Title: Don't Fear the Reaper

Summary: The gunshot cracked into the air as loud as thunder and Dean jerked back at the phantom pain that pierced his chest. "SAM!" he beckoned, lunging into action. Based on the promo of the upcoming episode 11x17 "Red Meat". Hurt!Sam. Protective!Dean.

Warnings: Rated T for swearing, graphic descriptions of physical violence and injuries.

Disclaimer: I don't own the boys or the show.

Author's note: Crazy busy at the moment but I simply couldn't resist. The prospect of getting a little bit of brotherly H/C in the upcoming episode made me near giddy with joy so I wanted to share my enthusiasm. Hope y'all enjoy!

The gunshot cracked into the air as loud as thunder and Dean jerked back at the phantom pain of a bullet piercing his chest.

His heart slammed to a sudden halt, all the air leaving his lungs in a rush as he turned his frantic gaze to the doorway. "SAM!"

He had only left his brother's side for a minute. Only one goddamn minute to take a look at the battered-looking vics, who had been strung up by their wrists like dead cattle.

Dean hadn't even gotten around to asking them for their names or checking them over for potential bite marks when the unexpected sound of a weapon's discharge froze him in place.

Sam hadn't carried a gun.

They didn't have enough silver bullets left (sloppy…they had been sloppy) so Dean had carried the gun and Sam had settled for the silver knife.

"SAM!" he roared, sprinting down the hall as fast as his legs allowed, images of a werewolf standing over his bleeding, dying, dead brother flickering vividly through his mind as he tried to calm his raging heart.

He burst into the other room and caught himself on the brittle wood of the frame at the sight that met his eyes.

Sam was still on his feet, but his face was torn into a grimace, his back arched into an unnatural curve.

Whatever momentary relief Dean had felt at seeing Sam standing went flying right out the window the next second when Sam's legs buckled and he folded forward.

"Dean," he said in that tone that meant he was hurt and wanted for his big brother to take the pain away - a tone that had never really changed, not since Sam was three years old and crying because he had skinned his knee on the playground.

And it struck a chord deep down inside of Dean, made his protective streak flare to life with a vengeance. His eyes flickered over to the fucker who'd shot Sam, still crawling on the ground in a puddle of his own blood as he clutched his gun with shaking fingers.

The only sound in the entire house was the bastard's breathing as he curled his lips into a slow grin, revealing a set of sharp, yellow-stained teeth.

"I hope he dies slowly," blood trickled from the were's lips when he spoke and a second later his face got blown into pieces by a series of well-aimed silver rounds.

Dean shoved his gun back into the waistband of his jeans, watching with a strange kind of satisfaction as the were crumble to the ground in a mangled heap, before rushing over to Sam's sprawled out body.

"Sam," a sharp edge was creeping into his tone- alert and shock and a bone-deep sense of panic lacing his brother's name as he dropped to the ground next to him. "God, Sammy, let me look at you..."

"Should have c-checked... i-if it was dead… shit—" Sam's legs weakly slid across the wooden boards as he writhed on the floor, shaky arms clutching at the quickly dampening fabric of his shirt and flannel. "You h-have to…"

Sam's eyes flickered weakly across the room and Dean knew what his brother was getting at, knew that Sam- even in his injured state- was afraid that they might have missed more than just one werewolf- that there might still be more of them around.

Dean cast a frantic glance around the cabin, mentally daring anyone to come within a five-foot radius of them after what just happened.

He shot one last loathing scowl at the were's corpse before crowding closer and pulling a red bandana from his jeans pocket. "Alright, you know the drill. I'm gonna have to take a look at that."

Sam bit his lower lip to hold back a groan, his chest heaving with pained pants of air and his nostrils flaring. A steady stream of dark liquid seeped through his little brother's fingers and Dean could see it clear as day- even in the dimmed haze of the shady bulbs above them.

"Bullet still inside?" Dean asked, reaching out to the wound and Sam flinched back before Dean's fingers made contact- which told Dean more about the extent of his brother's pain than he was ready to acknowledge.

"Hold still," Dean said in a terse voice and waited for his brother to get a grip before he gently shoved Sam's hands away and pulled the drenched fabric away from the wound. The flesh was puffy around the bleeding entry wound, the skin flaring a bright red beneath the crimson that coated it.

The flesh was puffy around the bleeding entry wound, the skin flaring a bright red beneath the crimson that coated it.

Dean swiped lightly over the frayed flesh- trying to get a better look when Sam made a broken, cut-off sound of protest in the back of his throat. "Guh… fuck, Dean," Sam grunted, a shudder wracking his whole body as he squirmed beneath Dean's fingers.

"I know," Dean shushed low under his breath. "I need you to hold still, man."

Sam's reaction was instantaneous and he swallowed his next grunt, jaw locked tight with pain when Dean's fingers probed the blood-slick skin.

No exit wound. His brother would be fading fast if that bullet wasn't still lodged somewhere deep inside him- possibly snug between two pairs of ribs.

But it wasn't on the surface either, which meant it would be a bitch to get out.

Sam's eyes were squeezed shut- throat working convulsively as he bravely endured the examination. "How… how bad?"

Dean swallowed. "It's still lodged in there somewhere."

Possibly doing more damage- tearing through muscle and flesh and sinew. Causing internal bleeding. Organ failure. Death.

Dean shook his head free of the somber trail of thoughts, denial taking hold.

Sam was not going to die.

Never again, if Dean had any say in the matter. At least not until long after Dean had kicked the bucket himself.

His brother had not defeated the freaking devil and stopped the Apocalypse, only to get taken out by a run-of-the-mill werewolf.

Sam knocked his head back against the floor, neck arching a little. His hands briefly curling into fists before they shifted back down to the wound. "Shit… g-get it out, Dean. You need to—"

"Stop it," Dean grabbed Sam's wrists and forcefully moved them away, before pressing his own down to take their place- the bandana quickly soaking warm blood as he tried to stanch the steady flow. "You're gonna be fine, alright? I'll get you out of here, Sammy."

Sam's jaw muscle ticked in concentration- his face was already growing pale… blood-slick fingers fumbling to grab a fistful of Dean's jacket. "I-it's ugh… it's bad."

"I know… we'll figure it out," he murmured in a rushed breath, mind spinning as he tried to think of an easy way to get Sam out of here without jarring his injury.

He pressed down a little harder against the wound and oily crimson seeped through his fingers- his brother's life smeared across his shaking hands.

Sam gasped out in pain, arching forward in an involuntary movement as agony flared through his body. "Woah, easy… easy, take it easy, Sam."

Sam stilled against Dean's palm- forcefully so and his chest heaved with his efforts to drag in air through his lungs.

"Alright, here's what we're gonna do," Dean pulled out of his jacket and shed his flannel, before bunching the soft fabric up into a ball and replacing the drenched bandana with his make-shift bandage. "That bullet's stuck somewhere between your ribs… probably close to your spleen and I'm gonna have to get it out of you before it does any organ damage."

The hospital wasn't exactly their go-to-place for serious injuries anymore- not since they've had their own pet angel to cure them on demand.

But Cas wasn't Cas at the moment and Dean highly doubted that getting the devil involved in this whole epic mess of a hunt was going to make things better.

Dean would try to patch Sam up himself, but they were stranded deep down in the middle of a huge forest and their med kit- along with their whole weapon arsenal was a 10-mile foot march away from them in the trunk of the Impala.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, mouth falling open in a voiceless gasp and Dean observed worriedly that his brother's skin was taking on a grayish hue- his lips already losing their natural color.

Dean grabbed Sam's hand and pressed it heavily down on the bunched up fabric. "Hold that, okay? Keep pressure on it."

"Wh-where—?" Sam's eyelashes fluttered, eyes near desperate as they fixated Dean with child-like panic and Dean nearly broke at the sight.

He gave his brother's wrist a reassuring squeeze, feeling his throat tighten with emotion. "Right here, Sammy."

He needed to check on the two victims- needed to get them free and do a cursory check of their wounds to see whether they could help him carry Sam out of here. But letting Sam out of his sight- even just for a minute proved to be harder than Dean had expected.

"There's m-more… than two wolves—" Sam was shuddering, eyes glazed over with badly disguised agony and Dean would have done anything to take that look away. "'s a… pack."

Dean's blood froze in his veins, breath trapped in his lungs.

Because dealing with an injured little brother was one thing- but having to get an injured Sam and two battered vics out of these woods while a werewolf pack was on the loose? Yeah, didn't exactly sound like something that would end well for either of them.

"Damn it," Dean cursed under his breath, teeth grit against the rising surge of frustration.

He fucking hated werewolves.

Hated them with a passion.

"Dean," Sam forced his name out with visible effort- the sound of it a plea and demand for attention at the same time and Dean didn't miss the way his little brother's fingers tightened around his shirt.

He swallowed heavily, mind spinning with a thousand possibilities to get Sam out of here.

They could try to call a hunter to take over the job but there probably was no reception out here- and even if there was, it would take way too fucking long for them to get here.

Same was the case with an ambulance.

Calling Cas was out of the question for obvious reasons.

And there was no way Dean would be able to carry Sam for 10 miles in time to save his life.

But there had been some kind of a ranger's cabin not too far from here… and Dean was almost willing to bet they'd have a med kit in there somewhere.

"Dean, t-this is bad," Sam weakly shoved at his brother's chest and Dean instantly knew by the breathy quality of his tone- the apologetic, puppy-dog look on the kid's face, what Sam was about to say next.

"Nothing we haven't dealt with before," Dean's eyes were hard, leaving no room for argument. "It takes a whole lot more than a bullet to take a Winchester out, right?"

The joke fell kind of flat between them and Sam's Adam's apple bobbed, before he let out a shuddering breath, eyes turning slightly glassy in the dull light.

Dean's heart constricted and he instantly knew what Sam was thinking- what he was going to propose.

"Leave me behind," Sam whispered, not meeting Dean's gaze. "'M only gonna slow y-you guys down."

Dean was already shaking his head, lips pressed into a firm line and shoulders drawn up around his neck before Sam had even finished the sentence. "Yeah, that's not going to happen."

"Dean…"

"Sam," Dean growled out with a warning edge to his tone. "You and I both know, there's no way I'm gonna leave you here, so you might as well save your breath."

"But—" Sam coughed, grimacing when the convulsive motion jarred the wound on his side.

There were specks of blood on his shaky lips and Sam's mouth trembled when he tasted the coppery tang of blood on his tongue. Dean forced himself to take a calming breath.

His brother was coughing up blood.

Which meant things were even worse than they might have thought.

Sam's lashes fluttered- eyes glazed over with pain and tears as he struggled to breathe. "You get them outta h-here… try to get r-reception from the… car and—"

"No," Dean remained firm in his denial. "Sam, listen to me. God's little sister's out there somewhere, throwing a temper tantrum and the freaking devil's on the loose in Cas' meat suit. Now I've got one thing that keeps me going- one goddamn thing that gives me hope that we'll somehow make all of this right and get out of this whole damn mess unscathed."

Sam blinked back tears, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he looked up at Dean with wide eyes.

"So don't you dare take that away from me."

Sam's teary eyes flickering away before the resettled on Dean with a little bit of determination. His lips were pressed into a firm line and maybe Dean was imagining it- but he thought he could see a little bit of color return to Sam's cheeks.

"Jerk," Sam's lip quirked up into a watery smile and he was still clinging to his brother's shirt- still holding on with everything that he was.

Dean let out a small breath of relief- because this whole thing was going to be near impossible as it was, one fucking way or another, but if Sam wasn't ready to fight this- if he wasn't ready to fight for them- there was absolutely no way for them to get out of this alive.

"Bitch," Dean said, voice wavering.

Sam held out his palm- waiting for Dean to take it. "Help me up?"

Dean grasped his brother's hand and slipped a steadying arm around his back, grunting a little as he pulled Sam up into a sitting position.

Sam was panting against his shoulder- cool sweat on his skin as his forehead came to rest heavily against Dean's shoulder.

"You good?" Dean resettled his arms around the kid's quivering back, slipping one of them beneath Sam's armpit to lend more stability.

Sam nodded, chest heaving as he curled his fingers into the back of Dean's shirt and they both started pushing up at the same time.

Getting Sam into a standing position was harder than expected and by the time they were both upright, Dean's back muscles were twitching from the strain of his brother's weight and his lungs were burning. He was just about to say something when Sam froze against him- breath catching audibly in his throat.

"What?" Dean pulled back with a worried frown, instantly alarmed. "What is it?"

Sam's eyes were huge- face ashen as he stared at something at the other end of the room.

Dean followed his brother's gaze and came up empty. "Sammy?"

"You don't see her?" Sam swallowed thickly, eyes transfixed on whatever had captured his attention.

Her.

Dean closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath, panic curling around his heart like an invisible fist.

He remembered what it had felt like to be in their presence- what they all felt like every goddamn time he had been around them.

Death's little ambassadors.

His dark-winged entourage... Reapers.

"Billie?" he ground out from behind clenched teeth, sending a warning scowl into the general direction of nothingness Sam's eyes were fixated on. "You stay the hell away from him, you hear me?"

He was going to say more- was going to make it clear that she wasn't going to touch his brother.

But then a menacing howl cracked through the night- carried away in the cool night wind as it picked up outside. The sound started low at first and became more discernible, thick and angry as more voices chimed in.

Werewolves. A whole bunch of them, by the sounds of it.

Great.

Just fucking great.

"Dean—" Sam panted, sounding worried.

"I know."

Dean's heart was racing. They were both trained- they had dealt with shit like this way more often than humanly possible.

They were professionals, goddamn it.

Dean had five silver bullets left in his revolver, a silver knife and enough fury in his veins to slaughter a whole army of werewolves.

He had killed Death with his own bare hands not too long ago.

And he wouldn't shy away from doing the same to one of Death's most loyal lapdogs if she was stupid enough to make a move on Sam.

"It's alright," Dean brushed his fingers through Sam's bangs- just there and gone again, a gesture of reassurance. "I'm gonna get you out of here. Alive."

Trust me.

"Yeah," Sam nodded, face ashen, clothes drenched in blood and limbs shaking, but with his head held up high and purpose in his gaze. "Y-yeah, alright."

Dean's heart filled with pride and in a strange moment of nostalgia, he kind of wished their dad could see them- still fighting the good fight, still saving people, still hunting things- the family business.

Defying all odds and the natural order of things, for each other.

The End.

I'm so starved for a little bit of protective big!bro Dean on the show. Really hope we're gonna see some of that in the next episode. *fingers crossed, guys* Sorry for being absent lately- I'm in the final stage of writing my dissertation and it's pretty stressful. -.- Gonna try to post the last chapter of Blood Pact soon! Please drop me a note if you liked the story! Reviews make my day :)