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Sssssssssssssssssccchhhhaaaaa…

Sssssssssssssssssccchhhhaaaaa…

Sam's forehead creased in a frown and he opened his eyes blearily. He was vaguely aware of the fact that he was lying on hard stone, but everything before him was blurring together. Sam blinked, disorientated.

"Dean?" he mumbled.

Sssssssssssssssssccchhhhaaaaa…

What is that?

Wincing, Sam sat up slowly and blinked hard, pushing the world around him into focus.

He was… outside.

What the…?

Sam looked around, one eyebrow rising in confusion. He was in a garden. On his left, the house rose up cold and grey. He could see the shattered window, still supporting the hole Dean had broken in it. Half of the garden was a patio made up of cool flat stones, which Sam was sitting on. The other half, which was stretching out behind him, was rough, overgrown grass. He could see an uneven circle in the middle of the grass, where the vegetation had been burnt down to dust and ash. Three guesses what happened there, Sam thought. The garden was lined by a tall fence, and a small table and two chairs stood on the patio nearby.

Sam ran his hand through his hair, trying to remember how he had got here. He couldn't remember passing out. He remembered Dean hitting the glass with his gun, and then there was loads of light, and then…

Dean.

Sam scrambled to his feet, panic screaming in his head. Where was Dean? He turned, his eyes scanning the garden, and finally caught sight of Dean lying on his side against the fence. Katie was on the ground near the house, wincing. Sam moved quickly over to Dean and shook his brother's shoulder.

"Dean? Dean, wake up!"

Dean groaned and waved Sam's hand away, as if he had just been woken up in the middle of the night. "Go 'way," he mumbled.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean! C'mon, Dean, get up!"

Dean cracked his eyes open. "Waddaya want?"

"The ghost, Dean? We have to get out of her, remember?"

Dean frowned at him, and then his face cleared. "Right… 'course…" he sat up, rubbing the back of his head. "Aw, that hurts like a bitch…"

Convinced that Dean was now awake, Sam turned and made his way over to Katie. He knelt down beside her and touched her shoulder, slightly more gentle than he had been with Dean.

"Katie? Can you hear me?"

She turned her head and blinked up at him, her bewildered eyes searching his face. Sam realized with a jolt that her whole face was grey.

How long were we out of it for? He thought, doing his best not to stare at her.

"What happened?" she croaked.

"I don't know. Come on, you have to get up."

Katie nodded and took his offered hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Dean was standing too by now, making faces at the sky.

"What the hell was that?" he asked.

"I don't know," Sam repeated. "At least we're out of the house."

"Is that a good thing?" Katie asked. "I mean, we're still trapped."

"Well, maybe not…" Dean replied, turning towards the fence. He jumped, fingers scrabbling for the top of the fence, but slid back down again. He kicked the fence, but it hardly even shuddered. "Yup," he concluded, scowling as he turned to face them. "We're trapped."

Sssssssssssssssssccchhhhaaaaa…

Dean spun around as Sam looked up sharply. The brothers shared a dark look, and Katie looked from one to the other.

"What was that?" she asked hesitantly.

"That," Dean said, "Means that we're being watched."

"The ghost?"

Sam nodded. "Jason must be here."

Sssssssssssssssssccchhhhaaaaa…

The sound resembled the wind filtering through trees or tall grass, but had a cold edge to it. And there was no wind here. No birdsong pierced the still air, no clouds whispered across the sky. Everything was motionless. Sam shivered and shoved his hands into his pockets.

Dean was searching through the pockets of his jacket, looking for something. Sam watched him for a few moments, until it became clear that he didn't have whatever he was looking for.

"What's up?"

Dean glanced at him. "I'm trying to find my lighter."

"You didn't have it before, remember?"

"I know, I know!" Dean spat. "Wait, I'm looking!"

Sam couldn't help but grin and turned away. Dean was hilarious when he lost things. As he fisted his hands in his pockets, his fingers brushed against something small and smooth. Sam frowned and pulled it out. Then he lifted it up.

"Uh, Dean?"

Dean looked up irritably, and then caught sight of the lighter in Sam's hand.

"Where the hell did you get that from?"

Sam shrugged, guilt brushing his stomach. "I, uh, had it in our last hunt, remember? And you hurt your hand, so I took it and…"

His voice trailed off. Dean scowled and moved forwards to take it. As he gave Sam a dirty look, an odd expression crossed his face. Sam blinked, confused, but Dean took the lighter and ducked his head before Sam could understand what the look meant.

"Well, we could burn the remains," Dean was saying quickly, nodding at the blackened patch in the grass. "I take it that's where Jason went up in flames, right?"

"Apparently. But hasn't that already been burned?"

Dean lifted his gun. "Ah, but it hasn't been salted, has it?"

Sam nodded. "Okay. Only thing we've got, I guess."

Dean nodded too, but that strange look passed into his eyes again and Sam frowned.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"Dean, what?"

Dean hesitated, glancing at Katie who had moved over to the door and was looking at the hole he had made in the window. Then he looked back to Sam.

"Dean!"

"Okay, okay," Dean muttered. He lifted his gun, turning it so that Sam could see the hilt. Sam stared at it blankly.

"What about it?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Your reflection, Sam!"

Sam caught sight of himself in the gun's smooth metal and reached out to twist the gun so that he could get a better view. His mouth went dry.

The grey tinge to his skin had spread to his face, and was already covering half of it. It was a weird image, as if he was half in shadow and half in the light.

"Oh," Sam whispered, understanding.

"I wasn't gonna say anything…"

"No, its okay." Sam stared down at himself, swallowing hard. How much longer did he have? Katie was already almost finished… at least he would know what was going to happen to him if she was fully covered first. That thought made him shudder.

"Sam?"

"I'm fine. C'mon, let's get on with this."

Dean nodded, clearly relieved, and headed towards the burned patch in the grass. "I guess we could use the rock salt in my gun, right?" he called over his shoulder, trying to sound normal.

"Yeah, sure," Sam muttered.

As if on cue, he was starting to feel tired again. Dean had reached the burned patch and was firing rock salt into the ground. Sam turned, deciding that he could go and sit down for a few minutes until Dean needed him, and found that Katie had crossed to the table too. He took in her bunched, tense back and stopped a few steps away from her.

"Katie?"

She turned to face him, her grey eyes almost empty of all life. "Its here," she whispered.

He opened his mouth to ask what she was talking about, but then she moved aside and he could see the table her body had been blocking beforehand. On it, the photo album rested open. Sam stared at it.

"Dean," he called softly.

He heard Dean's thudding footsteps as his brother walked over to join him. Dean swore softly.

"Sonuvabitch. What does that mean?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't know."

Katie moved to the other side of the table and slumped down in one of the chairs, raising a trembling hand to rub her eyes. Sam watched her anxiously. How long did she have left? Twenty minutes? Ten? He swallowed hard. How long did he have left?

He watched as Dean moved to kick the second chair out of the way, looking down at the book. He hesitated, and then lowered his hand towards its pages. Panic speared through Sam and his hand snapped out, his fingers closing over Dean's wrist like a vice.

"Don't," he hissed. "Don't touch it."

Dean raised his eyebrows at his brother. "Calm down, Sam. I was just gonna take a look–"

"Then don't!" Sam cut across him. "Just don't, Dean."

Dean gently twisted free of Sam's grip. His voice sounded sympathetic as he tried to reason with his brother, a fact that sent a pulse of anger through Sam.

"Sam, its okay. Its not gonna hurt you. I'm just gonna take a look at it. We might be able to get out."

"Don't talk to me as if I'm five," Sam snapped. "Just please don't touch it."

Dean shook his head. "Seriously, Sam, its fine. What's gonna happen if I do, huh?"

Sam hesitated.

"Exactly," Dean replied triumphantly. "I'll be fine, okay?"

Sam sighed, but moved away a little to give Dean some space. Now that he had given in, he wasn't sure why he had reacted so fiercely in the first place. What could happen? They had been dealing with supernatural objects almost all of their lives. They could deal with this too.

Dean nodded, satisfied, and reached out towards the book again. Sam watched as his fingers neared the cover, folding his arms tightly to prevent himself from leaping forwards to stop his brother again.

Nothing is wrong! He told himself firmly. Stop it, now!

Dean's fingertips brushed over the book's pages cautiously. Nothing happened. Sam let out a small sigh of relief under his breath as Dean looked up at him, an 'I told you so' expression ready on his face.

"See?" Dean said, still with one hand on the book. "Nothing's wro…"

His voice trailed off suddenly, and his eyes went vacant. His mouth hung open slightly, as if waiting for instructions to finish the sentence.

"Dean?" Sam asked, the fear back in moments. "Dean? Stop it, that's not funny."

Dean didn't move.

"Dean!" Sam called, reaching out to shake Dean's shoulder. "Snap out of it, now! No one's laughing. Dean!"

Nothing.

Oh crap…

"DEAN!"

"Scared yet?"

Sam span around to find himself face to decayed, charred face with Jason Hartford. The spirit snickered at Sam's horrified expression and then jerked its head to the side. Sam was yanked off his feet and swung into the wall of the house.

Damn it, that's happening way too much to me lately, Sam thought, trying to claw his way up to his knees as he struggled to breathe.

He looked up in time to see the spirit appear beside Dean and place its hand on his brother's face. Dean made a strangled choking sound as greyness began to spread over his skin.

"Get away from him!" Sam yelled, pushing himself up to his feet. "Leave him alone!"

He made a dive for the spirit, but just went straight through it. Jason whipped around to face him, taking his hand off Dean's face, and snarled. Sam watched with relief as the grey tinge to his brother's face retreated quickly, and then let out a scream as pain erupted in his chest. He looked up as the spirit advanced on him, its eyes burning mercilessly.

Shit, Sam thought, doing his best to scramble backwards as the ghost came closer, lifting it hand. I'm in trouble.

SWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDW

Bobby hit the motel door again with his fist, wetting his lips uneasily. Dean had said room 23, hadn't he? He glanced at his watch, and then hit the door again.

"Damn it, Dean, answer the door!" he muttered.

He knew Dean well enough to know that he would answer the door immediately if Sam was in trouble and Bobby could help. So where was he? Bobby made up his mind. He glanced up and down the line of rooms. Once he was certain that there was no one watching him, he pulled out his wallet and retrieved a credit card. He knelt down so that he was level with the lock on the door and slid the card into the crack between the door and the wall. He eased it downwards.

It only took him three tries until the door clicked and swung open, and in that time no one had seen him. He slid his credit card back into his wallet as he stepped inside, his free hand moving to his gun. He looked around the deserted motel room, eyeing the shadows warily.

"Dean?" he called. And then, just in case, "Sam?"

No answer. Bobby took a few cautious steps forwards, closing the door behind him.

He could see the photo album lying on one of the beds, matching it to Dean's description. Its pages were torn and ruffled – apparently someone had shot at it. There were marks in the wall above the book too. Bobby closed his eyes briefly in despair and then made his way over to the book. Taking care not to touch it, he leant forwards and stared into the photos on its open pages.

"Aw, Dean," he muttered. "What did you do?"

SWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDW

Sam couldn't breathe properly. He lay still for a few moments, his eyes squeezed shut, concentrating on getting enough air into his body so that he wouldn't pass out. This time he had landed hard on his right arm, and heard a sharp crack accompanied by a searing pain. Now he couldn't move it, and he had his arm pressed tightly against his chest. He could feel his body becoming heavier and heavier, and it was getting harder to keep getting up. He looked up as Jason moved over to stand in front of him.

"Scared?" he asked again in his smirking, sing-song voice. "Round and round the garden… and we all… fall… down!"

On the last word he lifted Sam again and launched him across the garden and down onto the patio. Sam curled into a ball, gasping for air as his winded lungs struggled to work, aware that he could feel something warm and wet trickling down his forehead. He lifted his head, and his eyes found his motionless brother. Dean was still staring into nothing, still frozen in place.

"Dean," Sam rasped. "Dean, help…"

Dean gave no sign that he had heard him. Sam let his eyes fall closed in despair, tucking his chin into his chest. He heard the roar of a fire as the spirit came closer, calling fire up with him. Without looking, he knew that flames were closing in around him. He could feel their heat as if he were standing next to the sun.

"Dean…" Sam whispered. "Dean, please…"

Nothing. Sam swallowed hard and squeezed eyes shut tighter. His whole body was aching and searing as he moved. He felt as if he had been hit everywhere at least three times. He heard Jason's voice close by him.

"Scared, kid?"

7