"Hey, look at me. It's not even that bad. It's not even that bad, all right? Sammy? Sam! Hey, listen to me. We're gonna patch you up, okay? You're gonna be good as new. I'm gonna take care of you. I'm gonna take you care of you. I've got you. That's my job, right? Watch out for my pain-in-the-ass little brother? Sam? Sam! Sammy!"
No. No, not Sam. Not Sammy.
Cradling Sam's limp form in his arms, Dean looks around wildly, sees Jake's dark form disappearing in the distance. He's going to kill that son of a bitch if it is the last thing he does. But first he's got to help Sammy. Reaching along Sam's back, he takes off Sam's shirt and tears it into bandages, making a pad out of his own shirt and strapping it to Sam's back, ignoring the blood that's slowly oozing out of the wound. Some part of him knows it's useless. If Sam were alive, that blood would be pumping out. The rest of his mind screams at him, telling him to hurry up, do anything. He picks Sam up and carries him into the Impala, seeing nothing but the vindictive thrust and jerk of the knife along Sam's spine. God, that would have severed all his nerves, that would have…
No. Sam will be fine, he has to be fine.
Sam is a dead weight in his arms, pale, covered in dirt. Dean's jostling movements and the tears, burning his eyes, blurring his vision, he can almost fool himself into thinking Sam's chest is moving up and down, he's breathing, he'll be fine. But Sam's cold fingertips and the blue tinge in his lips say otherwise. Putting Sam in the back seat, laying him out, not caring that blood was getting on the leather, he straps him in as best he can. Sam looks so young. He could be sixteen, dreaming of normality, of going to college and meeting a girl and having children and having a life, after crying himself to sleep after Dad put his foot down, again. Dean strokes Sam's hair and smiles stupidly. Sam's goddamn hair. Maybe he should cut most of it off, so that, when Sammy wakes up… Dean jerks himself away, throwing himself in the driver's seat, slamming his car door.
He drives off, Sam's look of shock, of pain, burned into his eyelids.