[A/N: Set between "Folsom Prison Blues" and "What Is and What Should Never Be."]

"Son of a motherfucking bitch!"

"Jesus Christ, Dean, keep it down. You're gonna get us kicked out." And if I have to spend one more hour in the car with you, I'm gonna blow your brains out, Sam says silently to himself. He doesn't know what got up Dean's ass this morning, but Dean's been unbearably bitchy all day. It's like a Tarantino movie without the bloodshed, and if Dean doesn't knock it the fuck off soon, there's gonna be some of that too.

Dean appears in the bathroom doorway, eyes flashing. "What did I tell you about moving my shit?"

"I didn't move anything. Your stuff's right where it always is."

"The fuck it is. I'm fucking sick of your bullshit, Sam."

"Dean." His voice is low, measured, dangerous; it's Dad's don't-fuck-with-me voice. Sam stands up, eyes narrowed. "Shut. The fuck. Up."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Who the fuck do you think you are, Dad? I don't take orders from you, you cocksucking son of a whore."

Sam always thought that "seeing red" was just an expression, like "green with envy." But no, it's actually possible. He charges forward, grabs Dean by the shoulders and shoves him up against the front door. "Get out."

"Get your motherfucking hands off me!" Dean grabs Sam's wrists and tries to twist free, but Sam holds him firmly in place.

"I don't care where you go or what you do, but if you come back before 4 o'clock, I swear to God I will put a bullet in your brain. Do you hear me?"

Dean says nothing, just gives him a look that would make a normal person piss his pants. "Fine," he grates out, jaw clenched tight. "Gimme my fucking keys."

Sam lets go of Dean and takes a step backwards. He leans over and snags the keyring from the dresser. Dean adjusts his shirt and grabs the keys out of his hand. Dean leaves without a word. Sam locks the door behind him and takes a few deep breaths, trying to get his heart rate down. They haven't fought like this since they were teenagers. It's been a long couple of months, though, and Sam's still not quite over the whole going-to-jail thing. Not to mention the FBI's-most-wanted thing.

He needs a distraction. He turns on the TV and finds Fellowship of the Ring just starting on one of the cable stations. He makes a conscious effort to shut his brain off and lets himself get caught up in the adventures of the hobbits.

When his cell phone rings with Dean's ringtone at 3:15, he doesn't answer it. He thinks about shutting it off completely but doesn't. When it rings again 5 minutes later, he picks it up at the last possible second.

"This better be good."

"Sammy?" It's a 180-degree difference from earlier. Dean's voice is tentative, soft, even childish. Something's wrong. Sam turns off the TV.

"Are you okay?"

"Um...sort of?"

Sam sits up straighter. "Where are you?"

"I, uh...I don't know." It's so soft Sam has to strain to hear him.

"What's the last town you passed?"

"I'm not sure...I...I didn't see it."

Sam's eyes widen. "What do you mean, you didn't see it? What happened? What's going on? Are you hurt? Did something attack you? Where's the car?"

"I'm in the car," Dean replies, and it's the surest he's sounded so far. "But I don't know where I am, and I don't know how I got here, and my head hurts really bad and everything's kinda blurry."

Sam jumps up, swallows past the lump in his throat, and turns on his laptop. "Okay, I'm gonna tag the GPS in your cell phone and then I'm gonna come get you." And take you to the fucking hospital. "So just hang in there, okay? I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Okay." Dean's voice cracks, making him sound even more like a child. "Can you hurry? I don't like this."

"I will, Dean. Just hold on." He clicks the mouse button on the computer, brings up the website he needs. "I gotta go, but I'll call you back, okay?"

"You promise?"

"I promise," replies Sam. "I'll call you back in five minutes. Just sit tight, and keep the doors locked. You can do that, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'm gonna hang up now." Sam can barely get the words out around the huge lump in his throat. "Bye, Dean."

It takes a few seconds, but finally Sam hears him say, "Bye, Sammy."

x0x0x

After a 15-minute drive that should have taken 25, Sam finds the Impala parked on the narrow shoulder of a deserted country road. He pulls the station wagon he "borrowed" in behind it and yanks the keys out of the ignition, tossing them on the passenger seat. He doesn't even bother to close the door after he gets out, just runs so fast to the Impala that he slides on some loose gravel and almost falls on his ass. Dean's curled up in the backseat, face buried in his arms; Sam can't tell if he's conscious or not. He bangs on the door to see if he can get a reaction. Dean startles, then reaches up to unlock the door without even looking. Sam tries not to dwell on that. He throws the door open and kneels down. "Dean, are you okay?" Dean just groans and stays perfectly still. "I need you to look at me, Dean, okay?" Dean says something, but it's muffled and too low to make out. Sam grasps Dean's arm and pulls it away from his head. The pain is written all over his face--his eyes are squeezed shut, his jaw is clenched so tight it's trembling, and his eyebrows are practically touching. Sam's stomach clenches. Dean has the highest pain tolerance of anyone he knows and he's in fucking agony. This is bad. This is really bad.

Sam swallows hard. "I have to see your eyes, Dean. You have to open your eyes for me. I know it's gonna hurt like hell, but you gotta do it. Ten seconds, man, that's all I need."

"No," Dean whispers. "Please, no."

"I'm sorry." Sam moves to tilt Dean's head up so he can see and the strangled cry Dean lets out sends a chill down Sam's spine. He takes a deep breath and pries Dean's right eye open. The noise that comes from Dean's mouth sounds more like a wounded dog than a human. Fortunately--and thank God for small favors--the problem is immediately apparent. Dean's pupil is completely blown.

Aneurysm. He's having a fucking aneurysm. Sam suddenly realizes three things:

* they're in the middle of fucking nowhere,

* he should have seen this coming,

* and Dean could die because Sam is a complete fucking idiot.

Sam lets go of Dean's eyelid and allows him to cover his face again. "I'm calling 911. You just gotta hang on till they get here, all right? It's gonna be okay." Sam stands up, pulls his phone out of his pocket, dials it with shaking fingers.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"My brother's having an aneurysm. But we're pretty far out in the country, and he's really in bad shape."

"And you're on Valley Road?"

Thank God for GPS. "Yeah, I guess. We're not from around here."

"Well, you're only 10 minutes away from the nearest hospital. I'm dispatching EMS now."

10 minutes. It wouldn't sound like much normally, but in medical emergencies, things can change in a matter of seconds. Dean may not have 10 minutes.

Don't think like that, he warns himself. He's gonna be okay. He has to be.

He has to be.