Letters From the Dead 10/20

[water4willows]

Title: Letters From the Dead
Characters:  Dean, Sam, Various OCs and a smidgen (like blink and you'll miss it) of Cas
Genre:  hurt/comfort, casefic
Pairings:  None
Rating: PG-13 for some violence and language
Words: ~100,000
Warnings/Spoilers:  Deals directly with the events of the 9x13 The Purge, goes slightly AU after that episode
Summary: Sam's words cut him deep and in the confusion and anger of their aftermath, Dean flees. He thinks some time apart might do them some good. How very wrong he turns out to be.
Disclaimer:  I am in no way affiliated with Supernatural and the characters (except for my original OCs) depicted in this work of fiction are the property of the CW.

Chapter 10 - Free Fallin'

"Dean, are you ready for this?" Sam's words pulled Dean out of his thoughts and he looked up to find his brother at the foot of his bed standing ready behind a wheelchair. The double meaning in Sam's question had him stopping to let the gravity of what they were about to do settle in around him. Leaving the hospital was the right thing to do, they might not be safe here now that people had started dying again in Oriskany and no one was fighting him on the decision to leave anymore, but he was injured and it wasn't some busted lip or stupid concussion. He had actual broken bones this time, bruised internal organs and four days ago he'd needed a ventilator just to keep breathing (as Sam constantly was reminding him). The hunt that had started out as something easy, as an escape from the colossal fuck up that was his life, had morphed suddenly into this life or death thing that he'd managed to drag his brother and Doris into with him. There was no walking away from it now so yes, he decided with grim determination, he was ready. He was ready for all of it. Realizing Sam was still waiting for an answer, Dean nodded and started maneuvering himself to the edge of the bed.

The IV pain medications were gone now and in their place he'd been given a brown bottle filled with little white pills and directions that said to take them every four hours for pain. He handed the bottle over to Sam who put it in the plastic bag filled with the rest of his medications and things from the room which he hung on the back of the wheelchair before returning to Dean's side. The dilaudid was still in his system but he could already feel his body reacting to the lower levels of the drug and he was starting to feel the first whispers of the pain he knew was just around the corner. It was a barely there jolt that came every time he moved and he knew from experience that the pills never fought back against the pain as well as the IV stuff did and he tried not to shudder at the thought of what might be in store for him.

Dean was dressed in his normal clothes again and he relished the feeling of being out of that damn backless gown but the fabric of his jeans kept catching against the still healing scrapes covering his lower half from his trip across the basement floor as he worked his legs over the edge of the bed to dangle above the tile. The cuts stung but he used the superficial pain to help him ignore that jolt in his chest still thankfully kept at bay by the dilaudid still in his system. Sam moved into help him get to his feet but Dean pushed his hands away regretting it a moment later when his chest rebelled, redoubling its efforts to convince him what a colossal mistake leaving the hospital might be. A mutinous muscle spasm seized his chest and nearly sent him collapsing to the floor.

When Sam broke the news to the hospital staff last night that Dean would be leaving the on-call doctor had stopped in to try and talk him out it. He was new to Dean's case but that didn't stop him from going into gory detail about all the complications that could arise should Dean leave the hospital AMA, one of them being the painful and debilitating muscle spasms associated with his sternal fracture,. Up until now Dean hadn't really given any thought to what the doctor had said, but now, as he clung to Sam for support, he was starting to think that maybe the doctor knew what he was talking about. His first instinct was to rub at the spot and try to release the muscle but any undue pressure on his chest only made things worse so he balled his fists in Sam's shirt and rode out the pain that even dilaudid couldn't hold back. When it was finally over and he could think again, he realized Sam was talking to him.

"Dean, this is not a good idea. You don't have to do this."

"No, Sam," he said, shaking his head and looking up at his brother through watery eyes. "There's no other choice."

Once he'd calmed his breathing, Dean let Sam put his boots on for him, his broken ribs making that particular task impossible, at least for the time being, and he tried not to think of other things Sam was going to have to help him with when they finally got him to Doris' apartment. This hunt was apparently not only going to test his stamina but his spirit as well. His entire life Dean had always had an aversion to being taken care of. It was his job to do the looking after and when it fell to him to be the weak one, the one who needed help to do even the smallest of tasks, it never went over very well. There were going to be epic battles fought between him and Sam in the coming days, he just knew it, and they would fight because Dean didn't know how to let anyone take care of him and because Sam was going to demand that he learn.

When Sam was finished Dean was able to get himself off the bed and into the wheelchair on unsteady legs. He'd been stuck in a hospital bed for almost 5 days now and except for a few sessions with a physiotherapist, he hadn't gotten much exercise. His legs were wobbly beneath him and he collapsed heavily into the chair, the movement jarring his bones a bit and pain flaring to life in his chest but not enough to make him cry out.

"Alright?" Sam asked, eyeing him critically. Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and nodded.

The sky outside when they finally emerged from the hospital was covered in a layer of steely gray clouds that spat out a mixture of ice and snow onto their heads but Dean could have cared less about the weather. Just outside the sliding glass doors was the most beautiful sight Dean had ever seen. The Impala, glossy from her trip through the freezing rain, sat rumbling happily as if she were as pleased to see him as he was to see her and she glistened under the lights of the hospital entryway. She was long and sleek and Dean let his hand ghost over her paint as Sam wheeled him down her length, feeling her purr beneath his fingertips. A sweeter reunion there never was and Dean suddenly felt his spirits lift and in that moment there was nothing that could bring him down.

"There's my girl," he sighed contentedly and Sam snorted behind him.

Dean would have given anything to hold onto that joy seeing the Impala again brought him, but Doris got out from the driver side and it was time to decide how best to get him home. He'd spent most of his time in the hospital propped up with pillows, his lungs not happy when he was flat on his back and his sternum not happy when he sat straight up. Eventually it was decided that they'd ease him into the backseat so he could stretch his legs across the leather and use the side of the car for support and there were several tense moments when the creature in his chest uncurled itself to remind him it was still there and the stitches of his incision from surgery pulled mercilessly, but he eventually got in and Doris appeared with a pilfered hospital pillow to ease behind his back. It wasn't the best situation but once he was settled again, the pain eased and Sam returned the wheelchair to the front vestibule before jumping in behind the wheel.

"Okay?" Sam asked, catching Dean's eyes in the rearview.

"Take me home, Jeeves," he said with a snicker and Doris started laughing and he couldn't help but chuckle back. Twenty minutes into their drive, however, Dean was no longer laughing.

The Impala's wheels seemed to find every bump and imperfection in the road and although Sam was doing his best to avoid what he could each jostle from the road seemed to set the jagged edges of his broken bones grinding against each other with each shift of his body. At first the growing pain was manageable but it increased in its intensity as the Impala raced down the interstate until he was fighting against crying out and Doris was permanently turned around in her seat eyeing him warily.

"How're ya doing back there, honey?

"Never better," Dean lied through gritted teeth. Sweat was starting to form on his brow from the strain of trying to hold his body in ways that wouldn't hurt so much but he was starting to shake with the effort and the perspiration rolled off his forehead and into his eyes. Without thinking about it, it swiped it away with the wrong arm and pain from his collarbone pulled a moan from him.

"Are all you Winchesters such bad liars?" She asked.

"Only all of us," he managed with a wink.

"Don't worry Dean," Sam piped in from the driver seat, "we're almost there."

Dean caught his brother's eyes again in the rearview mirror and was suddenly reminded of another time and place. They'd been in this situation before and he fought back the urge to look out his window and make sure a semi wasn't barreling down the highway towards them. He thought that those memories had long been buried. Apparently he was wrong.

Dean broke his eye contact with Sam to close his eyes against the rising tide of pain threatening to crash over him and sweep him away. He wasn't due for pills for another two hours, but he was seriously considering dry swallowing one even though he was already making plans in his head to wean himself off of them. He needed to be sharp, especially if he was going to be of any help finishing this hunt and he'd be useless if he was doped out of his mind. He contemplated fishing the bottle out of the bag of his things on the seat beside him but in the end he decided it wasn't worth the effort of trying to shift himself to reach the bag. He thought briefly about asking Doris to do it for him, but Sam was pulling into the driveway behind Doris' diner a few minutes later and the Impala's rumbling ceased when Sam cut the engine. Quiet came suddenly and Dean swallowed down the bile in the back of his throat at the thought of moving again.

Extricating him from the backseat ended up being a new lesson in torture. To get up from the seat, even with Sam's monkey arms reaching in from outside to help him, he had to bend over. There was no getting around it and bending over meant pressure on each and every one of his broken bones and stretching the skin around his incision from surgery. The beast inside him was fully awake by the time it was all over, thrashing about in his chest like he had no pain meds left in him at all. He stood panting with a hand on his baby when he finally got free, trying to pretend it wasn't Sam holding him up, but his own two feet. He was convinced in that moment that he never should have left the hospital.

It took him a minute, but eventually he was steady enough to shuffle forward on his own and if he kept his torso rigid and centered, the pain calmed a bit. He was doing pretty good until he noticed the stairs. Doris' apartment was on top of the diner and Dean stared up at a set of impossibly long stairs that started from the ground then rose up steeply to end at the door to her place. He could almost hear Sam's thoughts beside him and knew they were having two very different reactions to the staircase. Dean was going to be in some serious pain for a while and those stairs were going to be impossible to tackle on his own. He would need help and that meant that he'd never be able to leave the apartment or go off on his own without Sam or Doris knowing about it and helping him to do it. Once Sam got him up those stairs, he was going to be stuck up there, forced to live out his own version of Misery with no hope of escape.

"This is bull!" He growled, yanking his elbow from Sam's grasp when his brother tried to steer him gently forward.

Doris, mistaking his reluctance for pain, rooted him on.

"Come on, Dean! You can do this! It's only once and then Sam and I will get you comfortable." Dean looked back at his cheerleader and then to Sam who had that look in his eye like he knew exactly what Dean was thinking. Sometimes he really hated his brother.

Dean took a deep breath, immediately sorry for it, then let it shakily back out. He was only delaying the inevitable standing there contemplating his sorry fate so he stiffened his core and took the first step on bitterness alone.

Doris headed up first and stayed a few steps ahead of him in case he needed her and Sam took up the rear. The first few steps were okay, he'd found a way to hold himself that made the step up almost bearable but pretty soon the strain of holding his muscles rigid like that was getting to be too much. Just like in the car he broke out into a cold sweat, muscles unable to hold him the way he needed them to anymore and he started to shake until every step was agony. Sam was on the same board as him now and Dean felt himself collapsing sideways into his brother. He wanted to fight it, push off and finish that last few feet on his own but his legs were threatening to send him back down to the bottom again so he didn't say a word when Sam's arm went around his waist and he practically lifted Dean up off of his feet to get him up the last few stairs.

Sam was only trying to help but before Dean knew what was happening pain lanced across his chest and he cried out then choked on it, tumbling down into a coughing fit that stole his very breath and streamed tears from his eyes. Somehow Sam managed to get him onto a pullout couch Doris had set up for him and he desperately tried to pull air into his lungs around the relentless hacking coughs. It was like being in that fucking basement all over again and every time he closed his eyes he was back there. The blackness closed in around him until finally the memory took hold completely and somewhere in the distance he could hear Doris shouting his name, but all he could find in every direction was that terrible oppressive emptiness and a woman crying from within it. It wasn't right and he fought hard against the hand at his ankle that was pulling him down. So far down. The blackness was pure rage and not understanding what was happening to him, he kicked at it, clawed at it, anything to get himself back up and out. It battered against him, searching for entry into his very skin and he cried out when it slipped past him in the dark. There was form and substance to it now and it wanted him. All its rage was centered on him and he curled himself into a tight ball against it having no other defense... then as quickly as it had come the vision was gone and Dean found himself back in reality puking his guts up over the side of the mattress into the trashcan his brother held under his chin. Sam was frantically calling his name and didn't stop until Dean finally pried his eyes back open.

"Oh, thank God," Doris said from somewhere beside him but he couldn't find her with his eyes and had to close them again against the waves of heaves still shaking him. He couldn't tell how long it lasted but eventually the sickness subsided and he collapsed in on himself no longer able to hold himself up. He lay on his side on the pullout trying desperately to stay conscious.

"You stay with me Dean or so help me God, I will throw you over my shoulder and take you right back to that hospital," Sam spat and Dean cracked his eyes to look up at his brother.

"Still here, Sammy," he promised breathlessly even though the pain in his chest was still trying to drag him under. He had to move and tried to roll over but the movement pulled a literal scream from his lips and the world went gray again. Sam left him alone on the bed but seconds later the mattress behind him dipped, a pillow appeared at his back and Sam flipped him quick with a hand on his arm. He cried out again but he landed in the exact spot he needed to and he almost started crying when the pain eased a bit. Sam was breathing heavily beside him and Dean wanted to open his eyes to check that he was okay but he was so exhausted and oblivion was pulling at him relentlessly. The only thing that kept him awake was the fear that he'd be pulled back into that endless darkness.

"Dean, I know you're sick to your stomach, but you've got to try and take your pills, dude. We gotta get your pain under control." A little delirious and seeing no reason why he should argue with Sam, Dean swallowed down what he was given, vaguely aware of the three little pills on his tongue.

"No hospital," he managed to say before the darkness swept him away again.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

The nightmares were relentless and he had no idea how long they kept him under but by the time Dean jolted out of the latest one and managed to keep himself from tumbling back in again, dusk was at the window beside the pullout and he was alone in the living room. At first he thought Doris had decorated her apartment in some kind of African tribal motif, but once his vision focused again he could see that what he'd mistaken for wall art was actually sigils that Sam must have put up. They were sharpied onto the wall and Dean felt a sudden pang of guilt for what they were putting Doris through. As if sensing his thoughts on her Doris emerged from a hallway off the living room looking like she'd just woken up herself.

"Dean, sweetie, you're awake," She said gently, sitting beside him on the mattress.

"How long was I out?" He asked, rubbing at his tired eyes.

"About 4 hours but hold on a second, I'm going to get you more pain medication before you decide to scare me to death again." Before Dean could reply she jumped up from the bed and went to the kitchen to grab him a glass of water. The pullout couch he was on was in the living room and from where he was sitting he could pretty much see the entire apartment. A few feet away from the foot of his bed was a small kitchen table surrounded by 4 chairs and Dean could see that Sam's laptop was set up on top of it. His brother had obviously started getting to work and Dean was glad for it.

When Doris returned with the water and his pills he swallowed them down then greedily drained the glass of water. It was cool going down his parched throat and he couldn't remember water ever tasting so good. There was a sourness in the back of his throat and what he really needed was to brush his teeth and take a shower, but he didn't know when that would be in the cards for him next and he tried not to let the thought depress him. He wasn't an invalid... but he was, wasn't he...

This time he was.

"Hey, what's with that face?" Doris asked, picking up instantly on his darkening mood. Biting back a wave of irritation at the question, he deflected.

"Where's Sam?" He hated the way his voice cracked from tiredness and disuse and he cleared his throat but something shifted in his chest and there was a minute when he had to fight back against the cough he could feel building inside. It ended up forcing its way up anyway but luckily it wasn't the twisting agony of earlier and he calmed it pretty quickly even though it still managed to suck the energy right out of him.

"He went to talk to the Sheriff and then he was headed over to the library to do some research." Doris answered when he finally calmed. "He wasn't finding much on the internet and wanted to check the public library archives."

"How long ago was that?" He asked with an impatient sigh. They needed to be careful now, the spirit they were after knew Dean and he figured it wouldn't be long until it figured out who Sam was as well. They were all in danger and he was miffed at his brother for taking it so lightly especially now they knew what it was capable of.

"He left a little bit after you finally fell asleep. 3 hours maybe?" Dean nodded then closed his eyes to fight against the anger and fatigue that rolled over him, pushing him bodily back into the pillows.

"I'm sorry if I scared you earlier. I'm not really sure what happened." He knew he had nothing to apologize for, but her voice calling to him in his dreams was still echoing around in his brain and it felt like the right thing to say.

"Pain is a funny thing, Dean. If you don't control it, it can be as detrimental as an injury itself. We just have to make sure we keep you drugged up," Dean could hear the smile in her voice when she finished but instead of making him feel better it only made him mad.

"Why are you doing all of this for us, Doris? What's in it for you?" He asked the question suddenly, not really sure where it or his anger at her was coming from and he immediately regretted it. He didn't dare open his eyes again and look at her. If she had been hurt by his words, he didn't think he could take looking up and seeing it in her eyes and knowing he'd put it there. She was silent for a moment and for one brief second he thought he'd messed everything up again. He tensed for the backlash then opened his eyes in surprise when Doris began to laugh. It was one of those infectious ones too, full throat and from the belly, and all he could do was stare.

"Oh Dean, I'm sorry to laugh but honestly, you two boys are the most untrusting duo of sourpusses I have ever met in my entire life." She said between laughs, trying to sober herself. "I've had this conversation with you and your brother three times over now. Why can't you just be happy that I'm here to help and stop trying to look the gift horse in the mouth?"

"Can you blame us?" He answered hotly, irritation overwhelming him again. "Sam told you what we do for a living. With that kind of life, you tend to question the motives of everyone around you."

"Well, then to answer your question and finally put your mind at ease, I'm doing this because I can and because ever since you popped into my diner all those days ago I haven't been able to shake this feeling that I need to help you, like it's something I'm supposed to do.

I'm no religious nut, I promise you that, but I have faith Dean Winchester and everything in me is telling me to help you boys and I'm not about to ignore it no matter how snippy you try to get with me. And I guess it's also party because I care about this town and I don't want to see any more people get hurt and if that means getting into bed (figuratively speaking of course) with two strangers from out of town with crazy lives who can help me do that, then so be it!" She was red in the face when she finished, her laughter replaced with conviction in the blink of an eye and Dean sat under her righteous fury not knowing how to apologize. The woman in front of him had done nothing but help and support him ever since the day she'd met him and here he was trying to question her motives like she was out to get him or something. He opened his mouth to speak but she put a hand up to stop him.

"Dean, there's no need. I know you're in pain and hurting right now and it was wrong of me to yell. As far as I'm concerned, we're good... better than good now that we've aired our grievances and will be moving on. Agreed?"

All he could do was nod.

"Good, that's settled. It's done and over with. Now... are you hungry, can I make you something to eat?"

Dean stared at her for a minute, the speed with which Doris had changed gears dazing him, but he cleared his throat and answered.

"A little, but I don't know if I'd be able to keep anything down," As if to punctuate that she really had just let go of what had passed between them she gave him an understanding smile and patted his knee gently.

"I've got some homemade chicken noodle in the freezer. I stay open for lunch sometimes during the tourist season and its always a big hit. Can I tempt you to try it?"

"Ok," he nodded, accepting more than just her offer of soup with the word. Doris gave him a wink then pulled herself up with popping knees to go back into the kitchen, leaving him behind to try and wrap his head around what had just happened between them. Every time he thought he'd gotten a handle on this woman, she threw something else at him from left field and it was like he was in a constant state of bewilderment with her. She hardly knew a thing about him yet she was continuously calling him out on his bullshit and even though they'd literally met 6 days ago, here he was in her apartment, beat to hell and taking it out on her and she was still willing to put up with him. They'd gotten help from plenty of civilians in the past but Doris was different and Dean imagined that if it came down to it, she'd lay down her life to protect them and that thought scared the crap out of him. It never ended well for the people that got close to them and he wondered if maybe that was why he'd tried to push her away just moments ago.

The soup Doris brought him on a tray (much to his chagrin) ended up being pretty damn good and he managed about half of it until the richness got to be too much for his stomach. He'd been surviving on nothing but bland hospital food for almost a week and while the soup went down easy and sat warming his center, the richness made him a bit lightheaded. He dozed for a while after that, the nightmares held at bay by Doris' soft noises around the apartment and didn't wake up again until Sam and the cold February air burst back into the apartment.

His brother was all wind burnt cheeks and disheveled hair and Dean immediately envied him his soiree out into the real world. The thought of being stuck in the apartment, his convalescence stretching out in front of him with no end in sight, had his earlier malaise threatening to settle in around him again and he tried to shake it off.

Sam was carrying a bunch of books and copied microfiche documents all stacked precariously in piles under his arms and Doris came out from the kitchen to help him with some of the burden.

"Good grief, Sam. Did you check out the whole library?" She asked as Sam plopped down the rest of his load on the table.

"I wouldn't have needed all this if Oriskany wasn't determined to stay in the dark ages," Sam grumbled before looking over at Dean who shifted under the weight of his gaze. He could only imagine what he must look like right now all tired and pathetic and hurting.

"How are you doing, Dean?"

"Eh, you know," He replied, knowing just what his brother would take away from his answer. It was usually the small, insignificant injuries that Dean made into huge productions managing to turn paper cuts and infected hangnails into epic performances in suffering. But when it came to the big stuff, the set you back days kinds of injuries, that was when he shut up and stayed quiet and Sam always managed to pick up on it. He hated that he could be so transparent.

"How'd it go at the library?" he asked, trying to shift the focus away from himself.

"All right I guess," Sam eyed him for a minute as if trying to decide if he should go on or not but eventually kept going.

"I started out at town hall and looked into the previous owners of the bed and breakfast. It changed hands fairly regularly over the years but when I went to the library to try and look up more information on the owners I didn't find much. They actually had a really good collection of the old town newspaper from all the way back to the 1700s."

"Bet you were like a kid in a candy store with those," Dean joked, trying to shake off his ill-mood with a jab at his brother.

"Contrary to popular belief, Dean, I don't get off on doing research," Sam shot back, face coloring a little when he realized what he'd just said in front of Doris. "Anyway, the paper mentioned a few missing persons but I found zip on murders or violent deaths in the actual town. The only thing of interest that has happened around here in the past 300 years that anyone wrote about is the Battle of Oriskany."
"So we got nothing."

"No, not necessarily. I found a ton of books on the battle and a few obscure ones on the area's history. Maybe one of them will give us an idea as to what we're dealing with here" Sam fired back, unwilling to share in Dean's dourness at their lack of facts. "Are you still convinced that it's a woman who's doing this?"

"I am, Sam." He said, shifting as his thoughts drifted again to that endless blackness and the woman who perpetually howled out of it at him in his dreams. He needed something to get his mind off of it.

"Hand me one of those books and I'll get started." Sam and Doris both looked over at him sharply and this time he didn't fight back the irritation when it welled up inside of him. "Oh come on guys! The pain meds are working and I'm feeling pretty good. How much trouble can I get into laying in bed reading a friggin' book?" The mollycoddling had begun and he was already tired of it.

Sam studied him intently for a moment then looked back to Doris who shrugged. Dean opened his mouth to plead his case further, indignation hot in his blood, but Sam reluctantly passed him a smaller hardcover book with The Battle of Oriskany, boldly emblazoned on its cover.

"Thanks." He said it sharp but then apologized with his eyes and tried to convey to his brother with a look that he would take it easy and not be stupid. Sam eventually looked away with a nod and Dean started leafing through the pages of the book while his brother and Doris organized the rest of Sam's findings on the table then set into reading themselves. Every so often someone would throw out a tidbit of history that might be relevant to the hunt and at one point Doris made them some sandwiches that Dean had to refuse. His stomach was calm at the moment but he didn't want to tempt fate by feeding it anything more than the soup from earlier. He read while Doris and Sam ate and let the book he was reading take him away from the apartment and onto the battlefield.

Fort Stanwix, known then as Fort Schuyler, was under siege by the British and their Loyalists. In an attempt to provide some relief, General Nicholas Herkimer marched his Patriot forces across the Mohawk valley and while on the way to aid the besieged fort they were ambushed by a British battalion dispatched to stop them on the road. The monument erected outside of town marked the site of one of the most bloodiest battles of the Revolutionary War which saw the slaughter of more than half of the Patriot force coming to aid their besieged comrades. Even General Herkimer himself didn't escape the fate and even though he survived his wounds for a little while to rally his troops and give orders to the remaining men in the melee, he died shortly after.

While Oriskany itself might not have had the bloody history they would expect to produce a vengeful spirit, the battle fought outside of town where so many men had met violent ends certainly did. The only thing that didn't fit with the theory was why the the activity had chosen now to start and why in the form of a woman haunting the basement of an old bed and breakfast. Dean figured they should be dealing with a soldier if the haunting revolved around the Revolutionary War, so why was it a woman he heard crying from the blackness every time he closed his eyes and why had she suddenly started killing people outside the b&b? Thinking back on his nightmares sent a momentary flash of pain racing across his chest and he clenched his teeth against it, willing the dread of the memories to subside.

"Hey here's something," Doris exclaimed, pointing at the open book before her excitedly. "My friend Olivia at the historical society told me about this once. The bed and breakfast started out as the town tavern, it was pretty much the hub of the community at the time and they had secret meetings down in the basement during the war. Maybe our mystery woman heard something she wasn't supposed to down there and it got her killed. Maybe she was the spy who betrayed Herkimer's men to the British and now she's out for revenge against the men who murdered her!"

Dean watched Sam look up from the book he was reading to look at Doris with astonishment. It was a good theory, a great theory really and Dean could tell Sam was pleased that Doris was getting into this and doing a good job at it.

"Doris, that's brilliant." Sam said with a smile, but Dean still had doubts.

"It still doesn't explain why the activity started up now." He pointed out, irritation growing at the looks he got for poking holes. "Think about what we know about vengeful spirits, Sam. The longer they stay here the crazier and bitchier they get and I'd say she's already proven to us just how long she's been around," He put an absentminded hand to his chest as it throbbed in agreement, "but we should be finding countless reports from over the years about activity there, and that building's been silent for over 250 years. You don't see vengeful spirits, especially ones as old as her, just pop up out of the blue like that."

"What if the construction riled her up?" Doris suggested.

"I can see it pissing her off, but that still doesn't explain why there's no evidence that she ever existed before 2 weeks ago. Then we have the fact that she's up and left the b&b to start killing people around town and in a completely different way. It doesn't make sense. We're missing something here." Doris nodded and Dean watched Sam think about what he had said as he tried to ignore the ache in his chest that was steadily starting to build. He needed more pain pills but didn't know how to ask for them without sounding like a petulant child.

"You're right, Dean." Sam was agreeing. "Tomorrow I'll go check the place out one more time and see if I can find anything. Do you have the EMF meter with you?"

"EMF like the paranormal investigators use?" Doris asked with amusement.

"Exactly," Sam laughed and Dean didn't get the joke.

"I did have it," he admitted, looking back and forth between Sam and Doris a little jealous at their friendly report and not being involved in the joke. "but she fried it the last time I used it. Anyway, didn't you say the place collapsed?"

"Part of it did," Sam explained, "but I drove by there today and you can still access the lower levels. I can go back tomorrow and give it a good once over. It's where this all started, there's gotta be something down there that will explain why this is happening."

A million and a half scenarios of what could go wrong with that plan marched through Dean's thoughts and he toyed with the idea of voicing them but all of them holing up in the little apartment above the diner to pour over books wasn't going to stop what was happening in Oriskany and he knew he needed to let Sam go do the job he couldn't now. His brother had a point and a plan and he couldn't come up with an argument that didn't make him sound like a mother hen.

"Alright, but you gotta be careful Sam, this bitch is not following the rules anymore."

"You mean you're really not going to fight me on this?" Sam asked, eyes going wide in astonishment. He'd clearly been expecting a different reaction from him.

Dean looked over at Doris, thinking back on her admonishment earlier in the hospital when he'd tried to leave and go after Sam. She'd told him to trust that his brother could take care of himself and although the idea had anxiety settling in the pit of his stomach, he owed it to Sam to at least try since it was obviously what he wanted. He only wished it were easier.

"It's a good plan," He said slowly, catching Doris winking at him from the corner of his eye. "Just be smart about it and take someone in there with you."

"How about your friend Deputy Andy," Sam suggested and they all started to laugh. It wasn't really funny but they couldn't help themselves and Dean put a hand to his chest when the laugh shook lose another jolt of pain. Neither Sam nor Doris missed it and the moment passed.

Sam closed the thick tome he'd been leafing through earlier and disappeared into the kitchen to bring Dean another round of meds and a glass of water. He'd been trying to ignore the sudden uptick in the pressure in his chest for a while now and without thinking he leaned forward to take the pills from Sam.

Big mistake.

Pain screamed across his sternum at the upward movement and he couldn't stop the mutinous sob that crawled its way up his throat and stole his breath. Coughing over came him then and all he could think was "here we go again" as spasm after spasm rocked his body until he was puking again into the trashcan that they'd left to the right of the pullout for just such an occasion. Sam managed to get it under his chin just in time and he found himself caught in a perpetual cycle of misery. The muscle spasms brought more pain which triggered more heaves which eased to make way for more coughing which triggered the spasms and the heaves and the pain all over again. He fought against an overwhelming feeling of uselessness and as the blackness creeped again into his vision, Dean tried with all his might to calm himself down. Sam was holding him upright, trying to talk him through the pain and finally, blessedly the coughing and the vomiting subsided and he collapsed back onto his pillows.

"God, Dean, are you okay?" Sam asked, his concerned face swimming in and out of focus.

"I gotta go pee," it came out pathetic and weak and he hated himself for sounding like that but he was so very tired and had never before felt so defeated.

"Okay, we'll get you to the bathroom, but you gotta take your pills first." Sam handed him three from the bottle and Dean swallowed them down with a sip of water, praying that they would stay where they were supposed to. He couldn't deal with pain like this anymore and could only pray that the drugs would take him down quick and deep enough that he could escape the nightmares. Though even nightmares were better than the all encompassing pain that kept trying to drag him back to hell. Why had he ever talked them into taking him out of the hospital?

They gave the medication some time to work then when the haze of three pills descended on him, he let Sam gently help him up from the bed and over to the bathroom. There was an awkward moment when they stood outside the bathroom door with Dean leaning heavily on his brother for support where they both laughed as Dean slurred "No way in Hell, dude," at the prospect of being helped inside and Sam had reluctantly released him after he proved he could stand on his own two feet without falling over. When Dean was finished Sam lead him back to the pullout couch then with deft and careful hands, cleaned the incision on Dean's chest before replacing the bandage with fresh white gauze. Dean watched his brother's ministrations through half mast eyes with fuzzy detachment and briefly wondered if this was his reward for his earlier acceptance of Sam going back to the basement. He knew it was just the drugs talking but in that moment he felt a feeling of completeness like the world was right again somehow and there had never been fights or deaths or deep dark basements where things reached out to grab for him from the nothingness. Sam was here, he was pain free and sinking slowly so he let sleep take him, no longer afraid of what lurked in the darkness.

...If only he'd known.

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