Hey guys, I know it's been a while since I've posted anything on this story and I greatly apologize for that! :/ This story was inspired by the song Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons!
I don't own Supernatural or anything affiliated!
I'm bleeding out as if the last thing that I'll do
Is bring you down
I bleed out for you
So I bear my skin and I count my sins and I close my eyes and I take it in
I'm bleeding out
I bleed out for you
Sam Winchester knew he was dying, and not only that, but he was alone too. He wasn't afraid of dying, that was more of an occupational hazard than anything else. But being alone was on the list of Sam Winchester's top three fears. It was right up there under losing Dean and clowns. He lay in the damp, smelly alleyway behind a blue dumpster, staring up at the sky as white dots danced in his vision, berating himself for leaving the motel room without even a switchblade or pocket knife to defend himself with. Not that it would have done any good. The shotgun, wielded haphazardly by the mugger, had blasted straight through his right shoulder, tearing bone and muscle like flimsy pieces of paper. On the off chance that he survived, and that was a very low chance, Sam knew his right arm would never work properly again.
He writhed slightly as a particularly bad flash of pain traveled through him and wished that the mugger hadn't taken his phone, so he could call his brother. Not for help, Sam knew he was past help. He just wanted to hear Dean's voice one more time before he faded away.
He couldn't remember what the argument had been about. Something trivial. It was always something trivial. Tensions had been high between the two brothers lately for no other reason than the fact that they were two alpha males sharing the same living and eating space 25/7 and both wanted to feel like they were in charge. Sam figured this was some sort of punishment for the venomous words he'd thrown at Dean involving Ben and Lisa before he had promptly been clocked in the face. He was pretty sure his nose was broken. Not that it mattered anyway.
He was always causing Dean some sort of grief, always pulling him down. Sam knew that as soon as Dean realized that his younger brother hadn't returned to the room, he would go out and look for Sam. And the younger man also had no doubts about Dean's tracking abilities. He always found a way to get to Sam. It was one of the things Sam loved about his brother. But when Dean found him this time, pale and cold in some back alley, he would lose it. He would try to make another deal with a demon, or maybe he'd just drink himself to death. Either way, Sam knew that even in death, he was still dragging his brother down, holding him back.
He had always been Dean's burden, ever since he was a baby and that fire had taken their mother. Sam knew that Dean didn't look at it that way, but that's how it was and anyone looking in from the outside would clearly see that. Sam was the weak one. Sam was the one who always needed to be taken care of. He was horribly dependent, and that was sucking the life and energy out of his older brother slowly but surely.
Another flash of pain shot through him, causing an involuntary groan. The puddle of sticky blood beneath him was growing at an alarming rate and the edges of his mind were starting to get fuzzy. His memories started to fade, and suddenly he couldn't remember those nights with Jess. That hurt much more than any bullet wound.
Even as his memories started to blacken, one glaring figure stood out clear in his mind. Dean. Dean was his anchor, the one holding him on earth, the one keeping him sane. And how was Sam repaying him? By getting shot in some dark alley and bleeding to death. Nice Sam, real good way to pay him back.
Sam wondered vaguely if there was anything he was good at. Killing. Sam was a damn good hunter, maybe one of the best ones out there. But only because his partner was Dean, and the two worked together better than peanut butter and jelly. And while he was good at his job, he'd let a lot of innocent people die in the process. Meg Masters, Pamela, Jo and Ellen Harvelle, Madison, Ava. The list went on and on. Sam probably couldn't really do anything right. It was all Dean, he was just a burden. Maybe it was for the best that he was dying.
Sam had never imagined bleeding to death. It was slow and cruel, almost torturous to lay there, unable to move, and think of all the mistakes he'd made and how many lives those mistakes had cost. But finally, it came. His mind faded into nothing and Sam fell into a state of numb bliss.
"Sammy! Come on little brother, don't do this." Sam knew that voice, and though he couldn't put a face or name to it, he struggled to focus on whatever it was saying. "Sammy, wake up. Please don't do this, don't leave me. You can't leave me, bud." The voice was crying and Sam felt a slight pressure on his shoulder through his numb state. "WAKE UP SAMMY!" The voice snapped in a loud holler. Something clicked in Sam's mind, something subconscious. It had been ingrained in his mind all miserable twenty four years of his life that when his brother gave him an order, he was to follow it. So Sam grasped onto the voice and pulled himself to the surface.
With consciousness came a blinding pain so harsh that Sam's back arched off the ground and a howl of agony ripped from his chest.
"De…" He panted, his left hand weakly reaching up. A wet hand grabbed his and Sam pried his hands open to see his older brother crouched above him. One hand was holding a wadded shirt tightly to his right shoulder and the other, covered in Sam's blood, was grasping Sam's hand tightly.
"It's okay, help is coming." Dean assured, his voice breaking. Tears dripped from his eyes and Sam panicked. Why was Dean crying? Dean never cried. "Jesus Sam, look at you. I can't leave you alone for two seconds can I? And you've gone and ruined my shirt." He forced a chuckle past the intrusive lump in his throat, but it sounded more like a choked sob.
"Sorry." Sam muttered abashedly, eyes fluttering as he struggled to stay awake. "I didn't…sorry." He finally settled on 'sorry', unable to make words.
"You owe me a new one when you get better, dude." When, not if. And that was the confidence that kept Sam awake until the paramedics arrived. It was the confidence that kept him breathing, even when everything was yelling at him to just give up. Because he wasn't about to drag Dean down again. No, this time, he'd pull through for Dean. He would always pull through for Dean.