A/N: I promise a bit of an explaination in this chapter. :) I want to thank you all for the kind reviews. I would love to answer them all personally, but between school and work, I'm a busy girl! So please accept my generalized but incredibly sincere thanks. ;)
Sam was dreaming, lost in a hazy ether within himself.
He made his way up a wide, spiral staircase that wound endlessly into darkness. Around and around, up an up, he pushed desperately to make it to the top, his strength failing.
He couldn't remember what he was moving towards, or why, but desperation filled him with a raw drive to climb, and he could not stop.
"Sammy…" his name drifted down to him on Dean's distant voice. He peered intently into the dark before him, hurrying his pace.
"Dean!" he shouted, "Help me!"
His foot stepped into empty space as the stairs suddenly ended, and with a cry of denial, he fell into emptiness.
Sam opened his eyes blearily, blinking slowly to try to clear his vision. He felt a strange, lingering sense of loss, but couldn't understand why. A blank hospital wall stretched before him, a row of gently humming monitors in his peripheral vision. His head felt large and constricted, the back of his skull aching dully. He lifted a weak hand towards his forehead.
"Sammy?"
Dean's voice sounded behind him, and a moment later his brother moved into his line of vision.
"Dean?" he rasped, his fingers brushing against the row of thick bandages around his head. "Wh-what happened?"
"You took a fall, Sam. You have a head injury."
"Thas' why my head hurts?" he mumbled, eyes closing as his hand drifting towards the back of his skull. He felt a gentle touch restrain his wrist.
"Don't touch," Dean said, pulling his hand down. "They had to operate, and you have a shunt in the back of your head for a while, so you need to leave it alone, okay? "
Hot nausea surged in his belly and he opened his eyes, needing to see his brother.
"A… shunt? How-how bad is this, Dean?"
"It was pretty serious, but the doc fixed you up, and you're going to be fine. Try to stay calm, okay? It's important."
"Okay," he said weakly, fisting his hands in the sheets. I had brain surgery?
"I think I was dreaming," he said, trying to remember. "Stairs?"
Dean leaned forward, his face intense.
"What else do you remember?" he demanded, his eyes boring into Sam's.
"I-" he struggled to recall, but his mind felt like an empty room.
"Sam?"
"Nothing!" he gasped, shaken. "I can't remember… can't…."
"Hey," Dean squeezed his shoulder, his face softening, "It's okay. You just had brain surgery, Dude. Don't sweat it if you feel a little hazy."
Sam forced himself to breathe normally, his muscles relaxing as he sank back into the mattress. His strength was fading quickly, and he felt his eyes sliding shut. He flailed out a hand for Dean, sighing in relief when he felt a warm, calloused hand wrap around his.
Then sleep called to him, and he faded away again.
Dean held his brother's hand for a while after he drifted off again, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb.
He'd spent all night tossing and turning, and he'd come to the conclusion that the spirit was hiding in Sam's brain. More specifically, the temporal lobe. He knew he'd weakened it with the rounds he'd fired – it must have sensed that Dean would destroy it and sought refuge. Dean sometimes felt that Sam was like a beacon for supernatural things – this time was apparently no different, and now Sparky was wreaking havoc with the delicate pathways of Sam's brain.
He let go of his brother's hand reluctantly and stood, tucking the blankets up over Sam's shoulders before leaving the room.
At the nurses' station he was pleased to find the young nurse he had busted a few days ago. She would be easy to intimidate, seeing as how she was already afraid of him. He motioned her over, away from an unfamiliar RN was sat shuffling paperwork.
"I need to use a computer." He said softly, his tone blunt.
"Uh, well, we're not supposed to let people use the system. Confidentiality and all…" She glanced at her co-worker, fiddling nervously with her stethoscope.
"Are you kidding me?" he raised his eyebrows. "You're suddenly concerned about confidentiality? I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to gossip about patients within earshot of their family, but that didn't seem to stop you."
"Oh," she gasped, sounding close to tears. Dean noted that her nametag said 'Kristy'. And dear God, she'd pasted a tiny, sparkly heart sticker on the dot over the 'I'.
He felt a pang of remorse. Three months ago, he would have charmed her into cooperation, rather than bullying her into submission. But he had no charm left, and everyone in this fucking place reminded him that his brother was broken and dependant. It didn't leave a guy feeling very charismatic.
"I could always talk to Dr. Mitchell or your supervisor." He threatened vaguely. Her cheeks flushed and she narrowed her eyes in a wounded glare.
"You're using the internet only." She said.
"Fine."
She glanced over her shoulder at the other nurse as she moved into the hallway.
"Rita, I'll be right back. Mr. Winchester needs me to show him to the A Wing."
Rita waved her understanding, and Kristy stalked angrily ahead of him down the hall.
"This is blackmail, you know." She hissed angrily, gesturing him into an empty office.
"Yeah, well, I'm an asshole, sweetheart. What can I say – I'm not feeling all that upbeat, these days."
She grimaced at his use of 'sweetheart', but her expression lost it's petulant edge. She closed the door behind them, locking it, and gestured to the PC on the desk.
"You should be able to use the internet browser without having to log in. And don't even think of trying to sneak into any files." She warned.
Dean grunted noncommittally and opened up a search engine in the browser.
Sam had done the research for the last gig, but had been unable to find anything to explain the presence of an angry spirit. All of the former inhabitants of teh house had moved, or died peacefully somewhere else. It wasn't built on cursed ground, either. Without any leads, they'd had no name and no bones to burn.
It had seemed like a minor poltergeist, not particularly violent, and they'd opted to use Missouri's banishment technique rather than waste more time in research.
A decision that Dean would regret for the rest of his life.
Dean typed in the street address of the house and hit 'search'. Several results popped up. A few outdated real estate listings, a public zoning record, nothing helpful. He sighed, frustrated, and thought hard. The disruptive events in the house had started in 1974. He did a search for that year, including the zip code of the neighborhood.
A few refined searches later, he had the area's death records for 1974 in front of him. Dismissing the entries for theelderlyand infants, Dean grabbed a piece of paper from the printer and scrawled down the names of several people.
"How much longer do you need to be?" Kristy asked impatiently. "Rita's going to expect me back soon, and if you think I'm gossipy… She'll tell the whole hospital that I took you to A wing and let you have your way with me."
Dean glanced up, raising his eyebrows.
"She reads a lot of romance novels…" Kristy blushed and glared.
"I'll find my own way back." He said evenly. As he spoke heopened a new window and did a search for the first name.
"I can't leave you here alone! I could lose my job for that!"
"Well, you need to go save your reputation, and I'm not leaving until I'm done. Unless you plan on having security drag me out, I'm staying."
Kristy huffed indignantly.
"If anyone catches you, you found the door open, understand? I will not lose my job because you blackmailed me. And I'm sorry about what I said, I really am, but I'm not a bad person, and I don't deserve to be treated this way. After this we are EVEN. Got it?"
Dean nodded, wanting to apologize but unable to find the words. She stormed out, closing the door behind her, and he went back to searching.
Twelve unsuccessful obituaries later, he found the answer.
Daniel Hauser, 35, an electrician, had died while rewiring a house in the neighborhood. He had been electrocuted when he slipped and accidentally crossed two live wires, his body undiscoveredfor a week before the house'sownersreturned from vacation.He was survived by his wife and two sons.
Dean read the information eagerly, remembering the electrical look of the poltergeist. This had to be it. This had to be the answer. The brain communicated with electrical currents - if this thing had electrical qualities and was camping out on Sam's temporal lobe, it would explain the strange, wild activity in his EEG. It would explain the amnesia.
He scrolled to the bottom of the obituary, noting the address of the graveside service.
He had a name. Someone to blame for all of this. Anger welled up in him, involuntary and terrifying.
Tonight, the fucker was gonna burn.
A/N: Stay tuned. Tomorrow's my double, so I may not post until Sunday, but I'm working on it, I swear:)
