Years
Title: Years
Author: familybizness
Summary: A look at where we've been and what's to come.
Rating: PG-13
Year Zero
They’re alone now, finally. Christa’s kissed Sam’s cheek and held his hands and talked about God only knows what (Dean certainly doesn’t know, those conversations aren’t for him and after nearly ten years he’s kind of okay with it now). The kids have been in, one at a time, Kylie last of all, spent their time with him and heard what he has to tell them. Castiel’s parked in the hallway. He’s being Dean’s angel one last time. He’s letting Dean have this part.
“Heya, Sammy.”
Sam murmurs something incoherent. Doesn’t really matter. His fist opens and Dean’s hand slides in, and they hold on a little longer. A few more minutes.
Dean says, “It’s okay, y’know?”
Sam’s eyes blink open, full of worry.
“Yeah. I know. You’ve been waiting forever, huh?”
Maybe a nod. He’s just so cashed. He’s so sick. He’s been so sick for so damn long.
“This doesn’t count as giving up,” Dean says. “That’s not what this is.”
Sam’s watching him with little brother eyes.
Dean lies back against the pillows and looks at the ceiling, pulls Sam in to rest against his shoulder. Sam can’t do this on his own anymore, can’t tuck into Dean when he needs to. Dean has to know. “The game is over,” he says. “It’s not giving up. It’s...you’re allowed to leave the field when the game is over.”
There’s a little flutter of that psychic thing that’s been half awake sometimes, mostly too tired to reach out.
“We’re gonna be okay. I mean, I’m gonna go a little nuts for a while, probably not get out of bed, and Christa’s gonna be stuck holding my hand, which will suck because you know how we hate spending time together.”
Sam’s lips quirk.
“And then she’s gonna kick my ass and I’m gonna cry and get up and go to Kylie’s dance recital and come home and cry some more and take Leo to soccer and pretend I can understand Nadia’s homework and then I’m gonna show up on your doorstep and you’ll be all pissed off because I took so long, but then you won’t be able to get rid of me.”
A trembling smile.
“I bet Jess baked you a pie,” Dean says. “Save me some?”
“Dean,” Sam whispers.
Dean presses his lips to his brother’s forehead. “I love you so goddamn much, Sammy. Always will.”
“Dean.”
“It’s okay, Sammy.”
“Dean?”
“Right here. Not going anywhere.”
Sam sighs a little and the heart monitor skips.
Dean’s heart doesn’t skip. Not anymore. The game’s over. Sammy won.
Year -17
What she hasn’t told him is that she was never anything much before he came along. She tells him about the guys and the girls she slept with, but she never tells him how empty it all was.
That’s why she got the dog, initially, and named him Fuel because he was deep black and hyperactive. Coming home to Fuel was better than coming home to an empty apartment. After a while, it was something to look forward to.
And then she met Sam.
He used to wheeze into his lattes at the coffeehouse where she worked - also named Fuel, which wasn’t as weird as it could have been. She’d stand behind the counter and watch him sneeze into his scarf, watch him wipe his red nose on his hands and napkins, and bring him cups of tea on the house in the hope he’d be over his cold soon.
She brings him home for the first time on a Thursday. They’ll laugh about that, years later, when Thursday becomes meaningful and everything from the past seems portentous.
Fuel jumps all over Sam in the entryway. “He loves visitors,” Jess laughs. “You’re not afraid of dogs, are you?”
Sam falls to his knees like a kid. “I love dogs! His name’s Fool?”
“Fuel.”
Sam cuddles Fuel and sneezes.
“That cold’s still hanging on, huh?”
“What? No. I don’t have a cold.”
“Then what’s with all the…” she sketches a circle in the air around her own nose.
“Oh. Allergies.”
“To what? It’s dead winter.”
“Hh-everything.” He screws up his face, trying to sneeze, or maybe trying not to. It’s kind of ridiculously adorable.
“Come on. I’ll make you coffee.”
“I thought we were - hhhck! I thought we were gonna - hh -”
She raises her eyebrows. “What, exactly?” She’s just messing with him. She totally is gonna.
But first, coffee. “All you do is make me coffee,” he teases, and leans over to inhale the steam.
“All you do is sneeze!”
“I think - hhh - I think I’m allergic to your dog.”
“Oh.” She frowns. “You want me to put him in the yard?”
Sam looks up. “You have a yard?”
Five minutes later he’s outside rolling around in the grass with Fuel. Jess leans on a tree, sips her coffee, and falls in love just a little.
He comes in sneezing a blue streak with a smile on his face. She kisses him and wipes his nose with a dishtowel. “You’re crazy.”
They’ll both remember that, later, when he actually is crazy.
But for now he smiles and sneezes into the towel, and she takes him into the steam of the shower and they totally do.
Year One
Heaven isn’t like Sam thought it would be.
The bad things don’t all melt away like Castiel promised they would. He still has food allergies. That was the biggest shock, the first time he tried to eat a peanut butter sandwich (fuck you, peanut butter, Sam is the boss of you now, he will eat you just for spite) but they won’t make that mistake again, not after six hours of Sammy clawing up kitchen tiles with his fingernails because he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t die and his -what, his body? just had to deal with all of it.
Jimmy cries all the time. Literally all the time. The only thing that soothes him is being held, and they try, they take turns with him, they stroke his hair and whisper any words at all, but dammit, they have to - what, live? - too. They have sex to the sound of his tears and hate themselves. Afterward, they hold each other and cry and whisper Castiel’s name into heaven, beg him to come back to them.
Year Nine
“Smile!”
Jude and Emmy point Micah toward Ellie and they all smile together, the boys’ arms around each other and Emmy nestled between them. They have a secret from her, which is usually not allowed under pain of severe scolding, but Micah thinks he’s gonna get away with it this time.
“I gotta get out of this thing.” Jude pulls at the cheap fabric of the graduation robe. “Micah, come help.”
They go to the Ahani High Pool. It’s their spot, their guy-time getaway. Jude leads the way to the ten meter platform, which is actually the best place to go for some privacy. Micah’s been coming up here for years. It’s like being on the ground. It doesn’t bother him, being up high.
“Let’s see it,” Jude demands.
Micah’s run his hands over it so many times, learning the shape and contour, that he can see it in his head. “It looks good, right?”
“Perfect. When?”
“You leave tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yeah.” It’s the diving world championships. Next year’s an olympiad. Jude is on the verge.
“Tonight, then.”
“I don’t need to say it, right?”
He doesn’t. Micah knows. When your girlfriend’s a trauma victim, the big-brother talk is a little redundant. “You can if you want.”
Jude’s quiet for a minute. “Don’t fuck it up, okay?”
“Kay.”
“Cause, you know. It’s us.”
“She’s gonna say yes, right?”
Jude hands the ring back, careful not to let it drop. “Definitely. No question.”
Year Five
Aviva’s jumping around like she had too much coffee, in serious danger of knocking over the furniture in Jess’s newly remodeled kitchen. Cas catches her. “Hey! Settle down.”
“Dad!” She hugs him like she hasn’t seen him in years. It’s the best thing about Aviva. She’s always ecstatic to see the people she loves.
“When did you get here!”
She kisses his cheek messily. “Just now. Guess what?”
“What?”
“I made the football team!”
Cas frowns. “What team?”
Sam wanders in, deviled egg in hand. “Is that tackle football?”
“Of course, Daddy.”
“With boys?”
“Duh.”
Jess gives her daughter a high five.
Year -1
Dean’s been expecting it for a while, but that doesn’t make it any easier when it happens.
It comes in the middle of the night. Just like the first one. Maybe there’s some sort of poetry to that, but Dean’s not really in the mood for poetry when his brother’s gagging and clutching at his chest and looking at him with those terrified eyes full of knowing this is the last time.
Later at the hospital, when Sam’s stable and curled up with Cas (Cas didn’t cry this time, Cas always cries, and Dean wants so much to see his best friend cry just so he can pretend this time is like the others, damn it) Christa sits beside him and rubs his back while he holds, stares at, does not drink a cup of coffee.
“We can get him on the list,” she says. “It’s Sam. This place put in their new MRI machine because of him. We can pull strings. They won’t shut him out because of the cancer.”
“He doesn’t want to.” Dean’s voice breaks.
“We can put him on the list, Dean. We can decide later.”
God, he wants to tell her yes.
Just one more time, you know? Just a little longer. Please, Sammy just a little longer.
Dean can’t do this.
Dean is not ever going to be able to do this. There’s never going to be a time he’s ready to let go.
“It’s time,” he says, and makes himself take a sip of coffee. Makes himself keep living.
Christa nods and wraps both arms around him.
Author: familybizness
Summary: A look at where we've been and what's to come.
Rating: PG-13
Year Zero
They’re alone now, finally. Christa’s kissed Sam’s cheek and held his hands and talked about God only knows what (Dean certainly doesn’t know, those conversations aren’t for him and after nearly ten years he’s kind of okay with it now). The kids have been in, one at a time, Kylie last of all, spent their time with him and heard what he has to tell them. Castiel’s parked in the hallway. He’s being Dean’s angel one last time. He’s letting Dean have this part.
“Heya, Sammy.”
Sam murmurs something incoherent. Doesn’t really matter. His fist opens and Dean’s hand slides in, and they hold on a little longer. A few more minutes.
Dean says, “It’s okay, y’know?”
Sam’s eyes blink open, full of worry.
“Yeah. I know. You’ve been waiting forever, huh?”
Maybe a nod. He’s just so cashed. He’s so sick. He’s been so sick for so damn long.
“This doesn’t count as giving up,” Dean says. “That’s not what this is.”
Sam’s watching him with little brother eyes.
Dean lies back against the pillows and looks at the ceiling, pulls Sam in to rest against his shoulder. Sam can’t do this on his own anymore, can’t tuck into Dean when he needs to. Dean has to know. “The game is over,” he says. “It’s not giving up. It’s...you’re allowed to leave the field when the game is over.”
There’s a little flutter of that psychic thing that’s been half awake sometimes, mostly too tired to reach out.
“We’re gonna be okay. I mean, I’m gonna go a little nuts for a while, probably not get out of bed, and Christa’s gonna be stuck holding my hand, which will suck because you know how we hate spending time together.”
Sam’s lips quirk.
“And then she’s gonna kick my ass and I’m gonna cry and get up and go to Kylie’s dance recital and come home and cry some more and take Leo to soccer and pretend I can understand Nadia’s homework and then I’m gonna show up on your doorstep and you’ll be all pissed off because I took so long, but then you won’t be able to get rid of me.”
A trembling smile.
“I bet Jess baked you a pie,” Dean says. “Save me some?”
“Dean,” Sam whispers.
Dean presses his lips to his brother’s forehead. “I love you so goddamn much, Sammy. Always will.”
“Dean.”
“It’s okay, Sammy.”
“Dean?”
“Right here. Not going anywhere.”
Sam sighs a little and the heart monitor skips.
Dean’s heart doesn’t skip. Not anymore. The game’s over. Sammy won.
Year -17
What she hasn’t told him is that she was never anything much before he came along. She tells him about the guys and the girls she slept with, but she never tells him how empty it all was.
That’s why she got the dog, initially, and named him Fuel because he was deep black and hyperactive. Coming home to Fuel was better than coming home to an empty apartment. After a while, it was something to look forward to.
And then she met Sam.
He used to wheeze into his lattes at the coffeehouse where she worked - also named Fuel, which wasn’t as weird as it could have been. She’d stand behind the counter and watch him sneeze into his scarf, watch him wipe his red nose on his hands and napkins, and bring him cups of tea on the house in the hope he’d be over his cold soon.
She brings him home for the first time on a Thursday. They’ll laugh about that, years later, when Thursday becomes meaningful and everything from the past seems portentous.
Fuel jumps all over Sam in the entryway. “He loves visitors,” Jess laughs. “You’re not afraid of dogs, are you?”
Sam falls to his knees like a kid. “I love dogs! His name’s Fool?”
“Fuel.”
Sam cuddles Fuel and sneezes.
“That cold’s still hanging on, huh?”
“What? No. I don’t have a cold.”
“Then what’s with all the…” she sketches a circle in the air around her own nose.
“Oh. Allergies.”
“To what? It’s dead winter.”
“Hh-everything.” He screws up his face, trying to sneeze, or maybe trying not to. It’s kind of ridiculously adorable.
“Come on. I’ll make you coffee.”
“I thought we were - hhhck! I thought we were gonna - hh -”
She raises her eyebrows. “What, exactly?” She’s just messing with him. She totally is gonna.
But first, coffee. “All you do is make me coffee,” he teases, and leans over to inhale the steam.
“All you do is sneeze!”
“I think - hhh - I think I’m allergic to your dog.”
“Oh.” She frowns. “You want me to put him in the yard?”
Sam looks up. “You have a yard?”
Five minutes later he’s outside rolling around in the grass with Fuel. Jess leans on a tree, sips her coffee, and falls in love just a little.
He comes in sneezing a blue streak with a smile on his face. She kisses him and wipes his nose with a dishtowel. “You’re crazy.”
They’ll both remember that, later, when he actually is crazy.
But for now he smiles and sneezes into the towel, and she takes him into the steam of the shower and they totally do.
Year One
Heaven isn’t like Sam thought it would be.
The bad things don’t all melt away like Castiel promised they would. He still has food allergies. That was the biggest shock, the first time he tried to eat a peanut butter sandwich (fuck you, peanut butter, Sam is the boss of you now, he will eat you just for spite) but they won’t make that mistake again, not after six hours of Sammy clawing up kitchen tiles with his fingernails because he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t die and his -what, his body? just had to deal with all of it.
Jimmy cries all the time. Literally all the time. The only thing that soothes him is being held, and they try, they take turns with him, they stroke his hair and whisper any words at all, but dammit, they have to - what, live? - too. They have sex to the sound of his tears and hate themselves. Afterward, they hold each other and cry and whisper Castiel’s name into heaven, beg him to come back to them.
Year Nine
“Smile!”
Jude and Emmy point Micah toward Ellie and they all smile together, the boys’ arms around each other and Emmy nestled between them. They have a secret from her, which is usually not allowed under pain of severe scolding, but Micah thinks he’s gonna get away with it this time.
“I gotta get out of this thing.” Jude pulls at the cheap fabric of the graduation robe. “Micah, come help.”
They go to the Ahani High Pool. It’s their spot, their guy-time getaway. Jude leads the way to the ten meter platform, which is actually the best place to go for some privacy. Micah’s been coming up here for years. It’s like being on the ground. It doesn’t bother him, being up high.
“Let’s see it,” Jude demands.
Micah’s run his hands over it so many times, learning the shape and contour, that he can see it in his head. “It looks good, right?”
“Perfect. When?”
“You leave tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yeah.” It’s the diving world championships. Next year’s an olympiad. Jude is on the verge.
“Tonight, then.”
“I don’t need to say it, right?”
He doesn’t. Micah knows. When your girlfriend’s a trauma victim, the big-brother talk is a little redundant. “You can if you want.”
Jude’s quiet for a minute. “Don’t fuck it up, okay?”
“Kay.”
“Cause, you know. It’s us.”
“She’s gonna say yes, right?”
Jude hands the ring back, careful not to let it drop. “Definitely. No question.”
Year Five
Aviva’s jumping around like she had too much coffee, in serious danger of knocking over the furniture in Jess’s newly remodeled kitchen. Cas catches her. “Hey! Settle down.”
“Dad!” She hugs him like she hasn’t seen him in years. It’s the best thing about Aviva. She’s always ecstatic to see the people she loves.
“When did you get here!”
She kisses his cheek messily. “Just now. Guess what?”
“What?”
“I made the football team!”
Cas frowns. “What team?”
Sam wanders in, deviled egg in hand. “Is that tackle football?”
“Of course, Daddy.”
“With boys?”
“Duh.”
Jess gives her daughter a high five.
Year -1
Dean’s been expecting it for a while, but that doesn’t make it any easier when it happens.
It comes in the middle of the night. Just like the first one. Maybe there’s some sort of poetry to that, but Dean’s not really in the mood for poetry when his brother’s gagging and clutching at his chest and looking at him with those terrified eyes full of knowing this is the last time.
Later at the hospital, when Sam’s stable and curled up with Cas (Cas didn’t cry this time, Cas always cries, and Dean wants so much to see his best friend cry just so he can pretend this time is like the others, damn it) Christa sits beside him and rubs his back while he holds, stares at, does not drink a cup of coffee.
“We can get him on the list,” she says. “It’s Sam. This place put in their new MRI machine because of him. We can pull strings. They won’t shut him out because of the cancer.”
“He doesn’t want to.” Dean’s voice breaks.
“We can put him on the list, Dean. We can decide later.”
God, he wants to tell her yes.
Just one more time, you know? Just a little longer. Please, Sammy just a little longer.
Dean can’t do this.
Dean is not ever going to be able to do this. There’s never going to be a time he’s ready to let go.
“It’s time,” he says, and makes himself take a sip of coffee. Makes himself keep living.
Christa nods and wraps both arms around him.