Title: Six Questions
Beta: My special friends spanglesgirl and jdsampson
Rating: PG 13.
Warnings: Written through slash colored glasses. Angst overload.
Feedback: Like, YES PLEASE!
Disclaimer: Kripke and Singer own Sam and Dean… Damn it!
AN: Written in half a day out of a sheer need to Sam and Dean-'ify' myself, from an overdose of J2.
Summary: Sam's dying. Dean's looking after him and they have a conversation about what Dean's going to do when Sam's gone.
"I don't really remember, ya know," Sam said as he pulled the blanket a little further around his chin.
"Yeah," Dean smiled as he made his way around the small kitchen. "Don't remember what, Sammy?"
Sam had been whiney about wanting company and the normal kitchen chairs were hard and uncomfortable. They had pulled a lounge chair into the kitchen. So every morning, Sam would watch him prepare breakfast and get ready for the day's schedule.
"I don't remember what it was like… to not be sick."
Dean froze mid movement. He had been pouring Sam's cocktail of meds into a medicine cup. He looked at Sam, but didn't, couldn't say a word.
It had been almost a year since they had stopped hunting, two since Dean's deal with the crossroads demon had been dissolved.
Sam had stopped her alright, but to trap her in the crossfire without her being alerted, meant that Sam had to stay until it was completed. Demons couldn't detect x-ray beams either, thank god and Sam's plan had worked.
Worked? Yes. But not without a price.
Sam was dying from radiation sickness. Kind of ironic, now Dean was all set to live to be one hundred.
Dean moved towards the chair and sat down on its arm. He absentmindedly brushed hair away from Sam's eyes and curled it around his ear. "Not a good day, huh?"
Sam sighed. "I think… I think maybe I should have ten milligrams of morphine today."
Dean tried to smile. He tried to stay calm. He could see Sam had a hard time asking for the extra pain medication. He'd been the one to yell at him for being a Martyr when he'd gone from 5 to 7.5 milligrams. "You don't have to put up with it, you should have just asked!" he'd screamed when he found Sam collapsed on the living room floor.
"Ahh… Yeah, Sammy. I heard you. Ten milligrams." Dean got up and went back to the kitchen counter. He retrieved a pill box and broke one of the tablets in half, before adding it to the assortment already in the medicine cup. He poured a glass of water and sat back down on the sidearm of Sammy's couch.
"Here," Dean said softly and passed him the water.
Sam took the medicine cup and looked down into it. Eight and a half tablets and counting. "Dean?"
"What would happen if I just stopped taking all of this?"
Dean didn't react to the question. His stomach dropped and his heart sped up, but he kept his voice low. "You'd get sick… Sicker," he corrected.
Sam nodded and brought the plastic cup to his lips. He threw the whole lot into his mouth followed by a large gulp of water.
Dean smiled, grateful that Sam didn't pursue that particular conversation. He'd been expecting it. Knew Sam would eventually start asking about 'other options'.
"Can we go outside today?" Sam asked. "I wouldn't mind being in the sun for a while."
"Sure, Sammy," Dean said as he slapped his own knee and got up. "Straight after you finish breakfast."
Sam made a face and for a second Dean thought that he was going to be obstinate. It was getting harder to make Sam eat. He often opted for a 'protein shake' instead of solid food. The doctors at the hospital said it was common. Keeping food down was a problem with these kinds of treatments and the shakes had all the elements needed to sustain life.
Sustain life? Dean's blood had run cold.
"Dean, I don't think I can."
"Okay." Dean nodded and focused. He blocked the tears that threatened to well in his eyes. "So… You want a…" Dean waved his hand and then clicked his fingers. "How about a banana smoothie?"
Dean let out a breath when Sam smiled. "Sounds good, but… Can I have it outside?"
It was then that Dean realized that was the second time Sam had asked. The guy wanted to do something simple. He wanted to go out and sit in the sun's warming rays, but… He needed Dean's permission. No. Not permission. He needed his help, Dean reminded himself. He was there to help Sam do what Sam wanted. That was his job now.
He wondered just how far off the, 'other options' talk would really be.
He brought his arm under his brother's shoulder and got Sam to the edge of the chair. "Thanks, Dean," Sam whispered close to his ear.
"Welcome," Dean muttered as he bent lower and tensed. "Ready?" he warned and then pulled Sam to his feet.
Slow and steadily they made their way out of the back door and onto the makeshift veranda. Dean had done his utmost to make the abandoned cabin a home. He'd cleared leaves and chopped trees to make way for a gold fish pond and a small, but, as Dean would remind you, successful, veggie patch.
He'd carved out a back yard of sorts, fenced it off and had even gone out and bought a lawn mower. Sam had teased him when it took three pulls of the cord to get it started. He remembered Sam poking his tongue out with a glint of envy, when Dean reminded him that, thanks to the Djinn, he had in fact used a contraption like it before.
He settled Sam onto the porch swing and ran back inside to retrieve the blanket. It was early and there was still a cool wind.
"Dean?" Sam asked as Dean sat down beside him.
"Yeah?" Dean said as he huddled into Sam and placed the blanket over them both.
"Will you stay here?"
Dean closed his eyes. The question wasn't that abstract, he knew exactly what Sam was asking him. Will I stay here after you die?
"It's a nice place."
"I won't be staying, Sam."
"I know," Sam sighed. "Just sayin… It's a nice place."
"Yeah." Dean shifted to wrap his arm around his little brother. Which was weird, because he had to lean upwards to do it.
Sam settled into the crook of Dean's arm. The feel of Sam made Dean's gut clench. Not the feel, as such. He'd long since made it past his macho fear of touch. But the sagging skin of his brother's arms with little flesh and its texture, rubbery and dry. He pulled Sam in closer and let his lips ghost over the top of his head.
"Will you go back to hunting?"
"Sam," Dean warned.
Sam shifted to look at him surprised. "Really? You won't go back to hunting?"
"I'd get myself killed," Dean confessed. "Worse, I could get someone else killed, too."
Sam nodded. "So you've thought about this?" Sam said casually and rested his head back on Dean's shoulder.
"Not really," Dean lied. He'd been forced to think about it more and more. "Just know I'd be useless hunting now." He looked at Sam before he added softly, "Without you."
"So… Do ya think you'll find a job? Maybe in a garage or something?" Sam asked without missing a beat.
"Oh yeah, sure… I'm positive a reputable mechanic would be willing to take on an apprentice, a… twenty-nine-year-old apprentice at that." He turned and looked incredulously at Sam. The old defense of sarcasm kicked in. "Oh and I'm sure he won't mind a bit when I tell him about this tiny little annoyance called a bank robbery rap and a suspected murder charge hanging over my head. But hey…" He mocked with a wave of his hand. "Not to mention---,"
"Okay, okay. Point taken." Sam grinned at his brother.
There was a beat of silence and Dean felt himself start to relax. He let his back rest against the faded vinyl cushion, and pushed off with his toes.
The porch swing creaked as it swung, but the movement was soothing.
"Maybe you could hook up with Ellen and Bobby?"
Ellen and… Dean patience had been tested. He wrenched his arm away from behind Sam and stood. "What's with twenty questions, Sammy? Are you trying to tell me something here?"
"Well are you?" Dean could hear the volume in his voice, but he couldn't control it.
Sam met his eyes without hesitation. em Fuck. Oh fuck. /em
"It's time, Dean."
Dean huffed out a humorless laugh and shook his head. "No it's not."
"Yes it is."
"No it's not." Dean found himself stomping his foot, like a five-year-old.
Sam's smile lifted to his eyes. "Why isn't it?"
"Because…" Dean pouted. And yeah, he was being a five-year-old.
"Because I'm not ready," Dean's tone was sharper. "Because I haven't told you…" Dean halted the words spilling out of his mouth. "…things."
Dean shrugged and tried to recover. The banter his only shield for what was to come. "Dunno… Just things." He couldn't look Sam in the eyes.
A grin that was half way cheeky crossed Sam's face. "Oh, Dean. Always with the scissors."
"Huh?" Dean said before the sound Sam's voice made him smile.
"You know, Dean? You make me laugh. I mean really…" Sam shook his head. "We've been closer this past year than we ever have and---" Sam raised his hand when Dean opened his mouth to object.
"We've been closer," Sam stated as a mater-of-fact. "We've been able to talk, go down memory lane without you closing up on me. It's really cool putting the pieces back." Sam cocked his head slightly, as if to check Dean's comprehension and continued. "We're touchier," Sam said as if still trying to argue his case. "I don't feel strange anymore when you come up and hold me for no reason."
"Now that's low," Dean said knowing his cheeks were ruby red.
Sam grinned. There was affection in his eyes. "We've slept curled around each other in the same bed for the last six months."
"Okay." Dean was now officially uncomfortable. And he'd lost track of the threaded conversation. He scratched his head.
"Why is it that you can sleep with me, Dean, but… But you can't tell me… You know… things?"
Damn. Dean was bought back to the reality of the conversation with a thud.
Dean gave Sam a pleading look. em Don't make me do this. I don't want to think about this now. /em
Sam shifted forward and pushed up. He stood and didn't waver because Dean had been there instantaneously. He knew he would be.
"It doesn't matter anyhow," Sam's voice was raw. "I've given you this speech before, I know, but…" He turned into Dean's grip and looked at him. Dean recoiled slightly but Sam wrapped long fingers around his brother's biceps.
"You've given everything… Everything for me, Dean. From the time I was a little baby, right up until…"
"Sammy," Dean said all breath with no volume. Sam knew it was meant as a warning.
"For God sake, Dean. You sold your soul for me, man." He took in a deep breath. "I think I have a clue as to what those… things... are."
Okay, so they were back to the 'things' that Dean couldn't say.
Then… Just like that… Dean looked at him. He didn't hesitate.
"I love you, Sammy."
"So maybe you could find a mechanic who would pay you cash in hand? Then you wouldn't have to go through any checks or worry about the FBI."
"Oh Jesus," Dean said with a roll of his eyes.
Sam laughed. "Okay," he conceded. "Just…" He considered his options. "Okay, so… I get six yes or no questions and you have to answer them truthfully."
Dean nodded his 'of course'. "And what do I get if I answer?" Dean raised an eyebrow.
"Well…" Sam smiled. "Then I promise I'll never raise the subject again. I'll never ask you to tell me what you're going to do when I'm dead."
Dean didn't flinch at the word. You know the one. Dead. "Okay, shoot," he said with a hint of a challenge.
"Okay." Sam cleared his throat. "One. Did you sleep with Meryl Shell right after I told you I had a crush on her?"
Dean grinned. "What?"
"Yes or no," Sam reminded but he couldn't help the smirk finding its way to his lips.
"No," Dean admitted. He had often teased Sam that he had.
They both laughed and Sam caught his brother's eye with a more serious look.
"Two. So you're not going to stay here?"
"Three. And you're not going to hook up with Bobby and Ellen?"
"Four. You're not going to keep hunting?"
"Five. And you're not going to get a job?"
Sam nodded slowly. This was his last question and then he'd never mention it again. He would keep his word.
"Six… Are you going to follow me?"
Dean's straying eyes darted back to Sam's. They locked to the point that everything else faded into the background.
"Dean?" Sam whispered again. "Are you going to follow me?"
A single tear rolled down Dean's cheek. "Yes."
AN: Would love to know what you think???? winks Thanks for reading.