Hi! Supernatural's 'Red Meat' was one of the best episodes of the series. I've had dozens of plot bunnies for a tag from 'Red Meat' and after struggle to combine them all into one cohesive story, I decided to have fun with it and turn it into a writing challenge! Each entry will be 400 words or less and should read like a complete story that detail the aftermath of that terrible hunt. I'll post them here as I write them. The stories will be capable of standing alone, but I will post them in some order that makes sense.

Feel free to join The Red Meat Writing Challenge. I used the tag #RedMeat400 on Tumblr. It can be used here too in the description! The more the merrier!

Confessions

Word Count: 399

Collapsing to the floor of the clinic is worse than being shot, a bomb detonating inside instead of bullet punching through. Fire engulfing his entire body instead of just a merry smoldering in his gut. His retort to Dean's one-liner is a gurgled howl of agony. He's been fighting for so long, and he can't anymore. Sound and resolve vanish on the tails on his adrenaline-charged strength, and he tips over, fading.

An arm sweeps over his chest, cradling him upright and blessedly still. Dark blood slicks and over the white tile. He's crying, but he figures he's earned a few bitten-off sobs.

Dean literally holds him together, and he can feel the urgent, angry vibration his encouragement even though he can't hear it.

The medical staff descends, and it's too much—probing hands, jarring movement, blinding light and painpainpain. Every nerve feels raw and exposed. Sam's trapped in the wreckage of his own body, unable to speak or move or do anything but struggle for breathe and heave tears.

Until hands touch his mouth and nose.

Adrenaline overrides the pain and weakness. His senses and strength return with the gentility of a thunderclap. He shoots upright on the gurney with such force, the braked bed rocks forward. Someone has to know what happened, that evil isn't just fangs, bloodthrist and black eyes.

Sometimes it's just a person pushed too far, who loves too hard.

"Whoa, Sammy! Relax! You're gonna be fine, I promise."

"..no…Ccorbin wanted…he choked me, killed me." He gropes for his weapon, some semblance of security but his hand closes around empty air until Dean folds it in his own. "K-killed me…so you'd save 'em," Sam declares.

A fierce violence glints in Dean's eyes, but it's instantly replaced by something warm and glittery, love tangled with pride. He gingerly loops an arm around Sam's shoulders, guiding back down. "It's a good thing that motherfucker is dead, huh? We both know where he went." Dean holds both of his hands down loosely. "These nice people here are grateful that you saved their asses, so let them get you nice and stoned, okay? Just rest, Sammy. I'm not leavin' you again."

The timbre of Dean's voice is infinitely more soothing than x-rays or narcotics. Sam holds Dean's eyes as his clothes are cut off and eventually, the oxygen mask is cautiously reapplied, nurturing life instead of taking it.