Earlier tonight, a bullet went straight for his brother’s jugular vein.
White hot rage flew through his body as he knelt alongside him, Dean's fingers finding the steady pulse.
Sweet, sweet relief. It had only grazed the skin, and the impact sent Sam flying backwards, his head hitting the concrete with a sickening crunch.
Dean stalked his prey.
Too many blows to count until Gordon’s hot life blood rained against his face.
Instead of crawling alongside him, Dean fell into the chair across from the bed and cracked open his first of many beers, watching his brother sleep.