Supernatural One Shots

A Broken Bone and a Broken Heart

"Sam, that is so far from funny."

"It's not a joke. I wish it were, but it's not."

"Cancer?" Dean runs a hand down his face. He stands up and starts pacing the length of the motel room.

"Bone cancer," Sam states; numbly.

Dean keeps his eyes glued on his little brother as he paces. "How did you –? When did you –?"

"Three weeks ago, when I went to the hospital for my broken leg –"

Dean stops dead in his tracks. "Three weeks?" he yells. "You've known for three weeks that you have cancer and you didn't fucking think to tell me about it?"

"No," Sam tries to reassure him but he doesn't think it did much good. "They said they found something weird in the scans. A few days ago, when I said I was going to the library, I went back to the hospital. They ran some tests."

Dean sits down on the edge of the dining room table, facing Sam who's sitting on his bed. "How bad is it, Sammy?" Sam shakes his head. Dean looks up at the ceiling, biting his lip, trying to hide or contain his emotions. He clears his throat, runs his hand down his face again. "We'll find a way, Sammy."

"No," Sam says it quietly like he doesn't want his brother to hear it.

"What?" When Dean looks at him, Sam swears he can see a few tears fall down his cheeks.

"There's always consequences when try to save each other, Dean. And maybe this is the universe telling me it's time."

"'The universe,'" Dean quotes. "Seriously?"

"How many times have I died or almost died? I'm ready. It's inoperable, incurable, malignant. They gave me two months." Now Sam is sure he saw a tear fall.

"I don't understand. You've been fine. How could this happen –"

Sam shakes his head. "I've been in pain for awhile."

"Fuck, Sam. Why didn't you tell me? Or do something. For God's sake," he whispers. Dean doesn't, won't, look at him.

"They said the pain will start getting a lot worse soon; it'll spread to my lungs. They said they can give me things to... make me comfortable." He hates that phrase. "I want to go to Bobby's."

Dean holds up a hand, silencing him. "I need... I don't know what I need." He runs a hand through his hair. "Pack up your shit. We're going to Bobby's."

• • •

The ride to Bobby's house is dead quiet. Dean notices the way Sam shifts his body. Is he in pain? Dean discretely glances at him some. He's lost weight; his clothes are looser. Is his face thinner or is Dean imagining it? How did Dean not notice any of this until now?

Looking back, he realizes how weird Sam has been acting for the last three weeks. He thought his brother was just bummed about not being able to hunt because of his broken leg.

Sam had fallen asleep about three hours into the drive. They're outside Bobby's house now. Dean just sits there, looking at his brother; he doesn't want to wake him.

He turns the car off. The sound of the engine cutting off and lack of movement wake Sam up. He inhales deeply and looks around. Dean takes the keys out of the ignition, says, "We're here," and gets out of the car. Dean's been trying to decide how to feel about this whole thing on the drive over. He's settled on anger. He opens the trunk and roughly grabs the bags out of the back, then slams the lid. Not waiting for Sam, he enters Bobby's house, not bothering to knock, just using the key he gave him a few years ago.