Summary:  Sam's visions seem to get the best of him. Is Dean the key to setting him free?
Spoilers:  Action takes place directly after "Croatoan".
A/N:  Thank you to Faye for the great beta on this fic. If you readers had only seen the first draft of this you’d understand how much time and energy Faye put into it to make it better.
Disclaimer:  All things Supernatural belong to Kripke.   (Lyrics to “Blow Up the Outside World” by Chris Cornell)

Sunlight danced across the water while white cirrus clouds streaked across the blue sky. It was a brilliant, beautiful day and after their recent trauma Dean and Sam should have been relaxing instead of having such a serious discussion.

“Right before Dad died, he told me something. Told me something about you,” Dean said as he looked into the distance.

“What? Dean, what did he tell you?” Sam prompted Dean, not wanting the moment to slip away.

Sam knew this was going to be a life changing moment. Dean had been keeping something bottled up inside, something that was making him crazy with worry, and now he was finally going to trust Sam with it.

Sam felt the tension vibrating through his body and began clenching and unclenching his hands in an effort to keep from going over to Dean and shaking the truth out of him.

Dean had promised to watch over Sam and decided that the best way to do this was to tell Sam everything he knew. Finally Dean turned and looked Sam in the eye, ready to unburden himself, and that’s when the vision hit Sam.

Sam dropped to his knees on the dirt ground and covered his head with his arms as he willed the pain stabbing through his temples to wane. The pain was so sharp he couldn’t catch his breath. But that was the least of his problems as the picture show inside his head began to play.

Sam stood in the dark, facing off against the Fire Demon. Energy danced along his body, his skin crackled with blue light. Reaching out he grabbed onto the being responsible for so much death and suffering. Energy transferred directly into the ground from Sam’s own body and then a bright light pulverizing everything. The Demon was gone. And so was Sam…

The sign said, Welcome to New Madrid, Missouri. A blond young man about Sam’s age transferred a blue orb of light from one hand to the other. Suddenly he hurled it at a house. The house ignited in flames…

The picture shifted rapidly to an argument between him and his brother. No, I won’t let you do this...Sam, there’s got to be another way. I’m sorry Dean, this is the only way to end it. Dean pulled back his fist. Sam’s head snapped back as he staggered. Darkness.

Lastly, a sign for Cairo, Illinois, a massive stone and glass house for rent, a man in distress screaming…

Dean, crouched down next to Sam, rubbed his hand up and down Sam’s back. He hated watching what the visions did to his brother. And this was one helluva vision. Sam had been staring off, pupils unfocused, for several minutes. Concerned that Sam still hadn’t surfaced from the vision Dean was becoming anxious. He watched in surprise as Sam pitched head first toward the hard ground.

“I’ve gotcha,” Dean murmured as he caught and cradled his baby brother against his chest. He waited for Sam’s eyes to open.

And waited.

“Sammy, Goddammit don’t do this. You’ve never passed out from a vision before.” Dean saw Sam’s chest moving up and down and he felt his heart beating but his brother was scaring him. He should be blinking open his eyes and telling Dean what he saw, not lying so still and gray.

Dean knew the nearest hospital was more than forty minutes away. Not wanting to take a chance with Sam’s life he decided to load him into the Impala and head for help.

Nothing seems to kill me no matter how hard I try
Nothing is closing my eyes
Nothing can beat me down for your pain or delight
And nothing seems to break me
No matter how hard I fall nothing can break me at all
Not one for giving up though not invincible I know

Sam abruptly woke up in the passenger seat of the Impala.

Dean jumped as Sam began to speak. The last time Dean had looked over at the passenger seat Sam still seemed to be out of it.

“Dean, we’ve got to head for Southern Illinois,” Sam said, a pleading note in his voice.

Dean, out of his mind with worry when Sam had passed out in the middle of his vision, was determined to not give in to Sam this time.

“No way, Jose. You’re going to see a doctor. That was quite a fainting spell. They teach you that in sissy California?” Dean asked. His brusk manner was just a front. He was still crazy with worry over his younger brother.

You've got to trust me Dean, a doctor can't help me.

Sam didn’t say those words out loud. At this point Sam knew there was very little he could say to Dean to change his mind. Dean’s hands were clenched around the steering wheel and his jaw was set. He was digging in his heels.

“Dean, please, you have to take us to Cairo, Illinois. I’m sorry I passed out on you but we need to get there. Trust me, now that the vision has passed I’m fine,” Sam was trying to reason with Dean.

“So what exactly did this vision show you?” Dean wanted to believe that Sam was okay but Sam still looked shaky.

Sam closed his eyes and rubbed his right temple trying to remember the last part of his vision. “I saw a sign that said Cairo, Illinois and there was this house…stone and glass. We were at this house and there was a scream. I don’t know what happened but we have to go there.” Sam was having trouble conveying his strong need, really a compulsion, to get to Cairo. But somehow Dean understood him.

Reaching out Dean clasped Sam on the left shoulder briefly. “So you don’t know what happens but you feel like we need to be there?” Dean glanced at Sam and saw relief spread across his face. In fact his whole body seemed to relax.

“Yeah, I know. I sound a little crazy. There’s just something…” Sam still couldn’t describe what was drawing him across country.

“Let me guess, there’s just something pulling you there and you can’t describe it. I got it. We’ll skip the doctor on one condition – we’re going to stop each night to rest. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this, Sam, you have to learn to relax,” Dean stated.

To his thinking this wasn’t up for discussion. It was his responsibility to make sure Sam was okay and he knew in the weeks after their Dad’s death he hadn’t been there for Sam like he should have been.

Sam started to argue, “But…” but Dean quickly shut him down.

“Shut it, Sam. That’s my final offer. Take it or leave it.” Dean knew he sounded like a hard ass but sometimes with Sam you had to be firm.

Sam, realizing that this was the best compromise he would get, acquiesced to Dean’s plan, “Okay. Let me know when you want me to drive.”

“You swooned a little while ago. Do you really think I’d trust my most prized possession to you?” Dean replied as he executed a U-turn and headed the car east.

Sam leaned back against the flat pillow, a sigh escaping his lips. His eyes restlessly roamed around the motel room. It was lacking in any personality but it was cheap and it was clean. The carpet was a drab yellow which was reflected in the faded yellow and gold wallpaper – the décor had definitely seen better days. But then again the Winchesters had seen better days, too.

It had been five days since the demonic plague, which Sam had privately taken to referring to as Croatoan, had ripped through Oregon as well as through Dean’s and Sam’s lives. The people of River Grove had all disappeared and Dean and Sam were lucky to have gotten out with their lives.

Of course when they had thought Sam had been infected Dean had been willing to throw in the towel and join Sam in death. It didn't make any sense. His big brother was nothing if not a fighter, the kind of guy who never quit, even when the odds were stacked against him. To hear Dean say that he was tired, that he wanted to give up--well, that had certainly been enough to unnerveSam.

But Dean had a lot on his mind. He’d been on the verge of telling Sam what their Dad said right before he died and then Sam had suffered the grand mal of visions.

Before the vision had hit Sam was hurt that Dean was holding back information from him, about him. After his vision the hurt had faded to be replaced with terror. Whatever their father had said to Dean was enough to turn his big brother practically suicidal. He handed his prized car keys over to strangers, kept a gun with a bullet meant for each of them, and was willing to wait for the inevitable.

Sam no longer felt the need to badger him for information or details. If Dean wanted him to know then he would tell him. Dean didn’t need the added stress of his freaky little brother pestering him.

The freaky little brother who hadn’t contracted the demonic virus although he’d been directly exposed to tainted blood. Sam was still having trouble with the implications of that development. If Dean had misgivings about Sam and his abilities before this would surely send them through the roof.

Sam felt that he continually let Dean down but at least they were still together and working on a lead of sorts.

At least upon waking Sam had blurted out the right destination. That was one thing he’d managed to do right lately. After a search on the internet he’d found an article about arson committed in New Madrid, Missouri. Sam suspected he’d dialed in to another one of the “Chosen Children” and witnessed him torching a house where five people had died in the fire.

Sam hadn’t even mentioned this part of the vision to Dean; he knew Dean was spooked about what was happening and he didn’t want to stress him out further. As it turned out there was nothing the brothers could do to stop that tragedy but maybe there was time to prevent something from happening in Illinois.

Dean quietly opened the bathroom door, steam billowing out behind him. The paint was cracked and the facilities were outdated but the hot water had been endless and the water pressure heavenly. His eyes swept over the room noting with satisfaction that Sam appeared to be sleeping on one of the beds. The rest would really do the kid some good. At least that’s what he hoped.

Dean discarded the towel, quickly pulling on clothing as he tried not to wake Sam.

Dean knew something was wrong with Sam. At first he’d thought Sam was giving him the cold shoulder because he wouldn’t tell him what Dad had said right before his death.

Sam was like a terrier – once he got his teeth into something he didn’t let go. But let go was exactly what he’d done in this instance. Not once had he tried to get Dean to talk about their Dad, or his feelings, or anything. Now he worried that the vision had damaged Sam somehow. He was uncommunicative, almost silent.

Dean jumped as Sam jerkily sat up on the bed. “I hope you left me some hot water.” Both brothers cringed at the hoarse, croaking sound of Sam’s voice.

Dean felt some of his concern lift. Maybe that was what was wrong with Sam. He’d caught something. Some run-of-the-mill, non-demonic virus.

Sam could see the wheels turning in Dean’s head. No wonder Dean was concerned--he sounded terrible. But Sam was pretty certain that he wasn't sick. He suspected his voice was hoarse from disuse. After all, he’d been so lost in his own thoughts, trying to figure out his visions, he hadn’t talked to Dean in practically twenty-four hours. It was a wonder Dean hadn’t dumped his ass off at the nearest ER.

Sam knew it was time to put his game face on. Dean was all he had left in the world and he didn’t want to drive him away. And he certainly couldn't get anything done if Dean hauled him off to have doctors poke and prod at him

Sam cleared his throat and tried again. “It sounds like Cairo has turned into quite a ghost town,” Sam said as he gathered some clean clothes together. “The population was 6,000 in 1980 and now it’s down to 3,000.”

“That’s weird. Are you thinking the population is down because of something supernatural?” Dean said as he watched Sam slowly moving around the room. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was wrong with his brother.

“Maybe. I found the name and number of a realtor. Do you want to call him and see if there are any two story stone and glass homes for sale in the area?” Sam was trying to sound low key but that was the only substantial clue he had from his vision and he wanted to find out what it meant.

Dean picked up on the tension in his brother’s voice and his worry meter notched up a level. “I’ll call him while you hit the showers. Dude, you are not going to believe the water pressure. It’s a thing of beauty.” Dean covered his heart with hands and sighed.

He wanted Sam to relax. Maybe even smile. He wasn't sure what was wrong with Sam, but the level of stress his baby brother seemed to be carrying certainly couldn't be helping him.

He was rewarded by a quick flash of white teeth. “You’d better not be lying. That last place had a fine mist, not a shower. We could have sued them for false advertising.”

Sam disappeared into the bathroom as Dean picked up the phone. He wondered if this was how Sam had felt in trying to deal with Dean directly after their Dad’s death. Everything was surface talk and meaningless. And frustrating.

“Thank you so much for agreeing to show us the house so quickly, Mr. Johnson. We appreciate you dropping everything to accommodate us.” Dean had a wide smile plastered to his face that was making his face ache. He was laying it on pretty thick but Sam wasn’t jumping in to help. Sam always made this talking to the locals look so effortless.

“My pleasure, Mr. Whitecastle. I can’t believe a member of the Whitecastle family is interested in Cairo. I absolutely adore your hamburgers.” Mr. Johnson simpered at Dean.

Sam at least was paying attention because he rolled his eyes when Mr. Johnson started talking about white castle hamburgers. The burgers were actually by White Castle. It was true – a sucker was born every minute. And then he got his first look at the house and the conversation around him faded out.

Two stories of stone and glass built into a hill with a spectacular view of the surrounding countryside. This was the place from his vision.

“Sam, are you ready to go inside?” Dean said as he took Sam’s elbow and started leading him toward the door. Dean didn’t like the way Sam had zoned out and he was looking gray and drawn again.

“This is it,” Sam quietly said as he allowed himself to be steered through the front door. Dean squeezed his arm before letting him go to trail after Mr. Johnson.

“If you’ll come right this way…” Mr. Johnson broke off as his cell phone rang loudly. “Would you please excuse me for just a moment? I need to take this. Please feel free to look around on your own. I’ll be right back.” Mr. Johnson went back outside where he began speaking heatedly to someone.

Dean pulled out his EMF and cranked it on. “I’m going to take this upstairs and check things out. You feel up to poking around down here or do you want to come with me?” Dean didn’t want to step on independent Sam’s toes but he knew he’d feel better if Sam came with him.

“I’m good down here,” Sam said as he peaked outside at Mr. Johnson. “It looks like he’ll be a while.” Sam smiled at Dean but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Okay, yell if you see anything, Haley Joel.” Dean watched Sam nod his head yes but his jibe hadn’t drawn a response. He sighed as he climbed the stairs.

As Dean headed up the grand mahogany staircase, Sam started wandering around the great room. There was a large stone fireplace and wood beams were visible on the ceiling. Very lodge like. He wandered toward the back of the house where a huge swimming pool was visible.

He was standing in front of a sliding glass door, contemplating going outside, when he heard Dean call his name. Turning around he started to answer when he felt the pull of another vision. Only it wasn’t a new vision.

He and Dean were arguing. He has his mind set on something and Dean is pleading with him to give up his idea.

“ No, I won’t let you do this...Sam, there’s got to be another way.”

“I’m sorry Dean, this is the only way to end it.”

“Sammy, you okay?” Dean had raced downstairs when Sam hadn’t replied and found Sam staring into space with a dazed look on his face.

Sam turned his back on Dean to grab his bag when Dean tugged him around and surprised him with a right hook.

Dean reached out with his right hand to touch Sam’s arm…

Sam, not expecting Dean to hit him, staggered back. Sam blacked out…

The vision of Dean hitting Sam coincided with Dean touching Sam’s arm in real time and the results were disastrous.

Sam, caught up in the vision, staggered back at the light pressure of Dean’s touch. Losing his balance he crashed back into, and through, the double plate glass sliding door.

Dean stood in horror as he watched Sam shatter the door. Ignoring the glass strewn across the floor he stepped through the ruined door and knelt down next to his motionless brother. Sam was lying on his right side, cuts welling with blood across his face and arm.

Blood soaked the patio floor. Too much blood.

I’ve givin’ everything I need
I’d give you everything I own
I’d give in if it could at least be ours alone
I’ve given everything I could
To blow it to hell and gone
Burrow down in and
Blow up the outside World

Dean stared in horror as Sam’s blood continued to puddle on the patio. He heard footsteps pounding across the floor. “Oh my God! What happened?” Mr. Johnson wailed.

“Call 911!” Dean didn’t have time to deal with a hysterical Mr. Johnson. He needed to figure out where all of the blood was coming from and stop it. Fast.

Carefully easing Sam onto his back Dean quickly saw the problem. A hunk of glass was sticking out of Sam’s neck. It must have nicked an artery because great spurts of Sam’s blood were now pumping onto the ground in time to the beats of his heart.

Dean felt nauseous. He was afraid to remove the glass; removing it could speed the loss of Sam’s blood. Tugging off his shirt he carefully wadded it up and held it tightly against Sam’s neck, trying to avoid the glass obscenely protruding from Sam’s skin.

“Sam, just hold on. Help’s on the way.” Dean could hear the wail of sirens in the distance. He reached up with one hand, steadily applying pressure to Sam’s neck, and cupped Sam’s face with the other, smearing blood across his cheek. This couldn’t be happening.

Dean felt panic climbing up his throat and forced himself to slow his breathing. Sam needed him. But all’s he could see was red.

There wasn’t a trace of color on Sam’s face save for the blood smeared across it.

“Sir, please, you’ll have to move back.”

Dean felt relief as the paramedics arrived. They could stop the bleeding. They had to stop the bleeding.

“Unresponsive white male, early to mid 20’s, massive blood loss…there’s a shard of glass sticking out of his neck…” Dean heard someone on a radio at the same time he heard someone vomiting in the background. Even the paramedics were having a hard time dealing with this scene.

Sam’s blood was everywhere.

The paramedics quickly transferred Sam onto a backboard and loaded him onto the stretcher.

“We need to start the Type O blood. He’s bleeding out. BP’s almost non-existent…” Dean followed behind as Sam was carted to the ambulance and loaded inside. As the doors banged shut he felt overcome by a wave of grief.

There was so much he needed to say to Sam. So much they needed to do.

Sam was adrift, floating aimlessly on the water. The current tugged him this way and that but he kept his eyes closed, enjoying the sensation. He felt something on his left hand. A pressure. Ignoring it he concentrated on the feel of the water.

“Sammy, it’s time to wake up now. I’m sick of watching you sleep.” Dean was talking to Sam, begging him to wake up, as he’d done steadily for the last twenty-four hours.

The doctors had been able to remove the glass from Sam’s neck and close up all of his wounds but his vital signs hadn’t rebounded yet. Severe blood loss.

Dean reached out and cradled Sam’s left hand between his own. It was so cold. He rubbed Sam’s hand against his own cheek, trying to drive the chill away.

Dean stared at Sam’s face willing his eyes to open. Willing his condition to improve. His skin was waxy and so white that it blended into the white sheets. Even his lips were colorless. The only color visible on his face came from the stitches scattered across his forehead, nose and right cheek and the deep purple marks under Sam’s eyes.

But Dean would take the shadows under Sam’s eyes any day over the ugly wound hidden under the gauze wrapped around Sam’s neck. Every time Dean closed his eyes he pictured the glass embedded in Sam’s neck, sucking the life out of his little brother.

“Sam, I’m getting bored here. You’ve slept long enough.” Dean tried to inject some sternness into his voice but the attempt fell flat. He was too tired and too scared.

Dean sat up straighter, his gaze riveted on Sam, as his brother began to twitch.

Sam felt the floaty feeling dissipate as dizziness slammed through him.

He was standing next to the Fire Demon. He felt the earth shift under his feet. An earthquake. The New Madrid fault was moving. The Fire Demon threw back his head and laughed.

“It’s time, young one. It’s time you join me. I can make all of your pain disappear.” The Demon held his hand out to Sam yet didn’t touch him.

Sam could feel something building along his nerves. Energy was humming through his body. Reaching out he grabbed onto the Demon, clutching his arm.

Sam felt the energy leave his body and enter the ground. A bright flash of light. Everything was gone. The Demon was gone. And so was Sam.

Sam’s eyes snapped open as he wildly looked around. He couldn’t catch his breath.

“Sam, buddy, it’s okay. It’s Dean. Just relax.” Dean had never seen anything so beautiful in his life before. Sam’s eyes were open and he was looking at Dean with recognition in his eyes.

The monitors attached to Sam began to bleat their distress and nurses began pouring into Sam’s room.

Sam parted his lips to say something and began coughing instead.

“Sir, you need to step back.”

Dean had never been ‘sirred’ so many times in his life and he didn’t appreciate it. But he quietly stepped back to make room for the staff. Sam needed their help.

Sam’s attending doctor, Dr. Ford, flew into the room and began barking orders. More blood tests were ordered and the doctor finished checking Sam over. Slowly the crowd thinned out as Sam stabilized.

The doctor pulled Dean to the side. “Try to keep him quiet. I ordered some tests and will be back in a short while to talk to you both.” The gravity of the doctor's voice unnerved Dean, but for now, he needed to focus on the positive. Sam was awake.

“Sam, it’s about time.” Dean pulled his chair back up next to Sam’s bed and settled it where Sam would be able to see him, too. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Sam quietly said, exhaustion evident in his voice, and was rewarded with a snort from Dean. “What happened?”

“That’s what I want to know. We were looking at ‘the house’ and then you seemed to have another vision. You wind-milled back through the plate glass door. I have to say, Sammy, red isn’t your color.” Dean tried to keep his tone light, but he couldn't disguise the worry in his voice. He'd come so close to losing his brother.

The brother he was supposed to protect. The brother he was responsible for and had felt so since his Dad had placed a wriggling Sam into his arms the night of the fire.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make a scene,” Sam said as he eyeballed the gauze on his right arm and felt the stitches on his face. He was reaching up to touch his neck when Dean intercepted his hands.

“Easy there. You don’t want to undo the good doctor’s work, Frankenstein.” Dean continued to hold Sam’s hand even after Sam stopped trying to touch his neck.

“What happened to my neck?” Sam whispered. The room was swirling around in earnest and he felt so tired.

“Just rest. We’ll talk when the doctor gets back.” Dean didn’t want Sam to go back to sleep but the kid couldn’t keep his eyes open.

As Sam drifted off he thought of his latest vision. He had a way to kill the Demon. It meant he would die, too, but at this point he was willing to do anything to take that bastard out. He restlessly tumbled into sleep.

Dean continued to hold Sam’s hand. The iciness had been replaced with warmth. Almost too much warmth. He looked at Sam’s face and saw a thin sheen of sweat. He was reaching for the call button when the doctor reappeared.

“We’ve got a problem, Mr. Whitecastle,” the doctor began. Reaching forward Dr. Ford touched Sam on his undamaged arm and squeezed lightly, “Sam, can you hear me?” The doctor watched avidly as Sam slowly blinked up at him.

“Sam, you have what we call Transfusion-associated graft-vs-host disease. GVHD refers to an immune attack by transfused cells against the recipient. It’s an exceedingly rare complication of blood transfusion and only occurs in severely immunosuppressed patients. We’re going to do everything we can to stabilize you.” The doctor patted Sam on the arm before turning to Dean.

Sam stared at the doctor in disbelief.

“May I please see you outside for a moment?” the doctor asked Dean.

Nodding, Dean turned to Sam, “I’ll be right back Sammy.”

Sam nodded his head in understanding but he was already in another place, trying to work out what was happening.

Following the doctor into the hallway Dean knew he wasn’t going to like this conversation.

“Why didn’t you tell us that your brother’s been sick?” Dr. Ford asked Dean as he crossed his arms in front of him.

“What are you talking about? I thought he was coming down with a virus or something.” Dean was taken aback by the doctor’s question and his body language.

“GVHD only occurs in people with congenital immune deficiencies, of which your brother appears to be free of, or to people with hematologic malignancies who are receiving intensive chemotherapy.”

“Chemotherapy? Like for cancer?" Dean was trying to wrap his head around what the doctor was telling him. Sam didn’t have cancer.

“I suppose it’s a moot point now. GVHD is fatal.” Dr. Ford’s features relaxed as he saw Dean’s face fall. “We’re going to make Sam as comfortable as we can but I’m afraid he only has a short time to live.” Clasping a floundering Dean on the shoulder he headed off to the nurses station.

Dean watched the doctor go, his mouth slightly open, his fingers tingling.

Fatal? That didn’t make sense. Sam wasn’t meant to die in some hospital. He was supposed to go out in a blaze of glory, with Dean by his side. Butch and Sundance style.

Dean pushed back into Sam’s room, unsure of what exactly to say to Sam. He fidgeted from foot to foot, trying to find the right words.

“It’s okay, Dean. I’m going to be fine.” Sam had seen his own death, and it didn't happen in some hospital.

“Sammy. The doc said it’s fatal.” Dean looked at Sam, his eyes swimming in tears.

“No, Dean. The doctor’s wrong.” Sam knew he probably sounded like he was in denial but he knew his time wasn’t up. Not yet.

“Please promise me, if I’m not dead by tomorrow you’ll get me out of here. Promise me Dean,” Sam whispered.

“Sure, Sammy. Whatever you want.” Dean valiantly fought back his sobs in the face of Sam’s determination.

Dean continued to watch Sam as he moved restlessly on the hospital bed. Sam’s fever had spiked to 103 which made his joints ache. It also made his dreams more vivid.

Dean tried to comfort Sam with a cold compress but Sam just couldn’t seem to get comfortable.

“Dean?!” Sam weakly cried as he tried ineffectually to sit up.

“Right here, Sammy. Lay back and relax,” Dean tried to sooth Sam who must have suffered yet another nightmare.

“Dean, please, I need to know…what did Dad,” harsh coughs interrupted Sam’s question to Dean.

Dean fetched a cup of water from the tray table and stuck a straw in it. Leaning forward he gently placed the straw between Sam’s lips. Sam was able to take one sip before he turned his head to the side, violently coughing.

Dean rubbed Sam’s arm. His skin was so moist and hot that contact was probably uncomfortable but since he didn’t try to pull away Dean continued to stroke his arm. Dean hoped that some of his strength was conveyed to Sam by touching him.

Sam finally settled back against the bed, cheeks flushed. Dean hated seeing Sammy like this. Completely lacking in energy and subdued. Not to mention in distress.

Dean wanted to tell Sam what their Dad had said to him. It might be unfair to unburden himself while Sam was so sick but he didn’t want there to be any more secrets between them. Especially if…he couldn’t let his mind wander there. Sam had to get better.

“Sam, about Dad. He said,” Dean paused as Sam seemed to wilt against the sheets.

“Sammy, you with me?” Dean leaned forward in concern. Sam’s breathing seemed more labored and he didn’t respond to Dean.

Dean grabbed the call light and activated it. Someone needed to find a way to fix his little brother because Dean refused to let him die.

Twenty-four hours later found Sam propped up in his bed, feeling vastly better. He still had intermittent dizziness but the fever had finally broken and the coughing had dissipated.

“Your red blood cell count is still off and there’s a low level of radiation in your body that we can’t account for,” Dr. Ford said, pausing to stare first at Dean and then Sam, still not believing that Sam hadn’t recently undergone chemotherapy. “All signs point to you regaining your health.”

Dr. Ford left the room after telling Dean and Sam that the GVHD seemed to have spontaneously cleared. He was now making arrangements for Sam to be transferred to a cancer institute for study. Something about miracle cures.

Dean, at a loss for words, leaned forward and pulled Sam into a hug, shocking his brother. Winchesters didn’t hug.

Sam weakly returned the hug.

“I think it’s time to get out of here before I’m shipped across the state. Did you bring me clothes?” Sam asked as he slid his legs out of bed. He gave himself a moment to adjust and let the dizziness pass before he pulled on the jeans and shirt Dean threw on the bed.

“I’m going to grab a wheelchair. Be ready to roll in five, no pun intended.” Dean said as he cracked the door open. The hallway was clear as he made his way toward the nurses station where he’d seen a spare wheelchair earlier. His luck was still holding. The chair was his for the taking.

Dean propelled the chair back to Sam’s room and was dismayed to find Sam kneeling on the floor next to the bed.

“Sammy? Let me help you up.” Dean gently tugged Sam upright, mindful of his stitches and sutures and deposited him in the wheelchair.

“Maybe you’re not ready to make a break for it yet,” Dean said as he took in Sam’s pallor. The doctor might have been wrong about Sam having a fatal illness but he still wasn’t the picture of health.

“Just a little dizziness. It will pass. Can we please get out of here now?” Sam turned his large, pleading eyes on his brother who caved in immediately.

“Fine, Princess. But you’d better not pass out on me again.” Dean checked the hall before pushing Sam out of the room.

It was time to take Sam home. Home being wherever the Impala took them both.

Someone tried to tell me something
Don’t let the world bring you down
Nothing will do me in before I do myself
So save it for your own and the ones you can help
>

After fleeing the hospital, Dean had driven Sam to the next town and booked them a room. He didn’t want to take the chance of running into Dr. Ford, Mr. Johnson, or anyone else from Cairo. He just wanted Sam to have some peace and quiet to mend.

Sam’s cuts and bruises stood out against his pale skin. But as sickly as Sam looked it was his quietness that was starting to get to Dean. But Dean didn’t realize that Sam was wrestling with life and death issues. Namely Sam’s life or death.

Sam was grappling with the vision of him and the Demon in New Madrid. Despite everything he’d been through Sam had never considered himself suicidal. But contemplating going to Missouri and confronting the Demon was tantamount to committing suicide.

Sam believed he took on the power of those kids who had been marked by the Demon the closer he got to them. The kid who had started the house fire in New Madrid had the ability to manipulate energy. Sam's theory was that he could tap into the power of this "Chosen One" in New Madrid and blow the Demon sky high in the process. At least that's what the vision seemed to suggest.

As much as he wanted to obliterate the Demon the thought of abandoning Dean had Sam sinking further into depression each day.

Everyone Sam had ever loved had been killed by the Demon -- his Mother, Jessica. He even thought the Demon had something to do with his Dad's death.

Everyone except Dean. Sam vowed to save Dean's life, no matter what the cost. It wouldn't be easy for Dean, but it was all he had left to give. Now he just needed to say goodbye.

Silence. Almost a whole week of it. Sam had withdrawn into himself and no matter what Dean did or said he couldn’t break through the wall of silence Sam had erected.

Sam was propped up against the headboard, listlessly watching the TV. Dean cleared his throat. He wanted Sam to talk to him.

“I was thinking of ordering in pizza. Or maybe you’d like to get out for a while. We could go to the diner next store. What do you think?” Dean braced himself for the standard Sam response.

Up until now every question Dean had asked Sam had been met with indifference. “Whatever you want, Dean, that’s fine, Dean…” It was as if Sam couldn’t be bothered with the mundane details of living.

Sam shook his head and turned his full attention on his brother. “Remember when you said we should take some time out for us? I was thinking maybe we should head for the Grand Canyon,” Sam replied to a stunned Dean. Sam knew what he had to do and now he wanted to spend a little quality time with Dean.

“I was actually thinking we should eat a little more locally but if you want to eat at the Grand Canyon that’s fine with me,” Dean managed to fire back. He wasn’t sure what had inspired Sam’s change of heart but he was going to seize the moment.

“Let’s eat at the diner now and head for Arizona in the morning,” Sam said, grinning at Dean. As if a black cloud had finally lifted both brothers were smiling and laughing. A road trip purely for fun was in the offing.

The Impala lazily meandered away from Southern Illinois and toward Arizona. The boys weren’t on a time table and were content to coast along at their own pace. Although with Dean behind the wheel their own pace often times topped 100 mph but that was just another joy to be experienced on their road trip.

Sam was content to bask in Dean’s happiness. It was only their first day on the road but for once they were both at peace with each other and the world. Of course if Dean knew the reason for Sam’s peaceful state of mind he might not be so accommodating.

During his recuperation Sam had time to put the pieces of the puzzle together. At least he thought he understood and he was willing to bet his life on it. Go to Missouri, tap into the power of the kid who had committed arson, and blow up the Demon.

Sam had written it all down in a journal so that one day Dean would know why he’d done it.

This road trip was his parting gift to Dean. He hoped Dean would remember the fun they had together instead of dwelling on the grief of losing him.

To be honest with himself, it never should have come down to this. If he’d pulled the trigger on the Colt in the cabin then the Demon would be history. Of course he would have killed John Winchester, too, but since their Dad had ended up dying what difference did it really make? He didn’t pull the trigger because he didn’t want Dean to hate him. Instead Dean had ended up hating himself, blaming himself for their Dad’s death. What a tangled web.

Sam suddenly felt a wave of nausea overcome him. Reaching forward he turned the music off so he could ask Dean to pull over. Sam closed his eyes and breathed slowly in and out in an attempt to calm the bile churning through his stomach.

Dean knew something was wrong as soon as the music was snapped off. Glancing at Sam he quickly took in the pale skin and flushed cheeks. Zooming through the traffic he guided the Impala to the right and hit an exit. Signaling he pulled off to the side of the road as quickly as possible.

“Sam, what’s wrong?” Dean wasn’t sure what to do. He could see the abject misery on Sam’s face. They sat in silence for a few minutes as Sam tried to overcome the dizziness and urge to vomit.

Sam curled up against the coolness of the window. He was afraid if he answered Dean, if he made any sudden movement, he’d be spectacularly sick. Not exactly the gift he wanted to leave Dean with.

“I see a motel up ahead. I’m going to get us a room. Just hold tight Sam.” Dean had observed the grooves bracketing Sam’s mouth and the way he was grinding his teeth together. Sam was on the verge of worshipping the Porcelain Goddess and it was Dean’s job to find a stationary goddess for him.

Within ten minutes Dean had Sam settled in another cheap motel room. Sam had walked, or rather weaved, into the room under his own steam but Dean was still concerned. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken Sam out of the hospital so quickly. Or maybe this road trip wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe Sam just needed to rest more.

As Sam collapsed onto the motel bed, Dean wet a washcloth with cold water and set it across Sam’s forehead. It was then that he noticed what looked like little blisters around Sam’s mouth.

Dean picked up the washcloth and softly drew it across Sam’s fevered face. Dean noticed Sam’s eyes were open. Glassy with fever but open.

Dr. Ford’s words about low level radiation sprang into his mind. Radiation caused blisters. “Sam, I think we’ve got to get you to a doctor. You need help.”

“No, just let me rest a while. I’ll be fine,” Sam managed to choke out.

Sam was pretty certain he knew why he felt so bad. Having decided to take the southern route to Arizona they were now in Missouri. Probably close to New Madrid. It looked like his vision was on the verge of playing out. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. The timing was all wrong. He was being cheated out of his remaining time with Dean.

Sam resigned himself to his fate.

“Dean, could you please get me some ginger ale? I think that will help settle my stomach,” Sam quietly asked. He didn’t want to leave Dean. Hell, he didn’t want to die. But there was no choice. This was the only way he could save Dean.

“Sure. Just kick back and take it easy. Let the World’s Greatest Brother take care of you,” Dean quipped as he grabbed up the car keys.

As Dean walked by the bed Sam snagged his hand. “You are the World’s Greatest Brother.” Sam knew Dean didn’t like overt shows of emotion and wasn’t surprised when Dean yanked his hand away looking uncomfortable. But he meant every word and wanted Dean to know it.

“Well, if you quit hanging on to the World’s Greatest Brother you’ll get your ginger ale some time this year.” Dean patted Sam on the shoulder.

Sam smiled sadly at his brother. This was it. His last goodbye. He prayed silently that Dean would understand and forgive him.

As soon as the motel door clicked shut Sam pulled himself to his feet. He left water running in the sink and locked the bathroom door hoping that would add to the head start he needed. He slipped out of the motel room and headed for the gas station. He hoped to find a ride to New Madrid there.

The road trip was canceled. Game on.

Want to make it understood
Wanting though I never would
Trying though I know it»s wrong
Blowing it to hell and gone
Wishing though I never could
Blow up the outside world

Dean didn’t like the way Sam had looked and raced to the convenience store for ginger ale to return within ten minutes.

Letting himself into the motel room Dean saw that Sam was no longer in bed. He heard water running in the bathroom.

Knocking on the door, Dean quietly called, “Sam, I’m back.” Dean didn’t hear Sam moving around and immediately became suspicious. Ignoring the fact that Sam was obviously sick, Dean realized something else was going on, too.

Sam had wanted Dean to leave the room even though a sick Sam never wanted Dean far from him. And then there was that thing with the Greatest Brother in the World. Dean had been joking around but Sam hadn’t.

“Sam, you’d better be decent because I’m coming in,” Dean called as he kicked in the bathroom door.

No Sammy.

Dean charged back into the room and noticed that one of Sam’s small bags was missing but the rest of his things were still there. So he wasn’t planning on going far.

Dean upended the large remaining bag, looking for clues. Wading through the clothes and books his eyes finally rested on a journal that Dean hadn’t seen before.

Dean snatched it up and began scanning the pages. His eyes took in the “other chosen one,” ability to manipulate energy, confrontation with the Fire Demon…Dean felt nauseous as he realized what his brother intended. His sweet, soulful brother was planning on sacrificing himself in order to take out the Fire Demon responsible for both Mary Winchester’s and Jessica’s deaths.

“NO! I WON’T LOSE YOU, TOO!” Dean railed at the motel room walls. He was beside himself with both anger and dread; angry that his brother would try something so stupendously stupid on his own and dread that Dean might not be in time to save him from himself.

Dean had lost first his mother and then his dad to this demon. There was no way in hell he was going to lose his baby brother as well.

Dean grabbed up a bag of weapons and stomped out to the Impala. He needed to stop at the gas station for directions to New Madrid. Once there, he’d have his work cut out from him as he tried to track down Sam. Of course with Sam’s height and obvious sickness he should be easy to find.

He was so unbelievably mad at Sammy. Why hadn’t he told Dean about his vision? And the blisters and radiation sickness finally made some sense; that must be some power source he was tapping into.

Didn’t Sam realize they were in this together?

And then it dawned on Dean that Sam had only followed in his older, equally clueless, brother’s footsteps. Dean had withheld information about Sam at his Dad’s request but had withheld it nonetheless. Sam was only following in the time honored tradition of all Winchester males…hold on to your secrets at all costs.

But this cost was simply too high. Sam might be willing to pay the price but Dean wasn’t.

As Dean pulled into the gas station he noticed a tall figure disappearing around the side of the convenience store. The same store he’d just been at to buy ginger ale. Dean quietly parked the Impala on the far side of the lot and approached the back of the building from the other side.

If Dean hadn’t been so colossally mad at Sam his heart would have broken at the sight before him. Sam was kneeling on the ground, holding his stomach, as he rocked back and forth. Sam looked truly pathetic in his misery.

Dean, knowing better then to underestimate his opponent, cautiously approached his brother. Sam heard him coming and heaved himself to his feet, ready to hare off at the first opportunity.

“Sam, I know. I found your journal.” Dean forced himself to talk slowly and softly. He needed to get close enough to subdue Sam. Then he planned on getting him to the Impala and putting as much distance between this place and the brothers as possible.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam replied as he stepped backward until his back bumped up against the wall of the store.

“No, I won’t let you do this. Sam, there’s got to be another way.” Dean continued to stalk forward.

Sam had heard those words before. Shaking his head, trying desperately to focus, he said, “I’m sorry Dean, this is the only way to end it.”

He spotted his small bag and briefly turned his back on Dean to make a grab for it. “I can’t let the Demon hurt anyone else…”

Sam never finished his sentence. First Dean tugged him around by the arm and then Dean’s right fist connected a solid blow to the left side of Sam’s jaw.

Sam’s head snapped back as he staggered backward trying to catch his balance. Tripping over his bag Sam’s feet shot out from under him and his head collided with the brick wall. Sam saw stars and then he saw nothing.

Dean shook his right hand out. “Sonnuva bitch. That really hurt.”

Dean wasted no time in first snagging Sam’s bag and then hefting his unconscious brother over his shoulder.

He couldn’t believe that things had come to this point. Sam wouldn’t or couldn’t talk to him and Dean had to do something, anything to save Sam. Even hurt him.

“Come on, hero, time to get you out of here,” Dean grunted as he slowly made his way to the Impala. Blessing his good luck, he realized no one was around to see him kidnap his own brother. Carefully folding Sam into the passenger seat Dean quickly buckled him in and then himself before guiding the car back to the motel.

After a mad dash through their room to retrieve their things and grab Sam’s ginger ale and wet cloth, Dean had the Impala loaded and they were once again back on the road. Next stop – the Grand Canyon.

Sam still hadn’t roused and two hours had gone by. Dean steered the car off the interstate and into a wayside.

The blisters around Sam’s mouth had faded but there was now a nasty bruise along his left jaw. Dean had a matching bruise on his right hand.

“Sam, are you in there?” Dean tapped Sam’s cheek gently, noticing that the wounds on his face where he’d connected with the sliding glass door were healing nicely.

Sam responded with a groan.

“Come on, Sam, time to rise and shine,” Dean persisted. He’d feel better once he was treated to the sight of Sam glaring at him.

“Stop, haven’t you hit me enough for one day?” Sam whispered. He cautiously opened his eyes and looked around. “Where are we?”

“No where near New Madrid and that crappy plan of yours. Blowing up the Demon. That was your plan? What the hell were you thinking?” Dean was just as upset now as he’d been when he’d realized what Sam planned to do.

“Could you please not shout? My head is killing me,” Sam quietly replied in the face of Dean’s anger.

Sam cradled his head in his hands as tears started to snake down his face. He would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he was still happy to be alive but in his vision he had destroyed the demon and that was the Holy Grail. He was bitterly disappointed at messing this opportunity up – disappointed with Dean for stopping him and disappointed with himself for letting him.

“Sam, I’m so pissed off at you that I think my head is going to pop off…” Sam could hear Dean talking to him as if from a distance but he didn’t have the energy to respond or even listen.

His ears were ringing so loudly now all’s he could hear was a buzz. He just wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep. With that last thought he felt himself sliding into unconsciousness and didn’t try to stop it. The seatbelt kept him from falling into the dashboard but didn’t keep his head from lolling to the side against the window.

“Sam, don’t you fucking ignore me. Sam? Sammy?” Dean saw Sam’s head connect with the window and from Sam’s lax posture he could tell he had passed out again. This day just kept getting better and better.

Dean started looking for another motel. It was obvious that Sam needed to get off of the road. Bawling out Sam would just have to wait a little longer. At least until Sam was awake enough to hear it.

Dean had hauled Sam’s semi-unconscious ass into yet another motel room.

As mad as he was at Sam for heading off on his own he also felt regret for laying out Sam when his body was still on the ropes. But he didn’t feel that he’d had any choice.

Dean tried to make Sam comfortable on the lumpy single bed as he waited for Sam to wake up.

He watched as Sam frowned and then slowly blinked open his eyes.

Sam’s eyes were clear of the fever that had plagued him for the last week. But there was also a cold purpose in his eyes that made Dean stand back.

Sam jerkily sat up, swinging his legs to the side and throwing his feet on the ground. Dizziness once again assaulted him and he wavered. Dean rushed forward to steady him but Sam held a hand up warding him off.

Dean was taken aback at Sam’s behavior. It was as though Sam didn’t want Dean near him. Didn’t Sam realize he only wanted to make sure he was okay?

Dean ignored Sam’s warning signs and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Hey, just relax for a moment,” Dean said as he looked Sam over closely. His usually calm, even-tempered brother seemed to be in the grip of a rage so strong he was shaking.

Sam knocked Dean’s hand off his shoulder and staggered to his feet.

“Don’t touch me, Dean. Just don’t…” Sam was at a loss. He was all mixed up inside.

“Sammy, please. Just let me help you,” Dean said as he took a step closer to Sam. He didn’t like the way Sam looked, all pale and sweaty. And far too upset.

“Help me? Did you just say you wanted to help me? Like you did when you knocked me out and dragged me away from New Madrid?” Sam was so distressed he reached up and yanked on his own hair. “Do you realize what you just did? That might have been my only chance to kill the Demon!”

Dean, watching Sam tear at his own hair, just wanted Sam to calm down. “Sam, what do you want from me? Just tell me what you want.”

Sam launched himself at Dean, tears of rage on his cheeks, crying, “You shouldn’t have come for me…”

Sam weakly battered at Dean with his fists but his anger was quickly spent and Dean easily dodged his arms finally capturing them and holding them firmly.

His emotions played out Sam found himself drooping forward against Dean’s chest. Dean released Sam’s arms to hold him close. Dean aimed them toward a bed and let them both sink onto it.

“Shhh…it’s going to be okay. We’ll make it okay,” Dean murmured into Sam’s hair. He rocked Sam back and forth as he used to when Sam was a baby.

“How can it be okay? The Demon is still alive. I only wanted to keep you safe,” Sam whispered as more sobs erupted from him.

“Sam, please look at me.” Dean waited until Sam’s crying abated and he was certain that Sam was listening to him before he continued, “The only way to keep me safe is to keep yourself safe. We have to do this together. Promise me that.”

Sam sat in silence for a moment. Dean could see that Sam’s tantrum had depleted his strength and his energy was flagging quickly.

“Promise?” Dean prompted as the silence stretched out.

“I promise. But it cuts both ways. And no more secrets between us, right?” Sam added as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

“The secrets end here,” Dean agreed. He was ready to share their Dad’s last words with Sam but his baby brother was out on his feet. It would have to keep a little longer.

Dean carefully lowered Sam onto the bed. “Listen, Bitch, if you ever pull a stunt like that again I’ll kill you myself,” Dean said as he reached forward and chucked Sam under the chin.

“Listen, Jerk, if you ever hit me again I’m going to vomit all over your car,” Sam answered back, grabbing Dean’s hand. For once Dean didn’t tug out of his grip and even perched on the side of Sam’s bed to stay close.

The brothers were still together. They had a lot to discuss but they were still alive and they were talking. It was a start.

A/N:  I’d like you all to please give a warm round of applause to Faye Dartmouth for her indefatigable beta on this fic. I may have been muttering under my breath as I added scenes at her suggestion but I think this is a better fic for it.