Hello! Here is the "Red Meat" tag I've been telling you about for awhile. It is 10 chapters long and already complete (although I'm still editing/polishing). I plan to post a chapter a week. Plenty of hurt/sick boys ahead.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Dean didn't make it to his brother's side before Sam's legs went out from under him, but he did make it there in time to keep Sam's head from hitting the floor. Achy, sick and more than a little dizzy, Dean gracelessly scrambled across the cold floor and caught Sam by the shoulders as he began to list to the side.

"Hey, hey, hang on, ok?" The words were coming out of his mouth without him knowing or caring what he was saying.

A mindless litany of sheer panic.

He could hear Michelle crying in the background, but his words, her tears, the pain and sickness he himself felt-none of that mattered. Dean couldn't change what had happened to her husband; no matter how truly sorry he was for it. The only thing that mattered now was the fact that Sam was sitting on the ground.

Bleeding.

"Sam?" Dean raised his voice, desperate to hear his brother say something.

He was still in shock at the mere sight of him. He's alive! Dean needed answers, needed to know what had happened, how Sam had miraculously made his nick of time appearance. But answers, just like everything else, would have to wait.

Sam's face was grey, eyes fighting to stay open and his head was bobbing like his neck couldn't support the weight. The giddy thought crossed Dean's mind that he should comment on the fact that his brother's brain was officially too heavy for his own head, but he dismissed it immediately.

Because it wasn't quite as funny when Sam's eyes closed and didn't reopen.

Panic spiking, Dean shifted until he could get behind him. "Sam, stay with me, ok? Come on, talk to me!"

Dean was well aware he was pleading. Well aware how desperate he sounded. After the day he'd had, he felt like he deserved to sound desperate. Sam's head fell back against his shoulder and Dean was trying to do a hundred things at once.

He wrapped an arm around the front of Sam's shoulders to keep him upright and struggled to find a pulse. His fingers slipped on the sweaty skin of Sam's neck, even as his eyes were drawn to the blood. It was everywhere, spreading like spilled ink across Sam's clothes, and dripping off his lax fingers.

It was too much blood. Too long bleeding. They hadn't even had time to do much of a patch job before they'd been running through the woods again. And now it had been how many hours since the crack of the gun had rung out in the cabin? Too many hours. Dean swallowed back the rising nausea as he tried to come to grips with everything.

He couldn't think about how long it had been, how much Sam had bled, how he'd left him! in that cabin for dead, couldn't think about the fact he had a werewolf body to dispose of, a mess to clean up, innocent people to somehow help. Dean couldn't think about anything except the too rapid pulse, the too cold skin under his fingers and the too still body of his not dead! little brother in his arms. He stared down at Sam's face, sweaty, pale and dirty in the bright lights of the clinic and then he could breathe again.

Because Sam was looking at him.

The words Dean wanted to say froze in his throat.

Sam's lips turned up in a slight smile and he whispered hoarsely, "Decided I hate camping."

Dean's laugh was slightly hysterical but it made Sam smile wider so he didn't care. Dean said, "Yeah, I told you it was gonna suck."

The lighthearted moment faded as Sam closed his eyes, grimacing as he shifted slightly.

"Hey, easy. Take it easy," Dean instructed, patting Sam's cheek to rouse him. "Stay with me."

Sam gasped, breaths growing short and pained as if his brain had finally registered how much pain his body was in. His hands moved weakly against the floor, left merely finger-painting blood across the tile, while his right managed to make it back to his stomach.

"Sam," Dean tried again, his own free hand joining Sam's over the bloody wound.

"No," Sam's broken plea went straight to Dean's heart but he didn't release the pressure. Sam shook his head weakly against his shoulder and whispered, "Dean."

"Yeah, I'm right here, Sam," Dean said, feeling Sam melting more heavily against his chest.

When Sam's hand slid out from under his hand and dropped to the floor again, Dean's panic escalated. Sam was completely slack against him and Dean shifted so he could ease Sam to the floor. It wasn't graceful and Sam's head hit the floor a bit harder than Dean had intended, but he wasn't functioning at his best right now.

His entire body hurt and he felt so sick that he had to pause, once Sam was flat on his back, to turn away and get his stomach back under control to avoid throwing up all over his brother. Sucking in a desperate breath, Dean turned back to Sam and the turmoil in his gut was forgotten.

"Sam!" This time it was a shout. A shout of pure, unadulterated fear.

Sam was lying there looking so much like he had on the floor of that cabin, Dean felt tears spring into his eyes at the very thought, the memory of thinking he was dead. And then he shook himself and pressed his hands against the torn shirts. Blood oozed sluggishly against his fingers, warm and slick.

He wondered if he'd gotten his brother back again just to lose him on the floor of a clinic where no one seemed to be left to help them. Sam moaned at the contact and, much as he hated causing pain, Dean was encouraged by the feeble resistance Sam was putting up against the press of his hands.

Dean could hear Michelle crying in the background and he was torn between thinking how insensitive it would be to ask for her help when her husband had just been killed in front of her eyes and thinking that if he didn't get help soon, Sam would be dead in front of his eyes.

"Michelle," he called out, eyes never leaving his brother's face. "We need help."

Sam's eyes flickered open at his voice and Dean forced a smile. "Stay awake, ok? Stay with me. You're gonna be fine. You came to the right place. Walk-in clinic. And you walked in."

He was rewarded with a brief smile before Sam closed his eyes again.

"Eyes open, Sam!" Dean raised his voice and Sam did as he asked, although Dean could tell how much it was costing him to stay awake. His eyes were open, but unfocused and drifting.

Forcing himself to look away, Dean scanned the room. Michelle was pressed against a wall, sobbing as she stared at Corbin's body. He shouted her name again and this time she looked at him.

The awful pain in his heart, the fear of losing the one person he had left, the one person he loved, was reflected in her grief-stricken eyes and Dean hated himself. Hated that a nice couple had been taken and that Corbin was dead and she was a widow and he hadn't been able to stop any of it. Michelle stared at him, tears running down her pale cheeks.

He hated himself even more when he said, "Michelle, I need your help. I need you to find someone...the doctor...someone."

She didn't move, just stared at him wide-eyed. Dean stared back, anger beginning to bubble up. She was in shock and he needed her to snap out of it. Cold fingers brushed against his and he looked down at Sam.

"Go." Sam's voice was almost inaudible, yet loud as a shout in the silence of the clinic. His shaking hand was on top of Dean's; the warmth of his own blood a contrast to the chill of his skin. "I'll wait for you."

Dean shook his head.

Sam tried for a smile again and said, "Made it this far."

And, yeah, he had made it this far. Dean couldn't deny it. He was struggling to believe it, but it was the truth. Sam had made it this far and there was a determination in his eyes telling Dean that he didn't intend to do anything but make it the rest of the way. Looking back at Michelle, Dean saw that she had her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

Even so, Dean hadn't let up pressure on Sam's side and he didn't intend to. He raised his voice and when he shouted her name this time, Michelle and Sam both flinched and he hated himself all over again. But Michelle's wide, frightened eyes focused on him and then she looked down at Sam and nodded without Dean even needing to say anything else. His shoulders dropped with relief as she started struggling to her feet.

He looked back at Sam and said, "She's going for help."

Sam still wasn't focusing well and he looked less in pain and more unconscious every time Dean looked at him, but he tilted his head ever so slightly in what Dean decided had been meant as a nod of acknowledgement.

Sam's hand slid away again and Dean choked back the fear and said, "Just a bit longer, Sammy. Hang on and we'll get you fixed up then we'll go and have a real vacation? Ok? No camping. No werewolves. Ok? How's that sound?"

He was spitting words out as if they would somehow stop the blood that was spilling out of his brother. Dean tore his eyes from Sam's face and looked at the wet mess that was all over their hands and Sam's body. Too much blood.

"No camping," Sam whispered.

Dean looked back at him and grinned, "Deal."

"Dizzy." Sam's eyes fluttered closed.

"Sam," Dean raised his voice again, "Don't you dare!"

Sam tried to hold on to consciousness. He really did. He heard the panic in Dean's voice. Had seen it written all over his bruised and dirty face. So he did his best. Forced himself to stay with Dean as much as he could. Talking was more difficult at this point so he didn't bother trying to find words. Dean didn't seem to need words as much as he simply needed Sam's eyes to be open.

He got them open and the relief in Dean's eyes would have staggered him if he hadn't grown up seeing that look in his brother's eyes. It had taken years for him to realize, to understand, that the one and only thing his invincible big brother, his hero, was afraid of was something happening to him. As a little kid, he didn't get it. Too oblivious to the dangers, he'd settled comfortably under the warm protection of his brother. As he grew up, he started balking at the near obsessive protective streak.

Until he went to Stanford.

Eighteen and all alone, truly all alone, for the first time in his life hadn't turned out to be quite the utopia he'd told himself it would be. Up to that point, Sam hadn't needed to worry about details. His dad and brother took care of almost every detail in his life. Where they went and when-they held the power and the car keys. What they did and when-Dad was in charge of the hunts and the relocations. Even the food they ate, the places they stayed, the clothes they wore-those were decisions Sam rarely had a say in and never had to plan.

Getting away from his father and having a normal life as a normal college student turned out to be nearly his worst nightmare. Because he didn't know how to be normal. Not really. He knew how to want to be normal; even how to pretend to be normal. But he didn't know what it meant to be normal when you were actually living with normal people who knew nothing of the things that hid in the dark. They knew the popular clothing brands, wore the trendy styles and listened to the popular music. He wore hand-me-downs and flannel and knew the words to every Zeppelin song.

He'd started missing Dean the minute he made the decision to go to college. But when he was there, registering for classes and realizing that he had to figure out a way to pay for food and to buy clothes and somehow get himself to and from classes, it sank in like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach. For the first month, he stared at his phone every single night for hours with Dean's number lit up in front of him.

All he'd have needed to do was press call. But he never did because he was scared. Not of Dean, but of disappointing him. Leaving for Stanford had hurt everyone in his family; Dean most of all. Sam knew he needed to get through, to prove to himself that he'd made the right choice. And he needed to succeed so that he wouldn't disappoint Dean by leaving in the first place then failing spectacularly at the whole college thing.

Now, some eleven years and a few months after the night Dean had tackled him back into the life, Sam was lying bloody on the floor, again, fighting for his life, again. And Dean looked as terrified as he had every single other time that Sam had been in this much trouble. The over-protectiveness bordered closely on obsession and was sometimes more than Sam could take.

But right now? Right now, it was warming something deep inside him. Right now, it was the only warmth he could feel besides the warmth of his own blood. And the thought of the warm blood, the feel of it on his hands and everywhere else made him gag.

"Easy!" Dean's voice was low and his hands were gentle.

Sam felt himself eased slightly to the right as he gagged again. Nothing happened except the searing pain in his side increased tenfold at the useless retching. He'd thrown everything up in the werewolves truck that he'd used to get himself back to the Impala. Panting irregularly, he tried to move his hands back over the wound, but did nothing but drag them worthlessly across the blood-splattered tile beneath him.

"I've got you, it's ok," Dean said, easing him back flat on the floor. His hands returned to the bloody mess, but his eyes met Sam's as he said, "You're doing great. Just hang on. We'll get you patched up and then we'll get outta here, ok? Go home, veg out and watch every show on Netflix. Whatever you want. You pick the shows, I'll drink the beer. Ok? Then you can tell me what the hell happened out there and how you managed to get here in the nick of time, ok?"

Dean's words were rushed and unsteady and Sam gauged his brother's mental status by the sound of his voice as much as the words he was saying. Still fighting with everything he had left to at least keep his eyes open to reassure Dean that he wasn't going to die (he hoped), Sam could tell how bad the past day or so had been for Dean. For himself, time had ceased to matter; the hours blurring ever since he'd been shot. But the hours had not been any kinder to Dean than they had been to him.

He looked sick.

And not just the I'm worried out of my mind kind of sick. Not the my brother got shot and is bleeding on the floor in front of me kind of sick. Well, Sam amended, he did look sick for those reasons, but it was more than that. Dean looked physically ill. But Sam's mind was muddy, filled with pain that left him drifting into darkness every few seconds. As much as he wanted to focus on his brother and unravel what had happened since the last time they'd seen each other, he couldn't.

"Sammy, hey, hey, come on."

It was getting more and more difficult to open his eyes, but Sam managed to peer up at his brother. Dean was looking elsewhere, his lips forming words that seemed distorted and muffled. Frowning, Sam couldn't stop the moan that broke free as Dean put more pressure on the wound. Dean spared him a quick glance and from that glance, Sam gathered he wasn't looking so good.

"I need help!"

This time, Sam heard his brother loud and clear. Dean's shout had been loud enough to break through the fog. Trying not to struggle against the pain, trying to stay calm against his own panic, Sam fought for breath and kept his eyes on Dean. He started picking up on other voices nearby, but didn't dare take his eyes off Dean. He was pretty sure he wouldn't get them open again if he lost his concentration right now.

Dean was talking to whoever else was here now, and Sam felt fingers against his wrist and got the vague feeling that whoever was checking his pulse wasn't pleased. He wanted to tell them to be grateful; at least he still had one. For now. Things had been kind of dark and foggy for a long time, but now the darkness was getting worse and he wanted to rub his eyes to clear it away so he could keep his eyes on his brother.

Every once in awhile, he could hear Dean shouting his name, but mostly he just saw his lips moving. Sam wanted to answer his brother but the air was too heavy, the fog too thick, his body too cold, and the pain too much.

As he finally gave in to the pull of darkness, Sam's hope was that Dean knew he wasn't giving up. The last thing he saw was Dean's face, leaning close to his, shouting his name.

Dr. Kessler had stumbled toward them with Michelle just behind her. Dean spared the doctor a quick glance and saw that she looked worse for wear, stunned, but functional. He'd thought she was dead. She hit her knees on the other side of Sam and Dean let his attention return to his brother.

Sam was fighting with everything he had, but Dean could tell he was fading fast. Considering how long he'd been fighting, how long he'd been bleeding, Dean couldn't blame his brother. Didn't mean it wasn't terrifying. The doctor was asking questions and Dean struggled to answer them while he kept calling Sam's name and trying to hold his attention. Sam didn't seem able to respond anymore, but he was keeping his eyes open at least.

"We need to stop the bleeding," Dr. Kessler was saying and Dean fought the urge to laugh.

"You're the doctor, got any suggestions?" he asked, watching her checking Sam's pulse. It seemed so pointless. He could have told her what Sam's pulse was simply by the feel of the blood pumping out in warm spurts all over his hands. His brother's eyes slid shut for the umpteenth time and Dean again called his name.

Dr. Kessler looked up, panic written on her face. "I...he needs...he needs more than I can do here-"

Dean shook his head, teeth grinding as he listened to her. Unable to take it any longer, he spat, "You don't get to say that. You're a doctor. Do something or I will!"

The doctor appeared close to shock like Michelle, and sheer, unbridled, unstoppable panic flooded Dean. Another look at Sam and his panic tripled. He leaned close and shouted his brother's name at the top of his lungs. It didn't stop Sam's eyes from falling closed this time.

"No!" Dean's voice was loud and broken. He shook his head, not willing to give up; not willing to believe it.

"He's unconscious," the doctor said, unnecessarily, but at least she looked back in the game. Her hands were fumbling in her pocket and she pulled out a phone. She dialed, then lifted the phone to her ear and said, "He needs a hospital-"

"This is a walk in clinic!" Dean shouted, "He walked in!"

"It's not an Emergency Room!" Dr. Kessler shouted back, eyes wide. "I don't do surgery here! I can't give him blood! It's just a clinic!"

Dean felt her right hand over his and looked down as she pressed his hands harder against Sam's stomach. Sam didn't move, didn't whimper, didn't do anything. Dean looked back up at the doctor and vaguely heard her rattling off a bunch of words into the phone, but none of them registered through the drowning haze in his head.

It's a walk-in clinic, his mind screamed, as he stared at Sam's pale face and felt his still warm blood washing his hands in red. He walked in. He walked in! It was a stupid thing to be hung up on, but in his current state, Dean couldn't help it. Tears were blurring his vision as he repeated to himself, like a mantra, he walked in, he walked in… Hours after being shot, nearly a day after being shot, Sam had walked into a clinic and saved Dean's life.

And you left him for dead!

The urge to vomit swept over him, but he felt the doctor's hand squeeze his, and then he felt her other hand against his cheek and he dragged his eyes up to face her. She had tears running down her face and the phone was on the floor and he finally registered bits of what she was saying.

"-the ambulance will be here in a few minutes...going to be ok...do you hear me? He's going to be ok!"

Dean nodded against her hand and tried to believe even as his world tunneled. He stared at Sam, willing him to live while he did his best to stop the blood Sam had left from coating the hall floor. The doctor was there, she was doing something, saying something, but he didn't hear her, couldn't hear her.

And then there were other voices; male voices. He saw shapes moving around him, talking to him, but he couldn't respond, couldn't sort out what was happening until he felt hands on his shoulders, gently pulling at him.

At first, he resisted, stiffening and daring whoever it was to even try to pull him away from his brother. But then he felt a gentle touch on his face and stared into the doctor's eyes. The background noise settled out into something resembling words and he heard her say, "Let the paramedics help him. Let them help."

He looked around and, for the first time, was able to see the two guys in blue kneeling next to Sam. One was across from him and leaning down, checking Sam's blood pressure, while the other guy was right next to him and had already started an IV. Dean looked up into the eyes of a third guy who was holding bright white gauze in his hands and saying words that Dean couldn't hear. The guy pointed down and then the doctor was tugging his hands away and the paramedic took over pressing against the wound. Dean let the doctor pull him back a few feet to give the paramedics space to work.

Heart pounding, Dean's gaze drifted from the nightmarish scene in front of him to his hands. They were coated in bright red - Sam's blood! Dean rubbed them against his jeans, wanting it to be gone, wanting his hands to be clean. A rush of dizziness swept over him and he turned away and vomited all over the floor.

Even as he felt himself listing to the side, Dean told himself he couldn't- he didn't have time to pass out - there was a supernatural mess that needed to be cleaned up and innocent victims who needed to be talked to, coached on what to say, what not to say. He tipped further over, slammed a still bloody hand against the white wall and lifted his heavy head enough to see the paramedics loading Sam onto a stretcher.

Then they moved away and Dean fell into the darkness.

What did you think so far?

So...as a SPN fan, I loved this episode. As a medical professional...I had a few things I needed to fix about this episode. :) I could be wrong, but I've never found an Urgent Care/walk-in clinic anywhere that will have blood on hand for transfusions. They also don't typically do exploratory abdominal surgery lol. This story tries very, very hard to fit into the scenes you saw on the episode. I'm building in some "realism" and detail around the last few scenes while leaving the episode intact and staying true to canon as best as I can. :)