It was supposed to be a simple salt and burn - they had no idea that the ghost they were hunting was still residing in the warehouse where she had perished. They had found her timeworn remains, drenched them in gasoline and Dean had the lighter ready to set her free. Yet considering the unprovoked physical attack upon sight of the hunters, it could be assumed that she was still pretty pissed. It didn't help that she had slunk up behind them, her chilling pupils fixed upon the lighter in Dean's hand. Sam barely had time to react as he looked up from where he was kneeling by the bones to see his brother flying into the wall; with a sickening crunch he slid down and collapsed limp onto the floor, his head lolling.

"DEAN!"

The ghost turned her eyes to him, her spectral expression a contorted illustration of pure rage. She let out a shriek and moved towards him as Sam fumbled for his own lighter, shifting towards the bones hurriedly. A feeble flame flickered and he thrust it towards the bones, which immediately erupted into fire. The spirit exploded before him with a final shriek that echoed through his eardrums before fading into nothing, leaving a sudden silence that was only broken by the crackle of the flames behind him. As the dust settled, Sam had a clear view of his brother on the other side of the room, sprawled on the floor with his eyes closed.

Adrenaline coursing through his body, Sam pushed himself to his feet without wasting a second and stumbled over to his brother, falling to his knees again by his side.

"Dean," he breathed, feeling under his lolling head for a pulse. Some relief washed over him as he felt a weak beat of life under his fingers. He cupped his face with one hand, gently pushing it backwards to see his closed eyes. "Hey, hey."

He could now see the wound on Dean's temple, blood trickling from it steadily. Sam felt in his pocket for tissues, fumbling with the packet with one hand whilst cupping his brother's face with the other. He gently pressed a wad of clean tissues against his wound, murmuring apologies as Dean's face contorted in unconscious pain.

He shifted, moving closer to his face. "Dean, I need you to wake up for me. Come on bro."

Dean mumbled something, his eyes still narrowed in discomfort.

"Come on man. Open your eyes for me."

The older hunter's eyes shifted into slits, his pupils barely visible. He couldn't seem to focus on Sam - he stared blankly into his brother's face, completely out of it.

"Hey," Sam whispered, moving his thumb over to one of his eyes and gently pulling back an eyelid, before doing the same with the other one. His pupils were definitely uneven, and unfocused as they drifted across Sam's features. A feeble arm moved up to brush against Sam's shirt as Dean murmured something intelligible that sounded like an attempt at his brother's name.

Still holding his brother, Sam glanced back to where the fire was spreading. In normal circumstances they would extinguish it before leaving, but he was past caring; the warehouse was abandoned in the middle of nowhere and right now he needed to focus on his brother. He turned back to Dean, who had slid back into unconsciousness, head lolling against Sam's hand. He gently removed the tissues; he had managed to staunch the bleeding a little.

"Cmon bro, let's get you out of here."

Sam stuffed the tissues back into his pocket before slipping one arm over Dean to pull him into his lap. He then gathered his brother up in his arms, slipping one arm carefully under his back with the other under his knees before rising up. The change in altitude brought Dean back into semi-consciousness; he groaned slightly, resting his head against Sam's chest.

"Easy, Dean. I've got you. Just hang on, okay?"

Sam kept up a string of comforting murmurs as he made his way out of the warehouse and towards the parked Impala. His arms strained from the effort, but he managed to get them both to the car before grasping the handle of the passenger door with one hand and pulling it open. He lowered Dean into the seat as gently as he could, settling his head back with one hand and positioning his limp arms in his lap. He checked his brother's pulse again and gave his shoulder a squeeze before shutting the door and moving swiftly around the car to get to the driver's seat.

Dean's eyes were in slits again as Sam got in; his head shifted towards the sound of the car door closing, moaning in discomfort. His hand shot out and feebly felt towards the source of the noise.

"It's just me, bro. It's Sam. I'm right here, okay?" Sam reached for his brother to steady him before pulling him close, one arm around him as he felt for the keys. Dean relaxed against his shoulder before drifting into unawareness again, limp but breathing steadily. He didn't stir again as Sam drove them back to their shabby motel, keeping one arm hooked around his brother to remind himself of his presence.

Dean's pulse might have been steadier than before, but he wasn't out of the woods just yet. As they pulled into the parking lot, Sam shot an anxious glance towards his brother's wound. He would need stitches, and his current state suggested at least a bad concussion. He could only hope it wasn't any worse than that as he lifted his brother again out of the passenger seat, making sure his head rested in the crook of his arm rather than wobbling freely, and carried him up to their room, vowing to collect their gear from the trunk later; the bigger first aid kit was already in the room.

Although Dean had been sleeping in the bed closest to the door, Sam strode right past it and gently deposited Dean on his bed, moving his duffle bag to the floor to make room. He knew that his brother would protest against this if conscious, but there was no way he would be making his brother any more vulnerable right now; besides, it wasn't like Sam would be sleeping any time soon. He wasted no time in gathering first aid supplies before pulling up a chair beside Dean to assess him properly.

Sam began to clean his brother's wound, wincing at the dried blood that had trickled down his face and taking care not to press too hard. Dean didn't stir as the blood was wiped away, leaving a large, angry gash upon his temple visible enough for Sam to stitch. He felt a fresh surge of anger wash over him as he remembered the bitch who'd done this to him - left his big brother, so strong, so unassailable, in this vulnerable state. As Sam cupped his face with one hand to monitor his pulse, he thought Dean looked almost younger, like they were kids again, and he felt protectiveness pounding through his veins. He remembered Dean taking care of him when he was sick as a child. Now that the roles were reversed, Sam vowed that he wasn't going to let anything happen to his brother, not whilst he was here.