Disclaimer: If I owned the boys, there would be a lot more hurt Sam on the show. And we would've had hospital Sammy at least once.

Thanks to Cheryl for the help and to Yami Faerie, criminally charmed, The Lilac Elf of Lothlorien, BranchSuper, TinTin11, twomoms, Sparkiebunny, SandyDee84, Scribble2Much, jensengirl4eva, Bear07 and SPN Mum for the reviews.

Chapter III: This Should Be Easy

Sam had no warning.

One minute Dean was ahead of him, casting concerned glances that he was bound to deny later over his shoulder at his little brother. The next, Dean had grabbed the bag of equipment from Sam, fixing him with a death glare.

Oh crap.

"Dean?" Sam tried, hoping against hope that it was just general moodiness and the ghost hadn't decided to possess his big brother, because that would make the night just bloody perfect.

"I'm right freaking here, Sam!" Dean spat. "You don't have to look like someone took away your favourite teddy bear. What is it?"

Damn it. Not good.

"Dean, are you –"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Now do you have a point, or can we get on with the job we're here to do?"

"Yeah, sure," Sam said slowly. Either Dean was possessed or something had suddenly happened to put him in a bitch of a bad mood. Likelier the first, because just a few moments ago Dean had been the one looking like he suspected the world of having designs on his favourite teddy bear. One way or another, it was best not to antagonize him. "Let's finish the job."

He reached for the canister of salt sticking out of the bag. Dean pushed him back. Hard.

Damn it.

"Dean, calm down, man. It's a simple job. Let's just do it and go."

"Sure it's a simple job, but if there's a way to screw it up I'm sure you'll find it," Dean growled. "So how about you just stay out of the way and let me handle it?"

Definitely a possession. Damn it damn it damn it.

"Um… Yeah, sure. If that's what you want."

Sam knew even as he said it that it wasn't going to be that simple – why would the ghost just let Dean salt and burn its remains? Sam suspected it knew why they were there and it was trying to save itself in the only way it could – by possessing Dean.

This wasn't its usual MO, though, was it? It didn't possess either the person it wanted to kill or the siblings of the person it wanted to kill. It possessed someone else close to them.

So… It wasn't used to this. Maybe it would slip up.

On the other hand… This wasn't its usual MO, so they had no way of knowing what it would do next.

Sam saw a flash of something in Dean's eyes, and he realized Dean was fighting it. That gave him something to work with. He just had to keep it occupied and keep from annoying it long enough for Dean to get it out of his head.

And in the meantime, Sam would see if he couldn't find a way to sidle past Dean and torch the bones. That'd get rid of the thing permanently.

Almost as though reading his mind, Dean said, "What, you think you can do a better job of the salt-and-burn than I can?"

Well, maybe it was no surprise that the ghost could tell what he was thinking. Dean always could – or almost always – and it was possessing Dean.

Right. Quick and dirty. That's the way to do this.

Sam tried to dive past Dean. Dean was quick, though, and he tackled Sam before he could get to the bones. For a minute they rolled across the forest floor in an honest-to-God fistfight –

And then there was a sharp crack as Dean hit his head on something. He groaned, grip on Sam loosening.

Sam scrambled off his brother, reaching down to help Dean sit up.

"Dean?" Dean said nothing. "Dean, are you OK?"

Dean didn't respond, not even when Sam pulled him closer and wrapped a supporting arm around his back. He just sighed and settled his head under Sam's chin.

Sam felt his fear ratchet up.

"Dean, please. Talk to me. Are you OK?"

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was a hoarse, pained whisper.

"Yeah, it's me."

"Feel… awful. What happened?"

"It got to you. Are you OK?"

"My head," Dean groaned. "Sammy… hurts."

Dean huddled closer to Sam, which sent Sam's heart shooting up into his throat. Dean had to be feeling really, really bad to admit he wanted his little brother's comfort.

The ghost could wait.

Sam settled down for the long haul, tugging Dean closer, running one hand through his brother's hair.

It's OK. It's going to be OK. It wasn't that hard of a hit. He might be a bit concussed, but that's it. Dean's going to be fine once he's had time to get his breath back.

"What happened?" Dean mumbled.

"The ghost, dude. Possessed you?"

"Don't suppose you could've found a way to get it out of me without breaking my head in half?"

"Sorry." Sam rubbed the small bump on Dean's head. "You're going to be fine. Just relax."

"The ghost –"

"It can wait."

"No, it can't. It could show up again any second. Besides, I'm damned if I'm going to sit here with you cuddling me. Burn it, Sam, and then we can go back to the motel and pretend this never happened."

Sam was torn, but he knew Dean was right. They needed to get rid of the ghost.

He started to ease Dean out of his arms, stopping short when it elicited a pained moan from his brother.

"Are you trying to kill me, Sam?"

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered. "Dean, I have to get to the bones. What do you want me to do?"

Dean snorted. "Yeah, figured you wouldn't even be able to work that out for yourself. Was college useful for anything other than turning your back on your family?"

Sam suppressed an angry retort. Dean was always nasty when he was in pain. (And he was always apologetic later, slipping out of their motel room as soon as he was back on his feet and coming back with a new book for Sam as a peace offering.)

"I'll be back in a minute, OK?"

Dean half-lifted his head from Sam's shoulder, then groaned and lowered it again, squeezing his eyes shut. "Hurts."

"Yeah, I know," Sam said, as soothingly as he could. "Just a minute, OK, Dean?"

"Yeah, whatever. I'm sure you couldn't've got the thing out of my head without cracking my skull open."

Sam swallowed. "You know what? The job can wait a few minutes."

"No, it bloody well can't, Sam. Just do it. See if you can't get one thing right." Dean raised his head again, this time fully. "Ow… This is what I get for trying to watch out for you. Don't know why I didn't just let you stay dead."

Sam stopped short in the act of settling Dean down against a rock.

"Dean, c'mon. It's just the headache talking."

"It is the headache talking, but that doesn't mean it's not true, Sammy. I could've been with Lisa, safe and happy, and instead I'm here in the middle of nowhere with you. And to make it even better, my head feels like it's going to explode. This is just awesome. Should've let you stay in the Cage."

Dean tended to be unpleasant when he was hurting, but…

"Yeah, OK," Sam said, managing to keep his voice light. It was just the pain… wasn't it? "Let's just get this done, and then you can go back to Lisa if you want. Five minutes."

"Whatever, dude."

Sam made sure Dean was propped securely. Then he got to his feet and gathered the equipment that had spilled from the bag and scattered during their fight. Salt, gasoline, lighter –

Something heavy slammed into him from behind, knocking him face-first into the ground.

Sam spat out a mouthful of dirt, scrambled to his feet, and looked around. There was nothing but trees in sight. There was nobody else there except for Dean, who was sitting exactly where Sam had left him, frowning.

"Dude, what the hell?" Dean demanded. "Did you trip over your own feet again?"

"Something pushed me."

"There's nothing uglier than you around here, Sam. Just burn the damn bones and let's blow this joint."

"Yeah, OK."

Sam picked up the salt canister.

He sensed the movement before he heard it. He dropped the canister and spun, pulling his Taurus from his belt and raising it –

And Dean was behind him, shaky but on his feet.

"Dean." Sam lowered the gun. "How about a little warning next time, so I don't almost shoot you?"

"How about paying a little attention instead of being off in your bubble? What the hell is wrong with you today, Sam? First you called me sounding like something was after you and I almost banged up my baby trying to get to you, only to find you perfectly fine. And now… Just get out of the way. I'll handle this."

"Dean, you're not OK –"

"You think? I'm here with you being attacked by pissed-off ghosts when I could've had a normal life. Of course I'm not bloody OK! Nothing's ever OK when you're involved, Sam. There are millions of children born every year who don't get fed demon blood, dozens of hunters who go through life without developing freaky powers, and seven billion other people on this planet who weren't destined to be Lucifer's vessel. Any of them could've been my brother, but I had to get stuck with you."

"Dean –"

Dean's cocked gun made Sam stop short.

"You know," Dean said slowly, "I'm not even sure that it's still you. Maybe there's still a little bit of Lucifer inside."

"Dean –"

"And even if there isn't, all that demon blood you drank to hold him… You're not my brother. You haven't been my brother for years now. I should just finish this before you kill someone else."

Sam stiffened. The ghost was still in Dean – that had to be it.

"Dean, put down the gun."

"Back off, Sam. I'll take care of this."

Sam's fingers tightened around his gun. Dean had been out of it for a year, and his soulless self had apparently spent that year working out. Sam's reflexes were faster, now. If he could get off a grazing shot to the shoulder or thigh, something non-fatal that would incapacitate Dean while Sam finished the salt-and-burn…

That was what Sam always did, wasn't it? He found ways to hurt people he cared about.

Besides, what if it was really Dean? He couldn't shoot his brother if he wasn't possessed, not after everything he'd done to wreck Dean's life already. Maybe he should just –

Sam hesitated a second too long.

Dean's fist connected with his jaw and he saw stars. Before he could recover, he felt the butt of the gun in his ribs, and then on the back of his head, and then he'd been shoved against a tree and Dean's forearm was bruising his throat, choking the life out of him. The barrel of the gun pressed into his ribs.

Sam felt despair stealing over him.

Everything he did always went to hell, didn't it? Hell, the one thing he'd thought was definitely good, throwing himself and Lucifer into the Cage to save the world from the Apocalypse, had turned out to be nothing more than a damn reprieve while Raphael's gang did whatever it was they were doing that had Cas so uptight and this Mother of Monsters character emerged from whichever rock she'd been hiding under.

His hand twitched. He had dropped the Taurus, but his shotgun was tucked into his belt and he could probably still go for it. But what was the point? Dean was right. He always screwed everything up.

Sam's vision began to go gray around the edges.

"Dean," he choked, one last, desperate plea.

Dean ignored him and pressed harder.

Sam saw the flash of movement, felt the sudden chill, and realized with a thrill of horror that it was midnight.

No.

Abbie's ghost was standing a few feet away. She – it – was watching Sam and Dean with an expression of mingled regret and determination. She poised herself, and Sam knew she was going to dive for Dean.

NO.

Sam got his fingers around his shotgun. He used his last bit of strength to push Dean out of the way before he fired in Abbie's general direction.

Then he gave in to the beckoning darkness.

Yup. There it is. ;-)

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