Disclaimer: I do not own supernatural

After laying in the dirt for a minute or so, my mind starts to clear, and my stomach clenches at what I realize happened. 'Oh, my god. I shot Dean. I shot Dean.'

I quickly get onto my unsteady feet and stumble toward my brother, who is laying unnervingly still. Dean's never still, he's always moving. Once closer, I see that he is in fact breathing. 'Good, not dead' I drop to my knees beside him and scan my eyes over him, searching for where he's hit. My hand finds its way to his shoulder, to reassure myself that he's not dead. That I didn't kill my brother. But I look at his shoulder and see blood seeping out from a hole in his jacket.

I draw my hand back to inspect the wound. Blood coats my hand, but I ignore it and focus on Dean. 'Okay, what first?' My body is shaking, making it hard to concentrate. 'Did the bullet go all the way through?' I gently roll him over, searching for an exit wound, but find nothing. 'Must be lodged in his shoulder' "Calm down Sammy," I whisper to myself, not taking note of my use of Dean's nickname for me. 'I could run back home and get dad, he'd know what to do' I shake my head, not liking the idea of leaving Dean alone for any amount of time.

"Put pr'ssure on it," I hear Dean grumble from in front of me. "Oh, my god, Dean. I'm-I'm so s-sorry. I-I shot you, didn't m-mean to." My words come out shaky, relief flooding me at hearing Dean's voice. "Put pressure on the bullet hole in my should," He says, his voice clipped from pain. He tries sitting up on his own, which only ends with him grimacing and falling back down.

I know he won't rest until he's on his own two feet, and better I help him than let him strain himself from over exertion. I gently guide him upward, so he's sitting cross-legged, most of his weight leaning on me, though I'd never mention it. "Sammy? Sammy?" I shift him so we're looking at each other, and nod at him that he has my attention. He puts one hand behind my neck and pulls my head towards him, so our faces are mere inches away from each other. "Put pressure on the damn wound, would ya?"

Hastily I place my hand on his shoulder, watching his face screw up in pain, and apply pressure as told. I can feel his tense muscles shake, not liking it one bit. "Shit!" He exclaims when he, once again, starts to stand up, but this time he succeeds, albeit with my help. "Careful, man. It's bleedin' a lot," I warn, awkwardly standing with my hand on the back of his shoulder and the other hand under his arm. "'Course it's bleeing a lot, tends to happen when you've been shot," He explains to me like I'm ten. Which I'm not, I'm almost fifteen.

"We gotta get back to dad he'll..." Dean trails off, his eyes glazing over. 'Not good' I shake him gently trying to rouse him from the dazed look on his features. "Hmm? Oh, yeah, been shot, need'ta get help," He mumbles out, taking an uncoordinated step forward. My worry deepens at the slurred speech and clumsiness. "Woah, woah. Slow down, man." I say, tightening my grip and slowly moving us forward.

After twenty minutes of walking, I call a break. Dean is sweating profusely with a pained frown on his face, his breathing is labored and he looks as white as a sheet. "Dude, maybe you should take it easy," I suggest, but receive a glare as response. 'Perfect' "Don't be stubborn, Dean, you can clearly see we won't make it back before night fall," I say to my pig-headed brother. "Who actually says 'before night fall', what kinda twelve year old says... That." He rambles on, losing his words every once and a while. "I mean, I never said that when I was, uh, um, eleven. Did you? Oh, wait, why am I asking you, you're only a kid. I've never been good with kids, except that, uh, one kid, um, what was their name? Jason?"

I look skyward as he speaks, not focusing on his words but on the sky. It's turning black, which is very very bad for us. I can already feel the chill settling itself around me, one glance at Dean confirms he too is feeling the biting cold air that has descended on us. His body is trembling but he doesn't seem to notice or even care to notice what state his body is in.

"Look, Dean, I think we're gonna need to stay out here for the night," I inform him, pressing my hand tighter on his shoulder, knowing in my mind that if we do stay out here the night, that wound is going to be a big problem. I run through my mind a list of all the problems that will or could potentially be harmful to us as we spend the night outside with no supplies. It's a long list. 'Maybe dad'll notice we've been gone too long and come looking for us' I hope in my head, wanting to believe anything above our actual situation. 'This is gonna be a long night'