It was quiet. The radio was too low to be noticeable, the song too familiar to draw attention. Sam was driving this time, a rare time, but that was only because Dean was in no condition to sit behind the wheel.

Sam kept sparing glances at his brother, constantly thinking about how he looked like hell warmed over. There were dark, bruise-like bags around his eyes, his skin an unhealthy pale color, making the freckles Dean always claimed to hate stand out more than usual. The man was hunched over in his seat, arms wrapped around himself as he stared out the window, the corners of his mouth contorting slightly in pain when they hit any bumps in the road. His eyes were a dark green, losing all the vibrancy they used to have.

Sam hated seeing Dean look so weak. Of course, this was what happens when he gets himself electrocuted and damages his heart so severely that the doctors say he has weeks left…. Dammit.

Sam shifted in the seat, able to spare one more glance at Dean before his brother exploded.

"Fuck, Sam! Stop looking at me like that! I'm not dead yet, so stop lookin' like I'm in a fuckin' coffin already!" he said, but whatever volume or bite that had been in his voice was extinguished like a half-ass flame, and he broke off with a wince. Sam saw his hand tighten on the fabric of his jacket.

Sam turned back to the road in silence, watching the headlights bounce off the rain-wet pavement for a while.

"Hey," Dean murmured as they approached a small, brightly lit diner. "Pull in here."

Sam frowned. "Dean, we have to get to…"

"Sam." The younger Winchester looked over at Dean and his brother was looking at him, face stony and pale in the dim light from the moon and the diner he was about to pass up. Sam realized Dean looked like a zombie made of stone; break open the hard shell on the outside and inside was something that was long dead and gone.

He spun the wheel in his hands and made the sharp right turn into the mostly-empty parking lot, shaking his head slightly. They didn't have time for this…

Once parked, he saw Dean unbuckling himself and slowly pushing his door open. Sam sprung out of the car and raced to Dean's side just as he was trying to step out of the Impala, but Dean shoved him away. "Sam! I'm not gonna break, I'm fine!"

Sam's hands fell to his sides, but they twitched in restraint when he saw Dean's grimace as he struggled to stand straight. His brother took a deep breath, and while he was doing that, Sam took the opportunity to at least close the car door for him. It earned him a glare, but it was worth it.

Dean slipped his hands in his pockets, looking stiff as a board as he started walking slowly to the door. Sam rushed ahead, grasping the cold, wet metal handle and pulling it open for his brother. This time Dean didn't even bother with the glare. He just huffed as he shuffled past his long-haired brother and into the cool of the diner.

There were a few scattered guests around the plastic red tables, but this diner was so far off from civilization, stuck in the midst of a backroad highway, that it probably got this much business every day. Sam caught up with Dean, who was squinting at the menu, definitely looking for something.

"So… what do you want?" Sam ventured, pulling his wallet out and looking at the portion of the menu that Dean was. Desserts.

"Cherry pie," he heard Dean say. Sam sighed, shaking his head.

"That's what you brought me in here for? Cherry pie?" By the time he realized what he'd said, he was biting his tongue as hard as possible. He looked over at Dean, who was staring at him, thinking exactly what he was. "Dean… don't give me that crap that it's going to be your last pie or whatever. I told you, I have a plan. You're not gonna die as long as I'm around to help it."

"… Extra whipped cream, Sammy," was the only response given. Sam watched his brother shuffle away and slowly slide into a hard red booth, hands still in the pockets of his hoodie and dark eyes staring out at the moon like it was the last thing he was gonna see.

"Sir? Sir? Can I help you, sir?"

Sam jumped, looking over in the direction of the voice. A petite, freckled red-head leaned over the counter, one brow cocked. She wore a red polo, stretched tight over her curves, tucked into her black work slacks. Her eyelashes were long and thick, framing almond-shaped eyes, but Sam didn't even notice what color they were. He barely felt any stirring. Even as he ordered Dean's cherry pie with extra whipped cream and a coke for himself, he kept glancing over at his brother, worry laced deep in the hazel of his eyes.

She promised she'd bring out their order soon, and Sam absently nodded, placing his wallet back into the pocket of his jacket as he walked over and sat across from Dean. The sickly man looked over as he sat down, pulling his hands out of his pockets to lean his elbows on the table stiffly.

"So Sammy, when are you planning on telling me where you're takin' us?" he asked, both eyebrows raised over scrutinizing eyes. Sam suppressed a small smile.

"You'll know when we get there," he improvised. If Dean actually knew they were going to a church congregation, he'd be kicking and screaming and throwing a fit to not go. Dean frowned at him, eyes narrowing.

"It had better be good, then," he finally said. This time, Sam couldn't resist the smile.

"Oh, you'll have a blast," he said with a chuckle. Dean opened his mouth to retort, but just then, he seemed to catch sight of the red-headed cashier/waitress walking over with his pie. For the first time in what seemed like a long time, Dean's pale lips stretched into a thin smile.

"Here you are, boys," the woman said as she set down the tray. Sam noticed what she actually looked like in more detail now, appreciating her curves and plump lips with his eyes. He gave a nod of thanks, and Dean piped up.

"Thanks, sugar," Dean purred, finding it in him to wink at her. She looked over at him, her smile fading a bit when she saw the condition the flirty man was in. It must be more obvious than Sam thought that Dean belonged in a hospital bed (which he'd fucking checked himself out of, damn him) rather than flirting in a diner. She nodded hesitantly and gathered up the tray in her blue-nailed hands.

"Right. Let me know if you need anything," she said, giving Sam her more charming smile before she scuttled off. When the younger Winchester looked back at Dean, he was surprised. If the man noticed her disinterest in him, he wasn't showing it.

Dean gave Sam a smile and eyebrow raise- his signature thing- as he slid the pie to him and gathered up the fork. Sam took a sip of his coke as Dean took a large bite of his pie, which was steaming and, even though Sam didn't much like sweets, admittedly smelled and looked rather mouthwatering.

"Mmmmmmm," Dean hummed as he chewed, eyes closed in bliss. "This is some good pie."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, I'd appreciate it if you didn't act like you were having an orgasm every time you eat a pie. It's embarrassing."

Dean's eyes opened again, containing a bit more life than they had before. "Can't help it. I call 'em as I taste 'em," he said through a mouthful of his second bite of pie. Sam sighed, pulling out his phone to check the time. They had an hour to get to the congregation, or they might miss their chance.

After a while of Dean working through his pie and Sam tapping his foot impatiently, he heard Dean mumble something he didn't quite catch. He raised a brow at his brother. "What?"

"I said," Dean swallowed his pie, "I'm gonna miss this." Sam pressed his lips into a tight line.

"Dean, stop it. I told you to cut out saying stuff like that. You're gonna be fine, okay?"

Dean pretended not to hear him, merely taking more bites out of his pie. Sam's jaw was tight as he watched his sickly brother eat, drumming his fingers on the table and throwing back his coke like beer.

Eventually Dean finished his pie, grabbed what was left of Sam's coke and drank it. He let out a loud burp, causing Sam's face to twist in disgust. They stood in unison, Dean struggling a bit, but the pie- if Sam didn't know any better- seemed to give him some strength. Like some kind of weird pie medicine. Again he opened the door for Dean, and stood next to him while he slowly maneuvered himself into the car.

Sam made his way to the driver's side, slid in and started up the Impala, turning around to back up. As he turned back around, he caught Dean looking at the moon again, that same quiet resignation in the stone-like features of his face. The moon took away the life the pie and given him, sucking it up like a cold vampire, leaving Dean looking more like a shell than himself.

Sam turned to the road and floored the acceleration. They had thirty minutes now to get to the congregation. And Sam sure as hell was not going to let his brother die just because of a stupid heart failure.