Sam hadn't gone far when he heard the first shotgun blast.

Cursing, he started running and came back around the corner just in time to see Dean fire the second barrel into El Cucuy.

The tall, caped figure ignored the blast. With a deep growl, it snatched the shotgun away from Dean, then grabbed him up and flung him into the air. He hit a wall with a resounding thud and fell to the floor, arm twisted unnaturally beneath him.

Lips peeled back from his teeth in a silent snarl, Sam pulled out his machete and ran toward El Cucuy, who was crouching over his unconscious brother. The cape had slipped back and its head revealed, bulbous and spongy-looking.

Before the thing even knew he was there, Sam was on him, gleaming blade swinging to sever the monster's head and sending it bouncing down the corridor.

Kicking the monster's corpse aside, Sam knelt beside his brother; checked for and found a pulse. "Dean?"

Suddenly, beneath the frantic pounding of his heart, Sam heard a soft footfall behind him.

Jerking the pistol from his belt, he twisted around, ready to fire.

ΩΩΩ

John Winchester tried a smile. "Hey, Sammy. You mind putting away that gun?"

Sam stared at his father for a long moment. He shoved the gun back into his belt. "We – I don't want you here." He bent back down beside his brother, surprised but thankful when he heard his father's footsteps retreating.

The lump on the side of Dean's head didn't look too bad, but he was going to have one hell of a headache when he woke up. And probably a concussion. The arm, that was broken, no question. Which meant a hospital.

He heard a soft whimper and Sam rose again to see his father, arms full of a doe-eyed, dark-haired child, coming toward him.

"El Cucuy must have brought her here," John said in answer to Sam's wide-eyed astonishment. "She seems okay." He jerked his chin toward Dean. "How is he?"

"Broken arm," Sam answered shortly. "Probably a concussion." He bent and gently tapped Dean's cheek. "Hey. Dean. Up and at 'em."

When Dean didn't respond, John nudged his fallen son's hip gently with his boot, ignoring Sam's glare. "Dean. Wake up, son."

"Dad?" Dean's eyelids fluttered open. Eyes struggling to focus, he tried to sit up, then sank back with a low, pained moan.

"Don't move, Dean," John cautioned. He absently patted the girl's back when she started to whimper. "Your arm's broken."

"It's okay, Dean," Sam said reassuringly. "Monster's dead and we've got the girl. We'll get the arm set, get some good drugs into you."

Dean nodded slightly, wincing slightly at the pain in his head. "'Kay." He looked blearily at his father. "Hey, Dad."

"Son." John smiled, then looked at Sam. "How can I –"

"If you really want to help, get the kid to the hospital." Sam gave a terse nod to El Cucuy's corpse. "And –"

"Take out the trash?" His father smirked. "No problem. Good job on the douche bag, by the way."

Rubbing slow circles on the now dozing child's back, John watched as Sam got his brother slowly to his feet. Stopping first to retrieve their shotguns, he half-supported, half-carried an unsteady Dean down the corridor,

As his sons disappeared around the corner, John called softly, "I'll be by later, boys."

ΩΩΩ

Next chapter will be up Wednesday. Need the next day or so to polish the next chapter of My Boys Redux. Later.