Two Roads Diverge in a Wood
Two Roads Diverged in a Wood
Summary: Tag to Warriors, set earlier. Sam's still reeling from his diagnosis and right now he just needs a moment to think.
A/N: Of course I couldn't resist writing more cancer!Sam. This is set before Warriors in the Warrior's 'verse, which isn't really a 'verse seeing as this is only the second instalment but hey, there might be more one day.
Title borrowed from Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken.
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“Found you,” Dean's voice says with obvious relief. Sam looks up as his brother rounds the large tree, twigs and old, dry leaves cracking under his boots, and inspects Dean's expression. A little worried maybe but not mad, so that's good. Sam supposes he gets at least one free pass today. Dean sinks down next to him, leaning his back against the trunk, without another word, waiting for Sam to make the first move, it seems.
“I wasn't hiding,” Sam says, in case that's what Dean thinks, “Not from you and Dad, at least.”
Dean nods knowingly. “Don't wanna go, huh?”
“Of course not.” Sam looks down at his hands despondently. “You know what it's gonna do to me, don't you?”
Dean looks sympathetic but his eyebrows raise in warning. “And you know what's going to happen if you don't go.” It's a statement, not a question, Dean letting him know that this isn't a discussion over whether Sam attends or not, and Sam sighs.
“I was going to come back, when it was time. I just...”
“Wanted to come sit in this forest?” Dean makes a face. His hands find a small stick and start stripping it of it's bark seemingly automatically. Dean always has to be moving. Sam wishes everything could stay still. “You know there's probably bugs crawling up our butts, and we're sitting in mud. Dunno about you but this isn't really my definition of a good time.”
“Never said I was having a good time,” Sam mutters, finding his own stick. He starts snapping it into tiny pieces.
“Well, what then? Because I can think of better, less infested, places to sit.”
Sam shrugs. “I was listening to the birds.”
Dean cocks his head to one side and listens for a bit. Sam listens with him, to the overlapping trills, the clear high song of creatures free to fly away from problems, who don't have to worry about going to the hospital in an hour. He had hoped that out here, away from the rush of people and Dad's staunch and silent panic, things might make more sense. He had figured that here, without Dean's over-enthusiastic optimism, without doctors or nurses or anyone else telling him what to think and what to expect, how to feel and how to act, he might be able to get his head straight. No such luck.
Turns out, all he's done is think about all that in circles. Remembering the small sting of needles in his arm, Dad's eyes when he broke the news, Dean's hand on his wrist, nodding to everything the doctor said because his voice didn't seem to work, millions of thoughts turning into an overwhelming buzz in his head.
“You know what they are?” Dean breaks him out of his thoughts with a gesture at the branches above.
Shaking his head, Sam watches a small grey bird flit through the branches, chirping in what seems to Sam to be excitement. He wonders what got it so hyped up. They're both quiet again and Sam watches the bird jump back and forth with his head tilted back against the tree trunk. Sunlight is filtering through the leaves as separate, sparkling stars and he has to squint against it. Through his eyelashes the light stretches itself into long, soft rainbows.
“You know, it's probably gonna shit on us in a minute.”
Sam huffs a small, surprised laugh. Dean jabs his half-striped stick at it, eyeing the little bird warily, as if it were deliberately lining up a shot, waiting for him to let his guard down. Sam wonders if Dean would jump in front of incoming bird crap for him the way he tries to jump in front of everything else. “That would be just my luck, wouldn't it?”
Apparently it comes out with more bitterness than he intends because Dean sighs through his nose, a long, loaded gust of breath. “You're gonna be okay, Sammy. You take on black dogs and vengeful spirits on an almost daily basis without even breaking a sweat. You're a tough kid. You'll be fine.”
Sam shakes his head, lets his hair fall over his eyes. “This is different. This is... I'm gonna be sick for months, years maybe. I just, I need more time to process it, so I don't want to go. Not yet. If I start the chemo it's gonna be real.”
Dean shoulder bumps him. “It's already real, kid. You heard the doctor. Just 'cause you don't look sick, doesn't mean you're not.”
“I know, I just... I'm freaking out, okay?” He snaps the last bit of twig in half and throws the pieces down. “I don't wanna go. I'm not ready for this.”
“You think anyone is ready for this?” Dean replies. “Hell, I don't know if I'm ready for this but it's gotta be done. We've just got to get through.”
“Right,” Sam says flatly.
“You remember your first hunt?” Dean asks, out of the blue, and Sam looks at him questioningly.
“Yeah, of course I do. And?”
Dean impales his stick in the dirt, brings his arms up and folds his hands behind his head, cushioning the rough bark that Sam can feel grating against his back. “You were freaking out. You said you weren't ready then, too. And I was inclined to believe you. The idea of you out there, fighting monsters by yourself... It scared the crap out of me too.”
“I wasn't by myself,” Sam says with a frown. “I had you and Dad as back up.”
“Exactly,” Dean nods. “And how did that hunt end?”
“I killed the werewolf.”
“You totally owned that werewolf! It didn't stand a chance against Sam Winchester. So what makes you think you can't do that now?”
Sam flips his hair out of his face indignantly. “Dean, this is different. I can't shoot this with silver bullets!”
“No, but we both know what weapon you can use to fight it.” Dean runs his tongue over his teeth. “I know the chemo's going to suck, but you still have me and Dad as back up. And I know you're gonna knock this thing on it's ass.”
Sam sighs, letting his eyes close for a moment, blocking out the forest and the birds and Dean. “I still can't believe this is happening.”
“You and me both, kid.”
“You gonna stay with me while I get poisoned?”
“Like I'd be anywhere else,” Dean scoffs. “Who else is gonna hold your hair back while you puke, princess?”
Despite himself, Sam chuckles. “Gee, thanks.”
Dean grins at him, this big, toothy smile that almost hides the fact that there's anything wrong at all - Dean's always been able to do that; laugh when others could cry, make jokes when everything's silent and solemn, hold Sam together when he thinks he's falling apart - then he looks down at his watch. “About time we got this show on the road, kiddo.”
“Wait. Just... one more minute? Please?”
Dean looks in the general direction of their small rented house, then at his watch again. “Okay, one more minute.”
Sam sighs, closing his eyes and tilting his head back again. He breathes in the earthy scent of the forest air, and tries to appreciate these last moments of life as he knows it, because very soon everything is going to change.
END