Summary:  Sam’s mind whirled, Dean sounded like John Winchester.  He realized at that moment, Dean had stepped totally back into ‘super big brother mode.
Disclaimer:  All things "Supernatural" belong to Kripke.

Dean pushed the motel door open with his leg, two cups of coffee tittering in his hands, bag of breakfast take out cinched tightly in his teeth. The gray mist of sunrise streamed in through the open door, shining across the top of Sam’s head, long limbs curled up in the bed, blankets up to his nose, sleeping peacefully. Dean had awoken early, 5:00 a.m., showered, dressed, and gone for breakfast, letting Sam sleep as late as possible. Late was only 6:30a.m., but, Dean knew they had to get on the hunt, time was ticking; this nasty poltergeist had to be eliminated, and fast. He dropped the greasy bag and car keys to the rickety table, coffee sloshing around in the cups, as he sat them down. He glanced over at his little brother, sound asleep, drool running down his chin and pooling on the pillow. Removing his leather jacket, he draped it on the back of the chair, and moved across the room to Sam’s bed.

“Sam”. Dean laid his hand on his brothers shoulder, not wanting to startle him to wakefulness.

Sam shuffled under the covers head turning into Dean’s hand. Dean smiled, this reminded him of all the times when he and Sam were growing up, waking his brother for school, for a hunt.

“Sam”, Dean gave his brother a slight shake.

Sam’s sleep filled eyes opened, blinking blearily up as his brother. He brought his palms up to his eye sockets, rubbing a circular motion, slowly becoming aware of his brother as the light filtered in through the dirty motel window.

“Coffee” Sam stammered out, hand reaching out into the air. Dean knew this routine, he stepped quickly to the table and grabbed Sam’s cup of mocha latte crap, whatever the hell it was, and stuck it in his brothers grasping fingers. Sam nodded, pushing himself up to a sitting position, blankets falling away from his body. Pulling the cup to his mouth, he pressed hesitantly on the hot coffee cup, before raising his head and gulping down a large mouthful. The slight motion of his body caused his eyes to blur up for a moment; blinking several times, he lowered his head to the coffee cup, not wanting Dean to know he was still suffering from the after affects of his concussion.

Dean grabbed the take out bag, removing the breakfast sandwiches, tossing one to his brother. Sam, opened it slowly, pondering whether his week stomach was ready to take on the greasy looking concoction, he decided against protesting when he noticed his brother looking cockeyed at him, concern etching its way across his face. ‘Suck it up Winchester’, Sam thought. He knew he could not take another day of Dean in full big brother mode, so he would downplay his symptoms, in hopes Dean would forget about it.

Dean watched as Sam pondered over the breakfast sandwich, wondering if he was up to this hunt or not, he was just about to say something, when Sam grinned up at him and started munching on the sandwich. Dean let out a slight sigh as concern seeped slowly out of his mind. He happily sat down and started eating his breakfast, coffee filtering into his brain, giving him a much needed adrenalin rush.

The ride to the Caney Plantation was uneventful, the Impala humming down the roadway, Dean blaring Metallica on the radio, Sam watching as the mossy trees flew by the window. Sam had snuck a couple of extra strength Tylenol, back at the motel, Dean hadn’t noticed, and Sam was glad. He new he shouldn’t be keeping this little detail secret from his brother, but he also knew if Dean found out, they would never get this poltergeist in Bossier City.

The Impala rumbled up the gravel drive, coming to a grinding halt, rocks flying out in all directions. The plantation was just outside of town, the marshy riverbank of the Red River the backdrop for the old rundown wooden buildings. Dean put the car in park, and turned on the bench seat, face leaning into his brother.

“Ready”, Dean gave Sam the once over with his eyes, unconsciously checking him to make sure he was okay.

“So, let’s go over this one more time”. Sam blurted out, noticing his brothers motions, causing him to set up further in the seat, attempting to cover any reason for his brother to have concerns. This whole hunt had gotten away from Sam, while he had been concussed. Dean had done all the research and that fact alone bugged the heck out of him. Dean only shared just enough information to peak his interest, giving him cause for concern. Normally, when they had a hunt, they did the research together, Sam doing most of it, and he liked it that way. He knew he was a stickler for detail, while Dean was more of a fly by the seat of his pants kind of guy.

Dean arched his eyebrows at his brother’s inquiry. He guessed Sam thought he couldn’t do research and details, the thought just served to piss him off.

“Okay, Sam”, Dean huffed, “The old Caney Plantation was built in 1801. It is 204 years old. There have been 40 unexplained deaths, one every 5 years, 6 months, and 26 days, just like clockwork. The victims are always found in one of the upstairs rooms in the old home, not always in the same location, but the cause of death is always the same, suffocation. The owners contacted Bobby about investigating and eliminating the ghost or whatever it is causing these murders. They are afraid it is bad for business, and worried there may be another death this month. It’s been in the papers, and while it is good right now for business, they really don’t want another murder at the plantation.” Dean quirked up a grin at his brother, who had a wide eyed look on his face, Dean was sure he had impressed him with all his research and information.

“What…Dean, you never told me that, Dean, that’s tomorrow, the 26th, that’s tomorrow! We should have gotten here sooner”. Sam voice came out in an exasperated gasp, eyes bulging out of his head, glaring up at his brother.

“You were sick, we couldn’t get here sooner. Man, it will be okay, you’ll see. Let’s just take a few readings and look around, we can come back later tonight”. Dean pushed the driver’s door open with a squeak, stepping hastily to the trunk to gather up their gear.

Sam sat in the car momentarily, mouth pressed into an angry line, his face flushing. Dean really pissed him off sometimes. How the hell were they supposed to figure this out in one day? This type of hunt took analysis, additional research, questioning people, they would never get this completed in time, the thought of another innocent dying, causing him to feel guilty for being sick, for delaying their arrival in Bossier.

Dean tapped on Sam’s window with the antenna from the EMF recorder.

“You come’n or what?” he turned to make his way up the old plantation steps, sliding the EMF into his shirt pocket, glancing back at Sam clamoring out of the Impala. He knew his brother was pissed, he could tell by the way his face was furrowed up in a grimace, hand scrubbing across his brow. Dean was sorry, but he could do nothing about the circumstances, they were out of his control. Dean felt Sam’s health came first, that was it, that was all: Sam just needed to get over it.

Fuzziness caused Sam to pause for a moment, eyes blurring, ears ringing, he brought his hand up and rubbed his brows as he unconsciously scrunched them up. He looked down as he walked, watching his feet to make sure he didn’t trip. He hastily made his way up the steps to his brother’s side: blinking several times to clear his vision. He attempted to take the duffle bag from Dean, but big brother refused, jerking it quickly out of Sam’s reach and placing it over his own shoulder. The long line of tourists, all to waiting to enter the building were noisy, causing Sam to wish they weren’t around; he leaned in to his brother’s ear practically yelling.

“Dean, you’re doing the EMF, let me carry the other stuff, you can’t do everything dude”.

“I can multitask Sam, just step back and watch the master”, Dean lips curled up in a grin as he pushed himself past the line of people, and through the threshold of the door.

Sam’s feet shuffled as the floorboards creaked under his shoes, sliding up along side of his brother. He looked around the room noticing the certain areas were roped off, signs saying “No Access”; that was good, he thought, at least the owners were trying to keep the tourists safe.

As they roamed from room to room, the pictures of the old plantation in the 1800’s grabbed Sam’s attention. Dean was busy checking out the EMF, Sam engrossed in the history. As he looked at the pictures, one caught his eye. He leaned in to look at the picture, in the forefront was a southern belle, dressed to the hilt, but behind the photo, in the background, it looked to be a small child hiding behind the chair, the image was foggy. Sam turned to the one of the guides, a young girl, all of sixteen, pimply faced, dark stringy black hair tided back loosely the neck, name tag placed strategically on the skimpy top that showed half her midriff, pants a size to small.

“Who is this, in the picture”, Sam gave the young guide a smile, causing her to blush and immediately want to assist him, leaning in as close as possible, she pulled her arm around Sam’s waist. He felt uncomfortable, but wasn’t going to push her away until he asked some questions.

“That’s Mrs. Caney”, she pointed, “She was the lady of the plantation some 200 years ago”.

“And that child?” Sam pointed to the foggy image behind Mrs. Caney, hands coming down to push the young teenager away from his body.

“There is no one else in the picture, that is said to be a ghost; if you look closely you can see the fingers of the child around Mrs. Caney’s neck. See it.”, she pointed, as her hand brushed against Sam’s leg. He shifted uncomfortably, but leaned in to peer at the photo.

“Well, that’s just odd”, Sam shuffled to the balls of his feet, anticipation of what he had come across pulsing through his veins, or was it the young girl rubbing up against his side.

“So why do they say there is a ghost in the picture?” He smiled at the girl again, hoping that flirting would get him the answers he wanted, she really was way too young to be this aggressive, he thought.

“Mrs. Caney could not have children, no children were ever born to her and Mr. Caney. The story is that she did have a child from a lustrous affair with the slave master, and a child was born out of wedlock. Mr. Caney was a cruel man; he never accepted the child and left it to the slaves to raise. When the child was five and a half years old, it died from rubella. No one ever talked about the child, but the story says that the day after the child died, Mrs. Caney was found dead in an upstairs bedroom, strangled to death. This picture had been hanging in the sitting room, the day Mrs. Caney died; the ghostly image just appeared in the painting”. The young girl grinned up as Sam, lips pursed in a little flirty smirk, “Some story, huh”.

“Wow that is some story. Thank you.” Sam smiled at her, pushing himself away from her prying hands, he scurried to catch up with Dean, to share the information he had found.

“Go back and ask her where they buried the little girl”, Dean nudged Sam toward the young tour guide.

“Dude”. Sam sighed, “You do it”, and he nodded toward the young girl in question.

“Nope, she already talked to you, sides she looks more your type”.

“Is not”, Sam stammered out.

Dean nudged him again, pushing him toward the young girl, Sam hesitantly stepping up and tapping her on the shoulder. Her eyes flashed up at Sam, smile spreading quickly across her pimply face.

“Hi, again”, Sam grinned at her one more time. Gees, she really was sluty looking, he thought, really not my type, he coyly flashed his hazel eyes at her.

“Did they bury the child, the one that no one believed Mrs. Caney ever had?”

“Yes, out back, behind the slave quarters, they say the child is buried there, buried as ‘Child with no Name’. Totally weird, huh?” The young girl batted her eyes at Sam, scrunching in closer to stand right next to him, hands reaching around pulling him closer. Sam pushed his arm up, prying his hands up to hers, attempting to get her to release her vice grip. He glanced over at his brother, who was grinning wildly at him, lips quirking up in a laugh.

“Thank you…ah…thank you for the information”, he pushed himself away again, and stumbling backwards, he trampled toward his brother. Dean’s laugh growing louder, the closer he got to him.

The ride back to the motel was unbearable to Sam, Dean laughing long and hard about the young girl and her radical advances at his brother.

“That was just the best, Sam, the best…You were so freak’n funny”. Dean’s head leaned back, laughter echoing inside the Impala.

Sam laid his weary head on the passenger window, head throbbing. He wasn’t sure if it was the concussion, or his big brothers laughter ringing in his ears.

By the time the car pulled out of the parking lot of the old plantation, the sun was low in the afternoon sky. Sam had drifted off to sleep, head propped up against the passenger door, window fogging up with every breath. Dean was quietly humming Matallica’s ‘Back in Black’, wanting to let his little brother rest, his fingers lightly tapping on the steering wheel. The cars wheels spun down the highway, destination, crappy motel for a rest, later, after dark, a trip back to salt and burn the bones.

The morning had gone by quickly, checking out the Caney Plantation, locating the source of what they hoped caused the murders in the last 200 years. Dean could still see it in his mind, the picture of Mrs. Caney, eerie ghost of her dead child standing just behind her. He was surprised no one had caught on to the implications of the picture and the murders before now, but he also knew only experts at the supernatural would pick up on the connection. He smiled to himself; he and Sam were the experts. The best part of the morning, he thought, had been Sam; his interesting discussion with the young tour guide. Dean’s laughed under his breath, lips curling to a smirk. He absolutely loved it when the sluttish girl had pawed all over his brother, he snickered, and that alone had totally made the trip worth while. He grinned widely as the Impala pulled into the motel parking lot; Dean shifting the car into park as he turned to wake his brother.

“Sammy”. Deans hand reached across the seat squeezing Sam’s shoulder gently, his mouth curling up into a small smile as Sam stirred, eyes fluttering open to look at him.

“Motel …lets go inside”. Dean released his brother, pushing on the driver’s door, exiting the car. Sam slumped in the seat, hand coming across his forehead in a slight rubbing motion. His eyes opened slowly, blurrily looking across the front seat at where his brother had been. His head was pounding. He brought his shaky hand to his forehead, hoping to push the pain sitting just above his eyelids away. He heard the driver’s door close with a thud, realizing at that moment, he would have to get out of the car, knowing his brother would come to see what was wrong with him if he sat there too long. Pushing on the passenger door, he pulled himself to a standing position, his legs feeling sluggish and heavy. Heaving in a breath of the cool air, he walked with hesitant steps to the doorway, noticing Dean was already inside; body plopped across the first bed.

“I’m beat man”, Dean whispered as his own eyes closed shut, sleep pulling at him. “Let’s just take a little nap before we go back and burn them bones”. He shuffled on the bed, turning his back to his brother. Sam slowly made it in the door and found the other bed. He let out a little murmur, his weary body falling heavily to the mattress, hands grabbing for the pillow.

Dean’s sleep filled mind dozed. He heard his brother dragging his feet to the other bed, long body falling with a thump to the mattress. He couldn’t keep his eyes open; he would just take a little nap, then they would get down to business. His mind whirled into a sleepy haze, memories of Sam, their Dad, and their life floating dreamily in his memory.

Dean watched as Sam squirmed under their father’ glare. He was shocked at the words that had just come out of his brother’s mouth.

“What did you say”, John Winchester spit out, eyes glaring at his youngest, anger rolling off of him in waves.

“I said…. I got into Sanford, I’m going to leave…go to school… get a life of my own, one that does not include this shit”. Eighteen year old Sam shifted on the balls of his feet, arms crossing his chest nervously, body heaving in short gasps of air.

Dean eyes widened as he gazed at Sam. He recognized the fear of their Dad in his brother’s face, but he also saw something else, something new, something that had never been there before; defiance, rage, and desire. Dean knew; knew at that moment, that Sam was gone.

He pulled his eyes from his brother, looking at his Dad. It was funny really, he stood in the same manner as Sam, his legs firmly planted on the floor; arms crossed in defiance, anger radiating from his prone form. “Jesus”, Dean thought, “They are just alike”.

“Well, if you go, then don’t come back.” John moved closer to Sam. “You should feel bad just leaving your brother and I hanging. You know people will die, you know what’s out there. You are selfish”. John's voice boomed, his hostile tone ringing around the interior of the motel room.

“Don’t say that, Dad”, Dean raised his hands, palms directed at both his father and brother, pleading eyes looking at them both. His mind was racing, what he was supposed to do.

“Fine” Sam stammered, face flushing, body shaking in anger.

“Fine” John’s finger pointed, stabbing Sam in the chest, eyes leering up into slits.

“Whatever, I don’t want to come back”. Sam heaved out and stomped past Dean, grabbing his duffle bag from the dirty floor.

And that was it; Sam packed his bag in moments, grabbing what he could stuff into it. Dean stepped over, hand holding his brother’s arms harshly, forcing him to look him in the face. Dean saw it again in Sam’s face; defiance, rage, desire. Sam just looked at him, eyes wide and staring. He pushed past Dean with one large step, exiting the front door, air slamming the door shut in a swift motion. Dean stood numbly, looking at his Dad.

John Winchester dropped to the couch, reality sitting in, shoulders slumping, head falling down into his hands, breathe coming in hard gasps. Minutes ticked by, John and Dean both stuck in the moment, in the after affects of Sam’s whirlwind.

Suddenly, Dean shuffled to the door, forcing it open with harsh force. He looked up and down the parking lot, the street. No Sam, he was gone, vanishing into the night. Fear rose up into Dean’s chest, grabbing him and holding him until he couldn’t breath, his vision blurred, white dots dancing in front of his eyes.

“Dean”, he heard a gruff voice whisper just behind him. “Dean…he’s gone”. John firmly planted his hand on Dean’s shoulder, pulling him away from the door and pushing it closed with a thud.

Dean slumped down on the bed, placing his head in his hands. His anger at his father evident in his tense muscles, fear for his brother coursing through his veins. He ran a weary hand through his hair, he was lost without his brother, how was he supposed to do this, let his brother go.

He remembered when Sam was small, when he was a baby; Dean would sleep with him, holding his tiny hand, curling up next to him, to keep him safe. Who would keep him safe? He thought about Sam when he was sick. He remembered that his Dad was too busy to notice. A sick Sam needed someone to take care of him, make him feel better. Who would take care of him? Who would make Sam feel important? Dean had always done that. It was Dean who took Sam to school, helped him with his homework, and told him how special he was. It was Dean who stitched him up when he was hurt and bleeding. Dean, who helped him through his first crush, his first girlfriend, his first date. Who would be there for Sam now?

The reality of Sam being gone shivered up Dean’s spine. He rose on weary legs and stepped to the window, pushing the nasty curtains back, he looked out into the night with sad eyes. His dad was already asleep, but there would be no sleep for Dean, his Sam was gone, and he wasn’t coming back.

Dean startled in his sleep, eyes blinking, looked intently into the darkness of the motel room. He frowned, he remembered the day Sam left for Sanford, as if it were yesterday. Glancing at his watch he knew it was time for the hunt. He threw his feet to the floor, taking three large steps to his brother. Dean slipped his hand to his little brother’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly, Sam stirred, shifting on the bed, blinking at his brother. Dean’s mouth twitched into a small smile, vivid memories of the dream he had just had flashing in his mind. He fought the sudden urge to take his hand and brush his brother’s long bangs out of his sleepy eyes.

“Sammy, rise and shine”.

Sam felt the warm hand on his shoulder, the smell of his brother’s aftershave wafting up into his aching head. He heard Dean tell him to get up, knowing full well, he felt like crap. He thought he was better, hell, he wanted to be 100, but in reality, the trip to the plantation earlier had taken a toll on him. He shuffled his legs up into a sitting position, feet dangling on the carpet; he ran his fingers through his sleep mussed hair. “Don’t be a wuzzy”, he told himself, planting his feet firmly on the ground.

“Get a move on Sammy, we got to go find that kids bones and burn them or there will be another murder tomorrow.” Dean exited the bathroom, eyes scanning his brother. Stopping momentarily, he scrunched his face up, looking intently at Sam; he looked a little pale. Stepping quickly to the bed, he tilted his head, eyes squinting in a concerned glare down at his brother. “You okay?”

Sam’s hand pushed up off the squeaky mattress, lugging himself to a standing position, locking his knees as he spoke, “Fine, I’m fine, nothing a good cup of coffee won’t fix”.

“Shi…” Dean shook his head, “Good cup of coffee, my ass, you don’t know what a good cup of coffee is!” Dean mouth smirked up in a perky grin as he turned on his heels, heading toward the door.

Sam swayed slightly, as his vision danced around with white dots. He placed his hands on his kneecaps, taking in several large gulps of air as he watched his older brothers back retreat from the room.

The coffee Dean had picked up from the Quickie Mart helped, Sam’s jumbled up thoughts had now come together. Maybe, he was just tired, he mused to himself.

The hot cup of mocha almond coffee held snuggly in his hands, he smiled over at his brother.

“Told you I just needed some coffee”, Sam nodded, cup moving back up to his anticipating lips.

“Well, that ain’t it. Coffees, black, no cream, no sugar, and no fru fru girly whipped cream on top”. Dean stated flatly, eyes never leaving the road, black coffee steam causing condensation on the windshield.

Sam grinned at his brother’s remark, eyes following the Impala’s headlights out into the darkness.

Once the car was parked inconspicuously behind some trees, the Winchesters moved to the trunk to remove their gear. Sam leaned on the side of the car, hoping his brother did not notice he was not at his best. Dean handed him a shovel, salt, and flashlight, he grabbed his own shovel, the gasoline can, and the matches, slamming the trunk closed with a large boom that echoed in the empty night air.

“Okay, let’s find this little murdering kid”, Dean moved silently passed his brother, heading for the back of the plantation. Sam shuffled along, mind singing a mantra in his head, “Suck it up, suck it up, suck it up”. If his Dad had taught him anything, it was how to “Suck it up”, focus on the job, and he was using those skills to the fullest tonight. Hastily steeping to keep up with his brother’s fast gait, Sam knew no matter what, he would not be letting Dean do this hunt alone, it was far too dangerous.

The twin light beams, from the flashlights, shinned in unison in front of the brothers as they made their way through the open field behind the Caney Plantation. Eyes pealed, looking through the cool night air for the old cemetery.

“There”, Dean pointed his flashlight in the direction to the right, old, dilapidated headstones gracing the dirty ground. Crouching down at frequent intervals, he began to move through the markers, hand pushing the grass and rocks aside, eyes looking for the ‘Child with no Name’ grave marker.

Sam pushed his shovel into the ground, gripping the handle tightly with his hand, trying to steady himself, he watched his brother moving silently from headstone to headstone.

“Dammit Sam, could use a little help here bro.” Dean looked over his shoulder at his little brother, Sam seemed to just be standing like a lump on a log, watching Dean work.

“Um…sorry”. Sam pushed off the shovel taking a few slow steps, flashlight beam scanning the ground. “Here…here, Dean, I found it”. He slowly leaned down, bending at the knees to move aside the grass. He couldn’t do it; his hand went to the ground, he wobbled on his feet. “Steady…steady”, he murmured to himself.

Dean looked down, flashlight shinning on the cement block. “Well, well, looks like we found the little bas…um….kid”, he grinned. Tossing down the gas can, he sunk his shovel into the dirt. Sam dropped the salt and flashlight, took a deep breath of air, and pushed his own shovel into the dirt.

The digging seemed to be taking forever. Sweat making its way down Sam’s neck, pooling on the back of his shirt. He blinked hard, his vision starting to blur, a loud humming noise filling his ears. He was not stopping, the motion of the shovel keeping him focused. “Scoop the dirt, raise the shove, drop the dirt”, he mind kept saying over and over, his body beginning to shake with every movement.

“Dam it Sam, you’re slow, move over….Gees, just get out of the way”, Dean sneered at his brother, his shovel moving swiftly through the dirt, three to Sam’s one.

Sam eyed his brother, threw his shovel up and out of the grave, he pulled his body slowly upward on his weak arms, breathe heaving out in little gasps. He sat down with a slow movement, wet grass soaking through the seat of his jeans; he shivered as the coldness reached his skin.

Dean kept digging, raising his head, glancing agitated eyes up at his brother. He stopped. Anger replaced with concern. He noticed Sam’s sweat soaked brow, heaving breath, shaking limbs. “Shit”, he kicked himself mentally, he had forgotten all about Sam’s concussion.

“Sammy”, he reached one had up and grabbed Sam’s pants leg. “You okay?”

The wind began to whip up around the graveyard, slow hissing coming out of the darkness, white mist slowly hovering around them.

“Yea…yea, keep digging”. Sam whispered urgently, head nodding at his brother as he reached for the salt container with his unsteady hand.

Dean’s eyes roamed the area, he frantically continued his digging, shovel hitting the top of the old wooden casket, metal banging against the wood with extra force, attempting to break through. The bones in the casket were tiny, causing Dean to momentarily feel sorry for the little tyke. “Sorry kid”, he whispered, as he reached his hand up to grab the salt from Sam’s wobbly fingers, dumping it with one quick motion. He turned and threw the shovel over the edge, hands grabbing in the dirt, pulling himself up.

The mist was thick, Sam could barely see his brother as he clamored out of the grave, hands grabbing in his pant pockets for the matches. He felt icy fingers slide around his neck, he flinched and rolled away from the grave, attempting to free himself form the tightness he was feeling in his chest. “Breath”, he thought, as he felt his throat constrict as if someone were strangling him, a heaviness resting on him. He struggled to breath, throat constricted, struggling. He didn’t have the energy to fight as the darkness began to surround him. He tried to speak, but nothing came out of his mouth, he brought his hands up grabbing and pulling at his neck. “Air” his mind screamed at him. He vaguely heard his brother yelling something, the mist engulfing him; he fell slowly to the grass.

Dean gazed across the open grave to his brother, his eyes straining. He saw a vague image of a small child, standing behind Sam, hands grasping around his neck. He watched as Sam struggled to get a breath, eyes wide and glassy, hands clawing at his own throat. Then he watched as the child ghost grinned, lips curling up on the pale face, empty eyes looking directly at Dean.

“Go to hell you little heathen”. Dean saw the spark fly as the match lit with a sizzle. He tossed it in the grave as he saw the child release his brother, small high pitched scream coming from its empty face. He watched Sam in slow motion, face contorted up, chest heaving desperately as he struggled to pull in air to his deprived lungs. He jumped over the open grave as the mist faded away, ghost evaporating into the night. He reached for Sam, hands grasping in the air, not moving fast enough, he watched helplessly as Sam’s eyes rolled back into his head and he fell boneless to the ground.

Dean boots slid in the muddy grass, legs flying beneath him as he scrambled to get to Sam. He crouched down, sitting on his heels as he peered down as his brother, brushing his long hair out of face, feeling his neck for a pulse. He released a little sigh as he felt the thump beneath his shaky fingers.

“Sammy…Sam….wake up …Sammy, open your eyes”.

Dean’s hands tugged at Sam’s collar, shaking him slightly. Sam didn’t move, Dean hastily pulled him up to a sitting position, his lanky body wobbling, arms falling limply at his sides, head lolling around on his neck. Dean quickly slid his body beneath his brother, bracing him up against his own chest, leaning down, concerned eyes staring into Sam’s face. Sam remained still, his face pale, the ugly purple and red finger marks welling up on his neck. Dean watched as little breaths of steam escaped Sam’s lips, steady gasps, his lungs pulling in the air he so desperately needed. He pulled Sam tightly to his chest, rocking him, his body feeling boneless, as it leaned heavily into Dean. The wind moaned among the trees, an eerie quite settling over the graveyard, Dean’s voice only a whisper in the breeze, as he cooed into his little brother’s ear.

“I got you little brother, I’m right here, I gotcha. Sammy, open your eyes.”

“Damn it Sam, you’re slow, move over….Gees, just get out of the way”, Dean sneered at his brother.

Sam heard his brother’s voice, his arms were like lead weights, the shovel weighed a ton. Okay, he was slow, he got it. He had no problem leaving the digging to his brother, no problem at all. He shakily tossed the shovel and pulled his body up, struggling to get out of he grave before he passed out. He felt the cool grass beneath his hands, ears ringing; he strained his eyes to look at his brother, was it getting foggy out here? Leaning back on his shaky arms, he took a deep breath, hoping to clear his fuzzy head.

“Sammy”. He felt Dean’s hand on his pants leg, “You okay?” A breeze rushed by him and Sam felt a chill rise up around him, his body shivering uncontrollably.

“Yea…yea, keep digging”. Sam whispered as he grabbed urgently at the salt container, that lay beside him on the ground, feeling Dean’s hand taking it hastily from his grasp.

At that moment, Sam struggled to catch his breath, he felt icy tendrils wrap around his throat, he wanted to say something, he needed Dean to help him, but he could not get his voice to work. The ringing in his ears intensified as he grabbed at the fingers that seemed to be squeezing the air out of his body. He began to feel dizzy as the world began to spin. White dots darted in his vision, as his body felt the sensation of falling. He heard Dean yelling his name, his voice sounding very far away, he struggled silently to breath, as he felt the white noise take hold and draw him into nothingness.

He sat on the ground, rocking his brother like he was a small child. Dean knew it had been a few minutes, it felt like a lifetime. He needed Sam to open his eyes, and open them now.

“SAMMY… WAKE UP, that’s an order”, Dean’s voice loud, begging, a tear made a silent path down his face and splashed slowly on his brother’s face. Sam’s face moved slightly, a little twitch.

“Sammy”. Dean silently moved his sleeve across his own damp eyes, quickly brushing away the tears, moving his hand gently to his brother’s face, his thumb rubbing the wayward tear off Sam’s cheek.

Sam’s eyelashes fluttered, “…ean” he whispered, his voice hoarse and scratchy. “It rain’n?” He blinked slowly, confused eyes looking up at his brother.

Dean’s lips curled up into a small smile, his eyes increasingly bright, he hugged his little brother in closer to his chest.