So this little one-shot was written per request from silentpixiee, who totally deserves it! Her kind reviews have always made me smile, and when she finally asked for a fic of course I jumped at the chance to write it for her!! So here you go girl, hope it was what you were hoping for!

Thanks goes to sendintheclowns, who graciously beta'ed this for me, finding all those little mistakes I made when I was writing this on too little sleep and too much stress! Thanks so much hun!

Disclaimer: I own nothing… I mean seriously, can a broke college student afford more than the Ramen and Cookie Crisp sitting on her shelf?? I think not!

Warnings: This does hold spoilers up through the second episode of season five… And because it's Dean, I'm sure there's a swear or two in there somewhere.

Other than that- Enjoy!

XXXX

'You don't wanna hurt me,
But see how deep the bullet lies.
Unaware that I'm tearing you asunder.
There's a thunder in our hearts, baby.
So much hate for the ones we love?
Tell me, we both matter, don't we?'

Placebo - Running Up That Hill

XXXX

"Hello?" Dean asked, phone gripped between his shoulder and his ear as he struggled into a pair of jeans he had worn the night before.

"Dean?" Sam? He barely recognized the younger man's voice through the phone, it was weak and laced with pain.

"Sammy?" He asked, immediately grabbing the phone with his right hand and squeezing it tightly to his ear. "Sammy, what's wrong?" He heard the fine tremor running through his own voice, betraying the fear he felt hearing the younger man so weak, and found he didn't care.

"Dean?" The name was breathless, a hitching gasp following it. "Hurts." Dean was getting more afraid by the second, not knowing what had happened, or where his brother was.

He felt helpless and Dean Winchester didn't do well with being helpless.

"Sammy?" He asked again, pressing the phone harder against his ear. When he got nothing more than a gasped moan as a response, he tried again, "C'mon little brother, you need to help me out here. Where are you?" He listened intently, not wanting to miss anything his brother said.

"Sorry, I'm sorry." Sam breathed, voice pulled tight with pain, not even seeming to have heard Dean's question. "De-demons got the d-drop on me." He moaned and Dean heard a crash over the line.

"Sam?" He asked, worry biting through him. "Sammy!" He called when his brother didn't answer, fear rippling and tensing his muscles.

"C'mon little brother, don't do this, answer me!" There was no answer, and Dean's chest squeezed, he grabbed the small table beside him, and held it white knuckled, praying for an answer from Sam.

When no answer came, he ended the call, flipping through his contacts and pressing call when 'Bobby' appeared on the screen.

"Yeah?" The older hunter's tired voice came from the other end of the line.

"Bobby, where's Sam?" He asked quickly, ignoring the normal niceties, not bothering to hide the fear in his voice.

"What's wrong, Dean?" Dean could have sworn he heard Bobby sit up straighter, and he knew he had the other man's attention.

"He just called, said something about demons getting the drop on him, he didn't sound good at all." He spoke quickly, trying to get the information about Sam as soon as possible, not wanting to bother with a long phone call that could be costing Sam his life.

"Okay Dean, he's been staying in Poughkeepsie…"

XXXX

Three hours later he was pulling into the motel Sam was currently staying at. He looked around, noting the complete deadness of the town, everything dark and quiet. It wasn't that he expected a lot of noise at three am on a Wednesday morning, but there was usually at least one night owl in every town he had ever stopped at.

Sighing he slid out of the car and headed around to the back of the motel, looking for the room Bobby had told him was Sam's. Seeing the dim light through the window of Sam's room made him smile. That smile faded when he looked at Sam's door.

Blood was smeared on the door jam, and around the knob, disappearing into the room. Tensing, heart jammed in his throat, Dean reached behind him and drew the 45 from where it was tucked in the back of his jeans.

The weight was familiar and comforting in his hand, clearing his mind as he headed for Sam's room. The knob turned easily, not locked, no chain on the door, and Dean's fear notched a little higher.

He pushed the door, free hand swinging up to grip around the one already clasping the pistol. Carefully scanning the room, following his gaze with the pistol, Dean breathed a sigh of relief when he saw no immediate threat, and dropped the gun to his side, flicking the safety on as an afterthought.

He almost dropped the gun when he looked over and saw Sam, splayed out unconscious and bloody on the single bed in the room.

Sam was a mess.

There was no better way to describe the younger man. He looked like he had gone three rounds with a bear, and had lost all three.

There was a glint of metal from what looked like a broken off arrow in Sam's thigh, and a long, deep gash cut through the material of his sweatshirt into his side. A jagged cut marred the skin of his forehead, just above his left eye. A bruise was deepening on his left cheek, splitting his upper lip where it ended.

His clothes were torn and dirty, ripped more than they weren't. Blood made a dripped trail all the way from the door to the bed, and though Dean wanted to turn around and see if the trail lead even further, he forced himself to focus. He reached behind himself and pushed the door closed, stretching over and setting the 45 on the small table in front of him.

Long strides took him to Sam's side, and Dean dropped to his knees next to the bed, immediately taking stock of all Sam's injuries. Besides the arrow in his leg- which it was, a bent off metal arrow from what looked like a crossbow, someone had wanted to cause the maximum amount of pain- and the deep gash in his side that was still bleeding, it felt like Sam had at least two broken ribs, and the swelling and discoloration in his left hand made Dean think he might have a possible break.

Lines bracketed Sam's mouth and eyes, even in unconsciousness- because that's what this was; Dean wasn't about to try and fool himself that Sam was just sleeping. A fine sheen glazed the pale skin of his face, pink blushing his cheeks in fever, a stark contrast to his bloodless lips. When Dean felt for a pulse it was fast and shaky, matching the staccato rhythm of his breathing.

Rocking back on his heels, Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, and breathed.

Sam needed a hospital, that much was clear. From the bruising on his stomach and the way it was tense under his touch, there must have been at least a little internal bleeding, and that along with the breaks had to be taken care of by a professional. The problem was, Dean needed to get the arrow out of Sam's thigh before he took Sam in, but he didn't know if there was a possibility of nicking his femoral artery.

He was torn, and not knowing just wasn't something that was dealt with in the Big Brother Handbook.

Sam moaned and shifted beneath his searching hands and Dean mentally shook himself, knowing that he wouldn't take the chance with his little brother. Shifting enough to grab his phone from his pocket, but not enough to take his palm from where it rested on Sam's chest, Dean pulled the small cell out.

Dialing on automatic, Dean pushed send and wedged the phone between his shoulder and ear, using both hands to press against the wound in Sam's side. He would have done the same to Sam's thigh, but not knowing how close the arrow was to his little brother's artery, or how sharp the end was, stilled that motion.

He would just have to figure out a good story to tell the hospital, and most likely the cops. Figure out a way to explain why his brother was bruised, beaten and bloody. Why there was a friggin arrow impaled in his thigh.

Fighting the urge to groan, Dean relayed the information about Sam, kept up the constant pressure, and watched his little brother.

Sam was his top priority, and nothing was going to change that. Not the angels, not Lucifer and the apocalypse, or the fact that Sam had been addicted to demon blood. There was nothing that could touch the fact that Sam was his little brother, his Sammy, and that trumped everything.

Even this stupid break they had been on.

He was going to fix this. Was going to find a way for him and Sam to get back to hunting together.

It was his right as a big brother, and he was invoking that right.

XXXX

Five hours later left Dean sitting by Sam's side in the ICU. His brother still looked like hell, but surgery and a couple blood transfusions made him look more alive than he had when Dean had first shown up at the motel.

Clear tubing ran under his nose and hooked behind his ears, the nasal canula breathing fresh, clean air into Sam's bruised lungs. A cast covered his hand and halfway up his wrist, the white plaster stark against Sam's skin. A clean patch of gauze was taped to his forehead, hiding the clean row of seven stitches there, and contrasting harshly against the bruise that had further darkened Sam's cheek.

The rest was hidden underneath the scratchy wool blankets courtesy of Poughkeepsie General, including the incision from the surgery to repair the knick to Sam's kidney. The doctor had also mentioned that it had taken twenty two stitches to close the gash in Sam's side, along with another fifteen to close the wound in Sam's leg after they had taken care of the damage inside the wound.

Dean groaned and leaned forward a little more, stretching his arms before linking his fingers once again with Sam's. Sam hadn't so much as twitched since being settled in his room, and it was unnerving for Dean to see him so still. Even in sleep Sam was usually either twitching or moving restlessly.

He was never this completely out of it.

Guessing that it would probably be a while before Sam woke up, Dean scooted the chair up closer to the bed and leaned back, settling his booted feet on Sam's bed, never once letting go of Sam's hand.

He needed the reassurance after being separated from Sam, and then almost losing him.

Although Dean wasn't sorry that he was back with Sam, he was sorry for the reason, for the way he had found his way back to his brother, for the fact that it took Sam being injured and scared for Dean to head out and find him.

That wasn't okay with the older Winchester.

So with a content sigh, Dean settled back into the chair further, and waited for Sam to wake up. They needed to sort some things out, but Dean was more than happy to squeeze his way back into the role of big brother.

Beside him, Sam stirred, restlessly murmuring. "Sammy?" Dean asked, looking over at the younger man. Sam stilled, head turning toward Dean's voice.

"D'n?" He asked, voice no more than a rasp, eyes open only to the barest slits.

"S'okay, Sammy, I'm here, you're safe, go back to sleep." Dean told him gently, squeezing the hand still entwined with his, and leaning over to look Sam in the eyes. Sam nodded, eyes slipping shut again.

Less than a minute later he was asleep, and Dean felt something click back into place, something that had been missing since he had come back. The complete trust in Sam's voice, in his comfort knowing that Dean was there, loosened the knot that Dean hadn't even known had tightened his chest.

They were gonna be fine.

XXXX

'You, be running up that hill
You and me, be running up that hill
You and me won't be unhappy.'

XXXX

A/N: So I hope you all enjoyed this!

Take care, and if you please, leave a review and let this stressed out college student know she's doing some good!

DS