The Slip
He watched the beer bottle slip from his hand, his tumble down his stairs. He felt the agony of the scream die in his throat; he could only muster the strength in the face of utter terror to whisper out his name.
The hunter sprinted and managed to catch his head before hitting the bottom step. He promised himself an ounce of fatherly comfort, running fingers through Dean's hair, before calling 911.
Maybe he could take care of this himself. But in his arms he cradled an unconscious and bleeding Winchester. And nothing was gonna happen to his boy today.
FIN