H/C Bingo Asphyxiation

'Must be Freakin' Thursday' Was the first thought Dean had when he saw the specter's hand reach around Sam's neck and squeeze. He started to cross the small field, but the spector turned to him and with a wave of it's free hand Dean was suddenly airborne. A sudden stop against a large tree left Dean's vision blurred. By the time it cleared, he could see Sam's struggles beginning to slow down.

"Son of a bitch!" Moving closer, Dean checked the ground for one of the iron knives they were both carrying when they'd started the hunt. Not seeing either one, he decided to go with plan B. Moving quickly, he threw his entire body weight at the spector. The results were immediate. Another sudden stop and a fall to the ground. This fall left his ears ringing, but a sharp pain in his side told him where Sam's iron knife had fallen. Gripping it tightly, Dean stood to his full height and plunged the knife in the back of the spector. An ungodly shriek accompanied the sight of the spector falling to the ground.

Dean literally kicked the spector out of his way and dragged Sam clear of the body. He couldn't see Sam's color in the dark, but a hand over his brother's mouth told him that the man wasn't breathing.

"Shit." Quickly Dean tilted Sam's head back and gripped his nose. A short breath into his mouth, then a check for a pulse. Sam's heart was beating, but there was no inhale to follow. "Don't you fuckin' do this to me, Sammy. Come on!" Another breath.

Nothing.

Dean could feel panic rising, but his mind kept trying to convince him that he wouldn't be any use to Sam if he let the emotion take over. A third breath and he was rewarded by Sam literally coughing into his face.

"That's it. That's my boy." He patted Sam's back while the younger hunter rolled onto his side and coughed violently. A large hand reached out and used Dean's arm to pull himself to sit up. For a few minutes the older brother simply held Sam and watched his breaths even out.

"You back?"

A shaggy head of hair nodded.

"Good breathing for two is a bitch."

When Sam finally spoke, his voice was raspy and low. "Please tell me you did NOT use tongue."

"Don't worry, little brother, I'm not about to end your dry spell of not getting any action. Come on, let's get back to the car so I can see the damage." Hauling Sam to his feet, Dean led him in the direction of the Impala.

The world seemed to tilt and Sam stumbled.

"Jesus, Sasquatch. Gonna tip us over."

"I'm fine."

"Yeah. I know. I know. You could be laying on the ground with blood gushing from bones sticking out and you'd tell me you're fine."

"Just like my big-" Another coughing fit took over and Sam stopped.

By the time they reached the Impala, Dean's side was beginning to burn. He pulled the door open and helped Sam drop into the passenger seat. The sudden change in altitude sent the world spinning again for the younger Winchester and he reached for Dean. His hand made contact with the wound and Dean flinched.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine." Reaching for a flashlight, Dean began to inspect the damage to his brother's neck.

With a laugh that turned into another cough, Sam shook his head. "I'm fine, you're fine. They'll find us tomorrow dead of being fine."

Running to the trunk, Dean pulled the first aid kit and a bottle of water. "At least I change it up, Sammy. You just flaunt that gorgeous neck of yours and the big bads can't resist. Drink."

Obeying his brother, Sam reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. With an expression Dean called bitchface #34, he reached for the pills in the outstretched hand.

"Gonna have to get some ice on you. Swelling's gonna be a bitch. Hopefully between ice and the meds we can keep you breathing on your own." Dean moved around the car to the drivers' door, shoving a towel in his jacket to stop any bleeding from the knife.

"What about the spector?"

"Fuck him. I'll come back later and burn his ass. Nobody comes out here since the murders started, anyway."

It was a quick trip back to the hotel and once they were inside, Dean wrapped ice in a towel and handed it to his brother. "You know the drill."

"Yeah."

"Should be second nature by now, kiddo. We're going to start salting your neck and put silver and iron bands around it."

"That will be pretty."

"Yep. Fashion statement. It'll go with the hair."

"Fuck you, assho- Jesus, Christ, Dean! What the fuck happened?"

The bloody towel had fallen, and Dean turned to him. "Found your knife the hard way."

"Stitches?"

Inspecting it in the mirror, Dean shrugged. "Maybe a couple. I can do it."

Sam stood, but stumbled again.

"Sit your gigantor ass down. You fall on me and I'll need a cast to go with the stitches. And keep that ice on, I have no desire to swap spit with you again until at least next Thursday."

"Jerk."

"I'm not the one with the neck that says 'grip here', bitch."

Sighing loudly, Sam leaned back into the headboard, watching his brother to be sure that it really only needed a couple of stitches.

Once Dean was done, he turned to Sam. "How's the throat?"

"Hurts. Let me see the stitches." When Sam reached for Dean's side, his hand was smacked away.

"Who's the big brother, here?"

"You mean the bigger as-"

"Watch it, Sammy." His smile fading, Dean pulled the ice away and checked his brother's neck. "Looks like it hurts. You're going to have a nice bruise, but if you make it through the next couple hours breathing through it you'll be fine. Keep the ice on it."

"Thank you, Dr. Dean."

"Just call me Dr. Sexy, M.D." He waited for the eye-roll he knew was coming from Sam. Satisfied, he moved to his bed and sat back with the remote in his hand.

"Seriously, Dean? Thanks, man."

Dean sighed. "Don't expect it every Thursday, dude. Try to get some sleep. The more you relax and the less you talk, the better off you'll be."

Knowing Dean would be watching him like a hawk for the next few hours to be sure he was still breathing, Sam slid down and laid on his side to keep the ice in place. As he shifted, he barely heard Dean's voice.

"You're welcome, Sammy."