A/N: I have to fold this story back into the episode, so some of this chapter is borrowed from the episode Faith, written by Sera Gamble and Raelle Tucker. I'm sure you'll recognize it when you read it.
Three Dark Days
By Swellison
"Seven." Sam laid his card, a seven of spades, on the tray table strategically arranged over Dean's bed. The head of the bed had been raised, slanting steeply so Dean was sitting up.
"Fifteen for two." Dean placed his eight of clubs on a separate pile on the table, then reached for the board, slowly pegging the two points he'd just earned.
Sam tried to ignore the amount of coordination and energy it was taking Dean just to score his own points. He put the eight of spades on his stack. "Twenty-three for two." Sam advanced his back peg two points on the cribbage board.
"Thirty-one for eight." Dean placed the third eight—the eight of hearts—on his stack, his eyes momentarily lit by victory and big brother smugness.
Well, at least he's still playing to win, hasn't given up on everything. Sam watched Dean slowly extend his hand toward the cribbage board. He picked up Dean's peg to score for his brother, only to have his hand feebly slapped. Still rejecting a helping hand. Still Dean. Sam waited for Dean to finish scoring, then placed a jack on his pile and started the next run to thirty-one. "Ten."
They played for another fifteen minutes, the game decided in the last hand. Dean won, mostly because his last crib had five points in it, enough for him to peg slowly and deliberately past the finish line. "I win." Dean paused, taking a couple of breaths. "Wanna play again?"
"Not right now," Sam said, bundling up the game and putting it into his satchel. He gathered up the cards and slipped them into their box. "Hey, you thirsty?"
"A little."
Sam grabbed the plastic cup of ice chips from the floor, where he'd moved it when he'd set up the cribbage game. He handed the cup to his brother, then waited while Dean tipped the cup into his mouth, languidly chewing the melting ice chips and clumsily putting the cup on the tray.
Out of the blue, Sam started talking. "One of my buddies at Stanford was a psychology major. He had a theory about parenting: the one good parent theory, he called it. Pete thought it didn't matter if a kid came from a traditional two-parent home or a blended family or was raised by a single parent, like a working mom or even a grandma or grandpa. As long as a kid has one good parent, he'll turn out all right."
Sam met Dean's eyes, which said he was clearly puzzled by the conversation.
"I had that," Sam ended softly.
Dean cleared his throat. "Well. Glad you're finally starting to appreciate Dad, even if it is in hindsight."
"I'm not talking about Dad. I'm talking about you, you jerk."
"Oh." Dean glanced away, fiddling with the blanket. After a few awkward seconds, he said, "Speaking of Dad, have you called him yet? Told him about…me?"
Sam winced. "No, not yet. I was waiting for more infor—"
"Call him, Sammy." Dean's voice was surprisingly firm. "He needs to know."
Sam could hear his brother's unspoken words: I want to see him…before I go. "Okay, I'll call him tonight." Dean seemed to relax after hearing that, but Sam wasn't finished. "Dean…you've always been an awesome big brother—"
"I'm always right, too," Dean interrupted, perhaps trying to stave off the chick-flick moment that was suddenly in the air.
"But I haven't always returned the favor."
"Sammy." Dean sighed. "Little brothers are s'pposed to be a pain in the ass, sometimes. It's in your job description."
Pain in the ass, maybe, but not in the heart. "I'm sorry about Rockford, Dean. I drilled you with rock salt and I said some terrible things to you…but I didn't mean it, really."
"We've been over this before. That wasn't you. It was Ellicott. I get that. End of story."
"And I left you high and dry just before Burkitsville, too. Took off to find Dad and almost got you killed."
"You came back, though, in the nick of time. Saved me and Emily from the scarecrow god." Dean's cracked voice was full of resolve. "Sam. We're okay."
How can we be okay? You're dying. But the little brother in Sam grasped gratefully at the words. "Really?"
"Really. Now will you shut up so I can get some rest? I'm overdue for my morning nap." Dean yawned.
"Dean, it's two in the afternoon."
"Exactly." Dean's eyelids slid closed and he shook his head, muttering "girl" as he drifted off to sleep.
Sam eyed his sleeping brother, then picked up the remote control for the bed and lowered it back almost flat. Then he reached for another ancient book in his satchel. He'd exhausted witchcraft and protection spells and was now delving into rituals as a way to help Dean. Locating his bookmark, he started reading.
Just after five, Dean woke from his nap and wanted to play another game of cribbage. Sam kept score on paper this time, and Dean didn't argue about it…although he did manage to win. Again.
Sam congratulated him, then turned the conversation serious again. "You know I missed you while I was at Stanford, right?"
"Sam—"
"Everything was all new and exciting. Completely different. The first day was—"
"Sam," Dean cut in again, warningly. "Don't."
"Wh-what?"
"I don't want to hear it."
Sam shook his head. "That's not true." Dean had always been interested in what Sam was doing, absorbing endless prattle about spelling bees and aced book reports and pop quizzes…
"You didn't want me to know anything about your life at Stanford while you were living it." For once, Dean wasn't keeping the accusation out of his tone. "Well, I don't want to hear about it now, like some sort of consolation prize for dying."
"What?" Sam felt like he'd been sucker-punched. "That's not—" he protested weakly.
"No, Sam."
Sam heard the order, loud and clear.
"Hi, Mr. Berkowitz." The young nurse from yesterday stepped suddenly through the doorway. "Sorry I'm here so late. We're running behind schedule today." She turned her head and smiled at Sam. "I see you have company again. Hi, Sam."
"That's okay, I was just leaving." Sam grabbed his satchel and threw it over his shoulder, picking up his coat from the back of the visitor's chair. "I'm going back to the motel for dinner. Hospital food disagrees with me." Two steps and Sam was at the entrance to Dean's cubicle. He cast a quick glance at his brother, then left, making a conscious effort to walk normally down the hospital corridor, not wanting to stomp down the hall and disturb the other patients on the floor.
SPN_SPN_SPN_SPN_SPN_SPN_SPN_SPN
Sam sat at the foot of his bed, his right foot firmly on the floor, his left leg folded underneath him. Torn, stonewashed jeans easily stretched to allow him the comfortable position. He sat next to the scattered array of heart disease pamphlets and flyers, not really wanting to look at them if he could avoid it. He also tried not to glance at the black background of the floral wallpaper that covered the majority of the room; it was too funereal for his tastes.
That kept his eyes downturned, staring at the too-green carpeting on the floor. How could I have just left like that? Let Dean's words get to me and leave him all alone? Dean had put up with his crap for twenty-two years, always forgiving him and letting Sam walk all over him. Sam knew his brother had abandonment issues. How could I leave him, dy—stuck in that damn hospital bed? What kind of brother am I? Dean deserved so much better…
Sam suddenly realized his cell phone was ringing, and he snatched it from his back pocket and held it to his ear. "Hello?"
"Sam? This is Joshua. We spoke earlier…and I think I have something for you."
Sam's heartbeat increased. "You do?"
"Yes. I found a modern miracle worker. Reverend Roy LeGrange. He works out of a tent-church in Nebraska."
"A faith healer?" Sam asked dubiously. "Uh, that's not—"
"Hey!" Joshua barked, interrupting. "I'm a hunter, too. I know how improbable this sounds, but this guy LeGrange is the real deal, Sam. I checked him out thoroughly. He's healed several people in the past year, and they're all legit. Those people were all dying before they contacted LeGrange, and they're all walking around today, completely healthy." He coughed. "Mind you, I haven't taken a good look at how LeGrange is healing these folk, but he's certainly getting results."
"That's what's important. Can you give me his location?"
"Like I said, he operates out of a tent: The Church of Roy LeGrange, in Ford City, Nebraska. Where are you now?"
Sam told him and wrote down the driving directions. "Thanks, Joshua. I really appreciate this."
"Glad I can help. Always told your Dad I'd look out for you if I could. Call me back with any news, y'hear?"
"I will, and thanks again. Bye, Joshua." Sam clicked off his phone and stared at the display for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and hit speed dial.
"This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son Dean. 866-907-3235. He can help."
Sam listened to the familiar message in its entirety, then spoke, trying to figure out what to say as he went along. "Hey, Dad, it's Sam. Ah…you probably won't even get this, but, ah, it's Dean." Sam sighed, and plowed on. "He's sick and, ah, doctors say there's nothing they can do. Um, but, ah, they don't know things we know, right? Um, so don't worry, 'cause, um, I'm, ah, gonna do whatever it takes to get him better." Sam paused, vigorously nodding to himself. "All right. I just wanted you to know." He clicked the message off and tossed the phone down. It landed on the bedspread, on top of one of the heart disease pamphlets. Then he brought his fingers to his mouth in a half-curled fist and pondered life, the universe, and how to tell Dean he was taking him to a faith healer.
His thoughts were interrupted by the unexpected rapping on his door. Sam rose rapidly from the bed, strode to the grimy white door, and opened it, stepping back in surprise as Dean leaned against the doorjamb. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I checked myself out." Dean lurched inside, hunched stiffly in the faded black hoodie.
"Are you crazy?"
"I'm not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot." He turned toward Sam, left hand raised with his fingers outspread as if emphasizing a point in casual conversation.
Sam snorted and shook his head. "You know, this whole 'I laugh in the face of death' thing? It's crap. I can see right through it." And you can see right through me. You know I'm sorry I ran out on you earlier. I was coming back, too—but you beat me to it.
"Yeah, whatever, dude."
There was a return apology in Dean's faded voice as he walked farther into the room.
"Have you even slept?" Dean threw over his shoulder. "You look worse than me."
Sam clapped Dean's back, gently but firmly guiding him to the wood-framed desk chair Sam had used during the previous night's internet research session. He settled his brother into the chair, then plopped down on the green and gold-striped bedspread. "I've been scouring the internet for the last three days."
"Yeah?" Dean asked weakly.
Sam heard the effort it was taking for his brother to inject interest into his flat tone. "Calling every contact in Dad's journal."
"For what?"
Sam glanced worriedly at his stricken brother. God, Dean, are you really that obtuse? Isn't it obvious? "For a way to help you. One of Dad's friends, Joshua, he called me back. Told me about a guy in Nebraska. A specialist." Sam glommed onto the substitute word without thought.
Dean was staring at him. "You're not gonna let me die in peace, are you?"
"I'm not gonna let you die, period," Sam declared, resolute. "We're going." He stared defiantly at Dean, daring his brother to protest.
Instead, Dean's head tipped forward and he slumped further into his seat.
Sam rose hastily. "But first, you're going to bed." He glanced at the pamphlet-strewn bed he'd just vacated, then reached to help Dean to his feet. He guided his brother over to the empty second bed—the one closer to the door—and let Dean lean against him while one long arm yanked the bedspread and covers back. Dean sat on the bed, and Sam stooped to take off Dean's shoes and socks. Next, he unzipped Dean's hoodie and slipped it off. Still no comment from Dean. He must've used every last bit of energy he had just to get there. Sam unbuckled and removed Dean's belt, then eased his brother flat. Dean could sleep in his jeans and t-shirt for one night. Pulling the covers up, Sam worriedly took in his brother's super-pale face and the dark circles under his eyes. "Rest, Dean. We'll head for Nebraska in the morning."
"Umm-hmm."
Dean's drowsy acknowledgment left a slight smile on Sam's face as he returned to his own bed. He bunched the pamphlets into a neat pile and dumped them on the kitchen table, then picked up a piece of pizza from the box he'd had delivered earlier that evening. He'd only managed to eat one then, his appetite having deserted him the way he'd deserted his brother. Now, though, both were back, and Sam munched enthusiastically on the cold slice. The rest of the pizza he shoved into the fridge, then walked back to his bed. He resituated the chair so he could watch over Dean, picked up the laptop, and sat down. Propping his legs up on his bed, Sam jiggled the mouse, getting the laptop out of sleep mode. Becca had replied already.
Hi, Sam,
I'm so sorry to hear about Dean. {{{{hugs}}}}
Mom's on the Board of Directors for Washington University Hospital, here in town. How's that for clout? Seriously, Sam, bring Dean home to St. Louis and we Warrens will handle the rest. Dean will get his heart transplant. Zach and I owe you guys everything—please accept our help as our sincerest thanks.
Zach is back at Stanford, enrolled in the MBA program. He wanted to get away from here for a while and needed a fresh start. Remember, you've still got plenty of friends at Stanford. Just say the word, and Zach and I'll launch the biggest fundraiser for Dean the campus has ever seen.
Take care of yourself and your brother.
Love, Becky
Sam re-read the email, stunned. Becky had not only given him hope, but a Plan B as well. His gaze shifted from Becca's email to his brother's slumbering form.
Friends and family—he had both. And he intended to keep it that way, whatever it took.
The End
A/N: Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this little foray into one of my all-time favorite episodes, Faith!