AN: Constructive criticism is appreciated. All mistakes are my own.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Everything belongs to the creators of Supernatural.

Just Peachy

It had been a long couple of days. Sam and Dean had come to the town for a routine salt-and-burn. However, Peter McArthy had a serious anger management issue and a nasty habit of throwing people into things.

The search through Peter's old house had been a disaster from the start. The floor was falling out and the steps were rotted through. In the light of day, it wouldn't have been difficult to navigate around the unsteady floor, but in the dead of the night with only the moon and two weak flashlight beams to guide them, the journey was much more perilous. Sam had only suggested going to the house to try and find record of where Peter was buried and was now regretting his decision.

"Dean," Sam hissed in low voice. He winced as the floorboards creaked under his brother's quickly shifting weight. The whole house was moaning and gave the appearance that a stiff wind could blow the whole thing over.

Dean was facing him now. His eyebrows were drawn close together and his mouth was pursed. The gun clasped tightly in his hand was brought up ever so slightly and his eyes flicked quickly back and forth, obviously anticipating danger. "What?"

Sam took another glance around the ramshackle house. "Maybe we should come back. This place is falling apart." The house let out a loud creak as if to agree with him.

Dean's look of concentrated deadliness was swiftly replaced by one of annoyance and the gun was lowered again. "Oh come on, Sam! First you drag me out here in the freaking middle of the night to look for papers so we can burn a dead guy and now you want to leave because an old house is making funny noises? We're already here so we are at least gonna check it out, okay?"

He saw Dean's point and nodded slowly. A huff of air passed Dean's lips as he rolled his eyes and turned away from Sam. Immediately, the air temperature dropped and Sam saw his breath crystallize in front of him. The spirit of Peter McArthy materialized behind Dean, bony hands reaching toward his neck.

"Dean!" the cry ripped through his throat and he brought his gun up, but was hesitant to shoot in fear of hitting Dean.

Before he could consider the pros and cons of firing the gun filled with rock salt, Dean had dropped to the floor. He landed in a crouch and spun, bringing up his own gun to shoot the spirit. However, to Sam's horror, the floor chose that moment to give up, and with a tremendous crack, it fell, taking Dean with it.

"Dean!" Sam screamed again, his focus on the hole his brother had just disappeared into. His attention was drawn away by Peter McArthy turning to face him, a sick looking smile lighting up his features. Without hesitation, Sam brought up the gun and fired two rounds into the spirit. The sound of the gunshots and Peter's unearthly scream echoed through the house as the spirit dissipated.

Sam waited for a moment in silence, making sure Peter wouldn't be back soon, and then turned back to the broken floorboards. Every instinct screamed for him to run over and see how badly Dean was hurt, but logic held him back. He knew the rest of the floor was still unsteady, so he forced himself to take slow steps, testing the floor carefully before setting his weight down. Blood roared through his ears, acutely aware that there had been no sound from Dean since he fell.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Sam reached the break in the floorboards. Taking another swift look around to ensure Peter wasn't making another surprise appearance, he slowly bent down and angled his flashlight beam into the depths of the basement.

The light cut through the inky darkness, illuminating the amount of wreckage left behind when the floor caved in. Even with the help from the flashlight, there was no sign of Dean.

"Dean?" Sam called. He strained his eyes, trying to find a sign that his brother was alive. A moment later, a small groan cut through the silence. Directly under Sam, a small patch of rubble shifted and revealed the bottom half of Dean. "Dean!"

More rubble fell away as Dean slowly sat up. "Sammy?" his voice sounded more than a little disoriented. Sam watched as Dean raised a hand to hold his head and slowly turned to examine his surroundings. Then, he looked up. He appeared startled to see Sam looking down at him. "The hell happened?"

A small burst of relieved laughter escaped Sam at Dean's words. They were so Dean-like that Sam knew nothing too serious could be wrong with him.

"The floor collapsed beneath you!" Sam shouted down. "Are you hurt?"

Dean winced and fixed Sam with a glare. "Jesus, Sammy, I'm fine but if you keep screaming I might burst an eardrum."

Sam flushed, annoyed with himself. He and Dean were only separated by a couple feet of open air. He should have realized Dean would hear him fine if he spoke regularly, but adrenaline and far were still pumping through his veins, causing the volume of his voice to rise. His mind raced as he tried to think of a way to get his brother up. The floor boards were too rotted to pull him up even if he had a rope. "Dean," he called down, more softly this time. "Do you see stairs?"

He saw Dean whip his head around but abruptly stop, his eyes closing. Opening them a moment later, he scanned the room again, more slowly this time. Dean looked back at him. "There's some that way," he pointed to his right. "I'm coming up." With that, he stood shakily and started shuffling.

"Dean, wait!" Sam shouted. "You shouldn't be walking!" His cries fell on deaf ears though, as Dean resolutely ignored him. "Stupid idiot. If he could just listen for once," Sam grumbled to himself as he headed in the direction Dean indicated to find the entrance of the basement.

Sam found the door after carefully tiptoeing around rotted and weak floorboards. He opened it and found Dean standing at the bottom. He looked pale and a sheen of sweat glistened on his face. "Jesus, Dean."

Dean looked up, determination lighting his eyes. "D-don't need help, Sam," he gritted out. "You-you stay right there."

Sam felt anger heating in the pit of his stomach. Why couldn't Dean admit he needed help? He crossed his arms and watched as Dean slowly lifted his right foot to the first step.

The anger Sam felt abated after watching Dean struggle up the first two steps. Enough was enough. He took a step down, ready to help Dean regardless of what his older brother said. "Dean-" he started, but froze when Peter McArthy's spirit appeared directly behind Dean.

AN: So that's the first chapter and if you guys review saying you like it, I'll put up new ones. Thanks for reading!