Five Times Sam Didn't Make A Deal For Dean (And One Time He Did)


The black dog had torn into Dean like he was a peanut butter slathered num-num. John had them both stuffed into the backseat after blasting the beast to pieces, swearing at the dark back roads and every bump that made Dean cry out.

Sam wisely kept silent this time, too busy applying pressure with blood-soaked towels and t-shirts to point out that this was all Dad's fault anyway.

Dean stopped breathing as the lights of the hospital came into view, Sam bending down to give his brother life. John shut up at the sight, his hands tightening on the steering wheel as he jerked the impala to a halt just outside the emergency room doors.

Impersonal hands hauled Sam off his brother who coughed and stuttered on the stretcher. Sam wanted to yell at them- he'd felt like he was Dean's whole life, pushing oxygen from his mouth through his brother's lips.

John grabbed his shoulder when he tried to follow the cloud of nurses and doctors and Dean, holding him back- always holding him back- from what he really wanted.

"Go sit in the waiting room. I need to sort out the insurance."

Sam sneered at him, biting off curses and words he knew would tear his dad to the bone. Sometimes it wasn't even worth it.

He turned away from John, angrily bypassing the Waiting Room full of sick, helpless people and pain to stop in front of the warm doors marked chapel.

A Code Blue sounded on the PA and Sam collapsed against the door, running away from the possibility of his brother ending up as just another code on speakers.

The chapel was dark and empty, the candles at the front flickering as the door swung shut behind him. Sam sank into the closet pew, folded his hands and asked "Please, don't take him yet. I'll do anything."

Luckily, Hell had no ears in a church.


The doctors said 'no hope'. Nothing could fix the damage done to Dean's heart.

"A transplant?" Sam asked desperately. "That could happen- that could fix it."

"He'll be on the waiting list for years, he doesn't have that long." Everyone told him. "They best we can do is keep him comfortable and wait."

Sam hated waiting.

He called Dad, Bobby, Joe, Eric, Caleb, Pastor Jim, Dad, Eden, Elijah, Joseph, Joshua, Zack, Carrie, Melissa, Dad, Tina, Travis, Jackson, Heather and John Fucking Winchester but no one could help. Those who didn't answer, Sam left messages and prayed for a miracle.

When Dean showed up, pale and tired and still cocky as Hell, Sam wrapped him in blankets and crawled in beside him, kissing Dean's neck and mouthing silently "I'll do anything to save you. Anything."

Hell was listening, but Joshua answered first.


Dean looked small in that hospital bed, tubes coming out of everywhere. Trapped in a coma from the wounds their dad had carved into his chest and the crash Sam couldn't avoid- Dean always seemed to be paying for his family's mistakes.

He could still hear the scream of the heart monitors, the distant echo of Dean's spirit and the crunch of mental on metal. The room was warm and empty of his brother's spirit now; Sam hoped he had the good sense to keep away from the Reaper but- this was Dean.

They would be lucky if he wasn't actively hunting the damn thing.

Dad's journal was useless, Dad was missing and Sam didn't know anything that could put Dean back, even if he did bind the Reaper. He felt hopeless and wrung-out and faded.

Sam bent his head and whispered "I'll give anything to make him better again."

Hell heard, but John had already paid his soul.


Halfway though to a hundred and one Tuesdays, Sam dragged Dean into a church and locked them both in a confessional. His brother was silent and puzzled as Sam sank to the bottom of the booth and sobbed.

Dean squeezed down beside him, wiped away tears and kissed him silent when he heard "Please, God. I'll do anything- just make it stop. Just keep him alive and I'll do anything."

Sam knew his brother didn't believe in Heaven and God and Angels but he wasn't willing to take the chance. Winchesters had made enough deals, he'd said before tripping over the worn carpet and impaling himself on a brass candlestick.

Thankfully, or not, Hell had stopped listening at Tuesday number forty-five.


Please God.


I'll give anything-


Just let me save him.

Let me save Dean.

Three hundred and sixty-four days of praying, begging and bargaining and Sam still watched Dean fall apart at the stroke of midnight. No quick saves, no counter-deals, no Colt. Ruby hid the enemy like a fucking Trojan horse, laughing and smiling as Sam cried and screamed in the corner.

When Dean stopped fighting, breathless and gone Sam stopped asking to be saved.

God, no.

Let me go with him.

It didn't work- nothing had ever taken Sam's deal before. When the smoke had cleared, Ruby and Dean side-by-side, did he crawl across the hardwood floor and the blood to lie beside his brother and ask "Please, just take me with him."

Bobby found him like that, whispering contracts into the mess of Dean's chest.

Hell was listening, but Dean screamed so prettily.


Dean had been in Hell for ten hours when Sam tried to make his first deal. The demon had laughed at him, her borrowed body the image of Jessica and Mary. She'd laughed until Sam drew the knife across her throat and lit her up like lightning in a bottle.

Dean had been in Hell for three weeks when deals two through ten were met with silence and shallow graves.

Dean had been in Hell for two months when the demons stopped showing up at the crossroads. Ruby stood off to the side, impatient and frustrated as Sam waited till dawn, standing in the middle of the crossroads.

Dean had been in Hell for nearly four months when Sam buried the knife in Ruby's heart and stumbled to his last deal. The man was smart mouthed and smug and reminded him of Dean. Hell was listening this time, when Sam said "I'll give anything."

This time, Hell answered.