Fanfic- In the Face of Death
Title- In the Face of Death
Fandom- Supernatural
Ship- Sam/Dean
Rating-PG-13
Genre- pre-slash, angst
Warnings- sad ending, character death (which is canon for this episode), unbetaed
Wordcount- 4300
Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural
Summary- While Dean is unconsious, Sam says some things he never could while Dean was awake. Little does he know that Dean's spirit is present, and he hears everything. Takes place during 2x01 In My Time of Dying, so spoilers for the whole episode.
A/N- This is my first ever piece of Wincest fic, so I hope it's okay!
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Sam stood in the door of the hospital room, gazing down at his brother’s limp body. The only noise coming from the room was the sound of the heart monitor beeping and the ventilator forcing air into and out of Dean’s lungs. Sam had stopped by on his way out to see Bobby and get the things his dad had asked for, hoping that somehow there might be some change in his brother’s condition.
There wasn’t.
Sam slowly stepped forward until he stood next to the bed, and looked down at Dean’s impassive face. Even if Sam hadn’t known how serious the situation was, the view before him would still have made him uncomfortable. There was something fundamentally wrong with Dean not moving. Normally, Dean would be awake and complaining that he was fine, arguing with the nurses, wanting to get out of the hospital as soon as possible regardless of the severity of his injuries.
Sam reached out and brushed the tips of his fingers lightly across the back of Dean’s hand. “Hey,” he whispered, almost afraid to break the silence of the room. “I’m going out to get some things for dad, but I’ll be back, okay? Stay strong for me, Dean. I don’t…” Sam trailed off, swallowed, and forced himself to continue. “I don’t know if I could take losing you.”
“I…I need you, Dean,” Sam whispered, slipping his hand into his brother’s like he had whenever he was scared as a child. “I know I never say it, but I do. I know I left you and dad before, but I just… Just don’t die on me, Dean. I need you, more than you’ll ever know. I love you.”
Sam stroked his trembling thumb over the back of Dean’s hand, fighting to keep his entire body from shaking. It was strange, talking to Dean when he was unconscious, but it also felt good to finally say these things out loud. If he’d ever tried to do it when Dean was awake, his brother would have reiterated his rule about “no chick-flick moments,” and that would have been the end of it.
“I love you,” Sam repeated, his voice growing stronger, “more than I ever say. More than I should, maybe. You’re my brother, Dean, and I know without you saying it that you love me and you’d die for me, but I’ve always been afraid…” Sam’s voice trailed off, and he shook his head.
“I know that the way I love you isn’t the same as the way you love me,” Sam whispered, afraid to say this part too loudly and possibly be overheard. “I don’t… I know that no matter what, you won’t feel the same way, and I don’t expect anything from you like that, but… Sometimes I just wish I could say it out loud and not be afraid that you’d hate me for it. I’d die if you hated me.”
Sam fell silent for a moment, thinking about his words, and then he gave Dean’s hand a squeeze. “Forget I said that. I don’t care if you hate me. Just wake up. I’d rather you be alive and hate me than for you to be… Just please wake up, Dean.”
Sam sighed heavily and straightened up, letting his hand slip slowly out of Dean’s. “Well, I have to, ah, go see Bobby about the stuff dad wanted.” Sam moved towards the door slowly, unwillingly, his eyes trained on Dean the whole time. “Stay safe, Dean,” he whispered from the doorway. “I love you.”
Then Sam forced his body to turn away from Dean’s hospital room and walk towards the exit. He reached into his pocket for the list his father had given him, and gripped the paper tightly in his hand. Protection, his dad had said it was for. Well, at least there was something Sam could do. Maybe if he was doing something besides sitting by Dean’s bed all day he wouldn’t feel so damn useless and helpless.
* * *
Sam slowly pushed the door of Dean’s room open and stepped inside, shifting the large paper bag in his left arm. He looked down at Dean’s face, just as still and emotionless as when he’d last been in the room, and sighed heavily. “Hey,” he whispered. It felt strange, talking to Dean when he was asleep, and expecting him to somehow understand. He wasn’t sure if he should look at Dean’s body, or the empty space next to the bed. He had no idea where Dean’s spirit was, if it even was outside his body.
Sam licked his lips and spoke, directing his words to Dean’s still form. “I think, you’re around. And, if you are, don’t make fun of me for this, but um, there’s one way we can talk.” He pulled the Ouija board from the bag and held it out as though to show Dean. He could just see his brother rolling his eyes and saying, “You gotta be kidding me.” Dean had always believed that this sort of thing was strictly for fortune-telling scams and slumber parties, not a tool for serious hunters.
Sam walked around to the empty space at the foot of Dean’s bed and sat on the floor, the box in his lap. He had no idea if this was going to work. If it didn’t, would that mean that the board was fake, or that Dean really wasn’t around as a spirit? He sighed and shook his head, then opened the box and removed the board. There was only one way to find out if this would work.
“Dean?” Sam asked, looking around. Was this supposed to be like a séance; did he have to do something to summon Dean’s spirit to him? “Dean, are you here?” Sam reached out and placed his hands on the planchette and waited. Seconds ticked by, and he didn’t feel anything. Doubt was beginning to sink in, and he wondered if he shouldn’t just pack the board up and forget about it.
Then suddenly Sam felt the piece of wood move beneath his fingers, guided by some force other than his own strength. It slid across the board, his own fingers simply resting on it, until the hole in the middle was centered around the word “yes.”
Sam laughed in relief, blinking back a sudden rush of tears. “It’s good to hear from you, man. It hasn’t been the same without you, Dean.” A thousand questions flooded into his mind. How did Dean get out of his body? Was he in any pain? Could he get back into his body and wake up? But before Sam had the chance to ask any of them, the planchette moved again, sliding across the board.
“Dean, what…? H. U… Hunt? What, hunting? Are you hunting?”
The planchette moved back to “yes.”
Sam frowned. Only Dean could find something to hunt while he was lying in a hospital bed with a machine breathing for him. “Dean, is it in the hospital, what you’re hunting? What… Do you know what it is?”
The piece of wood remained still, and Sam sighed. This wasn’t like a regular conversation, he reminded himself. Yes and no, or simple one-word answers were all he could get from Dean. He could only ask on question at a time.
“What is it?”
R. E. A. P.
“A reaper,” Sam said, before the last two letters were spelled out. “Dean,” he whispered, “is it after you?”
Yes.
Sam felt his blood run cold, and he swallowed. “It’s here naturally,” he murmured. “There’s no way to stop it.” Sam stared at the board, hoping for more. There wasn’t any, and desperation began to grow inside of him. He couldn’t lose Dean, he just couldn’t.
“No,” Sam muttered. “No, there’s gotta be a way. There’s gotta be a way. Dad’ll know what to do.” Sam stood and hurried to his father’s room. He knew that it was a testament to just how panicked he was, that he was going directly to his father after the argument they’d had earlier.
But John wasn’t in his room. Sam muttered curses under his breath, wondering where his father had gone when he needed him, if he’d gone to confront the demon even though he’d promised not to. Sam snatched up the journal he saw resting on a bag in the corner of the room, and hurried back to Dean.
“Okay, so dad wasn’t in his room. But, I’ve got his journal so, who knows, maybe there’s something here.” Sam started to open it when he heard a soft noise. He looked over to the floor at the foot of the bed, where he’d left the Ouija board. The planchette was shaking weakly, making a sort of clattering noise against the board. Sam dropped the journal onto the bed beside Dean’s body and hurried over, falling to his knees beside the board.
“Dean, what is it? What’s wrong?” Had the reaper already come for him? Was he in danger? Was there anything Dean could do to stop it, or slow it down, so Sam could find a way to kill it?
Sam placed trembling fingers on the piece of wood, and watched it move slowly across the board.
L. O. V. E.
Oh. “Dean, I love you too, man, but you don’t need to tell me that now. You’re not going to die. I won’t let you. There has to be something, just let me look in the journal!”
But even as Sam spoke, the planchette was moving again.
No.
No? What could Dean mean, no? Surely he didn’t want Sam to stop looking- wait. Oh. Oh. “No” as in “not love.” As in, “not that kind of love.”
Sam felt a sinking sensation in his stomach, and he glanced away. “You heard that, huh?”
Yes.
Sam jolted to his feet as though the piece of wood had shocked him, paced a few feet over to Dean’s bed and stopped, raising a hand to his mouth to bite the knuckle. “I know you’re mad, Dean. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t ask to feel this way about you, I just- it just happened! Just… just let me find a way to save you. Let me find a way to bring you back, and you can yell at me all you want. You’d never have to see me again, but please, Dean, let me bring you back.” Sam whispered the last with tears in his eyes. He reached for the journal and opened it, rubbing his eyes to clear his blurry vision and searching for an entry on reapers.
The clattering noise began again. It grew louder than before, the piece of wood nearly bouncing up and down on the board, but Sam stubbornly ignored it. He knew Dean was mad. He’d always known Dean would hate him if he found out; this was what he got for saying it out loud, even with Dean unconscious. He should have known.
And Sam would gladly submit to whatever insults his brother wanted to fling at him, even take a few punches without resisting, just as long as it meant Dean was alive and awake and walking around again. But for now, Sam had to concentrate on finding a way to keep him alive, and get his spirit back into his body. The fighting would have to wait until later.
On the other side of the room, the clattering grew weaker. It must mean that Dean was getting tired. Sam looked over, but didn’t get up. The planchette had fallen flat against the board, twitching feebly, but still it moved. Sam bit his lip. Even with all his strength gone, Dean was still trying to talk to him, begging to talk to him. Sam couldn’t deny him that.
Sam got up and went to the board, his hands trembling for an entirely different reason from before as he sat down and placed them on the piece of wood. The pull on the planchette was weaker this time, and it moved across the board more slowly than it had.
Yes.
Yes? Yes, what? Yes, he wanted Sam to go away forever? Or, yes, he needed Sam to find a way to stop the reaper before he kicked Sam out of his life for good?
“Yes, what, Dean?” Sam sighed.
L. O. V. E.
No. There was no way. Dean couldn’t mean it like that.
“You love me?” Sam whispered, barely daring to believe it.
Yes.
“Dean… you know I’m talking about a different kind of love here, right?” There was just no way Dean could mean it the same way he did. No way. “Not a brotherly love. A, ah, a romantic kind of love.”
Yes.
Sam inhaled deeply, hope beginning to flare in his chest where he thought he’d stomped it out long ago. “You…you love me? Like that, you love me?”
Yes. The piece of wood moved up and down over the word. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!
Sam laughed softly, tears brimming in his eyes, and even though he knew Dean would have said something about him acting like a girl if he could, Sam couldn’t even bring himself to care. He looked into the empty air across from him, unable to see Dean’s spirit but imagining him sitting there. “I love you, Dean.”
2.
As in, “I love you, too.”
Sam laughed, unable to keep the grin from his face. It was as though a huge weight had been lifted from his heart. He’d been living with this secret locked up inside him for years, since before he’d even left for Stanford. In fact, it had been one of his main reasons for going. He knew that if they stayed together, Dean would eventually find out, and he knew -or, he’d thought he knew- that when he found out, Dean would hate him and make him leave. So he’d decided to leave on his terms, before Dean found out. Sam had been both panicked and thrilled to see his brother again, to travel and hunt with him again. He’d always know this day would come, and he’d feared it, but now-now there was no need to fear. Now he knew Dean felt the same way. If only Dean were awake and able to hold Sam and kiss him.
Sam sighed as the reality of their situation came crashing back. Dean was unconscious, inches from death, and a reaper was stalking him. Sam had to find some way to save him.
“Dean,” Sam said. “I’m going to go through the journal. I’m going to find a way to save you. You just hold on, I’ll have you back soon. And damn it, you’d better kiss me first thing when you wake up!” Sam laughed, even the threat of a reaper unable to dampen his spirits completely after he found out his brother felt the same way about him.
Sam went back to the bed and sat on the edge. He looked down at Dean’s face and grimaced at the cuts and bruises along the perfect features. Sam reached out and gently ran his fingers down a patch of unmarked skin, wondering if Dean could feel it from outside his body. He traced one fingertip over Dean’s lips where they wrapped around the tube going down to his lungs, feeling the chapped but soft skin slide beneath his touch. For a moment Sam considered leaning over to kiss Dean, but then decided against it. He wanted Dean to be able to respond during their first kiss.
Sam pulled his hand back slowly, smiling at the thought of his brother waking up and kissing him. He picked up the journal and opened it with a sigh. “Okay, let’s see what we can find.”
* * *
Sam had been looking through the journal with no luck, but he wasn’t going to give up. There had to be something. There had to be some way he could save his brother. He couldn’t let Dean die, especially now after he’d just found out his brother felt the same way about him! He wouldn’t be able to take it.
Sam jolted in surprise as Dean’s eyes flew open suddenly. For a split second he hesitated, in shock, then cried, “Dean!” Sam put a hand on his brother’s shoulder to steady him and turned to the door. “Help! I need help!” Dean was gasping and trying to pull the tube from his mouth, the heart monitor was going nuts, and all Sam could think was I haven’t done anything yet!
Doctors and nurses came rushing in, pushing Sam back to get to Dean. They removed to tube, which Sam could tell must be painful from the way Dean coughed and gasped after it was out, and they began asking all kinds of questions to ascertain the severity of Dean’s head trauma. Then they insisted on carting him off to an MRI machine to run some tests. It was hardly the romantic return Sam had been picturing.
Finally Dean was brought back to his room, and the two of them were left alone. Sam grinned shakily at his brother, still amazed to have him back. “Dean, what happened?”
“I should be asking you that! Sam, the demon, where’s dad? Is he alright?”
“Never mind him!” Sam frowned. He knew Dean was worried about the other member of their family, but there were more urgent matters at hand. “What about the reaper?”
“Reaper?” Dean seemed genuinely shocked. “What reaper?”
Sam shook his head slowly. No, no, this couldn’t be happening, not when Dean had just told him that he felt the same way! “Dean… what do you remember after the demon possessed dad?”
Dean frowned in concentration as he fought to remember. “It was squeezing me,” he said, his eyes darkening at the memory of the things the monster had said with their father’s voice. “Then you shot dad in the leg, and the demon got away. We were driving to the hospital…then nothing.” He looked up at Sam. “I passed out?”
“No,” Sam whispered. He couldn’t believe this. He couldn’t believe Dean had forgotten everything. “No, a demon drove a truck into the side of the impala. We got airlifted to the hospital. You and dad were unconscious. They said they didn’t know if you’d wake up, Dean. Then dad came to, and he asked me to get some things, ‘for protection,’ he said, but it was really to summon the demon. We fought, and a glass broke. I realized that you…your spirit was outside your body, and we communicated using an Ouija board.” Dean laughed, probably not believing him, and Sam frowned.
“You told me there was a reaper after you. I went to get dad, to see what we could do, but he was gone. Dean…” Sam trailed off, not sure if he could tell what happened next. He shouldn’t have to tell Dean something that Dean had been there for.
At that moment the door opened. It was one of Dean’s doctors. “Doctor?” Sam asked, both annoyed and grateful for the interruption.
“These test results,” The doctors said, shaking his head at the clipboard in his hands. “I can’t explain it. The edema’s vanished, the internal contusions are healed, your vitals are good. You gotta have some kind of angel watching over you.”
“Thanks, doc,” Dean said, and the doctor nodded and left. Dean turned back to Sam. “So you said a reaper was after me?”
“Yeah.”
“How’d I ditch it?”
“You got me. Dean, you… you really don’t remember anything?” Sam asked, hoping that by some miracle it would all come back, just like Dean had come back without any help from Sam.
“No,” Dean murmured. “I just got this feeling…” He looked up and met Sam’s eye. “Sam, something’s wrong. I don’t know if it’s something I forgot, or what, but something… something’s not right, Sam, something big.”
Sam nodded, wondering if Dean was referring to what they’d talked about, or something else. Something having to do with his sudden return from the brink of death. Sam was glad, of course, but the life he’d lived had taught him to be suspicious of good things.
There was a knock on the doorframe, and both men turned to see their father standing there. “How you feeling, Dean?” he asked.
“Fine, I guess.” Dean shrugged. “I’m alive.”
“That’s what matters.”
“Where were you last night?” Sam asked, staring intently at his father.
“I had some things to take care of.”
“Well, that’s specific.”
Dean looked between them, and Sam could tell from the look in his eyes that he didn’t want them fighting. “C’mon, Sam.”
“Did you go after the demon?” Sam pressed. He wanted answers. He wanted to know why his father hadn’t been there when he was trying to save Dean from the reaper.
“No.”
Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Y’know, why don’t I believe you right now?”
His father sighed and walked into the room, looking over his two sons. “Can we not fight?” he asked, tiredness showing on his face. “Y’know, half the time we fight, I don’t even know what we’re fighting about. We’re just butting heads. I’ve made some mistakes, but I’ve always done the best I could. I just don’t want to fight any more, okay?”
Sam frowned. This was reminding him of the way his father had acted when Dean used the second-to-last bullet to save Sam, when John had been possessed. “Dad, you okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m just tired.” He looked over at Dean, then back up at Sam. “Hey, Sam? Would you mind getting me a cup of caffeine?”
“Yeah,” Sam said, uncertain if this was a convenient excuse to get him out of the room or a legitimate request. His father did look very tired, which begged the question, what had he been doing all night? But Sam wasn’t going to ask. He wasn’t going to fight with his father, not after he’d nearly lost his whole family. “Yeah, sure.”
Sam glanced at Dean one last time, still hoping somehow that his brother would suddenly remember everything. Then he stepped past his father and out of the room, in search of coffee. He found the cafeteria and bought a cup, smiling at the young woman behind the counter when she flirted with him. The he headed back to Dean’s room. As he was passing an empty room with the door open, something caught his eye, and he stopped. A man was lying on the floor. It was his father.
“Dad?” Sam whispered. There was no response. His father wasn’t even moving.
The cup slipped from Sam’s hand to fall on the floor, and he ran to his father’s side, kneeling over him to check for a pulse, shouting for the doctors. What happened after that was mostly a blur. The doctors came and pushed Sam away, and after a second’s hesitation he ran back to Dean’s room. He dragged Dean from the bed and down the hall, and they watched in horror as the doctors worked around their father, the two of them powerless to do anything.
“Still no pulse,” a nurse said, and Sam could hear Dean muttering, “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” in his ear.
“Okay, that’s it. I’ll call it.” The sound of the doctor’s voice would be engrained in Sam’s memory forever. “Time of death, ten forty-one a.m.”
* * *
A few days later, Sam sat outside Bobby’s home, watching Dean working on the impala. Unlike Sam, Dean’s body bore no scabs or bruises from the accident. He was totally unharmed, physically at least. Sam sighed as he watched his brother, watched the muscles of his arms working and the edge of his shirt rise up just enough to show his stomach. It was just like before. Sam was still watching Dean, longing for him, and Dean still had no idea.
Sam hadn’t spoken with Dean about what had happened. Their father’s death had hit them both hard, and Sam was particularly in shock because he’d been worrying about Dean so much up to that point. It had never occurred to him to worry about his father, and he’d even tried to pick a fight with him the last time they’d talked. He suspected he’d never stop regretting that, and it seemed appropriate somehow for him to be suffering now.
In the wake of John’s death, it was impossible to talk to Dean about anything. Sam could tell from the way he was avoiding the subject and throwing himself into working on the car that Dean would have walked away if Sam tried to talk about anything between their raid on Sunrise Apartments and the time they left the hospital. He might even have hit Sam if he pressed the issue.
Even if they had been able to talk, Sam wasn’t sure if he’d have said anything. Although Dean had said he loved Sam, Sam had no way of knowing if that wasn’t something Dean had realized only when he feared he would die. Or if being close to death had convinced him that he had to confess the way he felt, when otherwise he never would have mentioned it. Or if being separated from his body had somehow allowed him to see his feelings for Sam more clearly. If Sam brought it up, Dean might say it wasn’t true. He might even believe it wasn’t true.
No, Sam couldn’t say anything to Dean about this. He was stuck, in the same position he’d been in before, watching, longing, only now he knew there had been a chance, and it had slipped through his fingers. That made it so much worse. Sam sighed and forced a smile onto his face as he watch Dean wipe sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. At least he had Dean with him, alive. That was the most important thing. That was all that mattered.
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