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

Sam held tight to his brother’s arm, and glared at Dean. Heat radiated from his body, as the intensity of his anger grew. He pushed Dean’s arm away from him, and walked to the open door. The Impala was parked haphazardly way too close the motel. Dean had obviously been in a hurry.

Dean watched Sam as he built up a head of steam that would culminate with an explosion of epic proportions. Over to the door, thumb tapping on the frame, back to the table, can of air freshener slammed down so hard the table wobbled, over to the bed, where Sam bent over to pick up his duffel bag. Dean once again, easily beat Sam’s slow stoop to pick up the bag, and swung it onto the bed.

Sam turned around to face his brother, and very slowly and calmly said, “Dean, knock it off.”

“Sam, I get that you’re pissed,” Dean began, his eyes registering his concern.

“Do you?” Sam asked the volume in his voice climbing. He pushed past Dean, and walked back to the table. He pulled a wad of crumpled papers out of his pocket, and flung them on the table. His fingers snagged the string of Dean’s charm necklace. Sam pulled it out of his pocket, and examined it carefully for several moments before clenching it tightly in his fist. “Were you at the lake, Dean?!” he shouted, his hoarse voice cracking. He spread his arms out wide. “Is that where you were?!”

“Yeah,” Dean replied unrepentant. “You know that’s where I was. I went to pick up the car, Sam.”

“You were gone for hours, Dean! You obviously did more than just pick up the car, or are you trying to say it really took you that long? Even if you had to push it back, you would have been here sooner,” Sam retorted hotly.

“I fell asleep in the car,” Dean admitted sheepishly. “When I woke up, I decided to poke around a little bit and not waste the trip.”

“And how exactly was I supposed to watch your back, man?” Sam demanded his hazel eyes flashing, his posture stiff. “We don’t hunt alone.”

“Actually, we do - repeatedly,” Dean countered. “You have to trust me here a little. I didn’t even get close to the water.”

Sam’s face softened a little, “I do trust you, Dean. I trust you to watch out for me, to save others,” Sam admitted, and his voice dropped as he added quietly, “To save me, but, you’re reckless with your own safety.”

“Maybe, but I’m not stupid, Sam,” Dean replied. He placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t fall for her trick twice.”

“I know,” Sam replied, his anger dissipating, and with it, his sudden burst of kinetic energy. Sam slumped down onto his bed. “Did you find out anything?”

Dan sat down on his bed facing Sam. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his legs, arms stretched towards Sam. “There’s a crazy lady who lives on a cabin near the lake. She hears loons.”

“Loons?” Sam asked tilting his head, and smirking, “As in the state bird?”

“Huh, I always thought it was the mosquito,” Dean quipped lightly. “Yeah, she hears loons. More interestingly, I think another hunter might have been here last year.”

“Who?” Sam asked.

“Could have been anyone, but she described him with brown hair, a beard, and dangerous-looking,” Dean replied with a small puff of laughter. “Hell, it could have been Bobby for all we know.”

“Or Dad,” Sam supplied with a thoughtful look.

“No way,” Dean disagreed. “Dad would not have left without finishing the job.”

Sam ran his fore-finger several times back and forth above his eyebrow and said, “He would have, if he was meeting up with us in Chicago.”

“Meg and the shadow demons,” Dean replied, remembering. “That would have been about a year ago.” As soon as he said the words, Dean regretted it. One look at his brother told him Sam was remembering, thinking about his week of possession, of things he had no control over, of things that were not his fault. “Hey, hey, hey, Sam,” Dean said, bumping Sam’s knees with his knuckles. “Whatever Meg did was not your fault.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam replied his gaze turned inward. “Accepting responsibility for events I have no control over must be an inherited trait.” He looked up at Dean, and gave him a small, half-grin. “It runs in our family.”

“Ah, the force is strong in this one,” Dean intoned. He stood abruptly, and walked away from Sam towards the table. He turned his head slightly to the side, and asked, “You hungry?”

“Not really,” Sam replied. The thought of food made Sam slightly nauseas. They had only given him clear liquids this morning at the hospital. The chicken soup from two days ago was the last solid food he had eaten. The smell of the old soup still lingered in the air mingled with bleach and lavender.

Dean surreptitiously picked up the crumpled papers off the table, and quickly scanned them. “Why don’t we head down to the Home20 for a quick bite, and get to bed early? We can pick it up first thing in the morning.” Dean suggested.

Sam shook his head, and stood up slowly. “Why do you even bother asking me, if you are just going to ignore me anyway?” he asked.

“I like to let you think you have some say in the matter,” Dean replied. He quietly folded the papers, and shoved them in his coat pocket.

He jumped guiltily when Sam placed a hand on his shoulder. Dean turned around to face Sam with a questioning look. Sam held out his fist, in a silent request for Dean to hold out his hand. Dean obliged, and Sam dropped his necklace into his hand. “Thanks,” Dean replied slipping the necklace over his head.

Dean took a close look at Sam. He was swaying slightly; his face was pale, his eyes wide, but his pupils were constricted even in the dim light of the motel room. “Change of plans, Sam. Why don’t you lie down and sleep, and I’ll pick up dinner?” Dean suggested attempting to gently steer his little brother towards his bed.

“No,” Sam replied. He clutched the sleeve on Dean’s jacket lightly. He opened and closed his fist spasmodically several times, pulling on Dean’s jacket. “I’ll go with you.”

“Sam, what’s wrong with you?” Dean asked his green eyes filled with concern. He grabbed Sam by the arms and steadied him.

Sam’s eyes filled with emotion, “Nothing is wrong with me. I just don’t want you traipsing off without me again.”

“No, I mean what did they give you before you left the hospital?” Dean asked. He managed to clumsily maneuver his staggering brother to the bed. “You’re emotions are all over the grid, Sam. Even you’re not that much of a girl,” Dean said jokingly. He sat down on his bed again to face Sam.

“I’m allowed to be concerned, Dean,” Sam snapped, his mood slamming back to anger. “Last time we ran into that spirit she pulled you into the lake, you could have died, and you went there by yourself today.”

Dean averted his eyes in a futile attempt to hide the truth. When he flicked his eyes back to Sam, he said, “I stayed away from the water, Sam. I’m fine, but I think you’re having a reaction to whatever medication they gave you.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, “You saw her again, didn’t you?” he asked sharply, correctly guessing the reason behind Dean’s guilty look.

“Yeah, I did,” Dean confessed with a scowl. “She was sitting in the car, dripping water all over the upholstery.”

“She was in the car?” Sam asked quietly, his eyes conveying fear for his brother. “But, she didn’t try anything?”

“She wanted me to follow her to the lake,” Dean answered. At the stricken look on Sam’s face he quickly added, “But, I didn’t follow her because I didn’t have backup.”

“You didn’t even call,” Sam replied accusingly. He was picking at the fabric pills on the motel blanket, and not returning Dean’s gaze.

“I think my cell is dead,” Dean replied.

When Sam’s only response was to blink in confusion, Dean stood up, slapped Sam on the knee and said, “Jeez, you aren’t any more fun stoned than you are drunk. Come on, kiddo, I’m taking you back to the hospital.”

That seemed to snap Sam from his stupor. “No,” he protested lifting his head to look at Dean. “I’m fine. I’m just having a little trouble focusing, that’s all.”

“Sam, it’s more than that,” Dean argued. He was met with wide eyes, begging him to change his mind. Dean knew he would cave to Sam, so he tried to salvage as much of a win as possible. “Okay, I’m sure you’ll sleep it off,” Dean capitulated. “Did you get any new prescriptions?”

Sam looked confused, and he glanced over at the table. Digging into his coat pocket, Sam pulled out two prescription scripts. “Strange, I thought I left these on the table. I guess I really am out of it.”

Dean squirmed mentally as he was attacked by a guilty conscience. He should let Sam know he had actually left his discharge instructions on the table, but allowing Sam to think otherwise served two purposes. One, Sam would realize he was not up to par, and two, Dean could read over the papers and get the scoop first-hand rather than Sam’s diluted version of the truth. It wasn’t exactly fair, but being a big brother was not about being fair. It was about keeping his little brother safe. It was a job Dean felt he had not lived up to the past few days, and he was going to change that by whatever means necessary.

Dean snagged the prescription scripts from Sam and stated, “Why don’t you sleep for awhile, and get whatever it is out of your system? I’ll pick up your prescriptions and dinner.”

“You’re not leaving here without me,” Sam stated firmly. “Besides, I don’t think there’s anything to sleep off. They gave it to me right before I left the hospital. It couldn’t have taken that long to cause a reaction.”

“How long ago was it?” Dean asked, stopping in his task long enough to shoot Sam a questioning look. He removed the blanket from his bed, folded it tightly, and tucked it, and a pillow, under his arm. He turned back around, and saw Sam staring at his watch in obvious confusion. “What?” he asked.

“It’s only been a little bit over an hour,” Sam replied quietly running a hand through his too-long hair. “It feels a lot longer than that.”

“Time always seems longer when you are waiting…and worried,” Dean conceded, suddenly understanding how long of a day Sam must have had. “I’m sorry about that, I lost track of time, and I should have come back for you first, Sam.”

Dean held out his free hand as part peace offering, and part offer of assistance. Sam accepted, and Dean carefully hauled Sam to his feet, mindful of his ribs. Sam swayed slightly before regaining his balance, and Dean seriously considered reneging on his offer. The look of relief on Sam’s face held Dean’s tongue. He placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder and shepherded his brother out the still open door. “You really are a light-weight, Sammy,” Dean muttered under his breath.

After placing an order at the restaurant, Dean left Sam in the car while he ran into the pharmacy. He was not exactly thrilled at the prospect of Sam sleeping in the car. Dean had parked the Impala where it could easily be seen from inside the pharmacy, but it was not an unobstructed view. Display racks of old magazines, dusty perfume bottles, and clearance items were blocking the window to some degree. Dean moved quickly to the counter, and waited impatiently for the pharmacist to finish helping the elderly woman in front of him in line.

“Here you go, Gladys,” the pharmacist said his vowels elongated in a strong and distinctive Minnesota accent. He handed Gladys a paper bag. “So, you’ve taken these before, then?”

“Yah, Norlin,” Gladys replied, sticking the pills in her purse. “Last time I was all bound up, I took these.”

‘Whoa, I really didn’t need to know that,’ Dean thought. He glanced out the window to check on Sam. It occurred to him, he was being unreasonable. Sam was a grown man, sleeping in a locked car, in a very small town. He doubted Sam would be safer anywhere else. There was always Sam’s penchant for encountering freaks, and supernatural entities to consider, however.

“May I help you?” Norlin asked.

“Huh? Oh, sorry,” Dean replied snapping his attention away from Sam and to the pharmacist. He had not even noticed Gladys leaving. He handed the prescription scripts to Norlin. “When can I pick these up?” Dean asked.

“Well, we are closing in just a few minutes, and we are only open until noon on Saturdays. So, be sure to get here…” Norlin answered, his voice trailing off. “Wait just a minute, I think Dr. Polson called these in this afternoon. He was complaining about two stubborn patients of his.”

Norlin searched in the small bin of completed orders until he found the bag for Sam Richards. “Yep, here it is,” Norlin said, brandishing the small, paper bag. “Dr. Polson wanted me to be sure to tell you, Sam needs to start taking these immediately, and if he develops any signs of infection to bring him back in.”

“Not a problem, thanks,” Dean replied, handing the pharmacist Sam’s insurance card.

“Don’t need it, son,” Norlin said, handing Dean back the card. “Hospital faxed it over this morning. Oh, don’t look so shocked. We do have modern technology around here.”

Dean closed his mouth, and bit back his original reply. “Sam seems to be having a reaction of some kind to the medication he was given at the hospital.”

“Does he have a fever, itching, or stomach cramping?” Norlin asked his brow furrowed.

“No, nothing like that,” Dean replied. “He’s just easily confused, and he’s having trouble focusing. He’s even a little, well, a little sensitive.”

“Uh-hmmm, it sounds more like a drug sensitivity than an allergic reaction to me,” Norlin replied. “If the symptoms worsen, or change I’d take him to the hospital. Otherwise, they should wear off within four to eight hours.”

“Good,” Dean replied. “How much do I owe you?”

“Ten dollars for your co-pay,” Norlin replied. He looked at Dean thoughtfully for a minute and then added, “Or, he could simply have a point.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, pulling ten bucks out of his wallet.

“Well, a drug sensitivity causes many of the same symptoms as intoxication, not the least of which is a lowering of inhibition,” Norlin explained. He poked Dean lightly in the chest and said, “Maybe, he had a point in what he was saying, but he normally wouldn’t say anything.”

Dean tossed the ten dollar bill onto the counter. He was not in the mood for another lecture, especially from a stranger. “Thanks,” Dean replied with a nod. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“You do that,” Norlin replied, turning away from Dean and putting the money in the till. By the time he turned around again, Dean was gone.

Sam awoke slowly to the sensation of being watched. He assumed at first it was Dean hovering, so he made no effort to pull himself out of his half-awake state. However, after several long moments he realized the presence he felt was not Dean, but someone else.

He cracked open his eyes, and peered through the fog covered passenger window. He could not see anyone, but the light was behind him, and his own reflection was blocking his view. He rubbed the fog off the window with the sleeve of his jacket, and nearly hit his head on the roof, when he jumped.

An old woman was standing merely inches from the Impala’s passenger window. Her long, gray hair hung loosely down to her waist. She wore several layers of miss-matched clothing all piled onto her frail frame. She knocked on the passenger window, and her mouth was moving as if she was saying something, but Sam could not hear her.

Sam cracked the window, and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Don’t answer the knockin’,” the old woman replied with a heavy, Scandinavian accent. She backed slowly away from the Impala. “Don’t answer the knockin’.”

Sam was hit with a blast of cold air when he opened the door and exited the Impala. The sudden temperature change had him coughing lightly, but it worked up to more severe coughing in only seconds. Sam rested the palms of his hands on the hood of the car, and bent over trying to catch his breath while the coughing racked his damaged ribs. Finally, spent, he stood up carefully, and turned towards the woman, only to find himself face to face with his brother.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Sam?” Dean demanded.

“I was trying to catch the old woman,” Sam replied breathlessly.

“What old woman?” Dean asked concern etched on his every feature.

Sam turned in a small circle, looking in every direction. The old woman was nowhere to be seen. “I don’t understand. She was just here,” Sam protested.

“Sam,” Dean said placing his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “It’s okay, let’s go.”

“I swear, Dean, she was just here,” Sam stated. He could tell Dean did not believe him. He knew Dean thought the medication was affecting him, but a little lack of focus was hell and gone from hallucinations.

“What did she do? Did she say anything?” Dean asked, opening the passenger door.

“She was standing there, and then she knocked on the window,” Sam explained sitting down in the seat. “She said, ‘Don’t answer the knocking.’”

“She knocks on the window, and then tells you not to answer the knocking? Talk about a mixed signal.” Dean replied closing the door. He walked around the front of the Impala, and climbed into the driver’s seat.

“It sounded like she was trying to warn me,” Sam said. He was frustrated at his inability to string his thoughts together in a coherent pattern. He knew he was missing something, but he could not, for the life of him, figure out what it was.

“Don’t worry about it, Sam,” Dean replied casting his brother a concerned side-long glance. “Let’s get something to eat, and then we’ll both get some rest. I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out in the morning.”

Sam swiveled in his seat to face Dean. “You won’t go anywhere without me, right?” he asked.

“No, Sam,” Dean replied apologetically. “I’m really am sorry I didn’t come right back today. I know you needed me at the hospital. I’ll have to admit, I didn’t expect them to discharge you so early, but I should have come back sooner.”

“This isn’t about me, Dean,” Sam argued. “It was never about me. This is about you, about you being reckless, about you not watching out for yourself. You know that whole, watching out for your brother thing?” Sam paused and waited for Dean to make eye contact with him. “It goes both ways,” he finished.

“Yeah, okay, I get it,” Dean replied the apology making it to his eyes this time. “I promise, the rest of the hunt, we’ll stick together.”

Sam rolled his eyes and remarked, “Well, that’s closer, I guess.”

Dean smacked Sam lightly on the arm and said, “Let’s grab the food. I’m starved. Crazy-lady offered me a cookie, but I had to turn her down.”

“Why?” Sam asked, snagging the bait.

Dean fired up the engine, and slowly pulled back out into Main Street. “Because, watching her son eat his own snot, killed my appetite.”

Sam wrinkled his face in disgust and replied, “That’s really sick.”

“Hey, you’re not telling me anything I don’t know,” Dean replied with a smirk.

Sam knew Dean was trying to restore a semblance of normalcy between them. Sam understood that his concern for his brother came very close to tipping the small canoe of Dean’s control in emotionally turbulent waters. As a magnanimous gesture, Sam steered the conversation to safer territory. “You know what? I think I could eat,” Sam announced.

“That’s my boy,” Dean said. He eased the Impala to a stop across the street from the Home20. “Wait here, I’ll go pick up our order.”

“Dean, it won’t take any more time to eat it here, than I would at the motel. Let’s just go inside to eat,” Sam suggested. He could hear Dean making noises of protest as he slowly exited the car.

“Sam, stop,” Dean said in a commanding tone. Sam turned around in the middle of the street to look back at his brother.

“You really think this is the safest place to have this conversation? I could get hit by a car,” Sam noted with a bemused expression on his face.

“This isn’t exactly a street full of roaring activity,” Dean responded dryly, nevertheless pulling Sam towards the restaurant. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

“Dean, it’s just dinner,” Sam replied with a hint of amusement. “Unless you’re planning on creating some excitement in there, I’m good.” He turned away from Dean to walk into the restaurant, but was stopped short by a hand on his arm.

“What makes you think I’d be the one creating the excitement?” Dean asked the serious look on his face caused Sam to chuckle.

“Are you serious?” Sam asked. “Dude, you don’t just find trouble, you bring it with you.” He opened the door, to the restaurant and was rewarded with a waft of warm air carrying with it the fragrance of a home-cooked meal. “Age before beauty,” he quipped holding the door open for Dean.

Dean’s foot was across the threshold before Sam’s comment registered with his brain. He turned with scowl on his face, and opened his mouth to comment, but he was interrupted by Edna. “Dean, it’s good to see you again,” Edna gushed, wrapping Dean in a hug.

The shocked look on Dean’s face was worth the price of admission. Sam smiled, and puffed out a couple bursts of quiet laughter, before Edna turned her sights on him. “You must be Sam,” she guessed, turning to approach Sam with her arms outstretched.

“No offense, Edna, but he’s hurt,” Dean commented. He eased himself between Sam and Edna, and put a hand on her arm.

“Oh yes, I was sorry to hear about that,” Edna said sympathetically. “So, are you eating here, after all?” she asked.

“If that’s not a problem, because if it is, we can…” Dean began.

“No, no problem,” Edna interjected. “At least this way, I’ll know you ate it instead of letting it go to waste.” At Sam’s questioning look, she leaned in closer to him and whispered, “Becky is my daughter-in-law.”

‘Of course she is,’ Sam thought.

“Right this way, boys,” Edna said gesturing them to a booth near the window. “I’ll just slip your supper out of those boxes, and bring it out to you right away.”

“Thank you,” Sam replied sliding carefully into the bench seat. It was low, and hard, and he was going to have a hell of a time getting back out of it.

Dean took off his jacket, and tossed it on to the bench seat. Pushing up the sleeves of his gray Henley, Dean sat down across from Sam. Sam noticed Dean had bruises on his wrists. At first he assumed they were from when he had pulled Dean out of the lake, but they didn’t look like ordinary bruises.

“I’m not sure we should waste any more time on an investigation. I think we should get on with the salt and burn, and be…hey,” Dean exclaimed when Sam grabbed his arm. “Uh, Sammy, I don’t really want to hold hands right now,” Dean remarked sardonically.

“Shut up,” Sam commanded. He pulled Dean’s arm closer to him, and further under the overhead table lamp. The bruises did look like they were made by someone grabbing Dean’s wrists, but they were thin, and smaller than Sam’s hands.

“Okay, this is awkward,” Dean muttered.

“These bruises, how long have you had them?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know, ever since I woke up in the hospital I guess. Why?” Dean asked. He pulled gently against Sam’s grasp, but Sam did not release his grip on Dean’s arm.

“They look blue,” Sam commented.

“Yeah, thus the phrase, black and blue,” Dean remarked snidely.

“No, just blue,” Sam contradicted releasing his hold on Dean’s arm. “Take a look.”

Dean lifted his arm, and took a close look at the bruises. Sam was right. They were a bright blue in color. “Well that’s a little odd,” he said finally.

“Supper’s on, boys,” Edna said choosing that moment to interrupt. “I wasn’t sure what your stomachs could handle right now, so I made a lighter fare. I hope that’s okay.”

“Sounds great,” Dean replied throwing Edna his mega-watt smile. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Sam replied. He waited until Edna walked away, and said, “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

“Can’t go wrong there,” Dean replied stabbing a piece of chicken.

“About the salt and burn,” Sam continued ignoring Dean’s comment. “We’re in Minnesota in March.”

“Yeah, so?” Dean asked as he took a drink of water. “What’s your point?”

“There’s still slush outside. What do you suppose the chances are the ground isn’t frozen rock solid?” Sam asked. He had yet to take a bite, but when Dean looked up from his plate, Sam made a show out of taking a bite of mashed potatoes.

“Well, hell,” Dean moaned. “I guess we better make damn sure we’re digging up the right grave, or that’s gonna suck.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed.

The brothers were almost finished with their meal, when the local sheriff rushed into the restaurant. “Edna!” he bellowed.

“Calm down, Larry,” Edna chastised severely. “You’re scaring people.”

“Sorry, about that, Edna,” Larry replied lowering his voice. “There’s been another drowning at the lake. The doctor is trying to revive the poor woman now, but no one is holding out much hope. Anyway, folks’ll be putting in a lot of hours down there, and I was hoping to pick up a little nosh for everyone.”

“Oh, Lord,” Edna moaned. “Who was it?”

“Emma Enderson,” Larry answered. “Her daughter is taking it pretty hard. You know how Emma’s had bouts of dementia, and Patty thinks she wandered away from the family home, and down to the lake, sometime after supper.”

“Oh, poor Patty,” Edna replied hurrying towards the kitchen. “I’ll pack up some food for you in two shakes. I’ll be right back,” she called over her shoulder. Larry nodded and took a seat by the front door.

Sam’s mind traveled back to thoughts of Dean at the lake today without him. His anger started to burn anew until he saw the look on Dean’s face. “Dean?” he asked softly.

“I was just talking to Patty this afternoon,” Dean replied quietly. He looked up at Sam and said forcefully, “We have to end this thing, one way or the other.”

“We will,” Sam reassured Dean. He slid to the edge of the bench, placed one hand on the table, and one on the back of the seat, and slowly stood up. “Let’s go.”

Dean nodded, grabbed his leather jacket, and tossed twenty-five dollars on the table. The two Winchesters walked out to the Impala, and drove off towards the hospital.

Dean strode purposefully into the hospital emergency entrance, and scanned quickly for any sign of Patty, keeping Sam in his peripheral vision at all times. He spotted her quickly in the small waiting area. Dean was aware of the activity in the trauma room, but headed straight for Patty. He noticed Sam was no longer following behind him, and he turned to search for him.

Sam was standing at the window to the trauma room. He was simply staring at the activity encased within the small room, and Dean hoped Sam would snap out of it soon, and join him. Dean sat down next to Patty and her three children. He sat on Patty’s right-hand side so he could still see Sam. “Patty, I’m really sorry to hear about your mother,” Dean said.

Patty looked up, and over at Dean with a tear-streaked face. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to talk to the papers right now,” she said with a genuine tone of apology lacing her words. She was holding her small boy, who was staring at Dean with wide eyes.

“I’m not here as a reporter,” Dean reassured her. “I’m here as someone who wants to help.” He leaned forward towards her, and asked softly, “What happened tonight, Patty?”

Patty sniffled loudly, and gently pushed her son off her lap. “Go sit with your sisters, Jeffy,” she said giving him a pat on the rear to get him moving. She turned back towards Dean and said, “My mother has been sick. She’s old, confused at times.” Patty laughed a little through her nose and continued, “She has a quirky sense of humor, and she has – had an infectious laugh.” Patty paused in her story, and gave Dean a hard look. “You really aren’t doing a story, right?”

“No,” Dean replied his voice husky. “I know what it is like to lose a parent. Please, Patty, I really want to help.”

Patty pulled out her hair clip, and ran her fingers through her blonde hair. She twisted a strand around her finger, in the same nervous habit Dean had observed earlier that afternoon, at her home. “Mom said she heard a loon crying. I, I didn’t think anything of it,” Patty stuttered. “I should have listened to her. I should have checked in with her after supper tonight. She wouldn’t have been able to make it all the way down to the lake if I had just checked on her. It is all my fault.”

“Hey, listen to me,” Dean said, sliding off the chair and crouching down in front of Patty. “This is not your fault. You took care of your mother the best you could.”

“She wouldn’t blame you,” Sam said suddenly appearing at Dean’s right elbow. “I’m sure she knows you did your best to take care of her, to keep her safe.”

Patty looked up at Sam. “How can you be so sure?” she asked, a hopeful look in her eyes.

Sam returned Patty’s gaze, but his words were for his brother. “Because I do,” Sam replied simply, his eyes conveying his sincerity and empathy. It seemed to be what Patty needed to hear, and she visibly released some of her anxiety.

“What’s going on here?” a man asked from behind Sam.

Dean stood quickly, and was in between Sam and the man before Sam had finished slowly turning around. “We’re just talking to Patty,” Dean explained quickly. “We heard about her mother, and wanted to see how she was doing.”

“Jim, it’s alright,” Patty explained. “Have you heard anything?”

The look on Jim’s face told Dean, Patty was not going to be happy about the news. He took that moment to steer Sam away from the Knutson’s and closer to the exit. “Let’s go, Sam,” Dean commanded. “There’s nothing else to learn here.”

“Actually, there is,” Sam disagreed pulling away from Dean’s grasp. He walked towards the trauma window, and Dean followed closely behind. “That lady in there, Patty’s mother, that was the lady on the street,” Sam said staring at the sheet covered body lying on the gurney. ‘It could have been, Dean,’ he thought.

“You can’t be sure of that, Haley Joel,” Dean replied. Dean turned his eyes on Sam to gauge his reaction to this new information. He had not really believed there was a lady in the street; not truly. He had believed it was the medication. However, with the discovery of the woman on the gurney, Dean was willing to entertain the idea. A strange, old woman warning Sam about knocking of all things, he was not sure he believed. A dead woman warning Sam, he could certainly buy into.

“I am sure,” Sam insisted, turning his hazel orbs to Dean. “She had the same hair, even the same clothes. I don’t get it, Dean, what was she trying to tell me?” Sam looked suddenly very weary, and his eyes conveyed pain.

“Come on,” Dean said, grabbing Sam’s jacket sleeve. “Let’s get going. Dr. Polson wanted to be sure you started your prescriptions tonight. We should get back to the motel.”

“When did you talk to Dr. Polson?” Sam asked his brow knitted in confusion. He did not resist Dean’s pull towards the door, or out into the parking lot.

“I didn’t,” Dean admitted. “But he talked to Norlin…”

“Who?” Sam asked stopping by the passenger door.

“Norlin, the pharmacist,” Dean explained waiting for Sam to slowly ease into the seat. “And, he told me,” Dean finished, closing the door. He walked around the Impala, and took a seat next to Sam.

Sam stared at Dean with an incredulous look. “What?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know why it continues to surprise me, but it does,” Sam replied with a small frown.

“Well, that’s a small town grape-vine for you,” Dean replied starting the Impala.

“Not that, well that too, but I meant your ability to distract me, and get me to do what you want me to do,” Sam said with a small smile.

Dean had used distraction as a means to get Sam to eat vegetables, to go to sleep, or to wait for their father to return from a hunt since Sam was old enough to start talking back. It was one of the best tools he had in his arsenal against his head-strong little brother. “Why mess with a good thing?” Dean asked.

“One of these days, that won’t work anymore,” Sam stated.

Sam’s voice was strained, and Dean noticed he was breathing shallowly. He twisted in the seat to look his brother in the eyes. “Sam?” he said.

“Hmmm?” Sam replied, looking away from Dean. He knew the direction Dean was headed, and he was hoping to avoid a confrontation. He was tapped out.

“That, apparently awesome, pain medication you had before you left the hospital, it’s wearing off, isn’t it?” Dean asked. He attempted to catch a glimpse of Sam’s face, but Sam studiously avoided Dean’s gaze. “Sam?” Dean tried again.

Sam turned towards Dean, his eyes hooded. “I’m…” he started.

“Be honest, Sammy,” Dean admonished him.

Sam sighed lightly through his nose, “Yeah,” he replied softly. There was a pause before he added, “I’ll be okay. It isn’t anything I haven’t worked through before.”

Dean shook his head, and pulled the car out of the parking lot. It was a fair statement; they had both worked through injuries before. It did not make it right, and it certainly did not make it something Dean was willing to put Sam through needlessly. “I don’t think so, Sam. As you pointed out, we can’t really dig up Diane’s grave unless we are absolutely sure. A job, you won’t be doing at all, by the way. Research will have to wait until morning, when we can head to Alexandria or Fergus and hook into someone’s Internet access. So, unless you can think of another reason to be out and about when you shouldn’t be, we’re headed back to the motel,” Dean stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Sam snapped his jaw closed on his first response to Dean’s dictations, and opted for the path of least resistance. “Guess not,” he replied simply.

“Good answer,” Dean said. He stole a quick glance at Sam. The muscles in his jaw twitched in frustration, as he watched Sam fidgeting in the seat, trying to get comfortable. He hoped that the pain medication Dr. Polson prescribed was stronger than the pills Dr. What’s-his-name had prescribed back in North Dakota.

Dean pulled the Impala to a stop outside the motel. In the four short blocks from the hospital to the motel, Dean agonized over every pothole, and every bump. He knew the car ride could not be comfortable, but at least it was over.

Sam managed to open the car door, and swing his long legs out the door before Dean made it around to the passenger side of the car. Dean reached inside the car, and grabbed one of Sam’s arms intended to help him stand. “I got it,” Sam snapped. He was obviously frustrated with his current situation and in pain, but Dean was not going to let Sam’s anger build to the point he would not accept help.

“I know you do,” Dean replied ducking slightly to look Sam in the eyes. “But, there’s nothing to prove here, Sam. Let me help you.” He wrapped his hand around Sam’s arm, and bent his knees to help Sam stand. Sam was definitely heavier than his deceptively lean frame would suggest. “Oof, Sam, you’re gonna have to lay off the extra-large, chocolate foo-foo coffees. Dude, you’re heavy.”

Sam puffed a small shot of laughter and retorted, “You’re no light-weight yourself, Dean. However, in your case, I think it’s all the greasy food you like to eat.”

“Hey, it’s all muscle,” Dean insisted with a grin. He wrapped Sam’s arm around his neck, and did not miss the way Sam stiffened next to him. Sam was holding his mid-section, and he seemed unable to straighten up completely.

Dean cursed the medication that had so completely masked Sam’s injury for nearly four hours. There was no doubt in Dean’s mind they had stayed out too long, and Sam had done too much. It was always easier to keep pain at bay, than it was to put it in its place, unless you had access to strong medication.

Dean shut the passenger door, and helped Sam to the motel room. It took three tries to unlock the door while holding Sam upright. Sam was still supporting most of his own weight, but he was tensing his jaw, and a small moan of pain escaped his lips. “We’re almost there, Sam,” Dean reassured him as he led Sam inside.

The room was cool, and Dean noticed the front window was still wide open. At least, the room no longer smelled as strongly of beach and flowers. Sam pulled himself away from Dean, apparently no longer willing to accept help now that he was so close to his final destination, the bed. Sam gingerly sat down on the bed, and ran his hands through his hair. He grabbed two fistfuls of hair, and tugged, before dropping his hands to his sides.

“Headache?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, a little bit,” Sam replied squinting up at Dean.

“I’ll get your new pain pills,” Dean said turning around to close the window. The last thing Sam needed was a cold air induced coughing fit like he had earlier by the Impala. He went to the bathroom to fill a glass with water. Sam needed to take the pain pills now, before the pain increased any more. He knew even if he convinced Sam to take stronger medication tonight, he would have a harder time getting him to do so tomorrow if it was too strong. The new prescription was the dreaded Percocet. They would definitely be fighting over this in the morning.

Dean measured out the Percocet, and the new antibiotic. He walked back out to Sam only to find his brother sitting on the bed, his face pale and covered with a fine sheen of sweat. Sam had somehow managed to rid himself of his jacket, boots and jeans, but seemed to be having difficulty removing his hoody. “Here, let me,” Dean said placing the water and pills on the side table. Sam had already pulled his arm out of the sleeve on his uninjured side. Dean gently pulled the sweatshirt over Sam head, and then slid it off his other arm.

“Thanks,” Sam said tiredly.

“No problem,” Dean replied. He reached around and grabbed the pills and water off the table, and handed them to Sam. “Take these,” he commanded.

Sam raised his eyebrow, and threw Dean a look of annoyance. “Mind if I ask what I’m supposed to be taking?” he asked jiggling the pills in his hand.

“Nope, I don’t mind,” Dean replied with a half-grin.

After a brief pause, Sam released a sigh of long-suffering and asked, “What pills am I taking?”

“These are your new antibiotic,” Dean replied pointing to the two large pills. “And these, are your new pain pills.”

“Dean, stop being deliberately obtuse,” Sam snapped, irritated. “What type of pain pills?”

“Percocet,” Dean replied the grin falling from his face. “But, before you refuse, we are both going to bed, and there is no reason you can’t take something that will knock back the pain. You’ll be asleep, so it really doesn’t matter how loopy you think they make you.”

“I don’t think they make me loopy,” Sam protested. “I know they do. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about the time I took them after I was hurt by the poltergeist in French Glenn?”

“How could I forget, Sammy?” Dean replied the grin reappearing on his face. “When your baby brother sings, ‘The Song That Never Ends,’ off-key, for over two hundred miles while you are trapped in the car with him, you tend to remember it.”

“I don’t remember that part at all,” Sam said. “But, I do remember asking you a lot of questions about the difference between a poltergeist and an angry spirit. I don’t even remember why I was asking about it.”

“You didn’t ask a lot of questions,” Dean disagreed. “You asked the same damn question many, many, many times.” Dean placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder, and added, “Just take the pills, Sam. You were only fourteen last time. Besides, you need the sleep, and I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Sam nodded, and swallowed the pills in one smooth motion. Dean watched as Sam struggled to pull his legs onto the bed, and carefully lay down. He was not going to interfere with Sam’s efforts to do things on his own. It would only annoy Sam, and he would be less likely to do what Dean asked him to do later, if he pushed too hard now.

Within moments, Sam was asleep. Dean sat down at the small table, and smoothed out the crumpled papers he had absconded earlier that afternoon. The top sheet was a summary of Sam’s injuries, care, warnings, and pain management. Possible infection, danger of recurrence, and an increased chance of pneumonia topped the list. ‘Great,’ Dean thought. ‘He already has one of those.’ It was the second page that caught Dean’s attention, and caused a flare of anger, not at Sam, but at himself. Sam had signed himself out of the hospital against medical advice.

The time stamp on the paper was about forty-five minutes prior to Dean finding Sam in the motel room. A part of Dean felt guilty for not coming back to the hospital as soon as he woke up in the car. He may have been able to convince Sam to stay at the hospital and rest. The larger part, the part that knew his brother almost as well as he knew himself, understood if the situation was reversed Sam would have done the same thing. Their father’s influence ran deep.

Dean carefully folded the papers, and tucked them back inside his jacket pocket. Deciding nothing more could be accomplished that night, Dean quietly undressed, and slipped into bed. He promptly fell asleep.

Pain came unbidden as a deep ache in his chest, burning its way through muscle and bone, and radiating outwards in a spiral loop. My chest hurts, why does my chest hurt? Sam awoke with a start, and looked around the room trying to catch his bearings. He remembered now, the alley, the lake, the angry spirit, and his ribs.

The bed next to his had obviously been slept in, but Dean was no where to be seen. Sam struggled to sit up, and get out of bed. He padded across the green shag carpet, and opened the door of the motel room. The Impala was still parked in front of the room, the midday sun glinting off the black paint.

Sam turned towards the motel office. He could not make out any distinguishing characteristics of the man standing in the office, and yet, he knew it was Dean. There was something about the way he stood, the way he carried himself. It reminded Sam of their father.

As the cool, morning spring breeze hit his legs, Sam remembered he was only clad in boxers and a t-shirt, and he ducked back inside the room. He hoped no one had seen him. He was sure it would be all over town by dinner time if they had. He stooped to pick out clean clothes out of his duffel bag. Sam felt stiff, and sore, and he desperately wanted a hot shower before they headed out.

Sam tossed his clothes on the towel rack and turned on the shower water as hot as he could tolerate. He had finally managed to wrestle off his t-shirt when Dean banged on the bathroom door.

“Sam, are you okay in there?” Dean’s muffled voice asked through the door.

“I’m good,” Sam replied. He did not like how tight his voice sounded.

There was a long pause before Dean asked, “You sure?” Apparently, Dean did not like it either.

“Yeah,” Sam answered. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“No hurry,” Dean replied. “If you’re sure you’re okay, I’m going to go gas up the Impala, and grab us some food. Apparently, the sidewalks will roll up today at noon, and nothing will be open again until Monday.”

“Go for it,” Sam replied. “I’m sure.”

There was another pause, and Dean said, “Sam, just take the damn Percocet Dr. Looney Tunes prescribed.” When Sam did not respond Dean added, “We still have to eat, and Alexandria is about fifty minutes from here. That’s plenty of time for you to shake off some of the effects if there are any.”

Sam did not respond for several long moments. He was thinking about his ability to conduct research, or watch Dean’s back if he took the pain killers. “Sam, promise, okay?” Dean said his voice sounding less muffled. Sam guessed he was pressed to the door, trying to figure out if he was okay.

“Okay,” Sam said finally.

“Promise?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, I promise,” Sam replied more forcefully. He grabbed the Percocet bottle off the back of the sink and shook them loudly. “See?”

“I said take them, not shake them,” Dean answered with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Just go, Dean,” Sam said defeated. He dumped a pill into his hand. He was not lying to Dean. He would take the Percocet, but he was starting with a half dose. He swallowed it dry and said, “Alright, I took it, and I’ll be out in about twenty minutes.”

“I should be back about the same time,” Dean replied his voice sounding farther away. Sam heard the door shut, and he climbed into the hot shower allowing it to pound on his sore muscles.

Dean pulled the Impala to a stop at the only gas station in town. He automatically scanned the area for hidden danger, spots that could conceal an attacker, and the best area to seek cover in. He was not even aware of the action. Years of hunting had turned it into habit, something he no longer had to think about. As Dean swiped his card, and filled the gas tank, he could hear the two other men at the station talking.

“I don’t care what you think, Ernest, those drownings don’t seem natural to me,” one man said pushing his cap further up on his forehead.

“You know what your problem is, Don? You’re just too paranoid. Not everything is a conspiracy,” Ernest replied from under the hood. He was bent over the grill to check the oil pressure in his truck.

“It’s not a coincidence,” Don insisted leaning over Ernest’s old Chevy to get a look at the engine. “It can’t be. With those kinds of odds, we should bring the lottery to town. Someone here could win it big.”

“Guys, I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation, and I gotta say, I agree with Don,” Dean interjected. He did not look up at the men, but kept his attention focused on his car. There was no way he was going to risk spilling gas on the paint.

“See?” Don gloated.

“See what?” Ernest asked pulling a handkerchief out of his back pocket to wipe the oil off his hands. “The man’s a reporter from out of town. Of course, he’s going to agree with your conspiratorial view.”

“I don’t think it is a conspiracy,” Dean said replacing the gas cap on the Impala. “But, I do think there is something going on at Pomme de Terre lake that cannot be easily explained.”

“Emma was an old, crazy woman. She wandered out last night, lost her way, and drowned in the lake. End of story,” Ernest insisted. He slammed the hood of his truck down, narrowly missing Don.

Don jumped back quickly and snapped, “Ernest, easy on the truck.”

“You can stay here and talk to yet another reporter, but I’m headed back to the farm. I have cows that need tending,” Ernest stated climbing into his truck. “I’ll tell Jo Anne you and your family will be out after church tomorrow.”

“You bet,” Don replied. He waved at Ernest has he pulled the rumbling truck out onto the highway. Don turned his attention back to Dean. “Do you really believe there is something going on at that lake?” he asked.

“Yes, I do,” Dean replied. “What do you think is going on at the lake?”

“Well, don’t know if I believe it myself or not, but some folks think the lake is haunted,” Don replied. He walked over to Dean, and started to circle the Impala. “Nice car,” he commented with a whistle.

“Yeah, she is,” Dean agreed with a smile. “What do people say about the haunting?” he asked.

“Ah, some folks, not me you understand, but some folks think it is Diane Schneeberger. She drowned in the lake five years ago. Ever since then, we’ve lost three people a year to that damn lake,” Don explained. He ran his hand along the hood of the Impala. “She’s a ’67, isn’t she?”

“Sure is,” Dean affirmed. “What do you think?”

“I think something is out at that lake, but I don’t think it is Diane. She was always such a sweet, young lady. I just can’t see her hurting anyone,” Don replied. “Besides, Ernest and Jo Anne are friends of mine.”

Dean shot Don a questioning look and asked, “What does that have to do with Diane haunting the lake?”

“Diane was their daughter,” Don replied. “So, what do you think is going on at the lake?”

“I’m not sure,” Dean answered opening the door to the Impala. “But, I intend to find out.”

Don laughed and commented, “You really do remind me of the reporter that was here before. He said the exact same thing, before he up and disappeared in the middle of the night.”

“Do you remember his name?” Dean asked casually.

“Nope, sure don’t,” Don replied pulling his cap back down to shade his eyes. “But, I remember what he drove.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked. “Was it as nice as my car?”

“Nah, it was a nice truck, but it wasn’t as great as that Impala,” Don replied. “Can’t remember the year, exactly, but it was a big, black GMC. I can’t say I wasn’t a little jealous.”

“Sounds like a nice ride,” Dean agreed, but his mind was traveling past the conversation. He was almost positive now, the reporter from last year, was his father. He opened the door to the Impala, and climbed in behind the steering wheel.

“You take it easy,” Don called as Dean pulled out of the gas station.

Dean waved at Don, and headed for the small, convenience store on the corner. It was only a few minutes before noon, and he really wanted some breakfast, even if it was only a microwaved breakfast burrito.

Sam sat on the edge of the bed. He had successfully managed not only a shower, but getting dressed. The new prescription, even at half dose, was doing an adequate job of controlling the pain. He certainly did not feel as good as he had yesterday, but then, since he could not sleep the whole day away, that was probably a good thing.

He bit back concern over what was taking Dean so long to return. The overwhelming feeling from yesterday was gone, but he still could not shake the feeling Dean was in danger, and that he had to stick close to his brother.

Something more than an angry spirit was going on at the lake and Sam knew he had the clues in front of him. He needed to access the Internet so he could research it properly. Sam mulled over the facts in his head, twisting them around trying to figure out how the pieces all fit together.

He was snapped from his reverie, when Dean returned with two coffees, and a paper bag which he tossed onto the bed next to Sam. “Doughnuts, breakfast of champions,” he said by way of explanation. “I picked up a coffee for you, but it is simply the plain, black, garden variety so if you don’t…”

“Sounds great,” Sam interrupted snagging the offered cup from Dean. He pulled out a doughnut, and took a large bite. It was wonderful. Sometimes, there was nothing better than carbs, sugar and caffeine for breakfast. He washed it down with a gulp of coffee, and the heat scorched his tongue and mouth. “Ah, hoooot,” he commented.

Dean scrunched his brow in mock confusion. “No offense, Sam, but that’s kind of a given. You sure you’re okay this morning?” he teased.

“I am now,” Sam replied taking another large bite of the doughnut. “Are you ready to go?”

“Why don’t you finish eating first? More importantly, finish that coffee. I don’t want you falling asleep in my car with a coffee in your hand,” Dean said. “I talked to a guy at the gas station. He thinks there is something happening at the lake, but he doesn’t think it is Diane’s spirit. Of course, most people don’t realize that being a good person in life, doesn’t mean you won’t be angry, or confused as a spirit. I think he’s got a point though. It doesn’t feel right.”

“I agree,” Sam said. “I need to research it further, but I think the loon, your bruises, and the spirit are all related.” He popped the rest of the doughnut in his mouth. “Is there anything you can tell me about the spirit?”

“Other than she dripped water in my car?” Dean asked with a flash of annoyance appearing in his eyes. “Nope, nothing I haven’t already told you. Last time, she tried to get me to follow her to the lake.”

“That’s not typical spirit behavior,” Sam replied taking another gulp of the hot coffee. “Let’s head out. I won’t fall asleep after all this coffee.”

“Uh-huh, okay Sam, you won’t fall asleep,” Dean replied sarcastically. “But, you’re right. We should go.”

Sam followed Dean out to the car, and carefully slid into the passenger seat. When Dean sat down, and started the car, Sam asked, “Do you have any ideas on what this thing is? I keep thinking I should know, but I’m a little fuzzy.”

Dean pulled the Impala out onto the highway, and turned towards Alexandria. “Not sure, really, but I did talk to Don at the gas station for awhile. The one thing I am pretty sure of, is that it was dad who was here last year.”

When that revelation was met with silence, Dean looked over at his brother. He shook his head, and smiled. “Good thing I wasn’t counting on you to keep me entertained,” he said quietly. He pulled the still steaming coffee out of Sam’s hand, and was not surprised when it elicited no response from his little brother. He was out cold.

“Sam, wake up,” Dean said gently tapping on Sam’s shoulder. “Come on, kiddo, we’re here.”

Sam opened his eyes, and looked out the windshield at the coffee shop. He looked over at Dean and blinked in confusion. “We’re here already?” he asked.

“Actually, we’ve been here for nearly an hour. I thought about letting you sleep some more, but it is about time for you to take your pain pills,” Dean replied. Dean held out his hand, and Sam noticed there were two pills in his hand.

“Thanks,” Sam said. He popped one in his mouth, and stealthily pocketed the other while Dean was preoccupied with snagging the laptop from the back seat.

“Let’s go,” Dean stated as he exited the car. He stood waiting to see how easily Sam could get out of the car. When he seemed to have little difficulty, Dean heaved a silent breath of relief.

The coffee shop was a busy little place, with many display racks, and several small tables. Dean pointed a small, back table out to Sam. He set the computer down for Sam, and went to stand in line. By the time he returned with the coffee, Sam’s face was already buried behind the laptop screen.

“Here you go,” Dean said handing Sam one of the double, mocha lattes that he seemed to enjoy.

“Thanks,” Sam replied absent-mindedly. He did not look up from the computer, but grabbed blindly for the coffee cup.

“Find anything?” Dean asked.

Sam looked at Dean from over the computer screen and scowled. “Dude, I just started,” he protested. “I’m good, but even I need more time than that.”

Dean nodded, and looked around the coffee shop. The cacophony of voices made it difficult to focus on any one conversation. Strike one, for keeping himself occupied. He started humming, ‘Fat Bottom Girls’ as he watched the young, female, coffee bartista making an espresso. When he turned around again, Sam was glaring at him. “What?” he asked with an innocent expression on his face.

“Can’t you find something to do? Go talk to someone,” Sam suggested.

‘Strike two,’ Dean thought. “Nah, I’m good,” he said baiting his little brother with a lop-sided grin.

Sam sighed heavily, and returned his focus to the computer screen. Dean sat quietly for a few minutes, until his natural need for action took over, and he began beating out the rhythm of the song on the table. It started quietly at first, but built up to a knocking and humming symphony within eight measures.

“Dean!” Sam hissed. “Man, you really need to give me some space here. All that knocking and humming is making it difficult to concentrate.”

“Creepy old lady did warn you about the knockin’,” Dean quipped.

“Yeah, she did,” Sam snapped. A light slowly dawned on his features. He typed frantically for several seconds, and then fell silent as he scanned the computer screen. A slow smile stretched across his face, and he looked up at Dean. “Dean, I think I know what it is.”

“Well don’t keep me in suspense, Sam,” Dean groused. “Spill it already.”

“She wasn’t saying knockin’,” Sam explained. “She was saying Nokken. With her accent, I just assumed she was saying knockin’.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean replied slowly stretching the two syllables out for several seconds. “What are you talking about? You keep repeating yourself.” He looked Sam squarely in the eye, and tried to gauge his awareness level. He did not look like he was having trouble focusing. Sam’s eyes appeared alert, and he had that look on his face. The one he wore when the pieces fell together and he had the solution in his sights. “This isn’t the poltergeist versus the angry spirit discussion all over again, is it?” Dean asked already knowing the answer.

“What? No, I’m good,” Sam replied. “The vernal equinox is in only a few days, and in many pagan cultures, the Scandinavian’s included, it marked the advent of the New Year. Nokkens, water nixes or spirits are typically more active right before the New Year. That’s why the deaths stop at the equinox.”

“So, basically we have four days left to end this, or we’ll lose our chance until next year,” Dean stated. “What’s the lore on this thing?”

“Shapeshifting, for one,” Sam replied his eyes scanning the on-line article. “This one probably appears as the woman we saw with the dripping clothes, but also as a loon.” Sam looked up from the computer. “Actually, that makes perfect sense.”

“Right, because so many other spirits show up as harmless birds,” Dean replied, raising his eyebrows and nodding his head fractionally in Sam’s direction.

“No,” Sam continued seemingly unaware of Dean’s sarcasm, “Because the loon is considered the water spirit of the north by many Native American cultures.”

Dean shook his head. “You really are a font of freaky facts,” he quipped, secretly pleased with his alliteration.

Sam rolled his eyes and continued, “According to some Scandinavian legends, you can offer a gift of three drops of blood, a black animal, and brannvin, and he would teach you to play his music.”

“Which relates to the three deaths every year,” Dean affirmed. “But, since I really don’t care to learn the Watuzzi Bertuzzi, you got anything else?”

“Uh,” Sam paused. He typed for several moments, and then scanned the next page. “Iron crosses were sometimes used to repel nixes. There’s also a legend of two children using a mirror to capture a water sprite.”

“Patty has a metal cross hanging in her kitchen window,” Dean said. His eyes moved back and forth as his mind mulled over the facts. “That’s what keeps her family safe, or did, until Emma went down to the lake by herself.” He looked up at Sam. “Consecrated iron rounds,” Dean finished.

Sam nodded his head in agreement, and took a sip of his latte. He made a face at the cold temperature, and set the cup back down on the table. “How are we going to find it? It only seems to appear when it attacks.”

Dean leaned back in his chair. “I know how, but you aren’t going to like it,” he replied.

Sam cocked his head in confusion and as the realization of Dean’s implication set in, his expression turned to dismay. “No way,” Sam replied emphatically.

“Sam, it’s the only way,” Dean insisted.

“Dean, we’ll figure something else out,” Sam protested.

“We can’t let anyone else get hurt,” Dean stated quietly, but firmly.

Sam sighed, but nodded his head in agreement. In an unspoken understanding, the Winchester brothers stood up, and Sam shoved the laptop into the leather messenger bag. Dean grabbed the bag, and ushered Sam out the door.

Dean opened the back door to put the messenger bag on the floor behind the driver’s seat. He took the opportunity to clandestinely watch Sam sit down in the car. Sam was lowering himself very carefully into the seat, and seemed to be favoring his ribs. It was not anything unexpected, but considering how much Sam had been affected by the drugs last night, Dean was surprised. Granted, Sam had been tired, and his body had needed time to heal, but the two pills last night had knocked him for a loop. The two this morning, had only seemed to affect him for several hours. The two he took a little over an hour ago barely seemed to take the edge off.

Dean narrowed his eyes, as his suspicion grew into a theory. Dean opened the driver’s side door, and slid in behind the wheel. “How you holding up there, Sammy?” he asked glancing at Sam out of the corner of his eye. He started the car, but did not pull out of the parking space, instead waiting for his brother to confess.

“Fine,” Sam replied as he made eye contact with Dean to prove his sincerity. He tried to avoid giving away too much, but he knew he was ultimately fighting a losing battle. Sam always felt Dean was like a bloodhound when it came to sniffing out the truth. He instinctively seemed to know which people to trust, which ones were being honest, and which ones were full of soyashit.

“Sam,” Dean said reproachfully. “I’ll give you another shot at being honest with me.”

“I am fine, but I’m not great,” Sam relented. “Let’s just get this over with, and then, I’ll do whatever you want, I promise.”

“You’ll take your meds?” Dean asked pulling out of the parking spot.

“Yes,” Sam replied.

“Get some rest?” Dean verified, as he pulled out onto the road.

“Yes,” Sam replied more forcefully.

“You’ll let me check that incision site?” Dean asked flicking his eyes over to Sam momentarily before focusing again on the road. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you were in the shower before I could check this morning.”

“I checked it myself, in the shower,” Sam defended.

“Really, with those ribs, you managed to twist enough to see it?” Dean asked, his voice modulated somewhere between surprise and outright sarcasm.

“Yeah, I did,” Sam replied. Dean offered no response to Sam’s declaration other than a raised eyebrow, and a slight head tilt in Sam’s direction. “I didn’t get a very good look,” Sam conceded quietly.

“That’s the most honest thing you’ve said so far,” Dean stated.

“Like you’re so good at admitting anything,” Sam muttered turning his face towards the window.

“What’d you say?” Dean asked.

“Nothing,” Sam replied.

Dean did not respond. Sam’s need to talk would outweigh his need for action. He could wait Sam out any day. He barely kept the grin off his face, as he watched Sam jiggle his leg, and then flip the radio on. Sam spun the dial, rapidly running through several radio stations, before flipping the radio off again. “I don’t understand why I have to tell you about every bump and bruise, and you don’t ever have to tell me anything,” Sam stated seemingly apropos of nothing.

“You don’t?” Dean asked, finally allowing the suppressed grin to appear. “I would have thought it would be pretty obvious.”

“Yeah, well, it isn’t,” Sam snapped snarkily. “Why don’t you explain it to me?”

Dean’s smile spread wider, uplifting at the left corner. “I’m the big brother,” he replied simply.

Sam huffed and shook his head. “I don’t believe that gives you carte blanche to be so bossy,” Sam complained picking up an old argument.

“Actually, it does,” Dean replied. “So, as soon as we get rid of the Nokken; we’re going back to the motel; I’m going to check your stitches, and you, little brother, are going to get some rest.” After his speech, Dean turned on the radio, and popped in a cassette. The heavy beat of Metallica’s, ‘Enter the Sandman,’ drowned out any response Sam may have offered.

The trip continued in silence other than the classic rock thrumming through the speakers. As the cassette clicked, and forwarded to side B, they reached Pomme de Terre lake. Dean pulled the Impala to a stop as close to the lake as possible. He peered out towards the lake, but he did not see any trace of the spirit, or rather, the Nokken. “You up for this, Sam?” Dean asked slapping Sam lightly on the knee.

“Yeah,” Sam replied. He turned in his seat to look at Dean. “Do we have enough consecrated iron rounds?” he asked.

“Course we do,” Dean replied. He opened the door, and slid out. He walked around to the trunk. He was searching for the iron rounds, when Sam finally joined him at the trunk.

“You’re sure about that?” Sam asked.

Dean gave Sam a hard look. He gazed into the trunk, and noticed the small black case, that held the consecrated iron rounds. “See?” he asked producing the rounds, and waving them in front of Sam’s face. “I told you.”

“You also told me there was a spirit in the toilet that would get angry if I didn’t flush,” Sam sniped. “I was afraid to sit down on it for a week.”

“Sh’yeah, that was sweet,” Dean said with half a laugh.

“I was four,” Sam replied with a frown. “I think it just about killed me.”

“Yeah, well you not flushing just about killed me,” Dean replied unrepentant. He handed Sam a gun, and several of the iron rounds. “Load up, Sam. Let’s get this over with,” he said. Dean watched as Sam loaded the gun. “I want you to stay out of it, unless I tell you I need your help,” he said.

Sam looked up from loading his weapon. “No,” he said simply, furrowing his brow.

“Yes,” Dean insisted. “She’ll come to me, and I’ll shoot her with the iron. There is no reason for you to get involved unless things heat up. You’ve had enough, Sam.” Dean closed the trunk lid with one solid motion.

“Dean, no,” Sam replied. “I’ll be careful, but I’m not just going to stand around and watch while you face off against this thing.”

“That’s exactly what you’re going to do,” Dean said. “If you try to get involved before I say so, I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Dean,” Sam started, annoyed Dean was trying to boss him around.

“Sam no,” Dean said stepping closer to his brother. “I mean it.”

Sam sighed, but relented. “Okay,” he said.

“Good,” Dean replied. He slapped Sam on the shoulder, and walked towards the water. He kept his gun raised, and approached the lake cautiously. After several moments, he stopped and looked back towards Sam to make sure he was staying back.

“Dean!” Sam shouted.

Dean spun back around, and found himself face to face with Nokken. Without a moment’s hesitation he fired the gun. The Nokken was pushed backwards by the force of the impact, but quickly recovered. There was a hole in her chest where the Dean’s iron round had passed through, but it did not seem to be affecting her in the least. No blood oozed from the wound, nor did the Nokken appear to be in pain.

Dean shot her again, this time aiming for her heart. His surefire aim caused another hole to appear in the Nokken’s chest. Again, she stumbled backwards, but regained her footing almost immediately and started approaching Dean. “That’s it,” Dean said impatiently. “You’re going down.”

The Nokken was within arm’s reach of Dean when he shot again. The iron passed through her eye, and exited through the back of her head pushing her upper body backwards. She righted herself, and turned an angry face towards Dean. Sunlight filtered through her head and out of the hole where her eye had been. She clasped Dean’s arm in a tight grip, and easily tossed him closer to the water.

“Sonuvabitch,” Dean moaned upon impact. He had felt her strength, when she had pulled him into the lake, but he thought she would be weaker out of the water. He heard Sam fire his weapon, and hoped it would buy him time to regain his bearings. He pushed himself up off the sand, and saw the Nokken standing dangerously close to Sam. Sam’s ribs would never hold up against the landing he had just experienced. “Hey!” Dean shouted.

The Nokken turned her back on Sam. Dean noticed she now had another wound on her chest. Sam’s aim had been true. “You can’t be tired of me already,” Dean taunted her. “I’m an irresistible guy.”

Dean swayed slightly as he faced off against the Nokken. As she approached closer, Dean could clearly see the water dripping from the hem of her skirt. “Sam, the iron rounds aren’t enough!” Dean shouted.

“I’m working on it!” Sam shouted back. He hated to turn his back on Dean to head back to the Impala, but he had little choice. If the Nokken threw Dean as far as she did the first time, Dean would be in the water. Sam was sure he would lose Dean to her this time, if she managed to get him in the lake.

Sam ran back to the car, holding his ribs with his left arm to protect them from jostling. Reaching the car he climbed into the front seat, and hesitated. Dean was going to kill him. He gripped the rearview mirror in both hands, and pulled.

“Aaaaagh!” Sam yelled in both pain and frustration when nothing happened. He stopped pulling, and took a deep breath. He was deeply regretting the half dosages at this very moment. Sam could see the Nokken was almost on top of Dean now. In a burst of adrenaline, he pulled again on the review mirror.

Sam fell backwards against the seat with the mirror in his hands. He sat there panting for a few seconds, trying to regain his breath. He pushed himself out of the car, not even bothering to close the door behind him. When he saw the Nokken grab the front of Dean’s shirt, he knew he was not going to make it in time.

Sam stopped, pulled out his weapon, and fired. He knew it was dangerous now that she was so close to Dean. The iron round could pass right through her, and hit Dean. He fell to his knees when the Nokken released her hold and dropped Dean. Digging quickly, he dug a hole in the sand, and shoved the mirror into the hole. He scooped the sand around it, leaving only a portion of the mirror uncovered.

By the time Sam managed to get back on his feet, the Nokken was almost to him. He saw Dean stand, and he knew Dean would again try to distract her to protect him. “Dean, it’s okay!” Sam shouted over the wind.

“Right, great,” Dean muttered. He rushed up the beach back towards the Nokken and his little brother. He did not want to risk Sam’s life by shooting the water spirit. She was positioned directly between him and Sam. When he was only steps behind her, she started screeching.

The noise was deafening, and both Dean and Sam bent over, covering their ears with their hands. The Nokken continued to screech, her high-pitched wailing growing in intensity and volume. She no longer appeared corporeal, as her body twisted and swirled. The Nokken’s features blended and melted together as she was pulled into the mirror.

The sudden cessation of the screeching left both Winchester brothers drawing great gulps of air in relief. Dean quickly crossed the distance between Sam and him. He grabbed Sam’s upper arms, and looked him in the eyes. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Sam replied. “I am now.” He started to kneel down when Dean stopped him.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked pulling Sam back to a standing position, and pushing him backwards towards the car.

“Getting the mirror,” Sam replied. “I think the iron rounds will work…”

His response was silenced by the deafening shot from Dean’s weapon. The mirror shattered into many, tiny pieces. Dean looked up, and turned towards Sam. Sam was standing with his mouth open still forming the word ‘now’.

Dean smirked and remarked, “What’s another seven years bad luck on top of the six hundred we already have?”

Sam simply shook his head, and turned to head back to the Impala. “Sam, where’d you find a mirror, anyway?” Dean asked. Sam did not reply. Sam wrapped his arm around his ribs, and kept walking towards the car. “Sam?” Dean called.

It was then, that Dean noticed the driver’s side door was wide open. He stared incredulously at Sam’s retreating form. There was no way Sam had done what Dean was thinking he had, was there? Picking up his pace, he easily caught up to Sam. Sam was already lowering himself into the passenger seat when Dean slapped his hand on the driver’s side door, and leaned into the car. “You didn’t, did you?” Dean asked accusingly. He was staring at the windshield where his rearview mirror had been.

“It worked,” Sam replied. He winced as he pulled the door shut.

“Good thing for you,” Dean said sliding behind the wheel. He had noticed Sam’s wince of pain, and the way he was favoring his side. He put the facts together, and almost drew the right conclusion. “You haven’t been taking the Percocet, have you?” he asked.

“Yes, I have,” Sam protested. He did not look at Dean, but instead focused his attention on the lake sparkling in the light of the setting sun.

“At the right dosage?” Dean guessed again.

Sam turned to face Dean, and saw the knowing look in his face. “No,” he admitted.

Dean shook his head and said, “The hunt’s over.”

“Yeah?” Sam asked puzzled at Dean’s statement.

“Yeah, and you promised, so things are going to change as soon as we get back to the motel,” Dean explained. He turned the key, and automatically glanced up to his non-existent rearview mirror to check behind him before pulling out of the parking spot. He grunted in disapproval, before turning to look behind him. He slowly pulled out of the parking spot, and out onto the highway.

Sam had not commented on Dean’s declaration, and Dean glanced over at him. Sam was still holding his ribs, and breathing in shallow, controlled breaths. Dean knew Sam was hurting, and he pressed the gas pedal down further urging the Impala to over sixty miles per hour. The seven miles from the lake to the motel passed in less than ten minutes as Dean pulled to a stop outside their room.

Before Dean could walk around the Impala, Sam was already out of the car. Dean opted to unlock the motel room door instead of hovering over Sam. He had the door open in time for Sam to walk through. He followed closely behind Sam as he slowly made his way to the far bed.

Sam sat down heavily, and looked up at Dean. “I think I’m going to lie down,” he said beating Dean to the punch.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Dean agreed. He walked into the bathroom, and dumped two antibiotic pills into his hand. He reached into his coat pocket, and retrieved the bottle of Percocet. He poured two pain pills into his hand, and put the Percocet bottle on the back of the bathroom sink. He stopped to fill a disposable motel cup with water, and returned to Sam.

Sam was still sitting on the bed, but his head was drooping slightly, and he looked exhausted. Dean noticed Sam’s jacket was thrown to the end of the bed, and his boots were off, so he had managed to do a little bit anyway. “You really should take these with food,” Dean stated, holding out his hand with the pills. “I’ll go get it after I check your incision.”

“Don’t bother on my account,” Sam replied wearily. “I doubt I’ll be awake long enough to eat. Besides, everything is closed, remember?”

“I know, that’s why I bought a few essentials before we left,” Dean replied. “It’s not much, but it will at least help protect your stomach against those pills.”

Sam swallowed the pills, and quickly drank the entire glass of water. When he looked up at Dean again, he noticed Dean was holding the first aid kit. He nodded his head in acceptance, and slowly eased himself into a supine position. Dean lifted Sam’s t-shirt, and gently pulled the bandage off his skin. The adhesive pulled against the sensitive skin around the incision site, and Sam winced slightly.

“Sorry,” Dean said softly under his breath. He pulled the swinging arm of the motel wall lamp closer to Sam and leaned in for a better look. The skin was red, but it did not look raw or infected. Satisfied the incision was healing properly Dean unwrapped a clean gauze pad, and taped it to Sam’s chest. He pulled Sam’s t-shirt down, and noticed Sam’s eyes were closed. “Hey, kiddo, you need to eat first,” Dean said.

“Hmmmm?” Sam responded without opening his eyes.

Dean did not attempt to rouse Sam further, but instead went back out to the Impala for the peanut butter crackers and the juice. He pulled the laptop out from the back seat as well, and headed back inside the room.

Sam was curled up on his uninjured side and lightly snoring through his congested sinuses. He hated to wake Sam up, but he really did need to eat a little before crashing for several hours. If the pills made Sam sick, the heaving would be painful. “Sam, wake up,” Dean said, setting the crackers and juice on the side table. “Come on, I’ll help you.”

“I got it,” Sam protested, but he made no move to sit up.

“Up and at ‘em, Sammy,” Dean insisted. He helped Sam sit up on the edge of the bed. Sam sat swaying slightly. His eyes were glassy and he did not make an effort to reach for the food. Dean put a cracker in Sam’s hand, and unscrewed the lid on the juice bottle placing it in Sam’s other hand.

Sam ate and drank mechanically until the cracker and the juice were both gone. He looked confused and unsure of what to do next, and Dean could not help but roll his eyes. He took the juice bottle from Sam, and helped him lie back down before he toppled over. Dean covered Sam with the blanket, and within seconds Sam was back asleep.

It was still early, so Dean decided to watch a little television before going to bed. Luck was with him, and he found an old movie he liked. Dean pushed his pillows up against the headboard, and sat down leaning back against the pillows, crossing his legs in front of him. He snacked on the remaining crackers, as he watched the movie.

Dean did not remember falling asleep, but he woke with the remote stuck to his cheek, and the television was turned off. Apparently at some point, he had the sense of mind to turn it off. He stretched slowly, and looked over at Sam. Sam was still sleeping soundly, so he decided to grab a shower and pack the car.

An hour later, Dean was showered, the car was packed, his stomach was rumbling, and Sam was still asleep. Torn between whether to wake Sam or let him sleep, the decision was made for him when Sam opened his eyes.

Sam’s tired hazel eyes locked onto Dean. “What time is it?” he croaked.

“It’s about ten o’clock,” Dean replied.

Sam slowly sat up, and stopped to rest on the edge of the bed for a moment. He started to stand when Dean said, “I need to tell you about the hunter that was here last year.”

Sam looked up at him with quizzical eyes. “What, Dean?” he asked.

“It was Dad,” Dean said. “I’m pretty sure it was anyway. The truck Don described sounded like Dad’s truck.”

Sam nodded, he was not surprised. “We finished his hunt,” Sam replied, in an attempt to reassure Dean. “That’s the important thing.”

Dean gave Sam a sad smile. “Yeah, it is,” he replied. Dean patted Sam on the shoulder. “Do you need any help, or are you good to go?”

“I’m good, and, I’ll take my pills,” Sam replied effectively cutting off any orders from Dean.

“I’ll go check us out,” Dean said watching Sam struggle to his feet. “I’ll see you in a few.”

“K,” Sam replied walking towards the bathroom.

Dean walked out of the room, as Sam started the shower. He walked to the motel office, and found Becky reading a book. She looked up when he entered. “So, are you boys checking out today, then?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “Thanks.”

“You bet,” Becky replied closing her book. “I’m a little sad to see you go. We don’t get very many visitors this time of year. It gets a little boring.” She handed Dean a receipt for the week, and said, “You take it easy.”

“I’ll take it any way I can get it,” Dean said with his trademark smile, and was rewarded with a deep red blush from Becky.

“Uh, just leave the key in the room,” Becky managed to stammer.

“No problem,” Dean replied. He walked out the door, the small bell signaling his departure. When Dean returned to the motel room, the water was no longer running, so Dean knew Sam was out of the shower. He checked the room for any forgotten items, but he did not find any. Sam emerged moments later, his wet hair sticking out in all directions, and his t-shirt sticking to his still damp skin.

“Hey,” Sam said acknowledging Dean with a nod. He sat down on his bed, and reached down for his boots, tossing his dirty clothes and the pill bottles onto the foot of the bed.

“Hey,” Dean replied. He watched as Sam pulled on his boots with agonizing slowness, and stood up.

“What are we waiting for?” Sam asked. “I’m starved.”

“Let’s go,” Dean replied jutting his chin towards the door. He grabbed Sam’s clothes and prescriptions and followed Sam out the door.

Breakfast at the truck stop was leisurely. The brothers talked while Sam poked around the Internet looking for their next case. Nothing promising reared its head, so Dean packed up the laptop and left to fill the car with gas. Sam browsed the truck stop, and found a rack full of old cassettes. The title of one song on a particular cassette caught his eye, and a mischievous grin cracked his face. It would definitely be worth the three dollars and ninety-nine cents.

After paying for the cassette, Sam met Dean on his way back inside. “I’m going to pay for the gas and we can go,” Dean stated.

“Sounds good,” Sam replied. He found the Impala easily, and sat down in the passenger seat. Glancing around for any sign of Dean, Sam unwrapped the cassette and opened the case. He threw the cassette into the glove compartment, and pocketed the cassette case shortly before Dean returned to the car.

Dean started the car, and eased the Impala out onto the highway. They traveled along in silence for several minutes before Dean decided he needed some music. He leaned over, and pulled a tape out of the jockey box. Not bothering to check the title, he popped it into the tape player. As the white-noise static of the tape advancing filled the speakers, Dean turned up the volume in anticipation. Moments later, the dulcet tones of Terri Gibb filled the air.

“Sam, what the hell?” Dean asked, quickly ejecting the tape, and turning off the radio.

Sam’s light chuckle filled the car’s interior. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Why?” Dean asked his face frozen in mock horror.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sam asked tossing Dean’s words back at him. “I’m the little brother.”

Dean slapped Sam lightly on the shoulder. “A little brother who gets to sleep on the taco bed next time,” he shot back. Sam chuckled again, and the brothers continued on in silence.