"Dean! Dean!" Sam shouted as his brother slumped on the ground, hand clutching his chest as blood soaked through his shirt from the bullet wound. A man was running down the street with a wallet in his right hand and a gun in the other. If the situation weren't so serious, he would've laughed at the irony of Dean being the victim of something as normal as a mugging.
"No, no, no, no…" he muttered, large, shaking hands gripping the dying man's shoulders frantically."Hey, hey, come on, not today, not today. This isn't supposed to happen today. Come on, please."
He uselessly tried CPR even though he knew that getting the older man to keep breathing wouldn't help him stay alive now. It would probably make him suffer for a few more seconds. It's hard to breathe into a guy's mouth when he's choking on his own blood. Dean had lost too much blood. His hands rapidly pumping on his chest as his pulse began to fade. One, two, three… Oh God, Dean. It's too much. Four, five, six… There's too much. Seven, eight, nine… Oh God, Dean.
"Hey, hey, Dean. Remember that time when I was like fifteen years old or something and we were on that hunt in North Carolina? Just the two of us? That was a really bad one- a werewolf pack. I think there were like, six of them. Dad told us there would only be two, but yeah, there were six. You're plan was to just attack, which was stupid, and my plan was to do research on the type of victims that werewolves usually preyed on so we would have an idea of the type of people they would target. In the end, strategy didn't matter 'cause we both fucked up. It's the Winchester way, right?" He huffed out a weak laugh and continued pounding both hands on Dean's chest. Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four… "Anyway, to make a long story short, one of the werewolves almost clawed me to the death and you turned into the freaking Terminator. You freaking roundhouse kicked the one behind you, threw a silver knife at the one in front of me and… Man, Dean, you were my hero that day."
Dean's eyes fluttered and he squeezed his nostrils shut as he crushed his lips against his bloody ones and blew oxygen through them. "I was almost dead, Dean. I swear, I thought even saw Mom. And even though I was bleeding out on the floor and all over you, you still tried to keep me alive with CPR. Which, I don't think was really helping, so it's a good thing you called the ambulance too. Later on, the doctors even told you that CPR doesn't really help if you have internal bleeding, but you made it your mission to teach me how to do it. You said that if you know CPR, at least you won't have to watch someone you love die and feel like you're not doing anything. It's a good thing, you taught me, huh?" Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two… Oh God, Dean.
He ceased his attempts when he heard the sickening crack of his brother's ribs under the pressure of his muscular arms. Blood dripped from his fingers and he buried his face between them as tears stung his eyes. As once lively green eyes glazed over, he closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable. This wasn't supposed to happen today.
He waited for this nightmare to end with another Tuesday morning in a crappy motel room's beginning. He waited for his annoying big brother, Dean, to wake him up from his usually short slumber with the greatest hits of mullet rock. As sadistic as it was, he'd rather wake up everyday knowing that his only living family will die in some horrible way at the end than living in a reality where he never sees them smile when they order "Pig 'N' a Poke" at some diner that they were having a quick breakfast at. Sam Winchester waited for those first few notes of "Heat of the Moment."
They didn't come.