Chapter 1

The children had made it to the top of the stairs with Sam a step behind when the rawhead grabbed Sam's foot. He fell heavily, breath exploding from his lungs in a pained cry. Both kids screamed.

Classic horror movie, Dean thought as he sidestepped his falling brother. He swung his gun up and fired. Two electric darts jumped at the monster, slamming it with high voltage electric current.

On the stairs, Sam righted himself and scrambled to the top of the stairs. The rawhead twisted and dragged the gun from his hand. Dean cursed.

"Sam, get them out of here!"

Sam nodded. He tossed his stun gun. "Use this."

Dean caught it easily and steadied the weapon over his flashlight. He ducked around the wooden staircase before his brother could waste more time.

The basement, a jumbled heap of old furniture, made a great monster hideout. Dean stalked the length of it, splashing through the water running through a crack in the foundation. The water pooled and spread across the uneven concrete floor, and the air reeked of mildew and wet dog.

Not quite wet dog, Dean reminded himself, peering behind a half-rotted cardboard box. His heart raced. Why didn't monsters hide in upscale restaurants or gated communities? At least there he and Sammy could five-dollar discount a decent meal.

A rat scurried out of the box, and Dean jerked away with a grimace. The adrenaline was making him jumpy. Dust and shadow played tricks with the light streaming from the floorboards overhead. He felt movement behind him and spun, gun raised. Not fast enough.

The monster slammed into him. It felt like being hit by a truck – a hairy, smelly truck. Dean lost his gun and crashed into the far wall. He hit the ground hard and his head cracked off the wall, leaving him disoriented and unable to explain why the room smelled like dog when he didn't have one; his dad had never allowed it.

The monster growled low, an ungodly sound that triggered alarms in the back of Dean's mind. His eyes flashed open. He felt for the gun and spotted it three feet away as the rawhead snarled louder. Dean scrambled through a puddle as the beast came on. He grabbed the gun and turned, bracing himself in the damp corner as the monster lunged.

He fired and had just enough time to breathe a sigh of relief at the close call before the monster hit the puddle.

Searing pain rippled through the water and arced up Dean's body in hot blue sparks. His hand tightened around the gun, unable to let go as his vision gave way in a burst of electric static and his body thrashed under the electric current, slipping further and further into the water. Dean screamed, but the muscles in his throat were tight and no sound came out through his clenched mouth.

It all went dark after that.

/A.H.O.F.\

Sam couldn't get rid of the lump in his throat. It was there when he spoke to the police officers, when he gave the first fake credit card to the administrative nurse on staff, when the doctor told him the news. It had been there since the moment he'd run down the basement stairs and seen his brother lying unconscious in a pool of water, the stun gun still gripped in his smoking hand.

But now the doctor was talking about making Dean comfortable like his brother was an 80-year-old hospice patient instead of a 26-year-old man who could hunt down a wendigo in jeans and work boots. And Sam couldn't handle that. He pinched the bridge of his nose and forced back gathering tears. Hold it together, Winchester, he commanded himself. We're going to figure this out. It's a problem. It has a solution.

Sam had been a star in his pre-law program because of his ability to override emotion with clear cut logic. He reminded himself of that before entering Dean's hospital room, but it didn't do him much good. Dean was flicking through channels, but he didn't wear his usual devil-may-care attitude. His eyes were sunken and bruised, his face unusually pale.

"Have you ever actually watched daytime TV?" Dean said, his voice hoarse. "It's terrible."

He looked tired, Sam realized. Lying in that hospital bed with barely enough energy to lift the TV remote, Dean looked like the doctor said he was: a dying man.

"I talked to your doctor," Sam said, moving to the foot of his brother's bed.

"That fabric softener teddy bear…" Dean shook his head, still watching the television. "I'd like to hunt that little bitch down."

Sam took a shaky breath. They needed to talk about this. They needed to plan a course of action better than paying for hospice care with an alias ripped from 50 Most Notorious Serial Killers.

"Dean," he said, his voice firmer this time.

His brother sighed and dropped the remote control. It seemed to take him some effort for him just to sigh. "Right," he said. "Guess you're just gonna have to leave town without me."

Sam's eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"

"You'd better take care of that car, or I swear I'm going to haunt your ass."

"I don't think that's funny," Sam said. The knot in his throat was back. It choked off the rest of his words.

"C'mon, it's a little funny." Dean chuckled, but it was a tired laugh that made him close his eyes momentarily. Sam looked out the window at the bleak horizon and blinked back his tears again. He wasn't up to hear gallows humor from his dying brother.

"Look, Sammy, I drew the short straw. End of story." Dean shrugged.

Sam grimaced. "Don't talk like that. We still have options." There was medicine. He could get his brother on the transplant list. Herbal remedies. He'd heard about chakra meditations. And Sam knew there was lore out there about healing spells. After that, he could find a crossroads demon and strike a deal.

His brother made a rude noise. "You can't stop it," he said.

Sam met Dean's eyes. He had options, and after those ran out he had creativity left. "Watch me."

Three days later, surrounded by notes and old Chinese takeout, Sam called their dad. The call went to voicemail, which was just as well. Sam really didn't know what to say. How did you explain to your father that his firstborn was in Mercy General on his death bed?

He hesitated. "Hi dad… You probably already know this, but it's about Dean. He's sick and-" Sam took breath, steeling himself –"and the doctors say he's only got a couple weeks. A month at most. But they don't know what we do, right?"

Sam felt like he was lying to himself. All the corners he'd searched were empty. Only one of the leads might pan out. He managed a laugh and continued, "Don't worry about it. I'm going to do whatever it takes to get him back."

He hung up the phone and sat, biting his fingernails. He felt like an idiot for even calling. Of course his dad knew by now. Sam had called up all the hunters between here and Alaska looking for cures. One of them had to have mentioned something – even if it was just a passing condolence.

Someone knocked on the door. Sam glanced at the clock and was surprised to find that it was so late. Any visitor at this hour would be important. Relevant. Half hoping his father had answered him, Sam hurried to the door.

He wasn't expecting his brother waiting in the door frame.

"What are you doing here?" Sam blurted.

Dean pushed his way past Sam into the room. His skin looked clammy, but he grinned up at his little brother. Clever Sammy. Ingenious Sammy. Too-stubborn-to-change-hotel-rooms Sammy.

"Checked myself out," Dean said proudly. "I'm not dying in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot."

Sam shook his head and helped his brother to the bed. Dean looked relieved to be seated. His face had turned a whole new shade of pale between the door and the bed.

"I think I found something," Sam said. "A specialist in Nebraska."

Dean's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You're not going to let this go, are you?" he said after a long moment.

Sam stared, thunderstruck. Three days. He'd been away almost three days finding this lead, and it was a good one. He thought Dean might be relieved at a way out, maybe even happy. He hadn't expected this. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," Dean snapped. "So lay off it." He flopped down on the mattress. The bed screamed on its metal hinges, but for once he didn't complain. "Untie my shoes for me. I'm an old man, and I need my rest."

Sam rolled his eyes and played along. He wasn't sure that his brother was just milking his hospice leave. No matter how he made light of it, Dean probably was too tired to do it.

Dying could do that to you.

/A.H.O.F.\

Dean closed his eyes. He even managed to sleep for a while, but shortness of breath kept him close to wakefulness. So when Sammy draped a blanket over him and retired to his bed to get some rest, Dean heard it. He counted the minutes until Sam's breath evened into the familiar pattern of sleep.

Once he was sure his brother was asleep, Dean rolled off the creaky hotel bed and sat at Sam's makeshift desk. Dean's heart pounded relentlessly, and if it wasn't for the death sentence hanging over his head he might pop a couple aspirin and keep going. But he took the pain as a warning and paused to calm down before he began picking through Sam's notes.

Dean leafed through stacks of graphic printouts and illustrations. There were step-by-step handwritten notes on the phases of heart failure, from angina to tachycardia. It looked like Sam had learned how to do open heart surgery over the last few days. He had to hand it to Sammy. His little brother was thorough.

Dean paused momentarily to help himself to a half-eaten carton of cold noodles. He kicked back and enjoyed the silence. It was nice not to be worried about ghosts or monsters for a change. For months he'd just wanted to sit back, enjoy a beer and eat some greasy food. Granted, he hadn't thought it would be cold lo mein, but he wasn't picky. Once he picked out the vegetables it tasted like heaven.

Who knew, maybe he could take Sammy out for a beer before too long. He hadn't been around to buy rounds for his brother's 21st birthday. It should've been his job, but from what he'd seen since they started traveling Sam hadn't emerged from his energy drinks and soda phase. The kid needed to let loose and learn how to handle his liquor.

Maybe if he got Sam drunk enough they'd have an emotional bonding experience and Sam could come to terms with reality. Maybe Sammy would talk about Jess. Maybe they could screw being hunters for a night and just get piss-assed drunk like normal twenty-somethings. Dean mulled it over as he stirred his noodles. He knew that getting Sammy drunk was a longer shot than healing his heart, but the idea still consoled him.

After he finished off Sam's dinner, Dean scanned through the rest of his brother's research. He traced every lead to its final dead end. Herbal supplements weren't strong enough. Chi therapy worked for spiritual wounds affecting the heart, but Dean's injury was physical, plain and simple. He saw lists of spell ingredients, but Dean was sure Sammy wouldn't actually try to hire a witch. Witches were nasty, and they gave him the heebie-jeebies.

So where was this specialist Sam was so sure about?

Dean pulled Sam's laptop from its carry case and opened it. The home screen was password protected. Dean thought he could crack it. Sammy might be the resident family genius, but Dean had spent his school years learning practical skills. He paused, fingers poised over the keys, and thought.

Passwords were about people and weren't updated often. So what was Sammy into? Revenge, obviously. Demonology and lore, perhaps, but Dean thought not. He didn't remember Sam ever talking about a favored law school professor. He wasn't sentimental about their mom or their dad.

Dean's thoughts returned to revenge. Jessica. She'd been Sam's girlfriend for years. He'd never got the chance to get to know her, but he'd seen her from a distance a few times on down time. He knew Sam was pretty serious about her.

He typed her name. Nothing. Dean frowned and tried a variation. Nothing. He tried a combination of her name and birthday, then her name with their anniversary date. He tried variations using every punctuation mark and number combination, including the address of Sam's old apartment and the last digits of his social security number.

Finally, a bubble appeared over the login screen. "Need a hint?"

"I'll show you a hint," Dean grumbled, but he clicked the button anyway.

"Dean's bad taste," the bubble read.

Dean thought that behind his sweet exterior Sammy could be a real smartass. Over the last few months his brother had jibed him about everything from his fashion sense to his taste in women. Dean didn't know what Sam had against work boots or girls in crop-tops, but he didn't care if it got him inside the computer.

He tried a few variations based on the hint and came up with nothing. Dean thought hard, his tired mind slipping as he tried to remember. What was the first thing Sammy had said when he hopped into Dean's car at Stanford?

"Dude, seriously?" Dean could hear his brother's voice in the back of his mind but couldn't remember what Sam was holding.

It came back to him with a rush. Sam held Dean's box of cassettes, each tape a favorite Dean had picked up on his travels. Dean remembered snatching a Metallica tape out of his brother's hands and putting it away with an affectionate kiss. He didn't get why Sam was laughing at his cassettes, and his little college-educated brother had said, "Well, for starters, they're cassettes."

But the password wasn't any variation of cassette, and it dawned on Dean that Sammy was striking much closer to home. Metallica.

"Oh, that's cold, Sammy," he said, typing in the password.

The home screen loaded, filling Dean's eyes with news articles about a preacher in Nebraska. He read through all of them with a growing sense of unease. This guy wasn't a specialist, but he was channeling some serious power. All power had blowback.

The thought made the hairs on the back of Dean's arms stand straight. A shiver went up his spine. He turned to Sammy, but his little brother was snoring softly. Dean grabbed a cell phone from the table and dialed Bobby.

The older man answered with a gravelly threat. "This better be damn important to interrupt me, Sam, or-"

"Heyya, Bobby," Dean interrupted. He was aware how terrible he sounded, but he didn't care at the moment.

"Dean?" Bobby asked, abashed despite the late hour. "How ya feeling?"

Dean snorted. "Peachy. Listen, Bobby, Sam and I are headed your way tomorrow, but you've gotta send someone to investigate this guy in Nebraska."

"You boys are coming here?" Bobby sounded dubious. "Your ticker's busted and you want to visit me?"

Dean nodded then realized Bobby couldn't see him. "Your house is the closest thing to home I have, Bobby." He paused, almost adding that Bobby's house was competing closely against the Motel 8 chain. But he wasn't in the mood to joke. He wanted to be with family when he died.

"Yeah, and I can't go after this preacher myself," Dean said. He paused to catch his breath before giving Bobby all the details. He left out the part about what the man was using his powers for, though. Bobby didn't need to know that particular detail.

After he hung up, Dean put Sam's laptop away. He barely made it back to the bed before his heart began beating erratically. Dean pulled his shirt off and climbed under the covers, hoping for a few hours of sleep.

He got them. When he woke, Dean smelled coffee. He forced himself upright in bed and watched Sam wad up clothes and stuff them into their bags.

"What's the hurry?" Dean said.

Sam started. His reflexes were getting faster, Dean noted, but he wasn't ready to be hunting on his own. He needed three more months at least, and that was three months Dean couldn't give him.

"We're going to see that specialist," Sam said with false cheer. He took a long drink of coffee and sat the Styrofoam cup back on the table.

Dean looked at the cup longingly. "Did you get me any?"

"Caffeine is bad for your heart," Sam said without looking up from stacking papers.

"A doughnut?" he asked hopefully, but Sam shook his head. Dean sat up. "C'mon, man! I'm going to starve to death before my heart stops!"

Sam looked at the floor, jaw clenched, and shook his head. He couldn't believe this was Dean's priority. He was talking about saving his brother's life and all Dean could think about was fried food.

Dean pulled on his shirt. He looked at Sam with tired eyes. "I just want to see Bobby. I told him to expect us."

"When?"

"Last night, after you fell asleep," Dean said. He shot his baby brother a grin. "He's buying beer and burgers."

"Don't you want to live, just a little?" Sam demanded.

"Not like this!" Dean said. "Guys like that preacher are bad news, Sammy!"

"How did you-"

"Ah, I hacked your computer." Dean waved a hand at Sam in dismissal. "That man wants money, and in case you haven't noticed we don't have much extra to spare." Dean patted his pockets for emphasis, but his point had already gone home.

"Believe me, I noticed," Sam said mutinously, but he knew Dean had a point. The cash supply they kept under the driver's seat was almost gone and they'd maxed out three fake credit cards to pay for Dean's hospital stay. Sam didn't know as much about credit card schemes as Dean, but he knew the first card got paid off with the next, then the next. Spending up three at once overburdened the system. Soon the whole pyramid would fall.

Dean ran a hand across his jaw. He felt exhausted. A hundred cups of coffee couldn't rouse him. But he needed to explain himself. "Sam, a guy like that – if it's true – has some serious dark magic backing him up." Dean shook his head. "That's not us, man."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting down his anger. "So, what? Just give up?" His tone said that giving up wasn't in his game plan.

"I guess we'll figure it out on the way to Bobby's." Dean paused and then shot Sam a dangerous smile. "Oh, and you'd better be ready. 'Cause we're listening to Metallica the whole way there."

E/N: "Faith" was one of my favorite episodes from Season 1, and I always wondered what would have happened if things turned out differently up in Nebraska. This is my first Supernatural fic, and I look forward to exploring what happens with the angst, bravado and witty banter of the show.

Do you enjoy Metallica, two-day old lo mein or hacking computers? Leave a review to let me know your thoughts!