Dean had to practically carry me out of the house once he got me off that table. My arms were steady flows of blood and fire, and unconsciousness wasn't entirely out of the question. But Dean was there with his arm around my waist and one of my agonizingly bloody arms around his shoulders and he was yelling at me to stay awake and keep moving and when did I get so damn tall and if I got blood all over his baby so help me but then I could get blood all over his car as long as I stayed awake and kept moving and when did I get so damn heavy and was that a hole in my side and dammit if the next time I got myself in a jam I shouldn't expect him to just show up and save my ass if I wasn't going to do anything to help him get me out of the house and to the car.

Then suddenly, for all his grousing how too tall and heavy I was, suddenly I was laying in the back seat of the car, and Dean was propping a folded blanket under my arms to keep them elevated and telling me to hold on, just hold on.

Archimedes said 'give me a lever long enough and I can move the world'. Give Dean a situation desperate enough and he can move a Sasquatch.

He said something about a county hospital, how on a busy night there'd be less time for questions, then he floored it and the pain in my arms and my side flared so bad my back arched off the seat and maybe I screamed and Dean barked, 'dammit Sam' and then 'I'm sorry' softer and the car hurtled even faster through the darkness.

Dean kept talking to me, yelling at me, stay with him, and I thought, the thought circled around my brain looking for a way out, don't you get it yet man? I'm not going anywhere. You finally got your wish; this is my life, and nothing else. But I guess I didn't say it out loud and Dean kept yelling at me and I couldn't figure out what he was saying after awhile and my blood was warm soaking into my shirt and I was afraid Dean was going to lose two brothers in one night and that just seemed wrong.

For the speed we were making to the hospital, Dean braked us to a stop carefully enough that I didn't end up on the floor of the backseat. Then he was yelling – at somebody else finally – yelling for help and opening the back door and yelling that I'd been attacked and then more hands than his were pulling me and lifting me and I was on a gurney and then I was in the hospital and in a cubicle and Dean's parting words as they wheeled me away from him, Sam I'll be right here, kept me from panicking when I couldn't see him anymore.

I got staccato questions and gave somnambulant answers, I was attacked, because that's what I heard Dean say. No, I didn't know by who, because Dean hadn't told me that yet. No, I wasn't trying to commit suicide. Yes, they tied me down. No, I hurt my ankle a couple of days ago. Yes, I – I'm sorry, what did you ask me?

They cut away my clothes and I was cold but I think I would've been cold anyway and they couldn't find a spot for the IV because my arms were all cut up and I imagined forty years of Dean being carved up and down and how it never stopped and it always started up again and if it hurt me that bad just once how did forty years not make him not him?

Then Dean was there again, shoving past some somebody in a maroon hospital shirt to stand next to me, only he was walking because I guess the gurney was moving and Dean put his hands on my face so I couldn't look anywhere but look at him and when he talked it was like he was out of sync, and the sound coming out didn't match when he moved his lips.

…surgery…stitch you up…be back…take care of the twins…Sam? Okay? Sammy….surgery…I'll be back…

And then there were swinging doors that Dean didn't walk through and his parting words I'll be here when you wake up kept me from panicking when they put the mask on my face and the world went dark.