Summary: It was supposed to be any easy job, but really, is that even a thing? Not for the Winchesters.

Disclaimer: Sadly, not mine.

A/N: Hi! This is my first time posting a story and I hope you guys enjoy it. I was going to make this a one-shot, but heck, I like where it's headed. Just some good old hurt!Sam and awesome!Dean. Reviews are welcome and much appreciated :)

Rated T for violence and a lil bit of swearing.

Dean swept a hand through his short brown hair and sighed. His little brother was dragging his feet behind him, his hazel eyes clouded. He looked like a mess. At only 17, he had hit a freakish growth spurt but he still didn't completely fit into his body yet, making him lanky as hell. His hair was getting ridiculously mop-looking.

Dean felt for the kid, he really did. Him and dad had been at it again, and their father had slammed the motel door, heading off for the bar in town, leaving them to do the job by themselves. Dean didn't mind, though. He'd never admit it to a single soul, but he enjoyed his little brother's company.

The nature of the job was pretty simple; one hike to a desolate, deserted barn, one ghost to gank, and voila, job done.

"You comin' or what, Samantha?"

The kid glared at him, muttering something under his breath about annoying older brothers. Dean smirked, stepping over a root on the forest floor and shoving a handful of peanut m&ms into his mouth. He shoved the empty bag into his pocket.

The day was grey, clouds obscuring any view of the sun. It was October, and a thin layer of frost covered the ground. Dean was grateful for the warmth his precious leather jacket provided. He breathed out softly through his mouth and stared as his breath hovered for a moment before vanishing.

The barn winked into existence, standing alone in a grassy field. The brothers left the cover of the trees and tread cautiously towards the building. The barn looked eerie out here by itself, in the middle of friggin nowhere, and the sun was beginning to set in the sky. Dean would rather be anywhere but here, but they had a job to do.

With Sam behind him, he approached the front of the barn, staring at the wooden structure. It was brown and dull, chipped and completely abandoned. Dean couldn't help wondering why someone would build a barn here. There was nothing around for miles except for dead, frosty grass and a forest looming on the edges of the clearing.

Although he'd never understood people to begin with, or their reasons for doing stuff. The ghost had been skewering people that had come exploring the barn on a dare. The ghost itself was rumoured to be a Ms. Eliza Weiser, whose husband had apparently brutally murdered her with an an axe before burying her body in the barn. 50 years later, some idiotic kids on a pre-Halloween dare disrupted her peace and she came back with a vengeance.

So, this led to Dean dragging his little brother on a ghost hunt when he could have been grabbing numbers at the local bar. The pretty blonde chick serving drinks had been shooting him looks non-stop the other night. He wondered what was under that shirt -

"Dean," Sam grumbled, dragging his brother's thoughts out of the gutter. "The front door is wide open."

He was right. The wooden door rocked back and forth on its hinges, but there was no wind.

Flicking on his flashlight, the elder brother cautiously made his way into the building, gun drawn. He did an eye-sweep of the room, but it appeared empty. Maybe they'd gotten lucky and the ghost was having a good day.

That was until he saw flash out of the corner of his eye and Sam went flying.

"Dean!"

"Sammy!"

Dean was thrown backwards by the ghost, her white dress stained red. Her face was filthy, and her dead eyes were full of anger. She looked young; twenties, maybe. Her face was illuminated by the red sky filtering through the open door, the sun setting fast.

"I loved him," she growled, wrapping a surprisingly powerful hand around Dean's throat. Reaching for his shotgun, he blasted her and with an angry scream she dispersed.

"Sam?"

No response. Grabbing the flashlight he'd dropped, he shone the beam around, looking for a fallen sasquatch.

Finally it landed on Sam. Dean sprinted over to him, gently placing two fingers on the side of his neck and breathed in a sigh of relief at finding a pulse. His brother's eyes were still closed though, and he was starting to worry.

"C'mon kiddo, she's real pissed now. I gotta go look for the bones, but I don't wanna leave you here. Time to wakey wakey."

Sam didn't so much as twitch. He had a nasty laceration on the side of his head that blood was seeping from. Dean was torn between carrying the kid out of here or burning the bitch's bones, but he knew he couldn't leave the job unfinished or more people would die. Sam would tell him the same thing.

His breath fogged in front of him yet again, and he spun around, blasting the fugly bitch with his shotgun again. Swearing under his breath, he shone his flashlight around the barn.

Come on, come on…

If I were a crazy murderer, where would I hide my wife's bones?
There.

Up in the loft, there was a pile and once the flashlight hit it, it was revealed to be bones. Dean took another look at his Sam, heart breaking, and raced up the creaky wooden steps to the loft. Sifting through his pockets, he pulled out his lighter and lighter fluid. He doused the bones, but as he was about to drop the lighter, jump down the stairs, grab his brother and get the hell out of Dodge, he heard the ghost's voice.

"I loved him, you know. I was a good wife, and he hurt me. Why shouldn't I hurt others, too? Humans are monsters."

Dean's heart nearly leapt out of his chest.

Eliza was holding his brother in a chokehold, Sam's feet dangling inches above the ground. His eyes blinked open in panic, and he gasped for air that never reached his lungs.

Shit! What the hell was he supposed to do? The bitch had Sam.

"Let him go," he growled dangerously. He flicked the lighter on to prove a point. The flames flickered eerily in the breeze wafting through the barn.

"I have nothing left to lose."

Dean noticed the pitchfork too late.

Just as the flame reached the bones, the pitchfork slammed into Sam's upper thigh.

The ghost vanished with a scream of pain, but that wasn't important to Dean.

His kid brother was, and he was in a shitload of trouble.

"Sammy, no!"