Hey dear, beloved readers. I'm back! Took some time off to work on other stuff, have me a break, meet Jensen. You know, the usual!! Hope you are all well xxx

So here we are again, another excuse to beat up one of the brothers and have some touching moments. This story is set inbetween 'What is and what should never be' and 'All hell breaks loose'. There were so many unresolved issues in WIAWSNB that i just had to deal with a few of them. (Oh , and hurt someone in the process, cos that's always fun!)

Disclaimer: The Krip allows us to borrow, not buy

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Chapter One

He'd watched with sick fascination as the figure advanced with lightening speed. His attention had been diverted by the sound of his brother in pain. The sound of him scream.

He'd screamed his name.

It had been a warning too late, the cold fingers around his neck before he could raise the gun to fire the salt and buy them some time.

It had been a warning too late as the pressure began to build behind his eyes, the spots dancing across his vision as his body ached for oxygen, his mind pleading for help from a father who would never come. His eyes searching for a brother he couldn't see. His heart searching for a life that was never his, a past he could never believe, a hope he could barely taste.

Within the space of a few seconds Sam had crumpled to the floor only to be driven back to his feet by the panic as he watched the spirit latch onto his brother and lift him skyward by his neck. Dean's feet swung as they attempted to reclaim their purchase on the floor. Their only shotgun held tightly within his grip. This was one spirit who wasn't willing to join their loved ones in the afterlife easily. Both brothers had been thrown around like rag dolls for the past half an hour in an attempt to reach the urn that not only held the ashes of Tom Grey but also a lock of his hair, a keep sake that his wife felt she deserved.

When would people learn?

Tom had been murdered in a back alley, a quick shortcut home to be there in time for his wife's surprise party.

What a surprise.

He'd been held at knife point and robbed, then, thinking it was over had tried to leave, only to then be stabbed and beaten repeatedly. When Ashley had gone to identify his body she had insisted on keeping a lock of his long black hair. Hair she had often run her fingers through. A soothing motion as much for her husband as it had been for her. He was a musician, a guitarist and one that Dean mused he would have been in awe of. The guy had great taste in music. Tesla, Ratt, Bad Company, Social Distortion and The Clash. A mixed bag of styles and sounds that culminated in one hell of a covers band.

Damn. It was never fair.

Had Tom been co-operative Dean would have insisted on a little show. Life never works out the way you think it will, currently Dean was insisting that Tom let go and allow precious air back into his lungs. Allow his feet to touch the floor. Allow him to live.

Sam sprung into action as he watched Dean's eyes roll back into his head. He ran behind Tom and grabbed the urn, hoping and praying the spirit was well enough distracted to allow him to finish the job. Before Sam had a chance to pry the hair from the hole he was thrown across the room, landing heavily against the opposite wall.

Sam groaned as he felt all his joints pop and protest at the workout he was subjecting them too.

"Where is she?"

Tom had been asking the same question over and over. He was looking for Ashley. His beloved Ashley. She was all he wanted, all he needed. Once he had her he would be able to pass on to the next life. To rest in peace and relive his life with her. His Ashley.

"Tom, listen to me, she's not here. We can take you to her though."

"WHERE IS SHE?"

How do you tell a dead spirit, intent on killing you should you answer incorrectly, that the love of his life and the Shelley to his Eric was currently shacking up with a new guy and about to sell the house he currently haunted in order to save for the impending birth of her and her new husbands baby?

Sam was coming up blank.

Glancing behind Tom gave Sam renewed strength. Dean was sprawled against the wall, half prone. His lips were parted but his face was too pale. Sam sprung into action and rolled to his left , grabbing the shotgun from Dean's now lax grip, as he aimed to fire Tom advanced once again and threw Sam. This time however he kept his hands around the shot gun, firing as his roll came to a stop by the window. He caught Tom in the torso, the spirit immediately dissipating with a cry of defeat. He didn't have long, this guy kept coming back quicker and quicker. Sam grabbed the urn and smashed it into the floor, pulling a book of matches from one pocket and a small canister of salt from the other he set alight the lock of hair and quickly scooted back as the acrid smell threatened to knock him off his knees.

He was by Dean's side before the full lock of hair had caught light. Without a second thought he pulled Dean's legs so that his brother slid fully to the floor, tilting back his head he checked first for a pulse, then for air.

No sound.

No air.

Sam rolled Dean onto his side and thumped his back hard but still no air went into his lungs.

Focus, ignore the panic. Ignore the thought that he could lose Dean . Again. Rolling his brother onto his back again, Sam tilted his brother's head back and felt his throat, frowning as he realised how bruised the skin was. Maybe Tom had crushed Dean's wind pipe? Sam felt a wave of dizziness which he ignored. Dean needed him. His brother needed him. Opening his mouth the sight inside made Sam gag.

Dean's tongue had disappeared down his throat.

"Oh god! DEAN!" Ignoring the rush of blood in his ears and the fear that was enveloping him, Sam opened Dean's mouth as far as he could and slipped two fingers inside, desperately trying to gain purchase on the muscle that was killing his brother. Dean's lips had turned blue, spurring Sam to abandon the desire to not hurt his brother. He grabbed hold and dug his nails in, pulling Dean's tongue from his throat in one motion. Within seconds Dean's body pulled in a massive breath of air. Sam kept a hand on Dean's chest, feeling the long drawn out labour of his lungs pulling in air, the other hand cupping his face.

"Dean?"

Gentle slaps to his cheeks. A careful pinch to his earlobe.

"Dean."

Strong shake of his shoulder.

Dean moaned. It was a hoarse sound and was quickly followed by a bout of painful coughing.

"Easy, easy man." Sam gently rolled Dean to his side. His brother was yet to open his eyes so Sam couldn't tell if he was even awake yet. Thankfully his lips were starting to return to their natural colour. The redness around Dean's mouth making his face look even paler. He looked around, surveying the damage and figuring the neighbours would probably start to think more was going on here than two removal men checking out the rooms. They needed to get out of there before anyone decided to phone the police.

Sam gathered their things and ran out to the Impala, throwing the bag into the trunk he opened the rear door and ran back to the house to get Dean. His brother still hadn't moved but at least he looked over as Sam ran back into the room.

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

Dean swallowed several times before he attempted to speak.

"Peachey. Not everyday I get to rock out with a musician." He winced at the pain the whisper caused.

"We need to get out of here. Now."

"Uh huh," Dean attempted to leverage himself up, didn't even consider fighting his brother as an arm was hooked under his. He walked forward under Sam's steam more than his own and barely frowned as he was led to the back seat. With his knee's bent he laid down and closed his eyes. Happy to be back in his baby. Not so happy when Sam jumped in and revved the engine. Too tired to even try to talk, Dean reached up and clipped his brother's head.

"You wanna drive Dean?"

Sam's answer was another clip to his head.

Sam drove in silence. The radio off so he could listen to Dean's painful breathing. The wheezing seemed to be getting worse and he knew they should have been heading to the hospital, not the motel. The thought had occurred to Sam to risk taking Dean to the medical centre in the town, but it was too risky. Who knew where Henrickson was. He had to weigh the options, force his brother to allow him to take care of him, or risk life imprisonment should they get lucky and Dean managed to sidestep the death penalty.

No contest.

Sam ran a hand through his hair as the weight of the situation pressed into his skull and threatened to break apart his mind. How did they end up like this? How did it come to this? Why them? Why now? He'd watched Dean go through so much, watched his brother be tortured not only by his hands, as possessed as they were, but also by his mind's wishes, his dreams for them all. His hopes for Sam had put a pressure and a responsibility on the younger man more than the older would ever know. Sam knew he was living a life Dean never wanted for him. He knew he was always going to be wishing for more, hoping for a break. Living his life through his younger brother.

How was that fair? On either man.

Sam was saved from his mind and it's overwhelming thoughts by the sound of gentle singing coming from the back seat. He quieted his breathing and relaxed as he concentrated on the words.

"I see him there most every day,

A lonely man and his guitar.

In his eyes, i see the pain,

All the faces and the places

All the trouble that he'd seen."

How did his brother do that? There he was, happily stuck in a spiral of thoughts leading to the inevitable SamFreakOut and then Dean comes along and sings one of his hair metal power ballads and suddenly, somehow, Sam knows they'll get through.

Damn him.

"Hey Dean, that's a little sappy for you isn't it?"

"Dude that song's been stuck in my head for days." Dean whispered.

"I guess it's better than REO. Maybe you should rest your voice?"

"Might as well use it while I can."

"It getting worse?" Sam looked up into the rear view and ignored the sudden sense of dé·jà vu as he surveyed his ailing brother.

"Little bit. My tongue hurts like hell. "

"We're almost at the motel, just take it easy."

"What else am I gonna do in the back seat Sammy?"

"Save your voice Dean."

"Bite me."

"In an hour or so you won't have any comeback." Sam smiled smugly into the rear view at his brother.

Dean frowned. Then smiled.

"Dude, with me there's never any comeback."

Sam looked at his brother quizzically, took in the pale expression, the full grin and the look of absolute cave man in his eyes.

"Oh man come on that's disgusting."

TBC

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