Hello all! As promised, I have a short story written for the Sam's b-day (turned into Jared's b-day) fanfic exchange over at CWESS (Coalition for the Written Enhancement of Sam's Story). My recipient was MysteryMadchen and her prompt was for a story about John and Sam's fight and then Sam becomes ill or injured as a result of the fight (heart failure or kidney failure if ill) and does not allow his family to be contacted. The story has now been posted at CWESS, so I can post it here as well. It is 8 chapters and I will post a chapter every few days. I had a second prompt to work with and am also writing a story for that, but can't post it until it is finished and posted at the other site.

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own them!

Dying From a Broken Heart

Ames, Iowa - June 10, 2001

"Dammit, Dad! Why can't you…just this one time, be proud of me!" Sam screamed as tears of frustration and hurt streamed down his reddened cheeks.

"Proud of what! Proud of you going behind my back? Proud of you wanting to abandon your family?" John spat back, the man shaking as anger coursed through his veins.

Dean watched from the sidelines as the battle raged, his wide, green eyes traveling to his brother's face, the young man waiting with bated breath to hear what the teenager would say. His heart ached at the sadness he heard in Sam's voice when he finally answered.

"Stanford, Dad. I got accepted to Stanford. Most families would find that something to be proud of," the boy said softly.

"You want me to proud of you? Do something that means something! Get off your ass and become a man! Be more like your brother!" John hissed, his dark eyes flashing as he stared into his youngest son's eyes.

"I'm not Dean! I'll never be Dean!" Sam cried desperately.

"Yeah…and therein lies the problem," John said coldly, the man knowing his words cut deep, but too angry and stubborn to take them back.

Sam stared wide eyed, the look on his face nearly breaking John's resolve. After a few moments he slowly shook his head and deflated, all of the fight leaving him. "Mom would have been proud of me," he said softly.

The slap was unexpected, the fury and what Sam could only see as hatred in his father's eyes made it hurt much worse than it would have in any other situation. Sam lifted a hand to his cheek, his hazel eyes moving to the stunned face of his brother before trailing back to his father.

"Don't you ever speak of her again," John hissed as he took a step closer to his son. "She would not be proud. She would be disgusted. She would be ashamed."

Sam visibly recoiled at his father's words. The idea that his mother would be ashamed of him tore through his heart and took his breath away. He absently lifted his hand and nursed his chest as he stared brokenly at his father. If there was any love for him at all, John didn't show it and Sam broke a little bit more when he wondered if he'd ever been loved by the man. Maybe when he was little, before he had a mind of his own. Before he had dared to want something more than just the hunt. Maybe then John had loved him, but now? Now, Sam wasn't so sure. He hadn't felt loved for a very long time, but had shrugged it off as just his father's way. He had convinced himself that John still loved him, even though they fought constantly, but now it seemed that maybe it wasn't just John's way. Maybe he had lost his father's love when he had found his independence. When he had figured out that you should be able to choose your own path in life.

Sam found himself trying to speak, but the pain in his chest wouldn't allow more than just a gasped exhale of breath. He took a deep breath and tried again, to no avail. Looking once more deep into his father's eyes and seeing only rage, Sam turned to make his way out of the kitchen. He tried to scoot by his father, but the man had other plans. John grabbed Sam and shoved him back, growling in Dean's direction when the young man made a move forward. Sam pushed back and tried to pull his arm free, but John slammed him against the wall, the force of the impact causing Sam's jaw to slam shut, his teeth biting into his tongue and drawing blood.

"Where the hell do you think you're going, boy?" John hissed as he pulled Sam away from the wall only to slam him against it again.

Sam swallowed deeply then stared into his father's eyes. "'m leaving," he replied shakily.

John's eyes narrowed, but a few moments later he roughly let go of Sam and stepped aside as the boy staggered forward. Sam hurried past his father, then his brother and disappeared down the hall where the room he shared with his brother was. Dean turned to follow his brother, but John grasped his arm and held him back. "Dad…" Dean started.

"Let him be, Dean," John said gruffly, his voice suddenly sounding tired and defeated.

"But, Dad…he's leaving! We can't…"

"He's bluffing. He's not going anywhere," John interrupted.

"What if he isn't bluffing? What then?" Dean queried, his green eyes trailing to the dark hallway.

"He won't leave, Dean. He won't leave you," John said.

Dean glanced at his father then back down the hallway. "I hope you're right," he said softly.

Sam hurried down the hallway and shoved through the slightly closed door of he and Dean's room then quickly shut the door behind himself. He stumbled to his bed and dropped down heavily onto the mattress before grabbing his chest and doubling over his knees. He took several deep breaths and waited for the pain to subside. Finally, when the pain had turned to a dull ache and he could breathe again, Sam sat up and brushed the back of his hand over his mouth. His hand came away bloodied and he swallowed back the remaining blood that had pooled in his mouth from his tongue. He sat for several minutes before finally feeling strong enough to stand again. He began to stuff his meager belongings into his duffel bag and once it could hold no more, he went to the closet and reached up onto the shelf then pulled a small shoebox down. He opened the box and removed a rolled up bundle of money. He stuffed the roll into his jacket pocket and zipped it up then grabbed his duffel and swung it over his shoulder and headed for the door.

Sam came into the small livingroom and glanced toward the kitchen. He heard his father's deep voice and swallowed against the emotions that were flowing through him. He took a step toward the kitchen then thought better of it. Maybe it would be better if he just left. He started toward the front door, but stopped when a low voice called out to him.


Sam turned and bit back at the tears that threatened to once again fall. Dean stared back at him, his green eyes pleading with his brother not to go. Dean took a step forward, but was halted when John appeared and grabbed his arm. John moved toward Sam, his face unreadable as he considered his youngest son. He glanced to his right when Dean moved up beside him then turned his attention back to Sam.

"Where do you think you're going?" John queried evenly, no emotion in his voice.

Sam glanced down at the ground before looking back up at his father. "To Stanford, Dad," he said softly in reply.

"You're not going anywhere, boy," John said as he took another step forward.

"Stop…just, please…stop," Sam pleaded as he held his hand out in front of him. "You don't need me, Dad. You never have. I've just been this…this burden you've had to drag around."

"We need you, Sam. We need to stick together…as a family," John said, his voice softening slightly.

"It's only college. I can hunt during breaks and in the Summer…"

"No, Sam! We don't just need you when it's convenient for you! You're not going!" John shouted, his anger returning full force.

Sam gazed sadly at his father and shook his head. "I'm going to college, Dad. I'd hoped you'd be happy for me…be proud of me, but I guess that was just too much to ask for," he said softly as he turned toward the door.

"If you walk out that door, Sam…don't you ever come back," John hissed bringing a gasp from his eldest son beside him.

Sam stopped suddenly and turned to face his father. "Wh-what?" he whispered, the stunned look on his face nearly breaking his father.

John swallowed back the apology he wanted to say and hardened his eyes. "You heard me," he said coldly. "If you leave, you can consider yourself an orphan. Me and Dean will be dead as far as you're concerned…and you will be dead to us."

Sam's mouth dropped opened in shock as he stared at his father. He cast his gaze to his brother and waited for him to speak up, to say something to let him know that it wasn't true. Dean opened his mouth, but the young man glanced his father's way and snapped his mouth shut. Sam's eyes filled with tears, but he held them back as he slowly nodded. He gave his brother one last pleading look then turned toward the door when Dean dropped his eyes to the floor. He opened the door and stepped out onto the porch then stopped as he considered going back in, thus leaving Stanford behind. The look of near hatred he'd seen on his father's face and his brother's silence though made him softly close the door behind him and trudge heavily down the steps and to the sidewalk. He glanced once over his shoulder, the boy hoping to see his brother running down the sidewalk after him, but the night was still and the sidewalk empty, save for him. He swallowed back the hurt and disappointment and hurried away, hoping he could catch a bus and get as far away from this town as possible.

Dean's heart dropped into his stomach as he watched Sam close the door behind him. He turned to his father, his eyes wide with hurt and shock. John glanced at him before turning his dark eyes back to the door as if expecting it to open at any moment. Dean moved toward the door, the young man grabbing his jacket from the back of the sofa as he passed. He reached for the doorknob, but stopped when his father's voice sounded from behind him.


Dean turned and glared at his father, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "I have to go after him, Dad! You said he wouldn't leave! You said…"

"Yeah? Well, I guess I was wrong. I guess your brother is truly the selfish son of a bitch that I'd hoped he wasn't. He made his decision…"

"That's crap! You didn't really give him much of a choice now did you!" Dean cried. He let go of the doorknob and stepped away from the door. "Would it have killed you to tell him you were proud of him? Hell…I am! But I didn't tell him either, so I guess that makes me just as bad as you!"

"Watch your mouth, Dean! Sam chose school over us! He's never been with the program…he's never thought what we do is important!" John shouted.

"You're wrong! He does think what we do is important. He just thinks there's more than just hunting, Dad. He's not like us…he…"

"You're right. He isn't like us."

"I'm going after him," Dean interrupted as he turned to the door again.

"No…you're not. If he wants to turn his back on us then let him. We'll find your mother's killer ourselves and he can have the perfect little life he's always dreamed of!" John snapped angrily.

Dean stopped and turned around. "You're serious? You meant what you said to him? That he's dead to you? To us?"

John sighed and dropped his shoulders. "No…of course not. I didn't think he'd go. But he did…even after what I said. That proves that he doesn't care about us, Dean," he said sadly.

"No, Dad. It means he's hurt and stubborn. He'd die for us and you know it. He just…this life…I think it's slowly killing him and he had to get away and now...now he thinks he can't come back," Dean replied.

John watched his son and he knew he was right. He knew Sam loved them and would die for them, but Sam had chosen to leave them behind. He'd chosen to abandon them and to John, that was unforgivable. John hardened his eyes and regarded his son coolly. "What's done is done. Sam made his decision and now we have to move on. There're more important things to worry about than…"

"More important than Sam? You can't believe that, Dad," Dean shot angrily.

"I'm finished with this conversation, Dean. We're leaving early so you better go get some sleep," John said as he turned his back on his son.

Dean stared after his father and shook his head. "I can't believe you. He's your son," he said softly.

John turned and eyed his son wearily. "Not anymore, Dean. Not anymore," he replied before turning and leaving Dean to stare after him in stunned silence.

Sam angrily brushed the tears from his cheeks as he approached the nearly deserted bus station. He had expected to hear the rumble of the Impala sometime during his two mile trek, but now he realized he was truly on his own. What John had said was true. He was dead to his family and very likely would never see them again. It hadn't completely surprised him about his father, but Dean? He would never have thought that his brother would just let him go like that without a word. It hurt him to know that his father could so easily wash his hands of him, but it nearly broke him completely to know that Dean could.

As he neared the entrance to the bus station, Sam had to sit down to ease the pressure and pain in his chest. It was becoming hard to breathe again and he could only guess that it was from the stress of the fight and everything else crushing down upon him. He sat on the cold bench that was perched next to the door for several minutes and took a few deep breaths until the pain eased. He stood and hoisted his duffel up over his shoulder then entered the bus station. He purchased his bus ticket then made his way to the area where his bus would be departing and took a seat. He had been sitting for nearly a half hour when he heard the deep rumble of a vehicle pull up near the building. He jerked his head up and stared expectantly out the window, but soon deflated when he saw a bright red Firebird pull past the window and zoom out of the parking lot. He dropped his eyes to his lap and reached up to brush a tear from his cheek.

Sam jerked when a loud voice sounded from the PA system announcing the loading instructions for his bus. He stood stiffly, not having been aware that he had drifted off to sleep. He stretched his arms over his head then leant over to pick up his duffel bag. He got in the short line of people loading onto the bus and found a seat near the back. He stowed his bag under his seat and collapsed down next to the window. He reclined the seat back as far as it would go and rested his head back upon the head rest and closed his eyes. As the bus departed, he opened his eyes and gazed longingly out the window, hoping against all hope to see his brother there, but the departure area was empty. He leaned back again and crossed his arms over his midsection. His right hand came up to absently rub his chest and within minutes, he had fallen into a restless, troubled sleep.

Lincoln, Nebraska –early morning, June 11, 2001

Sam awoke with a gasp, his hand immediately reaching for his chest as he struggled to breathe. The nightmare had shaken him horribly, his chest still aching where the black dog had plowed into him before beginning to tear into him with razor sharp claws. He managed to look out the window and see that they had pulled into a town, the name of which he didn't know. He reached under the seat for his duffel bag and hoisted it up onto his shoulder. Suddenly, a sharp pain stabbed through his chest causing the teen to cry out. Sam rose shakily to his feet as he became aware that something was terribly wrong. He stumbled a few steps, his body slamming into the back of an empty seat. He gripped the seat and leaned over, trying to catch his breath.

"Are you okay?" a voice sounded and Sam glanced up through sweat soaked bangs to see a woman of about forty gazing worriedly at him.

Sam swallowed, but didn't answer the woman. He staggered forward, bumping into several more seats, causing startled cries to come from the seats passengers. The driver, upon hearing the commotion looked up into his rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing as he saw the young man tripping his way down the aisle.

"Get back to your seat!" the driver called as he eased the bus through traffic.

Sam continued forward, the pain in his chest causing a roar in his ears and drowning out all other sounds around him. He had to get off the bus…that much he knew. He staggered a few more steps before his legs went out from beneath him and he crashed to the dirty floor of the bus, gasping for air. He felt hands upon him and he tried to fight them off, but his strength had left him. Finally, he gave up fighting and just let the hands take him wherever they wished. What did he really have to fight for anyway? He was dead to his family after all. This way, they wouldn't have to pretend.

Sam let the darkness take him without a fight. He didn't hear the frantic calls for someone to call 911. He didn't feel as the bus was pulled to the side of the road, nor when he was lifted and carried from the bus before being gently laid upon the cold ground. He didn't feel as someone began to press desperately upon his chest or when lips closed over his and air began to be forced into his lungs. He didn't hear the distant sirens or the calls of the paramedics as they arrived and began to work to save his life. He didn't see the tears fall down the forty year old woman's cheeks or hear her prayers. He heard nothing and felt nothing because he was already gone.

Well, that's it for now. Will be back in a few days with the next chapter. Please comment. Thanks.