Supernatural One Shots

Red-Hot i/f

There's too many things going against them.

Sam's leg hasn't stopped bleeding.

They have no idea where they are.

The snow is getting thicker.

It's getting darker.

The wendigo is still on their ass.

Dean doesn't think of it as giving up, more as taking a break and trying not to die. "All right, Sasquatch. We're gonna stop here for a few minutes." They make their way to a tall tree, Sam limping, an arm over Dean's shoulder. He lowers his younger brother to the ground underneath the tree where there isn't much snow. Sam's shaking violently, and Dean hopes it's because of the snow, not shock threatening to settle in.

"N-no, Dean," he protests through chattering teeth as Dean starts shrugging off his jacket. "You'll freeze."

"Shut up, Sam." He lays his jacket over Sam's shuttering frame. He reaches up and starts breaking off branches for a fire, tossing them on the ground. Dean thanks God the branches aren't to wet for his to start a fire. The brothers sit silently, letting the heat from the flames warm them.

Thoughts circle in Dean's mind. Their best chance of making it out alive is to stay here, keeping watch for the Wendigo until sunrise. But then there's the problem of Sam's leg. Dean glances discretely at his brother. Sam is still shivering and pale, eyes squeezed shut, but not making a sound. Dean can see the snow turning red with Sam's blood. That decides it.

"All right, Sammy." With the help of the knife, Dean rips Sam's jeans further to see the cut better. It's not good. It's really, really not good. The blood keeps flowing, soaking into the ground and the surrounding snow. Dean has no choice and he has to do it quickly. "All right, Sammy, try to relax, okay?" Sam nods jerkily.

Dean glances at his brother who eyes are still tightly shut. "Sammy," he says. He can't help the nickname that slips out of his lips every time something's wrong. He takes out his lighter and flicks it on, running it underneath the blade. Sam looks up and his eyes widen. He pushes back against the tree.

"Dean, please," he begs. Dean can't stand to cause his brother pain, but he has to do it and he has to do it now. This happened to Dean years ago; he remembers it vividly. The pain was worse than the injury itself. Stitches would've been better. The healing process wasn't that great either. And Sam knows all this because he was there. He watched his brother, his brother who was braver than anyone he knew, suffer through this. All Sam can do is give him that puppy dog look. It almost works.

Dean kneels down next to his brother, the knife glowing red hot in his hand. Sam can't take his eyes off it. "Hey, look at me," Dean commands. "Don't look at that, look at me." Sam's eyes are already brimming with tears. The pain, the blood loss, the cold are all getting to him; it's too much. "I'll make it quick, okay?" Sam nods.

Dean thinks a minute. When he does this, Sam won't be Sam anymore. He'll scream and thrash and do anything to get away. So Dean straddles Sam, sitting on his shins so he won't be able to move. Dean spares a glance at Sam. He's clenching his jaw, pale, eyes slightly glazed over but fixed on Dean. "Everything'll be okay. I swear, okay?" Sam nods stiffly.

Without hesitation, Dean presses the flat of the blade against the injury. Sam screams. He blindly reaches out and grabs Dean's arm in a death grip, desperately trying to make the pain stop. When Dean finally takes the blade away, everything is quiet and Sam's hand has fallen into his lap; he passed out. Worse, he stopped shivering. He's going into shock. Dean curses.

"Alright, you son of a bitch!" he shouts. "Come and get it already." He holds the flamethrower out, ready to toast this sucker. "Come on, you cannibalistic freak! You killed enough people; now it's your turn!" There's movement about ten yards away. Then the beast runs out of the woods, straight at Dean. It's fast, but he's faster.