A Matter of Timing
Title: A Matter of Timing
Author: shangrilada(Kira)
Summary: Late stage heart failure, and Sam's not doing great. He and Dean have some stuff to talk about.
Word Count: 1,655
Author's Note: You should read When It's Time first, in my opinion. This takes place about two years later.
Sleeping is this dizzy, hot thing now, this heavy animal that sits on Sam's chest and wears him out. Everything lately has become an object. When you're this worn out, nothing is small anymore. Trying to carry a conversation is like snatching at something that's wriggling. Focusing on a movie is pushing a piece of furniture. Eating is exorcising a demon. Everything is effort, now, and everything is physical, and Sam's got this body that can't always sit up.
It's June. His first heart attack was almost a year ago.
"Sammy?"
"Mmphh." Waking up means throwing something off, and he's so worn out.
"Budge. C'mere." A hand shoves his shoulder to the side and a body crams in against his. He feels something snap his hipbone--it's the beeper that's going to go off if there's a heart for him. Dean always has it, and nobody else is allowed to take it from him, not Christa (although Sam's not really sure how that works because just thinking about Dean trying to make some kind of rule at Christa makes him laugh, and laughing hurts), not Castiel, not even Sam.
Dean settles himself, and Sam turns and fits himself under Dean's arm. "Hi."
"Hi. I wake the angel?"
"Nah, he sleeps hard."
"So do you. I thought I was gonna have to start doing something mean to wake you up. Like singing."
"Heh."
"Oh, no, right, that's your singing."
"Douche."
"Couldn't sleep."
"Mmmm, bad dream?"
"I told you, couldn't sleep. So I decided to wake up my terminally ill little brother.'
Sam tucks under his chin. "Hi."
"Hi. Barely saw you today, how are you?"
A year ago, I barely saw you meant that Sam was spending too much time with Cas or Dean was spending too much time with Christa and they would get quietly hurt and confused and jealous and furious at each other because once upon a time it was just them, damn it, and then they'd kick everyone out for two days and spend it just them, working on the car and lying on the hood and counting stars, like they were teenagers again.
Now, I barely saw you means that Sam wasn't awake today.
Dean says, "Here, I refilled your tank," and passes him his oxygen mask.
"Love you."
"Mmhmm. Tell me how you're feeling."
"Just tired. Heart's so slow all the time, I can't get enough blood to sit up."
"How's asthma?"
"Pretty okay, but then I take meds and my heart speeds up like crazy and then plummets and...ugh. I'm sick of myself just listening to this. All I do is whine all day."
"And sleep."
"Whine and sleep."
"Yeah, well, all I hear about is fucking carburetors all day, so now I want my brother to whine at me about his heart problems, please."
Sam nods. It feels like he's underwater. "I'm so tired."
"I know, kiddo. Here we go, cuddle in."
"Uh-huh."
"Not much longer now, okay?"
They say this is a lot.
They don't really specify what that means.
The thing is that Sam's so tired tonight.
He says, "Not too much longer until what, though?"
Dean's quiet for a while, and then he just says, "Sammy," like it's all that needs saying.
"Nnn, not tonight. What's gonna happen?"
"Come on, don't do that. You know what I'm saying."
"You think I'm gonna get a heart soon."
"Uh-huh."
It's kind of weird, how through all of this, Dean has been the optimist, the one telling Sam over and over again that it's going to happen, the one powering through this shit and going to work and smiling at Sam when he gets home, all without a single damn drink. And Sam's not an idiot, he knows it's forced, he knows underneath that shit-eating tea-bringing smile he's fucking terrified, but Sam thinks even deeper underneath that, maybe so deep Dean doesn't even know it (maybe all Dean knows anymore is how to play out a charade, and don't even think that doesn't make Sam cry into his pillow some nights when he thinks about oh God what does that mean for Christa, what if he doesn't really love her, what if he doesn't really love Sam--he's clearly still fucking crazy, two years out of the cage or no, because obviously Dean loves him, but what if he doesn't)--Sam thinks maybe at his very damn core, in that last part of Dean that doesn't know how to be cynical, Dean really thinks they're going to get a heart.
This is the part where they should play out some dichotomy. Dean thinks they'll get a heart and Sam thinks they won't, right?
Except bullshit because Sam kind of thinks they will too. He hasn't surrendered all the passion for this cause because he's given up, no. He's just so damn tired.
He really needs it to be not much longer now, is the thing.
He shivers and tucks into Dean, who rubs his hand up and down Sam's spine. "how long do you think I have?" Sam says. "Assuming no heart."
The first few times Sam tried to talk about this, Dean shook him up and walked away and got all gruff come on, Sam, why are you asking me that? Come ON, Sam, shut the fuck up but that was a lot of months ago. Days and days and fucking endless days.
He's so tired.
Now Dean just plays with his hair all thoughtful, like Sam's a customer who asked when his car's going to be ready. "I don't know, Simba. Maybe two months. What do you think?"
"I think that's pushing it."
Dean breathes out and kisses his forehead. "Scared?"
"Uh-huh."
"You know Cas can come visit you. Heaven and all that. And you'll be with Jess."
Sam's vision tilts all of a sudden and don'tpassoutdon'tpassout ughhh. "Dean..."
"Oh, hey, okay. Here we go, blood to your head, okay. Want some water?"
"Uh-huh."
"I'll get you some. It's okay, Sam."
He nods, head down between his knees, and coughs for a little while. He doesn't even know why. Coughing just sometimes seems like the only thing he knows how to do.
Dean hands him his water bottle then sits down behind him, legs on either side of Sam, and plays with his hair. "Any better?"
"Yeah."
"You don't want another two months, do you?"
"Yeah."
"You do?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"You."
All right. There's quiet now.
They haven't really talked about this.
And Sam's kind of terrified for what Dean's going to say next, because this was the plan for so long. They were going to go out together. If Sam died--and they both knew it was Sam who was going to go out first, whether by accident or illness or half-crazed suicide attempt, whatever--Dean was taking that cocktail from the safe and following right after. It was just the two of them against the whole damn world and they were tired.
They were so tired.
That plan made sense. That plan was the only thing keeping them going.
Except that's not the case anymore, and if Dean tells him that's still the plan, Sam's going to punch his fucking mouth in.
But Dean just says, "God. God," for a while, sounding like he's about to cry. Shit.
Sam lifts his head a little and blinks as everything grays in and out. He turns quickly, before his head can protest the movement, and rests his cheek against Dean's collarbone. Next to him, Cas groans a little from the movement. He's a grumpy sleeper.
"You can't come," Sam says. "Don't...don't oh God me, Dean. You can't come with me right now. It's different now."
"I know. I know...I know I can't come." This deep breath. "That's not why I'm..."
"Hey, okay. What's wrong?"
"I..." Dean swallows, shakes his head all fast. "I don't want to come. Mother of fuck, I don't want to go with you."
Sam grabs him and holds on and Dean buries his face in Sam's hair.
"I'm sorry, fuck, I'm sorry, it'snotthatIdon't--"
"Dean, shhh. I know."
"I just..."
"You have more now. If you tried to leave them for me, I swear to God, I'd fucking lock you out of our little heaven apartment."
Dean laughs a little, still all choked up.
Dean needs Sam to say this. Dean needs to hear this shit even though Sam doesn't. He and Dad always thought the reason Sam said 'I love you' even when they didn't was because he was some sort of sap who had to say it all the time, when no, you idiots, he was the one who didn't need to hear it.
He might be Dean's North, but God, Dean is his entire damn compass. This is not something he thinks about.
So he says, "In the end it's you and me, kid. We know that."
Dean nods.
"So you're gonna stay here. You're gonna love her."
"God I fucking love her so much I can't even..."
"I know."
"Christ, what is this."
"She's pretty great."
"What the fuck are we doing, here. Relationships. Why are we pretending to be functional people?"
Sam laughs. "More like, why are they letting us pretend?"
"Right? How do you feel?"
"A little better."
"Water helping?"
"Uh-huh."
"Good. Use your oxygen."
Sam closes his eyes and breathes. Dean pets his hair and doesn't say anything for a long time.
When he does, it's, "But at the end of this, you're still...I still like how this story ends, Sammy."
"Me too."
"I just..."
Sam thinks about being a kid, sick in some motel room, squished between his dad and his brother who were trying to force him to sleep, but he wouldn't close his eyes until they read him a damn story. And he wanted it to go on and on because as long as they did he wasn't just this wheezy thing holding himself and trying to get himself through the night. He was with his dad and his brother and he was awake and he was here.
Dean just doesn't want the story to end yet.
Sam takes off the mask and says, "Once upon a time..." and until he runs out of air he is going to keep telling his brother the story of the boys who saved the world and the girl and the angel who saved them.
And fuck you, universe, he will keep taking these fucking breaths and he will run out of air again and again he will keep telling this fucking story until the beeper goes off.
Author: shangrilada(Kira)
Summary: Late stage heart failure, and Sam's not doing great. He and Dean have some stuff to talk about.
Word Count: 1,655
Author's Note: You should read When It's Time first, in my opinion. This takes place about two years later.
Sleeping is this dizzy, hot thing now, this heavy animal that sits on Sam's chest and wears him out. Everything lately has become an object. When you're this worn out, nothing is small anymore. Trying to carry a conversation is like snatching at something that's wriggling. Focusing on a movie is pushing a piece of furniture. Eating is exorcising a demon. Everything is effort, now, and everything is physical, and Sam's got this body that can't always sit up.
It's June. His first heart attack was almost a year ago.
"Sammy?"
"Mmphh." Waking up means throwing something off, and he's so worn out.
"Budge. C'mere." A hand shoves his shoulder to the side and a body crams in against his. He feels something snap his hipbone--it's the beeper that's going to go off if there's a heart for him. Dean always has it, and nobody else is allowed to take it from him, not Christa (although Sam's not really sure how that works because just thinking about Dean trying to make some kind of rule at Christa makes him laugh, and laughing hurts), not Castiel, not even Sam.
Dean settles himself, and Sam turns and fits himself under Dean's arm. "Hi."
"Hi. I wake the angel?"
"Nah, he sleeps hard."
"So do you. I thought I was gonna have to start doing something mean to wake you up. Like singing."
"Heh."
"Oh, no, right, that's your singing."
"Douche."
"Couldn't sleep."
"Mmmm, bad dream?"
"I told you, couldn't sleep. So I decided to wake up my terminally ill little brother.'
Sam tucks under his chin. "Hi."
"Hi. Barely saw you today, how are you?"
A year ago, I barely saw you meant that Sam was spending too much time with Cas or Dean was spending too much time with Christa and they would get quietly hurt and confused and jealous and furious at each other because once upon a time it was just them, damn it, and then they'd kick everyone out for two days and spend it just them, working on the car and lying on the hood and counting stars, like they were teenagers again.
Now, I barely saw you means that Sam wasn't awake today.
Dean says, "Here, I refilled your tank," and passes him his oxygen mask.
"Love you."
"Mmhmm. Tell me how you're feeling."
"Just tired. Heart's so slow all the time, I can't get enough blood to sit up."
"How's asthma?"
"Pretty okay, but then I take meds and my heart speeds up like crazy and then plummets and...ugh. I'm sick of myself just listening to this. All I do is whine all day."
"And sleep."
"Whine and sleep."
"Yeah, well, all I hear about is fucking carburetors all day, so now I want my brother to whine at me about his heart problems, please."
Sam nods. It feels like he's underwater. "I'm so tired."
"I know, kiddo. Here we go, cuddle in."
"Uh-huh."
"Not much longer now, okay?"
They say this is a lot.
They don't really specify what that means.
The thing is that Sam's so tired tonight.
He says, "Not too much longer until what, though?"
Dean's quiet for a while, and then he just says, "Sammy," like it's all that needs saying.
"Nnn, not tonight. What's gonna happen?"
"Come on, don't do that. You know what I'm saying."
"You think I'm gonna get a heart soon."
"Uh-huh."
It's kind of weird, how through all of this, Dean has been the optimist, the one telling Sam over and over again that it's going to happen, the one powering through this shit and going to work and smiling at Sam when he gets home, all without a single damn drink. And Sam's not an idiot, he knows it's forced, he knows underneath that shit-eating tea-bringing smile he's fucking terrified, but Sam thinks even deeper underneath that, maybe so deep Dean doesn't even know it (maybe all Dean knows anymore is how to play out a charade, and don't even think that doesn't make Sam cry into his pillow some nights when he thinks about oh God what does that mean for Christa, what if he doesn't really love her, what if he doesn't really love Sam--he's clearly still fucking crazy, two years out of the cage or no, because obviously Dean loves him, but what if he doesn't)--Sam thinks maybe at his very damn core, in that last part of Dean that doesn't know how to be cynical, Dean really thinks they're going to get a heart.
This is the part where they should play out some dichotomy. Dean thinks they'll get a heart and Sam thinks they won't, right?
Except bullshit because Sam kind of thinks they will too. He hasn't surrendered all the passion for this cause because he's given up, no. He's just so damn tired.
He really needs it to be not much longer now, is the thing.
He shivers and tucks into Dean, who rubs his hand up and down Sam's spine. "how long do you think I have?" Sam says. "Assuming no heart."
The first few times Sam tried to talk about this, Dean shook him up and walked away and got all gruff come on, Sam, why are you asking me that? Come ON, Sam, shut the fuck up but that was a lot of months ago. Days and days and fucking endless days.
He's so tired.
Now Dean just plays with his hair all thoughtful, like Sam's a customer who asked when his car's going to be ready. "I don't know, Simba. Maybe two months. What do you think?"
"I think that's pushing it."
Dean breathes out and kisses his forehead. "Scared?"
"Uh-huh."
"You know Cas can come visit you. Heaven and all that. And you'll be with Jess."
Sam's vision tilts all of a sudden and don'tpassoutdon'tpassout ughhh. "Dean..."
"Oh, hey, okay. Here we go, blood to your head, okay. Want some water?"
"Uh-huh."
"I'll get you some. It's okay, Sam."
He nods, head down between his knees, and coughs for a little while. He doesn't even know why. Coughing just sometimes seems like the only thing he knows how to do.
Dean hands him his water bottle then sits down behind him, legs on either side of Sam, and plays with his hair. "Any better?"
"Yeah."
"You don't want another two months, do you?"
"Yeah."
"You do?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"You."
All right. There's quiet now.
They haven't really talked about this.
And Sam's kind of terrified for what Dean's going to say next, because this was the plan for so long. They were going to go out together. If Sam died--and they both knew it was Sam who was going to go out first, whether by accident or illness or half-crazed suicide attempt, whatever--Dean was taking that cocktail from the safe and following right after. It was just the two of them against the whole damn world and they were tired.
They were so tired.
That plan made sense. That plan was the only thing keeping them going.
Except that's not the case anymore, and if Dean tells him that's still the plan, Sam's going to punch his fucking mouth in.
But Dean just says, "God. God," for a while, sounding like he's about to cry. Shit.
Sam lifts his head a little and blinks as everything grays in and out. He turns quickly, before his head can protest the movement, and rests his cheek against Dean's collarbone. Next to him, Cas groans a little from the movement. He's a grumpy sleeper.
"You can't come," Sam says. "Don't...don't oh God me, Dean. You can't come with me right now. It's different now."
"I know. I know...I know I can't come." This deep breath. "That's not why I'm..."
"Hey, okay. What's wrong?"
"I..." Dean swallows, shakes his head all fast. "I don't want to come. Mother of fuck, I don't want to go with you."
Sam grabs him and holds on and Dean buries his face in Sam's hair.
"I'm sorry, fuck, I'm sorry, it'snotthatIdon't--"
"Dean, shhh. I know."
"I just..."
"You have more now. If you tried to leave them for me, I swear to God, I'd fucking lock you out of our little heaven apartment."
Dean laughs a little, still all choked up.
Dean needs Sam to say this. Dean needs to hear this shit even though Sam doesn't. He and Dad always thought the reason Sam said 'I love you' even when they didn't was because he was some sort of sap who had to say it all the time, when no, you idiots, he was the one who didn't need to hear it.
He might be Dean's North, but God, Dean is his entire damn compass. This is not something he thinks about.
So he says, "In the end it's you and me, kid. We know that."
Dean nods.
"So you're gonna stay here. You're gonna love her."
"God I fucking love her so much I can't even..."
"I know."
"Christ, what is this."
"She's pretty great."
"What the fuck are we doing, here. Relationships. Why are we pretending to be functional people?"
Sam laughs. "More like, why are they letting us pretend?"
"Right? How do you feel?"
"A little better."
"Water helping?"
"Uh-huh."
"Good. Use your oxygen."
Sam closes his eyes and breathes. Dean pets his hair and doesn't say anything for a long time.
When he does, it's, "But at the end of this, you're still...I still like how this story ends, Sammy."
"Me too."
"I just..."
Sam thinks about being a kid, sick in some motel room, squished between his dad and his brother who were trying to force him to sleep, but he wouldn't close his eyes until they read him a damn story. And he wanted it to go on and on because as long as they did he wasn't just this wheezy thing holding himself and trying to get himself through the night. He was with his dad and his brother and he was awake and he was here.
Dean just doesn't want the story to end yet.
Sam takes off the mask and says, "Once upon a time..." and until he runs out of air he is going to keep telling his brother the story of the boys who saved the world and the girl and the angel who saved them.
And fuck you, universe, he will keep taking these fucking breaths and he will run out of air again and again he will keep telling this fucking story until the beeper goes off.