The first lighting crossed the sky when Sam started to reduce speed as he reached Witcher Hollow Road. He tossed in his seat, anxious. Rain. Great. That's just what they needed, though not a single raindrop had appeared in the Impala's windshield... at least not yet.

Also, Witcher Hollow was a very appropiate name, circumstances given. Sam forced himself to a ironic smile.

In the dim light, the road looked like a chocked-up lot of old houses and farms, but he didn't take long to find the place. Adrenaline not only made him cold-sweat as profusely as his brother, it also made his brain and senses work faster. His eyes found the house number like if they were meant to do it.

There was light in the porch and the little yard looked healthy and well-cared; it meant that, whatever that medical help was, still lived there- or Sam hoped so. He didn't know when his father had noted up that adress; his friend -if it wasn't just a number he found somewhere- could well had moved years ago and they could find a tiny old lady who would start screaming as she saw them knocking at her door, drenched in sweat and with the cuff of his jeans stained in mud and blood.

Sam stopped the car. Don't be dead, Dean. Please. God, don't let him be dead- the thought stroke him suddenly and fast like the lighting he had seen earlier, fading away like a bad dream when he saw through the rear mirror that his brother was still breathing.

The younger of the Winchesters stepped down from the Impala. At the outskirts of Red Boling Springs, the air was cold and wet, turning his breath into steamy clouds. The atmosphere smelt like wet grass and ozone: there was no doubt a storm was coming. As he rushed to the back door, he felt the hair at the back on his neck staying on edge, like if he sensed someone was watching them. Adrenaline started stinging again in every muscle in his body. The black dogs may have followed them, or call in others. Who knows how many of them are roaming down here?, he thought. They had to hurry up. Dean wasn't able to fight, and Sam wasn't going to leave him on his own while he finished off those four-legged specters.

Sam checked on his brother before getting him out the car. He wanted to loose a little the torniquet to prevent tissue or nerve damage, but he was afraid the wound would start bleeding again, so he thought it was better to leave it. Dean was even more pale, dark circles forming around his eyes, but he raised his head to look, aware of his brother's presence. Sam took a deep breath of relief; Dean hasn't lost consciousness yet, and that was a good thing.

"Dean, we made it. Just a final push. Should I tell that dude to come and help us get there, or bring a stretcher?"

Dean took a moment to answer, eyelids struggling to not close.

"I can make it, bro" he said, grumpy, putting away Sam's hand. "If I can breathe, I can walk-"

He dropped the blanket and tried to sit up, wincing in pain. Sam had to hold him so Dean didn't collapse as soon he took a step out the car. He didn't complain in the sligthest when his brother gripped his shoulders to keep him upright. The first time he just had helped him walk, but now Sam was practically dragging him. His brother's energy was waning fast, and Sam felt panic growing inside him.

When they were closer to the entrance, Sam read the sign at the fence. Dean probably managed to read it too, because he made a noise Sam couldn't tell it was surprise or anoyance.

C. Morris

Veterinary Surgeon

"You must be friggin' kidding me, Sam. A vet? Do I look like a friggin' poodle, or something?"

"Well- uh- a flesh wound is a flesh wound, Dean, all of them can be friggin' stitched up" Sam replied, trying to hide his puzzlement. He thought Morris would be some retired hunter with medical skills, or an old friend from the Marines- but after all it was in his father's journal, and that meant they could rely on him. "We don't have a better place to go right now, anyway."

Sam saw light under the door and perceived the muffled sound of a TV. That was a good thing; there was somebody there. He knocked at the door. Dean's breathing was getting even more laboured and a faint moan escaped from his throat. His head fell to his chest, and Sam felt him growing heavier. He feared he could pass out before the door even opened and he knocked again, anxiously.

"It's closed, I'm sorry." a muffled voice said from the inside "Come back tomorrow, unless it's an emergency..."

"Doctor Morris?" Sam interrupted him, knocking again "Please, we need your help."

Several seconds passed until a man slightly older than their father opened the door. Sam saw he was wearing a dressing gown over his clothes -just a ragged undone cardigan over a plain white shirt and corduroy pants-. Sam supossed he had been relaxing in front of TV after a long day of work, maybe watching some light comedy show at cable. He had a mug in his hands and the steamy content -possibly tea- blurried slightly his glasses, pending at the end of his nose despite the string which hold them to the neck. Two big, greyish-blue eyes looked at them with concern. He scowled, confused, when he realized there wasn't any wounded animal, and especially when he saw Dean.

"May I help you, boys?"

"Doctor Morris... My brother, he's seriously injured. He's lost a lot of blood, I think he's going into shock -"

"Hold on, boy, hold on- I'm sorry, but I don't treat people. I can call an ambulance. Macon General Hospital is not far from here, in Lafayette, just come and wait insid-"

"Listen, Dr. Morris. My name is Sam Winchester, he is Dean. We are John Winchester's sons."

The man's face went pale. Sam saw something which could be awareness in his eyes, and the younger Winchester felt relief when he understood mentioning his father's name had worked. After a very brief moment of hesitation, the veterinarian opened the door to let them in with a nod of his head.

"Wait, let me help you..."

Carried by both men, Dean was staggering forward, agitated and confused, like if he were awakening very slowly from a nightmare. Sam felt his body shaking feebly.

"Sam- Sam I'm cold- what's happening— why'm I cold..."

"He's confused. It's the shock" the doctor said.

The veterinarian helped Sam taking his brother to a room at the right of the central corridor, in front of the one where TV was. It was arranged like a small clinic, just a treatment and surgery area stocked with the usual equipment, cupboards, a large wooden counter and a sink. A few old animal anatomy posters and signs were pinned in the wall. It looked like that room had remained the same for decades; fortunately -especially for Dean- the equipment seemed to be much more modern. There was a exam metal table located in the center, and its shape and tools told Sam it was also used as an operating table.

"Help me lay him on the table" the doctor panted out. "Wait, wait- let me first..."

He rushed to get some sheets and towels from a cupboard; a pair of sheets to cover the cold table, another pair at the header, folded like a pillow. They both settled Dean carefully over the improvised bed. The table was too short for him, and the doctor took an empty trolley to put his feet on it, placing his wounded leg over a bunch of clean towels. Dean moaned in pain. He was breathing heavily now, and his body was shivering again, damped in a cold sweat. He opened his eyes when Sam touched his pale forehead; they were lost and glassy, and Sam knew his brother was miles away. His eyelids fluttered and his eyes didn't take long to shut close again.

"Hey, doc- would you give me a cookie if I'm a good boy?" he muttered.

"Please, hum- Sam, you said?" the doctor asked. "Close all doors and windows. If somebody tells my patient hasn't his body covered in fur, I can get into a serious mess."

Sam did what he was told while the doctor started examining Dean. He touched his forehead and his hands, examined his eyes, palpated his neck, and studied his features thoroughly. A worried expression appeared in his face.

"Severe hypothermia... How much blood he'd lost?"

"A lot, I'm afraid." Sam said, breath puffing; he passed both hands through his sweaty hair "His pulse is so weak I couldn't feel it, he... he hasn's stopped bleeding, I think I slowed it down, but-"

Morris shook his head absently, letting him know he had understood.

"First, we have to warm him up."

From the cupboard, he took a warming blanket and rushed to cover Dean, switching it up to a near wall socket. He adjusted the temperature control and then stared at Sam from above his glasses, like a teacher who was going to tell off a specially naughty student.

"Look at those hands... You better wash them, son, I don't want you to ruin my instruments."

Sam blinked slowly, the remark had caught him by surprise. Not without a certain embarassment, Sam rushed to the sink and washed his hands quickly -his brother's blood was already dark and slick in his fingers, and he preferred not to think about it. When he turned, the doctor had a stethoscope in his hands and was leaning over his brother. He put the earpieces on and quickly slipped the chestpiece under the shirt collar; Dean gasped and winced at the unwelcome cold. The veterinary listened carefully, moving the bell through the chest, unaware of his glasses sliding down his nose again. He didn't take long to remove the earpieces from his ears, taking a deep breath. Sam was even afraid to ask, his own heart blowing like a hammer in his ears.

"How- how is he?"

Morris' expression barely changed as he left the stethoscope hanging in his neck, but to Sam it seemed he started doing things twice as fast.

"Well- he is in shock." he said. "He has lost a lot of blood, his heart is doing the best it can. We've got to stabilize him. You washed your hands? Great, great- Take that trolley here, boy, the one with the monitor at the top. That one, thanks. Also, that IV pole there? Okay. We're going to run a line. Help me, roll his sleeve up and hold his arm, I don't want to hurt him if he moves."

Sam did as he was told. Dean jerked his head when he felt his brother's touch and mumbled his name, searching for him. Sam squeezed his shoulder with his free hand in a reassuring gesture. He realized Dean's shivering was less intense now, though his skin was still clammy and cold, a big difference to the dry heat coming from the warming blanket. Sam himself felt a shiver.

After he had washed his hands and put on sterile gloves, the doctor settled up the intravenous set, hanging a bag of transparent fluid to the pole. "His body needs fluids after the blood loss, this is to fight dehydration and shock." he explained. He gently touched and handled Dean's arm in the crook of the elbow area, looking for a visible vein -not an easy task in his condition. After swabbing the skin with disinfectant, he introduced a double IV line. Dean groaned and muttered something about hating needles and where doctors could shove them.

"Well, at least this patient won't bite me- I hope" the doctor joked, squeezing carefully the IV bag and adjusting the roller clamp until fluid came into the chamber in a slow, steady dripping. Next, he injected the content of a small ampoule into the injection port.

"Epinephrine. Will help his heart pump- by the moment. Hand it to me, that clip-like thing, with a wire on it. Thank you. Know what?" he started nonchallantly, switching on the monitor in the trolley. "I was in the Army. Humanitarian missions. Sometimes, the only available doctor was the one in charge of the horses and rescue dogs. Me! Of course, big bosses never knew about it, it could have mean the end of my career, but I saved a soldier's life here and there. I was good at it, you can trust me! Though this is my first human being like in, decades? I hope I remember where he has the guts and all that" he winked an eye to Sam, maybe expecting to play it down. "Well, we're not very different from animals, to be honest. We're just hairless, got slightly different metabolisms- and we complain an awful lot more."

He clipped Dean's index finger and the monitor alarm started beeping at his pulse's pace, insanely fast. Sam lifted his eyes to the graphics to see a single thready, confusing line, the ones above blank and silent with not any other vital signs to register. He supossed the lowest number it displayed were his oxygen levels; Sam didn't know for sure where they should be situated in normal conditions -around 95%-100%, maybe-, but Doctor Morris' brief wince let him know they weren't good.

"Some years and two wars later, I decided to quit the army to bring little cute calves and lambs to this world" the veterinarian went on, fumbling in the oxygen trolley among tubes and weird-shaped masks "I also help some hunters with his dogs. Deer hunters, I mean. Hmmm- I'll have to use a small mask." he mumbled, bringing back Dean's state to conversation again "Still as unstable as big ones, but should suffice. Help me put this to his face."

Dog masks used to be long and funnel-shaped due to the animals snout, but the one the doctor had taken from the trolley was slightly rounded, maybe made for cats or other smaller animals. The doctor connected it to the oxygen tanks and fitted it the best he could onto Dean's face, asking Sam to hold it tightly while he adjusted the flow of air. Maybe Dean was too confused to understand what was happening, because he started tossing and moving, unsettled. Sam shoved him down firmly but carefully, making sure the mask properly covered nose and mouth.

"Hey- hey, it's okay, it's okay... just breathe, Dean... Listen to me. It's Sam. Just breathe." Sam tightly hold the mask onto place, his thumb caressing his brother's forehead. Shortly after, Dean's breathing became slightly deeper, though the beeping rate from the monitor hadn't changed. Sam could feel the plastic getting warmer and damp under his hand with the air coming out his lungs. He recalled the warm sensation of his brother's blood soaking his hands and he shut eyes close, his stomach painfully tight.

"O-levels are still too low" the doctor said, gazing at the monitor. "He isn't going to make it without a blood transfusion. Your brother needs you, boy. I hope you don't hate needdles too."

Sam sniffed sharply, uncomfortable. He had to look away from his brother to be able to speak. Blame crawled up from his sinking stomach to his throat and stayed there in a tight knot.

"We're not – our blood types are not compatible" he lied.

The true problem was far much more complex, but he wasn't going to expose it to the doctor. The situation was weird enough already, with his almost comatose brother bitten by a freakin' ghost dog: Sam wasn't going to add into the mixture that he was immune to a demonic virus -just one in a million weird, freaky stuff going on in him, according to Dean-, and therefore, maybe his blood was too dangerous to be a donor. What if his blood was harmful to his brother? Avoid him even more suffering was a good excuse... but he felt miserable. Useless. He was a freak, a "special child" with dream premonitions and visions. A monster. The monster he feared he will become someday.

"Dad told me I might have to kill you, Sammy-"

He shivered, his free hand closing on the blood-stained fabric if his jeans.

"Okay, uh- well, what's his blood type?" Morris asked, confused.

Sam told him and the doctor laughed, to the boy's perplexity.

"Now that's a curious turn of fate. I can give him my blood."

"You- you would do that?"

"Of course. I owe a favor to your father, somehow- Also, I don't need a guilty conscience. Half a litre, or so, what's that? I can fully recover in a few hours, a good meal, rich in protein, and I'm done. Your brother needs it more, or he -"

Sam was thankful the doctor omited what he was going to say; it was clear enough. He made a pause before he changed to a less alarming, hopeful tone.

"Listen, Sam... I don't know if I'm able to help him. I specialized in four-legged furry creatures and your brother's situation is quite delicate, but I promise I will do the best I can. Anything." he sighed, putting his glasses away to clean them "What have you two put into, that you have to run away from hospitals?"

Sam looked down.

"Long story."

"Okay, no questions, that was something I learnt from your father. But if we can't stabilize him, we call an ambulance."

"Yeah. Okay." Sam nodded, nervously.

"I do have an important question, though. If I'm going to give him my blood, I deserve at least to know what happened to him, don't you think?" he winked and eye, putting his glasses on again.

Sam's voice sounded flat, even if he was smiling.

"You won't believe me."

"I may, boy, I may. I know about the Winchesters family business."