Title: Chipping Away

Disclaimer: Still Don't own 'em.

Summary: Will this day never end?

A/N: Grateful blessings to everyone who has reviewed me, set my story on alert, put it in their favorites or offered me much needed advice. I generally need all the help I can get. Knowing people are enjoying this makes it that much more fun to write and hopefully do a better job. It also feeds the review buzz…… I sweated blood over this chapter, hope you like it.

Special thanks to Alone Deaming for her help with this. I tried to take your advice to heart and I hope the changes I could make based on your suggestions helped. Thank you for forcing me to think a little more and react a little less. I hope you think this is better now. I think it is.

Sam frowned and got up as Dean kicked his legs to get the blankets away. "What's wrong?"

"Nothin'," Dean said shortly. "I'm just hot."

Sam eyed Dean warily. "You were freezing 20 minutes ago," He commented. He reached out a tentative hand to feel Dean's flushed face but Dean avoided him with a practiced twist of his head even though the movement made him slightly dizzy.

"I guess I overdid the hot shower." Dean replied. He sucked in air and coughed again. If he could just get his throat clear.

"Do you want something to drink?" Sam asked reaching for the glass on the bedside table.

Dean shook his head slightly. "I don't think it'll help. I just can't stop coughing." Dean wished Sam would occupy himself elsewhere so Dean could just sleep off whatever the hell was wrong with him.

Stop looking at me!

Sam continued watching him anyway. Dean stared back. God, what now? he thought. It had already been a full evening as far as Dean was concerned. A long, God awful day and no dinner, but there had been a show. Dean experienced a bizarre urge to laugh. He coughed again instead.

Sam seemed to come to some kind of decision. "Dean…." his voice trailed away and he glanced to the side. Sam was obviously in some kind of distress. Welcome to the club, Dean thought and wanted to laugh again.

Dean had to clear his throat to get the words out. "Yeah, Sam, what is it?"

"I know you don't feel good right now, but…I really need to tell you something." Sam began to worry the bottom button of his shirt, like a nervous 6 year old. The motion irritated Dean and he slapped Sam's hand away from the shirt.

"Stop that. What do you want to tell me?" He fought the next fit of coughing but lost. The dull ache in his chest seemed to be getting stronger.

Sam got up and walked the short distance over to his bed. He rummaged around under his mattress and came up with an envelope he flipped back and forth through his fingers as he walked back to the Dean's bed. Dean managed to quell his coughing fit and was eyeing Sam's guilty approach with trepidation. Whatever this was, he wasn't going to like it. His eyes met Sam's as Sam held out the envelope.

"What is that?" Dean wheezed cautiously. He reached out and accepted it with all the enthusiasm he might have exhibited if he had been handed a scorpion. He rubbed away sweat on his upper lip and slowly lay back against the pillow, one hand on his chest, although he found the touch oddly painful.

"Read it," Sam said, eyes darting from Dean's face to the letter and back again. Dean couldn't miss the sudden jump of excitement in Sam's eyes. Whatever this was Sam was beside himself over it. Dean swallowed with an effort and turned the envelope over, deciphering the wriggling writing with an effort. It was addressed to Samuel Winchester and in the upper left hand corner the return address read Stanford University. He could feel his heart start racing under his ribs. Jesus, tonight of all nights Sam decides to spring this on him?

Shakily, Dean pulled the letter out of the envelope, noting how limply it fell along the fold lines. This indicated to him it had been read many times. He glanced at Sam one more time and then down at the letter. The words were jumping around to much for Dean to really focus on them and he didn't want to read anymore after, "We are pleased to inform you that your application to Stanford…"

Dean's heart somersaulted and the blood left his face in a rush. For an instant he thought the aspirin was about to make a sudden unannounced return. He stared at the paper for a long moment. Sam didn't seem to notice Dean's reaction and was almost squirming from ill-concealed excitement.

Dean reached up and rubbed his forehead trying to gather his thoughts, which shouldn't have been so difficult. How was he supposed to respond to this? The only thought in his head, freezing his heart, was, Oh, God…..Sam was really going to leave…leaving them….leaving him.

"I got in, Dean. Stanford. A full ride. I start this fall." Sam's voice rang with pleasure, sang with it, even through the roaring in Dean's ears. "I wanted to tell you sooner but, there just never seems to be a good time. So, I'm telling you now." Sam sat back down on the bed and touched Dean's leg briefly, "I wasn't sure how you would react…" Sam laughed a little. "I guess knowing you're in a weakened condition gave me the nerve." Sam's large hazel eyes begged for Dean's approval, his consent to do this thing. Please, tell me it's ok they begged. "It's what I've dreamed of, Dean. I'm gonna go to law school."

Dean's jaw muscles clenched. "Sam this…" Shit shit shit, " this is great." He finally choked out. "Is this what the fight was about?" That would have explained a lot, although Dean thought he would've picked up on something like this being yelled over his head.

Sam shook his head. "Dad doesn't know. I don't know how to tell him. I haven't been able to figure out how to tell you. I didn't like keeping this a secret from you." Sam sighed and closed his eyes. "I'm not sure what he'll do when I tell him." Dean sensed just thinking about what his dad would do was overwhelming to Sam.

Dean's brows drew together. He had a pretty damned good idea what their father would do. There would be hell to pay when Dad found out about this. He could feel his own body tensing up at the thought.

Dean closed his eyes again. His head was pounding now. Everything seemed to be getting a little fuzzy around the edges in the dim light from the small lamp. He felt a little like he had a mild beer buzz. Almost like he was being wrapped in cotton. With an effort he managed to pull his mind together enough to focus on the issue at hand. It was like trying reel in bubbles. The ache in his chest was getting worse and he was breathing hoarsely through his mouth, lifting his shoulders as if that would get more air in his lungs. He gestured loosely with the letter.

Sam listened to how labored Dean's breathing was becoming with increasing alarm. "Dean, are you ok? You're starting to sound awful."

"It'll be okay, Sam." Dean said, not sure himself, what he was referring to. Hating himself for saying it, wanting it to be true, but knowing better. "You always were the smart one- " he coughed. "You should go to college. This is great. I- I'm proud of you." Dean's voice cracked as he forced the words out and he began to cough again, deep, wet, choking coughs. Sam grabbed Dean's shoulders and pulled him upright. Dean was doubled over he was so racked by the spasms, hands fisted against his chest, Sam's letter still gripped in one hand. Sam was shocked to feel the amount of heat pouring off of Dean. His t-shirt was soaked with sweat.

Jesus, what the hell was happening to him? Dean thought, feeling his body starting to freakout from not getting enough air. The flu meant puking, not this feeling like he had a steel band compressing his chest. His lungs felt as though he were starting to drown but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't cough the water out.

Sam reached out and put the back of his hand against Dean's face. Dean jerked away but Sam could feel the heat in Dean's skin and it wasn't just from the exertion Dean was going through. "Dean, you really got a fever! You're burning up!."

Dean rolled his eyes. "No, ya think?" he gagged, trying to brace himself.

"Do you want some more water?" Sam rose and grabbed the cup from the bedside table.

Dean nodded, unable to speak. Sam left the room. Dean's breath sawed in and out thick and noisy as if his throat was closing up and he was getting lightheaded. Small sparks of light were

flashing at the edges of his vision. Blearily, he glanced down at the letter he still had clutched in one hand and was surprised to see it was splattered with inexplicable red dots that were rapidly drying and turning brown. He rubbed his fingers across his mouth and they came away with red spittle on them and he could taste it now in the back of his throat. Oh shit… he thought. He'd coughed blood all over Sam's precious letter. They were gonna love that at the admissions office.

He clumsily refolded the letter and stuffed it back in, smearing the envelope with more red from his fingers. He leaned over and crammed the envelope in the pocket of his jacket that was lying on the floor next to the bed. The last thing he needed was for Dad to find it. Dizziness swept over him, almost causing him to tumble from the bed. Acid burned the back of his throat and he retched weakly, leaving more bloody drops on the floor. He fell back onto the bed gasping, panicked. God, he couldn't breathe! Why couldn't he breathe? He clawed at his chest, his eyes slowly fluttering closed.

Dimly, in some still cognizant part of his brain he recognized the sudden sound of the front door slamming shut. Absurdly, before the darkness settled over him he thought, Oh, good... Dad's home…

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