Chapter Four

Sam unlocked the door, looking guiltily at his brother. Dean spared him a quick glance and then walked in the motel room, looking at the mess all around.

"Jeez, Sam, what the hell's the matter with you?" Dean demanded as he leaned down and started picking up his things. Sam hurried over to help him. "Was it good for you?" Dean asked sarcastically, tossing his clothes back in his duffle without bothering to fold them properly.

"Dean, I'm sorry. Look, I just wanted…" Sam started, but Dean held up his hand, stopping him.

"Whatever, man. Are we done here?" he asked. Not quite, Sam thought. He still needed answers, but he knew this wasn't the time.

"Look, just leave it," Sam said, "I'll clean up."

"You bet you will." Dean said, "After." He added, and Sam looked quizzically at him. Dean took the paper out of his back pocket, hitting Sam in the gut with it to make a point. "We've got a job to do."

"Hey, you coming or what?" Sam jumped, startled, and then gave a slight nod, smiling at the landlord who was showing them the apartment. Flashes from his latest vision kept popping into his mind. This was the place, the apartment, only, it was all wrong. The furniture was different, the pictures on the mantle were different, and the blood splutters on the carpet and wall, well, that was different alright. The apartment was either cursed or haunted, or so his brother claimed. Eighteen deaths in the past twenty years – that's what they have come up with in their research – the last one taking place three days earlier.

"So, what can you tell us about the place?" Sam asked, making a face when he noticed he stepped in a splotch of dry blood. They pretended to be reporters and practically had the landlord eating from the palm of their hand when Dean happened to mention the rent was rather cheap and that they were looking for a place.

As they expected, the landlord mostly repeated what they already knew, and added what they already suspected. There was some electric problem with the lights, but a technician was working to fix it, probably some rats, but they were planning to get an exterminator as soon as the police was finished with the place, and the painter was due the following week. Dean kept the conversation going while Sam looked around. He didn't like being in this place. It felt like he was being watched, and it made the fine hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He looked questioningly at Dean, who nodded. There were definite cold spots around. There was something here, no question about it. They'll take care of it later, after the landlord leaves. They were thanking him, getting ready to leave and planning to return later that night but Sam just couldn't shake the feeling someone was watching, that something was off… He had seen this place in his vision, that had to mean something.

"Hey, so just one last question," he said, turning back as they were already at the stairs. Dean looked questioningly at him. Sam cocked his head to the side, licking his lips. "There wouldn't happen to have been a fire here, would it? I mean, all the stories…" he tried to smile "Just trying to think of a catchy title for the story…" he apologized at the look the landlord gave him.

"Well, now that you mentioned it," Sam's heart hammered, "there was a fire in the building. Almost thirty years ago. About a dozen died. Burned up half this side of the building." The landlord said, and than laughed, "But don't worry, the ghosts come with no extra charge." He winked. Sam smiled back and hurried after his older brother on their way back to the car.

"You want to tell me what that was all about?" Dean asked once they were on their own again. Sam took a deep breath before answering.

"This is the place." He said. Dean looked questioningly at him.

"What place?" he asked, getting in the car and Sam followed him.

"From my vision. This is it, this is the place." Sam explained. Dean gave him a funny look.

"What, the Demon? No way, man. The guy that lived here didn't even have a family." Dean said and Sam gave him a meaningful look. "What?"

"Come on, Dean. There was a fire here thirty years ago. That's it. That's the Demon. It was here."

"What? Thirty years ago?" Dean shrugged, "You're having visions about something that happened thirty years ago now?" Dean looked intently at Sam, who pursed his lips uncomfortably, shaking his head.

"I don't know." Sam said, "All I know is I've seen this place in my vision." They sat there silently for a moment, and then Dean started the car, driving back to the motel, each hunter deep in his own thoughts.

"Could be like our house." Dean suggested after a long moment of silence. Sam glanced at him.

"You think it attracted a poltergeist?" he asked. Dean half-shrugged.

"I guess we're gonna find out soon enough."

The brothers returned to the apartment much later that night. Picking the lock, Dean was the first to go in, pulling the EMF meter out of his jacket pocket. Sam followed, the camera – set to night vision – in his hand. Sam adjusted the heavy backpack he was carrying so it wouldn't keep falling off his shoulder. He couldn't shake the feeling someone, or something, was there, watching them. Watching him. It unnerved him and he kept glancing at the shotgun in his brother's hand, making sure to keep close. Yeah, okay, he was a little nervous. Didn't mean he was going to admit it or anything. Besides, this place just gave him the creeps.

"Anything?" Sam asked, frowning. He could smell traces of Ozone. There was definitely something there, and Dean confirmed it by showing him the EMF meter. Sam swallowed, turning the camera off and crouching, shrugging his backpack off and opening it. He had called Missouri earlier, asking her what she had used the last time when they tried to vanquish the poltergeist from their old house. He'd been working on it for a couple of hours until Dean reminded him it didn't work back then. Still, it was better than nothing. First thing's first, though. Sam took a large container of salt out of his backpack and started working.

Sam heard something smash against a wall, and then heard Dean curse. He called out for the older hunter, rushing over to Dean, only to be thrown against the bookcase and fall to the floor. He grimaced in pain, thanking his luck that for once, the entire bookcase didn't fall on top of him. His back creaked and moaned as Sam pushed himself back to his feet. Well, at least this time he wasn't strangled, he thought to himself as he rushed over to help Dean. He could hear the gunshot before he got there, and had to duck quickly, covering his head, when he saw something hurtled his way – only to find out it was a pillow. Great, Dean will never let me live this down…

"The hell are you waiting for? Get dad's book!" Dean yelled at him, and fired again. Dad's journal was in his backpack, by the entrance door, and Sam quickly rushed over to get it, only to have the door to the room slammed in his face, literally, before he had the chance to use it. Sam staggered for a moment, stars bursting in front of his eyes and his eyes watered at the pain in his probably broken nose. He blinked the tears away, shaking his head to make the bursting stars go away, or so he hoped, and tried opening the door. Didn't work. Damn. But Dean had learned his lesson the last time, there was an axe in Sam's backpack, and Sam quickly rushed over to retrieve it. Dean yelled out his name, in the sort of way that made his stomach lurch, and he started working on the door when he heard the muffled sound of something heavy being tossed against something not so heavy, or as he suspected, his brother. Sam listened for a couple of seconds and didn't like the sudden silence. He called out to Dean, and really didn't like the silence that answered him. And then the lights flickered and he suddenly felt really cold. And unable to breathe. Damn it, what was there with those things and his esophagus? Sam tried fighting it, but there was nothing to fight. Nothing was strangling him to death. Oh, come on, give the guy a break here, would you? he thought as he struggled to breathe. He was dimly aware of the fact that the door had finally opened and that Dean stumbled out of the bedroom, but the lack of oxygen was beginning to take its toll. He could hear, though not quite register, Dean shouting, and from the sudden rush of air into his starved lunged, Sam supposed Dean started reading the exorcism. He gasped a few times, taking big gulps of air, and tried to remember how he got to his hands and knees when he heard something shutter and all the windows burst inside the apartment, showering them with shards of glass. That hurt, actually. Sam stumbled to his feet, going over to help Dean, when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. His brother didn't see it, and Sam's warning came a second too late as a heavy looking lamp was thrown forcefully at Dean, hitting him squarely in the chest, the force of the impact throwing him back a good six feet before he crumpled to the floor in a heap. The lights flickered again, and Sam could feel a presence there, and knew that it wasn't just the poltergeist. There was something else there, watching him. The fact that Dean stayed on the floor and didn't even attempt to get up propelled Sam into action as he quickly rushed to his brother's side. But there was no time to check on Dean. Things were hurtled their way, cutlery included, and Sam, for one, didn't want to know what dinner felt like before it was eaten. He grabbed the small coffee table (with two legs broken after being tossed their way) and used it as a makeshift shield as he started to read the incantation all over again, keeping his voice steady. He did his best to forget the noise and tumult all around and just keep reading until he was finished and the poltergeist repelled.

Sam looked around cautiously, making sure it was really over and that no one was going to toss him around the room or strangle him again. Satisfied that it was over (though he had planned to give the apartment another once-over with the EMF), Sam turned his attention back to his still unconscious brother. The thought occurred to him that, yes, Dean had been hit pretty badly, but he should have been up by now, if not much sooner. He patted Dean's leg.

"Hey, sleeping beauty, time to wake up now." Sam said, tossing what was left of the coffee table aside, painfully aware that one of the knives lodged in it was dangerously close to splitting the thing in two. "Dean, come on man, no sleeping on the job." Sam tried again when Dean showed no sign of movement. There was still no response and Sam's heart started racing. "Come on, Dean, get up!" he said, giving his older brother a shake. Still no response. "Dean! Come on, man, you're scaring me here!" Sam cried, giving Dean a sturdier shake. Still no response. Sam rushed over to get a flashlight, the light bulbs having exploded in one of the poltergeist tantrums, and quickly returned to his brother. He swallowed hard, hoping it was just the flashlight that made his brother look so pale. "Dean, wake up! Now! It's an order!" Sam tried to no avail. Dean didn't wake up. "Getting soft there in your old age?" Sam tried, maybe a shot to his brother's enormous ego would do the trick, "There was a time you could have taken that hit and still kill the damn thing, you're losing your touch, man." He tried, but if Dean had heard him, he made no sign of it. Heart pounding, Sam quickly scrambled to his feet, shoving their things back in his backpack and hoping the camera didn't break. His eyes went from the shotgun to his brother. He couldn't carry them both. They were on the sixth floor with no elevator for crying out loud, getting Dean up here in the first place wasn't the nicest thing. Sam gave it another shot, trying to arouse the older hunter and feeling the beginning of panic wash over him. He cursed and put his hand under Dean's arm, pulling him up a little. Dean's skin felt cold and clammy, his head tilted back. Okay, more than just a little panic. Get it together Sam, you've been through worse. This was just a damn poltergeist… he muttered to himself. He relaxed a little when he touched his fingers to the side of his brother's throat and found a steady pulse. Sam hoisted his brother over his shoulder and swayed a minute, trying to find his balance. Six flights of stairs with the unconscious Dean on his shoulders. Not a nice thought. Sam noticed suddenly that his brother seemed… lighter than usual. He had lost weight. Still, too damn heavy. How Sam had gotten him all the way to the car without them both falling down the stairs, he will never know. He eased Dean into the passenger seat and cursed, out of breath, at the thought of having to climb all the way back up and retrieve the shotgun and the backpack he dropped when he realized there was no way he could carry both the bag and his brother. Sam's legs were shaking the second time he got to the car, threatening to buckle from under him. Breathing hard, Sam stumbled into the driver's seat, looking frantically for the bottle of water Dean kept under the seat. His throat was beyond dry. He finished half the bottle in a couple of gulps and sighed, feeling a little bit better. That is, until he noticed Dean was still in the exact same position Sam had left him, tilting a little towards the door, his head resting against the window.

"Seriously, Dean, if you don't get up in the next five seconds, I'm driving!" Sam warned his bother, Dean having warned him after the accident that he's never again letting the younger brother drive with him still in the car. The threat, however, went unnoticed. "I mean it man, I'm driving. And I'm taking you to a hospital." Sam tried again, "With absolutely no cute nurses. And I'm leaving orders that only the male nurses are allowed to give you a sponge bath! You hear me?" Sam cried, and then cursed and put the keys in the ignition, driving as fast as he could.

The doctors asked him how long his brother had been out and Sam was horrified to realize it had been more than half an hour. That just wasn't right. And neither was finding out that Dean's pallor wasn't the result of the flashlight or the street lamps. He really was that pale, and to Sam's horror, Dean's lips were actually blue, as was the skin under his fingernails. Dean was rushed away into the emergency room and Sam was left with all the questions, more than a few of them his own. He had no idea what to tell the doctors about what had caused his brother to pass out, and so he didn't. He wasn't sure of it himself. There's no way a lamp, no matter how heavy or how hard it had been thrown, would do that much damage to his brother. Something just didn't add up.

Sam paced back and forth in the waiting room, biting his nails. They cleaned up the cuts on his face and hands caused by the shards of glass, and Sam cursed at the myriad of questions he had no idea how to answer. A nurse came by about fifteen minutes later to tell him that Dean was awake. Oh, he was awake alright. And royally pissed to find himself in a hospital. He was more than a little annoyed by the fact they cut his shirt, too. Sam could hear his gruff voice and curses even before walking in the room. A doctor was arguing with Dean, who was sitting up in the bed, pulling the IV from his arm. Dean demanded to be released. The doctor tried to explain that they needed to run tests, trying futilely to insert the IV back, but his stubborn brother just shook his head and said there would be no tests. The doctor tried appealing to his common sense and self-preservation instinct, a bad choice, Sam thought to himself as his brother just rolled his eyes and demanded the AMA papers. Sam gave the doctor a weak smile, and the doctor came over.

"You might want to get some sense into your brother." He said, "We really should run some more tests. Your brother has been unconscious for a very long time, and his blood pressure is too low. We have to make sure…"

"I'm fine!" Dean cut him off, stepping off the bed and walking unsteadily towards them. "Now, you could get me those damn papers or I'm just leaving here without…" and then he passed out.

"Dean…"

"I'm fine, Sam!" Dean snapped, undoing his seat belt, and stepping out of the car angrily. It might have had a better affect if he didn't sway so much on his feet. Sam let out a heavy sigh and got out of the car himself. He tried to support Dean back to their motel room, only to be shrugged off.

"I really think you should have stayed the day at the hospital, Dean." Sam said as he fumbled for the room keys.

"Yeah, I bet you would." Dean muttered, and Sam frowned. What was that supposed to mean?

"I mean it, Dean, you should have let them take those tests." Sam said as he opened the door, "I really don't get why you wouldn't just…"

"I told you, I'm fine!" Dean snapped angrily, pushing against Sam's shoulder as he stumbled into the room and over to his bed, slumping down on it like a ton of bricks.

"Right…" Sam said, rolling his eyes. "And I'm shorter than you."

"Keep that attitude and you will be, little brother." Dean snapped warningly. Sam sighed again.

"I just don't understand…"

"Look, I'm tired, okay?" Dean propped himself up on his elbows so he could look at Sam better. "Can we do this in the morning?" Sam pursed his lips. It was morning. But Dean had a point. He was exhausted, too.

"Fine." He spat eventually. "But I'm not letting this go, Dean."

"Of course not." Dean muttered, "Women just have to talk about everything…"

Sam hadn't slept. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to his brother's soft breaths. Dean had been out like a light the moment his head touched the pillow, and Sam berated himself for not forcing his brother to stay at the hospital for further testing.

With the poltergeist taken care of, and seeing as how it had been the same place as in Sam's vision, Dean thought it time to leave. Sam agreed. They have stayed here long enough. And besides, even though things weren't exactly right between him and his dad, Sam figured two against one was better odds in trying to get whatever secret Dean was withholding out. Sam guessed it was something about his health. There was evidence enough to support it, but it wouldn't explain the change in Dean. He fervently refused to talk about anything that had happened at the cabin or after, when their dad had left them again, and Sam was really starting to feel at a loss.

And there was something else he was feeling. Hungry. Sam sighed, looking at the time. It was nearly noon, and Dean was showing no sign of waking up. Sam pushed his covers away, struggling out of bed, and just sat there for a while, watching his older brother sleep. It was a real deep sleep. Sam frowned. The older hunter didn't use to sleep so deeply before, but come to think of it, he has been sleeping that way ever since… Sam sighed again, pushing himself off the bed. Time for backup, he thought, and lunch, he added when his stomach protested. Well, he could get them both at the same time. Getting dressed and pocketing the car keys, Sam gave his brother another quick glance before leaving the room and heading for a little restaurant he had discovered the other day. He ordered their food to go, and used the time he had to wait to call his father. There was no answer. Sam snorted. What else had he been expecting?

A woman passed by him, brushing against his shoulder as she walked out the diner, and Sam had a sudden feeling of déjà vu. He turned to look at her, a small smile spreading on his lips. She was cute. Definitely his type. Maybe he should go talk to her or something. He was just about to when the waitress told him that his food was ready. Sam thanked her, and by the time he had paid and got out the restaurant, the woman was gone. Feeling a little disappointed, and very hungry, Sam got back in the car and drove back to the motel. A sudden chill ran down his spine. Someone was watching him. He tensed, looking in the rear view mirror, but there was no one there. He maneuvered the car, trying to see if he was being tailed, but he wasn't. Still, the feeling didn't go away. They should definitely leave this place as soon as Dean was feeling better. And then he cursed, pulling on the breaks, remotely aware that someone had rear-ended him. He hissed at the pain in his head and cursed as the sights began to play in his mind. This was getting ridiculous.

Sam winced his eyes shut, gritting his teeth against the pain in his head. There was nothing he could do but try to keep breathing. He cursed, crying out, and gasped at the pain, pressing the heels of his hands to his temples. He couldn't even open his eyes, and the constant honking from the cars behind him didn't help. People were gathering around, curiously looking to see what was holding up traffic, but Sam was oblivious to them. His entire world consisted of the pain cutting through his skull.

"Hey, buddy, move it, would ya?" someone shouted, but Sam didn't even hear him. Someone came over to the side of the car, someone was talking to him, but the words didn't register. Sam couldn't even tell if it was a man or a woman, the fact that he could tell someone was there was surprising enough. The door was pulled open from the outside, and Sam prayed it would be Dean. He knew it couldn't be, his brother was asleep in the motel, and even if he weren't, the older hunter had no idea where Sam had went. It didn't change the fact Sam wanted his older brother at the moment. If anyone could make him feel better, it was Dean. It had always been Dean. He should tell his brother that more often.

Agonizingly slow, the pain began to subside, and Sam could tell it was a woman standing by his side, though he couldn't take a good look at her, not risking opening his eyes more than a slit. The woman handed him a bottle of water, and Sam thanked her. He gulped the cool drink down, finishing the entire bottle and wishing it had come with a nice bottle of painkillers. The woman put her hand on his shoulder.

"You okay there?" she asked, "I already called the ambulance, they should be getting here any minute now." She told him, trying to reassure him, but doing the opposite.

"No," he breathed, "no ambulance, I'm fine." He lied. The woman seemed a little confused, and Sam realized it was the same woman from the restaurant. He cursed inwardly. Great first impression, Sam. "Look, I'm better now. I just have these migraines, they come out of nowhere, you know?" he smiled apologetically. She smiled back at him, and had he not been in dire pain, his heart would probably start racing.

"Are you sure?" she asked, serious once more, "Maybe you should let someone take a look…"

"No! No, I'm fine, really…" Sam said quickly, feeling his throat tighten and bile rising. God, he just wanted to throw up and then crawl into bed with a couple dozen painkillers and sleep this monster headache away. The woman stared at him for a moment, hesitating, and Sam gave her his best smile, or at least he hoped he did. He wasn't so sure.

"Well, I can't let you drive." She said assertively.

"Look, I'm fine really. All better now." Sam assured her, which probably would have gone off a lot better if he hadn't winced in pain.

"That's it. Move it. I'll drive." She said, pulling him out of the car.

"No, really, you don't have to. I'm sure you have better things…"

"I insist. You're not driving like that, so either I drive or we wait for the paramedics to say that you're okay to drive yourself home. What do you say?" she asked. Sam stared at her for a moment. Definitely his type. He sighed, getting out of the driver's seat and into the passenger's. "Good." She smiled at him again and Sam sighed again, closing his eyes and resting his head against the headrest.

"Thanks." He said as she started the car, frowning at the honking still going on in the background.

"Not a problem." She smiled at him as she started the car. "I'm Lynn by the way."

"Sam." He introduced himself. Well, at least he got to talk to her. Not the way he would have wanted it, but still… Maybe he'll even get her number. If he could still think straight by the time they get to that freaking motel.

"So, Sam, where am I taking you, anyway?" Lynn asked, and Sam gave her the name of the motel. He tried giving her the directions but she stopped him. "I know the place." She said, turning the radio on and playing with the stations. Sam cringed. He was so going to pay for that. No one messes with Dean's radio. Maybe the fact that this was a hot chick would get his brother to be a little more merciful and end his life quickly, Sam thought, hoped. Lynn tried to make small talk as she drove, but Sam was in no condition to actually pay attention. He kept fantasizing about the nice bottle of Tylenol and the nice bed waiting for him at the motel, it took him a minute to realize she was laughing. His brow creased. He'd heard that laughter before, but he couldn't place it. Thinking he was probably just imagining it, Sam shrugged it off, and asked her what was so funny, only to blush when he realized he totally spaced out when she was talking to him. She gave him a sympathetic look.

"It really hurts, doesn't it?" she asked. Sam looked questioningly at her. "Your head. The migraine." She explained, and he nodded. "Been having them for long?" she asked.

"About a year or so." Sam answered, closing his eyes again.

"I'm sorry. It looks painful." Lynn said in a soft voice, glancing his way, but her only answer was a slight nod. The rest of the way to the motel was spent in blessed silence. She even turned off the radio, to which Sam was truly grateful. "We're here." She said at last, and Sam forced his eyes open again. He gave a slight nod.

"Thanks." He said, looking at her, "You really didn't have to do this. Can I pay you or something?" he offered. She smiled.

"Oh, don't be stupid, I am glad I could help." She said, "You really don't have to pay me."

"But you're going to need to get back and you don't have a car." Sam insisted. "Please, at least let me give you some money for a cab or something."

"You know what, I'll be at the Barcode tomorrow night. It's the local bar." She said and Sam nodded, having been there more than a few times himself, along with Dean. "Why won't you buy me a bear then? Call it even?" she said, and Sam grinned. He couldn't believe his luck. And then the headache reminded him exactly what his luck could have caused when he almost lost control at the wheel. Damn freaking shining.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then." Sam said as they both got out of the car and she handed him the keys. They shook hands, both holding on a little longer than necessary, and then both smiled. "You sure I can't pay for a taxi or something?" Sam offered again. She rolled her eyes, laughing, and Sam had another feeling of déjà vu, something about a cab and her laughing.

"Just don't forget you owe me a drink." She said, and turned to leave but then stopped, turning to face him again. "Oh, and do me a favor? Careful about driving like that, would you?" she said, and then left. Sam watched her for a moment and then groaned, stumbling back to the room, and then cursed and grunted as he remembered the takeout still waiting in the car. He had lost his appetite, the mere thought of food making his stomach lurch, but there was no excuse to just leave it out in the car. Taking it out, Sam finally made it back to the room.

Lynn didn't get too far though. She watched Sam from a distance, biting her lip as he returned to the car and exhaling loudly as he finally got back in the motel room. She took out her cell phone, hitting the autodial. This wasn't her favorite way of communication, but it would have to do until she was alone with no witnesses. The phone rang a couple of times before it was answered.

"Hey, it's me." Lynn said, a smile creeping to her lips. "Yes, I was with him right now. It's working." She said, her smile widening as she listened to the voice on the other side of the line. "Oh, don't worry. I will. You can tell Father he'll have what he wants. Doesn't mean a girl can't have some fun though, does it?"

TBC

A/N: The next chapter is almost done, actually. Reviews might convince me to update a little earlier...