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CHAPTER 1

"Jerry you're such an ass!" Millie Greeling punched her cackling husband in the arm. It was the third time he'd scared her during the ghost tour. Pendleton Underground was supposed to be haunted. So far all they'd seen in the miles of tunnels were cheap costumed mannequins and her husband, the ass, jumping out from behind things like a five year old to make her scream.

"Aw you just got no sense of humor, Millie." Jerry rolled his eyes at her and they followed the rest of the tour group through the dimly lit tunnel into the next set of rooms.

"Now this is the card room." Their tour guide, a bored twenty something waved a hand and leaned against the wall as the group filed in. "This room sits beneath an old Speakeasy. Gamblers would come down here and play Texas Hold 'em through the night." He sounded as though he were half asleep and reading from a cue card. "Games often ended in gunfights with the losers hidden away in the tunnels, never to be found."

"Really, dude. The sound effects are over the top." Jerry said loudly, listening to the shuffling cards, clinking poker chips and the low voices of men rising in argument. The tour guide leaned forward, blue eyes widening beneath the blonde fringe of his hair. The disembodied voices grew louder, angry. The sound of chairs squeaking back over wood floor was followed by running feet. Many of the tourists screeched in fear or clapped as they actually felt the vibrations of the phantom footsteps pass through them.

"Oh my god." The tour guide breathed. Shock was leeching all the color from his face when a half of gunfire sounded. It was loud enough to deafen them all. Some of them screamed. Some of them ran. The tour guide feinted and Millie grunted as her idiot husband chose that moment to fall backwards into her.

"Dammit, Jerry! You ass!" Millie backed up and let him thump into the floor. "Serves you right!" She waited for his cackling laugh. It didn't come. "Knock it off, Jerry. Jerry?" Millie saw a spreading stain on his black t-shirt and his eyes were opened wide and staring. She knelt and put her hand on his chest. Millie turned her palm up to the light. It glistened red beneath the harsh fluorescent light and she screamed as the light suddenly went out. "JERRY!"

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"Dammit, Sammy. Lay still." Dean took a firmer hold of his brother's arm and waited until he settled.

"Sorry." Sam gasped. Only days before, Gordon had laid a long slice in his arm to prove a point with a vampire and failed. The Vampire had stayed reformed, Dean had delivered a well-earned beating and Sam had felt relief that Dean was beginning to see not all monsters were monsters. Now though, he decided Dean hadn't hurt Gordon enough. The cut on his arm was infected and his brother was having to remove the stitches to clean it again.

"I know, Sam." Dean patted his shoulder. "Almost done here." He cursed Gordon again as he cut and pulled the last stitch from the angry red skin; then he cursed his father for leaving him with such a black and white view of the world. More than that for telling him he might have to kill Sam. Sam, who had defended him and a vampire that had actually been worth saving; more proof that his Dad was just dead wrong about his youngest son.

Sam stared up at the dingy ceiling of their motel room as Dean picked up the bottle of antiseptic and nodded at him. He expected the liquid fire that burned into his arm but it didn't make it any easier as black spots danced around his vision. He distantly registered the sound of his voice crying out and then merciful blackness swept him away.

Dean set the bottle aside, quickly palming Sam's face as he went limp. "Damn I'm sorry, kid. This is my fault." He was still kicking himself for trusting the vampires, kind though they were, to properly take care of Sam's wound. He'd been on such uneven ground, trying hard to regain his balance that he'd let himself slip. He threaded a needle and put a quick line of neat sutures back in now it was clean, wrapping it carefully and propped Sam's arm up on a spare pillow.

His phone ringing made Dean curse. He grabbed it off his bed and managed a small smile when he saw Bobby's name. "Hey Bobby." Dean greeted tiredly.

"Dean…you ok?" Bobby couldn't help but hear something off in his voice.

"Yeah, just…that slice Gordon gave Sam. It's infected." Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm dealing with it."

"Balls." Bobby sighed. "I had a job for ya but…I'll find someone else."

"Naw Bobby, we can take it." Dean looked down at Sam and knew he'd agree. "Fever's broke and it should start healing now. What's the job?"

Bobby considered, figuring it would take them a couple days to get there and nodded. "Alright. You're going to Pendleton, Oregon. Whole town is built over miles of tunnels dug out by Chinese immigrant workers back in the day. There's your regular harmless spooks, never hurt nobody."

"I take it that's changed." Dean asked.

"Guy died a couple days ago." Bobby told him. "Shot through the heart with a bullet that wasn't there when they cracked him open."

"Sneaky." Dean smirked. "So, definitely our kind of thing then. I'll fill Sam in when he wakes up." Dean took a good look at the pale, drawn face framed by all that shaggy, dark hair. "We'll get on the road tomorrow."

"You boys be careful and call if ya need help, son." Bobby ordered.

Dean smiled. "We will. Thanks, Bobby." He hung up and sighed. "On the road again tomorrow, little brother." He ran a hand over Sam's forehead for the hundredth time, happy to find it cool finally and shifted over to his own bed. Time he got some damn sleep for a change.

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Sam twisted his left forearm back and forth, feeling the stitches pull and ignored it. The itch that always accompanied a healing cut was becoming maddening.

"Knock it off, Sammy." Dean warned him.

"Sam." He reminded his brother just for forms' sake. He didn't expect Dean to ever stop calling him that but it made him feel better when he was irritated, like now.

Dean snorted. "Stop screwing with your stitches like a twelve year old…Sammy."

"Are we there yet?" Sam deadpanned in reply and grinned when Dean scowled at him.

"You can ride in the trunk, princess." Dean pointed as they neared a large sign. "We're here. Pendleton, Oregon."

It was early afternoon and Sam watched as the outskirts of the town appeared over a small rise, misty blue mountains rose in the distance. The day was overcast and he couldn't escape the sense of foreboding that overcame him.

"Hey, you ok?" Dean's voice was tinged with concern. Sam had gone suddenly pale.

"Yeah." Sam smiled. "Just tired."

Dean nodded. Initially he'd planned on heading straight out to recon the tunnels. Now he kept his eyes open for the first likely motel. Sam obviously needed a little more down time. The Lucky Miner Motel tickled his humor and he pulled in to the office.

"We're stopping?" Sam asked and Dean nodded.

"Room first, then food, then sleep." He got out before Sam could argue that he was 'fine.' He got them a room and stepped out of the office with a happy smile. It turned out in addition to the standard rooms, there were also a few small cabins, empty at the moment thanks to the death and Dean had cheerfully rented one. They were behind the motel proper and nicely isolated even from each other.

"We really should get a good look around the tunnels now." Sam said as they lugged their bags into the cabin.

"Yeah well, we're not til you stop looking like hammered crap." Dean smiled at him. "Dude you look like a ghost." Dean tossed his bag on the couch facing the little tv and surveyed the room. It boasted its own small kitchenette, the couch and an overstuffed chair. An open arched door showed two queen beds covered in threadbare quilts.

"I'm just tired." Sam told him and went back to set his bag on one of the beds. He rubbed a hand between his eyes to forestall a brewing headache and sighed. Dean had a point. "Alright." Sam sat on the bed and leaned back against the padded headboard.

Dean shook his head and pulled the salt canister from his bag. He made quick work of salting the door and the windows. He slapped Sam's knee to wake him from his light doze. "Come on, Rip Van. I need food." Dean grunted as Sam's foot shot out and caught him in the thigh.

"Such a jerk." Sam muttered and got up to follow his snickering brother back out to the car.

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"Eat, Sam." Dean shoved in another mouthful of burger dripping with 'special sauce' and groaned in pleasure.

Sam chuckled. "Should I give you two a moment alone?" He picked at the strips of chicken in his salad and ate one to quiet Dean's mothering streak. In answer, Dean rubbed his middle finger along his nose with a pointed look at his brother.

"Shamin' your mother in public boy." Their waitress, an elderly woman with a beehive of white hair stopped at the table, glaring at Dean until he dropped his hand. Raphael's Diner had tremendous food and a waitress who, for some reason, had decided Dean was an irritant she needed to pick at. Sam was far more amused by the whole thing than his brother.

"Your boss know he hired an old battle axe?" Dean shot back with a saccharine smile. She tossed a pile of napkins into his lap and smiled back.

"Raphael wouldn't like you either. Wipe your face." The waitress actually sneered a little before dropping the check on the table. "That sauce is supposed to go in your mouth."

"Wow." Sam laughed as she left. "We better find somewhere else to eat or she's gonna poison your food."

"Nah." Dean finished his burger, wiped his face and sat back. "She loves me. I can tell."

Sam snorted and pushed the rest of his salad away. "The wife of the dead guy's still in town. She's at the hotel two buildings over. We should go talk to her."

"That all you're gonna eat?" Dean shook his head and stood. "You fall over from malnutrition and I'm personally hooking up a feeding tube."

"I eat enough." Sam muttered, dropping a twenty on the table and followed him outside. Pendleton hadn't changed much since the gold rush days. Main Street was composed of three and four story stone front buildings with nineteenth and early twentieth century architecture in blue, red and green. The electric streetlamps and traffic signs almost looked out of place. The hotel had always been a hotel and still boasted the original, hand carved Hotel sign above its front doors. Inside the current owners had gone for the wild west feel and the whole place looked like something out of an old western.

"Dude. Little Joe and Hoss could walk in here any second." Dean chuckled. He pulled out his FBI badge and flashed it at the stringy haired man behind the counter. "Agent Stokes. My partner Agent Sanders. What room is Mrs…"

"Millie Greeling." Sam supplied, stepping up beside Dean.

"Oh, um… Mrs. Greeling is in room 410." The Manager nodded.

"Thanks." Dean looked around and groaned when Sam pointed to the stairs. "Invest in an elevator, man." Dean groused and followed his brother's long stride.

Despite his complaints, Dean managed to outpace Sam and reached the fourth floor first with a satisfied grin. Dad being gone didn't mean training stopped and that thought sobered his good humor. It was still too close, too painful. He shoved it down deep and strode out into the hall and to room 410. He rapped his knuckles on the door as Sam came up next to him. Dean stepped back quickly and drew his gun as the door swung open an inch.

"Shit. That can't be good." Dean breathed. He saw Sam draw his own and then nudged the door open with his foot. "Mrs. Greeling?"

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To be continued…

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 2

"Lights." Sam warned and reached over to flick the switch. They popped on, not bright enough to blind them and showed a comfortable room with what would have been cheerful colors if nor for the dead woman at the foot of the bed and the spray of red across the lacy quilt.

"Dammit." Sam knelt at the woman's head to check for a pulse and found her throat opened wide instead. "Ghost?" Sam asked, looking around warily. Dean pulled his EMF meter from his pocket and turned it on. He shook his head when it only hummed faintly.

"Not this time. Pretty sure this was all human." Dean tucked the EMF away and his gun. "Man I hate people."

"You do a quick search." Sam put away his gun. "I'll go get the manager to call the cops."

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"Well that was a monumental waste of time." Dean slapped their cabin door shut behind them and went to put the beer he carried in the little refrigerator. "Good thing Bobby was manning the phones. I don't think that Sherriff believes us for one second."

Sam took one of the beers Dean held out and dropped into the chair. "I don't get why anyone would kill her. I mean, her husband was offed by a ghost." He shrugged and took a swig of beer.

"Dude, people are crazy. You know that." Dean shook himself like a dog. "People are scary. You never what they're thinkin."

Sam nodded. He vividly remembered his time in the Bender's cage and his absolute shock that they were just people. At least with the supernatural, whatever the flavor, you usually knew where you stood.

"I got a copy of the report from the Sherriff's deputy." Sam laid it on the little table and flipped it open. "Witnesses said they were in the Card Room when whatever it was happened. The accounts are pretty much all over the map except for no one seeing the guy get capped by Casper."

"Card Room huh?" Dean smiled. "Think we oughta take the tour tomorrow."

"I think so." Sam nodded. "There's over seventy miles of tunnel under this town."

"Oh well that's just awesome." Dean groaned. "Lemme guess, ninety percent of them are closed to the public and no one's got a damn map."

Sam smirked. "There are maps. They're a little out of date with tunnel collapses and the like." He finished his beer and stood. "I'll find one tomorrow. I'm turning in."

Dean watched him rub carefully over his healing arm and frowned. "You need anything for that?"

"No, it's fine." Sam shook his head and headed for the bathroom. He didn't feel like a pain killer induced sleep.

"I'm checking it before you sleep." Dean said firmly and raised a brow inviting Sam to argue. Sam sighed instead and shut the bathroom door. "Good boy." Dean smiled.

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The next day dawned cooler than the one before and a heavy fog had drifted into town from the Blue Mountains. Water droplets clung to everything in a fine mist. Dean wiped his eyes clear, only able to see a few feet in front of them and pointed as a large sign loomed up out of the white.

"Guess we're going the right way." The sign said 'Pendleton Underground Tours at end of block' and a huge hand pointed to their left.

"Subtle." Sam smiled, following his brother. "Maybe the pea soup'll keep most of the tourists inside and out of harm's way." He hoped it would as sooner or later someone else was going to get hurt or die.

"Ah hell." Dean groaned. "Not likely." Ahead, though they couldn't see them yet, was the sound of a dozen or so voices chatting and laughing.

"Great." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Gather round everyone!" A woman's voice called loudly as the neared enough to finally see the gathering of people. There were a dozen or so and a woman standing on a crate to get their attention. "So glad so many of you could make it out today." She smiled widely; white teeth, blue eyes and blonde hair above a tanned face and a trim body that Sam couldn't help but admire.

"I'm Liz. I'll be your guide today." She pointed to the underground entrance beside her. "Everyone please stay together. No wandering off. Cell phones have no reception down there so if you DO get lost, shout or bang on something and we'll come find you. If you'd all head down the stairs and gather in the lobby we'll get started!" Liz watched her charges file down and out of sight and her gaze lingered on the two tall men bringing up the rear. Both were mouth-watering but the taller of the two made her heart skip a beat with his head of shaggy, dark hair and soulful hazel eyes. For once she was going to enjoy giving this tour.

Dean watched the attractive your guide take him in a little smile and then go wide-eyed and dry mouthed over his little brother. He chuckled softly as they descended the stairs and he elbowed Sam. "Dude, you see the way she undressed you up there?"

Sam groaned. "Come on, Dean." He hissed because the woman, Liz, was right behind them.

"Well he's not wrong." Liz stepped between them, blushing deeply and tilted her head up to Sam. "I'm Liz. Oh but I already said that…um…oh hell." She rubbed both hands over her face while Dean smother a laugh and left them on the stairs.

"I'd love to…go out some time. You know, coffee or something." Sam said shyly. "If that's what you were going to say."

"Oh it was!" Liz smiled up at him. "Good! Uh…tour." She giggled and raced down the stairs, leaving the sweet scent of Lilacs in Sam's nose.

"Hurry up, Romeo!" Dean called back to him.

"Such a child." Sam met him at the bottom and saw the still flushed face of Liz as she gathered her charges and led them into the first tunnel.

Each room Liz led them too was decorated for the time period; vintage furniture, worn rugs and tapestries, even appropriately dressed dummies in various poses. The old Chinese laundry was a little suffocating, cluttered with hanging bags and the powerful scent of soap. It made Sam's eyes water though as he turned to mention it to Dean, his brother looked just fine. In fact, no one seemed to notice the odor but Sam. He took in several lungfuls of clean air as they left it behind.

The next chamber was once a speakeasy. An old Mahogany bar sat diagonal across one sloping wall with a stained glass mirror. Sam rubbed his eyes as flashes of color shot across his vision. For a second his head swam and he leaned into the door. A whisper in his ear made him jump.

"Hey. You ok?" Dean had his arm and was searching the area around them for a threat.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm ok." Sam rubbed his eyes again. "Must be getting a migraine. It's nothing."

"Uh huh." Dean studied his brother's pale face and frowned. "You sure about that?"

Sam smiled, trying to reassure him. "It's nothing."

"Yeah well lately your 'nothing' is usually something so how about you stay where I can see you?" Dean gave him a soft push and followed at his back.

The tour was moving into the next tunnel and as soon as Sam stepped out of the bar, he instantly felt better. The lack of floored lights in his vision was such a relief he swayed.

"Ok that's it." Dean said fiercely and steadied him. "We're leaving."

"Dean." Sam glared at him. "I'm not a kid and I'm fine. Ok, something weird was happening in that room but it's gone now."

Dean's anger simmered with the need to stay on the hunt and keep Sam safe at the same time. "Dammit." He watched the last person turn a corner up ahead and slapped a warning hand to Sam's chest. "Anything else hinkey happens and I mean anything...you see a rat doin' the damn riverdance, you tell me."

Sam smirked and then chuckled. "I see that I'm getting out my camera. Come on. We're getting left behind."

Dean followed him with a growl. They jogged down the poorly lit tunnel to catch the group and stepped into the next room in time to hear Liz announce they were now standing in the Card Room. Dean and Sam raised their brows at each other in surprise. They'd expected it to still be a crime scene since no one knew yet what or who had shot the late Millie's husband. There were several small tables, square and round, spaced through the room. Each was occupied by several dummies dressed as cowboys sitting round them with cards propped in their hands and fake booze on the table. An overhead light hung from the beamed, earthen ceiling and as Sam watched, it began to sway. The colored lights came again and Sam stepped back into Dean.

"Hall." Sam said softly, dropping his pounding head into his hands while Dean took his arms and led him the few steps outside the door. Liz's voice went on behind them about gamblers and guns.

"Sammy?" Dean pried his head up for a look. Sam was white as a sheet and broken out in a fine sweat.

"Not a migraine." Sam wrapped both hands across his head as it started to split open, or felt like it was. "Dean…"

"Son of a bitch. It's a vision?" Dean asked and got a short nod before Sam's legs went out from under him and his eyes opened wide in that sightless stare that Dean both hated and was afraid of.

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To be continued…

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 3

Sam's head exploded. He felt it, he knew it. He was dead. He had to be…

Sam jogged down the tunnel, Dean at his back. They both stepped into the Card Room. The light seemed wrong somehow and Sam swayed. In a moment Dean had him, moving him out to the hall. Sam watched himself collapse. For a minute that seemed like an eternity, he saw himself stare out at nothing while Dean held him up. Then his eyes blinked, life bled back into them. Dean, his big, macho, scared of nothing, no chick flicks brother dropped his forehead into Sam's hair, curling a hand around the back of his head and sighed in relief. Sam saw himself struggle to raise his head, saw Dean cradle his face in his hands with fear in his eyes. A sound from the room beside them startled him. A loud pop, a crack and he knew it was a gunshot. There were raised voices. People began stumbling through the door as he watched himself and Dean shakily stand. Dean stood him against the wall and went back into the card room. He appeared a moment later with Liz under his arm, a graze wound along her forehead. Sam saw himself push away from the wall, saw a look of startled pain cross his face and saw himself fall…

The world slowly came back into focus. Panic and pain warred with each other in Sam's head as he crushed his eyes shut. He felt Dean's head drop to his, felt his brother's warm, comforting hand curve at the back of his neck and panic won as the vision cleared in his mind. It wasn't just going to happen. It was happening now! He tried to raise his head and felt Dean take his face, lifting it for him.

"Hey buddy." Dean soothed. "It's ok. You're ok."

"No." Sam whispered. "Dean…" A flurry of voices interrupted and then loud popping noises that could only be gunshots as the tourists began fighting to escape the Card Room.

"Crap!" Dean grabbed Sam's arms and pulled them both up, leaving his brother against the wall. "Stay here."

"Dean!" Sam watched him go, his mind still fighting for lucidity. Dean vanished into the room and Sam forced himself upright, taking two stumbling steps toward the room before Dean emerged. Liz was oozing blood from a graze above one eye. Sam reached for his brother and then looked down in shock as pain burned into his leg. "Huh?" He managed and felt his legs giving way.

"Sam!" Dean shouted as his little brother went down. "Hey!" He bellowed at an older woman who had lagged behind and was staring at the madness in front of her. "Take her!" Dean pushed Liz at her and dropped to his brother. "Sammy?"

"I been shot." Sam mumbled, eyes rolling back. Dean looked down and gasped at the bright red stain growing on the left thigh of Sam's jeans.

"No, no, no dammit! Sam!" Dean looked up frantically at the two women still standing there. He reached up and snatched the scarf from the old woman's neck with a hard yank. "Buy you a new one." He muttered when she cried out. He quickly tied the pink and purple thing above the hole in Sam's jeans and pulled it tight. "Sam! Sammy!" Dean tapped his cheek and got a drunken look in return. "Let's go." Dean took his arms and pulled Sam to his feet though nearly all his weight was on Dean. They managed all of five steps before Sam lost and passed out entirely. "Couldn't have waited til we got upstairs? Shit." Dean bent, grunted and got Sam over his shoulder in a firemen's carry. He'd ended up chivvying a few straggling tourists ahead of them until finally they all emerged into the bright morning sun. The fog had burned off leaving a beautiful day in its wake and Dean didn't give one crap how nice it was just then.

Some enterprising soul had called 911 and he could hear a siren in the air getting closer. He laid Sam carefully down, noting the pallor and more worrying, the light pumping of blood from the leg wound. He slapped both hands over it and pressed viciously.

"Don't you leave me, Sammy." Dean said, voice fierce and moisture threatened his eyes. "Can't lose you too. I just can't." He said softly, Sam's warm blood welling up between his fingers. "Come on, dammit!"

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"Family of Samuel Winchester?" A white coated Doctor asked as he pushed through the double doors into the waiting room. Dean leaped to his feet and rushed him.

"I'm his brother. Is he alright? How is he?" Dean demanded. "Is Sam okay?"

The Doctor raised a hand to try and calm him. "He's going to be fine. I'm Doctor Rimsey. If you'd follow me?" He went back through the doors and Dean stalked down the hospital corridor behind him. He led Dean to a room marked 'Recovery' and waved him in. Sam lay pale and quiet on the hospital bed. They hadn't taken the time to strip him, more interested in saving his life. A tube ran under his nose, leads for several sensors into the open neck of his shirt and his thigh was wrapped in layers of gauze. The ruined halves of the leg of his jeans lay under it.

"Now, the only significant damage was a nick to the Femoral artery, easily repaired. We're all still a bit perplexed mind you. We couldn't find the bullet that did the damage. Strangest thing." Dean nodded, saying nothing. Doctor Rimsey took Sam's chart from the bed and scanned it. "We're giving him plasma as he lost quite a bit of blood, the usual course of antibiotics and pain meds." He smiled up at Dean. "You can take him home in the morning if you like."

"Thanks." Dean smiled back and pulled a chair next to Sam's bed as the Doctor left them alone. "Sorry, Sammy. I know how you feel about hospitals." Dean scrubbed a hand through his spiky hair. "Shit. I feel the same right now." He sat there, listening to the steady beep of Sam's heart on the monitor and could only remember the single long tone of their father's as he left them forever. Dean wanted to be anywhere but in another damn hospital. He didn't want to be reminded of how his Dad had cheated death for him; for him and what the hell for? He wasn't worth it. He didn't deserve it. All he'd done the last year was stumble from one narrow escape to another. He'd failed everyone; Dad, Mom, Sam. Dean rested his head on the cold metal bar. God how had he NOT failed Sam in every way possible? The poor kids entire life, his future had gone up in flames pinned to the ceiling all because Dean couldn't leave him alone.

"Dean." Sam's hoarse voice startled him.

"Sammy?" Dean stood and leaned over to find two confused hazel eyes looking up at him. "Hey tiger. How you doin?"

"Leg hurts." Sam said and licked dry lips.

"Hang on." Dean grabbed a cup with a straw hanging out of it from the table and held it up for him. Sam sipped hungrily, the water soothing his parched throat.

"In hospital?" Sam asked, looking around at the stark white room.

"Nothing gets by you." Dean smirked, happy Sam was awake and speaking. "Casper shot you in the leg." He told Sam, putting a restraining hand on his shoulder when he tried to sit up. "You're gonna be fine. Lost some blood and nicked an artery. You can get out tomorrow."

"Tonight." Sam said firmly and pushed Dean's hand away. "Feel fine." He wanted out of the hospital and away from the memories and feelings it was drowning him in. Worse, he could see the strain it was causing Dean and wanted him away.

"Dammit, Sam." Dean growled but got an arm behind him and helped him sit up. "Just sit there a minute. I mean it." Dean left him sitting up, pulling at the patches under his shirt. "Stubborn ass." Dean said to himself as he went in search of the Doctor and a wheelchair. He found both at the Nurses' station.

"Hey, Doc. My brother's signing himself out AMA." Dean told him and took hold of the wheelchair. "You got any yelling you wanna do before he bolts, speak now."

"But…that young man needs rest!" Doctor Rimsey protested. "He needs to stay right where he is."

"Yeah well, no chance." Dean shrugged. "He's a little phobic about hospitals right now." Dean muttered. "We both are."

"Your brother can't leave. He needs to stay where we can keep him well taken care of." The Doctor crossed his arms defiantly.

"Look pal. Not too long ago some genius Doctor like yourself gave our Dad a clean bill of health…right before he died in the damn hospital." Dean growled. He didn't see any need to mention Demons or his own brush with death. "Happened right in front of Sam." Dean said more softly and felt his heart ache even as Doctor Rimsey softened.

"Allright, son." The Doctor took the chair from Dean. "Nurse, would you bring the discharge papers for me please? Room nine. You'll need some information before you go."

They entered the room to find Sam teetering on one leg while leaning on the bed and trying to get his brain to figure out what to do with the destroyed leg of his jeans.

"Morphine." Doctor Rimsey chuckled. Dean snorted and dashed ahead, steadying Sam and lowering him into the waiting wheelchair.

"I can'walk." Sam slurred.

"Not a chance, Dopey. Sit your ass down." Dean held him in place with a hand on his shoulder.

"The dressing needs to be changed every two hours. Stay vigilant for signs of infection." Doctor Rimsey went to a counter along the wall and took out a supply of bandages, setting them in Sam's lap. "He's still low on blood so monitor his blood pressure. Too slow or sluggish and he needs to come back immediately."

"Sittin' right 'ere." Sam waved a hand than Dean batted away. He quickly signed the clipboard the Nurse brought in and smiled at the Doctor.

"I'll take good care of him, Doc. Promise." Dean turned the chair and wheeled his extremely high little brother toward the exit. "Whether you like it or not."

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"So what was it?" Dean asked, laying a cold, wet washcloth on the back of Sam's neck where he bent over the toilet from his latest round of nausea. The morphine was wearing off and Sam was suffering the usual after effects.

"What?" Sam asked miserably.

"The vision or…whatever you had down there before you got shot." Dean handed him a glass of water but Sam pushed it away. He wasn't brave enough just yet to even drink water. His injured leg stretched across the floor. The wound was sore as hell but didn't actually hurt that bad as long as he wasn't walking on it.

"I saw…" Sam paused. "I saw what happened. I mean everything. Me having the vision, you going in after Liz and the gunshot."

"Well what the hell, Sam?" Dean said loudly. "How is that even useful? I think your vision fairy's screwing with you."

"Not a fairy." Sam rolled his eyes up at his brother. "Don't know what the hell it is but you're right. There wasn't any time to save myself." He pushed away from the toilet. "Help me up, dammit."

Dean smirked and lifted Sam up. "Don't yak on me."

"No promises." Sam fired back. He managed to hold most of his own weight back to the bed and lay down with a relieved sigh.

"I don't get it." Dean pulled a chair over and sat, putting his feet up on the bed. "Usually these Dead Zone moments of yours are for a reason."

Sam sighed and slid down in the bed, eyes drooping. He was exhausted after the blood loss, the drugs and the marathon round of throwing up. "I dunno. Maybe it stopped too soon or I missed something."

Dean watched him drift back to sleep and frowned. The visions scared him; not because he was scared OF Sam but scared FOR him. Something about them just made his teeth itch. Maybe it was the fact they put his little brother through agonizing pain and left him helpless. He pulled his cell from his pocket and stood. He couldn't just ignore it and he needed help. He pulled the blanket up over Sam and went outside dialing Bobby's number.

"Dean! How's the job going?" Bobby's voice made him smile. "How you boys doin'?"

"Well for starters that trigger happy ghost took a shot at Sam." Dean smiled and lifted the phone away from his ear as Bobby cursed beautifully. "He's fine. Got hit in the thigh. They sewed him up and we're back at the cabin. He's sleeping."

"Balls." Bobby sighed. "Any idea how to stop it yet?"

"None." Dean leaned against the cabin door, watching the afternoon sun color the treetops. "We need to get back down there when no one's around. Thing is, Bobby." Dean thought back to their trip through the tunnels. "I don't think it's just one ghost. Sam was acting weird long before the shootout. I think he was seeing stuff or at least hearing it."

"He probably was." Bobby grabbed his notes and settled the phone more securely. "I found some references to people hearing voices and the like. Some of 'em even talk about phantom smells. They all got one thing in common." Bobby paused, knowing how Dean would take it. "They were all psychic to one degree or another."

"Son of a bitch." Dean shoved away from the door to pace.

"Gets better. I found a few missing persons cases." Bobby sighed. "I've got four so far going back about thirty years. I'm still lookin'. They went into those tunnels and never came back out."

"Fan-friggin-tastic." Dean shook his head. "We gotta figure this out and fast."

"How's Sam? Really?" Bobby asked, worry in his voice.

"He's ok. Be up and walkin' again by tomorrow. It's just a flesh wound." Dean said and grinned as he heard Bobby's bark of laughter.

"Alright. I'm gonna keep diggin'. You boys be careful." Bobby hung up quickly, knowing how Dean felt about the sentimental stuff.

Dean smiled and pocketed his phone. He'd never admit it, at least not sober, but from Bobby he got comfort from the fatherly words spoken with gruff sincerity. "Thanks, Bobby." He said softly and went back inside. He was about to grab a beer when a low moan sounded from the bedroom. "Sammy?" Dean strode quickly in and found Sam thrashing, tangling himself in the blanket. "Hey, hey! Wake up." Dean grabbed his shoulders, holding him down. Sam's eyes shot open and he gasped for air.

"Holy crap!" Sam exclaimed. He was covered in sweat, shaking and embarrassed his brother had had to wake him.

"What the hell was that?" Dean asked, letting him go and sat on the edge of the bed.

Sam shook his head and closed his eyes. "It was the vision." He said slowly. "But it was like…replaying. I missed something." Sam pushed himself up and stared at Dean. "I didn't see it before. I was too focused on you and getting shot."

"See what? You're not makin' a lot of sense here, Sammy."

"It's Sam and the other man." Sam smiled. "There was another man in the vision. He was standing down the other hall and there was, I dunno….this shadow over him, behind him."

"Shadow?" Dean tensed, remembering the last time they had fought shadows; the Daevas.

"Not that kind of shadow." Sam said quickly, brushing a hand over his cheek and the faint claw marks that had yet to fade completely.

"Would you know him if you saw him?" Dean asked and Sam nodded.

"Yeah. I'll recognize him." Sam rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm not sure why but I know the ghost activity in the underground is his fault."

"This guy dead or alive?" Dean handed Sam the glass of water he'd pushed away earlier, happy when he took it and emptied it.

"Alive. Definitely." Sam nodded. "We need to find him."

"Ok. Assuming you're mobile in the morning, we'll go talk to your girl, Liz." Dean smiled.

"Dude I'm mobile now." Sam started to swing a leg off the bed and Dean shoved it back.

"You can stay here, have a beer and watch some bad TV or you can go back to the hospital." Dean grinned. "Your choice."

"You wouldn't." Sam asked but Dean just kept smiling." Dammit, fine but we're not watching porn."

Dean laughed. "Aw you're no fun anymore."

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To be continued…

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 4

"I really don't know what I can tell you." Liz sat in her office in the small building outside the entrance to the Underground. "Are you alright?" She'd asked Sam that at least three times she knew but he was so pale she couldn't help it. He nodded.

"I'm fine, Liz." Sam smiled and sat across from her. He scanned the pictures behind her desk and jumped back up.

"Hey, take it easy." Dean stopped him from toppling over.

"Liz who is that?" Sam pointed to a picture of seven men.

"Which one?" She took the picture down from the wall and handed it to him. "Those are the men who started the whole Underground Tours business. The Gaffney brothers."

"Whoa. All seven of them?" Dean looked over Sam's shoulder in surprise.

Liz laughed, smoothing a hand over the bandage on her forehead. "Yes, though only one of them is still around." She pointed to the somewhat attractive man in the center. "Hank Gaffney. He's the youngest."

Sam looked up, caught Dean's eye and nodded. "Do you know where we can find him?" Sam asked and handed the picture back.

"Well he was here just a bit ago. He said he wanted to have a quick look through the Underground and make sure everything's locked up." She sat back. "He's keeping it closed today he said but we'll be open again tomorrow."

"Thanks, Liz." Sam stood and took her hand. Dean cleared his throat and ducked out of the room. "I'm sorry you got hurt yesterday."

"Oh it's nothing." She smiled warmly, enjoying the feel of her hand in his. "You should really be resting."

"I will." Sam took his hand back and turned to the door. Liz quickly came around the desk and stopped him.

"You know, I don't usually….oh hell." She rose up to her toes and wrapped both hands around Sam's neck, bringing his head down to meet her.

Sam felt her lips part as her fingers tangled in his hair. Her body melted against him and he ran his hands from her shoulders down to her shapely backside, deepening the kiss. Liz moaned, sending butterflies through Sam's stomach before she leaned back, eyes closed and face flushed.

"Hot damn." She sighed and made Sam chuckle. "You're having dinner with me tonight."

"I am?" Sam rested his hands on her waist, wrapping his fingers around her back and watched her eyes flutter closed, making him smile.

"Uh huh. And breakfast." Liz looked up at him with a shy grin.

"It's a date." Sam bent and took her mouth again, smiling against the curve of her lips as their tongues tangled, his hands splayed up her ribs making her shiver and moan. Something about her took away his usual reserve, made him confident. He liked the feeling.

"Your brother's waiting." Liz said sadly and stepped back. She watched him go and closed the door behind him with a happy, frustrated sigh.

Dean waited outside, leaning against the Impala with a knowing grin on his face. Sam felt the blush creep up his neck as he limped over and growled.

"What?"

"Dude." Dean shook his head. "I'm jealous." He laughed and followed Sam toward the entrance to the Underground. "She's hot and she's hot for you. Just remember to leave a sock on the door."

Sam ducked his head and hoped the blush didn't get any brighter. "You're not funny."

"Dude I'm freakin hysterical." Dean slapped his shoulder. "You just don't have a sense of humor." He stopped Sam at the top of the stairs. "You're staying up here, Hop-a-long. Never mind the bum leg, the ghosts down there think you're tasty."

"You're not going in alone." Sam pushed his hand away. "We're not arguing about this. We'll stay away from that damn Card Room."

Dean watched Sam brush past him and start down the stairs. "Stupid…stubborn…"

"Stop sweet talkin' and get down here." Sam called up and laughed at the growl that carried clearly down to him. He was thankful for the sturdy railing. Walking wasn't a particular problem but stairs were still something the fresh wound in his thigh protested.

"Mr. Gaffney?" Sam called as they reached the lobby. It was empty and gates were pulled across two of the three tunnel entrances. "That's not the tunnel we were in yesterday." Sam nodded to the open gate.

Dean grabbed a map from a shelf by the door an unfolded it. Most of the tunnels marked were shaded in red as blocked off, impassable or off limits. Only a small portion were in black and safe for tourists. The open door led to one of the red tunnels. "Looks like some old mineworks down there, storage for the old railway and way too much that's not marked."

"Damn. He could be hurt." Sam stepped to the gate. "Or worse. We gotta find him. The vision showed me that shadow for a reason."

"Ok, but you stay with me." Dean took a flashlight from the shelf and switched it on. "No running off." He chuckled at the dirty look Sam shot him.

The first hundred feet of the tunnel was stone floors and walls. Stone gave way to dirt and wood and opened into a large chamber with rails in the floor and an old mine cart flipped on its side.

"Mr. Gaffney!" Dean shouted and still they heard nothing. He played the light along the floor and pointed. "Footprints. Come on." They followed the tunnel further in. "What the hell is this?" Small alcoves had been dug out from the walls. Curtains hung in front of them. They were long enough for a man to lay down but only four feet high.

"Uh, Opium dens I think." Sam twitched one of the curtains aside. "Chinese immigrants brought it with them."

"Great. So we might run into Hop Sing's ghost tripping balls on Opium?" Dean shook his head. "This job just gets better and better."

"Wonder if his Dad was a seventh son too." Sam said absently, resting a hand on the wall to take the weight off his leg. "Hank's a seventh son. We could be dealing with a male Witch."

"Wait. First ghosts and now witches?" Dean threw his arms out in frustration. "Why not a damn Werewolf while we're at it? Man I HATE Witches!"

A clang of metal on metal stopped them, both men drawing their handguns. Dean nodded to the left of the forked tunnel ahead of them and went quickly. Sam stayed at his back, making sure nothing snuck up on them. There was a cry from up ahead.

"Crap." Dean took off around the corner.

"Dean!" Sam struggled into a limping run, trying to catch up and get him in sight again.

"It's my gold! Mine!" The words, oddly hollow and loud echoed in the tunnel and then silence fell. He'd read about others hearing those words; they belonged to the ghost of a train robber believed killed in the tunnels by police. He was rumored to attack anyone he thought was encroaching on his hidden stash.

"Dean!" Sam rounded the corner and gasped. Dean was laid out beside the man from Sam's vision. He stumbled to a knee beside his brother with a grimace of pain. "Dean?" He couldn't see any wounds so ran a hand over Dean's head, stopping at the back when he found a sizeable lump. "Ow. Something clocked you good. Dean?" Sam shook him but got no response. He looked over at Hank Gaffney and saw a swelling welt on his forehead. "Ah hell." Sam used the wall to push himself up and dug his cell out of his pocket. "No signal. Dammit!" Sam knelt back down carefully and gave a few short, stinging slaps to Dean's face.

"Dean! Wake up! I can't carry you." Sam took the fallen light and shone it up and down the tunnel. The train robbers ghost was nowhere to be seen. The sound of running feet came from the way they'd come and Sam aimed his gun down the passage, ready. The iron rounds in his handgun would work almost as well as salt.

"Hello?" Liz's voice carried and she appeared, breathless and skidded to a halt as Sam lowered his gun. "Oh my god!"

"Liz." Sam breathed in relief.

"What happened?" She ran to them and knelt at Sam's side. "Are they…"

"They're alive." Sam assured her. "Just knocked out. We need to get help, or you do. Please. I wont leave Dean here unprotected."

She put a warm, comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, Sam. I'll take care of everything. You stay with them." He looked about ready to fall over himself the poor guy. She jumped to her feet and dashed back down the tunnel.

Sam sagged with relief and stretched his aching leg beside his brother. He kept a hand on Dean's chest to feel the comforting beat of his heart and waited.

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Sam leaned against the trunk of the Impala, chuckling as he watched Dean talk his way out of the ambulance and a trip to the hospital. He'd woken as the paramedics arrived and by the time they were all topside, Dean was unbuckling himself from the gurney. Sam had only avoided a ride by not walking where they could see him limp.

"Is he always like that?" Liz asked as she leaned next to him, bumping his shoulder.

"Pretty much." Sam smiled. "Thank you. What made you come down after us?"

"I heard yelling from the tunnel." She frowned. "But there were too many voices. I thought maybe kids had gotten in. I was running to find you."

"I'm glad you did. I couldn't have gotten them out." Sam pressed a hand to his thigh. He was hiding the stain of fresh blood. His stitches had started seeping with all the exercise and the pain was becoming hard to ignore. He gave a sad look to Liz. "Tonight's going to have to wait. I'm sorry."

She looked crestfallen but nodded. "No, no of course you're right."

"I can't leave him alone tonight." Sam said. "Not with a concussion." He brushed a hand up her bare arm and then along her jaw, smiling as her eyes fluttered. "Besides, I'm not really in any condition to enjoy tonight…and I want to enjoy you."

She dropped her head to his shoulder with a grin and a sigh. "Honestly you could read me the phone book and I think I'd be good." They chuckled together. Dean was heading for them, dusting his hands of the paramedics and smiling. "Another night then." Liz caressed a hand over his neck, making him shiver and left.

"Keys." Sam ordered and held out his hand as Dean reached him.

"What? Dude, no way." Dean shook his head. "I'm fine. I can drive."

"You were out cold for almost a half hour. Keys." Sam argued.

"You know I could take you right now." Dean threatened but handed over the keys. "Gimp." Sam snorted and got behind the wheel.

"Where to?" Sam asked as the engine rumbled to life.

"Well Hank's out for a while according to the medics so I say we go toss his house." Dean grinned and held up a black, leather wallet. "Slipped out of his pocket while they were belting him in."

"Nice." Sam smirked and pulled out as the ambulance turned the other way.

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Breaking in to Hank Gaffney's house wasn't going to be as hard as they'd thought in broad daylight. His house, a huge four story affair of stone and brick sat on its own block screened by trees and an eight foot stone wall. They parked a block away and walked to a small security gate they had seen at the back. In a show of irony, Dean used one of Gaffney's own credit cards to jimmy the lock up and slipped inside with a chuckle. The lawn was well tended and open all the way to the house.

"Good thing no one can look in and see us." Sam remarked, eyeing the tall wall and trees gratefully. Getting into the house itself was another matter. It had a security system. Dean walked about the wrap around porch until he found a sign for the alarm company on a window and clapped his hands together.

"Easy. Guy should go with a better company." Dean hopped off the porch and around the side of the house to a large breaker box. "Watch and learn, Sammy." He said as Sam came up beside him.

"When did you learn to bypass alarm systems?" Sam asked in surprise.

"About a year after you went to college." Dean had the case open and was confidently pulling and stripping wires. "There's this alarm R&D company outside Palo Alto." He caught his bottom lip with his teeth as he carefully rewired the box. "Worked there for three months and picked up a few things. Voila!" Dean turned back and saw the slack jawed shock on his brother's face. "What? Dude, you didn't really think I was gonna just walk away and not keep an eye on you?"

Sam shook his head no and followed Dean to the porch door, trying to process the new information. "I just…I can't picture you volunteering for computer time." He said finally and Dean chuckled.

"This is different." Dean pushed the door open with a grin. "This is work. Let's go."

Hank Gaffney's house was nowhere as neat and tidy as the well tended lawns outside. It was cluttered; books, papers and every sort of junk on every available surface.

"The guy's a hoarder?" Sam said in surprise. "Finding anything in here is going to be a nightmare."

"You start down here, I'll go up." Dean left Sam limping to the kitchen and headed upstairs. The mess didn't get any better, it just continued. Magazines and papers, books and when he pushed one door open, he found an entire room filled with instruction manuals for appliances. "This guy has got some serious screws loose." Finding nothing, he climbed the stairs to the third floor. The first door he opened look like the guy's bedroom. "Yahtzee."

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Sam easily found Hank's office, though the desk was buried beneath piles of books and a tall stack of maps of the Underground. He plucked one from the pile and smiled. Unlike the one Dean had found in the Undergound lobby, this map was complete and seemed to cover all seventy plus miles of tunnel. "Yahtzee." Sam grinned and tucked it into his jacket.

Other than the map, there didn't seem to be anything of particular interest to them. He went back to the kitchen and saw the cellar door behind a wall of magazines.

"Why would you hide a whole door?" Sam wondered and inched around the pile, easing the door open enough to slip inside. He sighed with relief when the switch actually worked and turned the lights on. They glowed at the bottom of the stairs. The cellar was nothing like the rest of the house. It was clean, not a box or a stack of junk anywhere. In fact it was empty except for a wide trap door in the center of the floor.

"Well that's not suspicious at all then." Sam drew his gun and leveled it at the door. He bent awkwardly with his wound and got hold of the big iron ring. He gave a pull and flipped the door open. It landed in the dirt with a thump. He stepped to the edge, gun leading and looked over. The cellar light illuminated a cracked tile floor below. The ladder that ran from the edge down looked new compared to the old wood around it.

Sam stepped on the first rung and climbed down for a quick look. There was no mistaking it had once been a butcher shop. The smell alone was overwhelming. Colored spots began to dance in his vision and he realized what was happening.

"Crap." The ghosts of that particular area were homing in on him as they had in the laundry. Sam turned back to the ladder and hauled himself back up as nausea worked its way into his stomach. He crawled over the edge onto the dirt floor and pulled the trap door closed with a grunt but it didn't stop. Whatever spirits were down there still pulled at him. A few words of Chinese whispered in his ear and Sam forced his bad leg to cooperate, getting shakily to his feet.

"Dean!" He shouted as he reached the stairs. His head was beginning to spin and pound. He could feel new blood beginning to trickle down his leg. He stumbled, going to his hands on the rough wooden stairs. The voices grew louder. There was a crashing, thumping noise against the door above him and behind him the trap door flew open.

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To be continued…

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 5

Dean had tipped over several piles in the bedroom with no luck. He pulled open the closet door though and smiled. The spacious walk in held a desk that was almost neat in comparison. Looking over the papers lying out, he frowned. They were spreadsheets mapping tourism in the Pendleton Underground over the last ten years. Sifting through them showed a steady decline until a few months ago. That graph had a newspaper clipping attached about a woman claiming to have been attacked by spirits in the tunnels. The numbers got better. In fact, there were quite a few article clippings attached to various graphs, all of which coincided with a boost in tourism.

"Hank. I'm starting to get a bad feeling about you." Dean muttered. He pulled open the top drawer and cursed. "You idiot." In the drawer was a stack of research on witchcraft and cursed objects along with several books and a necklace of chicken feet in the bottom drawer. "You've been a naughty boy, Hank." He gathered all of it up in a neat stack to take back to the motel.

A sound caught his attention. "Sammy?" He thought it might have been his voice. Dean tucked the pile under one arm and went back out to the hall. "Sam?" The sound of something toppling came from downstairs and Dean ran, taking the stairs two and three and a time.

"Sam! Where are you?" Dean shouted. He ran into the kitchen and saw a collapsed pile of magazines still settling against what had to be the cellar door.

"Dean!" Sam's voice spurred him on.

"I'm comin' Sammy!" Dean set the pile of research aside and hastily dug out the door. He could hear Sam grunting and he called Dean's name again, more frantically. "Son of a bitch!" Dean threw and kicked the avalanche of magazines away from the door and ripped it open. "Sam!"

"Dean! Hurry!"

Dean all but leaped down the stairs and hit the bottom in time to see his brother being dragged to a hole in the cellar floor by some unseen force. He ran and grabbed Sam's scrabbling arms. "Hang on!" Dean pulled against whatever what was tugging at Sam's legs. "What the hell is it?"

"I dunno! Ahh!" Sam cried out as something cold slithered up his legs. "Ghost!"

Dean nodded. He reached back with one hand and pulled his big knife free. He stabbed it into the floor up to the hilt. "Hold on to it!" Dean ordered. Sam got one hand on the hilt and then the other. "Don't let go!" Sam nodded, pale and Dean charged back upstairs to the kitchen. He ransacked the cabinets by the stove, shouting in victory when he came up with a container of salt.

He ran back downstairs, sliding the last few steps. Sam was down to one hand on the knife hilt as Dean ran to the edge of the hole. He popped open the container and flung salt down below and over Sam's legs. Sam shouted in surprise at the sudden release.

"Ok, come on." Dean wrapped an arm around his chest and pulled him away. He jumped back up and quickly poured a circle around the open trap door before going back to his panting brother. "You ok?"

"Am now." Sam nodded, shaking the cobwebs from his mind. "Did you see what had me?"

"No. Wasn't visible." Dean scowled at the dark, wet stains on Sam's thigh. "Ok, we're going. Not sure you have any stitches left to pop at this point." He went and pulled his knife free before helping Sam to his feet.

"Hank's up to something." Sam said wearily as they climbed the stairs.

"You aint kidding." Dean took most of his weight and in the kitchen pointed out the stack of research. "You can go through that while I patch you up."

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"It's a cursed object." Sam pronounced, setting aside the journal he'd dug out of the pile of Hank's research. Reading it had kept his mind off Dean helping to peel blood soaked denim from his thigh, unwrapping red bandages, removing and replacing torn sutures. Dean handed him a bottle of purple Gatorade.

"Drink it." Dean ordered. "You've lost too much blood." Sam's hand shook as he raised the bottle and swallowed half of it. Dean tossed the used bandages in the trash and sat on the bed, pulling the journal over. "Cursed object?"

"Yeah. Real dark stuff." Sam set the bottle aside and tried unsuccessfully to find a comfortable spot for his aching leg. "It's some sort of idol imbued with the power to energize spirits."

"It's a fraggin' battery?" Dean stared up, surprised.

"Yeah. Gives them more juice. Turns a weak ghost into a damn poltergeist." Sam dropped his head back. "We need to know where he put it."

"Ok. I'm gonna go have a chat with Captain Stupid at the hospital. You're staying here." Dean pulled the blanket up over Sam's legs, raising a brow when he didn't get a protest. "Man you must feel like crap."

"Pretty much." Sam nodded, eyes still closed. "Not sure I could stand right now if I wanted to."

"I'll be back soon." Dean laid a shotgun loaded with rock salt beside him. "Sam?" He was already asleep. Dean brushed a hand under his bangs across his forehead and frowned. There was a fever brewing there. He lifted the blanket and then the edge of the bandage on Sam's thigh and cussed; angry red lines were beginning to appear. He patted the blankets back into place, resolved to make it a quick trip and left.

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Pendleton General Hospital still hadn't grown on him. Dean went to the Nurse's station wanting to be anywhere else. "Hi. What room is Hank Gaffney in?" He asked the Nurse. She smiled and checked the computer.

"Family or friend?" She raised her brows at him.

"Friend I guess. I was with him in the tunnel." Dean said. When her face colored over with sympathy he turned on the charm. "It was just awful finding him like that. I wanted to check on him, you know?" Dean leaned in and gave her his best puppy eyes. "Wanna make sure he's ok."

"Oh sweetie of course." The Nurse looked smitten, brown eyes damp with understanding. "He's on the second floor. Room 201."

"Thanks darlin'." Dean took her hand, dropped a kiss on her knuckles and left her cradling her hand with a small smile. "Still got it." He said to himself as he punched the elevator button.

He found the room easily and stuck his head in Gaffney's door, finding him dozing. Dean shut the door behind him, locked it and went to the bed. "Wake up, sunshine." Dean thumped his shoulder and grinned as bleary, blue eyes shot open. "There you are."

"Wha…who are you?" Hank Gaffney stuttered. Something about the tall man and the piercing green eyes staring down at him made him nervous.

"I'm the guy who's gonna clean up your mess." Dean leaned over him. "So why don't you tell me all about the cursed object you hid in the underground to juice the ghosts and drive up business."

"I don't…" Hank started but Dean held up a hand, cutting him off and plucked the call button off the bed, out of reach.

"Don't give me any crap, Hank. My kid brother's down with a bullet wound in his leg because of you." Dean growled. "My patience aint the best right now. Talk."

Hank clearly saw the barely repressed violence in the man's face and caved. "I'm sorry. I swear. No one was supposed to die!"

Dean rolled his eyes as a tear slipped down Hank's face. "Then why didn't you stop it?"

"I've tried." Hank protested. "I've tried to get the damn thing back but they wont let me! The ghosts, they've tried to kill me." He covered his face with his hands. "She lied to me and…and oh god I think she killed that woman to keep the magic working!"

"Wait. Who lied to you?" Dean was confused now.

"The W…witch." Hank replied.

"Hold on. I saw all your research." Dean glared at him. "You did all this."

"No! All I did was put it where she told me too!" Hank raised his hands in submission. "She made it. I wouldn't even know how."

"Dammit. Alright. What's her name?" Dean demanded.

"You've got to stop it!" Hank pleaded. "Please!"

"We will but you have to give her up first." Dean crossed his arms and waited. Hank seemed to think about it and finally he nodded.

"Okay. She's killing people. She has to be stopped. Liz. Her name is Liz." He said softly. "I didn't even know she was…you know, a Witch until she came to me."

"Liz the tour guide Liz?" Dean asked and a wave of cold washed over him when Hank nodded. She'd had her hands all over Sam.

"She told me never to tell but…but…" Hank paled.

"What?" Dean asked. Hank's eyes flew wide, his hands reached up to scrabble at his throat. "Son of a bitch!" It was a hex. Liz must have covered her bases. Dean searched Hank and found nothing. He dove for the closet and his clothes while the last of the Gaffney's turned blue and slowly went still. "Come on!" Dean tore his clothes from the closet and found a small bag, out of place and tied with twine tucked in the bottom of Hank's shoe.

Dean ran to the little bathroom and dropped it in the sink. He took out his zippo and set fire to it. Hank was too still. Dean unlocked the door and yelled for help, stepping back as nurses and orderlies swarmed the room.

"Sorry, Hank." Dean said softly and slipped away. He took out his phone and dialed Sam as he waited for the elevator. "Come on, Sam. Be there." It went to voicemail. "Sam it's Liz! She's the witch. She made the cursed object and I think she just killed Gaffney. Stay away from her." He growled when the elevator failed to appear and ran to the stairs, dialing his brother again.

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Sam jerked awake at the sound of knocking. Someone was at the door. He felt too hot and was covered in a fevered sweat. He forced his tired body to move, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and nearly passed out at the hot pain radiating from his left thigh.

"Crap." He gasped. Sam dragged his sweats from the foot of the bed and pulled them on. "Hang on!" He called and stood. He swayed dangerously and wobbled out to the door. "Who is it?"

"Sam? It's Liz." Her cheerful voice greeted him and he opened the door. "You didn't look so good earlier so I brought some…" She took him in, bare chest and fever flushed skin. "Oh my…are you ok?" She didn't wait for an answer. She pushed in, setting a covered container aside and took his arms.

"I'm ok." Sam said hurriedly though he let her push him to the couch.

"No you're not. Sit." Liz gently pushed him down. "God, you're burning up." She sat beside him and put a hand to his forehead, tipping his head back to her shoulder. Sam knew he should get her to leave, stand up, do anything but her cool hand felt so good against his fevered skin.

"This should never have happened, you know." Liz murmured in his ear. "If you'd only spent that first night with me, I'd have cleared the ghost poison from your system and you'd have liked it too. I promise." Sam jerked under her hand but she knew he was helpless now. Her hand on his forehead holding him in place with magic. "It's so much more difficult at this stage." She put her lips against his ear and breathed in the scent of him. "I really do like you, you know and after three centuries I don't say that very often anymore." Sam jerked again. "I think we need to go somewhere more…intimate." She said as Sam's cell phone began ringing on the nightstand.

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To be continued…

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 6

Dean skidded the Impala to a stop outside their cabin and cursed. The door was wide open. He slammed out of the car and ran to the door. "Sam!" He shouted and stopped. The salt line in front of the door was broken. "Dammit. Sam?" Dean ran inside, checked the bathroom even though he knew it was too late. He found Sam's cellphone on the nightstand and Hank Gaffney's research toppled to the floor.

"Son of a bitch! Where dammit, where would the bitch take you, Sammy?" Dean spotted Hank's journal on the floor. He bent to pick it up and it saved him from the lamp as it sailed over where he'd been standing and into the wall. "What the…" He spun to find three indistinct shapes floating in the sitting room. "Oh you've got to be kidding me!"

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Sam knew he was walking. He'd felt grass beneath his bare feet and now dirt. He could smell the musty scent of the underground and feel Liz's hand tight around his own. That connection seemed to rob him of his free will. She had not bothered to put a shirt on him and he shivered, bare-chested in the chill air. He was terrified and just damn pissed. Somehow she had completely overpowered him. He felt keen embarrassment at that and knew Dean would never let him live it down. Dean…if he ever saw him again. Dean didn't know where he was, had no idea that Liz was a Witch. Oh god, he thought, what if she left a Hex in the cabin for him? He tried to stop, only succeeding in stumbling.

"Sam." Liz's voice in his ear. "You can't fight me. That day in the office? The kiss and…mmmm…" She hummed and he felt her rub against him. "Should never let a strange woman wrap her fingers in your hair." She laughed. "A strand of hair was all I needed to work the spell."

Sam felt her hands roaming the muscled planes of his chest and shivered again as they rested low on his hips above the waistband of his sweats. "Soon you won't fight me anymore, Sam and oh the fun we're going to have. You're mine now."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dean dove for his bed as one of the spirits reached for him. He slid onto the floor and pulled out the weapons bag. Cold hands took his ankles and pulled him out. Dean let them and rolled, bringing his favorite sawed-off shotgun up and fired into the mist, dissipating it.

"Suck it ass face!" Dean lurched to his knees and blasted the second ghost as it reached for him. The third seemed impossibly large, a dark mass rising toward the ceiling and the furniture; couch, table and chair flew at him. He dove over the couch and took a knock from the table in his knees. Dean brought the shotgun up again. He fired and banished the ghost in a screaming explosion of darkness that momentarily filled the room.

"Holy crap!" Dean kicked the table away and saw the salt canister under the television stand. He scrambled over the floor, pulling it out and ran to the front door. Quickly, he poured a fresh line of salt protecting it and then checked all the windows as well. He dropped the salt on the back of the upturned couch and retraced his steps, looking for Hank's journal.

"Gotcha." Dean scooped it up and leafed through to the last few pages. They were a jumble of notes, Hank's thoughts, a crude drawing of some Native American looking idol with feathered headdress and a hand drawn map of a section of tunnel. "Now we're getting somewhere." His need to find Sam was making his hands shake as he dug through the pile on the floor for the Underground map Sam had found at Gaffney's. He spread it open across the bed and quickly found a match to the area Hank had drawn. "Son of a bitch." He breathed, recognizing the area where their cabin lay and a mark that signaled an entrance to the tunnels barely thirty yards away.

"I'm coming, Sammy." Dean grabbed his gun and the weapons bag and ran for the door.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"Sam." Liz caressed his jaw, enjoying the rough feel of the stubble there. "Wake up, Sam." His skin was fevered, hot to the touch in the cold tunnel. She pressed herself against his bare chest with a hum of pleasure. "Sammy." She cooed it sweetly to him.

Sam groaned. He felt cool hands on his face, a body pressed against his bare chest and struggled to raise his head against the enervating weakness that had taken hold of him. "Wha?" He managed and got his eyes open to find Liz staring up at him.

"There you are." She curved her hands around his back. "You know, I decided I had to have you the moment I saw you. Don't worry, Sam." She feathered her lips over his as he jerked his head weakly away. "I'm not going to kill you." She grinned at him. "Well not entirely."

"What do you mean?" Sam tried to pull away but couldn't. His wrists were bound above his head, stretching him up from where his ankles were tied. Though he was burning with fever his body was wracked with chills from the cold, damp air of the tunnel.

"I'm going to let the ghost sickness kill your mind." She grazed her fingers over his abdomen and he strained away from her touch. "Then you won't fight me anymore. You'll just be mine."

"You're crazy." Sam groaned. The words 'ghost sickness' sent a stab of fear through him. He was burning up, he could feel that and he vaguely remembered her saying something about poison back in the cabin.

Liz scowled at him. "It's not a fast process, Sam. The sickness will take time for its poison to work through you. Days, maybe weeks if you're strong enough. I could make this easier on you." She leaned into him again and placed a gentle hand on his chest. "Or hard." She scraped her sharp nails down his sternum, drawing blood and making him cry out.

"Bitch!" Sam gasped. He pulled at his wrists again, straining against the rope and felt them give slightly. If could distract her long enough, then maybe…

Liz slapped him. "Don't be mean, Sam." She stepped away from him and he could see where they were finally. It was some small cavern in the Underground. Four tunnels opened out from it and it looked like an old mine working. A few feet away was Liz's witch's altar with candles burning about a large stone bowl and a silver Athame laying in front of it. Beyond the altar, in a hand carved niche in the dirt wall was some sort of statue; an Indian figure in a feathered headdress carrying a spear. It glistened in the light from the torches Liz had placed about the chamber. Sam had a sinking feeling it was blood. He'd found their cursed object.

Liz took up the Athame from the table and came back to him. "The idol needs more blood to do its job properly." She smiled. "I really should have taken more from that poor woman in the hotel."

Sam startled. "Millie Greeling? You killed her."

Liz ran the blade down the underside of his arm, letting it tug lightly at the skin. "She was going to demand they search the tunnels for her husbands' killer. I couldn't let that happen." She kissed along his collar bone and he thrashed, trying to push her away but she only chuckled. "You'd be surprised how much blood you can safely give without dying, Sam."

"What do you care?" Sam asked, trying to stall as he pulled against his bonds. Blood was beginning to make his wrists slick. "What's it matter to you if this place gets more business anyway?"

"Oh Sam." Liz pressed herself to him again, wrapping her arms around him and bit lightly at his neck, enjoying his angry growl. "All these weak, small minded fools who come down here, each one of them adds to my power. Every moment of fear that squeezes their bellies." She licked a line of heat up his chest, holding tight as he tried to buck her off. "Every stab of pain when my ghosts take one of them."

Sam shouted in surprise and pain as he felt the bite of the Athame slide across his back. Liz pulled it across his side and to the front in one long, shallow slice. She closed her eyes and shivered against him. "That is my power, Sam." She breathed, enraptured.

"You…are one sick twist, Lady." Sam gasped, fighting back nausea from the burning pain. Liz placed the knife against the hollow of his throat and looked up at him with pleasure clouded eyes. She pressed until a dark line of blood welled forth as Sam arched his head back to get away from the blade.

"You're awful bold for someone dying slowly with my blade at his throat." Liz warned with a smile.

Sam smiled slowly, panting for breath. "I know something you don't."

"Really? And what's that, Sam?" Liz asked sweetly, pressing harder until he flinched.

"My brother." Sam grinned, breathless. "He's gonna gank your witch ass, Liz."

She chuckled. "He'll have to find us first, sweetheart." Liz screamed, arching away from Sam as the point of a silver blade appeared in the center of her chest.

"Surprise, sweetheart." Dean growled in her ear. He gave his knife a twist and let her fall off of it to the floor in a heap. She lay; eyes open wide in shock and quickly glazing in death.

"Hey, Dean." Sam said, grinning with relief. "Took you so long?"

Dean wiped off his knife and slid it behind his back. "You didn't leave me a note." He gave Sam a lopsided grin and bent, untying his feet then reached up to free his hands. When he'd heard Sam cry out, he'd followed the sound. It had taken every ounce of self-control he possessed not to run blindly in, especially when he saw her with the knife to this throat. Rage had stolen his breath as fear had made his heart pound out of his chest. He looked now at the new wounds on his brother's chest, the blood leaking from his side and wanted to kill her again.

"Sorry." Sam smiled and then stumbled forward as Dean released him.

"Whoa, gigantor. Hang on." Dean lowered him to the ground. "Crap, you're burning up still."

"Ghost sickness. Poison." Sam said wearily. "From the…the bullet wound. She told me. Dean." He pointed to the far wall. "That's the cursed object."

"Whoa, ghost poison?" Dean settled Sam against the wall, watching him shiver. He took off his jacket and draped it over his little brother's bare shoulders before turning to look. He strode to the alcove and carefully picked up the little figurine. It was tacky with drying blood. "Ewww."

"Clean it off." Sam used the wall to push himself up and braced an arm against it, shrugging on Dean's jacket. "It's the blood…the blood giving it power."

"Yeah okay, hey! Sit back down." Dean went to his side and eased him back to the floor. "Don't bleed in my coat."

Sam snorted. "Too late." He let his head fall back, eyes closed and just listened as Dean rinsed the idol with holy water from their bag, methodically destroyed Liz's altar then grabbed up a fallen shovel. He dug a speedy grave for Liz in the cave floor, always keeping a careful eye on his too pale brother. Dean rolled her in and covered her before Sam could look and have a pang of guilt over her well-deserved death. The idol he wrapped in some old sack cloth and then knelt by Sam.

"Hey, Sammy. You up for a little walk?" Dean grasped an arm and pulled as Sam nodded. "Don't worry. It's not far. Bitch had a door practically on top of us."

Sam slid an arm over Dean's shoulders and held the coat closed with the other. "Dean, she said ghost sickness." He paused, head spinning and wobbled. "She said it kills." He felt Dean jerk under his arm. "Takes time though, for the poison…to work. Days, maybe weeks. Crap." Sam dropped his head as a new wave of dizziness threatened to take him down.

"Ok. I'm pourin' you into the car and callin' Bobby from the road." Dean said firmly and started them on an unsteady walk back up the tunnel, smiling. "You're gonna be fine. Bobby'll know what to do. He always does." He has too, he added silently. "Come on, up you get."

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Getting Sam out of the underground and into the car had gone almost smoothly until they reached the cabin and Sam had refused to go anywhere without first being dressed and second taping up the various cuts she-bitch had given him. Dean attended to all of it, half dressing his fever addled brother, packing the room and the car while calling Bobby and being shouted at for not calling him sooner.

Finally they were on the road; Sam huddled in the passenger seat and Dean going as fast as he dared. Bobby had been clear; this form of ghost sickness was terminal and the time it took to kill depended on the will of the person fighting it. They had a day's drive to Bobby's. Dean was determined to shave every hour off of that he could. His only consolation was the sheer epic level of Sam's Winchester stubborn streak. He wouldn't be giving in without a fight.

Sam moaned beside him, shifting in his sleep against the door and then jerked awake on a gasp.

"Sam?" Dean reached across and grabbed his shoulder.

"Pull over." Sam said, nausea cramping his gut. He clutched at the door handle and Dean swore loudly as the tires squealed.

"Dammit, Sam, wait til I stop!" Dean kept a death grip on his arm, preventing him from climbing out of the still moving car. They skidded to a stop and Dean let go. Sam threw himself from the door and started heaving on his hands and knees.

Dean ran around the hood of the Impala and knelt by him, putting a hand on the back of his neck to let Sam know he was there. Finally, after several painful minutes, the heaving tapered off to hiccups and then went away altogether leaving Sam panting and weak. Dean got him up and back in his seat and belted him in for a change. Damned if he wanted to go through that moment again; puke-delirious Sammy trying to crawl out of the car at ninety miles an hour.

"Holy crap." Dean shut the passenger door and got back behind the wheel. "How you doin', Sammy?"

Sam rolled his unnervingly pale face where Dean could see him. "Be better if the voices would stop."

"Voices?" Dean asked, his worry level pitching up another notch. "You goin' Shirley McClain for real over there?"

"I dunno." Sam closed his eyes. "They're talking. Most of em, I think…think they're Chinese." Sam scrunched up his face, trying to hear them more clearly. "'cept that one." Sam said, hearing the one distinct voice again. "That one's…he sounds…I dunno, Indian?"

"What's he saying?" Dean asked, not really sure he wanted the answer just then.

"I think he's the one who shot me." Sam mumbled. He shivered in his jacket in spite of the fever that was burning through him. He couldn't even muster the energy to swat Dean's hand away when he felt it on his forehead. "M'fine."

"Sure you are." Dean put his hand back on the wheel and tried not to think about how long Sam didn't have. They were still at least seven hours from Bobby's. Dean pressed harder on the gas, urging the Impala faster.

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To be continued…

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 7

Dean heaved a sigh of relief as the sign for Singer Salvage appeared. He slowed barely and spun dust in the air as he turned into the yard and stopped in front of the house. He jumped out. "Bobby!" Dean shouted and ran to the passenger side. Sam already had the door shoved open but was still sitting with one leg on the ground. "Come on, buddy." Dean helped him out and got under his arm. "Almost there. Bobby!"

Their adoptive father appeared on the porch as they neared. "Seventeen hours. That's gotta be some kind of record." He smiled at his boys and slid into Sam's other side. "Not lookin' so good, son."

"Not feeling so good, Bobby." Sam smiled weakly.

"Well we're gonna fix that. On the couch, Dean." Bobby steered them to his living room and together they got the younger Winchester lying comfortably. "Where's this bullet hole?"

"Left thigh." Dean smirked. "Gonna have to pants him to see it."

Bobby snorted. "All yours, boy. Gonna get the first aid kit. Let's check him over then we'll talk."

"Thanks." Dean said ruefully.

"Lemme do it." Sam held out an arm. He felt so weak. It was frustrating but the lingering fever was taking it out of him. Dean took his hand and helped him stand. Sam, red faced, got his jeans undone and down to his knees before vertigo took over. "Shit. This sucks."

"I gotcha." Dean lowered him back to the couch. "This was a lot less awkward when you were a kid." He chuckled and slipped Sam's jeans over his feet. "How's that feelin'?" He gestured to the bandage on his thigh.

"Like someone shot me." Sam smirked and groaned as he lay back. "With an elephant gun." He turned slightly on his side to keep pressure of the slice on his side.

Bobby returned and dragged a chair over to the couch. He sat and flipped the first aid kit open. "Dean. Downstairs, there's a box with some Indian symbols on it. Go grab it?" Dean gave Sam a pat on the shoulder and left. "Alright, son. Let's have a look." Bobby peeled back the gauze and hissed between his teeth.

"I'm not…not gonna make it, am I?" Sam asked sadly.

"You Idjit. Of course you are." Bobby growled. "That's the poison talking, not you. If it can get you to kill yourself first, it will so you stop that crap right now."

"Sorry." Sam mumbled.

"S'alright, son. Now, this is probably gonna hurt." Bobby took a vial of holy water and poured it over the raw, angry red wound in Sam's thigh. He hunched forward on a strangled cry. Bobby caught his shoulders and held him up while he gasped.

"Sammy?" Dean sprinted into the room. "What'd you do?" He glared at Bobby who only rolled his eyes.

"Holy water, idjit." Bobby let Dean pull Sam back and took the box from him. "Hold him down. I don't know how bad this is gonna hurt him."

"That gonna cure him?" Dean asked, hoping but Bobby shook his head.

"This is temporary." Bobby opened the box and took out the poultice he'd spent all day making from careful, detailed instructions so particular one mistake would have meant starting over. He waited until Dean had pressed Sam back into the couch and then laid the poultice on the wound. It was moss and herbs, berries and bits of bone crushed and some damn old Navajo spells spoken over the thing at various points throughout the day. As it touched Sam's leg a small wisp of smoke curled up and Sam shouted in pain, his brothers' arms the only thing keeping him down.

"Easy, Sammy." Dean cringed inwardly as though he could feel the pain himself. "Breathe, buddy. Just breathe through it." Bobby had hold of his legs as Sam's body fought.

"C-can't breathe." Sam gasped. He wrapped both hands around Dean's forearm and held on. It felt like the air was being pulled from him through the unimaginable pain in his leg. "Dea…"

"Sam? Sam!" Dean laid him down as his brother suddenly went boneless, mouth gaping and eyes closed. "Bobby he aint breathing!"

"Give it a few more seconds!" Bobby pressed the poultice harder into the wound.

Dean slapped Sam's cheeks then tilted his head back. "Come on, Sam. Dammit don't you leave me too!" He blew a breath into Sam's lungs and then another. "Bobby?"

"Heart's still beatin'." Bobby had hold of Sam's wrist. "Come on, boy."

Sam took a breath finally; a gasping and short breath followed by another. Dean dropped his head to Sam's forehead. "Cryin' out loud, Sam." He breathed and leaned back to get a look at his face. "Sammy?" Bleary hazel eyes blinked up at him and both older men went weak with relief.

"Ok that's the worst of it." Bobby's hands shook a few times. Watching a boy you raised and loved like your own come that close to meeting his maker was enough to make him wanna tie both of them up in the cellar; never let them out of his sight again.

"If that's just a freakin' band-aid Bobby, what the hell's the cure gonna do to him?" Dean held Sam protectively. He couldn't help it. It was just too soon. All he had left now was taking care of Sam. It was the only meaning he could find anymore and he'd be damned if he was going to let some ghost version of the damn plague take Sam from him. "He's gotta be ok, Bobby." He said softly.

Bobby's heart broke a little at the quiet desperation in Dean's voice. "He will be, son. We just gotta keep him fightin' til Bob gets here."

"Bob who?" Dean asked.

"Navajo shaman I know." Bobby wrapped a bandage around Sam's leg to hold the poultice in place. "He's gonna work some spell or other and lay that damn cursed idol you found to rest."

"Bob the Shaman." Dean said and smirked in spite of the dire circumstances. "That'll save Sam?"

"Bob says since it was the idol that gave the spirit the juice to shoot him, defusing the thing will send the ghost on and set Sam free." Bobby frowned, looking at the new blood stains on Sam's shirt at side and neck. "What's this?"

"She bitch was carving him up." Dean put Sam's head at a more natural angle. He'd drifted off again.

"Damn. Well let's have a look." Bobby tugged Sam's shirt up and peeled back the bandage at his side. He gave a nod of approval after a quick look and the same to the puncture at the base of his throat. "You did good patching these up. No signs of infection."

Sam stirred. "How long til he gets here?" Sam asked wearily from the circle of Dean's arms. The conversation had filtered into his half-conscious mind. Dean loosened his grip and let Sam sit back on his own.

"Hey sunshine." Bobby smirked. "He'll be here in two days. There's no way to get him here faster." Bobby said to the concerned look on Dean's face. "I swear. Takes two days to perform the ritual then he has to get here and destroy the idol. He's been at it for a day now. I called him right after you told me about this."

"Dammit. Ok." Dean sat forward. "Two days is easy. You can do this, Sam."

Sam nodded. "No problem." He didn't actually feel that sure but he understood; the ghost sickness was playing with his mind. "Not that…this isn't fun…laying around in my shorts on the couch but how about…bed?" His chest was tight and breathing difficult.

"Good idea. Come on, boy." Bobby stood and took one arm, Dean the other and they got Sam standing between them. Once they got him settled in his bed, Bobby sat beside him. "Few things you need to know about this sickness." He motioned for Dean to sit on the other bed. "Both of ya'.

Dean sat tensely, not looking forward to more bad news. "Spill it, Bobby." He said and smiled to take the sting out of it.

"Watch your tone, boy." Bobby warned but there was understanding in his voice. "This sickness messes with your head as much as your body. Bob says that spirit's tryin' to pull you down with him, Sam." Bobby patted his leg. "So, hallucinations, nightmares, loss of appetite…"

"Like we'd even notice that one." Dean grumbled and grinned when Sam flipped him off.

"Idjits. Gets better. You've also got feelin' like you're suffocating to look forward too and uh, well, Bob called it 'pervasive terror'."

"What's that?" Sam asked, wide eyed. "Bet I don't want to know."

"Just what it sounds like. Terror with no rhyme or reason." Bobby sighed and looked at them both. "We'll have to keep a close on ya, Sam. Bob also said it's not uncommon for people to hurt themselves and not even know they're doin' it."

"Great." Dean groaned then clapped his hands together. "Ok, so sasquatch here aint getting' any alone time for a couple days."

"Fabulous." Sam rolled his eyes with a smile. "Somebody get a…deck of cards."

"Hey, you breathing alright?" Dean asked and Sam nodded.

"It's ok…just…chest's tight."

"That'll be the sickness screwin' with ya." Bobby nodded. "Got some of the tea you like down in the kitchen, son." Bobby smiled and stood. "I'll go make you some."

"Get him some soup too." Dean said.

"Not hungry." Sam argued. Even the thought of the tea was turning his stomach.

"Fine. Get me some soup and he can watch me eat it." Dean grinned, determined Sam was not going two days without food.

"Jerk" Sam muttered.

"Bitch." Dean gave him his cock-eyed smile and settled in to play nursemaid.

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Dean woke from a light sleep. None of them had really gotten any since they'd arrived twenty four hours ago. Sam was dealing as best he could but between the waking and sleeping nightmares, fear, pain and the suffocation attacks he was pretty much a miserable mess barely holding it together. Dean looked over at him now. Sam was twitching, working his way up to thrashing out of yet another fever induced nightmare. Dean stood, stretched and sat beside him.

"Wake up, Sam." Dean gave him a gentle shake. It was enough. Sam lurched up, gripped Dean's arms tightly, eyes wide in fear. "Hey, hey, hey. It's ok, little brother."

"No. No." Sam was gasping and he looked at his arm, eyes widening even more. "Oh god, Dean!" Sam surprised him, reaching behind Dean's back and drew his knife. "Gotta get them out!"

"Shit!" Dean barely managed to take hold of Sam's hand before he could filet his own arm open. "Bobby!" Dean twisted the blade from Sam's grip and tossed it on the other bed.

"Sammy you gotta pull it together here." Dean pinned his arms and held him down.

"Dean…they're under my skin!" Sam panted, heaving at him. "Get them out!"

"They're not real, Sammy I swear!" Dean pleaded. Bobby came in at a run. "He's hallucinating!"

"Balls." Bobby grabbed Sam's kicking legs, holding them down.

"Can't we give him anything? Make him sleep?" Dean asked.

"Sorry son. It's too risky." Bobby wished they could but it was too dangerous, he could suffocate or just plain give up and they'd never know until it was too late. He dropped his head as Sam finally stopped fighting them.

"Dean." Sam's soft, exhausted voice sounded more like himself. "Crap. I'm here."

"You sure about that?" Dean had yet to move his weight from Sam's chest or release his arms.

"Yeah, Dean…can't breathe."

"Shit." Dean let him go and slid behind Sam, levering him up so he was leaning against his chest. "How's that?"

"Better." Sam concentrated on breathing, closing his eyes for a moment. "How much longer Bobby?"

"Half a day, son." Bobby wiped a hand over his face. Sam nodded, resigned.

"I need a shower." Sam said and pushed himself up, Dean helping at his back.

"Can you stand that long?" Dean could feel the fever still cooking his brother and knew it was turning his limbs to jelly.

"I'll manage." Sam swung his legs off the bed. "Please?"

"I'll go get it running." Bobby smiled and left Dean to get his brother up and down the hall.

"Dude you're gonna owe me so much pie for this." Dean smirked, letting Sam pull himself up with Dean's arm.

Sam chuckled and landed a weak punch on his arm. He did owe Dean, so many times over. It was humiliating being trapped in the sickness as he was. When the terrors came he couldn't think or even function enough to realize they weren't real and Dean stood by him through each one. He made sure Sam had something real to hold on to and, completely out of character, hadn't teased him even once about it. Sam was sure he was saving it all up for down the road but he'd take it with a smile. Dean got him down the hall and to the bathroom where Sam gave him a red face.

"Dude, I can do this." Sam assured him. "Seriously, I can handle it."

"Sam…" Dean opened his mouth but Sam raised a hand.

"I promise. I get dizzy I'll sit down." Sam smirked. "I don't show my head for too long then you can come get me." And he sincerely hoped that wouldn't happen. He was way over his comfort zone, having spent days now practically helpless and mostly naked. He needed some alone time, even if it was just in the shower.

"Ok." Dean nodded, unhappy but he understood. If it were him, he knew he'd be a grumpy bastard long before now.

"Thanks." Sam wobbled into the bathroom and shut the door with a relieved sigh.

"You call me when you're done, Sammy!" Dean called through the door and headed downstairs for a much needed beer. He'd just grab one and sit on the stairs where he could hear Sam if his head started screwing with him again. He found Bobby in the kitchen, beer already open and half gone. He reached into the fridge and handed another to Dean.

"How's he doin?" Bobby nodded toward the stairs.

"Embarrassed as hell." Dean chuckled. "The whole helpless thing aint workin' for him."

Bobby smirked and clinked his beer against Dean's. "Don't work for any of you Winchesters. Never did." He sat at the table and nodded to the other chair.

"Just for a minute." Dean sat but tilted his head toward the stairs, listening.

"He'll be ok, son." Bobby reassured him.

"He just tried to cut his own damn arm open, Bobby." Dean scowled. "I'm not trusting him on his own for more than five minutes until he's cured." He took a healthy swallow of the beer, savoring it. "Should get back up there." Dean stood and then stopped. He sniffed the air. "You smell that?"

"Smell what?" Bobby frowned. "That is yer first beer right?" He sniffed when Dean growled at him and stood quickly. "What the hell is that?"

"Lilacs." Dean said softly. His eyes widened, jaw opening. "Oh crap." Dean bolted for the stairs and his little brother. "She was dead Bobby! She was Dead! Sam!"

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To be continued…

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 8

"You didn't salt and burn her?" Bobby yelled as they pounded up the stairs.

Dean growled. "Wasn't time! I didn't have the salt!" He'd left the can in the cabin when he'd gone after Sam and fully planned on going back to finish the job once Sam was well. So much for that plan. "Sammy!" He hit the top of the stairs, Bobby at his back and bolted down the hall to the bathroom door.

"Dean!" Sam's voice came, choked, through the door and Dean kicked it open, drawing his knife.

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Sam leaned heavily on the shower wall, weakness sapping all the strength from his limbs but he refused to end up sitting in the bottom of the tub for Dean to come find him. He was tired of being helpless. He reached down and turned off the water. It had only been a few minutes but it felt good all the same and he pulled the curtain wearily open, taking a few breaths before stepping out. "Dammit." His hand on the wall kept him upright as he swayed. He pulled his boxers and sweats off the toilet and sat heavily to put them on. He definitely didn't want any help getting dressed this time. He wished he hadn't forgotten socks, he thought, feet cold on the tile floor. He stood and took slow steps to the door, mindful of the dizziness still threatening and wanting to reach his bed all by himself for a change. As he twisted the knob, pulling the door open, the smell of Lilacs filled the air. Sam looked up from his feet and gasped.

"No." Sam's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Yes." Liz stood in the door, very much alive despite the wide red stain on the chest of her shirt and the dirt clinging to her body and hair. She thrust a hand out, slapping it to Sam's chest and he felt his legs go out from under him and fell backwards to the floor. "You should have finished the job, Sam." She stalked into the bathroom and pushed the door shut behind her. She knelt over him, watching him struggle to move and smiled; pleased. "I'm old Sam. Not so easy to kill me for good." Liz put her hand on his bare stomach and laughed softly as he threw his head back in agony, gasping.

Sam couldn't breathe. Her hand on his stomach sent waves of sharp pain through him, stabbing into his legs and arms and up into his head. "God!" He got between clenched teeth and fell boneless with relief when she took her hand away.

"I don't need knives to hurt you, Sam." Liz crawled over him, hovering above his chest with her face in front of his. "I was going to leave you alive and play with you for a few decades but now I think you'll just have to die." She leaned back, straddling his hips and pulled her hands down over his bare chest. "Be a shame not to enjoy you just a little first though, don't you think?"

"N…no." Sam gasped, fighting the paralysis. Dean's voice called his name and Liz's head whipped around to the door.

"Ah here he comes." Liz looked back to Sam with murder in her eyes. "I owe your lovely big brother something, Sam. Don't go anywhere. You'll want to see this." She stood and faced the door as footsteps pounded outside, slid to a halt. Dean called his name again.

"Dean!" Sam choked out around the tightness of his throat, trying to warn him.

The door burst suddenly inward. His brother stood in the door, fury on his face, knife in his hand. Before Dean could even move, Liz lunged forward with her hand outstretched. Sam watched in horror as her hand contacted Dean's stomach, blood welling around the knife points of her nails.

"Gah!" Dean cried out and hunched around the pain, his blade dropping to clatter on the bathroom floor as Liz's fingers twisted in his gut, digging in further and robbing him of speech. He wrapped his hands around her wrist trying to pull her hand away.

"Dean?" Bobby was at his back but unable to get in the room. Dean was blocking the door. "Move, son!"

Dean's knees gave out. He dropped to the floor with a thump still holding Liz's wrist as her blood covered fingers emerged from his stomach.

"No!" Sam shouted. The paralysis lifted as terror for his brother flooded through him. It gave him strength and he rolled to the side, his hand wrapping about the hilt of Dean's knife. He pulled himself up with the sink and turned, stabbing the blade into Liz's chest where Dean had in the Underground. At the same moment, a second blade slid into her back as Bobby loomed up behind her, rage in his green eyes. Liz screamed and gasped between them. Her hands reached out and wrapped around Sam's biceps, nails biting into the skin. Sam twisted the knife, grunting with the effort and smiled grimly down at her as the life left her eyes again.

"I've got her, son. Let go." Bobby told him and took Liz's weight from Sam. Bobby dragged her out into the hall. "Take care of Dean. I'll finish this. Now."

"Dean?" Sam fell to his knees and turned his brother over in his arms. "Dean talk to me."

"Can't." Dean hissed softly, his hands clutched at his stomach covered in too much blood, eyes squeezed shut. "Hurts."

Sam reached a long arm up and pulled the towel down to them. "Move your hands, Dean." He said and pushed at Dean's hands. "Dean I need to see." Sam pried Dean's hands up, shifting them aside and tugged his shirt away from his stomach and gasped. "Shit." It was bad. There were five small punctures in the smooth skin of Dean's stomach the size of Liz's fingers. Each one bled quickly as Sam hastily folded the towel and pressed it to his stomach. Dean gasped, curling in around the pain. "Sorry."

Dean couldn't speak. The pain was just too much. His hands went to Sam's, alternating between holding on to them and trying to push them away and make the pain stop. Sam spoke softly to him, Dean's head pillowed in his lap, trying to soothe him and kept his hands firmly in place; keeping pressure on the wounds. Dean didn't cry out, Sam could have handled that. No, his big brother whimpered, small short gasps of pain as he tried to roll to his side in Sam's arms and fold around their hands on his stomach. Sam's heart broke. Dean did not whimper. Ever.

"I've got you." Sam told him. "You're gonna be ok. Just hold on." Fear was stealing his breath, made him gasp. The now familiar sensation of suffocation began to steal over him and he shook his head. "Dammit not now." Sam growled and fought to keep Dean on his back. He could feel the pounding of Dean's heart through his hands pressed to the towel, pressed to his stomach. A small pool of blood had collected on the tiles beneath them as Dean panted and gasped, moaned and finally his whole body relaxed into Sam. "Dean?" His brothers' hands slid away from his to the floor and panic seized him. "Dean!" Sam dropped his head in front of Dean's face and heard the beautiful sound of harsh breaths dragging in and out. "Stay with me, Dean."

Sam heard the sound of running feet and Bobby skidded into the bathroom a moment later, first aid kit in hand as he dropped beside them. "Bobby? Where is she?" Sam needed to know.

"Lightin' up the night out back." Bobby replied with a grim, satisfied smile. "Now let's see what she did to our boy." Sam pulled his hands away as Bobby lifted the towel carefully. "Bitch." He muttered, regarding the wounds in Dean's stomach. Five perfect holes, all still oozing though not as badly as they had been to lose that much blood. His gut twisted looking at Dean's lax, pale face; lines of pain pinched around his eyes even in sleep. "Think you can help me get him to the bedroom? Get him up in the bed?" He regarded Sam critically as the boy nodded quickly. His face didn't look much better than his brothers but Bobby figured the boy would pass out before abandoning Dean. "Ok, let's get him up. I'll get his legs."

They carried Dean down the hall and into the bedroom, setting him gently on the bed beside Sam's. Bobby got his feet up and shot an arm out, stopping Sam's buckle to the floor. "Ok, Sam. Back to bed."

"No, he needs…I can help." Sam argued but found himself being pushed into his bed anyway.

"You need help boy now lay still and let me deal with this." Bobby turned back to the older brother and opened the first aid kit on the bed. "I'll stitch him up. Stop the bleeding. Bob can check him over when he gets here. Shaman sorta means emergency medic too on the Rez." He used holy water and antiseptic to clean the wounds and other than a few moans, Dean stayed blissfully out for it. He was stitching the third hole closed when Dean finally tossed his way back to consciousness. "Stay still. I'm not done." Bobby put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Where's the bitch?" Dean growled, ready to get up and fight her again even though his stomach felt like it was on fire.

"Dead and gone by now." Bobby assured him. "Now stay still dammit or I'll sew your belly button to your elbow."

"Sam?" Dean ignored him and twisted to see around him.

"Oh fer cryin' out loud." Bobby rolled his eyes to the ceiling for patience. "He's fine! He's right there. Sam say somethin' before he climbs over there."

"Dean. I'm here." Sam smiled when Bobby moved so his brother could see him. "I'm good. Stop being difficult…let Bobby fix you up."

Dean lay back, closing his eyes and twitched when he felt the suture needle bite into his skin. "Just two more. Almost done." Bobby clipped the thread and stitched the fourth and fifth as fast as he dared, trying to shorten the agony he was causing the boy. He settled a gauze pad in place over Dean's stomach and taped it down, pressing firmly once and Dean's hands quickly replaced his.

Dean held his hands over the fire in his belly and rolled to his side facing Sam. He sighed softly, just for a moment, savoring the comforting hand that rubbed along his back a few times before Bobby stepped away, tidying up the kit. "You boys stay." Bobby fixed them both with a stern look. "I'll be back. Just wanna check on the bonfire."

"You alright?" Sam asked his brother. Dean managed to give him a disgusted look.

"I'm peachy." Dean replied in a rough voice, soft as he tried not to move his stomach muscles. He held both hands protectively over the thick bandage taking shallow breaths. Each one sent a stab of pain through him. He rolled to his back, trying to alleviate it and groaned. "Damn I hate that bitch." He gasped. He heard the springs on Sam's bed move and then felt him sit beside him. "Hey, supposed to stay in your bed." He whispered and got a snort in reply.

"You know how sad it is…that I'm better off…than you are?" Sam said on short breaths, fighting the lack of air but unable to watch his brother suffering. "Roll over." He pushed gently at Dean's hip until he did with a groan. Sam put a hand on Dean's back and started rubbing in slow circles.

"Dude." Dean growled at him. "I'm not nine. Knock it off."

"Shut up. Not thinking…about your gut right now…are you?" Sam smirked when Dean only growled again in response and kept up the circles. When Dean had been nine, he'd taken on three bullies, eighth graders who'd had it in for him at barely six. Dean had given better than he'd gotten but had ended up with a boot in his stomach. The bruise had been hideous and the only way he'd gotten to sleep for days had been if his baby brother rubbed his back and took his mind off it.

In spite of himself, Dean began to drift to sleep to the slow, gentle pressure of his brothers' hand on his back and he was so never telling anyone about this little interlude. Sam put all his attention into his hand, using it as a focus against the tightness in his chest and the scratching sounds behind him that he knew were not really there. He was not going to take another trip on the hallucination train if he could help it. He was so intent on not falling apart again he didn't hear Bobby come in until he felt the hand on his shoulder.

Sam jerked hard, gasping and would have toppled from the bed if not for Bobby's steadying hand. "Hey, kid. It's just me. Let's get you back to your own bed." Bobby helped him up. He was pretty sure he still had the goofy smile on his face that had snuck out when he'd walked in and seen his boys. He was glad Sam seemed too out of it to notice. He settled the younger Winchester back in his own bed. "Get some sleep, boy." Like Dean, Sam rolled to his side so he could see his brother and let his eyes drift closed as Bobby covered him.

Bobby pulled a chair over and sat, propping his feet up on Sam's bed with a watchful eye on both. "Idjits." He said fondly and checked his watch. Eleven hours yet to wait.

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"Breathe, Sam. Dammit." Bobby pulled him up, holding his shoulders and gave him a shake. He was struggling for every short breath. "It's not real." Sam nodded, he understood but it didn't help. He was dying. There was no getting around it. His eyes rolled in his head. He saw Bobby's mouth moving but couldn't hear the words over the rushing in his head.

"Bobby?" Dean groaned awake and rolled stiffly to his other side. "Shit." He cursed seeing Sam in the grip of another episode. He let his legs drop off the side of the bed and pushed up with one arm, using the other to brace against his stomach as he sat up.

"Dammit boy, stay down." Bobby said, exasperated but Dean didn't listen and he shook his head. It had only been eight hours since Liz had shown up for her encore. Nowhere near long enough for Dean to be moving again.

"I'm ok." Dean said stiffly and stood. He cradled both hands over his stomach, rubbing lightly to try and relieve some of the pain as he took the three steps to Sam's bed. He bumped Bobby's arm and sat next to his brother. He cupped one hand around Sam's face, noting the bluing lips and panicked look in his hazel eyes. "Sammy, look at me."

Sam's world was narrowing down to nothing when Dean's face swam into view. He was confused. It couldn't be Dean. Dean was lying on the other bed, near death because of him. He'd let himself be captured by Liz. Dean had been so concerned for him he hadn't finished the job properly and that was on him too. He'd been too weak to stop her gutting his brother. He deserved to die. Dean wasn't really there.

"Yes I am, Sammy. I'm right here." Dean ignored the gnawing pain in his gut to use both hands as Sam muttered, seemingly unaware he was speaking aloud between weaker and weaker gasps for air. "Come on, dammit. Breathe!" Sam shook his head.

"Dying." Sam whispered. His head would have dropped if not for Dean's hands. He saw the panic rise up in his brothers eyes, saw Bobby looming over his shoulder equally afraid and couldn't understand why. He didn't deserve to live. The voices were back, echoing in his ears. The loudest voice speaking to him, telling him he was right, it was time to let go, time to stop hurting the people he loved. His eyes closed.

"No! Bobby?" Dean was frantic. Sam shuddered one last breath in and out and then went still.

"Lay him down!" Bobby pushed Dean gently away, mindful of his wounds. "Gotta do mouth to mouth or he's done. We gotta get him awake!"

Dean hunched away from the bed, arms crossed over his stomach and watched as Bobby tilted Sam's head back and started breathing for him. "Dammit, Sammy don't you do this." Dean whispered. He went to his knees beside the bed; the pain lancing through his stomach and terror that he was watching his brother slip away stealing his strength. Not like this, he thought. He was supposed to save him. That was his job and he was failing. He reached out and took Sam's hand in his, squeezing hard. "Come back, Sam."

"Bobby?" A man's voice called from downstairs. Bobby's head jerked up.

"Bob! Upstairs! Hurry!" Bobby spared a glance for Dean's terrified face and bent to force another breath into Sam. Steps pounded up the stairs and a moment later a tall man with long grey hair slid into the door way. He took in the situation quickly and strode to the bed, ignoring the look of warning in the green eyes of the man kneeling on the floor.

"Not good. Bobby move." Bob the Shaman set a large, leather bag on the bed and wrenched it open as Bobby moved quickly aside and dropped a supportive hand to Dean's shoulder. "How long?"

"A minute, maybe two." Bobby told him.

"Still time then." Bob pulled a small vial from his bag and uncorked it. He pinched Sam's jaw open and upended the contents into his mouth. It was smoky and thick and Dean squeezed Sam's hand harder, hoping whatever it was it would work. Bob closed Sam's mouth and laid a darkly tanned hand on his chest over his heart. He began chanting something in Navajo. It was rhythmic and hypnotic and Dean felt Bobby's hand squeezing his shoulder in time.

Dean jerked upright, hissing against the pain it caused. He'd felt Sam's hand twitch in his own. "Sammy?" Bob kept chanting and Sam's hand contracted again. "That's it, Sam. Come back!" He watched Sam's face for any sign. "What's taking so long?"

"Shush, boy." Bobby told him, as nervous as he was. He jerked, felt Dean do the same when Sam's body arched over the bed and he sucked in a great, wheezing lungful of air. Bob kept his hand in place over Sam's heart and kept up his litany of strange words until Sam collapsed back to the bed. Sam's hand closed convulsively around Dean's.

"Sam?" Dean asked and was rewarded when Sam's head rolled toward him. He was heaving for much needed air, eyes watering and wide. "He gonna be alright now?" Dean asked the Shaman.

"Soon. Do not leave him alone." Bob rose from the bed and picked up his bag. "There is no time to waste. Introductions later. I need the idol."

"You're early." Bobby stepped away from Dean and clapped the man on the shoulder. "Don't wanna know how bad you broke the speed limit. Come on. Dean?"

"I've got him." Dean rose painfully and sat beside Sam.

Bobby led his friend back downstairs and too a box on his desk. He opened it, revealing the idol within packed in salt. "Bob, how bad is this gonna be on the kid?"

Bob looked sadly at him. "He will feel it. It wont cause any permanent damage however." He picked the idol up out of the box. "We need a firepit."

"Out back. Just happen to have one I made up last night." Bobby said with a smile. "Burned a witch on it."

Bob raised his silvered brows in surprise and nodded. "That will work. We must be fast. The potion I gave the boy won't last long."

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"How you feeling?" Dean asked. His brother had curled up so far his forehead was resting against Dean's knee.

"About how you look." Sam said weakly and managed a small chuckle.

"Dude if I could move right now I'd hurt you." Dean told him with a grin and rested a hand on Sam's shoulder. "You breathing ok now?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded against his leg.

"Good, so you can tell me what the hell that crap was you were sayin'?" Dean gave his shoulder a shove. "None of this was your fault, kid."

Sam frowned against the denim clad leg, trying to remember what he'd been thinking before everything had gone black. "I said that?"

"Yeah you idiot." Dean rolled his eyes. "You were dead wrong. This wasn't your fault. She was a witch and she had you by the short and curlies."

"Eww." Sam laughed. "I know that. I do. I don't wanna die Dean." He said softly and felt Dean squeeze his shoulder.

"Course you don't. You're a Winchester. We don't give up." Dean said firmly, even as the knowledge their father had nagged at him. He hunched over his stomach again, clamping a hand against the bandage. "Dammit."

"You ok?" Sam raised his head, concerned.

"Yeah, I'm good." Dean said a little breathlessly. "Bitch had some serious nails."

Bobby entered the room at a run. "Boys, Bob's about to burn the idol and…" He rubbed a worried hand over his face as they looked up at him. "Sam you're gonna feel it."

"Say what now?" Dean asked, anger curling up to his face. "What exactly is he gonna feel?"

"He's gonna feel it burn." Bobby said and shrugged in apology. "He's linked to it. No way around it. It's not gonna leave any damage but it's gonna hurt like hell." He stepped to the end of the bed, ready to hold the boy down when it started. "You'll be free when it's over, son."

"When?" Sam asked, trying and failing to ignore the curl of fear in his stomach.

"Any minute now." Bobby ducked his head, avoiding the accusing look in Dean's eyes.

"There's gotta be another way, Bobby." Dean said angrily.

"There isn't, Dean." Bobby saw Sam twitch. "Don't you think I asked?" Sam gasped.

"Sammy?" Dean turned back to him. "Sammy talk to me."

"Oh god it's starting." Sam said softly and wrapped frantic hands around Dean's arm on his shoulder as heat began to lick along his body. "Dean?"

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To be continued…

Chapter Text

EPILOGUE

"I'm right here, Sammy." Dean felt tremors rocking his body. Sam grunted, moaned and his grip on Dean's arm became painful. Bobby reached over the end of the bed and took Sam's ankles, holding them firmly as he started to kick.

Sam had his eyes shut tight, panting short breaths against the agony crawling along his body. He could feel the flames on his arms, his legs, eating into his chest. He opened his eyes expecting to see the room on fire but there was nothing. He cried out and spasmed wildly. He heard Dean groan in pain, knew he had hurt him but couldn't stop his body reacting to the imaginary fires consuming him.

"Hold him down!" Bobby shouted. He didn't want the boy hurting himself.

Dean had to cuff Sam's wrists together when he started clawing at himself. "Sammy! Breathe through it. You can do this!" Sam screamed.

He knew he screamed. Sam heard his own voice fill the small room and he couldn't stop. He was burning alive. How much longer? He wanted to ask them but he couldn't form the words. He couldn't seem to get anything past the burning in his throat and chest except another scream. The pain consumed everything. There was nothing but the phantom flame charring every inch of him. He swore he could feel his skin blackening, curling and cracking; felt his bones become brittle and snap in the fires. He wondered if this was what Jess had felt; what his mother had felt.

His heart felt as though it were trying to beat its way out of his chest. The air began to seize in his lungs. Dimly he felt someone bang on his chest, felt someone tip his head back. Voices bellowed in his ears but he couldn't understand what they were saying. He couldn't remember who they were. There was nothing but the fire eating him alive. Then suddenly it was gone. The feeling of burning alive faded away and sound came back to him. He was panting for air, could feel hands resting on his legs and himself being lifted to rest against a chest; he recognized the smell of gun oil and leather as home.

"Dean." He whispered, his abused throat capable of nothing above the merest sound now.

"Sammy?" Dean leaned his head down, not sure he'd heard it. He figured he'd taken ten years off his life in the last ten minutes. "Bobby, that friend of yours and I gotta have a talk about his idea of not doin' any damage." He said angrily. Sam had stopped breathing. His heart had stopped beating. "Sam? You in there?" His brother's head nodded weakly against his chest and Dean let out the breath he had been holding. He dropped his head into Sam's hair and just sat for a moment.

Bobby patted Sam's legs and tugged the tangled blanket out from under them, settling it back on top of him with shaking hands. He understood Dean's anger, he felt it himself. Being forced to watch what Sam had just gone through…he wasn't sure he'd be sleeping for a while and wanted nothing more than the whiskey bottle waiting for him downstairs. He looked up and smiled slightly. Dean leaned against the headboard with one hand braced on his stomach and the other held across Sam's upper chest, holding him upright while his breathing slowed back to normal. Both boys had their eyes closed, relief evident on both their faces.

"How is he?" Bob stepped into the bedroom and smiled at the men on the bed. He rarely saw brothers with such a strong bond. It made him miss his own, long dead, with a bittersweet pang.

"You didn't mention just how bad it was gonna be." Bobby said accusingly.

Bob shrugged. "Knowing would have changed nothing and perhaps have made it even worse. I knew he would survive." He placed a fatherly hand on Bobby's shoulder. "You would not let it be any other way." He stepped to the side of the bed and took Sam's wrist in his hand, feeling the still fast pulse beneath his skin. "You're free of the spirit now, Sam." He saw hazel eyes through lids that slitted open before falling closed again. Bob looked at his older brother and sighed. "You are bleeding." Dean opened his eyes, raised his head and growled when the Shaman plucked his hand away from his stomach and raised his shirt. "What did this?"

"The Witch." Bobby told him and shook his head when he saw Bob was right. "I'll get the kit."

"Come, boy. This needs fixing." Bob took Sam's shoulders to move him away but Dean didn't relinquish his grip. "It's alright. He's well now. You can let him go." Bob soothed, realizing Dean was not entirely conscious.

"Not leavin' him." Dean mumbled. He felt as though he were floating, his only anchor the gnawing pain in his stomach and the feel of Sam's heart beneath his hand.

"Of course not. You do him no good if you bleed out." Bob pried the younger away from the older, settling him gently in the bed and then manhandled Dean up and over to the other bed. "Just lay down, boy. Let us fix this." He pulled Dean's shirt up and peeled the now bloody gauze away to reveal the five sutured wounds and a now purpling bruise appearing in the center.

"Is it bad?" Bobby returned and set the first aid kit beside his friend.

"No. Looks as though something hit him in the stomach, ruptured a few stitches." He gestured to where three of the wounds were now openly bleeding.

"Sam's elbow." Bobby nodded. "Caught him a good one while…"

"Yes. Unsurprising." Bob pulled the scissors out of the kit and set to removing the torn stitches gently and expertly. He quickly checked each of the punctures, noting how lucky the boy was they had not gone any deeper and pierced internal organs. Dean groaned, shifting slightly. "Hold him still please while I reclose these?" Bobby nodded and sat next to Dean's head, holding his shoulders down on the bed while the Shaman worked.

"Stay still, son." Bobby told him, reassured when Dean's movements stopped and held himself tensely beneath Bobby's hands. Looking between the two of them as his friend worked, Bobby again wondered if he could chain them down and keep them out of harms' way. He shook his head at himself with a snort of laughter. He'd be more likely to turn lead to gold.

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Five days later and Bobby was ready for his boys to get the hell out and go hunt something. Dean was chafing at being sedentary and healing while Sam paced around the house reading and staring out the windows, thinking deeply about something as usual.

"Dean." Sam wandered into the kitchen where Bobby sat with a cup of coffee and Dean stood at the sink. He turned to look at his little brother, one hand absently rubbing across his stomach.

"What, Sam?" Dean knew that look on his face. Sam wanted something he wasn't going to like.

"Dean…" Sam ducked his head, took a deep breath and looked back up. "Dean I want to visit Mom's grave."

"I'm just gonna go…fix something." Bobby said and got the hell out of dodge before Dean blew. He had a feeling the eldest Winchester wasn't going to react well. He ducked out the back door.

"What? Where the hell did that come from?" Dean stared surprised at him.

Sam sat on the edge of the kitchen table and shrugged. "Look, I just…I need to do this." He looked up at Dean. "So do you."

"No I don't." Dean shook his head firmly and turned away, grabbing a beer out of the fridge. Sometimes his little brother got the dumbest ideas stuck in his fool head.

Sam huffed an irritated breath, knowing when his brother wasn't going to be drawn into a discussion. "Fine but I do. Please, Dean." Sam stood and took the beer Dean handed him. "Just a visit. You can drop me off." He watched Dean's shoulders hunch. "Hey, I can borrow one of Bobby's cars. He's gotta have something around here running. Don't worry about it." Sam headed for the back door to go find him. "It'll only take me a day and I'll be back."

"Aw forget it, Sammy." Dean slammed the refrigerator door shut. He was unwilling to let Sam out of his sight yet, not after the events of last week. "I'll drive but I ain't coming. You can go do your stupid closure thing or whatever this is. I'll stay in the car." He scowled and headed for the living room. "Such a freakin girl sometimes." He muttered under his breath as Sam smiled in relief behind him. "Go pack the car, Sasquatch."

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The end.

-Want to know what happens next? Go watch it. :D Season 2 Episode 4: "Children shouldn't play with dead things."