Hello all! This is my very first published Supernatural tale. My awesomely super fantastic Beta, DamonsGirl92, and I are working on polishing up a SPN novel we collaborated on over the past month and I hope to start publishing it next week. But I have been playing with this one for awhile in my head, finally wrote it down, and had the burning need to publish something. Here's hoping I've successfully transitioned from a solely Stargate writer to a dual fandom writer! :) ~Noxbait

Set during S1E22 Devil's Trap

He wasn't fighting.

That worried me. Even when he'd been seven and Davie MacLean had been sitting on him, punching him in the face, Sam had fought back. Of course, Davie MacLean had been eight and not a demon, so he hadn't quite packed the same punch. Shaking the fog out of my head, I struggled to roll off the hood of the car I'd been flung into. I looked up as the monster continued trying to crack Sam's skull open.

I'd been helping Dad, trying to get him to the car, when the demon had jumped Sam. Dad hadn't been up to moving on his own at that point, so I eased him to the ground and instinctively took off running toward Sam. Kicking hard enough to take the demon's head off had got me nothing except a free ride into a windshield. Watching as the demon smashed his fist against Sam's bleeding face again and again, I straightened up and lifted the only weapon I had available to me. If I tried to run back over there again, the demon was just going to fling me back into a car. Or worse. And if I waited any longer, Sam would be dead.

So I fired.

And it felt good. Watching that demon die gave me no small degree of satisfaction. Of course, I was gonna be in trouble when Dad found out I wasted a bullet. I felt a twist of guilt coupled with the realization that Dad probably wouldn't have used the Colt. What he would have done instead, I didn't want to consider. I stared down at the demon I'd just killed.

The man I'd killed.

Because the demon had been possessing a human and I'd killed them both without any hesitation. I remained frozen in place for a long moment; chilled. There seemed to be no limit to what I would do to protect Sam. To protect my family. It scared me. But Sam was lying there, beaten, bleeding and almost unconscious and I pushed every thought except for survival out of my head, I slid the gun into my coat and hurried over to Sam's side. I needed to get him up and moving. Now. And it didn't look like it was going to be easy. He didn't even seem aware of me at his side.

"Sam!" I grabbed his arm, pulling him up, trying to rouse him. We didn't have time for finesse at this point. "Sam, come on."

He was dead weight and I knew if I didn't get him on his feet soon, didn't get him moving, we were going to be in big trouble. He still wasn't responding to me, just leaning up against me weakly. It didn't take a genius to know he had a concussion. Had to keep him moving, get him up before he lost consciousness completely. Dragging him to his feet, I found myself supporting most of his weight until he finally managed to get his legs under him. More or less. Holding him up, my eyes were drawn to the corpse once more.

I'd fired that gun without a single thought for the man that demon had been possessing. All I had been thinking about, all I'd seen, was a monster killing my little brother. And that was all it had taken for me to pull that Colt out and blow the demon to hell. Mentally, I gave myself another shake. Could not think about that now. I had to stay focused, get moving. Had to get back to Dad. I had to get them out of here. Had to protect them. I pulled Sam's arm over my shoulder and dragged him forward.

"Come on." I encouraged, "Come on, we gotta get out of here."

Dad hadn't moved by the time we reached him. I let go of Sam and started pulling Dad up. He wasn't any more alert and no easier to get up than Sam had been. Vaguely, I noted Sam go down to brace himself on the pavement and I prayed I wasn't going to have to pick him up again. Arms shaking, I held Dad up while reaching out for the weapons bag, then, just like always, Sam was there to help. Together we got Dad up and moving and made our unsteady run for the car.

We made it without any further incident and Sam managed to get the door open in time for me to practically drop Dad into the back seat. He was unconscious by now. I tried to push him in further, but I couldn't move him. I called out to Sam to go around, but heard him throwing up somewhere behind me. I couldn't say I was surprised, but, for a moment, I almost panicked. We were exposed, one man down, and another not far behind. It was all on me. There were still demons around. We needed to be so far gone it wasn't funny.

Then Dad was moving, being pulled into the car and I looked up across the back seat into the sheet white face of my brother. I nodded my appreciation and pushed Dad's legs into the car, slamming the door and getting behind the wheel. Sam slammed the other door and had stumbled forward to the passenger's side door by the time I had the engine running. The second he was inside, even before he'd pulled the door closed, I was burning rubber. We'd been on the road for all of five minutes, my eyes glued to the rear view mirror, watching for any sign of pursuit, when Sam broke the silence.

"Dean."

Sam's voice was soft, unsteady and I glanced over at him in concern. He had a hand on the dashboard, leaning forward and looking up at me like he so often does. Like I have all the answers. It was great when we were kids. Great that my kid brother thought I was smart and always had the answers he needed. He believed anything I said. Always. Without question. Not so great now, though, when our dad was injured and unconscious in the back seat and we were being pursued by demons and I didn't have any answers for him. Dad was supposed to have the answers.

I didn't have any answers.

"Sam?" I asked, then quickly decided it wasn't the time to talk. He was swallowing convulsively and his face was drenched in sweat. Two seconds and I was going to have a mess on my hands. I quickly reached over and shoved his head down between his knees. "Keep your head down and don't you dare throw up on the upholstery."

"Dean?" His voice was muffled.

"What?"

"What are we going to do?" His head was coming up again.

I pushed his head back down, held it in place for a moment, and said, "Sammy, so help me if you puke on that carpet, I'm making you scrub it all out."

He was silent for a few minutes, except for the occasional groan as we bumped over the uneven road. I gritted my teeth and glanced in the rear view mirror. No one seemed to be following us. But I wasn't stopping. Not until we ran out of gas anyway.

"Is he going to be ok?"

"He'll be fine." I answered and almost convinced myself with that confidence I had forced into in my voice. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Dad was still out for the count. But Sam was staring at me with fear in his glassy eyes and I repeated, "He'll be fine."

I have no idea if he's going to be fine. I'm just saying what Sam needs to hear right now. He's my brother and I'm not opposed to lying to him when it makes him feel better. He'd just been pummeled by a demon, Dad's unconscious, and right now Sam's nothing more than a scared kid. He'd been running the whole year on the hope of finding Dad. Every single day he has been getting up with that hope in his head. That finding Dad was going to solve everything. Solve everything and somehow help him avenge Jess. Because he expected Dad to fix everything. I didn't even believe he could, but I couldn't dash Sam's hopes.

Sam lifted his head a little more and looked up at me miserably. I frowned at him, "You gonna puke?"

He shook his head, winced like he regretted it and asked quietly, "Where are we going?"

"As far away as possible." I hit the interstate and floored it. I stared out the front windshield at the road and again repeated, mostly to myself, "Dad's going to be fine."

Let me know what you think! Thanks so much. :)