And the winner is: Ally Plz! Her entry is below and she can now request anything she likes from me, but if you think this was an easy decision, HELL NO! I had so many great entries, and a few that didn't get done in time. Anyway, the other entries can be found in the following chapters with my comments. I love you all, and you're all so darn talented, but I went with Ally's because I felt it captured the boys the most as they truly are, and the direction she took was the most unique. Thanks everyone who read and especially to those who entered!

Beta-ed just a tad by me. Please comment for Ally!

-----

The Ending

-----

Then, as if he had just woken up from a bad dream, Sam hastily picked himself off his elder brother's body, right palm covering his mouth. His panicked eyes met with Dean's unfocused glazed ones as his mind fumbled for an excuse. He came up with none.

Feeling confused, Dean blinked and shook his head slightly, ridding some of the blur from his eyes. "Whadid cha stop?" he slurred out. His brain function was clearly not mingling well with blood loss. Dean sat up slowly with fatigue and was suddenly attacked by vertigo. Dark spots covered his line of sight and he tilted dangerously to the side, threatening to crush his wounded shoulder.

The floor shouldn't be forty-five degrees like that, Dean decided.

Sam was suddenly kneeling next to him muttering curses and reprimanding himself for not helping his brother earlier. His arm wrapped around his brother's back with the other carefully cradling his injured shoulder, trying to hold him upright.

"Jesus Dean, you really need those stitches," Sam said, stating the obvious and feeling panicky as he examined Dean's bleeding shoulder, peeling off the tattered remains of the sleeve from the wound, but left the strips stuck inside it for he had no proper equipment. The gashes from the harpy's claws were long and wide and deeper than he had thought, almost reaching his brother's elbow. The bleeding didn't stem even a bit and the blood pooling on the floor was bordering on unhealthy.

'If this goes on,' Sam frowned 'Dean will pass out from blood loss.' Passing out was the last and worst thing Sam wanted Dean to do right now.

With little choice, Sam stripped out of his own shirt, deciding there and then that even if it was his favorite shirt (so far) and that he had just bought it a few weeks before, it far from being as important as his brother staying alive. He positioned himself until Dean was sitting in between his legs and laying his back on Sam's raised knee. Tearing his shirt apart into wide strips, Sam hastily wrapped them around the gashes, all the while wincing and mumbling apologies when he applied too much pressure for Dean to handle as he let out some pained groans and curses.

"I hate you God for creating pain," remarked Dean suddenly with his teeth gritted.

It caught Sam unaware and despite the situation, he chuckled. "You'd rather feel pleasure and turn into a masochist then?"

"Hell yeah! At least it'd – ah Christ! Not so tight!—it'd feel like sex," said Dean, moving his uninjured arm around in a gesture as Sam finished tying up the last of the strips of his shirt. "And dying peacefully wouldn't take any fucking effort," he continued, amused eyes looking at Sam.

All humor was successfully sucked out of the atmosphere with that remark. Sam frowned and tightened his hold on Dean. "Seriously Dean, say something about being dead when you're not actually going to die if I don't get you some help soon, will you?" muttered Sam while gazing into his brother's eyes.

Blurry vision or not, Dean would be fucking blind if he didn't see the Sammy version puppy dog eyes staring into his with such a small distance between them. And pardon the English slang, but those bloody eyes could kill.

"Whatever you say, Sammy."

Shit.

It should be very, very wrong for those words to be arousing in this situation, Sam discovered. Why he thought it was arousing in the first place, he didn't know.

He went still for a few seconds. Then as if he finally remembered his mission to nurse Dean back to satisfactory (as they could never actually grow healthy before the next hunt), with his voice appallingly husky he asked, "Dean, can you stand?" giving a cough or two to hide his tone.

Either Dean didn't acknowledge the huskiness, or he was just too tired to notice because he slurred, "The day I turn into your fucking damsel in distress is the day the apocalypse comes." Dean still had his snarky side despite the blood loss, it seemed. "Of course I can. Not a sissy like you," he said elbowing Sam on his stomach slightly while trying to stand on his own.

Sam ouffed.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Humor was restored, but as glad as he could be that Dean was still acting like himself, Sam still couldn't let him go as he helped his reluctant brother until Dean was finally standing, albeit swaying slightly like a drunk.

"Lemmie go, Sammy. I can walk on my own."

"It's Sam, and I don't think you can," Sam said with worry, "You can barely stand on your own, Dean!"

Dean growled something about not being weak and pushed Sam away with less strength than he intended. Damn it, he did feel weak. He started to walk towards what he thought might be the way out of the stupid warehouse and immediately buckled after the third tiny step.

"Dean!" Sam caught him before he hit the ground. "What did I tell you?" he said with the 'I-told-you-so' tone in his voice.

"Shut up, sasquatch," sulked Dean before he yelped when Sam huddled him into his arm to carry him—bridal style. Sam took a minute to get used to Dean's weight in his arms and walked almost the opposite of where Dean had been heading seconds before. Dean grumbled out curses and glared like a prissy cat.

Sam shook his head with exasperation. "Of all the days and times to be stubborn Dean, why must it be this day now?"

Dean just remained quietly grumbling and sulking in Sam's arms. 'Kid's getting strong', he thought proudly. His eyes were getting more and more unfocused and he felt so very tired. He laid his head on his brother's chest, unaware of what he was doing to his younger brother.

"If you ever tell anyone I had to be a friggin blushing bride, I'mma kick your ass and throw you into a cage full of hungry wolves," mumbled Dean, his voice muffled over Sam's collarbone.

Warm air puffed over Sam's sweaty skin eliciting shivers as he struggled to hold Dean in place while walking them back to the Impala. The pair of jeans he was wearing was starting to feel slightly tighter and Sam cursed his nether region for being traitorous.

'Younger brothers don't feel attracted or get aroused by their older brothers,' he said internally, 'Especially if the older brother's a stubborn jerk'

He arrived at the passenger door of the Impala and opened his mouth to ask Dean for the keys but nothing came out when he noticed Dean was seriously in the verge of passing out.

Shit!

"Damn! No passing out on me, Dean!" Sam shook Dean and tried to stop him from losing consciousness. 'Ok, keys. Need keys.' His hand groped and reached for Dean's keys in his back pocket with difficulty.

Apparently, a hand grabbing his ass shook Dean up more effectively than jostling ever could, something Sam discovered when he was elbowed beneath his rib cage. Dean weakly glared at him and Sam quickly pulled out the keys as explanation, struggling to bend and unlock the door.

He helped Dean back onto his feet and almost had to push his brother's head down to avoid him hitting the door frame when he ducked into the car. Sam noticed that blood was starting to seep out of his makeshift bandages. Dean noticed it too and said, "Hurry up, Sammy. You don't want me to die, make an effort saving me then."

And in no time, the black 1967 Chevy Impala took off. Dean shook his head slightly, trying to not fall asleep as he slumped towards the driver's seat side. He almost nodded off anyway, was sure that he had until he felt a slight pressure and something soft on his lips. He frowned and the feeling was gone. When he opened his eyes again, he thought he saw Sam blushing and blinked.

Did Sam just…?

Huh.

Dean slumped back into his own seat. He opened his mouth to say something, but tactfully decided against it and slowly turned on the radio. Sam changed the frequency with a soft 'driver picks the music' to something more upbeat. Dean was too tired to argue and stared outside the window thinking. His thoughts kept him awake long enough until he noticed that they had arrived at Bobby's junkyard.

Sam wordlessly got out of the car and helped Dean out as well.

He slung his brother's uninjured arm over his shoulder and almost dropped him when he heard his brother rasp to him, "Next time you decide to molest me, do it when I'm fully coherent. I swear I won't bite," and promptly passed out.

Sam gaped and stared at his unconscious brother until Bobby yelled at them to come inside the house.

-----

Ally's original A/N to me: Wow, it took me like 3 1/2 pages to tell something that is like… 30 minutes time limit from start to finish (at least in my mind). I truly suck at preserving atmosphere and the ending is just bad. Sorry for that, Crim. *crai*

Sam said a lot of 'Dean' in my part… Methinks it's because I keep remembering the SPN Jensen interview with Jensen said that Sam said 'Dean' a lot and stuff. I can't put Dean doing a model look anywhere… but heh, it's the imagination that counts amirite?

-----

Thanks again!

Crim