AN: Two down, two to go. Once again, just another backed up drabble. I suck, I know. My writer's block is obviously still somewhat in effect because this sucks.
"Come on Sammy, stay with me," Dean grunted as he hauled his brother out of the backseat of the impala and towards the door of their motel room. He could hear the soft pitter patter of blood dripping from Sam's wounds hitting the concrete and he grimaced. He hated ghosts.
Sam was going to be fine, he knew, once he got him in their room and took their medical kit too him, but he was still fighting blind panic.
He got Sam into the room and down on the bed, quickly going for the kit. "You're gonna be ok, Sammy."