Still don't own Supernatural. Not suing would be appreciated. I have no money, I promise, so please just let me use the brilliant characters.

Anyway, thanks for the reviews.


They had to enter through the basement, the front porch had rotted off and it was a good four feet to the door, which was still locked. Going through the basement never seemed like a good plan. The sort of entrance that said, "here, start out at the creepiest point of the house", but they did it anyway. Besides, both Dean and Sam knew that it didn't matter what room they were in, they usually found what they were looking for. Or it found them.

The stairs creaked as Sam placed his foot on the tread. "Hope these stairs hold out." He whispered.

"Well, go first and make sure." Dean whispered back with a smirk that Sam couldn't see, but knew was there.

"You go first, you're older." He switched on the flashlight.

"And as the oldest, I'm telling you to go first." Dean pushed his shoulder. "Come on, Samantha."

Sam rolled his eyes and cautiously went up the stairs. Both made it to the top without falling through. Dean pulled a folded newspaper copy from his pocket and shined his light on it.

"I'll take this floor, you cover the second."

"Okay." Sam started towards another set of stairs.

"Yell if you need help." Dean added.

"No shit." Sam smiled and tested the next flight of steps.

Dean moved cautiously through the house. The information he had was vague; maybe a spirit or poltergeist, possibly a ghoul, but he doubted that one, worst-case scenario, demon. Shit, he was sick of demons.

Sam slipped into a back bedroom. It was small, not much room around the twin bed and dresser that were covered in a generous layer of dust. Something had clawed through the mattress, he was hoping that whatever had moved on. The only thing worse than a pissed off spirit, was a pissed off raccoon that had just been startled. Ghosts never came with the threat of rabies.

Yeah, it was a poltergeist. Dean figured when he had to duck a plate that was thrown from the cupboard as he entered the kitchen. That was never a good room to encounter a pissed off spirit, too much ammunition, not to mention the healthy supply of kitchen knives that most houses had. A few forks were aimed at his head and he ducked again.

"Okay, time to be done." He muttered and pulled out the book to find the recitation. Once again, the standard salt and burn didn't apply.

Sam's phone beeped and he flipped it open. Finished the spirit. –Dean. Sam shoved the phone back in his pocket and turned. A gust of wind brushed past him and something cold traced its way up his spine.

He could have sworn that he heard, "I've been waiting for you." before he felt the floor rush up at him.

Dean heard the thump from the floor above him. He ran for the stairs, he just knew that it was Sam. Dean checked three rooms before he found Sam on the floor of the fourth. Blood pooled around his nose and he was pale. Dean dropped to his brother's side.

He rested a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Sam. Sammy."

Sam's eyes fluttered open and he pushed himself up. He wiped the blood away with his sleeve.

"What happened?" He looked to Dean.

"I was kinda hoping you'd answer that question." Dean met Sam's eyes. "Are you okay?"

Sam closed his eyes for a second. "My head's killing me."

"Like vision headache?"

"Like smacked my head on the floor headache."

"Can't figure out why." Dean smirked and sat back on his heels.

"Did you get it?" Sam pressed his hands against his eyes.

"It's done."

"Can we go?" His voice was gritty, like he had spent all night awake.


Dean stood and helped Sam to his feet. Sam wavered a little but didn't fall again. Standing made black shapes drift across his vision, but they cleared after a bit. Dean kept an eye on him as they made their way out of the house.

Sam leaned against the impala as Dean packed away the weapons. Sam had his hand pressed against his temple, Dean saw the slight tremor.

"You going to get in?" Dean slammed the trunk closed.

Sam swallowed. "Give me a sec."

Dean was about to ask why, when Sam doubled over and vomited onto the overgrown driveway. A few witty, asshole remarks popped into Dean's head, but he ignored them and fished a water bottle from the back seat. He walked over to his brother and handed it to him.

"Thanks." Sam muttered weakly and took a slow drink.

"What do you remember?" Dean tried to keep the worry from his voice.

It wasn't like Sam to just pass out. Hell, a few hours ago Sam had been joking and the picture of health. Dean rested his hand against Sam's forehead, no fever.

"Got your message." He muttered like it hurt to talk even. "Then I was on the floor."

"You feel okay?"

Sam looked at him and shrugged. He leaned heavily on the car like it was the only thing keeping him standing, it probably was.

"Ready to go back to the room?"

Sam nodded and climbed into the car. Dean slid behind the wheel and they pulled away. Sam sat with his head rested against the cool glass of the window. Dean saw him wince as they met oncoming headlights. Sam had his head braced in one hand, the other was clenched into a fist. Dean could tell by the hitch in Sam's breathing that his kid brother was hurting. Everything that Sam was doing and not doing told Dean how much pain he was really in.

Finally they pulled into the motel parking lot. Sam pushed open his door, but didn't move much after that. Dean climbed from the car and went around to help Sam. By that point Sam was standing, but it was more the car than him.


He turned to Dean. "I'm okay, just got to wait for everything to stop spinning."

Dean wanted to help, but he knew that Sam would probably try to resist more. "I'll leave the door open so you just have to stagger towards it."

Sam almost smiled. "Sounds good."

"Maybe I'll let you have some of the good pain killers."

"You could leave a trail to make sure I get the right room." He let go of the car and shut the door.

It was all an act and Sam hoped that Dean didn't know how hard he was trying. Dean knew, the few jokes did nothing to hide the tremor in Sam's hands and how pale he was. Sam briefly touched the doorframe to get his bearings again before he sunk onto his bed. Dean set the bottle of water and a couple white pills on the table between the two beds.

"I'm going to grab a shower." Dean pulled off his tee shirt. "You'll be okay?"

"Don't plan on moving much." Sam took the pills.

Dean glanced back at him once before he closed the bathroom door. Sam stretched out on the bed. He still felt like passing out and had no idea why. His head pounded and he draped an arm over his eyes to block out every particle of light. He was cold too, he realized after a few minutes of nothing but the white noise of the shower going and the black behind his eyelids. Cold like something was wrong more than an actual temperature. Before he could figure it out he drifted to sleep, at least he wasn't conscious of pain when he was asleep.

Dean stepped out of the bathroom and was relieved that Sam was asleep. Maybe he'd be all right in the morning. He pulled the blanket over Sam, slipped under his own blankets and switched off the light.