Title: Complications
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: DJ Sparkles
Rating: FRAO (language, mostly, so far)
Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue. I'll put them back when I'm done.
Spoiler Warning: Um, possible spoilers for all seasons so far… don't want spoiled, don't read. BIG spoilers for All Hell Breaks Loose, Parts 1&2, and season 3.
Timeline: Diverges from Canon after episode 3x03, Bad Day at Black Rock.
Beta: Ithil-valon, and Joe. You ladies just ROCK, you know that?
Pairings: None so far.

"Greater love hath no man than he lay down his life for a friend." John 15:13

Part One

This was just NOT his day. Dean Winchester pulled back from the werewolf and backed up quickly. Just a simple job, get in, kill the thing, get out, burn the den. Yeah. Right. Since when did he and Sam EVER manage to do something the simple way?

He backed away again when it came at him, but it caught a scent on the wind and paused and Dean was able to put half the room between them. As well as a few pieces of furniture. "Sammy, this would be a good time to find that shotgun!"

Sam growled back at him as the werewolf swung his direction. "I've GOT the damn gun, bro, just hold it still!" There was an explosive discharge and the rock salt pellets in the thing took the wolf full in the chest… which only made it mad. It roared rage and headed across the room, murder in its eyes.

Dean launched himself at it, silver knives flashing, drawing blood and trying to stab it in the neck, but it wasn't cooperating. Stupid fucking werewolf. He had to keep it away from Sam. "Where's the SILVER?" he hollered.

"Not in the damn gun!" Sam was backing away as fast as possible. It was close enough to swipe one huge horrific paw at him; so he lunged away and landed on his ass. Not good.

Dean had to keep it away from his brother. He launched himself forward, landing on its back, slashing with the knives, desperate to take its attention off Sam. Everything he'd ever done, he'd done to protect Sammy. He wasn't about to stop now. "Get out, Sam!" If he could just keep it distracted, at least his brother would get away. Then he forgot to concentrate on anything else when the monster ripped him off its back and dropkicked him across the room. He slammed against the wall with a yell and landed hard, breath knocked out of him. He scrambled aside as it reached for him, but no luck. NOT his day.

Dimly he saw Sam headed out the door and kicked back, winning another throw across the room in the process. He got groggily to his feet, shaking his head, and caught it out of the corner of his eye as it followed Sam out of the house. Oh, HELL no!

One of the knives flashed in the moonlight as it flew outward, striking the thing in the shoulder as Dean catcalled it from the upstairs window. "You can't have him!" he roared as he launched himself at it. He had to buy Sam enough time to get to the car. The monster could probably tear the door off… but the silver bullets were in the back seat. At least he'd have a chance.

The wolf spun as Dean leapt, and the two of them crashed together with driving force. Dean rolled with the impact, coming up fast, one knife short, one leg a solid sheet of pain from hip to ankle, but not giving up. He had to keep it occupied till Sam got the ammo. He feinted with the knife, keeping its attention on him.

He managed too well. The wolf ripped the other blade from its shoulder with a scream of rage and flung it back toward Dean, who dived to one side to avoid it. Then it had hold of him by the ankle and while he scrambled to get hold of something, it was drawing him backward with a snarl of something he didn't want to identify.

It sounded hungry.

He didn't yell, hescreamed when it clamped teeth around his calf. The pain was real, immediate, and intense for more than just the feel of the teeth and he gave vent to his fury in the only way he knew how. He stabbed the knife into the thing's neck with an incoherent curse and sent it staggering backward, bleeding out. Then dimly he heard Sam's voice telling him to duck and he curled up in a ball as the shotgun blast went over his head.

The silver did the trick; it was dead. Very, very dead. No pulse, no breathing, nothing. Dean crawled forward and checked it thoroughly and then just collapsed to his back for a minute, gasping for breath. "Why can't anything be simple?" he grumbled.

"Because we're involved, that's why." Sam was doing what needed to be done now, burning the house and the body, and Dean needed to get up and help him, but it felt a lot better to just lie there and try to breathe. And not worry about the pain in his mangled leg. Or the consequences.

Holy water. Holy water cured just about anything to do with the supernatural. He hauled out the canteen as fast as he could, splashing it over the wound and biting down on the scream when it hit the torn flesh. Then choking down as much of it as he could, trying to fight the infection from inside and out although the thought that death would hurt less hovered at the back of his mind.

Sam's arms came around from behind, supporting him while he retched and struggled to keep the stuff down. "Easy, bro. We need to get you to Bobby. He can help." Not bloody likely, but they needed some hope. Werewolf bites were automatically a death sentence. The cursed couldn't distinguish between friend and foe once they changed and usually cut a bloody swath through the innocent until a hunter stopped them.

Dean fumbled in his pocket for a second before hauling out his keys. "You… drive," he rasped. "I'll keep pouring in the holy water. Gotta help, right?"

"Right." Sam was seriously worried. Dean never let him drive the Impala if there was a choice. The leg was bad, but the fact that it was a werewolf bite made it that much worse. The moon was still full and it wouldn't be dawn for another three or four hours. If Dean turned… would he be able to do what needed done? He didn't know.

Fact was, they didn't know much about werewolves at all. Conflicting legends, different interpretations of the curse, it all added up to one big, fat, zero. The only thing that all accounts seemed to agree on was that once someone turned, they wanted to kill. Period. And it didn't matter what they killed, as long as they found something to tear up. Hopefully Bobby would know more.

"Sammy," Dean rasped from the passenger seat. "Don't be a wuss, okay? If you have to… you do it." He could feel something changing, despite the holy water, and while he was still pouring it down his throat he no longer thought it would work. It might hold the change off for a while, but probably not long enough. And he knew Sam would understand what he was asking.

"Shut up, jerk. I'm not gonna kill you." Sam felt his jaw clench. "Bobby'll help, just hold on. Hang on, bro."

"I'm trying, bitch." But even their usual banter was lacking in enthusiasm. Dean could feel something twisting inside him, trying to get out, and he grabbed another canteen of the water from the back seat. He poured most of it on the outside of the leg, drenching the bite again, and choking off the scream before it could get too far out of his throat, then guzzling as much as he could of what was left. He felt like he was on a determined drunk, just with the water instead of the usual whiskey. "How long to Bobby's?"

"Too long." Sam could have bitten off his tongue for letting that escape. "Been trying to get him on the phone, he's not answering."

"Probably on a hunt of his own. Dammit!" Dean was turning the air blue, trying to keep up the pain relief. Swearing seemed to help, so he was doing a lot of it. His head was buzzing, his guts were churning, and he was pretty sure he wasn't going to make it till dawn. Dying would feel pretty good about now, he thought. It wouldn't hurt so much.

Sam risked a glance over at his brother and winced. Things were looking bad. Dean was more than pale, he was almost translucent in the moonlight. Not good. "Does that help?"

"Not with the pain… but it makes me feel better." Dean was surly and snarky and didn't care. It hurt. And he was starting to feel decidedly weird on top of it. He was sure he could smell Sam's fear, and that wasn't normal. He got a glimpse of his hand as he tipped up the canteen again and growled. "Shit! Sam, stop!" He didn't wait for the tires to come to rest; he was out of the car and moving, clutching at his stomach, gasping for breath, and trying to get into the tree line before it was too late.

Sam threw himself out of the car right behind him, trying to stay close, but not able to keep up. "Dean, wait!" But the snarl from the trees stopped him in his tracks.

Dean had felt the change coming on, seen it on his hand, and was still trying to protect his brother. But now that he was completely changed, he was seeing things a bit differently. He stepped out into the moonlight, looking at the other man, nose upturned to scent the air. The smell of fear was heady, intoxicating, and he took a step closer.

Sam held his ground though he wanted to run. The wolf was larger than average and he had no doubt it was Dean. A complete change, with three hours to go until dawn. Crap. So not good. He raised a hand, palm up, and assumed what he hoped was a non-threatening stance. He kept his voice even, steady. "Dean?"

TBC…