Summary: 
Spoilers: 
A/N: 
Disclaimer:  I own nothing …pathetic really.

The smell got stronger as they ventured inside the abandoned barn. The place reeked of the putrid smell of something dead.

He breathed in only through his mouth, trying to filter the air before it invaded his sinuses.

Finding the body should be easy. Burning the remains a little more difficult.

Sam could think of a dozen places he’d rather be. A dozen other things he’d rather be doing.

He knew that once this job was done, the scent of burning rancid flesh would stay with him, infusing his clothes, his skin, his hair. Suppressing his reluctance to follow his brother further inside the dilapidated barn, he picked up his pace until he was at his Dean’s side.

“Guess we just follow our noses.” Dean muttered as the putrid odour of decaying flesh reached his nostrils.

The flies lifted off the decomposing corpse as they approached, displaying the body to Sam’s unwilling eyes. The flesh still clinging to the flattened remains had a creamy consistency, but the more exposed parts were already starting to turn an inky black. Much of the body fluids had already drained from the corpse and he could see the evidence of their seepage into the surrounding soil. The smell of damp earth was overpowered by the strong stench of decay and he couldn’t prevent the involuntary gag as he stood by his brother’s side. 

From the dented skull it wasn’t hard to tell that the old man had died a violent death, his body dumped unceremoniously in this desolate spot. His killer hadn’t even bothered with concealing the remains, relying on the isolation of the derelict barn to hide the evidence of his crime.  Sam didn’t wonder why the spirit of the old man was seeking vengeance in death.

He turned away from the sight of the insects crawling over the old man’s remains, shaking himself off as if he could feel those same insects crawling over his own flesh.

Goosebumps rose on his exposed skin and he felt a sudden chill in the air that had no discernable origin.

“Dean, hurry up …this place gives me the creeps.” Sam watched as Dean opened the can of lighter fluid with deft fingers and sprinkled it liberally over the remains.

He could feel his stomach muscles clench as the bile rose in his throat. He swallowed it back down and tried to look away from the remains. His sense of smell was still active though, and he couldn’t block out the putrid small of death that refused to be overpowered by the tang of accelerant. God, not now, he thought, as he fought off the wave of nausea that assaulted him.

A sharp wind blew across the enclosed space and Sam knew for sure now that they had company.

“Dean!” He alerted his brother as he raised his shotgun and scanned the recesses of the derelict barn for the source of the disturbance.

Dean felt for the matches in his pocket, his movements hastened by the chilling breeze on the back of his neck. He felt his brother’s presence behind him, but didn’t divert his attention from the task before him.

“Sam …anything?”

Sam gagged as the wind dispersed the nauseating smell of decaying flesh around him. He couldn’t be sick, not now. He had to swallow back the saliva that pooled in his mouth before he could answer. “It’s here, but I can’t see…” His words cut off abruptly as a strong force propelled his body across the barn.  He hit the wall hard, struggling to breathe as the air left his lungs and black dots invaded his vision.

“Sam!” Dean turned in time to see his brother’s body slide down the barn wall and slump to the dirt below. He felt conflicted, wanting to run to his brother’s side, but knowing that he had to light the match and destroy the body to expunge the vengeful spirit.

Sam blinked rapidly, bringing his surroundings back into focus. Ignoring the vertigo that threatened to keep him down, he slowly pushed himself to his feet again, using the barn wall for support.

“I’m okay.” Sam yelled back.

The wind was now picking up in ferocity, lifting the small farm tools and tossing them into the air.

He saw Dean struggling to get a match lit in the turbulent conditions and knew he had to help. Keeping the shotgun raised and ready, he made his way back towards his brother, ducking as a pair of shears flew past, barely missing his head.

“Dean, down!” he yelled as a piece of timber sailed through the air towards his brother’s back.

He breathed a sigh of relief when the timber missed its target and smashed into the far wall. Staggering under the ferocity of the wind and flying debris, he continued to move with determination towards Dean. He could see him now, lying prone on the ground, desperately trying to shield the lighted match behind his cupped hand as he moved the flame a fraction closer to the doused corpse.

In his periphery vision he saw the sickle propelling through the air towards his brother. He barely had time to think, let alone react. The spirit was getting desperate now as Dean moved to complete their task.

Without hesitation, he moved his body to shield his brother. 

He felt the sharp metal blade of the sickle as it penetrated his clothes and imbedded in his side. He didn’t have time to process the pain before he was airborne again, slamming to a halt when his back hit a timber support beam.

He felt the end of the sickle tear through his flesh on impact before it clattered to the ground.

Grasping his hand tightly across the jagged hole left by the blade he looked down in horror at the crimson blood already seeping through his fingers. Unable to fight the dizziness, he fell to his knees and watched as the flame finally took hold and the corpse erupted in a blaze of fire before his eyes. The wind abated as quickly as it had started, infusing the barn in eerie silence, permeated only by the sound of crackling flames.

The scent of burning flesh competed with the acid taste of blood in his mouth and his senses revolted against what they were being subjected to. He felt the bile rise in his throat but didn’t have the energy to do more than lean his head to the side, violently emptying his stomach contents onto the ground. Each heave sent a shaft of agony burning through his torn side and he balanced precariously with one hand on the floor and one wrapped across his injury. He wanted nothing more than to collapse completely to the ground, to let his body take control and give in to the overwhelming desire to rest. But he couldn’t, not yet, his brother needed him.

Dean pushed himself off the floor and leant back on his haunches as he watched the rotting corpse crumple under the flames engulfing it. The spirit was gone and their job was complete.

“Sam.” He called as he searched out the spot he’d last seen his brother, concerned when he didn’t get an immediate response. The barn was already filling with smoke and the fire was spreading rapidly in the combustible surrounds.  They needed to get out of there – now.

“Dean.” He heard the whisper from his right.

He turned towards the sound and saw his brother kneeling just a few feet away. As he moved towards him, he saw a thin trickle of blood escape Sam’s lips and travel down his chin.

He reached his brother’s side in a heartbeat, helping to raise him to his feet as Sam pushed himself off the ground. With horror he saw the spreading red stain on Sam’s side and the blood stained sickle resting on the ground by his feet.

The flames were now licking up the side of the barn wall; the smoke was getting thicker and the heat more intense. Assessing Sam’s injuries would have to wait - getting them out of the barn was his first priority.

Sam’s eyes watered and his throat clenched tight against the smoke invading his lungs.  He lent heavily on his brother as Dean manoeuvred them towards the exit.

His vision started greying around the edges as he struggled to remain conscious, desperate not to slow their progress. The thick acid smoke clogged his struggling lungs, each breath burning a path through his chest. He swayed precariously as they moved forward as one, fighting the losing battle to remain conscious.

“No Sam, don’t you do this.”

When Sam faltered, Dean gripped his brother more tightly, not stopping their progress away from the burning barn until they reached the side of the Impala. As they paused next to the car, he heard the distinctive thump of the shotgun hitting the ground as it fell from Sam’s fingers.

Sam went lax in his arms, the sudden shift in weight causing him to stumble as he supported his brother.

Positioning Sam in the car without aggravating his injuries was a frightening task. Blood ran freely down his side, already having soaked through both shirts. As soon as he had his brother secured in the front seat he ripped off his own shirt to use as an improvised bandage. Wadding the shirt into a ball, he pressed it firmly against his brother’s side, eliciting a deep groan from Sam in response.

“Sam, you with me?”

Sam opened his heavy eyes and tried to focus on his brother. “Dean?”

“Man, that spirit did a number on you …think you can hold this …keep the pressure on?” Dean took his brother’s hand and placed it over the makeshift bandage, making sure Sam had a firm hold before removing his own hand.

Sam clutched the shirt to his wound. The throbbing in his side was intense and the temptation to reduce the pressure tempting. But already he could feel the blood soaking into the wadded shirt, pumping out with every heartbeat. He felt the light-headedness that came with blood loss and knew he couldn’t afford to release his grip.

“Think I’ll need a few stitches.”

“You need a hospital Sam …god …you’re losing too much blood.” Dean couldn’t keep the quiver of panic from his voice. He started the car before putting a hand back over his brother’s, applying more pressure to the wound.

“No Dean …it’s not that bad …you …you can fix it.”

“No Sam.”

As the blood ran freely through his fingers, Sam knew his brother was right. He knew he was in trouble.

He no longer had any periphery vision, instead he was looking straight ahead through a long dark tunnel, and even that was undulating, making him feel sick and nauseous. He tried closing his eyes, but feared he’d be stuck in the dark, unable to find the energy to open them again, so he resisted the temptation, keeping them open at half mast and focusing on the road ahead. He swallowed back the nausea rising in his throat and took a few deep breaths, trying to slow his breathing and stem his growing panic. The rapid sound of his own heartbeat sounded loud to his ears.

The raspy sound of his brother’s breathing spurred Dean into action. He pressed a little harder on the accelerator, pushing the car to its limits on the dirt road. Only his experience enabled him to navigate the road with one hand on the wheel and the other again pressed firmly to his brother’s side.

“Dean …stop.”

“Sam?” Dean eased his foot off the accelerator, slowing the car down marginally, before turning to look at his brother.

Sam swallowed before managing to reply. “I don’t feel …think I’m …gonna …sick.”

He sought the door handle with urgency even though the car was still moving. He didn’t want to throw up, but was having little success in keeping the rising nausea at bay. He jolted forward as Dean hit the brakes and the car swerved on the road. It was the final straw. Vomit rushed violently up his throat and he barely had time to lean forward in his seat before expelling his warm stomach contents over his feet. His stomach churned again but he gave up any pretence of trying again for the door handle. Instead, he braced his head against the dash and heaved again and again. He felt the car slowing but couldn’t move from his propped position. His brother’s worried voice washed over him, but everything was too fuzzy now and comprehending the words just too difficult for his muddled brain. He tried to take a breath, but was assaulted by another wave of nausea as he struggled to draw in the much needed air his lungs craved. He felt the sure grip of his brother’s hands on his shoulders as he slumped forward, fighting for breath.

Dean tried to hold back the panic that rushed through him as his brother lurched forward and vomited over himself.

There was so much blood in his vomit.

He brought the car to a stop as quickly and as safely as he could on the dirt road, reaching for his brother just as Sam slumped bonelessly forward, a harsh gasping noise echoing through the now silent car. Unmindful of the blood and vomit now decorating the front passenger seat he pushed his brother back against the seat, needing to look at his face and more accurately assess his condition.

Sam’s lips were turning blue, the color vivid against his too pale face. Realizing his brother was gasping for breath, struggling to breathe, he quickly pushed Sam’s head down again, giving him just enough room to thump him hard between the shoulder blades.

“Come on, come on, take a breath god damn it.” He thumped Sam’s back again, and was rewarded with a strangled cough. Sam expelled the small amount of bile that had lodged in his throat and was constricting his breathing. The sound of his quick inhale was a temporary relief.

Dean eased his brother back in the seat once again, pleased at least to see that he was breathing freely again, albeit shallowly and pain filled. One look at his brother’s side showed that the bleeding had hardly lessened. He again pressed Sam’s hand firmly on the wound.

“You need to keep the pressure on …just a bit longer …you hear me Sam?” Dean reiterated, desperate for a response from his brother.

“Dean …’m cold”. A small trickle of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth as he spoke.

Dean struggled out of his own jacked in the confined space, wrapping it around his brother. Sam instantly snuggled into the warmth.

“You stay awake …it’s not far now…” Dean gripped the steering wheel. Starting the car again; he forced his attention away from his brother and back on the road.

Every bump and pothole the car hit sent a shaft of agony through his body and he couldn’t hide the gasps of pain that escaped his lips in protest. He wanted to fall into the black world of unconsciousness that was beckoning, but his brother wouldn’t let him. Each time he felt himself slipping, a rough hand jolted him back, his brother’s pleading words keeping him focused.

“Don’t do this to me Sam …stay with me …we’re almost there.”

Sam focussed on his brother’s voice as he tried to control his breathing and manage the pain. Dean was pleading with him, begging.

Dean never begged.

It must be bad.

Time lost all meaning. He didn’t know how long they’d been driving or how much longer it would be until they reached the hospital. He wanted to be sick again, but his body no longer had the strength to comply. He could taste the tang of blood in his mouth and he just let it dribble out of his mouth, the bright red drops splattering onto his denim clad leg.

He felt almost detached as the car came to a screeching halt in front of the busy emergency room. He didn’t have the strength to raise his head despite his desire to move, to leave the car, to help his brother. To help himself.

The sudden slamming of the door jarred through his dazed mind, telling him that Dean had left. He suddenly felt cold and bereft at his brother’s absence, no longer having the strong support he needed to keep focused. To keep breathing.

He was alone, vulnerable, confused.

Where was Dean? He needed his brother.

Sam felt a shroud of panic wash over him.

Dean had left.

His breathing quickened, each shallow breath becoming more of a struggle. Without his brother he was losing his focus. Black dots speckled his vision and he felt every heartbeat as it pounded through his body, the intense pain reverberating with every throb.

Where was Dean?

He didn’t want to die alone.

It was too much, he couldn’t hang on. He felt his body falling, becoming weightless as he succumbed to the pain free pull of unconsciousness.

The crowd in the waiting room was no obstacle to Dean. He rushed through the room, yelling for help, immediately gaining the attention he demanded. He followed the flurry of activity as a gurney was pushed out towards the waiting Impala, medical staff pulling his now unconscious brother from the car. He wanted to help, to be by his brother’s side, but was pushed roughly aside.

“Male, mid twenties …no breath sounds …weak pulse …haemorrhaging …we’re losing him…”

No no no …god please no… Dean sent up a silent prayer.

Staff rushed the gurney with urgency into the hospital, Dean following closely behind. He tried to answer the questions being yelled at him by the nurse, but his brain was struggling to find the answers. No - Sam didn’t have any allergies. Medical history – god, where did he start. How did he sustain the injury – Dean couldn’t think of an appropriate response and just stared blankly back at the nurse. 

“Please, he’s my brother…” Dean pleaded as the nurse held up a restraining hand when he went to follow the gurney through to the examination room.

“Sir, you have to wait here …soon as we know anything …someone will come and speak with you.”

“You don’t understand; he’s…”

“Sir, you can’t go through there,” the nurse interrupted him as he tried to side step her, but the automatic doors were already closed, barring him access.

“…he’s all I have left.” Dean finished the sentence silently in his head as he slumped down onto one of the plastic seats to wait.

Time moved slowly. He completed the required paperwork for Sam’s admission and watched as staff and patients came and went. He remained in the same spot, alert and waiting. Waiting for any news on his brother.

Twenty four hours later and Dean still found himself sitting in an uncomfortable hospital chair. At least now he was beside his brother, keeping watch, protecting.

He was exhausted, but unwilling to leave his brother’s side, even for a minute. He needed to be there if Sam woke up – when Sam woke up.

For the last few hours the doctors had been assuring him that Sam should wake up soon, but despite all of his coaxing he hadn’t received any response from his brother. Sam continued to lie pale and unmoving on the narrow bed. The intravenous tubes attached to his arm supplied the much needed fluids and medications and the nasal cannula fed oxygen into his body. The rhythmic beat of the heat monitor was reassuring, confirming that Sam was breathing, that he was still alive.

This time, it had been too close. If he’d driven any slower or they’d been further away from medical help, Sam wouldn’t have made it. Even now he was considered a miracle by the doctors, surviving the massive blood loss and trauma against the odds.

Sam was tough.

He was a Winchester.

“Hey Sam, I ah …overheard the nurses talking …‘Attila the Hun’ wants to give you a sponge bath.”

No response.

“You’ve got that many tubes in you Sam …but …if you don’t wake up soon, I swear to god, I’ll let them put another one – you know where, don’t think I won’t… …ah …actually, you’ve probably already got one of those.” Dean grimaced in sympathy, unconsciously crossing his legs.

Dean’s voice penetrated the haze surrounding him, pulling him slowly back to consciousness. Sam tried to push himself towards the voice, seeking the comfort it represented.

“In my car Sam …you hurled in my car …and don’t get me started on the blood.”

Groaning at the pain that accompanied his return to consciousness, Sam turned his head slightly towards the sound of his brother’s voice before opening his eyes.

“Hey Dean.”  The weak whisper sounded foreign even to his own ears.

“Sammy …thank god …how ya feeling?” Dean leant closer to his brother, searching his face for any sign of distress.

“Okay.” He felt like crap. “Ah …sorry man.”

“Hey, you got nothing to be sorry about.”

“The car…”

Dean knew Sam wasn’t in the clear yet - he still had extensive injuries that needed time to heal. But for now, having his brother awake and responsive was all he needed.