An Old Haunt for a New Hunt

Disclaimer: Supernatural is owned by Kripke and the CW. I'm just having a little fun.

Thank you, Jubilea for proof-reading. It is always appreciated!

A special thank you to Phoenix, I hope you know why.

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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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"Sam, are you awake? Sam?"

Sam groaned low in his chest, and attempted to open his eyes. He wished she would go away. Shouldn't he be allowed to sleep? On the second attempt, Sam managed to pry his eyes open, and squinted against the bright light. He tried to speak, but all that he managed was a hoarse, grating whisper, "Where's Dean?"

"Sam, try to take it easy. We need to assess your condition before we attempt to remove the chest tube," a woman in bright white clothes replied.

Sam licked his lips, and tried clearing his throat before he asked again, "Where's my brother? Where's Dean?"

"He's fine," the nurse replied with a guilty look on her face.

'You're lying. Why are you lying?' Sam thought. "Where's Dean?" he asked a third time. This time he struggled briefly to get up.

"Sam, you need to relax," Dr. Polson replied stepping into view.

Sam was surprised to see Dr. Polson. It was if the man never went home. Sam grabbed the bed rails, and struggled to sit up. The pull on his ribs set off a round of fresh coughing leaving Sam panting in shallow breaths.

"You see, that is why you need to relax," Dr. Polson reprimanded. At Sam's glare he added, "Dean doesn't appear to be in the hospital."

"He left?" Sam asked incredulous. He was genuinely surprised Dean had left without waiting for him to wake up this morning.

"Perhaps, but he didn't really mention where he was headed," Dr. Polson said evading Sam's true question. Seeing his patient struggle to move again, he sighed. Apparently both brothers were equally mule-headed. "He stayed with you until after breakfast, and then he was gone. I suspect he stepped outside briefly for a bit of fresh air."

"What, you mean you don't know?" Sam asked. His voice lacked the ferocity his eyes conveyed.

"He left after signing discharge papers, but he didn't leave word with anyone. Trust me, he wouldn't stay gone long with you here. I think he thought he could leave for a while and no one would notice. It's a very small hospital. We noticed," Dr. Polson replied not without a note of sarcasm.

"I'm leaving," Sam stated simply. He was relieved to find the I.V. and the heart monitor had already been removed. He pushed the blankets down the bed, until he could kick them off his legs. It was not hard for Sam to figure out where Dean had gone, and the thought of Dean at the lake without backup was not a pleasant one.

"We need to run some tests before we release you," Dr. Polson insisted. At Sam's continued struggles he added, "Your body has been through a great deal. We need to make sure you are ready to have the chest tube removed first."

"I'm leaving," Sam ground out. He succeeded in sitting up. He sat on the bed, breathing deeply, and sweating from the exertion.

Dr. Polson lowered the bed rail. "If you can stand up, and walk out of here, I won't stop you," he stated pompously.

With a steely resolve, Sam swung his legs off the bed. His head was swimming, but he managed to get both of his feet resting on the cold tiled floor. In another instant he was up, and then, he wasn't. Knees buckling, vision graying, Sam fell towards the floor. Dr. Polson reached for Sam, and wrenched his back as he swung the taller man back onto the bed. Sam gripped the bed sheets in his fists to ground himself.

"You boys are incorrigible," Dr. Polson moaned pressing his hand into the small of his back to relieve the muscle spasm. "Trina, I could use some help in here!" he shouted.

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Dean awoke slowly, drifting upwards through layers of sleep. The first thing to return was his hearing. The thrumming beat of rock music echoed in his ears, thumping insistently on his nerves, and forcing him further into awareness. Feeling came next, and the cold seeping into his bones pushed him the final step.

Dean opened his eyes, and took in the interior of the Impala. He remembered then, his oh so logical reasons for hitching a ride to the lake to retrieve the car. They could not risk the weapons in the trunk being discovered, or too many questions being asked. It seemed like a very easy task this morning. He had convinced the nurse, Vicky, to drive him out to the lake at the end of her shift this morning. He figured it would only be twenty minutes round trip, and he would be back before Sam was even awake.

What Dean had not counted on was just how quickly he would tire. After checking on the integrity of the trunk, he had sat down in the car to rest. He must have fallen asleep. Stretching carefully, Dean decided he was not feeling too bad, really. Sleeping in the Impala was more restful than the taco bed or the hospital had been. He started the car to check on the battery, and was pleased when she fired right up. Dean was not sure how long he had been sleeping, but it had been a long time, too long. Sam was sure to be awake by now.

He was busted either way, so Dean decided to investigate the area around the lake before returning to the hospital. Sam was safer where he was for now anyway. Dean had not asked how Sam had managed to end up with a tube in his chest, but he could figure it out with little effort. Sam had been hurt getting him out of the lake.

The spirit had lured him out onto the dock easily; her damsel in distress act was very convincing. He mentally berated himself for making such a rookie mistake. "When you see people in danger, you just react, Dean. You never think about the danger to yourself. It's going to get you killed one day, if you're not careful!" Sam's voice from a previous argument bellowed in his head.

"Leave me alone, Sam," Dean grumbled. It seemed, even when he was not here, Sam was still a pain his ass.

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"We're almost done, Sam," Dr. Polson spoke reassuringly. "A few more sutures and we'll be there."

"Good," Sam replied succinctly. Obviously, this was not the first time he had required stitches, but it was one of the few times he could remember he had received a local analgesic beforehand. Previously, he had either been unconscious or fully awake and at some motel room while his dad or Dean carefully and expertly sutured his injuries. This was different. He felt a numb, tugging sensation, but no sharp pain as the needle entered his skin and the thread pulled through his flesh.

"All done," Dr. Polson said with a smile. He patted Sam on the arm, and walked over to the sink. He removed his gloves, and washed his hands before returning to Sam. The nurse cleaned the area, and applied gauze dressing while Dr. Polson listened to his lungs for what felt like the umpteenth time today. "Okay, Sam, it sounds good," Dr. Polson remarked. "Don't get me wrong, there is definitely fluid in your lungs, but you have good respirations in both lungs."

Sam pushed himself into a sitting position, and announced by way of reply, "If you're done, then I'm leaving."

Dr. Polson ran his hand through his thin hair, and sighed loudly. Working in a small town hospital, he had seen more than his share of stubborn farmers, but these two boys were testing his patience. "Sam, what's the hurry all of a sudden? Dean is fine, and you could really use some more down time. A shower, some lunch, maybe even, oh, I don't know, rest for awhile, allow your body to heal."

Sam knew the doctor was frustrated with his behavior, but he could not explain himself. After all, 'My brother was sucked into the lake by an angry spirit, and I'm afraid he's there now trying to get himself killed,' really would get him an extended stay in the hospital. Only this time, it would be under psychiatric care.

"I can shower at the motel," Sam replied instead. "We have a deadline to meet at the paper, and…." Sam's voice trailed off. He realized he really did not know how much time had passed since they were at the lake. "How long have I been here?" he asked suddenly.

Dr. Polson looked up at the clock, and did a quick calculation. "At approximately 13:30, it will be forty-three hours, since you and Dean were brought in," he answered.

'Two days? He'd lost nearly two days?' Sam's mind whirred. He was sure now, that Dean was investigating at the lake, as there were only a few hours of daylight left. He had tried calling Dean's cell before the doctor removed the chest tube, and had not been able to reach him. "That means I have to hustle to get my story in on time," Sam replied with a calmness he did not feel. "I'll sign the papers, and head back to the motel."

"I'll have the papers drawn up," Dr. Polson said, resigned to the fact his patient was leaving whether he felt he should or not. "By the time you're done showering, and getting dressed the papers should be ready."

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was a blatant stalling attempt, and he could see right through it. "I'll be ready to go in ten minutes," Sam replied. He stood up carefully, and took a couple of minutes to regain his equilibrium. "Make that fifteen," he amended reluctantly. With slow, measured steps, he gathered his clothes, and made his way to the shower.

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Dean parked the Impala near a small cabin by the lake. He slowly exited the car, and stretched taut muscles. His phone jangled with a loud, tinny sound from inside his pocket, and Dean pulled it out to look at the caller I.D. The readout was partially missing, but Dean could read enough to see it was Sam calling him. He stood there, debating whether or not to answer the call for several seconds before flipping open his phone.

"Yeah?" Dean asked. He heard the mechanical notes of a lost signal, and looked at the readout on his cell. Either the battery was dead, or the water damage from being submerged in the lake, had killed his phone. Pocketing the phone, Dean knew he should let Sam know he was okay, and that he would be back for him soon. However, he was not going to waste the opportunity to investigate. He would stay away from the lake, but he was going to talk to the family who lived in the cabin. He would figure out a way to get in touch with Sam later.

Dean walked up the sandy path to the door, and took note of the name on the mailbox. A blonde woman in her thirties answered the door on the third knock. She had a toddler boy resting on one hip, and Dean could see two older girls running around inside the house. The boy was pushing a finger up his nostril, and pulling it out with a long, ropy line of mucous attached. The mucous strand disappeared as the boy sucked it into his mouth. Dean blinked hard several times, and tried without much success to keep the disgusted look off his face. Dean was grateful Sam had never done things like that.

"Ma'am, I work for the Star Tribune, and we're doing a follow up piece on the drownings that have occurred here at the lake. Would you have a few minutes to talk to me?" Dean asked throwing on his best, fake polite smile.

"Yah, sure," she replied opening the door wider to allow Dean to step into the house. "It's been such a terrible thing, don't ya know?"

"Yeah, I do," Dean replied. Maybe he should have waited for Sam. Sam was so much better at this empathy thing than he was. Dean followed the woman through the front of the living room and into the kitchen. It was yellow. The walls and curtains were both yellow, the Formica tabletop was yellow, the linoleum was yellow, and even the appliances were a '70's gold color. A metal cross hung in the bay window of the kitchen catching the afternoon light, and tossing sun-cats onto the walls. If it were any more cheerful in this room, Dean would seriously have to vomit.

The woman gestured Dean a seat, and turned to the counter. She handed a cookie to the little boy, who then squirmed to get down and ran off. "Would you like a cookie, Mr…?" she asked.

"Richards, but call me Dean," he supplied. His stomach rumbled. He would very much like a cookie, but the image of the booger-boy kept him from accepting one. "No thanks, I just had lunch. Mrs. Knutson," Dean began.

"KUH-nutson," she corrected. "You pronounce the 'k', but you can call me Patty. You really are from the cities, aren't you?"

"Yeah, it's that obvious, huh?" Dean asked.

"That's okay, sweetie," Patty reassured him, taking a seat at the table. "So, what is it you want to know then?"

"Have you seen anything unusual down at the lake?" Dean asked his green eyes watching her face for a hint of hesitation or deception.

"What do you mean, by unusual?" Patty asked with an uneasy expression on her face.

"People down by the lake that shouldn't be, unexplained noises, lights…spirits," Dean explained.

"Music?" Patty asked softly, her blue eyes cast downward.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Music?" Patty repeated. "Sometimes, I hear music down at the lake. My husband thinks I'm crazy."

"Are you sure it isn't kids, maybe on the other side of the lake? You know how noise travels over water," Dean asked.

"You think I'm crazy too, but it isn't some teenage party on the other side of the lake. I've heard those too, but this is different," Patty replied. She played with a strand of hair that had come loose from the hairclip, wrapping it around her finger, and then unwinding it several times. Dean waited for her to continue. "It sounds almost like crying at times, soulful and sad, almost like a loon."

"Like a loon?" Dean asked raising his eyebrow and tilting his head fractionally. He had thought for a moment that she may be able to lead him in the right direction. Now, he wasn't so sure.

"Yes, sometimes it is a loon, sometimes it simply sounds like a loon. Most of the time it sounds sad," Patty answered. She gave Dean an uncomfortable glance and added, "And now you think I'm a loon." She sighed softly, and took a sip of coffee.

"People think I'm crazy too," Dean told her with a smile. "It doesn't make me wrong."

"Thanks," Patty replied. "Are you sure you don't want a cookie, sweetie?"

"Nah, I'm good," Dean said standing up, and handing her a card with Sam's cell phone number on it, "I have to get going, but if you think of anything else, give my associate, Sam, a call. Unfortunately, my phone isn't working."

"Yah sure," she replied standing up and walking him to the door. "You take it easy."

"Sure," Dean acknowledged and turned to head down the walk.

"Dean," Patty asked. "You aren't affiliated with the reporter who stopped by here last year, are you?"

"Ah, he said he worked for the Tribune?" Dean asked turning around to face her.

"Actually, he said he worked for some yellow journalism rag, but I can't remember the name," Patty replied.

Dean stopped short in his tracks and turned around to face Patty. "Do you remember what he looked like?" he asked.

"About your height, scraggly beard, brown hair, very rugged," Patty replied shading her eyes from the setting sun. "He was actually a little dangerous looking if that makes sense."

"Yeah, I guess it does," Dean replied his mind going in a hundred different directions. "I'll be in touch if I need any more information."

"You bet," Patty replied. She stepped back inside the house, and closed the door.

Dean shook his head, and started for the Impala.

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Sam stood by the nurses' desk waiting for Trina to finish giving report to the next shift. She had agreed to drive him back to the motel. He had tried to convince her to take him to the lake, but she would not hear of it. She felt he should be resting. "Okay, Sam, let's go," Trina stated. She gave Sam a wide smile, and led the way down the corridor. Despite his significantly longer stride, Sam had a difficult time keeping pace with her.

Trina looked back at Sam and frowned. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I walk this hall all day long, so I guess I only know one speed. Breakneck."

"No problem," Sam reassured her with a smile, though his pained eyes gave him away. "But, I hope you aren't parked too far away."

Trina's silver tinkling laugh sounded throughout the corridor. "As long as I'm in the parking lot, I can't be too far away," she quipped. She opened the outer door, and allowed Sam to walk through first.

Sam coughed several times as the blast of cold air hit his lungs. Once he had his breath he scanned the parking lot. There could not be more than thirty parking spaces. Looking behind him at the hospital, Sam realized the twenty rooms he had passed on his way out were not just the rooms on his wing, they were the entire hospital.

The look of realization on Sam's face had Trina laughing again. "There are only a little over seven hundred people in this town. The only reason we have a hospital this big is because it is a county hospital. Believe it or not, we are the largest town in the county," Trina said walking towards her car.

Sam gave her a sheepish look and replied, "I was wondering why Dr. Polson was the only doctor I ever saw. I was beginning to think he lived here."

Trina stopped on the driver's side, and looked over at Sam from across the roof of her small two-door hatchback. "Welcome to small town America, Sam," she said. "If you play your cards right we may invite you back for the Fleckafest in August."

Sam tilted his head and huffed through his nose before gracing Trina with a dimpled smile. "Fleckafest?" he asked amused.

"Hey, it's our biggest town event all year," she defended unlocking the doors, and climbing into the car. "Don't knock it until you've tried the tried it. Mrs. Westrom makes killer lefse, and she always runs a booth along the parade route." Sam raised an eyebrow, and shook his head before folding his long legs into the cramped passenger seat.

Four short blocks later, Trina dropped Sam off at the motel. "Thanks for the ride," Sam said extricating himself from the car.

"You betcha," Trina replied. She watched as Sam slowly made his way to the motel. Trina rolled down the window and called out to Sam, "You take it easy!"

Sam turned away from the door, and waved at Trina. He waited until she pulled out of the parking lot to turn back around and quickly pick the lock on the motel door.

The smell of rotting food assaulted his nose, despite his sinus congestion. Sam nearly gagged on the smell, and coughed several times hoping he would not lose his meager lunch. He left the door open, and walked over to the side and front windows, and opened those as well. The cold, spring air rushed in, cooling the room. He did not care how cold it became in the room, it was better than the smell.

Sam threw the food containers away in the small garbage can. Tying a knot to close the bag, Sam walked it out to the dumpster. Sam peered over at the motel office, and decided he needed a little more than just the absence of the offending items to clear out the smell. The bell jingled softly when Sam opened the door, and the motel clerk looked up when he entered.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but we left some food out. I threw it away, but the smell isn't going away very quickly. Could I borrow some air freshener, or Lysol?" Sam asked with a grimace remembering the offensive odor.

"Uff-da," she replied with a frown. "It must be pretty bad for a young man to notice the smell." She pulled out a can of lavender-scented air freshener, and a box of bleach wipes from under the counter. "Keep them as long as you need. Just leave them in the room when you check out."

"Thanks," Sam answered with a grateful smile.

"You bet," she replied. "My name's Becky, by the way."

"Sam," he reciprocated.

"Good luck, Sam," Becky replied turning back to her book. "If you can't get the smell out, please let me know."

"Yeah, okay," he responded turning to leave. He stopped at the door, turned back to Becky and asked, "Hey, is there a taxi service I could call?"

"I'm afraid not," Becky replied pushing a wayward lock of bright, red hair back behind her ear. "I take it Dean has the car?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, surprised she knew he was with Dean. "I think he's out at Pomme de Terre lake, and I was hoping to snag a ride."

"Well, if he's not back by five o'clock, I'll give you a ride out there myself. I'm sure you're worried after what happened on Wednesday," Becky offered.

Sam's eyebrow shot up at that remark, and he could feel the surprise marking his features. "How…?"

"It's a very small town, Sam," Becky replied with a small smile. "Everybody knows everything about everything and everybody. I doubt there's a single person in town that doesn't know. I should have checked your room before, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you had food in there, or I would have thrown it away for you."

"It's not a problem," Sam replied distractedly, furrowing his brow. The high attention rate he and Dean were getting was not a good thing. He hoped it stopped at idle town gossip, and not poking into their past. "Thanks again for the cleaning supplies."

"You bet," Becky answered. She turned once again to her book, and Sam beat it out the door.

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Dean opened the door to the Impala, but his mind was still on Patty's last comments. 'Had another hunter been here before, or had he been a real reporter?' The description could have been anyone, but Dean could not help but think of his father. He put the keys in the ignition, and caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

Dean pulled out his gun with lightening speed, and turned on the intruder in the Impala. It was the spirit. She was sitting in Sam's seat, the wet hem on her skirt dripping water onto the floor mat. "Hey!" Dean shouted pointing his gun at Diane's spirit, "You're getting water in my car!"

Diane turned, and looked at Dean through dead-white eyes. Dean pulled his finger tighter against the trigger. He did not really want to shoot her. Although the gun was loaded with silver bullets, even if it worked, the bullet would pass through the spirit and lodge itself in his car.

He hesitated for just a moment longer, and then the spirit did something Dean never would have expected. She curled her finger and beckoned Dean to follow her. She disappeared from the car, and reappeared in front of the Impala closer to the lake. She gestured again, for Dean to follow her before turning and walking towards the lake. Shortly before she reached the water, she disappeared.

"Like hell," Dean said out loud. He threw the Impala into reverse, and headed back to the hospital to find Sam. He knew he had been gone too long already. The sun was low in the sky, and Dean estimated it was at least four-thirty in the afternoon. He had left the hospital at eleven o'clock this morning. He could only hope Sam had waited for him, and not done something stupid, like come looking for him.

The barren fields flew by quickly, as Dean traveled the seven miles back to town in record time. He could see for miles, and Dean felt safe cutting the Impala loose without fear of being stopped by the police. As he drove past the motel on his way to the hospital, he noticed the door to their room was wide open.

Dean swung the car sharply to the left, and pulled into the parking lot too fast, sending rocks and gravel flying. He stopped the car, and quietly closed the door behind him. He slowly approached the open door from the blind side. As he neared the room, he could smell bleach and flowers.

Dean entered the room, and found Sam spraying air freshener in the bathroom, and all around the small motel room. Within seconds, the fine, misty spray saturated the air. Sam started coughing as the mist irritated his lungs. Sam grabbed the table with one hand to balance him, and cradled his chest with his left arm to protect his damaged ribs. Dean moved into the room, and placed a hand on Sam's back.

Sam spun around, grabbed Dean's arm, and drew back his fist before his brain caught up with his reflexes, and he recognized his would-be attacker was his brother. "Dean," Sam breathed with a sigh of relief.

Emotions flitted across Sam's face. Concern, relief, and frustration all made appearances before Sam's eyes and face registered his strongest feeling. Dean did not need any special, psychic abilities to read his brother's mind. Sam was pissed.

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Well, the boys are back together again at least.

Thanks for reading. I hope to see you again next time.

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The following is lifted straight from Tidia's, "The Machiavellian Prince." No offense is meant, it is simply easier than retyping. (c:

POSTCARD CHALLENGE

Ridley is sending out a challenge. We (Ridley and Tidia) hope other authors post this on their stories and follow suit. Rumors have it that our show may not be renewed (60/40 odds). We of course want to help. So readers and fellow authors spread the word (feel free to post this on boards and websites)

Because the show is about a road trip please send a postcard from your hometown telling Kripke and the CW the show has fans from Your Town, State, Country.

Here are the addresses:

Dawn Ostroff (Yes, she is still in charge)
CW
11800, Wilshire Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90025

And Kripke's addy:
(remember US residents will need an airmail stamp or two 39 cents stamps)

Supernatural Films Inc
8085 Glenwood Dr.
Burnaby BC
V3N 5C8
Canada