Dean was dying. Dean was broken, and he was dying. Sam could no longer take being in the hospital room, watching the incessant beeping of his brother's heart monitor. It was so strong and steady now, even if Dean looked like death, but Sam was afraid that if he stayed in the room long enough, it would stop completely. His brother's heart would fail, and he would be there to see it. The thought made a large lump grow in the younger Winchester's throat, and he blinked several times before swallowing hard and continuing his research. Everything he had come up with so far pointed to one thing, and it was the same thing the doctors had already told him. The same thing he refused to acknowledge as anything resembling the truth. After calling John, and knowing that their father wouldn't show up, Sam lay back on the bed, breathing heavily. His first thought after he hung up the phone was that their father was an ass. A complete and total ass. He knew that John Winchester was busy, and was trying to hunt down the thing that had killed his wife, their mom, and Jess, but the idea that he, as their father, wouldn't even take a break to see his dying son made Sam sick. Dean had never been anything but loyal to John, and now he was getting stabbed in the back. He was going to be left alone.

That most recent thought sent a chill up his spine, and he jumped off the bed about as quickly as he could. Sam hated seeing Dean in a hospital bed, attached to machines and looking not at all like his big brother, but he'd be damned if he would let Dean be alone. If there was one thing that Sam had discovered about his brother during their mission, it was that Dean didn't do alone well. As quickly as he could, Sam drove to the hospital and parked haphazardly, not caring if a ticket would be there when he got back. The sudden urgency to see his older brother made his pulse quicken as he took the steps two at a time and shot down the hallway. Visiting hours were well over, Sam knew this, but he snuck into Dean's room anyway.

As his gaze fell upon the silent figure of Dean, Sam's breath caught. The moonlight filtering through the blinds made his elder look ghostly. The beeping of his heart monitor gave Sam goose bumps, knowing that this was the machine that was making sure Dean was still alive. He pulled a plastic chair up to the side of Dean's bed and sat down, placing his head in his hands. Dean was fast asleep, and when Sam looked up, the peace that was evident on his brother's face made Sam's heart skip a beat. Dean looked so innocent, so helpless, so weak, so vulnerable, so Un-Dean.

"Dean, man, you've got to fight this," he found himself talking. The words came much easier when he knew Dean wasn't listening. The tears came easier, too.

"I need you to fight this," he continued, not caring that his cheeks were quickly becoming wet, "You can't leave me, because I need you to stay. Who's gonna keep me in line when I find Dad?"

Sadness quickly turned into anger, blame. "How could you do this? Why were you so reckless, Dean? You've never slipped up like this before, God, those guns were at 100,000 volts. What were you thinking!" He chided quietly.

Anger quickly turned to guilt, new blame. "I should have been down there to help you. I shouldn't have left you; I shouldn't have given you that gun. I should have stayed. I could have stopped this, I could have protected you for once, for all the times you've protected me."

Anger morphed back into sadness, blame was gone. "Dean, please."

He looked up at his brother's face, still peaceful, still asleep. The dark circles under his eyes chilled Sam to the bone, but it was the pale of everything else, the almost translucent quality of Dean's skin that chilled Sam's blood. He grabbed Dean's hand and then almost dropped it from the cool touch. He felt Dean's wrist to check for a pulse, his own senses disagreeing with the still steadily beeping heart monitor. The pulse was there, and Sam chocked out a sob of relief. Dean stirred, and Sam's eyes darted instantly to Dean's just opening, glossed-over, green eyes.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was weak and vague, thick with sleep and tinged with pain.

"Dean," Sam replied, trying to quell his tears. Dean was dying. Dean was broken and he was dying, and Sam couldn't take it, "I'm here," he managed.

"Don't leave," Dean uttered quietly.

"I won't if you won't," Sam replied, and Dean mustered up a smirk.

"Deal," the elder said, and then went back to sleep.