DISCLAIMER: No, I don't own Supernatural, sadly. If I did, well…I'd be a guy and my name would be Eric Kripke, LOL. And last I looked in the mirror and heard my name being called, neither was true! Don't own the boys, either; if I did, well…let's just say I'd be busy with something other than this! LOL.

SPOILERS: Anything before Folsom Prison Blues…this story takes place between that episode and Hollywood Babylon. Remember the implications of that as you read!

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My Strongest Weakness

PREVIOUSLY: Sam squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the end to come as Odessa howled in anger and triumph.

"IT'S OVER, DEAN WINCHESTER!"

Outside, a pair of boot-clad feet rushed through the yard toward the old house. The feet stopped dead as two deafening screams of agony pierced the quiet night.

Chapter 25

"SAMMY!!!" Dean had been so concerned with trying not to further stretch the stab wound on Sam's side that it had completely escaped his mind how Dracon wouldn't share the sentiment. He tried one last pull as he felt Sam abruptly slip from his hold, but all it managed to do was send Dean flying backwards. He hit the floor hard, but didn't give it a second thought as he immediately got back to his feet to see a horrifying sight. Dracon had pinned Sam down and Odessa had a pair of scissors raised over her head, ready to run them directly through the youngest Winchester's heart. NOOOOOO!!!

"IT'S OVER, DEAN WINCHESTER!" Odessa crowed, raising the scissors as high as she could in preparation for the final blow.

Dean ignored her. He had shut out every word, sensation, emotion, and thought from his mind except for one all-consuming goal – SAVE SAMMY. His body worked on autopilot, only motivated by that one mission – the mission that had driven him ever since he was four years old, ever since he had learned the most important word in his vocabulary – as he moved with lightning speed toward the hot vat.

'And I don't care what it takes, I'm gonna save you.'

I'm gonna save you…

Gonna save you…

Completely impervious to everything but that goal, Dean grabbed the searing vat off of the table and ran with it toward Odessa and Dracon. "ONLY OVER FOR YOU, BITCH!!!" With a feral shout, he hurled the mass of smoldering ash that was once the spears onto the backs of Odessa and Dracon and flung the now empty vat to the floor.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Dean ran around to Sam and pulled him away from the scene, ignoring the scorching pain in his hands, as Odessa and Dracon's ear-splitting shrieks of agony reverberated throughout the cellar into the quiet night. Dean scooted himself and Sam farther away as Cyrill and Leon came rushing down the stairs to help, only to be pulled down by Odessa and Dracon's flailing arms into the lethal pile of ash and into their own inevitable deaths. In no time, a duet of dying screams had turned into a quartet.

As Dean held Sam safely against him and watched the skin slowly melt from the four creatures' bodies, logic finally came to him. He had been too desperate to make the connection until that moment, but the way his saliva still had a burning effect on Odessa was proof that, even disintegrated, the spears still retained their powerful properties. The spear wound was what had permanently made anything of Dean a danger to Odessa and took away all but the one of her powers over him all those years ago. Had the spears' powers been completely gone, that aftereffect would've died with them and his spit plan wouldn't have worked, not to mention the last-ditch, impromptu ash-toss plan. But by some miracle, the spears had worked even in burnt form.

"Ding dong, the Bitch is dead," he snarled breathlessly at the once physically beautiful figure that was now a moaning, writhing, gelatinous mess. Dean looked away and back to Sam, whose head was resting in the crook of Dean's arm as he spoke weakly.

"So…you melted…her…does that ma-ake…you…Dor-othy?"

Dean grinned widely at his younger brother. "Yeah, well, just remember…if I'm Dorothy, that makes you Toto, Sammy-boy…you've got the puppy-dog eyes, after all."

Sam laughed at his brother's expert comeback but then grimaced in pain as the action sent him into a coughing fit. "Ah God…hurts…De-ean."

Dean didn't respond; he was too engrossed by the spittle that now covered Sam's lips from the coughs. It was red. Oh God no… "Sammy…"

"Hurts…De-ean…" The coughs returned.

"I know, kiddo, I know…it'll be okay," Dean said softly, blinking back tears from his eyes. A rivulet of crimson now leaked out of Sam's mouth. No, no, no… He had to at least stop the external bleeding. He gently lowered Sam to the floor and took off his own outer shirt after shedding his jacket, then carefully tied it around Sam's torso – once again ignoring the pain in his own hands – hoping it could staunch some of the bleeding from his brother's side.

"De-ean…"

Dean suddenly found his index finger clenched tightly in his baby brother's hand, and instantly he flashed back to a similar scene of nearly twenty-four years ago. Only this time, things were different. This time, his baby brother wasn't an actual baby; this time, the hand around his finger was bigger than his own hand; this time, his brother's hazel eyes were pained and full of tears instead of clear and full of life. This time, instead of saying his first hello, his Sammy was saying his final goodbye. No, nonononono…

Dean lifted Sam into his arms again and cradled him. So what if Sam wasn't a baby this time, so what if Sam was bigger than him now. It was the other two 'this times' that drove the action. "Hey, Sammy, c'mon…you stay with me, kiddo, stay awake," he gently coaxed.

"C-c-coldddd…D-De-ean…." Sam whispered between chattering teeth.

Shit… Dean now noticed the shivers wracking Sam's body. His younger brother was going into shock. Still supporting Sam's head with one arm, Dean used the other to grab his leather coat and gingerly wrapped it around Sam's trembling frame. "Try not to bleed on the merchandise, geek-boy," Dean lightly quipped, trying to lighten the mood. "Ya already owe me a new shirt."

It elicited a small smile from Sam. "L-like…any'a my shirts'd fit you…m-midget man."

Dean couldn't bite back the laughter. Kid got me again… "Alright, little bro, you win this round."

Sam looked at him disbelievingly. "I win? Dean…is that…really you?" His older brother just chuckled warmly and Sam noticed tears in his eyes. Now it was clear to him. "Dean…am…am I…dying?" he asked in a small voice.

The question caught Dean completely off guard. "Wha…no, Sammy. No. Why would you think that?" he asked softly.

"'C-cause…you…you're crying…"

Dean blinked heavily. "Oh, nah, I'm not cryin', Sammy. Just the mustiness in this cellar, wreakin' havoc with the ol' sinuses."

"No…" Sam whispered. "S'okay, Dean…I know…m'sorry."

Dean stared bemusedly at his brother. "For what?" He held onto Sam tighter as another round of coughs assaulted the younger man's body and more blood spilled from his lips before he could finally answer.

"O…Odessa…told me…everything. How…how I was your…weakness." A tear slipped from Sam's eye. "M'so sorry…for that…Dean. I never…wanted to be that…to you."

And just like that, Dean Winchester's walls came tumbling down; his masks were removed. By the only person in the world who could manage such a feat – his baby brother. His Sammy. "Hey, hey, Sammy, you listen to me…you have nothing to be sorry for, okay? Sammy…?"

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He wanted to respond to his brother. He wanted to; he desperately tried to. But nothing would come out. Sam felt his body losing the battle rapidly. The world and his brother – which were one in the same – were fading from his vision and he felt the cold closing in around him, even though he was wrapped in his brother's jacket. But in an instant, the cold was banished as he felt Dean gently wipe the cascading tear from his cheek. The overwhelming comfort of the gesture caused another tear to slip out and he closed his eyes as Dean repeated the action. He closed his eyes finding immeasurable solace that he hadn't had to feel the same loneliness that he had felt during his captivity every time the tears had been allowed to slide unchecked down his face. He closed his eyes knowing Dean was there, there like he had always been ever since the very beginning. "Thanks…Dean." For everything. Knowing that his big brother was holding onto him, Sam Winchester closed his eyes…and let go of himself.

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Dean had been gazing into Sam's glassy hazel eyes and finally had to furiously blink back the moisture in his own. When he opened them back up, a pair of long, dark lashes had covered all traces of the hazel. No… "Sam?" Dean lightly tapped his brother's cheek. The younger man didn't stir. "Sammy…wake up, man." Still nothing. "Sammy? Sammy, don't do this to me…c'mon, kiddo, you hang in there." He moved his fingers instinctively to Sam's neck, feeling for his pulse. There was nothing.

"No, nonono, Sammy, Sammy!" In desperation, Dean pressed harder and finally, he felt a slow beat beneath his fingertips. A weak beat. It was the only comfort he had, and he had to have more, so he began gently running his fingers through his baby brother's long locks. The action had always helped to soothe Sam ever since he had gotten that full head of hair, which had been only a few months after he was born, and – being honest with himself – Dean knew it had the same effect on his own mind and heart. Because Sam's comfort was his comfort as well. And right now, if only for a quick moment and whether he could feel and hear Dean or not, Sam needed comfort – both physically and emotionally.

"Sammy…" Dean began, swallowing the lump in his throat, "I'm gonna tell you something…probably gonna have the ultimate chick-flick moment here, but I don't care. I need you to hear this somehow." He took a deep breath as he continued to stroke Sam's hair and looked down at his placid face. "Odessa was full of it, okay, Sammy? If she thought you were nothing but my weakness, she was dead wrong…along with bein' just plain dead now, huh?" he said with a small smirk before getting serious again. "Sammy…I don't think of you as my weakness. Never have, never will. You…you're the exact opposite of that…you're my strength, Sammy." A sob broke Dean's voice. He checked his brother's pulse again. It was growing even fainter. "So you gotta hang on, kiddo…I'm gonna get you outta here…I'm gonna save you."

Dean steeled himself against the pain in his hands as he carefully lifted Sam off the floor, holding the younger man securely to his chest. He turned to the stairs and was startled upon seeing Dusty standing halfway down them, gazing at him sadly and questioningly.

"Dean…?" Dusty was afraid to ask much more; he hoped Dean would figure out the implied question – Is it too late for Sam?

Dean lowered his eyes quickly, not wanting the older hunter to see the tears in them. But the action caused him to once again be looking into his baby brother's lifeless face, and a fresh batch sprang to blur his vision further. "He…he's alive. But…he's gonna…if we don't…we gotta get him outta here."

"Well then, let's git movin', boy, NOW! We got a walk ahead of us, ya know…" Dusty ordered, even though he knew that Dean needed no incentive. "You git a head start, m'gonna salt n' burn these sons a bitches an' maybe the whole damn house while I'm at it!"

Dean was up the stairs and into the hallway with Sam cradled in his arms before Dusty could even finish his sentence. His seared hands were stinging furiously but nothing was going to make him let go of Sam for any reason. Nothing would make him let go of Sam in any way.

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The trek through the woods was slow and arduous. The pain in Dean's hands was steadily increasing and all of Dean's muscles were rapidly tiring with the additional weight of Sam in his arms. And whatever heavy weight Sam lacked with his slender frame, he more than made up for in muscle and height. God, this was so much easier when my little brother was actually little! But Dean didn't dare slow down and take a breather; he didn't have time. Sam didn't have time… At this point, he was Dean's outer strength as well as his inner strength, the only reason Dean was still in motion. Sam…and the unbearable thought that he could lose him. Dean shook his head. No, not gonna happen…NO. WAY.

"Hang on, Sammy…almost there…not gonna let you go…even though you weigh a ton." A small laugh escaped Dean's lips and the silence that followed it – save for the crunching of leaves and twigs below his feet – was deafening. Sam's irresistibly contagious high-pitched laughter didn't fill Dean's ears…no dimpled grin that could light up a room met his eyes…there was nothing. And that right there was the crux of it – for Dean, there was nothing without Sam. He clutched Sam tighter. "I'm not gonna let you go, Sammy…so don't you let go either."

"Nobody's lettin' go of anything tonight, Dean," Dusty's exhausted but sure voice huffed from behind. He had left the old house in flames and had hoofed it to catch up with the brothers, immensely relieved that he had. Dean looked to be on the verge of toppling over under Sam's dead weight. No…'weight'…make that just 'weight'. Dusty was loathe to put the words 'Sam' and 'dead' in the same sentence. They weren't too late. "Dean? I'll take 'im from here on if ya need me to—"

"No." The response from Dean was instantaneous. "I told him…I wasn't gonna let him go…and I'm not."

"Son, nobody's askin' ya to let 'im go, I can just help ya carry 'im…you're 'bout to do a face plant as it is," Dusty chided gently. "I can take 'is legs, you'll still have 'is shoulders. It'll help."

Dean relented and found that the going was definitely much easier now, and as promised, he hadn't had to let go of Sam. Soon they were moving at a steady pace through the woods, and finally, the road was within their sights, as were their vehicles. The Impala had never looked more beautiful to Dean than at that moment. Once they had reached it, he leaned Sam against it gently, dug the keys out of his jacket pocket, and tossed them to Dusty.

The older hunter stared perplexedly down at the objects in his hand before looking up at Dean questioningly. "Uh…me…with your baby?"

Dean lifted Sam off the ground and carefully eased both himself and his brother into the backseat before answering. "My baby brother needs me more." He watched as Dusty nodded warily and climbed into the driver's seat. "Just remember though, man, not a scratch on her…don't care if you're my elder, I'll still kick your ass," he couldn't help but add. Dusty got the actually-sort-of-serious joke and chuckled, then started the engine, pulling back onto the road and flooring it more than Dean thought a sixty-plus year-old had the capability of doing. He silently approved and worked to situate Sam, who was stretched out as far as he could go, his head resting in Dean's lap. Sam's pulse had not gained any strength or speed and his breathing was extremely shallow. But Dean worked to ignore the negatives and reminded himself he should be thankful that a pulse and breaths were present at all.

A fifteen-minute drive later and the Impala screeched loudly to a halt in front of the entrance of the local hospital's emergency room. Dusty threw the car into park and killed the engine, then shot out to open the door for Dean. "Here, hand 'im out to me!"

Dean carefully did so, then took Sam in his arms once again and barreled through the automated doors of the emergency room. "I NEED HELP, MY BROTHER'S BEEN HURT! PLEASE!"

A plump nurse immediately turned around and gasped at the sight before her. "WE NEED A GURNEY HERE!"

The next few minutes were a blur for Dean as hospital staff surrounded him. The only thing he could clearly register was Sam being taken from his arms, and the subsequent empty feeling that threatened to drop him to his knees. But he stayed on his feet, running along with Sam and the staff, murmuring words of reassurance to his brother, to himself, though he was sure that the staff shouting medical jargon drowned out his words as Sam was wheeled down the hallway to quickly disappear behind closed doors.

"Sir, you can't go back there!" one of the staff called out urgently when Dean tried to follow.

"That's my little brother in there, I've gotta be with him!" Dean countered strongly, pushing against those who were trying to restrain him.

"Sir, we understand—"

"No! You don't! I said I'd stay with him!" Dean powered himself toward the doors again.

"Sir!" a more forceful female staff member interjected. "No one is allowed in triage except staff and patients for everyone's own good. You need to stay here and let your brother be worked on, you'll only be in the way if you go in there!" she spoke sternly, hoping he would understand.

The stubbornness in Dean deflated at the thought of unwittingly getting in the way of Sam's treatment. He grudgingly allowed the stern woman to lead him to a row of chairs just across from the triage doors; wordlessly he sank into one as the nurse continued to speak.

"Sir," she began, softening her voice, "we need you to fill out these forms as you wait—"

"Yeah, I know the drill," Dean robotically interrupted, accepting the thick stack of papers and pen, still hiding the pain in his hands. The nurse nodded curtly before leaving him to his work. As Dean set pen to paper, he couldn't keep his eyes from roving nearly every twenty seconds to the closed doors that Sam had been whisked behind. His mind had already played out a myriad of scenarios concerning what could be happening behind them and was threatening to come undone as he worked to supply the now standard false names and phony insurance information. He wished that he could use different first names as well, as he feared Henricksen or any of his FBI flunkies might be suspicious of a 'Sam and Dean' duo should they ever have a whim to check hospital records. But since everyone within a five-mile radius had surely heard him screaming out 'Sam' at the top of his lungs, followed by Dusty yelling out for him to be careful with his hands as he grabbed wildly for any purchase on the gurney carrying his brother, Dean could now only use their real first names. By the time he was done, the names 'Sam' and 'Dean' and Sam's medical history were perhaps the only true things written, meaning Dean was satisfied with his efforts. He handed the information back to the same nurse.

"Mr.…Dean Gaines, right?" Dean nodded. "All right. Mr. Gaines, can you tell us what happened to your younger brother?"

Dean swallowed the truth and quickly crafted a story so as not to bring down a police investigation into the matter. "We were hiking in the woods and he…he tripped over a root and fell a long way down a hill. When I got down there to him…there was this…this tree branch sticking out of his side. I tried to stop the bleeding and get him out the woods, but I was panicked and got lost and…finally, thank God, this guy found us." Dean motioned with his head to Dusty, who had come to stand beside him at the row of chairs.

The nurse turned her attention to Dusty and he picked up where Dean left off. "William Bennett," he greeted, shaking the nurse's hand. "But everyone calls me 'Dusty'."

"Very well…you found this man and his brother?"

"Yes, ma'am, I did," Dusty replied confidently. "The younger of the two was in a pretty bad way when I did, damn tree branch'd put a good sized hole in the kid's side. Got 'em here as fast as I could." The nurse nodded. "Would like to stay here 'til I know the boy's all right if ya don't mind."

"Of course, Mr. Ben— err…Dusty."

"Thank ya kindly. And this one," he gestured to Dean, "didn't get outta the woods unscathed, so to speak." Dean's head shot up in surprise, but Dusty ignored the look. "Burnt 'is hands tryin' to make a campfire he told me."

Dean glowered as the nurse approached him and took a look at his hands. "Oh my God…from a campfire?" she asked in shock.

Dusty clucked his tongue. "Yup."

Any further conversation, however, was immediately cut off by a shrill, unbroken beeping noise. All three heads turned to look at the doors that the sound was emanating from…the doors that Sam lay behind.

"SHIT!" Dusty yelled.

The nurse hurried into action along with the rest of the staff. "We need a crash cart in here NOW, the kid's flat-lining! CODE BLUE!"

Dean Winchester didn't say a word, nor did he register the words being said. All he knew was the piercing sound of the wailing heart monitor…and what it meant. His baby brother's heart had stopped. For Dean, everything had stopped – save for his rapid descent to the floor as stark terror numbed his every sense… There was nothing without Sam.

TBC…

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A/N: (ducks barrage of rock salt…ducks grenades…prays an atomic bomb isn't dropped on house) Okay, flat out, folks! THIS IS NOT A DEATHFIC! I DON'T DO DEATHFICS!!! I don't even READ them, much less WRITE them! And I'm killing no suspense here by telling you this, b/c, remember? This story takes place in between Hollywood Babylon and Folsom Prison Blues, and isn't written AU-style, therefore…they CAN'T die! LOL. And they won't, not in my writing, I can assure you! Though I do feel extremely evil for sticking a second cliffhanger in a row to ya'll…(hangs head while grinning) but no lambasting me, LOL, 'cause it'll all be okay! Hear that, LLS? It'll be okay, so you can TALK TO ME AGAIN! LOL. ;-) Thanks to her for the beta, and to all you still nice and still forgiving readers/reviewers out there; next chapter will be up before ya know it!

A/N 2: BTW, I'm in the process of responding to your Chapter 24 comments, I just went ahead and posted this one beforehand. Didn't forget my awesome reviewers, no way! Also, Dean's fake last name comes from a Lynyrd Skynyrd guitarist, Steve Gaines, heehee! My dad would love that one...