Back from the grandpa's, finall. Anyway, sorry this is kind of a short chapter, but it was important to me that nothing extra take away from this part here. :) I hope you like it; I can't wait to hear from you! Thanks so much ya'll!

Chapter 20

Sam was at the table on his computer when Dean made it back to the motel—a place he'd been spending a lot his time lately. The tube from the oxygen generator was unrolled and reached across the floor to Sam from where the machine rested by his bed, and in sweats and sporting pale skin and shadows under his eyes, there was no more illusion of health.

There hadn't been for weeks. He hadn't left the motel rooms the last several places they'd been, and when he moved he did it slowly.

They were running out of time, and they both knew it.

Dean just couldn't think about it.

His brother looked up as he shut the door behind him. "Hey. How'd it go?"

"Fine…just fine. The ghost is toast."

"Wow. That was a horrible joke."

"Thank you, college boy." He grumbled to himself as he dropped onto his own bed and spread out on his back. "This was supposed to be in-and-out; see if the old broad knew of anything that could help you, and get back on the road if she didn't. It wasn't supposed to turn into a case."

Sam shrugged. "It's not her fault she was being haunted by the ghost of an old client."

Dean rolled his eyes. "The very fact that it was an old client makes it her fault."

"Whatever."

"Anyway, we're out of here first thing in the morning. Bobby dug up another address for us."

"Where?"

"Wyoming. Maybe we should stop by Bobby's on the way there; we'll have to go right through South Dakota anyway." They were in Minnesota now, and for late spring or early summer it was still remarkably cool—cold at night, even. Then again, it was Minnesota.

Well, maybe they had been stuck here for several days working this case, but at least the cool air and general lack of humidity were easier on Sam.

"Yeah…we probably should."

Dean pushed himself up on his elbows, frowning at the answer. Or…not at the answer, but the tone in which the answer was given. "Sammy?"

His brother looked pointedly back to the computer. "What?" he asked tiredly.

Dean opened his mouth, but nothing would come. "Never mind." Sam grimaced, but he pretended not to notice. He got up to pack everything that he wouldn't need tonight, when he noticed the box of Kleenex at his brother's elbow.

"Dude, what's up with the tissues?"

"What? Oh." Sam shifted in his chair. "Those were there when we came in."

"I thought they were on the nightstand when we came in."

His brow furrowed. "In a lot of motels they are, but those have been on the table since we got here."

Dean blinked. "Uh…ok." Why did this conversation make him uneasy all of a sudden? He went back to packing, and all was silent for several long minutes. Sam was reading, not surfing, and there wasn't even the sound of his fingers on the laptop keys.

But it was Sam who cut the silence, when he broke into a coughing fit. It happened too often now, and this time it sounded mild enough that it didn't warrant immediate attention. Still, Dean looked up once he had his bag zipped.

The coughing was already trailing off, and Sam was shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweat jacket.

"You ok?"

"Yeah," Sam answered dismissively. He stood and headed for the bathroom, swallowing for some reason. At the bathroom door he pulled his oxygen tube off to go in, leaving the loop dangling on the edge of the shelf there, and closed the door behind him. Dean heard the coughs start up again on the other side of the door. He stood where he was, waiting for them to stop again.

They didn't.

"Sam?" He crossed quickly to the door and pounded, but the only answer he heard was a series of thuds. "Sam!" Dean shoved the door open, more than grateful that it wasn't locked.

He found his brother halfway to his knees, hanging on the edge of the counter in front of the sink and trying to pull himself back up.

"What the hell?" He quickly took hold of him from behind to help. When Sam swayed and his body didn't seem to want to go up, Dean lowered him to the floor against the wall behind him instead. For once he had no complaints about narrow bathrooms.

"Just lost my balance," Sam said immediately, but he was wincing and his voice was rough and it came out on a breath and Dean barely heard him.

Dean swallowed hard. "Lost your balance or got dizzy?" he snapped, more harshly than he'd meant to. Sam acted like he wanted to get up, or find some witty answer, but he said nothing and he didn't seem to be able to move very far. He slumped back against the wall, pulling in air with difficulty. Dean straightened, crossing his arms momentarily as he huffed in frustration to cover the sharp pang of worry.

That was when he saw the blood in the sink.

That was also when he discovered how fast one could develop balance-detrimental tunnel vision.

Dean couldn't quite see Sam, but somehow he knew Sam saw him. It didn't take long before he was on his ass on the floor right beside his brother, and he knew that Sam knew exactly what he'd seen. "Sammy…?" he all but gasped. When he finally managed to blink the black from the edges of his vision he looked, and Sam was staring uneasily at the floor, arms tucked around his chest.

"I'm sorry," he whispered after a moment.

"For…what? How…" He swallowed convulsively, trying to get rid of the sudden lump and trying to avoid asking the question. He didn't want to ask the question. "How long?"

"On and off, for a month or so, but it wasn't so bad," Sam answered dully. "It wasn't like this until a couple of weeks ago."

Dean just stared at first. "Weeks? A month…?" He stood quickly, scrubbing his hands nervously through his hair. "Sam, you should have told me! We should have gotten you back to a doctor, o-or something. God…we'll go now. We'll—"

"I called Bennett, Dean. There's nothing else anyone can do. I asked. This is just…part of it."

His mouth went dry. "Which part?" he asked hoarsely. He knew he sounded horrified, but he didn't care. He was.

Sam reached into one of the pockets he'd been shoving his hands into a minute ago, out at the table. He tugged out a wad of Kleenex, splotched red, and miserably tossed them into the small trash can by the sink. He only looked up for a moment, but it was enough.

No…

Something inside Dean snapped, and suddenly he had twisted and all but ran from the bathroom. The tunnel vision returned, and all he could see was the door, and he wanted to scream and he wanted to cry and he just wanted it all to be gone, and all he could do was run.

He barely heard the motel room door slam behind him.

"Dean!"

Either his brother didn't hear him, or didn't want to. It wouldn't have surprised him that the cry never reached Dean's ears. His throat was still rough, and it hadn't come out loud at all.

Sam swayed forward and grabbed the edge of the sink again, hauling himself slowly and not so surely to his feet, grimacing. His ribs had long since healed and stopped aching, once the infection was treated, but his chest itself still hurt. It hurt worse now, after the coughing. His chest hurt and he could never get enough air anymore, and he never had enough strength anymore…

Much of it he tried to keep from Dean, just to cut down on the stress, but there was only so much he could hide. Still, he didn't think his brother had realized just how bad things were getting…until now.

The front door slammed, and Sam hurried out of the bathroom and staggered across the motel room to open it again. He didn't think about what he was doing, or if he could do it, or any of those things.

He only knew that he didn't want Dean to be away. Not for any length of time.

Not right now.

He was exhausted and hurting and he knew everything was going to hell much too quickly, and he wanted his brother, and he didn't know where Dean was going. Dean was upset, and an upset Dean off somewhere and able and willing to cause damage to others and himself was not something he wanted to deal with right now

"Dean!" Hanging for a moment on the doorframe, he could see his brother down the sidewalk in the light from the streetlamps, already halfway to the road. "Dean, wait!"

Sam knew he probably shouldn't, but he lurched into a jerky pursuit anyway. His chest complained sharply, and so did the dizziness, but he ignored it. "Dean!"

But Dean couldn't hear him. He couldn't call loud enough; his throat was still coated from the blood, and it still hurt too much from coughing. All he could do was pick up the pace and catch up on his own, just before his brother would have turned onto the sidewalk that lined the street. He reached out and grabbed a hunched shoulder.

"Dean, wait—!"

Dean spun in surprise, just as the world spun harder and his legs called it quits. His brother caught him and lowered him to him knees, swearing under his breath as he came down with him. "Sam! Damnit; what are you doing?" he demanded tightly.

"Chasing you," he croaked weakly. When he had more air he looked up again, and realized that Dean's face was streaked with tears. "God, Dean…"

"What the hell'd you follow me for?" Dean complained angrily. He left Sam on his knees on the concrete and pushed back to his feet, turning away to dry his face. "I was coming right back."

Sam swallowed. "I was worried about you, okay?"

"Well I didn't want—!" he stopped abruptly; hung his head…but Sam still heard the rest of the sentence. I didn't want you to see this.

"I'm sorry," he repeated quietly.

Dean finally spun back to face him. "Sorry for what? You didn't do anything; that bitch Leah did." He let out a breath and stooped to help his brother up. "Come on; let's get you back inside."

Sam sacrificed what was left of his energy to hold Dean down near him. "Wait…"

Dean dropped some from his crouch and let a knee rest on the pavement. "What?"

For a moment he just held onto his brother's arms, keeping him there and wondering if he could really say what he wanted to say.

Because he had made his decision. Maybe it was because he was afraid of the end, if it came, and maybe it was because it had hurt too much when Dean ran out that door a moment before, but Sam had finally made up his mind.

"Dean…I know this is hard for you. I know it's hell. I remember what it was like, when you were sick, but…sometimes I feel like I'm the one losing you," he said quietly, almost reluctantly.

"What?" Dean repeated, in confusion this time.

Sam swallowed again, knowing Dean wouldn't want to hear this but knowing he had to do it anyway. "I feel like you're pulling away, and I hate it." He blinked back the sudden tears; they wouldn't make anyone any more comfortable. He had to look away to keep them at bay, but still he gripped his brother's arms.

"Don't let go of me before I'm gone, Dean. I've never really asked you for much, but I'm asking you for this now. I know it hurts, and I'm sorry…but I need this," he croaked. "I can't lose you before I even have to go anywhere. I can't."

He expected a fight. He thought maybe Dean would deny it all, insist that he wasn't acting any differently than usual, call him crazy or too mushy or ridiculous…he expected anything but what happened. Instead of an immediate reaction Dean looked at him for a long moment, swallowed, and nodded just a little.

"Okay," he answered softly.

Sam blinked. "Okay?"

"Yeah. You're right." His head dropped forward for a moment. "I wasn't trying too, Sammy. I really wasn't. It just…happened." He hesitated. "I guess part of me thought it would be easier," he grimaced.

"It would be," Sam whispered. "For you." He let out something between a sob and a laugh.

Dean forced a smirk. "Whaddya know? Sam Winchester is being selfish for once."

He winced. "Yeah, make me feel even worse about it."

"Nah. You've got a right; you shouldn't feel bad."

Sam looked at him incredulously…but gratefully. "So what do we do now?"

Dean actually smiled that time, a little. "We stick together, and we keep looking for a way out of this—and for that demon, I guess."

"Sounds like a plan to me," he sighed. He tried to stand up, but there was nothing there—no cooperation from his body at all. Dean got one of his younger brother's arms over his shoulder and pulled him up, grunting and complaining all the way.

"God you're heavy," he grumbled, as they hobbled back to the room.

"It comes from being a head taller than you."

"Oh shut up. Four inches is not a head, and…I'm still older."

Laughing sent him into another coughing fit that didn't help him in making his legs keep up with his brother's tugging, and by the time Dean pulled him to his bed Sam couldn't breathe.

The world fuzzed out until his oxygen tube suddenly appeared at his nose, and while he worked to get the air into his lungs Dean went to fill the nebulizer for a treatment. The oxygen helped, but Sam didn't open his eyes again or let his focus waver until the nebulizer mask was settled over his nose and mouth, and breathing became easier still.

When he opened his eyes he found Dean sitting beside him, staring down at him worriedly.

"I'm fine, Dean," he mumbled through the plastic.

"Yeah," his brother deadpanned. Dean didn't move from Sam's side until the treatment had been taken, and he'd set the nebulizer out of the way and replaced the loop of the oxygen tube over Sam's head. "Just try to get some sleep, okay?"

Sam nodded even though he wasn't sure he wanted to, but in the end he didn't have a choice. The adrenaline was gone and it wasn't long before his eyelids felt too heavy to lift. He was out moments later—but not before he managed to pick up what Dean whispered, broken and barely audible.

"Just don't go anywhere on me tonight, little brother. Please…"