"You really shouldn't have done this, Sam," said Jess softly, her words betraying her own blissful sigh. "I mean, all those hours you worked at the fast food restaurant, that's supposed to be for books, right, Sam? Sam?"

Across the table and over a single flickering candle—yeah, a candlelight dinner for two at a fancy restaurant he barely could afford, Sam gazed at something far, farther away than the lovely girl clad in her black sack dress. He sincerely wanted to do this. Jess was the first girl he had ever fallen for. She deserved everything he had.

But,

January, 24

This was the first time he was away from Dean on his brother's birthday, not that they usually did something special on that day, though. Still, Sam was usually there. And now that he wasn't, he couldn't help but wonder if their dad had decided to do something out of ordinary…

"Dean, get out of the way!" John shouted as the shadow behind Dean was no longer a shadow. Then suddenly a huge paw with long fingers and nails shot out. "DEAN!"

The twenty-three year old leaped forward, but it was too late. The paw slashed swiftly down his back, leaving long and deep slits across it, and angry red blood began to seep through his shirt and leather jacket. Dean gasped, his eyes bulged out, and he went down to his knees, giving a chance, albeit without meaning to, for his dad to gun the creature down.

John didn't wait to double check if it died already, simply rushing to his son's side but carefully laying him on his lap.

"Dean, Dean, are you all right?" He sighed heavily at the realization that Dean's eyes were shut tightly without any signs of him being conscious, agony painted across his contorted face. "Dean, talk to me!" John shook and shook his son again when the latter neither replied nor opened his eyes. Slowly easing down on his heels, John slowly realized how his hands trembled. Dean had better wake up soon or else…

Sam jolted in his chair, his hands gripping the table forcefully. Jess was sipping her cocktail at that time and she almost jumped out of her skin.

"Sam!" She nearly slammed her glass onto the table. "What's wrong?"

"Uh." Sam sat back, massaging his knitted brow, grimacing. "No—nothing." What was that? He flinched a little when Jess's downy fingers reached his hand.

"Sam?" Jess frowned.

The young Winchester forced a smile. "I'm all right, Jess. Don't worry about me. Come on, enjoy your meal." But his agitated shifting in his chair betrayed his own words.

What the heck am I doing here? I'm not supposed to be here. Dean's been hurt, I know he has. I should have been there with him. He needs me.