Amidst a cacophony of hoots and catcalls from the demons on the other side of the hill, Dean managed to hook Ryan under the arms and drag him out of the line of fire.

Ignoring his pained cry, Dean tore off the bottom half of the wounded hunter's shirt and pressed it against the gushing wound. The blood kept coming.

Ryan grabbed Dean's wrist, blood bubbling from his lips. "Dean . . ."

"Take it easy, man."

"Fuck easy," Ryan rasped. "I'm dyin'. You kill those bastards for me!"

"You got it." Eyes like stone, Dean squeezed his friend's bloody hand. "Every fuckin' one."