Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, I just like writing about Supernatural ^_^

Warnings: The usual cursing, violence, limpage, and particularly gory scenes... nothing we haven't seen before really. I also do not have a BETA... am too lazy to get one really, so the grammar mistakes are mine and I hope they don't bother anyone too much :S

Notes: My view of John is different than many I've seen, mostly because I don't believe he's as much of a heartless bastard he's portrayed to be... so I thought I'd give him a little break (don't worry, he's not a softy or anything, just less of a prick ^_^). This is a pre-series story that I've been thinking about for a while. This is part 1 in a 2 or 3 chaptered piece.

Summary: Sam and Dean have been at each others throats for weeks now so what will it take to bring their warring brotherhood back to one solid piece? Regrettably... a devastating injury. Limp!Sam, Angsty Dean. Pre-Series.

Enjoy Part I:

Fighting Gravity

They'd practically been ignoring each other for weeks now, neither having anything but scathing remarks and biting words to split between them. The seemingly endless, long winding roads they constantly traveled didn't make matters any better.

Lucky for fifteen-year-old Sam Winchester, he had the whole back seat to himself while his father navigated the roads with his perfect little soldier that sat beside him in the passenger seat. Sometimes he really hated his older brother.

Sam had resigned himself to only answering his brother and father when he was spoken directly to, or when he couldn't hold his tongue back after Dean said or did something stupid. He'd become tightlipped as he followed them from state to state, hunt to hunt, and being reduced to nothing more than a bothersome appendage. He followed the orders mindlessly, staying out of their holy war as much as he possibly could. After all, he was just liability to them… nothing more. Something that couldn't be left behind because of a promise made years ago when he was born. Sam had honestly never felt so alone in his entire life.

"Are you hungry?" a voice asked from the front seat.

Sam's head shot up from the latest book he was reading to stare at the back of his father's head. Then, sensing someone was looking at him, he turned his head and looked over at Dean who was staring at him with an expectant expression. "Well?"

The younger Winchester shook his head and glanced back down at the ink splattered across the pages to create beautiful words, and connecting sentences. "Not really." He hadn't been hungry in weeks.

A grunt of disapproval sounded from the driver's seat, familiarly from his father. "We're stopping off at a diner here pretty soon, you boys go in and get yourselves something to eat. It'll be the last meal before we reach Richmond tonight."

Sam watched his brother nod his head up and down obediently, throwing off a smartass remark that made him cringe in annoyance. "Whatever," Sam muttered going back to his book, finding the escape from his reality he so badly craved.

Suddenly the book was ripped from his hands and his eyes shot up to his brother who was grinning like an imp. "Give it back you jackass," Sam hissed and reached forward to grab the paperback. His hand was slapped away by his older brother who grinned at the irritation he was causing.

"What is this crap anyway?"

"It's not crap Dean, if you could read you'd know that."

Dean's eyes narrowed at his little brother. "Oh I can read Sammy; I just choose to not be a social outcast and waste my time in that fictional crap, like you." Dean knew it was a low blow to take but Sam had been pushing his buttons for weeks now with his mopey teenager routine. He knew that it was hard for his little brother to keep making knew friends and suddenly have to up and leave when it came time to find something else.

It seemed that lately, the normally close brothers couldn't open their mouths without spitting toxic words at each other. They both were wounding each other and didn't even realize the repercussions of it. Sam for one had never felt so unwanted in his entire life, feeling like the outcast and the disappointment of the family. And Dean, felt as if he was failing as a big brother, unable to keep Sam stable with their constant motion.

It felt like they'd never win, or even break even with their constant struggles against the darkness they fought so hard to keep at bay.

The older Winchester sibling wanted his old brother back so bad, old Sammy. Dean always knew what old Sammy was thinking, there was never some shroud of mystery cast over his emotions or thoughts like this Sammy did. Dean wouldn't admit it out loud, but Sam was worrying him and he'd been paying more attention to this recluse fabrication of his little brother. He definitely didn't like what he was seeing in his little brother recently.

They were as different as night and day, it was easy for Dean to not give a shit about High School and his peers. It was easy to forget that Sam was more sensitive, often finding it hard to make new friendships and then suddenly having to end them once they've moved on.

"Give it back." Sam snapped, holding his hand out expectantly.

"No." Dean bounced back as he flipped through the pages disinterestedly.

"Boy's," John said in a warning tone. He looked over at his eldest who was giving him a sheepish look. "Give it back Dean."

Dean sighed in defeat, offering Sam his stupid book. "Fine. Here."

Sam ripped the book from his brother's hand, mumbling that he was a prick as he searched for the last page he'd been reading. "You lost my place you jerk!"

Dean looked at Sam in disgust, "You're such a girl."

Both boys' were too wrapped up in their anger to see John rolling his eyes from the front seat. Teenagers, he thought in misery. It was going to be a long drive to Richmond.

It was nearly two hours later when the Winchester family pulled into the diner parking lot. Sam and Dean hadn't uttered a single word to each other the entire time.

The billboards that trailed along the highway didn't do anything but create an evil gurgling monster in the pit of Dean's stomach. John had even taken to giving Dean strange looks every time a strange murmur would emanate from his sons stomach.

"What?" he'd asked when his father had regarded him with a raised eyebrow.

"You aren't going to blow up are you?" John asked dryly. He truly was never going to understand the chemistry that was his oldest son's body.

"I think we're safe for right now," he added while looking longingly up at the diner, "just to be safe…"

John shook his head and chuckled, opening his door getting out and then shutting it. It was then that he realized his youngest hadn't made an attempt to get out of the car. With and irritated huff he tapped on the window. "Sam, now."

Dean could see Sam's jaw tightening from outside the closed window. This wasn't going to be pretty.

"I'm not hungry," he informed them behind clenched teeth.

Dean's eyes moved up to his father's face, reading the angry expression expertly. Sam was pushing it now.

"Sam, you've got to eat something here. We aren't stopping until we reach Richmond," John growled impatiently, trying to retain his self-control. Sometimes Sam had the impeccable talent to rip the little thread of patience and sanity he had left from him.

"I'll be fine," Sam assured in a forced tone. He wasn't really interested in spending a meal with his dad and brother trapped in a crappy booth with a sticky formica table that hadn't been updated since the 50's.

John's jaw tightened in anger and he moved to open the door, about to rip Sam from the car when Dean intervened.

"We'll be in, in a minute dad."

John looked up at his son with his 'angry drill sergeant' expression, but relented knowing that Dean would probably handle Sam's bad mood better than he would. "I need to call Bobby about the hunt, and then I'll be in." With that, he stalked off to find a working payphone.

Dean sighed as he walked around the Impala, opening the squeaky metal door. "Don't do this Sammy; I'm too hungry to play your game."

The usual soft warm eyes narrowed suddenly up at Dean's. "This isn't a game. I'm not hungry Dean," Sam told him passively, returning back to his book.

The snarky response had instantly turned Dean's mood volatile. With a grunt of annoyance, he non-too gently ripped Sam from his perch upon the upholstery causing the younger Winchester to fall out of the car, landing hard upon the blacktop.

Sam climbed back to his feet quickly, pushing Dean backwards as hard as he could. "Why can't you just leave me alone?" he shouted furiously.

Dean managed to regain his footing quickly and had Sam slammed up against the Impala in one fluid motion. He heard Sam hiss in pain as his back met the metal door sharply. "Because dad won't let me!"

Hurt filled his eyes at the statement, and Sam's earlier fears had just been confirmed by his older brother. He really was nothing but some morbid responsibility, probably the last promise his mother had ever asked them to keep. "I hate you," Sam spat, pushing his brother away once more.

Dean was faster and caught Sam by the arm, pulling him back to face him. "What is your deal?"

"I can't take this anymore Dean!" Sam shoved Dean back again and lifted his hands, shaking them frantically. "I don't want to live this life anymore. I'm so sick of new schools, new faces, shitty apartments, hunting, wounds, and new casualties. I'm sick of having to start over again all of the time! I don't want this, why do you?"

"Because dad needs me!" Dean bellowed.

"Then you can have it, because I don't want it anymore." Turning away, Sam quickly walked across the tarmac not once looking back for his brother and disappearing behind the door that lead into the diner.

When Dean was sure Sam was out of sight, he punched the metal door as hard as he could. "Damnit!" he shouted in anger at himself and at his little brother. He dropped his head in defeat, resting his forehead on his closed fist.

"Dean."

His head shot up and he saw his father standing by the diner with a knowing look. "Come get something to eat."

Dean nodded and started to follow, but was stopped when he almost tripped over something. He looked down to see the book his brother had been reading, it must have fallen out when he'd ripped his brother from the car. Dean winced. He bent over and picked up the book, reading the title to himself, The Diary of a Nobody, by George Grossmith. "Oh Sammy," Dean mumbled as he tucked the paperback in his leather jacket and followed his dad inside the diner.

The meal in the diner had been very silent, no one willing to start a conversation that would no doubt erupt into another angry argument. Dean was afraid he might actually hit Sam if he'd opened his mouth again.

Sam had hung his head, staring at the chipped formica table the entire time. He even refused to order anything, so John did it for him and watched closely making sure Sam everything on the plate, all the while disliking having to watch him like he was three-years-old again.

"What did Bobby say?" Dean asked his father when they were back in the car after eating their quick meal in the diner.

"It's a house cleansing job," John supplied.

"Does the family know we're coming?"

"It's abandoned."

Dean furrowed his brow in confusion. "Then why is it a priority?"

John scratched his head and took a quick glance in the rearview mirror, seeing that Sam was asleep against the window. "It's abandoned now, but it was bought up by some construction company that's planning on building an apartment complex over the lot where the house is standing."

"Transference," Dean realized. The house could be knocked to the ground with a pretty new one built over its spot and the spirit would still dwell, but in the new one, transferring itself.

John smiled at his son; at least one of his kids took this seriously.

"So why isn't Bobby taking care of it anyway? It was his call wasn't it?"

John nodded slowly. "He was called out on a different hunt. We're doing him a favor." God knows he owes the man more than one.

Silence cascaded over the car as they drove down the lonely stretch of highway, watching the sun disappear behind the mountains in the distance. It would be nightfall shortly, and they'd be arriving in Richmond soon.

"He told me he hates me," Dean whispered softly, staring out the window and at the passing trees.

John sighed; yeah he'd been there with Sam too. "He's an adolescent Dean, he hates everybody."

"He thinks I hate him."

John swallowed hard, he wasn't good at this kind of thing… he wasn't good at consoling, at reassuring. "He's just angry right now Dean, he'll cool off and everything will be fine." God, he really was bad at this.

"Yeah," Dean agreed blankly. "Everything will be fine." But secretly Dean knew it was going to take a lot more than time to make everything okay between them again.

"Sammy."

His name and a strong shake to his shoulder pulled him from his light sleep. He opened his eyes to see his dad hovering above him, leaning in from the open door. "We're here."

Sam nodded groggily. He rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes with the back of his hand and looked up to see they were parked on a large patch of grass. There was a large house in the distance, it appeared to be very old and dilapidated, and it certainly didn't look safe.

"It looks condemned," Sam observed.

The building looked like it could come down at anytime, would come down at any time.

John shook his head in disagreement. "Bobby checked it out earlier this week, its fine."

Sam pulled himself off the body-heated leather and stepped from the car into the chilly night air. "It sure got cold fast," he noticed. He didn't even see the jacket flying at him until it thwapped him in the face.

"Catch," Dean said a few seconds later.

Sam smiled sardonically, flipping his brother the middle finger. He pulled the jacket around him, and zipped it up to keep the cold from penetrating his bones any further.

The trio walked towards the house, weapons and the book of Rituale Romanum in tow. The exorcism would require a series of Latin prayers that would force the spirit from the house by the power of God. It would take some holy water, salt, and string of carefully spoken words to break the spirits hold on the house and its physical ties to earth.

"I don't suppose we should knock, huh?" Dean joked as they came to stand outside of the rotten wood door.

Sam rolled his eyes and pushed the door open. It creaked menacingly from lack of use and years of remaining closed making a chill to run up the younger Winchester's spine. "Creepy."

It smelt musty with lots of annoying dust particles floating around the abandoned space. Everything was quiet and the furniture appeared to be decomposing with the rest of the house.

"Watch where you step, the floor is rotten," John told his son's.

They continued their journey, making it deeper into the house until they reached the staircase that led upstairs. John handed Dean his flashlight, carefully finding his way around the decomposing stairs. "Walk as close to the sides as you can, I don't know how bad the middle has rotted."

Both boys followed carefully, being mindful of the bad shape the wooden planks were in.

"Safe my ass," Sam muttered as he continued up the stairs behind his dad.

"Careful Sammy," Dean cautioned as he watched his brother tilt towards the middle of the plank.

"I've got it Dean."

It was only a matter of minutes before they were safely up the stairs and had found their way into what appeared to be an old study. There were yellowish papers strewn about, an abandoned desk at the end of the room, and bookcases filled with decaying manuscripts.

"Geez, how long has this place been abandoned?" Dean wondered aloud. "It looks like no ones been here since the early nineteen-hundreds."

"Let's get this going so we can get out of here and lay ground for the night."

They set about doing their individual jobs, knowing that the spirit would put up a fight.

Dean had the salt and his shotgun ready.

Sam kept his eyes peeled to any possible danger.

John had the book open to the Domus Purgatio script. "Ready?"

"Ready."

"Ready."

Both boys chimed.

John began the house cleansing rites, speaking loudly into the abandoned home. His voice mingled in both Latin and English, calling the spirit forth and banishing from the home.

"Phasmatis, phasmatis ego narro pro Sanctus Michael, quod ego to order vos, phasmatis, quod ceterus malum inscribo dimitto is domus iam in nomen of Dominor. Statim iam, iam, iam."

A bitingly cold wind began stirring in the room, papers lifting from the floor to dance in the whirlpool of wind. Soon after, books began to fall from the shelves thudding dully as they impacted the floor.

"It's getting angry!" Dean shouted, keeping his hand steady and eyes peeled for any sign of the actual spirit. He knew that when these things get pissed they liked to throw shit.

John remained persistent, shouting words over the wind that picked up as he read, and the rites continued.

Their attention became momentarily overtaken by the desk at the far end of the room. It began shaking uncontrollably, almost bouncing back and forth as if it would launch at them at any moment.

Dean knew the rites were coming to a close and had to complete his bit with the salt and holy water… but wait, "Shit!" Dean hollered from his place beside his dad. "I forgot the holy water!"

John's eyes widened in realization. "Sam, I need you to go…"

"I'm on it!" he shouted and ran quickly from the room.

Sam started quickly down the stairs and heard a board crack only an instant before he fell through them. His cry seemed disconnected and far-away as the blood rushed from his head. Pain encompassed him as he found himself lying in a pile of broken boards. He couldn't help but to let the inky blackness on the edge of his vision envelop him in its safety.

Dean had heard Sam cry out before a loud crash follow. "Sammy!" He yelled as he ran from the room, forgetting about the exorcism and the pissed off spirit. All he knew was that he needed to get to his little brother. He slid to the end of the landing and stared, horrified at the gaping whole where the stairs use to be.

"Sammy?" he called desperately, looking down into the darkness for any signs of life.

"Dean!" John shouted coming to stand next to him. "Oh God," he said disbelievingly.

Dean kept looking down, but still couldn't locate his brother. "Sam, can you hear me kiddo?" There was no answer. Dean maneuvered the flashlight as he got down on his stomach; shining the light down into the crevice where the stairs use to be… were supposed to be. The small light was able to illuminate the limp body that was lying in the heap of broken planks.

Dean couldn't hold back his sharp gasp at the sight that lay before him.

There was blood, a lot of blood and he searched for its source, eyes coming to rest on the culprit. For a moment all he could do was gape at the pointy edge of what used to be a stair protruding from his little brother's thigh.

"Dad, his leg!" Dean screeched frantically. He moved the flashlight to illuminate Sam's face, swallowing harshly at the paleness that seemed to color his brother's features. The blood was everywhere splattered all over his brother like red paint to a blank canvas. "Sammy, answer me!"

The howling wind reminded them of the spirits presence. It obviously wasn't too keen on being ignored and made itself known by slamming doors and forcing wind at them from everywhere. Shortly after, projectiles began to beat down on the two conscious Winchester's bodies.

They were in grave danger now.

John's marine training took over in that instance. He grabbed Dean and pulled him back to face him; he took his face between his hands and looked into the horrified eyes. "You need to calm down; you're doing no good for Sam like this. Understand?"

"He's hurt bad."

The oldest Winchester nodded down at his son. "I know, but this is what you have to do." John ordered trying to keep Dean's attention for a moment but unable to keep eye contact while Dean's focus kept drifting over to where his brother was lying. "Dean you need to climb out a window and go get the holy water from the car, I need to take care of that thing before it slaughters us."

Dean nodded jerkily, feeling the sting of tears start to enter his eyes. Don't die Sammy, his mind screamed silently.

"I'll cover you."

He'd been trained well, and Dean's eyes immediately zoned to a window that was already partially open. His heart pounded with a new found sense of urgency, his father needed to send this thing back to wherever it came from so they could help Sammy. His legs carried him swiftly, strong arms forcing the jammed window up as fast as he could.

"I'm coming Sammy."

One foot hung out the window before the second one quickly followed.

Dean landed gracefully; running before his feet even hit the grass. He was at the car in seconds, ripping open the trunk hastily and locating the golden flask filled with holy water. He didn't even bother closing it, not wanting to lose precious seconds.

With a speed he hadn't known he possessed he was back in the house and at the bottom of the missing stairs. His father was waiting for him at the top of the landing shooting off rocksalt rounds as the spirit agitatedly threw bigger and bigger things at him.

"Dad, catch!" Dean threw the flask upwards not caring if it actually made its intended mark.

Quickly and carefully, he climbed over the wreckage to kneel beside his fallen brother. Distantly he could hear his father screaming the Latin rites.

Sam looked dead, like a corpse lying in the rubble of its final resting place. Bile rose in Dean's throat, threatening to spill as he surveyed the damage in front of him. Attentively he lifted his shaking hand and rested against his little brother's carotid artery and waited.

"Thank God," he breathed, feeling the pulsing blood. In the moment of weakness and relief he allowed a tear to fall from his eye. "Sam? Sammy, you need to wake up for me. Come on you little shit, don't ignore me now."

Sam remained unresponsive.

Worried, Dean slid his hand carefully behind Sam's neck and pulled him forward ever so slightly. He turned his head and leaned in, listening for the breath he knew should be there, but what he got was ten times better.

"D'n?"

The broken jumble was almost too soft for Dean to hear, in face he thought his mind was playing tricks on him.

"Sammy? Can you hear me buddy?"

The wheeze became more pronounced as it left Sam's damaged chest. "H'rts. St'p."

Dean pulled back to look into his brother's face and only saw slits of milky white. "I'm going to get you out of here Sam, you're gonna be fine."

The soft gurgling that came deep within Sam's throat was worrisome, and Dean didn't know what to do besides try to comfort his brother who was in agony.

"You're going to be fine," Dean assured again not really sure if he was reassuring Sam or himself. "Just fine," he finished softly.

Sam's breathing suddenly hitched, and his body arched slightly with the weak cough. Dean could hear the struggle and an icy tendril of fear reached up and clenched his heart tightly. The older Winchester watched in dismay as a small river of red made its way down Sam's face to drip from his chin.

The sudden realization struck Dean like a baseball bat.

Sam couldn't breathe.

TBC... tell me what you thought... reviews are encouragement :)