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Dean carries Sammy from the car to the house bridal style, even over the threshold and shit.
He sets Sammy into bed like a doll, moving his legs under the covers and everything, all while Sam watches him with those keen little unblinking eyes of his. Even when Sam’s dead tired, when he by all rights shouldn’t be conscious, his eyes have that spark in them that Dean admires as much as it unnerves him.
He checks Sam’s heart monitor and the Ventricular Assistance Device, careful not to jostle it. He applies ointment around the bruising where the tubes disappear into Sam’s bird boy chest.
Sam still watches.
When he’s done, he buttons up Sam’s shirt, draws the comforter up to just below the VAD, and sits on the edge of the bed, carding Sam’s hair behind his ear. Sam blinks slowly, like a cat, so Dean leans forward and kisses him. It’s soft at first, just “welcome home,” nothing else, but he deepens it a little. They’re not going to get down to anything tonight, not the first fucking night home from the hospital, but he’s allowed to be a little sentimental, okay.
Sam taps Dean’s chest lightly, just one finger, and Dean pulls back. There’s an odd look in Sam’s eye, not just the usual perceptivity, and Dean cocks his head. “What is it, baby?”
Sam looks down, shrugs one boney shoulder.
“Is it bothering you?” Dean asks. It’s been two weeks and he still kinda wants to puke when he sees the tubes on Sam’s chest, even though he knows they’re helping Sam survive.
Sam shakes his head. His eyes flick back up, and they’re a little shiny now, and hey, when did that happen?
“What if--” Sam’s breath hitches a little, which is normal for them, now, but Dean knows this time it’s not because he’s short of breath. “What if I could go to school just fine?”
Dean’s about to ask what Sam means when Sam continues. “What if I had a healthy heart, and I was big, taller and stronger than you? What if I could run and go on hunts?”
Dean’s chest is tight. He hates when Sam gets like this. “Sam--”
“What if I did real well in school, got into a good college? What if I grew up a normal boy?”
“What is this about?” Dean cuts in.
“Would you still love me?” Sam asks, his voice cracking.
Dean can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Jesus, Sammy,” he laugh/scoffs. He ruffles Sam’s hair. “Hey, of course. You know that.”
Sam’s eyes get brighter, and he shakes his head, sniffling, and his monitor beeps that his blood pressure’s gone up. “Would you still touch me, kiss me?” Sam asks. “Would you move inside me, hold me, fuck me?”
Dean’s simultaneously so fucking worried about Sam and chubbing up in his boxers at the memories Sam’s conjuring, but again Sam doesn’t give him time to speak.
“Think about it,” Sam says tearfully. “You only j--jerked me off because I was embarrassed about being too tired to do it myself. You only fingered me because no one’s gonna fuck a sick kid and you were helping out.”
“That is not what it’s like,” Dean says, suddenly heated, but Sammy just shakes his head.
“It became more, you’re right,” Sam says, “but it only started ‘cause I was sick. You’re only this close to me ‘cause I can’t take care of yourself. Come on, Dean. If I were a normal boy you wouldn’t fuck me. We’re only in love because my heart is broken.”
Dean has no idea what to say to that, and the longer he sits there without talking, the more resolute in his beliefs Sam gets, and the more devastated as a result, and Dean can only sit there, the useless piece of shit, because, Sam’s right.
He doesn’t want to tell Sam that but Sam’s right.
Sam only tells him everything because they spend every moment together, because Dean has wiped Sam’s ass and carried him to the hospital and fed him pills and water. Sam tells him everything because there’s no other option, because you either embrace that kind of intimacy or die from it, and they both ran toward the first option.
Sam only loves him so much because Dad left, because Dad sends them money and favors from good doctors because Dad thinks he’s helping that way. Sam loves Dean because John wasn’t around to receive that love, so Dean got double.
Dean only touched Sam in the first place so the kid would have a normal teenage experience, which is stupid in hindsight, but Dean never made claims about his own intelligence. And Sam asked to be fingered after the stories Dean told about girls he fucked to get Sam hard, and who could fucking say no to those puppy eyes, and especially on a sick kid?
On a, fucking, Dean swore he’d never say, it, but a dying kid?
A dying kid as sweet and perfect and smart and kind as Sammy?
He has an epiphany, then, and he takes Sam’s little hand in his. “You listen closely, because I’m only going to say this once,” Dean says, violently, “and it’s important, okay?”
Sam’s eyes go huge, and he nods, looking like a kid hearing his parents tell some dumb scary story about why he can’t play outside at night.
Dean takes a breath. He scoots all the way onto the bed, sitting thigh-to-thigh with Sam and wrapping an arm around him.
“Do you remember when you were eight and Dad gave us extra money? Do you remember how, instead of spending it on an N64 or some shit, you went and bought pizza for all the kids in the ward?”
Sam smiles a little. “Back in Boston?” he asks, but he knows what Dean’s talking about. “Yeah, why?”
“I just thought, what a good fucking kid,” Dean says. “I’ve got the best kid here. And, you wanna know a cold, hard fact, Sam? You wanna know the truth? You did that because you wanted to be kind. You felt empathy for them. And it wasn’t just ‘cause you were sick, too. Every sick person on the freaking planet doesn’t do that kind of stuff, Sam. Hell, some do the opposite. You did it because, and wait for the punch line, you have a good heart.”
He emphasizes “good heart” with two gentle taps on Sam’s sternum. Sam’s blushing, but he looks like he’s gonna protest, pushing Dean on.
“When I think about the kid I love, that’s what I think about. I think about how you somehow got through seventh grade with As and Bs when you had four surgeries. I think about your jokes and your stupid smile. I’m proud of you, Sammy, and it’s not ‘cause you’re sick.”
Dean tilts Sam’s chin up, leans in closer, makes sure Sam’s looking at him, ‘cause this is vitally important. “Even if you were completely healthy and bigger and stronger than me and went to college, you’d be kind. You’d be smart. You’d be the Sammy I fell in love with. So, yeah, maybe we started stuff ‘cause you’re sick. You’re right. That makes things different. But I know for a fact if there’s some other idiotic lucky bastard out there lookin’ like me, and he has a Sammy, then he’s in love with that Sammy.”
Dean gives Sam a brief kiss. “And he’s fucking that Sammy real good, okay? Making that Sammy cry and stuff. Making Sam come and pass out.”
“I love you,” Sammy laughs, teary. “I love you in every universe as long as you’re this big and stupid.”
Dean beams. “Oh, baby,” he says, “you can rely on that.”
They kiss, and Sam’s heart monitor tells them that Sam’s alright, so they kiss some more. Sam gets a little sleepy, and Dean helps Sam cuddle up against his chest, careful of the VAD.
When Sam falls asleep, Dean kisses his head and closes his eyes. He hopes that all the other Deans out there feel just as fucking lucky as he does.
The End