* * * PAST * * *

"Hold on Sam, hold on." Dean's voice sounded different than it should; strained, tight, shakey. It scared Sam.

"Aaaah….augh-aaAAAUGHHHHH..."

"Hold on, Sammy, please..." Every jolting step was causing Sam more pain. His chest felt like it was on fire, his body felt beaten, and he couldn't catch his breath, in fact, he felt like he couldn't breath at all, like his throat was too wet, flooding, and the back of his mouth was sticky and hot, making him gag, choke, but every reaction stabbed at him, every twitch made him want to scream.

"DEE-EAann.."

"I-I know Sammy, oh god, please, just...god please, please..."

Was that a prayer? It sounded like one, but from Dean...and those sobs, surely those weren't coming from Dean, were they?

No, Sam decided, as he felt himself start to lose it, because there was no air, no air, and blackness had come over his eyes when they rolled back into his head. No, Sam thought, Dean would never cry like that, would never resort to prayer.

Unless...

But then Sam faded completely, and he was unable to suppose any longer.

Time passed.

He felt...nothing in particular.

He just knew he felt. The closest he could come to describing it was...fuzzy. He felt fuzzy and floating, like clouds mixed with...carpet.

Not the cheap stuff, though...new, soft...shag...

But why did he feel like this? Was he dead? Was he in, like, purgatory?

"Please Sam..."

Whoa, why does God sound like Dean? Tell me God doesn't have Dean's voice...

"Three days is a long time, man. Just...wake up, okay? I swear I'll give you anything you want, just wake up..."

Not dead then...asleep?

"Dad'll never forgive me. I'll never forgive me..."

Where am I? What is Dean talking about? Dean? Dean? Deeeaaaa...

"Nnn...nnnnnnnnnn..."

"Sammy?!"

There was a light buzzing sound, and then alot more voices, and Sam suddenly realized there had been alot of beeping and whirring noises around too, he just hadn't noticed.

And then Sam understood where he was, why there was something long and plastic forced down his throat, why he couldn't move or talk right, why his head felt too big and his eyes felt stuck closed. He remembered the house, the spirit, the chandelier, falling, screaming...

It was alright, though. He was pretty much just glad to be alive.

He knew something would have to be done about Dean's voice though. It still sounded like he was crying.

* * * PRESENT * * *

He felt...wrong.

Not just like flu-wrong or puberty-wrong or even hard-on-in-church-wrong. He just knew he felt wrong, like something big was wrong, or was about to turn out wrong.

"Please Sam..."

Dean's voice sounded wrong...maybe that was it, maybe that was the wrong thing. Sam realized his face had that odd novacaine feeling, because he could barely feel what must have been Dean' fingers tapping his cheek; it was like someone flicking your foot when it's fallen asleep. Maybe his face was asleep, as weird as that would be, maybe that was the wrong thing.

"Sam, c'mon man. Sammy!"

Without meaning to, Sam suddenly realized he must have responded, because he could see Dean's tilted face, too close to be normal, is that the wrong thing?, and his eyes too wide for things to be okay, is that the wrong thing?, and his face pale in the bluish light of the nighttime that was driffting from somewhere over his head, is the blue light the wrong thing?

"Dean," again, Sam's body acted of it's own accord; he couldn't seem to recall willing himself to speak.

But at least saying Dean's name seemed right and not wrong, even if his own voice sounded quiet and bleak.

Dean sighed and let his head hang for a moment, and Sam thought he could hear Dean muttering something that definitely contained the words 'thank,' 'you,' and 'god'.

But he might have been hallucinating, because pain made you do that sometimes, and he was just becoming increasingly aware of something seriously painful encompassing his entire body. He felt like his chest was impaled on a sword, and his legs were under a truck, and his back was broken into peices, and his head was swollen unnaturally, and everything hurt so much he couldn't even deal with it, couldn't push it aside or force it away or groan through it or scream through it or cry.

He could only let it wash over him, almost drowning him, and it made it hard to think, hard to remember who he was or what was happenning, because he couldn't for the life of him figure out why he was in so much pain, why he could move, why he was looking at Dean sideways, and why everything was just so wrong.

"Dean," he said again, only his time it sounded like he was begging to die, which wasn't what he'd been going for, but it actually worked out...whatever.

"I'm here, I'm here Sammy, it's-it's gonna be okay, alright? Just-just..." Dean looked at a loss.

"Hurts."

"Okay, I-uh-I'm just gonna, just-just, can you feel any-anything, Sammy? Can, can you tell me what hurts, anything?"

"Yes."

"Yes? Okay, yes. Yes..yes what?"

"Yes."

"You can feel your legs?"

"Yes."

"Are you in pain?"

"Yes," that one sounded like a whimper, even to Sam.

"Okay, it's okay. Can you move at all?"

"No."

"Can you tell if you're bleeding anywhere?"

"No."

"Can you string two or more words together?"

"No."

"Okay, don't try to, it's fine. I'm gonna get you out of here, okay? I know it hurts, buddy, I'm gonna fix it, okay?"

"What."

"I said I've gotcha, Sammy, don't worry, I've gotcha."

"No."

"No? No what..."

"What."

"What, what...what happenned? Are you asking what happenned?"

"Yes..."

"We're in California, angry spirit, Blue Cove Elementary School, there was an earthquake-"

"Dead."

"Dead? You mean the spirit? You burned the bones?"

"Yes."

"Alright good, good job Sammy. Don't worry, you're gonna be fine."

"Air."

"What? Sam, what?"

"Air."

It was getting hard to breathe.

"Oh, oh god, okay, I'm calling for help Sam, okay? I'm calling right now, don't panic, just stay with me man, don't-"

He felt the horrible impaled feeling shift in his chest everytime his body made him breathe, and he could feel a disgustingly familiar sensation building in his throat, and he wanted to cough bad, so badly, but he couldn't and it was hurting.

"-need you to stay with me, Sam, alright? Sam? Please, man, don't-don't close your eyes, no, don't-"

The air was coming harder, he couldn't breathe enough, it was wrong, so wrong.

"-on the fifth floor, there's a big beam thing, I can't move it myself-"

Dean was talking to someone else now, he figured, which was weird, because he couldn't see Dean anymore, only hear him, but the pain was still there, and he still couldn't deal, couldn't cry or cry out.

"-please hurry. He's hurt bad. I don't know, hold on. Sammy, hey Sam...Sammy? Sam?!"

Sam prayed for unconsciousness to find him, even as volume seemed to increase around him and the pain continued to crash over him and he felt the first beginnings of warmth and wet seeping around parts of him, and he began to taste iron and salt on the back of his tongue.

He lay there with his eyes closed and the feelings ruling, waiting for his brother to save his life, and sorry that it seemed it might not happen this time.

* * * PAST * * *

Sam just tended to have bad luck.

Being tall was fine, but he was unlucky enough to get the freakishly-tall gene that made him somehow lanky and chubby at the same time, which was awkward, especially at age 12. Being smart was fine, but he was unlucky because everyone seemed to know that he was smart, and worse was that almost everyone hated him because of it.

And, of course, Sam was unlucky enough that Colton Crowell hated him the most out of everyone.

Yup, it was officially official. Sam just tended to have bad luck.

"Where ya goin' Samuel?"

Great. Even better, Colton always called him 'Samuel', except that he said it like 'Sam-yoo-ehhlll', and spit it like a curse word. Wonderful.

"Oh, uh, hi Colton." Please don't pound my face. Colton was the only fourteen year old sixth-grader who ever lived - he'd been held back twice. Sam knew how to defend himself, but Colton was just so darn big - taller than Sam, even, and way wider.

"Don't 'hi' me, jerk." Oh, so it was one of those days. Even better.

Usually, Colton found him at the end of the school day when they'd had some big test that he'd failed, and he'd give Sam a hard time, push him around a little, maybe even threaten him some. He'd never actually beat Sam up, but it was inevitable.

Sam had neglected to tell Dean, of course, like an idiot.

And he hadn't even made it to the parking lot to get picked up yet. So no parents to watch his back. Yup, he was screwed, because Colton was looking like he'd really failed that test. And I totally aced it. Looks like today is the day.

But then, Sam figured that if he was dead meat anyway, he might as well do the thing properly.

"Fine," Sam stepped right up to Colton, who loomed, a good foot taller than him,"what'd you think of the test, Ape-face? Easy, right? Oh sorry, I forgot, you're a hopeless mass of ugly idiot."

Colton stared at him, probably trying to catch up to the words Sam had thrown at him.

Hey, this channelling-Dean thing isn't so hard, and Colton hasn't even hit me yet, he's just staring. Maybe I can run for it-

BAM!

Or not.

Sam wasn't exactly sure what order things happened in next. Maybe Colton had punched him in the stomach, kicked him on the ground, and then layed into his face and ribs. Or maybe he'd kicked him in the ribs, punched him to the ground, and then layed into his face and stomach. Or maybe he'd kicked and punched and layed into his stomach, then kicked and punched and layed into him on the ground, then punched and kicked and layed into his face and ribs. Or...

Screw it. Either way, Sam wasn't even sure he was conscious when Colton finally left him there, pretty much a pulp behind the basketball courts. He was pretty sure he was dead, because his head felt like it was splayed out on the ground, and his face felt like it'd fallen off, and his stomach felt like it was wide open, and he was pretty sure all his ribs were just shards now, and he tasted blood and felt blood and smelt blood and

Maybe minutes went by, maybe years.

Oh my god...

Sam knew he didn't want to wake up. At the moment, he was fairly numb, save for an odd thrumming that he heard more than felt. He was pretty sure he didn't want to feel anything. It would probably hurt. Alot.

Oh my god, Sammy, oh my god...

But then, staying unconscious wasn't working out so great when he could hear someone freaking out right next to him.

Sammy? Sammy?! Oh my god...

Whoever it was was seriously taking god's name in serious vain.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod...

It was actually kind of funny, except that the someone sorta sounded like Dean.

And just like that, Sam was fully conscious again. And it did hurt. Alot.

"Sam? C'mon man, wake up, Sam, I need you to wake up buddy, please-"

"Guhhhhh..."

"Sam?! Sam, are you with me, can you here me?"

"Uhn..."

Okay, so talking wasn't working out so well. Man, everything hurts so bad. Maybe I should just open my eyes.

Eye. Just one eye, because the left one was swollen shut, it felt like. Yup, definitely not opening. But the right eye was working somewhat okay.

He opened it, and Dean's panicked face swirled above him in front of a pink background. Okay, so maybe the eye isn't working so well.

Because Dean didn't panic. Ever. And the last he remembered, there hadn't been anything remotely pink around when Colton had decided to beat the heaping heck out of him.

Oh, that's the sky. Sunset. Okay, now it made more sense. But Dean was talking again.

"...Johnson Middle School on Brockton, behind the basketbal courts, near the big gym. Please, I think he's hurt really bad, I don't know how long he's been here like this..."

Dean obviously wasn't talking to him, so maybe it was okay to go back to sleep now.

"No Sam, don't close your eyes, stay with me, please, stay with me!"

Or not.

"C'mon Sam, stay awake...stay awake with me, Sammy...stay awake..."

* * * PRESENT * * *

"Stay awake Sam, please."

The pain was no longer phantom pain from a dreamed memory. It was assaulting him, worse than before he thought, it had to be.

"Sam? Sam, open your eyes right now!" Dean sounding frantic was no longer just recollection either.

"Help," it wasn't actually the word Sam had been thinking - it was more like 'shutup' or 'tired' or maybe 'agony,' but he was almost past caring at this point.

Either way, Dean started making really terrible sounds that absolutely could not have been him crying.

"I-I know Sam, I," Dean's words hitched horribly, frighteningly, "it's coming, help is coming, they're gonna get you out of here, it won't hurt after that, okay?"

"Dean."

"I'm right here Sam, can you feel my hand?"

Sam realized then that Dean had been holding his left hand for a long time now, he'd just neglected to acknowledge the feeling. It was wonderful now though, to feel something that wasn't hurting. As far as Sam could tell, his left arm wasn't actually damaged at all. He tried to squeeze Dean's hand.

It must have worked somewhat, because Dean started making those awful non-sob-sounds again.

And then Sam make the mother of all mistakes.

He decided that he would try to see if his other arm was okay. He mentally traced through the impaled feeling and found his shoulder, his elbow, and then his hand.

He twitched his wrist.

It was like an explosion inside his body, utter torture coursing through him. He screamed, and his eyes flew open, but his eyes still saw darkness because they were rolling back. He wanted to vomit, to pass out, to die, because it hurt so badly, like being run through a thousand times over. He couldn't hear Dean, didn't know what he was thinking, or saying, didn't care, because he knew now that something was very wrong, much more wrong than he'd originally thought, so wrong that there was no way, no possible this was fixable.

Sam could feel it, he could just tell.

Somehow he knew that his wrist, maybe even the bigger part of his forearm was very broken, that the bone had punctured through the skin of his arm a long ways, that he'd landed hard on that arm when he'd fallen, that the sharp bone had stabbed right through his chest and directly into one of his lungs, probably right up to his heart.

And Sam knew then that he was going to die, that he had effectively killed himself.

This is it...I'm dying...