madebyme_x: (Sam and Dean (h/c))
[personal profile] madebyme_x

Title: A Good Day (to Die)
Sam's having a good day. Future fic.
Rating: PG13

Genre/Spoilers: Sam and Dean Gen. None.
Warnings: Terminal illness sadfic and deathfic.
Word Count: 1200
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to CW, Kripke and Co, I'm simply borrowing them for a while. I'm not making a profit, this is just for fun and all the standard disclaimers apply.
A/N: This was written for the 2017 [ profile] ohsam and [ profile] spn_littlebro Celebrating Sam; A Birthday Fanworks Event for the prompt terminal illness. A huge thank you to my awesome beta [ profile] harrigan. I've tinkered so all mistakes are mine. Also Happy Birthday, Sam Winchester! ♥

A Good Day (to Die)

When Sam opens his eyes, he's struck by one thing almost immediately; he feels good. Like really good, and that feels wrong on so many levels.

Sam's used to waking up to bone-deep sickness, and the feeling that he's slowly being stripped of who he used to be. He needs Dean's help with pretty much everything; walking, dressing, and bathing, and while this was all kinds of mortifying and uncomfortable, they've both gotten used to it over the last year or so. That's what family's for, or so Dean says.

Then there are the days where he can't get out of bed at all, and Dean will spend the entire day camped in Sam's room bitching about the documentaries that Sam enjoys on Netflix, or reading out loud because Sam can't focus on the text any more without throwing up.

But right now he's lying in bed, watching the shadows from the ceiling fan dance around the walls of his room in the bunker, and he feels different. He feels...lighter. The feeling of heaviness, sort of like he's dragging around the extra weight of the cancer in his body, is gone. Which sounds kinda crazy, but that's the closest way he can explain it.

He looks over at the clock by his bedside table; 6:46am, which is late for him, he usually wakes around 4am, no matter how tired he is.

He sits up in bed, pushing away the cotton sheets that are tucked neatly around his limbs like he hasn't moved a muscle since he fell asleep. But there's no breathlessness, no sense of too-little air in his weary lungs.

He stands on unsteady legs, his muscle mass long since wasted away, and steps into his slippers, shoulders automatically hunched, waiting for the pain that never comes. He tests his body, straightening his back little by little. But there's nothing. No aches or pains in his joints and muscles, no dizziness or nausea, and no unidentified new ailment to add to the list of his broken body.

He can't remember the last time he felt this good; today's a good day.

He's shuffling in his slippers as he opens his bedroom door, still not trusting his skeletal body to feel this good, and then heads down the corridor towards the kitchen.

Usually, the moment Dean hears Sam's door open, he'll drag himself out of bed and cook up a massive breakfast that Sam just can't eat, no matter how much he wants to, while talking endlessly about nothing; just so that Sam can't bring up the conversation that Dean's been avoiding for too long.

But today Dean's sitting at the kitchen table, hands hugging a mug of what smells like strong black coffee. He looks up at Sam, eyes smudged with purple exhaustion, his face pale and unshaven.

“Morning, Sam.” He's grinning now, eyes damp but oh-so-bright in the harshly lit room. “Do you, er, can I get you anything?”

Sam opens his mouth, about to list off half a dozen things he thinks he could eat today; hash browns, pancakes, bacon, the whole nine yards. But he stops himself. “Y'know, I think I'm fine this morning.”

“And you feel OK?” Dean asks, concern flashing across his face, and if Sam didn't know any better, he'd think Dean's hands were shaking as he lifts his mug and takes a sip.

“I feel great, actually. The best I've felt for a long time.”

Dean swallows thickly, and then stands and turns his back to Sam. “That's great.” He drains the coffee down the sink, and then turns back around, his gaze flicking around Sam's body, looking for a problem or maybe a sign that Sam's full of shit.

But he's not lying. Not today anyway.

“Let's do something. Y'know, just you and me.” Dean's wringing his hands nervously, before forcing them to his sides. “We'll take Baby, and just drive. Hit the open road like we used to. Wherever you wanna go; just say the word.”

“Dean, I'm-”

“I mean you're feeling good, right? So let's celebrate! Live it up for a change.” There's a sharp edge to Dean's tone, and then he's grinning again, but it looks wrong on his face, all forced and unnatural.

Dean steps closer, raises his hand like he's gong to clap Sam on the shoulder or something. But then he stops himself, and drags it down his face instead, the scratch of skin on coarse beard so loud in the silent room that Sam winces.

Dean's eyes fix on Sam, and he looks terrible; bone-weary, and too skinny, like something's eating him alive too. Sam's been worrying about Dean since he first got his diagnosis; about how he's dealing with this, about what he's going to do when Sam's gone. He's lost count of the number of times Dean's told him to shut up, or walked away whenever he tries to talk about it.

There's so much Sam wants to say to his brother. So damn much.

“Can we just go? Get out of here?” Dean pulls his keys out of his jeans pocket, and it's clear that he wants them to leave right this second. “Please, Sammy.”

Suddenly, there's a sinking sensation in Sam's stomach, and a sheet of ice spreads throughout his body, freezing his organs solid; one by one.

There's something desperate about Dean's words, and it awakens a memory from deep inside, something that he couldn't quite reach before. It's calling out to him now, so crystal clear; the smell of stale sweat in his bedroom, the spinning ceiling fan throwing thick shadows on Dean's face, the robotic sound of a ticking clock in the background, and Dean's hand squeezing his own so tightly his baby-bird bones creak under his crepe-paper skin. And then there's the sluggish feel of the poison in his black-red blood getting thicker and thicker, and the sweet and irresistible call of a painless sleep so deep and true that Sam can't refuse it any longer, despite his brother's pleas. It's time.

“Please, Sammy.”

He's looking at his brother now, really looking, and Sam sees so much; each sleepless night and salt-filled tear, a hollowed-out shell of a man who has nothing else in the world but his brother. It comes to Sam all at once, an epiphany in the pitch-black dark, because Dean's right, it's time to get in the car and drive; it's time to just leave all of this behind, and never return. It's time.

“Sure, Dean. Let's go for a drive, just you and me.”

They walk towards the garage where the Impala will be parked, all shiny and perfect, like new, and Sam doesn't look back at his bedroom, at the wide-open door, or the shadows of the still-spinning ceiling fan and the clinical tick of his clock, because he knows exactly what he'd find in there.

But it doesn't matter, not any more, he finally feels good, he feels free, and he knows exactly where he belongs now, and that's where he's going to stay; right next to his brother, side by side, forever.

The End


Date: 2017-05-03 11:33 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
*hands you a tissue*

Date: 2017-05-02 08:14 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
*scratches face with joyful tears ... or something equally and diametrically happy/grim*

Date: 2017-05-03 11:37 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Yikes, I'm sorry! I did put you through a complex emotion of simultaneous happiness and heartbreak (it's a favourite flavour of mine!) But thank you for stopping by and reading all the horrible things I like to put Sam through...and on his birthday too!!! ;)

Date: 2017-05-02 09:20 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I am oddly...really pleased by the ending of this fic? I mean, it's deathfic, sure, but it's hopeful and lovely! Aw, Sam <3

Date: 2017-05-03 11:39 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you so much for stopping by!!! It's a favourite combination of mine, this feeling of happiness through heartbreak, and it fits so well with Sam and Dean. Take care :)

Date: 2017-05-02 09:28 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I'm not all teary. Nope, uh-uh. Okay, maybe I am. Such beautiful writing and so poignant. Thank you for posting.

Date: 2017-05-03 11:41 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
What a lovely comment, thank you so much *hands you a tissue* I'm so happy you enjoyed this fic, despite it's content and heartbreak. Thank YOU for reading. Take care :)

Date: 2017-05-02 09:39 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Guh. Heartbreaking for all sorts of reasons, yet also right.

Date: 2017-05-03 11:43 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you! I do enjoy writing sad little fics like this, I don't know what it is with the feeling of heartbreak and happiness that fits so well with the Winchester's. I guess we just love to see them break our hearts. Take care and thank you so much for reading and commenting :)

Date: 2017-05-03 02:21 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Heartbreaking and beautiful. Excuse me, I have to go get a tissue.

Date: 2017-05-03 11:44 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
*hands you a tissue* Thank you so much for reading this sad little fic, but I'm happy that you enjoyed it and thank you for your kind words. Take care :)

Date: 2017-05-03 12:07 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
OMG, I had goosebumps by the time I finished reading this.

Date: 2017-05-03 12:19 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
What a wonderful comment!!! Thank you so much for reading. Take care :)

Date: 2017-05-03 02:30 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I'm not crying YOU'RE crying!!

Date: 2017-05-03 03:59 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I'll just have to keep passing these tissues around, I guess! Thank you for stopping by ♥

Date: 2017-05-03 04:35 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
You could just stop making us cry, LOL!

Date: 2017-05-04 09:31 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
But where would be the fun in that? ;) They just hurt so pretty, and I just can't help myself!!! But for the record, I am sorry for the hurty fic.

Date: 2017-05-04 11:19 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
LOL! I was teasing, never be sorry, never. Means you hit all the feels on the way down!

Date: 2017-05-04 01:29 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I do seem to have a (unhealthy) habit of doing very bad things to these boys, but thank you for your kind words. If I can hit some feels that's always lovely to hear :)

Date: 2017-05-05 06:11 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
We always hurt the ones we love, lol. And these two are so pretty when they're in pain. I know, we're wrong'ens but it's the truth.

Date: 2017-05-05 01:26 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Hehe, ain't that the truth ;)

Date: 2017-05-04 04:28 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Oh, this is so good. I've read it three times now and I get a little more from it each time. Sam's a smart boy, but it takes him a minute to figure things out and you make that discovery so heart-wrenching and perfect. Thank you for the good cry in the middle of my work-day!

Date: 2017-05-04 04:36 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I'm so happy to hear that on each read you've picked up different hints and clues - what an amazing comment, thank you so much! This is a sad little fic, and I wanted Sam and the reader to come to the same conclusion by the end, as well as the same emotions; a sense of peace and happiness despite what's happened.

And yikes, I'm sorry about the work tear!!! *sneaks you a tissue* Thank you so much for stopping by and commenting :)

Date: 2017-05-05 05:49 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Ah, you made me cry so hard.

Date: 2017-05-08 10:01 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I'm so sorry, but thank you so much for reading *hands you a box of tissues*

Date: 2017-05-05 07:24 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Aaaahhhhhhhhh...........lovely. *cries*

Date: 2017-05-08 10:02 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you so much! And I'm sorry about the tears, but these boys just hurt so pretty and I just can't help myself!!! Take care :)

Date: 2017-05-05 11:30 pm (UTC)
fufaraw: (Default)
From: [personal profile] fufaraw
Just pass that tissue box over here, wouldja? What? No, just something in my eye.

Date: 2017-05-08 10:03 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you so much for reading this sad little fic *hands you the box of tissues just in case*

Date: 2017-05-06 05:02 am (UTC)

Date: 2017-05-08 10:05 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you so much for stopping by and reading!!! Sometimes I feel bad about all the horrible stuff I do to Sam... ;)


Date: 2017-05-06 12:06 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
loved this thanks

Re: sad

Date: 2017-05-08 10:05 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
This is a sad fic, and I'm really happy that you enjoyed it, despite all the heartbreak. Take care :)


Date: 2017-05-06 12:06 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
loved this thanks

Date: 2017-05-06 04:30 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
ouch. That's my heart, cracking. This is really beautiful.

Date: 2017-05-08 10:07 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Awww, thank you so much for your kind words. I'm happy that you enjoyed it, despite all the sadness and heartbreak. Take care :)

Date: 2017-05-09 01:53 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
*SOBS* ;____;

So sad, but a very hopeful ending! <3

Date: 2017-05-09 04:07 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you, and I'm sorry about the sobs - this is a super sad fic but sometimes I just can't help it!!! I wanted to inject some sense of peace and happiness at the end, and I'm happy that you picked up on that...a ray a light in the dark! Take care, and thanks again for reading :)


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