Rule Number 4: Never leave your phone on during a hunt.

Sam Winchester stepped silently over the fallen leaves that had been scattered across the cemetery lawn by the chill October wind.

His brother walked along beside him, face set in determination, one hand holding a heavy metal flashlight, the other gripping a shotgun.

Sam, icy fingers curled around his own torch, swung the light across the grey and white gravestones, hazel eyes keen for any sign of movement.

The younger Winchester sucked in a deep breath, the air tinged with the cinnamon scent of drying leaves, acrid wood smoke, and just a hint of snow, heralding winter fast approaching.

"Where is she?" Dean asked in hushed tones, "You sure this is the right place?"

Sam didn't speak for a moment.

"Yes," he breathed, sweeping his flashlight in a long arch again to illuminate the headstones once more.

"Better be," Dean grumbled, "I'm freezing my ass-"

Sam froze and held up a hand, a signal that had his sibling silenced instantly.

Tilting his head to one side the same way he had seen Cas do when he was confused- Sam listened intently before taking a step forward.

Although the hunter was aware of the necessity of dispatching with the monster quickly, Sam shivered, a reaction not brought upon by the cold night air.

A ghoul had been digging up the fresh graves in this cemetery and Dean had insisted that it was their job to put an end to its all-night buffet. Sam agreed, of course, but he couldn't get his last encounter with ghouls out of his mind.

If he had half a mind, he could roll up the sleeves of his shirt and easily pick out the scars marring his inner arms from the ghouls that had tried to kill him, after gaining his trust and confidence by masquerading as John's third son, Adam, and his mother, Kate.

The Winchesters moved forward a few meters in complete silence, both men treading carefully to avoid crushing the fallen leaves that littered the grass, when the familiar chords of Deep Purple's 'Smoke on the Water' trilled out, making the younger hunter nearly jump out of his skin in surprise.

"Dean," Sam hissed in irritation as his brother fished his cell phone from his pocket and checked to see who was calling him.

"It's that chick from last night," Dean informed his brother, "From the bar."

Sam rolled his eyes skyward, "What was her name? Brandy?"

The younger Winchester remembered the girl well; with her long, platinum hair, big blue eyes accented by far too much makeup, a skimpy silver dress that barely concealed her ample breasts. Yes, Sam remembered how the girl- Brandy, Sherry, something like that- had been all over Dean and Dean had been just loving it.

"Champagne," the older hunter replied and Sam cringed.

Champagne? That couldn't possibly be her real name.

"Dean," Sam grumbled pointedly, "The ghoul? Put your phone away."

The older brother looked up at him for a moment, clearly torn between his duty as a hunter and his libido, and ended the call before it could go through to voicemail, shoving the phone back into his pocket.

Shaking his head in disgust, Sam pushed onward.

After five more minutes of searching and coming upon no one else in the dark graveyard, the trilling of Dean's ringtone once again interrupted the quiet.

"Dean!" Sam snapped as his brother grabbed his phone.

"Oh come off it," his brother argued, "It isn't like we've even found anything."

The younger Winchester turned away from Dean, "Catch up when you're finished talking to her."

Sam heard no reply from his brother and he guessed Dean had answered his phone. He was only a few feet away from his brother, out of the reach of his sibling's flashlight glow, when he caught sight of a dark shape moving stealthily between the gravestones ahead of him.

"Dean," Sam said but his brother didn't hear him.

"Dean!" he tried again, a little louder this time but again received no response.

Ire rising up in Sam because of Dean's decision to try and get laid instead of paying attention to the hunt, he hurried after the figure, slipping his own shotgun from where he had slung it across his shoulder.

Now not bothering to quiet his footsteps, Sam chased after the ghoul, awkwardly shoving his flashlight into his jacket pocket in order to hold the shotgun properly; he really wished Dean was with him, he could use his light.

Sam staggered to a stop, panting hard, squinting in the darkness, trying to figure out which of the shadows was the ghoul.

Suddenly the hunter was hit from the front, his attacker rushing him and he landed heavily on his back, knocking the air from his lungs.

Bright lights that had nothing to do with flashlights danced in front of Sam's eyes and he gasped as he left two strong hands wrap themselves around his throat.

"DEAN!" he called quickly before his oxygen cut off- and not a moment too soon because a second later he gasped weakly- his attacker attempting to crush his trachea.

SPN

It took a long moment before Dean realized that his brother was no longer within sight.

Ending his call with Champagne without saying goodbye, the hunter mentally kicked himself for his stupidity.

Never, NEVER let Sam go off on his own. That was a hard-learned lesson and one that Dean should have known by now.

But no, because they hadn't seen hide nor hair of their quarry, in a moment of weakness Dean had let his guard slip and let his attention stray from the only thing that was important- his brother.

Jamming his phone into his pocket, the older Winchester raised his flashlight high, scanning the surrounding graves for any sign of his sibling.

"SAMMY!" Dean shouted, not trying to be quiet and hurried forward, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Sam? Sammy? SAMMY?"

Dean's flashlight bounced as he ran, and frustrated with it, the hunter stowed it alongside his phone- the stars and full moon should offer enough light for what he needed- before continuing on, narrowly dodging gravestones in his panic to find his sibling.

"Sammy? Sammy! Sa-"

Dean's heart leaped from his chest into his throat as his shins met with an old limestone grave, reflecting the moonlight perfectly and rendered invisible in the near darkness, and he pitched forward, the shotgun going off as he fell.

SPN

Sam's hands fell away from his attacker's arms, weakened by lack of oxygen and unable to continue fighting. His vision, no longer blocked by bright flashes of light, was greying as his oxygen-deprived brain began to struggle to remain conscious.

He barely heard shotgun blast that tore through the stillness like an explosion but he greedily sucked in a lungful of air as his attacker's hands fell away from his neck.

"Sam? Sammy? Damn it, where are you?"

Through the ringing in his ears, the younger Winchester heard his brother's voice and he rolled onto his side, towards the sound, and wheezed a response.

"Here."

"Sammy!"

Sam's vision was clearing enough so that he saw Dean as his brother dropped to his knees beside him.

"Sammy," Dean murmured and Sam didn't speak again, concentrating only on getting as much air into his burning lungs as he could, hacking and coughing as he did so.

SPN

The brothers didn't speak much on the way back to their motel, Sam's throat was pretty battered, with swelling and bruises to show for the abuse, and Dean still felt guilty for nearly getting his sibling killed.

Cutting the Impala's engine and stepping from the car, Dean paused at the sidewalk in front of their motel room for his brother, watching in sympathy as Sam slowly climbed from the vehicle.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Dean asked the same question he'd asked about a half-dozen times as he and Sam had left the graveyard.

"M'fine," the younger Winchester whispered as he stepped up to the sidewalk, clearly in pain but not about to be melodramatic about it.

Dean nodded, knowing that Sam likely needed a couple of Tylenol's and a good night's sleep.

"Dean" Sam's questioning voice drew his attention to his brother.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"What did you do to your knees?"

Looking down, the older Winchester saw that the knees of his jeans were torn, the skin slick with blood. He must have bashed them pretty badly when he'd tripped over that gravestone.

"Nothing, Sammy," Dean insisted, feeling his face heat up with embarrassment. Luckily the light over the sidewalk was dim and his brother wouldn't see his discomfort.

"Let's just go to bed," Dean told Sam as he unlocked the motel room door.

Author's Note:

Prompt for this rule comes from Snowball519

Thanks to jensensgirl3, clamoring-minds, firstcatfish, Slytherin Studios, elliereynolds777, SamDeanLover28, scootersmom, StyxxsOmega, jo1966, BranchSuper, GuardianOfMusic27855, and Wolf77 for reviewing.

If anyone has more ideas for kookie, funny, or silly rules for the Winchesters, please leave in a review or PM. Thanks! And as always, please take a moment to comment.