Warning: Sexual situation, blood, language - you are looking at a writer's attempt to overcome her writing issues. Maybe you should just run away. :-)

Disclaimer: Sick of saying it, it depresses me.

I left my hand on his stomach and reached forward with my other hand to stroke his cheek with my fingers. His skin was cool still, but not as cold as I had feared. I reached a little farther and whisped the backs of my fingers across his forehead, over his temple and down his cheek to his jaw. As I dragged my pelvis along his hard length again I looked into his eyes.

"I'm sorry Dean. I will do whatever I have to do to heal you and buy Sam some more time." I had not been able to explain to him the risks, I knew he would be angry when he found out. But there was no way I was going to stop, and I felt the need to apologize. Not for trying to help him, but for what he would be blind-sided by later.

He gave me a smile and it was all Dean Winchester - the smile that bedded 1,000 women. Sexy and impish, hinting at child-like innocence but breathtakingly masculine. "Never had a...woman 'pologize...for havin'er way...with me before." Still struggling for breath, but his weary eyes sparkled as he teased and just like that the guilt slid away again.

He gave himself over to the experience as though we were not clothes-fucking like a couple of high-school kids behind the bleachers. I had done my best to divide his pain between us so we could both try to focus past that to the pleasure of the moment.

He was weak with pain and blood loss, but his big hands were firm at my hips. He tried to make up for his immobility by using the strength in those hands to ease my burden of doing all the work. I had always suspected he was a considerate lover.

As I rocked along his length I allowed my hands to roam his muscular body. I wanted to touch him, to feel his muscles roll and flex under my hands, but I also wanted to coax some of the tension and pain out of him.

Starting with his stomach, I used my palms and fingertips to warm and knead the knotted tissue. He grunted, took a shuddering breath and moaned softly with pleasure. Green eyes looked out at me from under heavy lids. His tongue snaked out and dragged along his lower lip, drew it in between his teeth and bit down on it.

Keeping a steady rhythm with our hips, I ran my hands along his ribcage. My thumbs and fingers danced between each rib. He arched his back slightly to allow me greater access to the intercostals, which also added delicious pressure to each stroke along his shaft. His lip slid, wet and shining, from between his teeth with a gasp.

He shivered beneath me and I could feel the warmth building between us. My hands roamed higher to the rise of his smooth pectorals, they rolled and twitched with each shift of his hands on my hips. I could feel each shallow breath, the occasional hitch in his chest as he struggled.

At the peak of my next upstroke, his hands shifted from my hips to my ribcage and he drew me in for a kiss. Startled, it took me a moment to respond to his tongue as it teased along my lips.

I opened my mouth and our tongues began an intricate dance, alternating spins and twirls. Each mapping the other's mouth as if committing it to memory forever. I immediately tasted the sweet copper tang of his blood where it had passed through his mouth, where it still sat not far from the surface.

The part of me that was more animal than human sat herself up and took notice. Without hesitation, I drew on the raw power that allows me to shift forms. Altering your shape and physical makeup is catastrophically hard on the body and requires a phenomenal amount of energy to accomplish. Sex would open the door, would cast the healing spell, but every bit I could harness would heal him that much more.

I could feel that delicious tension building and I opened myself to it, my own breath hitching in my chest.

I heard him whimper against my lips and I shuddered as it nearly sent me crashing over the edge. But not yet.

The energy building between us needed to be gathered up, drawn in, altered from a wild chaotic hurricane to a laser-precise surgical tool.

Cupping his stubbly cheeks I nibbled gently on his full bottom lip before pulling myself away. I ran my hands along his firm pecs, down his ribcage that was struggling for breath to his trembling stomach muscles.

I put my hands back to where he had placed them at the beginning and reached down inside myself again, down to where the part of me that could heal was filling up. I drew in every bit of that warm, crackling sexual energy. Drank it down deep and mixed it with the animal tension that always swam just beneath the surface of my being.

He gripped my hips again and I could feel he was close, knew I was tip-toeing back to the edge of the cliff as well even though my focus had momentarily been elsewhere. I opened my eyes to find him watching me, his eyes shining with need.

He needed the eye contact, craved the intimacy it provided. He always pretended sex was meaningless, but it was the most open he allowed himself to be with someone. I looked deep into his eyes and could give him no less in return.

His hands guided me from base to tip one final time and I watched him drop over the edge into the abyss calling my name softly, his eyes never straying from mine as his stomach contracted lifting his shoulders off the pillows.

He was so beautiful, so vulnerable and trusting in that moment I couldn't help but let myself be swept along with him. The sound of his name on my lips was a promise.

As we crested together, I grabbed the peak of our climax and dragged it down into myself, threw it along my arms and out my hands into him. As I looked into his eyes, I could feel his body mending beneath my hands. Starting with the points that were hurting him the most, I ran my hands along his skin once again. This time, though, I was not massaging away surface hurts. I was pouring our combined energy into his broken body, piecing it back together bit by bit.

When either of us would twitch with an aftershock, I would gather that up as well. I was open to him completely, could feel all of his injuries and I was determined to make him whole again. I used every bit of the power that had swirled and crashed through the room, I used every last bit of energy I had within me.

I held his gaze as the pain melted away, as his breathing eased back to normal, as his headache stopped trying to split his brain in two, as amazement and wonder filled the gaps where pain and despair had sat so recently.

I could not so easily replace the blood he had lost, so he was still ghostly white but damn if he didn't look better anyway. As his lips twisted up into a smirk, I gently closed the gateways between us. I could feel myself starting to crash after working such an intense bit of magic.

I also may have parted with a little too much of my own energy.

Never breaking eye contact, I tried to swing my leg over so I could sit on the bed alongside him. Instead, I found myself dropping bonelessly toward the bedspread as my vision tunneled into blackness. A strong arm caught me across the front of my shoulders before I could face-plant the bedspread. Dean pulled me close laying my head on his chest. He wrapped his arm around me as he pulled my arm across his stomach.

My last conscious thought as Dean yanked the bedspread over us was please hurry Sam.