One Second

By infinite shadow

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Supernatural and it characters. They belong to Eric Kripke, and everyone down the line from him from there. No money was made from this and since I haven't worked in almost six months you could try and sue but there's nothing to get.

Author's Notes: This came out of nowhere the other day while musing over chapter 14 of Shadow. It's pretty short but I hope it's enjoyable.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

You wouldn't have known to look at him now as he sat on the edge of his bed at four thirty seven in the morning watching his little brother sleep just how badly his yesterday had gone.

He rubbed a hand over his face as the cold wash of fear swept over him again. He took a stuttering breath, wished the nausea away and sat frozen to his spot. His eyes were glued to Sammy's chest as it rose and fell with each breath. Up and down. Occasionally his eyes would move to his face and see his brother's eyes dart back and forth behind his eye lids in dreams.

Fearful it was only an illusion he slowly moved from one bed to the other. A shaking hand reached out and touched warm living skin. Dean let out another shaky breath.

It wasn't like it was the first close call on a hunt they'd had. Not by far. He could write a book on the times he'd had to perform various kinds of first aid on his little brother. Stitches, breaks, concussions, Sam was known for running the range with a consistency that was scary. Kid was a walking wound at times waiting to happen. There wasn't a hunt that he didn't come out with some kind of injury.

This hunt though had been different. It had been the first real hunt they'd done without Dad. He'd believed in that one second that Sammy...

Dean shook his head hard as he squeezed his eyes shut. Sammy was here, safe, breathing and virtually unscathed. Everything was fine.

It was just that he hadn't been ...

He pushed the thought away.

His burning eyes closed for the first time since that one shot had rang out in the silence. It was only the warmth of Sammy's skin beneath his hand that he allowed his eyes to close. It was proof that his little brother was alive and with him.

The whole thing had made him twitchy, keeping Sammy in his sights and almost within reach since leaving the cemetery. Kid seemed to have understood though. Hadn't even argued when Dean insisted it was time to get on the road. He wouldn't, couldn't stay there.

He grinned slightly. Sammy had only allowed him to drive for two hours until he bitched enough for him to stop for the night.

Sam sighed in his sleep and Dean was brought out of his thoughts. The warm arm under his hand proved Sammy was alive. Even so he concentrated on his younger brother's chest he breathed in and out.

He sighed softly and brought his free hand to rub at his tired eyes.

It was just supposed to be a simple salt and burn. Granted thinking something was simple was usually the first step towards a life threatening injury. Dean's chin dipped towards his chest.

It hadn't been that hard to find the grave. They'd dug it up, opened the casket, doused the bones with lighter fluid and that had been it for Dean. He'd been flung through the air backwards until indescribable pain had shot through his back. Iron rails tore through his jacket and clothes. They left gashes in his skin until finally stopping on the collar of his jacket. Leaving him hanging there, screaming through clenched teeth and knowing what it meant to be flayed alive.

"Dean!" Sam yelled and started towards him.

He forced himself to take a breath. "Finish it!" He shouted and watched long enough to see his little brother to turn back towards the grave. Closing his eyes he panted through the pain for a few moments before he tried to even move.

His back was soaked. He could feel the blood slowly streaming down and soaking into his jeans. Dean knew he had to get down and finish the job and he started twisting slightly right and left. It didn't make a difference except for additional pain in his back.

Looking up he expected to see a faint glow coming from the grave but there was nothing. "C'mon Sam. What's the hold up?" He mumbled to himself.

He looked around and saw his little brother. "You have got to be kidding me," he growled through clenched teeth.

Samuel Winchester, demon hunter, had his hands up in the universal I surrender gesture, staring down the barrel of Dean's favoured shotgun and was talking to the ghost.

"Talking. You're frigging talking to it? I am so going to kick your ass six ways from Sunday after I ream you a new one," Dean swore as he frowned and squinted to look closer at the weapon. "That's my shotgun, damn it. You better remember what's in that one dumb ass."

Dean wrenched himself from side to side. He felt the material give slightly and he slipped down the bars slightly. He bit down on a scream, his eyes squeezed shut, as he felt more skin tear off his back. He could feel blood running down his back to his legs. His jeans were soaked and it was a bitch to get blood out of clothing.

He panted at the fresh pain and forced his eyes to open.

Sam was shaking his head quickly back and forth. He was talking fast and Dean knew this was going from bad to worse really quick.

He struggled even harder to get off the railing, doing his best to ignore the pain. He kept his focus on his little brother who just the other day told him he wanted to study to be a lawyer. "Time to put those special skills to task Sammy. Just hold it off until I can get there," he whispered.

Sam froze just before the area seemed to light up in a bright flash. The all too familiar report of a shotgun being fired made Dean stop breathing. He blinked furiously as darkness descended once again. Sammy was gone out of sight.

"SAM!" He screamed. "SAMMAY!"

There was no answer, just a quiet echoing of his voice mixing in with the echo of the gunshot.

He reached behind him and he could only get one hand to curl around one of the bars. He braced himself on that hand as he brought the souls of his feet up on the rails and pushed off. He heard the last of the fabric rip away and suddenly he was face first on the ground.

It took a moment to draw a breath but once he had, he pushed himself to his knees and then to his feet. He ignored the pain in his back as best as he could as he ran towards where he'd seen Sammy last.

Knowing the ghost was still around he dug a rock shot shell out of his pocket and opened it. He dropped the useless casing and made himself run faster.

He still couldn't see him. The gun had gone off and Dean had lost sight of him. Sammy should be getting up, why wasn't he getting up?

As he reached the open grave the ghost flickered to life above it and aimed the shotgun towards him.

"NO!" Dean yelled as he threw the salt into the air dispersing the ghost's energy. He flicked the lighter on, dropped it as he ran past the grave and was on his knees next to his little brother.

The ghost had used his gun which had regular consecrated iron rounds in it. His gun had shot Sammy. His little brother had been shot. Oh god. Oh god.

"Sammy? C'mon. Sammy?" Dean whispered as he glanced over him looking for any obvious wounds. The older sibling was shaking badly. Why wasn't his brother moving?

His left hand dug for a pulse while the other looked for the bullet wounds from the shot. Only there wasn't a wound and he found a strong pulse. "Sammy?" He whispered feeling confused and relieved.

His fingers touched a sticky wound on the side of his little brother's head and as he looked up he realized Sam had hit it on the grave marker as he'd gone down.

"Jesus kid. Are you trying to give me grey hair before I hit twenty?" Dean asked softly and then tapped his cheek softly. "Wake up, Sammy."

When his brother showed no signs of waking Dean sighed. He checked him as thoroughly as he could. Satisfied he wasn't bleeding internally or his life wasn't in immediate danger he put a hand on his little brother's shoulder. "Do I actually have to do everything?" He asked as he sat back on his haunches not relishing the idea of filling in the grave on his own.

"Ok. You sleep it off princess but I am not carrying your sorry ass to the car," Dean said as he patted his shoulder. "You are walking back and carrying all the supplies."

"Dean?"

Wait that wasn't right, Sam was out cold. The older Winchester blinked a few times and he was back in the motel room.

Sam had woken up and was looking at him confused. "Are you ok? Is it your back?" He asked as he moved into a sitting position.

Dean swallowed heavily trying to find his voice. Sam hadn't died by his shot gun, even though for a few moments he really thought he had, but Sammy was right here. Dean took a shaky breath.

"Dean?" Sam asked. "Hey."

"I thought," Dean said then shook his head as he heard the report of his shotgun and saw Sam disappear in his head again. "Never mind. Go back to sleep. I'm sorry I woke you."

"You didn't," Sam said as he watched his brother stand up.

"Go back to sleep," Dean repeated softly as he went into the bathroom and closed the door softly behind him. He was in there for a while trying to get his emotions under control. How stupid was this. Sam hadn't even been shot. He was alive, had a nice bruise along his hairline, but he wasn't even concussed. He'd had worse injuries in training for god's sake.

When he figured he'd given his little brother time to go back to sleep he came out of the bathroom only to find all the lights of the motel room were on. Sam was awake, dressed and had the TV on.

"Don't know about you but I'm not all that tired anymore," Sam said indifferently. "X-Files is on."

"Yeah?" Dean said as he gingerly sat back on his bed.

Sam nodded. "How's the back."

"Fine. How's the head."

"Fine."

"You sure? Cause you went down kinda hard," Dean said as the opening credits started.

"Yeah well so did you," Sam said quietly. "I've never heard you scream like that."

Dean closed his eyes and sighed. "Its fine Sam," he said. As much as his back hurt, he could still hear the shot gun go off over and over. He couldn't help but look over every few minutes to reassure himself that Sammy was still there with him.

"Ok enough," Sam muttered.

"What?" Dean said.

Sam shook his head as he stood up and made his way over to the bed. "Do you see me?"

"Um yeah. And you're blocking the TV."

"Then what is your problem?" Sam asked.

"You're blocking the TV," Dean answered.

Sam pursed his lips as he stared down at him. Knowing his older brother wouldn't tell him what was wrong he went around to the other side of the bed and sat down. He stretched his legs out and leaned against the headboard. He shifted so his shoulder barely touched his brothers. "I'm fine Dean, ok? I'm right here and I'm fine. The ghost didn't get me. I dropped just like you taught me to, ok?"

Dean closed his eyes for a second and took a breath. "Course you did princess. But if it makes you feel better you can stay there for a bit," he said with a slight smile.

He could feel the warmth from his brother right next to him and he no longer heard the shotgun. The pain in his back lessened and he seemed to relax. Sam was here and he really was fine.