Summary. . . . . . . . . . . . A hunt goes bad, and a brother gets a reminder of something he was beginning to forget.

Disclaimer. . . . . . . . . . Still only playing with Kripke's boys.

A.N. . . . . . . . . . So, I can't quite get back into the Supernatural chapter fics I still have left open, but I am trying really hard to finish them so please bear with me. That being said, I'm sping cleaning my laptop at the moment and found yet another tidbit that I started ages ago, so for now I have this little one shot for you, I hope that you enjoy it. Catch you soon, Peanut x

Dust motes rose and swirled around his denim clad ankles, as he slinked his way slowly, softly along the darkened passageway of the old manor house hotel; his senses heightened and alert for any sound, smell, or movement. His finger clenched and unclenched reflexively upon the trigger of the rock salt loaded shotgun he carried, ready to unleash a load just as soon as the spirit showed its ugly assed face once more. His other hand tested each and every door handle he passed, not that it really mattered, the spirit could just pass through it, but he'd been taught to be careful, and some habits were had to lose.

He knew the second it appeared, his neck hairs rising, a tingling resonating throughout his body, a chill enveloping him, and his breath fogging before him in the barely visible light. Finger already flexing, he turned shotgun rising as he did so, but it was too little too late as he felt himself flying gracefully through the air, only to crash unceremoniously in a tangle of limbs against a rickety old armoire, it's doors splintering beneath his weight, it's shelves slamming into his body, cracking bones and knocking the breath from him, before he dropped loose limbed to the floor. The heavy piece creaked and groaned above him, and swayed precariously on rotted legs, before it was tipped over the edge by a mysterious force, and the elephantine hulk pounded down upon him, disturbing dust in giant plumes. Darkness encroached; dust settled once more, and only his breath disorganizing the lint and grit signaled that life still resided.

Something disturbed him; something niggled at the back of his mind. Awakening, he bit back a groan of confusion and pain, unwilling to move or make a noise at first, taking stock of his injuries and surroundings, making sure he was alone; once he knew for sure, he attempted to move the cumbersome weight that trapped him, the darkness threatening to take him back under once he did so, as pain assaulted him, only a noise preventing him from falling completely under; a noise he knew only too well, a noise he was sure had awakened him in the first place. He pushed and shoved, a need now growing deep within him, a need to get back in the hunt, a need to save his brother.

He knew they shouldn't have split up, knew they would pay a price for doing so, but things between them had been strained recently, and when it was suggested he had agreed readily; anything to get away from those eyes. Now though, he found himself wishing those eyes were staring right at him, helping him to get free, safe and secure right where they were supposed to be, right there by his side. Biting down a cry of relief as the wooden lump moved slightly, he slowly inched his pain filled body from beneath it, having to stop every few seconds, panting and out of breath. Strength, he didn't know he possessed though, emanated from him as a cry of pain, a shot, an ominously loud crash, an explosive cracking of wood, and a horrified shout of his name, resounded out from down the long sweeping hallway; the armoire pushed to one side effortlessly as the need to get back to his sibling consumed him.

Stumbling to his feet, he used the walls for support as he lurched and blundered his way back down the west wing, his useless left leg dragging patterns through the dirt, revealing the patina of the oak flooring that resided beneath. Uncaring anymore, if the spirit were alive or dead, he shouted out his brother's name over and over again; praying every time that he would receive an answer back, but hearing nothing but the creaks and groans of the old home. He cursed himself as he had to stop for breath as he turned into the main hallway, propping himself up and gulping down great lungful's of air; he didn't have time for this, he had to get back, he had to find his brother. Pushing off the wall he moved once more, only to stop in his tracks once more as the staircase came into sight; a staircase that was now no longer complete, a huge plume of dust floating up from the level below.

Cold, chilling fear erupted from the pit of his stomach, spreading until it enveloped him completely. His brother's name fell repeatedly from his lips once more, but yet again all he garnered in response was the groaning and creaking of aged wood as it basked in the warmth of a new day's sun. He staggered slowly forward, only to hesitate as the dust slowly began to clear and settle, his eyes unbelieving, unwilling to see the truth. This couldn't be happening, this couldn't be true, after all that they had gone through, after all they had faced, could something as simple as a plain ordinary spirit be the thing that brought the Winchester's down? He needed to know, needed to see, but as he reached the edge, he wished he hadn't stepped forward.

Distorted by the fall, limbs splayed haphazardly, damaged and broken, his brother lay in the grand foyer, blood pooling around him like some grotesque halo, his normally expressive eyes gradually losing their light. A cry of anguish rumbles from deep within his stomach, and expels from his mouth in a scream of pure rage laced with dollops of guilt. He moves from the edge and stumbles for the sweeping spiraling staircase, the cloying smell of copper reaching his senses, battling with the ozone that hung heavily in the air, he had to get down there, he had to get to his brother, but he found he couldn't move, his limbs becoming heavy as they seemed to seep right into the stairs. He tugged and pulled at them, but they seemed to be stuck in glue like substance, great tendrils refusing to let go each time he seemed to pull free. He couldn't help but look over the railing, at his sibling lying dying beneath him, his name once more erupting from his lips, he body once more trying to break free, only to jerk forward as he was suddenly released.

He shot up, panting and frantically searching around him, but at first seeing nothing, hearing nothing. Gradually he calmed as smells and sights assaulted him; not the tang of blood and monsters, but of coffee and dirty motel rooms; not the splayed out dead and broken body of his brother, but the silently sleeping sibling stretched out on the bed next to his. Shivers coursed through him as he remembered, tears brimming his eyes, threatening to fall. It had all been a dream, a vividly garish nightmare. Their hunt had been the same, but the ending hadn't happened like that, sure they had both been hurt, but they had both made it out alive. Was this just a reminder that no matter what they were better off together? He was unsure, but he was willing to believe it, willing to give it another try.

A.N. . . . . . . . . . . . Make up your own minds as to who's the narrator and who falls. In my mind it could be either brother. Thank you so much for taking time out to read, Peanut x