Dying Wish

A small and weak smile graces his lips, lifts the corners of his mouth slightly as he feels a kind of serenity wash over him. It rises something inside his chest, something he hasn't felt for so long; happiness.

He forgot what it felt like, to feel his heart swell with hope and joy, to feel butterflies in his stomach from all the excitement, to feel like a kid who can't wait to see his big brother after school, and it's funny how something like meeting his brother again after only weeks of separation and in his last moments is what brings all that back.

He turns his head towards Bobby, only to find a face darkened with sorrow and distraught, and eyes full of guilt and remorse. His eyebrows furrow in puzzlement at the overwhelming emotions, and he feebly reaches out a hand that feels too heavy and seems to eat away all his remaining strength, and rests it on his shoulder. He doesn't squeeze though, too drained to do the gesture.

Bobby startles slightly at the sudden weight on his shoulder, and he looks over at the kid. A question shining in his concerned eyes that he doesn't seem to have enough energy to voice out, one he always asks whenever he sees someone he loves in distress.

You okay?

Bobby tries to smile, he really does, but it hurts to do so because of everything happening around him and the fact that his surrogate youngest is about to die in under a freaking week. The smile feels clearly fake on his lips, it doesn't even reach his eyes, but Sam doesn't notice it.

And it also seems the fatigue is starting to catch up to him as the small slit of his hazel eyes finally close together and his breathing evens out, right after the old hunter gives him a small, reassuring smile and runs a hand through the kid's soft, chocolate-brown hair.

"I'm so sorry, kid." He whispers softly to the oblivious young boy, and that's exactly what he looks like right now as he snores softly, save for the paleness of his skin and the dark shadows under his eyes that look a bit more prominent than before.

.

Bobby tries to call Dean again. He tries his number three times, none of them picked up by him, and he's one unanswered call away from losing his patience and temper.

He presses speed-dial one again, and something inside him erupts like a volcano when the same result comes.

"Hey, it's Dean, leave me a - "

He switches the phone off angrily and slams his fist against the wall beside him, panting heavily as his fingers tighten around his phone, his knuckles throbbing in time with his racing heartbeat. His blood boils, and he swears he's never been more furious in his whole lifetime as much as he is now.

.

He wheels inside the room after he has collected himself and moves towards the kid, whose whole body - that once used to be so tense all the time - seems so relaxed at this moment, and his face is calm and at absolute peace when it used to be the other way around, always either stressed and anxious with worried lines, or depressed and guilty.

And as he stares at the innocent face lying on the hospital bed, it occurs to him that about a week later only, this kid might never open his eyes once he falls to sleep.

The realization hits him hard, it leaves his chest aching with grief and pending loss, and the corners of his eyes wet with tears, but he quickly brushes them off.

He feels as if he failed this kid somehow, as if he betrayed him by lying to him (maybe that's exactly what he did), maybe he should have told him the truth.

But then he imagines the pained, shattered look on his face, and he remembers why he did it.

He still doesn't know what to do.

.

Sam wakes up the next morning, somewhere around ten'o'clock. He feels a bit better than last night, he's still really tired and weak, but more alive, except the pain in his damaged heart didn't abate in the least, and if he didn't know any better, it probably got even worse, so he just tries his best to ignore it. And the first thing he does is search around the room expectantly, and when he doesn't find what he's looking for, he looks at Bobby.

"Where's Dean?" He asks weakly, his voice nothing above a hoarse whisper.

Bobby stills completely, his hand frozen half-way through the motion of flipping a page of the magazine on his lap.

Sam stares at Bobby with wide, hopeful eyes.

Bobby smiles nervously as he moves towards the side-table and fills a cup with water, lifting the young hunter's head with one hand and helping him drink it with the other.

Once they're done, Sam drops his head back on the pillow and Bobby instantly tries to change the topic. "Good morning, kid. How you feeling?"

"Like I'm about to die in a week." Sam jokes lightly, his voice now sounding more clearer, but still feeble.

"That ain't funny." Bobby answers solemnly as he puts the cup of glass back on the table.

Sam sighs softly. "Yeah, I know." He looks down at his hands. "Sorry."

Bobby nods and looks at him with a raised eyebrow expectantly.

"Well, my heart hurts like hell, heartbeat feels a bit slow or something, still feeling drained and weak."

"Alright." Bobby sighs, and then adds, "You need a doctor?"

"No, not really. I can handle it." Sam answers, earning an exasperated sigh from Bobby as he knows he's probably preferring to tough it out rather than admit that he wants help.

A comfortable silence fills the whole room for a few, short minutes, until Sam breaks it.

"So, where is Dean? I thought he was supposed to be here by now."

Bobby swallows, staring holes into the floor as he tries to come up with a compatible lie. "He . . . got some important things to take care of, so he won't be here for at least a few days."

Sam looks convinced, hence the sad puppy-eyes. "Oh."

Bobby rushes to add, so as to not make the kid upset, "It'll only take about two or three days." Another lie, and it twists his gut in shame. He just keeps piling lies upon lies on Sam, along with adding guilt upon guilt on himself, and it hurts to do this, especially when he's lying to the kid in his last days.

But he knows the truth isn't an option either. It'll only hurt for longer if he does.

The easy quietness is now feeling suffocating and eerie to Bobby.

But he would've taken it any day over the next question Sam asks.

"Do . . ." He stops, sighing softly before he continues his next words, the tone of his voice only a sad whisper. "Do you think he'll make it before - " He trails off, swallowing shakily before he looks down again.

". . . Yeah. Of - of course he'll make it." He chokes out.

And another lie.

OMG! Six months? I'm so sorry! I know you won't believe me when I'll say that I completely forgot about this, I did remember sometimes in between, but then I'd forget about it again. I do have the memory of a goldfish, as my brother says.

I apologize sincerely for the very, very late update, also for any grammatical or punctual errors, or about my medical knowledge. I'm just a kid! :( I don't know jack about all the medical mumbo-jumbo.

Also, thanks for all the great reviews and the number of alerts as well as favorites. I feel very heartened and thrilled with your support. I guess this is gonna turn out to be much longer than a two-shot.