"Edge of Death"

I don't own Supernatural

The darkness was so thick that Sam could almost feel it suffocating him. He followed the steady sound of Dean's footsteps and the small ounce of light that the flashlight allowed. They were hunting a new kind of creature. A nameless creature. One that had killed 18 people in Grafton Massachusetts over the course of the past 6 months. They had seen it a couple of nights before… Deep in the woods around 3:00pm, right before the darkness had closed in. The creature, however had vanished in almost an instant. Probably still full from the last victim and not wanting to chance its own death.

Tonight was the night. The night that Sam and Dean would take the monster out and bring much needed justice to the 18 victims it had demolished in such a short period of time. Although they had never heard about this particular creature before, they felt fairly prepared to kill it. They had everything from silver bullets to salt guns, sharp knives to angel blades. At least one of the weapons they were carrying would surely be able end this thing. When they had seen it, it had been very far away. But from the looks of it, it wasn't much bigger than a werewolf. The most threatening part about it had been its claws. All 18 of the victims had been completely shredded apart. That's where their knives would come in handy. They would act as a sword to shield them from the claws.

It hadn't been their initial plan to be out past dark, however. In fact, it was completely the opposite. Sam and Dean knew that the monster had an advantage in the darkness.

"Dean," Sam whispered. Dean grunted in response. "Maybe you should turn your flashlight off now so our eyes can adjust to the darkness."

It was actually a good idea. "Alright." Dean turned off the flashlight and stood still for a moment until his eyes adjusted. "Stay close Sammy."

Sam nodded, knowing fully well that Dean couldn't see him. He was mostly nodding for himself, a silent reminder that they were going to succeed. They had to succeed.

After about 20 more minutes of walking they heard rustling in the tree branches ahead. Dean came to a complete stop and put his arm out to stop his brother, grabbing onto his arm. "Shhh..did you hear that?" Dean questioned in barely a whisper. Sam didn't respond. His heart was beating wildly against his chest, adrenaline beginning to pump through his body. Dean released his grip on Sam's arm and moved forward, straining his eyes to see if he could identify what had made the noise. Sam stayed put, his feet planted firmly on the place he had stopped. He was listening intently for any other signs of movement. Dean was about 15 feet ahead of him, when all of a sudden Sam heard rustling behind him. Little did he know that the creature they were looking for had been watching them the entire time.

It was too late for either of the boys to take action before the monster pounced right on top of Sam and slashed its claws swiftly up his left side. Sam wailed in pain, causing dean to spin around and run with full force and speed toward the monster. He pulled out the longest silver knife he had and slashed it deep and hard up the creature's spinal chord. It had been so occupied with trying to eat Sam that it had let its guard down to the angry older brother. Dean had succeeded in killing it. The creature lay in a heap of leaves on the forest floor, defeated. But rather than feeling victory, Dean was in complete panic.

He ran to his brother's side, heart in his throat and worry on his face. "Sam?" Dean placed two fingers on Sam's neck, checking for a pulse. At first, he felt nothing. Dean couldn't breathe. His heart felt as if it would beat straight through his chest. "Please….." He begged Sam to give him a sign of life. Anything. Then after a few seconds of silence and panic, the glorious beating of his little brother's heart touched his fingers and he let out a sharp breath of relief. "God Sammy, don't do that to me ever again. Let me look at you." Dean moved his hands up and down his brother's body, checking for any sign of injury. When his hand moved to Sam's left side, his stomach dropped and he felt as if he was going to be sick. His hand came away soaked in thick blood. "Shit. Alright, okay…" His voice trembled. He had absolutely no idea how he was going to get Sam back to the car. They were deep into the woods, probably by a mile or two. "Hey, Sammy?" Dean's voice cracked. He took a deep breath and brought a bloody hand up to his little brother's face wiping his bangs back away from his eyes. "Can you hear me buddy?"

Sam groaned in response. "Dean….."

"Yeah, Sam it's me. You're gonna be okay. You just gotta trust me, alright?" Dean brought his hand back down to Sam's side and gently put pressure onto the seeping wound. His hand was nowhere big enough to even cover most of it. "Damn it…" He whispered to himself in disbelief. He closed his eyes, in deep thought about how the hell he was going to get his brother out of here. He finally decided that the only option was for Sam to try and walk alongside of him. There was no way he was going to carry his giant brother for two miles when he could barely carry him two feet. "Alright buddy, you've gotta be strong for me okay?" Dean said through a half-hearted smile, combing shaky fingers through his little brother's hair. "I'm gonna help you up and we're gonna get the hell out of here. Can you do that for me?" Sam's eyes fluttered. He nodded in affirmation and let out a soft, "yeah."

"Alright, here we go." Dean put a supporting hand on Sam's back and helped him sit up. Searing pain washed through Sam's side and up into his chest as he sat up and he let out a cry of pain, grasping his right arm around his abdomen. The moment he touched his wound he began to panic, feeling the warm blood on his fingers. "Dean, there's so—much…b—blood." Sam's voice was shaky.

"Hey, shhh. Don't touch it…" Dean grabbed Sam's forearm, pulling his hand away from the wound, willing his little brother to calm down. Sam suddenly keeled over, throwing up onto the forest floor. Dean waited until he was done, "okay bud, let's get you out of here." Dean lifted his brother into a semi-standing position, looped a strong arm around his waist for support, and began to lead him through the dark maze of trees. After about 30 tortuous minutes of tripping and staggering through the darkness, they arrived at the impala, dripping with sweat and covered in blood. Sam's blood, to be exact.

Dean floored it back to the motel, going approximately fifty miles over the speed limit. He tried desperately to slow his panicked breaths. I have to be strong for him. I have to take care of Sammy. Sam was laying on his right side, head resting gently in his big brother's lap. Pain was all he knew in this moment. He felt the blood trickling down his side onto the seat. Dean drove over some form of pothole and Sam groaned in pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, sending tears streaming down his cheeks. "Shit, sorry Sammy." Dean gripped the back of Sam's sweaty neck with his hand, letting him know he was gonna take care of him. Sam's back hitched and he began to shake. Dean knew he was crying. He rubbed the back of his baby brother's neck and stepped even further down on the gas pedal, willing baby to go just a little faster.

Sam tried his hardest to breathe. Dean's gentle touch grounded him….He knew that things were looking bad, but he also knew that Dean was going to be with him every step of the way. Every painful step.

Finally, they had made it to the motel. It wasn't fancy, as usual, but it was a hell of a lot better than a pile of dirt and leaves in the middle of nowhere. Dean managed to get Sam into the room and onto the nearest bed. He gently laid his brother down on his right side and took off his shoes. Sam grabbed the nearest pillow and held onto it tightly, burying his face into it. The pain was getting much worse. Immediately following, Dean began to frantically search for the first aid kit. He needed to get Sam stitched up, and he needed to do it quickly. Time - and blood - was running out. Dean located the kit and slammed it onto the mattress next to Sam. The sheets were now completely soaked through and stained with his brother's blood and sweat. "Alright Sammy, here we go. I'm gonna patch you up. You're gonna be just fine." Dean said as he grabbed the surgical scissors and used them to cut Sam out of his ripped shirt as painlessly as possible. Not that comfort was any type of option at this point. He pulled the shirt away, revealing the raw sight of his brother's side.

Dean took a moment to steady himself and stifled the urge to vomit. The wound was bad. Really bad. There were three deep gashes traveling from Sam's hipbone to the top of his ribcage. They were deep. His entire left side was ripped apart. Dean didn't even know how Sam was conscious. He actually wished Sam was unconscious at the moment, because this had to hurt like a bitch. Luckily, though the claw marks were deep, it didn't seem as if any vital organs had been damaged. None of his organs would matter, however, if he didn't have any blood left to fuel them. Dean got to work.

He opened a bottle of whiskey and handed Sam a gauze pad to bite on while he did the cleaning and the stitching. He didn't want the surrounding motel rooms to hear screaming. The last things they needed were cops and questions. Sam obediently bit down on the gauze and Dean began his work with laser beam focus. He sterilized the wound with whiskey, Sam arching his back and groaning in protest. Dean went to work on the stitches. He worked as quickly as possible, trying desperately to relax his shaking hands, which were making his job quite difficult to say the least. He paused a few times to give Sam a breather, in which most cases Sam told him to go on and get it over with. About 30 minutes and four swigs of whiskey later, the stitches were done.

Dean looked up at his brother. Pale. His face is too pale. "Sammy?" Dean removed the gauze from Sam's mouth and put a hand on his brother's sweaty forehead, noting the fact that his little brother was trembling. Sam groaned in response. His head lolled to the side, signifying that he didn't have much consciousness left in him. Dean quickly got up, wet a washcloth, and grabbed some pain killers. "Sam, got some medicine for you." Sam groaned again. He was completely blinded by pain, and he could barely focus on anything else. Dean lifted his brother's head and helped him take the pills He proceeded to wipe away the tears and sweat from Sam's face. After a few minutes of Dean pressing the cool cloth to his head and speaking softly to him, Sam fell unconscious into a world of nothingness.

At about 4:30am, Dean woke up to his name. "Dean…" At first he thought he had been dreaming. Then he heard it a second time. This time a little louder and shaky, "Dean…"

He threw his covers back, slid out of bed and rushed immediately to his brother's side. "I'm right here Sammy." He put a hand on his forehead. No fever, so that was good at least. Just sweat. A lot of sweat. Sam lifted his hand to grab Dean's wrist, and squeezed. His breathing came in labored pants.

"It hurts." Sam said, voice barely audible through his clenched teeth.

Dean's heart snapped. There was literally nothing he could do to take the pain away. He let out a heavy breath of air. "I know Sam…." He sat on the edge of his brother's bed and combed his fingers though Sam's sweaty hair. "I'm so sorry."

Sam let out another sharp painful breath, squeezing Dean's wrist with a bit more pressure. "Hurts." He said it a few more times after that as well. Dean watched helplessly as Sam suffered, stifling cries of pain, tears streaming down his face.

All Dean could do was sit there. He removed Sam's hand from around his wrist and gripped it in his. He continued combing his shaking hand through Sam's hair, and hoped with everything in him that his brother would pass out and get some relief.

Instead of passing out, however, he just grew more agitated. It was as if his senses were on overdrive, pounding it into his brain that something was wrong. His side hurt more than anything he had ever experienced in his entire life. That was saying a lot, considering all of the injuries he had been through over the years. He felt badly about "complaining" so much to dean that night, but all he could find within himself to say was "it hurts." It was the only way he felt he could make Dean understand what he needed. He needed comfort, assurance, anything to get his mind off of this wretched PAIN. He couldn't even think. He literally wanted to die. To get away from this absolutely torture. He began to cry louder, more desperately. Willing Dean to figure out something that would help him escape this hell. He vaguely felt Dean move into the bed beside him.

Dean felt utterly useless and hopeless. He couldn't take Sam's cries any longer. He released Sam's trembling hand from his, and walked around the bed. He laid down next to his little brother and placed a hand on Sam's heaving chest, willing him to calm down. "Sammy, I wish there was something I could do….." His voice cracked. Then he heard Sam's.

"I'm scared." Sam said in the smallest voice possible.

"Me too." Dean admitted.

After hours of combing his fingers through Sam's hair and calming him down every time he started to panic, Sam finally had fallen asleep.

Over the next week or so, Sam slipped in and out of consciousness. Dean barely left his side. He tended to his brother fervently and persistently, watching an waiting for his brother's broken body to heal.

About six days after the incident, Sam was finally able to get out of bed and begin moving around. It was also the first time he had been fully with it and conscious since everything had happened. He had the time to think about everything Dean had done to help him, and he was thankful. He sat up in bed, wincing at the lingering pain in his side, and looked up at his big brother who was currently in mid-sip of a beer. "Dean?"

"Huh." Dean grunted lazily in response.

Sam cleared his throat. "Thanks for everything…"

Dean looked up at him.

"I would have died without you….Thank you." Sam said sincerely.

"It's what family is for…Also, who the hell would I have to share beers with if you were gone?" He tossed Sam a beer, surprised when he actually caught it.

Sam smirked, opened the beer and took a swig. "Damn….Alcohol tastes better after a week of being almost dead."

Dean's mouth curved into a crooked, charming smile. "Yeah, well don't let that be your motivation to almost die next time."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

And they drank their beers, celebrating being alive.

Thank you for reading. PLEASE REVIEW. Without reviews, I have no motivation to write. Also, please inbox me a prompt you would like me to use. Thanks again!