Rule Number 2: Never go on a hunt when you're angry

Sam trudged along behind his father and brother, a sour expression on his face.

He shouldn't even be here. It was a routine salt n' burn, nothing that required all three of them to be present.

But John had insisted Sam needed more practice.

So here he was, shotgun full of rock salt in one hand and flashlight in the other, wanting nothing more than to go back to the motel and finish his English essay that was due at the end of the week.

Sam sighed audibly. Was he so weird for wanting to do his homework instead of dispatching vengeful spirits?

His father thought so.

"Can you cut the bitchiness out for an hour or so Sam? I can hear you fuming from all the way over here."

Dean's hissed question startled Sam and he glanced quickly ahead but John hadn't turned around; he hadn't heard Dean speak.

Sam tightened his grip on his gun and nodded sharply, reminding himself that he really should be keeping an eye out for the ghost and not ruminating on a situation he couldn't change now.

When John stopped suddenly, Sam narrowly avoided walking right into him.

Collecting himself, Sam listened with as much interest as he could muster as his father told them that they should separate and search the warehouse that way.

Dean, as usual, was the first to object- not because he was trying to argue with John's plan, he probably thought it was fantastic, but out of concern for his sibling.

"Are you sure? Maybe Sammy and I should stick together."

John's dark brown eyes searched his younger son's face for a moment.

Sam didn't really want to hear Dean cuss at him for being in a mood so he told his father that he didn't mind being on his own.

"For," he finished, somewhat weakly, "You know… Practice."

John nodded and parted ways with his sons. Before Sam could head off in the opposite direction, Dean caught his elbow.

"Keep your head in the game, Sam," he reminded, giving him a wary look.

Sam, irritated even more with his brother's need to act like this was his first hunt, pulled his arm from Dean's grip and snapped at him.

"I know what I'm doing, Dean!"

With that, the teen stormed off through the empty warehouse, in search of the ghost he'd rather not be looking for.

W

Sam grumbled as he walked, unable to shake his bad mood, twirling his flashlight in his hand to cast curving light across the walls and floor.

Why did he even have to be here? Didn't he already know how to get rid of ghosts? This wasn't his first hunt for Pete's Sake!

As he reached the far end of the main floor of the warehouse, Sam found himself standing in front of a bank of elevators.

Deciding that he should search the top floors, he reached out and pressed the button to call the lift.

The old, dented doors opened with a loud groan and Sam stepped forward into the elevator shaft… and into open air.

He didn't even have time to cry out as he fell, arms flailing frantically for purchase and by some miracle of reflexes, he managed to grab the edge of the warehouse floor where it stopped and the elevator floor should have began.

The breath was knocked from Sam as he hit the side of the elevator shaft bodily, his cry for help escaping in a wheeze no one was sure to hear.

Sam struggled to pull himself up but he wasn't able to, his hands barely holding onto the smooth concrete floor.

"H-help," he croaked, terrified.

He couldn't hold on much longer. He was going to fall. Would his brother and Dad even be able to find him?

Tears squeezed out from Sam's eyes as his hands slipped, causing him to descend an inch or so. Already his fingers were cramping and his arms were screaming in pain from the effort of holding his weight.

"D-Dean," Sam breathed, unable to shout, "H-Help."

The teen slipped again, his sweaty hands moving closer and closer to the edge.

Clenching his eyes shut, Sam tried one more time to heave himself back up without success.

Eyes still closed, he cried out as he lost his grip on the edge of the warehouse floor and for one terrifying moment seemed to hover in mid-air before falling.

Sam gasped as an ice-cold hand grabbed his wrist roughly, halting his plummet down the elevator shaft.

With preternatural strength, the teen was pulled up out of the elevator shaft and deposited on the floor in front of it.

Sam took a moment to gather himself- his heart beating so fast that if felt as though it would explode- and looked up at his savior.

It wasn't Dean or John.

Instead it was a Hispanic man in his early twenties, wearing stained blue work coveralls. The man peered down at Sam with large, dark eyes for a moment and that was when the teen realized that with a sickening jolt that the left side of his rescuer's head was caved in.

Sam was staring at the ghost.

The teen opened his mouth to speak but before he could get a word out the spirit flickered out of existence.

"Sam!"

The teen turned towards the sound of his name and saw his brother and father running towards him.

"Are you alright? Did it hurt you? Why didn't you shoot it?"

Sam remained silent as his brother brought him to his feet; both his father and Dean had looks of real concern on their faces.

"It… He saved me."

"What?" John asked, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"I… I fell down the elevator shaft," Sam paused and gestured behind himself to the open lift doors, "And he grabbed my wrist… pulled me back up."

Dean's eyes widened in disbelief.

"I… wasn't paying attention and walked right into the shaft," Sam explained, embarrassment making his cheeks burn.

"Sam-" John began but Dean interrupted.

"The… the ghost," he said, licking his lips, "Didn't you say it was some Mexican kid who died on the job? We thought it was causing accidents… People falling from the machinery or the catwalks?"

John nodded, "Yeah, witnesses reported seeing his ghost around the time of the accidents."

Dean felt a smile begin to widen his mouth, "Maybe he wasn't killing people. Maybe he was trying to save them, like he saved Sammy."

John stared at both of his sons, shocked by the revelation.

"Are you going to get rid of him?" Sam asked.

Surprisingly, John sighed and shook his head, "No, Sam, just this once, I don't think this ghost needs to be taking care of."

He seems to be taking care of people here just fine, the unspoken words followed the Winchesters as they made their way out of the warehouse and back home.

Author's Note

Rule Number 2 provided by elliereynolds777. It's a little different from the prompt she gave me but the theme is essentially the same.

Thanks to StyxxsOmega, scootersmom, elliereynolds777,TheFantasticLadyMax, firstcatfish, Snowball519, jensensgirl3, zodiacflame, Slytherin Studios, SamDeanLover28, Jenjoremy, HunterChic1807, CarverEdlund24 and Guest for reviewing.

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