Walking through the grocery store Sam grabbed some pop tarts and headed down towards the baked goods when he felt the first tickle in the back of his throat. He coughed a little into his hand, and it was immediately followed by another, more violent cough. He kept coughing, dropping all his parcels and doubling over. Sam felt a shift in the back of his throat, like the tickle was dislodged. He took a deep breath and looked around, seeing the small concerned crowd he had attracted.
"You okay, honey?" asked an older woman near him.
"Yeah. Asthma." He said, shocking himself with his own voice. "Gotta go," he ran out to Bobby in the parking lot, leaving his stuff on the floor. "Bobby!" he yelled, his voice rough with disuse.
"Sam?" Bobby said. "You're talking now?" Sam nodded, and climbed into the truck. Bobby understood his unspoken worry. If Sam could speak, Lor could too. Bobby headed back home a fast as he could, breaking a few speed limits. His cell rang, and he picked it up one handedly.
"Yeah?" he barked into the mouthpiece.
"Bobby? I think I found Lor" Isabelle said on the other end.
"Huh?"
"In one of my books. A found an entry about an eighteenth century warlock called 'Lor the Sandman.' "
"Sandman? And if it's the same guy, how is he still around?" Sam's ears perked up.
"Apparently he magically sucks life force from his victims, and it restores his youth. But as long as he can't chant, you're safe."
"And if he could chant…" Bobby suggested.
"WHAT?" Isabelle yelled. "Bobby, if he has his voice back, he'll go after the first person he can get alone!" Sam, leaning in next to the phone, heard her.
"Thanks Izzy, gotta go." Bobby snapped the phone closed and floored the gas.
"DEAN!" Sam yelled, crashing through the door of Bobby's house. "DEAN!" His throat burned, but he ignored it. Sam ran up the stairs, putting his long legs to use. He burst through the door of the room where Lor was being held captive. The warlock was gone, and in his place was an old man, wearing Dean's clothes.
"Dean." Sam whispered and walked over to the old man. He leaned over him and saw Deans face, but lined and wrinkled with age. His hands were shaking, even in his sleep. Sam couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that his strong, young, loud older brother had been turned into this shuddering wreck. Dean drew in a long labored breath.
"Jesus…" Bobby said, coming in the door. Sam slid his arms under his brothers frail body, and carried him out the door past Bobby. He placed Dean on Bobby's bed and checked to make sure he was still breathing.
"Sam…" Sam walked past Bobby without answering. "Sam! Where the hell are you going?" Sam ignored him yet again, and grabbed his shotgun. Bobby grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. He stopped when he saw the look in Sam's eye.
"Don't get yourself killed." was all he said. Sam nodded once, and headed out.