Author's Note: Today I just had a crappy day for a variety of reasons. Because of that, I'm so happy that I get to write some hurt!Sam to help cheer me up. I hope you guys are having a better day than me! Today's prompt comes from that angsty impala who requested, "The boys wind up in a motel on Christmas, and so head out to a diner in search of Christmas dinner. Due to Winchester luck, they walk straight in on an armed robbery. Cue Sammy taking a bullet for Dean and a ticket to the hospital." Thank you for this awesome prompt! Let's set this in season one, okay? Please enjoy!

"And it came to pass on that Christmas evening

While all the doors were shuttered tight

That in that town, the happiest Christmas

Was shared by candle light."

—Paul Stookey, "Christmas Dinner"

Dean really shouldn't be surprised by this turn of events.

"Easy," He puts his hands out, keeps his voice slow and calm, tries to get control of the situation unfolding. "Let's just talk about this."

The gunman who shakily stands before him doesn't seem inclined to that idea. He points the gun at Dean's heart, an instant death sentence if he pulls the trigger.

"Shut up," The gunman hisses, "Or you'll be dead."

A waitress sobs for a split second before slamming her hand on her mouth, keeping the sounds under control. Other patrons who hadn't managed to escape when the gunman had showed up, huddle together, terror evident in their eyes.

"Look, you don't want to do this." Dean begins, but the gunman laughs.

"I'm not going to tell you again," He hisses, putting the barrel of the gun on his chest. "Shut the fuck up."

It's clear they're in a standoff and there's no way out.

Dean really shouldn't have expected something different when they went out for dinner, on Christmas no less. Their luck is bad, even by normal standards, and fate seemed to have it out for them.

He just wanted to take Sam out for dinner to cheer him up. It's only been a little bit of time since Jessica died and he knows his little brother still, unjustly, blames himself for her death. Dean knows he's wrong, but it would take Sam to come around and see the truth.

Sam's been depressed, moping around whatever motel room they called home for the week, silently lamenting all that he had lost in such a short of amount of time and quietly blaming himself for everything that went wrong.

So, after much debate, Dean had dragged his brother out into the cold, to go get dinner at the diner across the street from the motel.

And that's how they walked into the robbery in progress.

Which, is how they got to here, with a gun pressed into Dean's chest.

"I just want the fucking money!" The robber barks at the older woman huddling next to the cash register. "Give it to me or you all are going to die!"

"I told you," She whispers, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I'm new here. My manager knows how to open the register—"

"You're lying, you bitch!" The gunman screams, spinning around to face her now, a gun in her face. "Open it or I will shoot you—!"

"I can't!" The woman practically screams, sobbing.

"Take it easy," Dean tries to get the gunman to focus on him. If he does, they may have a chance to disarm the guy and get him to the police. "She doesn't know anything."

The gun is back in Dean's line of sight.

"One more damn word," The gunman threatens through clenched teeth. "One more word and I will blow your fucking head off!"

It's a risk to keep talking, but a calculated one. Until the police get here, he might be the only one here with enough skill to actually disarm the guy. It might be the only way to get everyone here out alive—

"What's your plan, huh?" Dean presses. "Put down the gun and run. The cops are on their way and when they get here—"

He isn't sure what exactly happens in the second after he says that. It's almost as if time slows down and Dean is aware of three things all at once.

One, there is a loud bang that resounds in the room, piercing the fragile silence.

Two, the feeling of falling as he is shoved to the side.

Three, the sight of his baby brother's chest bleeding as the bullet slams into his skin.

Dean seizes the moment and punches the robber and keeps punching him until the guy is unconscious. He shouts at a woman to call 9-1-1 and then rushes over to Sam.

"M'fine." Sam manages to say through gritted teeth.

Dean acts on instinct, ripping his own outer shirt into strips and applying pressure to his brother's wound. The blood soaks through the material and Dean tries not to think about what that might mean for Sam.

"Just hold on, Sammy."

But Sam is unconscious and bleeding out and Dean is useless.

And what's worse, it's Dean's fault.

"Sam Hagar?"

Dean stands up immediately, nearly knocking the chair over in the process.

"I'm his brother. How is he?"

The doctor comes over to him, glancing at a chart.

"The bullet missed any vital organs and he didn't lose too much blood, so all things considered, I'm not too worried." The doctor manages a small smile and places a hand on Dean's shoulder. "He was incredibly lucky."

Dean wants to laugh at that, but instead he manages to ask, "Can I see him?"

"Of course. Right this way."

"Okay, ow." Sam grimaces as he tries to sit up in the hospital bed.

"Just let me do that, would you?" Dean hisses, fixing the pillows behind his brother's injured form. Gently, he helps his baby brother sit up easily. "Better?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

Dean doesn't say anything. He doesn't deserve thanks, not when it's his fault that his baby brother is here in the first place. If he had just kept his mouth shut, Sam would've never—

"Stop it." Sam interjects.

"What?" Dean asks, all too innocently.

"I can hear you blaming yourself from here." Dean opens his mouth to protest only for Sam to add, "Don't, Dean."

"Why not?" Dean questions, more bitterness in his tone than he expected. "It is my fault you're here, Sam. If I had just kept my damn mouth shut—"

"You were trying to save innocent people—"

"And it should be me in that hospital bed!" Dean snaps, anger welling up within him. He huffs out a breath and runs a hand through his hair. "You should've never had to push me out of the way!"

"Had to?" The youngest Winchester echoes. "Dean, I pushed you out of the way because you're my brother."

"I'm supposed to protect you." He insists and Sam chuckles dryly.

"You think that doesn't go both ways? Dean, I would do anything for you."

The older Winchester brother stays silent for a long time after that. Finally, in a quiet voice, he manages to say, "I'm sorry, Sam."

Sam laughs, "Dean, relax, you have nothing to apologize for. I'm fine, okay? There's no point in worrying about the what-ifs—"

"But—"

"Dean," Sam interrupts sharply, his gaze meeting his brother's, "It's okay, really. I'm okay."

Dean huffs out a laugh, squeezing his brother's wrist.

"Merry Christmas then Sammy. You sure have shitty luck."

Sam laughs, loud and boisterous.

"Merry Christmas, Dean."

Author's Note: I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!