This prompt comes from LeeMarieJack: Do you think you could do a poltergeist next? I love all the stuff flying around.

This is set pre-series during Sam's first poltergeist hunt at the age of 15.

Sam pressed his forehead into the Impala's window, wondering if maybe he pressed hard enough he might somehow defy the laws of the universe and slip right through the car door. But Sam would never be so lucky as to escape onto the highway in the middle of a rain storm. Not that his brother or father noticed that he wasn't as pleased to be going on this hunt as they were.

"Seriously, Sammy," Dean was saying, twisted around in the passenger seat to face him, "Poltergeists are nuts, way more exciting than ghosts."

"Dean," John cleared his throat, "Don't let him think it's going to be a cake walk."

Dean nodded enthusiastically. "Right," he agreed, "They're way more dangerous. But don't worry, we've got your back."

John took a second to glance at Sam as they stopped in traffic. "This is going to be a great learning experience for you, kiddo. Now Dean might have taken his first poltergeist on at 13 but that's nothing to worry about. These things are rare and it's never too late to learn."

"Yes, sir," Sam gave the expected answer and turned back to face the window. He didn't want to hunt a poltergeist. He didn't want to be on the road in the middle of the night. He didn't want to miss the math test he was supposed to have in the morning. But Sam had learned at an early age that what he wants doesn't count for anything.

He closed his eyes and went over maths problems in his head. He ignored the rock music he hated playing in the car. He imagined what it would be like to have a home-cooked meal each night, only one school to go to, someone who wanted to go to his science fair.

When he slept, he dreamed of red eyes in the shadows and claws in his skin.

"Dude, wake up!" Dean shook him hard enough that Sam was a little dizzy when he opened his eyes. Dean beamed at him. "We're here," he said, gesturing to the motel sign behind him, "We're gonna start the hunt in the morning."

"Yippee," Sam groaned, rubbing at his eye, "How long did I sleep?"

Dean shrugged. "An hour and a half maybe?" he guessed, "You were making noises, like moaning."

He waggled his eyebrows and Sam shoved him. "Shut up!"

"You got a girlfriend?" Dean asked, making sure to drag the last word out as long as possible.

"No," Sam snapped, "And if I did, she'd be miles away by now."

He promptly climbed out of the car and shoved past Dean to grab his bag from the trunk. Dean locked the car and marched after him.

"What's with the pissy attitude?" he demanded, grabbing Sam's shoulder.

Sam stopped and sighed. "Nothing. Sorry," he muttered, rubbing his eye. "I'm tired."

Dean's face softened significantly and his grip loosened into a gently rub. "Right. We're all tired. You'll feel better in the morning."

The motel room was about the same as always; a crappy TV, a greasy kitchenette, damp on the ceiling, cracks in the bathroom tiles, and only two beds.

"Sorry, Sammy," John said, not sounding too sorry at all, "They only had doubles. You can take the couch or share with Dean."

"He's not sharing with me!" Dean was quick to protest. Sam had already dumped his bag on the couch, he'd predicted this back in the last town. Of course he'd have to sleep on the couch. He always slept on the couch.

But that didn't mean he couldn't have the first shower. He was locking the door just as Dean noticed, Sam found his brother's protests oddly enjoyable. Growing up in so many different motel rooms, Sam had come to be a pro at figuring out how to work every possible kind of shower dial. He turned the water up to hot and stripped off. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror. He had grown a lot in the last few months, stretch marks ran up his legs and back, his face was changing too, growing sharper, losing its softness. Sam had left the baby fat a few states away, he had grown, and he was certain he wasn't done yet.

The water burned his icy skin but Sam let it wash over him until it was pleasant. Of course, in his hurry for the first shower he'd forgotten his wash kit and had to settle for the motel's tiny shampoo bottles which he suspected came from the eighties.

He kept it quick, there was no point in pissing his brother off any more than he already had, and shut the water off, wrapping himself in a sickeningly orange towel. As predicted, once he was out the door Dean was glaring at him.

"Better not have used all the hot water, bitch," Dean remarked, shoving past him and into the bathroom. John was leaning against the headboard of the bed closest to the door, scanning papers as usual. He didn't pay either boy any notice.

Sam fished out his pyjama's from his bag; one of Dean's old shirts and a pair of sweats that were too short for his legs. Not exactly comfortable with changing in front of his dad, Sam shoved himself as far around the corner in the kitchenette as possible and changed. He rubbed the damp out of his hair with the towel before draping it over the radiator to dry, then he lay down on the couch, tugging the spare blanket up over himself.

Being the youngest meant doing everything last, but Dean always said Sam got the couch because he was the smallest. That may have been true but Sam was still by no means small, and his feet poked out over the edge. The cushions were lumpy and the blanket was scratchy, he was situated right under the window where the rain pounded against the glass. Sam pulled a book he was supposed to read for English from his bag. He had a feeling he wouldn't be sleeping much that night.

He woke up at the crack of dawn when a pillow smashed into his face. He jumped up, heart racing from the shock, to find Dean standing by the bathroom door, toothbrush hanging out of his grinning mouth.

"Morning, Samantha," he said around a mouthful of foamy toothpaste. Their dad was dressed already, sitting at the kitchen table, reading papers again. Sam wondered if he was determined to remember every single word of whatever the hell he was reading.

He waited until Dean had left the bathroom, his smug little grin was really chafing at Sam. He took care of business, washed his face and brushed his teeth. Then, the three of them were off to some grease bag of a diner for breakfast. It wasn't even 6am so there were only two other customers, truckers sipping black coffee at the counter. They ended up in the most distant booth so Sam could listen to Dean talk about how much poltergeists were the equivalent to a hunter's fun family day out.

"It's like dodgeball but with more… knives and shit," Dean exclaimed, waving his fork at Sam.

"Don't really like dodgeball," Sam muttered. He looked down at the menu. It all seemed like high-sugar, high-fat calorific crap. He was scanning the page for the option least likely to give him a heart attack just as the waitress came over to take their orders. She was middle-aged, plump and warm, exactly the sort of person who might be described as motherly.

"What can I get you boys?" she asked, pen hovering over her notepad.

"Eggs and bacon with a cup of black coffee," his dad was quick and respectful, handing her his menu. She nodded and scribbled it down. She turned to Dean.

"I'll have the pancake stack with a side of bacon, sugar," he said, flashing her one of his sweetest smiles, "And a coffee for me, too."

"No problem," she jotted it down and turned to Sam with a significantly softer expression.

"Uh, fruit salad," Sam said. He ignored the frown she gave him as she collected the menu and headed off to the kitchen.

"Afraid you won't fit your prom dress?" Dean asked. Sam gave him a sharp kick under the table, tucking his legs up onto the seat before Dean could get his revenge.

"Boys!" John snapped, then turned to Sam, "Stop acting like a child."

There wasn't much point in arguing that Dean had started it, no one ever listened to him anyway. He let his dad drill on about how to take out a poltergeist; salt and iron wouldn't be much use since they're invisible, a salt and burn would be even more useless since the ghost is so old it's not tethered to anything anymore. It was all a bit confusing, really.

The waitress came back with their orders. She set Sam's fruit salad down on the table, followed by a glass of orange juice and a stack of pancakes.

"On the house," she said with a smile, "A growing boy like you could use some more energy. You're as skinny as a rake, darlin'."

She went off to serve the more recent customers who had entered the diner. Dean scowled at Sam's pancakes. "How come you get free stuff?" he demanded, "No way that's fair."

"You can have them if you want," Sam offered. He speared a strawberry and chewed it very slowly. He wasn't particularly hungry.

"You'll eat every bite, Sam," his dad said, not looking away from his newspaper, "She's right, you need more meat on your bones."

Sam groaned just as Dean did, and he spent the next fifteen minutes forcing it all down. There was no use in arguing with his father.

Once John had paid the bill, the three of them were back in the car, off to talk to the family whose how was being haunted. The young couple and their baby had evacuated the place a couple of days ago, staying with a relative a few streets away. Of course, Sam had to wait in the car.

"Why?" Sam asked, irritated.

"It'll seem unprofessional if they see we have a kid with us," his dad explained, "We'll be right back."

After half an hour, Sam's mind was turning numb with boredom. His stomach was heavy and he felt nauseous. He was exhausted, eyes already drooping shut as he lay stretched out in the back seat. More than anything, Sam wished he were at school.

He jolted from his half-sleep when Dean and his dad returned, slamming the car doors shut in their wake.

"We've got the keys to the house so we're heading over there now," his dad said, starting the engine.

Sam sat up straight. "Wait. Now?" he felt suddenly wide awake. He barely knew anything about poltergeists, had never come face to face with one in his life. He wasn't ready to go up against it now.

"Relax, Samantha," Dean chuckled, "We're not taking it out yet. Poltergeists are more active at night so we're just checking the place out, get EMF readings and stuff, you know?"

"Right," Sam muttered, blowing out a breath. He sank back down onto the back seat.

The house the poltergeist was haunting was surprisingly normal. Sam wasn't sure what he had expected but it wasn't a white picket fence, blue shutters and a magnolia tree. But the swing out front was empty, the curtains were pulled shut, the whole house was silent on a busy street full of children playing, neighbours chatting, people gardening or heading off to work. This was what normal looked like.

But the house they were parked in front of was evidence that nothing is completely safe. Sam shook the thought from his mind, he was sounding far too much like his father.

He followed Dean and Dad up the path. Embarrassingly, his mind wandered and he imagined that this was their house and they were just coming home. But the bashed in wooden panel in the hallway yanked that fantasy away as quickly as it had come.

"Looks like the thing did some real damage," Dean observed, poking at the splinters.

"It's lucky the family got out when they did," John agreed. He pulled out his EMF meter, it lit up lazily.

"Casper isn't up for too much fun right now," Dean said, ducking his head into the living room. Sam supposed they were supposed to split up and look for… something? He didn't know what he was doing in all honesty. He ended up being distracted by the family photos up on the wall.

The woman was pretty, brown curls and doe-eyes. She beamed as her husband pecked her cheek on their wedding day. She smiled even brighter as she held her baby. For Sam, things like this were more foreign than any kind of supernatural creature.

He jumped when he heard a thud upstairs. He glanced around but his brother and dad had disappeared off into the house.

"Uh, guys?" he called.

Dean popped out into the hallway. "What's up, Sammy?"

"It's Sam," he said, rolling his eyes. "And I heard something upstairs."

Dean grinned, glancing at the stairs. "C'mon then," he patted Sam on the back, "Who you gonna call?"

Sam just groaned and allowed Dean to take the lead up the stairs. Sam guessed the sound had come from the right of the hallway and they were led into the master bedroom. It was empty and quiet, no chills or sign of a malevolent spirit. Sam wandered around the room. There were more family photos, a few strange-looking art pieces, the array of painted rocks and candles by the fireplace were especially weird. It was almost as bad as the bowl of potpourri sitting on top of the dresser.

"Maybe I was wrong," Sam said, shrugging, "I don't think anything's up here."

He turned around. Dean wasn't there. Sam sighed and muttered asshole. He rounded the bed towards the door. Dean was on the ground, writhing, turning purple as he tried to tug on the tie which was fastened around his neck.

"Dean!" Sam dropped to his knees, he tried to loosen the tie but it wouldn't budge. He pulled his knife out of his boot and yelled, "DAD!"

Then he heard something crack and everything turned white for a second. When everything cleared he was on his side and it felt like his skull was going to cave in on itself. He reached for his knife which had skittered away but his hand wouldn't touch the hilt no matter how hard he tried. Then his dad was there, swooping the knife up.

Dean was barely struggling as John sliced the tie away. He hauled his son upright and Dean let out a heavy gasp, leaning into his dad, eyes half closed. Sam was sitting up too, though he didn't remember how he came to be that way.

"You were supposed to watch out for each other," his dad growled, "Where were you when Dean was being attacked?"

There was a slip of a thought that said where were you, dad? but Sam couldn't catch onto it. He was finding it hard to answer the question. "I wasn't looking," it took him a moment to realise he had said that.

"Exactly!" John snapped, "You weren't paying attention and Dean got hurt."

"M'okay, Dad," Dean rasped. He looked over to Sam and smiled weakly, his eyes were bloodshot and his face was pale in contrast to the reddening bruise around his neck.

"Help me get him back to the car," his dad said, voice dropping. He hauled Dean to his feet and waited for Sam take his other side.

For once, Sam got to sit in the passenger seat and he wished it were under different circumstances. Dean was laying out on the back seat, rubbing his neck and wincing. They were mostly silent as they headed back to the motel. His dad turned to Sam when they stopped at a traffic light.

"You okay, Sam?" he asked. Sam nodded but mostly because forming sentences seemed beyond him, his head was hurting too much. "I'm not mad at you, son, I just got real scared back there. You have make sure you're on the alert at all times so something like this doesn't happen."

Sam nodded again, but his head spiked with pain and he closed his eyes until it lessened. No one said anything after that.

The drive back to the motel was quicker than Sam remembered, but then again he wasn't concentrating very well. He was under Dean's arms again, helping him back to the room, but as soon as they got to the door Sam dropped to his knees and vomited in the bushes. He heard the door open then footsteps disappeared. He jolted when someone placed a hand on his back and rubbed gently.

"You done?" he dad asked, but his voices sounded odd, like he was speaking from the other end of a tunnel. "I think you've had a shock, kiddo. Dean's going to be fine."

His dad pulled him to his feet. He didn't remember entering the room but the next thing he knew he was sitting on the couch with a cup of water in his shaking hand. He stared at it but for the life of him he couldn't think what he was supposed to do with it.

"Sammy?" Dean was sitting up on his bed, "You good? You've been staring at that cup for ten minutes."

"M'good," Sam mumbled.

"Sammy, could you grab the first aid kit from the bathroom?" his dad's voice asked, Sam couldn't tell where it was coming from. He couldn't see where his dad was. Then he was in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. There was red around his nose and Sam wiped it away. His hand was already clasped around the first aid kit. He wasn't sure why he was getting it but he took it to his dad anyway. John was poking at Dean's neck, he turned and took the kit from Sam who sat down on the opposite bed.

"It's not as bad as it could have been," his dad was saying, he handed Dean a couple of pills. Dean swallowed them down with a wince. Sam frowned at his brother's bruises.

"What happened to your neck?" he asked. John and Dean looked at him with strange looks on their faces.

"Sam?" Dean said softly, but his voice sounded like it was tumbling away down a hole.

Sam blinked, the room seemed to split itself in two. "I've got a math test…" Sam suddenly remembered. His dad was right in his face, hands on his cheeks, fingers prying his eyes open.

There was something bright and his dad said, "Sam, did you hit your head?" He sounded so serious and Sam wasn't sure why, wasn't sure what the answer was because he couldn't remember the question. "Sam!"

"Dad, he's bleeding."

Someone was putting their fingers through his hair, feeling his scalp. Sam hissed because it hurt. His mouth tasted like metal and his upper lip was wet.

"Sam, can you hear me?"

And Sam said yes but he wasn't sure why he was being asked, or who was asking. Then he could smell burning and someone saying oh God then nothing.

"Sam? Sam!" Dean was hovering above him, he could see street lights whipping past, he could feel something wet in his ears, trickling into his hair. He saw black leather seats, a green army man. He didn't know where he was.

He closed his eyes again.

He heard beeping, someone was crying, something was buzzing, something feather light and dark drifted down onto his shoulders. He could smell burning but there were no flames.

"Yeah, he's seizing again…"

More beeping. No crying this time, just a hand brushing against his cheek. He wondered if this was what a mother's touch felt like, for a moment he wondered if he was dead. It took him longer than he should have to realise that the reason it was so dark was because his eyes were closed.

He couldn't open them. He couldn't move.

He drifted off again.

"He's doing well. The swelling has gone down significantly. He's still unconscious because his body needs time to rest. Waking up is up to him."

"But he'll be fine, right?"

"We can't be sure what the side-effects will be, or if they'll be long or short term. It's usual for someone who has suffered from TBI to experience side-effects."

"Yeah, you've been over this, Doc."

"I just want you to understand that he won't be 100% when he wakes up. He might experience mood swings, nausea, difficulty remembering things, decreased moto skills…"

"Okay, that's enough. I think we've…"

Sam was already gone.

"We feel just awful."

"If we hadn't asked you to investigate our house then none of this would have happened."

"Not your fault."

"Is there anything we can do?"

"Covering the medical expenses for my son in more than enough, Mrs Andrews."

"I hate to ask, but our house…"

"We have someone covering it for you, Ma'am."

"Thank you."

"No, thank you."

It was too bright. Sam dropped his lid enough that he could just about see. He rolled his head, taking in the entire room. Hospital, he gathered. Someone must have gotten hurt pretty bad.

"That would be you, doofus," Dean was there. Sam didn't think he'd spoken, but Dean was there and he was smiling at him. He placed a hand on Sam's cheek. "It's good to see you awake."

Sam opened his mouth because he had a million questions but he could only rasp. Dean placed a straw between Sam's lips and told him to sip it slowly. The water was a little lukewarm but it was wonderful nonetheless.

"You've been here for two weeks," Dean explained, "You had surgery because that big brain of yours was trying to puff itself out of your ears."

Sam wasn't sure what that meant, he'd only taken in the word surgery and his hand was already finding its way to his head. Dean caught it and placed it back down on the bed.

"You've had a bit of a haircut," he said apologetically, "But at least now people will know you're not a girl."

He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. He was worried, that much was clear.

"I'm okay," Sam said quietly.

Dean shook his head, eyes tearing up. "You didn't see it. You were bleeding and… and you were saying weird things. You went into fucking convulsions."

"Sorry."

"Shut up."

"Sorry."

"I missed you, you little bitch. Try not to get hit in the head by decorative rocks from now on, huh?"

Sam shrugged. "I honestly have no idea what happened."

"Poltergeist?" Dean prompted. Sam shook his head. "Me getting strangled by a tie?" He shook his head again.

"Sorry… but who are you?" Sam asked. Dean's eyes blew wide. "I'm fucking with you, Dean."

"Jesus, man," Dean wiped a hand over his eyes. "That was not funny. Seriously. What's the last thing you remember?"

"Um… the waitress gave me extra pancakes," Sam recalled. Dean smiled, bright-eyed.

"You're okay," he said.

A/N Thanks for reading! I'll get the next one done when I can. Reviews are very much appreciated!