I'm makin' pretty good time right now. Hopefully it will last.

I don't own Supernatural.

Sam and Dean sat in the thick silence of the stuffy exam room. Another doctor had been running the majority of tests on Dean the past two days, but Dr. Conor had been the main relay. Dean had to admit he was a little happy that she hadn't backed out in the end.

"I'm sorry." She said it in the same way Dean and Sam had said it to a hundred other people when there was nothing more they could do.

"So, what do we do next?" Sam asked.

"Well, we could always do chemotherapy or radiation. Or a combination. Surgery isn't plausible with how big the tumors are and the location of the one in the brain ."

"Okay. We can do this." Sam glanced between Dean and Dr. Conor.

"Mr. Stark," she said. "I really need you to understand that you don't have long. Maybe six months with vigorous treatment." She hesitated and glanced down at her tablet. "I can give you the number of our counseling service. They can help you deal with the questions you might have. Also, I can get you an appointment with the best oncologist around. He owes me a special favor that I can call in for. We can probably get your treatment started by the end of the week."

It's your time. Dean shook his head. "No."

"Dean?" Sam looked at his brother with that concerned look he always gave.

"I don't want to do treatments."

"Dean, what are you saying?"

"I mean, what good will a few extra months do for me anyway? Just put you in debt. Can't have that, can we Doc?" Dean grinned at her.

She didn't smile back, but she didn't contradict him either. She understood where he was coming from.

"Dean, I'm not going to let you do this."

"Sammy—"

"No, you're not giving up like that."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Come on now, Sam. Let's not talk about it here. We'll argue later. Right now, I'm starving." He stood and nodded at Dr. Conor. "Thanks, Doc."

"Call if you have any questions." She handed her business card to Dean and let the brothers leave.

Sam managed a smile at the receptionist and filled out the paperwork with their phony information. Dean's little brother had come a long way from his Stanford days. Dean had to admit he was proud little Sammy could lie so well. Maybe he'd be fine without his big brother.

How easily the thought came to Dean caused a cold chill to cross him. He knew he shouldn't give up that easily, but after a lifetime of running away from things that could kill him it was almost nice to have something that he couldn't beat.

Sam laughed as he said goodbye to the receptionist, but as he turned away his smile melted to a deep frown. "Come on." He glared at Dean and led the way out.

The drive to the hotel was silent. Sam turned off the radio as soon as they got in and Dean decided to pick his battle. They started to pack right away, maintaining their silence. Who knew when the hospital would get wise to their fake identities now that they were officially not going back.

"Hey, Sam, check it out." Dean grinned and held up a five dollar bill. "Found it under the bed."

Sam froze as he was throwing clothes into his bag, his hands clenching into fists. "Great, Dean, and what are we going to do with that? Set up your funeral fund?"

"Aw, come on, Sammy. Let's not do this."

"No, I really think we should do this. Dean, how could you just." Sam moved his hands, like he was trying to grasp the right word. "Give up?"

"I'm not giving up."

"Really? It sure seems that way. You just refused treatment."

"And what good will it do? You heard what the doc said. No cure. Just buy me a bit of time."

"Enough time for us to find someone to heal you."

Dean gritted his teeth. "We're not doing that again, Sam. Last time I took someone else's life. I'm not going to take another chance."

"But Dean—"

"No, Sam. Out of the question ." Dean grabbed his bag and stomped out the door. He threw it into the trunk of the Impala and coughed harshly into his elbow. The words of the angel in his dream kept circulating in his head.

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~abrokencastiel