Dean watched as Sam slipped into a deep sleep. His brother was exhausted and, despite trying really hard, he had been unable to keep his eyes open a moment longer and he had dozed off in Dean's arms, body finally going lax and limp, almost a dead weight.

Dean called Bobby and, together, the two men got Sam on the bed and settled. He looked so pale that his skin was almost translucent, dark shadows forming beneath his eyes, his cheek bones standing out sharp and stark, his hair too long and dirty, hanging around his thin face.

"I'm going to help him," Dean turned to Bobby, his expression booking no argument, "I'm not going to stand here and let him die."

"He wants to go home boy, are you going to ignore his last wish," Bobby sounded stern, almost angry and Dean felt his face redden under the older man's scrutiny.

"It isn't going to be his last wish – but no – I'm not fucking ignoring it. I am going to take him home, I am going to let him have his 'normal', but I'm not going to stop trying to save him Bobby, I can't and that is why you have to look after him for the next few days."

"And where are you goin'?" Bobby frowned, opening the beer bottle in front of him and slugging it back, offering one to Dean and watching as the younger man drank it, gratefully.

"I have a few places I want to try," Dean said, swallowing the last of his beer and accepting a second, letting the cold liquid cool his burning throat, "I swear to you I'm not making any deals – I swear to you."

"On Sam's life," Bobby sounded resigned, a little angry, "I wanna hear you swear on Sam's life."

Dean stared at the older man for a long moment and Bobby almost flinched at the cold fury in those jade green eyes.

"I swear on Sam's life that I am not gonna make any more deals with demons or devils – ok?"

"Ok, I'll take care of him – but what do you want me to tell him when he wakes and finds you gone?"

"Tell him I've gone to make arrangements in Lawrence – it won't be a total lie – I am going there – just taking a bit of a detour – but no deals – I swear to you."

"Then God help you Dean Winchester," Bobby smiled, suddenly, his eyes bright and he coughed, pulling his cap over his eyes to hide the expression there, "because if anyone deserves a break it is you and that idiot brother of yours."

Nebraska was hardly on the route to Lawrence but Dean Winchester knew he had to go there, had to try. He found the place easily, by memory, and he pulled the Impala into the parking lot and turned off the engine, laying his head against the steering wheel, his heart beating hard in his chest.

There was no tent anymore, just the old house looking more run down and uncared for than ever. Dean felt guilty as he walked up the steps, his hands shaking as he rapped on the door. There was a long silence and then an old woman appeared, wiping her hands on her apron. She stared at Dean for a long moment.

"What do you want?" Her voice was harsh, business like, "we don't want to buy anything you got to sell."

"Does Roy Le Grange still live here?" Dean managed to croak out, feeling hot under the weight of the woman's hostile stare.

"I'm his housekeeper – who wants to know?"

"Tell him Dean, Dean Winchester," Dean wondered if he was going to be turned away without even getting in through the door, but the woman nodded and shuffled off down the hall, hands in her apron pockets. Two minutes later, she was back, eyes still shrewd and cold.

"He says you can come in," she murmured, opening the door wider, "but you can't stay long – he needs his rest these days – poor soul."

Roy Le Grange looked older, worn down, his hair long and grey around his sunken face. He had lost weight and his clothes were darned and a little grubby. He lifted his head as Dean entered, a smile already forming on his face.

"How are you Dean?" His voice was firm but gentle.

"I'm – I'm fine," Dean sat down in the chair opposite Roy, "I don't know why I came really – but – but I need help and – and I didn't know who to turn to – what to do."

"God will listen," Roy said, softly, "God always does."

"I'm sorry for what happened – before – and for what happened to your wife," it sounded hollow from his lips and he was glad that Roy couldn't see the guilt in his eyes, see the tears that were beginning to trickle down his cheeks.

"Sue-Ann was dealing with things that were evil – wrong – and though I would never have wished her dead – she had to be stopped. There were no miracles here Dean – and for that – I am truly sorry."

"My brother has lung cancer," saying it made Dean's breath hitch, made it real, "he is dying – and I – I need to save him."

"I'm real sorry to hear that – but I can't heal your brother – there is no power here now."

"I thought maybe you might know of someone, I am looking for healers in Lawrence specifically – please – if you know anyone – help me."

"I know a few people," Roy smiled then and rang the bell beside him, "I'll give the names to my housekeeper – she will write them down for you – and – in the meantime – let us both pray for your brother – Sam wasn't it? Maybe God will listen to our prayer."

Dean had never prayed before – he knew Sam did – Sam had told him he did it every day. Dean had mocked him then but now he wished he had had Sam's faith. He stared into Roy's blind eyes and, slowly, fell to his knees, burying his head into his hands, feeling Roy's gentle touch on his head as the preacher began.

"Our Father – who art in Heaven…"

Dean murmured the words along with Roy and let images of Sam play through his head. A healthy, laughing Sam, the Sam that Dean wanted back, the Sam that Dean couldn't, wouldn't, live without.

Dean was going to save his brother or die trying.

TBC