Title: Isle of Lost Souls

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: New coordinates from Dad and a simple ghost hunt that becomes anything but on a small island off the coast of Connecticut. Post 1x06 "Skin" hurt/comfort/awesome!sam/dean

Author's note: Ahhhhh hope everyone had as wonderful a Thanksgiving as I did. :D Spent it with my bestie and fellow FanFic author Xenascully and her family. So much food and…seven…yes seven pies kids. It was…so very Deantastic. LOL Now then, back to work!

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D – So awesome she gets a cameo here. :D Thank you Janice! My Muse and I adore you and your suggestions/prompts/reasons I keep churning out fic the way I do. Heh heh heh

Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P

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

The wet sand shifted beneath their feet and Dean groaned. "Ok. This isn't gonna work. Sorry, dude."

"Huh?" Sam was only half-aware as heat raged through him with the pain. He didn't understand at first why they'd stopped until Dean turned him and tipped him carefully over his shoulder. "Dean…wait…"

"Gotta be done, Sammy." Dean heard the anguished tone in his brother's voice and steeled himself, paying attention instead to his feet as he strode slowly over the unsteady sands toward the shore. "Don't puke down my back."

Even in his fevered haze Sam was lucid enough to snort a soft laugh. "Gotta…gotta great target." He said and thumped a fist into Dean's ass.

"Don't even joke, you little shit!" Dean growled and staggered, quickly righting himself. "Should'a pulled those damn nails out myself." He grumbled and kept moving. Dean with his back to the island and Sam so focused on keeping his stomach to himself, neither man saw the shadow hovering in the tree line, watching them leave.

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

CHAPTER 3

Dean leaned back in the uncomfortable hospital chair and stared at the waiting room ceiling. They had whisked Sam away when he'd staggered into the clinic with a mostly unconscious little brother on his shoulder, and he'd yet to see a single doctor or nurse. It had been over an hour, and he knew if he had one more cup of the vile sludge masquerading as coffee, he'd be spewing it back on the nearest floor.

"Mr. Neiman?"

Dean jerked upright as the Nurse finally emerged. "Sam? How's my brother?"

"He'll be fine. You can see him now if you'll follow me." The nurse, a pretty young woman with short brown curls gave him a smile and headed back down the hall.

Dean followed and allowed himself to take a breath in relief. "How's his leg?"

The nurse stopped and pushed open a door, waving him in. "The doctor can explain. Go on in."

Dean walked past her into the small room and grinned at the sight of his bandaged and highly irritated brother trying to shove the tube out from under his nose while the doctor argued to keep it there. "Sammy, stop screwin' around. Let the guy do his job."

"Thank you." The doctor gave Sam another stern look and pushed the tube back where it belonged.

"I'm fine. I don't need it." Sam glared up at both of them.

"What's the verdict?" Dean ignored his brother and looked at the physician instead. "Gonna amputate his chicken leg or what?"

The doctor smirked and shook his head. "No. No. His leg will be fine. We were able to remove the nails easily and avoid fracturing the bone, though it's going to be extremely sore for a few days. He'll need to stay off that leg for a bit." He looked down at his recalcitrant patient. "You have an infection and a fever, Sam. Those nails were anything but clean. I expect you to take the antibiotics I prescribe."

"Oh, he'll take 'em," Dean nodded firmly and crossed his arms when Sam gave him another glare.

"Not a child, Dean." Sam sat back with a thump in the bed and let his head drop to the pillow.

"Oh, yeah, we can see that," Dean drawled and shook his head.

The doctor chuckled. "I'll have the nurse bring the prescriptions and his paperwork. I assume you'll want to check him out before he decides on a prison break."

Dean gave a startled laugh as Sam threw his arms up in the air. "Not funny!" Sam glared equally at both of them.

"It's a little funny, dude." Dean snorted and went to the chair by the bed as the doctor left and sat. The box mounted on the I.V. stand beside Sam's bed gave a series of beeps, and Dean watched as his brother's eyes rolled and glazed over. He chuckled and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Automatic morphine drip?"

Sam nodded and smirked, his bad mood forgotten. "S'good stuff."

"Oh, man." Dean sat back to enjoy the show.

"Hey. Hey. Hey." Sam struggled to sit up and made his brother laugh again. "What…wha'…" He ran his tongue around his mouth. "Um…what'd you tell 'em 'bout…" He gestured to his leg and looked earnestly at Dean.

"That you found Dad's old nail gun in the garage and dropped it and shot yourself." Dean smothered another laugh behind his hand. "Not sure they believed me exactly, but they stopped asking questions so I call it a win." He patted Sam's shoulder as he flopped back on the bed. "Nurses think you're a total klutz…which you are."

"Nice, De…Dean." Sam managed a passable glare. "You…you're a real ass, you know that?"

Dean stood and slapped a hand to his backside with a grin. "That's grade-A prime chick magnet ass, Sammy."

Sam closed his eyes with a snort and listened to Dean pace around the room while the painkillers began to pull him under. His mind drifted back to the island and the ghost, the terrifying moment he'd seen the nails coming for his brother, and then the image of Dean with the spirit's hand in his throat choking the life from him. He fell asleep with the hunt replaying through his mind and a frown on his face.

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

Sam slowly swam up out of the warm, dark place where he had been floating. He wanted very much to stay there, away from the pain he knew was waiting for him, but he thought he had something important to tell Dean. His thoughts scattered as he came closer and closer to wakefulness and distantly heard his brother say his name and felt a warm hand on his neck. He tried to catch the stray thoughts and the thing he'd wanted to remember. It was important. He heard his name spoken again and came awake all at once in a rush as he lurched upright and found Dean holding his shoulders to keep him from tumbling off the bed.

"It wasn't him!" Sam gasped and grabbed at Dean's arm.

"Whoa, tiger!" Dean had seen Sam finally coming out of the morphine induced sleep and gotten to him just as he suddenly sat forward and nearly cracked their heads together. "Take it easy."

Sam stared at him with intense focus as the cobwebs still worked to clear from his mind. "It wasn't the ghost!"

"What? Not making a lot of sense here, Sam." Dean slid an arm behind his back and gave his shoulder a push. "Lay down already and take a breath."

Sam fought to stay upright and instead managed to push so he was sitting up against the headboard. "The ghost…the one we killed. It wasn't him." Sam shook his head and willed him to understand. "He wasn't the ghost crushing people's hearts. When we left, he didn't come after us. He didn't attack us again until you went back to his bones. We missed something."

Dean stared and then sighed as his shoulders slumped. "I know."

"You know?"

"They found another body this morning," Dean told him gently and felt the tremor of guilt pass through Sam's shoulder beneath his hand. "This isn't our fault, dude. We couldn't have known."

"We should have." Sam let out a rough breath and stopped fighting him. "It's our job. Save people."

"Yeah, well we can't save everyone, and we were a little distracted," Dean reminded him and stood. "How's the leg feel?"

The pain hadn't registered until Dean asked and then it was there, burning away. "Crap," Sam hissed and leaned forward to place a hand over the bandages beneath the blanket and press firmly to try and alleviate it. "Feels like they're still in there." He looked around and his eyes widened in surprise. "When did we get to a motel?" He was lying on the bed furthest from the door as was their habit, mostly because, despite that fact that Sam was now bigger than him and quite capable of taking care of himself, Dean still found it impossible to relax unless he was between his brother and any threat from the outside world. He couldn't recall coming into the room, and he really thought he should have been able to remember his first sight of a room the sixties had forgotten. The blanket over his legs was an obnoxious paisley quilt, while one wall of the room was entirely covered in glittery beads. The back wall beside the bathroom door had a macramé hanging in every color of the rainbow done in swirls and spots that made his stomach churn uncomfortably, and he looked away to the lime green paint on the walls.

"Dude, you were wasted on the morphine," Dean chuckled and came back to him with a bottle of water. "You were singing 'You are my sunshine' when we came in here."

"I was not." Sam opened the bottle and took a drink as his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Were too." Dean swatted his shoulder and sat on the other bed. "Would I lie?"

Sam gave him a look of complete disbelief and long-suffering. "In a heartbeat." He drank greedily from the bottle and then set it aside. All in all, he didn't feel anywhere near as bad as he had on the island. His leg hurt to be sure but the pain was manageable and while he could still feel the vestiges of a fever, he knew it had come down. Dean's complete lack of a show of concern was testament that he was in no danger. He sat up and carefully swung his injured leg over the side of the bed.

"Whoa, where you think you're going?" Dean stood as Sam got to his feet and grabbed his elbow.

"Bathroom," Sam said with a roll of his eyes. "Think I can manage without help, thanks."

Dean let him go and watched as Sam walked gingerly across the room and into the bathroom. He wanted Sam to sit the hunt out for a few days while his leg healed, but he knew Sam would never let him go back to the island on his own. He shook his head and dropped back to sit on the bed. "Stubborn ass."

Sam came out of the bathroom and felt slightly better after brushing his teeth. A shower would have completed the job, but one look at his leg mummified in the bandages had dissuaded him. The shower could wait. "We need to go back out there," he said as he went to his bag and rooted through it for his other pair of jeans.

"We need to figure out what the hell we're after this time," Dean said firmly and tossed the television remote aside. "We don't know how many more ghosts are out there."

Sam sat to pull on his jeans and shrugged. "Could be pirate ghosts from Captain Kidd's day or whatever curse he was supposed to have put on his treasure, assuming that's even really there. There are also rumors of an Indian curse." He stood and buttoned his jeans then reached over for a fresh shirt. "Not to mention all the tourists and kayakers who've drowned around the island."

"So this place could be ghost central. Awesome." Dean rolled off the bed and knelt by his brother's legs, grabbing his shoes. "Don't argue with me," He told Sam as he took his foot and shoved on a boot. "No way you're bending down here with that bum leg yet." Dean ducked his head to hide a small smile at how natural this still felt, remembering the countless times he had done exactly the same thing for his little brother when he was still actually little.

Sam huffed an irritated breath but let him. He felt like a child with his big brother putting his shoes on for him and definitely didn't like that he was right. He'd been wondering how he was going to bend his leg enough to get his boot on. He was walking and he didn't feel that bad, but the pain from where the nails had been embedded in the bone still burned angrily at him when he moved. "There are some charms we can make to give us some protection if it is a curse that's killing people. We've got most of what I need in the trunk. Thanks." He stood when Dean was done and went to grab his jacket. "We can get the rest in town."

"What kind of protection we talkin' about?" Dean opened the door and followed Sam out to the car.

"More like a warning really. They'll get warm if a curse tries to interfere with us and, in theory, ward it off." Sam shrugged. "Temporarily anyway."

"See, why couldn't you have said, 'Hey, Dean, with these charms, no curse can ever hurt us, ever?' But no, you gotta toy with me." Dean tossed him a glare when Sam chuckled. "Get in the car already, stumpy."

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

"Seriously? I have to put this stinky piece of crap in my pocket?" Dean asked and held up the offending little cloth bag tied with a string between his thumb and forefinger as he drove.

Sam snorted, bent over a similar bag in his lap as he carefully tied it closed. "Actually, you should wear it around your neck." He pointed to the long loop of string hanging from the one Dean held. "So it touches your skin." He brushed his forearm over his forehead and bent back to his task, jumping when Dean's hand landed on his neck.

"Still runnin' that fever, dude." Dean sighed. "We could take a day…"

"Dean." Sam turned to give him a pointed look. "We can't. That woman who died this morning? That's on us." On me, Sam added silently. If he'd only been faster, avoided the nails, they would have finished the job properly. "We have to figure this out before anyone else dies."

Dean nodded, unhappy. "Fine." They had spent most of the day in the local library again doing more research. This time Dean had been at his side rather than goofing off and had even managed to convince Sam to take a nap in the car that afternoon while he continued searching. For such a small island,it had a hell of a long and colorful history with more than its fair share of potential spooks. He wondered for a moment if it was possible to salt and burn an entire island. The thought made him smile, wondering what his Dad would say to such a wild idea. He glanced over at his walking wounded brother and figured their father would get behind that plan.

"The sandbar should be above water soon," Sam commented with a glance at his watch. The sun had set and the last daylight was fading into evening. He finished his charm and bundled up the mess in his lap. He reached over and set it in the back seat before hanging the charm bag around his neck and tucking it under his shirt against his chest. "Ok, these really are kind of smelly."

Dean snorted. "Ya think?" He held up his own and shook his head. Dean slid the thong over his right wrist and twisted a few times until the charm was wrapped firmly against his wrist, lying next to his skin. "I'm not putting this thing that close to my nose. Skin is skin."

Thickening fog drifted across the road as they drove along the edge of the salt marsh that lined the coast. Ropes of it obscured the view, allowing only glimpses of the island as a dark shape on the horizon as they neared. The moon hung above them and cast a faint, silvery light down on the ocean through the thin cloud cover obscuring the stars. Dean pulled off the road into the parking lot and turned off the engine. He watched Sam open his door, try to get out, and thump back into the seat with a groan.

"Yeah, this is gonna go well," Dean grumbled at his stubborn brother. He got out and went around the car. "Come on, cripple."

"Just stiffened up," Sam muttered and let Dean take his arm and pull him up so he was standing. "I'll be fine once I'm moving again."

"Do my sanity a favor and stick close." Dean slapped his shoulder and went to the trunk. "Not carrying your ass off the island again, Sasquatch."

Sam chuckled and straightened his left leg out to work out the kinks. He swallowed the moan at the pain the movement caused and took a few experimental steps, looking out on the foggy marshes that started just beyond the car. He put his weight on his bad leg and then stopped, squinting out into the darkness. "Uh…Dean?" A shadowy figure moved among the tall reeds, coming closer as he watched.

"What the hell?" Dean asked softly as he came up beside his brother. He put the bag over his shoulder and took out the EMF, flicking it on. It stayed silent. "Huh. Not a ghost."

Sam watched the figure weave among the reeds closer and closer. He took out his gun and held it along his leg, Dean doing the same beside him as he angled slightly in front of Sam."Would a curse set off the EMF?"

Dean shrugged. "Don't know. Probably not." He took out a flashlight and waited until the figure drew near, less than twenty feet away. He clicked on the light and shined it into the thing's face.

"Oh, my god! What?"

"Um…" Sam chuckled and lowered his brother's arm. It was a woman who threw her arms up over her face as Dean's light blinded her. "Sorry about that."

Dean grinned and then took a step back when a dog that looked to be at least partly Golden Retriever but definitely lacking in that breed's typical 'I-just-met-you-you're-my-new-best-friend' attitude, jumped out from behind the reeds, taking a protective stance in front of her and growled a warning at the brothers. "Wanna call your guard dog off, lady?"

"Well, that depends." She lowered her arms and studied the two boys. She dropped a hand to the dog's head but made no move to stop him growling.

"We didn't mean to scare you," Sam said earnestly and held his hand out while he slid his gun behind him. "I'm sorry. I'm Sam. This is my brother Dean. He scares most people."

Dean slapped a hand up the back of his brother's head with a growl. "You know I can toss your smart ass in the ocean."

The woman chuckled softly and patted her dog's head. The dog gave a small whine and then sat back against her legs. She took them in, the two tall men and their sleek, black car and she smiled. "He must be the big brother," She said to the long-suffering look on Sam's face. "I'm Jan. You two boys aren't planning on going out there, are you? It's dangerous." She brushed dark curls off her forehead and looked at them, waiting.

"We are,but I promise we'll be careful," Dean said flippantly and grinned.

Jan sniffed and shook her head. "Well, don't stay out there too long. You've only got another hour or so before the tide comes in. Come on, Jasper." She tapped her thigh and the dog rose eagerly to walk beside her as she headed past the car. "I'd hate to see your faces on the morning news." She patted Sam's arm in a motherly fashion as she passed. "Far too attractive to end up feeding the fish." She took a few more steps passing the Impala, and glanced back. "Nice car, by the way."

They watched her leave until she was lost in the fog and Dean snorted a laugh. "Dude. I think she likes you. But at least she's got good taste in cars."

"Shut up." Sam elbowed him and took the shotgun Dean handed him. "She's sweet."

Dean nodded and looked over his shoulder for a moment. "Yeah. Kinda nice to know someone cares if we get hosed by a ghost tonight."

"Well, let's not let that happen. Come on." Sam started off at a slow limp toward the causeway with Dean beside him. The day's heat had yet to cool, and he welcomed the breeze off the ocean as it blew his hair back and dried the fever sweat on his face.

The sandbar was well above the water, unlike the first time they'd gone out to the island for which Sam was thankful. He didn't want a repeat of that last trip and his near drowning. The sand shifted beneath his feet, throwing him off balance, and just like that, Dean was there, sliding his arm across his shoulder. "I can walk, dude."

Dean smirked. "Shut up, Sammy." He had his own memories of Sam's little swim and didn't need to see him fall into the damn ocean with his bum leg. "Get across faster if I'm not waiting for you to hobble over there."

"Next time I'll let you play pincushion," Sam grumbled but didn't mean it. Silently he was grateful for the support, but there was no way he'd let Dean know that.

"How about we just stay away from pointy things tonight since you're so jeopardy friendly." Dean grinned at him.

"You're the one who fell in the damn hole!" Sam hip-checked him lightly with a laugh as they stumbled a step forward.

"Shut up." Dean kept his eyes trained on the island as they neared and stopped them both in their tracks. "Saw something." A shadow had moved among the trees.

"Another dog walker?" Sam asked and took his arm back, raising the shotgun.

Dean shook his head. "Don't think they move like that." The shadow had glided between the trunks and vanished. He raised the EMF meter in his hand and though the needle twitched, it didn't climb as it had for the ghost. "Come on." He took Sam's arm again and got them off the sandbar and onto firmer ground. "Hope these charms of yours work, cause we're obviously not sneaking up on whatever this is."

"Me too." Sam took his own weight as they reached the tree line and raised a brow when the EMF meter suddenly screamed. "Dean?"

"Why can't anything ever be easy?" Dean groused and swept his light through the darkened woods. The weak moonlight did little to break the darkness beneath the trees and only served to make the wisps of fog stand out more. He walked ahead into the trees and heard Sam limping behind him at his back. "Don't suppose you've got any idea where we should look."

Sam shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. There was a burial ground on the east side of the island, assuming it's an Indian curse. If it's pirates…" He raised a hand in defeat. "The only people who were supposed to have found the treasure were never heard from again."

"Awesome." Dean froze as he caught sight of the shadow again, further back in the trees. He flicked the meter off and tucked it in his pocket, grateful when silence fell. He wanted to be able to hear something sneaking up on them.

"I saw it that time." Sam looked around them and behind. He could still see the ocean and causeway through a break in the trees and hear the sound of the surf. A tinkling sound drew his eyes to his left. It sounded again to his right. A twig snapped and both men tensed, waiting. "You hearing this?"

"Yep." Dean scowled as a low groan swept along the night air. It seemed to come from all around them. "I officially don't like this." He put his back to his brother's and narrowed his eyes. "Why do I feel like we've walked into a damn ambush?"

"How could it, whatever 'it' is, know we were going to come back?" Sam asked and twitched as he felt a ghostly touch along his face accompanied by a sharp chill that quickly faded. "I suppose if it were aware enough, it could have heard us talking about coming back when we were here."

Dean jumped as he felt a touch along his thigh and cursed. "Dammit!" He backed up and bumped into Sam's back. "They're screwing with us. Not giving us anything to shoot at."

"Stay or go?" Sam cocked the shotgun as something tugged at his hair with cold fingers. "We could come back in the morning. Do this in daylight?"

"Better chance we're seen." Dean growled in anger. "But less chance we get mobbed. Ok. Let's go." He took a step back again, expecting to run into his brother. He gasped and spun when he didn't. "Sam?" His brother was nowhere to be seen. "Oh, no. No. No! Sammy?" He shined his light frantically around him but found no sign of him. The only prints he could see on the ground were theirs coming from the shore. "Give him back you son of a bitch!" Dean shouted. "Sam!"

Groaning answered him, and he watched as the wisps of mist began to gather together around him in a circle. Shapes began to form; arms, legs, and they shambled slowly toward him. He aimed the flashlight at them and his eyes went wide in shock. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me." The unmistakable ghosts of a half dozen long-dead pirates surrounded him.

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

To Be Continued….