Title: Jump the Shark – Missing Scene (Blood-Loss)

Genre: Limp!Sam/ Big Brother!Dean

Warnings: Semi-graphic blood, but only as necessary to provide us with limp!Sam

Description: It always annoyed me slightly how fast Sam recovered from the blood loss in this scene, so I decided to see if I could do better. First part is a dramatization of the scene as seen on the show, then my own love of limp!Sam kicks in to expand a little on which was already there, and provide the extra interaction that I craved.

About the Author: I am a modestly successful author on under a different user name, writing in some starkly different genres, and have created this new account to express my love for Supernatural, Dean, Sam, Castiel, but most especially limp!Sam. I will be happy to take requests or suggestions, but I'll say more about that later. First, enjoy…

As Sam Winchester looked up into the cold, dead eyes of the ghoul who looked so much like his newly united half-brother, he could tell that these moments would be his last. He didn't know where his brother was, or if Dean would even try to find him after their earlier fight over Adam, but it didn't matter either way. He could feel his strength dwindling, fading fast, and each breath was coming slower than the last. There was no way that he would survive long enough to be found by anyone, even if these monsters didn't kill him there and then.

They had taken their time about it, if they were planning to grant him an end to the suffering. Slicing into him slowly and methodically; tasting his blood, like he was a freaking vending machine for ghoul chow. Sam could vaguely remember telling Dean that ghouls fed on the dead, yet these two seemed perfectly content to feed from his veins instead. He found himself, as morbid as it was, wondering if he tasted better to them than old blood from the cemetery. He resolved that if he was going to die he should be allowed to spend his last moments in this bizarre vanity, regardless of the stupidity and disgust that accompanied the curious thoughts.

He could feel the slow, sluggish trickle of blood from his wrists where Adam had cut into his skin and the female ghoul had lapped at the wound like a demonic puppy. He was making a good show of keeping up the fighting talk, so that his captors would not see how much pain they were inflicting, but he was beginning to flag. The edges of his vision were starting to blur grey and hazy with the effort it took to keep them open and trained on the two sadistic bastards.

The pain burst through him like a white hot flow of molten magma as Adam dug his finger into the wound in his abdomen and Sam could hear them talking above him, but couldn't make out much through the excruciating pain coursing through his body. The woman fed from him again a few moments later and Sam was sure he blacked out for a split second, before a knife gouging a hole in his forearm jarred him back to consciousness.

He gasped in agony as the knife dug ever deeper, flinched as he felt a callous hand stroke feather-like across his cheek, as then came the final blow.

"Oh, and by the way…" the ghoul wearing Adam's mother's form told him mockingly. "He really was your brother." Sam wanted to scream with hatred at her words, and the loss he felt over a brother he had never known. He wanted to snap the bindings holding him to the table and rip them apart piece by piece for what they had done, but all he could do was lie there and watch as they each took a knife to his already pallid skin.

A deep gash down each forearm and Sam knew that it was all over for him. He could no longer feel an increase in pain from the pressure the knives exerted on his abused body, pain threshold obliterated long ago, but he did hear the sickening drips as his life essence exited his body and collected somewhere below him. The slowing of his heart and breathing accelerated exponentially with the new openings and it was now draining out too quickly. It would be all over soon, and for that Sam could only be grateful. At least his end would be quick. He felt himself scream out but he didn't know why. He was no longer in control.

"Hey," a new voice joined the two above his body. It sounded like Dean. Sam's heart leapt, adrenaline kicking in as he heard a single gunshot, allowing him just enough energy to lift his head and shout a warning to his brother.

"Dean, they're ghouls," he gasped, before his head fell back onto the table again. He heard another shot and then a crash before the grey around his vision closed in again and he became unaware of anything but the steady drip of his life-force from his body to the ground. It was almost mesmerising to hear it dripping, splashing, gone forever…

His head lolled to the side, eyes almost all the way shut as Dean fumbled with the bonds lashing him to the table, trying to get his baby brother free. He tried not to panic as he unwound the tight ropes around Sam's wrists and ripped off the straps restricting his breathing, but the sight before him was enough to set his stomach rolling. He didn't think that he had seen him look that still, that pale since, well, since he had died. Dean rejected the memory and focused all of his attention back on his brother.

Sam lay unmoving on the wooden surface, his chest barely moving as he struggled for air. Dean touched his cheek, and then gave him a gentle nudge to try to rouse him. When he got no response he shook him gently by the shoulder, but again to no avail. Sam was breathing, but not a lot and not very often.

"Sam, wake up for me, buddy," Dean said softly, then again but louder this time. "Come on Sam, wake up." He felt a tear prick the corner of his eye as he gripped the shirt over Sam's shoulder and shook him harder. The younger man's head simply lolled to the side, eye still partially open yet glazed and unresponsive. He rubbed the tear back with a growl of frustration and rising panic and moved to slide an arm under Sam's shoulder's and lift his limp body to a sitting position.

Finding some clean-ish towels to the side of the table he grabbed a handful and wrapped the largest wounds with them, the deep gashes in Sam's wrists. Since he couldn't support both his brother and keep pressure on the towels Dean improvised, wrapping the makeshift tourniquet s with a roll of parcel tape and some twine he found scattered around them on the floor. Then he started t gently lift his brother down off the wooden surface and across to a nearby couch.

The back section of the couch was shredded from the fight with Adam, or the ghoul who had stolen his face, and there were at least two bullet holes, but it looked more comfortable than the hard surface he had been tied to by those murdering bastards. It took Dean a while to carry his much taller and slightly heavier little brother the few steps across the room, and he nearly lost his footing a few times due to the sheer weight of the unconscious man, but they finally made it and Dean collapsed to the ground beside the couch which now held his brother.

"Sam," he asked again, looking up at his face, which was angled towards him against the thick cushion of the leather couch. He had hoped that the journey might have woken Sam, or at least gained a movement of any kind, but he could detect no change.

"Please Sammy," he whispered, carding his fingers through his brother's blood soaked hair, as the tears finally broke free and began to leave glistening trails as they wound their way down his cheek. "I need you to wake up for me, man. You just have to. I can't lose you again, God damn it." He huddled close to the sofa, twisting his body so that his face pressed again the leather just inches from Sam's face. He didn't know what to do, what he could do to save his baby brother. His Sammy was dying in front of his eyes and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He had felt his cell phone shatter as Adam's ghoul had thrown him across the room, and there was no way he could move Sam all the way to the Impala.

That left him with only two options. He could leave Sam behind and go and try to bring back help, or he could stay with him and watch him die. Both made his stomach churn in agony and overwhelming helplessness, but he knew before he had even formulated the thought what his decision would be. He could never abandon his brother, not even if he thought he might be able to get to a phone or hospital. His only care in the world, his one sole reason for living was inside this house, and nothing would force him to leave his brother's side when he needed him.

"Please Sammy," Dean begged once more, before dropping his hand from Sam's hair and gripping one limp hand tightly. He could feel the skin growing colder as he made contact, and that revelation scared him more than he could have ever thought possible, but he didn't let go. He just sat there, head bent and tears softly falling as he waited for the inevitable heartbreak that was to come.

"De…" Dean's head snapped up so fast he heard the joints pop, as he heard the faint murmur from above him. He found himself looking into Sam's eyes, and his heart leapt in his chest as he realised that Sam was looking back at him. His eyes were bloodshot and hooded but alert and responsive, and followed the movement as Dean pushed himself to his knees facing the couch.

"Sammy?" Dean asked in disbelief. "Can you hear me? I'm right here." Sam blinked once and then to Dean's utter astonishment he nodded almost imperceptibly. Anyone not watching closely would have missed the tiny move but Dean saw it and sighed in relief. A moment later he felt a gentle squeeze from the hand still clasped in his and he looked down to see the tips of Sam's fingers were tinged with a soft pink. It wasn't remotely skin coloured, but it was certainly a far cry from the ashen grey shade he had been when Dean had found him. That had to be a good sign, or at least Dean hoped with all his heart that it was.

The crude tourniquets were now drenched in scarlet but the flow of blood seemed to have been slowed for the moment, and that meant that Sam was no longer losing blood as fast as before. That meant that he would have a chance of making it through this, of getting to hospital if Dean acted quickly.

"Are you going to be okay for a minute Sammy?" Dean asked hesitantly, knowing that if his brother wasn't alright he wasn't going anywhere. "I need to go and get the spare cell phone out of the car."

"Use mine," Sam whispered hoarsely, his voice weak but just about audible to Dean because he was so close to him. "Left jeans pocket." Dean blanched at the horrifying realisation that he could have called for help already, but reached around to pull out the undamaged disposable phone out of the tattered jeans. With a shaky hand he dialled '911' and made sure that an ambulance would be on the way. Since he had no strength left to speak of, and there was no way that Sam was in a fit state to go anywhere, he told the operator the truth, or part of it. There was no way he would be able to clear up all of the evidence before the paramedics arrived, and Sam needed help quickly. He told them how they had come to visit their half-brother to find them dead, and their attacker had cut Sam up pretty bad and needed help. Despite it being necessary, it was as close to honest as they came with the jobs they did, and it made Dean uneasy.

Once she had assured him that help was on the way he hung up and dropped the phone onto the ground before lowering his aching body back down beside the couch to be closer to Sammy. He reached out a hand and took his brother's hand in his, in an uncharacteristic but altogether appropriate chick flick moment, and fell silent again waiting to hear the sirens wailing and help to come.

"Dean," Sam said again, this time stronger than before. It filled Dean with hope that Sam would be alright, and he sounded downright cheerful when he responded.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks, man," his brother told him sincerely, giving his hand another squeeze. Dean shook his head, and smiled up at Sam.

"Anytime, dude," Dean laughed weakly and even Sam cracked a smile at that, although he winced as he did so. Then Sam nestled his face into the soft couch, shifting so that there was less than an inch between their cheeks. Closing his eyes Dean was just beginning to relax, listening to Sam's increasing steady breathing, when he heard one final whispered word.

"Jerk."

"Bitch," he replied, with a shaky sigh of relief, as the faint sound of an ambulance siren echoed through the night.

I hope you liked. Whether or not you thought it sucked I would always appreciate feedback to improve any aspect of my writing (via review, PM or carrier pigeon, the choice is yours). Also, I have loads of ideas for one-shots I would like to do, most involving limp!Sam, but would greatly appreciate any requests or suggestions you may have. I like hurt/comfort fics, to write and read, and I won't rule out any characters or scenarios. I'm open to just about anything…