A/N: I'm sorry for not updating in so long, I've been super super busy! I hope you all had a good Christmas etc :) and I hope you'll like this update!

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own them.


As the ghost vanished, Sam dropped to the ground.

God, he was in so much pain. His leg felt like it was on fire, and his head was throbbing. He landed hard on his side, feeling his wrist break underneath him.

He wasn't sure how long he blacked out. Maybe it was only for a couple of seconds, but he was jolted into consciousness by his frantic brother shaking his shoulder.

"Sam! Sammy! You gotta stay awake, buddy. We gotta get outta here."

"... De'?"

"Yeah, kiddo, it's me. You gotta help me out here, man, you're too heavy to carry."

He felt Dean lift him up gently, and that's when he smelled smoke. Blinking, he stared at the flames licking up the wood, coming from the loft. Shit.

He glanced down at his leg, and blanched at the pitchfork. He knew the other end of the prongs had pierced through the other side. The prongs were vertical, and as he realized all three spikes went through his bone, his eyes rolled back in his head and everything went dark.


Shit, this just wasn't their day.

The kid was out cold, and Dean was terrified. Blood was steadily seeping from Sam's leg, and his face was losing colour. His wrist was beginning to bruise and ugly purple.

Dean's back straining under Sam's weight, he carried him outside bridal style, the whole ride cursing himself and muttering apologies to his brother.

Setting Sam down, mindful of the fucking pitchfork, he cried. Dean Winchester fucking cried.

Because they were in the middle of nowhere, Sam was hurt bad, and their dad was pissed at them. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't remove the pitchfork, he couldn't contact their dad for help –

There was only one solution.

He had to carry his brother out of here.

Oh god, this was going to suck.


Sam wasn't really aware of anything besides a burning sensation flooding through his veins.

He tried to call out for someone, something, anything, but no sound came out besides a pained grunt, and he was shocked to realize it was his own.

"Shit, sorry buddy," came Dean's voice, tinged with fear.

"Wha-"

He was being carried. Strong arms wrapped around him, and they shook, but whether it was from overexertion or plain terror, Sam couldn't tell.

His head was so fuzzy he thought he might puke. As he held back a scream of pain, he felt Dean start to walk faster. Where were they?

"We're almost to the car, kiddo, I promise…"

They were in the forest. Sam's head leaned back against his brother's leather jacket, and he was comforted by the smell of cheap aftershave, beer and gunpowder. He could almost feel the fear radiating from Dean, and he wondered how badly he was injured this time.

The trees rolled by, nauseating his stomach. Green leaves blurred his vision and he fought the urge to pass out again. His leg and wrist were sending waves of agony through him.

"Take it out," he whispered, fighting back tears. "Take it out. De, please…"

"No can do, bro. You'll bleed out in seconds. We'll getcha to a hospital and they'll patch you up. You're gonna be fine, Sammy."

Sam, on the other hand, wasn't so sure. What if they had to amputate his leg? What if he got sepsis? What if-

"Sam!"

A shake to his shoulder woke him from his stupor. He stared blankly at the night sky, and he shivered. Whether from blood loss, fever, or plain fear, he couldn't tell. Dean's arms were shaking around him, and his big brother's breaths were ragged. Sam knew he wasn't out of shape; he was just frightened. Hell, he'd hardly ever seen Dean this worried before.

His brother was muttering to himself as Sam swayed in his arms. "Can't contact Dad, he doesn't know where we are, no way to call for help… damn it!"

After a moment of darkness, Sam opened his eyes to find himself staring up at the ceiling of the Impala, choking out a sigh of relief. He was shaking hard now, and Dean wrapped a blanket tightly around him. Pain overtook him, and he knew no more.


Dean threw himself into the driver's side, slamming the door and swerving his head to check on his little brother. Swearing at the fact he was unconscious again, the older Winchester threw the Impala into drive and tore out of dirt lot at the edge of the forest. He made in it onto the highway and started heading to the nearest hospital in record time.

Sam hated hospitals; hell, Dean did too, but he knew sometimes they were unavoidable. He could treat a lot of things, but pitchforks weren't exactly on that list. There was a chance of blood poisoning, or Sam bleeding out, or -

Shaking his head, he tried to filter out all the thoughts of losing his brother, but he felt hopeless. At the hospital came into view, he hopped out and opened the back door, gently grabbing Sam in his arms.

"It's okay, buddy, we're going to get you help…"

He felt sick at the sight of the blood on Sam, and him. The kid didn't deserve this life. He wouldn't hurt a goddamn fly. He thought that Sam's blood might remained stained his mind as long as he lived. If Sam didn't make it, that wouldn't be very long.

Running into the ER, he yelled for help. A team of nurses ran over to him, one calling out for a gurney.

"Sir? Sir, can you tell us your name?"

Momentarily taken aback, he had to shake his head to bring himself back to reality. "Yeah, yeah, I'm Dean… Folland, and that's my brother Sam."

"Can you tell us what happened to him?"

"We were, uh, playing around in an old barn in the woods. He f-fell off the loft, and landed on the pitchfork. I think he broke his wrist too."

He hoped the nurse would believe his bullshit story. She was a pretty young thing, with dark blonde hair and kind brown eyes. Another time, Dean would have hit on her, tried to get in bed with her, but he was scared shitless about Sam.

"Is he going to be okay?" he asked roughly, but the nurse was gone, tagging along with the doctors and Sam's gurney that were rushing down a hallway. Dean's blood went cold.

"He's crashing!"

Dean was terrified.

He couldn't lose his brother... or he'd lose himself, too.