Summary:  Sam and Dean take on a run of the mill haunting, but when Sam is injured Dean must cope with feelings of guilt, and help his recovering brother. As they take on the spirit, the brothers discover another hunter has already been here before.
A/N:  Thank you, Jubilea for the beta work! Good catch, BTW!
Disclaimer:  If they were mine, I’d be advertising the living daylights out of this show, rather than slowly, but surely converting my friends. I’m up to five so far, and I have yet to have anyone claim I owe them a virtual cookie for beating my record. bg

The hubbub of the bar drowned out the click-clack of the keys as Sam surfed the Internet. He was pleasantly surprised to find the Wi-Fi from the coffee shop two doors down reached all the way to Al’s Friendly Tavern. He and Dean had enjoyed two beers before Dean left Sam to the research while he hustled pool.

A beer bottle slammed down on the table, rattling the two empty bottles on the table, and caught Sam’s attention. Sam straightened, and stretched his back and shoulders, stiff from hunkering over the laptop for the past hour. “Are you done?” he asked shooting Dean a questioning look.

“Nah, but I’m up about one hundred and fifty bucks right now,” Dean replied taking a swig of beer. “I’d like to make about forty or so more.”

“Don’t you think that’s pushing your luck a little?” Sam asked.

“Maybe, but that last gig was hell on our clothes, and we need to replace some of them,” Dean conceded with a grin. “Don’t worry, Sam, I’m sure you’ve got my back if the locals get UN-friendly.”

“Funny,” Sam sniped. “Try to stay out of trouble…just this once.”

“Sam, you wound me,” Dean replied impishly clutching his palm to his chest, and staggering backwards dramatically. “Did you find anything yet? You haven’t been surfing for porn all this time, have you?”

“What? No!” Sam protested indignantly. “I found a couple of interesting hits, but nothing that fit your exacting criteria.”

“I’m not picky, any old job will do,” Dean contradicted.

Sam raised his eyebrow and recited, “I want an uncomplicated, good old-fashioned, shoot, salt and burn it. No touchy-feely, morally complicated, demonic possessed, crazy people hunt this time. Think you can handle that, Sammy?”

Dean gave Sam a lop-sided grin and retorted, “Nice to know you listen to me sometimes, Sam.” He spun on his heel, and walked back to the pool table.

“I listen to you all the time, Dean,” Sam muttered hunching back over the laptop. “Most of the time, I even believe you.”

An hour or so later, Sam closed the laptop, and rubbed his strained, smoke-reddened eyes. He had the beginnings of a headache, and he rubbed his temples. At last he had found something that would meet with Dean’s approval. As if on cue, Dean appeared on Sam’s right side, sporting a cocky grin. “You ready to hit the bricks?” Dean asked.

“Absooooolutely,” Sam replied a huge yawn cracking his face. He stood up, and slid the laptop into its carrying bag.

“What’s the matter, kiddo, am I keeping you up past your bedtime?” Dean asked heading for the door.

“I guess so,” Sam responded good-naturedly falling into step beside Dean. “But, I found us a gig.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked stepping outside.

Sam coughed several times, and bounced on his toes to keep warm as the sudden blast of cold air hit him. “Uh, yeah,” Sam replied distractedly, looking around. “Where’d you park after you dropped me off?”

“I left the car at the motel,” Dean answered turning left, and heading down the dimly lit street. “It’s only a couple of blocks away, and I wanted to have a drink, and not have you drive.”

“Dude, you have to get over that already,” Sam insisted without humor. “Besides, I drive all the time.”

“If that’s what you call it,” Dean sniggered turning into the alleyway. The truth was, there was not any parking to be had close to the tavern, but teasing Sam never got old; he could always get a rise out of him. If Sam ever figured out how much he really enjoyed baiting him it would destroy the whole thing. It was in moments like these that Dean did not have to remember the demon, their father’s death, or what the hell either of their destinies had in the coming war. He did not even have to remember they were hunters. He and Sam were simply brothers.

“Guess which one of us is driving all the way to Minnesota while the other one sleeps?” Sam asked sarcastically.

“Dude, that was a given. You really are tired,” Dean replied. He glanced over at Sam. He looked exhausted, and even a little pale. Dean wondered if maybe Sam was more than just tired, he looked sick. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, just a little run-down,” Sam replied. “I’m going to sleep well tonight.”

“You and me both,” Dean agreed. He caught sight of a shadowy movement in his peripheral vision. He jutted his chin slightly at Sam, who nodded almost imperceptibly. Sam had seen it too.

The shadowed form stepped out from behind a dumpster, and headed towards the brothers. Sam slid the leather messenger bag off his shoulder, and tucked it behind a small stack of boxes against the alley wall. Dean used the opportunity to slip slightly ahead of him, between Sam and whoever or whatever was approaching.

Dean could sense movement behind him, but he knew Sam had his back. As the figure emerged into the dimly lit alleyway, Dean could see it was one of the men from the bar. “Harry, what’s up?” Dean asked. “Feel like playing a little more pool? I can’t man, I have to get going, but I’m sure one of your other little friends will still play with you.”

“Dean,” Sam chastised in a warning tone from behind him.

Dean ignored Sam’s obvious warning to not antagonize Harry, and continued, “You’re not sore about a lousy fifty bucks are you?”

Harry advanced towards Dean, and without further explanation took a wide arced swing at the seasoned hunter, who easily ducked, and offered a retaliatory jab in return. Harry staggered backwards, wind-milling his arms to regain his balance. Before the older, heavier man could fully recover, Dean was on him. One solid hit later Harry was down.

Dean looked around frantically for Sam, and spotted him kneeling on the ground, partially concealed by shadow. He was checking the pulse of a man he had quickly dispatched only moments before. He glanced over at Dean, and nodded slightly in acknowledgement of the unasked question. He was okay.

“Dean!” Sam shouted in warning.

Dean spun around, and was clipped on his chin by a sharp uppercut. The force of the punch snapped Dean’s head backwards, and he was hit again, this time on the back of his head when it came into contact with a brick wall.

Dean shook his head to clear his disorientation, when he noticed two men advancing on Sam. “Sam!” he called out in warning. He tried to head towards Sam, but was cut short by his attacker.

“Going somewhere, kid?” the burly man asked. He was wearing a too small t-shirt that did not completely cover his ample girth, and a dirty feed store hat. Dean recognized him from the bar.

“As a matter of fact, DJ, I am going to help my brother,” Dean stated mater-of-factly.

“Is that so?” DJ sneered. “I think you and I have unfinished business, boy.”

“You lost, get over it,” Dean replied. He saw Sam take down one of the men, and spin around quickly to strike the other man. ‘Atta boy,’ Dean thought. Deciding he’d had enough of DJ, and his tobacco stained shirt, Dean landed a solid blow to DJ’s head. DJ fell like a chopped tree.

Before Dean could offer a warning shout to his brother, Sam was hit from behind by a bat-wielding man. Dean heard the muffled thud as the bat made solid contact with Sam’s ribs. A loud whooshing sound escaped from Sam’s lungs, as the bat hit him again. Sam kicked his attacker’s knee, and he fell to the ground. Before the man could recover, Dean hit him squarely in the jaw, and the man stayed down.

Dean rushed over to Sam who was struggling to his feet. He grabbed Sam by the collar, and hoisted him the rest of the way to his feet. “Sam?” Dean asked concern flashing in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” Sam forced out through gritted teeth. “Let’s go.” He tried to walk forward, but Dean was still firmly gripping his shirt.

“Sam,” Dean scolded his eyes scanning Sam’s face for any trace of deception. “Bruised or broken?”

“Not sure,” Sam replied with a sigh. He stopped trying to break from Dean’s grip, and took a mental inventory of his ribs. “Cracked?” He responded finally picking a middle ground.

“Was that a question?” Dean asked. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. We need to get you to a doctor.” Dean put his arm around Sam’s shoulders, and attempted to steer him out of the alley.

“No,” Sam argued. “I’m not hurt that bad.” He resisted Dean’s gentle push, and bent over to grab the hidden laptop. He barely suppressed a moan of pain, when he stood back up, and shouldered the messenger bag.

“Broken ribs are nothing to mess with,” Dean insisted not missing Sam’s grimace of pain. He snagged the laptop from Sam. “You know that, let’s go.”

Sam huffed lightly in protest, but this time he did not pull against Dean’s guiding push towards the end of the alley, and the waiting Impala.

Dean sat in the waiting room of the small emergency clinic one town over as a concession to Sam. He had listened to Sam’s shallow labored breathing for nearly twenty-three miles before they reached the clinic. They had waited over an hour before the only doctor on duty finished examining an entire family with the flu, and one man who had been kicked by a cow.

Dean knew he should be looking at the information on the hunt Sam had transferred to Word at the bar, but there was something about sitting in a waiting room that caused his brain to misfire, and the worrying to begin. On a good day, Dean would feel guilty about anything bad that happened to Sam. However tonight, he felt directly responsible for Sam getting hurt. It was his choice to stay in the bar longer to play for more money. Sam had warned him, but he’d blown him off. There was also the fact he had left the car two blocks from the tavern knowing they may need a quick getaway.

Dean rubbed his right hand over his head, and down his face. He hunched over, and rested his elbows on his knees cradling his head in his hands. What the hell was taking so long? Dean stood up abruptly, and paced in a tight line garnering annoyed glances from a young mother holding her crying baby. Dean sat back down, and gave her a small apologetic smile. He sighed loudly, leaned back in the folding chair, and closed his eyes immediately losing himself in a memory.

“Will Sammy be okay?” Dean asked finally. He was sitting in the back seat of the Impala with Sammy who was ‘sleeping’ off the effects of the striga attack.

John made eye contact with Dean through the rear view mirror. “Sammy will be fine, son,” John replied giving his oldest son a small hint of absolution before reinforcing the lesson, “I know you’ll keep an eye on him at Pastor Jim’s, and make sure he stays safe.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied breaking eye contact with his father. John nodded in approval, and turned his attention back to the road. A part of him hated pushing his son to be responsible for Sammy, for things well past his years of experience. But, the larger part of him knew it was necessary for him to ensure both his sons’ safety. They needed to obey him immediately, to watch out for each other, and learn to take care of themselves. It could save their lives one day.

Dean watched the rise and fall of Sammy’s chest, reassuring himself that Sammy was still alive. It had been so close this time, and his dad was right to call him on it. It was his fault. Dean pulled the blanket tighter around Sammy and vowed silently to himself that he would never again allow anything bad to happen to his little brother as long as he was around to stop it.

“Mr. Richards? Mr. Richards?” the nurse said tapping Dean lightly on the shoulder.

Dean’s eyes snapped open and asked, “Sorry, what?”

The nurse smiled politely and replied, “Sam’s getting dressed, but you’re welcome to go back now.” She gestured to one of the curtained areas. “He’s in exam room two.”

“Thanks,” Dean replied. He stood up so quickly the folding chair collapsed onto itself, and fell to the ground with a clunking bang. “Sorry,” he said to the young mother picking up the chair. The baby started crying again in earnest. “Sorry,” he said again, and hustled off to find Sam.

Sam finished buttoning up his shirt, and gave Dean a sheepish look when he walked into the exam room. ‘What are you hiding little brother?’ Dean wondered. “Well?” he asked.

The doctor chose that exact moment to re-enter the exam room. He was a nearly bald, old man who looked as if he had been practicing medicine since leeches were standard practice. He looked up from the chart, and began, “Do you want your…”

“Brother,” Sam supplied.

“Brother,” the doctor continued. “To step out while we discuss your treatment?”

‘Treatment?’ Dean thought.

“No, it’s fine,” Sam said. He sat down and studiously avoided Dean’s questioning gaze.

“Fine, fine,” the doctor said nodding. “As you know, two of your ribs are broken, and one is cracked on the right side. The good news is, your bilateral lung sounds are as good as can be expected, so there is nothing to worry about there.” At this point, the doctor looked Sam closely in the eye and continued, “As long as you take it easy, son, and no strenuous activity for at least two weeks.”

“I really don’t,” Sam started.

“You’ll need to rest,” the doctor insisted. “Especially if the coughing worsens, or the pressure in your chest increases.”

That got Dean’s attention. “What do you mean, if the coughing worsens?” Dean asked.

The doctor turned his attention from Sam to Dean. “Sam has what in layman’s terms is classified as walking pneumonia. I’m prescribing a round of erythromycin to combat the infection. Unfortunately, the pneumonia is an added complication to his injury, and may cause a secondary injury if the coughing is extreme. There is no evidence of internal bleeding or injury, which is very lucky considering how he was injured. Also, the pneumonia may mask the warning signs of such an injury. Alternate between cold packs for the first 48 hours to reduce swelling, and heat after the first two days to help speed the healing process. If he sleeps with his head slightly elevated it may help with the increased coughing at night.”

“Thank you Doctor Evans,” Dean replied looking at the doctor’s nametag.

“One more thing,” Dr. Evans added turning his attention back to Sam. “Normally, I’d prescribe Percocet or Lorcet for your pain, but they can both suppress breathing and lung function which may be counterproductive all things considered. I’m going to prescribe a low dosage, but you will have to be extremely diligent about your breathing and coughing exercises.”

“Ah, actually, can you suggest something else?” Sam asked. “Percocet really knocks me out.”

“That may be a good thing. You and your brother don’t strike me as the take it easy type,” Dr. Evans said with a smile. “But, in deference to you, I’ll send you home with prescription strength ibuprofen. However, if it doesn’t control the pain, and you aren’t able to rest, come back for the Percocet.”

“He will,” Dean jumped in when Sam opened his mouth to protest. He snagged the two prescription scripts from Dr. Evans hand, and turned to Sam. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied tiredly. He stood up carefully, and walked towards the curtained partition.

“Boys?” Dr. Evans called causing both of the Winchesters to turn back towards him with a questioning look. “There’s a 24 hour pharmacy at the Wal-Mart in Fargo. I suggest you get those prescriptions filled tonight. It’s only about thirty minutes from here.”

“Thanks,” Dean replied ushering Sam out of the exam room.

Dean watched from the trunk as Sam carefully lowered himself into the passenger seat of the Impala. He rummaged through his duffle until he found the pain killers Jo had given him after she’d dug into his shoulder retrieving a bullet his, at the time, demon-possessed brother had put there.

Dean sat down beside Sam, and held out his hand with two of the painkillers in his palm. “Here you go, Sam,” he said not making eye contact with his brother. He felt Sam grab the pills, but did not notice any movement on Sam’s part to actually swallow them. He turned in his seat to face Sam and was met with a questioning gaze. He sighed loudly, and said honestly, “They’ll probably knock you out for awhile, but we’re only driving to the pharmacy.” At Sam’s stubborn, resolute gaze, he added glibly, “I promise to wake you before we start opening the Christmas presents.”

That did get a response from Sam who snorted softly, and dry swallowed the pills. “Happy now?” he asked with a small edge of annoyance lacing his voice.

“I got my way, didn’t I?” Dean responded with a smile. Dean turned the key, and the Impala roared to life. As Dean turned out of the parking lot and onto the highway, he did not have to look at Sam to know his comment had been met with an eye roll. He turned the radio on at half volume hoping the music, the road noise, and the steady rumble of the engine would lull his little brother to sleep like it did when they were kids.

The third time he glanced at Sam trying to gauge if he was resting comfortably or not, he found Sam staring at him, his hazel green eyes darkening to almost brown in the dim interior light of the Impala. He was busted, and he knew it. Turning his attention quickly back to the road, he hoped Sam would let it pass. He should have known better. “It’s not your fault, you know,” Sam said sleepily.

“Sam, don’t - just…don’t,” Dean replied sharply, willing Sam to stop, to let it drop, to allow him to wallow in guilt for awhile. He did not need forgiveness for this particular sin. What he needed was for Sam to stay safe and happy for more than two seconds at a time. He really was not asking that much from the universe, so why did it always seem to plot against him?

“Dean,” Sam countered with a large, halting yawn. Dean could feel the muscles in his jaw twitch involuntarily as he gritted his teeth. When Sam did not continue, Dean chanced another glance at his brother. Well, I’ll be damned. Maybe the universe was not out to get him after all. Sam was asleep.

An hour and a half later, prescriptions filled, Dean struggled to get a nearly comatose Sam from the Impala to the hotel room. The small, thin, middle-aged motel clerk followed closely behind them with a pillow, sheets, and a blanket. He scooted around Dean to open the door, and Dean quickly took in the motel room.

There was a long, narrow kitchen directly through the door with a table, three chairs, a microwave, sink, refrigerator, and rows of cupboards. The bathroom was through the main walkway on his left, and the main room housed a large queen bed; one, large queen bed. “Ah, I thought I asked for a room with two beds?” Dean asked pulling back the covers, and helping Sam to the bed.

“Yeah, the other bed is a Murphy bed,” the clerk reassured him.

“A who now?” Dean asked. He stepped in front of the fan which had long black hair stuck in the spokes that fluttered in the weak breeze. He opened the window in an attempt to circulate some fresh air into the room. The cold, early spring night air quickly chilled the room, and Dean closed the window.

“A Murphy bed,” the clerk replied opening the closet door, and pulling a bed out of the closet.

“Ah hell no,” Dean muttered under his breath. He watched as the clerk slowly started to make the bed. “Hey, uh, I can finish that, sir,” Dean offered.

“Joe, Joe Sherman,” the clerk corrected. “It’s no trouble. It’ll only take me a minute.”

Dean rolled his eyes, and huffed impatiently. He was not about to leave Sam alone with Joe, Joe Sherman. The bags would have to wait until Joe finished. After what seemed like an eternity, Joe finished making the Murphy bed, and left the room.

Dean went out to the Impala to retrieve their bags and the medication. In a habit born from years of hunting, Dean made sure the room was secure, and laid salt lines around the windows and in front of the door. Dean removed Sam’s shoes and jacket, and covered him with the blanket. Using three very lumpy pillows, Dean propped Sam up in bed. “Not your fault,” Sam whispered.

“Let it go, Sammy,” Dean replied. “Get some sleep.”

“K,” Sam responded softly falling back to sleep.

Dean paced the small room. Despite the lack of sleep, he was restless, and his mind was whirling. With a sigh, Dean flopped onto the Murphy bed, and was immediately folded up into the mattress like a taco. “Great, just great,” Dean muttered and squirmed to lie diagonally on the bed to keep the mattress flat. “It’s been one hell of a night.”

Sam’s light, congested snoring and the rhythmic whirring of the fan were the only response.

Sam awoke as sunlight filtered through the flimsy, sheer curtain covering the dirty hotel windows. Without sitting up, he looked around for Dean. There was no sign of his brother, and in fact, there wasn’t even another bed in the room. He was lying in the middle of the bed, so he knew Dean could not have shared a bed with him. At least, he was pretty sure. Whatever pills Dean had given him last night left him feeling fuzzy, with a cottony, dry sensation in his throat.

Sam ground his elbows into the mattress, and tried to push himself off the bed. ‘Okay, that hurts!’ he thought. ‘I need a new plan.’ Rolling to his good side, Sam allowed his long legs to fall off the bed. With his feet as a weight, he hardly had to push off the bed at all to end up in a sitting position. Wrapping his left arm around his ribs in protection, Sam staggered to the bathroom.

While Sam was waiting for the shower water to heat up, he noticed four pills sitting on the counter, with a note from Dean that read simply, “Sam, take these. I mean it.” Sam shook his head amused by the note, but he obediently swallowed the pills.

It took Sam several minutes of slow, laborious work to get undressed. He stepped into the shower, and allowed the hot water to pound against his sore back muscles. Wincing when the spray hit his ribs, Sam looked down at his chest for the first time. Angry red, dark purple and black bruises littered his chest and side. He knew if Dean saw the bruises, he was in for a fresh round of hovering from his brother. Dean was nothing, if not consistent in his reactions to Sam.

After several minutes under the warm spray, hair washed, clean-shaven, Sam stepped out of the shower, and wrapped a towel around his waist. Sighing, he realized he had neglected to bring in fresh clothes. He opened the bathroom door, and was surprised to run smack into Dean who was obviously just returning from wherever he had been.

“You’re up,” Dean stated in obvious surprise. “I figured I’d be back before…” Dean’s voice trailed off as he caught sight of the bruises.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Sam said quickly.

“Really, Sam?” Dean replied sarcastically. “Because it looks like you got the crap beat out of you with a bat.”

“Huh,” Sam responded with a note of returned sarcasm. He scanned the room for his duffel. “I guess it is as bad as it looks.”

“Funny, you’re a funny guy,” Dean said. “What’re you looking for?”

“My duffel bag,” Sam replied distractedly. Spying the duffel bag, Sam reached for the handle to pull it onto the bed. Dean beat him to it, and swung the duffel onto the bed for Sam in one easy motion. “Thanks,” Sam murmured. He was right; the hovering was in full swing. “Where are we anyway?”

“We crossed the river into Morehead,” Dean answered sitting down in the one chair in the room. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember. You were pretty out of it.”

“Ugh, those pills really knocked me for a loop,” Sam agreed. “How far are we from Elbow Lake?”

“About forty-five minutes,” Dean replied. “Feel up to a little breakfast?”

“Sure,” Sam said gathering his clothes and heading back to the bathroom to get dressed. “I’ll be out in just a couple of minutes.”

As it turned out, it was more like fifteen minutes, and Sam was glad he’d taken the pain pills Dean had left for him that morning. He was stiff and sore, and moving his arms over his head to put on his t-shirt had taken three tries. He emerged from the bathroom oddly relieved to see Dean had already taken their bags to the car.

“Ready to go?” Dean asked without looking in Sam’s direction. He was sitting on the edge of the bed watching of all things, the weather channel.

“Yeah,” Sam replied. He wrinkled his brow, and blinked his eyes a couple of times in confusion. He could not remember Dean watching the weather channel before. His curiosity finally getting the better of him, he asked, “What’s up with the weather channel?”

“It’s the only channel we get,” Dean confessed. He gave Sam an appraising look, trying to gauge how fit he was for another hour in the car until they reached their destination. Deciding Sam was up to snuff, he stood up, and handed Sam his jacket. “Let’s go,” he said simply and proceeded out the door.

Sam let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding. He knew Dean was judging him, and he had measured up to par, at least for breakfast. He followed Dean out to the car, carefully avoiding the largest puddles of slush on the sidewalk.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, and soon the brothers found themselves back on the open road. They drove along in silence for several miles. Sam was tapping his thumb on the door. Dean knew that meant his brother was mulling over information in his head. Unlike himself, Sam could be still. He could work for hours doing research, hunched over dusty books, or the laptop until he had answers. But, when he was frustrated, or the answers were just out of reach, the nervous energy would manifest itself with finger tapping, or leg jitters. He wondered if Sam was even aware of the behavior.

“What’s up, Sam?” Dean asked turning down the radio.

“Huh, oh nothing, it’s stupid because it doesn’t really matter,” Sam replied focusing his gaze on the passing winter dead wheat fields.

“It is important enough that it is distracting you from keeping your head in the game,” Dean countered.

Sam’s head snapped up at that remark, and he threw Dean a guilty look. Sometimes his brother’s ability to read him went beyond the uncanny. “It really isn’t a big deal, Dean. Because, I wouldn’t mind, well, I mean it would be okay if…shit,” Sam fumbled turning his head back towards the window.

“Well, that clears that right up,” Dean responded sardonically.

“Where’dyousleeplastnight?” Sam spit out.

The corner of Dean’s lip moved into the lopsided grin he often sported when baiting his brother. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” Dean lied.

“Where did you sleep last night?” Sam asked carefully enunciating every word.

“You woke up in the same room we stayed in,” Dean teased. “It only had one bed, how hard can it be to figure out?”

“I don’t remember anything after I fell asleep in the car,” Sam admitted.

“Ah well, that’s probably a good thing, Sammy. You were pretty out of it,” Dean could barely keep the grin out of his voice. “You kept asking for WooBee, and snuggling up next to me.”

At Sam’s horrified look, Dean laughed and let his brother off the hook. “Or, the other bed folded out from the closet, take your pick.”

Sam walked through the door his brother had graciously left open for him and quipped, “So what you’re telling me is this morning you finally decided to come out of the closet.”

“You’re gonna pay for that one,” Dean muttered. Sam laughed until it caused him to have a minor coughing fit. He wrapped his left arm protectively around his ribs, and fought to breathe against the pain.

“I’m okay,” he managed to gasp.

“Serves you right, you know,” Dean replied with mock venom. “Instant karma for being an ass.”

Sam chuckled lightly and groaned, “Don’t make me laugh.”

“There once was a man from Venus,” Dean started.

“Dude, that isn’t even funny,” Sam replied.

“Sure it is,” Dean replied.

“No, no it isn’t,” Sam disagreed. “So, we really haven’t talked about the case at all,” he added hoping to distract Dean from vulgar limericks.

“We were kind of side-tracked by the baddies in the alley,” Dean said. “Fill me in.”

“I really haven’t had a chance to research it much yet,” Sam answered. “I only found it shortly before we left the bar.” At Dean’s nod, and hand-rolling to continue Sam added, “Five years ago, Diane Schneeberger fell through the ice, and drowned in Pomme de Terre Lake. Every year since then three people died in a similar fashion, falling through thin spring ice and drowning.”

“Any connection?” Dean asked not taking his eyes from the road.

“Not that I was able to glean from the obits,” Sam said. “No relation, different ages, different occupations, one was even from out of state.”

“So, you’re thinking Diane’s spirit is causing the deaths?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” Sam replied. “A straight-forward salt and burn.”

“Sounds perfect,” Dean replied turning up the radio, and tapping out the beat on the steering wheel.

Dean pulled the Impala to a stop outside the four room motel in Elbow Lake. He walked into the motel office, and asked, “Are any of your rooms available?”

The woman behind the desk was in her late forties with bright, red-from-the-bottle, hair. “They’re all available, and they all have two queen beds, basic cable, and complimentary coffee,” she answered with a diluted-Scandinavian Minnesota accent.

When she made no move to ask him if he wanted a room Dean asked, “Can I check in? I’d like the room on the end.”

“Yeah, you betcha,” she replied. “Sorry, about that. I’m watching a rerun of ‘Simon & Simon,’ and I love this episode. Here you go, here’s the key. Come back to pay if you like the room, and decide to stay.”

“Okay, sure,” Dean replied slowly, taken aback by the low-key behavior of the clerk. Somehow he had forgotten how trusting and laid-back small towns in the rural Midwest were. He was not sure how it was even possible for him to forget considering all the time they had spent at Pastor Jim’s. “Oh, one more thing, do you have Internet access here?”

The woman looked up from her small television and laughed at Dean. “Son, this is a small town. We don’t have anything like that here. You could try Fergus or Alexandria. In fact, I think Alexandria does have a bookstore with Internet access.”

Dean sighed. “What about a library?” he asked inwardly cringing.

“That we do have,” the lady replied with a smile. “It’s on Main Street, and it’s open Monday through Friday from eight to five.”

“Thanks,” Dean replied. The bell on the door jangled when Dean beat a hasty exit.

Dean carried their bags into the hotel, only allowing Sam to carry the laptop bag. He knew he was coming dangerously close to pissing Sam off, but frankly, he did not care. Taking care of Sam was not just what he did, it was an integral piece of who he was. He could not change that part of him even if he wanted to, and he didn’t. “Why don’t you rest here for awhile, and I’ll go scout out the town? See if there is a library, a diner, you know, the essentials,” Dean suggested.

“Dean, I’m not a child. I don’t need a nap, and I don’t need to be coddled. I’ll go with you,” Sam snapped.

“And yet, you managed to sound like a cranky three-year-old, Sammy,” Dean smirked. “I’m following doctor’s orders. He told you to take it easy. So, take your medicine, and rest for awhile. I don’t care if you sleep or not, just rest.” He tossed Sam’s white paper bag from the pharmacy to him, and went to fill one of the disposable motel cups with water.

Sam sighed, and sat down on the bed. He was not sure this was a battle worth fighting especially as he seemed doomed to lose from the get go. He sighed again. If Dean had his mind set on him resting, there would be no changing his mind without an argument. The Winchester stubborn streak was a mile wide, and just as deep. When a small disposable cup was thrust in his face, Sam looked up at Dean.

“Just take the pills, and get some rest, Sam,” Dean said in a softer, less bossy big brother tone, the one that would get him further with Sam than any other. To cement the deal, Dean pulled out his trump card. “Please?”

Sam’s face softened, and he nodded in concession. “Just don’t go out to the lake by yourself,” Sam requested measuring out the four pills, and swallowing them at all at once. He knew Dean liked to visit the site of the activity as soon as possible, but he did not want Dean there without him to watch his back.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean capitulated easily, too easily.

“Promise?” Sam asked mustering up his best version of the puppy dog eyes he knew would get him the extra cookie from Dean every time.

Dean sighed loudly and said, “Alright, I promise. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” He waited until Sam slowly swung his legs on the bed, and lay back against the pillows.

“I’ll be here,” Sam replied closing his eyes. He was more tired than he thought. His chest felt a little tight, and he could definitely feel pressure building up in his sinuses. He heard the door close when Dean left the room. Within minutes, he succumbed to the call of slumber.

Dean stopped at the office to pay for a week’s rental on the room, and headed out to find the library. He figured he may as well try his hand at finding the newspaper articles from the drowning incidents.

Dean’s stomach rumbled and he tossed aside the paper he had been reading with a disgusted flick of his wrist. Over an hour of research had turned up nothing more than what Sam had found at the bar. There did not seem to be any pattern to the deaths. They were young and old, male and female, and from all different occupations. They were not related in any way that Dean could see. The only thing he had discovered, was most of the deaths occurred after the ice started to melt, but before the spring equinox. It was roughly the same time of year Diane had drowned so that, in itself, was not unusual.

Dean folded the papers neatly, and stacked them in order. He grabbed the entire stack, and walked them back up to the librarian.

“I hope you found what you were looking for,” the elderly librarian said with a kind smile.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Dean replied. “I don’t suppose you know where I could pick up some take-out? My brother is sick at the motel, and I don’t want to drag him out if I can avoid it.”

“Stop over at the Home20 across the street. They serve tasty, home-cooked meals. I’m sure you can find something over there that will be nutritious,” the librarian supplied. “And, Edna makes a scrumptious strawberry-rhubarb pie. It isn’t exactly in season right now, but she usually has enough canned to make a pie every day. Try to get a piece of it, it is worth it.”

“Thanks,” Dean said with a slight tilt of his head. “I appreciate it.”

Edna had insisted that Dean take not only several more dishes of food than he and Sam could possibly eat, but also threw in two pieces of the legendary strawberry-rhubarb pie. Of course, along with the small town hospitality came small town timing, and Dean figured he had spent over an hour waiting inside the restaurant for his to-go order.

“Uh, Ms. Westrom,” Dean started when Edna walked by.

“Edna,” she interrupted.

“Edna,” Dean corrected. “I hate to bother you, but do you know how much longer it will be? I hate to leave Sam for too long.” It was only half a lie, Dean was itching to go check out the lake, but he did want to check on Sam. After all this time, he would be lucky if Sam had not decided to walk around town looking for him.

“I’ll be boxing it up within five minutes,” she reassured him.

Dean sighed. Edna had told him five minutes every time he had asked so far. “Say, I overheard two people talking earlier about the drownings that have occurred around here. What is that all about?”

“It is about tragedy,” Edna replied with a frown. “I suggest you don’t go around asking folks about it. It is a small town, everybody knows everybody. A death doesn’t happen without it affecting almost everyone.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean,” Dean started.

“No, I know you didn’t,” Edna interrupted again. “Wait here and I’ll see if your supper is ready to be boxed up yet.”

Luck was with Dean this time, and when Edna returned several minutes later, she was carrying two plastic bags filled with to-go boxes of food. “Here you go, Dean,” she said with a smile. “You take care of that brother of yours.”

“I always do,” Dean replied flashing a return smile. “Thanks.”

“Yep,” Edna replied simply and turned to head back into the kitchen.

Dean managed to get all of the food back to the motel without spilling anything in his car. Feeling pleased with himself for the small battle won, he opened the door to the motel room surprised to find Sam was asleep. ‘That’s two for me,’ Dean thought. ‘Things are looking up.’

Dean set out the food, and soon the room was permeated with the smell of chicken soup, biscuits and hot coffee. For a few minutes now, Sam had been showing signs of waking, and by the time Dean had finished he turned around to find Sam sitting up in bed blinking owlishly at him.

“S’time izzit?” Sam asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I think I fell asleep.”

Dean raised an eyebrow and responded, “Come on over and eat, Sam,” he replied. “We have just enough for a quick bite, and a trip to the lake before it gets dark.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam answered. He stood up and slowly made his way over to the table. Not only were his ribs sore, but also his muscles felt achy. Gingerly lowering himself into the chair, he growled, “What’s so funny?”

“You’re walking like an eighty-year-old man,” Dean chuckled lightly. His voice turned serious and he asked, “I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re fine, and you are still coming with me to the lake?”

“Got it in one,” Sam replied snagging a biscuit. “Find out anything about the drowning accidents?”

“Not that we didn’t already know,” Dean admitted. “Other than they all seem to happen within a five week period ending with the spring equinox.”

Sam took a bite of chicken soup, and replied. “Isn’t that about the time Diane died?”

“Sure is,” Dean replied. “I think things are shaping up for our angry spirit angle.”

“It’s about time we had an easy one,” Sam agreed.

“Famous last words, Sam,” Dean cautioned with a note of humor in his voice.

“Hey, I like to live dangerously and tempt fate,” Sam replied. There was a small pause before Sam pointed his soupspoon at Dean and said with a grin, “Wait, no, that’s you.”

“I don’t know how you became such a smart ass,” Dean grumbled taking a bite of soup.

“It’s a mystery,” Sam replied sarcastically.

Sam and Dean arrived at Pomme de Terre Lake as the sun was dipping close to the horizon. They would have to make this trip quick, as it would be dark in about an hour. “Whatever happens, stay away from the water, Grace,” Dean cautioned. “I don’t want to have to fish your butt out of lake.”

“Ha, ha,” Sam replied. “Hey, there’s someone out on the dock.”

Dean raised his hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun. There was a woman standing out on the dock, her loose shirt and her long blonde hair blowing in the cold breeze. She was not wearing a coat, and was hugging herself to stay warm. “Stay here,” he barked at Sam and ran for the dock. He was not sure if anything was wrong, but he was not sure it was completely safe either. Diane’s spirit could appear at any time, and the woman was standing way too close to the end of the dock.

“Hey!” Dean shouted as he approached the woman from behind. “You shouldn’t be out here without a coat.” He noticed the hem of her skirt was wet and dripping onto the dock. “You’re wet. We should get you out of here.” The woman turned towards Dean and disappeared.

Sam shouted out to his brother as the woman reappeared and pushed Dean from behind. As quickly as she appeared, the woman disappeared again. Dean teetered for a moment, and almost regained his balance, when he was suddenly jerked forward into the icy depths of the lake.

Sam reached the end of the dock and searched frantically for any sign of Dean submerged beneath the surface. “Dean!” he called out reflexively. He knew he could not obey his every instinct to jump into the water after Dean. The cold water or the ice would get them both. He could hear someone shouting behind him, but he ignored them. His only concern right now was finding his brother.

Sam suppressed a moment of panic. He would find Dean, and he would be fine. He had to believe that, or he would not be able to function. He could feel unwanted despair settling into his bones, when he caught a glimpse of something moving in the murky water.

Without thinking, without contemplating a strategy, or a plan, Sam laid on the dock on his belly. He plunged his arms into the frigid water hoping he could grab Dean. The fact that whatever it was that had pulled Dean into the water in the first place was probably still nearby, never entered his mind. ‘Almost there, damn it!’

Sam scooted further up to the edge of the dock on his stomach. His entire upper body was off the dock now, balanced precariously with only the weight of his hips and legs keeping him anchored on the dock. This time when he reached down, dunking his entire upper torso under the water, he was rewarded for his efforts when numb fingers registered the texture of fabric.

He gripped Dean’s jacket firmly with his right hand, but he could not gain purchase on the jacket with his left. Rocking his hips left and right, he was able to slowly inch his way backwards onto the dock.

Dean was floating, no longer cold, no longer troubled by the anything. He could not remember the last time he had not been worried, okay, he might call it concerned, for his dad, or Sam, or that he would ultimately fail to keep anyone in his family safe. It always seemed ironic to him that Sam thought he was the one who was cursed, that he was the reason everyone died.

Sam was just a baby when mom was killed. He had heard Sammy crying, but he was tired, and when he had heard their mom talking to Sammy he thought Sammy would be fine. He should have gone in there too, and then things may have turned out differently. He had been the one backing up their dad from the minute Sam left for Stanford. As far as he was concerned dad had died on his watch. Hell, even Jessica had been fine with Sam until Dean showed up, and dragged him back into the family business kicking and screaming. Well, kicking, hitting, and yelling anyway.

And then, there was Sam, the most important member of his little family. The one person who never seemed to judge him inferior, or rebuff his one and only true gift to those he considered family. With one rare exception, Dean only offered his gift of love to the precious few he called family. He knew his father loved him, but Sam returned the gift in kind. Easily demonstrating how much he loved his big brother when he was little, returning every hug, looking at him with something akin to worship in his eyes. Dean never regretted for a moment any sacrifice he had made for his family.

Dean’s worst gut-wrenching fear was that he would not be able to save Sam from whatever evil destiny the demon had planned. That he would fail in this too, and lose his little brother forever. He remembered now, the spirit in the lake had pulled him into the water, and he was drowning. He would not be able to save Sam, he was dying. ‘I’m sorry, Sammy,’ he thought before the darkness came, and swallowed him whole.

Sam’s chest was half-way back on the dock, and he flexed his biceps pulling Dean’s upper body out of the icy water, and into the frosty air. The weight of his brother added to his own caused the deck to cut into his chest, and squeeze the air from his lungs. Sam panted shallowly from the exertion, but did not slow his attempts to scoot backwards along the dock, rocking his body until his bent elbows made contact. Digging his elbows and knees into the dock, Sam pulled Dean upwards, and arched his body until Dean was on the dock.

Sam wasted no time pulling Dean along the dock to the slushy bank where he could assess Dean’s condition. For the first time, Sam realized Dean’s eyes were open, and glassy. His skin was blue in several places, and white in others. With cold, trembling fingers, Sam felt for a pulse while he bent his head down listening for respirations. Not finding any signs of life, Sam gently tilted Dean’s head back, and gave two quick breaths.

The voice from before, materialized as a young teenage girl in front of him. She was saying something to him, but his panicked brain could not slow down long enough to comprehend. When she grabbed his face, and forced him to look at her, his mind connected to his body, grounding him.

“I called for an ambulance,” she said slowly. “Let me help, I know CPR.”

“No!” Sam shouted in misplaced anxiety, shoving her away from Dean. “I have to do this.”

“I understand,” she replied softly approaching slowly. “But, you don’t have to do it alone. Let me take over breathing, you sound as if you are struggling for air yourself.”

This time, Sam allowed her to take a spot next to Dean, and he moved further down Dean’s chest. He could not seem to get a grip on his anxiety. He could not slow his shallow, labored breathing, or stop the fine tremors running rampant through his body.

“He has a pulse, it’s just really slow,” the girl said looking back up at Sam.

“Are you sure?” Sam asked not really believing her words.

“I’m sure, but I can’t tell if he’s breathing, so I’m going to administer rescue breaths until the paramedics get here.”

It seemed like hours passed with him kneeling in the slush, the cold and wet soaking through his jeans, as she breathed for Dean, and Sam knelt next to him, helpless to do anything. Without warning, Dean violently coughed up water, and Sam turned him quickly on his side to let the water drain. “Dean, are you okay?” Sam asked the concern evident in his voice.

“Tell me you got that bitch,” Dean demanded in a harsh whisper.

“Sorry,” Sam replied with a small relieved laugh. He vaguely heard the ambulance sirens through the haze, but he still jumped when the paramedic touched his shoulder.

“We’ll take over now,” the paramedic said. He quickly assessed Dean’s condition and placed an oxygen mask over Dean’s nose and mouth. Dean made a feeble attempt to remove the mask.

“I’m fine,” Dean protested, his breath fogging up the oxygen mask.

“Sir,” the paramedic started.

“Dean,” Sam said in a tone that both corrected the paramedic, and berated his brother.

“Dean,” the paramedic continued. “You need to leave that on.” Sam watched as they took Dean’s vitals, and started an I.V. Dean’s charm necklace kept getting snagged by the paramedics as they worked on Dean, and one of the men made a move to remove it.

“I’ll take it off,” Sam protested irrationally. With hands that would barely follow his commands, he slid the necklace off Dean, and pocketed it in his coat. Black dots appeared in Sam’s vision, and he knew the quick, shallow breathing and the tightness in his chest meant he was about to pass out. ‘Damn it, pull yourself together,’ he mentally chastised himself. ‘You have to be here for Dean.’

He was ashamed of his behavior, but he could not seem to control it no matter how hard he tried. He wavered on his feet, and felt hands try to steady him, to force him to sit down. He fought back, sluggishly, but his body was no longer cooperating. ‘I’m sorry, Dean,’ he thought and lost his battle to remain conscious.

An annoying electronic beeping woke Sam from his sleep. He slowly became aware of his surroundings, and he realized he was in a hospital. The annoying beeping was a heart monitor. He tried to sit up, but was stopped short by restraints on his wrists. ‘What the hell?’ Sam thought. For a brief moment, he thought maybe the police had figured out who they were, and he was in custody. But, the rational side of his brain kicked into gear, and he recognized the restraints were of the garden hospital variety, and not handcuffs.

Sam was breathing easier again, but somehow it did not feel right. His body was extremely tired, and his right side felt almost numb. He looked around, hoping to catch sight of someone walking by his door. He was moments from calling out, when a nurse walked into his room.

“Mr. Richards, you’re awake,” the nurse remarked in surprise. “I’ll get the doctor.” She quickly left the room and disappeared.

Sam laid his head back on the pillow, and sighed loudly in frustration. He needed to find Dean, he needed some answers, and he could not do anything as long as he was literally tied down. The nurse re-emerged with a doctor in tow. “Mr. Richards, I need to run you through a couple of simple tests to assess your condition, and then we can discuss what happened to you.”

“Where’s Dean, where’s my brother?” Sam asked impatiently interrupting him. His voice sounded hoarse and his throat was sore. “How is he?”

The doctor smiled and asked, “Dean is your brother? We assumed you were related based on your names, but we didn’t know for sure.” Sam sighed deeply, and the doctor correctly guessed his mental state. “He is suffering from moderate hypothermia. He is not in any danger, but he is unconscious. According to Melissa, he was under water for less than two minutes before you pulled him out. The relative short time in the water, combined with the immediate life-saving measures, and the cold temperature of the lake, all worked in his favor,” the doctor rattled off.

“I want to see him,” Sam stated by way of reply.

“I’m afraid that is impossible,” the doctor said with a look of empathy. “Although we inserted a chest tube with a flutter valve, you should not be moved from this bed until we remove it. Gillian, you can remove those restraints now. Obviously, Mr. Richards is fully awake, and alert.”

“Right away, Dr. Polson,” Gillian replied. Sam caught sight of Gillian’s bright, geometric patterned shirt out of the corner of his eye when she removed the restraints. Once his hands were free, Sam fingered the nasal canula. It explained part of the strange feeling he experienced while breathing.

At Sam’s questioning look, Dr Polson returned the conversation back to Sam’s condition. “You have two broken ribs,” at Sam’s nod, he knew it was a previous injury and continued, “The strain of pulling your brother out of the water caused one of those ribs to shift and lacerate your lung. You suffered from a condition known as pneumothorax causing the lung to partially collapse. We were forced to insert a chest tube to relieve the pressure and re-inflate your lung. The paramedics intubated you, so if your throat feels dry or raw, that is a possible side effect. Also, there appears to be a pre-existing respiratory infection, and low grade fever, so we are administering a round of intravenous antibiotics. In your semi-conscious state you tried several times to remove the chest tube, and that is what necessitated the restraints.”

“The doctor I saw before mentioned walking pneumonia,” Sam confessed and then abruptly shifted the conversation. “I still need to see my brother.” He knew he was being unreasonable, but the need to see for himself, that Dean was breathing, was overwhelming.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Dr. Polson replied his kind, blue eyes reflecting genuine regret. “Dean is in ICU as a precautionary measure right now, and two beds just won’t fit in those rooms. We may be able to move Dean in as little as eight to twelve hours, and then we can look into moving you to the same room.”

“That’s too long,” Sam protested struggling to sit up again. “Dean needs me.” He could not explain the overwhelming sense of urgency he had to see his big brother. He felt if he did not see Dean soon, something awful would happen. With dawning realization Sam understood it was a desire born out of historical experiences. Having his brother return from the brink of death, twice in the past year, had been an excruciating ordeal. He lived in constant, unvoiced fear that Dean was going to die, and even worse, that when that day came it would be to save him.

Sam felt warmth spreading through his body, and he realized they had drugged him with either a painkiller or a sedative. Not that it mattered, his body was betraying him, growing heavier and heavier, until he sank deep into the hard mattress and fell asleep.

Down in ICU, warning alarms sounded as Dean’s heart monitor chugged in erratic disrhythmia.

Dean walked through a long corridor with doors on all sides. Small, dim lamps on tables scattered periodically by the doorways lit the corridor. Dean tried several of the doors, but they were all locked. No need to kick down a door when there was no way of knowing which door led out of here, or to Sam.

Further down the corridor, a door opened slowly, and a very familiar man with brown hair, wearing blue jeans and a leather coat emerged. “Dad,” Dean whispered. Of all the people who could have appeared before him at this moment, he doubted anyone would have surprised him more.

“Son,” John acknowledged with a nod.

“What are you doing here, Dad?” Dean asked. He waited for his father to continue, shifting impatiently from his left foot, to his right.

John placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder and replied, “I’m not really here, kiddo. You know that, but you’re walking around somewhere you shouldn’t be either. You should be with your brother.”

“I should be dead. You never should have made that deal, Dad!” Dean snapped attempting to walk around his father.

John blocked Dean’s passage. He shook his head and smirked. “You really are thick-headed sometimes, you know that, Dean?” He shook his head, “I guess you come by that honestly. This is the place you are not meant to be. Sam is waiting for you back in the hospital.”

“Then why are you here?” Dean asked his eyes scanning his father’s face. “I’m trying to find Sam. I’m trying to take care of him, to save him. I’m not running away from him.”

“I know you are, son, but you’re headed the wrong direction,” John insisted. “You need to turn around and fight to go back. That’s an order, Dean go back while you still have a choice.”

Dean looked down, and wavered on the edge of indecision. It could be a trick of his mind, or it could somehow really be his father. When he looked back up, his father was gone. He turned on his heel and ran back down the corridor in the opposite direction.

“Sam!” Dean sat bolt upright in bed. He sat there for several seconds, his chest heaving trying to pull in enough oxygen. He needed to find Sam. In an act of desperation, Dean pulled out his I.V. and applied pressure to staunch the blood flow. He ripped the heart monitor pad off his chest, swung his legs off the bed and stood up quickly.

“Bad idea,” Dean moaned when the room spun out of control. He sat back down on the bed, and took several breaths as deep as he was able. When his vision cleared Dean stood up again, slowly this time. The room still lurched, and his stomach flipped in protest. With small, hesitant steps Dean made his way across the room, and out into the hall.

Getting past the nurses’ station and into Sam’s room was disturbingly easy in Dean’s opinion. In the hospital staff’s defense, it was a small community hospital, and Dean was a trained hunter. His hand shook as he reached forward to pull back the white curtain. Dean stared helplessly at Sam as he lay unconscious in the hospital bed.

He thought back to a time when he and Sam were both younger. When Sam’s injuries were easily fixed with band-aids and hugs, and when he first made the vow nothing would be able to get past him again and hurt his little brother. That was so long ago. It had not taken long to learn that nothing was certain, no matter how much you tried. That life was unpredictable and random, and while beautiful, it could also be painful and even violent. He remembered with startling clarity, despite the passage of time, the first time something as simple as a cold had morphed into a nerve-jangling experience.

Dean wiped the sweat from Sammy’s face with a cold washcloth pushing his too long curls away from his forehead. “Dad will be home soon, Sammy,” he said.

Sammy turned his head towards Dean. “It’s okay, you’re here,” he replied weakly.

Dean smiled reassuringly, his brother’s confidence in him overwhelmed him. Dean was only ten, but he knew that a temperature of 103 degrees was dangerous. He was not at all sure he could handle this without his father, but he would never let Sammy know that. “That’s right, I’m here, and you’ll be fine,” he replied with a confidence he didn’t feel.

Dean stood to get more Tylenol for Sammy. As he turned to leave, Sammy grabbed his arm. “Don’t go, Dean,” Sammy protested.

Dean looked back at Sammy, and smiled. “I’m not going anywhere, kiddo,” he replied.

“Never, ever?” Sammy asked his hazel eyes glassy with fever.

“Never, ever,” Dean promised.

“Mr. Richards!” Dr. Polson shouted his blue eyes flashing in frustration.

Dean snapped back to the present time, and stared past Dr. Polson at Sam.

“Mr. Richards!” Dr. Polson repeated.

‘Oh, right, he was Mr. Richards, the guy with the insurance,’ Dean thought. He spared a glance at Dr. Polson in acknowledgement. Dean tried to step around the doctor when he walked in between him and Sam, but was stopped short by Dr. Polson.

“Listen, Dean, I want you back in your room. You aren’t doing your brother any favors, right now,” Dr. Polson ordered.

“I’m not leaving him,” Dean insisted taking his eyes off of Sam to glare the doctor. Dr. Polson’s thinning brown hair was brushed in a sweeping comb over. His nametag was partially concealed by the Daffy Duck tie he was wearing. ‘Great, Sam’s doctor is a quack,’ he snorted amused by his own joke.

Dr. Polson grabbed Dean’s arm and said, “If you don’t go with the nurse right now, I’ll have you forcibly removed.”

Dean’s green eyes narrowed, and flashed angrily. He shrugged out of Dr. Polson’s grip. If there was one thing the entire Winchester family had in common it was that they did not respond well to threats. “You would regret that,” Dean answered calmly.

Dr. Polson realized his approach was a mistake, and for a moment he was actually afraid of the man in front of him. He had no doubt Dean meant what he said, and that he was capable of following through on his threat despite his weakened condition. Discretion being the better part of valor, Dr. Polson abruptly switched gears. “Vicky, grab Mr. Richards a wheelchair please,” he called to the nurse in the hall. Turning his attention back to Dean he stated, “Dean, I’m sorry, but you aren’t strong enough to be out of bed right now. I will allow you to stay with Sam for ten minutes, if you sit down in the wheel chair, and leave with Vicky when the time is up.”

“I’m not leaving,” Dean replied obstinately. He was nearing the end of his endurance, and did not think he could manage to stay on his feet much longer. He started reaching for the bed rail to maintain his balance but decided against it. There was no way he was giving that doctor any ammunition to use against him.

“Sam is doing quite well, actually,” Dr. Polson supplied. “One of his broken ribs lacerated his right lung. We were forced to insert a chest tube to re-inflate his lung, but he has made steady improvement.” Dr. Polson laid a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder. “We may be able to remove it as early as tomorrow afternoon.”

Dean could hear Dr. Polson giving Vicky instructions to have another bed brought in before he felt the wheelchair gently press against his legs, and the hand on his shoulder steadied his descent. He heard retreating footsteps, and he was alone with his brother.

Leaning forward, Dean resisted the urge to grab Sam’s hand. He was shocked by how pale Sam looked, and somehow Dean knew Sam had hurt himself helping him. He leaned forward and whispered harshly in Sam’s ear, “You need to be more careful. Do you hear me?”

Sam’s eyes chose that exact moment to flutter open. “Dude, personal space,” he croaked.

Dean sat up quickly, and covered his embarrassment at being caught hovering by quipping, “I was just trying to figure out what that smell was. When’s the last time you showered, man?”

“Nice,” Sam replied sleepily. He shifted slightly to get a better view of his brother, and squinted into the dim light. “You okay?”

“I’m better than okay,” Dean answered flippantly. “I’m devastatingly handsome and charming.”

“Pffft!” Sam sputtered. He was having a hard time keeping his eyes open; the drugs were obviously still in full effect. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“I’m good,” Dean replied. “What about you?”

“I’m good,” Sam slurred with a deep yawn. He coughed several times, and groaned.

“You sound like it,” Dean replied sarcastically. He looked over as two orderlies pushed another bed into the room. They jammed it into the small space by the door, and left. Vicky came back into the room with another nurse in tow.

“Gillian is going to help me get you into bed,” Vicky said.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean agreed tiredly. He noticed Sam was struggling to stay awake, and figured Sam would not go back to sleep until he was at least in bed.

Vicky pushed Dean over to his bed, and set the brakes on the wheelchair. She folded up the footrests, and moved them to the side. Dean’s head nodded until his chin dipped almost to his chest. He looked up at Vicky when she touched his arm. “Are you ready?” she asked.

“I’m always ready,” Dean replied in a suggestive tone with a grin, and was rewarded with a blush from Vicky. “But, I don’t think Sam here would appreciate that.” He attempted to stand back up on his own, but a couple of feeble tries later, he gave up.

Vicky and Gillian gripped his arms carefully, and maneuvered him into the bed. “Good night, guys,” Vicky said before leaving.

“Thanks, Vick,” Gillian called out to Vicky’s retreating form.

“Sure thing,” Vicky’s voice came from the hall.

Gillian smoothed the blankets on Dean’s bed. She switched on the light above him, and pulled the side table closer. Gillian expertly prepared the supplies on the table. After dabbing Dean’s arm with gauze dipped in Betadine, she started to re-insert the I.V. “No,” he declared hotly grabbing her wrist.

“Dean, the doctor wants,” Gillian started her brown eyes reflecting concern.

“I don’t care what he wants,” Dean interjected. “I said, no.”

“All right, I won’t,” Gillian agreed. When Dean failed to release her wrist she patted his arm with her other hand. “It’s okay to let go now.”

“Sorry,” Dean apologized pulling his hand away. He took note of the angry red marks on her wrist where his fingers had dug into her flesh. He met her eyes, and apologized again.

“Don’t worry about it,” Gillian said gathering the supplies. She turned off the light and walked out the door.

“Dean, you should have let her take care of you,” Sam scolded. His voice sounded far away, and Dean noticed his eyes were closed.

“Go to sleep, Sam,” Dean shot back without any real heat.

“You first,” Sam taunted.

“I’m the oldest,” Dean reminded him needlessly, and folded both arms behind his head. “I don’t have to go to sleep when you do.”

“That’s not fair,” Sam played along. He yawned, and winced at the pull on his chest.

“Life’s not fair, so go to sleep and get over it,” Dean said voicing his standard reply. When he received no further response from Sam he looked over to the other bed and discovered Sam had fallen asleep.

Dean’s thoughts drifted from Sam, to the case. He did not know how long they had been at the hospital, but he was willing to bet it had been several hours at the very least. It was only two weeks away from the spring equinox, and there had been only one death so far. The spirit was obviously ready to cause another death, and they could not afford the delay. Unable to avoid the pull of slumber any longer, Dean drifted off into a fitful sleep.

“Sam, are you awake? Sam?”

Sam groaned low in his chest, and attempted to open his eyes. He wished she would go away. Shouldn’t he be allowed to sleep? On the second attempt, Sam managed to pry his eyes open, and squinted against the bright light. He tried to speak, but all that he managed was a hoarse, grating whisper, “Where’s Dean?”

“Sam, try to take it easy. We need to assess your condition before we attempt to remove the chest tube,” a woman in bright white clothes replied.

Sam licked his lips, and tried clearing his throat before he asked again, “Where’s my brother? Where’s Dean?”

“He’s fine,” the nurse replied with a guilty look on her face.

‘You’re lying. Why are you lying?’ Sam thought. “Where’s Dean?” he asked a third time. This time he struggled briefly to get up.

“Sam, you need to relax,” Dr. Polson replied stepping into view.

Sam was surprised to see Dr. Polson. It was if the man never went home. Sam grabbed the bed rails, and struggled to sit up. The pull on his ribs set off a round of fresh coughing leaving Sam panting in shallow breaths.

“You see, that is why you need to relax,” Dr. Polson reprimanded. At Sam’s glare he added, “Dean doesn’t appear to be in the hospital.”

“He left?” Sam asked incredulous. He was genuinely surprised Dean had left without waiting for him to wake up this morning.

“Perhaps, but he didn’t really mention where he was headed,” Dr. Polson said evading Sam’s true question. Seeing his patient struggle to move again, he sighed. Apparently both brothers were equally mule-headed. “He stayed with you until after breakfast, and then he was gone. I suspect he stepped outside briefly for a bit of fresh air.”

“What, you mean you don’t know?” Sam asked. His voice lacked the ferocity his eyes conveyed.

“He left after signing discharge papers, but he didn’t leave word with anyone. Trust me, he wouldn’t stay gone long with you here. I think he thought he could leave for a while and no one would notice. It’s a very small hospital. We noticed,” Dr. Polson replied not without a note of sarcasm.

“I’m leaving,” Sam stated simply. He was relieved to find the I.V. and the heart monitor had already been removed. He pushed the blankets down the bed, until he could kick them off his legs. It was not hard for Sam to figure out where Dean had gone, and the thought of Dean at the lake without backup was not a pleasant one.

“We need to run some tests before we release you,” Dr. Polson insisted. At Sam’s continued struggles he added, “Your body has been through a great deal. We need to make sure you are ready to have the chest tube removed first.”

“I’m leaving,” Sam ground out. He succeeded in sitting up. He sat on the bed, breathing deeply, and sweating from the exertion.

Dr. Polson lowered the bed rail. “If you can stand up, and walk out of here, I won’t stop you,” he stated pompously.

With a steely resolve, Sam swung his legs off the bed. His head was swimming, but he managed to get both of his feet resting on the cold tiled floor. In another instant he was up, and then, he wasn’t. Knees buckling, vision graying, Sam fell towards the floor. Dr. Polson reached for Sam, and wrenched his back as he swung the taller man back onto the bed. Sam gripped the bed sheets in his fists to ground himself.

“You boys are incorrigible,” Dr. Polson moaned pressing his hand into the small of his back to relieve the muscle spasm. “Trina, I could use some help in here!” he shouted.

Dean awoke slowly, drifting upwards through layers of sleep. The first thing to return was his hearing. The thrumming beat of rock music echoed in his ears, thumping insistently on his nerves, and forcing him further into awareness. Feeling came next, and the cold seeping into his bones pushed him the final step.

Dean opened his eyes, and took in the interior of the Impala. He remembered then, his oh so logical reasons for hitching a ride to the lake to retrieve the car. They could not risk the weapons in the trunk being discovered, or too many questions being asked. It seemed like a very easy task this morning. He had convinced the nurse, Vicky, to drive him out to the lake at the end of her shift this morning. He figured it would only be twenty minutes round trip, and he would be back before Sam was even awake.

What Dean had not counted on was just how quickly he would tire. After checking on the integrity of the trunk, he had sat down in the car to rest. He must have fallen asleep. Stretching carefully, Dean decided he was not feeling too bad, really. Sleeping in the Impala was more restful than the taco bed or the hospital had been. He started the car to check on the battery, and was pleased when she fired right up. Dean was not sure how long he had been sleeping, but it had been a long time, too long. Sam was sure to be awake by now.

He was busted either way, so Dean decided to investigate the area around the lake before returning to the hospital. Sam was safer where he was for now anyway. Dean had not asked how Sam had managed to end up with a tube in his chest, but he could figure it out with little effort. Sam had been hurt getting him out of the lake.

The spirit had lured him out onto the dock easily; her damsel in distress act was very convincing. He mentally berated himself for making such a rookie mistake. “When you see people in danger, you just react, Dean. You never think about the danger to yourself. It’s going to get you killed one day, if you’re not careful!” Sam’s voice from a previous argument bellowed in his head.

“Leave me alone, Sam,” Dean grumbled. It seemed, even when he was not here, Sam was still a pain his ass.

“We’re almost done, Sam,” Dr. Polson spoke reassuringly. “A few more sutures and we’ll be there.”

“Good,” Sam replied succinctly. Obviously, this was not the first time he had required stitches, but it was one of the few times he could remember he had received a local analgesic beforehand. Previously, he had either been unconscious or fully awake and at some motel room while his dad or Dean carefully and expertly sutured his injuries. This was different. He felt a numb, tugging sensation, but no sharp pain as the needle entered his skin and the thread pulled through his flesh.

“All done,” Dr. Polson said with a smile. He patted Sam on the arm, and walked over to the sink. He removed his gloves, and washed his hands before returning to Sam. The nurse cleaned the area, and applied gauze dressing while Dr. Polson listened to his lungs for what felt like the umpteenth time today. “Okay, Sam, it sounds good,” Dr. Polson remarked. “Don’t get me wrong, there is definitely fluid in your lungs, but you have good respirations in both lungs.”

Sam pushed himself into a sitting position, and announced by way of reply, “If you’re done, then I’m leaving.”

Dr. Polson ran his hand through his thin hair, and sighed loudly. Working in a small town hospital, he had seen more than his share of stubborn farmers, but these two boys were testing his patience. “Sam, what’s the hurry all of a sudden? Dean is fine, and you could really use some more down time. A shower, some lunch, maybe even, oh, I don’t know, rest for awhile, allow your body to heal.”

Sam knew the doctor was frustrated with his behavior, but he could not explain himself. After all, ‘My brother was sucked into the lake by an angry spirit, and I’m afraid he’s there now trying to get himself killed,’ really would get him an extended stay in the hospital. Only this time, it would be under psychiatric care.

“I can shower at the motel,” Sam replied instead. “We have a deadline to meet at the paper, and….” Sam’s voice trailed off. He realized he really did not know how much time had passed since they were at the lake. “How long have I been here?” he asked suddenly.

Dr. Polson looked up at the clock, and did a quick calculation. “At approximately 13:30, it will be forty-three hours, since you and Dean were brought in,” he answered.

‘Two days? He’d lost nearly two days?’ Sam’s mind whirred. He was sure now, that Dean was investigating at the lake, as there were only a few hours of daylight left. He had tried calling Dean’s cell before the doctor removed the chest tube, and had not been able to reach him. “That means I have to hustle to get my story in on time,” Sam replied with a calmness he did not feel. “I’ll sign the papers, and head back to the motel.”

“I’ll have the papers drawn up,” Dr. Polson said, resigned to the fact his patient was leaving whether he felt he should or not. “By the time you’re done showering, and getting dressed the papers should be ready.”

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was a blatant stalling attempt, and he could see right through it. “I’ll be ready to go in ten minutes,” Sam replied. He stood up carefully, and took a couple of minutes to regain his equilibrium. “Make that fifteen,” he amended reluctantly. With slow, measured steps, he gathered his clothes, and made his way to the shower.

Dean parked the Impala near a small cabin by the lake. He slowly exited the car, and stretched taut muscles. His phone jangled with a loud, tinny sound from inside his pocket, and Dean pulled it out to look at the caller I.D. The readout was partially missing, but Dean could read enough to see it was Sam calling him. He stood there, debating whether or not to answer the call for several seconds before flipping open his phone.

“Yeah?” Dean asked. He heard the mechanical notes of a lost signal, and looked at the readout on his cell. Either the battery was dead, or the water damage from being submerged in the lake, had killed his phone. Pocketing the phone, Dean knew he should let Sam know he was okay, and that he would be back for him soon. However, he was not going to waste the opportunity to investigate. He would stay away from the lake, but he was going to talk to the family who lived in the cabin. He would figure out a way to get in touch with Sam later.

Dean walked up the sandy path to the door, and took note of the name on the mailbox. A blonde woman in her thirties answered the door on the third knock. She had a toddler boy resting on one hip, and Dean could see two older girls running around inside the house. The boy was pushing a finger up his nostril, and pulling it out with a long, ropy line of mucous attached. The mucous strand disappeared as the boy sucked it into his mouth. Dean blinked hard several times, and tried without much success to keep the disgusted look off his face. Dean was grateful Sam had never done things like that.

“Ma’am, I work for the Star Tribune, and we’re doing a follow up piece on the drownings that have occurred here at the lake. Would you have a few minutes to talk to me?” Dean asked throwing on his best, fake polite smile.

“Yah, sure,” she replied opening the door wider to allow Dean to step into the house. “It’s been such a terrible thing, don’t ya know?”

“Yeah, I do,” Dean replied. Maybe he should have waited for Sam. Sam was so much better at this empathy thing than he was. Dean followed the woman through the front of the living room and into the kitchen. It was yellow. The walls and curtains were both yellow, the Formica tabletop was yellow, the linoleum was yellow, and even the appliances were a ‘70’s gold color. A metal cross hung in the bay window of the kitchen catching the afternoon light, and tossing sun-cats onto the walls. If it were any more cheerful in this room, Dean would seriously have to vomit.

The woman gestured Dean a seat, and turned to the counter. She handed a cookie to the little boy, who then squirmed to get down and ran off. “Would you like a cookie, Mr…?” she asked.

“Richards, but call me Dean,” he supplied. His stomach rumbled. He would very much like a cookie, but the image of the booger-boy kept him from accepting one. “No thanks, I just had lunch. Mrs. Knutson,” Dean began.

“KUH-nutson,” she corrected. “You pronounce the ‘k’, but you can call me Patty. You really are from the cities, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, it’s that obvious, huh?” Dean asked.

“That’s okay, sweetie,” Patty reassured him, taking a seat at the table. “So, what is it you want to know then?”

“Have you seen anything unusual down at the lake?” Dean asked his green eyes watching her face for a hint of hesitation or deception.

“What do you mean, by unusual?” Patty asked with an uneasy expression on her face.

“People down by the lake that shouldn’t be, unexplained noises, lights…spirits,” Dean explained.

“Music?” Patty asked softly, her blue eyes cast downward.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Music?” Patty repeated. “Sometimes, I hear music down at the lake. My husband thinks I’m crazy.”

“Are you sure it isn’t kids, maybe on the other side of the lake? You know how noise travels over water,” Dean asked.

“You think I’m crazy too, but it isn’t some teenage party on the other side of the lake. I’ve heard those too, but this is different,” Patty replied. She played with a strand of hair that had come loose from the hairclip, wrapping it around her finger, and then unwinding it several times. Dean waited for her to continue. “It sounds almost like crying at times, soulful and sad, almost like a loon.”

“Like a loon?” Dean asked raising his eyebrow and tilting his head fractionally. He had thought for a moment that she may be able to lead him in the right direction. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

“Yes, sometimes it is a loon, sometimes it simply sounds like a loon. Most of the time it sounds sad,” Patty answered. She gave Dean an uncomfortable glance and added, “And now you think I’m a loon.” She sighed softly, and took a sip of coffee.

“People think I’m crazy too,” Dean told her with a smile. “It doesn’t make me wrong.”

“Thanks,” Patty replied. “Are you sure you don’t want a cookie, sweetie?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Dean said standing up, and handing her a card with Sam’s cell phone number on it, “I have to get going, but if you think of anything else, give my associate, Sam, a call. Unfortunately, my phone isn’t working.”

“Yah sure,” she replied standing up and walking him to the door. “You take it easy.”

“Sure,” Dean acknowledged and turned to head down the walk.

“Dean,” Patty asked. “You aren’t affiliated with the reporter who stopped by here last year, are you?”

“Ah, he said he worked for the Tribune?” Dean asked turning around to face her.

“Actually, he said he worked for some yellow journalism rag, but I can’t remember the name,” Patty replied.

Dean stopped short in his tracks and turned around to face Patty. “Do you remember what he looked like?” he asked.

“About your height, scraggly beard, brown hair, very rugged,” Patty replied shading her eyes from the setting sun. “He was actually a little dangerous looking if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, I guess it does,” Dean replied his mind going in a hundred different directions. “I’ll be in touch if I need any more information.”

“You bet,” Patty replied. She stepped back inside the house, and closed the door.

Dean shook his head, and started for the Impala.

Sam stood by the nurses’ desk waiting for Trina to finish giving report to the next shift. She had agreed to drive him back to the motel. He had tried to convince her to take him to the lake, but she would not hear of it. She felt he should be resting. “Okay, Sam, let’s go,” Trina stated. She gave Sam a wide smile, and led the way down the corridor. Despite his significantly longer stride, Sam had a difficult time keeping pace with her.

Trina looked back at Sam and frowned. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I walk this hall all day long, so I guess I only know one speed. Breakneck.”

“No problem,” Sam reassured her with a smile, though his pained eyes gave him away. “But, I hope you aren’t parked too far away.”

Trina’s silver tinkling laugh sounded throughout the corridor. “As long as I’m in the parking lot, I can’t be too far away,” she quipped. She opened the outer door, and allowed Sam to walk through first.

Sam coughed several times as the blast of cold air hit his lungs. Once he had his breath he scanned the parking lot. There could not be more than thirty parking spaces. Looking behind him at the hospital, Sam realized the twenty rooms he had passed on his way out were not just the rooms on his wing, they were the entire hospital.

The look of realization on Sam’s face had Trina laughing again. “There are only a little over seven hundred people in this town. The only reason we have a hospital this big is because it is a county hospital. Believe it or not, we are the largest town in the county,” Trina said walking towards her car.

Sam gave her a sheepish look and replied, “I was wondering why Dr. Polson was the only doctor I ever saw. I was beginning to think he lived here.”

Trina stopped on the driver’s side, and looked over at Sam from across the roof of her small two-door hatchback. “Welcome to small town America, Sam,” she said. “If you play your cards right we may invite you back for the Fleckafest in August.”

Sam tilted his head and huffed through his nose before gracing Trina with a dimpled smile. “Fleckafest?” he asked amused.

“Hey, it’s our biggest town event all year,” she defended unlocking the doors, and climbing into the car. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried the tried it. Mrs. Westrom makes killer lefse, and she always runs a booth along the parade route.” Sam raised an eyebrow, and shook his head before folding his long legs into the cramped passenger seat.

Four short blocks later, Trina dropped Sam off at the motel. “Thanks for the ride,” Sam said extricating himself from the car.

“You betcha,” Trina replied. She watched as Sam slowly made his way to the motel. Trina rolled down the window and called out to Sam, “You take it easy!”

Sam turned away from the door, and waved at Trina. He waited until she pulled out of the parking lot to turn back around and quickly pick the lock on the motel door.

The smell of rotting food assaulted his nose, despite his sinus congestion. Sam nearly gagged on the smell, and coughed several times hoping he would not lose his meager lunch. He left the door open, and walked over to the side and front windows, and opened those as well. The cold, spring air rushed in, cooling the room. He did not care how cold it became in the room, it was better than the smell.

Sam threw the food containers away in the small garbage can. Tying a knot to close the bag, Sam walked it out to the dumpster. Sam peered over at the motel office, and decided he needed a little more than just the absence of the offending items to clear out the smell. The bell jingled softly when Sam opened the door, and the motel clerk looked up when he entered.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but we left some food out. I threw it away, but the smell isn’t going away very quickly. Could I borrow some air freshener, or Lysol?” Sam asked with a grimace remembering the offensive odor.

“Uff-da,” she replied with a frown. “It must be pretty bad for a young man to notice the smell.” She pulled out a can of lavender-scented air freshener, and a box of bleach wipes from under the counter. “Keep them as long as you need. Just leave them in the room when you check out.”

“Thanks,” Sam answered with a grateful smile.

“You bet,” she replied. “My name’s Becky, by the way.”

“Sam,” he reciprocated.

“Good luck, Sam,” Becky replied turning back to her book. “If you can’t get the smell out, please let me know.”

“Yeah, okay,” he responded turning to leave. He stopped at the door, turned back to Becky and asked, “Hey, is there a taxi service I could call?”

“I’m afraid not,” Becky replied pushing a wayward lock of bright, red hair back behind her ear. “I take it Dean has the car?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied, surprised she knew he was with Dean. “I think he’s out at Pomme de Terre lake, and I was hoping to snag a ride.”

“Well, if he’s not back by five o’clock, I’ll give you a ride out there myself. I’m sure you’re worried after what happened on Wednesday,” Becky offered.

Sam’s eyebrow shot up at that remark, and he could feel the surprise marking his features. “How…?”

“It’s a very small town, Sam,” Becky replied with a small smile. “Everybody knows everything about everything and everybody. I doubt there’s a single person in town that doesn’t know. I should have checked your room before, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had food in there, or I would have thrown it away for you.”

“It’s not a problem,” Sam replied distractedly, furrowing his brow. The high attention rate he and Dean were getting was not a good thing. He hoped it stopped at idle town gossip, and not poking into their past. “Thanks again for the cleaning supplies.”

“You bet,” Becky answered. She turned once again to her book, and Sam beat it out the door.

Dean opened the door to the Impala, but his mind was still on Patty’s last comments. ‘Had another hunter been here before, or had he been a real reporter?’ The description could have been anyone, but Dean could not help but think of his father. He put the keys in the ignition, and caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

Dean pulled out his gun with lightening speed, and turned on the intruder in the Impala. It was the spirit. She was sitting in Sam’s seat, the wet hem on her skirt dripping water onto the floor mat. “Hey!” Dean shouted pointing his gun at Diane’s spirit, “You’re getting water in my car!”

Diane turned, and looked at Dean through dead-white eyes. Dean pulled his finger tighter against the trigger. He did not really want to shoot her. Although the gun was loaded with silver bullets, even if it worked, the bullet would pass through the spirit and lodge itself in his car.

He hesitated for just a moment longer, and then the spirit did something Dean never would have expected. She curled her finger and beckoned Dean to follow her. She disappeared from the car, and reappeared in front of the Impala closer to the lake. She gestured again, for Dean to follow her before turning and walking towards the lake. Shortly before she reached the water, she disappeared.

“Like hell,” Dean said out loud. He threw the Impala into reverse, and headed back to the hospital to find Sam. He knew he had been gone too long already. The sun was low in the sky, and Dean estimated it was at least four-thirty in the afternoon. He had left the hospital at eleven o’clock this morning. He could only hope Sam had waited for him, and not done something stupid, like come looking for him.

The barren fields flew by quickly, as Dean traveled the seven miles back to town in record time. He could see for miles, and Dean felt safe cutting the Impala loose without fear of being stopped by the police. As he drove past the motel on his way to the hospital, he noticed the door to their room was wide open.

Dean swung the car sharply to the left, and pulled into the parking lot too fast, sending rocks and gravel flying. He stopped the car, and quietly closed the door behind him. He slowly approached the open door from the blind side. As he neared the room, he could smell bleach and flowers.

Dean entered the room, and found Sam spraying air freshener in the bathroom, and all around the small motel room. Within seconds, the fine, misty spray saturated the air. Sam started coughing as the mist irritated his lungs. Sam grabbed the table with one hand to balance him, and cradled his chest with his left arm to protect his damaged ribs. Dean moved into the room, and placed a hand on Sam’s back.

Sam spun around, grabbed Dean’s arm, and drew back his fist before his brain caught up with his reflexes, and he recognized his would-be attacker was his brother. “Dean,” Sam breathed with a sigh of relief.

Emotions flitted across Sam’s face. Concern, relief, and frustration all made appearances before Sam’s eyes and face registered his strongest feeling. Dean did not need any special, psychic abilities to read his brother’s mind. Sam was pissed.