The Hand He Had Been Dealt | Destiel

Loss

Dean was sixteen when he watched his mother die, blood spilling onto the hospital bed as the doctors tried to stop the bleeding. His dad was desperately calling for Mary to not leave him, her ever paling face facing up, shivering as her eyes grew clouded and unseeing.

"Sammy...where's Sammy?" She begged, her thin fingers scrabbling for purchase against the bed. As if hearing their mother's call for him, he heard his newborn brother cry. Dean couldn't look at him, though, covered in his mother's blood like that. She died only minutes later, and Dean cried in the waiting room while the doctor explained to his father what had went wrong.

Dean vowed that he could never love something that took his mother away, that is until his dad placed Sam in his arms, his tear-stained face the only thing Dean saw before he disappeared into the hall, probably to go sit vigil by Mary's body.

Dean looked down at...the thing in his arms, watching as Sam squirmed in his arms, his bright blue eyes scrunched under his eyebrows in his discomfort. Dean stared at him passively, listening to the hiccups and little noises his baby brother made.

His heart didn't stir for the little one until Sam grabbed a hold of his shirt, tugging stubbornly and gumming on his own fist, slobbering everywhere as he hummed and looked up at Dean. Dean attempted to remove the baby's hand from his shirt, only getting his fingers captured in Sam's hands as he gripped them, making a satisfied noise before he pulled them into his mouth.

"Ew, Sammy, that feels gross," Dean expressed, wrinkling his nose as Sam continued to gum on his fingers, his eyes slowly closing with contentment as his lips quirked into a reflexive smile before falling back to their normal position. Dean sighed, but he let Sam continue until he was fully asleep, a conflicted look on his face as he felt his heart already going out to the newborn.

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Same hospital, same month, two years later, and Dean was staring at John with his tears in his eyes. He held his younger brother close to his chest, hiding him from the sickness that permeated the room as John coughed, ragged and wheezing as he looked at his two sons, a sadness in his eyes that Dean had seen their since Mary had died.

"I held out until you were eighteen. I'm sorry I couldn't do more," John wheezed, unable to say much more before he was coughing again. The doctor's had said that it was untreated pneumonia, too far along to save John. Dean knew what it was, though, and he didn't have the strength that his father was dying of anything other than heartbreak.

"I'm gonna miss you, Dad," Dean responded, the mask over his mouth muffling his voice. Sam had one too, but Dean had his tiny hands in his, not allowing him to take it off despite the glare that his tiny brother gave him.

John laid back into a more comfortable position, giving him a worn smile despite the paleness of his face, "I don't have to tell you to watch out for Sammy, do I?" John asked, to which Dean responded with a shake of his head, "Then go on and get out of here. I don't want you to watch me die."

"I don't think that's a go-" Dean began to say, cutting off when he saw John's eyes turn stern. Dean lowered his eyes, nodding before standing, holding Sam tightly to him as he said a soft good-bye, hesitating before he took John's hand, giving it a firm shake despite the weakness of the grip. He turned after that, wiping his eyes against Sam's hair before leaving the room.

"De. Who that?" Sam asked, his bubbly voice making Dean smile just a little before he took off Sam's mask, removing his own.

"Our Dad," Dean replied, but he wasn't surprised when Sam shook his head stubbornly. John had never been around, especially when it came to Sam. Now that he was dying, Dean starting to think the man did it so Sam didn't have to remember losing his only parent.

"You Dad," Sam responded, nodding to himself as if it were already decided. Dean hugged him a little tighter, his heart hurting at the knowledge that Sam would never know his parents.

"I'm your brother, but I'll always be there, okay?" Dean explained, to which Sam huffed at, but as they continued walking, they heard a nurse shout about a code blue. Dean turned, looking back at John's room, where the nurses flooded into. He took in a shaky breath, releasing one arm from around Sam to wipe his eyes.

"L-let's get you home, okay? You have daycare tomorrow," Dean stated, forcing himself to hold back his tears. He would cry when Sam wasn't looking. Sam grinned, beginning to talk about what they do at daycare as Dean walked out while ignoring the sympathetic looks from nurses and bystanders who saw his tears.

By the time they cleared the hospital doors and reached outside, Dean had tracks of escaped tears down his cheeks. He managed to get Sam into his car seat before he took the driver's seat of his dad's last car, rubbing the steering wheel affectionately and silently letting his tears fall now that Sam no longer could see his face.

"Ice cream?" Sam asked, and Dean let out a soft laugh, hiding his misery in his voice.

"Yeah, buddy. We can get ice cream," Dean replied, twisting the key in the ignition and letting the car roar to life.