Disclaimer: The two simple words 'fan' and 'fiction' give clue to the fact that I am a fan... and this is fiction... QED, not mine.

A/N: Some unknown, crazy... supernatural even... force is possessing me right now to post this. Quite possibly I am in a lack-of-sleep trance, or perhaps I am dilusional... or most likely I am extremely bored, was reading through some of my old stories here online, saw all the awesome reviews people gave me and felt nestalgic.
If there are any questions as to whether this is really me, just go on the fact that I've already made two spelling mistakes.
Anyways, so yes!!-- some new writting on here!! There is also good news that goes along with it. This story is a chapter story, BUT, I have the whole thing already completely written. I simply have to post it up chapter by chapter. Don't let that fool you-- I still want reviews! Stresses of life (which you'll slowly find out through a/n, haha) cause me to yern for those awesome words you guys seem to find for my usually cruddy writting. Anyways!... that's all for now. Please, read and review!! Thanks!


Casper's Lullaby

"Sammy please," Dean's voice quivered; his lower lip trembling with each breath that escaped, "please Sammy… just stop fighting… please…"

His hand was holding tight around Sam's, who held on weakly. Tears blocked Dean's vision as he stared into Sam's eyes. The younger brother had a long tube sticking out of his mouth, though his eyes showed the pain that was truly there.

Seventy percent of his body.

That's how much the doctors told Dean was burnt on his baby brother. Skin grafts, time and surgery might take care of most of it. His left arm would have to be removed, and even so, doctors were worried about infection and organ failure. Over all, the chances of Sam Winchester's survival were less than ten percent.

"Please Sammy," Dean whispered, his whole body shaking, "Please Sammy… I won't be mad I promise," Dean gave a hiccoughed laugh before forcing a smile, "You can come haunt me later. I just--"

Silent tears marked their way down Sam's face. It was cruel, Dean thought, how his face was burn free. How Sam's face was still… Sam's. White dressings and cloths covered everything bellow the neck, but the eyes which stared pain filled back at Dean were the ones he knew.

"I'm so sorry," Dean shook his head slowly, "I'm sorry."

Sam's head arched back in a sudden burst of pain and Dean was forced to close his eyes. There was nothing they could do, the doctors said, for the pain. His heart was too weak for strong sedatives, and although they were pumping him with morphine, it barely took the edge off the pain.

'Just be there for him,' was what the doctor had told him. Hold him, and love him. Dean had no problem doing that. It was when his little brother was in so much pain that his eyes were squeezed shut and tears forced their way down his chapped cheeks that the eldest brother wanted it all to end. Wanted the suffering to stop.

…wanted Sammy to just stop fighting.

-_-_-_-

"Hurry up Sam, it's time to hit the road!" Dean yelled out towards the bathroom.

The door opened up, and Sam walked out, his face pale except for his bright pink cheeks. He wore jeans and a white tank top, stumbling slightly as he walked into the room.

"Jesus Sammy," Dean forced back a laugh, "You look like crap."

"Thanks," Sam muttered, taking a deep, stuttering breath, "Next time you want to give me something, give me money. Give me a deck of cards… hell, deck me upside the head. Just-- keep your damn flu bug to yourself."

Dean laughed and clapped Sam on the shoulder, "Don't worry-- it only lasts for about a day."

"Comforting," Sam panted, leaning against the doorframe leading outside.

"You got a plastic bag or something?" Dean questioned as he popped open the trunk to his Impala, his little brother lagging behind, "Because I swear, if you hurl in my car, I'm going to give you a lot more than a flu."

Sam smirked, and held up an old Wal-Mart bag which he'd shoved some napkins in the bottom of.

"Good job Sammy."

"Call me that again and I'm going to puke on you next time," Sam threatened.

Dean laughed as he worked on putting all of their things in the trunk. It wasn't much, but rather than getting Sam's help in doing it, the elder brother eagerly volunteered to pack it all up. Two days earlier he'd been the one who was curled up in bed, getting sick seemingly every hour, and Sam had been more than helpful. And now, through all the teasing, Dean still hated to see his baby brother sick, and he knew he'd do anything to make it better for him.

"About ready to go Sam?" Dean questioned, "New York is about three days away, so you should be fine by the time we get there."

"Gimmie a minute," Sam just managed to get out before having to dash to the tree lined property.

Dean patiently waited for his brother to finish getting sick. Surprisingly when Sam walked over to the car, he looked much better, and Dean took this small sign as a good thing. The brothers got into the car, and Dean started up the engine. The Impala was often used in dangerous or high speed things, and so when that was being done, the occupants would use the seatbelts. When they were simply traveling along the highway, however, comfort came before safety.

And so as Dean gently pulled out of the parking lot of the crummy motel, neither brother had on a seatbelt when the red Malibu smashed into the front of the Impala.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean cried out, his body slamming into the door.

Immediately Dean swung open his door, and bolted to the front of the car to try and stop the man who had backed into his precious car. A quick 'oh crap!' escaped the mysterious man's mouth before he speed off down the road.

"God damn it!" Dean shouted, throwing the nearest rock he could find at the fleeing car.

He then turned around to where Sam was still sitting in the car, staring wide-eyed out the windshield towards Dean. The elder brother rushed over, getting back into the driver's side.

"Are you ok Sam?" Dean breathed, looking Sam up and down.

Sam swallowed hard, "I think so. How 'bout you?"

"I'm fine," Dean confirmed, "That bastard just plowed into my car."

"Was he d-drunk?" Sam asked, clutching his sick page wirily.

"I don't know," Dean tried to start the car up again, and sighed in relief when it did, "But part of the front is smashed pretty good," he glanced at Sam, "And you don't look so great yourself."

"Get the car checked out," Sam muttered barely audibly.

"Yeah," Dean nodded, and pulled out onto the highway, "The next station is about twenty minutes away-- you can relax for a bit while I get the car looked at."

Sam nodded, and leaned his head back against the seat. Dean glanced a worried look towards his little brother, but reassured himself that he would be fine soon. The car had only been driving for ten minutes before Dean noticed something that would start the chain reaction to change his life as he knew it.

Smoke.

Small puffs of smoke began to pillow out from the hood of the Impala-- something Dean at first thought to maybe be steam from the hot sun. He pulled the car to the side of the road, glancing over to see Sam sleeping relatively peacefully.

"Come on," Dean muttered as he pulled the lever to pop the hood, "I just want you to make it to the station baby. Sammy can't walk that far right now."

The smoke shot out even more, and was darker now as Dean rounded to the front of the car. His heart beat quickened as Dean glanced at the engine-- his breath catching his throat. Flames licked around the gears and pistons.

"No," Dean gasped before yelling, "Sam! Sam get out!"

Sam's head snapped up, and the younger brother looked blurry eyed at Dean through the smoke. Again Dean yelled for him to get out of the car.

Maybe it was because Sam had been sick.

Maybe it was because the young Winchester had been hurt more than he let on when the Malibu smashed into the Impala.

Or maybe… it was fate.

The flames grew higher and licked at the gas tank. Dean knew what was going to happen, and though Sam had managed to get the passenger door open, he still remained sitting in the seat, seemingly knowing that it was too late.

"Sam, no!" Dean cried out, making a bolt for the car.

Sam was right; it was too late.

The car let out a mighty explosion, sending Dean flying backwards over ten feet. By the time he returned to standing, the whole car was on fire, and, to his horror, Sam was crawling on the ground by the ditch.

Completely engulfed in bright orange flames.

...to be continued...