AN: This is no longer a one shot - (implied) wincest. Rated M in ch3! Enjoy!

SPN

Dean carried more than walked Sam to the Impala parked on the upper edge of a tree covered slope. Sam's eyes were half mast at best and he was stumbling along as best he could when Dean dragged his 190 pounds of almost dead weight up the slope.

Once, he almost dropped Sam as his foot slipped on some wet foliage on the ground. Dean grunted as his knee hit the forest floor, but never relinquished his grip on his baby brother. They'd been taking out a vampire nest, seven blood-sucking bastards that had killed half a dozen kids in the area by draining them dry, getting a kick out of listening to their hearts give out when there was no longer enough blood to pump.

Sam had killed the one standing guard with a clean swipe of his machete. The guard had been dead before he'd even known hunters were close. Dean had brushed past his blood splattered brother, the two sweeping the place like a well oiled machine.

The next two vamps had been headless only moments later, but the thumps of their dropping bodies had alerted the remaining blood suckers. Taking on two each at the same time normally didn't prove much of a challenge to the Winchesters, but one vamp Dean had been facing towered a few inches above even Sam.

Dean had been thrown back and he hit the wall hard, skull throbbing and a thin line of blood trickling down his neck. That blood gave the vamps an advantage. They could smell him even more easily now. Sam had beheaded another vamp when he'd seen Dean struggling to his feet. Disregarding his own opponent, Sam had rushed to help his brother.

Soon, two more heads had rolled on the floor, but the giant vamp was giving the brothers a hard time. Dean had met the wall a few more times and by then was no longer sure which of the two giants was the real one. Sam was favoring his left side where the vamp had landed a hit with a crowbar, probably cracking Sam's ribs.

The vamp had shaken off Dean once more, sending him tumbling to the floor again. Since Sam was struggling to draw air into his lungs, the blood sucker had a moment to draw a knife of his own. Sam had seen the attack coming, brought up his machete just in time to deflect the blade. His ribs screamed in agony and Sam gasped, going down on his knees. The vamp had followed up with a kick under his chin. Sam's head snapped back and Sam blacked out briefly, finding himself on the floor spitting blood.

Subconsciously, he'd braced for the next assault but it hadn't come. When he'd opened an eye he'd seen the giant had snatched up the machete Sam had dropped when his head snapped back. Behind the vamp, Sam had made out his brother, his own machete in full swing. The vamp turned, aiming the weapon at Dean at the same time.

Sam hadn't been able to make out if Dean hit the giant or the giant hit Dean. His vision had been swimming. Dean had fallen to the ground the same time as the vampire, eyes focused on the exposed fangs, hand gripping his machete tight. He'd body-tackled the giant when he realized the monster was too close for a swing at the neck.

Adrenaline had brought the older brother right back on his feet. Then, down on his knees, the vamp had been the perfect height for Dean to chop his head off. Face distorted in grim determination, Dean had swung hard and stumbled, almost falling onto the freshly severed head. He'd only spared the dead fang a fleeting glance and turned to his brother.

"C'mon, Sam, let's get outta here."

He'd grabbed Sam's weakly offered hand and pulled his mostly limp brother upright, slinging Sam's arm around his neck for support. They had stumbled back to the car and when Sam was finally safely inside, Dean groaned and went back to retrieve their weapons.

Half an hour later Dean manhandled Sam into the dingy motel room, gently letting him down on the bed further away from the door. Sam's eyes were open but all over the place.

"Sammy, you with me?"

Sam grunted weakly, eyelids drooping. Dean fetched what he needed for first aid and cleaned up his brother's face. There was a hefty bruise forming where the vamp's boot had connected with Sam's jaw and Dean made sure Sam's teeth were where they're supposed to be.

He found a long but shallow gash along Sam's ribcage and remembered the knife the fang had produced. Dean prodded around and found two cracked ribs in the proximity. There didn't seem to be more damage there, and Sam's breathing was shallow but not labored. Dean's head was throbbing but luckily his own double vision had cleared up while he was driving them back to the motel.

Dean took a deep breath to reduce the pounding in his head and steady his hands before he neatly stitched up his brother's side and tightly wrapped the ribs. Looking down when he was done, Dean found Sam had either passed out or nodded off, which was just as well. He bent down and pressed a gentle kiss on Sam's slack lips.

"You're gonna be alright, baby brother," Dean rasped and pushed himself up to his feet. Time to clean up himself.

Dean took a step in direction of the tiny bathroom when his head began to swim. The world was tilting left and right and his left side started throbbing mercilessly. Dean's tongue snaked out to moisten his lips, but his mouth felt just as dry. He needed a drink of water and continued to the bathroom.

Two steps further, his side was on fire and Dean pressed his hand to it, surprised to feel a wet patch on his shirt. He stared down at his hand which was soaked in blood. Gingerly, Dean pulled up his shirt and t-shirt exposing a heavily bleeding gash all along the lowest rib. The wound was deep enough for Dean to see the white of a bone shining through.

The pounding in Dean's head intensified as adrenaline kicked in. He was hurt and he needed to tend to it sooner rather than later. Dean dragged his feet into the bathroom and slumped onto the toilet seat.

Mechanically, he pulled his shirts over his head and cleaned off the blood. His vision was tunneling but he had to seal the gash else he'd risk bleeding out. Sam was out for the count so passing out himself was not an option.

He poured a bit of brandy over the needle for disinfection and then downed a few sips for good measure. Practice made Dean's hand a lot more steady than it should be when he began stitching himself up.

Seventeen stitches and a dousing of the wound with brandy later, Dean had completed the task. He'd worry about cleaning the place later. All he wanted to do now was crawl to his bed and sleep.

He was feeling weary and tired to the marrow of his bones. His blood was rushing loudly in his ears but even in his half-functioning state, Dean noticed his pulse was way too slow. He'd just made it out of the bathroom when the room tilted badly again and then grayed out. His eyes rolled up and soundlessly, Dean crashed to the unrelenting floor.

AN2: My beta said I can't just leave it like that. What do you say? Reviews welcome!