This chapter and the next two were written by my beta Gabi2305.

Chapter 9

Sitting back and relaxing like Dean had suggested wasn't this easy, though. As comfortable as his wheelchair used to be under normal circumstances, it wasn't today. The edge of its backrest pressed right into one of the worst bruises on Sam's back and every tiny move made it rub against the sore spot and aggravate the injury even more. But sitting without leaning back strained his stomach muscles and he couldn't do it for longer than a few minutes. He was literally sitting between a rock and a hard place.

At least Dean knew what to do with his hands for a while. Sam smiled without humor. His brother was way too jittery for his liking. He was meant to take one drug for the first three days and then increase the dose to two pills a day but it would still take a while for the withdrawal symptoms to recede. Sam knew Dean was having a hard time which was fortunate for Mr. Luke. If Dean had had his senses together he would have ripped the man a new one for what he had said about Sam. Sam was pretty sure that Dean's lame reaction wasn't due to any politeness towards an older man, but plainly because of his smoke deprived brain.

Sam closed his eyes for a moment. Dean wasn't the only one who would have a hard time. Sam and their dad would have to deal with his jittery fits and his mood swings. But it was worth the trouble and in this moment he swore to himself that he wouldn't hold Dean responsible for any slip in words or behavior during the next couple of days.

He focused his attention on Jess. "So what do you know about this family?" he enquired.

"The Hendersons?" Jess shrugged. "Not much. Parents, two teenage kids. I've seen them a few times. They've been always friendly but we haven't talked much yet."

Dean pulled Sam up the porch step when the door opened and a middle aged woman got out. She frowned at them with an inscrutable expression on her face.

"Hello, Mrs. Henderson." Sam sighed. "Let me guess, Mr. Luke just called you." He huffed when she nodded. It was ridiculous. Usually, they could take advantage of his disability. Not that he intended to do so, but the sympathy people felt for a young man in a wheelchair opened them up a little. But not in this case. Before he could explain, though, Mrs. Henderson turned to Jess and her frown deepened.

"Aren't you Dave Moore's daughter? Jessica?"

Jess nodded. "Yes, I am. And these are my friends Sam and Dean."

Sam took over. "Look, I can imagine what Mr. Luke told you but I can assure you he's wrong."

"He told me to watch out for a couple of scammers who would try to steal my money by counting on my sympathy for a disabled guy. He told me it was obvious that you're faking." Inquiringly, she looked at Sam.

"Believe me, I'm not." Sam gave her his best smile, dimples and all.

Mrs. Henderson nodded and again looked at Jess. "I can't believe that Dave's daughter would do such a thing." She smiled genuinely. "At least not in your parents' neighborhood. So what do you want?"

"We heard of the fire that destroyed Jess's place a few years ago," Sam told her. "We would like to hear more about it, so we thought the neighbors could help us here. Mr. Luke never gave us a chance to explain. So we were hoping you'd be a little…" Sam frantically searched for the right word.

"Less grumpy?" Mrs. Henderson bit her lip, suppressing a chuckle. "Actually, I am. Please come in."

Dean hadn't said a word yet but Sam could feel his tense grip on the wheelchair handles ease a bit. When Sam grabbed the handrims, Dean let go. He knew that Sam didn't like to be pushed in front of other people.

Mrs. Henderson led them to the living room. "Please make yourself comfortable. I was about to pour myself a cup of tea. Would you like some?"

Sam glanced at Dean then smiled at the woman. "Tea would be great, Mrs. Henderson, thank you."

"Please call me Maureen. I'll be back in a minute."

When she disappeared in the kitchen, Dean turned to Sam. "Tea, dude?"

Sam laughed. "Maybe she has some with nicotine flavor."

Dean grimaced at him. "Haha, very funny."

Sam was still chuckling when Maureen came back, carrying two cups of tea and two bottles of beer on a tray. "I thought you two would rather go for this than a cup of tea." She handed the bottles to Sam and Dean and received a grateful nod from the older brother. When Sam took the bottle, Maureen frowned. "What happened to your hand, Sam?"

Sam looked at the bandage and pulled a face. "Just a little accident."

Maureen put the tea on the table and asked Jess to help herself. "May I have a look at it?" she asked. "I'm a nurse." Without waiting for an answer she sat down in front of Sam and took his hand. Sam winced at her prodding and poking, causing Dean to look like he would just go and throw Maureen out of her own house.

"Did you have an x-ray taken of that?" Maureen asked.

Sam shook his head. "It's not so bad."

"Could be a hairline fracture," Maureen mused. "I wouldn't take the chance that your hand is even more injured than you assume. I guess you can't afford having a permanently impaired hand."

Sam's face fell at her words and he could see his expression mirrored in Dean's face. "You think it's that bad?"

Maureen shrugged. "As I said, it could be a hairline fracture. But perhaps it's only badly bruised. Do you have any other injuries?"

Yes, I was smacked into a wall by a ghost and my back feels like it's broken once again. I'm sore all over from being thrown around and I ended up with a knife sticking out of my thigh. Sam smirked inwardly. It would be interesting to see Maureen's reaction if he voiced his thoughts.

"No, I'm fine," he said. "I just didn't pay attention and bruised my hand on the doorframe." From her face Sam could tell that she didn't believe him. Did he really think he could fool a nurse?

"You want something for the pain?"

"No, thanks. That's not necessary." Actually, Sam already regretted that he hadn't taken a painkiller in the morning. But accepting her offer would mean confessing that his pain wasn't just from a sprained wrist. Although he would bet that she already knew that it wasn't only his hand that was hurting, he had no plans on telling her about his injuries. Sam hated the fuss she was making about him, resulting in an extremely worried glance from his older brother. Time to change the subject.

"So, Maureen, did you know the former inhabitants of Jess's place?"

Maureen leaned back on her chair. "Of course I did. I've lived here my whole life. This house belonged to my parents. The Moores' place was owned by a family named Stoker. They had a son, Jason, who was a few years younger than me. His parents left him the house, so he moved in with his wife Susan. She was so happy at first to have her own place."

"What happened?" Dean required.

"I don't know." Maureen shook her head, sadly. "She lost it. Jason had to travel a lot for his job and he had to spend the night out of town a few times a month. Susan couldn't bear to be alone during the night. She was having panic attacks and started smashing the dishes."

"She did?"

"I guess she was trying to get some attention. Once I witnessed how she begged Jason not to leave her. It was heart-wrenching. But what could the poor guy do? He couldn't give up his job to stay with her."

Sam leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. "What happened to her?"

"When Jason came home one day the house was a mess. The dishes were broken, the furniture thrown around, the television was smashed into the sideboard and Susan was sitting in a corner, sobbing and scared to death."

Dean and Sam shared a knowing glance.

Maureen bit her lip, obviously wondering if she should share a certain piece of information with the young people or not.

"What did Susan tell about what happened?" Jess asked her.

Maureen looked at her for a moment, then she stood up, rubbing her arms. "She told Jason that it was a ghost. That the house was haunted. She said the ghost had tried to kill her and wouldn't let her out."

Sam haltingly nodded, giving Jess who visibly paled an encouraging smile. "Did anyone believe her?"

Maureen looked at him, incredulous. "Of course not. We're really down to earth people here. I mean would you believe someone who told you that their house's interior was destroyed by a ghost?"

Sam and Dean chose not to give an answer but luckily Maureen didn't seem to wait for one. "Jason found her a good psychiatrist, but things didn't get better. Susan begged Jason to move away, but it was his parents' house, the place where he grew up, so he just didn't want to leave." Maureen started pacing through the room. "And then, one night when Jason was away, Susan set the house on fire."

There was silence in the room until Dean cleared his throat. "How did she do it?"

"I don't know. She kept claiming that it wasn't her. That it was this ghost that once again wanted to kill her by burning the house while she was sleeping. She said she had been lucky to even make it out of the house."

"And again no one believed her," Sam concluded.

"She was admitted to a psychiatric ward. Jason was devastated, the poor guy. I heard from him some time ago. Susan seems to be better now and they moved up to New York, but she still thinks she was attacked by a ghost."

Jess grabbed Sam's hand and pressed it ever so slightly, but Maureen noticed. "It's scary, isn't it?" she smiled at her and sat down again. "But don't be afraid, Jessica, ghosts don't exist. It's just so sad for Susan. I really liked her."

Dean sat his empty bottle on the table. "Who rebuilt the house?"

"Some building society bought the property a few years later and built a new house. But as far as I know the basement is still the original one. It wasn't destroyed by the fire. The company rented the house to tourists over a couple of years. There were different people each season. I'm really glad your parents bought it, Jessica."

Dean clasped his hands in his lap. "You said you've lived here your whole life. Before the Stoker family, were there any other inhabitants?"

"I was very little at the time the house was built, I don't know if my memory is all that correct." Maureen was thinking hard. "There was this couple, Frederic something and his wife Gloria." She laughed out loud. "They were in their late twenties or early thirties and they looked so old to me. Gloria very often came over to babysit me and I liked her very much. Frederic, too, he was my Prince Charming and I wanted to marry him when I grew up."

"Gloria didn't mind?" Sam smiled.

"No, not in this case."

Both Sam and Dean raised their eyebrows, silently encouraging Maureen to go on.

"Frederic seemed to be not only my Prince Charming. There were others and in those cases Gloria did mind. They started fighting. I can actually remember a fight I witnessed. Frederic always gave me candy and I snuck away to get some. I saw Frederic hitting Gloria and I remember it clearly because that was the moment I decided that Frederic wouldn't be the best choice after all." Maureen paused. "You want another beer?" she asked. "Jessica? More tea?"

All three of them shook their heads, eager to know more of the story, so Maureen continued. "Eventually, Gloria had enough of his cheating. One night she packed her things and left."

"Have you heard of her again?" Dean asked.

"No. Frederic told my parents that they got a divorce and that she married a wealthy man in the Northeastern States. I hope that luck was on her side that time. She deserved it."

"How about Frederic?" Jess wanted to know.

"He also married again. I can remember the party, because it was on my 5th birthday. I wore a pink dress and I felt so pretty." Maureen smiled, but grew earnest again. "Frederic wasn't very lucky with his wives, though. Maybe it's cruel to say this but it's like destiny wanted to punish him for cheating on Gloria so many times."

"Why?" Dean grinned. "The next one left him, too?"

"No, she died." Maureen didn't seem to notice that Dean and Sam suddenly straightened up, sharing a quick glance. "She fell down the stairs just a week after they got married and broke her neck. Frederic saw her slip on the steps, but couldn't do anything."

"Poor girl," Sam muttered. "Do you remember her name?"

Maureen shook her head. "I only now that her initials would be M.A. I remember a joke she made that our names began with the same letters. My full name is Maureen Annabelle," she explained."

"She is buried here, I assume?" Dean said casually.

"Yeah, she is. I don't remember the cemetery, though, because we have three of them in town, but I clearly remember how devastated Frederic was. He lived in the house for another month or two and then moved away. I can understand why he did. There were too many memories of happier times in the house. Then the Stoker family moved in." Maureen smiled at Jess. "Now you know your house's history."

"Yes, that's great." Jess beamed and got up. "Thank you so much for telling us. It's a great story."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Thank you for taking the time."

"You're welcome." She smiled at Sam. "Do me a favor and get your hand examined."

Dean grabbed the handles of the wheelchair. "We'll think about it," he told Maureen and when Sam turned around he could see that Dean actually meant it.

Sam grinned when Dean helped him into the car. "I'm proud of you, Dean."

"Why?"

"You actually managed to sit for half an hour on your ass without fidgeting too much or being jittery all over."

"Yeah, thank you," Dean grumbled. "I appreciate your sympathy. Maybe we could go back to friendly Mr. Luke and ask for some money to pay for my detox." He changed the subject."How about going to the diner?"

"A bite to eat would be great." Jess slipped on the backseat behind Sam and hugged him from behind. "So what now? Do we know what we need to know?"

Dean started the engine and looked at Sam. "What do you think how old Maureen is? In her fifties?"

Sam shrugged. "Could be her late forties as well."

"You should have asked her."

"About her age? Dude, you just don't do that."

Jess let her gaze wander between the boys. "Hey guys, what's wrong with you? We're hunting a ghost and you're wondering about my neighbor's age?"

Sam turned around. "Actually we are. You don't by any chance happen to know how old she is?"

"No I don't. And it doesn't matter. It's none of your concern."

Dean laughed. "Relax Jess. It's not that Sam would hit on her. Although I have to say that she fell for his smile."

Sam growled at him. "She didn't."

"She absolutely did."

"Jerk."

"Gimp."

That was when Jess whacked both of them over the head.

"Hey," Dean exclaimed playfully. "Can't you see I'm driving? If you want start hitting men then stick with Sam, okay?"

"Just give it a rest, you two."

Sam turned his head. "Maureen told us that Frederic was married on her 5th birthday. If we know her age we'll know the year they married. Then we can go to the civil registry and search for their wedding entry to get their last name. Then we only have to find the right cemetery and her grave for a nice salt and burn."

Jess's mouth fell open. "Wow. You figured this out when she told you about her birthday? I'm impressed."

Dean shrugged dismissively. "It's called research." He pulled into the parking lot of a diner. "Here we are."

"So you think she's our ghost?" Jess asked after they ordered their meals.

"Definitely." Dean took the nicotine gum out of his mouth and wrapped it in a piece of paper before putting it in the ashtray. "She wasn't ready to leave when this accident happened. Imagine you die just one week after you got married. She was looking forward to a life with her husband and then," he snapped his fingers, "nothing."

"It explains why she is still searching for her husband," Sam added.

"And she does so in the house where she died."

Jess pondered on the events. "You know, I'm glad I met the two of you."

"Of course you are." Dean grinned, winking at Sam.

Jess sighed. "You know Dean, sometimes I'm tempted to agree with Sam that you're a jerk."

Dean tried to look offended but couldn't when he looked at Sam's broad grin. "So please tell us why you're glad to have met us other than for the obvious reason?"

"I feel so sorry for this girl, Susan. That was her name, was it?" With her finger Jess traced the pattern the sun painted on the table. "I experienced the same things she did. My dad even suggested finding a psychologist for me. I didn't realize before how bad it could have gotten. My parents would have meant well but if it wasn't for you I could pretty much have ended in a ward like her."

Sam and Dean didn't know what to say. They knew she was right.

Jess grabbed Sam's left hand and reached over the table to take Dean's. "Thank you for believing me. And don't give me this crap that it's your job."

Dean smiled. He felt good. Better than he had for most of the day. It was good to have something to do. Actually, now that they had a few results, he couldn't wait to find out the ghost's last resting-place and get rid of it. Planning the salt and burn distracted him from thinking of cigarettes, but it was still bad enough. He just hoped the drugs would help him getting through the next days.

He looked up when a family entered the diner. A small boy about five years old stopped in his tracks and stared at Sam. Dean hated those kids. But he hated the kind of parents even more who yanked their brats away whispering "you don't stare" loud enough for every one to hear while they didn't even dare to give Sam as much as a side glance. But the kid followed his parents to a booth around the corner and Dean sighed a sigh of relief.

He dug into his meal with great appetite. He savored the taste of his steak wondering if it was the lack of nicotine that made him so hungry. With his knife he motioned over to Sam's right hand. "You need help there?" he mumbled around his full mouth.

"Cutting my meat?" Sam gave him a look between amusement and annoyance. "Thank you, I'm still able to do that." He leaned to Jess. "If I let him have his way I'll end up being baby fed by my over-protective big brother."

"It's not that that I've never done it before." Dean grinned. "Mum allowed me to feed you once. She had to put us both into the bath tub afterwards."

Sam smiled. He always loved it when Dean shared the few memories he had of their mother and their life before the fire. "Yeah, but I'm not a baby anymore. And a sprained wrist doesn't make me a quadriplegic."

"Barely. Isn't there a name for someone with three lame limbs? Tripleplegic or something like that?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "I'm impressed you can come up with such difficult words."

Dean grinned broadly. "I know you're the smart-ass in the family, but I'm not as dumb as you may think."

"When your brain isn't dazed by smoke, that is."

"I could outsmart you every day if I didn't have to keep a full body functioning. If I could sit the whole day on my lazy ass I could save all my strength for the thinking process, too."

"Jerk." Sam threw a fry at Dean who caught it midair and popped it into his mouth.

"Gimp."

Jess shook her head. "If I didn't know you I'd swear you're both going to slice each other's throats with these knives every minute now. You know that you're insulting each other here?"

"Yeah," Dean and Sam said unisono, both grinning at Jess.

"And if somebody else did this…?"

"He wouldn't live long enough to regret it," Dean stated. He knew for a fact that Sam would be at the throat of everyone who dared to insult his big brother's intelligence and he had already done so with people who had treated Sam like an idiot because he was sitting in a wheelchair.

Their friendly banter was interrupted when the waiter came to get their empty plates. They were ready to go when the little boy from before showed up again. He just stood there three feet away from Sam and stared at the wheelchair. While Dean eyed him suspiciously, Sam turned to him and smiled. "Hey."

The boy looked at him. "What is this?"

"That's a wheelchair."

"What is it for?"

"It helps me get around."

"You don't have to walk?"

"Exactly."

"Wow. That's cool. Can I touch it?"

Even Dean had to laugh at the boy's obvious awe as he admired his brother's chair like it was a new kind of soapbox.

Just as the boy tentatively touched the handrim his mother showed up. "Hey David, what are you doing?" She smiled at Sam. "Is he bothering you?"

Sam shook his head. "Not at all."

David turned to his mother. "This is a wheelchair, mom. I want one, too."

"Oh yeah?" His mother laughed. "I'm glad you don't need one, honey."

"But it's so cool."

"Still, I don't think you can get one. They are pretty expensive." She looked at Sam, still smiling. "Come on, your fries are ready. Say good-bye and I'll tell you what you need a wheelchair for while you eat, okay?"

"Okay." The boy pouted.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "You wanna go for a ride?"

The boy's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. "You serious?"

"Yeah, if your mom is okay with it." Sam looked at the young woman who nodded.

Dean shot Sam a glance, silently asking if he was up to it and Sam told him "yes I am" with as much as a blink of his eyes. Dean lifted the boy onto Sam's lap. "Here you go, young man. Hold on, Sammy here is a speeder."

Happily, David bounced on Sam's lap when Sam grabbed the handrims and moved forward. The people around them stopped eating and smiled at them. For once Sam didn't mind their glances. He was enjoying the situation. It was fun. "Hold on," he told the boy. "We're doing a wheelie." He tilted the wheelchair back and balanced it on its rear wheels. David whooped with joy and began to hop up and down even more. "Just sit still," Sam hurried to add. "Otherwise the wheelie will turn into a backflip and I'm not too keen on that."

The boy nodded and sat on Sam's lap as good as a lamb while Sam brought him to his table still balancing on the rear wheels.

"Daddy, look what I'm doing," David shouted when they went around the corner. His father smiled. "I was wondering what all the noise was about." He took the boy from Sam's lap. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Sam smiled at the boy. "Bye David. Take care of you."

Dean chuckled when he helped Sam into the Impala. "A wheelie, dude?"

"Yeah, the boy loved it."

"But don't start whining about your wrist now."

"Didn't it hurt?" Jess asked.

"A little. But it was worth it. The boy was priceless."

Dean got into the driver's seat. "He really was. And you made his day." His grin fell when he looked at Sam. "Oh shit."

Sam started. "What is it?" His glance followed Dean's eyes. "Shit."

Jess leaned forward in alarm. "What is it?"

"All that bouncing pulled his stitches." Dean stared at the dark stain on Sam's jeans, mentally kicking himself for not thinking of Sam's injury. That he couldn't feel it didn't mean it wasn't there.

Jess looked at them with wide eyes. "How bad is it?"

Dean met Sam's eyes and shrugged. "I can't tell. Let's get back to the motel and patch you up."

By the time they arrived Sam's cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright. "You've got a temperature," Dean stated as he helped Sam out of the car. He handed Jess the keys. "Would you mind?" Dean saw her casting a worried glance at Sam, but she said nothing as she hurried to open the door to their motel room.

Dean grunted as he lifted his brother who seemed barely able to hold on to Dean's neck. The kid looked as tired as he felt. The restless night was beginning to take its toll on Dean as well. Along with helping Sam all the time. Of course he would help Sam as best as he could but he admitted to himself that it got on his nerves to constantly watch out if the kid needed help just because Sam wouldn't ask. Dean hated to admit it, but he wasn't his usual physically strong self today. He longed for a rest. But that would have to wait.

Jess accompanied them to their room. "I hate to leave you," she said, "but I promised my mom to go shopping with her this afternoon. She needs some distraction."

"That's alright," Dean nodded. "Sammy here is taking a nap anyway."

Sam jerked his head up to meet Dean's eyes, a sudden anger flaring at his brother's patronizing tone of voice. Dean, however, didn't even notice.

Jess bent forward to kiss Sam slightly on the cheek. "Try to get some rest, honey," she smiled. "I'll see you in a few hours."

Dean gave Sam two pills of Tylenol for the pain and to reduce the fever and then helped him out of his shirt and jeans. "It doesn't look so bad," he observed after unwrapping the bandage on his brother's thigh and assessing the damage. "Only two of the stitches are torn. It seems to be infected a bit, though. Maybe that's causing your fever."

"I'm not blind, Dean, I can see it myself," Sam said in a gruff tone of voice.

Dean frowned at him, taking in his brother's pained expression. He could tell that the little ride Sam had done with the boy had taken its toll. Sam was still sore all over and playing hero for the boy certainly hadn't helped.

Sam met Dean's inquiring eyes. "Sorry. Didn't mean to snap at you." He rubbed his tired eyes with his left hand.

"It's okay." Dean got up and reached for Sam's stained pants to put them in the laundry bag.

"Could you take my cell out?" Sam asked wearily. "It doesn't need washing yet."

Dean allowed himself a small smile as he fished the cell phone out of the pocket and laid it on the table before stuffing the clothes away. As he went to get the first aid kit, Sam looked up. "You think I could take a shower first?"

Sam almost winced as he heard his own words. Since when did he have to ask Dean for permission to take a shower? It was ridiculous how he was allowing his brother to take control. He felt dirty and sweaty and the wound on his thigh didn't look so bad. It already had stopped bleeding. So he would just ignore Dean's concerned face and clean himself up.

Dean noticed the stubborn determination in Sam's eyes and nodded wearily. "Yeah, okay. Just let me help you."

Sam sighed when Dean kneeled down beside him and unwrapped the bandage on his wrist. "I guess you're not going to let me do anything on my own?"

Dean wanted to ease Sam's visible frustration with a joke, but a sudden coughing fit prevented him from doing so. So he only shook his head and, still coughing, wheeled Sam, whose expression had gone from stubbornness to worry within an instant, to the bathroom.

Half an hour later Sam was finally lying on his bed, his cheeks still slightly flushed. However, he wasn't sure if it was from the low fever he was developing or from the embarrassment of allowing Dean to help him in the shower. Propped up on his elbows, he silently watched Dean stitching up the wound in his leg and applying an antibiotic cream to fight the infection.

After finishing with Sam's thigh, Dean took another fresh bandage out of the first aid kid. "Your wrist is quite swollen," he stated as he took Sam's hand.

Sam closed his eyes. He could tell from the pain. He knew he should give the wrist plenty of rest but that just wasn't possible. It was bad enough that he couldn't bend it, which meant he couldn't get in and out of the wheelchair without help but he was stubbornly set on doing as much on his own as possible.

"Turn over," Dean ordered when he was finished with Sam's wrist.

"Why?"

"So I can have a look at your other injuries. Don't," Dean raised a hand and his voice when Sam opened his mouth to protest. "Please don't. We've had this discussion already. And I'm not feeling well enough to have it again. I'm going to have a look at your back and that's it."

Sam looked at his brother's face and instantly felt guilty. Why hadn't he noticed the worn out look in Dean's eyes? "Cravings?" he asked simply.

The muscles in Dean's jaw clenched, but he didn't answer. He only held out his hand, offering Sam to help turn him over and sighing, Sam gave in and once again allowed his big brother to help him.

There was a moment of silence then Sam heard Dean taking a deep breath.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…"

"What're you doing?" Sam asked with irritation.

"Counting the different colors on your back. Light orange, dark orange, yellow, purple, blue, one, two, three, four different shades of green, oh wait, this one is turquoise."

Sam couldn't help but laugh, the growing tension between them suddenly gone. "Oh shut up, you jerk."

"That chick really did a number on you." Dean applied a salve to Sam's back and gently rubbed it in. "I could bandage it, you know. That way the chair's backrest wouldn't rub against your back all the time."

"Nah, I'm okay."

Dean shrugged and turned Sam over again. "As you wish, little brother." As he took care of Sam's other bruises, he casually said: "You know, Sam, I was thinking about the X-rays Maureen suggested."

Sam started at Dean's preoccupied tone of voice. "No."

"Why not? It's just to be safe."

"I said no."

"What's the matter with you?" Dean frowned. "Better to be safe than sorry."

"I can't afford getting a cast. I wouldn't be able to use my right hand for weeks."

Dean snorted, not knowing whether to laugh or get angry. "And here I was thinking you were supposed to be the smart one. Your injury won't just go away by ignoring it. If you need a cast, we'll deal with it."

Sam sighed. "Yeah, sure. Dean, please believe me when I say it's not so bad. Hell, you had bruised wrists yourself and no one ever made such a fuss about it."

"That was different."

"Because I'm the gimp?" Sam bristled.

"Yes, because you're the gimp," Dean hissed in his face. His nerves were on edge and he just had enough of Sam's bitching. Without listening to his protesting voice, he rolled his brother over to one side so Sam wouldn't have to lie on his back, straightened his legs and pulled the blanket over him. "Get some sleep, Sammy."

Dean paced the room. His head was about to explode. He had tried to lie down and sleep as well, but after five minutes of tossing around he knew it was futile. At the same time his eyes ached from tiredness, and suppressing the threatening coughing fits in order to not wake Sam wasn't helping his mood either. He considered switching on the TV but that was another thing he couldn't do if he wanted to avoid waking his brother who at least was sleeping soundly. Dean stared at his hands which had started shaking. "Fuck," he murmured quietly. "I thought these damn pills were supposed to help." Sighing, he had to admit to himself that the one pill he had taken this morning could by no means heal all the damage he had subjected his body to over the years. He would still have to deal with his cravings for a while. He went to the bathroom just to realize that he didn't even know why he had gone there. Splashing his face with cold water, he thought of the packs of cigarettes that were still in the Impala. Grabbing a towel to rub his face, he couldn't get the image out of his head. Just one single cigarette to stop the cravings. Sam would never know about it. No one would notice and he would be able to deal with the cravings. Dean looked in the mirror, noticing his bloodshot eyes. So this was all that was needed. One day without a smoke and it left him almost begging. "You're pathetic, Winchester," he accused his reflection. "So go cheat. You think you'll feel better then?" Dean tossed the towel into the sink, got back to the room and resumed his restless pacing.

The woman was pretty. Sam almost smiled in his sleep. Briefly, he wondered why he would dream of a foreign woman but he didn't mind. Silky brown hair was flowing over her back and the blue eyes were full of love when she looked at him. "I'll fetch us a good bottle of wine and then we'll have ourselves a beautiful evening." Her smile was promising as she opened the door that led to the basement. Suddenly the smile froze and was replaced by an expression of sheer terror. He saw her stumble and leaped to his feet in an instant. But he was too far away. Helplessly, he watched how she missed the first step and fell headfirst down the stairs, tumbling over two times before she ended up at the bottom step, her head at an odd angle with blue eyes staring lifelessly up at him.

"Nooooo!" Sam yelled, his eyes snapping open. Instinctively, he tried to sit up and cried out as his wrist protested against the strain.

"Sam." He felt his brother's comforting hands on his shoulders. "Calm down. What is it? Nightmare?"

Sam relaxed into the pillow, closing his eyes. "Yeah, something like that. I'm not sure it was a nightmare though."

"A vision?" Dean frowned, sitting down on the edge of the bed. They still didn't know what triggered those weird images in Sam's head but had accepted that it would happen once in a while. This was the second one within a few days, though, and that was new.

"I don't know." Sam sniffed. "It started like a dream. There was this girl…"

"A girl?" Dean chuckled. "Dude, that's so not a vision."

"She fell down the stairs and ended up with a broken neck."

"Oh." Dean ran his hand through his hair. "You think it's her?"

"I guess. It was different this time. It was like I was watching her through Frederic's eyes. I even felt myself getting to my feet."

"That's weird."

"Not to say disturbing."

"Did you recognize the surroundings?"

"No, but that doesn't mean anything. The house was rebuilt. It might look completely different now." Sam propped himself up on his elbows, frowning.

"What?"

"Something's bothering me." Sam looked up at his brother. "I have a feeling that I've been missing something but I can't pinpoint it. I still think it's important."

Dean shrugged dismissively. "Doesn't matter. We're going to take care of the lady tonight."

"I hope so. You know that it means searching the entries of at least four or five years for their names? Maybe we'll get more than one hit. Frederic isn't an uncommon name and the initials M.A. are not very rare either."

"Maybe Maureen will remember their last name when she hears it."

"Could be." Using only his left hand, Sam pushed himself into a sitting position. "Would you mind getting me some clothes?"

Dean nodded and absentmindedly got up. With his thoughts still on Sam's dream, or vision, he took a fresh shirt, socks and a pair of jeans from Sam's closet. He was about to hand the clothes to his brother when he stopped in his tracks, frowning. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why d'you need clothes?"

Sam gave him an exasperated look. "What d'you think?"

"You're not getting up now, Sam." Dean tossed the clothes over onto his own bed. "You slept for barely half an hour. We agreed that you were going to get some rest."

"I can't go back to sleep. The fever is gone, I'm feeling fine."

Dean sighed. He was tired of having this discussion with Sam over and over again. "Sam, just for once be reasonable. I just re-stitched your wound and the cut is still fairly deep. Just because you can't feel it doesn't mean it isn't there." Dean felt like talking to a five-year-old and from Sam's expression his brother felt the same way. But if he acted like a child he didn't deserve better. "That's a severe injury, Sam and your body has to deal with it, whether you can feel it or not. You need plenty of rest."

Sam's jaw tightened and suddenly Dean had the impression that this argument wasn't about injuries. "My leg gets enough rest. I'm not aggravating the wound by walking around, Dean. I'm just sitting in a wheelchair without even moving my legs, for crying out loud. I can't get any more rest by lying in bed, can I?"

Rubbing his temples to ease the headache, Dean tried to calm down, but his anger at Sam's illogical behavior was getting the better of him. He wouldn't let the kid get away with it. "Under normal circumstances someone with a stab wound like this would have to stay in bed for days. And I guess most people would be happy to do so because of the pain. You were up and about the whole morning, even pulling stunts with a little boy bouncing around on your injured leg. For heaven's sake, Sam, this is not the moment to prove that you're an independent person."

Sam's eyes had narrowed. "What do you mean, 'under normal circumstances'?"

Dean sucked air through his teeth. This just couldn't be true. Had Sam heard any of what he had said? "Someone who's…" he began.

"Not a cripple?" Sam hissed, cutting him short.

Suddenly Dean had enough of it. "Yeah, right." He stared down at Sam. "You're staying in bed. End of discussion."

Sam ignored him, leaning over to grab his wheelchair.

"No, you don't." Dean was at his side in one stride and gave the wheelchair an angry push that sent it almost to the wall.

Sam looked at him, his eyes flashing. "Give it back," he ordered.

Dean stared back. "No."

For a few seconds the brothers stared at each other, their fury almost palpable. Sam clenched his fingers around the sheets as he looked up at his brother, seething when he thought of what Dean had just done to him.

Suddenly, Dean turned around and grabbed his keys. He had to get out of here.

"Dean," Sam yelled. "Don't you dare leave now."

Dean just shrugged, making his way to the door.

"You can't leave me sitting here." Sam's voice almost cracked.

"No? Watch me!" Dean cast an infuriated look at his brother and slammed the door shut behind him so vehemently that the hinges all but vibrated.