Disclaimer: I don't own either of these specimins of 'Hay in a Can' (see previous chapter for definition) but I'm working on that sad fact. Maybe someday they'll be mine...

Alright, Chumberlans, this chapter is finally UP AND RUNNING! You chums out there who drool over Dean/Sam angst--this is your spot. This chapter is brimming over with the stuff! Heh, I think yall will like this one. Enjoy!

Chapter Seven: It Will Work. In Theory.

Ashley Hanson didn't even realize that she had been sitting and staring at the same corner of glassed wall for over a minute. Her eyes were glazed. She knew about her father, and how he had been truthful all along—in the SUV he had explained everything. The revelation, for some reason, was just sinking in. All those years that he put up with people laughing and scorning him, whispering insults behind his back, calling him a loony…

And I believed them… Ashley thought sadly. I should have listened to my Dad. I believed a bunch of prep losers before I believed my own father.

I wonder if it would have been different between us all these years if I had only listened to him…? Would he actually have wanted to spend time with me? Maybe it's my fault that he never does, because he didn't think he could trust me! He couldn't trust me, it's obvious. I wouldn't have trusted me.

She heaved a great sigh, completely unaware of the scene taking place across the large warehouse room.

Sam stood in front of Hanson nervously, watching the man's face and wondering when he would give an instruction. Hanson looked intent, as though he no longer knew that Sam, Dean, and his daughter were in the same building. "That's the first option, obviously…" He muttered pensively, scratching his chin with one hand. "Of course, if that's not successful… Yes, I think so … Yes; it's one of the few things that might." He strode around the lab table to a small kit, from which he extracted a small packet. He read the label silently.

"Mr. Hanson?" Sam ventured.

"What?"

"I don't know what I should be doing—do you want me just to stand here?"

Hanson walked back around to Sam's side of the table and cleared his throat. "First, I want your shirt and jeans removed. Leave on the boxers. Nothing else."

Sam quickly did as he was told, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it aside onto the floor. He felt awkward as he pulled down his jeans, his mind flashing to Ashley, who was still secluded in the corner. Don't be stupid, Sam, he thought dryly. There are more important things at stake here than your dignity.

Once he was completely unclad, except for the pair of gray boxers, Hanson came forward with several sticky medical pads that were wired intricately into a large, black screen. He placed the pads strategically on the bare skin of Sam's body—his shoulders, his pectoral muscles, his abdomen, and his upper thighs. They were clammy, and they pinched his skin a little, but Sam was oblivious to the trivial discomfort.

"Lie down on the table, on your back," Hanson ordered, still reading the label of the packet.

The crisp, cold feeling of the lab table made Sam flinch as he obeyed. He felt extremely vulnerable with his bare stomach and torso completely exposed to the stagnant air—he had the urge to roll onto his side and curl up. He lay still and silent as his heart thudded heavily in his chest.

Dean, who had been standing a couple of yards away, watching—against his better judgment—was now unable to stay away. He advanced to the side of the lab table opposite Hanson. He wanted to stay as far away from the briskly-speaking scientist as he could. He looked down at Sam, whose face clearly conveyed the worry he felt.

"Hey," Dean said quietly.

Sam grinned half-heartedly. "Hey."

"How are you feeling?"

"Never better, man. I feel like I could jump on a horse and ride up Everest, right this very second."

"Trust my brother to lighten up the mood," Dean said fondly, but his chuckle held a distinct undertone of sorrow. Both of them recognized it.

Hanson was at work, with his back turned to Sam and Dean, nimbly plugging the wires that trailed off of Sam's body into outlets on the black screen. Sam wanted to shift—he hated being so still—but he forced himself to deal with it. Hanson should be done soon.

The scientist narrowed his eyes, and then flipped a switch. The entire screen lit up instantly. It threw an eerie, green light across Dean and Sam, who were both waiting with bated breath and a mixture of fear and curiosity.

Hanson pressed another button. Sam felt the patches on his skin tug sharply. He winced, expecting pain, but the sensation disappeared quickly, leaving him more confused than ever.

"What is it?" Dean asked.

"Nothing, I just thought the patches yanked at me for a second…"

Hanson spoke without turning around. "The electromagnetic patches sent a wave through your body, and from that wave we are able to pick up an image that is even more accurate than images gathered with sonar." He stood aside, and the brothers realized that a picture had taken the place of the previous vast, green emptiness on the screen. Sam could make out the bones of his rib cage, curling around his skeleton, and he could clearly see his pelvic bone, lower down. However, when his eyes fell on the small disks of his spinal chord, he frowned darkly. "What the Hell is that?" He asked.

"This," Hanson said, indicating the solid, oblong object positioned straight up along Sam's spine, snuggled in amongst the disks, "Is our little friend."

Dean stared at the screen in disgusted loathing. Where there should have been muscle tissue and the bone of the spine, there was nothing but an ugly, black, stick-like—thing. It wasn't moving. It looked like a torpid eel waiting in a cave for an unsuspecting fish to swim its way and become its meal.

Sam wasn't saying a word. He was staring at the black parasite on the screen, his expression unreadable, but his fists closed tightly around the edges of the table. Dean wanted to reach out and put a hand on his younger brother's shoulder, but he resisted. Don't make this harder on yourself, Dean, he thought sternly. Sammy's going to be fine.

Hanson finally turned around to face them. He looked assertively from Dean to Sam and back again. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave for a few minutes."

"What!" Dean exploded angrily.

"Don't argue. I need to be completely undistracted. During this next stage of examination, I need to decide which of the two treatments I believe to be most promising. You can sit over with my daughter, if you want to. But I can't have you here."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but then remembered his ultimate goal: help Sam get better. Just do it, Dean. If Sam will have more of a chance with you not next to him, then you can't be next to him. It's only a few minutes. Dean looked down at Sam. "You ok if I step away for a little?" He whispered.

"I'm fine, Dean, honestly. I think this guy knows what he's doing."

"If you need anything, just call me, ok?"

"I promise. I'm fine."

Dean forced his feet to carry him out of the small circle of white light and across the warehouse, into the shadows. The walls were so much more ominous in the dark, and the presence of a large, glass cubicle in the corner strengthened Dean's sense of unease. He found Ashley sitting against the wall, staring at the glass booth. She, too, looked extremely glum. "Hey," Dean said hesitantly.

She glanced up in surprise. "Oh, hey. Sorry—I didn't hear you walk up."

"No big deal. We've all got a lot on our minds."

Ashley sighed. "We sure as Hell do."

Dean couldn't help himself from looking over his shoulder to check that Sam was still alright. As satisfied as possible, he turned back to Ashley. "I don't know you very well, but if you want to talk, I know how to listen."

That's all it took. Ashley had needed to vent for an hour now, and the words and thoughts brewing in her head were almost enough to make her scream. "Ever since I was fifteen my father and I have lived in Bethel, and Roger has lived at Moosehead Lodge. He and my Dad used to be really close, but I guess it was all the stuff about Dad's research that turned Roger away. So that's when Dad and I moved here—him as a professor and me as a sophomore in high school. After I graduated, I went to Goldridge—where Dad teaches—and I thought that would be really awesome, because finally Dad and I would get to spend a lot of time together, but I didn't count on his being so obsessed with the research. He worked on it every single day…" She trailed off, looking despondent.

"What?" Dean pressed.

Ashley swallowed a lump in her throat. "The most I ever saw him in any one week was four times, all of them at night, after curfew."

Dean looked away. "I'm sorry. That must be tough."

"Yeah… And also, just because I had such high expectations… it was like a blow to the face, you know? Realizing that what you've been working toward for so long is right in front of you, but you can't have it. Ever. I wish I would have believed him when he trusted me enough to tell me about this crazy parasite stuff, way back in the beginning… Back when it mattered, I guess. It can make you feel really lonely. I just wish he would listen to me, too… Not be afraid to show how much he loves me once in a while. He does love me, I know he does… He just doesn't understand it."

Dean nodded. "I know what you mean. Now that you say it, I've acting like that—how your Dad is—with my brother, Sam. For a while. You know, not being able to let him be close to me. He was always the one who wasn't afraid of the love we have as brothers, and I was always the one to laugh it off and change the subject… I'm sure I've made him feel lonely at times, like the way you feel about your father." Dean felt remorse squeeze his chest and stomach painfully. He forced back the hotness that was threatening to bring tears of grief to his eyes as the reality of Sam's predicament hit him for the thousandth time in two days. "If I could go back in time right now, and treasure our time with each other for as long as I could…"

Ashley met his eyes. "Don't talk like he's dying, Dean. Your brother's going to be ok."

Dean sighed quietly. He wanted to tell her that he already knew that, but the hope was so fragile that he feared it would vanish if he said anything out loud.

"WINCHESTER!"

Dean leapt to his feet, almost too quickly, regaining his balance hastily and focusing in on Hanson across the warehouse. "What is it?" Dean called, his voice cracking.

"Get over here, Dean! Ashley, you stay where you are!"

Dean sprinted across the floor and came to a screeching halt at Sam's side. "Sam?"

"Dean," Sam replied, and Dean was relieved just to see that Sam was conscious—but something else was wrong. Sam's chest and arms were drenched in sweat and his entire body was quivering strangely. His eyes were slightly red. "I feel pretty strange, though"—

"What the Hell did you do to him?" Dean demanded ferociously, rounding on Hanson. "What's wrong with him? Is he ok?"

"I simply injected him with a chemical of my own creation. The chemical induces a natural reaction in the human brain"—

"You drugged him?"

"You both gave me permission to decide on a treatment and take steps to achieve it. That's all I did."

"Well if this causes a natural reaction, why is Sammy so sick all of a sudden?"

Sam's hands were quaking where they still feverishly gripped the edges of the table. "What's going on? This isn't how it happened the other two times."

Hanson checked the fancy Rolex on his wrist, and nodded curtly. "The chemical usually takes about ten minutes to kick in. Your weakened system is being over-run much more quickly. Once the chemical infiltrates the bloodstream completely, it reaches the brain. It renders the brain wholly inactive for approximately three more minutes, probably a few more in Sam's body. The subject appears to be in a wide-eyed sleep, while in fact, the brain has fully shut down."

Dean was thunder struck. He was at a complete loss for words. His mouth opened, closed, opened again… Hanson is shutting down Sam's brain? SHUTTING IT DOWN?

Sam spoke up, "Doesn't that mean I'm going to die? If my brain shuts down?"

Hanson shook his head. "No. The chemical provides your body with enough oxygen to continue running for the several minutes your brain is on hiatus, and then some. The purpose for this is to cut off the energy supply that has been reaching the parasite, forcing the little bastard to leave the host's body. At that point, starved and weak, if it doesn't find a new host within about two minutes, the parasite will perish. It will not be able to re-enter the body from which it was made to leave."

Sam felt a bone-shuddering shiver wrack his body and he gasped, closing his eyes and willing the sudden pain in his midriff to dissolve away. He could sense his body becoming more and more unstable. The parasite inside of him was starting move uncomfortably against his backbone, probably recognizing that something wasn't right.

Hanson said quickly, "We need to get him into that glass cubicle on the other side of the room. He needs to be absolutely isolated when the parasite evacuates from his body so that it will, indeed, die. Help me lift him."

Dean didn't need telling twice. He propped Sam's arm around his neck and took a firm hold on the boy's shoulders, heaving him up off the table as Hanson lifted Sam's legs. The two of them carried Sam haphazardly into the darkness of the decrepit warehouse. The echoing thumps of their shoes against the hard floor resounded from the walls. It seemed to be taking a year to reach the other side of the building.

They set Sam down gently in the corner of the glass compartment. Hanson helped Dean lean him against the chilly wall so that he wouldn't have too much of the chilly concrete against his bare skin.

Dean squatted down in front of Sam. Sam's reddened eyes opened and found Dean's, and the brothers stared at each other for a long moment. Neither of them wanted to move or say anything, but Sam's heart was beginning to slow as the medication took a stronger hold, so both of them knew there wasn't much time.

"Look, Sam"—Dean began awkwardly.

"Don't," Sam said. "I don't want you to apologize. This wasn't your fault, it wasn't anybody's fault."

"I just—I don't want…"

"This is what we do, Dean. Our work brings us into this kind of thing. I knew there were risks when I entered this field with you."

Dean felt his heart sinking desperately. "Sam, I just want you to know that for all these years I've never been closer to anyone else… What we have… It's so far beyond just what we are as brothers… We have something that links us together. Something almost…supernatural, I guess you might call it. Does that make any sense?"

The corners of Sam's mouth lifted slightly. "Yeah, I know what you mean. It's kind of like something unexplainable is pulling us together, and when I'm not working on a case with you, I feel empty and alone."

Dean was relieved that Sam understood his message. He had taken a huge step by opening up so much and embracing their bond, and the fact that Sam valued the same emotion made this moment even harder. How in Hell am I going to leave him in here? "Sam, I really—I think I should stay in here with you."

Sam's eyes widened. "No, you can't! The whole point of this is to kill the parasite. If you're in here, it will just make you its new host, and then you would have to go through what I've been through."

I would gladly go back in time and change history to make myself the one who got infected. But Dean knew Sam was right. If the parasite was going to die, Dean could not be inside the cubicle with Sam. He took a deep, steadying breath. "Promise me that no matter what happens in the next ten minutes, you'll remember that I'm always here," He said softly. "And you'll remember that not even a 'parasite of fire' can stop me from getting to you if you call for help."

"I know."

"Promise me.

"I promise."

Hanson, who had been hulking in the doorway, cleared his throat gruffly. "Hike on out of there, Dean."

Sam nodded. "I'm ok, Dean. Go on."

Dean touched Sam's damp shoulder for a moment, and then stood. "I'll talk to you in a couple minutes, ok?"

"Yeah," Sam's voice was a little more strained now.

"Yell for me if you need me, and I'll break down the damn glass, got it?"

"Dean, go—you don't have too much time."

Dean backed out of the door and listened to the firm 'click' as a metal bolt locked it securely in place. Hanson grabbed his collar and led him over to the shadowy wall against which Ashley was sitting, so Dean slid down to the floor next to her once more. His watched Sam silently. His heart palpitated. A shiver of anxiety ran up his body.

Hey! Did you like it? I hope so, this one gave me shivers as I was writing it, heh! And here comes the ground-shaking revelation I'm sure at least one person was wondering about... I think the next chappie will be the last! AAAAHHHH! So review, while you still have a chance. Heh!