The boys had been in town three days before they could even suss out whether this was their kind of case. On the surface, it looked like a couple of drownings in a short span – not necessarily unusual for deep lakes prone to rapid shifts in weather. But the more Sam pored over the research, the more his spidey senses began tingling. As fast as he worked, by the time they realized they were dealing with a nøkk, there had already been one close call.
"Norse mythology?" Dean closed his eyes and scrunched his nose, trying to think back to any lessons from John on the topic. He leaned over Sam's shoulder to glance at the laptop screen, but nothing immediately rang a bell.
"Norse, Germanic… a lot of cultures have this kind of spirit with their own spin on it. But since it's only taken women and children so far, a nøkk seems like the most likely bet." Sam goes on to explain that the basic lore remains the same – a water sprite that lures people to their deaths. But the particulars vary per culture.
"Okay, so how do we kill it?" Dean asks, still musing.
"We don't," Sam replies easily. "We read an incantation to ward it off. And we need to drop some steel into the water, because it can curse the water even if it doesn't directly lure you in."
"Curse the water?" Dean smirks humorlessly. "Like the opposite of holy water?"
"Kind of. It's almost like a trap. You swim into it, you drown. So we banish the thing, purify the water, and we're out." Sam hopes it'll be that easy, for once. As if it ever is.
Dean is already standing, packing a handful of steel blades while Sam carefully writes down the incantation they have to read. "Well, let's go put some electrolytes in this water, then."Sam gives him a small smile at his joke and follows him out the door, bracing himself for whatever's to come.
The drive to the lake was ten minutes, max, and Sam was bouncing his leg up and down the entire ride. "Would you stop it, man? What's got you antsy?" Dean knows his brother better than anyone, and that little tell is his cue that Sam's uncertain of himself.
Sam considers telling Dean about the gut feeling creeping up on him, the sense of dread. But instead, he settles for, "I just want this case to be over." Dean sends him a skeptical look, but for once doesn't press the issue and focuses on the road.
They drive in silence, lost in their thoughts until they're jarred back to reality. Even before Dean pulls to a stop at the lake, they can hear screaming. Sam is jumping out of the Impala before Dean has even parked, and then the pair are running over uneven ground towards the lake.
"Dean!" Sam yells, pointing to where a head can be seen bobbing up and down in the water. Long limbs propel Sam towards the edge of the dock first, and there's no hesitation before he dives in and swims after the woman drowning before their eyes. Dean follows seconds later, racing to catch up with his brother. The water is nearly pitch black, and icy cold under the setting sun. Dean suppresses a shiver and puts all his energy into reaching the screaming woman. He knows that even a smaller person, when drowning, can take down their would-be rescuer in their panic, and he needs to be close enough to pry her away from Sam – and hopefully, to safety – if need be.
Three more strokes and Sam's there, reaching out to grab the woman. And in an instant, her eyes flash and she vanishes into thin air. Sam is left grasping at nothing, and Dean feels the familiar sick sense of fear wash over him. We thought they were only going for women and children.
"Sam, get out!" Dean screams. Sam turns and meets his gaze, wide-eyed and confused. Before Dean can yell again, Sam is dragged underwater in a single, forceful pull. "Sam!" Dean takes a breath and dives under the surface, propelling himself towards Sam, but he can't see anything in the dark. He kicks himself deeper, reaching out his hands blindly to feel for his brother. He finally catches part of Sam's jacket, he thinks, and wraps both hands around what must be his arm. It's then that Sam latches onto him, trying to grab any part of Dean and pull himself up. Before Dean can get a better grip on him, but ripped away, down deeper into the depths of the lake. Dean's lungs are screaming, and he forces himself to swim to the surface and regroup. They already know they were wrong about at least one part of the lore, and clearly the steel hasn't done anything to bother this sprite. But Dean dives back down anyways, swimming blindly down with a knife held tight in his teeth. He reaches the bottom of the lake and feels along until he catches the hem of Sam's jeans. There's no resistance now as he kicks down another foot and wraps his arms tightly around Sam – no resistance from the spirit or his brother.
If she stopped, he must be…
Dean pushes the thought out of his head and kicks forcefully off the bottom of the lake, fighting with every ounce of strength he has left. His vision is going black by the time he nears the surface, but he manages to get both their heads above water. Dean checks that Sam's nose and mouth are clear, but even with the access to oxygen, his little brother is completely limp in his arms.
He's not breathing.
Dean's world narrows to a point, and he chokes back a sob as he fights to bring Sam back to the shore. He's shaking from cold and adrenaline by the time his feet start to brush the bottom, but he gets Sam onto solid ground, laying him flat on his back and jumping into CPR. For what seems like hours, the only sounds are Sam's ribs splintering, and Dean's ragged breathing. Then, when Dean finally starts talking to dull the sound of his brother's bones cracking, he can't seem to stop.
"Come on, Sam. You're going to let a little water sprite take you out? After all the badass shit we've lived through?"
More cracking, more breaking, still no response.
"Sam, come on. You've got to breathe for me," Dean pleads, even as he has to keep providing the breaths. Even as he's the only reason why Sam's getting oxygen at all.
Nothing. Sam's skin is turning to ice and his lips are turning blue, as Dean's tethers to sanity are quickly fraying.
"Please, Sammy," Dean begs, voice breaking. It's started raining at some point, masking the tears pouring down his face, because of course it has. The panic continues cresting in Dean as his brother lies motionless beneath him, despite his desperate efforts. He continues his compressions and rescue breaths anyways, because he's pretty sure he couldn't stop even if he tried. Dean's arms are burning, giving him something to focus on besides the blinding terror, and he loses himself to the fight for his little brother's life.
"Damn it, Sam, I can't – I can't lose –" Dean is choking on his grief when Sam gives the smallest of coughs, and his world stops. Then his brother is spitting up water, so much water, and Dean's turning him to his side as he tries to stop the monsoon of tears. "It's okay, I've got you." Dean's shaking so hard that he can barely find Sam's pulse, but this time, it's there.
His brother still isn't quite conscious, but he's breathing, thank god. Dean applies the gentlest sternum rub he can manage, hating that he's hurting Sam but needing him responsive. Sam gives a pained groan but cracks open his eyes. Dean latches onto the eye contact like a life preserver, noting with relief that Sam's tracking him fine. His breathing is ragged and wheezing, but he's alive.
"You scared me there, Sammy-boy," Dean tries to play it off, but even barely-conscious, newly resurrected Sam sees right through the bravado to the fear in his eyes.
"Sorry," Sam mutters sheepishly, wincing at the pain when he tries to speak. His voice is shredded and raspy, but Dean will take it. Anything more than the silence, the stillness… Dean will take it right now. He sits with his brother for a few minutes, hand on Sam's chest, trying to calm both of their pounding hearts. But as much as he'd like to give Sam longer to rest, he's starting to shiver in the cold rain and Dean knows he needs medical attention.
"Do you think you can walk if I help you?" Dean asks, antsy to get his brother some real help.
Sam raises an eyebrow and snorts, apparently deciding the pain is worth it for sarcasm. "Or what, you carry me?"
"Yes," Dean replies immediately, dead serious. Dean hasn't had to carry Sam since he was a teenager – and even then, he bitched the whole time – but Sam suddenly has no doubt that he will if he has to.
"I can walk," Sam insists stubbornly, though when he tries to sit up and the world spins, he regrets his choice. Dean puts a hand on his shoulder, steadying him, then helps him to his feet. Sam leans almost all of his weight on his brother, trying to walk as best as he can as they slowly make their way back to the Impala.
"You going to pass out on me?" Dean asks when Sam's breathing starts to get more labored and his steps grow clumsier.
"No," Sam growls, gritting his teeth and holding on to consciousness through what seems like sheer force of will. He keeps moving even when Dean tries to give him a minute, fearing that if he stops moving his body will give out on him.
Finally, they make it to Baby and Dean helps ease Sam into the passenger seat before rushing back around and cranking the heat. Sam's teeth are chattering violently as Dean drives them away from this cursed lake, speeding towards –
"Dean. The motel's the other way," Sam groans.
"You thought you were getting out of this without a hospital trip?" Dean asks, incredulous. "No way, Sammy."
"Dean, I'm–"
"You were dead, Sam. Don't make me fight with you about this." Don't make me stay up all night, watching every breath, terrified. Dean's grip on the steering wheel tightens then, and he hopes it comes across as frustration rather than the cold fear it still is.
"Fine," Sam grumbles, leaning his head up against the window. A thought occurs to his foggy brain then. "Did you get the nøkk?"
"I was kind of busy saving your life, dumbass."
Sam hums noncommittally, and a wave of fondness sweeps over Dean at Sam's nonverbal critique of his hunting skills. Still, Dean doesn't get a full, real breath for hours. Not even when he's successfully rushed Sam to the hospital and delivered him, conscious and all, to a much more competent group of lifesavers. Not when he's in the waiting room and dials Bobby before he even thinks about it. Not even when Bobby tells him, "he'll be okay, son. You did good" and his heart ratchets down a notch. Not until he sees Sam laying peacefully – if grumpily – in his hospital bed, breathing steadily and heart rate even.
Only when he's sure Sam will keep breathing does Dean get a true breath.