Disclaimer: Dean, Sam and the Impala do not belong to us in any way (sadly). We are just playing with the characters. This story is written purely for enjoyment with no profit of any kind expected, intended or desired.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! (CelineNaville and Mariamo)

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Dean moved unsteadily to his side, bracing his hand against the Impala for balance. "You're hurt, get in." There was a little shake in his voice as he carefully arranged his face into a blank mask, the darkness hiding the white pressure of his fingertips against the Impala's side.

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Hell - Next Turn on the Right

Chapter Two

"I'll drive." Sam panted, slipping on the safety, and tucking the pistol into the waistband of his low slung jeans with his good arm. "Dean are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. You're the one that's hurt. Just get in." Dean's eyes were narrowed as he looked at him with concern. "What's up with that shoulder? You don't look too good dude."

Sam decided to let his brother have his way. "I dislocated it." He ducked his head and settled into the passenger side of the Impala.

Dean slid carefully behind the wheel; he seemed tense, sitting forward a little on the bench seat. "Okay. Dislocated shoulder. We can fix that." There was a note of relief in his voice. "Let's get outta here, put some distance between us and those weird ass freaks and I'll get it sorted, okay?"

He glanced over at Sam, forcing a stiff smile onto his face. "Hey, good shot there Sammy."

"Thanks." Sam furrowed his brow, subconsciously reading the off body language from his older sibling. "Dean, what's wrong?"

The Impala's engine rumbled to life with a low growl. Dean raised an eyebrow at him casually as he drove off. "Nothin' is wrong. 'M fine. Support your arm there, Sam."

The bullshit charade wasn't fooling Sam one bit. He bit back a groan at the car's movement. "When we get a safe distance pull over."

The back road was rough; Dean drove carefully, trying not to throw the Impala around. He shot a sideways glance at his brother. Sam was looking pale, hunched forward as he supported his injured shoulder. "You alright there, buddy?"

Sam nodded and Dean faced forwards again, gripping tight to the wheel as a wave of dizziness swept over him. He was blinking, forcing himself to focus, when he caught sight of a blaze of fire in the mirror. He took his foot off the gas, letting the Impala drift to a halt. Behind them the house was a bright beacon of flame.

Sam turned around and looked calmly at the chaos out of the back window. "Well, I guess there goes any lingering spirits, huh?"

Dean smirked. "Way to go, Sammy." He shifted uncomfortably, his face pale and tired in the glow of the dashboard lights as he drove on. "Another couple of miles and we'll get that shoulder back in, okay?"

"Okay." Sam replied. He waited in silence for about a mile before he leaned over and gently took the wheel with his good arm. "Dean, pull over, okay?" He gave his brother a moment to react and when Dean didn't seem to acknowledge him, he continued in a soothing tone. "Come on. I need you to get my arm back in before you pass out."

"Huh?" Dean sounded vague, turning his head slowly. "Yeah… okay. Your shoulder." He pulled the Impala over to the side of the road and climbed out carefully, not quite able to suppress a little hitch in his breathing as he stood upright. He paused a moment, wiped the collar of his jacket across his face and walked unsteadily around to the passenger door.

Sam shoved the door open with his foot and tried to get out. It proved difficult with the way he was guarding his body. He pulled himself up with his good hand and took a huffing breath, steeling himself for the pain. He set his jaw. "Just do it."

Dean nodded. He took in a slow breath himself, clenched his teeth and grasped hold of his brother's shoulder and arm. There was no warning countdown, just a sharp, hard pull and the shoulder was wrenched back into its socket.

Sam screamed at the burn that had an intensity that almost dropped him. He caught himself against the door of the impala and stayed there a minute, trembling, swearing softly. His eyes held reflexive tears.

His brother bit back a whimper of pain of his own, fighting to keep his breathing under control as he leant against the side of the Impala. He reached out, rubbing Sam's back soothingly. "Sorry, dude. That sucks. I know."

"It's okay." Sam whispered. He wiped his jacket sleeve across his sweating forehead. "There's gotta be a better way than that, you know?"

Dean grunted. "You find it, be sure to let me know." Dislocated shoulders were all too common in a hunter's life.

"I hope we have vicodin in the back somewhere." Sam shuddered, trying to pull himself together as he turned to his brother. "Okay, what's wrong, lemme see?"

Dean was holding onto the Impala's back door for support, visibly shaking, looking at him with a hunted expression. His face was pale and sweaty in the spill of light from the car's interior. He suddenly blurted, "I don't wanna die Sam."

Sam's expression betrayed startlement before his eyes turned worried. "Okay I don't want you to either, buddy." He soothed. He stretched out his hands palm up, his tone conciliatory as if Dean was a frightened horse that might bolt. "What's wrong? Huh? 'S okay, Dean. I'm here. Okay?"

"I'm scared." Dean's voice was trembling. "I don't wanna go to hell. I'm runnin' outta time." The fear he'd tried to hide for so many months was suddenly naked on his face as he stared at his brother.

Fear. Desperation.

Sam read it with ease. "I know," he responded. "I know you are. I get it. I do...I'm scared too." He advanced on Dean, a careful step at a time-certain that something was very wrong with him. "...Really, really scared. But we gotta take care of you now, okay?"

"Sam?" Dean put a hand out to his brother. To stop him or beckon him forward was anyone's guess. Perhaps both.

"Are you hurt now?" Sam took the pale wrist, tightening his fingers around him, subversively feeling the pulse point. "What is it?"

Dean swallowed. "Not feelin' too good man. You okay to drive?" He swayed, his face miserable. "I'm meant to be the one lookin' after you."

Sam nodded. "I can drive." He stepped closer into his sibling's personal space and gently turned Dean around to look at his back.

Dean groaned, staggering a little.

Sam pulled up the jacket to reveal the broken end of what looked like a home-made cross bow bolt sticking out of his brother's lower back. The bolt had been fired with enough force to pass right through his leather jacket, although the fletching appeared to have caught in the leather, causing the top end of the shaft to shatter and fall away.

"Okay." Sam struggled to keep his voice level but almost broke out into a sob. "It's okay, Dean...god, why are you worried about my shoulder when you...okay..." he realized that he had to put away his frustrations and tend to the wounds. Dean was too fragile to take any verbal barrage. "Nevermind."

His brother turned slowly, blinking owlishly and patting at Sam's arm clumsily. He looked confused, lost, on the verge of going into shock.

Sam paused, trying to force his mind to think rationally. Sorting through the options he had with the efficiency of what his father had trained him to be. "Okay, I've got a med kit in the back. Motel is only about two miles away..." He pulled the jacket up a little more and checked again to see if the bolt was likely to have hit any internal organs. It was buried above his right hip bone, had traveled nearly straight through to his abdominal wall. Sam lifted the front of his brother's shirt, exposing the taut and trembling belly. "Okay." He felt his heart give a little lurch. He categorized what was in that quadrant of the body. Intestines. Appendix. Ureter. The shot had swung wide, it was more aligned with the outside of the hip. Too low to have hit a kidney.

Dean began listing sideways, holding onto Sam's good arm, trying to avoid the injured shoulder. "Need to sit down, Sammy. M'not feelin' so good." His voice was wobbly, eyes losing focus. "Gotta get this thing outta my back."

"Yeah. We do." Sam kept hold of Dean with one hand and used the other to open the back door. He helped his brother to lay on his front across the large bench seat. "Stay on your stomach, okay?"

"Not goin' anywhere."

"Okay. Don't roll onto your back. I'm gonna get us to the motel and then we can get that outta you, okay?"

"Yeah." Dean's face was sad as his eyes tracked Sam's movements. "M'sorry, 'bout everythin'..."

"I'm sorry too." Sam tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he closed the door.

Dean was gripping the edge of the seat, his tone harsh. "Let's just get through today, okay?"

"Yeah." Sam said, squeezing into the driver's seat and pulling back out onto the road. "Good plan."

He headed for the motel, trying to work out just how events had taken such a nasty turn. A few missing hikers, a family living in a haunted house, just a simple find the remains and salt'n'burn. Yeah okay. Until they'd been invited into the house, only to discover they were facing a psychotic serial killer and his son. A vicious fight had ended up with two dead serial killers and the brothers being locked in the cellar by the enraged ghost of one of the victims. All bad enough, but made so much worse by the unexpected appearance of the crossbow-bearing second son.

He could hear his brother's breathing, it sounded pained even over the growl of the Impala. Hang on Dean, he thought, just please hang in there.

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TBC More soon!

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