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The first sign something had gone wrong was not the pain.
It was the snap.
Dean froze mid-step, boot hovering just above a suspiciously leafy patch of forest floor. He had just enough time to think huh, that’s new before the ground bit him. Hard.
“SON OF A--!”
Metal teeth clamped around his lower leg with a vicious grip, and suddenly Dean found himself on his back in a mess of leaves, gun flying out of his hand, dignity following shortly after.
There was a brief, stunned silence. “Sam!” Dean barked a long moment later, voice full of pain and outrage. “SAMMY!”
From somewhere behind him came the unmistakable sound of someone trying very hard not to laugh.
Dean craned his neck. “Don’t you dare.”
Sam stepped into view, a broad grin on his face, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “I...” He swallowed. “I’m sorry. I just...”
Dean gestured wildly at his leg. “Bear trap, Sam. Bear trap.”
“Yes,” Sam said, his voice cracking. “I see that.”
“Good. Glad we’re all up to speed.”
Sam took a cautious step closer and eyed the trap. His expression shifted from amusement to concern. “Okay, hold on. Don’t move.”
“Oh, yeah, great advice,” Dean snapped. “I was planning on going for a jog, actually.”
Sam crouched next to him. His hands hovered near Dean’s leg. “How bad?”
Dean glanced down. He regretted it immediately.
The metal jaws were clamped tight around his calf, its teeth digging in through denim and skin alike. Blood was already soaking the fabric and dripping sluggishly into the leaves.
Dean hissed. “Not great, Sam.”
“Okay,” Sam said in that too calm voice that was never a good sign. “Okay, we can fix this. It’s just mechanical. We just...” He reached for the trap, then hesitated. “This is going to hurt.”
Dean barked out a humorless laugh. “You don’t say.”
Sam shot him a look. “I’m serious.”
“Yeah, me too.” Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, then pointed at the trap. “Just... Get it off. Before whatever set this thing comes back and decides I’m dinner.”
“Right. Right.” Sam nodded, bracing himself. “On three?”
Dean glared at him. “You’re counting?”
“I’m counting.”
“Fine. But make it quick.”
Sam positioned his hands on the rusted metal jaws, muscles tensing. “One...”
“Sam.”
“Two...”
“Sam, I swear to Chuck!”
“Three!” Sam yanked.
The trap sprang open with a violent snap, and Dean had an out of body experience. He choked on a yell, arched off the ground, and grabbed Sam’s jacket tightly as the pressure vanished and white-hot pain flashed through his leg.
“Ok. Ok, I got it, I got it...” Sam mumbled, more to himself, and dragged the trap away, tossing it aside.
Dean lay there, breathing hard. “Yeah,” he wheezed. “Fantastic. Ten out of ten. Let’s do it again sometime.”
Sam ignored that, already pulling his backpack around. “Hold still.”
“Not going anywhere,” Dean muttered.
“Dean.”
“Sam.”
Sam met his eyes, completely unimpressed. “Shut up.”
Dean huffed but went quiet, his jaw clenching as Sam cut away the torn denim. The cool night air hit the wound, and Dean sucked in a sharp breath.
“Damn it,” Sam muttered.
Dean didn’t need to look this time. “That bad?”
“It’s...not great.”
“Wow,” Dean said flatly. “You’re really killing it with the medical jargon tonight.”
Sam shot him a look, then got to work: cleaning and bandaging the wound, quick and practiced despite the circumstances. “You’re lucky.”
Dean snorted. “Yeah. That’s me. Lucky Dean Winchester. Known for my incredible luck.”
“I mean it,” Sam insisted. “If that had been a little higher...”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean cut in. “I get it. I get to keep my leg. Gold star for me.” He squinted at the discarded trap a few feet away. “Who the hell even puts a bear trap out here?”
Sam followed his gaze. “Could be hunters. Or...”
“Or our mystery monster is into arts and crafts,” Dean said. “Great. Love that for us.”
Sam huffed a quiet laugh despite himself.
Dean smirked faintly, then winced when he moved his leg slightly. “Okay, maybe no more jokes. Hurts to be hilarious.”
“Tragic,” Sam said dryly.
“Shut up.”
Sam finished tying off the bandage, then sat back on his heels, assessing. “Can you stand?”
Dean considered that for a long moment. “Define ‘can’.”
“Dean.”
“All right, all right.” Dean pushed himself up on his elbows, then slowly, carefully, tried to sit. It hurt. A whole damn lot. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, but managed it, shifting until he was upright. “Okay. Vertical-ish achieved.”
Sam hovered, ready to catch him. “Easy.”
“I’m always easy,” Dean shot back automatically with a grin.
Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” Dean said, reaching for Sam’s shoulder as he hauled himself up, “here I am. Still your problem.”
Sam grunted as he took Dean’s weight, and wrapped a firm arm around his waist. “Yeah. Lucky me.”
Dean leaned into him, his breathing slightly uneven. “Hey, Sammy?”
“What?”
“Next time, you go first.”
Sam snorted. “Not a chance.”
THE END