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...