Shadows in the Tide: 'Supernatural'

By Spoilerwolf © 2008

The water swept towards the beach, swallowing the young man’s footprints as he made his way to the dock. The icy cold waters lapping against the wooden planks were the only sounds that could be heard as the young man crept forwards toward the end of the platform. Looking out, he saw the full moon, just coming out from behind clouds, engulfing the waters in its haunting glow. The wind blew along the waters, causing him to zip up his jacket just a little higher. It was the middle of the night, but having had difficulties sleeping as of late, he decided to take a walk along the lake’s vast shoreline. He had left his parents a quick note, “Gone for a walk. Be home soon. Travis.” Just in case he wasn’t back before they woke up.

Sighing, Travis made his way back towards the beach, his dark curly hair blowing in the icy wind. As he stepped off the dock, a strong wind blew past him, causing him to turn to his head to the right to stop the sand from blowing into his eyes. It was then he noticed a young woman walking on the shoreline, the moonlight glistening off of her beautiful figure. Her curly light brown hair swirled around her face as the wind swept by. Her features finished off with her knee-length ebony dress. Entranced, he called out to her, only to hear the wailing of the winds rush past his ears.

Wondering why a woman would be out here in a dress no less at this time of night, he took off towards her, her features ingrained within his mind. The moon fell behind the clouds and Travis was forced to squint in the dim light in order to see, with only the wind racing along the beach and the waves smashing into the sand to comfort him. The moon’s rays once again peaked out from behind the clouds and he could see fully again. The woman was nowhere to be found.

“Wha? Where did she go?” Scanning the beach, his eyes fell on the woman again. This time she stationed herself on the end of the wharf, her dress fluttering in the wind. Determined to place a name to this woman, he made his way back towards the pier. He had only set one foot on the dock when he saw the woman fall into the water.

“No!” He ran the length of the dock, the planks creaking under his added weight. He tossed his jacket at the edge of the dock and dived into the water. The lake was ice cold, and he couldn’t help but cry out as the water engulfed him. He broke the surface of the water, gasping for the air that had been stolen from him by the chilled lake. He continued to scan the area, calling out to the woman in the hope of hearing a reply. The only noise was the wind above his head.

He was about to go towards the dock and get help, when he felt something nudge the back of his leg. Twisting around and pushing leaves and debris out of the way, he couldn’t see what had bumped him. Treading water, he scanned the area around him again. Still, there was nothing but the winds blowing cold gusts across the lake, chilling his already frozen face.

With no sight of the mysterious girl, Travis was about to move towards the dock again, when he felt a pressure around his ankles and was suddenly being pulled under the water.

Panicking, the young man tried to free himself by kicking and flailing, anything he could do to try and loosen that iron grip that seemed to intensify. Travis felt something slither up his legs and back, almost in a caressing manner before spinning around to find its source. In that moment his eyes met with the woman he had seen earlier. Even in the dark, those dead eyes bored into his own. Her once beautiful appearance gave way to decaying features. Her face was pale, her skin peeling and frayed around the edges. A rotten and bony hand reached out, gripping the side of his face in an eerie, calming manner. He screamed, tiny bubbles erupting from his mouth as he pushed away from the dead girl, freeing himself from her grasp, and began clawing his way back up through the murky water. Reaching the surface, he inhaled sharply, drawing oxygen into his starved lungs.

He made a frenzied dash towards the dock, his legs kicking as hard as they could go, while his arms propelled him swiftly through the water. His breath came out in heavy pants, his lungs working at full capacity with each inhale, adrenaline pulsating through his veins. His hand barely touched the wharf when he was pulled under once again. He screamed just before he sank below the surface, a calming voice reaching his ears as he slowly drifted into the dark depths of the lake.

“We’re going home.”

And the winds died down to a slight breeze, skimming the waters surface as it made its way on land. The moon stood out brightly against the night sky, reflecting against the eerily calm waters as the lake returned to its deceitful tranquility.

A silhouette appeared on the lake’s beach, jutting out from behind the trees. A stern looking man in his early thirties gazed out onto the lake, watching as the youth screamed out by the docks, only to be pulled underwater for the second time, never again reaching the surface. Taking one last puff from his cigarette, he tossed it onto the ground, crushing it underneath his heavy boot. Still scanning the lake, the man smiled to himself. He had everything he needed now. “Let it begin.”

Dean sat comfortably in the large booth, drinking the black coffee the cute and perky Lydia had placed in front of him. Both he and Sam decided to stop for lunch before ditching town and moving on.

“So tell me again, what exactly is it that makes you think this is our kind of job?”

Sam looked up from the computer, raising a brow at his brother’s apparent lack of memory. “Travis Moralzin, twenty-one, went missing three days ago from his home. They found his body two days later, washed up on shore. Cause of death was drowning.”

Dean swallowed the bitter coffee and set the cup back down on the table.

“Well, when someone washes up on shore more often than not, Sammy, they died from drowning.” Dean couldn’t help but smirk as he caught Sam glaring at him from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t help pestering the kid.

“So again, why is this our kind of gig? Sounds like your average drowning to me, Sam.” Dean asked casually, pulling his attention from Lydia’s curvy features and focused his attention back on his still scowling brother. Sam sighed, and turned the laptop around so Dean could see it.

“This Travis guy was on the university swimming team. He won a dozen medals over the years for it. The guy knows how to swim. Besides, it’s nearing the end of November. No one in their right mind would go swimming this time of year. And get this.” Sam clicked on a new link and brought up some more articles.

“He’s not the first to drown either. Five others have drowned in the last six months. All at night and all within the same four mile stretch of beach front. All the victims have been male, and all had the same markings along their bodies.” Sam quickly shut the laptop as their food appeared in front of them. They ate in silence for a few minutes before the waitress appeared and poured them each a fresh cup of coffee.

“It looks like handprints, causing extensive bruising and damage to the underlying tissues.” Sam muttered quietly as the waitress walked away. Dean swallowed a mouthful of burger before adding to the conversation.

“So the guys got a little frisky with a ghostie before they went under.” Dean quipped before he took a sip of his coffee. He waited, and was not disappointed when Sam rolled his eyes at his latest comment. Chuckling, Dean swallowed the last of his drink before getting up from the booth. “Well let’s not keep Casper waiting. If we haul ass we can get there in less than eight hours.”

Sam sighed, and held the laptop under his arm as he stood up from the booth. “With your driving, we’ll make it in under seven.”

Dean merely smirked, and went to the front to pay for their meal, casually flirting with the waitress.

Sam watched the scene for a moment and shook his head, pushed the diner door open and listened as the small bell clanged behind him as he made his way towards the Impala, chuckling as he thought about what title Dean was going to give himself this time. Up and coming rock star, newly graduated doctor from Harvard, or Sam’s personal favourite, a television writer working on his latest script. These girls would eat up this crap faster than Dean could shovel it out. Sam marvelled at times at how good his brother could con people into believing whatever it was he was telling them.

Still chuckling, Sam opened the passenger door and got in, slamming the door behind him and waited for his brother to finish “dazzling the darling’s and improving their bleak and boring day” as Dean called it. Sam couldn’t stop snickering as he thought about his brother’s self imposed title, even as Dean opened the door and got in; giving him a quizzical look, before the Impala roared to life and headed straight out of town in a plume of dust and rock and roll.

It was well into the evening before the Impala’s engine rumbled inside the small town of Lebrant, Michigan. Dean spied a small motel just off the main street and smoothly guided the Impala onto the small street and into the parking lot. Parking and shutting the car off, Dean glanced over at the car’s other occupant. Sam was sound asleep, his breaths leaving a light mist on the window as his body leaned against the passenger door. Dean was loathed to wake him, seeing as this was probably the most sleep Sam had gotten in the last few days. Dean had woken up every night this past week to the sound of keys clicking away on the laptop, the computer screen’s glow accentuating his brother’s paling and tired features. Dean knew Sam was researching ways to break his deal, working himself ragged and it was something that he both loved and hated about his brother.

When Sam began to stir, his decision to wake his brother or not was forfeited, so he left the car to get them a room, leaving his brother a few minutes to properly wake up. He returned a few minutes later, pocketing two sets of keys before depositing himself in the Impala.

“We’re around the back, room twelve,” he added when Sam didn’t speak up. Dean moved the Impala around back and parked the car in front of their room. Dean glanced at Sam, watching as he shifted in his seat and rubbed his eyes with one hand, as if trying to fend off an impending headache. “Headache?” Dean asked as they got out of the car and pulled their duffels from the backseat.

“Hm? No, just a little tired.” Sam answered quietly, throwing his duffel over one shoulder and closed the car door and followed Dean into their room. Closing the door behind him, Sam dropped his bag on the bed farthest from the door, and watched as Dean grabbed some clean clothes from his duffel and walked into the bathroom and closed the door. Sam kicked off his shoes and lay down on his bed, his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling as he heard the shower being turned on.

Sam felt exhausted; the lack of sleep draining his reserves down to mere flickers of energy. When they weren’t in the middle of a hunt, Sam spent his nights researching leads for ways to break Dean’s deal, trying to keep his brother from finding out or trying to interrupt, while using every bit of research knowledge he possessed and then some. Bobby tried to help when he could, but even he hadn’t found anything of use.

Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes uselessly trying to rub the weariness away. He just wanted a few more minutes to rest, then he would start up the laptop and get to work on their hunt and look up a few more leads on Dean’s deal. Closing his eyes, Sam waited for Dean to finish up in the bathroom so he could have a quick shower and brush his teeth before starting his research. Any minute now….

Dean opened the bathroom door and flicked off the light as he walked back towards the bed. Casting a glance at his brother, Dean couldn’t help but smirk as Sam’s soft snores reached his ears. The kid had dozed off, and Dean felt grateful. Sam had been working himself to the bone, both day and night and the dark smudges under his eyes were getting harder and harder to ignore. Even when Dean broached the subject of Sam’s health, Sam shrugged it off and gave the patented Winchester, “I’m fine” answer, even when his body plainly said otherwise.

Not wanting to jostle his brother and wake him up by trying to pull the blankets up, Dean quickly slipped on his jeans and went out to the Impala, returning a few minutes later, quietly closing the door and covering his brother in the dark brown blanket from the back seat of the car. Sam stirred from Dean’s ministrations, but didn’t wake. Sitting on his own bed, Dean pulled off his jeans and crawled under the covers, flicking off the light on the nightstand as he tried to get comfortable.

“Night Sammy.” Dean muttered quietly before adjusting the pillow under his head and closing his eyes, listening to Sam’s soft snores from the other bed. A few minutes later and Dean was enjoying the company of a frisky blonde walking along the shore lines on some unnamed beach.

Opening the motel door and kicking it closed, Dean placed their breakfast on the table. He heard the shower turn off and began taking the packages out of the bag. A few minutes later Sam emerged from the bathroom, moving towards his duffel and pushing the old clothes to the bottom of the bag, before making his way to the small table and easing himself into the other chair.

“Bacon and eggs and sausages. A hearty meal for a man as fine as myself.”

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes at the comment, but decided to dig into some food instead of engaging in a useless argument with Dean in a futile effort to humble his brother.

“So we should go and talk to the family first, find out if they saw or heard anything the night Travis disappeared, anything they may have forgotten to mention to the police.”

Sam nodded his head in-between mouthfuls of scrambled eggs, before swallowing and adding, “And ask the neighbours if they saw anything else as well. Talk to his friends; see if something strange was going on with the guy before he died.”

“Yep.” Dean acknowledged before gulping down the last of his coffee. “I’ll let you take the hormonal teenagers while I talk to the neighbours. Sounds fair right?” Dean smirked as Sam just shook his head and ate silently.

“Well if you’re all done Chewie, let’s hit the road. The day’s a wasting.” Dean was already up and tossing the empty containers in the garbage, while Sam just stared incredulously at his brother.

“Chewie? Dude, you were watching Star Wars again, weren’t you?” Sam amended as he grabbed his coat and moved towards the door. Dean shrugged, throwing his leather jacket on before grabbing the keys.

“They had a Star Wars special on TV the other night. It’s not my fault you and the Wookiee are distant relatives of the Sasquatch. Besides, with the Impala like the Millennium Falcon, but so totally cooler, and me like Han Solo, but way more awesome that leaves you the giant fur ball. So move it, before I leave your Wookiee ass here.”

Sam was left standing at the doorway as Dean opened the driver’s side door and got in. Chuckling, Sam closed the motel door and got into the passenger seat, and glanced at his brother. God, his brother was such a dork sometimes.

Dean cranked the mullet rock full blast and pulled out of the parking lot, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat of the song as they took off with the sound of screeching tires and the Impala’s impressive roar.

Spending two hours trying to get information from the grieving family was like pulling out teeth for Dean. Even Sam’s natural ability to have people open up and practically eat out of his hand hadn’t gotten them anywhere. The family hadn’t seen or heard anything, hadn’t noticed anything outside of the ordinary. Dean even used the EMF inside the house, wondering if any supernatural nasty had lured him outside. Nothing. No cold spots, no sulphur scents, nothing.

After saying a quick goodbye, the boys left and walked down the porch steps and made their way back to the Impala.

“Well, we learned absolutely nothing other than Mrs. Moralzin has a pink kitchen that needs to be salted and burned. Bloody thing’s a monstrosity.” Dean grumbled as he unlocked the door and slid into his seat and closed the door, before unlocking Sam’s door.

Sam sat down and slammed the door shut, ignoring the comment and began making mental notes about the information, albeit small, that they had gathered from the family.

“We need to talk with his friends. They might know something the family doesn’t. Anyone he might have had a fight with, anyone who would want to harm him. Ask if he had been acting strangely the last few days before his death.”

Dean nodded his head in agreement as he made his way back to town. “Well I’ll let you tackle that, while I chat up the neighbours. But first things first; we find someplace to eat. I’m starved!”

Dean sat near the window, waiting for his coffee to arrive. Sam had taken off to the washroom, leaving Dean to deal with the cranky, snotty waitress, who couldn’t crack a smile to save her life. Drumming his fingers on the table impatiently, Dean caught the tail end of a conversation behind him and recognition of one of the voices struck him like a sledgehammer. Dean stood up quietly and moved towards the two voices at the farthest table at the back of the diner. The younger man was standing at the table, talking to an elderly man who was sitting in the booth, both laughing at some unknown joke. Dean’s first assumption was clear as he stared at the younger of the two men.

“Declan?” Dean’s voice was a mixture of surprise and uncertainty. The young man’s head turned towards Dean, and a small smile bore across his face.

“Dean! Quite a surprise to see you around these parts.” Declan shook hands with the elder Winchester and gestured goodbye to the older gentlemen before following Dean back towards his table. Dean took a moment to study the former hunter in front of him. Declan was just three years older than he was, and topped him in height by just over an inch. The man was well built, his bulk covered by blue jeans and a black field gear jacket. His hair was similar to Dean’s, except for being completely blonde, and his eyes bore a steel-blue grey appearance.

“So what brings you around here, Dean? Last I heard, you were tackling a double poltergeist infestation in Louisiana.” Declan asked as he sat down in the opposite booth facing Dean. Dean raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment about how he knew where he and Sam had been a week prior, but decided to keep that to himself for the time being.

“Yeah we took care of that, no worries. Poltergeists got a little pissed off about being sent off to the abyss, but nothing we couldn’t handle. As for being here, I’m surprised you haven’t caught wind of it. Five kids drowning in the last six months? All male? Bruises in the shape of handprints on all of them. Got the signs of a spirit stirring things up. Losing your touch man.” Dean joked, but had a slight edge to his tone. For a split second, Declan’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched tight to the point of chipping teeth, but in another instant his features relaxed, and Dean wondered if he had seen anything at all.

“What can I say man, it’s not my gig anymore. I don’t look for signs or disappearances. Don’t even watch the news.” Declan chuckled, waving his hand as if dismissing some impotent being.

“So what are you doing here? Thought you’d be in the big cities, hitting the casinos and what not. Don’t really see you as being a good ol’ local boy, ya know?”

Declan laughed, rubbing a hand against his forehead and down the side of his face. “Got a cousin who has car issues living ‘round here. Was in the area so I thought I’d offer him a hand.”

Dean nodded soberly, not sure what to make of the man before him. A shadow loomed over the table and Dean looked up to see Sam looking at him expectantly. “Sam, this is Declan. A hunter Dad and I hunted with a few years back.” Dean gestured towards Declan, who stood up, and shook hands with Sam before moving out of the booth.

“Ah, so you’re the little brother I’ve heard about.”

Sam moved passed him and sat down in his vacated spot. “All good things I hope.” Sam quipped back, while casting a quick glance at Dean.

Dean gave a quick smirk in Sam’s direction, and returned his attention to Declan who was clearing his throat.

“I’m sorry to hear about your Dad’s passing, I truly am. He was a good man. Look I gotta book man, my cousin’s going to chew me a new one if I don’t get those spare parts that he asked for. I’ll catch ya later Dean. Nice meeting you Sam. If you guys need help, you can find me at the auto shop down on Faller Avenue. See ya around.” With that, Declan turned around and made his way towards the door, letting it swing shut as he left the diner.

“So, an old hunting buddy of yours?” Sam asked, casting a wary eye on his brother. Sam had watched the exchange between his brother and Declan, and if Dean’s shoulders being so tight that they had locked in place hadn’t been a giveaway of his brother’s obvious anxiety, then it was how Dean kept his right hand close to his left jacket pocket, where he kept his .45. Something had gone down, whether it was back then or just now, and Sam wanted to know what was making his brother so nervous.

“Just someone Dad and I hunted with once or twice while you were at school Sam, no big deal.”

Sam raise a brow, with a look that clearly said, yeah it is a big deal you moron but Dean didn’t elaborate.

“Drop it Sam.” Dean grumbled when Sam was about to protest. Another glare sent his way and Sam held up his hands in mock surrender.

When their meals arrived, they ate in silence, each one focusing and thinking about something else. For once, Sam had actually finished his food before Dean, that in itself a testament to how preoccupied Dean was. Dean was busy stirring his food around his plate, his chin resting against the palm of his left hand. Sam mumbled something about paying their bill and quietly left the table, leaving Dean to his own thoughts, which brought him back to the events that lead to his first and only encounter with Declan.

Cedar Falls, Iowa, June, 2004.

Dean pulled the Impala alongside his Dad’s truck, outside a small rundown shack that had seen better days. John hadn’t mentioned why they were going here, other than a quick mention that it was a ‘hunt’ and they were meeting up with two other hunters to take it out. Dean then helped pack up their gear and was out the door twenty minutes later, driving behind his Dad, the mullet rock blaring out of the stereo.

Sitting in his seat, he turned the keys and the engine cut off, leaving Dean to feel the humid air blowing against his face from the open window. Dean had kept his questions to himself, even though he wanted to voice his opinions if only for the sake of giving Sam a voice that he no longer had in this family. It had been only a year since he’d last seen or heard from his brother, the bitter blow out between John and Sam driving his brother out the door without a glance back. Dean was still angry with his father for resorting to using the ultimatum in the first place and angry with his brother for being so stubborn and bull headed to take the challenge and leave. Dean had barely said anything to his brother as he packed his bags and walked out the door. Dean wished he had now.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Dean pulled himself out of the car and pushed open the peeling and cracked door and walked inside with his Dad, landing themselves smack into the kitchen. Two young hunters sat at the small wooden table, hutched over a bunch of papers and news clippings, not bothering to look up to acknowledge the newcomers. Dean glanced at his father, and watched as John dropped his duffle on the damaged laminate flooring, and made his way over towards the other hunters. The eldest of the two looked up, his grey eyes lighting up and a grin appeared on his face as he stood up and shook John’s hand, and motioned for him to sit down, completely ignoring Dean, who just watched the exchange silently, as a predator did when seizing up a possible meal.

“John Winchester, it certainly is a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard tales about your hunting adventures. Quite impressive. The name’s Declan, and this is Blake.” He nodded his head in Blake’s direction. The younger one just grunted in acknowledgement, and went back to focusing on the papers in front of him. Dean was reminded suddenly of a Sam in full geek mode, pouring over manuscripts and articles as if trying to solve an intricate puzzle, while at times ignoring the world around him as he got engrossed by the research that Dean found bothersome and time consuming. It made the loss all the harder to swallow at that moment.

Declan and his Dad conversed back and forth about the hunt, while Dean sat down in the worn down leather seated chair at the end of the table and drummed his fingers impatiently on the kitchen table, while trying to read the papers Blake clutched in his left hand. Blake was busy with the papers, checking and rechecking dates and times, his light blue eyes scanning the pages at a ridiculous pace, to the point it made Dean nauseous.

“Dude, find someone else to annoy.” Blake muttered as he shifted the papers in his hands and stood up from the table and went over to the corner of the living room and started typing away on the computer. Dean snorted but held his tongue. He pushed the chair back far enough so he could place his feet on the table and hands behind his head. Declan glared at him out of the corner of his eye and Dean merely grinned wolfishly in reply, daring the obnoxious man to do something about it. Declan chatted for a few more minutes before leaving the table and walking over to where Blake had situated himself at the computer.

“You almost done here? I’d like to get there sometime today.” Declan questioned the younger man. Dean couldn’t tell what was said in return, but the computer switched off and Blake moved towards the couch, grabbing his jacket and moving passed John and Dean without a word. John was up and going through his duffel bag and grabbing supplies that would be needed for the hunt. Sighing, Dean stood up and stretched, listening to his back pop and his shoulders crack as he got the knots and kinks out of his body. John had already walked outside, the screen door banging against the door frame. Dean made for the door, when he was shouldered to the side by Declan. He stood there, with a reproachful look on his face, while Dean glared back with darkened eyes.

“Look kid, you better not screw up this hunt. I know your old man can hunt with the best of them, but you, you’re just green behind the ears, regardless of what the old man may say. Stay out of the way and we won’t have any problems.” Declan patted Dean on the shoulder before opening the door. “Wouldn’t want any accidents, would we?”

Dean growled, and moved to deck the cocky ass-wipe in the face, when his father’s stern voice called him over by the Impala. Shooting daggers at the other man’s back, Dean walked down the steps and went over to the trunk of the car. “Dad?”

“Dean, I know this may be hard for you, but watch what you say around them and to them. I know you, and you’re liable to spit as much venom as they do. They’re going to be finishing the hunt with us, so ignore them and we can take off as soon as the hunt is finished.” At Dean’s incredulous look, John sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the car.

“Look, we’re doing this as a favour to Jim, so we finish this then we’re out of here. They’re cocky little bastards, but they are good hunters, Dean. We don’t need a big production out of this. So try not to pick a fight, okay?”

Dean blew out a breath and shifted his feet, switching weight from one foot to the other. After a moment, he nodded his head and muttered a “yes sir” without meeting John’s gaze.

John raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. He clapped his calloused hand on Dean’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze before making his way over to his truck and climbing into the driver’s seat. Dean stood by the driver’s side door, watching as his Dad pulled out first down the road, followed by Declan who drove past in his ’92 red Ford pickup, kicking back dirt in Dean’s direction as he took off down the gravel driveway. The air was heavy with dust, and through it all, Dean stood still, wondering how the hunt would lay itself out. He had no doubt in his mind that blood would be spilt, but the question remained. Whose blood?

“…Dean… Dean!” Dean jumped in his seat and found his brother’s slightly concerned face looking down at him. “Dude, you were a mile away. You alright?”

“I’m fine, Sam. Just got stuff on my mind. You want to finish talking to the neighbours and friends before calling it a day?” Dean pulled himself out of the booth and playfully shoved his brother ahead of him towards the door. With Declan in the area, he wanted this hunt over with fast, and then get them both the hell out of Dodge.

Sam and Dean decided to tackle the neighbours together, after they talked with the deceased’s friends. They had no new leads, the friends weepy or solemn in their grief, telling the brothers nothing they didn’t already know. Two hours had the brothers back at square one, heading back towards the neighbourhood where the youth had died.

Dean had been quiet for most of the trip, and Sam could only sit and wonder what it was that had riled his brother so badly. Looking out the window, Sam thought back on Dean’s strange behaviour after his pal left the diner. His brother was tense, that was certain. His answers were generic and very simplistic. The fact he had his hand near his gun while talking with the man was a clear indication something heavy had happened between them and Sam wondered what could have caused such a strain. Dean almost never lost his cool, and this was a close to losing it that Sam had seen in quite some time.

It bothered Sam that he knew practically nothing about Dean’s two years in the hunting world while he was at Stanford. Sam had seen bits and pieces of it unravel slowly over the last two and a half years, having met more of Dean’s ‘friends’ and acquaintances from his days away from his brother. Sam wanted his big brother to let him in on what happened, but knew pushing his brother wouldn’t get him any answers. Then again, Sam thought, I haven’t told him everything about what I did at school either. Sam shook his head slightly, trying to get the image of a hunt gone horribly astray while he was at school. It had happened years ago, and Sam had learned painfully the past should stay buried.

Glancing at his brother, Sam held back a sigh, seeing Dean so closed off. Even the music was on low, which was unusual for his brother who liked it ear splitting loud. Returning his gaze to the outside world passing by, Sam only hoped this hunt would be over sooner, rather than later.

The boys asked a few more questions to the neighbours in the surrounding area, finishing with Mr. and Mrs. Kallers, the older couple three houses down from the Moralzin place. Taking their leave, the boys walked down the porch stairs and made their way back towards the Impala.

“So all we have is a missing teen from the eighties, and a bunch of dead frat boys. Wonderful.” Dean grumbled as snow started falling from the sky, dusting the street in cold flakes.

“Well it’s still a lead. Until now we had squat. Look, we’ll go grab some food and then I’ll hit the computer and see if I can find some information on our mystery girl.”

Dean nodded and zipped up his coat a little higher.

“Bloody snow. I swear, if anything else goes….” Dean’s words were cut off with a resounding ‘squelching’ sound. Both brothers stopped in their tracks. Sam slowly turned his head and looked at his brother, an unreadable look on his face. Dean closed his eyes and exhaled a long sigh. Lifting up his right foot, Dean could clearly see dark brown gunk on the bottom of his shoe. Dean summed it up with two words.

“Well, shit.” He grumbled, with as much disdain as he could muster.

“Yes it is.” Sam couldn’t help but laugh at the deadly glare he received from his brother, even as the owner’s poodle strutted past the two hunters, its tail wagging back and forth in a steady rhythm. If Dean didn’t know better, he would have sworn the dumb mutt had a smug look on its face.

“Just rub it off on the grass and get in the car, Dr. Dolittle.” Sam remarked and left his brother seething by the driveway.

Sliding into his seat and closing the door, Sam couldn’t help but roar with laughter as his usually calm and stoic brother let the gravel and grass fly, trying desperately to get the grime off the bottom of his shoe. It was like watching a raging monkey try to do a fast pace moonwalk with one foot. By the time Dean made it to the car, tears were rolling down Sam’s face, and he had an arm wrapped protectively around his now tender ribs.

Dean’s face was beat red as he slammed the door shut. He grumbled about running over the pompous pooch before they left.

“I don’t need this kind of crap. Not one word Sam.” Dean growled out between clenched teeth as Sam desperately tried not to burst out laughing at his brother’s unintentional pun.

“Not a word.” Sam muttered quietly and turned his head toward the passenger window and tried not to laugh, as the car lurched forward towards town.

Dean opened the door and kicked it closed, jostling the bag filled with food in his arms. Sam was busy clicking away on the computer, papers strewn across the table, and Dean silently watched as one paper fell off the table and onto the floor.

“Find anything on our mystery girl?” Dean asked after clearing off some of the papers on the table so the food could be laid out. Sam sighed and rubbed his forehead, trying to scrub the weariness away.

“Yeah I think I know who she is.” Sam answered as Dean passed over a foil wrapped burger and a can of sprite. Sam nodded thanks and continued on.

“After checking back in the police records, I came across a woman that matches the descriptions. Kalie Walten, a 26 year-old pharmaceutical student, went missing in late November of ’88. The boyfriend, David Roy, also 26, was interviewed by police, but they had nothing to tie him to the disappearance. He was let go and he left town. No body has ever been found, and the case went cold.” Dean sat there munching on fries, going over what Sam had just explained.

“So you thinking that this David guy, drowned his girlfriend in the lake, and the body just got swept away? Or did he drown her and bury her body somewhere else?” Dean suggested.

“Well going over the police report, it states that David and Kalie were supposed to meet at Divers Cove, a small localized swimming area not far from where the other attacks happened. According to police records, David said she never showed, and after not hearing a word from her, he called the police the next day to report her missing.”

“He called it in? Well, I could see him trying to get the police off his back if he acts all worried and crap about her, when he’s the one that probably off’ed her in the first place. Throw suspicion elsewhere, ya know? Sly bastard.”

Sam just shook his head and finished swallowing his mouthful of burger.

“They had a domestic dispute filed under a police report about two and a half months previous. Apparently, he hit her when he thought she cheated on him. He left a nasty bruise on her face, one that left the impression of a handprint. Similar to the ones found on the Moralzin kid. The guy was a lifeguard during the summer, and used to be on the swim team at the local college. So yeah, he could have very well drowned her. Either way, we have to find her remains, and salt n’ burn them.”

“Well that’s like looking for a needle in a freaking hay stack. The remains could be anywhere. Generally, spirits haunt the area around where they died, but we’re looking at a 7 mile stretch of beach front, with how many acres of forest behind us on land. Freaking hell, this is going to be a bitch to finish.” Dean groaned as he leaned back in his chair, feet splayed apart in an almost exhausted manner. In all truth, he was. This hunt was beginning to be more problematic than was originally thought.

“The bones do give off EMF readings, so I guess we’ll just have to sweep over the whole area, starting with Divers Cove. Then sweep back. If need be, we’ll have to go into the woods, and start looking through there.” Sam added as he tried to stifle a yawn.

Dean shook his head slightly and pushed back his chair and stood up, moving over to his bed where he had tossed his jacket earlier and picked it up, slipping his arms through the sleeves and flipping the collar of his jacket up.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked quizzically as he watched his brother shrug on his jacket and grab the car keys.

“I figure I may as well hustle some money while we’re here. Grab a beer or two, talk with the locals….” Dean answered as he slipped on his shoes. Sam was about to get up and get his own gear on, when Dean shook his head.

“Dude, I’ll go by myself. You look like crap anyways, bro. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“You sure Dean?” Sam asked hesitantly, not sure whether he wanted his brother running off on his own. Ever since the incident with Casey, Sam had been more leery about his brother going off to bars alone, especially with how many demons were now out there, and seemingly gunning for both he and his brother. Even if Sam did go, it didn’t mean his brother would stay out of trouble. Dean had a knack for finding it in even the most remote places.

Dean, sensing what was on his brother’s mind, tried to put him at ease. “I’m twenty-eight dude. And don’t worry, I’ll make sure to give any chick I hit it off with a taste of holy water before I take her back to her place, okay? I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later. Don’t wait up for me.” Dean added as he slipped out the door and closed it behind him.

Sam merely shook his head and sighed, moving over to the small kitchenette and grabbed the kettle. He ran the tap and stuck the kettle under the running water, planning on making some coffee to help him stay awake long enough to get a few hours in of research. It would be another search filled evening in hopes of finding a way to get Dean out of his deal.

Turing the tap off and plugging the kettle in, Sam sat down and began plunking away on the computer while he waited for the water to boil.

Dean situated himself at the bar, nursing his second beer as he wondered whether he should bother waiting for an opening into another pool game, or to just head back to the motel. Four local boys were already in the middle of a game, one already setting up for another shot. The five bikers in the corner were already plastered and looking for a brawl that Dean figured would be best if he stayed out of.

Looking around the room, Dean took in the dusty pictures of lakes and forests, hanging over the bar and along the far wall by the pool tables. The paint on the wall was peeling off in tufts, and the wooden bar counter had deep gouges from overuse and time. Dean absently traced the lines in the wood with a calloused finger while reaching into his pocket and feeling the wad of cash he’d made so far tonight. He had already pocketed an impressive amount in the short time that he had been here, but during the whole time, his mind was elsewhere. His thoughts kept going back to the hunt he had been on with Declan, and his sudden appearance here, after all this time did not sit well with the eldest Winchester. It made Dean edgy. He tipped the still cold beer bottle to his lips and let the alcohol slide down his throat. Leaving the now empty beer bottle on the table, Dean stood up and moved towards the exit, deciding he’d head back to the motel and try and get a few hours sleep. The smell of alcohol and the haze of smoke was heavy, but even that didn’t dull Dean’s senses as he felt a pair of eyes watching him from one of the booths off to his left, just before he heard a booming voice filter across the room.

“Dean!” He knew that voice. It was one he had hoped would stay the hell away while he and Sam finished up the case.

A set of heavy boots on the old wooden floor walked up behind him and Dean turned around and came face to face with Declan.

“Dude, were you just going to take off and not have a beer with me, man? We haven’t talked in ages.” Declan steered the hesitant Winchester to the nearest booth. Dean’s whole body tensed just being in the same room with the arrogant hunter. Declan signalled to the waitress and ordered two beers, and dismissed her with the same frivolous manner in which he beckoned her.

“So, any luck on the gig you’re working? Got to admit, made me interested, even after getting out of the ‘business’ as it were.” He asked, taking a swig of his beer.

“We’re looking into it. Got a few ideas on who it could be.” Dean kept his voice casual, but he was anything but.

“Well you know water spirits are a bitch to deal with, don’t cha?” Dean ground his teeth and bit back a retort. He did not want to think about what happened a few years ago, but the memories came unabashed and with perfect recollection.

Cedar Falls, Iowa, June, 2004.

The tunnels were dark, and crisscrossed each other in a grid like pattern. Water leaked and dripped down from the cracks above their heads, and when someone slipped, they braced themselves against the slick wall, feeling grime mixed with dirt and cement fall away with just the brush of a hand. Another slip and Dean decided right then and there that he hated the sewers. Always rank with human waste, and not to mention rats. He HATED rats. The little rodent devils that nibbled at your feet and wormed there way between your legs, scurrying away and hiding in a dark corner. Evil bastards were out to get him.

When the hunters reached another intersection, the tunnels splitting in two different directions, Declan and Blake teamed up and went down one tunnel, while John and Dean went down the other, their flashlights a small flicker in the encompassing darkness.

So far, big bad ass ghostie hadn’t made an appearance, but the EMF had been sporadically going off and on the farther down the tunnel they went. The ghost was a maintenance worker who had got caught during a torrential downpour and was pulled under the water and drowned in one of the flooded tunnels over 15 years ago. Since then, 8 other workers disappeared in the tunnels, and eye witness accounts claim that they had seen the dead worker wandering the tunnels just after each disappearance.

“Dean, you getting any readings on the EMF?” John’s gruff voice echoed in the narrow passageway. Dean checked the home-made machine in his hand, sweeping the flashlight in his other hand over it to see the readings.

“Minimal activity, Dad. Trace amounts, but not enough to indicate a spirit is hovering nearby.” A quick nod of approval and Dean moved the device back to his inner jacket pocket, grabbing instead his sawed-off shotgun he had tucked into the belt of his pant. He checked to make sure it was loaded, and took up position behind his Dad, covering their backs in case the psychotic, slightly-postal spirit didn’t attack them from the rear.

Coming to an abrupt halt, Dean saw that once again, they reached a crossroads. John gave Dean a knowing look, and he nodded wordlessly, and took the left passageway, while John slipped into the right tunnel, but not before John called back, “Keep sharp, Dean. If you’re in trouble, use the radio. Keep it on, and check in every 15 minutes.” Dean waved at his father in a ‘yeah yeah’ manner, and walked calmly into the darkness, shotgun at his side and ready to roll.

This was turning out to be a useless day, he mused, as water trickled down the back of his neck. Wiping the offending liquid away, Dean trudged along the desolate maze of sludge and grimy passageways, waiting for some ghost to materialize so he could shoot the damn thing in the face, before it really pissed him off. He did find himself chuckling at the thought of his too tall little brother slouching and ducking in these tunnels just to fit into them. The smile faded, replaced by a flicker of pain and desolation, before the mask was back in place. God, how he missed his kid brother.

Turning the corner, the air grew heavy, and a cold presence pushed its way past Dean, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Small pebbles slipping into the water was all the warning he got that something was behind him, and Dean gripped the shotgun tightly before spinning around, bringing the shotgun up to eye level. A sudden beam of light in his face had Dean covering his eyes, and trying to catch glimpse of who it was.

“Winchester? What the hell? Were you going to shoot me you stupid ass?” Blake’s snide remarks hissed out between clenched teeth, echoed in the small passageway they found themselves in, water trickling from open storm drains and collecting in the stream not three feet off to Dean’s right.

“Keep your voice down! Freaking cold spot here. And if I had wanted to shoot your ass, you’d already be on the damn floor!” Dean snapped back, lowering his shotgun, and pulling out his EMF, watching as the lights lit up like a Christmas tree. Blake rolled his eyes and moved to stand next to Dean, taking a look at the readings for himself.

“Great.” Blake threw his arms upwards in a frustrated manner. “Well you can stay and twiddle your thumbs, and I’ll go take care of our pesky dead worker.” Blake pushed past Dean and made for the far tunnel, pulling his own shotgun out and flashlight pointing him in the right direction.

“Hey! We gotta let the others know where we are. We may need…” Dean found himself cut off by the agitated hunter.

“Go cry to Daddy then, Winchester, I don’t care. I want this thing taken care of. If you’re not man enough to do it, I’ll do it myself.” With that, he disappeared into one of the tunnels without even a backwards glance.

“Arrogant bastard.” Dean seethed, before pulling the radio from where it was clipped to his belt and flicked it on.

“Dad? I’ve got a cold spot here, by…” he checked the walls, looking for the land marker that would tell him where he was. He spied the metal plaque on the opposite wall.

“… 21st Avenue and Columbus. Blake’s gone ahead to try and banish our ghost. You copy? Over.” Dean waited, and listened to the crackle on his radio. It would be his luck that the ghost would have screwed with the radio transmission, but his father’s husky voice filtered through the radio.

“Copy that Dean. I’m heading your way. Stay where you are, and keep sharp, over.” Dean heard no communication from either Declan or Blake, even with both of them carrying radios.

“Idiot.” Dean muttered to himself as he paced silently back and forth by one of the tunnel entrances, his senses on high alert. He could only wait until John showed up, and then they’d find this pesky ghost and end this aneurysm-inducing hunt before his brain imploded.

A blood curdling scream echoed through the hollow tunnels and Dean felt the hairs on his arms and neck stand on end. His feet were moving before his brain registered the movement, and he raced down the empty tunnels trying to offset the carnage he was about to find.

Another yell pulled Dean from his thoughts as his eyes drifted over to the pool table, where a beefy biker punched a newcomer in the face, blood splattering the guy’s ham sized fist as the other man dropped to the floor in a boneless heap. A sharp snort brought Dean’s attention back to Declan, who slugged back the rest of his beer and slammed the bottle down on the table.

“Stupid bastards. Always get riled up this time of night. Looking for a fight anywhere they can get it.” He muttered hotly under his breath. He stood up abruptly, and barely acknowledged Dean as he sauntered past. “Better get my cousin off the floor. Take care of yourself and your brother, Dean. See you around.”

Dean snorted. Interesting choice of words. Last time he’d seen Declan, the guy had threatened to dump Dean's ass on the floor and bash his head in till his brain leaked out of his ears. Course, due to the situation at the time, it’s not like he didn’t understand where the anger had come from. Hell, he probably deserved it too. He had been there at that hunt, after all. But regardless, Dean would be keeping a closer eye on the retired hunter, and would be keeping his brother out of Declan’s reach, as best as he could. No need to set a match to a propane tank, as who knows what Declan was capable of now. The guy was a powder keg as it was.

Dean watched as Declan helped the battered man off the floor and led the broken, bleeding man outside, the door swinging behind them as they left the smoky bar.

Dean sipped his bear and watched the pool game start up again. He couldn’t understand why this hunt had him so on edge. Declan being around, obviously, had him on alert already, but things about this hunt just seemed… off. The information was just… too easy to find. How Declan had known where he and Sam had been just a few days ago was also disconcerting. Hell, Bobby didn’t know where they were half the time, and Dean knew he wouldn’t have said anything to any other hunter that came to the con man’s door. And Declan just happened to be in town after not a word or whisper about the guy since he disappeared after that botched hunt over three years ago just didn’t sit right with him, even if his reason was legit.

A beer bottle smashing against the wall not four feet from him was enough to bring him out of his thoughts and Dean decided it was time to call it a night.

“Are you sure about this Dean?” Sam asked, zipping his jacket up all the way as they walked along the clay-like beach.

“No Sam, I thought we’d take a midnight stroll and see what bites us in the ass first – our ghost or the cold.” Dean growled as he double checked the rounds in his gun before tucking it into the back of his jeans, while still holding onto the double barrel shotgun in his left hand.

“And you said I got bitchy when it gets cold.” Sam murmured, dodging a heated glare by gazing towards the trees that wound itself around the shoreline. They’d had a cold front sweep in during the night, the temperature hovering around 16 degrees Fahrenheit. To Sam’s dismay, he had been forced to listen to his brother’s bitching all day long about the weather. Thank God they had picked up warmer jackets just a few weeks ago.

“You got the EMF?”

“Yeah, I got it, Sam. I’ve got nothing so far. Just traces around the dock back there.” He nodded his head in the direction of the lone dock about a couple dozen feet behind them.

“Hmm….” Sam mumbled to himself, tucking his shotgun underneath his arm while unzipping his jacket and pulling out a worn map, before the jacket was zipped back up. He pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and clicked it on, the map held out in front of him and coming to a stop to examine it. Dean moved beside him to take a look at the map as well.

“Alright, so the attacks have been mainly centered around this area,” Sam pointed to a specific area on the map, “and along this stretch of the lake.” He pointed his flashlight in the direction north-east of their current position.

“Let me guess. We split up, we’ll cover more ground?” Dean muttered already tucking his hands back into his pockets to keep them warm, his breath coming out in white puffs before lazily disappearing into the dark sky above them.

“Yeah. Pretty much sums it up.” Sam answered curtly, tucking the map back inside his inner jacket pocket.

“Alright. I’ll take the north-east side of the lake. You stick around this area. Keep an eye out for late night strollers, joggers, the Loch Ness monster, whatever shows up.” Clapping a hand on his brother’s shoulder, Dean headed off to comb his side of the lake front.

“Hey Sam?” He called back, watching as Sam’s broad back shifted, and caught eyes with his younger sibling. “You watch yourself, ya here?” He got an affirmative nod, and thought he heard a muttered overprotective freak but couldn’t be sure. He grinned, and moved at a more brisk pace as he started looking for signs of their elusive water-bobbing ghost.

Sam trotted along the woodlands, staying a good twenty feet from the water. He had his own EMF meter out, having picked up some low frequency signals from this area. He hadn’t asked Dean too much about Declan but all he got was, “You should stay away from him.” Well, that’s not a whole hell of a lot to go on, Dean. Still, if this guy was making Dean edgy, Sam would be foolish not to heed his brother’s warning.

Sam stopped and glanced around him, feeling a prickle across the back of his neck. He felt like he was being watched.

I’m adapting Dean’s paranoia again. He treaded lightly, listening for any movements or sounds that would be out of place.

He heard nothing.

Sighing, Sam continued his trek back towards the row of houses not more than a mile out, keeping the EMF meter out in front of him, scanning the area for any activity. He hadn’t gone more than a couple dozen steps when the shrill sound of the EMF gave off its warning. Sam stuffed it back into his jacket pocket and pulled out his 12 gauge shotgun, sweeping the area with a trained eye, finger posed on the trigger. The air itself grew impossibly colder, his breaths coming out in white clouds as he continued to scan for the invisible spectre.

Sam didn’t have a chance to do much of anything when he felt a harsh tug on the back of his jacket that sent him flying back into the thick brush, where he smashed into a gnarled tree, biting back a cry as he felt fire race up and down his left arm and shoulder where it had taken the most force, before he landed awkwardly on his legs and crashed down equally as hard on the ground. Sam groaned from the impact, the crash with the tree had hurt like hell, and his ankle had taken the brunt of the landing, burning with a dull throb. Freaking wonderful.

The spectral form of a young woman in a black dress appeared in front of him, her face aglow in the muted moonlight, as her form skittered and twitched back and forth about six feet away. Sam flipped over to his side, desperately looking for the shotgun he had dropped. He felt a cold hand clasp around his burning ankle and pulled, flipping Sam over onto his stomach with a groan as he was dragged back towards the beach.

A sudden gunshot and the pressure around his leg ceased, allowing the youngest Winchester a chance to pull in a few gulps of air before pushing himself up onto his knees with his one good arm, turning his head in the direction of the shot.

“Dean?” Sam called, expecting his brother’s terse voice to answer back.

Instead of his brother, the hunter from the diner appeared, dark jacket, worn jeans, and hiking boots. He looked every part the hunter, including the way he held Sam’s shotgun in his calloused hands.

Sam let out frustrated breath, but kept a wary eye on the former hunter, pulling himself up into a standing position, having to use the side of a tree as a crutch to keep his weight off his bad ankle.

“Thanks for that.” Sam said, while watching wearily as the hunter approached him.

“That gal damn near made mince meat out of ya, kid.” The former hunter drawled, the shotgun loose in his hands.

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked tersely, pain making his voice sharper than normal. He did not trust the guy’s sudden appearance out of nowhere. He didn’t believe in coincidences.

“Knew about the spirit roaming around here. I thought I could lend you and your brother a hand.” Declan answered tentatively, choosing to stand a few steps in front of the younger man, leaning casually against one of the larger trees.

“Thanks for the offer,” Sam replied, trying to shift some weight onto his bad leg, testing how much pressure he could put on it to walk out of here and back to his brother, “but we can handle things -” Sam’s words were cut off as the base of his own shotgun smashed into his face, black dots dancing in front of his eyes from the hit, before he slumped bonelessly to the ground.

Declan was quiet for a moment, listening to see if anyone or anything else was stirring in the area, before moving over to the fallen Winchester and nudging him in the ribs with the side of his boot. The kid’s head rocked with the movement, but stilled shortly after.

Leaning down, he grabbed a fist full of the younger man’s hair and tilted the kid’s head his way.

“See I don’t think Dean’s going to like my idea of ‘lending a hand’”. He murmured to the unconscious man in his grasp.

“I think by the end of tonight, Dean and I are finally going to understand one another. And you’re going to help me, Sam.”

“Ouch damnit!” A growl slipped out between clenched teeth as Dean stumbled on another hidden root. “I hate trees.” He’d been out here for over forty minutes, and had found diddly squat in the way of spirit activity. His foot caught on another branch, and nearly fell flat on his face. “Oh for the love of….” Dean was real tempted to go back to the car and pick up his hatchet. It was brand new too, just itching to be used….

Sighing, Dean turned around, and headed back towards Sam. He hadn’t heard anything from the pesky geek since they split up, and Dean was hoping that his brother was having more luck than him.

Sam was wishing now that they hadn’t split up.

He’d woken up with a pounding headache, and after blinking a few times to clear away the fuzziness, he saw that he was in the backseat of a car. His shoulder burned tirelessly, and when Sam tried to move his arms, he bit back a cry as the rope dug painfully into his wrists and his already dislocated shoulder was pulled farther out of its socket.

Sam was freezing, and only then realized he did not have his jacket on, and had only a pale blue t-shirt to protect him from the cold. Fat lot of good that was doing him. He was freezing. Chills raced up and down his arms, triggering pain receptors in his head, shoulder and down to his feet. His teeth chattered together as his body tried to generate some form of heat. Sam let his weary head rest against the floor of the car, trying to stop the interior view from going round and round.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been lying there, when the sound of footsteps caught his attention. A shadow passed by the driver’s side window, and moved towards the driver’s door, where it creaked open with squeaky hinges, and a face loomed over him.

“You’re awake. I wouldn’t want you to miss anything because you were still off your face.” Declan sneered.

“What the hell do you want, Declan? Is this something to get back at my brother for? ‘Cause you should know, it really pisses my brother off when someone does something stupid. He can’t stand stupid people and I’m looking at one now.” Sam threw back, watching with satisfaction as the jab hit home. The satisfaction died a quick death, however, when the infuriated hunter reached down and had Sam by the throat, slowly tightening his grip until the edges of his vision flickered with black.

“You are nothing more than an expendable piece of your damaged family, Sam.” Declan snarled, leaning in closer to whisper in the youngest Winchester’s ear. “And Dean? He’s going to experience loss like I did. He’s going to know what it’s like to be just that few seconds too slow to be able to save a loved one. How’s that for being stupid?” A persistent ringing registered in Sam’s hazy mind as the hunter released the grip on his throat. It occurred to him that it was coming from his own cell phone, of which the hunter had in his hand.

“You wanna bet that’s big brother calling to check up on you? I bet it is. Should I answer it?” The ringing stopped, and Sam felt a moment of helplessness.

“Hmm… maybe I’ll call him.” Declan moved swiftly in the front seat, his head peaking above the tops of the headrests of the front seats. A creak, and what sounded like a gear shift had Sam ineffectively pulling at his restraints. “I hope you know how to swim. Goodbye, Sam.” The hunter’s cruel voice taunted him as he pulled himself out of the car, and slammed the door closed. A few seconds later, and Sam felt the car roll forwards.

“Oh, shit!”

Sam couldn’t see anything from his view on the floor in the backseat of the rusted car, but felt a jolt as the vehicle crept forwards towards the water, the slope and weight of the car propelling it forwards.

“You son of a bitch!” Sam yelled as he tried pulling on the ropes that held his arms about his head, attached to the car’s door handle. Sam cried out as he pulled, sending ripples of pain down his dislocated shoulder. Sam’s heart pummelled against the inside of his chest, the fear threatening to crush him like a vice. His head slammed into the passenger front seat as the car hit the water, causing a blood smear to appear on the back of the seat, where Sam’s head collided with the metal pole keeping the seat rooted to the framework of the car. Dazed, and with blood running down the side of his face from the impact with the back of the seat. Sam looked up towards the ceiling of the car, feeling the slow rocking back and forth as the car plunged into deeper water, the tires losing traction with the gravely surface below. Sam heard the water come in, trickling through the roof of the car and slapping against the windows.

Trying to control his panicked breathing, Sam resumed pulling on his restraints, crying out again as fiery pain coiled around his injured limb, like a snake constricting around its prey. The ropes held tight, rubbing his wrists raw with blood coating the rope as he continued to pull despite the agony he put himself in. The water was climbing higher, now up to the middle of the window. His fingers were numb with the occasional prickling feeling from the lack of blood flow to his hands. No matter how hard he pulled, his restraints stayed firm and unforgiving.

Dean trudged his way back, his shoes sinking slightly in the sand. No sight of Kaylie’s spirit anywhere. Something about this hunt was bothering him. Meeting up with Declan out of the blue, his eagerness to help out with the hunt, to the apparent forgiveness for what had happened back in Cedar Falls. None of this was sitting well with him. Something was off. Alarm bells were screaming in his head to get back to his brother. Digging out his cell phone from his jacket pocket, he dialled Sam’s number.

“Come on Sam; pick up your damn phone!” Dean waited several rings, until Sam’s voicemail came on. “Hey this is Sam. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.” Dean snapped his phone shut and redialled Sam’s number again. A knot was growing in the pit of his stomach. Something was very wrong, and his instincts were telling him it involved his brother. They shouldn’t have split up. He quickened his pace along the shore line, as he dialled Sam’s number for the third time. “Come on, pick up. Pick up!” Just as he was about to hit the end key, the other line picked up. “Sam, why weren’t you answering the….”

“Sorry, Sam can’t come to the phone right now.” Dean stopped dead in his tracks. Fear rippled down his back in the form of chills, as his grip on the phone tightened and his voice shook with barely contained fury. “Where is my brother, Declan?”

The water continued to trickle in, pools of water seeping into the carpet and seats as it creped towards the back of the car. The water had passed the windows, and darkness blanketed the car. The only sound was the sloshing noise as the water reached Sam’s right side, licking his skin with its frigid liquidity. Panicked, trapped, and in utter darkness, Sam frantically pulled on his restraints, his anguish cry ricocheting off the metal interior as he fought to free himself from his sinking prison.

A scraping sound just outside the driver’s side passenger door captured Sam’s attention. Perplexed, Sam eyed the window carefully, straining to see anything besides the murky water behind the glass. A rotten and peeling hand slapped hard against the window, causing Sam to jolt in his slumped position. The hand slid down the length of the window, the nails dragging across the glass before the hand disappeared completely from view.

The windows began to fog up, glazing over in an ice cold tomb. Sam could see his own breath in front of him as the temperature dropped considerably within the small confines of the floor of the backseat. Ignoring the cold of the water as it reached his neck, his gaze lingered on the driver’s side window that had begun to creak. Sam’s eyes went wide with fear when he knew what the sound was; the glass was starting to crack under the water pressure. The window fractures cracked and split, allowing spurts of water to bleed through the cars defenceless window.

“Oh God.” Sam willed himself not to panic, but failed miserably as the cracks increased in size and the car itself creaked and groaned as water began to fill up the car’s interior. Sam’s staggered breathing quickened when the dead woman’s voice reverberated within the car, eerily calm and tranquil. “It’s time to come home.”

Sam didn’t have time to prepare himself for when the window shattered a few seconds later, gallons and gallons of water rushing in, consuming everything that lay within. Sam struggled to take a breath of air, the water cascading over his face like being stuck under a waterfall. The window above Sam’s head shattered, more lake water rushing in, leaving Sam trapped in a swarm of swirling water and rising bubbles. Sam shut his eyes tight to block out the murky water descending upon him, continually pulling on the ropes, trying desperately to free himself. He tried not to scream when his damaged ankle slammed into the metal bar holding the backseats down, while trying valiantly to hold his breath for as long as he could.

“Where the hell is my brother Declan!” Dean faintly heard a splash up near where the dock was located. Dean started moving again, the sound of gurgling water resonating within the pit of his stomach as he raced towards the dock.

“Your brother decided to go for a swim. Can’t say he didn’t scream when he hit the water, but I’m sure you know all about that Dean. Just like when Blake screamed for you to help him.” Dean’s eyes went wide as he heard the implication of his brother’s fate.

Cedar Falls, Iowa, June, 2004.

Dean ran as fast as he could, using his hands against the grimy walls to steady himself when sliding on the wet tiled floor. He came out of one of the tunnels to see a handgun resting against the floor, water droplets leading towards the railing that overlooked the raging water where all the water connected from all the smaller pipes to join the giant one before him.

Glancing down, Dean’s jaw dropped as he saw Blake struggling against the raging water, his arms furiously flapping against the water’s surface as he tried to breach the surface to breathe.

“Blake! Hold on!” Dean yelled, unsure if the man had heard him, or if he even could. Panicked, Dean’s eyes frantically searched for something to throw out to the hunter, or for something for him to hold onto. The water was too fast and strong for Dean to jump into, without possibly landing on Blake.

Spotting what he needed, he ran down the stone steps and around the side of it, grabbing a sturdy five foot pipe off the ground, probably left over by one of the crew that had last worked on the pipes overhead. Carefully he moved over to the edge, where Blake’s thrashing was most abundant.

“Blake! Grab this!” Dean yelled, his voice drowned out by the raging water as he dangled the pipe above Blake’s head. Blake surfaced long enough to make a desperate attempt at the rod, but was savagely pulled under the churning waters. Dean swore, leaning his upper body over the railing, trying to extend the range of his reach. Water trickled over the bottom of the railing, covering the cement walkway in a thin later of water.

“Dean!”

Dean jerked his head at his father’s call, missing the sudden wave of water until it slammed into him, knocking him into the far corner with a crash, the metal pole clattered in the opposite direction from the force of the hit. He coughed, water trickling out of the corner of his mouth before swiping it away with the back of his soaked sleeve.

A cry caught his attention, and Dean crawled the eight feet back to the edge of the railing to see Blake fighting to stay above the surface. “Grab my hand!” Dean leaned his arm out as far as he could, his hand extended as far as it could go.

Blake grabbed it clumsily, choking and sputtering on water that continued to try and pull him under. Dean began to pull the man back towards him, but a shadow behind the other hunter had Dean looking on in awe. A man, around his early 30’s, dressed in mechanic overalls and a red and black checkered shirt appeared behind the struggling hunter. Dean knew this was the spirit of Michael Shurman, the one who had been haunting these tunnels the past two years. The one they were supposed to find and salt and burn.

The spirit locked eyes with Dean, before wrapping strong arms around the hunter and ripping him from Dean’s grasp, pulling him down below the water’s surface. Dean laid there, arm outstretched, and stared at the last place he had seen the young man. He didn’t hear the pounding of feet down the stairwell, nor did he feel hands gripping him, until they pulled him away did he become aware of his father’s panicked voice asking if he was alright. All Dean could focus on was the utter devastation on Declan’s face as he watched the water’s calm, and the realization that Blake had never returned to the surface.

“You sick son of a bitch, I’m going to kill you, you hear me!”

Declan merely chuckled on the other end of the phone.

“I’d love to see you try. Hope your brother can hold his breath. Not that it’ll take that long before he drowns. Now you’ll know what I went through Dean. I’ll be seeing you around.” The call ended, and Dean’s heart raced as his feet pounded on the uneven ground as he made his way towards the dock, fear and fear alone propelling him forwards at a pace that would have an Olympic long distance runner proud.

“Hold on Sammy, just hold on.” Dean whispered to himself as he got closer and closer to the dock with every hastened step he made towards his brother.

The roar of the rushing water died down as the car filled to the brim. Sam’s last thoughts were of his brother. How Dean would find his corpse tied up in the backseat of a car. Or perhaps a worse fate would be that his brother would never find him. And Sam would be forever trapped in a world of swirling darkness, where his soul would never find peace. His hopes to save Dean from the crossroads deal would vanish with his last heartbeat.

I’m sorry Dean, was Sam’s last thought as darkness crept along the edges of his vision.

Kalie’s spirit lingered just outside the passenger door, a pitying expression laminating her dead corporal features. Her black dress swaying gently in the lake’s current, concealed by the darkness of the lake’s ravage waters. She watched as the movements from the young man in the car tapered off, his struggles becoming sluggish and uncoordinated. Pressing her face against the glass, she whispered, “It’s time to go home.”

As Dean neared the dock, his eyes continually scanned the water. Even with the flashlight, its glow was swallowed by the dark waters.

“SAM!” Dean scream was drowned out by the gusting winds and the slapping of water on the beach’s front. Taking a quick glance at the upcoming cabins, Dean noted that the old ’68 Mustang was no longer parked on the beach where it had been just an hour previous. That along with Declan’s cryptic message, made his blood run cold.

Dean finally reached the dock, and wasted no time racing towards the end of the planks. The boards creaked under his weight and the wind drowned out any outside noise other than the crashing waves against the pillars holding the dock in place. The moon once again peeked out from beneath the waves, allowing the eldest Winchester to scan the waters with a stronger light than what his flashlight could provide. Dean’s breath came out in white puffs as the air cooled considerably. Dean frantically scanned the water, fear squeezing his chest like a vice. There, out of the corner of his left eye he caught large bubbles centering around an area no more than twenty feet from the dock.

“NO!!” Dean pulled off his leather jacket and tossed it onto the dock before diving head first into the frigid waters. The water prickled against Dean’s skin like needles. Every nerve ending was screaming in pain as the bone chilling waters surrounded his very presence. Gasping as he hit the surface, he forced his already freezing limbs to start swimming towards where he had last seen the bubbles breaking the surface. Taking a deep breath, Dean dove once again under the water’s murky surface.

Flicking the flashlight on, the dull light gave Dean some form of sight in the dark swirls of murky black water. Sweeping the flashlight around desperately, Dean caught a glimpse of red metal. Dean immediately propelled himself forwards, reaching the back end of the trunk. Pushing past the trunk, Dean moved the flashlight towards the windows, his hand gripping the sides of the now broken back window.

Peering inside using the light to see, Dean’s eyes widened and he literally felt numb as the light shined on the familiar brown mop of hair. Sam’s body was tethered to the door, his long legs and torso floating in the oppressive darkness, enclosed within his metal coffin.

Panic gripped Dean and he reached out and grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled, feeling the bindings on his little brother’s wrist. Sam’s head bobbed back and forth with the movement, his body unmoving of its own accord without the frantic tugs on his arm from his terrified brother. Seeing Sam’s body so still sent Dean into a panicked frenzy. Letting go, Dean pulled the knife from his boot and sawed shakily at his sibling’s confines, having tucked the flashlight under his arm in order to see so as to not cut his brother. The glow from the light reflected on Sam’s face, giving him an almost peaceful look. One that eerily reminded Dean too much of the same look that had been Sam’s features in death.

Dean’s lungs were starting to scream at him for air as he finally cut away the ropes binding his little brother’s arms to the car. Dropping the flashlight, Dean grabbed the collar of Sam’s jacket, planted his feet against the side of the door and heaved. Sam’s body finally came out of the window after a few harsh tugs and Dean wasted no time wrapping his left arm around Sam’s chest, his brother’s back held tight against his chest as he made a desperate climb back up to the surface, his lungs burning and his brain screaming at him the whole way.

Dean breached the surface and gasped for air as water sprayed everywhere from the break in the smooth surface, water droplets skittering across the rippling surface like that of glass breaking on the floor. The back of Sam’s head laid on Dean’s shoulder, almost sitting in the crook of Dean’s neck as Dean tried desperately to keep his head above water. Sam’s arms splayed out, swaying gently in the water’s current, his body lifeless against his brother’s racing heart as he made a panicked swim towards the dock, all the while mumbling assurances and promises to the precious cargo he held in his arms.

Finally reaching a hand up to the dock’s platform, Dean felt for the small ladder with his foot, and connected with the side of it. Stepping on it, he turned himself around, his back to the dock as he leaned against the dock for support, holding onto the nearest plank to help pull himself and his brother up.

“Just hold on Sammy.” Dean whispered to his too still sibling, who flopped lifelessly in his arms as Dean began pulling them up and out of the water. Dean reached the top of the dock, knelt down on the platform and wrapped both arms around his brother’s chest and pulled him up the rest of the way out of the water before laying him down on the dock.

“Sam? Sam can you hear me?” Dean shook Sam’s shoulder gently, watching Sam’s head roll back and forth from the jarring movement. No response. Dean tilted Sam’s head back and leaned in close, the side of his face hovering over Sam’s mouth, waiting to feel warm puffs of air against his cheek. His heart rate picked up when he felt nothing, and terror gripped him far harsher than the chill of the icy lake.

“You are not doing this to me Sammy!” Dean pinched his brother’s nose and blew two strong breaths into Sam’s mouth and started compressions. Sam’s lips were a horrible dark blue, his skin like wax paper and all Dean could think about as he pushed on Sam’s sternum was, Don’t stop, don’t give up. Come on Sam, freaking fight you stubborn bastard! Another two breaths and back to compressions, Dean’s fisted hands pushing down in a steady rhythm, trying hard to keep Sam’s heart beating and keeping his floundering brother alive.

“You are not going to die because of me again Sam.” Dean huffed out between compressions. Fifteen…sixteen…“You are not going to die because of a mistake I made years ago.” Nineteen…twenty…twenty-one… “So you are just going to have to suck it up and live Sam. Cause you dying is just not in the cards today. Not anytime soon.” Twenty-four…twenty-five… “Sammy, Goddamnit BREATHE!” It was the one thing Dean wanted, prayed for, hoped for, but at this precise moment, couldn’t believe he’d been granted such a gift. Sam’s back arched off the dock, gasping, before Dean hastily rolled Sam onto his side where Sam hacked up the water clogging his lungs, his whole body trembling as the cold registered.

“That a boy.” Dean whispered, temporarily overwhelmed. He patted Sam lightly on the upper back, trying to offer comfort and help support his brother at the same time. “Take it easy.” He murmured, reaching for his jacket and draping it over Sam to try and keep out some of the chill. Sam quieted, eyes closed and body stiff while rampant tremors shook his body as it tried to generate heat.

Dean was so focused on he’s breathing, he’s alive that he didn’t hear the creak of old boards, nor did he hear the click of the gun until it was pressed against the back of his head.

“Hello Winchester.”

Dean stiffened; one hand on Sam’s shoulder and the other slowly brought down to rest against his thigh, his hand curled into a tight fist. He breathed heavily through his nose to try and contain the absolute fury that had him struggling to pull in air.

“So you managed to fish your brother here out of the lake. How heroic. It’s too bad that he’s going to go right back in so the bitch can finish him off.” He snarled, pressing the handgun roughly into Dean’s skull.

“You leave my brother the hell alone, Declan. He’s got nothing to do with this.” Dean hissed, his eyes not leaving his brother’s trembling form.

“He’s got everything to do with this!” Declan shouted, grabbing a fistful of the back of Dean’s shirt and yanked on it, Dean falling hard on the dock. Dean tried to get up, but froze when Declan aimed his gun at Sam, blazing eyes stayed locked on to Dean’s.

“You left Blake to die! You fucking watched him drown and didn’t lift a finger to save him, you bastard!” He raged, practically spitting the words in Dean’s face. Dean tried to reign in his anger, watching and waiting for Declan to make a mistake.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t have saved Blake, but what you’re doing, it is not going to bring him back. I’m the one you’re pissed at, not Sam, so let my brother -”

Declan howled, his voice tinged with hysteria. “Your brother? That’s my whole point, Dean. You should know what it feels like to have to bury your brother. Your little brother, like I had to bury mine.”

Dean’s face scrunched in confusion, before horrible understanding replaced that look with apprehension. “So Blake….”

“Yes,” Declan answered, seeing the understanding on Dean’s face, “Blake was my little brother. And you just sat there as that ghost held his head underwater till he drowned. He died, because you couldn’t be bothered to get off your ass and help him!” He roared, his gun momentarily losing his target on Sam as he brought his leg around, aiming at Dean’s ribcage – but Dean was prepared. He grabbed Declan’s foot, yanking on it hard and watched the hunter fall, the gun slipping out of his fingers. Dean pounced, getting in a few right hooks to the hunter’s face. Blood smeared across his knuckles as he split Declan’s lip open. He paused, reaching blindly for the handgun until fingers met with steel. Standing protectively between Declan and his unconscious sibling, Dean aimed the gun at the infuriated hunter’s head, daring the man to move.

“I am sorry, Declan, that you lost your brother that day. But what right does that give you to take mine away?” Dean choked up at the end, knowing full well what Declan had gone through. He’d seen Sam die once before, and that pain, that soul crushing agony never went away. Even with Sam back, that feeling of terror and utter desolation was still there, buried as deep into his subconscious thoughts as it could go.

Declan propped himself up with his arms, glaring daggers at the gun that was pointed at him. “What right? Why should I have to lose my brother? It’s not like you looked after yours.” The barb hit its mark, and the hunter watched balefully at Dean’s grimace. “It’s not like he’s going to survive, Dean. Even if the little shit does make it out of here alive. Someone is going to take him out, and when he’s gone, you’re going to have no one to blame but yourself, because you can’t protect him forever, Dean. Someone is going to finish what I started.” Dean ground his teeth together, tightening his grip on his piece when his hands started to shake; a blast of cold air ripping through his saturated clothes and the cold settling right into his bones.

“It’s time to come home.” A shrill voice came out of nowhere, a hand snaking out of the water to grab around Declan’s ankle, giving a vicious tug. The hunter cried out, the icy touch burning his skin through his clothes and he was dragged off the pier, his nails digging into the docks and splintering pieces of wood

Dean locked eyes with the dead woman, her face grotesque and rotting as she gave him a chilling smile. Unable to look away, Dean’s feet planted where he stood - protecting his own. Declan’s cries died off with a gurgle as water slipped over his head, and the woman’s spirit followed him down, the water making barely a ripple as they disappeared beneath the water’s surface.

Shivering against more than the cold, Dean turned around and knelt besides Sam, noting that Sam’s eyes had opened and were staring directly at him, bouts of violent shivering wracking his frame.

“It’s okay Sammy. We’re going to get ya out of here, okay? Just hold on bro.” Dean patted the jacket thrown haphazardly over Sam, until he fished out his cell phone, grateful he hadn’t taken it with him on his impromptu swimming escapade. He forced his numb fingers to hit the buttons and talked quickly to the operator at the other end, the woman letting him know an ambulance would be on its way, before snapping his phone closed, his attention drawn back to his little brother.

“Ggggone?” Sam asked through chattering teeth, looking all of the age of four, eyes wide and imploring. Dean had to take a moment to figure out what Sam was asking, before answering, “Yeah dude, he’s gone.” Dean moved behind Sam and gently pulled him up to lean Sam’s back against his chest, wrapping his jacket tighter around his little brother to try and trap any of the remaining heat. He knew he should probably have left Sam where he was and not moved him, but damnit, he’d nearly lost his brother again and if that didn’t call for a little manly hug, then he didn’t know what did.

“Sssooo cccoold. Why’s zit so cooold?” Sam murmured through chattering teeth. It was amazing that he hadn’t shattered all of his teeth the way they continually clattered together.

“Cause you decided to ssswim with the fishes, little brother. Not the best laid out plan you’ve ever had, mind you. It’s freaking ccold out here.” Damnit, if he wasn’t beginning to shiver as hard as Sam. Dean was certainly feeling the effects of exposure, and he couldn’t imagine how bad it was for his brother. Having found Sam without his jacket on, he assumed he’d been without it for a while, increasing the length of exposure. He only hoped the ambulance would get there soon.

Cinching an arm around his brother, he pulled Sam closer until Sam’s head rested just under his chin, his violent shaking reverberating through Dean and vice-versa. Dean found himself gazing out into the calm waters, mesmerized as the moonlight glittered against the dark shadows of the lake, trying to hide the terrors that hid below the surface.

The ambulance wailed as it sped down the main street, it’s flashing lights bouncing off vehicles and people alike as it whistled past them all, heading towards the town’s general hospital. Dean was lying down on the bench seat in the back of the vehicle, a warming blanket snug around his body and an oxygen mask expelling warm air into his frozen lungs. Sam was on the gurney, an IV inserted into his right hand, an oxygen mask on his face and a warming blanket covering his chest, leaving his limbs exposed. Dean watched numbly as the paramedic moved about in the cramped space, checking monitors and communicating with his partner behind the wheel. Dean tentatively reached a hand out towards his brother, grasping one of Sam’s frozen hands and slipping his fingers around to Sam’s pulse point to keep his own point of reference on his sibling’s vitals.

“How long till we reach the hospital?” Dean croaked, wincing at the sound. The paramedic looked up at the sudden sound.

“About another five minutes. Just hold on till we get there, okay?”

Dean nodded hesitantly, keeping his eyes fixed on his brother’s pale and unconscious features.

Dean woke from a restless sleep; consciousness hit him like a slap in the face. Turning his head to the right, his eyes roamed over his sibling’s still features. They’d arrived here sometime after twelve-thirty in the morning, Sam taken upstairs for x-rays and further assessments, and Dean was checked out in emergency. His doctor looking this side of dead himself with white stringy hair in the shape of a toilet seat around his head.

After more poking and prodding, the diagnosis was mild hypothermia and the good ol’ doc wanted Dean admitted overnight for observations. After that, he was settled into a room with the promise of info on Sam once it became available when he started to protest his new digs. Sam had woken up briefly when they were wheeled through the emergency doors, but just as quickly closed his eyes to the world around him.

It was almost two hours later that Sam’s attending physician walked in and sat down with Dean and explained Sam’s condition. Moderate hypothermia, mild concussion and stitches for the cut on his head, a dislocated shoulder and a badly sprained ankle, among other scrapes and bruises. The doc explained that there had been some water still in Sam’s lungs when he had been admitted and they’d done the best they could to suction it out. They wanted to do another x-ray this morning, to check for anomalies in his lungs as a precaution – they were worried about infection or pneumonia setting in.

Not too long after that, they wheeled Sam into his room and settled him into the bed next to Dean’s. Sam had then proceeded to cough for most of the night, Dean wincing in sympathy at each hacking, grating bark. It meant a restless night for both of them.

“Are you going to continue staring at me all day?” Sam asked, his voice hoarse and weak from a tender throat.

Dean looked away, embarrassed he’d been caught. “No. Why the hell would I be looking at you, Samantha? I was wondering when that Brittany girl is coming back. Maybe she’ll offer me a sponge bath.” Dean grinned widely, was Sam rolled his eyes and tried to prevent another cough from escaping.

“Dude, you look like week old roadkill.” Dean added when he saw Sam go a shade paler after he finally got his coughing under control.

“Thank you for your observations, Dean. I love it when you compare me to dead things.” He groused.

“What can I say? I see the resemblance.” Dean leaned his head back on his pillow, letting out a long sigh.

“Your Doc is coming in later this morning to take you back for x-rays – Don’t give me that look, you’re going.” Dean pointed a finger at his brother when he tried to rebuke, his face in a sour expression.

“You’re going Sam, so sit back and shut your pie hole.” All he heard from the other bed a harrumph and the rustle of blankets as Sam rolled over on his other side – his back to Dean.

As least he’s still around to act like a four-year-old. Dean thought fondly as he settled in his own bed, waiting for breakfast to arrive.

“So the verdict?”

Sam let out a tentative sigh. Oh, he was going to hear about this for a long time. “Pneumonia.”

Dean nodded. If Sam didn’t know better, he’d say Dean was gloating.

“Great. See? Aren’t you glad I told you to go? Wouldn’t want you to keel over and die when we took off from this place.” Dean grumbled, tying up the laces on his left shoe. Sam would probably think he was gloating, the moron. Dean wasn’t at all. It’s not like he loved being proven right about Sam getting that x-ray. Dean could tell Sam wasn’t doing well, and it wasn’t just the cough-your-lungs-out marathon he’d done all last night, but the slight flush of pink in his cheeks in an otherwise pale face and the way his voice dipped with a rougher edge to his words. He’d raised the kid – he knew Sam was getting sick before Sam himself did.

Damn that Declan to hell and back. He thought acidly.

“Look, I can take the antibiotics orally. We don’t have to -”

“Sam, just put a cork in it and go to sleep. The docs want to keep you here at least a few days until your fever is kaput, so shut it.”

Sam glared. “I can just walk out of here….”

“And I would drag your ass back and tie you to the friggin bed! For once Sam, just…” Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “…just take it easy, alright? We don’t have anywhere to be.”

“Dean,” Sam’s voice softened, despite the ache in his throat, “we still haven’t found the girl’s remains. She’s still a danger out there, and we can’t just leave - ”

“We’re not going to just ‘leave’ it. I called Bobby while you were getting your tests done, and he said he knew someone who could finish it up for us. Stop fishing for ways to get out of here, Sammy, I know all the tricks of the trade.” Dean flashed a wide grin. “After all, where do you think you learned all the diversion techniques from, huh?”

It turned out Dean was right about staying, as Sam spiked a fever later on in the afternoon, the Doctor ordering medications to bring his temperature back down and for use of oxygen therapy as needed. Sam bitched to high heaven about that, though Dean hid his amusement behind a copy of the local paper. It wasn’t too long after, that said little brother was finally sleeping after being drugged to the eyeballs, much to his relief and Sam’s chagrin before he dropped off the face of reality. Sighing, Dean put the magazine down, stretching in the seat until he heard a satisfying ‘pop’ as he cracked his back, working the kinks out of his stiff joints.

Just sitting there, seeing his brother black and blue from bruises, his left arm held protectively in a sling, and an oxygen mask strapped to his fevered face he realized just how easily he could have lost Sam again. He nearly did. It seemed demons of all sort, past and present, were out to get he and his brother. Declan had wanted to show Dean what it was like to feel like to lose your only sibling – to watch them die in one of the most painful ways and to do nothing. What Declan didn’t know was that Dean had been there. He’d held his brother as he died, feeling blood trickle down his little brother’s back, and how it bubbled out between too infrequent breaths. He’d watch his brother die, and had been able to provide nothing for him. No promise that Sam could or would believe. No smart remark, and Sam’s killer having gotten away while Dean watched blood stain the ground, mixing with rain and holding a cold body.

A shuddering breath was all Dean would allow himself to try and reign in his emotions. He’d fixed his mistake, and Sam was alive now because of his deal with the devil. Right or wrong, he couldn’t change it. He knew Sam wanted to get out of bed so he could go back to researching a way to try and get Dean out of his deal, but he physically couldn’t do it. Dean wasn’t about to encourage him, either.

“You’re just going to have to wait until big brother hands over the keyboard, runt.” He whispered fondly, before picking up a magazine one of the nurses had dropped off earlier and settled in to read.

It was four days later and much to Sam’s relief that his mischievous brother told him he was being paroled. He sat through his doctor’s lecture of at least a week of minimal activity and rest, and to make sure he took his antibiotics diligently. He didn’t mean to be rude, but he was tired and restless, and wanted to get on the road and head towards Bobby’s place, where they were to stay for the next week while Sam recuperated.

Nodding his thanks while his brother picked up his prescription, they headed out the hospital exit, Sam hobbling through as his brother ran ahead to bring the car around.

The car ride was fairly quiet, the music for once not blaring at ear-splitting levels as the country side passed them in a blur.

Sam’s chest still ached, and his coughs hadn’t died down yet. Not like he was going to tell Dean that anytime though. But something bothered him, and he could tell by Dean’s curt responses and stiff posture for a portion of their stay at the hospital whenever talk of the case came up, that Sam wanted and needed to offer his brother an avenue in which to talk. He’d been a little out of it the past few days, but Winchester stubbornness was nothing but boundless.

“Hey Dean?” His brother glanced in his direction, before looking forward again, but Sam knew his brother was listening.

“Do you, uh, wanna talk about what happened back there? With Declan, I mean.”

Dean took so long to answer, Sam wasn’t sure he’d get a reply, but eventually his older sibling responded in a gruff tone. “I took care of it, Sam. He won’t be coming back. Jack took care of the girl as well. Found her bones tucked just out of sight in the woods not far from the main docks. Someone had dug them up before he got there. There were some signs of a ritual having gone down.” Sam could see his brother grinding his teeth, but said nothing. “But whatever, the main thing is that it’s done with.”

“That’s well, nice, but do you want to talk about what happened, Dean? Or even what happened back then?” Dean had given up so little about his encounter with the other hunter that Sam really had no idea what the feud was about, but he figured it had been extremely personal. Dean rarely got so uptight about things, even if it was things that tried to kill them.

A loud sigh attracted his attention. “Stop trying to ‘fix’ me Sammy, I’m not broken.” Dean tried not to snort at the pile of manure he had just shovelled at his brother. “Look, I get that you wanna try and help. But honestly? Some things I have to deal with myself. It’s in the past, so let it stay buried there.” He chanced a glance at Sam, silently begging him to let it go. A few moments passed before he saw what he needed, and turned up the volume on the radio.

“We should get there just after six. Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll wake you up when we stop for lunch.” At Sam’s nod, Dean watched out of the corner of his eye as Sam settled down, his head leaning on the back of the seat. Dean rolled his eyes, and with one hand on the steering wheel, fished for his jacket from the backseat, before draping it across his brother’s drooped shoulders, careful with the one arm still wrapped in a sling. Sam’s eyes didn’t open, but the corners of his mouth twitched up.

“You drool on my jacket, and you get to ride in the trunk the rest of the way to Bobby’s.” He growled, though the threat held no weight and they both knew it.

Finally relaxing, Dean tapped out a beat on the Impala’s steering wheel, pushing the Impala to go faster down the deserted highway. Bobby’s famous pot of chili was waiting for them with his name on it.

End...

 

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