Title: Helicopters

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: It was a second nature, an instinct. Get in car. Close door. Reach for belt

buckle. It was automatic. It wasn't supposed to save his life. It wasn't supposed to be the reason his best friend was inches from death.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Supernatural. Also, the ghost story I created holds no basis in any reality, except my imagination.

Rating: T or PG 13

Chapter Two: I do my best to synthesize the sounds and my emotions

Sam felt as if everything was draining away from him.

It happened in a kind of intensified, slowed down reality way. He was acutely aware of Dr. Kurt standing in front of him, hanging his head mournfully. He knew exactly what the tired doctor was telling him without words.

He knew Alex was dead.

He felt pain. Intense, consuming, burning pain. Yet he could not identify where it was coming from, only that it was choking him.

He noted absently that it felt almost as if it wasn't his. Like he had taken someone else's pain and somehow swallowed it.

Alex was dead.

It was like a poison, slowly spreading through every part of him.

He felt the muscles in his neck creak as he craned his head to look more closely at Dr. Kurt. He could see fear in those watery blue eyes, and he wanted to ask what it was doing there; fear had no place here.

He watched uncomprehendingly as the doctor's mouth opened and shut and opened again. It looked almost like he was trying to speak. Sam wondered why the old man couldn't seem to be able to find any words.

The ringing in his ears became all consuming and soon he could focus on nothing else. Which seemed stupid, in some, still functioning, part of the back of his head, because he could not remember it starting in the first place.

His best friend was dead.

The last thing he registered was Dr. Kurt's arm flailing wildly in the air. Why or to whom he was motioning was completely lost on Sam. Darkness fell over him and he no longer had the will to fight it.

Alex was dead...

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"We'll get it tomorrow, dad" An exasperated, exhausted Dean Winchester tossed his now empty gun on one of the two cheap motel beds in the room that they had just paid for.

"That's not good enough!" John Winchester glared at his oldest son as if it were his fault the spirit they'd just been fighting had been exceptionally pissed off and they had run out of ammunition. "We should have gotten it tonight!"

"We didn't have a choice. We would have gotten killed if we'd of stuck around." Dean reminded him. He shrugged off his battered leather coat and threw it next to his gun. Running a hand through his hair, a subconscious admittance of frustration. His muscles ached from where the powerful little bastard had flung him into a wall.

He was too used to his father's attitude on hunting trips to really be put out by it, but he was annoyed that they hadn't been able to get rid of the spirit like they'd planned to.

The fact that the thing had over powered him just took it to a much more personal level of pissed off. Dean tried to stay focused on those emotions, pretending, for the moment, that it was the only thing bothering him.

"I know." The older of the two sighed, sounding defeated. He sat down on the edge of the unoccupied bed. "It shouldn't of been that strong. We've never fought an ordinary ghost that strong before."

Dean could tell, by the hand over his mouth and the deep worry lines on his forehead, that his dad was trying to work out this new puzzle. He was used to how focused and self criticizing the older man could get when he felt as if he'd failed.

"At least the building's rundown and abandoned. The chances of anyone getting hurt there are next to nothing." Dean tried to comfort him.

Truth was, 'rundown and abandoned' was putting it quite nicely. The building this, apparent super, ghost was occupying, was a half collapsed pile of rubble.

It was the site of an old children's daycare facility. He had first come across it in some run of the mill articles out of a Cleveland newspaper; talking about obnoxious kids setting off fire works and breaking windows in the dead of night.

The only reason it had even sounded vaguely like something up their alley was because of all the reports listed, not a single person was arrested for causing the disturbance. Even that hadn't been enough for him or his dad to think something weird was going on.

Dean remembered the conversation he and Sam had had earlier that week.

"Huh."

Dean, who was pouring over all the different articles spread out on the kitchen table, looking for a new gig, barley acknowledged his brother.

Sam continued to hover though, grating on Dean's last nerve.

"Either say something or get out of here Sammy, I'm busy."

"It's Sam." he snapped immediately. Then paused, obviously considering something. He picked up a small article that had caught his eye, one Dean had barley glanced at before discarding earlier. "I think you should check this out."

"Why?" Dean asked after looking up to see what Sam was referring to. "It's probably just some drunk teenagers messing around."

"No drunk teenagers were arrested." he countered.

"So they know how to run. Or drive drunk." Dean shrugged.

"It's happened..." Sam shifted through some other papers, picking out all the ones about that building. "Six times in two weeks. Don't you think that's a bit odd?"

"Not really." Dean admitted, but was now curious as to why Sam was even making this a conversation. "What aren't you telling me?"

"I think I remember reading something about that place." he finally admitted, although he made it sound as if he'd just thought of it. "Peace and Hope Daycare Center, right?"

"Yeah, I guess. Why would you be reading about it?" he asked skeptically.

Sam sighed. "Okay, I wasn't reading about it, a friend of mine used to live in Cleveland and he was telling me about that place. I recognized the name."

"Friend? Your talking about Alex Brecken, right? That blonde kid you've been hanging out with since we moved here?" Dean couldn't hide the distaste in his voice.

"So what?" Sam sounded defensive now.

"So, I don't like you hanging out with him. He's a bad influence." Dean hadn't meant to say the words, but once they were out and he heard how much venom was laced through them, he knew he meant what he was saying.

"And who are you, dad?" Sam asked ludicrously.

Dean had to admit that he sounded much more parental than he woud of liked. Still, something in him had sparked and he didn't want to back down. "The guy's years older than you, and he lives by himself. I just don't see why you have to hang out with him so much."

"We're friends." Sam said as if he were speaking to an extremely slow person. "And he's only two years older than me. He's two years younger than you."

"He doesn't even go to your school, I don't even know how you two met. You're with him too much. It looks bad." Dean argued.

He told himself that his sudden passion regarding this issue came from his need to protect Sam. He knew that if he got too attached, he'd just get hurt, not to mention be pissed off, when they had to move. Then he'd end up fighting with dad, and Dean would get stuck in between them. Again.

Sam glared angrily. "Who I'm friends with isn't any of your business, Dean. Do you want to know about this place or not?"

Sam waved the article around, trying to bring the conversation back to where it had started. Dean didn't take the bait.

"Why are you getting so defensive Sam?" he was close to taunting now.

"I'm not," Sam was trying very hard not to snap, Dean could see that, but it didn't really register. "I'm just telling you..."

"Are you screwing him or something?" Dean's words brought Sam to an abrupt halt. Dean's own eyes widened slightly, he had not intended to say that, but he could not bring himself to apologize and his face was still contorted in accusation.

Sam just looked at him for a second, as if not comprehending the words. Then his eyes turned to slits and his nose crinkled up. He looked so angry that Dean expected to get sucker punched.

"Man, I don't know what your damn problem is." he practically snarled. "But you need to get the hell over it."

Sam threw the paper back on the table and promptly stalked out of the room. Breathing so hard that Dean could hear his shallow, barely controlled breaths until he was out of the kitchen.

He knew better than to call his brother back, he'd get tackled for sure. For a scrawny sixteen year old, Sam could be pretty damn strong when he was angry.

Plus Dean was embarrassed. He sunk farther down into the kitchen chair and ran his hand through his hair angrily. Leaning back even more, he used the back of the chair as a head rest, closing his eyes in defeat.

He felt as if he were the younger, more immature brother, getting mad for no real reason like that. It wasn't a feeling he was accustomed to, and it made his stomach churn.

What was his problem?

After a moment he sat up straight again, picking up the article that had unknowingly started the whole thing. He sighed heavily and did the only thing he could think of to do. He began to research Peace and Hope Daycare Center.

He cringed openly now, remembering the things he'd said to Sam. It was the last time the two brothers had spoken to each other since before Dean and John had left for Cleveland.

As it turned out, Sam had been right about the Daycare Center. It had a ghost story attached to it that went something like; when it had been up and running Peace and Hope Daycare center had been the best and most trusted place for single working mothers to drop their kids off all day.

Then, twenty years or so ago, the mayor declared that the city no longer had the funds to keep the nonprofit organization running, and it was to be torn down. Many, many moms had been upset at the news. Protests and petitions to stop it from happening went on for months. The mayor couldn't, or wouldn't as the case more likely was, do anything about it. A construction team was hired to use dynamite to blow the place to bits.

A small group of protesters, however, wouldn't leave the site. Dead set against seeing it destroyed. Even when the guys in the hard hats showed up and placed the explosives at the designated areas throughout the emptied building.

After a few hours, during which the construction crew was loosing money, the police hadn't responded to any of their phone calls, so they'd decided to take measures into their own hands.

'We just wanted to scare them off.' A statement from one of the surviving crew members had claimed.

They guys had gotten fed up and decided to set off one of the explosives that had been placed in the back of the building. It hadn't just scared them off though. It had killed them. The structure of the building hadn't been able to withstand the pressure of the one explosion, so it had fallen in around itself.

All of the protesters and three of the construction crew members, who had run into the collapsing heap of a building to try to get the woman out, had been killed.

The building had stayed half collapsed, the project forgotten, after the tragedy. All the surviving construction workers had been fired and sued by the city. Ensuring that the now motherless children at least had a good chunk of change to grow up on.

The only problem now, seemed to be one of the victims was still not willing to part with her beloved Daycare center.

When Dean told his father about the history of the place, John had been ecstatic. He praised his eldest son for being so thorough in his research. To find such a complex story, based only a few vague police reports, was an outstanding show of dedication.

Dean didn't tell him about Sam's involvement in the research process, fearing that their dad's knowledge of it might make Sam even more angry at him, and knowing what a right he had to anger at the moment, Dean sure as hell didn't want to add to it.

He still couldn't believe the things he had said to his little brother. It was so crude, not to mention the fact that Dean knew that Sam wasn't in the slightest bit gay. He'd been hearing about Sam's crushes since the boy had sprouted hormones.

He'd even sat down and given him 'the talk' a few years back. Because God knows their father wouldn't do it. All he'd ever done for Dean in that area was throw a box of condoms on his bed one day when he was about Sam's age.

'I don't want to see it. I don't want to hear it. And I don't want to know about it. But be safe.'

He walked out of his room and they'd never spoken about it again. He remembered how Sam had found that story amazingly entertaining when Dean had relayed it to him.

No matter what he did, or how he pretended, all his thoughts kept going back to his brother. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Dean felt guilty.

"You've been starring at the wall in a daze for the last five minutes." His father's voice startled him. "You need to go take a shower and hit the sack. You're right, there's nothing else we can do tonight."

Dean noted the understanding in his dad's voice and it added a whole new layer to his guilt. John thought his son was upset because of the spirit and their inability to kill it. And while that was true, he had been more focused on Sam and their fight.

"I'll just try to rework one of the banishing spells in here," he said tapping his ever present journal, "to make it more powerful. Just in case."

Dean nodded his consent and quickly headed for the bathroom connected to their room. A nice hot shower sounded irresistible.

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"Good to have you back." Dr. Kurt's voice cut through the thick fog surrounding him and Sam latched onto it desperately.

"What..." he groaned. He was instantly aware of his heavy head and throbbing left arm.

"Take it easy." The old doctor scolded him when Sam tried to sit up.

He was laying on something softer than the floor but too hard to actually be called comfortable.

Hospital bed, He noted absently, feeling groggy and disoriented.

He knew Dr. Kurt's voice. He was the Doctor that had treated his shoulder. He had torn a ligament, which was probably why it now throbbed so much.

He squinted up at the man, but didn't try to get up this time. Dr. Kurt, standing there with that worried look, almost like a concerned grandpa.

Then it came back to him.

"Alex is dead."

It was the first time he'd heard the words spoken out loud, and he found himself having difficulty swallowing.

"Breathe Sam. Do you remember what happened earlier?" Dr. Kurt's hand went automatically to Sam's wrist, checking his pulse.

Like a doctor's hand to a pager or a Winchester's to a belt buckle.

"Alex is dead." Sam didn't know if he was answering the question or just repeating himself.

"Yes he is."

The doctor was acting much more professional than he had been earlier in the evening. He no longer looked exhausted and defeated, tears weren't sparkling in his eyes. Yet there was still a tinge of unmistakable sadness and defeat. Or maybe it was concern. Sam really couldn't tell anymore.

"The last time you realized that, you had a panic attack." he was simply stating a fact. Medical history.

"I...I remember you coming out here. I saw you... And I knew. I knew that Alex..." he trailed off, not really wanting to relive it.

"Then what do you remember?" he coaxed gently.

"I don't know. It was strange, I could see you. But I couldn't hear you. I felt... horrible, but I didn't at the same time, I mean it was there but... I couldn't..." he shook his head as if trying to clear it. "Does that make any sense?"

"You were feeling disconnected." The doctor provided the terminology and Sam nodded.

"You were in shock. You still most likely are."

"I don't think so." Sam said. "I can feel my arm pretty well." Realizing it was the first time all night - had it really only been a night? - that he could say that honestly. He wasn't sure yet if he considered it a good thing or not.

"Okay. Sam, I'm going to give you a pain killer. A shot, alright?" Dr. Kurt actually waited for him to nod before he continued doing anything else. "It'll make you a little groggy and you'll probably fall asleep."

Sam nodded again.

The needle was halfway emptied into his arm when he thought of his father and brother. They might of gotten the message that other doctor had left on Dean's phone by now, he didn't know.

He wanted to ask Dr. Kurt if they'd called or what time it was, but by then the syringe was completely emptied, making his way through his blood stream and already he could feel his eyes start to droop.

He'd worry about it later, he decided. And drifted peacefully into a drug induced sleep.

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"Your brother isn't answering the phone." His father confronted him the second he stepped out of the bathroom.

"Cell phone or house phone?" Dean asked immediately. He knew that tone in his father's voice. It sounded angry, but it was actually just his way of covering up deeply concerned.

His father did not get concerned easily. Dean fell into protective older brother mode immediately.

"He's not answering the house phone. When I try his cell it says it's disconnected."

"Did you check your cell for messages?" Dean asked, but didn't wait for his dad to snap at him,

"Of course I did."

He was already across the room, digging through his own bag. He knew the chances of Sam calling him in an emergency, even if they were angry at each other, were much greater than the ones of him calling dad.

He felt his heart jump when he looked at his phone.

'7 Missed Calls. 1 New Voice Mail.'

Dean didn't recognize the number.

He gave a curt nod in his father's direction before flipping the phone open and pressing the appropriate keys, allowing him to hear the message.

The professional voice of some young guy he'd never heard before filtered through his ear.

"My name is Doctor Andrew Grandel. I work at Columbus Central Hospital. We have a Sam Winchester here. He was brought in after a severe car accident earlier this evening. I want to assure you that his injuries are minor, but he can not be discharged until a parent or guardian had signed the necessary paperwork. So we need someone to come in as soon as possible. Thank you."

Dean's hand was shaking as he closed his phone.

'Severe car accident ... injuries are minor ... Hospital'

"Well!" John was on the verge of frantic.

"Sam was an a car accident." Dean said as steadily as he could manage.

"A car..."

"The guy, the doctor, said his injuries were minor... I..." Dean wanted to ask how you could use the phrase 'severe car accident' and 'minor injuries' in the same sentence.

Apparently dad did as well. He promptly snatched Dean's phone out of his hand to listen to the message himself. The suddenness of the movement jolted him back to reality.

As his dad was listening to the same message that wouldn't stop repeating itself in his own head, he started to pack. Randomly shoving everything he could find into his big duffel bag. He was sure he had gotten everything, and that he had broken some type of packing speed record by the time John was done listening to the message.

"What are you waiting for?" Dean asked angrily. "Pack! We have to get going! It's a two hour trip, and it's already..." he glanced at the clock. "Almost one in the morning! Who knows how long Sammy's been there!"

Dean's voice caught and both men in the room stood, momentarily stunned at Dean's outburst. Never before, in his entire life, had Dean spoken that way to his father. Not even when he was a hormone loaded teenager. Like Sam was now.

The shock however, wore off momentarily and John quickly followed his son's orders. Not that he thought of them of orders. No, this is what he was going to do anyway, Dean had just jolted him into it.

Neither addressed Dean's outburst, and they were out the motel doors mere minutes later.

John didn't even have to consider it; he tossed the car keys to Dean, and he watched, absently proud, as his oldest son brought the car to life and tore out of the parking lot. Whether he was proud of the way Dean was acting in his haste to get to his brother, or the way he could drive, was completely lost on him.

Concern for Sam drowned out everything else.

End Chapter.

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