Chapter 6 – Not Without a Fight

Summary: What if Dean had not been chosen by Roy Le Grange?

A/N: This chapter is a bit shorter than what I would have liked but the second part is a work in progress and I didn't want to delay the story any further so, here it is.

Hope you enjoy.

Thank you to the readers, followers and reviewers. Feedback is always immensely appreciated; it's like candy to my muse.

Thanks to my beta Siara Elen who helped guide me. Any errors, grammatical or otherwise are all mine since I keep changing things around after she gives me her invaluable feedback.

As usual, I don't own anything related to Supernatural.

SPN~SPN~SPN

Sam staggered out of the preacher's house and into the Impala. The thought that Le Grange saw into his heart shamed and petrified him. It made him forget everything else until he couldn't do much more than leave without a fight. He drove away, no destination in mind, the road barely registering as unanswered questions spun in his brain.

Could he love Dean more? Sam had never even thought about that. After all how could you love someone more? Wasn't it enough that he had offered to trade places with him? Wasn't that what love was all about?

Would you live for him, because it's what he needs and not what you want? What good would it do him to live while Dean died? Sam didn't know anymore. He was confused, exhausted, and running on empty. He took a shaky breath, feeling stupid for not being able to answer any of these questions and more so for waltzing into the Reverend's house and expecting him to hand over a miracle just for asking. He was supposed to be the smart one except he didn't feel that way. Not now. Not after leaving empty handed and without a plan or a clue about what to do next.

He was lost in these thoughts when the sharp sound of a horn startled him out of his reverie. Only his quick reflexes allowed him to swerve at the last second to avoid a collision.

"F*ck." Sam looked at the rear view mirror, watched the other car straighten then continue onwards none the worse for the near miss. His brain was so muddied, scattered and distracted that he had unknowingly drifted into the oncoming lane.

"Get a hold of yourself, you idiot," he berated because getting killed wasn't going to do Dean any good. Sam sat straighter, tightened his grip on the wheel and kept his eyes on the road. He had to stop these runaway thoughts, refocus and get back to figuring out how he was gonna save Dean.

He needed a plan.

No, he needed to prioritize.

Shit, no he needed to refill Dean's prescription.

Sam huffed as he ran his hands through his hair, feeling the heavy weight of responsibility on his shoulders. In his pursuit to meet with the preacher he had all but forgotten about the meds. They were almost out and those damn pills didn't come cheap. He'd need some new credit cards or more insurance in the next few days. Great, one more thing to add to his growing to do list.

Sam veered the car around, driving to the lone pharmacy in town. The girl at the counter read the prescription then looked up pityingly as she announced it might take a while.

Of course, Sam sighed dejectedly. It felt like the universe was conspiring against him, wasting his time…Dean's time.

He tried to make himself useful, wandering through the aisles looking for anything they might need. He stared at the shelves filled with vitamins and supplements wondering whether his brother could use some especially since he was barely eating. But then Dean was having a hard enough time swallowing his meds, he certainly wasn't going to agree to having more pills shoved down his throat.

Sam moved away, past rows of shaving cream, deodorant, shampoo…but his mind kept returning to the preacher's words. The Reverend hadn't flat out told him he couldn't heal people, never denied the miracles. Sam had seen it with his own eyes, had seen the medical reports, had looked into Mr. Miles eyes when he stood and took a few shaky steps. There was no doubt in his mind it was real.

But it was the preacher's words that perplexed him. He had offered to take Dean's place, yet was rejected. Le Grange asked whether he could love Dean more but if the pain in his chest was any indication, it would kill him to love Dean anymore. He asked whether he would live because it was what his brother needed. Hell yes, of course he would live for Dean, but not without him.

Sam took in a shaky breath. Why couldn't they both live? Why the hell not? He questioned, looking up at the greeting card display. His eyes wandered over the colorful images of balloons, sparkles and cartoon characters. He tried to be indifferent to the wishes that seemed to mock him; Get Well…Congratulations…Good Luck…Bon Voyage…Happy Birthday.

Happy Birthday...F*ck.

Sam's eyes widened. He fumbled for his phone, looking at the date...January 22…in 2 days…His throat tightened as he reached for the closest card. Another Year Older, the letters screamed…but maybe not for Dean, maybe never again for Dean. Worse still, Sam had blown off his brother's last four birthdays even while Dean never ignored his, always calling leaving Sam a message, masking his hurt with jokes and teasing as if there was no time and distance between them. But there was, and Sam never acknowledged any of Dean's calls because he wanted to keep it that way. He didn't want to give Dean any hope that things might one day return to the way they were. He didn't want to hear the longing in his brother's voice even over a scratchy cell line. He didn't want to stir up old feelings that might derail him while he was trying to get through school because he was a goddamn selfish brother and now, the joke was on him.

He opened the card – Happy Birthday –what was so f*ckin happy about it? Sam's chest constricted until he could hardly breathe because there'd be no more birthdays, no more Christmases, or Thanksgivings, no more Dean. The realization splintered something deep inside of him and the grief he tried so hard to keep in a tiny little corner of his heart exploded and rushed up to his throat, filling his body until it leaked from his eyes.

Sam's strength leeched out of him. He swayed then watched the card drop from his fingers, crashing gracelessly to the floor and in the process freeing him from the invisible bonds that held him there.

Sam bolted out of the pharmacy, barreling into the Impala, hardly seeing as he started the engine and squealed away. He drove, fast and blindly, letting the pain wash over him, filling every crevice in his body. He kept moving, away from that card, away from that pharmacy, away from the dark hole threatening to swallow him. Except, he was also running away from the only thing that mattered, Dean.

He jerked the steering wheel hard, swerving onto the shoulder of the highway, jamming on the brakes. He ripped the door open, falling to his knees on the gravel. He allowed his sorrow to open him up like an earthquake cracking the earth and he let out a scream, one that was rooted in the fabric of his soul. It was without shape, without form, releasing a grief that was as incomprehensible as the words he was trying to express. It held an ache so deep he couldn't understand where it started or where it ended. He prayed that screaming might expel it, except it didn't because after his lungs had emptied, he was left with remorse, and loneliness. Sam fell back hitting the hard, cool metal of the Impala. It was the only thing holding him up and it felt like he was leaning into Dean himself.

Sam took a deep, shuddering breath, tilted his head back, blinking away the pools in his eyes. He focused on the streaks of grey tearing the heavens apart but couldn't find any of the long ago hopes and dreams Dean had painted into the sky for him. Like his first dog– Sirius. When Sam was five he had pestered his dad for weeks about getting a puppy. One day the old man blew up and told him in no uncertain terms that they were never getting a dog. That was the end of that until Dean took him out to look at the stars and told him the story of the Dog Star. Dean pointed up and told him Sirius was his dog and that it would follow him no matter where they were. Sam wasn't sure it was true, but the next time they moved, he looked up and there was his dog. Just as his big brother had promised.

Without Dean, the sky held no promise, and the stars no wishes, it was all just a lie. Sam dropped his head into his hands, and wept. He sat there for a long time, allowing himself to be consumed by these feelings, waiting for them to burn themselves out.

When the clouds in his eyes finally cleared, he regained his focus because he wasn't willing to let go of Dean without a fight. He wiped at his face, erasing the evidence of his ineptitude. He braced with a new found resolve as he got into the car and drove off.

He may not have been able to answer the preacher's questions but he knew what he was willing to do for his brother. He gripped the steering wheel and pushed the car hard. This time he wasn't running away. This time he was heading towards something.

TBC...