Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or the characters …

Author's Note: Thank you everyone for the inspiring reviews! This is just a short chapter of Sam's pain. Actually, this whole story is based on Sam and pain. What can I say; we all get our kicks in different ways.

Untended Wounds

Written by Kokoda2007

Chapter 2

When Sam woke up the room was still illuminated by the outside lights, dawn still a few hours away. Instinctively he surveyed the quiet room, trying to determine what had roused him from sleep. Seeing nothing untoward lurking in the shadows and his brother sleeping peacefully in the next bed he immediately released his breath and relaxed his guard.

No longer feeling threatened, he at once became conscious of the sticky liquid coating his shoulder and the damp patch below on the mattress and pillow. Running his tongue over his dry lips, he pushed himself to a sitting position, wanting to move away from the damp bed. Biting his lip, he tried to stop the gasp of pain that escaped with the simple movement.

Seated on the edge of the bed with his feet resting on the cold floor he looked down at the now exposed red stained sheets, evident even in the dim light.

A wave of apprehension washed over him as he took in the wide spread stain, evidence of the injury that he had forgotten to tend. Reaching over his shoulder, he felt the jagged area, his fingers coming away coated in thick clotting blood. In his mind he ran over the events that had resulted in the injury, remembering the protruding metal garden stake that he had been tossed against, and gave silent thanks that the injury wasn't more severe. He'd obviously moved around a little in his sleep, disturbing the clotting blood and causing the uncovered wound to continue bleeding. He wished he could see the injury, but its position prevented it, so he couldn't assess how deep the cut actually was. He just hoped that he had managed to clean it thoroughly under the shower, not wanting it go through the rigmarole that an infection entailed.

Looking at the sleeping form of his brother, he wondered whether to wake him up now, or to wait a few more hours until morning to stitch his wound. They'd had a long evening and had both returned to the motel exhausted and he knew Dean really needed a good nights sleep. Then again, he knew Dean would be furious if the wound got infected because he neglected to get it tended too.

Deciding that thinking about it didn't bring him any closer to a solution, he realized he had to wake his brother. But first, he was really thirsty and desperately needed to get a drink of water. Then he'd wake Dean; after all, a few more minutes wouldn't make any difference now.

Standing quickly was a mistake. He realized as soon as he stood that he should have taken things more slowly. Dizziness assaulted him in a rush and his periphery vision blurred out of focus. Too far away from the wall to lean on it for support, he was forced to abruptly slump back onto the bed, ending up back where he started. He took a few deep breaths until the feeling of nausea abated and the room swum back into focus.

Shuffling on the bed to move closer to the wall, he stood more slowly this time, keeping a hand on the wall for support. Standing upright, it took a moment to gain his balance before he felt confident in abandoning the security of the wall. He made his was tentatively towards the bathroom, leaning on furniture and the wall on the way to prop himself up when he felt his body falter. Relief washed over him when he reached his goal and he closed the bathroom door quietly behind him before switching on the overhead light. It wouldn't hurt to let Dean get a few more minutes sleep before he woke him up.

Leaning against the sink, he swallowed back the nausea that rose in his throat as he struggled to get his breathing under control. The short trip had taken more out of his than he'd thought.

Turning on the water, he cupped his hand and took a few small sips of the cold liquid, before running his damp hand through his hair, brushing it away from his face. His pale complexion stared back at him in the mirror.

The wound on his shoulder throbbed in time with his pulse and a small trickle of blood had resumed it's trickly down his back. His t-shirt felt sticky and damp and he carefully pulled it over his head, flinching at the pain the movement caused. Looking in the mirror, he still couldn't see the inconveniently positioned wound, only the rusty coloured blood matting his shoulder and surrounding areas.

Folding one of the used damp bath towels, he pressed it firmly against his shoulder, causing a shaft of pain to resonate through his entire body. He gasped, determined to bring the pain under control whilst maintaining pressure on the injury.

As another wave of nausea assaulted him, he was defenceless in fighting it back. Instead he slumped to his knees in front of the toilet and swallowed convulsively as he waited for the retching to begin.

Unintentionally, he dropped the folded towel from his bleeding shoulder as he was forced to place two hands on the edge of the toilet to support himself as his body violently expelled its stomach contents. As the final few dry heaves slowly diminished he could feel the torn flesh on his shoulder pull against the demands of his trembling body.

Calling on energy reserves he wasn't sure he had, he rose shakily to his feet, using the sink to help pull himself up. The room spun unevenly around him, and he felt another wave of nausea assault him. He swallowed it down, knowing he didn't have the strength to go another round.

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the bathroom sink, waiting for the vertigo to stop. A slight tremble shook through his body as he struggled with the effort of remaining upright. He suddenly felt unsure about whether he'd be able to make it back to the bedroom, to get to his brother, to get the help he needed.

His shoulder throbbed and he again felt the thin trickle of blood flow down his back, small drops of crimson splattering on the floor tiles near his feet. His body swayed unsteadily, slowly losing its fight to remain standing.

"De …Dean" he called weakly, the sound echoing in the small room.

Sam slumped to the floor, leaning his side against the wall from his seated spot on the cold tiles. The cold seemed to seep through his body, adding to the tremble that ran through him.

"Dean" he called louder this time, using his remaining strength.

He hung his head against his knees and closed his eyes against the dizziness. He swallowed, desperate for some moisture in his parched throat, but only gagging on the lingering taste of sickness.

He waited, hoping his brother would answer his call.

To be continued…

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Author's note: No apologies for the cliff-hanger – I did it on purpose. As always, thank you for reading. I'd appreciate a review, letting me know what you think. Please!