Author's Note: The first line popped into my mind the other day and I just couldn't get this plot bunny out of my mind. Set season one. This won't be very long—two chapters maybe? Anyways, please enjoy!
It was funny how their best-laid plans always went up in smoke somehow. It seemed that the more they planned, the more their plans would fall to the wayside when they actually tried to put them in motion. Then, the hunts where they went in blind were always the ones that ended up going perfectly—the ones where they were able to be done before midnight and then watch a cheesy movie on a crappy TV and just be content with one another. They could just be two brothers, instead of hunters on the search for their missing father.
This was not one of those times.
No, this hunt they had conducted research for what seemed like hours. They had pulled every piece of information they had gleaned from interviews and autopsies to formulate the perfect plan—the foolproof plan, the ultimate plan, the plan to end all plans.
And wouldn't you know it, the plan ended up being discarded once they realized that the vengeful spirit was much more powerful than they had anticipated. A fact that was highlighted when Sam shot the ghost with a salt round, only for it to have no effect and have the ghost turn the bullet around and send it back at him. The bullet had embedded itself in his arm and Dean had managed to drag him to another empty apartment, all the while avoiding the spirit's attacks.
"There has to be some other way!" Dean exclaimed, anger and fury rushing through his veins. Sam sat before him, cradling his sluggishly bleeding arm as he lay against the small wall of the apartment. He was tired, drained and in pain, but he forced his dull eyes to remain open despite how much he just wanted to succumb to the peaceful darkness. Forcing his mind to focus, he surveyed the small apartment they had commandeered. A sturdy wooden desk barricaded the door and salt was carefully sprinkled on the window ledges. Nearly every protective sigil that both boys knew had been scribbled on the walls in faded black ink. A blessed rosary was in his good hand and he squeezed it for slight reassurance that he was protected from the monster they had been hunting. He frowned as he watched his brother punch a wall, breaking a part of it off.
How had it come to this?
"Dean," Sam started again, trying to clear the haze out of his mind and focus on his big brother who was near the verge of panic. His older brother seemingly ignored him, pacing the length of the room. "Dean." The oldest Winchester met his gaze and Sam mustered up the most reassuring smile he had in him. "Go."
"No fucking way, Sam!" His older brother's voice was raw, chock full of desperation. Sam could understand—if the roles were reversed, he would've never entertained the thought of leaving his bleeding brother behind—but regardless, they were both dead if they didn't get out of their little safe house and kill the thing that was hunting them.
"You won't take long," He tried to reassure Dean. "30 minutes tops—just enough time to get Bobby and come back with the spell. He's on his way to meet you, Dean. You have to go."
"Dammit, Sammy!" Dean cursed, running a hand through his hair. "Just shut up!"
"I can hold on for 30 minutes, Dean."
"I'm not leaving you with that bitch right outside the door!" He snapped, practically growling.
"You don't have a choice," Sam mumbled, his voice drowsy as the blood loss began to take its toll. "I would just slow you down if I went with you. The spirit would kill us both. You can get out, Dean. You need to get out."
"Sammy," Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, but Sam could see the logic winning over his protective brother. Finally, Dean faced him with resolve in his eyes, his mind clearly made up. "I will be right back."
"I'll be here." Sam promised, trying to assure Dean that he would be okay. The two brothers shared a glance that spoke volumes between them with Dean swearing that he would be back with help as soon as possible, and Sam promising to stay alive until medical aid could arrive. Seemingly satisfied with his little brother's unspoken vow, he left the room—their little fortress—and Sam allowed himself to drop the façade that he had put up for his older brother. He was bleeding out and barely holding on to consciousness—not two reassuring signs of things to come. Still, he had to hang in there.
If not for his own sake, then for Dean's.
Author's Note: Poor Sam. I enjoy hurting him too much . . . Anyways, next chapter we'll see if Dean can make it back to Sam in time! Please review if you have time!