Title: Doing Time

Author: Saberivojo

Characters: Sam, Dean and John

Summary: Dean gets hurt on a hunt but who is to blame?

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Sam had been begging for one month to go to camp. Dad thought it was a stupid idea. It didn't matter that it would help in every single class. His guidance counselor suggested it because this school had some strange participation grade and since Sam came into school so late in the year, Sam thought he needed it. Of course what Sam thought and what Dad thought were at totally different ends of the spectrum. And really, Sam was sure that whatever he thought carried no weight anyway. The only reason Dad fell for it all was because they offered archery. It was the thought that maybe Sam would be able to improve his crossbow skills that was the deciding factor. That and that Dad needed Dean on a hunt. So Sam could be babysat in the woods with counselors and fire rings but only because it fit into John Winchester's game plan. No matter, Sam had a weekend without hunting and Dad. He planned on enjoying every second.

So night number two, Saturday. And the kids are sitting around the fire. The counselors are telling ghost stories, which almost makes Sam laugh out loud. But the night is warm, the stars are bright and if he looks away from the brightness of the fire, something that his father had drilled into him regarding night vision, he can see clearly into the woods. So he moves to the back of the circle, deeper into the woods, lays up against a tree, sinks into the cool, mossy ground. The counselor isn't really a bad storyteller but the Hookman story is one Sam can recite backwards and forwards. Not to mention the guy only has part of the facts right so he just put his head back and tried to zone out. Just relax. And maybe because he is so relaxed, he almost doesn't hear the low hoot owl off to his right. Soft but low, as in sitting on the ground low and that makes no sense at all. Owls did not hoot on the ground.

Suddenly he is very aware, every sense straining into the night, a moment later he hears a slurred "Sammy." And with that Sam backs further away from the fire and into the woods.

It only takes a moment for him to find Dean.

Dean is leaning up against a tree, much like Sam had been a moment ago, but his head is nodding towards his chest in away that seems less relaxed and more exhausted.

Sam scrambles to Dean, hands carefully palpating through down his flannel shirt. "Dean, Jesus, Dean are you okay?"

"M'ok, Sam, Just wanted to check on your sorry ass, s'all"

Sam continues his brief triage. "Fuck, Dean, you are bleeding here. Really bleeding. Where the hell is Dad?"

Sam pulls a bandana from his pocket. It is pretty clean, not perfect, but Sam wants to stop the blood. He quickly folds it into a crude four by four and pushes it against Dean's left shoulder, he pushes hard and is actually satisfied by the hiss as Dean exhales. "Fuck, Sam getthehelloffame." Sam ignores Dean, continues on in his mental checklist of injuries.

"Dean, what'cha got here?" Sam reaches around to the back of Dean's shirt, doesn't feel any kind of an exit wound.

"Just a scrape li'l brother." But Dean is slurring his words, his head lolls even further down and he slumps onto Sam's shoulder. Dean is out for the count, and in the woods, with no back up and no idea what went wrong, Sam feels like just he should just yell up to the campfire to tell someone to call 911. But Sam is a Winchester, and like it or not, family rules run deep, protect each other not only from the shit that goes bump in the night, but from regular people who might not quite understand why Sam is holding his bleeding brother in the middle of the woods at camp Whathefucka or what ever this place is called.

So he checks his brother's carotid. Feels his pulse strong and steady under his fingertips. Good pulse. And he listens carefully, but Dean is breathing a little shallow but strong and despite the blood seeping through the handkerchief, he hasn't lost enough blood to expect him to be bleeding out. What the fuck is going on? Sam reaches around and feels the egg shaped lump on the back of Dean's head, well, that would account for the unconsciousness. Shit where in the hell is dad and what the fuck happened"

Sam slides his hand into Dean's inner jacket pocket and feels for the cell phone that should be there. He pulls it out and frantically dials his father.

Sam hears a distant ring, amazed there is any reception here and then a moment later

"Where the fuck are you?"

"Dad, it's Sam."

"SAM!" Dad is almost bellowing even with the tinny reception.

"Put your brother on the line. Now."

And Sam actually thinks about handing the cell to Dean because fuck, Dad sounds mad and when he says things like now, he usually means it. "Dad, Dean's hurt, probably a concussion, he is bleeding from what looks like a puncture wound and he is unconscious."

"He is with you? – At the camp? Christ Sam, that's a good 20 miles from here. Sam. Keep him stable, stay with him. And for chrisakes, keep him awake. I'll be there as quick as I can."

The line goes dead and isn't that just like Dad. Sure, screw the singing (and yes they are singing in the background now) campfire campers. Screw the fact that Dean is slumped over in the woods and just figure it out, Sam. Wake him the fuck up, Sam. Do what you got to do.

Sam knows his position here is vulnerable. Too close to the camp, not enough cover to keep Dean hidden, not enough of anything really. There is an abandoned cabin about ½ mile through the woods. It was really not much more than a storage shed, but if he could get Dean there, he could at least be able to set up a perimeter.

Sam leans over Dean, he whispers low "Dean, Dean, c'mon, we gotta get our asses out of here."

Dean moans low but doesn't respond. "Dean! Get you ass up!" Sam tries for a John Winchester – like command but he is fourteen for crying out loud and he just doesn't have the growl. Well, shit. He was so hoping not to do this. Sam reached under Dean's coat again, pushes a little on the mostly stopped puncture wound.

"Shhiiittfuuckwhatareyourdoin" That elicits a response and Dean jerks his head back slamming it against the tree.

"Sorry, Dean. This position's not safe. We gotta move." Sam reaches under Dean and tries to pull-drag his brother upright. Dean struggles to get his feet under him then leans his weight on Sam. Sam is strong, small but strong, still Dean feels like a ton of bricks against his shoulder. Sam slings arm behind his brother's belt, uses the leather to help hold him upright.

"So, Sammy, howareya doin'? I was worried about ya." Dean mumbles low as they stagger step toward the general area of the cabin.

"M'fine, Dean. You know. Camp. Swimming. Arts and Crafts. Pony rides if you are really good. Not that big of a deal." Sam shakes his head but continues pushing his brother along.

"Well, Sammy, you can never tell. 'Cause there is shit everywhere. Even out here." Dean nods vaguely in the direction of the camp where the sounds of singing have long since faded.

Dean pauses, leans a bit more on Sam. "Where the fuck is Dad?" Dean seems totally and utterly confused, his head drops a bit more.

"How about we just take a li'l break, Sammy. M'so fuckin' tired." Dean stops forward momentum, just plain stops and Sam thinks he may not be able to get him going again.

"Dean, you can't stop now. The cabin is not too far off."

Dean sways and Sam starts to feel the full weight of his brother against him.

"DEAN!" Sam barks sharp and quick and it snaps his brother's head up, his eyes focusing for a second on Sam.

"Dad is coming, and you better have your ass at that cabin when he gets here. He sounded pissed, Dean. Really pissed so you better get your shit together and move it."

The threat of pissed dad seems to add incentive. Dean straightens up, pulls a little more weight off of his brother and keeps his head more vertical.

There's no more talking, just Sam and Dean's labored breathing. Dean from trying to stand upright and walk, Sam from trying to hold the weight of his heavy-as-shit brother up.

Sam tries to readjust Dean; he can feel the blood seeping through the makeshift bandage. It is running warm and slick down his fingers that are looped around Dean's belt. He thinks for a moment about stopping to check it, but the possibility of losing forward momentum just seems too great.

"C'mon, Dean. Stop being such a pansy assed girl. We' re almost there but if you can't walk a fuckin' straight line, it is gonna take us forever."

Dean throws a look at Sam, with just enough Dean attitude to give Sam hope.

"Fuck. You."

"There ya go. Dean. That's what we need." And Sam grins in spite of the situation and the blood dripping down his arm.

Suddenly, the cabin is ahead of them and Sam doesn't think he has ever been so happy to see a shitty cabin. He struggles up to the door, notices the rusty pad lock that holds the latch. For a minute Sam contemplates kicking the door in, but he opts instead to prop Dean up against the door and pull his set out of his jacket. Sam snickers to himself, Dean is such a boy scout, always prepared. It is open in a second, Sam is good at this, he pushes the door open and it swings in, offering a tiny cabin with a lone bed up against the wall, paint cans and tools taking up most of the space.

Sam retrieves Dean's slumping body and drag shuffles him to the bed. Carefully he tries to lay Dean down, but his body is big and once he starts heading down gravity takes over and he lands with a chuff. Dust billows from around the sagging mattress.

"Oww."

"Oww? that's all you got, Dean." But Sam grabs a chair and slides it up to his brother.

He reaches over, touches Dean's forehead briefly with the back of his hand checking for fever. Dean lazily swats Sam's hand away.

"Leme alone."

"Sure, Dean."

Sam reaches under the jacket, notices the bleeding is slowing down again. A moment later Dean starts to drift off.

Sam calls Dad, gives him the coordinates of the cabin. He should be here soon fifteen minutes tops.

"Dean, Dad's on his way. Wake up, Dude. I think you will have some explaining to do."

"Just worried 'bout you, Sam. It's all good."

"Hey, Dean. Did ja'get it?"

"Yeah. Got it."

There in this dusty cabin, with his brother still bleeding slightly into a bandana it occurs to Sam that this could only be Winchester thing. This was fucking camp for chrisakes. CAMP and here he is waiting for his father to show up, to patch up Dean and to send Sam back to a fire circle of campers. Still, Dean got it. Whatever it was, Dad and Dean got it so it shouldn't feel this bad.

Except it kind of does.

It shouldn't have to be this way. He is a camp. He is not even on a fucking hunt and still it comes to him.

He watches his brother's rhythmic breathing and thinks it is okay. Really weird. Fucked up. But okay.

He shakes his head, sighs and listens for the familiar sound of the Impala growling up to the cabin.

Whatever