A/N: Thanks again to Annonie for the beta -- you've got the perfect antidote for my comma issues and you helped fan the flame of disaster in this part.

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Equinox – Part 2

It was 6:00 p.m. and dusk was beginning to settle in. John and Dean were outside on the porch while Sam leaned against the front door propping it open with his hip. Sam tried to suppress a shiver and plastered a smile on his face to cover it. It was in vain because Dean and John saw right through him.

The two older Winchesters had already packed the car up and were bidding Sam farewell.

Dean told Sam to hold his hand out and slapped a cell phone into it. "Now don't lose this. Call me whenever you want," Dean said as he settled a hand on Sam's boney shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.

"Actually, you shouldn't call us," John said with finality, causing Sam's anxiety to spiral higher. "Our cells will probably be turned off until we've dealt with the problem. We can't afford any distractions."

John took in the sickly look on Sam's face and tried to soften the blow. "You'll be fine, son. We'll be back in twelve or so hours. You won't even notice we were gone," John tried to boost Sam's flagging morale. He could see Sam was valiantly trying to hold himself together. If they stayed any longer John wouldn't be able to go through with his plan. He wasn't immune to Sammy's distress; it was breaking his heart

"Dean, let's hit it. Sam, see you in the morning," John said as he shouldered his bag before heading out the door.

Dean gave Sam's shoulder one more squeeze before holding his hand up to his ear and making the universal sign for 'call me' while mouthing those same words. Dean then winked, forcing a cocky grin on his face, and followed John down the stairs.

Sam was left standing there bereft. After locking the door he went to the window and watched first his Dad, in his shiny new truck, pull out followed by Dean in the Impala. He wrapped his arms around his middle and placed his forehead against the window.

Catching a slight movement in the reflection of the window, Sam spun around only to find the room empty. His heart began to race. There was nothing there. He forced himself to take some slow, deep breaths to calm down. Things were not off to a good start.

Sam made himself move across the room and sink down on the couch. He plucked a book off of the coffee table and tried to concentrate. He sure hoped the antics of Tom, Becky and Huck would keep him occupied. At least for a while. He had twelve long hours to kill.

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Sam moved off of the couch and wandered into the kitchen. He grabbed a container out of the fridge and thought about chugging right out of the carton but decided that was gross. Scrounging around the cupboard he located a glass and helped himself to some milk. He thought about making a sandwich but he was feeling a little jittery and decided to pass on food for now. After rinsing his glass he drifted back out of the kitchen and looked out the window. The book was good company but it wasn't the same as having Dean there with him. He missed Dean.

Sam had settled in his bed after his impromptu visit to the kitchen. For a while he was able to immerse himself in his book but right now, no matter what he did, he just couldn't get comfortable. Head propped on hand, leaning against the headboard…it didn't matter what he did because his attention kept wandering toward the clock while he shifted around. It was fast approaching midnight.

In the midst of turning a page the lights flickered off, flared back on momentarily, and then plunged Sam into darkness. Sam was so petrified he couldn't move.

What was that noise? Was someone in the house with him? Sam felt vulnerable and thought of JT and the kidnapping debacle. At least JT couldn't hurt him anymore. But what if someone else had broken into the house?

Sam gathered his courage before reaching across the bed toward the night stand where he grabbed his prize -- a Maglite. He quickly turned it on and felt relief pour through him as it burned brightly. Before his heart rate could slow back down the Maglite started to fade.

"No, th-this can't be happening," Sam stuttered out. "Think!"

Yes! There was a hurricane lamp in the kitchen. Sam grasped the wavering Maglite and bracing his hand against the wall moved carefully toward the kitchen. He remembered to avert his eyes as he passed the mirror in the hallway. Now was not the time to get caught up in a game of hide and seek with something that wasn't there.

Sam pulled the hurricane lamp off of the counter and grabbed matches out of the utility drawer. He started to breathe easier as soft light filtered through the kitchen.

He knew he was breaking the rules but he wanted to hear a friendly voice. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the cell phone and yelped in surprise as it began to ring. Pausing a moment, his heart in his throat, he tried to normalize his breathing before fumbling to answer the call.

"Sammy? What took you so long to answer?" Dean's concerned voice echoed in Sam's ear.

"Sorry. I'm having some technical difficulties. The power's out," Sam explained as he tried to hide the tremors in his voice. His eyes continued to flit around the kitchen. The hurricane light was better than nothing, but it still cast creepy shadows on the wall.

"Sam, I know you're not going to like this, but you need to go into the basement and flip the breaker switch in the fuse box," Dean said as calmly as he could. The wiring in the house was old and the power periodically went out, but it was easily fixed by the flip of a breaker.

"You're right. I don't like it," Sam said softly. But going into the basement to reset a breaker on the fuse box was something that wouldn't have bothered him before his kidnapping and he was determined to get back to that point. Even if it killed him.

"Relax Sammy. I'll stay on the line while you take care of this. It'll be a piece of cake. You'll see," Dean encouraged Sam. Dean was finally alone in the kitchen of another hunter's house, bored out of his mind. The hunt had been a bust.

When Sam didn't immediately respond to Dean's inspirational pep talk, he continued on in the same vain, "I'm telling you, kid. It's a can of corn." Both boys had become enamored of the phrase while watching baseball games since some of the announcers uttered it when an easy fly ball was hit into the outfield. It made absolutely no sense to them but they loved it nonetheless. Dean was just trying to inject some levity into the situation and 'a can of corn' never failed to elicit a smile.

"Thanks Dean. It's easy and I can handle it. Got it," Sam said as a smile reluctantly twitched across his face. "I'm heading for the basement door right now,' Sam intoned.

"Good. That's really good. Give me a play by play description here," Dean cajoled. For some reason he felt nervous as his little brother prepared to go into the basement. He knew he was just picking up on Sam's anxiety, but he'd feel better hearing Sam's voice. And he could have sworn he'd heard his brother smile. He wished he could have been there to see it because Sam's smiles were few and far between lately.

"Turning the knob, pulling the door open, stepping down…hang on a sec, I need to adjust the phone and the candle so I can grab the railing…" Sam's voice trailed off as he heard a noise behind him. He drew in a breath sharply and whirled partially around.

"Sammy…" an icy whisper echoed from within the kitchen

Sam stopped in his tracks. Afraid to return to the kitchen and afraid to continue into the basement he hovered frozen on the first step.

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"Sammy? What was that? I heard something," Dean demanded on the cell phone. The phone was suddenly filled with static but he thought he heard another voice. Dean stormed out of the kitchen and signaled to his Dad before he started moving toward the door. He had to get home. He had to get to his brother.

The Winchesters had finished up their business – a pack of wild dogs were at the root of the problem instead of werewolves – by calling in the humane society. They'd waited around in the shadows until the police and animal control had shown up with tranquilizers and carted the troublesome mutts off. Dean had been able to talk John into heading home before dawn but John wanted to wait at least another couple of hours. He had some catching up to do with an old acquaintance and thought the wait would do Sam some good.

John intercepted Dean before he could make a break for it. "Dean, you're on the phone with Sam, aren't you? I can't believe you'd disobey me like that. Sam's never going to get…" John was shocked into silence as Dean breezed by him.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" John demanded as he followed Dean out into the street.

"Something's wrong. I was on the phone with him and then nothing," Dean responded as he rushed over to the Impala.

"Just wait. Tell me what's going on. We'll figure it out together," John reasoned as he followed Dean to the car. He could sense something was wrong.

"There isn't time," Dean responded as he gunned the engine and tore out onto the hard road. He would deal with his Dad later. After he knew Sam was okay.

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Sam, phone clutched in one hand and hurricane lamp in the other, felt the whisper of breath on the nape of his neck. Gathering his courage he finished turning around and gasped. The pale face of John Thompson was maliciously shadowed by the light of the hurricane lamp.

But John Thompson was dead, his spine crushed by a speeding vehicle as he fled the Winchesters. The ghost of John Thompson?

Everything coalesced in Sam's mind. The feeling of being watched, the cold drafts, the movement in the mirror. John Thompson, the ghost, had been stalking him for weeks now. So that was why he'd been so emotionally off balance. It wasn't all in his mind.

At least Sam knew what he was dealing with now and he knew how to protect himself. Stepping up and forward Sam's left foot touched the kitchen floor. He had to get to the salt.

Sam didn't have a chance to go any further before the kitchen door, which Sam had left ajar, rapidly slammed shut. It painfully collided with the center of Sam's forehead in the process.

Sam literally saw stars and swayed back. His foot met air as he fought for purchase and he barely had time to cry out, "Dean!" before he tumbled backward, ass over teakettle, striking each basement stair before landing awkwardly on the concrete floor.

The cell phone and hurricane lamp tumbled through the railing. The cell phone shattered as it made contact with the unforgiving cement but the hurricane lamp landed on a pile of rags. The rags, soaked in turpentine by a previous tenant, ignited in a soft whoosh. Smoke lazily drifted upward.

Unconscious as soon as the back of his head struck the first step, Sam lay partially on his right side and partially on his back. His left arm was stretched out toward the stairs as if in casual greeting. Sam wasn't awake to hear the chilling laughter lilting down from the kitchen.

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The Impala screeched to a halt outside of the house. Dean noticed the house was shrouded in darkness and grabbed a flashlight out of the backseat before he sprinted for the door. As he jammed the key into the lock dread burned in the pit of hisstomach.

Bursting into the living room he bellowed at the top of his lungs for his brother. Silence greeted him. As did the smell of smoke.

Dean pulled out his phone and punched in 911. Moving toward the kitchen, he could see the way the smoke thickened in the beam of his flashlight and he felt tightness in his chest.

"911. What's your emergency?" a young woman's calm voice queried.

"There's smoke, I think a fire, and I can't find my brother. I'm checking the basement now," Dean responded as calmly as he could.

"Sir, please stay on the line. What's your address?" He frantically gave the address before disconnecting the call. Staying on the line wasn't going to help him find Sammy.

Dean snatched a dish cloth up on his way to the sink and ran it under cold water. The smoke was really beginning to tickle his nose and throat. He couldn't even imagine how Sam felt now. No, don't go there. You've got to hold it together.

Dean cautiously reached out and touched the doorknob. It wasn't blistering hot like he'd anticipated so he whipped the door open. Heavy smoke billowed out and he held the wet cloth over his nose and mouth.

"SAMMY! Answer me!" Dean screamed before succumbing to an attack of coughing. He couldn't see anything and grasping the flashlight tightly with one hand and the railing with the other he started to descend into the basement.

He could hear crackling off to his left but the stairs seemed to be holding up under his weight so he pressed on. He had to find his brother.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs his foot nudged something. Dropping to his knees he thrust his hands out and felt a leg.

The smoke was so thick now he couldn't halt the harsh coughs erupting from his body.

Dean was out of his mind with worry. Sam was ominously still.

Although he was unsure of Sam's condition,Dean realized he couldn't wait another second or both of them would be trapped in the basement. The smoke was so thick it wouldn't be long before he passed out. Discarding the flashlight, he reached forward and found the bend in Sam's legs and then his torso. Pulling Sam up as gently as he could by the arms,he leaned forward and allowed Sam's weight to carry him over Dean's shoulder. Grasping Sam around the back of his legs, Dean unevenly rose and staggered up the stairs.

Dean tried to hold the wet cloth over his nose and mouth to filter out the smoke, but the harmful smoke continued to seep through. His lungs were burning and he couldn't stop the coughs wracking his body. He lunged into the kitchen as if crossing the finish line and was startled when he bumped into someone.

"I've got him, Dean. Come on," John Winchester's voice rumbled in his ear. Dean felt Sam's weight shifted off his shoulder and then someone, his dad grabbed him by the elbow and lead him out of the house.

An onslaught of hacking overcame Dean and he dropped to his knees as he sucked the cool air into his heated lungs. But his thoughts were elsewhere. Sammy. How is he?

"Easy Dean. Conserve your energy. The paramedics are here and they're going to give you some oxygen. Then we're going to go to the hospital with Sam," John said, his voice gentle as he rubbed Dean's back. Dean's panic over getting to Sam coupled with his own reservations about leaving his youngest alone had culminated in John hitting the road right after Dean's exit.

Dean's harsh barking as he tried to clear his lungs of the thick smoke was a sharp contrast to the way Sam had lain in John's arm with complete stillness, in utter silence.

Dean frantically grabbed his Dad's arms and stared wildly into his eyes. John wanted to give him something to hold onto, something positive, but he was at a loss for words.