It's All Right, I'm Only Bleeding

Okay, here's my weak attempt at the sequel to "Sometimes it hurts, Sometimes it doesn't". I've been suffering from a writer's block (again) and kinda still do. Thought I'd post this little teaser though and hope a little feedback will release me from the clutches of hell. Be gentle.

- Kel


It's Alright, I'm Only Bleeding

He crossed the street, eyes closed and still counting, relying on muscle memory to take him there. And…5056. He stopped, pulled his jacket closer around him and blinked rapidly before squeezing his eyes shut again at the rain. Then he opened them, let the raindrops gather on his lashes and fall down his face like tears guys didn't cry. He'd come here before, lots of times, and it was never enough.

Five more steps and he'd be at the door. 5061 steps in 23 minutes. Only there was nothing left for him there and time didn't matter. The house was empty, quiet and dark, its inhabitants long gone.

Time had been merciless. Weather and wind and the occasional squatters had ravaged the house; its wood rotten and its paint in cracks, falling off. Graffiti covered the house, obscene images and messages had been spray painted across the front door like some kind of twisted bulletin board. Planks that someone had nailed carefully over the windows once had been torn off and the windows smashed, shards of broken glass still lying scattered on the front lawn. This was the punishment. And instead of being directed at the people that had lived there, it had been directed at the house and it hadn't hurt a soul. Except him. Life wasn't fair and justice almost never served.

He ran a cold hand through dark brown hair as his eyes travelled the length of the house. He sighed heavily then slipped his hands in his pockets and walked away.


"Dean, get it together, dammit!"

Dean Winchester could hardly make out the shape of his father from across the room. The smoke that surrounded them was thick, scorching hot and burned his eyes. Tears from heat and terror made his vision blurry and his throat was raw and aching from inhaling way too much smoke. He coughed helplessly into the darkness and unable to cover his mouth inhaled another lungful of black smoke. He squeezed his arms tighter around his unconscious brother and pulled again, trying harder this time to ignore the burn of the flames around them.

"C'mon Sammy," he panted softly, "Gotta get your heavy ass outta here."

Dean struggled with his burden a few more steps until finally he reached his father. John grabbed his leg and pulled him back against the wall with a painful hiss.

"Get yourself and your brother out of here now!"

His dad was in a lot of pain - Dean could tell. The way his face scrunched up as he spoke, his words all slurry and drunken sounding was making Dean's pulse race. The thumping of heartbeats in his ears got so bad it was drowning out everything else. John wouldn't make it out of there, not without help. And by the look of things, neither would he or his brother.


"To love someone unconditionally is to give constantly and never expect anything in return."

Sam awoke to the flurry of activity surrounding him. He opened his eyes but couldn't see anything but a blur of indefinable shapes swish past him. Weird noises and loud, strangely warped, voices added to the utter confusion as to his whereabouts. He twisted slightly on his back and jerked suddenly when something brushed against his arm. The contact brought him an intense pain, like fire, and he growled and swatted sluggishly at the source of his agony. Warm fingers closed around his wrists then, squeezing softly, and a gentle soothing voice filtered in through the noise. It was like he was underwater and all he could make out was 'Sam', but whoever they were they knew his name and that was comfort enough. He rolled onto his back, immediately calm, and let the soft voice lull him back to sleep. He never felt the strong arms wrap around him and lift him off the ground, nor was he aware that he was outside.

The next time he woke it was to a horrible headache so bad it felt like his eyes would throb out of his skull. He groaned and then there was movement next to him and a hand came to rest on his shoulder.


Sam grunted, shocked, but oh so happy, because that was his dad, alive and well and the last thing Sam remembered was the werewolf charging at them after his brother had missed the shot, silver bullet cutting into a furry arm instead of the creature's heart.

"Son, can you hear me?" John's voice was hoarse and his breathing heavy like he had to force every breath.

Sam wanted to respond, he really did. But his throat ached and he could barely form a thought around the pounding in his skull.