Supernatural 1. Chapter 1

**Hello all! Merry Christmas! This story has been nagging at me for awhile and since i feel like something is missing when I'm not posting stories, I decided now was a good time to publish this one. Set sometime after Phantom Traveler, so nice and early in season one. Enjoy!**

* * *

_Two AM, Christmas Eve 2005_  
_Arizona_

Sam knew that he had only about a minute and a half left before he was going to be discovered. His pulse was pounding loudly in his ears and, despite the stale air conditioning, he was sweating. Looking around, Sam breathed a little easier when he saw he was still alone. For the moment. Staring at the labels, he sighed. Deciphering Latin exorcisms would be easier than trying to make sense out of this mess. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against his eyes. Of course that was the moment when she found him.

"Can I help you?" Her voice was as chipper and perky as the strains of the Chipmunks singing the Christmas Song in the background.

Blinking against the heat and exhaustion, Sam turned to his left and saw the clerk smiling at him. He motioned to the shelves and said, "Um...I guess. I'm not sure..."

"There's a ton of options." She rolled her eyes and said, "I know it can be a bit overwhelming."

Sam nodded, glancing at the shelves again. "I'm not sure what I need..."

"Cold or flu?"

"Um..."

"Symptoms?" The clerk tried again. "Cough? Fever? Nausea?"

"Yeah...and vomiting." Sam grimaced.

She frowned, "Ok. We'll you're gonna need..." Her hands started moving and before he knew what had happened, Sam had a basket full of medicine. She pointed down the aisle, "And you better get some Gatorade or something. Soup. Maybe some crackers."

Sam followed her wordlessly through the deserted store. He was relieved that she seemed to know what she was doing and that she was friendly at least. But her constant talking and the jingling of bells on the radio was making his head throb double time. After what seemed like forever, she finally led him to the register and Sam had never been so grateful to be near a door. The small town drugstore, overly bright for the middle of the night, seemed threatening after spending the better part of a week dealing with a couple of enthusiastic poltergeists.

"Sir?"

"What?" Sam looked up from the counter, realizing all his purchases were neatly bagged and the clerk was holding out her hand. He fumbled for his wallet and handed her a stack of bills without even counting. There was no point in counting. It was every last dollar they had.

"Thanks." Her smile wavered just a bit as she looked at the bills. She chewed her lip, counted them twice, then said, "I'm afraid you didn't quite give me enough..."

"Oh."

"By ten dollars and twenty cents."

Sam swallowed hard, looked at the bags of items and back at the clerk. He didn't have another penny in his pocket, let alone ten dollars and twenty cents. He said, "I...I don't have that. Can we just take back some of the, uh, some of it?"

She blinked at him, still chewing her lip as Nat King Cole crooned in the background and a semi went roaring by outside. Studying him for a long moment, she said, "There isn't exactly anything pointless that you bought, you know. Just food and medicine. And you look like you feel awful..."

"No, I'm ok, it's my brother who's sick..." Sam tried to explain, studying the bags, attempting to figure out what he could do without.

Dean had sent him out to get some food since they literally had only one granola bar left between them. He hadn't sent him to get medicine and Sam knew he was going to hear all about the frivolous purchases when he got back. They had less than a quarter tank of gas and he was spending their last bit of cash on food and medicine. Dean was going to kill him.

He felt trapped and, truth be told, a bit scared. Hating the desperation in his voice, Sam said, "I can just put back some of the...some of it. I don't have any more money."

"Hey."

He looked down and saw her hand on his. His eyes met hers and she said, "It's ok. Look, I've got some cash on me and I'll cover it."

"No, I can't let you..."

"It's done, ok?" She grinned and patted his hand, then straightened up and pushed the bags toward him. "It's not like you overspent on a bunch of cigarettes and liquor. You're out buying medicine for a sick brother on Christmas eve. That's got Christmas spirit written all over it. Helping you out is the least I can do."

Sam nodded slowly, relief flooding him, and smiled. "I really appreciate it."

She beamed at him, "Just think of me as one of Santa's elves." The clerk slid a package of peppermint candy canes into the last bag and winked, "They're complimentary. Tis the season and all."

"Thanks. For everything." Sam said, gathering up the bags.

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you too." He smiled and headed for the door.

* * *

"Dean?" Sam called out as he walked into the motel room they'd been holed up in for the past six days. "You still alive?"

He heard gut-wrenching vomiting from the bathroom and decided that was the best answer he was going to get. Sam unpacked the bags and spread out the medicine, crackers and bottles of Gatorade on the rickety table. From the sounds of it, Dean wasn't going to be likely to try to swallow anything at this point. Sam looked at the medicine and squinted at the labels, regretting not grabbing some Tylenol. Not that they had money for that. Squeezing his eyes closed, Sam rubbed his forehead and wished the shabby motel had air conditioning. Arizona in December might have been a Snowbird's dream destination, but it was a little warm for his taste. December was supposed to involve snow.

Of course, December was also supposed to involve holiday spirit, family and friends.

Instead of holiday festivities, though, it was two AM on Christmas eve and they were basically stranded in an abandoned motel twenty miles north of the nearest town. He'd spent the last of their money, and some of the clerk's money. While he hadn't exactly had any plans for Christmas, this wasn't exactly a happy alternative. Before they'd arrived in town, he had started to feel like maybe this Christmas wouldn't be as awful as the last few years had been. It sucked to be alone on Christmas and maybe this year he and Dean could at least get some take out and watch a game together. It was better than being alone again. Tears burned against his closed eyes as his thoughts inevitably drifted back to Jessica.

"Sam?"

Dean's hoarse voice drew his attention from his dismal thoughts. Opening his eyes and turning, Sam had to put out a hand to the wall to keep from falling over. Must have taken a harder hit on the head then he'd realized when he'd tumbled down the back steps of the house one of the poltergeists had been haunting. Steadying himself, Sam headed toward the bathroom. The door was open and Dean was still hunched over the toilet. Exactly where he'd left him when he'd run to the store for supplies.

"Dean?"

His brother looked up, face drawn and grey. Dean swallowed hard a few times then asked, "You have enough?"

"Not quite." Sam answered, leaning against the door frame. "Clerk covered the rest. Said it was in the spirit of Christmas."

"Hmm." Dean grunted, then raised an eyebrow, "She cute?"

Sam smiled, "How do you know the clerk was a she?"

Dean narrowed his eyes and said, "She was, wasn't she?"

"I don't know. I wasn't paying attention." Sam said, reaching for a washcloth and running it under some cold water. "I was trying to figure out what to buy so you'd stop puking and heating this place up with your fever."

"I'm too cold to be heating anything up." Dean groaned, reaching for the washcloth and attempting to straighten. He made it a few inches, before lowering his head back towards the toilet.

Sam waited expectantly, but Dean managed not to throw up again. And he looked rather proud of himself when he straightened up and ran the washcloth over his face. After a moment, Dean tossed the washcloth back at Sam, flushed the toilet, and started dragging himself to his feet. Sam grabbed his arm as he wavered unsteadily on his swollen and sore ankle.

"I'm fine." Dean pulled his arm away and limped toward the sink, reaching for his toothbrush; he put all his weight on his left leg to avoid pressure on the one he'd twisted running for his life from a very ticked off ghost earlier in the day.

"Sure." Sam said, keeping one hand ready in case Dean realized he wasn't fine.

Dean had been feeling sick ever since they'd arrived in town to hunt the poltergeists. But he'd pushed through, as always, and it was only this evening, after everything was over, that the flu or whatever, had won out over his stubbornness. Shaking his head, Sam found the movement didn't agree with his aching head and he slammed his eyes closed against the brightness of the vanity lights. Even as dim and dirty as they were, they were aggravating his ever-increasing headache.

"Sam?" Dean asked around his toothbrush. "You alright?"

Nodding, Sam kept his eyes squeezed closed. He reached out and grabbed the edge of the counter as a rush of warmth and dizziness swept over him. Concentrating on his breathing, Sam couldn't quite make out what his brother was saying, but he sounded concerned. Wanting to tell Dean to just give him a minute, Sam realized he didn't dare speak. Because he had the terrible feeling that if he did speak, he was going to lose everything in his suddenly unsettled stomach. Vaguely, he heard the sink shut off and felt Dean's hand gripping his arm, shaking him.

That slight movement was enough to send him stumbling for the toilet, throwing up his supper; probably lunch too. Groaning, he coughed and choked on the hot, nasty mess as it came up. Eyes closed again, Sam pressed a hand to his head as he threw up. Breathing and moving had been irritating enough to his bruised ribs and throbbing head, throwing up was an entirely different kind of hell.

Something cold and wet was pressed against the back of his neck. It felt like heat had been turned up to a hundred degrees in the smelly little bathroom and the cold washcloth helped take it down by a few degrees. Still unable to lift his head for fear he'd end up missing his target the next time his stomach decided to reject more of its contents, Sam tried to slow his breathing and regain some control.

"This could be a problem, you realize?" Dean said, readjusting the washcloth on Sam's neck.

Sam moaned and let his head rest on his forearm, not daring to open his eyes yet to look at Dean. He heard his brother moving and realized he had sat down on the nasty linoleum next to him, back against the sink. Still unable to speak, Sam just waited for his brother to continue.

Dean's laugh sounded strained as he said, "We're gonna have to coordinate so we take turns puking up our guts. Gonna get busy in here I think..."

Sam would have hit him, but he couldn't do anything except raise his head and start throwing up his breakfast. He felt a hand pat him on the shoulder. Opening one eye, Sam glared at Dean and saw both amusement and misery in his brother's eyes. Sam had the distinct feeling that Dean wasn't kidding. As if to confirm his suspicion, Dean spoke up again, voice ragged.

"Seriously, Sammy. It's your turn now, but you gotta wrap that up soon because I can't promise I'm going to be able to miss your head..."

Sam just groaned and threw up again.

It was going to be the worst Christmas ever.

TBC...

* * *

**Thanks for reading! :) **


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi! Thanks to all who have read chapter one, and those of you who took the time to drop me a review! Glad you enjoyed. **

**Hope you enjoy chapter two. Things definitely aren't looking much better for our poor boys...**

* * *

_0345 AM Christmas Eve_

Dean woke up, as he so often found himself doing in the last couple of months, to the sounds of his brother screaming Jessica's name. For a moment, Dean couldn't get his eyes to open. They felt like they were weighed down by hundred pound weights and the oppressive heat of a thousand suns. Groaning, he lifted a heavy hand and ran it over his face. Blinking slowly, he got his eyes opened enough to see the stained paint of the bathroom wall across from him. Took him a minute, but everything came flooding back in a rush.

Poltergeists. Nearly a week spent researching, hunting for bones, and chasing two very angry ghosts. He and Sam had both taken a beating by the time they'd finally ended the decades long battle between the two former business partners. And now they were spending the night on the floor of a shabby motel bathroom on Christmas Eve without a penny left between them and probably not even enough gas in the Impala to get them back to town.

Sam screamed Jessica's name again and Dean shook his head. He looked over at his brother. Sam was huddled on his left side on the floor, hands around his head, still mumbling and calling for Jessica. Dean sighed and shifted slightly. Just that little movement had his head swimming and stomach unsettled. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was three forty-five in the morning. They'd maybe slept for an hour after taking turns being violently ill.

Hand across his stomach, Dean reached out a hand to grab his brother's arm. Shaking it, he said hoarsely, "Sam, come on man, wake up."

Each time was a little different. Sometimes Sam woke up easily, other times not so much. _Same nightmare, different day._ Dean waited for a moment as Sam stilled under his touch. Shocked at how cold Sam felt, Dean shook his arm again. As miserable as he felt, Dean knew they both needed to be off the floor. Trying to keep whatever was left in his stomach where it belonged, he scooted closer to his brother.

"Sam." Dean called out more loudly, causing him to break out in a coughing fit. This time Sam gasped and his eyes flew open, hands lowering to the floor as he looked frantically around the room.

"Jess?" Sam whispered, confusion and hope in his eyes.

Dean sighed and leaned his head against the cabinet behind him. He hated it when it was like this. When Sam woke up with hope in his eyes. It made everything so much worse when he finally remembered. Dean asked, "You awake?"

Sam met his eyes and blinked a few times. Dean knew the exact second Sam realized where he was and what was happening. The hope died, replaced by desperation and heartache. Tears welled in his eyes and he pressed his hands against his head again.

"Sam, I'm not sleeping on the floor." Dean muttered, feeling every ache and pain from the past few day, coupled with the fevered ache in his bones. "Sam?"

"Yeah."

"Let's go."

Sam lowered his hands, tears running down his cheeks. He looked at Dean and said, "It's Christmas Eve."

"Is it? Thought that was next week." Dean frowned. "Are you sure?"

Nodding, Sam shifted and wrapped his arms around himself. He was shaking and his teeth were chattering when he spoke, "I'm freezing. Why's it so cold in here?"

Dean started to answer, but felt his chest tighten and he started to cough. When he was finally able to speak again without coughing, he said, "It's not cold. It's a thousand degrees in here. I'm baking…"

"Like a gingerbread man?" Sam asked with a smile, actually giggling.

"Ok, that's it." Dean shook his head, "You're delirious, aren't you? I hate it when you're delirious."

"I'm not delirious." Sam mumbled, "Already told you what day it is. We're in Arizona. Dad won't answer our calls. We're out of money. Jess is dead. And we're…"

"Ok, ok, shut up." Dean said, cutting him off. He said, "I get it. You're oriented. Super. Oriented and depressing. Come on, time for bed."

"You think either of us is going to make it that far?" Sam raised an eyebrow, swallowing hard. "I don't think I can move."

"Sure you can." Dean said, gingerly moving so he could get to his knees. He coughed so hard that the room spun and he had to put out a hand against the floor to keep from falling on top of his brother. Once he was relatively certain he wasn't going to fall, he pushed on Sam's shoulder. "Get moving."

Groaning, Sam pushed himself very slowly to a semi-sitting position. Dean caught him when his eyes closed and he started to fall over. Not very steady himself, Dean shoved Sam against the edge of the tub and slapped his cheek.

"Sam. Eyes open." Dean said, coughing again. Clearing his throat, he said, "I will leave you right there if you don't help me out."

Sam moaned and lowered his head. He whispered, "Gonna be sick…"

"No. No you are not." Dean said firmly, hand against the back of Sam's neck. "We're done with that. Hear me? You breathe through it and we are both getting a good night's sleep. We worked hard and now we're going to get some sleep. All there is to it."

Sam nodded and swallowed hard. He forced his eyes open and stared at Dean. He said, "This really sucks."

Dean nodded, lowering his head as his breath caught and he started coughing again. He felt a hand on his shoulder as he started to sway on his knees. Finally sucking in a shallow breath, Dean got his good leg under him and started hoping he was going to actually be able to stand up.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You look terrible." Sam's voice was soft and shaky.

"Nah." Dean grinned, although he knew it was a pathetic attempt. He pushed himself to his feet, favoring his sore ankle, and said, "I look good. You're just jealous."

Sam laughed, then groaned, hand pressed to his head again. He said, "Pretty sure I'm not jealous, man."

"Whatever. You think I look terrible," Dean mumbled, keeping his hand against the wall as he looked down at Sam, "wait till you look in a mirror. You hit your head harder than you said, didn't you?"

"No. It's fine. Or would be fine if I hadn't been spewing my guts." Sam said, leaning against the tub and pushing himself to his feet. He almost had to sit down on the edge of the tub, but Dean grabbed his arm and started pulling him forward.

"Move." Dean encouraged, coughing harshly as he led the way from the bathroom. "No man left behind."

Sam kept a hand against the wall as they walked. He still wasn't sure that they should be leaving the bathroom. The way his gut was rolling, it was taking all his willpower not to turn around and throw up again. He made it to the edge of his unmade bed and that was as far as he was going. Sitting down, he reached for his jacket that he'd earlier tossed on the bed and pulled it on as Dean limped over to the table. The room was dimly lit from the bathroom lights, but he could clearly see the expression on his brother's face. And he didn't look happy.

"What the heck is all of this? Sam?" Dean growled, waving a hand at the table, then hacking into his sleeve. He turned to glare at Sam, as he sank into one of the chairs. "Thought you went to buy food not a pharmacy. You spent everything we had on this junk?"

"You've been sick for days and coughing up a lung. I thought…"

Desperation flooding over him, Dean pressed his hands to his eyes and shook his head. He said, "That was all we had. I don't know how I'm even going to fill the gas tank to get us out of this crappy town. And you buy this…"

Sam wished his brother would just shut up. His voice was loud and every time Dean coughed, it was like someone was taking a hammer against his head. Sam whispered, "I didn't know what you'd be able to eat, so I got crackers and Gatorade. And something for your cough and fever."

"I didn't need any of that." Dean argued, voice sharp, "Shouldn't have let you go. We don't have money for this stuff."

"I'm sorry." Sam sighed, trying to meet Dean's eyes.

But Dean was shaking his head again and opening a bottle of Gatorade. Just the sight of the sloshing liquid turned his stomach, and Sam let himself roll onto his side, facing away from his brother. He wanted desperately to pull the covers up over himself, but he couldn't move. He was too tired, too cold and too worried. Dean wasn't overreacting. It was bad. They'd been flat broke before, but never while stranded and both so sick they couldn't go out and hustle a game or two for some spare change.

Sam huddled against the smelly moth-eaten blanket and tried not to be sick again.

* * *

Dean sipped the Gatorade even though it tasted like liquid ash. He looked at the collection on the table again and his heart sank. There was one can of soup and three bottles of Gatorade, a box of crackers and a bottle of cough syrup. A pack of general cold pills rounded out their meager supplies. There was another bag on the other chair, but he wasn't moving that far to see what other drug Sam had spent their few dollars on.

Never having money always sucked, but there wasn't anything quite like being flat broke on Christmas Eve. Staring out the window at the deserted parking lot of the motel, Dean coughed and tried to remember the last time he'd felt so awful. He couldn't.

Resting his head against the cool glass, he closed his eyes for a moment. The Gatorade was staying down, so far, but he felt like it could easily go either way. One wrong move and he'd be spewing again. For a moment, he considered calling Dad, but dismissed it immediately. Dad was busy. Dad was too focused on his mission. He'd never put much effort into Christmas, especially once he started taking them out on the road with him. So there was no point in calling him. A small part of Dean actually still hoped Dad would call them. Every day he hoped. Today even more than usual. Even if he didn't wish them a Merry Christmas. Even if he didn't come find them and give them a helping hand. Just to hear his voice.

Coughing and lowering his head to pillow against his arms on the table, Dean thought back to their recent trip to Pennsylvania that had led to a rather frightening mid-flight exorcism. He remembered their surprise, and Sam's devastation, when they'd listened to Dad's voicemail and learned he'd been directing calls to Dean's number. Instead of talking to them. Dean had been shocked and felt the slightest stirrings of anger that Dad wasn't communicating with them, but Sam had been so upset he hadn't spoken for hours. That, coupled with the guilt and grief that continued to eat away at him, had left him so down and depressed that Dean hadn't known how to deal with it. So he'd just found another job and hauled his brother to Arizona.

_Great decision..._

Dean rolled his head on his arms and glanced over at Sam. He was facing away from Dean, huddled in a ball and shivering. Dean regretted letting his worry get the better of him. Sam had been trying to help, and much as he didn't want to admit it, Dean knew his fever was high enough he _should_ probably be choking down something. But he still couldn't guarantee the Gatorade was going to stay down much longer. A pill or the disgusting cough syrup seemed like excellent options to send him running back for the toilet.

And he wasn't the only one who needed to be taking some medicine. At first, he'd thought Sam might have a concussion, but now, given the way he was shaking with chills, Dean knew he'd caught the same bug. Given that they were in a car together for hours on end most days, it wasn't exactly unusual. But he honestly couldn't remember the last time they'd both been so sick at the same time.

He reached for another bottle of Gatorade and pushed himself up from the table. Wavering, he reached out for the wall and stumbled across the room. Mostly because he couldn't stay on twisted ankle any longer, Dean sat down heavily next to his brother. Sam didn't open his eyes, but scooted over to make more room.

"Sam, you need to try to drink some of this." Dean said, then coughed into his sleeve again. Felt like he was coughing up a ball of barbed wire. Grimacing, he opened the bottle and nudged Sam's shoulder. "Sam."

"No."

He rolled his eyes, "You buy this and expect me to drink it. You get a taste of your own medicine now."

"Seriously, Dean, I will throw up on you." Sam stuttered as his teeth chattered so hard Dean was afraid he was going to break a tooth. He kept his eyes closed and huddled into himself even more. "Thought we were gonna sleep."

"We're gonna try." Dean set the bottle on the floor and pulled the covers up over his brother.

Sam finally looked up at him and said, "You're like a space heater. You take anything for the fever yet?"

"Just a drink. Nothing else is gonna stay down." Dean groaned, breathing carefully to avoid setting off another coughing spell.

He rose and walked unsteadily to the other bed. Dropping onto it, he didn't bother to pull down the covers, just rested his face against the cool pillow. When they'd arrived, they'd had to search through several rooms before they'd found a couple of pillows and some bedding. All of it was thin and stained, but, as usual, they had little choice in the matter. So they made do. As usual, Dean thought in annoyance. Trying to find a comfortable position on the lumpy mattress, Dean briefly considered opening the front door to let in a breeze, but didn't dare given how badly Sam was shivering.

"Sammy?"

"What?"

"You warm enough?"

"Why? You wanna cuddle?" There was a hint of amusement in Sam's voice this time.

Dean glared at the back of his head and said, "No."

"Good, cuz there's no room," Sam called out, words coming in short bursts in between shivers, "on my piece of wreckage for the two of us."

"There was room on that plank of wood for both of them…" Dean countered. They'd been mocking that particular scene of _Titanic_ a couple weeks ago. He continued, "All Rose had to do was slide over a couple inches..." He heard Sam snickering and couldn't help but grin as he added, "He did not have to freeze to death."

"Give me another blanket and I won't either…"

Groaning, Dean yanked the nasty green blanket off his bed and threw it at his brother. He coughed, then said, "Merry Christmas, Sam. Don't say I never gave you anything."

Sam yanked the blanket over his shoulders and muttered, "Other than the flu you mean."

"Shut up, Sam."

* * *

_0800 AM Christmas Eve_

Sam slid the rusted wastebasket closer to his brother's bed. He had to put his head down against the blanket as Dean continued to throw up; this time into the basket, at least. The sun was bright in the window, shining through the threadbare curtains and sending jagged spikes of pain through his head; only encouraging his own stomach to turn itself inside out again. Breathing through his mouth and wishing he couldn't hear Dean choking and coughing into the basket, Sam fought the urge to hurl.

Or panic.

He'd been sitting on the filthy carpet for almost twenty minutes now; shivering despite wearing his hoodie and jacket, while trying to keep Dean from falling flat on his face as he vomited from the edge of the bed. Dean had been too weak to even attempt to get out of bed and Sam had awakened to the sound of him throwing up all over the carpet. Using the last of the paper napkins from their takeout from the week, Sam had mopped up what he could of the mess that and grabbed the basket. So much for getting any sleep. His muscles ached from the chills and he doubted that Dean had slept much given how high his fever still was.

They were in serious trouble.

A few thousand-year long minutes later and Dean finally stopped puking, moaned, and let his head drop back onto the bed in complete exhaustion. Sam forced his head up and looked at him. The sight of his brother lying there, whiter than the disgusting sheets, drenched in sweat and coughing harshly with every other breath scared him more than he wanted to admit. He couldn't get Dean to drink anything. And his fever wasn't coming down.

"Dean…" Sam whispered, voice raspy and strained, "I think we should…"

"No." Dean interrupted, his own voice barely audible after the coughing and retching. "'m not dying."

"Dean…"

Dean reached out and grabbed his arm, eyes bright with fever, but in control. He said, "No doctor. We can't…"

Sam nodded, fighting back tears at how unfair life was and how overwhelmed he felt at the moment. He knew they couldn't. They needed new insurance cards before they dared go to a hospital. New _fake_ insurance cards that they just hadn't had time to make since they'd been spending every moment of their lives either driving across the country looking for their absent father, or fighting evil. And they had no cash for a clinic. Not since he'd spent their last bit of cash on medicine Dean was too sick to take. And there was no one to call since Dad wasn't likely to answer his phone. They had nothing and no one.

Sam let his head hit the bed again and gave up trying to fight the tears.

* * *

_2 PM Christmas Eve_

Dean came awake slowly, like he'd either been drugged or drinking. His entire body felt leaden and achy. Whatever he was lying on was uncomfortable and clammy and he opened his eyes to the same dismal, dirty walls of the ugly motel room they'd been calling home for far too long now. Shifting on the scratchy sheets, he felt the bedspread over his shoulders. He vaguely remembered what had seemed like hours of puking over the edge of the bed before Sam had said something about the fever finally breaking and covered him with the bedspread. No longer feeling like he was about to combust, he felt just a bit chilled as a slight breeze drifted over his skin. Rolling gingerly onto his back, Dean stared up at the mildew on the ceiling and swallowed hard.

There was a touch of nausea, but nothing like earlier. Frowning, he tried to focus on his watch. Two in the afternoon. Dean ran a hand over his face and realized he must have actually gotten some sleep. As another coughing fit threatened to rip his insides apart, he rolled back onto his side, drawing his legs up. Every muscle in his body seemed strained from the vomiting and coughing and he groaned as he tried to catch his breath. His throat felt raw and the only thing he wanted in life was a drink of water. Of course, that meant getting himself into an upright position and possibly moving from the bed; neither of which was he certain he was capable of doing at the moment. Hating to show any sign of weakness, Dean decided it would probably be less weak if he just asked Sam for the bottle of Gatorade rather than trying to walk anywhere yet and ending up on his face.

Dean glanced over at the other bed and realized it was empty. On a normal day, that wouldn't have been at all concerning. If Sam was in bed this late in the day it meant he was sick or seriously injured. Of course, Sam _was _sick, Dean mused, so why wasn't he in bed? Pushing himself up on a shaky elbow, Dean glanced around the room. Empty. And the front door was wide open. Kicking the covers off, Dean sat up and swallowed back the nausea and dizziness. After checking the bathroom, he stumbled across the room to the door, heart trying to force its way up his throat.

"Sam!"

* * *

**Uh oh... They're definitely not having a very nice Christmas Eve at all, are they? Wonder if things are about to get better...or worse. :) Drop me a note if you have time to let me know what you thought of Ch2 and stay tuned for Ch3... Thanks!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello all! Thanks for reading and for letting me know what you think! More misery ahead...**

* * *

_1230 PM, Christmas Eve_

She'd been watching them ever since they had arrived; loud and brash in that sleek black car. No one had stayed at the Sleep Tight Motor Inn for over a year so it was a surprise when the car had pulled up. Not since the owner had lost most of his savings gambling. When the money had completely run out he'd put the once cozy motel up for sale and driven away with his few remaining possessions. The For Sale sign was faded and given the out of the way location, it seemed unlikely anyone was ever going to buy the place.

When she'd heard the engine of an approaching car, her lonely heart had jumped for joy. Visitors! Hurrying to the window, she'd peered out to see who had come. Two young men had stepped out of a big black car, looking around with what had seemed to be practiced and very discriminating eyes. They'd pointed and motioned around the motel as they studied it. The taller of the two had shrugged at everything the other one had said. He'd just grabbed a backpack and walked to the closest door. The other guy had watched him go with an exhausted and downtrodden expression on his face.

Slipping out of the room, she'd snuck closer, always keeping well out of sight of the newcomers.

They'd made themselves at home in room 3 and had spent a half-hour searching through all the other rooms for bedding and towels. It was slim pickings as the motel had suffered from thieves and vandals since closing down. She'd hidden in the woods while they'd searched.

She'd wanted to go to them. Talk to them. Help them because they looked like they needed all the help they could get. But she didn't. Because she saw them doing strange things; laying salt lines, talking about poltergeists in a nearby town. They had guns and she would have been lying if she'd said she wasn't afraid of them. Even so, over the next week, as she watched them come back at odd hours, bloodied and beaten down, her heart ached. She would lie on the stripped bed in the room next to theirs and listen to them as they talked. Or argued. In less than a week, she knew enough about them to cry for them.

Now, she watched as the taller one, Sam, stumbled out of the room, headed for the big black car. Every few steps, he paused and closed his eyes, swaying on his feet as he did so. Her breath caught in her throat and she almost ran to him. But she was still too afraid to actually go near them. So she watched from the window in room 8 as he put a hand out on the car and dragged himself toward the driver's side door. Surely he wasn't planning to go anywhere?

She realized he had something in his hand. Something he began to fumble with and then dropped. A phone. She held her breath as he looked down. He supported himself with a hand against the car and lowered himself to reach for the phone. Once his hand closed around it, she took a shaky breath, hopeful. But then he hit his knees and began throwing up in the dirt. Her worry tripled and yet again she wished there was something, anything she could do to help them. She felt so incredibly useless.

After a couple minutes, he finally stilled, breathing in deep gasps. She thought he was going to fall over, but he pulled himself to his feet, the phone in his hand, and he reached up for the door handle. It took him a painful three tries to pull the heavy door open. Once he got it open, he climbed inside and started fiddling with something. She couldn't see what he was doing, but she felt relieved that he hadn't started the car. For several long moments, she watched. He stopped moving, and leaned his head back against the seat, eyes closing.

Feeling determined and unusually brave, she left her refuge and slowly approached the car. Tiptoeing across the empty parking lot, she almost lost her nerve halfway to the car. But she couldn't stop. They needed her help; whatever help she could give them. It took all her courage to walk up to the car and take a closer look. She felt maternal instincts she didn't even know she had stirring deep within her at the sight of him.

Face flushed with fever, breaths short and rapid, he didn't stir as she stood by the door. Daring not to touch him, she just whispered, "I'm going to get help. I promise. I'm going to get help."

* * *

_2 PM Christmas Eve_

"Sam!"

Dean clung to the door frame, head lowered. His worry had carried him this far, but his throbbing ankle and utter lack of strength threatened to send him to the ground. Didn't help that he was coughing so hard he was seeing stars in the bright sunlight of the Arizona afternoon. Fingers digging into the rotting wood of the door frame, Dean forced his head up even as one coughing spell ended and another immediately began. Staring out at the parking lot of the motel, the first place his eyes went was to the car. And his heart returned to its proper anatomical location when he saw Sam. He was leaned back in the drivers seat, head resting on the seat back, eyes closed.

There was no way he had enough voice left to call out to his brother, so Dean hoped for the best and let go of the door frame. It felt like learning to walk all over again and he envied toddlers who were much closer to the ground when they fell. At least when he finally fell, he was close enough to the hood of the car to reach out a hand and catch himself. Cursing, Dean struggled to get moving again. His ankle threatened to give out every time he put weight on it and the nausea and lightheadedness he felt was increasing with every step.

Focusing on his target, Dean blinked a few times and took a steadying breath. He limped around the open drivers side door and, keeping a hand on the car frame, leaned down to look at his brother. In a voice so quiet he could barely hear it himself, he called his brother's name.

Nothing. No response. Dean was torn between being completely furious that Sam had left the room for some unknown, but most likely terrible reason, and completely freaking out about how awful he looked. Sparing a hand, Dean shook Sam's shoulder, still receiving no response, and then checked his pulse and found it racing. Swearing again, he shook Sam harder. His own heart rate was increasing with every second he didn't get a response.

"Sam, so help me I'm going to kick your butt into next year for this." Dean ground out, finding it increasingly difficult to stay on his feet, leaning down. He eased himself down to sit on the edge of the floorboard, reaching up and grabbing a fistful of his brother's t-shirt. Shaking him, Dean fought back a cough and yelled, "Sam!"

This time, Sam's head weakly tilted toward his voice and Dean almost grinned in relief. But that wasn't enough. He shook him again and said, "Come on. You gotta give me more than that."

His breath caught again and Dean started coughing. The pain tore through his chest and tears sprang to his tightly closed eyes. He wrapped his arms around his chest and nearly fell face first onto the ground as the coughing fit shook his body. But he didn't fall and once the coughing had died down and he could think straight, he realized why. Someone had a surprisingly strong grip on his left arm. Looking up through the fading stars in his vision, Dean met his brother's eyes.

Swallowing around a raw, burning throat, Dean whispered, "Wakey wakey."

"You're an idiot." Sam's voice wasn't any louder or stronger. "You should be in bed."

Dean straightened up slowly and narrowed his eyes, "Room service didn't answer when I called."

Sam snorted, letting his eyes drift closed again. His hand didn't release Dean's arm. Dean knew they needed to move now if they were going to stand a chance at getting back into the room. They were both running on fumes.

"Let's go."

"Where?"

"Home sweet home." Dean muttered, forcing himself up.

"Too hot in there." Sam's voice was almost a whine.

Dean pressed a hand against Sam's face, eliciting a moan as Sam tried to move away from him and finally released his arm. Dean said, "_You're _too hot. Not the room. You're burning up. Come on."

Sam looked at him as if he'd just been asked to jump over the moon. Dean stared at him for a long moment, realizing exactly how bad Sam was feeling when he didn't say anything else. He hated the thought of forcing Sam to move, but sitting up in the car wasn't going to help him either. Dean shook his head slowly, still holding Sam's gaze.

He finally said, "We gotta go now. You can not stay there."

"Dean." Sam breathed out, eyes closing.

"No, no, no." Dean grabbed his shoulder, "Sam, I know you're sick, man, I get it. But I can't carry you and I'm not leaving you in the car. You gotta help me out."

Nodding slowly, Sam shifted on the seat and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He stood up, holding onto the car with one hand for support while he tugged on Sam's arm with the other. Unable to offer much in the way of assistance since he was barely standing upright, could only offer a steadying hand and gentle prompting when Sam stopped moving. It took a full ten minutes for them to stumble to the door of the motel again and Dean felt like it was a huge victory that they even made it that far.

"Almost there." He said, just as another coughing fit caught him off guard.

This was getting very old. Reaching out, Dean grabbed the wall and balanced on his good leg while he coughed. From his left, he heard a wet splatter as Sam threw up all over the sidewalk. Dean wiped hand across his mouth and ground his teeth at the sight of his brother puking again. Day kept getting better and better. He staggered over to Sam's side and caught him just as his knees gave out.

Dean pulled Sam's arm over his shoulder and said, "Few more feet."

Sam's head hit his shoulder and Dean almost fell over when he found himself holding most of Sam's weight. Fighting back the ever-present urge to cough, Dean whispered, "Sam, what were you thinking?"

He didn't get an answer, but at least they maintained forward progress. It took another lifetime, but they made it. Dean helped ease Sam down onto the bed, sitting down next to him and trying to catch his breath. After allowing a minute to recover, he dragged himself to his feet again and limped over to the table. Grabbing the cough syrup, cold medicine, and Gatorade, Dean sat back down on the side of the bed.

"You wanna tell me what you were doing out there?" Dean asked, dumping the supplies on the bed.

He wrenched the lid off the cough syrup and took a swig, hoping for the best. He wasn't sure his stomach was ready for it, but his throat couldn't take much more abuse. Lowering the bottle, he looked down at his brother who still hadn't answered his question. The walk back inside had taken everything he had. Dean didn't like how hard Sam was breathing or the glassy look in his eyes. He was shivering despite several layers and his face was flushed. Dean set the bottle of cough syrup on the bedside table and walked into the bathroom. Running the washcloth under the cold water, Dean took an ill advised look in the mirror. Sam had been right when he'd said he looked terrible.

Shaking his head, he turned off the tap and went back into the other room. Sitting back down, he laid the washcloth against Sam's forehead and wondered if he was making a serious mistake by not trying to find a clinic. Sam stared at him, blinking slowly, barely keeping his eyes open.

"I wake up and you're gone." Dean said, shaking his head. "What were you doing out there, Sam?"

It took a minute, but he finally whispered, "Phone was dead."

Dean raised an eyebrow, "You had an important call to make?"

"In case." Sam shrugged, working hard to force the words out. He reached out a shaking hand and tugged on Dean's shirt, "Lungs sound bad."

"My lungs are fine." Dean shook his head, even though he could hear the rattle every time he took a breath. "You should have stayed put."

Sam's hand fell back to the bed and he closed his eyes.

Dean reached for the bottle of Gatorade and took a drink. It still tasted disgusting, but so far everything was staying where it belonged. Now he just needed to get Sam to take a drink. He had to admit that Sam might have a point about having a charged cell phone in case of emergency. If they couldn't start to keep some fluids down they were both going to be in serious trouble.

"Sam, take a sip." Dean nudged him. Getting no response, he shook his shoulder harder. "Stay with me here."

Sam moaned and turned his head away.

"You have to try." Dean said, feeling stirrings of panic. It didn't look like Sam was going to be able to hang onto consciousness much longer. Shaking him again, he said, "Sam, wake up."

This time Sam's eyes slid open. It took a moment for them to focus on Dean, but when they did, Sam whispered, "Did you see her?"

"See who?" Dean asked, wishing they'd stayed in a motel that was still open. One that had an ice machine. Because he had the terrible feeling they'd just crossed over into delirium. "Listen to me, you have to take a drink."

"Said...she…" Sam said breathlessly, shifting on the bed, "she was...get help."

Dean shook his head, "You were dreaming. Or seeing things. Probably seeing things considering you're burning up. There's no one here but us. As usual."

"No. I saw her…" Sam insisted, eyes drifting closed again.

"Uh huh. Whatever." Dean broke off and hunched over, coughing hard enough to leave him wheezing.

Once he stopped coughing, he looked at the wastebasket near his bed and decided it might be good to have closer. Because everything he had just swallowed was threatening a repeat appearance. Gasping for breath, he reached out and dragged the basket closer. Surprised to find it empty, he realized Sam had probably emptied it at some point. Feeling both admiration and frustration with his brother, Dean let his head hang between his knees for a few minutes, fighting against giving in to the urge to vomit. It wasn't easy, but he managed to keep the Gatorade and cough syrup down.

One of them had to start feeling better soon. That was all there was to it. When Sam suddenly rolled to his side and began dry heaving, Dean decided Sam probably wasn't the one. Pushing the basket closer, Dean fought back his own nausea. Sam didn't bring anything up this time and Dean eased him onto his back when he stilled. Wiping the still damp washcloth over Sam's face, Dean toyed with the idea of dragging him into town. Insurance cards or not, they needed help.

Sam's exhausted eyes were on him again and Dean smiled slightly. He said, "Bet you wish you were still at Stanford right about now."

"Nah." Sam shook his head, a hint of amusement in his eyes, "Wouldn't miss this for the world..."

"Uh huh." Dean grinned, then curled over coughing again. With a shaking hand, he reached for the cough syrup again and downed another gulp.

"S'pposed to read...directions." Sam mumbled, "Overdose…"

Dean shrugged, squinting at the bottle. He looked back at Sam and said, "Sorry I came down on you about the medicine…"

"Just worried." Sam shrugged, "I know."

"Even so, I'm sorry." Dean sighed and ran a hand over his face. He was so tired. Sick and tired. He lowered his head to his hand for a moment.

"Go to sleep."

Dean looked up and said, "Not till you turn down the heat. I'm not taking a nap while you spontaneously combust."

"Urban legend…"

Rolling his eyes, Dean asked, "Will you try to take a drink?"

Sam swallowed hard and whispered, "Come back up."

"You gotta force yourself to keep it down, Sam. You're dehydrated."

"Later." Sam said, closing his eyes again. "She's getting help."

Dean frowned, realizing it shouldn't really be a surprise that Sam was drifting in and out of reality. Even so, it was starting to scare him. He grabbed the washcloth and headed for the bathroom again. If he couldn't get Sam's temperature down soon, he was hauling them to the ER. He had almost made it to the sink when he lost the battle. Stumbling toward the toilet, he dropped to his knees and threw up the Gatorade and cough syrup. Groaning as he dry heaved, Dean felt like someone was sitting on his chest. The room started to go dark as his heaves turned to bone rattling coughs. Gasping, he panicked as he found it nearly impossible to draw a breath.

He lost consciousness before he hit the cold floor.

* * *

**Oh dear! This doesn't look good at all, does it? Wonder what's going to happen next... stay tuned! :) Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed this chapter.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi everyone! I know it's late in the day as usual...but here's chapter four! A big thanks to everyone who is reading this little fic. Hope you enjoy...the plot, as they say, thickens a bit in this chapter... **

* * *

_3:30 PM Christmas Eve_

She'd been standing on the side of the road for hours. It wasn't a busy highway and the handful of cars that had actually appeared while she'd watched had not even slowed down for her as she frantically waved her arms, begging them to stop. As a semi roared by, she lowered her head and stared at the pavement in defeat. She knew her shirt was stained with dirt and blood and her hair was a mess. Maybe no one wanted to stop because she looked so filthy. Wiping her hands across her jeans, she tried not to cry.

The one and only thing she could do for the two guests at the motel was to get them the help they so desperately needed. And she was going to fail. It was Christmas Eve. How could everyone just ignore her? Did no one have any Christmas spirit left? Was this what the world had come to? Everyone busy on their way to family or friends, no one caring to take the time to see if a dirty, bloody woman on the side of the road needed help? Despite her best attempts to keep from crying, the floodgates broke and she dropped heavily to the ground, cross-legged in the dirt, hands to her face as she sobbed.

* * *

_3:40 PM Christmas Eve_

He could hear Sam's voice from the other room. Dean had been listening to Sam for the past hour while lying flat on the floor in the bathroom, staring up at the ceiling and struggling to breathe. There wasn't enough air in his lungs to even attempt to call out to his brother. Especially when he found himself fighting not to cough with every breath. He'd awakened with fire in his lungs and the complete inability to move. Sitting up would have been heaven, but he didn't have the strength. Every time he tried, he fell back with a coughing spell that left his chest spasming and his vision blackening.

So Dean lay still, fighting for each breath and listening to Sam mumbling incoherently. Every once in awhile he called out for Jessica, but mostly he was calling for Dean. Which only worried Dean even more. Because if he didn't find a way to get enough breath to answer him, he knew Sam was going to get it in his delirious and confused head that he needed to come find him and that was going to end only one way. With both of them on the floor too weak to ever get off it again.

Dean groaned and wrapped his arms around his chest, feeling the cold seeping into his body from the floor. The only good thing he could think of about his current situation was that he no longer felt so sick to his stomach. He heard Sam shout his name again and this time he didn't sound confused, he sounded really worried. Dean wished he could reassure his brother, but instead, the sound of his own painful gasps was all he could hear as the rushing tide of blackness swept over him again.

* * *

_5:15 PM Christmas Eve_

As dusk had fallen, so had her last hope of someone stopping to help her. She'd chased after the last car she'd seen but they had only sped up. It felt wrong. No one cared. Not even on Christmas Eve. Now she stood at the open doorway of their room. Hesitating. While she'd been gone Sam had somehow made his way back inside. She could see him on his bed, could hear his labored breathing. Toes on the threshold, she knocked on the door.

Nothing. Sam didn't stir and she couldn't see his brother. But the bathroom light was on and she called out in a timid voice, "Hello?"

Still no response.

She stared down at the threshold and thought about their guns. About the knives she'd seen them packing. About their frightening conversations she'd listened to through the thin wall between their room and the one she tended to hide out in. She was terribly worried about them, but also very afraid. Standing in the doorway, she felt the wind picking up and the distant roll of thunder. The breeze had disturbed the neat little line of white across the threshold and she leaned down and stared at it; wondering what its purpose was. Chewing her lip, she looked back up at Sam and tried to decide, as she had been trying to do all week, if he and his brother were insane killers or two people who really needed some help.

Hearing horrible coughing from the bathroom, she rose, mind made up. They might be insane killers, but they definitely needed help. And right now, on Christmas Eve, she wasn't going to worry about what they may or may not have done. No one driving by seemed to care about her, but she cared about them.

So she walked into the room, still feeling skittish as she approached the bed. Looking down at Sam, she immediately reached out a hand and touched his forehead. He moaned at her touch and moved his head weakly against her hand.

"I'm sorry…" She whispered, heart in her throat. She knew her hand was like ice against his burning skin. Squeezing his hand and hoping he could hear her, could understand she meant him no harm, she whispered, "I'm here to help, Sam. My name is Raquel."

Turning, she hurried into the bathroom and put her hand to her mouth at the sight of the other brother on the floor, weakly gasping for breath, lips almost blue. Tears in her eyes, she hurried to his side and tried to rouse him. But he didn't respond to her touch or her voice. Raquel knew there was nothing she was going to be able to do for him. And he needed help now.

Running back into the other room, she sat down on the bed and put both hands against Sam's face. Raquel shouted, "Sam! Wake up now. Your brother needs you right now!"

"Dean…" Sam mumbled, eyes still closed. He frowned and again tried to turn away from her touch.

"Yes. Dean." Raquel blinked back the tears and kept shouting, "He's sick, Sam and you have to help him. He needs you, Sam!"

This time, he slowly forced his eyes open. Bloodshot and shining with fever, his eyes finally focused on her and he frowned in confusion. Raquel smiled and said, "Hello."

His eyes slid closed again and she put her cold hands on the sides of his neck this time, and he gasped. His breathing hitched and he shook his head back and forth, then blinked at her. Sam whispered, "Who are…"

"Raquel." She said quickly, patting his cheek. "Never mind me right now. Dean needs your help, Sam. He's having trouble breathing."

"Dean?"

"Yes." She grabbed his hands, "Please, come on. You have to help him."

Sam still looked confused, but nodded and started weakly moving. Raquel stepped back just enough to give him room to roll over, but not far enough that she couldn't slap him if he stopped moving. He pushed himself up on shaking arms, head hanging as he squeezed his eyes closed and swallowed hard.

Raquel held her breath, knowing he was struggling to function. She rocked back and forth on her heels and toes, holding her breath and hoping he could make it to his brother. Because if he went down, there wasn't any hope. As he pushed himself upright, Raquel wrapped her arm around him, for all the good it would do, and squeezed his arm with her free hand. He shivered in her grasp. Hoping she was doing more good than harm, she remained at his side as he walked into the bathroom. Hearing his breath catch when he saw Dean on the floor, Raquel knew he was going to do whatever it took to help his brother.

She stepped back. She'd done what she could.

* * *

"Dean," Sam said, hand out against the wall as he walked into the bathroom. The bottom of his world fell out for a terrifying moment when he caught his first sight of Dean on the floor. He moved forward, whispering, "No..."

He went to his knees at his brothers side because his legs refused to hold him up for another second. He heard the awful sound of Dean's ragged breathing and crawled forward. Reaching for Dean's shirt, he immediately hauled him into a sitting position, leaning him back against the tub. The world was spinning around Sam as he tried to hold his completely limp brother upright. Dean's breathing still sounded terrible, but at least he lost some of the dusky hue to his face once he was no longer flat on his back on the floor.

Sam lowered his head for a minute, hands still on Dean's shirt to keep him from falling over. He frowned and tried to breathe through the nausea and dizziness. Everything was fuzzy, but he remembered a voice talking to him, calling his name. He almost thought he remembered seeing a woman. But it was fleeting and he couldn't remember anything specific.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, studying his pale face for any sign of awareness.

Nothing. Thankful that Dean was at least breathing a bit easier, Sam started thinking about trying to get back out to the car and grab his cell phone. He understood Dean's concern and hesitation to go to a hospital. If only one of them was sick, they usually could deal with whatever they had to. It was another matter altogether when_ neither_ of them could remain vertical.

"Sammy?"

"Dean?" Sam watched his brother force his eyes open. "Hey, you with me?"

Dean raised an eyebrow and asked, "Happened?"

"Think you passed out." Sam said, feeling worse by the second.

When he'd first entered the bathroom, he'd felt a little cooler, a little less like he was on fire, but now he was starting to doubt his ability to remain upright for much longer. He studied Dean as he started to cough again. It was a painful, rattling sound and the congestion in his lungs seemed worse. Sam tapped his cheek.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"Gotta get up."

"Can't."

"If I can, you can." Sam said through gritted teeth.

"Can you?" Dean asked, eyes open and full of doubt.

Sam reached a hand out to the wall and stayed on his knees. The world tilted and he had to let his head rest against the wall for a few seconds. He tugged on Dean's shirt and whispered, "Move."

Dean groaned, coughed, then put his hands against the floor and pushed himself onto the edge of the tub. He looked up at Sam and said, "For the love of all that is good in this world, please do not throw up on me Sam."

Breathing carefully, eyes tightly closed, Sam didn't dare tell Dean how much of a possibility it was that he might do just that. He listened as Dean slowly moved. Sam stayed put because if he tried anything else he was going to throw up on his brother for real. He felt a hand on his shoulder and heard Dean's hoarse voice from somewhere above him.

"You're still on your knees."

A hand grabbed his arm and after a few attempts, Sam was on his feet, eyes still closed. Dean was pushing him toward the sink and Sam heard the water running. He felt Dean pushing his head down and he jumped as cold water hit the back of his neck. He moaned and leaned against the counter on his forearms as Dean used a cupped hand to pour water over his head.

Dean was coughing again, but never stopped what he was doing. He whispered, "We gotta get your fever down."

Sam grunted in agreement. He was tempted to take a cold shower, but the fact was he really needed to be off his feet. Like right now. Desperation crept into his voice as he pulled away from Dean and said, "I can't…"

"Ok, ok." Dean said, turning the water off. He kept his hand on Sam's arm as they left the bathroom. "Few more feet…"

As soon as he felt the bed against his leg, Sam dropped onto it and curled into a ball. He was far too hot to be huddled like that, but his stomach was threatening to jump out of his throat again. He heard Dean moving around like a thousand year old man and Sam looked up at him. Dean took a careful drink of the cough syrup and replaced it on the nightstand. He unsteadily moved to the other bed and grabbed the two pillows and blanket.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean muttered, walking around the other side of Sam's bed.

"What'er you doing?"

Dean stacked the pillows against the headboard and leaned against them, fighting another coughing spell. He patted Sam on the back and said, "Buddy system. Tired of us taking turns being on the floor."

Sam shifted slightly and pressed his face against the cool sheet. He whispered, "How does this help?"

"Hoping we can keep track of each other," Dean said with a sigh, "and that the lucid one can stop the idiotic one before they go anywhere."

For a few minutes they fell into a silence broken only by Dean's rasping breaths and hacking coughs. Sam pressed one hand against his pounding head and fisted the other into the sheets. He felt his grip on reality slipping.

"Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"How're you doing?"

Sam grimaced. _Not good, thanks for checking_. He started to respond, then the vague memory of a woman's face drifted into his mind and he asked, "Did you see her?"

"Who?" Dean poked him in the shoulder. "What the heck are you talking about?"

Sam fought to keep his thoughts straight. Everything was swimming in and out of focus. He said, "She...I think...I saw her again…"

Dean's hand was on the back of his neck and his voice was tight with worry, "Sam? You're not making any sense. Not that you usually do…"

Sam tried, he really did, but he couldn't follow what Dean was saying. It made his head hurt to much to try. So he just listened to the sound of his brother's voice, rather than the words he was saying. After awhile, he fell asleep.

* * *

Raquel watched from the doorway. She pulled her hands up into the sleeves of her jacket and leaned her head against the door frame. The gently rain made everything seem dreary and matched her mood perfectly. While she was relieved the both brothers were still breathing, and apparently resting quietly for at least the moment, Raquel couldn't quiet the fear burning a hole deep in her gut.

They were far from out of the woods. And there wasn't much she could do for them. Listening to Dean cough again, she knew their situation hadn't changed. They still needed medical attention. Deciding the best thing to do for now was to stay put and keep an eye on them, Raquel glanced over her shoulder at the deserted parking lot. It was quiet and she breathed a little easier. First thing in the morning, she would head back to the highway and try again to flag down a passing car.

And hope she could get everyone away from the motel before he came back.

Because she knew he wouldn't show any mercy to them just because they were sick. He hadn't shown her any mercy last Christmas and Raquel doubted very much that a year had changed him in any way. She closed her eyes and, for the first time in a long time, prayed for a miracle.

* * *

**Plot: thickening. :D **


	5. Chapter 5

**Merry Christmas! (Ok...day after Christmas). I tried, I SWEAR I tried to get this chapter posted Christmas Eve like I promised/planned. I really did! But with the Christmas prep busyness, i just couldn't squeeze in enough time to write and was an epic failure. And then today was (go figure) busy with y'know, presents and such so it's now December 26th and I'm just finally getting this posted! This chapter gave me fits and I scrapped like four versions before I finally got it where I was happy with it. :)**

**I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas full of family, friends and good food!**

**I'm afraid the boys are still stuck on Christmas Eve and they are _not _having a good time at all...**

* * *

_8:20 PM Christmas Eve_

"I had it all planned out, you know? There was that little bar we stopped at the first night we got into town, and I was gonna look up that blonde chick." Dean smiled briefly at the thought, then turned his head away from his brother and coughed. Catching his breath, he looked back over at Sam and said, "This wasn't how I planned to spend Christmas Eve."

Of course he hadn't planned on coming down with the lungs of an eighty year old asthmatic smoker either. And he certainly hadn't planned on holding his brother up as he vomited into a wastebasket on Christmas Eve. He pushed Sam against the edge of the bed when it seemed like he was finished. _For now._ It was his fault, really. Sam had been actually been sleeping soundly for a couple hours until Dean had experienced a particularly bad coughing fit. Once awake, Sam had gone from confused to restless to puking in the space of a few minutes. Dean had only made it worse by trying to get him to drink some Gatorade. Ever since, they'd been sitting side by side on the floor while Dean hacked up a lung and Sam threw up what had to be his stomach lining. Because Dean had no idea what else he could possibly have left to throw up at this point.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Dean saw Sam's right hand was extended and he handed him the wet washcloth again. Sam pressed it to his face with both hands. Sighing, Dean slid the wastebasket aside as Sam drew his knees up and rested his elbows on them. At least it was getting longer between intervals, Dean mused, glancing at his watch. With any luck they'd make it to fifteen minutes this time before Sam started throwing up again. The record so far was fourteen and a half minutes. He heard Sam mumble something and leaned closer.

"What?" He asked.

"The room..."

"It's not spinning, Sam." Dean said. It wasn't the first time he'd had to answer that question. "It's just the fever."

"Time's it?"

"Eight twenty. Got some place to be?" Dean asked, taking a sip of Gatorade to hold off another coughing spell.

Sam stiffened and whispered, "Jess?"

"Not here, Sammy." Dean sighed, resting his hand on the back of Sam's neck. He was still burning up and Dean wasn't surprised that he was having trouble keeping on the right side of reality. Coughing into his sleeve, he leaned his head back and stretched his legs out in front of him. He said, "Few more hours."

"Till what?" Sam turned his head slightly.

"Till morning."

Sam lowered the washcloth and shot Dean a questioning look. His cheeks were flushed bright red and his lips were dry and cracked. He swallowed hard and asked, "What's good about morning?"

"I don't know. But it's gotta be better than this." Dean said, coughing again. He rubbed his chest and said, "Feel like someone took a potato peeler to my throat."

"You need a doctor." Sam whispered, handing Dean the washcloth and pressing his hands to his head.

Shoving the washcloth into the travel mug he'd filled with cold water earlier, Dean snorted, "And you don't. If you can't keep your guts where they belong and actually hold down some of this crap," he shook the bottle of Gatorade, "by morning, we're going to find a clinic or something."

"We can't."

"We don't have a choice."

Even penniless and without insurance, fake or otherwise, they were going to have to get help soon. Because they were too sick to hope for the best anymore. They were both dehydrated, although he was at least holding down the Gatorade. Sam's fever had been too high for far too long and ever since about six-thirty, Dean had started coughing up thick nasty gunk. At least Sam was too out of it to notice that, Dean thought gratefully. He finished off the bottle of Gatorade and set it aside. Glancing at the table, he decided he'd wait a few minutes before forcing himself to somehow get back to his feet and make it over there for another bottle. Instead, he squeezed the washcloth out over the mug and pressed it against the back of Sam's neck.

His arm resting against Sam's back as he held the washcloth in place, Dean realized his brother's breathing was irregular and shallow. He didn't sound congested, but he was breathing like he was in the middle of a marathon. Dean rubbed his free hand against his eyes. He was exhausted. This was supposed to have been a quick, easy salt and burn. Take down a few ghosts. No biggie. Instead they got beat to hell by grumpy men in suits and then, when they should have been celebrating with a couple of cold ones, instead they wound up broke and sick and all alone on Christmas Eve.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?" Dean rubbed his eyes again and peered at Sam, "Need the bucket again?"

"No. M'head really hurts."

Dean frowned. Between the knock he'd taken during the hunt and the endless nausea, vomiting and raging fever, it was no wonder his head hurt. Dean considered their options and said, "I know. You wanna try something? There's Tylenol in that cold medicine you bought. Would help with the fever too."

Sam lowered his right hand and looked at Dean doubtfully. He said, "Don't think I can keep...it down."

"Alright," Dean coughed into his sleeve, studying his brother. "That's it. We're going to find a doctor."

"No. We can't." Sam whispered, "Just...give it to me. I'll...I can...I'll keep it down. I'll try."

Dean stared at him, considering. He honestly wasn't even sure he would be able to get them to the car at this point, let alone drive anywhere. Fear was beginning to gnaw at his gut. Maybe he'd waited too long, taken a chance he shouldn't have.

"Just get it." Sam nodded, sensing his indecision. "I'll try."

"Fine." Dean said, pushing himself to his feet.

He had to sit down on the edge of the bed and catch his breath before he could take even one step toward the table. Looking up, he coughed until he saw stars again, then, once his breathing eased, stumbled toward the table. The pain in his chest was so bad at this point that he barely noticed the ache in his right ankle. Even so, he limped every time he tried to put weight on it. Reaching the table, he had to lean on it for a long time to get his breathing back to what counted for normal lately. Thankful he had managed to make it that far without another coughing fit, Dean gathered the remaining supplies into a bag. Just about to turn around, he spotted the other bag on the chair. He hadn't looked at it earlier, but he grabbed it and took a peek.

Candy canes.

Rolling his eyes, he brought it with him, ready to tease Sam about his sweet tooth. Then he remembered hearing somewhere about peppermint being good for nausea. Grinning, he limped back over to the bed. He lowered himself down next to Sam and set the bags on the carpet. With fumbling fingers, Dean managed to rip into the package.

"Here ya go." He held a candy cane in front of Sam's eyes. "Christmas candy."

Sam raised an eyebrow and stretched his legs out. "What's that for?"

"Peppermint's good for nausea." Dean explained, waiting for Sam to take the candy.

"What?"

"Come on, you haven't heard that?" Dean asked, unwrapping the candy cane. "It's also Christmas Eve. So have some Christmas cheer. Besides, this might be the one thing we both can actually handle right now. Take it or I'll hang it from your ear."

Sam reached for the candy cane and took a deep breath before trying the candy. Dean stared at him expectantly. After a minute passed without any repercussions, Dean asked, "So? You haven't puked yet. How do you feel?"

"Like an idiot." Sam muttered, but carefully licked the candy again.

Dean grinned and grabbed another candy cane. He said, "Well, you've always been my idiot, little brother. No need to go changing now."

"I hate you."

"I just gave you Christmas candy." Dean shot him a pitiful look, then licked his own candy cane. "You should be grateful, bitch."

"Thanks, jerk." Sam's lips twitched in a slight smile.

"That's better." Dean grinned again and asked, "Why'd you buy these anyway?"

Sam lowered his candy cane and said, "Didn't. Clerk just gave them to me."

"She must've thought you were cute. Or pitiful." Dean bit off a chunk of the candy and wrinkled his nose, "Probably pitiful. Well, whatever. It's working so far, right?"

"I don't know." Sam whispered, closing his eyes and pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.

He was swallowing hard again and Dean knew there was no way he would ever be able to keep a pill down. He set his candy cane aside and grabbed the washcloth. Rewetting it, Dean pushed Sam's head back against the bed. Sam's hands dropped to the floor and Dean realized exactly how crappy his brother felt because he didn't even try to take the washcloth this time. He just kept his eyes closed and let Dean wipe it over his face.

"Maybe it's time we throw you in a cold shower. Well, bath, I guess, because I don't see you standing upright anytime soon." Dean shook his head, cursing at the heat rolling off his brother. "This fever is not breaking."

Sam looked at him with glassy eyes and said, "Don't wanna die in there..."

"Why would you die in there?" Dean asked, heart in his throat. Either the delirium was catching up or Sam was feeling a lot worse than he even looked. And he looked like hell. "Sam?"

"Cuz you'll never be able to get me out." Sam smiled briefly. "And I don't think I can do it myself."

Dean coughed and shook his head. Getting the cloth wet again, he said, "Dude, I'd hold your head above water so you wouldn't drown."

Sam snickered, then squeezed his eyes closed, hot tears rolling down his cheeks. He whispered, "Dean?"

Heart aching at how miserable Sam looked, he asked, "Yeah, Sam?"

"It's gonna be better in the morning, right?"

Dean coughed when he tried to speak. Clearing his throat he said, "Yeah. 'Course it will. Tomorrow's Christmas. It'll be better." Sam didn't reply. Dean studied his brother and asked, "You wanna lie down again?"

Sam nodded.

"Ok, I'll help you." Dean said, starting to move. He watched as Sam just curled up on the floor on his side, hands wrapped around his head again. Dean sighed. Apparently they were staying on the floor.

Dean got to his knees and grabbed a pillow from the bed. Crawling forward, he gently lifted Sam's head and tucked the pillow underneath. Turning around, he gathered the bag of supplies and the mug of water and dragged it back with him. He settled across from Sam with his back against the other bed. After coughing up a mouthful of gunk and spitting it into the trashcan, he opened another bottle of Gatorade and took a sip. Then he pulled Sam's hands away from his face and pressed the washcloth against his forehead again.

Sam didn't open his eyes, but relaxed a bit. He reached out until he blindly caught hold of Dean's wrist. Voice broken and breathless, he whispered, "Don't leave me."

Blinking back the sudden moisture in his eyes, Dean pulled his wrist free, and eased Sam's hand to the floor. Squeezing his hand, Dean said, "Not leaving, Sammy. Not now, not ever. Got it?"

"Yeah." Sam looked up at him for a split second before his eyes closed again.

"Good." Dean nodded. He wiped the washcloth over Sam's face and lowered his own aching head to his free hand. He desperately wanted to lie down too, but he knew he'd never be able to breathe in that position. So he settled in for a long, miserable night.

* * *

_9 PM Christmas Eve_

Raquel watched from the doorway for a few more minutes, then turned away. She'd been watching them for hours. Watching as they took care of each other. Watching their misery as they grew worse and worse. And she couldn't do it any longer. So she headed back to the highway. It was late, it was dark and it was Christmas Eve. If it took all night, if she had to step in front of a car she was going to do it. Because she wasn't going back to the motel room without help.

A semi roared past her just as she arrived back at the highway. Raquel swallowed her fear and looked up the road. She could already see the glow of headlights coming her way. At least now, in the dark, no one would be able to see the dirt and blood on her jacket and jeans. They'd stop and then she'd tell them she needed help and someone would help her this time. They had to.

The car was coming at her quickly, though not at the same speed as the semi that had disappeared into the night. She stood on the side of the road, still hesitant to step in front of the car. As it drew near her, she started waving her arms and jumping up and down. The car seemed to slow down, but she wasn't sure. Raquel ran into the road, still waving her arms. Cars had slowed before and not stopped. She couldn't take the chance that this one would do the same. So she held her breath and stood in the path of the car, praying it would stop in time.

* * *

**Hope it was worth the wait! A bit of a late Christmas present for you. Thank you all for taking the time to read, and for those of you who have reviewed and all of you who have set alerts to follow and those who have added this story to their favorites! It truly means the world to me and I love writing for you all. :) **

**So...do you think Raquel is going to have any luck this time? And who exactly is she, anyway? Can't promise to answer the second question in Chapter 6, but I promise to answer the first! Cheers! :) **


	6. Chapter 6

**Well, help has finally arrived! Let's see who comes to rescue the boys and how things go...**

* * *

_9:05 PM Christmas Eve  
__Highway_

"It was great to have the entire family together for once. And so nice that Mina brought Jake. I've been wanting to meet him."

Tommy Pender nodded, turning his brights on. He glanced at his wife as she clicked through the Christmas pictures on her camera. He said, "I warned Erik that Mina was going to be engaged by the new year. And Jake asked him this evening if he could propose to Mina."

Arla lowered the camera and grinned, "Erik told you that? Awww, how sweet! And with Katey pregnant and Ryan about to graduate, it's certainly going to be a busy year for Erik and Elizabeth."

"I'm not sure my brother can handle the excitement." Tommy rolled his eyes.

"He is rather low-key about things." Arla raised an eyebrow. Erik was one of the most laid back, non-excitable people she had ever met. Shaking her head, she glanced back at the pictures. She found one of Elizabeth opening a present; childlike glee on her face. Laughing, Arla showed Tommy the picture and said, "But his wife isn't. She's going to be a mess..."

"I know." Tommy said. "Would rather not think about that. Glad I'm not married to her..."

"Now, don't be mean. She's a..." Arla broke off and lowered the camera. "Tommy, slow down. Someone's in the road."

Tommy narrowed his eyes and looked ahead. He still had his high beams on and shook his head, but slowed the car. He said, "That's a deer."

"A deer that's waving its arms, Tommy?" Arla leaned forward, slapping him on the shoulder. "Slow down! Slow down, they need help."

"We are not stopping for..."

"Stop the car." Arla insisted, slapping his shoulder again. Harder. The figure in the street was clearly a woman, jumping up and down and waving her arms frantically. "Tommy, stop the car."

"You're retired." Tommy whined, but he was already pulling the car to the side of the road.

Arla nodded, "So are you. Doesn't mean it stops you from jumping every time there's a call on the scanner."

"I'm stopping, aren't I?" He muttered, glancing to the right as the woman ran up to Arla's window.

She was probably in her mid-thirties and pretty, if a little ragged in appearance. Under a dirty jean jacket that looked suspiciously like it was stained with blood spray, she was wearing a red sequined shirt. Her jeans were also dirty and stained and she brushed a shaking hand over her clothes. Eyes wide and frightened, tears ran down her cheeks.

Arla rolled down the window and said, "I'm Arla. Do you need help?"

"Raquel." The woman said. She peered at them, wiping a hand over her face and said, "My friends...they're sick."

"Honey, you don't look good yourself. Were you in an accident?" Arla asked, trying to get a better look. The woman stepped back and wrapped her arms around herself. Arla held up her hand and said, "It's ok. We aren't going to hurt you. Do you need medical attention?"

The woman laughed hysterically and then shook her head, "I'm fine. Please, I...they need help. They're sick and I can't help them and I think...they...I think they're going to die."

Arla frowned and asked, "Where are they?"

"Arla..." Tommy's voice took on a cautioning tone.

She knew it was his training, His experience. And she wasn't discounting it. She couldn't see a car anywhere and knew very well that it could be a set-up. But there was fear in the woman's eyes that you just couldn't fake. So either she was being forced to be the bait for some kind of trap, or she was genuinely worried for her friends and so desperate she would run out on a highway late at night to flag down a car.

Raquel said, "They're up at the motel."

Arla looked around, trying to place where they were exactly.

"The one that closed down?" Tommy asked, leaning closer to look at Raquel.

"Yes."

"Why are your friends at a closed up motel?" He asked, not trying to be unkind, but still suspicious.

Raquel's face crumpled as she started to cry. She said, "They're broke. They came to town to help people and they got sick. And they can't afford a hospital or food or anything. But they're both so sick, please, please, I don't know what else to do."

"It's ok." Arla said, heart stirring at the woman's plight. She looked at Tommy. He shrugged and nodded. Arla looked back at the woman. "Raquel, we'll go see if we can help them."

The brunette's eyes widened with hope. She said, "Thank you thank you! I'll meet you up there."

Arla's jaw dropped as the woman turned and ran into the woods, disappearing in a heartbeat. She said, "I can't believe she..."

Tommy just turned the car around and said, "We didn't have room for a passenger anyway."

He was right, of course. The trunk and entire back seat was crammed with Christmas presents and the donated supplies. Arla realized those supplies might come in handy sooner than she'd expected. She said, "I still can't believe she would just run like that. But she looked like she's been through a lot. She's scared and really worried about her friends."

"So it appears." Tommy said, hunting for the weed-overgrown road that led up to the motel. He added, "This seems..."

"Hush." Arla said, setting the camera back in its case and unbuckling her seat belt. She turned around and started digging through the mess in the back for her backpack. She said, "You're a suspicious old man, Tommy."

"Kept me alive all these years." Tommy smiled as they bumped over the rutted dirt road. He said, "I'm being careful. And I'm going to take a look around before you go and get into trouble."

Arla leaned over and gave him a quick kiss, then settled back in her seat with her backpack on her lap. Staring into the darkness ahead she said, "I expected that you would, dear."

It took them almost five minutes to drive up the winding dirt road to the motel. When they pulled into sight of the motel, Arla pointed. "Look, there's a car. That must be them."

"Uh huh." Tommy agreed, eyes roving the entire place. It had once been a fairly nice motel, they'd actually stayed there a few times themselves, but now it was just an eyesore. An abandoned building ripe for vagrants and low-lifes to take advantage of. He knew it was his natural born suspicion, but he couldn't help but wonder who exactly they were coming to help.

Arla interrupted his thoughts, "Tommy, stop being so negative. Let's not assume the worst of everyone."

"Yes dear." He said, parking the SUV a space away from what looked like a classic Impala. It looked well maintained. Nodding in appreciation, he glanced at the motel room beyond the car. The front door was open and he could see a pale light from somewhere inside. Arla was already moving and he grabbed her arm. He said, "We go together."

She nodded and they got out of the car, her backpack over her shoulder and his Beretta in his hand. Arla stayed a step behind him as he walked to the room. She glanced around wondering how long it would take Raquel to reach the motel. Tommy paused at the door and made her wait just outside it. Something must have made him think it wasn't safe. It was hard to wait but she trusted him. He was the expert. If he didn't think it was safe, she wasn't going inside. So she stared at the big black car in front of her and waited for him. A few seconds passed and she heard him mumbling quietly.

Arla leaned closer to the door. She couldn't hear exactly, but it almost sounded like he was talking to someone. And he was talking in that gentle tone that he'd used on the twins any time they'd scraped a knee or had a broken heart from a bad break up. That wasn't his cop voice; that was his dad voice. About ready to turn the corner and go in, Arla looked up as he came back out. His face told her everything.

He said, "There are some weapons in there, Arla, but I'm not going to jump to any conclusions yet. Those two boys need your help."

Arla nodded and walked into the room. She gasped at the sight that met her in the dimly lit, grungy little motel room. Vaguely, she noticed the mess. The clothes and supplies scattered around. The take out containers in a pile under the table. But mostly she noticed the two young men huddled against one of the beds.

Only one had his eyes open and even across the room, she could see the despair. His face was flushed with fever and his dark hair was plastered to his forehead. He had his arms wrapped around the other guy's chest, holding him up. And, judging from how wretched the second guy's lungs sounded even from across the room, it was probably a good thing. Arla crossed the room and knelt next to them, wondering where in the world to start. Because they both looked terrible.

"Please," the kid with the bleary eyes whispered hoarsely, "help m'brother."

"I'm going to." Arla smiled, setting her backpack down. Unzipping it, she said. "My name is Arla. What's your name?"

"Sam." He said, then looked down at his brother's upturned face. "Dean...he...can't breathe."

"You did good keeping him upright." Arla nodded, pulling out her stethoscope. "His name is Dean?"

Sam nodded. His hands tightened into fists, gripping his brother's shirt. Arla saw the fear, the uncertainty on his face and had a pretty good idea that the kid wasn't used to people helping him. Or being kind. Arla sighed and gently touched his shoulder.

She smiled again and said, "Sam, I'm here to help you both, ok?" Arla motioned to Tommy who was hovering at her shoulder, "You met my husband Tommy? We're going to help you."

"He...fell over," Sam said, his own breathing sounding labored, "and he couldn't...breathe again."

"I'm going to listen to his lungs, now, Sam, and we're going to help you both."

Sam swallowed hard and closed his eyes, his head lowering to rest against his brother's. It was a simple gesture that spoke of deep trust and love. Arla's heart melted. She wondered what their story was. They were close, that much was obvious. And something told her they'd lived a difficult life.

Arla shook her head, blinking back tears as she put the stethoscope to her ears. She pressed the diaphragm of the stethoscope against Dean's chest. Lungs sounded like utter crap, as she'd already expected. She looked up at his pale face and dusky lips. They hadn't gotten here a moment too soon. Glancing at her watch, Arla checked his pulse and respirations. Sky high. Not good. She set the stethoscope aside and looked up at Tommy.

"I knew those supplies were going to be a blessing to someone. Go grab the tanks and the respiratory supply kit." Arla glanced back at the brothers and put her hand against Sam's forehead. Her heart sank at the heat she felt. She added, "Better bring in the cooler, too, Tommy. We need to ice him down or this one's going to go up in flames."

She heard Tommy move away and returned her attention to her patients. Reaching back into her bag, she found the pulse oximeter and slid it onto Dean's finger. She saw Sam was looking at her again, head still resting against his brothers, and she asked, "Hey, Sam. How are you doing? Looks like Dean's not the only one feeling lousy."

He stared at her for a long moment, but she could tell he wasn't seeing her. Eyes glassy and far away, he whispered, "Jess?"

Arla frowned. The girl at the side of the road had said her name was Raquel. And she hadn't mentioned anyone else. Arla asked, "Sam, who's Jess?"

"Jess." Sam mumbled again, eyes closing.

Glancing at the monitor on Dean's finger, Arla took a deep breath. Not good. 79% on room air. No wonder the kid's lips were blue. She could hear Tommy rifling through the SUV for the supplies and hoped he was hurrying. Taking the monitor off Dean's finger, she slid it onto one of Sam's and stared at it while the little device calculated how much oxygen was actually perfusing his bloodstream. She hoped it was more than what was in his brother. One case of severe respiratory distress was bad enough. Pulling out an infrared thermometer, Arla knew a raging fever wasn't really much better.

The two devices finished their calculations and she sighed. There was no satisfaction in being right all the time. His temperature was 104.2 and the oximeter read a shaky 87%. He dropped to 85% every few seconds and fluctuated up and down from there. Arla put the oximeter back on Dean's finger and then checked his temperature too. 100.6. Not as bad as his brother, but certainly not good given his other symptoms. Arla took a second to look around the area.

A pillow on the floor. Both beds unmade and giving evidence of restless attempts to sleep. Empty bottles of Gatorade, a cough syrup bottle on its side, unopened cold medications and a box of candy canes. She smiled sadly at the sight of the Christmas candy, then pushed the wastebasket that reeked of sickness further away. These two boys had been having a very, very bad Christmas Eve. Footsteps pulled her attention back to the present and she was relieved to see Tommy coming toward her, arms full of supplies.

"I'm going back for the cooler. Anything else we need?" He asked, setting the oxygen tanks down and ripping open the plastic packaging around an oxygen mask.

Arla hooked the tubing to one of the oxygen tanks and said, "Bring in those washcloths that Jill gave me. And better look for the fluids."

"What about just calling for an ambulance?" Tommy asked, setting up the other oxygen tank.

"Take too long." Arla said, sliding the mask over Dean's face. She had to push Sam's head up enough to slide the elastic behind Dean's head. Sam frowned, but didn't open his eyes. She looked at Tommy, "You know you'll have to drive a good ten minutes to even get cell reception and it would take them forever to get here. I want to get them stabilized. We're already verging on respiratory arrest with this one," She checked the oximeter on Dean's finger, then motioned to Sam, "and he's headed toward hypovolemic shock."

Tommy handed her the second mask and said, "I'll be right back."

Arla touched Sam's cheek and said, "Sam? I'm going to give you some oxygen to help with your breathing. Just relax and let me do all the work."

He blinked at her, but didn't fight her. His hands were still tightly gripping his brother's shirt and Arla wondered how easy it would be to get them apart when the time came. She slid the mask on and wiped his bangs away from his eyes. They were both so young; younger even than the twins. Arla shook her head, trying to figure out how they'd ended up in the mess they were in. Checking the oximeter, she was relieved to see the numbers were improving a little.

"Arla, I haven't seen that girl anywhere." Tommy said softly, setting the rest of the supplies next to them.

Frowning, she said, "That doesn't seem good. She should have made it here by now, Tommy."

"I agree. Let me help you get them settled and I'll go look for her." Tommy said, sliding a box closer to her. "She looked like she was injured or something. Maybe she's in trouble too." He watched as she selected a bag of fluid from the box and yanked open another package of supplies. "What do you need me to do?"

"End game, I want them both off the floor." Arla said, spiking the bag, "For now, I want to start rehydrating this one," she motioned to Sam, "and get his temperature down. He's been in and out but I don't know how he's going to take it if I try to start this IV."

"I've got him." Tommy nodded his understanding and stepped past her. He knelt next to the kid and asked, "You get a name?"

Arla opened an alcohol swab and said, "Sam. And this is his brother Dean. Couple of kids, Tommy." She said softly and shook her head. "Just a couple of kids."

Tommy touched Sam's shoulder as Arla gently took his wrist. She said, "Sam? It's Arla. I just need to take your arm and start an IV to help you feel better. Ok?"

He stirred at her touch and stiffened. Looking into his eyes, Arla could tell he was confused and scared. She smiled and said, "Sam, I'm here to help you. And help Dean. This is what I need to do to help you both, ok?"

Sam mumbled something behind the mask and Arla leaned closer. She smiled when she finally caught his whispered '_help him_'. Putting her hand to Sam's cheek again, she said very clearly, "I'm helping you both, Sam. He's already breathing a little better with the oxygen and we're going to get you both comfy. But we have to take care of you too. You feel pretty sick, I'm betting, right?"

Sam nodded.

"Ok, just relax your arm and I'm going to give you something to help." Arla waited until she saw some of the confusion fade in his exhausted eyes. His fingers slowly unclenched from his brother's shirt and she smiled, "Thank you. Just relax."

Tommy held his arm steady while Arla searched for a vein. As dehydrated as the kid was, it wasn't easy, but she still managed to get the IV catheter in on one attempt. Sam didn't even flinch when she inserted it. Taping it down, she put the bag of fluid up on the bed behind him. Tommy eased his right arm down to his lap, but Sam kept his left arm around Dean's chest, fingers still clinging to his shirt.

Arla sat back and said, "Ok, let's see if we can get Dean off the floor. He needs to be sitting up, but I want them off this floor."

"Not gonna be easy." Tommy said, studying the brothers. They weren't exactly little kids and he wasn't exactly as young as he'd once been.

"Never said it would be." Arla smiled, checking the oximeter.

Dean was satting in the mid eighties now which was good. Nineties was what she wanted, but given how bad his lungs sounded, she'd be happy if he'd even hit 90%. As soon as they were settled, she needed to give him a nebulizer treatment to loosen up the crap in his lungs. She stood up and shook her head. There were only three pillows in the room. And they all were nasty, stained and without pillow cases. That would not do.

"Tommy, while I get another line started on Dean, can you go find our pillows. And grab the bedding." She started opening another package of IV tubing. Tommy rose and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek as he walked by.

By the time he'd come back inside, she had an IV running and had talked Sam into relinquishing his death grip on his brother. He was limp as a noodle as she helped him slide out from behind Dean. He stared at her, watching as she kept a hand against Dean's chest to hold him up. Tommy made a pile of four pillows on the bed behind them, then leaned down to help her. It took a few tries and wasn't nearly as patient comfort focused as she would have liked, but they didn't drop him.

Arla leaned Dean back against the pillows with her favorite ivory satin pillowcases as Tommy lifted his legs up onto the bed. They worked quickly to get him settled. Arla hung the IV bag on an exposed nail in the wall behind the bed where a long ago stolen piece of cheap art had doubtless once hung and Tommy yanked off the sheet and ratty blanket from the bed. He unfolded their spare sheets and blanket they'd used while visiting at his brother's house for the holiday.

Pulling the blanket up over Dean's chest, Arla was relieved to see his eyes were open. He was frowning and she could see the panic in his eyes quickly switch to suspicion and wariness. Something about the way he looked assessingly at her and Tommy made Arla realize he could be a very dangerous man. But right now, she knew he looked dangerous for only one reason. Because he had no idea who they were or where his brother was.

She smiled and held her hands out in a calming manner as he started trying to push himself up off the bed. Arla said, "Dean, it's ok. My name is Arla and this is my husband Tommy. I'm a doctor and I'm here to help you and your brother."

Dean blinked at her, breathing increasing as he fought the confusion and illness. She glanced down at Sam who was looking up at his brother. He started moving, trying to get up. Tommy had already walked behind her and was reaching down to help him. Arla looked back at Dean and said, "Sam's right here, Dean. He's ok."

She reached over and grabbed the IV bag as Sam dragged himself to his feet. Tommy tried to hold him up as the kid wavered. Arla watched as Dean's eyes widened and he reached out a hand toward his brother. Sam grabbed at Dean's shirt again as he sat down on the edge of the bed, head lowered in exhaustion. Dean pulled at the oxygen mask on his face then put his hand on the back of Sam's head.

Arla was about to put the mask back in place, but realized he was just trying to talk to his brother. Dean's voice was weak and ragged as he spoke, "Sammy, let her...help...you...ok?"

Sam nodded, hand still on his brother's chest. He reached up with his other hand and put the mask back where it belonged on Dean's face.

They were killing her. Arla rolled her eyes at the sight of two miserable, sick boys trying to outdo each other in taking care of the other. They were adorable and frustrating. Because they both needed just to stop and let someone else take care of them. From the way they were acting, though, she had the feeling that they weren't used to doing anything but taking care of themselves; and each other. Again, she was suspicious they might not have too much else in their lives but each other.

Dean met her eyes and nodded, patting Sam on the arm. She knew Dean had just given her permission. She nodded back and said, "Tommy, let's get him in bed."

Tommy helped pull Sam to his feet again and Arla saw Dean watching every move with the same eagle eyes that she'd used when her girls were learning to walk, to drive, to start dating. She had a feeling he was the older brother. She motioned to Tommy and grabbed the second oxygen tank and IV bag. They headed around the other side of Dean's bed; big brother watching every single step of the way.

He didn't smile at her, but there was tremendous relief in his deep green eyes when they eased Sam down next to him. Arla had quickly decided it would probably be simpler if she kept them next to each other. If she didn't, they were going to be trying to get out of bed every five minutes to check on the other one. And she'd rather not have to pick either of them up again. Tommy handed her the last of their pillows and she slid it behind Sam who relaxed against it with a gentle sigh. He tilted his head toward his brother, then settled.

Arla nodded, glad they'd at least got them both off the floor. She felt a little more hopeful now that she'd seen both of the boys conscious. Dean was still watching her carefully and she almost laughed. She'd taken care of patients before who had overprotective family members watching her every move, but she'd never had to deal with a patient also being the overprotective family member. It was time she took a quick minute to get to know her second patient.

Walking back around the bed, she smiled as Dean's sharp eyes followed her the entire time. She sat down next to him and held out her hand. "I'm Arla Pender." Dean shook her hand and she motioned behind her, "This is my husband Tommy."

"Dean Winchester." He said, then broke out coughing. It took him a minute to catch his breath and she watched the numbers on the pulse oximeter go down, then finally back up.

"Nice to meet you, Dean." Arla said, "Now, I'm going to give you some instructions that I expect for you to follow. I am a doctor with twenty years of experience. And I say that in order to make it very clear that _my _instructions are what we will be adhering to."

Dean raised an eyebrow, but didn't speak.

Arla continued, "You and your brother are both very ill and very concerned about each other. Which is great. But now I am here and I'm going to take care of you both and I need you each to do what I say so that I can get you back on your feet. Understood?"

Dean nodded.

"Good. Right now I want you to rest while I concentrate on your brother." She checked the monitor again. "I'm going to give you a breathing treatment in a few minutes, but we need to do something about Sam's fever."

"Thank you." Dean whispered, giving her a very quick smile.

"You're welcome." She patted him on the shoulder, watching his eyes close. She rose, turned to Tommy and said softly, "Maybe you should go look for that girl now."

"Ok. Keep the door locked while I'm gone." Tommy said, handing her the stack of brand new green washcloths. "Be careful."

Arla nodded, "You too, honey."

* * *

Raquel stood just outside the door and held her breath. She wasn't sure what to do now. She'd been hoping, expecting, that the newcomers would call an ambulance and that everyone would leave the motel. Before it was too late. Now it looked like no one was leaving and that was unacceptable. Because she had no idea when he was going to show up and she couldn't let these people get hurt.

It was time for plan B.

* * *

**Wow...this one got really long! :) As always, much appreciation and virtual cookies or whatever you like best to all of you fantastic people taking the time to read this little story. Next chapter we may find out a little more about Raquel...and who she is so afraid of. Oh, and probably some more lovely caring brother moments. Cuz I don't know about you, but those are the moments I love best on the show! Love to hear your thoughts! :)**

**PS: A big thanks to Taraneh and C1 for the guest reviews! I can't send you private message thank you's, but wanted to let you know I appreciate your reviews. And C1, thanks for reviewing my other story, House Arrest! Much appreciated! :) **


	7. Chapter 7

**Hi! So I had internet issues all day yesterday which didn't let me get this posted. Today has been sketchy too, so I'm hoping this works! :) **

**Thank you to C1, Taraneh and Tricia for the nice guest reviews to ch 6! **

**Hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

_1000 PM Christmas Eve_  
_Motel_

Tommy knocked on the motel room door and waited for Arla to unlock it for him. He frowned, glancing over his shoulder at the empty parking lot. The entire area seemed deserted and he'd seen no sign of the woman who had flagged them down on the side of the highway. Despite the fact that everything was quiet, there was no denying the tickle of wrongness he felt in his gut. Something was not right. Looking back at the room, he saw movement through the thin curtain over the window, then the door was cautiously opened. Arla's expression was relieved when she saw him.

"Did you find Raquel?" Arla whispered, looking behind him as he stepped into the room.

"No sign of her." Tommy closed the door and locked it. He glanced over at the bed, "They asleep?"

"For now." Arla sighed, rubbing her neck and looking back up at him, "Did you go back to the highway..."

"Yes. I looked everywhere between here and the road. And all the other motel rooms. Nothing. No sign of her." Tommy shrugged, "Something doesn't seem right about this."

Arla frowned and said, "It's all very strange."

Tommy watched as she crossed the room back to her patients. He'd watched her take care of hundreds of people over the years. Sick, injured, young, old. And she always did it without question or prejudice. Always with a gentle hand and sweet spirit. He still counted himself tremendously blessed to have met and married her. She was a good balance to his natural born suspicious mind. Speaking of which, Tommy shook his head and tried to set aside his concern over the missing woman and the strange circumstances. Arla had the cooler of melting ice and water sitting next to her and was replacing the washcloths that she'd placed against the fevered kid's forehead and neck.

"How're they doing?" Tommy asked softly, standing at the foot of the bed. They looked pretty awful to him, but he wasn't the doctor.

Arla checked the kid's temperature, then rose. She joined him and glanced at the thermometer. Shaking her head, she looked up at him and whispered, "I've got them stabilized. For now. Sam's fever is still hovering right at 104 and he's not resting well. His brother's breathing is better since I gave him a neb treatment and he's sleeping at least."

"What are you thinking?"

"That they need more treatment than I can give them here." Arla said, "The fluids and oxygen are helping, but they need antibiotics. I think they've both got pneumonia."

Tommy grimaced. He'd suffered through that a few years ago himself. He asked, "Should I go and try to make a call? Get an ambulance now that they're stabilized?"

"Either that or we just take them into town ourselves. That would be quicker." Arla said, then touched his elbow and drew him across the room. She waved her hand around and stared at him with those empathetic eyes of hers. She said, "Tommy, look around."

"It's a mess." He acknowledged, "Looks like my dorm room back in college."

Arla rolled her eyes, and her smile faded quickly as she whispered, "There is one can of soup, a box of crackers and a lot of empty fast food packages. No other food. Dirty laundry and some medicine. Nothing else. I'm willing to bet they don't have any money either."

"And?" He prompted.

"And how are they going to pay a hospital bill?"

"That's not exactly our problem." He shook his head, "If they need a hospital, then we need to get them there."

Arla nodded, "I agree. I just think maybe we should keep our options open. I can call in some prescriptions and maybe save them a few dollars they don't seem to have..."

Tommy didn't even have to ask what she was thinking. Because after forty-three years of marriage, he knew. He said, "Arla, we have no idea who they are or what is going on. There are a lot of weapons in this room. From a purely suspicious retired police officer's perspective, there is something very strange about all of this."

Arla squeezed his arm and said, "From a suspicious retired police officer's wife's perspective, I completely agree."

"But from a retired doctor and never retired _mother's_ perspective," Tommy smiled knowingly, "you want to have the whole story before you make any decisions. _And_ you want to take them home."

Arla sighed and rested her head against his shoulder, "Tomorrow is _Christmas_, Tommy. They don't have any money or any place to go."

"How do you know that?" He rolled his eyes, wrapping his arm around her.

"Why would they be staying in an abandoned motel on Christmas Eve if they had somewhere to go? In an abandoned motel, with no food," Arla frowned, "and so sick that they couldn't even get off the floor to get into bed?" She pointed at Sam and added, "He was holding his brother up so he could _breathe_, Tommy. What do you think they were going to do if we hadn't come when we did?"

"Alright, alright, I hear you." Tommy nodded, "But I want some answers before we even think about inviting them over for Christmas dinner, Arla."

"Honey," Arla hurried back toward the bed as Sam started fumbling with his mask. "I don't think they're going to feel up to eating Christmas dinner."

Tommy sighed and said, "I still want answers."

"I know. And I agree." Arla helped Sam roll to his side, holding a basin for him as he started throwing up. She looked back over at Tommy and said, "As soon as they can make it ten minutes without acute shortness of breath or vomiting, you can interrogate them, dear."

Tommy grimaced as the kid hurled his guts up. From the looks of it, it might be awhile before he got to interrogate them.

* * *

_1000 PM Christmas Eve  
__Five miles north of motel_

"You have to help me, Mallory." Raquel begged, "I'll do anything, _anything_, but you have to help me keep Gethen away."

Mallory shook her head, long straight hair swinging over her shoulders. She looked understanding but helpless. Her voice low, Mallory asked, "What do you expect me to do? You think I have some kind of control over him?"

Raquel lowered her head to her hands and said, "No. None of us do."

"That's right." Mallory shrugged, "So you might as well chill out, sweetie. Because Gethen is going to come and take whatever he wants. Just like he always does."

"I can't let him."

Mallory shook her head, hand on her hip. She sighed and said, "Look, Raquel, I know you're new at this. I know this is the first time for you and that, well, that you're still adjusting to everything." Her smile was understanding, "It took me a long time too. But I'm going to save you a little heartache and frustration. And a whole lot of pain. No one likes it, but we have no choice. You need to give Gethen what he wants and he'll leave you alone."

"I don't want to be left alone. I want to be _free_." Raquel whispered, shivering in the breeze. "I just can't...I can't let this happen. Those are innocent people back at that motel, Mallory."

"Yeah and we were innocent people once, too." Mallory raised an eyebrow. "And now we're not."

Raquel looked at the other woman and saw both understanding and defeat in her eyes. Mallory had been working for Gethen for a very long time. She touched Raquel's arm and said, "I know what you're thinking, sweetie. I do. I see the hope; the rebellion in your bright little eyes. I had that in my eyes for awhile too. But it died. Like everything dies."

"I can't just give up." Raquel whispered.

"Yes you can." Mallory shook her shoulders, expression dead serious, "And you will. Because if you try this, if you try anything crazy, he is going to..."

"What?" Raquel laughed bitterly, "What's he going to do to me? Kill me?"

"He won't kill you, Raquel." Mallory said solemnly, "He will _hurt_ you. In ways you can't even imagine."

Raquel turned away and crossed her arms across her chest, staring into the distance. She knew Mallory was right. But she couldn't let four innocent people die because she wasn't brave enough to stand up to Gethen. She knew she couldn't hope that Mallory would help her. She might even have just given Mallory reason to betray her to Gethen when he arrived, but it was too late to change anything.

"Raquel?"

"What?" She turned around to look back at Mallory.

Mallory stared at her, shoulders slumped. After a long moment, she said, "Look. I can't...I just can't help you. I tried to help someone before and...it was bad. For him and for me. But what I _will _do is let you know as soon as he arrives. That will give you a little time. So what you need to do right now is go back to that motel and get those people out of there before Gethen finds out about them. That's the best you can do, best you can hope for right now."

Raquel knew Mallory was taking a huge chance just by offering to give her the heads up. She smiled and nodded. Reaching out a hand, she squeezed Mallory's hand and said, "Thank you."

"Don't thank me." Mallory said, but smiled briefly. "Just go save those people, Raquel."

Raquel turned around and started running.

* * *

_1015 PM Christmas Eve_  
_Motel_

Dean woke from a deep but restless sleep and immediately felt the horrible tightness in his chest, the raw burning in his throat and the uncomfortable warmth of fever. His mind was slow and groggy, but it didn't take long for him to remember where he was and why he felt like hammered crap. And, more importantly, to remember why he'd been pulled from sleep.

Sam was calling out for Jessica again.

Blinking in the dim light of the motel room, he saw an older man sitting at the table, staring out the window. Couldn't remember his name, but vaguely remembered seeing his face earlier. The guy had a bushy white mustache and hair that was grey-white and wispy. Looked a little like Einstein, Dean mused, turning to look to his left. He saw the doctor, Arla, sitting next to Sam. Her forehead was wrinkled in worry as she stared down at him, adjusting the washcloth on his forehead as he moved restlessly in the throes of his nightmare.

Sam's mumbles were muffled by the oxygen mask that he was currently trying to pull off. His eyes were wide open as he stared up at the ceiling. Dean cursed, knowing exactly what Sam thought he was seeing up there. Arla was speaking softly, trying to calm him, but she wasn't getting anywhere. Dean reached out with his left hand and grabbed Sam's shoulder, giving him a shake. He pulled off his own oxygen mask, realizing as soon as he did exactly how much the oxygen was actually helping his miserable breathing. But he could manage for a few minutes.

"Sam." He called out, voice barely audible. Coughing and then clearing his throat, he raised his voice enough that when he called Sam's name again, his brother instantly turned and looked up at him.

But they weren't out of the woods yet. Dean may have caught his attention, but Sam's horrified eyes turned back to the ceiling as he started fighting to sit up and get the mask off again. Arla was gently pushing him down, and Dean put a hand out toward her.

He said more sharply than he intended, "Leave him alone."

Arla backed off, questioning eyes meeting his. At the moment, he wasn't interested in her professional opinion. He was more interested in waking his brother up all the way. Dean pulled the mask off Sam's face and turned his head away from the ceiling. Sam was reaching up, trying to fight Dean's hands off. From his position sitting up against the pillows, Dean found it difficult to keep his balance and hold onto him. Didn't help that he was short of breath and coughing.

"Dean," Arla's voice was gentle, "it's the fever. He's been in and out and..."

"It's a nightmare." Dean shook his head, slapping Sam's cheek. "Come on, Sam, wake up." He was too weak to yank his brother upright, and Sam's breathing sounded worse than his did at the moment. Dean looked up at Arla, "Help him sit up, please..."

Tommy appeared at her side and together they managed to get Sam upright against the headboard. He fought them every step of the way, shouting Jessica's name. Once he was sitting up, Dean leaned closer and said, "Sam, calm down."

"No! Dean, she's burning...the fire..." Sam's breathless voice was panicked as he reached out a shaking hand to grab at Dean's arm; still staring up at the ceiling. "Please, Dean, help her…"

"It's over, Sam. It's just a nightmare." Dean shook his head, repeating words he'd said so many times lately. Dean could tell Sam was awake, just not completely alert yet. His gasping breaths were starting to scare Dean. He put his hand against Sam's chest and said, "You gotta calm down and take some slow breaths. You with me?"

Sam stared at him and his breathing began to slow under Dean's hand. Dean nodded and ran a hand over his face, glad the crisis was past. After a minute, Sam leaned his head back against the wall. Dean sighed and patted Sam's shoulder, then put his hand against Sam's forehead. Sam squeezed his eyes closed and Dean studied him closely. The circles under his eyes looked black even against the flush of his face.

Dean looked at Arla and said, "He's still burning up."

"You're both running a fever." Arla said, pulling a washcloth from the water in her cooler. She squeezed it out and offered it to him, "I've been using what's left of our ice and his fever has come down a degree; which isn't much I grant you, but it's something. Yours is lower than it was earlier too, but not gone yet."

Dean pressed the washcloth to Sam's face and nodded. After a few seconds though, he had to lower his hand as he turned away, coughing so hard he thought his head was going to explode. Something was pressed into his hand and glanced down, grateful for the tissue. He spit a mouthful of gunk into the tissue, stomach turning at the sensation. Balling up the tissue, he heard Sam groan.

"Sam?" He asked hoarsely, watching as his brother swallowed hard, eyes still closed.

Dean had a bad feeling and was grateful to see Arla was one step ahead of him and already reaching for a plastic basin of some sort. She got it in front of Sam just in time. Cursing under his breath, Dean put his left arm around Sam's shoulders as he hunched forward, vomiting into the basin. There wasn't much in life he hated more than listening to Sam in pain and he was moaning right now like everything hurt. Which, Dean decided, given the beating he'd taken from the poltergeists and the ache of the fever, wasn't surprising.

Sam spat another mouthful into the basin that Arla was holding, his head hanging low as he fought to catch his breath. Dean held onto him so he didn't fall forward, then leaned closer when he heard Sam mumble something. Dean asked, "What?"

"Don't feel good." Sam whispered, wiping his mouth with the back of a shaking hand.

"I know, Sammy." Dean shook his head as Sam coughed, then threw up again.

Dean glanced over at Arla and saw compassion and concern in her blue eyes. She was holding the basin and brushing Sam's sweaty hair out of his face as he retched. Dean's jaw tightened, remembering his mom doing the same thing for him when he'd been sick as a kid. Then he felt even worse realizing that Sam had no idea what it was like to have a mom take care of him when he was sick. He'd only ever had Dean or Dad and Dean started to realize exactly how much Sam had missed growing up.

He tightened his grip around Sam's shoulders and looked at Arla. He asked, "Isn't there something you can do for him?"

"I don't have any medicine with me." Arla shook her head and said, "We really need to get you both out of here so I can get the medications you need."

Dean felt trapped and desperate. If they wound up in a hospital they were going to have to make a break for it once they were feeling better because they had no insurance and no money and no cover story. To make matters worse, the tickle in his throat turned into yet another coughing spree. By the time he caught his breath, Arla had handed the basin to Tommy and was helping Sam sit back against the headboard. She gave Dean another tissue and he spit into it again, disgusted at the nasty mess. Dragging in a wheezing breath, he glanced at Sam, then back at Arla.

Arla smiled and said, "It's ok, Dean. He's getting some fluids from the IV and even if it doesn't seem like much, it's helping rehydrate him."

"He's still throwing up." Dean muttered, coughing again.

"And you're still coughing." Arla said, raising an eyebrow. "Like I said, we need to get you out of here. I can prescribe the antibiotics you both need, something for your cough, and something to help Sam's nausea. Now that you're both more stable, I think we should consider leaving soon."

Dean saw Tommy walking toward him with their last bottle of Gatorade in his hand. The older man smiled and offered it to him. Dean nodded and took it, shocked at how badly his hand was shaking. He took a sip and felt some of the pain ease again. He was finding it hard to think and was afraid he was going to make a mistake. He knew nothing about these people, and as nice as they seemed, one wrong move could land him and Sam in a whole lot of trouble.

Arla's voice interrupted his thoughts, "You boys aren't going to get over this without antibiotics and a lot of rest. Even without a chest x-ray, I think I can be fairly confident in diagnosing you both with pneumonia."

"What?" Dean raised an eyebrow, letting Tommy take the bottle back. "I mean, I'm not surprised about me, I guess. But Sam?"

"He may not be coughing or sound as bad as you," Arla said, "but you can see how short of breath he is and his breath sounds were diminished when I listened to his chest." She reached for the oxygen mask and said, "You both really need to try to get some more rest and keep these on."

"Ok." Dean said, but held up a finger as she motioned to Sam. He elbowed his brother and said, "The doc says the mask goes back on, Sam. Ok?"

Sam nodded and didn't fight when Arla slid the mask back in place then helped him lay back down against the pillow. He rubbed his eyes and dropped his hands to his chest. He looked up at Arla and whispered, "Thank you."

"You're welcome, honey." Arla said, putting another cold washcloth on his forehead. "Just try to rest again, ok?"

He nodded, but turned to Dean and asked, "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Is it morning yet?"

"Nope." Dean grinned, "But we're getting closer. Think we might actually make it."

Sam smiled briefly, then sighed and closed his eyes; pressing a hand against his head.

Looking up at Arla, Dean said, "It's been a really, really long day."

Arla said, "I believe it."

"How'd you end up here, anyway?" Dean asked, coughing into his sleeve and considering reaching for the oxygen mask again. "You guys lost or something?"

"Your friend flagged us down on the side of the highway." Tommy said, pulling a chair closer and handing the bottle of Gatorade back. "Raquel."

Accepting the bottle, Dean frowned, glancing between Arla and Tommy. He asked, "Who?"

"Raquel." Tommy said, sharp eyes narrowing, "You don't know her?"

"Never heard of her." Dean said, taking a sip.

"She said you were her friends and that you needed help." Tommy explained, exchanging a look with Arla. "That's part of why haven't left already. I was trying to find her while Arla got you two settled."

Dean let his head lean back against the pillows, feeling overwhelmingly tired. He just wanted to close his eyes and sleep for a month. Glancing between Arla and Tommy he said softly, "I don't know who she was. She's not with us. It's just me and him."

"What are you doing here at this motel?" Tommy asked.

"Tommy!" Arla said, a note of warning in her voice.

Dean thought about the weapons they'd left out in the open. He could tell Tommy knew about them. He had a bad feeling the guy was a cop or something. There was that official air about him. Dean realized he needed to think of a really good cover story and think of it quickly. A knock at the door saved him from having to come up with a convincing lie. He joined Tommy and Arla staring at the door. Swallowing hard, Dean watched as Tommy rose and approached the door, a hand on the gun in his waistband.

His hand itched for his own gun as he glanced down at Sam.

They were so screwed.

* * *

**Oh boy! This one had some twists in it. Hope you enjoyed! Thank you so much for taking the time to read! :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi everyone! Happy New Year! **

**Oh my gosh, guys, I can't tell you how sorry I am for the looong delay on this chapter. I **_**profusely**_ **apologize for leaving you hanging...since last year lol. It is **_**never**_ **my intention to leave everyone on such an awful cliffhanger! I feel terrible for taking so long to update. This week just got insanely crazy busy between family visits, the holiday, and a job interview on Tuesday with a follow up interview on Friday****. Phew. The happy news is that I GOT THE JOB! :D And, even better, the job schedule is going to give me **_**lots**_ **of writing time as opposed to my last job.**

**So, sincerely begging your forgiveness for the delay, without further ado, here is the long awaited Chapter 8!**

* * *

_1015 PM Christmas Eve_

Raquel ran back toward the motel; Mallory's words echoing in her brain. _No choice. Give him what he wants. He'll hurt you. _

_Go save those people_.

Realizing in a heartbeat that she should already have been standing at the door of room number 3, Raquel gasped. She wasn't moving. And she _couldn't _move. It was as if she were frozen in place. Fear gripped her heart with icy tendrils as she waited to see what was preventing her from moving. Never before, not even during this last hellish year trapped at the motel, had she ever felt so alone.

The terrible thought crossed her mind that maybe Mallory had betrayed her, but Raquel pushed it aside immediately. Even if they'd only seen each other a precious few times during the past year and she barely knew the girl, Raquel knew Mallory's words had been sincere. Mallory had promised to let her know when Gethen arrived. She wouldn't lie about that. Raquel wrapped her arms around herself and shivered even though she wasn't cold. Someone had stopped her. Someone was holding her in place, keeping her from going to the motel.

"You've made a very silly mistake."

Raquel turned slightly to the right and sucked in a shuddering breath when she saw the monster that was standing just a few feet away. His eyes were hollow, empty right down to the place his soul had once been. Smiling with bloodless lips, the man, or creature, Raquel wasn't sure which, stepped toward her; his movements uneven and jerking as he walked forward.

Her mouth went dry. She knew there were others who were in Gethen's service, but she'd never seen any one except Mallory. And the only time she'd seen Gethen had been the day he'd ripped her husband's body to shreds in front of her. This monster reminded her of Gethen, though. The sheer evilness emanating from the skeletal being astounded her. It stopped in front of her, dropping a bag to the ground. Raquel saw a pale white skull roll out of the bag. It was a bag of bones and she had a horrible feeling she knew whose bones were now lying in the dirt in front of her.

"I believe this is a friend of yours." The creature said, its awful lips twitching in what it probably considered to be a smile. "Mallory served Gethen well. Until she met you, that is. You corrupted her."

She looked up at the creature as it raised a skeletal hand toward her. The long, bone white fingers burned like ice as they touched her face. Raquel couldn't help but scream as his finger tore across her cheek. The thing smiled, empty eyes widening with pleasure. It leaned closer still and Raquel cringed away from the smell of blood and rotting corpses on its hot breath. She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to forget the sight of torn flesh that hung from the corner of his mouth.

Its voice sounded like a hollow echo through a deserted canyon when it spoke, "You should have done what you were told. What did you think you were going to accomplish?"

Hot tears streamed down her face and she gasped when the creature grabbed the back of her neck. He lit a match and held it up in front of her eyes. He said, "Your friend will pay for her rebellion."

* * *

_1020 PM Christmas Eve  
__Motel_

Arla stayed where she was at the side of the bed. Tommy approached the door, hand on his Beretta. The knock on the door had surprised them all and her heart was still pounding. She wasn't normally a jumpy kind of person, and as much as she was worried about her patients, she did agree with her husband that something seemed strange about the situation. The lateness of the hour, the missing woman, the weapons, and now a knock on the door had her wondering if, as Tommy had insinuated, they had stepped in the middle of something very bad.

Tommy carefully opened the door and she glanced at the brothers. Dean was staring at the door; his eyes were narrowed and as wary as Tommy's. His muscles were tense and despite being barely able to sit upright, he seemed ready to jump into action. Arla wondered if he'd been in the military. Because, just from the way he was analyzing the situation like a trained professional, he reminded her of Tommy and his hypervigilant cop buddies. She was willing to bet he was wishing he had one of his weapons in his hand. He closed his right hand in a fist, but Arla saw his left hand squeeze his brother's shoulder.

Gentle and reassuring.

He was a study in contradictions, Arla decided. She looked back over at Tommy and saw that his hand was still on his gun. He hadn't drawn it yet. Arla still couldn't see who was outside the door, but she heard Tommy ask, "Who are you?"

"Someone who is trying to help you."

It was a woman's voice and Arla frowned. It didn't sound like the woman they had met on the side of the road. She glanced at Dean and saw no recognition in his eyes at the sound of the woman's voice. So _he_ didn't know who she was either.

Interesting.

The woman said, "Please, let me in. I need to talk to you. You're all in danger."

Tommy backed up a little and opened the door wider. He took a quick glance around outside as the woman walked inside. Arla could have sworn that the temperature had dropped by ten degrees. Shivering, she studied the woman. She was much younger than Raquel, but her eyes showed a lifetime of suffering. Her body was vibrating with tension and her hand shook as she brushed her long black hair out of her eyes.

It was shocking how many young people they were running into who appeared to be living incredibly hard lives, Arla mused as she studied the girl. Arla walked forward toward her as Tommy locked the door. Smiling reassuringly, she said, "My name is Arla Pender and this is my husband, Tommy. What's your name, honey?"

The girl's dark eyes took in the room, the brothers, then finally met Arla's. Licking her lips, she said, "I'm Mallory Beech and you all need to leave right now."

"What is going on here?" Tommy asked, looking from Mallory and then over to Dean. "What are you kids all mixed up in? Drugs?"

"Drugs?" Mallory's eyes widened and she laughed without humor, "You think this is about drugs?"

Arla could see that Tommy's considerable patience was wearing thin. Placing a calming hand on his arm, she asked, "Why don't you tell us what's going on, Mallory?"

"Yeah...cuz I...have...no idea." Dean spoke up. It took four breaths for him to get the sentence out, Arla noted in concern. She really wanted to get that oxygen mask back on him.

Mallory took a step forward and waved a hand, "What's going on here is that you all stopped at the wrong motel. And we're trying to help you." She rolled her eyes, "Can you just run? For your lives? Please and thank you."

"We?" Arla asked.

"Yes _we_." Mallory said, voice tight, eyes taking in every corner of the room, unable to focus on anything. "You already met Raquel, didn't you? Well she isn't nearly as smart as she is sweet. She wanted to help those two," she pointed at Dean and Sam, "but she was too scared to talk to them until they were too sick and it was too late to get rid of them. So she got the attention of you Good Samaritans."

Mallory looked at the door, then back at Tommy and Arla. She said, "You need to pack up and run because you picked the wrong place to stay for Christmas."

"Where's Raquel?" Tommy asked. His hand was no longer hovering over his gun, but Arla could tell that he wasn't any less tense or suspicious.

"If she isn't here, she isn't coming. She left before me to come try to get all of you out of here." Mallory said with a grim smile, "I'm a little slow to the party, but I can't stand by and let Gethen kill any more people."

"I don't understand..." Arla never got to finish her statement.

Mallory let out a pained shriek as a burst of flames enveloped her. Arla gasped and took a staggering step backwards, watching the girl's skin burn off and her bones turn to ash. Hand over her mouth, Arla felt weak in the knees as the flames dissipated into nothingness and every trace of Mallory disappeared. It had taken less than two seconds, but that image would remain burned into Arla's memories forever.

Arla looked at Tommy. His expression was every bit as shocked as hers. He shook his head, speechless, his eyes moving between her and the spot where Mallory had been standing just seconds ago. Arla shrugged, mouth trying to form words, but coming up silent. What she'd just seen defied explanation and it had been both terrifying and surreal. Staring at Tommy, she tried to make sense of what had happened. She couldn't. Neither could he. But someone apparently could.

"You...need to get...out of here right...now."

Arla and Tommy turned and stared at Dean. He'd moved his legs off the edge of the bed and was sitting there wheezing and coughing, drenched in sweat. Looking up at them, he waved a hand toward the door and said, "Go now. We'll...take care...of this."

Arla's laugh was a bit hysterical. She asked, "You'll take care of what?"

"I know this looks crazy." Sam spoke up when Dean hunched over, coughing. Arla was shocked to see him actually sitting up and trying to get to his feet. He'd taken his own oxygen mask off and said, "But this is kind of what we do."

"What on earth?" Tommy asked, still shaking his head. "What on earth do you do?"

"We take care of monsters, sir." Sam said, pushing himself to his feet and leaning against the wall. Despite the fever, his face went sheet white when he stood.

"Monsters?" Tommy asked incredulously.

Instead of answering, Sam wavered, then immediately went down to his knees, one hand against the bed, the other pressed against his eyes.

Arla shook her head, "You know what? We're not doing this now."

Shaking off the lingering shock, she turned to Dean and put the mask back on his face. Just like his brother, he was trying to push himself to his feet; and, just like his brother, he was losing the battle. He also seemed to be losing the battle to breathe which was far more concerning. Arla pushed him down as he tried to rise yet again. It was painfully easy to hold him down and she could see the frustration in his eyes. And the determination. He was going to fight to get to his feet and do...whatever it was they did about monsters, even if it killed him. And Arla wasn't going to let that happen.

"We are leaving." She said, checking Dean's pulse, then looking up at Tommy, "We're leaving right now. Tommy, start packing."

"Arla..."

"Tommy." She shook her head, concerned by the bounding pulse under her fingers, "We figure it out later. All of it. Right now, we need to get out of here."

Tommy nodded. He said, "I'm going to take a look around first, see if there's anyone else out there."

"Ok." Arla said, pushing Dean back against the pillows. "Then grab what you can. We can come back if we need to; necessities only. It's time we get them to the hospital."

"No." Dean ground out, barely audible over the sound of his own congested lungs.

"Yes." Arla said, her hand against his cheek, making sure he met her eyes. "Dean, there is no option here. You need a hospital." He was still shaking his head and Arla wanted to wring his neck. She went on, "You have no choice. Whatever it is you think you need to do, you _can't _do it right now. You need a hospital."

She paused, seeing that she still hadn't convinced him. Glancing to her right, she realized there was perhaps only one thing that _would _convince him. Arla looked back at Dean and said, "You need a hospital and so does your brother."

That got his attention. He stared at her and she could see the wheels turning as he considered her words. She watched as he took a quick peek at his brother. Determination was replaced with worry. He looked back at her and nodded, losing what little fight he'd had in his eyes. Arla was shocked at the complete trust she saw in his eyes. From what little she knew of him, it was obvious that he wasn't a man who gave his trust easily. She smiled and squeezed his hand.

"We're going to get you both out of here, Dean." Arla said, waving a finger at him. "Stay put."

He nodded again, turning back to watch his brother who had finally given up trying to get back to his feet. His head was down on the bed and it looked like the fight had gone out of him too. Arla was about to head to his side when she heard Tommy walking back into the room. He immediately began to gather some of the scattered belongings and weapons.

Arla asked, "Tommy? Anyone out there?"

"No." He said, continuing to expertly pack the weapons he found. "It's quiet out there. I'd like to leave before that changes."

"Then help me get them out to the car."

* * *

_1230 AM Christmas Day  
__Hospital Emergency Room_

Tommy pushed the heavy door open and walked back into the ER. He took a sip of his coffee and looked around for Arla. It had been a hectic place earlier due to a serious car wreck that had come in not long after they'd finally arrived. Since his expertise was certainly not medical interventions, he'd decided it was a good time to sneak out for some coffee. Now, while there was still a bit of activity in one of the ER cubicles, the initial panic seemed to have died down. He headed toward the doctor's charting room and found Arla studying a computer screen and tapping a pen on the counter.

"Hey." He stepped into the room and handed her a cup. "How's it going?"

"Good." Arla smiled, gladly accepting the cup. "Thank you. I needed this. I'm starting to run a little low on energy."

Tommy took another sip and said, "It's been a long day."

"And we thought driving home from your brother's place yesterday was going to give us a relaxing Christmas day at home together." Arla smiled and lifted her coffee cup in a pseudo-toast. "Merry Christmas, Tommy."

"Merry Christmas." He sat down on the edge of the desk next to her and gave her a quick kiss. Tommy glanced at the screen, then asked, "How're they doing?"

"As well as can be expected." Arla took a deep breath and said, "Dr. Walker is still in with the team working on the MVA victim. So it will be awhile before he can look at their results and decide about discharge."

"Think he's going to keep them?"

"I doubt it. It would be stretching the admission criteria to admit them even for observation. They're stable." Arla shrugged, sipping her coffee. "I figure he's going to let them stay till the IV antibiotics finish running."

Tommy nodded, his thoughts wandering back to everything that had happened at the motel. He still couldn't wrap his head around what he'd seen. They'd wasted no time in getting out of there and since arriving at the hospital, Arla had been focused on taking care of her patients so there had been no time to discuss what had happened. But Tommy hadn't forgotten the nightmarish experience of watching a woman go up in flames and then dissolve before his eyes.

"Arla, we need to talk to them." He said, a touch of warning in his voice. "I am fighting every instinct I have right now…"

"I know." Arla interrupted him and sighed, "I get it. I mean, I still can't even wrap my head around what happened back there." She set her cup down and leaned back in her chair, narrowing her eyes. "But they don't need an interrogation yet, ok? Whatever they're into, or whatever they got in the middle of, they're seriously ill. Let them have a couple hours of sleep at least."

"You realize that this is completely against every bit of training I've ever had?"

"Yes. I do. And I trust your judgement. I'm just asking you to trust me." Arla squeezed his hand, "There's no denying that something very strange is going on, but I think there's probably a good explanation."

Tommy laughed, "You always look on the bright side. Alright. But I'm keeping an eye on them."

Arla glanced over at the computer screen, then back at him. She said, "Actually, that's not a bad idea. I was in there a little while ago and checked on them, but it wouldn't hurt if you took a peek while I wait on Dr. Walker. Dean was sleeping and I finally gave up entertaining the idea that Sam would stay where he belonged."

"Refused to stay in bed?"

"I should have guessed they wouldn't be pleased with the separation." Arla nodded, "Dean's been a touch confused and maybe that's why Sam's been so anxious. I'm sure he would have crawled to his brother's room if we hadn't gotten there in time to help him. He's not exactly steady on his feet right now." She smiled, "He's been sitting with Dean and I think it's probably the best thing for them both. So just go keep an eye on them for me, ok?"

Tommy rose and said, "I'm on it."

"No interrogations."

He grinned, "No interrogations. Promise."

* * *

_1235 AM Christmas Day  
__ER_

The sound of a voice on the overhead speakers paging some doctor to the third floor roused Dean from the heaviness of deep sleep. He kept his eyes closed and enjoyed the glorious feeling of being able to breathe. The gurney he was propped up on wasn't exactly comfortable and his chest and throat were burning as if they'd been rubbed raw, but he couldn't complain. Because he actually felt like he was getting oxygen to all the right places again. Someone had changed out the oxygen mask for a nasal cannula which was just a little less like torture. He also had a dull headache and wasn't sure he could move if he wanted to, but at least he could breathe.

He tried to gather his muddled thoughts. His memories of the past 24 hours seemed like broken pieces of glass and Dean wondered if he'd ever be able to put them back together. Vaguely, he remembered the long, miserable trip from the motel; he'd struggled to breathe the entire trip while Sam had fought to keep from throwing up. They'd both somehow managed to survive and had then endured assessments, breathing treatments and diagnostic tests since arriving in the ER. He saw that he still had an IV running and a blood pressure cuff on his left arm.

The last thing he remembered clearly was Arla telling him to get some rest. What he _couldn't_ remember was what she'd said about Sam. Frowning, Dean struggled to open his eyes. The lights in the room were dimmed and he blinked a few times to bring things into focus. Even half-drugged and barely awake, the gnawing panic of not knowing where Sam was began to rise in his gut.

Once he was able to see the room clearly, some of the panic disappeared. Because Sam was sitting in an uncomfortable looking recliner right next to him. Rolling his head on the pillow, Dean took a careful look at his brother. Sam was bundled up in his hoodie and jacket, arms wrapped around himself; he had dark shadows under his eyes and from the pinched expression on his face, Dean knew he was in pain, but at least the flush of fever wasn't so bright on his cheeks. There was an IV pole beside him and a cup of ice chips on the bedside table.

Breathing out a relieved sigh, Dean considered closing his eyes and just going back to sleep, but then Sam opened his eyes. He stared blankly at Dean for a second, then closed his eyes. His eyes opened again a split second later and this time it was obvious he'd realized Dean was awake.

"Hey." Sam said, his voice hoarse and quiet. He rubbed his eyes and asked, "How are you feeling?"

Truth be told his throat was raw, his chest ached and he just wanted to sleep. But considering Sam looked like he'd gone twelve rounds with the Incredible Hulk, Dean decided not to whine about it. So he just mumbled, "I feel drugged."

"Think they gave you something for the cough." Sam nodded, with a quick smile. "And the breathing treatments seem to have helped. You're not wheezing anymore."

"Yeah, it's nice to be able to breathe again." Dean said, then waved a hand, "They let you out already?"

Sam shook his head, still resting against the back of the recliner. He didn't seem inclined to move any time soon, either. He waved a thumb at the IV pole and said, "Can't go anywhere till that's done."

"But they let you roam the halls?" Dean asked. When Sam didn't answer, Dean read between the lines and asked, "You're not supposed to be out of bed are you?"

Sam shrugged, closing his eyes and whispering, "I needed to make sure you were ok."

Dean rubbed his aching chest and shook his head at his brother's stubbornness. Sam was sitting up and didn't look like he was ready to hurl at the drop of a hat, but he still looked awful. Dean asked, "You done puking? They gave you something, right?"

"Yeah."

"Is it helping?"

Another shrug. Sam waved a hand in the general direction of the cup on the table and said, "The ice has stayed down so far."

"Uh huh. I guess that's something at least." Dean said doubtfully. "They give you anything else? Looks like your head still hurts. You're no good to me if you're in too much pain to move."

Sam snorted, "Everything hurts. I feel like I've pulled every muscle in my body and I'm not sure I'm ever going to eat again."

"Yeah, I'm not surprised." Dean nodded, then asked, "So, where's the doc and her husband? They leave us here?"

"No. She's waiting to talk to the ER doctor." Sam said, then coughed harshly into his sleeve.

"Why?"

"They're talking about discharging us."

"Good. Sooner the better because we have a new hunt." Dean said. His thoughts went back to what had happened at the motel. He said, "That girl was a spirit."

"I know."

"And someone burned her bones."

"We need to get back there and find out what's going on." Sam said, eyes opening as he started coughing again. He grimaced, swallowing hard, then said, "There was another woman, remember? I told you I saw someone."

"The mysterious Raquel?" Dean asked, pushing himself a bit further up against the pillows. Even that movement left him exhausted and breathless. He said, "The woman the doc and her husband were talking about?"

Sam nodded, "I remember her talking to me. She said she was going for help. If it hadn't been for her…"

"We'd still be on the floor." Dean said, "I get it."

"We have to help her."

"And figure out who she and...what was her name?"

"Mallory."

"Yeah, we need to figure out what they're so afraid of." Dean couldn't fight back a coughing spell this time and cringed at the sharp pain in his chest. Sam leaned forward and grabbed the cup of ice with a shaking hand, extending it toward Dean. He took it with a hand that was only a pinch steadier than his brother's. Managing to get an ice chip in his mouth without spilling the entire cup, Dean crunched on it and swallowed. The ice felt like heaven on his throat.

Sam didn't sit back in the recliner, instead resting an arm against the edge of the gurney as he said, "You don't think this has anything to do with those poltergeists, do you?"

"No clue." Dean shrugged, "Seems like a lot of unnatural ghostly activity in this area, though. We're going to have to go back to that crappy motel, aren't we?"

"Yes. And we have to leave Tommy and Arla out of this." Sam said, shaking his head.

"I know." He frowned, thinking about them. The last thing he wanted was to involve civilians in something like this. "They sure picked the wrong people to help."

Sam nodded and said, "We can't involve them more than they already are. They're great people."

"They are. And I don't want them to get hurt, either." Dean said, anticipating Sam's next statement. He coughed again, then shook another ice cube into his mouth. Almost dropping the cup, he was grateful when Sam took it back and set it on the table. Crunching on the ice, Dean said, "So we just need to get out of here and keep them out of it. Because there's no point in even trying to explain what we do. They're not going to believe it."

"I've got the keys." Sam said. His voice grew softer and more unsteady, "We could go back to the motel. Lay low for a few days...till we're back on our feet. But we don't have any cash left and I don't know…"

Sam broke off and closed his eyes, swallowing hard again. As he leaned forward a bit further, fingers gripping the sheets, Dean sighed. The way he felt, he wasn't sure he could even attempt a great escape. And Sam wasn't exactly inspiring him with confidence at the moment. He looked like he was about to pass out. Dean closed his eyes and tried to think clearly. They had a hunt waiting for them. _Another hunt_. They had absolutely no idea what it was out there in the dark. Making matters even worse, two civilians were now involved.

"I wish Dad were here."

Sam had spoken so softly that he almost hadn't heard him. Dean ran a hand over his eyes and shifted uncomfortably against the pillows. Sam was staring blankly at the floor, head hanging as if it were too heavy to hold up any more. Considering how heavy his own head felt, Dean couldn't say he was surprised.

Sam wasn't the only one who wished Dad was around. But Dean didn't want to think about Dad and why he wasn't with them or answering their calls. The deep aching pit inside him seemed to widen and threatened to drag him down. They'd been on their own for weeks now, trying to get reacquainted, to deal with past hurts, to deal with Jessica's murder and to look for Dad. Dean knew they'd fallen back into rhythm with only a few bumps along the way and he was grateful.

But the nagging worry about where Dad was had been hanging over them and, given Sam's desperation to avenge Jessica's death, Dean felt like everything was one wrong move from falling apart. He saw Sam wipe a shaking hand over his eyes and cursed under his breath. They weren't up to another hunt right now. They'd barely survived the last one.

Sam looked up at him and Dean could see the same uncertainty that he felt reflected in Sam's eyes. He also saw the question _what are we going to do_ written all over Sam's face. The unspoken question was tempered with an absolute, unwavering trust in Sam's eyes. And that utterly terrified Dean. Because Sam expected him to have the answers, as he had since they were kids. It was staggering that, even now, even after a few rough years away from each other, that Sam still looked to him for guidance.

And he was waiting, as sick as he was, to be told to go get the car and get them out of the hospital. Dean knew without a doubt that if he gave him the word, Sam would drag them both out the door. But then what? They still had nowhere to go and their wallets hadn't been miraculously replenished. Go back to the motel and wind up getting sicker?

"Look, we're not going anywhere for awhile." Dean said finally. He saw Sam blinking back tears and gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "I'll figure it out, Sammy. Just get some rest for now, ok? I'll figure it out."

Sam nodded, then closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting his head against his arms on the gurney. Dean shifted slightly until his hand just barely brushed up against Sam's sleeve. Closing his eyes, Dean sighed and hoped he'd be able to figure everything out when he woke up later. Because, at the moment, he had absolutely no idea what they were going to do.

* * *

**Thanks everyone for reading! I hope the long wait was worth it. I promise that the next chapter will not take so long. My week will be going back to normal after all the holiday/family stuff so I should be back to every day/every other day posts. Thanks so much for sticking with this story! You are all awesome! :)**

**Once again, special thanks to C1, L.H. Taraneh and my other guest reviewers for your awesome posts for ch7! **


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey guys! In honor of it being SPN Tuesday...and very much sad we didn't have a new eppy tonight...here is a new chapter to help fill the void. January 20th sure is a long way away! ;)**

* * *

_1250 AM Christmas Day  
ER_

Tommy took a silent step backwards and leaned against the wall, thinking about what he'd just witnessed. Walking up to the little ER room, he hadn't intended to eavesdrop, but found it difficult to walk away from the brothers' conversation. Less than ten minutes of conversation and he had just learned more about the Winchester brothers than he'd ever hoped to. The scene that had played out before his surprised eyes left him with an entirely new perspective on the unfortunate young men they'd found in an abandoned motel on Christmas Eve.

He turned at the sound of quiet footsteps. Arla yawned as she joined him. She peeked into the room and he saw the compassion soften the lines of exhaustion around her eyes. She whispered, "Those poor kids. They're exhausted."

"So are we." Tommy couldn't stop his own yawn. He smiled, "We all need a good long sleep."

Arla brushed her greying hair back from her face and asked, "Were they asleep when you got here or…"

"They had an interesting conversation," Tommy interrupted her, drawing her away from the door. He said, "And no, I didn't interrogate them."

"You were eavesdropping, weren't you?" Arla raised a knowing eyebrow.

Tommy said, "I was gathering intel."

Arla narrowed her eyes. She folded her arms across her chest and asked, "And what intel did you gather?"

"You may be right about them."

"Really?" Arla smiled. "I was right?"

"I'm not saying there still aren't questions I want to ask," Tommy said before she got too excited about being right, "but they don't seem like cold blooded killers or drug dealers."

"What changed your mind?"

Tommy thought about the concern in Dean's eyes when he'd looked at Sam. Their plans to return to the motel. Their gratitude both to Raquel, who they didn't seem to know at all, and to him and Arla. He said, "Several things, actually. They really do seem to be going through a rough time, Arla, and it's more than just being sick. I don't know exactly what's going on, but Sam said something about their dad."

Arla frowned, "What did he say?"

"That he wished he was here." Tommy said, "I'm wondering...I mean, who knows, but maybe he's dead. The kid seemed really upset and the way Dean responded…"

"Like he's going to find a way to make everything right? No matter what?" Arla asked softly. "I could see that from everything he did. The nightmare Sam had? Dean took it all in stride. It was obvious that wasn't the first time Sam's had a nightmare like that. Something terrible happened to a girl named Jess, Tommy. And whatever happened to her, to their father, to them; whatever they're into, those kids have the weight of the world on their shoulders."

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. Too many problems, too many questions that needed answers. He said, "It's not just each other they're worrying about, either. They're worried about us."

"Us?" Arla shook her head, "What are you talking about?"

"They were talking about trying to protect us, keep us out of it. Whatever _it _is. They were talking about ghosts and poltergeists. And not like they were things you see in movies. Like they were _real._" Tommy explained, thinking back to their conversation. He shook his head, "Which, after what we saw happen to Mallory, I guess I'm not finding it so difficult to believe in ghost right at this moment. They were talking about leaving and going back to the motel, Arla."

She frowned, "Why would they…"

"To protect us, to take care of whatever is out there. To figure out what happened to that girl."

"They're not up to going anywhere. You didn't give them back the keys, did you?" Arla started at him, then sighed, "You did, didn't you?"

"Sam basically took them from my hand as soon as I parked it. Neither of them were too happy that I even had the keys." He remembered the mini-skirmish that had occurred when they'd been preparing to leave the motel. Dean hadn't been happy at all to relinquish the keys to him. There hadn't been much of a choice since their SUV was packed with supplies and Christmas presents and neither brother had been up to driving. Tommy knew Arla wouldn't be able to handle the monstrous Impala. Even if she had, he would have made sure he was the one driving. Not too often he got the opportunity to get behind the wheel of a classic like that. Shaking his head, he went on, "Sam said they don't have any cash left and that they could just go back to the motel and lay low. They were going to sneak out of here."

Arla's eyebrows rose, "Are you serious?"

"Yes. I think it was just how bad Sam looked that held Dean back. They wake up, I won't be surprised to see them trying to leave."

"That's not going to happen." Arla said firmly, "They both still need antibiotics, rest, and some healthy food. I didn't see _anything_ healthy in that room, Tommy, just a bunch of fast food wrappers. They try to leave now, without medicine, without taking care of themselves, they're going to wind up in the same mess they were in when we found them. Neither one of them is up to anything except resting."

"I agree." Tommy nodded, "I do. I'm just not sure _they're_ going to be willing to listen."

Arla smiled, "Oh, they'll listen. They don't have any choice _but_ to listen."

* * *

_1:00 AM Christmas Day_

The smoke rising from the bag of Mallory's bones stung Raquel's eyes. She stared at the burning remains and felt her knees weaken. Sliding down to the dirt, Raquel pressed her hands to her face and sobbed. For a year, Mallory had been her only contact. They'd barely known each other, but, given their circumstances, Raquel had considered Mallory a friend. She felt a spray of heat hit her arms as the creature kicked the pile of burning ash. The monster was laughing and clapping its long, skeletal hands as it stood in front of her.

"Isn't it beautiful?"

"No, you sicko!" Raquel shouted through her tears, "That was my friend!"

The creature jumped toward her, shoving her backwards into the dirt, its hands wrapping around her throat as it straddled her and blew a hot breath into her face. It leaned close and whispered, "You don't get to have friends."

Raquel almost vomited at the stench and the flying shreds of gore that splattered her face as the thing laughed. She struggled to push the thing off her, but he was much stronger. It grabbed her arms and rose, dragging her backwards so fast her head spun. Cold, harsh metal wrapped around her wrists and Raquel looked in surprise at the cuffs around her wrists. The creature pulled her arms above her head and yanked her to her feet. She scrambled to keep her feet under her as it pulled her against a tree, stretching her arms up so high she had to stand on tip toe. Trying to tug her arms free, she quickly realized he had attached the cuffs to a hook or something high up on the tree.

She was completely trapped.

Raquel stared at the creature in front of her and shook her head, completely confused, "How?"

"Iron." It tilted its head from side to side, as if it were rocking to an unheard beat. "Iron keeps you where you belong."

Iron? That made no sense. Not that anything did anymore. Her world had grown incredibly small over the past year of being trapped at the motel. And the small world was both confusing and terribly lonely. Raquel blinked past the tears as the creature moved out of her line of sight. She'd found a way to come to terms with what had happened to her and Peter last Christmas, but she'd never fully understood why she was trapped at the motel. And nothing had prepared her for the appearance of this creature.

Raquel twisted her arms and tested the bonds. Blowing out a frustrated breath, she gave up. She wasn't going anywhere.

* * *

_1:30 AM Christmas Day  
ER_

"Didn't you do that like five minutes ago? Come on, leave him alone." Dean's voice was irritated, but hushed. "He just fell asleep."

Over the pounding in his head, Sam listened to his brother arguing with the nurse and sighed. He didn't really want to move, but figured it would be much simpler if he sat up and let the nurse take his blood pressure or do whatever it was she needed to do. Otherwise, Dean was going to get more and more aggravated and that would only make his headache worse. He tried to lift his head, but found that all he could do at the moment was shift enough to draw Dean's attention.

"Great. You woke him up." Dean said, coughing painfully and glaring at the nurse.

"It's ok." Sam whispered, finally pushing himself up to rest his head against his hand. It took a lot more effort than it should have. He straightened out his left arm to allow the nurse access.

She smiled and gently wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his arm. Pulling her stethoscope from around her neck, she said, "Thanks. Sorry to disturb you, but this won't take long. How are you feeling now?"

"He feels like crap." Dean said before Sam had the chance to answer her. "Look at him. Give him some medicine and leave him alone."

"Dean." Sam shook his head. "Leave _her _alone."

He had no idea how long he'd been asleep, but Dean's demeanor had changed completely in that time. Where he'd been calm, almost relaxed earlier, _probably thanks to the drugs, _Sam mused, now the lines of tension around his eyes and mouth were pronounced. It was clear that he felt lousy and was still short of breath, but it was more than that. Dean looked like a caged animal and that was never a good thing.

The nurse was busy with her notes and Sam met Dean's gaze. He could probably have recited verbatim everything that was going through Dean's mind at that moment: _We need to get out of here. Been here too long. We've got a hunt and we don't even know what's out there. Whatever it is, it's probably killing people. Gotta shake the doc's husband; he's suspicious. But we aren't going anywhere till I know Sam's ok. _

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean's raised eyebrow. He cleared his throat and said softly, "I'm fine."

"Mmhmm." Dean didn't look convinced at all.

The nurse spoke up, "Looks like your blood pressure is much better than earlier." She folded up her notes, shot Dean a narrow-eyed glance of warning, then looked back at Sam. She asked, "So, if we all pretend your brother isn't here right now, how are you feeling?"

He smiled, catching Dean's irritated huff. Sam said, "Not great, but better."

"Well that's something." She nodded, then checked the IV. "Dr. Walker should be back in to see you both soon. Your antibiotics are finished and your vital signs are much improved so I'm guessing he's going to let you go soon."

"Super." Dean muttered.

Sam could tell he was still annoyed with the nurse. She didn't seem to notice or care. Figuring she probably had her fair share of difficult patients on a daily basis, Sam watched her go, then turned his attention back to his brother. He asked, "How are we going to handle this?"

"Give 'em an address and have 'em bill us." Dean shrugged, then grinned, "Let's give 'em the address of Mr. Brody. Poltergeist number one. His descendants can foot the bill since we got sick taking care of the after death grudge match their great-granddaddy started."

"I thought you said it was the other one, Perkins, that started it." Sam smiled slightly.

"Whatever. Bill 'em both." Dean mumbled, squeezing his eyes closed for a moment. He rubbed his eyes, then wearily stared at Sam and asked, "Give it to me straight. You up to ditching this place?"

"I'm ready." Sam nodded, straightening up and trying to look healthy despite the headache, faint nausea and desperate desire to sleep. Dean was staring at him with his eyes narrowed again so Sam had a feeling he wasn't convincing his brother. He said, "Really. Let's get out of here."

"Eager to leave, are you?"

Sam and Dean looked up as the door slid open again. Arla Pender walked in, smiling and giving them both a look that said she knew exactly what they were up to. She went on, "You may be eager, but neither of you have any business going anywhere."

"That nurse said the doc was going to let us go soon." Dean challenged.

Arla nodded, "I'm sure he will. I'm interested to hear your plans for after he discharges you."

"We leave." Dean said, expression not quite a glare, but getting pretty close.

Sam sighed and spoke before Dean could say anything else, "Look, we appreciate your help. We do. But we really need to go."

"Where?"

The tension in the room increased. Dean was ready to fight. Arla was trying to make a point that they both already understood. They had nowhere to go. Trying to keep the situation polite, Sam said, "That's really our business, isn't it?"

Arla nodded, "I suppose so. But why don't we cut through the malarkey?"

"Excuse me?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised.

"You two are broke. You have nowhere to go. Don't even try to lie to me; I'm a mother. I can see right through you." Arla tilted her head, looking from one to the other. "And I have news for you. Dr. Walker is a good doc, but he's no miracle worker. You may feel better right now, although just from looking at you I'd say you both still feel like crap. You need food, rest and medicine. I don't suppose you have any of that worked into your plans, do you?"

Sam tried to think of a good answer, but his brain was just too tired. Dean didn't seem to be much better off because he remained silent. Arla continued, voice gentle as she stepped closer, "Look boys, let's be honest here. You need some help. You have to realize that my husband and I aren't idiots. We are very aware that something incredibly strange happened in that motel room with that poor girl, Mallory. Maybe we can't help you with that, but we want to help you with whatever we can."

Dean coughed, then said, "Thanks. But it's probably best you don't."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Arla smiled again. "Regardless, I'm telling you that you aren't leaving here without convincing me that you have a compelling plan for how you are going to eat nutritional food, pay for the antibiotics you need, and get enough rest to fully recover."

Feeling like he was being totally useless, Sam lowered his eyes and hoped Dean was more prepared to spin a convincing story than he was at the moment. At the moment, he really just wanted to find his own bed and lay down. Sitting up was for the birds. _Or whatever_. He was two seconds away from admitting defeat and just putting his head back down on the gurney when Dean finally answered her.

"We don't have a plan." He said softly, head resting back against the pillows.

Sam felt the stirrings of panic. Dean wasn't one to in any way give up. And he wasn't one to admit to weakness or let anyone help him. Which meant he was feeling much worse than he was letting on. Sam stared at him, his breathing speeding up as he found himself worrying all over again about what they were going to do.

Arla nodded and said, "Well, I do have a plan. Would you like to hear it?"

Dean stared at her for a long moment, then he glanced at Sam. He shrugged a shoulder, asking what Sam thought. _I don't really care at this point, so long as her plan involves a bed_, Sam decided, shrugging back. Dean nodded and turned back to Arla.

He said, "We're listening."

* * *

_1:45 AM Christmas Day_

"Why are you doing this?" Raquel asked, voice weak and hoarse from screaming. She pressed her back against the tree, trying to take some of the pressure off her numb arms. She sobbed, "Why do you hate me so much?"

The creature's bloodless lips spread in another grotesque smile and it raised the blade again. She screamed as it ran through her side. The monster pulled it out and leaned closer to her, whispering, "You deserve this. You had everything. Everything!"

Raquel shook her head, "I don't understand! What did I do?"

"You broke the natural way." It sneered, shaking its skeletal head in derision. "So pathetic. Gethen will be pleased that I am teaching you. He will be far less pleased to hear that his favorite has been eliminated."

"Mallory?" Raquel's eyes widened and she fought against the bonds with renewed fury. She screamed, "_You_ killed her!"

"She was already dead. Or did you forget?"

"You...you burned her bones!" Raquel continued, anger giving her strength. "Why? What did we do that was so bad? Tried to help some people. Why is that…"

"You are meant to serve Gethen. He is your master. And helping people is not what he requires of you!" The creature threw the knife down into the dirt and fisted both hands.

Raquel prepared herself for yet another blow, but none came. She fought to catch her breath as she stared at the monster before her. Finding her voice again, Raquel said, "What he _requires _of me? There was no orientation. I didn't have a chance to ask questions. I didn't get a handbook. How am I supposed to know what I'm supposed to do?"

Not that she cared. The only thing she cared about was getting away from Gethen, from this monster, from everything that had happened in the past 365 days. She shouted, "He killed my husband! He _ate_ him in front of me! Why would I ever do what he requires of me?"

The long, icy fingers were back around her neck and, had she not been so furious, she would have been utterly terrified. The creature said, "You were a poor choice on Gethen's part. Even he'd agree with me. But don't worry. When he arrives, he's going to take care of everything."

"What do you mean?" Raquel asked, suddenly feeling as small as an ant under the empty gaze of the monster. Panic started bubbling up again. "What does that mean?"

"He's going to give you that lesson you wanted so badly to have." The creature smiled and ran its hand down her cheek tenderly. "You shall have your orientation. And I can guarantee it is going to change everything…"

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed! Thank you all for reading! I am completely staggered by the number of reviews this story has gotten! You have all blown me away with your readership and kind words. I hope that the story continues to entertain and that you continue to enjoy it! **


	10. Chapter 10

**_Well folks...this fudging chapter nearly killed me. Argh. So much for having it posted for y'all last Thursday like I had hoped. I really don't have a good excuse other than to let Chuck Shurley speak for me when he says "Writing is hard." Yes, Chuck, it really is. I had a nearly complete draft, decided I hated almost all of it and started again. I have all the scenes in my head, but dang if it isn't hard to get them in print sometimes! :) _**

**_So begging your forgiveness for the delay... here is chapter 10~~~~~_**

* * *

_3:40 AM Christmas Day  
Pender home_

Arla hadn't expected them to be easy to convince. So while they'd listened to her offer them a house with warm beds, no mold on the walls, and home cooking, she'd already begun planning her secondary assault; she figured a long list of potential complications of untreated pneumonia like bacteremia and lung abscesses would have done the trick. But she hadn't even needed to pull out the big guns. Because Dean had listened silently until she'd finished, then glanced at Sam. They'd exchanged some sort of silent communication that ended with Sam putting his head back down on his arms with a heavy sigh and Dean giving her a weary nod. She'd felt almost as surprised by his easy capitulation as she had when the girl in the motel had gone up in smoke.

It had been almost an hour before they'd finally been able to leave the hospital. She'd even managed to get both of the boys to drink some water and eat a couple crackers while they waited for the doctor's orders. Arla still wasn't sure who had been antsier at the long delay; Tommy or Dean. Because she'd forbidden Tommy from asking any of the questions he was dying to ask and, once he'd accepted her offer, Dean had been chomping at the bit to leave. Sam had been the only one not making a nuisance of himself.

Pulling into the garage after the long drive from the hospital, Arla hoped Tommy hadn't been interrogating them while he drove. She turned off the engine and got out of the SUV just as Tommy parked the big Chevy into the driveway. Quickly unlocking the side door and flipping on the hall lights inside the house, Arla turned around and headed back toward the Impala.

Tommy had the back door open and was helping Sam get to his feet. Arla watched as the kid reached out a fumbling hand for the roof of the car to hold himself steady, eyes squeezed closed. Catching her eye, Tommy motioned to the other door as he pulled Sam's arm over his shoulder. Arla nodded, watching as they began their slow trek toward the house. She reached the other door just as Dean was trying to push it open. Tugging it the rest of the way, Arla was unpleasantly surprised when he held out the basin she'd sent along with them. She'd hoped it wouldn't be necessary, but apparently someone had put it to good use along the way.

Grabbing it carefully, she set it on the trunk of the car, then turned back as Dean pushed himself to his feet. Taking in his pale face and grimace as he straightened, she pointed at the basin and asked, "You?"

"Nope." Dean shook his head, shrugging, "He was fine till your driveway."

"Ah." Arla sighed.

She hadn't even thought about that. The driveway was curved, rutted and uneven, more of a dirt path than anything else. Certainly not good for a queasy stomach. Dean slammed the door and turned away from her, looking toward the house. Arla stepped closer and reached out to provide some support, only to be stopped by Dean's raised hand. He shot her a warning glance and she paused.

"I'm fine." He said, even as he stumbled and put a hand down against the hood of the car. Casting her a sheepish glance, he added, "Mostly."

"Mmhmm." Arla rolled her eyes. "Good thing I'm married and know how to handle stubborn men." She ignored the annoyance on his face and grabbed his arm. She said, "Your bruised ego will survive. No sexy ladies around for you to impress, hot stuff. I'm taken. So you can just stop trying to amaze me with how tough you are because you're not fooling anyone."

Dean's eyes widened and Arla almost laughed at his shocked expression. She guided him toward the door, feeling him finally relax a little under her grasp. He was working hard to suck in oxygen given the exertion of walking and didn't seem to be able to catch enough of a breath to sass her like she knew he wanted to. He just lowered his head and kept his free hand against the wall as they walked. They had only made it just inside the hall when he paused forward motion to hunch over coughing.

Cringing at the harsh coughs, Arla eased his arm over her shoulder and wrapped her arm around his back. As soon as she had done so, he leaned heavily against her and she knew exactly how beat he was. Thankful he was a little bit shorter than his giant of a brother, Arla held onto him until he'd caught his breath and was able to start moving forward again. It was slow going and she couldn't wait to get him off his feet and give him another neb treatment.

Tommy came around the corner a moment later. He asked, "You ok?"

Arla nodded and said, "We'll make it. Sam?"

"In bed." Tommy smiled, meeting Dean's concerned eyes. He said, "He was asleep before his head hit the pillow."

Dean blew out a relieved breath, then let his head drop again. Arla said, "Good. One down, one to go. Can you go grab the medications and the neb machine?"

"On it." Tommy nodded, hurrying past them.

"Almost there," Arla encouraged, listening to the wheezing breaths Dean was taking. "Just around that corner. Nice comfy bed. Sounding pretty good right about now, I bet."

Dean nodded but didn't even try to speak. Squeezing his arm, Arla guided him toward the guestroom. It was hard to believe it had been almost ten years since the girls had lived at home. Time had a way of flying by too quickly. She pointed Dean to the correct door and wondered if his mother missed him as much as she missed the twins. Entering their old room, Arla was grateful that Tommy had finally made her repaint and redecorate it to be a lot less girly. Somehow she didn't think the brothers would have appreciated the pink walls and adorable teddy bear curtains the girls had sewn as fourth-graders.

She saw Sam curled up on his side, expression still tense and pained even in sleep, and guided Dean toward the nearer bed. Finally reaching it, he sat down heavily, sucking in shallow breaths while blinking slowly and staring at his brother. Arla made a pile of pillows at the head of the bed as Dean yanked his boots off. It didn't take any coaxing to get him under the covers, resting against the pillows.

Tommy walked into the room and quickly set the nebulizer machine and a plastic bag on the bedside table. He said, "I'm going to go grab some water and a box of tissues. Medicine's there. Anything else?"

"Thanks." Arla acknowledged, setting up the breathing treatment as Dean coughed into his sleeve. "Probably better bring the basin back in here, hon. Just in case."

"Yes, Doctor Pender." Tommy said, winking at Dean. "She always gives me the dirty work."

Arla lowered the mask over Dean's face, then smacked Tommy on the rear as he turned to leave. She rolled her eyes and said, "I told him not to retire. He could have been out chasing criminals instead of helping me."

Dean gave her a weak smile, but immediately turned back to check on his brother. Arla followed his gaze, then said, "Our girls are close like you two are. Sara and Amy. They're a bit older than you, both married and busy raising my grandbabies. Off on opposite sides of the country. But still as close as ever."

Looking back, she wasn't surprised to see Dean's eyes were closed. She smiled and tucked the blanket around him. While she waited for the neb treatment to finish, Arla did a quick check of his pulse and respiratory rate. Both were elevated; not exactly a surprise. At least he didn't feel fevered. She checked on Sam and found that his vital signs were within the normal range and his fever seemed to have broken as well.

She sat silently on the edge of Dean's bed until the treatment was over. He didn't even stir as she gently removed the mask and set it aside. Turning off the light, she tiptoed out of the room. Tommy met her in the hallway with his arms laden. She took the basin from him as he set the boy's backpacks and duffle bags inside the room. Rinsing out the basin in the adjoining bathroom, Arla left the bathroom light on and set the basin on the floor between the beds.

"Anything else?" Tommy asked from the doorway.

Arla put her hands on her hips, taking a last glance around the room, trying to make sure she had all the bases covered. She looked back at Tommy and whispered, "Get the chicken out of the freezer."

"What?"

"They're going to need something to eat later. The chicken needs to thaw so I can make soup." She reached for one of the packs on the floor and said, "I'm going to start their laundry and then we're getting some sleep while we can."

Tommy yawned and said, "Good. Because I know we used to pull some wild all-nighters, my dear, but I'm an old man now."

Giving him a quick kiss, Arla said, "Young at heart, Tommy. Always young at heart."

"Doesn't help me keep my eyes open after being awake for, what? Twenty hours now?"

"Just get the chicken then go to bed." Arla pushed him gently down the hall. She yawned and whispered, "I'm right behind you."

* * *

_3:40 AM Christmas Day  
__Somewhere near the motel_

She had no idea how long the creature had been torturing her, but it seemed like an eternity. Raquel had given up trying to ask questions, given up pleading for him to stop. It took far less effort to simply let him do whatever he wanted. Finally, though, the thing paused. It shook its head and stepped back.

Licking its lips, the thing said, "Time for a snack. Don't go anywhere."

Raquel watched in disbelief as it turned and took off running into the darkness. Deciding not to waste a single second, she immediately got to work. Looking up wasn't easy given the way her hands were bound, especially as stretched out as she was, but twisting painfully, she managed to visualize where the iron chain was bound to the tree. And she was shocked to realize that the chain wasn't attached to an iron hook but simply to the protruding stump of a broken off branch. The stump was thick so she wasn't going to be able to yank it off the tree. But at least it wasn't an iron hook. If she worked hard enough, there was a chance that she would be able to get the chain up and over the stump.

Huffing out a frustrated breath after tugging at the chain for a few minutes, Raquel lowered her head and took a moment to gather her thoughts. Even if she were able to get the chain down from the tree, what was she going to do after that? There was nowhere to run. For 365 days she'd roamed the motel property, the woodsy area around it, down to the highway and back again. Never had she been able to take one step further. So she couldn't exactly flag down another traveler and ask for a ride. She wouldn't get very far.

So Raquel stopped fighting. She stared down at the dirt and watched as her silent tear drops splattered into the dirt. It made her think of the rain. The rain of that day. Christmas Day.

365 days ago…

_ Christmas Day, 2004_

_An abandoned motel, secluded and off the main highway, wasn't the last place in the world that Raquel Alonzo would have wished to find herself on Christmas Day, but it was certainly close. Sitting in the passenger seat of the shabby Geo Metro, Raquel wrapped her arms around herself; each drop of rain doing its part to sing along with the sad serenade of her life. Trembling less from the cold and more from the never-ending ache in the deepest part of her heart, she stared straight ahead and waited._

_The car was so small that she could feel the tension vibrating off of Peter from where he sat in the driver's seat. It was almost as if the little Geo's engine were still running; the jumping of Peter's right leg had the entire car shivering. The rain pattered, she trembled and Peter thrummed with worry, or anger; she was never sure which anymore._

_And they sat._

_Raquel didn't move, but let her eyes take in the sight of the run-down motel. It might have been a cute place once, but now it just looked grey and depressing. So maybe this is the perfect place for us after all. She blinked back the wetness in her eyes and brought her gaze back within the car. Not that inside the car was less depressing. Because inside the car was her and her husband and three years of pain, betrayal, heartache and a finger that used to have a diamond on it. _

_With her thumb, she scratched at the underside of her finger, feeling the phantom sensation of her wedding ring. It was a silly thing to regret given the long list of things she regretted, but she did regret throwing it across the yard the day Peter had come home and told her he'd lost his job. Again._

_It had been raining that day, too, Raquel shook her head at the thought. Maybe the rain had started the day he'd asked her to marry him. Sometimes it seemed like it had been raining for all three years of their troubled marriage. _

_She took a deep breath and said, "I'm going inside."_

_Peter didn't answer, didn't move. So she just grabbed her backpack and got out of the car. The door to the nearest motel room was wide open and she walked toward it, feeling the music of the rain dull as it hit her hair and shoulders. Her tears joined in with the song as she crossed the threshold of the motel room. Standing there, just inside the door, Raquel didn't even see the room; didn't smell the mold, didn't see the stains on the carpet, didn't see the graffiti on the walls._

_All she saw was a black space with nothing but the pain and emptiness of her life painted across it. Raquel heard the car door slam and a moment later felt a hand on her shoulder. She didn't shrug it off and Peter took another step closer. His left hand ran up and down her left arm as he pressed up behind her; his right arm wrapping around her waist. He hadn't embraced her like this in months. Her backpack fell from her hand as she relaxed against him, turning her face toward his, tears soaking his collar._

_Peter turned her around and drew her into his arms. Gently, he tilted her face up and she was surprised to see a gentle smile on his haggard face. She couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled. _

_He said softly, "I love you, Raquel. You know that, right?"_

_She nodded slowly, tears rolling down her cheeks. He kissed her forehead, then pulled her closer. Head resting against his chest as he stroked her hair, Raquel whispered, "How did this happen?"_

_"__Hey, hey," Peter shook his head, his breath warm against the top of her head, "we're done with that question. Remember? We know how it happened." His voice was bitter, but gentle. "We can type it up on a freaking spreadsheet and make a powerpoint of how it happened." _

_Peter's voice broke and, had he not been holding her up, Raquel would have gone to her knees. She felt his chest heaving as his arms tightened around her. He whispered, "None of that matters now, Raquel. New start. We promised. We decided. Together. We're going to do this together. Please, baby… Please. I can't do this without you."_

_Raquel couldn't speak, couldn't answer him. He guided her to the edge of the bed and she sat down heavily, pressing her hands to her eyes. Peter knelt on the carpet in front of her and tugged her hands away. She forced herself to meet his eyes and saw the same agony reflected on his tear streaked face. He was right, of course, they'd talked it to death and beyond. Every angle, every what could have been and what if, every paralyzing memory of what had happened. What _she_ had done. All that talking. All that yelling. All the blame, the anger, the immeasurable sorrow had done nothing except rip them apart._

_She reached for his hand and squeezed it. A flicker of hope lit his eyes. He fumbled in his pockets and pulled something out. It was huge and blurry and beautiful through her tears and Raquel couldn't even begin to comprehend what she was seeing. Pressing her free hand against her mouth, she shook her head. Peter smiled through his own tears, holding the ring up._

_"__It took me three days to find this." He said, brushing her hair over her ears. Glancing at the ring, then back at Raquel, Peter added, "If I give this back, will you promise not to throw it across the desert?"_

_Raquel burst out laughing despite the tears. Peter grinned and she let him slide it back where it belonged. He kissed her hand then said, "Raquel, I can't do this without you. We've tried that. "_

_ "__I know." They'd tried just about everything in fact._

_ "__New start." Peter said firmly. "That's what we decided. And that's all that matters. A new start. Right here, this moment, on this rainy Christmas day. I don't care what happens next. You know that? I don't care what happened last week, last year. And I don't care what happens next. Because I love you, Raquel. Always have, always will. Nothing could ever change that."_

_Raquel stared at him. He'd said it all before. Several times actually, but somehow she'd never believed it until right at that moment. Peter had searched for three days to find her ring. He was taking her to a new start, far from the pain and memories of their past. She nodded slowly, squeezing his arm._

_He smiled and cupped her cheek with his hand. Peter said, "Whatever happens next, whatever we face, we'll get through; _you'll_ get through. You just have to forgive yourself. Because I already have."_

That had been the last thing Peter had ever said to her. As soon as he'd said those words, promising her a future and forgiveness for what she'd done, a monster had come up behind him and dragged Peter into the parking lot. Fighting with everything she had, Raquel had tried to save Peter, but the monster she would later learn was named Gethen had thrown her across the parking lot. Her head had cracked against the pavement and the last thing she'd seen as the blackness had swallowed her had been Gethen eating Peter.

Raquel shook her head, pushing those dark memories away. Her thoughts returned to her predicament and the creature. The creature had said _time for a snack_ and suddenly she knew without a doubt that it hadn't meant a PB&amp;J. That thing, that monster, was out there getting ready to _eat_ some poor person. Some innocent, unsuspecting person just like Peter. And Raquel couldn't let someone else die that way. So she jumped, as well as she could given her uncomfortable position, and tried to get that chain off of the stump. It took ten attempts before she got it free.

Looking in the direction the monster had disappeared, Raquel ran into the darkness.

* * *

_5 AM, Christmas Day  
__Pender home_

It wasn't always a nightmare that woke him up; sometimes the good dreams were just as bad. Because there was always that inkling of something not right nagging at him until he woke up with his arms as empty as his heart. This time, it wasn't just the pain of Jessica's death that overwhelmed him. Sam pressed his hands to his head and wondered if it were actually possible for someone's head to explode. Dean would say it was just an urban legend, but Dean's brain wasn't currently trying to press out through his ears, so how would he know anyway? Sam had to force himself to take a shallow breath now and then because the act of breathing itself only increased the pain tenfold.

As bad as that was, far more alarming was the realization that he had no idea what had happened or where he was. He was in a bed, that much he could figure out despite the thundering in his skull. Other than that, he had no clue. Sam's first instinct was to call out for his brother, but beyond the awful headache, he was so nauseated that opening his mouth seemed a very bad idea. So he just pressed his face against the pillow and prayed for the end to come soon.

Although his eyes were squeezed shut, he could tell a light had been turned on nearby and he hoped it was the light at the end of the tunnel because anything else was going to kill him. Sam heard movement and tensed. He really needed to get his eyes open because whatever it was could be a threat. He hoped it was just Dean. Footsteps approached and someone, _not Dean_, spoke his name extremely softly and he managed to get his eyes open. The room was dark, dimly lit from somewhere in the distance. A shape, _not Dean_, moved into his line of sight and he blinked, trying to figure out of there were really two women standing in front of him.

"Sam?" The voice repeated, still soft as falling snow. The women, _woman_, knelt in front of him. "What's wrong? Are you feeling sick again?"

_Yeah, that too, _he moaned, pressing his eyes closed again. He felt a hand on his wrist and jerked away. Looking back at the woman, he asked, "Who are you?"

Whoever she was, she looked even more concerned now. She said, "I'm Arla Pender." The way she said it made Sam suspect she thought he should know who she was. But he had no clue. Her worried voice went on, "Can you remember where you are?"

Frowning, Sam wondered why that was such a complicated question. It shouldn't have been hard. Thinking for a few seconds, he remembered a plane. A demon. _So Pennsylvania?_ No, that didn't sound right. They'd gone south after that case. Poltergeists. He finally whispered, "Arizona."

The woman seemed relieved. She nodded and said, "That's right. Do you remember the hospital?"

_Hospital? Um…no_. Sam wished she'd go away.

"Sam?"

"No."

"Do you remember the motel?"

Why couldn't she leave him alone? It hurt too much to think. He closed his eyes again and asked, "Where's Dean?"

"He's sleeping right over there." Sam forced himself to look and confirm that his brother was where she said he was, then looked back at the doctor when she asked, "Sam, is your head hurting?"

"Yes." _Please will you just shoot me or something…_

The woman gently touched his shoulder and said, "I don't think you're up to taking any Tylenol right now, but I'm going to give you another dose of the medication they gave you in the ER for the nausea. Once we get the nausea under control, we can do something about the headache."

Sam heard her words but none of them were making any sense, so he just closed his eyes and listened as she moved around. After a few seconds, she was back at his side and saying something about putting the tablet of medication under his tongue. He thought that was a very bad idea but she insisted and he just hoped she was ready for him to throw up all over her. But he didn't throw up and very gradually, he felt some of the nausea disappear.

Although the pain wasn't diminishing in any way, some of the fog seemed to be lifting and he started trying to piece together disjointed memories. He still had nothing but a blank spot when it came to being at a hospital, or how he'd gotten…wherever he was now. But at least he finally remembered the doctor and her husband finding them at the motel.

For a few moments, he zoned out, then he heard the doctor speaking softly and tried to pay attention, "…try to relax. It'll be a bit cold, but I think this will help."

A cool cloth was pressed to the back of his neck and he almost cried in relief. It didn't eliminate the misery, but it was a step in the right direction. Exhausted, he slowly felt his tense muscles begin to relax as a gentle hand massaged his shoulders. It didn't seem possible, but eventually some of the pain began to ebb and he could feel the pull of sleep.

Sam fell asleep with Jessica's name on his lips.

* * *

_9:30 AM, Christmas Day  
__Pender home_

A sudden coughing spell woke Dean from a deep, comfortable slumber. When he finally stopped coughing, he lay back against the pillows feeling as if there were a weight over him. Comfortable and warm, he almost let the inviting warmth pull him back under, but something was nagging at the back of his mind and it wouldn't let him rest. It took several half-hearted attempts to get his eyes open. Most of him just wanted to stay asleep because when he'd been asleep, he hadn't felt the stabbing pain in his chest every time he took a breath, or the raw burning in his throat.

But there was a small part of him that needed to take stock of his situation and was desperately craving a drink of water. So he forced his sticky eyes open. Staring at the white ceiling of the unfamiliar room, Dean eventually remembered where he was and what had happened. The curtains were drawn, but the room was still dimly lit by the daylight outside_. Daylight?_ He squeezed his eyes closed again for a moment, rubbing his chest. It had been pitch dark when they'd arrived at the Pender's house. How long had he been asleep?

Forcing his eyes open again, he looked to his right. Sam was sleeping the sleep of the dead and looked more relaxed and at peace than Dean could remember seeing him…well ever since Jessica's death. On his back, mouth half opened and breathing deeply, he looked like he could sleep for a year. Given how little sleep he'd been getting recently, Dean figured he was due for a long winter's nap.

Rubbing his eyes with fumbling fingers, Dean lifted his hand and had to blink a few times to bring the face of his watch into focus. 9:30 AM? They'd slept almost six hours? It didn't even seem possible. Granted, six hours wasn't much in the grand scheme of things, but after the misery of the past twenty-four hours or so, six hours felt like an eternity.

Taking a careful breath, Dean grimaced at the pressure in his chest and considered trying to go back to sleep, but then he remembered the girl at the motel. She'd been terrified and trying to warn them. Whatever had burned her bones had not done so out of the goodness of their heart. Something was out there and there wasn't anyone else who could deal with it. With a sigh, Dean summoned his strength and forced himself to sit up a little higher against the pillows. He was lightheaded and it felt like his entire body weighed a thousand pounds. Gathering his strength and catching his breath, Dean pushed aside the warm covers and slid his legs over the edge of the bed.

It took a few minutes of sitting there, hands gripping the edge of the bed, head lowered, before he could catch his breath again after another coughing spell. He fumbled for the box of tissues on the nightstand. Spitting a mouthful of nasty rust colored sputum into the tissue, Dean groaned again and tossed it into the trashcan. He hadn't felt sick to his stomach until right then. Swallowing hard, he forced his queasy stomach back into submission. _So much for that drink of water…_

Once he was breathing a little easier, and some of the lightheadedness had worn off, Dean pushed himself to his feet; one hand against the wall for balance as he took a slow step forward. He leaned down and brushed his fingers across Sam's forehead, relieved to not feel the heat of fever anymore. Sam didn't stir under his touch and Dean gently pulled the quilt up higher over his shoulders.

Straightening up, Dean glanced around the room. On the wall he saw some pictures of little girls in matching party dresses and vaguely remembered Arla saying something about having daughters. The door was open to the hallway and he noticed their gear stacked next to the door. On top of a little desk just inside the door, he was surprised to see a couple of neat piles of folded clothes. Raising an eyebrow, he carefully made his way across the room and grabbed his clothes. His _clean_ clothes.

"Arla Pender, you are a saint." He muttered, heading for the bathroom. Shower first and then a plan. Because it was past time he figured out what was lurking in the woods behind that motel. Shaking his head, Dean snorted, "We would pick the haunted motel. Of course we would…"

* * *

**Hope this was an ok chapter after a long wait and that you can all forgive me for taking so long! :) Cheers!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hi Everyone! Just want to say a huge thanks to all of you. For all the awesome reviews, for everyone who is following the story and who has added this to their favorites! It just blows me away every time I get an alert that I've got a new review or a new follow. You guys are the best! Special thanks to my guest reviewers, C1, Taraneh, L.H. and those of you leaving a note just under Guest. :) Really appreciate all your reviews. :)**

**Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

_10:00 AM Christmas Day  
__Pender home_

Tommy poured himself another cup of coffee and stared at the now empty pot. Deciding he probably should go ahead and make another pot, he tilted his head to listen. Water was running somewhere. Guest bathroom. _Hmm_, he set the pot on the counter, then took his cup of coffee for a walk. Everything had been relatively quiet in the house since around six-thirty when Arla had finally come to bed. He'd checked in on their company about an hour ago and found them both sound asleep. Hoping the water running wasn't a sign that one of them was feeling ill again, he turned down the hall and headed for the girls' old room.

Peeking in, he found Sam still sound asleep and Dean's bed empty. Hearing the shower running, he took a sip of coffee, then headed back to the dining room. Hopefully that was a good sign. Settling down at the table, he slid his glasses back on, set his coffee aside and returned to the article he'd been reading on his laptop. Finishing it, he clicked on another link and found even more detail on the subject of his research.

By the time he'd finished reading four more articles, Tommy heard slow, halting footsteps making their way down the hall. He looked up and saw the older brother peering uncertainly around the corner into the living room. The kid might have caught some sleep, but his eyes were still shaded and his face too pale. At least his breathing seemed a little easier. Tommy slid his chair back and Dean instantly looked his way.

"Hey there." Tommy smiled, rising from his chair, motioning for Dean to join him.

"Hey." Dean's voice was hoarse and quiet.

The kid coughed then swallowed hard, right arm pressed against his side as he slowly walked forward. Every few steps, he paused to catch his breath. It also looked like he was favoring his right leg, Tommy thought as he watched. Wondering what was wrong with Dean's leg, he pulled out a chair and said, "Have a seat."

Dean nodded and sank into the chair, arm still pressed against his chest as he coughed again. Tommy asked, "How are you feeling, son?"

"Super."

Tommy smiled at the blatant lie. He said, "I remember back in '98. Took a bullet on the job. I felt super then too." He folded his arms over his chest and said, "I'm not the doctor in this family, so if you want to stick to your story, I'm not gonna argue."

Tommy saw a spark of humor in the young man's eyes. He added, "Need to warn you, though. You're not going to fool my wife."

Dean settled back in the chair and resting his other arm on the table. He smiled a little and said, "I take it you didn't fool her either. Back in '98?"

"Not even a bit." Tommy grinned, "Probably would have been easier if she hadn't been the doc on duty at the ER that day. You lose a bit of credibility when you scream like a banshee as your wife extracts the bullet." He watched the kid rub his head, then glance around the room with a questioning expression. Assuming he was wondering where Arla was, Tommy said, "Arla's sleeping now. She was up for quite awhile with your brother."

Dean sat up a bit straighter, fully at attention. He asked, "Why? It looked like he was sleeping ok."

"Off and on." Tommy said, regretting alarming him.

"He have a nightmare?" Dean asked, forehead wrinkling in concern, "I would have heard…"

"No, he just wasn't resting very well. He woke up with a splitting headache. Took awhile, but she got him to take some Tylenol after his stomach settled and he finally got some sleep."

Dean sighed and nodded, "Yeah, he's been complaining of the headache all along. He was too sick to even try anything before though."

Tommy passed him a box of tissues when he started coughing again. It was a loose, junky sound and Dean nodded his thanks; yanking a tissue out of the box. Tommy waited till he caught his breath, then picked up a notebook, "Arla jotted down a few doctor's orders before she went to bed. One of which is to get you hydrated and have you take your antibiotic if your stomach is settled. Arla always swears by a nice cup of tea for a sore throat. And I'm betting your throat's gotta be sore."

"Nah," Dean smirked, even though he had to swallow hard before continuing, "feels super. Could use some water, though."

"Good choice. Water it is." Tommy studied him and asked, "Think you feel up to something to eat with it? It'd be good if you could try."

It took him a moment to consider, then Dean shrugged, "Sure."

"Good. My specialty is toast." Tommy figured it was the best place to start given the kid had barely forced down a cracker earlier.

Dean nodded, a little tension leaving his shoulders at the suggestion. He said, "Yeah, the special sounds good."

Tommy grabbed a bottle of water. Handing it to Dean, he said, "It'll just take a minute."

He slid a slice of bread into the toaster, then leaned against the counter and analyzed Dean. The kid was surveying the room with an exhausted, but practiced gaze. It was the same gaze he himself had used when scoping out the motel room they'd found the brothers in. And he'd waited a long time. He'd been patient. The kid was breathing fine and not puking; time for a few questions. He poured himself another cup of coffee and stepped back toward the table.

Placing the cup down, he asked, "So, Dean, what brought you to Arizona?"

Tommy knew the kid realized it was time for the interrogation. Dean tapped a finger on the table. It wasn't a nervous tap, though. It was a tap that indicated he was considering his words very carefully. Tommy'd seen that same motion many times on suspects in the interrogation room.

After a few seconds, Dean said, "Work."

"Ah." Tommy waited, but wasn't surprised that he wasn't getting any more details.

The toast popped up and he grabbed a plate. Working silently, Tommy buttered the slice and tried to determine how to best word his questions in order to get Dean to talk. Putting the plate down, he saw Dean was still staring at him with slightly narrowed eyes. Tommy decided laying it all on the table would be his best bet. Because from the very little he knew about Dean Winchester, it was obvious he wasn't the type who liked playing games. Tommy pulled out the chair across from Dean, and let him take a couple bites of the toast.

"I'm betting you know what I'm about to ask you." Tommy said after finishing his cup of coffee. "You've been sizing me up ever since you first saw me. I'm a cop. So it shouldn't be a surprise that I do have some questions I'd like answered. That being said, I think you'll find I'm a fairly reasonable guy. I'd really like it if you would tell me what happened back at the motel."

Dean took a sip of water and nodded. He said, "You probably aren't going to…"

"I'll believe it." Tommy interrupted. "I saw that girl go up in flames. That wasn't natural. It wasn't faked. Wasn't my imagination or a hallucination. So I guarantee that whatever you have to say isn't going to surprise me."

"I'm gonna hold you to that," Dean said with a wry smile, "because the next thing out of my mouth is gonna rhyme with toast."

Tommy took a deep breath and asked, "I'm guessing you're not gonna say pot roast."

"Nope," Dean grinned, and held the water bottle up in a mock salute, "but that rhymes too."

* * *

_1000 AM Christmas Day  
n__ear the highway by the motel_

Raquel held her breath as she approached the creature. She had spent the night roaming the motel grounds and the woods surrounding it to find the beast. Crouching behind a scraggly bush, she actually wished the stabbing pricklers were scraping her cheek instead of just passing through it. What she wouldn't give to _feel _again. Ignoring the now familiar ache, she concentrated on her target. After it had left her for its snack, she had run blindly through the woods in the hopes of finding it before it could find a victim. For a few hours she'd roamed the ever familiar, never changing landscape of her entrapment. Hope had nearly fled her as daylight came and the shadows fled. Surely the monster was far gone and tearing some poor victim to shreds.

Then she'd circled back to the highway and found, to her relief, that the monster seemed to be finding it as difficult to find a meal as it had been for her to flag down a passerby to help. Fleetingly, her thoughts turned to the couple who had stopped to help her. Raquel felt tears blur her eyes. The motel had been deserted when she'd searched it earlier. Which meant the compassionate travelers had taken Sam and Dean away from this accursed place. That was the only good or beautiful thing about this Christmas Day. For a moment, the thought that she'd managed to help someone brought a brief smile to her face. Then she saw the creature move and she forced her attention to return to the present.

Raquel narrowed her eyes as the creature stalked back and forth along the shoulder of the highway. The thing looked angry. _Well, as angry as a monster with a dead face could look_, she decided, wrinkling her nose. Hating the thought of going near the creature, Raquel sucked in a breath that left her stomach quivering. Despite the uncomfortable wiggling of her insides, she knew she didn't have a choice.

Because there was nothing out here except her. No one to call. No one to help.

Just her.

The cuffs still around her wrists, Raquel gripped the heavy iron chain between the cuffs and ran forward on silent feet that left the twigs, the leaves, and the sand undisturbed. For 365 days, she'd hidden, cried, wandered. Today, right now, she ran. Because it was time to do more than waste her eternity. She skirted a tree and watched the creature pacing along the highway. It didn't notice her. Until it was too late.

She lifted the heavy chain up and threw it over the monster's neck. Not knowing what to expect, Raquel tightened chain around the bony, bloodless neck and tried not to notice the milky cold sensation as her fingers brushed against the monster's skin. It howled the scream of nightmares and threw its head back, smashing her in the face. Stunned, Raquel tightened the chain and dragged the thing backwards, away from the road.

Wailing and scratching pointed black nails into her flesh, it bucked against her and tried to throw her off balance. Raquel used the creature's momentum to move them deeper into the safety of the woods. As much as she detested the iron cuffs and chain prohibiting her complete freedom, she had to admit that it was coming in handy.

The creature dug its nails into her arms again and threw its weight to the side. Raquel bit back a scream at the pain in her arms, but allowed the creature to fall over. She went down heavily with it; landing with her right knee square in the middle of its back. It jerked and twitched, screaming obscenities as she allowed her entire weight to center on her knee. Stunned, Raquel found herself wondering how exactly she was able to have any kind of a physical impact on the creature. Shaking her head, she grinned. Even if she almost hated herself for smiling, she found it impossible not to be pleased with herself for what she'd accomplished.

Yanking on the chain, she leaned down and whispered, "My turn, you creepy corpse thing. I've got a few questions for you."

* * *

_Pender home_

"So someone burned that girl, that _ghost's_, bones to destroy her?" Tommy asked, running a hand through his hair. Arla would have rolled her eyes and combed it all back down, but he was too distracted. Hair standing on end, he went on, "Why? I mean, why kill someone who's already dead?"

"You'd be surprised." Dean answered, taking another drink of water. He rubbed his eyes and said, "We usually take 'em out because they're causing problems. Most of the time ghosts tend to...well, be angry."

"They're angry they're dead?"

"Sometimes. Or because they were murdered, or because they had a bad life or…"

Dean broke off coughing and Tommy held up a hand and said, "Got it. Before or after, bad deal. And this...burning bones, that takes care of them?"

"Usually. Sometimes their spirit is actually attached to a place or an object." Dean shrugged, "It's not always as easy as just finding their remains and salting and burning them."

Tommy shook his head. He'd known something very not right was going on when the girl had gone up in flames, but this..._this_ was far beyond his wildest imagination. Tommy leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, letting out a low whistle. Dean was staring at him as if expecting him to snap at any moment. He was a bit overwhelmed to be sure, but not about to fall apart.

Tommy asked, "And this is what you do? That's your _job_? Finding ghosts?"

"Not just ghosts." Dean said, sliding the now empty plate forward.

"Yeah, your brother said you dealt with monsters." Tommy frowned, thinking back to the motel and the aftermath of the ghost's spectacular flame-out. "Monsters?"

Dean nodded, "Monsters, demons, and every other evil thing we come across."

Tommy leaned forward, elbows against the table, "How...how do you even get into a field of work like that?"

"Family thing." Dean said succinctly.

From the expression on his face, Tommy decided he would be unlikely to get much embellishment on that topic. So he said, "You two just drive around the country. Looking for monsters?"

"More or less."

"When we were at the hospital, I heard you talking about poltergeists." Tommy saw Dean stiffen and went on quickly, "I know. I was listening in and I'm sorry about that. But you have to realize the man sitting in front of you right now is a cop. And what I saw in that motel room seemed very suspicious."

Dean nodded and Tommy continued, "What was I supposed to think with all those weapons? And you two being at an abandoned motel? That doesn't exactly sing out that you were on the up and up."

"Good point. Thanks for not arresting us, by the way." Dean smiled slightly. "Gotta say, you're taking this better than most."

"I've been around the block a few times, son. Seen some crazy stuff." Tommy rolled his eyes. "Maybe not ghosts, but people can be crazy too."

"That's what I say." Dean nodded smugly.

"You guys were talking about poltergeists." Tommy returned to the topic, "Is that why you came to this area?"

"Yes."

"It was the Brody place, wasn't it? People've gone missing out there. Some deaths in the area. Lots of talk through the years of the property being haunted."

"Not any more."

"So you two took them out?" Tommy raised an eyebrow. "When?"

Dean coughed, then shrugged, "We've been here almost a week dealing with them. Finally finished the job around midnight Christmas Eve." He sighed, "And there's something else out there that we need to deal with."

"You don't know what's out there, do you?" Tommy asked, studying the kid who shook his head and shrugged again. "But you think something bad killed that ghost?"

"That girl was afraid of _something_." Dean said, "She wanted us to get away from the motel. We need to know what happened out there and deal with it before it kills someone else. Someone who's _not_ a ghost."

"How are you planning to figure out what it is?" Tommy asked, although he was confident he already knew the answer.

Dean said, "We need to do a little research and go back out there and…"

"Research you say?" Tommy interrupted and slid his laptop closer. He said, "I think I have some research you may find useful."

Dean's eyebrows rose and he asked, "What exactly have you been researching?"

Tommy opened the laptop and said, "Names mostly. The girl in the motel room said her name was Mallory Beech."

"You find her?"

"Cop, remember?" Tommy smiled, "Miss Mallory Beech, 18 years old, freshman at Arizona State University. Home for Christmas break. Disappeared while out on a hike."

"Let me guess," Dean sighed, rubbing his chest and glancing at the laptop, "she was found dead?"

"She was found in _pieces_." Tommy grimaced, "Some...uh, shreds, a few bones, and a whole lot of blood were found over a two mile radius, well north of town."

Dean wrinkled his nose, "Yech."

"It was brutal. They didn't even recover that much of her." Tommy rose and refilled his coffee cup. He pointed at the screen, "The reports list a few options for what they thought might have killed her but they're unconfirmed. Not enough left of her to make a definitive guess. Maybe bear, coyote, bobcat, mountain lion. Who knows."

"It wasn't an animal." Dean said with certainty, glancing at the pictures. "When did she die?"

Tommy clicked to another page and said, "Christmas week. 1982."

"Ok. So now we know who she was and when she died." Dean said, frowning, "What we don't know is what killed her, scared her so badly in the afterlife and burned her bones." He sat back and took another sip of water, then said, "Whatever killed her is still out there."

"And you're planning to go out there and find it."

"Yep."

"Uh huh." Tommy shook his head. "I'm prepared to give you a gold medal if you get past my wife in your condition. Speaking of which, why were you limping?"

Dean stared at him with irritation. After a few seconds, he relented and said, "Twisted my ankle fighting old man Brody. Look, I'm fine. Been much worse. None of that matters. Something ripped Mallory Beech to shreds and probably has killed a lot more...and _will_ kill again."

"I hear you. Don't get me wrong. But you can barely walk, barely breathe and you look like hell, son." Tommy said, trying to be gentle. "How about we do a little more research before you try to make a break for it? Because I actually have a few other things to show you."

The kid looked even more annoyed and stubborn, but muttered, "You've been busy."

"I'm as eager as you are to find out what's going on out there." Tommy said, "And I think I have a few answers. When she was trying to get us to leave, Mallory said something about not wanting to watch Gethen kill more people."

"You found out who Gethen is?"

"I think so." Tommy opened another tab and looked through his bookmarks till he found the page he'd been looking at earlier. He said, "Gethen, as you might have already guessed, is an obscure name. Not exactly making the top ten of bouncing baby names of the year if you know what I mean. It's Welsh."

Dean raised an eyebrow, "Welsh? That seems a bit odd for Arizona, doesn't it? Big immigrant population?"

Tommy laughed, "Not so far as I know. But the fact it's not common made it a little easier, actually."

Squinting at the screen, Dean read the headline, "_Gethen and Turpleman's Transcendental Travelling Show_. You have got to be kidding me." He glanced at Tommy, "A medicine show?"

"They were common during the 19th century up until the Second World War." Tommy said, "This one apparently toured through the southwest during the 1920's. They were your typical snake oil and miracle cure racket."

Dean skimmed the page, then glanced up at Tommy, "This is it?"

"So far. I couldn't find a lot. Just that paragraph. It's from a dissertation by a doctoral candidate some thirty years ago." Tommy said, wrapping his hands around his coffee cup, "It didn't go into a lot of detail other than to say the last time they rolled into town, people reported that it was the best show anyone had ever seen. Apparently the cures actually worked this time around."

"But?"

"Well, the show was the best it had ever been and the miracle cures worked, but everyone thought the two snake charmers seemed off. Like they were different somehow." Tommy shook his head, "There isn't much detail, but apparently when folks headed out to the field for the last night of the show they didn't get entertainment."

"I'm afraid to ask…"

"They found Turpleman," Tommy smiled grimly, "everywhere."

"Huh." Dean grimaced, "That sounds familiar."

"You think whatever killed Turpleman is still out there. Might have been what killed Mallory Beech?"

Dean nodded, "Anything said about Gethen? Because it seems like he's the most likely candidate for our monster."

"Apparently he disappeared." Tommy shrugged, "That's all I could find on him so far, anyway." He paused, noticing Dean was frowning and looking past the living room toward the hall. "Dean? What is it?"

Dean shoved his chair back and pushed himself to his feet. He spared a rapid glance at Tommy and said, "I heard Sam."

He immediately began walking toward the hall. Tommy stepped closer, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder and said, "Sit back down; I'll go check on him."

"I've got this." Dean said, never slowing his pace despite his limp and another coughing spell.

Tommy didn't fight him, but stayed close. He wasn't entirely sure the kid was going to be able to stay upright. They rounded the corner and he was surprised to see Sam standing there, one hand braced against the wall, the other pressed to his eyes. Tommy shook his head; how either of them were standing even mostly upright was beyond him. They both needed to be sitting down, not trying to go fight monsters, or whatever was out there.

"Sam?" Dean immediately moved toward him, reaching out a hand to grab his brother's shoulder. "What are you doing?"

Sam lowered his hand and blinked slowly, staring at Dean like he was trying to decide if he was really seeing him. After a few seconds, he squeezed his eyes closed and mumbled, "Couldn't find you."

Dean shook his head and said, "Sorry, man. Should've left you a note. How 'bout you go back to bed?"

"Dean, the hunt..." Sam stumbled over the words, listing toward the wall. "I saw...we have to...find her…we should go..."

"We will. Just not right now, ok?" Dean said, gently. He tugged on Sam's arm and said, "Come on."

From where he stood, Tommy felt no confidence in Sam's ability to make the return trip down the hall. He couldn't figure out how he'd made it this far in the first place. Stepping forward, Tommy said, "How about the couch? It's closer."

Dean met his eyes and nodded. He looked as concerned as Tommy felt. He eased his brother's arm over his shoulder and said, "Come on, Sammy. Couch dead ahead."

Tommy stepped forward to help and was glad when neither of them fought him. Dean was concentrating on keeping them both upright and moving while Sam had his eyes closed again and only kept moving because Dean was telling him to put one foot in front of the other. Thankful that the couch was very close, Tommy knew he was going to need to get Arla up. Because Sam felt way too warm again.

Once they got him sitting down on the couch, Dean perched on the edge of the coffee table. He studied his brother, shaking his head as he asked, "How you doin'?"

Sam looked at him miserably, eyes glassy and unfocused. He whispered, "Why won't he answer our calls?"

Tommy frowned, wondering who Sam meant.

Dean cast him a quick glance, then returned his focus to his brother. He said, "He's just busy. Don't worry about it. How about you try to drink some water? You need to take some more Tylenol for that fever."

Leaving them sitting there, Tommy headed back to the fridge to grab another bottle of water. Fridge was empty, of course. Tommy headed out to the garage and grabbed another case of water and set it on the counter. Walking back over to the couch, he realized something had changed in the short time he'd been gone. He could see barely controlled panic in Dean's eyes. Tommy hurried over and saw that Sam's eyes were closed again, his entire body relaxed against the cushions.

"Dean?" Tommy asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"He said he was dizzy," Dean looked up at him, eyes pinched and tense, "and then he just passed out."

Tommy couldn't say he was surprised. He set the bottle of water down and quickly checked Sam's pulse and respirations. Both elevated. Again, not a surprise. He said, "It was probably the stress of walking out here."

Dean nodded slowly, fighting back another cough. Tommy handed him the bottle of water then eased Sam down on the couch. He got him settled, then looked back at Dean, "I'm going to go grab Arla so she can take a look at him."

Spitting into another tissue, Dean wiped his lips, then said, "He'll be ok. You don't have to wake her up."

Smiling, Tommy said, "Trust me, son, she isn't going to mind. Sit tight till we get back."

Dean just lowered his head to his hands, elbows resting against his knees.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! **


	12. Chapter 12

**_Well...I started my new job orientation this week which is why this has been delayed. As some of you know, I'm an RN. I just started a job in the neonatal intensive care unit and I'm so excited! I've never done this type of nursing before so it's a little scary, but exciting too. _**

**_As an RN, I do try to keep the medical details as accurate as possible in my fics. I'm one of those people who critiques tv shows and movies for bad medical stuff. My family just plugs their ears and goes 'lalala' whenever something medical happens on a show because I'm coming unglued next to them about the inaccuracies lol! :) So I do a TON of research and try really hard to be medically accurate as I write. That being said,_ _I'm not a doctor, and I'm not an ER nurse so I don't guarantee I'm not making some mistakes here and there. :)_**

**_Thanks for your patience with this story. I once promised myself to never start posting a story until i had it completely finished because I never wanted to make people wait forever for chapters. Yeah, so much for that resolution lol. Anyway, I promise there is actually an end to this story (someday) and hope y'all don't get bored or annoyed with the delays along the way. _**

**_I'd seriously bake you all cookies if I could cuz you are all so wonderful with the notes and I love that you are enjoying the story! Hope this chapter is worth the wait... _**

**Special Thanks to:**

**Ollie, C1, Aidrianna, SickDeanLover, Guest, CaLlieB for the wonderful guest reviews for chapter 11! It means so much to hear from each of you and although I can't send you a PM thank you, I want to be sure you each know how much I love hearing from you! **

* * *

_1030 AM Christmas Day  
__near the highway by the motel_

Raquel blew out a slow, calming breath through pursed lips. Pursed lip breathing was the key to regaining ones focus and center of calm, she'd once heard. _Bunch of lies!_ It didn't help at all. Staring down that the monster she was half-kneeling on, she had never in her entire life felt quite so homicidal as she did right then.

It wasn't talking. It wasn't even fighting anymore. It was just...there. Under her knee, the iron chain still around its neck, the monster wasn't doing anything. She'd spent the past half hour screaming at it, begging it, tugging on the chain, loosening the chain. Denial, anger, bargaining, she'd tried everything. It had laughed at her once, then lay completely still. Not moving, not speaking.

Nothing.

It was both infuriating and terrifying. Raquel blinked back tears and raised her head to stare around the woods again. All was silent. She was tired of holding the chain, of being bound, but mostly she was tired of being a prisoner of an evil she knew nothing about. What could she do, though? She couldn't get beyond the invisible walls of her prison; and she couldn't get the monster to talk. Even the knowledge that she'd found a way to help the two brothers escape the motel before Gethen returned didn't completely set her mind at ease.

And that just made her heart sink even lower. Because she still didn't know when Gethen was going to show up. Bad enough the unnamed monster beneath her had destroyed her only friend, now she was faced with the realization that she still had a visit from an _even _greater evil awaiting her. After a year, she still couldn't shake the terror that squeezed her insides until she thought she was going to throw up. Even Mallory hadn't known what Gethen was and she'd been trapped by him for so many years.

What was the point?

For a moment, her hands tightened the chain around the monster's neck. There was no way to know if strangling the thing would actually kill it. But it was worth a try. Raquel pulled on the chain harder, listening to the gasping, choking sounds the creature made as she did so. Her stomach turned and she bit her lip so hard that it should have bled. Through the chain, every jerking motion and twitch the monster made as she choked it transmitted up into her hands and left her feeling lightheaded.

_What am I doing?_ _Am I killing it? Am I actually going to kill it?_

Body trembling, the back of her throat tightened until it felt like she'd swallowed a knife, and her hands cramped around the chain as she held onto it. Shaking her head, Raquel loosened her grip on the chain and lifted her knee. Whatever this thing was, she couldn't kill it; even if throttling it with a chain actually _would _be lethal to whatever it was. She took a steadying breath, then stood up; completely removing the chain from around the monster's neck. She took a couple steps backwards and sank to the ground, back against a tree. Her heart was pounding so hard that her entire chest ached and she had to press a hand against her chest.

Shame filled her as she realized she was too weak to kill the monster.

The creature slowly rose, looking at her. Its dark eyes glittered and the thin lips tore back from teeth the color of sin. Raquel watched it, her heart too heavy to even react as the nightmarish figure stared at her. It might torture her again. The thought terrified her, but dying at the hands of an ungodly monster would be far better than _becoming_ a monster in order to kill one. Breath squeezing in and out of a throat ten sizes too small, Raquel looked at the monster, praying the end would be quick.

"Did you get bored?" The creature asked in a whisper that was neither comforting nor calming. It crawled toward her, each movement jutting and awkward. A tongue that seemed to be oozing blood leisurely slid along the monster's lips as it grinned at her.

Raquel felt a shiver creep up along her spine that left her teeth chattering and her entire body shaking as the monster came closer. She knew what kind of pain it could cause her. She also knew it couldn't do anything more than hurt her. Nevertheless, that knowledge didn't exactly make her feel any better. She shouldn't have let go of it; maybe she should have just held onto it until beyond the end of eternity. But it was too late now.

The creature grabbed the chain and leaned close enough to slide its tongue across her cheek. Although there shouldn't have been any way she would feel it, she cringed away with a whimper as the warmth of a dozen worms slithered toward her eye.

_It's all in your head, it's all in your head! _Raquel tried to reason with herself. But the unholy stench of the monster and the crawly sensation of its tongue on her face didn't help convince her. She slammed her eyes shut and curled onto her side in the dirt, desperate to get away from the monster. Mind too full of terror to even think clearly, Raquel barely noticed when the creature moved away from her. After a few seconds of silence, she forced her eyes open and immediately realized why the creature had stopped molesting her.

_Gethen._

A scream tore from her throat just before the page turned on her nightmare and a new chapter began...

* * *

_10:30 AM Christmas Day  
__Pender home_

The longer he'd been awake, the more he realized exactly how bad his breathing was and how much effort it took to even sit still and not do anything. It was disconcerting to realize he not only didn't have a weapon on him, but that he probably couldn't have lifted one anyway.

As Tommy left the room to go wake Arla, Dean let his head rest in his hands for a few seconds, trying to come to grips with the nightmare. How had they even ended up here? They'd never in their entire lives gotten so sick. Sure, there'd been plenty of times over the years when they'd both been miserable, sometimes even at the same time. But never like this. Never to the point they wound up too ill to take care of each other. Never to the point of winding up in a hospital or in the debt of strangers.

To make it worse, they had a hunt waiting for them and he'd be lucky if he could even stand up straight again, let alone fight..._whatever _was out there behind the motel. Every instinct was screaming at him to get out there; deal with the situation like he'd been trained. But he couldn't just load up the Impala and do it this time. Because his chest hurt, he could barely breathe without coughing and Sam looked like death.

"Sammy," Dean whispered hoarsely, lifting his head enough to study his brother. He was ashen, lying there so still and quiet; the couch seeming to swallow him up. The fact Sam had gone and passed out while he'd been sitting down scared him more than he wanted to admit. Dean felt completely lost and shook his head, saying softly, "I don't know what to do, man. Give me a Wendigo or ghost over this any day."

At the sound of his voice, Sam's steady breathing changed a little. It was so subtle that Dean would have missed it if he hadn't been watching for the regular rise and fall of Sam's chest just to reassure him that he was still even breathing. But he saw it and leaned forward more, watching Sam start to fight his way back to consciousness. It didn't look like he was going to make it without a little encouragement.

"Hey," Dean started, but couldn't stop a hacking cough that left him struggling for breath again. Spitting into another tissue, he ignored the floating black spots in his vision and sudden dizziness, then reached out a frustratingly shaky hand to grab Sam's wrist. Dean cleared his throat and managed to find his voice again, "Sam, come on. Time to rejoin planet Earth."

This time he heard an almost inaudible moan and saw Sam's face tighten in pain. Dean squeezed his wrist, feeling the shivers running through his brother's body as his fever continued to climb. The sharp pains in his chest suddenly doubled as he felt a flash of panic. They were supposed to be getting better, not worse. They'd done the right thing, gone to the hospital. Accepted the hospitality of the Penders; against his better judgment. And for what? Because if he were to be completely honest with himself, he felt even worse and Sam certainly didn't seem to be improving.

Giving Sam's wrist a shake, Dean finally saw him trying to force his eyes open. It took a few attempts before he even managed to blink them open for a split second. Not exactly reassured by the slow progress his brother was making toward consciousness, Dean prompted again, "Sam?"

This time Sam managed to keep his eyes open for a whole three seconds and, for a moment, Dean was afraid that would be the end of it. But then he saw Sam mouthing his name as he made another attempt to force his eyes open. This time, he was successful and managed to focus his gaze on Dean. Despite the fatigue and obvious confusion, there was recognition in his eyes when he looked up and a tension Dean hadn't even noticed seemed to leak out of his brother at the visual contact. Sam was blinking slowly as if it required too much effort to even keep his eyes open. Dean figured that was probably the case given how washed out he looked.

"Dude, you fainted." Dean grinned once Sam was focused on him again. "Like a little girl."

Sam didn't rise to the bait; he just wrinkled his forehead and stared at Dean as if he'd been speaking in a foreign language. Dean sighed. It was no fun to pick on someone who was too sick to fight back. He watched as Sam started to fade out again. Dean shook his wrist and said a bit more loudly, "Sam!"

"Hmm?" Sam mumbled, getting his eyes open again and not looking happy about it.

"Try to stay awake, ok?" Dean said, taking a sip of water to keep from coughing. Sam was staring at him and Dean could tell that his normally sharp brother was processing so slowly that he was probably still just trying to remember his own name and hadn't even gotten around to interpreting Dean's statement. He smiled a little and said, "Sammy, you're a freaking disaster, you know that?"

Sam closed his eyes as if just listening to that sentence had wiped every last bit of strength from his body. After a few seconds, he whispered, "Where?"

"The doctor's house." Dean answered, encouraged by the fact Sam had actually managed to speak one lucid word. But when Sam looked at him again, there was nothing but confusion in his eyes. Dean sighed. There was no point in an explanation of any kind at this point so he said simply, "We're safe, ok?"

"Ok."

Dean nodded, "Glad we got that covered. How you doing?"

"Happened?" Sam asked, struggling to get a hand to cooperate. Finally getting it to move off his chest, he pressed it against his forehead and groaned.

"You're sick. Head still hurt?" Dean asked, frowning as the memory of the hunt flooded back. Sam had said he'd hit his head. How could he have forgotten? He probably should have mentioned that to the doctor a long time ago. Dean felt his stomach drop when he realized the omission of that detail might have actually made things worse. Lowering his voice, he asked, "Sammy?"

"Hmm?"

"Your head. How bad?"

Sam squeezed his eyes closed and whispered, "Bad."

Well that certainly wasn't good. Dean shook his head, breath catching and starting off another coughing spell that left his own head pounding and Sam flinching in pain. Sucking in gasping breaths, Dean looked up as he heard movement from the other end of the house. Tommy was heading down the hall past the living room. Before Dean had time to wonder where he was going, he heard Arla's voice and turned to his left as she walked toward them, a backpack in her hands.

"Good morning." She said softly with a smile. Her eyes immediately assessed him, then Sam. It was clear she wasn't happy with what she saw. "You two don't look like you feel very good."

"I'm ok." Dean said although his raspy voice probably wasn't convincing her. He pointed at Sam, realizing he had slipped back under as soon as he'd stopped trying to keep him focused. "He's a mess."

Arla nodded, but her expression told Dean that she was not through with him. She asked, "Tommy said he passed out?"

"Yeah." Dean said, looking back at Sam who wasn't stirring despite the conversation going on right next to him. Shaking his head, Dean tried to go on, "He said he was dizzy..."

"I'm sure he was." Arla said, resting a hand on Dean's shoulder. Her eyebrows were raised in that knowing mother look she was so good at and she said, "And I'm going to check him out. But right now, you're worrying me more than he is."

Dean frowned. Sure, he felt lousy, but he wasn't the one barely conscious on the couch. He started to protest, but Arla cut him off before he could even begin, "You're white as a sheet and you're wheezing so loud I'm surprised Sam isn't complaining about the noise. You need a breathing treatment, which you are going to get. Right now. Clear?"

He wanted to argue with her. She probably could see the instant flash of rebellion in his eyes, but he relented before saying one word in protest; that last coughing spell had left him far too short of breath to even bother trying to argue. Tommy suddenly appeared at his side and helped pull him to his feet. As soon as he was standing, much to his embarrassment, Dean almost followed Sam's earlier example.

The world went very dark and warm and whatever Tommy and Arla were saying was distorted as if they were trying to talk to him underwater. If it hadn't been for Tommy's strong grip, he'd have been on the floor. As it was, he found himself sitting back in a recliner without knowing how exactly he got there.

By the time the buzzing in his head faded and the black slowly melted back into the background, Dean could feel the mask over his mouth and nose and hear the hum of the nebulizer machine. Several minutes must have passed, he realized with concern. Arla was kneeling next to him, stethoscope against his chest. After a few seconds, she wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm and Dean closed his eyes; resigned to his fate. For a minute, he just kept his eyes closed and let her do her thing.

"Tommy?" Arla asked after she finished. Dean felt her removing the cuff, but was content to keep his eyes closed for the moment.

"Temps 103.2." Tommy said. "O2 sat 89% and blood sugar 70."

Dean forced his eyes open and realized Tommy was sitting on the edge of the coffee table next to Sam. He was passing Arla some devices as she passed him the blood pressure cuff and stethoscope. She said, "We need to stop that fever before it goes any higher. Check his pressure and I'll be right there."

Tommy nodded and took the stethoscope.

Arla turned back and asked, "Dean? How are you doing now? Head stop spinning?"

"Mostly." He answered; not about to tell her that he still felt overly warm and everything was a little grey around the edges.

"Mmhmm." She said, using the infrared thermometer. "Your blood pressure was pretty low. And...your temperature is up again. 102.6."

"Better than Sam's."

"But not good." Arla said, sliding the pulse oximeter on his finger. She studied him carefully, then asked, "Your breathing any better?"

Dean nodded, hating to admit the breathing treatment was actually necessary.

"Good. You've been up for awhile now," Arla said, glancing at her watch, "and Tommy said you had some toast and water earlier. How's your stomach feeling?"

"Ok." He shrugged. Now that she mentioned it, he realized he actually felt a bit queasy. It must have shown on his face because Arla's eyes narrowed as she studied him.

She said, "That doesn't look convincing. Do you think you feel up to trying some more toast? Maybe some Gatorade? I'm sure you're a bit wary to try anything, but I'd like to get something on your stomach and see how you do for a bit and then get some Tylenol and the antibiotic into you."

Dean nodded as she turned off the nebulizer machine and removed the mask.

"Arla." Tommy said, drawing their attention.

"How was his pressure?" She asked, glancing over her shoulder.

"Low. 88/52. Pulse 112."

"No wonder he passed out." Arla said, sighing. She pointed a finger at Dean and said, "Stay put." Rising, she glanced at Tommy and said, "Can you get him some toast and Gatorade while I check on Sam?"

Tommy nodded, "Sure thing."

Dean watched as Arla took Tommy's place on the edge of the coffee table. Sam's eyes were closed and his arm limp across his chest again. Remembering what he'd been thinking about just before he'd started coughing and nearly passed out, Dean said, "He hit his head."

"What?" Arla turned to look at him, eyes wide, "When?"

"It was before," Dean swallowed hard, trying not to cough again, "when we were hunting the poltergeists."

Arla's eyebrows rose to her hairline, and she said, "We'll pretend you didn't just say poltergeists for the moment, ok? What happened?"

Dean frowned, trying to remember through the fog his brain was swimming in. He said, "I wasn't there. Sam said he got knocked down some steps."

"And he hit his head?" Arla glanced down at Sam, then back to Dean, "Did he lose consciousness?"

"I...I'm not sure." He said, trying to remember exactly what had happened. "We were kind of busy. He was ok by the time I got to him."

Dean wanted to kick himself. He'd been feeling so terrible by the time he'd found Sam that night that all he'd been focused on was the fact that Sam had been coherent and able to walk. They'd finished the job and gone back to the motel. And everything had gone downhill from there.

Arla nodded, taking a deep breath. She said, "I'm glad you told me. This might explain some of the confusion and how severe his headache was last night." She turned back to Sam and gently rubbed his arm, "Sam? Can you open your eyes for me?"

It took her even longer than it had taken Dean to rouse Sam a few minutes ago. Tommy had delivered the toast and Gatorade by the time Arla managed to get Sam to respond. Dean forced himself to choke down the toast while he watched her and worried about Sam. Arla was talking so softly that he could barely hear her voice, let alone make out what she was saying. He couldn't hear any of Sam's responses. Dean fought back the urge to ask what was going on and concentrated on sipping some of the Gatorade. The cool liquid felt good on his throat, but the act of chewing and swallowing was already leaving him utterly exhausted.

After a few moments, Arla smiled, resting her hand on Sam's forehead. She said softly, "I'll be right back."

Dean frowned as she rose. He asked, "How is he?"

"Sick." Arla said, walking across the room to a cardboard box. She came back with a bag of IV fluids and said, "He said he can't really remember what happened, but thinks he might have been unconscious for a few minutes. The fever, dehydration and nausea are not helping anything so I'm going to give him some more fluids until he feels up to trying to drink something."

Nodding, Dean remembered not being too happy at the hospital when she'd insisted on leaving their IV ports in place when they left. Now he was glad she hadn't listened to his complaints. Watching her work, he couldn't stop the worry that was chewing him up from the inside out and asked, "Is he going to be ok?"

Arla smiled again and nodded, "Yes. It's just going to take some time. A head injury on top of everything else is just making it a bit more of a challenge. It's no wonder his blood pressure bottomed out."

Finishing the toast while she worked, Dean set the plate aside and took the Tylenol and antibiotic tablets that Tommy handed him. Arla pulled a blanket up over Sam just as Dean started coughing again. Arla said, "Tommy, can you grab the cough syrup from the kitchen?"

"On the way." Tommy said, taking the empty plate with him.

Arla handed Dean another tissue. Attempting to crumple it up and shove it in a pocket, Arla stopped him and took the tissue. She smiled at his confused frown and said, "I'm a doctor; we like to look at all sorts of gross stuff." Glancing at the tissue, she said, "I'm guessing you weren't planning to clue me in that you were coughing up a little bit of blood, hey?"

Dean swallowed hard and shrugged, "It's not that much."

"No, it's not. But you should have told me. We need to keep an eye on it." She said, throwing the tissue away and staring him down, "You need to be completely honest with me, Dean. I can help you both get back on your feet. But only if you let me help you. Keeping me in the dark about how awful you feel isn't going to do you any good. Clear?"

"Yeah."

"Good." She leaned forward and said, "Look, you and Sam are both one very slippery step away from earning a trip back to the hospital. I know you want to get back to...whatever it is you do. But you have _got_ to get some rest and regain your strength first. If you keep pushing, keep trying to ignore what your body is telling you, you will need to be hospitalized and it's going to take you a _lot_ longer to recover."

Tommy handed her the bottle of medicine and she took it, poured some into a medicine cup and said, "For your cough."

Dean stared at her for a long moment. He asked, "This what they gave me at the ER?"

"Yes." Arla nodded, smiling. "And yes it _is_ going to knock you out again. Don't you even dare try to argue with me about taking it."

Clamping his mouth shut, Dean bit back his protest. Arla went on, "Tommy's going to keep looking into whatever it is that you two were discussing earlier. As soon as he's able to take some Tylenol, Sam's going to get some rest. And you need to take that medicine, let it knock you out, and sleep. No reason to argue. Unless you like the idea of winding up back at the hospital, because I can certainly arrange that."

Dean sighed. He knew she was right. Reaching out a hand, he took the medicine without a word. Arla nodded, set the cup aside and gave his hand a quick squeeze. She said, "Thank you. Now, close your eyes, get some rest and just let us know if you need something."

He felt his eyes lowering of their own volition. Barely able to keep his eyes open, he glanced over at Sam, then back at Arla and said, "If he needs me…"

"If he needs you, I'll let you know." Arla said, "But if I can deal with what he needs I will. You need to give yourself permission to take a break from taking care of Sam."

Dean looked back at Sam and knew it was going to be impossible to ever give himself that permission. A lifetime habit was hard to break. Arla touched his arm again and he could see understanding in her eyes when she looked at him.

She whispered, "Just for a couple hours, Dean. Ok? I'll take care of him for you. I promise."

Eyes burning with sudden moisture, Dean nodded. He was so sick and tired and miserable that when he squeezed his eyes closed and a tear rolled down his cheek, he didn't even care.


	13. Chapter 13

**I'm back! :) So I have to tell y'all...I'm a serious night owl and I'm orienting to day shift right now. The great news is I love my job...the not so great news is that early mornings are killing me! :) This past week was exhausting as I tried valiantly to adapt to days instead of nights. I can't wait to get off orientation and on to my beloved night shifts so I can get back to my normal schedule...late nights and sleeping in! :) This chapter took forever because I was just too beat when I got home each night last week to really concentrate on writing. **

**BUT! I finally got it done! Big thanks and shout out to Laura's-eyes who has been awesome at checking this out along the way and making sure it all sounded good while I tried to get it just right. Thanks, Laura! :) **

**Also, thank you to C1, Aidrianna, and my Guest reviewer from ch12 for your awesome notes! **

**Without further ado...Chapter 13! **

* * *

_near the motel_

Gethen.

Raquel's scream ended abruptly in a hoarse gurgle of terror. Because there wasn't enough air in her lungs to make any other kind of sound. All the air in the world seemed to have been sucked away when she saw him. Gethen. The man? Monster? The _thing_ that had eaten her husband in front of her one year ago. He took a step closer to her, tilting his head as he peered at her.

"Raquel? It was Raquel, right?"

She nodded without hesitation. She had no choice. She'd seen him only one time, yet that had been enough to teach her you answered his questions immediately and spoke when spoken to. Something about seeing your husband's blood dripping from a monster's mouth was a good incentive for a healthy dose of respect; begrudging as it might be. Raquel forced herself to suck in a breath as she stared up at him. She remained curled on her side in the dirt because she was too terrified to even consider moving.

He smiled, showing off all his perfect white teeth, and said, "I'm sorry it has been so long, Raquel."

Gethen was tall and lean and desperately handsome.

Raquel shuddered, remembering how he had ripped the flesh off of Peter's body with that same smile on his handsome face. His smile didn't waver as he motioned her to sit up and she did, entire body quivering. Her back pressed into the bark of the tree and Raquel hunched into herself, as if that would protect her. She spared a fleeting glance at the other monster and saw that it was standing just off to the side; head hung low. Shame? Fear? She couldn't tell.

"You have questions." Gethen's voice sounded just like the third marriage counselor she and Peter had visited; a thin veneer of false kindness shellacked on top of an ice cube.

Gethen was still smiling at her, showing off all those perfect teeth. All those teeth except _one._ Raquel couldn't help that her gaze was drawn to the empty spot in his mouth. She hadn't noticed it last year; most likely because she'd been too freaked out that her husband was being eaten. Or maybe it hadn't been there last year. She had no idea. The blank space seemed so out of place given his disturbing good looks. Gethen's eyes were completely devoid of emotion, of anything.

But he smiled and cajoled her, "Raquel, why are you so quiet? There's no reason to be afraid."

_You killed my husband, _was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't force anything out through the congealed thickness in her throat.

Gethen shook his head, then his gaze moved from her to the creature. He narrowed his eyes and his voice lost all pretense of humanity as Gethen asked, "You destroyed Mallory?"

The monster kept its eyes averted and remained silent. Gethen took a step closer, raising a hand and flinging the monster against another tree. Raquel gasped; Gethen had never even _touched _the creature! How was that possible? It sent new ripples of terror through her system as she came to the realization that not only was Gethen incredibly powerful, but he was also _supernaturally_ powerful. How could she ever hope to stand a chance against him? Despite her fear, she couldn't help but watch the scene before her unfold.

"You really should have paid more attention to your duties, Alexander," Gethen said, tilting his head, "rather than trying to pretend you were in charge."

The creature's face contorted as he replied, "_You _left me in charge! You told me to…"

"I told you to do _your_ job," Gethen stepped closer, tightening his raised hand into a fist. Alexander coughed weakly and struggled against an invisible force as Raquel slid just a bit further away, "not mine."

Gethen's voice dropped to a gentle tone that could have calmed a screaming baby but only made Raquel feel like her skin was peeling off. He said, "You do not belong here, Alexander. And you certainly had no right to destroy Mallory. She was my favorite. The best of all of you."

Alexander's empty eyes filled with hatred and, despite the invisible force around his neck, spat, "She was weak. A fool. She corrupted that one." His bonelike finger accused Raquel and he said, "They were not doing their jobs."

"Which is really my business, isn't it?" Gethen shook his head slowly. He sighed heavily, his expression one of long-suffering patience, "I feel sometimes as though I am dealing with stubborn, badly behaved children."

The obscenities that Alexander spouted at Gethen would have made Raquel cringe and blush on a good day. Today, she just slid yet another inch backwards, wishing she had the willpower, the courage, to get up and run. She watched as Gethen ignored the creature's outburst and simply stepped closer. With each step forward Gethen took, Raquel's heart rate increased until she was sure it would explode out her chest. Alexander just continued ranting. He ranted right up to the moment that Gethen reached out tender fingers and scooped Alexander's left eye out.

_Then_ he screamed.

Raquel balled up her hands in fists against her mouth to stop her own scream as Gethen stroked his nails down Alexander's chest, leaving raw gashes behind. There was no blood and somehow that made it all the more disturbing. Alexander continued to fight and scream for another few seconds until Gethen smiled cruelly.

"_Fod yn dawel_." Gethen said in his baby calming voice.

Raquel had no idea what that meant, but Alexander immediately fell completely silent, his remaining eye showing his confusion and unrelenting fury. He couldn't make a sound though, not even when Gethen slashed a fingernail down his throat. Raquel felt like the tree was vibrating, but it was just her entire body shaking uncontrollably against it. She saw the peaceful smile on Gethen's evil face as he drew out a long slim knife and held it in front of Alexander.

Turning as quietly as she could, Raquel pushed herself to her feet unsteadily. For a split second she held still, held her breath, too afraid to move, but then she heard what sounded like a knife thudding into a watermelon and she was too afraid _not _to move.

Raquel ran. Blindly, unsteadily, without any idea where she was going or what she was going to do when she got there. But running was better than watching Gethen torturing the creature that had not long ago been torturing her.

Raquel ran until she saw the motel. The chain binding her wrists together clinked musically as she stumbled to a stop in the middle of the parking lot. The parking lot where Peter had died.

She whimpered, too distraught to even cry, as she saw Gethen standing about ten feet away. Her leg muscles cramped and she almost fell to her knees at the sight of him. He shook his head and held out his hands in a mockery of a calming gesture.

"Raquel, my dear." His lips parted in a wide smile, showing off his teeth, save one, and turning her stomach. Gethen glanced around, then down at the pavement, motioning at the cold asphalt. He smiled and asked, "Is this it? Am I in the right place, Raquel? I can't quite remember."

Her breath froze mid-inhalation as a fiery burning climbed in her throat. Gethen motioned around and sidestepped to his left a bit, still grinning. He knelt on the pavement, lowered a finger and ran it across the pavement, then lifted it to his lips. Raquel felt every muscle in her body tighten to the breaking point as Gethen licked his finger, eyes closing. He pulled his finger out of his mouth slowly and looked up at her with a dreamy expression.

"Ah yes. This is it. Right here." He patted the ground, then rose, "I can still taste him. Your husband. Peter wasn't it?"

There were no words. Nothing she could say, no word in any language on Earth could have given her the necessary power to convey her hatred. Her mouth worked slowly, no sounds coming out and she had to put her hands against her stomach because it hurt so badly that she could barely stand upright.

Gethen walked closer until she could smell the death on him and feel his cold hand on the back of her neck, pulling her towards him. It took everything she had to drag her eyes away from his teeth and that empty socket and up to his eyes. Eyes that were bright blue and hypnotic. Raquel frowned, feeling something strange flooding her system, dulling the fear. All she could do was stare into the blue eyes and vaguely listen as he spoke.

"Raquel, it's time we got to know each other a little better." Gethen said, gently running a hand down her arm. "When I was here before and chose you, I'm afraid my time was short. It has taken me much longer to return than I would have liked. I'm sorry you had to wait so long. Would you like to learn what I would have you do for me?"

"Yes." The word came out of her mouth without Raquel even meaning to have spoken up. Even though the fear was dulled and strangely distant, she knew somehow that she shouldn't want to listen to him.

But she couldn't fight back.

* * *

_1120 AM Christmas Day  
__Pender home_

Arla pulled her sweater on and headed for the coffee pot. After getting Dean settled earlier, she'd medicated Sam for the nausea and allowed herself a quick breakfast break followed by an even quicker shower. She poured herself a cup of coffee as Tommy came into the kitchen. He held out his own cup and she filled it, asking softly, "How are they doing?"

"About the same."

"Did Dean wake up?"

Tommy nodded, leaning back against the counter, "Once. Sam called out for him." He smiled, "Dean woke up enough to tell Sam to go back to sleep and that was it."

Arla couldn't help but laugh, "_You_ don't even wake up when I call you."

"That's because I'm not the morning person you are, Arla."

"Mmhm." Arla narrowed her eyes at him and sipped her coffee. She glanced at her watch and said, "Well, I'm glad to hear Dean's been sleeping, even if it hasn't even been very long. They both need all the rest they can get. How's Sam?"

"In pain. Miserable. Fever's still hovering around 103 and he's drifting in and out." Tommy rubbed his forehead, adding, "Blood pressure's a little better with the fluids, though."

"Well, at least that's something. I'll take whatever I can get." Arla set her cup down and hoped she'd get the chance to finish it at some point. She asked, "Did Sam drink anything?"

"He's had a few sips of Gatorade and done well with that."

"Ok. I'll see if he can take a little more and then give him the pills. I don't think he's up to even trying toast yet." Arla said, looking at the neat line of pill bottles Tommy had arranged on the counter earlier. She found the correct bottle of antibiotics and looked up, "If he can't keep the pills down, though, we're going to be heading back to the ER."

"I was starting to think along those lines myself," Tommy said somberly, "He's not really fighting. He's too worn out."

Arla sighed, "I know. And that's got me worried. Especially now that I know he's got a concussion on top of everything else. His pupil responses were ok and he's been able to answer my questions appropriately. With a bit of prompting, sure, but he gets there eventually." She smiled slightly then added, "That's the only reason we aren't _already _back in the ER."

Tommy glanced over his shoulder, then looked back at her and said, "Dean sounds bad enough himself that I'm not convinced Walker shouldn't have just admitted him in the first place."

"He did seem to take a bit of a turn for the worse," Arla agreed, "but that has more to do with the fact Dean doesn't want to accept his limits than anything else. I got through to him enough that he took the cough syrup, so I'm calling it a win. I'm just hoping he's going to behave himself when he wakes up…"

Tommy rolled his eyes, "Good luck with that, honey."

Arla took a deep breath, "I know." She watched Tommy head back to the dining room table and followed, asking, "What have you been up to?"

"Research." He said simply, sitting down in front of his laptop. "I was going to finish unloading the car but decided it would be better if I didn't make too much noise."

"Good choice. Do I want to know what exactly you're researching?" She wrinkled her nose seeing the words _Supernatural Events Encyclopedia_ listed on one of his many open tabs.

Tommy shook his head, "I'm thinking not."

"You're looking into that girl… the one who went up in flames?"

"Already found her. Now I'm trying to figure out who the other girl was." He frowned at the screen, "The one who stopped us at the highway."

Arla kept her voice soft as she said, "Maybe we should go back and look for her, Tommy. She looked like she'd been injured…"

Tommy said, "Arla, she might have been dead."

"What?"

"That girl, Mallory, she was murdered years ago." He explained, expression grim. "She was a ghost. And I'm starting to think maybe Raquel was a ghost too."

Arla was warm in her sweater but felt a shiver run down her spine. She stared at Tommy and realized he was utterly serious. Glancing at the computer, then back at her husband, she asked, "Ghosts?"

"I know." Tommy nodded, "But I think, given what we saw last night, that it's a possibility. Look, go take care of Sam and then I'll catch you up on what Dean and I were discussing while you were asleep earlier."

"I'm not going to like it, am I?"

"No."

Arla smiled shakily at his very firm _no_ and said, "Great. Ok well...I'm going to need more coffee when I get back here."

"Irish?" Tommy grinned.

"Oh please yes." She patted him on the shoulder, then tried to brush his ever wayward hair back down. Giving him a kiss, Arla said, "Either that or you better make some of your Egg Nog. Extra bourbon."

Tommy laughed and turned back to his laptop. Arla took a deep breath, then headed back to the living room. She took a quick peek at Dean, found him sleeping soundly and not showing any signs of difficulty breathing. Adjusting the blanket over him, she headed back over to the coffee table and sat down across from Sam. Arla wasn't surprised to find him shivering and huddled under the blanket. He was drenched in sweat and, except for the flush of fever, unnaturally pale. She laid the back of her hand across his forehead, hating the heat she felt, and he stirred under her touch.

"Sam?" She spoke softly, hand against his cheek. There was no way he'd been resting well given the fever. It took a few seconds, but he finally managed to open his eyes and meet hers. Arla smiled and asked, "Ready for twenty questions?"

He narrowed his eyes in deep thought, then whispered, "Yeah."

"Ok. What's your name?"

"Sam."

"What's my name?" That one took a little longer, but he got it right first try and she nodded, "Good job. Do you remember where you are?"

"Arizona."

It was his standard answer and she wasn't going to quibble about the non-specificity of that one. The fact he was even coherent enough to remember that much made her happy. Arla said, "Right. Do you remember why I keep asking you all these questions?"

He struggled to think past the pain and fever and finally asked, "Hit my head?"

Technically it was a question, not an answer, but she wasn't going to deduct any points for that either. Arla smiled again and kept her voice soft, "That's right. I need you to take your antibiotic and some Tylenol. It will help with the fever and your headache."

Arla let him have a full minute to process that because she could tell she was already starting to lose him. He took a shaky breath and nodded just once. As she reached for the bottle of Gatorade, though, she saw him starting to look around and try to push himself up a little higher on the couch. Once Sam caught sight of his brother, he stilled and stared at him; Arla could see the fear in his eyes.

"He's just sleeping, Sam." Arla said quickly, "He's really ok. Just worn out. Like you are."

Sam finally looked at her and she could tell he wasn't exactly convinced. She squeezed his arm and lowered her voice, "Dean's sleeping well and that's exactly what he needs to do to feel better. I'm keeping a close eye on him."

He sank back into the couch more because he was too weak to do anything else than because he believed her. Arla watched Sam squeeze his eyes closed, then reach up and press his hand against the side of his head. Knowing how bad his head was hurting, Arla hated to disturb him, but knew he wasn't going to stand a chance of feeling better without the medications.

"Sam?" She whispered, "I need you to try to drink a little more and take the pills."

Swallowing hard, he lowered his hand and met her eyes. He again tried to push himself up and she quickly grabbed another pillow off the armchair beside her and put it behind his head. Getting him settled, she waited until it seemed like his head had stopped spinning, then gave him a sip of the Gatorade. Setting the bottle down, she ran a hand through his sweaty hair and asked, "Sam, is there someone I could call for you boys? Parents, friends?"

He shook his head slowly.

"Family? Anyone?"

"It's just him and me." Sam said, forcing a shaky smile, "Thank you for helping us. I didn't know what we were going to do..."

His voice trailed off and Arla nodded quickly, blinking back tears. Even if she still didn't know the whole story, she knew enough. She asked, "Do you think you can swallow the pills?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Arla grabbed the pills and helped him take them. Once he settled back against the pillows, she said, "Now I want you to try to sleep and let the medicine work."

"Ok." Sam whispered, but his gaze was already back on Dean and he asked, "Is he going to be alright?"

"Yes."

Sam immediately looked at her and, despite the fever and concussion, Arla could tell he was trying to decide if he could trust her. He sounded lost and very young when he whispered, "Promise."

"I promise." Arla squeezed his hand and leaned closer. "Sam, if I thought he needed to be in the hospital, he would be. Right now you both just need to stop worrying about each other long enough to get some sleep and start healing. I'm going to keep an eye on him for you, ok? All you need to do is rest."

He whispered another thanks, then closed his eyes.

It broke her heart. Arla blew out a slow breath and adjusted the blanket, leaving her hand on his chest, feeling each unsteady breath he took. It was none of her business, none whatsoever, but she couldn't help it. She wanted to know what on Earth could leave a couple of kids, alright _young men_, she corrected herself, they just seemed so young to her; what could leave them so alone. So alone in the world that they had no one to call when they were sick and miserable. With an arsenal of weapons in an abandoned motel on Christmas Eve. It made no sense...

"It's none of your business, Arla Pender." She said to herself. And it wasn't. Not at all. Maybe she'd never know the whole story. Touching Sam's cheek, she whispered, "But I'm going to take care of you both and get you back on your feet. Because it's what your mother would do if she were here."

* * *

_motel_

"To make a long, complicated and dark story a bit less painful to listen to," Gethen said, amusement in his blue eyes, "I'll give it to you very simply."

They were sitting across from one another on the lone picnic table on the motel grounds. Gethen's cold fingertips brushed against her wrists as he unlocked the cuffs and removed the chain. Raquel still felt dazed and oddly relaxed as she studied him. The utter terror was still there, and the fact that she was relaxed and not exhibiting any of the fear that pulsed through her veins made it even more terrifying. He set the chain aside and released her wrists. She should have pulled her hands away, should have recoiled from him, should have run. But she didn't. Hands left limp on the table, she waited. Gethen smiled.

"Raquel, do you want to hear my simple story?" He asked as casually. Like they were old friends catching up after a year apart.

Nodding, Raquel found herself unable to stop from saying, "Tell me."

Gethen's toothy grin widened and he said, "I hoped you would want to hear my story. I know you have many questions. Let me start at the beginning. Many, many years ago I had a friend and business partner. We traveled this region selling remedies and curios to the scattered ranchers and townspeople. One day, I discovered true power and my remedies actually began to bring healing. No matter how he tried, Alexander was unable to replicate my methods."

"Alexander?" Raquel couldn't believe she had actually spoken the name aloud. But Gethen didn't seem to care that she had interrupted him.

He nodded, "Alexander Turpleman. You met him. Of course, he wasn't always as he is now. But before we get to that, let me continue. Alexander became insanely jealous of my abilities and searched for a way to steal my power."

Raquel watched him run a hand across his jaw, his eyes darkening as he continued, "He tried everything until he finally found a medicine man from a local tribe who helped him curse me." Gethen's hand went back to his jaw and he said, "Alexander used black magic to curse me to this state. Immortal. Trapped between worlds and…"

"You ate my husband." Raquel said, shaking herself out of her trance. Gethen still looked merely amused by her comments rather than becoming angry. She pulled her arms back and wrapped them around herself as she whispered, "Why did you kill Peter? We were lost, tired, just needed a place to sleep. Why would you _eat _him?"

Gethen's blue eyes softened and his soothing voice was back as he said, "I'm sorry. It's this curse. I...I can't contain it. The curse, it did something to me. Whatever Alexander did to me caused me to...change. I've tried everything to keep myself from eating, to fight the hunger. I've even tried to kill myself. Several times."

Raquel gasped and shrank back a bit further. Gethen's handsome face contorted in pain as he went on, "I don't know what I am, Raquel. And I don't know how to stop myself. How to destroy myself. All those years ago, when Alexander first did this to me...Raquel, he was my first victim."

"_You_ killed your friend?"

"Yes. I devoured him." His eyes were bright and full of pain. "I couldn't stop myself. I ripped him to shreds."

"But he…" Raquel thought back to the barely human creature and she asked, "how is he...alive?"

"He's not alive. Not really." Gethen said, lowering his gaze to his folded hands. "I brought him back when I realized that there was no way I could break the curse without him. He alone knows what he did and where my tooth is."

Raquel laughed in spite of the situation. It was so surreal, all of it, that she found herself giddy. She asked, "Your _tooth_?"

Gethen nodded, a small smile playing at his lips, "I know it's strange. But my tooth was used in the curse and without it I'll never be able to undo the curse. I'll never be free and I'll never stop killing."

"Why don't you ask Alexander where it is? Isn't that why you...brought him back to life?"

"He doesn't remember." Gethen's expression hardened. "I devoured him and when I brought him back, it wasn't...perfect. He's missing some parts. He doesn't remember anything from our past life."

For a long moment, they sat silently. The breeze was cool and gentle, the sun bright and the day so beautiful that Raquel wanted to close her eyes and pretend it was Peter sitting across from her at the table. She stared at Gethen and asked, "That's why...why me and Mallory and Alexander…"

"There are things I can't do in my state, Raquel. These limitations are part of why I could not come back until now to explain this to you." Gethen said, "I employ those with special talents who can help me in my search. Alexander is a monster, to be sure, but he serves his purpose. And Mallory was one of my greatest allies. She tried everything she could to help me."

He leaned forward, eyes staring into her soul. Raquel felt cold. Gethen said, "Will you help free me, Raquel? Help release me from this nightmare?"

Raquel could see nothing but pain and sorrow in those hypnotic blue eyes. She nodded.

If she could have seen past the pain and sorrow in those hypnotic blue eyes, Raquel Alonzo would have seen a malevolent evil so profound that she would never have stopped running from it.

* * *

_1200PM Christmas Day  
__Pender Home_

Dean didn't want to wake up. Warm and mostly comfortable, the stabbing pains in his chest were nicely dulled by whatever had been in that cough syrup. All in all, he felt good and drugged and he kind of liked it. But he could hear a soft voice nearby and when he heard Sam coughing, he couldn't ignore it. So he forced his eyes open, blinking in the dim light of the Pender's living room. They'd thoughtfully kept all the drapes closed, but there was enough light for him to see Arla sitting on the coffee table, leaning over Sam.

"He ok?" Dean asked; his voice was so ragged he wasn't sure Arla had even heard him at first.

But she nodded, eyes still on Sam. Dean studied them and wished he felt strong enough to push the blanket off and get out of the recliner. Instead, he decided catching his breath and sitting very still was a better option at the moment. He tried to breathe carefully to keep from busting out into yet another coughing spell; he could already feel one threatening.

After a few seconds of breathing very gingerly, Dean glanced to his left and reached for the bottle of Gatorade. It helped stave off the cough and he breathed a little easier, watching Arla put a cool washcloth over Sam's eyes. She rose and quietly walked over to him.

"How are you doing, Dean?" Arla asked with a smile, "You look pretty comfortable."

Dean narrowed his eyes and said, "You drugged me."

"I did." Arla's smile widened. "Feels pretty good, doesn't it?"

Begrudgingly, Dean nodded, then set the Gatorade aside and asked, "How's he doing?"

Arla sat down and said, "Not great. He took some medicine and has been pretty restless with the fever, but it's coming down."

That sounded like progress at least, Dean thought. He rubbed his chest and looked back at Arla as she asked, "Dean, who's Jess?"

Dean sighed. He wasn't surprised Arla was asking. Sam had been calling out for Jessica almost every time he closed his eyes since she'd died and the illness had only made it worse. Dean said, "She was his girlfriend."

"Was." Arla said and he could see the empathy in her expression as she glanced at Sam.

"She was murdered." Dean said, finding the words as bitter as the memories of that awful night. Just the thought made his head throb and his stomach turn.

"Sam saw it, didn't he?" Arla asked softly, "He has nightmares."

"Yeah. He...well, we both got there just after it happened." Dean swallowed hard, not wanting to be talking about this. He met Arla's gaze and said, "Nothing he could have done."

Arla nodded, tears in her eyes. She asked, "It happened recently, didn't it?"

"Beginning of November." He answered simply.

_Feels like yesterday_, Dean shook his head; the memory still so vivid. It was hard to believe it had already been a couple months since he'd gone to Stanford and picked Sam up. He'd never expected to _still _be looking for Dad. And he'd never dreamed his little brother would have to go through what their dad had gone through all those years ago. Seeing Jessica on the ceiling, feeling the heat of the fire had sent him right back to that night when Mom had died and he'd almost been too overwhelmed to think straight. But he'd seen Sam and instinct had kicked in.

Arla said softly, "I'm sorry. Really."

Dean nodded. He rubbed his eyes, finding it more difficult to keep his eyes open than he would have expected. Arla's hand was on his arm and she said, "Go back to sleep, Dean."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Arla said, "You look half asleep already. Get some more rest and I'll make some soup for a late lunch when you wake up, how's that sound?"

He shrugged, "Rather have a burger and a beer."

Arla laughed, "Let's start with soup." She tucked the blanket around him and said, "When you're feeling better, though, I'll buy you a beer. Deal?"

He smiled just a little and nodded. His eyes were already closed by the time he managed to remember he should whisper back, "Deal."

* * *

**Hope it was worth the wait! :) This one was pretty long so hopefully that makes up for the delay. I should be a bit less lethargic this week since I've had one week to practice this awful morning business. So my goal would be to not make you wait so long for 14. Thanks for reading and sticking with the story! You guys are all awesome!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hi guys! Thanks for all the reviews to chapter 13! I promise I'll drop ya'll notes tomorrow with my personal thanks. The week goes by so quickly and I'm so exhausted by evening that I've just been too lazy to log on all week! But I read every single one and they were all super encouraging! And, L.H., wanted to be sure to send you a big thanks for your awesome notes and taking the time to go back and review older chapters! What a treat to read your notes! :)**

**Here's chapter fourteen...a bit shorter than other chapters, but hope you will enjoy nonetheless! **

* * *

_3 PM Christmas Day  
__Home_

"Did Dad call?"

Dean opened his eyes at the sound of Sam's voice. He'd been dozing off in the quiet of the afternoon, telling himself that if he did what the doctor said, he'd be able to get back out there sooner and start doing his job. By tomorrow at the latest. Rubbing his eyes, Dean set aside the mug of soup Arla had given him and glanced over at the couch. Sam was on his side, eyes closed. As the hours had passed, he'd grown less restless and more quiet. He didn't look so fevered now, but that only left him looking pale with bruised eyes so it wasn't much of an improvement.

Wondering if he'd just imagined hearing Sam's voice, Dean cleared his throat and asked softly, "What?"

"What?" Sam immediately opened his eyes and looked at him. He seemed as confused as Dean and began trying weakly to push himself upright.

"You just asked if Dad called." Dean said, sliding forward in the recliner with the perhaps unattainable goal of getting closer to his brother. A quick assessment from this distance was telling him only one thing; that Sam was still a mess. Dean didn't want to disturb the Penders which meant he needed to get over there before Sam face-planted on the floor.

Eating the soup had taken more energy than it ever should have and he'd given in to the exhaustion for a quick nap. Now, he was finding it difficult to gather the strength to move again. He got to the edge of the recliner and paused to catch his breath. There apparently wasn't much of a need for hurry since Sam had stopped moving and appeared to be trying to catch his own breath. He was clinging to the edge of the cushion as if he were about to fall over the edge of the Grand Canyon.

"Sam?" Dean prompted, a little concerned that Sam was zoning out. "You're the one who woke me up. Don't ignore me."

It took a few seconds, but Sam finally looked over at him again. He seemed lost and confused as to why he was so confused. He asked, "We didn't kill it, did we?"

Dean sighed at the _non sequitur_ and pushed himself up to wobble over to the coffee table. Sliding aside all the medical paraphernalia Arla had organized on the table, he sat down heavily and said, "It depends on what _it_ you're talking about."

"The thing that burned that ghost's bones." Sam said as if he'd been making perfect sense all along and _Dean_ was the slow one.

"No we did not. Yet." Dean said, glancing around the room quickly. The Penders were in another part of the house video chatting with their grandkids. Grateful for the opportunity to talk to his brother privately, Dean added, "But we're gonna."

"She was afraid."

"I caught that."

"We should…"

"We should what, exactly?" Dean asked sharply. Pent up frustration began to leak out in his tone. He'd been asking himself the same question for hours now and still had no good solutions. "What are we going to do? We don't know what's out there…"

He broke off, coughing into his sleeve, and fighting back a groan as it felt like his chest was being ripped apart. One cough turned into yet another coughing spell and everything around him started to go spotty and dark. All he could do was try to breathe through the agony. He turned to reach for the tissues and almost overbalanced. One hand against the coffee table, Dean closed his eyes and waited for the black spots to go away. Finally grabbing a tissue, he could hear Sam's voice, but realized he'd missed everything he'd been saying. Spitting into the tissue, he finally refocused his attention.

"Dean?"

Turning back, Dean realized his coughing spell had legitimately scared his brother. Sam didn't get freaked out by much, but right now his expression was exactly the same as it had been one night many years ago. They'd been holed up on their own for a couple weeks and, at seventeen, Dean had been more than eager to stretch his limits and enjoy the freedom. He'd been an awesome big brother and bought Sam a pizza, a pint of ice cream, and given him possession of the tv remote. He knew his kid brother was more than likely to ignore the tv and relish the silence of the house and get ahead on his homework, but the right to have the remote had won him points in Sam's eyes that night.

Going out with a bunch of rowdies after a football game had led to drinking which had lead to fighting and he'd barely found his way back to the house they were renting. Sam had been up doing his homework even though it was several hours past his bedtime. Not that there had been anyone there to call him on it. Dean had stumbled through the door drunk and with a wide gash over his eye that had done a nice job of bleeding and making him look like he'd stepped off the set of a horror flick.

He'd been so drunk that he really hadn't even begun to feel the pain and hadn't realized how severe the injury was. He started to get a clue when Sam's excited greeting had frozen on his lips and his wide smile had disappeared as quick as the color in his face had vanished. Everything after that was pretty hazy, but Dean would never forget the fear in Sam's eyes when he'd walked in the door that night. Dean still felt bad that Sam had been the one to try to clean the cut while he'd been unconscious, to keep him from falling face first into his own vomit for the next few hours, and then put up with a big brother with the hangover from hell for the next day and a half.

Dean saw that same terror in Sam's eyes now. He glanced at the tissue, it wasn't even as much blood as earlier, but then Sam hadn't seen _earlier_. Dean knew his brother still felt like crap and wasn't firing on all cylinders so the sight of even the tiny bit of blood was more terrifying than it should have been.

He shook his head and said, "It's no big deal."

"She said you were going to be ok." Sam said almost desperately, staring at the tissue in Dean's hand. He sounded like he was ten years old again when he whispered, "You're coughing up blood."

"I _am_ ok. It's just a little. I'm hacking up my lungs, it's not exactly surprising." Dean said lightly, but his attempt at reassurance obviously was lost on Sam.

"You're not ok." Sam said, starting to push himself up on the couch again.

"Well, neither are you." Dean countered, "Stay put, will you?"

But Sam just ignored him and kept fighting to sit up. He squeezed his eyes closed and almost lost the battle. Fisting a hand in the cushion, he stubbornly continued to push past what Dean could all too easily believe was a vicious bout of dizziness. Dean glared at him for a moment, watching him struggle, then with a frustrated sigh, he finally leaned over and yanked Sam upright, shoving him against the back of the couch. Ready to tear him a new one for being stupid, Dean swallowed back his comment and annoyance. Because the last thing Sam needed right now was a lecture. He was trembling and had gone a very unhealthy shade of grey.

"Sammy?" Dean said, wishing he'd taken a sip of Gatorade. He didn't need to break out in another coughing spell right now. Sam had his head resting against the back of the couch and any fight he had was long gone. He was breathing heavily and looked completely wiped out. _Kinda like I feel, _Dean thought to himself with a sigh. He shook his head and asked, "Come on, talk to me. How's it feel to be vertical again? Got a nice head rush going on, do ya?"

"I thought you were going to die last night."

It was hard to swallow past the knot in his throat at Sam's whispered declaration. Dean stared at Sam and realized that the fear in his eyes wasn't just about right now. Everything from the past 36 hours or so was blurry, but he remembered well enough the hours of misery in that motel room feeling himself get worse and watching Sam get sicker until he had no idea how they were going to get out of the mess they'd gotten into.

He nodded, "I know."

"I didn't know what to do." Sam said, the fear still fresh in his eyes. His voice broke when he added, "You were barely breathing, man."

Normally, Dean would have brushed it all off. Made a snarky comment and been done with it. But this time he knew it wouldn't work. Because Sam had been the one to pick him up off the floor, not once but twice, and _hold_ him up so he could breathe until help had miraculously arrived. The pit of his stomach twisted thinking back to the blackness of that despairing night. Not that he'd ever admit it, but it had been one of the most terrifying experiences of his life. His worst nightmare was the thought of Sam dying; of being there, holding him as he drew his last breath. They didn't have to have a sappy moment of confession for him to know Sam felt the same way. Sam looked haunted and unlikely to believe any macho tough talk.

"How about we be honest here?" Dean said after a minute; he ran a hand over his face, then rested his elbows on his knees. Voice hoarse, he went on, "I feel lousy. Like seriously lousy." No point in sugar coating, he decided, knowing he wasn't going to pull anything over on Sam. Dean said, "My chest hurts, my throat hurts and I never knew it could be this hard to breathe. But I'm not dying and I'm following the doc's orders."

Sam raised a doubtful eyebrow at that and Dean grinned, "Hey, I let the woman dope me up with that cough syrup. And I ate her homemade soup. Which was pretty good, by the way." Dean paused, gauging Sam's reaction. He didn't seem exactly reassured, but he was probably too exhausted to have much of a reaction anyway. Dean said, "There. Your daily dose of honesty from me. Don't get used to it. Your turn. And you might as well fess up and give it to me straight cuz I'm not buying anything you say unless it's that you feel like crap."

"I think I feel worse than crap." Sam whispered, blinking slowly, his breathing finally easing.

"See? That I believe." Dean smiled sympathetically. On a scale of one to ten, that confession rated about a thirteen on the Winchester scale of misery. He could all too clearly see the lines of pain on Sam's face. He asked, "How's your head?"

Sam shrugged one shoulder and said, "Pounding."

"Mmhm. Heavy metal or lite rock?"

"It was Metallica earlier." Sam confessed, closing his eyes and pressing both hands against his forehead, "We're down to _Smoke on the Water_ now."

Dean grimaced, "Guess that's an improvement. I think it's been long enough you can take some more Tylenol."

He hunted around amongst the supplies on the table, finding the medicine and a fresh bottle of water. Glancing back at his brother while he shook out the pills, Dean cursed himself for not having done a better job of checking Sam over when he'd found him after offing the poltergeist. By that point, he'd known exactly how sick he was and had concentrated only on getting them back to the motel as quick as possible.

Tapping Sam's knee, Dean said, "You should have told me how bad it was, Sammy."

"When exactly?" Sam asked, lowering his hands and letting Dean drop the pills into his shaking hand. He took the bottle of water and managed to get the pills down and take some water without splashing it all over himself. Dean grabbed it back as Sam continued, "While you were puking, or while you weren't breathing? Or maybe while _I_ was puking?"

"Alright, alright, point taken." Dean rolled his eyes and set the bottle aside, "Geeze, you don't have to be so descriptive." He studied Sam and narrowed his eyes, "You're done puking, right?"

Sam swallowed hard and took a deep breath. He said, "I sincerely hope so."

"Think you can eat?"

"No."

"Dude, you have to start eating. The doc already had to give you more IV fluids to keep you from passing out again." Dean said, wishing he was seeing more of an improvement in his brother's condition.

Sam glanced at the IV and then looked up in confusion and asked, "Does she just carry this stuff around everywhere?"

Dean shook his head, taking a quick sip of Gatorade. "Yeah, I asked her about that actually. They had a carload of donated medical supplies they'd picked up while they were at their family's place for Christmas. It's for a medical mission trip or something in January."

"They shouldn't have…"

"I already said that." Dean cut him off, reading the guilt in Sam's eyes. "And Arla said the supplies were intended for people who needed them. She told me not to worry about any of it, that it was a miracle." He rolled his eyes at that, but couldn't exactly deny it wasn't true. Dean said, "She was very persuasive and I guess she's right. I mean...if they hadn't come along when they did…"

Sam nodded slowly, then said, "They said a woman stopped them on the side of the road. Remember I told you I thought I saw someone?"

"Raquel." Dean said, "That's what she told them her name was. And, yes, I remember you saying that. I thought you were just out of your head with the fever, but I guess you really did see someone."

"Think she's a spirit too?"

"Seems likely." Dean nodded, "Tommy actually has been doing some research. He hasn't found out anything about Raquel, but he did figure out who the ghost in the motel room was. Mallory Beech. Found dead in the woods over ten years ago. She was torn to pieces."

Sam asked, "Our kind of thing?"

"Pretty sure." Dean said, then quickly gave Sam an abbreviated version of everything he and Tommy had discussed earlier in the day. Finishing up, he drank the rest of his Gatorade in order to refresh his ragged voice and frowned when he realized Sam hadn't said anything. Dean asked, "You even listening?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded slowly, eyes barely focused. "What do you think it is? Werewolf? Chupacabra?"

"Maybe. Not sure about the lunar cycles and I think this Gethen is the key." Dean said, "Remember how all of his cure-alls suddenly started working?"

"A spell? A witch?"

"Something like that. He must have been using some kind of black magic because those medicine shows were nothing but hoaxes."

Sam nodded and coughed a couple times before he whispered, "I should do some more research on him."

"I agree, but not till tomorrow, ok?" Dean said firmly. He'd been prepared for a fight and couldn't deny that Sam's silence and complete lack of disagreement with the plan had him worried. Shaking his head, he asked, "That bad, huh?"

"You look terrible."

_Countermeasures deployed_, Dean thought to himself. And that explained it. Sam wasn't interested in pushing ahead if he thought for one second that Dean wasn't up to it. Dean smiled and said, "Shut up. You're just jealous I can be this sick and still look this good."

Sam cracked a small smile at that.

"Besides," Dean continued, "it's Christmas and I think we should at least get one day off."

Sam's smile vanished and he closed his eyes. Dean tapped his knee, "Hey, stay awake. You should eat…"

"Leave me alone." Sam whispered, turning his head away.

Dean sat back in surprise at the sudden change in Sam's attitude. For a moment, he was completely stumped, but only for a moment. Because he realized that Sam and Jessica probably had made some awesome Christmas plans. He closed his eyes and massaged his forehead at the thought. No wonder the topic of Christmas was a touchy one. He couldn't deny that it hadn't hurt, that it didn't _still_ hurt, that Sam had left for college and basically cut off all communication for years. The mistakes had been on both sides, of course. But he was incredibly proud of his little brother and pleased he'd found happiness with the girl of his dreams.

Only to have all of it go up in smoke.

Dean stared at Sam wishing, not for the first time, that there was some way to make it better. But there were no words of comfort he could offer that would heal the gaping wound in his brother's heart. All he could do was try to hold onto him; keep him from losing himself in the grief. The same grief that Dean had watched tear their father apart so many times over the years. Sometimes it felt like it was already too late.

Taking a careful breath, Dean braced a hand against his chest and pushed himself off the coffee table. He sat down on the couch and let his head rest against the back. Even if he couldn't say anything that would matter, he could do what he'd always done.

Be there.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed!**


	15. Chapter 15

**_Hi everyone! so here's a rather long chapter to make up for the short one last time. :) This was going to be a VERY long chapter, but i decided to save some of it for the next chapter to keep it a bit more contained. So you will all be happy to know that part of Chapter 16 is already written lol! I'm hoping to have more writing time during the week this time as I'm sort of getting used to day shift. Sort of. :( _**

**_Hope you enjoy!_**

* * *

_3:45 PM Christmas Day  
__Near motel_

"Do you understand what I require of you?" Gethen asked.

Raquel nodded, knowing that was the only correct answer. Gethen wouldn't accept anything less. She _understood_ what he wanted her to do even if she didn't fully understand his reasons and would never choose to obey him if she had any choice at all. If his speech had told her anything, though, it was that she did not have any choice.

He owned her.

"Good." Gethen smiled, motioning for her to follow him as he walked from the picnic table across the motel parking lot. "I'm glad we have reached an understanding. You seem like you will be much more useful to me than even Mallory was. I do not say that lightly. I found Mallory to be an excellent resource. Nevertheless, perhaps Alexander was right to have ended her."

Stumbling, Raquel swallowed back her protest at his callous comment.

Gethen glanced at her and said, "I expected her to have told you all of this long ago. You should have been searching all this time." He suddenly gripped her head, drawing her nearer to him as he spoke in a voice so low she almost thought he was humming. He said, "I have waited a very long time to be freed, Raquel. You want to free me, don't you?"

"Yes." She nodded quickly, trying to fight the urge to pull away from him. Raquel was certain he wouldn't appreciate that.

"Excellent." He smiled again and continued walking.

Raquel followed because she had no other choice. She wondered when he was going to leave her again and prayed it would be soon. But then his sure steps slowed as they approached the motel and her heart sank. Something was wrong. She frowned and looked at him, sensing sudden tension in his stance. Gethen headed straight for one of the rooms and Raquel's heart couldn't sink any lower.

Gethen looked in the room, then spun around and the expression in his eyes was murderous. Voice again lowering to a hum, he said, "Someone was here."

Not daring to lie, she nodded.

"Who?"

"I don't know." Raquel whispered; this time daring to lie. "They were sick. I don't know what happened to them."

He turned to go inside the room and Raquel held her breath, fearing she'd said too much; said something wrong. Why would he care who'd been staying at the motel? She felt tears burn her eyes. Gethen had said he wanted to be free; that he hadn't been in control of himself. She wanted to believe him, but right now she was finding it difficult to do so.

A moment later, Gethen walked back out and the cold dispassion of his expression was almost as terrifying as his anger. He stopped by her side and asked, "Do you know who they were?"

"No."

"Do you know where they went?"

"No." Raquel said, then found enough courage to ask, "Why is it so important? They were just drifters who needed a place to stay."

Gethen smiled, a strange knowing look on his face. He said, "They were more than drifters. They were hunters."

"Hunters?" Raquel repeated, unable to determine why that was such a big deal to the guy.

He stared at her as if he couldn't believe how stupid she was. All he said, though, was, "It isn't your concern. Do what I told you to do. Don't fail me."

And then he disappeared.

Raquel stared at the road leading away from the motel and wished she could disappear too.

* * *

_4:00 PM Christmas Day  
__Pender Home_

Sam found himself torn between two very different emotions as he sat on the couch and stared over at the Pender's Christmas tree. On one hand, he found it easy to pretend, if just for a few moments, that it was their home. That Mom and Jess were cooking Christmas dinner in the kitchen. That Dean and he were sitting down to watch a game and Dad… Sam frowned; he'd always found it easier to make up his own version of Mom than he'd ever found it to imagine what Dad might be like if not for the hunting.

If the Mom he'd never known hadn't been murdered.

And just like that, it was over. Just like the unlit lights on the beautiful tree, it was all sad again. Because Mom and Jess were dead and Dad might be too. And they weren't sitting on the couch to enjoy a game, they were sitting there because they were sick. He glanced at Dean and couldn't help but smile briefly at the sight of his brother, head back against the couch, snoring softly. He'd appreciated his brother's silent support more than he'd ever be able to find words to express. It was very obvious that Dean had no real idea of how to help, but he was doing the best he could.

_Just like he always has._

Sam looked back at the tree wishing he could go back to pretending everything was fine again. Of course, it would be even better if he could also pretend that his head didn't feel like it was detached from his aching body. Sighing, Sam rested his elbow on the arm of the couch and pressed his hand to his head.

"You ok?"

"Yeah." Sam muttered, adding _Dean sleeps for a bit longer_ to his growing wish list. He glanced at his brother who was rubbing his eyes and clearly not going to go back to sleep. So much for that.

They'd been quiet for almost an hour. Enough time for Dean to doze off and Sam's headache to ease just a bit more. He wasn't sure where the Penders were but he hadn't been remotely interested in moving anywhere to look for them. It had felt good just to sit quietly and regroup. He'd been so dizzy and confused when he'd awakened that everything had felt out of proportion and overwhelming. Maybe the Tylenol had helped because he felt more with it than he had in a long time. Dean was shifting around next to him and coughing again. Sam still felt the lingering worry about his brother's condition, but it didn't seem quite as bad as earlier.

Lowering his hand, Sam turned and watched Dean spit into another tissue; Dean knew he was watching and was surreptitious about covering the mess up before Sam could see it. He didn't really want to know how much blood was in the tissue, but he was going to make sure he talked to the doctor about it. Dean _saying_ she knew and her _actually_ knowing were two different things. Something else Dean had said earlier came back to him suddenly and he turned to look at him in complete shock.

"You said Tommy was doing research?"

Dean raised an eyebrow, cleared his throat, then asked, "Dude, I said that like ages ago. Didn't we have an entire conversation about that? How scrambled are your eggs?"

Sam glared at him, the urgency of the situation hitting him full force. Voice low, he asked, "I thought we weren't going to involve these people?"

"Yeah and I thought Christmas in Vegas sounded like a good plan." Dean shook his head, then added, "Look, I didn't _tell_ him to do it. And they were involved the moment Raquel, whoever she is, stopped them. By the time I woke up this morning, Tommy had been researching for who knows how long."

"What do they know?" Sam asked, feeling lightheaded. They usually tried not to involve people with their kind of crazy and he wasn't quite sure how to feel about the fact that the Penders were getting so involved. "What did you tell them?"

"I gave Tommy the speech." Dean said, knowing he didn't need to elaborate on what that meant. He continued, "Tommy's a cop so he was well into his research about Mallory Beech and everything else. He was looking into spirits and paranormal websites." Shrugging, he went on, "I told him because I didn't really see another option. He was already on the right page, I just pointed out the right paragraph. Besides he's a cop and he wasn't going to just never ask about the weapons and why we were squatting in that motel. I think we can trust them."

Now it felt like the room was spinning. Sam had to close his eyes for a moment just to keep from falling off the couch. Forcing them open again, he looked at Dean and asked, "You think we can _trust them_? Who are you and what did you do with my brother?"

"Haha." Dean rolled his eyes. "Wanna tell me how you would have handled the situation differently, Mr. Smarty Pants?"

Sam didn't have a good answer so he just shook his head; remembering immediately why that kind of thing was such a stupid idea with a concussion. The room, which had been spinning, suddenly jumped over Niagara Falls and, eyes open or closed, he couldn't be sure which way was up. He felt a hand on his shoulder and, even if he wanted to brush off Dean's concern, and his hand, it felt like that hand was the only thing keeping him from spinning off into oblivion.

"Wanna lie back down?" Dean's voice was still hoarse, but very soft and gentle. "And don't shake your head this time, dummy."

Sam couldn't help but smile just a little. He turned slowly, very slowly, and could see Dean staring at him with a knowing smile. Actually, he could see _two _of his big brother and that was definitely one more than he ever wanted to have to deal with. One was enough. Blinking slowly, he tried to get one of them to go away while not letting on to the real one that he was seeing double.

Both Deans gave him a look that was a perfect mixture of worry and annoyance. They asked, "How long's that been going on?"

"What?" Sam asked, trying but probably failing at looking innocent.

"The double vision, man. I can always tell when you see two of me."

"You can?"

"Yeah, you always look doubly in awe of how awesome I am." Dean grinned, but there was no humor in his eyes.

"Hilarious." Sam muttered, letting his head rest against the back of the couch again.

"Seriously, Sammy, how bad?"

"Getting better." And he was being honest. Sam could tell Dean still wasn't completely convinced. "Not my first concussion, you know."

Dean, there was only one now, narrowed his eyes and said, "First time you've had one complicated by pneumonia."

"I'll live. We need to focus on what we're going to do next…" Sam started just as Dean broke off coughing, yet again, and he heard footsteps from another part of the house. He didn't get to finish his statement because Arla appeared in front of them, pulling up a chair from the dining room table.

"You two look a little better. How are you doing?" Arla asked, sitting down and doing that doctorly eyeball assessment thing again. Dean gave her a thumbs up even as he continued to cough. Arla narrowed her eyes at him and Sam knew that meant she wasn't done with him, but she turned her gaze to Sam. "How are you feeling, Sam?"

"Better."

"Good. How's the headache?"

Sam shrugged and said, "It's not so bad now."

"Still feeling sick to your stomach?"

"No." Sam admitted, realizing that he actually felt hungry. After the long, miserable night at the motel, he'd been pretty sure he wasn't going to eat ever again.

Arla smiled and asked, "We're finally getting ahead of your symptoms. Think you can try some soup?"

The idea of some soup sounded good and he said, "I'll try some."

Arla nodded, reaching for the thermometer. "Wonderful. I want to check your temperature and blood pressure first, then I'll warm some up for you." She glanced at Dean and asked, "You want some more, Dean?"

He took a long sip of water, then said, "Rather have that burger."

"You go a full twenty-four hours without throwing up and we'll negotiate again for that burger." Arla said, checking the thermometer.

Sam smiled at the annoyed look in Dean's eyes. Dean just ignored him and asked, "How's it look?"

"Good." Arla smiled, lowering the thermometer. She looked at Sam and said, "99.2. Lowest I've seen you yet. Step in the right direction."

"He's coughing up blood." Sam said, shooting Dean a dirty look for the elbow jab in his ribs. He returned his attention to the doctor and watched her smile as she took in Dean's annoyance.

Arla said, "I know. And, while it looks awful, at this point it isn't very much. I'm keeping an eye on it."

Sam stared at her and could see she was being honest. He felt a little better knowing the doctor was aware and glared back at Dean. Arla finished taking their vital signs and quickly returned with the soup. By the time they'd finished, Tommy had turned on a game and Sam was itching to get his hands on his laptop, or Tommy's laptop, but Arla stopped him before he could move.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I need to do some work." Sam said, not wanting to elaborate. Maybe Dean trusted the Penders, and maybe he wasn't the only one who needed his head examined. Sam barely remembered the past few days, and as grateful as he was for their hospitality, he wasn't ready to give them their junior hunter badges yet.

"I don't think so." Arla said, actually looming over him. "You don't _need_ to do anything except sit there and rest."

Sam looked over at Dean for some support, but all he got was an amused shrug. Wondering what drugs his brother was on that were making him so trusting, Sam watched as Dean returned his attention to the game. Sam wanted to fight her, but decided it could wait. If Dean was content to sit there and do his _own_ resting, then Sam couldn't complain. Because he'd never known Dean to take care of himself and, even if Arla was keeping an eye on the situation, Sam was still worried about him. So he dropped the subject.

If he were being completely honest, he was feeling like crap again and the thought of looking at a computer screen was not a pleasant one. It was getting hard enough to sit and watch the game. After Arla disappeared from his peripheral vision, Sam let his eyes close, hoping he could last a little longer.

* * *

_Woods near motel_

"I have a job for you." Gethen said, finally releasing Alexander from his position trapped against the tree. The monster crumpled, one hand against his face.

"Why would I do anything for you?" Alexander rasped, glaring with hatred in his remaining eye.

Gethen smiled patronizingly, "I wish you fully comprehended the fact that I _own_ you, Alexander. You think that this miserable existence you call a life is as terrible as it can get? You are so very wrong. Remember who got us into this mess."

Alexander straightened up, leaning back against the tree and spat, "You're the one who _killed _me. _You're_ the one who couldn't handle it, couldn't contain that power. Neither of us would be living this miserable existence if you'd listened to me in the first place."

"You bore me." Gethen waved a dismissive hand. "All these years and you can't let it rest."

"I can't let it rest? I _was_ at rest." Alexander shook his head, "You killed me and then you brought me back. And you still won't let me rest."

"You do as I say now," Gethen said, cold eyes watching the horizon, "and I'll let you rest."

Alexander stumbled forward, hand lowering from his mauled face. He knew better than to believe anything Gethen said, but he couldn't help but hope. Frowning, Alexander asked, "Why did you lie to Raquel?"

"I told her exactly what she needed to hear." Gethen replied, with a shrug. He looked back at Alexander and said, "She needed to be motivated. As, apparently, do you."

"And what will you motivate me with, Gethen?" Alexander straightened as best as the broken body would allow. Once, many decades ago, he had been Gethen's equal. He wished he could remember what that had felt like. "You've destroyed me over and over. And you do nothing but lie. How will you motivate me…"

"First, go get yourself a new face." Gethen said, "You're disgusting."

Alexander glared at him, but did not speak.

Gethen smiled maliciously, "And then I want you to go find whoever was staying at that motel."

"Why?" Alexander asked, completely at a loss. He could think of no reason that Gethen could care about whoever had been staying at the motel.

"They are hunters."

Alexander's remaining eye widened as Gethen disappeared from his monocular vision. His dead heart seemed to beat again. _Hunters_. Maybe, maybe Gethen _would _release him from his eternal misery if he killed the hunters. His joy at the thought melted away and he frowned. Gethen had used the word _find_, not _kill_. Pursing his rotted lips, Alexander turned toward the highway. Find. Kill. Words that could so easily be confused. He shrugged and smiled as he hurried through the woods. He'd decide when he found them whether he wanted to follow Gethen's directive or not.

* * *

_1:24 AM December 26th  
__Pender Home_

Dean pulled a towel down from the rack and set it on the edge of the tub. With a soft groan, he leaned over and rested his arm on the towel, then lowered his head to pillow against his arm. He hurt. Every muscle in his chest ached like he'd torn them all apart. No matter how much water he drank, nothing soothed the jagged pain in his throat and his head was thumping faster than his pounding heartbeat. The Tylenol and cough medicine Arla had given him before packing him off to bed hours earlier had clearly worn off long ago. But he wasn't about to try to make his way to the kitchen to look for more. He'd barely made it this far. Pressing his left arm against his chest, he closed his eyes and sat there, crumpled on the bathroom floor, trying not to cry.

The steam from the hot shower was finally starting to help ease the tightness of his breathing at least. Dean had awakened almost twenty minutes ago, short of breath and thinking he was going to die. After a few minutes sitting on the edge of the bed struggling to breathe, he'd decided he probably needed a breathing treatment. But he'd glanced over at the other bed and found Sam relaxed and still sound asleep and he just couldn't take the chance of waking him up. So he'd struggled into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned up the hot water.

Dean muffled his cough against the towel and wished he'd thought to leave the stupid lights off. It was too bright, but he didn't feel up to getting to his feet to turn them off now. So he just pressed his eyes into the crook of his arm and tried to think of the worst mess he'd ever been in to console himself that this wasn't so bad. Of course, his mind was too tired to think straight and the only thing he could think of that was worse than this had been the night Mom had died which only made him want to cry even more. And he didn't do that. He did not cry. Nope, not at all. Not ever.

At least with his eyes buried against his sleeve, Dean couldn't honestly tell if he was crying or not so it didn't count. He'd been thinking about Mom a lot ever since Jessica's death. He'd had nightmares for years after their house had burned and Dad had explained to him why Mom hadn't come outside with them. Now he was watching Sam have the same kind of nightmares. He'd never admit it, but Sam wasn't alone. Whether Sam woke him up by screaming Jessica's name, or he'd already been awake because he'd been having his own nightmare, Dean had been running seriously low on sleep too.

Which was probably why they'd both gotten sick. They'd been on the move for two months now without a break. He just wished it hadn't happened over Christmas. Coughing again, Dean clenched his fist realizing Christmas was over, and like most years, it hadn't even felt like Christmas. Dad had tried those first few years, but it hadn't taken long for hunting to take priority over celebrating a holiday that just reminded everyone that someone was missing. The only good thing he could think of about this Christmas was the brief time when they'd been sitting around watching the game with Tommy. For a few moments, everything had been good. But the TV had been too much for Sam after awhile and he'd gone to bed, although Dean had a feeling it had been less about the headache and more about Jessica.

Sighing, he fumbled for the water bottle he'd been smart enough to remember to bring with him. Forcing his head up, he took a drink, then set the bottle on the floor next to him. Dean smiled a little as he took a quick glance around the bathroom. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen a bathroom so clean. His smile immediately faded and he put his head back down to hide the tears that sprang into his eyes as he thought about all the wretched motel and apartment bathrooms he'd seen over the years. He hated the filth.

A few moments passed as he sat there uncomfortably, then he frowned. Lifting his heavy head yet again, Dean closed his eyes and listened. He'd heard something. With a groan, he reached up and turned the shower off, then sat back heavily against the tub. For a moment, he thought maybe he'd been wrong, then he heard Sam's voice.

"Sam?" He called out, voice much quieter than he'd expected. Clearing his throat, he called out again, louder, even as he started trying to push himself up. But the door opened before he'd gone anywhere, so he just gave up and sat still.

"Dean?" Sam asked, stepping inside and closing his eyes against the brightness.

"Yeah? Need something?" Dean asked, doing what he could to act like he had everything under control. He wasn't sure he could get off the floor, but if Sam needed something, he'd find a way. He frowned as Sam reached out a hand for the counter, his other arm wrapped around his chest. "Sam?"

Sam opened his eyes and looked down at him, clearly confused. He asked, "Did you fall?"

"No. Just decided the bed was too soft." Dean said, wishing Sam hadn't caught him on the floor. He also wished he felt like getting _off_ it. Trying to sidetrack his brother, he asked, "What are you doing up?"

"I was...uh," Sam stammered, frowning and swallowing hard. He looked vaguely around the room, then back at Dean, completely disoriented, "Um…where are we?"

Oh boy, this wasn't good. Dean groaned, realizing Sam was flushed with fever again. He asked, "You need the bathroom?"

Sam shook his head, "No. What are you doing? I can't remember what you said."

"I didn't say. I just needed to sit up for awhile." Dean raised his eyebrows and waited for any sign that his statement had made any sense to Sam. Obviously not, he thought after a long, silent moment. He said, "Sam, go back to bed."

_Well, crap_, Dean thought when that got him no response. He was going to have to get up because apparently Sam was too lost in the fog to even heed a direct command. Starting to pull his legs under him, Dean tried again, "If you don't need anything, go back to bed."

"I think I…" Sam broke off, closing his eyes and leaning more heavily against the counter.

"You think you what?" Dean asked, pushing himself to the edge of the tub and trying to catch his breath. He was getting _deja vu._ Hadn't they already done this? Studying his brother, he knew he needed to get on his feet quick because it didn't look like Sam was going to stay on his for very much longer.

Sam looked at him with a pained expression and whispered, "I think I remembered why I came here."

"Yeah?" Dean asked with a touch of amusement.

The amusement evaporated the very next second when Sam threw up all over the nice, clean floor. Swearing, Dean put a hand against the wall and dragged himself up. By the time he got to his brother's side, Sam was slowly sinking to his knees. Grabbing his shoulder and making sure he didn't fall, Dean frantically looked around for a trashcan. It was really too late for that sort of thing, though, he decided as Sam bent forward and the rest of what little he'd eaten splattered on the floor. Dean shook his head, tightening his grip and hoping Sam was finished. He could feel the heat through Sam's damp t-shirt as he retched.

After a minute, he stopped, still leaning forward, both hands braced on the floor. Dean kept a hand on his shoulder and one on the back of his neck. He said softly, "Thought we were done with this."

"Sorry." Sam whispered, his entire body shaking as he tried to catch his breath. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault, Sammy." Dean sighed. He helped Sam settle back against the cabinet when he started to move. Once he was fairly confident Sam wasn't going to throw up, Dean got to his feet, ignoring the dark spots in his vision. Grabbing a convenient hand towel, he got it wet, then knelt next to his brother. "You're burning up again."

"I'm freezing." Sam complained. "You're just hot cuz you were using all the hot water. Like a sauna in here…"

Dean snorted, "Dude, if your brain wasn't being deep fried you'd realize that I'm doing us both a great disservice by not roasting marshmallows over your head right now. We could be having a midnight snack. " He put the towel against Sam's forehead and said, "Of course, you'd just throw it up cuz you're being such a bitch about everything."

"Stop talking about food." Sam begged, closing his eyes. For a moment, they were silent, then Sam asked, "How bad do you feel?"

"I'm fine." Dean rolled his eyes, "I'm not the one who just upchucked some very good homemade soup all over the floor. To say nothing of sitting around while your face is being sponged off. Lazy, lazy lazy…"

Sam yanked the towel away and pressed it against his eyes. He muttered, "Does that make you the hot nurse?"

Dean groaned, "Shut up." He sat down across from Sam and wished he knew what to do next. Part of him wanted to turn the shower back on because it had been helping. But he also had a sick brother and a pile of puke to deal with. He asked, "How are you doing now?"

"I feel better, actually." Sam said, lowering the towel. He waved a hand to his left and said, "I'm sorry about the..."

"Whatever. It happens." Dean shrugged. "I'm more worried about how few brain cells you're going to have left after all of this. Do you remember where we are?"

Sam shook his head, "Not really." He looked around again, then said in awe, "This is a really clean bathroom."

"Except for one spot." Dean smiled, he waved a finger, "Put that behind your neck."

Sliding the towel behind his neck, Sam asked, "Where are we?"

"Arizona. Case. Poltergeists. Pneumonia." Dean didn't bother with more details because he was having a hard enough time getting those words out and he knew Sam wasn't going to remember any of it for very long anyway. He sighed, "It was the crappiest Christmas ever."

"No it wasn't."

Dean raised an eyebrow. Clearly the fever was worse than he thought. Probably time to get the doctor. He was about to say something to that effect when Sam continued.

"We were together." Sam said with a brief smile. "I didn't want to spend Christmas alone again."

"Oh come on. Alone?" Dean said, shocked at his brother's confession, yet not wanting to give in to the Christmasy emotion of the moment. "You and Jessica were probably going to do something romantic and just…"

"She was going to Europe with her family."

Dean bit his tongue. He hadn't expected that. At all. He'd been envisioning a ski trip and a romantic proposal actually. Because he knew full well that Sam had intended to propose to that girl, even if he'd never said a word about it. Dean stared at Sam and finally asked, "Why…"

"Wasn't I going?" Sam smiled sadly. "Couldn't afford it. I was scheduled to work the whole break anyway. Jess understood."

She might have and Dean was just starting to. When he'd driven to Stanford to pick Sam up last month, he hadn't even really considered the fact that his brother might have a legitimate job. He'd never said anything and Dean hadn't asked. Dean tried to think of something appropriate to say, but his priorities changed when Sam whispered his name and his eyes slid closed.

"Sam?" Dean moved forward in time to catch his brother as he started to slide over sideways. Sam's head hit his shoulder and Dean tried to remember how to breathe. It was getting harder and harder. He was also finding it difficult to hold his brother up and terrified at the heat he could feel. Uncertain if Sam was even conscious, Dean shook him and called out, "Sam! Come on, wake up."

Sam whispered something that Dean couldn't make out, but at least he was responsive. Dean didn't want to, but couldn't help but lower him to the floor. He just didn't have the strength to hold him up any longer. Sam lay there bonelessly, staring up at him with unfocused eyes, his breathing ragged. Dean felt another coughing fit rip through his chest at the same moment he felt a hand on his shoulder.

* * *

**Ahh...cliffie! So who thinks it's Alexander's cold dead hand on Dean's shoulder? mwhahaha...**

**PS in case you are wondering, they _are_ actually going to get better. I promise. I'm not killing them off...after all, this is only four episodes into season one. I try to be true to canon lol! **

**Thanks for reading! :D**


	16. Chapter 16

**Well lookie there, folks! I'm a day early! :D I wanted to get this done even sooner, but wound up working an extra 12 hour shift this week so just didn't have the time, but even so...it's posting on Saturday instead of what has become my usual Sunday posting so I'm calling that a mini-victory. ;) **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_1:30 AM_  
_Pender home_

Arla had been sleeping on the couch so she could hear if there was any distress from the guest room. Somehow she just had a feeling neither of her patients would be likely to shout for help, so she had planned to keep tabs on them and had periodically checked throughout the night to make sure they were both still asleep. Now, she rolled over on the couch and listened carefully. Something had awakened her, but she couldn't hear anything out of the ordinary now. Of course, it was a bit difficult to hear anything over the heater running.

While she was pleased with the progress the boys were making, she knew that neither one was even close to being back to 100%; regardless of what they might think. At least they hadn't tried to do much yesterday. She'd been pleased when Tommy had finally sat down and turned the game on in the evening. That had distracted Dean for the remainder of the evening and allowed her to keep him quiet and still.

She'd been surprised that Sam had tried to fight her on it, though; after her tussles with Dean, she'd expected Sam would be easier to manage. But he seemed just as stubborn as his big brother. Even so, he'd relented quickly enough and when he'd dragged himself off to bed only an hour later, she'd known exactly how bad he still felt. Sitting up, Arla pulled her sweater on and decided it wouldn't hurt to take another peek.

By the time she reached the guest bedroom, she was glad her intuition had awakened her. Because she could hear Dean's panicked voice followed by a terrible coughing spell. Stepping inside the bathroom, she gasped at the sight before her and quickly leaned down to put her hand on Dean's shoulder. He looked up, eyes wide with panic and pain as he fought to breathe. Triaging the scene as best as she could in a few seconds, Arla caught Sam's eyes and he shook his head slightly, looking back at Dean.

Nodding, Arla pushed Dean back against the wall and said, "Sit back and try to take a slow breath, ok? Nice and easy...that's it…"

Coaching him until he was sucking in uneven but less frantic breaths, Arla turned her attention back to Sam and sighed as she touched his cheek. She didn't need a thermometer to know how high his fever was. It felt a bit like _deja vu_ seeing them on the floor like this and Arla regretted not having checked on them sooner.

"Arla?" Tommy's voice stopped her self-recrimination. "What do you need?"

_God bless him, he's always ready!_ Arla glanced up at him and said, "Stethoscope and the neb machine."

He moved immediately and she almost smiled at the sight of his white hair standing straight up. As usual. She turned back to see Dean trying to get to his brother. Pushing him back gently, Arla said, "I've got him, Dean. Just concentrate on breathing."

It was testament to how short of breath he was that he didn't even try to argue with her. He just nodded and sank back against the wall and closed his eyes. Arla turned to Sam and asked gently, "How are you doing?"

"I'm ok." He said immediately. "Just got really dizzy."

"Did you fall?"

"No."

He started trying to push himself up and Arla put a hand against his shoulder. _Why can't either of them just stay put? _Shaking her head, she said, "Just stay put for a minute, ok? Your head's probably still spinning."

Sam sighed then said softly, "I'm sorry about the floor."

Arla smiled. He looked mortified. She squeezed his hand and said, "Don't even worry about it, sweetie. It's not a big deal. Believe me, I'm a mom. Nothing phases me."

"Oh." He looked a bit stunned, like he wasn't sure what to do with that information, but finally gave her a shaky smile. His gaze then went back to Dean and he asked, "Is he worse?"

Arla took a quick peek at Dean just as Tommy returned with the supplies. She said, "I'm going to assess him, Sam, but I think he's ok. Just really needs a breathing treatment."

"What now?" Tommy asked, setting the supplies down next to her.

"Can you help Sam get back to bed? He doesn't need to be on the floor any longer." Arla asked, "Check his temp while I take care of Dean."

"Got it." Tommy said, reaching down to help Sam sit up.

Arla left him to it. Because her main concern was the kid in front of her who was trying his hardest to keep breathing while still acting like he had everything completely under control. Setting up the nebulizer, Arla wasn't exactly surprised that Dean was fighting to get up again. _So stubborn!_ Last thing he needed to do was exert himself with anything other than breathing.

"I'm fine…" He said, voice hoarse and pale face flushed with exertion.

"You are very far from it." Arla countered, "Now be quiet so I can listen to your lungs."

He was quiet throughout her examination which she decided was a just sign he was concentrating on breathing rather than a show of actual acquiescence. He still sounded awful, but not as bad as she'd feared. She turned on the machine and slid the mask on his face. Dean didn't fight her about it which was refreshing. Even so, it didn't take long before he had to say something.

"Can you make sure he's ok?" Tired eyes looked up at her as he asked through the mask, "He was confused again. I won't go anywhere."

"Tommy's got it covered, Dean." Arla said, realizing that in Dean's eyes, _nobody_ but him would ever have it covered. Trying to figure out what she could say to help him understand, Arla was only slightly surprised when Dean simply closed his eyes again.

Knowing he was too worn out to do anything but try to breathe, she glanced around the room and realized it felt overly warm. Seeing the shower head dripping, it wasn't hard to figure out what had happened. Probably Dean hadn't wanted to disturb his brother, who obviously had been disturbed anyway. Arla dropped a towel over the messy splatter on the floor and looked up as Tommy popped his head back into the doorway.

"How is he?" She whispered, hoping Dean wouldn't even pay any attention over the sound of the neb machine. But his eyes immediately opened and looked up at Tommy.

"Settled in bed. Temp 102.7." Tommy said, then made eye contact with Dean. "He said to tell you not to be a jerk."

Arla raised an eyebrow, but couldn't help but smile when a bit more tension left Dean's posture and he cracked a small smile. She looked back at Tommy and said, "Is he still sick to his stomach?"

"No. He said he feels better after throwing up." Tommy winked, "Guess he wasn't a fan of the soup."

"Haha." Arla rolled her eyes. She'd never yet found a soup that Tommy would eat. She asked, "Could you tell if he was oriented?"

Tommy nodded, "He is. Said he couldn't remember where he was when he first woke up, but he answered all the trivia questions correctly."

"Ok, keep an eye on him," Arla said, "when this is done, we'll get Dean settled too."

"Sounds good." Tommy said, then turned and left.

Arla looked back at Dean and touched his forehead. He felt warm too, but it might just have been the steamy room. Not wanting to say anything that would strike up a conversation, she just let him sit quietly and breathe in the medicine. By the time the treatment was finished, Dean looked utterly spent, but was breathing much better.

Arla eased the mask off and said, "I'm going to check your lungs again." She was relieved to find his lungs sounded a bit clearer now. Lowering the stethoscope, she met his eyes and said, "You should have called me, Dean. We probably could have prevented this."

Shrugging, he whispered, "It's not a big deal."

"Yes it is." She countered, wishing she could figure out why he was so stubborn about everything. _Probably because he's a man, _Arla decided, thinking about her husband. Shaking her head, she said, "This isn't helping you heal."

"Didn't want to bother you…"

"Helping you two doesn't bother us," Arla said and touched his shoulder, "but this...trying to pick up your pieces when you get so sick, _this_ bothers me." She added, "You take such good care of your brother, Dean. Why won't you let me do the same for you?"

"I can take care of myself." He found the strength to shoot her a half-hearted, but still cocky grin.

"Obviously." Arla laughed at the sight of him protesting while still too weak to get himself off the bathroom floor. Dean smiled, clearly seeing her point. Arla returned his smile, thinking how much she liked the kid. He was spunky and a mystifying mixture of self-reliance and complete selflessness. She asked, "You think you're ready to get up?"

Dean closed his eyes for a minute, then took a few more slow breaths. He sized the situation up and let his head rest against the wall as he said, "Give me another minute."

"You've got it."

* * *

_at the motel_

It wasn't really something she'd ever considered that much. Sure, she knew it. _Kind of hard to miss, _she thought bitterly. But it had never been something she'd analyzed or picked apart. Somehow, apathetically, she'd accepted her fate. Because what choice did she have anyway?

She was a ghost.

And as far as she knew, you just didn't come back from that one.

Raquel stared up at the mold on the ceiling and sighed. She had a list of problems that was growing in urgency with each passing moment. Gethen wanted her to search for his missing tooth. _Tooth_, Raquel couldn't help a giddy snicker at the thought of an evil psychopathic monster wanting to find his missing tooth. He'd given her very clear instructions. None of which that she was following. Because she'd heard him talking to Alexander and realized instantly that he could not be trusted. Could never be trusted. Glad she'd summoned an unknown reserve of courage to follow Gethen when he left her earlier, Raquel had hidden and listened as he'd talked to Alexander.

And then she'd rushed back to the motel, terrified Gethen would have somehow sensed her presence. There was no way to hide from him so she'd just gone back to the room that she and Peter had chosen that ill-fated night so long ago. Lying on the bed, Raquel tried to puzzle through her complicated situation.

Gethen was a problem.

Alexander was a problem. Because Gethen had apparently sent him off to find Sam and Dean. Who were hunters. Raquel still had no idea the significance of that fact, but it had seemed to upset Gethen. Which made her happy. She frowned, remembering the conversations she'd eavesdropped on when the brothers had been staying at the motel.

They'd talked about poltergeists and spirits and ways to get rid of such things. That must be why Gethen was so worried. Maybe they hunted things like Gethen? Maybe they knew a way to get rid of Gethen! Hope surged in her heart, but she was still faced with seemingly insurmountable issues.

She was trapped on the property and Alexander had been sent off with the enigmatic order to get himself a new face and then find them. Raquel pressed her hands against her heart. They needed to be warned. Last she'd seen them, they had been severely ill and there was no way they would be able to fight Gethen or Alexander in their condition.

"I have to find them first." Raquel whispered to herself, pushing herself upright. "But how?"

Staring at the wall opposite the bed, she wondered if Gethen had put a spell or something on her to keep her from leaving the property. That would mean she was out of options. If, however, it was something else, maybe she still had a chance.

She lay on the bed for hours, her thoughts aimlessly spinning themselves in ever smaller circles. It was only just as the sun began to rise and light the room from beyond the broken window that Raquel had an epiphany. Something Mallory had once told her, coupled with what she'd picked up from the two brothers sparked in her mind.

"Maybe there _is_ a way out of here." Raquel thought, heart pounding with excitement. She sat up and her gaze lowered to her hands. After a long moment, she took a deep breath and pushed herself up off the bed and headed for the door.

It was time she stopped being afraid.

* * *

_08:30 AM Dec 26  
__Pender home_

Sam held onto the edge of the sink and willed himself not to throw up. It had been just a sip of water, for crying out loud. Lowering his head, he closed his eyes and waited for the nausea to pass. He couldn't believe how exhausted he felt. Not that he'd exactly gotten any sleep last night. And taking a shower and getting dressed this morning had taken more out of him than he had to give.

Dean had been sound asleep when he'd awakened and he'd decided it was a good time to get a few things accomplished before Dean could start fussing over him. While he'd been getting the laptop hooked up to the charger, he'd discovered a pile of clean clothes Maybe they'd been there yesterday, but he hadn't noticed. It was a welcome surprise, though, because they hadn't had any time, or any money, to run laundry all week.

Finally reaching the conclusion that the best thing would be to sit down before he fell down, he opened the bathroom door and flicked the lights off. Leaning against the doorjamb, he saw that Dean was still sleeping. _Good_. If he hadn't woken him up when he'd gotten up then he might be able to get back to his bed before Dean stirred. And if that luck held, maybe he'd feel good enough to pretend he felt fine when Dean inevitably asked later.

Of course, luck had nothing to do with it. Not eating for two days had everything to do with it and Sam realized he was going to pass out if he didn't sit down. Right now. So he did. On the closest available surface; the edge of Dean's bed. He sincerely hoped he wasn't going to disturb him. Because he just really didn't feel up to dealing with Dean teasing him about it at the moment. The room slowly stopped spinning after a couple minutes and he was about to try to move the rest of the way. And that, of course, was when Dean woke up.

"Holy crap Sam!"

Sam turned and was amused to see the utter surprise and confusion in Dean's barely awake eyes. _Well, so much for not getting caught_. He said casually, "Hey."

"Am I dying?" Dean asked and he seemed to really be concerned.

"No." Sam answered quickly, the very thought sending a stab of fear through his chest. He frowned, maybe something was wrong. He shifted so he could look his brother over more carefully and asked, "Why would you even say that? Are you feeling worse?"

Dean shook his head and said, "I'm just trying to figure out why you're sitting there scaring the heck out of me when I wake up. Man, I was having such a good dream…"

Sam couldn't help but smile at Dean's expressive sigh and shameless grin. He saw an opportunity to get away before Dean could ask him anything else so he started to move. But Dean was more alert than he'd thought, he really should have known better; and he couldn't move because Dean had caught his arm and held him place.

"Don't go anywhere." Dean said, his grin faded. He narrowed his eyes and said, "Did you just take a shower?"

"Yeah."

"Bout time."

"Funny."

"On the other hand, maybe you should have waited." Dean said, tilting his head and doing that annoying evaluation thing he did. "You survived, but just barely. It was here or the floor, wasn't it?"

"Whatever, man. You going to sleep all day?" Sam pulled away and prayed he wouldn't fall on his face right in the middle of his show of rebellion. He stood up and turned away, hoping everything he was feeling on the inside wasn't obvious on his face.

Apparently it must have been because by the time he'd unsteadily made it around the foot of Dean's bed, he felt a hand on his arm and found himself shoved toward the other bed. And it had probably been a good thing, too, because the room had grown very dark and warm. He curled up on his side, arms around his stomach, trying to convince himself there was nothing left to throw up. By the time the buzzing noise and darkness had faded, he could see Dean sitting across from him on the edge of the other bed.

"You're an idiot. You know that?" Dean muttered, glaring at him although he looked worried.

Sam tried to glare back at him, but wasn't sure he'd accomplished it. Dean ran a hand over his face and through his hair, shaking his head. He started to say something else, but broke off coughing. Sam pressed a hand to his own head as the wracking coughs jarred his brain. Spitting into a tissue, Dean grimaced and grabbed a water bottle from the bedside table. While he was taking a sip, there was a soft knock at the open door of the room.

"Good morning." Arla said quietly. She smiled and stepped into the room when Dean waved a hand at her. "How are you two doing?"

"Better." Dean said, setting the water bottle aside and nodding like the admission had even surprised him.

And he really did look better, Sam decided. Not anywhere near normal, but a lot better than he'd looked all week. His cough still sounded awful, but he wasn't gasping for breath and he looked less pale and wasted. Sam turned his attention back to Arla and wished he hadn't been lying down when she'd walked in. Because he could already see it in her eyes. She wasn't going to believe him if he said he felt fine.

"You feel better because you finally got some sleep." Arla said to Dean, "That's what happens when you listen to the one with the medical degree and let me treat your symptoms."

Dean looked a little sheepish and nodded. Sam waited for Dean to say something smart, _hoped _he would, but he just remained silent and Sam wanted to hit him. Because without Dean talking, Arla's attention immediately turned to him. He really, _really_ wanted to push himself upright and grab his laptop and escape her scrutiny, but the undeniable fact was that he wasn't going anywhere for a few minutes at least.

She crouched down next to the bed and asked softly, "Scale of 1 to 10, how bad's the headache today?"

"Four." He answered immediately, wishing he could force a smile.

"Uh huh. Wanna try again?"

Sam really didn't. If she was smart enough to figure out he was lying, then she should be smart enough to know he didn't want to talk about it. Part of him wanted to snap at her to leave him alone, but he couldn't. Because he was incredibly grateful that she'd been taking care of Dean and he knew they wouldn't have made it without her and her husband. So he just closed his eyes and let her pick her own number.

Dean spoke up when he didn't, "He was trying to do too much all at once."

"Wonder where he would learn a habit like that?" Arla asked and Sam silently cheered. _Yeah, take that Dean. I didn't pick up all my bad habits at Stanford like you want to say._

"I can take care…."

"Dean, that would be so much more convincing if you weren't saying it to a woman who has picked you up off the floor twice now." There was amusement in Arla's voice and extreme gentleness in her hand when she put it against Sam's forehead. She said, "You don't feel feverish this morning, Sam."

He forced his eyes open and said, "I do feel better."

She smiled, "I believe you. But I don't think you really feel _that_ much better, do you?"

"It's just a headache."

"You almost fell over." Dean accused.

"Shut up."

"He almost fell over." Dean went on, his expression darkening and breaths becoming a bit harsher.

Sam glared at him, "What are you, five?"

"You're the one who's acting like a cranky baby."

"Maybe I wouldn't be if you stopped tattling on me like I'm in kindergarten." Sam snapped back. His heart was pounding and he wasn't even sure where the frustration and anger was coming from, but now that it was finding an outlet, it wasn't about to stop. Ignoring Arla who was caught in the middle and apparently uncertain whether or not to intervene, Sam said, "I'm not a kid, Dean. I can handle this. I don't need you to boss me around."

Dean cleared his throat and said irritably, "I wouldn't need to boss you around if you'd just tell her the truth. She's trying to help you…"

"Maybe I don't want her help." Sam said, hating that Arla was still in the room. Even as he spoke, he was regretting his words but, despite how much worse his head was throbbing now, he still couldn't stop. "Maybe you can pretend she's Mom, but I can't."

He'd meant it to hurt and it was obvious that it had. Dean's irritation disappeared instantly, replaced with devastation.

"Go to hell, Sam." Dean said quietly, voice brittle and deeply hurt. He got up, grabbed his gear and slammed the bathroom door behind him with much more force than had been necessary.

Sam flinched in pain with the slam of the door. For a minute, everything faded to black again as the pressure built to new levels in his head. He almost wished he'd just be able to let go of consciousness for awhile because he wanted to forget everything that had just happened. What in the world had possessed him to act like that? Dean didn't deserve it and neither did..._crap!_ He remembered Arla was still in the room.

"I'm sorry." Sam whispered, feeling her gaze. He looked up and was surprised that she didn't look offended or angry. Just sad.

"I'm not the one you need to apologize to, Sam." She said, touching his arm. There was no judgement in her eyes, just empathy. "How are you really feeling?"

He felt the burn of tears and admitted, "Awful."

"I thought so." Arla nodded, "You've been through the wringer. Between the concussion and the fever, you're really dehydrated which is only making your head hurt worse. You need to be getting more fluids, especially since I took out the IV last night. If we don't get this under control, it's going to get worse, not better. You're still sick to your stomach, aren't you?"

"A little."

"Here's what we're going to do." Arla said matter of factly, as if he hadn't basically just slapped her in the face a moment ago for her help. "Another dose of the anti-nausea medicine right now." She unwrapped the tablet and offered it to him. Once he'd taken it she added, "We'll give it a few minutes to settle then I want you to try to drink a bottle of water and try some crackers. You need to take the antibiotic and some Tylenol as soon as you feel up to it. Ok?"

"Yeah." He whispered, hating himself even more for his outburst. She was being so nice and he'd had no reason to act like he had.

"Sam, you need to give yourself a break." Arla said, as if reading his thoughts. She squeezed his arm and said, "Have you had a concussion before?"

He almost laughed, "A few."

Arla nodded, "Well, you should know that it takes time to get over one. And there are a lot of symptoms _other_ than just a headache. You haven't been able to get very much quality sleep and that's only making everything else worse. Confusion, irritability, dizziness and problems with concentration are all common. And I think you're probably experiencing all of the above."

Sam shrugged. _Neither confirm nor deny._ He still felt like he needed to apologize to her, "I shouldn't have said what I said. I don't even know why…"

"I know." Arla said. "And so does Dean. It'll be ok, Sam."

He wasn't so sure and scrubbed a hand across his eyes to wipe away the tears before they fell. Sam whispered, "He really misses her."

Arla brushed his still damp hair back from his face and asked, "You do too."

Sam stared at her for a long moment, then closed his eyes and said, "You can't miss what you can't remember."

* * *

Arla slowly walked down the hall, feeling a heavy weight on her heart. She'd sat with Sam silently until he'd taken the antibiotic and Tylenol. He hadn't said anything more and she knew that part of it was he still felt bad about what he'd said to Dean and part of it was his head just hurt too much. When he'd buried his face in the pillow and eventually fallen asleep, Arla had to force herself to leave him alone. Because he needed it. Dean was still in the shower and they both needed some space.

The little scene she'd witnessed earlier had told her another piece of the story of those two boys. She honestly wasn't terribly worried about their squabble. They were brothers and heaven knew siblings of every sort argued and fought like cats and dogs. She'd already seen them holding each other together so she didn't doubt their bond or the fact that they would get over their hurt feelings. This was simply what happened when two highly independent boys got sick and had to depend on strangers. They started to get better and all the frustrations and fears began to manifest in tension and arguments.

"How are they now?" Tommy asked, looking up from his laptop as she walked into the kitchen.

Taking a deep breath, Arla leaned against the counter and wondered how exactly she'd describe the situation. She said, "Remember when the girls had that bout of strep throat. They were so clingy and never wanted to be without the other and then..."

Tommy's eyebrows rose and he nodded knowingly, "They have a fight?"

"Just a little skirmish."

"So feeling better?"

Arla turned on the coffee and waved her hand back and forth, "Sort of. They both really, _really _want to feel better; I'll give them that." Pulling out a coffee cup, she smiled, then shook her head and looked back at Tommy, "They're trying hard, but they aren't over it by far. Dean did seem a bit better. But he slept like a rock after we got him back to bed so that did him some good. Let him be up for more than an hour, though, and he's going to wear himself out."

Tommy passed her his cup over the bar and asked, "What about Sam?"

"He's becoming my problem child." Arla sighed. "He'd just gotten back to bed after a shower when I went in there, and apparently he'd barely made it to bed without falling over. Dean started answering for him and that's where their little snit started."

"It's not easy being the little brother." Tommy nodded, reaching for a cookie from the tray on the counter. "It's great when you've got a big brother to beat up the bullies, but eventually, you want to take them out yourself."

Arla poured the coffee and agreed, "Well, that's clearly the stage of life those two are going through. And they're having mixed results navigating the transition apparently."

"Big brother doesn't want to give up his job title." Tommy said, leading the way back to the table. "I remember when I started pushing back against Erik. Took him a long time to let me be an adult."

"There's more to it than just that." Arla said, sitting down and taking a sip of coffee. "Sam's still not feeling well and it's like pulling teeth to get him to talk to me about how he's doing. And I got another piece of the puzzle that I think helps explain why he's starting to act the way he is."

"Oh?"

"Sounds like their mom is dead. And I think she died when they were quite young." Arla said softly, "Sam said he doesn't remember her."

Tommy shook his head and blew out a long breath. He asked, "And you said his girlfriend was just murdered?"

Arla nodded.

"Wow. They're really going through a lot, aren't they?"

"Yes. And I don't think either of them exactly know how to handle all of it right now." Arla said, warming her hands around her coffee mug. "Their coping mechanisms aren't holding up so well under this level of pressure."

"What are you thinking?"

"That we need to let them have a little space and sort it out themselves." Arla said firmly. "Much as I want to mother them, I think that maybe it's not what they need."

Tommy squeezed her hand and said, "Maybe it's _exactly_ what they need."

Arla smiled, "Maybe so." She took another sip of the coffee and asked, "What have you been up to out here, Sherlock?"

"Still digging and not really finding much. I'm going to leave my laptop here and if either of them need something to keep them busy, let them use it." He smiled, "Somehow I'm thinking they'll have more luck than me in searching for freaky supernatural stuff."

"What are you going to do?"

"Kevin called and wants some help with his project."

Arla raised an eyebrow, "You mean the kitchen remodel he was supposed to have done for Cathy for her Christmas present?"

"That would be the one."

"So he didn't get it done." Arla wasn't really surprised. Kevin was a bit younger than Tommy and still on the police force. He'd always been one to take on big projects and have a little trouble getting them finished. "And now you're going to help him finish it."

Tommy shook his head, "I'm just going to help get the cupboards installed. That's it. The rest is up to him. Promise."

"Mmhmm. So does this mean you're not afraid one of those two boys is going to slit my throat and steal our vast fortune and extensive jewel collection while you're gone?" Arla teased, knowing his viewpoint on the brothers had changed quite a bit since they'd first found them in the abandoned motel.

Standing up, he kissed her and took his coffee cup to the kitchen. Tommy smiled and said, "If either one of them manages to lift a butter knife, let me know."

* * *

If he hadn't been feeling so hungry, he might have stayed holed up in the bathroom even longer. That was the problem with picking a bathroom as your place of refuge after a fight. You got hungry after awhile. Dean stared at the door. He'd been staring at it for several minutes now, weighing his hunger versus the lingering sting of Sam's words.

He really wasn't even angry anymore. Because, logically, he knew Sam felt as bad for saying what he'd said as he felt for hearing it. Sam could certainly be a jerk sometimes, but he wasn't cruel. Dean knew he should have just backed down when Sam started arguing with him earlier because something clearly hadn't been right. But, of course, he'd pushed and, of course, Sam had shoved back. That was pretty typical. What was worrying was that he'd been so rude in front of a complete stranger, though. That wasn't like him.

Dean opened the door, knowing that ignoring the situation wasn't going to make it go away. Stepping into the bedroom, he realized he'd been spared having to deal with it for the time being at least. Because Sam was so deeply asleep that he didn't stir even when Dean tripped over his own unsteady feet and dropped his duffle bag. Catching himself with a hand out to the wall, Dean waited for a moment, but Sam never moved.

With a sigh, Dean headed for the kitchen.

* * *

**Now, that doesn't really count as a cliffhanger, does it? really? :) **

**Hope you enjoyed! As a little teaser for the next chapter... let's just say that trouble is about to find some of our friends. Things are about to get sticky... Stay tuned! Thank you, as always for taking the time to read this story!**


	17. Chapter 17

**_GUYS! It's Wednesday! What?! Can you believe it? A new chapter already! woohoo! I'm as excited as you all are! Some sleep was sacrificed in the writing of this chapter, but I'm excited I'm finally getting you guys chapters sooner so I'm not complaining. And I've got a chunk of chapter 18 written already so there's a chance that will be up on Saturday. :D _**

**_ENJOY!_**

* * *

_near motel_

Raquel gently pushed aside another pile of dirt. She'd been digging for almost an hour now because it had taken her several hours just to find the location. Considering how chaotic that fateful day had been, it was little wonder she couldn't quite remember where Gethen had buried their bodies. Finally, though, she felt her fingertips brush against fabric and had to pause and take a deep breath.

Because she knew that fabric.

It was Peter's favorite shirt. The one she'd bought him after they'd been hiking and he'd torn his other shirt on a tree branch. A shirt that reminded her of happier days.

Pressing her free hand against her mouth to keep herself from crying, Raquel slowly dug deeper until she could actually see the fabric. It hurt more than she had expected. Pain lanced through her that was far worse than any physical pain she could have ever endured.

"Peter." She whispered, brushing the dirt off of the fabric.

Touching the buttons, she felt the material disintegrating under her touch; and there had been precious little left of the fabric anyway. After Gethen had killed Peter and she'd died of a massive head injury from when he'd thrown her onto the pavement, Raquel had watched in a daze as the monster had piled their bodies, or what was _left_ of Peter's body, into a shallow hole and burned them. She'd been completely at a loss at the time, so stunned by what had happened that everything had been a blur. She had no one to compare notes with, but she was pretty sure that it was a common occurrence for new ghosts to experience some confusion and disorientation.

None of it made any sense. Why she was still here, trapped as a ghost, why Peter was gone forever. The tears rolled down her cheeks as she swallowed hard and searched the grave. Loneliness had weighed her down the past year and she only felt more alone now as she touched his clothes. Touched what little was left of the man she loved. It took a few minutes, but she finally felt what she was seeking and her breath caught in her throat.

Raquel lifted her hand and looked through bleary eyes at the rings.

Their wedding bands and her engagement ring sparkled in the sun and, as much as she really just wanted to curl up in a ball and cry about it, Raquel couldn't. Because she had to do whatever she could to keep Alexander and Gethen away from those brothers. So she closed her hand around the rings and turned and ran toward the road.

As she ran, she thought back to some of the things the brothers had said. Things that she hadn't completely understood and that had scared her at the time. Even though she had known she was a ghost, somehow the things they had talked about had seemed so foreign, she hadn't really applied them to her own situation. But now, all the things they had said about how spirits were tied to certain places, how spirits usually didn't leave the place of their haunting, and the rare reasons a spirit _might_, had come flooding back.

Raquel hoped she'd figured it out.

Heart pounding from the running and anticipation, Raquel found herself standing at the edge of the highway. It hadn't been that long since she'd stood there, praying for someone to stop and help her. And they had. And now they, and the people who had _needed_ the help were all in danger. Looking up and down the highway, Raquel tried to calm her pattering heart. For the first time in at least a year, she felt excitement fluttering in her stomach. If this worked….

There was only one way to find out. She held her breath and started walking; choosing to go in the direction the Pender's car had been travelling when she'd stopped them. She started praying she'd be able to get past the invisible barrier that had held her in place for so long. After a year, she knew _exactly_ where her boundaries were. Squeezing the rings until her hand cramped, Raquel walked. And walked.

And walked right past mile marker 242.

Clapping a hand over her mouth to stop the excited scream that wanted to tear from her throat, Raquel didn't stop to look back, but took off running, a wide grin on her face.

* * *

_0920 Pender home_

Walking into the living room, Dean saw Arla in the kitchen and knew he was going to have to face her. Even if he wanted to hold Sam solely responsible, he _had_ been the one to slam the door. And she hadn't deserved that. He took a deep breath and slowly walked toward the dining room table. It was annoying how slowly he was walking. Even though he felt a heck of a lot better this morning, his body still hurt and breathing was taking most of his effort. The only good thing he could think of was that being laid up had done wonders for his twisted ankle. Maybe it was the rest and the painkillers, but he was walking without a limp so at least he couldn't complain about that.

"Dean, are you interested in some breakfast?" Arla asked as he walked over to the table. She came around the corner of the kitchen and leaned against the door frame, dish towel in her hand, a smile on her face.

"Please." Dean hoped he didn't sound desperate. But he was _really_ hungry.

Arla studied him with practiced eyes and seemed to be satisfied. She said, "Feel up to trying something more substantial today? How about toast and some eggs?"

"Sounds good."

"Any particular way you like your eggs?"

"Surprise me." Dean grinned. He sat down when she gave him a look and pointed a finger at the chair. _Man, she's bossy_. His attention wandered from that to the open laptop on the table. Obviously Tommy had been busy even this morning. Arla caught him looking at it and spoke up.

"Tommy ran over to help a friend with a kitchen remodel. But he left the laptop for you boys to use. So help yourself." Arla said, cracking eggs into the pan. "My husband's always been a nut about research. I guess it's a cop thing. But I haven't seen him so engrossed in anything since he left the force."

Dean pulled the laptop closer and snorted, "Welcome to my world."

"You do a lot of research for your...cases?" Arla raised an eyebrow as if she wasn't quite sure what to call what they did.

"Well, I personally try to avoid it, but Sam loves burying his nose in a book. Or the internet." He shrugged, glancing at the laptop.

Staring at the open tabs, Dean considered how great it had been lately to have Sam back in the research department. And, of course, that thought just helped to sour his mood again. Because _he _was sitting in front of the laptop, doing Sam's job while he slept like nothing had even happened. Tapping a finger on the table, Dean frowned. Apparently he was still a _little _angry. But, the more he thought about it, the less angry and more worried he got. He thought back to how bad Sam had looked earlier and knew he shouldn't have antagonised him.

"Here you go." Arla's cheerful voice interrupted his thoughts. She set down a plate and a glass of water in front of him. "I'm going to grab your antibiotic too."

"Thanks." Dean looked down at the plate, appetite suddenly diminished. He forced himself to pick up the fork, but he really didn't want to.

Arla was already back in the kitchen bustling around by the time he'd even managed to take a bite. He didn't look up, but felt her eyes on him even as she did whatever she was doing. The eggs were tasteless, but at least they weren't making him sick to his stomach. Nah, he had a pain in the butt little brother for that.

"Don't force yourself to eat too much." Arla said, sitting down across from him and opening a pill bottle. She handed him the antibiotic and said, "You're feeling better, but we don't want to overdo it."

Dean nodded and took the pill.

Arla asked, "Any headache today?"

"Just my brother." Dean muttered without meaning to say it aloud. He looked up guiltily, remembering that he'd slammed the door in her presence.

"Siblings. Giving each other headaches since the beginning of time." Arla smiled knowingly. "If you think I'm in shock over what happened earlier, you're wrong. I have two daughters."

Dean returned her smile, feeling a little less tense. He said, "Yeah, sorry about earlier."

"As I told your brother, I'm not the one you need to apologize to."

_Huh._ So Sam had apologized to her? Dean wasn't really surprised, and he couldn't exactly deny that Arla wasn't right in her subtle nudge that _he_ might have something to apologize for too. He lifted a piece of toast, feeling even more guilty.

Arla seemed to pick up on his feelings and said, "It's not the first time people have said things they didn't mean in that room, and not the first time that door was slammed, Dean. Honestly, I think it was one of the most understated arguments that ever occurred in there. When the girls went at it, I could hear them screaming all the way to the back yard. And Amy had a way of slamming that door that took the pictures off the wall. You boys were really quite polite about it."

Dean looked up and saw her eyes sparkling in amusement. She leaned closer and said, "Stop worrying about it."

He nodded slowly and said, "It's probably a new record, actually. I think we made it, what? Like forty-eight hours without going at each other? Not too bad."

"Considering the stress you boys have been under, I'd say you've been doing very well." Arla said, resting her arms on the table.

Shrugging, Dean took a drink of water, then asked, "So what's your professional opinion? How's he doing?"

"He's improving." Arla said, without hesitation. "You both are, but what neither of you want to accept is that it's going to take _time_."

"We don't really have time." Dean shook his head. "In our line of work, we don't get sick days."

Arla nodded, "I can see that. But I'm telling you right now that you are officially on sick leave. And don't open your mouth unless it's to put eggs in it because I don't want to hear one word of protest from you, young man."

Dean raised his eyebrows and dutifully lifted his fork instead of saying everything he'd been planning to say.

"Tommy can help you out but neither of you need to be doing anything…"

"He needs to stay out of it." Dean couldn't help but interrupt this time. "Both of you do. You really don't have a clue what this is all about. I appreciate your help. I do. You probably, no, you _definitely_ saved our lives. And we're grateful. But there's a reason we never involve civilians. We don't want to see you get hurt."

For a moment they were silent, each considering the cards that had just been laid. Arla nodded slowly, "I hear you. You're right, this is all out of our element. I'm honestly still having a difficult time believing that you boys hunt ghosts. That you think there's a ghost or something out there in the woods eating people."

"It's probably something else actually because…" Dean started, but she rolled her eyes and cut him off.

"Whatever. I'll leave that to you. What I'm saying is that if you don't give yourselves a few days to let the antibiotics work, to let yourselves rest, you are _both_ going to wind up in the hospital or dead." She held his gaze and there wasn't a bit of levity in her eyes. "You have no endurance because you're using all your energy just to breathe and Sam hasn't even made it a full twenty-four hours without vomiting. You're barely eating, he's _not_ eating."

He didn't like hearing it all listed out like that. Not at all. It just served to remind him how much trouble they were in. And how insurmountable the task ahead of them seemed. Because, regardless of what Arla was saying, something was out there hurting people and they were the only ones who could deal with it.

Taking a deep breath, Dean said, "We'll wait as long as we can. Do what we can from here," he motioned to the laptop, "but once we have what we need, we have to go. We have to deal with whatever's out there. Before it kills someone else."

Arla sighed, "Why are you so sure it will?"

"Because these things always do. They're monsters."

"And it's your job to...kill all of them?" Arla asked softly.

"It's my responsibility." Dean said, then rephrased it when he considered the fact that he wasn't alone in it anymore, "_Our_ responsibility."

Shaking her head, she said, "That's an awful heavy burden."

Dean shrugged, "It's what we do."

Arla stared at him for a long moment and Dean could tell she was reaching the conclusion she wasn't going to win this battle. He remained silent because, although he knew the time would come when he'd have to get back in the field and deal with the threat, he still didn't exactly have a plan yet. Basically, it was a draw. After a minute, Arla relented with a sigh. She stood up and nodded.

"I'm going to check on your brother and make sure he's still sleeping." Arla said, pointing at the laptop. "As soon as you're done eating, feel free to use the laptop. But I want you comfortable on the couch or the recliner, not sitting there at the table all day."

Dean nodded as she turned and walked down the hall. Sitting somewhere more comfortable sounded great. For now, though, he pulled the laptop closer and grabbed a piece of toast. It might not exactly taste great, but Arla was right about one thing. If they didn't get their strength back, they were useless.

And he was tired of being useless.

* * *

_2 PM Pender home_

"Sam's still sound asleep. I don't think he's moved at all since he fell asleep."

Tommy laughed, "He'll have a stiff neck, but a long sleep is exactly what he's been needing."

"Exactly." Arla agreed, "I'm not disturbing him. If he sleeps all day, I'll be happy."

"And Dean? Giving you fits?"

Arla pulled her bedroom door closed a little bit more and sat down on the edge of the bed, switching the phone to her other ear. She said, "Oh here and there. But he's been pretty content with the laptop and something to do. He doesn't do well without something to occupy him. He ate good for breakfast and had half a sandwich for lunch, then went back to the research but fell asleep as soon as he sat back down in the recliner."

"See, I'm telling you there's something soporific about that chair, Arla." Tommy insisted.

"What's soporific about that chair is the lazy man with the fancy vocabulary who usually sits there and ignores me when I tell him what to do."

"I'm retired."

"Don't I know it." Arla smiled. "Anyway, Dean's asleep and I'm not disturbing him _either_."

Tommy said, "Good idea."

"You coming home sometime today?"

"Soon. We've got a few things to finish up and I want to swing by the motel and take another look around."

"I don't know if that's really a great idea." Arla said softly into the phone. "Dean said he doesn't want us involved."

Tommy's voice came back, although the reception broke up every now and then, "Well, we are involved. And I can't ignore this. I can't ignore the fact that we may know who killed Mallory Beech, who might have killed this Raquel…"

"And what are you going to tell them at the office?" Arla interrupted, shifting her phone and starting to fold the clothes that were piled on the bed, "That a _ghost_ killed them? That a _monster_ killed them?"

"I…" His voice trailed off, then he said, "Sorry, honey, reception went for a minute there."

Arla smiled and rolled her eyes. "Reception did not just go out for a minute there. You are such a liar, Tommy Pender. You don't know what you would say and how could you? This is...well it's the weirdest situation I can think of, actually."

"I have to say something."

"Maybe you do. But right now, nothing has happened right now to trigger any kind of investigation. Mallory was murdered years ago. We don't really know a thing about Raquel or what's out there in the woods. So there isn't anything to report…"

This time, Tommy interrupted her, "Which is why I want to go out there and…."

"Get yourself killed."

"That's never the plan." Tommy sounded amused. "Arla, I'm not talking about taking my magnifying glass out to the motel and crawling around looking for clues. I am a cop. I know how to be subtle."

Arla lowered the shirt she was folding and sighed, "I know. It's not that I doubt you, because you know I don't. But this isn't a crook hiding out with a pistol and some stolen convenience store cash. This, if those boys are right, isn't necessarily human, or even necessarily alive. When did they cover that in your training? Because I don't remember you talking about it."

"I know." Tommy said, and for a moment, the phone line crackled. He came back on right away, "I'm almost to town. Needed a few more supplies, then I'm dropping them off to Kevin."

"And coming home?" Suddenly Arla's hands were sweaty and her heart was pounding. She gripped the phone tighter and said, "You're coming home right after?"

"I'll be driving right past the motel grounds so I'm going to take a peek, from a safe distance." Tommy said, his voice showing that he knew it was not going to be a popular decision. "I promise I'm going to be careful."

Arla stared at their framed wedding picture across the room and realized the fear that came from being married to a cop just never went away. Because they couldn't help but be willing to go into harms way for the good of others. She couldn't help it when her voice broke as she said, "Thomas, be careful."

"I will. I promise, Arla. I'll call you as soon as I leave." Tommy said with sincerity. "I love you."

"I love you too, you crazy man." Arla said, waiting for him to say good bye. But the reception crackled again and he was gone. Sighing, she turned off the phone. _Stupid cell phones_.

For the next hour, Arla puttered around the house putting away all the paraphernalia they'd collected for their trip to Tommy's brother's place for Christmas. She'd been running laundry and getting a few things reorganized for the first time since they'd returned home. She thought about the wonderful time they'd had with family and friends for the holiday and felt a pang of sadness for the Winchesters. They'd been too ill to enjoy even a little of the holiday. Arla decided that, one way or another, as soon as they felt better, they were going to get a Christmas. If she could keep them from running out the door, that is.

Smiling wryly, Arla put the towels away in the linen closet and stopped by the bedroom for yet another check. Sam had finally shifted a little, although he was still sleeping. She wasn't going to take any chances of waking him up, so she had to content herself that he didn't look feverish or in pain as she stood in the doorway. Pulling the door almost closed again, Arla went back toward the kitchen.

Walking down the hall, she could hear Dean coughing again. She'd taken the laptop away earlier when he'd finally settled back in the chair and fallen asleep. He hadn't stirred since. But now, he was rubbing his eyes and reaching for the tissues she'd left next to him. His coughing spell had been brief although he still sounded congested and was spitting into a tissue as she walked into the room. He took a drink of water, then looked up at her; breathing labored.

"Hey." She said softly.

Nodding, he stared at her silently for a moment and she could see an inner conflict playing out in his eyes. Sitting down on the edge of the couch, Arla frowned and asked, "Dean? What is it?"

"I think I need a breathing treatment."

It probably took all his willpower to sum up the courage to say what he did, and if he was asking, Arla knew without a doubt that he need it. She smiled sympathetically and said, "I think you're right. You're going longer between treatments which is a good sign."

He nodded, but didn't comment. She set the machine up and watched with amusement as he started drifting back off to sleep as the treatment began. Arla was about to settle back on the couch for the duration when she heard the doorbell. Dean didn't stir, so she just rose and headed for the backdoor.

* * *

_3:00 PM Pender home_

Sam couldn't quite remember what day it was. Was struggling to remember what year it was and he certainly couldn't remember if it had been a bus or a train that had run him over, but he did remember one thing with terrible clarity. He remembered what he'd said to Dean. Groaning, he pushed himself up from the pillow and rested his head in his hands for a few seconds. It would have been heaven to just flop right back down against the warm pillow and escape reality for a bit longer, but he had a nagging feeling he should probably get up.

Forcing his eyes open, Sam glanced around the room, hoping something would spark his memory. Other than what he'd said to Dean, he was still foggy on the details. He shakily pushed himself upright and sat on the edge of the bed, head lowered. The dizziness slowly passed and he realized how thirsty he was. A bottle of Gatorade conveniently sat on the bedside table and, although it took him much too long to fight the cap, he managed to get it opened and take a long drink. Sam lowered the bottle and rested his elbows on his knees, lowering his head again.

For the first time in a very long time, he didn't feel like it was all going to come right back up. But sitting up and taking a drink had left him so worn out that he already wanted to lie down again. Sighing, he took another drink and looked around the room. The bathroom was empty and the room deserted, door to the hallway only slightly ajar. He had no idea how long it had been, but Dean had clearly decided he had somewhere else to be. Sam's heart clenched as he thought about how shattered Dean had looked when he'd said what he'd said.

"What's the matter with you?" He muttered to himself, finishing half the bottle. All his life he'd never said anything like that. Mom was taboo. A precious, out of reach jewel that he'd never been allowed to get very near. He'd asked and Dad and Dean had _mostly_ answered his questions but, even as a kid, it hadn't taken him long to know that asking about Mom was a good way to make them sad. So he'd just stopped. They hadn't wanted to share, and he knew that part of it was that they were actually trying to protect him, but it had hurt all the same.

He'd never used her like that in an argument with Dean. Because, even if he didn't remember her, she was still an angel and he loved her. Rubbing his forehead, Sam sighed and wished he'd been able to keep his mouth shut earlier. But he hadn't and now he needed to see if Dean was ever going to speak to him again.

Setting the bottle on the table, Sam knew he needed to talk to his brother and try to fix the damage he'd done. His head felt only slightly less foggy than it had earlier, but at least the pounding had faded to a muted throb. It was the best he'd felt in days. And with that realization came the recognition that they were in the middle of a case. One they'd fallen into and dragged a couple of civilians into the middle of.

Sam knew he needed to get to his computer and looked across the room wishing it was closer. But he couldn't sit on the bed all day so he forced himself up and found that, while he was shaky, the room didn't fade to black and he wasn't so dizzy that he couldn't make it. Crossing the room felt like winning a major battle and, even if he had to hold onto the wall and close his eyes for a few seconds, he smiled at his accomplishment.

He shoved his feet into his tennis shoes, not bothering to tie them, and heard a doorbell. The sound didn't drive a spike of pain through his skull so he took a breath and reached down for his laptop as he heard footsteps going by outside the room. Leaning down was almost his undoing and he had to crouch there, resting against a dresser until the dark spots began to fade. By the time they were floating away and his blindly searching fingers had found the laptop, he heard what sounded like a bit of a commotion outside.

Still crouching down by their pile of gear, Sam frowned, looking up at the half closed door. He heard a woman's voice. Arla, he came up with her name after a moment. She sounded upset. Something was very wrong. Sam let go of the laptop and instead reached for the weapons bag. He didn't know what he needed, but he had a gut feeling he needed something. So he grabbed some salt and a knife with an iron blade. He wasn't sure the shotgun was loaded and he could hear what sounded like a tussle outside in the hallway so he wasn't wasting any more time.

Sam gripped the knife in his right hand and pushed past the brief dizziness when he stood up. Leaning against the wall, he moved toward the door, trying to get a glimpse through the crack before he walked out into whatever was going on. For all he knew, Arla could be arguing with a neighbor about who was supposed to bake the pie for the church social. Or whatever it was that normal neighbors argued about.

Once he glanced out into the hall and saw a tall man in a nice suit with his hands around Arla's upper arms, though, he didn't care if it _was_ a neighbor. Sam pushed the door open and Arla's eyes met his immediately. She tried to wrench herself free from the man, but he just smiled when he caught sight of Sam. The man pushed Arla backwards against the wall and turned toward Sam.

"Sam! He's a ghost!" Arla shouted, reaching behind her for something.

The man came at him instantly, a wide grin on his face. Sam threw salt at him and swung the knife. The salt didn't seem to bother him and he dodged away from the blade. Sam moved forward as Arla swung an umbrella from behind the man. The umbrella didn't go through him as Sam had expected and the man spun around, shoving Arla harder into the wall this time. Sam took his advantage and moved forward, stabbing the blade into his back.

Whatever the man in the suit was, he wasn't a ghost.

Sam hit something solid. The man froze and Sam yanked the blade out, ready to stab forward again because he had a feeling the blade hadn't bothered the man any more than the salt had. He was right. The guy in the suit spun around and barreled into him so quickly that Sam didn't have time to react, much less prevent himself from falling backwards and landing flat on his back between the two beds.

He felt the breath explode out of him and the room went completely black.

* * *

Dean was half asleep and feeling completely relaxed and actually quite comfortable. The noisy nebulizer machine was providing a lulling background noise that made it easy for him to drift in the haze of sleep. Even if the mask was uncomfortable, after having it on his face so many times in the past few days, it barely even registered anymore. Shifting in the recliner, Dean found the perfect position and sighed in relief.

And then he heard a commotion over the nebulizer.

Eyes immediately open, he sat up and frowned, listening. Arla had been on the couch a moment ago, but she wasn't in the room anymore. He heard raised voices and a thump in the hallway and he leaned forward, turning the machine off. For a few seconds, he just waited and listened. Maybe it was nothing. When he heard Arla's voice screaming Sam's name, though, he pushed himself up from the recliner and took off running across the living room, not even breaking his stride as he grabbed a poker from the fireplace on his way past. Not having a weapon on him was starting to become an issue.

He ran down the hallway, seeing no one and nothing out of the ordinary save the open back door. But he could hear a fight taking place, and as he got nearer, he realized with a sickening jump of his stomach that it was all taking place in the room he'd left Sam safely sleeping six hours earlier. What in the world had just happened?

Dean reached the bedroom door and what he saw inside made his heart skip a beat. Arla was on her knees, weakly beating at a man in a suit who was pressing her back against the bed, his hands around her neck. She looked up at Dean with a surprising mix of terror and anger in her eyes and he immediately swung the poker at the man. It hit him hard enough that the man let go of Arla and pounced toward Dean.

In the limited space of the bedroom, Dean found himself shoved against the dresser and their gear by the force of the man's assault; the poker still in his hand. But he couldn't lift it enough to get enough leverage to hit the man again. The guy in the suit was holding his arm down and pressing his knee into his chest.

The room started to spin as Dean fought as hard as he could against the guy, while also trying to suck in desperate breaths. Running down the hall and the brief fight was already depleting his reserves. The man just smiled down at him, even when Arla started smacking him against the back of the head with what looked like an umbrella. Dean appreciated her enthusiasm, but regretted that she'd gotten involved when the guy abruptly let up on him and turned around to throw Arla completely out of the room. Dean heard her tumble to the floor in the hallway and used his opportunity to push himself up breathlessly.

He desperately searched until he found a knife from the bag. The few seconds he had before the man turned around from tossing Arla had given Dean enough time to see what he'd missed a moment before. Sam was sprawled out on his back in the middle of the room, a knife lying on the floor next to his hand. He wasn't moving. The sight left Dean feeling ice cold, but he knew he had to focus on the fight if he wanted to be able to do anything to help his brother or Arla.

Stabbing the blade into the man's heart, Dean felt a cough tear through him and sank back against the dresser despite his best efforts to stay upright. The man in the suit glared at him, but merely pulled the blade out and shook his head. Dean gasped for breath and fumbled for the bag again, desperately searching for another weapon. He really wished Arla would come back with the umbrella. The guy was already wrapping his hands around Dean's neck and he had to stop looking for a weapon, and start fighting against the iron grip around his neck.

Staring up into the cold blue eyes above him, Dean was surprised to realize the guy, or whatever he was, seemed out of his element. He looked furious, but there was fear in those eyes. Fear like he was doing something he really wasn't equipped to be doing. Dean didn't have time to analyze the situation more because the room was starting to go dark as he struggled to breathe. He reached out again, desperate to find a weapon. Because he wasn't going to last much longer.

* * *

**Ok. I know this was an awful cliffie! I admit it. I'm sorry! ;) I'm going to try hard not to keep you waiting very long. PS..anyone else super bummed about no new eppy this week? And I'm not sure i'm going to be able to adapt to SPN being on Wednesdays. This is going to be an adjustment. ;) **

**Have a great day! **


	18. Chapter 18

**Hi! Ok my lovely peeps...I was doing so well last week, posting early and all and my goal was to post this on Saturday. BUT...I had to work. :( Still on orientation and got asked to take an assignment on my own cuz they are so swamped. So trial by fire lol! I survived but i was so sore and dead Saturday night and Sunday that I was just basically a puddle of blah. But it's Tuesday and here's chapter 18! So sorry to keep you all hanging onto the edge of the cliff for so long... I'm still doing better than usual...only 5 days between posts. I'm guaranteeing I'm not working this Saturday! Need a break lol.**

**Happy reading! **

* * *

_3:00 PM Tappero Residence  
__In town_

"The whole thing makes my skin crawl. To this day." Unconsciously illustrating his point, Michael Tappero ran a wrinkled hand over his arm and shook his head.

Tommy sipped his coffee, knowing he'd made the correct decision. He'd been on his way to the motel grounds when he'd remembered Michael lived nearby and decided to change course. The guy was almost ninety and had lived his entire life in the area. If there was anyone left who might know something about _Gethen and Turpleman's Transcendental Travelling Show_, Tommy figured it was Michael Tappero. And he'd been right.

"So you remember what happened?" Tommy prompted, leaning forward with a stirring of fascination he hadn't felt since he'd left the Force. There wasn't anything quite like following a juicy lead. "You were there?"

Michael smiled, his tobacco stained teeth showing as amusement twinkled in his eyes. He folded his hands on the table and said, "Son, everyone was there. At the time this area was nothing much more than wasteland trying to grow into a ghost town. The mine was the main source of revenue and it was so dangerous and poorly managed that the whole town was dying even as it was birthed. The _Travelling Show_ came through the first time when I was just a couple years old and it was like a breath of fresh air. People talked about it for another year until they came again."

"They sold remedies and made claims their products would cure anything?"

"Yes. Big talk of course, but people were starved for it." Michael nodded. "Nothing happened around here except death so it was probably the biggest event of the year."

"The show came every year?"

"No. Sometimes twice a year. Gethen and Turpleman, like most of the other snake oil peddlers, had their route. We had a general idea of when they were coming, but it varied a bit."

Tommy nodded, "So there were other shows that came out here?"

"None like the _Transcendental Travelling Show_." Michael said, a far-away look coming into his eyes as he smiled again. "They were enthralling. Now, people talked, no surprise. There were those who said they were nothing but cheats and charlatans. Which they were. But they also brought news from far away places we'd never see. New York. Seattle. They were actually both skilled magicians and the entertainment was more important than the supposed cures. They also brought trinkets and novelties for the children who had nothing but handmade games and toys."

Listening to Michael talk, Tommy nearly lost himself in the wonder of what it must have been like for the secluded and hard-working people of the area to have such an attraction come to their remote location. But he needed to keep the older gentleman focused or he wouldn't get what he needed. When Michael paused, Tommy asked, "What happened the last time they came to the area? I read something that said they seemed different; and that their cures worked. What happened that last night of the show?"

Michael Tappero's eyes lost the whimsy and hardened. He lowered his voice and Tommy's own skin began to crawl as the old man spoke, "That last time. The last time they came, I was almost ten years old. We got out of school for the last day of the show. Like you said, there was something different about the two men. Everyone had been talking about it all week. Turpleman seemed nervous. Out of sorts. And you have to understand, he was a big teddy bear, as the saying goes. The man loved children. I remember picturing him as Santa Claus. He was only in his thirties, probably, but he was rotund and jolly and, regardless of the fact that they were basically stealing people's money for their fake cures, he made us kids feel special."

"But he seemed nervous this last time?" Tommy asked, trying to pretend his spine wasn't trying to shiver. The room was bright with afternoon sunlight and a strangely out of place Lava Lamp on the side table, but as Michael spoke, it felt like a darkness was settling over the room.

"Nervous and something else. He looked different; almost wasted. Thin. Not jolly. Younger. Seemed ill, though. Turpleman had new delights to show the children and we all begged for pennies from our parents to buy the latest gadgets. But his eyes were reddened and we all thought he was dying of some horrible disease. To this day, Thomas, I can see that face as clear as day." Michael actually shivered and ran his hand over his jaw before continuing, "And the other man, Gethen; he was even worse."

Tommy almost thought about reaching up to turn on another light. Not that it would stop the fear crawling under his own skin. Because he could see it in Michael's eyes. A terrible, burning fear that hadn't diminished even after seventy-nine years. Tommy waited, holding his breath, for Michael to continue.

Michael had to take a slow breath, before he said, "Gethen was a charmer. Good with the ladies, if you take my meaning. Every year there were a few babies born rather precisely nine or so months after the visits of the _Travelling Show_. There was always talk, but in those days, there wasn't necessarily a good way to prove anything one way or another. Regardless, the ladies were flattered by Gethen's suave good manners while he just made the husbands angry and us kids scared. He had...a way about him."

"And what about this last time, the last visit?" Tommy asked, "What was different about him?"

"He looked mad. Out of his head." Michael said simply, voice gritty. "If Turpleman looked wasted and ill, Gethen seemed robust and even more virile than usual. But there was an insanity in his eyes. Even so, the women were drawn to him. I don't know what happened before the show came to town that last time, but something did. I don't even know where their last show had been; no one seemed to know. But this time, their cures worked. People were cured...of everything."

"Did the cures last?" Tommy asked, knowing that such miracles usually came at a price.

Michael's eyes were wide with fear as he nodded and said, "They did."

Tommy swallowed hard and waited. On one hand, he felt ridiculous. Like a Boy Scout getting caught up in a ghost story around a campfire. But he couldn't deny that, after what he'd seen at the motel, Michael's story didn't have merit. Something very bad had happened that day so long ago. Something that clearly had lingering ramifications.

"All these years, Thomas," Michael spoke up, a bit of the fear gone from his eyes, "and you've never been interested in local history."

"Well, you know how it is." Tommy smiled, "Retire and take up new hobbies."

"What happened?"

Tommy frowned, "What do you mean?"

Michael shook his head, leaning back and smiling. He said, "Treat your elders with some respect, boy. I'm old but my wits are about me. And I've known you since you were delivering my papers and tromping through the garden, stepping on Marigold's...well, her marigolds."

"I thought they were weeds." Tommy insisted.

"Son, don't play games with me. You know old fools like to talk, but that isn't why you came here." Michael narrowed his eyes, "Something strange has happened, hasn't it?"

"Yes." Tommy nodded. No point in trying to skirt the truth.

"I'm not surprised. This area's haunted."

Tommy's eyebrows rose, "What? I've never heard that before. Wouldn't it be a town story and big legend if the area were supposedly haunted?"

"Ain't no 'supposedly' about it, Thomas." Michael's eyes darkened again and he lowered his voice although there was no one within miles to hear them, "This area _is_ haunted. What happened out there that night was pure evil. People died."

"People? I thought it was just Turpleman."

"We went out to the show that last night," Michael took up the narrative again, hands rubbing fitfully at the worn tabletop, "and found blood. Everywhere. And...parts. It was the whole town, fathers, mothers, kiddies, all walking out into this field of blood. Kids, being kids, start running around looking for treasures. And they found them. The wagon that the show used was destroyed, and all the wares lying around. Kids found toys, women found bottles of perfume and we all found Turpleman."

Tommy grimaced, envisioning the horrific scene. He asked, "From what I read, he was…"

"Torn. Ripped. Shredded." Michael nodded, "Never seen anything like it. People panicked. It was investigated, to the best of the lawman's meager abilities. Gethen was nowhere to be found. Everyone decided it must have been him that done it. Probably right, too. Nothing anyone could ever prove. The man disappeared and was never seen again. Town decided to burn the field...and the town itself burned that night."

"What?" Tommy shook his head, "I've _never_ heard this! The town burned down? How have I never heard this?"  
Michael smiled and it wasn't a good smile. It was the smile of one who'd hidden a terrible secret for most of his life. He said, "Because I'm the only one left who remembers."

"The entire town kept the secret?"

"Yes."

"Why? Why would you all hide something like that?"

"Because we saw real evil that night, Thomas." Michael said sadly, "Real evil. And we wanted nothing to do with it ever again. When the fire spread from the field to the town, some people died. And those that didn't, were never the same. So we rebuilt the town where it is now and every single person old enough to remember that night, kept the secret. I've never told another living soul till this moment."

Tommy stared at the old man for a long time, reeling with the information. He finally found his voice again and asked, "So if the town isn't in its original location...where was the real town square? And where was that field?"

"It's out west of town. You know where that little motel is?" Michael asked, "The one that closed down…"

"I know the one." Tommy said, feeling his gut twist. There was only one closed down motel in the area and it was the one where they'd seen Mallory Beech go up in smoke. He asked, "That's the old town square?"

"The motel is where the field used to be. The town was originally just north of the field. The old cemetery is still there; out past the motel." Michael explained. He frowned for a moment, then asked, "Why do you want to know where the town was originally located?"

Tommy took a deep breath and said, "Because something strange is happening at the motel. I think it must be connected to what went down that night, Mr. Tappero."

The older man looked frightened and leaned forward, practically whispering, "He's back?"

Tommy willed himself not to shiver. He said, "Who?"

"Gethen." Michael said, eyes darting to the door. "He's back, isn't he?"

"Did he say he was coming back?" Tommy asked, wondering why Michael seemed so frightened all of a sudden, "Mr. Tappero? Did Gethen say something…"

"That last time he came to town." Michael said, licking his lips, and holding onto the table. "When the cures started working. They _all_ started working."

Tommy shook his head, "What do you mean?"

"Cured what ailed you. Whatever it was. And there was this one...one that he said he himself was taking."

"What did that one cure?"

"Death."

* * *

_3:20 PM Pender Home_

Dean was still trying to locate a weapon when he heard a gunshot.

He flinched and, thankfully, so did the man who was trying to kill him. The guy's hands immediately released and Dean sucked in a huge breath, too winded to move, and grateful just to be able to breathe again. The man stepped back, staring down at his chest in surprise. Dean's eyes widened as he saw the smoking wound in the man's chest. He looked up to find Arla standing in the bedroom door, a rifle held confidently in her hands. Gone was the motherly expression and softness he'd grown accustomed to. In their place stood a woman with nerves of steel and a keen sense of aim. He could tell she was shaken, but also furious. Arla Pender was _not_ the kind of woman who was ok with maniacs breaking into her house.

If there had been any doubt at all that the maniac wasn't entirely human, there wasn't anymore. Because the guy wasn't dead and didn't look like he intended to be dead anytime soon. He looked up from his chest and for a very long moment, there was a stand-off. Dean pushed himself up so he was sitting back against the dresser, keeping his eyes focused on the not-dead guy. Arla had shot him straight through the heart, but it hadn't slowed him down any more than Dean's knife through the heart had done. His mind was reeling, trying to figure out what their attacker really was because he certainly wasn't human.

The guy in the suit cast a quick glance his way and Dean felt the hatred in that one look. Whatever he was, he'd come to kill and was not pleased his plans had been interrupted. Without a word, the man turned and roughly pushed past Arla into the hall. Her face was a blend of confusion and fury as she turned and stepped into the hall, firing again.

Dean knew that even if she hit him again, the man, or whatever he was, wasn't going to stop. He was impervious to their weapons. _At least the one's we've tried so far_. Coughing harshly, he realized that he was still wearing the mask from the nebulizer. He hadn't even bothered to take it off as he'd run out of the living room; it must have just come unattached from the machine along the way. Tearing it off, he started to drag himself to his feet, still trying to catch his breath.

"Dean?"

He stopped moving, clinging to the dresser for support, and turned to his left. Sam had picked up the knife and was precariously trying to push himself upright as he looked up to the door. Dean could hear Arla firing again and he knew he needed to help her. Taking five seconds to assess his brother, Dean picked up his own blade and said, "Stay there."

Arla was back before he could go anywhere, though. Which was probably just as well, Dean decided, taking a couple steps to the left and slumping down next to Sam's bed. With his run down the hall, he'd undone any good that last breathing treatment had done. Lowering his knife, he glanced up at Arla.

"Whatever that thing was, it's gone." Arla said, stepping into the room. "I shot it again and it stumbled but kept running." She quickly looked from him to Sam. There was uncertainty in her eyes as she asked, "Should I go after it?"

"No." Dean shook his head.

He certainly wasn't up to running the thing down, but there was no way he was letting _her_ go after it. She nodded and seemed to relax a little bit. She was tough, but also out of her element. With the crisis seemingly averted for the moment, his attention turned to his brother who had remained disturbingly silent. Sam hadn't made any more progress in sitting upright and seemed about to lose what little ground he'd gained.

Dean looked up at Arla and said, "Check on him."

"I will. Think you can hang on to this in case?" Arla handed him the rifle.

Dean wheezed, giving her a thumbs up and only coughing a half a dozen times as he accepted the rifle. It was a relief to have a weapon in his hands again. He watched Arla head to Sam's side and asked, "What happened?"

"I answered the door and...that thing came in and asked where the hunters were." Arla's puzzled look changed when Dean reacted to that statement. She was pulling Sam up and helping him sit back against the other bed as she asked, "Is that what you two are? Hunters? And people know..._monsters_ know about you?"

Dean nodded, "We hunt them. They tend to take notice." He shook his head and refocused back on his brother who was finally upright, but had his eyes closed again. "What happened to Sam?"

"That _thing_ started choking me in the hallway and Sam came out and stabbed him in the back. Then it attacked him." Arla summarized quickly, one hand on Sam's shoulder, the other checking his pulse. "That _thing_ ran into him and pushed him over backwards."

Dean swore under his breath. He certainly didn't need to be tossed around by a monster. As the adrenaline began to wear off and his breathing returned to almost normal, he asked, "Did he hit his head?"

Arla glanced at him and he could see the same worry in her eyes. She said, "I couldn't tell."

"It wasn't a ghost." Sam said out of the blue, staring right at Dean.

Dean raised an eyebrow and glanced at Arla. She explained, "I thought it was a ghost at first. But we can talk about that later." Arla shook her head, focusing on Sam. She asked, "Sam, did you hit your head?"

"I don't think so." Sam frowned, still staring at Dean as if he'd been the one speaking, then finally tilted his head so he could see Arla. He grimaced and said, "Maybe."

"Trivia time." Arla said, a hand on his forehead as she studied his pupils. "Where are you?"

He was mostly polite during the interrogation, and correctly answered all her questions, but Dean could tell Sam was less than amused at having to endure yet another neuro exam. Dean could hardly blame him, given how intense Arla's exam was. When they had a concussion, usually they just made sure they could say their name and stand up. Walking in a straight line was always a bonus, but not a requirement. This was a whole new level of exam and Dean knew they probably needed to be a bit more careful in the future. If he'd caught on to how bad Sam had been injured at the time, maybe things would have gone differently. Sighing, Dean knew there was no point in second guessing. Arla looked up and nodded.

Dean let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He asked, "All his marbles in working order?"

"More or less."

"Just got the breath knocked out of me." Sam insisted, making it known that he was tired of being the subject of so much scrutiny. "I'm fine." He turned his attention to Arla and asked, "Why did you think it was a ghost?"

Arla brushed her hair out of her eyes and said, "Because he looked like a ghost."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked. What ordinary people thought looked like a ghost was very different from what _they_ thought looked like a ghost. In his experience, ghosts seldom looked like Caspar.

"It...it was Davis Miller." Arla said, casting a quick, nervous glance at the door. "Davis was a local man, a teacher at the high school, who died almost ten years ago."

Dean raised an eyebrow and exchanged a glance with Sam. He asked, "And this thing today, he looked _like_ Davis?"

"No, he _was_ Davis." Arla insisted, eyes wide. "That face, that man, whatever it was...it was Davis Miller. He came back from the dead!"  
Sam said again, "It wasn't a ghost."

"How could you know that?" Arla asked, shaking her head, "How could it not have been a ghost?"

Dean could tell she was edging close to actual hysteria. He couldn't blame her. Sam spoke up before he could and explained, "He didn't react to the salt, or the iron. Those are things that would affect a ghost. He was solid; corporeal. He wasn't a ghost."

"You hit him with the bullets," Dean went on, "and ordinary bullets wouldn't affect a spirit."

"The bullets didn't affect him much." Arla said, with a sigh. She shook her head and sat down heavily next to Sam. Taking a deep breath, she said, "It was Davis Miller. How could it _not_ be his ghost?"

"Revenant?" Dean asked Sam. "Would explain how he was corporeal and took the hits from the bullets, even if they didn't kill him. And why he looked like Davis Miller. Maybe he really _was_ Davis."

Sam shook his head slowly and said, "Salt still should have bothered him."

"Maybe and maybe not." Dean said, "Revenants are a _type _of ghost, but do we know for sure they react exactly the same way to everything a typical ghost would? Besides, it still could have been something else."

"A shapeshifter?" Sam asked, looking to Dean for confirmation.

"Possibly." Dean nodded. He explained to Arla, "A lot of creatures can take on the form of other people; dead or alive. Shifters, ghouls, kitsune, and changelings for example. There are some tests we can do to figure out which is which. Not that we had time with our friend here to exactly narrow it down much."

Arla still seemed overwhelmed and, for the first time since they'd met, was looking to them for advice. She asked, "What do we do now?"

Dean saw his own worry reflected in Sam's eyes and he nodded, then turned to Arla and said, "You need to go pack a bag and get your keys because we're leaving. That thing could come back and you're not safe here. Don't take a long time, just grab a few things. Got it?"

She nodded and shakily pushed herself to her feet. Dean held out the rifle, "Take this with you."

"What about you…" Arla started to ask.

"Got our own gear right here." Dean smiled reassuringly, pressing the rifle into her hands. "Good thinking grabbing this. You have an arsenal handy?"

"Hall closet." Arla nodded, not quite smiling, but looking a little less tense. "I'll be right back."

"We'll be right here." Dean said, grabbing their bag of gear. Reaching in for the sawed-off, he glanced over at Sam who was slowly pushing himself to his feet. "Where are you going?"

Leaning heavily on the bed, Sam took a few steps, then sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching for the bottle of Gatorade on the nightstand. He held it up as his answer and took a long drink. Dean loaded the shotgun and said, "You could have just asked."

"You're on the floor too and you don't really look up to moving." Sam countered, lowering the bottle and rubbing his forehead.

Dean ignored the implication that he wasn't quite at his best. He paused his packing and took a long look at his brother. He was relieved to see Sam doing so well, all things considered. Even if he still looked sick, he did seem better. Sleeping most of the day had done him some good. Not really wanting to open the door to a long soul-searching session or an uncomfortable apology, but still wanting to offer an olive branch after what had happened earlier, Dean asked, "How're you doing?"

Sam straightened a little and said, "I'm ok. Was feeling better before I wound up on the floor, but I'm ok." He stared at Dean and smiled tiredly, "Man, I'm actually hungry."

"Of course you are. Attack of the mystery monster always gives me an appetite, too." Dean snorted. Dean rifled through the bag, then looked up with a smile, "We can hit a drive-thru later, but look what I found. Our last granola bar. Enjoy."

He tossed it at Sam and wasn't all that surprised when Sam completely missed the catch. Not that he'd thrown it very well in the first place. It hit the carpet and Dean almost laughed at the pitiful expression on his brother's face as he stared down at the granola bar. He was ready to tease him about it, then decided it would be wiser to hold his tongue. Because Sam was staring at the granola bar as if it were the only thing in the world he wanted, and it was the most unobtainable item left on planet Earth. He might have implied that Dean wasn't up to moving, but he sure didn't look like he was interested in reaching down to grab the granola bar, even if he was hungry for the first time in days.

Sighing, Dean set aside the gun and slid over until he could reach it. Handing it up to Sam, he said, "You still got the keys?"

"Thanks." Sam said softly, accepting the bar, then pointing at the bedside table. "Keys are right there. How did that thing find us?"

"That's what we need to find out." Dean said, grabbing the weapons bag again. Finally satisfied with his preparation, he glanced at his watch and said, "Finish your breakfast, I don't want to stick around here much longer."

"What time is it?" Sam frowned, genuinely confused.

"I guess it's not breakfast. Late lunch? You slept all day so I don't think it matters what we call it." Dean rolled his eyes, pushing himself to his feet. Wavering only slightly, he put a hand against the dresser and said, "Pack it up while I go check on her. We need a plan before we get hit again."

He'd almost reached the door, shotgun in his hand, when he heard Sam call his name. Pausing, but not looking back, Dean asked, "Yeah?"

"Are you alright?" Sam's voice was soft, uncertain.

Dean stared across the hall, knowing Sam wasn't just asking about his physical well-being. They weren't good at this kind of thing. Never really had been. He thought about what Sam had said earlier and, despite the lingering sting, he knew he couldn't hold it against his brother. If anyone deserved a pass right about now, it was Sam. So he turned around and met Sam's gaze, his expression unwaveringly serious.

"Dude, I'm so alright that I will give you the beat down you deserve if you don't wash and wax my baby after we get out of this mess."

Sam laughed and Dean couldn't help but grin. As he walked into the hall, he called over his shoulder, "Get your butt in gear, Sammy. We've got monsters to kill."

* * *

**So...whadja think? :) **


	19. Chapter 19

**_Alright guys! This is a long chapter to make up for the last one that was a pinch short! Thank you all who reviewed the last chapter! I'll be dropping you personal notes yet this evening. And thanks to L.H and Taraneh for your always lovely reviews!_**

**_So without further ado...let's see what happens next to our little team of heroes...everything's going to work out just fine from here, right? _**

* * *

_3:30 PM December 26th  
__Pender home_

While he wholeheartedly supported Dean's plan to get the heck out of Dodge before anything else happened, Sam found it more than a little difficult to get his butt in gear. Because he was tired. Still hungry. Had just been picked up off the floor yet again. And everything hurt. Sighing, he crumpled the wrapper of the tasteless granola bar and finished off the bottle of Gatorade. Setting the bottle aside, he grabbed the car keys and pushed himself to his feet. He'd seen how Dean had wavered when he'd stood up and he wasn't doing much better himself.

It didn't exactly bode well for the upcoming hunt.

Wearily, Sam leaned down and picked up the weapons bag. Getting it onto the bed without falling over, he quickly searched through it until he found his pocket knife and switchblade then slid his gun into the back of his jeans. Even in just a t-shirt and jeans, he felt completely dressed with his weapons on him. It had been obvious that Dean felt the same way when he'd clasped his hands around the shotgun. Shaking his head, Sam turned to search for a clean shirt thinking, not for the first time, that their lives were seriously messed up.

At least Dean didn't seem to want to punch him in the face for what he'd said earlier. Sam didn't need it in writing in the sky to know that his brother had forgiven him and wasn't holding what he'd said against him. It was behind them, and he was relieved. Everything was hard enough and, without Dean, he wasn't sure how he would have made it from point A to...whatever point they were on now. Dean never liked showy displays of affection and Sam knew he probably _would_ want to punch him in the face if Sam said it, but he really wanted to find a way to let Dean know how grateful he was for his support over the last two months.

Maybe washing and waxing Baby would be a good place to start.

He was lost in his thoughts and realized he'd been staring at the shirt in his hand for a very long time. Sam shook himself out of his reverie and was about to pull the shirt on when he heard footsteps in the hallway. Great. Dean was going to be pissed that he was still standing around like he was half asleep. Before he could pull the shirt on, though, he heard Dean's voice.

"Sam." There was a distinct warning in Dean's voice that had Sam dropping the shirt and reaching for his gun.

Dean was standing in the doorway, hands raised, face a mask of fury. Sam stared down the sight of his gun at the man that was behind his brother, pressing a blade against his neck. It was Davis Miller; or whatever was posing as Davis, or _possessing_ Davis. _Or whatever. _

"Put the gun down." Davis said, voice calm.

"No." Sam said, not wavering at all.

Amazing what the threat of bodily harm could do for your balance. His hands were steady, even if his heartbeat wasn't. Because there wasn't anything that scared him more than seeing his brother on the wrong end of a weapon. Of course, as they had proven earlier, a gun didn't seem to be the right choice of weapon to kill this thing. Suddenly feeling like he was holding nothing more than a water gun for all the usefulness his gun would have in the situation, Sam had a moment of near panic. He held the gun steady, though, because even if it wouldn't _kill _the thing, it might give them a chance.

Sam put panic on the back burner and said, "Let him go."

Davis smiled and pressed the blade just a bit harder against Dean's neck and said, "Dean. Looks like you need to have a chat with your brother."

"Sam, he's got a partner." Dean said through gritted teeth.

"Where's Arla?" Sam asked, fear coursing through him at the thought that they'd put the doctor in danger despite their best attempts not to.

"Your friend is inconsequential to me." Davis said, not letting up on the pressure. "She isn't why I am here. She was just in the way. My friend is tying her up and she's going to be just fine. So long as you two cooperate."

Sam didn't like the turn of events at all. Bad enough the monster had attacked them in the first place, and proven rather un-killable. But now he had come back; with a partner? He exchanged a glance with Dean, then asked,"What do you want with us?"

Davis' smile faded and there was nothing but hatred in his cold eyes as he said, "That's not how it works. You're smart enough to know that it won't take much at all for me to end your brother here. This is how it works. I'm in charge this time. As I explained to Dean a moment ago, you two either do exactly what I say or with one shout my partner destroys that old woman."

Swallowing hard, Sam's gun didn't waver although he found himself looking to Dean, hoping for an answer. But Dean seemed to be struggling. A cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck, Sam realized Dean was probably trying not to cough. Given how close the blade was to his throat, a cough could result, at the very least, in a bad gash. At the worst, it could be fatal. Sam looked back at Davis who tossed a set of handcuffs at him. They hit the floor and Sam didn't even flinch.

"Pick them up." Davis said. "And put the gun down."

"I don't think so."

For a long moment, all Sam could hear was the pounding of his heart. Then the man spoke up again and said, "Textbook standoff. You might be able to hit me, maybe even without putting a bullet through your brother here…"

Sam glared at him, "I'll hit what I'm aiming for and it isn't him."

"Is that so?" The man wearing Davis' face laughed. He leaned closer to Dean and stage whispered, "What do you think, Dean? He look a little dizzy to you? You want to take a chance with your life, banking on him being able to hit me? I'm not sure Sam's reactions are that very quick right now."

Before either of them could even open their mouth to reply, the guy moved so quickly that Sam barely registered the blade being lowered before it was again pressed to Dean's neck. But now there was bright red blood on the blade and Dean was biting back a grunt of pain. A slow trickle of blood flowed from his right arm where the monster had sliced him. It wasn't an extremely deep slice, but painful and had been done to prove a point. Dean struggled against the guy's hold, but really didn't dare fight too much considering the blade was already dripping with his blood.

Davis smiled and said, "Even if you did manage to shoot me, which if you'll remember doesn't do much, my partner hears a shot, the woman is dead."

Sam swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to meet Dean's. There was fear behind the fury in his eyes. Dean wasn't going to do anything to endanger the doctor; any more than they already had simply by making her acquaintance. Sam didn't know how the guy had managed to overpower Dean and get the upper hand, but the fact was, he had. And he'd come back with a partner.

"Two options." The man said, obviously enjoying the fact that he had the upper hand this time around. "Option one, you both do _exactly_ what I tell you and all three of you live through the day."

He waited expectantly for a reply but Dean had his eyes closed and Sam could tell he was having trouble catching his breath. Davis shrugged when he didn't get a reply and said, "Option two. You don't put down the gun and pick up those cuffs, I will shoot your brother through the back with his own shotgun. Shoot him in a way that will ensure it takes him a long time to die. Long enough for him to watch me gut you and pick you out of my teeth."

Sam felt an uncomfortable twist of his stomach. The granola bar wasn't sitting so well now and the room was getting a bit hazy. His mouth went dry and he wanted to just close his eyes for a minute, but if he did that, he was going to wind up on the floor. So he held the monster's gaze, hands still not wavering on his gun.

The monster lowered the blade just a little from Dean's neck; which now that Sam knew he also had the shotgun pressed into Dean's back didn't mean much. Davis said, "Dean? What do you think? Want to bleed out while I eat your brother right in…"

"Do what he said, Sam." Dean said immediately.

Sam met Dean's eyes and knew they didn't have much of a choice. If it hadn't been for Arla, Sam would have already taken the shot. See if a head-shot would kill this creep. But they both knew he couldn't take the chance with Arla's life on the line. Dean slowly shook his head, but there was no defeat in his eyes. Just determination. They'd lost this round. But they were going to take the next one.

Regretfully lowering the gun, Sam set it on the dresser when instructed by Davis, then leaned down for the cuffs. He had to brace himself on the floor for a long moment to keep from falling over and he wasn't looking forward to trying to stand up again. Before he could get off the floor, Davis was pushing Dean further into the room.

"Sit." Davis said, shoving Dean against the wall next to the old radiator. The guy now had the shotgun against Dean's head and looked at Sam. "Cuff him."

Sam quickly took stock of the situation and knew, with the gun against Dean's head, he wasn't mounting any kind of attack. Dean looked over at him, but he was leaning back against the wall, coughing hard now that the blade wasn't against his neck. His glance didn't give Sam any instructions, no clue what to do. Sam picked up the handcuffs and saw only one option. Only one chance. So, the heck with dignity, he started to stand up, then let himself falter and crumple on the ground.

"Sam!" Dean's voice was raw with the sharp pain of his coughing spell and concern over what he'd just seen.

Ignoring him, Sam made a show of struggling to his knees, then pushed himself up and crossed to his brother's side. Davis's irritated expression told Sam that he didn't suspect anything, just wanted him to hurry up. So he knelt next to Dean who instantly was grabbing his shoulder.

"Sam? Are you ok?"

Smiling ruefully, Sam said, "Just great. You?"

"Couldn't be better." Dean grinned briefly.

"Hurry up." Davis ordered, shoving the shotgun against Dean's head.

Seeing the pain on Dean's face, Sam didn't waste any more time. Dean held his hands out and, regretfully, Sam cuffed him to the radiator. As he did so, he slid his smallest pocket knife into Dean's expectant fingers. There was a twitch of surprise on Dean's face, like he really hadn't been sure if the spectacular wipe out had been a distraction method or not, but was glad to find out it had been.

Sam gave him a quick smile, then felt something smack into the back of his head. Glare firmly in place, he looked up at the Davis and saw him holding out a roll of duct tape. Sam didn't take it, just stared at him and waited.

"Gag him."

"That's not happening." Sam said without hesitation.

Davis shoved the shotgun harder against Dean's head and leaned down, eyes narrowed, "You want me to end him right now? I can do that because, one way or another, he's keeping quiet."

Dean looked as furious as Sam felt, but said, "It's ok, Sam."

"The hell it is." Sam said, yanking the roll of tape out of Davis' hand and throwing it clear across the room. He gave Dean a quick pat on the shoulder, then used his shoulder to help leverage himself to his feet. Standing eye to eye with Davis, Sam said, "He's having trouble breathing. I'm not taking the chance of suffocating my brother."

There was a long, very interesting silence in the room. Finally, Davis shrugged and said in a flat voice, "Fine. But if you don't do exactly what I say, you'll never see him again."

"Why?" Dean asked before Sam could speak.

Davis slid the knife into his belt and grabbed Sam by the shoulder, shoving him toward the door. He said, "Because he's coming with me."

* * *

_3:53 pm  
__Pender Home_

Dean had fought against the cuffs as he'd watched a monster shove Sam out of the room. Knowing it was pointless didn't stop him from angrily giving it a try. Practically yanking his wrists off wasn't going to get him free, though. So he'd sucked in a calming breath that did nothing to calm him, and listened to the sound of the Impala starting up; hating himself for getting caught in the first place. He'd wrestled with Sam's pocket knife and started trying to pick the cuffs, thinking back to what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

He'd gone in search of Arla and found the bedroom door closed. Walking over to the laptop, Dean had intended to take it with them but found himself with unwelcome company. Knife against his throat, he hadn't really had any options. Especially when the creep with the blade announced his partner was tying Arla up and if he made a sound, she'd be dead. So Dean had relinquished his shotgun and let the ghost of Davis Miller, or whatever he was, lead him back to the bedroom. Hoping Sam would be prepared, and he had been, hadn't solved anything because Arla was still in danger.

For the past twenty some minutes, he'd had plenty of time to reflect on everything that had happened. And plenty of time to curse his stupidity as his gaze was repeatedly drawn to the just out of reach pocket knife. Coughing into his sleeve for the five thousandth time, Dean closed his eyes, letting his head rest back against the wall. He'd tried everything to get at the pocket knife. Fumbling fingers had unfortunately allowed the precious tool to slip down under the radiator. Although he had some range of motion along the radiator's coil, he couldn't reach the blade. His only hope of escape, provided in the heat of the moment by some quick thinking on Sam's part, was now lost.

All in all, he was not having the greatest day.

Part of him, selfishly perhaps, was hoping Tommy would get back from wherever he was and save them with his clearly well-honed police skills. But Dean couldn't dwell on that because he really hoped Tommy would decide to go to a movie or something and not come home until he found a way to get himself and Arla out of the mess he'd gotten them into. Tommy wasn't prepared to deal with a supernatural opponent. He'd probably get himself killed.

So he forced his eyes open again and looked around the room yet again in the hopes that some miracle had dropped the handcuff keys into a convenient location. He'd already taken in every possible method of escape and come up empty. Shaking his head, Dean glanced at his watch. Twenty-three minutes. Twenty-three minutes of sitting helplessly like a beached whale while a monster did who knew what to his brother and another monster did who knew what to Arla Pender.

Dean frowned. The silence of the house suddenly loud in his ears. He'd been so focused on trying to escape and giving himself a good self-tongue lashing that he hadn't even considered the obvious.

There was no partner.

His heart skipped a beat and this time it wasn't in fear, it was in hope. Dean thought about everything that had gone down earlier. The initial attack; the monster being relatively easily bullied out the door, even if he hadn't been killed. That incongruous look of fear in the thing's eyes when he'd been trying to choke Dean to death. _Like he'd been doing something he wasn't equipped, or supposed, to be doing, _Dean mused, thinking back to his impression at that time. So whatever mystery man was, he wasn't necessarily a fighter and his hasty retreat had illustrated the point.

But he'd come back. Because he was supposed to. Under orders, most likely. And he'd caught them when they'd been divided.

_Stupid stupid stupid!_

Remembering the bedroom door being closed, Dean realized the monster must have already tied Arla up before he'd gotten to him. He took a deep breath and hollered her name at the top of his rather weak lungs. Either nothing would happen, she'd hear him, or the partner he no longer believed existed would come running to the door.

Waiting, praying to hear Arla's voice calling back, Dean's heart sank as he realized he had no way to let Sam know that there was no partner. No partner threatening Arla's life; threatening _his_ life. That realization detracted somewhat from his relief at hearing a muffled shout from the other end of the house. Because if Sam thought he and Arla were in danger, he wasn't going to do anything, _anything_, to potentially threaten their safety.

Which meant he wasn't going to do anything to protect his own.

* * *

_4:00 PM  
__Founders Heritage Cemetery, north of the motel grounds_

The drive had been silent except for terse driving directions from Davis Miller. Sam had a long list of questions he wanted to ask, but beyond the fact that the monster wasn't very chatty, he'd been having a difficult time keeping focused on the driving. The sun was blinding bright and it hadn't taken more than a couple miles for Sam to realize exactly how worn out he really was. Trying to keep the Impala out of the ditches and not wrapped around tree trunks had consumed most of his energy. _You're welcome, Dean._

"Park the car." Davis' voice split the heavy silence in the car.

Despite his worry for Arla and his brother, Sam was so relieved to be able to stop driving that he almost thanked the monster. Turning the car off, Sam relaxed back into the seat and rubbed his aching eyes. Davis yanked the keys out of the ignition and got out of the car. A moment later, the drivers side door was opened and Davis was pulling him to his feet. Sam glared at the man who was pointing his own gun in his face. Davis had picked Sam's gun up off the dresser on their way out the door at the Pender's house.

Davis said, "Get moving."

"Where are we?" Sam asked, staring at the dismal landscape. They stood at the end of what had been a very bumpy dirt road. There was nothing around them except scrubby trees and a heavy feeling of utter desolation.

"Start walking. We've got a hike ahead of us."

And on a normal day, the hike would have been nothing. A pleasant ten minute jaunt through the beauty of nature. Today, though, it was anything but pleasant. Because the ground was uneven, the sun was too bright and the temperature would have been perfect if he'd been wearing a coat. But he wasn't and, despite sweating with the exertion of what should have been a simple hike, Sam was freezing. And short of breath. He hadn't noticed it so much at the Penders when he'd been doing absolutely nothing, but now, repeatedly tripping over the uneven ground on unsteady legs, he felt his chest tighten as he fought for each breath.

Any time he tried to pause for even a second, he got shoved forward again. Tempted to use what little energy he had left to take the monster out, Sam yet again decided against it. He didn't dare try anything because, as he'd been doing on the drive, Davis called to check in with his partner every five minutes. Until Davis didn't get through to his partner, Sam's clue that Dean had made his break, he couldn't do anything to jeopardize Dean and Arla's situation. Not that he stood much of a chance fighting anyway.

After a few more minutes, Sam couldn't help but put a hand against a tree, lowering his head for a moment, sucking in desperate breaths. When he didn't immediately get shoved, he slowly lifted his head, still breathing hard. Looking ahead, he saw a cemetery that had clearly seen better days. Catching his breath, he looked irritably at Davis and asked, "Why are we here?"

"Because I have business to take care of."

Sam knew he should probably keep his mouth shut, but, as they made their way through the overgrown cemetery, he asked, "What kind of business? What do you want with us?"

Davis pushed the gun against his shoulder, but said, "I have my reasons. So does he."

"He?" Sam pressed, forcing himself to look around the area. The cemetery must have been a hundred years old and most of the headstones were weathered and cracked. There was a small area to the right that seemed a bit newer; a little less overgrown.

"You'll meet him soon enough." Davis answered enigmatically, still pushing Sam forward.

Frowning, Sam realized that one of the plots in the newer section was upturned. He could smell rotting flesh and swallowed hard. Holding his breath, he tried to get a better look of the upturned plot. A pile of dirt sat next to a headstone that read...he strained to see with bleary eyes.._Davis Leonard Miller, Beloved Husband and Father._ Stumbling over a broken headstone, Sam caught himself and realized he had one answer. He now had a pretty good idea what the monster pushing him around actually was. But it wouldn't pay to let him know. And he still couldn't take any chances until he had a solid plan. Because if he screwed anything up, Arla and Dean were going to pay.

So he kept walking, trying to sort out a reasonable plan for getting the upperhand against the so-called Davis Miller. Before he had even the remotest idea, he found himself standing in front of a rather impressive crypt at the far north end of the cemetery. A fancy, engraved sign marked the crypt as the burial place of the town's founders. Trying to read the rest of the sign, Sam was interrupted by his own gun poking his shoulder a couple times.

"Get it open."

"Why?"

The gun pushed against the back of his skull this time, pressing him forward until his forehead hit the door. Davis leaned close and said, "Stop asking questions or I'll let him find you dead. I don't really care and I'm pretty sure Gethen won't care either."

Sam squeezed his eyes closed against the renewed pounding in his skull. _Gethen_. He vaguely remembered that name coming up in conversation when Dean had given him the 411 on what Tommy's research had turned up. Gethen. The guy from the medicine show who had vanished almost eighty years ago? If he wasn't already well acquainted with ludicrous circumstances, Sam might have scoffed at the entire situation. Unfortunately, he knew only too well that just because someone _should_ be dead, didn't mean they were dead. Gethen might be a ghost, or something else entirely, but Sam wasn't terribly surprised to find out he wasn't conning people in the happy hereafter.

Knowing now that his own continued existence wasn't necessarily important to Davis or to Gethen, Sam kept his mouth shut and opened the crypt door. It wasn't going to do Arla or Dean any good if he wound up too dead to get away. Briefly, he wondered if Dean had managed to make his escape yet and rescue Arla from Davis' partner. Given that Davis was still getting through to his partner left Sam with the sinking feeling the answer was no.

"Inside." Davis said, pushing him forward into the darkened crypt.

High up, a couple of filthy windows filtered the sunshine outside into a pale light barely illuminating the inside of the tomb. The lack of brain-searing sunlight was a relief and a positive step in taking his headache down a notch. What wasn't helping was the overwhelming stench of death that assaulted him as he walked inside. He didn't need to be able to see clearly to know the crypt was littered with corpses.

There were at least six elaborate vaults inside and he got to see one up close and personal when Davis shoved him toward it. The lid was opened and Sam found himself staring down at the mauled remains of one of the town's founders. Pushing himself upright, Sam took a quick glance around and discovered that each of the vaults had been vandalized. There were corpses, all in varied stages of decomposition, scattered around the room. The smell of death and rotting flesh was so heavy he was finding it difficult to breathe. Any lingering thoughts of attempting to overtake Davis Miller fled. He wasn't sure how much longer he'd even be able to stand up.

"Sit down." Davis said, voice loud in the enclosed space.

Sam wanted to argue, to do anything except collapse to his knees, but was powerless to prevent it from happening. The entire room was spinning and he forced down the nausea that was threatening to overpower him yet again. Sinking down with his back to the vault, he closed his eyes just for a split second to gather his strength. And, a split second later, found himself cuffed to the the handle of the vault. Opening his eyes, Sam stared at his wrists. It wasn't modern handcuffs but a pair of old fashioned manacles keeping him in place.

Davis was grinning, "You aren't going anywhere."

"What do you want? Come on, captive audience." Sam said, head resting back against the vault. He didn't want to talk to the monster but he also didn't really want to be left chained up in a crypt in the middle of nowhere. "Who am I going to tell, Davis?"

"Alexander." The monster sneered. "My name is Alexander. What do I want? What I want is to be free."

"How does this," Sam rattled the chain, "help you be free?"

Davis, _Alexander_, stared at him for a long moment, then said, "This doesn't."

Sam frowned, "Then why…"

"It's what Gethen wants." Alexander said, eyes clouded as if he wasn't sure why he was doing what Gethen wanted. He said, "I don't have a choice."

For the first time, Sam saw a glimmer of possibility. The monster in front of him was just that, a monster, but it sounded like he was under orders from another monster. Maybe, maybe there was a chance he could be turned, reasoned with.

"You always have a choice, Alexander." Sam started, but instantly regretted his words. Alexander's fist connected with his face and he felt the sting of a split lip through the fog in his head. Obviously that had not been the right opener.

Alexander's voice was ragged, almost desperate as he shouted, "I never had a choice. Never. He never let me have a choice."

Tasting blood, Sam struggled to stay focused despite the thunder in his head and the way the room seemed to be getting darker all of a sudden. He stumbled over his words, "Maybe we...we...can help you…"

"No one can help me."

When Alexander punched him this time, Sam saw stars and then nothing at all.

* * *

_4:00 PM  
__Pender Home_

She stood at the door. The open door. Frowning, Raquel hesitated on the doorstep. She didn't see the big black car that had been parked at the motel all week. Not that she'd really expected to. Glancing at the address, she confirmed it was correct and took a deep breath. It had taken her hours to find her way to town and figure out what to do once she was there. And now, now that she was actually at her destination, she was almost too afraid to go forward with her plan. Chewing her lip, Raquel wondered how the nice couple was going to feel about having a ghost ring their doorbell.

Before she had time to play out that scenario in her head, she heard a voice cursing from somewhere inside. Tiptoeing closer to the open back door, Raquel strained to hear. The voice was muttering in irritation and Raquel almost ran. Instead, she took another deep breath and knocked on the open door.

"Hello?" She called out, wrapping her arms around herself and holding her breath.

There was a long moment of silence, then a man's voice asked, "Arla?"

"Um, no. Raquel. Raquel Alonzo." She offered, taking a step inside the hall.

"Raquel? From the motel Raquel?" The voice sounded puzzled but not unfriendly.

She smiled at his words, _motel Raquel_. Rhymed and she couldn't deny it wasn't true. For the past year all she'd been was motel Raquel. She called out a yes, but didn't get a reply because the voice at the other end of the conversation broke off in a coughing fit. Raquel threw caution to the wind and hurried down the hall, searching for the source. It didn't take her long to find the open bedroom door. Pausing in the doorway, she was shocked to see one of the brothers chained up against the wall, breathing unevenly, face pale as he looked up at her.

"Motel Raquel?" He asked hoarsely, grinning.

"That's me." She smiled shyly.

He nodded, "Dean Winchester. But I guess we've already met."

Raquel swallowed hard but he didn't seem angry. Just curious. She said, "I'm sorry I never introduced myself before. I was...afraid."

"I get it. Look, Raquel, I could use some help. From what I've heard about you, you seem to be a helpful sort of woman." He nodded toward the handcuffs. "I need to get these off. Dropped my knife. Can you get it?"

"Yes." Raquel said, happy to have something to do. Something to do that wasn't what Gethen had wanted her to do. She shivered, thinking about him and wondering if he knew she was missing yet. Hand shaking, Raquel found the knife under the radiator at Dean's direction. She handed it to him.

"Thanks." Dean said, already starting to work on the cuffs. He gave her a long look as he worked and said, "Arla Pender, the lady you flagged down, I think she's tied up in another room. Can you go check on her?"

Raquel nodded, aching inside at the thought that, despite her efforts to get everyone away from the motel, danger had followed them. She stood, asking as she paused at the door, "Who did this to you?"

"Not sure. Arla said it was some dead guy, Davis Miller." Dean focused on the cuffs and asked, "Heard of him?"

"No. I'll go check on Arla." Raquel said, hurrying out of the room. _Davis Miller_. Alexander, more likely. Feeling a sudden need to have a panic attack, Raquel almost did just that, but then she walked into a homey living room and saw the Christmas tree.

Something came over her that she hadn't felt in years. Warmth. Peace. Joy. Family. All words that had lost their meaning after what she'd done. Peter had forgiven her and, for one short moment, before Gethen ripped it all away again, she'd started hoping to know what those words meant again. Now, standing in a stranger's living room, she knew she couldn't let anything get in the way. Nothing could happen to rip all of this away from the lovely couple.

Filing that moment away, Raquel focused on searching for Arla. A door was closed on the far wall and Raquel headed for it. Opening it, she was shocked to find herself staring down the barrel of a rifle. Raquel gasped and let herself vanish before she could get shot.

* * *

Arla watched in utter shock as the young woman in front of her vanished into thin air. It wasn't the first time this week something like that had happened; at least this time the woman didn't burn up, just vanished. Trying to catch her shaky breath, Arla stepped into the living room, looking around. She'd never expected to see Raquel and she felt completely terrible for scaring the poor girl. When that door had opened, though, she'd been expecting to see a monster.

The living room was empty and Arla headed straight for the spare bedroom. Entering the room, she found herself staring at the business end of a sawed off shotgun. Dean immediately lowered the weapon and she did the same with her rifle.

"Dean! Are you alright?" Arla asked, not caring if she sounded like the overprotective mother she really was. Her free hand came up to touch his cheek, then to settle against his shoulder, guiding him back to the bed. "Sit down."

"I'm fine." He shook her hand off, but didn't try to fight her about sitting down. Dean looked up at her and asked, "Where's Raquel?"

"Um…" Arla bit her lip. She smiled shakily and said, "I think I scared her. I met her at the door with the rifle and she disappeared."

Dean's eyes widened. "She didn't untie you?"

"No. I was on my way to find you."

"How… how did you…what happened to you?" Dean seemed to be having trouble even coming up with what he wanted to ask her.

Arla quickly summarized, "As soon as I went to grab a few things, that monster jumped me. Told me he had a partner who was dealing with you two and if I resisted, he'd shout and you'd be dead. So he used some duct tape and left me tied up in the bedroom. After awhile, I decided he'd probably been lying about a partner since I didn't hear anyone else in the house. Took me longer than I would have liked to get free because Tommy likes to keep his knives in his top drawer."

Dean was staring at her like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. She laughed and said, "It's not a big deal. I knew you'd probably be free before I even got to you." At that, Dean blushed, his face and ears turning bright red. Arla tilted her head, smiling as she asked, "What?"

It took him a moment to stammer out an embarrassed explanation of the fact he'd only gotten free because a ghost had handed him the pocket knife he'd dropped. Arla forced herself not to laugh because that would just be rude considering how embarrassed he already looked. But she was laughing on the inside.

There was nothing but respect in his eyes when Dean said, "You're my hero, Arla Pender."

She smiled, knowing he was being sincere. Her smile faded, though, as she focused again on their current situation. And the fact that someone was missing. Arla met Dean's gaze again and all levity had vanished.

"He took Sam?" Arla asked, with a sick feeling in her stomach. Dean nodded, and Arla asked, "Where? Why?"

"No clue." Dean said. "He wasn't exactly the chatty type."

"You think he's coming back?"

Dean shook his head, "This time, no. I think he got what he wanted."

"Why would he pretend to have a partner if…"

"So we'd all do what he wanted. If we hadn't thought you were in danger," Dean explained, "Sam would have taken his head off. But we didn't dare take any chances. Which is exactly what he wanted. And now Sam's out there thinking we're both still in danger."

Arla didn't need him to spell it out any more than that. She asked, "What do we do now?"

"We pack it up and go back to that motel."

Arla watched as Dean pulled his jacket on and zipped up the duffel bag of gear. She wasn't even going to bother trying to tell him to stay put because she wanted them both out of the house ASAP. And, as much as she wanted to drop him off somewhere safe, get ahold of Tommy and go find his brother, Arla wasn't even going to suggest it. Because there was no chance he was going to listen to her about how sick he still was; not while Sam was in danger. So she just asked, "You think they're at the motel?"

"Everything that's been happening started out at that motel. It's the best I've got right now. I have to believe that thing is related. It's too much of a stretch that Davis is just some random monster that decided your house looked like a good one to visit." Dean said, slinging the pack over his shoulder. He rolled his eyes, "Our luck is terrible, but I don't think it's _that_ bad."

"What about Raquel?" Arla asked, still feeling bad for scaring the woman. "How did she get here? And where did she go?"

Dean shook his head, "I don't know where she went, but hopefully she'll be back. I think she knows something about what's going on at that motel. We just have to hope she finds us because I'm not waiting here all day while Sam's out there alone."

Arla nodded. The tension was evident in his posture and tone. She said, "Ok. I'll grab my gear and Tommy's laptop. I've got extra ammo."

She watched a grin spread across Dean's face. As they headed down the hallway, he said, "Those are words I've always wanted to hear coming from a hot chick. Tommy's a lucky man."

Arla nodded, "Damn straight."

Dean broke out in a shocked laugh. Arla smiled as he leaned against the wall, shotgun held steady, keeping watch while waiting for her to pack up. She slid the laptop into its bag, then quickly retrieved her backpack of medical supplies from the living room. Grabbing her rifle and cellphone from the kitchen table, she looked up at Dean.

"Speaking of the devil, Tommy texted me a few times." She explained, flipping through her texts. Looking up with a frown, she said, "He went to see Michael Tappero."

"Who?"

"Local guy who's old as dirt."

"Why would he go see him?"

Arla said, "Probably figured Mr. Tappero knew something about what happened at that medicine show. He was a kid at the time."

"Did Tommy say if he learned anything?"

"No. Just said he was going to be heading home soon." Arla said, then quickly texted her husband. "I just told him to meet us at the motel."

Dean nodded, "Good idea. Um...speaking of that, you got another car? Cuz a monster stole mine."

Arla grinned, leading the way to the garage. Despite the circumstances, she was going to enjoy this. She said, "I'm afraid it isn't as new as the SUV, but it will get us where we need to go."

"Mini-van mom, eh?" Dean muttered with an annoyed expression on his face.

"I was never into those things, dear." Arla said, opening the door and stepping into the garage. She hit the door opener and the garage light came on. Walking across the empty space where the SUV usually sat, she reached for the car cover and pulled it off. She turned and said, "Tommy and I always preferred the classics."

Dean's jaw dropped as he stared at the cherry red 1969 Mustang Boss. Arla pulled the door open, tossing her backpack and the laptop case inside. She smiled at him and asked, "You coming or what?"

"Can I drive?" Dean asked, eyes wide. She could almost see his mouth watering.

"Not today." Arla shook her head. _That is not gonna happen._ "I'd prefer it if someone who hasn't been critically ill the past week be behind the wheel of my baby."

Dean nodded slowly, heading toward the passenger side door, eyes taking in every beautiful curve of the muscle car. Arla was about to get in the car when she spun around at the sound of a soft voice behind them. This time Raquel only flinched when faced with a rifle and shotgun aimed her way. Arla quickly lowered her rifle, seeing the fear mingled with determination in the woman's eyes.

"Raquel! I'm so sorry I startled you." Arla said, finding it surprisingly easy to converse with the woman despite the fact she was...well, dead.

Raquel smiled timidly and said, "It's ok."

"Do you know where he took Sam?" Dean asked, pleasantries set aside. He stayed where he was, on the far side of the Mustang, lowering his shotgun as he stared at Raquel.

"I don't know." She shook her head, "I don't understand any of this, but I want to help."

Dean nodded, "Get in the back. You talk while she drives."

Raquel immediately obeyed and Arla waited till she was settled in the backseat before getting behind the wheel. Pulling out of the garage, Arla listened as a kid holding a shotgun loaded with salt started interrogating the ghost in the backseat. The only consolation she took from the situation was that there was no possible way things could get even remotely weirder.

_No possible way_, Arla repeated to herself as a prayer.

* * *

**You all didn't really think this hunt was going to go smoothly, did you? :) Really? Any guesses as to what Alexander is? He is something we've seen on the show and I think i've kept everything pretty canon compliant with the lore on him. If you haven't figured it out yet, no worries. Sam knows and he's on top of it...oh wait... hmmm... **

**And...happy news I only have 3 days left of dreaded day shift! :D I return to my natural habitat on Thursday night. And to celebrate (and get my body clock reset for night shift...i'm buying a truck load of Dr. Pepper and planning to stay up all night Wednesday to write. :D **

**Thank you all for sticking with this story. Confession: This was really intended to be a short sweet little Christmas story. Really. But my ridiculous, overeager muse got ahold of it and all of a sudden it's March and things are so much more involved than I'd ever intended lol! So i'm really grateful that you're all staying with it despite the fact it's taking me forever to get it finished. I promise an end is in sight, though! But...i also promise plenty more misery and twists before we get there! **


	20. Chapter 20

**_So switching from straight day shift to nights has been MUCH harder than I anticipated since I'm such a night owl. But two months of waking up by 5 have effectively wrecked my rhythm. ARGH! I so meant to post this last week...endless apologies for the delay!_**

**_Hope you all enjoy! :) _**

* * *

_4:30 PM December 26  
M__otel Grounds_

Tommy finished his recon of the motel grounds and wasn't sure if he felt good that he hadn't seen anything freaky, or if he should be worrying about what freaky things he might not be _able_ to see. Glancing at his watch, he knew he was going to be late getting home. He'd texted Arla just as he'd left Michael's house and still hadn't heard anything back. Knowing she was probably busy taking care of the boys, he wasn't too concerned. He was certain she wouldn't be happy he had still decided to stop at the motel despite their discussion earlier.

He hadn't texted her about that, though. Probably should have just so she'd know where he was, though. Tommy looked at his phone and found he had no signal. No surprise. Sliding it back into his pocket, he decided it was for the best. It would only make her worry more if she knew he was poking around the haunted motel.

Of course, so far, it had proven to be a complete waste of time. The place looked the same as it had the other day and no monsters came out of the woodwork to drink his blood or rip off his head, or whatever monsters were into these days. Tommy ran a hand over the back of his neck as he stared at the dilapidated motel. Continuing to stand around the motel wasn't going to solve any of their problems so he decided it was time to take one last journey before heading home.

Michael had said the entire area around the motel was the original location of the town. Tommy didn't have a clue what he was looking for, but decided, as long as he was here, he might as well take a careful look around the rest of the grounds. He skirted the motel and headed into the brushy woods behind it, gun in hand. Of course, if what he'd read on some of the websites he'd been researching was true, bullets weren't going to bother a ghost.

Which was why he'd stopped at the store and picked up a few supplies. Including salt. Because that was an odd piece of advice he found on a random website. _And after all, everything you read on the internet is accurate_. _Yeah right._

Feeling utterly ridiculous for packing heat, and a _condiment_, Tommy shook his head. Skirting a an old wooden fence, he almost turned around. He still didn't know what he thought he was going to find anyway; it had been 79 years since something unspeakable had happened out here, scarring the land. But he had to believe he'd find something. Because the two women, Mallory and Raquel, had been very real, and very frightened.

Tommy stepped over a fallen branch, his footsteps loud in the silence. It was ridiculous, but he felt uncomfortably exposed. Shivering despite himself, Michael's creepy stories echoing in his brain, Tommy was glad he'd parked the SUV up the road and well hidden from the motel driveway. Not driving straight up to the motel had been a good way to keep from attracting unwanted attention. Right? _Sure, keep telling yourself that._

For the next fifteen minutes, he stumbled through the undergrowth and across the uneven ground. He'd never ventured into the wilderness up here and now, knowing what Michael had said, he wondered if part of the reason was the lingering fear of the original townspeople. No one had ever claimed the area was haunted, yet it wasn't an area very often visited; even by kids out searching for adventure. Tommy saw the wisdom of the original settlers; calling something haunted was a perfect way to get everyone interested. Better to silently withdraw from the area and forever keep quiet about what had happened. Most people would ignore the area if there was no reason for them to seek it out; no juicy tales of murder, mayhem and hauntings.

He was about to turn around and call it a day when he tripped over something heavy and hard. Crouching down, he ran his fingers over the dirt and realized there was a headstone under a pile of overgrowth. Looking up, his gaze circled to the right and he stared in shock.

At a black Impala.

Not entirely sure whether to be confused or concerned at the sight of the Winchester's car, Tommy decided cautious was his best plan. Nothing was moving in his line of sight, so he quietly walked over to the car, finding it empty. _Where were they?_ And, more importantly, why were they out here in the first place? There wasn't anything right around the car, so he glanced to the left and started noticing a few other headstones. Keeping his gun ready, Tommy followed an unkempt, narrow footpath that wound through the headstones.

A few minutes later, he stood in the middle of a dilapidated cemetery, staring at a rather fancy, considering its location in the middle of nowhere, crypt. Keeping an eye out for any sign of movement, Tommy stepped closer. An engraved sign hung above the door and, reading it, he snorted. _Founders of the town, eh_? Bit big in the britches for Nowheresville, Arizona. Tommy's gaze lowered and he realized the door was open.

_Huh_. He stared at it, wondering if that was the way it had always been. But when he glanced down, he saw that the dirt and muck coating the outside steps wasn't present just inside the door. So someone had recently opened it. For a long moment, Tommy was torn. Years ago, on the force, this would have been routine. _Well, maybe not the creepy, possibly haunted crypt part_. Standing in the middle of a cemetery at the door of an open crypt, knowing what he knew now, having seen what he'd seen, Tommy suddenly wasn't sure he should be anywhere near this place.

His heart rate seemed to double as he stood there, wavering. Finally, he made his decision. Pulling his flashlight out of his hastily packed backpack of gear, Tommy checked that it worked, then, fingers tightening around his weapon, slowly took a step closer. He braced himself just to the side of the door and took a deep breath, then turned and looked into the gloom.

The overwhelming smell of flesh rotting in an enclosed space assaulted him like a wave as he looked inside and he almost pulled away in disgust. But then he saw something he hadn't in a million years expected to see.

"Sam?" Tommy said, voice soft. He carefully swept the crypt for any signs of danger before taking a step closer. As far as he could tell, the room was deserted except for the one slumped figure in the gloom.

Steeling himself against the noxious odor, Tommy hurried inside and forced himself to ignore the mutilated remains all around him. By the time he made it to Sam's side, he could tell the kid was chained up to one of the vaults. Legs crumpled underneath him, Sam was leaning up against the vault, head lowered to rest against his wrists. The scene both alarmed and sickened Tommy. Any doubt that they were in the middle of something very dark vanished from his mind. A dozen questions sprang into his mind, but Tommy knew he wouldn't get any answers if he couldn't get Sam to wake up. And, considering the way he'd found him, he wasn't entirely sure he was even conscious.

"Sam." Tommy repeated, trying to keep his voice gentle, kneeling next to Sam and touching his shoulder. He set the flashlight on the edge of the vault as his other hand searched for, and found, a slightly rapid, but regular pulse. The kid's skin was cold and Tommy tried to remember how long it had been since he'd last spoken to Arla. _Hours_. What had happened since then, and how long had Sam been out here? Hoping to get that answer soon, Tommy shook Sam's shoulder and called his name again.

He was relieved to see Sam sluggishly moving at the sound of his voice this time. Sam tried to lift his head and Tommy gently guided him until he was resting back against the vault. Anger burned through Tommy, scorching away any lingering fear or worry about the not exactly normal type of evil they were facing. He shook his head; it _was_ the same kind of evil he'd always faced, even if it apparently wasn't coming from a human source. Taking in the swollen, split lip and the dark bruising high on Sam's left cheekbone, Tommy hoped he wasn't going to find any other injuries sustained since he'd left everyone safe and sound at home.

"Sam, can you open your eyes? I need you to try to focus." Tommy said, keeping his voice low. He was relieved when Sam immediately forced his eyes open. Took a little longer to get them halfway focused, and even then Tommy wasn't sure if the kid was seeing anything but blurs, but at least his eyes were open. "Hey, are you with me?"

"Tommy?" Sam whispered after a moment, grimacing as just saying that one word pulled at his split lip.

_Awake and he knows who I am. Good signs so far._ Tommy said, "Yep."

Sam swallowed hard and blinked a few times, then said, "Thought you were Dad at first. How did you…"

"Later. Stories later." Tommy interrupted quickly, "We don't have time otherwise I'd be asking you the same question. We need to focus on getting out of here first. How long do you think we have before whoever did this to you comes back?"

"No idea." Sam shrugged, squeezing his eyes closed, then blinking a few times and starting to look more alert.

Tommy said, "Looks like you took a bit of a beating. Any other injuries?"

"No."

"How're you feeling?"

Sam closed his eyes for another few seconds, then said, "Not as good as I did earlier today."

Nodding, Tommy asked, "Did you lose consciousness when you were punched?"

"Yeah. I think so." Sam lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "Everything's pretty fuzzy."

These kids seemed to have the worst luck, Tommy decided. Why would they ever stay in such a crazy line of work? The whole thing was really starting to bother him. But now was not the time for a lecture on how they should or shouldn't be making a living. So he just said, "Not surprising. Ok. Let's focus on getting you out of here and then we'll work on the fuzziness."

"Yeah, ok." Sam sighed, relaxing further against the vault. For a second, Tommy thought he'd lost him, but then realized Sam was just doing what he could to get comfortable while he waited. His bleary eyes were on Tommy as he asked, "What's the plan?"

Tommy said, "We're starting with the cuffs. Didn't really expect you to go along with my plan so easily."

"'s not much of a plan yet." Sam shot him a tired but skeptical look.

"That's only step 1." Tommy said, concentrating on the cuffs, "Just wait till you hear the rest of it; it's a bit _Die Hard, _a bit _Untouchables._"

Sam smiled and said, "Sounds like one of Dean's plans."

"Speaking of which, where is your brother?"

"At your house."

Ignoring his own statement from earlier, Tommy couldn't wait any longer to hear the story. Because the fact that Dean wasn't out here with his brother left him feeling more concerned, not less concerned. Still working on the cuff, he asked, "What happened?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably and said, "We got company. It has something to do with what's going on at the motel."

Tommy listened to Sam's story as the kid explained everything that had happened. Forcing himself to set aside the burning worry he felt rising in his gut for what had happened to Arla, he shook his head in disbelief even as he continued to work on the cuffs and asked, "Why did it bring you here?"

"He wasn't exactly willing to spell out his evil plans. I think it lives here."

"So, what? It just tied you up to save you for later? Midnight snack?" Tommy asked, attempting humor.

"Have you looked around?" Sam said, his own amusement as macabre as the situation. "I think that's exactly what it was planning."

Disturbed at the thought, Tommy said, "Give me a minute and we'll be out of here."

"No." Sam's reply was instant.

"What?" Tommy asked, completely stunned at the change in Sam's demeanor. He was straightening up against the vault, eyes on the door, pulling his wrists back as far as he could from Tommy's reach. Frowning, Tommy said, "Sam, we…"

"He...he's got a partner." Sam mumbled; trying to keep his eyes open and talk at the same time was proving to be a challenge. He let his eyes close as he whispered, "Called to check in with him. Kept calling all the way here. If he finds me gone...they're gonna hurt Arla and Dean."

Although Sam's words chilled him to the bone, Tommy kept working on the cuffs. He asked, "You said the guy was calling a partner? He must have alien technology for a cell phone because there is next to no signal out here. We only get spotty reception at the house and it's not much better in town. Everywhere in between, well you need a satellite phone if you want to order pizza."

The first cuff released with a soft click and Tommy was relieved to find that Sam's wrist wasn't torn up or even too reddened. So he hadn't been here for that long. But he'd been here _too_ long considering how sick he was. Hands moving to the other cuff, Tommy met Sam's eyes and realized the kid seemed to be trying to come to grips with what Tommy had said. Sam wasn't fighting him anymore, but the fear was still very real in his eyes.

Trying to get him to understand, Tommy said, "I'm serious. If whoever did this to you said they were calling a partner, they were lying. They were trying to keep you in line."

"If he didn't keep calling…" Sam still insisted, although there was some doubt in his eyes now.

Tommy shook his head, "He was lying. Doing it so you would keep thinking they were in danger so you'd do what he wanted. It was a lie, Sam."

That finally got through and Tommy watched some of the tension melt away. Sam shot him an embarrassed look and said softly, "Usually I'm a little smarter than this."

"Considering the circumstances, I think you're doing just fine, kiddo." Tommy said with a quick smile. He turned and glanced at the door. It was making him twitch to have his back to the door. Turning back, he was surprised when Sam held out his free hand.

"Give me your gun and I'll cover the door."

He didn't look like he could do more than take a long nap right now, but Tommy saw sharp focus in Sam's bloodshot eyes. Nodding, he handed him the gun, then focused on the second cuff. This one took him a little longer, but finally released. The chain rattled as it fell against the vault and for a second, Tommy held his breath, fearful the sound would have attracted some attention. Nothing came stealing out of the dark to kill them, which was encouraging. Even so, it was past time they were gone. But they weren't going anywhere yet.

Sizing up the situation, Tommy accepted the gun back from Sam's shaking hand. He quickly shrugged out of his coat and helped Sam into it. As he did, Tommy asked, "How long have you been here?"

Sam shrugged, wrapping his arms around himself and trying to control his shivering. He said, "I have no idea. What time is it?"

_Well that's not good_, Tommy thought. He said, "It's almost five." Pulling a water bottle out of his backpack, he said, "I want you to drink some of this and then we'll go."

Sam took the water without protest. He sipped carefully, then handed the bottle back. Looking up at Tommy, Sam admitted, "I'm not sure I can get up."

Tommy could tell it was the absolute truth. Sam didn't look up to anything other than a long stay in a hospital. He was alert and not slurring his words, but that was about it. Otherwise, he could have easily been confused with one of the corpses in the room. Hating to force more misery on him, Tommy knew there wasn't any choice. They needed to go while whatever adrenaline was keeping Sam coherent and functional continued to do its job. The minute that wore off, Tommy knew Sam was going to hit his wall and there would be no getting up again.

So he just said with more confidence than he felt, "Sure you can."

Without waiting a moment longer, Tommy pulled Sam's right arm over his shoulder and started the kid moving. It took a painful minute or two just to get him upright and half sitting on the edge of the vault. Tommy's grip tightened a little as he felt the kid start to droop. His head was down and Tommy hoped he wasn't planning on passing out.

"Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"How're you doing?"

"Not great." Sam whispered, but slowly straightened. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, taking some slow breaths, before looking at the door and saying, "Let's go."

Tommy nodded and prepared himself to take most of the kid's weight, but, unsteady and slow, Sam was mostly managing to stay on his own feet as they walked to the door. Keeping his left arm around Sam's waist, Tommy reached for his gun and had it in his hand by the time they were halfway to the door. He couldn't wait to get out of the foul smelling crypt. What kind of monster…

"Headshot."

"What?" Tommy almost froze, immediately looking for a threat. He glanced at Sam. "What are you talking about?"

Trying to speak and walk and stay on his feet was a delicate balance, but Sam was managing to continue to do all three. Barely. His voice was soft as he said, "The thing...I think 's a ghoul. Only way...smashing the thing's brains... only way to kill one."

"I'm not even going to ask how you know that." Tommy muttered, as they reached the door. He took a careful look outside and saw no movement or any threatening horror movie monsters poking their heads around the trees, fangs dripping blood. After concentrating on getting them down the front step, Tommy said, "We can't kill it."

That statement had Sam's head coming up so fast Tommy was certain the kid was going to stumble and fall, but he was a lot stronger than he'd given him credit for. Tommy's eyes were on the periphery as he lowered his voice and said, "We need to talk to it. There's more going on here than you know. If we want to end all of this, that thing needs to be trapped and interrogated."

"Ok, right." Sam mumbled, "But if we can't do that, we have to kill it."

"There isn't a we here, son." Tommy said, already concerned with how slow their progress was. They'd barely made it five feet from the door of the crypt. This was going to be one of the slowest rescues in history. He said, "_We_ ends as soon as I get you out of here. Then I'm coming back to find that thing…"

This time, Sam actually stopped moving. And it wasn't because he was dizzy. His expression was dead serious as he said, "Absolutely not."

Tommy almost laughed, but thought better of it. Deciding the easiest thing to do was put the confrontation off for a little longer, however long it took to get Sam out of danger, he changed the subject and asked, "Can we take your car?"

"He's got the keys." Sam said miserably. "Dean's gonna kill me."

_Somehow I doubt that,_ Tommy thought. He stared at the tree line, not at all liking the

situation. They were going to have to hike all the way back the way he'd come, past the motel, in order to get to the SUV. Looking at Sam, Tommy wasn't sure all the determination in the world was going to keep him going that long. Standing in the afternoon sunlight, Sam looked ten times worse than he had inside the crypt. But there was no other option. They had to get out of here and his car was the only ticket out.

"We're going to have to take a little walk, then." Tommy said, not ready to let on to the poor kid exactly how _long_ that little walk was going to be.

"Ok." Sam said. He pulled away and zipped up the coat as he took his own look around the area. He turned to Tommy and asked, "Which way?"

Tommy frowned, but Sam seemed halfway steady. At least for the moment. So Tommy let him be and pointed, "I'm parked just off the road near the motel."

"We're near the motel?" Sam asked in surprise as they started walking.

_Not as near as you're gonna wish we were..._Tommy thought regretfully.

* * *

_4:30 PM December 26  
__Highway_

He was starting to feel like his head was actually spinning. And Dean really wanted to avoid going all _Exorcist_ on the Mustang's upholstery. They'd only been driving for less than ten minutes but it already felt like it had been hours. His thoughts were torn in so many different directions that he was missing most of what Raquel was saying.

Every ten seconds, Dean looked at his watch, knowing that, with each passing second, terrible things could be happening to Sam. He silently cursed again, counting all the ways this entire job had become a nightmarish disaster. A simple case. A couple of poltergeists on steroids. How had they ended up here? He knew he was zoning out on Raquel's story, but he couldn't help it. A monster had kidnapped his brother..._and stole my car!_ They had no idea where they'd gone. He needed to figure out what 'Davis' was and what Gethen was and what the heck all of that had to do with…

"Hey!"

Dean flinched in surprise and a little bit of pain as Arla smacked him none too gently on the shoulder. He turned and looked at her in annoyance, "What?"

"You need to stop thinking and worrying and take a few deep breaths." Arla said, her tone completely serious. "I know you're trying to figure all of this out and you're worrying about Sam, but you have to stop freaking out."

"I'm not freaking…" Dean started to protest, breaking off and coughing.

He sucked in a few deep breaths, fighting the urge to put his hand against his chest to try to ease the pain. Even as he started to lift his hand, he immediately lowered it back to the seat. Arla accelerated a little faster than he even was comfortable with, blowing past a semi on the two lane highway. His fingers tightened around the edge of his seat, hoping she couldn't see.

Arla looked at him, eyebrows raised. She said, "We've been on the road for seven minutes. You've been looking at your watch so often I've been wondering if you have a twitch. And your breathing sounds absolutely terrible. You're not even listening to what Raquel is saying. I'm telling you right now that if you don't take a chill pill, I am driving straight to the hospital, and dropping you off with strict orders to cuff you to a bed until I get back."

Dean glared at her, even as he pressed himself back in the seat and she tore past a line of three cars, barely sliding back into the correct lane before they met up with a blue sedan head on. The only thing he was freaking out about was her _driving._ Not that she wasn't clearly talented...but still! Swallowing hard and ignoring how quickly she was creeping up on another vehicle, he said, "I can get out of cuffs and be…"

"Like you got out of the last set of cuffs?" Arla interrupted with a wicked smile.

"I got out of them." Dean muttered irritably, hating that she was totally winning. "Eventually."

Arla nodded, "Yes _eventually_. Thanks to Raquel. Now, how about you concentrate on just two things right now? Number one, what Raquel is telling us. Because I'm betting all of what she has to say is going to prove very important. And, number two, breathing. Because if you're not breathing, you're not going to be doing anything to help your brother. And you're just going to make me mad if I have to pull this car over and resuscitate you."

Hating that he sounded like a sullen two year old, Dean said sullenly, "Fine."

"Thank you." Arla adjusted the rear view mirror, nodding at Raquel with a sweet smile, "Go on, dear. Tell us what happened."

Raquel nervously cleared her throat and said, "Well, after Peter was...eaten and...I died, it was just a long time of being really confused. I mean...it took me weeks to actually believe I _was _dead. Gethen destroyed my world last Christmas."

"I wonder if there's any significance to the date?" Dean said, finding it helpful to concentrate on breathing and Raquel rather than Arla's skilled, but frightening, driving technique. "Like all of this is happening again around Christmas."

"I don't know." Raquel shrugged, "I just know I never saw him again after he killed Peter. It was months before I met Mallory and she was nice, but not very helpful. Maybe she didn't know anything more than I did. Maybe she was trying to protect me. She told me a little about Gethen, that he was old and evil. I never even got to know her very well. She said she had a job she was doing for Gethen."

"Did she say what?"

"Just that she was looking for something."

Dean listened silently as she continued with her story; trying to take it all in and make some sort of sense out of the convoluted mess. Shaking his head and catching a glimpse of the utter disbelief and confusion on Arla's face, he shifted in the seat so he could get a better glimpse of Raquel. She had fallen silent after a few minutes and he had a feeling she'd told them everything she knew. Which wasn't exactly much.

He said, "So what you're saying is that you've been trapped in limbo at the motel for the past year and apparently there are others that this Gethen has trapped in his service. He and Alexander had a falling out over some miracle cure and he wound up cursed by Alexander, then _killed_ Alexander, brought him back from the dead and they're basically still feuding to this day. Over a tooth." Dean rolled his eyes, "What are we up against? The tooth fairy?"

Raquel looked a little uncertain and Dean had a feeling he shouldn't have been quite so flippant. She said timidly, "I think Gethen is lying about...well, almost all of it, actually."

"Wonderful." Dean drew the word out, starting to face forward again. Thinking better of it as Arla took a sharp curve with so much less regard for safety than he would have expected from her, he returned his focus to Raquel. "So everything we think we know about what's going on may all be a lie. You said you were trapped out at the motel for a year. How'd you suddenly get a day pass to come find us?"

"I thought about something I overheard you and your brother saying about spirits being tied to certain places...certain objects." Raquel explained, eyes growing misty. She looked down and Dean saw she was holding a set of wedding rings in her hand. Brushing her fingers over the gold bands, she said, "I'd never been able to leave the property, but I knew I couldn't let Alexander hurt any of you, so I...was desperate and just thought that maybe...maybe it was the rings holding me to the motel. And I guess I was right."

"Smart girl." Arla said, glancing at Dean, "So what's the plan? We're almost there."

"Great. Back to _Hotel California._" Dean nodded, finally forcing himself to refocus on the surroundings.

At least traffic had died down so Arla was free to break the speed limit without risking running into any other vehicles. And she _was _breaking the speed limit, Dean noted with no small sense of appreciation. The woman didn't just _have _a classic muscle car, she knew how to drive it. And he appreciated her haste.

He thought for a moment, then said, "Right now our main goal is just to find Sam. We still don't know exactly what we're up against." Looking back at Raquel, he asked, "You don't know what Gethen and Alexander are, do you?"

She shook her head right away, "I have no idea. They're not ghosts. I don't think so, anyway."

"We figured that out about Alexander." Dean said, "Do you think they're the same thing?"

"I don't know. I mean, they both eat people," She shivered violently at the thought, "so that might mean they're the same thing right?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. We know Alexander at least is able to change his appearance. Which still doesn't narrow it down a lot since there are several things that can eat people and shapeshift."

Arla nodded, "So we focus on staying together, keeping safe, and finding Sam and then getting out of there."

"Exactly." Dean agreed, glancing at Raquel. "Do you have any ideas where Alexander might take Sam?"

Shrugging, Raquel said, "I'm not sure. I only just met the guy this week."

"Ok. But you know the grounds. The motel. Any other places on the property that they might go?"

Raquel nodded and shivered. She said, "Actually, there is one place...it's a place I never went. I'm a bit claustrophobic and not very adventurous so I avoided it."

From her description, Dean already thought there was a good chance wherever she'd been too scared to go was the very place they needed to go. He asked, "What is the place?"

"A mine."

"Oh yeah." Dean grinned, "That sounds like a good place for monsters to hide out and do terrible things."

Raquel's eyes widened as she said, "I can show you where it is...but please don't make me go inside."

"Of course not, sweetie." Arla said, slowing down for the turn into the motel driveway. "You've been extremely helpful and very brave. Just tell us how to get there and we'll find it."

"I will."

The rest of the drive up the road to the motel was silent. Once Arla pulled into the parking lot, Dean took a quick look around the area. The place seemed deserted and nothing looked any different than it had the entire week they'd been camped out. He couldn't deny that he wasn't at all happy to be back. Nothing good had happened to them at Motel Hell. Arla parked the car and Dean was double checking his weapon when his attention was drawn to the back seat by a piercing scream.

He and Arla turned as one and watched in shock as Raquel, just like Mallory, went up in flames.

* * *

"I need...a minute."

Tommy paused and looked over his shoulder. He'd been so focused on picking the easiest route through the underbrush that he hadn't even realized that Sam had been falling behind, his already slow steps nearly stopping altogether. Taking a couple quick steps back, Tommy studied the kid in concern. He was leaning heavily against a tree, head down and breathing ragged.

"Sam?"

He didn't look up, just whispered breathlessly, "Need to...sit down...for a minute."

"Sure." Tommy didn't really need to give permission because Sam was sitting down one way or another. His knees buckled before Tommy could even get to him. Catching his elbow, Tommy managed to slow his descent to the ground.

"Sorry." Sam said, his entire body trembling.

"Don't be." Tommy said, crouching down in front of him. "You should have said something sooner, Sam."

Sam didn't respond, just closed his eyes and nodded.

Tommy took a careful look around the area. So far they hadn't run into anything out of the ordinary. He didn't say it aloud, but he was starting to wonder when their luck was going to run out. At least Sam had been able to finally give him the whole story of what happened at the house and he'd caught Sam up on everything Michael had told him. The pieces were starting to come together. Which was the good news. The bad news was that he had serious doubts about Sam's ability to actually make it any farther. He'd looked bad before, but now his color had gone grey and there was nothing reassuring about the way he was sitting there, barely conscious.

"How much farther?"

Not really wanting to answer that particular question, because the honest answer was _too damn far_, Tommy said, "Don't worry about that right now. Just catch your breath."

Sam let his head rest against the tree trunk and repeated, "How much farther?"

"Too far." Tommy said honestly. He rummaged through his backpack for the bottle of water. Holding it out to Sam, he said, "Try to drink a little more, ok?"

"Thanks."

Tommy nodded, taking another quick look around the area while Sam finished off the bottle. He shifted the salt out of the way and put the empty bottle back in his backpack, wishing he'd brought more.

"What's that?" Sam asked, still leaning against the tree. "Salt?"

"Salt." Tommy acknowledged, feeling even more ridiculous. "I..uh..read about it online."

"Read about it. For cooking or for ghosts?" Sam smiled, looking just a little better as humor lit his tired eyes.

"For ghosts. I know it's stupid…"

"Actually. It's not." Sam said quietly, "Salt does repel ghosts, strange as it sounds."

Tommy shook his head, "Really? So it's not crazy?"

"You should see the trunk of the Impala. We always have salt. Fill our shotgun shells with it."

"Unbelievable. Anything else that's good against ghosts?"

"Iron." Sam said, then closed his eyes again.

Tommy didn't ask anything else. He just kept looking around the area, waiting for something, anything, to happen. It felt like he was in the middle of a horror movie; waiting for the slasher to come out and slit their throats. The anticipation and dread was getting to him. Especially since he didn't have a clue what they were really up against. Shaking his head, Tommy refocused on Sam. He wasn't shivering anymore, bundled up in Tommy's coat, but the flush of fever was again spreading over his pale face. His breathing had returned to something resembling normal, although it still sounded more laboured than yesterday. Hating to do it, Tommy knew he was going to have to get him moving again.

He asked, "Sam, how you doing?"

"We can go." Sam said, picking up on Tommy's thoughts. He rubbed a hand over his face and nodded, "I'm good."

Tommy knew good was a very generous term for what Sam was at the moment, but he wasn't going to argue. Because it really didn't matter how good, or _not_ good, Sam was, they had to get going. He said, "Ok, let's get you up."

It took more effort to get Sam up this time than it had earlier in the crypt. Tommy slung his arm over his shoulder again and Sam leaned against him heavily. He wasn't going to be pulling away this time. It was a little awkward, trying to hold him up while also keeping his gun ready, but Tommy wasn't taking any chances. The gun was staying in his hand.

"Alright." Tommy encouraged, "Here we go. Just let me know if you need to take a break, ok?"

Sam nodded, but didn't speak. Listening to him struggling to breathe, Tommy wasn't surprised. As they walked, Tommy tried to cut the trip as short as possible. There weren't exactly any shortcuts, but if he bypassed the motel and cut through the woods to get back to the car, he'd actually save them a few steps. It would have to do. The only issue with his plan, of course, was that he wasn't as familiar with the route. He'd walked from the car up the road to the motel so he didn't know what was in the woods between here and there. But he was willing to chance it. Because he was already taking most of Sam's weight and he wasn't sure they were even halfway there yet. After a few more silent minutes, Sam spoke up, voice hoarse.

"Did you hear that?"

Tommy frowned, "Hear what?"

Sam's voice was barely a whisper, "I don't know."

Shadows had begun to gather and Tommy felt a shiver creep up his spine. He paused for a moment, listening, eyes searching for signs of danger. But he didn't see, or hear, anything. Which didn't mean that something wasn't out there. Tommy trusted Sam's instincts enough to know that if he said he'd heard something, he'd heard something.

"Did you hear it again?" Tommy whispered back.

"No."

"Let's move."

They weren't exactly breaking any records, but they were moving a bit faster than they had been earlier. Tommy wondered later if that was part of the reason he didn't hear the muted groaning sound the second time. Didn't see the hundred year old warning sign, faded and rotted, hanging on the tree to the right.

Didn't feel the dirt shift under their feet until it was too late.

* * *

**uh oh.**


	21. Chapter 21

**_Hi! I haven't had the chance to reply to all your lovely reviews for the last chapter...I promise I will though! Just wanted to concentrate on getting this finished because I figured you all would much rather have the next chapter even more than having a reply to your review. :) I truly appreciated each and every review and they were such an encouragement to get this chapter up as quick as possible. I'm working this weekend, so I didn't want to let it wait because I knew I would be worthless after working. :) So here you go...the other side of the cliffie! Enjoy!_**

* * *

_5:00 PM, December 26th  
__Motel parking lot_

If she felt the reeling shock of seeing Raquel go up in flames, Arla knew Dean was feeling it to the very core of his soul. She turned her attention from the now empty back seat to the young man sitting next to her. She didn't have to wonder what he was thinking; she could read it on his face. Raquel had been his hope for finding Sam and she hadn't had time to tell them where the mine was before she'd been...killed? Arla wasn't quite sure what the proper term was for what happened to a ghost.

Her hands were shaking and she squeezed the steering wheel to limit the tremors as she studied Dean. His eyes were dark and unreadable as he stared at the place Raquel had been sitting only seconds ago. Arla realized right then that he was a different man. The nervous, almost uncontrolled, tension from the trip to the motel was gone. His entire demeanor had changed and it honestly gave her the chills.

Turning forward, Dean checked the shotgun over and said, "I want you to get to the road and call your husband as soon as you have a signal and then the two of you need to get out of town."

"What?" Arla asked, incredulous. She had a feeling she knew what he was thinking, and _honey, that is so not gonna happen_.

"You heard me." He replied, looking up at her. "This is too dangerous and I don't want either of you hurt."

Arla could see the concern in his eyes, even if his tone was harsh and brooked no arguments. She'd seen hints of the hard core warrior that he was, but this was the first time she was _really_ seeing it in action. Tommy could be an immovable object sometimes, and it looked like Dean Winchester could be too. But what he still didn't seem to accept was that Arla Pender could be an irresistible force. Something was about to give. And it wasn't going to be her.

She relaxed her hands and asked, "What are you going to do on your own?"

"Find my brother, gank the monster..."

"How are you going to find Sam? Raquel didn't have time to tell us where the mine was." Arla knew that was going to sting, but she needed to make a point. Just as she'd expected, there was a noticeable flicker of panic and pain before Dean schooled his expression back to the stoic mask from before.

"I'll find him." Dean said, hand on the door handle. "Just get out of here."

Arla grabbed his wrist and was relieved when he didn't immediately pull away. He narrowed his eyes and glared at her, readying his argument. Patting his hand, she reached past him to the glove compartment. Instead of arguing, he just looked at her curiously and she waved the map in his face.

"How about we do some old fashioned research?" She asked, opening the map. "You boys and Tommy might be all about the internet, but I'm old school and this is how we're gonna find Sam."

"This is not how _we're_ gonna do anything…" Dean started, but Arla cut him off before he could finish his protest.

She pointed at the map, "Here's the motel. There's an old dirt road that leads off from the other highway and goes up to the old town cemetery." Studying the map, she traced a line to the west. "I know the main entrance to the old mine, boarded up for years, was well north of here. But the mine shafts are throughout this entire area. West of the cemetery, about here, is where I've heard there's another outlet."

Dean nodded, "Great. Thank you. Now get out of here."

"My map, my expedition." Arla said, already climbing out of the car. Dean had no choice but to get out and continue his argument. But she just ignored him, pulling her backpack on and starting to cross the parking lot, rifle in her hands.

"Arla, you aren't…"

"What's that, dear?" She called over her shoulder. "Can't quite hear you. You coming or what?"

Arla didn't pause, but slowed her footsteps. She could already hear Dean wheezing as he tried to catch up with her. It was pathetic but endearing how he thought he was up for this walk in the park. Staring at the deserted motel, she felt the chills creep up her spine. Her stomach was rolling, boiling, ready to spill over at any second. Her palms were sweaty and if anyone had asked her she would have immediately admitted she was scared out of her mind. But he wasn't asking, even if he probably already knew it. He wasn't asking because he knew he wasn't getting rid of her. And that he needed her help.

Once he caught up to her, Arla kept her pace slow enough to keep him with her, but fast enough to keep them moving with some degree of urgency. She studied Dean for a second and had to ignore on her protective instincts and medical training. There was nothing right about this situation. The last thing he needed was to be tromping through the woods in the too cool evening air. And she didn't even want to think about what might be happening to Sam. But Sam _was_ out here somewhere and there was no way that Dean wasn't going to do everything he possibly could to find his little brother. Arla couldn't fault him for his devotion.

"So what's your plan, fearless leader?" Dean's voice was interspersed with breathless gasps, but his sarcastic tone came through loud and clear.

"My plan is to help you find your brother and provide the medical attention you both are going to need by the end of this ill-fated adventure." Arla replied, knowing her own tone was a bit snippy. She took a deep breath and slowed her snails pace to a near stop. Because Dean was already falling behind and they were only just reaching the far edge of the parking lot. She turned and said, "Dean, I know you're worried. So am I. But you need to be realistic about how this is going to go down. You are not up to this. I don't even know we're up against. So you're going to be the brains of this organization..."

"Sounds...'bout right…" Dean wheezed, putting a hand out against a tree and completely stopping forward movement for a few seconds.

"Glad we agree. So the brains needs to just give the brawn a few pointers on what I should be expecting."

This time Dean gave her an annoyed look, "Wait. You're saying... _you're_ the brawn? I don't…. think so…"

"Do we need to arm wrestle for me to prove to you that right now an old woman could beat you into submission? And _will_ if you don't do exactly what I say." Arla raised an eyebrow and gave his cheek an altogether unnecessary, but extremely satisfying pat. She smiled as his completely stunned expression only grew more stunned. "It's already getting dark. What do I need to know?"

She was pretty sure he was swearing, but it was hard to know for sure given how crappy his lungs sounded. Rummaging through her pack, she held out an albuterol inhaler and gave him a thirty-second education on using one. Once he'd complied, she said, "Keep that in your pocket. And use it when you need it. Clear?"

Dean nodded and started walking again, all the bluster, and some of the wheezing, gone now. He looked like a whipped puppy and she felt a little bad. He knew his limitations even if he didn't want to admit them. And how could she blame him, when he was worrying about what a monster might be doing to his brother? Walking side by side with him, her own eyes just as watchful on the surrounding area as his were, Arla asked, "Dean? What do I need to know about monsters?"

"They will lie to you, manipulate you, and kill you without hesitation." He said, finally able to get an entire sentence out in one breath. He looked at her briefly and added, "I don't know what's out here. But whatever it is, it wants to kill us. Know that."

"Ok." _So far so terrifying_.

"We don't know what can kill that thing, but clearly a few bullets don't do much. Try a headshot if you have the chance." Dean continued, picking his way around a pile of rocks. "And if we run into the other thing...Gethen, I guess try the same thing."

Arla nodded, taking a quick glance at the map. She wasn't exactly Daniel Boone, and following a map through the woods was very different from following a map in a city, but she had a pretty good sense of direction. She said, "If we keep heading the way we're going, we'll find the cemetery and can cut west from there. If we try to try to go west through the woods right now, I'm not sure we'll be able to find it."

"Lead on, MacDuff." Dean said, a brief smile lighting his tired face.

Arla smiled and chose not to point out the misquote from Macbeth.

* * *

Sam realized he'd completely forgotten to breathe. Sucking in a shaky breath, he stared ahead at the dark hole in the ground. They'd almost wound up falling into that pit when the ground had suddenly given way under their feet. It had actually been his rather severe lack of balance that had saved them. If he hadn't overbalanced backwards and dragged Tommy down with him, they'd have ended up in that pit. Who would ever have expected that falling on your butt could actually save your life?

"You alright?" Tommy asked after the initial shock had passed. He was kneeling, one hand on Sam's shoulder, his eyes sizing Sam up, before taking another quick look around the area for signs of danger.

"Yeah." Sam said, not exactly lying. In the grand scheme of things, he wasn't dead so however terrible he felt was still an improvement over that.

Tommy didn't look convinced, but just nodded and said, "You ok to stay there a minute?"

Sam gave him a thumbs up because he really didn't know if he was up to the effort of even repeating the word _yeah_. Tommy's hand released his shoulder as he moved away and Sam didn't fight gravity as it easily guided him to the ground. He sent Tommy another thumbs up when he heard his worried voice asking if he were alright yet again. Flat on the ground, he already felt better. He was too exhausted to move and too dizzy to care. But at least if he was lying down, he wasn't falling down.

He let his eyes close for a few seconds, hoping to ease the pounding in his skull.

"Sam? Hey, Sam!" Tommy's voice was urgent and loud.

Blinking in the darkening evening light, Sam finally focused on Tommy. Had two seconds been too much to ask for a little peace and quiet? He saw a flash of relief in Tommy's eyes and asked, "What's wrong?"

Tommy took a deep breath and ran his hand over his face then said, "I was getting worried about you."

"Just needed to close my eyes for a minute…" Sam started, but was interrupted.

"Sam, it was almost _ten_ minutes." Tommy said.

Frowning, Sam wanted to shake his head, thought better of it and just said, "Didn't seem that long."

"I know. Look, I think I found something down there."

"What? Where?" Sam asked, trying futilely to push himself upright.

Tommy helped him sit up and didn't let go as he explained, "It looks like this area is over some of the old mine tunnels. The ground is weak. I should have remembered, should have seen the sign. Anyway, I looked down in the hole and I can see something that looks like...well, like someone's living down there."

Sounded like it was something they should take a look at, Sam thought. At least, if it had been him and Dean, it was something they should take a look at. But Tommy wasn't Dean and there was no way Sam was letting a civilian go anywhere near a monster's lair. And he certainly wasn't up to climbing down into a mine shaft and then trying to get back out again. Besides that, at the moment he couldn't care less about what the heck was happening out here. He was more worried about getting back to the Pender's house and seeing his brother with his own eyes. Because he wasn't sure Tommy was right about Alexander having played him with the phone calls.

Apparently Tommy was already feeling the same way because before Sam could speak up, Tommy said, "We aren't going near it right now. You're fading on me, kid, and we've still got a ways to go."

Sam didn't argue and just allowed Tommy drag him to his feet again. It felt like all the blood drained out of his head and he groaned as Tommy pulled his arm over his shoulder and tightened his grip. He couldn't even force his eyes open this time. Hating himself for being so completely useless, Sam had no choice but to trust that Tommy was going to get them out of the woods.

Other than the sound of their footsteps, and an occasional encouraging word from Tommy, the walk was silent. As difficult as it was to catch his fleeting thoughts, Sam tried to piece everything together. He still felt fairly confident that Alexander was a ghoul. What he wasn't sure about was just about everything else. Whatever they'd stumbled into, it was a lot more complex than their last hunt. A couple angry business partners duking it out in the afterlife was pretty simple and surprisingly typical. This, whatever _this_ was, didn't seem so simple.

He tripped over a root and suddenly thought about something Tommy had said earlier. Fighting past the nausea and headache, Sam asked, "What did Michael keep?"

"What?" Tommy's voice was soft, curious. "What do you mean, what did he keep?"

"From the field." Sam said, wishing Tommy would catch on a bit quicker. Every word he spoke only added another thud to the throbbing beat in his head. "You said everyone took stuff from the destroyed site of the travelling show."

"Right. The kids took toys and everyone else just grabbed whatever they saw." Tommy said. He shifted and tightened his hold as they started up a gentle incline. He asked, "Why do you think Michael kept anything?"

Sam didn't reply till the ground evened out just a bit and he caught his breath. He said, "Michael was there that day. And he was a kid. He kept something."

Tommy said, "You're probably right. He didn't say anything though. You think it's important?"

"Yes." Sam said immediately. He wasn't sure _why_ it was important, wasn't even sure why he _thought_ it was important. All he knew was that he really wanted to know what Michael had found in that bloody field that day.

"I can give him a call when we get on the road and find a signal."

Sam agreed with that idea, but didn't have the strength to vote on the subject. He still had his eyes closed and could feel himself slipping, both physically and mentally. His head hurt so much that all he wanted to do was curl up on the cold hard ground and let the darkness he was barely keeping at bay take over for awhile. As it was, the darkness already seemed to be winning and he was having trouble remembering why he was even bothering to fight it.

"Sam?"

Being pulled back from the brink yet again left him feeling a bit annoyed, and more than a little confused. Forcing his eyes open this time, Sam realized he wasn't moving. Wasn't even standing. Frowning, Sam tried to focus and slowly recognized that he was sitting in a vehicle. Tommy was standing at his side and didn't look the slightest bit reassured by his silent, confused stare.

"We're here?" Sam asked, not sure he'd actually spoke aloud.

"Just got here." Tommy nodded, not moving yet. He said, "You zoned out on me a few minutes ago. I'm just glad you kept walking."

"Sorry."

"It's ok. Sit tight, ok?" Tommy asked, then closed the door and hurried around to the drivers side.

Sam rested his head against the back of the seat, every single ache and pain making itself known as he tried to relax. Tommy started the engine and turned up the heat. It was only when the heat turned on that Sam realized exactly how cold he was. He remembered Tommy had given him his coat and he glanced at the older man as he backed the SUV onto the road.

"Aren't you freezing?" Sam asked, shivering and wishing the heat went up even higher.

"You're the only one freezing. I'm fine." Tommy spared him a quick glance even as he accelerated down the highway and fumbled with his phone. "I think your fever's going up again and being out in the cold is not helping you. Get you home, get Arla to take care of you and we'll call it a night."

Sam didn't think it was going to be that simple, but he didn't say anything. He was torn between wanting to sit forward, closer to the precious heat, or curl up against the door and focus on not throwing up. Curling up seemed like the best option when they hit a bump in the road and a thousand spears jabbed behind his eyes and his stomach almost turned itself inside out. So he pressed his hands against his head and prayed he could hold on until they stopped.

"No answer at the house." Tommy's voice broke into his prayers. "I'm going to try Michael and then the house again."

He got through to the other man and Sam tried to listen, but somehow everything Tommy was saying sounded like he was talking underwater and Sam gave up. He had other things to worry about, anyway. Like the fact that Tommy hadn't gotten ahold of Arla at the house. Which meant maybe they'd been wrong about the fake phone calls.

"Sam?" Tommy's voice finally sounded like he was speaking English again. "Still with me?"

"Still here." Sam mumbled, not giving up his totally uncomfortable position against the door.

Tommy said, "Good. Hang in there. I got through to Michael and he said…" His voice broke off and Sam forced himself to open his eyes. Tommy was staring at his phone and his face had gone almost sheet white. He lowered the phone and glanced at Sam. He said, "Arla texted me awhile ago. It just came through. The text said to meet them at the motel."

"Go back. Right now. Turn around." Sam said, not exactly sitting straight up, but giving it his best shot.

Slowing the SUV, Tommy turned around and said, "Why would they go…"

"Looking for me." Sam said, worry ratcheting up about twenty notches. The only good thing about this was that if they had gone to the motel it meant they'd gotten themselves free and were ok. Other than that, there was nothing good about the situation. As Tommy sped back toward the motel, Sam's thoughts returned to what they'd just started talking about. Knowing it could yet prove important, he asked, "What did Michael say? He took something, didn't he?"

"Michael said he did find something in the field that day." Tommy glanced at him, his expression of worry giving way to one of incredulity.

"What?"

"A tooth."

* * *

If he'd learned one thing over the years, it was that no matter how well you planned, how well you researched or how well-trained you were, when it all hit the fan, it was going to do so with fabulous style. And right now, tumbling to the cold ground, jarring his already rattled brains and not helping his aching chest, Dean heard Arla shouting his name and knew that fabulous things were happening. They'd only made it about halfway to the cemetery when he'd been hit from the side by someone, something. It had happened so fast that, even though he was tumbling in the dirt with his attacker, he still didn't know who, or what, it was.

His shotgun had flown out of his hands when he'd hit the ground and he was taking the hits so quickly that Dean had just been trying to survive the initial attack, not even trying to get the upper hand yet. He got his arm up in time to block yet another punch and barely could make out the face of his attacker. It wasn't the thing that had attacked at the Pender's house. Which, he figured meant it must be that thing's _boss_. Probably the mysterious Gethen.

Arla screamed something and the next second, the attack stopped as she clipped his attacker with the butt of her rifle. Dean figured she didn't dare shoot the thing considering how closely entwined they were at the moment. He was grateful for her caution but hoped she'd shoot the thing now that it was lying next to him on the ground. But she didn't and he realized why when he finally got his wits about him and realized their luck was running as per the norm.

Another monster stood about fifteen feet away, a shotgun in its hands, aiming straight at Arla. She didn't hesitate, but immediately fired at the other thing. Dean didn't wait to see what had happened because he was preoccupied with trying to avoid getting a knife through his right eye. Throwing his weight to the left, he brought his knee up and managed to hit his attacker in a sensitive area. Whatever was attacking him was at least vulnerable to a certain extent and Dean almost smiled at the muffled grunt.

He wrenched the blade away, getting his first good look at his attacker. It wasn't the disfigured face of some nightmarish monster. It was the face of a surprisingly good looking man. Probably mid-forties, the guy had a disturbingly gleeful expression on his face and was fighting back with everything he had. Already, about a minute into the fight, Dean felt himself losing strength that he hadn't had in the first place. Even though he had the knife now, he didn't feel like he had the advantage. Something told him the guy was toying with him.

"Tired yet?" The guy asked, seeming to pick up on Dean's thoughts.

"Nah, could do this all night." Dean mouthed off, even though he was already seeing black spots dancing in his vision and starting to feel lightheaded.

The guy grinned wider and Dean realized he was missing one of his front teeth. It was the only mar on the otherwise perfect face. He remembered what Raquel had said about Gethen wanting to find his tooth. _So this is Gethen_, Dean mused as he felt himself being thrown to the ground again. He still had the knife, but Gethen was pinning his wrists to the ground, so it wasn't likely that he'd get to use it. Dean felt his breath hitch and knew he was about to bust out coughing.

At that exact moment, he heard another gunshot and Gethen tumbled off of him, hitting the ground heavily. Blood poured from the side of his head, but he was still grinning and there was life in his eyes. Dean scrambled backwards, fumbling for his shotgun. Gethen wasn't moving, but his eyes were following Dean's every move which only made it a thousand times creepier. Looking around frantically, he finally was able to sit up and grab his gun, catching sight of Arla.

"The other one went that way!" She called out, her face ghostly white.

Dean nodded, waving a hand. He couldn't speak because the coughing spell finally was hitting him like a brick wall. Arla didn't move until he held up the shotgun and pointed it at Gethen's face. He knew that from where she stood, Arla couldn't see that Gethen's eyes were still freakishly open and aware even if his body wasn't moving. Dean didn't really want her out there on her own, but it wasn't like they had a lot of options at the moment.

Arla hesitated for a split second, then said, "I won't go far."

He watched her disappear into the growing shadows, checked that Gethen was still not moving, then bent over at the waist, hacking so hard he finally threw up. Groaning, his left hand pressed against his chest, Dean spat on the ground a few more times, eyes warily watching Gethen. He wanted to just sit there and try to recover, but he could already see Gethen beginning to move so Dean forced himself to his feet and aimed the shotgun down at Gethen's head.

Voice harsh from the coughing, he asked, "Where's my brother, you son of a…"

"Brother?" Gethen interrupted. He was lying still in the dirt, blood running down his face. Dean had no idea what he was if he was still able to talk with a bullet through his brain. That usually put down most things they ran into.

"Your evil little henchman paid us a visit and took my brother. Where is he?" Dean repeated, shoving the shotgun hard against Gethen's skull. It was getting more difficult to stay focused what with the painful tightness in his chest and the way his vision was swimming.

Gethen shrugged and said, "I have no idea. I sent Alexander to find you but I haven't seen him since."

There was no way to know if Gethen was lying and Dean felt his frustration double. It left him worried knowing that Alexander was unaccounted for even by his boss. Dean forced himself to ask, "What do you want from us?"

"I want you to undo a curse."

"What makes you think…"

"You're a hunter." Gethen said, through gritted teeth. He twisted his head a little so he could look up at Dean as he continued, "I've run into your kind through the years. Killed a few of you along the way in fact. So I know what you are capable of, the things you've seen, the things you've done. I don't know anyone more qualified to undo a curse than a hunter."

"I'm not doing anything until I know my brother's alright."

"Well I can't help you with that given that I haven't seen Alexander."

Dean pressed the shotgun harder and said, "But you know where Alexander might be, right? He's your right hand man. Where would he go? You might as well think about it and pick the right answer because I promise you I _will_ find a way to end you if you don't help me find Sam."

Gethen shrugged, "Very well."

"And your buddy leaves the lady alone." Dean added, feeling his chest tighten as he braced a hand on his knee and wavered. This had to be the worst shape he'd ever been in while staring down an enemy. It was annoying to no end.

"Fine." Gethen said something in a foreign language then asked, "Shall we go?"

Dean glared at him, "What did you just say?"

"I undid the illusion your dear friend has been frantically chasing through the woods." Gethen grinned. "Magician extraordinaire at your service."

"You think that impresses me? Right now all I want to do is punch your face." Dean said, fighting the urge to pull the trigger just to see what would happen. "Or shoot you in the head again."

Gethen shrugged, "But you won't. Because you won't risk your brother's life. Am I correct?"

"You don't shut up and get to the freakin' point, I might just take the chance."

"Will you allow me get off the ground?" Gethen muttered.

Dean stepped back slightly and said, "Get up."

Gethen rose and dramatically dusted himself off, irritation written all over his face. He waved a hand to the right and asked, "Shall we?"

"We're waiting." Dean said, glancing in the direction Arla had gone.

"For what?"

"For my friend to get back." Dean turned back to Gethen. "I'm not leaving her out here by herself."

"Oh, I rather think you are." Gethen said coldly. He turned and Dean barely had time to register the movement before a fist connected with his jaw and everything went black.

* * *

"Sam?" Tommy asked. _For the fifth time_. This time Sam actually seemed to focus on him instead of just vacantly staring through him. Knowing Sam hadn't heard anything he'd just said, Tommy repeated all of it, "I'm going to look for them. I need you to stay here in the car and wait, ok?"

"Yeah." Sam said after a few seconds.

"Repeat back to me what I just said." Tommy said, knowing that dealing with someone with a bad concussion was a bit like talking to a kid who wasn't paying any attention. He figured it didn't matter how many times he told Sam, or even had him repeat it to him, there was a good chance the kid wasn't going to remember the conversation in another five minutes.

Sam swallowed hard and frowned, staring at Tommy and obviously trying his hardest to remember what he'd just been told. After a full sixty seconds, he said, "Stay here. You're looking for them?"

"Right." Tommy said. He was as concerned by the fact that Sam wasn't arguing with him about the plan as he was about how sick he looked. Pulling out his pocket notebook, Tommy scribbled everything down and handed Sam the note. Closing his fingers around it, Tommy said, "Hold on to this, ok? Read it if you forget, but don't lose this note, Sam."

"Sure." Sam said, sincerely if confusedly.

Tommy chewed his lip and studied him, watching his eyes close as he relaxed against the seat. _Between a rock and a hard place_. He didn't want to leave Sam, concussed, confused, and sick, sitting in the car alone, but what choice did he have? Because there was no way he was dragging Sam, concussed, confused, and sick, along with him any longer. It had taken all of their considerable willpower just to get him to the car in the first place. Taking a deep breath, Tommy prayed he was making the right choice.

He had just opened the door when he felt a hand on his wrist. Turning in surprise, Tommy met Sam's gaze and asked softly, "Sam?"

"Be careful." Sam whispered.

"I will. Stay put."

"I will."

Tommy nodded and felt Sam's eyes on him as he got out of the SUV and carefully closed the door behind him. He cradled his gun in his hands and walked past the Mustang with a growing sense of foreboding. The thought of Arla being out here with crazed, not human, killers on the loose terrified him more than anything in his entire life had. Nothing he'd ever faced on the force had prepared him for this.

He took a quick look back at the SUV and saw that Sam's eyes were closed again. Leaving him there, completely alone and without any protection almost stopped Tommy in his tracks, but he had to keep going. Because Arla was out here with Dean and big brother wasn't in any better shape than his kid brother was which meant they were all out here with monsters while the two people who had experience dealing with monsters were basically down for the count. Picking up his pace, Tommy sprinted through the brush, following the trail of footprints as far as he could until the sandy ground gave way to rock and he lost the trail.

Pausing, he searched for any sign of which way they'd gone. It took a frustrating five minutes before he saw a couple more footprints in the soft dirt heading north. Looking up, he realized they must have been heading toward the cemetery. Starting off at a run again, Tommy jumped over a fallen tree and then froze at the sound of a gunshot. Dropping to a crouch and leaning against a rock, he held his breath and tried to listen over the sound of his pounding heart.

The shot had come from a few yards to his right and it had sounded familiar. Like his own rifle. Heart still pounding, Tommy crept forward and tried to see through the falling darkness, searching for any sign of what was going on out there. He waited a few seconds behind a tree, then cautiously rose and jogged forward. There were no more shots, but he could hear someone moving through the brush and a hushed mutter that sounded an awful lot like his wife.

Taking a chance, Tommy ducked down to keep his head safe and called out softly, "Arla?"

"Tommy?" The reply was instant; as soft and hesitant as his voice had been.

"Yeah, honey. Don't shoot me." He rose and walked forward, still not seeing her yet. "Where are you?"

And then he saw her. Walking out of the shadows toward him, rifle in her hands. She looked distraught and practically ran into his arms. Keeping his eyes on the surrounding area, and his hand on his gun, he wrapped his left arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. For a moment they didn't speak, just took time to breathe and rejoice in the fact they were both alive. But there was too much at stake to take too long reassuring themselves.

"You got my text." Arla said, pulling away from him and looking up with teary eyes. "I'm so glad to see you. Everything happened so quick and Sam's out here somewhere and…"

"He's in the car." Tommy interrupted as the words began pouring from her. He touched her cheek and smiled, "I know it's all crazy, we'll sort it out. But I found him and I just left him in the SUV in the parking lot and came looking for you and Dean."

Arla stared at him in confusion, but didn't ask for clarification yet. She just said, "Dean and I got separated. He was attacked by Gethen, I think. And there was something else that I went after, but I swear it wasn't really there."

"Like a ghost?"

"Or an illusion."

Tommy nodded thinking back to everything Michael had told him, "These guys were magicians. Maybe Gethen was doing it."

"Maybe. At any rate, I went off after it like an idiot and left Dean." Her eyes were frightened and filled with regret. "I'd shot Gethen through the head. He was down, not moving and I thought he was dead. Dean was in bad shape, but had his shotgun on Gethen so I went after the other thing and when I circled back…"

"They were gone." Tommy finished, not liking where this was going. "Alright. I'll go look for them, you need to go take care of Sam."

Arla's hand tightened on his arm and he could see she desperately wanted to protest his suggestion. The turmoil played out clearly in her eyes, but she only nodded. She said, "Tommy, this is so much bigger than what we ever expected. Please, please be careful."

"I promise." He kissed her cheek again and squeezed her hand. "Were you heading to the cemetery?"

"Yes, then to the old mine. There was an entry west of the cemetery and Raquel thought that maybe that was where Sam had been taken. She thought it was where the monster was hiding." Arla said quickly, then added, "Tommy, Raquel burned up like Mallory."

He gritted his teeth at her announcement. A renewed desire to destroy whatever evil thing was killing innocent people rushed over him. He said, "We're going to deal with this. One way or another, they're done killing. Go get Sam out of here, Arla. I can concentrate better if I know you two are safe."

She wanted to argue with him, he could see it in her posture, but he knew that the minute she saw Sam, her focus was going to change and all she was going to want to do was get him far away from here. Arla nodded slowly and gave him a hug, whispering once more for him to be careful. He let go of her hand and it nearly killed him to watch her go. Their lives hadn't exactly been sheltered from the dangers of the world around them, but he'd never been so afraid for her safety as he was in that moment.

A knot in his stomach bigger than his fist, Tommy turned around and walked into the unknown.

* * *

**So...did that all go down like you were expecting? :) Hope you enjoyed! Have a spectaculacular weekend ;)**


	22. Chapter 22

**Hello! A thousand, thousand apologies! Long story made super short, been picking up tons of extra hours at work which has left me exhausted and then I've had some family drama occurring including every member of my family sick with the flu (thankfully not me!), and my bro has something more serious going on healthwise on top of it. Needless to say, I've been working, sleeping or basically crying for a few weeks now which has made it terribly difficult to concentrate on writing. :) BUT I'm BACK. It has torn me up to shreds not being able to get this posted until now and I hope you all can forgive the horrible delay. Things are looking up for my work situation and my family too so hopefully I won't fall off the grid like that again. PS i'm going to try to post notes on my profile page with updates on how the writing is going so you guys will have a way to know if somethings up! So keep an eye out on the profile page and I'll be sure to let you know if I'm going to be late with a chapter again. **

**Thank you all for your reviews and PMs over the past few weeks. It's been very encouraging! I hope you will all enjoy this chapter...it is the longest one yet as a reward for the long wait I put you through! :) **

* * *

It took a long time before Sam made sense of what he was staring at. For an indeterminate number of minutes he'd been sitting there, half lying against the car door, drifting in and out of a heavy blackness. The blackness varied from dark as ink to a patchy grey mist, but it never got clear enough for him to decide if it was the middle of the night or if it was just how screwed up his head was. And it wasn't just the darkness.

The darkness was bad enough, but it was the way the temperature kept shifting from an overwhelming heat that left him sweaty and desperately thirsty to a freezing cold, sending him into bouts of vicious chills and leaving him achy and exhausted, that really was wearing on him. Sam couldn't remember how long he'd been drifting, but now, as he stared out the window, the world seemed to be slowly righting itself. He was almost convinced the darkness outside was actual and not simply the result of the head injury.

The figure on the fringes of his vision was moving furtively at the treeline. Sorting through the fragments of his very jumbled memories, he vaguely remembered that they were in the middle of a hunt. The problem was that he couldn't remember anything more specific than that. Lifting a hand that weighed a thousand pounds, he pressed his fingertips to the side of his head where the throbbing had mostly localized and become a dull ache. A piece of paper fell from his unsteady fingertips and drew his attention away from the figure in the shadows. It took him three attempts to even pick up the paper and when he did, it was too dark to read whatever was written on it.

With a sigh, he let it drop again and returned his attention to the treeline. Whoever had been out there was gone now. Almost giving in to the desperate desire to close his eyes and sleep, Sam forced himself to think. If he could remember they were on a hunt, then he needed to remember the rest of it. Because the way he felt left him with no doubt that something had gone wrong. And the fact that he didn't know where Dean was only heightened the sensation.

Some of the fog began to dissipate and a few images came into focus. _The trip to Arizona. Ghosts continuing a decades old fight. A miserable 24 hours in a filthy motel room_. _Strangers. A hospital. _When a few other fragments came flooding back with startling clarity, Sam pushed himself up in the seat. He fisted his hands, struggling for a moment to push through the pain and stay focused. He could remember Tommy's instruction to stay in the SUV. Who exactly Tommy _was_ still seemed a bit obscure, but he remembered feeling that Dean trusted the man. So he fumbled for the note again and pushed the door open. Using the overhead light, he made out the time on his watch and compared it to the time Tommy had written on his note.

Tommy had been gone far too long.

Sam pushed the door open the rest of the way and dragged himself to his feet. The lights went out and his knees buckled immediately. Clinging to the door of the SUV for a moment just to keep himself upright, Sam wished he could remember why he felt so rotten. Standing there, he also wished he knew exactly what it was he planned to do now. Because he had no weapons, no idea where Dean was or what the heck was going on. All he knew was he couldn't just sit there in the SUV and wait. He'd already been doing that for far too long and he was done being useless. Some of the shakiness started to fade away and he finally found it wasn't completely impossible to stand upright; more or less anyway.

Sam kept one hand on the SUV as he quietly closed the door and looked toward the treeline. Weighing his options, he knew that he wasn't up to going anywhere or doing anything. He also knew his brother was missing and there was a civilian somehow in the mix. Which meant he needed to get himself together and get back to work. On a good day, he wouldn't have stood there so long debating, but it wasn't a good day and thinking past the fog in his head was making everything ten times more difficult. Hands still grasping the side of the SUV, Sam lowered his head and closed his eyes for a moment. He had to make a decision.

His eyes had barely closed when he heard a noise in the shadows. Eyes snapping open, he raised his head and stared blearily around the parking lot. Nothing. Couldn't see anything out of the ordinary and silence had fallen again. But he'd seen something out there moments ago so he knew he wasn't imagining it. Straightening up as best as he could, Sam took a few steps forward, eyes narrowed as he searched the woods. His heart was pounding as he heard another sound in the darkness. And it sounded like a grunt of pain. Swallowing hard, Sam fought the urge to call out in case it was Tommy.

Because it could just as easily be a ruse from a monster.

His right hand itched for his gun as he searched frantically for any sign of the danger he was certain was out there. Dad would have a fit if he saw him so completely frozen and floundering. Panic began to bubble in his gut and his breathing sped up as if he'd been running a mile and he hadn't even taken five steps yet.

And then he heard gunshots followed by a scream and he was running. Because the scream hadn't been that of an animal or a monster. Another memory unscrambled itself in that moment and Sam knew who had just screamed.

Arla Pender.

* * *

The first thing he was aware of was the biting chill and the prickling of his flesh as an empty breeze drifted over his body. His face was pressed into the dirt, hard and cold, leaving him shivering and fighting back a sudden swell of nausea as the pain in his head tripled with his growing awareness. Shifting slightly, his face dragging against gritty sand and tiny pebbles, Dean blinked his eyes open and found himself staring at the base of a thick tree trunk. Darkness had begun to fall in earnest since his eyes had closed thanks to a well-aimed punch. Given that all he could see was dirt and darkness, he wasn't sure if he was in the same place he'd been earlier or if Gethen had dragged him somewhere. Keeping still, Dean listened carefully over his raspy breathing for any sign of the monster.

But all he could hear was silence, so he took a shaky breath and pushed himself into a sitting position on the ground. Wavering as his swimming head adjusted to being upright, Dean found it ten times easier to breathe sitting up so he just held on until the horizon stopped wobbling back and forth. By the time his head had sorted itself out, he'd compartmentalized the steady aches and pains and focused on his priorities. He needed to get a weapon, find Arla, find Sam, and kill a couple ugly monsters who long deserved to be put down. Maybe not in that exact order, but that was his list so far.

Still sitting on his knees in the dirt, Dean slowly surveyed the area and found no sign of Gethen. He'd been in the business long enough to know the absence of a monster wasn't necessarily a good thing. He also didn't see Arla and the area didn't seem familiar. Which meant the big ugly _had _dragged him off to parts unknown. Searching through his pockets, Dean found he still had his knife, flashlight, and lighter although the rest of his weapons were missing. _Great_. After a few more minutes passed in silence, Dean struggled unsteadily to his feet, leaning heavily against a tree when his legs nearly gave out. He couldn't hold back a coughing fit despite his best efforts.

Hunched over, every attempt to inhale only resulting in another painful cough, Dean wondered how long it was going to be before Gethen was going to come running back toward him. Where had he gone? Given the earlier circumstances, Dean was surprised that the monster had left him. Whatever the monster's motives, he couldn't sit around and hope for the best. Glancing around, Dean knew that any direction could be the right one. _Or the wrong one_; he was so twisted up he had no idea which way he should be going. Spitting a mouthful of thick, dark sputum into the dirt, Dean pressed his left hand against his burning ribs and kept his blade at the ready in his right hand.

Dean studied the surroundings for only a few more seconds before picking a direction. As best he could tell based on the remaining light from the setting sun, he was heading back toward the motel. He hoped. Knowing his senses weren't exactly as sharp as they usually were, Dean kept a careful eye out for any movement in the trees. The aimless breeze tickled the back of his neck again and the worry he'd been too busy or too unconscious to pay attention to began to press to the forefront of his mind.

Sam had been missing for almost two hours. He was sick, had a concussion and Dean had done a pathetic job of keeping him safe. Not for the first time, Dean regretted his decision to take the poltergeist case. Maybe an actual week off just relaxing would have been a better choice. Of course, Sam had been the one pushing to find Dad and turn over every rock along the way. He was barely tolerating taking cases as they found them; Dean was pretty sure Sam wouldn't have gone for taking a vacation with Dad still unaccounted for and Jessica's tragic death tearing him apart from the inside out.

Sucking in painful breaths through a raw throat, Dean shoved everything into a dark place in his mind. Better to lock it all up then let it get in the way of his focus now. Because he was alone in the woods with nothing but his knife and his focus.

Hearing a sudden snapping branch somewhere behind him, Dean froze and tilted his head, listening. It was difficult to hear anything over his pounding heart and congested breaths. After a few seconds, he still hadn't heard anything else and pressed forward again. How far had Gethen dragged him anyway? And why? Dean glanced around, hoping to see something that looked familiar. His pace had increased to the point he was almost running, but the exertion proved too much and a misstep had him wrenching his already weakened ankle. Groaning at the sharp flare of pain and the general frustration at his own uselessness, Dean hit his knees.

Pressing his forehead to the dirt, he tried to regain the breath that had been forced out of him by the fall. For a moment, he just stayed there, feeling the pain that flood his system. But the position made breathing extremely difficult so he forced his hands under him and shoved himself up to his knees.

Sitting upright helped a little, but as soon as he managed to suck in a breath, his breath caught and he started coughing again. And this time, it didn't stop. Each shattering cough seemed to tear his chest apart and send fresh spikes of pain up his throat. He had to drop his knife just to put a hand on the ground to keep himself sitting upright. Even with his left hand pressed to his chest, nothing helped the pain or the coughing. His throat was dry, raw, and tight. Dean couldn't hear anything over the rattle in his own lungs and the dark spots floating in his vision were already beginning to block out the trees.

After a few seconds the coughing seemed to slow, but the pressure in his chest didn't. Spitting out another mouthful of foul tasting gunk, Dean tried to straighten except the world tilted at that particular moment and he ended up landing on his butt, barely avoiding falling flat on his back. By now, he was gasping like a drowning man and, oddly enough, the desire to breathe began to fade just like the surroundings. Dean's eyes widened and he sucked in a desperate breath, fighting again to keep from giving into the looming asphyxia. Because he wasn't going to die like this. Wasn't going to let something like pneumonia kill him in the woods while monsters roamed free.

It was just stupid.

All the determination in the world wasn't helping him get back to his feet, though. Every movement was like fumbling under water and he couldn't even remember which way was to the surface. Struggling to get back to his knees in the hopes of actually standing up again, he finally remembered the inhaler Arla had given him earlier. Forcing his fumbling hand to move, he dragged it out of his pocket and used it.

As far as he knew, no one had ever accused him of being a patient man and he certainly wasn't trying to earn the title now. Waiting for a medication to open gunk-clogged airways was a necessity at the moment, but wasn't stopping him from fighting his way to his feet. Heart racing, Dean pressed his head against the tree he was heavily relying on to maintain his vertical achievement. He stood there much longer than he would have liked but only just long enough for him to start feeling a bit of an improvement in his ability to actually get the oxygen moving to all the right places.

Dean lifted his heavy head, the drag of the past week weighing him down. For another long moment, he stared ahead at the ever darkening woods around him, mind racing as he tried to figure out what his next move should be. He honestly wanted to pack everything up and just leave town for a vacation; at this point, he had a feeling Sam wouldn't even argue. But there was no way he could ever walk away from a case like this. Especially not now that they'd involved civilians.

_Dad would be furious_.

They were supposed to protect the innocent, not welcome them into the nightmare. Of course, having one case immediately follow another case, with a round of the worst illness he could remember either of them experiencing in between, didn't exactly make this their typical situation. Shaking his head, he coughed a few more times; his chest felt a little less tight but no less congested. Pushing off from the tree, Dean began limping in the direction he had been heading moments ago.

He'd only gone a few feet when he tripped over something. Pausing, he squinted down at the ground and was surprised to see his shotgun lying in the dirt. Pulling his flashlight out of a pocket, Dean quickly surveyed the area and found the rest of his weapons. _Strange_. While he was happy to see his weapons, he couldn't deny that it was odd to find them. Carefully, he leaned down and gathered his gear, while keeping a careful watch on the surrounding area. His skin was prickling again and it wasn't because of the chill in the air. Gethen had not seemed the careless type.

Yet here were his weapons and he'd been discarded in the same way. Maybe it was how sick he felt, but Dean honestly couldn't make sense of any of it. Hobbling forward, biting back a grunt of pain every time he put weight on his sore ankle, he tried to focus on the surroundings and getting the heck out of the woods rather than psychoanalyze a clearly insane monster.

A gunshot echoed ominously in the silence and Dean paused, fighting the urge to duck. Holding his breath, he tried to localize the sound. Best he could figure, it had come from the general direction he was heading. Starting to move again, Dean heard more shooting and a shout of pain. Pushing through the pain and shortness of breath, he started running.

No one had ever accused him of being a particularly patient man.

* * *

Sam knew his sense of direction was about as bad as his balance was at the moment, but the sounds of the fight ahead were distinct enough that he had a pretty good feeling he was heading in the right direction. The fact he didn't have a weapon concerned him, but then it wouldn't be the the first time he'd gone into a fight with nothing but his fists. He just hoped it would be enough considering he didn't have a clue what he was up against.

Before he had time to worry any more about that, though, he ran into the enemy. _Literally_. In the dusk, it wasn't easy to see features, but it looked like a man, not any disfigured monster. The guy had been leaning down and stood up just as Sam rounded a tree and they collided. The look of shock in the guy's eyes as they tumbled to the ground was instantly replaced by fury. Sam hadn't expected to run into anyone like that and wasn't really prepared for a graceful landing. At least he landed on top of the guy and not the other way around.

The impact of the fall didn't knock the breath out of him, but did jar his aching body enough that he found it difficult to remember what he was doing. The other guy had no such problem and easily shoved Sam off of himself, dumping him onto the cold ground. Sam knew he couldn't hesitate; couldn't allow himself the time to recover that he so desperately craved. Because the other guy had murder in his eyes.

So he rolled over immediately and unsteadily got to his knees, shoving forward with all his strength. His shoulder connected with the guy's solar plexus and sent him sprawling backwards into the dirt. Sam used his split second of reprieve to search the area for anything he could use as a weapon. What he saw was a woman, pushing herself up from the dirt and swinging a rifle at the other guy's head as he sat back up.

"Sam!" Her voice was hoarse, and a mix of terror and worry. Her clothes were dirty and her hair wild, but she seemed in control. The guy grunted as the rifle connected to the side of his head and he collapsed back down again, but clearly wasn't unconscious.

Sam looked at the rifle and then at the woman, _Arla. The doctor, _he finally remembered. She shook her head, eyes wide and he figured that meant she was out of shots. Great. Before he had any time to dwell on that unfortunate revelation, the guy on the ground lunged up again and pushed Arla so hard she tumbled to the ground, crying out in pain.

"You interrupted me." The guy said, easily yanking the rifle from Arla's hands. She struggled to get up, but he pressed his boot against her throat, eyes on Sam. "I was about to kill her. I'll just have to start over..."

"Don't!" Sam shouted, the situation desperate. All it would take was a quick application of pressure and Arla's throat would be crushed. He was under no illusion that the guy wouldn't hesitate to kill her. "Please, just don't. She shouldn't even be…"

"Here? No she shouldn't be. But she is. And here you are too. You people are so much more trouble than you are worth." The guy shook his head, glancing down at Arla. She had her hands wrapped around his ankle, trying to push him off but not making any headway.

Sam swallowed hard and tried to control his breathing; every single breath was like a cannon going off inside his skull. He stared at the guy in front of him and finally recognized him. It was the man that had left him tied up in the crypt. Davis Miller. _Alexander_.

"What do you want?" Sam asked, knowing he'd already tried this tact and the monster hadn't been interested in chatting.

Alexander's eyes flashed with anger as he looked at Sam. It was more than anger, though, Sam realized. There was absolute desperation in his expression. Alexander had already intimated that he desired something, _freedom_, and felt choiceless. Wondering again if there was a slim possibility that he could be reasoned with, Sam didn't have chance to even try because Alexander suddenly howled in pain and drew his leg up.

Quickly taking in the situation, Sam saw the small pocket knife in Arla's hand as she quickly rolled away from the monster who was stumbling backwards with a bleeding leg. Smiling slightly, he didn't waste time, but went for the rifle that Alexander had dropped. He swung it, but Alexander dodged; injured leg or not he was still more spry than Sam was at the moment. Alexander dove at Arla who was just barely getting to her feet and backhanded her so hard she hit the ground again and Sam wasn't sure she was even still conscious.

Anger rushing through his system and giving him strength, Sam punched Alexander in the face and pushed him away from Arla. He had to put all thoughts of her out of his mind and wholly concentrate on the task ahead of him or he wouldn't make it. As it was, his anger with the monster was only going to carry him so far in this fight. Sam did his best to duck most of Alexander's blows, but they'd only been grappling for less than a minute and he knew he was losing the battle. Even with the rifle giving him a slight advantage, Alexander was limber, basically uninjured and strong.

_Supernaturally strong, and far too fast._

All Sam could think about was that if he didn't end it, didn't kill Alexander, then he was going to die and so would Arla. And that was unacceptable. So he gritted his teeth and swung the rifle again, catching Alexander on the chest just below his throat. The monster reeled for a split second, then easily tore the rifle from Sam's hands and shoved him into a tree. Breath rushing out as his back collided with the tree, Sam just barely managed to keep from smashing his head into the tree. Not that it mattered much, because all he could see were bright spikes of light through a dense blanket of darkness anyway.

He felt the rifle pressing up against his neck; Alexander holding it by either end and using it to cut off his airway. Sam tried to reach up to push him away, but something seemed to be holding his arms down. Everything felt so heavy and as he sucked in ever lessening amounts of oxygen, he let his head rest back against the tree. Feeling like a complete failure, Sam closed his eyes, too tired to fight it anymore. Even as he did so, he heard a familiar voice shouting his name at the top of his lungs.

_Dean. There's such a thing as stealth, you know?_ Sam thought with a slight smile as a couple shots rang out. Not that he cared at the moment if Dean was pounding through the darkness as loud as a freight train. He was just glad he wasn't going to die.

A moment later, he felt the pressure disappear and knew his brother was about to tear Alexander to bloody shreds. _I should probably help, _Sam thought in passing even as his legs refused to hold him up any longer and he fell unceremoniously to the dirt. As fresh waves of agony tore through his body, he decided that maybe Dean would have to handle this one on his own after all.

* * *

"Sam!" Dean shouted as he ran toward his brother.

He'd rounded a cluster of trees and found himself faced with the scene from a nightmare. Taking stock of the situation, Dean saw Arla sprawled on the ground, not moving. Davis Miller was in the process of trying to kill Sam and Dean's heart climbed up his throat as he saw Sam's eyes close and his body go completely limp. _Not too late, please, not too late...hang on Sam!_ Dean knew gunshots didn't do anything but annoy the monster, but he kept firing until the man let go of Sam and turned around. Sam collapsed to the dirt and Dean knew he had to deal with Miller before he could check on him.

Because Miller needed to die or he was going to kill all of them.

So Dean fired a few more times into the guy's chest as he drew closer. Miller stumbled backwards several feet, reeling from the impacts. Maybe bullets wouldn't kill it, but they seemed to be weakening it a little bit. Dean swung his pistol at Miller's face and knocked him off his feet. Dropping to his knees, Dean wrapped his left hand around the guys neck, holding him down, then punched him as hard as he could. The pain in his hand was actually a relief compared to the pain in his chest; _this_ pain meant he was doing his job. So he gratefully felt the pain as he attempted to pound the guys face through to the back of his skull.

Apparently the bullets and a face massage were a bit much even for Miller to handle; whatever kind of monster he was. Miller was no longer fighting back at all and Dean was almost satisfied seeing the bloody mess his face was becoming. Unwilling to stop until he was certain Miller was dead, Dean froze at the sound of a soft voice behind him. He stared at Miller for a second, trying to decide if he should believe the guy was really down or be ready for a surprise attack. Holding back his next punch, Dean glanced over his shoulder.

"Dean." Sam whispered again, in between gasping breaths. "Don't…kill...need 'em..."

Everything in him wanted to keep punching, but Dean caught sight of Arla pushing herself upright, eyes huge in a pale face as she stared down at the bloody body under him. She looked up at him and he hated the utter fear and disgust he saw in her eyes. Nice people like Arla Pender didn't need to see stuff like this. Not ever. Feeling sick to his stomach, Dean wiped his bloody knuckles down the unconscious monster's jacket, then met Arla's gaze again.

"Kill him." She said, pressing a shaking hand to her cheek. "Why aren't you killing him?"

He realized the disgust in her eyes wasn't for him and what he'd been doing; it was for the monster that had attacked her in her own home and again in the woods. Shaking his head, he heard Sam calling his name again and pushed himself to his feet. He grabbed Arla's shoulder and made sure she was focused on him when he spoke.

"Watch him. Don't kill him." Dean said, pressing his gun into her hand. He had to pause for a couple seconds to regain his breath. Glancing down at Miller, then back at Arla, he added, "We aren't done with him. Just watch him, ok? Can you do that?"

Trusting a civilian like this was so foreign to him, he was already having second thoughts, but Arla had already proven herself capable and level-headed under circumstances that would have had other people crying in a corner. Even now, he could see her pulling herself together, shaking herself out of the horror of the situation and focusing on what needed to be done. She nodded and took the gun. Dean turned away, thinking even as he did so that it probably would have made more sense to have her check on Sam and for him to keep an eye on the monster. It went against everything his father had ever taught him.

But with Sam still whispering his name, he knew he had to be the one to go to him.

The adrenaline rush was fading more rapidly than he expected and he all but fell to his knees next to his brother. It felt good to be off his right ankle after traipsing through the woods, but it didn't stop the ache. Dean pushed his own misery aside as he assessed Sam's condition. He'd fallen forward and was half-lying on his left arm, right hand pressed to the side of his head as he stared ahead, entire body trembling.

"Sam?" Dean said, touching his shoulder, "You alright?"

Sam blinked a few times and finally looked up at Dean. He whispered, "Dean?"

"Stop saying my name like that, dude, you're gonna wear it out." Dean shook his head, trying to figure out how badly Sam was injured.

"Dean?"

"Seriously, Sammy, that's like the sixth time. Cut it out." His tone was irritable, but niggling fear was beginning to grow deep within him. A monster had just tried to kill him and Dean could see that his brother had endured a beating since the last time he'd seen him. He leaned down, pushing Sam's hand away from his face, and his free hand tightened in a fist as he took in the bruised eye, split lip and bleeding nose. Made him want to turn around and beat Miller up some more. Sam was more or less focused on him, but was a bit out of it for Dean's liking. He swallowed back his worry and said, "Say something else or I swear I'm kicking your butt all the way to the hospital."

"Jerk."

Dean grinned, "Bitch."

Sam shifted and groaned, then asked, "It really you?"

"Who else is gonna kick your butt? Well, other than Miller there." Dean glanced over and saw to his relief that Arla had not strayed from her duties. She had the gun in steady hands and her eyes remained on the unconscious monster. Dean looked back at Sam and said, "Miss me?"

"Nah. Just surprised to see you got away." Sam said, closing his eyes. "Figured you'd do something stupid like drop my knife."

Dean thought he heard a lady-like snicker behind him and he was glad Sam wasn't looking at him anymore or he might have seen the guilty expression that Dean was trying hard to get rid of. Shaking his head, Dean growled, "I'm not an idiot, Sam. Come on, you gonna stay there forever?"

Sam groaned again and said, "Can't move."

"Whatever." Dean sighed heavily for dramatic effect. "Awesome big brother to the rescue. As usual."

He kept the quips coming as he helped Sam shift to his side. When Sam broke out coughing and wrapped his hands around his head as he curled in on himself as tightly as he could, Dean fell silent. Because there wasn't anything he could say that would make it better. So he just kept a hand on his shoulder and hoped it would be over soon.

* * *

For the first time, it was sinking in how completely out of his element he was. Tommy stared in horror at the scene before him. Bones were everywhere. But they weren't scattered on the dirt floor like discarded pieces of trash. They were neatly arranged. _Precisely_ arranged. Meticulously arranged. He wasn't a doctor but he did know a few things about anatomy and Tommy was 100% certain that the bones before him were all laid out in neat groupings according to bone type. There was no completed skeleton anywhere to be seen, just the neat rows of bones on small shelves, wooden crates, and the dirt floor itself. Just estimating by the number of skulls he could see, Tommy guessed there were at least a hundred sets of bones.

His breath caught in his throat and his mind reeled with the implications. Staring at the empty eyed skulls staring back at him, every single missing persons case came back to haunt him. They were dealing with a monster, that was for certain. Maybe it was supernatural, maybe it wasn't, but Tommy knew he was standing in the lair of a serial killer.

His hand ached from the tight grip he had on his gun and, not for the first time in his life, he hoped his furiously pounding heart couldn't be heard by anyone else but him. Stepping back further into the shadows, Tommy knew he needed to get out of the mine. He never should have come inside, but he'd heard voices and, in the hope that maybe he'd found Dean, he'd followed the sounds into the mine entrance. Arla had said they'd been heading to the entrance near the old cemetery, so that's where he'd gone. But he hadn't seen any sign of life until he'd reached the entrance and heard raised voices from somewhere inside.

The entrance had been boarded up eons ago and decorated with warnings, but when he'd inspected, Tommy had discovered the entrance was still fully functional and someone knew a pretty clever way of making it look like the boards were securely nailed down when they were actually very easy to move. Which was why he was now deep into an abandoned mine, hunting a monster he knew nothing about. If he hadn't been afraid he'd be heard, he might have laughed at the insanity of it all.

Instead, he held his breath and tiptoed back into the shaft he'd just come through. Leaving the little chamber of horrors behind him, Tommy couldn't help but shiver in the cool mine air. He was sweating like a pig and hoped the monster wasn't a werewolf or something like that that could smell him. With that cheery thought to add to his growing anxiety, Tommy tilted his head and listened.

Once he'd entered the mine, the voices had waxed and waned until he couldn't hear anything except his own breathing. The mine distorted everything and he was having a bit of trouble localizing the voices. Add to that the fact that he didn't want to forget which shafts he'd walked through. Last thing he wanted was to get lost in a mine. An unsteady mine, he amended, pausing to press against one of the support beams as a bit of dirt gave way under his feet.

For a long moment, he was torn. Arla would kill him if he died in this mine. He had a family; had grandkids he wanted to take fishing. Things to do. And, just when he was about to turn around and run, he froze. Because as much as he wanted to be just a husband, father, and grandfather, he was also a police officer; retired or not. And he couldn't leave without making sure he'd turned over every rock for the older Winchester kid.

So Tommy made a careful note of his surroundings, then pressed further into the mine shaft. He'd only made it a couple steps when a shape moved into his line of sight. He aimed his gun and flashlight at the shape, ready to fire if it was anyone other than Dean Winchester. When the shape moved a step closer and his finger tightened on the trigger, Tommy sucked in a surprised gasp. For a long moment, neither moved nor spoke. When the shock began to fade, Tommy found his voice.

"Raquel?"

* * *

His brothers hand, putting just the right amount of pressure on the side of his head, as if he knew exactly where it hurt the most, was the only warmth Sam could feel. Somewhere in the middle of all the coughing, he'd felt himself lifted partially off the cold ground until his head was resting on Dean's leg. He'd clung to consciousness through it all, but found he couldn't do more than just try to breathe. The coughing and the gasping for precious air that had followed had all faded, leaving him slumped in the dirt; unable to even lift a finger to move. He was shaking with chills and didn't have the strength to force his eyes open or to respond to Dean. Apparently Dean understood because he wasn't demanding answers this time; just talking conversationally as if they were lounging in front of a game in some motel after a job.

"So I'm tellin' you, that was the last time I'm ever goin' to Florida." Dean's voice was soft and Sam had only been able to pick up on snatches of his words up till this point. "I swear, nothing good ever happens to me in Florida. She left me right there and…"

Sam lost track of Dean's story about then. Didn't really matter what Dean was saying anyway, he was just talking to keep Sam grounded, not really intending for him to hear the whole sordid tale of Spring Break gone wrong. _And I think I'm grateful_, Sam decided. For a while, Sam just concentrated on the feeling of pressure on his head and let Dean's words turn to muted background noise. His hand was massaging away some of the pounding and despite everything, Sam could feel himself relaxing.

"Got it?" Dean's voice was still soft, but not talking to him anymore, Sam realized.

"Right here. Tommy always keeps emergency supplies in the back end." A woman was saying. Sam could hear movement nearby but didn't bother trying to see what was going on. The woman continued, "Give me a minute and I'll have him tied up and then we can get out of here…"

"I want you to head straight to the hospital," Dean lowered his voice even more, "I don't care what he says, if he even wakes up enough to speak. You get him safe. Take care of him, ok? He's all I've got."

Sam probably would have argued, but lying there on the ground, feeling sicker than he'd ever felt in his life, a hospital was actually sounding pretty darn good. He considered Dean's words and knew exactly what his brother was planning. He was going to send them away while he went out there to find the big bad. And that was such a bad idea that Sam needed to add his two cents to the conversation, but found all he manage was a pathetic moan. Which irritated him to no end. But his mouth was dry and his brain barely functioning.

"Hang on, Sammy." Dean didn't stop massaging his head, but with his other hand squeezed his shoulder, "We're getting out of here. Just hold on a bit longer."

There was more movement and then Sam heard the woman's voice again, drifting in and out like bad reception, "Dean, I'm not leaving you here. End of story."

"Arla…"

"The motel office is right there," the woman continued, voice firm, "and it's closer than the SUV. Let's get Sam inside and then come back for the monster…"

Dean's voice rose just a bit and Sam couldn't help but flinch as he spoke, "He needs a hospital. Now."

"You _both_ need a hospital. Now." The woman countered, sounding just a bit exasperated. Sam silently cheered her on because he'd barely gotten a glimpse of Dean earlier but it had been enough to show him his brother was running on empty. The woman cut Dean off and said, "You've made it perfectly clear that you aren't leaving until you end this. And you are too sick to do it on your own. I may not be Bruce Willis, but I'm all you've got, kid."

"Arla…" Dean tried again.

"Dean, my husband is still out there somewhere. There aren't a lot of options here. I'm not leaving you alone here, white as a sheet, with a superhuman monster. Especially since there's still another one out there somewhere. Don't you dare argue with me, young man. Close your mouth and stop mind-cursing at me while I'm talking."

If his head didn't hurt so much, Sam would have been laughing. He wished he could see Dean's face, but founds that all he could do was press his head harder against Dean's leg in the hopes that the pain would go away. Dean remained silent and Sam wondered exactly what he was thinking. Because he knew the woman was right; Dean would never leave if there was a job still to be done. Especially if there was a civilian out there somewhere.

The woman's voice grew gentle and closer as she spoke again, "Dean, if I can't convince you to leave with me right now then this is the best option I can see."

Dean took a breath then asked, "Is he going to be ok if we wait?"

"I'm hoping you both will be, but you've certainly not made it easy on yourselves. You both need to be out of the cold air to start with. You want to interrogate Miller? Then do it inside out of the cold. Find out what you can and then we'll figure out the next step of our plan." Arla reasoned, "Let's get inside so I can take a better look at both of you. You both need some fluids and some rest at the very least. There are so many things wrong with this situation that I'm having trouble even accepting the fact that I've come up with this plan." Arla sounded half-hysterical, half-amused. "As a doctor, this is against all my training and my instincts."

"Bet this is the last time you let a ghost talk you into stopping at a haunted motel to pick up some strangers, eh?" Dean mumbled. Sam could hear the resignation in his tone, even if it were disguised with humor.

Apparently Arla could too because she asked, "Does this mean you're agreeing with me?"

"What choice do I have? You won't leave me…"

"Alone here, white as a sheet, with a…"

"Superhuman monster. I heard you the first time." There was a bit of life back in Dean's voice now. "Geeze, lady, you win ok?"

"I know." Arla said. Sam could hear the smile in her voice and feel her presence close to him as she spoke.

Dean's eyes must be rolling around in his head by now, Sam figured. But all Dean said was, "Is he tied up good enough?"

Arla said, "He's still unconscious and I've got him trussed to that tree; he's not getting free. I was a Girl Scout."

"Of course you were." Dean said, then rubbed Sam's shoulder again as he said, "Sammy? Gotta get you up, man."

That sounded like both a wonderful and terrible plan. He couldn't wait to get off the cold, hard ground, but he wasn't sure he was a fan of the idea of actually moving. Dean said, "Just try to let us do the work, ok? Don't need you burning up any more brain cells than you already have. Gotta have someone do the research 'round here and you know I'm better in the field than I am in a library…"

Dean's monologue about his obvious talent for getting key information about their cases from hot chicks in low shirts rather than thousand year old tomes faded to background noise again as Sam felt himself being shifted into a half-sitting position. He immediately missed the gentle pressure against his head as the muted throbbing went up a notch. The voices became nothing more than a hum in the background and, even though his eyes were open, he couldn't seem to focus on anything.

So Sam just tried to do what he could to help, knowing he probably wasn't being as much of an asset as he hoped. Dean pulled his arm over his shoulder and then he felt someone smaller at his left side. Dean's voice came into focus and he wasn't talking about mini-skirts anymore.

"Sam, we've gotcha, but you gotta stay with us here, ok? I don't care if you trip over your own feet so long as you're moving forward because I can't…" His voice broke off breathlessly for a couple seconds, "can't carry you right now, ok?"

Squeezing his eyes closed, Sam forced himself to put one foot in front of the other, trusting his brother to be guiding him in the right direction at least. He heard the woman's voice again, "Dean? What's wrong with your leg?"

"Mmm, nothing." Dean gasped, then coughed.

"You're limping."

"He's heavy."

Arla asked, "Did you twist your ankle again?"

"Maybe." Dean muttered; his breathing growing more ragged as they walked.

Sam forced his eyes open. Ignoring the world swimming in front of him, he focused on the ground and took a little more of his own weight. Dean stumbled slightly under the suddenly lightened load and put his right hand against Sam's chest.

Dean said, "Little further. Then you can sit down. How's that sound?"

Not trusting himself to be able to open his mouth without throwing up on his brother, Sam just squeezed Dean's shoulder. Dean kept his hand on his chest and gave him a countdown of exactly how many yards they had yet to go. Sam sort of wished he'd just shut up because anything over one yard was farther than Sam wanted to walk at this point.

"Hey." Dean's breathless, raspy voice was right at his ear, but incredibly, _thoughtfully_, soft. "Sammy, come on, you gotta help us out here and sit down. I'm not standing here with you all night…"

Sam blinked a few times are realized that somehow they were inside. He must have zoned out for all those neverending yards. Hands were gently guiding him and he found himself sitting down on a lumpy couch with his brother's pale face far too close to his.

"Still with us?" Dean asked, kneeling in front of him and pushing his head up with one hand.

"Yeah." Sam swallowed hard, letting his head hit the back of the couch.

"Good. Look, we gotta go back out there and get Miller." Dean said, looking toward the door, then back again. Sam hated seeing the dark circles under his dull green eyes. Dean looked wasted and far too ill to be doing what he was doing. But Dean just grinned and said, "Go anywhere and I swear I _will_ kick your butt, concussion or not. We'll be right back."

Sam wanted to protest, to whisper _be careful_, but all he could do was close his eyes and drift into darkness.

* * *

**So whaddya think? gotta say...writing is like a drug and I have been going through serious withdrawals. Feels so good to get this up for you all! Have a wonderful day/night/whatever it is wherever you are! :)**

**Also, wanted to thank L.H and elena for the guest reviews! L.H, you always leave such thoughtful, detailed reviews that make me smile! Thank you! And, elena, thank you too for the great note from ch21! much appreciated!**

**~noxbait**


	23. Chapter 23

**_Here we go! :) _**

* * *

_Mine  
__December 26th, evening_

"Tommy! What are you doing here? You need to get out of here right now!"

Tommy felt a cold touch on his arm where Raquel was gripping him. Her eyes were wide and frantic as she glanced over her shoulder and tried to push him backwards. He pulled her into a dark side shaft off the main one and whispered, "Raquel, how are you alive? Arla said you…"

"Gethen burned my bones," Raquel explained, still anxiously looking out into the other shaft.

Tommy shook his head, "Isn't that what killed Mallory? How are you…"

"Still here?" Raquel shrugged and lowered her voice, "That's something Gethen wants to figure out. I think I've kind of ticked him off with not being dead. Which is why you have to take these and get out of here right now before he can find you."

Tommy felt her press something into his hand. She closed his fingers around her wedding rings and whispered, "My bones were never what was holding me here. These are. And if Gethen gets them, he _will _be able to end me and then I won't be able to help any of you."

Hesitating, Tommy asked, "What are you doing here, Raquel?"

"Keeping him busy." Raquel shivered, "Trust me this is the _last_ place I want to be. But he's a little obsessed with me now. Probably since I'm still here despite the fact he lit my bones on fire. I found him in the woods; he had Dean and was probably bringing him here. Dean was unconscious when I found them and I managed to distract Gethen and lead him away."

"Where did you see Dean? I've been trying to find him." Tommy said, taking a quick glance into the hallway. He slid the rings into his pants pocket, then looked back at the ghost.

Raquel told him where she'd seen him and then asked, "Why did _you_ end up here?"

Quickly, Tommy summarized running into Arla and her direction to the mine. He said, "I thought maybe they would have come this way."

"You should go. Find Dean and get back with your wife and get out of here." Raquel whispered, "I think I can keep Gethen busy for awhile. And as long as he doesn't have the rings...I think I'm safe."

"I'm not leaving you here, Raquel." Tommy shook his head. Ghost or not, he wasn't leaving her with a madman. "You need to come with me."

"If I go, there's no one to keep Gethen from coming after you. Please, please, just go. He can't hurt me anymore." Raquel smiled as bravely as she could.

Tommy hated it. But he was standing in a mine talking to a ghost so what was there to _like_ about the situation anyway? And with Dean still unaccounted for, he knew he had to focus on the living. So he nodded and said, "Be careful. We'll find a way to help you, Raquel."

"Thank you. But this is my life now and maybe this is exactly what I'm meant to do." Raquel said softly. She lowered her eyes and added, "I have a lot to atone for, Tommy Pender."

"Raquel." Tommy said, squeezing her arm and gently touching her chin to lift her face until she met his eyes. He knew time was of the essence, but he couldn't leave her yet. He said, "You don't have any more to be sorry for than I have. We all make mistakes and…"

"You don't know." Raquel pulled away, eyes flooding with tears. "You don't know what I did. What I did to Peter."

He kept his hand on her arm, watching the play of emotions on her pale face in the dim light of the flashlight glow. Softly, he asked, "Do you want to tell me?"

"I...I slept with his best friend." Raquel's voice was so broken, so devastated that Tommy hated himself for asking. She said, "We were only married two weeks, Tommy. _Two weeks _and I cheated on him."

Arla might have been more tactful, might have hugged the girl, might have tried to soften the blow. But he wasn't Arla. Not unkindly, Tommy asked simply, "Why?"

"I don't know." Raquel sobbed, sinking to the ground, back to the wall, hands over her face. "I don't know."

Tommy drew in a steadying breath, the pressure of everything beginning to take its toll. He felt terrible for the wrecked girl crying in front of him, but he also knew his wife was out there along with two very ill young men and at least two monsters. It was an inconvenient time for therapy. But he _had _asked. So he rubbed her shoulder and tried to think of something comforting to say.

"I'm so sorry, Raquel." It was cheap and worthless, but somehow, even after years on the force talking to devastated people going through the worst times in their lives, he still hadn't come up with anything better to say.

She nodded quickly, frantically wiping her eyes and looking up at him with a sad smile, "So am I. You know what hurts the most, Tommy?"

"What?"

"He forgave me." Her smile brightened, then faded and new tears brimmed over and slid down her cheeks. She said, "Peter forgave me with his last words. His last words, the last things he ever said, before Gethen devoured him. He forgave me. Why would he do that?"

"Because he loved you, Raquel. More than he was hurt by what you did. He loved you more than any pain you could ever have caused him." Tommy said, feeling like he was getting it right.

Raquel's tears didn't stop, but her posture relaxed and some of the soul-deep agony in her eyes faded. She whispered, "He did love me. And I loved him so much. _So much_." Wiping her hands across her face, she sniffed and pulled herself together, saying, "You need to go, Tommy. You need to go help the others get away from here. I'll stay and do whatever I can to keep Gethen busy."

Nodding, Tommy rose with her and said, "Ok, but you need to promise me that you won't take unnecessary risks. Won't take chances. That you'll do what you can, but that you'll also protect yourself. We don't know what Gethen could still do to you. And I think those boys can help you, Raquel."

She smiled slightly and said, "Ok. I'll be careful. Come on, I'll guide you out."

"Sounds great. It's a bit of a maze in here. And I do have this thing about tight spaces…" Tommy said with a smile, although it was the utter truth. He'd put aside his qualms in order to enter the mine, but he couldn't wait to get out. Growing up, there had been no shortage of daring stories of escapes from collapsed mines. Reading about mine collapses made for an entertaining afternoon in his treehouse; _experiencing _one was something he wanted to avoid.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, then Tommy froze, hearing a disembodied laugh from somewhere in the blackness. It was impossible to tell where it was coming from and that only made it more terrifying. Tommy heard Raquel's gasp and felt a cold hand on his left wrist. She huddled close to him and he turned off the flashlight. His right hand tightened on his gun.

_For all the good a gun will probably do against a monster…_

"Raquel." The voice called out. "Raquel, my dear, where did you go?"

"Gethen." Raquel's voice was hushed and close to Tommy's left ear.

He squeezed her hand, hoping she'd keep quiet. He didn't know much about this monster, what he was, what his abilities were. Tommy just hoped superhuman hearing wasn't one of his talents. So he held his breath and waited.

The voice came back, sounding a bit further away, "Come out, come out, my little pet! I know you're here...and I know you have a friend…."

Raquel gasped and Tommy could hear his heart pounding in his ears as they stood frozen in the darkness. Another chilling laugh split the silence and Gethen called out, "If you don't want to come see me, Raquel, that's ok. You and your friend can have a nice visit while I go chew the faces off his wife and those two hunters…"

"No!" Raquel screamed just as the same word caught in Tommy's throat.

Before he could say anything, before he could even hope that Gethen hadn't heard Raquel's shout, Tommy heard an ear-splitting crack from somewhere ahead of them. It didn't even take two seconds before he was flying through empty space, Raquel's scream drowned out by the sound of timber shattering and falling. It seemed like an eternity twice over, but probably had only been less than five seconds before the impact came.

Tommy knew it was going to hurt, and it did, but as far as he could tell, he wasn't dead. Maybe the mine had just collapsed, but it could always be worse, so he wasn't going to worry yet.

"Raquel?" He whispered hoarsely, then broke out coughing.

The air was thick and heavy with dust and debris. There was no response from Raquel. Which might just mean she'd somehow gotten away before the collapse. So he still wasn't going to worry yet. The pitch black was becoming oppressive, though, so he reached out his hand, trying to feel around for his flashlight. He'd managed to hang onto his gun, but wasn't finding his flashlight so far. And, as he moved, Tommy realized he was lying in something warm and wet. Hoping it wasn't the remains of some long dead animal or, far worse, a victim of Gethen's appetite, Tommy started to push himself into a sitting position so he could figure out exactly how trapped he was.

And that's when he realized he might actually need to start worrying.

Because the simple act of trying to sit up left him breathless with pain. He also discovered he wasn't just lying in something warm and wet; he was covered in it. He didn't need a flashlight to see the blood. He could feel it, could even feel the exact place it was leaking from his body.

_Yep. Probably time to get a little worried…_

* * *

_motel _

Arla knew that every step of the way had been agony for Dean. And not just because of the pain from his twisted ankle or from the pain in his chest, but from the worry it cost him to walk out of that shambles of a motel office and leave his little brother alone even for the few minutes it had taken them to go after Miller. She herself had spent every single step second-guessing her decisions and wondering when exactly she'd allowed herself to hop aboard the crazy train and abandon all her training and instincts. Adjusting her grip on Miller's arm as they now headed back to the motel, she knew the plain simple fact was she had no choice. Because Dean certainly wasn't going to go with her and she doubted she would have gone very far with Sam even if big brother _had_ insisted on them leaving.

So she just walked silently with Dean as they pushed the still apparently very dazed monster back toward the motel. Miller had barely been struggling back to consciousness when they'd returned for him and, even now, was allowing them to guide him without a fight. Arla's insides felt like they were all turned completely into knots. She could see the bullet holes from where they had tried to shoot him earlier; that, coupled with the fact that Dean had just shot him several more times and he was still alive, made her wonder if they had any chance at all of killing him.

It terrified her to have her hands on something so evil and she couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of wonder at what kind of a life the Winchester brothers had lived for something like this to seem so normal to them. Casting a quick glance over Miller's bowed head, Arla could read the raw exhaustion on Dean's face. He was moving by sheer power of will alone at this point.

They reached the door and Dean pushed Miller toward the one chair in the room. The monster collapsed into it easily; arms still securely bound behind his back. Dean kept a hand on his shoulder and looked over at his brother. Arla was relieved to see that Sam was sitting exactly where they'd left him. He opened his eyes at the sound of their entrance and glanced up at them a little uncertainly.

"Take a nap, will ya?" Dean muttered hoarsely. "You look half-asleep anyway."

Sam didn't reply, but Arla could see him carefully analyzing his brother and she could tell he didn't like what he was seeing any more than Dean liked what he was seeing. He raised an eyebrow and she saw Dean roll his eyes, then turn back to Miller. Once Dean was busy securing Miller to the rickety chair, Arla headed over to Sam.

"Hey, Sam, how are you doing?" Arla asked softly, sitting down next to him. She didn't want to crowd him, but as much as he needed a quick assessment, she needed to sit down for a minute.

He stared at her for a few seconds, then simply closed his eyes again. And she really didn't need any more answer than that. Because she could tell just by looking at him that he felt like hell. His breathing wasn't anywhere near as labored or congested as his brother's, but he didn't sound good. Arla reached for her backpack and dug through it for a bottle of water and some gauze. She couldn't do much for either of them right now, but she could at least clean the blood off his face.

"Try to drink a little water." Arla said, helping him with the bottle.

Once he'd had a couple sips, she gently brushed his hair out of his eyes, getting a quick temp check while she did so. _Too cold_. Studying him, she realized that he was still shivering. And that he was wearing Tommy's jacket. Seeing his jacket just made her want to worry about him, and she needed to stay focused, so she simply slipped out of her own jacket and prayed Tommy was being careful out there. Arla arranged her jacket over Sam, tucking it around his shoulders.

"He alright?" Dean asked, still working on securing Alexander to the chair. He glanced at Sam, then narrowed his eyes at her; awaiting a diagnosis. His hands fumbled with the ropes and he looked back down, cursing under his breath.

Arla could tell he was struggling and frustrated with the difficulty he was having with the ropes. She was tempted to go help, but figured he might not appreciate that. So she just said, "He's a little cold."

"So no fever finally." Dean brightened just a little and he looked so relieved that Arla didn't have the heart to tell him hypothermia might not exactly be anything to sing about.

Arla returned her attention to Sam and gently cleaned the blood from his bruised face. He just stared over at his brother the entire time. Finishing up, she touched his cheek and asked, "Sam, do you think you can keep something more than water down right now? You haven't eaten in hours."

He closed his eyes and shook his head ever so slightly against the back of the couch.

"Sam." Dean said from across the room. There was worry and warning mixed with exhaustion in his tone.

Sam blinked his eyes open and met his brother's gaze. Arla thought he looked ready to cry. Dean seemed to sense it too and sighed heavily. He finished up with Miller and slid a couple feet back to lean against the wall, resting his elbows on his knees. Dean asked, "You think you're gonna hurl again?"

"Maybe." Sam whispered.

"Yeah? Well, maybe can go either way." Dean said, running a shaky hand over his face. "Maybe you need to try to eat something."

Arla waited silently, studying both boys. They were communicating without words and she wondered what they were saying when they weren't saying anything. After a moment, it seemed apparent that Dean wasn't exactly winning the argument. She could see the fear grow just a bit more pronounced in his eyes as he spoke up again.

"You either try to eat something or you and Arla are leaving right now." Dean said, managing to sound firm even though his voice was hoarse and quiet. "No arguments. No more options. I've got a monster to interrogate and another one out there that needs to be dead yesterday and you're starting to scare me, Sammy."

"Dean." Sam said, half-pleading, half-resigned.

"I know, man." Dean shook his head sympathetically, "This sucks. Few more hours, ok? Then the doc there can dope you up to your eyeballs and you can sleep for a week. Or two even, I'm willing to put up with your lazy ass for two weeks tops. "

Arla could easily hear the desperation under the teasing tone as she looked back at Sam. He closed his eyes and said, "Remote's mine."

"History Channel it is." Dean grinned triumphantly, then waved a hand at Arla.

Apparently that was his command for her to try to get Sam to eat something. _Good luck with that..._Wishing she had something, _anything_, better to offer him, she pulled out a granola bar and unwrapped it. She could see exactly how much Sam did not want to take it, but he did. Waiting until he'd taken one small bite and was chewing unenthusiastically, Arla turned her attention to Dean. She could feel Millers' malevolent eyes upon her, but she ignored him and focused on Dean.

He was sitting against the wall, eyes now closed, breathing uneven. She crossed the room, bringing her backpack with her. A hand on his shoulder as she knelt next to him, Arla used her other hand to check his temperature. Sam felt half frozen, but Dean was feverish.

Lifting his chin, amazed he hadn't even spoken yet, Arla said, "I'm just going to do a quick assessment."

He just nodded, not arguing, not trying to act like he was fine. While it certainly would make her job easier, it worried her that he was taking it all so well. She checked his pulse. Racing. Reaching for her backpack, Arla looked around the room; completely overwhelmed. Miller was holding his tongue, but was staring at her with hatred in his eyes. Sam had his eyes closed again, the granola bar barely touched, and Dean was staring at Sam with nothing but worry in his eyes.

Arla caught his attention and said, "You're running a fever again, hon, and you need to take some medicine and drink some water, ok?"

He nodded again, eyes red-rimmed and heavy. Arla couldn't complain about the fact he was acquiescing to her instructions without arguing, although it did concern her. But she was going to use it to her advantage while she could. Finding another bottle of water and the Tylenol, she got him to take the pills before he started coughing. His cheeks, already pink from the fever turned a deep red as he struggled to catch his breath again. Arla was ready with a tissue and wasn't surprised when she saw how much blood was on it. She met Dean's eyes and he cast a quick glance at his brother before turning pleading eyes back on her. Knowing he didn't want to worry Sam, she smiled briefly, nodded and crumpled the tissue up. Dean sighed in relief and seemed to deflate against the wall.

Arla said softly, "Dean, what if we...couldn't we just leave Miller tied up and get you two to the…"

"No." Dean's voice sounded as certain and determined as he looked sick and miserable. He shook his head and said, "We can't take the chance. This needs to end tonight."

While she supported the notion that it all should end, Arla wasn't sure they were up to any of it. She asked, "So what do we need to do?"

Dean looked at Miller and said, "We need to know what he knows."

Which was all fine and good in theory, but she didn't think Miller was going to be eager to talk. As she considered the situation, her thoughts wandered once again to Tommy and, for a second, it took all her concentration to avoid having a panic attack. _No way to reach him. Alone out there somewhere. Monsters and evil in the darkness. _She took a shaky breath and tried to put it out of her mind.

Tommy could take care of himself.

She needed to focus on what _she_ could do. Looking around the room again, she saw that Dean's eyes were closed and his breathing had evened out a little. Miller was also silent, just staring down at the carpet. His face was a bloody mess and maybe, if he was capable of hurting...maybe he was capable of healing too.

Arla moved away from Dean, hoping he might even fall asleep for awhile. She knelt at Miller's side, took a calming breath, then searched through her pack until she found some gauze and another bottle of water. Opening it up, she poured some water on the gauze and lifted her hand to press the gauze against the worst cut on Miller's face. His head came up sharply and his eyes seared her with hatred. Taking another breath, Arla refused to give in to the hate.

She placed the gauze back against his cheek and realized there was hate _and _fear in his eyes. She asked softly, "Why are you so afraid?"

That caught him off guard and some of the hatred slipped. Even so, he glared at her and said, "You should be afraid, woman. You won't live through the night."

Arla dabbed at the cut and held his gaze as she said, "That's a possibility, I suppose. But I have hope. You don't seem to. Why is that?" His jaw muscles twitched and he looked away. Arla asked, "Would you like some water, Davis? I suppose that's not your real name, though, is it?"

She held the bottle up and stared at him, waiting. His eyes were pinched in a frown, but he looked from the bottle, then back up to her with a quick nod. Arla helped him take a sip and said, "My name is Arla Pender."

She was done cleaning the blood from his face before he whispered, "I used to be Alexander Turpleman."

Arla lowered her hand and asked, "And now? Who are you now if you aren't Alexander Turpleman?"

His whispered voice broke, "I'm a monster."

"Perhaps that's what you've _become_, but is that who you really are, Alexander?"

Alexander's eyes were bright and unblinking as he stared at her. She looked past the bruises, cuts, and a face that had been stolen from a dead man and tried to see the man the monster had once been. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she waited for his response. To be completely honest, she hadn't in her wildest dreams expected him to open up to her. And she wasn't sure he was going to continue, but finally he licked his dry lips and spoke again.

"I used to be Alexander Turpleman and I had a life I was proud of. I had a trade and a friend to share it with. He...he wants to pretend I don't remember. Thinks I'm a mindless creature. But I still _feel_. I still remember before the darkness. I remember the children."

Arla smiled at the unexpected tenderness in his tone. She wanted to check on the boys, but didn't dare take her eyes from Alexander lest she break the spell. She asked, "Tell me about the children, Alexander."

His eyes stared at her but it was obvious that his thoughts were far away when he spoke, "Gethen didn't care for them, but I loved putting on magic shows for the children, selling them candy and little trinkets we found in the larger cities. It was a joy to see their faces."

"That sounds lovely, Alexander." Arla said softly, letting her fingers rest tentatively on his arm.

A tear suddenly rolled down his cheek and he said, "It ended."

Not unsympathetically, Arla nodded and said, "Most things eventually do. Tell me what happened, Alexander."

"I...it was a mistake." His voice was broken, shattered. So was the look in his eyes. He said, "I tried to warn him that no good would come of it."

"Of what?"

"Of what we stole."

Arla couldn't help but feel a completely inappropriate flutter of excitement. Suddenly, the fear melted away a little and she felt like she was in the middle of her favorite Nancy Drew mystery story from her childhood. She whispered, "What did you steal?"

"We were broke, desperate." Alexander said, shame in his tortured eyes. "So we took to...to grave robbing. And once we started that...everything changed. It was our punishment. "

"What do you mean, punishment?"

"We began fighting all the time. Gethen said we might as well take what we could; the dead weren't using it anyway, but I felt guilty." Alexander shifted uncomfortably and mumbled, "We both just got out of control...I did things I should never have done. Things that hurt Gethen deeply. He was my friend….I don't even know why... And Gethen changed too. He...he started…"

Arla watched Alexander's entire body shake with a violent chill. She could see it in his eyes. Could see what Gethen had started to do. She didn't want to know, didn't want to speak it, to hear it said, but too much was riding on this to not know the entire truth. So she asked, "He started to do what, Alexander?"

Alexander's voice lowered as if he were afraid to say it aloud, "He began to kill. To kill...and to devour the flesh of his victims. He became a cannibal."

Exactly what she'd guessed. Arla ran her hands up and down her pant legs, trying to dry off her palms.

"Nothing stopped the killing." Alexander cleared his throat then said, "We came to this town and that's when we fought for the last time. Fought to the death that afternoon before our last show. Gethen killed me not far from here. And we've been here ever since."

"What did you do to Gethen? That hurt him? What did you do?"

Arla and Alexander turned to look at Dean. He'd spoken softly, but clearly and Arla realized he'd been listening the entire time. Dean was staring at Alexander and she turned back to study him as well. The monster seemed to be fading in front of her eyes, and the broken shell of what had once been a man began to show through the darkness. His eyes overflowed with tears when he spoke.

"I betrayed him."

The room fell silent for a full minute after that declaration. Arla didn't know what to say. She glanced at Dean and he met her eyes with a slight shrug of his shoulder. He didn't know either. They both looked back at Alexander, who was quietly crying by now. Arla felt tears burning in her own eyes at the sight of him. He had been her enemy until ten minutes ago. Now he was just another poor soul she wished she could truly heal. But his wounds were much deeper than what her feeble hands could cure. His tears slowed and Arla heard Dean clear his throat, but it was Sam who spoke first.

"People said your cures began working that last time you came to town." Sam said. Arla turned to glance at him and saw that his eyes were still closed but apparently he'd been paying every bit as much attention as Dean had been. He went on, "Gethen said he was taking something that cured death. Where did you get the medicines?"

"Who told you that?" Alexander asked, tilting his head and frowning.

"Someone who was there at the time told it to someone else who told it to me."

Arla caught Dean's eye. She assumed Sam meant Michael Tappero had told Tommy about it. Alexander shrugged and said, "We made them. And some of them did work. But people were ready to believe anything. We saw it everywhere we went. Eventually, people would get better and it was good for business when they thought it was because of our cures. Whether it really was or not, we used the publicity."

Dean spoke up, "What about the death potion, though?"

"I wouldn't be surprised that Gethen made up some story about curing death." Alexander said, voice weary, "He was half out of his mind by then. He'd always been an egomaniac, but after we started stealing, it was even worse. Gethen had never cared if he stretched the truth or flat out lied. He probably did tell some people he could cure death. Good money maker."

Arla felt relieved to hear it. With everything else that had been going on, a death cure was taking the freakiness much too far in her opinion. Of course, there was still plenty of freakiness to go around. A fact that became even more evident when Dean asked, "But why is he still alive? And why are you?"

"I think he's a ghoul." Sam spoke up before Alexander was able to.

"Ok." Dean nodded, "Makes sense why nothing else seems to take him down and why he stole Davis Miller's vacant corpse there. You and your buddy are a couple of screwed up animals, Alexander. You eat people too, eh?"

"Dead ones." Alexander insisted, and Arla thought it sounded like he really thought that was better than eating live ones. _Well, I guess it actually sort of is, _Arla decided as Alexander explained, "It started when Gethen brought me back from the dead. I came back wrong, like this. I don't know how he did it or who helped him, but he was into so much darkness at that point that nothing surprised me anymore. He was convinced that I'd put a spell on him, to make him what he became."

"So you came back a ghoul; Night of the Living Dead and all?" Dean asked, breath catching in his throat and sending him into another coughing spell. The room remained silent until he'd recovered and asked hoarsely, "Why did he want you back?"

"He thought I knew how to fix him." Alexander shrugged.

"What about the tooth?" Sam asked suddenly and Dean's eyes widened.

"You know about the tooth too?" He sounded completely befuddled, "What _is_ it about the tooth?"

Alexander said, "I don't know why, but Gethen was convinced somehow I'd used the tooth in a spell to change him, to try to kill him. He lost it during the fight and he brought me back to try to make me reverse whatever I'd done to him. He's been searching for that tooth ever since."

"Unbelievable." Dean shook his head, glancing at Sam. He said, "This has got to be one of the stupidest things we've ever looked for. A tooth. What the heck?"

"I don't know, but he is obsessed with it. He was always a vain man and he was proud of that tooth." Alexander said with a short laugh, "Understand that times have changed, but back then, a gold tooth was something of a status symbol. He's used the ghosts of some of his victims to search for it and has never found it. But things have been so much worse this last year."

"What do you mean?" Arla asked.

Alexander glanced around the room, as if afraid someone might be listening. He said, "Gethen's been stronger again. All these years since he brought me back, he would kill, but it was as if it took him a long time to recover. For years at a time he would withdraw into the mines and I wouldn't see him. Then he'd come out and kill again and the cycle would repeat. This past year, though, it's as if he is getting stronger again."

"Wonderful." Dean sighed, then coughed into his sleeve. "We don't know what he is and he's getting stronger. Clearly he's not a ghoul because a headshot didn't bother him. He ever change shape? Get a new face?"

"No." Alexander said, a little confused, "He always just looks like himself."

"So not a shifter."

Arla wasn't sure she wanted to know what a shifter was. She pushed herself to her feet, needing to pace a bit and clear her mind. No one else moved, although Dean was fully alert again and dividing his attention between his brother and Alexander. Arla was moving toward Sam when she heard a noise just outside the office door. Her heart jumped into her throat and she wasn't sure if it were because she could hope it was Tommy or if it were because she was terrified it _wasn't _Tommy.

"Get away from the door." Dean's sharp voice cut through her suddenly frozen thoughts. She moved toward him, seeing he was already on his feet, one hand against the wall behind him as he tried to keep some of the weight off his right ankle, and one hand holding a very steady gun.

She moved into the corner as he stepped forward. Alexander suddenly began struggling against his bonds and said, "He's here! He's here to kill me. He'll know I've betrayed him again! You have to let me go!"

"Sit tight, freaky." Dean growled, carefully checking out the window as he helped Sam get off the couch.

"No no no!" Alexander wailed, "He'll kill me!"

"You stay there and you might just live." Dean said, pushing Sam away from the window.

Arla reached for him, guiding him to the ground when it was obvious he couldn't stay on his feet. Sam might not have been able to stand up, but he was grabbing for the bag of gear and searching for a weapon. She left him to it and immediately obeyed when Dean told her to reload her rifle. Alexander was still violently struggling, face a mask of sheer terror, while Dean checked that the door was locked, then stepped toward the other window. Arla rose, rifle at the ready. She was staring at the window, not seeing anything at all out in the darkness. Dean stayed by the second window, carefully peering out from behind the threadbare curtain. Arla glanced down quickly and found Sam had a knife in his hand. He was fighting with everything he had to keep his eyes open, but he had the knife ready.

When she looked up again, she was horrified to see Alexander was free and moving across the room toward the door. The ropes lay discarded around the chair and he was yanking the door open before anyone could react. _How did he..._

"What are you doing? Stay away from there!" He shouted, starting to cross the room to Alexander's side. The monster's hand lingered just over the doorknob as Dean continued, "You walk out there and you will die. We're the only chance you have…"

And it had been the truth.

Arla screamed as the door flew open and a tall, handsome man swung an axe, neatly decapitating Alexander Turpleman.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! :) Hope you enjoyed getting a few more pieces to the puzzle. Still a few holes though, don't you think? Here's hoping the Winchesters can figure it all out before time runs out for everyone... tick tock tick tock...**

**PS...I tweaked the synopsis for the story. Hope it looks ok. :)**


	24. Chapter 24

**Hi everyone! Thanks so much to all of you for your ever-lovely reviews! They seriously keep me going when I'm tired and would rather just quit writing. I read them all and they are the encouragement I need to keep myself going on this. I absolutely adore writing and this story is so much fun, but some days it's just hard to sit down and work on it. If I was just writing this for myself and not posting...I'd probably still be on chapter 3 and never finish it. Thanks for motivating me! **

**I hope you'll enjoy this chapter! The boys are trying their hardest to unravel the mysteries...**

* * *

_motel_

"You really thought simple ropes could hold him? A magician of Alexander's capabilities?" Gethen asked, wiping a spot of Alexander's blood from his cheek.

"Well, unless he's mastered the trick of living with his head and body in two different places, I'm not impressed with his capabilities." Dean said, wishing his voice was a bit stronger and less hoarse. It would be nice if his head wasn't pounding and if he could breathe without coughing too, but clearly he wasn't getting that any time soon.

Dean had his gun trained on Gethen's left eye although he'd already seen that even a headshot wasn't going to take the monster down for long. He'd heard Arla's scream cut off abruptly and knew, as startled as she was, she would be holding that rifle with competent hands. And he certainly didn't need to look over to know that Sam was backing him up with whatever last trickle of reserve adrenaline he still possessed. What Dean _wasn't _sure of was what he was going to do about their monster problem. Because they had yet to figure out what Gethen was; and more importantly, how to kill him.

And neither of them were exactly doing well. His head felt three sizes too big and Dean was beginning to worry about what they might be missing; what mistakes they might be making. They'd fallen into hunts before without adequate preparation, but this was taking it to an entirely new level.

Gethen looked human. Wasn't hideous or ugly and wore what could have been construed to be a friendly smile if it weren't for the hatred and murder in his eyes. He stood there, just inside the doorway and surveyed the room; the bloody axe in his hand his only apparent weapon. He grinned and said, "It's wonderful to have you all here together. It hasn't been easy to get you all in one place, but it will make killing you so much easier."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Dean asked, trying not to make it obvious he was widening his stance. It was getting just a bit difficult to stand upright, actually. He didn't dare take his eyes off Gethen, though, well aware that they were in a tight spot and any move could be the wrong one. He said, "You don't know us so I'll let you in on a little secret. We tend to kill the things that try to kill us. And, in case you hadn't noticed, you did let me slip through your fingers earlier."

"That was unfortunate. I was interrupted." Gethen said, but didn't elaborate. He shifted his weight, but made no aggressive move, his eyes simply glancing around the room at each of them; weighing his own options, Dean guessed.

"You said you wanted help breaking a curse." Dean said, hoping to keep Gethen focused on something other than killing them. He nodded at Alexander's corpse and said, "Your buddy there said you thought he'd cursed you somehow. He said he didn't do…"

"Of course he said that." Gethen's voice was brittle. The calm smile faded into a sharp grimace of hatred, teeth bared and veins popping out on the sides of his neck. He hissed, "Alexander was a liar…"

"He said the same thing about you." Dean shrugged, fighting back a cough. He swallowed hard and said, "Personally I think you're both liars and I'm not entirely broken up over the fact that you ended Alex there, and I can tell you I'm gonna be _ecstatic_ when I end you."

Gethen's long fingers tightened around the handle of the axe, but he still didn't move. His smile returned, but it was even more grim and disturbing than earlier. He said, "Do you even have any idea what I am capable of, young man? You pathetic weaklings don't stand a chance. You're all going to die tonight."

Dean started to answer but had to break off to cough again, an action which left him seeing stars and wavering where he stood. He needed all of his attention to stay focused on keeping the gun on Gethen, and any quip he could have come up with immediately faded from his thoughts. Thankfully, he wasn't the only one who knew how to sass a monster.

"You're not exactly catching us on a good day, we'll give you that." Sam spoke up softly, "But you aren't the first monster we've ganked. Sometimes it takes us a few tries, but we've got a pretty good record and you should already be regretting the day we found out about your dirty deeds here."

Dean couldn't cheer, but he smiled at the twitch of uncertainty on Gethen's smug face. He also couldn't look over his shoulder, but he thought Sam was sounding just a bit stronger. That was certainly the most he'd said in a long time. Clearing his throat, Dean said, "He's right. So it…"

"You want your tooth, right?"

Still not turning around, Dean couldn't help but frown and wonder about the interruption. And wonder what in the world Sam was up to. But he trusted Sam enough to remain silent and allow him to continue.

Gethen's eyes widened and he said, "You've found it? I've searched for years...He used it to put a spell on me and I must have it back…"

"He didn't put a spell on you." Sam continued. He was talking slower and more quietly, conserving every precious bit of strength he really didn't have left. "But I know where the tooth is."

"Where?" Gethen almost jumped forward, the axe still tightly gripped in his hands as his gaze moved beyond Dean. "Where is it?"

With Gethen's attention focused on Sam, Dean allowed himself to take a moment to glance at his brother too. Sam was still sitting pressed against the wall looking half-dead, but he met Dean's quick gaze and lifted an eyebrow just slightly and only because he'd been looking for it did Dean see the subtle nod. _Follow my lead_. Dean nodded back and waited. He had no idea what Sam was planning, but since he seemed to have a plan, and Dean still didn't, he was going to follow wherever Sam wanted to go. Arla remained silent, hovering over Sam, rifle still ready.

Sam took a deep breath and said, "I can take you to it. But you have to promise not to try anything. If the tooth is what you really want, then you have no reason to hurt us."

"Why should I believe you?" Gethen said and there was doubt in his tone, although there was still desperation and frenzy in his eyes. "You could be lying."

"Maybe. Or maybe I have the thing you want and if you don't trust me, you'll never be free."

Dean studied Gethen. The guy looked uncertain, and who could blame him? Sam was a convincing liar and if he didn't know him so well, _Dean _would have believed him. He just wished he knew what Sam was up to so he could back his play. Good thing they both knew how to improvise.

"Take me to it." Gethen said after a long period of deliberation. The man looked half wild with anticipation and Dean hoped he was off balance enough that they could take him.

Sam nodded and started pushing himself to his feet. Arla looked completely lost and glanced at Dean for guidance. He kept his gun and eyes on Gethen but said, "Help him up."

Gethen was watching the situation carefully, but remained silent. Dean wished he could figure out why that tooth seemed so important to the guy. Sentimental value did _not_ explain it. And, sure the guy kept saying that it was part of a spell Alexander had used against him, but somehow Dean just didn't exactly buy that story either. So he couldn't do anything except wonder why a tooth could be so important and wonder what Sam was doing. Because he sure hadn't shared with the class that he knew where the tooth was.

Another quick peek at his brother didn't exactly give him a lot of confidence. Sam was on his feet, barely, and Arla had a hand on his elbow, doing what little she could to steady him while also trying to be ready to fight Gethen. Sam met his gaze and, for the first time, Dean could see the uncertainty. Obviously, Sam had a plan, but he wasn't exactly looking confident about it. Shooting him a quick smile, Dean nodded at him, hoping he'd get the message. _I'm with you. Whatever you're planning, we'll make it work._

Sam took a shaky breath, then pushed himself off the wall and said, "It's outside."

Gethen didn't look at all pleased, but Dean could tell he wasn't willing to take any chances where it came to that precious tooth of his. He simply began backing out the front door, hands still cradling the axe. Dean was glad the guy didn't have a gun, but he did seem to have some skills as a magician and there was always the chance he still had something up his sleeve. So Dean just planned to shoot him a few dozen times through the skull before he could do anything. Maybe it wouldn't kill him, but it had dropped him for a little while earlier so it was something.

Dean was torn between keeping his focus on Gethen and the desire to help his brother. But Arla was keeping Sam on his feet so he knew it was more important for him to be on monster duty. So he left them to it and simply kept his focus on Gethen as they both stepped outside into the darkness. Once outside, they waited, eyes on each other, until Sam and Arla walked outside. It took them a full minute, but by the time they stepped outside, Dean realized that the delay hadn't just been because Sam was moving slower than a ninety year old man.

They'd been plotting.

Dean could see the difference in Sam's demeanor immediately. The uncertainty was gone and there was determination in his eyes that Dean hadn't seen since they'd gotten sick. Sam was careful not to give anything away as he and Arla walked toward them.

"Where is it?" Gethen asked, sounding less and less patient. Dean supposed that after searching for a tooth for decades, he probably had a good reason to be cranky.

Sam waved a hand toward the Pender's SUV. Dean frowned, but followed Sam and Arla toward the vehicle. As they grew closer, Arla fell back until she was beside Dean. He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. In answer, all she did was gently lay a hand on his arm, easing him to a stop. Dean looked over at Sam, concerned that he was struggling ahead unsteadily on his own, and back to Arla. Her only answer was to pull him back even farther from Gethen and Sam.

Beginning to seriously not appreciate being left in the dark, Dean shot her a wide eyed _tell me right now_ expression. She just shook her head in warning. Tamping down on his growing frustration, Dean turned his attention back toward Sam and found him opening up the back end of the SUV. Gethen was standing a couple feet behind him, waiting expectantly. Arla's hand was tugging him back even farther.

Dean was about to glare at her, but he couldn't take his attention off his brother long enough to do so. The suspense was killing him. He didn't have long to wait because Sam didn't seem to be in a hesitating mood.

Faster than Dean thought possible, Sam turned around. He had something in his hand and Dean registered that it was a flare gun exactly one second before Sam fired it straight at Gethen's chest.

* * *

_mine_

Tommy felt a thousand times better having the flashlight lighting up the tiny space. It wasn't like his situation had changed for the better, but at least now he could now see exactly how screwed he really was. And he was trying to be optimistic, but he was pretty well screwed. Shifting position in the cramped space, Tommy did one more once over of the entire area. When the walls had collapsed, they'd left him in a box just a little more spacious than a coffin.

Blowing out a long, slow breath, Tommy turned his attention from the walls to himself. It had taken a few minutes of painstaking searching in the blackness to find his flashlight and now that he had it, he felt like he could make a plan. But first, he had to do something about the bleeding or he wasn't going to be getting very far, flashlight or not. Swallowing back the pain, Tommy pulled at the bloody tear in his shirt. His fingers moved lower and he lifted the edge of his shirt.

"Great." He muttered, looking at the gash.

It certainly wasn't the worst wound he'd ever had in his life, but an eight inch long gash crossing up from just above his right hip across his abdomen wasn't exactly a good thing. It had bled enough to leave the entire front of his body a sticky red mess. For a moment, he just stared at the wound. He didn't have any medical supplies with him, not even a handkerchief. Nothing. Nothing but the clothes on his back and the gun in his hand. Groaning, he set the flashlight and gun down. He was going to have to get his t-shirt off and use it to try to cover the wound. Which meant he was going to have to get both layers off and hope he didn't pass out from the pain or the blood loss while doing so.

He managed to get his shirts off, flinching at the cold as it bit his skin, and hunched forward, pressing the once white t-shirt against the wound. Time might have been of the essence, but so was staying conscious, and for the moment, he needed to concentrate on that task. While he forced himself to try to breathe evenly and hold unconsciousness at bay, Tommy's thoughts turned to the others.

Raquel. Supposedly gone, but not really. And now, gone again. Why would a ghost disappear in a mine collapse? Tommy snorted; what did he know about ghosts? He hoped, for her sake, that she had made it out. His breath caught in his throat as he thought about Arla. And Gethen's threats. He'd caused the mine collapse, of that Tommy was certain. And now the monster was out there looking for his wife and the Winchesters.

Pulling himself together, Tommy focused on tying the t-shirt around himself as best as he could to keep some pressure on the wound. It was even more difficult to pull his Henley back on over top than it had been to take it off in the first place, but he managed to get back into the long-sleeved shirt. Since he no longer had his jacket, he needed whatever warmth he could manage to get.

Once that task was complete, he started to look around his little box more closely. Pushing himself to his knees, he slid his gun into his waistband, and pressed his left hand against his stomach. Flashlight in hand, Tommy started to look for weaknesses, for any way out of the tight space. _Tight space._ He had to shake that thought out of his head and focus on the situation objectively.

Because he really did have a thing about tight spaces.

"You are not going to have a panic attack." Tommy muttered to himself, pulling on a board. "You made it through your entire career and parenting twins without a panic attack. This is not the time to start."

The first board gave way in a puff of dust and revealed just another board. Tommy took a calming breath and knew he couldn't give up. So he systematically went around the enclosed space, tugging at the walls, praying he wasn't going to bring the rest of it down on his head.

"Tommy?"

He almost hadn't heard the soft voice. Pausing, Tommy tilted his head and called out, "Raquel?"

"You're alive!" Raquel sounded far away but relieved.

"I am." Tommy smiled, "And so are you."

"Well." Raquel's laugh was a nervous giggle, "I'm not exactly _alive_, but I'm still here."

Tommy slid closer to the wall where her voice seemed to be coming from. He started pulling at the wood there and asked, "What happened to you?"

"I got scared, Tommy. I just kind of...disappeared. But I'm here. Can you get out?"

"Trying."

"I'd help, but I'm kind of stuck." Raquel sounded apologetic.

Tommy managed to pull down a good section and could finally see a tunnel beyond. He paused, catching his breath and putting more pressure on his wound. Fresh blood was flowing between his fingers. He asked, "What do you mean?"

She sounded a bit closer when she said, "There's iron. Tracks or something. I can't get around them to help you."

"Ghosts are afraid of iron?" Tommy almost laughed, pressing his head against the wall.

"I'm not afraid of iron!" Raquel's voice was sharp; bitter. "I can't cross it. I don't know why. This isn't exactly what I had planned for the afterlife…"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Raquel." Tommy mumbled. "This is all new to me too. Ok. So you're stuck. Can you see if there's a way for me to get through?"

Raquel said, "I think so. I can see the light from your flashlight so if you can get through that wall, then you should be able to get out here to this passage. We're cut off from the main entrance, though."

_Of course we are, _Tommy thought to himself. He forced himself to get back to work, pulling the rotted wood down from the wall in front of him. Every once in awhile, another puff of dirt would dust his head and he'd hold his breath waiting for the entire thing to come down. But it didn't and, after a few painful moments of work, Tommy broke through to the other side.

"I'm almost there, Raquel." He called out, looking ahead. Catching sight of her pale face several yards away, Tommy smiled. "I can see you."

She smiled back at him and said, "You're almost out. Come on."

"Give me a sec. Just a bit of blood loss over here is all…" Tommy muttered to himself, squeezing through the not quite big enough hole in the wall. He made it out of the little box he'd been trapped in and paused, breathing a sigh of relief and trying to settle his breathing. He was getting a bit close to hyperventilating.

"Tommy, we need to get out of here before Gethen comes back."

"Tell me about it." Tommy pushed himself to his feet, free hand pressed against the wall as he hobbled forward. "More importantly, we need to find the others before Gethen finds _them_. Raquel, can you get out of here? Can you go find them? Warn them?"

She shook her head as he joined her in the tunnel. Waving her hands helplessly around, she said, "I'm trapped, Tommy. There's so much scattered iron and now it's all in a jumble. I don't even know how long I'll be able to stay with you. It just depends on where the iron is."

A tight knot of despair formed in Tommy's gut at her words. He needed to find Arla. Studying the area, Tommy realized there was only one way out. He pointed ahead and said, "Let's go."

There really was no other option.

* * *

_motel parking lot_

The flare hit Gethen in the middle of his chest and he broke into flames from the inside out. His scream would give Arla nightmares for months to come. The bright orange glow tore through his entire body as flames rose, bright in the dark night. He went to his knees with another pained wail before falling silent and lying there on the ground, burning up in a flaming heap.

Dean's eyes widened and he let out a yelp of triumph, grinning at Arla. She was shaking her head and backing away from the burning husk and Dean realized that maybe shock was still very much on the table for her. There was no denying she was strong and brave, but some things could be a bit much for civilians to take. She turned away abruptly. He grimaced at the sound of retching, glanced quickly at the burning body a few feet away, then turned his attention to more pressing issues.

"Sam?" He limped forward, watching as Sam sank down until he was sitting on the bumper of the SUV, the flare gun hitting the pavement. Dean was afraid Sam was going to be following the flare, but he managed to shift his weight to the right so he was leaning just inside of the SUV. He was staring over at the burning body and it wasn't just exhaustion that Dean could read in his eyes.

Dean sat down shoulder to shoulder with his brother on the tailgate and choked back a coughing spell. He caught his breath and said, "That seem a bit…"

"Easy?"

"Exactly."

"They're magicians."

"We need to be careful."

"We weren't already?" Sam smiled wearily, eyes slowly closing as he leaned his head against the side window.

Dean smirked, then all humor faded away. He could feel Sam shivering next to him and he sighed. The misery just wouldn't end. Dean elbowed Sam gently in the ribs and asked, "Feeling like crap, aren't you?"

"'m ok." Sam mumbled, even managing to force his eyes open enough to try to convince Dean that he was telling the truth.

"Yeah, you're ok." Dean shook his head, not buying it at all, "You're just fantastic."

For a second, they were silent, then he realized Arla still was out of his line of sight. Looking up, he heard Arla taking a few shaky breaths as she tried to pull herself back together. "Arla?" Dean called out, "How're you doin' back there?"

"I'm...I'm fine…"

"Good. Because someone needs to be fine right now." Dean lowered his head and rubbed his eyes. He knew Arla had been right about the fever. He felt it burning through him, as if the body on the ground wasn't the only thing on fire.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"What's going on out here?"

"I don't know, but I've had enough of whatever it is. We need to end this." Dean took a careful breath and sat back up, lowering his hands to his knees. "Good job on the flare by the way. Took a bit of a chance though…"

Sam shrugged, "Arla said Tommy kept emergency supplies in the SUV. I was hoping they'd have a flare."

"And if they didn't?"

"I figured you'd shoot him through the head a few dozen times for kicks."

"That was pretty much my plan." Dean snorted, then asked, "So you just all of a sudden thought _hey, maybe Gethen's a Wendigo_? Cuz up until like a minute ago, I didn't think we knew what he was."

Sam wrapped his arms around himself and said, "He's been eating people and he wasn't a ghoul. It was a shot in the dark."

"Not bad shooting for someone who can't see straight." Dean said, then looked up as Arla walked into his line of sight. She was pale, dishevelled and tired, but had regained her composure. He said, "We should go find your husband."

Arla nodded, still a bit shaky, but sharp as a tack. Dean could see her sizing them up. Apparently she wasn't impressed with what she was seeing, but all she said was, "What...what just happened?"

Dean said, "You just got to see how to gank a Wendigo."

"We _think_." Sam said, voice barely audible.

"Tom-ay-to, tom-ah-to." Dean waved a hand, "It's how we gank a Wendigo. Whether or not that actually _was_ a Wendigo is still up for discussion."

"A what?"

Staring at the still burning corpse and honestly wishing it really could turn out to be just that simple, Dean summarized, "Long story short, a Wendigo is a creature that a person who eats human flesh will eventually turn into. Hard to kill except with fire."

Arla's eyes were wide as she looked between them and down to the flames. "And that's what Gethen was?"

"Possibly." Dean said, lowering his own voice. Arla stepped closer and he went on, "I mean...I think it's what Gethen might be in the process of _becoming_. Takes a long time to go from cannibalistic human to full on scary monster, and he still looked human." He exchanged a knowing look with Sam and added, "Thing is, we're not entirely sure we actually killed him."

"What?" She looked over her shoulder at the smoking corpse.

Dean nodded, "I know. Kinda takes the fun out of everything. These two were magicians and we've already seen that Gethen knows how to make us see things that aren't really there."

"The other man in the woods…" Arla said, comprehension dawning. She stared at the burning heap, then back at them. "So you think he...that _this,_ was just an illusion?"

"It's crossed our minds."

"What do we do now?" Arla asked and Dean could see exactly how far out of her element she was.

"We find Tommy and that stupid tooth before Gethen does." Dean paused, and glanced at Sam who was pushing himself up a bit more. Dean asked, "Sam?"

"Alexander had the keys to the Impala. And my gun."

"Ok." Dean nodded, "Sit tight, we'll go get them and then…"

"You _both_ can just sit tight." Arla said, shaking her head. "I'll go get our gear and the rest of it off Alexander. I hate to break it to you, but we're finding Tommy and then we are _all _leaving. We're calling the police or the National Guard or…"

Dean cut her off, "Or nothing. You want to get them all killed? Because that's what's going to happen. Bring untrained people into this, if they'll even believe you, and you're going to get them all killed."

Arla looked panic-stricken as she said, "You're both going to get yourselves killed! Neither one of you are in any shape to do anything. How do you think this is going to go down?"

"With every complication and piece of bad luck imaginable, I'd expect." Dean grinned. "Considering that's how our week's been going. And yeah, like Sam said to our friend back there, you aren't exactly catching us at our best. You're just going to have to believe me when I say that we're gonna make it. And we're gonna kill that son of a…"

"Watch your language." Arla said, holding up a finger. There was a twinkle back in her eyes now and she took a deep breath. "And save the speech, young man. You need to use that inhaler right now." Her gaze moved from Dean to Sam and back again as she said, "And _neither _of you had better move your sorry butts from that spot until I get back."

Dean snorted, but didn't argue. She waited, eyebrows raised, until he'd dutifully used the inhaler, then she hurried away, leaving them staring at the dying embers of what may or may not have been the monster they'd come to kill. Coughing a couple times, Dean sized his brother up in the dim light.

Not liking what he was seeing any more than Arla had, Dean asked, "Give me an estimate here. How long we got till you drop?"

Sam shot him an ironic look and smiled slightly as he replied, "'Bout as long as you have. You look like hell, Dean."

"So we've got a few hours at least." Grinning, Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder and said, "Awesome. That gives us plenty of time to find Tommy, find Gethen and find his tooth."

"Yeah. Plenty of time." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Last man standing gets the remote for…"

"You already gave me the remote." Sam cut him off, amusement in his eyes. "For two weeks."

Dean glared at him, "_That_ you remember? Half the time you don't remember where we are, but that you remember."

Sam grinned, "Last man standing gets...a month off laundry duty."

"Make sure you wash my dainties separate from the jeans." Dean winked, "I'm _so_ not going down first, little brother. So not."

"Wanna bet?"

Dean sighed, "Would if I even had a nickle. Which reminds me, we're gonna have to come up with some cash in the near future which should be great fun I'm sure."

Sam pressed his fingers to his temples and muttered, "One thing at a time, please."

"Yeah. Sure." Dean checked his gun, saw Arla was heading their way and asked, "Why is that tooth so important to him anyway?"

"What if it's a cursed object, Dean?" Sam suggested, not changing position. "He says Alexander used it to put a spell on him. Which could still be true, I guess. But they were robbing graves and..."

"And maybe they took something they shouldn't have." Dean said, then frowned, staring at Sam. "A tooth? Who'd steal a tooth from a corpse? That's just gross. And unsanitary...and _gross_…"

Sam took a slow breath and shrugged one shoulder, "Alexander said he was obsessed with it and that it was _gold_. Maybe he didn't know Gethen had taken it from a grave. Maybe _neither _of them have any idea what it is."

Dean nodded, "Ok. I'll admit that's not the most unlikely idea I've ever heard. It might explain a few things actually. Of course, the biggest question and most disturbing is where is the thing? If he's been looking for it all these years and he hasn't found it...what are the chances _we'll _ever find it?"

Sam didn't answer and Dean looked at Arla as she joined them. She handed him the keys to the Impala and he grabbed Sam's gun from her at the same time. He asked, "Our friend Alex still in two pieces in there?"

Arla chewed her lip and nodded.

"Good." Dean got to his feet, only a little unsteadily, and pointed at the SUV and asked, "This thing good for off-roading, right?"

"Um…" Arla raised an eyebrow, then said, "There are a lot of trees…"

"So we'll go around them." Dean shrugged, looking out into the dark. There was no option. Especially if the charred embers in front of him were just an illusion and Gethen was still out there. They didn't have the strength to hike around the woods all night and then try to confront the monster again. Meeting her eyes, he said simply, "We're not going to make it far on foot."

Arla shifted the rifle in her hands and pulled her keys out of her pocket. "Tommy was looking for you. I told him about the mine."

"So we'll head that way." Dean said, turning back to Sam. "Hey, come on, you can even ride shotgun, Sammy. Arla'll turn the heat up and…"

"Dean?" Sam lowered his hands and looked up, eyes wide.

Instantly concerned, Dean leaned closer and asked, "What?"

"I know where the tooth is."

* * *

**Things are starting to look up! Think they'll get the tooth back? Think Gethen's really dead? Think Sam's going to get out of laundry duty? :) Stay tuned to find out... **

** Thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed the chapter. :)**

**ps if you see any typos or random numbers let me know...had some issues uploading this chapter so i hope i caught all the errors, but if you see something let me know and i'll fix it! thanks**

**PPS: L.H...just wanted to extend a special thanks to you for your awesome notes to chapter 22 and 23! :) You always leave such nice detailed notes and I love hearing the specific things you enjoyed out of the chapters. Thank you so much! **

**And thank you to Taraneh as well! You guys are awesome guest reviewers and I love hearing from you! **


	25. Chapter 25

**Here we go! Time to see if their luck continues, or if everything falls apart yet again...**

* * *

_motel parking lot_

"You what?" Dean's voice was sharp, shocked. And too loud. Sam tried, but probably failed, to hide his flinch because when Dean spoke again, he was mercifully quieter. "You know where it is? Why didn't you say so sooner? How..."

"Tommy." Sam said, trying to sort through his thoughts and actually figure out how he knew where the tooth was. It had just hit him all of a sudden as he'd been puzzling through Dean's words. It was vague, but he remembered trekking through the woods with Tommy as the older man had talked about his visit with Michael Tappero. Sam glanced from Dean to Arla and said, "I just remembered Tommy saying…"

"Let's get in the car." Arla interrupted, her gaze darting from him to the treeline and back. "You both need to be out of the cold and it'd be a bit more…"

"Private." Dean finished with a decisive nod. He took a moment to kick at the smoldering remains, looking up with an uncertain shrug. "Looks pretty dead to me. Let's get out of here."

Sam was all in agreement, but didn't bother to voice his vote. Because Dean was already pulling him to his feet and Sam was trying to hold onto his fleeting thoughts. He needed to keep thinking about what Tommy had told him about his conversation with Michael Tappero. If he didn't concentrate, he was going to forget what he was trying to say. And he knew it was too important to forget. So he just let Dean half-support, half-shove him toward the front door of the SUV.

Dean was cursing under his breath, and wasn't he being ever so kind about the volume of his profanities these days? Sam tried to catch his breath, head pressed against the cool window of the back door, feeling Dean's hand on his shoulder even as he heard the front door opening. A second later, Dean was gently pushing him forward again and whispering, "Come on, you're there. Sit down."

It felt like the hardest thing he'd ever tried to do, but he managed to collapse into the seat and even pull his legs into the SUV. Sam leaned back against the headrest and kept his eyes closed. He knew there was something he was supposed to be remembering. Something he was supposed to be telling Dean about, but for the moment, he could only focus on the throbbing pain behind his eyes. He felt Dean moving around near by and realized he was trying to buckle the seat belt.

"Dean?" Sam mumbled, amused despite the pain. The thought of his brother suddenly taking safety so seriously was hysterical. He was too tired to fight him on it or even try to help, but he asked, "The heck are you doing?"

"You'll thank me later. Trust me on that." Dean responded in a near whisper, actual fear in his voice.

Sam heard the seat belt click and then Dean patted him on the chest and closed the front door _excruciatingly _quietly. A moment or two later and he'd heard two more doors click shut softly and then the engine started up and it wasn't quite the end of the world, but it almost felt like it. Sam wanted to curl up and bury his head in his hands but he was so tired that it didn't seem worth it, so he just sat still and regretted his unfortunate encounter with the poltergeist that had sent him crashing down the steps and earning him a crack on the head.

Voices were murmuring in the background and he felt glorious warmth all of a sudden. Between the warmth that felt good but only seemed to make his shivers feel more pronounced, and the voices that seemed to be trying to talk to him, Sam was overwhelmed with sensations and tried to block it all out. Because he was supposed to be thinking about something else. Something about the poltergeist? Brody? Or was it Parkins? _Perkins_? Yeah, Perkins. Thomas Brody and Arthur Perkins. Business partners. Friends turned enemies. Dean had left him at the library all afternoon while he'd gone to interview family members. Sam had found more information on the two men from the newspapers and archives than Dean had with the family.

For one thing, there wasn't much family to talk to. Most members of both men's families had moved away over the years and only Perkin's sister, an elderly widow in the local nursing home, was available to question. She'd had little to offer other than to say she'd always suspected her brother had done something to Brody to start the horrible grudge-match that had lasted through the final years of what had once been an amiable, lifelong friendship. There'd been rumors, Madge Perkins had insinuated. Dirty, shameful rumors. But Dean hadn't been able to get her to be any less cryptic and he'd left the nursing home frustrated and coughing even worse than he had been all week.

Sam had been able to dig up that Brody had one daughter and she'd inherited his estate, but had left town not long after Brody and Perkins had died. He hadn't found much on the daughter, Verity Brody, other than the fact that she'd moved to New York with her young son, never to return. A little more digging had revealed Verity married a stockbroker soon after her move. She had passed away almost 18 months prior to their arrival in Arizona which left them with yet another dead end. The estate was in limbo as the lawyers were still waiting to see if her son was going to choose to take possession. Apparently he'd been planning to, but had never shown up for the meeting with the lawyers.

They'd spent the rest of the week trying to find a way to stop the afterlife battle of two men that supposedly had been childhood best friends. Sam shook his head, wishing the steady hum in the background would just stop. Because he was trying to sleep and he had to get up soon and help Dean end those two ghosts before they killed anyone else. Dean had been cranky and testy the entire week and Sam knew he was feeling like crap even if he wouldn't admit it despite coughing all day.

"Sam."

_Oh please, we just got back an hour ago, Dean,_ Sam thought, squeezing his eyes more tightly closed. The motel was smelly and uncomfortable and they needed to find time to get some more cash in their pockets so it was the best they could do, but it still sucked. _Can we not sleep for one more hour before we go back out there?_

"Sam."

He tilted his head slightly, hearing the subtle change in Dean's tone. He sounded pressured and worried. Sam felt a hand on his shoulder and knew Dean was right. They had to get back out there and end Brody and Perkins. They could sleep later. He tried to pull himself out of the fog of sleep, finding it unusually difficult. Dean was still talking, but for whatever reason, Sam couldn't quite make out what he was saying. But his volume was increasing and Sam knew he needed to get himself in gear or Dean would be throwing a lumpy pillow at him. Just about to force his eyes open, the world seemed to jump and Sam gasped at the sensation.

"Sorry!" It was a woman's voice.

"Sam, come on, you said we had a few hours before you crashed, man." Dean sounded like he was pleading, which just wasn't right. Dean didn't plead or beg. Unless it was for food. His gravel-rough voice was close to Sam's ear as he said, "You're so doing the laundry for _two_ months if you don't wake up and talk to me right now."

_Laundry? _What did that have to do with anything? Sam blinked a couple times, realizing as he did that he wasn't on the uncomfortable bed in the shabby motel. He was apparently in a car driving rather haphazardly through the woods. Eyes widening, he turned and saw an older woman driving; her expression tight and focused on the path ahead.

Arla.

As the world came into focus and his jumbled memories sorted themselves out, Sam shifted further and almost came nose to nose with his brother who was practically sitting on the console as he leaned forward from the back seat. Dean jerked backwards, relief in his eyes. He shook his head and said, "Dude! You sit down for one minute and you're completely shut down on me. Don't freak me out like that. You with us now?"

Swallowing back a rush of nausea as the SUV bounced through the woods, Sam nodded.

"Good. You were going to tell us about the tooth."

"The what?" Sam asked, trying to remember how a tooth fit into the sordid tale of friendship gone wrong.

Dean swore, not quite under his breath and his eyes widened, "Sam, don't do this to me. Please tell me you're joking."

Sam wanted to hit him. Did he look like he was joking? Instead, he decided it would be more productive if he just tried to concentrate on what Dean was asking him. A tooth? The tooth. _Gethen's _tooth. It all flooded back to him in a rush and he said, "Tommy said...a guy had been there…" It was difficult to sort through the jumble of memories and focus on this case and not the one with the poltergeists. Sam said, "He talked to him."

"Michael Tappero?" Arla asked, slowing down and skirting a few trees. "Tommy told me in a text that he'd gone to talk to Mr. Tappero."

"Yes, Michael was a kid when Gethen and Alexander fought...he found the tooth in the field." Sam said, wishing he could figure out why it all seemed so strange. Something was nagging at him, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"So this Michael guy has the tooth?" Dean interrupted his thoughts, sounding so relieved that Sam hated to destroy his hope.

Because Michael didn't have the tooth.

Rubbing his forehead, Sam mumbled, "Michael gave it away."

"He what?" Dean asked, incredulous. He groaned and coughed a few thousand times then said in a painfully raw voice, "Don't suppose we know who he gave it to."

"A childhood friend." Sam said slowly as realization dawned. Maybe Dean wouldn't be so disappointed after all. Sam couldn't believe it, hadn't caught the connection earlier when Tommy had mentioned it on the way back to the motel. He said, "Michael Tappero gave it to his friend Peter Brody."

"As in Brody the poltergeist we just took out?"

Sam looked over his shoulder and almost smiled at the utter disbelief in Dean's eyes. He said, "No. The poltergeist was Thomas Brody; Peter Brody was his father."

The SUV bumped through the woods in near silence, then Dean spoke up again, "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Is...I mean...are these cases…"

"Connected?" Sam finished his thought. He was coming to the same rather murky conclusion, "It actually makes sense."

Dean's dubious expression showed how little sense he thought it made, but he said, "Gethen and Alexander somehow find something they shouldn't have. Assume it's that tooth. Turns them against each other. They fight, this Michael guy finds the tooth, gives it to his buddy and then what?"

"I'd guess that it was passed to Thomas Brody from his father somehow and it destroyed his and Perkins' lives." Sam picked up when Dean broke off, huffing and puffing for breath like he'd just run a mile. "We just need to figure out how it all fits together."

"How?" Arla asked, slowing the vehicle. Her headlights bounced off the wall of the crypt and Sam couldn't deny a twist of anxiety at seeing it again. "How are you going to figure all of that out when they're all dead?"

"Research." Dean muttered irritably.

"We've already done the research, Dean." Sam said, thinking about the stacks of folders in which he'd neatly catalogued the newspaper clippings and other assorted notes they'd made. "We have more information on Brody and Perkins than anyone else. We just have to look for what we missed. These two cases _are_ connected."

Arla turned the engine off and looked at them both, then said, "I want you two to stay put while I go see if I can find the entrance to the mine…"

"You're not going alone." Dean shook his head.

"I'll be fine. Hate to break it to you boys," She smiled, "but neither one of you really look up to providing any kind of protection. We're going to assume that Alexander and Gethen are well and truly dead…"

"We can't assume anything…" Dean tried to cut her off.

"And I'm going to be careful," Arla went on without batting an eye, "while you both sit here and rest. If I run into anything that isn't Tommy," she held up the rifle, "I'll take its head off and then ask questions."

Sam returned her brief smile as she got out of the SUV, leaving Dean griping and muttering in the backseat. But he didn't try to follow her which told Sam more about how his brother felt than anything Dean would ever have said aloud. Shifting uncomfortably, Sam looked in the backseat and found Dean slumped back in the seat, chest heaving as he fought for each breath. His eyes were squeezed closed and Sam could see the flush of fever, the sweat coating Dean's skin. He was getting worse.

Still slumped in his own seat, Sam let his eyes drift closed.

"What are the chances we really killed Gethen back there?" Dean asked softly.

Sam shifted his head against the seat and said, "I don't know. If it wasn't Gethen...if it _was_ an illusion, how would he have known what I was going to do? That I thought he was a Wendigo? How could Gethen have made an illusion like that on the spur of the moment? They weren't mind readers, just magicians. Maybe it's really just simple this time. Maybe he's dead."

"Maybe." Dean said, then snorted, "I'm just not quite sure what we do next if he's really dead, Sam. I mean, I feel like...something's missing."

"You were looking forward to a showdown with the evil villain?" Sam asked with a smile.

Dean's voice was whiny and irritated, "Man, after getting our butts kicked and doing all of this crap on _the day after freaking Christmas_, yeah I wanted to kick his butt. Someone's butt. It just feels so…"

"Anticlimactic."

"Geeze, college boy, what big words you use these days."

"Shut up." Sam said without heat. "I'm sorry I stole your thunder and shot him with a flare gun. Had I known it was so important to you, I'd have let you do it."

"And Gethen took Alexander out which leaves me with nothing to do."

Sam smiled and offered, "You could figure out how all of it fits together. Something made these people go bad. We still have to end it. If it's that tooth, we have to destroy it."

"Yeah, but that boring stuff is your job." Dean was still whiny, "I'm supposed to do the dirty work while you do the hard work. What was the point of sending you off to college if you don't do the brain stuff?"

Sam glared at his brother, "_Send_ me off to college? As I recall, I had to walk out the door all on my own and take a bus to California."

Dean raised an eyebrow and said, "Well, you made it didn't you? You could have asked me for a ride…"

"And you would have left Dad and driven me to Stanford?" Sam asked, closing his eyes. He already knew the answer. "That wasn't going to happen."

"You're so sure about that, aren't you?" Dean's voice was growing softer. "But you didn't ask so I guess we'll never know, will we?"

Sam stared out the front windshield. He wasn't sure what to think. His whole life, he'd been able to count on Dean for anything. Ask him for anything. That day, though, after his massive fight with Dad about Stanford, he hadn't been sure. And he'd left without ever finding out one way or the other. Suddenly, he needed to know. Just as he was about to ask, though, Dean leaned forward and started coughing again.

Cringing both because every cough was like a gunshot going off in his head _and_ because he could tell how bad Dean was hurting, Sam fumbled for the bottle of water in the cup holder next to him. He turned around and waited until Dean's coughing spell had ended, leaving him wrung out and softly moaning with the pain of taking each and every breath. He was hunched forward, arms wrapped around himself, head hung low as he sucked in shallow breaths.

Sam could see the blood on Dean's lips and hand even in the dark.

* * *

_in the mine_

"No, I can get around it." Raquel said, backtracking slightly until she was able to get around the iron bars that lay scattered in her path. "It's ok."

Tommy had paused, leaning his left hip against the wall while he hunched over his aching side and tried to catch his breath. He watched Raquel side-step more iron until she was once again even with him. They'd had to reroute completely once before when they'd reached a passage that she couldn't get through due to the iron tracks. There had been no way he could have lifted them to clear her a path. So they both hoped sincerely they were still heading in the general direction of _out._

"Are you alright?" Raquel asked, breaking into his thoughts. He nodded, but didn't try to move yet. The dizziness wasn't debilitating, but it was slowing him down.

He said, "There's a turn off to the left ahead. Let's try that…."

Raquel glanced ahead, then back at him. She asked, "You think that's the way to the collapsed part?"

He'd told her about his and Sam's almost crash into the mine when the ground had given way earlier. That was the direction he was trying to guide them now, hoping they could get out that way. Tommy double checked his compass on his key chain, then said, "I hope so. It's a little hard to be sure, but I think we're going the right direction."

They walked on in silence for a few minutes before they found themselves at another junction. Tommy consulted his compass and hoped sincerely that his fogged mind was functioning well enough that he wasn't completely taking them in all the wrong directions. He didn't feel like he was about to fall over, but he didn't exactly feel well either.

"Tommy?" Raquel asked. She'd walked a little further ahead and now turned back to him. "What if I take a quick peek down the different tunnels while you just wait here for a minute. No sense in you wearing yourself out by going down the wrong passage and just having to backtrack again."

If she hadn't been a ghost, he would have protested. But she was a ghost and he was in need of a moment to sit down, so he nodded and said, "Ok. That's probably a good idea actually."

"I thought so." She smiled and said, "I'll be right back."

And she was.

Tommy looked up in surprise as she came rushing back toward him. She'd barely been gone five minutes. He asked, "Couldn't get through?"

She shook her head, "Well, one direction just leads to another collapsed tunnel. But the other way," She smiled, "I think is the one we're looking for."

"That was fast." Tommy smiled. Glad to hear there might be a way out, although he was a little disappointed he hadn't had just a little longer to sit and rest.

Raquel said, "I didn't go very far because I thought it looked like the place you described. I think I should be able to get through. There wasn't much iron or debris over that way. I can go find Arla and the Winchesters and get help..."

"We don't need their help." Tommy said, frustration suddenly bubbling to the surface. "I've handled it this far, I don't need Arla to get in here and land us in more trouble."

"You don't think she…"

"I think she got us into this mess. She's got a heart of gold, that's for sure, but she tends not to think when she's using it." He stumbled over a rotted board, caught himself and stared ahead, muscles tight and fist clenched. Taking slow steps forward, he added, "If she hadn't begged me, we'd just have gotten the police out here to deal with those boys and we'd be enjoying the day after Christmas instead of...of whatever we're doing here."

Tommy could tell Raquel was uncomfortable with what he was saying, but at the moment, his side hurt, he was tired, cold and couldn't care less what a ghost was feeling. It was just as much her fault as Arla's. If she hadn't flagged them down..._so stupid, Tommy! You should have just ignored Arla. You knew it was a bad idea to stop and talk to that girl on the side of the road in the first place. _

_None of this would have happened if you hadn't let Arla nag you into being some kind of hero. _

* * *

_at the crypt_

Dean fought back the panic.

Because it felt like he was dying. Like every rib in his chest was broken and digging into his lungs with

every breath. The pain he'd been trying to ignore for a week now had reached epic new levels of agony and he almost regretted pulling Sam back from the brink of unconsciousness not long ago. If Sam's head felt anything like his chest did, Dean could understand the alluring draw of darkness. As it was, he was staring at the floorboard, seeing dark spots floating in his vision. Dark spots and blood. The sight of the sticky red sputum on his hand and the floor turned his stomach and he had just enough self control to keep from throwing up on the SUV's carpet.

"Dean?"

Sam's voice was soft and scared. Dean knew he needed to sit up and pull himself together but he couldn't even move yet. Panting, he managed to wipe the blood from his lips with the back of his hand which made him only feel slightly less awful. Everything felt too hot and heavy and he was afraid that each breath was going to herald a new coughing fit.

He wasn't sure he could survive another one.

Dean felt a hand on his arm and blinked a few times, finally realizing Sam was holding out a wet rag or something. Taking it, Dean managed to wipe his face and hands. The cool cloth felt good pressed against his aching head and he just rested there for a minute, wishing he'd never heard of Arizona. Lowering his hands, he remained leaning over, elbows on his knees and looked up at the front seat. Sam had twisted so he was sitting sideways in the seat, slumped down and studying him silently. He didn't say anything, but Dean could easily read the concern in his eyes.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, then Dean shook his head. There wasn't anything to say. So they didn't say anything. Only a few minutes had passed since Arla had left and Dean was relieved when he saw her walking out of the darkness and opening the drivers side door. She looked unharmed, but a bit teary-eyed and frazzled.

Climbing inside, she closed the door softly and said, "The mine entrance is caved in."

The silence continued for a minute as they all came to grips with that revelation. Maybe Tommy hadn't gone into the mine, Dean wanted to suggest, but he could tell she'd already thought about that. And with no way to know one way or the other, it wasn't much of a comfort.

"There's another way in." Sam said, suddenly, pushing himself up a little straighter in the seat. He looked dizzy and unwell, and his words were starting to slide together. "The ground collapsed earlier. Tommy said he could see inside the mine, that it looked like someone was living there."

"Do you think you can tell me how to get there?" Arla asked hopefully.

Sam said, "I don't know. It was somewhere...between the crypt and where he'd parked in the woods."

"Alright." Arla said, rifling through the center console. She pulled out a flashlight and said, "I doubt we're going to be able to get the SUV through. The ground is rockier and uneven up here and the trees are a lot thicker. Besides, if the ground caved in on you guys, I'm not risking it in this thing. I'll have to go on foot. And you two are staying right here."

Dean wanted to immediately protest. He really did. But he couldn't. Because if he went, Sam was going to insist on going too and Sam looked bad enough that, if Tommy weren't still out there unaccounted for, Dean would have told Arla to point the SUV straight at the nearest hospital. Of course, it was easier to let that be his reason than it was to admit he wasn't honestly sure _he_ would be able to take another step. Sam wasn't saying anything and Arla was staring back at him, as if waiting for the challenge she knew was coming. Dean sighed.

"I want to argue with you." He said, hating how broken his voice sounded.

"But you're not going to, are you?" Arla asked softly. _Knowingly_. But there was no triumph in her voice, just concern.

"Not this time."

Arla nodded. She said, "I'm leaving the keys. I've got the keys to the Mustang too so if anything happens, if I don't come back in an hour, an hour _tops_, or if one of you gets worse, get out of here. Tommy and I can take the Mustang. Clear?"

"Yeah." Dean said, catching Sam's eye. Sam still didn't say anything. So they were all in agreement then. Muffling a cough in his sleeve, Dean waved a hand at Arla and said, "Be careful."

"Girl Scout." She grinned, although it looked forced.

Dean watched her until she was lost in the shadows of the woods. He forced himself to take slow, even breaths. Running a hand over his face, Dean knew what he'd never admit; he was getting worse. The pain and fever aside, he couldn't deny how difficult it was to breathe. Thinking about how terrible he felt wasn't going to solve anything, though. And there was still a case out there that needed to be dealt with. If he could just think straight and analyze the pieces of the mystery before him.

Gethen and Alexander. Friends and business partners. Torn apart by what he could only guess was a cursed object of some sort. Turned into creatures of evil that had haunted the woods for decades.

Brody and Perkins. Friends and business partners. Also torn apart, also turned into something evil.

The only apparent link between the cases, a gold tooth, probably stolen from a grave.

Fact: Michael Tappero had found the tooth in the field after Gethen had murdered Alexander Turpleman. Fact: Tappero given it to his friend Peter Brody. Assumption: Brody had passed it to his son. Guess: the tooth had been passed to Brody's daughter's son. Sam hadn't found a name or any details on Verity's son other than that he'd been set to inherit then had never shown up. And in between everything, betrayal, murder and mayhem.

Dean sighed, shifting uncomfortably in the seat, tugging at his coat. He wanted it off, was too hot, but wasn't sure the fight was worth it. Every move made breathing more difficult. So he just let his arms rest on the seat, closed his eyes, and tried not to move.

After a couple minutes of silence, Sam spoke up, "Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"How're y'doing back there?"

"Probably as good as you're doing up there." Dean said, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Yeah. 'bout that." Sam's voice was low and hesitant.

Dean didn't like it. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, sitting up just a pinch straighter. Stomach unsettled, he asked, "Sam?"

Sam was staring vacantly at the driver's seat as he said, "'m really tired."

"Well tough. No sleeping on a hunt." Dean said, keeping his voice soft, but firm as he scooted forward until he could look Sam in the eyes. His heart skipped a beat seeing how glassy and unfocused they were. He said, "You gotta stay with me here, no quitting till the jobs done."

"Think...'m doing thlaundry…" Sam mumbled, slurring like he was drunk.

Dean reached back and pushed his door open, letting in the chill night air and turning on the overhead light. Sam flinched and lowered his head further, trying to escape the bright light. He pressed his hands to his face and whispered, "It hurts."

"I know." Dean acknowledged, hating to cause pain, but needing to keep his brother alert. He said, "You gotta fight it. Because we are literally not out of the woods yet and I can't do this alone."

"Y'need t'go to th hospital." Sam struggled to get the words out, but he was meeting Dean's eyes now. He looked every bit as worried as Dean felt.

Dean smiled briefly, "I don't think either of us has a choice about that anymore."

He wrapped his arms around his chest, wishing it would actually help the stabbing pain he felt with every breath. It felt different. Worse than before. Lowering his head just a little, he focused on his breathing. The bright light and cold air wasn't exactly doing him any good, but it had served to perk Sam up enough that there was a slim chance he wasn't going to pass out in the next five minutes. _A slim chance_, Dean thought, watching Sam struggle to keep his eyes open. He was having a little trouble keeping his own eyes open and had almost given in to the pull of sleep when he heard Sam say something.

"What?" Dean asked. He hadn't realized how out of it he had been. Glancing at his watch, he was shocked to see that almost a full twenty-five minutes had passed since the last time he'd looked. He looked at Sam and asked, "What did you say?"

Sam's eyes were closed and his face was ashen in the dim overhead light. He didn't open his eyes, but whispered, "If...if...I'd've asked...that night…"

Dean knew what he meant without any elaboration. With a sigh, he gently punched Sam on the shoulder and said, "I would have taken you, Sam. Dad would have been ticked, sure, but he'd've gotten over it. I just...figured you were, I don't know, mad at both of us. That you needed, wanted, to be on your own."

"Wasn't mad at you." Sam's eyes slid opened and Dean could see that he was sincere. "Wasn't 'bout being...on...'m'own."

Which made him feel just a little bit better. Because he'd always wondered. Sam had always been his shadow, had looked up to him, trusted him, believed him. Believed _in_ him. But that day, that fight, had left him wondering if the day had finally come when his little brother didn't need or want him anymore. Maybe he'd been wrong.

The coughing spell hit him out of the blue and Dean crumpled forward, hand pressed to his mouth as a thousand blades stabbed into him from every side. For a few seconds, he was certain he was going to die, but eventually, he caught his breath and the world turned right side out again. Arms braced on his knees, Dean kept his head lowered; the overhead light clearly showing just how much blood he'd coughed up onto the floor this time. Dizzy and hurting, he squeezed his hands around his head and sucked in a few more shallow breaths. As the buzzing sound died down, another sound caught his attention.

His eyes opened and he sat up. Sam wasn't slumped in the front seat anymore; he was leaning half out of the SUV, arm braced against the open front door. From the sound of it, he was throwing up every last sip of water and bite of granola bar he'd eaten today. Cursing under his shallow, painful breath, Dean dragged himself out of the SUV. He'd barely made it to his feet when Sam started to fall forward. Hurrying, and stumbling on his sore ankle, Dean caught Sam as he fell; his head landing heavily on Dean's shoulder.

"Sam?" Dean didn't care if the panic in his voice was obvious. At this point, he didn't care about much of anything except the motionless body in his arms. He was having a hard time even staying on his feet with all of Sam's weight in his arms. Praying for a response, he pushed Sam back against the seat and asked again, "Sam?"

"Dean!"

He heard his name being called, but it wasn't his brother speaking. Casting a quick glance at Sam's face, Dean saw that his eyes were barely open. A woman's voice called his name again, and, keeping his hand pressed against Sam's chest, Dean turned around to find Raquel running toward him. He frowned, instantly on alert and wishing he had his gun in his hand. Because he'd seen her go up in flames. So this had to be a trick...had to be…

"You have to help!" She was almost screaming as she skidded to a stop in front of him, "Please, please, you have to help...I can't...I don't know what's…."

"Who are you?" Dean asked, feeling Sam's chest rise and fall unevenly under his hand. He studied the woman, wishing he could know for sure. "I saw Raquel…"

She nodded and waved a hand, "Gethen burned my bones yes. But I'm not tied to them. Remember my wedding rings? How I got to the Pender's house? I'm tied to them, not my bones, and you have to believe me! Have to help me!"

Dean didn't like it. Didn't like her showing up out of the blue. Didn't like that he was having so much trouble concentrating and knowing what he should do. And he really didn't like anything about how Sam wasn't responding to any of the activity. He fought past the panic and pain and looked at Raquel. It could be a trap. Could be an illusion. But it would have to be the greatest illusion in the world because that utter terror in her eyes was about as real as anything he'd ever seen.

He took another peek at Sam who hadn't moved and seemed to be drifting further away with each passing second, then back at Raquel. She had tears in her eyes and her entire body was trembling. Time to take a chance. He asked, "Raquel, what's going on?"

She had to fight back a sob as she spoke, "It's Tommy and Arla. Something's wrong."

* * *

** ...tbc... **


	26. Chapter 26

**Hi everyone! Sorry no update this weekend...i worked fri/sat/sun and last night till midnight...and i have literally been up all night finishing this and getting it prepped to post cuz i simply could NOT fall asleep no matter what. Night shift is a blessing and a curse. Today it is literally both since this chapter is now posted...and a curse since I have to be out the door at 11am and going to be busy all day! Lots of caffeinated beverages in my future lol! My brother and sis-in-law graduate this weekend so I'm going to squeeze in as much writing as i can in the next few days amidst the crazy. I've got part of ch27 in the works already, but no guarantees on how successful I'll be or when I'll be able to post, but I'll try my hardest to get it up soon! **

**Hope you all enjoy this chapter! Lots of things start falling into place... **

* * *

_mine, earlier_

"If she hadn't begged me, we'd just have gotten the police out here to deal with those boys and we'd be enjoying the day after Christmas instead of...of whatever we're doing here." Tommy said, pushing past Raquel and heading into the darkness.

Raquel was shocked at the sudden bitterness in Tommy's voice. She knew next to nothing about him, but he'd been so kind to her as they walked through the mine that his words now just seemed wrong; out of character. Sparing a quick glance, she studied the blood on his shirt and thought about his injury and how bad he must be feeling and tried to tell herself that was all there was to it. He was in pain. Even so, she decided to remain silent as they walked toward what she hoped was the way out.

At least here there was no debris from the mine collapse so she didn't have to continually search to find ways around iron tracks. With any luck, she wouldn't have to stay trapped in the dark, creepy mine for all of eternity. It took a few minutes of moving at Tommy's ever slowing pace before they reached what she could only imagine was Gethen's living area.

It smelled.

Smelled like rot and death and everything repulsive. Dirty bedding lay crumpled in a corner with the remains of what must have been his last snack. Raquel shuddered and followed Tommy's flashlight beam away from that sight. There wasn't much else to the room except a makeshift table in one corner. Tommy glanced up at the opening above them, satisfying himself that they'd found the way out, then sidestepped the dirt and debris from the cave in and slowly walked over to the table.

"Home sweet home." Tommy said, shining the light over the objects on the table.

A few old books, a stack of papers tied with thin brown rope, a bottle of some sort of liquor, a shaving kit and other items that looked like they belonged in a museum lay neatly organized on the table and shelves. Tommy picked up the stack of papers and asked, "Can you hold onto this? It looks handwritten."

Raquel nodded, accepting the sheaf of papers. She squinted at the tiny, flowery writing and asked, "You think this is important?"

"Maybe." Tommy said, the beam of his light catching a reflection.

He stepped forward and picked up the picture frame. Raquel slid closer until she could see the picture. It gave her chills. The picture, faded and grainy, showed three people in old fashioned attire standing out in front of what looked like some kind of covered wagon. She could barely make out the words _Travelling Show_ painted on the side of the wagon. Her eyes were drawn back to the foreground of the image and she could almost feel a darkness emanating from the photograph.

"Is that...Gethen?" She asked in a whisper, staring at the good looking man in the image. He looked happy and pleasant and nothing at all like the monster that had killed her husband.

"Yes." Tommy said, studying the picture, "I think so."

"Which means…"

Tommy nodded, "The other guy must be his partner. Alexander Turpleman."

"And the woman?" Raquel was afraid to ask.

"I'd say she was someone very important to Gethen." Tommy said somberly, meeting her eyes briefly.

Raquel swallowed hard as she looked back at the image. Gethen stood on the left in the photograph, handsome and tall with his arm wrapped comfortably and affectionately around the shoulders of a woman. A few feet away stood the second man. The photograph would have seemed innocent, pleasant in fact, except for one thing. Both the woman's face and Alexander's face had been gouged away; the photograph torn almost clean through in both places. It was the creepiest picture Raquel had ever seen. She frowned as she stared at it.

She asked, "Do you think...that Alexander and the woman…"

Tommy nodded, "I'm thinking they might have done something to make Gethen very unhappy."

_To put it mildly..._Raquel thought to herself. They appeared to have been friends when the picture was taken all those years ago, but something had changed. Something to make Gethen scratch their faces out of the photograph. She watched as Tommy slid the image into his back pocket and turn away from the table. He looked up at the hole above them, then back at the table.

"You want to try to stand on the table?" Raquel asked timidly. Tommy seemed a little less frustrated but she was afraid to push him. She didn't dare suggest going for help again. At least not yet.

"Giving it some thought…" He said, studying the situation. Before he'd had much time to think, they saw a flash of light somewhere above them. Raquel could hear a woman's voice calling Tommy's name and she turned to him with a wide smile.

But he didn't look happy. He was looking up, mouth set in a firm line. Shining the light upward, he finally shouted, "Arla!"

"Tommy?"

"Here." He called out again, waving the flashlight. Raquel held her breath.

A moment later, they saw another flash of light and Tommy yelled, "Be careful walking over here! I don't need you falling down here too."

"Tommy!" Arla's voice was close. A second passed, then Raquel saw her cautiously peeking over the edge of the hole. Arla's smile was wide at the sight of her husband and she said, "Oh thank God you're alive! I've got a rope and I can…"

"A rope?" Tommy cut her off and Raquel wanted to disappear into a hole in the ground. _You idiot! You're already in a hole in the ground!_ Regardless, she didn't like seeing Tommy act like this. She watched him step forward and glare up at Arla as he asked, "What do you think we're going to do with a rope?"

"Maybe get you out of that hole in the ground?" Arla said, but her easy smile was fading. "What were you thinking…"

"What was I thinking? I was thinking of ways to get out of the mess you got us into."

Arla's smile disappeared completely and she sounded just as irritated as he did when she said, "I'm so sorry that you think rescuing a couple kids was such a bad idea, dear."

"It was your bad idea." Tommy snapped, "I'm just an idiot for having let you talk me into it."

"You're right, you are an idiot. Why I'm even here trying to help you…" Arla moved away and Raquel held her breath. She stared from Tommy back up to the dark sky above, wondering what was going on. The mine? Some sort of evil spirit?

Her thoughts were interrupted a second later when a rope came flying down into the mine, smacking Tommy on the shoulder. He glared up as Arla came back into view. Grabbing the rope, he asked, "What do you expect me to do with this?"

"Climb out of the mine."

"I'm bleeding!" Tommy yelled, waving his hand at his chest.

Arla tugged at the rope, making it jump and dance at his feet. She raised an eyebrow and said, "So climb carefully and I'll stitch you up when you get here, honey."

Tommy glared at her and said, "You think this is funny?"

"Do I look like I'm laughing?" Arla snapped back. "You should just be grateful I'm even here. I'm tempted to leave you right there…"

"So do it. Good riddance. I won't have to endure any more of your stupid ideas if you're gone." Tommy spat, yanking on the rope.

Raquel pressed back against the far wall, her eyes looking from Tommy to Arla. Tommy was apparently satisfied the rope would hold his weight and was attempting to drag the table closer to give him something to boost himself with. The ceiling wasn't extremely high so Raquel had a feeling he would be able to get out without too much difficulty. He worked with ruthless efficiency, face drawn with pain and rage. Arla was still kneeling at the edge of the hole. To Raquel, it almost looked like the older woman was a little confused in addition to being angry.

What made it all so much worse, though, was the fact what she was seeing between Tommy and Arla was familiar. Terribly, terribly familiar. Raquel clutched the stack of papers Tommy had handed her and stayed pressed in the corner. Tommy seemed to have forgotten all about her as he struggled to climb out of the mine. She held her breath until he reached the edge of the hole above and Arla reached out a hand to help him. They were still bickering and arguing, but Arla had helped him, so maybe things weren't _that_ bad.

Raquel knew she needed to get help, though. They were discussing heading back toward the crypt which was apparently where Arla had left the SUV parked, but they weren't moving very quickly in that direction. Instead, they seemed to stop every few feet to yell at each other. Tommy had his gun in his hand and she wasn't entirely certain he wasn't contemplating using it on Arla. So she left them there and visualized herself back at the crypt.

Because if she was right about what was happening to them, things could get much worse. And the only people who could possibly help were the Winchester brothers. Her heart skipped a beat as she arrived at the crypt and found them right where Arla had said they would be. The only question now was whether they would be up to helping her.

* * *

_near the crypt, now_

For a moment, the world tilted, turned abnormally dark and Raquel's voice was drowned out by a loud rushing noise. Dean tried to force his eyes open, then realized they already were. Vaguely, he could hear Raquel still begging for help in the background and knew he probably should do something. If Tommy and Arla _were_ in trouble, he was their only chance of getting out of it at this point. Thing was, he didn't know if the lights were going to come back on soon enough. Blinking and trying not to cough again, Dean realized something was pulling on his coat.

It was all still more than a little fuzzy around the edges, but Dean finally could at least make out some details. And the first detail he made out was that Sam had a weak grip on his coat that was slipping away even as he registered it. As the rushing noise in his ears slowly died down, Dean tried to focus on his brother who was rapidly losing the battle to stay conscious. _Guess I'm off laundry duty, _Dean thought ruefully. Somehow it didn't seem like that great of a victory.

"Sam, I gotta go for a bit. I'll be right back." Dean said, pushing Sam back further into the seat. He wasn't sure how much Sam had heard or if he'd actually even registered that Raquel was standing a couple feet away begging for help.

"Just promise me you'll stay here, ok? I can't be worrying about you and trying to deal with whatever's going on out there." Dean said, hand on Sam's cheek to keep him focused. He might be fading fast, but he wasn't going down easy and he didn't look at all pleased with the thought of Dean going somewhere on his own. Dean forced a smile and said softly, "It's ok. I got this, little brother."

Sam's eyes closed immediately and Dean wasn't sure if he should be relieved or concerned by how quickly he'd given up the fight. He decided he was going to have to settle for a mixture of both and eased the seat back into a reclining position as far as it would go. Taking one last evaluatory glance at his brother, he closing the front door quietly and hoped he was making the right decision.

Thinking had been difficult for days, but now it felt like an Olympic event. The worst part was the nagging worry that he'd missed something, or _would_ miss something, and do something wrong. Hunting required careful attention and the ability to think quickly. Neither of which he was capable of at the moment. He also wasn't happy about leaving Sam behind, but there really wasn't any choice at this point.

His gun felt right in his hand, though, and that was about the only thing that _did _feel right. Dean turned, leaning back against the SUV and ran his free hand over his sweaty face, taking a shaky breath. Raquel was standing there silently, arms clutched around a stack of papers, her eyes wide. She looked like she was on the verge of running. Running _where_, he wasn't sure, but she was a nervous bundle of energy. He nodded at her and she took that as her cue to continue explaining what had happened.

"Somethings wrong with them."

"Short and sweet." Dean said, even those few words dragging a cough out of him.

Raquel studied him for a few seconds, nodded and said, "Tommy and I were in the mine. Arla found us and they've been fighting ever since. I think they might hurt each other if we don't stop them."

Dean's eyebrows rose and he almost laughed, "I don't think they…"

"You haven't seen them." Raquel said, eyes somber, "They aren't acting like themselves. Not at all. Please, please you have to do something to help them!"

"Where are they?"

"On their way here." She looked over her shoulder, then shrugged, "At least I think they are. They keep stopping to argue. I left them as soon as Tommy got out of the mine because I was so scared. It's like they're completely different people…"

Dean narrowed his eyes as she broke off. He couldn't say it was the first time a ghost had been evasive, but it never stopped being annoying. She was holding something back. And he didn't have time for that. Still struggling to picture the Penders fighting like Raquel was implying, he shifted off his right ankle, and asked, "What aren't you telling me?"

Her eyes filled with tears and she said, "It's just...it reminds me...it's like they can't control it."

"And?" He asked, feeling far from patient.

"It's how I felt...when I cheated on Peter." Raquel said, tears overflowing and her face a picture of shame and heartbreak.

Dean stared at her, slowly shaking his head as realization dawned. He asked, "Are you saying you think something _made_ you cheat on your husband? Something that's making the Penders fight out of the blue?"

She nodded, "I thought we were just in a bad place or something, but Peter and I fought just like they are now. Over everything. And I was so angry with him that I…"

"Cheated." Dean finished for her as the pieces fell into place. He was struggling to believe it, but he had the strangest feeling he'd just figured out what was happening. And if he was right, if Raquel was right, then the Penders could very well be in danger. Dean said, "We need to go find them. Show me where they are."

"Ok," Raquel said, frowning, "do you know what's going on?"

Dean made it ten feet before he had to pause with a hand against a tree. Raquel waited somewhat patiently, but mostly nervously, while he caught his breath. He wanted to answer her question, but he was going to need to save his energy. Because he had a long walk ahead and didn't know how difficult it was going to be to talk Tommy and Arla out of killing each other. He also needed to know something from her. Lifting his head, he said, "Tell me this first. Why were you and your husband at this motel last year?"

Raquel looked a little confused, but mostly sad. She said, "We were making a new start."

Pushing off from the tree, Dean nodded and asked, "But why here? Why did you end up at _this_ motel?"

"Well, it was on the way to town. We were moving here…"

"So Peter could inherit his grandfather's estate." Dean finished, reading the disbelief in her eyes.

"How did you…"

"Long story. Did your husband give you anything, anything at all, that had been passed down to him from his family? This is important, Raquel."

She nodded, "My wedding ring."

"It had been in his family for years?"

"Yes. His mother gave it to him." Raquel said, "Well, she gave him the charm anyway. He had it melted down into my ring."

"A charm?" Dean asked, knowing he was on the right track. "A gold charm?"

Nodding again, she said, "I don't know what it looked like but it had been a little charm his grandfather carried. I never knew his family because his mother left the state after her father died. Peter never knew his grandfather either." Raquel shrugged, "I got the impression there were some serious family issues."

_You have no idea,_ Dean thought. He asked, "Your husband...his father was…"

"Stepfather." Raquel interrupted. "He was adopted by his mother's husband. Peter doesn't know who his birth father was. Is that important? What does all of this have to do with…"

"Later." Dean cut her off, coughing into his sleeve. "Where is your ring now? You had it earlier…"

"I gave the rings to Tommy." Raquel said, "I was afraid to keep them in case Gethen found me."

"Gethen's not going to find you now." Dean said, seeing the relief in her eyes. Tommy had the ring. No wonder he and Arla were fighting. Not wanting to waste another moment, or any more breath, he pointed ahead with his gun and Raquel nodded. For the next few minutes, he limped along behind her, hoping with each step that it would be the last one he would have to take before finding the Penders.

They walked longer than he would have liked, but not as long as he had feared, before they heard raised voices ahead. Raquel looked at him and he waved a hand, leaning heavily against a tree. He said, "See if you can get them here."

She nodded quickly and he could tell from the expression in her eyes that she was not too sure he was going to live much longer; something that was starting to cross his mind. Letting his head hang low and closing his eyes, Dean knew it was bad. The pain was bad, the way he couldn't keep his thoughts straight was bad, and the fact that his vision kept greying out was certainly not good. But he couldn't give up or give in to the exhaustion yet. Because he needed to end the century old curse that was turning friends, partners and lovers into monsters and killers.

"Dean!" He didn't bother to look up at the sound of Arla's voice, but he was thankful that she sounded normal and not like she was about to kill him. Her hand was on his arm and she said, "You need to sit down."

"No. I'm ok," he started to protest. To sit down now was to never rise again and he had too much to do. Must have been the power of suggestion, he figured, because his body clearly had other ideas and he found himself not exactly gracefully sliding to the ground.

"It's not an option." Arla said softly, putting her hand behind his head and guiding him to lean back against the tree. "What do you think you're doing out here? I told you to…"

Dean shook his head and said, "It's got you. Needed to...help."

Arla frowned but Tommy asked the question first, "What are you talking about?"

"The curse."

"Curse?" Tommy asked, coming closer and crouching down in front of Dean. He exchanged a quick glance with Arla and Dean could see hostility in both of their expressions, but also a dawning realization. Tommy looked back at him and said, "What are you talking about?"

"Not now." Arla said before Dean could answer. She said, "He needs a hospital. Everything else can…"

"He's talking about a curse," Tommy snapped, eyes blazing, "I think that might be something that _can't_ wait…"

"It's going to have to, he can barely breathe…"

"Stop!" Dean raised his voice as loud as he could, which wasn't saying much and cost him precious breath and left him coughing until he thought his lungs were going to jump up his throat in a shredded, bloody pulp.

But it was enough to shut them both up and leave them staring at him with no hostility and only deep concern in their eyes. Arla's hand was on his cheek, felt so cool compared to his burning skin. She said gently, "Tell us."

"Same curse…"

"Same as Gethen and Alexander?" Arla asked, quick on the uptake.

He nodded, "And Brody and Perkins." Dean turned to look at Raquel. She had tears in her eyes and he knew she'd guessed it, although he doubted she understood how or why yet. He said, "Same as Raquel and her husband, and same as what's happening between you two right now."

Tommy and Arla stared at each other and he was thankful they weren't too far gone yet; not too far that they couldn't see what he was saying. Tommy ran a hand through his hair and said, "I've been so angry…"

"And as soon as I found you," Arla nodded, "it was like I lost all self-control."

""s the curse." Dean muttered. Really needed to wrap this up quick or he was going to fall asleep. _Well, lose consciousness might be more accurate_, since there was no way he was going to be able to sleep with as much trouble he was having breathing.

Arla asked, "But how...how did _we_ get the curse? Was it because Tommy went into the mine?"

Dean shook his head. Holding out his hand, he said, "Give me Raquel's rings."

"What?" Tommy asked, eyes wide.

"They're cursed."

Arla's jaw dropped as she looked from him to Tommy and Raquel. She said, "I don't understand…"

Dean shook his head against the support of the tree. Pressing his eyes closed, he fought to stay focused. Taking a slow breath, he forced his eyes open again and asked, "Do you...all...trust me?"

Tommy nodded, already reaching into a pocket. Arla and Raquel nodded slowly, faces still masks of confusion, but not arguing. Pulling his hand out of his pocket, Tommy held out Raquel and Peter Alonzo's wedding rings. He extended them to Dean who took the rings with a shaking hand. He hadn't noticed it before, but now he could see that Tommy's shirt was soaked in blood. Not able to process well enough to inquire about it, Dean looked down at the rings, then up at Raquel.

"Raquel. The gold charm...what your husband put in the ring...it was just your wedding band? Nothing else?"

"Yes." Raquel nodded, eyes bright with tears and comprehension. "He couldn't afford much. That's the only thing that's gold. Everything else...was just a cheap set."

The rings felt heavy in his hand and he had to lower his arm to the ground or he was sure it would have fallen off. Dean could hear voices talking, thought he heard his name mentioned, but couldn't be sure. Faces and trees and flashlight beams were swimming in front of his eyes and it was all going too slow and too fast at the same time and he really needed to sleep, _oh please let me sleep, but first I have to_…"

"Dean!"

Arla's sharp voice finally broke through the fog and he could just barely make out her face in the darkness. He searched until he saw Raquel. Swallowing hard, he focused on her face and said, "Raquel...gotta...burn...gold's cursed...'m sorry."

"Burn it." Raquel's answer was clear despite the rushing in his ears. She was suddenly close to him, hand on his arm. "Burn the ring. End this. Now."

He found Tommy's face and whispered, "Burn it."

"I'll need equipment I don't have here." Tommy said, "Gold's not going to melt with a lighter…"

"We bury it for now." Dean said. It wasn't ideal, but the ring had been buried for a year without seeming to cause any harm. "Bury it. No one...touches it. Then...destroy it." He looked at Raquel and said, "You can't touch it. Ever again. Understand?"

She nodded, "I won't."

"No one touches it." He repeated, already digging a pathetically shallow hole in the dirt and letting the rings slide into it. "Come back...burn it…"

Voices were talking again but they seemed not to be talking to him. Or maybe they were and he just forgot to listen. Whatever. As soon as he'd patted a little dirt over the rings, everything seemed to tilt to the side and he felt like he was falling off the edge of the world. Must have had a parachute because he didn't smash into a thousand pieces on the ground, and why the heck was he in a plane anyway? Falling from a thousand feet was enough to make him sick to his stomach and he groaned as he felt himself land against something soft.

He didn't feel like he broke anything, but wherever he landed must have been in the middle of a desert because he felt so hot and all he wanted was a glass of water. Or to go to sleep. Falling out of a plane must make you thirsty? Dean couldn't remember if that was true, why it should be true, or why he'd been up in a plane. Nothing made any sense.

"Dean, honey?" A woman's voice.

_Mom_?

"No, sweetie, it's Arla. Just try to stay with me. Keep breathing."

He felt hands on his shoulders, his neck, his face and it was all too much. _Why are there so many hands?_

"We're just getting you to the car, honey. It's ok, it's ok."

The voice was friendly and calming and he suddenly didn't care what was happening as long as the voice kept talking to him and didn't let him fall. But the heavy darkness was sweeping over him in waves and the voice kept fading in and out, leaving him confused and swimming in the blackness. He stumbled over something and the jarring movement was enough to shake some of the fog away enough for him to remember...

"Sam."

"He's ok." Friendly voice was back, at his ear, comforting and calm. "We're here, Dean. Just a short ride now and we'll get you to the hospital."

"Sam?" He whispered, needing to be sure, even if he couldn't remember why.

"I promise you, he's ok. He's ok. You're both going to be ok."

Deciding it sounded like the friendly voice knew what it was talking about, Dean gave up and let the wave of darkness carry him away to somewhere quiet, dark and peaceful.

* * *

**Well? That's not _exactly_ a cliffhanger is it? Really? :) They're safe and on their way to the hospital! Ok, i'll throw out a spoiler so you can all rest easy. They are going to actually make it to the hospital. :D there...don't fall off your chairs. Better? ;)**

_PS: _

_Thank you to Taraneh for your notes! Glad you enjoyed ch25 and hope ch26 has answered some of your curiosity! ;)_

_And thank you to L.H! Your reviews always make me grin! thanks for taking the time to jot such lovely notes! I'm so glad you are enjoying. And...you'll have to tell me now that this chapter is posted...were you right about your middle of the night revelation about the tooth? :) I'm thinking you probably figured it out ;)_


	27. Chapter 27

**_Hi! As promised, they made it safely! :) Time to pick up some pieces..._**

* * *

_December 26th, 2005  
__Evening, woods north of motel  
__at the crypt_

Arla knew that he'd barely been with her the entire walk back to the SUV and, once he'd asked repeatedly about his brother, Dean's eyes had closed and Tommy's grip had been all that kept him from hitting the ground. Honestly, the only thing that surprised her about any of it was how long he'd lasted. Running into him there in the woods had been a complete shock. When she'd left him and his brother in the SUV, she hadn't expected either of them to be able to even stand upright again, let alone go anywhere. Thankfully he had mustered a last reserve of strength and found them; probably just in the nick of time too, given how the curse had been affecting her and Tommy.

Shaking her head and sagging under his weight, she did her best to help Tommy maneuver him into the backseat. At least they'd been close to the SUV before he'd passed out. Making sure Dean was safely and somewhat comfortably arranged in the backseat, Arla turned to Tommy. She could see the blood all too clearly now on his shirt and hands and it made her sick. Because she hadn't done anything to help him once he'd climbed out of the mine, white-faced and shaky. They'd just picked up arguing and she'd let him struggle on his own.

Her worries were many at the moment. Tommy was bleeding and there were cursed rings in the woods, a ghost at her side, and two very sick, very unconscious young men in her SUV. For a fleeting second, she wasn't sure what to do. But then Tommy leaned heavily against the side of the SUV and she could tell he wasn't far from joining the Winchesters in unconsciousness and her training kicked in.

"Tommy!" Arla put a hand on his arm for support, her free hand gingerly trying to pull aside ruined clothing to see how bad the gash really was. She hadn't even looked at it up to this point. From what she could see, it was a wicked, jagged slice. Not deep enough to show bone, thank God, but deep enough that it needed medical attention. She met his eyes and said, "We need to get you sitting down too."

"Best idea ever." Tommy whispered with a smile.

He kept a hand pressed against the side of the SUV to help hold him up as she guided him around to the other side. Opening the back door, Arla got Tommy situated and pressed his hand against his chest. She said, "Honey, I'm so sorry. About everything. Hang on, ok? We're getting out of here."

"Not your fault." Tommy said, catching her hand and squeezing it.

Arla nodded, not entirely feeling any better, but she gave him a quick kiss, then closed the door. Hurrying toward the front door, she paused when she remembered Raquel was still standing there. Wanting nothing more than to be on the way to the hospital, she paused and looked at Raquel.

The ghost stepped closer and said in a small, broken voice, "Please don't forget about me."

There was sorrow and fear in the young woman's eyes and Arla felt terrible. They couldn't bring her with them because they didn't dare get near the rings again. And since she was tied to those rings, she wasn't going anywhere. A terrible thought crossed Arla's mind.

"Raquel, we won't forget about you. I promise. But you have to promise me again, woman to woman, that you aren't going to touch those rings." Arla said, wondering if she could ever trust a ghost.

"I won't." Raquel said quickly, tears in her eyes. "Knowing what I know now...that ring...that gold, it cost me my marriage and my true love. It destroyed us, Arla. I just want it to be over, you know? I won't touch them, but please, please come back and tell me what to do next."

Arla's eyes watered at the utter desperation in Raquel's voice. What _was_ a ghost supposed to do? She forced a smile and said, "Raquel, we'll come back. Once those two are feeling better, I'm sure they'll have some idea of what to do for you. They seem to know an awful lot about this sort of thing. I just need to get them all to a hospital."

"Go." Raquel said, "Take care of them. And give this to them when they feel better."

Arla accepted the sheaf of papers from the ghost. Before she could ask about them, though, Raquel vanished. Knowing she didn't really have time to waste, Arla got into the driver's seat and set the papers aside. Glancing in her rear-view mirror, she saw that Tommy was still awake, giving her a thumbs up and a smile even though his face was pasty and his eyes filled with pain. The other two were still unconscious; Dean slumped in the back seat, face flushed and breathing still labored, and Sam in the passenger seat next to her. With no way of knowing what had happened, Arla was left to assume that his endurance had finally run out just like his brothers had.

And that wasn't exactly surprising, Arla thought, starting the engine.

"Walker's gonna think you're a sucky doctor, Dr. Pender." Tommy's quiet voice broke into her thoughts. "He released these two yesterday morning and look at them now…"

She glared at him in the mirror, but could see the amusement in his eyes. She said, "You know, that isn't really funny right now."

"It is."

"No, it isn't."

"It is really." Tommy persisted, with a grin, "A little. Right? It's kind of funny."

It was difficult not to snicker. Because, in an awful way, it _was_ sort of funny.

* * *

_ER_

It was the first time in he wasn't sure how long that he woke up and could actually make sense of what was going on around him. Dean found himself able, at last, to identify where he was. A hospital was the disturbing answer. Blinking through what seemed to be a thick haze, the little room slowly began to slide into focus. Well, slid in and then right back out of focus. After a few more seconds, he found that it stayed pretty hazy, but cleared enough that he could see he was in one of those dinky little ER cubicles. This one had a door on it and it was closed. Based on the steady, not so quiet, hum of activity from beyond the door, he was grateful it was shut.

He wasn't actually feeling that much pain, but thinking, breathing and looking around was enough activity to leave him overwhelmed and breathless. An oxygen mask was over his mouth and nose again and he couldn't find it in himself to complain one little bit. Because he didn't really know if he would have been able to get enough oxygen into his lungs on his own. He was exhausted.

Confused, jumbled memories assaulted him as he stared at the far wall. The lights were dimmed, but bright enough to show him he was alone. He remembered nothing specific, but thought he remembered talking to Tommy, Arla and...the ghost. Her name escaped him, but he _did _remember her coming to him for help about something. They'd all been in the woods and he could even sort of remember something about the ghost's wedding ring being cursed somehow, but what that all meant, he couldn't remember.

The worst thing, though, was that he couldn't remember anything specific about Sam. All he had was a heavy, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with the pneumonia. Dean felt his breathing speed up and fought to control his breaths and growing panic. Because that wasn't going to help him get out of the room and find out what happened to his brother. Besides, logically, he also knew that if he was in the hospital, it meant that Sam was somewhere nearby too. So he tried to take slower breaths, even as he tried to push himself up in the bed a little higher. Of course, he was already sitting up on the narrow bed, so he didn't have far to go. Unfortunately, it was too far in his condition.

He couldn't even get his hands coordinated enough to push the covers down, let alone attempt anything else. Just trying to lift his head and pull at the covers left him breathless and on the verge of blacking out again. But Dean wasn't giving in to that again. He was awake and intended to keep it that way. Maybe he couldn't quite get himself up and out of bed yet, but surely there was a call light or something that he could summon help with.

Just as he was gathering the resolve to start actually searching for a call light, the door opened slowly and he had to shut his eyes against the bright lights from the rest of the ER. When he opened his eyes again, he was able to focus on Arla Pender's face and the knot of anxiety in his gut actually unravelled in a heartbeat. He relaxed into the bed and saw her smile as she walked toward him.

"Dean." She said softly, sitting down in the chair that had been left right at his bedside. A fresh, steaming cup of coffee joined two empty cups on the little bedside table and Dean realized immediately that he hadn't been imagining it earlier when he'd thought someone had been with him, talking to him, calming him, helping him as tests and meds and treatments were being run. Arla leaned forward and he could see how utterly spent she looked. Her eyes were weary and she looked as if she'd aged ten years. But she was smiling like seeing him awake was the best part of her day and she said, "I'm so glad you're awake, honey."

Normally he wasn't one who appreciated being called pet names like that, but somehow, it didn't irritate him at all when she did it. It actually felt pretty good. He wasn't sure why exactly she should care, but it was kind of nice that she did. Dean couldn't work up to a smile or even a thank you at this point. Because he didn't know how much breath or energy he was going to have and he had to keep his priorities straight.

So he asked, "Sam?"

Arla's smile widened and she shook her head and said, "I had a feeling that was going to be the first thing you said. You probably don't remember, but we've had this conversation a few times."

"How is he?" Dean pressed, a little disturbed at the confirmation of how out of it he'd been. And even more disturbed that he didn't even remember having a conversation about his brother.

"He's sick. Just like you are." Arla said matter-of-factly. There was concern, but not anxiety in her eyes as she spoke, "He's busy."

Dean's eyebrows rose and he asked, "Busy?"

"Yes. Busy worrying about you." Arla rolled her eyes. "Ever since he woke up a couple hours after getting here he's been driving us batty asking about you. Thankfully, he falls asleep halfway through threatening life and limb if he doesn't get to see you."

Staring at her, Dean tried to let all of that sink in. He shook his head and asked, "He's threatening you?"

Arla grinned, "Ok, so maybe not _threatening_, but he's been quite adamant about his pressing need to see for himself that you're alive."

"He's ok?"

"He's got a headache and he's a lot sicker than he wants to admit, but he's ok." Arla said, taking a quick sip of her coffee. "They're moving him upstairs soon so I wanted to check on you."

"You were here earlier, right?" Dean asked, trying to confirm what his confused memories were telling him.

She nodded, "I've been going back and forth between the two of you since we got here."

"How long?" Dean asked, already feeling his strength fading. Each word was taking much more effort than it should have and even with the oxygen mask, he was struggling for every breath.

"It's almost midnight now." Arla answered with a tired glance at the clock. "It's been about five or so hours since we left the motel grounds."

Dean nodded, closing his eyes for a minute. He cleared his throat and said, "I want to see him."

"I know." Arla said, squeezing his hand, "Once they're ready to transfer you upstairs to a room, I think we can make a detour on the way."

Opening his eyes, Dean met her gaze and said, "Thank you."

Arla smiled knowingly and said, "I know you well enough by now to know that you would get there, one way or another, so I might as well help you."

This time, he did manage a quick smile, then sighed, drawing his hand across his eyes. He asked, "How's he doing? Really?"

"He's doing ok. Really. The scans all came back ok and he should be just fine, given sufficient time to rest and recuperate." Arla said, "He's extremely dehydrated, disoriented and his short term memory is shot."

"Doesn't remember what happened at the motel?"

"Doesn't remember _Arizona_." Arla smiled ruefully, "Last thing he could remember was something about a demon on a plane. I really don't think I want to know about that."

"You don't." Dean smiled slightly.

Arla nodded, "Okie dokie, then. Anyway, I think the nurse just thought he was out of it big time, but I figured it was probably something you boys had actually done. Even with the confusion, he's been a lot more lucid than you've been up to this point. You weren't doing so well at all by the time we arrived. Your fever spiked and I wasn't honestly sure we were going to make it in time."

Dean raised an eyebrow. He didn't remember anything clearly before right now. Brushing it off, he said, "Guess I'm not getting out of here anytime soon, huh?"

Arla shook her head and said, "You do have more than the common cold, you realize?" She rolled her eyes at his shrugged shoulder. Arla said, "Dean, pneumonia is nothing to be taken lightly. You know that sharp pain and worsening shortness of breath you've been experiencing? Well, you've also got a mild pleural effusion."

"A what?" Dean wasn't sure he even wanted to know.

"Fluid in the pleural space of your lungs. It's not too severe, thankfully, and hasn't compressed your lung enough to collapse it." Arla explained, "But you are not out of the woods yet. Remember what I said before about you needing to get plenty of rest? Well, I'll give you a pass because a monster _did_ show up at my door which didn't give you lots of options and I'm grateful for you two boys saving our lives. Now, though? Now, you have no options, no excuses, and, hopefully, no monsters."

Dean liked her optimism and hoped sincerely that she was right. He frowned and asked, "What...what did you tell…"

"Tell the ER about why you two look half dead and my husband was bleeding out in the back seat?" Arla smiled, but it was shaky and tense this time. "I don't know how he did it, but somewhere between the woods and here, Tommy came up with a very convincing tale for everything. When I'm sure you'll actually remember it, I'll tell you."

"How is Tommy?" Dean asked, feeling bad that he hadn't really even remembered the older man until just now.

"He's ok. He got lots of stitches and a tetanus shot."

"You should be with him."

Arla shook her head, "Oh no. I've stitched him up before and I absolutely am happy with letting Dr. Walker have that pleasure tonight. Besides, he's got half the police force in there with him. He doesn't need me right now."

Dean frowned, remembering them fighting in the woods. Why exactly he couldn't quite remember, but he asked, "Are you two ok?"

"We're fine." She nodded, "Thanks to you. We got everything sorted out on the way here. Once he put those rings down, all the anger and crazy went away. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been there; if you hadn't figured out what was going on."

"Might have to have you refresh...my memory...on all of that." Dean said, feeling a catch in his chest. It was probably time to stop talking or he was going to start coughing. He really wanted, needed, her to fill in the blanks because everything was fuzzy.

"Dean?" Arla's soft voice drew his attention back to the present and he met her gaze. She touched his arm and said, "It's time for you to stop worrying about everything, ok? You and Sam are safe, both being taken care of, and right now, the only thing you need to do is rest so you can regain your strength."

He nodded. What choice did he have? He wasn't going to say anything, but the fact was, he felt like crap. Pain he hadn't felt earlier was beginning to make itself known and he was starting to feel overly warm. Not to mention short of breath and utterly exhausted. Dean didn't even bother to say anything else. He just fell asleep.

* * *

"All your rowdy friends went home, huh? Party poopers."

Tommy smiled, his attention drawn from the late night movie of the week. Arla was standing in the doorway, a coffee cup in her hand. She looked exhausted, but returned his smile. He asked, "Why? You wanna go paint the town?"

"The only thing I want to paint is a bed. And I'm pretty sure all I really want to do is sleep." Arla said with a yawn. She walked toward him and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning down for a kiss. Hand resting on his cheek, she studied him and asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Great." He grinned.

"Wonderful. They gave you drugs." Arla rolled her eyes. "You're always loopy as the Mad Hatter when you're on drugs."

"Am not." Tommy shook his head. "Wanna go to Disneyworld?"

Arla laughed, then sobered, sliding a hand gently over his chest. "This was...a little too scary for my tastes."

He caught her hand and gave it a squeeze. He said, "I know. But I'm ok. _We're_ ok. What's a few more stitches? I've had worse."

"I know."

Tommy studied her, sensing all too easily that she was still very unsettled. He rubbed his thumb over her hand and asked, "What is it? What's really bothering you?"

"I could have lost you." Arla whispered, eyes bright with tears. "Everything we just saw...everything that's been going on, and then the curse affecting us the way it did...I...I didn't care. I saw you bleeding and I didn't even…"

"Hey." He cut her off, shaking his head, "Stop it. You already said it. It was a _curse_. It wasn't anything we could control. You hear me? Nothing either of us could have done and I seem to recall saying some rather unkind things about your mother while we were out there."

That drew a smile. Arla said, "You said her cookies tasted like they were flavored with the seasoning of an ash tray. You weren't wrong, honey."

Feeling just a little better seeing her smile again, Tommy said, "None of it matters. We didn't say anything we need to spend the rest of our lives regretting and, thanks to those boys, we're both alive. If they hadn't figured it all out, if Dean hadn't caught on to the rings…"

"We could have ended up like Raquel and Peter." Arla said somberly.

"Or the rest of them." Tommy nodded, thinking of the monsters in the woods. It was all boggling his mind, quite frankly, and he wasn't sure if it would ever make sense. He took a deep breath, mindful of the tender stitches across his abdomen and chest and asked, "How are they doing?"

Arla shrugged, her hand rubbing his arm as she spoke, "Not great. But they're alive."

"Sam wake up?"

"Yeah. He's been in and out. No clue where he is or what happened and worried as heck about his brother, but can't stay awake long enough to do anything about it." Arla said, "He doesn't remember much at this point, but he did relax and seem a little calmer when I gave him a basic overview. They've moved him upstairs and are about to move Dean. I wanted to come see you before I went up with him."

Tommy nodded, "Good. I've been wondering how they've been doing. Dean?"

"Sicker than a dog. Fever's come down and he's not out of his head delirious anymore. Doesn't want to admit how bad he feels, but he's got no endurance or strength to argue with me about anything this time." Arla smiled and sighed, "I don't think it's sunk in even now that he's not getting over this quickly."

"Thinks he's getting out of here soon, huh?"

"He's not going to like it when he finds out he's not going anywhere for a few days." Arla raised her eyebrows. "That's going to be an interesting conversation."

Tommy's hand moved toward his stitches and she batted it away. He grimaced, "They're already itchy."

"They are not. That's your imagination, dear."

Pressing a gentle hand against his hip, he sighed and said, "Well my imagination is excellent."

"Walker say when he's releasing you?"

Tommy pointed at the IV fluids. "Soon as they get me a bit more rehydrated. No transfusion necessary this time." Arla nodded, then rubbed her eyes. Tommy studied her, saw the fatigue and wanted to send her straight home. But he knew she wasn't going to be willing to go anywhere. And he wasn't sure he blamed her. He said, "I figure we can take turns."

"Turns?" Arla looked up in confusion.

"With the boys." Tommy explained. "I'm thinking none of us are getting much sleep tonight, but we might be able to catch a few naps if one of is isn't running back and forth between them."

Arla shook her head and asked, "What do you mean? Are you suggesting staying…"

"I am. You go get Dean settled. Soon as I get released, I'll come up and sit with Sam." Tommy said. He cut her off before she could protest, "I'm not going home to rest and leaving you here all night. You're just as tired as I am. I'm not going to get much rest with these itchy stitches anyway and those two...they saved our lives, Arla."

She nodded slowly and he could see the fear still in her eyes.

He said, "They're never going to admit it, because they're stubborn men...yes like me." Tommy grinned as Arla started to speak up. He said, "But they're in a strange place and both of them seriously ill. I don't want to leave them here alone. They deserve better than that."

"Tommy." Arla whispered, a tear running down her cheek, "You're an angel, you know that?"

"No, just in love with one." He drew her closer for a kiss. "Better go. That hot nurse is coming back soon and I don't want you to catch us together."

Arla broke out laughing and slapped his cheek gently as she rose. She swung her hips suggestively as she went for the door and called over her shoulder with a wink, "Just remember, she's hot. But I'm experienced."

Tommy breathed out a sigh as she disappeared from view, "Yes. Yes you are."

* * *

She really needed a nap. Arla rubbed her eyes, wondering how many more cups of coffee it would take to send her into an overdose of caffeine. Already she felt the headache building behind her eyes. Lowering her hand, she glanced at her watch. Just before midnight. It had been a very long couple of days and she remembered all too well standing in this same hospital around midnight two nights ago worrying about a couple young men she didn't know. Now, she was worrying about them all over again, but felt she knew them quite well compared to two days ago. So much had happened since they'd stopped at the motel on Christmas Eve.

_Weirdest Christmas ever!_

The ding of the elevator reaching the floor drew her from her thoughts and she glanced at Dean to see how he was faring. Once he'd dozed off for what must have been the fifth time since they'd arrived at the hospital, he'd slept for almost twenty minutes before they'd been ready to transfer him upstairs to a room. The little nap had been the best rest he'd gotten all evening now that his fever had come down a bit and Arla was hoping that once he'd seen his brother that he'd be able to fall back into an undisturbed sleep for a few hours at least.

He looked uncomfortable and like he wished he was still in bed, but he did seem a little more alert compared to earlier. Arla asked, "How are you doing?"

Dean gave her a thumbs up, but didn't say anything. She knew he was conserving his strength and trying not to cough. Just before they'd left the ER, he'd broken out in a coughing fit that had taken a few minutes to recover from. He hadn't argued at all about leaving the oxygen mask on after that had happened.

Arla nodded and pushed the wheelchair toward Sam's room, hoping he might be awake when they arrived. The only thing that was going to set Dean's mind at ease enough for him to get some sleep was if he actually got to talk to his brother. _And vice versa,_ Arla decided, thinking about her brief visits with Sam earlier. Even if he hadn't been able to keep his eyes open for much longer than a few minutes at a time, Sam had been just as insistent about his need to see his brother as Dean had been.

Reaching the door, Arla said, "I'm willing to bet he's not going to admit it, but he's feeling pretty miserable and lights and sound bother him, so we're going to keep this short, ok?"

Dean nodded. From the way he was squinting, Arla had a feeling lights and sounds weren't doing him any good either. Faster she got him into bed, the better it would be. She opened the door, then pulled it closed behind them, pushing Dean close to the bed. Thankful the dim light in the room didn't show off how bad Sam looked, Arla hoped Dean's worries would be allayed quickly. She backed up a little to give him space and drained the last of her coffee. With any luck, as soon as he fell asleep, she might be able to get a little rest herself.

Waiting in the near darkness, it didn't take long before she heard Sam whisper his brother's voice.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was still hoarse, and muffled by the mask. He leaned closer, leaning an elbow on the edge of the bed.

"Ok?" Sam opened his eyes just long enough to give his brother a quick assessment, then closed them again.

"Yeah." Dean said, "I'm good. You look like crap."

Sam sighed and whispered, "Can't remember."

"What?"

"What happened."

"Don't worry about it right now, ok?"

"Ok."

Dean rubbed his head and said, "Sammy, get some sleep."

"You too."

"That's the plan." Dean said, giving his brother a pat on the arm, before glancing up at Arla.

Taking that as her cue, she stepped closer and asked softly, "Ready?"

Dean nodded and Arla was both surprised and relieved at how quick the visit had gone. It told her exactly how awful Dean was feeling. She didn't say anything more, but efficiently escorted him to his room. By the time a nurse had come to assess him and give him some medications, he was fighting to stay awake. Once the nurse had left the room and the lights were out, Arla was counting down the seconds until he fell asleep. She'd grabbed a blanket and was already curling up in the utilitarian recliner next to the bed. Yawning, she glanced back at Dean and saw him staring at her with a question in his eyes.

He shifted his head on the stack of pillows and asked, "What are you doing?"

"Getting ready to get a little sleep. Which is what you're supposed to be doing." She answered, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. "Go to sleep."

"You...you're staying there?"

The disbelief in his voice was almost comical. She wasn't sure if he was freaked out or comforted by her presence. Smiling, she nodded, "I am."

"Why?" The word was drawn out into a short sentence.

Almost laughing at his complete befuddlement, Arla said, "Someone needs to make sure you don't give that poor nurse a hard time."

Dean considered that for a moment, then said with a tired but dirty grin, "She...was...pretty hot."

"Noticed that, did you?" Arla rolled her eyes. _What is it with men and nurses?_ "Guess there is hope for you yet."

That earned her a brief smile before he said, "You should go...home...get some rest. Don't have to…"

"I know I don't." Arla said, leaning forward. "But since you don't seem to have anyone else, I'm going to stay. Ok?"

Dean's stunned expression lingered for a long moment before he said, "Well, go...keep an eye...on Sam then. 'm fine."

"Tommy's going to stay with Sam." Arla said, "I'll check in on them in a little while, so don't worry about your brother. Just go to sleep."

"Tommy's hurt…"

"Tommy's high on painkillers."

"Should be in bed…"

"He'll live. Don't look at me like that; it was his idea for us to stay." Arla smiled as Dean's eyes widened. She said, "I think you two kind of grew on him. He no longer seems to think you're drug dealers."

"That's good." Dean said, but still looked floored as he fought the pull of sleep.

Arla squeezed his arm and said, "Dean. Go to sleep."

And that was all it took. He was sound asleep before she'd finished speaking. Smiling, Arla tucked the covers around him and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead.

* * *

**Aww...now that's not a cliffhanger either is it? ;) That's two chapters in a row, folks! I'm getting better at this not leaving you all hanging! **

**So more miserable, sick boys ahead cuz we all seem to enjoy that, perverted people that we are lol! ;) And the rest of the mystery will be unravelled I promise. They just gotta get their wits about them in order to finish this hunt. Thanks SOOO much to all of you wonderful readers who have been sticking with this story for so long! I'm sorry it's taking me months to finish it, but I'm so glad you are all sticking around for the journey. You make my day! :) **

**Thanks also to Tricia and Taraneh for the lovely guest reviews! Thank you! :)**

**PS if anyone wants to vent or have healthy debates about the current season and where we think things are going next week in the season finale, let me know lol! Cuz I'm debating to my walls at this point. I'm not sure I'm going to survive next week's episode...**


	28. Chapter 28

**So I've thoroughly enjoyed chatting with several of you regarding S10 and hearing all the speculation about the finale. I love speculation although I'm seldom right lol. I'm sure that the episode tonight was...well traumatic to say the least. I'm not going to be watching until Thursday night or Friday morning because of my work schedule so I'll be hiding from all social media until I've seen it! So ya'll are banned from putting any spoilers in your reviews to this chapter if you watch the episode! :) I will be thrilled to discuss it after the fact, but I'm trying hard to avoid spoilers. Speculation yes, spoilers no! ;)**

**Ok. I really wanted to get this posted before work tonight and here it is! This is bit longer of a chapter so I hope you all enjoy. Lots of shameless fluff and niceness to combat what was probably a typical agonizing finale… Enjoy!**

* * *

_Hospital  
__December 26th, evening_

At first, he thought he'd been dreaming. He was aware enough to know he'd been drifting back and forth across the line of consciousness for a long time. A few moments did stand out clearly in the haze of pain and confusion. _Exorcising a demon on a crashing plane. Jessica. Hunting something evil in a crypt? Dad was missing. An older couple with a comfortable couch and a clean bathroom. Dean giving him a candy cane. _Nothing connected and nothing made sense. But now Dean was here. Was talking to him and suddenly the world made sense again.

He didn't want him to leave.

Dean was the only thing that made sense and he was terrified to be alone in the dark again. But he couldn't beg him to stay. Because Dean looked sick. Scary sick. He'd only been able to focus on him for a few seconds, but that had been enough to terrify him. An oxygen mask over his colorless face, Dean looked ready to crash.

But he sounded like himself when he said, "Sammy, get some sleep."

Sam wanted to ask so many more questions. Wanted to ask Dean why he had to go; why he couldn't just stay with him so he didn't have to be lost in the darkness alone again. But it was a battle to force words past a raw throat and bone-dry mouth, so all he managed to say was, "You too."

"That's the plan."

Sam felt Dean's touch on his arm, then heard another soft voice, movement and then nothing. The room was empty and he felt completely adrift again. He knew they were in a hospital. How they ended up there was as foggy as everything else. For a split second, everything had been fine; he'd felt a wave of relief rush over him at the sound of Dean's voice. But now, Dean was gone and Sam didn't have a clue what to do. He needed to know how Dean really was. Not the trite _I'm fine_ that they always threw around. Because Dean obviously was far from fine. But Sam couldn't sort out what he should do about it.

For a moment, he almost let go again, but a sudden sound from the hallway jarred him back to full alertness. The room was dark; the door mostly pulled closed. He could hear a rhythmic ticking noise, a soft beep, a muted voice passing by the door, the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. Everything was too quiet and too loud and too much all at once.

Sam opened his eyes again and refused to give into the warm pull of oblivion this time. He could see the faint line of light under the door and a few other tiny glowing lights from nearby, but everything was too blurry to make out. His eyes hurt, but he was afraid to close them. He needed to stay focused. He needed to remember.

Before, sometime before, he had talked to a woman. The woman with the couch? Maybe, he couldn't be sure. She'd been kind, been gentle, talked to him and explained what had happened. It had all made sense at the time. Now, he couldn't remember what she'd said. Sam wished he knew who she was and where she had gone because maybe she would have been able to explain what he should do next.

Eyes closing despite his best effort, Sam shifted slightly in the bed. He wasn't sure if he were hot or cold, but he wasn't comfortable. The more alert he became, the more he realized how much he hurt. The throbbing in his head was an awful distraction that wouldn't go away. His whole face hurt as did just about every muscle in his entire body. Wishing he could find a more comfortable position, he tried to move again but quit almost immediately because it was too hard to remember how to move and he was too tired and in too much pain to care.

The already dark room went even blacker and he relaxed into Jessica's arms while she told him about her day and suggested they hit the movies after dinner. It felt so good and felt so wrong because she was dead and he really needed to wake up and figure out what he was supposed to be doing. An overhead page tore Jessica's face away from the half-dream and left him gagging back the sickness. The sound had slammed into him like a punch, and the throbbing pain in his head turned into a blinding flash that seemed destined to split his skull in two. His breathing hitched, caught in his throat and suddenly he was coughing.

For a moment he actually thought he was going to die. But then there was a voice, a voice that was calm and comforting. Sam had trouble making out everything, but he caught some snippets as the voice spoke and said, "Easy, easy, Sam. Breathe...nose...ok...it's...take it...you're..."

Sam hated himself for the tears that sprang into his eyes, not because of the pain, but because the voice wasn't Dean's. Whatever the person was trying to say, it was broken and splintered by the sounds of his coughing. A hand was on his chest and he flinched; wished he could work up the energy to fight the hand off. Should have been paying more attention because now he was going to get killed…

"Sam!"

The voice grew just a bit more distinct, a second hand was on his forehead and Sam got his eyes open this time. The face in front of him was blurred beyond recognition, but Sam had a feeling that whoever it was, he wasn't trying to hurt him. The hands were as gentle as the voice was firm.

"Breathe through your nose."

Finally, something came through clearly. Fighting against what was quickly becoming a flat out panic attack, Sam kept his eyes on the man's face, even if he couldn't see him that well, and tried to do what he said. It was a lot easier said than done, he discovered, and it took a painful minute before he caught his breath.

"There you go. Keep focused, Sam, nice and easy. The oxygen is only gonna help if you breathe through your nose."

Sam squeezed his eyes closed for a few seconds, concentrating on doing what he was told, then blinked them open again. The face in front of him was still indistinct and fading in and out of focus. There was something familiar about the man, though, just nothing he could pin down yet. But he _was_ familiar and he was someone Sam knew he could trust, even if he didn't know how he knew that.

So he kept his eyes on the blurred face in front of him, clinging to it like it was the last lifeline available to him, and he listened to the voice as it talked him through breathing and told him everything was fine and that it was all going to get better. He finally stopped coughing and struggling to breathe, but Sam wasn't sure everything was much better. Because he still was confused, hurting, and short one big brother.

"Sam? You're doing good." The voice said, his hand moving to his shoulder. Sam had a sudden flash of walking in the woods, in the dark, with that same voice guiding him along, talking to him, keeping him moving. The voice continued, "I asked the nurse to come in and check on you."

He couldn't find it in himself to complain. If a nurse could do something to make the misery go away, Sam was all for it. He squinted at the man, still trying to bring him into focus, but it just wasn't working. But he knew the voice. So he gave up and closed his eyes, forcing himself to relax and allowing someone else do the thinking for him.

The room was quiet for awhile, then a female voice he didn't recognize began to talk to him. She was quiet, but not as quiet as the other voice had been. She asked, "Sam? I'm your nurse, Meribeth. How are you doing?"

Did she really expect an answer? Apparently she did and the next few minutes were a jumble of her questions and his struggling answers. And the questions weren't even the worst of it because she was also checking his blood pressure and trying to assess his breathing and the whole thing was too much to take all at once. By the time she said he needed to be sitting up more to help his breathing, he knew he was going to lose the battle. Because every single inch she elevated the bed only increased the pounding in his head and the reeling dizziness he felt even with his eyes closed.

He was going to throw up. Sam groaned, trying to find something to hold onto before he fell off the ever rising bed. A hand was on his shoulder again and the voices were talking amongst themselves which was just as well since his ears were ringing too much for him to keep up with the conversation. A couple seconds passed without the bed moving and he fought back the nausea. Everything turned dark again and he lost track of time for awhile and then he felt something cool and wet being placed across his forehead and over his eyes. It made him shiver, but felt like the best thing in the entire world. The voices were extremely soft now and he didn't have a clue what was going on, but slowly felt the nausea fade as his body relaxed and a strange warmth filled him.

It felt good and he let himself enjoy the warmth and comfort as long as he could. He could still hear voices from time to time, but they were always too quiet to pick up on what they were actually saying. Not really sleeping, not really awake, Sam just felt disconnected but strangely comfortable for the first time in a long time. It was a disappointment when he felt himself sliding back to full consciousness.

Trying to force his eyes open, he realized there was still something over his face and he tried to lift a heavy arm. It was much more difficult than he'd expected and he discovered he wasn't coordinated enough to even get his hand to move where he wanted it to go. Mildly frustrated, he gave up and let his hand drop back heavily on the bed.

"Sam?" It was the man's voice again and suddenly he thought he remembered who the man was.

Swallowing hard, Sam found his voice and needed to have confirmation. He asked, "Tommy?"

This time there was relief in the quiet tone, "Yeah, it's me, son. How're you doing now?"

Sam shrugged his shoulder. His words slid together as he mumbled, "_Feelsweird_."

"I'm not surprised." Tommy sounded a bit amused. "You got some good drugs earlier."

"Did?"

"Yeah you did. Took me a few minutes to get through to the nurse, but when you threw up on her shoes," Tommy's laugh was soft, "let's just say I think she finally believed me. I kept trying to tell her you were sick to your stomach and to stop moving your bed. She should have listened to me."

"I don't remember that." Sam said, trying to get his hand to move again. He was feeling less warm and comfortable and more confused and panicky.

"You were pretty out of it. She gave you something for the nausea and you've been mostly sleeping for about an hour now." Tommy explained, shifting somewhere near by.

The cool cloth was removed from his face and Sam let his hand drop again since he still hadn't even managed to get it off the bed in the first place. The room was still dark when he opened his eyes, but he able to see Tommy's shadowy form next to him. He had so many questions, but was having trouble thinking of which one he should ask.

Tommy seemed to understand. He leaned a little closer and said, "Sam, don't worry about anything right now, ok? You and Dean are both safe. He's sleeping; I just got a text from Arla and she said he's been resting well."

"Thank you." Sam said, letting his eyes close again. It was incredible how difficult it was to keep them open.

"How's the headache now?"

"Better."

"Good. Still feeling sick to your stomach?"

"No."

Tommy moved around and then said, "I want you to try a little ice then. Water might be a bit much yet, but you've got to be thirsty."

He was, but he wasn't sure he even was ready to try ice. Sam thought about saying no, but he felt so hot and his throat was so dry he was having a hard time not coughing again. So he just hoped for the best. Mercifully, the ice stayed down and actually went a long way to making him feel a little less horrible.

"Sam, is there anyone I can call for you boys?" Tommy asked a few moments later.

He shook his head slowly against the pillow, swallowing hard and thinking about how the one person they could call wasn't answering his phone. His entire life there had really only been two people he could turn to and right now he felt more alone than he had in ages. Tears burning his eyes, Sam said, "Dad...he's busy."

Tommy's eyebrows rose and he asked, "Busy doing what...doing the same sort of thing you boys do?"

"Yeah." Sam said, not even sure why he'd brought Dad up in the first place. But now that he had, it was like something broke inside him and he couldn't stop himself from saying, "We're trying to find him. He's been missing for months and he won't answer our calls and...and I...I don't know...I don't think Dean knows what to do. And I'm scared Dad's dead. Just like Jessica."

Saying all of that at once left him breathless and wishing he hadn't said anything in the first place. He couldn't believe he'd actually voiced his fears out loud to a complete stranger. Sam felt the tears on his cheeks but was simply too tired to care that he was crying like a kid. Closing his eyes again, he tried to fight off the exhaustion, the aching fear and heartache, but he couldn't fight it all at once and before he knew it, he was lost in the murky confusion of fevered sleep.

* * *

_0645 December 27th, 2005  
__Hospital, Arizona_

"Tommy, he doesn't look good at all." Arla whispered, hovering close to him as she peered into the room beyond. "Did he get any sleep?"

Tommy took a slow breath and said, "Not much. He's been in and out all night with the fever. I think this is the best sleep he's actually gotten all night; this last half hour he's been sleeping soundly."

"That's it?" Arla's hand tightened around his bicep and she looked up at him. "That's all?"

"More or less." Tommy nodded, stepping further into the hall and pulling the door closed. He was feeling every hour of sleep _he _hadn't gotten by this point. Even with the painkillers he'd actually been taking for once, his body hurt and the lack of sleep wasn't helping him feel any better.

"Was he throwing up again?"

"Just that one time." He smiled ruefully. "She kept up with the nausea medication after that. He's been running a fever most of the night and he's been so confused, Arla. I kept talking to him but half the time I don't know if he was even hearing me. Most of the time I think he thought I was his Dad or his brother. The things he said…." Tommy shook his head, remembering how Sam had asked his Dad to forgive him for leaving for college. He had no idea what the circumstances had been but it had broken his heart to hear it and he hadn't known what to say. So he'd just said what he truly hoped the kid's own father would say, _It's ok, son._

Arla had tears in her eyes and squeezed his hand. She leaned closer and he wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on top of her head. Rubbing her back, Tommy asked, "How did you guys do? Get any sleep?"

"Actually, yes." She said, her voice muffled against his chest. "Dean fell asleep not long after he got settled into bed. He didn't wake up during vital signs checks or respiratory treatments. His fever was high, but he was so out of it and so worn out from just trying to breathe that he slept."

"Good. You?"

"I got some sleep too. I feel a lot better today." She straightened up and looked at him, "But you look terrible. I want you to go home and get some sleep, ok? Call Kevin and get him to give you a lift because you certainly don't need to be driving."

Tommy shook his head, "I can't leave now. Last thing he needs is to wake up alone. He was so confused and close to an all out panic attack when I walked in last night."

"Ok. Then I'll come sit with him. Let me go talk to Dean. He's eating some breakfast and I told him I'd check on Sam and report back." She smiled, "It was the only way he was willing to even try to eat something. I'll talk to him and then come sit with Sam. Dean's doing ok right now, although he's definitely not out of the woods yet."

Tommy blew out a slow breath and nodded. He knew he needed a rest. The exhaustion was creeping up on him quickly and he wasn't going to be able to sustain himself much longer if he didn't get a few hours sleep. And he could use a shower. Smiling wearily, he said, "Ok. I'll stay here till you get back then I'll go home for a nap…"

"If I see you before seven tonight it will be too soon…" Arla shook a finger at him. "I'm serious. You were injured and you got no sleep. I caught a few hours and I'm sure I can catch a few more today. I want you to sleep."

"Promise." Tommy kissed her forehead, "I'm not gonna lie, I need to sleep. But I'll be back just after seven. Because it's going to be another long night and I'm not leaving you here with them alone."

Arla nodded, "Deal. Let me go talk to Dean and then I'll come back."

Tommy watched her walk away and yawned. He was so ready to crash. It was hard to believe that once upon a time he'd enjoyed staying up all day and partying all night long.

_I'm getting so old_.

* * *

"How is he?" Dean asked around a mouthful of blueberry muffin.

He studied Arla closely, searching for clues. He hadn't liked it when she'd told him he wasn't moving from his bed until he'd eaten something. But he'd conceded to her bargain of him eating breakfast while she went to check on Sam because he hadn't even been able to get his legs under him to stand up when he'd tried. Rather than embarrassing himself by falling on the floor, because she'd just stood there, eyebrows raised, clearly not willing to help him, he'd sat back down and picked up a spoon while she'd left the room.

"He's sleeping." Arla said, sitting down in the recliner next to the bed.

"And?"

She sighed, "And he had a rough night, Dean."

"I want to see him."

"Finish your breakfast and we'll discuss it."

He crumpled his napkin, staring down at the tray. He'd managed half the muffin and a few bites of the disgusting oatmeal. _Should be good enough_. Pushing the tray forward, he said, "I'm finished. No discussion. Get me a wheelchair or I'm walking."

Arla snorted but said, "You're not walking anywhere on that ankle, mister."

Dean pushed himself up a little higher in the bed and said, "Watch me."

The standoff was much shorter than he'd anticipated. Probably because she'd been around him long enough by now that she knew that she wasn't likely to win anything. Not that he was likely to win, either. Things tended to end up as a draw, but at least they both more or less got their way. She nodded slowly and pushed herself up from the chair and walked out of the room.

As soon as she left, he began coughing. _Damn it_, he felt like shit. Wiping his mouth on the napkin, he was relieved not to see any blood this time. He let his head rest back against the stack of pillows while he tried to catch his breath. He felt a little better than he did last night when he'd arrived, but he didn't feel great at all. The pain in his chest was muted and he was breathing easier even with just the nasal cannula instead of the mask, but he knew that he wasn't up to anything strenuous. And that included getting himself out of bed. It was incredibly frustrating.

He couldn't remember ever being so incapacitated in his entire life. Dean glanced up as Arla walked back into the room, pushing a wheelchair. He studied her and frowned. She looked worn out and and so much older than she had been only a couple days before. A complete stranger. Someone who had taken them in to her own home without asking for anything in return. Someone who had gone with them into the pit of a black nightmare and had just spent the night at his bedside. He felt bad for giving her a hard time.

"Thank you." Dean said, wishing at least his voice was a little stronger than it was.

Arla smiled, "Not that you gave me a lot of options…"

"I don't mean the wheelchair." Dean shook his head, still resting back against the pillows. "I mean for everything. Everything you guys have done. You and Tommy….I don't...I have no idea what we would have done..."

"I'm just glad you didn't have to figure that out." Arla said, sitting on the edge of his bed. She said, "I'm glad Raquel stopped us."

"We need to help her." Dean said, remembering with awful clarity the fact that he'd left the hunt unfinished. "We need to go back and…"

"And you will." Arla interrupted. "But not today. And not tomorrow and maybe not for a few more days after that. Raquel promised she wasn't going to touch those rings, Dean. And I trust her. I am just as eager as you are to go back there and help that poor woman, but it's not happening until you boys are feeling better. And I mean _a lot_ better."

Dean nodded. Much as he wanted to argue with her, he knew there was no point in doing so because they both knew how sick he was. He took a careful breath and said, "Do I get a day pass?"

"More like a quick peek pass." Arla smiled, rising and pushing the wheelchair closer. "You can sit with Sam for awhile because it's going to do you both good, but then you're spending the rest of the day in bed. No arguments. And if you rest and take it easy like you're supposed to, I may be persuaded to liberate you again for another visit this evening. Deal?"

"I don't like your deals." Dean griped, but nodded. "Let's go."

It took far too long and cost him far too much energy and precious breath, but finally they were on the way. He wasn't admitting it to her, not ever, but the short trip down the hall was a dizzying and exhausting experience and he wasn't even doing anything except riding in a wheelchair. By the time she reached the right room, he just wanted to put his head down and sleep. He vaguely heard Tommy's greeting and he hoped he'd said something nice back, but he really wasn't focusing on anything except his brother.

"Sam?" He whispered, not sure if he hoped Sam would answer him or if he hoped he'd just continue sleeping because he looked so exhausted it wasn't even funny. In the background, he heard Arla and Tommy stepping out to the hallway and talking in quiet tones. Dean was glad they'd left the room.

Because he didn't have to hide the tears if they were gone.

Scrubbing a hand over his face to brush away the evidence anyway, Dean took a shaky breath. He thought he'd been prepared. It wasn't like he hadn't been watching Sam get worse and worse over the past few days; wasn't like he hadn't seen him looking pale as death the night before. But it was so much worse in the muted daylight that was filtering in through the closed blinds. Sam was propped up on only a couple pillows, looking wasted and worn, face the same color as the sheets except for where it was darkly bruised from Alexander's beating. He was so still, even his breathing seemed almost too still, his chest barely moving.

And suddenly, for right or wrong, better or worse, he needed to hear Sam's voice. So he grabbed his wrist, gave it a quick shake and called his name again, praying for a response. It was probably the most selfish thing he could have done, but at the moment he didn't care. He didn't know how long Arla would be persuaded to let him stay, and he wasn't going anywhere till he knew Sam was going to be ok. And the only way he was going to believe he was going to be ok was if he heard his voice.

"Dean?"

He would have smiled if Sam had sounded just a little less awful. Dean leaned closer and kept his voice soft, "Hey. It's me."

"Y'ok?"

"Better than you apparently."

Sam blinked his eyes a few times and mostly got them uncrossed enough to glance at Dean. He seemed utterly done in but actually managed a smile as he whispered, "Y'look better."

"Course I do. Beauty sleep. You should try it sometime." Dean shook his head, "But you look terrible. Like crap that something crapped on."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

Dean laughed, then covered a cough with his hand. Swallowing against the pain in his throat, he said, "Seriously. You planing to live or what?"

"Dunno yet."

"You sleep at all?"

"Just woke me up." Sam mumbled sleepily, eyes closing as he shifted, his head tilting toward Dean.

Dean grimaced and maybe felt just a bit of regret that he'd disturbed him. He said, "Sorry."

Sam opened his eyes again and said, "'s'ok. Feel better now. 's the plan?"

"The plan?" Dean rolled his eyes, "Dude the only plan is to get better."

Wrinkling his forehead in confusion, Sam asked, "Hunt?"

"We finished it. Mostly. I think. Whatever." Dean waved a hand, "In case you somehow missed it with your concussed brain, you are in the hospital, man. And you belong here. You probably couldn't even spell your name at this point. How 'bout you just go back to sleep and leave the thinking to the smarter brother?"

"We've got one?"

"One what?" Dean frowned.

Sam managed a grin this time and said, "A smarter brother."

"Shut up." Dean shook his head, but couldn't stop his own smile. He rubbed his chest and watched Sam try to keep his eyes open. Tapping his wrist, Dean whispered, "Sam. Get some sleep."

"Dean?" Sam forced his eyes open again as he swallowed hard, hand shifting closer to Dean's. He asked in a barely audible voice, "You gonna stay?"

"Long as I can." Dean smiled, feeling Sam's fingers on his. He could see exactly how confused and freaked out Sam was and he didn't blame him. _Chick flick moments be damned,_ Dean shook his head, giving Sam's wrist a squeeze. He said, "Go to sleep. I'm not going anywhere till you wake up again, ok?"

He almost lost it at the sight of the tears in Sam's eyes. Sam nodded, took a deep breath and closed his eyes again. Dean pressed his fingers to his own tired eyes, then looked up sharply at a gentle touch on his shoulder.

Arla was standing there and he was ready to fight her, but all she said was, "How about you take the recliner, Dean? You might be able to get a little sleep too while you wait."

Obviously she'd been listening and he nodded shakily, seeing the brightness of tears in her eyes. A few minutes later and he was settled comfortably and fighting sleep himself. Since he was within arms reach of his brother, he found it pretty easy to stop fighting. Arla was there. Their own personal guardian angel and he trusted her enough that it only took a few minutes before he was sound asleep too.

* * *

_7:14 PM December 27th  
__Hospital_

He showed up just after seven, as promised. Arla was relieved to see how much better he looked. She'd hoped he would sleep a bit longer, but she was actually glad he was back. Because it had been a long day and she knew without a doubt that it was going to be an even longer night. Tommy peeked around the door and she shook her head, waving a hand. He paused and she carefully, quietly, slid out from under the blanket she'd been snuggled up under. Taking a quick look at the bed, Arla checked that Sam was still asleep and headed to the door.

Stepping out into the hall, she gave Tommy a gentle hug, mindful of his stitches and asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Tired but better. Kind of like that time we went to Phoenix on a whim after class. Got a few hours of sleep and then spent the rest of the weekend…"

"I remember the rest of the weekend." Arla interrupted quickly, rolling her eyes. "Well I'm glad you got some sleep. You do look a little better."

"And you look a lot worse." Tommy frowned, brushing her hair back from her face. "Thought you were going to get some sleep."

She nodded, "I did. Just not much. It's been a long day."

"I figured it would be." He peeked past her and asked, "Dean back in his room?"

"Finally. Should have known it would be next to impossible to get him away from Sam once he got here. But I think it did both of them a lot of good, actually." She smiled, "I think they needed to spend a little time taking care of each other for their own peace of mind. But I'm glad you're here now. I made Dean go back to bed just after noon and he fought the nurses to get back here all afternoon. I let him come back for a quick visit this evening and then got him back to his bed about an hour ago. I've been trying to be in two places at once because Sam's still pretty out of it and I don't want to leave him alone for very long."

"And Dean?"

Arla shook her head, "He's fighting with everything he's got, but he's deteriorating. He started off the day doing better than Sam, but took a turn the last couple hours or so. I was just in there a few minutes ago and he's running a fever again. I think it's going to be a rough night for him."

Tommy nodded, holding out a bag. "Provisions. Grabbed some snacks and that book you've been reading. I figured it was going to be a long night for both of us. For all of us."

"I think you're right." Arla said, taking the bag.

"How's Sam been?"

"Ok. Not great. It seems like he's starting to remember a few things and he's a lot less disoriented, but he might struggle during the night. His fever's been down and he slept almost all day so maybe he's past the worst of it." She shrugged, "He is finally tolerating sips of water, and we did get him to sit up a couple of times today."

Tommy said, "Ok. I'm on duty. Go see how Dean's doing and text me if you need anything. If he sleeps…"

"Trust me, if he sleeps, I'm going to sleep." Arla smiled, then gave him a kiss. "Don't keep me in the dark. If you need something, let me know."

"I will."

Arla turned and headed back down the hall, running into Dean's nurse halfway there. She asked, "How's he doing?"

"He's getting worse." Laney said, her expression concerned, "Still telling me he's fine and needs to check on his brother one more time, but he's also getting more confused. Talking about weird stuff, Arla. The fever's making him delirious."

Arla didn't doubt it, but she also knew that whatever Dean was saying was probably far closer to the truth than Laney needed to know. She nodded and said, "Tommy's with Sam now so I'll sit with him. When's his next dose of Tylenol?"

"Couple hours." Laney shook her head.

"Ok." Arla said, heading back toward Dean's room. Stepping inside, she wasn't surprised to find Dean awake. She wasn't even all the way inside the room before he was talking.

"Sammy?"

"He's still sleeping. Like you're supposed to be doing."

Dean shoved at the blankets and said, "I was sleeping. Now I'm not. I wanna see him."

"Dean, you were in there just an hour ago." Arla said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She pressed her fingertips to his forehead, shaking her head at the heat she felt. "Tommy's with him now. Sam needs to sleep. And so do you. You're running a fever and it's only getting worse."

She could see the conflict in his eyes, but she also saw the growing confusion. His face was flushed and sweaty, eyes overly bright as the fever only increased. He struggled for a minute longer with the blanket and trying to sit up, then fell back against the pillows, restlessly shifting as his breathing grew more labored. Arla gently touched his cheek.

"Honey, I'm going to grab a cool washcloth. Meds are only going to take you so far," she said, rising and hurrying to the bathroom. He was still breathing unevenly and staring at the room with bloodshot eyes by the time she returned. It was obvious he was trying not to cough again. She pressed the cloth against his forehead and he closed his eyes, a look of pain crossing his face.

Arla could hear the congestion in his chest and knew it was getting close to time for another breathing treatment. He was leaning into her touch, eyes barely open, but focused on her. She slid a second washcloth behind his neck and said, "Dean, you need to keep coughing and get that junk up. The breathing treatments and meds are loosening up the junk, but you have to keep taking deep breaths and coughing."

"It hurts." He complained, giving her a resigned look.

"I know. And I'm sorry, truly." She said, squeezing his hand.

For the next hour or so the only conversation was Dean asking every few minutes if Sam was ok and her consoling him that he was. Arla wasn't sure if he was just that worried, or if he was so confused that he kept forgetting he'd already asked. _Probably a combination of both, _she decided. The fever was burning through him steadily and the breathing treatment had helped, although it had also left him a bit more restless. She sat back down with fresh cool cloths and he slid his eyes open again and stared at her.

"You remind me of my mom." Dean whispered. "I...Sam thinks...he thinks I remember more, but...sometimes I can barely remember her."

Arla heard his voice break and said, "How old were you?"

"Four. Sam was a baby." Dean shrugged, settling back against the pillows again and forcing a quick smile, "Long time ago."

"Not that long." Arla shook her head.

"It's...worse now. Because of Jessica."

Arla frowned, "Sam's girlfriend?"

"Same thing killed her."

"As what killed your mother?" Arla's eyebrows rose.

"Yeah."

"We're talking something...not human? I assume?"

Dean nodded, "Dad's been trying to find it ever since. And now it killed Jess and I...I don't think I'm getting it right. That I'm helping that much."

Arla almost smiled, but he was so serious and so distraught that she couldn't. She didn't need to clarify what he was talking about. So she just said, "You are. Maybe you can't see it, but you are helping Sam."

Dean didn't look convinced, "He...he used to talk to me. About everything. Never shut up in fact. He's never been so quiet…"

"Things like this affect us all differently, Dean. Give him time." Her thoughts were drawn back to conversations like this that she'd had with her girls years ago. A couple young men were a world of difference from twin girls, but she figured the basic principle was similar. She said, "Right now, I'm willing to bet Sam has no idea what he needs or how to deal with any of it. You said this happened only at the beginning of November? That's not a lot of time for him to deal with his grief. He's still processing. Keep doing what you've been doing."

"What's that?" Dean's expression was skeptical.

"Being there for him. If there was one thing that was immediately obvious to me, it's that you two have each other's backs. All the time." Arla smiled, "Sometimes to a fault. So just be patient with him and be ready. When the moment's right, he'll open up and you'll be able to reach him."

Dean studied her for a long time, then nodded with a heavy sigh. She watched as his eyes slowly drifted closed again and his breathing became just a little more regular. His skin felt warmer already and she had a feeling that it might be a few hours before he was so lucid again. Arla studied the monitor and saw that his oxygen saturation was slowly but steadily dropping. He was going to need the oxygen mask again before too long. With a heavy sigh of her own, she hit the call light.

* * *

_1:23 AM December 28th_

"Sam?" Tommy asked, sitting up gingerly, rubbing his eyes with one hand while he struggled to get the recliner upright with the other. He blinked in the dark room, focusing on the bed next to him. He'd heard something. Sliding to the edge of the chair, he pressed a hand against his sore chest, leaned closer to Sam and asked, "You ok?"

"Tommy?" Sam asked faintly, shifting on the bed.

"Yeah." Tommy said, eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. Sam was curled up on his side, eyes open for the first time since Tommy had taken over for Arla just after seven. Tommy asked, "Sam? What is it? You need something?"

Sam blinked a couple times, rubbed his own eyes with a shaking hand, then actually smiled. He said in a whisper, "I'm hungry."

Tommy almost laughed. Sam seemed afraid to say it out loud. He grinned and said, "It's about time, kid. My wife's a great cook and you've been missing out. Think we better start off easy, though. What do you feel up to?"

"I don't know." Sam shrugged. He still acted like just being awake was more exhausting than he could handle at the moment, but Tommy was glad to see his eyes looked clearer and less confused than he'd seen them...well than he'd _ever_ seen them.

"I'm sure the hospital's got a selection of jello to rival the SGC." Tommy smiled.

Sam frowned, "The what?"

Laughing softly, Tommy said, "Stargate. My favorite show. They have this thing about jello...never mind. Let me call the nurse."

Ten minutes later, Tommy was watching in amusement as Sam scraped every last spot of blue jello out of the tiny container the nurse had provided. The lights were still dim, but at least the kid was tolerating the light, sitting up in bed, and actually eating something. And it looked like he wanted more. From the way he was staring at the now empty cup, Tommy had a feeling he was still hungry.

Finally dragging his gaze away from the empty cup, Sam looked up at him and asked, "Can you check on Dean?"

Tommy nodded, "You be ok if I run down there for a minute?"

"Can you get me another jello?" Sam asked hopefully.

"How about you let that one settle for a few minutes first?" Tommy suggested. "When I get back, if you're still doing ok, I'm sure the nurse will bring you another one."

Sam nodded, resting back against the pillows. He closed his eyes, but didn't look like he felt sick to his stomach, so Tommy left him and headed down the hall. Checking his phone, he saw that Arla hadn't texted him since just after eleven. She'd reported Dean had been getting worse, but was still holding his own. He'd dozed off after that and hoped things were looking up since then.

He quietly pushed the door open and stepped into the dimly lit room. Arla looked up from the chair next to the bed. Tommy could tell just from her expression that things hadn't exactly been going well. She stood up and crossed the room toward him.

"Hi honey, Sam ok?" Arla whispered, giving him a gentle hug.

Tommy nodded, "He just woke up. Hungry. Devoured some jello and was looking for more."

Arla's weary expression turned into a wide smile. She said, "That's wonderful. Just make sure he doesn't push himself too fast. He hasn't really eaten anything in days."

"I know. I told him to give it a few minutes while I came to check on Dean." Tommy said, casting a quick glance at the bed. "He asked me to come see how he's doing."

"He's...well, he's not doing great, but he's hanging in there." Arla said, shaking her head. "It's not been a good night. Right now he's resting and breathing better. They increased his meds and switched him back to the mask. But I think we're in a lull; his fever's inching up higher and he hasn't really been awake or responsive since ten."

Not exactly the report he had been hoping to take back to Sam, Tommy thought, studying Dean. He looked at Arla and said, "Want me to stay in here? You might be able to get some sleep if you sit with Sam…"

"No. I appreciate it, but I think I'd better stay with him." Arla said, "We get through the night and I'll go home and get some sleep today. But I want to be here for him right now."

"Ok. Anything you need?"

Arla shook her head with a small smile, "Hearing Sam's willing to eat something was good. Now we just need big brother to take a turn for the better. When you tell Sam, just try to emphasize Dean's getting the treatment he needs. Don't sugar coat it because he's gonna know if you try, but the last thing he needs is to be worrying and trying to get here."

"I know." Tommy said, giving her another hug, "I'll do my best. Let me know if anything changes."

"I will. Hope you two get some more sleep." Arla said, heading back to her chair.

Tommy nodded and headed back down the hall. Sam's eyes opened the minute he walked into the room and Tommy said, "He's ok, Sam. Sleeping. Still running a fever, but right now he's resting."

Sam absorbed the information and, to Tommy's surprise, just nodded. Tommy asked, "You still want to try some more jello?"

"Yeah." He didn't sound overly enthusiastic.

They were silent until the nurse brought a slightly larger bowl of jello and Sam finished it off in record time. Tommy was a bit concerned with how fast he was eating, but didn't say anything. Sam slid the bowl away and said, "You don't have to stay here."

Tommy wasn't sure what to think but said, "I know. I'm not doing it because I have to, Sam. You two saved our lives. We want to help you two. I have a great respect for what you two do, even if I don't completely understand it. You guys are heroes."

Sam studied him for a long moment, expression unreadable. He finally looked down and said, "It's not about being heroes. We...we're just...doing our job."

"Maybe so, but your job saves lives. Saved ours and maybe saved a lot of people in this town who will never know." Tommy said, trying to make him understand. "And you two did it while you were sick enough most people would never have gotten out of bed. You figured it all out and fought monsters to protect us. To me, that's pretty damn heroic."

Sam still wouldn't look up at him, but mumbled, "I wanted out."

Tommy held his breath and didn't say a word. He just waited. It took a long minute, but finally Sam spoke up again.

"From the time I first found out monsters were real...I just wanted out. To have a normal life." He whispered, eyes downcast. "I went to college and it didn't matter. It came after me. And it got Jess killed."

Folding his hands, Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke, "I'm sorry, Sam. Really sorry. About your girlfriend. About all of it. It isn't fair. Not at all, that you and Dean should be out there fighting monsters. Especially when you're sick like this. But you know what? I didn't know about any of this until four days ago and I'm telling you right now, I'm going to sleep a lot better at night knowing you boys are out there hunting things that are evil."

This time Sam met his eyes. He looked uncertain at first, then something seemed to relax in his gaze and he sighed, settling back into the pillow. After a few seconds, he asked in a very small, hopeful voice, "Can I go see him?"

Tommy wasn't surprised. He smiled and said, "How about you get a little more sleep? Dean's doing the same thing right now. Come morning, well, come _later_ morning, we'll get you down there, ok?"

It took another long moment of consideration before Sam nodded slowly.

"How're you feeling now?" Tommy asked.

"Ok."

"Headache?"

Sam shrugged a shoulder, "Still there but a lot better that it's been."

"Good. Then why don't you try to get some more rest?"

"Uh…" Sam hesitated, then Tommy saw another tentative smile.

"Sam?"

"I'm still hungry."

* * *

**That wasn't too long was it? ;) Just to let you know my plan...My intention is to wrap this story up in two more chapters. Yes, I know. It makes me very sad to see it coming to a close too! :( I'm rather OCD like Sam so I'm liking the idea of an even 30 chapters. ;) These next two chapters may be longer than usual, but I'd really like to get it summed up by then. I have several other projects that have been patiently waiting on the back burner for a long time now. I haven't wanted to rush this one and I haven't been working on anything BUT this one since December to give it all the attention it deserves. So just to give you a heads up so you can prepare yourselves for THIS finale! :(**

**Hope this chapter helped ease some of the agony for those of you who watched the finale! I'm going to live in happy denial until tomorrow most likely. :( So no spoilers in your notes please! Thanks everyone!**


	29. Chapter 29

**_Hi everyone! So I really intended to go nuts this week with the writing and post early and frequently. ...best laid plans, eh? I kind of hit a wall last weekend and, to be completely honest, just getting out of bed was a major hurdle that most days I didn't even accomplish. Dragged myself to work because I had to but anything else...yeah, I was just too depressed to even want to write. I guess it's easier to admit it here than it is to even admit it in "real life." Yesterday was finally a better day and I did get all of this written which was a big accomplishment all things considered. I'm sorry I didn't reply to all your lovely reviews either. I appreciated each and every one of them!_**

**_Again, I apologize for the long delay and hope you enjoy the chapter! Lots of angsty comfort to make up for all the brutal whumping I've inflicted on those poor boys. :) _**

* * *

_2:32 AM December 28th  
__Hospital_

Arla glanced at the clock and sighed. The past few hours had not been good. Not at all. _As I expected, unfortunately._ She watched Dean drowsily peer around the room, searching for who knew what, before he drifted off to fevered unconsciousness again. At least he was calm and quiet right now. She knew it wouldn't last.

Lowering her head, she pressed her face into her hands. She wasn't crying, at least not at the moment. She was frankly too tired to cry anymore. But it didn't stop her heart from aching; aching for the Winchesters, for Raquel, even aching a bit for the monsters themselves. Because she'd seen the pain in Alexander's eyes as he'd told them what had happened. He'd been a good man once, and so, probably, had Gethen. It wasn't easy to come to terms with the concept of the supernatural, let alone how cursed gold could be responsible for everything that had happened.

Arla needed Tommy. Needed to see him, to feel his strong arms wrap around her shoulders, to hear his quiet, reassuring voice telling her everything was going to be alright. She looked at her phone again. No messages. So hopefully that meant he and Sam were actually sleeping. She wasn't going to interrupt them. At least not until she had a better reason than just being lonely for her husband.

Twenty-seven minutes later, she had her reason.

Stepping out into the hallway and away from the patient rooms, she dialed Tommy's number. It almost went to voicemail before he picked up and for a long moment, she heard nothing but heavy breathing and rustling on the other end. Figuring he was waking up and trying to get out of the chair and out of the room before talking, she waited, chewing on a fingernail and pacing in a small circle.

"Arla?" Tommy's voice came over the line; rough and heavy with exhaustion.

"Hi honey, sorry to wake you."

"Wasn't really sleeping. What's up?"

She hesitated, "How are things going down there? Why weren't you sleeping?"

"We've both been pretending to sleep for the past hour or so." Tommy explained, a hint of amusement mingling with tired concern.

"Has he been sick again? Did the toast not stay down?"

"No, so far he's been fine. Fell asleep for maybe twenty minutes afterwards, but I think he had a nightmare or something. He wouldn't say anything, just rolled over and's been ignoring my existence ever since."

Arla sighed. She'd hoped Sam had been sleeping. Not that it wasn't to be expected that he'd experience difficulty sleeping.

Tommy's voice interrupted her thoughts, "Arla, what's up?"

"Dean's not doing so great right now and I think maybe…"

"Maybe Sam could help?" Tommy asked, reading her mind easily. "I'm sure he'd be happy to come down. I think he could use the distraction. What's going on?"

"He's been running a high fever all night and it's gone down a bit here in the last hour, but he's just not coming around. He is so confused when he's even halfway awake and he's starting to fight us. He just had a breathing treatment and it didn't go so smoothly. Considering how weak he is, he still put up an impressive fight. He's out right now, but I don't like how bad things are getting. It's not doing him any good when he gets worked up like that."

"Ok. Give us a few minutes to get down to you." He paused, then added, "You do realize that if I bring him down there, he's never leaving, right?"

Arla laughed, "I had considered it. We'll deal with that when we have to. Just go talk to his nurse before you bring him so she knows what's going on."

"Will do." Tommy said, "Be there as soon as we can."

Arla closed her phone and stepped back inside the room to find Dean staring at her. Warily, she sat down in the chair next to his bed and held her breath. Any time he'd been awake recently it had been a toss up whether he would start begging for his brother, or start fighting as if he were a prisoner and she were holding him against his will. Arla wasn't entirely sure which scenario were worse.

Now, thankfully, he just stared at her, completely wiped out and silent. She thought about the first time she'd seen him, unconscious in his brother's arms on the floor of an abandoned motel. He honestly didn't look any better now as he fought to keep his eyes open, breath misting in the oxygen mask as he continued struggling for every breath. When she'd taken them home she had fully expected them to fight her about taking the time they needed to lay low and recuperate from their illness. But they'd actually been listening to her, and doing their best to rest. Until a monster had broken into her home and sent them all out into a nightmare. Now, they were both paying a heavy price for their heroism.

"Dean?" She said softly, seeing the awful confusion in those typically sharp eyes. Hoping to reorient him, she said, "You're in the hospital and…"

"Sam." He whispered brokenly, eyes not focused on her anymore. "Find him…"

"He's safe, Dean. He…"

"Tried, Dad. Tried...t'keep him safe…" His eyes closed and his voice lowered to a hoarse mumble. "Look for you...please...we need...not sure what...Dad?"

Arla couldn't do anything but squeeze his hand as she watched him fade back into unconsciousness again. This had been an all too common occurrence during the night. She'd done what she could, knowing that she wasn't going to be able to reach him. Maybe it wouldn't help anything, but she had a feeling that if _anything_ was going to help Dean right now, it would be the presence of his brother.

* * *

He still hadn't decided which was worse; the vivid nightmares of Jessica surrounded by flames or the dreams of their good times together that were so real they left him breathless when he awakened. Either way, he couldn't easily shake the memories. Even now he couldn't stop the occasional tear from running down his face and he stayed curled up on his side, turned away from the recliner where, as far as he knew, Tommy was pretending to be asleep; same as he was. He knew he'd awakened the older man earlier when he'd come awake gasping with the memories that had invaded his own sleep.

Sam stared at the wall, at the thin line of moonlight shining around the edges of the closed blinds, at the clock that he couldn't read. He had no idea how long he'd been awake. He sighed and closed his eyes as if it would help. He was never going to be able to get back to sleep. Couldn't turn off his mind, and couldn't ignore the somewhat dulled, but nonetheless still painful, throbbing that circled from his forehead to the back of his neck. Couldn't do anything but listen to the clock tick away the long seconds and wonder when the sun was going to come up.

Movement behind him had him holding his breath and hoping Tommy wasn't going to try to initiate another conversation. Because he wasn't at all in the mood for talking. He did feel a little bad about completely ignoring the older man earlier when Tommy had asked him if he was ok after he woke up crying. Rubbing his fingers over his eyes, Sam waited and realized Tommy was walking out of the room. Once the door closed behind him, Sam released the breath he'd been holding and stopped fighting the tears he'd been trying to hold back.

He rolled further over and pressed his face into the pillow. After he'd eaten a few bites of a piece of toast, because the jello had not been nearly enough, he'd managed to drift off to sleep again, but, as usual, he'd been ripped from sleep by the face of the only woman he'd ever truly been in love with. And this time it had been a beautiful memory of a lazy day at the beach instead of a nightmare. It had broken yet another part of his heart when he hadn't even been sure there was anything left to break.

Biting his lip, he tried to block it all out, put it in a neat box and tuck it away. He'd been trying all along to do that, but somehow Jessica refused to be boxed up and forgotten.

"I'm sorry." Sam whispered into the pillow.

Of course, it didn't matter how sorry he was, it wasn't bringing her back. Nothing was bringing her back and it was all his fault. _All my fault_. Because if he hadn't tried to escape his life, hadn't tried to be normal, he never would have gone to college, ripping his family apart; and he never would have met Jessica Moore and been responsible for tearing _another_ family apart. A rush of nausea swept over him and he gagged, squeezing his eyes closed and swallowing hard.

He felt way too warm and struggled to push the sheets and blankets away as he forced himself upright. Of course, sitting upright only tripled his issues because now, on top of feeling ready to hurl, he was agonizingly dizzy and the dulled pain in his head roared back to life with a vengeance. Sam knew holding his breath was a bad idea, so he forced himself to breath slowly and carefully. Last thing he wanted right now was to start throwing up again. Heaven knew he'd had enough of that over the past week.

It took a few long, awful minutes, but finally he didn't feel like he was going to throw up. _At least not for a little while_, he thought, lifting a shaking hand to press against his forehead. He'd felt so hot a moment ago, but now he was freezing. The dizziness and pain in his head were very slowly beginning to ebb and he was almost ready to try to lay back down again when he heard the door open. Knowing quick movements were going to result in unpleasant side-effects, Sam just held still.

"Sam?" Tommy's voice was thoughtfully soft as he walked over to the side of the bed. He stayed back a couple feet, obviously not certain how his presence would be taken at this point. "Are you alright?"

Sam kept his head lowered in his hand, because he wasn't sure he'd stay upright if he moved yet. Knowing the other man would see it for the lie that it was, he whispered anyway, "I'm fine."

Tommy sighed softly, but didn't contradict him. This time, though, he did take a step closer and Sam felt a hand on his shoulder. He couldn't help the inadvertent stiffening of his shoulders at the contact. But Tommy's hand didn't move and Sam relaxed just a little. It was unusual for them to let anyone in, to open themselves up to outsiders in anyway. But they'd had no choice but to open up to the Pender's and Sam knew he didn't have any reason to distrust them. Not after everything that had happened since they'd met.

They owed them their lives.

Which was why, when Tommy asked him again if he was alright, this time he found himself saying with complete honesty, "Not really."

Tommy moved again and Sam lowered his hand, opening his eyes to see Tommy crouching in front of him, tired features tight with concern. Had he always looked so old? Sam couldn't remember because every memory of the man was clouded in the same confused haze as everything else from the past week. His lips were moving and Sam had to concentrate just to make sense of what he was saying.

"...'s going on? ….sick again? Sam?" Tommy asked, concern growing more evident with each passing second. "Sam, what's wrong?"

Sam took a shaky breath and said, "Just...y'know. 'm ok now."

"You sure?" Tommy didn't seem convinced. He asked, "You look like you're gonna be sick."

"Nope." Sam forced a wry smile. "Not gonna happen."

Tommy smiled too, although he didn't sound quite so confident when he said, "Keep tellin' yourself that. How's the head?"

"Pounding." Sam didn't even bother to lie. He swallowed hard against the faint nausea and asked, "Can you check…"

"Just did, actually." Tommy interrupted.

Sam could see a conflict playing out in the man's eyes. It made him very nervous and he asked, "What? What is it? Is Dean ok?"

"He's really sick, Sam." Tommy said quietly. "I just talked to Arla. He's going to be ok, but he's pretty miserable and confused right now."

He couldn't exactly straighten up much because it still felt like his head was about to roll off his shoulders, but Sam held Tommy's gaze and said firmly, "I need to see him."

"I know. That's why Arla called." Tommy explained, standing up slowly. He had a hand against his chest and Sam realized he looked like he was in pain. Sam didn't have the chance to ask about it because Tommy was continuing, "If you feel up to it, she thought it might help Dean if you talked to him."

"Yeah. I'm good." Sam said firmly, regardless of how little truth was in the statement.

"Ok. The nurse is coming down in a few minutes to get a set of vital signs and give you some medicine then we can go down."

Sam nodded slowly, glancing past Tommy, then back again. He said, "Where're my clothes?"

"Sam…"

"I'm not going anywhere without getting dressed." Sam said, meeting Tommy's eyes. He said, "I'm freezing and I want my pants."

Tommy snorted a laugh and shook his head slowly, but it wasn't to argue. He smiled and said, "I hear ya, kid. Ok. I'll back you against the nurse, but you're not losing the IV and you're not walking anywhere. Deal?"

Sam wasn't going to argue about that. He smiled a little and said, "Deal."

He watched as Tommy moved around the room and grabbed his clothes from a side table. Tommy's grimace as he turned around was easy to catch and Sam asked, "Are _you_ alright?"

"Just a little sore." Tommy nodded, dropping the clothes on the bed. He rubbed his chest gingerly and said, "Got a bit torn up in the mine."

"Mine?" Sam frowned, realizing yet again how much he had missed from the past week.

"Yeah. Haunted motel, haunted mine, it's been one of those weeks." Tommy smiled, then asked, "You don't remember us almost taking a tumble into the mine when the ground gave way in the woods?"

Sam rubbed his temple and said hesitantly, "Maybe."

"Well, don't worry about it too much right now…"

"We didn't fall in, though? Did we?" Sam persisted, hating the bewildering gaps in his memory. "I don't remember that…"

"No, we didn't. I went in later...long story." Tommy said, breaking off as the nurse walked into the room.

Sam knew any further discussion would need to wait till later and, honestly, he was fine with that. Because the simple act of thinking, let alone trying to force himself to remember what had happened, was actually physically painful. So, instead, he just let the nurse check his blood pressure and tried to answer her questions as best as he could. True to his word, Tommy backed him up when the nurse started to protest his plan of getting dressed.

Fifteen minutes later, he was dressed and feeling a little more human, if also a lot more miserable. It had been a bigger ordeal than he'd really anticipated and, in between coughing and fighting back the nearly overwhelming urge to hurl, he'd struggled at times to remember why exactly he felt it was so important to get out of bed in the first place. But then he'd remember what Tommy had said about Dean and that had given him the motivation to keep going.

By the time they entered Dean's room, his heart was pounding with worry. Because Dean must be doing downright awful if Arla had suggested him coming down when before all she'd wanted was for both of them to stay in bed. And as soon as he saw his brother, he knew her worry had not been unfounded.

Dean looked like hell.

Not that he _hadn't _looked that bad for the past week, but this was new and scary because he was in a hospital bed not fighting, or flirting, with the nurses; hot or otherwise. He wasn't complaining, wasn't making a complete nuisance of himself. Wasn't flipping through the channels with that annoyed expression he got when there was nothing good on and he didn't have pay-per-view. Dean was just sitting there, propped up against the raised head of the bed and a stack of pillows, eyes glazed and barely open. Even across the room, Sam could hear the congestion and the see the ragged way he was breathing. As much as he'd expected Dean to look awful, he found he still hadn't been quite prepared for this.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, aware that he was completely ignoring Arla. Only when Dean didn't respond to him did Sam look up, mouth dry, and catch her eyes. He wanted to ask her what was wrong, if Dean was going to be ok, a million things, but he couldn't even speak.

Arla was at his side in a heartbeat, hand gentle on his arm as she said softly, very soothingly, "Sam, he's ok, he's just really worn out from the fever. I know he looks bad, and he _is_ still very sick, but he's responding to the treatments and the antibiotics and he's going to get better."

Sam felt a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding rush out in a huff and, for a moment, he had to squeeze his eyes closed because the room was spinning about a mile a minute. His head dropped forward because he was suddenly too tired to hold it up any longer. He felt a hand on his forehead and one on the back of his neck and didn't fight the comforting touch, just relaxed into it and tried to get the pain and nausea back under control.

"No... just grab some water, ok?" Sam heard Arla's soft voice talking to someone else. He couldn't catch the other side of the conversation, but he heard her continue, "How was his temperature? Yeah, he still feels feverish, but a lot better than yesterday."

Vaguely, he realized she was talking about him, but he didn't care enough to get involved in the conversation. He was too tired and his head hurt too much and Dean was too sick...Sam wondered if he should try calling Dad. His heart sank as he stopped to wonder if Dad would even answer. If Dad was even alive…

Groaning, Sam wished he hadn't started thinking about Dad.

"Sam? Honey, are you ok?" Arla's voice was near his ear and concerned. Then her voice was above him, although she still was cradling his head, and she said, "He's not up to this…"

"I'm ok. I'm ok." Sam protested, forcing himself to sit up and pull away from her comforting touch. Her left hand was still on the back of his neck as he straightened up. He cleared his throat and managed to look her in the eye again. He said, "I'm ok. Not great, but I'm ok. It's just…" His gaze returned to Dean as he whispered, "I've never seen him so sick."

Arla's gaze was still assessing him, and she brushed his hair back tenderly, but all she said was, "Dean doesn't seem to be the type to let even germs get the upper hand."

Sam laughed, then muffled a cough in his sleeve before saying, "He doesn't let _anything_ get the upper hand." All amusement faded as he stared at his brother's pale as death face. He said, "He's...he's always...always taken care of me."

"I can tell." Arla said, a smile in her voice. Her hand moved to his shoulder as she added, "I think you both take care of _each other_. And I know this is a very hard time, Sam, and that you're really worried about Dean. I understand. But you need to know," she tilted his chin up so he would look at her before she continued, "Dean is going to be fine. He is going to get better. Ok? Trust me?"

Since he didn't have any reason not to, and several days worth of reasons _to _trust her, Sam nodded.

"Good." Arla smiled. "Then I want you take it easy, sit here with your brother and keep him grounded when he's awake, and try to get some rest while he's resting. Since he's quiet right now, I'm going to run and grab some coffee with Tommy and we'll be right back, ok?"

"Ok."

Arla pressed something into his hand, and Sam stared at the bottle of water. She said, "I want you to sip on this while you sit here, Sam. You need the fluids. Don't push it, though, I know you're still feeling a little sick to your stomach. We'll be right back."

Sam sighed as the room grew quiet and all he could hear was the horrible sound of Dean trying to breathe. For a few minutes, he just sat there staring at Dean, holding the too cold bottle of water in his hands and trying to pretend he believed everything was going to be as fine as Arla said it would be. When the cold got to be too much and the chills started up again, he set the bottle of water on the nightstand and leaned closer to the bed. Wrapping his arms around himself because, even with Tommy's jacket, he was still freezing, Sam closed his eyes for a moment.

It didn't last long, though because he could hear Dean shifting around. Opening his eyes, Sam frowned and called his brother's name, raising his voice so it was a little louder than a whisper, "Hey, man, you with me?"

But he wasn't with him. Not at all. Despite Arla's words, Sam was terrified by the confusion and fear in Dean's eyes as he woke up fully and started pulling on the mask, his fingers clumsy and uncoordinated. Sam reached out, grabbed Dean's wrist to keep him from pulling on the mask and was shocked to see that there was no recognition in Dean's eyes when he looked at him.

Throat tight, Sam shook his wrist and said, "Dean, hey, come on, take it easy."

But Dean kept fighting him, struggling so weakly it was laughable, except that it wasn't funny at all. Sam let go of Dean's wrist when he started practically arm wrestling him and throwing weak punches with his free hand. It didn't take a genius to guess that Dean felt trapped. And Dean feeling trapped had never once in their entire lives been a good thing. So Sam just let go, pushed himself to his unsteady feet and nearly fell face first onto Dean's bed. Which would have only caused more problems. Thankfully, he caught himself in time and managed to sit down, however ungracefully, on the edge of the bed.

By now, Dean was struggling on the bed and fighting with the oxygen tubing, the IV tubing and anything else he could reach. Seeing his brother so out of control sent new jagged spikes of fear through Sam's entire system, even as he did what he could to keep Dean's hands from pulling on anything important.

"Dean!" He raised his voice enough that he broke out coughing. He braced one hand on the bed and one against his head as each cough threatened to break his head in a dozen pieces. It hurt like hell, but the coughing spell got Dean's attention at least.

For a second or two, Dean stopped fighting and lay back against the pillows, a look of utter confusion and defeat in his bleary eyes as he stared at him. Sam sucked in a shaky breath, moving his hand from the bed to rest against his brother's chest to hold him in place, and keeping his other hand against his head as he tried to push the pain to the background again. Because he had more pressing issues to deal with.

"Dean, ya gotta calm down, man." Sam said, voice broken and raspy. "You're sick. But you're safe, _we're_ safe. You hear me?"

But Dean didn't seem to hear him. He shook his head, eyes wild and looking past Sam while he muttered under the mask, but Sam couldn't make out anything he was trying to say. It was clear from the wild look in his eyes, that Dean was still lost in whatever nightmare the fever was conjuring up for him. Sam had been foolish enough to hope that his voice and presence would be enough to bring his brother back from the brink, but obviously it hadn't been enough.

Sam didn't move, though, just shifted his hand from Dean's chest to his shoulder, trying to hold him down while he struggled some more. He was suddenly so tired that sitting upright didn't seem to be a very feasible long-term option. Just fighting against Dean's extremely weak struggles had left him exhausted. Dean seemed to be wearing out too, at least. He wasn't muttering nonsense anymore, just laying there trying to catch his own breath as his eyes continued to flit around the room as if he were seeing a dozen threats that Sam couldn't see.

When he'd recovered enough breath to speak again, Sam said softly, "Dean, it's ok. There's nothing there. Promise."

This time, when Dean's eyes landed on him, Sam saw a reassuring glimmer of recognition. It was brief, though, that instant of connection. Dean blinked slowly, forehead wrinkling as if he were puzzled. His right hand lifted from the sheets as if he were trying to reach for Sam, but he didn't seem to have the strength and it flopped back down instantly. But before he sank back into the fever, Dean said his name.

Sam smiled, but his eyes were filled with tears. He grabbed Dean's arm and said, "I'm here, man. Come back, ok? Come back."

This time, it was Dean smiling as he whispered, "'m right here, Sammy."

The words all ran into each other, but it had been the clearest thing he'd said since Sam had arrived. Dean's eyes closed as soon as he'd spoken and he was alone again. And something else inside him broke. Shaking Dean's arm, Sam got no response and knew he should be relieved that Dean wasn't acting out of his head anymore. Because it had been downright scary to see him so out of control, but at the same time, at least he'd seemed more alive. Now he just looked half-dead.

Shaking his head, Sam hated himself for the tears and for being such a baby, but he wasn't lying when he whispered so no one could hear, "I can't do this without you, Dean. You're the only thing keeping me together. Dad. Jess...I don't...I don't know what I'd...you have to get better, hear me?"

Sam closed his eyes, lowering his head because he was going to fall over if he didn't. He could feel the heat from Dean's skin and wished he'd been able to help his brother more. Fat lot of good he'd done, he could feel Dean still moving restlessly and mumbling incoherently in between coughing fits.

"I'm sorry, Dean." He could barely hear himself when he whispered, "I never should have left. Everything would have been better if I'd never gone to Stanford. I'm sorry."

* * *

_0615 AM_

Dean was one hundred percent convinced he'd been murdered. Murdered and left out to die all over again in a desert. Or else he'd been pitched out the window of a spaceship and thrown into the sun. _Abducted by aliens, that's new_, he thought, almost laughing at the absurd thought. But he couldn't laugh, because if it wasn't aliens, then it was monsters and they were a bunch of sadistic bastards for throwing him into the sun. _Or whatever…_ He frowned, realizing his eyes were closed, but not quite sure how to get them opened again. Because it was too hot and his eyelids had been stapled down, _or something_.

He tried to calm the rapidly blossoming panic. But that self-help, yoga crap about deep breaths only left him coughing until he thought his head was going to explode. So he didn't try deep breathing again once he'd recovered from his first, ill-fated attempt. Instead, he just tried to think. To calmly, _more or less_, appraise his situation.

_Sit-rep, Dean!_

_Yes, sir._

Hearing his father's voice in his head almost was enough to get his eyes open, but not quite. As confused as he was, he knew he'd just imagined his father talking to him. That it wasn't real. Because he didn't know where Dad was. Which was why he needed Sam's help. Ok, so that was a stretch. An excuse. He _did_ want, and probably actually did _need_, Sam's help, but that wasn't really it. What he _really_ needed was to make sure Sam was safe. Because if Dad was gone, was in danger, then they all were and he couldn't just sit back and leave Sam there all alone at Stanford with no one to back him up.

Dad disappearing without a word was a nightmare.

If Sam disappeared like that...Dean couldn't...couldn't even think about it, couldn't ever let that happen. _Never again_... Flagstaff was still too vivid a memory for him, one that he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to forget. That feeling of utter terror when he'd realized Sam was missing...His breathing sped up and whatever was in his stomach started threatening to make its reappearance. _Need to get to Stanford, make sure he's ok..._

A rush of images flashed in his mind and, as completely lost and disoriented as he'd been, Dean suddenly realized Stanford had been months ago. Sam was fine. Jessica wasn't. And then, despite the lingering feeling of sickness and the sweltering heat, he remembered everything. They were in Arizona. And in the hospital.

And, just like that, the overwhelming need to see his brother flooded him.

But first, he needed to get his eyes opened. So he tried again, with a bit more focus and enthusiasm this time. _Victory!_ Dean breathed out, feeling inexplicably drained just by the effort it took to peel his eyes open. But that was one thing he hadn't been able to do a moment ago, so he counted it as a win and tried to actually get his barely open eyes focused enough to see something.

Well, he wasn't on the sun, although he could just make out the pale light of morning filtering in through the closed blinds. And he wasn't in the desert, that was pretty clear. His head was tilted to the side and for a moment, all he could focus on was an IV pole and a monitor of some sort on the wall. Shifting slightly, he saw an older man sleeping in a recliner. _Tommy_, Dean remembered. He looked beat and like he needed the deep sleep he seemed to be getting. Fighting gravity and his own seemingly insurmountable weakness, Dean tried to roll his head to the other side so he could see the rest of the room.

As he did, he started to remember more details of the hospital. _Seeing Sam sometime earlier. Watching as he sat up for the first time and only just managed not to pass out when he was barely even vertical. Being sent back to his room once Sam had dozed off again. _Everything after that was hazy and confusing and his head hurt and he had to close his eyes for a moment as his head finally centered on the pillow.

Dean slowly took a few breaths, realizing that it wasn't as difficult as it had been before. He shifted a little more to the right and tried to bring his hand up to rub at his eyes. His movements were clumsy and uncoordinated and he felt his elbow bump against something solid on the bed next to his right hip. Getting his eyes opened again, he glanced down.

"Sam?" His lips moved and he thought he was speaking aloud, but nothing came out.

Dean frowned and stared at his brother. Sam's head was down on the bed, face smooshed into one of the pillows at Dean's side, the top of his head just brushing Dean's hip. One arm was under his head, the other probably hanging like a wet noodle toward the ground, judging by how he was half-sprawled against the bed, half-falling out of the wheelchair. There was no way in the world that he was comfortable, but he certainly was sound asleep. Dean clumsily tried to reach for him, only ending up smacking him in the head with his elbow again.

"Sorry." Dean hissed apologetically, although he needn't have bothered; the bump hadn't phased his brother in the slightest.

"He wouldn't leave."

It was a little easier to move his head now, Dean found, and he tracked Tommy's movement as he rose from the chair, gingerly stretched, then stepped closer to the bed. Tommy smiled and said quietly, "How are you feeling, Dean?"

"Swell." Dean said, the word dragging out of his throat like a double-edged sword. He squeezed his eyes closed and swallowed hard against the pain.

"Water?"

Nodding, Dean didn't even fight when Tommy held the straw to his lips. As coordinated as his movements had been, he wasn't taking the chance of ending up with a cup full of water spilled all over him. The ice water felt like the best thing he'd ever tasted in his entire life and for a split second, he almost thought he felt fine. It didn't last, of course, and he looked back at Tommy, exhaustion winning out over his desire to pepper the man with questions. Thankfully, Tommy was a pretty good guesser.

He set the cup down and continued softly, "You had a rough night, Dean. High fever, you were confused and fighting; you probably don't remember much."

Which was true. All he remembered was a mingling of all his worst nightmares.

"You kept asking to see Sam." Tommy continued, "It took awhile, but you finally calmed down. The fever broke around 5:30 and you've been sleeping ever since."

Dean nodded. Even though he still felt overly warm, he remembered now how much worse it had been earlier. He glanced back at Sam who was still sleeping, oblivious to their conversation. Dean asked, "How long's he been here?"

"A few hours. Fell asleep not long after you did and hasn't moved a muscle since." Tommy said, a bit of regret in his eyes. "Not the most comfortable position, I admit, but he wouldn't leave your side and I figured it was better that he was actually sleeping than trying to move him."

Dean didn't like it. At all. But what could he do? If the situation had been reversed, he knew he'd gladly have been the one who would be waking up with a crick in his neck if it meant he could keep a close eye on his brother. Sam hadn't come by his stubbornness by chance; it was a familial trait. Didn't mean he had to like it, though, Dean thought, staring at Sam. He looked back at Tommy.

"He's not discharged is he?" Dean asked, a bit confused by the fact his brother was dressed, but still had an IV pole by his side.

"No. Just wasn't happy with the hospital uniform." Tommy grinned.

_Can't blame him,_ Dean thought. He said, "Can you give us a minute? I'll…" he paused to catch his breath and avoid coughing, "...get him to go back to bed. Ok?"

"Sure." Tommy nodded, not even questioning the fact that Dean was dismissing him from the room. "I'll go grab something quick for breakfast and be right back."

"Thanks." Dean said, forcing a brief smile. As soon as Tommy was gone, he concentrated on getting his right arm to obey his commands.

Took him a minute, but he finally managed to move his arm so he could get his hand, instead of his elbow, on Sam's head. Trying to be gentle, but mostly being clumsy, Dean rubbed at his brother's head, then let his hand rest on his neck. Sam's skin felt a little cool and clammy, but at least he wasn't burning up anymore either. Dean shifted a little more and stared down, wondering how Sam was even able to breathe with his face mashed into the pillow like it was.

"Sam." Dean said, hacking just a little as he lifted his voice. He was grateful that the oxygen mask wasn't over his face any longer. As helpful as it had been, the constricting mask had given him quite a bit of claustrophobia. The nasal cannula was annoying, but not nearly so panic-inducing. It also made it a heck of a lot easier to talk. "Sam, wakey wakey."

But Sam didn't seem to want to wakey wakey, Dean found after a couple more gentle attempts to rouse his brother. Feeling just a pinch of concern at Sam's continued unresponsiveness, Dean rubbed the back of his head a little harder and called his name a little louder. It wasn't instant, but it did the trick. Dean felt movement under his hand and relaxed a little, wishing he could take another sip of water to ease the pain in his throat. But the last thing he wanted to do was dump it all over his brother.

_Although, that'd wake him up quick…_ Dean grinned, then felt his grin fade as he stared down and watched the seemingly herculean effort it was taking his little brother to wake up. So far, Sam had only managed to shift slightly, his face now down against his arm on the bed instead of in the pillow. It was soft, but Dean could hear him moan as he shifted and attempted to pull his left arm up onto the bed too.

"Sam, wake up." Dean repeated, watching as Sam finally pillowed his head against both arms, seemingly content not to move any further. And for a moment, Dean was tempted to let him be. But he couldn't do it. Couldn't let Sam sit there so uncomfortably any longer. He needed to be back in bed. So he squeezed his neck gently and called again, "Sam."

This time he heard a muffled sound that might have been his name. Dean patted Sam's shoulder and said, "Hey. Sam, talk to me here."

"Dean?" That time it was much clearer as Sam had managed to force his head up about a half a centimeter.

"Yeah. Come on, sit up." Dean encouraged, although he knew how much he was asking of Sam considering how beat he felt. Just getting his hand to move had left him breathless, let alone lifting his head.

Sam mumbled something else, but it was incoherent as he struggled to push himself upright. It took a full two minutes and several failed attempts before he managed to get his head up off his arms. Even at that, he wasn't completely awake, Dean could tell. Hadn't even managed to get his eyes open, in fact.

Despite the fact that his face comically bore the wrinkled imprint of the pillowcase he'd been getting cozy with, Dean couldn't even find it in himself to smile again. Because he could tell how sick Sam still was, and could all too easily see the puffy eyes and tear tracks that were on his face. He felt bad knowing Sam had been that worried about him.

Moving his hand from the back of Sam's head, he pushed gently against his forehead, trying to help him the rest of the way up. He whispered hoarsely, "Dude, getting sick of talking to myself here."

"Dean?" Sam mumbled again, his hand suddenly coming up to scrub at his eyes.

"Y'wake?"

And just like that, he was. _Finally_. Sam's eyes widened and he scrambled to push himself upright, almost falling face first back onto the bed when his arms didn't quite cooperate with him. This time Dean did smile as he said, "Calm down, wouldja? You fall on the floor I guarantee I'm not picking you up."

Dean almost regretted his smile when fresh tears flooded Sam's eyes and he felt his arm gripped with a firm grasp that was borne of hours of desperate worry. But then Sam smiled and said, "Jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam let out a shaky breath, hand rubbing his face again, then he said, "You were out of your head last night, man. I was...I was…"

"I know. Sorry." Dean interrupted as Sam's voice began to waver. He said, "I'm back in my head. Promise."

For a long moment, it was completely silent in the room as they both came to grips with everything that had happened. A thousand things ran through Dean's mind in that moment. He needed to make sure Sam was ok, needed to somehow convince him to go back to bed, needed not to start coughing. But all he could do was just sit there, taking slow breaths, studying his brother like he hadn't seen him in years.

Sam finally said, "It's been a really long week."

"Yeah."

"You gonna be ok, Dean?"

Dean nodded, seeing how badly Sam needed to hear him say he was. He said, "I'm gonna be fine. You?"

"Yeah." Sam yawned, eyes already drooping.

Dean knew he needed to take this moment to somehow convince Sam to go back to his own bed, but he wasn't looking forward to the argument he was expecting. Before he could open his mouth to say anything, though Sam rubbed his eyes again and said, "Dean."

"Huh?"

"Promise me something."

Dean raised an eyebrow, but nodded, "Ok?"

"Promise me you won't try to bless the IV solution to make it holy water again," Sam mumbled sleepily, "and that you won't tear your bed apart looking for a hex bag, and that you'll stop talking about the aliens?"

"The heck?" Dean asked, hoping against hope. He didn't want to ask, but did anyway, "Did I...did I do all of that?"

Sam's tired eyes lit with amusement as he nodded, his head resting in his right hand while his left patronizingly patted Dean's arm. He said, "Like I said, out of your head. There's more but I'm too tired. Was a long night. Promise me you're gonna be ok because if you are, I swear I'm gonna flirt with whatever nurse is out there, hot or otherwise, if she'll get me back to my bed."

Dean couldn't help but laugh, even if it made him cough.

* * *

**Look at that, no cliffhanger, and they're laughing (and coughing of course). :) **

**So I'm going to admit...I don't think this is gonna be wrapped up in one more chapter. Now that is probably going to thrill some of you and I hope it won't frustrate anyone. :) I thought I could wrap it up that quick, but...yeah, not so much. It probably won't be a lot more chapters, but it's not gonna be over in 30. (so much for Sam's and my OCD heehee). Just thought I'd give the heads up.**

**Also, regarding the finale...I'll have to get back to you all on that one. I watched it, but I was in such a fog already that I honestly don't even know what to say or think about it and I've been too depressed to even think about rewatching it yet. I'll get to it eventually...**


	30. Chapter 30

**Hello all! Here I am...on Sunday as promised. Now, fair warning...I've been working on this chapter for two weeks but just did my final proofread on no sleep in over 24 hours thanks to a bout of crazy work schedule related insomnia so if i missed anything or have atrocious spelling or punctuation, please let me know and I'll fixy. :) I am feeling like Sam felt when Luci was scrambling his brains and making him stay awake all the time lol! ;)  
**

**Ok! Hope you enjoy the chapter! Lots of brotherly love and feels ahead! **

* * *

_0904 AM, December 28th  
__Hospital_

She hadn't really expected him to sleep as long as he had, and she was pleased his sleep had been undisturbed and deep. Heaven knew they all needed a lot more sleep than they were getting. After catching a bit of a nap in an unoccupied on-call room earlier, she had gotten back up and sent Tommy home again for more rest. Arla glanced at her watch as she slid the blanket aside. Just after nine. So he'd managed a couple hours of mostly undisturbed rest after Sam had finally gone back to his own bed. Not much in the grand scheme of things, but more than she'd dared hope. Arla pushed herself forward in the chair and waited until his eyes were mostly open before she spoke up.

"Good morning." She said, keeping her voice low.

Dean immediately looked her way and smiled. His movements were sluggish and drugged with sleep and sheer exhaustion, but the fever and awful confusion were no longer evident. Eyes clear and sharp, he sized her up in a heartbeat and said, "You should go home and sleep."

Arla smiled and said, "You're a little bossy, you know that?"

"And you're a little..." Dean tried to formulate a stinging come-back but broke off coughing.

Moving to his side, she held the cup for him and he croaked out a thanks after taking a sip. Arla sat back down, feeling the hours of exhaustion taking their toll on her. She watched him closely, but he caught his breath easily and didn't look too much worse for wear. Hand rubbing over his face, he yawned, then shifted in bed and looked back at her.

"Time's it?"

"Nine AM."

"Sam?"

"Last I checked, still sleeping."

"Good. He looked tired." Dean said, yawning again and apparently missing the irony.

"How are _you_ feeling and don't even think about lying."

"Chest hurts, head hurts, throat hurts and I feel like I haven't slept in a year." Dean listed off, every raspy word accompanied by a pained grimace, indicating just how much his throat hurt. He added, "Happy?"

"I'm happy you're feeling up to being mouthy." Arla said honestly.

Dean smiled, but it looked forced and weary. He stared at the wall with unfocused eyes for a few seconds, then asked softly, "Any chance of getting breakfast around here?"

"I think we can handle that." Arla smiled, relieved he was interested enough to be asking about food. She said, "What sounds good?"

"Burgers and a beer." But she could see in his eyes that it was a lie.

"How about starting with something a little...more tame?" She suggested. "I still owe you a beer, but not today."

He waved a hand dismissively which was probably his way of saving face and not making it more obvious than it already was that he felt like utter crap. They were silent for the next twenty minutes as she watched him pick at his food with about as much enthusiasm as someone who was having their last meal. She knew he was doing better, he even looked a little better, but it didn't mean he was even close to 100% yet. And despite his bravado, he couldn't quite maintain the facade when merely lifting food to his mouth left him breathless. He had fortitude, though, and surprised her by finishing the cereal, toast and orange juice. When he looked up at her, Arla knew what he was going to ask before he said anything.

"I'm going to check on Sam." Dean said, not wording it like a request, but as a fact. He pushed himself up a bit more in the bed and tried his darndest to look like he felt up to moving more than two inches.

"Mmhmm. A good idea." Arla said, enjoying the surprise on _his_ face. "You need to get moving and get the rest of that junk in your lungs moving and coughed up."

He swallowed hard, and asked, "You're ok with this?"

"Doctor's orders. You need to be up and walking. As soon as the nurse does a quick assessment, we can go." She said, rising and preparing to put the plan into action. By the time he was ready to go, she'd retrieved the crutches and held them out in front of him. "Ready?"

Dean gave her a withering glare and said, "I don't need…"

"Your ankle is sprained and you are not putting weight on it…"

"I've made it to the bathroom on my own…" He interrupted, stubbornly refusing to take the crutches.

"That's not nearly as far as it is down to Sam's room. You're using them."

And, grumbling till he had to stop in order to catch his breath, use them he did. She knew his pride was probably hurting more than his ankle, chest or throat combined. They'd made it only a third of the way there when he stopped, head lowered. Arla left the wheelchair she'd been pushing behind him and stepped to his side.

"Dean?" She asked, touching his shoulder. His eyes were squeezed closed and he was sweaty and pale.

"I...think I'm done." He wheezed.

"Ok. That was really good for the first time, Dean." She soothed, seeing the annoyance and embarrassment in his eyes. Guiding him to the wheelchair, she said, "It's going to take time, honey. This isn't something you bounce back from instantly."

Arla wasn't surprised when Dean's mood turned sour after that. She knew by now that weakness or vulnerability of any sort were not words he ever wanted associated with him. And this level of illness wasn't something he knew how to cope with. So she held her tongue when he snapped at her about the way she was fussing over him, and she ignored the way he almost lost his balance when he insisted on walking into the room; regardless of the fact that he had nothing to prove considering the only person around to impress was his soundly sleeping little brother.

She might have rolled her eyes at that one, though.

Ten minutes or so passed in stony silence and Arla felt a guilty pang of relief when Sam started to wake up. Because everything about Dean's attitude and demeanor changed. All that anger at himself for his supposed criminal weakness disappeared and nothing but concern for his brother was evident.

"Sam?" Dean asked softly, apparently not willing to be patient enough for Sam to completely wake up on his own.

Sam responded with a grunt and rolled further onto his side; apparently he wasn't anywhere as enthusiastic about the prospect of being awake as his brother was. Arla wanted to tell Dean to leave his brother alone but since she wasn't their mother and she knew Dean was barely holding it together, she didn't say anything when he poked Sam in the shoulder and called his name again. She wasn't the only one who thought Sam should be left alone.

"Stop it." Sam mumbled, eyes still closed; obviously his plan had been to immediately go back to sleep and his brother was interrupting.

"You stop it." Dean mumbled back, rubbing his chest and looking put out. Arla couldn't help smiling behind her coffee cup watching them act like children. All the tension faded from the room and she sat back to enjoy what was sure to be an amusing display of sibling drama.

"Dean, 'm sleeping."

"Are not. You're talking to me. Wake up so I can figure out if you've lost any more marbles since the last time I checked."

At that, Sam finally peeked at his brother and asked, "Marbles?"

Dean rolled his eyes and said, "Yeah dude. You lost yours."

"Didn't."

"Tell me where you are."

"Um…" Sam blinked and looked around the room, looking a little surprised as he said, "Hospital?"

"I said tell me, not ask me." Dean shook his head, "You lose round one."

"Dean." Sam mumbled in complaint, rubbing his eyes and looking more uncomfortable by the second. He glanced around the room and saw Arla; she could tell he was surprised and uncertain about her presence. Looking back at Dean, he lowered his voice and asked, "What's going on?"

Dean's expression made it clear he was disappointed with his brother's response. Obviously he'd been hoping Sam wasn't still confused. He tried not to show the worry, but it was there as he very briefly summed up what had been happening over the past week. He kept it short and simple and there was finally a bit of recognition in Sam's eyes.

"Dean, are you ok?" Sam asked, struggling to sit up; he might not have remembered everything, but it was clear he remembered that he had a good reason to be worried about his brother.

Dean hit the button to raise the head of the bed a little and nodded, "I'm fine. You're the one who's got the memory of...what was that movie? Drew Barrymore..._50 First Dates._ Dude!" Dean grinned, "You're like her."

"Did we...is it still out there?" Sam asked, looking dizzy and confused and ignoring Dean's attempt at humor. "We didn't finish it…"

"Yeah we did." Dean said, his amusement fading away. "I mean, we still gotta go back and do something about the cursed rings and Raquel, but we ganked the monsters. Well, _you_ ganked one of them…"

Sam's eyes widened as he said, "I don't remember that."

Arla could sense the increasing panic and it was obvious that Dean was aware of it too. He shook his head and said, "It doesn't matter. What matters is you did it and…"

"What day is it?" Sam asked, not even listening to Dean's attempt to set his mind at ease.

Dean frowned and said, "_I _don't even know what day it is, man. What difference does it make? It's not like…" He broke off abruptly and Arla saw him staring at his brother with narrowed eyes. After a few silent seconds, he poked Sam in the shoulder. Eyebrows raised, Dean said, "Sam? Seriously?"

Arla smiled as he turned to her. His expression was a mixture of exasperation and concern. Arla said, "Don't be surprised if he does that a lot over the next few days. He's going to need more sleep than usual."

"Considering how little sleep he's been getting lately," Dean shrugged, settling back in his chair and snatching the remote off the bed, "he can have as much as he wants."

"He's not the only one who needs sleep." Arla said, seeing that Dean didn't appear like he planned to go anywhere. "You should go back to bed."

"Later. I'm up now. I'm not gonna be able to fall asleep." He turned his attention from the TV back to her and said, "You don't have to stay."

"I know." She smiled.

Arla could tell he hadn't mean his statement as a dismissal or rejection of her support. The faint uncertainty and hint of shyness in his eyes as he lowered his gaze told her that he just wasn't quite sure how long her presence should be expected. Judging from everything she'd learned of the two young men, they were used to, _expected_ to, handle everything on their own. She studied Dean as he slanted his eyes back over to his brother. The time was coming when they both would be back on their feet and she couldn't kid herself by thinking the trajectory of their lives was going to change just because of the past week. They had a mission, a family business, a purpose.

And they had each other.

Dean was trying to look casual as he leaned forward and pulled the blanket up higher on Sam's shoulders. Arla smiled and knew that it was time to start backing off a little bit. Even if he wasn't close to being fully recovered, she knew Dean was doing well enough that she could leave them be. And she _was_ exhausted. Snatching a few hours here and there was not enough. So she made her decision.

"Dean," She said quietly, waiting until he'd met her eyes before she continued, "do you think you guys will be ok if I run home for a quick nap?"

He nodded, more uncertainty in his eyes.

"I'll let you guys have some time to yourselves and then I'll come back this afternoon." And there it was. Arla realized he was surprised to hear that she was coming back. No doubt, he'd been waiting for the moment when she would just say goodbye and walk away. She added, "Dean, until you two are feeling 100% better, you're not getting rid of me. You're going to come back and stay with us until you're both recovered. Ok?"

This time, there was relief in his eyes as he nodded again and said, "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Arla smiled. "I'll let the nurses know that I'll be back later and that you're down here with Sam. Do you need anything?"

Dean smiled, "Nope. Got everything I need."

And she knew he wasn't joking.

* * *

_11:30 AM, December 28th  
__Hospital_

He heard Dean trying to muffle another cough. It was a nice gesture, especially considering how rough his brother sounded and how out of control his coughing had been lately. Sam figured it was probably time to wake up all the way and rejoin the world. If it wasn't for the fact that he knew Dean was sitting there, no doubt worrying about him, he would happily have stayed half-asleep for as long as possible. It had been such a refreshing change to wake up gradually, easily, comfortably. No nightmares, no dreams, just a much needed peaceful sleep giving way to what seemed to be a better day already.

Opening his eyes, Sam wasn't at all surprised to see Dean sitting next to the bed. Dean was engrossed in whatever was on the TV, brow creased in concentration; probably because he had the volume completely off and was most likely trying to figure out what was happening on the show. For a few minutes he just watched his brother. Dean's expressions were as informative to him about what was happening on the show as if he were watching it for himself. Sam smiled as Dean made an exaggerated face of absolute disgust. Whatever had just happened was far past blood and gore on Dean's scale of _ick_. Sam had a feeling it ranked right up there with the one motel room they had ever turned their remarkably tolerant noses up to. They'd never even dropped their bags from their shoulders but had exchanged one look with each other, turned as one and left as quickly as possible.

Dean coughed again, but remained engrossed in the action on the TV. Sam wasn't curious enough to bother turning his head to figure out what he was watching. He was more interested in taking a long, careful look at his brother and making his own decision about how Dean was doing before his brother could spit out the old familiar lies.

Thankfully, Sam honestly could see signs of improvement. The shadows on Dean's face were still noticeable, but there was some color back in his face now and he looked relaxed, comfortable and not struggling to breathe, thank God. He was still wearing the oxygen, but he was breathing easily and the only time he looked even remotely uncomfortable was when he coughed. The coughs were still harsh and junky sounding, but they didn't seem to be quite as painful to him as they had been. It was such a relief that Sam was close to fading back to sleep.

Then Dean's glance flicked from the TV over to him. It was quick and Dean instantly was back to the TV before doing a double take. Sam put a little more effort into keeping his heavy eyes open now that Dean had caught him more or less awake.

Sam saw the same level of relief that he himself felt reflected in Dean's eyes. But all Dean said was, "Bout time. Subtitles suck, man."

Sam just smiled and closed his eyes for a few seconds. The relief he felt at seeing Dean sitting there looking alive and mouthing off like normal was indescribable. Even if the nagging headache was pressing in on him and he felt like he'd been run over by a steamroller, he was feeling better than he had in days and hoped that maybe, just maybe, the worst was over. He expected the volume to go up on the TV, but the room remained silent except for Dean's congested breathing. Getting his bleary eyes open again, Sam looked at his brother, not exactly surprised that Dean was staring at him assessingly.

Dean's voice was hoarse and soft and tainted with more than a little bit of worry as he asked, "How're you doing?"

Sam tried to speak but found his mouth was dry and felt like an old carpet. Grimacing, he licked his equally dry and cracked lips, squeezing his eyes closed as he tried to figure out how to get something to drink when he couldn't even form words. Thankfully, as usual, Dean read his mind.

"I sort of stole your table here," Dean said, shifting around. Sam opened his eyes again and saw Dean was fumbling with the bedside table that he had a tray of food spread across. He had a cup of ice water in his hand as he scooted closer to the bed. Dean continued, "but this is your water. Want some?"

Nodding, Sam pushed himself upright a little bit, the room only turning a couple somersaults instead of a dozen like it had done every time before when he'd sat up. By the time he had his eyes uncrossed and felt halfway confident about taking the cup in his shaky hand, Dean was already shoving the straw between his lips. Shooting him a weak glare, Sam fought to gain control of the cup. But his hands were shaking so badly that by the time he'd finished sipping the glorious liquid, his mouth wasn't dry anymore and neither were his sheets. Dean took the cup without comment, though, and Sam flopped back against the pillows, sliding just a little to the right, away from the wet spot.

"I resubmit my question." Dean mumbled around whatever he'd just shoved in his mouth.

"Are you watching _Matlock_ again?" Sam asked, annoyed with how hoarse his own voice sounded but amused with his brother's courtroom lingo. "And what are you eating?"

Dean's eyes flicked to the TV, then back again and his tired features spread in a goofy grin, "Peanut M&amp;Ms. Want some?"

The thought was enough to disgust him, but not turn his stomach inside out, which Sam counted as a win. He said, "How'd you get those?"

"Maria." Dean rolled his eyes up and sighed heavily, then he grinned again. "Got her number too."

"Your nurse." Sam snorted. _Why was he not surprised?_ "Of course. Which would be why you're watching Spanish soap operas again?"

Dean glanced at the TV a little guiltily this time, then back at Sam. He popped another M&amp;M into his mouth and said, "_Your _nurse actually. And she's from China. Don't be so stereotypical, Sammy."

Sam smiled and finally looked up at the TV. It was little more than a blurry box on the far wall, but he could see enough to be pretty confident the reason his brother hadn't bothered to turn the volume up was because it _was_ a Spanish soap opera and he would have been reading the subtitles anyway. He asked, "Why're you watching that? You don't even know Spanish."

"_Oye como va_, Sam. _Oye como va_." Dean said, trying to look profound and just coming off as ridiculous. He popped a few more candies into his mouth and Sam closed his eyes again. He wasn't exactly in the mood to watch Dean eat. Dean coughed harshly, took a drink of his own water then asked in a quieter voice, "Sam?"

"I'm good, Dean."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Why do you keep closing your eyes?"

"Because I'm tired. What do you want me to do?"

"I dunno. Look a little less...sick I guess." There was a teasing note to his tone, but mostly he sounded worried. The chewing stopped and Sam heard the bag of candy hit the table.

Sam opened his eyes again and wasn't imagining the flicker of fear that crossed Dean's face before he could hide it. He rubbed a hand over his face and decided he needed to work a little harder at looking less sick for his brother's sake. Pushing himself up again until he was mostly sitting upright, Sam mumbled, "Doing the best I can here. You don't exactly _not_ look sick yourself, you know?"

As expected, Dean ignored him and and asked, "You still feel sick to your stomach?"

"No." And it was the truth. Sam took stock of his symptoms and found that, while he felt completely wiped out and ready to sleep for a month, he wasn't feeling nauseated.

Dean laughed, "You look surprised."

"Kind of forgot how it felt _not_ to want to puke every five minutes, you know?"

"I believe it." Dean said sympathetically. How's the head? Still looks like you've got a headache."  
"It's better than before."

"How's the memory?"

"I remember someone saying something about _a quick and easy case in Arizona, just a couple cranky ghosts, right up our alley, be done before Christmas then we hit the Strip in Vegas."_ Sam grinned as Dean's expression turned a bit irritated.

"That it genius?"

This time, Sam did close his eyes again. The more they were talking, the more he woke up, the more the pain began to resurface. Thinking this hard was physically painful and he said softly, "I don't know, Dean. It's...pretty confusing and hazy."

"Ok, ok, well don't break your head any more than you already did." Dean lowered his own voice again. "Doesn't really matter right now anyway."

"Time is it?"

"11:30. Lunchtime. Hungry?"

"Not exactly."

"Thought you weren't feeling sick to your stomach…"

"Doesn't mean I wanna eat."

"Well you gotta eat. If you eat, you might be able to blow this joint later."

Sam kept his eyes closed and asked, "We busting out of here?"

Dean's tone became a bit more grumpy and he muttered, "I said _you_ not we. The doc said cuz you've been holding down fluids and trying some food that you might be able to get out of here. You haven't been running a fever and they took you off the IV antibiotics."

"What happened to patient privacy?" Sam cracked his eyes open again, "You sure know an awful lot about…"

"Someone has to pay attention to what's going on around here."

"And that someone is you?" Sam didn't even try to hide his bemusement. "Dude, you were so out of your head earlier…"

"That I blessed the IV fluids, yeah yeah, I heard you before." Dean rolled his eyes and reached for the bag of M&amp;Ms again. "Not like you've exactly been on top of your game either, mister _50 First Dates."_

Sam raised an eyebrow, "Excuse me?"

Dean grinned that awful grin that told Sam that he was going to regret whatever had happened to give his brother a reason to grin like that.

_I really, really hate that grin, _Sam thought, trying to brace himself for what was coming. In the history of _ever_ that grin had only meant that _he'd _done something embarrassing, like the first time he'd ever gotten drunk and had puked all over Dean in front of the girl Dean had been trying to impress, or that his brother had found a wonderful new way _to_ embarrass him.

Dean just continued to smile and asked, "You remember the last time we talked?"

"Um, yeah." Sam narrowed his eyes and said, "Hex bags and holy IV fluids?"

"Ha. Knew it." Dean's grin only grew wider.

Sam was starting to feel a twinge of irritation that was rapidly going to develop into full fledged frustration if Dean didn't get to the point. The muted throbbing in his head was no longer muted. He said warningly, "Dean."

Dean took a drink and Sam could see that, as jovial as Dean was acting, he wasn't really feeling that great either. Setting the cup aside with a slightly shaky hand, Dean said in a strangely kind tone, "Sammy, we've already had this conversation. Twice actually. More or less anyway."

"We...did?" Sam pressed a hand to his head, wishing it didn't feel like it was full of holes.

"You really don't remember do you?" Dean frowned, "Maybe they need to xray your brain again, clearly something's missing. Man, you've hit your head before and haven't been this screwed up."

Sam tried to think of a really intelligent comeback, but he had nothing. Because he honestly couldn't argue with Dean on that point. He couldn't remember ever being so screwed up either and he'd experienced some bad concussions in his lifetime. With a half shrug, he met Dean's worried gaze and, instead of answering, asked, "How are you doing?"

His expression flickered, but Dean said, "I'm the picture of health."

"Obviously." Sam said, refusing to let the suddenly overwhelming worry take over. If Dean could be flippant, then so could he. Didn't matter that they were both in the hospital, _again_, and that Dean still looked like he was one step away from collapsing even if he was stubbornly eating candy like he didn't have a care in the world. Almost breathless with the fear, Sam squeezed his eyes closed again and hoped it would be enough to let him regain his composure because he was sure as hell not crying in front of his brother.

"I thought you were dying." Dean's voice was almost inaudible, blunt and raw, but it broke through the silence in the room as if he'd shouted it. Sam raised an eyebrow and turned his head so he could get a good look at his brother. To his surprise, Dean was holding his gaze, not even trying to hide the all too obvious concern in his eyes. Before he could say anything, Dean went on.

"Out there, at the end. You...you passed out and...you looked bad, really bad, and I couldn't…" Dean broke off to cough and take a long drink of water before he finished succinctly, eyes averted, "I thought I was gonna lose you."

Dean admitting anything like that aloud was a shock and Sam knew right then exactly how bad it had been, even if he couldn't remember any of it. He swallowed hard, one clear thing standing out in his mind amidst the nightmarish darkness surrounding everything else. Sam whispered, "I thought the same thing, man."

It was quiet in the room for a long time and Sam had a hard time keeping his eyes open. After a few silent minutes, he felt Dean's hand on his arm. Fighting to get his eyes open again, Sam heard Dean say, "If you're not going to eat anything right now, why don't you try to get some more sleep?"

It surprised them both when he did just that.

* * *

_6:40 PM  
__Hospital_

"Nothing tastes right."

"What are you? Five years old?" Dean rolled his eyes at the undisguised whine in Sam's voice then returned his attention to the television and said, "It's hospital food, what do you expect? Just suck it up and eat it."

Sam didn't say anything this time and, after a few seconds of silence, Dean glanced back over, realizing that Sam was starting to look a little green around the gills. Maybe the food _really_ didn't taste right. He mentally kicked himself; it wasn't like Sam hadn't been puking for the better part of a week or anything. And right now the tiny bit of color in his face was draining away as he squeezed his eyes closed and swallowed hard.

"Oh man," Dean muttered to himself. He held his breath and waited because there wasn't anything he could do for his brother except hope he wasn't going to start throwing up again. He'd lost track of how long it had been, but it had been long enough that it would be a shame for the streak to end.

After what seemed like a painfully long time, Sam visibly relaxed and took a few slow breaths before opening his eyes again. He cast a disgusted look at the tray and had to swallow hard a few times as he pushed it away, but the awful green tinge began to fade from his face.

"You alright?" Dean asked softly.

Sam looked up at him and Dean could see exactly how alright he _wasn't_. But Sam just gave him a quick nod, then let his gaze drift to the floor. Funny how just eating a quarter of a sandwich could take that much out of you, Dean mused, his attention drawn to little Sam had actually eaten. Sighing, he kept his mouth shut about it. Sam still had the headache from hell, was fighting back the nausea almost continually, and Dean decided to count it as a win that he'd even been willing to try eating. _One step in the right direction_, he thought. Although, at the rate they were taking those excruciatingly slow steps, they weren't getting anywhere fast.

Watching Sam lean back in the chair and close his eyes, Dean tweaked the volume on the TV down ever so slightly. He wasn't really watching it anyway. Truthfully, he felt miserable. Better, sure, but not ready to do anything requiring more energy than strictly necessary. And the fact that Sam was content to do the same told Dean everything he needed to know about his brother's condition.

Dean glanced at the clock. Arla would be back any moment now. Which was good and bad. He looked back at his brother. Relief that Sam had been deemed stable enough to be discharged warred with the continued concern he felt, despite the medical professional's opinions. Sam had looked better earlier, actually, but it really didn't surprise him that he'd been feeling worse as the day went on. Because he'd been doing the same thing.

Selfishly, he couldn't wait for Sam to be gone so he could give in to the pull of exhaustion and stop pretending he felt better than he did. In the past few minutes, he'd started feeling overly warm and he wanted Sam gone before the fever got any worse. There was no way he wanted his brother to see him out of his head again; the pain and fear in Sam's eyes earlier had been enough to tell him how bad it had been.

"If it was me," Sam said softly, interrupting his thoughts and, as usual, reading his mind with frightening accuracy, "You'd never leave."

"Of course I would." Dean said immediately, "I'd go eat Arla's home cooking and veg out on her comfy sofa. You're going. End of argument."

Except it probably wasn't. They'd been arguing off and on about this for the past hour or so ever since Sam had turned up, dressed and discharged and completely unwilling to leave the hospital. The room was silent and Dean knew that Sam wasn't buying any of it. Their eyes met and all the turmoil, worry and sheer _helplessness_ in his brother's overly expressive eyes was enough to make Dean question if he was making the right decision. Because maybe this was more about Sam needing to be here with him than it was Dean needing him to be here.

And that thought kind of made up for a lot of hurt feelings that he'd held onto after Sam had left for Stanford. Dean sighed. Even if that was the case, he couldn't let Sam stay. Because, discharged or not, Sam didn't need to be sitting up in an uncomfortable chair all night; he needed quality sleep and probably a bit more mother-henning from a caring woman than he'd ever admit.

And Dean knew Arla would be able to take care of Sam in his place; would make him take his medicine, make him go to bed, make him eat. So he knew he had to make it ok for Sam to leave. And not in a flippant way, not in a teasing way, because he wasn't going to buy that. Dean was going to have to be 100%, completely and totally honest.

_Won-der-ful._

"Sam." Dean started, trying to find his nerve and not be thrown completely off task by the way Sam looked two seconds away from either crying or becoming so stubborn about this that he'd _never_ leave. "Look, man, I don't feel good and neither do you. Like it or not, we both need a little longer to bounce back from this than we want. You've got a pass out of here and I'm busting out tomorrow. Go with her, Sam. I'll be able to sleep a lot better if I know you're getting some sleep and not sitting there all night. Besides, it's creepy when you stare at me."

Sam's expression changed a bit, and Dean knew he was considering. Which was a good sign. He hadn't immediately begun to argue. Hadn't immediately gotten that frustratingly familiar stubborn set to his lips that told Dean he was in for an argument. He just looked like he was thinking really hard about it. Dean kept his mouth shut; say the wrong thing now and it would all fall apart.

"Ok." Sam said finally. He said it in a way that let Dean know he wasn't thrilled with it, but that he was too completely beat to fight it anymore.

"Ok." Dean nodded, not giving any sign that he was relieved. Because he knew Sam had been right. If the roles had been reversed, he wasn't sure anything Sam could have said would have been enough to convince him to leave. He was having a hard enough time letting his bruised, too pale, too shaky and way too confused little brother out of his sight as it was.

Sam looked like he was about to say something and Dean braced himself for the argument he still sort of expected. But whatever Sam had been contemplating, he let it go and just nodded once and relaxed into the seat a bit more. Dean felt himself relax a little too. Actually, he relaxed a lot. Like more than he had in...maybe a lifetime. He smiled, rubbing his eyes with his fists.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Huh?"

"Why're you smiling?"

Dean dropped his hands and rolled his head along the pillow, too tired to care if he was showing how tired he was. He stared at Sam, took in that achingly familiar, curious expression, the hint of amusement, and felt the relief wash over him even as he wondered how exactly he had ever made it all those years without his brother. His whole life Sam was the only constant, the only grounding he'd ever had; ever needed. And, maybe not for the first time, but maybe for the first time that he'd paid enough attention to actually notice it, Dean realized that it went both ways. True, Sam had an independent streak a football field wide, but he wasn't sitting in that chair because he _had _to sit there. He was sitting there, trying hard to look like he felt fine and that sitting up in a chair all night long would be just fine with him. Not out of duty but because he was just as worried about Dean as Dean was about him.

But of course, they didn't say stuff like that aloud. Like _ever_. So Dean smiled and said, "Just thinking about great it's gonna be not to have to do laundry for a whole month."

Sam absorbed that, his forehead creasing a bit as he tried to remember what was obviously yet another of the many fuzzy memories floating around in his concussed brain. Finally, the light seemed to dawn and Dean nodded, grin widening, once he knew Sam remembered the bet. But then, Sam's tired face lit in a grin of his own and Dean's triumphant grin immediately faltered. Because Sam grinning like that meant _he_ remembered something Dean didn't.

Which was not good.

Sure enough, Sam smiled widely and said, "That's ok. You enjoy that month off, Dean. I'm going to enjoy my two weeks having sole possession of the remote."

Dean groaned; of course he'd remember that. He really didn't begrudge his brother the right to have the remote; but again, he couldn't ever let him know that. Before he could try to come up with a deal to recover what were his God-given, eldest brother's _rights_ to the remote, Arla Pender tapped lightly on the doorframe and stepped into the room. Despite her friendly, always kind smile, and the fact he knew probably no one was better suited to take care of Sam, Dean's heart plummeted to his gut and only because he'd had years to practice his poker face, did he keep the despair from showing.

At least he hoped he did. But he wasn't completely sure because Sam looked worried again and the light-hearted moment they'd just been enjoying seemed forgotten already. Arla was speaking softly and Dean picked up on snatches; they were heading out now, she'd call when they arrived home, Tommy would be in to check on him and if he needed anything he could call any time. He nodded but had a hard time keeping up with any of it because he was far more interested in the not-so-well-disguised look of trepidation on Sam's face.

Because, whatever his many talents, Sam had never mastered the poker face. At least, not when it came to Dean. Maybe he could bluff his way through college, pretend he didn't come from a family that got rid of ghosts and monsters, but he couldn't bluff Dean. Dean couldn't help wondering if it was just the fact Sam was worrying about _him, _or if he was honestly freaked out by the thought of going to stay at the Pender's alone, _and when exactly had Sam become the anti-social one?_

But he didn't ask and, though the trepidation didn't exactly go away, Sam nodded at whatever Arla had said and gingerly pushed himself out of the chair. He held Dean's gaze for a moment, then said, "You better enjoy that remote while you have it, Dean."

Grinning despite the knot of unrest in his chest, Dean said, "You know I will."

"Don't stay up too late." Sam said and it was clipped and short and too full of emotion for Dean's liking.

So he just replied, "Get some sleep, Sammy. Ok?"

Sam nodded and turned away, one hand on the wall because walking unassisted was a skill he had yet to regain. Arla lingered and stepped closer to the bed as Sam disappeared into the hall. Dean stared at her, wishing she'd just go away too before his carefully practiced nonchalance cracked into a thousand pieces. She walked up to the edge of the bed, put his fully charged cell phone in his hand and touched his cheek.

"He's going to be fine, Dean." Arla whispered with a smile, "You get some rest, ok? And then tomorrow, when you're released, you two can fight over Tommy's remote all you want until you feel better. Deal?"

Dean nodded quickly, swallowing hard and fighting that ever growing knot in his chest and the weird way it seemed to be making his eyes water. He couldn't quite get his voice to function without being more than a quiet waver, but he said, "Take care of him."

"You know I will." Arla said soberly, hand still on his cheek.

"Yeah. I do." And he did. Admitting it aloud somehow dissolved most of the knot and he was even able to return her smile this time.

* * *

_8:10 PM, December 28th  
__Hospital_

Tommy knocked on the door and stepped into the darkened room. The TV's faint blue glow flickered and he nodded at Dean. The young man was on his phone and gave a distracted half-wave as Tommy walked in. Taking that as his invitation to stay rather than a dismissal, Tommy set down the bag of supplies he'd brought with him and took a seat, listening to Dean's conversation.

"Dude, nothing's changed. I'm fine." Dean rolled his eyes at Tommy, then looked back up at the TV as he listened to the other end of the line. Shaking his head slowly, Dean said, "Sam. Hey… hello? Are you...will you stop and listen...Sam…"

Tommy couldn't hear the other side of the conversation, but he could easily pick up on the fact that Sam wasn't letting Dean get a word in edgewise. Dean's irritation, and obvious concern, were escalating with every second that Sam didn't let him talk.

"Shut up for a minute, will you?" Dean raised his voice a bit. It left him coughing for a few seconds and apparently was enough to halt the monologue from the other end of the line. Clearing his throat, Dean shifted in the bed and started channel hopping as he said, "Yeah, like I already said, if you'd ever listen to me, I'm _fine_." There was a brief pause, then he said, "I'm not likely to stop coughing anytime soon. It helps if you shut up and stop arguing with me."

As they talked, Tommy wondered if he should slip out and let them have their conversation in peace, but Dean didn't seem bothered by his presence, so he just sat back and joined Dean in watching the channels flick by as he searched for something good to watch. Tommy let his gaze drift from the TV to Dean every few seconds. Arla had told him that Dean was beginning to get antsy. And Tommy could easily see the pent up frustration. He knew all too well what it felt like to be laid up and feeling worthless and weak.

Dean snorted a laugh suddenly and said, "You go right ahead and try that, Sammy. Let me know how it works out for you." He glanced over at Tommy and rolled his eyes again as he listened to whatever his brother was saying. Dean flipped through a few more channels, then settled on a football game. Pointing a finger at the screen, Dean raised a questioning eyebrow and Tommy nodded. Setting the remote down, Dean asked over the phone, "And did you?"

Tommy saw Dean frown, his attention leaving the TV as he focused completely on the conversation. He asked, "Well don't do that again either then. Moron. I swear, for someone who got a full ride to Stanford you sure can be dumb and…"

He broke off and then smiled briefly. Dean listened for a little while and Tommy watched his expression soften as he looked back at the TV. But he wasn't really watching, Tommy could tell. All his attention was on whatever Sam was saying. Dean nodded and said, "I know. I will, ok? If it wasn't for this pain in the butt little brother of mine, I'd already be asleep."

Dean smiled again, but this time it seemed a bit more forced. His eyes clouded and he turned his head away from Tommy as he said, "It's just tonight. Ok? Not the first time I've been in a hospital, man. I'm a big boy. I think I can handle it. Yeah...yeah, I know. Look, it's gonna be a lot easier to hook up with Andrea without you around…." He paused, then his smile returned and he said, "No, Maria's off shift now. It's Andrea. Andrea with the...I know you don't want to know...but man, she's got these…."

Tommy tried not to laugh. He could actually hear Sam's raised voice this time, protesting and cutting Dean off before he could inform Sam of Andrea's cup size. At least that's what Tommy figured Dean had been about to say. The conversation veered away from the assets of the nursing staff and Tommy focused on the football game for the next few minutes. As the minutes passed, he realized Dean's voice had gotten quieter and quieter and the pauses in conversation had grown longer.

Glancing over at Dean, Tommy saw that his eyes were closed and he was smiling. He didn't say anything for a long time, then whispered, "Night, Sammy."

Flipping his phone shut, Dean opened his eyes and looked straight at Tommy even as he turned the volume up on the TV. He held up the phone and said, "Fell asleep on me. Again."

Tommy smiled, "I hope he can get a good night's rest."

Dean nodded slowly, considering. After a moment, he turned back to the football game and asked, "How did he seem when he got to your place?"

He tried to sound casual, but his raw voice was so brittle, it couldn't hide the worry. Tommy thought about how shell-shocked Sam had looked; how unsteady and disoriented he'd been, requiring more than a little assistance to make it down the hallway without falling over. But there really was no reason to tell Dean about _that_. So he told the truth, just without details. He said, "He was tired. Worried about you. I don't think he really feels that comfortable with us."

"He...he's usually a lot more…" Dean broke off, then shrugged, with a rueful smile, "Usually he's the one making friends and influencing people, you know? Just...things have been different since…"

Tommy didn't ask for more details. He had a pretty good idea Dean was referring to the recent death of the kid's girlfriend. Tommy hoped he was accurately predicting the future when he said, "He's going to be ok, Dean."

This time Dean met his eyes as he said, "I hope so."

They fell into silence for a few minutes, both watching the game, but Tommy knowing Dean was barely paying any attention to it at all. He looked uncomfortable and Tommy could see the faint sheen of sweat on his face. _Please let the fever stay down tonight, _he found himself praying as he studied Dean. Sam had tried so hard, and been so devastated, when even his presence hadn't really been enough to pull Dean out of the delirium the previous night. Tommy didn't want to know how bad things could get if Dean didn't even _sort_ _of_ have his brother grounding him.

"I'm fine." Dean muttered as he noticed Tommy's scrutiny; his expression part irritation and part resignation. Tommy raised one eyebrow, and Dean's expression changed to mostly resignation. He shrugged a shoulder and sagged into the pillow, every last vestige of pretense vanished. Pressing a hand against his chest and coughing a few times, he shook his head and whispered, "I'm sick of being sick."

"I believe it." Tommy smiled sympathetically as the nurse, _Andrea_, walked in. Tommy exchanged a knowing glance with Dean who was nodding and suddenly grinning widely. He took it as a good sign when Dean immediately began hitting on her; _exactly_ what he'd implied to Sam that he was planning to do. The kid might be wrung out and barely holding it together, but he wasn't missing an opportunity with the nursing staff, that was for certain.

By the time Andrea had finished, Dean had her phone number and she had his assessment neatly documented. Tommy was amused both with Dean's and Andrea's efficiency. He hadn't wasted any time with his shameless flirting and she'd taken it all in stride as she'd listened to his junky lungs and hung another bag of antibiotics. He was reminded _exactly_ how he and Arla had met in the first place. As Andrea left, Tommy couldn't help but think that Dean might just have a bit more flair than he ever had.

The fact Arla had married him in spite of their first encounter, though, told him he couldn't have been too bad with his bedside manner.

Once the nurse had left, Tommy could see Dean wasn't planning to fall asleep anytime soon. Between his unfocused gaze on the football game and the way he kept looking at his phone every other second, it was all too clear that he was too antsy to get any rest. Which was, of course, completely unacceptable.

The pressing question, though, was _how_ to get the kid to sleep. Conventional methods such as badgering or threatening weren't going to cut it. Tommy watched Dean check his phone again and had a flash of inspiration remembering Sam falling asleep while Dean was talking to him.

He was going to take a page right out of big brother's book.

"I have to say, this actually doesn't go down in my book as the strangest case I've ever encountered." Tommy said solely with the intention of capturing Dean's attention. And it worked. Fevered but sharp green eyes were on him and he grinned. Exactly the reaction he'd been hoping for. He nodded at Dean's disbelieving look and said, "1990. May. No, actually it might have been June. Either way, it was hot."

Dean waited expectantly and Tommy knew he was going to have to make this a whopper of a story. _Kind of like what you told the cops and the hospital staff about how you ended up in the ER with a sliced up chest and two boys sicker than when they'd first come in a few days ago. _He grinned. He'd always kept Amy and Sara engrossed with his long-winded bedtime stories. Never mind if they ever made sense. And never mind the ending, because his stories never _had_ endings. In his opinion, those were always the best kind. Because anything was possible if you never knew the ending.

So he began spinning a detailed, _boring_, well-embellished story of the time he'd been trying to return a lost kindergartner to her mother and walked straight into a bank robbery _and_ a rather poorly thought out assassination attempt. Yeah, it really had been a rather strange case. And as he added a few bells and whistles, it grew to epic proportions.

As the story grew more detailed, Dean's eyes grew heavier and heavier. Tommy managed to sneak a hold of the remote and turn the volume down to zero without Dean even noticing. Voice lowering incrementally, Tommy began dragging out the pauses until there were more silent space spaces in the narrative than there was dialogue. And it was working. Because Dean hadn't said a single thing since he'd started talking and he seemed to be finding it incredibly difficult to pry his eyes open after each time he closed them.

It took nine minutes before he stopped trying.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed! There's ch 30...and it ain't the end! :) Promise they're gonna get some mothering and then help poor Raquel out. Thanks SO much for reading and sticking with this story! You all seriously make my day! :) **


	31. Chapter 31

**_Hi! So same old excuses apply (work, life, the universe lol). Sorry took so long, thank you for your patience and continued support as I let this story unfold. I have high hopes of finishing it before this coming Christmas lol, but I'm not giving myself any more deadlines because I'm finding the satisfaction is in letting the story go where it wants to and just enjoying the journey. :D_**

* * *

_0810 AM December 29th, 2005  
__Pender Home_

Sam woke up and could actually remember where he was for a change. It took reading the note he'd left next to the bed before he could clearly remember _why_ he was in the vaguely familiar room, but at least things he'd been smart enough to write himself a note yesterday before he'd left the hospital. He reread it one more time, relieved that some of the fog was lifting and he could actually remember a little of what had happened in the past week.

_Poltergeists. Arizona, linked to the motel? Need to ask Dean. There was another wendigo?_

_Penders: Dean trusts them. He's supposed to be released tomorrow._

_Dad's missing._

_Jess is dead. _

Like he could ever forget that last one. Even if it wasn't written on the note, he could see the words _your fault_ staring back at him from the piece of hospital stationery. He crumpled the note into a ball and threw it all the way across the room, not even bothering to watch where it landed. Rolling to the other side of the bed, Sam faced the wall and wished that memory loss could be selective.

And permanent.

That thought, though, had him immediately pushing himself upright. Because he didn't want to forget her, not really. The room spun just a little bit, then settled down and he managed to grab his wallet without falling over. Hands shaking, he fumbled with it and slid Jessica's picture out.

Breath rushing in and out, he stared at the picture until everything started going dark and spotty and he had to lower his head and slow his breathing down before he passed out. After a minute, he could lift his head and continue staring at Jessica's face, but the stabbing pain in his chest got bad enough that he had to look away again. It was happening more and more frequently and Sam wished that he could see her face again and actually smile instead of feeling like he was being ripped apart from the inside out.

Since she was dead and it was his fault, he had a feeling that would never happen.

Closing his hands around the picture, he almost crumpled it into a ball too, but something held him back and he just slid it back into his wallet without looking at her this time. For a long time, Sam stared at the carpet and tried not to think. About anything. It didn't work for long. Glancing at the clock, he sighed. Just after 8 am. Arriving at the Penders the night before was a foggy, disjointed memory and he couldn't remember what time it had been. He'd fallen into bed almost instantly and, thinking back, he realized he hadn't awakened with any dreams or nightmares all night.

And he actually felt rested. So it probably was time to get back on the job and figure out exactly what he'd missed in the past few days. He grabbed the half-empty bottle of water from the nightstand, sipped carefully, then drained it when his stomach didn't threaten to jump up his throat. Getting to his feet took a bit more concentration and effort considering how good he _thought_ he felt. But he made across the room without stumbling or even needing to use the furniture for support. There was a neat stack of clean clothes on the dresser and he grabbed his pile and headed for the shower.

By the time he was finished and dressed, he was ready to sit down.

Or, even better, lie down. Which he did. On the closest bed. Which of course was Dean's, but what his brother didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Sam rolled onto his stomach, pressing his face into the pillow because the sunlight was actually trying to melt his eyeballs out of their sockets and that image was enough to turn his stomach. Just needed a minute. Just a minute of dark and quiet and he'd be fine.

Sam slid his arm out from under the pillow and rubbed at his eyes. Rolling his head to the left, he blinked and realized the room was darker than he'd remembered. Pushing his head up, he saw that a heavy blanket had been hung over the window, helping to block out the sunlight. And he was covered with another blanket. And there was a fresh bottle of water on the nightstand. Someone had been in to check on him and he hadn't noticed. The thought was both comforting and disturbing. The clock now read quarter to ten and he didn't even remember falling asleep.

He let his head hit the pillow again. The thought of getting up and making contact with the Penders seemed overwhelming at the moment. Reaching out for his phone, Sam wasn't exactly surprised to see there were no messages. Hopefully that meant that Dean had been sleeping well all night. Huddling under the blanket, eyes closed, Sam debated his options. Staying put and never moving again seemed like a wonderful plan. But not a very feasible one. For one thing, he was hungry. For another thing, his brother was still in the hospital and there was something about a ghost that he really needed to ask about.

In the end, it was the smell of food drifting in through the half-opened door that made his decision for him. Pushing himself upright again took more effort than it had earlier, but wasn't nearly as difficult as it had been the past few days. Sam grabbed the water bottle and took a long drink before he tried to move any further. He was hungry and thirsty and felt like he was still half asleep.

Setting the bottle of water aside, Sam lowered his head to his hands for a few seconds, trying to rub away the dull ache between his eyes. When it was obvious he wasn't going to be successful, he decided some food and maybe some Tylenol might be waiting for him in the kitchen. He slipped his tennis shoes on because, as soon as he'd eaten, he planned to get back to the hospital. Opening the door, Sam squinted against the morning light, but found it no longer felt like his head was going to explode. He made it down the hallway without any difficulty and headed toward the dining room table.

The smells from the kitchen were amazing and he actually started to smile as he saw Arla. But then she leaned down and pulled something from the oven and he froze. Her own smile, appearing just as she caught sight of him, disappeared and was replaced with a worried frown. He could see her lips moving, but all he could hear was Jessica asking if he wanted cookies. Because the simple sight of seeing Arla at the oven had conjured up the inevitable image of Jessica making cookies. All he could see was the many times she'd pulled trays of cookies out of the oven. And all he could think about was that last cookie. The last one he'd ever eaten; the last one she'd ever made for him. He could feel the warm wetness of something dripping onto his face from the ceiling, felt the flames...

"Sam?"

Arla's voice broke into his thoughts and he blinked back the tears, shook himself out of his daze and realized she wasn't in the kitchen any more. She was right next to him, her hand on his elbow; her face concerned.

He wanted to run.

"Sam?" Arla prompted when he remained silent. Her hand was still on his arm and she didn't seem to be letting go any time soon. "You should sit down…"

He shook his head, trying to pull away, but it wasn't working.

"Come sit down." Arla's tone changed from concerned to _very concerned_ and he wondered if it had anything to do with the way he was slightly swaying.

Because he _was_ swaying and not feeling very steady, he didn't fight it when she pushed him into a chair at the table; even if running out the back door seemed like a better option. But as soon as he sat down, Sam knew he wasn't going anywhere. The simple act of sitting down sapped any remaining thoughts of running. He was too tired.

Sitting down was great, and the only thing that could have made it better would have been if he'd been lying down and if Arla hadn't decided to worry about him. She was right there in front of him and asking, "Sam, how are you doing now?"

This time he nodded, still not sure he could form a word that wasn't Jessica's name.

Arla didn't seem happy with his lack of verbal was keeping her hand on his arm even if he was sitting down and that sort of irritated him, but he couldn't find it in himself to do anything about it. He forced himself to meet her eyes and it was almost a mistake. There was too much compassion in her eyes and he didn't want it. Didn't want to have anyone look at him like that because it just made it real again and he didn't want it to be real. But it _was_ and for some reason, a complete stranger was acting like she cared. About him.

And it was more than he could handle at the moment.

His eyes drifted to the floor again but it didn't stop Arla. She squeezed his arm and asked, "How about some breakfast?"

Sam nodded again because it meant she was going to be occupied with something other than being nice to him.

"I just made blueberry muffins…"

_Not cookies_.

"and I can scramble up some eggs if you feel up to that."

Jess's name was still the only thing that seemed likely to come out of his mouth, so he nodded one more time and that seemed to do the trick. Arla squeezed his arm again, hesitated, then rose and headed into the kitchen. Sam let out a shuddering sigh when she left. He glanced at the cellphone in his hand. One new text since the last time he'd checked.

_i hope you r sleeping. i'm FINE_

Sam couldn't quite smile but he did feel a bit of tension seep away. He texted back, _I slept good. You?_

_whhat do you think FINE meens bitch?_

Sam shook his head both at the message and Dean's lack of spelling and punctuation abilities when it came to text. He didn't text back this time because his eyes were suddenly blurry. Sam set the phone on the table and squeezed his eyes closed, rubbing his head and then not bothering to lift it from his hands. If he thought he could get away with it, he would have gone back to the bedroom, but he had a strong feeling Arla would just follow him and not leave him alone until she'd done whatever she felt she needed to do to make him feel better. Since there wasn't anything she could do that was going to make _this _better, he just sighed and sat still even as his thoughts ran away with him.

* * *

She watched him from the kitchen as she scrambled the eggs. He had his head down in his hands and his breathing was a bit irregular. Like he was fighting back tears. Adding some salt to the eggs, Arla chewed her lip and wondered how to handle the situation. _Dean_ she had sort of figured out. Sam was an entirely different story. Mostly because he'd been so quiet or confused, _or unconscious_, the entire time she'd known him. Other than being fiercely loyal to his brother and more than a little devastated about the recent loss of his girlfriend, he was a quiet mystery that she had yet to unravel.

Right now what she knew for certain was something had spooked him when he'd walked out. He'd looked rested and almost almost like he was feeling better when she'd first caught sight of him. Then he'd looked over at her and gone so pale so quickly she'd been afraid he was going to hit the floor before she could get to him. Now, thinking about it, she had a strong feeling that maybe his girlfriend liked to cook. Would certainly explain why he went from looking better to looking like death in the space of one tray of muffins coming out of the oven.

Arla slid the eggs onto a plate and saw him lift his head enough to check his phone, then set it back on the table. Worrying about his brother, no doubt. She'd already heard from Tommy that Dean had slept well and seemed better, but Sam had fallen asleep again by the time she'd walked into the bedroom earlier to tell him. Finding him crashed on his brother's bed, she'd just covered him up and let him rest. Now he was up and looking worse by the second.

Like he was about to break into a thousand pieces.

And he was just too big for her to try to pick up so Arla decided she needed to do whatever she could to prevent what was most likely an inevitable breakdown. She could see it in his eyes. Eyes that he kept blinking or swiping at with an almost angry motion of his hand. He'd been putting this aside for...probably for every single second since his girlfriend had died. She felt confident that he'd put all his focus on the job so he didn't have to feel the pain. Right now, though, all his defenses were down and his reserves were completely depleted. He didn't have the strength to fight it anymore.

Grabbing a glass of water and the plate of eggs and the muffin, Arla took a deep breath and walked back into the dining room. Sam lifted his head a bit and shot her a sideways glance, but she didn't get any other acknowledgement. Setting the plate down, Arla pulled out a chair next to him and sat down. That clearly surprised him. Or at least it bothered him. She wasn't sure which, but the cold shoulder she was receiving from him didn't make her feel like he was happy with her decision to sit down.

Arla didn't take it personally. But she also didn't take it silently.

"Sam? Have you boys been to Arizona before this? I'd hate to think this would be the only experience you've had in the state." She smiled even though he wasn't looking at her. "It really is a nice place. If not for the monsters, of course."

Sam tried to look at her this time. It was a bit half-hearted, but it was an attempt and she was glad he was trying. He picked up the fork and said, "We've been here before."

"Did you see the Grand Canyon?"

Sam shook his head and sort of moved the fork closer to the eggs. It didn't look like the two were ever going to meet though. She almost expected that to be the end of it, and was surprised when he spoke up and said, "We were on a job. Dad didn't...we didn't have time."

Arla heard the pain in his voice and held her breath. He just sighed and surprised her by taking a bite of the eggs. She said, "You should definitely check it out sometime. It's beautiful."

"Dean wants to see it. Always has." Sam nodded, getting more eggs on the fork and not looking like he was about to be sick. He even smiled a little when he said, "He never was into school, but he can tell you about every national park in the country."

"I believe it." Arla laughed, enjoying the bit of peace that had settled over him as he talked. She said, "He doesn't seem the type to enjoy homework."

Sam shook his head and said, "He's smart though."

There had been a touch of defensiveness in his tone and Arla knew without a doubt that big brother was his hero. _As if it hadn't been obvious before_. She was about to ask something else but he spoke up before she could.

"Can...can we go back to the hospital?" Sam's voice was soft and she could tell he was afraid of her answer.

_He must feel trapped,_ she mused, thinking about the fact they hadn't retrieved the boys' car from the cemetery north of the motel. He'd been released from the hospital but hadn't been given many options of what happened next. She knew he'd been perfectly fine with the idea of staying at his brother's bedside, but both she and Dean had not approved of that plan. So the kid had suffered in silence and let strangers take him home when the only person he seemed to have left was still in a hospital bed.

Arla said, "I talked to Tommy earlier and he said Dean is doing well enough that, once the doctor sees him, he might be released this afternoon." She didn't mention the part about Tommy having the only vehicle. She asked instead, "How are you feeling, Sam? It seems like you slept well."

He was back to nodding. She was afraid he was shutting down on her again and she realized exactly how careful she needed to be if she wanted him to be comfortable talking to her. She'd have to call Cindy and ask to borrow a car, but if it made him happy, she'd do it in a heartbeat. Watching him halfheartedly take a bite of the muffin, Arla said, "We can go up to the hospital, Sam. Anytime."

"No, it's ok." He met her eyes and, this time, it didn't look like it nearly killed him to do it. He shrugged, "If he's getting out...it's, it's fine. You don't have to make a trip. You and Tommy...you've done so much already."

She smiled at the heartfelt gratitude in his voice. It made him seem more alive. She said, "Considering you boys saved us, and this town, from monsters, let's call it even, ok?"

That earned her a genuine, if brief, smile. Arla hoped she'd get to see him feeling well enough to see him smile like that more often. She rose to grab a cup of coffee, then rejoined him. He'd finished half of the muffin and most of the eggs by the time she'd finished the coffee. He slid the plate aside, then said softly, "She liked to bake."

Arla held her breath. She'd guessed right.

"Not cook." Sam said, his gaze not moving from a spot on the table. "I mean, she _would_ cook, but she really loved baking." His fingers ran along the edge of the plate and his gaze drifted to the remnant of the muffin. "She made a batch of cookies…"

He broke off and Arla felt tears fill her eyes. Because he wasn't hiding his tears this time. Whether he was just that emotionally wrung out, which she could easily believe, or if it was the fact he finally felt like he could open up to her, she wasn't sure, but he was talking and the tears were running silently down his cheeks. Even though she wanted to say something, _do_ something to help ease the pain, she knew right now he needed the quiet.

"I miss her cookies." Sam whispered with a rueful smile that faded too fast. "I miss _her_."

When he broke off with a shuddering breath that sounded too much like an aborted sob, she couldn't hold herself back any more. Arla squeezed his hand and said, "I'm so sorry, Sam."

He used his free hand to wipe the tears away and said, "It's ok."

_Sure it is,_ Arla thought. _About as ok as a hole the size of the Grand Canyon through your heart is ok._ Sam was trying to pull himself together; she could almost see him carefully ducking behind his walls again and she suddenly wasn't sure that she should let him. So she slid her chair closer to him and decided it was time to stop worrying about it and just do it. Because if Dean had needed a little forceful mothering to keep him in bed, take his medicine and let someone else worry about him and his brother for awhile, this kid needed a little forceful mothering to help stop the bleeding he was doing from the inside out.

He seemed to have an inkling of what she was up to because he started to slide his own chair back, probably so he could bolt out the back door. Before he could, though, she grabbed his arms, looked him straight in the eyes, and said, "Sam, it's ok to miss her. It's ok to _grieve_."

Because she was pretty sure grieving had never made it on his to do list.

Muscles grew tight under her hands and she was afraid he was actually going to run, but the resistance was so brief she might have imagined it. The look on his face was utter defeat and so broken that she knew without any doubt he had loved Jessica with everything he had. And then she was pulling him, unresisting, until he rested against her shoulder and began quietly crying all the tears he'd been fighting to hold onto for the past two months.

* * *

Sam drifted. The throbbing inside his head left him wishing he could just completely give up on consciousness for awhile. He was so _tired_.

"I know, honey." A soft voice somewhere near his left ear whispered; a warm puff of air against his face. "Why don't you lie down again? You need to sleep."

Frowning, Sam realized he must have actually said aloud the part about being tired. The voice in his ear, responding to the words he hadn't even realized he'd spoken, served to wake him up a little. Felt the arms around his shoulders, rubbing his back, holding him tight. Realized he had a hand fisted in Arla's shirt. He started pushing himself upright, needed more help than he'd honestly expected before he was able to sit back against the chair. He let go of her shirt, but she didn't let go of him.

"Sam?" Arla asked softly, tilting his head up gently so she could meet his eyes.

"I'm ok." He whispered back, his voice barely audible. He was too tired to be embarrassed by the fact he'd just sat there and cried like a kid. His face felt wet and three sizes too big and he couldn't stop the occasional tear that still wanted to leak from his swollen eyes.

"Well, you're better at least." Arla smiled a little and he couldn't help his surprise at seeing the tears on her face. She touched his cheek, then her hand went to the back of his neck and she said, "You feel a little warm. It's time you take the antibiotics and some Tylenol, then how about you try to sleep some more?"

Sleeping forever sounded like the best thing, and Sam nodded slowly, even though it made his head hurt worse and even though he knew he could never sleep enough to not feel this way.

Arla's hands were on his shoulders, making sure he was going to stay put, then she was gone and back before he had time to register what she was doing. Pills were put into his hand and a glass of water followed and he managed to keep it all down even though his stomach was starting to feel nervous again. His head heavy, Sam leaned toward the table. Just to rest it on the edge for a minute. But he didn't get that far.

"No, come on, Sam, not here." Arla gently instructed, tugging on him until he managed to get to his unsteady feet. She pulled his arm over her shoulder and laughed a little as she said, "I'm glad you're not any taller, young man, or I'd need stilts. Now, I'm thinking the couch is the best bet rather than trying to get all the way back to the bedroom since you're moving with all the grace of a tranquilized elephant."

Sam laughed and it didn't feel like anything broke inside him when he did so. He smiled, head hung low and eyes barely able to focus on the floor that seemed to be swaying back and forth. He felt Arla's hand tighten around his waist when he paused to get his balance and he said, "Just...throw me a pillow...if I go down. I'll be fine."

Arla laughed again and guided him past the coffee table. She said, "You might be fine with that, but if you're on the floor when your big brother gets here, _I'm_ the one who's not going to be fine."

And then he was lowering down to sit on the couch and the relief he felt was indescribable. He pressed his hands to his head and Arla said, "I'm going to get an ice pack for you. And a blanket, ok? Just stay there for a minute. You feel sick to your stomach?"

"Not right now."

"Ok. I'll be right back."

He wasn't going anywhere. After a few seconds, the world stopped spinning and he lowered his hands and rested his head on the back of the couch. Laying down would be wonderful, but at the moment, he wasn't sure he could even do that on his own. He stared across the room, caught sight of the bookshelf littered with pictures. He couldn't see them well enough to even know what any of them were, his vision was still fuzzy at best. And then he had to find his own picture, because it seemed like it had been a very long time since he'd last looked at her.

He had Jessica's picture in his hand when Arla returned. She paused at the end of the coffee table, uncertain. Sam looked up and lifted his hand, offering her the picture. Arla took it and sat down on the edge of the table across from him. Her smile was bright and kind and made him feel better somehow.

"She's beautiful, Sam."

Nodding, he felt his heart and head teetering on the edges of breakdown again.

"I'm happy for you." Arla said and Sam raised his eyes, uncertain how to take that. She looked at the picture, then back at him and said, "Some people go their entire lives and never know what it is to love someone this much. Never know the joy of _being_ loved. I know nothing helps, not really. And I've never gone through this, Sam, so I'm not trying to compare or be trite. But I know one thing. Love is stronger than anything in this world. If I lost Tommy today, and I was a bit afraid I was going to lose him the other day, I'd rather have the pain of that loss than the pain of the loss of a love I'd never experienced if I'd never had him."

Sam swallowed hard as she put Jessica's picture back in his hand. He appreciated her words, what she was trying to say. So he nodded, but remained silent. Because she didn't know the whole story. Didn't know what he knew. Didn't know it was his fault Jessica was dead. She would have been better off if she'd never met him. Only he knew that and only he was going to regret it till the day he died.

He must have closed his eyes for a minute, because the next thing he knew, Arla was guiding him down on the couch and he let her take his wallet and picture. Watching carefully until he saw her put them on the coffee table next to him, Sam rolled onto his stomach on the cramped couch and pressed his face into the pillow. Gentle hands arranged a blanket over him, an ice pack against his head and then the hands moved to his shoulders.

As Arla rubbed the tension out of his shoulders and neck, Sam felt himself relax and the pain and fever and misery began to evaporate until he started to drift asleep.

* * *

_10:00 AM  
__Hospital_

Dean had been staring at the sheaf of papers on the table between him and Tommy for the better part of an hour. He'd tried to allow the TV to distract him, but the women's talk shows and surprisingly dull reruns of some old game show were just not cutting it for him anymore. He'd been awake since nine. Well, all the way awake since nine anyway. He'd been interrupted during the night with the mandatory vitals checks and then a bunch of medications administered by his not so hot day shift nurse. He glanced at his phone and saw that Sam had texted him back. He raised an eyebrow at the message, wondering if he should believe it when Sam said he'd slept well. Of course, Tommy said Arla had reported Sam had slept all night; and then taken a post shower nap on top.

Which all sounded more promising than Dean had even dared hope given how rotten Sam had looked and acted when he'd left with Arla last night. So he texted him back with a grin and waited. And waited. And the decided maybe Sam had fallen asleep again. Either that or he didn't appreciate Dean's mouthy humor at this time of day. So he set the phone aside and looked at the sheaf of papers again. Tommy had mentioned he'd grabbed them from Gethen's lair and Dean really _really_ wanted to see what the papers said.

Tommy had been reading them earlier but wouldn't share what the content was. He just said, _you can read them later. You're supposed to be resting._ And Dean had given him a dirty look and said _I am resting and I am certainly capable of reading._ To which Tommy had replied, _Reading isn't resting._ Apparently watching tv _was_ resting but Dean had endured more than enough of that to last him the day. So, now that Tommy had dozed off, Dean decided it was time to take advantage of his lowered defenses and make a grab for the papers.

Sliding the covers back didn't completely deplete his energy resources this time and he managed to lean out of bed far enough to easily snag the edge of the table and tug it closer to himself without disturbing Tommy. Reaching out, he pulled the papers off the table and satisfied himself with a smug grin as he checked to see that Tommy was still snoozing. _Mission accomplished_.

"You aren't that sneaky, you know?"

Trying not to let his shock at being caught red-handed show, Dean shrugged and said, "Wasn't trying to be sneaky. I'm a grown man. Sneaky is for kids."

"Uh huh. Well, you look like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar." Tommy said, eyes still closed.

Dean just turned his attention to the papers in his hands and said, "I could go for a cookie."

Tommy straightened up in the recliner, stretched cautiously with a hand to his stitched up chest and said, "There's some interesting stuff in there. I think it was originally his journal."

"Reading psychopaths journals is a hobby of mine." Dean replied, glancing up at Tommy. "Speaking of psychopaths, how are you feeling after getting sliced up thanks to a mine collapse courtesy of one?"

"Better." Tommy nodded. "You?"

"Better." Dean smiled. Because Tommy _did _look better after getting another decent nights rest. And because _he_ did feel better himself after a decent nights rest. Things were looking up. Not that he'd ever admit it, but he wasn't going to feel up to doing much of...well, anything, for awhile. But he didn't feel so disturbingly weak and miserable as he'd felt even yesterday. _So, an improvement_.

Tommy looked pleased and said, "Good. I'm sure you're itching to get out of here."

"You have no...well, maybe you do." Dean said, tilting his head. He shuffled the papers then asked, "When's that doctor coming in?"

"Sometime." Tommy shrugged. "They don't exactly come on a schedule, unfortunately."

For the next half hour they fell into companionable silence as Dean read through Gethen's journal and learned a thing or two about what went on in the dark corners of the mind of a man gradually turning into a monster. It wasn't a happy read. Setting the pages aside when he'd grown too tired to finish reading them, _maybe reading really resting, _Dean rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock.

Time was going very slowly.

He closed his eyes for a minute and was surprised when he reopened them...two hours later. Blinking at the clock, trying to decide if he was imagining it or not, Dean turned to Tommy only to find the seat empty. He looked at the clock again, then at his phone. One new voicemail. From about ten minutes ago. Dean hit the button and listened.

"_Hey. Uh, just checking to see how you're doing. I guess you're probably sleeping or...well, I guess I'll see you later anyway. So…" _Sam broke off and there was a long pause. A _very _long pause. Just when Dean thought maybe Sam had forgotten he was in the middle of leaving a message, Sam came back on the line and said, "_I'm, I'm actually gonna…" _Dean could hear the weariness in Sam's voice as he sighed and sort of laughed half-heartedly then said, "_Man, I'm tired. I'm gonna lay down for a few minutes. But I'll keep my phone...if you need something, you can call."_ Yet another long pause followed that had Dean wondering if Sam had fallen asleep right then, but then he finished with a very quiet, "_Ok. So I'll see ya_."

Dean closed his phone and rolled his eyes. Like he was going to call his brother when he'd just basically said he was so tired he was going to take a nap. _Another nap_. Which was so not like his brother. Shaking his head, he set the phone aside and looked up as the doctor walked in. _Finally! Progress_.

Twelve and a half minutes later, Dean was feeling a lot less excited. Because he was staring at a list of medications he was supposed to somehow have the money to get from the pharmacy. And a list of dos and don'ts a mile and a half long that he was supposed to follow for the next two to three weeks. Because he had time to _get plenty of rest,_ _avoid exertion, _and _follow up with primary provider if symptoms worsen_ in between hunting monsters and looking for Dad and trying to hold his brother together_._ He snorted and knew he couldn't throw the papers out, even if it seemed like a good plan. There were probably a few of the things he should pay attention to and a few of the things that he _could_ probably handle. Like hydration.

He could drink more water.

_One outta ten ain't bad, _Dean decided and reached for the cup of water on the tray next to the bed. Checking his phone again, more out of habit than anything else, Dean set it down and tapped a finger against his leg. Time to start planning. He was free to run for the hills as soon as he ate lunch, the IV antibiotics finished and he made one last mandatory walk around the unit. And as soon as he'd done all that he needed to get back to the motel, find Raquel and set her free, destroy the gold rings, pick up the Impala, pick up Sammy and…

"You're gonna pull a muscle," Tommy's voice interrupted his thoughts, "if you keep thinking that hard. What's on your mind son?"

Dean pointed at the paperwork and grinned, "Got my escape plan. I'm free to go."

"Good." Tommy nodded, sitting down and taking a sip of coffee. He leaned forward and snagged the pile of paperwork before Dean could pull it away. Tommy glanced through it quickly and said, "I'm sure Arla will want to look these over...and I'll take the prescriptions down to the pharmacy while you eat your lunch."

"Um," Dean shook his head, "actually, you don't have to do that...I'll just get them later and…

But Tommy was already standing up again, paperwork and prescriptions still in his hands. He said, "Order your lunch, Dean. We've got it covered."

Dean struggled to speak past the knot in his throat. He said, "Look, Tommy. We, uh, we really appreciate everything you and your wife have done. But we...there's just, I can't pay you back right now. Can't afford to get those meds right now, ok? I'll pick 'em up in a few…"

"Dean, it's covered. No discussions. You don't even need to say thanks. Because _we're_ the ones who need to be thanking you boys." He smiled, "All I ask for is that you let Arla take care of you and your brother until you're both back to 100% so you can get back out there and kill every evil thing that crosses your path so I can sleep at night, ok? I need my sleep, Dean, I'm an old man."

It took a full minute. A full minute for it to process. For it to sink in what the man was offering. Dean didn't like being choiceless. Hated being indebted to anyone and hated being unable to pay his debts. But he saw the complete honesty, the kindness in Tommy's eyes and he decided that, once in awhile, it might be ok to let someone thank them for what they'd done. So he nodded and let Tommy go to the pharmacy for his medications while he ordered his lunch and went back to planning.

_Stop by the motel, find Raquel and set her free, destroy the gold rings, pick up the Impala, pick up Sammy, oh yeah and figure out a way to make some money quick._

Dean coughed until he saw stars instead of the menu.

Yeah. This was all going to go well...

* * *

_3:20 PM, December 29th, 2005  
__Pender Home_

Nothing had gone well.

Not lunch, that he'd barely been able to choke down, and not the walk around the unit that left him breathless and in more than a little pain. The only thing that had gone well was the IV antibiotics finished without infiltrating or giving him an allergic reaction. Which, honestly, would have been about par for the course considering how this month had been going.

Dean wanted to keep glaring out the passenger side window at the boring and ugly scenery, but he couldn't. Because it was making him dizzy. So he lowered his head and finally gave up appearances and just let his forehead rest in his hand, elbow braced against the car door. There was no point in trying to pretend he felt fine, it was obvious to probably to the man on the moon that he felt like utter crap. He shifted uncomfortably in the seat, actually looking forward to getting out of the car and getting his ankle elevated and maybe even iced.

It hurt that bad.

He probably should have been counting his blessings that he'd even managed to get out of the hospital in the first place. By the time he'd finished getting dressed, argued with the nurse about the wheelchair ride outside, and argued with Tommy about stopping at the motel, both arguments he'd lost, Dean's pitiful reserves of energy had been depleted. The trip was silent. Because when he'd lost the argument about going to the motel and picking up his car, he'd given up. Because he'd been coughing and short of breath and the last thing he wanted was to end up back at the hospital. So Dean had shut up and started sorting out plan B.

_Make sure Sam is ok, get a little sleep, _then _get back to the motel, find Raquel and set her free, destroy the gold rings, pick up the Impala_… And get back on the road.

All of which was probably going to go about as well as plan A had gone, Dean thought miserably as they pulled up in front of the Pender's home. Time to focus on the first part of plan B. He had his door open as soon as Tommy had stopped the SUV in front of the garage. Arla came rushing out of the house and was at his door before he could start to struggle out.

"Hello, Dean!" She smiled, grabbing the crutches that he'd been planning to ignore from the backseat and being every bit of in his way as he tried to get out of the SUV. "I'm glad you're here."

Which could mean anything. Maybe she was just glad to see him or maybe she was glad to see him because Sam was driving her crazy, or maybe Sam was worse and all of a sudden he felt the world spin. It might have been just getting out of the SUV after the long trip, or it might have been the fact that he hadn't heard an update about Sam since his rather sleepy voicemail around lunchtime. Either way, Dean's knees almost refused to hold him up and all of a sudden there were hands all over him, holding him up and voices trying to ask him things he didn't know how to answer.

"Dean?" Arla's voice finally broke through the fog, "Honey, hey, open your eyes...Tommy, was he like this earlier?"

"I'm...I'm…" He wasn't sure what he was, but he was irritated by the thought that he was basically falling over. Dean locked his knees and straightened up, not able to shake the hands off, though. But he met Arla's worried gaze and asked, "How is he?"

Arla sighed heavily, looked almost like she wanted to smack him, but instead just rubbed his arm and said, "He's fine."

"Yeah?" Dean asked, letting her get the crutches positioned the way she wanted them, then taking a cautious step forward.

"Yes. He's slept most of the day, been eating a little, taken his meds and hasn't thrown up at all." Arla smiled, keeping a hand on his back. "Low grade fever, but nothing like before."

"Good."

Arla shook her head and didn't ask how he was feeling, possibly because it didn't take a genius to figure it out and possibly because she figured he was going to lie about it anyway. They made their way inside at a snail's pace. As if being chronically short of breath wasn't bad enough, he had to be chronically short of breath on _crutches_. _Cuz that just makes everything more fun_, Dean grumbled miserably to himself.

By the time they made it to the living room, he was well and truly done pretending he felt ok. From the concerned glances he was getting from Arla, Dean knew she knew. Trying to hide his grimace of pain as he hobbled toward the recliner, Dean caught sight of Sam on the couch.

Sam looked small and sick sitting there, shrunk into the cushions, and Dean's enthusiasm for the day, already waning, took another hit. What really concerned him, though, was the way Sam's closed eyes were puffy and red like he'd spent half the day crying.

Dean looked at Arla with an accusing look. _What the hell happened?_

Arla shook her head, a finger to her lips and pointed at the coffee table. _That happened._

Dean's heart sank as he caught sight of the picture of Jessica. _Of course_. He looked back up at Arla, saw the compassion in her eyes, the way she smiled over at Sam and Dean realized he didn't need to know anything else. Whatever had happened, Arla had taken care of it and Dean felt renewed appreciation for her support. He'd figured she'd take care of his brother _physically_, but hadn't expected her to also take care of him _emotionally_.

As he sat down in the recliner, Sam opened his eyes and smiled at him. His smile was genuine, but brief and shaky at best. Dean guessed from the way he was moving, or rather, the way he _wasn't_ moving that Sam was probably afraid one wrong move would have his head falling off. Dean had experienced headaches like that before.

Letting Arla fuss over him and get the chair reclining so his aching ankle was elevated, Dean nodded at his brother and said, "I'd say you look better, but you don't."

Sam's smile was even briefer this time and Dean didn't like the worry that he could easily read in his brother's weary eyes. Sam whispered, "Neither do you."

"Ice packs all around." Arla said softly with false cheerfulness as she finished tucking a blanket over Dean, then headed for the kitchen.

For a few minutes, they were silent. Arla arranged an ice pack behind Sam's neck and one on Dean's ankle, made sure they were both as comfortable as they were likely to get, left ice water next to each of them, then slipped away somewhere leaving them in the silence. Dean wondered how long it was going to take before the silence would lull Sam into sleep and was surprised when _he_ was the one who started to doze off. A coughing spell jarred him from the fringes of sleep and he reached for the glass of water. Taking a sip, he saw that Sam wasn't asleep, but was staring at him, still with that worried expression on his ashen face.

He didn't want the worry and he didn't want to see Sam looking so sick and so worried. There were enough issues facing him that he didn't need Sam nitpicking him about how he felt. Dean set the glass down and glared at his brother. He snapped more hoarsely than he would have preferred, "Stop that. You're creeping me out. I don't need an audience while I sleep."

Sam sighed way too softly and way too much like he was hurting and Dean had just made it worse. His eyes slid closed and Dean felt like an ass. With a sigh of his own, Dean swallowed down a bit of bitter tasting pride and asked, "Sam?"

"Hm?" Sam's eyes opened and this time he even tilted his head a bit. He didn't look angry, just tired. _Really tired_.

"Sorry."

"For what?"

"Being a jerk." Dean shrugged, shifting in the seat and having to bend forward to reposition the slippery ice pack. He settled back against the pillow behind him and said, "I'm thinking we can pick up the Impala tomorrow when we go by the motel. I'll have to catch you up on…"

"Dean?"

"What?" Dean asked, a pinch of irritation creeping into his voice despite his attempt to be less of a jerk. He was on a roll and there was a lot on his mind and he really needed to get Sam on the same page before they went out and dealt with the cursed rings. He stared at Sam and waited. It took a long time before Sam spoke again and when he did, the fatigue in his brother's voice shut down Dean's over-zealous mind more than what Sam even said.

"I'm tired." Sam said simply. "You're sick. Can...can we just.._.not_ today?"

_Not talk about the hunt, not try to make me remember everything, not try to be ok, not do anything except rest._

Sam hadn't said any of that, but Dean heard it all.

Dean's last bit of resistance came crashing down. Head thumping back against the pillow behind him, he nodded slowly and whispered, "Sure, Sammy."

And _not_ doing anything except falling asleep with his brother safely sleeping a few feet away turned out to be one of the best decisions Dean had ever made.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed! All I can say is that I've been waiting a long time for Arla to hug poor Sam! More to come...let's not forget she still owes Dean a beer and a burger. Because _he's_ not gonna forget. ;) Thank you for reading!**


	32. Chapter 32

_**Happy Fourth of July everyone! **_

_**So this chapter would have been posted on Wednesday...but I got a random call that night from my dear friend DamonsGirl92 (who introduced me to SPN) and she announced she was coming to spend the holiday weekend with me! She lives a state away and we've been trying forever to get together between work schedules so it was the perfect surprise! So that's why it's only now being posted lol. But still! It's sooner than some chapters. **_

_**If I haven't already thanked you personally for your reviews for the prior chapter...I promise I will! I was working on replying when I got her call and then I had to go to work and then it's just been dingo ate my baby crazy ever since. ;)**_

_**This chapter is shorter than usual, but it just seemed like a perfect little thing exactly as is so I didn't force it. And never fear...the Penders are not gone, nor forgotten. It's just that this chapter needed to be a brother chapter. :)**_

_**I hope you will enjoy yet more brotherly fluff! (we all may need to seek treatment for diabetes after all this sugary fluff...)**_

* * *

_11:05 PM December 29th  
__Pender Home_

Sam woke up, sweaty, heart thudding and all but shouting Jessica's name. The weird thing was that he hadn't awakened because of the nightmare. He woke up because he'd heard his name called. And it hadn't been by Jess. Blinking and sucking in a couple desperate breaths, Sam ignored the lingering agony of the nightmare and turned to his left. And then he shoved himself upright, dizzy and swaying and trying desperately to untangle himself from the bedding in order to get over to his brother's side. He heard Dean breathlessly rasping his name for the fourth time and he called out, "Dean? Hang on."

"Sammy?" Dean repeated, then broke out coughing again.

Sam struggled unsteadily across the small space between the beds and yanked Dean further upright. Because he could see the near panic in Dean's eyes as he struggled for breath. He'd slumped down in the bed and half the pillows he'd been propped up against were on the floor. Tugging him until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, Sam sat down heavily next to Dean. He kept an arm around Dean's shoulders as he leaned forward and coughed so hard that _Sam's_ chest hurt in sympathy and the pounding in his head tripled.

Sam pressed his free hand against the side of his head, still trying to wake up fully. Dean's coughing spell finally ended and he took a few steadying breaths, slowly pulling himself upright. He ran a shaky hand over his face and whispered, "Couldn't...get myself...up. Sorry."

"It's ok." Sam mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Dean coughed some more, then reached for the bottle of water next to the bed. Sam shivered and wrapped his arms around himself as Dean moved. Lowering the bottle and rubbing his throat, Dean asked, "You sleep?"

Sam shrugged.

Shaking his head, Dean said, "Go back to bed. You're freezing. 'm sorry I woke you up."

Sam studied his brother in the pale light. Dean had been sleeping most of the evening in the recliner in the living room and he'd been resting well before they'd gone to bed about an hour ago. Even with the pillows, though, he was having too much trouble breathing. Sam said, "You should go back out and sleep in the recliner."

"I'm fine." Dean said, reaching down to grab the pillows.

For a second, he debated moving to help him, but Sam quickly decided it wasn't a good idea considering how his head felt. So he sleepily watched Dean pile up the pillows, then turn to him expectantly. Sam frowned and asked, "What?"

Dean rolled his eyes and nudged his shoulder, "You gonna sit there all night?"

"No."

"Good. So move."

Sam nodded and looked over at the other bed, wishing it wasn't so far away. Dean's voice was soft and there wasn't a hint of mockery when he asked, "You need help?"

Sam smiled briefly and said, "Thanks. I'll be ok."

Dean nodded and Sam was pretty sure they _both_ held their breaths until he wobbled back over to his bed without falling over. For a long time, Sam just sat there, hands pressed against the bed, eyes closed, willing his head and his stomach to stop swimming. When he opened his eyes again, he was surprised to see Dean still sitting up and staring at him.

Dean took another sip of water then asked, "Y'alright?"

Sam wasn't sure which would be worse, speaking or nodding, given the state of his swimming head and stomach, so he just gave Dean a shaky thumbs up instead. Dean sighed and gingerly eased himself back into bed, coughing occasionally as he tried to get settled. Sam took a deep breath and carefully did the same. He pulled the blanket up and closed his eyes, falling asleep almost instantly.

* * *

_0240_

"Dean, come on, man, this isn't working." Sam said, his frustration skyrocketing as he watched Dean struggling yet again to get the stack of pillows arranged just right.

Dean shot him a glare and said, "Go back to sleep. I'm fine."

"You're not fine. Not being able to breathe is not fine." Sam snorted and said, "This is the third time you've woken _us_ up because you can't breathe. You need a breathing treatment."

"I'm fine."

"I think I should get Arla…"

"Don't you dare."

Sam sighed. _Stupid, stubborn big brothers_. Dean kept fiddling with the pillows and coughing and Sam finally decided enough was more than enough. Neither of them were going to get any sleep at this point. For someone who was _fine_, Dean was having an awful hard time making it longer than an hour without hollering Sam's name to help him sit up.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, voice ragged from the coughing and more than a little irritable given the lack of sleep.

Already on his feet, Sam had taken a step away from the bed. He almost smiled, but he couldn't afford to. So he forced an annoyed expression (which honestly wasn't that difficult given how annoyed he was), and said, "I'm going to go sleep on the couch."

"What? Why?" Some of Dean's irritability faded and he stopped mussing with his pillows.

_So maybe you'll follow me and sleep in the recliner so you can actually breathe and we can both get some sleep, _Sam thought to himself. He said, "Because I'm tired and uncomfortable and I'm gonna try the couch, that's why."

Dean just stared at him as if he'd been speaking a foreign language. It took a minute for Dean to process, then all his irritation disappeared and, sleepy or not, he was immediately concerned. He asked, "How bad's the headache?"

Sam shrugged and answered honestly, "Not terrible."

"But not good either." Dean said with a heavy sigh.

"It's fine. I'm just gonna try the couch."

Dean nodded and Sam mentally crossed his fingers as he kept walking toward the door. If this didn't go the way he hoped, he was making a trip for nothing. He'd reached the hallway when he heard a grunt and some rustling of bedding from behind him. With a half-smile, he put a hand against the wall and slowly made his way to the living room knowing Dean wouldn't be far behind. Reverse psychology was a wonderful thing; especially when it came to stupid, stubborn big brothers.

* * *

_1123 December 30th, 2005  
__Pender Home_

Dean woke up to a room filled with sunshine and some of the most amazing smells in the world. _Pie, please be pie_, he mentally crossed his fingers and forced his eyes open. Instantly, he glanced at the couch, feeling a bit surprised and a touch concerned when the little brother he'd last seen comfortably sleeping there was missing. He didn't get far with his worrying because he heard movement in the kitchen and looked up to see that his missing little brother wasn't missing.

"Morning." Sam said, walking out of the kitchen.

"Sam?" Dean raised an eyebrow, trying to push away the lingering fog at the edges of his sleepy brain.

Sam smiled and said, "Sleep well?"

"I dunno, time's it?"

"Like eleven-thirty." Sam shrugged and sat down on the edge of the couch.

Dean was relieved that Sam was moving with an ease he hadn't seen in over a week. The unsteadiness was gone and, though his face showed evidence of the lingering illness and exhaustion, the lines of pain around his eyes were gone and he wasn't moving like he was afraid his head was about to come off. The bruising on his face was still pretty spectacular, but some of the swelling had gone down. Despite the way his own head ached and his chest and throat burned, Dean felt the relief wash over him.

Shoving the blanket to the side, Dean glanced over Sam's shoulder to the kitchen and asked, "Breakfast?"

"Lunch. Well, I mean, if you want breakfast, there's…"

"We need to talk."

Sam smiled again like he'd been expecting that. He nodded, but his eyes were concerned as he said, "Breakfast first."

"Thought you said it was lunch." Dean grinned.

"Whatever you want, man." Sam extended his hands, "Kitchen's ours."

Pushing himself forward, Dean frowned and asked, "Huh?"

"The Penders went out to lunch with friends. Said we could help ourselves." Sam got to his feet and said, "There's pie."

"Pie?" Dean didn't even bother to hide his glee. Despite his eagerness for a fresh piece of homemade pie, he quickly realized he wasn't going anywhere fast. It took far too much effort to get to his feet and he wasn't sure whether it irritated him or comforted him when Sam was suddenly by his side with a steadying hand.

"You want delivery, man?" Sam asked, his hand tightening around Dean's bicep. "I can bring out whatever you want…"

"I'm good." Dean gasped more than said. He shook his head and started moving forward, trailing blankets and pillows behind him. He didn't manage to shake Sam's hand off him until he reached the dining room table and that was only when Sam shoved him into a chair. He didn't bother repeating his assertion that he was good. Because he wasn't good, not really.

"Dean?"

"Hm?" He looked up from his survey of the tabletop, realizing he was white knuckling the edge of the table.

Sam was frowning down at him with that very concerned look he got. Sam said, "You don't look so good."

"I'm just hungry." Dean said, though it wasn't exactly the whole truth. He _was_ hungry. But, more than that, he was fairly certain he should have let Sam deliver his breakfast. _Or lunch._

Sam stared at him, debating, then asked, "What do you want to eat?"

"Pie."

"Dude, how about food first?" Some of Sam's worry turned into amusement.

"Sammy, I want a piece of pie." Dean said, carefully not saying _my head hurts and I feel like I've been flayed alive from the inside and I really think I'd like to curl up in bed and sleep for the next month._ He swallowed hard and glared at his brother. "Get me a piece of pie."

Sam sighed, but nodded and turned for the kitchen. He said over his shoulder, "Pills are on the table. And don't say you don't want or need them. You're taking them."

Dean continued to glare at the back of his brother's head, like that would help, but eased up on his death grip on the table and reached for the pills. Took a minute and some rubbing of his bleary eyes before he could read the labels and set aside the bottles that were Sam's and find his own. There were a lot of pills on the table, he thought morosely as he took the cap off his first bottle. By the time he had the pills lined up on the table in front of him, he was bent double with a coughing fit and Sam was setting a bottle of water and a piece of apple pie in front of him.

Finally catching his breath, Dean opened the bottle of water, took a sip and watched Sam disappear back into the kitchen again. Head throbbing dully, he looked down at the pie that had sounded so good just a moment before. Now, trying to eat it just seemed like one more thing he didn't really have the energy to do. But he had to make an effort or Sammy would see through his cleverly constructed facade of _I-feel-just-fine-thanks_. Dean picked up a fork and took a small bite of the pie, glancing at the rest of the table. It was littered with papers and two laptops, one of which was Sam's.

He frowned, then asked, "Sam? How long you been up?"

"Awhile."

"Well that's specific." Dean mumbled around another mouthful of pie, waiting expectantly for his brother to reappear. He called out, "Whatcha been doing?"

"Catching up." Sam said, closing the refrigerator and walking back into the dining room. He sat down next to Dean with another bottle of water. "I read Gethen's journal and looked at some of the research Tommy had been doing…"

Dean shook his head, "How'd you get away with that? I try to read and Tommy doesn't want to let me. Arla tells me to rest every two and a half seconds and you're sitting there with the laptop and a monster's diary. How's that fly?"

Sam just grinned and said, "Maybe she likes me better."

"Yeah. Sure." Dean rolled his eyes then said, "Why have you been up, and exactly how long have you been up, and why have I been sleeping the entire time?"

"That was a lot of questions." Sam raised an eyebrow. "I expect you've been sleeping the entire time because you needed it. You've been sick in case you somehow forgot. And I've been up since around nine. You slept better in the recliner, didn't you?"

Remembering the way he'd followed Sam out to the living room the night before, Dean knew what Sam was getting at and said, "Shut up."

Sam grinned again, and wasn't that a sight for sore eyes? Dean couldn't help but smile back at his brother. Shaking his head, Sam opened his bottle of water and took a sip. Dean took another bite of pie, eyes narrowing as he caught the way Sam's hand was shaking ever so slightly and the way he seemed to have to close his eyes in order to force the swallow of water to go down. _So maybe I'm not the only one pretending_, he thought. What was new? Sliding the plate of half-eaten pie aside, Dean rested his elbows on the table and asked, "How're you doing, Sammy?"

"I'm good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Sam met his eyes and there was no hint of deception. "Doesn't feel like my head's gonna explode."

"About time." Dean said, relieved. He motioned to the water, "Still sick to your stomach?"

Sam shook his hand back and forth, "Depends on the moment."

"That's what I figured." He grimaced. The laptop drew his attention again and he asked,

"So you've been catching up? Head still scrambled? Anything coming back?"

Sam shrugged, rubbing a hand across his forehead and saying, "Yes and no. I talked to Tommy and Arla over breakfast and they caught me up on a lot of it. I mean, there are still some holes. We really need to get back out there and find Raquel."

"I know. And those rings."

"About them," Sam said, pulling his laptop closer. Headache or not, he was in research mode. "I've been thinking about that and...we're gonna have to do something other than burn them, Dean. That's just going to melt down the gold and then we're still left with cursed gold. We can't just bury it."

Dean said, "Suggestions?"

Sam turned the laptop to show Dean what was on the screen and said, "I'm thinking we make a curse box."

"Ok…" Dean frowned, staring at the picture on the screen. He looked back at Sam, "You know how to make one of those? Was that an extra credit course at Stanford?"

"Haha." Sam said, and for once at least, the mention of the University didn't seem to cut through him like a sword. He glanced at the screen, then at Dean. "I think we can...well...I mean...not exactly. Theoretically, it shouldn't be... I...yes I guess. The sigils, the blessing on the box, I mean, we can probably do a decent job, I think. A temporary job anyway, I guess."

"You're just filling me with confidence, there, research boy." Dean shook his head, coughing into his sleeve. He wasn't sure if he should be amused or worried by the fact Sam looked so completely uncertain about what he was saying. Dean said, "Call me skeptical, but there were an awful lot of _thinks _and _guesses_ in what you just said."

"If we do it, we should probably send it someplace safe." Sam offered timidly, fingers tracing the keyboard, but not typing anything.

Dean rolled his eyes, "Great. Safe. Where the heck are we gonna send it?"

"Bobby?" Sam suggested with a shrug.

Dean nodded slowly. Since they couldn't get ahold of Dad, he figured Bobby might be their best option. They hadn't really had much contact with him in a long time, but Dean had a feeling that, regardless of any discord between the hunter and their father, Bobby would help them out if they called. He looked back at Sam and wondered why suddenly his brother looked like someone had kicked his puppy.

"What?"

"Huh?" Sam turned his attention from the computer and shot Dean a puzzled look.

"What's wrong? You're all gung-ho planning to deal with the rings and now you look like I just took away your favorite toy." Dean said, then broke off coughing again. He took a swig of water, followed by the small army of pills he'd assembled. By the time he finished, Sam was still silently staring at the floor. Shaking his head, Dean said, "Sam. Give."  
"I just…" Sam started to mumble, his voice almost inaudible. "It...it's _Christmas_, man. Was Christmas anyway."

"So?" Dean raised an eyebrow, "You wanted to hang up stockings? Thought you weren't into Christmas…"

"I'm not. It's not that…"

"For crying out loud, Sam, I'm sick, can you just spit it out for once?" Dean grumbled more irritably than he'd meant to.

"We ruined their Christmas, nearly got them killed, how are we going to pay for any of this? We need to get out of here and we _still_ have no idea where Dad is." Sam spit out so quickly that Dean almost had trouble keeping up with the rambling. _Well you did ask him to spit it out, didn't you?_

Sighing, Dean watched Sam's gaze drop to the table top again as he fidgeted in his seat. It wasn't that he wasn't thinking the same things; that he didn't agree with him, but somehow he didn't feel nearly as desperate as Sam obviously did. _Of course, it wasn't my girlfriend who burned on the ceiling last month_, Dean thought to himself. Sam had clearly made up his mind that the only thing that would fix that problem was killing the thing that did it, and the only way he was going to do that was if he could find Dad.

Dean wasn't at all so sure. But since the goal of finding Dad seemed to be the only thing that got Sam out of bed most days, he wasn't inclined to share his dismal opinion. Dad had searched for years, practically for Sam's entire life, to find the monster that killed their mother and he'd come up empty. What chance did they stand of finding the monster now that it had killed again? He shook his head.

"Sam, we'll figure it out. Ok? We always do. Look, right now we're down and yeah, it's been a pretty crappy week. A pretty crappy Christmas. Give me another day, ok, man?" He hated the fact that he knew he needed another day. Hated that he had to admit it to his brother. He said, "Another day and I'll go out and get us some money and we'll start picking up the pieces."

"That's not what I meant." Sam looked up immediately, eyes wide and concerned. "I… you need to take care of yourself. I can go get a job or something till you're back on your feet and then we can..."

Dean snorted, "Till _I'm _back on my feet? Dude, when you can actually drink some water without looking like you're waiting for it to come back up, we'll talk about you getting a job."

"I'm ok." Sam insisted, desperation creeping into his tone and downcast eyes, "I just need to…"

"I know." Dean interrupted quietly. Didn't need Sam to finish his statement because he knew what he was going to say. Same thing he'd been saying for weeks. _I need to find Dad, I need to find Jessica's killer_. What he wasn't saying was _I'm drowning and I don't know what to do so I'm obsessing over the only thing I can to keep myself distracted so I don't completely fall apart_.

Sam stared at him for a long minute, then back at the table again. He really didn't look like he was feeling as good as he was trying to pretend, Dean thought, running a hand through his hair. He sat back in the chair and asked, "Did you eat already?"

"Yeah. Just finished before you woke up." Sam mumbled, his voice dragging. He glanced up at Dean and asked, "You want a sandwich?"

A sandwich was the right answer. He knew that. Thing was, he wasn't sure he could eat a sandwich. The pie had tasted good, but he'd basically had to choke down the few bites he'd actually taken. But if he didn't eat something, Sam was going to know he felt lousy and he was going to do nothing but worry. _Oh well..._

"I don't want a sandwich." Dean said finally. He caught Sam's worried gaze and for a long moment they were silent. Shaking his head, Dean almost laughed. Sam looked at him questioningly and Dean said, "Dude, we are an absolute disaster. How did this even happen?"

Sam smiled weakly, then looked away almost guiltily.

Dean's eyebrows shot up. That had not been the reaction he'd expected. Not sure what to think, he asked, "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you have something you don't want to share with the class?"

"Um."

Leaning forward, he smacked his brother on the shoulder and said, "What the heck? You have a theory of why we're sick? What? We run into a supernatural virus…"

"Bacteria."

"What?"

"Bacteria. There's...a chance," Sam was stumbling over his words again, "that maybe...I mean who knows for sure…"

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I swear I'm going to punch you in your stupid face if you don't stop yammering." Dean said, not entirely sure he was joking. There was only so much mumbling he could take, especially when he felt so rotten. "I'll try to hit you some place where there's already a bruise so it doesn't mess up any more of your face, but you better just tell me whatever you don't want to tell me."

Sam sighed dramatically in that annoying little brother way he had of doing that and said, "It could have been on the plane."

"The plane?" Dean frowned, then his eyes widened. "The plane? You think we got…"

"It might have been Lake Manitoc, but that was awhile ago and I'm not sure the incubation period…"

Dean shook his head, holding up a hand to shut his brother up. He pushed himself to his feet and said, "Sam. If you're suggesting that we caught this virus…"

"Bacteria."

"...on that demonic flight that I didn't want to get on in the first place…"

"I'm not sure…"

"I do _not _wanna hear about it. Not now, not ever." Dean groaned and said, "Man, as if I needed another reason to never want to fly again…"

"Dean?"

"What?"

"Why are you standing up?"

Dean shot his brother an annoyed glare, "What difference does it make?"

Sam was standing up and that was when Dean realized how much the room was swaying. Before he could protest, Sam had a hand on his arm again and said, "You're like sheet white, man. Sit down."

"No."

"Why do you have to be so stubborn?" Sam asked, but there was no irritation in his voice and only fond amusement in his eyes this time.

Dean pointed at the couch and said, "Because I'm the older brother."

"You know that makes absolutely no sense, right?"

"You make absolutely no sense." Dean muttered lamely, starting to walk toward the couch.

Sam just laughed and positioned himself on Dean's weak side because the crutches had been left pointedly abandoned in the bedroom the night before. Dean was grateful for the help even if he wouldn't say so. Because his ankle was doing a lousy job of holding him up and it was awesome to have a nice strong brother to lean against.

He'd missed that.

Dean groaned as they walked slowly across the living room and he vaguely listened to Sam's quiet reassurances. By the time he was collapsing back into the recliner, his head and ankle were competing for worst ache and he was coughing hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. The room filled with little black dots and a buzzing noise and everything got confusing for a minute. And then a bottle of water appeared and all he had to do was swallow because someone else was holding the bottle which was just as well because he couldn't even _see_ the bottle. And then his ankle was up on a pillow and, was that an ice pack? Dean blinked and tried to figure out how much time he'd lost. Because Sam wasn't moving _that_ fast these days but here he was, comfy and covered with a blanket, the pain in his ankle muted under the chill of the ice.

He rubbed thick, clumsy fingers against his eyes, then things came back into focus. He realized more time had passed then he'd thought. Tired as he was, Dean smiled at the sight of Sam sitting on the edge of the coffee table, the half-empty bottle of water in his left hand. His head rested in his right hand, elbow on his knee as he snoozed right there sitting up. Debating leaving him alone, Dean figured he probably shouldn't. Because either Sam was going to end up with a wet pair of jeans or Arla's carpet was going to get baptized when he lost his grip on the water. Besides that, he really didn't want to see his brother hit the floor.

"Sam." Dean said softly, a little surprised when Sam immediately came awake and peered at him with a lot more concentration than it usually took.

"You ok?" Sam asked sleepily, the bottle of water wavering in his hand.

"Go lay down on the couch, man, you're making me uncomfortable." Dean instructed, watching Sam still trying to focus on him. Maybe it was the concussion, maybe he was just that tired, but his eyes kept crossing and Dean wondered how they'd ever made it across the living room in the first place with Sam driving. He smiled and said, "Sam, move it."

"Yeah, sure." Sam said, acquiescing without an argument for once.

The bottle of water hit the floor without Sam even noticing and Dean cringed, but there wasn't much he could do about it. As Sam moved, Dean held his breath, wishing he felt like getting up to make sure his brother made it safely to the couch. But, thankfully, Sam only had to go about a foot and a half and made it to his target without incident, flopping down on his stomach with the finality of a felled tree. His right arm and right leg were hanging off the edge, but there wasn't much Dean was going to do about that, either.

He closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the pillows and breathed out a slow sigh.

"I miss him."

Dean forced his eyes open again, but Sam's eyes were closed and it was almost as if he hadn't spoken. Maybe he hadn't meant to speak aloud, Dean wondered, even as his gut twisted. There was always that pang of frustration that blossomed when Sam talked about Dad. Because Dean had been there for all those years. Had listened to countless arguments, countless complaints from Sam, countless criticisms from Dad. Had endured the pain of watching the only two people he had left on planet Earth, the only two people he _loved,_ tear at each other until he felt like he couldn't take another minute of it. So it stung whenever they talked about Dad. Because all of a sudden Sam was desperate to see the guy he'd walked out on years ago.

And it hurt to think that if Dad hadn't gone missing, would he even have ever seen Sam again? Sure the phone lines worked both ways and neither of them had exactly been good about keeping in touch; apparently stubbornness wasn't just a trait of big brothers. The past two months had been hell for both of them and Dean wished with everything he had that he could fix everything, save Jessica and save his brother from the pain. But he couldn't. All he could do was keep going on and try to make sure Sam went with him. And he knew that, as hard as it was, it was going to be worth it in the end.

Dad being missing was shaking his very foundations, but missing Sam had been like missing part of himself. He'd never be able to put it into words, but being separated from his brother had been the hardest thing he'd ever endured. Dean took a careful breath, hearing his brother trying to muffle a sniff and rub a hand across his face before the emotion he was trying so hard to hide had a chance to show on his face. And he hated that his brother was hurting so much that he was having trouble keeping his usually practiced defenses in place.

Dean finally said, "I know. I miss him too. We're gonna find him, Sam. It's Dad. You know? He's fine."

The silence this time was longer, but not uncomfortable. Dean thought maybe his words had helped, had brought his brother some comfort and that he'd fallen asleep for real this time. But then he heard Sam speak again, and he had to really strain to catch the whispered words, but he was glad he did because they thawed an ice cold part of his heart that he'd feared would never be warm again.

"I missed you."

Dean grinned. So much for his no sappy moments mandate that he'd laid down back in Jericho; a lifetime ago now. It felt kind of nice to know his little brother had missed him, but they were both just too vulnerable right now for him to say anything other than, "Of course you did. Guy has an awesome big brother like me, course he's gonna miss him. What's not to miss?"

It sort of sounded like Sam was laughing, but all he said was, "Exactly."

* * *

**Have a great weekend...wherever you are! :D Thank you for reading :) **


	33. Chapter 33

**Hi! Sorry for the long delay! Life has been annoyingly hectic lately. Hope you'll enjoy!**

* * *

_12:30pm December 30th  
__Crypt_

Raquel stared up at the sky through the tree branches. The sun was out and she could almost imagine the warmth of the sun on her face. It turned her thoughts back to long walks with Peter. Back to when things had been good. Back to when they'd had their lives ahead of them and she'd just started dreaming about a white lace dress and a bouquet of flowers.

A tear rolled down her cheek. It had never occurred to her that the day it had all gone wrong had been the day Peter had proposed to her. The first day of the rest of their lives. The last day that their lives had been good. Because as soon as he'd put that ring on her finger, they'd been cursed.

"Peter." Raquel whispered, staring at the clouds.

She thought her heart had broken enough already. The day she'd watched Gethen tear Peter to shreds had seemed like the worst day of her life. And maybe it had been. In some ways. In other ways, it had just been one of the worst days. The day that ring had slid onto her finger, _that_ day had been the worst day of her life. Because it had been the day she'd first felt that irrational anger bubbling up in her gut. Anger directed at Peter. And that had been the last day she'd truly felt happy.

Now, she was staring up at the sky, all alone and dead. _Dead! _

"I miss you so much, Peter."

The sky was silent.

She couldn't even remember the sound of Peter's voice now. Raquel lay there, on the hood of the big black car and wondered what was going to happen now. In the past week, she'd seen monsters and madness, evil and hatred, and the best of human kindness. She wondered how the brothers were doing. The last she'd seen, the hadn't been doing well. It made her angry to think that they had suffered so much at the hands of Gethen and Alexander. But then Raquel thought about the doctor and her husband and felt the faintest stirring of hope.

Because she trusted the doctor. Arla Pender had been competent and extremely kind to her; as had her husband. Raquel wished she could remember what day it was and how long it had been since the Penders had left. It seemed like a lifetime or two, even though it had probably only been a few days. It was difficult to keep track of these sort of things, Raquel found, since she'd been dead. She wasn't even sure where she went sometimes, but there were moments of time that she lost, time that she couldn't account for and it scared her.

It also left her feeling sad and lonely and tired.

Raquel looked from the sky to the crypt. And back to the sky. Because the sky was beautiful and not terrifying. She wished she could leave. Wished she could go to the Pender's home again. Another tear rolled down her cheek. They'd had a beautiful home. Were a beautiful couple. Once upon a time, Raquel and Peter had had that beautiful home. Once upon a time, she and Peter had been a beautiful couple. They'd been a beautiful couple before the day of their engagement when they'd suddenly begun to systematically rip each other's hearts into tiny shreds. They'd wanted children. Wanted to be that beautiful family.

And they'd wound up losing everything.

At least now she knew the truth. That they hadn't done this to each other. That they hadn't destroyed their lives, their marriage, just because they'd suddenly turned on each other out of the blue. There was little satisfaction in knowing they'd been cursed. That evil had found them through a simple gold ring passed down through the years by his family. It was the truth and that was all it was. It wasn't satisfying, it didn't make her feel better, it didn't make anything better or make anything different.

All it did was make it true.

"Peter." Raquel whispered again, heartsick. "I'm so sorry."

She wondered when it would end. What would happen next? Arla had promised she would return. Promised. Waiting was just so hard when all you could do was sit on the hood of a car and contemplate the miserable state of your life. She couldn't even go anywhere now. She had promised Arla she wouldn't touch those rings and she'd meant it. Which meant that she couldn't go anywhere except perhaps back to the motel and she wasn't going anywhere near that place now. So she was stuck sitting on the big black car.

Waiting.

For what she didn't know. Rescue? A release from the nightmare?

Raquel didn't even know what she was hoping for at this point.

* * *

_1pm December 30th  
__Pender Home_

Arla had been less than comfortable with leaving Dean and Sam alone at home while she and Tommy went out to lunch. Sure, they were doing better, but they weren't doing _that_ much better. Tommy had assured her they'd be gone for just long enough to put in a tactful appearance at their friends' anniversary luncheon, then they'd return right after.

Tapping a finger on her purse on her lap, Arla stared ahead at the long, winding driveway and hoped that it hadn't been a mistake. The only comfort she felt was in the fact that Sam had seemed better this morning and she'd had time to talk to him and make sure he would promise to call if they needed anything before she and Tommy returned.

"They're fine." Tommy's voice cut into her thoughts just as they pulled onto the last stretch of the driveway. "Sam would have called if they weren't."

Arla nodded slowly. She had a feeling he was right. Sam had been alert and conversational earlier; he'd looked more rested and there was a clarity in his eyes that she hadn't really seen up to that point. Dean had still been comfortably sleeping in the recliner and Sam had seemed more than content to sit at the table with the laptop. Somehow she trusted him to take it easy more than she'd ever trust Dean to do so. Taking a deep breath, she stared ahead at the house.

"Arla?"

"Hm?"

"Stop worrying." Tommy was grinning. "We've only been gone a couple hours. They're fine."

"I hope so." Arla said, second-guessing herself yet again for letting Tommy talk her into leaving the house when there were two sick young men who were barely out of the hospital. _For the second time in a week…_ She turned to Tommy and said, "They're going to want to go the motel, you know that right?"

He nodded and eased the car around the last curve of the rutted driveway. Tommy spared her a glance and said, "And they're not wrong. We...we have to help that poor girl and do something about those cursed rings. And I need to," he grimaced, "do something about the mess."

Arla's heart jumped into her throat. She said, "I didn't even think about the...the bodies."

Tommy gave her a grim smile and said, "I know. Which is why I'm in as much of a hurry to go back as they are. We need to take care of it all before some idiot goes hiking through the woods…"

"Or any other unlucky travellers choose that motel." Arla shot him a glance.

"Exactly." Tommy pulled the SUV up to the garage and asked, "What do you think? You going to let them go?"

Arla sighed as he turned the engine off. She said, "If I had my choice, absolutely not. I don't even think I need to elaborate on all the reasons neither one of them should be going anywhere."

"But."

"But. What choice am I going to have? I don't want Raquel sitting out there any longer than she has to." Arla shook her head, feeling a renewed pang of sympathy for the ghost. "And I saw what those cursed rings did to us. I don't like them sitting out there any more than you do. So I guess I'm going to be packing a bag of supplies and hoping that I can convince them to let _us_ do the dirty work while they stay here and rest."

Arla glared at Tommy and slapped his shoulder when he snorted at her comment. She said, "I know, I know. Wishful thinking."

"I think so." Tommy grinned, getting out of the SUV. He said, "Best I think you can hope for is that they let us _help_ them."

Rolling her eyes, Arla couldn't deny that he wasn't right. It didn't make her feel even the slightest bit better, though. Following him into the house, as soon as she heard the vicious coughing from the living room, Arla's worry increased ten-fold and she was prepared to put her foot down about any potential trips for the day. Because from the sound of it, Dean needed a neb treatment and to stay exactly where he was for the foreseeable future.

She pressed her purse into Tommy's hand and rushed down the hallway to the living room. While it wasn't exactly a good situation she walked into, it wasn't nearly as bad as she'd been afraid it could have been. Instantly triaging the situation, she knew that her initial thought of a neb treatment hadn't been far off base.

Dean was sitting on the edge of the recliner, bent over at the waist as he coughed into his folded arms that were resting on his knees. He sounded panicky and like breathing was coming as easy to him as it would to a drowning man. She walked into the room just in time to see Sam doing his very best to get off the couch without face planting on the floor. Obviously he'd been sound asleep and trying to wake up enough to lend his brother some assistance would have been funny if it wasn't so completely _unfunny_.

"I've got him, Sam." Arla said, already at Dean's side before Sam had managed to do little more than get himself to his knees on the floor, one hand braced on the edge of the couch, one on the coffee table.

Sam blinked up at her and looked so dazed she might have thought he were drunk if she didn't know better. Arla spared him a quick glance, assuring herself that he wasn't going to fall over and crack his head against the coffee table, then turned all of her attention to getting Dean calmed down, because he was definitely close to a full-blown panic attack, if his wide eyes that suddenly came up to meet hers were any indication.

"It's ok, Dean." Arla said, trying to smile and reassure him that he wasn't about to die. Another glance at Sam's worried face showed her that maybe she needed to reassure _both_ of them. Pushing Dean upright, she rubbed his back and lowered her voice, "Dean, you're going to be ok, but I need your help. Can you help me out here?"

His eyes showed a bit of confusion creeping in where there had only been fear a moment ago. He was still hacking and his face was grey under the flush of exertion. All in all, he looked absolutely wrecked, but he was focusing on her.

She went on, "I want to give you a breathing treatment. It will help, but you need to calm down first. I know it feels like you can't catch your breath and I know you're not at all freaking out right now," she smiled at the slight narrowing of his eyes when she said that, "but you have to try to take a slow breath."

Dean nodded and she watched him make a visible effort to control his breathing and calm down. By the time he'd fought past he coughing spell and was breathing a little easier, Tommy had already set up the neb machine and Sam had settled back on the edge of the couch; for all the world trying to look like he had only a passing, casual interest in the situation and not that _he_ was freaking out about his brother's coughing spell. Dean relaxed back into the recliner and Arla breathed a sigh of relief when he closed his eyes and didn't fight the treatment. Patting him on the shoulder, she slid around the edge of the coffee table until she was facing Sam.

"How are you feeling?" She asked, her quick visual assessment reassuring her that maybe he was actually feeling better.

He spared her a quick glance and said, "I feel good." His eyes went back to his brother as he added, "Not great, but good."

"Did you two get some sleep?"

"A little."

"How about eating?"

Sam shrugged, "A little."

Arla leaned closer, drawing his attention from his brother and asked, "How much is a little, Sam?"

"Dean had maybe half a piece of pie." Sam smiled half-heartedly. With every passing second that Dean wasn't coughing or looking like he was about to die, Sam was relaxing. He lowered his voice and added, "On a normal day, he'd eat half the _pie_."

Arla smiled, hoping that in a few days she could see him eat that much. She took a peek at Dean and found him still relaxed, eyes closed, and quiet. Looking back at Sam and finding him doing his own assessment of his brother, Arla tapped his knee and asked, "What about you? You did ok at breakfast." _If you could count a piece of toast, half a bowl of cereal and two bites of a banana ok._ "How did you do with the sandwich?"

Sam's expression told her exactly how well he'd done with the sandwich. He smiled wearily and said, "I almost ate half of it."

"Uh huh." Arla shook her head, "Still struggling with the nausea?"

"Sometimes."

"How about now?"

"Right now, I'm actually hungry."

"Good. How about the headache? Scale of 1-10?"

"Five. It's probably the best it's been." His smile was wider this time. "I feel like I can think...and I actually remember yesterday."

"That's certainly good news!" She smiled, glancing back at Dean. He hadn't stirred or opened his eyes. Deciding to leave him be while the treatment finished, Arla said, "How about I get you the rest of that sandwich and we let Dean rest for awhile. Once he's recovered a bit, I'm sure he'll feel more like eating."

Sam nodded, his smile fading as he shot his brother a quick glance, then looked back at Arla. He leaned forward and, voice soft, asked, "Is he...doing ok? Like, is he…"

"Getting better? Yes he is." Arla said, easily reading Sam's anxiety and trying to put his mind at ease. "He's been extremely sick, Sam, and it's taking longer than either of you want it to, but you're both on the road to recovery. Ok? I know it's not easy to watch him like this. And he's still going to feel miserable for at least another week if not longer, but he's healing."

"Thanks. For everything." Sam said after a moment. "You and Tommy...didn't have to do any of this. You could have just left us at the hospital that first night." He paused, looking like he was searching for all the right words. Arla didn't need him to say more, but let him have the time. He finally shook his head with a sheepish smile as words seemed to fail him. Sam said with heartfelt gratitude, "Just...thank you."

"You're welcome." Arla smiled, squeezing his hand. It was reward enough for her just to see his smile and have a conversation with him. And, even if Dean wasn't all the way out of the woods yet, she was relieved to see him making slow progress.

Rising, she headed out to the kitchen to grab the other half of Sam's sandwich. Tommy was at the table on his laptop when she walked by and when she turned back around, Sam was next to him with the other laptop and their heads were together, voices lowered. Arla set the sandwich down next to Sam and he reached for it immediately, but all his attention was on whatever Tommy was saying. She caught sight of some kind of box on the computer screen, but left them to their own devices.

Heading back to the living room, she found the neb treatment was finished and Dean was sound asleep. So she removed the mask, turned off the machine and pulled out a book. Settling on the couch, Arla put her feet up and smiled. Things were looking better. She opened her book, then found her thoughts inevitably returning to the fact that the job wasn't finished. Glancing at Dean, she sighed. She was going to have to let them go back out there. There just wasn't another option.

And it just left her heart aching for them. Not just for now, for this situation, but for the fact that this was apparently their _lives_. That this was what they got up every morning and faced. That this was what they were going to go back to doing every day after they recovered and left Arizona. That she'd probably never see them again.

Because she'd only known them a week and she already knew this job was going to kill them both.

* * *

_2:20 PM  
__Pender's Garage_

"Ok, thanks." Sam said, muffling a cough in his sleeve. "Thanks, Bobby. Yeah...yeah, sure. Ok. Thanks. You too."

Tommy watched the kid as he hung up the phone. It had taken a long time for him to decide he needed to call the expert on all things occult for assistance. He'd seemed hesitant to make the phone call, but hadn't been confident enough with what he was doing to avoid it either. Sam hadn't elaborated, just mentioned that whoever he needed to call would be able to help them ensure the curse box they were making would actually work. Tommy had seen the play of emotions on Sam's face as he'd spoken with the man. Anxiety at first, an obvious uncertainty at how his phone call would be received. Surprise after that when the voice on the other end had sounded pleased to hear from him. And a great deal of relief as the conversation had progressed.

He hadn't said one word about he and his brother being sick and injured and stranded.

But it wasn't Tommy's business, so he was keeping his mouth shut about that. Lowering the piece of scrap wood he'd been working on, Tommy asked, "Get what you needed?"

Sam smiled, holding up his notes. "Bobby said we were on the right track. Said the wood didn't matter, just the inscriptions and the blessing."

"Good." Tommy said, feeling a strange surge of excitement. He'd thought it was insane when Sam had started explaining the concept of a curse box to him. But now that they'd been working on it for awhile and he had confirmation from another source about the so-called legitimacy of Sam's plan, he was excited at the thought they might have a solution. He looked at the spread of tools and wood pieces in front of them on his workbench and asked, "So inscriptions then?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded, glancing down at the sheets of paper with all the strange shapes and letters on them.

Tommy saw that flicker of uncertainty again. Sam looked overwhelmed. And tired and like maybe he'd bit off more than he could chew. He slumped down on the stool as he stared at the papers and Tommy wondered if he should suggest a break.

"I'll trace them onto the transfer sheets and I guess we might as well get started." Sam shrugged, before Tommy could speak up.

"Ok." Tommy agreed, knowing there really was no point in delaying the project. They'd already had the discussion with Arla before they'd come out to the garage to start working. And she'd agreed with the urgency of the mission, even if she hadn't liked it at all.

Even now, he worried about the idea of taking Sam and his brother out into the woods. An hour earlier, he'd felt a little more confidence that Sam was up to it, but now, he wasn't so sure. Tommy set up his woodburner and spread out the pieces of wood that he'd spent the last half-hour cutting into panels to build a small box. That process didn't take him very long and when he glanced back up, Sam was still working on the first symbol.

And it wasn't going well.

Sam's hands were shaking and, judging by the way he was squinting, his head had to be hurting. Tommy kept silent, though, and fiddled with his tools while he observed. Every few seconds, Sam would pause and stare at the printout of the symbols. Chewing his lip, Tommy wondered how long he should wait before offering to take over for the kid. But then Sam had finished the first symbol with a barely noticeable sigh of relief and passed the transfer paper over to him. So Tommy just started burning the symbol into the wood.

Twenty minutes and eleven weird looking symbols later, he was waiting on Sam again for the last set. Tommy could see the look of concentration on Sam's face was quickly giving way to an expression of sheer exhaustion. Tommy had experienced a concussion or two himself so he knew exactly how difficult it could be to try to think straight. When Sam paused in his work to press his fingers to his eyes for the fifth time in a row, Tommy decided it was time to intervene.

"Sam."

"Hm?" Sam lowered his hands, eyes instantly looking at the paper in front of him, then up to Tommy. "What?"

"Let me take over, ok?" Tommy said softly. "It's the last one, I can get it."

Sam nodded immediately, pushing the paper and marker toward him.

Tommy frowned. That had been surprisingly easy. He didn't say anything, though, when Sam lowered his head to rest in his hands. Instead, he focused on the task at hand. He needed to make sure he got the symbols done correctly and then he still needed to put the pieces together to build the box itself.

"You must think we're crazy."

Sam's voice drew his attention from his work and Tommy glanced up. He said, "I think everything about this is crazy. But I don't think you're crazy."

"Thanks." Sam said, head still resting in his hands.

Tommy smiled. He looked back down to the symbol he was burning into the last panel of the box, but asked, "Is that what most people think...that you're crazy?"

"Depends on what they've seen." Sam shrugged, sitting up a bit, elbows resting on the workbench as he watched Tommy work. "People who've seen a monster...they tend to be a little more open minded."

"I believe it. Watching that poor girl go up in flames at the motel made a believer out of me." Tommy said, thinking about Mallory Beech. He set the woodburner aside and asked, "What do you think?"

Sam slid closer and squinted down at the wood. He said, "It looks right to me."

"Good." Tommy smiled. "Just need to put the box itself together and we're good to go." He caught Sam's arm as he started to move back toward the stool. Tommy said, "Why don't you go back inside and sit down for a few minutes, Sam? I've got this covered. It's going to be a long afternoon for you boys. Might as well take a minute to rest."

"If I do that…" Sam said, with a weary sigh, "I'm not sure I'm going to be able to get moving again."

Tommy said, "Better not let Arla hear that if you want to go on this trip."

"You're not going to tell her?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Son, neither of us are under any illusions as to who the experts are here. I don't want you to have to go, but you and your brother are the one's who know what you're doing. I'm just backup." Tommy explained, pointing at the door to the house. "Arla's worried enough about you both. So go get ready to go then, if you don't want to sit down. This won't take me very long to get the box finished. Sooner we go, sooner we get back."

Sam took another look at the box, then said simply, "Sounds good."

Tommy watched him slowly walk back inside the house and hoped fervently that this wasn't a huge mistake.

* * *

_2:40 PM December 30th  
__Pender Home_

Dean woke up feeling drained. Which was always a bad thing. You were generally supposed to wake up feeling refreshed and enthusiastic about life. He just felt like he needed a nap. Dragging a heavy hand up to rub at his eyes, Dean yawned and glanced at his watch. Nearly three in the afternoon. His eyes widened and he stared at his watch for another ten seconds. How had that happened? Last thing he remembered he'd been eating breakfast, well, lunch. Well, more like trying to have a few bites of pie.

Almost three pm? And then he remembered waking up coughing so hard he'd thought he was going to die. Arla. Neb treatment. Dean glanced around the livingroom. No Sam. Neither of the Pender's either. Frowning, Dean rubbed his eyes again, trying to wake up enough to think clearly. Had he really just fallen asleep after that treatment and slept all afternoon? It irritated him to no end, but the funny thing was, he sort of had this terrible feeling he'd needed the sleep.

"Dean?"

He glanced toward the hallway and saw Arla heading toward her bedroom with an armload of laundry. She paused and smiled, "How are you feeling?"

"Tired." He said truthfully if irritably. "Where's Sam?"

Arla set her pile down on the hall table and joined him in the living room. She said, "They're out in the garage."

"Doing what?" Dean narrowed his eyes. What was Sam up to that he hadn't bothered to wake him up for?

"All I heard was something about a box they need to build to put the rings in. Does that sound right?"

Dean's irritation only grew. He said, "He doesn't even know that it's gonna work for sure. How long have they been working on it?"

"An hour or so." Arla said, sitting down on the couch. She asked, "Are you alright, Dean?"

"I'm fine." He snapped, knowing he was being a jerk and that he needed to get his frustration in check. So he'd slept all day and done nothing productive. So there was a hunt he needed to finish. So Sam was trying to build a curse box without him. That was no reason to lose his cool in front of Arla. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Sorry, sorry. Just...just woke up on the wrong side of the recliner, I guess."

Arla smiled, "It's ok. You're still sick and feeling lousy and you've got a lot on your plate. You don't have to apologize. Just give yourself a break, ok?"

Dean nodded, not feeling like he really wanted to do that. This was on him and he needed to be out there finishing the job like he should have done already. And he needed her to know, in no uncertain terms, that he was doing it whether or not she liked the idea. He said, "I need to get back out there and…"

"I know. Ok?" Arla cut him off, not looking any happier about the situation then he did; if for different reasons. She said, "I understand. I don't like it, but I understand it."

"Had this conversation already, did you?" Dean found himself smiling as he imagined how Sam's conversation would have gone. Less irritation and argument and more puppy-dog eyes and pleading all the heart-rending reasons they needed to finish the job. "And I'm guessing he won you over?"

Arla's smile was a little weary but she said, "Like a four year old with the best excuse ever to stay up past their bedtime."

"See, the trick is to argue louder and faster and never _ever_ look him in the eyes." Dean grinned, waving his fingers in front of his eyes. "It's like a superpower or something. Mind control, I don't know."

This time, her smile brightened and she said, "I take it you're not immune?"

_How I wish I were_… But he grinned and said, "Of course I am. I'm the big brother; he can't get away with that kind of stuff with me. Ok, so you're, what? Cool with this?"

"I am very far from 'cool' with this." Arla sobered, "But I understand the importance. Tommy, Sam and you have all made it very clear if it hadn't already been clear to me. I'm not a fool. I don't want those rings left out there. And I want to help that poor girl. You can help her? Right?"

Dean shrugged, "We'll try."

Arla nodded, then added, "And there's the little matter of my car sitting out there. I'd like to get her back."

"I hear ya." Dean said, thinking of the Impala sitting out there, unguarded. The urgency of the mission was eating at him. He said, "I want to get out there as soon as possible."

He started pushing himself forward, realizing as he did how weak he was. Before he could even get out of the chair, Arla was shaking her head. She said, "Stay put. You need to eat. And that is the requirement. You don't eat, you don't go. Tommy and I will deal with whatever…"

"Not gonna happen."

"_Nothing's_ gonna happen with you if you don't eat. You are not going out there running on a few bites of pie." Arla's eyebrows were raised and Dean didn't need her to say so to know she was dead serious.

"Fine."

"And I'm not talking about a few nibbles, hear me? You need to eat a sandwich or something substantial."

"Fine."

"Ok." Arla said, standing up.

"Is he ok?"

Arla nodded, "He's doing well, Dean."

"He up for this?" Dean asked. He was glad Sam wasn't around at the moment so he could ask her without Sam piping up that he was fine.

"Neither of you are up for this." Arla said simply. She shrugged, "You both need to stay put and rest. But, like we already said, this is important and I get that you two are the only ones who can deal with this. So I'm going to have to work with this unfortunate situation. And you both are going to have to let me and Tommy help where we can so that neither of you wind up with a setback because of this little trip."

"Sam doesn't need to go." Dean said, already making up his mind. He didn't like her answer. "You can tell him that he needs to stay put."

Arla looked amused, "You want me to lie to him?"

"You just said he wasn't up for this…"

"A little problem with selective hearing, I see." Arla stared him down knowingly. "I just said _neither_ of you were up for this."

"Well, I have to go, so there's no way around that." Dean shrugged, "But Tommy and I can handle it. Just pick up the rings and shove 'em in the box. No reason for you and Sam to go."

"Dean, if I was going to let one of you go and keep the other, I'd be keeping you here." Arla said, the amusement faded. "I'm not saying Sam isn't still sick or that this expedition isn't going to cost him. Because I'm worried it will. But you're concerning me a lot more than your brother is at the moment."

He held his tongue. Because he could tell she wasn't finished, and the fact was, he had a terrible feeling that she was probably right. He'd never say it out loud, but he wasn't sure he was up to doing what he needed to do. Which only made him more frustrated and irritable.

She went on, "You're extremely sick. Getting better, yes, but the last thing you need to do is go for a hike in the woods or do anything more strenuous than lift food to your mouth. You can't afford to lose any ground here. It's only because of this ridiculous, impossible situation that I'm going along with any of this. We don't have a choice. And you're both going to do exactly what I say so maybe we can minimize how bad this will be."

"You're kind of pessimistic, aren't you?" Dean tried for humor.

"I wish that was what I was being." Arla said, her smile sad. "I'm being realistic. And I'm being realistic when I say that you both are going to find out exactly how right I am when this is all over tonight."

Dean looked away from her worried eyes and sighed, "We'll worry about that later. I'll take the food, then I need to talk to Sam and we should get going. Better to do this before it's dark out there."

"Agreed."

By the time he'd finished the sandwich she brought back for him, Arla had disappeared to pack her bag of supplies and mentally prepare herself for the journey ahead. Deciding it was time to start getting ready himself, Dean headed for the bedroom, only to run into Sam at the door. Dean didn't appreciate the fact his brother had left him sleeping while he'd been working on the curse box. He also didn't like the way Sam looked like he was feeling a lot worse than he had been earlier.

"You should have woke me up." Dean said as Sam preceded him into the bedroom.

Sam just smiled and said, "Dude, why would I wake you up? You needed the sleep."

Dean decided to drop it since he didn't want to talk about that because they both knew it was the truth. So he just asked, "Where's the box?"

"Tommy's finishing it up."

"You sure you got it right?"

"I checked with Bobby."

Dean nodded, "Well, that was probably a good idea." He watched Sam standing there like he wasn't sure what to say or do next. Dean asked, "He...did he say anything about…"

"Hasn't heard from him." Sam answered, eyes downcast.

It wasn't really a surprise. Not like Dad and Bobby had exactly been on good terms of late, Dean knew. He turned away from his brother and started hunting for a clean pair of jeans. Getting dressed, he saw Sam carefully setting out their weapons on the edge of his bed. Sam was focused on the weapons as he spoke.

"Dean, there's no reason you have to go. All we gotta do is put the rings…"

"Sam, if you're going, I'm going." Dean interrupted, sitting down on the edge of his bed and pulling on his boots. Funny how hard getting a pair of boots on could be. He had to pause after the first boot. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, Dean went on quietly, "End of the freaking story. You might as well save your breath."

Sam sighed heavily and nodded. Dean studied him as he loaded their guns. It wasn't going well. He didn't like how much trouble Sam was having with a task he could do in his sleep, but he didn't comment. He just asked, "You really think that homemade box is gonna work?"

Sam shrugged and said, "Pretty sure."

"Pretty sure?" Dean narrowed his eyes and only swayed a little as he stood up from the edge of the bed after tying his boots.

"Really pretty sure?" Sam offered cautiously, with a brief smile. He looked up and said, "Dean, it's gonna work. At least long enough to keep the rings safe to send them to Bobby anyway."

Dean nodded. "Ok then. Let's get this show on the road."

"Yeah. What's your plan for finding Raquel?" Sam asked as they headed for the door.

"I don't think it will be that hard." Dean shrugged, sliding his gun into the back of his pants. "She kind of showed up all on her own every time before."

"And you're sure the other two...things are dead? The Wendigo and the…"

"The Ghoul? And yeah, I'm pretty sure."

"Really pretty sure?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

Dean rolled his eyes and said, "About as sure as I can be anyway. I mean the Ghoul lost his head thanks to Gethen and you unloaded a flare into the Wendigo-in-progress and he looked pretty much like an over toasted piece of…"

"Toast?" Sam finished for him with a grin.

"Toast." Dean nodded, then his amusement faded and he frowned. "None of that ringing a bell for ya?"

Sam shrugged and said, "More or less. I kind of remember...pieces. Images. But there's a lot of missing pieces in between."

Dean clapped him on the shoulder as he wavered his way down the hallway toward the living room. He said, "Well don't stress about it, Lucy Whitmore."

"What? Lucy who?"

"_Fifty First Dates_." Dean said with a great deal of patience. "That's like the third time I've talked about that. You know what, never mind. You get a pass. Your brain's mush."

Sam looked stunned and Dean realized that there were probably more holes in his memory than he could keep track of. Sam said, "Um, I think maybe I'm...maybe I still need a refresher course."

"Well we got a nice long drive out there to the crypt." Dean said, "I'll fill you in on the pertinent details."

"_Pertinent_ details?" Sam laughed in surprise. "How bout you fill me in with the _pertinent _detail of when exactly you started using words like _pertinent_?"

"Shut up, Sam."

Sam did, but not because of his request, Dean knew. He was holding his tongue because they were in the living room and Arla Pender was standing there by the dining room table looking anything but happy. She turned away from her husband and sized them up. He could tell she was reconsidering. Again.

"I still think this is a bad idea." Arla said before they could speak.

"I know." Dean said and he was being extremely patient and nice about it. He smiled and said, "It's a quick trip. Grab some rings, thank Raquel and send her to the happy hereafter and grab the cars and we're gone. Easy as pie."

Arla pursed her lips and shook her head, "You ever bake a pie?"

"Well, I, uh...no." Dean muttered. _So not the point_. Maybe they could trust that the ghost wouldn't dig them up, but in their experience…things just didn't work out like that. He said, "We really need to do this now. Before anything else could happen to those rings."

Arla looked at him and he could see the turmoil in her eyes. Turmoil that had been bubbling just beneath the surface all afternoon. She breathed out a slow sigh and nodded, "I know."

"Then help us do this and we all come back and celebrate a job well done." Dean spoke up. "I know you trust Raquel, but we can't take any chances."

"Ok." Arla said, "Ok, let's do this and get it over with."

Dean nodded and Arla grabbed her backpack and walked down the hall ahead of them without another word. Sam exchanged a look with Dean and Tommy before following her. Dean took a deep breath. He couldn't disagree with her sentiment. He already wanted this to be over. All the activity was starting to wear on him and he could tell Sam was exhausted.

And they'd hardly done anything.

But they couldn't wait another day. It had already been too long that they'd left a case unfinished. And with a significant loose end like cursed rings and a ghost out there in the woods, they'd already left it too long. So he crossed his fingers that everything was going to go according to plan.

_Like that ever happens…_

* * *

As long as he kept his eyes on the dashboard ahead of him, he would be ok. At least that's what Sam kept telling himself. He felt absolutely ridiculous because it was his fault they were already running behind. It had only taken five minutes of driving before they'd had to pull over. He hadn't said anything, hadn't needed to, because he had a mother-hen of a brother to do that for him. Dean had caught him looking green and made Tommy pull over. At least he hadn't actually thrown up. But it had been touch and go for a few minutes.

After his stomach had settled back down, Arla had insisted he move up to the front seat to hopefully help with the carsickness. Sam hadn't protested. Now he was clinging to the car door with one hand, the other braced on the seat and his eyes boring a hole through the dashboard. Closing his eyes had been what had gotten him into trouble in the first place so he was determined to keep them open this time.

Tommy was driving very carefully and there was part of Sam that wanted to tell him just to hurry up and forget about driving so carefully. Faster they got there, faster they'd be done. And he just wanted to be done. Done with all of it. Sam bit back a groan and squeezed his hand tighter against the seat. He could feel every single vibration from the uneven road and all that was doing was adding to the pounding behind his eyes. Eyes that he desperately wanted to close but didn't dare close. One wrong move and he was going to throw up.

Dean started coughing in the back seat and Sam gritted his teeth. It was sort of a distraction, listening to Dean cough. It gave him something else to worry about than his stomach. Arla was talking to Dean and Sam could just barely make out his brother's voice replying to her, but he couldn't tell what either of them were saying. Conversation had basically died out once Dean had insisted they pull over. It was good and bad. The silence was good in that it helped with the headache, but the silence also meant that all he had to concentrate on was how crappy he felt.

He couldn't remember how long the trip was supposed to take, he couldn't remember how long they'd been driving. Couldn't remember much of anything, actually. Which was the other reason he was eager for this job to be done. The entire thing was nothing but a jumble of confusing half-memories that he still hadn't been able to piece together in the right order. Not that Dean hadn't tried to straighten him out a few times. Even so, he couldn't keep it straight in his mind and it only frustrated him more when he tried.

"Sam?"

Swallowing hard, Sam didn't take his eyes off the dashboard. He wasn't sure who'd spoken and all he could choke out was a hoarse, "What?"

"We're here." Tommy's voice sounded a bit clearer this time.

Sam realized he couldn't hear the engine running. He didn't release his death grip on the car door or the seat, though. Nor did he feel ready to move his eyes from the dashboard. Because it still felt like the car was moving. He could hear muted conversation swirling around him, but he wasn't invested enough to try to figure out what was being said or if any of it would matter to him. Then he heard coughing to his right and the door was opening. He released the door handle and quickly put his hand against the dashboard.

"Hey." Dean poked him in the shoulder.

"What?" Sam asked irritably, still not daring look away from the dashboard or release his grip. The car seemed to be rolling in a slow loop and he couldn't let go yet.

Dean shifted, muffling a cough, then his hand was on Sam's shoulder. He leaned closer and said, "Dude, ride's over. Time to get out of the car."

Sam could see Dean's face in his peripheral vision and he finally risked a quick peek. Dean looked exactly as he sounded, a bit amused and a bit worried. Once he'd taken his eyes off the dashboard, though, the magic spell had been broken. Sam groaned and slammed his eyes closed. He was so freakin' dizzy. Dean sighed heavily and Sam felt him squeeze his shoulder, then shift and start talking quietly to someone.

It took what seemed like a couple minutes, then Sam finally felt like he could let go of the seat and the dashboard. The car still felt like it was swaying, but it wasn't so bad now and the tension leaked out of him and he deflated against the back of the seat.

"Whoa, whoa! Where're you going?" Dean's voice was back and loud and he was grabbing at Sam's arm.

"Here." Sam muttered, letting his head roll against the back of the seat until he could see Dean.

Dean gave him a confused look, then shook his head and said, "You know what? You're staying put…"

Sam unbuckled the seat-belt and weakly shoved at Dean. He swung his legs out of the car, pushing into Dean's space and said, "I'm coming."

And then he was swallowing back the nausea all over again and Dean was shoving _him_ this time. He'd barely made it to his feet before his knees had buckled and Sam was actually grateful that his brother had pushed him back onto the seat. Sam glared at Dean, though, and only got an annoyed eye roll in return.

Dean had a hand against his chest and said, "Fine. But how about you take a couple minutes to get your sea legs? You're no good if you just fall flat on your face. You do that and I'm leaving you there, hear me? I'll pick you up on the way back after I finish the job."

Sam almost laughed, but then Dean was coughing and it wasn't so funny anymore. Once Dean had recovered, he stood there looking at Sam with the same level of exhaustion in his eyes that Sam felt through his entire body. Sam nodded slowly and lifted a heavy hand to pat Dean's arm. He pushed Dean's hand off his chest and started to move again. He said, "I think we need a vacation, man."

Dean grinned and said, "Whaddya say we finish this up and we sleep till next year?"

"You do realize tomorrow is New Year's Eve?" Sam smiled, dragging himself to his feet. "Next year isn't that far away."

"So we get a day to sleep." Dean shrugged, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "I'll take what I can get."

Sam took a slow breath and said, "Then let's get this over with."

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed! They're getting close, folks! :) **


	34. Chapter 34

**_Hi everyone! Drum roll please! The end of the hunt is ahead! Can you believe it? Now, it's not the end of the story...just the end of the hunt, so don't cry too much yet. :) I didn't break the boys this badly without intending to put them back together again! I'm not estimating how many more chapters there will be because I just don't know. We are nearing the end, that's for sure, but there's a bit more to the story yet. :) _**

**_Thank you for the reviews to ch 33! Sorry I didn't reply to all of you individually. Last week got out of hand with work and family issues unfortunately. I appreciated EVERY SINGLE one though. You all are the BEST!_**

**_Hope you will enjoy this chapter! _**

* * *

_4:00 PM December 30th  
__Near the Crypt_

They'd only just arrived and already Dean had the terrible feeling that this was going to go very badly. Honestly, the terrible feeling had started about four minutes into the drive, when Sam had gone quiet and started looking sick again and the feeling had only grown worse with each passing mile. Now, he watched as Sam visibly pulled himself together and Dean wished he didn't have to; that he would have just stayed back at the Penders. Sam might have been looking better, even feeling better earlier, but he sure wasn't looking so good anymore. But he looked up at Dean and it was also clear that he was committed to finishing this job like they always did.

Side by side.

Dean waited until he felt sort of confident that Sam wasn't going to fall over, then turned to Arla and Tommy. Arla didn't looking any happier than he felt. She had the homemade curse box in her hands and, with a nod, she instructed Tommy to hand the crutches over. Dean mentally groaned, but simply accepted them without comment. The way he felt, he was going to need them, much as he didn't want to have to admit it. Hobbling around the Pender's home was one thing. Trying to navigate the uneven ground out here would be something else entirely. Of course, there was also the fact that he didn't want the Penders to have to pick both of them up off the dirt if he could help it. Because Sam was wearily moving forward, hands extended like he was already waiting for the ground to come rushing up at him. So he started hobbling after Tommy as Arla hovered between him and Sam.

It only took a few steps before they rounded the edge of the crypt and his heart sank when he saw the Impala sitting forlornly there in the graveyard; something he'd missed the other night in the darkness and misery. Dean knew in the grand scheme of things that a mud-splattered, dirty car was pretty low on the priority list. Even so, he had to pause, try to assess the damage from a distance. Nothing permanent, as far as he could tell, but she was really going to need a good wash.

Turning, he asked, "What did you do to my baby?"

"I kept her out of the ditches." Sam answered immediately, a hand against a convenient tree, his entire body tensed and trembling. He turned enough to shoot Dean a slightly annoyed look as he added, "You're welcome."

"Did you have to run her through _all_ the mud puddles?" Dean griped.

"I may have missed one or two." Sam shrugged with a hint of a smile.

Tempted to keep up the good-natured teasing because it felt so good to actually almost feel well enough to do so, Dean let it go. Faster they finished, faster they could both crash. And Dean was no longer even pretending to himself that he wasn't ready to crash for a few days. Needed to stay focused. Needed to stay on task, because just thinking about that comfy recliner was enough to make him want to close his eyes for a month.

Even so, he still tried to offer Sam an out that he knew his brother would never take. He said, "It's a good hike from here. Maybe you should just…"

"I'm coming. Somebody's gotta pronounce the Latin correctly." Sam muttered, humor lighting his tired eyes.

Dean was about to comment back, but caught Arla glancing at Tommy; her worried expression softening. Tommy said, "It's not as far as you think."

Arla pointed to a tree maybe fifteen yards away, "It's that tree, Dean."

He stared in surprise at the tree she'd indicated. He shook his head, "That can't be right...it was a...it was a long way from the crypt…"

"It probably seemed like a very long walk that night." Arla said kindly, her hand on his arm. "You were extremely sick. But that's where we found you. Where you buried the rings."

"Ok then." Dean nodded, trusting her because he knew he'd been so out of it that night that it was a miracle he'd even been coherent enough to figure out what had been going on with the rings in the first place. If she said it was that tree, then he was going to believe her. As a group, they slowly started moving toward the tree. He said, "Now all we need is to find Raquel. Wham bam, thank you ma'am and we call it a day."

"You realize that it's not going to be that simple, right?"

Dean actually had to pause and turn around. How was it possible that he was on _crutches_ and still moving faster than his brother was? He stared at Sam as he carefully let go of one tree and took an unsteady step forward, hand already reaching for the next tree. He hadn't been having anywhere near this much difficulty walking back at the Pender's house. Frowning, Dean asked, "What's not simple about it? Toss the rings in the box, ghost is free, job well done."

Sam shot him a look that clearly said what he thought of Dean's summary. He grabbed a tree and froze for a moment; moving and talking were not actions he could carry out simultaneously at this point. Hand firmly braced on the tree, Sam said, "This might not be so simple for Raquel, Dean. She's got to come to grips with...well a lot of stuff."

"It will free me?"

Dean saw Sam flinch and almost fall over and he had a mini-heart attack of his own at the soft voice. They all turned to find Raquel standing just a few feet away, arms wrapped around herself, pale face lit with hope. She took a few steps closer, eyes wide. Dean knew he probably should have been a bit less flippant.

Raquel didn't look bothered by his words, though. Her eyes went to each of them, then back to him. She asked, "This...this box? You...it will...I'll be free?"  
"We hope so." Sam answered. Dean glanced at him as Raquel did. Sam smiled and Dean was glad Sam was going to take over this part of the conversation. Empathy and all that crap was Sam's forte, not his. Sam said, "We think you're bound to the rings; that you have an emotional link to them that's holding you here."

She nodded like she completely agreed, taking a few more steps closer; hanging on every word.

Sam went on, "You already figured out that you are linked to the rings."

"That's how I could find your house." Raquel nodded, looking at Arla and Tommy with a small smile.

"Exactly." Sam nodded and Dean wished he'd just hurry up with it because he was looking awfully unsteady despite his grip on that tree. He said, "We can't just melt the gold down because that's not going to destroy the gold or cure the curse, and you'll still be linked to the gold."

"Putting it in the box," Raquel filled in the blanks, gaze settling on the box in Arla's hands, "that will break the curse?"

"It will sever the link with you," Sam said, "and the box will contain the curse."

Raquel nodded, "No one else will be hurt by the curse."

"No."

"Good. Then do it." She said with determination. Dean was all over that plan, but before he could cheer, she frowned and asked, "But, just one thing. How...how did all of this happen?"

Raquel looked bewildered and a little frightened. It irked him slightly to have another road block in the path to completing this job; especially since he was standing on a sore ankle and already wheezing. But he couldn't blame her for her curiosity. Dean waited for Sam to do the explaining, but he had his free hand pressed to his head and Arla was at his side.

Tommy spoke up before Dean could. He said, "From what we've pieced together based on what you've told us and from what we've read in Gethen's journal, he and Alexander ran into financial difficulties and began robbing graves. Gethen took a gold tooth from one grave they found. He didn't know it, but it was the grave of a murderer. A cannibal."

Raquel shivered and Dean couldn't blame her. Hearing it aloud was creeping him out and he already knew what Tommy was going to say.

"We found that detail when I researched the name of the grave he wrote about." Tommy went on, giving Raquel the watered down version that didn't take into account all the research they had each done to figure it all out. He said, "The tooth was cursed and turned him into a monster…"

"A cannibal?" Raquel whispered.

"Yes. At first. And then he was turning into a Wendigo." Dean picked up the story, hoping she wouldn't ask what a Wendigo was. Moving on quickly, Dean said, "He was losing his mind and thought Alexander had cursed him. He hadn't, but Gethen was right about being cursed. The curse on the gold, as best as we've pieced together, it turns partners against each other."

Raquel nodded, "He killed Alexander after Alexander betrayed him."

"Apparently Alexander slept with Gethen's wife." Dean said, knowing Raquel would see the parallels. He didn't want to linger on that fact because he could see the grief in her eyes at the memory of her own infidelity so he said quickly, "The tooth was lost in the fight, he and Alexander basically went into hiding, neither one of them sure what they were or what was happening to them."

"And Michael Tappero, a young boy at the time, found the tooth." Tommy explained, voice soft, manner extremely gentle as he said, "Gave it to a friend, Peter Brody, who eventually melted it down into a charm that he gave to his son Thomas which was then passed down in the family to become your ring."

As he saw the horror and misery etched on Raquel's face, Dean didn't think there was any reason to bring up the rest of the story. Raquel didn't need to know that the cursed gold had led to the end of the partnership between Thomas Brody and Arthur Perkins, turning them into the poltergeists that had brought he and Sam to Arizona in the first place. Because if he mentioned that, he'd have to bring up the fact that Arthur had slept with Thomas Brody's daughter Verity, betraying their friendship with infidelity the same as Alexander had with Gethen. He also didn't want to draw attention to the fact that Verity's illegitimate son was Raquel's husband Peter.

There were some things that she just didn't need to know.

The woods fell silent as they all considered the events that had led them to this moment. A crime committed half a century before had destroyed so many lives, left Raquel a widowed ghost and nearly killed him and his brother. Dean's head was beginning to feel too heavy to hold up and he didn't need to look at Sam to know he was feeling the same way. He shot his brother a quick glance. Sam was studying Raquel and so was Arla.

Arla looked stricken. Dean could tell she was aching for Raquel in the same motherly way she'd been hurting for them. She hadn't been involved in all the research that they had and he knew it couldn't be easy for her to hear all of this any more than it was for Raquel. It had taken all the research Sam and Tommy had done, piecing together the conversations with Michael Tappero, Alexander, Gethen and Raquel and reading through Gethen's journal before they'd patched together the ugly picture. Dean looked back at Raquel and hoped for the best.

They'd discussed the potential risks earlier. They didn't know exactly what turned a so-called harmless ghost into a vicious, vengeful spirit and Dean didn't really want to find out now. He was hoping that Raquel would listen to reason, that she'd accept the plan even if it meant the end of her existence. So far, so good, but you never knew. Mentally crossing his fingers, he met Raquel's eyes.

She nodded slowly, a small, sad smile playing on her face. Looking utterly exhausted, she said, "Thank you. For telling me. It...it doesn't exactly help. But it does. In some way, I guess."

Dean returned her smile, feeling some of the tension and worry fade. He started to suggest they get moving again, but his words caught in his throat and he lost the battle to contain the coughing. By the time he'd finished, Arla was at his side, hand on his arm. He nodded and gave her a shaky smile to let her know he was ok. She didn't look entirely convinced, but followed his gaze to the trees ahead. Tommy and Raquel had moved forward to the tree where he'd buried the rings. Sam was a few steps behind them, moving even more slowly without a convenient tree to hang onto.

"Dean?" Arla asked softly, rubbing his arm.

"Let's go." He said, voice hoarse.

Five minutes later, the rings had been carefully unburied, but left in the ground. Arla was holding the box as Sam read through the Latin rite. Raquel stood staring down at the rings, chewing her nails. Dean shifted his weight, wishing not for the first time that he hadn't wrenched his ankle. Not being able to catch his breath was bad enough, for crying out loud. Coughing again, a bit more softly this time, he let his gaze wander to the curse box in Arla's hands and hoped they were right about it. He was so tired that he hadn't even bothered to double check the inscriptions. His thoughts were interrupted by a pause in Sam's recitation.

Dean glanced over at Sam when the pause stretched far beyond what would have been typical for fumbling over an unfamiliar Latin phrase. Not that Sam was the one typically fumbling over Latin phrases. And as soon as he looked at him, Dean knew this wasn't because Sam wasn't sure how to pronounce the word.

"Sam?" Dean asked, really regretting that he was on crutches. He wasn't going to stand a chance of catching his brother when he inevitably crashed. Because Sam's never-ending pause had more to do with the fact he looked about two seconds away from passing out than it did with the fact he was reading a dead language.

At the sound of his voice, Sam looked up and wordlessly held the notebook out. Frowning, Dean took it, keeping his right hand braced on his crutch so _he_ didn't join his brother in the dirt. While Dean was expecting a crash preceded by his brother's insistence that he was just _fine_, Dean hadn't expected Sam to smile with a hint of embarrassment and say simply, "I need to sit down."

Thankfully, he didn't instantly crash like Dean had been afraid he might, but he wasn't going to last much longer, that was very clear. Tommy was at his side before Dean could say anything, though, and in less than a minute, Sam was on the ground, back against a tree, still wearing that look of mild embarrassment. Dean could deal with the embarrassment, he was just relieved that Sam finally didn't look like he was about to pass out.

"Ya alright?" Dean asked, eyebrow raised, "Comfy? Want a pillow?"

Sam's smile faded and he let his head rest against the tree as he whispered, "Just hurry, will ya?"

Dean's own amusement went up in smoke and he saw the concern in Arla's eyes as she glanced over at him. Tommy didn't seem inclined to move from Sam's side which Dean figured was probably a good idea. He flipped the notebook open to the page Sam had marked and started reading. His pronunciation left something to be desired and he was relieved, instead of annoyed, to hear Sam correcting him softly as he struggled through the unfamiliar words.

Glancing up from the notebook, Dean saw the worry written all over Raquel's pale features and he felt for her. Even as he read through the Latin, he wondered what was running through her mind. Seeing the tears in her eyes, he decided he probably didn't want to know. Refocusing, he finished the last line with only a half-dozen corrections from the peanut gallery and shrugged.

"That's it?" Raquel said, looking at the box in Arla's hands. "That's all?"

Dean exchanged a glance with Sam, read the hint of lingering uncertainty and decided not to mention it. Instead, he looked at Raquel and forced a quick smile. He said, "That's it."

"Now what?" Arla asked and Dean realized for the first time exactly how freaked out she was. Her wide eyes flicked from him to Sam and back again. Even if the woods was quiet and all seemed peaceful, Arla's voice clearly indicated she was verging on hysteria as she said, "What do we do now?"

"We end the curse." Sam said and Dean heard the conviction in his voice. Sam looked up at Raquel with compassion and said, "Raquel, once the rings are in that box, the curse will never hurt anyone again."

She nodded and looked about ready to bust out in tears, but the woman was stronger than she seemed and she said, "Do it."

Dean studied her for a moment, wondering what the right thing to say in this situation was, but he came up empty. He looked to Arla, saw her hands were trembling as she held the box. But her expression didn't waver this time and she didn't look anywhere near as unsettled as she had a few seconds ago. She took a step closer and waited for Dean's instructions.

He turned back to Raquel and said, "It's up to you now, Raquel."

It wasn't, not really. Any one of them could have picked up the rings and put them in the box. But, for her sake, Dean knew it needed to be Raquel. Maybe it was part of helping her let go, maybe it was that he didn't want to accept the responsibility of putting her last remaining link to her husband in a box. Maybe he just knew it was the right thing to do. Raquel smiled and it was a sweet, genuine beautiful smile.

"Thank you." Raquel said. She looked at each of them in turn and said, "All of you. Thank you. For helping me. For fixing this. For freeing me." She paused, then laughed a little. With another smile, she glanced between Sam and Dean, then added, "You know, I thought that night at the motel, when I went to find help...I thought I was doing it for you. I thought I was helping you. That by finding help," Raquel indicated Arla and Tommy, "I'd save you two. And you all...you all saved _me."_

Dean almost wanted to give her a hug. The fact she was a ghost, that he needed crutches to stay upright and the fact he wasn't a hugging type of guy prevented him from doing it. So he just returned her smile and said, "Well, you saved us too so consider us even."

"Thank you." Sam added quietly.

Raquel nodded and her smile widened. She looked younger and more at ease than Dean had ever seen her. Bending down, she picked up the rings. Dean held his breath, but she only took one long look at the rings, then dropped them into the box.

She looked up and said, "I can't believe it's been a year. It was a really long year. I didn't think I'd ever be free. And this was a terrible week, but it was also a really good week."

Dean raised an eyebrow, but he sort of understood what she was getting at. She'd been crushed with defeat and living with the belief that she'd destroyed her own marriage for absolutely no good reason. For a year, she'd lived every day hating herself. He said, "You know, if you hadn't been concerned enough about us to go for help, we'd probably be dead. And Gethen and Alexander would still be out here killing people."

Arla added, "You made a difference, Raquel."

Tears glittered in her eyes and she nodded, her smile still bright. She said, "Thank you. And Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas." Dean said, echoed by the others. Catching Raquel's uncertain glance at the box, he asked, "Are you ready?"

Raquel nodded.

Dean looked at Arla and said, "Close the box."

Arla closed it.

Raquel faded away instantly; not in flames, but in a gentle shimmer, a smile still on her face.

* * *

Arla was torn with emotions. Exhilaration that the curse was apparently contained, finished, gone. Sorrow mixed with happiness for the poor woman no longer trapped on the motel grounds. And a great deal of worry as she looked at the Winchester brothers. She'd have to sort through all the emotions at a later date. Time to focus on the bigger issue of the moment. Dean was still on his feet, but barely. It was time to finish _her _job now that they'd finally completed theirs.

"Time to go home." She said after the moment of quiet stretched on long enough that Dean started swaying worrisomely.

Dean nodded, shifting on his crutches until he was facing his brother. He asked, "We gonna need a crane?"

"Haha." Sam muttered, already slowly pushing himself to his knees.

It took Tommy's help to get him to his feet and Arla was glad her husband had the sense not to let go of the kid. He looked so exhausted Arla wondered if he'd fall asleep on the way back home. She made a mental note to dig out a pill for the nausea before they hit the road. Might ease the trip for him and, with any luck, help knock him out for the night. Once Tommy and Sam were on their way, she turned her attention to Dean. He looked every bit as exhausted as his brother, but Arla could tell it was more than that. He wasn't coughing at the moment, but his face was flushed and it was obvious he wasn't having an easy time breathing. He glanced up at her and gave her another shaky smile that he probably thought should make her feel better.

It didn't.

She stepped closer to Dean and said, "Let's go."

They were quiet on the short trip back to the cars. It took even longer to get back than it had taken to get to the tree. Dean's breathing was sounding more labored by the time they neared the crypt and Tommy and Sam had fallen behind them by a few paces. After all the insane excitement of the past week, the silence, the calm was almost incongruous. She began guiding Dean to the much closer SUV, but he turned away and headed for his Impala. Arla rolled her eyes and prepared for the battle ahead.

Instead of a fight, though, Dean just paused a few feet from the car, pulled out his keys, handed them to her, and headed for the backseat. Raising an eyebrow, Arla turned at the sound of footsteps and then there was Sam, pulling away from Tommy. He paused, watching Dean open the back door, seemed to catch on to the fact his brother had just admitted he wasn't up to driving and, shoulders slumped, headed for the passenger seat in the front. It really didn't surprise her that they both decided the Impala was where they wanted to be, even if Dean wasn't driving. Exchanging a shrug with Tommy, Arla held out the keys.

"I guess you're driving." She smiled and was amused to note that he didn't seem sad about that arrangement at all. Arla couldn't blame him; she was a bit jealous of him getting to drive the beautiful car again. Which reminded her of her own beautiful car. They'd just have to come back and pick it up later. She said, "Hang on a minute, I want to give Sam something for the nausea just in case. Then let's get them home."

"Best plan I've heard all day." Tommy said, smiling at the keys in his hand. She could see how tired _he_ was, to say nothing of the way he was still gingerly moving due to the stitches in his chest.

Hurrying back to the SUV, she added a handful of Ibuprofen to her list. Returning to the Impala, she handed bottles of water around and dosed all three of them up with the medications she'd brought. She had to admit things had gone far better than she'd even dared hope, but she was ready to be home. Closing the passenger side door, Arla looked over the roof of the car at Tommy and said, "I'll follow you. Pull off if you need anything."

"Sounds good."

Arla glanced back at the woods behind them and carefully avoided looking at the crypt. Tommy'd told her that was where he'd found Sam; had told her about the mutilated remains and she didn't want to think about any of that. She stared into the trees. Six days since Raquel had caught their attention on the side of the road. Felt like several months not a few days. Taking a deep breath, she whispered a final thank you to the ghost who had cared enough about a couple stranded boys to do whatever she could to save their lives.

With a smile, Arla got in the SUV and followed Tommy out of the graveyard.

* * *

_4:50pm December 30th, 2005_

Tommy wondered if Dean would let him take the Impala out for a real drive. It was a bit hard to open up the engine and get the full feel of the car when he was trying to drive carefully in deference to how lousy Sam felt. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Dean smiling. Tommy realized he'd been grinning like a fool and had a feeling Dean knew why.

"I'm gonna need to get her to a car wash eventually." Dean said, clearing his throat and leaning forward, resting an arm on the seat back. "You can drive her. Not fair for you not to get to see what Baby's got to offer just because puke boy there can't keep it down if you drive faster than two miles per hour."

Dean lightly smacked Sam's shoulder and it might have seemed a little mean, but Tommy saw the way he followed the smack with a gentle pat. A bit of a tease, coupled with concern and reassurance. Sam had his eyes closed and he was slumped down with his head resting on the seat back but he looked relaxed and far less miserable than he had on the way to the crypt. He didn't open his eyes, but rolled his head slightly to the left.

"Guess I should've gone with Arla." Sam mumbled sleepily.

"Yes you should have." Dean agreed, with a smirk.

Tommy smiled to himself. Because, even if he might have been a little more comfortable in the SUV, Sam seemed very content where he was and Tommy hadn't missed the way Dean had purposefully situated himself in the back seat of the Impala; it didn't take a genius to know it had been an understood invitation for his brother to ride along.

Dean said, "You should just drop us off and go back for Arla's Mustang."

"We probably will." Tommy nodded, "I don't think any of us have were exactly happy to have the cars sitting out there. And I need to take care of...the rest of it." Tommy could see the light dawning in Dean's eyes as he seemed to consider, perhaps for the first time, that there was a mess still out there in the woods. A look of overwhelming despair crossed Dean's features and Tommy said, "Hey, don't worry about it, kid. I've got this."

"Why?" Dean shook his head, "Why would you get involved, well, stay involved? I get that you were kind of roped in with the way things happened, but you don't need to do anything more…"

"He doesn't think we're crazy." Sam said, still sounding like he was sleep-talking.

Tommy caught Dean's bewildered expression as he glanced at his brother. Slowing for a curve, Tommy said, "Sam's right. I, _we_, don't think you're crazy. And this isn't about me being roped into anything. Down there, in that mine, there were a lot of bones. Evidence that Gethen's been up to a lot of no good for a long time. This is more than just a case for you; this is a case for the police. We figured out what happened to Mallory Beech. And we figured out what happened to Raquel and her husband. I can't just leave all of that behind."

"What are you going to...how are you going to…" Dean frowned, stumbling over his thoughts and words.

"Let me worry about it." Tommy interrupted. "You have your job. I have mine."

Dean's eyes widened for a few seconds, then he just grinned and said, "Alright then."

Tommy nodded, "Glad we agree."

"Wish we met a few more people like you on our cases," Dean said, shaking his head and coughing a bit before he added, "Make things a bit easier."

"I bet it would." Tommy said, wondering how exactly they'd managed to stay out of jail, or the loony bin, up to this point. He considered his own suspicions when he'd first found them in the motel room and realized if they hadn't been sick, and he hadn't seen Mallory Beech go up in flames, _he _probably would have been calling the cops on them. Tommy asked, "How do you boys wind up finding these cases anyway?"

Dean said, "Depends. We find 'em, or they find us. When you start looking, they aren't really that hard to find."

"Apparently not." Tommy shook his head.

A few miles passed in silence before Dean spoke up again, leaning further into the front seat. He peered at his brother and asked, "How're ya doin', Sammy?"

He didn't get a response, and Tommy could see the flash of concern in Dean's eyes before he realized the reason Sam wasn't responding was because he was sound asleep. Dean shook his head, running a hand over his face, then he said softly with a smile, "Guess he's doing ok then."

"Guess so." Tommy returned the smile and wondering how long it would take for Dean to fall asleep. As it turned out, though, the kid didn't fall asleep the entire trip home. He just sat there, arms against the seat back, head lowered as he struggled for each and every breath.

Tommy pushed the gas a little harder the remainder of the trip.

Reaching the house, he parked as close to the back door as he could. Dean gingerly lifted his head as he realized the car had stopped moving. Tommy saw Arla hurrying to unlock the back door as he got out of the Impala. She called out to him, "How are they?"

"Ok. Sam's asleep." Tommy said, opening the back door and intending to help Dean into the house. Instead, he found the backseat empty and Dean already at the passenger side door. _How did he move that fast_? Tommy wondered, altering his course.

"Yeah, we're there." Dean was saying, voice dragging. "Come on. Soft bed inside. Move it."

Tommy rounded the car and was there in time to steady Dean as he straightened, paled, and nearly fell over. Hand on Dean's arm, Tommy saw that Sam wasn't exactly moving quickly and said, "Sam, stay put for the moment, ok?"

Sam didn't reply, just stopped moving at all and Tommy wasn't entirely sure he'd even really been awake. He looked at Dean and said, "Let's get you inside."

"Sam…" Dean muttered, muffling a cough and only swaying worse by the second.

"Sam will be fine." Tommy said, a hint of amusement in his voice. He took another look at Sam and saw that he'd slid down in the seat by another couple inches and Tommy wondered if they wouldn't be further ahead just to throw a blanket over the kid and let him sleep where he was. He said, "Dean, you're barely on your feet. Let's go."

When Dean slumped against him and waved a hand toward the house, Tommy knew the discussion was over. He tugged Dean's arm over his shoulder and as gently as possible began guiding him toward the house. Arla met them halfway, trying to assess the situation as she walked; her eyes went from Dean to the Impala, then met his. Tommy said, "Sam's ok."

Arla took his veiled meaning that Dean was the one she needed to worry about at the moment and she nodded, lending support on Dean's other side as they walked into the house. By the time they reached the bedroom, Tommy was almost certain that Dean was sleep walking. Taking most of the kid's weight, he could feel the pull of his stitches and gritted his teeth as they took the last few steps toward the bed. Easing the kid onto the bed, Tommy saw his eyes drift open.

Dean frowned up at them, not fighting as Arla tugged his coat off. He looked confused and about two seconds away from falling asleep. She straightened, a hand on Dean's shoulder, and said, "Go get Sam."

Tommy nodded, "Be right back."

He headed out to the car and couldn't help but smile when he found Sam was lying on his side in the seat, head pillowed on his arms; still sound asleep and apparently quite content to remain exactly where he was. It suddenly hit Tommy that he'd never heard either Sam or Dean talk about a home or any place they needed to get back to. He couldn't help but wonder, given what he knew of the boys, if they even _had_ a home. Sighing, he focused on the task at hand.

"Sam?" He said softly, leaning in and shaking the kid's shoulder. It took a few minutes until Sam woke up enough to even realize what was going on. Once his eyes were open and more or less focused on him, Tommy said, "We're at the house, Sam. Your brother's already inside. How about we get you inside too?"

Nodding, Sam reached out and grabbed Tommy's arm to help pull himself upright in the seat. Then, Tommy was grabbing _him_ to make sure he stayed upright in the seat. Tommy hadn't missed the way he'd paled as he sat up. He asked, "How're you doing? Dizzy?"

"A little." Sam admitted, but was already pushing himself out of the car. He rubbed his eyes, took a deep breath, then said, "I'm ready."

Tommy helped pull him to his feet, finding that he'd actually had to offer a lot more support to Dean than he was finding he needed to offer to Sam. Not that he was exactly steady, but maybe the bit of sleep he'd caught had done him some good.

"How's Dean?" Sam asked, voice barely audible.

"Ok. Ready to sleep."

Sam huffed a laugh as they entered the back door and said, "Me too."

"I bet. Well, the good news is that the only thing either of you have to do now _is_ sleep." Tommy said, feeling his own relief at that fact.

The rest of the short walk was silent and they entered the bedroom to find Arla had been working efficiently and already had Dean tucked into bed, the neb machine running. She looked up from where she was sitting on the edge of his bed and moved to rise, but Tommy waved her down. She sat still, but her eyes were professionally assessing Sam from where she was.

Tommy helped Sam to the edge of the bed and was only a little surprised when the kid immediately rolled onto his stomach and tucked his arms under the pillow, face turned toward the wall; already asleep again. Tommy looked at Arla with an amused smile and she just shook her head at the sight. He wasn't going to bother trying to wrestle the coat off the kid, but he did get his shoes off and covered him up with a blanket, all without disturbing his sleep.

He straightened up, felt the pain in his chest and decided to take a breather. Sitting down on the bed, across from Arla, Tommy could see the weariness he felt reflected in her eyes. She smiled at him, though, and whispered, "This was a long week."

"It was."

"I don't know if I feel comfortable leaving them here alone while we go back for the Mustang." Arla said, glancing down at Dean.

"I know. They're probably just going to sleep, but we can wait till tomorrow. One more day probably won't make a difference." Tommy shrugged. Fact was, he wasn't sure either he or Arla were up to driving back out there tonight anyway. "I think we all need a good night's sleep."

"Or a few." Arla smiled. She gently removed the mask as the nebulizer treatment finished. Dean didn't stir. Setting the mask aside and turning off the machine, she tucked the blanket around him, then rose, extending a hand.

Tommy took her hand and let her pull him to his feet and into a hug. For a moment, they just stood there, thankful to be alive. Thankful to have survived the most insane week of their entire lives. He led her to the door and turned out the light.

* * *

_0940 AM December 31st, 2005  
__Pender Home_

Sam had been hearing voices.

It was vaguely concerning, but he was too warm and too lost in a very heavy, comfortable blackness to worry about it much. Every once in awhile he'd pick up on a few words here or there, drifting in through the fog. A woman's voice saying something to the effect of _you leave him alone, Dean Winchester._ She sounded a bit like Mrs. Jenkins, his fifth grade teacher and Sam was in the middle of muddling through why she'd be talking to Dean like that when the fog drifted him away from the fringes of consciousness yet again. Sometimes he could hear Dean talking to him, at turns sounding worried, other times just bored.

When the murky chatter turned into physical abuse, though, Sam couldn't ignore it any longer. The annoying finger that could only belong to his annoying brother poked him in the shoulder for what seemed like the five-thousandth time and he swung a fist. At least, that was what he'd intended to do. What actually happened was his right arm twitched enough that Dean found it necessary to poke him yet again and start talking louder.

"Sam. Bout time. Wake up."

"Shuddup." Sam mumbled, trying to form words. He pushed himself a bit on the pillow, feeling weighed down and heavy as his head flopped back down. Hadn't even managed to get his eyes open yet, but didn't really care either because he knew what his brother looked like.

"Sam?"

Again with the poking. Dean sounded more worried than bored now, though, so Sam figured he probably needed to reassure his brother. Forcing his eyes open, he blinked a few times until the hazy shape in front of him turned into something resembling a worried big brother. The room was dark and quiet and it would be so easy to go back to sleep.

"Sam?"

"What?" Sam asked, eyes snapping open again. He hadn't even realized he'd dozed off again. "Dean?"

"Hey." Dean said, this time with a tentative smile. "You awake this time?"

"Am I?"

"That's what I'm asking you, genius." Dean's eyes rolled and Sam's stomach did a somersault.

Squeezing his eyes closed, Sam asked, "Time's it?"

"Almost ten in the morning."

"'s dark."

"Cuz it's raining out there." Dean said.

"Ten?" Sam repeated, forcing his eyes open again as he tried to unravel why ten seemed like such an odd time for it to be.

Dean still looked worried but a bit less so now. He rubbed his chest and said, "Dude, you've been sleeping for like seventeen hours."

For a long moment, the few wheels that had been turning in Sam's mind ground to a halt as he tried to process that. Seventeen hours? He stared at Dean, wordlessly and waited for him to explain. Apparently the confused expression on his face was enough.

"You are such a mess." Dean laughed. He asked, "You remember yesterday?"

"Yeah."

Dean didn't look convinced, "Uh huh. Sure you do. Tell me one thing that happened yesterday."

Glaring at him, Sam said, "We...we did the thing...with the curse box and the...she's gone, right? The ghost? Did we...we got the car back, right?"

Shaking his head in amusement, Dean said, "Yeah to all of the above. Ok, so you do remember. Sort of. You remember getting back here?"

Sam had a feeling the question _where's here_ wouldn't go over well so he took a long minute to think before answering. The Penders. Ok, answered that one for himself which was a relief. Hazily, he remembered seeing Dean asleep in the bed, getting a breathing treatment just before he'd collapsed into his own bed. He said, "You looked awful."

"So I look better now?" Dean grinned.

Pressing a hand to his eyes, Sam mumbled, "Can't see you well enough to know. Why'ya wake me up?"

"Arla kept telling me to leave you alone; you needed to sleep and heal." Dean said, voice softening. That hint of worry back in his tone. He said, "But seventeen hours, man? Come on, bit excessive don'tcha think?"

What he was careful not to say was _I was worrying about you_. Sam smiled and said, "Felt good."

"Bet it did."

"You sleep?" He squinted at Dean, still not feeling much like moving.

"Yeah. Not for seventeen hours, though. Dude." Dean shook his head. "Seriously. Gonna miss the football games."

Sam wasn't sure he cared even a little bit about the games, but he heard the pressing need in Dean's voice and knew _Dean_ needed for him to care about the games. Or at least to get out of bed for awhile. He frowned and asked, "What day is it?"

"You mean what year is it."

"What? Is it…"

"Chill, man. It's still 2005. You didn't sleep that long. Although I think you were planning to." Dean tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. "I would've woke you up for the Rose Bowl Parade. Promise."

Sam snorted and decided he probably needed to force himself to wake up and join the land of the living for awhile anyway. Didn't look like Dean was going to give him any other option anyway. He asked, "Where're the Penders?"

"Just went back to get her car."

"Which is why you woke me up." Sam glared at him.

Dean just shrugged. "Seventeen hours oughtta be enough for anyone. Come on!"

"You're never gonna let this go, are you?" Sam asked, gingerly rolling onto his side. He felt stiff and achy and like he'd really have been very happy to sleep until 2006.

"Not likely." Dean nodded agreeably. "Come on. You gotta be hungry by now. I'm hungry. There's so much food out there...man, I don't know when Arla sleeps because she's just been making a bunch of stuff and…"

Sam tuned him out at that point. Partially because it was taking all of his concentration just to stay motivated to move and partially because thinking about food was making him feel sick. So he ignored Dean's ongoing monologue about food and carefully pushed himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. And considered the fact that it might have been a mistake.

"Y'alright?"

_Not really and it's your fault for waking me up,_ Sam thought to himself. But he didn't say it aloud. Just held up a finger to tell Dean to give him a moment while he tried to avoid throwing up.

Of course, Dean couldn't give him a _silent _moment. He muttered, "It's been like three days since you puked."

"You're keeping track?" Sam was only slightly surprised.

"You made it into an Olympic sport the last week; of course I'm keeping track." Dean sounded offended. He reached for something on the bedside table and said, "You're done throwing up, Sam. You're done."

Sam didn't think his stomach agreed with his brother's confident proclamation. He forced himself to breathe carefully and focus on the carpet. Carpet he did not want to throw up all over. He was about to take a chance on opening his mouth and asking Dean to find the trash can when something was pressed into his hand. Blinking uncertainly, Sam realized it was a bottle of Gatorade. Just the thought was almost enough to throw him over the edge, but Dean wouldn't let him give the bottle back.

"You're feeling shaky and sick because you haven't eaten anything in almost a day." Dean said softly, but without giving any room for arguments. "Drink a little of that and give yourself a minute. You're ok."

Sam disagreed, but since there was seldom any point in arguing with Dean about anything, he took a sip of the Gatorade. It almost didn't stay down and he leaned forward, wrapping his free arm around his stomach and thinking it would serve Dean right if he threw up all over him.

"This is the price you pay for being so lazy. Seventeen hours…." Dean was muttering, but it wasn't really complaining, it was distraction.

It took a couple of very long minutes before Sam could lift his head again. And Dean kept pushing that bottle back at him and Sam wanted to throw it at Dean's head. He didn't, though, because he knew Dean was right and he felt just lousy enough to keep his mouth shut and do what he was told.

"Better?" Dean asked, after a few more minutes passed.

"Yeah." Sam said, straightening a bit.

"Good. You look like crap, Sammy." Dean frowned at him, asking, "How's the headache?"

Sam shrugged a shoulder, "Ok. Still there, but tolerable."

Dean blew out a long, slow breath, then rubbed his eyes. He said, "You should've told me how bad…"

"We gonna do that?" Sam asked, a bit irritably. "Seriously? You wanna go there? I tried to get you to take it easy and you kept pushing and look how sick you…"

"Alright. Alright." Dean held up a hand. He deflated quickly and said, "We both screwed up. Leave it at that."

Sam nodded and took another careful sip of the Gatorade. This time it didn't leave him queasy, it left him realizing exactly how hungry he was. He studied his brother. Dean seemed a little more like himself, but Sam wasn't blind or stupid. He could see the red-rimmed eyes, the pallor, the traces of pain and exhaustion. This had been too close; he'd almost lost his brother. Sam tried to block out the thoughts, but all he could think about was what was he gonna do the next time? Growing up, he'd always known that their lives were dangerous, that anything could happen. You could never prepare yourself fully for it, but there was a level of grudging acceptance. Sam hadn't really considered things like normal illnesses as being a threat, though. Not when there were monsters out there waiting to kill them...

"What are you doing?" Dean's voice interrupted his thoughts, his hand waving annoyingly a few inches away from Sam's nose, "Huh? What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

Dean narrowed his eyes and said, "Whatever. You were looking better, then you start thinking and you look like you're gonna puke again. Drink more of that crap and get in gear. I'm missing all the pregame shows…"

"Dean."

"What?" Dean paused, having struggled to his feet. He stood there, balanced on his good ankle and waited.

Sam lifted his head a bit more. He could see it in Dean's eyes; he thought Sam was about to say something emotional or sappy or worried. Enjoying how easy it was to read his brother, Sam smiled, "Actually, there's a documentary on the History Channel that I want to watch. Sorry, man."

Dean's mouth opened, then slammed closed. Obviously he remembered deal about the TV remote too. Sam had just enough practice as a little brother to not crack a smile at Dean's expression. He must have looked especially earnest, or else Dean was just that sick that he couldn't tell the difference because he nodded slowly and turned to walk out of the room without another word.

Eyebrows raised, Sam was actually a little surprised that Dean had given in without a peep of argument. Not even an offer of a compromise. Which, of course, told him exactly how worried Dean was about him. Feeling just a little guilty, Sam still kept his mouth shut. It would do Dean good to spend a few minutes fretting. He could have been out there watching the game all by himself if he hadn't decided to wake Sam up in the first place. He'd give him a few minutes to stew before letting him have the remote. At least for today.

Big brothers could be gigantic pains in the butt and it was up to the little brothers of the world to return the favor now and then.

* * *

_**As always, thank you all SO much for reading and for those who have a minute to review, thank you, you always brighten my day! **_


	35. Chapter 35

**Hi! So I'm afraid this is a bit of a shorter chapter, but it felt right as it was so I didn't push on it and just let it be. :) It was a therapeutic chapter for me...lots of fluff and humor. Life's become sticky for me lately with family, job, and relationship issues all at once. Good times! This keeps up and I'll be penning another super angsty, miserable story of agony for the poor Winchesters just to make my own problems seem small in comparison lol. ;) I suppose there are worse types of therapy than writing fanfiction! Anyway...hope all of you are doing well and that you'll enjoy this little fluffy chapter. **

* * *

_1000 AM December 31st, 2005  
__Pender Home_

Dean walked toward the kitchen, considering the fact that he probably should have used the crutches like Arla had repeatedly instructed him. Pausing to catch his breath and rest his throbbing ankle, he listened to the sounds of Sam slowly getting himself up and around. Part of him wanted to turn around and make sure Sam was ok, that he wasn't gonna fall flat on his face or roll over and go back to sleep again, but he knew that kind of behavior would just get him yelled at or kicked out of the room at this point. So he just pushed off from the wall and continued his trip to the kitchen.

Glancing at the pregame show on TV, he felt a pang of regret that he wasn't going to get to see the game. He'd been so looking forward to forgetting about real life for a little while and just kicking back with his brother like they'd done so many times in years past. Sam had left for Stanford and Dean had never bothered turning on the football games over the holidays that they'd been apart. Hitting up a bar had become his typical, if cliched, method for dealing with the holidays. But he had been the one who had initiated the two-week remote deal, so he was going to have to keep his mouth shut and deal with it.

Leaning on the kitchen counter, Dean lowered his head and coughed into his sleeve a few dozen times. It left him breathless and gasping with the pain, but the sad thing was he was almost used to it by now. When he had sufficiently recovered, Dean hobbled toward the refrigerator. He hadn't been joking when he'd told Sam Arla had been busy in the kitchen. There was a feast ready for them to enjoy. Staring into the fridge, Dean tried to figure out what might actually appeal to his brother. He already had all of Sam's medications and a bottle of water waiting in front of the couch.

Dean sighed, wondering not for the first time if he'd really been very fair. Sam had been sound asleep. Obviously had needed the sleep. As Arla had told him repeatedly. And, at first, it had been fine. Although his sleep had been disturbed several times during the night with agonizing coughing spells, Dean had slept until just after seven am; which had actually been a bit like a vacation. But once he'd been fully awake and several hours had passed without a similarly awake brother, his worry had begun to escalate despite Arla's assurances that Sam was fine. Watching TV and listening to Arla work in the kitchen had only distracted him a little and once she and Tommy had left, Dean hadn't been able to help himself.

So he'd gone and woke Sam up and now he was feeling like maybe it had been the most selfish thing he could have done.

Grabbing a bagel, he shoved it into the toaster, hoping it would be bland enough to tempt Sam. He was rummaging around for the butter when he caught sight of movement. Closing the fridge door, Dean leaned around the kitchen entry way until he caught sight of his brother. He was still wearing his jacket and clinging to every semi-sturdy piece of furniture he came to. Which only made Dean feel like a bigger jerk.

He held his breath until Sam dropped heavily to the couch. Waiting for the TV channel to change, Dean called out, "Bagel?"

"Sure."

"Meds are on the coffee table."

"Thanks."

Dean felt a little less tense. He did a sloppy but somewhat efficient job of buttering the bagel, dropped it on a plate, and limped out into the living room. Seeing Sam's stunned expression, Dean couldn't help but grin. He said, "Told you she was making a bunch of stuff."

Sam nodded, staring at the snacks spread across the coffee table. Dean shoved the plate in front of Sam's face and said, "Bagel."

"I see that." Sam replied with a touch of annoyance as he took the plate.

Dean wasn't going to tell him that he'd almost wound up wearing the thing. It was about all he could do to make a controlled fall look like an on-purpose descent onto the couch. He landed a little closer to his brother than he'd intended but Sam didn't seem to notice or care. Because he was busy devouring the bagel like he'd never seen food before in his entire life. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe you should...I don't know, take a breath? Slow down a bit?" Dean said, watching Sam inhale the first half of the bagel.

"'m starving!" Sam mumbled, mouth full.

"This from the guy who didn't want a sip of Gatorade twelve minutes ago."

"You woke me up."

Dean nodded, "Just think how hungry you'd be if I hadn't woken you up when I did!"

Sam raised an eyebrow, reaching for the water bottle, "You expect a thank you?"

"Just don't choke on that bagel, ok?" Dean ordered, pushing the food on the coffee table around until there was enough room for him to put his ankle up on the table.

"You should go sit in the recliner." Sam said, "Be better on your ankle."

"It's alright." Dean shrugged, reaching for the remote. "Doesn't even hurt anymore."

"Riiiight." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Here."

Sam stared at the remote and smiled. He shook his head, "Keep it."

Dean frowned, "Thought you wanted to…"

"Dude, I don't wanna watch a documentary on New Year's Eve." Sam shook his head, leaning back against the couch.

"You little…" Dean started, realizing he'd been played.

"Watch it. I _do_ own that remote for the next two weeks."

"Yeah, yeah." Dean muttered, turning the volume up and reaching for a bowl of chips.

Sam set his plate aside, having done everything but lick the finish off the plate and said, "It's ten in the morning, Dean."

"Yeah? So?"

"Nachos?"

"Leave me to my food choices. Just be grateful I gave you a bagel to start with instead of a mini-cheese-filled-sausage." Dean grinned, only feeling the tiniest bit bad when Sam started looking a pinch green. He elbowed him and said, "New Year's Eve, bro. Been awhile."

"There's one every year." Sam said softly.

Dean resisted the urge to smack his brother. _Way to be a downer, Sammy. Here I am trying to be optimistic_. He glared at the TV, munching on chips, his mood dampened.

"Wasn't the same the last few years."

And maybe his mood didn't have to be _quite_ so damp. Dean carefully maintained his attention on the TV, but said, "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"So this isn't so bad, eh?"

Sam laughed, shifting so he could look up at Dean without lifting his head from the back of the couch. He said, "No, all things considered, this isn't so bad."

Dean nodded, happily munching on the chips. He almost didn't hear Sam over the sound of his own chewing and maybe that had been the point.

"Actually, this is pretty darn great."

He couldn't help but grin. And even when, about ten minutes later, he wound up with a little brother slumped against his arm, probably drooling on his shirt, Dean couldn't stop grinning.

* * *

_1030 AM December 31st, 2005  
__Pender Home_

Leaving Tommy at the motel had not been her first choice, but she knew he was capable of dealing with things out there. And, although Dean had been awake and more or less functional this time, she didn't like leaving them alone for longer than she had to. Parking the Mustang in the garage, Arla hurried into the house. Peeking into the bedroom on her way in, she found both beds empty and she couldn't help but wonder if Sam had awakened on his own or if he'd had help. Given the way Dean had been worrying about him and the way he'd wound up at his brother's bedside every other half-hour earlier, Arla felt confident that Dean had been involved.

Sighing, she headed down the hall, listening for voices. She could hear the television, turned down low, from the living room but nothing else. Walking into the living room, Arla froze in the doorway and grinned. She was tempted to go for her camera.

Because they were both fast asleep on the couch. Dean, a bowl of chips in his hands, was leaning to the right, head almost down on the armrest, ankle up on the coffee table and he looked uncomfortable but it didn't appear to be hampering his sleep. Sam was turned slightly to his left, arms wrapped around himself and his back and head resting against Dean's left shoulder. Arla had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep herself from laughing out loud.

Shaking her head, she quietly walked over and pulled a couple blankets over them, not bothering to remove the bowl of chips from Dean's hands. Brushing her fingers over Sam's forehead, she was relieved not to feel a fever. He didn't stir at her touch. She didn't dare touch Dean and tiptoed away; counting herself lucky Dean hadn't awakened already at her presence.

Setting her purse down, she slipped out of her shoes and headed for the kitchen. It was hard to know if the boys had eaten anything while she'd been gone. Obviously Dean had been munching on the chips and she'd seen an empty plate on the coffee table, so maybe Sam had eaten something at least. Staring at the spread in the kitchen, she wondered if maybe she should have left some of it in the freezer. They might be regaining their appetites, but she doubted either of them were going to be eating this much.

Being done with the crazy, this morning she'd thrown herself into the food preparation, trying to convince herself everything was normal again. Chewing her lip, she decided she'd probably been a bit overenthusiastic. Tommy had quietly taken care of calling their friends and cancelling the New Year's Eve and New Year's Day parties they'd been planning; something they'd both agreed the boys did _not_ need to know about. It was obvious they felt bad about how they'd already disrupted the holidays. Arla didn't care one bit.

They might never understand it, but she was thankful for the interruption. Thankful that Raquel had found them, that Tommy had stopped. Because it made her ill to think about what could have happened if Raquel had not gone looking for help. Shaking her head, Arla pushed the thought away. Raquel had gone for help, had found them and everything was finally coming up roses. Smiling, Arla glanced out to the living room again and nodded. They were going to be just fine.

For the next twenty minutes, she quietly puttered around the house. Even finally finished unpacking the suitcases from their Christmas trip to visit family. It felt like a lifetime ago. She had just started a load of laundry and was trying not to worry about Tommy when she heard movement from the living room. Movement, a thud, muffled voices and a surprisingly clear curse word or two. She was already hurrying out to see what the commotion was about when she heard the laughter. Pausing in the kitchen, just behind the doorway, Arla peeked out into the living room to do what she would never in a million years admit was spying.

And she had the perfect view.

Dean was on his knees in front of the couch and she had a feeling from the bright red flush on his cheeks that he probably hadn't ended up that way on purpose. He was trying to get the bowl of chips to stay on the coffee table but his hand was unsteady and the bowl kept tottering close to the edge. His other hand was on the edge of the couch to hold _himself_ up and the couch was where the laughter was coming from. Sam was basically in the same position he'd been in earlier, except he was tilted further over, just half lying there as if he'd fallen over when Dean had moved and he couldn't be bothered to move from where he'd landed. She guessed that Dean must have been trying to get up and fallen on the floor in his attempt; waking his brother up in the process.

Arla smiled, listening to Dean trying to keep his voice soft as he swore irritably and Sam continued to laugh. She was suspicious as to what had happened, but when Dean finally said something that wasn't a four letter word, she knew she'd been right.

"You're like a gigantic beached whale. So freakin heavy." Dean muttered, turning his attention to the bowl of chips until he got it situated. A look of relief crossed his tired features when he was finally able to stop worrying about the bowl crashing to the floor.

Sam just kept laughing, but managed to say, "Could've woke me up first. This...was your own fault. I'd've moved."

"So freakin' heavy." Dean repeated, glaring at him and pushing himself up until he was perched unsteadily on the edge of the coffee table. He was breathing a bit heavily, but didn't look like he was in any distress. He said, "Was trying to be a nice brother."

For some reason that only made Sam laugh harder and Arla grinned at the exasperated expression that appeared on Dean's face. He shook his head and his glare intensified. Sam just pulled his legs up onto the couch and tucked himself more comfortably against the pillows, muffling a cough in the pillow when the effort of laughing pressed on his fragile reserves.

Arla could see the worry in Dean's eyes, but he didn't say anything. Probably because he was busy coughing too. Once they both had recovered a bit, she heard Sam's soft voice. He asked, "You ok?"

Dean nodded with a cheeky grin, "Swell. You?"

"Swell."

"Super."

"Recliner." Sam said. It hadn't been a suggestion.

"Yeah." Dean said with a heavy sigh.

Arla held back long enough for Dean go to the recliner under his own power. She didn't want to make him feel any worse than he already was feeling. Once he'd settled in the recliner and his attention was back on the television, she tiptoed back to the basement door, made a big production of opening and closing it noisily, then walked out into the living room.

"Hey guys!" She smiled cheerfully, assessing them carefully even if she already had done that it from a distance. They both still looked utterly exhausted, but there were signs of improvement. They smiled at her from their respective positions; Dean trying his hardest to straighten up and look like he felt better than he did. Sam didn't even bother. She asked, "How are you two feeling?"

"Much better." Sam said, not lifting his head from the pillow.

Already Arla could see he was about a minute and a half away from falling asleep again. He was going to have to wait. She asked, "Did you two take the medications?"

"Yes." Dean said, "According to doctor's orders."

"Good. How about eating?"

"He had a bagel." Dean said, waving a hand at Sam. He grinned, nodding at the coffee table, "And I've had a bit of everything."

Arla smiled, "Good. Sam? How about trying something more?"

She got a sleepy one shoulder shrug in answer and when his eyes closed a split second later, Arla decided that _she_ was going to have to wait. Smiling, she just pulled the blanket over him and turned to Dean.

"How's the breathing?" She asked softly.

Dean shrugged, "Ok. Better than it's been that's for sure."

"You sound better. How's your ankle?"

"Nicely throbbing." Dean grimaced, then added, "But it's fine and no I don't need anything for it. It's back to the normal ache or pain of a hunt. I'm ok."

Arla knew he wasn't, not really, but she also knew better than to push her luck. He'd allowed far more mother-henning, as Tommy would put it, than he was comfortable with and now that he was feeling better, she knew the independent streak was going to reassert itself in full force. Which was a good thing because it meant he was getting better.

So she just asked, "Do you need anything?"

Dean's tired eyes took in the game on the TV, the spread of food and his sleeping brother and he smiled, "Nah. We're good for now. Thanks."

"Ok. I'm just going to be doing a few things around the house. Holler if you need me." She smiled, handing him the remote.

"I will. Thanks." Dean said, resting his head back against the recliner.

By the time she had walked out to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water to set beside him, he was asleep again too.

* * *

_2:00 PM December 31st, 2005  
__Pender Home_

This was officially getting very old.

He couldn't deny that the sleep didn't feel great. That it wasn't honestly the most amazing thing in the entire world. Which it basically was. Even so, it was getting very old. Sam was having a hard time keeping track of when he'd been awake, how long he'd been awake, or what had been happening when he _had_ been awake. It was irritating and a bit disconcerting, actually. The amount of time he'd lost in the past week or so was getting ridiculous. The sound of conversation nearby had drawn him out of sleep this time, but he was comfortable and not interested in moving quite yet. So he just kept his eyes closed and listened.

They were being very quiet and considerate, but it didn't take long for him to tune into Dean and Tommy's conversation about the football game. The TV was down low, a quiet background noise that had helped lull him into sleep. It felt weird. Felt _not right_. Sure, they usually spent the holiday in front of a game with a six-pack and junk food. But it was always just them. And it usually didn't involve one or both of them sleeping the day away.

Trying to sort through what was bothering him most about the situation was a bad idea because it turned his thoughts immediately to Jessica. Because they had never really shared much beyond themselves. Never really involved other people. It had always just been him and Dad and Dean. And then it had been him and Jessica and now it was just him and Dean. And that kind of math, the kind involving loss and pain and regret, made his headache blossom again. Sam knew he had no reason to dislike the Penders, but there was a gnawing part of him that really _wanted _to.

Probably because it would hurt a lot less if he didn't like them.

It already hurt enough, this painful, taunting image of what could have been, what _should _have been. Dean didn't really remember much about those first few years when they'd been a complete family. And he didn't remember it at all. But being with the Pender's was inevitably painting a vivid picture for both of them of what it was like to have a complete, functional family. It didn't help that he kept thinking about how great it would have been to grow old with Jessica and have what Tommy and Arla had.

Sam wanted to be gone from their house and Arizona so badly that he almost couldn't breathe.

He felt the burn of tears and was glad he still had his eyes closed. Focusing on Dean's voice, Sam forced himself to stop thinking about how the hospitality of a couple of strangers felt like a blade through his heart. Dean was softly laughing about something and that was a good sound. Was a good thing to focus on. Sam drifted for a few seconds after that, then realized he was hungry enough that actually waking up all the way was sounding like a very good plan.

It took a few more minutes to wake up and by then the conversation had died out and Tommy must have moved away because all Sam saw was Dean.

"Hey." Dean acknowledged him with a nod. He asked, "How long's it gonna be this time?"

Sam frowned. He wasn't awake enough to deal with Dean being smart. Fighting back a yawn, Sam asked, "What?"

Dean smiled, "Just wondering how long you're going to grace us with your presence this time. Dude, if you make it to ten minutes I'm gonna be impressed."

He wasn't going to admit it, but if he made it ten minutes, Sam was going to be as impressed as his brother. But ten minutes was enough to eat something so he started pushing himself back into a sitting position on the couch. It was disturbing how difficult that was. But at least he was managing it on his own these days and he even got all the way upright without the world spinning around him.

Well, at least it wasn't spinning quite as badly as it had been anyway.

Sam rubbed his eyes and glanced around the room. The game was still on and the food was still on the coffee table. Dean even looked better than he had earlier and Sam felt himself relax. He asked, "Who's winning?"

"We are." Dean grinned. It wasn't really like they had a strong affiliation with any given team; they tended to choose one team over the other based on a complicated algorithm that they'd never discussed and really didn't even exist. But somehow they always picked a team, and 99% of the time, they chose the same one. Dean turned the volume up just a tiny bit and said, "Thought you were gonna miss the whole thing, sleepy."

Sam didn't have the energy to even react to the jab. He just smiled and said, "I thought so too. It's still today, right?"

Dean laughed and Sam couldn't blame him. But Dean just said, "Yeah, it's still today. New Year's Eve."

"Lunch?" Arla's voice was at his shoulder and Sam glanced up at her. She looked absolutely thrilled at the prospect of feeding him something and he found himself smiling back at her.

"Sure."

"What sounds good?" She asked, and it was obvious that whatever he wanted, she'd get for him. Looking at the spread of food around Dean, Sam could tell Dean had been enjoying that hospitality already.

Of course, being hungry and trying to figure out what he wanted to eat were two very different things and it was frustrating how difficult thinking about a simple thing like eating could be. Mercifully, Arla was extremely perceptive and she said, "You know what, I have a few things out there I think you might like. Let me bring you a sampler, ok? See what looks good to you. How's that sound?"

"Sounds great." Sam nodded, grateful to not have to try to muddle through the question any longer. She moved away and almost immediately the cap of a water bottle bounced off his forehead. It was testament to his exhaustion that he didn't react, nor did it really annoy him as much as it probably should have. He just looked over at Dean, appreciating that his vision was clearer than it had been in days, and asked, "What was that for?"

"Stay awake." Dean said simply.

"I'm awake."

"I've heard that before."

And he couldn't exactly deny that Dean wasn't right. So he just nodded and tried to prove his brother wrong. Because if there was one challenge he enjoyed in life, it was proving his brother wrong.

* * *

_11:50 PM December 31st, 2005  
__Pender Home_

Sam had tried. He'd really tried. Dean had to admit he was probably more amused than he had any right to be. Especially considering the fact his brother was still sleeping off a concussion. And pneumonia. And being beat up by a ghoul. Even so, it was all kinds of amusing when Sam would be in the middle of passionately chatting about something and then he just _wasn't. _It had happened a half-dozen times over the course of the afternoon. The longest he'd ever managed to stay awake in one sitting had been forty-seven minutes. And yes, Dean knew it had been exactly that because he'd also been amusing himself all day by hitting the timer function on his watch and noting how long Sam stayed awake in a given period.

Of course, there were a few times when _he'd _been the one asleep. Basically, they'd spent most of the day half-asleep or all the way asleep. It hadn't been an unpleasant day, just a strange one. Between the general sleepiness, the home cooking and the football games, it had been the weirdest New Year's Eve ever. He was still having trouble wrapping his head around everything that had happened since they'd arrived in Arizona. It still didn't feel real to think that they'd taken out not just two poltergeists, but a ghoul and a Wendigo too. And helped a ghost. How many times did _that_ happen?

Dean shook his head, trying to find a comfortable position that didn't aggravate his breathing or some part of the rest of his achy body. Forced rest and recuperation was not exactly something he enjoyed, but this time, this time it had been more than necessary. And it felt good. But now that he was starting to feel better, the crashing waves of worry had already started washing over him.

Which was why, after dozing all day long, he found himself wide awake just before midnight.

"What's wrong?"

Dean blinked up at the ceiling, then frowned and rolled his head to the right so he could catch a glimpse of his brother. He asked, "What?"

"What's wrong?" Sam repeated, enunciating with excessive emphasis on each word like Dean was being intentionally dense.

Which, of course, he was.

Dean said, "Nothing. Why are you awake?"

"I could hear you worrying from over here."

"Whatever." Dean stared back at the ceiling. He wanted to be annoyed. Because annoyed was better than worrying about...well everything. But then again, he'd already started worrying, so it wasn't out of his way. He shifted on the pillows, barely able to see Sam's outline in the darkened room. He asked, "You alright?"

"You gotta stop asking me that." Sam said, this time sounding amused. "I'm fine."

"If you say so."

"What are you worrying about?"

"Oh, I don't know, Sam. Pick something, I'm probably worrying about it." Dean snapped. He hadn't even realized how much subconscious tension he'd been carrying around until, as usual, little brother decided it was his sworn duty to push all his buttons. "Maybe the fact we're still freakin' broke and I have no idea what we're gonna do about it."

"And?" Sam rolled over onto his side, voice sleepy, but Dean could feel his gaze and knew that Sam wasn't likely to fall asleep anytime soon. Of course he wouldn't this time. All day he wouldn't stay awake and now he was wide awake and ready for the inquisition.

"And?" Dean snapped back. "What do you mean _and_?"

"Well." Sam said, taking his time and only annoying Dean even more. He said, "I just assumed when you said pick something that you had a list. You only said one thing so far."

Dean rolled his eyes in the dark and any sympathy he might have entertained toward his brother evaporated. _Stupid, annoying little brothers._

"You're tense." Sam went on and this time Dean caught it. Something a bit off in his brother's tone.

He pushed himself upright a bit more against the pillows and asked, "Sam? Did you take the pain killer after all?" Because that would explain the slightly drunk tone. It had been a rather interesting stand-off earlier when Sam had let it slip how bad his head was hurting and Arla had tried to get him to take a stronger pain killer and go to bed. Dean had thought Arla'd lost that round. Maybe he'd been wrong. Squinting in the dark, Dean repeated, "Sam?"

"What was the question? You asked me a question didn't you?"

Oh boy. Dean sighed and asked, "Did you take the medicine?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe." Dean couldn't help but roll his eyes again. He said, "It's a yes or no question, Sam. Did you take the medicine?"

"Mmhm."

And that certainly explained it. Well, good to know anything he said now Sam wouldn't remember in the morning. He asked, "Feel better?"

"Oh yeah."

From the drunken slur, Dean didn't doubt that his brother was feeling _much _better.

"So?"

"So what?"

"What are you worrying about?"

"I already told you."

"We're broke." Sam mumbled.

"As usual."

"Been broke all week and we made it this far."

Dean shot his brother a glare that he knew he wasn't even going to see. He asked, "And you're fine with us freeloading on these people? You don't care that we…"

"Of course I care." And Sam sounded surprisingly lucid all things considered. "We didn't exactly have a choice though."

Which was true. Didn't make it any better, though. Dean sighed heavily.

"We'll deal with it. Always do." Sam said with an awful lot of conviction for someone snowed out of his mind. He added, "What difference does another few days make, man? Let's get our feet under us and then we'll work it out."

Dean stared at the ceiling and considered. Wasn't actually like they had much of a choice even now. He knew exactly how weak and awful he still felt even if he was keeping it to himself. He wasn't going to be worth anything for at least another day, much as it pained him to admit it. And he wasn't letting Sam go off and do something stupid either. Not that he actually thought Sam could stay awake long enough to do anything stupid. Speaking of which, the room had grown a bit quiet. Maybe Sam had...

"Almost midnight."

_Well, that hadn't lasted very long_. Dean said, "I know."

"We're missing the ball drop in Times Square."

"Yup."

"I'm too tired to care."

"Me too."

"Rose Bowl."

"I won't let you miss it. Even if I have to dump ice water all over your drugged up, concussed face in the morning."

Sam snorted and Dean waited for an aggravated comment, but he never got one. Dean smiled. _Good drugs_. He glanced at the clock, watched the numbers change over and whispered, "Happy New Year, Sammy."

* * *

**Aw! Lookie there folks! It's only August 4th and I finally got them to New Year's Eve in this story lol! **

**Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I have the next couple days off so I'm going to try my hardest to keep churning this out while i'm on a roll and have the free time. :)**


	36. Chapter 36

**Hi everyone! Hope you're all doing well! Enjoy!**

* * *

_Afternoon, January 1st, 2006  
__Pender Home_

The morning had passed pleasantly enough. Parades, football, enough food to feed an army, and, finally, a couple young men with appropriate appetites. Tommy had actually watched the exact moment when the realization crossed Arla's face that maybe raising twin girls had been a lot easier on the grocery budget than raising two boys would have been. He knew she'd begun to wonder if maybe she'd set out too much food, but as the day had progressed and the boys had enthusiastically devoured everything she set before them, her worry had changed to wondering if she had _enough_ food. That enough food for a party involving five or six middle aged adults might actually not be enough for two guys in their twenties who hadn't eaten a good meal in at least a week, if not longer.

It wasn't until mid afternoon when Tommy picked up on the fact that not everything was as perfect as it might have seemed on the surface. The signs had been there all along, of course, but it wasn't until Dean had dozed off that Tommy saw the signs for what they were.

Someone was ready to run.

He might not have the whole story or really understand everything the Winchester's had been through in their lives, but he knew what it was like to feel trapped and he certainly remembered being young and thinking the entire world was out to get him. In his case, it hadn't been true of course, but given the nature of their occupation, Tommy couldn't dismiss the possibility that maybe a lot of things were out to get Dean and Sam Winchester. And that would be enough to make him want to run, let alone losing his girlfriend, going through what he'd been through in the past week, and apparently searching desperately for a missing father. So when he caught Sam hovering at the sliding glass door, fingertips just barely touching the handle, he made his decision.

He'd wondered how things would play out and what his response should be after they did. Sam had been restless but hiding it from his brother all day. Not that hiding things from Dean took any great skill set today. He'd been awake most of the day, but barely so and just out of it enough to not apparently be picking up on what was going on with Sam. Although, Tommy wouldn't be surprised if Dean _did_ notice, but just was letting it ride for the time being either because he was too sick to address it or if he just knew it was best to let his brother deal with things his own way.

Sam was feeling better, looking better, and Tommy quietly cleared his plan with Arla before grabbing the kid's jacket and his own. He joined Sam at the door and said, "Sam, I need to take a walk. Stretch my legs before the next game."

He got a slightly confused, curious look and he just grinned, "Besides I need to work off some of the food before Arla cooks up anything else."

This time, a smile. Sam nodded, hand dropping away from the door handle. He hadn't apparently noticed yet that Tommy had his jacket in his hand. Sam said, "I've never had so much home cooking."

"Well, I'm glad you boys are here to help me eat it. I think I've already gained ten pounds just today." Tommy said, holding out Sam's coat. Sam stared at it with a frown. He was feeling better, sure, but Tommy knew he wasn't anywhere near back to full strength. Pushing the coat at Sam, Tommy said, "Come take a walk. Weather's nice. Beautiful day. Fresh air'll do ya good."

As expected, Sam's gaze slid immediately to the recliner where his brother was sleeping the sleep of the dead; or the sleep of one with a very full stomach. Either way he didn't seem likely to stir for a long time. And they still had an hour or so before the big game. Sam seemed to muddle through all of those thoughts himself before nodding and finally accepting the coat. Which was a relief. Tommy honestly hadn't been sure that he'd be agreeable to the plan.

Tommy slid the door open and Sam followed. The day was beautiful and he'd been careful to check the weather to ensure that it intended to stay that way. Arla had made him promise that they wouldn't go far or be gone long and he'd never intended anything to the contrary. A quick walk to the creek and back should be enough to work out some of the nervous tension without exhausting Sam too much. Tommy didn't initiate a conversation. At least not yet. Last thing he wanted was for Sam to feel like this was a trap to get him to talk. But it only took about a minute before Sam spoke up.

"How much land do you guys have out here? It's beautiful."

"Thanks. We've got about ten acres. Creek runs through it. Good fishing spot." Tommy said, "You boys fish?"

"Sometimes." Sam nodded. "It's something we could do almost anywhere we traveled."

"I've got the gear if you want to catch supper when Dean's feeling up to it."

Sam smiled, "Sounds good. Dean isn't exactly the quiet type, but he does sit still for fishing. I figure by tomorrow he's going to need a distraction. I don't see him sitting on the couch quietly much longer. If I'm going to keep him quiet long enough to really heal, fishing might be the right trick. We'll probably head out in another day or so."

Tommy wasn't surprised, not that he was happy about it. He said, "You know you boys are welcome to stay as long as you want? I'm not just saying that because it's the polite thing to say. You saved our lives, and maybe the whole town in the long run."

"I'm pretty sure you saved our lives too," Sam smiled, "so we're even. And I, we, appreciate it. Your hospitality and everything...I really…" He paused, shaking his head before he finished, "I really didn't know what we were going to do that night."

"Thankfully, Raquel did." Tommy said quickly.

Sam said, "We've never had a ghost save our lives before."

"I've never even seen a ghost before." Tommy countered.

"First time for everything." Sam shrugged.

"I guess so. Do you guys have business cards or something? I'd like to know I can get ahold of you if anything else evil and monstrous shows up in town."

Sam laughed, "Well, we can give you our phone numbers, but we don't exactly pass out business cards."

They paused at the little hill that stood over the creek. It hadn't been a long walk, but Tommy was still relieved that Sam didn't look winded or in any pain from the trip. His shoulders and posture were relaxed and the strain that had been evident on his face earlier had disappeared. Even when he spoke again, he sounded better.

"We don't really have...any cash or…"

"We already covered this, Sam." Tommy interrupted. "We're even. Look at it anyway you want, that this is your payment for ridding our town of monsters, that it's a Christmas gift, whatever. You two owe us nothing but recovering your health and getting back out there to do what you do."

Sam studied him for a moment and Tommy could tell he was trying to come to grips with what Tommy was offering. He finally nodded and said, "Thank you."

Tommy said, "We'll even get the tank of that car of yours filled up again before you leave."

At that, Sam grimaced. He said, "I should probably wash it." He looked deep in thought for a moment, then said, "I should wash it tomorrow. Would that be ok?"

"Absolutely." Tommy said. "I have all the supplies. Like to keep Arla's Mustang looking beautiful."

"Could we just...keep it between us?" Sam asked with a sideways glance.

"Sure." Tommy nodded, "Late Christmas present?"

Sam nodded, "I don't have...we don't really do Christmas most of the time."

"I'm sure Dean will appreciate it." Tommy said, not wanting to dwell on the rather dismal turn the conversation had taken. It was just a guess, of course, but he couldn't help but assume that the reason they didn't really do Christmas had more to do with their crazy lifestyle than it did a personal preference. He'd heard the note of carefully disguised sadness in Sam's voice.

"Have you lived here long?" Sam asked, apparently eager to move on to other topics. He was walking closer to the creek.

"Lived in town my whole life. We've owned this property since we got married. Raised the girls here." Tommy said, but decided to keep the conversation moving because it looked like the idea of having a permanent home like that was both a foreign concept and a sore spot for Sam. So he said, "Arla is the traveler. Her dad was in the military and she moved all around the country, the world actually, as a kid. She was never in the same place for more than a few months sometimes."

Sam nodded with a smile, "I know that feeling. How did you two meet?"

"Dumb luck and Spring Break." Tommy grinned.

"Pretty sure those two always go hand in hand," Sam laughed, "You sound like Dean. When he was younger...man, I swear Spring Break was a national holiday to him. Actually, it probably still is."

"It was to me." Tommy said a bit ruefully, thinking of a youth misspent. He grinned, "But then my dumb luck kicked in and it was the best Spring Break of my life."

"What happened?"

"I fell out a window."

Sam's eyes widened and he was fighting the urge to laugh again. He asked, "And that made it a good Spring Break how?"

"Because when my drunk buddies finally stopped laughing and realized I was bleeding all over that Panama City street, they called an ambulance." Tommy took a deep breath and couldn't help it if his smile grew a bit sappy. "Most beautiful resident in the entire world was working in the ER that night and stitched me back together while lambasting me the entire time about what a world-class idiot I was."

"Wasn't impressed with you?" Sam smiled, shaking his head.

"I don't think she was impressed with my shameless flirting either. Hate to malign your brother's skills, son, but I saw him flirting back at the hospital, and I have to say, he needs more practice." Tommy laughed.

Sam smiled, but then, with pride that only a little brother could muster, said defensively, "Dean did get three nurses' phone numbers, you know?"

"I took Arla out to a bar ten minutes after she finished my stitches and I've taken her home every single night since." Tommy couldn't hide his proud grin.

This time Sam slowly nodded, an expression of awe on his face. He said, "Please don't teach Dean your methods, ok? He doesn't need any encouragement in this realm."

"On my honor as a man of the law." Tommy nodded.

"I actually met Jessica sort of the same way." Sam said, looking away.

Tommy remained quiet, sensing that this wasn't an easy thing for Sam to talk about.

"A friend of mine, Brady, he set us up, but I hadn't actually met her yet." Sam smiled a bit, "Until I had to take another friend to the campus health center because he'd...he'd been an idiot and needed stitches too actually."

"Wasn't Spring Break, was it?" Tommy grinned.

Sam smiled, "No. He got into way more trouble over Spring Break, but thankfully, I hadn't gone on that trip with him. Anyway, student nurses worked there as part of their clinical experiences and well….I didn't know it was the same girl Brady had set me up with until later...but Jessica was there."

"Chewed your friend out?"

"Actually...she was too busy flirting with me to even pay any attention to Louis." Sam's smile widened at the memory. "I kept trying to tell her he was bleeding but all she did was hand him a piece of gauze. I'm honestly not sure she even looked at him the entire time. And she just kept talking to me. She was… amazing."

Nodding, he remained quiet as Sam's gaze returned to the creek; his smile slowly fading away. After a few silent minutes, Tommy was debating whether he should say anything or just stay quiet. Sam saved him from having to decide when he spoke up, "The house is starting to look a long way away."

He smiled, hearing the fatigue in Sam's voice, and said, "Then let's head back before it gets any further away."

"Probably a good idea." Sam returned the smile.

It might have been a short walk, but from what Tommy could see, in at least a small way, it had done Sam some good. And that made it worthwhile. He clapped Sam on the shoulder and said, "Who do you bet is doing more worrying back in the house? Dean or Arla?"

"Definitely Dean." Sam grinned.

And Tommy really didn't doubt it.

* * *

Arla finished the dishes and peeked out into the living room. She saw the TV channels flipping and knew Dean was awake. He hadn't dozed long and a quick glance at the time showed her that Tommy and Sam hadn't been gone very long either. When Tommy had initially suggested taking Sam for a walk, she honestly hadn't been sure if it were a good idea or not. But then she'd seen Sam standing there by the door, looking for all the world like a lost puppy and she knew her husband probably had a point about the kid needing to get out for a little while. He did look better and she knew it wouldn't be long before they'd both be on the road again.

So she needed to count her blessings that they were even taking any time at all to recover. She grabbed a cup of coffee, a glass of water and headed out into the living room. Dean glanced up at her as she entered. She smiled and held out the cup. "Water?"

Dean grimaced but took the cup. He muttered, "Still waiting on my beer."

Arla laughed, sitting down on the couch. She said, "And you'll get it. Another day or so and we'll take you boys out to the local burger joint. How's that sound?"

"Awesome." Dean nodded, taking a sip of water. He set the glass aside and asked, "Seen my brother lately? Seems to have wandered off again."

He tried to sound like it wasn't a big deal, even went back to flipping channels, but she knew he was probably worrying that Sam was feeling worse. She sipped her coffee, then said, "Tommy and Sam went for a walk."

"A _walk_?" Dean repeated, eyes wide as if taking a walk were the strangest thing he could possibly envision his brother doing. "You live in the middle of nowhere. Where'd they walk to?"

Arla couldn't help but smile. He really didn't seem to have a clue. She said, "You ever just talk a walk, Dean? Not to go anywhere, just to enjoy the journey?"

Dean frowned and said, "Mostly I'm always going places."

"I thought so. You should take a walk now and then." Arla suggested, "Great way to clear your mind."

He gave her words a little thought, then asked, "You got any more of those little cheesy biscuit thingies?"

"I do."

"And maybe a couple of those…"

"Little sausage thingies?" Arla supplied, amused to no end at how his mind worked. Brother. Food. Apparently in that order at all times. She wondered if he'd even remember her suggesting a walk.

"Yeah. Those." Dean grinned.

She headed to the kitchen and filled a plate with snacks, encouraged that he was still eating. His color was better, his breathing easier and she couldn't deny the relief she felt. Because there had honestly been moments when she hadn't been sure he was going to pull through. Now, though, handing him the plate and watching him devour the snacks with enthusiasm, the nightmare of the week felt like a distant memory. And she was thrilled that she was able to see both boys feeling well. Most of the personality she'd been able to see even when they'd been so sick was now fully on display and she honestly liked them both.

Which was its own issue, of course, because already she was struggling with the thought that they wouldn't be here much longer. She could almost hear Tommy's words in her head, comparing her to a kid who found a puppy and wanted to keep it. This was much different than a stray puppy though! The life that she knew they were returning to was enough to terrify her.

"These are amazing!" Dean said, mouth full.

Arla smiled, pushing the dark thoughts away. She said, "I'm glad you like them."

"You're a good cook."

"Thanks."

"It's gonna be hard to go back to crappy diner food after all this." Dean said around another mouthful.

"I'm sure." She nodded, "You do know you're welcome to stay as long as…"

"I know." Dean interrupted, growing somber. "And I appreciate all of it but I think," he sighed, "I don't know how much longer Sam's gonna be willing to stay put. Since...since Jessica, he's been really restless. And we do need to get back out there."

"To fight monsters?"

Dean smiled a little and said, "And find our Dad. We...we're hoping he's gonna be able to help us figure out what happened to Jessica."

Arla said, "I understand. Stay as long as you're able, though, ok? And you boys are _always_ welcome here if you're ever back in the area."

"We're ever back this way, we'll drop in." Dean smiled.

Arla knew he meant it, but she also knew that the chances were very slim that she'd ever see them again. She said, "But you two need to promise me you'll take care of yourselves, ok? You aren't going to be all the way recovered from this for awhile. You feel better, I know, but your reserves are low and you're both going to need to take it easy for a long time."

He opened his mouth, to protest, no doubt, but she cut him off and said, "I know your job doesn't exactly give you sick days. But you'll save a lot more people from the monsters under their beds if you two are alive and well enough to do it. So just promise me. Promise me that you'll try. That's all I ask."

She couldn't help it if the mother in her was coming out. If anyone needed some mothering, it was these two boys. Dean didn't seem annoyed, though. He simply nodded and said with sincerity, "We'll take it easy. Promise."

"Thank you." She smiled, realizing he'd finished everything on his plate. Once they left, she wouldn't be able to do anything for the Winchester brothers except pray for them daily. Which she fully intended to do. Because if anyone needed someone to pray for them, it was these two boys. But for now, for now she could feed them. So she stood up and asked, "Pie?"

"Yes." Dean grinned.

Arla headed for the kitchen.

* * *

_Evening _

Dean could think of a dozen ways it could be better.

It could be better if he and Sam were feeling 100%. If Jessica was sitting next to Sammy, making his brother smile. Heck, if Mom and Dad were here too. Despite all the ways it could be better, it wasn't so bad. He couldn't honestly remember the last time New Year's had felt like a party. Probably back when they'd both still been teenagers. But it felt like a party tonight. Great food, a great football game, and great company.

The fact that they were totally imposing on a couple of strangers didn't even bother him right now. Dean grinned. How could it? The team they'd all agreed to root for was winning and Sam was smiling, laughing, and generally looking more alive than he had since ten minutes before Jessica had died. Dean was under no illusions. Because they were going to have to get back on the road and reality was right there; always ready to steal back the few moments of joy that they tried to steal for themselves.

Right now, though, for this moment, he was going to choose to dwell in the moment instead of thinking about what was inevitably to come. He watched Sam laugh at something Tommy had said and couldn't help but wonder what their lives might have been like if not for the death of their Mom. He liked to think Sam might have had a better relationship with Dad. One filled with humor and support rather than pressure and hurt. Dean smiled wryly. Of course, maybe they always would have been at odds. But he couldn't help watching how relaxed Sam was with Tommy and think that, had things been different, he and Dad might be able to sit back and enjoy a game without butting heads about everything.

He felt something bounce off his face and he caught Sam's eye. Sam frowned a bit, wordlessly asking _You ok?_ Dean grinned and nodded. Sam looked relieved and went back to arguing defensive strategies with Arla. Dean picked up the piece of popcorn Sam had launched at him, popped it into his mouth and told himself to take the night off from thinking. From worrying. From anything that wasn't simply enjoying the evening. He was almost surprised by how good it felt and how easy it was. The year was probably going to suck as bad as every other year had.

But he couldn't remember the last one that had started off as well as this one was.

* * *

_10:00 AM January 2nd, 2006  
__Pender Home_

Sam stood back and critically appraised the Impala. Nothing short of perfect was going to work for Dean. He took a deep breath, rag dripping in his hand as he walked around the car. For the fifth time. And he was only getting started. Never mind he'd been out here almost two hours already. Rubbing a hand over his forehead, he decided the entire left side of the car needed another once over. It had been years since he'd tried to detail the car to Dean's high standards. Somehow it felt even more important this time since he had literally nothing else he could offer his brother as a Christmas present.

As a thank you for all the subtle, understated ways Dean had been holding him together for the past few months.

Sometimes he wasn't sure Dean really knew how much he'd missed him while he'd been at Stanford. And since they didn't talk about stuff like that, an impeccably clean and sparkly car was going to have to say what Sam couldn't.

He probably needed to go over the windshield again, too.

* * *

_11:20 AM_

"Now where is he?" Dean asked as soon as he walked into the living room.

He'd slept till eleven without any disturbance, including coughing spells. While it felt great, it also had left his brother time to disappear and probably find all kinds of trouble. Arla smiled and set aside the newspaper she was reading as he walked over toward her.

"Good morning to you too." She said.

"Morning." Dean said, trying to put aside his annoyance at missing brothers.

"Your brother is outside and as soon as you have some breakfast and take your pills, you are more than welcome to join him."

Dean dropped into a chair because her tone had made it very clear that he had no option but to heed her request...order. He asked, "What is he doing?"

Arla handed him a plate that she must have had waiting for him all this time and said, "Eat your breakfast, Dean Winchester and then you can go find out."

Which seemed oddly and unnecessarily vague, Dean thought, eating under duress while Arla went back to her newspaper. He finished in record time, trying to remind himself that he was a grown man and was under no obligation to obey Arla Pender. But there was something about the way she was watching him with those eagle-mom eyes of hers that made him finish every last bite and take his pills like a little kid finishing the chores before being allowed to go outside to play.

He would've sworn she was enjoying it.

Finishing up, he said a hasty thanks and headed for the sliding glass doors.

"Put your coat on." Arla called without looking up. "And he's out front."

Dean groaned but snagged his coat as he headed for the front door. He really didn't think it was at all necessary to be kept in the dark like this. Annoyed, he stood on the front steps until he heard a muffled cough and some mumbling from the left. Stepping around the garage, Dean's eyes widened and he blinked a few times just to make sure what he was seeing was actually real.

Because that was the cleanest and shiniest his baby had looked in ages.

The sun was bright and hitting all the curves and chrome just right. He'd planned to get her into a car wash soon, but looked like he didn't have to worry about it anymore. He realized he was just standing there gaping at his car when Sam's head popped up from the far side of the car. Sam was frowning, deep in concentration, but when he caught sight of Dean, he smiled, maybe a bit nervously, Dean thought.

"Sam? What are you doing?"

It was an inane thing to say and the amused smile that lit Sam's face told Dean that his brother thought it had been a stupid thing to say too. Sam wiped what had to be an invisible spot off the front of the car and said, "Merry Christmas."

"I'm not sure she's ever looked this good, Sammy." Dean said, grinning and taking a walk around the car. He hadn't been joking and he could see the relief in Sam's eyes. As if he actually had been thinking that somehow the car wasn't going to measure up to Dean's expectations. "Thanks, man, she looks amazing."

"No problem." Sam said, looking a bit embarrassed as he stepped back and let Dean continue his examination.

"Seriously, Sam. Thanks." Dean repeated, catching his brother's gaze. "You didn't have to…"

"I know."

"How long you been out here?" Sam shrugged evasively which told Dean he'd been out here a long time. Frowning, Dean asked, "How'd you get past the warden?"

Sam laughed and rolled his eyes, "Dean. Don't call her that."

"Ah, but see, you knew who I was talking about."

Sam just shook his head and walked over to a bench against the wall of the garage, facing the car. Dean followed him with the suspicion that maybe his overachiever of a little brother had quite possibly overdone it. Sam sank down onto the bench in a way that told Dean he didn't necessarily intend to move from the spot for a good long while. He looked a bit pale and tired but otherwise alright, so Dean kept his mouth shut. Because he didn't want Sam asking him how _he_ felt.

So instead, he just sat down next to Sam and stared at the car. Then he decided it was probably a suitably appropriate time. He pulled a scrap of crumpled paper out of his jeans pocket and tossed it at Sam. And then he leaned over and picked it up off the ground and _handed_ it to his brother whose reaction time clearly still sucked.

"What's this?" Sam asked, sounding as tired as he suddenly looked. He raised an eyebrow, not bothering to open the crumpled paper. "Your gum?"

"Yes, moron, my gum." Dean rolled his eyes, "Just open it."

Sam did so and Dean enjoyed the expression of confusion that appeared on his face. He knew that a paper filled with a bunch of dates, more than half of them crossed off would provide him an amusing moment of waiting for his brother to try to puzzle through what the heck they meant. And Sam puzzled a lot longer than he'd expected him to. Probably because he was still not firing with all his college-educated synapses.

Finally, Sam looked up and asked, "What is this supposed to be?"

"Those are the dates we have to choose from."

"For what?" Sam frowned, looking back at the dates.

"For the games we want to go to." Dean said, "The ones crossed out are the ones I sold the tickets for. I figured we weren't going to make it to that many games, so might as well get a little cash. And we're up almost five hundred bucks!"

Sam was staring at him like he'd grown two additional heads.

Dean laughed and said, "Gotta love the internet, man. I found this website and people were just begging for tickets."

"Tickets to _what_?" Sam asked, still clearly hung up on the ticket thing.

"The Jayhawks." Dean said, grinning smugly, "Those are season tickets."

"Season…" Sam broke off, frowning at the scribbled dates, then back up at Dean, "What do you mean season tickets?"

"You know? Tickets for the whole season? I mean, they're only the second half of the season season tickets, but what can I say? Was lucky to win those." Dean could almost hear the wheels grinding to an absolute halt in Sam's head. He decided it was time to put his concussed brother out of his misery. He said, "A few weeks ago, I checked out this online poker thing…"

"_Online poker?_"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, kinda lame. But I beat this guy in Kansas and won the second half of his season tickets." Dean grinned. Sam shook his head, glancing back at the dates. Dean went on, "Figured we could make it to a few of the games anyway. Decided to make some cash off the others so I went online last night after you went to bed."

"Five hundred bucks?" Sam asked, still processing oh so much more slowly than usual.

Dean nodded, "Yep. We are no longer broke, little brother. So...you know, Merry Christmas or whatever."

Sam stared at the paper, smoothing it out with extreme care. Dean wished he knew what was going through his brother's head. Sometimes he knew _exactly_ what Sam was thinking, other times it was like he was a complete stranger. He'd hoped that this would be a decent, if somewhat lacking Christmas present. He'd also been crossing his fingers that Sam wasn't so far gone with grief that he wouldn't be interested in having a little fun now and then. As the silence stretched on, Dean started feeling more uncomfortable and like maybe, just maybe Stanford had changed Sam more than he'd even realized.

Then Sam spoke again and Dean realized it hadn't been disappointment or disapproval; the long silence had merely been his brother analyzing the dates and making plans. Sam said, "We can probably make it to several games if we do it right. Might have to drive a bit..."

"Dude, we drove like a thousand miles for that Ozzy show." Dean grinned, feeling like everything was right in the world again. "I'd drive two days for a Jayhawks game."

"Well depending on where we end up, we might have to." Sam returned his smile then added softly, "So...maybe don't sell any more of the tickets. For awhile anyway...just in case…"

_Just in case we can make it to more of these games. Just in case we can be normal a few times this year and go to a game like a couple of regular brothers. Just so we can pretend there's hope._

Dean nodded, falling silent. He didn't really want to have to bring up the idea of leaving, although he knew it was on Sam's mind too. Instead he watched with a growing sense of peace as Sam neatly folded the crumpled piece of paper and carefully put it in his pocket like it mattered. Like it was the best Christmas present he'd ever received. Maybe things weren't as broken as they sometimes seemed, Dean decided. Sam rested his head back against the wall and stared at the sparkling Impala. Dean copied his pose and, man, did it feel good to just sit still and have nowhere to be and nothing to do.

* * *

_6:30 PM January 2nd, 2006  
__Pender Home_

Arla had been prepared to suggest a trip to town for burgers, but by mid-afternoon, she'd rethought her plan, and by late evening, she was glad she had. Because as the day had progressed, their energy levels had petered out. What surprised her, though, was that, instead of making either boy frustrated, they seemed to be taking it in stride for once. They allowed her to wait on them hand and foot while they dozed in front of the TV.

And she'd enjoyed it.

The pressure was off and she could concentrate on what she did best; take care of people. So she gave them their medications, filled their plates and patched the holes in their jeans. There would be precious little she could do for them once they went back out on the road again, so she was determined to do whatever she could in the mean time. Which was part of the reason she was glad when Tommy walked into the room a few minutes after she'd finished the mending. She checked to see that the boys were still sitting on the couch, although she could hear them talking.

Or arguing. Arla listened closely and realized they were definitely arguing about something. But she wasn't going to get into the middle of that, so she just pulled the bedroom door closed and asked, "How'd it go?"

Tommy smiled and said, "Mission accomplished." he patted his pocket and said, "Did you doubt me?"

"Not for a minute." Arla said, giving him a quick kiss. She accepted the small package he pulled from his pocket, already excited about her surprise plan. What the boys didn't know, they couldn't very well turn down...

"Sounded like things were getting heated out there." Tommy said, as she spread out his purchases on the bed.

"I know. They're still under a lot of pressure."

"Any idea what they're arguing about?"

"No. None of our business."

"They been arguing all afternoon?"

"No. It just started."

Tommy shrugged, "They're brothers. They're gonna argue."

Arla nodded. She could hear the raised voices now. She had to smile, "Remind you of anything?"

"The girls argued louder." Tommy shuddered dramatically.

She had to laugh too because he was absolutely right. When the twins had argued, she'd honestly been surprised none of the neighbors had ever complained about the ruckus. She said, "I'm sure they're trying to be polite. Amy and Sara could yell all they wanted. They lived here."

Tommy sat on the edge of the bed and said, "Speaking of which, Sara texted. She wants you to give her a call. Something about asparagus or pumpkins or something."

"Well, I'm glad you paid attention, dear." Arla rolled her eyes and reached for the phone. She said, "You stay put, mister. Give them a minute out there."

"You don't want me to referee?" He sank back down, almost disappointed.

"I want you to leave them alone."

Tommy laid back on the bed and groaned, "I don't wanna listen to you talk about vegetables."

"You could clean the bathroom."

"Vegetables it is."

* * *

_6:30 PM January 2nd, 2006  
__Pender Home_

The day had started off so well but gone downhill gradually and seemingly irreversibly. It stood to reason, of course, that since they both still felt like crap, they were bound to be more touchy than normal. Not that they didn't have a way of biting each other's heads off on a good day. Nevertheless, the lingering illness had frayed nerves that they hadn't even noticed had been wearing thin. Dean decided that being sick was as good as any reason out there for the argument they'd gotten into not ten minutes after they'd awakened from yet another nap and gone to the kitchen for food.

It had been petty, pointless and he'd started it. Which made everything worse because at least if Sam had been the one who started it, Dean could have stood back in righteous indignation and let his brother feel bad for being a jerk. But, no, _he'd_ started it this time and Sam had gone out the back door in a huff, leaving Dean standing at the table, feeling like a jerk.

He cursed. This was _not_ how it was supposed to go.

His only consolation was that the Pender's were in another room and weren't around to witness the argument. Or the aftermath. Staring out the sliding glass door, Dean shook his head as he watched Sam stomp down the porch steps. And then _he_ was rushing for the door because he couldn't see Sam anymore and he really should have been able to and if he couldn't that probably meant…

Sam was on the ground.

"Sam!" Dean's heart was in his throat because the sight of his brother at the bottom of a flight of steps only brought up really bad memories. He gripped the rail tightly, not feeling any too steady himself, and half-stumbled down the steps. "Sam, talk to me!"

"Thought you _didn't _want me to talk to you." Sam muttered irritably. Just because he was flat on his back in the grass didn't apparently mean he'd forgotten or forgiven anything yet.

Dean couldn't care less about the argument at this point. He hit his knees next to his brother, hands hovering as he visually searched for the injuries he was sure were there somewhere. "Did you fall? Did you hit your head? Sam? What happened? "

Sam glared at him, but said, "I just needed...to sit down…"

"_Sit_ down?"

"Ok, lie down." Sam pressed a hand to his eyes and sighed, "I'm fine."

"Whatever." Dean said, irritation flaring again as the panic began to ebb. "Such a drama queen. There's a couch and bed inside. Let's go."

But when Dean reached out to grab Sam and drag him back inside, he was surprised to find Sam's hand on his arm first. Sam groaned, rolling to his side, fingers digging into Dean's arm as he mumbled, "Gonna be sick…"

"Don't you dare. Don't you even dare." Dean ordered, seeing the color fade from Sam's face and the painful swallowing start up. They were _so_ not starting this again. _Not happening._

Sam tried to snap his arm in half and the irritation and panic flip-flopped again and Dean knew panic was going to win because seeing his little brother crumpled on the ground, squeezing his arm so much it actually hurt was so not a good way to end the day. And the fact that it was his own fault made it even worse. Dean turned his head away to cough against his shoulder, then looked back at Sam, noting with relief that the pained squint of his eyes had relaxed somewhat. He sat down heavily next to him.

Bleary eyes blinked up at him, and Dean was annoyed to see concern there despite the misery. Sam whispered, "You ok?"

"Me? I'm fine. I've been sitting on my ass watching tv for the past three days." Dean snapped, "You, on the other hand, haven't sat still since yesterday. I don't even know what the heck you've been doing other than cleaning the car. Which, again, thank you for that, you stupid stubborn idiot. But you pushed too hard. I knew you were gonna do that, stupid stubborn idiot…"

"Learned from the best." Sam said and actually had the nerve to smile.

Dean sighed heavily. It was hard to stay angry when his brother had a point and they both knew it. Shaking his head, he said, "Sam. What happened?"

"Got dizzy." Sam mumbled, closing his eyes; his iron grip on Dean's arm finally relaxing. "Ground just came up kinda fast."

"Shouldn't've gone running out the door."

"Shouldn't've given me a reason to. Jerk."

"I know." The _I'm sorry _got stuck in his throat. Even if he meant it, saying it out loud after he'd just made a fool of himself by running out the door in a panic felt like overkill.

"Maybe we should stay...at least another day." Sam said so softly that Dean had to strain to catch his words.

Dean nodded. The pressure was building, the tension, the knowledge that Dad was out there somewhere and they really needed to get back on the road. But the simple fact was, they were still sick. He knew that neither of them were up to it yet. Hearing Sam admit that he wasn't ready to get back on the road was enough to quiet the raging worry in his gut; the worry that Sam was going to lose it if they didn't get back out there to avenge Jessica _right this very minute_.

If Sam wasn't ready, then they weren't ready.

"So you gonna stay on the grass?" Dean asked, rubbing his chest as he coughed again. Somehow the coughing, the fact his voice was tired and soft and the fact he himself was sitting in the grass without making any indication he intended to move made his snarky comment seem very lame.

Sam was already pushing himself upright and didn't look any worse for wear. He said, "I think we better get off the grass before someone finds out and grounds us."

"Like you know what it means to be grounded…" Dean scoffed, pulling on the porch railing to get himself to his feet.

"Dad didn't have to ground me," Sam said, already halfway up the stairs, "because I did my homework, ate my vegetables…"

"Spaghettios don't count as vegetables…" Dean griped, annoyed that he'd come running outside, worrying about his brother only to now be the one left behind. He was finding going back up the stairs a lot more difficult than going down had been.

"Dean?"

"Hm?"

"Y'alright?"

"Mm hm."

"Dean?"

"Hm?"

"Open your eyes man, you're gonna fall over."

Dean blinked, not even remembering closing his eyes. He also didn't remember Sam's grip on his arm or his own death grip on the railing. Felt like the world was swaying and he could commiserate with Sam about feeling dizzy. He tried to move forward, up another step, but couldn't move. Because something big and heavy was blocking his path. Dean glared at Sam.

Sam just shook his head, and leaned against the railing as he said, "Take a minute to catch your breath, ok? You were hyperventilating."

Since he couldn't remember exactly what had happened, Dean just did as he was told because he didn't feel up to fighting his brother at the moment. It took a little while, but finally they had both recovered enough to make it up the stairs. A quick glance into the house showed him no sign of Arla or Tommy and Dean was thankful. Because the last thing he needed was Arla wondering what they'd been up to.

"Think we can make it back inside without them noticing we were missing?" Sam whispered.

The slightly guilty expression Sam had on his face made Dean think of the time they'd snuck out as teens to go to a party. Sam had been fifteen and way too young to be going but he'd caught Dean sneaking out and, despite the fact he typically would have preferred to stay home and read his history book, for some reason he'd insisted on coming. Dean hadn't been thrilled about having a kid brother along when he'd been planning to hook up with Leanna Lawrence. Or Judy Barber. Or both. Which he didn't end up doing.

Because they'd found a pool table in the basement and he and Sam had played game after game by themselves until 3 in the morning. And Dean hadn't even given one single thought to Leanna or Judy the entire time. He'd concentrated on teaching Sammy every trick he knew and watched with pride as his nerdy kid brother had finally started beating him as the night went on.

They'd stumbled back to the apartment and run straight into Dad. Dean had been ready with a good story; one Dad might even have bought despite there being no way he couldn't have smelled the beer on both of them. But before Dean could professionally lay out the story, Sam had broken under the pressure of one glance from Dad. And Dean could do nothing but stand there and listen in horror as Sam answered Dad's question of where had they been.

Sam had simply blurted out, "We were walking the dog, sir."

Dean had wanted to sink through the floor. _Walking the dog? The dog they didn't own? _It had been about the dumbest thing Sam could have said at almost four in the morning as he stood there, slightly inebriated, wide-eyed, and melting under Dad's laser glare. Prepared for the worst, Dean had just about fallen over when Dad glanced from Sam to him and back again, then snorted and said, "Dog goes out middle of the night again, I'm gonna shoot him. Understood?"

They had both nodded, said _yessir_ and run for the bedroom before Dad could shoot either of _them _on the spot.

His thoughts drawn back to the present, Dean saw the little bit of fear in Sam's eyes and he couldn't help it. He laughed. Sam looked at him like he was crazy, but all Dean said was, "Just tell 'em we were walking the dog, Sammy."

And when Sam busted out laughing, Dean had a feeling that they were going to be just fine.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed! I still refuse to predict how many more chapters there will be because last time I tried...well we all know how that turned out (six chapters later) lol! But we are drawing toward a conclusion. They're mostly patched back together and hey, they gotta get to Toledo and save poor Charlie (not Bradbury, the other one lol) from Bloody Mary! **

**Have a great weekend everyone! Thank you for reading. :) **


	37. Chapter 37

_Hi! I'm prefacing this one with a hanky warning. That is all. _

* * *

_7:30 AM January 3rd, 2006  
__Pender Home_

It was probably kind of creepy, but Dean figured he could play the big brother card if there were any complaints. Not that it seemed like Sam was going to be complaining for awhile. Dean took a moment to press his fingers to his eyes to rub the last bit of sleepiness away before he went back to studying Sam. He was sleeping. But he'd only been doing that for the past hour or so. Dean couldn't be exactly specific of course, because he himself had been sleeping for most of the night as opposed to being caught up in nightmares.

He'd caught one of them, but thanks to the medications and the lingering exhaustion of fighting for days for each and every breath, he'd probably missed out on more of the nocturnal disturbances. Because it was rare for Sam to just have one nightmare. Dean sighed, deciding he should be grateful at least that Sam was sleeping now. But he couldn't help being disappointed that they were back exactly to where they'd started. Some deluded and overly optimistic part of him had hoped that Sam would have somehow miraculously gotten over the nightmares.

They had a better chance of winning the lottery.

Checking the time, Dean decided he might as well get up and get ready for the day. His movements slow, he rifled through his bag to find the clean clothes that miraculously always seemed to appear. Pulling out a fresh pair of jeans, Dean had to pause and stare at the neat, almost invisible job of patchwork that he could see on the material. It was his best pair of jeans and he'd been annoyed after realizing he had somehow gotten a hole in the left knee. Now, he could barely tell there had been a hole.

He had to blink back the tears as he hurried into the bathroom.

By the time he'd showered and dressed, Dean wasn't surprised to see Sam sluggishly waking up. It only took one split second of eye contact, though, to tell Dean that keeping his mouth shut and leaving the room would be his wisest course of action. Sam averted his eyes and flopped back against the bed, facing the wall this time. Dean closed the door quietly behind him as he headed for the dining room. He squared his shoulders and prepared to be at his most polite even though he really wanted to go out and shoot something

He smelled coffee as soon as he walked into the hallway and, considering it wasn't even eight am and he was up, it was a good thing there would be coffee available. Tommy looked up from his breakfast and smiled, "Morning. Coffee?"

"Please." Dean nodded. Funny how, even though he felt like a completely new person after a few days of decent rest, he still was ready to sit down. By the time he'd pulled out a chair to sit down, Tommy had poured a cup of coffee for him and Arla was piling food on a plate for him.

He was really going to miss all of this.

"How did you sleep, Dean?" Arla asked, setting the plate down in front of him. She sipped her own coffee as she looked him up and down in careful assessment.

Reaching for a fork, he said, "Probably the best sleep I've had so far." He didn't bother to mention that he'd been pulled from his sleep by Sam's nightmare. Sam would definitely not appreciate him saying anything.

Arla's smile widened and she said, "I'm glad to hear it. You certainly look better."

Dean got the impression she wanted to say something more, but she seemed to change her mind. She glanced briefly at Tommy, then turned her attention to her breakfast. Not for the first time, Dean felt a sharp jab of urgency slice through him. They needed to get back on the road. It had been a necessity, their prolonged stay with the Penders; even he couldn't deny that there had been no way either of them had been up to leaving.

Until now.

Now, though, as he savored the taste of a homemade cinnamon roll and listened to the easy morning chatter of a normal couple, Dean knew it was time. But they'd decided to give it one more day. So he intended to take advantage of the last day of normal he might ever get. He licked icing off his fingers and said, "Sam mentioned that you had fishing gear."

Tommy nodded, "You want to head out to the creek?"

"Not until I've had another cinnamon roll." Dean grinned.

* * *

It was cowardly. It was denial, avoidance, or maybe just plain laziness. Sam wasn't sure and he wasn't sure he cared one way or another. He didn't want to get out of bed. He hadn't slept much and his head was pounding again. It wasn't nearly the worst headache he'd had over the past week or so, but it was bad enough that it left him feeling achy and ill. It must have been obvious even to his sometimes obnoxiously dense brother that it wasn't a good time for flippant jokes or much of anything at all. Even so, Sam had been surprised that Dean had left him alone and walked out of the room without a word. He knew Dean had been awake at least once during the night when he'd awakened gasping for breath, Jessica's skin so real against his fingers as she burned to death. But Sam was pretty sure Dean had slept through most of the nightmares for which he was grateful; Dean worried too much as it was.

Sighing, Sam shifted and rolled onto his back, trying to find a comfortable position. He opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn't. Because the ceiling was white and all he could see was blonde curls and blood and flames and he wanted to throw up. Tears stung his eyes and Sam could almost smell the smoke.

"Jess." He whispered, not able to pull his eyes away from the ceiling. Only when the tears ran down his face to pool in his ears, making him shiver, was he able to look away.

He needed a drink.

Pushing himself upright, Sam sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, until he was certain he could lift it without it falling off. Looking to the left, he was glad to see a bottle of water on the nightstand, next to the Tylenol. Wishing he had something stronger to take, something strong enough to knock him out for however long it would take for his heart to stop bleeding, Sam reached for the pills and the bottle of water.

When he lifted the water bottle, he realized there was a slip of paper under it. Curious, he grabbed it and then curiosity gave way to surprise. It was the note he'd written for himself the day he'd been released from the hospital. He'd forgotten he'd crumpled it up and tossed it across the room. Now, it had been smoothed out and there were scribbled addendum's next to each of his notes.

Poltergeists. Arizona, linked to the motel? Need to ask Dean. _Yes linked to the motel cuz our luck sucks I TOLD you we should've just camped in the car_

There was another Wendigo? _I know right? What are the chances? Good shot, by the way_

Penders-Dean trusts them. He's supposed to be released tomorrow. _What? Did you miss me or something?_

Dad is missing. _We're gonna find him Sam_

Jess is dead. **_Not Your Fault__!_**

Sam ran a hand over his eyes to get rid of the tears that were blurring his vision. There were times, _many_ times, that he wanted to wring his brother's neck. Sam shook his head and smiled. This was not one of those times. This was one of those times when he knew without a doubt that he had the best brother in the world. And even though he wanted to get back into bed and ignore the world, pretend it didn't exist, he decided he couldn't. This was the last day they'd be staying with the Penders. They hadn't talked about it in great detail the previous evening, but that was the decision they'd made. And he didn't want to ruin Dean's last day with the Penders. So he was going to get up and he was going to make the best of it.

He could already smell the fresh baked goodies out in the kitchen and decided that he might even enjoy it himself.

* * *

She probably should have grabbed the stool. Or at least one of the dining room chairs to stand on, Arla mused, on her tiptoes and straining to reach the sugar from the top shelf.

"Let me get that for you."

Arla stopped straining and looked up at the towering form next to her who was easily lifting the sugar from the shelf and setting it down on the counter. She smiled and said, "Thanks, Sam."

He smiled back and asked, "Anything else you need?"

"Since you're here...and ten feet tall," Arla grinned, pointing up at the cupboard, "how about getting the flour down too? Tommy thinks the top shelf is the perfect place to store the extra baking supplies but they're a bit less than accessible for me, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Doesn't he realize that if he puts all if it up too high, he's not going to get any cookies?" Sam asked, setting the flour next to the sugar.

"Good point." Arla nodded. "I'll have to have a chat with him because he does like his cookies."

"Coffee?" Sam asked, pointing at the pot on the counter.

"Help yourself." Arla said, handing him a fresh mug.

He poured himself a cup, his gaze wandering to the tray of chocolate muffins that were sitting to the left of the stove. Arla busied herself with the sugar, watching out of the corner of her eye as he wordlessly helped himself to a muffin and stood there, leaning against the counter and looking around the kitchen. He munched on the muffin and seemed about as relaxed and comfortable as she'd ever seen him. And somehow, despite how relaxed he seemed, he also looked wrecked. Like he hadn't slept at all. Like the worries of the world were slowly killing him yet again. Arla sighed as she measured the sugar. She knew grief, knew how it could eat away at you until there wasn't anything left.

What she didn't know was how to make it better.

Because grief was an individualized creature, as mysterious and changeable as the weather and there was no one size fits all cure to it. Arla sincerely hoped that maybe some healing, not just physical, had happened while the boys were at her home. But she knew that the only thing that was going to cure Sam's pain was time.

And the support of his brother.

"These are amazing." Sam's voice interrupted her thoughts and her measurement of the sugar. She set the measuring cup aside and looked up at Sam. He was on his second muffin and already eyeing a third.

Arla smiled and said, "I'm glad you like them." She added chocolate muffins to the list of things she needed to bake another batch of in order to send with the boys when they left. She was relieved to see that he was eating and smiling despite the fatigue and misery in his eyes. She asked, "Do you want any eggs or bacon to go with the chocolate?"

His eyes lit up at that and Arla grinned. Maybe she still had time to help him heal a little more before he left. If chocolate muffins and bacon would do the trick, she'd happily never leave the kitchen.

* * *

Dean was surprised when he looked up and saw Sam walking toward him from the house. A glance at his watch showed him that it had been an hour or two since he'd come out with Tommy to start fishing. He spared a glance at the water; he'd felt a nibble a moment ago and he didn't want to lose whatever he had on the line. But his attention quickly returned to Sam and he was relieved to see that his brother looked ok. Overtired and emotionally wrung out maybe, but ok; these days Dean had to take what he could get. Sam even smiled a bit as he walked up and the smile didn't looked forced; it just looked tired.

"Fishing or eating," Sam said quietly, hovering just to Dean's left, "only things I've ever known that keep you quiet and still."

Dean grinned and held up another fishing rod. "Join?"

Sam accepted the rod and sat down on the grass, staring out at the horizon.

"Tommy ran back for more bait." Dean said, playing with the line a bit. He tried to look casual as he attempted to assess his brother's state of mind with surreptitious glances from the corner of his eye.

"Haven't caught anything yet?"

Sighing theatrically, Dean said, "It's not about the catching, Sam. It's about…"

"The act of fishing…" Sam smiled, his voice indicating how many times he'd heard that line over the years.

Dean returned his smile, reeling his line in and then casting again. Sam was just absently fiddling with his reel. He wondered if his brother was ever going to decide to actually cast his line out, but figured he should keep his mouth shut and be grateful Sam was out of bed and indulging him in conversation. The way he'd looked earlier, Dean hadn't really expected it. It had been hit or miss ever since Jessica's death whether Sam would react well to Dean's presence or just completely tune him out. A long time ago, Dean hadn't been able to shut his little brother up. Nowadays, he found it increasingly difficult to get Sam to talk. About anything. The continued silence from his left made him think that he probably wasn't going to have any luck today either. So he just let his attention focus on what he was doing instead of putting any pressure, however inadvertent, on Sam.

By the time he'd landed the little fish he'd been fighting with and released it back into the wild, Sam was sound asleep on the grass next to him. Dean smiled a bit as he stared down at his brother. He hadn't even noticed him lay down but he certainly looked comfortable. So he just took Sam's fishing rod and cast his line out, setting the rod between them. Who knew? He might end up catching a fish while he was sleeping.

* * *

Tommy knew Dean was waiting for the bait, but when he was halfway back and saw Sam was sleeping, he decided not to take a chance of disturbing him. So he just returned to the house. Arla met him at the back door, a quizzical smile on her face.

"What's up?" She asked, pulling yet another tray of muffins from the oven.

"Sam's sleeping. Didn't want to disturb them."

Arla raised an eyebrow, "You sure it's not because you wanted another piece of pie?"

"What? Before lunch?" Tommy grinned. He'd just finished a slice. "Surely you must be crazy."

"Mmhm." Arla said, turning away. She called over her shoulder, "It's warming on top of the oven."

"You're my favorite wife."

"I'd better be."

Tommy grinned, heading for the pie. He loved the holidays.

* * *

_Evening_

Tommy looked like he was five years old. He was grinning from ear to ear and Arla realized that he was no longer going to be content driving their SUV again. Ever. She shared an amused smile with Sam as they listened to Dean and Tommy enthusiastically chattering about the engine. Tommy had been thrilled each time that he'd already driven the car, but this time, _this time_ he was beside himself. Because he had it opened up and was getting every bit of horsepower out of that V8. No one was sick, no one was dying and there was absolutely no reason not to enjoy what the sleek black car had to offer.

Even though Tommy was driving, Arla could see that Dean was enjoying himself as he went into depth detailing every salient point of the Chevy's engine. She hadn't seen him so enthusiastic about anything up to this point. And she had to laugh because, although he didn't seem to be anywhere near as up on the technical selling points of the car, Sam was looking rather proud and maybe a bit smug as Dean talked about the car and Tommy ate it all up.

If she hadn't already figured it out, she knew for sure now that the car was the most important thing they had in their lives other than each other. As Dean talked, she got more details on their nomadic lifestyle and realized they'd practically lived in the car at more than one point. By the time they'd reached town and Tommy pulled them into the parking lot at the burger joint, Arla knew more about the workings of a Chevy Impala than she'd ever realized there was to know. And a lot more than she had really _needed_ to know. But she never tried to break into the conversation because she was enjoying the happy chatter and wanted to keep pretending that the boys weren't leaving in the morning.

She was going to live in denial as long as she could.

And she was going to enjoy every minute of it. She'd been around the Winchester boys for over a week now and they'd only just begun to feel well enough for her to really get to know them. She hoped that this evening, this last evening, that they'd be able to have an enjoyable time. She wanted to give them that much at least. Something good they could hold onto before they went back to their dangerous lives.

Arla tuned into the conversation around her as Tommy parked the car and they headed across the parking lot.

"Easy money." Dean was saying with a grin. He coughed a couple times, then slapped Sam on the shoulder. "Sammy's not exactly the pool shark."

Tommy raised an eyebrow, "So you're saying you _are_?"

"That's right." Dean nodded, cocky grin in place. "Someone's gotta earn the lunch money."

Arla saw Sam rolling his eyes at his brother's bluster, but he wasn't contradicting him. Smiling to herself, she wasn't sure she would bet her money on Dean. He'd never seen Tommy play pool, but she had. And she knew he'd played everyone in town. Tommy wasn't into gambling, but she saw the twinkle in his eye and had a feeling he might get up to no good tonight.

_Never say you aren't a show off, Thomas Pender_, Arla shook her head.

As they walked inside, Dean hung back and whispered, "I might need to borrow a dollar. I'll triple it at least for you by end of the night."

Arla laughed and said, "I can probably handle that."

They headed to their usual table and when Jeannie walked up, ready for their order, Arla smiled and said, "Four beers, Jeannie. I owe this young man."

Dean's grin made her night.

* * *

Tommy had to laugh at the expression of utter disbelief on Dean's face. He grinned and said, "Guess you didn't expect that, didja?"

Dean shook his head slowly and said, "You gotta teach me that one."

Tommy nodded, taking a sip of his beer and saying, "Set 'em up again and I will. Because, kid, the way you play? It's good, but you got a thing or two to learn."

For the next twenty minutes, they worked on nothing but tricks and techniques. Tommy hadn't been lying; the kid _was_ good, but there was a lot he needed to work on. Sam seemed to find the entire thing rather amusing and said with a smirk, "So I guess maybe you _do_ have room to improve."

Dean glared at him and Tommy set his next shot up with a grin, thinking _score one for the little brothers_.

After a couple more games, Tommy could tell that Dean was wearing out. He'd looked good all day, but he was still coughing and his movements were becoming a bit slower and less coordinated. He was trying to hide how breathless he was, but he wasn't doing as good a job as he thought he was. Tommy was about to suggest taking a break but was surprised when Dean handed his pool cue to Sam.

Dean wiped a hand over his face and said simply, "Gonna grab another drink. Don't lose our money, Sammy."

Sam nodded, but didn't say anything. Tommy thought he was looking a bit pale and weary too. Maybe it was time to head home, he mused as Dean walked back over to rejoin Arla at the table. But then Sam set the balls up again and said, "He doesn't think I pay any attention to anything he says or does."

Tommy was about to ask what he meant but then Sam expertly broke the balls. Sam looked up with a grin and said, "I don't want to damage his pride."

"You're a nicer little brother than I ever was." Tommy smiled, lining up his shot and realizing already that he was going to lose. "If there was anything I could do to put Erik in his place, I would. Because he never hesitated to do that to me."

"Dean's not really like that." Sam shrugged and any lethargy that Tommy might have seen earlier was gone; replaced with concentration and skilled determination. "He's a pain in the butt most days, but...he's always, he's always been there for me, you know?"

Tommy nodded even though he didn't really know. Was only starting to understand the depth of what that meant for these two. Erik would have, and had, beat up bullies for him at times growing up. But he'd also beat up on _him_ more than once. While he assumed that Dean and Sam had also scuffled plenty of times over the years, he knew that the level of dependence between these two brothers went far beyond his relationship with Erik. Because these two depended on each other to stay _alive_. They didn't have anyone else who could, who _would_, watch their backs.

Except each other.

Sam expertly put the #2 ball into the side pocket and stepped back, waiting for Tommy. Tommy studied the table, realizing that he was absolutely going to lose. He caught Sam glancing over at his brother, expression subtly changing from fondness to worry and then going carefully blank when he caught Tommy looking at him. Taking his shot, Tommy stood up and met Sam's gaze.

"We're leaving tomorrow." Sam said.

"I know." He'd been assuming, but wasn't surprised to hear it confirmed.

"What you and Arla did for us...we...just," Sam struggled for a moment, then met Tommy's eyes and said, "just thank you."

"You're welcome."

Sam nodded and took another perfect shot. He said softly, "You're kind of the nicest people we've met in a while."

"For that, I'm sorry." Tommy said, studying the kid. He said, "You two ever need anything…"

"Thanks." Sam smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. He said, "It's probably best we stay away from you in the future. Things...things happen…"

Tommy's heart broke at the despair in Sam's voice. They had nothing and no one and all either of them had been concerned about from the beginning had been keeping him and Arla safe. He took a step closer and put a hand on Sam's shoulder, meeting his eyes as he said, "I don't care. Ok? You need something, anything, you let us know."

"Ok." Sam said and Tommy knew he meant it.

Whether they'd actually ever call was another thing, but at least he'd gotten through to the kid. Tommy stepped back and said, "I'm not going to win this game, am I?"

Sam grinned, "You want to play Dean again?"

"You're sneaky, you know that?" Tommy shook a finger, "People gotta watch out for you."

"Who me?" Sam shrugged and abruptly looked so innocent that Tommy almost forgot the kid was hustling him at pool.

Tommy laughed and took his best shot knowing it wouldn't be enough.

* * *

Arla sat back, enjoying her dessert and the sight of Tommy and the boys engaged in a healthy competition. They all looked like they were enjoying themselves and she couldn't help but take a quick picture on her cell phone. She felt silly for doing it, yet she couldn't help herself. Because she wanted to remember them. She probably would never see them again, but she was going to hang on to whatever she could. Sitting there alone, she felt a knot in her throat the size of a fist. It was hard to swallow and hard to fight the tears. But then Dean was walking slowly toward her and she had to push it all aside and force a smile. She didn't want to ruin the evening with her sentimentality.

Despite her resolve, Arla found that she couldn't hold back when Dean sat down next to her, looking worn out and ill. She grabbed his arm and said, "Dean. I want you to do something for me."

"I know, I know." Dean said immediately, not really looking surprised. He said, "Take care of my brother…"

Arla shook her head, shaking his arm and interrupting him, "Don't put words in my mouth, Dean. I don't need to tell you to take care of Sam. You do that as naturally as you breathe. I want you to let _him_ take care of you sometimes."

Dean snorted, "I don't need him to take care of me. He's my little brother and I…"

"This life you lead…"

"You don't know anything about it." Dean said, voice vibrating with sudden tension and he started to pull away.

Arla tightened her grip and said, "I know. And I'm thankful. Very thankful. But it's an awful hard burden for one to carry. You two share something that most people don't. That most people wouldn't understand. Couldn't possibly understand. You're so good at taking care of him. Don't shut him out of _your_ life, Dean."

She watched the emotions dance across his face. He didn't like what she was saying, that was obvious, but it was also obvious that he was actually listening to her. At least to some extent. He was brash and cocky, full of himself and full of confidence. But she could see the fear in his eyes. See how scared he was. He was a grown man but he was struggling along trying to make sense of a world that made no sense. She could see how badly he wanted to find his father. How badly he needed to make things right for Sam when what he really needed was someone to make things right for him.

What scared _her_ was that she knew there was no one who could do that. Because who could make things right for a couple of kids who hunted things that gave most people nightmares...people who thought such things were just that. Nightmares. _Not real. _How could anyone make that right?

Arla stared at the kid in front of her and realized she was utterly at a loss for words. What could she say? What motherly advice could she possibly give? How could she ever wrap her head around what they went through on a daily basis?

"You know," Dean's soft voice broke through her thoughts, "nobody's ever really done this for us. Try to understand what we do. Try to help us like this." He glanced up at where Tommy and Sam were laughing and setting up the pool balls again. Dean smiled a tired, much too world-weary smile for one so young and said, "It's been good."

"I'm glad." Arla said, knowing he was trying in his own way to express everything he didn't know how to say.

Dean nodded, eyes on the table as he traced the edge of his beer bottle through the condensation. He said, "I think...it's been good for Sam."

Arla smiled to herself as his eyes returned to his brother. She had a feeling it had been good for both of them.

* * *

It was late that night when Sam found her. Arla was just finishing packing up the baked goods she'd prepared for them when he walked into the kitchen. Tommy had turned in earlier and she thought both of the boys had too, but Sam didn't look like he'd been anywhere near his bed yet.

"Hi Sam." She set the box aside and looked up at him. "You alright?"

He nodded, but there was something off. Arla could just feel it. She frowned as he hovered near the counter, staring around the room; looking anywhere but at her. That knot was back in her throat as she took a step forward and asked, "Sam?"

"Thank you for saving Dean's life." Sam whispered, meeting her eyes very briefly before he leaned down and wrapped his arms around her. "Thank you for everything."

Arla immediately hugged him back, tears springing into her eyes at the almost desperate way he clung to her. And then just as quickly as he'd initiated the hug, he was gone. She leaned against the counter, her hand to her mouth as she silently cried. He never looked back and she knew right then that she wouldn't see him again.

That he'd just said his only good bye.

* * *

_Tissue anyone?_

_I wrote this sitting in Panera Bread and trying my darnedest not to cry in public. I mostly succeeded...mostly. _

_Would you like something to cheer you up? Ch 38 is as good as finished. I'm hoping to post Friday after I polish it up a bit. :)_


	38. Chapter 38

_So I'm very proud of myself for getting this posted today as I planned...I got asked to work an extra shift tonight so I'm literally posting as I'm about to run out the door. Four shifts in a row sucks and I probably won't get the next chapter up till next week, but at least I got this one up! Thank you for all the wonderful reviews from the last chapter...I promise I'll reply to all of them as soon as I can! _

_Also, just to let you know so you can begin to prepare yourselves...this story will end with chapter 40. :( I am outlined out and ready to put it all together so just wanted you to know. I'm so blown away by all your kind reviews and nice words about how much you've been enjoying this story. :D You guys are awesome and were it not for your encouragement and interest, this story would never have happened. :) _

_Without further ado...here ya go. (ps you may still want those tissues handy. I'll wait right here while you grab them. Ok? Set? :) _

* * *

_0620 AM January 4th, 2006  
__Pender Home_

Dean woke up and stared at the ceiling. He was discovering that he didn't much like ceilings these days so he rolled over onto his side. And his already dark mood went a few shades darker. Sam always had been an early riser, but these days...well, these days it wasn't so much that he was an early riser as it was that he was always up. Dean knew Sam hadn't slept. Probably not at all. Because he was dressed and the weapons were packed and their bags were sitting next to the door. Sam's bed was neatly made with all the Marine precision that Dad had always tried to drill into him.

Sighing, Dean pushed himself upright and sat on the edge of his bed, staring across the three foot gap between the beds. A gap that sometimes seemed like an ever-widening chasm between them. Sam looked up from his contemplation of the carpet and Dean had to look away. The raw pain he could see reminded him, as if he could have forgotten, that his brother was drowning alive every single day.

He glanced up again when Sam moved. Pulling on his jacket, Sam wordlessly grabbed his gear and the weapons bag. Then he walked out of the room.

Dean lowered his head to his hands long enough to take one steadying breath.

And then he was forcing himself to his feet and dragging himself to the bathroom for a shower. They needed to get back on the road. Whatever good their stay with the Penders might have done for Sam, it was going to completely unravel if they didn't get back on the road; if they didn't find Dad. _Soon_. So he stood there in the shower for as long as he dared but not nearly as long as he wanted to. The water was hot. Almost scalding and he didn't care.

Because it was hot.

And the water pressure was incredible.

And the bathroom was clean.

And he wanted this. Wanted to have what other people got. What the Penders had. What he and Sam _should_ have had. What they were never going to have. The water was hot and helped him pretend he wasn't standing there fighting back tears.

It didn't take him long to dress and pack and he walked out into the dining room, smelling coffee and seeing Arla and Tommy at the table. Dean didn't see Sam, though. And it actually pissed him off more than a little that Sam could be so self-centered that he'd just walk out the door without saying a word to…

"He said his goodbye last night, Dean." Arla's soft voice broke into his thoughts and he wasn't sure he liked how easily she could read his facial expressions. She went on, "This hasn't been easy for him."

Dean nodded and sat down at the table. He accepted the plate and cup of coffee and realized he didn't know what to say. So he just ate his breakfast in complete silence. And somehow it was ok. It was comfortable.

As he finished, Arla refilled his coffee and squeezed his hand briefly as she said, "So, honey, where are you boys off to?"

And he had to swallow past the lump in his throat thinking how great it would be if they had a Mom to ask them that. If he was driving Sam back to college and not to who knew where to kill who knew what. If they had a normal life. He let the coffee burn through him to clear away the lump then said, "North. We don't have a specific place in mind yet."

Arla nodded and Dean knew that she wanted to beg him to stay because if they didn't have a place to go, why shouldn't they stay? But she didn't. She just smiled, albeit a bit teary, and said, "Don't drive too long. You both still need your rest. Ok? Just take it easy for awhile yet."

"We will." Dean nodded.

Tommy finally spoke up, "I aired up your tires. And you're good on fluids."

"Thanks."

And then there wasn't really anything else to say. Because he'd already thanked them as best he knew how. And there was no way he could ever repay them. Just as the silence started growing a bit long, Arla patted his arm and put on her brightest smile.

"Well, I'll just finish packing up the goodies." She rose and headed into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, "Don't you dare let any of it go to waste, Dean Winchester. You two boys need to eat."

Dean forced a grin and said, "If there's a pie in there, I guarantee it won't go to waste."

"Oh there's a pie." Tommy said, winking, "I didn't even touch it. Just made her promise to make me one tomorrow."

"Good plan." Dean smiled, standing up. His smile faded and he stared in disbelief as Arla rounded the corner with a paper grocery bag filled with home baked goodies. "Wow."

Arla laughed and said, "I got a bit enthusiastic."

"Well, I'm not gonna lie," Dean said, already peeking inside the bag, "I'm kinda glad you did."

And then it was about to get awkward again, but before it could, Tommy rose and shook his hand firmly and said, "Safe travels. Let us know if you need anything. We'll be here."

Dean nodded, unable to speak. He could see the emotion in the older man's eyes and he hadn't really expected that. Tommy turned away quickly, and headed to the kitchen with his coffee cup. And then Arla was giving him a hug and Dean found himself hugging her back. She pulled away quickly and said, "Take care of yourself. Eat healthy food. Take your medications. Call me if either of you start feeling worse again. Be careful."

And all he could do was nod again because her eyes were filled with tears as she squeezed his hand and hurried away from him. Dean swallowed hard, took one last look around their comfortable, beautiful home, grabbed the food and bolted for the door where he'd left his duffle bag sitting.

Somehow he managed to get all of it out the door without dropping anything. Heading to the car, he really wasn't surprised to see Sam sitting in the front seat, eyes on the map in his hands. Dean tossed his bag in the trunk and settled the food in the backseat. For a moment, he stood at the door, staring back at the house. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and slid inside. Sam didn't look up from the map he seemed to be intently studying.

Except he wasn't.

Dean took only a quick glance, but it was enough to tell him that Sam was staring through the map. The only reason he had the map out was to give him something to point his eyes at. Starting the engine, Dean didn't bother to ask for directions. Because the only direction he needed was out of town and he already knew that.

So he drove.

* * *

"I just want to help them. To change things for them."

Tommy blew out a slow breath, running his hands through Arla's hair as she cried into his shoulder. As soon as they'd heard the big engine start up, she'd been hurrying to the front door and Tommy wasn't sure if it was because she wanted to try to stop the boys or if it was just because she didn't want them to drive away without someone seeing them off. So they were standing on the front porch, staring at the empty driveway.

"You did everything you could." Tommy said, knowing his words weren't enough, just as everything they'd done wouldn't be enough to keep the Winchesters safe for long.

"They're just _kids_…" Arla sniffed, pushing back a bit and looking up at him.

"I know."

"Who does that to their kids?" She said, voice suddenly harsh. "Who would put their kids into that kind of...of danger? Why in the world?"

Tommy stared at the horizon and wished he had a good answer. Because he'd wondered the same thing. He sighed and said, "Arla, we don't know the whole story. I don't think...I doubt it was a conscious choice. I just have this feeling...there must have been no other option."

Arla nodded, but she didn't exactly look any happier. She took another quick look at the driveway, then said, "We're never going to see them again, are we?"

"Probably not." Tommy said honestly. He put his arm around her shoulder and drew her into the house. "But there's always a chance. There's always hope."

"I know." Arla said, "I just want _them_ to know that."

* * *

_5:10 PM _

Dean used the inhaler before he left the restroom. It irked him to have to use the stupid thing in the first place and there was no way he wanted Sam to know about it. He'd had enough of a worrying little brother to last him a lifetime. He looked down at the note that had been taped to the inhaler when he'd found it in his jacket pocket.

_Use me if you need me! Don't be stubborn, Dean Winchester._

With a smiley face.

Rolling his eyes, he slid the inhaler back into his pocket. He stared at himself briefly in the mirror and wished he hadn't. He'd been feeling worse as the day had gone on and he certainly looked it now. At least the inhaler had been helping with the breathing. This was only their second stop since they'd left the Penders earlier that morning. And after he'd used it at their first stop, it had tided him over until now so he hoped that using it now would hold him until they decided to stop for the night.

Honestly, Dean was ready to stop any time. He felt shaky and his throat and chest were throbbing. It had been a long day. And a silent day. They hadn't said one word to each other. Not a single word. He'd just driven and coughed endlessly and Sam had just stared at that damned map for hours on end; like it was telling him something profound. Sighing, Dean wasn't sure what to do now except keep driving. Tired as he was, driving was good. Driving was safe. It was a good way to put some miles between them and everything that had happened in Arizona.

Mind made up to drive at least until it got dark, Dean headed back out to the car. Sam had finished filling the gas tank and was already back in the passenger seat. Dean gritted his teeth, but the map was gone and Sam was staring out the front window, looking far more exhausted than he had any business to look considering he'd done nothing all day.

Dean slid back behind the wheel and almost jerked in surprise when Sam broke the seemingly impenetrable silence.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean turned to look at his brother.

Sam actually met his eyes and said, "I've got a headache."

And if he was bringing it up after spending the entire day in silence, Dean knew it had to be bad. So he started the engine, mind made up, and said softly, "Time to stop."

Sam opened his mouth, probably to contradict the notion of stopping, but Dean cut him off before he could speak. He said, "It's ok, man. I need a break too. There's a motel up ahead."

"Ok."

"You take something for it?"

"Tylenol. Earlier."

"Didn't do any good?" Dean asked, knowing the answer was no. He said, "Time for the good stuff."

Sam nodded, and the silence returned.

And it continued as they arrived at the motel and unpacked the car. Dean brought in the bag of food Arla had sent. They'd grabbed preheated burgers at the first gas station and had barely touched them. Even now, he wasn't exactly hungry, but figured maybe they should try to eat something. Setting the food on the rickety table and his bag on one of the beds, Dean saw that Sam had stopped a couple feet past the door, just standing there staring at the dismal room.

It wasn't a pretty sight.

"I don't even wanna know what that stain is from." Dean muttered, staring at the far wall.

Sam snorted but didn't comment. Waiting for what he wasn't sure, Dean just stood there. He knew what Sam was going through. A return to reality. And Dean didn't like it any more than his brother did. The room was ugly. It was filthy and smelled strange. A sharp contrast to the Penders clean home. He really, really didn't want to even go near the bathroom. After a few long seconds, Sam finally dropped his backpack on the second bed, but didn't make any other moves. Dean wasn't sure what to say or do next. The silence all day had been one thing with an open road ahead and the radio turned on; albeit with the volume down low for Sam's sake. Now, in a cramped motel room, it was already feeling oppressive.

Sam was only a foot away from him and Dean felt like they were further apart than they had been while Sam had been at Stanford. He didn't know what to do to fix it.

When Sam pressed his hands to the sides of his head, though, Dean realized he _did_ know what to do about that. So he said, "Sit down. I'll go get some ice."

Sam sort of took a step forward, but it wasn't coordinated or very steady so Dean took his elbow and awkwardly guided him to the bed. Sitting down heavily, Sam lowered his hands, eyes half-opened and pained as he looked up at Dean. He asked, "Where're we?"

"I don't know, Sam." Dean sighed, turning to head for the door. "Does it even matter?"

"No."

"Alrighty then."

"Should call them."

Dean stopped abruptly. He'd only made it half a step toward the door and the pent up emotion of the day bubbled up like a burst water main. Spinning around, he snapped, "Call them? Why? We gonna check up with them every day from now on? Let 'em know we're home safe at night?"

"Dean…"

"What?" Dean tried to get a grip on his suddenly volatile mood as he waited for Sam's reply. But Sam didn't say anything else, he just leaned backwards onto the bed and put an arm over his eyes. Dean pressed a fist to his forehead, wishing he could punch the tension away. He gripped the door frame and lowered his voice, "I'll be right back."

Walking back out into the afternoon sunshine, Dean was grateful that no one was around. Because he didn't feel like he could muster a polite smile if he had to. Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, he started toward the ice machine. Of course, once his hands went into his pocket, he felt his cell phone. And he pulled it out, checking for what must have been the ten-thousandth time that day to see if Dad had left him a message or a text.

Nothing.

As usual. He punched the plastic front of the vending machine and the sting in his hand really didn't do anything to make the day better. Staring back down at the phone, he didn't even give it any conscious thought before he was dialing the phone number he had memorized five minutes after Tommy had given it to him. It rang twice and that was almost enough for him to hang up and wish he'd never dialed, but then the someone picked up.

"Hello?"

And his voice froze in his throat.

Arla asked, "Is anyone there? Hello?"

"Hi." Dean managed to force out.

"Dean?" Arla sounded flabbergasted, and then immediately worried, "Dean? Is that you? Is everything alright?"

He needed to get it in gear before the poor woman thought the worst and called out the National Guard on them. Dean said, "Yeah, it's me. We're fine."

"Oh. Oh that's good." He could hear the sigh of relief. She regrouped and asked, "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"How are you boys doing? Really?"

"Ok. Tired. We're stopping for the night."

"Good. I'm glad to hear that. I'm thinking you've realized by now that your endurance is going to be a bit shorter than usual."

Dean decided not to tell her exactly how much he realized that. He said, "Yeah, we...we'll see how tomorrow goes. I'm sure we'll be fine by then. Just called it an early night…"

"Have you been taking your medications?"

"Yes. On schedule. Just like the doctor ordered." Dean half-smiled and tried to sound as light-hearted as he could for her sake. "So, uh, just wanted to let ya know we're doing fine."

"Thank you. Really. I know you didn't have to take the time to call, but I appreciate it, Dean."

He nodded to himself, then knew he need to get off the phone. Dean tried to find a way to word it so it didn't sound rude, but before he could speak up, Arla broke the silence.

"You won't be calling again."

"Uh. Well, probably...probably not." Dean said, knowing there was no point in lying. The chance of them actually staying in contact with the Penders was slim; much as he might like to.

Arla said, "I know. I know. It's ok. Thank you for calling tonight. Call anytime if you need anything. Take care of yourselves."

"We will." Dean said, his throat closing up again and it must have been allergies because his eyes were watering too. Swiping a hand over his face, he said, "Thanks again, Arla."

"You're welcome."

"Bye." It wasn't the most eloquent thing to say, but he was running out of options.

"Good bye, Dean."

The phone went dead and Dean shoved it in his pocket. Clenching his fist again, he avoided punching the vending machine a second time only because a car had just pulled up to the office and a young couple was getting out, laughing and carefree. He turned to the ice machine and filled up the always too tiny plastic bag from the motel room. The ice was a bit rusty colored and he wasn't sure he wanted to drink the water in the room, but ice was ice when you had a headache. So he scrubbed at his eyes, turned around headed back to the room.

He'd only been gone a few minutes, but Sam was already sound asleep when he returned. Dean sagged against the door frame, trying to decide what to do next. He hated to disturb his brother, but falling asleep wasn't really his problem these days anyway; it was _staying_ asleep that kept tripping him up. And Dean had fallen asleep in that position before, feet still on the floor, and he didn't really want Sam to wake up stiff and sore on top of everything else.

"Awesome big brother." Dean muttered to himself, some of his frustration and anger fading away as he locked the door, then crossed the room. Intending to kick Sam's foot to rouse him as he headed past toward the bathroom, Dean found himself rerouted when he tripped over a rather significant wrinkle in the musty, ragged carpet.

Cursing as he tried to regain his equilibrium, Dean fell against the bed, winding up on his knees next to it. The bag of ice? Well, that ended up all over Sam. The entire experience had, understandably, surprised Dean and he looked up in a mixture of horror, embarrassment, and disbelief. He held his breath as Sam gasped in shock and sat straight up, spraying ice cubes everywhere.

And then Dean just broke down laughing.

He couldn't help it. The look on Sam's face was priceless. Still more asleep than awake, he was breathing heavily, looking around with squinty, confused eyes. Dean felt a pang of guilt knowing that Sam had a headache and that he'd just been awakened in one of the possibly very worst ways ever. Wasn't like he'd _meant _to do it.

"Dean?" Sam was looking at him, eyes wide, face pale. "What...what happened?"

"You don't wanna know." Dean stifled another laugh and forced himself off the nasty carpet and back to his feet.

He watched Sam frown at him for another long moment, before lifting his hand and staring at the ice cube he caught as it slid of the collar of his jacket. Dean waited, but Sam just let the ice cube fall to the carpet, his frown deepening as if he simply could not wrap his head around why there were ice cubes on his bed. When he looked up, Dean wasn't laughing any more. Because Sam was looking up at him like he had as a kid; like he hadn't really done since he'd gone off to college and grown up overnight.

Like he was waiting for Dean to unravel the mysteries of the world again. Like he was too lost and confused and hurt to make sense of any of it. But unlike when they'd been kids, today Dean didn't have any answers for either of them.

Sighing, Dean said, "You need to eat something."

"Not hungry." Sam answered immediately and he started to list backwards again, but Dean caught his arm.

"Come on." Dean said, pulling then pushing until he got Sam sitting at the table. He quickly turned around and shook the bedspread until the rest of the ice cubes were melting into the already stained carpet. Turning around, he was gratified to see that Sam was poking his nose into the bag of food on the table. He slumped into the other chair and asked, "What've we got?"

Pulling out a box, Sam opened it up to reveal some cinnamon muffins. Dean grabbed one immediately and said, "I called her."

Sam slanted a quick glance his way, then nodded and went back to digging in the bag. Dean watched patiently as Sam unpacked everything, opening the containers and studying the contents with an intensity that usually was reserved for research on a case. Which reminded Dean, they were going to need to start looking for work again. Fastest way he could think of to find Dad was to stay close to where the action was. He finished his muffin and was selecting another before Sam had picked anything.

Dean was about to lose his patience and tell Sam to just hurry up and eat something when Sam finally took a bite of one of one of the biscuits that Arla had made on New Year's Eve. That was also when he noticed something stuck to the back of one of the boxes. Frowning, Dean reached forward and grabbed the little white envelope. He caught Sam's questioning gaze and shrugged, opening the envelope.

It was a gas card.

He raised an eyebrow and lifted the card so Sam could see it. Sam shook his head and Dean nodded, pocketing the card. He still couldn't believe everything the Penders had done for them; were _still_ doing for them. Even if they'd both said that clearing the town of Gethen and Alexander had been payment enough, Dean still felt guilty about the debts he could never hope to repay.

"Dean."

He looked up from his contemplation of the table top and saw that Sam was holding up another card. This time a prepaid credit card. There was a note on the back of that one that said simply Merry Christmas. Sam slid it across the table and said, "Christmas."

"They shouldn't have done all of…"

"They wanted to." Sam said softly. He smiled and asked, "Isn't that kind of the point of Christmas?"

Dean rolled his eyes dramatically and said, "Alright Tiny Tim, aren't you full of Yuletide cheer all of a sudden? Now I'm just waiting for the spirit of Christmas past, present and future to show up."

"I think we already met the Christmas spirit, Dean."

"You are so cheesy, you know that?" Dean said, even if he couldn't hold back his own smile this time.

Sam smiled briefly, then lowered his eyes to the table top as he asked softly, "You think she's ok?"

"The Christmas Spirit?" Dean teased, "Do I think Raquel's ok? How should I know? I don't usually poll the freaks we gank and ask them if they're satisfied with the afterlife."

And then he immediately regretted his words and, oh why not regret everything he'd ever said or done in the first place? Because from the shattered look on Sam's face, Dean knew that, while he'd ostensibly been asking about Raquel, he'd really been asking about Jessica. Dean opened his mouth to try to dig himself out of that six-foot deep hole he'd just jumped into, but Sam was already moving, grabbing the piles of medications that he'd carefully tucked into his backpack.

"You should take the cough syrup. You've been coughing all day and if you're going to sleep…"

"Sam…"

"I'll go get a couple bottles of water. I'm not drinking the water here." Sam said, then was out the door before Dean could do anything but bang his head on the table and wish he knew how to keep his mouth shut.

By the time Sam returned, having taken much longer than it probably should have taken to grab a couple bottles of water, Dean had the medications lined up in a row. Sam handed him a bottle, scooped up the medications, pointedly ignoring the stronger painkiller, and then had flopped back down on his bed before Dean had time to say a single word. So he just kept his mouth shut this time and took his own pills; and he just as pointedly ignored the cough syrup. Because it was one thing to take it when he knew they were in a safe environment and it was another thing entirely to be that drugged up when it was just them again. He wasn't taking any chances so he just pushed himself to his feet and tried to decide if Sam would mind if he grabbed the laptop and started looking for a case.

Once he was on his feet, though, his plans changed. He was exhausted. Dean stumbled to the other bed, not caring one bit that it wasn't even dark outside. Not bothering to get undressed, he took the time to yank off his boots, then slipped under the covers. Pressing a hand to his forehead, Dean forced himself to stare at the off-white ceiling.

Because there was nothing to be afraid of from the ceiling.

Mom wasn't up there. Jessica wasn't up there. Nothing was up there except cigarette smoke stains and water spots. Even so, his stomach twisted and he fought the urge to roll over and bury his face in the pillow. Instead he closed his eyes and started counting.

Counting the seconds, the minutes, maybe if they were lucky, the _hours_ until Sam woke up screaming.

Dean fell asleep before he'd made it to seventy-five seconds.

* * *

_9:14 PM_

He came awake to the sounds of a nightmare. Gasping, he sat up and blinked in the darkness of the room, disoriented and confused. Nothing was right. The windows were in the wrong place and so was the nightstand. The sheets were scratchy and he was hot and sweaty and wondering why he felt like utter crap. But then he heard another muffled shout of distress and he sat up. The pain slammed into his head like a thunder clap but Sam ignored it and shoved himself off the bed. Because Dean was coughing and struggling and sounding like he was about to suffocate.

"Dean!" Sam was uncoordinated as he stumbled over to the other bed, finding every movement oddly difficult; he managed to get to his brother's side without face planting on the carpet. Dean was twisted in the blankets and coughing in between moaning and calling out for someone Sam had never in his entire life heard him calling out for:

"Mom!"

Heart in his throat, Sam shook Dean's shoulders, calling his name again. Dean's eyes flew open and Sam felt like he was staring into a mirror because the absolute horror and fear in Dean's eyes as he stared up at the ceiling was exactly what he felt every time he woke up from his own nightmares. He tugged Dean until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over and struggling for breath, but awake at least.

"Dean? You gotta take a slow breath, man." Sam said, trying to sound calmer than he actually felt. Not easy since his heart was pounding triple time in his ears; a nice compliment to the drum section that was bashing away behind his eyes. "Dean?"

"Mmm." Dean grunted, making a noticeable effort to calm down.

Sam could feel his brother trembling under the hand he still had on his shoulder. He couldn't honestly remember ever noticing Dean having a nightmare. It freaked him out maybe even more than the awful sounds of his brother's still ragged breathing. Pressing a hand to his eyes, Sam asked softly, "You ok?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"I'm fine."

He knew better than to push it, better than to ask about the nightmare. Wasn't like _he_ wanted to talk about his own nightmares. So he just said, "I told you to take the cough syrup."

"Shut up, Sam."

And because there'd been just a hint of attempted humor in Dean's tone, Sam snorted and felt a little less tied up in knots. He pushed himself to his feet and swayed for a few seconds before the room stopped spinning in three different directions and settled down to a more manageable one. Glancing at the clock, he was surprised to see that it was just after nine. Somehow it was depressing. It felt like it should have been nearly morning instead of only a few hours since they'd gone to bed. He grabbed his bag and headed for the bathroom.

"What're you doin'?" Dean muffled a cough and glared up at him, eyes red-rimmed in a stark white face.

"Gonna take a shower."

"Hmph." Dean grunted, rolling back against the pillows.

Sam would have laughed except for the fact that he was beginning to feel the effects of the painkiller he'd taken after Dean had fallen asleep earlier. Lying awake for almost two hours with a pounding headache had finally convinced him to try the stronger medication that Arla had sent along. It had earned him maybe an hour of solid rest. But now it made him feel dizzy and like the colors of the paisley wallpaper were swimming all around him like some kind of terrifying 3D movie. Turning the light on in the bathroom was nearly his undoing as it sent a solar flare of pain straight to the back of his skull.

Groggy, in pain, worried about his brother and still dizzy, Sam discovered trying to brush his teeth and take a shower had become some of the most complex tasks known to mankind. He lost track of how many times he went in and out of the bathroom trying to get everything he needed. Dean seemed better after a couple trips, although mildly irritated. At least he'd found the toothpaste. Spitting into the sink and feeling a bit wary of even using the water to rinse his mouth out, Sam held onto the counter and straightened up. Taking a careful step forward, he pulled the shower curtain back, hoping that if he turned the water on now he might actually have hot water in a few minutes.

And that was when he lost it.

* * *

Dean listened to the sink running and wished Sam had closed the bathroom door so the light wouldn't be shining in his eyes right now. But he'd had to go in and out three times already searching for whatever he seemed to think he needed. The last time, he'd had his toothbrush in his mouth, but had been searching for the toothpaste. Dean thought him rather ungrateful when he turned up his nose at the crumpled, somewhat sticky tube Dean had finally found for him in the bottom of his own bag. But Sam had left the room again and that was good because Dean was still trying to pull himself back together.

When he'd fallen asleep, he'd fully expected to wake up to a nightmare; he just hadn't expected that it would have been his own. He pushed himself into a sitting position yet again; he'd already decided to grab the inhaler as soon as Sam finally got into the shower. He wanted to go back to sleep, but now he was worried that neither of them were going to sleep. Bad enough Sam was seeing someone burning over his head every time he closed his eyes. Now he'd had the same nightmare. Shaking his head, he heard the shower curtain being pulled back and hoped Sam would just hurry up.

And then he was sitting straight up and frowning. Because the shower wasn't running and the only thing he could hear from the bathroom sounded suspiciously like crying. And that was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now. He was overtired and stressed. He'd already put his foot in his mouth once this evening; he doubted he'd gotten any more sensitive and eloquent in four hours. But when the sounds didn't stop, but only intensified, Dean couldn't take it any more.

He stood up and dragged himself to the bathroom. If Sam was having the nervous breakdown he'd been studiously putting off for the past two months, Dean really didn't think it was fair he had to have it in a grungy motel bathroom. Squinting slightly at the bright light, he caught sight of Sam standing hunched against the wall, staring ahead at the shower, his shoulders hitching every few seconds.

"Sam?" Dean started tentatively, his breath catching in his raw throat. He coughed a few times, trying to come up with something supportive to say. But then he was less concerned and more confused. Sam turned around and Dean realized he wasn't crying.

He was laughing.

Dean frowned. Sam just shook his head, laughing, maybe a bit hysterically, but laughing nonetheless. Ok, so maybe he'd actually had that nervous breakdown and gone completely batshit crazy. Dean couldn't exactly blame him if he had, but it was a little disconcerting. Still trying to find something to say, Dean followed Sam's pointing finger as he indicated the shower.

"Dean…" Sam seemed to be having as much trouble finding anything coherent to say as Dean was. He laughed again, hand pressed to his head and a grimace of pain crossing his face. He finally mumbled, "Ow."

"What the heck?" Dean asked, trying to figure out what his brother was pointing at.

"Look...just look…" Sam said, putting his back against the wall as he groaned, then started laughing again; his face twisting in pain. "Oh, man, just...look."

Dean looked. And maybe it was because he was exhausted or still feeling like crap, but it took him about thirty seconds before he finally saw it. His eyes widened and he shook his head, grabbing Sam's arm and tugging him backwards. He said, "Nope. Nope, we are leaving. Right now. I've had enough of haunted motels."

Sam didn't stop laughing even as Dean pulled him out of the bathroom. He said breathlessly, "It's just some dumb kid's idea of a joke."

"Hilarious." Dean muttered, not at all amused. Any other day he might have found some humor in the word _REDRUM_ traced through the scum of the shower wall. Today, though, after just dealing with a haunted motel, living _The Shining_ was not high on his list. Besides that, the disgust he felt at seeing that filthy shower was enough to make his skin crawl.

He didn't want to think about how long it might have been since anyone had washed the bedding.

"Pack your crap, Sam." Dean said, hurrying for his own gear. "We're leaving."

"Dean."

"Dude. We're not staying."

"Yes we are."

"No we are not." Dean was glad they really hadn't unpacked anything but the food. He piled it back in the bag and said, "I can't believe you thought that was funny…"

Sam snickered again and said, "If you'd have taken the cough syrup you'd probably think it was funny too."

Dean sighed, let his forehead hit the closest wall.

Because it all made awful sense now. Sam had taken the good stuff. No wonder he was finding everything so freaking hysterical. He was drugged up to his eyeballs again.

Turning around, Dean saw Sam already crawling under the covers. Of _his_ bed. Dean groaned and asked, "Sam? What are you doing?"

"It's warmer."

"That's because you were sleeping on top of your blankets, instead of _under _them, dumbass. Get out of my bed." Which of course was the wrong thing to say because Sam just started laughing again.

Dean threw his hands up in the air and went for his jacket. He used the inhaler, confident now that Sam was so stoned he wouldn't remember his own name in five more minutes. Taking a few deep breaths, Dean stared around the room. He did _not_ want to spend another minute in the room. Let alone the night. But Sam was sleeping, face mashed into the pillow as he sprawled across Dean's bed.

Sighing in defeat, Dean took the cough syrup and pulled back the covers on Sam's bed. He glared at his brother in the dark. Because the bed _was_ cold and his _had _been warm. And there was no way he was going to be able to fall asleep now. No way. None whatsoever...

He was asleep the instant his head hit the pillow.

* * *

_Well, there was some humor to balance the angst right? ;) Hope you enjoyed! Two more chapters to come... _


	39. Chapter 39

_Here we are folks, the Penultimate Chapter. I know, I know, "who says that?" :D yes, yes I had to go there. I've been saving that one up forever. In case you somehow missed the reference...refer to The French Mistake lol._

_A thousand apologies for how long it took to get this up. I think it's writers karma or something...I've been sick for a good three weeks now (finally starting to feel better since Friday). I tortured the boys with pneumonia and I wound up with bronchitis and basically I've been completely worthless the entire time. I feel strangely guilty considering what I put the poor boys through in this story and here I didn't even feel like writing let alone taking on a ghoul, a wendigo and dealing with a ghost lol! So yeah...that's why I've been off the radar for so stinkin' long. Sorry! Good news is that here is a new chapter...and ch 40 is just about done. I'm planning to post the last chapter by the end of this month._

_Everlasting thanks to each and every one of you who have been so patient with this story over the past 10 months! Without your support, kind words and encouragement, I probably would have given up ages ago. I have been writing stories since I was six and have always wanted to get a book published. Now though, while I still have that goal in mind, I can die happy. :) Because who cares if I get a book on some shelf somewhere? I think this type of writing may be ten times as rewarding! I love this realm of writing and it is so wonderful to be in touch with you as the story develops. Traditional writing doesn't give you that kind of relationship and I'm so glad I came to this site and started posting stories. You all have helped train me, teach me and make me a better writer! So thank you to everyone who has been reading, whether you've had the chance to review or not, it's just lovely to know people are enjoying the story. :)_

_And a very special thank you to my anonymous reviewers! I wish I could write you back individually, but I want to thank you for your kind words and for taking the time to leave me a note! _

_Hope you enjoy this chapter, it is a bit different than the rest of the story, mostly because they're in a different situation now than they have been during the story. I used this chapter to get inside their heads and listen to their thoughts. As happens so much on the show, these guys talk a lot but never really communicate! :) Hopefully this is an enjoyable read as you see a bit into their heads and then see how much trouble they have communicating what they're thinking to each other as they both try to come to terms with everything that just happened, and deal with the uncertain road ahead of them. Remember, this is early S1 and I'm trying to stick within canon, so there are some things I'd love to 'fix' for the boys or have them resolve, but can't because they don't deal with things until later in the series (or ever in some cases). So I'm really trying to stick within the bounds of what we saw on the show while exploring what the boys might have been thinking or doing that wasn't shown specifically in an episode. :) _

* * *

_5:10 AM January 5, 2006  
__Motel, west of Oklahoma City, OK_

Sam couldn't decide which was worse; staring at the clock or staring at the wall. He just knew he wasn't interested in staring up at the ceiling any longer. The clock was very slowly counting each excruciating minute until morning. Or, rather, _later _morning. Because it was morning. Just after five, actually. Watching the clock with half-focused eyes, Sam didn't even realize at first that Dean was already awake and sitting up on the edge of the other bed.

"Sam?"

Blinking to clear his vision, he looked at his brother.

"You get any sleep?" Dean asked softly, elbows on his knees as he leaned forward; trying in his typical way to bridge the gap that somehow always seemed to spring up, whether physical or metaphorical, between them.

"Yeah." Sam said, clearing his throat and shifting onto his side. _Maybe a couple hours anyway,_ he thought, deciding not to share that part aloud. If Dean hadn't asked for specifics, Sam certainly wasn't about to offer. He asked, "You?"

Dean laughed half-heartedly and said, "Actually I did. Cough syrup isn't half bad."

Sam smiled and gingerly pushed himself upright; pleased that his head and stomach were agreeable to that arrangement despite the slight drug hangover he felt from the painkillers. Rubbing his eyes, he mirrored his brother's pose and tried to get a take on Dean's mindset. The room was lit brightly thanks to the thin curtains allowing in the first rays of sunlight and afforded him the opportunity to study his brother. Dean looked tired. Tired, but better than he had in days. More like his old self, less like someone fighting for his life.

"So…" Sam started, immediately faltering. At a complete loss, he glanced down at the floor, hit suddenly with the enormity of what they had just gone through; what they had just survived. Now, back on the road, back completely on their own, he wasn't sure what to say. And he was even less sure of what they should do. He met Dean's eyes again and tried not to be bothered by the fact that he was waiting for Dean to figure it out. _As usual._

And, as usual, Dean had figured it out. He ran a hand over his face, cast a quick glance in the direction of the bathroom and said, "Sammy, I am not taking a shower here."

"It's _Sam_." He muttered without any real emphasis. There was no point in trying to quash his brother's habit. It was very clear that it didn't matter how old he was or if he had several inches on his brother; to Dean he was always going to be Sammy, the little brother. A fact that was both strangely comforting and, at turns, incredibly annoying. Sam's eyes followed Dean's gaze toward the bathroom. He shuddered and nodded, "I agree."

"Thought you were amused by REDRUM in there." Dean smirked, running his hands through his hair and only succeeding in making a worse mess of it.

Sam reached for his shoes and said, "_Amused_?"

"You were giggling."

"Was not."

"Was too."

"Was not."

"Was too."

"Was…"

"It's ok, Sammy. Drugs will do that to ya." Dean grinned, effectively cutting Sam off and thereby winning the argument in his typically underhanded way. He stood up and said, "So. Truck stop a mile back. Coffee and a clean shower."

"Clean?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

Dean's grin faded and Sam saw a hint of disappointment? Sadness maybe? Sadness probably, because Dean had to be thinking about the sparkling bathroom at the Pender's house; just like he was. Dean shrugged and said, "Ok. So maybe not exactly clean. But it has to be better than the Overlook Hotel here."

Sam rolled his eyes, "You gotta stop watching the horror movies, man."

"Watching them? How 'bout we stop living them?" Dean said, then shrugged, his eyes clouding a bit. "Guess we're not going to get that though, are we?"

Deciding now was not the time to bring up the fact that for several years he _had_ escaped the life, Sam just lowered his eyes and waited. Dean didn't take long to continue. With a quick glance around the room, he said, "So we might as well...y'know. You ready?"

"Sure." Sam nodded. He didn't want to stay in the nasty motel room any more than Dean did.

It only took them a few minutes to be ready to leave. Not unpacking last night had saved a lot of time, Sam mused, reaching for the bag of food on the table. It hurt in a weird way think that he'd settled in more at the Pender's home than he had anywhere in the past two months. It hurt to think about how he'd been living that normal life for the past few years and that it was over forever. Sam pulled his backpack over his shoulder, closing his eyes briefly as the familiar pain of loss swept over him.

"Hey."

Sam heard his brother's voice. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat and tried to come up with a casual response that would quell Dean's questions or concerns. Unfortunately, reopening his eyes took all his concentration. Sam didn't look at Dean; just turned and hurried out the door, leaving the bag filled with Arla's baking behind on the table.

* * *

Dean watched Sam go without a word. Because what could he really say? He didn't have anything to offer his brother that would make him feel better about living out of crappy motel rooms or facing a life without the woman he'd fallen in love with. So he just sighed heavily once Sam was out of earshot and grabbed the rest of the gear, including the food that Sam had almost taken out with him. The bag felt heavy and his steps were slow as he walked outside. It was overcast and the day already felt heavy, weighed down with grief and worry.

And Dean had no idea what to do about it. He'd been a kid when their mom had died and even Dean had to admit that their father hadn't exactly handled his own grief in what could be called a healthy way. Which left Dean not quite sure how to help Sam handle his grief now. Pulling the door closed behind him, he debated his options. Which were few. Since the night of Jessica's death, he'd attempted several times to talk to Sam; attempted to get _him_ to talk. Only to be met with a wall of silence or a never ending litany of _I'm fine_. He'd tried to convince Sam it wasn't his fault, tried to be supportive of his all-consuming quest to find their dad while also trying not to let resentment creep in. Sam seemed to have forgotten that _he'd_ been the one to walk out the door all those years ago. He'd walked out on them and now all he wanted to do was find their dad. It bugged Dean, but he was working hard not to let it.

Because the simple fact was that _he_ wanted to find Dad just as much as Sam did.

Tossing his gear in the trunk, Dean heard Sam talking and saw that he was on the phone. About to slam the trunk and find out what was going on, Dean caught sight of something jammed half into the crack at the edge of the false bottom of the trunk. Picking it up, he fingered the thin plastic of another gas card. Shaking his head, he spent another minute rifling through the trunk and their gear. He came up with two more cards; a prepaid credit card for twenty-five dollars and a gift card to a food chain he'd never heard of. _Biggersons? Huh. So long as they have burgers, I'm in._

Sliding the cards into a pocket, Dean closed the trunk and once again marveled at the fact that they'd wound up meeting such incredibly nice people. _A true Christmas miracle, _he smiled, pulling the front door open and sliding into the car.

"Yeah, thanks for letting me know." Sam was saying into the phone as he rifled through the glove compartment. "Ok, yeah, sure. We will. Ok. You too."

Dean stared at the seat as Sam hung up and straightened, tossing a gas card onto the pile of four other cards on the seat between them. Wordlessly, Dean reached into his pocket and pulled the three cards he'd found in the trunk out and dropped them onto the pile. For a few seconds, they just stared at the pile.

"Wow." Sam finally broke the silence.

"Yeah."

Sam looked up at him and shook his head, "I found one when I was putting the map away. And then I just kept finding them."

"For such a nice couple, they're kind of sneaky, aren't they?" Dean asked, starting the engine as Sam carefully gathered the cards into a neat pile; organizing them by type.

"You think that's all of them?"

"I don't know. Nothing's going to surprise me now. Who were you talking to?"

"Bobby."

"He get the box?"

"Yes. Said he's got it locked up with his other curse boxes…"

"He has _other_ curse boxes?" Dean raised an eyebrow and pulled onto the road.

Sam rolled his eyes, "Yes, Dean. In that back room upstairs. The one we weren't ever supposed to go into...the one you…"

"Oh yeah." Dean grinned, "_That_ room."

"Yeah, that room." Sam said, sliding the stack of cards into the glove compartment.

"Well good. I'm glad he got it. Cross that off the to-do list." Dean said, spotting the truck stop just up the road. Traffic was light and, much as he didn't like being up this early, there was something kind of nice about the relative quiet of the morning.

Trying to come up with something to say, he quickly decided not to attempt a conversation since Sam was staring out the side window, shoulders turned in a clear message to leave him alone. Which left Dean lost in his own thoughts. And he wasn't sure that was any better because he was at a loss. No new cryptic messages from Dad. No clue what their next step should be. Reaching the truck stop, he wished, not for the first time, that things could just go back tot the way they were. It had been so much simpler when all the pieces had fit together perfectly. Back when there had been an order to life and Dad had been in charge; the one with all the answers. Dad was in charge, not him. But Dad wasn't around right now and Dean had no idea how to find him. He'd never felt so lost in his entire life.

He wasn't Dad and Dean had no idea what to do about any of it.

* * *

After a quick shower, Sam headed for the coffee. As long as Dean was out of sight, he'd get the triple shot of espresso and hope it would keep him going until the next time they pulled off for gas. He didn't need to fall asleep and have another embarrassing nightmare as they drove. Knowing Dean, he was going to want to get back on the road as soon as he finished his shower. Filling up their cups, Sam glanced at the TV but there didn't seem to be anything interesting in the local news. _Nothing _our _kind of interesting, anyway_, Sam mused, settling the lids over the steaming cups.

Yawning, he headed for the counter to pay for their coffee with the twenty that had somehow magically appeared in his coat pocket. It bothered him to be the recipient of such generosity from the Penders. Not long ago, he'd actually had a legitimate job and had been able to pay for his own coffee without hustling pool or taking a handout from a stranger. Now, he was back in it. Back in the life he'd tried so hard to escape. Even thinking about that left him feeling slightly guilty.

Because he knew Dean still didn't really understand that he hadn't been trying to escape _him_; just the life. And, to a certain extent, Dad. Tears stung his eyes as he hurried out the door with the coffee. It was bothering Dean, whether he'd admit it or not, this drive to find their father. Sam knew that Dean was still hurt by his supposed abandonment and, maybe even more so, by the fact that now Sam was so desperate to find the man he'd spent half his life trying to get away from. Despite the rough patches, despite the arguments and anger, the simple fact was, he missed his father. He couldn't put it into words in any way that would have made sense to his brother, so Sam didn't even try. No matter what he said, Dean wasn't going to understand.

And the funny thing was, he didn't really understand it either. But being back on the road with Dean reminded him both of the good and the very not good aspects of their life. There were moments, on the open road, listening to the same old cassette tapes and laughing at something Dean had said, that Sam felt more at home than he'd ever felt at Stanford. He hadn't left because he didn't love his family; he'd left because he wanted to be normal, wanted to be safe. Wanted them _all_ to be safe. Why couldn't either of them understand that?

* * *

Dean drove east just because it still felt better than driving west. West meant California was always ahead of them on the horizon and if _he_ couldn't stomach the thought of returning any time soon to sun-drenched Cali, he knew his brother couldn't; not that he was saying anything. Sam had tried to hide it, but as Dean had gotten into the car at the truck stop, he'd seen the brightness of tears in his brother's eyes. For a long time the car had been completely silent as he'd driven. After a while, they'd chatted a bit about totally inconsequential crap here and there, but as the miles and hours had passed, they'd fallen into silence again. Dean had the music up, not as loud as he'd have preferred, but he figured Sam still had to have a headache so he was willing to concede a bit of volume for his brother's sake. And Sam was just hunched in a miserable heap on the far side of the car.

Not talking, not sleeping.

Probably thinking.

And if he was thinking, it was probably about nothing good. Their coffee cups were empty and even if he wasn't on board with Sam's apparent plan to never sleep again, he understood where the desire was coming from. He'd been around for the nightmares so he couldn't exactly blame Sam for trying to avoid them. Sam thought he was being sneaky, but Dean knew about the extra shots of espresso he'd been getting in his coffee all along. It hadn't bothered him too much at first, but now, after what they'd just gone through, he was less inclined to let the no sleeping thing continue. He'd never admit it, big brother prerogative and all, but he still felt less than 100% and if he felt that way he knew that Sam did too.

"Sam."

"Hm?" Sam mumbled, lethargic as he straightened up and blinked bleary eyes in Dean's direction.

"Hungry."

Sam rubbed at his bloodshot eyes and said, "It's only been like…" he broke off, glancing at his watch. Dean nodded knowingly as Sam looked back up at him in confusion. He said, "It's been six hours?"

"It's noon, dude. Find me a town. Find me a place with burgers." Dean said, deciding that aggravating his brother or prodding him into conversation might be the best bet. And pulling off the road to have a decent meal would help. He already felt better listening to Sam grumbling about bossy big brothers and their demands. Dean let him grumble.

It was better than the silence from the past few hours.

* * *

Sam studied the menu without interest. He was hungry but nothing looked remotely appetizing. He had until Dean finished his extensive order to make up his mind. The words were swimming a bit on the menu and he wished he'd grabbed some Tylenol before they'd come into the diner. Thankfully, Dean seemed to be ordering almost everything on the menu and flirting with the giggly waitress to boot which gave Sam enough time to finally decide on the BLT.

"We'll get them right out to you." The waitress chirped as she bounced away to the kitchen with their orders.

"If the burgers are as good as she is," Dean lowered his voice, eyes tracking her departure, "then I'm a fan of this place. Gift card or no gift card, I say we see where the next Biggerson's is and hit it for supper."

Sam smiled at Dean's lingering stare as the waitress leaned over the counter and passed their order to the cook. It was a good sign if Dean was feeling up to flirting again. He wasn't as clever as he thought he was and it wasn't a secret to Sam that his brother wasn't feeling completely well yet. But if he was ordering the _Biggerson's Biggest Bacon Burger_, onion rings, a chocolate shake and a piece of pie, he was definitely on the mend. He took the opportunity, while Dean was distracted, to rub his eyes.

"You need to sleep."

Of course, Dean was way too much of a mother hen for him to get away with anything, Sam sighed. He lowered his hands and said, "I'm fine."

"Tell me another one." Dean shook his head, leaning back in the booth, arm on the back, looking relaxed and annoyingly focused. "Sam…"

"So where are we going next?" Sam cut him off. "I could find someplace with internet and look for…"

"For what? You wanna find a case?" Dean frowned, "Because, man, I say we need a vacation. Last case about killed us both. Several times over and I'm not…"

"Dean, we gotta keep looking, man." Sam leaned forward, hating how urgent he felt and how desperate he sounded. "Dad's out there somewhere…"

"And he clearly doesn't want us to find him right now." Dean cut him off, also leaning forward and losing his relaxed air. The tension at the table instantly skyrocketed. "Sam, for whatever reason, he doesn't want to get in contact with us…"

"He's sent us coordinates…"

"Yeah, but he hasn't now. We got no lead, no clue where he even is. And if you wanna find a case, well I still say we take a few days off…"

"We've taken like a _week _off. If we can't find Dad right now then we should at least be out there doing...whatever we can. If we're finding cases, we might still run into him." Sam knew he sounded like a whiny kid; knew that was what Dean was thinking.

Dean shook his head, staring out the window for a few seconds, looking back with less annoyance than Sam had expected. He just looked tired and tense. Sam waited for the continuation of the argument, but nothing came. Instead, Dean leaned his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands. Frowning, Sam tried to come up with something to say. Asking if Dean was alright was likely to get him an argument. Anything else probably would too at this point. So he slumped against the seat back and stared out the window wishing he could figure out the right thing to do or say.

Sometimes it felt like everything he'd tried his entire life had been wrong.

* * *

That had gone about as well as Dean should have come to expect by now. He understood Sam's obsession with finding their Dad. Well, maybe he didn't completely understand it, but he'd been around a man obsessed for his entire life so it was easy to understand Sam's need to latch onto something, anything, that might make him feel like they were actually going to find the thing that killed Jessica. He wasn't even opposed to working cases; they'd changed sides on that argument a few times already and he knew that giving Sam a distraction wasn't such a bad thing. As long as it didn't get him killed. Considering they'd just barely recovered, were _still_ recovering, from their last case, Dean was less than inclined to go jumping into another one.

Especially when his typically trusty backup could barely keep his eyes open these days.

He was mildly surprised that Sam hadn't come up with another argument yet. Lifting his head, Dean left Sam alone in his focused staring out the window at the parking lot. There really wasn't anything new to add to the discussion and he was pretty sure that Sam was going to find them a case one way or another, whether he liked it or not.

The food arrived and the waitress seemed mildly disappointed with Dean's abrupt lack of interest in her, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. About her or his lack of interest in her. Because they weren't staying and he wasn't going to see her again and that was life. Glancing up as Sam picked the lettuce off his BLT, for a healthy eater he never did like the lettuce on that sandwich, Dean almost asked him what it had been like. With Jessica. To have a steady girlfriend, someone to come home to every night; the _same_ someone every night. The concept was foreign to him even though sometimes he tried to picture himself living that life.

But he held his tongue because Sam didn't seem interested in talking about Jessica, ever, and he probably wasn't in the mood to right now. So Dean just picked up his burger and tried to pretend it tasted good.

* * *

_10:30 PM January 5, 2006  
__Motel, Indianapolis, IN_

"Fine!"

"Fine!" Dean shouted, slamming the door as he left the room.

Sam was half tempted to follow him to the parking lot and continue the argument, but in all honesty he was too tired to bother. Sitting down heavily on the bed, he felt the fight drain out of him along with whatever energy he possessed. The Impala's engine started up and even the _car_ sounded angry as it roared out of the motel parking lot.

The day had passed by turns in monotony and aggravation. It seemed like nothing he'd said all day had been the right thing and their most recent argument was just the icing on the cake. In a way, he was relieved that Dean had headed out to find a bar. After being cooped up in a directionless car all day, they needed a break from each other.

He grabbed his laptop and settled back against the headboard. He had no desire to partake of the local nightlife and Dean clearly had no desire to be anywhere near him so it was time to look for a case; regardless of what Dean wanted or said. Sam glanced at his phone briefly but as usual there was no message from Dad. He sighed, knowing that he needed to stop even bothering to hope for a text from the man. Whatever he was up to, he didn't seem inclined to keep them in the loop or even give them any directions at this point.

Tossing the phone aside, he powered up the laptop and stared at the date with an ache in his gut. Because he should be starting the new semester not sitting around with a dead girlfriend and no clue where to go next. Grimacing, Sam opened the web and tried to push everything out of his mind except the task at hand. Find a case. Find an ironclad case that Dean couldn't possibly ignore.

After an hour of finding nothing at all supernatural, let alone even remotely interesting, in the greater Indianapolis metropolitan area, Sam slammed the laptop closed in frustration. He paced the room a few times, trying to decide if it was worth it to go out in the sleety rain in the hopes of finding a cup of coffee somewhere nearby. For a second he considered the complimentary coffee on the counter, but weighed his options carefully. If he did that, he would have to be up early in the morning to bring back coffee or Dean would be even more likely to leave him standing on a street corner; a threat he'd made more than once during the day. So it was go out in the rain now or take a trip in the morning or not drink any coffee period.

He stood in front of the door so long that it became a moot point as he realized he was too tired to bother going anywhere. So he simply got ready for bed. If he at least caught a nap while Dean was out and the room was quiet, maybe that would tide him over for the coming day. Settling back down with the laptop, he decided to widen his search horizons just a bit. Give it one last shot before he tried to get some sleep. If he could at least find something to give them a direction in the morning it would be something. As irritated as he was with Dean's aimless driving, he was also concerned by it. He knew Dean was tense but it was starting to dawn on him that his brother had no clue what to do either.

And that scared him more than he wanted to admit.

* * *

Everything was perfect. The bar was smoky, busy, the drinks were cheap and the girls were hot.

Which made it all the worse since he wasn't enjoying any of it. The smoke had been aggravating his cough the entire time, the alcohol was burning rather than numbing and the girls weren't paying any attention to him; not that he was even half-trying to catch their attention. Dean coughed again into his sleeve and stared at the empty shot glass in front of him. He was tempted to order another one, but the bartender was giving him the stink-eye.

_Probably thinks I've got the plague or something_, Dean thought, coughing even harder.

He was ready to ask for a glass of water which was going to make this horrible night even worse. Never had he asked for a glass of water at a bar. Standing up quickly, Dean decided he wasn't going to start tonight. Pushing past a group of rowdies just coming in, he made it back to the car before the next coughing fit hit him. It left him leaning heavily against the trunk, pounding head lowered as he sucked in shaky breaths. Conceding defeat when the shortness of breath didn't clear up, he went through his pockets until he found the inhaler.

Slumping into the driver's seat, Dean rested his head on the steering wheel for a minute. He was so tired. And discouraged. No matter what he did it was the wrong thing. Find a case, don't find a case; Sam's mood changed so fast these days it gave him whiplash. And he tried to be understanding, tried to give the kid a break considering his heart had just been shattered into a thousand pieces. Problem was, they were still brothers and had a way of getting on each other's nerves despite their best intentions. Dean knew Sam wasn't being deliberately difficult, but that didn't mean he still wasn't annoyed with him half the time.

Straightening up, Dean stared unseeingly ahead at the dark road. Sitting around and wishing Dad would call was just as bad as Sam doing it. They were both holding onto the false hope that somehow their Dad would be able to fix it, make everything better. Sighing, Dean rubbed his aching head, realizing the meds were all back at the motel room. Which meant he either had to go back and potentially face Sam's wrath or go to a drug store. Luckily, he remembered seeing one up the road. Pulling the door closed, he started the car and headed for the store, deciding that avoiding his brother a little longer might not be such a bad idea.

* * *

Sam barely caught the laptop before it hit the floor. Catching it left him off balance and he wound up crashing to his knees onto the carpet, the laptop clutched in his sweaty hands. Gasping in a shuddering breath, he shoved the computer back on the bed and let himself sink down against the bed. His heart was still hammering in his ears and even though he was awake now and knew where he was and what was going on, the smell of smoke and the touch of heated flames remained burned into his consciousness. When some of the grey fog cleared from his vision, he glanced at the clock. He hadn't even been asleep for an hour.

Groaning Sam lowered his head to his knees, wishing he knew how to make it stop. Anything to make it stop. He couldn't do much more about avoiding sleep than he already was and he wasn't interested in trying the medicinal route to try to sleep; the meds pulled him into a deep but no less troubled sleep that wasn't any more revitalizing than thirty minute nightmare filled cat naps were.

He was exhausted and he'd basically given up pretending that he was ok. Dean didn't believe it and neither did he. And neither of them knew what to do about it. Dean was trying and Sam appreciated his efforts. But if _he_ didn't know what to do with himself then how could Dean ever hope to help him? Finding Dad seemed to be the best option. The only option, really. Because what did they know about the thing that had killed their mother? That had killed Jessica? Not much in the grand scheme of things. Dad was the expert. Just the thought of actually having to face his father again, though, filled Sam with such dread that he felt physically ill.

Or maybe it was the headache.

Sam wrapped his arms around his middle, trying to breathe through the nausea. Last thing he needed was to start that all up again. He desperately wanted to take something for the headache, but at the moment, the thought of swallowing anything was pushing him nearer the edge, so he tried to focus on his breathing and stop thinking about everything else. At least Dean had gone out to have a good time. Sam couldn't exactly begrudge him that. He hated being the rain cloud that dragged every day down. He wished he hadn't given into the argument earlier. Actually wished he'd gone out with Dean.

Wished he wasn't so completely alone.

* * *

This certainly wasn't his idea of a good time. Dean glared at the teenagers in front of him. There were five of them. Laughing, joking and being downright obnoxious. Buying candy, soda and balloons for some unknown reason. At midnight. Shouldn't they have a curfew or something? Dean shook his head, realizing how old that made him sound. By the time they'd finished paying for their crap and bounded out the door with all the energy that he wished he still had, he wasn't in the mood to even crack a smile at the pretty clerk. She just popped her gum and checked his purchases out without comment.

He opened the painkillers and a bottle of water as soon as he got back to the car. His brief shopping trip hadn't exactly improved his mood, but it had helped refocus him at least. Mostly because he'd caught a bit of news on the radio on the way from the bar. Might be nothing, might be something, but either way he hoped it would be enough to give Sam a reason to get up in the morning. Or at least give him something to look up online during all the hours he wouldn't be sleeping tonight.

Dean wasn't surprised to see the light was still on in the room when he parked the car at the motel. He sighed, staring at the door. Their argument earlier had been over completely inconsequential crap like who'd been responsible for the crushed chips in the back seat; an argument that had gotten progressively more ugly but no more consequential from there. Sitting miserably in the bar, he'd had plenty of time to regret the way he'd purposefully pushed all of Sam's buttons and made the fight ten times worse than it should have been. Fighting about stupid stuff wasn't helping either of them. Which was why he'd brought peace offerings and committed himself to basically agreeing with whatever Sam wanted to do. He was beat and tired of fighting and it hadn't even been _his_ girlfriend who had been murdered. Taking a deep breath, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

"You're back early." Sam said, but it wasn't an accusation or an argument. It was just a quiet, slightly curious, statement of fact.

"Wasn't that great a bar after all." Dean shrugged, setting the bag on the table and pulling his coat off, casually trying to gauge his brother's mood.

He was sitting up against the headboard, laptop closed on the bed next to him, the TV on and playing something that Dean couldn't identify. Lots of guns and explosions, but it wasn't anything familiar. Sam was barely awake; eyes heavy as he stared unseeingly at the TV screen. Any fight that he'd possessed earlier had gone out of him by now, Dean could tell. From the half-asleep, but tense expression on Sam's face, Dean guessed that the nightmare had already been and gone, leaving misery and pain in its wake.

Dean pulled a bottle of water out of the bag along with a handful of pills and wordlessly deposited them into Sam's hands then headed for the microwave with a bag of popcorn. He leaned a hip against the counter and glanced from the TV to Sam. He asked, "What're we watching?"

Sam took the pills then shrugged, rolling his head along the wall and narrowing his eyes at Dean. "What are you doing?"

"Popcorn. Beer. Unknown flick." Dean said, waving a hand at the TV. "What could be better?"

Dean instantly regretted his words because he could think of a lot of ways that it could be better. But Sam just smiled for all of two seconds and turned the volume up a bit more as he pointed at the bag on the table and asked, "You bring anything except water and popcorn?"

"M&amp;Ms and licorice." Dean grinned at Sam's expression of disgust at the mention of licorice. He grabbed the bag of snacks and threw it at Sam, adding, "Shut up. You don't have to eat it."

By the time the popcorn was ready, Sam was into the M&amp;Ms, tossing the licorice onto the far side of the bed. Dean set the bag of popcorn in the middle of the bed and grabbed a couple beers from the cooler, then collapsed on the bed, digging into the popcorn. He almost mentioned the possible case in Toledo, but decided it could wait until morning. They'd already made it ten minutes without a fight and Sam was acting more enthusiastic about those M&amp;Ms than he'd acted about anything all day, so Dean was loathe to break the spell. Toledo was only about a four hour drive away. Sam would have plenty of time to do some research before they headed out in the morning if that was what he wanted to do.

For now, Dean was going to be content to eat junk food with his brother in front of a terrible movie and be grateful they were both still alive. And when, after twenty-six minutes, his brother fell asleep with his head on Dean's shoulder, he decided he would gladly sit there all night if it meant Sam would sleep.

So Dean lowered the volume, opened the licorice and sat there all night.

And Sam slept.

* * *

FYI: now would be the time to rewatch Bloody Mary if you want to. :) Because the next chapter will touch on the events in that episode. Thank you so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed! Only one more chapter to go. :( but...as i've mentioned to some of you, I do have plans for revisiting the Penders in the future! No guarantees of how soon I'll be able to get that story up, because i've got some other projects I need to get to, but it is in the works already. :)


	40. Chapter 40

_Here we are folks. I can't believe it. For a story that I thought would be over in a few days, a story I just wanted to be a sweet little Christmas tale, this has become my baby for almost a whole year. It has been challenging to accomplish due to life, illness, work and writers block. But it has also been the most amazing experience and I feel both exhilarated and devastated that it's over! I wish I could throw a party with plenty of pie and invite you all over to thank you personally for your support. :) You all have truly been my inspiration and gave me the encouragement I needed to carry on when I wasn't sure I could. I labored over this chapter maybe more than any other chapter because I wanted it to be the best I could give, the best chapter possible, the best conclusion, the most satisfying end to this story that you've shown so much love for. I truly hope you will enjoy it! I feel so sad to be writing my last author's note because I feel like I'm saying good bye to dear friends. But I am not done writing and I have more SPN tales to tell, including revisiting Tommy and Arla. I hope you'll keep an eye out for me in the future. :) _

_Soundtrack for the chapter (because I'm an emotional sap this way) includes: Brother by NEEDTOBREATHE &amp; Gavin DeGraw; Brother by Mighty Oaks; He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother by The Hollies; Hold My Hand by The Fray; and one more that you will get to at the end of the chapter so no spoilers on that one. ;) _

_Story picks up immediately after the final scene in "Bloody Mary." Because even though Bloody Mary did a lot to deal with Sam's unresolved feelings regarding Jessica's death and show off how great a big brother Dean is, it really didn't completely deal with the situation. And that last scene...I don't know, Sam didn't exactly look like he was relieved, happy or like he really was dealing well with the situation. So again, I am trying to keep this within canon to whatever extent fanfic does that lol. I tried to give some resolution to both this story and to the situations the boys had been dealing with in the show up to this point without totally resolving everything, because I don't think they did at this point in S1. But this story was all about showing them at their most vulnerable, most insecure and lost. That's who they were in S1; they were so out of their element in many ways and just trying to keep their heads above water. _

_Looking forward to the start of season 11 next week and looking forward to seeing many of you again around the wonderful world of fanfiction! _

_A thousand thanks and ENJOY!_

* * *

_January 8th, 2006, morning  
__just outside of Toledo, OH_

Sam felt Dean's stare, and carefully turned away from his brother, gaze on the side of the road. His heart was in his throat as he thought about what he'd just seen. _Jessica_. Standing there on the corner. She'd met his eyes and he'd almost told Dean to stop the car right then, but before he could even form words, they'd turned the corner and she'd been gone. He struggled to breathe as his thoughts skimmed by without ever settling; like someone flipping the pages of a book but never taking the time to read more than a word or two.

"Breakfast?" Dean's voice broke into his scattered thoughts.

Breakfast was the last thing he was remotely interested in at the moment but he nodded quickly.

Dean was still staring at him and asked, "You ok?"

Sam nodded again, looking at the car in front of them, reading the license plate and repeating the letters and numbers in his head, trying to focus on anything except that haunting image he'd just seen. Apparently Dean hadn't seen Jessica and Sam wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse. He hadn't imagined her; he was sure of that. He'd _seen_ her. She'd been real. But what did that mean? Had she been a spirit? A memory? He saw her vividly enough in his nightmares, but this had been the first time he'd seen her that vividly when he'd been awake.

If he were to tell a grief counselor what he'd seen, he was confident the counselor would assure him sagely that it was closure. That he'd had a breakthrough in dealing with his loss and that her image disappearing the way it had was somehow symbolic. That she didn't blame him and that she was telling him it was time to move on. Or something else utterly unhelpful but full of 'the right words' that people liked to use in these situations. He'd heard plenty of 'the right words' at Jessica's funeral. He didn't want to hear the right words; the right words weren't going to bring Jessica back and they certainly weren't going to absolve him of the guilt he would always bear for ignoring the nightmares in the first place. If he hadn't ignored them...if he'd taken them seriously...if he'd protected her like he should have...

"Dude."

Sam jerked in surprise when Dean smacked him hard across the chest. He glared at his brother, realizing the car was stopped and Dean was looking at him expectantly. Like he was waiting for a reply to something he'd said. Sam didn't remember him saying anything, but he swallowed hard and managed to ask, "What?"

Dean tried hard to come off as annoyed, but mostly he looked worried as he said, "I just broke my previous world record. I said your name 28 times in a row and you didn't even blink. I think we should find a doctor…"

"I'm fine."

"Your eyes were bleeding last night." Dean said, hands waving in front of his own face as he grimaced in distaste, "Full on horror movie style."

"Yours were too." Sam muttered, shoving the door open even if he wasn't sure yet why they'd stopped. Where were they? Had they even had a destination? He couldn't remember.

Now that he wasn't lost in his thoughts and was having to deal with maintaining a conversation, Sam realized he couldn't breathe. Needed air. Slamming the door behind him, he leaned back against it, hands on his knees, head lowered. He wasn't dizzy. Not at all. _Just not ready to stand up straight._

Dean's boots crunched gravel as he walked around the car and continued warming to his subject, "My eyes were just trickling, yours were gushing and…"

"Dean." Sam gritted his teeth, "Stop talking about it."

"Fine." Dean said, standing just to the left. Sam had his eyes on the ground, could only see Dean's boots, but he could easily picture Dean's frown, his arms crossed over his chest, the way he was wavering between irritation and concern. After a few seconds, Dean spoke up again, but this time his tone wasn't teasing. It was dead serious. "You said you felt alright this morning."

"I did. I _do_."

"Headache?"

"No."

"Well, you look like you're gonna faint."

"Shut up."

"Sam…"

"Just...give me a second." Sam whispered. He _wasn't _going to faint, but the gravity of what he'd seen, what he _thought_ he'd seen, was pressing in on him and he wished he could have waited until he had some privacy for his little nervous breakdown.

Dean didn't say anything but, after a minute, his boots scuffed away. Sam was relieved that his brother was gone and he sank down onto the ground, letting his head rest back against the car. The familiar sounds of Dean filling up the Impala's gas tank clued Sam into the fact that they were at a gas station and he felt a bit embarrassed that he was sitting on the ground next to the car right there in front of the gas pumps. But he was honestly too tired to care. Tilting his head to the right, he could see a little park with a few benches, swings and picnic tables. Reminded him of a park he and Jess had…

Shaking his head, Sam forced himself not to go there, fisting his hands against the sharp gravel. He thought about what he'd said to Charlie about forgiving herself for her boyfriend's death. He'd told her that sometimes bad things just happened. Sam snorted and shook his head, remembering his own words. Dean had said it was good advice but Dean didn't know the whole story. Didn't know why Sam couldn't forgive himself; why he never would be able to. Because Dean didn't know that Sam had dreamt of Jessica's death.

He felt conflicted about not telling Dean that, but even thinking about trying to find a way to tell him made him sick to his stomach. How could you come up with the right words to tell your brother that you were some sort of, what? A psychic freak? What would Dean think? And even worse, what would Dad think? Because as much as he'd always wanted to be normal, to have a normal life, Sam knew better. He knew that having specific, full color, extremely detailed visions of your girlfriend's death wasn't normal.

He knew there was something wrong with him.

* * *

_Pender Home, early morning  
__Arizona_

"You haven't talked about going back to work in ages." Arla said softly, setting her coffee cup next to her on the step.

"I know. And if it hadn't been for what we've just been through, I'm not sure I'd be talking about it now." Tommy nodded, settling his right arm over her shoulders as they stared out at the early morning sunrise from the top step of the porch. He went on, "These past few days, helping Kevin and the rest of the guys out there cleaning up that mine shaft, seeing them identifying the bodies, being able to give Mallory Beech's mother some closure…"

"Even if you couldn't exactly tell her it was a wendigo that killed Mallory," Arla interjected.

"Exactly. Even if the _complete_ truth will never be known by anyone but us and the Winchesters, finding those bones, the bodies," Tommy blew out a slow breath, then continued softly, "finding Gethen's lair has given the opportunity for a lot of people to find peace after wondering for years what happened to their loved ones. He'll be written off as a psychopathic serial killer, but his victims won't be lost forever in a mineshaft."

"It gives you peace."

Tommy smiled, "It does. That's the part about the job I've always loved. Giving back something to those who have lost everything. Besides that, if not for those two boys, a lot more people would have died thanks to Gethen and Alexander. I want to give back. I want to be back out there helping; doing what I was always meant to do."

Arla wasn't surprised. Tommy had retired very young, in no small part due to a life-threatening injury sustained in a shootout. But, through his convalescence and beyond, he'd always stayed in contact with his friends on the force and had never been one to shy away from helping out when he could. She'd seen the way he'd easily fallen back on his training during everything that had just happened. And while he'd been happy retired, Arla knew he still missed the job.

"So you're serious about this." Arla said, trying to work through her own fears and misgivings. She'd married him knowing that his line of work was dangerous. She'd raised their daughters knowing that every day when he left for work, he might not return and she might be left to take care of the girls herself. And she'd been enjoying their retirement and the peace that had come from knowing he wasn't in danger.

Tommy squeezed her hand and said, "Yes. I'm serious."

"Because of what happened out there at that motel." She said, turning to look up at him. "Because of the boys?"

Tommy rubbed her wrist with his left hand and met her eyes as he said, "There's real evil out there, Arla. Whether human or not. And if I can do something about some of it then I need to."

"You did…"

"I know. But I'm ready to do it _again_. The girls are grown up, moved away. I've still got years ahead of me. How can I sit back and do the crossword puzzles and sit around fishing when I'm healthy and capable of doing something good? When I've got the training, the skills." Tommy said, with a smile, "I learned something from those boys. Life always gives you choices. Even when it doesn't _seem _like you have a choice. They could walk away at any point. But they don't. They're making this world a safer place every day. And I need to get back out there and do the same thing."

Arla narrowed her eyes, looking up at him suspiciously and pulling away from him enough that she could try to smooth down his ridiculous fluffy white hair. Giving up as she usually did, she said, "Tell me you're talking about real criminals, not ghosts and monsters and whatever."

Tommy threw his head back and laughed and despite the years, he was still so young and so handsome and every bit the man she'd fallen in love with in Panama City that Spring Break so long ago. White hair and a few wrinkles notwithstanding, Tommy would always be young at heart and would always be her hero.

He said, "I'm not going to lie, Arla. I stocked up on rock salt and I did actually bookmark a few of those websites the boys were looking at. But I'm not planning to go out and fight monsters. Well, the _human_ kind of monster, yes. But I'd rather leave the horror movie monsters to Dean and Sam."

"I should hope so." Arla said. Her mind still reeled at times thinking back to what they'd gone through. It was too fantastic to be true, yet it all had happened. She rested her head against his shoulder and asked, "Do you think they'll be ok?"

Tommy kissed the top of her head and said, "I think they're gonna be just fine, honey."

"Really? I'm worried about them."

"Of course you are. You're a mother. Worrying is in the job description."

Arla sighed in mock annoyance even though she knew he was right. She said, "I just hope they've been taking care of themselves."

"They're guys, babe."

"I know. That's what worries me." Arla sighed, thinking of not just their physical health, but the fact that, even if they killed monsters for a living, they were just a couple of insecure, lost kids who thought they were grown up but weren't quite there yet.

"You know what I think?" Tommy interrupted her thoughts.

"Hm?"

"I think they're getting there. They're facing things most people couldn't begin to understand, let alone deal with. And they're making the best of it. But the thing that makes me certain they're going to be ok? They have each other. And if I learned one thing about the Winchester brothers, it's that nothing in this world is going to come between them. I could see it the very minute I walked into that motel room."

Arla thought back to Christmas Eve. Raquel flagging them down. The drive to the motel. Tommy's initial hesitation. The sound of his voice when he'd come out and told her someone needed her help. It all seemed like a lifetime ago.

Tommy said, "When I walked in there, before I had you come inside, I found them there on the floor and I honestly thought for a minute they were both dead. But then I heard Sam talking. And you know what he was saying?"

She shook her head.

"He told Dean that he was going to go get help. That he was going to take care of him. Kid couldn't even sit up straight himself." Tommy smiled ruefully. "But you know the funny thing, Arla?"

"What?"

"I think that even if Raquel hadn't found us, even if we hadn't gone up to that motel," Tommy's smile widened in awe as he met her eyes and said, "I think that Sam _would_ have found a way. I think those two are always going to find a way. I can't begin to imagine what lies ahead of them, but I don't think they're ever going to give up on each other."

"And you think that's going to be enough?" Arla asked, tears in her eyes.

Tommy nodded, "I think it's going to be more than enough. I don't think there's anything in this world that can stand against that kind of devotion."

Arla absorbed his words, felt the absolute certainty in his voice. And she knew he was right. She felt herself smiling as she thought about the Winchester brothers. They'd surprised her a dozen times over in the very short time she'd known them and she sincerely hoped she'd get the opportunity to be surprised by them again in the future.

Turning to Tommy, she said, "I love you, you know that?"

"What's not to love?" He grinned.

Smacking him on the shoulder, Arla stood up and said, "Better watch it, hot stuff. You're talking to the woman who's going to be packing your sack lunches again."

Tommy rose and took her hand, his eyes serious as he asked, "Are you ok with this?"

"I am. You're too young and sexy to be sitting in a rocking chair."

"You are too." Tommy said, giving her a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

She nodded smartly and opened the back door saying, "Of course I am. Which is why I'm going to see about picking up some shifts at the ER again. What were we thinking, Thomas? Retirement? We were turning into a couple of fat old fogies before we met those boys. Let's get back to what we're good at..."

"Kicking ass and setting bones till death do us part." Tommy grinned, following her inside and quoting their marriage vows.

Together they prepared breakfast and Arla wondered briefly how differently their lives might have been if they'd never been flagged down by a ghost on the side of the road on Christmas Eve. They'd saved lives and fought monsters side by side with two of the bravest people she'd ever met. She said another little prayer for the Winchester brothers and decided it was time to face the future head on.

No looking back.

* * *

_January 8th, 2006, morning  
__outside of Toledo, OH_

Since _he_ was the one filling up the coffee cups this time, Dean decided it was time to start weaning his brother off the hard stuff. He didn't want to give the poor caffeine addict a migraine, though, so he didn't completely skip the espresso; just reduced the dosage. Dean kept an eye on the window of the Gas'n'Sip and muttered, "No more triple red eyes for you, little brother."

Sighing when he saw Sam pushing himself to his feet, Dean hurried to the cash register. Wasn't like there was anywhere for Sam to go, but right now, Dean was having trouble figuring out what was going on with his brother and he didn't feel remotely comfortable leaving him to his own devices for long. And even if it was a mild winter, it was too freakin' cold for him to decide now was the time for a morning constitutional. While the less than friendly clerk took his sweet time ringing up the two coffees and the tank of gas, Dean watched Sam walking away from the car like he had somewhere important to be.

Dean wanted to get to him before he crossed the state line.

Heading out the door, Dean caught a glimpse of the bag of Arla's baking that was sitting there on the front seat. He groaned mentally, remembering his plan of having a hot cup of coffee with a blueberry muffin in a nice toasty car before they hit the road. So much for his nice breakfast plans. Feeling chilled and fighting back against the cold air tickling his throat and threatening to send him into a coughing fit, he stood there uncertainly.

This really wasn't how he'd hoped the day would go. Taking care of Bloody Mary the previous night hadn't exactly been pleasant, but it had been exhausting enough that after they'd returned to the motel room, cleaned up and consoled Charlie that she wasn't going to die and that neither of them were going blind, they'd both slept soundly for a solid five hours. And then, after what Sam had said to Charlie only thirty minutes earlier, when they'd dropped her off at her house, Dean thought maybe they were finally making progress. That maybe Sam had accepted that Jessica's death hadn't been his fault. Now, Dean was thinking maybe little brother had learned a few things about lying since he'd gone off to Stanford.

The fact that Sam was _still_ not telling him everything was worrisome. Ever since that night when Sam had announced that Bloody Mary would come after him, sitting in the rain in the car when he'd tried to finally face Sam's grief head on, Dean had been worrying about what that secret was. Had been imagining everything and anything he could come up with that might explain Sam's cryptic comment. And he had no clue what it could be. The fact that Sam had still refused to talk about it this morning didn't make Dean feel any better.

Standing around with two hot cups of coffee in his hands, Dean sighed and started following his brother. Sam had thankfully stopped walking and was sitting down at a picnic table, his back to the table, as he stared out at a sparse line of trees beyond. Still Dean hesitated; because Sam had made it very clear about three dozen times over now that he didn't want to talk about it, he was fine, stop worrying about him _thank you very much_.

All of which were big fat freakin' lies.

Taking a deep breath that only caused him to start coughing, Dean mentally cursed his stupid luck and slowly crossed the distance, trying to catch his breath and prepare for whatever was to come. Sam glanced up as he approached and he looked more composed than Dean had been expecting. A little pale and definitely not looking happy, but not falling apart. _At least not much_.

As Dean reached his side, Sam asked, "Will you do me a favor?"

Dean didn't know what else to do but sit down next to his brother. He tried to hand Sam a cup but his brother was too distracted to even notice. Dean decided maybe he should have drank his own coffee before chasing his brother down. He wasn't sure he was alert enough to be doing this. He took a quick sip to settle the hacking cough down and then set both cups on the table behind them, and said, "Sure."

Sam nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet. Dean grew more curious until he saw the picture Sam pulled out. The picture of Jessica. The only one he had, as far as Dean knew. His throat tightened and he forced himself to ignore the way Sam's hands were ever so slightly shaking as they stared down at the picture together. A few long seconds passed, then Sam held the picture out to him.

Hesitating, Dean asked softly, "Sam?"

"Can you," Sam's voice was no steadier than his hands, "can you take it?"

"Sam."

Sam met his gaze finally and Dean wished he hadn't because he was never going to get over the way the pain in Sam's eyes tore through his own heart. Sam immediately looked back down at the picture and whispered, "Please."

Dean took the picture.

"I need you to…" Sam went on, barely audible, "just, hold onto it. You were right. I can't keep going on like this."

Dean frowned, turning his gaze from Jessica's pretty smile to his brother's distraught face. He tried to figure out exactly what Sam was asking of him. He said, "You should keep this, Sam."

"No. I need you to. Just hold onto it for me for awhile, will you? I can't...I can't keep looking at her. Remembering." Sam asked, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together tightly, as he forced his eyes away from the picture. "Like I said, you were right, man. It's killing me, hanging on like this. I gotta let her go."

Sliding the picture carefully into his coat pocket, Dean wasn't exactly sure if he should be pleased or worried at this turn of events. Either way, Sam had given him the opening and he was going to use it. He nudged Sam in the shoulder and said, "Talk to me."

Sam took a shaky breath and mumbled with a touch of amusement, "_You_ want to talk? Maybe you're the one who needs the doctor. Did Mary break your brain?"

Dean grinned and said, "Hey, I'm willing to take one for the team here, but it's a limited time offer, bro." When Sam didn't bite, Dean lowered his voice and pressed on, "Come on. What's going on? You've been acting weird since we left town."

"Have not."

_Have too, _Dean had to bite his tongue to hold back the natural response. But he was done playing, was done letting Sam dodge around the subject. Really wishing he was fully caffeinated, Dean steeled himself and asked, "What happened back there? You...I thought you were fine when we left Charlie."

"I am fine."

"You looked like you saw a ghost." Dean said, noticing how the tension in his brother's posture increased tenfold when he said that. _More secrets. What? Is he seeing her when he's awake now too?_

But, as usual, Sam hedged and mumbled, "We both saw Mary."

"That's not what I meant and you know it." Dean rubbed his cold hands along his jeans, trying to keep his tension in check.

He wasn't good at this sort of thing. Not at all. It had been one thing when he'd had to deal with an upset twelve year old devastated by a C+ on an English paper or a pissed off fifteen year old who'd been denied the opportunity to play another game of soccer because they had to move to a new town in the middle of yet another school year. This was a beast of a completely different nature; one Dean had no clue how to gank. Not for the first time, Dean realized there were some chinks in that impenetrable shining armor of hero worship he'd fashioned for their father.

Because Dad should have been the one dealing with all of that crap, not him. And considering he'd called Dad that awful night in Palo Alto, while a shell-shocked, smoke-scented little brother had sat shivering and barely holding on in the passenger side of his car, Dean felt like it might really be nice if their Dad was around to deal with this too.

But he wasn't. Dean was on his own on this. He sighed, "Look man, I've got limited patience for being nice. Speak now or I'm gonna beat it out of you."

Sam was tense enough that Dean almost regretted saying that. Because he had a feeling Sam might just take a swing at him. And maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing. But Sam just shook his head and said, "Dean, we've already talked about it. Ok? I'm fine. I just need, we just need to get on the road. Get focused. Find a case. Did you buy a newspaper when you were in there?"

"No."

"Ok. Well, I'll go get one and then we can…" Sam said, shifting to reach for his cup of coffee; clearly happy with having found a convenient out.

But Dean just grabbed his wrist before he could get to the coffee and said, "Sammy."

And for whatever reason, that did it. Dean found himself holding his breath as the resistance and denial visibly drained out of Sam and the carefully controlled emotion began to leak out. It took a few long seconds before Sam found his voice and it might not have hurt Dean nearly as much as it hurt Sam, but his words broke Dean's heart all the same when Sam whispered, "I was going to marry her."

Dean swallowed back whatever he'd been considering saying and stared at Sam as the tears he'd been trying so hard to hold at bay began to fall. It wasn't that Dean was even particularly surprised by the revelation, more that he was surprised Sam had actually said it aloud. As he absorbed Sam's statement, Dean realized that was probably the last thing Sam was going to say about Jessica; maybe forever. And even though he knew it wasn't about him, he couldn't help but feel deep regret that he'd probably never hear how they met, never know how their first date had gone, what they'd liked to do on a Friday night. Never know anything more about that period of Sam's life.

Piece by piece, Sam was burying it in a deep grave.

And even if Sam had said he didn't blame him for Jessica's death, Dean couldn't help the guilt that still plagued _him_ at the thought that if he'd just left Sam alone maybe none of this would have happened in the first place. But that was the same kind of thinking he'd been trying to keep Sam from doing so Dean forced himself not to go there. He had more pressing problems than regretting everything he'd ever done. Sam had pulled away, his head in his hands and Dean could see his shoulders shaking even if he was doing everything he could to keep his quiet tears to himself.

Feeling the sting of tears in his own eyes, Dean sighed and rested his hand on the back of Sam's neck, uncertain how his offer of support would be taken. Sam crumpled a bit more, still crying almost silently but he leaned an inch closer and Dean relaxed. He was cold, fighting the urge to cough with every other breath, and his little brother was grieving for the love of his life, but Dean felt like a weight had been lifted. Because Sam was finally dealing with it. Maybe not completely; maybe he never would. But at least, for the moment anyway, he wasn't setting it on the back burner while he channeled all his energies into revenge and burned himself out in the process.

Running his hand over his face, Dean struggled with what to do or say. He'd never admit it, but he felt completely inadequate. He could take out an angry spirit, gank a ghoul, deal with a chupacabra or anything else with sharp teeth or claws, but not this. Then he returned his gaze to his brother and Dean realized something.

He _could_ do this.

He'd been doing it his entire life. This wasn't some victim of a haunting, some innocent bystander. This was his little brother and Dean had been taking care of him since he was four years old. Much as he wanted, _they_ wanted, to find Dad, for the first time in his entire life, Dean started to grasp the fact that they didn't _need_ Dad in the same way they'd needed him when they were younger. They were grown up now and for two months they'd been on their own. Working cases. Together. With ups and downs and disagreements and frustrations aplenty, but they'd worked together seamlessly as a team when it counted. They made a pretty good team and Dean decided it was time to spit out what Sam needed to hear.

"Sam," he squeezed his brother's shoulder, tugging him just a bit closer as he leaned down and said softly, "you're going to get through this. Hear me? _We're_ going to get through this. Together. I meant what I said before; we make a pretty great team. We just gotta stick together, man. And we're going to find dad. And the thing that killed Jessica and Mom. Ok?"

He waited, saw Sam nodding, already pulling himself together and wiping his face with the sleeve of his coat. Dean turned his head away and coughed, wishing they could have done this somewhere warm, then recovered his voice and added, "It's been a rough couple of months, but everything's gonna be fine, Sammy. I promise."

And the great thing was, for the first time, Dean actually believed it.

* * *

Sam was cold straight to his bones. A cold that ached and hurt and exhausted him. But warmth was seeping into his soul and starting to numb the jagged pain that had held him prisoner for so long that he had almost forgotten what it felt like to be whole. He hadn't been sure it was possible, but, as had happened so often growing up, Dean had fixed it. Not perfectly of course; Sam was pretty sure nothing would ever be able to fix this perfectly. But in his own typically Dean way, he'd done what no one else ever could.

Sam hated himself for falling apart in front of his brother, but it was kind of nice to know someone cared. He glanced at Dean and saw the smile, the confidence in his eyes as he promised that everything was going to be fine. And, just like he had every single time Dean had said it when they were kids, Sam believed him. He took a deep breath, suddenly wanting to be back in the Impala, on the road going anywhere. Dean seemed to agree because he was already standing up.

"We good right?" Dean asked with a smirk as he clapped Sam on the shoulder. "We're not going to have to hug now are we?"

Shaking his head, Sam stood up, managing a weak smile as he started to turn away, only to feel strong hands gripping his shoulders. He frowned, staring at Dean in confusion, only to be shocked at the emotion he could see in his brother's overly expressive eyes. And then Dean had pulled him into a hug despite his teasing. Fresh tears burned his eyes as Sam felt his brother's arms tighten around him.

"Coffee's getting cold, bitch." Dean said a second later, stepping back and smacking Sam in the chest with the back of his hand.

"Jerk." Sam mumbled, accepting the cup that Dean shoved into his hand. He stood there, frozen on the spot until Dean elbowed him to get him moving.

"So where do you wanna go?" Dean said, immediately falling into the familiar routine of distraction.

Sam's throat tightened with emotion, realizing exactly how much he'd missed his brother.

* * *

_an hour later; on a two-lane blacktop heading west_

"There's a game on the eleventh. In Boulder."

"Good twenty hour drive from here." Dean said, a little surprised to hear Sam's voice.

He was already mentally rerouting himself and choosing the next road to take that would get them on the way to Colorado. If Sam was actually talking about going to a Jayhawks game, he wasn't going to say no. Sparing a cautious glance at Sam, he tried to get a readout on his mindset. After they'd gotten back on the road with rather lukewarm coffee, silence had reigned for the past hour or so. It had been a comfortable, companionable silence though. They'd devoured the rest of the cinnamon muffins Arla had made and somehow eating that homemade goodness had helped dissipate the last bit of tension that had hung over their heads ever since Jessica's death.

Sam actually met his eyes this time and said, "We've got two days before the game. Plenty of time to get there."

"So. No rush then?"

The responding silence dragged on so long that Dean regretted having gotten his hopes up even as high as he had; which hadn't been very high in the first place. But then Sam leaned down and grabbed the box of tapes from under his seat. He rifled around for a few seconds, then seemed to find what he was looking for and popped the cassette into the deck. After a few seconds, the familiar strains of _Boston_ filled the car. Dean wondered for a minute if Sam had chosen the specific song with purpose, then he glanced at his face and knew he had. The song was answer in and of itself, but Sam settled back more comfortably in his seat and turned to Dean with a tired, but genuine smile.

For the first time in months he looked at peace. Sam said, "No rush."

Dean grinned and cranked up the volume on _Don't Look Back._

**~The End~**

* * *

**Don't Look Back**

**By Boston**

Don't look back

A new day is breakin'

It's been too long since I felt this way

I don't mind where I get taken

The road is callin'

Today is the day

I can see

It took so long to realize

I'm much too strong

Not to compromise

Now I see what I am is holding me down

I'll turn it around

I finally see the dawn arrivin'

I see beyond the road I'm drivin'

Far away and left behind

It's a new horizon and I'm awakin' now

Oh I see myself in a brand new way

The sun is shinin'

The clouds are breakin'

Cause I can't lose now, there's no game to play

I can tell

There's no more time left to criticize

I've seen what I could not recognize

Everything in my life was leading me on

But I can be strong

I finally see the dawn arrivin'

I see beyond the road I'm drivin'

Far away and left behind.

© SCHOLZ, TOM

For non-commercial use only.

© Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group, UNIVERSAL MUSIC PUB GROUP

For non-commercial use only.

Data from: LyricFind

* * *

**_January 11th, 2006  
_****_Jayhawks vs Colorado  
_****_8pm  
_****_Jayhawks won the game 75 to 63_**


End file.

Supernatural, Family, Hurt-Comfort