Summary: 
Spoilers: 
A/N: 
Disclaimer:  All things "Supernatural" belong to Kripke.

Sam’s legs were killing him.  Literally.

Sam tore off his navy blue jacket, balling it and pressing it hard against his face as he struggled to breathe.  The odd irony of the situation hit him even as deep coughs racked his body.

It had been his long legs that had sent him up the rickety wooden stairs ahead of his brother.  Those same legs enabled him to vault over the gaping hole just past the first bedroom, his arms windmilling frantically as his lanky body threatened to fall backwards.  And it was those blessed long limbs that took him down the smoky hallway straight to where the woman lay, clinging to life.

However, it was those same legs, those accursed freakishly long legs that had started the fire in the first place.  Disarmed, Sam had attacked the creature with the weapons God had given him.  Unfortunately, the scaly monster had ducked under his kick, and Sam’s foot had connected with a lantern, sending it crashing to the ground and releasing the baby flames to feast upon the abandoned wooden house.

To add injury to insult, he was now a prisoner in the burning house, held fast by the jagged pieces of wood enclosed in and around his knee. 

Sam had handed the unconscious women down to Dean through the hole in the floor, yelling for Dean to get her to safety and that he’d be right behind them.  Unfortunately, his right leg had other ideas.  It had performed perfectly in his daring leap across the opening, but had fatally betrayed him as he ran to attempt a return trip, breaking through the rotted floor a few feet before the hole.  He’d managed to stop the fall by using his momentum to throw his body forward, taking a moment to catch his breath as pain seared through his leg.  But no matter how hard he tried, Sam could not get his leg free.

Thick grey smoke drifted up from the fire below, dancing merrily around Sam as he did his best to free himself.  Sam blinked hard, trying to clear some of the tears that poured from his eyes.  They returned tenfold a moment later as another bout of coughing depleted even more of Sam’s strength.

Sam?  Sammy?”

Dean!  Thank God.  Sam tried to call out an answer, but his tortured lungs were once again overpowered by the smoke.

Sam gasped as his leg moved a few inches upwards, only to fall back into the hole, actually going several inches deeper.  He slammed his palms against the floor, stopping his fall.  He cried out as a stabbing pain lanced through his thigh.  Sam’s stomach continued to drop as he took in the sizeable piece of wood that had broken off and was now lodged, albeit not that deeply, in his leg.

It was the view beyond his newest injury that really got Sam’s stomach churning.  Looking down around his leg, Sam was nearly blinded by the brilliant sea of orange and yellow that carpeted the downstairs floor.  The flames reached up towards the ceiling, stretching to get a taste of the youngest Winchester. 

Sam tried shifting his weight slightly to take the pressure off his groin, which was angrily protesting the awkward position.  Sam’s left leg was bent under itself, and he could feel his foot tingling from the lack of blood flow. 

Sam’s eyesight began to grow hazy, and not just from the smoke.  The loud roar of the fire was growing dim as Sam’s body began to shut itself down.  Dizzy, he lowered his chin against his pounding chest.

Sammy!Sam!"

He could hear his brother’s cries from somewhere far away, but they brought him no comfort.  There was no way Dean could get to the staircase, not with the downstairs completely engulfed in flames.  And even if he did, he’d never be able to get across that blasted hole in the floor. 

Sam’s chest ached, but not from the lack of oxygen.  Real tears pooled in his eyes as he thought of his brother, his best friend.  Sam’s death would absolutely devastate him.

I’m sorry, Dean.”  Sam croaked. 

Even coughing required too much effort.  Sam closed his eyes and pondered which would get him first—the smoke or the fire.  If there was any justice in this world, it would be the fire.  It was only fitting that the cause of his mother’s and girlfriend’s deaths be his own undoing.

“Sam!!”

Sam raised his head slightly.  Dean’s voice sounded clear…and close.  But there was no way Dean could be there.  More likely it was just a happy little hallucination or a reaper to help usher him into the afterlife.

“Hang on, Sammy!”

Wait, what?  Shouldn’t he be telling Sam to let go?  Isn’t that what reapers did?  Unless…

Sam forced his eyes open, raising his head just enough to make out the blurry figure of his brother.  Dean’s determined eyes came in crystal clear, flashing bright green as he prepared to jump.

Sam weakly shook his head.  Dean, no!  If Sam had barely made that leap, there was no way his shorter brother could.  An image of Dean falling flew into Sam’s head, the angry flames slowly and agonizingly devouring his brother, the flesh peeling from his face even while he screamed.

Sam shook his head, a helpless sob caught in his throat.  He couldn’t be the cause of another death.  Not by fire…not his family…not Dean…not again...

Dean yelled, his body bursting through the thick black smoke that poured up from the chasm.  Sam closed his eyes before he could see Dean miss the landing, refusing to have his brother’s death be the last thing he saw in his worthless life. 

Sam released the tension in his arms and let out a breath, allowing his body to slowly slip down towards the waiting fire.  Dean was gone and it was all his fault.  Him and his damn fucking legs.

Twin pains hit his upper arms, followed by the panicky voice of…wait a minute!

Sam’s eyes flew open, his head jerking backwards as he took in the too close, but very much alive face of his brother.  The grip Dean had on his arms was painful, but Sam didn’t care. 

“De—”  The joyful word was interrupted by a dry cough, which Sam knew was just the prelude to a painful symphony of gasps, hacks, and even more coughs.

Dean gave Sam one more powerful squeeze, then backed off to examine Sam’s leg.

“Damn, kid, you’re really stuck.”  Dean marveled over Sam’s coughs.  He glanced worriedly at his weak sibling, lunging forwards as Sam’s head lolled back.

“Sam.  Sam!”  Dean repeated sharply.  He gave Sam a quick shake, continuing to bark Sam's name until Sam’s bloodshot eyes met his.  “You’ve gotta stay with me so I can get you out of here.  Got me?”

Sam nodded weakly.  He wanted to do what Dean said, but he was just so tired. 

Dean wrapped his hands around Sam’s thigh and gave it a good yank.  Sam cried out as dozens of splinters scraped and dug at his skin.

Dean gave Sam an apologetic look, but didn’t release his hold.  “I’m sorry, Sammy, but we’ve” cough cough “to get you out of here.”  cough  “Ready?  Sam?  Sam!”

Sam heard the words, but was powerless to answer them.  Starved for oxygen, his body shut itself down.  Sam gave a short peaceful sigh and fell into unconsciousness.

“Sam!” 

Dean cursed, running a hand through his hair.  Sam was out...God willing only unconscious. 

Dean glanced behind him, glaring at the tiny orange flames that were playing peek-a-boo from the staircase.  He was running out of time.  Even though he’d only been in the house a few minutes, Dean could already feel the smoke affecting him.  If the smoke inhalation didn’t get them, the fire would. 

He moved behind Sam and grabbed on tightly, his head so close to Sam’s he could smell the smoke in his baby brother’s hair.   Dean sent a desperate prayer to a God he didn’t quite believe in, and pulled for all he was worth.

The wood that had refused to hold his Sam’s weight now clung to him, unwilling to give its prisoner up.  Dean took in a deep breath and held it, the smoke burning in his lungs.

“You son of a bitch, let….him…go!”  Dean flew backwards as Sam’s leg popped free, sending them both to the hot floor.

Dean moved quickly, grabbing Sam in a fireman’s carry and heading into the bedroom on his right.  He nearly dropped Sam as a series of coughs doubled him over. 

“Hang on, Sammy.  We’re almost there.”  Dean rasped.  He gently lowered Sam against the wall, worriedly turning away from his soot covered, slack-jawed face. 

Dean smashed out the window with his elbow, a pleading mantra running through his mind as he cleared away the glass.  Please by okay.  Please be okay.

Dean bent down and grabbed onto Sam, staggering a bit under his weight.  He readjusted his hold so Sam lay in his arms, his head lolling against Dean’s arm, cradling Sam as he had so many years ago as they raced out of their own burning home.

Dean tried to duck under the thick cloud of smoke as he made his way to the window.  He looked down at the first floor roof, grateful that it was still standing.  Although, given the dilapidated condition of the rest of the house, it wouldn’t stand a chance under the combined weight of both Winchesters.  Still, he had no choice.

Dean thrust his head through the window, wanting desperately to take in a deep breath of fresh air, but still surrounded by the suffocating smoke.  There was only one way to get to fresh air and safety. 

Dean mentally crossed his fingers and jumped.

As predicted, Dean crashed through the slanted roof, somehow managing to keep hold of Sam as he fell onto the porch.  The wind knocked out of him, Dean could only lay there for a few seconds, Sam’s still body held fast in his arms,

Dean forced himself to move, ignoring the aches and pains as he tried to get to his feet.  He sent out a desperate plea, this time to a slightly lower, but still powerful being.

“Dad…please!  Please!"  Dean lurched to his feet.  His father’s orders echoed in his memory as he pushed himself forward away from the house.  Take your brother outside as fast as you can.  Don't look back!"

Twenty three years later, Dean heeded his father's desperate words.  Holding onto Sammy, he ran as far and as fast as he could before dropping to his knees.  He lowered Sammy to the ground and quickly checked for signs of life.

“Please, Sammy.  You can’t…not like this.”  Dean whispered, feeling real terror for the first time in his life.  His shaking fingers made their way to Sam’s soot covered neck while he placed his ear to Sam’s mouth.

Sam coughed wickedly, hacking loudly right into Dean’s ear.  Yelling, Dean jerked his head back, too relieved to be pissed at the ringing in his ear.

Dean eased Sam onto his side to allow for easier breathing.  “Easy there, Backdraft.  You’re ok.”  Dean’s attempt at levity fell woefully short as his wavering voice completely belied his flippant tone. 

Dean rubbed one hand up and down the center of Sam’s back while the other lightly gripped his shoulder.  After what seemed like an eternity, Sam’s coughing spell ended.

Sam rolled onto his back, his eyes still shut.  After some gentle prodding from Dean, he was able to pry them open.

“De—”  Sam raised a hand to his mouth, sitting up slightly as his lungs worked to dispel the rest of the smoke.

Dean moved behind him, allowing Sam to lean up against him.  “Easy there, Hotshot.  Don’t try to talk.”  He paused, then said, “I told you, smoking’ll kill ya.” 

Dean shut his eyes briefly as his own words hit him.  He’d nearly lost Sam in yet another fire.  Tonight had been way too close.  He placed both hands on Sam, trying to reassure himself that his brother was really ok, that he was breathing and would be ok.

“Hey, you with me?”  Dean ducked his head around to get a look at Sam’s face, concerned at the silence that had fallen once the coughing had ceased.

Sam peered out from beneath a stream of tears as his body tried to lubricate his irritated eyes.  He nodded his head once, then let it fall back against Dean.

Dean gave the burning house one final look.  The fire had completely overtaken the second floor.  Smoke and flames poured out from the window the hunters had barely escaped through mere moments ago.

Sam began to squirm, pulling Dean’s attention back to his brother.  “Hey, you ok?”

“You o..”  Sam swallowed and tried again.  “You okay?”

Dean smiled.  Typical Sammy.  “Yeah, Sam, I’m good.  How about you?  Are you hurt anywhere?  Well, besides your leg?” 

Sam ignored the question and posed one of his own.  “The girl?”

Dean rolled his eyes.  Unbelievable.  The kid had nearly lost his life going after that stupid broad, yet his main concern was her well being.  “Yeah, she’s fine.  She’s over by the car.”

“Hospital.”

“Damn right you’re going to the hospital.  You inhaled more smoke than a chain smoker after sex, not to mention that you also look like a human shish kebob.”  Dean said, getting his first real look at the large splinters that protruded from Sam’s ripped jeans.

Sam shook his head.  “No.  Her.” 

Dean rolled his eyes again.  Of course.  Why should he have expected anything else?

“Fine.  We’ll drop her off at the hospital.  Then it’ll be just you, me, some thread, and a very sharp needle.”

Sam didn’t respond, instead beginning his feeble attempt at getting to his feet.  Dean moved out from behind him, keeping a supportive hand at Sam’s back while easing him up with the other.

Halfway up Sam staggered forward, nearly bent in half over Dean’s arm.  Dean’s worry skyrocketed.  “Sammy?”

Sam released a breath and used Dean’s arm to push himself upright.  He looked into Dean’s eyes for the first time since the house.  A lump swelled in Dean’s throat as it once again hit home how quickly and permanently he’d almost lost Sam.

“I’m good.”  Sam said, his voice slightly stronger.

Dean moved to Sam’s side and wrapped his arm around Sam’s waist.  “You think you can walk?”

Sam tested out his leg, wincing.  “I can make it.”

The fire at their backs provided more than enough light for Dean to see the Impala, and he deftly steered his wobbly brother towards the classic car. 

The going was rough, the brothers’ deep exhaustion and injuries slowing their progress.  Dean’s left ankle throbbed with every step, as did his shoulder.  He pushed aside his pain and focused all his energy on getting Sam to the car.  They’d drop the bitch off at the hospital, then head back to the motel and get patched up.

The middle aged blonde came into view, still lying where Dean had left her.  He had half a mind to toss her out of the moving car for all the trouble she’d caused.

“I can’t believe you ran in after her.”  Dean said, impressed/pissed at his brother’s bravery/stupidity.  “You didn’t even know for sure that she was in there.”

“I…had to.”  Sam answered between labored breaths.  “Besides, you were…right there…with me.”

Yeah, trying to keep an eye on your stupid ass.  Dean thought to himself.  Aloud, he said, “Yeah, well, you pull that hero crap again and I will personally kick your ass.  Understand me?”

They’d reached the Impala, and Sam pulled away from Dean to lean against the passenger door.  Sam looked over at Dean and gave him a toothy grin.  His dimples managed to peek their way through the layers of dirt and soot covering his cheeks.

“Deal.”  Sam answered.

Dean stood by, ready to help Sam if needed.  But his tall sibling managed to fold his body into the car on his own, groaning as he shifted his legs inside.  Dean shut the door and peeked his head through the open window.

 “I’ll be right back.  Stay awake.  And make sure you don’t get any blood on the seat.”  Dean ordered, only half joking.

Sam’s hand snaked out and grabbed Dean’s wrist.  Surprised, Dean looked down at their hands, then over at Sam’s serious face.

“Thanks, Dean.”  Sam said somberly. 

Dean placed his other hand over Sam’s and gave it a quick squeeze before letting go.  “Welcome.”

Dean backed away and headed over to pick up the unconscious load. 

“You ever pull that hero crap again, and I will personally kick you ass.”  Sam called out after him.

Dean grinned to himself.  “Yeah, yeah.”

“Oh, and Dean?” 

Dean bent down in front of the woman, but turned his head towards his smirking brother.

“That was a pretty sweet jump you pulled off in there.”  Sam's bloodshot eyes twinkled.

Dean cocked an eyebrow, waiting for the other shoe to fall.

“Not bad, you know, for a midget.”

“Bite me, Sasquatch.  Bite me.”

The End