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. This chapter contains some mild swearing and one not-so-mild curse.

A/N: Hey guys. Sorry about the longer-than-usual break between posts but I wanted to add some things to this chapter, change a few things around, blah, blah, blah. You've shown such incredible support for this story, I didn't want to post it until I got it just right, or as close as possible anyway. And hey, the boys are back together – hopefully that's worth the wait. Heather, thanks for your invaluable feedback. This story is better thanks to you. Enjoy!

BRIDGING TWO SOLITUDES

CHAPTER 12

Every instinct told Dean to pick up his gun and empty his clip into the spirit of Patrick Corrigan. And in his mind, he didn't hesitate. He fired bullet after bullet into the hulking spirit, each one payback for hurting his little brother.

Dean blinked, then frowned when he realized Corrigan was still looming over him. Why the hell was he still around?

Dean looked dazedly down at his hand. He was holding his gun but his hand hadn't moved. It lay limply on the ground at his side, where it had been since before Corrigan showed up. He glared at his hand, mentally barking at it to move, to curl tightly around the gun, pick it up and blast away at Corrigan.

But exhaustion and morphine had taken over, creating a disconnect between mind and body. Dean's mind, fuelled by instinct, was still firing off instructions but his body was ignoring them.

The voice inside his head grew louder, and it was pissed. 'Now, Winchester. Pick up the damn gun and shoot the sonovabitch.'

Corrigan took a step closer but still Dean's hand refused to move. He swallowed hard as Corrigan crouched down in front of him. Dean focused on the gun, concentrating on trying to pick it up. His thumb twitched lazily, instinctively knocking the safety off the Colt 1911 but his favorite gun, the one that usually seemed custom-fit to his hand, now seemed way too heavy. He just couldn't find the strength to pick it up.

Dean's vision swam and there were suddenly two Corrigans looming in front of him. He looked up to see a matching set of angry scowls. He groaned, quirking an eyebrow at one of the spirits. "As if one ugly-ass sonovabitch wasn't bad enough, now you brought your evil twin?"

Corrigan grabbed him by the lapels and slammed him into the tree at his back. Dean frowned. That should have hurt. A lot more than it did. A cocky grin slid lazily across his face as he stared back at Corrigan. "Give it your best shot, asshat."

Corrigan's scowl deepened and he hauled Dean to his feet, slamming him into the tree a second time. Dean heard himself grunt as the impact knocked the air from his lungs. Now that hurt. His grin contorted into a grimace as pain flared in his back. "Sonovabitch…….."

Corrigan's face hovered inches from Dean's. If he'd been angry before, he was royally pissed now. His eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted into a cold smile. "You're a cocky little bastard, ain't ya?"

Dean's breathing was rapid and shallow. He glared at Corrigan, then frowned when he realized he'd dropped his gun when the spirit had hauled him up. His head flopped limply forward and he stared at the gun on the ground.

Corrigan's gaze followed Dean's, and fell on the gun lying beside his captive. His smile turned smug and he let go of Dean. Unsupported, Dean's knees buckled and he fell heavily on his injured hip. He bit his lip, fighting against the pain and the nausea it ignited.

Breathing heavily, Dean peeled open his eyes in time to see Corrigan pick up the gun – his gun. The spirit ran his fingers over it admiringly before turning back to Dean. His eyes flashed viciously.

"This the gun you shot me with?" He raised it slowly, pointing it at Dean's head. "I think I should return the favor."

Dean lay on the ground, arm wrapped protectively around his injured ribcage and lacking the strength or the co-ordination to push himself up. He stared up at Corrigan and smiled. "I think," he slurred, "that's a really bad idea."

Corrigan's mouth curled into a snarl as his finger slowly squeezed the trigger.

"Leave him be."

Corrigan's head snapped to his right and saw Mary standing across the clearing. His finger relaxed on the trigger, and he shook his head as he glanced from Dean to Mary, his cold smile becoming a smirk. "First the whelp, now the cur. You really are a bitch in heat, aren't you?"

Mary's eyes flashed defiantly. "This man has done nothing to you. Why must you hurt him?"

"Nothing?" Corrigan snarled. "The little bastard shot me." His eyes narrowed. "Where I come from, if a man points a gun at you, you got every right to shoot him back."

Mary took a step closer. "He did you no harm. You are still here."

Corrigan looked down at the gun, then up at Mary. "Don't mean I'm fine with what he did." He smiled, then pointed the gun at Mary and fired. A look of shock briefly crossed her face before she dissipated.

Corrigan's vicious smile deepened as Mary disappeared. "Stings, don't it?"

Corrigan turned back to face Dean, who remained lying on the ground where he had fallen. The spirit took a step forward and pointed the gun at Dean's forehead. "For you, this might do more than sting."

A shotgun blast stopped him from pulling the trigger. The blast hit Corrigan square in the back and he dissipated, bellowing in surprise, as the gun fell from his hand.

Bobby ran up to Dean, shotgun still in hand, looking him over worriedly. "I heard the shot. You hit?"

Dean blinked up at Bobby in confusion. "Huh?"

Bobby frowned. "I saw Corrigan with your gun. Did he shoot you?"

Dean's brow furrowed further. "Somebody shot me?"

Bobby's frown deepened. He knew Dean had been in rough shape when they'd left for the chopper with Sam a few minutes ago, but he had still seemed clear-headed. Now the morphine really seemed to have taken hold.

Bobby quickly assessed Dean and sighed in relief when he found no bullet wounds. He picked up Dean's gun, stowed it in his waistband, then reached down to haul up Dean. "Come on. Time to go."

Dean nodded, his eyes blinking slowly. "Corrigan…..he came back."

"Yeah, Dean. I know."

With difficulty, Bobby got Dean up on his feet but the elder Winchester's legs were like rubber, refusing to support his weight. He flopped heavily against Bobby.

"Corrigan shot the girl…..the girl ghost."

Bobby's eyebrow quirked at that news, then he nodded. It explained the shot he had heard while running back from the chopper to get Dean.. "Well rock salt ain't gonna hurt either one of them permanently. You know that, Dean. Right now, we need to get out of here before one or both shows up again."

Dean nodded, struggling to keep his eyes open. "Kay…. Let's get Sam."

Bobby shook his head, wrapping his arm around Dean's waist and pulling Dean's right arm across his shoulders to better support Dean's weight. "Sam's all taken care of Dean."

"Sam's okay?"

Bobby nodded. "He will be."

Dean turned to face Bobby, pain etched clearly across his face. "That bastard hurt Sam. He shouldn't have done that, Bobby."

"I know, Dean. But we got to him in time." Bobby frowned. Dean's eyes were losing focus and his speech was becoming more slurred. "Come on. Sam's nice and safe, tucked away in the chopper with Doc. I'm gonna take you to him. Let's get the two of you patched back together, then we'll take care of Corrigan."

"Yeah." Dean frowned at his old friend. "Corrigan took my gun, Bobby."

"I know, Dean."

Dean's co-ordination was shot. Bobby was struggling to keep him upright and keep them both moving toward the chopper.

Dean frowned. "That pisses me off. I liked that gun – a lot."

Bobby nodded, straining against Dean's increasingly un-co-operative weight. "We got it back, Dean."

"We did?"

"Yeah."

"Good. I like that gun."

Dean, still leaning heavily on Bobby, scowled as he caught sight of the helicopter hovering above the trees. His head flopped onto Bobby's shoulder. "Flying sucks." His knees buckled and Bobby grunted as he was forced to shift quickly to support the extra weight. Dean flashed a hopeful smile at Bobby. "Let's walk."

"What?"

"Let's walk home."

"Dean it's about 95 miles as the crow flies. And, in case you hadn't noticed, only one of us is really walking here."

Dean considered this information. "We could stop for lunch. I'm buyin'"

Bobby bit back a smile despite his worry. "Sorry, Dean. Joe's waiting. And Sam's up there. You wanna be close by in case he wakes up, right?"

"Sammy's sleeping?" Dean frowned at the deafening thud-thud of the chopper as they stumbled out of the trees and into the clearing. "How the hell's he sleepin' through that racket?"

The chopper was now directly overhead. Bobby squinted upward and saw Artie lean out the open side door and flash him a thumbs up sign. He then swung the rescue litter out on the winch and lowered it down to Bobby.

After Dean's problems rappelling from the helicopter, Doc adamantly refused to allow him to be hauled up the same way. With the litter, he would be lying down and there would be no added pressure on his ribcage.

No longer able to fight the effects of the morphine, Dean put up little resistance as Bobby maneuvered him into the litter and gently pushed him to lie down. His frown relaxed as his eyes slid closed. He was sound asleep before Bobby had the final safety strap secured.

xxxXXXxxx

Sam was aware of voices long before he was able to peel his eyes open. The voices were fuzzy at first, distorted, and he had no idea what they were saying. But there was something familiar, something comforting about them and he relaxed just knowing they were nearby.

He rolled his head in the direction the voices came from but groaned when the movement ramped up his headache. He screwed his eyes closed as he waited for the pounding in his head to ratchet back down.

Sam gagged as he tried to swallow, grimacing at the pasty taste in his mouth that suggested he'd been asleep for a while. He listened again to the voices, concentrating on them, until they became clear enough to understand.

He smiled sleepily. One of the voices was his brother's. And Dean was pissed about something.

"Quit being a mother hen. I'm fine."

"You're not fine, Dean. Better, yes, but you're a long way from fine. And keep still or this is going to take me twice as long as it should."

Sam frowned as he recognized the second voice. It was Doc and she was obviously worried about Dean, who was complaining again.

"Ow. That's too tight.

"It's supposed to be tight. Now quit wriggling. God, you're worse than a kid."

"Am not."

Sam's frown relaxed into a soft smile as he listened to the exchange between Doc and his brother. If Dean was whining, he wasn't seriously hurt, or at least he was on the mend. But on the mend from what?

"Okay, you're really not going to like me for this…." There was an apologetic tone to Doc's voice, " but I need you to cough."

"What?"

"You've still got some fluid in your lungs and you need to clear it. So take a slow, deep breath, and then cough."

Sam's frown returned. What the hell was wrong with Dean?

Doc's voice was gently encouraging. "That's it, nice, deep breath. Now cough."

Sam's eyes snapped open at the cry of pain that followed the requested cough."

"Sonovabitch, Doc…Crap, that hurt."

There was a touch of guilt in Doc's response. "Told you weren't gonna like me much. Unfortunately, the best thing for your lungs doesn't exactly sit well with your cracked ribs."

Sam squinted against the bright light and to bring his fuzzy vision into focus. Cracked ribs? What the hell was going on with Dean?

As his vision cleared, it settled on his brother who was standing on the far side of a bed, a hospital bed, his back toward Sam. Dean's torso was bandaged and Doc had her arm around his waist, supporting him. He was hunched over and obviously in pain, his breathing rapid and raspy. Sam frowned at the bruising which extended beyond the bandages, up Dean's back and across his shoulders.

"Better now?" Doc's hand instinctively rubbed gentle circles on Dean's back to help ease his discomfort.

Dean's breathing gradually slowed and leveled out although Sam could still hear him wheezing, even from the other side of the room. His brother looked up to scowl at Doc. "Don't ask me to do that again."

Doc smiled, apologetically. "Sorry, no promises. If you want us to spring you from this place, we need to get your lungs cleared up." Her voice softened. "You want to lie down for a while?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah, it hurts to lie down. I'm gonna stand for a bit."

Doc nodded, picking up a white T-shirt from the bed and pulling it over Dean's head, before gently helping him thread his arms through the sleeves. Now Sam was really worried. Dean was obviously in pain and, if he was letting Doc help him get dressed, something was definitely up.

"What's wrong with you?"

Dean turned quickly at the sound of his brother's voice, the sudden movement eliciting a grunt of pain. "Sammy?"

One arm wrapped around his ribs, the other pushing an IV pole in front of him, Dean walked round the bed toward Sam, limping heavily.

Sam's frown deepened at his brother's unsteady gait. "You get….. the number of…. the bus that…… hit you?

Dean quirked an eyebrow. "Taken a look in a mirror lately?" Relief quickly overrode his smirk. "Man, it's good to see you awake."

As Sam turned to look at Doc, it registered for the first time since he'd woken up that he was in a hospital bed. Maybe the bus that hit Dean had rolled over him too. He grimaced as he tried to move. It sure as hell felt that way.

Sam closed his eyes, fighting against his headache to remember what had landed him in the hospital. Slowly, a door in his mind opened and memories of Dean's fall into the water, the bridge spirit's attack, being lost in the woods and his run-ins with Mary and her tormentor all tumbled through.

He opened his eyes and looked at Dean. There was a hitch in his voice he couldn't quite hide. "I'm not dreaming, right? You found me – it's real this time?"

Dean frowned, puzzled by his brother's question. He reached over the safety rail of the bed and squeezed his brother's arm. "Course we did. Was there ever any doubt?"

Sam nodded tiredly, concentrating on the feel of his brother's hand on his arm. "Yeah, for a while there…..." He saw pain flash across Dean's face. He gagged, trying to clear his throat. "I….I knew you wouldn't stop looking but….but I didn't know where the hell I was so how …how could you…." His voice trailed off as he fought to get his emotions under control.

"Hey." Dean cleared his throat and smiled. "Winchesters don't do chick-flick moments, remember?" His smile did little to mask his concern and, despite the macho posturing, his hand lingered on his brother's arm. He exhaled loudly, fighting to get his own emotions in check, and smiled again at Sam. "Remember what I said about lojacking your ass if you went missing again?"

Sam smiled weakly. "So not my fault." He scratched his chest, frowning at the wires he could feel through the thin cotton of his hospital gown, wires that obviously connected him to the bank of monitors he'd noticed behind Doc at the side of his bed. He also noted there were IVs inserted into the backs of both hands and there was a bulky clip attached to one finger.

He winced as he tried to move. He was weak, stiff and sore all over. His right leg, given the bulky outline visible through the blankets, looked like it was encased in some kind of cast. He knew he'd done a number on his knee when he fell, but just how bad was it?.

He gagged when, trying to voice his question, he became aware of something stuck at the back of his throat.

"Relax, Sam." Doc smiled at him reassuringly. "It's been five days since you disappeared. When you decided to keep sleeping on us, we had to get some nourishment into you, so you've got a feeding tube down your throat. Once we check you out, make sure everything's improving as it should be, we'll get rid of it, I promise."

Dean pulled a face. "If you think having it in sucks, wait 'til they pull it out." He shuddered, thinking back to his own experience after the collision with the demon-driven semi. "That takes sucks to a whole new level."

Sam's frown deepened. "Five days?" His voice was thick and weak from disuse and he gagged again as he fought against the intrusive feeding tube.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, dude. You were missing for almost three days before we finally tracked your ass down, and you've been doin' your Sleepin' Beauty impression for the past two."

After Sam had been found, Doc had got permission for the chopper to land on the hospital heli-pad. From there, both brothers had been taken straight to the ER. Jack Kendall, the ER chief, had raised an eyebrow when he recognized Dean but Doc and Bobby already had a cover story worked out.

Sam Remington, they told him, had been with Dean when his brother was researching his environmental studies thesis. When Sam had fallen and injured his knee, Dean had gone for help and that's when he'd fallen in the river. Given the head injury he'd sustained, he hadn't remembered Sam had been with him until some time after he'd woken up. Against medical advice, he'd insisted on joining the search for his brother which ultimately led to Sam being found but both boys landing back in the ER.

X-rays confirmed Dean now had cracked ribs to add to his long list of injuries, two in the front courtesy of the rappel from the helicopter and one in the back thanks to Corrigan slamming him into the tree. His lungs had yet to fully clear and there were early signs of pneumonia. He was placed back on oxygen, and an IV once again administered antibiotics to fight off infection. By the time he was ready to be shipped upstairs to a room, he was awake and protesting loudly about not knowing what was going on with Sam.

In the ER, the swelling in Sam's throat had worsened, forcing them to insert a breathing tube to keep his airway open. The head injury was another major concern but tests showed no bleeding in the brain. As with Dean, they'd have to wait until Sam regained consciousness to fully assess the extent of the head injury, but his breathing problems and dehydration were enough to land him in the ICU for the first 24 hours.

That had been the worst time for Dean. He was on a different floor, in pain whether he was standing up or lying down, and couldn't seem to get a satisfactory answer from any of the doctors or nurses he peppered with questions about his brother's condition. Bobby had stayed with Dean, trying but failing to calm him down, while Doc had gone with Sam to the ICU. Once Sam was settled in, Doc headed downstairs to give Dean the update she knew he was chomping at the bit to hear.

Arriving on Dean's floor, she'd found him about 20 feet from the elevators, obviously headed for the ICU. He was leaning against the wall, fighting to catch his breath as Bobby tried in vain to convince him to wait.

"Sorry, Doc." Bobby smiled apologetically. "But short of tying him down…..

"I know. I…."

Dean interrupted. "How's Sam?"

Doc smiled softly. "Still sleeping. He's responding well to the fluids he's being given, and the swelling in his throat isn't getting any worse. Those are both good signs. I know I'm asking the impossible, but try not to worry, okay?"

Doc eyed Dean worriedly. His chest was heaving from the exertion of walking from his room to the elevators. "What about you? I'd tell you to sit down but that probably hurts a helluva lot more than standing right now. You steady?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, but you're right about the sitting part….. lying down too." His arm curled protectively around his ribs. "Both hurt like a sonovabitch. I'd rather stand." His jaw clenched stubbornly. "And, before you say anything, I'm not goin' back to my room 'til I see Sam. I need to see for myself he's okay. "

Doc shook her head. She'd dealt with Winchester stubborness long enough to know when not to fight it. "Fine. I can't blame you for that. But wait here – just for a minute. Deal?"

Dean nodded curtly and Doc disappeared down the hallway. She returned a few minutes later and injected the contents of a syringe she carried into the IV Dean was dragging with him.

"What's that?"

"Morphine." Doc smiled. "Don't worry, it's a much lower dosage than I gave you before. It'll help with the pain but you won't be quite so loopy. You'll feel sleepy but….

Dean frowned, pushing himself off the wall and limping toward the elevator. "Loopy? I don't get loopy."

Bobby smiled. "Yeah, Dean. You do." Bobby held open the door of the elevator that had just arrived. " It's the only reason I can think of for what you said to that nurse in the ER."

Dean scowled at Bobby as he shuffled into the elevator. "What? What'd I say?"

Bobby just shrugged, biting back a smile. Dean turned to Doc, who just shook her head and hit the button for the ICU floor. "Sorry, Dean. That kind of talk makes me blush. Come on, let's go see your brother."

Despite his worry, Dean's surprised expression slowly turned to a smirk as the elevator doors closed. "Did I at least get her number?"

Once he arrived in the ICU, Dean's difficulty breathing had little to do with the congestion in his lungs. He always had a hard time when Sam was sick or hurt. A part of him always blamed himself; he should have protected Sam more, taken better care of him. It didn't matter than Sam was a grown man, more than capable of taking care of himself; since the age of four Dean had felt it his responsibility to keep his brother safe. Seeing Sam lying in the bed in the ICU, a machine breathing for him, he couldn't help but feel he'd failed.

"Don't do it, Dean." Bobby rested his hand on Dean's shoulder, easily recognizing the elder Winchester's guilt. "What happened to Sam, it's not your fault. He'll be fine. He just needs time."

Dean nodded as he shuffled towards Sam's bed. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the safety rail and looked down at his brother. "Hey, Sammy. I, um, need you to wake up, okay? Then we'll get the hell outta here – go find a hunting cabin somewhere, kick back with some beers until you're feeling better. You can tell me about Stanford, I can tell you about girls – it'll be fun."

Doc and Bobby had left him alone, talking quietly to Sam, while keeping a concerned eye on him through the observation window of the ICU room. Doc had put an end to the visit only when, exhaustion obviously taking its toll, she had seen Dean start to sway.

Dean had relaxed a little more the following morning when Sam was taken off the ventilator and moved out of the ICU and into the same room as Dean. He'd been horrified when they'd told him the feeding tube was necessary, willing Sam to wake up and tell them to shove it, he wanted a salad instead, but his brother showed no signs of stirring.

Now, almost 48 hours after they arrived at the hospital, Sam was finally awake. Dean had hovered anxiously as Sam was put through the expected barrage of tests, bombarding the doctors and nurses with questions and grilling Doc some more if he didn't get the answers he wanted.

He'd smirked, but said nothing, when two beefy orderlies were brought in to help Sam on his first foray out of bed. Sam had been promised crutches once they were sure he was steady on his feet but, first time out, he was stuck between Carlos and Ray, their muscular arms offering support as he learned to manouvre with his leg in the brace protecting the torn ligaments in his knee.

Sam glared at Dean. Standing there in a gown that barely reached his knees and didn't fasten at the back, he was flanked by two big guys he'd just met who each had their arms wrapped round his waist. Knowing Dean, he was about to get it with both barrels. But Dean, after watching the effort it took for his brother to make it across the room, just smiled, adding a quiet "Good job, Sam. We'll both be out of here in no time."

Once settled back in bed, Sam looked over at Dean. His brother must have been really worried to overlook such prime teasing fodder. Or maybe he was just tired. After spending most of the morning shuffling around the room and the hallways beyond, harassing Sam's doctors and nurses, Dean had finally been ordered back into bed to rest. Sitting up was still torture on his cracked ribs so he was flat on his back, mildly comfortable after another shot of morphine.

When Sam had been taken from the room for tests, he'd used the separation from Dean to pepper the doctors with questions of his own, about his brother's health. He knew he wasn't going to get a straight answer from Dean. Doc was the most forthcoming and Sam had blanched when she'd filled him in and he realized how close he'd come to losing his big brother.

It was early evening before the steady stream of medical professionals moving in and out of their room dwindled to the occasional visit from a nurse to check the monitors or their IVs.

Doc leaned in the doorway to the brothers' room, shaking her head. Dean was out of bed again. He was standing at the side of his bed, an arm still wrapped protectively around his ribs. He was pale, the dark circles under his eyes testament to the physical and emotional ordeal he'd been through over the past week.

Sam didn't look much better, especially given his battered face and bruised neck. She could see him gagging against the feeding tube which his doctor had insisted remain in place until the following morning. He was also antsy, and that was something she could help him with.

"Hey boys." She smiled. "I think you've probably had enough medical visitors for one day so we're going to leave you alone – after we take care of one more piece of business."

Dean frowned, "What business?"

Doc walked into the room carrying a pair of crutches. Holding them upright, the armrests of the crutches were level with the top of Doc's head. She smiled at Sam. "Obviously, these aren't for me. Feel like making a solo trip out of bed?"

Dean's eyebrows arched in surprise. "You think he's ready?"

Doc nodded. "I wouldn't be offering if I didn't. Sam?"

Dean shuffled to the end of his bed. 'I don't know, Doc. He looked kind of cozy before, sandwiched between Carlos and Ray. Maybe we should call the brawny brothers back in to make sure Sam doesn't land on his ass. He can be kind of klutz, you know."

Sam shot his brother a look, then pushed himself up in bed with a grimace. "Let's do it, Doc."

Doc moved to the far side of Sam's bed, leaned the crutches against the wall and lowered the safety rail on the bed. She offer a steadying hand as Sam slowly pulled himself out of bed, Dean noting every wince and grimace as he did so.

Dean frowned. "You sure he's ready? What about the feeding tube thingy? What about.."

Doc turned to face Dean. "Now who's being a mother hen? The sooner Sam gets up and moving under his own steam, the sooner he gets out of here. I'm not taking him on a 10-mile hike – just across the room and back."

"But…"

Sam cut off his brother's objection, settling himself onto the crutches Doc had handed him.. "It's okay, Dean. I wanna do this – on one condition."

Dean eyed his brother suspiciously. "What are you talking about?"

Sam smiled at Dean and waved his arm weakly at the opposite wall. "I make it to that wall without landing on my ass, and you have to cough."

Dean's eyes widened. He had no idea his brother had been awake earlier when Doc put him through the torture she referred to as a breathing exercise. He shook his head. "No. No way, Sam. That hurt like a sonovabitch. I'm not doing it again."

Sam's jaw clenched. "Fine, then I'm not walking and we're both stuck in here. That make you happy?"

Dean glared at his brother. Sam waited expectantly.

Doc shook her head at the battle of wills playing out before her. "Guys, please……"

"Fine." Dean hated caving first. "But only because I want out of this place as much as you do." He glared again at Sam. "You really are a little shit."

Sam's grin lit up his battered face. "I'm not little."

It took Sam a few steps to get into the rhythm of swinging his braced leg and his crutches but he soon crossed the room. Doc followed behind, guiding the IV pole and watching carefully for any signs of unsteadiness. There were none. Sam was slow, but moving across the room under his own steam.

Mission accomplished, Sam turned to face Dean, breathing heavily but his grin widening. "Well?"

Dean's face fell. He turned to Doc, looking for sympathy. "Do I have to?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "What are you – six?"

Doc smiled encouragingly. "Come on, tough guy. Just a deep breath in, then cough."

Dean coughed softly.

Sam snorted. "What kind of wimpy-ass cough was that?"

Doc bit back a smile. "I, uh, wouldn't have put it quite like that but, he's right Dean. You're trying to clear your lungs. Come on, do it again."

Dean scowled at his brother but did as instructed. His face contorted in pain as he coughed and the anticipated pull on his ribs lived up to his fears. "Fuck, that hurt!"

He looked up to see Sam's face contorted in sympathy. "Oh no. Don't you give me that 'I feel you pain' crap. This is all your fault."

Sam grinned. "Willing to do it again if I can make it back to my bed without wiping out?"

Dean's scowl deepened as he looked from Sam to Doc. He couldn't wimp out on a challenge even if it was going to hurt like hell. "This is some kind of evil let's-torture-Dean conspiracy you two cooked up, isn't it?

Doc laughed. "It may not seem like it Dean, but it really is for your own good."

"Fine." He turned his glare on Sam. "Just get your ass back in bed, Samantha, and let's get this over with."

Sam grinned but, if he was being completely honest, the trip across the room had wiped him out. His jaw clenched as he concentrated on moving forward and keeping himself balanced. By the time he reached his bed, his chest was heaving with the exertion. He pulled himself gratefully back in to bed, wincing as Doc gently lifted his braced leg back onto the support pillows.

He dropped his head back and rolled it across the pillow to face Dean. "Well?"

With an exaggerated eye roll, Dean breathed in and coughed. The expected curses followed but stopped abruptly when a look of alarm crossed his face.

Worried, Doc walked quickly to his side. "Dean?"

He swallowed, disgust quickly replacing the alarm. "I, uh, coughed up something."

Doc smiled in relief. "That is the point, Dean."

"No, that's gross."

Doc's smile widened. "Come on." She gave Dean's arm a reassuring squeeze. 'Let's get you back in bed. You've been wondering around enough for today. You need to rest."

Dean opened his mouth to object then closed it without saying a word after catching the look Doc gave him. It was one that clearly told him he wasn't going to win this fight. Muttering something that Doc was convinced sounded like 'you're not the boss of me,' he pulled himself gingerly back into bed, wincing as he tried to find the least uncomfortable position to lie in.

Doc nodded at Dean. "Please, stay put, okay? You really do need the rest."

Dean nodded. "Don't worry, I'll be good." He caught Doc's raised eyebrows. "What? I can be good."

Doc fought hard to bite back a smile, as she turned to Sam. "And you. Good job with the crutches but don't get any bright ideas about trying them out again unsupervised. You feel the urge to go wandering, hit the call button first, okay?"

Sam nodded. "Thanks, Doc."

Doc returned his smile, before pointing a finger at Dean. "I mean it, Dean. Stay in bed."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes, ma'am." Doc shot him another look and his eyes widened innocently. "What? I got it. Be good. In bed." His innocent expression became a full-fledged far-from-innocent grin.

Doc shook her head, muttering something about 'incorrigible' as she left, closing the door behind her.

Dean's smile faded as he turned to look at his kid brother. The swelling in Sam's black eye had started to subside and bloodshot white was now visible surrounding the familiar hazel.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "All macho crap aside, Sam, how you doin'?"

Sam rolled his head across the pillow and stared at Dean. "All macho crap aside, I feel like crap. But better than I did this morning, at least. "What about you?"

Dean opened his mouth to answer, then thought better of it. For a moment, all traces of bravado disappeared. "You scared me, Sammy. I thought……"

"Yeah." Sam looked over at Dean. "You scared me too, Dean. When I saw you go in the water…..and I couldn't get to you……I….."

Dean nodded, clearing his throat. "Listen, um, I'm a little fuzzy on how I ended up flyin' off that bridge. Care to fill in the blanks?"

"It was the spirit, Dean. She just picked you up and threw you over the side. I tried to get to you, to jump in after you but she grabbed me first. She……."

Dean's eyes widened. "Jump in after me? Are you nuts?"

Sam stared back at his brother. "What was I supposed to do?. Stand there and watch you drown?"

Dean's face crumpled. "Well, no, but…..I….you... Dammit, Sam, we need to get rid of Aggie once and for all."

"Aggie?"

Dean frowned, suddenly realizing Sam had been out of the loop for a while and may not have all the details of the mess they had landed in the middle of. "Agnes Graham. That's the bridge's spirit's name. She's ….."

"Mary's mom," Sam finished.

Dean nodded. "So, the spirit out in the bush – that was Mary, huh?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "She saved my butt, Dean. More than once." His voice was soft but there was no mistaking the determination. "We need to help her."

Before Dean could answer, there was a knock on the door. It opened quickly and Bobby walked into the room.

Sam smiled. "Hey, Bobby. Thanks, for….you know. Thanks."

Bobby nodded. "You know I'm there for you, Sam. Any time."

Dean frowned. "Where'd you go, Bobby? Doc said you left this morning to check something out. What?"

Bobby looked from Sam to Dean. "I've been trying to find out where they buried Corrigan so we can take care of him once and for all. Problem is, he was a drifter, not from around here and a criminal. When they hauled his body out of the bush, he got a pauper's funeral and an unmarked grave. I've been combing cemetery records all day trying to find out where they stashed the bastard."

Sam's stomach roiled as he thought about Mary. "But we are gonna be able to find him, right."

Bobby nodded. "Oh, I'll find him. We've just got a bigger problem right now, somethin' I should have picked up on earlier."

Dean grimaced as he tried to haul himself up in bed. "What?"

Bobby adjusted his ballcap. "All the attacks by Agnes, we wondered why there weren't more? It's because she can only appear for a finite amount of time. The attacks all take place between the day Mary was kidnapped and the day Agnes threw herself off the bridge."

Dean frowned. "I'm not exactly firing on all cylinders yet, Bobby. What am I missin'?"

Bobby returned Dean's frown. "Tomorrow is the anniversary of Agnes's death. If we want to get rid of her, we have to do it before tomorrow night."

To Be Continued

A/N: Hands up everyone who thinks Kripke should work loopy-on-morphine Dean into the TV show? I saw that Heather: both hands in the air still only counts as one vote! Hope you enjoyed the boys back together in the brief R&R (rest and recuperate) portion of the story. It's back to ghost busting next chapter, which (fingers crossed) should be up this weekend. Thanks so much for reading and, please, let me know what you think!