Dean looked at the ambulance as it was pulling to a stop outside of the Emergency Department. He thought about parking right beside it but looking around he noticed a few nearby parking spaces available. Palming the wheel, he swung the car to the adjacent lot and was about to whip into one, but then he noticed the signs standing in front of each empty spot. Reserved for Dr. Abshere; Reserved for Dr. Kalaf; Reserved for Dr. Guthrie... Dean nodded to himself, for the next few hours he'd be Dr. Guthrie. Maneuvering the car into the spot, he decided it would be worth the tow if it meant getting back to Sam sooner, and he knew Baby would agree.

Running across the road separating the parking lot from the hospital, Dean played Frogger in front of a couple passing vehicles and ran through the Ambulance Only entry like he belonged there. Behind him, the automated glass doors slid closed as he stood there looking around the huge room. Doctors, nurses and other personnel bustled around with purpose as they moved between curtained-off bays, trauma rooms and the rest of the unit. Down the hall, he caught sight of Sam's sneakers and one of the paramedics from the cabin as the last bit of the gurney carrying his brother was pushed into a trauma room.

Hurrying after them, Dean was closing the gap when he realized he could hear his brother bitching. He wasn't sure what Sam was saying, but he could tell he wasn't happy. Sam's voice was muffled by the oxygen mask and it was hoarse and unsteady but he was adamant in what he wanted, and it wasn't until Dean was almost to the doorway that he could hear what he was saying.

"Where's my brother? He was right here. No—where's my brother?"

For real, how many times was this kid going to break his heart today?

The medical staff and paramedics were trying to soothe and calm Sam, but what they didn't know is, for Sam, Dean's been gone, and probably dead, for just over a year. Sam had seen him a little while ago. He had a brief interaction with him, and now Dean was missing. Sam's lost a big chunk of time from whatever happened to him at the cabin and losing time like that was always disorienting. With how messed up their lives were, Sam was probably starting to think he'd hallucinated the whole thing. Dean wouldn't say his brother was freaking out. Right then, he was mostly just frustrated, but by the sound of it he was getting fed up, and an angry Sam never made for a good patient.

"Where's my brother?" Sam pressed again as Dean was stepping into the trauma room. They were bringing the gurney to a halt alongside the bed and someone ordered, "Find his brother and get him in here!" Dean was trying to make his way through about eight people when he saw the medic that rode with Sam pat his knee, saying, "He was following right behind us. He'll be here."

"No," Sam insisted and his tone became harder, "I saw him. He was here." And, that was the change in Sam's voice that told Dean he needed to forget about manners and start doing a little brisk people weaving to get to his brother and get him calmed down before someone decided he needed to be sedated.

"Sam... Hey!" Dean hollered above everyone else talking to his brother. Pushing his way past the paramedics and medical staff, Dean wedged himself in front of a male nurse, or maybe it was a doctor, Dean really didn't care as he reached in and grabbed his brother's shoulders. Sam turned his head away as he arched back a little and Dean took his face in his hands, "Sammy! Hey! Look at me. I'm right here—look at me, man." Dean leaned over his brother, taking up his immediate field of vision, and when Sam's eyes landed on his, Dean nodded at him, repeating, "I'm here, Sam."

His brother stilled and stared at him with a panicky look in his eyes and then he was scowling slightly as recognition set in. The entire room got quiet and for a moment the only sounds were his brother's shaky breaths and the soft beeps coming from the AED monitoring Sam's heart. Swallowing, Sam said, "Dean." His eyes roamed over his face and Dean knew he was deciding if this was real or not.

Concern had Dean frowning down at his brother, but then he gave him a soft smile, saying, "Yeah, Sam, it's me. I'm right here. Okay?" Sam's hand latched onto his arm and he said, "You're back."

Dean nodded at him, "Yeah, Sammy. It's me; I'm here." Sam gave up the struggle and sank back against the gurney and Dean pushed away sweaty bangs from his forehead, asking, "Are you going to chill out now and let these nice people help you?"

Getting verification that he hadn't been out of his mind and that Dean was in fact, actually, really there with him, Sam nodded again. He let his grip drop from Dean's arm and the medical team came alive again. Orders were thrown around by the guy running the show and Dean took a step back so they could transfer his brother from the gurney to the bed. Giving the staff room to work, Dean stayed out of the way as Sam was unhooked from the paramedics' equipment and got wired to the hospital machines, pulse ox was clipped to his finger, blood pressure cuff was wrapped around his arm, his forehead got swiped by a thermometer, blood was drawn, and through it all his brother kept his eyes on Dean, like he was afraid he'd vanish if he looked away.

The doctor asked Sam a question and when he wouldn't answer, Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder, asking, "Sam, you going to answer the man?"

His brother blinked, then he turned to face the doctor, asking, "What?"

The question got repeated and Dean found that as long as he kept some sort of physical contact with him, Sam was able to focus and cooperate with the doctors and nurses. Every so often Sam would glance his way with this terrible kicked-puppy look and Dean couldn't tell if it was from what happened between them in the cabin or if it was because he was feeling miserable. Every so often Dean would squeeze his shoulder, or touch his head or rub his arm, anything he could do to offer his brother some comfort until it was just them and he could talk to Sam and get everything straightened out.

The doctor was talking to Sam, asking him questions about his level of pain, his allergies, and current health problems and Sam had pulled the carpet right out from under Dean's feet by telling the doctor his information would be on file, that he'd been there before, and Dr. Briggs was his EP specialist."

Dean looked down at his brother, "Your what?"

Sam's eyes raised to meet his and he answered, "It's a type of cardiologist."

They ended up only spending an hour down in the ER, if it was even that long. The attending physician had gotten in touch with Sam's ET cardiologist something, and then less than fifteen minutes after that, the doctor returned with news that they were moving Sam up to the Coronary Intensive Care Unit and that his doctor would be in within a couple of hours to see him. One of the ER nurses came back into the room and him told to swap out his shirt and jeans for a hospital gown. Sam laid on the charm and talked himself into a pair of scrub pants, but the nurse had been unyielding about the gown. She handed him his new outfit saying, "Maybe after they downgrade you from the Cardiac Unit, they'll give you the top to those pants," and gave him a wink.

After the nurse had left Sam to get changed, Dean didn't offer to give him some privacy, and Sam hadn't asked for it. He was moving slowly and even sitting up in the bed seemed to take way more energy than Sam had to give, so Dean offered to help him shed his shirt and jeans. Sam gave him a brief, humbling look and then accepted the offer.

The shirt had been uneventful, but by the time they got his jeans off, Sam was just sitting there on the edge of the bed, already out of breath and Dean was dying to demand an explanation of what exactly was going on with him. But if Sam couldn't change his damn clothes without becoming winded, Dean wasn't about to ask him to use what little air he had in him to explain something he could just get from his specialist in a couple of hours.

Turns out that decision had probably been for the best because Sam was on his feet just long enough to finish tugging up the pants and then went all weak in the knees on him. At first, Dean hadn't noticed his brother getting woozy. He was standing close, watching Sam to make sure he didn't lose his balance as he pulled the pants up to his hips when Sam sucked in a stuttering breath and grabbed Dean's arm. His forehead landed on Dean's shoulder with a soft exhale and then he started sinking toward the floor.

"Whoa, hold on, Sam," Dean grunted, grabbing onto him and eased him down to sit on the edge of the bed. Sam was dragging in breath after breath and it sounded so close to how he was back at the cabin before he passed out that it had Dean holding him against himself while hurrying to grab the mask lying near the pillow.

Eyes squeezed shut, the side of Sam's head pressed against his chest and he never moved to pull away, not even after Dean pressed the mask to his face. "Nice and easy, dude," Dean said, rubbing his brother's back with one hand and holding the mask to his face with the other. Sam had taken five or six good hits of oxygen before his hand lifted and took over on holding the mask.

Dean held him by the arms and bent down to look at him. He asked, "Is this like in the cabin? Do I need to go get the doc?"

Eyes still closed, Sam shook his head and Dean asked, "Are you sure?" Getting a closer look at his brother, he said, "Because I gotta say, you're not being very convincing right now."

Sam opened his eyes and looked at him with this completely drained, amused kind of dark-humored grin. He took another deep pull from the mask and said, "I'm sure." and he couldn't decide if he was comfortable taking Sam at his word, I mean, the guy wasn't known for always being upfront and honest about injuries or illnesses. But that had been before all this happened, and right now as far as he could tell, Sam wasn't trying to hide his vulnerability with his condition. He didn't look like he had the energy to do even that. Plus, he wasn't groaning or cringing or clutching at his chest as he had before, and Dean decided he'd drop it for now. However, he also decided he'd be watching his brother closely until whatever this was got fixed.

And that's exactly what Dean had been doing ever since Sam had been settled in his room. The nurse had come in and introduced herself and the way she flirted with his brother, Dean was a little suspicious that she's taken care of Sam before. Sam did tell the doc down in the ER that he'd been here before. How many times did you have to show up in the CICU to be remembered by the staff? How long had Sam been renting out rooms up here?

After doing a vitals check, she did a quick inspection of Sam's IV line and made sure wires leading to the ECG were out of his way. She told Sam his oxygen levels were good enough to swap out the mask for a cannula if he wanted to. Sam nodded, and she set about getting that set up too. Making sure he was comfortable, she told Dean to let her know if either of them needed anything, and then she left.

Dean had watched her walk out the open glass door and turned back around thinking maybe he'd be able to have a quick talk with his brother, just long enough to get some basic answers, but looking at Sam that plan got shot straight to hell. So, Dean stood there and watched his brother sleep for a few minutes. He'd watched the rise and fall of his chest, counted his respirations, watched the ECG, read his oxygen levels and then looked back down at Sam again before dropping himself into the chair beside the bed.

Sometime later, right around the time Dean's left ass cheek started to go numb, a tall man with greying hair and dressed in navy colored scrubs walked into the room. He gave Dean a kind glance and a nod and then walked up to his brother's bedside. Dean rose to his feet and watched as the man called Sam and gently squeezed his knee a couple of times.

Sam's eyes came open on a quick inhale and he looked a little out of it at first. "Sam," the man said, patting his knee, "I thought we agreed I wasn't going to be seeing you back here for a while?"

Sam gave the man a grin, "Hey, Dr. Briggs."

"And who have you drug here with you to this captivating place?"

His brother's grin grew into a smile and Sam said, "This is Dean. He's my brother."

The doctor looked from Dean back to Sam so fast he risked giving himself a case of whiplash. His eyebrows crept halfway up his forehead as he confirmed, "Your brother." And there was something about the way the doctor had said 'brother' that told Dean the doc probably hadn't gotten the whole story, but he'd gotten a pretty accurate, yet slightly altered, version of the truth. Then the doctor confirmed his theory by asking, "The brother you told me had gone MIA last year while stationed out of the country?"

"Yeah."

Turning to face him, the doctor's eyes skipped over the cuts and knicks on his face in a very doctorly way, and then he stuck out his hand and offered it to Dean saying, "Wow. I'm at a loss of words. Dean, I'm honored to meet you. Sam talks very highly of his big brother."

Stab to the heart number three for the day... or was it five?

Rolling with Sam's story, Dean accepted the handshake and thanked the doctor. Then Dean said, "Hey, um, down in the ER when Sam mentioned you, he said you were an EP specialist?"

Briggs nodded, "It stands for Electrophysiologist, but that's a mouthful so we usually just go by EP or heart-rhythm specialists." Dean looked at the doctor with a slightly lost look and he clarified, "Electrophysiology is a branch of Cardiology that specializes in the heart rhythm disorders and the electrical system of the heart."

"The electrical... okay," Dean nodded and then looked at the doctor, asking, "Sam's heart have a short fuse or something?"

The doctor looked back down at Sam, asking, "You haven't told him anything yet?"

Sam shook his head, "Until now, there really hasn't been an opportunity." The man gave Sam a look and it was clear he was waiting for his approval to share the details. Sighing, Sam was looking tired again as he said, "Tell him everything."

Patting Sam's knee again, Dr. Briggs walked the few steps over to lean against a counter and crossing his arms across his chest, he said, "According to Sam, it all started about a year ago, when he got word that you'd been declared MIA. The news had caused him to experience a sort of panic attack episode which triggered an undiagnosed arrhythmia and that ended up putting Sam into cardiac arrest."

Getting the skinny on Sam's heart was making his own beat about ten times faster than seemed possible. The air felt thin as he shot a startled look down at his brother and breathed, "God, Sam."

His brother gave him a sad, little smile, saying, "Steady, Dean. It gets better." And, by better, Dean knew Sam meant so much worse. Standing a little closer to his brother, Dean looked back at the doctor and said, "Tell me."

"Sam was brought in by ambulance," continued, Briggs, "and we got him stabilized and ran the usual tests and panels. It's always unnerving to treat someone of your brother's age and good health for heart issues, and from what I was seeing, I didn't think Sam's cardiac event was caused by a blockage—meaning, I didn't think he'd had a heart attack. And, after getting in results from the tests, it was pretty clear that we were dealing with cardiomegaly… also called an enlarged heart."

Dean looked at his brother again, and then back at the doctor, "A what?"

"An enlarged heart. There are two types. The type Sam has is called pathologic hypertrophy and it's a common complication from chronic hypertension—high blood pressure. Prolonged hypertension puts an extra workload on the heart, making it beat faster and harder. The heart is a muscle, and what happens to a muscle group that you put through a workout on a consistent basis? It becomes larger. Well, the same happens to the heart, but as it becomes larger, it also becomes thicker and weaker. The chambers shrink, and it struggles to maintain a healthy rhythm. In Sam's case, his heart can't move blood through the organ fast enough, so it tries to compensate this by beating faster than normal. It causes an irregular heartbeat called arrhythmia and any kind of added stress—good stress and bad—can be a trigger for the irregular heartbeat to become even more sporadic and then he could easily go into ventricular fibrillation or VFib, and that's what happened today."

Dean stood there looking at the doctor after he'd finished speaking. Hands at his sides, he curled them into tight fists and said, "So, what can we do? How do we fix this?"

"Dean," Sam spoke up, "There is no fix. If we might have known way back in the beginning, maybe, but now..." Sam looked back at the doctor and Dean's gaze followed along.

The doctor took a breath and said, "Now, with the stage Sam's heart is at, right now the best we can do is manage his condition through a specific diet, appropriate exercise, and medications—and I'm hesitant to mention it but, talk of a transplant is not off the table."

"TRANSPLANT..." Dean squawked.

"Yes," Briggs replied, and then held up a calming hand, "But, we do have another option before we take it that far."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing, Sam, his kid brother, had a life-threatening heart condition? From high blood pressure? How long had this been going on? Dean's mind had been chasing itself in circles for the last few hours, trying to figure out what was going on and now, processing everything the doctor was saying, it wasn't any less overwhelming. Now the guy was throwing around scary-ass words like Transplant…?

Taking a step back to earlier, Dean realized it all made sense. Fucking hell, it all made sense. Sam had been in a state of constant stress for months with everything he'd gone through after Cas broke his wall. Had that been long enough to cause the change in his heart? Considering it almost killed him then, probably. Dean's mind jumped from there to remembering the way had Sam looked so beat down and strung-out in the cabin, and the thing that killed it for him was how he'd laid into his brother over not looking for him when Sam was over here dealing with something as serious as fucking heart failure, by himself.

It all made perfect fucking sense and Dean's a fucking hot-headed moron. He needed to sit. Damn, he needed to sit. Grabbing the side rail, he started to sink down but his knees went all bitchy on him and he ended up doing a hard ass-plant on the side of the bed and then he wasn't so sure that he wouldn't be sliding off onto the floor.

"Dean!"

Sam's kneed jabbed him in the back as he jerked forward and grabbed him by the arm. He was vaguely aware of seeing the surgeon making a lunge for him, but his heart was slamming directly against his eardrums and it was deafening as it mocked him, reminding him that Sam's heart can't beat that boldly anymore and then someone was pushing his head between his knees.

He didn't remember throwing up, and the same went for recalling when Sam's cute nurse came back into the room, but as he watched her wipe up the floor, the thought came to him that he was glad all he'd eater today was a few sips from that beer at the cabin. The beer he took a drink from right before he'd chewed his brother out. Shit.

Sam had him by the biceps as Dean was staring down at the floor. Breathing in deep breaths through his nose, he noticed Sam's foot on the shiny linoleum right beside his boot. Blinking at it, Dean wondered when Sam had put on a black pair of those hospital-issue nonskid socks? Okay, so, Sam wasn't the only one between them losing time today.

Squeezing his arms Sam shifted, and Dean became aware that his brother's other leg was folded on the bed behind him. Sam was calling him and when Dean closed his eyes and pressed a shaky hand to his forehead, Sam scooted closer and held onto him. Someone placed a cold cloth on the back of his neck and it was a relief how quickly that helped the room to stop spinning. Voices didn't sound so tunneled and echoed and he heard someone telling Sam he should get back on the oxygen. Dean realized he probably ditched it to be able to reach him.

"Sam." Briggs implored, and Dean could feel the vibration in his brother's chest as he replied, "In a minute." Sam let go of his arm and then his brother's hand was pushing a mini can of cola under his nose, telling him, "Drink, Dean."

He took the can from his brother and sat up carefully. Sam kept an arm around him, steadying him as he took a few sips. He took another and then he noticed Dr. Briggs was squatting down in front of him. He also had a hand on his arm and Dean wondered how long he'd been there like that, and then he had the stray thought that he'd been doing a lot of wondering about things lately.

Briggs' eyes scrutinized him, and he said, "You just got back home today, right?"

Dean drew in a breath and shrugged, "More or less."

The doctor nodded, "And when's the last time you ate something?"

"Um," Dean thought and said, "I'm not sure."

Briggs nodded again and got to his feet, "Stay put and keep drinking." He pointed at Sam, "Back on the O2." Dean glanced over his shoulder and got trapped in his brother's concerned stare. "C'mon, Sam," said Briggs as his hands were landing on his brother's shoulders, "Dean's okay. Lay back and relax before I slip you a Benzo."

Sam let himself be pressed back against the pillows and Dean grabbed the leg Sam had hanging over the side and helped him bring it back up on the bed. Sam pushed himself back into the bed and let the doctor slip the oxygen back under his nose. Getting it settled behind Sam's ears he asked, "And when did you eat last? I know you've been here going on four hours now."

Sam looked up at him, saying, "1:40 this afternoon," and Dean was impressed that Sam actually had a specific answer for that. Eating regular meals must be part of his regimented diet, exercise, and medication plan. Regular meals—Dean wanted to laugh at the idea of that. Had they ever eaten like that? Regularly?

Briggs looked at the nurse and told her, "Call down and get a couple of meals sent up for these two."

"Sure thing. It can take a while, so I'll go snag some snacks from the nurses' station."

The nurse left, and the doctor turned to them, saying, "You're lucky; even I'm not allowed to raid their stash." Dr. Briggs sat down in the chair Dean had occupied over the last couple of hours. Leaning back into it, he crossed an ankle over the opposite knee, saying, "I have a feeling you two are going to make the rest of this go grey," and smoothed a hand through his hair.

The nurse's brisk footsteps entered the room again and she said, "According to Dr. Briggs, his kids are to blame for the grey he has now." Briggs nodded and watched the nurse dump her haul on to the table by the bed, saying, "She's not wrong."

Both Dean and Sam snickered while reaching for something off the table. Sam grabbed a cinnamon raisin granola bar and Dean took a Twix bar. It was promptly snatched from his hand by Briggs and an apple got slapped into his palm.

Sam grinned while peeling back the wrapper to his granola bar. He looked at Briggs and said, "I don't know if I've ever seen Dean eat an apple." And, the doctor responded, "Well, then it's a great day to start."

Scowling down at the fruit, Dean made a face and then tore a large bite out of it. Chewing grudgingly, Dean caught Sam smirking at him and told him, "Shut up and eat your soulless grapes and oats." That made Sam laugh out loud and Dean wondered how much of that was because of the morphine he'd gotten down in the ER. He felt his face break out in a toothy grin and he just shook his head as he took another bite of the apple.

"So, Sam," the doctor began, "the episode you experienced today, do you remember much about it before you lost consciousness?"

Sam tossed the empty wrapper on the table and grabbed one of the water bottles. Cracking the seal on the cap, he said, "Mostly, I think."

"Tell me about it."

Sam took his time swallowing a mouthful of water and Dean knew he was trying to decide how much of their reunion he wanted to share. Nestling the bottle in his lap, Sam said, "I…, well, at first I was fine. Mostly, I mean. I was excited to see Dean and I knew that's why I felt more off than normal, but it wasn't alarming or anything.'

"Then what happened?"

Frowning a little, Sam cleared his throat, "I don't really know. One minute we're talking and I'm mostly okay, but then I couldn't get enough air and my chest got tight and then I'm on the floor, I can't breathe—at all—and my heart feels like it's trying to pound its way out of my chest," he finished, glossing right over the part about Dean interrogating the shit out of him. Sam looked at him, giving him a half-grin and Dean sighed.

"Okay," Briggs said, scrolling through his phone that he'd pulled from the breast pocket of his shirt. "So, pretty much on par for other past episodes."

"Yeah, the bad ones."

The doctor nodded, swiping across the phone's screen a few times, and then said, "Looking at your history, so far, it seems like your main trigger over the last ten months has been emotional stress of one type or another—much more so than physical stressors. Which, really, whether we realize it or not, emotional stimulation, more than anything else, is the thing that alters the way our hearts beat. Good and bad stressors: excitement, anxiety, happiness, sorrow, anger... all these things can, and usually do affect our heart rate. It's a natural biological reaction and for the most part, completely unavoidable."

Briggs was quiet for a minute, and then still looking at his phone said, "You've been doing everything right, Sam. You're eating right, getting the right amount and type of exercise, I can tell by your bloodwork that you're taking your meds like you should..." the doctor paused, his brows drawing together as he tapped the side of his head in thought. After a couple of minutes, he set his phone down on his leg and fixed Sam with a look that told Dean they'd already been over whatever he was about to say next. Taking a breath, Briggs said, "Sam, I think the time's come to do the ICD."

Holding the apple core in his hand, Dean looked between the doctor and his brother, "ICD?"

Sam looked at him, saying, "Implantable Cardiac Defibrillator."

Dean's eyes went wide, "Seriously? That's a thing?" He looked over at the doctor and said, "How does that even work?"

"It's a small device, about the size of a pacemaker, that has wires that are placed within the heart and if your brother's heart rate rises above a certain point, or if it goes into an erratic pattern, it can act as a pacemaker, but if that doesn't work, if he has another event like today, it'll deliver a shock to the heart. It's like hitting a reset button. The best part is, you don't need to wait for paramedics to arrive. It is always monitoring and goes off exactly when it needs to. Every night it sends me reports on Sam's heart activity for the day and I can use that information to adjust the settings and tweak the performance to best suit what his heart needs. If Sam has another episode like today, it could save his life."

Dean turned on the bed and faced his brother, "Seems like a no-brainer to me, Sam. What've you been waiting for?"

Sam shrugged, "I was exploring other possibilities. I didn't want to jump to this step until I had to."

"And, that's a really good approach," Briggs responded, "That's the way to do it. See if life changes can make enough of a difference to keep interventions to a minimum. But, I think we've exhausted all our other options at this point."

Sam sighed, and when he didn't say anything, Briggs sat forward in the chair. He rested his arms on his knees and looked at Sam, saying, "What if your brother hadn't been there today to give you CPR? You would have been without blood flow for over four minutes and I can't say for certain that you'd be here having this conversation with me. Sam, looking over your tests over most of the last year, it looks like between the ICD and maybe the possible valve replacement idea we've been kicking around, this might be enough to give you a much, much better quality of life. If it goes as well as I think it will, we might not ever mention the that ugly 'transplant' word again."

Dean and Sam looked at each other for a minute and then Sam turned to face the doctor, "I need to talk to my brother about something before I make any decision."

"Not a problem," said the doctor and he got to his feet. He glanced at his watch and then said, "Look, I've got another patient I need to check in on. How about I come back in an hour and see what you decide?"

"Okay."

"Hey, um," Dean interjected as a thought came to him. Briggs looked over at him and Dean asked, "Say Sam decides he wants to go forward with the ICD... how long would he have to wait until he could have the procedure?"

"I can get him worked into my surgery schedule for tomorrow."

"Wow. Okay. Oh, hey, one last question... Do you know Dr. Guthrie?"

Dean watched the doctor walk out of the room and he turned to his brother, "So, what are we looking at, here? Curse? Hex bags...what?"

Taking a drink of his water, Sam shook his head, "I don't think so, Dean. I think it's just normal biological wear and tear."

"You trying to tell me you've had dangerously high blood pressure all your life?"

"No." Sam replied and placed his water on the table, "I think it was the cage that did me in. Being stuck in there with Lucifer and Michael would be enough to give even freaking Thor heart failure. I mean, Cas got me out, but I was still down there all that time with them. If my soul was beyond damaged, it's not hard to believe that my body would have been affected also. Tack on all the Lucifer instant replays and sleep deprivation after Cas broke the wall… the body can only take so much, Dean."

Dean sat there on the side of his brother's bed and looked at him for a beat, and then he said, "So, you're saying you're Thor now?"

Sam grinned, and Dean got up from the bed and tossed out his apple core and empty soda can. Wiping his hands on his jeans, Dean plopped down on the chair next to the bed and sighed. He was somewhere off in his head when Sam asked him what he thought. Dean took a deep breath and looked over at his brother, "I'm thinking that it makes sense. And, I'm thinking I can't freaking believe this. I mean, what about me? Your soul spent over a century with those dicks, but your body got pulled out after like a month, so in hell-time, ten years. My whole package was downstairs forty. Why aren't I going through the same thing?"

Sam shook his head, "I don't know. Maybe you're just stronger than I am."

Dean shot Sam a look, "That ain't it."

"I don't know, Dean," Sam said, laying his head back against the pillows. He closed his eyes and Dean hated how tired he looked already. Getting up, Dean moved to sit back on the side of the bed and used a fist to thump his brother on the thigh. "Sam, why have you put off the ICD this long?"

Sam's head moved against the pillows and he looked at him again, "Honestly? I was stalling as long as I could because I knew I'd find a way to get to you and Cas, and then Cas could just heal me."

"Speaking of Cas, Sammy, he uh," Dean looked out into the hall for a moment. He swallowed down the lump wedged in his throat and looked back at his brother. "Cas can't help you."

Sam scowled at him in confusion, "Why?"

"Because, Sam," Dean rubbed at his brow, "because Cas didn't make it out."

Sam gawked at him for a second and then he sunk back against the pillows with a sobering look, "Well, shit."

Dean huffed out a dry chuckle, "Yeah. So much for plans, huh?"

"Why, Dean? What happened to him?"

"Man, I have no clue. I'm still trying to figure that out."

Sam shook his head, and then said, "Dean...I'm sorry."

"Yeah," he grinned to himself and then looked back at his brother, "Yeah, me too. But, not just about losing Cas. Sammy, you're not getting miraculous healing from this thing."

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "it's starting to look that way." A despairing look settled over his brother and then Sam closed his eyes with a heavy exhale. Dean knew he'd just dropped a bomb on him and Dean could tell he was struggling to hold it together. Grabbing Sam's forearm, Dean squeezed it, saying, "Hey. Talk to me, Sam."

Shaking his head, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and drew in a shaky breath, "It's just..." exhaling, Sam looked up at the ceiling, "I'm tired, you know? Really, really tired. And, this... condition, or whatever you want to call it, keeps getting in my way, you know? And, it's so hard to deal with. I feel like I don't have control over anything anymore." Sam looked back at him and Dean hated seeing the misery in his eyes as he said, "Dean, this is why I was hardly able to look for you."

"Sammy, I know. You don't have to—"

"Yeah, but I'm just trying to tell you—"

"I know, Sam." Dean squeezed his brother's arm again and looked at him closely, "I know. I really do. Okay?" Sam nodded at him and Dean went on to say, "I'm sorry about earlier—about laying into you like that at the cabin. You were trying to explain, and I jumped to the wrong conclusion and did this to you."

Sam shook his head, "Dean don't. I don't know what you went through over there, but I know it must have been a slight step above hell, at best. You weren't yourself. You were still dealing. I know that. You don't owe me any apologies."

Dean had to bite his tongue to keep from arguing back to get Sam to agree he's been an ass to him, but it wouldn't change what happened and Sam didn't need to be using any of his limited energy trying to make Dean feel less guilty. So, instead, he said the other thing that had been playing on his mind. "When I first saw you at the cabin, when you first got there, you looked like you were doing pretty good. A little run down, but pretty good."

"Yeah, I was having a good day."

"Do you get many good days?"

"Here and there. A lot more now than a few months ago."

"And after getting the ICD, you'll probably have more than you do now."

Sam smirked and shook his head, "I was stupid to blindly follow the notion that this would all be over with after I found you and Cas."

"It wasn't stupid, Sam. It's what we're used to."

"Yeah, and now we get to get used to this," Sam replied, gesturing at his heart.

Dean shrugged, "Nothing we can't handle."

"Dean, this is hard. It's very hard and it makes everything way more difficult than it should be."

"Sammy, look," Dean sighed and looked at his brother through compassionate eyes, "I'm not going to sit here and tell you I know how difficult and scary going through this has been for you. I can't even imagine it. But what I do know is, I'm here now and I can help. You're not dealing with this alone anymore. I'm here and together we'll get it figured out."

Sam nodded and might have seemed a little relieved. He even smiled at him before saying, "I'll probably be pretty boring for a while."

"Dude, after what I've been through, I could use a big, fat dose of boring right now. Tomorrow, we'll get you your internal jumper cables—" Sam chuckled, and Dean grinned at him, "and we'll get you out of here ASAP, and then we'll go test the boundaries of Netflix."

End of this installment.