PART 2
Sam thought this was very atypical. The two of them just walking aimlessly in the streets of a quiet little town without any supernatural research waiting for them felt almost awkward.
"Wow…" he breathed, astounded. "This almost feels like… normal."
"What are you talking about?" Dean asked, giving him a sideways glance.
"When was the last time we've taken a walk without merrily heading somewhere to burn old bones down or digging into dusty libraries?"
"Yeah, you're right."
Sam turned to Dean, a small frown on his face. His brother's voice had been distant, and a little strained, too.
The unsettling feeling came back, and Sam found his stomach in knots once again. Dean was pale, and he seemed to have trouble breathing as his hand rubbed unconsciously at his chest.
"Dean, you okay?" Sam asked, concerned.
Dean smiled a little distractedly.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
Sam was totally unconvinced, but he decided to let it slide for the time being. A few steps later though, Dean stumbled, and Sam grabbed his arm quickly.
"Dean, what's wrong?" he said anxiously.
Dean closed his eyes briefly and swallowed.
"Shit…"
He thought he knew what was going on, but he still hoped he was wrong.
"I think I'd better sit down, Sam," he managed to say, gasping.
Sam was all but panicking by the time he practically carried Dean to a nearby bench. For those interminable seconds, he had been waiting for a complaint, a smirk, a flicker of the eyes, a trademark "I'm good"… anything that would have told him his brother was indeed okay. But none came. Instead, Dean just sat down gratefully and doubled over, panting, hand pressed against his chest.
"Dean, what is it?" Sam called again, at a loss of what to do.
Dean looked up to him and managed a small smile.
"I think I'm trouble, Sammy," he gasped.
And before Sam had any chance to ask anything else, his eyes rolled back into his head.
"Mr. Evans?"
Sam had an awful sense of deja-vu as he stood up to meet the doctor.
"How is he?" he asked, hating that his voice was already breaking.
"Let's take a seat," the doctor, a forty-something man with a kind face said, pointing to the seat Sam has just vacated.
The younger Winchester obeyed, feeling his gut clench painfully.
"Your brother suffered from a major heart attack," the man began slowly.
"Oh God…"
Sam's stomach rolled slowly, and for a moment he felt he was going to be sick.
"His heart is damaged…"
"Wait, wait," Sam stopped him, holding up a hand. "This can't be, doc."
The doctor eyed him confusedly.
"I'm sorry?"
"He… uh… he's suffered one before…"
"A heart attack?" the man said, now looking almost upset. "Quite this massive?"
Sam nodded.
"But that's impossible!" the doctor cried. "See, there was no sign this ever happened before to your brother. It seems like this one heart attack came out of nowhere."
"Look, doctor…" Sam eyed his ID, "Jackson. I know this sounds crazy, but about six months ago, my brother suffered a heart attack due to an accident involving electrocuting. Then he… uh… he was healed."
"Healed?" Doctor Jackson repeated, looking curious. "Healed how?"
"Doctors couldn't explain it," Sam said, carefully avoiding any hint on the subject. "They said it was a miracle. Now you're telling me he… all of a sudden…" He stopped, unable to go on. This couldn't be happening again. It just couldn't.
"We're baffled, too," the man said kindly. "A young, strong heart such as that of a 26-year-old, giving out like that…"
"But there is something you can do, right?" Sam asked, clinging desperately to hope.
Doctor Jackson looked at the young man in front of him, sawing the pain and the despair in his eyes. But she saw also hope shining in those irises, and he hated himself for having to shatter it.
"I'm sorry," he said simply.
And Sam could only stare, horrified, as his world came crashing down.
Dean lay in the hospital bed, ghastly pale, dark circles under his eyes, IVs and tubes all around him.
Everything rushed back to Sam, and he had to swallow hard and make a conscious effort to order his leaden legs into movement.
Dean opened his eyes at his approach and gave him a weak smile.
"Hey Sammy."
His voice was just as weak.
"Hey," Sam said, dragging a chair up by the bed and trying to smile back. Of course, he failed miserably. "I talked to your doctor." He actually flinched at that. He was even using the exact same words. His stomach gave another roll, and he knew with absolute certainty that he was going to throw up before the day was over.
"Yeah, looks like we're back at square one."
Sam looked at his brother, shocked by his attitude, although he couldn't say it was quite unexpected.
"You say something about short straws again, I swear I'm gonna kick your ass," he joked lamely, and he wasn't entirely sure he didn't mean every word.
Dean said nothing. He had to find a way, any way, to make Sam understand, to make Sam accept.
He put his hand over his brother's.
"Sam."
Sam looked up, not liking the tone in his brother's voice.
"You can't fix this. Not this time."
Soft, strong, firm. Dean's voice was all this and more, and Sam felt his anger starting to mount up.
"I will," he said, jaw setting stubbornly, his hand slipping away from under his brother's.
"Sam…"
"I'll find a way. Any way."
"No!"
Sam startled and looked at Dean, watching his distressed features, seeing the plea in his eyes.
"You leave this alone, you hear me?" Dean growled. "You let this take its course."
Sam was about to retort angrily, when something in Dean's eyes stopped him. It was fear. And the realization of what that fear was about hit the younger Winchester fast and hard.
He sighed heavily.
"Dean, it won't be like last time," he said softly. "I'll find a way, a safe one. But I gotta try."
"Look, Sam, how many times has supernatural done any good to us?" Dean asked pointedly.
"Dean…"
"Answer me, Sam."
Sam let out a puff of air.
"Almost never."
"Yeah," Dean said darkly.
"But Dean, this can't be right," Sam said after a moment of silence. "You were healed."
Dean gave a bitter chuckle at that.
"It's probably all about karma."
Sam frowned, puzzled.
"What?"
Dean licked his lips and looked away.
"We both know what happened in Nebraska was wrong. We both know I shouldn't be here." He paused and grinned bitterly. "Payback's a bitch."
Sam stared at him, overcome by the guilt he could hear in Dean's voice and see in those green irises. After all that time, Dean still hadn't let go of the guilt, and Sam wondered how many times his brother had been fighting against it and he hadn't noticed.
He swallowed hard.
"Dean, it wasn't your fault. You have to understand that, you have to let it go. Remember shortly after Jess died? You told me I couldn't keep my anger burning, you told me it was going to kill me." He paused. "The same goes for your guilt. You don't let go of it, it's gonna kill you."
Dean wanted to say that it didn't matter, that his heart was going to kill him way faster than his guilt anyway, but he didn't, for Sam's sake.
He just stared into space and said nothing, which ended up frustrating Sam probably as much as voicing his thoughts would have.
"Dean, I will find a way, and it won't be like in Nebraska," Sam said again. "But you gotta let me try. What would you do if it was me lying there?"
That got Dean's attention. The older Winchester flinched imperceptibly.
"What would I do if it was Sam?" he pondered silently. "Well, I'd probably… I… Dammit."
He looked up at his brother and gave him a glimpse of his usual smirk.
"When the hell did you get so sly, college boy?"
Sam chuckled, relieved.
"I've learned from the best." He paused. "So we're okay?"
"I didn't know we were having a fight," Dean grinned.
Sam rolled his eyes.
"Shut up." He reached out and squeezed his brother's arm before getting up. "Get some rest, I'll be back soon."
"Sam," Dean called when he was almost at the door.
Sam turned, and read Dean's thoughts clearly in his eyes.
"No dark rites, I promise," he assured with a smile, and Dean nodded, closing his eyes and allowing sleep to claim him.
As he made his way through the E.R., two nurses shook their heads as a stretcher carrying a middle-aged man was rushed past them.
"That's horrible," one of them sighed sadly.
"Poor Henry," the other echoed. "And to think that he had won his battle…"
Sam froze and turned to them, a shiver of foreboding running down his spine.
"Excuse me," he said, "I really don't mean to pry, but… what's wrong with that man?"
They smiled kindly at him, recognizing the distressed young man that had spent two hours in the E.R. waiting for news on his brother.
"Lung cancer," the older nurse said. "His wife said he collapsed this morning but that he woke up a few minutes later and he seemed fine."
"Turns out, he wasn't," the younger one supplied. "It's so unfair… He had beaten the cancer, you see. Two years ago. It seemed to have been completely defeated." She shook her head. "Poor Henry," she repeated.
Sam stared at them in shock for a moment before managing to snap out of it.
"I'm sorry," he said, then he hurried out of the hospital.
His mind worked furiously as he walked back to the motel. That man, Henry, had collapsed that morning, seemingly like Dean had that late afternoon. And his cancer was back, out of nowhere, just like Dean's heart failure.
Sam was still frowning as he turned the key in the lock. Dean's heart and that man's lungs… It just couldn't be a coincidence. Something was going on, and he was determined to find out exactly what.
TBC…