Author's Note: For everyone who started reading "Ghost Stories" before, here's what happened: LIFE got in the way and I totally realized that I forgot where I was going with this story. Add to it that I started working on a story in another section and the "National Treasure" plot bunny sort of pushed the "CSI:NY" one out of the way. This is the same "Ghost Stories" you were reading before, just new and improved. It's still a crossover with "Supernatural." Dean is still going to annoy the heck out of Don Flack, because I love writing sarcastic fights! And now that I have time to work on this story, chapters will come faster and I won't get stuck halfway through; in fact, I'm almost finished with the rewrite!

If you're just joining this crazy ride, then you can disregard all of the stuff I said above this. You might want to go read "Darkness Falls" which is the precursor of sorts to this story. Just a suggestion.

A random note: Writer's block is mean and evil.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of CSI:NY; they are property of Anthony E. Zuiker and CBS. I also don't own the boys of "Supernatural," they belong to Eric Kripke and the WB.

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Chapter One:

"This place is frickin' creepy." Jessica Anders hugged herself and shivered as she stepped through the hole that used to be a doorway. "Explain to me why we're here again?"

Her boyfriend, Justin Kelso, turned around and stuck the flashlight under his chin, casting his face in sharp shadows. "We're here to find the ghost of Doc Smithers. They say every full moon he appears. Some say he's still killing people."

High-pitched laughter filled the air. "Justin, you are so lame," his sister Anna chortled. "There's no such thing as ghosts, and this whole place is just a burned-out mental hospital. That's it. Nothing supernatural about it."

"Dude, Smithers is the real-freaking-deal," Justin countered. "There's a bet going around school- hundred bucks for a picture or proof that Smithers is still here."

This isn't worth a hundred bucks, Jessica thought to herself.

Situated right on the bank of the Hudson River, the Harbinger Institute started off as a regular hospital, but budget cuts forced it to close in the 1920s. Fifteen years later, it was reopened as a mental institution. During World War II it was also a place where German prisoners of war were kept. It was at this time that the legend of Doc Smithers got its start.

Smithers was the chief doctor at Harbinger. He was brilliant but extremely sadistic. He was constantly pushing the boundaries. And the German POWs were the best place to start.

Then, in the 1950s, one of the young nurses told her uncle, a NYPD detective, about the goings-on at the Harbinger. The city closed the place down. The patients were shipped to other hospitals. Smithers lost his license to practice and was charged with inhumane crimes. He was set to go on trial the next year.

Five days later, on New Year's Eve, 1959, the Harbinger Institute exploded in a fireball of flames. Firefighters working the blaze swore they could hear screaming people inside- an impossibility considering the place had been shut down and all patients transferred. Trying to rescue the phantom people, five of New York's finest lost their lives.

The NYPD had a strong suspicion that Smithers started the fire, but he mysteriously disappeared. Most assumed he had started the blaze and perished in it. This of course, was a completely unsubstantiated rumor. But it was the story most believed.

It didn't take long for the hollowed-out shell that was the Harbinger Institute became a popular teen hangout. Rumors circled for the next forty years about mysterious happenings inside the building.

Then, two weeks ago, one of the students in Justin Kelso's gym class was overheard telling his friends that he'd come across the ghost of Doc Smithers. Apparently the good doctor was still at the Institute.

That was when the contest took form. A hundred dollars from a bunch of skeptical seniors for someone to bring back proof that Smithers was "alive" and well.

"Oooh..." Justin moaned. His sister slapped his arm. "Ow!"

"Quit that," Anna hissed. "Did you hear that?"

Justin and Jessica both stopped. They listened for a few seconds. "Nope," Justin said. He started forward into the building. "Come on, let's go."

"Wait!" This time Jessica grabbed his arm. Justin shrugged it off angrily. "You can't hear that?" she asked him.

"If you're gonna be such a wuss," Justin began, "why did you come along anyway?"

"Someone has to keep an eye on you," Jessica shot back. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"No way," Justin said. "There's a hundred bucks waiting for me in there."

Jessica turned to his sister for help. "Anna?"

"Let him go," Anna said flatly. "He gets in trouble, it's his ass, not ours."

He grinned. "When I get out of there, I'm a hundred bucks richer."

"And a few brain cells poorer," Jessica said.

He waved as he disappeared into the building.

"He's such a dork," Jessica said. "How can you stand being his sister?"

Anna raised an eyebrow. "You're the one dating him, sweetheart."

Then they heard screams. The two girls looked at each other. "I'm going to get help," Jessica said.

"We can't just leave him in there!" Anna cried. She took off at a run in the direction Justin had gone.

"Anna- wait!" Jessica yelled as Anna disappeared around a corner.

Anna's screams filled the air, echoing her brother's.

Jessica took off for the door. She didn't look back. And she didn't stop running.

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"Teenagers," Don Flack said, leaning back into the headrest of the squad car and rubbing his temples. "All those horror flicks, and they never learn."

The call had come over the radio about thirty seconds ago. Flack and Officer Jack Faraday, being closest to the scene, volunteered to go check it out. Normally, it was a job for some rookie officer to go chase teens out of the Institute, but on slower nights, Flack had no problem doing it. Rather do that than chase down some psycho, he thought. Wild teens beat psycho killer any day of the week and twice on Sunday.

Flack had heard all the stories. When his father had joined the force, he's come home with all the crazy stories about the happenings at Harbinger. Flack had chased teens out of there during his first couple years, too. Flack had also heard the stories. Old Man Smithers is still killin' people in there. I saw lights on in there while we were partying, but the place has got no electricity! I heard people yelling, but I was the only one in there!

A month ago, Flack would have rolled his eyes at the ghost stories. Now he was a believer. One can't be on a case where the perps are all vampires hell-bent on destroying the world and not become a believer. Oh, sure, Flack had been a surefire skeptic at first, but when one gets stepped on by a giant blood-sucking demon and gets a broken arm to show for it, then have to lie on the incident report that it was shattered by a piece of falling ceiling, one has no choice but to believe what one has written.

He had to shake his head. It was the weirdest report he'd ever had to fill out.

Flack was shaken from his reverie by a glimpse of someone in their headlights. "Jack! Stop!" he barked.

Jack Faraday slammed on the brakes. Flack was out of the car before it had completely stopped. The person in their path was a girl. She barely looked eighteen. She was wearing jeans and a tanktop. She was holding a cell phone, and her cheeks were bright red. When she saw Flack, she started screaming and tried to run the other way.

Flack caught her and pulled her close. "Hey, hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay. I'm NYPD. Someone called 911, I'm guessing that was you. It's okay. You're safe now." He pulled the shivering, crying girl into his arms. He shuffled out of his jacket and tucked it around her shoulders. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"J-Jessica A-Anders," she stammered. "It killed them. Oh, God, I think it killed them!"

Flack snapped his fingers at Jack. "Call it in," he said. "Tell 'em to bring a bus." He thought about what the girl had just said. "And maybe Dr. Peyton Driscoll from the lab."

Jack took the radio from off his shoulder and called in their location. Flack stepped away from the girl, intent on going to the building to check it out.

She grabbed his arm. Her fingernails dug into his shirt. "Don't leave me!" she begged him.

Flack pointed to Jack. "Jack's a good guy. I'm not leavin' you alone. He'll watch out for you until the ambulance gets here. I'm going to go check on your friends." He sat her down in the front seat of the squad car. "You'll be okay."

He set out for the Institute. The building loomed ahead of him. He sorta wished he had backup right now, and thought about waiting and giving Danny Messer a call.

Except it was Danny's night off, so he was probably with Lindsay. And whatever fate awaited Flack in the building was nothing compared to the hell he'd get if he interrupted Danny and Lindsay.

Flack stepped into the dark building. His flashlight played off the crumbling cement walls. His footfalls echoed through the building. He started down the main hallway, his gun trained on the area ahead. The place was downright creepy. It seriously unnerved him. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He felt like running directly back out the door, but knew he had a job to do. Wouldn't look good for me to run out screaming, either, he thought.

Then he heard it. The unmistakable sound of footsteps behind him. Flack whipped around, his gun trained ahead. "NYPD! Freeze!"

His gun was knocked from his hand by a kick. Flack heard it clatter to the ground somewhere nearby. Flack's flashlight came up directly into his attacker's eyes. He was all set to tackle whatever it was that was in front of him around the knees when the whatever it was started laughing.

That's new. Flack got his first look at his attacker.

"You son of a- What in the hell are you doing here?" he demanded when he saw who it was. He had to resist the urge to take him down anyway.

Dean Winchester grinned. "Come on, admit it," he said. "You missed me."

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