Thanks for the reviews for this story. As promised, here is the next chapter today. Hope you enjoy it.

John came back into the room a couple hours later. Dean stood by the window, looking down to the road, hand placed at the back of his head. John cleared his throat, announcing his presence. Dean turned around, and gave him a sad smile. "He started getting sick again. Later on, I have to go wash his quilt. He couldn't warn me fast enough for me to get the trash can for him. I don't know what we're going to do, dad."

The desperation in Dean's voice sent chills down John's back. He had been successful at teaching Dean to hold it together under stressful situations, and he was starting to fall apart. Somebody had to keep an even keel, so he said, "We're going to take care of him until he gets better. There's not much that we can do except sit here and wait. He'll be all right, but it's not going to help him to get upset."

Dean started to say something, but Sam started to stir. "Dean." He called.

John went over to him first, opening the bag that he had been holding since he came in the room. He pulled out this stuffed acrylic black lab dog and gave it to Sammy. It was something that Mary would have given him as a child, something that he never got to have. John wanted him to have something that would comfort him in a way that his mother would have. Dean looked at him surprised as Sam held the toy and lightly laughed, giving him an almost mirror look. "This is, um, something like I would have given Jess, dad. I'm not a kid anymore." His voice was so weak, but nobody said anything about how weak it had gotten. He had laughed, though. It was music to Dean's ears.

"I walked around the store for over an hour looking for something. It just was something your mother would have given you." John admitted. Dean sighed. He had walked around for an hour, because he didn't know what to get Sammy. Did he really know him that little?

"Thanks, dad." Sam said quietly. The dog wasn't discarded. John situated the pillows and the substitute blankets around him, noting that Sammy looked very much like he was having trouble breathing.

"How are you feeling?" He asked him, and Sam tried to shrug, but couldn't pull it off.

"I'm fine, dad."

The two older Winchester men sat down in their seats and John turned on the TV. Dean had gone to get the laptop from the pile of their stuff on the other side of the room, and they played Grand Theft Auto for a while together. Sammy tired out really fast, though, and so Dean had been playing by himself for over an hour when he heard his brother's voice.

"Don't you wish that I could have swallowed some rock salt and not have let this in?" Sam started to weakly giggle. He knew it wasn't really funny, but he needed to laugh or he would cry. "Isn't that what salt's supposed to do? Keep things out."

Dean didn't see the humor, and Sammy, head back and laughing, made him sick to his stomach. His baby brother was delirious, drunk on his own sickness. He was getting worse, and Dean saw it. None of them would say it aloud, but they knew. There was so little time and they were all still too stubborn to talk about it. "I don't think that's how it works...but it would be cool."

"Why can't it, Dean?" Sammy said, and although he saw Dean choke back a sob with a harsh laugh, he continued. "Bring me some rock salt, Dean. I can take it and..."

"Sammy, you can't. It doesn't work that way. Rock salt would kill you; even if you were healthy it would make you sick." He tried to explain. This was killing him.

"Dean, just let me try it. It might help. It might make me better..." He knew that it was a lost cause, not only because Dean was set, but because it was all just a gesture. He would do anything to make this go away, to be better. This is what he had been trying to avoid since the day his doctor at Stanford had told him that he had Leukemia. It had always been a losing battle, though, and he couldn't turn it into a winning one now.

"Sam...you know that it won't work." Dean said, and then notice that Sammy had stopped trying to fight the point. He looked at their father for a moment, wanting the man for once to be able to say something that would be able to calm his baby brother. "Sam, come on, we'll fix it. We'll make you better. Remember, we're a hell of team."

"I don't feel good, Dean. You know as well as I do that this isn't ending well. I'm going to die and there's nothing you can do to stop it."

Dean felt his throat close up and the tears well up in his eyes, and he fought to get control, to not let Sam see him cry. "Don't give up like that. You're getting help, and you're half-way done with the chemo the doctor told you that you were getting. You'll be better when you're done with chemo, got it?" His voice was rough, and he knew it shook worse than when he'd called his dad in Lawrence.

"You're just tired, Sammy. Lay back and go back to sleep. We'll be here when you wake up." Their father's voice came from behind them, and Sam turned to face him. Sam latched onto both of their hands and went back to sleep. When Dean knew he was asleep, he left the room to go sit in the lobby area. After a brief momentary look back at Sammy, John followed him. There was nothing he could do for his baby right now, but he could help his older son.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Feel free to give any kind of review, whether it be constructive criticism, praise, or question. I am, however, not going to say the fate of Sammy just yet.

I know there was a sentence that was almost an exact quote from the episode "Faith."