A/N: First the thanks and then a small warning. I can't believe how positive the reviews have been. Thanks so much! Now, the warning is to let you know this is the last of the chapters I had finished when I started posting. What little is left of the story may take a bit more time to post as it is the ending I was struggling with. I promise not to make the wait too long. Cookies might make a difference. Or chocolate? :)

The last two weeks had been very hard on Sam. The "accident" and subsequent trauma at the hospital still plagued his dreams. He didn't know how many more nights he could relive Dean's heart stopping over and over before he cracked. Hopefully, with him out of the hospital, the dreams would fade. Leaving town couldn't hurt either. Of course, the memories didn't just assault him in his sleep. Even awake, the images of the paramedics trying to resuscitate Dean, watching him struggle to breath through the embolism, and being hit by his car were on constant replay.

The last time Dean went into cardiac arrest was the worst. Watching him struggle for air, genuine fear at the sight of the ventilator, scared Sam. He'd never seen his brother look so young and vulnerable. Then the alarms blared, signaling the end; no respiration, no heart beat, and the controlled chaos of the nurses and doctors trying to revive their dying patient. It didn't take as long as it had in the ambulance, but watching the flat line on the monitor and the defibrillator, was too familiar. He'd watched Dean go through that too many times. He watched that same terrifying sequence take their father forever.

Then it took Dean so long to respond to treatment, to regain consciousness. Sam wasn't sure what he would've done if he'd lost his brother. He knew they were out of miracles. No more faith healers. No more miracles. Dean would've been gone forever. He'd even looked for a crossroads, knowing full well Dean would kick his ass for even considering a deal. Unlike him, Sam believed it was a price worth paying, would follow in his father's footsteps without a second thought.

Dean was awake and on the road to a full recovery. Though it did worry him that Dean never inquired about the Impala. In fact, it hadn't even been mentioned since he woke the last time. They would spend a few more days at the motel, take care of the spirit, and put the whole nightmare behind them. In fact, he broke his promise and went to the salvage yard. He was determined to finish this case as quickly as possible. Researching online brought him no closer. The only way was to scan the Caprice. He needed to find what Scott was attached to and hope it wasn't the whole car.

The Impala now needed a new windshield, hood, and bumper. The windshield was easy enough. The other parts were harder to find. The Caprice had what they needed, granted they didn't have to salt and burn the entire vehicle. He could barely even admit it to himself, but he missed the car almost as much as Dean did. He missed the time on the road, listening to the music, and the friendly arguments. He missed the rumbling of the engine and the creaks of the old doors, cramped in the front seat, lulled to sleep by the sound of his brother singing quietly.

God, I do sound like a girl sometimes. Never, ever sharing that with Dean.

The EMF didn't react immediately, which was a good sign. It didn't react at all until Sam got closer to the back. Reaching to open the back door, he was caught off guard by the sight of the spirit in the driver's seat. Scott took advantage of the moment, opening the door quickly. Luckily Sam caught the door before adding a new head injury to his collection. It hit his hand pretty hard, jarring his wrist. Seeing nothing in the backseat, he returned to scanning the outside. The EMF went crazy at the trunk. Without the keys, he would have to search the trunk later.

His real problem had been hiding what was probably a sprained wrist from his brother. As expected, Dean flipped, furious that he'd had gone without him. When confronted, he couldn't think of a plausible lie, so he went with the truth. He was surprised at how well it worked. His brother skipped the rest of the yelling and went straight to concern. That made the drive to the room peaceful.

The mechanic, still believing he was to blame for the problems with the Impala, was trying to make up for it with a loaner car and better accommodations. He, like Dean, tried to tell Marcus it wasn't necessary, that what happened wasn't his fault. The older man would not be dissuaded.

Sam had moved their stuff to the new room earlier that day and stocked up the small kitchen. He knew it would make dealing with a cooped up Dean much easier, especially when he saw the whirlpool bath in the bathroom. The leg was the injury slowest to heal and the spa would help. He wasn't surprised when Dean refused help to the room. He didn't, however, expect him to take a quick look around and head for the bed.

"Hey, Sam? Wake me for lunch. Then we can come up with a plan to get rid of Sc—the spirit for good."

"You sure you want me to wake you that soon?" That was weird. Why couldn't he say Scott's name? He would figure out why his brother avoided saying Scott's name later, when they were both better rested.

"Yeah, I just need a quick nap. I should be good to go after that. And stay away from that car while I'm out. You got it?"

"I got it, I got it. I promise never to do anything without the almighty Dean to save me. Jerk!"

"Damn straight, bitch!" The retort would've been more effective if he hadn't yawned the last word.

Sam decided a nap sounded like a pretty good idea. He'd refused to sleep much the first week of Dean's hospital visit. The second week, sleep eluded him. Nightmares made any real rest impossible. Now that they were out of the setting of those nightmares, maybe he could finally catch up. The sounds of his brother soundly sleeping in the next bed eased his nerves. He fell asleep almost immediately.

Dean woke to the sound of his brother's snores, feeling better than he had in days. They both recovered much better away from hospitals, this time obviously no exception. He was relieved to see Sam sleeping peacefully, without the usual nightmares. Looking at the clock, he knew why he felt so rested. It was well after seven in the evening.

"So much for lunch. I guess dinner it is." He opted to see if they had anything in the room to eat. Marcus told him how Sam refused to sleep when things were critical, afraid he'd fall asleep and wake to the loss of his brother. He was pleasantly surprised to find his brother had stocked up, food in the fridge and cabinet of the mini-kitchen. Grabbing a sandwich and chips, he sat at the table, opened the laptop, and reached for their dad's journal.

He wanted a plan of action ready before Sam woke. Plan A would be to salt and burn whatever in the trunk set off the EMF. Knowing how often their Plan A worked, Dean preferred to have at least two back-up plans. While digging through their father's journal, he remembered something Sam said at the hospital. Something that prompted a call to Marcus. The man had already been through a lot. He hoped to spare him any more trouble. It was the least he could do after the mechanic kept Sam together while he was unconscious.

"Hi, Marcus. How's it going?" He hoped he'd called before anything happened. They hadn't had the best luck in this town.

"Hey, Dean. I'm good. How're you feeling? Like the room?"

"Yeah, can't wait to try out that jacuzzi tub later. Listen, I wanted ask you something about the Caprice."

"Sure, what did you want to know?"

"Sam mentioned that you needed to move the other cars around it before we could fix things. Have you done that yet?"

"Not yet. I planned to do it first thing tomorrow. Something wrong?"

He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Something finally went right with this job.

"No. I just wanted to make sure we made it safe before you do."

"What do we need to do?"

"Not we, Marcus. Please promise me you'll steer clear of it until we come over and take care of it. I don't want anyone else getting hurt."

"Sure, kid. Whatever you say. What do you do to make it safe?"

"We put a line of salt all around the car. The spirit can't cross it."

"Oh, didn't Sam tell you? He did that after checking out the car earlier today. Though he did say you'd probably have to do it again when you come back. It can get windy around here."

"He didn't mention it. Though I didn't give him much of a chance. I was giving him a pretty hard time about going out there without me and getting hurt." He heard a chuckle on the line. Sam must've told Marcus I'd give him crap about that. "Thanks. I'll let you get back to work and talk to you tomorrow."

Should've known Sam would think to do that. Better safe than sorry. Okay, back to finding Plans B and C.

Knowing the internet would be useless this time, he scoured the journal for something that would rid them of the spirit once and for all. He came across the one Sam must've used to get it out of the Impala. His Plan B was buried at the back of the journal right before information on the Woman in White case, the last case their dad worked while he still had the journal, before leaving it to Dean while he obsessively pursued the Yellow-Eyed Demon. The spell would transfer the spirit to an object of their choosing, an object they could easily salt and burn. I'll have to remember that one. It could come in handy again. He hoped one of the first two options worked because Plan C was burning the entire car. And like Sam pointed out, they could really use those parts to fix the Impala.

He was debating whether to wake Sam and make him eat something or let the poor kid sleep when he started mumbling and thrashing. Great, more nightmares. Guess I'll wake him for now.

"Sam?" he said shaking him a bit. "Come on, man. Rise and shine!" After a couple of more shakes, he managed to wake him, Sam eying him blearily, mind obviously still in his dream. Giving him a few minutes to fully wake, he threw away his garbage from dinner and grabbed what he'd need for a bath.

"Why don't you eat something while I'm in the jacuzzi. When I come out, I'll tell you our plan for getting rid of this damn ghost tomorrow."

"You don't think tomorrow is too soon? The doctor said you needed a few more days bed rest."

"Nah, I'm good. Besides one night in a motel is like three in a hospital. You know we both recover better once we're out. And I did sleep away most of today. Or, I should say, we did. The sooner we clear everything up, the sooner we can both relax."

"True. Just promise me you won't push yourself too hard."

"Right back at ya, little brother. Now go eat. You're cutting into my hot tub time here."

Sam had to admit Dean was right. He seemed much better than he had this morning. And the jacuzzi should help ease the pain in his leg. Now he hoped they could finish things tomorrow without trouble. The salt should keep everything safe until then. Trusting that Dean had some good ideas, he grabbed a prepackaged salad and club sandwich out of the fridge and settled in to find a new case. He'd hoped to find something to hunt in Fort Worth before the Impala had refused to leave Glen Rose. The town had a few possibilities for hunts. Most looked like the typical tourist draws. It wasn't far, so the drive wouldn't be too hard on Dean. Plus he still wanted to go to a bookstore.

While waiting for Dean's release he found out that the city had not only two major chains, but a few big used bookstores. Used bookstores were a great place to find some rare books for researching their hunts, out of print and unusual books on myths and urban legends. It would be nice to have a way to research when the crap motel they chose didn't have Wi-Fi networks or he couldn't get a signal on the road. After bookmarking a couple of jobs that Dean might say yes to and checking his e-mail, he shut down the laptop and turned on the TV. Since they wouldn't have to do a salt and burn under the cover of night, they could spend the night relaxing and recovering. He'd like to sit and soak in the tub for a while to sooth shoulder and back muscles cramped from days spent in uncomfortable hospital chairs, tensed for signs his brother would be fine, then recovering.

Researching helped him to forget the nightmare that caused Dean to wake him. Television never was enough of a distraction to keep his mind from wandering back to his dreams. The same dreams replayed each time he slept since their trip to the hospital. It always started in the cabin where the Yellow-Eyed Demon possessed their father and tried to kill his brother. Sam would never forget the sight of Dean pinned to the wall, bleeding and begging their father not to let the demon kill him. Then his head fell forward, blood dripping from his mouth, pouring from the wounds on his chest.

Next the nightmare took him to the bar on the pier in Duluth, the place he shot his own brother. He had no control, got to watch as Dean's body plunged off the pier and into the cold water below, jerked back by the shot to his left shoulder. He did get to hear how happy Meg was, thinking she'd finally succeeded in killing Dean, the grief burying his soul deep. He didn't want to see what else she would do with his body, who else she would kill. Waking at Bobby's to see Dean was alive was the happiest moment of his life.

It always ended with the Impala. Watching his brother lose faith in the one constant in this depressing life was more than either of them could bear. Sam couldn't erase the memories. Dean slumped in the front seat, crushed by the steering wheel; performing CPR because he'd stopped breathing; watching him flip on to the hood and crash into the windshield, they refused to fade even a little. Some demons could never be exorcised. Startled to attention by the sound of bathroom door opening, Sam was thrilled to see the jacuzzi worked even better than sleep at healing his big brother. He was humming Ted Nugent, absently smiling as he put away his dirty clothes. The limp was barely noticeable even to him.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" He knew it was a dumb question. It came to them both as naturally as breathing.

As did the patented Winchester answer, regardless of whether it was true or not. "I'm fine. Really, Sam. I am fine. The bath was even better than the nap. Man, I sound like an old geezer now." They both laughed at that.

"Okay, so what did you come up with while I was napping?" Now who sounds like the geezer?

"Looks like we have a couple of options if there's nothing in the car to salt and burn. Though one of those is burning the whole car."

"We can't do that." Trying to hide how much that idea bothered him, Sam hoped the other option worked. "There has to be another way."

"Trust me. I don't want to do that either. Which is why it'll be the last resort, only if nothing else will work. The other option is much better. Might even be something we can use on other cases."

"Really? What?"

"I found something in Dad's journal, way at the back. It's an incantation to transfer the spirit to an object of our choosing, something we don't mind burning."

"Wish we'd noticed that sooner. It could've help us a few times."

"If it works. That may be why it's hidden at the back of the journal. Guess we'll find out tomorrow."

Sam only hoped it was as simple as that. Fate seemed to have it in for anyone named Winchester.

They both woke early, completely refreshed and ready to finish the hunt. They both slept peacefully through the night. It was the first night in a long while Sam hadn't startled them both awake with a nightmare. Dean still marveled at how well the jacuzzi soothed the pain in his leg. And the difference a nice bed made. He would have to find a way to repay Marcus for his generosity, something other than removing Scott's spirit. As much as he wanted to hate the ghost, Dean couldn't help feeling sorry for him. He sympathized only too well with what the man had gone through. But he couldn't let those feelings get in the way of what they had to do. The spirit was dangerous now no matter what he'd been in life. No one tried to kill his little brother and got away with it.

"Hurry it up, Sam! We're burning daylight." He hoped they could finish things quickly and get out of this town. The sooner he saw the backside of Glen Rose, the better. The hard part was getting Sam to see it that way.

"You're kidding, right? It's only 9 in the morning."

"Yeah,and if we hurry, we can finish in time for lunch and hit the road."

"Wait, you said we'd stay a few days. The doctor clearly said you shouldn't try to drive for at least two more days."

Knew he'd make me do this the hard way. "And how often do we listen to doctors?" That remark earned him a huff and the pissy face.

"You're the only one too stubborn to listen to a professional. Besides, won't it take a while for Marcus to fix the car once he has the parts?"

"Not really. He's finished everything but the hood and the bumper. Those won't take long since I'll be helping." The look on Sam's face told him he'd pushed too hard. Pissed didn't begin to cover it.

"Damn it, Dean! You're supposed to stay off your leg as much as possible. You shouldn't even be out of bed until tomorrow at the latest."

"Whatever, dude. Just haul your ass out here so we can get this done." He reached for the keys, a second too slow, as Sam snatched them up.

" You can barely bend your leg. You are so NOT driving today."

"Bitch," he muttered, not even trying to hide how irritated he was.

"Jerk!"

The short ride was tense and quiet, broken only by the occasional huff from the driver's seat. Dean had called Marcus while Sam was getting ready. He wanted to make sure they could get to the car before they headed out, but there was no answer. They pulled up to a silent and empty garage. All irritation forgotten, they quickly grabbed their bags and discreetly pulled out the shotguns. Something felt off and judging by Sam's reaction, he felt it too. He only hoped they'd arrived before it was too late.

The salvage yard was eerily quiet as they made their way to the back. Passing the Impala, he couldn't even bring himself to look at her. The memory of what had happened was still too fresh for him to properly deal with his baby. He rounded the last corner, peered around a rusted gray Tempo, and spotted the mechanic sprawled motionless on the ground near the Caprice, blood trickling from a small head wound. The spirit wasn't in sight, not that that mattered.

With shotguns ready, they approached Marcus cautiously. Dean checked for other injuries, relieved to find nothing else. He pulled him outside the salt circle and a safe distance from the car. He tried to get the man to wake, to find out precisely what happened.

"Marcus? Hey, you ok man?" He was relieved when the older man finally started to come to.

"Dean? I saw him. I saw Scott. But that's not it." He seemed a bit stunned, surprisingly not frightened. He was handling it better than Dean expected, better than most of the people they helped.

"What else?"

"I swear it was Scott's little brother. I think I saw Wesley. He was trying to calm his brother down."

How many ghosts does this freaking town have? "I need you to do us a favor and go back to the office and make sure no one comes back until we're done. It can get crazy and I don't want anyone else getting hurt. Oh, and I need the keys to the Caprice."

"Sure thing, kid. You be careful too. Both of you."

While he made sure Marcus got to safety, Sam had the EMF out, scanning the entire length of the car, no longer blocked in by other cars. Marcus managed to move them before the angry spirit manifested.

"Dean, is he ok?"

"Yeah, luckily he only has a bump on the head," he said as he returned to Sam's side. "At least he got the car free first. We need to finish this before that storm moves in." No sooner had he spoken the words than thunder rumbled in the distance and the meter went crazy, the trunk again the source of activity. "Listen, we've got to be sure we're getting rid of the right ghost. Marcus thinks he saw Wesley's ghost here too. I think his spirit has been keeping things quiet, at least until Sc-- his brother's spirit was moved."

"So how do we figure out which spirit is attached to the thing in the trunk?"

"Not sure exactly. If it's his, he'll try to kill us. If it's Wesley, he'll still try to kill us. Maybe we can try to reason with Wesley. First things first though. We need to get whatever is in the trunk. But we have to be careful. You know how protective older brothers can be." He smirked at his little brother and got a look that could sour milk.

Dean headed cautiously to the trunk of the car, alert for any signs of danger, followed closely by Sam. He couldn't even look at the Caprice without a painful reminder of the loss of trust, loss of safety and security. Finding the right item was easy as the only thing in the trunk was an old football, worn from use.

"Didn't you say he played football? It has to be his spirit attached to this."

"It's possible. We need to be sure. We don't want to just piss him off more by accidentally getting rid his brother." Then a couple of things happened suddenly. Lightning crashed nearby, distracting them both. The spirit threw them both, Dean headfirst into the recently moved old red truck, hitting the ground hard and jarring his injured leg as he landed. Looking up to see where Sam landed, to make sure he was ok, he regretted the movement. His head pounded.

So much for this being quick and simple. Why is it always me they like to throw into the solid objects?

Getting unsteadily to his feet, he went to check on Sam. He reached out to give his brother a hand standing up. The additional weight increased the pain in his leg and head. He hoped he managed to hide the grimace, determined that Sam not know how bad it was.

"This dude is really starting to piss me off. Let's just burn the football, the car, whatever it takes to smoke his ass." He didn't want to wait around that long for parts, but things were too dangerous to risk it.

"You sure? We haven't even tried the spell from Dad's journal."

"I'm sure. I want that son of a bitch gone. Let's burn it all." As if on cue, Mother Nature conspired against his plan as a steady rain began to pour. "Damn it all to hell! We can't catch one freaking break. Looks like you get to try the spell after all, Sammy."

Dean worried about the rain for more than one reason. It certainly made burning anything more difficult. Transferring the spirit to something small would make it easier to keep it dry enough to burn. But the rain washed away the rest of the salt. He could add more, but if the downpour didn't slow it wouldn't matter.

Sam gathered everything they needed to do the spell, including the wooden object to transfer the spirit to and something to burn the items in, and began. They both figured something easily flammable would make it that much quicker to finish the job. As he began the memorized incantation, Dean retrieved his shotgun, alert for the spirit's appearance. He wouldn't let him get the drop on them again. It took only a couple of minutes. As Sam reached for the EMF meter, he went to grab the football to add it to the fire. Even if the little brother was the one attached to the ball, he knew they needed to take care of both of them. Alone, the quiet spirit would become restless and eventually dangerous too. He almost had his hands on the ball when he heard a strangled cry from his brother. Scott had Sam by the throat dangling him mere inches from the ground.

"Sam!" He aimed his shotgun and fired while running, hoping the rain didn't wash away his ammo before it hit its mark. The spirit dissipated, dropping the young hunter in a crumpled heap, gasping for air. He was amazed the kid didn't have permanent damage to his throat with all the fuglies that tried to choke him to death.

"You ok, Sammy?"

After a couple of seconds of trying to catch his breath, he managed, "Yeah, I'm good. Thanks. Guess we know the spell didn't work."

"I can think of better ways of finding that out." And as suddenly as the rain had started, it stopped.

"It wasn't what I had in mind either, Dean. Damn, I guess that means we have to burn the car. That sucks."

"Not as much you not breathing. Burning the car I can live with. You sit tight. I'll go take care of the car."

"Not by yourself you won't! Just give me a minute to catch my breath. I'm fine to help."

Dean grabbed the salt, lighter fluid, and pulled out his lighter, ready be done with everything that had happened since they got to Glen Rose. Ready to forget all they'd suffered. He should've known it wasn't quite done yet. He finally got the football and tossed it in the window of the car. Seconds later, he was tossed, again into an old vehicle, this time into the ugly, electric blue Escort. Landing on his injured leg, the pain in his head also intensified to the point of nausea. He watched as the spirit went after his little brother again. He couldn't seem to get his body to respond, leaving him unable to help Sam. Trapped in a living hell, he listened as the ghost told Sam what he planned to do to the both of them as he held him up once more by the throat. As Sam's struggles got weaker, he struggled to make his body move, to try to reach the shotgun he dropped as he collided with the car. He saw movement from behind the spirit, saw the spirit of a young boy of about twelve. Dean could hear the boy, talking to his older brother.

"Scott, you have to stop this. You can't take out what happened to me on him."

"Why not? He got the life you didn't, Wesley. It's not fair!"

"He doesn't deserve it. Hurting him won't bring me back."

"But he tried to get rid of me."

"Only because you hurt his brother. Scott, please don't do this. If you don't stop, I'll have to move on and leave you behind. You know I don't want to do that."

"Leave?"

"Yes. The only reason I am still here is to help you. You need to let me go so we can both move on. You can't stay here anymore. You can't keep hurting them. They only want to help."

"But they tried to hurt me, to hurt you."

"Please, Scott. Let him go before you kill him. You can't go with me if you kill him. Please! Mom and Dad should be waiting for us."

He tried to stand, getting as far as his elbows before his vision swam, the pain in his head throbbing with the beat of his heart. He fought to remain conscious, to find a way to help Sam, only to hear as his struggles and gasps for air slowed and stopped. He was vaguely aware of a blindingly bright light and the sound of his brother's body as it hit the ground. The pain in his head receded to the point he could open his eyes and gingerly lift his head. The sight of Sam lying unmoving on the muddy ground terrified him to the point where adrenaline took over and his pain no longer mattered.

"Sam!" Damn it, Sam. You'd better be alright!

He didn't think he could live with himself if not. He couldn't lose Sam now, so close on the heels of almost losing him to a demon, almost failing his one job. He silently prayed for some sign that his brother was alive. Stumbling over, he would have jumped for joy as Sam groaned and tried to sit up, struggling to pull in a full breath.

"Whoa, dude. Don't try to get up yet. Give yourself a few minutes."

He was relieved to see color return to Sam's pale features, his breathing getting easier every minute. The bruises on his neck were already starting show, a grim reminder of how close it had been.

"Dean?"

"I'm here. How are you feeling?"

"Like you look. Like crap. How are you?"

"Ha ha. Very funny, Sammy. You don't look so hot yourself there, Francis." Though he was thrilled to hear the sarcastic remark. It was a sure sign that he was going to be fine. "I'm fine. Do you think you can get up? We need to get you back to the room."

"Yeah, just give me a minute."

Dean slowly gathered up their weapons and tools and stowed them in the car. He was trying to ignore his pounding headache, the black spots in his vision. The pain in his leg was excruciating. He wasn't sure how long he could hide it and hoped another soak in the hot tub would ease it. Dean went back to help Sam get to his feet. Almost immediately, Sam lost his balance and attempted to lean on Dean for support. The added pressure on his leg sent them both crashing back to the ground.

"Damn it, Dean! You said you were fine."

"I am fine." He worried that Sam's words came out rough and forced between ragged breaths.

"Yeah, I can see that. Which is why we're back in the mud. Want to try for the truth this time?"

"No." he said in a huff. The look from Sam told him he had no choice. "Fine! I might have landed on my injured leg the last time the ghost tossed me. Happy now?"

"Of course I'm not happy. How bad is it? And no more lies!"

Crap, when did I get so obvious? "It isn't that bad. Just a little sore. Honestly. Now can you try to stand again?" He refused to mention how bad his head hurt, fighting nausea as they attempted to stand. The sudden shift in altitude, the throbbing in his head, drove him back to his knees with a groan and forced him to admit the truth. "Ok, I might've left out the concussion." Then he passed out.