A/N: Well I made deadline! Today was the last day to submit a fic for the Summer of Sam Love on LJ. I admit I was getting a bit discouraged with my writing since it seems not many read and review. I could never give up writing though regardless because I like it too much and enjoy putting the boys through the wringer. Plus limp!Sam is made of epic win! Also, the spoilers have been excellent motivation. If you aren't a spoilerphobe, then you know what I mean. We are in for a real treat ;) I hope you enjoy this story and will leave a short note if you like it.

Dean was getting sick of this. He hated to sound like a wimp or like he couldn't take care of himself but he'd had enough.

"Sam, what the hell are you doing?" He barked, from his position on the floor. He hadn't been able to get up since the vengeful spirit had tossed him on to a decaying antique coffee table. He figured his ankle was either badly sprained or maybe even broken. He didn't know how the rest of him was either since he pretty much hurt everywhere.

"Sam!" He yelled again, impatiently. Sam was completely off his game. Ever since he had taken his year off to go live the good life with his girlfriend, leaving him stuck in purgatory, his hunting prowess had gone out the window.

Now I do sound like a wuss, Dean thought to himself, which only agitated him more.

He figured this should have been a cakewalk. They were on their way back from Colorado after dealing with a Mayan God. It was Cacao, for God's sakes, yet they couldn't even work as a team to get rid of an angry spirit?

He had found out about the case through his own research since he was the only one who seemed interested in even finding hunts at all these days that a vengeful spirit was terrorizing a fraternity house at a college campus. One student had been killed after falling through a window and several others injured.

Sam seemed more interested in taking in the college campus surroundings than asking questions about what exactly had gone on there. Dean was surprised he didn't go visit the Admission's Office and ask for an application or ask what they offered for extracurricular activities.

Everything had gone to hell in a hand basket the minute they walked in to the fraternity house. Apparently the spirit was pissed when they dared come back into his territory after the college had shut the place down. Even though no one was buying the story of an "evil looking young man dressed in a black polo" picking people up and throwing them around, they weren't taking any chances and locked the house up. He and Sam had picked the lock, although Dean swore it took Sam longer than usual to get the door open.

He had figured out that the spirit was most likely a former student and fraternity member named Hans Brimfield after interviewing some of the victims. He was the one who had looked up former fraternity members too and matched the face to the name based on descriptions, and he had discovered Hans had killed himself. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he was the only one actually participating in this hunt, physically and mentally that was. Sam's research skills had deteriorated too in his year off so now he really felt like he was doing all the heavy lifting.

There were no bones to burn and no locks of hair as far as he knew. They had spoken to Hans' family and barely got too much out of them. Sam looked spacey, his eyes glazing over as he looked around at beaming photographs of Hans. He wasn't even able to turn on his usual puppy eyed, sympathetic charm. All they could do was assume there had to be something else, most likely a cursed object, tying him to the house. When they opened the front door, they started rummaging looking for anything that would keep the ghost from resting in peace. Dean had suggested he do the looking while Sam provided backup. Sam had shouted a warning to Dean that Hans was in the vicinity but it was far too late. He was tossed right into the air. Now Sam was off doing the searching while he sat there uselessly.

"Dean?" Sam called.

"I'm over here!" Dean yelled.

"Are you okay?"

"Does it look like it Sam?" Dean asked. "You know you could have warned me that he was right behind me."

"I'm sorry. I didn't see him until it was too late," Sam said, sheepishly. "I still don't know what this thing is tied to. He was cremated so there has to be something."

Sam felt guilty, and the shame crept up the back of his neck making his face burn hot. It was his fault that Dean had been hurt and he was doing his best to figure out how to get them out of his mess. However, Dean yelling at him wasn't helping.

Chaos was still continuing to reign down around them, as books flew off shelves and they attempted to dodge furniture. Hans hadn't showed his face again but they knew it was just a matter of time.

"What was the story that student told us about?" Sam asked suddenly, remembering some information.

"I don't know!" It's kind of hard to think through the pain," Dean said, sarcastically.

"He said something about an award, remember? Didn't Hans win an award for all of his achievements? The house was named after him after his death. The students said they tapped it for good luck before finals. It was a plaque," Sam rambled, ignoring him.

I'm surprised he even remembers anything or that we are on a hunt at all, Dean thought bitterly.

Then Sam dashed off down the hallway toward one of the bedrooms. He returned with a gold plated plaque engraved with the name of the spirit. Before he could figure out how to destroy the item, the spirit launched Sam forward into the air. He landed hard against the corner of an ornate stone fireplace, his chest colliding with it with a resounding thud.

Sam couldn't describe the pain that richocheted through him. The impact had made his teeth rattle and fiery hot pain tore through his chest. However, he knew Dean was worse off and he had to finish this.

"Come on Sam!" Dean yelled. Right now he didn't have a ton of sympathy even as he watched Sam struggle to get his wits about him, apparently winded.

Sam slowly turned around, the spirit facing him now, flickering in and out, ready to strike.

"Where is your heart, Sam?" The spirit asked him, accusatory.

Sam ignored him and held the plaque in his hand. The enraged spirit sent fire rushing out of the fireplace. Sam took this opportunity to throw the plaque into the flames. As the plaque started to burn, so did the spirit. However, the rush of the flames had set some surrounding items on fire and the place was starting to burn.

Sam rushed over to Dean then, hauling him to his feet.

"Easy!" Dean chided. He figured he had some bruised ribs on top of everything else.

"Sorry," Sam said, sounding breathless. "We need to get out of here."

He draped Dean's shoulder over his own and tried to get them moving forward. However, he seemed to be having difficulty.

"God Sam, I'm not that heavy," Dean groused.

Sam didn't know what was wrong with him but the pain in his chest had intensified and he could barely support Dean.

Dean knew he was slow because he could not put weight on his ankle at all. However, Sam wasn't moving too fast either. They both began coughing on the acrid smoke.

The place was filling quickly with smoke as they approached the stairs. Suddenly there was a loud crash and Sam looked back to see the floor give way just behind them. Now they couldn't turn back and the floor beneath them was ablaze as well. Sam felt fear pierce through him like a sharp knife and he knew it was all up to him.

"Come on," Sam said, through gritted teeth. He picked Dean up, draping him over his shoulders, even as the sheer agony tore him inside out, and ran down the stairs towards the door. Each step felt like he was colliding with the fireplace again and again, blow by blow hitting him in the chest.

The lower level of the house was practically engulfed now, flames licking at the front door, their only means of escaping.

Sam grunted to keep hold of Dean as he reached for the knob pulling it open. He ran outside and down the small set of stairs of the porch, trying to get Dean as far away from the burning house as possible.

Sam placed Dean down on some grass, and then bent over, hands clenched on his knees, coughing and panting with exertion.

Dean sat on the ground, taking in lungfuls of fresh air, his ribs and ankle pulsing painfully.

"Are you okay?" Sam rasped out.

"I think so but—" Dean began.

Dean didn't get to finish his sentence as he watched a strange look of pain cross Sam's face. He reached a hand up to his chest and Dean watched as Sam visibly paled.

"Sam?" Dean queried.

Sam didn't respond. Instead Dean watched in horror as Sam's eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed in a heap on to the ground.

At first Dean thought maybe Sam had just fainted. After all, it had been awhile since he had done so much hunting. He thought maybe all the exertion, the adrenaline rush had been all too much. However, he could see Sam was in distress. He was gasping for air, his lips turning blue.

"Sammy! Sam!" Dean called, unable to control the fear he felt for his brother despite being angry before.

Dean could hear sirens in the distance so he knew someone had seen the building on fire and called for help.

He got up off the ground slowly, painfully limping over to Sam's still form. He crouched next to him wondering if it was smoke inhalation.

"Just breathe Sammy," Dean instructed his brother. He figured maybe being out and away from the burning building would rouse Sam and he'd catch his breath. However, he did not see any improvement. He couldn't even see Sam's chest rising and falling any longer.

"What do we have?" A voice interrupted him. It was a paramedic and he also crouched down to assess Sam.

"I don't know. We just escaped from the fire and he collapsed. He was fine before," Dean explained.

The paramedic placed his fingers against Sam's pulse.

"No pulse," the paramedic informed his partner. They immediately began chest compressions.

"What's happening?" Dean asked.

"He's in full arrest," the other paramedic confirmed.

Dean sat there shell shocked. What the hell had just happened?

He watched as Sam's shirt was cut open and electrodes were placed on his chest. Then he heard the shrill high pitched wail of the machine. Dean didn't see any signs of visible injury on Sam. There was no blood. The only sign of injury was a small triangular shaped bruise forming on Sam's chest where he had hit the fireplace. The defibrillator paddles were brought out and they shocked Sam to no avail.

"We got to roll," the paramedic said, urgently. They brought out a backboard and placed Sam on to it, all the while pumping his chest. Dean watched as his brother was whisked away from him, as the ambulance doors slammed in his face. He remained on the ground, his injured leg painfully tucked under him, his face bathed in the red glow of the sirens. He never felt so lost before in his life. Sam was dying and he had no idea why.