"Dude, what's this?"

Dean lifted his head out of the trunk of the Impala, where he had been organizing the weaponry, "What's what?"

"This," Sam came around to the trunk with a shiny, white inhaler in hand, "I found it in the backseat."

"Oh," Dean's heart raced. That was his inhaler.

"That belonged to some chick that I was with. . .ya know. . .and I guess she left it."

Sam stared at both the inhaler and him for a moment and then shrugged, "Oh, I'll just toss it then."

Dean's heart skipped several beats. That was the only one that he had and had been very careful to keep it intact. He had even peeled the prescription info off of it to keep it safe. Dean couldn't let Sam throw it away. Then again, he couldn't let Sam know it was his.


Dean was finished rearranging everything in the trunk and saw Sam dozing in the passenger seat with his laptop on his lap. Quietly, Dean crept to the side of the car that Sam was on and picked the inhaler out of the junk box that they were going to dispose of later. In a flash, Dean pocketed the inhaler and then innocently went back to work.

Dean's chest was spasming underneath his shirt as his feet pounded the earth below. Sam was directly behind him, firing his shotgun at the entity that was pursuing them. Dean's vision began to blur as the oxygen wasn't reaching his heart or lungs. He managed to keep pace back to the Impala from mere experience of hardcore exertion without his inhaler. Once they skidded to a halt where the Impala was parked, Dean's lungs were screaming with protest. He tried to not gulp down air as he rummaged through the trunk for the right thing that would dissipate the entity that was upon them. Finally, he found the right weapon and the entity was gone.

Sam leaned against the trunk, panting and Dean couldn't breathe.

Inhaler. . .need inhaler NOW! he thought frantically.

Sam was right beside him and going to learn his secret, but fuck it. He was going to die if he didn't use it. As he slid to the ground, Dean ripped the inhaler from his pocket and stuck it to his mouth. As the oxygen slid in, Dean felt better. Puff after puff, he began to cough, but the panic was released from it's hold on his heart.

Dean was seated calmly at the wheel, when Sam opened his mouth to speak. Dean caught it and held up a hand, "I don't want to hear it."

Sam glared bullets, "Well, you're gonna hear it anyway."

"Fine," Dean bit back moodily.

"First, why did you lie?"

"Lie about what?" Dean asked innocently, even though he knew fully well it was about how he had lied about the inhaler not being his.

"The inhaler."

"I didn't want you to think that I was dependent on it."

"Obviously you are."

"Thanks," Dean's voice was acid, "Thank you for proving my point."

"Second, why would you keep the fact that you need an inhaler from me? I'm your brother."

"Are you trying to guilt-trip me?" Dean asked in response, "I didn't want you to think I was weak. Happy?"


"Then get over yourself."

"Dean, you shouldn't have hidden it from me."

"Well, I did and it's over. Okay? Just drop it."


Dean woke up coughing in the middle of the night with his chest constricted. The lingering smoke from the previous tenant was piercing through his lungs. His hand searched for his inhaler on the nightstand, but he couldn't find it. Then suddenly, a missile came from Sam's bed. His inhaler. After consuming his needed oxygen, Dean rasped, "Thanks."

"You're welcome."