This was an impressive move, even by Winchester standards. Sam rolled out of the car and kicked back with his legs to slam the door shut. It took less than half of a second, and he was concerned it was still too long. The things they hunted could do a lot in that length of time. Unfortunately, he didn't have the chance to check on his brother before he was pummeled by the vengeful spirits and demons. A flying rock barely missed his head and he didn't quite move fast enough to avoid being shoved into the side of the car. Bouncing off, he grunted and went for the back of the car in order to get the equipment, only realising then that he needed a key to get into the trunk.

Cursing, he headed for the drivers side to get the key from his brother. Dean looked like he was still safe and sound inside the car for now. But there would be more risk when the door was opened. He ducked as a piece of metal flew by. Reaching Dean's door, he was surprised to see the keys on the ground. He stopped and looked through the window. Dean pointed down and shrugged. Sam permitted himself a quick grin, not knowing when Dean had dropped the keys there but not really caring, either. He decided to just accept his good fortune and head back. He slipped the keys in the lock and twisted, ducking as another tree branch came at him.

In retrospect, this idea had a lot of problems. First, Sam was supposed to change a tire by himself while trying to dodge flying objects thrown by vengeful spirits. Then, he had just opened a trunk full of weapons and effectively released them to said spirits. Guns and knives suddenly flew out of the open armory and danced around in the air.

"Crap," Sam muttered, snatching the tire iron out and throwing it to one side. The tire would be a little harder, but he was sure he'd manage it. In fact, it was easier than he thought, and it was almost no time at all before he had everything strewn all over the ground. He gathered things up and went toward the back passenger tire. Then, he heard a sound that made his heart drop through his stomach. He heard the sound of a door opening.

"No, Dean!" he shouted, heading forward with such an adrenalin-enforced panic that he as able to slam the door again before his brother could get out.

"Sam, come on," Dean shouted through the glass.

"No!" the younger hunter snapped back. "Do NOT get out."

It was at that moment that one of the angry spirits decided to use the shotgun from the trunk. Luckily for Sam, spirits apparently weren't great at firing weapons without a body as a host. Instead, the gun was tossed in his direction and hit him in the shin with such a bruising force that he momentarily stumbled, pain radiating from the wound in his leg. Dean tensed at the door, abhorring the idea of being so useless, but Sam righted himself and put a warning hand on the door. He ignored the glare he got in return.

Going back to the flattened tire, Sam crouched down. He didn't want to chance kneeling, when he would be more vulnerable and less able to move at will. He had the bad tire all the way off and was reaching for the spare when his instincts flared and he turned around, just in time to see a knife sailing straight for his head. He dropped flat on the ground, and the weapon embedded itself into the side of the car.

"Dean's going to kill me," he muttered from the ground as he continued his work. Then he paused as a thought crossed his mind, eyes locked on the knife. "That doesn't look like an attempt to hurt but not kill," he mused aloud. His temporary distraction proved to be a big problem for him, as another gun whipped him in the side of the face and knocked him to the ground. The wind got louder and more intense, and Sam tried to clear his throbbing head enough to finish the job. Rolling onto his back, he opened his eyes and registered a massive tree branch falling on top of him. And he knew he couldn't move out of the way in time. All he could do was put up a hand to shield his face.

The impact of the branch was considerably less painful than he thought it was going to be. Instead of the excruciating agony of a collapsed lung and inability to breathe, the youngest hunter discovered that he heard a few cracks and the pain closely resembled that of broken ribs. His eyes snapped open at a grunt. Dean was holding one end of the branch, struggling to pull it off without causing more damage.

"Back in the car, Dean," Sam said – or tried to. It came out as more of a hoarse cough than actual words, but his brother still somehow managed to understand him.

"I can't, Sammy," came the response as the older Winchester suddenly jerked the branch off.

That hurt more than the initial impact, and Sam couldn't stop himself from groaning miserably as his eyes clenched shut. But within a second, gentle hands were on his cheeks, holding his head up in a useless but comforting gesture. He opened his eyes again.

"Ugh," he groaned. Dean's concerned face came into focus, and their current situation hit him with astounding acuity. "The car," he said, his voice clear as he sat straight up.

"I'll finish it," his older brother said, dodging more flying debris.

"No," Sam insisted. "They're still trying to kill you."

While bending to hold the spare tire on, Dean snorted in characteristic manner. "Yeah, because that last one really looked like they were sparing your life."

Not having a suitable answer to that, Sam shrugged and reached to help. The rest of the process took only a minute more, and then they both headed back for their doors, having completed their task with minimal injuries. As he was sitting down and reaching to shut himself in, Sam felt a stabbing pain behind his eyes and recognised the onset of a vision.

"Oh, not now," he mumbled, his hand missing the door completely.

"Sam?" Dean asked, assessing the situation and leaning across the car to close his brother's door. "You okay?"

Sam didn't answer. Something was off about this vision. By the time the pain was wearing away to a point where the flash of images should start, all he saw were two yellow eyes, and he tried to shut them out by closing his own eyes. But it didn't work. Those eyes continued to stare at him, until he gasped from the pressure building in his head.

"It's my turn, Sammy," grated a low and evil voice.