Sam was dreaming.

He felt light, formless, drifting through something warm, intangible, his body relaxed, free of pain.

"Sammy," his dad, callused hands brushing through soft hair, "Sammy."

"Dad?" Sam opened his eyes and smiled. He hadn't seen his dad in so long and it made him feel warm, happy to see him again. He reached out in his dream and let his hand close around his dad's wrist, pulling his dad closer, wanting to touch and to hug.

"Sam," his dad sounded stern but kind, "Sam, it's time son, time to let go, time to relax."

"Dad?" Sam felt himself frown, still warm and self satisfied, "what do you mean?"

"You've done enough now Sammy paid enough. You have to let it go now son, find some peace."

"Am I dying?" Sam didn't feel afraid, just ready. He was tired, tired of hurting, tired of worrying. He just wanted to let go.

"Sam – you need to let it all go," his dad ignored the question, "stop feeling such guilt about things. Sammy, this, none of this was ever your fault. You mustn't blame yourself for your mom or Jess. You are a good boy Sam, a good son and I love you."

"Daddy," Sam felt himself flush with pride, "I'm sorry we fought, sorry that the last time I spoke to you I picked a fight with you."

"These are the things you need to let go Sam. They are killing you son, rotting you from the inside out. You need to set yourself free Sam. Give yourself a break. Stop hurting, stop hunting, relax and rest, have a life Sammy, have a normal life. You deserve it, you have been a good soldier for long enough. Let go Sam, let go and find peace."

Sam felt himself smile, felt his dad's wrist slip from his grasp. He floated away, feeling even lighter now, everything falling from him, his mind empty, his soul at peace.

Sam let himself go.

***

Dean wandered into the bedroom to check on his brother. It was a beautiful day, the sun was bright through the slatted blinds and he could see children playing across the way, laughing and play fighting, reminding him of himself and Sammy all those years ago.

He looked over at Sam and his heart stopped. His brother was pale, his eyes closed, mouth curved into a peaceful smile. Sam was still, his dark hair fanned out across the white cotton of the pillow, his hands folded on the coverlet.

"Sammy!" Dean rushed forward, hands on his brother's shoulders. Sam didn't move, didn't react, didn't even breathe. Dean gulped down panic and put his hand on Sam's chest, his heart pounding so hard he felt almost dizzy. "Sam!"

Suddenly his brother shot up in bed, a deep breath filling his lungs, his eyes wide and startled. Dean's hands fell away from his brother's shoulders and he stepped back, palms upwards, staring at Sam in some astonishment.

"Dean. Where's dad?"

"Dad?" Dean frowned and moved forward, sitting on the edge of the bed and putting his hand on Sam's chest, feeling the soft, reassuring throb of his heart.

"He was here, he told me to rest, I thought…," he swallowed and tailed off, seeing the look in Dean's eyes.

"You were dead, you thought you were dead?" Dean said, his throat rough, "sorry Sammy – but you are gonna have to put up with me for a while longer."

Sam found himself starting to grin, eyes bright.

"Dean," he began and he winced as he saw his brother's pain, "Dean."

"Yeah Sammy," Dean gave him a gentle squeeze.

"I'm kinda hungry."

"Yeah," Dean felt his throat tighten and he smiled at his little brother, relieved, "you want pizza?"

"Yeah," Sam grinned, wide and bright, "pizza sounds good."

***

After his fifth slice, Sam was beginning to wonder where his appetite had come from. He felt hungry, restless, his body twitchy and on edge. He wondered if Dean might let him go for a walk or maybe they could even go bowling or take in a movie. He wanted to do something, anything and he felt awesome, better than he had in ages.

All thanks to dad.

He grinned to himself, wait till he told Dean, his brother would get a kick out of that, Sam listening to dad, Sam doing what dad told him to.

He glanced over to where Dean sat, picking at his pizza. His brother looked pale, worn and Sam felt a sudden guilt. Twice in as many days Dean had believed him dead, no wonder it was taking its toll on him. Sam swallowed and reached forward, his hand on Dean's wrist, holding it in the way he had held his dad's in his dream.

"It's ok Dean," he said, squeezing gently, "when I go, I know its not gonna be long before you follow."

"I just don't want you to go without me," Dean sounded choked, "what if we….what if we get separated Sammy?"

"Hey," Sam swallowed and smiled, "whatever happens I guess we are both going to the same place."

Dean returned the smile, watery and weak and Sam squeezed his wrist harder, trying to tell his brother just how much he loved him, how much he meant to him, how much he owed him.

"I want to go out," Sam said, anxious to change the subject, "I'm feelin' kinda restless, can we go and get some fresh air?"

Dean looked startled for a moment, "I don't know Sam – I mean – you've been awful weak recently – you should take it easy…"

"I – I need to go out Dean," Sam squeezed harder, "please, I need to get out of this place for a while, see the outside while I still can."

Dean nodded, mouth pursed.

"Ok Sam – but just for a little while ok? Just for a little while."

***

As the days passed, Sam felt stronger, better. He finally had an appetite, he wanted to go for walks, he slept less and ate more. His chest didn't feel so tight and he couldn't quite put his finger on it but he just felt healthier and he wanted to share time and energy with his brother.

Dean watched him with some suspicion, still worrying, still concerned. He wouldn't let Sam walk too far, wouldn't let him do anything round the house, continued to cook Sam healthy meals and insisted in taking Sam to church every Sunday.

Sam found it, quietly, amusing. His snarky, ever doubting brother showing some faith, but he understood, he realised why. He never got called to the front by the priest again, but the old man always smiled at him, knowing and wise, making Sam feel warm inside.

***

The day of his check-up dawned bright and clear. Dean took him to the doctor's office and waited with him. Sam hated this, hated the stink of the hospital, hated the tests, the needles in his arm, his hand. He always felt sick afterwards and he wished they would just let him die in peace.

The doctor looked worried, harassed, even more confused than normal. He stared at Sam as if he had just grown two heads, his fingers playing over the paper of his notebook, his mouth curved upwards.

"Mr Winchester," he began and Sam felt his stomach clench, his heart rate quicken, "Sam…I don't know how to tell you this but…," Sam felt Dean's hand on his arm, felt his brother tense behind him, he stared at the doctor and leant forward, throat dry, "Sam – the cancer – the shadow on your lung – it – it – it's gone son, the cancer has gone."

TBC