Sorry for the delay in posting. Real life can be so annoying at times. Anyways, thank you again to everyone who has been so supportive. I truly appreciate it.

I usually try to keep one point of view per chapter, but I had to switch back and forth a few times in the chapter in order to better serve the story (in my mind, anyway). I apologize for any confusion this may cause.

Enjoy!

A Mother's Love

"Dean!" Sam screamed at his motionless brother. He made it two strides closer to the prone man when a powerful force slammed into his chest, sending him back away from Dean.

Sam flew halfway across the room before gravity decided to reintroduce Sam to the floor. The air expelled from his lungs in a loud grunt as his body hit the ground, the back of his head cracking against the dirty hardwood floor. Sam coughed as he struggled to catch his breath. He stared up at the ceiling, seeing patches of blue sky through the rotting roof. He shut his eyes against the brightness as the pain from the impact began to set in.

An unearthly shriek brought Sam up to his elbows. The room swam dangerously as his battered brain tried to regain control of itself. Sam squinted his eyes at the advancing form of what he could only assume was the ghost of Hannah Eagan.

With her raven colored hair and dark eyes, she must have been quite the beauty in life. But as she snarled at Sam, her face twisted in rage, Sam saw only insanity and evil.

Sam tried to push himself to his feet, but his strength left him, and he fell back to the floor. As his head lolled to the side he saw his shotgun lying only a few feet away. Hannah was nearly upon him, her eyes flashing. Sam stretched his arm out as far as it would go and just managed to snag the barrel with his long fingers. In one swift motion he pulled the gun to him and fired a shot straight at the apparition. The rocksalt hit square in the center of her navy blue dress, and she disintegrated in a puff of smoke.

Sam gently dropped his head back to the floor and let out a groan. He squeezed his eyes shut and draped an arm across his face.

"Nice shootin', Tex."

Sam cracked open one eye and looked over at Dean, who was slowly getting to his feet. Sam managed to get himself into a seated position by the time Dean made his way over.

Dean held his shotgun in his right hand; his left was wrapped around his ribs. "You ok?" he asked tightly.

Sam decided he wasn't quite ready to answer that question. He made it to one knee and looked up at Dean. "Are you?" he countered.

"I'll let you know once we end this bitch." Dean growled. He reached down to help Sam to his feet. Sam shook off the help, not wanting to do further damage to Dean's injured ribs.

Sam felt his older brother's eyes on him, watching over him as he made his way to his feet. Once on his unsteady legs, Sam felt Dean's strong hand latch onto his arm. Sam stood completely still, using Dean as an anchor as he regained his sea legs.

"Come on." Sam said, pulling free of Dean's grasp. "She won't be gone long."

Sam took a deep breath and attempted to make his way out of the cabin. He could've sworn the room had been level, yet his first few steps felt like walking on a teeter totter. Feeling a bit like a tightrope walker, Sam held his arms out to help keep his balance.

"Dude, you forgot your gun." Dean grunted as he bent to pick up Sam's firearm.

"Sorry." Sam called back, not breaking his stride. He had just made it to the door. He didn't dare risk stopping or risk toppling over. Going down the two steps leading from the front porch was going to be a bitch.

Sam took a step past the doorway and warily looked out into the forest. It seemed as if Hannah hadn't been able to reform yet. If his luck held, he'd be able to make it to her grave and set it ablaze before she returned.

Sam stepped down onto the first step, completely forgetting about the broken stair. He cried out in surprise as his foot went through the broken wood. Off balance, Sam fell forward, his right knee twisting painfully as his body went where his leg would not allow.

Sam managed to catch himself on his hands and lower himself onto his hip. The native Chip and Dales got quite an earful as Sam let loose a string of curse words. With another cry of pain, he tugged his leg free just as Dean appeared in the doorway.

"Dammit, Sammy." Dean stepped down and knelt by his brother. "How bad?"

"It's fine." Sam said through gritted teeth. Between his head and his knee, he was in for one painful night. He could only imagine the mileage Dean would get out of this one; his little brother, felled by a broken step.

Dean had just began a careful examination of Sam's throbbing knee when his head shot up, his eyes wide.

"Shit!"

Hannah had reappeared and was glaring at them from the cabin doorway. Sam dropped down onto his elbows as Dean prepared to fire. Dean's first shot went wide, missing her by a hair's breadth. Hannah took advantage of the error. She moved faster than Sam could comprehend, smacking the weapon from Dean's hand and knocking him backwards.

Hannah grabbed Sam by the throat. Her icy fingers stole his breath away while her death grip wouldn't allow for air to pass through his lips. After dodging his wild punch, she leaned in close and spoke two raspy words.

"Help them!"

A loud crack cut through the air, and Hannah once again dissipated into wisps of smoke.

Sam coughed the air back into his lungs and ran his hand across his throat. At least each new injury took more focus off of the piercing pain in the back of his head.

Dean came into his line of sight and placed a hand on his shoulder. Sam clamped his hand over Dean's wrist and gave it a fierce squeeze, then pushed it away.

"Go, before she comes back!" Sam rasped.

Dean grabbed Sam under the arms and began to pull him up. "Come on, Sam. Up and at 'em!"

Sam tried to use his gangly limbs to get to his feet, but his right knee would not have it. A blast of fire traveled up his leg, and Sam instinctively pulled away from Dean. Both brothers yelled as Sam's sudden movement caused them further pain.

Back down on the earth, Sam grabbed onto his knee and cursed. Dean had fallen down to his knees and had one arm draped across his middle, while the other was braced against the ground. Unable to take a deep breath, the eldest hunter swore.

Sam looked over at Dean, blinking as his vision doubled. "Dean, I'll be fine! Just go!"

Dean hesitated a split second before placing a shotgun in his brother's hands. "Stay put, and stay alert." he ordered, and set a few rounds of rocksalt on the ground next to Sam's hip. He tossed his handkerchief in Sam's lap and pointed to the back of his own head. "You're bleeding. Keep pressure on it." He waited just long enough to make sure Sam complied, then took off towards the back of the house.

Dean pushed away his concern for his brother. Judging by the glassy look in Sam's eyes, he was willing to bet they were dealing with at the very least a slight concussion. He hated to leave his injured brother, but time was of the essence. He had a very limited window in which to salt and burn Hannah's remains before she came back for round three.

Dean resisted the urge to break into a run. He'd cracked a few of his ribs when he'd been thrown into the wall; just the simple tasks of walking and breathing were complete agony. Running was simply out of the question.

Dean had just reached the edge of the gravesite when he heard a twig crack. He whirled around and fired in the direction of the noise, biting his lip as the recoil slammed against his ribs. It was only after he lowered the gun that he realized he was still alone amongst the trees. Or was he? Another telltale snap made his heart beat faster.

He ignored the pain in his ribs and kept the gun up against his shoulder, turning in a slow circle. He vaguely registered Sam calling to him from the front of the cabin, probably concerned at the gunshot that had echoed through the forest. He refocused on his surroundings and continued to look for the source of the noise.

"Come on, where are you?" Dean muttered. A rustling of leaves answered back. Dean whipped around and fired, sending a flock of birds squawking into the air.

Dean lowered the gun in disgust. He took as deep a breath as his ribs would allow in an effort to calm his nerves. Hannah hadn't rematerialized yet, but she could show up again at any moment. He had to get moving.

Dean peered down into the grave. The good news was that Sam had fully uncovered the coffin. The bad news is that he hadn't pried it open. Dean sighed. A shot of whiskey would sure do the trick right about now.

Dean took one last look around, then lightly dropped down into the hole. He grabbed a shovel and began to pry away at the wooden slabs.

Dean had endured a lot in his years as a hunter, but nothing was as agonizing as his current task. He'd fallen into a red-hazed pattern; give the boards a mighty tug, fall against the edge of the grave as thousands of tiny knives rip at his middle, and wait until the pain recedes just enough to begin again. Just another torture-filled day on the job.

Several minutes later he had pulled up all but one of the boards. He leaned back against the dirt wall to catch his breath. Dean shivered despite the sweat running down his back. The temperature had taken a distinctive dive, and the air had a heavy quality. Dean heeded the warning signs that the ghost was on her way and pushed himself to finish.

Dean straddled the pine box and gripped the edge of the board. Due to the decent workmanship of the coffin and the pain from his cracked ribs, he was having a hard time dislodging the last part of the lid. Dean gritted his teeth and pulled with all his strength. The wood began to creak and groan, and Dean mentally willed the nails to let go.

"Dean?"

Dean let go with a gasp and fell back against the edge of the grave. "Son of a bitch!" He looked up to see an extremely pale Sam leaning against a tree. "You scared the crap out of me!"

"God!" Dean bent at the waist and let out a strange half groan, half gurgle. The pain in his ribs took second place as he prepared to deal with his pain in the ass little brother.

"I told you to stay put!" Dean yelled up at him. "Why am I surprised? Like you ever listen to a thing I say." Or Dad, or Caleb, or Pastor Jim, Dean finished mentally.

Dean's anger faded as he took in Sam's haggard state. The youngest Winchester looked as if he'd just finished running, or limping, a marathon. Considering his various injuries, the short distance from the front of the house to the back corner had probably seemed twice as long. Sam was doing his best to stay upright, using his shotgun to help keep himself propped against the tree.

"You...ok?" Sam asked haltingly.

Dean nodded. "Better than you, anyway. Keep your eyes peeled. I have a feeling our new friend's about to join the party."

Dean returned to his task, his stomach in knots. Normally he'd be confident having Sam watching his back, but right now his little brother looked like he couldn't handle a cockroach. Now he not only had to worry about his own hide, but Sam's as well.

Dean turned his attention to the final piece of wood that was blocking most of the corpse's upper body. He could hear the wind howling above him as he pulled with all his might.

Sam listened to Dean's pain filled curses with empathy and guilt. He hoped Dean could complete the job before Hannah decided to come back for round three. He felt a bit like a scarecrow guarding the field as he kept watch over Dean. Although, a scarecrow would probably be more useful in this situation. At least it had a brain. The way Sam felt, he wasn't so sure he could say the same.

Sam started to slide down the trunk as his rubbery left leg decided it was tired of pulling double duty. Sam gave in and decided a lower vantage point would probably be best. He eased himself to the ground, closing his eyes against the dizziness at the change in altitude. He reassumed sentry duty with the shot gun held parallel above his right leg which was stretched out in front of him.

"Gotcha!" Dean popped up like a jack-in-the-box as the pesky board finally gave way. Sam closed his eyes in relief. All that was left was to pour the salt and set the fire. He set the gun down and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

"Got you, you son of a…whoa." Dean trailed off.

Sam sat forward and tried to see into the grave. "Dean?"

"Time has not been her friend." Dean tossed his shovel up over the side of the grave and gave Sam a lop-sided grin before dropping out of sight.

A huge gust of wind came out of nowhere, blowing with such force that Sam could barely catch his breath. The next thing he knew he was staring into the ghastly face of Hannah Eagan. He was pinned against the tree, her hands once again at his throat. He was able to draw in enough air to croak his brother's name while struggling to reach his weapon. His hand had just grazed the barrel when Hannah grabbed the gun and flung it away. She slammed him back against the tree, then abruptly released him. Fireworks exploded in his vision as the back of his head smacked against the trunk.

"Help them!" Hannah pleaded, a tear slipping down her cheek. She backed off as Sam fought to remain conscious. "Bring them home."

Hannah threw her head back and let out a scream full of pain and despair. A sea of tiny flames appeared all over her body and quickly joined together to engulf her in a raging fire. She fell to her knees and was gone, swept away by the wind.

Sam blinked, trying to sort of what the hell had just happened. A frantic call from Dean snapped him out of his haze.

"Sam! A little help here!"

Sam's jaw dropped in horror. Hannah's grave was ablaze…with Dean still inside!

"Dean!" Sam jumped to his feet and managed to go several steps before his knee gave out. Crawling on hands and knee, his bad leg dragging behind, he scrambled to the edge of the hole and snagged Dean's outstretched arm. The back of Dean's jacket was decorated with orange flames that eagerly headed towards his head. Sam took a deep breath and pulled for all he was worth. Dean let out a bloodcurdling yell as he was pulled from the burning pit; whether it was from the fire or his ribs, Sam didn't know. Sam heard his own voice join his brother's as the world went grey.

Sam's next sensation was lying on the cool earth, his lungs burning as they eagerly gulped in the clean forest air. He turned his head to the left and saw a dirty and smoky Dean staring back at him. His older brother was curled in a fetal position, his smoldering jacket in a heap a few feet away.

Sam turned to his side and leaned over his brother, carefully running his hand a few inches above Dean's back. While the back of his green buttondown shift was littered with black rimmed holes, the darker green shirt he wore underneath seemed intact. "Are you alright?"

Dean shook his head. He looked up at Sam, his green eyes flashing. "You damn near tore me in two!" Dean winced and moved his arms tighter around his middle.

Sam did one final check to make sure none of the flames had done any damage. Convinced that Dean hadn't been burned, he sat back. His right let stretched out in front of him, he bent his left leg and put his elbow on his knee, propping his aching head in his hand.

"What the hell happened?" Sam couldn't figure how Dean had ended up in the fiery grave when he'd been the one being attacked by the ghost.

Dean continued to look angry, but a tiny bit of embarrassment tinged his expression. "You were being attacked. Again. I didn't have time…" Dean trailed off and averted his gaze.

Sam's eyes opened wide as comprehension set in. He knew he was the one with the head injury, but come on! Even Dean couldn't be that reckless and stupid. Could he? "You set the fire while you were still in the grave?"

Dean's silence spoke volumes. The older hunter shut his eyes and let out a shallow sigh. Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing, or rather, not hearing. He lifted his head out of his hand and gaped at Dean. "What the hell is wrong with you? You could've been killed! How the hell could you do something that stupid!?"

Dean opened his eyes. With a great deal of effort he shifted to a seated position. "It's not like I had a lot of time to think! She was killing you, Sam!" He shifted his shoulders, seemingly uncomfortable under Sam's intense stare. "You try climbing out of a grave with broken ribs. It ain't as easy as it looks!"

Dean moved on from embarrassment and gave indignation a try. "It worked, didn't it? She's toast. Problem solved."

Sam looked at the flames playing peekaboo from the grave. The spirit of Hannah Eagan had been put to rest, but the apparition's final mysterious pleas left Sam's stomach in knots. But before he could devote time to that mystery, there was one more matter to attend to.

Sam looked down at his swollen knee, then shifted his blurry gaze to his brother. "We've got another problem, Dean. How are we going to get back to the car?"

Dean's eyebrows shot up as he looked from Sam down to his damaged ribs. "Oh crap."