E/O Drabble Challenge

Challenge Word: Special Birthday Challenge for Wynefred. Some hurt!Dean with brotherly moments. (Happy Birthday, Wynefred!) Plus include a song title or a band's name somewhere in the work. (I've used two song titles and two band names.)

Word Count: 1000

Other players in the challenge are now too many to list here! There are lots of people soaking up this Supernatural sun. You can find the list of names at Enkidu07's profile page and/or OnyxMoonbeam's profile page. Also, to find all of the lovely drabbles, there's a sweet little C2 community out there to subscribe to and enjoy. You can find the link on their profile pages mentioned above.

Disclaimer: Neither the boys nor anything related to Supernatural belongs to me. I'm just having some fun with the boys, playing around with Eric Kripke's sandbox.

NOT ALONE AT THE END OF THE EVENING

By: Vanessa Sgroi

"C'mon, sweetheart," Dean's green gaze locked on the gorgeous woman standing a few feet in front of him. "Do you really want to hurt me?" He grimaced, cradling his right hand with its broken fingers close to his body. "Uhhh…I mean, hurt me more?"

Her violent violet eyes filled with malice and snapped with fury. Her mouth twisted into a moue of cruelty. "As a matter of fact, I do."

The tall brunette advanced faster than Dean could backpedal. An iron fist connected with his mouth, splitting his lower lip. With inhuman speed, the hard hand curled viciously around Dean's neck. He felt himself being lifted into the air, his booted feet kicking ineffectually as he choked for breath. She flung him aside like ragdoll. The impact, when it came, took away the rest of his breath along with the rest of the world.

(SPN) (SPN) (SPN)

Sam rounded the front of the Impala and opened the passenger-side door, reached a hand out intending to help his bruised and battered brother from the car.

Dean scowled and growled, waving away the hand. "I'm good—I got it." Slowly swinging his legs out of the car, Dean carefully planted his feet and while white-knuckling the dashboard one-handed heaved upward. He defiantly took two steps before gasping when the world tilted and spun riotously and his knees went rubbery. His concussion-fueled headache ramped up from tolerable to excruciating.

Sam grabbed for his stubborn sibling. He ruefully shook his head. "Always gotta take it to the limit, huh Dean?"

The older Winchester waited for the world to right itself somewhat before mumbling, "Always." Secretly grateful for the strong, steadying hands, he wobbled on shaky legs next to Sam as they headed toward the motel room.

"I h-hate con-concussions."

Opening the door, Sam shepherded Dean across the threshold. "I doubt anyone loves them, Dean," he teased. Once inside, he gently guided Dean to his bed and eased him down onto the edge of the mattress; automatically moving to unlace Dean's boots and pull them off before helping him settle back against the propped pillows and headboard.

Gray-faced, Dean sighed in relief and let his eyes drift close for a moment, willing the stillness to calm his raging headache.

Sam pulled the rumpled post-concussion instruction sheet from his coat pocket along with Dean's prescription bottle. He tossed both onto the table next to the laptop. "Why'd you do it?" he asked, running a hand through his shaggy hair.

Opening his eyes, Dean gazed blearily at his younger brother. "What?"

"Why'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Go after the witch alone!" Sam rubbed his forehead with his thumb and index finger. "Especially one so powerful!"

"I didn't."

At Sam's skeptically-raised eyebrow, Dean shifted on the bed and offered a half-glare. "I swear! I just w-went to ask some questions. Didn't expect to run in to the w-witch at some douchey frou frou dating service called The Culture Club. W-went for my gun as soon as things clicked into place, but she mojo'd it right out of my hand—that's how this happened." He raised his right hand with all the splinted fingers.

"Sorry…" Sam threw up a hand contritely seeing his brother's honest agitation. "I just thought…uhhh…" Sam sighed. "Never mind."

Knowing his brother as well as he did, Dean knew the answer to his next question before he even asked it. "So…you went looking for her alone?" The disapproval in Dean's voice was just as strong as Sam's had been just seconds ago. "And that's okay how?"

Sam sank down onto the bed opposite Dean's. He planted his hands on his knees. "Yeah, I did. Last night while you were in the hospital. But I had an advantage."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Oh?"

"Yeah. You somehow managed to take out her black altar while she was beating the crap out of you."

Dean winced. "Heh. Bet that was w-what I collided with when she threw me across the room."

"I don't know. But without her altar, her power was greatly diminished. I think she was making a run for it to set up shop somewhere else."

"You gank her?"

"Actually, I didn't have to."

"Oh?"

"Remember that ugly statue thing she had by her front door?"

Dean slowly nodded. "Y-yeah. That weird evil-naked-Cupid looking thing?"

"From what I could tell, she…uh…tripped and kind of…impaled…herself on it."

Dean grimaced. "Nasty."

Sam shrugged. "I call it poetic justice." He stood and grabbed the bottle of painkillers off the table. "She was killing people for fun."

"What clued you in that it was her?"

"Hmm?" Sam handed the analgesics and a bottle of water to Dean.

Dean popped the pills in his mouth, downing them with several sips of water. "How'd you figure out who it was?"

"Oh. The eagles…"

Dean's gaze turned quizzical. "Okay, King Cryptic…"

"Eagles. I noticed there were images of them all over that place when we first interviewed her. AND I noticed an eagle feather clipped in her hair. It took me a while but I finally found an old text at the library with some lore saying that eagle feathers can be used to call up some seriously powerful black magic. I tried to call to tell you but…"

"Yeah, she fried my phone, I think."

"Well, when you didn't answer, I headed straight over there. Found you—and your gun by the way—and the busted altar, but she was gone." Sam's gaze traveled over his brother's injured body with regret. "Too bad I didn't figure it out ten minutes faster."

"Eh. Not your fault, Sam. She was a tricky bitch."

Sam's gaze drifted downward at the absolution. "So—wanna watch some TV?" Sam's mouth tipped up in a half-evil grin. "I think that new show Salem is on."

"Ugh. Absolutely not. I've had enough of witches for a while." Dean settled into a more comfortable position to wait for the painkillers do their work. "In fact, I've had enough of witches for a lifetime!"

FIN