A/N: STOP RIGHT THERE. AS A COURTESY, I WILL INFORM YOU RIGHT NOW THAT THIS IS A DEATH-FIC. THERE WILL BE BLOOD.

I feel kinda bad that I made my first story in this fandom a death!fic, but what can I say? I'm a sucker for some good 'ole tears.

The black Impala roared down the highway, seemingly oblivious of the police cars racing behind them, lights blazing. Dean swerved around a mini-van, his other hand pressing a wadded cloth to Sam's gut, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Don't worry, Sammy." He tried to sound confident, "It's just a scratch."

Sam bit back a groan of pain, fingers fumbling weakly at Dean's hand. The deep cut pulsed dark blood through the makeshift bandage. He knew that the knife had torn through muscles and hit something deeper. He'd seen his brother bleed before, but not this much. It terrified him every time, though he tried not to show it. Blood meant life. And now, here Sam was, life pouring between Dean's fingers onto the old leather seat.

Sam's hand slowed its desperate scrabbling.

"You'll be ok, Sammy." All that they'd been through, everything they'd survived, Angels, Demons, the Devil himself. And his little brother was gonna die because some crackhead needed a fix. "We'll getcha to a hospital and they'll stitch you right up."

He looked over. The flashing blue lights accentuated the pained lines in his brother's face. Sam's eyes were half closed, blood trailed from his mouth in sticky, red streams. "Sammy." No response. "Sam!"

He forced his eyes back to the road as they came to a stoplight. It was red, but he didn't stop. The traffic wasn't that bad, he thought. They could make it.

The hospital was just ahead.

They could make it.

He gunned the car through the intersection.

They could make it.

They cou—

The dump truck impacted Dean's door, spinning them around and into the other lane. His head cracked against the steering wheel as they were hit head-on. Glass shattered and metal screamed as they were hit again. And again.

His eyes finally came back into focus with the screaming of sirens. Dark red pooled on glossy black metal that was littered in tiny triangles of glass.

Oh.

He lay halfway through the splintered windshield, glass cutting deeper with every breath. Blood ran between his teeth. "Sammy," he gurgled. He couldn't see his brother. He tried to turn his head, but it was just so hard. Why was he so tired? "Sammy," he tried again. He had to get him to the hospital. Why was he so cold?

"Dean."

Dean forced his eyes back open. When had they closed?

Sam stood in front of the Impala, his hand extended. "Dean, it's time to go."

Dean tried to reach for his brother, but his hand barely twitched. "Sam." His legs felt numb. "gotta get you—hospital."

"I don't need a hospital anymore, Dean." Sam gave a small, blood-free smile. "And neither do you." He grabbed Dean's hand. "It's time for us to go."

"Ok." Dean didn't know why he agreed. Maybe it was his hatred of hospitals, but it was probably the head injury. He felt better, though, almost weightless. He wasn't cold anymore.

His brother pulled him the rest of the way out of the windshield and set him on his feet. He wobbled, surprised that he could stand. Poor Baby, he thought. Dean turned back to the wrecked Impala, and gasped in surprise. He still lay half on the hood, covered in cuts and glass, with an obviously broken arm.

A cop had opened the passenger door while another approached the Dean still on the car. When had they gotten there? A quick pulse check, and the cop shook her head. "Driver's dead."

"So's the passenger." The other responded.

Oh.

Dean turned back to his brother. "Where are we going, Sammy?"

Sam laughed. "To Mom, and Dad, and Jess. And everyone else."

"Ok." Dean smiled. He was fine with that. He would be with his brother. And they'd be safe.

He was gonna miss the car, though.

And pie.

*offers tissues*