Insomnia by asesina

A/n: This is a long oneshot. I've been in a writing mood lately! This one is set in season 1. Sam and Dean head to Iowa to investigate a haunting and some missing children. On the way, Dean is overcome with a rare bout of exhaustion during the hunt. He has to deal with his insomnia and the fact that more children could disappear if they don't act fast.

Contains some mild hurt!Dean and worried!Sam.

Disclaimer: I still don't own Supernatural :(. This story was inspired by a post on .

January 2006. Charles City, Iowa.

Dean Winchester suppressed a yawn as he pulled the Impala into the tiny motel parking lot. He heaved a sigh as he glanced over at Sam and surveyed his brother's lax posture and heavy breathing.

"Wake up, Sasquatch," Dean said. He gently shook Sam's shoulder and waited for his brother's trademark protesting reply.

"Huh?" Sam mumbled. His eyes fluttered open and he shivered as the frigid air blew through the car.

"We're here, Sam. Let's get a move on," Dean said. He popped open the trunk and slung his heavy duffel bag over his shoulder.

"What time is it?" Sam asked groggily.

"Just past 8," Dean said matter-of-factly. He swallowed another yawn and turned away from Sam so his little brother wouldn't notice his blood-shot eyes and pale, sleep-deprived face.

"When we get in there, I'm going straight to sleep again," Sam muttered as he grabbed his backpack and slammed the passenger door shut.

Dean and Sam wandered up to the reception desk and waited for someone to appear from the back office.

A forty-year-old woman with blonde hair and dark roots emerged from the back room a moment later. She peered at the brothers over horn-rimmed glasses that aged her significantly and made her look a bit like a Gary Larson cartoon.

"Do you have reservations?" she asked in a soft, musical Midwestern accent.

"Yeah, it's under Sam Hagar," Dean said. He shot Sam a look and prayed that the lady wasn't a Van Halen fan.

"Hmm, let me see," the woman said as she tapped on the keyboard and brought up their information.

"Found it. Two double beds for three nights. You'll be staying in room 124, Mr. Hagar," the woman said. She handed Dean a room key and smiled at him coyly.

Dean saw her wink a blue-shadowed eye at him as he offered a weak smile and turned to head down the hall.

"Why are the Midwestern cougars always after me?" Dean groaned as he tried to ignore Sam's chuckle.

When they arrived at the room, Dean was unsurprised to see that it was as dingy and stained as almost every other motel room they'd ever stayed in.

He threw the heavy duffel bags down to the floor and leaned back on the bed.

Dean blinked hard and fought off a wave of dizziness that washed over his head from his forebrain to the nape of his neck. He hoped that Sam hadn't seen him like that. A quick glance in Sam's direction appeased his fears.

Sam was looking down at his shoes as he dutifully united them and prepared to take a quick nap.

"I'm going to crash for a while, Dean. Would you mind looking up some information about the haunting in Charles City? I have the newspaper in my backpack," Sam said as he stretched out on the small bed. His feet almost reached the end of the mattress, but he didn't care. Anything was better than sleeping in a car.

Dean longed to rest his eyes, but he knew that they didn't have much time on this particular case.

Another girl disappeared over the weekend. That made a grand total of 4 girls under the age of 10 who had disappeared mysteriously over the past month.

No bodies had ever been recovered. It was an ongoing investigation, but the police were getting desperate. They had even thought about contacting psychics to help them locate the young girls, but none of their attempts were successful so far.

Dean scanned the newspaper and paused when he found a particularly interesting line in the article.

"The four young girls were all last seen near a large white farmhouse that is currently unoccupied. They all disappeared while walking home from the school bus stop on the corner. Coincidentally, the site is not far from the location of a tragic railway accident that occurred nearly a century ago. In 1920, a dozen female orphans died when their bus struck a train and burned on the railroad tracks. There were no survivors."

Dean's eyebrows rose as he further scanned the article. He was dismayed to find that there was nothing else about the railway accident in the newspaper, but he was beginning to form a theory about the haunting.

He couldn't wait to tell geek boy about his conclusion and findings. Sam would be proud.

Dean stood up and stretched his arms and legs. He checked his watch and was disappointed to see that it was still only 8:45 am. He looked over at Sam and grinned at the site of his younger brother spread out on the bed. Sam's long limbs completely dwarfed a mattress that was supposed to comfortably fit 2 people.

"I'll see ya in a few, Sammy," Dean said to the quiet room. He picked up the Impala keys and headed out of the room in search of coffee.

The motel had a meager breakfast table set up in the far corner of the lobby. Dean found a few stale bagels and a pile of bruised apples awaiting him when he arrived at the table.

He was annoyed to find that the silver coffee pitcher was empty.

"Damn," Dean muttered as he headed for the main door of the motel. He walked over to the Impala and hopped in the driver's seat.

"I guess I'll head to the mini mart," Dean muttered to himself as he put the key in the ignition and waited for the engine to turn over.

He felt the slow, steady drumbeat of a headache beginning to sound loudly in his temples. Dean grimaced and made a mental note to pick up some Advil at the mini mart too.

Dean remembered passing one about two miles down the road. He squinted hard and rubbed his temples before backing up and pulling out of the motel parking lot.

The early morning sun spilled its blaring yellow light onto the weathered pavement and the patches of ice that lined the road. It was almost too bright for Dean to handle. He narrowed his eyes even further and cursed under his breath as he sped down the small stretch of road between the motel and the mini mart.

When he arrived at the store, his head was on fire with pain. Dean leaned on the front of the Impala for a moment and inhaled sharply.

Where the hell had this headache come from?

Dean chalked it up to a simple lack of sleep. For the past few days, Dean's sleep had been interrupted by a number of distractions: a car alarm, a ringing cell phone, Sam's nightmares.

Dean grimaced at the thought of his little brother screaming and thrashing in the bed next to him, unable to wake up from the hellish visions of his girlfriend burning to death on the ceiling.

Dean had promised himself to stay awake and watch after Sam whenever that happened, and he had been true to his word every night for a week.

He exhaled slowly as he pushed open the door of the mini mart and stepped inside. Dean was relieved to feel the heat blasting from a weak, tiny wall unit right by the door. It was a welcome change from the frigid 21 degree Iowa weather.

Dean perused the magazine rack and picked out another local paper. He flipped through it and finally found what he was looking for on the second to last page.

"Hey," he called to the man behind the counter.

The clerk, a dark-haired man in his mid-twenties, looked up at Dean with mild interest. He raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to one side in response.

"What have you heard about these disappearances?" Dean asked. He walked over to the counter and slammed down the newspaper in front of the clerk. Dean didn't wait for an answer. He walked over to the coffee pots and poured himself 18 ounces of the murky, dark liquid.

Lord knows he would need it later.

When he returned to the counter to pay, the clerk was still poring over the article.

"I knew her," he said in a tiny voice.

"Which one?" Dean asked with curiosity. He took a sip of the coffee and handed the man two dollars.

"Sarah Mitchell. She was my neighbor," the man said ruefully.

"What the hell is going on in this town?" Dean wondered aloud.

"I don't know, but I think that the woods are haunted," the clerk said suddenly.

"Haunted?" Dean asked. He paused between sips and stared at the man.

"Um, I guess so. If you believe in that kind of thing, I mean," the clerk added quickly, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment as he handed Dean two quarters in change.

"I'm listening. What kind of ghosts are we talkin' about?" Dean pressed, leaning on the counter as he studied the man's face.

The clerk shrugged sheepishly and turned his eyes downwards.

"I don't know, man. I just heard that the little girls who were killed in that bus fire haunt the woods. They supposedly lure in little girls who are alive and try to bring them into the forest forever," the man said hurriedly. He barely took a breath during the whole monologue, but Dean was still interested.

"I think I've said too much. My parents think I'm a crack pot for believing in ghosts," the boy admitted.

"Well," Dean said, pausing to look at the boy's nametag, "I believe you, Steve. There's a lot of weird stuff out there, man."

He grinned at the man and nodded in thanks as he grabbed the newspaper and dropped the two quarters back on the counter.

Dean couldn't wait to tell Sam about his discovery. He grinned despite himself and decided that he finally understood the appeal of finding a clue after digging around a little.

"I guess that makes me like that kid from Scooby Doo," Dean thought to himself as he headed back to the Impala and started up the engine.

Even though he was only a few miles from the motel, Dean blasted the heat inside the Impala. He was freakin' sick of the cold already.

Dean arrived at the motel around 9:45. This had to be the slowest day in the history of, well, ever, Dean decided.

He finally gave in to a yawn as he inhaled deeply and rolled his neck to the left and right.

When he got back to the hotel room, Sam was still asleep. Dean set down the newspaper and kicked up his feet on the tiny, upholstered chair by his bed. He savored each sip of the coffee and willed the caffeine to travel to every inch of his tired, weary nervous system.

He had to stay awake- for Sam, and for those little girls.

Dean yawned again and felt his head beginning to droop a little. He shook off the tiredness and cursed his inability to remember to purchase Advil and No-doze pills at the mini mart.

"I'll go later," Dean muttered to himself as he turned back to the newspaper and continued reading about the 4 missing girls.

None of the girls ever walked home alone. They usually walked home together, and they all lived on the same street.

"What kind of parents would let their daughters walk home alone?" Dean wondered angrily.

These people had to be stupid if they let their daughters come home alone, even as they were being picked off one by one by the ghost girls in the forest.

The first girl, Carrie, had disappeared on December 5, 2005. She was followed by Kayla on December 16th, Steffie on December 24th, and finally Sarah Mitchell on New Year's Eve.

The girls were all described as intelligent, cautious children who would never take candy or toys from a mysterious stranger. What had led them away from the bus stop, then?

Dean hoped that it was something supernatural in this case. He would be disgusted and enraged if this turned out to be some pervert instead of a creepy little ghost kid.

Dean threw the paper back down on the table and walked over to Sam's bed.

"Time to get up, Sammy. I've done a lot of reading," Dean said quietly.

"No," Sam groaned, turning his head to the side to avoid Dean's gaze.

"You've been sleeping for almost two hours, Sam," Dean said impatiently.

"Fine," Sam muttered as he sat up and blinked blearily several times. He looked up at Dean and yawned loudly before standing up and walking over to the table in the corner.

Dean turned away from Sam and stifled a yawn.

Damn it, those things were freakin' contagious!

"Here are a few articles," Dean said, motioning to the papers on the table.

Sam nodded and picked up the newer one that Dean had purchased earlier that morning.

"So, what are we looking at?" Sam asked as he scanned the article carefully.

"Something supernatural, definitely. This isn't a job for Chris Hansen," Dean replied as he made his way over to the table. He sat down across from Sam and felt for his cell phone.

"I looked up the location of the disappearances. It's right next to a small stretch of forest and the old railway," Dean said, pointing at the GPS display on his phone.

"What else have you found out?" Sam prodded, eyes widening as he saw the size of the coffee cup that Dean was holding.

"You've gotta own stock in Quick Chek coffee by now, man," Sam quipped as he watched Dean take a long swig of the inky coffee.

"I'm gonna need it later," Dean said with a grimace as he set down the mug.

"I was talking with the clerk in the mini mart down the road. He said that the woods by the train tracks are haunted," Dean said. Sam's interest was piqued. He nodded at Dean and encouraged him to continue, but Dean was in the middle of another sip of coffee.

"Apparently, a bus full of orphaned school girls was hit by a train in the 20s," Dean began.

"What happened with the remains?" Sam asked.

"Well, all of the girls burned to death, so there were hardly any remains left," Dean continued. He paused for a moment and tried to think of a logical conclusion.

Sam was at a loss, but his eyes instantly brightened as he thought of another possibility.

"I know that look, Sam. What are you thinking?" Dean asked.

"Maybe a piece of that wreckage or something belonging to one of the girls is still around," Sam said slowly as a theory slowly began to form in his mind.

"Sammy, why do you always get to make the logical conclusions?" Dean asked with a smirk.

"Well, only one of us can be Sherlock Holmes," Sam said with a snicker.

"I don't wanna be Watson," Dean pouted. He cracked a grin at Sam as they both stood up and gathered their hunting tools.

"We should talk to the families," Sam suggested. Dean nodded and grabbed his .45 from the night stand. He also took along the EMF meter and the rock salt gun for good measure.

Sam grabbed the camcorder and the infrared scanner. He tucked a pistol into the holster that hung from his belt and swung his backpack over his shoulder.

"Let's go," Dean said with a grin.

They got into the Impala and followed the GPS coordinates to the house of the most recent victim, Sarah Mitchell.

Sam and Dean parked on the road and went up to the front door. Dean knocked softly and waited for someone to answer.

A few moments later, a tall brunette appeared at the door.

"May I help you?" she asked in a soft, wavering voice.

"Hello, Mrs. Mitchell. I'm Dean Scott and this is Sam Young. We're reporters from the newspaper," Dean said, offering a hand to Mrs. Mitchell.

She cautiously shook Dean's hand and turned around to look for her husband.

"Jim! Two reporters are here from the newspaper," she called. A burly, blond-haired man appeared from the other room. He glared suspiciously at Sam and Dean, but he motioned for them to come into the house.

Mr. Mitchell was an inch taller than Sam. He sneered at them and sat back down on the sofa as Mrs. Mitchell chose a straight-backed chair closer to the door.

"Please, sit down," she said with a sad smile.

"I assume you're here to talk about Sarah," she said quietly.

Dean nodded and offered a gentle,

"Yes, Mrs. Mitchell. We're very sorry to hear about your daughter."

Sam pulled out a notepad and pen. He looked around the room quickly, trying to see if anything was out of place.

The house was clean, almost disturbingly so. Sam didn't notice a single dust particle on the dark surface of the living room table.

Mr. Mitchell caught Sam's eyes wandering around the room. He scowled at Sam and encouraged the younger Winchester to quickly drop his gaze.

"We don't have much to say about Sarah, Mr. Scott. She just disappeared when she was coming home from school," Mrs. Mitchell said tearfully.

Dean nodded and offered a smile in an attempt to assuage her grief.

She wiped at her eyes and paused for a moment.

"There is something, though," she began.

Mr. Mitchell raised his eyebrows as he turned to glare at his wife.

"Jen, you better not bring up the fucking ghost stories again," Jim commanded. Jen shot her husband a glare and turned back to Dean.

"Please, don't mind Jim. He's just insane with grief," she said sorrowfully. Dean nodded and encouraged her to continue with a nod.

"I just heard that the other little girls heard laughter from the woods. One of them also told Sarah that she saw a little girl in white on the day before she disappeared. The girl was waving to her," Jen said mysteriously.

Sam scribbled furiously on the notepad, flipping over to the next page as he made a note of the supernatural phenomena.

"Have you heard anything from the worthless police force?" Jim yelled. He had turned on the TV and would barely acknowledge Sam or Dean, but the anger was still evident in his voice.

"They're doing all they can," Sam offered quietly.

Dean nudged him and Sam quickly dropped the issue, but Jim was fuming.

"They're useless! They're going to let my baby die," Jim said bitterly.

"I'm sorry," Jen quickly apologized.

"I hope you got some information for your story," she said, smiling wanly as she ushered Sam and Dean towards the front door.

"Please let us know if you find anything. I would much rather my daughter be taken by a spirit than a predator," Jen said softly.

"We will, Mrs. Mitchell," Dean said confidently.

"Bring her back," she pleaded tearfully. A quiet sobbed wracked her body as Dean put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Someone will bring her home," he said as he and Sam walked down the sidewalk to the Impala.

"So, do you really think that the woods are haunted?" Sam asked Dean when they were back in the car.

"Definitely. We've gotta come back at night," Dean said as he threw the car into drive and sped away from the Mitchell residence.

It was just about noon when Sam and Dean got back to the heart of Charles City. They sought out a small, affordable place to eat and settled for a 50's-themed diner.

Dean couldn't bring himself to finish his bacon cheeseburger after 30 minutes of staring dazedly at the wall and only half-answering Sam's pestering questions.

"Dean?" Sam suddenly asked.

"Hm?" Dean asked, shaken from his stupor.

"What's wrong with you, man? You look like you're about to fall asleep at the table," Sam said, concern creeping into his voice.

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean answered gruffly.

"I don't think you are," Sam said, narrowing his eyes with concern as he surveyed Dean's pale face and the circles under his eyes.

"Whatever, man," Dean said, waving his hand in the air to effectively change the topic.

"I think that we should go to the woods tonight, Sammy," Dean said, gulping down the last of his third coffee.

"I'm not sure, Dean. I still think that you should rest for a day," Sam said worriedly.

"What the hell is it with you today, Sam? You're acting like my freakin' mother," Dean said with a groan as he leaned back in his seat.

"I dunno, Dean. You just seem off for some reason," Sam said quietly. Dean felt bad for snapping at his brother, but he knew that they couldn't afford to wait any longer.

They had to find those girls.

"Let's go, Sam," Dean said. He stood up and dropped a few bills on the table. He added an extra five for the generous refills that the cute waitress had given him throughout lunch. He scribbled his number on a napkin and placed it on top of the bills.

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean as they left the restaurant and headed back to the motel.

When they arrived, Dean was hopped up from the caffeine. He was practically juggling the newspapers as he circled dates and locations, wrote down names, and scribbled coordinates in the margins of the paper.

"We have four missing girls, but no bodies. I think they're still alive," Dean said suddenly.

"Why are you so sure?" Sam asked, slightly surprised at Dean's optimism.

"Well, the little girl ghosts might be creepy, but I don't think they're malicious. One of the websites that I found earlier only said that they wanted someone to play with," Dean said with a shrug.

"It doesn't mean that they won't try to harm the living girls," Sam replied.

"Come on, Sammy. How scary can little girl scout orphans be?" Dean asked with a grin. Sam shook his head as he turned on his laptop and navigated to a site about hauntings in Iowa.

"Dean, these little girls might not be so innocent," Sam said in a worried voice.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked. He walked over to peer over Sam's shoulder at the laptop.

"This site says that the girls chant 'come burn with me'," Sam said with a shiver.

"Maybe they want the other girls to suffer with them," Dean mused. Sam nodded and felt a chill pass down his back.

"I still don't think that the girls are dead, Sammy," Dean said.

"Whatever you say," Sam replied curtly. He shut down the laptop and placed it on the nightstand.

"You wanna try and sleep now, Dean?" Sam asked. Dean nodded and made his way over to the bed. He pulled back the floral comforter and kicked off his shoes.

"I'm gonna set the alarm for 5 pm, Sammy," Dean said. He closed his eyes and was out like a light within the minute.

Sam grinned at Dean and climbed onto his own bed. He flicked on the television and spent the next several hours watching Dukes of Hazzard reruns before falling asleep as well.

Dean had only been asleep for a few minutes when he saw images of a tiny school bus burning before his eyes. He heard the girls screaming for help as they succumbed to the smoke and eventually melted into the charred, black piles of bones and ashes.

He woke with a start and sat upright. The sharp motion sent a pain up his spine, and Dean suppressed a groan as he felt his forehead.

He was shocked to feel perspiration dripping from his brow. Dean wiped away the sweat and lowered his head carefully to the pillow.

Dean tried to will himself back to sleep, but it didn't work. He cursed his insomnia and got up to take a long, hot shower.

The steam lulled him into a stupor, but his reverie was short-lived. Dean was fully awake in an instant as the water in the shower became ice-cold in a matter of seconds.

Freakin' cheap-ass motel.

Dean turned off the water with a grimace as he dried off and got dressed again. He pored over magazines and an occasional website between sips of coffee until he couldn't take it any longer.

Dean threw down his research materials and stared at the ceiling in exasperation. He counted the ceiling tiles three times- once to guess, twice to be sure, and three times to see if the chipped, missing tiles actually counted in his final tally.

When his cell phone finally began to ring, Dean was ready for action. He shook Sam awake, grabbed a bagel from the lobby, and began to pack up their hunting supplies.

Sam rubbed his eyes groggily and yawned deeply.

"Again with the yawning," Dean thought impatiently as he made sure that he had his .45 and rock salt gun ready.

"Why are you in such a hurry, Dean?" Sam asked tiredly. Dean looked up at Sam in exasperation and threw up his hands.

"I don't know, Sam. Maybe I want to save four innocent lives," he snapped angrily.

"Sheesh, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," Sam muttered.

"I couldn't even fucking sleep," Dean said quietly as he threw the rest of his tools together and motioned for Sam to follow him.

"Dean, are you sure that you want to do this tonight? You still look awful," Sam said with concern.

Dean dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

"No, Sam. Let's go," he said shortly.

They left the motel room in a rush and stepped out into the brisk cobalt twilight.

Sam paused to admire the silver stars that were beginning to peek through the lacy lavender clouds that prematurely darkened the dusky sky.

He ran over to the Impala and jumped in the passenger side when Dean honked the horn impatiently.

"Dean, you're not really in any condition to take on a spirit, let alone a bus full of them," Sam said quietly.

"I'm driving. I decide where we're going," Dean said gruffly. He backed up the Impala and pulled out of the parking lot.

He sped down the country highway at lightning speed. They exchanged few words during the car ride, but Dean repeatedly ignored Sam's irritating questions and concerned glances.

When they arrived at the sprawling white farm house, Sam was still full of apprehension. He pulled out his glock and glanced around the property as they headed back to the woods.

The frost-covered grass was slick and slippery, and the pale moonlight offered little illumination for the two hunters. They crept around the side of the old house and made their way across the overgrown lawn towards the forest.

The brisk night air was beginning to make Sam shiver, but he thought that it was more than just the cold that was causing his skin to prickle. Sam could have sworn that he heard a faint giggle come from the forest, and he shined his flashlight in the direction of the ghostly laughter.

He saw a tiny figure clad in white at the edge of the wood. She smiled at Sam and curtsied formally before disappearing behind a fir tree.

"Dean!" Sam called. He pointed at the forest and Dean aimed his flashlight at the treeline, desperately searching for the ghost girl.

"I saw her, Sammy," Dean said quietly. He readied the rock salt gun and crept towards the forest. Sam followed him closely, throwing a cautious glance towards the forest every few seconds.

Another giggle echoed from the forest, and Dean froze. He steadied the gun in his right hand and used his left hand to navigate his flashlight in the direction of the laughter.

This time, Dean heard a chorus of giggles erupting from the woods. He motioned for Sam to get behind him as he aimed the gun at their unseen foe.

"Go away!" called one of the girls.

"No way in hell! Where are the missing girls?" Dean yelled menacingly.

"Come find them," answered a girl in a sing-song voice. Sam shivered involuntarily as he and Dean inched closer to the forest.

"There, Dean!" Sam called. He aimed his flashlight at the source of the voice. Dean saw three translucent girls standing in a row. He fired the rock salt gun at them, and two of the girls disappeared with anguished shrieks.

The last ghost winked at them before evaporating into the moonlight.

Sam advanced towards the forest and turned around when he sensed that Dean wasn't at his side.

"Dean!" he called. He saw that Dean was hunched over with his hands on his knees. He also appeared to be hyperventilating.

Sam was at Dean's side in an instant.

"Dean," he said softly, pulling his brother into an upright position.

"'M fine, Sammy," Dean muttered. He took a deep breath and rolled his neck as he felt for his rock salt gun and flashlight.

"No, you're not. You're hyperventilating, Dean," Sam said worriedly.

"Just rest for a minute, okay?" Sam said, sighing in frustration as Dean shook his head.

Sam kept his hand on Dean's shoulder for a moment and waited for Dean to collect himself.

"Let's go kill us some girl scouts," Dean said with a weak grin.

Sam hung back for a moment, preparing to catch Dean if he started to sway on his feet.

When he saw that Dean was capable of standing on his own, Sam reluctantly followed his brother into the moonlit forest.

Suddenly, a tiny apparition appeared before Sam. She was only half his height, but her eyes were wild and her grin was crooked and feral. Sam aimed his gun at the glowing white figure, but she was quicker than him.

"You can't have them," she hissed. With one quick motion, she knocked Sam off his feet.

"Sam!" Dean yelled. He ran over to help Sam stand up. Dean pumped the spirit full of rock salt, and she disappeared with a shrill hiss.

"You okay?" Dean asked quickly. Sam nodded and began a frantic search for the little girls in the forest.

The forest was becoming increasingly dark and impassable. Thistles and underbrush tore at their clothes and slowed down their progress.

Every once in a while, Sam and Dean would hear a quiet, eerie tittering from behind a tree.

"Show yourselves! We don't want to hurt you!" Dean yelled, challenging the ghost girls to show their faces.

"We just want to go home," came a tiny voice.

"That doesn't sound like a ghost," Sam muttered. He looked for the source of the voice and finally found a tiny, shivering form behind a maple tree.

"Sarah?" Sam asked softly.

"Y-yes," she replied, looking up at Sam with bright, frightened brown eyes.

"Where are the other girls, Sarah?" Sam whispered.

"By the train tracks," Sarah answered.

"I'm going to take you with me," Sam said in a comforting voice. He lifted Sarah with ease and held her close to him to prevent her from growing even colder.

"Dean, I found one of the missing girls!" Sam called. He frantically searched the dark forest for his brother, but Dean was nowhere to be found.

"Dean!" Sam yelled. He swallowed the tide of panic that threatened to take the driver's seat of his central nervous system.

"No. He has to be fine. He's Dean," Sam assured himself. He retraced his steps but still saw no sign of Dean.

"Dean!"

"Sammy," Dean answered weakly. Sam followed the voice to a small clearing that was illuminated by the milky moonlight.

"Dean!" Sam yelled again, rushing to his brother's side. Sam inspected Dean quickly and was relieved to see that he wasn't injured. He wondered why Dean was stuck in this stationary position, and his question was answered when he looked to his right.

Three frightened little girls were huddled together on the train tracks. They were surrounded by four ghostly figures, and the apparitions were holding diaphanous spirit-knives to the necks of their terrified victims.

"Let them go," Dean demanded. One of the spirits in the middle spit out a cold, shrill laugh as she dug the knife further into the girl's neck.

"No," she growled.

"Why are you doing this?" Sam asked, holding Sarah's trembling form closer to himself as he tried to reason with the ghost.

"We wanted new friends. No one would play with us, at least no one who's alive, that is," said the ghost with a crooked grin.

Sam shivered and quickly shook off his uneasiness.

"You can't do this. What happened to you was an accident," Sam said calmly, trying to placate the ghost girl's unpredictable emotions.

"No. Mr. Morrison was drunk," the ghost replied matter-of-factly. She turned her head to the left and grinned slightly as she saw a light in the distance.

"They're all going to join us soon, Sam. Just hand over Sarah so we don't have to take her by force," she hissed.

"Sam, do something," Dean said urgently.

"Dean, you're the one with the rock salt gun!" Sam shot back.

"I can't shoot 'em! What if I miss? They'll kill those girls for sure," Dean said angrily.

"Do something, Dean!" Sam pleaded. He looked down at the little girl in his arms. They had to act fast.

Sam's eyes swept over the forest floor in an attempt to find something, anything, to distract the spirits.

His eyes landed on a tiny, charred piece of fabric. Sam bent down and shined his flashlight on the face of an ancient, charred ragdoll.

"Is this yours?" Sam asked suddenly. He glanced up at the spirit girl and waved the doll in front of the flashlight.

"Give it back!" the girl shrieked. She left her captive and flew towards Sam angrily.

"Dean, give me your lighter!" Sam called. Dean threw Sam the lighter and Sam caught it with an outstretched hand.

"Goodbye," Sam whispered. He set the doll on fire and tossed it to the ground. The flames devoured the tiny doll in an instant, and the four ghost girls flickered and faded into the still night air.

Sam turned to Dean and exhaled sharply. His chest heaved with exertion, but his face was overcome with relief as he rushed over to the three other girls.

"Dean, come help me!" Sam called.

They made sure that the other girls were unhurt and relatively calm before they ventured out of the forest and back to the lawn behind the old farmhouse.

Sam and Dean each carried two girls, and they made short work of crossing the lawn. Once they put the girls into the back seat of the Impala, they headed back to the forest to retrieve their guns and flashlights.

"We're taking you to the police station," Dean said. He walked towards the driver's side of the Impala but was met with firm resistance from Sam, who demanded that he hand over the keys.

Dean begrudgingly obliged and sat in the passenger's seat. He was too freakin' tired to drive, anyway.

When they got to the police station, Dean called Jen Mitchell and told her to come down as fast as she could.

When she pulled up, she mouthed, "thank you" and gave Dean and Sam a tearful grin as she lifted her daughter into her arms and hugged her tightly.

The other three girls were also reunited with their families, and Sam turned to Dean with a grin as they turned to leave.

"Nice work, Sammy," Dean said with a smile.

"Right back at you, Dean," Sam replied.

The policemen wanted to take down their names and first-hand accounts of what exactly had occurred in the woods behind the old farm house. Sam and Dean told them that they found the girls tied up by the railroad tracks, and they rescued them just like any good citizen, or perhaps Dudley Do-Right, would if he had the chance.

Sam and Dean denied any accolades and honorary awards from the sheriff's department. They were sure that they would never come back to Charles City anyway.

As they headed back to the Impala, Dean's knees buckled. He almost faceplanted, but Sam caught him just in time.

"Dean!" Sam called as he shook Dean frantically.

Dean was completely unconscious in his arms. He came to several seconds later, and he was surprised to find himself looking up into Sam's smiling, obviously relieved face.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said with a quick grin. Dean could've sworn that he saw a tear sparkling in Sam's eye.

"Get off me, Sammy," Dean said gruffly. He tried to push Sam's arms away, but he was held firmly in place by his much larger little brother.

"Dean, you look like crap. There's no way that I'm letting you go," Sam laughed.

"At least help me stand! I don't wanna have the sheriff come out here and see you goin' all Titanic on me," Dean complained loudly.

Sam sighed and helped Dean stand up.

Dean still swayed unsteadily, and Sam put an arm around his shoulder to support him.

"See? Told you it was too soon to let you go," Sam said with a smirk.

"Come on, Sam," Dean said in annoyance as he pushed Sam's arm away from him.

He made his way over to the Impala and slumped into the passenger's seat.

Sam sighed and climbed into the driver's seat.

"You know, you should try and get some rest on the way back, too," Sam said as he looked over at Dean with a concerned glare.

He was met with a sight that was simultaneously surprising and relieving.

Dean was snoring lightly and his head was tucked against his chest.

Dean didn't need any encouraging to fall asleep now. He had made that decision all on his own.

"G'night, Dean," Sam whispered as he backed up the Impala and headed back to the motel.

Dean slept well through the night, and he woke up feeling refreshed the next morning. Sam never did tell him that he had to carry Dean from the Impala to the bed that night, but he had a feeling that Dean wouldn't really have minded anyway.

End.