"It looks like it's going to start raining," Sam called to Dean from the edge of the open grave as his brother heaved shovelfuls of dirt onto the grass above.

"I'm not paying you to look at the sky, Sam," Dean growled, "Just keep a lookout for the ghost, would you?"

Sam sighed and scanned the surrounding area. No sign of anyone, living or dead; just a handful of crumbling gravestones in a small, hilltop cemetery.

"Okay," Dean grumbled, "You're turn to dig for a while."

Grabbing onto the edge of the hole, Dean pulled himself up. Sam jumped into the grave himself and started digging where his brother left off.

W

Thunder was rumbling in the distance and the first drops of rain began to fall as Sam reached out for help out of the grave.

"Do you think maybe it's the wrong one?" he asked as Dean grabbed him by the wrists and yanked him up.

"What are you talking about?" his brother asked.

"It can't be that deep," Sam told him, "There's no way. I think we've made a mistake."

"You," Dean growled, "You made the mistake. I'm trusting you to do the research correctly."

Sam sighed but didn't argue. If he did it would only make things worse.

"Give me that," Dean snapped and grabbed the shovel from his sibling.

Sam watched his brother jump back into the grave and continue digging.

Thunder sounded again, closer this time. Sam drew his jacket tighter around himself.

W

"For fuck's sake, Sam!" Dean snarled and threw the shovel out of the grave. It landed with a thud at Sam's feet.

It was raining heavily now, the bottom of the grave a muddy mess. Thunder crashed loudly overhead.

"Help me out," Dean demanded and reached up for his brother.

Sam bent down to assist Dean when sudden, searing, scorching pain engulfed him and he fell unconscious beside the grave.

"Sam?" Dean called, "Sam!"

Realizing something bad had happened- there had been a brilliant flash of light, a loud sizzling sound and the sudden stench of burnt ozone and flesh caused the older Winchester to panic.

"SAM!" Dean shouted as he struggled to get out of the open grave, "SAM, ANSWER ME!"

Clawing with his hands, digging his feet into the slippery sides of the hole, Dean managed to fight his way up and out of the grave and, on hands and knees, made his way to his sibling.

Sam's clothes were shredded, steaming in the rain; he lay unmoving, as though sleeping.

"What the hell happened?" Dean wondered out loud, just as he watched a bolt of lightning hit a nearby tree and split it into two, the wood creaking and groaning in protest, its leaves bursting into flame instantaneously.

Eyes widening with realization, Dean stared down at his brother and, knowing there was no way he'd be able to carry him down the hill to the road where the Impala was parked, fumbled his cell phone and called for the paramedics.

"Fire, police or ambulance?" the operator asked, as Dean struggled to figure out what he should do- this had never come across his training with his Dad- and snapped that he needed an ambulance, Goddamn it.

"What's your emergency?" the 911 operator he had been transferred to asked.

"My brother's been hit by lightning."

"Okay, you'll need to start chest compressions right away," the operator told him.

No asking him if his brother was alive or anything, just start those compressions.

Dean put his cell on speakerphone as the operator asked where he was and what he had been doing out in the middle of the storm.

As Dean spoke he grew more and more frantic. Sam didn't appear to have a pulse, his face pale, rain trickling over his chilled skin and into his hair.

"The paramedics are on their way," the operator assured Dean.

"Do you want me to stay on the line?" she asked.

"Can you help me?" Dean barked, his arms already aching from doing chest compressions non-stop for five minutes.

"No," she admitted, "But I-"

"Than I don't need you," Dean interrupted.

The frantic hunter looked up every couple of seconds, searching for the ambulance, muttering to his breath as he did so.

"Come on you bastards, come on now, we need you now."

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, Dean could hear the distant wail of sirens approaching slowly.

Still he continued the chest compressions, for all the good it would do, his arms screaming at him to stop, but he couldn't not now that he had started.

Dean watched as the ambulance pulled up to the bottom of the hill and two paramedics exited, ran to the back of the vehicle and grabbed the stretcher, slipping and sliding up the muddy hill towards the brothers.

Once they had reached the hunters, one paramedic took over doing chest compressions from Dean while the other prepared to check Sam's pulse, if there was one.

"How long ago was he struck?" the paramedic not doing chest compressions asked.

"Uh, twenty minutes ago?" Dean guessed.

"When did you start compressions?"

"Maybe fifteen minutes ago," Dean admitted, hating himself. He should have reached his brother sooner, started compressions earlier.

The paramedics didn't ask why there was an open grave behind the Winchesters; they simply focused on the task of caring for their patient.

Dean's eyes were drawn to the small screen propped above the stretcher that was supposed to show a person's heartbeat, the green line remained flat and lifeless.

"We're going to have to defibrillate," the paramedic not doing chest compressions told his partner.

His partner nodded and Dean watched silently, anxiously as they prepared the defibrillator; ripped open Sam's button up shirt and attached the electrodes, turned on the machine and waited for its prompts.

The paramedic who had been doing chest compressions crouched beside the hunter, poised to continue between the bursts of electric current.

"Try it again," the paramedic told his partner as he continued compressions.

They tried it again.

And again.

And again.

"We've got sinus rhythm," the paramedic not doing chest compressions announced and together they moved Sam onto the stretcher, strapped him in and began carefully wheeling him down the hill.

Dean followed at a trot, feeling cold and numb, something that had nothing to do with the chilly rain.

"We're going to take him to Springfield General," the paramedics told Dean as they loaded his brother into the ambulance and closed the doors, sirens wailing and lights flashing as they pulled away from the cemetery.

Dean stood where he was for a long moment, his brain trying to process everything that had taken place in the past hour.

Then, wiping a hand over his face, he crossed to the driver's side of the Impala and climbed in, telling himself that when Sam woke up he would ask forgiveness for being such a dick to him earlier.

Author's Note:

Story title comes from a song by Oasis.

This story will be a two or three chapter fic.

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