A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you for taking the time to read this. The research found in this story is based off my findings from various medical journals, medical websites, and survivor accounts; therefore there may be some fallacies due to my own error. However, I hope it all makes sense in not only bringing to you a Supernatural story, but also awareness for a certain medical condition. There will only be five chapters for this story. They are complete, minus a few tweaks. I will be posting a chapter every few days or so. I hope you enjoy!

A/N 2: I do not own any material...just playing around in the Supernatural universe.

CHAPTER ONE:

THE CAUSE

Dean Winchester was pissed. His younger brother was supposed be home by 1630 sharp so they can get on the road to Alabama, per their father's directive. Only Sam wasn't…nor was he answering his phone. The kid could have been anywhere in the thirty square-mile town. The last thing he wanted to do was go on a scavenger hunt before a long road trip. He rolled his eyes, grumbling loudly, as he arrived at the high school, running up the entrance stairs. Figuring the kid decided to stay after class, the high school was the first stop on his search.

"Hello ma'am," he said to the school receptionist, leaning over the counter grinning, flashing his pearly whites. The middle-aged woman with tight, brown curls had picked up her bag to leave when he entered the office. She appeared annoyed, averting her gaze to the clock on the wall. "I'm looking for my little brother," he announced. "Can you help me?"

Silently huffing, the receptionist sat back down and opened up the Log Book. "What's his name?"

"Sam. Sam Winchester. He's a junior."

"Hang on," she flipped the page searching for the name. "Yeah, he's not here. He signed out this morning claiming he had a doctor's appointment. He didn't return."

"Doctor's appointment? Did he say who?"

"No, sorry."

"Are you sure?" Dean pressed. "Don't you find it kind of odd that he didn't tell me?"

"I think you need to take it up with him," she replied, nodding towards the door.

Dean took the hint and turned to leave. There were too many doctors in town to visit all of them, and it was close to five o'clock, so he had to think. Where would the kid go? Arcade? No, that's where he would go. The Winn-Dixie parking lot? Scratch that, he was far too introverted to partake in the local kids' social hang-out. He tried the kid's Nokia again. It went to voicemail after the third ring.

"Dammit Sam," he growled in frustration. "Where the hell did you go?"

The next place to try was the library, the bookworm's frequent haunt. Seldom would he see the nerd without a pile of books next to his bed. The librarian knew who he was based off of Dean's description. She informed him she hadn't seen him in there that day. The fraying edge of panic began to set in, the vision of his Dad fileting his ass over the news one of his sons were missing dancing before his eyes. As of today, Sam typically wouldn't take off without saying anything to him, or picking up the phone. If Dad called him, odds were he wouldn't answer the call. Sam and Dad never saw eye-to-eye, and eight times out of ten would get into screaming matches. The end result would be where one found their way through a bottle of Jack while the other stormed out of the house for a few hours. He decided to search the building, leaving no shelf, table, book nook, reading pit, what have you, unchecked.

He had just dialed Sam's number for the sixth time when he stopped by one of the windows in the library. Outside there was a boy of Sam's lean frame, shaggy hair, and beige jacket sitting on a bench in the dog park across the street. Upon closer look as he exited the building it was most definitely his brother. He ended the call mumbling to himself about how he was going to kick this kid's ass into next week.

Those thoughts soon dissipated as he approached the bench. The teenager sat hunched, his gaze forlorn, almost non-blinking. A manila folder lay in his lap.

"Sam?" he began, his voice rising. "What are you doing? I've been looking everywhere for you. We need to get on the road."

His kid brother didn't acknowledge his question or even look at him. He kept his gaze on the grass, his fist clenching the file.

"Sam, what the hell is going on with you? Snap out of it!" Then he heard the faint sniffle, his brother now looking away from him. A pang of worry filled his gut and he knelt by him placing a hand on his shoulder. "Sam, talk to me. What's wrong?"

No words, Sam handed him the manila folder. "What is this?" he asked, opening it. Both sides of the file had paperwork attached: the left side filled with reports of medical tests; the right side with scans…scans of a head? The bottom of the scans had a ton of medical jargon that Dean couldn't understand at first glance.

"Bad news, that's what," Sam finally answered.

"I don't even know what I'm looking at."

"Look at the scan on Page 2 on the right side. Do you see the black spot?"

Dean turned to the page and saw the scan of what appeared to be a brain. There was a dark mass towards the right side of the sphere. "Yeah, I see it."

"That'll be the tumor."

Every part of Dean's body froze, his expression wild. "What? No way."

"Way!"

"I don't…" he flipped the pages of the file erratically, speed reading the rhetoric to understand, though it didn't help. "What? How do you know?"

"I've, um…" Sam licked his lips. "For the past few months or so…I've been having these blackouts, just pockets of time I don't remember much…and these really bad migraines. I thought maybe it might be the stress of the job…or even the job, like something we deal with, you know?"

"Like possession?"

"Yeah…something like that. I borrowed a few of Dad's charms, tried the salt thing, even looked it up in a spell book…but they kept happening. So finally, I decided to get some tests done. I went in a few weeks ago."

"Is that what this is?" Dean asked referring to the file.

Sam nodded.

"How were you able to get tests done? I thought you had to have Dad present or something? Does he know about this?"

"No, he doesn't. I'm sixteen, Dean. All the doctor needs is his signature."

"Which I'm sure you forged?"

Sam shrugged. "S'not the first time I've done it."

Slightly miffed, Dean spat, "How could you keep something like this from us? I would have gone with you. Dad would too."

Unfazed by his tone, Sam answered nonchalantly, "You guys had a lot going on. You and Dad were doing back-to-back hunts non-stop. I didn't want to add to it. Besides, it could have been nothing."

"Yeah, well, now it ain't." Dean sighed, trying to remain calm at this news. "What's the next step for something like this? What did the doc say?"

"I didn't find out…I kinda ran."

"Come again?"

"Today Dr. Reuben said that they confirmed there is something wrong and that they needed Dad here before he could say anything else. I couldn't wait…so I snuck into the desk and took the file. They need to do a biopsy to confirm everything, but not without Dad's consent."

"So we don't know if this is malignant or not…it could be benign. That's slightly better news."

Sam huffed and said, "Turn to Page 5."

As instructed, Dean found the page and saw the scan dated three weeks prior. The black spot was twice as small as the spot on Page 2. He turned to Sam, puzzled.

"Page 5 is the tumor from the first MRI. Page 2 is the tumor from last Friday. It's growing. The tests are talking about aggression rates. One can only assume it's malignant," he said sarcastically.

There wasn't enough alcohol in the world to deal with something like this. They needed help, guidance. Shaking his head, Dean took out his phone. "I'm calling Dad."

"No, Dean, don't! I don't think I want him to know."

"Sam, he has to know! He needs to be here so we can deal with this."

"How?"

"Well, for starters, Dad can talk to the doctor. Get more information. Find out exactly what this is and make a plan in getting rid of it. This is not a debate."

Sam closed his eyes, resigned to the fact that this crappy situation was about to become a lot more complicated as his brother punched in their father's number.

John picked up on the fourth ring. "You in route?" he asked brusquely.

"No sir, we have a problem," Dean answered.

"What is it?"

"It's Sam, Dad. He's sick."

"That's no excuse Dean," John responded. "Give him some cold meds and get on the road. I need you –"

"Dad!" Dean interrupted. "Listen to me. Sam is sick. We need you to come home now."

"How sick are we talking?"

"It's pretty serious. They did some tests and the doc says he has a brain tumor. We need you to meet with the guy so we can figure this out." There was a long pause on the other line. "Dad, are you there?"

"Are you at the house?"

"No sir."

"Get home. Sit tight. I'm on my way." The call dropped.

Dean stowed the phone back in his pocket. "Dad's on his way. Come on dude, let's get you home," he offered. He noticed Sam was on the verge of tears. "What is it?"

Sam worked to stifle his emotion but failed. Soon tears leaked down the sides of his cheeks and he said in a small whisper, "The file says this thing is pretty aggressive. From the sound of it, I don't think they can stop it…I don't want to die, Dean."

"Whoa, whoa! It's not going to come to that." Dean sat on the bench beside him and pulled him into his arms. "It's going to be okay Sammy. Right now, we don't have much to go on. We'll figure this out. We always do. In the meantime, let's set up shop at the house and call it a night. Dad will know what to do when he gets here."

Wiping away his tears, Sam nodded in reply, allowing his brother to lead the way home.

As soon as John arrived home, he had made an emergency consultation with Sam's attending doctor, Dr. Reuben, the following morning. The physician surely was annoyed that Sam took the file, though he didn't press the issue seeing the height and built of the other two Winchesters. The men were eager to hear about his findings. He called it a Primary Brain Tumor that was located in both Sam's Parietal and Temporal lobes, just between the Hypothalamus and Cerebellum. It explained the severe headaches, the blackouts, and the constant fatigue he had been experiencing. He further explained that primary meant it was a single tumor that originated in the brain and it did not travel from elsewhere, otherwise known as Metastatic. It meant there was no other cancer in his body to worry about.

The diagnosis did not alleviate the tension in the room. The men were also eager to find out what would be the course of treatment. Dr. Reuben told them that after consulting with a neurosurgeon, he scheduled a biopsy procedure the following week. Only then could they determine the severity of the tumor and decide on the treatment plan.

Sam appeared strong, slightly nervous, though Dean could see through his façade; the kid was scared shitless. He didn't blame him. The thought of someone drilling a hole inside his head was both nauseating and horrifying.

The morning for the procedure came and went. John and Dean were not allowed to see him until the following morning as the staff needed to keep Sam in recovery. Dean opted to stay in the waiting room in case something went awry, though deep down he just wanted to be near Sam. John opted to go out and work on their bank. Prior to the biopsy, John discussed the situation with Dean that they were to stay put until Sam was well enough again…though that meant having to be creative in securing cash to live off of. Dean wasn't sure what plan his father had, but he was glad for the directive to look after Sam. He never expected to be trekking down this road and was appreciative of the freedom to do so.

A nurse hadn't arrived to collect them until about noon the following day. Glad for the update, both elder Winchesters followed at a brisk pace to the I.C.U. A doctor was performing a neurological test on Sam when they entered. His brother had a white bandage wrapped around the back of his head and his eyes were heavy, still groggy from the anesthesia. Sam spelled out his ABCs upon asked, as well as answer his name, year, and birthday. Dr. Reuben tested his coordination skills by moving his arms up and down, legs, fingers, and toes. When the doctor was satisfied that no further damage had occurred during the procedure, he turned to the two men, who stood waiting.

Before he began, the neurosurgeon, an Indian man in mint green scrubs named Dr. Singh, entered the room, taking part in the meeting. Dr. Reuben pulled up two chairs beside Sam's bed and motioned for them to take a seat. Sam's head listed back and he closed his eyes, falling into a stupor. It was obvious he wasn't going to attend this meeting.

"We were successful in removing a piece of the tumor's tissue," Dr. Singh began. "We had it tested and now know that we have a Grade 3 Anaplastic Astrocytoma."

At the glazed looks, he continued, "It's a tumor that affects the neurons, or more specifically the astrocytes that help process the information in the brain. If the tumor advances, he could experience seizures, memory loss, loss of coordination and balance, etc. It's a relatively common tumor…however, it seems to be growing at a large rate and we're not sure why. In cases like this, removal is the best bet. But we want to be cautious as it's incredibly risky given its location."

"We consulted our colleagues," Dr. Reuben spoke in turn, "and we feel, given the size of it, that he may not survive if we operate now. We want to begin a round of radiation treatments to see if we can shrink it…or at the very least, kill some of the cells to stop it from growing."

"You mean Chemo?" John asked.

"No, not yet," Dr. Rueben answered. "We will try radiation therapy first. It's a different procedure where we use a machine to target the cells using x-ray beams instead of drugs like Chemo. This should help stop its growth before we create a plan for removal. Once he's had the surgery, then we may need to do Chemo to flush out any of the other cells. We'll know more as we continue to monitor and test it."

"Are there any side effects? With the radiation?"

"Yes, you should expect some of the same effects as a Chemo patient. Expect weight loss, hair loss, nausea and vomiting, mood swings. We'll prescribe him medication to counteract these. It just depends on how sensitive he is for treatment. I'll try to schedule him as soon as possible – this coming Monday or Tuesday at the latest. We want to get on top of this now."

"How do we do this?" Dean asked.

Dr. Singh sat forward in his seat. "I recommend a more aggressive course of treatment, meaning I think it would be best to do the radiation treatment for 4-5 times per week for six weeks. Four weeks from the initial treatment, we'll come back and take an MRI. That'll let us know if we are able to operate. If we can't and it's too risky, we'll go with the Chemo after the last radiation treatment."

"Okay, so we have a plan." John piped, suddenly relieved. Dean knew his father liked plans and went through high hell or water to follow them to the 'T'. It certainly helped them with this new dilemma as they had no idea where to start.

"We'll need him back here in about two weeks so we can remove the stitches from his head," Dr. Reuben stated. "In the meantime, I've procured a list of things for him to do that'll help with this process. Maintain a healthy lifestyle like walking each day for at least 5 minutes, eating a balanced diet. It's going to be a little difficult to maintain that once he starts the treatments, but it's imperative that he does."

"To recap," Dr. Singh said. "After radiation treatments for about four weeks, we want him back here to take an MRI to see his progress. That'll help us plan for surgery or tell us if we cannot safely operate. We'll send you home with a packet of instructions as well. Understand?"

"Yes, we do," John answered. "Let's hope for good news then."

"Alright Sammy, time to gear up dude," Dean stood and approached his sleeping sibling, grasping his shoulder. "We've got a long, hard road ahead of us."

He just had no idea how hard it would be.