Dean felt Sam going limp in his arms after a couple of minutes. While he was often perceptive enough he still wasn't a mind reader when it came to his little brother. He wasn't sure exactly how to break things to him. He hefted Sam up against him and rubbed his back a couple times before angling his head closer to Sam's ear. He cleared his throat lightly, feeling awkward now that he was coming down from emotional highs.

"Want me to tell you like this?" Dean asked, his voice scratchy but gentle. Sam tensed, wiped his face down as he sniffled over Dean's shoulder. He was getting himself together.

"No," Sam swallowed, "no..."

"You wanna lie down?"

Dean felt Sam shake his head.

"No I want to sit up," Sam replied quietly and slowly detached.

"Okay, stop. I got it," Dean said, grasping Sam back against his chest. Weak, Sam acquiesced and slumped in to let Dean maneuver him. He wasn't that feeble per se but he definitely didn't compare to Dean's strength. Sam soon noticed Dean wasn't being fast about it like he normally was though.

"Dean," Sam uttered, his voice pitched with irritation. "I swear to God," he threatened. Dean smiled but, knowing what conversation they'd need to have next, didn't rise to the bait of banter even though he so badly wanted to.

"Shut up. I'm just gonna put you against the headboard," Dean explained as he got up into a kneel while still holding Sam to him and started pushing him up towards the pillows. Sam sighed, held on, and let him get on with it.

Dean was getting the pillows comfortable with his little brother still clinging to him when Sam spoke up again.

"I could do this myself you know," he said dryly.

"Don't be a bitch."

"M'not," Sam whined. Dean huffed as he finished then manhandled his brother up and against the pillows with a couple of grunts and a few small gasps from Sam.

"Sorry sorry," Dean murmured every time Sam lost his breath. He leaned back on his haunches, looking at Sam sitting fully upright against the pillows. "Better?"

Sam coughed into his hand as he nodded. He blinked a couple times, eyes still glassy, but quirked a tiny smile when he looked back up at his brother.

"Now get me a sandwich."

Dean rolled his eyes, smiling wide. He considered it and suddenly really wanted to get Sam a sandwich. He'd be fine stalling this conversation.

"You hungry? Really?" Dean offered, looking hopeful. Sam's turn to roll his eyes, his smile was sad though.

"No, it was a joke," he replied, then leaned over to reach for the water bottle, "don't stall this," Sam ordered. Dean expression hardened, bothered Sam could read his mind so well. "Dean. I need to know," he finished grimly as he brought the water bottle to his lips and took a few sips.

Dean deflated. "Okay," Dean breathed, his tone going soft, "you were right before."

Sam stopped drinking from the water bottle and squinted at his brother.

"About what?"

"The trials were supposed to have been completed faster than this."

Fear flashed through Sam's eyes but it swiftly disappeared. Sam never got enough credit for his poker face.

"What does that mean for the third trial?" Sam asked, his voice crackly with a raw throat but his tone was cut and dry. The kind of no-bullshit style Dean was used to hearing from him when they talked about the details of their cases. Dean stared at his brother, admiring the kid's fortitude. Sam was too good for his own good.

"The third trial is about receiving grace directly from God," Dean stated. Sam made a face.

"Grace... grace like angel grace?"

Dean gave a sideways nod, equivocal.

"Yeah... but not."

Sam raised his eyebrows.

"It's not like you become an angel or anything. It's a separate thing."

"That's gonna kill me?"

"Well it wouldn't if we'd known and done it earlier but Metatron said-"

"Wait hold up. Metatron? Cas actually found him?"

"Yeah. Cas found him holed up in some random Indian reservation and got him to come help us. He filled us in on what the tablets say. Kevin's off the hook from reading them now."

Dean stopped, sighed, ran a hand through his hair.

"Metatron said the state you're in now, your odds of survival are low."

Sam's lips pressed together, eyes narrowed. "How low?" Sam asked despite the pit in his stomach. Dean flicked his eyes up to stare directly into Sam's.

"Low. I didn't push for details," Dean said openly, honestly. He hadn't wanted to hear it. Iif Sam wanted to know all the specifics of his potential, probable death he'd have to ask Metatron himself.

Silence reigned between them for awhile. The two of them still as statues. Dean waited on Sam and Sam took the time to come to terms with what Dean had just told him.

Eventually Sam sighed and rubbed his hands down his face, pushing deep around the sockets and lightly scratching his cheeks. He let his chin fall onto his palm, staring at the bedspread as he thought. He started shaking his head before he lifted his gaze up to Dean, eyes tired, expression weary.

"I'm gonna die anyway, aren't I? Even if we called it off."

Dean pursed his lips before licking them and gave a small nod in reply.

"So the low odds. They're still the best odds I have of surviving this?"

"Yeah," Dean whispered apologetically, eyes welling up but he held it together.

Sam nodded and cinched his lips to the side as he took a deep breath. He let it out softly and pinched the bridge of his nose. No way he was going to ask if it was going to hurt. If experiencing grace would be torture before his nearly inevitable death, he wasn't going to ask that to find out. If it was grace, perhaps Sam might die in ecstasy with it. He'd go with that and let it lie.

"Native American," he muttered, eyes still closed.

Dean's expression switched from mournful to bewildered.

"What?"

"Native American reservation," Sam repeated tiredly, moving his hand away to look at his brother. He smiled wanly. "They're not called Indian reservations anymore."

Dean raised an eyebrow and snorted. "Such a geek," Dean muttered, shaking his head as he got off the bed. Sam chuckled and Dean stepped up to mess with Sam's hair. He pulled back and sighed.

"I want to make you something. What're you hungry for?"

Sam looked up at his brother and shrugged weakly. "I'm fine with whatever."

"Okay I'll come up with something good," Dean promised, unable to hold back from stroking Sam's head one more time, this time with genuine affection.

"Thanks," Sam offered, managing to give Dean a sweet smile for him before Dean turned away and left.

...

Dean surprised Sam with a collection of healthy snacks. When he asked he realized his big brother actually hadn't even known about them because it'd been Kevin that had done the grocery shopping.

Celery and peanut butter with raisins, salted tomato slices, plums, ham and cheese rolls, popcorn, apple-cinnamon rice cakes, fig newtons, string cheese, and some chicken-noodle soup were just a few of the items Dean had prepared in his signature slapdash style.

Sam honestly felt like he was eight years old again.

"Ants on a log, Dean? Really?" He asked, staring at the appetizers placed in front of him in bed.

"You know you love it."

Sam grinned. He did. He found himself enjoying the slight sense of regression in it. When faced with his own impending death, camping out with his brother and sharing a bed in typical childhood fashion, watching movies, eating snacks like these were pure distracting comfort.

Sam never thought he'd gotten the childhood he'd deserved but he was coming to realize that these small details Dean kept adding to their experiences were triggering memories and sentiments he'd forgotten he'd had, perhaps because he'd taken them for granted. Sam impulsively wanted to rebel against the idea he'd taken anything for granted but...

When Sam was sick, injured, hungry or scared as a child, he had been taken care of tremendously well, largely by Dean. The few times he hadn't, he'd been told the truth about why and hadn't felt any less loved. He'd had the psychological security of that.

As an adult Sam had thanked Dean a couple of times about this but even then he'd failed to examine it as closely as he should've. He'd always thought Dean had done the best he could in the same way he thought John had done the best he could. The difference was how Dad had sucked as a father. Sam had forgiven him a long time ago, still loved him and still missed him but that didn't make his failings as a father any less true.

In comparison, Dean had excelled at being a big brother.

It wasn't fair to put Dean in the same category of "doing the best he could" like he did Dad because Dean hadn't just done the best he could, Dean was the best. Dean deserved that superlative.

Sam's thoughts were cut short when Dean gave him the option to eat in the tub to save time. Sam had said yes immediately, unable to help smiling over how Dean's offers kept illuminating new memories from Sam's past with Dean, including his strange love for snacking during bath time when he was a kid.

Sam knew Dean was masking things with as many lighthearted perks as he could before they got going on the third trial. It couldn't be undertaken in the bunker and the trip to where grace would flow through him, as directed by Metatron whom Sam still hadn't even met yet, was going to take a week according to Dean.

Metatron had said four days straight but Dean had fought with him on that. Whether it was because Dean couldn't handle the possibility of Sam dying in four days or because he simply knew Sam would need more breaks and a bed every night was up in the air. Either way Sam had started to cry again, this time with relief, when Dean explained to him that they still had at least seven days.

Dean left to put Sam's clothes, extra towels, and the snack platter into the bathroom before coming back to get him. Sam was strong enough to walk down the hall holding Dean's hand. Dean left him to undress, run the water, and get into the tub alone. After a few minutes Dean knocked and Sam invited him in.

"The hell, dude - the water hot enough for you?" He grumbled, flicking his sweatshirt out over the intense heat and humidity.

"Shut up," Sam replied easily, sinking down to his neck in the water and closing his eyes. "You got the crossword?"

"Yeah," Dean moaned as he sat down on the floor. He pulled his sweatshirt off and stuffed it between his back and the wall before picking the New York Times back up to balance on his knees.

They went through several hints, Sam glibly answering or dismissing certain prompts Dean read out to him as things he either immediately knew or didn't. They were at ten across when Dean stopped and leaned his head against the wall. After a few beats of silence Sam blinked and looked over at his brother.

"What?"

"Nothin'. Just thinkin'... I wanna put you in the back."

"What're you talking about?"

"Of the Impala."

"Oh," Sam replied dumbly, "no," he added, alarmed. "Why?"

Dean shrugged. "It'd be more comfortable, wouldn't it?"

"No," Sam replied immediately, sounding somewhat harassed. "No, Dean, I-" Sam paused, knowing he'd sound about as young as he'd been feeling but giving himself up for it anyway because, well, what did he have to lose? "I want to stay up front with you," he said, regretting how hurt he sounded.

Dean lifted an eyebrow and turned to look at his little brother, smiling at him like he was catching him out on an embarrassing moment. Sam rolled his eyes and sat up in the tub to reach over for the platter of food Dean had placed on the closed toilet lid.

"I'm serious," Sam added, staring determinedly at the platter as he hovered a hand over it, pretending to consider what to eat first. Tentative silence followed, Sam unconsciously tensing over whether Dean would allow it.

"All right," Dean finally said breezily and Sam just knew he was smiling too much.

Sam gave a furtive glance at his brother to confirm before picking out another ham and cheese roll, his own dimples making a short-lived appearance before leaning back against the tub to clear his mind, enjoy his food, and solve the entire New York Times crossword Dean had brought in.

A/N 1: Originally published 7/22/2014 on ffnet, revised 8/18/2019! Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time! ~ Alex

PS: To the anon guest - no, this is not a death fic, I promise! xoxo