Here you have it, all wrapped up. Thank you for the kind reviews and for humoring me while I worked through my hair issues.

Chapter Six

Sam saw his brother drop to the ground and not move again. His eyes immediately darted back to the ghost of Peg Stapleton who he found was also staring at him.

"You don't want to do this," Sam began.

"He took it from me. He took my hair before it was gone and kept it for himself," she hissed.

Peg's ghost was definitely bald and clearly she'd keyed in on the loss of her hair. "You were sick," Sam tried for logic, "and your husband wanted to help you."

"You think I don't know about being sick?" the ghost demanded. "You think I don't understand?"

In a flicker, the ghost disappeared from where she was and reappeared directly in front of Sam, meeting him face to face despite the fact that he was a good foot taller than the woman had been. Sam stumbled back in surprise only to have the ghost once again reappear only inches from him.

"You think I don't know it when I see it?" Her dead eyes bored into his. After another second, the ghost cocked her head to one side. "Did you know that some nurses can smell when a patient is dying? They say it's very distinct. They know before the patient, before the family, before the doctors even. Some nurses… they can tell. They know when a person only has a day or two left."

"Your husband-"

The ghost cut him off, or completely ignored him. "You," her dead eyes looked him up and down again, "are sick."

Sam was taken aback. "What?"

"You're dying."

"I'm fine," Sam shot back, glancing nervously toward Dean who still wasn't moving. For once Sam was almost glad to see it. He didn't want him hearing this.

"Denial won't stop it from happening."

Sam opened his mouth to issue another denial, only to have the ghost push him, shove him really into the wall behind him. His head banged against the wall, ratcheting his headache up to astronomical levels. "I'm fine," Sam ground out through clenched teeth.

"Your days are numbered. Watch the people. Watch them all. They will pick you clean even before you're gone. They're like vultures, taking what you care about most before you're ready to let go."

Sam wanted to argue. He wanted to throw the ghost's words back in her face, but he couldn't. Not the crap about being picked clean, but the part about being sick… He could feel it. It had started after the first trial and he knew, he just knew, there was no way it was going to get better. They were trials after all. What good was a trial without a little physical deterioration thrown into the bargain? He'd like to think his headache was just from smoke inhalation, but he knew it was more than that. It was just the way their sucky world worked.

Sam decided it was high time he got hold of that lock of Peg's hair and sent her packing. He couldn't afford for Dean to come out of his stupor and hear the ghost blabbing about whatever was going on with him. Besides… his head was killing him and he wanted this over. As soon as he thought it, however, he felt warmth on his upper lip. His nose was bleeding.

"Let's see you deny it now," the ghost hissed.

Sam began feeling lightheaded as more blood flowed from his nose, that and his crushing headache no doubt added to by his heightened blood pressure. The ghost once again shoved him back and his head connected with the wall. That was all it took for the lightheadedness to begin to fade into darkness.

Dean opened his eyes just in time to see his brother slide to the floor and slump over, unconscious. Dean ordered the fog muddling his brain away and focused his eyes, zeroing in on the wallet that had fallen out of Mr. Stapleton's hand. Dean got up on all fours and inelegantly shuffled toward it. His first instinct was to check on Sam, but he knew he couldn't help his brother until the ghost was taken care of.

Another canister clipped his head, but it was closer to a graze and he kept scuttling forward. He grabbed the wallet and dodged several more flying objects as he tried to pull the lock of hair out of the protective plastic sleeve with his less than steady fingers.

Finally, he pulled the lock of hair free and jerked his lighter out of his pocket with his other hand. He almost dropped it, however, when the ghost materialized right in front of him, her face only inches from him.

"Don't, please!" she begged. Dean looked at the woman, surprised by the tone. "Please," she said again. "It's all I have left. I wasn't pretty. I wasn't rich or smart or… anything, but I had such beautiful hair. My hair… it's all I have."

Dean's eyes travelled behind the ghost to his brother who was still slumped on his side. Dean knew the feeling, in a way. He knew what it was to have so little and the need to protect it. Which was why he didn't appreciate having a ghost clock his brother, or her husband for that matter. You fought to protect people, protect family, not hair, not things.

Dean flicked his lighter and in a sudden flash of sparks Peg Stapleton was gone along with the last of her hair. Dean hated the smell of burning hair. It was on his list of worst smells even though he'd been around it on a regular basis since he was a kid. It didn't rank quite as high as Sam's feet after they'd been hiking, but it was close.

Dean hurried over to Sam and eased him down onto the floor so he was lying in a more comfortable position. "Sam?" He tapped him on the cheek. "Sammy?"

Sam's nose was bleeding, but it didn't look like he'd taken a hit to the face. Dean sighed. He knew Sam had been fighting a headache ever since the fire and that it had been getting worse as the day went on. He also knew that there was more going on that Sam wasn't telling him. Dean knew that the first trial had done something to his brother. He also knew Sam wasn't going to tell him about it until he had to. Dean just sighed again and repeated to himself his decision to look out for Sam and make sure the trials didn't cost more than he was willing to pay.

Dean smacked Sam a little harder on the cheek and his brother started to come around. "Sam? You in there?"

Sam blinked hazily and sat up with a little help from Dean. He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand and gave Dean a nervous glance which confirmed Dean's suspicion that it was more than just the ghost that was giving his brother trouble.

"You get her?" Sam asked.

Dean grinned and helped Sam to his feet. "Don't I always?"

Sam just rolled his eyes. "What about Mr. Stapleton?"

Dean quickly checked on the guy and saw that he was also coming back to consciousness. He'd have a killer headache, but that was it. Dean felt sorry for the guy. He'd just lost his wife and then she'd tried to kill him. He wouldn't know that though since he'd been clocked before any of the fun stuff happened. Dean looked to his brother. Family was a complicated thing.

"He's waking up. Let's get out of here," Dean ordered.

Sam just nodded and headed a little unsteadily for the door. His head was still killing him and he wanted nothing more than a nice dark motel room and a handful of painkillers. Their nice quiet rest after the first trial had lasted all of a minute before it had gone down the tubes, but maybe they could make it happen now.

Dean opened the glass door and let Sam leave first. He held onto the rail as he walked down the short ramp and he could practically feel Dean hovering close behind him in case he stumbled.

"You ok?" Dean asked as they reached the bottom of the ramp and something in his tone made Sam look at him.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam answered. "Just bumped my head." Dean handed him a wet paper towel he must have got from inside the shop and Sam used it to clean the blood off his face.

"You sure?" And again, something in Dean's tone made Sam wonder if he was asking about more than just what had happened in the barber shop.

"Yeah," he repeated. "Just need a day or two off. I'm tired after the… the trial, you know."

Dean nodded and they headed for the car. "Got it. We were going to anyway before the Wig of Doom showed up."

Sam got in the car and Dean followed, but he didn't start the car right away. "What?" Sam asked nervously.

"It's just… I've been thinking."

"About what?"

"The ghost and all. About what happened in there." Dean pursed his lips, his expression solemn. "I've decided you can keep your hair."

Sam just stared at his brother who couldn't hold his expression any longer and started to laugh. "You're a real jerk. You know that?"

Dean raised his eyebrows, all innocence, ruined by the fact that he was still grinning. "What? I said you could keep your chick hair!" Sam just glared at him as he started the car and backed out of the little barber shop's parking lot. "Still," Dean added, "a trim wouldn't kill you. I know a lady who'll pay top dollar."

Sam leaned his head back against the seat tiredly. He couldn't help a small grin of his own though. It was good to be back with his brother. He'd missed being able to talk without it being angry or accusing or worse, just indifferent.

Sam sighed contentedly. "Just drive, Dean."

Hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading!