Dean believed Sam would do the right thing, even though his recent behavior planted that microscopic seed of doubt that made Dean almost think about changing his mind. Well, if Sam didn't have the confidence, Dean would have faith enough for both of them. He started his climb up the rocks.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx…..THEN
Dean walked in; his habit of downplaying his injuries not fooling his brother, not even a little bit. Sam would usually call him on it but, he still felt responsible, for all of it, no matter how often or how insistently Dean let him off the hook.
It happened less than a week ago, in a split second.
It is a known fact that when evil is angry, it can be very, very dangerous. Many hunters have suffered seriously from their encounters, including the Winchesters. This fight would be frantic and although Sam and Dean were quite capable, they knew they would have to be prepared.
They had a plan. Sam would do the ritual while Dean held it off with salted iron rounds. Sam positioned himself in one corner, with Dean covering, and quickly poured out a protective barrier around them both.
Dean never missed a shot. As it appeared, he fired, he reloaded, he fired. He was focused and almost mechanical. The weapon wasn't automatic, he was. Sam recited as he mixed the ingredients, always in the correct sequence, the correct quantities. Dean's shots became less frequent, but always accurate, as the strength of the evil weakened.
The brothers were so focused on their work, that neither noticed when Sam kicked the empty shell through the salt line. In that instant, evil grabbed Dean, by the front of his jacket, and flung him across the room. He landed with a thud against the wall as his attacker disappeared, with the final words and the smoke that ended the ritual.
Sam still had the feel of the words on his lips when he ran towards his brother. Dean was not moving. Sam gently rolled him on to his back and then let go of his own breath when he heard Dean moan. At least he was alive.
Somehow, through miracle, luck, fate or practice, Dean had no broken bones. In fact, he hadn't even hit his head. But, he couldn't move at all without pain and the impact had stunned him, taking his breath away.
Dean was not one for pampering, however, he had neither the energy nor the ability to resist. So, Sam meticulously checked his injuries. After satisfying himself that, although colorful, Dean was relatively okay, he helped his brother to his feet.
