Uh-oh, Dean gets hurt in this chapter. (Secret smile) Yeah, I like a bit of hurt Dean. Ali doesn't (freak).

Just because I prefer humor to angst does not make me a freak, so belt up.

Yeah, whatever.

Don't make me slap you.

Chapter 3

With no time for thought Sam yelled, "Look out," and lunged at the two women.

Dean obviously had a similar idea because the brothers knocked shoulders as they twisted in the same direction and the contact steered the men toward different targets, Dean toward Maud and Sam toward Ada.

The women were standing near each other, no more than a few feet away, and Sam grabbed desperately for the blonde woman, arms outstretched, fingers flexing for a hold, but as he moved toward her, she seemed to get further away. It was a confusing split second. Ada wasn't physically moving, she was frozen in fear, eyes still fixed upward, but Sam wasn't gaining ground, it was like an optical illusion, a trick on the senses, and he didn't have a chance to figure out what was going on before a solid mass slammed into his back and pushed him violently to the ground.

Everything became a blur for a long moment, deafening noise, whirling color, images and sound stuttering around Sam in gaudy disarray and he was completely helpless while the scene played out. He flung his arms in front to break his fall, but the insistent weight pressing from behind didn't allow for much opposition and his head hit the floorboards with a thump that rattled his teeth, made his eyes close tightly in a wince.

Then all was peaceful. The room was entirely still, in an aftermath of stunned silence.

Sam opened his eyes and was immediately aware of a throb in his left cheek which traced a path down to his jaw and up to his forehead. He flicked his tongue over his teeth, then worked his jaw left and right testing for damage, pleased that everything appeared to be in the right place.

Dave Guber was in his line of sight, hunched against the wall in shock, eyes wide with horror as he surveyed the scene. Their gazes met and it seemed to jar the manager into action, he pushed himself off the wall and moved toward the disaster area with a critical look in his eye, analysing the situation and determining what needed to be done.

Sam gingerly lifted his head off the ground, brought his hands underneath his chest to gain some elevation, and, to the tinkle of glass sliding off his back, discovered that he was trapped from the waist down. Although not crushingly so. He glanced over the fallen fixture and found that the tiers had concertinad, the centre of the light had borne the brunt of the fall, was completely mangled, but had created a buffer for the higher, wider tiers, causing them to come to rest slightly off the ground, which meant he had metal laying over him rather than squashing him.

Then his eyes came to rest on Dean, buried under the fallen fixture. His shorter stride and difference in height put him a few steps behind, and metal covered him up to his shoulders, only his head was clear of the wreckage.

He was unnaturally still.

Sam couldn't see his face, his head was twisted away, but the stillness was enough to know that Dean was unconscious.

"Dean? Dean!"

Any hope that Dean was just dazed, that he would respond to his name, was dashed by the complete lack of return, not even a groan in answer. He was soundly knocked out and the prospect of what that might mean, just how badly hurt Dean might be, made Sam's stomach dive. He felt an urgent need to be out from under the metal, to examine Dean, gauge the damage and be assured that everything would be fine.

He flattened his palms against the ground, locked his elbows and tried to lever himself free, pulling with all his might against the obstacle trapping him. He managed to move about an inch then frustratingly could go no further, firmly wedged.

Dave was bobbing around, looking at the tangled mess from all angles, trying to figure out how to lift it and small shakes of the head indicated it was not going to be an easy job.

"Are you okay chicken?" Ada called.

Sam turned toward the voice with a slight frown on his face at the unusual endearment and saw the women were huddled together, Ada with an arm around Maud's shoulders, the dark haired woman running silent tears down her cheeks. They were nowhere near where they had been standing before the chandelier fell and it made Sam feel a little dizzy, like there was something wrong with his eyesight, because they shouldn't be that far away, they shouldn't be to his right, and he had to shift his gaze to the floor a few inches in front to regain his equilibrium.

"Yeah," he answered, adding, "But I think Dean's hurt. Can you check on him?"

There was a quiet conversation between Ada and Maud then the blonde woman unwrapped her arm from her friend and crawled past Sam to where Dean lay.

As she drew beside the injured man she whispered sorrowfully, "Oh Dean," and instinctively reached out and comfortingly stroked his hair. Her sympathy gave Sam no reassurance.

"Is he conscious?" Sam asked hopefully.

"No."

"Can you tell how badly hurt he is?"

She paused for a moment, surveying the elder Winchester then responded, "He has a nasty cut on his head but I really can't see what's going on under all the metal."

Frustration was rising in Sam as he continued his fruitless attempts to shimmy out from under the chandelier carcass. He couldn't overcome the impediment, was going to have to wait for assistance and the helplessness stoked an impotent rage within him, he needed to be out, he needed to attend to Dean, being so close and not really knowing if his brother was okay, not being able to do anything to help, was torture.

Dave crouched beside him, elbows on his knees, and said, "I can't see any easy way to shift this thing, how about I'll try and lift and we'll see how far that gets us."

Sam nodded impatiently and clipped, "Yep, do it."

"Ada," the manager beckoned to the nearby woman with a flick of his head, "maybe you should come and grab a hold of Sam and help pull him out."

The blonde woman scurried to Sam's side, hunched down in front of him and took a hold of his arms just above the elbows then nodded her readiness to Dave, waiting for the word to pull.

The manager planted his feet close to Sam's body, grasped a firm weightlifters hold on the metal pinning the young man and on the count of 3-2-1, pulled upward.

The strain was immediate and Dave gasped, "Jesus Christ this is heavy."

But the few inches he gained were enough for Ada to drag Sam out, slide him over the wooden floorboards, until his legs were free of the encumbrance.

"He's out Dave," Ada reported and the manager dropped the weight with a groan, then pumped his arms back and forward trying to ease the ache.

As Sam got his feet underneath him he could feel twinges and kinks in his back and legs that were going to become bruises. But he didn't dwell on them, wasn't interested in taking stock, he was preoccupied with his brother's health and scooted around to where he lay.

Dean's eyes remained closed, blood trickled down the side of his head from a gash above his left ear but a quick glance down his body proved Ada right, it was impossible to see what sort of damage lay under the twisted metal.

"Dean?" Sam quietly called as he placed his fingers on the pulse point at his brother's neck. "Wake up dude."

A moan escaped Dean as awareness unpleasantly dawned. His features went through a series of grimaces as he took stock of himself, tried to move, tried to figure out what was going on, without opening his eyes.

"Are you sitting on me?" he slurred, and it was a serious question, a gauge of his confusion.

Sam huffed an amused breath as relief washed through him. Dean conscious and somewhat coherent was something he could handle, he'd been there before.

"It's the chandelier, it fell on you."

"Huh."

Sam heard the uncertainty in the grunt, knew Dean was trying to catch up. The injured man's eyelids fluttered and opened half mast, but he made no attempt to focus, his line of sight was off somewhere to the right of Sam's legs.

"Heavy chandelier," he remarked.

"No shit," Sam responded wryly. "Anything broken?"

There was a pause before Dean slowly replied, "I can't really tell."

"What do you want to do here?" Dave interrupted. "Lift and pull or call the fire brigade?"

"Lift and pull," Dean declared, without even knowing what it entailed, but preferring it to the fire brigade. Sam nodded his agreement.

Getting Dean out from under the chandelier was going to be harder than getting Sam out had been, he was awkward to reach with the fixture almost entirely covering him, and it had to be done with a delicate hand when the full extent of his injuries weren't known.

As Sam and Dave discussed the best place to stand to gain the most leverage, Ada, who had returned to Maud's side, piped up, "We'll help get him out," and the women quickly moved beside the men, much to Sam's gratitude, because it meant he and Dave could lift while the women maneuvered Dean.

When the men had finished discussing the mechanics of the lift, moved apart to take up their positions, Sam leaned toward Ada and said in a low voice, "Be really gentle pulling him out," and she gave him an understanding nod, with a reassuring squeeze at his wrist.

Sam and Dave situated themselves on either side of Dean, with enough space in between for Ada and Maud to fit, and while they waited for the women to be ready the men flexed and re-flexed their fingers around the most suitable hand holds, wanting to be sure of their grip.

On hands and knees, Ada threaded an arm under the metal, dipping so low that her chest almost touched the ground, and snugged a firm grip on Dean's shirt under his shoulder. Maud followed suit on the opposite side.

"Okay," Ada announced, and on the count of three, Sam and Dave started lifting.

An involuntary groan escaped Sam at the unexpected heaviness of the load, the chandelier weighed a ton, just to gain an inch put unbearable strain on his back and arms. He once again felt an appreciation for the concertina effect as it landed, if not for that he and Dean would have been in real trouble.

Ada and Maud gingerly pulled Dean toward them, but immediately there was a yelp of pain and he cried, "Wait. There's something in my back."

Maud flattened herself on the floor and snaked her hand under the wreckage, blindly patting Dean down, trying to locate the protrusion. At her furthest reach, near the top of his jeans, she discovered a small metal strut spiking down that had pierced both his t-shirt and the overlaid buttoned shirt and was scraping against his skin. Her fingers tried to flick the material over the spike but her reach was just too short to get the job done.

"Shit," she muttered to herself as she tried to figure out how to deal with it. They couldn't continue pulling Dean forward without neutralizing the spike, it would only tangle further in the material and probably cause a long rip in his skin. Already she could feel a telltale wetness on the clothing and guessed that his back had been punctured when the fixture landed.

In a flurry of movement Maud extracted her arm from underneath the ruins, registering a fleeting dismay at the blood on her fingers and palm that was not her own, then bounded to her feet and quickly but carefully picked her way in amongst the shattered chandelier until she was above the errant strut. She reached down and threaded Dean's shirts over the end of the spike and smoothed out the clothing to avoid it snagging again, then pulled up on the spike as hard as she could, bending it slightly toward her, enough that it hovered just above Dean's body.

"Try that," she commanded Ada, and the blonde woman recommenced the slow extraction of the older Winchester, while Maud kept her hand on the spike to make sure it didn't catch on the material as it slid underneath.

Ada spoke to Dean quietly as she slowly and smoothly inched him out from under the ruined light, making sure he was okay, keeping him apprised of the progress. He was for the most part silent in return, although awake and aware, with just an occasional pained grunt escaping him accompanied by tight, suffering blinks.

When his arms were free of the wreckage Dean brought his elbows under him and did his best to aid the forward momentum, but a general weakness made his efforts fairly insignificant, it was Ada doing most of the work.

As Dean's legs slithered beneath the rim of the wreckage, Sam's arms started to shake with the effort of holding the heavy burden, his back screamed for relief and he ground out, "Jesus Dave, how did you expect this much weight to stay up on the ceiling?"

"Steel beams," Dave gasped in reply, "and a lot of reinforcing."

When the whole of Dean's body had passed under the spike that Maud held, she let go of her grip and picked her way out of the ruins, took a hold at the back of Dean's jeans and helped move him the last foot to freedom.

"He's clear," Ada finally announced with relief in her voice, and the men instantly dropped the chandelier with a groan before stretching and twisting to alleviate the tension in their bodies.

"I'll get the medical kit," Dave stated and hastened out of the room.

Sam fell into a crouch beside his brother and saw that Dean was feebly attempting to put some space between himself and the floor. He had managed to get his knees drawn up beneath him but was having trouble pushing off the ground, his arms visibly trembled at the effort, lacking the strength to extend and lock the elbows into place. Ada had an arm encircling his middle, not sure what the injured man was trying to do but supporting him the best she could, while Maud tutted and crossly scolded, "Would you just lay down."

Good luck Sam thought, knowing Dean wasn't one to volunteer a vulnerable position. Maybe if it was just the two of them he would lay on the ground and collect himself, but with an audience watching Sam knew his brother was going to try and minimize his injuries, do his best to project situation normal and try to cut through the fuss.

Sam circled an arm around Dean's chest and Ada immediately drew away, allowing Sam room. He lifted the injured man up and around, and deposited him carefully onto the floorboards sitting with his legs out in front. Dean propped one hand to the side and found an uneasy balance. His head hung low on his chest and he brought his free hand up to press against the split in his skull, trying to counter the sting and throb.

When Sam was satisfied that Dean wasn't going to topple, he withdrew his supporting hands and ghosted them over Dean's body, looking for overt signs of injury. After concluding that, incredibly, Dean didn't appear to have any broken bones, he shifted Dean's hand away from the head wound and inspected the damage. He judged that the gash, although bleeding freely, didn't look too deep and probably wouldn't need stitching. He pressed around the edges and could feel the area starting to swell into a lump, but the fact that Dean didn't jump out of his skin at the contact made Sam hopeful that there was no underlying skull fracture and he allowed Dean's hand to drop back against the wound. He then placed a palm under Dean's jaw, lifting the head so that he could examine the eyes. He could instantly tell that Dean was having trouble with his vision, the green orbs moved sluggishly, they rolled rather than darted, and avoided fixing on close subjects, preferring instead the lazy horizon. It didn't necessarily augur a concussion, the pupils were fine and there didn't seem to be any short term memory problems, but Sam was inclined to err on the side of caution and resolved to keep a close eye on his brother for the next few hours.

Dean's bloodied fingers rounded Sam's wrist and pull the hand away from his face, "Enough Sam, I'm okay."

"Did you see…?" Maud softly addressed Sam, and lifted Dean's shirt to reveal a nasty cut low on his back that was oozing blood. Sam acknowledged with a stiff nod. He had seen it and was probably going to have to put a few stitches in it.

Dave returned and handed Sam a tool box containing some basic medical supplies. After rifling through, Sam pulled out a couple gauze pads, ripped open the packaging and placed one under Dean's hand at the head wound, then moved around to press one against the gash in his back.

"Nice light Dave," Dean quipped sarcastically as Sam ministered to him.

"It was," the manager replied with a pinched expression. "That's fifty thousand dollars that just fell on your head."

Dean exhaled sharply in disbelief. "I don't think I've ever been so expensively knocked out before."

"Yeah," Dave returned, his voice low with guilt. "I'm really sorry that happened."

"Many things have smacked this head Dave," Dean replied dismissively, "that light just happened to be the prettiest."

"You want me to call an ambulance?" the manager asked, and it was clear in his tone that he really hoped the answer was no, that he was beleaguered enough without having to explain this latest incident to the authorities. But there was genuine concern on his face, worry for Dean meant he would face whatever heat came his way.

"No ambulance," Dean retorted.

Sam was willing to dispense with the ambulance on his brother's behalf, he'd patched up worse, and they just couldn't take the chance on being recognized or uncovered as prison escapees, but he surveyed the women critically, noticing for the first time that they were pale and shaky and asked, "Are you ladies alright? You want an ambulance?"

Maud shook her head and gave the young man a half hearted smile.

"Well my dodgy hip's not going to be happy in the morning," Ada proclaimed, "but I'll survive."

"No ambulance," Sam confirmed and the manager's shoulders dropped in relief.

"What about Dean?" Maud queried, aghast. "He needs to go to the hospital."

"Nah I'm good," Dean replied, turning his head toward Maud to flash her a reassuring grin, but the movement made him dizzy and balance was a problem, he pitched sideways and would have met the floor if not for Sam grabbing a firm hold and steadying him.

"He'll live," Sam pronounced with a grim smile. "I'll get him back to the motel and clean him up, he'll be alright."

"What about you?" Ada asked.

Sam looked at her blankly, not sure of the thrust of the question. "What about me?"

"Well that thing landed on you as well. You've got a bit of a shiner and I'm sure your back must be killing you. If you're not going to get checked out at the hospital then you should at least come back to our place tonight."

Dean gave a muted laugh, "You've never had a better offer Sam."

The younger brother stared quizzically at the older. "She means both of us Dean."

The amusement disappeared. "Oh."

Sam was of the opinion that they would be better off returning to their motel, with their well equipped first aid kit and no-one around to raise eyebrows about how proficiently he could stitch up a wound.

"Thank you for the offer-" Sam began, but was cut off.

"It wasn't a suggestion Sam. You either go to the hospital or you come back to our place." Ada's voice broached no argument and without waiting for Sam's response, already knowing the boys weren't minded to go to the hospital, she turned to Dave and asked, "Can you drive us all home?"

"Yeah, sure."

And with that the decision was made, the brothers were going to be transported to Ada and Maud's house, whether they liked it or not. Dean, surprisingly, didn't raise an objection and Sam figured that had to be because he wasn't quite following the conversation, if he was compos mentis there was no way he would agree, it was not their style to get cosy, they preferred to maintain distance, make sure people didn't get to know them too well.

Sam had protest on his lips but the stubborn set of Ada's face made him think twice about vocalising, it was unlikely to get him anywhere. He cast a helpless glance at his brother, searching for some compelling reason why they couldn't accompany the women to their house and when he drew a blank, sighed in resignation.

"I'll help you get him up," Dave offered with a nod at Dean.

He moved beside the injured man, on the opposite side to Sam and they each wound one of Dean's arms around their neck then hauled him to his feet. A throaty moan escaped Dean as he rose and he bit the inside of his lip to clamp it down. His already pale face drained of any remaining color, his head drooped and his legs folded beneath him, lacking the strength to offer any useful support.

Sam's eyes cut worriedly to him. He didn't want to draw attention to how awful Dean looked in case it resulted in a renewed call that he be taken to the hospital, but he felt compelled to ask, "Are you going to throw up?" because it looked like it might be a possibility and he wanted to be prepared if it was.

"God I hope not," was the miserable response, the bravado facade slipping for a moment, and the unexpected admission which hinted at how poorly Dean was feeling made Sam think maybe they should be taking him to a hospital.

By the time they arrived at Ada and Maud's house less than fifteen minutes later Dean felt a little more in control. His head was pounding agony but his body was adjusting to it, his balance was better, his strength was improved. While the girls scurried into the house to make some preparations to accomodate the injured man and Sam had a few words at the car with the unfortunate construction manager, Dean gauged the distance to the door and reckoned he could make it unaided. He slid his legs out of the car, planted his feet on the ground and pulled himself to a stand with a death grip on the car door. When he had accustomed to the change in height, he gradually released his hold and began a slow shuffle to the entry.

When Sam noticed his brother's unsteady progress toward the house, he silently cursed Dean's stubborn self reliance and cut short his conversation with Dave to follow, but not before the manager had pressed his card into Sam's hand and extracted a promise that Sam would call if they needed anything.

Sam's attempts to take a supportive hold of Dean were irritatedly batted away. Not until they had passed the threshold of the front door, some sort of finish line, did Dean voluntarily reach for Sam's arm. Ada ushered the boys to a nearby bedroom, where Maud was fitting fresh sheets to the twin beds. She motioned them to the bed where the covers had been turned down and a towel laid across the sheets. Sam silently applauded the pragmatism, Dean was a bloodied mess, once he was cleaned up they could take away the towel and the bed would be ready to sleep on.

Dean carefully seated himself on the edge of the bed, atop the towel and allowed his head to fall onto his chest, the walk from the car having exhausted him.

Ada set down some face cloths with an accompanying bowl of water to swab the blood and placed a well stocked medical kit beside Sam.

"Not sure what you can use here, but grab whatever you want"

Sam gave her an appreciative smile. "Thanks. Is there anything in there for Dean's headache?"

"Oh, I've got just the thing," Ada replied and hurried out of the room.

"I'll go make us some tea," Maud stated, squeamish about the blood and keen to get out of the room.

Ada returned a few moments later, knelt beside Dean and handed him two pills with a glass of water. "Maud gets migraines and these little suckers always do the trick."

Dean didn't ask what the pills were, he didn't particularly care, he chugged them down with the water chaser and hoped like hell they were going to relieve the drum beat in his head.

Ada grabbed the glass from Dean's hand then frowned at his blood soaked back.

"You're gonna have to get those shirts off him," she said to Sam.

Dean huffed a tired laugh. "Bet you've been planning all night to get me shirtless."

Ada blushed and to Sam's surprise seemed flustered by the comment.

"Well I... erm...that would…" She stood up quickly. "I'll be back in a tick."

Sam sniggered as he carefully threaded Dean's arms out of his button down shirt.

"Dude, I think you just embarrassed Ada."

Dean snorted. "No way. She was talking about a 'full service' earlier, that woman is unembarrassable"

"Unembarrassable?" Sam clicked his tongue and shook his head in mock dismay. "You're making up your own words man, that's sad."

"Bite me."

Sam dumped the soiled long sleeved shirt onto the floor then pulled Dean's t-shirt up over his head and down his arms.

Ada poked her head round the door and bashfully averted her eyes from Dean's bare torso while waving a t-shirt vaguely in their direction.

"This might fit. You can put it on him when you're ready."

She threw the piece of clothing into the room, landing it on the opposite bed and was gone before Sam could turn around.

"Is it a man's shirt?" Dean called after her, but Ada had already disappeared, and he finished in a mumble, "because I'm not wearing any chick shirts."

"Oh yeah, she's embarrassed," Sam smiled. "I think she can talk the talk…"

He placed a clean gauze pad over the wound in Dean's back and positioned his brother's hand on it to staunch the bleeding, then using a dampened cloth started patting the blood away from the wound at Dean's head.

Dean's brow knitted. "Are Ada and Maud living here together?"

"I think so."

Dean was silent for a moment, and Sam just knew where his thoughts were heading. "Do you think her and Maud are….you know?"

"Partners?" Sam diplomatically offered. "Don't know man, two women living together…could be."

"Huh."

When Dean didn't say anymore Sam asked lightly, "Would that be a problem for you?"

"Nah," Dean quickly responded, apparently missing the humor in Sam's tone. "That's…cool." His forehead furrowed, "Although it's kind of insulting to men if they are. Maybe they didn't meet our best players."

Sam laughed and was about to make a comeback when Dean's eyes closed and he sagged under Sam's hands, his body tipped forward and his head came to rest on the younger brother's chest. With lightening reflex Sam's hand dropped to his brother's shoulder and caught him in a firm grip so that he wouldn't slump further.

"Hey? You okay?" Sam wasn't sure if Dean had just passed out.

"Never better," was the muffled reply, weariness blurring the edges.

"Clearly," Sam chuckled with relief. "I'm nearly done."

He pushed Dean upright but kept the supporting hand on the shoulder as he finished with the head wound as best he could, unable to remove all the blood matted into Dean's hair, then dabbed on some antiseptic and stuck a large bandaid over the whole mess.

He guided Dean face down onto the bed so that he could attend to the back injury and Dean let out a grateful sigh when his head hit the pillow. Sam's eyes raked over the welts and discolorations which marked his brother's back, the chandelier had done a real number on him, then set to with the cloth and water.

"So are we calling this an unfortunate accident or a close encounter of the spiritual kind?" Sam asked.

Dean grunted a response, but really, it was a rhetorical question. Chandeliers didn't swing wildly and plummet to the ground for no reason. Not even ridiculously heavy chandeliers.

"How come you asked Dave if the chandelier was original?" Sam asked, suddenly remembering Dean's query just before the fixture fell.

Dean drew back his heavy eyelids, trying to stave off the sleep that was so tantalizingly close and blew out an audible breath, annoyed by his brother's need to engage in conversation when he just wanted some peace.

"You know how spirits don't like their special places being touched?" Dean began, and then frowned, "Whoa, that did not come out at all like I intended." There was a pause while he mentally fumbled for the thread, tried to remember what he was saying and where he was going with it. "Um..yeah, what if the spirit at the construction site is trying to undo the renovation? What if it's main aim isn't to hurt people, it's to keep the place original."

"You were almost brained tonight," Sam pointed out.

Dean's eyes slid shut. "Nah-" and the rest was lost to mumble.

"What?"

A couple beats passed before Dean dazedly responded, "Huh?" and narrowly opened his eyes, drawing his brows down in confusion before the lids snapped together again.

Sam could tell that coherent conversation had come to an end for the night. "Forget it. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

The gash in Dean's back was deep and really could have used a few stitches, but not having their own first aid kit meant it wasn't an option, the women's kit lacked the necessary equipment. Sam considered running back to their motel for what he needed, it was only a few streets away, but in the end decided he would make do with butterfly plasters and see how they held up.

Dean was deeply asleep by the time Sam finished. Sam eased the towel out from under him and pulled the blankets up to his shoulders. As he stood up he saw the t-shirt that Ada had thrown in for Dean to put on. He gazed at his brother uncertainly, considering whether he could pull it onto Dean while he slept, but in the end decided Dean could don it in the morning.

He picked the bloodied clothing off the floor and went to find the ladies.

Ada and Maud were talking in low tones and it directed Sam to the living area in which they were seated. Both of them were sipping cups of tea and they looked up expectantly as he entered.

"Everything okay?" Ada asked with concern.

"Yeah, Dean's asleep. I'll give him a few nudges in the night to make sure he's alright but I think he'll be fine. Do you have a bag I can put these in?" Sam held up the bundled shirts in his hand.

"I'll take them," Maud jumped up and accepted the clothes from him, then moved past him into the next room. "How do you take your tea Sam?" she called through the door.

"Young men don't drink tea Maud," Ada stated before Sam could answer.

"What do they drink o-wise one?"

"I think there's beer at the back of the fridge, give him one of those. And get me a glass of wine."

Sam gulped at the idea of back of the fridge beer, who knew what condition that might be in, but he wasn't much of a tea drinker either and frankly alcohol appealed at the moment, he could use a little artificial calm.

Ada motioned for Sam to sit in the armchair next to her and cast an appraising eye over him. "Do you want some ice for that cheek?"

"No it's fine," Sam returned automatically. He'd forgotten he'd been hurt. Now that Ada brought it to his attention, he felt twinges and aches throughout his body.

Maud strode in and smiled as she handed Sam a beer then scowled as she thrust a glass of wine at Ada. "What did your last servant die of?" she grumbled, settling into the chair she had vacated and returning to her tea.

"You're the only servant I've had and I'm still waiting for you to drop off."

Maud laughed despite herself, then turned her attention to the young man and a frown crossed her features. "Are you alright Sam, you look a bit pale."

"I'm good, really." He ducked his head self consciously. Such minor injuries would ordinarily elicit no sympathy and it actually made him uncomfortable that the women were showing concern. He turned the conversation back on them by asking, "How about you two? You okay?"

"No worries here," Maud stated.

"Dodgy hip," Ada pointed to the offending area. "Bane of my life. But I'll live."

Sam nodded agreeably. "So... some evening." He winced at what a lame conversation starter that was.

"Yep," Ada awkwardly replied, quickly bringing the wine to her lips.

Sam tried again. "I thought you girls were going to get squashed when the chandelier fell. You must have moved really fast."

The women exchanged a look.

"Yeah, I guess," Maud half heartedly replied.

Sam shifted his gaze to the beer in his hand and started picking at the label with his thumb as he tried to figure out how to respond to that lie.

"The ghost of the construction site strikes again," he joked.

He looked up when the women didn't respond and saw panicked glances being thrown between them.

Trying to decipher why talk of ghosts had thrown the women into a spin, Sam dropped the playful tone and ventured hesitantly, "What? Did you see the ghost?"

Maud met his eyes guiltily and replied with a drawn out, "No," that hinted he was on the right track, that the question wasn't worded properly and she was denying on a technicality.

Sam narrowed his eyes, searching for what her evasiveness might be about. "But you saw something?"

"No," Maud shook her head slowly, "we didn't see anything."

"Okay," Sam nodded and felt like he was playing a game of twenty questions.

"That's enough Maud," Ada warned, "you're being silly."

But Sam wasn't ready to drop the subject, he wanted to know what Maud wasn't keen to reveal and continued, "So you heard…" Maud shook her head, "smelt…" another shake, "felt…" Maud's eyes darted nervously to Ada, then back to Sam and she gave a small nod.

"Oh for God's sake Maud," Ada barked impatiently, she twisted in her chair so that her whole body faced Sam and revealed in a rush of words, "Maud thinks the ghost pulled her out of the way of the light."

"You think so too," the brunette hotly defended. "You said you felt the same thing."

The penny dropped for Sam, that made sense, it explained the optical illusion, why he hadn't been able to reach Ada when the light fell. She had been moving, just not under her own power.

"Yeah, but I wasn't about to discuss it in front of our guest," Ada retorted through clenched teeth, and both sets of eyes flicked onto Sam, gauging his reaction.

Sam wasn't sure what the appropriate response should be. Inexperienced ghost hunters would be shocked, right? Flabbergasted?

"That's… amazing," he stammered and frowned, not sure that he'd quite captured flabbergasted.

"Well, it's not something that needs to leave this room," Ada pointedly remarked and her eyes pleaded with him to keep the revelation to himself. He nodded his agreement. No need to tell him how badly people reacted to talk of the supernatural, although he was surprised at Ada's reticence in this town, he thought people were more open minded here, that they would like a new ghost story to add to the repertoire, but he let the topic drop.

The subject quickly changed to other things and Sam found he was inured to the way the women interacted, could see that insults and bickering were borne of affection and a very well developed sense of humor.

Conversation between the three became so comfortable that the women revealed quite a bit about themselves. Sam discovered that Ada and Maud had met through their husbands, firemen in the same New York brigade but didn't become close until after their husbands died fighting the same fire, the shared tragedy forming a bond.

"Not 9/11," Ada was quick to point out. "Everyone thinks it must have been 9/11 but it happened twenty years ago."

With a modest payout from the city, and each with a child to raise they decided to leave New York and move to Tombstone, a town that Ada had adored as a tourist. They had initially settled in their own houses, but when the kids grew up and moved out, and neither had found a new partner, about five years ago Maud sold her house and moved in with Ada, both as a cost saving measure and to stave off loneliness.

"Not that we don't have gentleman callers," Ada added defensively. "Cos, you know, clearly... we're hot, but the pickings are slim in this town and it's nice to have company."

Sam listened to it all sympathetically and mentioned that he too had lost his partner to a fire, skipping over the supernatural circumstances. It gave them all a lamentable comradeship, an empathy and understanding beyond the usual.

He punctuated the night with trips to the bedroom to check on Dean. They both knew the drill when it came to head wounds, Dean needed to be roused every few hours to assess the injury, make sure there wasn't a deterioration in his mental acuity. Dean was groggy but compliant the first few times Sam woke him, but as the night wore on he became increasingly discontented by the interruptions until finally he threatened Sam with physical violence if he woke him again, and given that they were well into the early hours, Sam was willing to accept that as a sign that Dean was fine and didn't need to be roused again.

He returned to his bed and lay with his hands under his head pondering why a ghost would drop a chandelier and then shift two people out of it's way. It wasn't trying to hurt people Dean had suggested, but that wasn't entirely convincing because people had been hurt, Dean could have been killed. It didn't follow any spiritual precedent that he knew of, a spirit both harming and saving, and he wasn't able to come to any solid conclusions about what might be going on at the construction site before sleep overtook him.