"Tourch it now!" screamed Dean to his little brother when the witch ghost appeared in front of him. Pain exploded from where she had raked her knife-sharp nails down his forearms. He stumbled back dropping his rock salt shotgun and pulled his arms to his stomach to stem the bleeding.
Sam lit the corpse in the closet of the abandoned apartment building. Flames shot out and engulfed the body within seconds. He jumped back and turned to his brother.
"Dean!" Sam exclaimed with concern. He had started to go to him when they heard the police sirens. Both rushed to the window and saw at two police cars pulling up to the building."Shit, someone must have heard the shots and called the cops," Dean complained. "I thought everyone turned a deaf ear to those things. Just our luck to get the one place where people still pay attention." With a grimace he tossed his keys to Sam and said, "Get the car and met me at the gas station down the street in an hour."
"What about you?" Sam not wanting to leave an injured Dean. "You're hurt." He started to reach for his brother's arms to check out the extent of the wounds.
"Sam, it's just scratches. You take the car and shag ass, we can't have the cops running the plates or impounding it. I will circle around and met you at the gas station down the street." With a smirk, he added, "Besides, you run faster than I do, so get your ass to the car and go, then pick me up."
Sam frowned but understood the logic. He did a once over of Dean and decided that he could not be that bad because his eyes looked clear and determined. Though he was holding his left arm where Sam could not see, the right did not look that bad and there was minimal blood. He turned to go.
"Wait, give me your weapon, in case the cops see you," Dean rationalized. He took Sam's shotgun and picked up his as Sam raced down the stairs. He also pick up a hunting knife that his younger brother had dropped. 'just as well, can't have him getting caught with this either. But we are going to have a talk about the proper handling and stowing of weapons' he chuckled to himself as he shoved the knife into his pocket. Snapping back to reality, he started down the stairs and he noticed another siren adding to the ones already there.
He cautioned a look out another apartment window, 'crap, now the fire department, what's with these people? don't they know how to be apathetic?' He did not notice the trail that he was leaving behind nor the fact that he had dropped one of the shotguns. His left arm had been bleeding freely since the attack and had not let up, the right was not as bad. The shock of the cuts had him numb. It was not until he was on the ground floor hiding in another one of the empty apartments that he felt the pain in his arms.
'what the fuck' Dean swayed leaned heavily against the wall by the window. He felt the other shotgun slide from his blood slicked hand to the floor. Looking down to the weapon, he then noticed the blood. 'shit, dammit, fuck' his eyes following the blood trail out the door. 'that is a lot...' his brain barely registered, 'can't be good.' Dean then slipped to the floor. Black had crept into the edges of his vision. Shaking his head, he tried to make a plan to get out of the building without being seen.
'you cannot get away,' hissed a voice. Dean pulled the knife from his pocket when he heard it, looking around wildly for the owner. "you're burning, bitch," he whispered, slumping fruther down the wall. He tried to stay awake to defend himself, but darkness was winning, he could not keep his head up or eyes open. His chin dropped to his chest, he hardly noticed that the door accross from him banged open. Nor did he feel the hands hurrying to stop the bleeding. Unconscienceness had taken over.