A/N: I do not own "Supernatural".

Unbeta'ed. All mistakes are mine.

I hope you enjoy and maybe spare a moment to leave a review. Thank you.

Summary: Dean and Sam are on a supposedly easy hunt to salt and burn a ghost. But since when have things ever been easy for the brothers? It just goes awfully wrong.

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"Easy salt 'n' burn. My ass!" Dean scowled angrily. "Damn it!"

"Relaxxx dude! Iss okay."

"Okay? What?" Dean whirled around and stared at his little brother. "Sam! C'mon! You can barely walk. Your head's a mess. Well, nothing new there." The last part was muttered.

"Haha", replied Sammy. "Jokesss about my hhhair are gettin' ol'."

Dean noticed the slight slur in Sam's speech but said nothing. At least he was coherent enough to get Dean's joke. Kind of. Actually Dean had referred to Sam's geek brain. But he would take whatever he could get now from his younger brother. And if Sam wanted to take his comment like that who was Dean to say anything against it? Sam was right about his floppy, messy hair just the same as Dean was about Sam's brain being nerdy.

Instead of focusing too much on his younger sibling's injuries he kept on with his rant. It was kind of a distraction to himself as well as for Sam's good. Dean knew Sam was in pain. If Dean had to put it nicely the throwing across and around the cemetery had had to be extremely uncomfortable for Sam.

Sam also knew what his older brother was doing and he welcomed the distracting conversation. Even if he had troubles putting things in perspective both visually and audibly. His vision swam in and out of focus, his ears rang and his head felt like splitting into two. He barely made out his brother's words and once he did he needed a moment to comprehend what Dean had said. Sam's head had been banged one too many times. But he tried to keep going.

Neither of the brothers was sure what had gone wrong. It really had been supposed to be a real nice and easy salt and burn of a ghost who wondered around the townhouse of this small town in the middle of nowhere. However, this ghost had happened to be an angry ghost, a very angry ghost which had had way too much fun scaring and in the end killing people. After some researching the brothers eventually had been able to figure out that it had been the spirit of the former mayor's wife. Dean remembered Sam's findings.

Earlier that day.

"Dean, meet Mrs. Suzanne Baker." Sam had turned the laptop on the motel table so that Dean could see the picture. He leaned forward on the edge of the bed in the sleazy motel room where he had taken care of one of their weapons. A dark-haired woman with kind eyes smiled back at him.

"Okay. This is the spirit from the townhouse. So?" Dean looked down the barrel of his gun and put on a satisfied grin.

"She is Mr. Tony Baker's wife. He was mayor until about a year ago."

"Lemme guess. Killed?" The older hunter put the gun down and folded the cleaning rag.

"Yep", nodded Sam.

"By her?" Dean raised his eyebrows and looked over at his brother.

"Yep."

"Poison?"

"Way to cliché, dude. Not all ladies use poison."

"Ladies? You call killer women ladies ? What's wrong with you?" Dean stared incredulously at Sam, grabbed the cleaning rag and threw it at his brother which landed next to Sam's hand on the table.

Sam rolled his eyes but otherwise ignored Dean and the rag and continued. "Suzanne was the betrayed in a threesome. She caught her husband and his secretary-"

"Now that's really cliché!"

"-in his office." Once again Sam ignored Dean's comment. "To say she was shocked is an understatement. He promised it was a one-time-thing. The whole 'I-am-so-sorry-darling-I-don't-know-what-happened'. Anyway."

"Good ole Suzie found out that it wasn't a one-timer and killed her husband?" suggested Dean though he knew the answer.

"Right. She was furious, stormed the office and shot Tony and the secretary before she was shot by some police officer."

"But why didn't she move on? She got her revenge! Why is she still here and Tony and his lover are gone?"

"How should I know, Jennifer?" The younger brother smirked.

"Hey! I'm not Ghost Whisperer! That stuff ain't real anyways!" Dean exclaimed.

Sam snickered. "Glad to know you know that show."

"It's very… educating." Dean replied.

"Uh huh." Sam nodded mockingly.

"Oh, wipe that grin of your face before I do."

Sam tried his best to hide his big smile and continued with their latest hunt. "Now, anyway, why they are gone and Suzanne's not? I don't know. I don't care. She's still here. So let's get to work. I found the cemetery and her grave."

"I don't get them damn ghosts. They are almost as crazy as humans." Dean replied. He had long since cooled down again from their bantering.

"Probably because they were humans." Sam commented while he shut down the computer.

The cemetery was a little outside of the town. The brothers parked the Impala a little away and started the search for the grave of Suzanne Baker. The flashlights hit one tombstone after another until Dean finally found it.

"Here." Dean pointed to a gravesite.

Sam came over and pushed his shovel into the ground while Dean glanced around in the dark. After a while Sam hit the coffin. Carefully he opened the lit and stood to the side as best as he could to avoid the foul stench of decay.

Before he knew what happened he felt himself thrown out of the grave. He barely had time to get a word across his lips. He was knocked, thrown, pushed, kicked around. Every now and then a moan or a groan escaped him but he was almost too occupied to be mistaken as a human punching bag.

Dean had whirled around once he heard his brother getting kicked out of the grave. He saw a brunette woman half as big and tall as his sibling knocking him about. No doubt! This was Suzanne Baker. He grabbed for his shot gun loaded with rock salt and fired. He missed. How could that have happened? Hell, Dean Winchester did not miss! He was a damn good shot!

"You don't have time to wonder!" He scolded himself. He aimed again. This time he did not miss. The spirit disappeared.

"Sammy? You okay?"

"Huh."

Dean took that as a yes. He jumped into the grave, salted the remains of Suzanne Baker and poured fire accelerant all over.

A grunt made him look up. The really angry ghost of Suzanne Baker had reappeared. Before he even could call out to his younger sibling to get off of his lazy ass and help him, he heard Sam shouting.

"Hey, ugly ghosty! Yeah, you! I'm here!"

"Ghosty?" Dean echoed, but did not pay too much attention to the conversation any longer. As long as Sam could distract the spirit and keep its attention on him, it bought him some time to set its bones and with them the spirit itself ablaze. From the corner of his eyes though he saw the dead woman who started beating up Sam all over again.

"C'mon, c'mon!" Dean cheered on the match he tried to ignite only to break it in two. "What the fuck!" He screamed in frustration. What was wrong with him today? First he missed in shooting, then he could not ignite a damn match? Finally, another match caught fire and he let it fall into the grave. It went up in flames right away.

The ghost emerged at Dean's side which made him jump. Suddenly, a loud bone-shattering scream pervaded the otherwise silent night on the cemetery. Thank goodness, it was far off from any civilization.

"Bye-bye, Suzie!" Dean puffed and grinned. A relieved and loud sigh emerged from Dean's throat as he put his hands on his knees and bent over to catch his breath.

Then he realized something. Something was off.

"Sam?" He looked around for his brother. "Where the hell are you? Come on! Hide and seek is a game for little kids! Get your ass over here!" Dean received no answer. "Sam!" He called again. But yet again there was no reply. Dean got worried. "Sammy?"

Sam believed he had heard someone call his name. He was leaning against something hard and his eyes were closed. He tried to remember what had happened and when he had closed his eyes. Slowly he opened them just to screw them shut again immediately. The flames from the burning grave lit up some of the cemetery. The bright and dancing light hurt his already pounding head. Cemetery? He tried to piece things together but his head hurt too much.

"Dean?" His voice was nothing more than a whisper. "Okay, that way nobody will hear ya. Not even the worms right below you." He silently thought to himself. He cleared his throat. "Dean." This time a little louder.

"Sam?" Dean showed up next to him and looked him over. "You okay?"

"Yeah, sure." Sam's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Can you open your eyes?"

"No."

"What?" Dean was astonished and worried, really worried.

"Too bright around here. Hurts."

"Huh." Dean sighed in relief. "Well, wait a few minutes. Then the flames should start to die down."

Sam nodded which proofed to be a bad idea as his head hurt and the world kept on spinning even worse than before. At least he remembered what had happened but he could not decide if that actually was a good or a bad thing.

After a while Sam opened his eyes. He was not sure if he had passed out in the meantime or not. He did not care either. He was tired. This damn ghost-bitch kicked him about and pretty much everything hurt.

"You wanna get up?"

"No, I like staying down here. A tombstone as a pillow, the flames as my nightlight. That's just my idea of a nice sleeping place." Sam answered. That statement almost zapped his energy completely. He was close to panting. But he did not want to worry Dean more than he already did. So he tried to keep up his disguise. Bantering belonged to that.

"Alright, alright, I get it." Dean held out his hands to pull Sam to his feet.

Sam swayed, the world around him kept on spinning crazily, he felt sick, his head pounded, his legs barely supported his weight. If not for Dean he would have face-planted.

Now Dean knew for sure that Sam was not as well as he kept pretending to be. But he would play along in Sam's game for he also knew Sam needed it to feel better himself.

With clenched jaws Dean tightened his grip on his sibling while he led them back to their car.

They were back at the Impala. Sam did not remember how they had gotten here. Dean opened the passenger door and helped Sam inside. His head felt like exploding into a zillion pieces. He chuckled despite of himself.

"Sam?" Dean asked carefully and in an even huskier voice than usual. He tried to keep his tone low to not add to Sam's already hurting head.

"Head essplodess. Poor guy thaa' hasss ta put it back together." Sam was gasping by the time he finished.

"Yeah, with all that crazy knowledge you have stored in there they'd have a blast piecing you back together." Dean bantered along even if he did not like it one bit. But maybe it was a good sign that Sam still made connections like that, he hoped.

The older man considered their options. They actually could not leave like this. The grave was still burning and the soil needed to be put back inside. It needed to look like before. But could he leave Sam alone like this? He seemed pretty much out of it. He could bring him back to the motel and come back later the night to clean up. Or they just hit the road and leave? No, bad idea, really bad idea. An open grave and them gone. That would be a coincidence that even the dumbest hillbilly cop could put together.

"Sammy?" He called out softly to his younger brother.

"Huh?" Dull, almost closed eyes looked up at him.

"Don't fall asleep here."

"Huh?"

"Oh shit!" Dean mumbled. Sam's condition was deteriorating rapidly.

"Why y' cursssin' ? Spi-spiri' still he'?" Sam babbled.

Dean's face was moving in and out of focus, his voice sounded like he was talking through a muffler. Sam giggled. Muffler as if Dean were a gun. Well, yeah, sometimes he was.

Why the hell was Sam giggling? "No. Suzie is all gone. No need to worry 'bout her."

"Wha' then, De'?" Every word that left Sam's mouth seemed to take more and more effort and strength.

"Just the Impala. She got a nasty scratch along the side."

"Li-ar". Even in his sorry state Sam caught Dean's lie. Never ever would his brother talk about his beloved car like 'just the Impala'. This car was not 'just the Impala'. She was a member of their family.

"Yeah, got me there." Dean smiled even though he did not feel like smiling.

Sam's head felt heavy, intense pain ripped through it and it finally lolled to his left.

"Sam?" Every alarm bell in Dean rang. Sam did not respond. "Sammy? Hey! Sam!" He patted his brother's cheek. Still no response. "To hell with the damn grave. That has to wait!"

Dean stormed around his car. He was not really inside yet but had already started the engine to drive off.

"Hotel Red Cross, here we come!" As much as Dean hated to admit it but now his medical skills were too limited. Sam needed more help than just a bandage or some painkillers to get back into the game.

He sat in the waiting area of the hospital. It had only been two hours since he came back. He had brought Sam here and left again after he had been shoved out of the treatment room. He had had business to do anyway. So he had driven back to the cemetery and cleaned up their mess. At least it bought him some time to distract himself from his brother and the state he was in.

Who was he kidding? Every shovel full of earth thrown back inside the grave he worried more and more about Sam. He had hated that he had to be here instead by his brother's side. Even if the hospital staff wouldn't have let him in with his brother as long as he was in treatment.

Running his hands over his face and through his hair Dean paced the waiting area. "Damn it!" He cursed. What had gone so terribly wrong? He ran through the whole thing over and over again. It had been easy enough. Just a spirit to set ablaze. But everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong.

And now they were here. In a hospital. With Sam being injured. Dean hoped it was 'just' a bad concussion.

But deep down, Dean's anxiety stirred as much as he tried to suppress it. He bit his lip as thoughts entered his mind.

Back at the cemetery, Sam had not once protested about being called 'Sammy'. He hated that nickname and always said, "it's Sam" with a vengeance.

Sam's stumbling, forgetting what was going on around him, his slurred speech had had also been worrisome.

His giggling like a little school girl had almost driven the older brother insane.

Sam's deteriorating had been terrible to witness and had proven almost being too much for Dean to handle.

And when Sam had lost consciousness in the car Dean had been close to panicking. Sam hadn't regained it until Dean eventually left the hospital to take care of business or had come back to sit in the waiting area. There was no word on Sam yet.

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and sat down only to get back up. Eventually he flopped back down in one again.

The waiting already felt like days. Probably because of these amazingly uncomfortable plastic chairs. Dean was sure these were only used so that the hospitals got enough clientele. Back pains were inevitable. Agitation, concern and nervousness had him get up again. He could not sit still. While pacing the room his hands ran through his hair relentlessly.

For the umpteenth time he went to the nurse's station to ask about his brother. He had been checked in under one of their aliases. First it would be harder to track down, second the "Pages" still had an insurance which would hopefully cover some of the expenses.

"Mr. Page, we will update you as soon as we have information", the nurse kindly told him but by now also somewhat impatiently.

"Yeah, sorry. I'm just worried, ya know?"

"Yes, Mr. Page. I understand your worry. But your brother is in good hands. As soon as Doctor Humphries has finished his examination he will come to you. I'll make sure of that." The nurse smiled up at Dean who nodded appreciating. With his shoulders slumped in defeat Dean went back to the waiting room to help himself to some coffee to occupy his hands. He sat down in a chair as his legs began to feel like jello. Bent over with his elbows on his knees his hands nursed the styrofoam cup. The empty cup was almost torn to shreds when a man in scrubs finally came into the room.

"Mr. Page? I'm Doctor Humphries."

"Yes?" Dean jumped out of his seat. "How's my brother?"

"Sam has some serious injuries."

Dean gasped through his teeth.

"Please, maybe we should have this talk seated." The doctor pointed to the seats and sat down. The man before him looked dead on his feet and he did not need another patient just yet.

Dean followed his example not by will but because he felt exhausted and weary.

"As I said your brother has some serious injuries. However, those can be treated rather well. He needs plenty of rest and quiet. He has several abrasions which are a minor concern. His left leg has a deep gash from his knee right down to his ankle which we were able to get under control. He will probably keep a scar there due to the heavy stitching. We are monitoring his blood for infection. So far nothing. Our major concern is his head injury. We do not know the extent yet."

Until now Dean had listened patiently to the list injuries and treatments the physician had told him about. But the mentioning of the head wound and not knowing about it proved to be too much for Dean.

"What? Why not?" He shouted angrily while he rose to his feet.

"He has yet to regain consciousness." The doctor explained calmly from his seat.

"He... No! He hasn't..." Dean sank down into the chair again. He felt like a balloon deflated of air.

Doctor Humphries shook his head sympathetically. "And you have no idea what has happened to him?"

Dean shook his head. What was he supposed to tell them? That some spirit beat up his brother? He'd book a ticket for the psych ward in a straight jacket right away. Nothing that seemed very appealing.

"Can I can I see him? Please?" Dean asked softly.

"Of course. Please, this way."

Dean did not remember the way to the room in the ICU, did not remember how he had ended up in the chair next to his brother, did not remember what anyone had said to him. He did not care either. He just stared at his brother who despite his unbelievable size seemed so small in this hospital bed. He was surrounded by machines which beeped every now and then; tubes, cords and other medical stuff were attached to Sam. His left leg with the deep gash was slightly elevated, his head was bandaged. In the dark of the cemetery and in his adrenaline rush Dean had not realized how bruised and bloody Sam had had to have been.

"Good God!" he muttered even when he knew that God probably would not care about this.

Softly he reached for Sam's hand which lay by his side and took it in between his. The laxness of it scared Dean immensely but he did his best to cover his fear. Instead he carefully caressed the back of it.

"Hey Sammy. I'm here. I've done a hell of a job protecting you, huh?" He huffed. "I know I messed up. I really messed up. I didn't have your back out there. But I'm here now. Don't worry. I'll do everything I can to get you back here, alright? I take care of my pain-in-the-ass-little-brother. So, whenever you're ready you can wake up and we handle everything else together. I won't leave you! Watcha think? Wakey-wakey, huh?"

Dean looked hesitantly but hopeful up at his brother's face which remained the same as before.

"Alright. No need to rush. School's out for summer anyway." Dean tried joking as he remembered how eager kid-Sam seemed to go to school. Even during the summer months he could not stop talking about classes and all the stuff he had learned.

Dean continued the gentle stroking. He brushed Sam's long hair from his face even though it had not fallen in it, plucked the blankets around him so that Sam would net get cold, talked nonsense about their childhood, encouraged him to wake up. But Sam just lay there with closed eyes, completely limp, unresponsive.

After a few days in which Dean only left his brother's bedside for short bathroom trips, Dean was utterly exhausted, angry and desperate.

"Come on Snow White. Did you eat poisoned grapes or what?"

"It was an apple." A soft voice from the door said.

"What?" Dean snapped furiously and turned around.

A young nurse around Dean's age stood in the doorway about to enter the room. Then she answered kindly, "Snow White ate a poisoned apple which she got from her evil stepmother."

"Oh." Dean lost his anger by her simple explanation and her gentle and smooth voice which almost seemed to lull him in.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I just wanted to check on Sam."

"Yeah, right." Dean answered tiredly.

"I'm Lucy." She said while she read the vitals. Then out of the blue she asked, "How are you holding up?"

"Fine, just fine."

"I can see that." A knowing small smile crossed her gentle face. "When was the last time you took a shower or ate something?"

Dean looked confused at her.

"Just like I thought. Why don't you go clean yourself up and grab a bite to eat?"

"No way. I won't leave Sammy!"

"Sammy won't be going anywhere in his condition." If not for her smile Dean would have punched her for that phrase. But Lucy did not say it meanly. "Look, you need to keep your strength up yourself. Sam's gonna need it when he wakes up."

She had said 'when'. Everybody else always said 'if'. Dean decided to like her. She seemed genuinely earnest as well as worried.

"I'll stay with him as long as you're gone. There's a shower just down that hall. And there's a cafeteria on the first floor."

"Alright. I'll go." He was glad that she would stay.

"Don't take apples. Too dangerous!" Lucy smiled at Dean. He smiled back at her. For the first time in days.

But it would not take very long to wash the smile from of his face again.

Dean reentered his brother's room only to find Dr. Humphries and yet another nurse in it. All alarms flared up red inside of him.

"What's wrong?" He gasped staring wide-eyed from one medical staff to the other.

The new nurse cast an uncomfortable glance at the younger man, then at the doctor before turning her attention back to her patient trying to avoid Dean's probing and piercing glare.

Lucy did not turn her eyes away when Dean stared at her but offered an apologetic smile.

Dean shifted his glance at the physician.

"Dean, let's talk outside while Linda and Lucy take care of Sam."

"Tell me!" Dean demanded lowly.

"Dean", Lucy interjected, not fathomed by his seemingly dangerous stance, "Please go outside and listen to Dr. Humphries."

Her words cut to the core and Dean's anger dissipated as Lucy smiled sadly at him before she turned her attention back at Sam. He watched her hands take tender, loving care of his brother. His brother who was not okay. This was not okay.

"Please. Let's talk outside." The doctor insisted and led Dean out of the patient's room. Dean offered only little resistance. He wanted, needed to know what was going on.

"So?" He asked when they were in the hallway where he had regained some of his composure.

"Dean," Dr. Humphries began and looked sympathetically at the distraught man. "Sam's condition is very serious."

"What are you trying to tell me?"

"We can't seem to wake him from his coma." The doctor spoke in a friendly yet sad tone and put a compassionate hand on his patient's brother's shoulder.

Dean needed a moment to get his head wrapped around the message he had just heard. "You have all these freaking machines and medication! How can you not?" Dean's voice flared with anger.

"They don't help here."

Dean's jaw dropped open. He could not believe what he was hearing. How could they not help Sam? His little brother needed their help! He had brought him here so they would help him get better. And now he was in a damn coma! A coma they couldn't wake him up from?

"We're using the medication to make him as comfortable as possible."

Dean stared at the man before him trying to make sense of his words. He blinked a few times until the physician's words finally hit home. When he spoke his voice was utterly defeated, toneless and devoid of any life. It was not a question but a statement.

"You're telling me, he'll be like this forever."

The End