Dean saves the day, Sam's hurt on the bathroom floor, and...they cut to Bobby? Ok, I love Bobby, but...no, I don't think so. Here's what I think should've occured before that nasty scene change. ) Enjoy!

Dean was barely through the doorway when he squeezed the trigger. The rocksalt burst from the barrel, instantly shattering the spirit's solid form. A few tendrils of grey smoke briefly lingered in the stale air before dissipating, leaving no trace of the figure that had just stood there.

Leading with the sawed-off shotgun, Dean raced into the bathroom, frantically looking for any further danger. His shocked green eyes went even wider as he came upon the prone body of his brother.

Sam lay on his left side, curled in so tightly that his head touched his knees. Images of the other hunters flashed through Dean's head. Olivia, her intestines glistening sickeningly on top of her stomach…Jed, laying in a pool of his own gore, his ribcage ripped open. And now Sam…

Sam's arm moved, the simple movement rushing relief into Dean's lungs.

"Sammy." he breathed, quickly dropping down to one knee on the dingy men's room floor.

Dean placed a cautious hand on Sam's shoulder as the younger man slowly pulled his long limbs away from his torso. "Sammy? You with me?"

Sam rolled over onto his back, his hands fisted tightly at his head. Dean reached a not-so steady hand down and eased open Sam's jacket. He breathed out another sigh of relief. Sam's shirt remained intact, as did everything underneath.

Reassured that Sam's insides were staying put, he turned his attention upwards.

"Sam. Hey. You're a little old to be playing peek-a-boo." he said calmly, trying to keep the worry from reaching his voice. A low moan was his answer. Dean frowned as he pulled Sam's hands away from his face.

Sam's eyes were screwed shut in pain. Blood oozed from a small cut just below his left eyebrow. But it was the large welt just above it that caused Dean some real concern.

Dean he took another quick glance around the room to make sure the spirit hadn't returned. Convinced they were alone, his gaze went back up to the broken mirror, then down the porcelain sink, which hung askew. His worry grew as his mind's eye showed Sam's head smashing into the mirror, then smacking into the sink with enough force to pull it from the wall.

"Shit. Sam. Sam!" he repeated gruffly, his stern tone finally getting Sam to crack open his eyes. "You ok?"

"Just peachy." Sam finally spoke, reaching up to wipe away a drop of blood that had dripped into his eye.

"Look at me." Dean commanded.

Sam's eyes slid up lazily to meet his brother's, his eyelids at half mast. Dean used his thumb to raise them further, taking a good look at the normal, yet considerably dazed eyes that looked back at his.

Equal and responsive. Good. Now for the rest. Dean placed a hand on his brother's back, carefully pushing him into a seated position. Sam's pale face went even whiter, and he quickly lowered his head to his knee.

Crap. "Dizzy? Nauseous?"

Sam shifted his head slightly to look at Dean from the corner of his eye. Even with most of his face hidden, the sarcastic "Duh" in his expression was hard to miss. Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Sam cut him off.

"Dude, I'm lying on the floor of a gas station bathroom. Of course I'm nauseous."

Dean allowed a quick smile. Sam mumbled something that he didn't quite catch. "What?"

Sam lifted his head and once again met his brother's eyes. "Henrikson."

Dean blinked. Henrikson? Looking back to where the ghost had stood, he tried to remember what he'd seen. Black guy, bald head, six feet tall, suit…holy crap.

"Henrikson? That was Henrikson?"

"Mmhmm." The brothers locked intense eyes, wordlessly communicating the same thought. Bobby.

Sam took a deep breath and began to push himself to his feet. "We've got to get to Bobby's." he said, his voice tight from the pain and effort of trying to stand.

Dean pushed him back down. He was feeling the pull to get to their friend just as badly, but at the moment his main concern was his little brother's health. "Whoa. You sure you're ok?"

"I'll be fine." Sam pushed Dean's hand away and stubbornly tried once again to raise himself off the glass-littered floor. Rolling his eyes Dean assisted him, holding him steady as Sam began to sway.

Sam clumsily fumbled through his pockets to find his cell phone. Dean beat him to it, pulling out his own newly acquired phone. He placed a call to Bobby, growling in frustration as it went to voice mail.

"Dammit."

"Dean, we need to get there. Now."

Dean nodded and grimly moved towards the door. Holding Sam back with one hand, he eased his head out, the shotgun moving with his eyes as he checked for Henrikson. No one was around, not even the gas station attendant. Curiosity and concern flashed for a moment, but he pushed them aside and concentrated on the task at hand: getting his woozy brother into the Impala and getting both their asses to Bobby's before something bad happened.

If it hadn't already.

Dean pulled on his brother's arm, keeping a steady grip should the wounded man falter. "Move!"

The brothers ran around the corner to where the Impala sat. Dean wrenched open the passenger door and half helped, half shoved Sam inside. He jogged over to the driver's side, the door creaking a greeting as he slid behind the wheel.

He quickly tossed Sam his red doo rag which the younger Winchester used to wipe away the blood that still trickled into his eye. His stomach knotted painfully as he worried about his family, Dean peeled away from the gas station.