PUPPETMASTER

SUMMARY: As Sam recovers from knee surgery, he's hit with violent visions that will, ultimately, put both Winchester brothers' lives in jeopardy. Set mid to late Season 2. The story follows the events of Bridging Two Solitudes and Grave Consequences.

RATED:T for some cursing, including the occasional f-bomb.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Supernatural or its characters. They belong to the dastardly Eric Kripke. Once again, I am encamped in his most awesome sandbox, playing with the incredible characters he created.

A/N: A great big thanks to everyone who checked out this story, added it to alerts and sent along reviews or comments – hugs to all. To the Amazing A's – Ann and Amy – you rock! Thanks for the beta, the encouragement and the occasional butt-kicking. Any remaining goofs post-beta can be blamed on my chronic tweaking. Hope you enjoy.

CHAPTER 2

Dean sprinted across the deck and dived into the pool without breaking stride. Opening his eyes under water as he kicked out toward his brother, his chest tightened at the sight of Sam convulsing on the bottom at the far end.

Sam's eyes were closed, his arms clenched at his side. His face was contorted as if, even in unconsciousness, he fought against whatever pain was ripping through him. A steady stream of bubbles from his mouth and nose raced to the surface.

Dean powered his way through the water and was at his brother's side in seconds. He hooked his arms around Sam and pushed off the bottom of the pool, driving them both to the surface four feet above.

They broke through in a shower of water. Dean sucked in air, staggering sideways to find his balance and shifting his grip to better support Sam. He wrapped his right arm around his brother, pulling him in so his back rested against Dean's chest, and used his left hand to still Sam's head, which was slamming steadily against his brother's shoulder.

"Sammy?" Dean's chest was heaving, his eyes widening as tremors continued to rack his brother's body.

Then, as quickly as it started, the fit stopped. Sam suddenly went lax, rigid arms falling limply to float at his sides, his head lolling forward.

Dean barely had time to adjust his hold before Sam's eyes snapped open and he jack-knifed in the water, coughing violently.

"Hey. Hey. You're okay. You're okay." Dean fought to maintain his grip on his now struggling brother, his own breathing harsh and rapid as Sam continued to cough up water.

As Sam's lungs cleared and his coughing quieted, his head fell back onto Dean's shoulder.

Dean's heart was racing. Sam lay exhausted against him, arms and legs floating in the water, making no move to break from his brother's hold. "Talk to me, Sammy. How you doin' in there?"

Sam's eyes slid closed. His voice was barely audible. "Just gimme a sec…pain's gone now."

"Pain? Where?"

Sam coughed again. "Headache...bad one."

Dean's worry ratcheted up another notch. "We talking 'get me a doctor' headache or 'I see dead people' headache?"

Sam kept coughing, spitting up more water.

"Never mind. First, we need to get you on dry land." Dean gently turned his brother's head to get a better look at his face, and frowned as Sam blinked slowly as if struggling to stay conscious. "Hey? You still with me?"

Sam nodded, forcing open his eyes.

Dean slowly towed Sam through the water toward the set of steps in the corner of the pool. "Can you walk?"

Sam blinked at the steps in front of him. "Yeah." With another cough, he pulled his feet underneath him and reached forward to grab the railing that ran down the centre of the steps. Still leaning heavily on Dean, and with a death grip on the handrail, he made it out of the pool under his own steam but his legs seemed rubbery and his gait uncoordinated. Once on the pool deck, Sam offered no protest when Dean kept his right arm wrapped around his waist and pulled Sam's left arm across his shoulders.

Dean smiled tightly. "Come on, Bambi. The house is this way."

Sam ignored the teasing jibe, concentrating simply on putting one foot in front of the other.

The one-minute trek to the bedroom took closer to five. Still, as they walked, Sam's pace became steadier and his breathing evened out. When they reached the doorway to the bedroom, he pushed away from Dean, limped over to the bed and sat down, his injured leg stuck out awkwardly in front of him.

Dean disappeared into the bathroom, returning quickly with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers. He shook out three pills, then hesitated as he looked over his brother. "These gonna stay down? Or you got more pool water to get rid of?"

Sam shook his head. "M'okay."

Dean's snort showed what he thought of that assessment. "How's your breathing?"

"Fine."

"Maybe we should take you to the clinic in Tahoe. It's just-"

"No." Sam fixed Dean with a tired stare, holding out his hand. "I don't need a clinic, just those pills – please."

Dean handed him the painkillers. "Dude, you're shivering. I'll go turn the shower on."

"No shower." Sam pushed himself to his feet after downing the pills. He seemed shaky but maintained his balance as he crossed to the dresser to grab dry clothes. "Thanks, but I've had enough water for one day."

A half-hour later, he was dressed in sweat pants and a hoodie and sitting in the living room, his injured knee stretched out along the couch. He was still shivering slightly, despite the blanket wrapped around him and the fire Dean had set in the big stone fireplace that dominated the cabin's great room..

"Here." Dean, walking in from the kitchen, passed his brother a mug.

Sam sniffed it suspiciously. "Tea?"

Dean shrugged. "Found it in the cupboard. Probably Mrs. Ellison's. Just drink it."

Sam sipped it, nodding favorably. "Peppermint."

Dean wrinkled his nose. "Is that good or bad?"

Sam smiled. "Good. Really. Jess used to make it if I had a cold or was stressing over exams. She swore by it."

"Oh." Dean frowned, sitting down on the coffee table in front of Sam, rubbing his hands absently on his jeans before leaning forward on his elbows. "You wanna tell me what just happened?" His frown deepened at Sam's hesitation. "You almost drowning, the voices you were hearing before…it was all tied to a vision, right?"

"I'm not sure." Sam rubbed his temple distractedly. "It felt like a vision, the way the pain hit really fast, really hard, you know, but…I didn't see things the way I usually do."

Dean sat back. "So no Tarantino-style preview of mayhem to come?"

"No."

Dean's frown turned into a scowl. "All pain, no gain – what kind of sorry-ass vision is that?"

Sam shook his head. "There was something. I did get an image, I mean, but only for a second."

"Of what?"

Sam ran his thumb along the side of his mug. "A man…standing at the end of the pool."

Dean's eyebrows peaked. "Here? At the cabin?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, tall guy, long dark hair with a silver streak through the front, just standing there, looking at me."

Dean rubbed a hand across the back of his neck but his eyes stayed locked on his brother. "Okay. Let's rewind. Start from the beginning."

Sam took a sip of his tea then closed his eyes. "I heard a voice. At first, I thought it was you. It said, 'I've waited long enough.'"

Dean nodded. "That's when you were busting my chops about the extra laps?"

Sam nodded. "After that, I heard whispering – like a bunch of different voices, each trying to make themselves heard, but I couldn't make out anything they were saying. Then the whispers stopped and I heard the same male voice say, 'It's their turn to pay.' And, before you ask; no, I don't have a clue what it means."

Dean's jaw clenched. "And that's it? That's all he said?"

"Technically, he didn't say anything." Sam shrugged. "They were like two separate things. I got this quick hit of the man standing on the pool deck. But the voices…the whispering," he tapped the side of his head, "they were all in here."

He stared down at his mug of tea. "Then, after the guy disappeared, there was a second voice. It said…'Stop him.'"

Dean leaned in again. "I'll bite: Stop who?"

"Wish I knew." Sam shook his head. "Seems like every time I have a vision, there's a new wrinkle."

"Well I don't like this wrinkle." Dean stood up and began pacing. "Especially the convulsing and almost drowning part."

Sam looked up in shock. "Convulsions?"

"Yeah, Sammy. Convulsions. Scared the crap out of me." Dean shot a worried scowl at his brother. "Which is why we should be on our way to the doctor right now."

Sam ignored the pointed comment, glancing around the cabin. "What if it wasn't a vision?" He turned back to Dean. "What if…the Ellisons have a spirit or two in here and that's what I'm picking up on. What if, because of my psychic thing, it…they…think they can get a message out to me, through me."

"That's a lot of what ifs," Dean muttered, casting a glance around the great room. "Besides, we've scanned this place dozens of times since we got here. If there's a resident Casper, we should have picked up something before now."

Sam carded his fingers through his hair. "I know, but it definitely felt like they, whoever they are, were talking to me, rather than me just overhearing things."

Dean frowned. "There's another wrinkle I don't like. After we see Doc in the morning, we-"

"What?"

Now it was Dean's turn to shrug. "I called Doc while you were getting dressed. Moved up this week's appointment to tomorrow."

"No." Sam's jaw set stubbornly. "This is either vision-related or spirit-related. It's not something doctors can fix."

"Maybe not." Dean sat down again in front of his brother. "But it sure as hell took a physical toll. Look," he cut off Sam as he was about to object again. "We're due to hit the road in a couple of days. Whether we go or stick around here if it turns out a spook is behind this, I want a medical all-clear. As long as I know you're okay physically, we'll handle it if it's…something else."

"Yeah." Sam drained the rest of his tea and put down the empty mug on the end table. "I don't wanna fight, I'm just beat, that's all. Think I'm gonna turn in."

Dean nodded, standing up to move out of Sam's way as his brother threw off the blanket and got stiffly to his feet. "But I'm sleeping on the floor at side of your bed tonight. Don't step on me if you get up to take a leak."

"Dean, come on..."

"Sorry, Doc's orders. If you won't get yourself checked out tonight, I need to keep an ear on your breathing." Dean shrugged. "Not too late to change your mind. I'm still up for drive into Tahoe."

"I'm fine." Despite the assertion, Sam moved slowly, his limp a little more pronounced than it had been. He paused in the doorway, turning back toward Dean. "Listen, what you did in there…you saved my ass – again."

"And you said nothing good would ever come from watching Baywatch." Dean grinned as he turned to toss another log on the fire. "Bet I would've looked pretty awesome running in slow motion."

Sam just shook his head. "G'night, Dean. I'll try not to step on you in the morning."

"G'night." Dean's game face faded the minute his brother's back was turned. The only thing he hated more than something messing with Sam was that he couldn't stop it.

He scanned the room quickly; the lines of salt were still in place at every window, the protection symbols they'd drawn in chalk on either side of the door intact. Their presence was usually a security blanket but here, now, they set him on edge. If what had happened to Sam was something other than a 'normal' vision, if a spirit had reached out to him like his brother had theorized, it had blown past every line of protection like they were non-existent. Not to mention evaded every routine sweep of the place they'd made in two months.

Dean walked over to the hall closet, pulled out the duffle bag stashed inside and grabbed the EMF meter to scan the place one more time. He hesitated only a second then reached for a shotgun and a case of rock salt shells. Keeping that within reach wouldn't hurt either.

xxxXXXxxx

Sam seemed back to his old self the next morning. His headache was gone, his skin no longer pallid and his limp almost non-existent, but Dean quickly shut down his renewed attempts to cancel his hospital appointment.

"Don't be a wuss," he growled as they walked to the car. "You knew you had one more appointment before we hit the road; this is just moving it up a couple of days."

Sam said no more and put the three-hour drive into Palo Alto to good use, using the satellite card for his laptop to surf the net for information on the Ellisons' cabin. After 90 minutes and a few phone calls, including one to Dr. Ellison, he looked over at Dean and shrugged.

"I think we can cross Casper off our list of suspects. The Ellisons had the cabin custom built 10 years ago. It may look rustic but all the materials are new. Furnishings too – no antiques."

Dean frowned. "What about the site?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing. They cleared a vacant lot for the house. No ruins of a former homestead, no old cemetery or ancient burial ground, no reports of accidents or lost hikers in the area… I mean, it could always be someone the cops don't know about, something not recorded in the history books…" He slammed shut his computer. "The more I look into this, the more I think about it, the less I think it's tied to the cabin."

Dean kept his voice level. "Is there anything about this guy you saw that might give us some clue who he is?"

"No." Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "Nothing that'll help put a name to the face." He turned to his brother. "With my other visions I always got something that told me where to start looking – with Max Miller it was the Michigan license plate, with the poltergeist at our old house it was the tree in the front yard – but with this, there's nothing."

Dean tapped his fist against the steering wheel, "Except a guy who's getting impatient to take his revenge and someone who wants to stop him."

Sam shook his head. "I'm missing something. I must be."

Dean glanced over at his brother. "Look, if the cabin's not a factor and you get the medical all clear today, I say we go see Bobby. Bounce things off him, see what we get."

"Yeah, sure." Sam snorted. "Maybe Bobby's got a book on hypnosis or something and we can give that a try."

Dean grinned. "Now there's a thought. I could have fun with a few post-hypnotic suggestions." He knew the bitchface he was getting without even turning his head. "Just hang in there, okay? We'll figure this out."

"How?"

Dean grin softened. "Dunno. But we always do, right?"

xxxXXXxxx

It was late morning when Dean pulled the Impala into the Stanford Medical Centre parking garage. Doc had scheduled a battery of tests and consultations with Sam's surgeon and therapist which, collectively, chewed up most of the day, wrapping up mid-afternoon.

At that point Doc, with Sam in tow, returned to her office. Pushing open the door to her exam room, she smiled up at Sam. "Would you like the pleasure?"

He grinned. "Definitely."

Dean had fallen asleep on the narrow exam table. Sam walked up to his brother and banged his fist against the bottom on Dean's boot. "Hey."

Dean startled awake. As he jumped, the paper cover on the exam table shifted and he rolled off the edge. Only a quick grab from Sam prevented him from ending up on the floor. Breathing heavily, hanging on tightly to Sam's jacket, he met his brother's wide grin with a scowl as he sat up. "Oh that was f-" Dean caught sight of Doc, perched against the counter, watching the two of them bemusedly, "…reaking hilarious."

He pulled his shirt straight as he swung his legs off the table. His scowl softened as he stared at Sam. "So?"

Sam eased himself down onto the stool beside the examination table, rubbing his injured leg distractedly. "I'm fed up with being poked and prodded, strapped inside one machine and shoved under another…" He turned toward Doc. "No offence, but today really sucked."

Dean relaxed slightly at Sam's grousing, knowing it was a sign there was nothing serious to complain about. "Did they run out of lollipops, Sammy?"

Sam glared at his brother. "Now who's being hilarious?"

Dean just grinned, turning to Doc. "Seriously, he's good?"

Doc folded her arms as she looked over at Sam. "Physically, he's fine. Ahead of the curve as far as his rehab goes. Neurologically, there's no physical damage from yesterday's incident."

Dean's grin faded. "So what caused it?"

Doc looked up at Dean. "Long story short, if we were dealing strictly with medical issues, I don't believe yesterday's incident would have happened."

Dean pushed himself off the exam table. "So his visions are definitely behind this?"

Doc nodded. "I'd say so. Although it doesn't make the potential for physical damage any less real. If you hadn't been there yesterday-"

"I know." Dean stared as Sam. "So, I guess the specialist you need to see next is Dr. Bobby Singer." As his brother nodded, Dean looked over at Doc. "Any changes to his therapy or medication I should know about?"

"Dude." Sam sounded mildly annoyed. "I got it covered. " He tapped his jacket pocket. "New prescriptions, updated therapy regimen. I'm all set."

Doc bit back a smile. "Cut your brother some slack, Sam. He's just worried." She looked fondly at Dean. "You know as well as I do that inside that crusty shell, he's mush."

"Hey." Dean feigned annoyance as he tapped his abs. "There is nothing mush about me. All muscle." He crossed the room, punching his brother playfully in the shoulder. "If you're all set, let's go. We can make it back to the cabin before dark, and then we'll head out for South Dakota first thing in the morning."

Sam nodded. Pushing himself off the stool, he walked over to Doc and enveloped her in a warm hug. "Thanks, Doc; for everything." He grinned down at her. "Even today, and it really did suck."

Doc returned the hug. "I'm here if you need anything, And don't be a stranger. Once in a while I'd like to see you two when it doesn't involve patching you back together." She stepped back. "And, if you get tired of my company, you have no shortage of potential dates around here." Doc laughed at Sam's puzzled expression. "I've lost track of the number of nurses who've asked me about my cousin since you started coming here for treatment."

Sam shook his head, a slight blush visible through his tan. Dean snorted as he gave his brother a soft one-two punch in the chest. "The Incredible Hunk strikes again, huh?" He winked at Doc. "But they asked about me too, right?"

Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean persisted. "Right?"

Sam dropped his chin to his chest and groaned. "Doc, please. Tell him yes, otherwise I'm gonna hear about this all the way to South Dakota."

Doc shook her head. "Dean, come on. How could anyone overlook you?"

Dean's grin widened. "I knew it." He leaned in toward Doc, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "You get any phone numbers?"

Doc fought to keep a straight face. "You know, I was going to write them down, but my pen ran out."

Dean's eyebrow quirked. "I gotta get you more pens." His expression turned serious as he straightened up. "Like Sammy said, thanks…you went above and beyond for us on this one."

"No thanks necessary." Doc smiled. "But you're welcome."

Dean cleared his throat, nodded, then turned to Sam. "Come on. Let's hit the road." He turned back and winked at Doc just before he pulled the door closed. "Two pens – at all times. And a notebook."

xxxXXXxxx

Dean pulled a handful of change from his pocket, counted out four quarters and fed them quickly into the coin slot of the soft drink machine. With the side of his fist, he punched the button for cola and listened distractedly as the vending machine mechanism rattled and hummed before dropping the can into the slot below.

He fed four more quarters into the machine, shoved the rest of the change back into his pocket, and then reached down for the first can of soda. It was icy cold; he closed his eyes, breathed out heavily and rolled the can across his forehead, relishing the feel of cool metal against his hot skin.

It had been two days since they left the luxury of the Ellisons' cabin for the threadbare carpet and broken down air conditioner of their current digs.

So far at least, Sam had experienced no more visions, heard no more mysterious whispers and the brothers were getting back to the familiar routine of the day spent on the road and each night in a different motel. The biggest change was the shorter distances covered each day, with Dean insisting they stop early enough to get in Sam's daily therapy session before he got too tired.

The first night they had lucked out, driving into a town that featured a little mom and pop motel that boasted an outdoor pool. On this day, there was no such luck. A heat wave had rolled into town with them and, not only did the only motel not have a pool, but all the rooms with working air conditioners were occupied. The motel owner had provided a fan but it did little more than move around the stifling air.

On a food run, Dean had discovered a small, hole-in-the-wall boxing gym. It offered only basic workout equipment but it was air conditioned and the owner had been more than welcoming when he heard Sam was recovering from injury. Some weight work, some stretching and a little sparring to work off their frustrations had felt great, at least until they returned to their stuffy room. Dean had showered quickly then made the run to the motel's soda machine while Sam took his shower.

Now, with the workout taken care of, Dean was looking forward to a trip to a local bar they'd driven past on the way back from the gym. It promised cold beer on tap, hot bartenders and the best burger in the state – pretty much Dean's idea of Heaven. And if the ladies were as hot as promised, he hoped to line up some physical therapy of his own as an added bonus. He grabbed the second can of soda from the machine and headed back to their room.

Dean frowned as he pushed open the motel room door; no water was running. "Get a move on, Sam. It's too damn hot to-"

The teasing barb cut off when Dean realized his brother was lying on the floor. From the doorway only Sam's long legs were visible, sticking out between the motel room's two beds. "Sam?"

Dean's heart began racing when there was no answer. He threw the cans of soda onto a chair to the right of the door and moved quickly to the bottom of the beds. Sam lay sprawled on his stomach, eyes closed, one arm folded awkwardly under him, the other splayed out to the side. He was out cold.

Dean shoved one bed out of the way so he could crouch down beside his brother. He pressed his fingers into the side of Sam's neck, exhaling loudly in relief when he felt a strong pulse thumping rapidly. "Damn it, Sammy."

Dean gently rolled his brother over, frowning at the goose egg on Sam's left temple. He'd hit his head on something, likely the nightstand, but what the hell had caused him to fall?

Sam groaned, his eyelids fluttering.

Dean smiled worriedly. "That's it. Wakey-wakey."

Sam's eyes stilled but remained closed. Dean's smile disappeared. "Come on, Sam. Snap out of it."

Dean frowned when he realized Sam was trembling. He rested his hand on his brother's shoulder and could feel the tremors racking his body, feel his arms start to twitch as the tremors picked up in intensity. His eyes widened as Sam began to slam his head uncontrollably against the floor as the tremors became a full-blown seizure.

Dean quickly rolled his brother onto his side, grabbed a pillow from the bed and slid it under Sam's head to protect him from further injury as he continued to slam his head against the floor.

Dean kept his right hand on his brother as his left snaked up onto the nightstand in search of his cellphone. He knew a vision has likely spurred this latest attack but, as he dialed 911 and waited for the answer, Doc's words spun through his head: '…doesn't make the potential for physical damage any less real.'

"911. What's the nature of your emergency?" The female voice was coolly professional.

"My brother. He fell. Hit his head. He's having a seizure."

"Is he breathing?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I need you to roll him on his side, keep his airway clear, make-"

Dean interrupted. "Lady, no offence, but I know the first-aid basics. I need my brother in a hospital. Now."

The operator's voice remained calm. "Sir, I'm dispatching an ambulance right away. I just-"

Sam suddenly stilled beneath Dean's hand. "Wait, it's stopped. It's over."

"Is he still breathing?"

Dean placed his fingers again on Sam's neck, feeling the rapid beat of a pulse beneath them. His eyes traveled to Sam's chest; it was rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. Dean held his hand in front of his brother's mouth; warm breath ghosted across his skin in short, sharp bursts. "Yeah, he's breathing. His pulse feels like he's just run the 100 meters."

"Sir, does your brother have a history of seizures?"

"No." Dean stared down at Sam. "I mean, he had one three days ago but, before that, no. There's no history.

"How old is he?"

"Twenty-three."

"Has he had a head injury recently?"

Dean nodded out of habit. "Four months ago he had a concussion. He fell, out in the woods. Nothing since, though."

"Is he on any medication?"

"He has painkillers from recent knee surgery, but hasn't taken any today."

"Okay, sir, we're showing you're calling from a cellphone. Can you confirm your location?"

"Rest Easy Motel on Main Street. Room 12."

"The ambulance will be there in about five minutes. Just keep your brother warm and still. Watch his breathing. If he looks like he's going to be sick-"

"I know, I know…" Dean's worry was quickly eating up his short supply of patience. "Just hurry."

Dean clicked the phone shut and tossed it back on the nightstand. Despite the heat in the room, Sam was shivering. Dean reached up and pulled the bedspread onto the floor and covered his brother.

He pushed himself to his feet, crossed the room to the bathroom, grabbed a facecloth and then hurried back to Sam, stopping to pick up one of the cans of soda. Wrapping the can in the facecloth, he again knelt down beside Sam and held the makeshift icepack against the welt on his brother's head.

Sam groaned, his eyes opening slowly. He blinked in confusion.

"Sammy?"

Sam screwed his eyes closed, wincing in obvious pain. "Yeah?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You feel sick?"

Sam shook his head, but the color draining rapidly from his face said otherwise.

"You sure?"

Sam swallowed, his face relaxing as the wave of nausea subsided. He nodded weakly.

Dean exhaled loudly. "You scared me, Sammy. What the hell happened?"

Sam frowned again. "What?"

Dean matched his frown. "Okay, back to basics. Full name?"

"What?" Sam blinked and swallowed, fighting to focus on his brother.

Dean tried again. "What's your name?"

Sam coughed. "Quit screwin' around."

Dean's voice was insistent. "I'm serious. I'm gonna keep asking until you give me an answer. The right answer. Now, what's your name?"

Sam sighed. "Sam. Sam Winchester. Happy?"

Dean's frown remained. "No, I'm not happy. I walk in the room and find you out cold on the floor with a lump the size of Texas on the side of your head. What's to be happy about?"

Sam looked confused and was shivering again. "I think I fell."

Dean's eyes widened incredulously. "Oh, no shit, Sherlock. That much I figured out. Was it another vision?"

Sam looked surprised, then shook his head slowly. "I…I dunno." He tried to push himself up but, like at the pool, his limbs seemed strangely uncooperative. "Help me up."

Dean shook his head. "No. You're stayin' right where you are until the paramedics get here."

"What?" Sam glared at his brother, then screwed his eyes closed. "No. No hospital. Doc said-"

"…that just because visions are the cause doesn't mean there are no physical effects." The furrow in Dean's brow deepened. "You had another seizure, Sam."

Sam's eyes snapped open. "What?"

Dean nodded. "That was pretty much my response. So, relax – the paramedics will be here any minute. We'll get you to the hospital, make sure everything's okay."

"I was just at the hospital." Sam, his mind clearing, was again struggling to sit up. "They said I was fine."

Dean put a hand on Sam's chest, gently pushing him back down. "Well you're not. Your visions have never-"

A knock on the door cut him off. The door was pushed open and a dark-haired man in his early 30s stepped into the room. "Dave Murray, Dalton County Fire and Rescue. You called 911?"

Dean nodded, standing up. "My brother fell, hit his head. He had a seizure."

Dave crossed the room quickly to look down at Sam. "What's your brother's name?"

"Sam. My name's Sam." His annoyance at not being addressed directly was obvious.

Dave smiled. "Sorry, Sam." He knelt down, placing his med kit on the floor beside him before nodding at the older man who had followed him into the room. "This is my partner, Jim Davis. Do you remember what happened?"

Sam screwed his eyes closed. "Dean told you. I fell."

Dean helped Jim push the other bed further back, opening up more space around Sam. The paramedic then moved in beside him and he and Dave began assessing their patient.

Dean paced back and forth at the end of the beds as the two men treated his brother, listening to their questions and, more importantly, to Sam's answers. For the past two days, Sam had been fine – he looked healthy, strong, with no lingering effects from the incident at the pool. Now he looked tired and gray, worse than he did when he'd first been released from the hospital.

Dean frowned at the responses Sam was giving to the paramedics' questions. His speech was slurred, his words becoming increasingly unintelligible.

Dave turned to Dean. "Has your brother taken any drugs?"

The inference was clear. Dean glared at the paramedic. "If you mean anything recreational, no. He's recovering from knee surgery for a torn ACL so he has prescription anti-inflammatories and some Tylenol 3s but, as far as I know, he hasn't taken either today. He was feeling and acting fine until I found him out cold."

"Sorry, man. I have to ask." Dave gestured to Sam's legs. "Which knee did he have surgery on?"

"His right." Dean's eyebrow shot up. "You think that's connected to his seizure somehow?"

Dave shrugged as he grabbed a pair of scissors from his med kit and cut open Sam's sweatpants from cuff to mid-thigh, then cut off the support bandage and began to examine his knee. "I doubt it but the docs need all information available to them." He nodded. "The knee looks good – no swelling or infection. That at least--"

"Roll him. " Jim's voice cut him off. "He's seizing again."

Dean watched in complete shock as Sam's eyes rolled back in his head and his body began convulsing a second time. Jim held Sam's arm steady while Dave injected the contents of a syringe.

Dean's eyes locked on the needle. "What the hell's that?"

Dave was now checking Sam's airway to make sure it was clear. "It's an anti-convulsant. It should start to take effect…there we go."

Sam's tremors slowed, then ceased completely.

Jim looked over at Dean. "I need to go out and get the stretcher. Why don't you slide in here beside your brother? If he comes to, he'll likely be confused. Just reassure him, keep him calm, okay?"

Dean, barely able to process the latest series of events, nodded, dropping down beside Sam once the paramedic moved out of the way. A few seconds later, Sam began to stir.

"Sam."

Sam's eyes darted back and forth under closed eyelids.

"You in there?"

His brother's breathing was fast and labored.

"Sam, open your eyes."

As instructed, Sam's eyes flickered open.

Dean's smile barely masked his worry. Sam's breathing was escalating rapidly as panic seemed to wash over him. Dean gently grabbed Sam's face, turning it so they made eye contact. "Look at me. I need you to calm down."

But Sam just grew even more agitated. His eyes widened and his shallow breathing ramped up even further. He reached out and grabbed his brother's arm. "He's dead, Dean. I killed him."

To Be Continued…

A/N: The action moves to a full boil in the next chapter, up Monday. This story was conceived, and much of it written, before Season 4 began. Any similarity to certain events of the past season (ie. Sam's seizures) is purely coincidental and in no way tied into them. This fic is firmly grounded in Season 2. I'd love to hear from you. Your comments are better than cookies. Thanks so much for reading. Cheers