Disclaimer-Sadly, I don't own the Winchesters. But I can always pretend I do.
a/n- My first fanfic so feedback and reviews craved!
'Sam, down!"
Sam Winchester bent low, narrowly avoiding a face full of rock salt.
"Son of a…."
Sam glanced over at Dean, who was furiously shoving a new round into his shotgun.
"Where the hell'd it go?" Sam yelled, trying to be heard over the torrential downpour.
His brother didn't respond, too busy scanning the surrounding graveyard. Between the darkness and sheeting rain, all he could make out were silhouettes of headstones.
"Dammit," he cursed.
Things were not going as planned.
When they'd first read that several Atlanta residents had been mauled by "dogs" outside the city cemetery, the brothers figured this was just their type of job. While the local authorities had chalked the deaths up to some rabid animal, Sam and Dean knew better. After all - they'd come across Black Dogs, or Hell Hounds, before. What they hadn't expected was the arrival of one very large - very violent - spirit.
Apparently, these Hounds had an owner. And he was pissed.
"Dean!" Sam raised his gun at the shimmering form materializing behind his brother. From the looks of things, it hadn't taken too kindly to Dean's near miss. "Behind you!"
Dean whirled, weapon raised. He caught a glimpse of a skull-like face and enormous set of horns before the shotgun was knocked from his hands. A violent blow to his chest sent him flying,his body hurled through the air and slammed violently into a tall, stone crucifix.
A sharp crack echoed through the gloom as Sam fired off a round, hitting the figure squarely in the chest. At the impact of the salt grains, the ghost dissipated, leaving the boys alone in the night. Sam scanned the grounds but there was no sign of their attacker.
Across the graveyard, he could just make out the outline of his brother lying facedown in the wet grass.
He wasn't moving.
"Dean!" Sam shouted as he sprinted over to his brother's fallen form.
"Dean…," Sam knelt near his brother's motionless body, praying he would be met by some wiseass remark, but there was only silence.
It wasn't often things were quiet around his brother. Sam pushed down the gnawing fear that was beginning to creep up his throat.
"Dean, can you hear me?
Gently, he turned his brother over. "Please, say something, man."
There was a soft groan and Dean's eyelids twitched.
"Ow."
Sam let out the breath he was holding. "Jesus, Dean you scared me."
Dean forced his eyes open and tried on focus on the two Sam's leaning over him. Both wore the same worried expression. "Better watch the blasphemy, Sammy," he said painfully, "I think we're already on the cosmic shit list."
Sam glanced up at the crucifix. A large, jagged crack ran like a lightning bolt across the front surface of the stone.
Sam turned back to Dean. "I told you to lay off the fast food."
Dean shot Sam a look…or tried to anyway. He couldn't accomplish much from his current horizontal position.
Which reminded him...
"Hey, what happened to Mr. Friendly?"
Sam glanced around. "Gone. After he attacked you, I caught him with a round of rocksalt and he took off."
Dean grimaced. "Yeah, well I doubt he'll stay away for long. What's say we get out of this freakshow?" He made an attempt to sit up.
The sudden, intense flash of pain stopped him cold.
Seeing Dean hesitate, Sam was instantly on alert. "What is it?"
"Nothin…" Dean lied. "Just moved too fast."
Bracing his hands on the ground, Dean tried once again to push himself up. Another wave of pain coursed through him. He wondered if it was possible for his chest to spontaneously implode.
Sam watched as Dean's face drained of color. It took a lot to slow Dean down. He had been beaten, bitten, clawed, and generally had his ass kicked dozens of times, but he always walked away. The fact that he now struggled with a simple thing like sitting up alarmed Sam. He whipped out his cell phone.
"Dude, what are you doing?"
Sam didn't look at his older brother. "I'm calling you an ambulance."
Dean stared at Sam as if he had grown two heads. Like hell! They were trespassing, in a cemetery, with unregistered shotguns. Sometimes Dean wondered about the kid.
"Oh, that's brilliant Sam." He made a move to grab the phone and instantly regretted it. He gritted his teeth against a fresh wave of pain. "Why not just make a little neon sign that says 'Arrest Us' college boy?"
Sam stood, trying to locate a signal in the rain. "Dean, it's pouring out, you're hurt, the car is two miles away and we have a seriously pissed off undead pet lover who wants to kick both our asses." He pressed the send button. "So shut up. I'm calling the freakin' ambulance."
At that moment, Dean wished he was the one with the psychic abilities. Then he'd have the power to mentally hurl a chunk of the busted sculpture at his brother's empty little head.
Unfortunately for Dean, he had to settle for lying on his back in agony, thinking venomous thoughts and cursing Sam under his breath.
Atlanta Memorial Hospital
Sam handed the clipboard containing the forged insurance documents to the heavyset nurse behind the counter. He gave her one of his patented Sam Winchester smiles, which had her completely forgetting to inspect the papers. He shoved the insurance card back in his wallet.
As he headed down the hall, Sam steeled himself for a very unhappy Dean. He knew his brother was pissed as he dialed for the ambulance, but the real fun began as the paramedics arrived. Sam had returned from stowing the guns only to find Dean practically coming to blows with the paramedics as they tried to load him onto the stretcher. Despite the fact that he had nearly passed out twice during this little episode, his brother had repeatedly insisted he was fine.
That was Dean for you.
Deep down, Sam knew his brother couldn't stand losing the feeling of control. It was why he always drove, always played protector to his little brother and always was such a cocky pain in the ass.
He arrived at his brother's room only to find Dean furiously pushing the channel button on the hospital remote.
"Stupid hospital, no cable, can't find a damn…"
"Good to see you're taking it easy," Sam interrupted.
Dean shot him a look. If only looks could kill Sammy, he thought to himself. You'd be a dead man.
"I have your medication, Mr. O'Toole," said the nurse cheerfully, sweeping into the room and greeting Dean with their latest alias. She handed him a small cup of capsules before checking his vitals.
Dean eyed the pills with disgust and threw Sam a look of pure hatred.
"You…are SO getting pummeled when I get out of here."
Sam wasn't too worried.
Seeing as his brother had three broken ribs and couldn't even breathe without wincing, Sam didn't think he'd be much of a threat.