V. For Sammy.
The fifth time Dean gave blood, it was for Sammy.
There was just blood everywhere. Sammy's blood. Thick and starting to congeal, staining the motel sheets and the wall where the arterial spray had hit before Dean managed to get it under control.
And his bloody hands fumbled through their med kid, digging out the supplies they'd lifted out of a hospital pharmacy almost a year ago. Dean had a moment of panic where he completely blanked on the procedure Sam had explained to him so long ago.
However, it was only a few seconds. Then Dean spotted the card. It was laminated, and the instructions on it were penned in his brother's neat, even script. There were even crudely drawn pictures and diagrams.
Dean burst out laughing out of relief, out of intense love for his geek brother who thought to write down the procedure for drawing blood, laminate it, and store it away for a night such as this one.
He tied the tourniquet tight and missed his vein three times.
He held Sam's cold, limp hand while the bag filled, while he prayed and prayed and tried not to remember that it felt the same as when his brother was dead.
But Sammy wouldn't die tonight. Not again. Not when Dean was there to save him because they shared something more than love, more than their hunts and their road trips and their pranks and their lives.
They shared their blood.
Rarest of them all.