Author notes: Once again, thank you to everyone who reviewed this story so far. Each and every one of your comments means a lot to me, and it's a true pleasure to read. Thanks also for the constructive criticism, that's greatly appreciated, as well. I apologize for not having replied to everyone of you individually, but this is a pretty hectic period, so please, don't take that in the wrong way. I appreciate and am very grateful for every single comment.

Now, enough blabbering, here's the next chapter. Hope you'll enjoy.

---

PART 4

Sam sighed wearily and rubbed at his tired eyes.

Piles of files lay around him, various documents scattered all over the table in what seemed like complete chaos but was actually a complicated form of scrupulous order. Sam would effortlessly be able to pick up a specific document amongst that mess in the blink of an eye.

He once more glanced longingly at the computers on a table across the room, scowling all over again at the "out of order" note stuck to their screens.

---

"Every version's got a few things in common. It's always a woman named Mary, and she always dies in front of a mirror. So we've gotta search local newspapers, public records as far back as they go. See if we can find a Mary who fits the bill."

"Well, that sounds annoying."

"No, it won't be so bad, as long as we… I take it back. This will be very annoying."

---

"Here you go. Arrest records going back to 1851."

"Thanks."

"Okay."

"So, this is how you spent four years of your life, uh?"

"Welcome to higher education."

---

Sam blinked. Those memories had just popped up out of nowhere.

He suddenly had the silly feeling that if he'd only look up, Dean would be there, sitting across the table, chewing on a pen while muttering curses over the long, boring and tiresome job of library research.

Sam knew it was stupid, but he looked up anyway, and while he hadn't really being expecting anything, his heart still dropped at the sight of the empty chair.

He stared at it for long minutes, not really seeing anything except for the mental image of Dean grinning up at him.

It took a long time, but he finally managed to snap out of it and go back to his task.

Taking out his laptop, Sam proceeded by looking up medical information on the people who had died over the past few months.

Of course, it was reserved information, the kind that can be found only in private files of local hospitals, but he had never said his methods of research were always legal.

As he hacked through Gettysburg hospital's system, he thought that Dean would be proud of him, if only he could see him.

Firmly pushing the fear aside, Sam typed in the first name.

McCoy, Kathleen

Age, 42

COD, Severe Hypothermia

Okay, the next.

Johnson, James

Age, 23

COD, Internal Injuries

Four years prior, the guy had been admitted after a car crash which led to severe internal bleeding that at the time the doctors had managed to fix.

The list went on and on. Almost all of them seemed to have died of the exact same symptoms that gave them a brush with that in some point of their life.

Sam frowned deeply.

"What the fuck…" he thought as he feverishly typed in the last name.

Winchester, Dean

Age, 26

COD, Heart Failure

Sam stared first at the list and then back at his laptop, horrified. That wasn't the name he could read in the library files.

Jordan, Zackary

Age, 61

COD, Brain Tumor

That's what was supposed to be appearing on the screen, not Dean. Besides, Dean wasn't dead, was he?

An insistent ringing took him momentarily out of his astonishment, and he fumbled with his jacket to get hold of his cell phone.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Evans? This is Dr. Jackson, from the hospital."

Sam felt bile rise up his throat.

"Oh God…"

"Mr. Evans, could you please come over here as soon as possible?"

Sam swallowed hard. He tried to speak a couple of times, but his voice seemed to have deserted his dry throat.

"What's happening?" he finally managed to croak out.

There was a long pause at the other end of the line.

"Just get here, Mr. Evans. Please."

"What's going on?" Sam asked, on the verge of panic, even while already halfway out of the library.

Dr. Jackson was silent for another terrifying moment. And when he spoke next, the words stabbed the younger Winchester.

"I'm afraid your brother passed away. I'm awfully sorry."

Sam jerked awake with a gasp, heart thundering in his chest and head throbbing after the vision.

The phone rang, and he felt a new surge of terror as he took it out with trembling hands.

"Hello?" his voice was hoarse and strained when he picked up.

"Mr. Evans?"

He swallowed the nausea that swept over him.

"This is Dr. Jackson, from the hospital."

"No. God, no."

"Could you please come over here as soon as possible? I'm afraid your brother…"

"I'm on my way."

---

Sam rushed into the hospital, heart pounding furiously in his chest, so much that it hurt.

He wanted to run to Dean's room, but he didn't. Not out of respect of the old "you don't run in hospitals" rule, but simply because his legs were so heavy with dread he could barely walk, let alone run.

So he just forced one foot in front of the other until he finally reached the right corridor, just in time to see Dr. Jackson exit Dean's room.

"Ah, Mr. Evans," the dark-skinned man smiled kindly as he approached.

"What's going on, doc?" Sam asked, forcing his voice out. "Is he…"

"Come, let's take a seat," the doctor said, putting a hand to his shoulder and guiding him to a few chairs in the corridor.

Sam clenched his fists as he complied. When doctors asked you to sit down it was never good, he knew it.

Dr. Jackson heaved a sigh and rubbed at his neck before finally lifting his eyes to the young man at his side.

He'd been a medic for a long while, but still, every time he saw that look in people's eyes, he felt like get up and scream. But he once again held himself in check.

"Your brother developed a high fever."

"How high?" Sam asked immediately.

"104."

Sam closed his eyes briefly.

"Man…"

"His heart rhythm was getting abnormal, so we focused on medications apt to decrease the muscle's need for oxygen, so that the heart doesn't have to strain…"

"Why? Isn't the cannula helping?" Sam interrupted worriedly.

"Yes, it is," Dr. Jackson reassured. "But it's not enough at the time, so we increased the dose of that particular medication. Which we also did with the one that's meant to prevent abnormal heart rhythms."

"Such a great work it's done so far," Sam muttered darkly.

The doctor eyed him sadly.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry, doc," Sam said, shaking his head slightly. "I know you're doing all you can." He sighed. "So, how is he now?"

"We stabilized him. But his condition clearly deteriorated."

Sam's stomach clenched for what he felt was the millionth time.

"God, Dean, don't do this to me…"

"I'll go stay with him now," he said, getting on his feet and extending his hand. "Thanks doc."

Dr. Jackson shook his hand and watched as the young man went into the room with heavy steps and slumped shoulders. He shook his head as he headed in the opposite direction. There were some days in which he truly hated his job.

---

Sam let himself sink into the chair next to the bed, grateful that it was there, because he was quickly learning, his legs couldn't be trusted.

He reached out to gently touch his brother's forehead, feeling the fever burning under his fingers.

Dean stirred and opened his eyes, and Sam winced inwardly. He hadn't though Dean could possibly look worse than what he had up until now, but apparently he'd been wrong: he looked wrecked.

"Hey," the older Winchester greeted with a smile, voice considerably weaker than Sam had last heard it.

"Hey," he said in return. "Are you in any pain?" he asked softly.

Dean shook his head reassuringly.

"No. Just an headache."

Sam nodded, feeling relieved, if ever so slightly. No pain was something.

"Found anything?"

Dean wasn't really interested, but it would distract Sam from his fear, if only for a while, and he knew his brother was too distressed to see through his façade.

Not surprisingly, Sam's posture changed immediately from defeated to "man on a mission". Dean couldn't suppress a small grin that went unnoticed as Sam started to speak.

"Actually, yes," the younger Winchester said. "I checked death and medical files of the people who died over the last few months, and guess what? Most of them died of causes that already put their lives in danger on different occasions."

Dean blinked up at him.

"What are you saying? That people are having relapses?"

"Sort of. And something is causing all this. I just know it."

Dean licked his lips and frowned slightly.

"Are you sure it's not just coincidence?"

Sam arched an eyebrow.

"Twenty people?"

"Oh," was all Dean said.

"So you see my point now?" Sam said, unable to hold back a smug grin. Then he sobered up and gripped his brother's arm, his eyes burning into Dean's. "I'm gonna learn about this thing, I'm gonna find it, and I'm gonna destroy it."

"Well, you better hurry here, little brother, 'cause I'm fading."

He didn't voice that thought. But he could feel himself growing more tired by the hour, and he wasn't sure how long he could fight now.

"Sam?" he called.

"Yeah?" Sam asked eagerly, unconsciously leaning closer.

"Why are you whispering?"

"Uh?" Sam frowned, and only then did it occur to him that his voice had been unconsciously matching Dean's.

"This higher education thing must be exhausting if you can't find your voice at the end of the day," Dean smirked.

Sam smacked him lightly on the arm.

"Shut up. Get some rest."

"I'm not tired. Got far more stamina than you, college boy," Dean retorted.

"Yeah, whatever you say, Dean," Sam smiled fondly, watching as his brother's lids began to droop.

All of a sudden it was as if Dean's strength just ebbed away, and Sam found the all-to-familiar blade of fear resuming its slashing of his insides.

Dean forced his lids open to a fraction, and he rolled tired green eyes to his brother.

"Sammy?"

Sam swallowed hard, trying to breathe past said blade's assault as Dean sounded even weaker.

"Yeah, Dean?"

"Has dad called back?"

Sam closed his eyes briefly as he felt his heart slowly starting to break. There was a frailty in his brother's voice that went far beyond his condition, something he'd never known.

"Not yet, Dean." He couldn't help it. He just couldn't lie to his brother, it wouldn't be fair. Dean deserved nothing but the truth. Not to mention that he would see through any lie of his like through a glass.

Dean smiled sadly up at him and reached out to squeeze his hand weakly, his eyes slowly closing once more.

"S' okay," he slurred. "It's okay, Sammy," he whispered again.

And Sam didn't know whether to cry or scream. Unable to choose, he did neither, allowing his voice to die in his throat.

---

"Dad? It's Sam. It's Dean…" Sam's voice died out and a choked sob could be heard before the young man resumed his talking. "He's sick again, dad. His… his heart…" His son took a shuddering breath, and his voice was steady when he spoke next. "Another heart attack. Doctors can't explain it. You know, a man was brought in while I left the hospital. He has lung cancer, but they said he had seemed to have beaten that two years ago."

John frowned, wondering why it was that Sam was rambling on about some stranger's condition instead of telling him what was going on with Dean.

"This man collapsed briefly this morning. His wife had first put it down to low BP, but then he got sick. Dean passed out, too, a few hours before," a slight hesitation, "it happened."

"Oh. So that's why," John thought.

"I think something's going on," Sam went on. "Our something. So if you've got any ideas of what it could be… or want to come and see Dean… or…" The young man took another unsteady breath. "Just call back, dad. Please."

The message ended with a click, and John Winchester brushed away the few tears that were rolling down his cheeks, wondering when exactly had they started to fall.

TBC…