Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or the characters …

Author's Note: I have all these short half started fics on my computer and I think to myself that I'll finish one – it'll only take an hour or two …yeah, right ...a few days later and here I am. Now, fair warning – swear words – I tried to cut most of them out, but a few refused to be banished.

A special note to pandora jazz, one of my most valued reviewers (yes, I appreciate everything you say and I do try …really I do) – I know you're not going to like the interaction between the brothers in this chapter. Fair warning.

Summary: The brother's have a petty argument and Sam ends up getting hurt - bleeding out and fearing that Dean hates him. Limp Sam. Dean aged 18, Sam 14

Bleeding Out

by Kokoda2007

Chapter 1

"You've got some nerve Sam."

Sam looked up from the book he was studying. "What?"

"Give it back." Dean held out his hand.

Sam gave his brother an odd look. "Don't know what you're talking about," he shot back before returning his attention to his text.

"Now Sam." Dean made no attempt to hide the seething anger in his voice as he stepped in closer.

Sam raised his eyes as his book was roughly knocked from his lap by his brother's hand.

"What the fuck Dean? I've got to have that finished before school tomorrow." Sam rose and faced his brother.

"Fuck school Sam. Give me back the knife."

"What knife?" Sam asked in puzzlement for the first time taking in just how angry Dean seemed, his brother's body coiled tight with tension.

"What god damn knife do you think Sam? The one Dad gave me."

"Dad's old hunting knife?"

"Don't play stupid with me. Now give it to me before I skin your scrawny ass alive."

"Sorry, don't have it."

"It's just you and me Sam, and I know I didn't hide my own god damn knife, it doesn't take a genius to work out that you're the thief 'round here."

"Well it wasn't me." Sam was starting to feel his own anger rising.

"Just give it to me Sam ...don't make me ask again"

"I said I didn't have it …" Sam stumbled, surprised when his brother gave him a forceful shove backwards.

"I swear to god Sam, if you don't give it back right now…"

"You'll what Dean, punch me?"

Dean clenched his fists, imagining doing just that. "Sam!"

"Yeah, well fuck you Dean." Sam faced his brother, nearly equal now in height if not in bulk. Their Dad was away, he didn't need to take this crap from his brother. Turning away from his brother's angry stance he strode with purpose out of the room. Reaching the front door, he looked back at his brother, who remained rigid and angry, and gave him the finger before yanking open the door and stepping outside. He slammed the front door closed, leaving behind some of his own frustration and rising anger.

The snow hit him as soon as he stepped away from the cover of the porch. He wished he'd though to grab his jacket, but leaving the warmth of the house hadn't really been high on his agenda for the afternoon. He didn't know what his brother's problem was but he wanted no part of it. Shit, Dean had looked ready to hit him and he hadn't driven his brother to that level of violence for a good few years. At least that last time he'd kind of deserved it. Pulling apart Dean's collection of revolvers and using the barrels to make cannons for his plastic army of soldiers hadn't been his brightest idea. Maybe if he hadn't used mud to stick them into the pretend hills of dirt Dean wouldn't have been so mad. But hell, he'd only been six or seven at the time. Surely they'd put that incident behind them.

This time he didn't have a clue what Dean was talking about. Sure, he knew the knife his brother cosseted like it was cast from gold; the knife their father had given to him and that he'd used on his first real hunt. God Dean loved that knife, sleeping with it beside his bed the first week ater he got it, as if afraid to let it out of his sight. But he hadn't taken it. Hadn't even touched the thing. He wasn't a complete idiot.

Tucking his freezing hands under his arms he wondered how long it would take his brother to cool down. He wanted nothing more than to turn around right now and get out of the cold, but facing Dean in his current mood wasn't really an option.

He jumped up and down on the spot for a moment before heading down the street at a brisk pace. He'd walk to the corner and back, and hopefully that'd give Dean enough time to find something else to focus on. He knew his brother well enough to know when to back off and give him a little space.

Dean had been more uptight than usual since their latest move, or at least he was letting the cracks show a little more. Their Dad uprooted them as per usual, right in the middle of school term. Hell, he was the one that should be pissed; Dean didn't even care that much about school.

There was nothing unusual about the small house their dad had found for them, it fit all their standard parameters – cheap and run down. But their dad had really done a run and dump job on them this time. They'd barely had time to bring their bags in from the car and their Dad had already started making plans to leave them – new house, new town, new hunt – nothing new there. Apparently there was a job a few towns over that just couldn't wait. A few garbled instructions accompanied the crumpled bills dropped on the table before their Dad strode out the door, promising to be back within the week. Another broken promise it seemed, as they'd been alone now for ten days.

Money was getting tight. Tighter than usual, but they were used to making a few dollars stretch. Macaroni could go a long way towards filling empty stomachs if you ignored the cravings for variety or vegetables. He judged that on current rations they probably had a couple more days before even the macaroni ran dry, probably longer if Dean kept up with the pool hustling he was doing in the local bar on the side.

Dean always got grumpy when food was in short supply and he supposed he could understand – Dean loved to eat. It seemed to be his greatest passion in life – that along with cars, music and girls – probably in that order.

Deep down, he knew it was their Dad that Dean was really pissed at, and that he was just in the line of fire. Dean had had his heart set on joining the hunt, but had been left behind, again. According to their Dad 'Sam' wasn't responsible enough to be left alone for more than a day or two, so Dean had been shafted into the role of reluctant babysitter, and he was letting Sam know his feelings on the matter with utmost clarity. Yeah, like it was Sam's fault.

Sam stopped and turned as a beat up van pulled to a stop beside him.

"Hey kid."

"Yeah?" He answered tentatively, taking a step back on looking around and seeing he was alone in the street.

"Which way …can ya give me directions to the closest gas station?"

"Just ah follow this road to the end and turn left …then ah go right at the lights …can't miss it."

"I'm not real good with directions; can ya show me on this here map?" The man waved the map out the window, before opening the door and jumping out of the van when Sam didn't show any inclination to move.

Sam took a step back as the man advanced.

"Hey, just help a man out here will ya."

When the man wavered on his feet, Sam took it as his cue to bolt.

He'd under estimated the man's speed and agility. Thick fingers grabbed his arm and he was jolted backwards, barely managing to remain on his feet. The strong stench of sweat and alcohol assaulted his senses as he felt himself being dragged towards the road and waiting van.

"Let me go." Sam struck out with his free arm, connecting his fist with the man's jaw.

He struggled to free his trapped arm, pulling against the restraint, but the man was stronger than he looked and his grip just tightened, another hand wrapping around his neck and pressing a sharp blade against the side of his throat. A small trickle of blood welled from below the blade as the firm pressure was increased, succeeding in bringing his struggles to an end.

Retaliation for striking out was instantaneous. He was swung around and slammed into the side of the van, his arm twisted behind his back. The man pushed up behind him and he felt the fetid breath on his neck as the man leant down to whisper in his ear. "You'll shut the fuck up if you know what's good for ya."

Panic suffused his body as he felt suddenly helpless under the man's restraint.

A sharp jab caught him in the lower back and he gasped out, trying to breathe through the pain. He wanted to cry out but with each small sound he made the knife cut in a little deeper, a steady stream of blood now running down his neck.

"Get in." The knife withdrew as the man reached down to open the van door, pushing Sam towards the opening.

He knew this was it, maybe his last chance to make a run for it. Playing docile just wasn't the Winchester way.

He kicked a leg out backwards, getting a direct hit on the man's groin and felt a measure of satisfaction at the low groan the man emitted as he bent over in pain.

Taking his chance he spun round and kicked out at the man again, only to be caught off balance as the man barrowed into him, again knocking him into the side of the van. He threw up an elbow, connecting with the man's chin, the crunch of bone on bone a satisfying sound. When he pulled away, the sharp slice of the knife across his arm barely registered as he focused on getting free.

"Ya not fucking worth it," he heard the man mutter as he stumbled free, his attacker nursing his chin, a trickle of blood leaking from his nose. "Not fucking worth it…"

He didn't look back, didn't check to see if he was being followed, he just ran like the hell hounds were after him until he reached the safety of the house.

With the blood pumping erratically through his body, he rushed inside, only breathing a little easier when the door shut securely behind him. He reached down and turned the lock, leaned back against the door and took a few measured breaths to try and get his hammering heart to return to normal.

"That you Sam?" Dean called from the kitchen.

"Yeah," he yelled back, still breathless.

"You decided to stop being a little bitch and give me back my knife?"

He felt the liquid warmth on his arm and looked down to see the spreading stain of red through his shirt. Fuck.

Pushing up his shirt sleeve he was horrified to see the extent of the injury – a large cut sliced through the skin along his forearm, from elbow to wrist, blood pooling in the open wound. He pushed the shirt back down and gripped his arm firmly, biting his bottom lip to hold in the whimpers of pain. He took a few steadying breaths, trying to get himself under control – Winchester's didn't cry.

"Dean?" He tried not to sound whiney as he called his brother's name.

"Just give me back the knife and we'll call it quits." The resigned voice called from the adjoining room in reply.

As the adrenaline moved through his body he started feeling shaky and a little light headed and he slid his body down the door until he was sitting on the cold floorboards. A slight tremor shook him and he realised he was still cold from his time spent outside, the indoor heating doing little to warm his body.

He rested his arm on his bent knees and turned unfocused eyes on the blood that now seeped between his fingers, his shirt sleeve completely saturated in the dark liquid. He watched mesmerised as the blood flow started to move towards his jeans and a few stray drops splashed on the scuffed timber floor below. He knew he should be doing something, anything, but couldn't seem to find the strength to move.

"Dean? …Dean, I ah …I think …Dean?" Faint mumbled words whispered from his lips.

It had been a mistake to go out without his jacket on, he thought as a shiver racked across his skin. He wondered why the heating wasn't on as the cold took a grip on his body.

He wasn't feeling so good.

His arms fell to his sides and he leant his head forwards towards his knees as the room started swimming before him, the undulating movements making him feel nauseous.

He needed Dean.

Dean would fix things …he always did.

Then the niggling at the back of his mind reminded him that Dean hated him at the moment. That his brother wanted to punch him.

He felt the remaining warmth leach from his body.

To be continued…

Author's Note: I'm happy to say that the draft of Chapter 2 is already complete – just some final tweaking being done.

Reviews are love.