It wasn't a knife or a bullet and it wasn't a sword. It was something new. Some kind of short, sharp instrument. Maybe it was just a broken beer bottle. Dean hadn't gotten a good look at it in the fight, he only knew that it hurt like hell. The slice in his side was bleeding quite profusely and Dean fought to keep a hand over it, pressing the towels he held over it roughly, all the while blinking rapidly to keep his attention on the road. He released the wheel for a second and let his knee control it as he searched the passenger seat for his phone. "Dammit," he whispered when his hand made contact with nothing but leather seat.

Keeping his eyes on the barely visible road amid the oppressive darkness, his hand continued searching aimlessly. If he could just get ahold of Dad he would know where to go next. Dad stole a car earlier in the week and headed off to Windom, Minnesota but with the intention of moving on from there quickly while Dean went to Palo Alto, California to try to wrap up a case they had worked on - but apparently not finished - a few months back.

Finally his hand found the phone. He snapped it open and dialed quickly, grunting as he shifted and angered the wound. His breathing was shallow and Dean could sense that familiar feeling of unconsciousness drifting in. Shaking his head to keep awake, he held the phone to his ear, ignoring the cut for a moment to hold the wheel. "Come on, Dad," he hissed into the phone.

The music that blasted over the radio did little to keep his attention off the pain but somehow the loud singing seemed comforting.

When the ringing subsided and ended with John's message to leave a number, Dean threw his cell at the opposite door and replaced his right hand on the wheel while his left went back to the wound. He didn't know where Dad was or how to get to him, so he could be alone to fix the wound himself. Which normally would be okay but this one was different. He wondered if the ghoul he'd fought with and ended up killing had dipped its weapon in poison. There was something wrong and he knew it. Dean just wanted some help.

The Impala's headlights shone over the upcoming exit sign that stood against the highway and Dean's eyes widened. He hadn't realized how close he was… should he go? Would that be weird? Would Sam think he was taking advantage of him if Dean went to him for help?

Without thinking, Dean moved the wheel and the Impala eased into the new right lane that led off the highway and towards Stanford, California.

Once off the highway, Dean began to second guess the choice. He hadn't seen his brother in many months and hadn't talked to him in years. The last time Dean had seen Sam was when John and Dean were in Palo Alto before working the case. John drove by the school and waited outside the dorms to get a glimpse of his son. Dean hadn't argued.

But this would be different. Dean knew where Sam's dorm was but didn't know his room. And how could he get to Sam without being noticed, bleeding and stumbling? This plan was sounding less and less appealing the more Dean drove.

Maybe Sam would be happy to see him, his thoughts countered. Maybe he would be alright with the sudden visit, even if it was close to midnight. Probably not though.

And then, there it was. The school was huge, bigger than Dean thought a school should ever be. It boasted many buildings and huge parking lots, many of which were nearly full. Dean followed the signs to Sam's dorm room's parking lot, wincing and moaning as the pain deepened. His head was throbbing and he could feel the blood soaking through the towels. It wasn't a wonder he was having trouble staying focused on anything with that much blood loss.

Finding a spot right near the front, Dean turned into it and shifted the car into park. He sat, staring at the entrance to the building. It seemed a hundred miles away, give or take. And he noticed a few students standing outside smoking. They saw the car and Dean immediately turned off the ignition and flicked off the headlights. No need to draw attention to himself.

He didn't move, didn't dare to get out, especially with people there. No, he'd wait til they left.

But Dean didn't notice them go in. He rested his head back against the seat and groaned. He wouldn't be surprised to find out he had been poisoned. It seemed right. The way his head spun, how the area around the cut was far more sensitive than a normal blade's wound. And how he couldn't keep his eyes open.

Then, everything, both outside the Impala and inside, went dark.