Title: Blood Moon

Summary: What if Dean had returned back to the Cabin in time to see Corbin with his fingers wrapped around Sam's throat? AU Coda to 11x17 Red Meat. Hurt!Sam. BigBro!Dean. Hurt/Comfort.

Warnings: Rated M for violence, attempted murder, murder and bad language. Spoilers up to and including episode 11x17.

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

Dean had known that something was off with the Hipster guy the second he'd first laid eyes on him.

Call it instinct or whatever, but there had been a dangerous edge to his voice, a spark of impatience in the way he had ignored the seriousness of Sam's injuries and kept urging them to move further away from the cabin; further into the undergrowth of Grangeville Forest.

Dean hadn't been able to pinpoint the guy's nervousness, his total lack of sympathy or gratitude for what it was back then because he had been too preoccupied with his bleeding little brother- with the pained grunts Sammy let out as he doubled over in pain and squeezed his eyes shut.

But he should have known.

When Corbin had asked Dean to take care of Michelle instead of his own little brother who had just taken a goddamn bullet to save two complete strangers, he should have known.

When Corbin hadn't asked if he could help them somehow or whether Sam was okay or not, he should have known.

And lastly, when that bastard had outright said that Sam's life wasn't worth the risk- when he had argued that Sam was already a lost cause- that he wasn't strong enough to make it out of there alive- he should have known that Corbin was the kind of asshole who'd rather save his own hide than to repay the two guys who saved his life.

But Dean's every sense had been so completely wrapped up in his little brother that his judgment had been clouded.

And Sam hadn't just been bruised or a little banged up. He had been shot in the stomach; had gone through a pretty grimy field surgery executed by Dean's shaky fingers and the only thing keeping him upright right now, was the way he pressed that piece of fabric down hard over the bleeding gunshot wound in his guts.

Now Sam was barely standing on his feet anymore, his left hand braced against the wooden table to steady himself while his right hand still pressed that damn rag to his middle and his blood was covering everything.

It was smeared across his hands and shoulders, smudging his shirt and staining his jeans.

It had saturated his flannel shirt and trickled off the side of his sleeve, the red rivulets sliding off his elbow before dripping to the wooden cabin floor.

Sam was bleeding out and he was in a world of pain and here this fucking bastard stood, looking at Dean with his crazy eyes ripped wide-open in a mix of panic and self-righteousness.

"Hey. Hey, we got to keep moving," he said in a frantic voice- urgent but still suppressed like he was trying to keep the words between them. Spineless bastard probably didn't want his own wife to hear how little he cared about the lives of the guys who came to their rescue.

He turned to look at Sam, whose eyes were at half-mast as he tried to warm up with the lantern Dean had handed him earlier and then his voice dropped even lower like he was half-ashamed to say them out loud. "Those of us who... who can."

Dean got up from where he'd been crouched over a shelve, body coiled tight with instant fury.

Because this fucking bastard had the audacity to insinuate that Dean should leave his own flesh-and-blood brother behind- to leave him behind defenseless and injured in a forest full of blood-thirsty werewolves while they ran off to save their own lives.

And Dean thought it was a testament to his own self-control that he didn't rip the guy a new one then and there.

Instead, he stared the guy down with his eyes lit on fire and growled, "What did you just say to me?"

"I… look. Hey, Michelle's real sick, but she's got a chance. Him—" Corbin threw another look over at Sam like he had any damn right to lay his eyes on Sam after what he had just suggested. "He's slowing us down. And if they find us—"

"We saved you, okay? We saved both of you."

Because that had to amount for something, right?

The fact that Sam wouldn't be here right now, grunting and bleeding and dying if his heart wasn't as big as fucking Texas- if he hadn't been willing to sacrifice himself for two clueless strangers on their honeymoon had to weigh on the guy's conscience, right?

Hadn't Corbin seen how selfless Sam was? How brave?

Didn't the guy realize that Sam was Dean's only source of light- of happiness in a life filled with so much pain and darkness? Didn't the guy see that Sam meant everything to Dean? That the kid was just as important to him as Michelle was to Corbin- hell, more than that?

Apparently not.

"It's three lives versus one," Corbin reasoned and that was where Dean decided to draw the fucking line. Nobody got to talk about Sam's life like that- like it was a lost cause. Like it wasn't worth fighting for, because for as long as Dean lived, that would never be the case.

Sam's life was more important to Dean than his own.

Or anyone else's for that matter.

Dean had condemned himself to an eternity in hellfire for his brother.

He had convinced Sam to leave the gates of hell wide opened just so Sam could walk away unharmed, just so his little brother wouldn't have to die.

It's three lives versus on.

Dean snorted.

More like it's the lives of one injured girl and a cold-hearted douchebag against Dean's entire reason for living.

This guy couldn't even begin to understand how much Sam's life meant to him.

Dean shoved Corbin hard and pointed a finger at his chest, ready to put the fear of god into that fucker when Sam's hoarse voice- weakened from pain and blood loss suddenly cut them off.

"Dean, stop! Dean, he's right. You guys need to... to go. Move. Go find help, come back for me."

And see, that right there? Putting everyone- including the fucking sonofabitch who just wanted to ditch Sam's injured and bleeding ass in a werewolf-infested forest- before himself? That was Sam for you.

Always selfless, always kindhearted and understanding.

How could anyone look at Sam with his floppy hair and the soulful eyes and not see the same goodness- the same innocence- in the kid's face?

How could anyone want to harm him?

It made Dean even angrier because even now- after all these damn years- Sam still put everyone else above himself- still asked Dean to leave him behind and take care of strangers rather than his own brother.

It was like Sam had never gotten the fucking memo about how much he meant to Dean- to their friends.

About how worthy he was of living a long, healthy life with kids and a dog and a pretty girl, someday, once they'd put the godforsaken hunting life behind.

"No, Sam! No! I'm gonna go outside, I'm gonna find some wood, gonna build you a litter, and we are going to carry him the rest of the way."

If it was the last damn thing Dean ever did, it was carrying his little brother back to the Impala and getting him to the closest clinic.

"It's only a couple of miles," Dean shot one last glower at Corbin and then one more look filled with worry and empathy towards his injured brother.

Sit tight. Hold on. Don't you fucking dare leave me now.

I need you, Sammy.

He slammed the door in his wake with such force that it sent a concussion wave of sound echoing around the small wooden cabin.

Dean had been outside for half an hour, collecting branches and twigs to make a litter for Sam when his stomach suddenly knotted in fear and confusion.

A wave of nauseating fear swept through him, causing him to stagger and for his jacket to get caught on a nearby tree.

He let out a string of curses and swung wildly at the bushes, hitting a tree with the branches he was carrying and nearly toppling over in the process.

"Get off me," he hissed and then paused when the reality of the situation slammed into him and stopped him in his tracks.

His heart was racing in his fucking chest and his eyes stung with unshed tears.

The hunt was a fucking nightmare and Sammy was hurt so fucking bad and Dean was out here in the cold, hashing it out with a goddamn tree.

Fuck. Fuck!

Where had this whole thing gone so terribly wrong?

He took a deep, steadying breath and sheathed his knife before gathering the wood back into his shaky arms.

It wasn't anywhere near enough to build a litter, but Dean decided that he was going to head back to the cabin to check on Sam. Just for a minute or two- to make sure that he was still… that he was alright. He just wanted to make sure that Sammy was still hanging in there.

He couldn't say why or how, but the overwhelming surge of wrongness that had just swept through him, made him near-crazy with the need to see his brother- with the physical reassurance of Sam's wellbeing- of him being alive and breathing.

It was an age-old instinct.

Somewhere along the road, Dean had learned to trust his instincts when it came to Sam.

He kept an eye turned on the road, watching out for the white pickup truck the bunch of werewolves was driving around and then dropped the wood for the litter outside the cabin's door.

Creeping up to the window next to the entrance, Dean sent a fleeting glance through the smudged glass as he dusted off his jacket and then did a double-take, blood freezing to ice in his veins at the sight that met his eyes.

Corbin was crouched down alongside Sam's pale form on the floor; an expression of pure desperation and sorrow on his face.

He said something to Sam and a flicker of confusion crossed Sam's pallid features.

His eyes were already glazed over with too much pain and blood-loss to fully catch up with whatever Corbin must have told him, but judging from his reaction and the tiny frown on his face, it couldn't have been anything good.

Dean's body tensed, shoulders and spine stiffening at the strange exchange between the stranger and his brother. He could literally feel Sammy's discomfort- his unease- even from outside.

And then it happened.

Dean stood frozen in absolute shock, mouth falling open and heart leaping into his throat when Corbin made a lunge for Sam, clamping one of his hands down hard over Sam's mouth in a violent attempt to smother him.

Sam started to struggle, pain-filled eyes suddenly wide with horror and hands flailing as he tried to fight his attacker off, but he was too weak- the blood-loss having already drained all of his strength- and there was absolutely no chance for him to fight Corbin off.

Even through the thick blocks of wood that built the wall of the cabin, Dean could hear the muffled chokes and gasps Sam was making- could see the frantic flicker of panic in his little brother's eyes when he glanced towards the cabin's entrance, probably thinking of Dean- so close and yet so far- just a couple of feet away and yet oblivious to someone strangling Sam in a cold-blooded attempt at murder.

Corbin's face was unrecognizable, teeth bared and eyes wide and filled with nothing but bloodlust.

He was still on top of Sam, holding him down, covering his mouth. And when Sam continued to fight- thrashing and squirming and struggling in a desperate attempt to free himself, Corbin pinched Sam's nose, cutting off his very last air supply, making sure Sam could no longer breathe.

He stared down at Sam, while his eyes bulged and his cheeks flushed with exertion and his body thrashed in vain.

Red.

A red haze took over Dean's mind, clouded every one of his thoughts, clogged his airways like cinder and threatened to suffocate him on the spot.

He didn't think he'd ever been this angry before.

Not when John had taken Sammy along on his first hunt and gotten him hurt.

Not when Cas had broken down the wall in Sam's mind and threatened to take his life.

Not when that yellow-eyed son of a bitch had taken on their dad's meat suit and made Sam believe that his entire life had been orchestrated by evil.

Because this time- this time it wasn't some demon or angel who had tried to hurt his little brother.

It was a human being.

Just some fucking guy whose life they had saved.

Someone they'd risked their own lives for without giving it a second thought.

And this fucker had not only betrayed their trust in the worst possible way, but he had also been spineless and fucking cowardly enough to turn on someone who was too weak to defend himself- someone who barely had enough fight left inside to keep breathing, much less, fight off his own murderer.

In one swift move, Dean pulled his gun from the back of his waistband and took a few quick strides forward, before yanking the door to the cabin open so hard it caused Corbin to flinch and whirl around in panic.

Dean crossed the room fast enough to send his own mind spinning and slammed the butt of his gun down hard into the guy's face.

"That was your fucking plan, huh? Killing my brother? Making it seem like he fucking passed in his sleep? Answer me, you goddamn son of a bitch!"

"Listen, man. He was gonna die anyway and you know it!"

Fucker stumbled back, trying to escape but Dean only tightened his throttling grip on the lapels of the guy's flannel shirt, gun pressed firmly against the side of his bleeding temple.

"You wouldn't leave him alone… you wouldn't leave him and we weren't gonna m-make it without you."

"So you what? Decided to finish him off?" Dean hissed out, spittle flying from his mouth. His vision was still tinged red, his heart throbbing painfully hard in his chest as he pressed the barrel tighter against the guy's head. "You fucking decided to finish the job yourself? He put his ass out in the line of fire for you! He saved you both and this is how you repay us?"

Corbin's teeth clattered in his head and Dean could see the haze of tears collecting in his eyes.

Dean cast a fleeting glance over at Sammy who was still gasping and coughing on the ground, trying to recover from the brutal onslaught- his throat already bruising from where Corbin had tried to squeeze the life from him.

There were finger-shaped bruises on Sam's neck and he was wheezing and Dean's finger twitched on the trigger. "Me and my brother, we came out here to save your sorry hide from monsters," his lips curved up into a lopsided, pitiful smile, green eyes hard in the shine of the lanterns. "Turns out you're just as bad as the things that came after you, aren't you, Corbin?"

"H-he would have slowed us down and—"

"Shut up," Dean tapped the barrel against the guy's temple and then his features hardened, eyes turning near black with ice cold fury. "You shouldn't have come after Sammy."

With that, Dean twisted the gun around so that he was clutching the barrel and grabbed Corbin by the throat before slamming the butt of his revolver down hard into the back of his head once more.

There was a very distinctive crunch of bones and flesh and Dean kept going, his vision clouded by a red haze of fury, his ears ringing with static.

His lungs burned with liquid fire.

All he could think about- all he could see was Sammy- small and innocent, asking Dean to read him a book and crawling under the blankets with him- Sam as a teenager, quiet and broody but still worried about the neighbour's sick dog- Sam as an adult, giving his heart and soul to save innocents on the job.

Sam was his brother.

His kid.

And Dean had never been more dangerous- more lethal- than when that shaggy-haired kid he loved so much was threatened or endangered by anyone.

He had died for Sam before.

And he wasn't above killing someone for Sammy, human or not.

"Dean— Dean, s-stop—" Sam wheezed out, crawling forward on the floor. "Stop!"

He coughed and then gasped out a painful breath, face drawn into an agonized grimace. His hazel eyes were still glazed over and brimming with unshed tears as he looked up at Dean imploringly- asking- begging Dean to let go of the guy who had tried to strangle him not even five minutes ago.

Because Sam was so kind- so thoroughly good- that he could forgive even the most atrocious of actions.

Too bad Dean had already made his decision.

"Sorry, Sammy," he whispered and pulled back the slide of his gun before firing three well-aimed shots to the center of Corbin's chest in rapid-fire succession.

Corbin jerked back, a shocked expression on his face and eyes dark and unforgiving like the void of space as they widened in disbelief.

Michelle let out a howl of grief and denial somewhere in the back.

And Sam… Sam's pain-filled eyes flickered from Corbin's crumpled body on the floor up to Dean in a mixture of shock and disbelieve.

"Dean," he gasped out and crawled forward, wincing when the movement pulled at the gunshot wound in his middle. His face was near ashen, sweat pearls covering his forehand and soaking his bangs. His hands were shaking and his voice was a hoarse whisper from where Corbin had bruised his vocal cords. "W-what did you d-do?"

Dean kicked at Corbin's leg with his foot to test whether he was gone and then crouched down with a satisfied little sigh when the limb flopped lifelessly from side to side.

"He was bitten," Dean explained carefully and then met Sam's eyes over Corbin's dead body. He yanked Corbin's flannel sleeve up to expose his arm and Sam's bloodshot eyes widened in shock when he saw the line of bloodied teeth indentations on the man's skin. "He's one of them."

Not that it mattered.

Sam knew just as well as Dean that he would have killed Corbin either way.

He had come after Sammy when Sam was at his weakest- when there was no way for him to defend himself or put up a fair fight.

He had tried to smother Sam with Dean being just far enough out of reach- standing twenty feet away from the scene.

And none of that was acceptable.

Or forgivable.

Not in Dean's book.

Hurting his little brother was the one thing that- without exception- could never be forgiven in Dean's view. And Corbin hadn't just tried to hurt Sam, but he'd tried to kill him.

"Oh god. You killed him! You killed my husband!" Michelle sobbed out, voice cracking as she hid her face in her hands.

But Dean barely spared her a glance, his eyes and attention still entirely focused on his hurt little brother on the floor- on the way Sam was still clutching his stomach and barely holding himself upright, arms shaking under his body weight.

"He wasn't your husband anymore. He was going to turn into one of these things and kill us all, starting with my brother."

Dean shoved his gun back into the waistband of his jeans and his heart sank when he saw Sam's boneless posture and the sluggish blink of his eyelashes.

Sam's hand was no longer clutching the blood-soaked rug that had been pressed over the wound but now lay lifelessly in his lap, the blood-tinged floor lying on the floor.

The blood was still flowing.

"Shit," Dean cursed and grasped Sam's shoulder, cringing internally when his hand made impact with the oily crimson coating Sam's shirt- fingers coming away wet with blood.

"Sammy," Dean called, gently shaking his brother to keep him alert. "Hey, c'mon. Lemme look at you."

He flicked his fingers in front of Sam's face to test his reflexes and Sam's response was delayed and sluggish- but still there- and Dean sighed in inward relief when his little brother's gaze drowsily met his own.

"De'n…"

"Try not to talk," Dean gently scolded as he cradled the side of Sam's face and gently turned it from side to side, inspecting the damage that had been done to Sam's neck when he had been strangled.

Sam winced and let out a soft grunt in pain, sluggishly trying to squirm away.

"Hold still," Dean instructed in a quiet yet authoritative tone, swiping a thumb over the finger-shaped marks on Sam's pale throat and trying to quench the overwhelming surge of anger that awoke to new life in his guts.

To think that he might have come too late to prevent this… that he might have come back to find Sammy lying dead on the floor- possibly helping Corbin and Michelle out of the woods to get them to safety because he knew that was what Sam would have wanted him to do.

The thought actually caused Dean to choke up in a mix of anger and emotionality.

"You're a mess, kiddo," Dean rasped out, voice shaky as he took in the dried tear tracks on Sam's blood smeared face. He pulled a fresh banadana from the back of his jeans and folded it before pressing it down on the gunshot wound in Sam's middle and applying pressure.

Sam winced but melted into Dean's touch, completely drained from his energy reserves after Corbin's attack and the events of the past ten minutes.

"Stay with me, okay? We need to get you out of here before you lose too much blood."

Sam hummed a response, head lolling listlessly against the sturdy wooden table he was leaning against and his eyes fluttered closed as he gave in to the strength and comfort of knowing that big brother was here to take care of him- to protect him, now.

Dean sighed and pressed down even harder to stanch the blood flow.

Sam let out a pained moan and Dean shushed him with a soft apology.

"D'n…"

"I know," he soothed, feeling the frantic beat of his brother's faintly racing heart, which wasn't exactly helping the situation they were in.

Cause a rapidly beating heart meant more blood pumping through his body and that meant more blood oozing from the wound and Sammy really couldn't afford that right now.

He was already showing first signs of hypovolemic shock.

"I know it hurts," Dean rubbed his palm over Sam's sternum while his right hand remained splayed at the center of Sam's chest, steadying his brother where he leaned against the table's legs.

"Try to calm down and breathe with me, alright?"

Sam swallowed and let out a gasped breath, sluggishly nodding his head in response.

"D-did you…"

"Sam," Dean cut him off softly. "Save your strength, come on."

"Did you know that he was—" Sam stubbornly forced out, swallowing convulsively when his voice threatened to give out. His lids fluttered open, gaze weary as it refocused on Dean. "Did y-you know he was bitten?"

Did you know he had been bitten before you killed him?

Dean's gaze hardened; the muscle in his nose ticking.

He held Sam's gaze steadily, without doubt or hesitation in his eyes.

"I had a strong suspicion."

Sam's eyes closed, then opened and a sense of weariness settled over his ghostly pale features, making him seem older beyond his years.

It was painful to watch and Dean felt his insides clench with what he knew Sam was thinking.

"W-we don't… 's not w-what we do."

Dean felt his eyes sting and he swallowed against the emotion threatening to choke him as he gave Sam the merest ghost of a smile. "He tried to kill you, Sam. Tell me you wouldn't have done the same if you'd walked into him with his hands wrapped around my neck."

Sam's reaction was delayed but his lips twitched into a tired smile; a flicker of understanding settling deep in those hazel pools; like he was half-saddened and half-comforted by the fact that him and Dean were hopeless when it came to each other.

That there were certain things- like the fact that they would always have each other's backs and do just about anything for the other- that would most likely never change, for as long as they lived.

Dean clenched his jaw, unwilling to apologize for what he had done.

He couldn't lament the killing for someone who'd tried to smother his brother.

Not when Sam's blood was straining his hands and the floor and both of their clothes.

Not when Sam might still be dying tonight, after having risked his life for the very same guy who had tried to kill him.

„You know I have your back. No hipster dude's gonna throttle you on my watch."

In fact, Dean could already feel his brother's blood flow slowing down; finally getting staunched by the pressure he had applied to the wound- the kind of pressure Sam no longer had the strength to supply, but Dean had.

"Michelle," Sam breathed out. "Y-you n-need t'—"

"I'll get her out of here, don't worry. Need to make that litter and she'll have to help me carry you the rest of the way—"

"Dean—" whatever protest was on Sam's lips, Dean stopped him before he could go on.

"Look, Sam. I don't like it either, but that's our only option to get outta here and we need to get you to a doctor," Dean promised, squeezing the back of Sam's sweaty neck. "M' gonna take care of you. M' gonna save you, little brother, even if it's the last goddamn thing I do."

"D'nt make it yer last," Sam mumbled, his gaze surprisingly focused and intense when he stared up at his big brother. "Just... don't."

Then he closed his eyes, trusting Dean to take care of him as he finally gave in to the dark abyss that beckoned.

Dean's smile lingered.

He was going to get Michelle taken care of, build that damn litter, create a make-shift tourniquet for Sam, then carry him the rest of the way to the clearing where Dean had parked the Impala and hightail it to the next clinic.

Because this kid right there- his kid- was worth it all.

Tomorrow morning, all of this would be nothing but a bad memory they were never going to talk about. Tomorrow, Sam would be dosed up on painkillers and chicken noodle soup and buried beneath a bunch of fluffy blankets in Dean's room in the bunker.

They'd lay back and watch some Netflix together and bask in the fact that they had nearly lost each other- again- but hadn't.

Tomorrow they'd be safe and happy in the knowledge that they hadn't lost each other to the grimy side-effects that came with their job.

But tonight, Dean had a job to do.

Taking care of Sammy.

And Dean had every goddamn intention to do just that.

It's where he was at his best.

The End.

Hey, guys! Hoped you liked this AU take on Red Meat. I was so keeping my fingers crossed that Dean was gonna barge into that cabin and wreak some havoc on Corbin. We rarely get protective big bro Dean anymore these days. Reviews would be much appreciated! They always make my day! Thanks for reading.