Happy first day of Whumptober! :D I'm so excited to get to do this again, and I hope you guys enjoy the stories as much as you seemed to last year.

So, first off, I'm splitting the prompts between Supernatural and Good Omens and each will be posted in their own collection, so if you also want to read Good Omens ones, the first of those prompts will be up tomorrow! I'm also posting all of these directly to my Tumblr.

Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional, there are probably inaccuracies in these stories, but please do not comment on them. I'm not trying to write an accurate medical textbook, I'm writing fanfiction for entertainment. If you can't look past a few inaccuracies for the sake of entertainment, then maybe this isn't for you.

Hands

"It's…it's Dean, Bobby, he's hurt."

Sam pressed his fingers against his eyes as he tried to will away the images flying through his head. It had just been a simple hunt—it was supposed to be anyway—something to get them back on their feet now that Dean was back from Hell. And yet, once again, Sam had been forced to watch his brother get torn up by something before he could stop it.

It didn't matter that these wounds weren't fatal, that Dean had stabbed the black dog to get it off of him, and Sam had then shot it dead after he had regained his senses, all he could think about was when the Hellhounds had come for Dean and torn him apart. He couldn't stop shaking.

"How bad, Sam?"

Bobby's calm voice over the phone was doing little to ease Sam's nightmarish thoughts, even though he was trying to breathe deeply, to calm himself.

"He um…he lost a bit of blood. But I got the wounds closed."

It hadn't been easy, but Sam had done it. It had helped that Dean was unconscious by then, or nearly so. After Sam had dragged him back to the Impala and somehow managed to get him into the backseat, he'd done it there—too far away to make it to a hospital before Dean could lose a dangerous amount of blood. So Sam had had to force himself to peel Dean's shirt away from the wounds, nearly vomiting. The last time he'd done this, he had been readying his brother for his grave. The only difference was the ragged breathing and the shuddering rise and fall of Dean's chest to remind him his brother was still alive.

Sam had stitched his brother up more times than he wanted to remember, but this time, as he reached for the suture kit, pouring whisky from Dean's flask over thread and needle to sterilize it, he found his hands were shaking and he couldn't stop them. Maybe it was adrenaline left over from the fight, maybe it was fear from seeing his brother get tackled by that black dog, hearing Dean's shout of terror as he too was flung back into memories Sam knew his brother would rather never remember. Whatever it was, Sam's hands were shaking like they never had before and he had to get himself together if he was going to help Dean.

He'd taken a deep breath, taken a swig from Dean's flask, and then set to work.

He'd done it. It wasn't good, or neat, but he'd finished the stitches, tugging too tight here and there and hissing curses and apologies to his thankfully unconscious brother. The wounds were closed though and that was what really mattered.

He'd taped gauze over them before calling Bobby. The hunter wasn't far, just in town. They'd had to run out to the woods for a quick lead and left the older hunter to follow them. He should be here soon.

"Okay, just hold on, son. I'll be there."

Even the reassurance couldn't stop the shaking in Sam's hands. He nearly dropped the phone into his pocket and sat on the floor of the Impala's backseat, legs out the open door, as he pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his head against them, trying to take deep breaths to calm himself.

Dean would be okay. He was alive. He was alive.

Sam wondered how long it would take him to get over seeing Dean savaged by the hellhounds even now that he was back topside. He'd thought he had stopped having nightmares about that finally and yet, now, he was sure they would be back to haunt him in full force.

A groan sounded by his head and he looked up to see Dean stirring, eyes fluttering. Sam instantly turned toward his brother, seeing Dean's eyes open with a look of confusion.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam called.

Something passed over Dean's face—a look of distrust and then relief, probably realizing that he was not in Hell again. He grimaced and reached up to lay a hand over his bandaged chest, fingering the tears in his shirt that Sam had tugged back over the bandages.

"Wha' happened? You get the dog, Sammy?" Dean grunted, eyes taking in his surroundings.

"Yeah, it's all over," Sam said more to himself than his brother, if he were being honest. He quickly got up and reached behind him and grabbed one of their camp blankets that was on the floor of the Impala where Sam had thrown it before getting Dean inside. "Are you cold? You lost a bit of blood, you should stay warm…"

He tried to undo the blanket, but his hands had for some reason starting shaking even more than before. As he clumsily spread it over Dean and pulled it over his shoulders, Dean's eyes instantly latched onto his shuddering appendages and narrowed.

"You okay, Sam? What's wrong with your hands?"

Sam gave up with the blanket and sank back down into his former seat. He gave a bitter laugh, holding up his hands for both of them to see as they shook in the space between the two brothers. "They, uh, they haven't stopped shaking since the fight. Stupid, huh? After everything else we've been through…"

He trailed off as Dean cast him a look that was both sympathetic and understanding. For some reason that made a lump form in Sam's throat and he swallowed hard, suddenly blinking back wetness in his eyes. He ducked his head to hide the tears from Dean, when he felt his brother catch his traitorous hands between his own. Despite the blood loss, Dean's hands were warm as always, pressing Sam's own together with enough pressure that they finally stopped shaking.

"I'm here, okay?" Dean said softly and Sam looked up to finally meet his brother's eyes, seeing Dean also fighting back emotion. "Got that?"

Sam swallowed thickly again and sniffed before nodding. "Yeah. I got that."

Dean shifted his grip to only one of Sam's hands, clasping it tight as he settled back against the Impala's back seat. Sam took a deep breath and finally felt his hands stop shaking so much.

He knew that in a way, he would never get over losing Dean, seeing him die like that. But he had his brother back now, and he couldn't let himself forget that either. In the end, having Dean there was all that mattered.