Chapter 9 – Together
Summary: What if Dean had not been chosen by Roy Le Grange?
A/N: Kudos to my beta Siara Elen for her guidance and endless patience. However I'll let you know that all errors are mine.
My muse wanted a little bit of a reprieve for this chapter. I hope you enjoy it and as always thanks for reading, following and reviewing.
In case you didn't know, I don't own anything related to Supernatural.
SPN~SPN~SPN
It had gone wrong. All of it. Sam was numb, disconnected, drifting. Words eluded him. Thoughts betrayed him. He had no idea what was left to do except return to the pharmacy and pick-up his brother's prescription.
Once outside, he leaned on the Impala and stared at the bag of pills that were the only thing keeping his brother alive. But Sam didn't really believe that. The meds wouldn't keep Dean alive. Not by a long shot. Keeping Dean alive was his job but he had failed miserably at it. Worse still, he was ashamed for what he'd almost done. Then he corrected himself –for what he had done; for embracing the darkness, for inviting it in and allowing it to spread like a cancer until he was willing to go against everything he had been taught and everything he believed in. Everything Dean taught him. Everything Dean believed in.
Sam stared up at the sky. Humiliation welled up in his eyes. Dean would have never let it come to that, would have never considered letting that kind of evil touch him. His brother was the strongest person Sam knew. The realization that he couldn't measure up to Dean burned a hole in his throat. He stood there gulping down air, contemplating all the ways he had let his brother down and then as if on cue, his phone rang. It was Dean. He stared at screen then turned the phone off, hating himself for not wanting to speak with his brother, for not wanting Dean to know what had held his heart.
A few minutes later, he listened to the message; Dean and Layla would be back at the motel soon and at some point he'd have to face his brother. But Sam couldn't do it just yet. He drove past the motel for what seemed like the hundredth time, feeling emptied, feeling like his hope had been stolen from him. Those feelings refused to release him until he came to understand that all that was left was for him to be with his brother for whatever time he had left. He parked, spotted Layla's car and put his game face on for Dean. He trudged towards the room, stopping at the door as he heard voices from the other side. Sam couldn't quite make out the words but there was something spirited in his brother's tone. He turned the key and pushed the door open. Both Layla and Dean twisted to look back at him then simultaneously burst out laughing at the look on Sam's face.
Dean, his macho, manly big brother was sporting mascara, lipstick, eyeliner and glitter. And here was the kicker, Dean was loving it. Sam had to look twice to make sure he was seeing this right.
"Dean? What the…" His eyes widened as he closed the door behind him.
Dean's eyes filled with amusement. "I'm channelling…my inner femininity."
What threw Sam off even more was that it was said without a hint of embarrassment.
At hearing his explanation, Layla frowned. "Inner femininity my eye," she chided. "You lost that bet fair and square."
Sam's eyebrows twisted in confusion. His brother, the hustler losing a bet? That didn't sound right. "What bet?"
Dean flashed Layla a half fearful smile, but it never crossed her mind to betray his trust.
"What happens on the World's Largest Porch Swing…," she started.
"Stays…on the World's…Largest Porch Swing," Dean finished triumphantly.
They both laughed then Layla got back to rummaging through her make-up kit while Dean snuck Sam a look and winked at him. It was all the confirmation Sam needed to know his brother had let Layla win that bet. Except why would Dean willingly lose if it meant having to wear make-up? Sam studied them, noting how Dean's eyes tracked her every movement until Layla found what she was looking for. She pulled a small case from her kit, her eyes ablaze in delight. That simple joy was reflected back on his brother's face and in that moment Sam understood why Dean had done it. He had done it for her, to make her laugh, to make her happy because it made him happy.
Suddenly things became clearer. Sam saw how Layla seemed lighter, how the weight of her illness was gone and she appeared to be floating. It made Sam wonder what had happened while they were on their own. But that was exactly it; they were on their own, away from those who stared, who made sad faces, away from everyone who wouldn't let them forget, who kept their illnesses hovering over their heads like some dark cloud.
Away from himself and Mrs. Rourke.
For all his efforts to keep Dean alive, Sam realized he was keeping his brother from living. Layla was able to see beyond that, bringing out something in Dean he hadn't seen in a while. He walked in dropping the meds on the table before moving towards the couch. He didn't want to squash this mood because at least for a few hours today, Dean and Layla were free from the burden of their diagnoses. And it showed.
Dean settled back as Layla signalled for him to close his eyes. She peered intently while putting the finishing touches on his eyes lids.
"Done," she proclaimed, handing him a small mirror, her face full of anticipation.
Dean admired her handiwork as he touched his cheeks lightly then smacked his lips to even out the lipstick.
Sam couldn't help himself. "Dude, you look like a drag queen. And glitter, really?"
"You should know…Samantha. We used your…make-up kit."
"We did," Layla piped in.
Dean almost choked on a laugh while Sam couldn't hide his surprise at her quick-witted come back. But what made Sam smile was the gleam in Dean's eyes. In Layla, his brother found a friend, a partner in crime and someone who understood him. It was Layla and Dean against the world. Against him.
"Looks like you two had quite a day." Sam tried to get himself out of the line of fire.
"Oh we did." Layla gave Dean a mischievous grin. "I was right. I couldn't get that brother of yours off that swing."
Dean was back to being Sam's brother which meant she was about to pounce on him. She grabbed her purse and found her phone. Dean looked slightly stricken at the thought of Sam seeing the undeniable proof of him on that silly swing.
"Hey, what about…what happens on the swing…stays on the swing?"
"All bets are off." Layla smirked as she double crossed him. She flipped open her phone, but before Sam could view it, Dean upped the ante.
"Why don't you look…at this one…of Layla?" he threatened as he reached for his phone on the coffee table.
Layla dove and snatched it up before Dean got a hold of it. "Hah," she yelled triumphantly and held the phone overhead where Dean couldn't reach it.
"No fair…you're taking advantage…of my condition." Dean clutched at his chest and gave her his best puppy dog eyes.
"I'm not falling for that," she snorted indignantly.
"Saaaaammmmmm," Dean whined, trying to enlist his brother's help.
Sam threw his hands up and shook his head. He knew better than to make himself a target. "I'm not getting in the middle of you two."
"What's the use having…a Sasquatch of a brother… if he can't even take on a girl?"
Sam ignored the comment and leaned in to look at the picture on Layla's phone. It was a distant shot of Dean sitting on a large, red swing that was so big it dwarfed him. That and the goofy grin on his brother's face gave Dean a childlike quality. It almost choked the breath right out of Sam realizing that his brother was never going to get any older.
He stared at the small screen, afraid to look up, afraid his eyes would betray him. He stood there blinking away the moisture as his brother and Layla continued their back and forth teasing, their denials or accusations of how much one or the other enjoyed that swing more than it was possible. When Sam got his courage, he stood, walked over to the table and pretended to fumble with the contents of the bag. He took some time to compose himself before he turned his attention back to his brother and Layla. Their banter had slowed and it was getting harder for Dean to get his words out. Sam shot them a sideways glance knowing his brother would try to hide his pain if he was being watched. Despite the make-up plastered on his face, Dean was a deeper shade of grey, leaning forward and trying to catch his breath. It took all of Sam's resolve to remain in the kitchen area and watch his brother accept Layla's help.
The young woman sat on the coffee table facing Dean, rubbing his arm. She smiled at him and he didn't look away. He let her in and almost smiled back. It was soft and private, something only the two of them understood. Sam suddenly became uncomfortable. He felt like an intruder, an outsider. An uncharacteristic flash of jealousy coursed through him. He knew it was unfounded but still, he couldn't help it if he wanted to be the one sitting on that coffee table. He wanted to be the one Dean leaned on. He wanted to be the reason his brother was chosen at the Sunday service. He wanted all of that but it was wishful thinking. Sam made his way to the washroom and closed the door softly, leaving his brother with Layla, with someone who could help him.
After hanging on to the door handle for some time, he moved to the sink, turned the water on and splashed it onto his face. The events of the day had left him tired and defeated and he refused to look at his image in the faded mirror. He grabbed the towel and pushed the soft cloth into his eyes forcing the water back into his body, forcing down the helplessness racing up his throat, forcing back the hopelessness threatening to crush him.
He couldn't seem to do anything right. He wasn't the one who could help or save Dean. He wasn't the one who could offer his brother respite from either the physical or emotional burdens of his illness. Although he felt a physical pain race through his body at those realizations, it was his soul that was coming apart.
SPN~SPN~SPN
Sam heard a soft rap on the washroom door. His heart jumped at the sound wondering if everything was okay. He stood quickly, pulling the door open, staring at Layla who had her hand up, ready to knock once more. Sam peered over her shoulder, towards the couch where Dean was fading fast.
"I came to get a washcloth." She smiled wanly as she saw the worry in Sam's eyes.
"Sure." It came out roughly, choked down by emotion. Sam moved back, grabbed a cloth from the counter then wet it with warm water. Layla extended her hand to take it but Sam hesitated and an awkward moment settled between them until she stepped aside allowing him access to his brother. But Sam knew Dean wouldn't want his help, especially with this and his shoulders slumped as he relented and handed her the washcloth.
Layla took it, looking away, well, aware of Sam's discomfort. "Thanks," she whispered lowly before returning to Dean's side.
Once again, Sam didn't know what to do with himself but he knew he couldn't stay in the washroom forever so he made his way to the kitchen area. He tried to look busy while every cell in his body wanted to be right there, next to his brother, checking him out, assessing his condition. In its place, he went about preparing a round of pills. He lowered his gaze, focusing on the bottles and doses but he couldn't help listening to Layla's soft tone.
"What do you say we get you back to your usual handsome self?"
Sam's eyes cut to those two. Dean's forehead creased slightly as Layla extended the washcloth. He took it tentatively and she let him. Dean ran the cloth over his forehead, cheeks and lips, smearing the colors rather than cleaning them off. Layla didn't interfere until Dean's free hand came up to clutch at his chest.
"Let me," she whispered, pointing to his eyes.
Dean handed her the cloth and Layla began working, gently cleaning off the mascara, eyeliner and eye shade. Her movements were slow and deliberate. When most of the make-up was off, she went to the washroom and rinsed off the cloth. Dean watched her returning, holding the wet cloth between her hands to keep it warm.
"Almost done," she breathed softly, wiping away what Dean had missed and noting how he was almost out.
Sam didn't need to watch surreptitiously, at this point his brother wouldn't notice him staring. Dean's eyes were hooded and unfocused. Layla kept up her soft banter until the crease on Dean's forehead disappeared and his head tipped to the side. She sat there watching him then touched his hand, gauging his temperature.
Sam stood, grabbed the comforter off the bed then walked over to the couch. "This should help," he said, holding it out.
She didn't take it. "It should," she agreed then moved back, letting him in.
Sam swallowed hard as he lowered himself next to his brother. He carefully tucked the bedspread around Dean's sleeping form all the while cataloguing his every breath. After a minute, he reached up and palmed his brother's forehead. The coolness of Dean's skin was a reminder of how little life force remained in his brother's broken body. But for now, Sam was grateful that Dean was resting rather than in pain. That and the quiet stillness of the moment had a calming effect on Sam. He let out a long breath, feeling his muscles loosen, surprised at how tense he was and wanting simply to hold on to this moment.
He carded his fingers through Dean's hair, comforting his brother the way Dean always had, the way Sam wished he could. After a few minutes, his thoughts strayed to the list of things that needed doing before Dean woke. Sam sighed, adjusted the comforter then remembered Layla. She was sitting at the table, pill bottles neatly lined up, having prepared Dean's next round of meds.
"Thought, I'd make myself useful," she whispered apologetically.
Sam thought it was ironic because it was exactly what he wished he could be. He stood wearily, plodded over then sat next to her at the table, propping himself up on his arms. He surveyed the heap of pills, trying to make sense of the colors and shapes, thinking they looked right but too tired to check.
Sam sighed "He probably won't take them." He didn't mean it as an accusation but it was easier to think Dean didn't want to take his pills than knowing he physically couldn't.
Layla shook her head at the defeat twisting on Sam's face. How could he doubt the depth of his brother's devotion to him? "He'll try for you," she said, her tone gentle, but certain.
Sam blinked against her statement. There were a million things he wanted to say to that because it didn't matter what Dean would do for him. It didn't matter whether Dean took his pills religiously. All that mattered was what Sam could do for his brother and right now, it wasn't much at all.
"And what good will that do him?" Sam swallowed, his jaw tightening. "Taking these pills…it won't change anything."
The absolute pain in those words was palpable and Layla watched the layers of doubt, guilt and regret spreading across Sam's face. As much as Sam tried to be brave, to be strong for Dean she knew it was important to get these feelings out. She'd spent enough time in the oncology ward, saw enough family members try so hard to hold themselves together that they only ended up feeling alone and alienated.
"You're doing your best, Sam. No one could ask for more."
Sam gave a short laugh and glanced away. "Yeah, well Dean deserves better than me," he confessed shamefully. "At least he's got you."
Sam believed he was failing, she realized. There was so much between them that was good and true, so much that he might never figure out unless he was told. He needed to know before it was too late. "You know, you're all he talked about today."
Sam stilled, his expression moving from self-disdain to doubt, to something approaching hopeful.
"All day it was 'Sam did this' and 'Sam did that'. I think I know more about you than Dean." She smiled lightly, testing the waters.
Sam bit his lower lip. "Yeah well, I was always the pain in the ass little brother. He didn't really have a choice. He had to take care of me growing up."
Layla knew this but she also knew something else about their relationship. "I don't think Dean sees it quite the same way. How he feels about you, it doesn't come from a sense of obligation or responsibility. He made his choices and he stays on this path because he wants to not because he has to."
Sam had never doubted Dean's sense of family, his loyalty, but he sometimes suspected his brother's sense of duty was ingrained in him by their dad. He sometimes forgot how much Dean actually loved him and it took an outsider to remind him. Layla's assessment washed away those misgivings and filled him with a deep sense of belonging because he and Dean were family and he could never lose that.
"He wants you to be happy, he wants to give you the opportunity to live your life to its fullest. It's what gives him strength and makes everything he's done for you worthwhile. It's what gives him the courage to face what's coming."
"But I don't want to let him go," Sam protested weakly, knowing he had no say in the matter.
"I know." Layla didn't try to convince him to accept the inevitable. No one could do that.
She understood, he realized. There was no making this better, there was no way he could be okay with Dean leaving him, and Layla was honest enough not to recite him the cliché, that everything would be okay. He looked up at her open expression and knew she wouldn't judge him. He met her eyes and let her see what he was really feeling. "I can't seem to do or say the right thing," he confessed.
They were so close as brothers but still so afraid to show one another their vulnerability that they built walls around themselves and denied their hearts. It was so sad that they were completely blind to what was right in front of them, to what Layla could see so clearly. "He doesn't need you to do or say the right thing, he doesn't need you to be there for him. All he needs is for you to be here - with him."
It was that simple. It always had been. Being together was the only thing Dean wanted. It was the only thing that mattered to his big brother. Suddenly the pieces of Sam's heart began to fall into place. He took in Dean's sleeping form, took in the man who had stood beside him, who had never abandoned him, who had made him feel wanted and loved. His brother had done all that unconditionally and with Dean by his side Sam didn't feel alone or disconnected.
That's when Sam realized that right here, beside his brother, this was home and it was where he belonged.
TBC