CHAPTER 1

"Dude, that had to have been the most hilarious movie I've ever seen-!"

"The part in the plane! 'It's a cookbook!' Oh man, I couldn't stop laughing-"

"And the penguins-"

"I know!"

"Yeah, yeah! No, the best part-"

"Yeah!"

"-when they said-"

"-they said-" the next words were spoken by both of them simultaneously.

"'We killed them and ate their livers!'" They both erupted into peals of hysterical laughter, Sam clutching his sides as he shook uncontrollably, crumbling into childish giggles, and Dean struggling to catch his breath while he drove down the highway in the afternoon sun, grinning so wide it hurt. They were laughing themselves silly, having just finished a job that involved spending long hours in a dentist's dull waiting room, where there just happened to be a tv playing some computer animated movie about a lion, a zebra, and several crazy lemurs. The movie was unexpectedly funny, and now they were laughing uncontrollably while remembering their favorite parts. Every time they were just about to calm down, catch their breath, and move on, one of them caught the other's eye, and the giggles that seemed ridiculously kiddish for men of their occupation burst out of nowhere, and neither of them could form words because the laughs just wouldn't stop.

By the time Sam was able to sigh happily, finally finished laughing enough for a lifetime, he remembered that he was exhausted. One glance over at Dean, who was just returning his full focus to the road, told him that his big brother was just as tired as he was.

It had been a long hunt, a long day, and after their very long laugh, Sam figured they could both use a long night of deep sleep.

"Alright Dean," Sam said, chuckling only once, "I'm ready to call it a day." He looked over at the driver for approval, grinning a bit after their shared amusement just moments ago. Dean glanced at him, his grin mirroring Sam's, and he gave a small nod before turning back to watch the road and replying.

"Yeah, I'm beat, too. Whaddaya say we find the nearest one-star establishment and hit the sack?"

"Sounds perfect to me."

* * *

Dean took the next exit they hit off the highway, and he had his eyes peeled for any motel boasting vacancy. He felt good. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a real good laugh, and he still couldn't stop grinning. He looked over at Sam whose eyes were already closed.

"Can't even make it another five minutes, Sammy?" he joked, knowing that Sam wasn't actually sleeping yet.

"Naw, I'm not that tired," Sam responded, "just have a headache."

The mood died. Dean felt the smile leave his face and concern take its place. Sam must have noticed the abrupt change in atmosphere too, because he opened his eyes and looked around confusedly. Seeing Dean's face, he looked like he regretted mentioning it at all.

"No," Sam amended quickly, eyes wide, "not that kind of headache!" His expression told Dean that he was trying desperately to bring back the happy that had dissipated so quickly, "It's just…just a normal one…a normal headache…" Dean nodded, relaxing a little but not entirely. He knew Sam wasn't lying, and that it was probably nothing to worry about.

But the mood was officially killed.

It was a shame, really. The laughter had only ended minutes before, and the feeling of enjoyment and just plain peace had been too short-lived for his liking. It struck him as frustrating how quickly their levity had been destroyed by something as simple as a headache. Their lives were so abnormal; anything could turn a comfortable situation into a dangerous one.

He wished the laughter could come back. It didn't.

He drove a further ten minutes in the newly thick silence that seemed slightly tense and unpleasantly tangible, like someone had leeched out all of the light, sweet air that had been in the car and replaced it with a dense, stale gas that was laced with a reminder of their buried fears.

It sucked.

As they were pulling into the parking lot of the first motel Dean spotted, he searched his mind for something to say to bring back the smile to his brother's face. The look of guilty disappointment that was there now was almost painful to see.

"I'll, uh," Dean said as he switched off the ignition, trying to catch Sammy's eye, "I'll only be a minute…unless the clerk happens to be blonde, eighteen, and single, in which case you might have to check yourself into your own room." He gave a small smirk, and was glad to see it reciprocated on his kid brother's face. Sam shook his head in mock annoyance, but his spreading grin made Dean feel a world of accomplishment.

"Just hurry up, Alfred, before I fall asleep in the car." Dean snorted as he opened the door and stepped out, leaning down to speak before he left.

"Dude, you're Alfred; I'm Batman. You couldn't even pull off Robin."

"Hey-"

Sam's smart comeback was cut off as Dean quickly shut the door on his sibling's voice. Chuckling to himself and casting Sam an 'I win' glance as he jogged to the front office, he saw the brown shaggy hair and glimmer of white moving as Sam shook his head and grinned.

Glad that some measure of lightheartedness had returned, Dean was in a relatively good mood when he ordered their room despite the lack of a female clerk to flirt with. He even managed to maintain most of his crooked smile as he strode out the door into the late afternoon, heading toward the black Impala only yards away.

Getting closer, he raised his eyebrows when he saw that Sam had indeed fallen asleep in the car. The kid's head was turned and leaned against the window, his body relaxed and shoulder's sort of slouched.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy…" Dean muttered, amused, to himself. Asleep already? So much for 'not that tired'… He crossed over to the car and tapped once on the windshield before heading to the trunk to get their stuff.

Setting their duffels on the ground next to the car and closing the trunk, Dean frowned slightly when he saw that Sam hadn't gotten out yet. Dean rolled his eyes and gave a small sigh before walking to Sam's door and rapping the window a little harder than he had before.

"Sam," he called, expecting him to jump or something. Dean continued to frown when his brother didn't move, head resting against the window, mouth slightly open, eyes hidden beneath that too-long hair of his.

"Sammy?" concern made its way into his tone now as he reached to open the door himself. Sam lurched to his side a bit, no longer held up by the door, but he remained in his seat because of the seatbelt. His body was still lax, slumped and unmoving save for his right arm that fell out of his lap and dangled limply when the door was opened.

"Sam!" Dean squatted anxiously by his side, about to reach over and attempt to shake his brother awake, but just as he was eye level with Sam he realized that his brother was not sleeping.

Sam's eyes were open and moving. His gaze was slightly unfocused, like he was confused, but the dominant emotion within those eyes was fear; Sam looked utterly terrified.

Dean's raised arms hung in the air, unsure where to go or what to do. Eyes wide, he heard his own voice, low and rushing, full of worry.

"Sam, what's wrong?! What-" his frantic questions were interrupted by a much quieter word, a whisper that was rough and gurgling; Sam's voice, but as if he was being simultaneously drowned and strangled.

"D-de-ee…" Dean felt his eyes widen further, and he was horrified to see blood begin to seep from Sam's mouth in a nonstop flow, his body start to twitch and jerk, like he was in pain, and more gurgling, choking noises come from the back of his throat.

It was only then that time returned to its usual speed, and he realized he hadn't noticed before that things had slowed down considerably. He reached frantically to undo the seatbelt before wrenching Sam from the car, pulling him into his arms and lifting him as he would a child, ignoring how the weight pulled at his muscles, ignoring that Sam was far too large to be cradled like this, ignoring every instinct that demanded he must not panic. He kneeled on the sidewalk at the edge of the lot with Sam in his arms, yelling as he held him with shaking hands, his shouted words mixing calls for help with words of assurance.

"HELP! Someone call an ambulance!...It's okay Sam, I've gotcha…SOMEBODY HELP ME, PLEASE!" he pulled his cell roughly from his pocket, dialing while Sam's pain-induced tears mixed with the copious amounts of blood snaking down his chin and neck, "You're alright, Sammy, I'm right here...Hello?! I'm at the Sunset Inn on Downy – something, something's wrong with my brother...Stay with me Sam, c'mon!...I don't know, there's blood coming from his mouth…Hold on, Sammy, please…I-I don't think he can breathe!...SAM!" Dropping the phone Dean grasped his brother tighter, pulling him up and close. He could still feel him trembling and hear him choking on blood.

Dean didn't realize that the clerk from the front office and his manager had heard his shouts, joined him outside, picked up his phone, and continued to talk to the 911 dispatcher. He didn't hear the sirens as the paramedics pulled up and rushed about trying to save Sam's life. All he could see was the sheer terror in Sam's eyes, the shock on his face. All he could hear was the strangled, gurgling sounds that Sam was making. All he could think about was the fact that he didn't know what was happening, what to do, how to fix it.

It was all he could do not to let panic consume him completely when the ambulance took Sammy away in a blur of sirens and squealing tires.

* * *

Dean paced across the too clean hallway, hating the familiar scent of antiseptic and the tinny sounds of whirring machines. The clock on the wall must have stopped, because Dean was certain that it was impossible for time to move this slow. Far-off pages for doctors and surgeons over the scratchy P.A. system mixed with the slight squeak of rubber-wheeled gurney's traveling the halls, and somewhere a small ding announced the arrival of an elevator on the floor.

It was driving Dean crazy.

Four hours. Fours hours he'd been waiting. Fours hours too many. Running his hand through his hair again, he swore, willing the doors at the end of the hallway that barred Sam from him to open and bring good news. He begged silently for someone, anyone to come and tell him that everything was all right, that Sam was okay and there was a perfectly logical reason for what had happened.

The sandy-haired hunter glanced anxiously up at the clock again. This was taking too long.

It was with an immense amount of relief blended with dread that Dean noticed a scrub-clad doctor with a clipboard heading toward him.

"My brother - is he okay? Is-is he alright? Wh-?" countless questions, fears, and assumptions cluttered Dean's mind, and it was a good thing that the doctor interrupted with a raised hand and a calm voice.

"He'll be just fine; have a seat." Dean's knees nearly buckled, and relief washed over him in a swift, almost hysterical wave, so that he wasn't sure whether to cry or giggle. Fighting the severe giddiness that had risen up in him, Dean managed to make it to the chair that was set against the wall before collapsing and putting his face in his hands.

"Thank god, thank god…" was all Dean could get out, and he sensed the doctor was giving him a moment to collect himself before speaking again.

"Mr…" Dean looked up wearily to see the tall, clean-shaven man with graying, cropped hair checking the clipboard in his hand for the fake name Dean had given the hospital, "…Lambert, uh, Dean, I am Dr. Ritsema. I performed the surgery on your brother Samuel."

"Surgery?" Dean's insides felt like lead.

"Yes," the Dr. Ritsema looked impressively professional, but compassionate, "the injuries that Samuel came to us with-"

"I don't understand," Dean interjected, mind spinning wildly as he searched for any recollection of Sam being hurt before he'd left him in the car, "what happened to him? He was fine one minute and then choking the next-"

"Mr. Lambert, when Samuel-"

"It's Sam," Dean corrected with a pang as he remembered how much Sam hated being called 'Samuel'. Dr. Ritsema cocked a weary eyebrow, but continued.

"Sam, then," the surgeon amended politely, "When Sam arrived his respiratory system was indeed congested with a large amount of blood-"

"Why-"

"-due to severe the internal bleeding he suffered from numerous lacerations and puncture wounds on the inside of his stomach and lungs…" Dean felt his eyes bulge; he knew Sam hadn't been hurt in any way shape or form that came close to that kind of injury before he left him. He tried to control his breathing as the doctor continued, reading solemnly from his clipboard, "…the damage therein was similar to what we might expect from a stab wound or severe animal attack. However-"

"What?!" Dean couldn't help but interrupt, and he realized with an abrupt swerve of dizziness that he was on his rather unsteady feet, "You're saying someone did this to him?!" A fury like hot liquid swooped through him, and Dean had a sudden urge to start shooting at nothing in particular.

"No." Dr. Ritsema's quick and authoritative reply somehow halted the rising anger, and confusion found its place in the forefront of Dean's mind. Immediately his brain supplied random possibilities that were too ridiculous to be reality: Sam did it to himself…Sam tried to kill himself…I did it without knowing…I'm possessed…I-

"I-I don't under…understand…" he could hear how quiet his voice had suddenly gotten, discern the whispered fear that had suddenly revealed itself in his tone, and for some reason his hands had started trembling and wouldn't stop.

"Mr. Lambert," Dr. Ritsema lowered his clipboard looking Dean directly in the face with an expression of absolute candidness, "Dean…Sam's insides were severely injured, but outside he was perfectly whole. There were no entry wounds for a blade or bullet, no marks of any attack or violent encounter, nothing whatsoever to explain the bleeding inside him."

Dean fell back on the chair, speechless and blank-faced, staring at the doctor as he spoke slightly faster and more worriedly, "Now I have been a surgeon at this hospital for thirty-three years," the doctor was looking deeply serious, like he was especially concerned or even disturbed by what he was saying, "but never in my medical studies or career have I ever seen something like this. What happened to your brother is impossible, but I just performed a four-hour surgery on the impossible, and so I have no choice but to accept it." Worry lines creased the doctor's face, and his hand was gesturing down the hall to the doors he had entered from, "I need to know, Mr. Lambert, if you have any idea, any idea at all what could have caused this to happen, because there is nothing a person can swallow that could do that kind of damage, and there is no physical way for it without an entry wound. So if you have any information about who or what could have done this to your brother, I would like to know it now."

It occurred to Dean that Dr. Ritsema actually looked upset; very nearly angry and slightly frightened. The man was leaning towards the sandy-haired hunter with an expectant look on his face, hand still pointing to the doors at the end of the hall. Some part of Dean determined that doctor's didn't usually act like this, but then again, doctor's apparently didn't usually encounter things like this either.

It was with his mind whirling in his head and his heart hammering in his ears that Dean's stammering voice answered the surgeon's question. Dean wasn't unaccustomed to lying, but this was one time when he didn't have to.

"I…I have no idea."

But Dean knew he wouldn't rest until he found out.