his big palm over Dean's cheek, covering half of his face.
Dean's eyes lit up and he huffed out a laugh. "No way, princess. Untie your laces yourself."
~*DW & SW*~
It wasn't like everything was warm and cozy again between them. Dean could still see doubt and hurt in the hunter's eyes when Sam looked at him and didn't notice that Dean was noticing. It was like the hunter was weighing how much of what he had said had been true and what had been said out of emotion.
And that was about a week after the incident.
Sam didn't trust him. As if Sam was waiting for the other shoe to drop and Dean yelling at him all over again. His words had caused more damage than he thought he could fix with the little gestures he dared to offer the hunter.
~*DW & SW*~
They were sitting in the kitchen, eating their dinner, when Dean leaned back in his chair and watched Sam for a moment poking with his spoon in a bowl of soup.
He then cleared his throat to gain the hunter's attention. When Sam looked up at him, Dean leaned forward a bit and folded his hands before him on the table.
"Look ... I've been thinking ... I should help Cas look for a cure," he started tentatively. "It's not necessary for the both of us to be stuck here in the house – not as long as ... you know ... We could drive to that friend of yours and ... you could stay there while me and Cas are trying to figure something out ..." He had thought about it, but wasn't sure how Sam would take that suggestion, not after it had grown a bit cool between the two of them.
Sam let the spoon sink into the bowl and leaned back, eying Dean closely, with a look that said you're-gonna-drop-me-off-there-and-just-leave with a side of hurt and a sprinkle of disappointment.
"Look. It's not what you think, okay? I don't want to drop you off there and don't look back, okay? - It's just ..." He sighed deeply. "I can't just sit around and ... and do nothing to even try and save you. I CAN'T."
Sam nodded. He only nodded. "I'll call Bobby then." That was it. That was what he had been waiting for – for the other shoe to drop. It had been a whole lot of tiptoeing around each other the past eight days ... He knew it wouldn't last. Dean'd go ...
"Sam," Dean said as he watched the hunter rise slowly from the seat and turn around. "I'm more useful out there."
Sam flinched, his features tightened. "And I'm not useful at all. Right?" He looked back over his shoulder.
"You know that's not what I mean, so stop it. Don't you dare and turn what I'm sayin'. That's not fair." Dean rose from his seat too and glared at the younger man.
"Well ... then ... then you better ..." Sam gripped his chest, releasing a shuddering breath as a familiar ache set in and a sharp stab followed as if someone was driving a damn knife through him."You ..." He gasped, bracing himself against the door frame with his free hand and bowed forward as if it was lessening the pull.
"Sammy?" Dean's voice was a breath, dripping with concern. He was by the hunter's side in a split second, arms wrapping around the younger man to stop him from toppling over. "Shit ... you gotta sit down, baby - Living-room. Couch."
But the demon's words were lost somewhere between Sam's ears and his brain. The world around him started to spin and his ribcage tightened, making it impossible to breathe.
Dean tightened his grip on Sam and went to his front, gripping him just in the right moment under his armpits as he saw the younger man's eyes roll back into his skull and his legs give out under him.
The demon caught his weight and grunted as he pulled him against his chest, before sinking down onto the floor with him. Dean brushed dark bangs of hair out of the younger man's face and felt for his pulse. It was irregular and weak, though he was still breathing.
"Sammy," Dean whispered, feeling the younger man's skin starting to get clammy and ashen. "Don't you dare. Not like that." He lowered him to the ground completely, Sam's head lolled to the side, his eyes closed. "Not like that. Please not like that," he muttered.
Sam remained unconscious, so his lover brought him into the living room and lowered him onto the mattresses where he arranged everything to his favor. He stayed at his side, checking on his pulse and breathing every couple of minutes.
It had been a stupid idea. He knew it now – and maybe should've figured it out earlier. Sam didn't want him to leave.
Dean shouldn't leave.
What if Sam died with the next fit the spawn caused? What if the next attack was his last one and Dean hadn't been there? He'd miss it and he'd never forgive himself for it. So no, he shouldn't leave Sam. He was supposed to stay with him and be his partner in this.
~*DW & SW*~
Dean nestled closer, despite the fact that they hadn't cuddled ever since Dean had said the worst things to him. Sam had seemed uncomfortable each time they lay side by side on their sleeping-place. He had this look on his face every time he'd touch Sam ... and it hurt so bad ... so bad.
He pulled Sam up against his chest, cradling the back of his head in his hand.
Dean felt him shifting for the first time in four hours. It wasn't much, only his arm sliding lower over Dean's side, followed by a twitch of muscles.
"There you go, Sunshine," Dean whispered hoarsely, loosening his grip on Sam's head a bit.
Sam groaned and screwed his eyes shut, as he came aware of the muffled pounding in his skull and the bouncing ache in his chest. He felt sore and exhausted. His limbs heavy, his head felt like dead weight to his neck.
"Sammy," Dean whispered gently, stroking his hair.
The hunter gasped, leaning his forehead against Dean's chest. It hurt. It truly hurt. Not the usual aftereffects he felt after those attacks, the faint ache and pull. This was pain. Stabbing pain lancing through his chest with every inhale he took.
Sam whimpered pathetically.
"It's okay, it's gonna be okay," Dean soothed, continuing to stroke Sam's hair. "Breathe through it, baby. Try to breathe through it."
The hunter sucked in a wheezing breath, his fingers fisting Dean's shirt violently. "D'n ..."
"Still hurts?" Dean asked with a concerned frown. It wasn't supposed to still hurt.
Sam nodded into his chest.
"We could try painkillers – morphine even," he whispered. "But you first gotta drink and eat a bit."
The hunter was panting against his chest. "Tylenol? Paracetamol?"
"Sure thing. Let's try the easier ones first." Though, Dean doubted that those would work. If any of them – even the morphine – would work and the hunter had to know that too.
Dean eased his arm out under Sam's and pried his hands off. He then took the medical kit from under the sink and got the Paracetamol and water from the fridge. When he returned, Sam was sitting halfway upright, clutching his chest.
An hour after Sam had eaten a few bites of a sandwich and drunk a glass of water including a double dose of Paracetamol he didn't feel any better. So Dean got him the real good drugs and half an hour later, Sam's breathing was visibly calmer and he wasn't clutching his chest anymore. Though he still refused to lay down and sat criss-cross on the mattress, his head bowed and his shoulders slumped forward.
Dean sat in front of him, his legs crossed too, one of his hands resting on Sam's knee for comfort.
"I won't leave, okay?" he mumbled. "I'll stay with you."
The ghost of a smile hushed over Sam's face. "I'm sorry though. - I ... I just don't want to die, Dean." Now he looked up, meeting concerned green eyes. "I really don't. But I feel like I'm going to die and I know it. I feel like ... like my body betrays me each day more." He sniffed, his voice shaking. "I know I was mean ... I know it and I'm sorry. I know you didn't mean what you said earlier."
"I know ..." The demon blew out a breath. "I'm sorry too ..." Dean got to his knees and sat on his butt, spreading his legs and arms. Sam crawled in between them and curled up, tugging his head into the crook of the older man's neck.
~*DW & SW*~
Things got worse ... much worse. Sam slept most of the day and needed the morphine at least two times within twenty-four hours. He was barely eating and drinking anymore.
Dean spent most of the days at Sam's side, bringing him to the toilet or giving him sponge baths, made him eat and drink and combed his hair. His ridiculously long girly silken hair.
Whenever he found time, he'd waltz through ancient books he had already checked before and hoped he'd find something he had missed.
Castiel visited a couple of times, just to tell them that the leads he had been following were dead ends.
Dean was antsy. A part of him wanted to be out there, on the road looking for a cure.
~*DW & SW*~
Dean was sitting at the kitchen-table, his nose buried in some dusty book, seemingly not noticing a sleep-drunk Samuel Harvelle entering on wobbly knees.
The hunter ruffled his hair and yawned as he patted into the kitchen and towards the fridge.
"Hey, babe," Dean muttered, when Sam passed him and brushed with his hand over the studying older man at the table.
Sam groaned. "You didn't wake me," he complained hoarsely as he wrenched the fridge open and took out the bottle of milk.
"You seemed comfortable. Figured you'd need your rest, baby boy," Dean replied without looking up.
Sam grumbled something under his breath and walked back towards the table on the opposite side of Dean and sat down. He unscrewed the bottle and took a sniff before taking a few sips.
Dean dared to look up and watch his lover gulping down another couple of swallows. It wasn't like he had Sam seen drinking or even eating without being prompted to do so. It made him feel a bit better and warmer around his heart. It made things not look as bad as they were at the moment.
Dean snapped the book shut and leaned back. "Made wedges for dinner. - What'd you think?"
Sam's lips curled up into a smile and he blinked at Dean. "Awesome." Though the thought of eating made his stomach churn and rebel, threatening to heave all the milk back up.
"Good." Dean smirked at him. "And then I thought we could crash in front of the TV? There's gonna be this new show about two bothers, fighting evil ..."
Sam chuckled and cocked an eyebrow at him. "Really? Ain't that too familiar for someone like us?"
Dean wiggled with his eyebrows. "Figured you'd like. Heard they're handsome."
"You're all the handsomeness I can handle, Dean Winchester." Sam wiggled his eyebrows back at him and grinned broadly.
They hadn't done anything below the waistband the past two weeks or so. Dean hadn't dared to touch him THERE and possibly trigger another fit, or attack, or seizure or however to call those episodes. Even when Sam had made attempts to become more intimate with the demon a couple of times, Dean had refused.
The demon chuckled and his cheeks tainted a slight shade of red.
"You're blushing," Sam's voice dropped an octave.
Dean's cheeks reddened a bit more as he cast his look down shyly. "Potato Wedges it is," he said and rose.
They ate in comfortable silence and went over into the living room onto the couch. Dean demanded to watch this new show on the CW. Sam couldn't care less. He had everything he wanted right here. His lover beside him, snuggled into his lap and a cozy blanket spread over his body to keep him warm.
The end credits ran down the screen, when Sam shifted, looking up at the older man and taking in the flashes of light crossing his features.
"You know ..." Sam spoke up, an expression of awe and longing on his face, "... I wish I could feel the grass under my feet once more. Could bury my toes in it and see the colors of spring when the trees start to bloom." He bit his lower lip, locking his gaze with Dean's when he looked down. "I'd like to see all that with you ..."
Dean wore a sad smile on his lips as he blinked down at Sam. "You will." His voice was hoarse from emotions he didn't dare to name, close to breaking on those syllables. "You're gonna get your spring and you're gonna feel the grass, Sammy." Dean covered Sam's cheek with his hand. "I promise." He drew his thumb along the younger man's cheekbone ever so gently.
"I ... I don't think that we'll have enough time," the hunter said softly.
"We don't know that, Sam," he whispered back. "We CAN'T know that."
Sam gave him his best but-I-do-know-look.
There were a hand-full beats of silence.
"You've never told me how you got your wings ..." Sam needed to change the topic before he'd start to cry like a baby. He sniffed and trained his gaze back at the TV.
"No, I didn't." Dean followed the hunter's example and looked at the screen, not even knowing what was on. "But ... you gotta know the whole thing, okay?"
Sam nodded.
"There's not a lot to tell anyway, baby boy." He smiled a bit now. "I sold my soul to a crossroads demon when I was nine." Dean huffed out a breath, as if he was still not able to process what he had done back then. "I didn't even know what I was doing. I had this old book of my grandfather with all that crazy occult shit and ... and my dad wasn't exactly the nicest guy on earth ... and all that I wanted was to stop it, you know?" Dean shook his head, his facial expression turning grim. "I wanted to stop him from hurting my step-mom. - She was too nice for him anyway ... so ... When I found this book I thought: What the hell? Ten years are enough if it'd be without John ... and ... I took off from home, was gone for three whole days ... Me and my Batman back-pack." He chuckled darkly. "I made a deal the same night I'd taken off, but just ... I couldn't go home right then. I didn't want to see the police arresting my dad. And ..." He sighed and rubbed over his eyes. "... When I came home, the house was locked. The police had sealed the doors reading that this was a crime scene ... Old lady Bronson saw me and came. She took me in and called the police." His voice broke. "Long story short: I made the deal for nothing. An hour before I made it to the crossroads and sealed the deal with a red-eyes, my dad had already beaten my stepmother to death. Neighbors called the police ... My dad died that night with a bullet through his heart. I was too late." There was a long pause.
Sam kept silent and kept watching his lover with an utterly sad expression on his face.
Dean sighed. "I came into a foster home and looked for the first opportunity to get out and summon that creepy bitch again. She just said that a deal is a deal. Nineteen hellhounds dragged me to hell. And Cas got me out of there again. WHY I do own wings is a miracle to both sides. Cas thinks that it's got something to do with his grace and ... and the fact that I sold my soul out of some selfless situation. But I didn't. It was me who wanted him gone. Sarah may have been my stepmother, but she was everything to me, while my dad tried to hunt the demon down who killed my real one. I couldn't watch him continue to hurt her."
Sam reached up, spreading his bony fingers over Dean's side of the head, feeling wetness against his palm. He shushed him, biting the insides of his lower lip. Sam struggled to get in an upright position and crawled over Dean, straddling his lap. He cupped the older man's face in his hands and tilted his head back.
"You were mighty brave for a nine-year-old, Dean." He smiled warmly down at him, tracing the seam of Dean's lip with one of his fingers. "And Crossroads demons are dicks. You couldn't know that back then. You couldn't know anything." Brown bangs of hair slid into Sam's face as he tilted his head down and ghosted with his lips over Dean's.
Dean choked out a sob, kissing him back tenderly and wrapped his arms around the other man's torso. He felt his lover's ribs through the three layers of fabric, the sharpness of bones digging into his flesh when Sam pressed up and down against him.
"I don't want you to die too, baby." Dean buried his face in Sam's chest, tears running down and soaking through Sam's shirt, as he tightened his hold around him. "I can't. I can't. You can't die. You can't leave me, Sammy."
Sam shushed his lover again, holding the back of his head gently. "This way or another ... it's going to be okay. You'll see." He smiled a bit. "We'll make the best out of it, okay? We'll stick together, make each other feel good."
They stayed like that for a very long time, holding onto each other.
... to be continued