An Old Haunt for a New Hunt

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Had you fooled, didn't I?

Disclaimerx2: Obviously, I'm not in the medical field – so any errors are my own. I did my research, but if you are in the medical field, well – I'm sorry for any glaring mistakes. Corrections are welcome so I can improve!

As a return favor, if any of you ever decide to write a story about a poltergeist bent on destroying the EBITDA of a publicly traded company, I'm your gal. (c:

Special Thanks: A big shout out to Jubilea who helped me hash through a certain section (you know which one) of this chapter three times, and after all of that suffered through a complete chapter revision. Your suggestions are invaluable.

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I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair, and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them? So, now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe.

as said by the character, Marcus, on Babylon 5.

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Sam shouted out to his brother as the woman reappeared and pushed Dean from behind. As quickly as she appeared, the woman disappeared again. Dean teetered for a moment, and almost regained his balance, when he was suddenly jerked forward into the icy depths of the lake.

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Sam reached the end of the dock and searched frantically for any sign of Dean submerged beneath the surface. "Dean!" he called out reflexively. He knew he could not obey his every instinct to jump into the water after Dean. The cold water or the ice would get them both. He could hear someone shouting behind him, but he ignored them. His only concern right now was finding his brother.

Sam suppressed a moment of panic. He would find Dean, and he would be fine. He had to believe that, or he would not be able to function. He could feel unwanted despair settling into his bones, when he caught a glimpse of something moving in the murky water.

Without thinking, without contemplating a strategy, or a plan, Sam laid on the dock on his belly. He plunged his arms into the frigid water hoping he could grab Dean. The fact that whatever it was that had pulled Dean into the water in the first place was probably still nearby, never entered his mind. 'Almost there, damn it!'

Sam scooted further up to the edge of the dock on his stomach. His entire upper body was off the dock now, balanced precariously with only the weight of his hips and legs keeping him anchored on the dock. This time when he reached down, dunking his entire upper torso under the water, he was rewarded for his efforts when numb fingers registered the texture of fabric.

He gripped Dean's jacket firmly with his right hand, but he could not gain purchase on the jacket with his left. Rocking his hips left and right, he was able to slowly inch his way backwards onto the dock.

Dean was floating, no longer cold, no longer troubled by the anything. He could not remember the last time he had not been worried, okay, he might call it concerned, for his dad, or Sam, or that he would ultimately fail to keep anyone in his family safe. It always seemed ironic to him that Sam thought he was the one who was cursed, that he was the reason everyone died.

Sam was just a baby when mom was killed. He had heard Sammy crying, but he was tired, and when he had heard their mom talking to Sammy he thought Sammy would be fine. He should have gone in there too, and then things may have turned out differently. He had been the one backing up their dad from the minute Sam left for Stanford. As far as he was concerned dad had died on his watch. Hell, even Jessica had been fine with Sam until Dean showed up, and dragged him back into the family business kicking and screaming. Well, kicking, hitting, and yelling anyway.

And then, there was Sam, the most important member of his little family. The one person who never seemed to judge him inferior, or rebuff his one and only true gift to those he considered family. With one rare exception, Dean only offered his gift of love to the precious few he called family. He knew his father loved him, but Sam returned the gift in kind. Easily demonstrating how much he loved his big brother when he was little, returning every hug, looking at him with something akin to worship in his eyes. Dean never regretted for a moment any sacrifice he had made for his family.

Dean's worst gut-wrenching fear was that he would not be able to save Sam from whatever evil destiny the demon had planned. That he would fail in this too, and lose his little brother forever. He remembered now, the spirit in the lake had pulled him into the water, and he was drowning. He would not be able to save Sam, he was dying. 'I'm sorry, Sammy,' he thought before the darkness came, and swallowed him whole.

Sam's chest was half-way back on the dock, and he flexed his biceps pulling Dean's upper body out of the icy water, and into the frosty air. The weight of his brother added to his own caused the deck to cut into his chest, and squeeze the air from his lungs. Sam panted shallowly from the exertion, but did not slow his attempts to scoot backwards along the dock, rocking his body until his bent elbows made contact. Digging his elbows and knees into the dock, Sam pulled Dean upwards, and arched his body until Dean was on the dock.

Sam wasted no time pulling Dean along the dock to the slushy bank where he could assess Dean's condition. For the first time, Sam realized Dean's eyes were open, and glassy. His skin was blue in several places, and white in others. With cold, trembling fingers, Sam felt for a pulse while he bent his head down listening for respirations. Not finding any signs of life, Sam gently tilted Dean's head back, and gave two quick breaths.

The voice from before, materialized as a young teenage girl in front of him. She was saying something to him, but his panicked brain could not slow down long enough to comprehend. When she grabbed his face, and forced him to look at her, his mind connected to his body, grounding him.

"I called for an ambulance," she said slowly. "Let me help, I know CPR."

"No!" Sam shouted in misplaced anxiety, shoving her away from Dean. "I have to do this."

"I understand," she replied softly approaching slowly. "But, you don't have to do it alone. Let me take over breathing, you sound as if you are struggling for air yourself."

This time, Sam allowed her to take a spot next to Dean, and he moved further down Dean's chest. He could not seem to get a grip on his anxiety. He could not slow his shallow, labored breathing, or stop the fine tremors running rampant through his body.

"He has a pulse, it's just really slow," the girl said looking back up at Sam.

"Are you sure?" Sam asked not really believing her words.

"I'm sure, but I can't tell if he's breathing, so I'm going to administer rescue breaths until the paramedics get here."

It seemed like hours passed with him kneeling in the slush, the cold and wet soaking through his jeans, as she breathed for Dean, and Sam knelt next to him, helpless to do anything. Without warning, Dean violently coughed up water, and Sam turned him quickly on his side to let the water drain. "Dean, are you okay?" Sam asked the concern evident in his voice.

"Tell me you got that bitch," Dean demanded in a harsh whisper.

"Sorry," Sam replied with a small relieved laugh. He vaguely heard the ambulance sirens through the haze, but he still jumped when the paramedic touched his shoulder.

"We'll take over now," the paramedic said. He quickly assessed Dean's condition and placed an oxygen mask over Dean's nose and mouth. Dean made a feeble attempt to remove the mask.

"I'm fine," Dean protested, his breath fogging up the oxygen mask.

"Sir," the paramedic started.

"Dean," Sam said in a tone that both corrected the paramedic, and berated his brother.

"Dean," the paramedic continued. "You need to leave that on." Sam watched as they took Dean's vitals, and started an I.V. Dean's charm necklace kept getting snagged by the paramedics as they worked on Dean, and one of the men made a move to remove it.

"I'll take it off," Sam protested irrationally. With hands that would barely follow his commands, he slid the necklace off Dean, and pocketed it in his coat. Black dots appeared in Sam's vision, and he knew the quick, shallow breathing and the tightness in his chest meant he was about to pass out. 'Damn it, pull yourself together,' he mentally chastised himself. 'You have to be here for Dean.'

He was ashamed of his behavior, but he could not seem to control it no matter how hard he tried. He wavered on his feet, and felt hands try to steady him, to force him to sit down. He fought back, sluggishly, but his body was no longer cooperating. 'I'm sorry, Dean,' he thought and lost his battle to remain conscious.

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An annoying electronic beeping woke Sam from his sleep. He slowly became aware of his surroundings, and he realized he was in a hospital. The annoying beeping was a heart monitor. He tried to sit up, but was stopped short by restraints on his wrists. 'What the hell?' Sam thought. For a brief moment, he thought maybe the police had figured out who they were, and he was in custody. But, the rational side of his brain kicked into gear, and he recognized the restraints were of the garden hospital variety, and not handcuffs.

Sam was breathing easier again, but somehow it did not feel right. His body was extremely tired, and his right side felt almost numb. He looked around, hoping to catch sight of someone walking by his door. He was moments from calling out, when a nurse walked into his room.

"Mr. Richards, you're awake," the nurse remarked in surprise. "I'll get the doctor." She quickly left the room and disappeared.

Sam laid his head back on the pillow, and sighed loudly in frustration. He needed to find Dean, he needed some answers, and he could not do anything as long as he was literally tied down. The nurse re-emerged with a doctor in tow. "Mr. Richards, I need to run you through a couple of simple tests to assess your condition, and then we can discuss what happened to you."

"Where's Dean, where's my brother?" Sam asked impatiently interrupting him. His voice sounded hoarse and his throat was sore. "How is he?"

The doctor smiled and asked, "Dean is your brother? We assumed you were related based on your names, but we didn't know for sure." Sam sighed deeply, and the doctor correctly guessed his mental state. "He is suffering from moderate hypothermia. He is not in any danger, but he is unconscious. According to Melissa, he was under water for less than two minutes before you pulled him out. The relative short time in the water, combined with the immediate life-saving measures, and the cold temperature of the lake, all worked in his favor," the doctor rattled off.

"I want to see him," Sam stated by way of reply.

"I'm afraid that is impossible," the doctor said with a look of empathy. "Although we inserted a chest tube with a flutter valve, you should not be moved from this bed until we remove it. Gillian, you can remove those restraints now. Obviously, Mr. Richards is fully awake, and alert."

"Right away, Dr. Polson," Gillian replied. Sam caught sight of Gillian's bright, geometric patterned shirt out of the corner of his eye when she removed the restraints. Once his hands were free, Sam fingered the nasal canula. It explained part of the strange feeling he experienced while breathing.

At Sam's questioning look, Dr Polson returned the conversation back to Sam's condition. "You have two broken ribs," at Sam's nod, he knew it was a previous injury and continued, "The strain of pulling your brother out of the water caused one of those ribs to shift and lacerate your lung. You suffered from a condition known as pneumothorax causing the lung to partially collapse. We were forced to insert a chest tube to relieve the pressure and re-inflate your lung. The paramedics intubated you, so if your throat feels dry or raw, that is a possible side effect. Also, there appears to be a pre-existing respiratory infection, and low grade fever, so we are administering a round of intravenous antibiotics. In your semi-conscious state you tried several times to remove the chest tube, and that is what necessitated the restraints."

"The doctor I saw before mentioned walking pneumonia," Sam confessed and then abruptly shifted the conversation. "I still need to see my brother." He knew he was being unreasonable, but the need to see for himself, that Dean was breathing, was overwhelming.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dr. Polson replied his kind, blue eyes reflecting genuine regret. "Dean is in ICU as a precautionary measure right now, and two beds just won't fit in those rooms. We may be able to move Dean in as little as eight to twelve hours, and then we can look into moving you to the same room."

"That's too long," Sam protested struggling to sit up again. "Dean needs me." He could not explain the overwhelming sense of urgency he had to see his big brother. He felt if he did not see Dean soon, something awful would happen. With dawning realization Sam understood it was a desire born out of historical experiences. Having his brother return from the brink of death, twice in the past year, had been an excruciating ordeal. He lived in constant, unvoiced fear that Dean was going to die, and even worse, that when that day came it would be to save him.

Sam felt warmth spreading through his body, and he realized they had drugged him with either a painkiller or a sedative. Not that it mattered, his body was betraying him, growing heavier and heavier, until he sank deep into the hard mattress and fell asleep.

Down in ICU, warning alarms sounded as Dean's heart monitor chugged in erratic disrhythmia.

Dean walked through a long corridor with doors on all sides. Small, dim lamps on tables scattered periodically by the doorways lit the corridor. Dean tried several of the doors, but they were all locked. No need to kick down a door when there was no way of knowing which door led out of here, or to Sam.

Further down the corridor, a door opened slowly, and a very familiar man with brown hair, wearing blue jeans and a leather coat emerged. "Dad," Dean whispered. Of all the people who could have appeared before him at this moment, he doubted anyone would have surprised him more.

"Son," John acknowledged with a nod.

"What are you doing here, Dad?" Dean asked. He waited for his father to continue, shifting impatiently from his left foot, to his right.

John placed his hand on Dean's shoulder and replied, "I'm not really here, kiddo. You know that, but you're walking around somewhere you shouldn't be either. You should be with your brother."

"I should be dead. You never should have made that deal, Dad!" Dean snapped attempting to walk around his father.

John blocked Dean's passage. He shook his head and smirked. "You really are thick-headed sometimes, you know that, Dean?" He shook his head, "I guess you come by that honestly. This is the place you are not meant to be. Sam is waiting for you back in the hospital."

"Then why are you here?" Dean asked his eyes scanning his father's face. "I'm trying to find Sam. I'm trying to take care of him, to save him. I'm not running away from him."

"I know you are, son, but you're headed the wrong direction," John insisted. "You need to turn around and fight to go back. That's an order, Dean go back while you still have a choice."

Dean looked down, and wavered on the edge of indecision. It could be a trick of his mind, or it could somehow really be his father. When he looked back up, his father was gone. He turned on his heel and ran back down the corridor in the opposite direction.

"Sam!" Dean sat bolt upright in bed. He sat there for several seconds, his chest heaving trying to pull in enough oxygen. He needed to find Sam. In an act of desperation, Dean pulled out his I.V. and applied pressure to staunch the blood flow. He ripped the heart monitor pad off his chest, swung his legs off the bed and stood up quickly.

"Bad idea," Dean moaned when the room spun out of control. He sat back down on the bed, and took several breaths as deep as he was able. When his vision cleared Dean stood up again, slowly this time. The room still lurched, and his stomach flipped in protest. With small, hesitant steps Dean made his way across the room, and out into the hall.

Getting past the nurses' station and into Sam's room was disturbingly easy in Dean's opinion. In the hospital staff's defense, it was a small community hospital, and Dean was a trained hunter. His hand shook as he reached forward to pull back the white curtain. Dean stared helplessly at Sam as he lay unconscious in the hospital bed.

He thought back to a time when he and Sam were both younger. When Sam's injuries were easily fixed with band-aids and hugs, and when he first made the vow nothing would be able to get past him again and hurt his little brother. That was so long ago. It had not taken long to learn that nothing was certain, no matter how much you tried. That life was unpredictable and random, and while beautiful, it could also be painful and even violent. He remembered with startling clarity, despite the passage of time, the first time something as simple as a cold had morphed into a nerve-jangling experience.

Dean wiped the sweat from Sammy's face with a cold washcloth pushing his too long curls away from his forehead. "Dad will be home soon, Sammy," he said.

Sammy turned his head towards Dean. "It's okay, you're here," he replied weakly.

Dean smiled reassuringly, his brother's confidence in him overwhelmed him. Dean was only ten, but he knew that a temperature of 103 degrees was dangerous. He was not at all sure he could handle this without his father, but he would never let Sammy know that. "That's right, I'm here, and you'll be fine," he replied with a confidence he didn't feel.

Dean stood to get more Tylenol for Sammy. As he turned to leave, Sammy grabbed his arm. "Don't go, Dean," Sammy protested.

Dean looked back at Sammy, and smiled. "I'm not going anywhere, kiddo," he replied.

"Never, ever?" Sammy asked his hazel eyes glassy with fever.

"Never, ever," Dean promised.

"Mr. Richards!" Dr. Polson shouted his blue eyes flashing in frustration.

Dean snapped back to the present time, and stared past Dr. Polson at Sam.

"Mr. Richards!" Dr. Polson repeated.

'Oh, right, he was Mr. Richards, the guy with the insurance,' Dean thought. He spared a glance at Dr. Polson in acknowledgement. Dean tried to step around the doctor when he walked in between him and Sam, but was stopped short by Dr. Polson.

"Listen, Dean, I want you back in your room. You aren't doing your brother any favors, right now," Dr. Polson ordered.

"I'm not leaving him," Dean insisted taking his eyes off of Sam to glare the doctor. Dr. Polson's thinning brown hair was brushed in a sweeping comb over. His nametag was partially concealed by the Daffy Duck tie he was wearing. 'Great, Sam's doctor is a quack,' he snorted amused by his own joke.

Dr. Polson grabbed Dean's arm and said, "If you don't go with the nurse right now, I'll have you forcibly removed."

Dean's green eyes narrowed, and flashed angrily. He shrugged out of Dr. Polson's grip. If there was one thing the entire Winchester family had in common it was that they did not respond well to threats. "You would regret that," Dean answered calmly.

Dr. Polson realized his approach was a mistake, and for a moment he was actually afraid of the man in front of him. He had no doubt Dean meant what he said, and that he was capable of following through on his threat despite his weakened condition. Discretion being the better part of valor, Dr. Polson abruptly switched gears. "Vicky, grab Mr. Richards a wheelchair please," he called to the nurse in the hall. Turning his attention back to Dean he stated, "Dean, I'm sorry, but you aren't strong enough to be out of bed right now. I will allow you to stay with Sam for ten minutes, if you sit down in the wheel chair, and leave with Vicky when the time is up."

"I'm not leaving," Dean replied obstinately. He was nearing the end of his endurance, and did not think he could manage to stay on his feet much longer. He started reaching for the bed rail to maintain his balance but decided against it. There was no way he was giving that doctor any ammunition to use against him.

"Sam is doing quite well, actually," Dr. Polson supplied. "One of his broken ribs lacerated his right lung. We were forced to insert a chest tube to re-inflate his lung, but he has made steady improvement." Dr. Polson laid a reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder. "We may be able to remove it as early as tomorrow afternoon."

Dean could hear Dr. Polson giving Vicky instructions to have another bed brought in before he felt the wheelchair gently press against his legs, and the hand on his shoulder steadied his descent. He heard retreating footsteps, and he was alone with his brother.

Leaning forward, Dean resisted the urge to grab Sam's hand. He was shocked by how pale Sam looked, and somehow Dean knew Sam had hurt himself helping him. He leaned forward and whispered harshly in Sam's ear, "You need to be more careful. Do you hear me?"

Sam's eyes chose that exact moment to flutter open. "Dude, personal space," he croaked.

Dean sat up quickly, and covered his embarrassment at being caught hovering by quipping, "I was just trying to figure out what that smell was. When's the last time you showered, man?"

"Nice," Sam replied sleepily. He shifted slightly to get a better view of his brother, and squinted into the dim light. "You okay?"

"I'm better than okay," Dean answered flippantly. "I'm devastatingly handsome and charming."

"Pffft!" Sam sputtered. He was having a hard time keeping his eyes open; the drugs were obviously still in full effect. "Seriously, are you okay?"

"I'm good," Dean replied. "What about you?"

"I'm good," Sam slurred with a deep yawn. He coughed several times, and groaned.

"You sound like it," Dean replied sarcastically. He looked over as two orderlies pushed another bed into the room. They jammed it into the small space by the door, and left. Vicky came back into the room with another nurse in tow.

"Gillian is going to help me get you into bed," Vicky said.

"Yeah, okay," Dean agreed tiredly. He noticed Sam was struggling to stay awake, and figured Sam would not go back to sleep until he was at least in bed.

Vicky pushed Dean over to his bed, and set the brakes on the wheelchair. She folded up the footrests, and moved them to the side. Dean's head nodded until his chin dipped almost to his chest. He looked up at Vicky when she touched his arm. "Are you ready?" she asked.

"I'm always ready," Dean replied in a suggestive tone with a grin, and was rewarded with a blush from Vicky. "But, I don't think Sam here would appreciate that." He attempted to stand back up on his own, but a couple of feeble tries later, he gave up.

Vicky and Gillian gripped his arms carefully, and maneuvered him into the bed. "Good night, guys," Vicky said before leaving.

"Thanks, Vick," Gillian called out to Vicky's retreating form.

"Sure thing," Vicky's voice came from the hall.

Gillian smoothed the blankets on Dean's bed. She switched on the light above him, and pulled the side table closer. Gillian expertly prepared the supplies on the table. After dabbing Dean's arm with gauze dipped in Betadine, she started to re-insert the I.V. "No," he declared hotly grabbing her wrist.

"Dean, the doctor wants," Gillian started her brown eyes reflecting concern.

"I don't care what he wants," Dean interjected. "I said, no."

"All right, I won't," Gillian agreed. When Dean failed to release her wrist she patted his arm with her other hand. "It's okay to let go now."

"Sorry," Dean apologized pulling his hand away. He took note of the angry red marks on her wrist where his fingers had dug into her flesh. He met her eyes, and apologized again.

"Don't worry about it," Gillian said gathering the supplies. She turned off the light and walked out the door.

"Dean, you should have let her take care of you," Sam scolded. His voice sounded far away, and Dean noticed his eyes were closed.

"Go to sleep, Sam," Dean shot back without any real heat.

"You first," Sam taunted.

"I'm the oldest," Dean reminded him needlessly, and folded both arms behind his head. "I don't have to go to sleep when you do."

"That's not fair," Sam played along. He yawned, and winced at the pull on his chest.

"Life's not fair, so go to sleep and get over it," Dean said voicing his standard reply. When he received no further response from Sam he looked over to the other bed and discovered Sam had fallen asleep.

Dean's thoughts drifted from Sam, to the case. He did not know how long they had been at the hospital, but he was willing to bet it had been several hours at the very least. It was only two weeks away from the spring equinox, and there had been only one death so far. The spirit was obviously ready to cause another death, and they could not afford the delay. Unable to avoid the pull of slumber any longer, Dean drifted off into a fitful sleep.

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AN: For the record, I've never watched Babylon 5, but I loved the quote. (c:

TBC – feedback always welcome. Thanks for reading!

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