SUMMARY: A vengeful spirit's attack leaves Dean hypothermic and fighting for life, while a concussed Sam, lost and alone, battles to get back to his brother. Story takes place mid-to-late Season 2, but before the events of All Hell Breaks Loose.

DISCLAIMER: Nope. Don't own Supernatural. Still playing in Kripke's sandbox. Will happily vacate premises when strike is over and Kripke & Co. are allowed to play here again.

A/N: Big virtual hugs – and a pitcher of margaritas - to Heather for the always awesome medical beta. My story is better thanks to you. Thanks to chronic tweaking, any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.

BRIDGING TWO SOLITUDES

CHAPTER 7

Sam blinked in confusion at the dying embers in front of him. He'd just lit the fire, why was it almost out?

Dean, crouching down beside Sam, answered his unspoken question. "You passed out, dude."

Sam stared blankly at Dean, trying to remember when his brother had shown up. Too quickly it came back to him that Dean's comforting presence was simply his battered mind playing tricks. He coughed as he pushed himself upwards..

"How long?" His voice sounded thick, rough.

Dean quirked an eyebrow. "How long were you out?" When Sam nodded, Dean shrugged. "Hard to say. A while. Few hours, maybe."

Sam looked around him, wincing at the movement. He'd stiffened considerably while he was unconscious, the pull of taut, bruised muscles across his back and shoulder a loud reminder of the injuries there. His headache was still front and centre and his vision still fuzzy although improving. The pain in his knee, however, was nauseatingly sharp and seemed to be getting worse. Now, too, his throat was sore. He winced as he found the bruises on his neck, a souvenir from the male spirit who had grabbed him by the throat before throwing him across the clearing.

He looked down at his right leg, surprised to see it now encased in a rudimentary splint. He frowned as he tried to remember making it.

Dean sat down next to the fire and gestured to the splint. "Nice job, Dr. Winchester – especially given what you had to work with." He frowned at Sam's out-of-character lack of focus. "How you feelin'?"

"Like crap." Sam looked around him, dazedly. "What the hell, Dean? I thought the plan was get outta of here, not camp out."

"Guess you used up whatever juice you had left playing doctor." Dean's grin lit up his face. "Okay, that came out way dirtier than I meant it. Anyway, you finished splinting your leg, said 'See, good to go,' then keeled over." His grin disappeared as he took in his brother's confusion. "You know, if you're trying to worry me, Sam, it's working."

The sequence of events Dean described tumbled through Sam's head. He coughed as he fought back another wave of nausea. He'd been so focused on getting himself back to town, getting help for Dean, that he'd ignored the overwhelming exhaustion determined to fell him. In the battle between determination and exhaustion, exhaustion was the apparent victor.

Sam glanced behind him at the wreckage that had once been his shelter. After stumbling and stepping right out of his shoe in his quest to make the splint, he'd reclaimed the laces he'd used to lash together the branches But without the laces pulling the main branches together, the shelter had quickly fallen apart. Lacking the will or the energy to rebuild it, Sam had simply dragged a pile of the evergreen bows fireside to sit on while he rigged up the splint.

Sam hissed as he cautiously probed his injured knee with his fingers. Dean looked on worriedly. "How bad is it?"

Sam shivered as he looked over at Dean. "Don't think it's broken, or dislocated." He glanced down at bruised, distended skin now visible where he'd pulled open the pre-existing tear in his jeans.

Dean leaned forward to take a closer look. "Nah, but it's twice the size it should be and that can't be good."

Sam had to agree. He also knew that without the splint, there was no way it would hold his weight.

Sam had used his pocketknife to cut strips from his T-shirt and used those to strap two long, inch-thick branches to his leg. The stripped-down branches ran from mid-thigh to just above his ankle, down each side of his leg. The strips of cloth were tied above and below the knee, mid-calf and above the ankle, the splint now providing his leg the support and stability the injured muscles and ligaments couldn't.

"Sam." The younger Winchester blinked dazedly as he looked from his knee to his brother. "You're shivering, dude." Dean motioned to the fire. "You need to get that going again before it goes out completely."

Sam shook his head. "No, we need to go….."

"Sam!" Dean's voice took on the the commanding don't-mess-with-me tone he learned from their father. "Get warm first. The temperature's dropping. You get too cold, you're body's just gonna shut down and that's not gonna do either one of us any good."

Sam nodded, only then fully aware of the trembling in his limbs and chattering of his teeth. He groaned as he dragged himself toward the fire, his body driven more by instinct than conscious thought. He threw on some small twigs, then poked at the embers with a larger stick in an attempt to reignite the kindling. As it caught, he tossed on some of the larger twigs and branches he'd managed to collect earlier.

As the fire gained strength, Sam allowed himself to collapse in front of it. As much as he hated the delay, Dean was right. Just a few minutes to get warm then he'd be on his way. He lay on his side, slight tremors racking his body as he wrapped long arms around himself, trying to retain any warmth he could steal from the flames. He curled in on himself when hacking coughs ripped through him.

The worry lines in Dean's brow deepened. "Damn it, Sam. We need to get you help."

Sam coughed again before fixing Dean with an incredulous look. "You have a knack for the obvious, dude."

Sam was having hard time staying awake. He struggled to sit up, pushing himself up onto his elbow before collapsing again. "Damn it." He looked up at Dean, who had instinctively moved in to help the second his brother fell. "I've gotta get up," Sam mumbled, trying to block out all pain and exhaustion and focus on the main task at hand. "I've gotta find you, man. Make sure you're okay."

Dean rolled his eyes. "That tune's getting a little old, Sammy. First, you need to take care of yourself. Hate to point out the obvious – again – but you're a mess."

Sam suddenly sounded very young. "But you fell. I need to….."

Dean cut him off. "You can't take care of me if you don't take care of yourself first. You're exhausted, your knee's all screwed to hell, you can't see right, you haven't had anything to eat or drink in almost two days now…"

He saw Sam about to interrupt. "Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm barking up the obvious tree again, but dude, come on……" Dean sat down beside his brother, his tone softer. "Look, don't ask me how I know this but, I think I'm okay."

Sam's eyes snapped open and fixed on his brother. "What?" He coughed again as he struggled to sit up. "But, how…."

Dean shook his head. "I told you, I don't know. Just run with me on this one. I'm an idiot for lettin' myself get chucked off that bridge, but I'm not dead." He nodded as if trying to convince himself. "I know I'm not."

Sam stared at his brother, wanting nothing more than to believe that. Emotionally, he was on the edge and his eyes glistened. "Thanks Dean, I….."

Dean wrinkled his face in disgust. "Oh, now don't start goin' all girly on me, Sam. Stay focused. Top priority is getting you back to town, ASAP, and getting your banged-up butt into a hospital bed."

Sam.dragged a hand across his face before turning to face Dean. "I'm right with you on the getting the hell out of here part, but no hospital."

Dean snorted. "Good luck on that, Sam. Once Doc gets a look at the sorry state you're in, she's gonna lock you up in the ICU 'til you're 30."

Sam clenched his jaw stubbornly. "I'll just tell her no. She can fix me up at the motel. Hell Dean, you can ….."

Dean cut him off, shaking his head. "Ain't gonna happen, dude. In the whole time we've known Doc, you've never once been able to win an argument with her when it comes to medical stuff."

Sam sounded five. "Neither have you."

Dean shook his head, puzzled. "I know, and it pisses me off. I don't know whether it's a woman thing, a doctor thing, a woman doctor thing…."

Now it was Sam's turn to interrupt, smiling in spite of himself. "I think it's a Doc thing."

Dean laughed. "Yeah, I think you're right there, Sammy. Anyway she's gonna insist you check into Hotel Red Cross and I'm gonna be right there backing her up, every step of the way. So just accept it and put what little energy you have to better use and figure a way out of this mess."

"Who are you talking to?"

Both brothers turned to face the soft voice that had cut into their conversation. Mary, the spirit of the young woman Sam had encountered the day before, stood across the clearing watching Sam intently.

She looked around Sam curiously. "I heard your voice. To whom were you speaking?"

Sam answered without thinking, twisting his body wearily to face Mary. "My brother." He waved his hand in Dean's direction. "This is Dean. Dean meet Mary."

Mary looked puzzled, then hurt. "Are you playing a trick on me?"

Sam frowned. "What? No, of course not. I wouldn't….."

Dean cut him off. "She can't see me, dude." When Sam turned to face him, he shrugged. "Think about it. The two of us are on a closed circuit, which cuts her out of the loop."

Sam glanced between his brother and Mary, then back to Dean. "But you can see her?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, dude. You're makin' me up. I see what you see."

Sam turned back to face Mary. He smiled sheepishly at her confused expression. "Um… it's just….er…"

Dean frowned impatiently. "Spit it out, Sam."

Sam glared at Dean. Mary, who had been standing across the clearing, blinked out of sight and reappeared suddenly right beside Sam. He jumped, startled by her sudden closeness.

Dean jumped too. "Okay, tell her to stop that, tell her ……"

Sam frowned. "Dean…..

"I mean it, Sam….."

"Dean, shut up.".

Sam turned to see Mary, eyes wide, tilt her head quizzically. "You are a strange man, Sam Winchester."

Dean snorted, earning another glare from Sam.

Turning again to Mary, Sam shrugged. "I'm not usually like this." He smiled lamely. "I….. I have a head injury…..".

Mary's face fell. "Your injury – it's because I hit you?" Her eyes glistened with tears. "For that, I am truly sorry. I was angry I had allowed him to find me again. I lashed out, I….."

Sam frowned as he listened to Mary talk. There was something very formal about her speech.

He cleared his throat. "Mary, you said you were 18, right?"

Mary nodded.

"When were you born?"

Mary seemed bewildered by the question. Sam smiled, speaking softly. "Please. I'm just trying to sort things out – things that might help us both. What year were you born?"

Mary tilted her head, curious. "Eighteen-hundred and fifty-eight."

Dean let out a low whistle. "Whoa. She looks pretty good for a 130." He was now pacing behind Sam. "But what the hell has kept her spirit wandering the great outdoors for more than a century?"

Sam's vision had improved to the point that, for the first time, he could take in the details of the clothing Mary wore. Her long, dark skirt was torn at the hem, revealing the dirt-stained lace of petitcoats beneath. The left sleeve of her pink checked blouse was also torn, the fabric hanging from her elbow and revealing a slender forearm.

Sam smiled softly. There was a quiet strength to her manner, a natural warmth that told him, had they met in life, he would have liked her.

He grimaced as he shifted his weight. The warmth from the fire was making him sleepy and exhaustion and dehydration was threatening to fell him yet again. But he wanted to figure this out. He fought consciously to concentrate. "Mary, when you came here before you said you couldn't see after hitting your head, right?"

The fear and anger Sam had sensed in the spirit in that first encounter were back, this time painted clearly across her face. She nodded once.

"How did you get hurt?"

He saw her jaw set and her eyes flash as anger quickly consumed the fear. Her voice was steady. "He pushed me. He and another man forced their way into our home and he pushed me. I fell, and hit the back of my head. When I opened my eyes, everything was blurred.."

Sam closed his eyes as yet another coughing fit ripped through him. Dean crouched down beside him, his hand rubbing his brother's back as he'd done when Sam was sick as a kid.

Sam looked up at Dean, smiling tiredly. "Thanks, man. I swear I can feel your hand on my back." He snorted. "Forget hospital bed. I think there's a rubber room waiting for me when I get out of here."

Dean returned his smile. "Why? Just because you're out here moderating a chat between Caspar the Friendly Ghost and your imaginary brother doesn't mean you're nuts. You said it yourself, our lives are weird, man."

Sam laughed, which set off another round of coughing.

Mary's worry over Sam's distress turned into anger. "This man's attack on me amuses you?"

Sam's expression sobered quickly. "No, of course not." With difficulty, he pushed himself upwards again. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. Forgive me. What happened next?"

Mary's anger quickly dissipated, replaced by sadness as she fought to reclaim the memories. "Things are…..unclear. I remember shouting, and gunshots, being dragged outside – but I couldn't see, couldn't tell what was happening. The man who held me smelled of whiskey and tobacco. I tried to push him away but he was strong. I could not get away."

She looked at Sam, almost apologetically. "I remember little more until I awoke. I was lying on the ground, outside, and the two men were arguing." Mary paused, shifting uncomfortably at the memory.

Sam spoke softly. "Do you remember what they were arguing about."

Mary frowned. "Of course. They were arguing about me. The big man wanted to kill me, finish the job, he said. The other one wanted to just leave me." An air of defiance entered her voice. "I took the choice away from them. While they were arguing, I ran away.

"When they realized I was gone, the big man came after me." Her shoulders slumped slightly. "I still couldn't see very well so I was slow. I fell, a lot, and he caught up with me. But when he came near me I hit him. I found a branch near my hand and I hit him with it."

Mary's bravado suddenly evaporated and a scared girl replaced the resolute woman who had stood there moments earlier. "I killed him. He was lying there, his face bloody……

Dean stopped pacing. "I like her Sam. She's feisty. Could live without the cliffhangers, though."

Sam frowned at his brother before turning back to Mary. Unconsciously, he raised his hand to his blackened left eye. "So when you hit me, you thought….."

Mary nodded. "….that I was reliving that moment."

Sam's voice softened. "And what make you think you killed him?"

Mary's eyes glistened. "The other man, his partner, showed up. He looked down at the man I hit, and told me I killed him. I just turned and ran – and this time he did not follow."

She looked at Sam, her large, grey eyes confused, scared and angry. "But he found me again. As much as I despised him, as much as he frightened me, part of me was glad for it meant I had not taken a life." She twirled a strand of hair nervously, gazing unseeing into the distance. "But then it became obvious that was not the case. Now he and I share the same fate."

She turned to look at Sam, for the first time allowing her vulnerability to show. "He is always there, always chasing me. I just want to go home but I can not find my way. And I can not get away from him."

Dean studied Mary closely. "Okay, so now we know she knows she's dead. And she knows the guy chasing her is dead too. But does she know that this supernatural game of hide and seek has been going on for more than a century?". He turned to Sam. "Or that there's another spirit back at the bridge somehow involved? Or that what's happening to you is a nasty Simon Says version of what she went through?"

"Dean! One question at a time, dude." Sam felt light-headed, dizzy. "I think I know what's going on. I think….I…" The world around Sam started to swim out of focus. He heard Dean's voice but it distant.

"Sam you stay with me….Sam!"

Even turning to look at Dean was difficult. Sam's head suddenly too heavy for his neck to support. Dean's face was suddenly inches from Sam's but Dean's voice seemed a long way off. An intense, blinding flash of pain ripped through Sam's head as he focused on his brother's voice.

"Sammy, you stay with me. You're not dyin' out here. Not on my watch."

"Dean, I….." His brother's words spun through his head on fast forward as Sam felt himself falling……

xxxXXXxxx

Bobby walked down the hospital corridor carrying two cups of coffee.

He'd spent part of the morning talking to the Search and Rescue crew who had pulled Dean out of the water, thanking them for saving his 'nephew's' life and gleaning as much detail as he could about the rescue. Then he'd returned to the hospital and visited Jason Tait, the kid who'd put his own life on the line to help Dean.

His next stop was the local library, searching through newspaper records to look into the number of deaths linked to the bridge, and circumstances surrounding them.

The more information he gathered, the more convinced he was that Sam had not ended up in the river. The feeling was fed more by gut instinct than fact, but it was an instinct that had served him well through a lifetime of hunting. He was sure the spirit they had seen at the bridge the previous day was behind Sam's MIA status but he had some more digging to do to figure out how, not to mention why. Once he'd checked in on Dean, he was headed back to the library to see what he could find in local historical records.

Rounding the nurses' station and walking up to the doorway of Dean's ICU room, he saw Doc standing at his bedside. Her guard was down and the worry was etched plainly across her face.

"Doc? Somethin' happen?"

She looked up from the chart she was reading, offering Bobby a half-smile, shaking her head. "No – and yes."

At Bobby's puzzled reaction, she closed the chart and glanced down at Dean. "His heart rate and respiration are steady. The diuretics are doing their job - his lungs are clearing so he's off the ventilator….."

"So that's the good news," Bobby interrupted, glancing over at Dean who now had an oxygen mask strapped to his face in place of the ventilator. There were also small electrodes attached to each side of his head. "What's the bad?".

"His temperature is up. That's not completely unexpected, given the stress his body's been through, but it could be an early indication of pneumonia. We're also concerned that he still hasn't fully regained consciousness."

Bobby's heart sank. "Brain damage?"

Doc shrugged. "The MRI showed bruising to his brain, some mild swelling in the frontal and temporal lobes. Given time, they should heal without any medical intervention but, until he wakes up……"

Bobby frowned as he looked down at Dean and focused on the tiny electrodes measuring his brain activity. "What'd the EEG show?"

Doc sighed. "That's the most puzzling thing here. If someone showed me the results without me knowing the patient, I'd swear it was the brain activity of a conscious person."

Bobby's eyes widened as he looked from Doc to Dean and back again. "You tellin' me there's something more than a medical problem? Something connected to, um, our line of work?"

Doc shrugged again. "Could be. I'm just saying from a medical perspective, the facts don't exactly add up." She turned to face Dean, reaching over the bed rail to clasp his hand. "Dean, it's Doc. If you can hear me, squeeze my hand."

When there was no reaction, she tried again. "Come on, Dean. Where's the smartass we all know and love."

With still no response, Doc rubbed her knuckles firmly against his sternum. "Dean, come on. If you don't wake up, Bobby's going to let me drive the Impala – and you know what my driving's like."

Bobby put down the cups of coffee on the bedside cabinet and reached over the railing to squeeze Dean's shoulder. "You listen to Doc, ya hear me Dean? Hospitals are for sick people. You need to get your butt outta bed and help me find that brother of yours."

That got a reaction. The lines of the EEG monitor started dancing crazily across the screen. Under his closed eyelids, Dean's eyes moved rapidly back and forth. His head rolled across the pillow and his fists clenched as he fought against some unknown distress."

Dean's voice was barely above a whisper, muffled further by the oxygen mask. Doc and Bobby both leaned in and heard his words clearly. "Sammy, you stay with me. You're not dyin' out here. Not on my watch."

xxxXXXxxx

Mary watched as Sam slumped over, barely conscious. He lay beside the small fire he had built, sprawled on his side, his eyes blinking slowly.

"Sam Winchester?" There was no reaction to Mary's soft-spoken question. She knew little about this man but he had seemed kind.

The side of his face that was swollen and bruised from her misguided attack was now hidden behind the arm wrapped round his head as he fought against the pain that had felled him. With only the uninjured side of his face visible, he looked younger than she'd first thought. And far younger than her attacker she'd mistaken him for. Mary knelt down beside him and reached out to touch his face, tracing ghostly fingers gently down his cheek.

"I'm sorry." Her voice broke slightly as she offered her apology.

The sound of someone running through the forest on the far side of the clearing caught her attention. It was him. After all these years no skill was needed to recognize his heavy-footed gait.

She glanced down at Sam and smiled softly. "Don't worry. I will not let him hurt you. I owe you that much."

Her attacker lumbered out of the forest, stopping in his tracks when he saw her. Mary stood slowly, facing him defiantly.

"You knew I'd find you," he snarled. "I always do."

"But I'll get away." Her smile turned cold, her eyes flashing. "I always do."

She turned and ran, disappearing completely before she left the clearing.

The man roared in anger, before taking off in pursuit. He too took only a few steps before disappearing from sight.

Unseen by either spirit, Dean crouched beside his brother, a hand resting protectively on his shoulder. He had heard Mary's apology, then watched as she threw herself back into the ghostly game of cat and mouse that had been playing out for more than a century, drawing the second spirit's attention onto her and away from Sam.

He had also clearly seen Mary's attacker. He looked down at his brother. "There's no bruising on his face, Sam. I don't think she killed him. Doesn't explain why he's still here but I'm positive; that swing with the tree branch wasn't the home run she thought it was."

Sam's eyes blinked then a strange look passed over his face. Dean startled at the expression then worriedly scrubbed a hand across his face. He glanced around the clearing then looked down at his brother, shaking his head as if to clear it.. "I think we need a Plan B here, dude. No way are you walking out of this forest under your own steam any time soon."

Dean nodded, as if making up his mind on something. "Okay, Sam – here's the plan. I need to leave. I don't want to, but if I stay, we'll never find you."

He reached over and brushed his hand through Sam's hair, something he hadn't done in a long time. "You hang in there, you hear me. Don't you dare give up.

"I'm coming back for you, Sammy. I'm coming back"

To Be Continued ………

A/N: Another wrinkle, huh? Things are not quite as they first seemed. Fear not. All will be explained – eventually!!!!! Thanks so much for joining this little adventure with me; it's great to have you along for the ride. And virtual brownies to all who left reviews . The feedback fuels my imagination so, please, send some more.